Chapter Text
So, Utahime has a…problem.
Well, two problems, really, and to be entirely honest, they shouldn’t be her problems. She isn’t doing anything wrong here. No, she is the victim of this particularly annoying situation no matter how Shoko or Mei Mei smugly tease her.
“I’m jealous, Uta, to have such a rich man in your pocket.” Mei Mei likes to snicker.
“You know he shows he cares in weird, stupid ways, Uta.” Shoko often reminds her.
Hogwash. Gojo Satoru is only doing this to spite her. Their long-standing feud is the only explanation for his behavior!
Gakuganji eyes her as he closes a folder and straightens it on his desk—a folder that contains what should have been her latest assignment. As a teacher, Utahime doesn’t often go on missions anymore, but there are times when her very unique set of skills is deemed necessary. Like, for instance, assisting Nanami Kento with exterminating a nest of nasty First Grade curses.
“Gojo-san said he happened across the nest. Needless to say, you and Nanami-san’s services are no longer required.”
Her left eye twitches, a tick she can’t quite shake when Gojo is mentioned, yet she schools her features into cool indifference. “Very well.” She responds blandly, not interested in letting her superiors see how much this gets under her skin.
“This is the fourth time in two months that he’s happened across what was supposed to be your target.”
She’s aware. Gojo doesn’t interfere with every mission she’s assigned to. Just the ones where she’s partnered with somebody that isn’t him.
Not that they would ever partner her up with him. It’s unnecessary. What sort of monster would they have to be facing for Gojo Satoru to need her to bolster his already boundless strength?
“He enjoys tormenting people,” Utahime sighs, wishing to just go home and take a long bath, “I’m sure he did this to annoy Nanami-san, as he usually does.”
Gakuganji doesn’t seem convinced. The wrinkles of his brow crinkle deeply. Oh, no. She knows that look.
“...I hope you haven’t given him…ideas, Utahime.”
Her cheeks heat against her better judgment. Not willing to speak on that elephant in the room, she coolly states, “Whatever do you mean, sir?”
“I do not wish to dishonor you. I am not accusing you of anything untoward,” the older man says, leaning on his cane, “As loathe as we all are to admit it, that fellow cannot be controlled, nor can his actions be predicted. However, he can always be counted on to do the exact opposite of what is best.”
What is best. She would laugh if it wouldn’t mean doing so in her boss’ face.
“If he aims to possess your ability for himself-”
Her heart nearly leaps out of her chest, “If I may-!” She practically yelps, momentarily losing her famous sense of propriety, “Sir, no such thing is happening. Gojo is simply…being Gojo.”
Gakuganji once again scrutinizes her. She hopes he cannot spot the growing flush along her neck. Even when not around, Gojo manages to make her look the fool!
“...If you’re certain, Utahime. I will appeal to Yaga-sensei and have him talk to Gojo-san. We will not have him make a fool of our school.”
Naturally, Gakuganji cares more about maintaining the careful balance of turbulent jujutsu politics than her embarrassment, but she can hardly blame him. She was placed under his supervision for a reason, after all, far from Tokyo-
-and from Gojo.
“That would be best, sir. Thank you.”
“Of course. You let me know if that no-good man bothers you further.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are dismissed. Enjoy your newly found open weekend.”
She bows and shuffles out of his office. Once she slides the tatami door shut behind her, the stiff expression on her face crumbles into hot irritation. That ass! Is it not enough that he must poke and prod at her every chance he gets, but he must make her look bad in front of her boss, too?
This isn’t a recent development but it has been increasing in frequency- directly proportional to the increase in demand for her technique. The growing lack of Second Grade and higher sorcerers has become an issue. Utahime’s technique is useful with so many strong curses sprouting seemingly out of nowhere.
But what’s the need when a man who barely needs to sleep can take care of it before she even leaves her classroom?
She’s not sure why he’s doing it. It’s something that’s had her staring at her ceiling many a restless night. His insatiable urge to be the most annoying presence in the room, maybe. Perhaps some new form of bullying.
“You know he shows he cares in weird, stupid ways-”
Ugh, as if, Shoko! The only thing Gojo Satoru cares about is getting on her nerves!
And yet-
“If he aims to possess your ability for himself-”
She presses a hand to her mouth and turns from Gakuganji’s office, facing out into the hallway. Her face is surely on fire. She’s always been quick to blush. Gakuganji didn’t even mean it like- like that!
Her cheeks hurt and she realizes that she’s grinning. Like some sort of dunce. Over the thought of Gojo liking her. This brings her to her second problem.
The fact that she might, deep down, maybe, possibly, potentially, like a certain blue-eyed idiot.
Maybe even love-
She smacks her cheeks, hard. They sting and she thinks furiously through the pain, stop that! Stop that right now!
First of all, ew. He’s literally the worst! He’s done nothing but harass her since their school days!
Second of all, even if she did admit that she might hold some warm feelings for him, they would amount to nothing. After all, the Iori technique can belong to no one but the owner of the technique itself. Meaning one very simple thing.
Utahime can never, ever, align herself with another sorcerer. Especially not someone as controversial as Gojo Satoru!
If she wishes to marry, she must either accept the match selected by the Higher Ups to keep order, or she must choose a non-sorcerer. Both options are less than ideal. A non-sorcerer would never understand her life, and the Higher Ups would surely force a dull and brainless puppet on her.
So- here she is, thirty years old and nowhere near settling down like her parents so desperately want. Luckily, it isn’t imperative that she reproduces. Her older brother or younger sister could easily conceive a child who carries the Solo Forbidden technique. Of course, to her parents, it had never been a matter of passing on the ability. They just want to see her happy.
Her hands fall from her face as her eyes train on her feet. Happy. She thinks of the three paths she must choose from and struggles to see how any of them could achieve such an elusive concept.
She probably won’t have to worry about it for long, though. As morbid as the thought is, with all these stronger curses popping up she might not get the chance to choose at all.
Utahime sighs, feeling much older than thirty, and nurses the side of her head where she feels a tension headache coming on. Part of her is grateful to Gojo. Now she can rot away in her bed all weekend.
“Woah, you’re gonna wrinkle if ya keep frownin’ like that.”
Speak of the devil and Gojo shall appear. Utahime looks to her left to see him leaning against the opposite wall. His eyes are hidden behind his usual black blindfold, his stark white hair a spikey mess. She is startled to see him, and angry at herself for being so lost in thought that she did not notice him sooner.
“What are you doing here?” To her dismay, even her ears detect the hint of panic in her voice. Did he hear anything from her conversation with Gakuganji?!
He smiles maddeningly at her, waving a stack of stapled papers in his right hand. “Got to drop off my report.”
“Could’ve given it to Yaga-sensei. No need to come here.”
That damn smile smoothes into a smirk, one that makes her skin prickle with a cocktail of conflicting feelings she does not want to acknowledge, and he pushes himself off the wall. He comes closer to her, forcing her to draw back in order to keep staring at his face.
“Maybe I just wanted to see my favorite senpai.”
Her honeyed eyes narrow. “Suspicious.” She remarks.
Gojo laughs and it’s so genuine that she has to stop herself from grinning in pleasure. His laugh is terribly pleasant and that she is the one to encourage it makes a strange sense of pride warm her chest.
“I’m not up to anything, I swear. Just going to drop this off.”
Her intuition, primed to pick up on Gojo-related shenanigans, is not assuaged. Her prickly anger from the embarrassment in front of Gakuganji remains present in her gut. When she considers demanding answers from him, however, the metaphorical cat snatches her tongue. Pesky nervousness and a fight-flight-freeze instinct in the face of abject bashfulness.
“-shows he cares-”
Gojo doesn’t…well, he cares about others, of course, she’d be a fool not to see it, but her? They’re friends, sort of, their (admittedly one-sided) feud notwithstanding, but how would stealing her missions be caring for her? No, Shoko’s wrong. She has to be, it doesn’t make any sense!
He tilts his head and she feels his eyes surveying her. Damn Six Eyes, their gaze is something tangible. “You want to ask me something.” He states confidently.
The door to Gakuganji’s office looms like a bad odor at her back. She steps away from it, “Go drop your report off and get back to Tokyo.”
Gojo drops the stack right in front of Gakuganji’s door and walks after her, a familiar eagerness to his smile that reminds her of how he used to steal her ribbons while in school.
She scowls at him, “Pick those up!” She whisper-hisses, as though she is still a teenager and could get in trouble for Gojo’s antics. Which, honestly, she probably still could, at thirty years old!
“Nah.”
Huffing in annoyance, she turns her back on him and marches off towards the staff lounge. She’ll grab her bag, head home, and start her relaxing Gojo-free weekend. To her dismay, she hears his steps follow her.
“So-o, whatcha wanna ask me?”
“Never said I wanted to ask you anything. Go away.”
He ignores that last bit. “Your face said it.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
She shoots him yet another glare. He continues to smile, seemingly enjoying every minute of teasing her. They reach the staff room and the tatami door is closed.
To her shock, Gojo moves ahead of her. He slides open the door and gestures for her to enter. Did he just…open the door for her?
She stares at him, bewildered. “Are you pranking me?” She asks slowly.
Another shock! Gojo’s face drops. Though she cannot see his eyes, he almost seems…embarrassed. He straightens and rubs at the back of his head, then twirls on his foot and slips into the staff room, “Forget it!”
…what?
Shaking her head and dismissing his odd behavior as more Gojo lunacy, she follows after him and heads over to her cubby on the far side of the room. After collecting her coat and bag, she then opens the fridge to pull out her leftover lunch. She had been so busy with grading papers that she didn’t get to eat all of it.
Gojo watches her all the while, back to his grinning self. She eyes him warily. Just what is he planning?
She double-checks her lunch bag to make sure she put her utensils back and catches sight of a chocolate bar Miwa had given to her earlier. Not the biggest fan of milk chocolate, Utahime had left it in her bag, thinking she would either give it to Nanami when they met for their mission or whichever Manager drove them to their destination.
She takes it out of the bag and tosses it to Gojo. He catches it in one hand and then inspects it, his grin slipping into a look of interest.
“You can have that,” she says, “as thank you for freeing up my weekend.” Even if it doesn’t make any sense. She adds silently.
When he doesn’t immediately answer, Utahime looks back at him. He’s staring down at the sweet, a tiny smile playing on his lips. Her heart does a flip.
He’s handsome when he shuts up, she distantly considers but knows such things are pointless to think, not when she knows the truth. Gojo is handsome all of the time.
“...you just want to get rid of it,” Gojo snickers.
The moment is shattered. The soft expression that had been on his face is replaced with his usual cocky grin and she huffs, rolling her eyes.
“Give it back, then!”
“Nope! Senpai gave me a gift!”
“Ugh, now you say it?” She throws her jacket over her arm and marches to the door, “I take my thank you back!”
“Too late, I know you appreciate me, ‘Hime!”
The nickname makes a thrill zip up her spine and down again. Sly man! “Stop calling me that!”
He only laughs again, “In your dreams, ‘Hime, in your dreams.”
His laugh follows her like a ghost down the hall and sticks with her even long after they are apart.