Work Text:
It was shameful, is what it was.
Utahime was no prodigy when it came to flying. Not that she was terrible at it, but she was a bit below average when compared to her classmates. Of course, this meant that because of their flying instructor's critiques during class, Gojo Satoru was intimately aware of her flying weaknesses.
It was just her luck to have been placed in a fight class with their generation's foremost prodigies, and boy, did they make sure everyone knew just how proficient they were at every opportunity. Utahime herself suffered the most under the specific attention of Gojo.
Which led her to her current predicament.
She’d been struggling to right her broom enough to fly to the instructed altitude, but her broom was in a mood and sought to throw her off with every opportunity. The rest of her classmates, minus Haibara, were having an easier go of it. Like she said, she wasn’t terrible . Haibara was the champion of that title. But unlike her, that was simply because he was terrified of heights and not because his broom hated him.
Her struggle was more than obvious, and while she was distracted by trying not to fall to her death, Gojo took the opportunity to loop around her.
“Utahime,” he sang.
The sun glinted off his stupid sunglasses, getting in her eyes with each loop and making her even more unsteady.
“Don’t you have anything better to do, Gojo?”
It was an absentminded question. Utahime was more focused on keeping her hands encircled around the ridges of her broom. Not for the first time since their broom ceremony over a month ago, she wondered if she hadn’t made the wrong choice.
The broom had neglected its duty for half a century, never calling out to any student until it called out to her. It was the one thing she’d one-upped Gojo and Geto in. Except it had caused her nothing but trouble since that first day, even going so far as to withhold its true name from her. She should have known. Brooms made from cherry wood were notoriously tetchy.
The same raspy whispers that had called out to her in a soulful hum now grumbled curses at her. It sucked. Utahime was tired of having to earn everything through hard work. She wanted to get something for free just once like those two menaces did.
“Nah, there’s nothing that dope can teach me that I don’t already know.”
Utahime scowled at his circling form. “Show some respect for your elders, Gojo. He’s our teacher!”
The boy snickered and flew in faster rings, following her as she moved higher with her jerking broom. His jacket flapped around him, annoyingly slapping his sides. Throughout the whole of his flying, he didn’t take his eyes off of her, even though she’d barely looked at him. She’d seen enough of that garish Q-tipped head of his to last a lifetime and refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking her concentration.
The young witch scratched at the wood beneath her index fingers on either side in a soothing motion. But Gojo’s speed and nearness seemed to have unsettled it further.
“C’mon,” she whispered. “We’re almost there, broom.”
A distant yell of his name from Geto stole Gojo’s focus, causing his broom to clip hers so roughly that she was knocked off balance. The witch shrieked, throwing her hands up to grab hold of her broomstick, but her fingers fell just shy of touching it.
The wind scraped at her with greedy wisps, grabbing her hair and skirt in time with gravity’s nasty tug. Utahime screamed in a way that violently scratched her throat shut. One moment she was in the air. The next, she plopped onto a warm body with a small squeak. She wasted no time throwing her arms around the person. Wild gasps of breath told her the person was Gojo, his familiar scent of candied apples and burning wood overwhelming all her senses.
“Utahime!” A dozen other voices echoed his. “I’m so, so sorry. Please look at me. Please. I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t loosen her grip on his body or open her eyes. Utahime drowned out all noise but the sound of his sputtering heart and tightened her legs where they were thrown over his.
“I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad,” Gojo pled. “I swear I’ll never do it again.”
Their teacher and classmates cried for Gojo to return to the ground, but he ignored them. She disregarded his apologies, calming herself against his t-shirt. She wasn’t mad at him, just glad he’d caught her before she touched the ground. Even if it was his fault. She stayed pressed against him, catching her breath until a drop of water touched her cheek.
Utahime’s eyes shot open, and she saw Gojo crying above her. Tears trickled from his bloodshot eyes in a quick path down ruddy cheeks. The blue of his eyes was heightened by his tears and beckoned her closer. Utahime brought her trembling hands up to wipe his tears away. They were hot against her hands.
“I’m so sorry.” He spoke through swollen lips. Utahime suspected he’d been biting them to keep quiet while she was calming herself down. “Are you mad at me?”
Utahime’s brows came together in concern. She’d never seen him like this.
“I’m not mad,” she said. “It’s okay. You caught me. I forgive you.”
“You promise?”
Utahime’s chin shook. Instead of answering with words, she wrapped her arms around the boy. He immediately returned her hug, squeezing her close, and shuddered with quiet sobs.
She yelled down for everyone to give them a moment. From the corner of her eye, she spotted her broom slowing inching toward them, whispering its apologies into her mind.
Maybe Haibara had it right, magical or not. People were meant to be on the ground.