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There was a routine to the way that Gojo and Utahime had always interacted — a certain, observable predictability. Because she knew the shape of it so well, Utahime was surprised that it took her so long to notice when something had shifted off the tracks.
It started simply with an awareness. Utahime slowly started to realise that he was seeing . The Six Eyes were sharp, and one was always aware that Gojo, whether he could help it or not, was always looking. But Utahime, bored and silent in a joint faculty meeting to discuss a Goodwill Event, suddenly noticed that Gojo's gaze across the table was a seeing one.
Utahime couldn't help but feel self-conscious when he started noticing her. She didn't think he was the only one who did, if she was being honest, but the formation of his attention felt different. When it came to the way that other people looked at her, Utahime could be rational about it, almost impartial. Because she'd been cute in a round-cheeked way for a long time and then, very briefly, she'd been sharply beautiful. The scar across her face had not taken all of that beauty away, but it had done enough for Utahime to be able to appreciate her looks in an objective manner. People looked at her scar. But, suddenly, one slow afternoon in a meeting, a difference materialised between the way that other people looked at her and the way that he looked at her. And, in the way that flood waters might rise slowly, the way that Gojo had begun to look at her made her the most uncomfortable.
Because it wasn’t his relentless, audacious teasing that broke the formation. It was that attention.
She'd seen firsthand how Gojo treated people his age when they were students. So much of that remained, even as an adult. He was notorious for his playful flirting, and she knew that his charm could disarm anyone. That's why it was hard to explain that what was different in her case was the way Gojo looked at her. It was not something she could quite name, or understand.
Now, she was gazing at the wrapped gift on her desk. This was another break in the formation.
A neatly wrapped present with a note attached, bearing Gojo's distinctive handwriting: "For Utahime."
"I don't understand," she'd said, and that was the truth.
Gojo famously never brought her anything back from his trips. In fact, he typically singled her out to receive nothing at all, just to see if she’d sulk about it so that he could tease her for her greediness. But now, where there had been nothing, was the recognisable shape of something .
Gojo had merely shrugged.
"It's a present, I thought you might like it."
She was so convinced that it was a gag gift that she had simply stared at it, wondering if it could trip its own mechanism and explode if she didn't touch it. But he nudged her, grinning, dimples flashing.
“Open it,” he urged playfully. “You’ll like it.”
And it had turned out that he was right about that, at least. Utahime did like it, even though she didn't have the faintest clue what was going on with reality, her stomach flipping over at this new cadence in his voice. She unwrapped the paper carefully, folding the edges and peeling them back to reveal a carefully packaged box. Inside was a silk hair ribbon in a deep red colour.
"I was overseas and I saw this," he'd said, smiling. "I thought of you."
Utahime had nodded, her cheeks flushing as scarlet as the bow.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
He’d shifted the protocol and changed the formation of the thing that they shared, and Utahime, bewildered, felt all the predictability seep out of the world.
And then across the table when they all went out for drinks one night in Tokyo, Utahime could feel his eyes linger on her a little longer than they should. She sipped her beer, her heart pounding, watching Shoko explain something gory to Nanami and chuckling distractedly when he grimaced stoically through the tale.
Utahime couldn't help but sneak a peek at Gojo from under her eyelashes. There was Gojo, grinning and sipping his soda, his gaze lingering on her instead of Shoko.
Was this something different? Another anomaly? It had to be.
Utahime's stomach flipped. His deep blue eyes held an impish glint, and a slow, knowing smile played at the corners of his lips.
A rush of warmth surged through her, risky business. She quickly averted her gaze, trying to focus on the conversation happening across the table. Shoko's animated storytelling was met with laughter and astonishment from their colleagues, but Utahime's mind couldn't help but try to place things back on the map, where they had been before.
There was Gojo, sitting there. Gojo, looking at her. Smiling softly.
She swallowed hard, taking another long sip of her drink, hoping the cool liquid would calm her racing heart. But the warmth still coursed through her veins, her body burning with a strange mix of nervous bewilderment. There was something else. The shape of the thing that was shared had changed and something else entirely had crept into her awareness in the gap that the movement had created. She couldn't deny it, the thought of Gojo's eyes on her sent a tingle of anticipation down her spine.
She tried to control her thoughts, wondering if this was just one of his masterful ways of messing with her. She gritted her teeth, getting annoyed in advance, wishing she could smack that stupid smile off his face.
It simply wasn't fair. It wasn't kind to disrupt something that kept other things in balance.
"I think I'm going to head home," she said abruptly. "I've got to get back to Kyoto before the trains stop."
"I can take you, Utahime," Gojo said softly, casually.
"Take me?"
Shoko, a little drunk, whistled suggestively. Utahime, blushing furiously, ignored her.
"Yeah, I can teleport you,” Gojo nodded.
Utahime flushed afresh because that sounded intimate. That sounded like favour. That sounded like an unprecedented offer, another anomaly.
"Er. No thanks. That sounds like a good way to throw up."
He gave a raucous chuckle, always enjoying it when she was vulgar. "Are you sure? I could have you in your bed in no time."
Utahime could have sworn she heard Nanami snort. She glared at him, but his expression remained as neutral as always.
"I'm sure," she said, finishing the last of her beer.
"Suit yourself," Gojo said, leaning back.
But his eyes stayed on her, following her movements as she stood up, said her goodbyes, grabbed her coat and made her way out. She shivered as the chilly air hit her, the evening cold enough that her breath formed little puffs of mist in front of her. She hurried down the street, mind moving faster than her feet.
"Oi! Utahime!"
She stopped in her tracks, but not abruptly enough because Gojo suddenly materialised in front of her. She collided with his chest, making him chuckle as she spluttered in surprise.
"Shit, Gojo, don't do that!" she hissed, as his hands on her shoulders kept her from slipping on the icy pavement.
He laughed.
"Sorry, sorry."
"What do you want?"
He paused, looking down at her, his expression inscrutable.
"I think you know what I want, Utahime."
She swallowed, eyes wide, speechless. Her heart leapt into her throat, pushed up there by the converse motion in her stomach, a trapeze act.
"W-what do you want?"
"You've got my wallet. I put it in your handbag, remember?"
She blinked, looking up at him, then at her handbag, realising the bulge in the front pocket of her bag was, in fact, a man's wallet.
"Oh."
"Yep."
"So, I'll just—"
"Yeah, I'm gonna need it back."
"Sure, of course, hang on."
She opened her bag, digging through it until she found the wallet, hands shaking, cursing herself for thinking that the shape had changed. It was regular and predictable. All sides equal. All interior workings formularised.
"I can't believe you were about to rob me," he grumbled teasingly, shoving her shoulder playfully so that she nearly slipped again.
"I would have given it back," she rolled her eyes. "And you could have warped to Kyoto at any point and fetched it from me."
"Mmm," he hummed, a lazy smile lifting the corner of his mouth, teasing, soft. "Are you saying you want to see me more often?"
"Of course not!"
"Liar."
Her breath hitched, because the way he said it was not accusing, or angry. It was playful and gentle.
Different.
"Gojo, I don't know what's gotten into you, but it's late, I'm a little drunk and I have to get back home. You're annoying me and I don't like it, so can you please leave me alone."
"Hmmm."
He stepped closer to her, so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his body.
"What's wrong, Utahime? Are you feeling shy?"
"I'm not fe—you're the one who's being weird!"
"Weird? You mean the way I've always been?"
"No! Not like this!"
"How so?"
"You're-you're-you're flirting with me!" she stammered, feeling foolish, flustered.
He smiled, dimples flashing, his blue eyes dark, amused.
"I'm always flirting with you, Utahime," he murmured. "Everyone notices except you."
Utahime swallowed, her cheeks stinging with warmth against the chill of the night air.
"Nuh-uh!" she protested childishly, growing more flustered. "This is different. You've been different."
He shrugged, stepping closer still.
"Maybe I'm sick of waiting for you to notice."
"Notice what?!"
"Me. Us," he smiled. "The way we could be."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" she squeaked, her heart hammering, looking in utter bafflement as Gojo’s hands slid into her waist and he tugged her closer.
"I'm saying that I don't think I've been different," he murmured. "I think you have been different."
"I haven't —”
"I'm saying that you're just starting to realise that you like me too."
"I do not!"
"Liar."
There it was again — gentle, playful. Fond. Utahime couldn’t cope with this new normal. He said nothing, but he tugged meaningfully on the end of a pretty silk ribbon in her hair.
It was red instead of white.
"Don't call me a liar, you're such a jerk!" she spluttered defensively.
"Hmm, but you are a liar and you're terrible at it. Your ears get all red when you're lying," he murmured, and her eyes widened as Gojo's fingertip reached up and traced the outside curve of her ear. "It's so cute."
"Gojo," she breathed, her voice trembling, considering how that this might be the cruellest prank he had ever played on her.
"Yes, Utahime?"
"Please go home."
"Sure. Will you kiss me goodnight first?"
She blinked at him, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, her ears burning.
"Gojo, you're being ridiculous."
"Maybe," he shrugged. "But I'm also serious."
"I can't—"
"Kiss me."
She couldn't speak, couldn't move. All she could do was stare at him, wide-eyed, her heart thumping and her breath coming out in shaky puffs into the freezing air.
"Utahime."
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"I can't," she whispered.
"Why not?"
"Because," she began, her voice shaky and small. "Because if I kiss you, then I'll know, and then I won't be able to pretend anymore. I won’t know how to be afterwards."
"Risk it," he murmured. "Kiss me."
Utahime's hand curled around the front of his jacket, her fingers digging into the fabric. Her breath hitched, her whole body tingling. She was terrified, her mind screaming at her not to do it, not to give him the satisfaction.
But her heart had other ideas.
With a shaky exhale, Utahime stood on tiptoes and pulled him down to her. Her lips brushed against his, the shape of his lips smiling. His hands gripped her waist tightly and suddenly, they were kissing, really kissing, her mouth opening for him, his tongue sliding against hers, tasting sweet.
She gasped against his kiss, and he chuckled, a reverberation in his chest that she felt. His tongue flicked over her lips, tasting her.
"Mm," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy growl. “At fucking last.”
Utahime shuddered, her skin prickling with heat. His lips were soft, warm, his tongue stroking hers. She moaned softly, kissing him harder as the excitement of the sensation boiled up in her, her hand sliding up into his hair, getting lost in something incalculable.
He groaned, his hands moving to grip her hips, pulling her flush against him. His mouth trailed down her neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point below her ear.
"Oh god," she breathed, arching into him, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Hime," he moaned, his breath hot against her skin.
And then the air shifted, the ice going out of it and the light shifting. Utahime opened her eyes and discovered they were standing in her bedroom in Kyoto, the curtains still flung open to the city lights.
She gasped, tugging back, but his grip was firm on her waist, smiling at her surprise like it was cute. He dipped his mouth and kissed her again, slow and sweet.
"Gojo," she whispered.
"Utahime," he replied, kissing her cheek, her jaw.
And suddenly, he took a step back, grinning as he walked backwards from her. In his sudden absence, her body was cold now wherever he had touched.
"Where are you going?" she stammered.
"Back to Tokyo," he grinned.
Utahime cheeks flushed, her stomach feeling wobbly, disappointed and confused.
"Oh, I thought we..."
Gojo tutted, ruffling his hair, looking boyish and pleased.
"Take me on a date first, Utahime," he chided playfully. "You're so naughty."
Her eyes widened, her temper flaring.
"I'm not—"
And Gojo suddenly evaporated, leaving her in the empty room, bewildered. Utahime, lips parted, stared at the space where he had been, more than just time and space being warped and buckled in that moment.
The world suddenly seemed turned down to mute.
She squeaked in fright as he suddenly materialised again, kissing her briefly on the mouth, laughing at her expression.
"Tomorrow," he grinned. "You can take me on a date tomorrow."
"You're insane!" she rebuked him, her voice husky.
"And you're gorgeous when you're mad at me."
And then, as if reality had snapped back to its regular shape, he was gone again, leaving her alone in her bedroom. Utahime stood there, blinking, her lips tingling and her head spinning. She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the rapid beating of her heart.
No, nothing was the same. Nothing was calculable.
She smiled, cautiously pleased, at the new shape of the world.