Archive of Our Own

The drive back to Jujutsu High — Gojo can tell — is going to be long and quiet. As far as he can estimate, it will take them at least an hour to reach campus considering that the engine roared to life a few seconds ago.

He feels it lurch forward into motion, and Gojo finds that it is darker in the car than he had anticipated. It definitely feels smaller than the first time, which Gojo knows is kind of dumb, since that would mean the car shrunk in the time it took for them to return from their mission.

The vehicle they are dispatched in is actually spacious, luxurious and private, unlike the standard ones that were used for regular missions. The windows are tinted darker, and there's a solid partition pulled up between them and the auxiliary staff driver, with a button and a speaker to the left for communication.

Gojo adjusts himself, his body is slightly angled to the right, knees shifting as he leans forward a little, holding out his palm. His voice rings loudly in the silence.

"Give me your arm."

From the other end of the seat Utahime does not lift her gaze from the gash in her arm to acknowledge him. She does not seem to be in too much pain, her eyes brim with concentration as she assesses her wound.

Her bangs, swept neatly to the side earlier, fall into her eyes, and the fine strands of her hair are coming loose from the intricate twist of her hair. She only settles further into her seat to get a better look at her wound, as if she has not heard him at all.

"Can you see it properly? It goes all the way above your elbow." He points out, the line of her wound completely visible to him.

It is on her her upper arm, a cut on the outerside, curving its way around. A fine slash from a simple knife that she'd dodged in the end. Gojo finds it ironic that she ended up getting herself injured the one time she wasn't wearing her usual miko attire.

He raises a wandering hand to the ceiling until the light flickers on, and he can see with startling clarity, the beads of blood on Utahimes skin, every minute detail of her —seemingly surface— wound and notices how the car feels even more like a matchbox than it had felt in the dark.

Utahime frowns, as if she had preferred the darkness too.

"I can help." He offers earnestly. I won't touch you. He wants to assure her. God, he'd give anything for her to pull back her cryptic silence.

The light casts a warm glow above them and Utahimes sleek, dark dress shimmers when she moves, shifting to look at the underside of her forearm.

"Just hold it up, I'll clean it for you." Gojo tells her.

Utahime unclenches her jaw to release a resigned huff as if to protest, but she follows his instructions nevertheless. She raises her arm just enough to ensure that her wound is visible, she holds it over her eyes as if she is beyond exhausted. Maybe she doesn't want to look at him. Maybe it's both.

The first aid box is already laid open between them, organized with gauze wraps and antiseptic. It was the first thing Utahime took out when they got into the car after wrapping up their assignment. He wonders briefly if she's placed it between them as a physical barrier of sorts — to keep him at length — because if so, Gojo finds that he can lean over it quite easily.

He swipes a wet cotton pad over her wound and the shape of her scarlet mouth changes into a wince, a sharp hiss passing through her lips.

"Sorry," he mutters, continuing to wipe away the seeping blood off her arm. "Shouldn't have let this hap—"

"You didn't let this happen." Utahime tells him abruptly. "I did."

He shrugs, pretending to be more aloof than he feels.

" Still... 'Could've helped you out."

"Our mission was fine. We got everything we came for didn't we?"

Gojo doesn't respond, understanding that Utahime is definitely not in the mood to talk.

"I'm going to put some cotton and gauze on that before I wrap it up." He announces, wanting to be as transparent and accommodating as possible. So he unrolls the gauze and manages to snap it off to wrap to the curve of her wound. He uses just his fingers and thumb with incredible dexterity, and does not touch her her skin in any way at all, but he can feel how it gives under the press of the cotton under his thumb.

"I'm done." Gojo withdraws his hand. "You can lower your arm now."

And she does lower it. It doesn't take much for her arm to fit like a literal barrier between them. She brings it down carefully, and it descends like a veil from her face, a beat skipping in his chest when their eyes meet. Her eyes glittering as usual, flutter and blink and she is quick to avert her gaze. He has leaned in further than he meant to, he realises. He really shouldn't have.

"You're not hurt anywhere else?" He asks cautiously.

"No."

"Sure?"

"I'm certain." she returns, curt.

Gojo leans back into his own space, retracting his hand as he clears his throat. He turns his knees away from her too, pulling the first aid kit towards himself to arrange everything back into place and to dispose of the swabs.

"Thank you." Utahime says after a moment, just as he starts rolling up the gauze.

Gojo hums in acknowledgment, pretending like he has the busiest task in the entire world. Utahime is quick to turn the overhead light off as soon as he's done and they are swallowed by darkness again.

Somehow, it feels easier to think now. Gojo decides to mull over the details of their assignment. Their mission was successful, more than that actually. They'd figured out crucial information about a black market of cursed objects and managed to infer the location of their operations. There isn't much to fret over in that regard.

There isn't much to complain about either, Utahime had been a great partner. She was smart, resourceful and quick on her feet. She didn't need to be told twice about anything in fact, she would finish his sentences halfway, matching his thoughts almost exactly. They didn't waste time bickering over things like he had anticipated, she had a good sense of judgement and they found themselves on the same page often.

It was also easier to not hold himself back so much. He knew where her nerves were, and could maneuver himself with ease and deliberation. It wouldn't have been like that if it had been someone else, like Mei Mei.

It was amazing, in a sense. He hadn't had so much fun working with someone in a long time. A part of him felt less alone because of it.

But maybe it was him that had ruined things between them. Maybe that's why she was being cold and distant. Maybe she didn't want him near because she was uncomfortable and regretful. The atmosphere in the car as it stands, feels strained to him and unfair mostly because they've just done a great job, but Utahime is hurt and probably mad at him. So he decides to check.

"Three!" Gojo says aloud to no one in particular. It shatters the silence in the car and he knows it startles Utahime because he hears the sharp intake of her breath, and he finds her hand raised to her chest as she glares at him when he looks over.

"Can't you be quiet?"

"Hm?" Gojo mumbles, like he doesn't know what that reaction is for.

His brain is stuck on a very insistent replay of the mission they are returning from and Gojo is intent on distracting himself by talking, and talking and talking. He will make sure Utahime forgets her discomfort too, and actually look at him in the eye. So he extends a slow lazy arm towards her, holding out three fingers.

"That was three cursed objects right? There were supposed to be two."

"Well...yes." Utahime answers curtly. "The two we managed to snag weren't even the most potent with cursed energy. Locating the third shouldn't be hard, provided we keep tabs on our suspect for the next couple of days."

"I'll tell Ichiji to assign someone."

Utahime gives a vague nod before turning away from him to face the window.

"Look, can we just— not talk for while?" She says. "I'm tired."

"Sure." Gojo responds quietly, having his suspicions confirmed. He lets his head fall back against the headrest, letting all the breath leave his body. Maybe he should take the time to rest his eyes. This drive was probably going to be the longest of his life.

Fifteen minutes pass in silence, until he hears Utahime shifting to his right and when he sneaks a look her way he sees her wiping at her face.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning up so it won't be a hassle later." Utahime answers eventually, sparing him no glances, passing a wet wipe over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

Isn't it too dark? Gojo wants to ask, but decides against it. He doesn't see why she needs to rush the process, especially while they're in a moving car of all things.

He also can't really think of a quip to respond with, given that he's pretty sure he's either used everything he had for tonight or he really can't trust himself with words at the moment. So he gives her a vague nod in acknowledgement.

Now that his eyes have adjusted in the muted dark, Gojo can see her scar beginning to show, under her eye and over the bridge of her nose. She had covered it up for the sake of their mission after all.

When he had set his eyes on her for the first time tonight his jaw was as good as hitting the floor for a multitude of reasons. Her scar was missing for one thing, and she had never looked — so dazzling and glamorous or — so unlike herself ever. But the dour look in her eyes was the same, and she was the same when she spoke his name with the same inflections, which excited him.

So it made sense for their undercover mission in the grand scheme of things. The knee high slit in her dress however, did not. In the end he had commented on neither.

Now Utahime seems intent on deconstructing her get-up as soon as possible, since she pulls out the pins in her hair next. The passing lights behind her profile are dimmed by the tinted window, but it is just enough to mark the lines of her graceful silhouette.

One by one by one, Utahime takes the pins out and drops them into the open clutch on her lap. Gojo watches her swift, careful movements with an acute fascination. Then she begins to unravel her hair from it's intricate twist with a slender hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gojo follows the easy movement of her fingers combing through her hair. The ghost of a sensation presses against his own, prompted by his treacherous memory.

It would feel like silk to the touch he knows now. It would feel like water through his fingers.

Gojo fights the urge to clear his throat and Utahime seems so focused on her task it almost feels like she's forgotten he exists. Something he doesn't find himself minding too much, because at least it lets him look. (Even if he has to do it peripherally.)

With every pass of her fingers she becomes closer and closer to the Utahime he knows, to the look that he's used to seeing. Even though she never wears her hair down like this. Not often enough anyway. Never often enough. Free flowing and cascading over her (never) bare shoulders in a dark, gleaming curtain.

In the past — like, ages ago, when he was a teenager — Utahimes prettiness was just something he would take guesses at. It was definitely something to think about wasn't it? Whether his stupidly snooty, smarty-pants-senpai was actually pretty or whether it was just a personal problem he had with her. His mind would stick to her like glue, she had his attention without even doing anything in particular (other than being bossy) and that needed looking into.

He used to tease her about it well enough. Hah, Utahime!  You're so prissy. No shrine maiden costumes can hide the fact you're a big fat nerd!

According to his brilliant teenage brain, the probability of Utahime being pretty wasn't very high with that personality of hers. He had reckoned that if it were, it would be the worst possible thing in the entire world. Totally and absolutely: unfair. (Because that would mean she had a league, and Gojo Satoru did not want to face the fact that he might not be anywhere near it.)

Now, at twenty three years old, in this car, in the dark, Gojo finds himself wondering the same thing.

Except now it is less about being pretty and more about other things. Like the long running realisation that he did in fact consider her a friend, which was not the kind of grace he offered many. She had been there for a while now, for years even, but he was unsure if she knew that, which was also probably his fault.

Because old habits died hard and in adulthood, he'd goaded her still. Hah! Your tastes in food are so bitter Utahime... Men really don't like beer breath y'know? Give my condolences to the poor sap that'll kiss you. Bwahahaha!

It had been him.

He was the sap.

Ambitious and determined, tonight, he had been the poor sap.

He had kissed her and was now suffering the consequences, hanging off of the edge of Utahimes tense and uncomfortable silence. It became the air between them.

Funnily enough he knows their motivations had been the same, their eyes catching an understanding before it happened. She had given her permission and he had taken it. There was no room for misunderstanding was there? Unless—

No. She didn't hate him that much, did she? This was an experience that he couldn't even begin to think about without prodding at some semi-dormant, unsated desire and a million complicated feelings to match. It was hard to look at this objectively. Not to mention that he had sensory memories left to torture him now. Memories! And not a single shred of embellishment from his own imagination.

This chunk of Gojos life experience came into being not even an hour ago. There was no haze of passing time clinging to it. Instead Gojo could recall every little thing with alarming clarity. The touch of a roaming hand on his shoulder, a pull at his tie and a gratitous sound spoken into his mouth that wasn't his own.

Nothing bitter about it at all. Not even close.

Gojo runs his tongue between his teeth, and pushes his hair back all the way to the top of his head. He loosens his tie, which is beginning to feel like a chafing confine around his throat. He really should've taken his suit jacket off before getting in the car, he thinks irritatibly, leaning his head against the window and tucking a fist under his chin. He closes his eyes again briefly.

How long is this drive supposed to be anyway?

A long moment passes and he cracks an eye open, sneaking a sidelong glance at Utahime, who feels too far from him and at the same time not far enough. He catches her reflection in the glass of her window. He can make out the shape of her scar in the translucent haze, trace the fine curve of her cheek. He sees her blank expression and notices how her gaze seems unfocused, as if she's not really following the view outside at all.

It's almost as if her mind is elsewhere entirely.

*

They were being followed, and that's what set them in motion.

That's what had them throwing arms around each other in a quick frenzy, trying to hide and to remain hidden. Naturally, there had been some resistance and whispered bickering as they tried to gain some distance. There had been hushed instructions and quiet protests in their whispered hisses. They had come here under the guise of being a couple after all. In the end all it took was desperation for success, a begrudging sense of duty and a pull of the wrist to thrust them into the deep blue shadows of the night.

That's how they ended up, entangled and backed against a garden wall. Tense. Cautious.

Close.

Utahime sensed a movement in her periphery, and she did not let herself overthink it. She tightened her arms around Gojo ( she had thrown them around his neck, to be precise) and shifted her weight to the tips of her toes until she felt the press of his chest against hers, firm and warm.

She had done it to pull him out of sight, tall as he was. It would help if he lost some of that ridiculous height by prompting him to lean in. It coaxed a breath out of him which ghosted her neck, her ear brushing his cheek as she looked over his shoulder, monitoring the curse user that had been following their movements.

Utahime kept her gaze fixed on him, moving her hand to secure her fingers over the back of Gojos neck.

"He's lingering." She whispered, registering the brief stutter in his breathing. She was trying to keep the tremor out of her voice too. They could not risk being discovered as suspicious guests, they hadn't gathered enough intel on all the cursed objects whereabouts, especially now that they knew there was more than one.

If one of the hosts suspected that their object was stolen ( which it was, sealed and tucked into Gojos coat pocket) they would still need more time to gather information or their mission would've been all for nothing. They needed to look foolish and harmless and as it stood, looking foolish was...difficult.

"He keeps looking over." Utahime told him, grappling through the very literal distraction of Gojos entire physical being. She described the movements of the man in the distance who was curiously circling an elaborate fountain — a curse user, who seemed to belong to the security of the estate — she was acutely aware of the movement of Gojos thumb on her waist as acknowledgement. "He's walking to the side, I think he's trying to get a proper look at us without getting too close. He's definitely suspicious."

"Shift." Was all Gojo said, tightening his hold to move them closer into the narrow niche in the wall. His fingers were firm as they pressed into the small of her back. He braced his arm to the wall, just above her head to ease them into the space. It was barely big enough to accommodate them. Gojo lowered his head to hers, shifting as if to obstruct her from view.

She felt the barest graze of his jaw against her cheek, the low hum of his voice vibrating through her when he whispered in her ear. "Did that work? Is he looking?"

Utahime tightened her hold on him again, letting her hands wander over his shoulders to make it seem natural. The fabric of his suit felt smooth under her fingertips. Then her arms were back to how they were before, around his neck as she pulled him into an embrace again, her cheek pressing into his shoulder as she looked over it to answer his question.

"He has his phone out. It looks he's on a call but he keeps glancing over. I'm certain he's pretending, or he could be calling for back up."

She heard him click his tongue. "That's no good."

And maybe it was the fact that she was in his arms that she had the terrible idea. A very possible-impossible kind of thought. Maybe it was the clean, crisp scent of him. Maybe it was the warmth of his body close to hers and the weight of his hand now settled on her waist.

Or maybe just maybe, it was the fact that their eyes met at the exact moment when he said this, that it was the first time they even looked at each other properly since they squeezed themselves into this narrow space.

Or rather —everything aside — it was more the fact that it could work. The thought in her head was a probable solution to discourage suspicion. Why wouldn't it be? Surely it would be repulsive to invasive, prying eyes? It would certainly make them look careless and non-threatening wouldn't it?

Utahime managed to nod in response to Gojo and found that the cool blue gaze he returned felt electric, a jolt to her system that made her nervous.

He was thinking, she could tell, but could not discern the nature of his expression. She saw how the shadows exaggerated the length of his lashes and deepened the hollow of his cheeks. She noticed how they underlined the pouted fold of his lower lip in a dark sweep. Most of all, the moonlight made his eyes glisten somehow, like shards of glittering ice.

Everything was so still between them. So quiet.

Right now she didn't let herself exhale, didn't let herself think. There was a timer in her head, ticking away the slow treacherous seconds. The timer did not anticipate the moment they would be discovered. No, it was running towards a moment that would come just before that. A circumstance that was growing more enticing and inevitable and awful the more she gazed up at Gojo, who seemed not to be breathing either. He was so very still and his eyes were calm as they bore into hers, contemplative, thoughtful.

Then his gaze faltered. Ever so slightly, dropping down to her mouth before it was back up again, brimming with a question he didn't even need to ask, even though his lips had parted to speak.

"Utahime," Gojo spoke so quietly, she barely heard him. "I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

All it took was the slightest nod of her head and the careful tilt of her chin and then, swiftly but carefully, Gojo did exactly what he said he would.

*

"Utahime."

She turns to look at him, and her earring twinkles in the dark. "Yeah?"

How unfair. Gojo thinks.

Utahime looks at him expectantly, waiting.

“You wanna write the report for this one?” He manages to ask. “ Or should I?”

“You can do it." she says, which is unlike her.

“Okay.” he says, which is unlike him.

Gojo can’t help but unreasonably begrudge the fact that Utahime keeps her hands to herself, folded neatly in her lap. Too gentle for sorcerer, too soft. He rests his own on his knee. Solitary and unmoving.

“Gojo.”

“Yeah?”

“ Just don’t forget the part about the hidden compartment under the floorboards.”

“Yep.”

“Or the screaming doorknobs. Or the trapdoor with the cursed charm and that super weird—“

“I was literally right there Utahime.” Gojo scoffs. "I'll make sure to write about how you almost pushed me into the fountain."

"I did not push you—"

"Didn't you?" Gojo demands. "If I remember correctly, you were rushing me and nearly tipped me over."

"Oh? I thought you thought I'm too weak for something like that. I did no such thing. You'd be sopping wet otherwise, and as far as I can tell, you're as dry as any other overdressed twig."

He has to scoff to stop himself from laughing at the scalding insult.

"That's because I caught myself in time, you're just too pushy." Gojo retorts, glad that they're finally talking.

"Good thing this'll be our first and last mission together then."

"I work better alone anyway."

"So do I." Utahime responds.

Why is it offensive when she says it?

"Oh, so the trap door found itself? The dealer gave up his next location on a whim did he?"

"He might as well have. He was a wimp and you were hounding him unnecessarily."

"And what would you have done? Hit him with your purse? Stab him with your earring?"

"What is your problem Gojo? If you don't want to write the report, don't. I'll do it."

"No, I'll do it. I brought I up didn't I?"

"Stay quiet about it then." She says with finality, which he reads as a shut the hell up.

"Whatever." He grumbles, dissatisfied with this end to the conversation. For a moment he had succeeded in getting her to talk to him and he had ruined it and now she was mad and silent again.

He sighs dramatically, turning to the window to his left and presses his forehead to the glass. "Get me outta here." He groans, loud enough for Utahime to hear but not really meaning it. He turns his head the slightest, trying to sneak a glimpse of her non existent response through the corner of his eye.

He finds her fidgeting with the bandage on her arm.

"Hey," Gojo lifts his head. " Your arm okay?"

"Yeah," Utahime answers. "The bandage is a little tight though, it was fine first but now I think it's cutting off my circu—"

"Lemme fix it." Gojo tries, reaching his hand out as an expression of his offer.

"No it's fine I can just—" Utahime counters, her hand unwittingly brushing his — because she had gestured his hand away and clearly didn't anticipate the contact. Neither did he, and a flame ghosts over his entire body. She stammers, snatching her hand back like she's been electrocuted. "N-No I'll just ease it up."

"Okay."

She nods, getting to work on loosening her bandage with one hand.

"Is it still bleeding?"

"A little, that asshole managed to nick me after all."

"Hey, at least you got to punch him in the face after." He reminds her. "I thought you were gonna dislocate his jaw."

"I would never!"

He scoffs. "Right. Little miss goody-two shoes."

Utahime doesn't respond to that and Gojo feels like smacking himself upside the head. He didn't have to say that? He was doing so well. Why did she make it so easy to push her buttons? Why was falling to the trap of delicious banter with her so irresistible?

"You'd disapprove... but if you hadn't punched the guy, I definitely would've."

"For what reason?"

"Well he hurt you didn't he? Plus bad vibes."

"Bad vibes?"

"The worst." Gojo scrunches his nose. "Blegh."

Utahime scoffs, but he can tell it's an amused scoff and so he feels pleased.

"D'you really think I'm over dressed?" Gojo asks unwittingly after a moment.

"Does it matter?"

"You're the one who noticed, Utahime." He returns, not knowing what else to say. He feels discouraged suddenly, by the fact she is still intent on dodging and deflecting.

Gojo leans his head against the window, still watching her through the tilted slant of his eyes.

"Whatever," He mutters. " 'S not like I care. For the record, I do not think you're too weak to push me into a fountain, I think you're incredibly capable of both planning and executing that to perfection and enjoying it. I bet you're sad you didn't get to."

"You think I'm that petty?" Utahime asks coldly. "Don't act like you know what I'm feeling."

He scoffs. "As if you'd tell me anyway."

--

The climb back to the school is long too. The moon is overhanging above the building in the far distance, a pale watchful eye.

Utahime is at least ten steps ahead of him —and therefore, also above him. She'd scrambled quickly out of the car the second it stopped, offering lightning quick instructions to the auxiliary driver to file and store the cursed objects according to protocol before Gojo could even put his foot to the pavement.

Now he ambles mindlessly up the steps, intent on maintaining a reasonable distance between them. The sound of her footfalls on the stones is the only noise in the empty blue night, a tapping of her heels that repeatedly draws his attention.

Why?

Irritated, he picks up the pace, marching sharply ahead until he matches where Utahime is and scoffs obnoxiously, until he is ahead of her by a few steps ( he makes sure to stay in her line of sight). Only, he doesn't get far at all because he feels a tug on his arm, and it stops him in his tracks.

She's pinching the fabric at his elbow.

"You really—" Utahime begins behind him, out of nowhere."You really aren't overdressed you know." She breathes, sounding just slightly out of breath, the weight of her pull tugs at his arm.

"You look perfect— " She clears her throat and his heart rattles. "Perfectly fine... And I would not push you into a fountain Gojo, even if I know how to do it. Even if I thought you deserved it."

He turns, and her fair, moonlit face is slightly angled up towards him, — she is at least three steps lower than him — even though her eyes are downcast to the pavement.

"And I... I've been feeling—," at this, the pinch on his sleeve tightens. "Upset about the things that did not go right tonight. Like my arm, like the cursed object we couldn't track down. Part of that was my responsibility and I was— I am upset that I didn't do better."

Utahime withdraws her hand, and meets his eye with a firm look and and a gentle voice.

"So whatever's going on in your head about me, stop it okay?"

And with that she lets go of his sleeve, passing him as she takes her steps forward in a steady pace, leaving him where he stands.

"Wait—" He calls, turning around.

He's surprised to find Utahime at least eight steps above him, and it's his turn to look up at her. How did she cover so much distance in this time? He believes every word she's told him, but was that really all that was upsetting her? Why did it still feel like she was trying to escape him?

"You'll be late with your report." She warns, "Yaga sensei will expect it first thing in the morning."

"I don't believe you." Gojo counters easily, "Or you wouldn't have left it to me."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it? When was the last time I handed one in on time?"

"Why would I know that?"

"Because you've nagged me about it before. Because you know me, Utahime. Don't you?" Thankfully, his words come out earnest instead of standoffish. "Since you act like it so much."

Utahime blinks at him, frowning as her mouth parts but no words come out, at a clear and obvious loss. Maybe he imagines it — it's hard to tell — but her cheeks darken with spots of color.

"Gotcha," he says quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a relaxed smirk.

"Well, what is it?" Utahime asks him. She has angled her head slightly to regard him, tucking a stand of her hair behind her ear, pushing them back over her shoulder as if it will help her see better. It reveals more of her face to him, more of her scar, and her dark expectant eyes and he finds that it's worse for his heart that she's back to looking exactly like herself ( all dressed up and fancy and statuesque as he gazes up at her ) and something in his chest stutters violently. His mouth feels dry.

But never mind that, It's his turn after all. He takes a few steps forward and watches her follow his movements as he rises. ( There are only five steps between them now.)

"Was that okay?" He asks.

She blinks, not quite understanding.

Gojo shifts, sliding one hand into his suit pocket as he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Back there, at the gardens... when we were hiding was that—" He shifts again, touching the back of his neck. "Was it— Are we good about it Utahime?"

She stands very still and observes him for a really long moment.

"Why wouldn't we be?" She says eventually.

"You're not mad?"

"I don't see what there is to be mad about." Utahime replies simply, her face unreadable. "Our mission was close to being compromised, you made a tactical decision, you asked me and I consented and we both came out of it unscathed and somewhat successful."

"I made a tactical decision?" Gojo repeats, perplexed.

"Didn't you?"

"I mean yeah but that's not what I'm trying to—"

"What are you trying to do then Gojo?".

"I didn't take advantage of the situation." Gojo blurts out before he can stop himself. "I didn't do it to take advantage of you, or anything like that okay? That's all I'm trying to say. So if that's also something you're upset abou—"

"I believe you." She interrupts flatly."I suppose that much was crystal clear."

"Was it?"

"I just supposed you didn't want to but you had to, isn't that right?" she guesses, her eyes lock on him with a startling intensity as he blinks at her, her gaze sticks to him even when he shifts his shoulders again when she finishes her question.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, a key slips into a lock and clicks. Gojo is struck with such an absurd clarity that he can't help blurt out the words. They come out charged with an insatiable curiosity. Compelled, he takes a step forward.(There are four left between them.)

"Is that what's bothering you? That I might not have wanted to?"

She cared about that?

Utahime flushes, and tears her gaze from him. She wrings her hands together, embarrassed, bowing her head to look at the steps. Her hair follows the movement, falling over her shoulder to hide her face.The moonlight clings to her in a glowing haze, settling on her face, on the bare skin of her pale neck and arms. They look so soft. She looks so soft. A feeling ghosts over his fingertips again, warming his palms. She shifts, and the whole of her dark, night colored dress glitters with her.

Gojo sighs deeply, reaching for the back of his neck where it feels like it's on fire. He should shut up, but he can't lie.

"Well whatever you're thinking, it's not true Utahime." She looks at him furtively, not quite understanding.

"Tactical decision making and permissions aside, I wanted to." He admits. "Mission or not, I would have wanted to."

He should really really (really!!!!) shut up now, but he doesn't.

"If I'd had it my way, and if you really wanted it Utahime," he says evenly, meeting her gaze. "I wouldn't have stopped."

Utahime regards him, her gaze rising, looking struck. He looks at her too, searching. Did he go too far? Did he mess up?

She was probably going to jujutsu him off this campus wasn't she? Maybe throw the clutch that's hanging off her shoulder at his face for misunderstanding everything.

He watches her hands unfurl (they had been clenched tight at her sides) and fidget to smooth out the sleek skirt of her dress. Her chest rises with the deep breath she takes. She steps down towards him — and he tries not to breathe — her eyes are nearly level with his.

"If I had it my way... I would not have stopped you, Gojo."

Spoken like a whisper, but it rings like a bullet.

A riot roars in his chest, a searing heat pours into his body. He straightens and a shift flickers in his eyes. He wants so much, to touch her again, to place his fingers on her waist with a different intention and make her know it. He finds he already has the semblance of a plan. One where he starts by memorising the shape of her soft, pliant mouth with his own. Maybe follow the the smooth curve of her cheeks, her scar, then her neck, her shoulders—

But... she's being sarcastic right? Could she be mocking him? Dazed for a moment, he steps closer towards her. (They are evenly matched in height now, and it does not matter that there are still two steps between them.)

"Careful Utahime," He whispers cautiously, disbelieving. "They might send you off with me on another one, you might even have to kiss me again."

Utahimes hand rises to touch the lapel of his coat.

"I won't mind."

Gojo lets the back of his knuckles graze her face.

"You sure?"

"I'm certain."

"Yeah?"

Utahime rolls her eyes then, he feels the lightest tug on his coat when she decides to answer him with an unbelievable, earth shattering kiss.

The first feeling is shock, overcome quickly by a strong, weightless elation that he feels all the way down to his toes. Then he fights the urge to laugh. Ofcourse she'd want to show him up like this, for asking too many questions, for persistently annoying her like that, and he finds it really really hard to mind. He flutters his eyes shut, feels the most overwhelming sensation take root in his chest and heat up in his blood.

He reaches a hand out to touch her waist briefly, before correcting himself. He raises both hands to touch her face — his fingers slipping easily into her silken hair, his palms pressing into her warm, supple cheeks —to move in as close as the step will allow him. He tilts his face slightly, parting his lips to kiss her deeper — properly —in a way he absolutely couldn't before.

Utahimes hand moves to part his coat, her fingers skimming over his chest and downwards, to rest lightly where his ribs are. Her other one rises and her fingers curl over his wrist where he's holding her, and squeezes it lightly.

She pulls away from him then, the smallest of distances."You know I'll stumble if I get any closer right?"

"Huh?" Gojo responds, understanding what she means but finding it hard to care, even though she's right. With the uneven steps of stone between them, technically speaking, they're not even touching from the neck down.

"We'll have to move. You know that right?" 

"Sure, but—" He mutters impatiently, leaning in to kiss her again. "In a bit, okay?"

And when Utahime doesn't pull away from him, he smiles, and the rest feels like heaven.