Archive of Our Own ^omega

Chapter Text

the dark shadows of the halls welcomed you as you dragged your tired body towards your room. resting your head on your closed door, you try to ease the fresh guilt in your mind after having to wake ieri at this ungodly hour.

sorry ieri.

you make a mental note to pick up something for her this week as a thank you.

ever since your recent promotion, the higher ups have gotten increasingly comfortable sending you out on longer missions. this one was a doozy – 3 weeks, the longest you’ve ever been away. Shirakawa was beautiful albeit too quiet, the chaotic cacophony that made up Tokyo was more comforting to your ears. It was a long and arduous 3 weeks, multiple curses with multiple people involved – you were nearing your limit and were ready to be consumed by your fluffy bed. exhausted. running on empty. you felt like your body was going to give out, exhausted by even the thought of having to shower. but deep down, it was the slow growing hollow feeling in your bones that you were concerned with. you were worried that it would devour you from the inside out until there was nothing left of you.

your head pulsed against the your still closed door, groaning softly as you superficially attempt to calm your irregularly beating heart. it was a new rhythm that you were strangely getting more and more acquainted, you were almost thankful for the noise – it was a reminder that you were still alive. you were even grateful for your audible panting for if it got too quiet you could still hear the screams of helplessness, see the massacred bodies, feel the adrenaline spikes accompanied by the burn of your lungs and –

the bandaged wound on your side jolts alive, a reminder of your service – your duty. a promise. growing pains sucker punch you back into the darkness of reality. glazed eyes glance down at your whitening knuckles, gripping the door knob.

breathe. nothing can hurt you, you’re safe. just breathe.

the rustle of an opening door shakes you out of the corners of your messy mind.

“well, well, well – look who’s still alive! how was the mission, babe?”

just fucking breathe. you groan in annoyance.

ugh babe? ugh. not this. not right now. what was he doing up at this hour?

gojo’s voice was too cheerful, his taunting smile was too sharp for your dulled senses. you didn’t have the stamina for this right now.

“m’ not in the mood, gojo,” you mutter, voice foreign to your own ears. the hollowness threatened to spill into waking reality. opening the door with a click, you quickly turn your weary body away from the tall, lanky boy. wanting to hide yourself from him, you retreated into to the familiar darkness of your room. but before you could shut the door, an irritating foot stops the final barrier from closing.

“i’m hungry.”

you stare at him like he grew two heads – finally something to accurately represent his gigantic ego. what was he playing at? dark glasses slightly down his slender nose and unphased gojo takes a quick peek at your inscrutable stare, meeting it with a cheeky smile before speedily waltzing into your room and diving aggravatingly onto your neatly made bed.

“uuuuughhhhhhh gojo – oh my god – can you not – “

eyebrows furrowing, you run a hand through your unruly hair in irritation. you were home for a mere hour and you already wanted to strangle him – a new record. with someone blessed with six eyes, he truly couldn’t see a thing. blind to the little things, too preoccupied focusing on a bigger picture…and that bigger picture right now was to annoy you.

gojo had a playfulness that was usually more tolerable– but not tonight. tonight you were nearing a cliff and gojo was shoving you closer and closer to the edge of insanity.

he whines your name. “i said, I’m hungry,” he repeats stretching his long legs out, making himself comfortable on your bed.

“okay, so that’s my problem – why?” rolling your eyes as you walk deeper into your room, switching on the bedside lamp. a warm light illuminates the room, simultaneously emphasising your fatigue while radiating gojo’s mischief. his loose t-shirt rides up slightly as he picks up the pink bunny plushie on your bed – a gift from geto for your birthday.

“come with me to the convenience store?” he holds the bunny’s hands together in a begging motion, “pleasepleasepleaseplea–“ voice pitched up two octaves.

“no. go by yourself!” you huff as you rummage through your dresser finding some soft shorts and a baggy t-shirt before sitting on your bed, making sure to keep your distance from the white haired intruder in your room. you stare at him irritatingly, testily bouncing your knee up and down.

“but I want someone to come with me!” the bunny says with a hand on it’s hip, the other pink plush arm moving a long ear out of his face impatiently.

“then go wake up geto!” you snap. he whines your name as he aggressively hugs your bunny plushie.

“he left for a mission yesterday… and anyway I want you to come with me. c’mon just this once? I know you must be hungry. I can hear the ol’tummy grumbly grumble from hereeeeee.”

gojo’s pale face pouts with a frown at your silence. “c’mon look! you’re making Bun Bun sad, look at him – he’s crying!” gojo moves the bunny’s little hands over its face, the plushie’s sweet little body hunched over.

god damn. Bun Bun was actually crying. shit, you had to act fast.

irritated you rub your eyes, your headache was slowly building to a peak and your patience was running dangerously thin. if you didn’t stop him from whining, you’d just have to kill him.

“uuughhhh why don’t I just cook for us? I have shit in the fridge I think?,” you counter, desperately trying to find a way to stop his grovelling instantly.

he hesitated, considering your offer.

you exhaled in relief, enjoying the sweet, sweet silence. the joy of the almost absence of gojo.

but it was over too soon. “huh. I didn’t know you were the cooking type,” gojo counters with a questioning expression on his boyish face. he shifted slightly snuggling into your fluffy pillows.

“yeah, sure. I can cook,” you mumble, massaging your temple. you were not really paying attention to what he was saying, you were busy trying to convince yourself that this was the better option than murdering satoru gojo.

gojo impatiently uses one of your bunny’s stumpy pink arms to annoyingly paw at your cheek while you were in thought. “…so is that a yes to food?”

when did he get so close? ugh.

you slap his arm away, abruptly standing, stomping your way towards your bathroom.

“...babe? I said, is that a yes to food?”

wincing as you move to unbutton your uniform jacket aggressively, exposing a flimsy tank underneath you turn to him.

you watch as gojo’s bright eyes stare at your healing wound briefly before taking in your figure, gawking at the sight of your chest before a cocky smile paints his pale face, his ears going slightly pink.

“oOoOoh do you need me to help undress–“

“get out.”

“but what about – “

“fine- fucking fine! just leave – now.”

his lanky body springs up from your bed in victory. gojo gently lays down your bunny on the bed whispering “see Bun Bun? I knew we’d win. I always do.” kissing the top of his little head, before swiftly walking out of your room with a bright smile, “meet you in the kitchen!”

shaking your head as you into the bathroom, you turn on the shower faucet and can’t help but notice the growing silence in his absence. looking into the mirror before getting into the shower, you were surprised to find the ghost of the smallest grin on your face as well.

you walk into the kitchen with wet hair and comfy clothes to find gojo rummaging through the fridge. his tall frame hunched over, inspecting a jar of kimchi while he was humming what you recognized was the digimon theme song. the light of the refrigerator illuminated his firm, muscular body while you noticed that his eyes were now free from his usual dark glasses. his stark white hair tousled more messily than usual, courtesy of the habit that you recognized was from gojo running his hands through his hair.

joining him at the fridge, you ignore the warmth radiating off his body, and bump your hip to shove him out of the way. you hear his amused scoff and feel his judgey eyes on you. undaunted by his stare, you rustle in the fridge to find what you need.

placing a bundle of green onions and udon on the kitchen counter, you begin to fill a small pot with some water from the sink. you eye gojo expectedly, his hands deep in the pockets of his shorts, his head tilted curiously watching you.

was this asshole expecting you to do all the work? this fucking guy.

you jut out your elbow poking his firm side as he dramatically pouts at you, whining your name. you roll your eyes and place the pot on the stove.

“grab the dashi, mirin and soy sauce in my cupboard. then add some of each to this pot once the water boils,” you directed stiffly, beginning to finely chop the green onions.

perhaps mercifully sensing your quickly depleting energy, gojo dutifully returns with the ingredients and wordlessly does what you instructed. as he stirs the dashi, soy sauce and mirin into the broth, you add the udon, stirring with chopsticks separating the noodles carefully.

gojo begins rambling on about the increasing price of his favourite convenience store cake roll and how it’s still worth it because “…the Hokkaido whipped cream on the inside totally justifies the price increase. it really makes a difference, it’s so much richer, and that texture?! mmmpfffffhhh, it’s so fucking good, babe…”

you scrunch your nose in disgust at his overly enthusiastic moan.

gross. dude it’s just food.

“gojo, stop with the babe.”

“ehhh! what?? why? that’s you,” he pouts, moving one of hands on his hips while stirring the pot absentmindedly.

“i never agreed to that! anyway, I thought that was what you called geto,” reaching over, lowering the heat of the stove.

“nah, babe – suguru’s baby. you’re babe. big diff.” he explains leaning closer to you, eyes waiting for your challenge. but before you could argue, he was off rambling about his favourite cake rolls once again.

“… did ya hear that they were going to come out with a few new flavours? I know, crazy right? matcha and sesame!! wonder if it’ll be better than the original, i mean it’s hard to beat an icon. say… d’ya remember that one time – wait were you there that time? … or was it shoko? nah, it was probably shoko, I would’ve remembered if you were with us, babe. anyway, this one time I ate 6 of the cake rolls in one sitting and suguru – hey! are you listening to me?”

gojo cant help but drink in your appearance- were you paler than usual? your frame slightly swayed from exhaustion while you gently stirred the udon, staring into the bubbling broth mindlessly. your hair was still damp from your recent shower and you smelled slightly of lavender and vanilla. you smelled sweet, he wouldn’t mind smelling like you. he noticed how you’d favour your left side due to the wound, slightly wincing if you turned... it must have been pretty bad if shoko couldn’t heal it fully outright. but what worried him most was your almost unfamiliar eyes. you clearly weren’t listening to him, eyes dull, unfocused - there was no one there. usually your eyes were bright, full of life like when the early moon would illuminate the waves of the ocean. subtle and peaceful at first glance but vibrant and beautiful at a second glance. what he liked best was there was a sliver of rebellious glee in your gaze. a fleeting instance of chaotic delight. he caught a glimpse of it when you and shoko brainstormed lies to tell yaga to get out of training so you both could get that new blush in shinjuku, or when you finally pinned suguru for the first time after trying for months. gojo couldn’t help but be curious about your elusive nature. but currently your eyebrows furrowed like you were thinking about some that physically pained you, consumed by the chaos within.

“… uh hey – maybe you should sit down, babe. you don’t look so good right now..”

“oh now he’s concerned.” you quip. it didn’t take six eyes to see that your body was slowly reaching its limit. scrunching your eyes shut, tossing your body onto the nearest chair with a sigh. you weren’t in the mood to argue any longer.

he cringed slightly before softly protesting “hey. i knew you were fine - ”

“uh huh. don’t forget to add the green onions on top.”

“oh so bossy! but don’t not worry, I like-”

“gojo, can you like.. not be yourself for just 10 minutes? my head is killing me right now… please?” you interrupt his yapping, placing your pounding forehead on the table.

gojo snickers as turns his back from you, gently stirring the bubbling pot. he carefully places a bowl of steaming udon topped with green onions in front of you as well as a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. saying your thanks, you dip your spoon into the soup, swirling the clear broth. you watch the green onions float to the top. gathering the broth in your spoon, you almost groan as the warmth of the broth gently eases the pounding of your head while the light saltiness satisfyingly leaves a warm trail of comfort as it slid down your throat. glancing over at gojo curiously, you watch as he blows on his steaming noodles pinched between his chopsticks, slurping loudly before his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

pretty tasty, eh?

you and gojo eat in silence, the slurping of noodles enough of a conversation between you. admittedly, it was nice being in his company when he was quiet. his presence was so lively that he couldn’t help but take up space even in his silence. you weren’t sure if it was the warmth of the udon comforting you or his presence.

you’ve had udon like this before - just a few day ago a cute little grandma in Shirakawa made you the very same dish in her home. you could still feel her pleased smile as you complimented her cooking for the first time, the rasp in her voice when she protested when you helped her clean up, the warm touch of her wrinkly hands when she brushed the hair out of your face, the smell of her cozy house on fire, her blood staining –

putting down your chop sticks with more force than intended, you push the rest of your unfinished bowl towards gojo, his large hands instantly accepting the bowl without question. you feel the brush of his warm fingers against your cold shaking ones against the smooth porcelain of the bowl. hesitating at his touch briefly, you move quickly to creating more distance between the two of you.

“… where’d you learn to cook like that?’’ gojo questions through a mouthful of udon, unshaken.

“it’s just udon, gojo. it was really simple.”

“yeah.. but just because something is simple doesn’t mean it isn’t good! your mom teach you?”

“mnm, something like that. I’d used to watch my mom cook when I was younger. she hated cooking but begrudgingly learned because she had feed us. I guess she saw it as her duty as a mother.” you mused eyes closed.

“well, that’s stupid. she could have just bought food or hired a chef or something if she really hated it, couldn’t she?”

you huff in amusement, “you’re such a brat, y’know?”

“i’m just saying!! you shouldn’t have to do things that you don’t want to do.” gojo exclaims, putting down his spoon beside his second empty bowl.

“i mean, she did hated it. absolutely hated it but…her love for us was just stronger than her hate of the task. she learned our favourites and adjusted recipes to our liking, even though it would’ve been more work for her.”

“sounds like a dedicated woman.”

“she was, yeah. did … your… uh mother cook you dinner when you were a kid?” you realised you didn’t know anything about gojo’s family. you heard about his clan – the strength, power and influence that his family had – but you realised he never spoke about his family. his mother or his father, anyone at all. did he have any siblings? was he like his family? was he closer to his mother or his father? did he have his mother or father’s eyes? by name he was gojo, a part of a prestigious, ancient family but by spirit maybe… maybe he was just satoru.

oh god. imagine if his whole family was like him. your eyes narrow at the thought.

he hums thoughtfully, fiddling with his chopsticks, picking at the abandoned green onions in the bowl. “nah, the chef would make food for us, that was always good. but… my mother… she did make me dango one time.”

“is.. that your favourite dessert?”

“when she made it, it was.”

a silence fills the room, a thoughtful silence. when you dared to look into his eyes. there was something there that you didn’t recognize, the blue in his eyes was softer, more vulnerable. the usual mischievous spark behind his smile was missing, replaced with a forlorn thoughtfulness that you never associated with gojo.

this.. was new. you rest your heavy head on your palm and sighed. maybe there was more to gojo than cockiness, bravado and sheer power.

“Is that why you like cooking? reminds you of her?” gojo asks breaking the pregnant pause, drumming his fingers on the table.

“...babe? babe, you really gotta work on your listening skil-“ he peers across the table at your slumped figure, mouth slightly opened, breathing slowed with your head on the table.

gojo leans across the table to take a closer look at your face. it was a rare sight seeing you so defenseless, unshielded by your protective barriers you would put up around everyone. but even in sleep you still looked troubled, brows furrowing slightly. what was going on in that head of yours? gently, he touched the crease in between your eyebrows and chuckled when your face instantly relaxes to his touch. he smiles.

you could smell the blood sticking to your uniform, the screams of the villagers, their mutilated bodies beneath your feet as a disembodied hand reaches to grab your throat, squeezing painfully -

you jolt awake with a gasp, your soft comforter crumpling beside you. a thin sheen of sweat decorated your forehead. clammy fingers combing through your messy hair to self soothe.

you were in your room. you were safe. the sunlight across your wall indicated that it was probably early afternoon. you were alive.

but how.. how did you get here? did gojo.. carry you? ugh, god that’s embarrassing.

you put your head in your hands, groaning at the awkwardness. you reach on your beside table to grab your phone but you notice that Bun Bun was leaning against your lamp, posed to hold a hastily scribbled note with familiar handwriting:

beside the note was a cake roll.

rubbing the restlessness out of your eyes you wondered how someone who talked so much could make your busy head so quiet. scoffing at his antics, you smile.