Work Text:
“Am I boring you?” Mei is sitting up with her back against the headboard and her tablet in her lap, scrolling through a feed filled with charts and graphs that Satoru doesn’t care to decipher. Probably stocks. Her hair is neatly pinned up, not a strand out of place. No one would ever guess that she just spent the last hour railing into him like she has a personal vendetta against the Gojo bloodline. “You’re free to leave whenever you want, you know.”
Satoru closes his eyes and pulls the covers up over his head. “Shut up.” He knows he should go, but the night is heavy and damp, the humidity more potent than a cursed veil across the city. It's late summer and the heat shows no signs of laying up just yet.
"Tsk, tsk, you're not very chivalrous." She frames it as a joke, but there's an edge in her tone that he'd be stupid to miss.
"I've been told I'm a perfect gentleman," he says, burying himself deeper into her sheets. "Sorry."
"Hmm."
Satoru's clothes are folded neatly over the back of Mei's desk chair, and not thrown about as they usually are with his other lovers. Mei still has her silk nightgown on, never once taking it off for him. She never lets him touch her, not directly, and not in a way that matters.
It's kind of nice, the structure of it all: he comes over fifteen minutes to midnight on the dot, showers, and waits around on Mei's bed while she finishes whatever phone call she happens to be on - usually a broker in New York, sometimes Hong Kong. She doesn't like surprises, the spontaneity of life wasted on her temperament, but she likes Satoru enough to risk him showing up a few minutes late, or suddenly getting called away before the night is up. It's an easy routine they have, going on five months now, both of them waiting for the other to call it quits.
Funnily enough, this is the closest thing he’s ever had to a normal relationship. Mei has even been his only lover during the last three of these five months, a personal record in his book. He’s never slept with the same person more than a handful of times, so whatever he has with Mei is brand new. He thinks back to winter, to the phone call he had with Utahime, and a very vocal part of him wants to call her up and say See? I’m not the person you think I am, you just weren’t looking hard enough. Loving me doesn’t have to be something to be afraid of; I’m much tamer than you think.
Satoru exhales. He knows there’s no point to that, only in part because it’s not true. Regardless of any false sense of stability, Satoru can still never offer her what she really wants. What she needs. Utahime would never be safe with him, physically, emotionally, or otherwise. She’d never know peace and, somewhere deep beneath his pride, he knows that more than anyone.
So why does his mind always circle back to that phone call? To the question she never answered?
“Hey, Mei. Tell me something.”
“What is it, Gojo?” Her tone tells him she’s only half paying attention, which is more than he usually gets.
“Am I a difficult person to love?”
She laughs openly, suddenly, and he clenches his fists around her sheets on instinct. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t love you.”
“Tch. Fine. Am I a difficult person to like then?”
“Of course.”
Satoru is above admitting how much that hurt, so he makes a point to not get up and leave right here and now. “Why do you spend so much time with me then?”
Mei looks down at him, a condescending mixture of amusement and pity lurking in her eyes. “Aww, don’t tell me you’re getting attached to little ol’ me?”
“Hell no,” he spits out, turning around so that his back is facing her. “Just curious.”
He can feel her eyes on him, wide and unflinching, the weight of being studied pressing against his temples. “I spend time with you because it’s convenient. Just like how you spend time with me to hurt someone else.”
Satoru throws back the covers and sits up on the edge of the bed. “Fuck you,” he says, and means it. The outburst surprises them both. “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about. You don’t know me. Just go back to counting your fucking money, since that’s all there’s room for in that block of ice you call a heart.”
The silence that follows is frigid, a stark contrast to the summer heat. He inhales, holds it, then lets it all out. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, Mei Mei.”
“How dare you of all people look down on me over money. I don’t need to hear this from someone who has never once gone to bed hungry.” Her hard stare is still cold on his bare back, the venom in her voice seeping into his spine. “Don’t ever snap at me like that again, unless you really do want to be all alone. It’s not my fault you’re a pathetic excuse for a man.”
His lungs cave in on themselves, the air refusing to come or go.
Why is he like this? Why is Utahime always right about him? Why is everyone always right about him?
Satoru leans his elbows down on his knees and hides his head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp until pain pricks behind his eyes. “I know, okay?” His voice is small, a mockery of the aggressor it was just moments ago. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t answer, just turns back to scrolling on her tablet, her finger tapping the screen harder and faster than before. There’s a pit in his chest that he recognizes as guilt, but he doesn’t know how to get rid of it, so he opts to ignore it. It’ll go away on its own. It always does.
Both his cell phone and his work phone are in the pockets of his pants, one turned off since before he arrived at Mei Mei’s house, the other never having been turned off since the day he got it. He gets up and searches through his clothes pile to pull his personal phone out, bringing it back to life. No new notifications, surprisingly. Usually, he is very popular with Yaga or his students whenever he’s with a partner, no matter the time of night. It’s 2:52 in the morning and, for once, he misses the distraction.
Mei Mei’s bedroom has intricate, floor-to-ceiling windows directly across from her bed, which open up to a balcony overlooking her rose garden. The sky is mostly clear, save for a few clouds that will inevitably manifest a storm in the coming days. Satoru steps out onto the balcony, ignoring Mei Mei’s demand that he “put some fucking clothes on, you flasher.” Her nearest neighbor can’t be seen through the tall trees she had planted as a blockade around her property, so he’s really only flashing the stray cat who keeps rodents out of the garden. The scent of roses is faint from this high point, but it’s pleasant against the thick curtain of heat.
Before he can convince himself otherwise, he calls her. Utahime. One ring, two, no answer. He’s about to end the call, but then, on the fourth ring: “Where are your manners?”
Utahime yawns and he can hear her exhaustion through the line. She must be working late again.
“It’s not healthy for someone of your age to be up this late, I’m afraid my bad habits are rubbing off on you.”
“Oh please, spare me the melodrama.” He can hear the tired smirk in her voice and something warm blooms in his chest, completely eclipsing the guilt from earlier. “Don’t tell me you called just for that. What are you doing up this late?”
“Standing naked on a balcony, having a staring contest with the moon. I’m winning.”
“Pfft. It’s a new moon, of course you’re winning,” she sighs. “Do I even want to know why you’re naked?”
Satoru gives her the brightest smile she’ll never see, but hopes she can feel it from her home in Kyoto. “It’s as you said: there’s no moon out tonight. I had to bring my own.”
He’s pretty sure she just spit out a drink, either that or she’s choking on the sheer magnitude of his charm. Either is fine. “You’re going to get arrested for public indecency, you know.”
Before he can stop himself, he lets his next words slip, like accidentally squeezing soap in the shower. “It’s private property.”
A pause that he’s all too familiar with settles on the line before she grants him a soft, “Oh.”
Whatever bloomed inside him is shriveled up now. That didn’t take long. Why? Why can he never stop himself from saying the things he knows will hurt her? “No, no. Utahime, I’m not- It’s not like that.” But it is, and they both know it.
“It’s fine, Gojo,” she starts. “I’m not… keeping you from your night, am I? You can call back tomorrow, if that-”
“No, you’re not keeping me from anything. I- There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.” That’s so cheesy, the words make him cringe before they even leave his mouth, but they’re true nonetheless and he doesn’t regret saying them.
She holds the silence for a moment longer than he’s comfortable with, not that he can blame her. “Well, so long as you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“So,” Utahime starts, extending the ‘o’ enough to make Satoru nervous. He knows where this is going and he’s not properly dressed to go down that road with her. “Why exactly are you calling me at this hour?”
He doesn’t have an answer, at least not one that will satisfy her. “Can it be that I just missed the sound of your voice?”
“Try again.”
“Hmm.” This is a game he can play all night. In fact, he intends to. “It’s something of a surprise call.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I gotta keep you on your toes if you’re to succeed as a sorcerer. You never know when a powerful foe will appear.” He was going to say “threat” instead of “foe,” but thought better of it. Too many people already view him as a threat, he doesn’t need to add her to the list.
She huffs. “Need I remind you that I’m the upperclassman here?”
How could he ever forget?
“Are you saying that you plan to keep me on my toes? My, my, senpai! How scandalous of you!”
The pause before her sigh is akin to the clam before a storm. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
He smirks - she can’t see it, but he knows she can feel it. “Oh my! Mentioning gluteus maximus when you know full well that I’m indecently dressed? How uncouth! Scandalous! The elders will hear about this, mark my words.”
The way she rolls her eyes is a national phenomena. He doesn’t have to see it to know it’s there.
“It’s too late for your jokes.”
“Technically, it’s early.”
The world around him stops, silence sharper than nails. In the garden below, he watches the roses, the way they sway in the breeze, the way their bodies are laden in thorns. He thinks about how beautiful they are, and yet they sting to those who get too close. He’s only ever known roses by their thorns.
Satoru has said those words before. To her. Just before she hung up on him and tore his heart out in one fell swoop. For a moment, he wonders if she’s hung up a second time.
“Utahime? You still there?” He hates how meek he sounds, the desperation giving his most obvious insecurities away.
He hears nothing but the sound of his own blood pulsing in his ears, but then she answers. “Yeah, Gojo. I’m still here.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Good,” he says. And then, under his breath, “I’m still here, too.”
“Promise?” she mirrors. There’s something sad in her voice that he can’t quite place, though he can make a few educated guesses.
“I promise, Utahime. I’m still here.” This is all he can really give her, a vague promise miles apart. One day he’ll have to break that promise and they both know it. Hopefully later rather than sooner, but time is unpredictable and they both know that, too. Utahime deserves so much more than what he can offer her - she should have everything Satoru is not and can never be.
“Good,” she says. “That’s enough for me. For now.”
His smile is soft. Sad. Mourning what could have been. What should have been. “You spoil me.”
“Someone has to.”
“You might be the only one who thinks that way.” Even Satoru doesn’t fully buy into it. He certainly doesn’t deserve such treatment from Utahime of all people, not that he’ll ever say that out loud.
“Gojo?” she asks after a stretch of silence.
“Hm?”
“Just checking if you’re still here.”
“I’m still here,” he almost stutters. Almost. “I’m not going anywhere.” And before she can say anything else, he adds, “I promise.”
“I hope you’re a man of your word,” she says in a half chuckle. She doesn’t believe him and he can’t blame her.
“I certainly try to be.” Lame. “How about I try proving it to you?” Even lamer.
Perhaps it’s luck, or maybe he really is as charming as they say - which is what he decides to believe - but she bites nonetheless.
“Oh? Prove it to me how?” She’s daring him, testing her luck in equal measure.
Satoru holds his phone closer to his ear. “Anything you want. Name it.”
Utahime pauses, the sound of gears turning in her head almost audible. He can feel his heart rate rising, so he starts pacing around the balcony. The night is warm, but the cream balcony tiles are cool beneath his feet.
“When will you be in Kyoto next? You could stop by my place for tea,” she says before adding a rushed “if you want” at the end. “I don’t believe we’ve ever spent time alone before. Well, off-duty, that is.”
Her voice is a chime, a song.
“Really?” he asks, a little too excited. And by that, he means extremely, excessively, oppressively excited . “Do you mean that?”
“Well-”
“I can leave right now,” he cuts her off, leaving out the implied if you want me to, and instead replaces it with the slightly less pathetic: “My schedule is pretty open for the next few days. Been looking for something fun to do.”
He’s lying. He knows it, she knows it, he knows that she knows, and she knows that he knows that she knows. His desperation surprises them both, but it doesn't matter. Work doesn’t matter, the practice sessions and the missions and the meetings can all be done by someone else. Or he can rush back and forth and be both sorcerer and man all in one. On his name, his honor, Gojo Satoru can do it all.
“Oh? Are you sure?”
He looks back into the bedroom through the glass. Mei Mei has already gone to sleep. He can get dressed and slip out without waking her. He’s done it dozens of times before.
“When have I ever been unsure?”
“Tch, I suppose you have a point.” There's a rhythmic scratching on the other end of the line, like she's rubbing her nails against the wood of her desk, or doodling with an old pen. “Gojo… I-”
He freezes and waits patiently, obediently. All the while he wants nothing more than to jump down into the rose bushes and bathe in the thorns, infinity be damned - anything to distract himself from whatever precisely accurate thing she’s about to say about him.
“Gojo, before we do anything, I have to be honest.”
“You always are.” It’s the thing he loves and hates most about her. He loves her honesty about how non-special she knows him to be, but he hates that she views the man underneath as nothing more than a nuisance. The truth is a tightrope act neither of them can ever seem to balance.
She chuckles, but it’s forced. Exasperated.
“If you come to Kyoto, if we really…” She sighs, likely bundling up her resolve to shatter the miniscule amount of hope he’s built up. “I can’t promise you that I won’t have regrets afterwards.”
And there it is.
The rose bushes are looking favorable at the moment. So does high-speed traffic, but that’s just the inner theater kid that he’s had to suppress all his life speaking.
“I just want to be upfront about how I’m feeling. I want to see you, but we both know it's a bad idea. It always has been. So if you want to back out, I won't blame you.”
“No, don’t apologize. I appreciate your honesty,” he says and means it, even though it hurts. “I feel the same way.” Which is true, though he would have preferred to dwell on that after it was already too late. Mostly because any regrets to be had will inevitably be his fault, and he still believes he's a changed man enough to prevent it. “But I still want to see you.”
Silence hangs on the line.
“Do you-”
“I promise,” he says before she can finish. “Utahime, I-”
He shouldn't say it.
He really shouldn’t. It’ll make him even more of an idiot.
…
Fuck it.
“Utahime,” he starts, ignoring his final chance to turn back, waving at the missed opportunity as he sprints on by. “I already regret all the things I've done without you. I can make a list if you want, but you probably don't - and even if you do, we don't have the time before sunrise to go over it all. I'm not going to stand here and spin you a fairy tale and pretend that we'll make each other better - in fact, we'll probably make each other far worse than you think. But at the end of the day, if I'm going to have regrets, I'd rather have them with you.”
A weight lifts itself off his chest. It feels good to say everything he’s been holding in, the feelings he’s tried so hard to avoid. Though he's not a fan of the way it has simultaneously turned him into an open wound, sore and vulnerable and susceptible to infections.
“Go- Satoru.”
His name sounds normal on her lips. Not dull or average, but natural. Like he’s not a special grade anything - not even a special grade nuisance - just a regular guy having a regular phone call with a regular girl who very regularly thinks that he's an aneurysm waiting to happen.
“Utahime.”
She lets their names hang between them, mingling, entwining, merging together and coming apart again. Her silence is a current, her words an electric shock.
“Come over. Now. I'll be waiting.”
She hangs up before he has the chance to respond, to say yay or nay - though they both know how he would have answered - but this time it's alright. This time, they'll be alright. For now, for never, for forever. This time, it's not that bad.