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It all starts when Utahime receives a letter in the mail.
Folded and tucked into an ordinary white envelope, the letter contains a few sentences detailing how she should back off if she knows what’s good for her.
Utahime pays no mind to it. Not even when she receives another one on the subsequent Friday, and again the following week. She chalks it up to a prank the kids in the neighbouring units are pulling.
That is, until the letters start coming with photographs.
Taken from a distance with differing timestamps, the pictures are of Utahime in various locations. One shows her entering the lobby of her apartment building, while another captures her leaving her workplace. There are even a few images of her hanging out with her friends and a couple more where she’s running an errand or two on the streets.
However, the most jarring aspect of these photos is that her face is crossed out with a bright red marker in every single one.
It’s only natural that anyone would be intimidated and frightened upon receiving such threatening material, especially when it indicates that their privacy has been violated and they've been trailed for weeks.
As it is, Utahime is completely unfazed.
It helps that she might have a vague idea of who is behind this half-baked scheme to terrorise her, and why.
Plus, she’s an Iori.
Instead of blood, stubbornness and pride pump through her veins. As such, there is no way she’d let the perpetrator think they’ve found an easy mark in her. Utahime certainly isn’t a pushover nor one to be cowed into submission, least of all with some cheap tricks.
And so, she goes on with her days as if nothing is amiss.
On the other hand, her best friend has a different opinion.
“This… seems really dangerous,” Shoko finally says after a long pause. She tears her eyes away from the array of photos before redirecting her attention to Utahime. “Exactly how long has this been going on?”
“A while,” Utahime answers evasively.
Shoko narrows her eyes. “Define that.”
“Three months.”
“And you didn’t think to report this to the police?”
“It isn’t a big deal,” Utahime says dismissively, ignoring the dubious look her best friend directs her way. “Besides, I’m ninety per cent sure a few of my relatives are behind this. There’s an upcoming major shareholders’ meeting to decide if the family company should go public, and they know I’m against it.”
Shoko grimaces. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“It’s fine. I promise I’ve got things handled.”
“Then…” her best friend trails off, frowning. “Can’t you get a bodyguard or something? Better to be safe than sorry, you know?”
Utahime makes a noncommittal sound. “Maybe.”
And that’s all she would have said on the subject, were it not for the cut brakes, the slashed tyres, and the crimson paint splashed over her car a few weeks later.
The warning is clear.
Utahime may be obstinate, but she certainly isn’t foolish. While she might find the idea of someone watching her twenty-four-seven extremely unappealing, she’s not about to risk her life for the sake of her ego.
And so, thanks to Mei Mei’s invaluable (and questionable) connections, Utahime is saddled with a bodyguard within the hour.
However, it is a decision she sorely regrets on the first day of having Gojo Satoru in her employ.
Despite possessing a sizeable fortune, Utahime has never gotten a bodyguard before. Hence, based on the movies she’s watched, she envisions a stern, taciturn man who would unobtrusively watch over her from the shadows.
To her dismay, Gojo Satoru is anything but.
Three years her junior, he’s loud, carefree and seems to lack any sense of tact, whereas the flippant and arrogant manner in which he carries himself simply rubs Utahime the wrong way. What’s more, Gojo’s constant unsolicited commentary on her actions and his inclination to address her with the moniker of ‘Princess’ don’t help.
It’s safe to say this is not what she’d signed up for. If it weren’t for the iron-clad contract binding him to her side until the shareholders’ meeting is over, Utahime would readily rid herself of him.
Nevertheless, as the weeks come and go, no matter how much Gojo vexes her with his antics, Utahime will concede he is good at his job. Having him near does make her feel better. Safer.
Sure, her animosity towards her bodyguard may have mellowed considerably, yet there are instances where Utahime regrets not giving him the boot the moment she met him.
Instances like now.
“Princess,” Gojo calls jovially from his spot near her office door. “Your humble servant would like to request a moment of your time.”
The muscle under her eye twitches.
Regardless, Utahime pays him no mind. She squints at the computer screen and examines the numbers outlining the year’s financial expenditures on the Excel spreadsheet.
“Princess.”
Pursing her lips, Utahime clicks on the second tab, bringing her to the pivot table categorising the expenses by month and type. Unsatisfied with the result, she selects a few other columns and filters.
“Princess.”
Her grip on her mouse tightens. At this point, Utahime is convinced Gojo is solely trying to incite a reaction from her.
Too bad for him, she is determined not to give him what he wants.
“Oh, Princess,” Gojo exclaims dramatically, “are you—”
The thin cord of her patience snaps.
Gritting her teeth, Utahime glowers witheringly at him from over the top of her computer. “What.”
Gojo blinks and offers her an angelic, guileless smile. “Nothing. Just wanted to see how long you could continue ignoring me.”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “Gojo, you—”
“Anyway, it’s late and I’m starving,” he announces, planting his elbows on the portable table which serves as his makeshift desk. “Feed me, or I’ll complain to HR.”
“You don’t even have an HR department,“ she points out dryly.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he sings. “I’m a one-man company. You can say I’m CEO, HR, Finance, and everything else there is. So please tell me we’re getting dinner now.”
Utahime scoffs. “Dinner? But it’s not even that late—Oh...”
A stab of guilt hits her when she glances at the wall clock. With how busy she’s been, Utahime hasn’t realised how late it’s gotten. And considering their current arrangement, where Gojo only gets to eat when she does…
The man in question arches a brow as if to say, I told you so.
Instantly, the guilt pooling low in her chest vanishes, and Utahime scowls. “Well, why didn’t you say something from the start?” she demands, getting to her feet and shoving her belongings into her bag.
As if intent on pushing all of her buttons, Gojo shrugs and spins about in his chair. “Nah, where’s the fun in that?”
Resisting the urge to fire one of the various retorts resting on the tip of her tongue, Utahime takes a deep breath. “Let’s just go now before I change my mind,” she says tightly.
“Conveyor belt sushi?” Gojo asks hopefully.
“Fine.”
And that is how Utahime finds herself in Shinjuku watching plastic trains carrying plates of food whizzing down their magnetic tracks.
“Y’know,” Gojo begins as she reaches for a tuna roll approaching their table corner. “I figured you were staying later to avoid heading home ‘cos of today’s letter.”
Utahime pauses before furrowing her brows. It completely slipped her mind that it’s Friday today.
She shakes her head and picks up her chopsticks. “That’s not it.”
“It’s okay to admit being scared—”
“I am not scared.”
“Yet, you got a bodyguard,” he counters wryly.
“That’s because I’m not an idiot,” Utahime scoffs, raising a brow contemptuously. “I may not be afraid of these juvenile attempts to intimidate me, but I’m not putting my life in danger should there be an off-chance something could happen.”
Gojo hums. “Well, that’s not something you have to worry about. I've got your back. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”
Gojo’s confidence should assure Utahime. Despite his obnoxious behaviour and unprofessionalism, the man was a big name in the industry for having a stellar record. He has never allowed a client to get harmed under his watch.
And yet, it only irks her.
She squints. “Well, what if you get targeted too?”
“Nah, why would they?” he says dismissively, swiping two more dishes off the conveyor belt. Utahime can’t help but eye his staggering tower of empty plates off to the side. “I’m the best in the industry. I’m practically untouchable.”
For her peace of mind, Utahime refrains from saying anything.
But as luck would have it, she gets the last laugh later that night when she opens the envelope containing her weekly blackmail letter, and is met with a photograph of her and Gojo’s faces crossed out.
Wordlessly, she hands the photo to Gojo.
“Well, at least they got my good side,” he remarks after a pause.
Utahime snorts.
“Princess, the sun is shining, the sky is blue-ing, and the clouds are fluffing,” Gojo announces as he steps into her apartment. “Let’s go get fresh air or touch some grass or something!”
It’s a testament to how accustomed Utahime has gotten to that stupid nickname or Gojo Satoru’s constant blabbering that she doesn’t react as viscerally as she once would have. “No,” she answers flatly, all without looking at him.
“But it’s Saturday!”
“Yes, thank you for being a walking calendar,” she snarks, eyes still glued to her laptop screen.
Gojo snorts and plants himself into the chair opposite hers. “Seriously, I’ve been with you for a month now, and all you do is work. Don’t you have anything better to do?”
Utahime’s eye twitches. “I run various charity organisations. My work is important,” she grits out and finally looks at Gojo. She does a double-take. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“What?”
“That. Hat,” she hisses through clenched teeth.
“Oh, this?” Gojo grins as he flicks a finger at the rim of the black baseball cap jammed on his head. “I got it at the merch stand at the stadium the other day. You can’t imagine the number of people I had to elbow past to get my hands on one.”
“I don’t care! Take it off! I won’t have supporters of the Chiba Lotte Marines in my house!”
“Now that’s just uncalled for when the Marines are waayyy better than the Seibu Lions—”
“Are you actually saying that in front of me?” If Utahime could shoot lasers from her eyes, Gojo Satoru would be burned to a crisp by now.
Her bodyguard makes a small sound of amusement. “Fine, fine, I’ll take it off.” Gojo tugs the offensive cap off, and Utahime can’t help but notice how his hair artfully falls into his eyes. “But do you really not have any plans this weekend? What about hanging out with your friends? Or…” he peers at her from under his lashes, “dates with a boyfriend?”
“What is this, twenty questions?” she demands.
“Indulge me.”
Utahime purses her lips and sighs. “My friends are career women, too. It’s hard for our schedules to align. As for the latter, a relationship isn’t in the cards for me now.”
“Yeah?”
There’s something overtly curious in his tone.
“What?” she asks defensively.
“Had a series of bad dates, huh?”
Utahime’s cheeks flame. “Shut up!”
“Ooh, touchy.”
“Gojo Satoru!”
Gojo tilts his head, and a smile, disarming and utterly dangerous, curves along his lips. “Well, I bet you wouldn’t be saying that if you were on a date with me.”
Utahime stares, unsure if she’s heard him right. “W-what?”
“Nothing. Just saying you’d enjoy yourself with me, is all,” Gojo says casually as he gets to his feet and heads to her kitchen. “Now, where do you keep your blender? I wanna make a milkshake.”
The sudden shift in topic shakes her out of her daze. Utahime makes a face. “Why?”
“Why not? Everyone deserves something sweet now and then. Present company included.”
She rolls her eyes. But as Utahime points him towards the kitchen cabinet where the appliances are kept, she can’t deny the existence of the butterflies swarming in her gut.
For a reason unbeknownst to her, Gojo’s offhand comments about taking her out on a date are all Utahime can think about in the following weeks. Eventually, she concludes that he’s testing the waters.
Because she certainly isn’t imagining the lingering looks Gojo casts her way, the scorching heat of his eyes raking over her whenever he thinks she isn’t watching or the teasing remarks that verge on being flirtatious.
Utahime won’t lie.
To have caught the eye of someone like Gojo Satoru, who is too handsome for his own good and is admittedly a great catch (never mind how he enjoys pushing all her buttons)…
She’s flattered. Immensely so.
Still, despite her noticing the increasing frequency with which her lips twitch whenever Gojo makes a quip or how her heart flutters when he’s near, Utahime is all too aware there is only one way this could end.
Other than the glaring fact that Gojo works for her, they’re too different—practically worlds apart.
And while her bodyguard and his various idiosyncrasies have begun to grow on her, who knows when that will change? Furthermore, Gojo is a flirt. A terrible one. And with his face and charm, Utahime is sure he has women throwing themselves at him twenty-four-seven.
So to save herself the trouble and hurt she’d undoubtedly experience should she return Gojo’s blatant interest, distance is a tool Utahime wields to fortify her walls and guard her heart.
If Gojo is taken aback by her sudden chilly demeanour or her firm refusal to entertain his attempts to engage her in their everyday banter, he doesn’t show it.
Rather, he follows her cues and reinforces the strict boundaries of their employer-employee relationship.
Utahime tells herself she isn’t disappointed.
Really, she isn’t.
With how her family hadn’t stepped up their attempts to intimidate her ever since she’d hired Gojo, it was only natural that Utahime had assumed they’d given up.
She should have known better.
(Hadn’t her grandmother once said their relatives were a tenacious bunch once they’d set their mind on something?)
Impatient to head home after a whole day of gruelling meetings, Utahime had ignored Gojo’s instruction to wait in the lobby while he went to pull the car around. Within seconds of tapping her foot against the concrete flooring of the drop-off point, tyres squeal, drawing her attention.
Utahime looks up, and like a deer caught in headlights, she can only gape in horror as an unfamiliar black sedan heads right for her.
“UTAHIME!”
The next thing she knows, Gojo’s body slams into her. With some intuitive manoeuvring on his part, which results in her head tucked under his chin and his arms banded around her, they’re sent sprawling on the asphalt road just as the vehicle narrowly misses them, crashing into the side of the building.
With her heart roaring in her ears, Utahime could only stare, dazed, as her gaze flits between the wrecked car and the spot where she’d been.
If it weren’t for Gojo, she would have been a bloody pancake now.
And it’s the thought she could have died that sticks to the forefront of her mind for the rest of the night.
It’s almost three in the morning when she gets home. A lengthy interview with the police and a brief stop at the hospital for the scrapes on her arm had seen to that.
Instead of leaving after thoroughly inspecting her apartment, Gojo lingers at her bedroom door. “You okay?”
Utahime nods jerkily.
She can still remember the panicked desperation in which he’d bellowed her name, how tightly he’d held onto her, fingers forcefully digging into her flesh, and the way his eyes had taken her in with an urgency that stole the breath in her lungs.
“Right.” Gojo dips his chin as he turns to leave. “Well, I’m only a call away if you need—”
“Wait!” Utahime curls her fingers in the sheets. “Stay, please.”
A part of her feels ashamed to be afraid of being alone, especially when she’d once declared to Gojo she wasn’t. Then again, Utahime hadn’t truly believed her relatives wanted her dead.
Gojo hesitates. “Alright.”
And there in her bed, with his arm around her waist, her head on his chest and the steady beat of his heart thrumming in her ear, Utahime could finally breathe.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers into the cotton of his shirt.
“I’m glad I’m okay, too.”
A muffled snort leaves her lips. But as Utahime sinks into Gojo’s embrace, it’s with a faint smile on her face, and the knowledge that, come what may, everything will indeed be fine.
Months come and go, and soon enough, the shareholders’ meeting approaches, and with its (rightful) conclusion, so does Utahime’s contract with her bodyguard.
“So, Princess, I guess this is it,” Gojo says, rocking on his feet.
Utahime nods. “Yes.”
“You should know it was a pleasure working for you, despite my now-ruined track record.”
“Ha ha,” she answers dryly.
The corner of his lips quirks up. “By the way,” Gojo slides his hands into his pockets with an air of feigned casualness, “I have two tickets for the game between the Lions and the Marines this Saturday. Wanna come?”
She raises a brow. “Is this you asking me out on a date?”
“Obviously,” Gojo deadpans. He then cocks his head. “So, what do you say?”
Utahime smiles. Her chest feels impossibly warm. “Sure, but first—” She steps forward, and with a hand cradling his cheek, presses her mouth to his.
Surprised by her uncharacteristic forwardness, Gojo stiffens. But it doesn’t take long for him to respond.
It’s soft, slow and sweet—everything a first kiss should be.
Abruptly, Gojo pulls away. A tiny smirk graces his lips. “I did say you needed something sweet,” he teases.
“Shut up.”