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Shoko wakes late to sunlight streaming in through the windows and the other half of the futon cold. She rubs the lingering sleep from her eyes as she drags herself out of bed, stumbling out of the room in search of Utahime. She knows it’s an irrational fear that seizes her chest, but with everything they’ve lost in the past year and a half, she can hardly be blamed for an instinctive worry that something bad has happened.
(She knows, she knows that things are different now—that they can live without the weight of early death crushing them.
But it’s impossible to purge herself of that stench when it still clings to every article of clothing she owns.)
She finds Utahime seated on the floor, clad in an old t-shirt that hangs off of her shoulder and grumbling to herself as she squints at a set of instructions. Pieces to the table they’d bought yesterday are scattered around her, filling the empty space of the still-new apartment.
Relief floods though Shoko’s veins.
She watches in silence for a moment longer, admiring the furrow of Utahime’s brow and raking her eyes over the exposed skin of her thighs. It’s the sort of thing Shoko gave up on getting the privilege to witness after Utahime accepted a job at the Kyoto school—a home for the two of them to share, and domesticity settling easily between them. She had resigned herself to stolen moments during Utahime’s visits to Tokyo, taking anything she could get and knowing it could never last long enough.
She believed, inevitably, Utahime’s corpse would end up in her morgue just the same as everyone else’s.
Now, she’s starting to have hope for a kinder ending.
“Why’s this have to be so damn complicated?” Utahime huffs, throwing the instructions aside. That draws a quiet laugh from Shoko, giving herself away.
Utahime looks up, cheeks flushing. “How long have you been there?”
Shoko shrugs. “Only a minute or two.” She strides across the room, stopping to drop a kiss to the top of Utahime’s head before going for the coffee machine. “Can I ask what inspired you to tackle this on your own?”
“I was hoping to have it done before you woke up,” Utahime admits. “Thought it might be a nice surprise. Unfortunately, I can’t make heads or tails of the directions.” Shoko can picture her crossed arms and pout even without looking back at her. “It’s like they’re trying to make it impossible to put together!”
Shoko hums. She starts her cup of coffee, then meanders back to Utahime’s side. “Are you sure it’s not user error?”
“Hey!”
“I’ll help in a bit,” Shoko promises. “And I appreciate the thought.”
Utahime’s glower melts away, and Shoko can’t help but bend down to kiss her properly. She’d gladly throw aside any other plans for the day in favor of deepening the kiss, and dragging Utahime back to their bedroom or maybe just stripping her of her t-shirt and shorts right here. But she doesn’t want to waste a perfectly good cup of coffee, and she knows Utahime will chide her for the distraction after the fact. Even if she’d encourage it the moment she felt Shoko’s hands on her skin.
So, reluctantly, Shoko makes the responsible decision to pull back.
A contented sigh falls from Utahime’s lips.
One cup of coffee later, Shoko is feeling awake enough to assist in Utahime’s endeavor to put their table together. It’s the first real piece of furniture they bought for this place after having decided to pretty much start from scratch in terms of interior design. It was easier to just box up anything important and leave all of the big items behind—and Shoko’s old apartment was pretty much decimated anyways. She’d just been living on campus and sleeping in her office until Utahime suggested they move in together.
The request startled Shoko at first, because she’d been under the assumption that that was simply impossible. She had a rebuttal on her tongue before she realized that she didn’t need to turn Utahime down—that there was nothing stopping them from living in the same place anymore.
As of right now, their apartment is still mostly filled with boxes. But with a little time, they’ll be able to make it look like their own.
(How strange—that time is now something they can count on having.)
A disgruntled Utahime all but shoves the instruction booklet into Shoko’s hands, so she takes a moment to look over it and figure out where they’re supposed to begin. In all honestly, it seems pretty straightforward to her, but she’s kind enough to not tease Utahime more than she already has. She’d rather not sabotage any possible progress they’ll make working together before they can even start.
It goes smoothly with their combined efforts. Shoko interprets the directions and translates them into simpler steps for Utahime. She wouldn’t consider it an objectively easy task, but in comparison to perpetually draining her energy in order to heal dying sorcerers and being the sole person responsible for properly disposing of the bodies of the deceased, this isn’t really so bad. It’s rather nice to face a normal struggle for once.
And, soon enough, Shoko and Utahime have a fully put-together table for their apartment.
Utahime sits back, wiping the sweat from her brow. “We’re getting everything else pre-built,” she declares. “I’m not doing this again for every bookshelf and dresser we decide we want.”
Shoko laughs. “Are you paying for someone to haul it up the stairs?”
“I’ll just ask Todo-kun.”
Shoko has only met Todo once or twice, but knowing what she does about him, he’d agree in a heartbeat. He’s always looking for excuses to put his prosthetic hand to the test, which Shoko finds amusing while everyone else gets on him for it, reminding him that it was expensive and he shouldn’t try to break it. But lifting a dresser or two is probably nothing compared to his sparring matches with Itadori and Maki.
Speaking of—those two would probably help as well, if Shoko asked.
“Alright,” she concedes. “No more building things ourselves.”
Utahime sighs in relief, slumping against Shoko. “I’m so glad we’re on the same page.”
Despite the hassle, though, Shoko isn’t upset about the hours spent putting the table together. Of course, she didn’t agonize over it for quite as long as Utahime, so maybe she’s seeing it through rose-tinted glasses. But it’s nice to have the hours to waste.
It’s nice to have the time to spare.
Shoko nudges Utahime gently. “Now that we have the table, why don’t we order takeout for lunch and test it out?”
“Sounds like a plan!”
As Utahime stands up to retrieve her phone, Shoko takes another moment to admire their handiwork. She never thought of herself to be the sort of person who would crave domesticity like this, but perhaps she just never allowed herself to consider the possibility. Because now that she has this simple life with Utahime, she’s certain there’s nothing in the world she could ever want more.