Archive of Our Own

Yuuji Itadori had been to many strange places before—but this was the first that felt wrong even before he stepped in. He'd been inside a sewer tunnel once when he was a child, simply because a classmate had dared him to. It stunk of dead carcasses and soiled milk, and while fascinating to a child of seven, it only pissed off his poor old gramps when he came home with muddied sludge on his ankles and his jeans heavy with sewer water.

Then, at age nine, he had slipped into the woods near their forest cabin while on vacation with his grandfather and a few of his friends, which led him to encounter a bear, the large kind that ripped people's heads off in those B-grade action movies his cousins put up to scare him into sleeping. The bear had growled and started to prance around him, and with no idea on what to do, Yuuji had let out a scream in panic and punched the bear with all his might. His grandfather had later found him shivering in the middle of the forest, and the bear was later found nursing a broken jaw by the forest officials. His grandfather explained that during a fight or flight response, the average human body becomes stronger to protect itself. Yuuji was already quite a strong boy, so he did not question it at all until much further in his life.

At age fifteen, Yuuji sneaked off with his school friends at night to go see one of the most talked-about things in town: The Haunted Merry-Go-Round. As legends say, any unfortunate lad who rode The Haunted Merry-Go-Round five times clockwise, then three times anticlockwise, six times clockwise again and then seven times in a semi-circle, will be forced to carry the curse of The Merry-Go-Round ghost, which will eventually make them lose all their hair, because The Merry-Go-Round ghost was once a harmless barber from the Meiji era who did not take the sudden transition of hairstyles from traditional topknots and shaved forheads to Western styles in earnest. As a matter of fact, as his senpais said, the barber was so distraught that he committed seppuku and died, thus turning into a vengeful ghost and haunting the Merry-Go-Round in the local park, where once his shop used to be.

Did Yuuji lose his hair? No. Not quite. Unless you count the time when he was trying to give himself a new haircut that went so wrong that he almost had to go bald. Now that he thinks about it, didn't this incident happen just a week after he rode on The Haunted Merry-Go-Round?

Anyway, that was further from the point he was attempting to make. The thing was, Yuuji had found himself in many peculiar, sticky (emphasis on the word sticky, you'll know why) situations before. However, ever since he'd been taken under the wing of Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, things had started to change. For the worse.

"Sensei! Is this all necessary?!" Kugisaki's shriek bounced off the ancient walls of the manor they were currently stuck in. It echoed from somewhere, since Yuuji couldn't really see her in the dark.

"Yup!" Came the slightly grating yet extremely jovial laugh from—somewhere, above him, surely. "It's all for Educational Purposes!"

"Ow! Fushiguro, you're stepping on my foot!"

So Fushiguro and Kugisaki were somewhere clumped together in this hellhole. Good, that meant that they were safe. If he could get to them, they'd be able to do something to get out of this situation if they rattled their brains enough. And that was only if he could escape the sticky, slimy mess they were all glued in.

"There are no curses here! There's just slime! And it stinks!"

"Now, now, now, children!" The man above them clapped his hands, his voice a bit too sugary, given the situation. "In case you're deployed on a mission someday, a mission that might save countless lives, would you just leave people to die because the curses smelled too bad?"

"This is not educational!" Fushiguro yelled from—was that his right? "Principal Yaga disapproved of this in front of us—"

"Megumi-kun, don't be silly. Is Principal Yaga your teacher, or am I?"

"It stinks! It reeks of shit here! This is unsanitary, sensei, this is unfair—"

"Life isn't always fair, Nobara. And nor do curses shower."

Yuuji was crouched with his knees to his chest, the slime coating him till his upper thigh. Kugisaki was right, this place smelled like cat litter, and the sludge seemed to be crawling further and further up his body. Yuuji wriggled his arm out from the slime, grimacing as the air hit his wet arm. There was an irresistible itch calling from the centre of his back, and he just couldn't ignore it any longer. But touching his body with his arm covered in wet muck made a shiver run down his spine.

"Alright then. Time for lesson one." Sensei's voice boomed across the first floor. "When stuck in a situation where one or more of your sensory receptors are blocked, what is the first thing a responsible sorcerer needs to do? Yuuji?"

"Huh?" Yuuji jolted from under the slime that had somehow reached till his waist. Was the slime rising, or was he simply slipping into it? "Er…I dunno?"

"Sensei!" Kugisaki's voice took on a panicked, high-pitched tone. "I think the slime is trying to swallow us!"

"Is it? Well, no one mentioned that in the report."

"What report? Is this an on-field mission? I thought you said it was an educational hands-on activity you had managed to scout from somewhere!" Fushiguro yelled.

"Yeah, I took it out from under Ijichi's desk—"

"This is one of your missions, isn't it?!"

"Gahhh, it's going in my mouth—the slime is going in my mouth—Fushiguro, get it out!"

"It doesn't matter if it's a mission or not; there's a lot to learn. Now, Yuuji. Answer the question. Remember, half of your grade depends on it."

Now, Yuuji had really started to feel anxious. His back itched really, really badly. "Does this mean I fail if I don't answer it? I don't know the answer!"

"Relax, Yuuji! Here, let me dumb it down a little bit."

Oh, god, Yuuji thinks the itch in his back isn't an itch, it's a walking, crawling thing. He had some insect under his hoodie!

"If you arrive at the mission site and find out that there's not enough light to see, what's the first thing you do?"

"Er…erm…" Yuuji's hand scrambled to the back of his hoodie, slimed up or not, and slipped under his shirt to look for the source of the creepy-crawler. "I dunno, I turn on the lights?"

Just then, his elbow hit something hard behind the mantle and—viola! The candelier on the ceiling burst out warm rays of light, filling the entire room. His eyes, utterly useless before, rejoiced at the sight around them. An ugly, worn-down Gothic manor way past the age of its glory, black sludge on the broken yet beautiful wooden floors, and oh—the sight of a responsible adult perched upon the upper railing of the marble winding staircase.

"Bravo!" Gojo Sensei erupted into applause, standing up, balanced on the inch-wide railing. "Everyone, three cheers for Yuuji! I'm so proud of you!"

"There was a light switch behind you all this time?" Fushiguro yelled from the right. Yes, Yuuji was correct, Fushiguro and Kugisaki were indeed stuck to the floor on his right side, with the slime having risen till it was trying to needle its way inside Kugisaki's throat.

"You fucking moron!"

"Uh-uh-uh! Language, Megumi-kun."

"Mrgfh, mrgfhhhh! Ai yam shtuck—"

"I didn't know there was a light switch. How would I even—wait a minute. Look, the slime is going down."

And indeed yes, the slime was going down after all. It slipped past his waist and pooled down his ankles as Yuuji stood up, using the wall behind him as support. It felt like it was loosing it's grip all of a sudden. Kugisaki spat out a glob of black goo beside Fushiguro, who was reluctantly helping her get up on her feet.

"The slime is light-sensitive!" Gojo sensei said, delighted. "Not only did Yuuji answer the question correctly, but he also gave us a practical example! Ah, the fruits of my labour. The fabulous results from the teachings of the one and only Great Teacher Gojo. Yuuji, this year, you shall pass with honours of—"

"You!?" Yelled Kugisaki. "How dare you take credit for our hard work? I spent fifteen minutes with slime stuck down my throat! You did nothing!"

"Nonsense. I obviously knew about the light-sensitive slime. God forbid a teacher tests his students' abilities."

"Can we get out now?" Megumi asked, sounding tired as if he had lived through his life three times and back, just when a black-hand-like figure emerged from the sludge and grabbed Kugisaki's ankle, dragging her away. Her scream echoed off the bleak walls before the slime hauled her down the cellar. The student-teacher trio could do nothing but watch the cellar door slam shut as the black slime rose from the floor like a sheet being pulled up and undulated into a fifteen-foot-tall, spiked monster with the body of a snake and the face of a boar.

It let out a piercing shriek, which shook the delicate spandrels on the ceiling, causing them to rain down below. Yuuji had barely managed to dodge one when Fushiguro crashed into him, both of them falling into a heap on the floor. Gojo sensei, as always, stayed pristinely untouched, simply because he was out of range and on a much higher level than his students.

"The slime is the curse. Of course it is." Fushiguro mumbled, rising on trembling arms while Yuuji struggled to breathe under his weight.

The curse lunged again, this time straight at them, narrowly missing Fushiguro's head while they managed to roll away somehow.

"Sensei! You have to help us!"

But their Sensei was already preoccupied elsewhere. "Hmm?"

"Sensei!" Yuuji screamed as the cursed convulsed and ripped a tentacle from its face, going straight for them.

"Not now, Yuuji." Sensei held up a finger and scrolled down his phone. Through the figure of his blindfold, one could notice that he was frowning slightly, worrying his lip with his teeth. "Just lemme, hold on—"

"Are we qualified to even fight this thing? This must be at least a Grade One!"

"Gojo!" Fushiguro shouted, already in stance, ready to rip out another one of his self-sabotaging shadow monster thingy.

"Nope! I'm not teleporting any of you out of here, not until you kill whatever that thing is. The other half of your grade depends on it. Besides, I'm here, and I have my eye on you three all the time." He didn't; he was simply lying and Yuuji knew, because Sensei scrolled further down his phone, not even having the grace to spare his three (no, two) dying students with a glance.

"What about Kugisaki?"

"Eh, she'll be OK. Jeez, the internet is pretty bad here. Can anyone lend me their hotspot?"

One should know that if Gojo Sensei picked up his phone at any time of the day, there was no keeping it away from him unless there was a national-level crisis. In a world where teenagers suffer from phone addiction, Gojo Sensei went through a severe compulsive screen enslavement. He had a pathological dependence with his phone. A habitual ensnarment. And the faster the people around him got used to it, the better it was for them. Yuuji, however, had to learn it the hard way. Unless the curse in front of them was the reincarnation of Satan himself, Gojo Sensei was of absolutely no help.

But it was okay, he told himself. Gojo Sensei was fighting a battle of his own. The battle to free himself from under the subjugation of the smartphone.

So, while Yuuji and Megumi fought, dodged, bled and screamed their heads off, Gojo strolled towards the side, away from the mayhem downstairs. He was just looking for the signal to reach so that he could text his girlfriend back.

People in Tokyo always talked about how he's been so attached to his screen for the past few months. And yes, he admits it. His screentime stretched so long that it burst at the seams, and now his phone begs him to take a rest. Getting a girlfriend does that to a man. Especially if that girlfriend lived a three-hundred somthing kilometers away from you.

Unfortunately for him, this girlfriend of his didn't seem to share his energy at all. And all right, not everyone could be like him. Not everyone has an unlimited reservoir of cursed energy. Not everyone chugs down a frightening amount of caffeine like him each day. But a little enthusiasm wouldn't hurt. A little exclamation mark at the end of her three-word sentences. A little kissy-emojis here and there. Maybe even a cute nickname. Now he knows that Utahime would rather swing off the Tokyo tower than call him her strawberry boo, but c'mon. He deserves a nickname. He's been good. But lately, all of their correspondences have been very, very dry.

Thursday 11:34 PM

You: Good Morning :D

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Good Morning Gojo

You: How was your day princess?

(delivered 11:40 PM)

(read 12:56 AM)

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: It went well.

Good night Gojo

You: Good night Utahime

sweet dreams

they will be sweet if you dream about me

*winking rabbit sticker*

Friday 7:09 AM

You: Hey u awake

Good morning babe

(delivered 7:10 AM)

(read 7:56 AM)

Friday 9:37 AM

You: u alive or did ur students finally overthrow you

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Alive

Busy

You: thats it?

no "miss you gojo"??

no "cant wait to see you again"???

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: no.

You: wow. cold. heatless.

*sticker of a duck crying in a pond*

Bet if i collapsed u'd reply with a "ok"

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Correct.

You: I could be bleeding out right now

(delivered 9:48 AM)

(read 10:05 AM)

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Are you?

(delivered 10:12 AM)

(read 12:00 PM)

You: yea :(

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Then stop texting and get help

You: SO MEAN *crying emoji*

hey where did u go :(

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Class starting

You: are we still on dinner tonight?

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: yea I'll be there

You: YIPPIE

*sticker of Chiikawa celebrating*

okay love you babe

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Bye Gojo

Friday 6:45 PM

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: hey

I'm sorry I won't be able to make it tonight

I have to stay with the students for an overnight mission in kawasaki

You: I thought students werent allowed to do overnight mission till they r at least in third year

no worries tho

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Kamo got recommended

Principal approved

I'm taking todo with me as well

You: No problemo *heart emoji*

we'll go sum other day

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Can our reservation be refunded?

I'm sorry I'll pay you back

You: bullshit

ur not paying nothing

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Gojo

You: its refunabled

same as how ur bf is dependable *winking emoji* *kissy-face emoji*

*smiling face with sunglasses emoji*

js stay safe

i'll call tmr

Utahime-sensei ❤︎❤︎❤︎: Thanks

Yeah I'll be back by tmr actually

Thanks again

You: Love you babe

*sticker of a raccoon opening a gift box filled with confetti and hearts*

(delivered 7:00 PM)

(read today at 8:23 AM)

Not even a single text since this morning. No call. No greeting. Not even a Good Morning text.

He's been scrolling to the end of their chat all day, despite knowing that nothing would show up because his notifications from her have been as dry as a desert at noon. He knows that she isn't dead, because if she were, then someone would have told him by now. And she had come online briefly about an hour ago. Which only meant that she was deliberately ignoring him. And while it stung, Gojo could hardly blame her. It had to be him. He definitely had done something to piss her off. Was it him lying about the reservation? Did she find out that he paid full price and then lied to her about it being refunded? That restaurant was the most sought-after place in Japan, and it was hard to get a reservation unless you came from a high-five circle like his. Grand places like those didn't offer refunds. But what could he have told her? The truth? She would've offered to pay him back and with no offence meant, she simply cannot afford all that money.

Perhaps, it was because he didn't wash his share of the laundry when he was at her place for the weekend two months back. Utahime was picky about her clothing, on where to wash them, when to wash them and how to wash them (two and a half cups of liquid detergent in the detergent slot, not a drop more or less than that. She even marked the level on the measuring cup). She did not appreciate his shirts and trousers in her pile of neatly segregated white clothes. Therefore, he had to do his own laundry using her second-hand bought washing machine that groaned and cried all through rinsing his load of laundry, and died before he could even go for a second wash.

Or maybe she's mad because he named her washing machine after old man Gakuganji? She seems to have a crazy amount of respect for that ageing codger. Maybe it's because anyone would be offended to have their belongings compared to that Old fart, he's just that ugly.

Gojo tapped desperately on the screen, now that he was holed up in some corner of a corridor that none of his students had a view of. Two missed calls from him this morning, neither of which she had picked up.

Was it that kettle he left to boil too long, or the chocolate handprint on the back of her couch? Or, it had to be that hickey that she liked to pretend she didn't want.

"Senseiiiii!"

"Uh, Huh! Coming!" Gojo shouted back at Yuuji's holler, his thumb insistently hovering over the call button. Should he…no, he'd look too desperate. But what if she's actually in trouble? Or what if she's done with him? Or what if she found out that her goldfish didn't die because her neighbour forgot to feed the fish, but rather because his cat ate it?

The wall adjacent to him shook violently. Megumi had been thrown against it quite hard, a few paintings had come crashing to the ground (shame, he rather liked a few and wanted to steal them for himself) as Nue disipitated into a puff of black smoke.

Now, Yuuji stood alone, his closed fist trembling and stance a bit wobbly, but with that fiery spirit in his eyes that Gojo didn't know whether to call chivalrous or foolish.

"Come on, guys!" Gojo sighed and came up front, pocketing his phone and placing his hands on his waist, surveying the mess below. "I can't believe my students are slacking. This curse is no biggie for you both. The Kyoto kids are on an overnight mission, and you all are falling behind!"

"An overnight what?" Yuuji perked up just as one of Megumi's demon dogs leapt at the curse's face. He very narrowly dodged the tail's attempt on his life, danger having never managed to extinguish his thirst for gossip. "There's no way. I thought they all had a day off this Saturday,"

Saturday? Today was Saturday.

"Itadori! Pay attention to the—"

"Hush, hush, hush now. A day off, you say?"

Yuuji—bless that child—paid no attention to Megumi's chide or the struggling canine currently locked jaw-to-jaw with the beast in front.

"Yeah. That's what they said. They are having some clan-thingy, and since two of their students come from that background, the principal just gave the entire school a holiday. Say, Fushiguro, Maki-senpai was supposed to go too, right? Although she refused, or else we would've gotten a holiday too."

Yuuji was right. Today was a gathering for the Big Three clans. Gojo's assistant had marked it on the calendar for him, which he intentionally chose to forget about.

"How do you know the whole school got a day off? No offence, but you don't seem to have friends there."

"I do!" Yuuji exclaimed while the curse continued to battle against the brute force of the wolf-dog it was compelled to fight. "Todo called yesterday to ask if I'd want to go to the arcade with him, but I refused. But then he got upset and told it to Mechamaru, who told it to Miwa-senpai, who then talked about it with Momo-senpai, who is way too protective over her juniors, so she ranted to Maki-san's twin about it, who somehow told this to Kugisaki, who, told it to us."

"Ah, that's strange," Gojo mumbled more to himself than his students. His lower lip instinctively curled back, and that scorching feeling eating away the sides of his chest like acid flared up.

"Oh, Oh, I know right! Kugisaki never got along with Maki-san's sister, so why was she talking to her in the first place? But God forbid someone be curious, Kugisaki barreled me straight through a door and told me to mind my own business. Like jeez, no need to be so emotional about it,"

There was only one question running in his mind, and only one very obvious answer to it.

"Well, thank you, Yuuji. I will be benevolent enough to mention this in your Annual Exorcism Report for the month."

"Extra marks for gossip? Cool!"

Gojo pulled out his phone once again and checked his call list. In the end, he had to dejectedly sigh and put it away, all but ready for the next course of action.

"Hey!" Called out Megumi, who was facing the majority of the brunt of the fight. "Where are you going?"

"Alas, my sweet, beloved students. Duty calls for me! But worry you must not, for I vehemently believe my extraordinary students shall overcome any challenge! Victory to thee!"

"Wait, what about Kugisaki?"

"Eh, she'll be fine on her own. Women don't like men who keep on underestimating them, isn't that right, Megumi-kun?"

"You were supposed to assess our grade!" He screamed back.

"Ah, right." That was true. He did bring them here for that. "Erm, if either of you defeats the curse by any means possible, everyone passes!"

"That is not how it works!"

And that, was the last thing Gojo heard before he clasped his hands and slithered into the vortex of space and time.

Utahime lived on the quieter side of Kyoto, an almost serene, placid lane that divulged away from the main street, tucked away in the corner, dotted around by low-lying bushes and basically identical houses on either sides. About two-story tall with a small balcony peeking from the slanted roof, a tapestry of dark brown, green and ebony. Kyoto had been graced with a downpour last night, as proven by the wet gravel in Utahime's driveaway and the damp patches on the stone steps leading to her front door.

Little drops of rain still fell from the roof above, the floor beneath freckled with splotches of rain. Gojo stood under the bleak, grey sky, his phone held in his hand while the finger of his other hand hovered over the doorbell. He rang it the first time fifteen minutes ago. And then a second time, five minutes ago. The house sounded deathly silent.

Defeated, he turned around and walked back, the scrunch of plastic swinging from his hand, and the yakisoba in it had long lost its warmth.

Perhaps she was avoiding him, or she just wasn't at home.

Hold up a second.

Her balcony door was still open, the hinges creaking rhythmically in the wind. Clothes hung on the line to dry, which was strange, because Utahime never hung her laundry out on a rainy day.

The plastic bag in his hand rustled against his thigh as Gojo walked back towards the door. This time, he goes around towards the back yard, walking past her old baby blue Fiat Panda parked under the garage shade. Utahime's garden was tiny yet well-maintained, because she liked growing herbs in the small patch next to the frog pond. Here as well, she had hung sheets to dry, white clothes turned grey and heavy from the rainfall. He pulled off his shoes before stepping on the engawa and sliding the glass door open. A bit sneaky, but it was better than getting in through her back door. Besides, who just leaves their door unlocked like this?

Inside, the living room was almost dark. Curtains draped over the windows shielded the much-needed sunlight from entering in, and a lone bulb flickered in the kitchen, while the rice cooker's lid thumped steadily in the quietude. Gojo looks down in the middle of the room, his eyes assessing the lump of clothes strewn next to the kotatsu. He scoffed and reached for the light switch above the dresser. Warm, white light burst in the room, and the lump on the floor moved. From underneath the blanket, dark hair pooled out on the tatami mats, accompanied by a set of tired, sulken brown eyes.

"Gojo?"

When her meek voice called out to him, the pain in his chest eased, dissolving into quiet relief, bringing a smile to his face despite his efforts to stay unmoved. It was like something had touched the insecurities deep within his soul and urged them away, making him forget why he was so agitated in the first place.

"Good morning, princess." Gojo crouched down while Utahime rubbed the vestiges of sleep away from her eyes, half her face still drowning beneath the blanket. She gave out a soft sigh and pushed herself up on her elbows, blinking slowly as if to take everything in. Her unhurried blinking reminded him of a lizard, which ignited an unbearable urge in him to take her by her adorable face and squish her against his chest.

But since he valued his life more, he stayed put, eagerly waiting for Utahime to get more aware of her surroundings so she could scream and panic and throw things at him now that he managed to get inside her house without using the front door. But alas, that moment never came.

His smile dimmed a little when Utahime looked at him and barely threw a curse word his way.

That was wrong. That was completely wrong.

Utahime Iori—his ever-so-stubborn, no-nonsense, uptight girlfriend would've at least aimed something at his head by now; if not a sandal, then a flying teacup, a clever insult, her kotatsu table or worse, an impending lecture, all in her sharp-tongued glory. The lack of it made unease coil in his gut, ominous yet unforgiving, as if it were already here.

"Nothing?" Gojo tilted his head, peering at her closely. "None of that dramatic outrage? No flailing, yelling, screaming, or calling the police? No, 'how dare you violate my privacy, you insufferable—'"

She made a small noise in her throat and rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, and that was when he noticed it.

The flush. It spread faintly across her cheek and the bridge of her nose, subtle in the sparse light, but obviously noticeable. Her skin was clammy, drops of precipitation on her chin and forehead, and her eyes were open wide, yet weren't focused enough—glossy, weighed down, a dark wing of lashes making shadows on her cheekbones. Her shoulders sank as if gravity had doubled its force, and all in all, she looked very wrong, if the description fit well enough.

"Utahime?"

She hummed in response, albeit weakly, and pulled the blanket tighter around herself like her body had given up halfway through sitting.

Gojo reached out before thinking, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead. It slipped down to her throat, and then her arm. He takes his hand back before saying,

"You've a fever." He deadpanned. "That explains why you didn't attempt to kill me yet."

Utahime let out a breathy scoff that quickly dissolved into a cough. "Oh, Shut up—"

"Since how long have you been like this?"

She didn't answer immediately. She looked away guiltily (as she should), her lashes fluttering close. "…Last night. Maybe."

"Hmgh." Gojo docked his head to the side. "Well, you look like shit." He said quietly, the usual lilt in his voice flattening into something sharper. "So, you didn't think of—maybe—telling someone about this? Someone like—I dunno, your boyfriend, perhaps?"

Even when delirious with a fever, she managed to scowl at him. "Was gonna sleep it off,"

"Brilliant plan," Gojo said, impassive. "Why has modern medicine not thought of this yet? They should hire you to work as a medical researcher."

Utahime squinted at him, visibly debating whether she had the energy to get offended at that. In the end, the fatigue won, so she just curled into herself on the floor, lying back down. "Don't be annoying," she muttered from under the covers.

Gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. Utahime's fetal position was instinctive, defensive. "Nope. Already made a career out of it."

She didn't respond this time, only lolled her head to the side. No pillow, thin blanket.

The unease in his gut tightened.

He was used to a red-faced, angry Utahime. He had the privilege of seeing a flustered, shy Utahime many a time. But this Utahime? He didn't have any experience dealing with whatever this was. Floppy. Sick. Uninterested in everything to do with him.

"…Hey," He said softly, this time.

Utahime made a non-committal hum, somewhere between a sigh and a complaint, but didn't open her eyes. Her breathing was shallow, uneven in a way he did not like.

Gojo exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to get back some semblance of control. Then he got up, dusted over his knees and looked around. "Be right back. Stay here and don't move, 'kay?"

Navigating through Utahime's house was easy. It wasn't big, of course. Two bedrooms, one attached bathroom on the top floor, one bathroom near the entryway. A small, suffocatingly small kitchen with counters had he had lost hipbones bumping against. He opened an upper cabinet and found what he was looking for, a lot quieter and efficiently than he would've expected himself to (He'd been here plenty times, front door or not). Filling a glass with some water, he entered the living room again to find out that Utahime had barely shifted.

Sitting down beside her, he prodded her shoulder till she scrunched her nose and cracked her eyes open a smidge.

"Guess what I got you?"

"Another reason for me to kill you myself?"

"There she is." Gojo huffed, almost relieved. "I thought I lost you for a second there."

He pulled the blanket off her, after much defiance in the form of whines, complaints and aimless kicking from the mutinous renegade herself. "Up." He said while tugging her up by the arms in an attempt to make her sit straight. She was unsteady for a while, but she blinked against the dizziness to give him her signature, most-appreciated glare that would've been very intimidating if she didn't immediately wince after.

"Now, I know you never listen to me, because if you did, you wouldn't be sick in the first place—told you to shut your windows before you go to sleep and not to crank up that AC so high—but do as I say just this once, okay?"

Her reluctant nods seemed more out of necessity than willingness, but who was he to complain? He held up the thermometer to her face while she glowed at him from her comically squinted eyes. After coming to the unfortunate realisation that this man wouldn't move an inch till she cooperated, Utahime finally opened her mouth.

"See, not that hard, right? You can lie back down if you want now."

And lying back down was what she did. She winced and went back to sleep, shutting her eyes tightly.

Ever so quietly, Gojo removed himself from her presence, making his way back to the kitchen. The rice cooker was still going at it, and the state of place told him that Utahime was about to do some cooking before she got down with the fever. Well, whatever. He could pick up from where she'd left.

He retrieved the box from the cabinet again, rifling through it in a hurry. He checked the expiration date on the pills, and of course they were way past it.

"Gojo."

Utahime had somehow gotten up and followed him without him realising, with the end of her blanket trailing on the floor behind her like some sort of cape. "Done." She handed him the thermometer like a cat bringing back hunt for its human.

"I would've come there if you called. You're sick. Go back to sleep."

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, sure you are." He looked at her from head to toe. The thermometer read a hundred and two point three.

That's it. Utahime Iori was officially sick.

He turned back to see his girlfriend peering at the thermometer over his shoulders.

"Well," He starts, lost for words. Utahime looked at him blankly but expectantly, and here he was, standing with his mouth agape. "We'd better put you to rest first, then."

"Hmm," She replied.

"Look at you. You can't even stand straight. You shouldn't be out of bed."

"'M fine. It's not that bad."

Says the one who's currently swaying on her feet. Gojo caught her by her shoulders, making an impatient noise at the back of his throat. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed first."

The minute he picked her up and started carrying her to the room upstairs, Utahime's eyes blinked closed softly. Her arms were loosely wrapped around his neck, and her legs had no strength, so most of her weight fell onto Gojo's hand, not that he minded it much. By the time he reached the top stairs, Utahime was huffing more than he was.

"Of course, your bed is a complete mess. Didn't make it this morning, did you?"

She made her bed every morning, in fact. His comment should've pissed her off beyond bounds, but she said nothing this time. He laid her down on her unkept bed anyway, pushing a pillow under her head.

"No blanket," Utahime murmured in a hoarse voice, kicking away the duvet at her feet, then turning to the side to curl into herself.

"Feel too hot?"

At her nod, he pulled away the duvet he was trying to wrap around her and checked her temperature again. Yep, burning all over. She needed to cool down instantly, else he'd fear she would evaporate into air.

"Wait here. Close your eyes. I'll be with you in a second."

Utahime was the embodiment of organised chaos. She was messy while working, meticulous when she was done. Usually, Utahime's house stayed extremely orderly. Apart from a few clothes hung on the back of her chair and beer cans lying on her living room threshold sometimes, there was nothing in the house he'd considered unkept. The same grace was not provided to her abode as of today, with the laundry hamper overflowing and objects strewn across the floor, like she’d run out of time—or energy—to put anything back where it belonged.

Gojo stepped over a crumpled shirt on his way to the bathroom, grabbing the first clean towel he could find. Trying to collect water at the right temperature from her bathroom was like learning archery. If one's aim was too bad, they'd spend an hour simply twisting the knob left to right until the right kind of water flowed.

By the time he came back, Utahime had curled tighter into herself, one arm tucked under her head, breathing uneven. A faint sheen of sweat clung to her skin.

"'Hime, are you with me?" He set down the pail of water and neatly folded the towel in his hands as he sat down at the foot of her bed. She made a vague sound, an acknowledgement, a maybe, but didn’t open her eyes.

“Alright,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, wringing out the towel. “This might be a bit cold.”

He started at her ankle, rubbing the cloth over her heated skin, moving it upwards till it reached her calf. Gojo followed the same on her other leg, carefully watching her face for any sort of discomfort, but she stayed the same, half her face hidden between her elbow and the pillow. Ushering her to sleep on her back instead of lying sideways was pretty easy. She was as compliant as a doll, moving to accommodate whichever position he wanted her to get in, which Gojo can say with absolute certainty born from experience, that this was not how she would usually act.

“Honestly,” he muttered, dragging the towel down along the side of her neck, “This level of heat, you’re trying to outdo a cursed spirit or something?”

Utahime let out the weakest huff of a laugh, the sound dissolving into a cough.

Gojo stilled for half a second, and then kept moving, slower now, methodical. Forehead, neck, wrists.

After sponging over her arms, he lifted her t-shirt warily, waiting for some kind of reaction, some reprimand, or at the very least, some accusations calling him a pervert, but none came. So he wetted the towel once again and stroked it over her stomach. However, this time, Utahime flinched immediately, a sharp inhale catching in her throat.

“Too much?” he asked, already easing the pressure.

“…no,” she managed after a second, voice thin. She shook her head with her eyes still closed, taking a deep breath.“It’s fine.”

“Liar,” he said automatically, but gentler than usual. He continued to wash her down with the towel and moved on to her neck, and finally put the towel away. The water in the pail was discarded down the drain and refilled, and the towel was washed thoroughly. Gojo came back with the pail and sat down again, this time folding the towel once more before preparing to lay it back against her skin.

He brushed damp strands of hair away from her forehead before pressing the cloth there.

The heat coming off her was ridiculous.

She made a little sound, which automatically meant he had to crawl closer, trying to decipher her little murmur a bit too eagerly for his liking.

"'Hime?"

"Urngh?"

"You said something, just now. What's wrong? Do you need water?"

She shook her head weakly, mumbling something small under her breath. Gojo leaned in closer.

"Clothes…I didn't bring them back in from outside."

"What?"

"The clothes…are on the line…drying outside. They must've dried."

"You know what, it's time you go to sleep." Gojo tucked her in, now that her temperature had cooled down a bit. "I'll wake you up when dinner is ready."

"The laundry…"

"Do you like onion soup?"

"My Miko robes…they need ironing…bleaching…"

"Fine." He finally relented, fingers tucked into fists at his side. "Fine. I'll do your laundry and get your clothes back in."

"My robes?"

"I'll take care of them too."

"With starch?"

"Go to sleep, 'Hime."

"Okay."

Gojo had a feeling that Utahime probably knew how to use his concern to emotionally manipulate him to do things for her, and he couldn't disagree about the fact that it works. He still brought her laundry basket outside and set it near the washing machine, staring down at it for an eternity before resigning himself to his fate.

Leaving the basket as it is, he flipped on the switch in the kitchen and got to work. While the pot on the stove came to a boil, he put his phone on speaker and let the dial tone ring through the house, taking out ingredients from his girlfriend's half-stocked fridge.

On the eighth ring, precisely when Gojo sliced his first piece of carrot ever (he had never cooked with a carrot for himself before), a distorted click sounded from the receiver's end. Then came that familiar, languid drawl everyone in the jujutsu society craved to hear during either an attack from a non-threatening ailment or a state-level emergency crisis.

"Good morning,"

"It's four in the afternoon, Shoko."

There was a pause, then a suspicious clink of a bottle, followed by something that sounded like a wild animal, but could've just been a bad signal. After that, Shoko finally spoke up.

"Who's this?"

"How many times do I have to beg you to save my number?" Gojo's—or should he say, Utahime's dull knife hit the chopping board with a hard thunk, fated to leave marks on the wood.

"Wrong number. I have health insurance."

"Shoko, Utahime's sick."

"Oh," Said Shoko, and then the growling came again. "Why didn't you start with that, then?"

Carrots done. Roughly chopped, but done. He put it aside and continued his attack on the cabbage.

"Did you check her temperature?"

"Yeah," Gojo replied, ripping open the cabbage like—oh wow, it just sounded like he'd ripped open an actual person! "A hundred and two point something. She's been sleeping on the living room floor with a shawl when I arrived. I washed her down with a wet towel and put her to bed."

"Impressive." Something ripped on her end too, but it didn't sound much like a cabbage, or even a person, if he were being honest. "So you do know what to do when a person is sick. Now I hope you won't be dropping your kids at the morgue whenever one of them catches a cold."

"Can you just help me with what has to be done?" Utahime didn't have any chicken in her fridge, and she was running out of soy sauce. So he just grabbed the ginger instead, and got to work.

"If it's for Utahime senpai, I will. After all, as her favourite kohai—"

"I am her favourite kohai."

"—It is only my duty to provide any help that is in my power. Is she coughing?"

"A little bit."

The growling intensified in the background, and for the first time, Gojo started growing a bit concerned.

"What kind?"

"There are different kinds of coughs?"

"Nevermind. Anything else? Running nose, trouble breathing, nausea, chest pains, infection, diarrhoea, maybe any open wounds?"

"Not that I think of? Should I check on those? I just took her temperature and—"

"Meh, no it's fine. Just give her some paracetamol and she'll be good."

"Are you sure?" The chopped cabbage was thrown on a sieve and rinsed under running water while Gojo moved towards Utahime's medicine box again. "Don't you need to ask a few more questions as a doctor?"

"Am I the doctor here, or are you?"

You are. A questionable one, but it still counted. "So I just give her some pills and put her to bed?"

A misshapen bark sounded from Shoko's end of the call, but she answered as if it was nothing odd. "Yup. If it's just a fever, it'll die down on its own. Till then, just keep her comfortable—hey, down! No, I said, get down from there. Bad doggie, Bad doggie—"

"You have a dog? Since when?"

"Oh, it's not a dog. It's a dog curse attached to a human's body. I'm trying to detangle them."

"Sounds cool." Gojo flicked the expired blister pack over his shoulder and dug deeper into the box. "Is this said human one of my students?"

"No, drop it. Don't put that there, this is not your body—huh, what? Oh, no, no. It isn't one of your students, not any that I know of. I think. Do any of your students have brown hair, pimple scars on the forehead and a perpetually shocked face while unconscious?"

Gojo hummed on the line, retrieving some age-old Chinese herbal tea packet from the back of Utahime's cabinet. "Erm…I don't know."

"Ah! And he wears a gold chain around his neck with the words 'savage' moulded into the pendant. His T-shirt says, 'I am not for everyone, everyone is not for' and after that it's illegible because that's where the dog curse is attached to him."

"Yeah, no, my students would never have such deplorable tastes in fashion. I've raised them well."

"Good. I don't think I can save him. I'll have to do something with the dog curse though, it thinks my rubber ulcer syringe is some chew toy. Call me if senpai's condition worsens."

Now, that won't be happening, because Utahime's condition is not going to worsen. Why would it. What a stupid notion. Who would think such things.

Carrots chopped, cabbage washed, ginger grated, and with nothing else to do, Gojo moved towards Utahime's laundry. There, for the first time in his life, he separated the darker coloured clothes from the lighter ones. Then, he loaded the washing machine, put the right amount of detergent, made sure the pipe was attached, and then went upstairs.

Utahime was still in bed, on her stomach, with the blanket luckily still wrapped around her.

"'Hime." He called her gently, and Utahime poked her head from under the covers. Her eyes were red-rimmed, droopy and heavy-lidded. "I'm going out to get some medicine for you. I'll be back in a while, 'kay?"

Utahime seemed to stay quiet for a very long time. Finally, she murmured from the bed. "Clothes?"

"Huh?"

"Did you bring them inside?"

"I'll take them off the clothing line when I come back! Your medicine is more im—"

But then Utahime looked at him as if he personally fished out her goldfish, cooked it and fed it to her, so he edged back and made his way to her backyard to pull down the sheets. They were a little damp, but Utahime didn't have to know that. He even pulled down the clothes from her balcony and took them inside before going back to Utahime just to come face with the saddest pout ever.

"Who's gonna fold them?"

"I promise I'll do all your chores if you just let me get you your pills. Your fridge is empty! I need to buy chicken from the grocery store—"

"But I have to do the laundry."

"Baby," Gojo crept closer, and fearing no trouble, tugged her blanket up to her chin despite the looks she gave him. "Your house won't collapse if you skip laundry for one day."

"Laundry days are Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays only."

"Today is…not Saturday. Today is Sunday, princess."

"I'm sick, not dumb." Ignoring her frown (like he always did), he planted a kiss on the side of her temple and brushed back her sweat-soaked bangs.

"Call me if you don't feel well. I'll be back before you even know it."

"Better be," Utahime said weakly, turning over to the side and snuggling in. "Still have to mop the floors."

He wasn't going to mop her floors, not because he was a bad boyfriend but rather because her floors could survive a day without being mopped, or so he believed. Sometimes you just had to lie for the betterment of society and pray the other person never finds out.

His phone buzzed against his thigh when he was wondering whether chicken breasts or thighs would be a better supplement in the soup he was supposed to prepare.

"The Great and Amazing Satoru Gojo speaking! My title changes as per the person requiring my presence, dial one if you're a student, dial two if you're my colleague and it'll forward this call to voicemail, dial three if you're a family member and I promise I won't hang up—"

"Gojo-san, there's an emergency!"

"Ehhh…" Gojo pulled his phone away from his ear to check the caller ID on the screen. "The number you're calling is currently switched off. Please try again later—"

"Gojo-san! Please!" Ijichi's feverish voice boomed from the other end. "T-there's a curse that has escaped on school grounds, if it reaches the students—"

"Relax, Ijichi. It's a Saturday. School's closed."

"But the staff—"

"Are all grown-ass men and women. They can handle a little curse hanging out in their workplace. Seriously, the school is for sorcerers. If you're telling me that the staff in a sorcery school can't deal with a teensy bit of a curse infestation meant for sorcerers, they might as well quit."

"But, Principal Yaga said—"

"Principal Yaga can kiss my ass." Gojo said, ignoring the passing lady behind him who gave him a nasty look and covered her toddler's ears. "You guys have so many competent sorcerers back there, why rely on me? On my day off too!"

"So, d-do I tell him this?"

"Yeah," Gojo said impatiently, looking back and forth between the aisles. "Leave the 'kiss my ass' part though. Tell him I'm busy doing…weekend stuff."

"I don't know, Gojo-san, can't you…"

"Nuh-Uh! Now tell me Ijichi, breasts or thighs?" The woman from earlier walked behind right at that moment, going the other way. She muttered something sharply under her breath and wheeled her cart away faster.

On the other side of the phone, Ijichi blinked, "I—excuse me?"

"You're not excused until I get your opinion. Focus now, Ijichi. This is important. Dinner hangs in the balance."

Ijichi made a small, distressed noise on the other end of the line. “I don’t think my input is necessary here,”

"It absolutely is. If I pick wrong, I'll hit you."

Whenever the threat of a beating arose, Ijichi would get a mini heart attack. His health problems are ever-increasing each day, but it wasn't like it was Gojo's fault now, was it? Ijichi was just naturally fidgety and prone to being miserable.

"Hmm. Actually, thighs. Flavour, depth, collagen. I'm making chicken soup." He waggled the pack like a lecturer emphasising a key point. "Okay, crisis averted. Now, what were you whining about again?"

"The escaped curse in the school?"

“Mm,” Gojo hummed, already moving down the aisle and grabbing a basket of ingredients with zero regard for any coherent recipe. “Look, I really wish I could help, but I'm kind of busy right now. I've got responsibilities outside of my job too, y'know.”

"You don't seem like a person who does, to be honest."

"Eh, what? Ijichi, you have some nerve. Say another word like that to your senior again, and I'll beat you up!"

The poor assistant manager shivered on the phone. "Sorry! I'll relay this back to Yaga-san."

Gojo cheerfully tossed the chicken thighs and vegetables into his cart and skipped his way to the checkup line

"Utahime-senpai! I'm back home—senpai?"

Blanket kicked off, bed empty. The wet towel that was previously on her head, discarded on the floor. Gojo had teleported right into her room after his grocery shopping ended. Panic gripped him right in the middle of his chest, making him rush downstairs.

"Utahime?" Feet pounding off the steps, he reaches the kitchen area. Her curse energy floated around recklessly, and while it provided him a familiar sense of calm, it did not stop him from harshly placing his shopping haul on the table and sliding the door to the living room open with a bang.

There she was. Utahime looked up at him from her seat on the floor.

"Utahime," He started, relieved yet exhausted. "What are you doing here?"

When he flicked on the lights, she hissed like some ancient vampire pushed out in the sun. "You're sick. You should be in bed."

The faint glow from the TV that made shadows move on her face suddenly fell short in the brightly lit room. Now under the fierce judgement of the light, Gojo could see two flushed cheeks and a reddened nose, and eyes that would avoid looking his way. Whether it was due to guilt or something else, he didn't know.

"I wanted to watch baseball." She told him, her voice small.

"Your eyes are watering. How long have you been sitting there?"

"'M okay," Utahime replied meekly, even though meek was a word he would never associate with her on a good day. Utahime Iori twiddling her thumbs and looking shameful about something? Either the world was ending, or she was too sick to care. "I just don't wanna skip the playoffs."

"That's not what I asked you, though. I asked you how long you've been sitting there."

"Can't I watch baseball in my own house?"

"Not when you're running on a hundred and two fever." Utahime pouted and turned her face away, as if the wall beside the TV suddenly held a much more compelling game than the one she'd been watching.

"It dropped," she muttered. "Probably."

"‘Probably’ isn’t a number," Gojo said, stepping closer. The baseball match continued to play on and Utahime, ever the baseball-obsessed fan who treated the game like a religion, continued to watch on, but she still stiffened when his shadow fell across her knees. "Where’s the thermometer?"

Utahime shrugged, which only made her look smaller somehow, curled into the corner of the floor. "Somewhere."

"That’s helpful."

"It was where you last left it."

"Was?"

She didn’t answer. Instead, she sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand before realising he was watching and dropping it like she’d been caught doing something illegal.

"Mm." He sighed, crouched in front of her before she could protest, reaching out. Utahime flinched, but didn’t pull away when his hand pressed against her forehead. His brows knit together almost immediately. "Yeah, that’s definitely not ‘probably fine.’"

"It was worse earlier," she insisted.

"That’s not the defence you think it is."

"Gojo—"

"Nope." He stood up before she could build momentum, already scanning the room like he was cataloguing problems to fix. "You’re done watching for now."

Her head snapped up and she looked at him properly since the first time he came here. "What? No, I’m not done yet!"

"You are. Because if your fever gets any higher, I’m not taking you to a doctor. I’ll simply leave you here to haunt this living room forever."

"You would not."

"I absolutely would."

"You're my boyfriend," She shot back at him, instantly regretting the minute it left her mouth as it instantly made Gojo's face go from stern to teasing.

"Oh, so now you remember that you have a boyfriend, huh?"

Utahime glared at him, but it lacked its usual bite, dulled by exhaustion and something more vulnerable she clearly didn’t want him to notice. "You’re insufferable."

"And you’re burning up," he replied easily. "We all have our flaws."

She huffed, but her shoulders sagged a little, the fight draining out of her faster than he would've liked. "Just… five more minutes."

Gojo looked at her for a long moment, taking in the glassy sheen of her eyes, the way she leaned just slightly into the kotatsu table like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

"...Three," he said finally.

Utahime blinked. "I said five."

"I revised it."

"You can’t just revise—"

"Two," he cut in, reaching for the remote.

"Gojo—!"

"One."

Utahime looked at him like a child who was just told that Santa didn't exist. "Please," She said with a whine in her voice, and she looked so tired and miserable that it became harder and harder to say no as the minutes ticked by.

"Okay," Gojo relented, raising his hands in surrender. "Fine. Five minutes."

"Thirty," Utahime said and then wrapped her arms around his waist, catching him so off guard that her demand failed to register in his head. "I will watch until you're done with dinner and it's time for me to go to sleep. You can bring my pillow and blanket. I can lie down and watch TV."

Gojo blinked, the words catching up to him a second too late.

“...Thirty?”

Utahime only tightened her grip slightly, pressing her forehead against his stomach like that settled it. “Mm-hm.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” he said, though there was no real bite to it now. One hand hovered awkwardly in the air before it came to rest, hesitant at first, against her shoulder. “You just negotiated up by twenty-five minutes.”

"I will watch until you're done with dinner and it's time for me to go to sleep,” she repeated, slower this time, as if laying out a perfectly reasonable plan. “You can bring my pillow and blanket. I can lie down and watch TV.”

Gojo let out a quiet breath through his nose, somewhere between amused and exasperated. He glanced down at her. The way her cheek pressed into his shirt, the faint warmth he could feel even through the fabric, the stubborn set of her mouth that hadn’t quite disappeared, even like this.

"Fine," He said and felt that vague outline of a smirk through his clothes. "But only if…" He sat down at her level so that she was no longer emotionally manipulating him by a hug on her knees, forcing her to look at him straight in the eye. "I should get something out of this."

Utahime blinked at him, slow and unfocused, like her brain needed an extra second to catch up. “…What?”

Gojo rested his chin lightly against his palm, watching her with that same infuriating calm. “I said I should get something out of this.”

“You’re already getting something out of this,” she muttered. “You get to feel important.”

“Ouch.” He placed a hand over his chest. “Wounded.”

“You’ll live.”

“Debatable.”

She squinted at him, trying to read his expression through the haze of her fever. “What do you want?”

The corner of his mouth tilted, just slightly. “…A kiss,” he said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

Utahime, even through her fever-induced stupor, stared, then blinked again, and to Gojo's unbridled excitement, finally, finally grew flustered enough to hit him with the TV remote. His girlfriend, his adorable, infuriatingly angry girlfriend was back!

"Ew, no!" She inched away, as if he were the one with a contagious disease. Gojo struggled to pack his laughter into his chest and not let it escape, but it leaked out from his smile anyway.

"If I disgust you that much, I'll turn off the TV."

"That's blackmailing!"

"Hmm, I dunno, 'Hime. Sounds pretty fair to me." This time, when he tugged her towards him, she let her head fall against his chest, her face scrunched into a scowl; and although the flush on her cheeks deepened, was it due to the fever or something else entirely, who knew?

"You're taking advantage of a sick person." She accused him, her voice muffled by his chest.

"I'm getting a payback for all the stuff I'm doing for you," He ran his fingers through the dark tangle of her hair, setting a mental reminder to brush it for her later. "C'mon, you coerced me into letting you watch baseball. Do you find me that gross?"

"No," She whined into his chest, growing more flustered as he talked. "I'm the gross one. I'm sick, Gojo."

"Are you? I had no idea," Gojo spoke with his lips to her hairline, Utahime could feel it—that cursed self-assured smirk forming words on her forehead. "I don't know about being gross, but you are pretty mean for starving me of any affection since like, so long. When was the last time I got to hug you like this?"

When Utahime shrugged her shoulders without giving any sort of verbal affirmation that she'd even heard him, he tightened his hold around her waist and said, "17th January,"

"Why do you have the date memorised?"

"I marked it on my calendar. It was the last time I got to kiss you. Which is approximately a month back."

"But, what if you…" Utahime pulled back from his embrace, thumb and forefinger fidgeting with the button on his uniform, eyes trained on his chest. "What if you also get sick? Then what?"

"Last time I got sick, I was seven years old." Now with her face out in the open, bared to him so sweetly, he could lean down and brush his nose against hers, watching her trying to keep up with the weak attempt at holding her frown. He saw her eyes flutter closed briefly before she opened them again and directed the most devastatingly beautiful doe eyes he'd ever seen, right onto him.

"Are you sure?" She asked him. Gojo gulped before placing a hand below her jaw, hoping his look could convey all the things he had been wanting to say in one go. It did, for Utahime's hands slipped from his shoulders to lock behind his neck, pulling him slightly closer. "Just one, then."

"Yeah," He said, hoarsely, his arm curving around her waist, bringing her all but onto his lap. "Just one." Speechless as he was, he probably sounded pathetic right now. He didn't care. Because Utahime had her walls down, seated on his lap with her legs on either side of him, tilting her head to softly graze her lips on his. His grip on her instinctively tightened, ready to slot his mouth properly against hers when a sharp whir vibrated from his pocket.

"For fuck's sake," He hissed, his lips still on hers, cursing every deity on earth when she reluctantly pulled back. Now she looked embarrassed. He swears that if Ijichi doesn't die of a heart attack one day, Gojo will make sure that the reason for his demise is listed under his name.

He fished out his phone from his pocket and picked it up. "What the fuck do you want now?"

Gojo expected some high-pitched squeal, stuttering, perhaps an over-the-top apology in the first few seconds of the call, but what came out instead was a deep, gravely voice of a man that Ijichi couldn't procure even in his wildest dreams. "What the hell is wrong with you, Satoru?"

"Yaga sensei?" Gojo blurted out. Principal Yaga gave an affirmative cough and spoke on,

"Did you just cuss at me?"

"What?! No, no, no. I thought you were someone else. Didn't check the caller ID 'coz you know, I am very, very busy right now. I would never curse at you, Principal."

Besides him, Utahime had wrapped her arms around her knees and turned back to the TV, uninterested in everything that had to do with him once more.

"Oh, I would love to know how busy you are, considering you just declined to come over during the emergency summons."

"Sensei, you know it's a day off—"

"A day off with your students on a field-day mission?" His old teacher's voice sounded calm, a bit too zen for even a man like himself. "Clearing out a cursed mansion that you were supposed to do, five weeks ago?"

"Was I?" Gojo laughed into the phone, eyeing Utahime's back as the baseball match stole away her attention entirely. "I don't know what you're talking about—"

"'Kiss my ass', you said, huh?" Oh fuck. "I'll show you how I kick ass, Satoru Gojo—!"

"Oh, Oh no! I-Is that Itadori-kun? He seems to be in some bigggg danger, now. Don't worry, Yuuji, the Great and Amazing Satoru Gojo is on his way to save you! 'Kay, talk to you later, Principal. My Sensei senses are tingling, and my boys are in trouble! See ya!"

Before Yaga could curse him out some more, Gojo hung up the call. Then put it on Do Not Disturb and turned back to his girlfriend, whose attention was snagged by Sosuke Genda turning a double play.

"Right, so I guess I'll go make your dinner, then."

"Okay," Was all she said, whether that was because she was mad at him or her memory dwindled down to that of a goldfish when she was ill, he didn't know. Either way, his chances of a makeout session with his girlfriend were completely, indefinitely squashed.

So here he was, cutting up chicken and dumping it into the pot to boil, mixing the broth, soy sauce, cabbage and carrots together, hoping it could suffice as a cure.

Somewhere in between watching the soup boil and heating up the rice, Utahime trodded up to him and prodded his shoulder.

"Advertisement time," She simply said, and looked at him. Gojo grinned down at Utahime playfully, flicking her on the forehead. "Now that you don't have baseball players to drool over, you come to me. What am I, your side piece? And might I remind you, you're terribly ill. Please don't move around this much."

Gojo would've continued to talk if it weren't for Utahime pushing him back by her hand on his chest, making his hip hit the counter, then going on her tiptoes and pressing her lips firmly against his, cutting off whatever smug remark he had lined up next. For a split second, he froze, rare for someone like him—before his hands instinctively found her waist, pulling her closer as the surprise melted into something softer, quieter, festering that feeling in him that he'd faced many a times but still failed to put a name on it.

Some things were better off unlabelled, because Gojo didn't know whether this was intensely overwhelming or just love, but he was too afraid to peel off the layers to find out anyway, so for as long as she was real, warm and kissing his breath away from his lungs, he didn't really mind.

It was only when she whimpered so lovingly into his mouth that he woke up, along with something unwanted inside him, that he pulled back. "Holy shit, no." He said, with Utahime's sweet mouth going for his neck. He pushed her back by the grip on her hips immediately. "You're sick. We're not doing this."

"You wanted this." Utahime glared at him, even when she was boiling hot and her voice croaky. "You insisted."

"And I changed my mind. We're not going any further until I'm absolutely certain that you're well again. I'd better feed you and give you your pills, or this fever is never tempering down."

"But-" Utahime's voice was cut short when he turned off the stove and ushered her back into the living room.

There was something about her, Gojo thought, with Utahime tucked up against his side, blowing over a spoonful of soup, that made his throat catch whenever he tried to deny her of anything. Even with her dinner in front of her, she was still allowed to watch baseball, which went completely against their deal earlier, but after little insistence, he still let her continue. It wasn't every day that Utahime would demand something from him. It wasn't always that she'd rely on him. Even if she thought her a burden, Gojo liked this side of her, without the indifferent bards and a serious conviction to stay independent and away from him. A side where she could trust him a little, put her walls down and share some of her obligations with him. Wasn't that what he was here for?

"Satoru," She said after a while, her forehead leaning against his shoulder. "Remember when I said I'll be on a mission with Kamo and Todo today?"

In the haze of today's event, he'd completely forgotten the purpose of his unprompted visit today. He was here to find the reason behind why Utahime had lied to him earlier.

Instead of mentioning that, Gojo gulps his portion of the dinner down and lets her continue.

Utahime looked at something far away in the distance, her face devoid of expression and then finally spoke. "It got cancelled. I couldn't accompany them in this state. I don't think it'll be rescheduled."

"Oh," Was all Gojo responded with. Disappointment seeped through his tone, which fortunately went unnoticed by his girlfriend. She had lied to him again, because there was no mission to get cancelled in the first. "I'm sorry. We missed our date for nothing, it seems."

He didn't dig any further, and she didn't elaborate, so their conversation flowed into a halt. It was just him, her and clinks of spoon against china. Gojo grunted as he got up after a while, shuffling towards the staircase. "I'll get your bed ready. And your pills are on the counter. And then I'll…"

"You can stay," She said, staring at the remnants at the bottom of her soup bowl. "If you want to. You can stay the night."

A slow, soft smile crept up his face, watching her prod a piece of cabbage in her soup.

Utahime slept soundly under the covers, visible from the soft rise and fall of her figure on the bed. The window was cracked open slightly, making sure the room wouldn't turn too suffocated of air. Gojo sat with his legs folded near her desk, idly fiddling with his phone. He couldn't sleep, because, well, he didn't know how. It was merely eleven, and the usual time Gojo hit the sack was around 3 a.m. Even if Gojo tried to close his eyes, his mind would just wander and jump loops while the hours went by. The best course of action was to stay up and look out for Utahime's fever, or try to get some work done in the meantime.

Speak of the devil, Gojo thought as his phone screen lit up with an incoming call. It shone harshly across his face, a sudden contrast in the near darkness. Gojo picked it up and stuck it to his ear, eyeing a spot on the wall adjacent to him.

"Gojo-san!" Ijichi's high-pitched squeal rang out in the static. Gojo sighed and ran a hand over his hair.

"It's the middle of the night, Ijichi. You know, some of us have lives." He spoke softly, not in any way that could comfort the terrified man, nor were his intentions as such, but because Utahime stirred slightly and mumbled something, turning in her sleep. "Wouldn't you let me get one night's rest?"

He wasn't sleeping at all, but Gojo thrived in Ijichi's misery.

"I-I'm so sorry!" Ijichi all but squeaked. "I-It was an emergency, I had no choice."

"Another emergency? What escaped into the school now? Let me guess, it's some kind of wild animal that broke out loose on the streets. Now you need me at nearly midnight to round those all up and deliver them back to the zoo before they rampage through the city. Am I right?"

"N-not quite."

"Oh, really?" Gojo said sarcastically, his irritation on par with Utahime's when he'd do something stupid, and she'd rage and stomp and upend the house in response. "Okay, then. Then it must be something really big, like a special grade-level threat, that could wipe out the whole country without me having to kill it? Isn't it, Ijichi? I hope it is, because if it's anything other than that, then I swear I'm going to kill you."

Ijichi gave out a little 'Ek!' and quickly decided to bring the matter forth. "It's Itadori-san. He's been trapped in a d-domain expansion!"

Gojo's spine instantly straightened. "What?" Yuuji and the trio should've gotten out and finished that mission hours ago. The mission briefing was methodical; the curse was a grade one, the old manor was an infestation ground for flyheads for years until it grouped together into something big and became impossible for the curse regulation to ignore, and yet it lay collecting dust in the bottom drawer of his desk until it tumbled out last week, so Gojo decided to use it to gift his students a little excursion, hoping it could cover up the empty blanks in their Annual Exorcism Report. Two birds, one stone. It was the perfect plan, and Gojo had pulled such things before, all ending on a positive note. And he distinctly remembered thoroughly checking the mission report first; no other cursed activity had evolved on site.

"Fushiguro-san fortunately made out, but the others are still stuck inside. We have no idea of Kugisaki-san's whereabouts either."

An annoyed tch left his mouth, as he grumbled under his breath, watching the rise and fall of the lump of blankets on the bed.

With Ijichi's grumbling on the other side of the phone increasing with every passing minute, Gojo breaks away his gaze from Utahime's peaceful slumbering form back to him. "Tell Megumi to go back home. I'll be there in a minute."

And true to his word, Satoru Gojo arrived on the outskirts of the domain in exactly one minute. Shrouded by a curtain put up by none other than the ever-reliant Kiyotaka Ijichi, a black opaque dome grew from the ground where the old manor once resided, trapping Yuuji and his friend, whom he could only hope was alive.

As spoken in the beginning, Yuuji Itadori had found himself stuck in many unfortunate situations in the past decade or so. He did not like feeling so utterly hapless, his luck snakebit. However optimistic he may try to be, one just does not manage to escape a debacle as the one he was in at this moment—the worst one yet, alive and breathing with a sane head on his shoulders. Even someone as adversery-prone as him would struggle to survive trapped in a slime ground with only a 2000-year-old cursed body-sharing sorcerer as his sole companion.

"This is it then, it seems," Sukuna's goading voice spoke for the nth time again, somewhere from the left side of his body. Yuuji didn't care to find out where. "This is where my vessel of the century shall finally meet its end."

Yuuji, with his cheek to his palm, sitting on what remained of a beautifully carved Victorian coffee table, floating precociously in a sea of black goo. Whoever lived here, whenever they lived, seemed to have a good taste in furniture. Sukuna had started this conversation an hour ago, spitting about the disrespect of artistry Yuuji was doing by using an 18th-century imported piece of furniture as his only chance of survival, because for some reason Sukuna cared a lot about wood-carved tea tables.

"Remind me again, how many vessels have you had in this century by far?"

The answer was none. Yuuji was probably the first unfortunate accident able to restrain him. But Sukuna was hellbent on acting as if being reincarnated into the body of a mortal boy was an everyday event.

"Are you mocking me, boy?"

"I dunno? You started this, by the way. I've been trying to ignore you for the past hour or so; you can't blame me for talking back a little."

"Well, I—" Sukuna, or rather just his mouth, spluttered against Yuuji's palm. "I do not like being ignored!"

Who would've thought? Yuuji thought Sukuna was beyond such things.

"Well, humble up then. The world doesn't revolve around you." He could feel Sukuna grinding his teeth in his mouth, seconds away from throwing a temper tantrum. For an old man, he sure did get grumpy when he got bored.

"Urgh. You are just wallowing in agony because your body is set to decompose in this domain while I shall live on without you."

"You will definitely not be missed by me when I die, I can assure you that,"

"Fool, clown. You fatuous, asinine, vacuous, slow-witted, motley-wearing coxcomb. You—what do you kids say these days? Ah, yes. You bozo, dimwitted, idiotic chud."

Yuuji merely sighed, folded his hands over his knees and buried his face in them. A deep well of silence encompassed them both; none of them were happy about this situation. To make matters worse, Sukuna opened his stupid mouth again.

"You slough of despond. Stop floundering in malaise at once. I do not like it."

"What do you want me to do? What could possibly make you shut up?" Yuuji's muffled voice seemed to scream from between his arms. Sukuna's mouth melted against the skin of his palm and disappeared, only to materialise on his cheek. "You can never get rid of me, brat. But for as long as I am sealed in you, try not to agitate me. I do not like this perturbed aura of yours; it's odd and doesn't merge well with your sickening, morally pure self. Do the jolly-wagging you always do. Watch those, what is it called again? Those supposedly "hilarious" felines that have somehow taken over the world. I do not understand what humans find so interesting about cats, but it makes you guffaw like an idiot. Yes, entertain yourself with them, this instant."

"I cannot watch cat videos right now, Sukuna."

"Why not? I demand it. Watch those cat videos, brat."

Fuck Sukuna and fuck his life. Yuuji stifled a groan in his arms. "There's no signal in domains. I can't watch cat videos, I can't call for help, I can't text my friends, I can't do anything. All I can do is sit here…" His head emerged from the shelter of his arms to see the slime slowly rise upward, eating the ornate wooden parlour table away. "…and wait for Gojo sensei to come and save us, and then bump me down a grade, or expel me, or make me retake this test."

Sukuna's mouth burst into laughter at his side, the boisterous sound echoing off the walls of the domain. "Waiting for that man is like waiting for the sun to explode. Neither of them is happening anytime soon."

If you think the change from his earlier concern to this mockery was bad, then sit tight, for this was not the end of it. "You've really been waiting for that man to come rescue you, like some damsel in distress? Oh, you jest. You cannot, no, you will not depend on him. He's not coming. If he shows up, I will wear that hideous Christmas hat and dance to Katy Perry with a banana between my teeth."

"What makes you think he won't show up? Gojo sensei always—"

"Oh, hush, you fatheaded troll. The Six Eyes is too busy romancing away with his mate to even care about you and that numskull lady stuck in here."

Yuuji perked up as if someone had set his butt on fire. Mate…? Mate? "You mean…Gojo sensei has a…you know…"

"Yes, yes, my monkeyfaced lout! That man has been ensnared by a woman's touch! It will be even more fun to crush him under my foot now, now that that fool has uncovered his biggest weakness—"

"How do you know that sensei has, uh…."

"Oh, you know. My amazing skills of perception. He is always buried nose-deep in those glowing rectangular slates you all carry these days." A phone, he means? "Who else would he be corresponding with but his woman? Always tittering with that nervous excitement every time he gets a call in the afternoon."

Now that he mentions it… "You're right," Yuuji unbelievably agreed with him, all pieces falling into place one by one. "Gojo sensei does get a call before lunch break almost every day. And he always excuses himself to pick up his phone, which he never does. Megumi always grumbles about how Sensei talks about classified jujustu information in front of us without even trying to be discreet. Oh my god, Sukuna. You're right. I can't believe this."

Sukuna gave a loud 'pah', brushing off the near-compliment with pretend indifference. "When am I not right? I am always right, brat."

"B-but, Gojo sensei wouldn't abandon Kugisaki and me for his girlfriend, would he? That's against bro code!"

"You think that man cares about some bro code, whatever that might be? I've seen the fall of kingdoms and dynasties all because their kings were too busy wooing their wives!"

"People are allowed to woo their wives!"

"Don't know why you care so much, brat, you have no one to woo."

"Can you not—"

A faint crack reverberated in the air, followed by a set of repetitive knocking. The cursed energy lathered on the walls of the domain seemed to intensify, and Yuuji noticed with increasing panic that Sukuna's mouth had suddenly retreated back inside his skin; his gouding voice disappeared. And then, like an angel descending down on earth, the domain cracked open, bathing the insides in the harsh light of the moon, The slime beneath his feet slithered away into the depths, and finally, snatching away victory from the jaws of defeat, Gojo sensei stepped through the fracture like he’d been mildly inconvenienced rather than summoned, dusting off his sleeve as if brushing aside the entire concept of danger, and with a lazy grin added, “Took you long enough to get into trouble without me, Yuuji. I was starting to feel left out.”

"Sensei!" Screamed Yuuji in overwhelming joy, jumping off the expensively old table on a slime-free floor with his slime-free shoes and dashing towards his preferably slime-free future and tackles his slime-free teacher into a hug. "You came!"

"Why wouldn't I have come?" Gojo sensei sounded confused, but he tapped his student's back soothingly, nevertheless.

"Oh, I'm so glad you came! I thought I was going to die in there, Sukuna was eating away at my brain like a starved zombie, Kugisaki had disappeared hours ago, and I don't think she's alive—"

"Hey, hey," Sensei chuckled and attempted to distangle himself from Yuuji's bear hug. "It's okay, Yuuji. I have Nobara with me here, I pulled her out before I broke through the domain."

Kugisaki grunted somewhere behind them as Yuuji dismounted. "Glad to know I was your last choice."

"Don't be mad at me! Nobara didn't get stuck in a domain expansion like you did!"

"Yeah, we should be glad you even came," Kugisaki nodded along as he said that, as if it all made sense.

"Just why do you keep talking as if I wouldn't have come to save you?"

Inside him, Sukuna grumbled something that sounded like he was sulking. Yuuji would have to fill Kugisaki and Fushiguro in on Sensei's alleged dating situation. Till then, Gojo could live a carefree life. Until, of course, Sukuna's tongue starts running wild about him and his woman.

The clean-up, the write-up, and the wrap-up; three important stages a sorcerer deems necessary after completing one's mission. They took up more time than the mission itself did, and usually, Gojo would just toss those tasks onto Ijichi or any other window unfortunate enough to be standing in his peripheral vision. This time, however, in a rare occurrence of a botched mission under his name, Gojo stood alongside the windows and maintenance crew, making sure his students were all tucked in and sent home safely, and oversaw whatever was left of the creepy old mansion. Not one painting left for him to steal, sadly.

It was nearly two in the morning when he reached back to Utahime's place, sighing impatiently as he let himself in through the back door. Trudging quietly upstairs, he creaked open her door, letting out a huff of relief when he realised everything was just as he had left it. Gojo knelt down beside Utahime's bed, watching her shift against the covers and then pull them back to reveal her eyes.

"You're still awake?" Gojo put his hand over her sweat-soaked forehead, his blithe smile dropping the minute he realised how hot her skin had become.

"'Hime," He began, and then rubbed his hand over his face. Her fever had skyrocketed by the time he'd wrapped the mission up. It might've been what, like six hours since she took her pill? He had to give her the second dosage an hour ago.

He probably won't be sleeping tonight. At all. But wouldn't voice a single complaint. He would rather be nowhere if not with her, right now, right here, with her feet in his lap as he rubbed her soles, trying to temper her fever down.

Her skin was burning hot under his hands, in contrast to her cold feet. She'd murmur something here and there while he wiped her down with a washcloth, her clothes sticking to her like second skin.

With her temperature cooling down a notch, Gojo slide a plate of toast in front of her. She opened her eyes a smidge, pupils dilated, too disoriented to process anything. But she had enough of a conscience to refuse food.

"I can't give you your medicine on an empty stomach, babe." He held a piece of buttered toast to her mouth, watching her look at him through her watery, squinted gaze. Utahime scrunched her nose and sniffled, then gave up and took a bite anyway.

"Good girl," Expecting to get a glare in return for his endearment, he was terribly disappointed when Utahime turned out to be too fever-addled to even care. So Gojo just sat there, with his forearms on his knees, sleeves pulled back to the elbows. She lay there as she chew, and Gojo was pretty sure that was a big health hazard, but Utahime's stubborness was this never-to-cease entity that did not seem to temper down with the rest of her brain functions while on a fever.

"Satoru," She spoke from her position all of a sudden, while Gojo sat ready with her pill in his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Huh?" His eyes widened a fraction, tongue stiff against his teeth.

"I lied to you. About the mission. There was no mission." Her voice was, so, so tiny. Practically a whimper against the covers, so small you had to lean down to hear it. "I didn't want to go on that date."

"Uta," He spoke softly, tucking her hair behind her ear, just so he could see her eyes properly. "It's okay. I know you're—"

"It's not. I lied to you. I just didn't want to go because…I got sick and I hardly ever do and I thought you'd think I was so silly to get sick right when you planned that big dinner for us, you were so excited to go and I…" That swirl of honey in brown, those eyes he felt blessed to see so often, were rimmed with tears that were barely holding themselves back. "I ruined our date by getting sick. So I lied to you and pretended I had a more proper reason to cancel."

"You thought I'd think you're silly for cancelling our date when you're this sick, rather than you cancelling because you had work?"

"I thought you'd think I'm a burden," She sniffled against the pillow once more. Gojo slid his hand under her and gathered her in his arms, and she instantly buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"You're no burden, baby." He had his fingers untangling the mess in her hair, reaching down to her sweat-soaked nape.

"I am. Look at me."

"I am looking, you just won't show me your face."

And no amount of nudging her chin to look his way would make her do that, so Gojo just settled for placing his palm against her back. "Alright, then. Let's say you are a burden. But you're mine to carry, to take care of. To cherise and to love. Even if you are a burden, as long as you're there, that's all that matters."

After a hiccup and a moment to contemplate over his words, Utahime's head turned towards him to look at Gojo from the concave of his chest. "You mean it? You're not mad that we wasted our date night over this than going out for what you planned?"

Sneaking in the oppurtunity, Gojo placed a kiss on her temple. "Nope. Anywhere with you is fine."

And with that, the G.C.V.G (Short for Great Charismatic Virtuoso Gojo) could finlly sit and soak in his girlfriend's warmth and love in her stuffy, hot bedroom with her terrible illness momentarily forgotten. Until he rememebered, of course. Her pill and something else.

"By the way," He began as Utahime had nearly started to relax in his hold, sighing deeply against his neck. "I lied to you about the reservation, too. It was non-refundable. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She rubbed her eyes and sighed again. "I'll just pay you back."

"Yeah, no. You're not doing that."

"I can pay for whatever I want, Satoru. And I'm paying for that date. How much was it?"

"For the sake of your wallet and mine," He said as he put her down on the bed again, placing a pill and a glass of water in her awaiting hands, "I won't mention it."

"Satoru."

"Utahime."

"Satoru!"

"Good night. We'll go see Shoko if your fever doesn't go down by tomorrow."

Huffing and angry, Utahime settled down under the covers, patting the place beside her despite the scowl on her face. Gojo smiled and took her invitation in earnest.

"You'll get a fever too if you stick to me like this." She spoke gently against his chest, eyes drooping close.

"I won't. I'm very strong, remember?"

Utahime scoffed and said nothing, falling asleep next to him by the time Gojo registered her breathing evening out. And despite what he said earlier, he found himself losing in the lull of the night as well, closing his eyes no matter how he struggled to stay awake.

Achoo!

Gojo doesn't know much about being sick, if he were to be honest. The last time he had a fever was when he was a wee little clan brat with rosy cheeks and an affronted glare that could send his family into a frenzy trying to keep up with his demands. It was the fifth of January, 1997, right after New Year's, when the seven-year-old Satoru fell ill with the flu.

Most heirs to the Six Eyes were born too weak to handle the stress that came with it, often dying before reaching the age of five. So when Satoru fell ill, everyone, and he means everyone, panicked like they were being collectively bitten by a horde of red fire ants in their pants. The Gojo clan came apart; his mother wept, his aunts wept, his great-grandmother wept, his cousins wept, the maids wept, the clan priest decided on his funeral requirements before he was slapped in the face and promptly made to shut the fuck up. The Six Eyes couldn't die yet. They hadn't tortured him enough to just let him die, if you know what he means.

Anyways, the good news was that he made it out alive. The bad news was that he had zero experience with what to do when he got down with something.

Lucky for him, Utahime was here to make him hot soup and force medicine down his throat and strap him to his bed so he doesn't just run off to work when he's sick.

"I don't think you're that sick. You're just pretending, aren't you?" She berated, and oh what a day was it to get berated, standing over him with her hands on her hips.

"The thermometer never lies, baby," He answered, and then came down with the biggest coughing fit in history. Utahime sighed, (why did every time she did seem extra dreamy when he was sick?) and tucked him in tighter.

"Is this okay?" She asked with real, real concern in her voice, her brows furrowed, and her hands on his chest.

"The best." He was the happiest man in the world. With him begging for scraps of attention from her just a few days ago (it was not her fault; she was just sick and angry), now felt like the comeback moment he deserved. Utahime was practically all over him when he showed up at her place with a stuffy nose and flushed cheeks. 'Poor you', she had said and gathered him into the warmth of her embrace. Or something somewhat close to that.

Suddenly, like the devil it was, Gojo's phone rang. He groaned with his head against Utahime's fluffed-up, fancy pillows, which he had ruined with snot as she tottered away (away from him) to pick up his phone with a formal greeting.

"Hello, this is Utahime speaking—"

"Halt, woman!" Said a deep, condescending voice from the other side. Utahime checked the name of the caller. It was saved as 'Execution Postponed'.

"Erm, is this one of his students?" She asked as she pressed the phone to her ear again. The voice laughed.

"No, you ninny churl! It is I!"

"Who?"

"Me! It is me! Obviously, who else would it be? Anyways, listen here, you haggard. Tell Satoru Gojo that I have tracked down his one sole weakness! Tell him to sleep with his eyes open, for I shall come and steal his—"

"Utahime!" Her boyfriend whined from the other side of the room. "Come look, Utahime. I'm dying, Utahime. I wanna die in your arms before I go, Utahime. Don't leave me alone, please, Utahime!"

"Satoru Gojo is dying? This quick? You are quite a direst minx, you witch! Tell him to postpone his death, I am the one to kill him—"

"Wrong number," Utahime said shortly and hung up. What a weirdo. Is this one of those stupid pranks his students try to play on him? Satoru is too easy with his kids; Utahime's own students would never dare to do this. They are disciplined and well-mannered and she was proud to say that they treated her with the utmost respect.

"Utahime, I'm really dying, babe. Look at me, look—cough, cough. Oh, oh is that what I think it is? Do I see the light?"

"You're not dying, stop annoying me, Satoru Gojo!" Her scream could be heard throughout the neighbourhood, she was sure. Unbeknownst to her, Kiyotaka Ijichi, who was a second away from ringing her doorbell to deliver her mission report, prompting toed back into his car and drove away as fast as he could.

"Mummy! Mummy, is that really you? Am I really dying, Mummy? Oh, you've come to take me away to heaven, Mummy, I'm so grateful—"

"Your mother," Utahime came stomping into the room, throwing a pillow at his head. "is still alive, you idiot!"

"Hush, Utahime. I'm talking to my mother." He said, pointing to her ceiling. "She's come to take me with her to heaven. Since I'm dying because you neglected me. You have no right to complain. Isn't that right, Mummy?" He asked her lightbulb.

Utahime knelt down beside him to pinch his arm, earning an enraged 'ow!' that she was too proud to hear. And even though she swore she was mad at him, she couldn't help but laugh at the face he made. Despite his bad behaviour, his girlfriend rewarded him with a peck on his mouth. "There, are you better now?"

"I'm not dying, at least not now." He smiled at her. "However, if you keep kissing me, you will fall sick in the next two days again."

"That's okay. You'll be there to take care of me, right?"

"Always," He wrapped his heavy hand around her, tucking her close. "Every single time. Without fail."

Utahime smiled till she couldn't, breathing in his scent and the feel of him. "I love you, Satoru. You know that, right?"

"I know. But thanks for confirming anyway—ouch! I mean, I love you too!"

She stayed there with him and he with her, with no impromptu phone calls, no emergency missions, and the threat against Gojo's life grumbling inside Yuuji somewhere far away, too far to reach them for now.

If Sukuna wanted to kill him using his girlfriend as his weakness, he had no choice but to wait for a while and try calling him using Yuuji's phone on some other day.