Work Text:
July 2018
The Okinawa mission was supposed to be an easy cleanup, just a cluster of curses nesting in a cave off one of the barrier islands. Based on the reports, it would take two days—tops.
Which was exactly why Utahime checked the current list of pending missions twice before she left, then carved out three full days on the schedule for the assignment.
Days off were rare in her world. Even when she managed to plan them, they had a habit of slipping through her fingers like sand the second she started to relax.
A student needing backup on a mission.
Stacks of paperwork left untouched for too long.
A last-minute emergency call dragging everyone back into motion before dawn.
There was always something. Always someone needing her attention, her time, her energy until there was nothing left for herself. But Okinawa was far enough away that, for once, she and the three students she’d brought with her would fall to the very bottom of the emergency contact list. And with curse season ending, and the sister-school event weeks away, the curse situation should be okay for a weekend.
The result would have been a nice, relaxing day spent beneath a shaded umbrella, in a bikini she rarely had the opportunity to wear, with a book resting open in one hand, and condensation sliding down the side of a drink in the other, while her students darted along the shoreline laughing.
For once, she’d actually been looking forward to it.
That was until he showed up.
Utahime still couldn’t decide what was worse:
the fact that he’d had the audacity to appear at all (completely uninvited) or the fact that he arrived looking like he’d fallen face first into a tourist shop somewhere by the airport, and emerged with the most garishly patterned Hawaiian shirt he could find.
Shameless. It’d been absolutely shameless.
And, as if his mere presence wasn’t irritating enough, he’d somehow managed ‘accidentally’ wipe out nearly every curse in the cave while supposedly demonstrating proper exorcism techniques for tight spaces, completely eviscerating any lessons that would have come from the tip.
Which meant their carefully planned two-day mission had turned into one afternoon of ‘work’ followed by two full days of free time.
How convenient.
Utahime had been suspicious the second she saw the smug curve of his mouth afterward.
And now, the very next day, he refused to leave her alone. Almost as if he were trying to rub salt into a fresh wound as she attempted to relax by the ocean.
But the sea breeze, children laughing, and the fact that she had a day off for once in her life did nothing to douse her hatred for the man beside her. Especially not when His voice drifted through the air for what had to be the fifth time in the last ten minutes.
“You mad at me or somethin’?”
Utahime clenched her jaw hard enough for her temple to visibly throb as her fingers tightened around the edge of her book, toes curling into the sand where they hung off the edge of her beach towel.
“No,” she bit out.
Years of experience had taught her that indulging even a fraction of Satoru Gojo’s antics only encouraged him. Ignore him, refuse to react, starve him of attention—that was the correct strategy.
Or at least that's what Shoko kept trying to tell her.
Unfortunately, practice and reality were two very different things.
And reality currently involved him planted far too close, radiating infuriating confidence while she fought the urge to shove him head first into the ocean and hold him there. He had always done this to her, pulled out the urges that she would never fathom with anyone else.
Gojo shifted towards her, his fingers catching the edge of her towel and flicking it between them like he possessed some compulsive need to invade every inch of her space.
“Good, because I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said lightly, punctuating the sentence with an exaggerated sigh so dramatic she nearly snapped her book shut over his head.
Utahime’s eyes flicked up from the pages to the stretch of ocean ahead. She focused on it, trying to quell the scene-inducing fury she already felt thrumming through her veins. Something that she truly couldn't afford today.
Nobara ran by on the shoreline, hair pulled back with a water gun in one hand as she screeched. Yuji chased after her, a smile wide enough to sting plastered on his face. A few paces down, the rest of the students played a game of volleyball, faces bright, minds unbothered by their world for probably the first time in months.
It was rare to see anyone in their world not talking about curses. And Utahime had never quite gotten over the guilt she felt for guiding mere children into a life so destructive, even if it were a necessary demon for the rest of society to survive.
If not her, it would be somebody else, is what she’d always reassure herself with.
But that didn’t take away the inevitable pain she’d feel if a student passed while in her care, or even outside of it years later.
She inhaled deeply, tasting the salt of the ocean, feeling the cool breeze brush past her cheeks, forcing herself to remember why she was here. If not for her, but for them.
Until Gojo shifted even closer.
She twisted toward him, glaring hard enough to kill lesser men where they sat.
“Do you have to be under the same umbrella?” She hissed, trying to keep her voice down.
Gojo lowered his head, pinning her with two bright blue eyes from over his sunglasses, entirely unbothered. If anything, the irritation twisting across her face only seemed to brighten his mood. One corner of his mouth ticked upward, amused, which never meant anything good.
“But yours has the best shade,” he said, as if that were somehow a proper explanation.
Then, apparently deciding her irritation level still wasn’t where he wanted it, he drifted toward the hem of the sheer white cotton cover-up pooled around her thighs. The fabric snagged lightly between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make her attention snap towards it.
“Wanna go swimming?” he asked before she could scold him.
Utahime stared at him flatly.
She’d gone to the beach with Gojo enough times to know that swimming with him in any capacity was less an activity and more a near-death experience.
At best, he’d splash her until she drowned. At worst, he’d throw her over his shoulder and sprint directly into a wave tall enough to kill them both.
Her mouth opened, already primed with a sharp response—
“Are you two on your honeymoon?”
The words cut through the air, taking her retort in one breathless swoop.
Utahime froze, unable to comprehend exactly why someone would construe that about them.
Gojo went still beside her for a split second before a grin spread across his face with horrifying speed. One that she was incredibly familiar with.
Utahime ignored him and turned towards the voice, body stiff as she fixed what she hoped to be a pleasant expression on her face despite the pit forming rapidly in her stomach.
Nothing good ever came from Gojo grinning like a maniac.
A middle-aged woman stood several feet away near a walking path, smiling warmly at them while balancing a beach bag on one shoulder, entirely oblivious to the destruction she’d just unleashed.
“No,” she answered, at the exact same moment Gojo said—
“Yes!”
Gojo leaned harder into the lie before she could protest.
“She’s so shy, it’s really cute,” he said.
Utahime whipped toward him so fast her neck nearly snapped, only finding the terrifying scene of man who’d just found a new game to play as he pushed his sunglasses into his hair. Then her head snapped back toward the woman—who, to her absolute horror, looked completely won over and beaming at them with enough warmth to rival the sun overhead.
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” she gushed. “My husband and I spent our honeymoon in this exact spot! They say it brings good luck!”
Utahime’s soul briefly left her body.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gojo straighten with sudden interest, like he’d just been handed invaluable information instead of a marketing ploy.
Which meant he was absolutely going to make this worse.
Thankfully, the woman turned at the sound of approaching footsteps before Gojo could find a way to do so.
Utahime nearly sighed in relief, thinking that teasing would just be her life for the foreseeable future.
Nearly.
“Oh, darling, they’re on their honeymoon! Isn’t it sweet?”
A middle-aged man wandered over with a hand wrapped around a sweating plastic cup from one of the nearby shops. He slowed to a stop, eyes drifting over them as they sat far to close under and umbrella that was clearly meant for one, not two.
“No, we are not—” Utahime started quickly, only for Gojo to shift closer, his shoulder pressing against hers beneath the cramped shade of the umbrella, forcing her to stutter.
“We actually just got married last week,” he said, voice velvet and soft as if he were recalling the memory.
Utahime stopped breathing.
Completely.
She was not equipped to handle this. His taunts and jokes? Yes.
Not this.
“Oh, that’s great!” the man boomed, lighting up with the same enthusiasm as his wife. “This spot’s supposed to be lucky, you know! Worked for me!”
He lifted his drink towards her as if presenting evidence, his wife responding immediately by looping her arm through his with a laugh.
Utahime’s eye twitched.
This had to be some form of divine punishment.
“Hey!” the man suddenly said, pointing toward them with the hand holding his drink. “You two want me to take a photo?”
Gojo answered instantly, confident like a man who had genuinely never been told no a single time in his life.
“Absolutely.”
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Utahime cut in quickly, forcing out a strained laugh that sounded painfully thin even to her own ears.
She turned toward Gojo with a smile so tight it made her jaw ache.
“We already have so many photos, right?”
Every word carried the hidden intent to kill.
“Oh, but we don’t have one from here yet,” he said, lips pulling into a pout.
Utahime stared at him.
The bastard even sounded fond. Soft. Like this was some genuine memory he intended to cherish forever instead of a nightmare he was actively manufacturing for her in real time.
Utahime whipped toward the couple, fury already climbing up her throat, fully prepared to shut this entire disaster down once and for all—
Gojo’s lips were on her ear before she could even open her mouth.
“You don’t wanna make a scene now, do you?” He murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth. A tone that probably had women falling at his feet without a second thought.
Utahime went ridged.
He was close.
Far too close, she realized.
Somehow, in the span of only a few minutes, he’d migrated from his own towel to hers, one open palm pressed into the sand behind her as he leaned in, thighs pushed so tight against hers that someone might mistake for them being close.
Worse, Utahime could feel the heat radiating from his skin against her bare shoulder. Could feel the faint ghost of his breath teasing across the side of her neck every time he spoke.
And—
Did he just nuzzle into her!?
Her brain started to melt.
It wasn’t even a full movement, barely the subtle brush of the tip of his nose into her hair, but the contact sent a violent surge of heat through her chest anyway.
Utahime’s eyes widened so hard they hurt.
Gojo had the audacity to sigh softly afterward.
“Oh, look at them,” the woman whispered to her husband. “They’re so in love.”
Utahime considered murder.
Genuinely.
This wasn’t the first time Satoru Gojo had done something so catastrophically ridiculous that murder briefly felt like a reasonable solution.
He was a professional piece of shit. The human equivalent of gum stuck stubbornly to the bottom of her shoe—impossible to ignore and becoming more irritating the longer he lingered. Being stationed on opposite campuses might be the only reason her sanity remained intact after all these years.
Shoko insisted he acted like this because he enjoyed her reactions.
Utahime personally thought he just had brain damage.
Regardless, causing a scene now would only end badly for her. At best, it would be humiliating. He would find a way to flip whatever she said because she’d never been able to think when he was around. At worst, it would attract enough attention that she’d end up buried beneath additional paperwork explaining whatever public disaster followed. Word always, for whatever reason, would reach back to somebody when it came to Gojo and his antics.
Which would inevitably lead to questions.
Questions about why they were still on Okinawa despite the mission already being completed.
Questions about why Gojo was there at all (she still doesn't have an answer to that one.)
Questions she absolutely did not want to answer because the implications would be enough to make her die on the spot.
Realistically, there were already an unfortunate number of photos of herself and Satoru Gojo floating around. He’d even forced her into selfies before, shoving himself into her space so suddenly she barely had time to glare before the flash went off.
There were enough of them to make her physically ill if she thought too hard about it.
A few more shouldn’t matter.
“Just a few,” she conceded, voice quiet.
The second she gave in, she felt Gojo’s lips curl into a grin against the shell of her ear.
Before she could change her mind, he’d already fished his phone out of his pocket and was holding it out towards the couple.
The older man lit up with excitement, quickly shoving his drink into his wife’s free hand before hurrying forward. Utahime watched in mute horror as he fumbled with the phone, squinting at the screen while backing several steps away across the sand.
“Say cheese!”
Gojo moved before she could prepare herself.
The arm behind her slid to her waist, pulling her into the defined curve of his chest. She felt his head come to a rest next to her own, too close to be mistaken for anything casual. The book between her fingers shifted, pages crinkling as she tried, in vain, to fight the heat creeping up the back of her neck.
“Oh, that’s a good one!”
The phone’s camera app clicked with the faux sound of a shutter, sealing her fate.
Her breath caught as she fully comprehended what he was doing.
She shoved back, arching in his hold to look at his face.
And to Utahime’s absolute horror, the shit-eating grin he normally wore was gone, replaced with a new kind that resembled nothing of the Satoru Gojo she’d come to know. Like he’d melted in the heat and turned soft, maybe even gentle.
The kind of smile that looked devastatingly real, even to her own eyes.
The shutter sound went off again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Utahime sat frozen through every single one.
“Oh those will look so good in a photo album,” the woman cooed.
Utahime snapped towards their direction, watching in horror as the couple stared at the screen of Gojo’s phone.
“Actually,” Gojo said suddenly, “let's do one more.”
“No—”
The protest cut short as Gojo lifted her body into the air, standing so quickly that the book tumbled from her grasp and into the sand below. Her hands scrambled, fingers bunching into the floral fabric of his shirt as she fought for some semblance of balance in his hold.
Then, she came to a halt. Feet off the ground, pressed into the chest of someone that shouldn’t be here in the first place, with one of his arms under her knees and the other across her back.
The realization of what was happening hit a few seconds later, at exactly the same time the couple lost their minds.
“Oh my god!”
“They remind me of when we were young!”
“Put me down!” Utahime screamed, face starting to burn with renewed fury.
Gojo refused with a wordless shit-eating grin.
The sound of the camera went off again.
Utahime did the only logical thing left.
She flailed.
“GOJO—”
She jerked the arm pinned between them and pushed back against his neck. Her legs kicked uselessly in the air as she twisted in his grasp, trying to force him to either drop her or surrender.
Neither happened.
Gojo merely tightened his hold.
The ease he did it with only fueled her rage further.
“Put me DOWN!”
Her voice carried across the beach, over the crash of the waves and the shrieks of nearby children, directly to the people she least wanted hearing it. The proceeding rally of footsteps converging on their location fell on deaf ears; the struggle only continuing with her hands finding new places to shove as his arms locked her in place.
“Not until the picture's done,” he said, scolding her like a child as she moved to push on his shoulder. “Utahime.”
“There is no picture!”
“Oh no, There are several pictures.”
Another shutter click.
A sound of pure frustration flew into the air as she twisted again in a last-ditch effort that had the same result as each attempt before it.
The movement earned a genuine laugh from deep within Gojo’s chest, a sound that only deepened the flush of her cheeks.
Utahime stilled, breathless, irritated, and nearly ready to kill.
“You think this is funny?” she said, unable to bring forth more words. There was nothing left to say other than bask in the insanity of the situation.
Only Gojo would think this was funny, that having a collection of photos tying them together in the most ridiculous way imaginable would be sane or appropriate. She hadn't even stopped to think about the after, about how he would inevitably use them.
Late night texts.
Emails.
Voice calls.
Look what I found :)
Remember our honeymoon?
Thinking of you.
Her stomach dropped as she remembered the last time she’d merely fallen asleep on his shoulder after a night of drinking, and how it had taken him months to finally let it go.
The bastard was going to weaponize them, she realized with sudden, stark clarity.
For years.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt again, eyes turning to daggers as she watched him open his mouth to respond.
“A little,” he said, voice dropping just a fraction as his smile eased.
“A little?” she hissed back, failing to contain her temper.
“A lot.”
“GOJO!”
“Utahime~!”
“Sensei?”
Utahime froze.
So did Gojo.
A chill ran down her spine as her eyes widened. She turned her head towards the voice, finding six pairs of eyes staring in their direction, taking in the compromising position she was currently in.
“What the hell?” Nobara said first, face twisted into disgust.
Gojo, turned towards them, showing her off as some sort of prize as his big stupid mouth opened.
“I have a wife!”
It’d been thirteen years since Utahime had the curse of Satoru Gojo cast upon her. And during that time, he’d found endless ways to needle her, almost like it was some sort of game.
Calling her weak.
Looming over her shoulder in the middle of important work.
Interrupting girls’ nights like he somehow had a right to be there.
And enough jokes—repeated relentlessly long after they stopped being funny—to fill an entire lifetime.
Somehow, every time she thought he’d reached the absolute limit of his absurdity, he managed to dig deeper.
Being mistaken for his wife—and watching him latch onto it like a starving man finding food—had to be the worst one yet.
By dinner time, she’d already been made well aware of the glistening new wallpaper adorning his phone screen. One of the shots of her hoisted into the air and fighting like a wet cat to get free while he smiled like a maniac.
In fact, she was almost positive that his phone being face up, closer to her than to him, so that each headquarters notification broadcasted the image directly into her retinas, was on purpose.
But Utahime had little time to fuss over it (it would be useless anyways). She stabbed into her food instead each time, taking a decisive bite as she worked on the paperwork needed for the upcoming sister-school event while Gojo’s students ate a few tables away, and her own headed up to their rooms.
She was thankful, at least, that it had been in the stack of paperwork she’d brought to chip away at, since it meant that she wouldn’t have to hunt Gojo down later in Tokyo.
It would be more work this year as well with one of Gojo’s students overseas and two others suspended. Worsened by the fact that two of his first years had only been under his care for a few short months and didn’t come from a sorcerer background.
But they had little choice; the higher-ups insisted on the exchange taking place every year so students from both campuses could familiarize themselves with one another before being deployed into the field. It was bureaucratic, inconvenient, and unavoidable.
Which meant both she and Gojo were stuck dealing with it.
She chewed as she read the proposed event activities, thankful that they had been kept simple—a curse hunting event followed by a random choice draw that each teacher would submit slips for. Knowing Gojo, it would be something wildly inappropriate that had nothing to do with sorcery.
Utahime sighed through her nose and continued reading.
She glanced over the list of curses that would be deployed into Tokyo's training forest, confident that her group could handle them with ease by the end. Without hesitation, she picked up a lone pen sitting next to her bowl and signed at the bottom, then slid the paper directly to Gojo with enough force that he couldn’t question her intent.
This had become why she dreaded planning the event each year.
Satoru Gojo's uncanny ability to drag every interaction they had to the absolute breaking point of her patience.
One minute passed.
Then two.
Then five.
Utahime finished half her dinner.
Ten minutes later, the paper remained untouched.
Her chopsticks paused midway to her mouth.
Slowly, she lowered them.
Across from her, Gojo remained leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, a smudge of whipped cream sticking to the corner of his mouth, and not a single glance directed toward the document sitting directly in front of him.
His phone lit up.
There she was again, suspended in the air like a kidnapped bride.
Utahime felt a vein pulse near her temple, indicating a migraine would also be on today's scheduled plan of events.
"Gojo," she said, striving for a level of calm she no longer felt as she set the chopsticks down, just for the sake of not breaking them in half.
“I can’t believe someone like that has a wife.”
Nobara’s voice startled her enough for the scowl to rip itself clean off her face. She blinked once, then twice, eyes focused on down towards her half empty bowl.
“Yeah, sensei didn’t seem like the type,” a voice, from what she knew to be Yuji, responded.
Her blood boiled, and before she could stop it, her gaze turned into a seething glare pointed directly at Gojo’s now-grinning face.
“No comment,” Megumi said next, sealing her fate with what sounded suspiciously like acceptance, but in reality was the sound of a boy who’d already grown far too used to his adoptive father's antics.
The three students continued debating amongst themselves as they rose from their seats, carrying trays toward the return counter while arguing over what appeared to be the logistics of their teacher's entirely fictional marriage.
“Maybe they eloped.”
“Why would they elope?”
“Because Gojo-sensei would absolutely do that.”
“That's fair.”
“Megumi, you literally said no comment.”
“I said no comment because I didn't want to be involved.”
Their voices faded as they disappeared from the dining hall.
Gojo tilted forward into a palm, elbow crinkling the paper he was supposed to be signing under his weight.
“Fix this,” Utahime hissed, voice rising under the confidence of the now mostly empty dining area of the hotel.
“Now.”
Gojo pulled in his bottom lip, like he was trying to suppress a laugh and failing; eyes sparkling with enough delight to power his antics for the next twenty years, at least.
“You should be grateful, I'm a catch,” he teased.
“Yeah, a case of syphilis.”
Gojo placed a palm over his heart, feigning like she’d genuinely hurt him with a small gasp.
“That’s not something a good wife would say, Utahime,” he pouted.
She stared at him for a moment, mouth hung open in shock, before finally snapping.
“I am NOT your wife!”
“That’s not what these pictures say...”
Her chair screeched violently against the floor as she surged to her feet. The flimsy thing tipped backward and crashed onto the tile behind her as both palms slammed onto the table hard enough to rattle dishes.
“DELETE THEM!”
He leaned back into his chair again, closing his eyes and shrugging, as though preparing to deliver some profound piece of wisdom instead of whatever garbage was about to come out of his mouth.
“You should be grateful, Utahime.”
His smile widened.
“You aren't getting any younger—”
He opened his eyes.
“And men don't like hysterical women.”
Silence.
Whatever diners were left in the area had all stopped eating, now focused entirely on herself and the circus act with her. The gazes felt like molten flames, making her far too aware of how ridiculous she currently looked to outsiders.
Calmly, Utahime leaned down and retrieved her fallen chair, smoothed out her coverup, and sat back down with her hands folded neatly on table.
“Gojo,” she said, voice flat, refusing to break eye contact. “I wouldn’t marry you even if you were the last man on the planet.”
“What about the second-to-last man?”
“I’d rather die.”
Gojo made a low whistle.
“Never say never, Utahime, I might be all that's left by the time you decide.”
Utahime couldn’t help but scoff.
“Like your clan would ever allow that.”
It was the last bit of sanity she was clinging to through this whole disaster. Even when he’d proudly spent the rest of the day calling her ‘wife’ at every turn, confusing all of her students.
The Gojo clan would expect him to marry a well-bred clan bride. It was probably the reason why Gojo had even remained unmarried for as long as he had. It would be someone chosen, vetted, and approved. A woman deemed suitable to carry on the genetics of Limitless and the Six Eyes that didn’t stretch farther than necessary outside of their own circle.
Not her.
Her own pedigree, while not unimpressive, didn’t align with what was required to stand beside the strongest sorcerer of the modern era. She knew that. Everyone knew that.
Across from her, Gojo’s grin hadn’t changed.
But something in his gaze lingered, a flash that might’ve been recognition, but that she also didn’t want to dissect enough to understand.
She grabbed for the pen and slammed it down on top of the now wrinkled paper, leaning out of her seat to reach.
“Sign it,” she demanded.
“I still haven’t read it.”
“Just sign it!”
In the eight years they’d been working as teachers together, Gojo had never once disputed an event. If anything, he’d always boast about how his students were the best of the lot. Made worse whenever that turned out to be true.
“How cruel!” Gojo cried, clutching his chest. “What if this is some sort of prenup?”
“IT—You do that before getting married, you idiot!”
Gojo shoved back on the paper, turning away with a theatrical huff like a massive overgrown toddler.
Utahime launched forward, finally having enough. The chair fell to the floor again, clattering against the tile like a bell right before a fight. She snatched the pen off the table and made her way to his side in three quick strides, then grabbed his wrist and slammed it into his open palm.
“Sign it.”
“I refuse.”
“SIGN IT!”
Gojo threw his free hand into the air.
“HELP!” He cried. “MY WIFE IS TRYING TO STEAL MY FORTUNE WHILE I'M UNDER DURESS!”
The sparse remaining diners looked over. Again.
Utahime didn’t feel it this time, too blinded by rage as she forcefully tried to push Gojo’s hand down to the table.
“I DON’T WANT YOUR STUPID FORTUNE!”
“THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT SOMEONE TRYING TO STEAL IT WOULD SAY!”
“SIGN THE PAPER!”
“SHE'S AFTER THE GOJO ESTATE!”
“I WOULD RATHER EAT GLASS!”
She shoved again, this time getting incrementally further by using her full weight on his arm. For a moment, she thought she might have succeeded, just a split second before—
“Utahime...sensei?”
Miwa’s nervous voice drifted through the air, ripping the floor out from under her feet for the second time that day. She snapped towards the entrance, hands still clasped around Gojo’s forearm.
Miwa looked like she’d just swallowed a hot pepper whole.
“I—” she stammered, eyes immediately darting away from them. “I—I lost my room key.”
Utahime released Gojo so fast she nearly tumbled backward.
“This isn’t—”
She stopped, realizing her efforts were futile.
She snapped back towards Gojo, lowering down so that only he would hear what she said next.
“Sign—”
She shoved the paper closer, slamming the pen he’d abandoned over the crinkled sheet.
“—It.”
Then she left without a word, rounding up a bright red Miwa and making her way to the front desk, then to her room for the rest of the night.
The next day didn’t go much better. Gojo refused to let up, introducing her to everyone and everything as his wife. At one point, Utahime was almost certain he introduced her to a stray cat.
Worse, he’d begun inventing stories. Entire fake histories of their relationship that changed depending on who he was talking to.
To one couple, they’d been childhood sweethearts separated by fate.
To another, they’d eloped in secret after a forbidden romance.
An old man running a fruit stand had nearly cried when Gojo told him they'd reunited after years apart.
By nightfall, she realized that her two days of blissful peace had been fully usurped by her demonic colleague, and she had yet to form a solid plan for the inevitable rumors that would spread from this catastrophic event.
Somehow, she’d become too exhausted by it all to care anymore.
“The fruit stand guy is still number one,” Gojo announced while they walked down the street after managing to get a middle-aged woman to call them the ‘cutest thing she’d ever seen’. “Really committed emotionally.”
“You need psychiatric help,” she muttered, charging ahead to where the students were supposed to be meeting back up with them.
Utahime pulled her phone from her bag as Gojo surged ahead, bowling into the crowd of waiting students as she checked the time, suddenly regretting booking the flights for so early the next morning.
6:30 PM
She sighed, slipping the device back into her bag as she prepared to make the announcement that they should all head back.
“The aquarium will be our last stop!” Gojo announced instead.
“Gojo,” she said immediately. “It's late—”
“Awh, come on, it won't take long, and this might be their only chance!” Gojo protested, turning toward her.
The students were already beginning to look at her like the villain, a dangerous development.
“And I haven't been since I was their age,” Gojo continued.
Utahime had no choice but to concede; just the hopeful look on Miwa’s face was enough. The girl was practically vibrating where she stood, hands clasped in front of her as she looked between the distant aquarium and her teacher.
“Fine,” she said, which instantly erupted into excited cheers. “But we have to be up early in the morning, so we can’t stay for too long.”
“Yay!” Nobara squealed, immediately grabbing both Megumi and Yuji by their sleeves and dragging them toward the looming building.
She watched her own students follow, Miwa and Noritoshi listening in silence as Todo started to imagine which fish inside Takada would like the best, a conversation he seemed to be having all on his own.
Gojo stepped forward last, smiling like a normal, sane human being for once in his life.
“So soft,” he said, teasing her as they stepped in line behind their students.
She rolled her eyes.
“Like you’re any better,” She muttered.
For all his complaints and dramatics, Gojo folded for his students just as easily as she did.
That was probably the only thing they ever agreed on: letting their students get what they could of a normal human life, even if the pieces were so small it might not matter later.
“It was the Star Plasma mission,” Utahime continued as they stepped onto the walkway leading up to the building. “The last time you were here, right?”
“I didn’t know my senpai kept tabs on my missions so closely,” Gojo hummed, like the thought was pleasing.
Utahime scoffed. Anyone with a functioning brain cell in the Jujutsu world knew about that mission, even if the specific details were kept hidden from the broader masses.
“I’m surprised you wanted to come back here,” Utahime murmured.
Gojo didn’t respond.
The silence that followed sat heavier than she expected. She felt her shoulders tighten the longer it went on, almost as if she'd stumbled into something she wasn't supposed to touch as they neared the entrance.
She stepped up to the ticket counter where their students were already gathered, Miwa patiently waiting while Nobara argued about whether they should split into groups or stay together, just to break it.
The inside of the building felt far cooler than outside, plunged into dark navy hues and surrounded by towering walls of glass. Soft blue light rippled across the floor beneath their feet, distorted by the water inside the exhibits.
Utahime's nose twitched against the smell of salt.
It was stronger here. Even when compared to the sea breeze outside.
They walked a few paces behind their students, everyone having somehow decided to stick together for the final activity of the trip.
Ahead of them, Nobara had already pressed herself against one of the tanks, while Yuji pointed excitedly at a fish he claimed looked exactly like Principal Yaga.
For a while, the only sounds between them were the muted voices of other visitors, their students, and the distant rush of moving water.
It wasn't until they were nearly halfway through the building that Gojo spoke again.
“This was the last place I took her.”
His voice was quiet.
Quieter than Utahime was used to hearing from him.
She glanced over.
His eyes were fixed on a swarm of tropical fish moving through shafts of blue light.
“The Star Plasma Vessel,” he clarified after several seconds of silence.
Utahime's gaze drifted back toward the glass, to the same swarm of fish that had stolen Gojo’s attention.
“Riko,” Utahime corrected softly, fingers curling around the metal railing at the base of the exhibit.
Utahime turned her attention toward a small stingray gliding across the sand at the bottom of the tank. Its wings fluttered in slow, effortless motions before it lifted upward and dissappeared behind a cluster of coral.
“You gave her something nice then,” Utahime said.
Her gaze flicked back towards him.
“I would have done the same.”
Gojo chuckled, and she caught the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
“Them too,” Utahime added, nodding toward his students gathered several exhibits ahead.
For once, the trio was perfectly silent, pressed against the glass and watching a large whale shark float by with a school of fish.
Gojo followed her gaze, his lips forming into a thin line as he took them in. Then he turned back to the tank without another word.
Utahime reached out instantly, unsure how to handle Gojo when he wasn't being an idiotic mess, but trying anyway.
Her hand hovered for half a second, before she hooked her pinky around his and tugged gently.
“It’s all we can do,” Utahime said, firm and low. As if that might make this more acceptable than it was.
He tilted his head towards her, a faint smile returning to his lips.
“You’re too good, Utahime,” he said, voice too soft for her liking and sounding more like a taunt than anything.
She recoiled instantly, moving to release his hand, but his own pinky had already wrapped around hers like a vice.
Utahime narrowed her eyes as he looked back into the tank, watching as his eyes darted through the water, almost as if he were counting the fish instead of looking at them.
“If something happens to me,” he said slowly as his gaze stilled. “Take care of them.”
Utahime scoffed, pulling on her hand without success.
“What are you talking about, Gojo?” she growled low.
“You’d be the best at it,” Gojo continued, still refusing to release her pinky. “Megumi is quite the handful.”
Utahime snapped.
Her free hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and yanking hard enough that, this time, her hand finally slipped free.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she hissed, nursing her now sore finger. “You’re the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Nothing will happen to you.”
Gojo glanced sideways at her, bright eyes reflecting off the glass of the tank for the first time all night.
“Your compliments always manage to sting, senpai,” he teased.
Utahime clicked her tongue.
“Shut up,” she muttered.
The moment broke just as quickly as it had formed.
She turned her attention toward the students still pressed against the glass, toward the whale shark drifting above them like a shadow moving through water.
“We need to get back.”
Utahime hated the fact that even after the disaster that was the past three days, she still felt refreshed as she walked through the threshold of her Kyoto apartment. But having the luxury of sitting on her couch for the weekend would’ve had the same effect, she argued as she unpacked.
It wasn’t until an hour later, when she was finally settling down, that her phone started to ring.
And it wasn’t without a sigh that she went to go answer it, knowing full well she was about to be thrust right back into work.
“Utahime~!”
The infuriating voice of Satoru Gojo sang through the speaker before she’d even been able to say her full name.
Her hand tightened around the phone. Hard enough that, for a brief moment, she considered the possibility of physically crushing it.
“What do you want?” she asked, absolutely exhausted already but willing to listen in the event that this was an emergency.
It was not.
“I was just seeing if my wife wanted to get some food—”
She ended the call, fuming and ready to throw her phone out the window.
This was it. Her life had officially been ended by Gojo and his antics. She had thought, mistakenly, that his silence after the aquarium, and the use of her first name on the return flight, had signaled the end of this game.
She had been wrong.
Her phone buzzed in her hand before she could put it on silent, and the text came with a companion.
‘I take that as a yes.’
Her screen glared at her, just as presence of Satoru Gojo’s unmistakable cursed energy appeared just outside her front door.
Utahime slowly lowered her phone.
And considered, for the first time in her life, whether she could get away with moving to a different country.