Chapter Text
Promise
"Have you ever broken a promise?"
Utahime had been humming to herself as she cleaned, content and relaxed. She stopped moving, the dish in her hand dripping down her wrist, staining her sleeves. She took a careful breath.
"I don't think so," she said. "Maybe as a child, but not that I can remember."
"Hmm."
Utahime looked over sharply. Gojo did like his little noises. He used to catcall obnoxiously at her in school. He and Geto would hoot and holler at her and Shoko like a couple of unruly monkeys.
Nowadays, he was no better. He would make obnoxious noises during meetings to annoy elders. He would train his students using whistles, just to see them run in panic when he used a particular one.
Despite herself, Utahime had grown to know every single noise the man could make, and interpret each and every one. It was rather inevitable, falling in love with the idiot.
That hum was not right.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
Gojo could never successfully lie to her. Utahime didn't bother trying to pry it out of him at the moment. She in turn, hummed to herself thoughtfully as she began washing dishes again, albeit a little more mechanically as her mind raced.
The stakes were too high, nowadays, their time too short. Utahime set the dish down, the clatter startling her. Her hand was shaking.
"You haven't made any promises to me," she said, the words too-loud for her tiny apartment. She moderated her voice a little. "Unless this is about eating snacks in bed. If you break that promise I will murder you."
She turned to look at him, gaping slightly as she realized he had disappeared. A curse was on the tip of her tongue before his energy bowled her over—he'd teleported directly behind her. Wrapping his arms around her, he nuzzled into the top of her head.
"Utahime," he purred.
"What has gotten into you today?" she complained. She didn't resist as he dragged her off balance, knowing she was secure in his arms. She had been abused for years as Gojo's personal teddy bear. She was used to it.
"I am . . ." his voice trailed off. He squeezed a little tighter around her middle.
"We've got another week," Utahime said softly. Despite being all over the place, she knew where the heart of this truly lay. "You don't have to make any promises."
"What about you?" He spun her around. The blindfold always made his face impossible to read unless he chose to show it with his mouth. Usually, he chose to hide away behind an enormous, pasted-on smile. Today, there was no smile. His teeth were practically bared at her.
"Satoru." She reached up, sliding her thumb against his jaw. "Did something happen?"
"I want you to promise me something. And you won't break that promise, will you?"
Her blood ran cold. Utahime tried to step back, but he didn't let her, his grip too strong."Don't you dare," she warned him.
"Dare what?" he taunted. The hard line to his mouth hadn't changed. "Haven't I earned it? The Honored One, right? One measly little promise and you're gonna back out on me, aren't you?"
Utahime bared her teeth at him in return. "Go on then. What promise do you want?"
He didn't answer, and suddenly was kissing her, all pain and knocking teeth and blood. Utahime gave as good as she got, pulling at his hair, biting his lip when he took a second to breathe.
"You idiot," she snarled. "Don't you dare."
"If I die—"
She reared back and slapped him across the face. She regretted it a moment later, seeing the redness springing up in his cheek, and all too suddenly she was crying . . . practically sobbing. They crumpled together into a heap on the kitchen floor, Utahime getting snot on his shirt, Gojo clutching her like she was disappearing in front of his eyes.
"I can't do it," she mumbled into his neck. "Don't ask me to."
"And I can't fight him if I don't have that promise." Tears in his own eyes, blindfold long-since discarded, Gojo wasn't joking around. His expression was dead-set. "I mean it, Hime."
"Say it," she said, heart heavy.
"Promise me you won't die."
"I—"
"Even if," he continued. "It means letting me die."
She thought she had no more tears left, but they coursed down her cheeks nonetheless.
It would have been her right to refuse him, after all these years. He knew her. She pretended to be obedient and rule-following until she wasn't. She fought for her own, she knew what she needed and took it without apology.
But she loved him, and that was her weakness.
"I promise," she said, breaking her own heart, just to see him smile.