Work Text:
Being a kind, reserved person is not hard at all. The environment she is usually in helps cultivate those qualities. Naturally, she in Kyoto most of the time, the atmosphere and scenery there have some quiet, sacred elegancy that Tokyo sometimes lacks. The Kyoto Jujutsu High there has more of a traditional feel to it too, so the combination of all of that, as well as the desire to be a good teacher to her many students, somehow brings out calmer features in her.
Of course, that doesn’t automatically mean that she turns rowdy and angry in Tokyo. It’s just that the person she associates with it most when it comes to both work and personal life, is a huge pain approximately ninety percent of the time.
It’s no secret to anyone who has ever seen them in a single room, that the only person, living or dead, capable of causing cracks in Utahime’s peaceful demeanor is no other than Gojo Satoru. As far as she is concerned, he is annoying, lacks any kind of decorum, is always disrespectful and with no sense of boundary or understanding when to quit. Never ever would she associate with him more than necessary, deep down she might have some respect for the work that he does that occasionally aligns with what she sees as admirable, but interacting with him for any reason other than duty and work in her personal time? Never ever.
Well…at least not publicly. If no one sees it, it doesn’t count, right?
“You know, Gojo’s coming back from his work trip today.”
Like moth to a flame, Utahime’s eyes focus on Shoko right away. The remark is casual, maybe even in a way that feels almost exaggerated in how carelessly it is said. She goes right back to smoking, which for Utahime’s sake she does right by the window, letting the wind carry the smoke away instead of lingering in the room and clinging to the furniture like it usually does.
Last time Utahime saw her not too long ago, she swore that she got rid of the bad habit and would not pick it up again, but, evidently, the promise did not last. In fact, from her seat in one of the many back rooms of the Jujutsu High’s infirmary that is more often than not treated like a morgue, Shoko is having fun with it, making the smoke go in rings before being blown away across the courtyard that is slowly but surely turns darker with how quickly the sun goes down this time of the year.
“I’ve been wondering why it is so quiet here. Turns out he isn’t around,” Utahime replies, messing with a now-empty cup. It’s hard to say whether Shoko believes her. A barely-audible huff indicates that the answer is likely a ‘no’.
The truth is, she knows all about the trip and all about the time he comes back. Coincidentally, right at the same time there was some business that made her presence in Tokyo required, so it’s not like she came here just to see him.
And yet, somehow, even though she and Shoko talked about a thousand things already, all conversations lead to Satoru Gojo the exact same way as all roads lead to Rome. She can’t help but try and fill out the silence once again.
“I can’t believe that he travels around this much and manages to teach while staying the way that he is.”
“What, productive?” Shoko asks, looking back mildly puzzled.
“No. Obnoxious.”
Utahime knows all about his crazy schedules and even crazier responsibilities which often feel like they’re too much to handle for five people, much less one. But no matter when she calls, he picks up. Of course, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t in the middle of some paperwork, mission or travel.
“Speak of the devil, here he comes,” is all she hears from Shoko before a very prominent and boisterous presence makes itself known in a way that has he practically breaking her neck to look at the door and wonder how come she did not notice it before.
If she feels him around, he definitely feels her too, so the first thing she does is act completely unbothered once the door slides open, barely even glancing sideways before bringing the empty cup up to her lips. Even with nothing in it, it’s too late to back down now.
“How I love the gossip,” is the first thing he says. “Can I join?”
Even the little glance was enough to see the details she knows all too well. Like during all work trips, he is in his usual uniform and blindfold, some bags in his hands, still ridiculously tall and maybe even a bit bulkier than the last time she saw him, still infuriatingly smiley, showing off his teeth and a curve of his lips that is just a bit too cocky for no reason at all.
She sets her cup down with a much louder click than intended.
“Dramatic timing, it’s so like you, Gojo,” Shoko comments, unknowingly saving everyone involved from a more awkward turn in the conversation. She finally puts out the cigarette and turns to look at the newcomer. As always, she is a bit tired, almost lethargic, which is not exactly a surprise with her schedule, but her gaze is far from uninviting.
“You turn so nice when you know the bribe is coming,” he replies, but his smile does not waver. One of the bags is passed to her, an obvious clinking of bottle glass makes it pretty obvious what’s in there. “What would you even do without me?”
“Drink homemade sake until I get a poisoning from that.”
Unlike smoking, Utahime doesn’t have a strict stance on drinking. After all, it’s not an oddity for her to go out to bars, Shoko is sometimes included, but since Satoru is the one doing something to provide alcohol and encourage it right now, she can’t help but comment:
“Promoting an unhealthy lifestyle again, I see,” she says, her arms now folded over on her chest while Shoko rummages through the bag without much decorum. Satoru turns in the direction of the voice.
“Oh, come on, no need to sulk and be jealous,” he says, reaching into another bag still in his hand clearly looking for something. “I had a feeling you would love a souvenir from me too. Such a coincidence you’re around to receive it right away.”
A blindfold or not, she can practically feel him itching to wink while other people are around, which, of course, is infuriating enough to get a sigh out of her. But before she can fully protest, he gets a small box out. All wrapped in some over-the top paper.
Against her better judgement, when he hands it over to her, she opens; not without some muttering under her nose which earns her an even brighter grin. Soon enough, staring back at her is a keychain with a little white cat attached, pointy ears and all. When Satoru motions for her to click something, she reluctantly looks for a button hidden in the short fur. When the cat begins singing a rendition of some foreign song in a very weird key, she just stares.
“I think it needs a battery change,” is all Shoko says. Being as resourceful as she is, the bag given to her is now empty and repurposed, the bottles are gone.
Satoru shakes his head to that.
“Nope, no changes, that’s exactly what I needed,” he replies, his expression unwavering despite Utahime looking unimpressed at best. “It’s exactly like you! See, those ears are like that ribbon you always have. Most importantly, the cat sings.”
Even though outwardly she in annoyed, in her mind it’s pretty funny. When a closer look is taken, the way the tiny white ears of the toy are peeking out, they do look like her ribbon if you squint enough, the cat’s eyes brown just like hers, the singing abilities…could be better but still.
Is it childish? Yes. Is it exactly something Satoru would give to her at their big age? Also yes.
Even while trying to look displeased about it, she doesn’t refuse the gift. In fact, without saying much about it to not give him satisfaction, she puts it into her pocket. Though the no-speaking move doesn’t seem to make him any less smug when he sees her hide it in her casual clothes that are so different from her usual attire, but are so much more familiar to him personally.
Clearly having no intention to babysit two adults who currently act no better than the teenagers they teach, Shoko pulls out a pile of documents out of the cabinet and puts them on the desk with a loud thud.
Utahime gets the hint fast, Satoru does too. A shared escape at the same time with an uncharacteristically low number of complaints from Utahime doesn’t make Shoko ask question, but does lead to her eyebrows rising up just a bit as she reaches for the pen and eyes the door being shut with no expected argument from the other side following.
The subsequent walk is anything but calm. His hands being full does not stop him from being somewhat of a nuisance.
When he opens the door leading outside for her and stands there proud like some chaperone waiting for praise, all she does is squint at him.
“What’s this all about?”
“I’m just learning from my mistakes,” he replies. “Weren’t you the one who told me to respect my elders?”
Having nothing to say to that, she accepts the help provided. Though once he falls into step right behind her when they’re out, the first thing he does is rest his free hand on her lower back. With her usual traditional outfit now changed into some much more casual pants and a shirt since it’s her day off, the thick layers that are often there are instead as thin as a sheet of paper, making his touch feel a little more personal already.
Utahime looks around in search of anyone. Even though the territory around isn’t exactly known for having a lot of people present, there is no way of knowing when or where a confused student might pop up from.
“You really don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself, do you?” she asks after finishing her assessment and making sure that not a single soul is around. Judging by the laziness of his every move, he either does not care about anyone possibly being around, or knows that no one is.
“Can you blame me? I was risking my life out there. Horrible conditions, no human warmth, no rest-“
“Wasn’t it a diplomatic visit?” she cuts him, though quickly scolds herself for picking up one his patterns of being disrespectful.
He laughs at that, his hand moving from time to time but never leaving fully up until the moment they reach another building.
“For someone who doesn’t care, you sure know a lot about what I’ve been up to.”
Credit where it’s due, he does nothing outrageous while out in the public corridor no matter how deserted it is.
Though once the door into his office opens, any preconceived notion of personal space is now replaced with what she knows him best for: no sense of physical boundary between him and what he wants in the moment.
The bags barely even settle on the floor before he is practically all around Utahime, clearly deciding that he behaved for long enough. His clinginess isn’t a surprise, in fact, it’s expected, so even when acting all offended and annoyed, she doesn’t exactly prevent him from wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind and resting his chin right on top of her head as if she were a person plush toy now wrapped up safely and warmly in a human blanket that could easily cover her fully if given a chance.
She stays still for some time, even closes her eyes when he squeezes a bit, bringing her back closer to his chest.
“How can someone smell so sweet with all that bitter scolding stored up?” he asks right near her ear, very obviously not rushing to let go just yet but at the same time having no problem with straining his back and being purposefully muffled by the side of her head when she doesn’t feel like hearing him talk; like now, for example.
“It’s all about work-life balance,” she answers, acting distant despite feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise up from how close he manages to get already.
When Utahime shifts even the tiniest bit, Satoru takes it as a sign of her attempting a retreat, which he does not support her in at the moment.
With his office being both a working and a resting space, it’s no wonder that a desk is far from the only thing that can be found there, starting from a couch tucked into the corner and ending in some weird-looking house plants clearly thriving from an abundance of the natural light in the room.
“What do you think you’re doing?” is all Utahime hisses before Satoru decides that they will be relocating. Without bothering to ease his hold or even inform her, he turns with her in his arms to practically pull her along backwards across the room. She isn’t concerned about stumbling even for a second, but she does purposefully stall for a bit. Too bad his strength is as physically high as pretty much any other attribute he possesses.
“Keep on doing that, and you won’t be touching the floor again.”
Considering the many previous experiences, there’s no doubt that he would do just that. In fact, hauling her around is one of his favorite things, especially when she is actively complaining or reprimanding him.
Though soon enough the reason to complain disappears entirely. The second he sits down and pulls her down with him, she can technically get up; after all, he graciously gives her a spot on his leg turned sideways to him, no more restrictive hugs or manhandling, just a good old hand on her thigh and a very curious look given to her even through the blindfold.
Utahime has no plans of moving. Moreover, she settles comfortably into her spot, the space offered on him is plenty for her prolonged act of disinterest. She does keep her posture straight as if posing for some magazine cover, fixes a stray strand of her hair like some bird preening its feathers in the middle of a courting dance.
The only question is: who is doing the courting in this situation, her or Satoru, whom she uses as a recliner while acting unruffled.
“How is the hotel situation going around town?” he asks, clearly enjoying her little ‘I don’t care routine.’ “So busy on the weekends, am I right?”
“Depends on why you’re asking,” she replies. Despite her efforts to look around the room more than at him, his presence and his palm over the fabric of her pants staying unmoving slowly but surely pulls her attention back to him the longer she sits.
“Oh, you know, I have a soft spot for those who are either destitute or in need.”
She huffs, his tone suddenly reminding her exactly why most of the time she finds him insufferable.
“So what, you think I’m in need of shelter right now and the first thing I would do is ask you?” she questions, some of her usual demeanor coming back but not harshly enough to swat at him when his second hand sneaks up her lower back once again to rest there.
Even though most of the time he literally lives at work, often spending nights in the office and seeing no need for a separate space, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t own any. Utahime has been there before quite a few times, for work purposes only of course, definitely nothing else.
“If you’re worried about the ‘in need’ part, how about we rename it?’” he smiles. “We could go to that karaoke place that you like and then, instead of going back to whatever closet you were offered, I’d accompany you to a much better space. Time spent with quality, am I right?”
For some time, all she does is think about it.
“I didn’t come here for a quality time with you,” she says in a very convincing tone and no intention of stopping his hand from drawing slow circles on her, his palm pretty hard to fully ignore even through the fabric. She reaches out to lift the side of his blindfold just enough to catch his eye. “Got it?”
With her, it’s hard to guess when a ‘no’ is a ‘yes’ and when a refusal is an enthusiastic acceptance, but in this particular situation it doesn’t take a genius to figure out.
“Definitely got it,” he grins like he usually does, entirely unbothered by her touch. “Now that all of that is out of the way, how about a proper greeting from you?”