Chapter Text
“Oh. You again.”
This is not surprising, nor should it be surprising. There’s a very short list of felonies that Gojo Satoru refuses to commit, and breaking and entering has never been on it. Is that a felony? Utahime wouldn’t know. Even if it is, she’s so used to it that it doesn’t really feel like one anymore. Nevertheless, the sight of her least-favorite colleague sprawled out indulgently on her sofa trips an eye-rolling reflex that sees most of its use around him.
“Me again,” he says brightly, tugging down one side of his blindfold to peek up at her. “Ya miss me?”
He’s got his feet up on one of her throw pillows - the audacity - and she snatches it out from under him to toss at his face. He catches it, even though Infinity could’ve deflected it far more easily, like the shameless showoff he is. “No,” she informs him, “I really didn’t.”
“Aw, you’re embarrassed!” Gojo smiles like he’s caught the canary. “No need to be. It’s really no trouble, even if I did go out of my way-”
Occupied with the groceries she’d been bringing in when she discovered him, he turns her head to glare at him. “To give me a headache?”
“To visit my girl!”
She hates that she finds her lips twitching into an entirely unwilling smile. “I’m not your anything, Gojo.”
“Oh? You asked how my mission went?” He’s ignoring her. He always does this. No wonder he’d programmed an entire new reflex into her brain all on his own. “That’s so sweet of you! Since you asked-”
“Gojo,” she sighs, lifting a bag of those bottled smoothies Nishimiya told her she had to try onto the counter, “what are you doing here?”
“I told you.” He flashes her another smile and doesn’t look at all like he means it. “Been a while. I had to come check on my girl.”
It irritates her how true that probably is. For all that she complains about his constant intrusions, she’d have run Gojo out of her life ages ago if she really hated him as much as she pretends to. Theirs is a lonely lifestyle, and when beers with Shoko and long phone calls to her parents don’t cut it, Gojo is more welcome than he realizes. It’s hard to be worried about her standing with the higher-ups or whether Shoko will ever quit smoking or her father’s rheumatism when she’s throwing things at Gojo for something stupid that he did. Still. She has an image to maintain.
“I’m still not your girl,” she replies.
He grins cheekily. “Then why haven’t you told me to leave yet?”
She sifts through a bag of produce to find something appropriate to lob at him and settles on an orange, which, again, he catches. “Maybe I just feel bad for you.”
He cranes his neck to look at her over the back of the couch, already peeling the orange. “Who, me? How could you pity someone this good-looking?”
“Because,” she deadpans, “you waste your pretty face every time you open your mouth.”
He lights up and she almost thinks he means it. “You think I’m pretty?”
“Don’t read into that,” she tells him. “It’s an observation, not a compliment.”
He smiles. “I think you’re pretty, too-”
“No.”
“But-”
He tries this far too often for her liking. “We’re not gonna go there.”
“But you let me into your apartment all the time,” he whines. “You’re basically my girlfriend.”
She shudders. He might be a closer friend than she’d tell him he was, but she is most certainly not his girlfriend. Nor is that an aspiration of hers. Nor will that ever be an aspiration of hers. “I could still kick you out.”
“Nah. It’s the Seven-Minute Rule.” He tosses an orange peeling in her direction. “If you haven’t told me to leave by the time I’ve been here for seven minutes, there’s a ninety percent chance you’re not going to.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?”
“I’m smart,” he tells her.
“Or you’re making things up again.”
“No, I’m smart.”
She’d rather not deal with the version of Gojo Satoru who only speaks in one-liners right now. “Where’d they send you today?”
“Fukuoka. Workers kept disappearing from this construction site and apparently they needed me to deal with it.” He scoffs. “Waste of a trip.”
She raises her eyebrows - Gojo doesn’t usually whine about things that actually matter. “What, did you take a beating?”
“Any Grade 1 in the area could’ve taken care of that curse, and I dunno why it had to be me when I’d just gotten back from Wakayama.” That curse, apparently, had warranted his attention. “What about you? You punched Gakuganji yet?”
“Gojo, I’m not going to punch my boss.”
“You should, though.”
“I don’t care how many times you’ve fantasized about it at night, Gojo, I’m not-”
“Aw, how’d you know?” Gojo looks up at her and tilts his head like the angle will let him see her more clearly. “Are you a mind-reader?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I just think that a hot woman punching that guy would be a thing of beauty.”
“Careful,” Utahime says drily, closing the refrigerator door behind her and surveying the groceries still left on her counter. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to start thinking you’re actually into me.”
“I mean-”
“And then I would definitely kick you out.”
“You know, that reminds me of this thing I just read,” he says, as if this is a completely normal conversation, and it hurts Utahime’s pride and the deepest recesses of her soul to know that it really is. “How apparently it takes six dates to get someone to fall in love with you.”
“That sounds fake.”
“I mean, that’s what the article said.”
Utahime rolls her eyes. “And this week on ‘Gojo Satoru doesn’t know the difference between clickbait and reputable journalism’...”
“It was an actual, like, psychology study!”
“Okay, but you definitely can’t get someone to fall in love with you in six dates.”
“I could.”
Utahime laughs, but really it’s more of a scoff. “No you couldn’t.”
“Could too.”
“Maybe if you told her how much money’s in your bank account, but actual love?” Utahime can already tell where this is headed. “In six dates? You’d be lucky if you did it in twenty.”
Gojo smirks. “How much are you willing to bet on that?”
“How much is a year’s supply of Sapporo Yebisu?”
“Seriously? You’re not gonna aim a little higher?” His smirk turns to the kind of smile that brings out the dimple in his right cheek. “You must not be as convinced as you say you are.”
“Fine. A hundred thousand yen says you can’t get someone to fall for you in six dates.”
“‘Someone’?” Gojo raises his eyebrows. “You do realize that I was talking about you, right?”
“Wait, me?” Utahime points to herself as if it isn’t immediately obvious what that word means. “You’re talking about going out with me?”
“Well, obviously. I take you out six times, romance you within an inch of your life, get you to fall in love with me, win the bet-”
“And what do you win if you do?” Utahime asks, trying to ignore the fact that she would quite like to vomit into her sink at the thought of being ‘romanced,’ whatever the hell that means, by a man with a profitable side gig as a home intruder.
“You, obviously.”
“And why would you even want that?”
Gojo shrugs. “You’re hot and I’d totally make out with you.”
“You sound like a twelve-year-old, Gojo.” She flushes and tries to angle her face so that he won’t catch it. She doesn’t know if he’s messing with her or not, but if he isn’t, she’s flattered. Pretty knows pretty and she’s rarely paid compliments like that.
Which is something she would rather jump through her kitchen window than reveal, but that is neither here nor there.
“Plus, it’d be fun. Dates are supposed to be fun, right? And I like hanging out with you.” He sounds so innocent that it’s kind of hard to hate what he’s saying as much as she should, even when he begins to pout. “No one ever wants to hang out with me.”
“Gee, I wonder why.”
“Why are you so mean?”
“Sarcasm is the highest form of human communication,” she tells him, because ‘I don’t know how to tell irritating people who make a big deal out of everything that I care about and am fond of them’ just won’t cut it.
“You have to at least give me a chance or you can’t win the money.” He tips his head backwards over the couch to look at her, upside-down. “No lying to make me think you won.”
“Gojo,” she sighs, “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in love, so I don’t think that falling for someone I’ve known since I was in high school after six dates is going to be much of a risk.”
“Really? Never?”
“Why, does that surprise you?”
“Well, I guess. You’re kinda old not to.”
“Yeah, well, believe it or not, I’m not exactly considered a catch.” She shakes her head. “You’re an exception, clearly.”
She sounds so fond that it almost makes her shudder. It’s as if her entire body is rejecting the way her mouth wants to smile all the way to her eyes when he says stupid things like that.
“Nah, you’re super catchy.” He grins. “Even if you’re weak and neurotic.”
Familiar territory, for which she’s grateful. “I am not neurotic!”
“I’m not neurotic!“ he repeats in a high-pitched imitation of what she assumes is supposed to be her voice.
“Yeah, you’re definitely going to lose.”
“Am not.”
“Am not,” she repeats in a low-pitched imitation of what he ought to assume is supposed to be his voice.
“Just wait. I’m gonna romance you until you die of romance.”
“Die of romance,” she deadpans. “Real nice autopsy header, that.”
“I know, right?” Gojo sounds almost gleeful.
“You gotta know you’re going to lose.”
“Lose?” he cocks his head. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s literally impossible to actually fall in love with someone in six dates.” Utahime looks him up and down. “And because you’re a man-child whose favorite hobby is breaking into my apartment to eat my food and whine about my boss.”
“I don’t break into your apartment to whine about Gakuganji.” Gojo looks surprised she’d even suggest such a thing. “Why would I want to talk about that old geezer? I break into your apartment to be in the presence of a fair maiden.” He sniffs. “Obviously.”
“Like I said,” Utahime replies, “totally gonna lose.”
“I can be very persuasive.”
She raises an eyebrow. She’s gotten good at that, only raising one - she likes to think that the coordination such a gesture requires strikes fear into the hearts of those who witness it. “Really? Because I haven’t seen that.”
“What, haven’t you heard?” He shoots her the kind of grin she wishes she could slap off his face. “Women can’t resist me.”
“Well, this woman can.” She circles around to the back of the couch, perches on the edge, and pats his shoulder. “Sorry, bud.”
“But not for long,” he tells her, waggling his eyebrows.
“Honestly,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes, “do you even want that?”
He shrugs.
“You and I both know you wouldn’t be coming around here every three seconds if you could actually get a girlfriend,” she continues. “And you should know that if I actually thought you would win, I’d never have taken this bet.”
“Aw, why?” Gojo pouts. “You like me so much!”
“I let you crash on my couch,” she says. “I don’t know where you got the idea that that meant I’d date you.”
A pause. Perhaps she’s finally rendered him speechless - what a wonderful day this would be if she had.
“And I don’t know why you would want to date me,” she adds. “I mean…just for the hell of it? To have someone?”
“I mean, I obviously like you,” he replies, “and it’s better than nothing, right?”
“Better than nothing?”
Gojo realizes at approximately that moment that he has made a terrible mistake.
“...that came out wrong.”
“‘Came out wrong’?!”
“Are you just going to keep repeating whatever I say back to me?”
“Three hundred thousand yen,” she spits. “Make it three hundred thousand or I’m out.”
“...sure,” he says warily, “but…I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Didn’t mean it like what, Gojo?”
Didn’t mean that she was a last resort. Had actually meant that she’s probably half the reason he’s not trying to pick up every attractive woman he sees like everybody thinks he does. Had actually meant that she’s the highlight of at least half of his days and it might be sort of nice if he could kiss her about it. But words and feelings have never been things at which the ever-excellent Gojo Satoru has ever excelled.
“It could be fun,” he tells her, softening his voice. “Going out with you.”
She’s trying to be mad, but Utahime’s face softens, too. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re Utahime.” He pulls his blindfold down over his right eye again - he always does when he wants her to be absolutely certain that he’s being sincere. There’s a certain sparkle in his eyes when he is that she’s come to expect proof before she believes him. “We have a good thing going. I get to bother you, and you get your groceries paid for.” She’s started making him stop at the supermarket when he comes by most weeks - this one notwithstanding - since he’s always so determined to eat her out of house and home. “You’re my girl.”
Damn it. She hates how easy it is to smile when he says things like that.
“I’m not your girl,” she mutters, blushing. “I’m a very charitable and generous woman who lets a lonely nuisance crash on her couch so he won’t shrivel up and die because no one gave him attention.”
“Aw,” he says, right dimple popping out again. “You know me so well.”
“I don’t think I have to know you very well to know that you’re an attention hog, Gojo.”
“I am,” he agrees, reaching his (absurdly long) arm up high enough to ruffle Utahime’s hair. It was already a mess from the wind, but now it probably looks like something nested in it. That thought irks her more than it has any reason to. “I need my Utahime to pay attention to me or I die.”
“Oh, how tragic,” she says drily.
“Right? The strongest sorcerer’s priceless gifts forever lost to the world because his coldhearted lady-love wouldn’t-”
“Cool down, Casanova.”
“-pay attention to him. And I’ll have you know that my temperature is completely normal right now.”
“I’m not your ‘lady-love.’” She scoffs. “And if you want to have any chance at all of winning this bet, you should probably stop saying things like that.”
“Hime,” Gojo whines reaching up to squeeze her face between his palms on either side. “You’re so mean to me.”
“No, I’m not,” she says, her voice coming out garbled as his hands squish her cheeks.
“You are. You’re lucky you’re cute and have a big fridge.”
“Oh, really? You come here for the food?”
“Of course I do. What, did you think I was coming here for you?” He smirks. “I mean, you wouldn’t be wrong, but…”
Utahime can feel her cheeks about to heat, and she’s not above a little bit of indignity when she’s had enough. So as soon as his right pinkie inches close enough to her mouth, she bends her tongue until the tip brushes the pad of his finger. If ever there were a way to make him let go before he could feel her cheeks heat up beneath his palms (which would be, of course, horribly incriminating), that would be it.
Gojo, disappointingly, says nothing to that for a moment, but he does drop his hands, so Utahime figures her mission is accomplished.
“Kinky,” he says solemnly, after a moment’s processing.
“I hate you.”
He looks up at her with what looks like newfound appreciation. “Can’t say I knew you had that in you, Hime.”
Utahime’s face is splotchy with color now - she’s never been one of those pretty blushers - and she knows he can tell. Nothing she says is going to pack much of a punch when she’s so obviously flustered, a fact which irritates her greatly. “Had what in me, the ability to get rid of you when you’re being an idiot?”
“But I won’t lie,” he says, as if she hadn’t said anything. He doesn’t even mention her splotchy cheeks. “That was kinda hot.”
“Me licking you?” she swats his arm. “Get a life.”
Gojo pulls down half of his blindfold and winks, probably because he’s actually blinking and can only make it look like he isn’t if he leaves it half-on. “I have a life.”
“Gojo, I know you don’t actually know how to wink.”
“Tell no one.”
She almost laughs. Loath as she is to admit it, she sort of loves that she knows that about him. “Sure, but I’m going to tell everyone what a fool you’re going to make of yourself trying to get me to fall in love with you.”
“Go ahead. Might get me points with the higher-ups if I managed to reel in a teacher’s pet like you.” He sticks out his tongue. “Speaking of, you free on the twenty-seventh?”
“Of this month?”
Resistance is futile.
“Mmhm.”
“Depends on what you’re trying to get me to do,” she carefully replies.
“The Sumidagawa Festival.”
She snorts. “How very shoujo manga of you.”
“You still haven’t told me if you’re free or not.”
She smirks. This is going to be embarrassingly easy. “You’re buying the drinks.”
“Of course I am.” He smiles up at her. “So? Is it a date?”
“It’s not a date, it’s a bet.”
He reaches his hand up to hers. “It’s a bet, then.”
She takes his hand and shakes on it. “It’s a bet.”