Chapter Text
Her body is cold despite being tucked into the duffel of blankets. They feel heavier in comparison to the sheets that she used to pull over her head every night. Droplets of rain trinkle against the window and it slowly begins to match the pulse of a heartbeat with every minute that she stays awake.
The air is cool and when Utahime slowly unveils herself from the soft material, she notices that the floor is wooden. It’s not its usual sleek tiles that are plastered throughout her apartment like a maze. The detail is the same as it has been for the last few weeks. Yet, she can’t quite wipe the image of her past life out of her head.
Her attire had gone from overdressed and attentive to something that could be underwhelmingly casual.
She had slowly become a product of a life that didn’t move and someone who no longer lived had no qualms to appease, therefore Utahime would only become stagnant. Her clothes though clean were damp with hues of gray, expressing how worn they had become. It didn’t help the appearance that she no longer cared to separate the whites from the colors, mixing different fabrics and textures together.
A presence dips deeper from behind her, moving into her space until it becomes a part of her bubble. She clenches her eyes shut not wanting to notify whoever it was that she was in fact awake. The rain floods her hearing as she sucks in a breath, her mouth full of a bubble of air.
With someone with eyes as perceptive as Gojo’s, the detail springs itself forward and a laugh almost threatens to spill from his lips. The casualty of something that reeked of consciousness was almost untamed in a world where nothing mattered.
“No more.” She finally voices when she feels his hands motion towards the more sensitive parts of her body and with a tense silence following her comment, he allows himself to pitch out a not so nice throttled laugh. His laugh is attached to mockery, almost like he’s mocking her and that’s because he is.
Tugging the blanket further up her body to conceal the skin that her shirt couldn’t. The smell of fabric softener fuels her nostrils and reminds her of her own bed back in her apartment.
“Why not?” He teases, his hand still tight on her waist and she jolts out of his grasp not wanting to start the day with how they ended it yesterday. It was late and far much later than she’s ever woken up. “Too soon? Should I have asked first?” Too many questions are already spilling from his mouth this early after waking up and she buries her nose into the covers.
“Because I said so!” She snaps and he waves her off casually, his body still pressed against her back in a domestic fashion. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling which makes her wonder if she ever hated Gojo as much as she thought she did. “Don’t you ever get tired?” Utahime asks with a sigh and though there’s no intention of hurting his feelings, she still kind of does it anyway.
“Tired?” Gojo laughs. “What’s to get tired of? Are you tired?” His brows furrow and Utahime isn’t sure what to think now that she’s in a world where there are no rules to abide or to break. She could do the worst and receive nothing to make her reflect on what wrong she may have committed.
In comparison to Gojo, this realization must have lacked the entertainment he was seeking. Their state of prevalence wasn’t much different to what he was already used to. He seemed comfortable in space despite the lack of attention that he normally absorbed but Utahime has come to realize that Gojo didn’t need attention, at least not unless it was coming from her.
“No, not of you!” She confesses and her voice is louder than expected, answering the innuendo of his question even if he doesn’t explicitly state it and the quickness of her comment scares her just a tad bit.
“So the routine then?” He laughs, not giving her a chance to say anything in between. “We do the same thing here that we used to do in Tokyo, minus the missions and the teaching. What about you just think of it like retiring?” Gojo suggests and Utahime heaves out a sigh. She doesn't miss how he refers to his place of work and leaves out hers, almost as if nothing she did back in Kyoto mattered and only the work that she helped him with did.
“It’s easy for you to say, you have nothing left to accomplish.” And she can’t think of anyone who would prefer to be dead than to be alive, not unless they lived a fruitless life, but Gojo was quite blessed in all areas. Hoisting herself up from the bed, her hair falls out of its unkempt sprawl and flows inward to frame the sides of her face.
“Ah.” He sounds out softly, his arm stretching above his head before he sits himself up next to her and reveals the contours of his torso to which she looks away. Last night’s activities evidently clear on his body and she feels her cheeks redden when he lets his lips brush against her shoulder.
“Contrary to belief, I have a lot of things that I hope to accomplish one day,” He laughs and she rolls her eyes, adjusting the oversized white tee shirt that slid off one of her shoulders due to his constant tugging. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I like you, Utahime?” Gojo challenges and Utahime parts her lips when she feels him slide a hand up the curve of her waist.
The room gets silent aside from the cycling ceiling fan and the tapping of her foot against the wooden floorboard. The heavy cry of nature’s personification touches everything that sits outside of the house and it’s chilling how normal everything feels despite the fact that they’re away from the rest of the world.
“Is that so hard to believe?” Gojo asks before slipping himself out of the bed along with her, his nose scrunching up together and he keeps his tone leveled to not show anymore of himself to her.
“Yeah?” Utahime retorts, refusing to allow herself to soften the blow despite the few instances that should have changed that. “You can’t just drop that on me, it's too late!” She scolds and for a split second, the look that fills out his features begins to appear familiar and it was almost as if he was reconsidering something in his head that she couldn’t make out.
“How late can it be if we’re still conscious of each other?” Gojo challenges, his voice intense and darkness looms over him as if he already lost something that wasn’t his to begin with. “Do you feel it now? Feel what I feel?” His eyebrows raise as a testament of something farther away from the surface that had cracked and Utahime can only shake her head.
“It’s too late now, we’re not even alive!” Utahime yelps out dryly, her face dropping at the thought of Gojo pumping his seed into her over and over until she was carrying his heir. It wasn’t like she had much dignity to begin with when he stripped away at her pride with every tease he hurled towards her. “You never even apologized.” She murmurs and he tsks before slumping back into the covers like a child that had been scolded.
A small piece of her mourns that she couldn’t have had this Gojo in the first place. He was nicer when dead, his hands gently caressing her and offering her the first of every meal and entry through the door. He rarely ever made jabs at her technique nor did he make it a routine to annoy her like he did prior to death. Gojo was simply a better man when there was no one around to attest to his character and it would’ve been sweet to entertain a life like so with him yet it’ll be an insult to the character she was prior to this lifestyle.
When the silence in between them spills for too long, Utahime leaves the room before he can ruin the moment. Her hair falling behind her ears as she casually strides over to the bathroom to start her routine, his shadow not too far behind her and the two of them move in sync before fighting over the toothpaste and bottle of soap.
She wondered if being free of his responsibilities was something that did little to rectify his nerves. It was possible that he just did a good job at hiding his true feelings but Utahime couldn't remember Gojo not making his thoughts clear and open for everyone to acknowledge. He hated misconceptions. Especially, when they were about him.
The teapot is already on the kettle boiling up water when she makes her way to the center as Gojo slips a spoon into the jar of their tea herbs.
The thought of him preparing the tea and running off to wait for her makes her mind go fuzzy, the act so simple yet pressing all at once.
Her image had become tainted because of him and though it was pure bliss the moment Gojo sank himself into her, it wasn’t enough to shift the direction of how incoherent and useless her prayers begin to sound and how divisible her image stood from the practices she engaged herself into.
Utahime no longer moves as gracefully as she used to and even before death, her legs became achingly numb around him. She had almost become weaker than she already was, her bells dragging her down while he continued to consume the remainder of her strength, pocketing it until it became a part of him that she could never get back.
She craved him in slices, slices of unfamiliar feelings that blurred the lines of what had truly happened to her. Utahime heavily craved the feeling of being needed and having someone around, the feeling woven into her technique from the start.
There wasn’t too much to feel when in death, no one else to talk to and how the only sounds that are ever heard are of nature’s continued assault on the field of wheat that their house lies near. Utahime didn’t feel anything, she couldn’t, and not when everything was a string along continuity that was formed to keep her bound.
It was a few weeks ago that Gojo had been in the corner of her shrine talking to one of the celebratory statues, a blindfold replacing his usual rectangular lens. He always made sure to take them off when he visited her but he now seemed to find a loophole by covering his eyes with a strap of fabric.
Utahime had greeted him out of respect despite the annoyed look in her eye, to which he jolted from his position and pulled her into a tight hug. One in which she had languidly slipped out of, acknowledging the frown on his face when she brushed her miko off as if he left dirt.
He trailed behind her the rest of the day, chatting her ear off about his recent missions and even pressing for details about her life that she loosely entertained with fibs that expanded into full stories. It suddenly got quiet and Gojo kissed her, pent up feelings leading to one thing that she wouldn’t regret until it began to affect her craft.
“Are you actually mad at me?” He whispers, breaking her out of her reflective thought and quickly yanking the teapot off the stove before it could wheeze out a screechy whistle. The action snapping her out of her daze. “I mean, sure, it got brought up but I never really took it seriously.” He admits with a shrug, referring to how he never apologized and yet he still had yet to apologize.When Utahime nods, she does it out of habit, not quite fully able to take in his words but he doesn’t expect her to.
Despite Gojo teasing her for over a decade, the last month or so was enough time to wipe all the wrongs he's ever made and replace them with something sweeter.
“Do you pity me, Gojo?” She doesn’t plan for him to show any indication that he does nor does she want him too but out of curiosity, she can’t help but want an answer. “It’s hard for me to think otherwise when you’re now only treating me differently when we’re no longer having to compete for a place in Jujutsu society.”
“Let’s be real for a second, Utahime,” Gojo musters after a while, noticing the way her fingers drum against the table at the wait of the boiling water. “I’ve never had to compete for anything with you.”
“Ow.” Utahime fumes, her hands tightening together and Gojo peers at her through his shaggy head of bangs. “So why are you just being nice to me now?”
“Believe it or not, Utahime,” A small smile slowly replacing his resting face in a way that feels more like a warning than an actual love confession. “I actually care about you.”
“Trust me, you’ve made yourself very clear.” Utahime says with a shaky breath, her eyes fixating on the steam that arises from the pot until it spills itself into a cup. The aroma and heat warms the pores on her face and it reminds her of her skin care regime and the effort she used to put in to start and end the day.
“You're safe here,” Gojo says abruptly, letting the last of the tea edge against the curve of his own cup. He speaks with an ease and Utahime blinks in surprise, his comment catching her off guard. “Safer than you could be anywhere else, don’t you agree?” His eyes scanning over hers as if he was trying to capture every detail before it would change.
“Well, I’m dead?” Utahime laughs softly, fingers sliding around the ridges of her cup before staring up at his passive face. There’s a lightness to his expression that makes the whole conversation feel a little gnarly. With there being an absence of a joke or even a taunt, the words begin to sink in like they were meant to be a warning and not a comment made of relief. “Right?” Her voice comes out timid and Gojo only lumps a spoon of sugar into the hot mixture. With every second that passes, she feels her lungs closing in at the thought and unlike her initial reaction of being annoyed at his implicity, she transcends into a state of fear.
The storm outside hurls and cradles a strike of thunder before flinging it out like a weapon meant to carry out its duty of destruction. Her hair flails at her sides with every jolt of movement that her body makes and Utahime feels unseen under his glance, his eyes blank yet studying her. “Gojo, answer my question!” She splats out and Gojo nods before sliding her back her cup of tea before sipping his own.
To think that he was here with her when he shouldn’t have been or at least couldn’t have been? It would have gone against everything she knew him to be. Rather, it was the fact that he seems to almost be content, bumming it out with her everyday. His demeanor is way too relaxed for her liking that she almost begins to feel uncomfortable beside him.
“You’re not dead.” Gojo points out nonchalantly and she feels a chill run its course down the spine of her back at the withheld knowledge he kept from her. Utahime can’t even take him seriously and she waits for him to tell her something typical. Something along the lines of her soul being alive and how she will forever be remembered by her students and her colleagues, therefore she can never be dead. She would scold him but they’ll later be able to laugh about it.
Except, his reassurance never comes. The coolness is so abrasive that she feels stunted into her seat, unable to feel her body. Her first time opening her eyes and seeing him next to her felt like a seal of relief to not be completely alone. Yet, it began to feel like bad luck now that she’s given time to fully wrap her mind around it.
“What are you trying to say?” Utahime whispers carefully, her hands so shaky that she tilts her head down to the cup and slurps a tiny sip to coat her churning insides with the herbal flavor.
“I’m trying to say,” Gojo allows the bud of his thumb to rub at her hand, dainty and soft compared to his large and somewhat calloused one. He examines it for a second before tangling them together, enjoying the image of having them bonded together in any form. “You’re in between the wedge of life and death.”
He gives her a relaxed smile and it feels superfluous because it does nothing for her, except make the alarms in her head blurb out a mantra. She prunes back a layer of comfort, the idea of even blending into the seams of his house becoming impenetrable. Every idea of even furthering herself into this life was a hollow idea that shouldn’t have been familiarized as long as it did, she felt used. Afterall, she was the one under the impression that she was dead.
“And you?” Utahime asks, tone clipped and quiet.
“I can’t die, Hime,” He mouths out cockily, sipping the last of his tea before roughly smashing it back onto the table. His other hand is still curled between hers as he tilts himself forward to get a good look at her. “Not now at least, how could you think so low of me?”
“Then why are you here?” She yelps, a cry of desperation and Gojo has the audacity to pout.
“You don’t enjoy my company? Come on Utahime, you can’t imply something like that after all this time,” His lips are tainted with the sweet allure of the tea that he had indulged himself in before he gestures at her cup which was barely touched. “I’m hurt.” He sighs, before shielding his eyes with the palm of his hand before extending his fingers to look at her through them.
Everything about the way he moves and speaks is so planned and unlike what she knows him to be that she’s almost freaked out if she was really looking at the man that she thought she knew.
“Gojo, answer my question.” She grits out and he huffs another sigh, finally letting go of her hand before crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat.
“I’m very much alive, Utahime.” He admits and her eyes twitch at his inability to read a room. The room stills itself of their usual laughter at this time and under Gojo’s nuisance of a facade is a furtive essence that coats his ego, but not enough for him to be truthful with her all these weeks.
“And why am I not just completely dead?” She bites back, bringing the topic back to her since he didn’t seem to care much about his placement in the great scheme of things. It seemed as if Gojo was quite satisfied with where he stood in the midst of all of this but she couldn’t pinpoint why. A still life didn’t seem like something that entertained him but they had started and ended their days the same for a while now and he hadn’t grown upset.
“Because I don’t want you to.” He professes drily and she hesitates at how easily he was always able to affirm his intentions with her. This wasn’t any different then any of the other times but she normally had the open perimeters to walk away. In this world, she was suffocated by his presence.
“Then why not have Shoko-”
“You’re past the point of saving.” He interrupts with a trouncing detest and her breath hitches.