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Gojo had never been short of infuriating. That was what Utahime thought for as long as she had known him. He was like that when they were only children, in high school, and as much as Utahime wanted to believe people could change, time and time again, she was shown that this was not the case for one Gojo Satoru.
Gojo Satoru, who, even at 28 years old, liked to slide sheets of paper with crudely drawn genitals to any unwilling receivers within his vicinity. Gojo Satoru, who, even at 28 years old, had no concept of controlling his impulses long enough to wait until after meetings before inappropriately groping her thigh. She had yelped in surprise so loudly that day, the blush reaching her ears, she had to make up some lame excuse like mistakenly seeing a roach on her shoe while Gojo merely laughed, the selfish prick that he was.
Utahime had pondered the idea before; was this what invincibility did to a person? No, Gojo was irritating beyond belief simply because he was Gojo— of this, Utahime was sure— It was then, all the more shocking, when, having bed ridden for two days, she dragged herself to the front door of her apartment to be greeted by none other than the devil himself, the 7am sun lighting him from the back making her squint.
“Utahime~” Gojo chirped, while waving a large hand in the air despite already being only a fraction of a meter apart. He always made it a point to wave obnoxiously, making him look comically childish, given how he towered over most people and often dressed in all black, just like today. He also made it a point to say her given name in every other sentence, emphasizing just how little regard he had for her seniority. He was truly a vexing creature, put on this earth to torment her.
“That’s Iori-senpai to you.” Utahime snapped back, exceptionally impatient from being forced out of the warmth of her bed.
He gasped and clutched at his chest as if she’d thrown a glass of water at his face. It was tempting, but she left her glass on her nightstand. “Utahime… You haven’t seen me in two whole days, didn’t you miss me? You should be nicer, you’ll get a boyfriend faster that way.”
“Goodbye, Gojo!” She said, more weakly than she intended, given her condition, and started to close the door, only for it to be halted by Gojo’s palm.
“Whoa, whoa, let’s not be too hasty! You don’t even know why I came over.”
“I don’t care.”
He ignored her. “I was at work wondering what Utahime was doing, Shoko told me you’d been sick, and I thought—”
“What a shame, you should really stop doing that.”
He ignored her again. “I bet my pleasing personality would be more than enough to cure her! And so, here I am!”
She was about to protest, opening her mouth to tell him to go fuck himself or something similar, when, with a grin, he added “And I also brought soup, crackers, other snacks, and all of my streaming site subscriptions.”
Shit. Gojo and his stupid rich self. He had subscriptions to every useless thing. Their line of work had them busy more often than not. Her apartment was hardly a home, it would actually be more accurate to call it a pitstop, the place she went to rest and refresh briefly before being thrown into the dirt and grime that was teaching and exorcism. It was simply furnished, only the necessities, each vital section within arms reach from one another and all in the same room, save for the bathroom. So she never had a good reason to shell out money for the subscriptions that Gojo’s loaded ass didn’t think twice about.
As tempting as it was, she was about to decline when her stomach grumbled at the mention of food. Having heard it, Gojo pushed his way in, careful to support her with a hand on her waist as he stepped around her and set the plastic bag he had down by the counter. After that, he set off, finding the plates for the crackers and a bowl for the soup on the first try despite never having been to her apartment before. It’s those six eyes of his.
“Close the door, would you, please, Utahime? You’re letting it get drafty in here.” He said without looking at her, hands still busy. It was only then that she realized she’d been frozen watching him, her hand still on the knob of the open door and her mouth agape.
“Oh sure…” She responded, uncharacteristically timid as she pulled on the blanket around her shoulders and made her way to the couch. “Do you need help?”
She could see him raise an eyebrow even beneath his blindfold and immediately regretted asking. “As romantic as it would be to prepare a meal with Utahime…” He paused, as if escaping to a fantasy for a moment. “You’re sick, so just rest.”
She turned on the TV and flipped through the channels without really paying attention. Instead, she looked to the corner of her eye frequently, watching Gojo as he heated the soup with her microwave and sliced a piece of cake, at which he smiled at and mumbled “For me,” to himself with a quiet chuckle, before storing the rest in her fridge. She’d never been with him and had him be quiet for this long before. She’d also never really seen him do anything solely for anyone else, yet here he was, with soup for her, and chips, which he says are for after she gets better, along with a barrage of storable takeaway for the next few days. It was disarming… and made her feel a little guilty. Perhaps, Gojo Satoru was human, after all.
Once he’d settled down, she had a bowl of soup in her hands and a Gojo to her side, his arm casually draped on the back of the couch while he inputted his account details on her TV.
“What do you want to watch? I kind of feel like something fun and animated, but… you’ll probably like this more, right?” He said, flipping to an action film that had an exclusive release on one of the many streaming sites she could never justify a subscription to, so although she’d wanted to watch it, she didn’t then have the means or the time.
After expressing her agreement, he put it on and they ate their respective food in silence. Once she was finished, Gojo put away their dishes to wash later and returned, putting his feet up on her coffee table.
“Feet off.” She growled.
“Relax, Utahime. You’re supposed to be resting. You’re not resting if you’re always angry.”
“I wouldn’t be angry if you weren’t here.” She hissed weakly, but this time, but for a different reason than her illness.
He only laughed.
Gojo didn’t remove his feet and she didn’t mention it again. After a few more fight scenes, she heard faint snoring. When she looked at him, he was sitting similar to earlier, except now his head was tilted back, his mouth was slightly open, and his blindfold was hanging around his neck although she couldn’t remember when he’d put it down. She scoffed. Leave it up to Gojo to visit someone to play caretaker and then fall asleep.
She contemplated for a minute or two before bringing her feet up on the sofa and pulling half of her blanket over her sleeping junior. She reached up carefully, brushing her fingers over his eyelashes. He didn’t move. She shook his arm, still draped on the back of the couch. He really sleeps like a rock, she thought to herself.
Then, she did something that surprised even herself. Shifting slightly, he tucked herself into his side and took his arm to place around her shoulders. She told herself it was okay because she’s sick, people get loopy when they’re sick, so that was all. But she knew. It was true that Gojo was irritating and selfish. He didn’t care for others’ boundaries, the only limits that existed to him were the ones he made with his own infinity, but he was kind without trying and cute when he was quiet. She hoped he would never change.
Letting her eyes shut, she buried her nose in his jacket. It smelled faintly of detergent and cologne. She would worry about her excuses later. For now, she drifted asleep and dreamt of sharing loads of laundry with one infuriating Gojo Satoru.
—
When she had finally stirred, she was surprised to find that the view that greeted her was not of the window as it had been when she went to sleep with her head against Gojo’s chest. Instead, she was looking over her coffee table, at the tv, which she also remembered leaving on. It was only upon feeling nimble fingers carding through her hair that she realized she’d shifted and was now laying on Gojo’s lap.
At the realization, she bolted upright so quickly she was sure the back of her head would have connected with Gojo’s chin if he were not as annoyingly tall as he was.
She’d sink in embarrassment later on at how wild she must have looked at that moment, her hair a mess, fresh from sleep, eyes wide, and heart racing. Why did it keep doing that?
Holding his hands up in surrender, Gojo quirked an eyebrow at her. “Slow down. Sheesh. You’re gonna give yourself a headache moving around like that.”
“Shut up. What are you still doing here?” She asked, her tone reflexively accusatory.
“If it wasn’t obvious, your head, heavy as it is, left me trapped here all afternoon!” He cried indignantly.
Her head snapped to the window, and then around the corners of the sofa where she fished for her phone in the cracks, as if the darkness outside needed further confirmation of the time that had passed. 7:23pm, her phone read, and at that, she groaned audibly. He’d stayed the whole day, over 12 hours, just sat there stroking her hair as she slept. The thought of Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, also the busiest sorcerer, sitting idly in her shabby little apartment, just looking after her in case she woke up and needed something… it warmed her inside, as much as she tried to push the feelings down.
“You didn’t have to stay.” She muttered, suddenly feeling guilty.
“None of that.” He said flippantly. “I don’t want to hear any of that.”
“Anyway,” he continued, getting a hold of her shoulders to keep her planted on the couch as he maneuvered around the small space between the sofa and the coffee table. “You stay here, I’ll meet the delivery guy, kind of felt like fried chicken today.” He snickered before slipping and leaving her alone with all of her thoughts and feelings.
The rest of the evening went by uneventfully, with Gojo playfully refusing to give her some of his chicken after he dramatically complained about all the thought he put into choosing a variety of soups just for her and heating it up with extra care. He gave in, in the end, of course. Then, he washed the dishes, and only upon her insistence did he allow her to dry as long as she remained seated on a stool next to him.
All the while, Utahime couldn’t help but keep wondering when this would end, would it end after dinner? Would it end after dishes? Perhaps after this episode of her favorite show? Or maybe after the third? But all throughout, he made no move to leave. The thoughts didn’t stop even once she was settled in bed. Gojo had just finished closing the blinds and replacing the glass on her nightstand with a fresh one, when she swallowed enough of her pride to clear her throat.
Gojo’s attention perked up at the sound. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, I just… why are you doing this?”
He tilted his head, the brilliant blue of his eyes piercing her right through to her soul. He hadn’t put his blindfold back on that entire time. “I wanted to.”
“But why?”
“Utahime.” He snickered. “You’re so silly. You could just say thank you. If it’s not enough I would also accept: Thank you, Gojo, you’re the best, what would I ever do without you.”
Her hands balled into fists at her sides, over the covers, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Sh-shut up!”
“It was just a suggestion.” He teased, laughing boyishly.
A moment of silence passes before she pats the small space next to her bed. “Come here.”
She half expected him to proceed with another impertinent comment to make her regret every decision she’s ever made, but to her surprise, he obeys without a word.
Almost disappointed that his easy compliance left her no choice but to follow through, she swallows hard and reaches up to take his chin, turning his head a fraction away so she could place a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Gojo.” She whispered.
Time freezes just then, that is, until Gojo moves abruptly, making her yelp. He took her wrist in one hand, her nape in the other, and shifted to face her, but he stopped just as the sides of their noses were brushing up against each other.
“Anything for you, Utahime.”