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I. Warm change from someone else’s hand
Geto’s friend took some time to get used to, as all things did.
He was careless and abrasive, Utahime would go so far as to say he lacks a brain-to-mouth filter had she thought he was stupid but she did not - there was too much cleverness lurking behind his black shades to let her entertain the notion.
He just didn’t give a damn. His ego and self-assuredness were hardly deterred by others’ opinions after all.
“You missed a spot there,” his voice was enough to startle her out of her musings with a horrified scream and a tumble of the broom against the apartment floor. Gojo only laughed at her full body flinch, light and trouble-free.
“Jeez, what a welcome.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be getting groceries?”
“I finished,” he told her smugly, a reminder of his words. What a welcome. “I got everything on the list, vegetables, instant ramen, coffee, bread, cheese, cigarettes-”
“That was not on the list.”
“Yes, it was.”
Shoko and Geto, damn their lung-corrosive habits.
“-cleaning supplies, a new mob and eight kilos of rice.” At that Utahime gave a hearty nod of approval. Rice was always good rice was excellent. “That was a fucking nightmare to carry.”
“You have a car.”
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t do well with stairs.”
She shot him a glare. Gojo stuck out his tongue.
Utahime huffed. What a man-child.
“Hime, lighten up.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said, frowning in thought. Something was amiss.
“Aw, come on. It means princess, who doesn’t love to be called princess?”
“I don’t,” she fired back, tactfully ignoring how her father had named his hoard of daughters with that second kanji just for that very reason, and how much she’d giggle as a child every time he did, always coaxing them to listen to their mother, their empress.
He was a sappy man, her father — a sappiness whose memory Utahime refused to besmirch by her roommate’s jokes.
“Spoilsport.”
Her middle finger reply lacked the enthusiasm it normally had overcome by a prickling sensation of dread. “I feel like you forgot something.”
Gojo frowned, aghast. “I did not, if there was something else you wanted me to buy then you didn’t write it down.”
“I see.” And now she was going to tear out her hair all day trying to recall what it was. Lovely.
His shadow loomed over her. “U-ta-hi-me, stop worrying.”
“I’m not. Just thinking.” In her quest of fervent remembrance, if only her brain cells would work.
“Whatever it is, I’ll buy it as soon as you remember.”
“I’m pretty sure all our grocery money was spent.”
He only laughed, reaching forward to grasp her hand and Utahime watched him, confused as he rummaged through his pocket before finally unsheathing his great treasure.
Utahime stared silently as he dropped paper notes and copper change in her palm. Their heat seeped through her skin, leftover from Gojo’s touch.
“What?”
“I haggled in the market,” he declared in triumph.
Utahime laughed, a moderate laugh of joy and incredulity. “Heavens, I can’t believe it.”
“Aw, don’t be so doubtful,” he said with a pout, “Aren’t you proud of me, Utahime, hmm?”
“Oh, yes,” she gave a lopsided smile, “you made your ancestors proud.”
“Yeah?”
“Hmm. Maybe you should take care of groceries from now on since you’re so good at it.”
His teeth were white as snowdrops on a starry skied beach and Utahime rubbed the change he gave her, willing its warmth to settle more snuggly between her fingers.
II. Sharing secrets in the nighttime
Sleep left her foggy and dewy-eyed as she stumbled out of her twin-sized bed into the living room, her parched throat pulling her to find the nearest bottle of water and soothe her fervent thirst.
That was how her nightmares of academic failure had left her, a little better than a zombie grizzling down as much liquid as she could.
She took a satisfied breath once she finished. That hit the spot.
And now she needed to go back to bed before her bedtime was over, she could cash on those last two hours before she had to get ready.
Wow, two more hours. Heaven.
Her sluggish walk back to her and Shoko’s room was swiftly interrupted by a sweeping breeze across their living room, and Utahime shivered from the rush of cold across her cheeks and neck, sure she’d told Geto and Shoko to shut the balcony doors after they finished their late night chat smoke break.
Nobody ever listened to her in this house.
The sight of Gojo sprawled on the balcony floor was enough incentive to jolt the last of the sleep from her brain.
He only spared her a cursory glance, shifting his focus towards the outside view once again.
“Don’t you have classes tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
“Then why aren’t you sleeping?”
“I can’t.”
“Then make yourself some chamomile tea, it should help.”
He gave no reply, only a faint bob of his head. Utahime had the distinct feeling he was rolling his eyes, but she swallowed her anger as graciously as possible.
“We have some dried leaves inside.”
“From home?”
Her mother had painstakingly wrapped them on her last trip to Japan, as Utahime crushed spices into the mortar, fulfilling her mother’s wish to send her with a full goods basket. “Yes.”
“Must be nice.”
His reply was an answer to a question she had neither asked nor thought of and Utahime frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yep.”
She debated her decision whether to allow her softer nature to act in this situation or not for a few long moments, mourning her lost sleep as she did. But follow her soft heart she did and so she sat on Gojo’s opposite side.
“You don’t have to throw me a pity party, just go back to your room.”
She certainly wanted to go back to bed. “You haven’t slept at all, have you?”
“Couldn’t,” he said, “and Suguru was complaining.”
“Oh,” she fiddled with the ends of her sleeves.
Silence reigned as the conversion drew to a lull. Utahime could barely resist fidgeting, hating the awkwardness in the air. There were little to no topics she could think of; her familiarity with Gojo was thin as scraps. She’d only met him last week.
A grand and boisterous affair, she wryly thought.
“Um, have your parents called?”
He turned his head, facing her, but said nothing.
She tapped her index against her thighs. “Or do they check up on you with texts?”
Nothing, zero, zip, nada.
“...Don’t tell me rich people send their butlers or some fancy thing like that?”
Gojo snorted before he gave a full belly laugh.
“I’m guessing they don’t send the butler,” she mumbled.
“No, actually, they do sometimes.”
“Wait, really?” He nodded. Utahime rolled her eyes. “Ugh, rich people.”
“Rich people indeed.”
“If they do send the butler, he will respectfully stand outside, I will hear no judgmental quips about our humble flat.”
“They won’t, don’t worry.”
“Are you… did you fight with your parents?”
“Hmm, it was more of a disownment than a fight.”
Oh… oh.
“Why would they-” she’d turned to Gojo for answers but his eyes, full of woe and bitter irony couldn’t let her continue her question even if she’d wanted. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”
“You’re so well-mannered.”
“Yes, of course, manners are necessary.”
“Like a classic Japanese beauty ought to be.”
Utahime sighed, brushing back her bangs. It used to elate her, hearing it from their neighbours and extended family, their praises and sweet words, the compliments to her character; what a precious girl she was, certain to make a good wife.
It didn’t matter that she’d decided long before that to pursue an academic career, their words fluffed the peacock feathers of her ego nonetheless.
That had all stopped after her accident and the subsequent slash to her face, the scar. Now it was only pity.
“My parents wouldn’t like you either way.” Her eyes snapped to meet his. “They have very high standards, a certain image if you will.”
“And you didn’t fit in it?” she guessed.
He smiled with his teeth. “I didn’t want to.”
The wind picked up, and a powerful burst of air swept through the neighbourhood, sweeping Utahime’s hair, the ends tickling her face, obscuring her vision for one second.
“Do you want to hear my story, Utahime?”
His voice was low but steadfast and she brushed her hair behind her ears as her name echoed in the space between them, curious as to what secrets he kept behind his devil-may-care posture.
He spun her a tale of grandiose dreams and stifling expectations, and a boy who craved the surety of science instead of the woes of the family business and Utahime came to know of his lonesome journey towards independence, his leap of faith.
Neither of them went to bed, talking until the sun lit up the sky once again.
III. The shared hesitancy
“I want to do something crazy,” Shoko had declared one Friday evening.
Her out-of-character request garnered full-hearted support from Gojo and not too few incredulous stares from Utahime and Geto, who understood that Shoko was someone whose favourite pastime was languidly laying on sofas.
Suguru hummed as he poured over his philosophy lectures. “What brought this on?”
“I’m bored. I wanna do something fun.”
Utahime looked over her laptop screen, raising a single eyebrow.
“You weren’t bored yesterday,” he continued, taking notes. “In fact, you’d explicitly told us you were going to nap all day while you still can.”
“I realized the errors of my way, I wanna go out and have some fun.”
“Are you sure?”
“Suguru,” Gojo groaned, spread dramatically over their bean bag. “Let the woman speak.”
“Thank you, Gojo.”
“I wanna go out, too.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll have loads of fun together,” Suguru dryly replied. “Because I’m broke as the local ducks right now, pretty sure Utahime is too.”
“Yes, I am,” she said from behind her laptop screen.
Gojo sounded positively scandalised. “When did you guys even spend your money?”
“End of the month dude, there’s rent, groceries and electronics, my phone got busted if you remember-”
“You should buy yourself an iPhone, it’s much more reliable.”
“Would love to but again, broke, plus I had to buy a bunch of research papers and Utahime had to get like seven textbooks this month alone.”
“Joys of a Master’s degree.”
“Poor Uta,” Shoko patted her head. “There, there, it’s only two years left.”
She turned her nose in contempt. “I can’t wait to see you slaving away in your residency.”
Shoko laughed, “I’m sure it will be hell but for now it's my chance to go crazy.”
“Go crazy with Gojo, then.”
“Do you want me to end up killing the guy-”
“Hey!”
“Let’s go out! It’s a Friday night, you bookworms.”
“Pay me for the pleasure of my company,” Suguru tonelessly replied.
“I have classes I need to prepare,” Utahime said, highlighting headers. “These first-years are like baby ducks, they know nothing.”
Shoko stared at them in disgust. “Hey, Gojo, help me out here, annoy them to death.”
In the end, they shamefully cowered under the intensity of Gojo’s nagging. He’d stood above them both, theatrically complaining for the entire United States to hear about their boring, no-fun attitude befitting of sixty year old grannies. It had the desired effect; Geto’s words swam in and out of focus and Utahime felt an incoming migraine that threatened to break her frail composure and make her hurl her laptop at the asshole.
And Shoko had the nerve to high-five Gojo once they effectively had them in the streets.
“I hate you,” Utahime grumbled.
If she calculated right, she had about fifty dollars in her purse, and said fifty dollars was supposed to last her a few more days.
The whole week, she wailed in her mind.
Satoru dully ignored her. “Let’s go somewhere fun.”
“I hope you guys die,” Geto said, her sole companion in this thrifty life of theirs.
“Oh, will we eat out?”
“Probably, I’m famished!”
Suguru and Utahime’s eyes met, heaving out a sigh.
“I’m pretty sure there’s a fast food area if we keep walking ahead, they might have meal offers. Check your GPS.”
There were a few moments of aimless drifting as they waited for Gojo to confirm Shoko’s words and Utahime lost herself amidst the laughter and noise of the people, homesick in the worst ways.
“Guys,” Gojo’s voice was soft. “There’s an amusement park near.”
“Oh?” Shoko moved closer to look at the map.
“See? It’s not far.”
“It’s not. Why don’t we go?”
“Is it…” Utahime trailed off, but Shoko rarely asked for senseless treats and they never went as a group anywhere, tangled in the throes of a grilling semester, she’d be able to afford it. “Sure, I’m in. Geto?”
“Fine, let’s go.”
And that was how she found herself in the local amusement park, loud and boisterous and filled with screams from the joy rides. Something reminiscent of school trips perhaps. There was a cotton candy stall not too far from the ticket window and she wondered if she'd indulge, craving the fluffiness of the candy even if she could do without the sugar.
“So, what should we do?”
She blinked, broken out of her thoughts. There he stood, Gojo in all his glory, peering down at her from behind his black specs.
Utahime looked around her, but their friends were no one to be found. “Where are Shoko and Suguru?”
“Suguru bet Shoko she wouldn’t be able to scar the guys in the haunted house so they’re now on their way to prove him wrong.”
“...what?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Her best friend, Utahime thought, could be crazy sometimes. With possible sadistic tendencies. College degrees ruined the best of them.
“So what are we doing?”
“I… don’t know.”
“Let’s go on the roller coaster.”
She giggled. “Of course, you’d say that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?
“You are the type of person who picks the most dangerous game as a starter.”
“Aww, scared?”
She scoffed, crossing her arms as she looked away. “You wish.”
“You are!”
“Am not.”
He cackled. “Scaredy-hime.”
Utahime clenched her fists and she stomped forward to grab his arms. “Let’s go. Let’s go right now.”
“We don’t have tickets,” he said, surprising her that he remembered.
This is how she found herself fifteen minutes later in the roller coaster queue, holding on to her ticket for dear life. She swallowed, biting her lips.
“I never tried this before.”
“Me neither.”
Gojo’s breaths were little puffs of white, condensed by the cold but his cheeks were spots of red, overcome with fervent excitement.
If she was afraid of how far she’d have to climb, he only seemed eager for it.
“I’m sure you’ll have fun.”
“Yeah?” He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “Wanna know a secret?”
She exhaled, watching as it drifted and faded into the invisible air. “Sure.”
“I’m kinda scared.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “I always wondered how it would feel like but now my heart’s beating like crazy.”
The heir was designed for greatness and prestige, deprived of something as average as a joy ride. “You’re excited.”
“Am I?” He said in marvel. “It just seems mundane, you know.”
She frowned. “I thought you wanted to do this.”
“I do but should my chest be tingling like this, this thing will take five minutes tops.”
Her hand trembled and she squeezed it tight. “You asshole, I thought you wanted company.”
“I do,” he said with a pout.
“Then show more enthusiasm! I am not getting on those things to pray to the gods for mercy, I can do that on solid ground!”
The group of teenagers behind them snickered at her outburst and Utahime thought belatedly that maybe she should have switched to Japanese instead to save herself the embarrassment, even if that thought couldn’t take time to settle in her brain for Gojo leapt into her personal space, his eyes sparkling like a child.
“See? You are scared.”
She was not, Utahime almost snarled.
He smiled. “I am glad I am not alone.”
It drained her annoyance, the hint of trepidation in his voice, for this was as new to him as it was to her.
What a thing.
IV. Common mind
“You have a nice car, Gojo-kun.”
Mei Mei’s voice was smooth silk, decadent with unwavering quality, giving him a one-sided smile in the rearview mirror. Gojo only gave a hum in answer, curter than he’d intended, enough to indicate his discomfort.
“Thank you, senpai.”
He saw her smile in the rearview mirror and clenched a hand around the steering wheel, debating whether to turn the stereo up. Perhaps he shouldn’t be bearing his signs of discomfort for all to see but it was a hard thing to hide, crawling under his skin.
“Different from your graduation gift.”
He took a deep breath, “yep. I sold that one.”
So what if Mei Mei was an old acquaintance who he’d happened to share mutual friends with? He’d never been ashamed of who he was, nor of what he chose to leave behind.
“So what was Satoru like as a teenager?” Suguru asked from his side, preparing to dig some dirt.
He’d simply wished to throw the memories of the past in the past where they belonged.
“Oh, very proud and haughty, confident. Prodigy kid, you know.”
His parent’s pride, the family’s successor. His grandfather had been so sure he’d have another heir to lead his company to even more greatness, only for Satoru to smash their dreams to the ground and flee to the path of scientific research.
Decidedly unglamorous. Disappointingly lacking.
Suguru laughed. “He hasn’t lost his shine, pretty sure he’s gonna crush the faculty record.”
“Hmm.”
“Some professors are already considering him for his bachelor,” Utahime’s voice distributed the accumulating static charge he felt all around, a siren.
A song princess.
“Oh, isn’t he in his first semester?”
“Yes, he is!” Utahime sounded, dare he say it, proud. “He has a few prospects but he should take his time to check them out. Only the best.”
"I see."
"I have no doubt he's going to be a top Ph.D. holders in the institution."
His eyes snapped to the rearview mind, startled by the proclamation. Utahime was facing Mei Mei resolutely, unaware of the turmoil she'd just sparked in his chest.
Satoru... he'd not divulged his aspiration to any but Suguru, who'd laughed and promised to be fellow menace teaching professors together.
“Alright, alright, I only asked for clarity, Uta-chan, I meant no harm.”
“Not everyone wants-”
“-to work in business, I know that, and I wholeheartedly support you, dear.”
“...well, I was just making sure.”
Shoko and Suguru shot each other glances through the rearview mirror. No one said anything else.
V. “How did you know?”
Utahime worked an odd assortment of jobs that didn’t fit together, despite Satoru’s best efforts in making sense of them.
Truthfully he was impressed. There was not much common ground between Teacher assistant, post-graduate student, tutor and local band lead singer but she managed to juggle them thoroughly enough to dispel any doubt.
He was glad; when she sang in the mornings her voice was beautiful and easy to lose oneself in but with the acoustics of the old cafe, it transcended, something holy.
A dream.
Still, incomprehensible jobs made for occasionally terrible schedules and he knew to expect her to be wrung out at the end of the week, tired from back-to-back hours.
The end of the semester though, that he had not foreseen. Utahime seemed ready to tear out her hair, mumbling about grades, assignments and research, deadlines, deadlines, deadlines and he knew he needed to intervene.
Shoko had taken to lying on the couch, facedown, still as a corpse, and Suguru… oh boy, that one was about a femtometer close to a killing spree.
It was hard, being the only one with his marbles still intact.
And thus that was how his journey to the kitchen started; with three dead-weight roommates and one perky smart-assistant as his new BFF and cookbook. The pan sizzled as the smell of properly roasted chicken filled the air.
“I smell something… well something not burning.”
“Utahime!” His voice is positively awed. ”You’re alive!”
“Um, yeah?”
“I thought you were lost to the-”
“Satoru,” and his first name usage is enough to snap his mouth shut. “It’s too early for your obnoxious attitude.”
“It’s 3 PM.”
“Too early.”
“Hmm, how rude. And here I was devoting an entire afternoon to your nutrition, the lack of gratitude, bah.”
“It’s a sight for sore eyes,” she laughed. “You’re hopeless in the kitchen.”
“I just lack proper motivation but now that I put my mind to it, I guarantee you’re going to eat the best homemade meal in your life.”
She gave a rueful smile. “That honour goes to my parents.”
“You didn’t even try my cooking.”
“To be fair, you’re setting yourself up against some tough competition.”
His unamused tilt of the lips was enough for her to ease back on the teasing, shrugging with a put-on expression. Gojo only procured the steaming pot from the stove, handing her a spoon for sampling.
Utahime debated teasing him again as she pulled the lid away. The onslaught of the smell made her blink in surprise and her mouth opened in an O.
“You made Karē raisu?”
“Sure, it’s your favourite.”
“How did-”
“Aren’t you going to taste it?”
She dug in, not as eager as she normally would have in her mother’s kitchen, half worried the taste would not suit her buds, ruining her memory of the dish, the other…
“It’s good.”
The taste was all too familiar. She sniffled.
Satoru’s eyes widened in panic. “Wait, wait, why are you crying?”
“It’s really good,” she said with trembling lips.
“Then why are you crying?”
“I want to go back home.”
She ate another mouthful, embarrassed by her outburst, hardly able to keep it at bay. It ate and chipped away at her though, the fervent wish to settle by the river bank.
Gojo bent so that his head was at the counter, cushioned by his arms. He looked all too innocent looking up, his white hair delicate in the natural light.
“You really miss it that much?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Why don’t you go during the holidays?”
“My thesis isn’t finished.”
“I see.”
“Finals season is coming up.”
“It’ll pass.”
“I know.”
“Here,” he filled up a bowl of rice. “For the Curry.”
“Thank you, Satoru.”
He smiled. It was big and bright and wonderful.
( I) VI. The solid touch of someone else
Snow fluttered above their heads in a gentle flurry of white and cold and Christmas songs surrounded their every step. The airs of a picturesque scene.
“Utahime?”
“Yeah?”
“Wanna hold hands?”
He swallowed back his nervousness, waiting for her answer with as much patience as he was capable of. It came back in the form of gentle gloved fingers curling around his palm.
He inhaled, exhaled and inhaled again. Unreal, this was unreal.
“Gojo?”
It was not.
“Yeah?”
“Wanna fly with me to Japan?”
It was.
“Yeah, yes, of course.”
Her hold tightened and Gojo squeezed back.
“Good.”