Work Text:
2016
Satoru stood at the door in silence, his mouth hanging open in dramatic disbelief. He knew she was here, but he didn’t know…how she was going to look – it caught him completely off guard.
“What?” Utahime gritted out, delicately combing her fingers through her long hair, freely cascading down her shoulders, “Stop staring, why are you even here? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
Satoru waved his hand in a dismissing gesture. That wasn’t important – whatever Gakuganji had to tell him wasn’t as important as this.
“Why are you wearing your hair down? Did the world turn upside down or is it a special occasion?” It truly piqued his interest, and he couldn’t hide it. He approached her with a painful smile in his lips when Utahime rolled her eyes, her face taking a light shade of red despite her effort in trying to remain composed.
But she was too easy to read once you knew her too well.
“It was an accident with the students. I dodged too late I guess and –” She sighed, pointing at the torn white material on her desk, “My ribbon was torn in half – that was the only damage.”
A quick glance confirmed the remains of a cursed weapon’s energy around the ragged edges – it was faint, but still there enough to be seen with the Six eyes. A familiar, heavy pressure began building in his chest.
You’re lucky that’s the only damage.
The words had formulated in his head instantly, yet they closed around his throat before he could utter them and at the same time, his fingers coiled into a tight fist inside his jacket. Utahime was ignoring him on purpose, busying herself with her hair still, looking away from him. His fist clenched tighter out of her sight.
“Now, Utahime—” Satoru started instead, coming around to perch on the edge of her desk, in her direct line of vision, “Why are you sparring with your students?”
He tilted his head at her pointed frown, his lips in a tight line while Utahime’s turned downward at the critical nature behind his words, her fingers stopping their motion all together. The air in the room shifted immediately at the implication, tension rising.
Why you, of all people?
“Am I not allowed? I don’t remember having to ask for your permission on how to teach my students.” Utahime retorted, sharply drawling the words by the end.
Satoru let out a humorless laugh that broke the silence, biting the response that built up aggressively from his chest, ready to come out sharp and cold and hurtful. But they were inevitable, clawing their way out despite the enticing distraction of her presence so close, her fiery eyes waiting for a response.
You’re weak, you shouldn’t be putting yourself at risk.
Frustration and insult were tightly locked together in the space between them the more the silence stretched until abruptly, he leaned over, his hidden sight above Utahime’s just mere inches away as the hand he’d been clenching in his pocket reached out to her, his sore fingertips lightly playing with the ends of her hair over her chest.
“If you’re going to get hurt, then no, you’re not allowed.”
The words were always meant to be a joke; a way to tease her, to rile her up. However, the cold edge in his voice was unmistakable, cutting, giving away the dark fire that had begun to burn stronger the more he stared into her scathing glare and the scar on her face, a stark reminder.
Didn’t Utahime realize how fragile she was? How important she was? Why was she so stubborn? Why was she so weak that a mere student could do that?
It made his blood boil.
Even more so when Utahime scoffed under her breath, still defying him despite the disadvantage in their situation.
“We are nothing, why would I listen to you?” Her words were somehow colder than his had been, harsh, cruel in the delivery. Satoru’s fingers stopped their motion through her hair, his entire body coming to a halt.
Two can play this stupid game of yours. She had said that once, years and years ago, her finger digging into his chest with each word as tears welled up in her eyes – the roles had been reversed.
Satoru forced a grim smile, lightly tugging at her strand of her hair, “I’m joking, Hime. Relax.”
It was all he could say before the situation blew out of proportion, not at the school at least – her answer had rattled him enough for that. Neither needed another warning from Headquarters about their closeness, as they had put it.
The last thing he needed now was those old men getting in their way too.
“If you think you’re being funny, you aren’t.” Utahime muttered under her breath, darting her gaze away in an annoyed manner.
Satoru inhaled deeply, trying to put out his ire, chuffing out a short laugh to break the tension. He needed a distraction from the heaviness in the pit of his stomach, too.
Utahime guardedly watched him pick one of the torn pieces of her ribbon on her desk, only to begin wrapping the torn material around her hair in a familiar fashion.
She shook her head, taken aback by his actions, “What are you doing now?”
A distraction.
“Your pigtails because they are cute.” Satoru mumbled absently, Utahime’s hair so smooth and fine between his fingers he made sure not to tug at it as he tied a loose knot with the torn ribbon, “Your hair is longer than before.”
She was different than before, too. Years ago, she wouldn’t have said anything remotely cruel.
“It’s been years, I don’t wear them anymore.” Utahime weakly protested but didn’t push him his hands away like he thought she would, instead she placed them atop of her desk while Satoru worked on the other loose section of her hair.
He shrugged, running his fingers through the soft strands of her hair, “I like them, you should wear them some time again.”
The pressure in his chest diminished enough that a genuine smile began slowly tugging at his lips at the slight flustered expression on Utahime’s face, at the way her gaze turned downward to hide to no avail.
They reminded him of the days when they were younger, years before Technical College, when he used to sneak away from his tutors and wander around the Gojo estate, searching for the faint sound of bells whispering through the breeze. He’d just watch from afar, transfixed by the gracefulness in every motion of the girl performing it – the same girl who had corrected his hand gestures once.
Utahime’s hand wrapped around his wrist, effectively pulling him out of the memory.
“Well, I don’t like them. They don’t suit me anymore.” She said and Satoru couldn’t help but to disagree with a strong shake of his head, tying the frayed edges of the torn ribbon around her hair.
“Well, you’re wrong.” Satoru leaned back, admiring his work. They were symmetrical, just like he remembered, and Utahime’s defiance combined with the flush on her face just added to the alluring nature of it.
She was about to protest again but instinct took over his actions and Satoru silenced her with a finger to her lips, quickly turning into his palm covering her mouth with barely controlled strength, his fingers softly pressing into her cheeks, grazing the scarred skin across her face.
“Can you ever just do one thing I say?” It came out of the deepest part of his chest, gravelly, adding intensity to each word that Utahime registered with a widening of her eyes, quickly turning into a withering stare over his hand.
If she’d done what he’d told her during that fucking assignment, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt – she wouldn’t have gotten that scar. If she had listened to his younger self telling her she was too weak to be a sorcerer, that she didn’t have the guts, she wouldn’t be here and none of this would’ve happened.
But then, that wouldn’t be Utahime. Just like now, with that unrelenting fire burning behind her eyes, ready to counter him.
“Do you want to mindlessly follow your every whim like one of your servants?” She drawled against his palm, “Because I won’t.” Her fingernails dug around his wrists until a sharp pain came flooding through his arm.
He’d no other choice than to throw his head back and cackle at her response – it was so much like her.
Satoru let go of her face, the back of his hand caressing her skin instead, pushing down the remains of frustration still burning, making his heart drop to his stomach.
“It wouldn’t be fun if you did that, but—” Both of his hands took hold of her face, his forehead resting against hers, “Sometimes you make me want to keep you all to myself just so you could listen to me once.”
Take her away from everything and everyone so she had no other choice but to finally do as he said. Lock her away from everything and everyone else.
“You sound like a psychopath. What’s gotten into you today?” Utahime pushed away from him and stood up, standing almost face to face with Satoru while he could only smile, all teeth and danger boiling beneath his skin.
You.
“Wear these for me just a little?” He took hold of her pigtails, his fingers playing with the torn ribbons he’d wrapped around her hair. This attraction felt like a disease, spreading all the way to his brain, blurring his judgment. He could feel his heart beating faster too, anticipation burning against his ribs.
“Satoru…” Utahime sounded unsure. He just needed to press.
“Please?” It came out choked, in a voice he couldn’t recognize as he stared into her eyes. Utahime could only glance at the bandages around his sight, a noticeable shiver raking her body when Satoru twirled a strand of her hair around his finger and tugged at it harder than before, but not enough to hurt.
The pressure was working, the uncertainty in her features becoming an expression of reluctant agreement.
“Fine.” Utahime grumbled, her flustered expression betraying her. And Satoru couldn’t help it, he lunged forward, his hand around her jaw as he crashed his lips against hers in a rough motion, feeling the irritation seeping into his actions. Utahime bit him hard on the lips in retaliation, grunting in pain against his mouth until he backed away as abruptly as he’d come at her.
Despite the stinging pain and burning sensation around the wound Utahime left in his lips, he couldn’t stop grinning at the deep shade of scarlet that crept up her cheeks and the indignation mixed with surprise there, glimmering in her eyes. The pigtails just made it all the better, almost innocent.
Almost.
“Good.”