By six o'clock she was so hungry her stomach stopped its ominous rumbling and switched to self-digestion. All the snacks she had kept in her desk drawer for small emergencies were gone - the wakame salad and left-over Tonjiru soup she had eaten for lunch had not carried her far. Only a few sad crumbs and a wasteful amount of plastic wrappers remained of her carefully curated stack.

Throwing a look out of the window into the fast growing darkness beyond, she leaned forward to switch on the desk lamp, briefly rubbing her eyes as the warm glow of the bulb intensified to its full capacity. Then, taking a deep breath for fortification and with a quick roll of her shoulders to relieve some of the tension in her back, Utahime shifted a stack of processed papers to the right upper corner of her hinoki desk.

Here she was again, working overtime. Yes, again. Like every day this week.

Their previous secretary had quit her position a month ago, claiming she wanted to move closer to her son and his family. Instead of hiring a new one post-haste, Gakuganchji had chosen to take advantage of her, guessing correctly that she was raised in ways that made it impossible to say "no" when an elder asked her to help out with some of the paperwork stacking up on his desk.

Then it turned out it wasn't just "some" of the paperwork, it was everything that needed to be dealt with to keep the school running - letters to sponsors, the ordering of food and other supplies, general accounting, construction company offers for the much needed renovations in the dorms. The principal? Had gone home hours ago, after wishing her "a nice evening".

She was utterly alone in this part of the school. The wind howling softly through the poorly insulated wooden structure could have given her the creeps - quite silly of her to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer who believed in ghosts - but she had decided to save the rest of her meager energy for when she finally got out of here instead of wasting it on working herself into a panic.

The old heating element to the right of her was a fire hazard but after freezing her butt off on her first night of overtime, she had moved it here from her apartment, laboriously carrying it to the underground and then taking it on the bus, keeping it close like an aberrant pet. This evening, it hummed out of tune with the howling wind, shuddering from time to time from the hard work it was doing.

Earlier today, it had snowed for the first time this winter. Utahime had felt her heart lift and she had only barely resisted the urge to dart outside and stick her tongue out to catch and swallow a few of the white crystals drifting from the sky. Even after all these years, she still felt that there was something magical and pure about the first snow, as if it had the ability to keep nasty curses at bay at least for a few hours.

As if.

Utahime snorted and then sighed heavily, feeling a pang of longing for a time of innocence and lightheartedness that was gone and would never return. Her hand crept up to her face, touching the wrinkled scar tissue that disfigured her. When she realized what she was doing, she pulled a face at her blurry reflection in the dark window and resolutely put her hand back on the desk.

There was a part of her that cherished the destruction of her face. It was a dark and brutal part, one she did not openly acknowledge. That part considered it more than fitting that she should carry the sign of her failings visible on her face. The other part, a more docile and squeamish one, cringed at the sight of herself in the mirror, hating everything about the blemish, from its size to its color and the tightness of the damaged skin on some days. That part was embarrassed when people's eyes inevitably flitted to the scar when they talked to her and it cringed when she saw pity, sometimes even mild disgust in their expressions.

Then, the other part wanted to laugh in people's faces, challenging them to tell her what disturbed them about it. Did they pity her because they thought she would not get a man that way? That she was unattractive and lonely, a burden to her parents? It was that part and a strange kind of stubbornness that she secretly admired about herself that prevented her from seeking help from another sorcerer, one whose powers allowed them to heal others. Funny that Shoko, her best friend and the one person among the Jujutsu Sorcerers she would trust with such a request, had never even mentioned the possibility.

And... she had to stop those useless thoughts, she had work to do. Briefly massaging her temples, then gritting her teeth to build up determination, Utahime delved into the paperwork once more, swallowing down her anger at being used like this by her ungrateful superior, scolding herself for being too timid to tell the old geezer to go fuck himself.

The wind howled. The heater hummed and shuddered. It seemed to be snowing again, the darkness outside sparkled with tiny specks of light. A second pile was moved to the upper part of the desk. Two more hours and she would be out of here.

"Uta-hiiiiime," someone purred behind her.

She screeched, her heart almost jumping out of her chest. When she jerked around to look death in the eye, she slammed her knee against the edge of her desk, her already stiff neck shooting a sharp pain up into the base of her head.

But it wasn't a ghost. It was somebody else who had come to haunt her. A split second of breathlessness, a fluttering of the heart and stomach and then... a surge of anger and annoyance that gave her instant acid reflux. It was always the same reaction when she had the misfortune to see him.

A tall presence in black clothes leaning a shoulder against her door, arms folded, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, one of those ultra annoying grins curving his lips. The meager light of her desk lamp did not reach him, yet his white hair shimmered like it had the ability to use ambient light from any source to illuminate itself. Not unlikely that he actually had that ability. For there was nothing this man couldn't do - or if there was, she had yet to hear of it.

"Gojo," she groaned. "What are you doing here?"

Her spending her life in Kyoto and him living in Tokyo when he wasn't on one of his frequent oversea missions meant they saw each other once, maximum twice a year, which was once or twice too often in her opinion.

"Visiting," he said and pushed himself away from the door to step into her office uninvited.

"Visiting whom?" she frowned, turning her chair to fully face him. With the Sister-School Goodwill Event still months away, he had absolutely no business being here. And even then - she normally found a way out of having to discuss any of the details with him in the run up to it.

Gojo seemed to ponder her question, briefly tilting his head to the side as if thinking hard. Then, his grin became broader. Uh-oh. She knew that look.

"Well, isn't it obvious? It's you I'm visiting, Princess."

"Don't call me that," she bristled. That look meant mischief in the making. It meant her blood pressure would soon go through the roof. It meant her bad day had just taken a turn to the worse.

"But that's your name. Song Prrrrrincess."

He said it in a throaty, sensual way that made goosebumps spring up all over her body. She shivered and he lifted his eyebrows questioningly. The goddamn womanizer. It was outrageous that his cheap tricks had an effect on her!

"Just tell me," she snapped. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" He echoed her, sounding puzzled. He reached out a hand - his fingers were incredibly long and graceful - and lifted a document from her desk to study it.

"Put that down!" She scurried to take it from him but he just lifted it over his head, out of her reach.

"New toilets? Sounds like an excellent investment."

"Put it back. Right here, on this pile."

"Huh," he said, bending forward a little to snatch another document. "And new windows too? That will cost a looooot of money."

"I will make sure to find the best offer," she huffed. Of course he did not put the documents back where she wanted them. She had spent hours working out a good sorting system and it was obvious because she had even labeled the piles! But this was Gojo. A whirlwind of deliberate destruction. He thrived on aggravating others. Especially her.

"Oh yeah?" He tilted his head again. "I thought you were a teacher at this school. Wait... were you degraded to be an office worker!? You must tell me what you did wrong, has to be a spectacular story! Weren't you always Miss Proper?"

"Okay," she stood up, which, bad planning on her part, brought her quite close to his towering body, "let me ask again - what do you want?"

"Uhm," his lips turned into an excessive pout. "You make it sound like it's a criminal act to come here. I was in the area and thought, why not visit our dear sister school? They will be so happy to see me!"

"In the area? Wait... are you on a mission?!"

She couldn't help but peer into the dark corridor behind him, however silly and useless such a thing was. Why would they send someone from Tokyo to Kyoto on a mission? Why Gojo?! It had to be something very bad.

"No. I'm in Kyoto on clan business," he lifted another document from her desk.

Clan business? She suppressed a shudder.

The mere mention of the Gojo Clan did bad things to her stomach and head. They were one of the most prestigious, powerful, and secretive Sorcerer Clans. Sadly, her family knew all too well what it meant to cross them. Holding a child's grudge, she had always rejoiced that with Gojo as the heir, they were surely doomed because he gave a rat's ass about them.

Or did he?

"... which put me in a very foul mood," he was saying, pulling down his glasses to study a photograph of her parents on the window sill. "Will you have a drink with me?"

She was so stunned that she forgot to laugh at this joke.

"Will you?" He straightened and fixed his unearthly blue eyes on her, the glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. "Let's go to a place of your choice."

Utahime was waiting with bated breath for the punchline, for him to blurt out: "Haha, just kidding! Did you really think the strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer in the world wants to have a drink with you?!" But he didn't. He just watched her quietly. Without smirking.

"A drink," she echoed him slowly, making it sound like the stupidest of all possible ideas so she wouldn't be overly embarrassed later.

"You don't need to repeat the things I say," he scoffed. "I'm quite capable of remembering what I said mere seconds ago."

"But... you don't drink."

"Of course I drink," he claimed haughtily.

He... he couldn't be serious, could he?

"Take me to your favorite place."

"But why?!"

"I'm doing something nice here so stop questioning me," he swiveled around to head out of the office.

Something... nice? For her?! "What a blistering idiot," she murmured, hastily putting the files in order, though... not really. She had worked enough today. She lowered the blinds, switched off the heater, and grabbed her coat, scarf and beanie from the coat rack.

Utahime decided to take Gojo to the Pig and Whistle above Sanjo Station, her favorite sports bar. Until the very end, she expected him to start laughing at her stupidity but he didn't. He just jammed his hands into his trouser pockets, ducked his head against the wind and sauntered along next to her.

"You know I can teleport, right?" He asked her when they waited for the bus. "Just tell me where to go."

But it was snowing again, just lightly, and the snowflakes looked so pretty and graceful on their way down to earth, she just had to watch them. Gojo turned his face up to the sky like her and kept his mouth shut, which was strange and unlike him, but she was too grateful for the moment of quiet to give it too much thought.

"Ah. That's why you don't have a coat and still wear summer shoes," she remarked a little stupidly for taking so long to understand the obvious when they climbed on the bus together. "Because you always teleport."

The Pig and Whistle was not even half-full - no wonder, it was still early. A cheery Irish folk song played softly in the background. Utahime shrugged out of her coat and waved to the young, good-looking bartender who was polishing beer glasses behind the counter. He waved back with a broad grin, then his jaw dropped when he realized she was here with Gojo. Utahime turned away, pressing her lips together angrily. Was it that surprising she had male company?

Naturally, Gojo didn't consider asking her where she would like to sit because where Gojo walked, others followed. Surprising her, he went straight for her favorite little table at the window though. Well. This whole evening already felt like a crazy aberration, them being in sync for once fell nicely in line. Utahime dropped her coat, scarf and beanie on a chair and sat down on one herself.

"Nice in here, good choice," Gojo said, letting himself fall on the bench opposite of her, stretching out his long legs. "Should we eat something? I'm famished," he grabbed the menu. "Should we order... chicken wings? The... sausage plate? Fish and chips?"

Her stomach growled so loudly at those suggestions, she instantly blushed.

"All of it then," he remarked drily and got up to place an order at the bar.

"They have thirteen foreign beers," he informed her when he came back, balancing two large tankards. "As well as ten beers on tap!"

"Thank you. Yes, and the bartender brews his own," Utahime nodded. "He does a special Christmas beer, it's not available just yet."

Today was the 7th of December - they were a week too early.

"Kanpai!" Gojo lifted his beer glass to clink it against hers. They both drank deeply. Ah, it was heavenly, one of the IPAs, just the right kind of tart with a hint of fruit. With every sip, Utahime felt the burdens of the last few days diminish. She sighed, feeling content. Then she remembered whom she had come here with, throwing Gojo a furtive look - lowering her guard around him like this was a bad idea. But he was preoccupied with watching the baseball game on the screen to the right of them. It was just a replay, which was fine with her because the food arrived quickly - plenty more than what he had initially suggested to her - and that was what demanded her whole attention. She dug in, only stopping her binge when she realized that Gojo wasn't having any.

"You don't like it?" she asked, licking the grease off her fingers. "Should I go order something else?"

"It felt wrong to steal food from a starving creature," he said with a small smile. "Go on, don't mind me."

Self-conscious about being watched while eating, Utahime nibbled listlessly on a chicken wing until Gojo's long fingers grabbed a sugar coated doughnut. Fascinated, she watched him destroy it in three large bites. Damn. He had the most attractive lips she had ever seen.

She had not just thought that. Oh boy. She ducked her head and continued eating, but she was distracted now... by Gojo. She couldn't stop watching him eat, yet was too well mannered to stare at him openly. She chose to glance at him through her lowered lashes instead which had to look demented from his perspective.

"Why is that guy staring holes in your back?" Gojo suddenly asked, his attention on something behind her.

By "that guy", he had to mean Kenji, the bartender. True, she had felt someone's eyes on her, something that would normally have alarmed her, but not here. This was a safe space, had always been.

"I guess he's looking at you," she mumbled, grabbing another chicken wing and dunking it into the hot sauce.

"Why, is he gay?" Gojo asked.

She shook her head, suppressing a laugh. Of course: Gojo was the kind of person men and women fell in love with at first sight and he was well aware of that fact. "I don't think so. He likes to flirt with women."

"Hm, he's glaring at me," Gojo remarked, lifting his tankard to drink deeply. "I think he's jealous. He must be in love with you."

"What?" Utahime slammed her tankard down hard and glared at Gojo in turn. "That's absurd!"

"Huh, why?" Gojo emptied his glass, tilting his head back to capture the last drops. "You're an attractive woman even though you wear silly ribbons and old-fashioned clothes. There's nothing absurd about a man falling in love with you. Excuse me."

He pushed himself upright, swaying slightly on his feet for a moment before he walked away. In horror, Utahime swiveled around to intervene if necessary, because knowing Gojo, he was about to do something terrible like confronting Kenji with his observation next - but he just headed for the toilet at the back, his gait rather unsteady.

Right. She remembered now why she had thought he did not drink: Gojo Satoru got drunk more quickly than a baby.

Chuckling, she turned back to the food.

"Who is that guy?"

She yelped, looking up into Kenji's worried face. Did these men have to sneak around like this?

"A colleague," she swallowed some onion rings, her eyes searching for a napkin to wipe her fingers. "From Tokyo."

Kenji held a napkin out for her. "Are you sure... can you trust him?"

She lifted her eyebrows to stare at the young man's earnestly concerned face. Trust Gojo? No, of course she didn't trust Gojo - because he would grasp the next opportunity that presented itself to anger her. And yet, the entire world depended on him and his ability, even though normal humans like Kenji would never know that the mere presence of Gojo Saturo on earth deterred the curses from becoming too daring. So yes, despite her personal dislike, she did trust Gojo. To keep her alive. To keep all of them alive.

"We're just having a drink," she forced a smile. "To discuss some work-related matters."

"Please be careful, Utahime," Kenji said, looking towards the toilet door with a frown. "I don't like the way he looks at you."

"Thank you," she said politely though really? What was with these guys tonight?

Kenji went back to his place behind the bar before Gojo reappeared. Utahime watched him throw Kenji a loaded look over the rim of his glasses on his way back, which caused poor Kenji to pull up his shoulders reflexively.

"I don't like the way he looks at you," Gojo slurred, picking up his glass after slumping down, then putting it down again with a frustrated huff when he realized it was empty.

"And I don't like the way you look after that one glass of beer," Utahime scolded him. "I remembered what people used to say in school: 'Keep Gojo away from alcohol or terrible things will happen'."

"That was what? Twelve years ago?" he waved his hand through the air dismissively. "I'm twenty-seven now, I can do whatever I want. You buy the next round."

Oh well, Utahime thought on her way to the bar, she wasn't his mother. Let the guy get drunk, put him in a taxi, and then forget about him until the next time he comes to annoy you.

By the time they were on their third round, Gojo was getting cross-eyed and had issues getting straight sentences out. It was a strange evening - she was having an incredible amount of fun because when he was drunk, Gojo was as tame as an elderly tortoise. And kind of cute.

But then the door opened and three men in black suits stepped in.

"Shit," Gojo slurred, scrambling upright. "They found me."

He fumbled for her hand, pulled her tight against his chest and teleported them away.