It was slow to creep in: A prickling self-awareness that turned into the humiliating realization that she had acted like the epitome of a headless chicken. Rushing into enemy territory, afraid that Gojo would succumb to mindless rage, that Naoya would manage to corner him, that Michizane would do anything to cause a bloodbath, seemed like a very stupid thing to do now that Utahime stood across from a radiant Gojo who looked devastatingly handsome and awe-inspiring in traditional clothing and was the most put-together she had ever seen him.
A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. Why did a part of her still cling to the image of Gojo as that annoying, cocky teenager who'd so frequently gotten under her skin? The years had passed him by, leaving behind a powerful sorcerer at the pinnacle of Jujutsu Sorcery. He didn't need her to babysit him. He didn't need her to complicate things for him. And he sure didn't need anyone to stand in his way.
Funny though. How many nights had she tortured herself trying to figure out what to do with her complicated feelings for him when it was so very apparent and clear what she ought to be doing? It wasn't complicated at all.
But then he said "What is this Binding Vow?" and she almost died on the spot. For several agonizing seconds, Utahime felt like she was free falling, the air rushing past her in a deafening roar. This couldn't be happening! If her truth-lie was discovered, it would be the undoing of everything!
"Ah, you've forgotten too," Gojo added. She felt something tug at her heart when he moved his fingers between them as if stroking an invisible cord. "You and me," he explained, looking inexplicably happy, "there is a new Binding Vow between us but we both cannot remember, it seems."
To her greatest relief he wasn't referring to the fake-vow between her and Michizane. Of course not. Even someone as powerful as him couldn't see something that wasn't there (right?). Her life's most consequential lie was her burden to bear, hers alone.
Utahime looked down to where his fingers played with the air, her thoughts spinning wildly as she attempted to understand. She had no ability to see a binding vow like the bearer of the Six Eyes, but a deep certainty bloomed within her that one was in place: Now that she attempted to see, she felt it. It was the cause of a comforting warmth that was running through her limbs, the cause of a calming self-assuredness. Had Gojo proposed such a thing? That seemed unlikely, because there was nothing someone as powerful as him could gain from a binding vow with someone as weak as her, yet the alternative—that she had initiated it and he had agreed—was equally perplexing.
She probed the tether between them, but whatever it was, it clearly didn't want to be questioned. She decided she would best let it be as long as no harm came to her.
Gojo stepped closer to put an arm around her. How warm he was. Warm and solid and great to lean against. The mere thought of causing him distress, of shattering whatever unseen bond existed between them, filled her with a sense of anguish and she felt a strong surge of protectiveness at the same time. He must have agonized over her well-being after the events of the previous day. They needed to talk about it, she realized, she needed to lay bare her fears and suspicions. If anyone could help, it was him.
"That 'child' I lost? That wasn't yours," she blurted out, the words tumbling from her lips in a rush.
In that corridor of the Zen'in estate that looked and felt so much like Gojo's own, she hurried to explain the bizarre explanation she had concocted for what had happened to her—a tale of being impregnated by a nightmare, a notion that sounded like the ravings of a madwoman even in their world where the impossible was often reality. But she had to make him understand. She wasn't crazy!
The sadness in his eyes threatened to shatter her resolve, his expression a reflection of the unacknowledged pain she felt deep in her soul. "You have to believe me," Utahime pleaded, burying her face against his chest. "I didn't sleep with anyone else after we broke up, I swear."
"My Utahime," he whispered, "whoever caused you pain is going to pay."
Gojo's grip on her tightened. The world around them seemed to blur and bend, colors streaking past like shooting stars. His power enveloped them like a protective cocoon, shielding them from the turbulence of teleportation. Utahime closed her eyes, allowing herself to surrender to the sensation without fear. She felt a curious sense of liberation, as if the boundaries of her existence were momentarily lifted. And then, just as swiftly as it began, the movement ceased, leaving them standing in the familiar room at Gojo's estate in a tight embrace.
A small sigh escaped her. It was good to be back.
"You need to rest and not worry about a thing," His hand, warm and reassuring, held onto hers even as he took a step back. "Do you need anything? Food? Tea? Chocolate cake?"
That last bit made her smile. She was perhaps a little hungry, yes, but... Her stomach rumbled loudly. Okay, she was more than a little hungry, even bordering on ravenous.
Utahime cracked a tired smile. "Whatever there is in the fridge," she squeezed his hand gently. "Thank you."
A furrow appeared between Gojo's brows. "We have a chef," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he reached up to pull down his blindfold. "He'll cook whatever you want and if something isn't in the fridge, someone will go get it."
Right. The Gojo Clan. Riches beyond her wildest imaginings. Memories of elaborate, overflowing tables from yesterday's gathering flashed in her mind – dishes so meticulously arranged they felt more like art installations than food. Utahime grimaced internally.
"Spicy miso ramen," Utahime blurted out. It was exactly what her body craved–hot, comforting, and satisfying. "And okonomiyaki with bacon?" she added.
Gojo chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. "Get comfortable," he gestured at her attire, which was anything but. "I'll head to the kitchen and make sure Cook doesn't fret too much about turning this into a Michelin-starred creation."
The warmth of Gojo's hand lingered on hers even after he left, a phantom sensation against her suddenly chilled skin. A shiver wracked her body. Should she take a hot shower? Probably a good idea.
Utahime's movements were slow and deliberate as she made her way towards the luxuriously appointed bathroom. On the bed, neatly folded, lay a pair of soft-looking pink pajamas. A ghost of a smile touched her lips at the welcome sight: She would have to apologize to the servants for frightening them with her frantic demand for proper clothing earlier (which had led to them bringing her another set of traditional attire, beautiful silk in vibrant colors, when all she craved was her simple Miko outfit).
With a heavy sigh, Utahime shed the restricting garments she had been wearing, carefully placing them on a stool nearby. She avoided her reflection in the mirror, unable to confront the sight of her naked body as she stepped into the shower.
As soon as the heat of the water enveloped her, tears began to streak down her face.
###
The words came out soft, a mere whisper. "I'm just a little tired."
"Of course," Gojo murmured. "Sleep."
Utahime's eyes fluttered closed, but a hand reached out, gripping his arm. "When I wake up," she mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion, "I want to talk about it."
"Yes," he promised. "We'll talk."
A small plea escaped her lips. "Please, don't go anywhere."
He squeezed her hand gently. "I won't."
With gentle strokes, Gojo traced his fingers through her hair, marveling at the softness of the strands beneath his touch. Silence settled, punctuated only by the soft rhythm of her breaths deepening with sleep. He lifted his head to catch a glimpse of her face against the pillow, her long lashes casting deep shadows across her cheeks in the subdued afternoon light.
Watching her force down the food she had craved a moment ago, her movements strained and hesitant, had stirred a fierce protectiveness in him, driving him to gently rock her in an attempt to offer her solace. Now that she was asleep, he tightened his arms around her, drawing their bodies even closer together, noticing her warmth and the softness of the pink pajamas she wore.
A pang of regret, sharp and sudden, pierced through him. He remembered fluffy pink slippers and an oversized pink jumper. He remembered hurting her, that night when the weight of grief and guilt had choked him senseless. Consumed by the immensity of his pain, he'd shut down completely, his feet carrying him on autopilot to the only person who would welcome him with open arms, the one who could mend the cracks in his soul and never asked for anything in return.
The memory of her tear-stained face, of the hurt in her eyes, was a bitter reminder of the damage he was capable of causing by just being an insensitive prick. The Utahime in his arms was fragile, quivering with fears and sorrows, someone who'd never complain when she had every right to.
Damn. He was about to bawl like a baby from feeling way too many emotions. This most certainly wasn't normal.
The Binding Vow, a constant, low hum in his mind, wasn't just a tether, it was an amplifier. Now that he knew of its existence, it cranked his emotions to levels that were borderline ridiculous, perhaps even conjured them from thin air. It made concentrating on anything nearly impossible when all he wanted was to be with Utahime, to hold her close and chase away her pain. The thought of leaving, even for a measly mission, felt like ripping out his own heart.
This was going to be a major problem.
Unaccustomed and very reluctant to have his thoughts and feelings dictated by external forces, Gojo began to prod the Binding Vow, seeking to understand its conditions and limitations, only to hit a figurative wall. The damn thing did not want to reveal anything about itself. Annoying. Surely, he could best it?
He prodded some more until it became uncomfortable. Anything more was going to be painful, the vow was protecting its secrets! Well, he knew that in theory, Binding Vows and their conditions had to be honored because the repercussions for breaking one were dramatic - or so they said. In truth, Binding Vows were uncharted territory for him. With powers far above everybody else's, voluntarily restricting them for even more power was a pointless exercise.
But that begged the question... What could have driven him to accept this one?
He had a suspicion.
It had to be the yearning for something he'd never known – a connection that defied the boundaries of his solitary existence. He craved the quiet comfort of togetherness, a reprieve from the isolation he'd built around himself. This domesticity, the whispered "husband" that clung to him like a foreign word, offered a strange, addictive comfort.
Except it was a lie, a carefully woven illusion. When the vow inevitably broke, the heartbreak would be monumental.
What a mess. The worst part? He didn't want to do anything against it. Not when this made him feel... whole, a feeling amplified by the vow no doubt, but a feeling he wouldn't trade for anything. And so, he was caught in a twisted paradox. The vow fueled emotions that might not be entirely his own, yet the idea of losing this fragile closeness was unbearable.
What a truly fucked up mess.
Heaviness settled in his eyelids. The light dimmed at the edges of his vision, blurring the lines of the room. Exhaustion, too long-ignored, washed over him. Gojo felt a flicker of resistance, a half-formed thought that something wasn't right, but it was quickly swept away by the gigantic wave of fatigue. Despite the unease, he drifted off into a fitful slumber, the warmth of Utahime beside him a fading comfort.
In the dream that followed, he found himself standing in a vast, shadowy landscape. There, amidst swirling mists, stood a figure clad in blue robes. Gojo recognized the stern visage instantly – Michizane, his ancestor, looking like a respectable scholar and not like a fanged monster. A small improvement.
The sorcerer, his voice echoing through the dream like a tolling bell, boomed with disapproval. Of course. There never was any peace with this one.
"You pay no heed, Gojo Satoru!" Michizane thundered. "Blind to the threads that bind you, deaf to the warnings whispered on the wind!"
Gojo scoffed in his dreams. Come on. This was his subconscious, and he wouldn't be lectured by a ghost. "What warnings, old man? Speak plainly, if you can manage it from beyond the grave."
Michizane was seething with frustration. "The future is shrouded, descendant," Michizane intoned. "But a storm gathers, unseen. Its tendrils brush against your fate, a darkness that threatens to consume all you hold dear."
Gojo bristled. He, the strongest, threatened by a storm? And darkness? What bullshit. "Spare me the dramatics," he retorted. "I can handle whatever comes my way."
A flicker of sadness crossed Michizane's face. "Arrogance blinds you, Gojo. Remember, even the strongest can be brought low. When they fall, they fall deeper than anybody else. Heed my words, for they may be your only salvation."
A searing pain ripped Gojo in two. Literally. He saw his legs stand before him, quivering slightly, from a weird anger on the hard, wet ground. There was no upper body connected to those legs.
"It's over. You have lost."
It was suddenly Geto who stood there with a lopsided grin that showed a lot of teeth because his body was halfway eaten up by rot and worms.
"Hand it over or she dies."
Gojo woke with a gasp, the echo of Michizane's warning and Geto's threat lingering in his ears and his phone buzzing incessantly against his butt.
"...the fuck," Gojo mumbled. His heart was beating a terrified staccato rhythm in his chest. How dare Michizane creep around in his dreams like this? And Geto?! Was this related to the damn Binding Vow too?
Calming his breath with an effort, he checked the caller ID. It was Nanami, and from the number of missed calls, it seemed urgent. With a muttered curse, Gojo teleported himself into the corridor outside, not wanting to disturb Utahime's rest.
Damn, how cold it was! The chill hit him like a physical blow. It was a cold that went beyond temperature, a bone-deep bite that seemed to attack his very core.
"What is it?" Gojo demanded, his tone clipped with annoyance.
"Gojo," Nanami's voice came through, unusually sharp and displeased. "I assume you are no longer at the Zen'in estate?"
"Of course not," Gojo replied tersely, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. "Why are you asking?" Then, the pieces clicked into place. "You're the idiot who drove Utahime there! When you know better than anyone that Naoya has put a target on her back!"
"She made a convincing case why she needed to intervene," Nanami defended himself, "she expected something very bad to happen. And our Senpai can be pretty convincing if she wants to be."
"Nothing happened," Gojo didn't admit that it had taken him a tremendous effort though. "We left quickly after she arrived. We're back at the estate."
"What about Chia and the kids?"
Gojo gritted his teeth. "Already married into the Zen'in family, they lost no time. There's nothing I can do about that for the moment."
Nanami swore under his breath. "We were so very careful to hide her identity."
"It's not your fault she's in deep shit," Gojo said in a fake-chipper tone. "Oh... actually, it is. You thought I'd murder a woman and a child and were dumb enough to move her outside my protection, where the Zen'in could get her."
A beat of silence, then a steely resolve hardened Nanami's voice. "If you're not getting her out, I am."
Nanami had one thing going for him: He'd always been a reliable, if uptight, ally. He had offered to keep an eye on Utahime when Gojo couldn't, honestly a weight off his shoulders when things had spiraled out of control before Christmas. Only that Gojo had begun to suspect some time ago that Nanami had ulterior motives... It was the way he looked at Utahime, a lingering gaze that betrayed more than just a comrade's concern. Hence, Nanami's pronounced interest in Chia, even if spurred by a guilty conscience, was quite welcome. It would keep him busy and away from mooning over Utahime.
"Don't do anything hasty," Gojo cautioned nonetheless. "They are expecting it."
"I'm not going to barge in guns blazing like a certain someone, of course," Nanami retorted. "I will come up with a sophisticated, water-tight plan before I act. That's the least I owe her."
Gojo scoffed. "I was extremely civilized. We drank some tea and had a conversation like adults. Naoya acted by himself, likely on an opportunity that presented itself. It became obvious that there's a Zen'in spy on the estate. And Naoya revealed his hand by bringing up Megumi as a bargain."
"Megumi?" Nanami sounded shocked. He was quite fond of the boy.
"Naoya's carving his path to the top after his father's demise," Gojo shrugged. Only those who had experienced the customs of the old traditional sorcerer families first hand could truly understand just how cold and ruthless they demanded their offspring to be. He was fortunate that his parents had gifted him with a normal, carefree life until theirs had been cut short. What had come after was a living hell, but it had never managed to erase the memories of the genuine warmth at family breakfasts, the sound of laughter echoing through the house, or his parents' fond glances at each other.
"Will it help if we alert Naobito?"
"No, he'll be pleased by Naoya's actions. Stealing the Gojo Heir Spare is a rather big coup. I need to get them back with something bigger and where it truly hurts. I'm thinking of bankrupting them. Luckily, I have smart cousins who know how to go about that."
"I hope I don't need to caution you," Nanami inhaled slowly. "You know you're extremely exposed at the moment."
Meaning the Jujutsu Society's leaders were poised to strike at the Gojo family at the slightest misstep. Nanami was right, he had to tread carefully. For now.
"While we're on the subject of women who need to be rescued," Nanami continued. "What's Utahime doing on your estate? She was very disoriented when she called me this morning."
Utahime. Gojo longed to be back on the bed with her, to hold her and be warm and comfortable.
"She is visiting," Gojo deflected the question. Visiting forever, he hoped. "There's no need for concern."
Nanami's voice turned colder than the winter wind. "Gojo, I swear, if you bring any harm to her I will kill you with my own hands."
"Hear, hear," Gojo quibbed. "And how will you do that? Throw bread at me?"
An angry huff was Nanami's only response before the line went dead.
Gojo made a mental note to invite Nanami to the estate to discuss a good anti-Zen'in strategy and to flaunt his and Utahime's happiness in his face. Then he remembered that it wasn't exactly real and clenched his fists. There was a dull ache spreading through his body as the cold tightened his muscles. Even his cursed energy felt sluggish, like honey trapped in a freezer.
Just when he thought it was impossible to ever move again, Shoko burst into the corridor with a whirl of urgency, her footsteps quick and purposeful, a not-so-faint aroma of cigarette smoke trailing behind her. The smell, sharp and familiar, clawed at Gojo's insides. I miss him. She was wearing an assortment of ill fitting clothes that she must have collected from different people on the estate.
"Gojo!" She exclaimed at the sight of him. "You're back! And in one piece!"
Even though he had ripped her from her bed so hastily yesterday, they had not talked about what had happened on the 24th. I had to do it, Shoko. There was no saving him. I had no choice. What else could he say, truly? The words felt hollow, a flimsy shield against the truth. He had had a choice. Many, in fact. But he had chosen the path stained with the blood of their friend, a one-way ticket to a future haunted by regret.
"Thank you for being here," Gojo managed to say before his tongue knotted up in mortification.
Shoko narrowed her eyes on him. "Are you unwell? You look pale."
"Just cold," he said. "Listen, I..." He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.
"Idiot," Shoko said, her voice surprisingly gentle despite the harsh word. "No need to say anything, cause I won't accept your guilt. Geto doesn't deserve it, he walked to his doom all by himself."
I should have realized earlier. I should have tried harder. I didn't. I was selfish.
"I know what you're thinking, Gojo," Shoko smiled sadly. "But no. He did not want to be saved. He was a runaway curse train, and without us as the tracks, he would've just derailed earlier. He killed his own parents, Gojo. His parents. Really, there's nothing you could have done to save him."
Her gentle words brought a fraction of warmth to Gojo's frozen body. The image of Geto, once a shining example of hope, twisted and warped by his own darkness, flashed in his mind. Shoko was right. But the knowledge did little to quell the gnawing guilt that had taken root in his gut. They said grief was only temporary, that it inevitably got better with time. He might not have been responsible for Geto's choices, but the memory of their last encounter, the desperation Geto tried to hide with an easy smile, was going to haunt him forever.
Shoko shook her hair, looking determined. "Let's focus on the living, shall we? How's our Utahime?"
Good, Gojo wanted to lie, but he couldn't. "I think she's very sad," he admitted. "I think it's because of the... the baby."
Funny how saying it out loud hurt so much. Even if it had not been his baby, as Utahime had explained, the sorrow in her eyes had been palpable, and he couldn't help but share in her pain.
"I swear if you hurt her again...!" Shoko's face turned very scary. "I told you not to ask her any questions about it!"
"I didn't!" Gojo defended himself. "She was the one who started talking about it!"
"She believes it was some kind of... ghost?" Shoko's voice wavered between fear and hope, as if searching for reassurance. "She told me to look at the tissue she lost."
Clever. "And, have you?"
"No, how should I? I was whisked away to your estate from Tokyo to Kyoto with no equipment, dummy."
"I can get you equipment immediately."
Shoko sighed. "Of course you can, rich boy. Can you spare me for a few hours instead? Bring me back to my lab, I have work to do. Fetch me tomorrow to check on Uta. I should have some results."
They eyed each other somewhat warily.
Do you think it's even possible?" she finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. "What she claims it was?"
Gojo averted his gaze, a heavy sigh escaping him. He knew the answer, a bitter truth lodged in his throat. "It's possible," he conceded.
What was the chance that Utahime was targeted by a special type of curse or ghost without this being related to him? Almost zero. There was one ghost they both knew very well. One ghost he had introduced her to.
He had to protect Utahime, but how could he shield her from a threat that coursed through his own veins?
###
Utahime stirred, her eyelids fluttering open to the dim light filtering through the windows. As consciousness seeped back into her, she became aware of an unsettling chill in the air, one that seemed to penetrate deep into her bones. Instinctively, she reached out, hoping to encounter the comforting warmth of Gojo beside her, but her hand met only empty sheets.
Confusion clouded her mind as she sat up, the covers pooling around her waist. Where was he? Had he left while she slept? The thought sent a pang of unease through her chest. She shook off the remnants of sleep and scanned the room, searching for any sign of him.
But the room remained still and empty. A shiver ran down her spine, not just from the chill in the air, but from the sudden loneliness that settled in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the cold.
From a distance, the sound of koto and shakuhachi wafted through the air. Which was thick with the fragrance of blooming flowers. It smells nice, she caught herself thinking, but then was shocked to realize that it was the dead of winter outside. Utahime blinked and grabbed her phone. The 2nd January 2018.
The disorientation deepened. The music, the flowers - it felt like a scene ripped from a dream, from an era bygone. Utahime climbed out of bed. An unpleasant premonition gnawed at her, a feeling that something wasn't quite right.
There were voices outside, hushed and urgent. One of them, she realized with a thrill, belonged to Gojo. Quickly, she padded across the cool tatami floor on naked feet and slid open the door with a soft whisper, revealing a hallway beyond.
There, bathed in the soft glow of an oil lamp, stood Gojo and Shoko. Both looked surprised, then relief washed over their faces at the sight of her. Utahime smiled at her friend, then met Gojo's gaze, finding her emotions mirrored in his eyes. With a shaky breath, she stepped forward, allowing him to wrap her in a gentle embrace.
How warm he was.
With a trembling breath, she leaned into his embrace, hearing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat at her ear. In that moment, all her fears and worries melted away, replaced by a profound sense of comfort and belonging.
This was the Binding Vow, wasn't it. Oh, but she didn't care.
"What's this," Gojo whispered. He sounded alarmed.
"It's nice," sighed Utahime. "Don't question it."
"I'm not talking about the Vow. I'm talking about the domain expansion that clings to you."
"What?" Utahime looked up into the blue wonder of his eyes.
"I've never seen anything like it," Gojo frowned. "It's here, but it's also not. It's...," his frown deepened. "As if something... someone is reaching out to you from a different place."
Oh, but it all made sense, didn't it.
"It's not from a different place," Utahime whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "It's from a different time. It's Michizane. Reaching out from the past."