"You can drink if you want," Gojo said with a nod towards the bottles of sake gathering on their table, "I will make sure you are safe."

Utahime shook her head and took his hand into both of hers. It was very cold. "I don't feel like getting drunk," she explained, her voice soft, eyeing Shoko with a bit of concern. Her friend had already downed half a bottle by herself and was well on the way to finishing it entirely.

No, she didn't feel like drinking. It would numb her in ways she didn't want to be numbed. She wanted to remember everything about this day, forever. The good and the bad. And she didn't want Gojo to feel alone. It was the least she could do for him.

Gojo's absence had been brief; she guessed that Master Tengen had waited for him down in the Tombs to receive the urn and stow it safely in the cursed warehouse. In the cold rain that had started to fall, the three of them had made their way to Setagaya City to eat Zaru soba noodles.

They were seated at a secluded table by the window, the soft patter of rain outside blurring the view. The Zaru soba lay in front of them, beautifully presented on bamboo trays, accompanied by dipping sauce and garnishes. This, both Shoko and Gojo agreed, had been Geto's favorite food and this place, an understated restaurant that was situated in a residential area opposite the Shinganji Temple and Awashima Kindergarten, was where Gojo and Geto had gone after they had fought one of their first curses together.

"What an absolute shithead he was," Shoko choked out between drinking and eating, occasional tears wetting her cheeks. "What an idiot."

Utahime had to agree, but she couldn't blame Geto fully for what he had become. To her, Geto's downfall was an utter failure of their educational system. Surely, one of the adults should have intervened before it got too bad? It wasn't the upfront reason she had decided to become an educator herself, but part of her had always clung to the hope that she could make a difference.

Shoko scoffed, a wet noodle clinging to her chopstick. "He made his choices. Always a contrary little prick, even as a kid. Someone should have smacked him upside the head a few more times."

"You didn't know him as a kid," Gojo frowned.

"Bah!" Shoko waved her hand through the air. "We were all practically children when we first met. Naive and brimming with an arrogance that rivaled your current ego."

A single hiccup punctuated her scathing assessment before she resumed devouring the noodles. "Do you even realize how illegal this is?" she sputtered, jabbing her chopsticks in Gojo's direction. "Shoving sake down my throat and reminiscing about a terrorist? Can't you just hurry up with your revolution already?"

Gojo stirred his dipping sauce. "He was our friend," he murmured. "For a long time, he was our friend and he wasn't a bad person. They can't erase that, I won't let them."

Shoko dabbed at her mascara-stained cheeks, a flicker of pain in her eyes. "He believed in something, even if it was twisted and wrong. That conviction… it had power. Add that to his charisma and good looks, and it's no wonder he amassed followers."

"And that's why they want to erase him," Utahime said softly. "Because ideas are harder to kill than people."

Raising her sake cup, the amber liquid catching the dim light, Shoko's voice trembled. "To Suguru," she toasted, "to his stubbornness and his terrible ideas."

Gojo and Utahime raised their cups of tea in response, echoing her sentiment. "To Suguru."

"Remember that time Suguru and you got into that asinine competition over who could exorcise the most curses in a week?" Shoko cackled, a touch too loud, as she refilled her cup. "He was livid when you won. Couldn't believe it!"

A ghost of a smile graced Gojo's lips. "He thrived on competition. It pushed us both to be better."

Shoko slumped back in her chair, a weary sigh escaping her lips. "He had a way of making us feel like… like we were part of something bigger. Like we could make a difference."

The rain intensified, its rhythm now a relentless drumming against the window panes.

"You know," Gojo said, putting the chopsticks down and letting his head hang. "I often think that it could easily have been me if he hadn't continuously stopped me. I just don't understand how… how we could end up like this."

Shoko raised her cup again, her eyes glistening. "The difference between you and Suguru in a nutshell is that you are a good guy and he wasn't. Cheers."

Gojo reached out, his hand hovering over the sake bottle in a gesture of concern. "Perhaps you should slow down, Shoko."

She snatched the bottle away with a hiss. "Don't. Don't interfere with my life any more than you already have. I watched you two and your stupid competitions for years, don't you think I have a little something to say about your characters?"

"I would have killed everyone that day," Gojo folded his hands on the table. "That day I held the lifeless body of Riko Amanai in my arms and these people clapped and smiled. I wouldn't even have felt remorse. You weren't there, Shoko. You do not know me as well as you think."

"Err, hello?! You were completely high on cursed energy that day," Shoko grimaced, "I remember how long it took you to recuperate. No, you idiot. Don't make yourself something you are not because you don't know what to do with your guilt. You are one of the richest people in Japan and don't even have a life because you work so hard! If that's not proof of being a good guy, I don't know what is."

Gojo turned to Utahime, the blindfold hiding his unreadable gaze. She squeezed his hand, understanding his silent question.

"The world would be a living nightmare without you," Utahime said gently.

"But without me," Gojo countered, "the curses wouldn't be this strong to begin with."

Utahime shrugged. "It must be fate then. You can't choose when or where you're born, or the power you possess."

"Exactly!" Shoko slammed her cup down, the sound echoing in the tense silence. "Waiter! Bring the man some dango, the kind with the brown sugar syrup!"

Utahime took Gojo's hand again. "I think he believed, truly believed, that he was doing something worthy. In his twisted way, he thought he was protecting us all from a greater evil."

"What should I do, Utahime?" Gojo's shoulders lifted with a huge sigh. "I can't just tear down the old system, I need to build something new. Something that wouldn't have let Geto slip through the cracks. A system that fosters more than just powerful sorcerers."

"To Suguru," Shoko shouted, lifting her cup once more. "And to the future we'll build in his memory."

She drank deeply, then frowned at them a little cross-eyed. "Can you two get a room already, all that moon-eyed lovey-dovey vibe between you two is creeping me out!"

###

They agreed to take a taxi and go to one of Gojo's apartments, where all three of them would spend the night, since letting Shoko go anywhere on her own was out of the question. The rain-slicked city lights blurred past the car window as they rode in silence. Gojo's body next to her was a source of welcome warmth, but Utahime's heart ached for him and his quiet grief, which felt even more like an impenetrable wall than his Infinity ever had.

They pulled up to his towering penthouse, the one she had already been to. Despite its size and obvious expense, it held an air of sterile emptiness, a gleaming shell untouched by the warmth of everyday life. Gojo carried Shoko - who was quite unable to walk by herself - into the guest wing and deposited her gently on a bed. Utahime followed, carefully undressing her friend down to her underwear. Before quietly switching off the light, she placed a bottle of water and a packet of headache pills on the bedside table.

In the dimness outside, Gojo stood by the large window, staring out into the night. Utahime walked over to stand silently beside him. Through the rain-streaked window, the city sprawled beneath them like a never-ending living organism. Streetlamps cast pools of warm yellow against the slick black streets, while neon signs bled vibrant hues into the downpour. Distant car headlights snaked along the wet roads, leaving streaks of red taillights in their wake.

"One of the richest people in Japan and I don't even have a life, huh," he chuckled quietly. "That's pathetic."

"The tell-tale characteristics of a good guy, I hear," Utahime touched his hand.

"Do you believe that?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He turned his head, pulling down the blindfold. His shimmering hair settled around his face, framing his expression with a mixture of weariness and contemplation.

Utahime met his gaze, her own eyes steady. "I do," she replied, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "You've dedicated your life to protecting others, to making a difference. That's more than most can say."

He held her gaze for a long moment before he released a breath, a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"Should we get some sleep?" he asked, his voice low.

A flicker of disappointment, quickly chased away by unwelcome understanding, laced through Utahime. True. There was Shoko's two-week moratorium on intimacy because of the high risk of uterine infection after her "miscarriage". Gojo was taking it seriously and Utahime, despite the zing of desire that shot through her, wouldn't push him to do anything unwise even though there had not been any more bleeding.

"Probably a good idea," she agreed.

"I'll give you a toothbrush and some pajamas," Gojo offered. He turned and padded across the vast living room, his slippers whispering against the polished floor. Utahime followed him, a question forming on her lips. They reached the doorway of his spacious bedroom, a reflection of his personality splashed across the minimalist yet surprisingly warm décor.

Here, the unspoken question snagged in her throat as he rummaged through a cupboard. They hadn't addressed the sleeping arrangements. There were undoubtedly other, unoccupied rooms in this palatial apartment. Her gaze darted towards a door across the hall. Should she retreat to the impersonal neutrality of an unused guest room?

Utahime felt a flutter of nerves as Gojo turned towards her with a smile, handing her the toothbrush and sleep shirt that looked like one of his. His proximity, and the sight of him in that moment, intensified the yearning in her chest. She took the offered items, her fingers brushing against his for a fleeting moment that sent a jolt down her spine.

"Thanks," she managed. That wasn't it, was it. If she wanted something from him, she had to tell him. She took a deep breath. "Actually, Gojo," she began, her gaze flickering towards the guest room across the hall, "would you want me to...?"

Gojo's smile faltered slightly. He followed her gaze to the guest room, then back to her. "You… you don't want to sleep with me?"

Utahime felt confusion bubbling in her chest. Why was this suddenly complicated? Because we haven't talked properly. They were bound, yes, bound by that strange vow they'd made. And yet, even after several days, she didn't understand what that truly meant. What exactly were they to each other and for how long would they be? "Wife" he had called her in front of the officials, but surely he knew just like her that by real world standards, they were not married.

"You misunderstand," she explained. "I want to sleep in your bed, but I am not sure it is proper after… after today. Nor do I think it is smart." Because I will have a hard time not jumping you.

Gojo looked flustered. "Well," he scratched the back of his head, "it is a king-size bed and you are more than welcome to be in it. With me in it too. I mean… I'd like you to be in it. I will keep my hands to myself, I promise."

The problem was she didn't want him to keep his hands to himself. She wanted to offer him her body so that he could forget his grief and find solace, so that she could show him how much she cared for him. At the same time, those sentiments scared her because she wasn't sure whether she truly wanted it, it felt so wanton, or whether the vow made her be like this.

Utahime hesitated, feeling far too much tension in her body. She took a step closer to him, her voice barely above a whisper. "The problem is... I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself," she confessed, her heart pounding in her chest. It wasn't that hard to be truthful, was it. Now another step.

The empty space between her legs throbbed urgently. She couldn't get herself to say it, but truth was, she wanted to be fucked by him - it was that crude word that described best what she craved. She wanted to be fucked roughly. then slowly, gently, then roughly again. She wanted to be sure her womb was free from anything resembling an evil or vengeful spirit. She wanted Gojo Satoru's seed deep within her to cleanse her from the last remnants of that ancient threat.

Her breath became more agitated. "I want you to touch me," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "Everywhere. And I want you to hold me close and make me feel... wanted. Am I too selfish?"

Gojo's expression softened. He reached out, gently cupping her cheek. "Utahime," he murmured, "I want you all the time, don't you know that by now?"

Their eyes locked. His thumb traced a circle on her skin, a silent question. Utahime closed the distance, her lips meeting his. It was a desperate plea for connection, a collision of ignited emotions. Gojo's hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch both tender and urgent. Utahime's fingers tangled in his hair, her body responding eagerly to his embrace.

As they broke apart, their breaths coming in short gasps, Gojo rested his forehead against hers. "Utahime," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion, "I am truly sorry but we cannot have intercourse."

"But I want to, very, very much," she protested. She was dripping wet, ready to grind herself against his leg or hand or mouth or anything. It was scary, this need of her.

"I will pleasure you in other ways," he gazed down at her with pupils dark with desire. "Get naked."

"No!" Utahime shook her head, "I want us to have pleasure together."

"Hands," he suggested a little breathlessly. "Mouths?"

An exciting image crossed her mind, of seeing him pleasuring himself while he gazed at her doing the same.

"I'm going to say something," she blurted out, "I hope you won't think less of me."

"Never," he assured her, "I'd do anything you want."

"I want to watch you do…," she gestured at his trousers that could not hide his arousal and moved her hand up and down quickly. "With your hand…? While I…"

"That's a dream come true," he groaned. "I've fantasized about watching you with your hands between your legs thousands of times."

Clothes were shed quickly. With a twist of a knob, he softened the overhead light, creating a more intimate atmosphere. The sight of his strong, sculpted body and strutting erection made her knees weak and her mouth water.

"How do you want it?" He asked, licking his lips while his eyes roamed over her body like he couldn't wait to start a feast.

"Both you and me on the bed. Facing each other." By the gods, she had to stop blushing like a virgin.

"Do you see how hard you make me?" He asked, taking himself into his hand.

Oh, she saw. And he saw the wetness glistening on her folds when she made herself comfortable by leaning back and opening her legs, his flushed face taking on a reverent look of wonder. "Can I take some of that for this…?" He pointed at his hard dick. "As lube."

When he touched her dripping entrance to gather some juices, Utahime moaned needily and bucked against his fingers and hand. She was so ready she already felt a slow, lazy pulsing deep inside her belly.

"Don't kill me, Utahime," Gojo begged, "I'm merely mortal."

He leaned back opposite of her, his long, muscular legs stretched out along hers and began to pump himself, staring at her fingers' circular movement across her vulva like it was the most enticing thing in the world.

"You are so beautiful," he panted. "I want you so much. You can't imagine how much I need to be inside your gorgeous pussy, how deep I'd like to push in after pulling out completely."

She came four times in quick succession, shaking and moaning while he continued telling her how beautiful she was, how happy she made him, and how much he wanted to fuck her. Whenever she managed to look at him, she found his adoring eyes on her, bliss and agony edged into his features whenever he stopped the movement of his own hand, the tip of his wet penis an angry, deep red.

"Tell me when you're done," he pressed out.

She was completely done. At her nod, he jerked himself roughly a few more times, then his beautiful eyes fell shut and he came with an extensive moan, splashing several spurts of semen all across his sculpted abs.

"Whatever that was, I want more of it," he groaned, collapsing against the wall.

"Shower?" Utahime suggested, crawling towards him and his arms and the mess on his belly. More sounded like a very good idea.

###

It was a very long shower, given the fact that not touching each other was impossible at such close proximity and that touching each other meant wanting to pleasure each other. By the time they were done, Utahime could barely stand, so wobbly were her legs.

They cuddled up in bed together in their pajamas. Gojo played with the damp strands of her hair, softly winding locks of it around his fingers. The gentle rhythm of his touch was soothing and she nestled closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her.

"I want this to last forever," he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

"Me too," she murmured, leaning into his warmth. In that moment, she felt a deep, fundamental satisfaction. Yet, a shadow of sadness lingered. However much they might want this, they both knew how fragile this moment of peace was, that tomorrow, their harsh reality would demand another painful tribute from jujutsu sorcerers.

And because she knew how fleeting happiness was, she decided to seek the answers they'd both been skirting around artlessly.

"Gojo," she began softly, tracing a finger along the powerful curve of his arm, "I want to talk."

"Hm," he agreed.

"I…," she wasn't even sure where to start. "You know we're not really married, right?"

"I do," he mumbled, his warm breath tickling her ear. "But it doesn't matter, what is between us is stronger than any formal ceremony. They accept it as an equivalent, the higher-ups, and more importantly, it ensures your protection. Those old laws may be archaic, but a wife…" he cleared his throat, "...a wife is considered a dependent, a possession of their husband."

Utahime scoffed. "Protection under the guise of ownership? That feels… unsettling, to say the least."

Gojo shifted slightly, a hint of tension entering his posture. "I understand. But it's the only way they'll all fully back off. It's very convenient, Utahime. It helps a lot if I don't have to worry about you."

"I get it," she admitted with a sigh. "But you also know this will not last, right?"

Gojo fell silent for a moment, his hand tightening around hers. "I do not remember the specifics of this binding vow between us," he finally spoke, "but yes, most binding vows are tied to a condition. Once that condition is met, they dissolve."

Utahime didn't want to think of that moment, it scared and saddened her.

"Whatever happens, I will continue to protect you, I promise," Gojo said, his voice firm but laced with an unspoken understanding of her fear. "Always."

Utahime clung to him, both seeking and offering comfort. Silence stretched between them for a moment, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice trembling. "It was a good thing I lost it," she whispered, shuddering. "That… that thing." Gojo instinctively tightened his embrace. "The thought of it growing inside me…" Her voice trailed off, replaced by another shudder. "Do you know who, or what, is to blame?"

"Not definitively," Gojo admitted gravely. "But it's clear that it wants the same as Michizane wants. At all costs. And somehow, those costs involve you... But that's in the past now. You have nothing more to fear."

Utahime's breath caught as a vital detail surfaced in her memory. "Master Tengen!" she exclaimed with a spark of hope. "He's immortal, maybe he knows something."

Gojo sighed, a hint of exasperation tinging his voice. "He doesn't talk, Utahime. And frankly, he avoids me like the plague. Remember that little 'incident' with Geto? The whole vessel delivery fiasco? Seems he hasn't quite forgiven us."

Utahime's face fell, but then another thought replaced the disappointment. "Wait," she said, turning to face him fully. "I forgot to tell you something crucial. In Michizane's domain expansion, he and his companions – they were learning how to manipulate time itself. I'm positive it's vital information. That's why I called Hiroshi, who is a historian, specializing in the Heian era."

Gojo frowned at her. "Hiroshi Kuroda?"

Utahime's voice dipped, unsure. "Oh? You know him?"

"I do," Gojo didn't look happy. "He has persistently pestered me for an interview."

"I hoped that Hiroshi's expertise in Heian-era history would shed some light on Michizane's plans," Utahime explained.

"And, has it?" Gojo asked, a hint of skepticism in his tone.

Utahime winced. "Well, I might have promised him access to your library," she admitted sheepishly, fidgeting slightly under his gaze.

Gojo's brows knitted together in a deep scowl. The family library contained ancient texts and artifacts, some of which held powerful secrets that could not be shared with outsiders. She knew the risks of allowing someone access to such sensitive materials, of course.

"Someone would need to supervise him closely. Someone I can fully trust," Gojo stated firmly.

"I can do it!" Utahime immediately offered, having anticipated that reaction. "I can help him find what's relevant and keep him away from anything that isn't."

"I was sure you would want to return to work soon," he murmured.

"I can't simply resume my duties at school while suppressing the urge to strangle Gakuganji," Utahime admitted with a heavy sigh. "Besides, I've accrued weeks of holiday leave, and I intend to take them. I'll tell Todo to cover for my classes. It'll do him good to experience the perspective of an educator for a while."

Gojo fell quiet for a moment, considering her proposal. "If that Hiroshi guy is that important to you, then fine, he might as well rummage through old documents. But," he added, his voice hardening, "under your watchful eye. And if he steps one foot out of line..."

"Thank you!" Utahime exclaimed, relief washing over her.

"I'll take a thank you kiss," Gojo demanded, a small smile on his lips.

Utahime smiled back, leaning in to press her lips softly against his. "Anything for you," she whispered, feeling a mixture of gratitude and affection.

In the sleep that followed, Utahime dreamt of a child, a boy no older than two. A crown of soft, white hair, almost luminous, framed his face. His eyes, a deep, rich brown, were large and round, sparkling with curiosity. There was a stillness about him, a quiet wisdom in his gaze. He looked up at her, a smile gracing his small features, a smile so full of pure, unadulterated joy that it stole Utahime's breath away.

He reached out a tiny hand, his fingers pudgy and innocent. An invisible cord seemed to connect them, a silent understanding that transcended words. In that moment, Utahime knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that this was her son, a son she never had, yet somehow always yearned for.

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as a choked sob escaped her lips. "I miss you," she whispered into the darkness, the lingering echo of the boy's smile a bittersweet reminder of a love both cherished and absent. "I miss you so much."