Chapter Text
Gojo stood at the gate for a long time before ringing the bell. He almost turned back twice.
Utahime’s mother was the one who answered. She hadn’t changed much, same long braid black purple hair, same quiet elegance.
“Gojo-san,” she said, calm but cautious. “We didn’t expect…”
“I know... I’m sorry, I should’ve come sooner,” he said softly, tugging at his sleeve. “I just… didn’t know what to say.”
He looked more like a lost boy than the strongest sorcerer alive— hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched.
She stepped aside and let him in without another word.
The house was quiet, lived-in. A little darker than he remembered from the one time he’d walked Utahime home after a mission they’d done together— half-teasing, half-worried, when she’d twisted her ankle. That night, she’d threatened to punch him if he told anyone.
A photo of Utahime smiled at him from the wall. She looked younger, maybe fifteen, wearing her training uniform, hair in those familiar pigtails he’d seen a hundred times before. She was holding up a cursed tool like it was a trophy.
He looked away.
Her father came in a few minutes later, slower now, a limp in his right leg. They exchanged a quiet bow. No one really knew what to say.
Her mother offered a faint, polite smile as she poured tea between them.
“You two were… always fighting, weren’t you?” Her mother’s voice was light, but her eyes were sharp.
Gojo gave a small, crooked smile. “More like… she fought. I annoyed.”
Her father snorted quietly at that.
“She thought I was an asshole. I made fun of her all the time.”
There was a pause. Her mother folded her hands. “She always talked about you.”
Gojo looked up.
“She said you were arrogant,” she added, and he smiled at that.
“…but kind. Trustworthy. And that you made her feel safe.”
Gojo’s jaw tightened. His smile faded.
“I didn’t come here to pretend I knew her better than you,” Gojo muttered. “I didn’t come to be forgiven. I just wanted to say she mattered. To me. More than I ever said.”
Her mother’s expression softened, but it was her father who stood and stepped out for a moment. When he returned, he held a small, lacquered cedar box in his hands and set it down in front of Gojo. “She’d want you to have it.”
Gojo looked at it, confused, then slowly opened the lid.
His breath caught. He recognized it immediately.
His blindfold— no. Her bow. That soft white cloth he’d given her after she came back scarred and silent from the mission. She’d flinched when she saw herself in the mirror. So he wrapped it gently, tied it behind her head, and said, “Now you look like a warrior priestess. The prettiest kind.” She’d rolled her eyes, but she kept it.
Gojo’s hand hovered over it, then closed slowly around the bow, thumb tracing the soft, worn threads.
“She told me once… that when she wore it, it was like wearing an armor,” her mother murmured. “Said it used to belong to someone stronger than her.”
Gojo’s throat tightened. He swallowed hard. “She never told me that.”
“She wouldn’t have,” her mother said with a smile. “She was too proud.”
“She said,” her mother continued, “that when she wore it, it felt like someone was watching her back. She never said your name, but I’m her mother. I know.”
Gojo stared at it. The weight in his chest grew unbearable. Finally, he stood, bowed deeply.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”
Her father shook his head. “She didn’t need saving. She made a choice. So did you. That’s what being a sorcerer means.”
Outside, the sky was beginning to darken. Gojo stepped beneath the plum trees, the cedar box still clutched to his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, he found himself breathing a little easier.
****
“Are you seriously ignoring me? I’ve been calling you all goddamn day! Since Friday!”
Gojo was halfway through buttoning up his shirt in the living room when Suki stormed into his apartment. He shut the door behind her calmly, already bracing himself for the conversation he knew was coming.
She paced ahead of him, heels clicking furiously on the marble floor as she made a beeline for his bedroom, like it belonged to her. Maybe it did.
Gojo followed her. She turned around, arms folded tight across her chest. “You didn’t even call me back once. I’ve been trying to reach you nonstop.”
“I know. I saw the calls,” he admitted. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just— tired.” It sounded pathetic, even to him.
“Bullshit,” she spat. “You always say that when you’re pulling away. You’ve been distant for weeks— don’t pretend this is new! Is it because I took you to the shrine? Is it about my mother? Is that what scared you off?”
Gojo rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it?” she demanded. “You said we were okay. You said—” Her voice faltered, just slightly. “Do you remember when you asked me about my plans? My dreams? Well, this was it. You were it. I’ve dreamed about this my whole life. About you— about us. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to make this work.”
She drew in a shaky breath, pressing on. “When we get married, I can finally retire. Be a good wife. Take care of you the way I’m supposed to. The way you deserve—”
He hesitated, then met her eyes. “Suki… I think we need to talk. Really talk. About us.”
That was all it took. Her expression froze. Then slowly, like a storm cloud curling at the edges, her face began to shift— hurt warping into disbelief, disbelief turning into denial.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, you’re just tired. That’s all. You’ve been on back-to-back missions— I know how that messes with you.”
“Suki—”
“Are the sessions not frequent enough?” she cut in. “I’ll rearrange everything. We’ll add another hour, another day— whatever you need.”
“I can’t.”
She stepped toward him slowly. “Honey, come on. Let me help you relax,” she murmured, smiling, reaching up to trace her fingers along his jaw. “Let me do what I always do.”
Her hand slid to his collar, beginning to undo the first button.
“I know how to take care of you. Just how you like it, hmm?” she whispered, sultry. “You said I’m the only one who satisfies you, remember?”
Gojo caught her wrist— firm, but not harsh.
“Suki. Stop.” He exhaled sharply, locking eyes with her. “We can’t do this anymore.”
The words landed heavy, and final. For a moment, there was silence.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
She yanked her wrist free, taking a step back. “So that’s it?” she snapped. “After everything? After everything we’ve done?”
“Suki, we crossed a line,” he said quietly. “We both did.”
“Oh, don’t you dare pull that noble guilt act on me now,” she hissed. “You knew what you were doing when you fucked me in my office.”
Gojo’s jaw tightened. “And I’m not pretending I didn’t. But this… it’s not working.”
Her face contorted. “What’s not working? Us? Or you hiding how fucked up you really are?” She stepped closer. “You sure as hell weren’t confused when you were inside me.”
He winced. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Too real for you, Satoru?” Her voice was rising now, biting. “You loved it. You loved how I made you forget. So don’t act like I seduced some poor broken man. You weren’t just my patient.”
She stepped closer, her voice almost possessive.
“You were mine. You still are.”
“You were my doctor—“
“And you never want to talk, Satoru!” Suki’s laugh was unhinged. “You never tell me anything! I’m supposed to be the one person who understands you. I’m your psychiatrist, for fuck’s sake!”
“That’s the problem,” he snapped. “You were supposed to be my therapist. And now you’re in my bed. That was a mistake.”
Suki recoiled like he slapped her. Then something caught her eye. Her gaze snapped to the white bow folded neatly on his nightstand. She lunged for it, snatching it up like it burned her fingers.
“This,” she hissed, holding the bow between two fingers like it was something filthy. “Whose is this? Did you bring another woman home?”
Gojo froze the moment he saw it in her hands.
“Suki. Put it down.”
“Well?!” Her eyes narrowed, voice sharp with accusation.
He swallowed, jaw tightening. Then, finally— “It’s Utahime’s,” he said.
Her hand dropped. She smiled darkly. “Oh, Utahime,” she spat, the name like venom on her tongue. “Of course. That dead fucking woman’s been living in your head since the day I met you.”
She held up the bow again. “Is this your twisted idea of love? Holding onto a dead woman’s hair ribbon while fucking someone else?”
Gojo closed his eyes. “It used to be mine. I gave it to her.”
Suki’s face twisted. “She’s dead. You said so yourself. She’s not coming back. But I’m here. I’m alive. I’ve given you everything.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why isn’t that enough?”
Gojo just looked at her, eyes hollow. He didn’t say anything.
“You are insane,” she whispered. She shook the bow at him. “You can’t even look at me without seeing her, can you?”
He took a breath. Then another. Then finally said, “You’re right.”
Suki’s mouth opened, stunned, not expecting him to agree.
“I shouldn’t have slept with you,” he continued. “That was my mistake. I knew I wasn’t ready. I knew I was grieving. I used you as a distraction, and I let you believe it meant more than it did. The truth is probably I didn’t want to feel anything. Not for her. Not for you. I thought if I just kept moving, it’d all blur together.”
His voice shook. “But it didn’t. I still see her when I close my eyes.”
Her expression cracked. Her eyes were glassy, furious and she was trembling. “And you still let me take care of you?” she hissed. “You kept coming back, letting this go on again and again?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Gojo said, “but I did. That’s on me.”
”I gave you everything, Satoru. I gave you my time, my body. I risked my license— my career— to make you happy. You’re backing out after I let you in? After everything I did for you?”
“I didn’t ask you to do any of that,” he said, voice low.
“You didn’t have to,” she snapped. Then she laughed bitterly. “God forbid someone actually tries to love you. You wanted this. You used me. And I fixed you. I gave you peace.”
“No,” Gojo said, voice colder now. “You gave me escape. And I took it because I was broken. That’s not the same.”
“You were selfish! You were supposed to need me. And you did. Until you didn’t.”
“I still need help. Just not like this.”
“I saved you.”
“You patched up a wound and slept with it.”
She slapped him. He didn’t flinch. Her breathing was erratic now. “You never loved me!”
“No.”
Suki shook her head slowly. “You ungrateful—“ Her eyes flared and glistened with unshed tears, fury tangled with heartbreak. For a moment, she looked like she might shatter.
“You’re nothing without her, you know that? Broken. The strongest sorcerer in the world reduced to this. You’re pathetic.”
Gojo didn’t deny it. “I know.”
“You think anyone else is going to love you once they find out how broken you are?”
Gojo didn’t say anything. She stared at him, searching for some sign of remorse, but he didn’t fight back. He just stood there.
Then she dropped the bow on the floor like it disgusted her.
“She’ll never love you again, Satoru. She’s dead. She’s rotting in wherever the fuck she is while you keep chasing ghosts. I hope she haunts you.”
And with that, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
“She already does,” he whispered.
Gojo stood there in silence. Then, finally, he knelt and picked up the bow. He dropped onto the bed and laid back, one arm draped over his eyes. The weight of everything— not just the relationship, but what it revealed about him— settled heavy in his chest.
He wasn’t the victim. He wasn’t the villain. He was just hollow. And he was alone. Again.
****
The city sprawled below in quiet and endless golden lights. Shoko lit a cigarette with one hand and barely glanced over when she heard the soft tap of footsteps behind her.
Gojo didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned on the railing next to her, hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were darker tonight.
“You look like shit,” she muttered, exhaling smoke.
“I deserve that,” he said.
She glanced sideways, raising an eyebrow. “This isn’t one of your midnight ramen runs, is it? What’d you do?”
He hesitated. Then exhaled finally. “She’s angry. I ended it tonight.”
“Was it bad?” Shoko asked dryly.
Gojo gave a humorless laugh. “It was overdue.”
Shoko was quiet for a moment.
“You’re lucky I like you,” she finally muttered. “I told you she was crazy. And this is a goddamn disaster.”
“I know,” he said again. “I’m not here for a lecture.”
“No, you’re here because you’ve got nowhere else to go. And you know I won’t throw you out.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Shoko took out another cigarette, lit it, and handed it to him without a word. He took it.
They stood like that for a while. Two friends, burnt-out and broken in different ways, sharing smoke under a quiet sky.
Finally, Gojo looked out at the city again, and murmured, “I think I’m more lost than I thought.”
“You’ve been lost for a while,” she said softly. “You’re just finally admitting it.”
He laughed bitterly. “You ever look in the mirror and wonder how far you’ve drifted from the person you thought you’d be at twenty?”
Shoko lit a cigarette. “Every morning.”
Gojo exhaled, long and quiet. “It wasn’t just about missing someone. I liked the illusion of love, the comfort of touch, the way she made me feel like I’m just a man. The sex made it easier to pretend it was real. I know it was all bullshit, but god, I needed that lie. And I liked that she’d listen.”
“Even if it was her job?”
“Especially because it was her job,” he said. “I didn’t have to give more than I wanted to. She filled in the blanks.”
“Until you couldn’t fake it anymore.”
He nodded.
Shoko stared at him through the smoke. “So what now?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Maybe I keep ruining shit on purpose. Maybe I want to suffer a little. I keep chasing traces of her in all the wrong people— like I’m desperate to feel her even if it’s a fucking lie. Or maybe the universe is just a cruel bitch that gets off on fucking with me. Keeps dressing up strangers in her skin just to watch me fall apart all over again.”
“Is this about the girl in Shinjuku?” she asked.
He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know who she is. But when I saw her… I felt everything again, Shoko. It sucks. God, it really fucking sucks.”
“And you know what’s pathetic?” he continued, voice barely audible, like he was trying to keep it even. “Utahime’s not even mine. Never was.”
He let out a slow breath, but it trembled on the exhale. His chest was moving too fast now, and he clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling. He tried to open his mouth again, nothing came out, just another sharp, unsteady breath.
Just then, Shoko smiled. “I like this version of you— raw, unfiltered. When you’re hurting.”
Gojo let out a tired breath of a laugh. “Guess I came to the right place, then.”
“Go take a shower,” she said. “Crash on the couch if you want. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”
“…Thanks, Shoko.”
“You know,” he added as he followed her inside, voice softer, more cheerful now, “you really should be my therapist.”