Three Years – Chapter Four

It was odd, wasn’t it?

Utahime knew where Gojo lived in Tokyo, but he had never invited her to his apartment until now. The closest she ever got to this ‘sanctum’, as he insisted on calling it, was during a Christmas party in the same building soon after she got her scar. She remembered assuming that the penthouse the Tokyo staff nearly trashed was his, as the color scheme and modern design suited his personality well, but it turned out to be Hanabi’s, and Gojo had apparently preferred a much smaller space for himself a few levels down.

She glanced at Gojo to her left, who stood pressed to the back of the elevator like she was. He thumbed through his phone in silence, with only the regular tug at the corner of his lips to hint at his thoughts.

Utahime always claimed she liked him better when he was quiet, but the actual thing unnerved her. Was he secretly upset because she nagged? They were in Tokyo anyway, and it wasn’t practical to stay in a hotel. Gojo had not resisted the idea either, or at least she detected none on their way here.

The elevator stopped on the tenth floor to let in a couple of teenagers. They reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, and none of them dressed warmly enough for the weather.

“Why have you never invited me here before?” Utahime whispered to him. The teenagers were being loud enough that they shouldn’t overhear, and if they did, these were the type who could care less about two adults who weren’t making out in public.

Gojo raised his eyebrow. “You never asked.”

“Well, I was waiting for an invitation. This isn’t our first time in Tokyo as a couple.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Are you hiding something from me in your apartment?”

“Sure. A sex doll with your face and all the standard pervert stuff.” He tapped something on his phone that caught his attention and mentally exited the conversation.

Utahime belatedly realized that the elevator had grown quiet, and the teenagers were staring at the two of them. She stammered something to explain away Gojo’s statement as a joke, but the elevator had stopped at their floor, and the kids weren’t listening. As the doors closed, she caught one of them saying, ‘That was hot.’

“What are you even doing?” Utahime grabbed his hand and tipped his phone towards her. “Why are you looking at musical instrument listings?”

“I can’t decide on a present for Tsumiki,” he said. “I don’t think a grand piano can fit in their apartment, so I’m torn between a violin and a flute.” At that, he clicked a listing that featured a shiny silver flute with intricate details across the body that cost ¥836000.

“Isn’t she already learning the cello?” she asked as a way to contest the price. She knew the value of quality instruments, but there was no guarantee that Tsumuki would want it.

“Her teacher died. Dropped dead while teaching her. Was it a heart attack? I forgot. Now she won’t touch the cello.”

Utahime gawked at him. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Gojo blinked at her several times, unable to respond. After a lengthy, awkward pause, he pulled up Megumi’s number and claimed the boy was calling him. Utahime would’ve protested the bluff had the elevator not stopped at their floor, and she had no choice but to hold back until they were in a much more private space.

It wasn’t that she was mad, per se. The unsettling feeling in her gut was closer to anxiety, with sharp notes of annoyance here and there.

Gojo normally told her anything that came up with the Fushiguro siblings, especially regarding Tsumiki. As she was no longer a little girl to be petted and carried in his arms, Gojo had taken a step back and allowed Utahime and Shoko to help her as necessary.

She assumed Tsumiki’s cello teacher dying in front of her would’ve warranted some therapy or at least a structured conversation with a trusted older woman to process the event. Perhaps Gojo tapped Shoko instead of her? Utahime wouldn’t have minded, but the fact that they kept this from her meant that this incident occurred while she was recovering from a curse retrieval operation.

She was getting stronger, yes, but she also couldn’t ignore the fact that her body was deteriorating. She needed longer periods of rest between missions, and now more than ever, she worried that this would push Gojo to rely on her less.

Megumi’s face flashed on Gojo’s phone, and he did not look pleased to be on the other end of this call.

“Megumi,” Gojo cooed, stopping just before his apartment with his keys dangling from his free hand. “How’s the weather there? Are you and Tsumiki staying warm? We’re dropping by later with presents.”

“…Why? We just saw you.”

Gojo’s face fell. “You’re lucky to see me as often as you do.”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m with Utahime.”

“Can’t she come alone?” Megumi asked.

Utahime snatched Gojo’s phone and held it up to her face. Almost immediately, Megumi’s sour expression changed into something more neutral. “Megumi, we’re dropping by with groceries. Do you and Tsumiki have plans for tonight? I was thinking we could go to dinner together. We’ve got something important to tell you.”

The boy’s lips parted slowly, and for a second, he looked like he might sneeze. “You said yes, didn’t you?” Megumi asked.

It was Utahime’s turn to stare at him with her jaw slack. She darted a quick look at Gojo. “How did you know?”

“He showed me the ring on his birthday.”

She pressed the phone to her chest and kicked Gojo. “You told Megumi?”

Gojo rubbed his calf while hopping on one leg.  “I wanted his opinion.”

“On what?”

“My speech,” he said, as though this could not be more obvious.

Utahime glowered at him. She could not believe this. “You practiced on Megumi? You couldn’t have practiced on Lady Sayuri or Shoko?”

“Shoko would’ve made fun of me, and Mom would’ve cried, and I wouldn’t know what to do if she cried.” He pursed his lips to stop himself from saying more, and although he turned his head away, Utahime saw that he had turned a mild shade of red.

The elevator at the end of the corridor opened, letting out a family of three with the daughter sandwiched between her parents. Gojo and Utahime stepped aside to let them through.

She was secretly glad for the interruption, as Gojo’s confession had caught her off guard. Utahime knew that his relationship with Lady Sayuri had improved significantly over the past year, but she did not realize the extent of his inhibitions towards her.

Surely, Lady Sayuri’s would’ve been tears of happiness, but Utahime never expected even that would alarm Gojo. She still couldn’t wrap her head around what it must be like to grow up separately from a mother who clearly wanted him. The recent shift in his family dynamics must be jarring to him, as most of it involved developing a normal mother-and-son relationship now that they were much older. So many years had been lost to them already. Too many opportunities and too many unspoken hurts that Gojo was just beginning to open up to Utahime.

Noting his discomfort, Utahime dropped the subject and prompted him to let them into his apartment instead.

Gojo’s posture relaxed a little, although he still wouldn’t make eye contact. He was about to unlock his apartment door when Megumi’s voice blasted from his phone’s speaker.

“Tsumiki! That idiot’s coming over again with Miss Utahime. They’re engaged now.”

Utahime raised the phone to eye level, and Gojo leaned his head on her shoulder to make himself visible in the call. After a moment of mild scuffling, Tsumiki’s face appeared so close to the camera that her eyes and nose took up most of the screen. She gasped and shook the phone in her excitement.

“Congratulations!” Tsumiki pulled the phone away from her face as she transferred to the balcony where she must’ve been collecting their laundry. “I can’t believe it!”

Through the self-view portion of the screen, Utahime saw Gojo pout.

“What can’t you believe?” he asked.

Tsumiki used one of the freshly laundered clothes to dab at her eyes. “I’m so happy for the both of you!”

“There’s no need to cry! We’ll drop by tonight, if you don’t mind,” Utahime said, on the verge of crying herself. Tsumiki’s tears always triggered hers. It was so rare to meet someone who could still be so genuine and loving in her circumstances.

“Of course we don’t!” She slapped Megumi’s arm just as he reappeared in the frame. “Go clean! I’ve told you thrice already!” Turning her attention back to Utahime, she said: “I should cook you something delicious! Megumi, go to the supermarket!”

Utahime and Gojo spoke over one another to try to calm her down, but the siblings ended up bantering until one of them dropped the phone, and the call ended.

Gojo finally unlocked his door and stepped aside to let her in first. “You didn’t show Tsumiki the ring.”

She wrinkled her nose at him in distaste. “She’ll see it tonight.”

Motion sensor light activated in the square entryway, from which Utahime could already see a glimpse of the rest of his apartment. The discrepancy between her expectations and what she saw in front of her made her pause from undoing her scarf.

For some reason, she expected Gojo’s place to be sleek and monochromatic, with little to no touch of his vibrant personality. Yet there they were, evidence of his life plastered on a corkboard through notes and memorabilia, drawings from Megumi and Tsumiki pinned to his fridge door, and framed photos scattered on almost every surface.

As she expected, he had black furniture, but over it were stripped orange throw pillows and numerous Digimon plushies. The massive rag that spanned half the floor area of his living room showed loud geometric patterns that made her dizzy.

It was as though someone had translated his life into objects and flung them across the apartment, eager to fill every nook and cranny with pieces of him.

Yet she also couldn’t say the place was cluttered and disorganized. It was more like controlled chaos.

“You look surprised,” he said as he shook out his coat and hung it on the rack.

She did the same. “Do I? I thought I looked pleased.”

“Are you?” He slipped his leather shoes off and turned them around so they were facing the door. He sat on the elevated floor and started undoing her boots. “I think only Hana and Ijichi have ever been here.”

“Ijichi beat me to it?”

He chuckled. “If Ijichi were a woman, you’d have competition.”

“If Ijichi had your face and body, you’d have competition.”

He guided her feet out of her boots and slipped his hands under her skirt, resting his palm on the back of her calves. “I think he even has a spare key to this place.”

Utahime propped her stockinged foot on his shoulder, frowning, and placed her hands on her waist. “I want one too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He caressed her calf. “I like this view.”

“Of course, you do. At this point, I’m convinced there’s nothing your fantasies haven’t covered.”

“Can’t help it. I have a wild imagination.” He started caressing higher up her leg. “Don’t you?”

She continued to stare him down. Gojo stretched his chance for as long as he could, and then he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright.”

“On your back.”

The command was so unexpected that it took him a moment to register what was happening. He reclined on his elbows, watching with immense interest as she kicked the shoes aside. She folded her skirt beneath her as she sat on the lower level of the entryway. Her movements were so demure and unhurried that he wondered whether she was pranking him, especially when she produced a scrunchie and gathered her hair in a low ponytail.

But then she was unbuckling his pants and taking him out and putting him in her mouth.

Gojo wanted to tease her, but he couldn’t conjure anything witty to say to her as waves of pleasure consumed him. All he could do was watch with immense fascination as her head bobbed and her hand moved as though she had been made to do this.

He came hotly in her mouth, and she took him all in until it was over. Tight-lipped and red-faced, she stood and walked past him to the bathroom, where he heard the water running and the medicine cabinet opening and closing.

Gojo fixed himself and followed her inside. He found her gargling his mouthwash while fixing her hair. He went behind her to undo the tangles and flatten them on her back. Following her wordless direction, he redid her half ponytail and fixed her bow.

Utahime spat the mouthwash and turned to inspect his handwork.

Gojo stepped back with his hands in the air, grinning. He had managed to coil her hair into three parts, with the middle one hanging low. The bow sat above the twin balls, a well-deserved topping since this was the first time she gave him a blowjob.

Utahime flushed scarlet, and with one swift motion, she doused him with mouthwash. “Satoru, you big fat asshole!”

“Ah, Senpai likes to get descriptive.” He turned on his Infinity to dodge the next onslaught of mouthwash headed his way, but when he realized they had switched positions, he dropped the hand sign and slammed his palm over one corner of the mirror instead.

Utahime’s annoyance turned into confusion. “What?”

Carefully, Gojo peeled his hand off the photograph. No damage. “Phew! I would have to break up with you if you ruined this.”

“What’s that?”

He plucked the photograph from where it was tucked near the mirror’s frame. Utahime must’ve missed it in her hurry to clean her mouth. “It’s a copy of my first photograph with Lady Sayuri.”

Utahime took the glossy film paper. Her surprise morphed into amusement and then faded into melancholy. She looked up at him. “But you don’t look like a newborn here, or were you just a really big baby?”

“I was six months there. And yes, I was a big baby.” He wrapped his arms around her and tucked his chin on her shoulder to see the photograph.

It had been taken in the garden, with Lady Sayuri resplendent in a kimono and him dressed in a tiny yukata.

“There were too many threats and reorganization happening in the clan around that time, so nobody considered taking family pictures. If I’m not mistaken, Satoshi took that around the time the elders decided to separate us,” he said.

Utahime sighed and leaned her head back on his chest. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Don’t worry.” He planted a wet, sloppy kiss on her temple. “You make up for all the crappy parts of my childhood.”

She waved the photograph in the air. “Why keep it here of all places?”

“I don’t know. I guess, before all of this started, I missed Lady Sayuri a lot, and I liked to be reminded of how much I look like her.”

They gazed at one another through the mirror, warm and content. Utahime reached up and looped her arm around his neck. Her blouse hiked up, exposing her stomach. “I can’t imagine giving birth at seventeen. I could hardly get my life together at that age. I suppose major clans like yours are still traditional in that sense.”

“Outdated, you mean. I think they were just desperate to get the Six Eyes back.”

“I’m glad Lady Sayuri has Satoshi. She couldn’t have found a better husband to see her through all that chaos.”

“He was my age when he got her pregnant.” He smirked. “Just saying.”

Utahime grabbed a handful of his hair and squeezed until he begged for mercy. “Imagine knocking me up now of all times. It’ll be such a headache.”

“I suppose it’s not ideal, but if it happens, then we’ll deal with it together.” Gojo slipped his fingers up her bare waist, knowing she was ticklish there. Utahime slapped his hand, but he refused to let go. She burst into uncontrollable laughter as she tried to wriggle out of his grip, and he couldn’t help but laugh with her.

He wondered how it would feel to hold her this way, with her belly swollen and their child growing inside her. Fatherhood had always been in his future, as his clan would surely demand an heir, but he had never wanted it until he met her.