Chapter Text
“You must stay the night.”
There’s a particular kind of warmth that lingers in Utahime’s voice that just makes the entire place feel incredibly sacred. The moment Satoru stepped into her apartment, his sight rested at the feel of it—the carefully curated artworks, picture frames of her life moments, and the designed lighting that adds to the idea that it’s her living in it. No ceiling lights. Just lamps illuminating the room.
For some reason, her place felt more grandeur and alive compared to his house. It’s as if the time and area is being lived, and every lived moment is marked by picture frames, photos, ornaments, accessories, and even the little decorative charms and trinkets hanging around.
Utahime looked at Satoru with her eyes smiling. She was never much the kind of a person who you’d see smile often, but you can clearly see her smile through her eyes. A small, cherry red glossy pursed lips is all you’d see from her but her eyes—a blunt gold when struck by light of which he had always found endearing.
“Should I say welcome to my humble abode?” Utahime jests, raising her left brow. She helps Satoru take off his coat, his ears would turn visibly red at the feel of her hands undressing him but a Gojo Satoru would never verbally admit that. Dear Lord, he has to keep his cool. For the sake of all things good and sweet and decent and for the respect of time he silently promised the woman. And strangely enough, such a small thing but Utahime notices it, but her hands were shaking from the cold enough and did not want to add it to further trembling.
Alas, there really is no moment that passes by unnoticed when hands are out in the cold, searching for a place to hide for warmth.
“Your abode is not humble, but your stature sure is.” He utters to break the intimacy, earning a slap on his shoulder. Utahime’s eyes roll backwards with a pout on her deep cherry glossed lips. It has always been like that; slight teasing after triggering something intimate. Just to keep things… “level-headed” or “balanced”. That’s what Satoru usually uses to gaslight himself—that’s more rational than just jumping on Utahime.
“Giants are not welcome here, then. Begone, creature!” She fights, shaking his shoulders with the maximum of her strength but it has only an oh-so-little effect on the man’s physique. “Leave! Leave! Leave!” She adds.
Satoru chuckles at her effort because they both know nothing is going to happen—especially with how little Utahime is. “The height is just not giving, girl.” He commented, his voice a little bit juicy, sending the woman into a laughing haze.
And here’s the thing, Utahime has this kind of laugh wherein she snorts at the beginning then bobs her head at every ‘ha’ exclaimed. Satoru watches, his smile wide enough that it reaches his ears. And another thing: Utahime’s laugh doesn’t stop as easily as that.
She tries to recoup herself.
“I know my place isn’t much but please, make yourself at home. And what would you like? Coffee? Tea? Milk?” The small woman utters, slowly disappearing into the kitchen area.
“Whatever you’d like to prepare!” His voice tries to catch up but before the sentence is done, Utahime has fully disappeared with only a little “Got it!” to reassure she’s there.
Satoru settles into the hearth, sitting at the carpeted floor rather than the couch filled with alcohol bottle-shaped plush toys, beers with smiley faces, and pillow-sized squishy mochi-looking things. As he waited, he roamed around at every corner of the living room. Particularly, the shelf with carefully organized literature.
Satoru’s eyes furrow at a familiar story; but decides to pick something a man like him would definitely not read as usual. He flips a few pages open and what greeted him was a collection of small sticky notes with Utahime’s written comments, addressed to particular lines she somehow found worth noting.
Meanwhile, Utahime finishes making two cups of hot chocolate. The air is chilly now that it’s autumn and it’s just the perfect time to drink some. Although she’s not fond of sweets, hot chocolates are much more tolerable than blatant chocolates.
Knowing Satoru and his love for sweets, though, Utahime added another sugar cube and a few more pieces of marshmallows. She cups the drinks then slowly and carefully brings it over to where the white-haired might have found himself best comfortable in and she was right.
On cold nights like this, the woman would prefer a shot of an alcoholic drink. In fact, Utahime loves alcohol so much that such a line is forever etched in every person that knows her by heart. If beer is a person, Utahime would’ve married them instantly. She would buy that damn gorgeous ring and get down on one knee herself.
But this time, it might be different. Because maybe now, she loves something—well, someone, more than alcohol. And he’s sitting across the room, looking so effortlessly beautiful like he had always been. His white tendrils fall perfectly still on his beautifully carved face. The posture isn’t giving—but damn, good lord, he sure does look sizzling hot.
Utahime’s red cheeks flushes a streak of a redder shade, all the hearty sensations building up its color. She bit her lower lip, trying to control the unusual urges surging over her entire body.
“G*d damn it…” she silently mutters, eyes only on Satoru, who was innocently reading a book. How can someone look so handsome, manly and delicate at the same moment? Satoru is someone who never went through a period of ugliness in his life.
A sensation exploded inside Utahime when she traced her eyes down to the book he’s reading. It was one of the books of which is part of a series of Utahime’s favorite highlander men; the one with those sparkling abdominal muscles, pretty faces, and huge a** members? Who copulates with their wives at every given point or chapter? Or historical sm*ts, for short. Yup. He’s reading one of those books and it’s too baffling for Utahime to witness that very scene.
“You hoe! That’s erotica!” Utahime then says, placing the cups down.
“And you have a collection of it.” He says, matter-of-factly. Utahime rushes towards his side with the urge to save her dignity. Having someone read the annotations she’s made on her books is like having someone read through the rawness of her mind—and Utahime knows she does not want that.
“Please, no!” She says, covering the book he’s trying to read, especially the sticky notes. Satoru smiles looking at her face; wide-eyed and mouth stretched downward as if she’d done something gravely ill and is sorry for it.
“I never knew you were this kind of person, Utahime.” A sly smile stretching his face once again.
“Oh, please! You can read anything else, just not this one. You really have to pick the one that would embarrass me!” She says, not letting go of the book. Utahime can feel her face heat up more than it did a few minutes earlier.
“Embarrass? Madame, I’m simply reading.” Satoru’s head falls back into laughter.
“It was not my intention to embarrass you, dear. I did not even know you read this book. But sure, to know your mind is a dream to me.” Satoru closes the book and carefully hands it over to the woman, leaving her quiet and kneeling on the side. He reaches for their cups of hot chocolates and carefully hands her one.
“Why do you like them, though? You ladies sure love to read stuff like those.” He utters, trying to help Utahime recover from whatever course of thoughts visibly running inside her head. Satoru smiles again, seeing her forehead crumpled over a simple matter is amusing enough.
Very much so, it worked. Utahime fixes herself and settles in beside him, sitting comfortable as they both rested their back at the foot of the couch.
“Well, I collected them in preparation of becoming a spinster.” She smiles. Not totally a lie but not completely the truth either. For a woman who loves intimacy, Utahime craved intimacy in silence through patience… but it was never easy.
“A spinster?” Satoru utters in disbelief. “You rejected me more than a hundred times just to become a spinster?”
The woman proudly nods. “Mm-hmm.” A winning smile etched on her face. For a moment, their eyes fell into one another’s and a strange form of understanding seems to have made its way inside their minds.
“Your hands are cold…” Satoru looks at Utahime, in which he’s trying to see if they both possess the same thought. The woman’s face lights up, as if she had something so positively maddening.
“Mine burns like fire— HOW COLD YOU ARE, NASTENKA!” Then there’s a jolt, suddenly they are face to face. Their voices unified as they both utter the words at the same time.
“You know White Nights!” Utahime squeals.
“Of course, I do. It’s a favorite.” Satoru says as a matter-of-fact.
“How about now?” Satoru moves close, closing the gap between their places. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his warmth. Utahime gives in, leaning into the broadness of his chest. She wasn’t usually the type to give in; rather, Utahime’s the kind of person who just wouldn’t agree unless she puts up a fight. But right now seems to be just the right moment to melt into someone solid.
“Are you still thinking of becoming a spinster?”
And if there’s one thing very important to learn about Utahime, she never verbalizes things directly. So, one must learn how to read her actions, gestures, or to read deeper than her words and when she says it. Apparently, it’s not even a thing to learn for Satoru anymore. He has mastered knowing her, after all.
“Well, I may as well reread to learn how to be a wife… I could learn a thing or two from the ladies.” She chuckles and nuzzles the side of her face against him.
There is something so profound in finding someone who doesn’t have to know you because you are somehow molded into fitting who they are. Utahime thinks that’s how soulmates should be. They could be anything; they could have their hearts up their sleeve—they can be the kind who wears colorful clothes to wordlessly express how their heart is. People wear their hearts in different ways and it’s always something so magical to witness.
Utahime just happens to love a person who wears his heart in his autumn pockets.