Nothing Special

Pick Up!

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," you muttered under your breath as you paced around the room.

Utahime peeked her head through the door of her bedroom, confused by your muttering. "What's wrong? Are the kids okay?"

You nodded. "I think so but Satoru called me like twenty times last night. I don't know if Shoko went over to tell him I was here or not... I can't believe I worried him for no reason, I think he might be mad."

"Why would he be mad?" Utahime huffed. "You know him, he's just gonna be worried until he sees you. Then he'll be mad."

"You're so reassuring," you deadpanned before cutting the call when it went to his voicemail. "Maybe he's asleep."

"It's ten in the morning."

"Tsumiki and Megumi have soccer at 11," you muttered, ignoring her words. "They might be sleeping in."

"They probably are," Utahime reassured you, coming forward to take your phone out of your hands and push you towards the bathroom. "Wash your face, hell, take a shower and I'll have some cereal out for you to choose from okay?"

She didn't give you time to argue as she closed the bathroom door before heading to her room and groaning as she fell forward on her bed. Her head hurt like a bitch but she had to be there for you. She couldn't get your words from last night out of her head either.

Utahime was about five years older than you, and despite not ever being in the same class or even school as you at the same time, she'd shared a bond with you after becoming friends through Shoko. Ever since you had started at jujutsu tech, Utahime had this strong sisterly urge to protect you.

So when she'd had her guard down, when she'd made you lose confidence in your ability as a sorcerer because of the stupid scar on her face, Utahime felt all the guilt, more so than the pain.

She gently placed her hand over the large scar on her face. It had been a few months and with Shoko's healing skills the painful scabbing and healing process had been reduced to a slight stinging sensation for the first month. Now, Utahime sometimes forgot she even had a scar until she looked at her reflection in the morning. She'd made a new habit of getting up earlier, to cover up the gigantic scar as best as she possibly could.

Scars are normal for sorcerers. That's what Satoru insisted on. That's what Utahime reassured you with. But still you felt as though it was your fault that happened to her, that you should've protected someone who should've been protecting you.

A moment after the shower began to run, your phone rang. Utahime got up, walking over to it so she could send the call to voicemail, but she saw the name.

Toru.

"Hello?" She answered as she picked up.

"Who's this? Utahime?" Satoru asked quickly.

"Yeah," she hummed. "Is everything alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be? I'm the strongest."

"Not the credits you need when children are under your care," Utahime huffed, growing annoyed by his voice. "Seriously, why'd you call Y/N? Can't leave her alone for half a day?"

Satoru's eyebrows furrowed at Utahime's words. Megumi and Tsumiki glanced at each other, listening in on Satoru's conversation as he seemed to grow irritated. "Excuse me? I can't call my girlfriend when she's gone the entire night?"

"Shoko came over to tell you," Utahime argued. "You knew where she was, is it that hard for you to let her stay here for a little while?"

"That doesn't mean I can't check up on her after she's gone drinking with two alcoholics," Satoru whispered harshly, keeping his voice low as he noticed Tsumiki lean forwards in her seat on the couch, clearly listening. "She's my girlfriend for gods sake"-

"And being your girlfriend shouldn't come with every other burden possible," Utahime whispered back, just as harshly. "Y/N is tired of this y'know? Of school and parenting kids that you brought in and made her bear the responsibility of and not to mention parenting you, god, that must be the most exhausting task of her life"-

"What'd you just say?"

"You're making Y/N lose her life Satoru! A prime part of her life, she's losing to all these stressors that she shouldn't have to be dealing with until further down the line, hell, maybe even in her twenties but not now ."

"She said that?" Satoru clarified, his voice more monotone than it was before. Tsumiki shivered in her seat, leaning back again. Megumi frowned at the tonal shift.

"I- um..." Utahime had just realized all of what she'd said. Did her headache make her that stupid? Or was the alcohol still in her system? "No, Gojo, don't listen to any of that- don't take it to heart okay, I was just mad you called Shoko and I alcoholics, she"-

"Did she say that though?" Satoru clarified. "That's what I'm asking. And I can tell if you're lying."

"She... she wants a normal life sometimes, Gojo. I mean she loves you guys with her whole heart, but you've gotta understand how she feels sometimes, rig"-

"Is that my phone?"

Utahime's eyes widened as you came into the room. She was so enamored by her conversation with Satoru, that she hadn't even realized that you'd finished using the bathroom.

"Is it Satoru?" You asked, your eyes practically lighting up.

As she was about to pass the phone to you, Satoru cut the call. Utahime brought the phone away from her ear and gaped down at the device. Was he mad? He seemed mad? Did she just ruin everything for you both?

"It was," Utahime nodded. "It's almost 10:45 so he said he had to go. Kids got soccer."

You pouted. "Aw, I wanted to talk to him for a minute. Did you ask what he kept calling about?"

"He just wanted to make sure you weren't passed out drunk on the toilet or something. Because we're terrible caregivers, according to Gojo Satoru."

You chuckled, opening your messages and hastily replying to all of Satoru's worried texts as well. "Let's go get some breakfast," you offered. "I'm starving!"

Utahime followed you hesitantly. Should she tell you what she accidentally told Satoru? Would you ever forgive her? Or maybe if she stayed quiet, Satoru would move on and never bring it up again.

He was emotionally immature enough for that, Utahime was sure. Or slightly certain.