The Waning (GojoHime) - Part 2

Ashes to Ashes

Satoru materialized in the doorway shortly before midnight, a dark silhouette only visible due to the sliver of silver moonlight filtering through the window. He remained rooted to the spot, an unmoving statue carved from the black of night.

Relief, sharp and giddy, washed over Utahime at the sight of him. And yet, it was laced with the bitter tang of regret. She had known he'd come back, she'd even expected him sooner - because he was compelled to by the Binding Vow.

She yearned for him, for the warmth of his touch, for his forgiveness, for whispered words of assurance that everything would be alright, but she was unsure of how to bridge the yawning rift between them. She had lain awake for hours thinking about what to say to him once he returned, a thousand apologies forming and dissolving on her tongue. It was futile, words felt inadequate, clumsy things incapable of conveying the depth of her emotions, the tangled mess of remorse and longing twisting in her gut.

And so, she lay still on the bed, the silence stretching into an agonizing eternity as she waited for him to acknowledge her and let her know what she still meant to him.

The prospects were frightening. It was possible that despite the Vow, Gojo Satoru would never again trust her. Frankly, she wouldn't blame him. In his eyes, it had to look like she had once again readily betrayed him. Worse, perhaps: She had entirely forgotten he existed and had given herself to another instead, more than willingly.

Only that things were far more complicated. Utahime did not understand what had happened this afternoon, even after going half-insane trying to put together the scattered pieces. Her memory of half a lifetime spent with someone who was long dead was hazy, not more substantial than a dream. And they had only been absent for about a minute or two, Shoko had assured her, absent as in: vacant, glassy eyes, no reaction even when spoken to. How could she have spent half a lifetime living with someone else in only one, two minutes!?

Time isn't linear, Michizane had said. And: The space between dream and reality is a curse. Only... What the heck did that mean?!

What she did understand, with burning certainty and a mounting sense of anger: That she had been used and abused by forces way above her pay grade. Manipulation and betrayal at their finest, with her merely a pawn in a game that transcended the ages.

Again. Why her? Why?!

Finally, when the pressure in her chest became unbearable, an urgent plea slipped out of her. "Please, Satoru."

Gojo remained silent for a moment, his shadowed form giving away no hint of his emotions. Then, slowly, he spoke. "You want me to come closer?"

Only the unadorned truth was worth expressing: "I need you here, with me."

Satoru shifted, finally stepping out of the doorway and into the meager moonlight. She saw that he had changed his clothes – he no longer wore the Japanese attire that echoed strangely with century old tradition and times long gone, but the familiar black uniform he wore as an educator and member of the Jujutsu Society.

His face remained unreadable, but a flicker of something, perhaps pain, crossed his eyes for a brief moment when he stepped into the moonlight. "Okay," he said.

He seemed to approach reluctantly. His steps, despite his imposing size, were almost silent. When he reached the bedside and stared down at her, the hesitation lingered. Eventually, he lifted a hand, hovering above her for a moment before reaching out with a feather-light touch to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. Utahime sucked in her breath.

Please.

With an unexpected gentleness, he reached out once more. This time, his hand found hers, the cool touch sending an electrifying spark through her.