[ These nights, these Friday nights, are never something he's looking forward to. Not for dislike of the company — even if it did happen to include Gojo — but because of the memories that seem to always resurface when the group of them got together. There was too much history with everyone involved and it made him regress slightly, into that slightly melancholic version of himself that existed in his teens. It would have him nursing the sake for longer periods of time, sat at the bar with little to shake him off of it.
But he liked the company, that still held true. He liked being with the others, he liked knowing that they were all still here — all still alive. That's what kept him showing up every Friday, even if he rarely participated in their drinking games and all the rest. He liked the reassurance that everyone was still here.
So, tonight, when things started winding down and the others left, he found himself drifting over to Utahime's side. She was the odd one out at times, the only one from Kyoto in their group and thus the only one who didn't have the same exact memories growing up as the rest of them did. But she still experienced a lot of the same events, a lot of the same... trauma. She was still one of them.
He brought her home. His intentions are innocent, really. He just wanted to make sure she got back safely. She was a little bit messy from alcohol and he couldn't say he wasn't the same — though it came out differently, in a slightly loosened tie and a too intense gaze.
Then she's asking if he wants to come in and there's... subtext there, there's a double meaning. He considers it, considers the ramifications. They're both adults, aren't they? And it isn't as if this would ruin things between them. It would just be one night together, something simple, something safe.
( she's spent enough nights out with shoko to trust she knows her limits, indulging just enough to take the edge off, to soften the notches of overworking and tension that've been left over time. there's the slightest glint of hesitation in his gaze before he replies, something she studies, ever-wondering what was on the sorcerers mind — she supposes it isn't so simple, just like her own. too quick to get away from her, too quick to try and know better, the same avoidance that's had her spend far too many nights alone.
but he agrees, and the smallest hint of a smile skirts along her lips as a particularly crisp breeze greets them, as if encouraging them inside, encouraging them closer. the liquor's long since settled a pink to her cheeks, and before either of them have the opportunity to take it back (the invitation and the acceptance), she's unlocking the door for them.
a quaint, cozy apartment greets them, filled with whites and creams and complimenting earthy tones; tall windows with gauze curtains, plants of all shapes and sizes propped on bookshelves, end tables, behind the couch. it's simple—but incredibly intimate, she suddenly realizes, so much evidence of her left in plain sight—toeing out of her heels in the genkan, shrinking a few inches.
she doesn't mean to draw it out- this... it's not inexperience so much as the fact that he was no stranger, pausing mid-drift to the kitchen to twirl and catch sight of him again—savoring the way he looks in her space, tie and eyes loosened—lingering slightly. )
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But he liked the company, that still held true. He liked being with the others, he liked knowing that they were all still here — all still alive. That's what kept him showing up every Friday, even if he rarely participated in their drinking games and all the rest. He liked the reassurance that everyone was still here.
So, tonight, when things started winding down and the others left, he found himself drifting over to Utahime's side. She was the odd one out at times, the only one from Kyoto in their group and thus the only one who didn't have the same exact memories growing up as the rest of them did. But she still experienced a lot of the same events, a lot of the same... trauma. She was still one of them.
He brought her home. His intentions are innocent, really. He just wanted to make sure she got back safely. She was a little bit messy from alcohol and he couldn't say he wasn't the same — though it came out differently, in a slightly loosened tie and a too intense gaze.
Then she's asking if he wants to come in and there's... subtext there, there's a double meaning. He considers it, considers the ramifications. They're both adults, aren't they? And it isn't as if this would ruin things between them. It would just be one night together, something simple, something safe.
It would still be smarter to say no though. ]
Yes.
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but he agrees, and the smallest hint of a smile skirts along her lips as a particularly crisp breeze greets them, as if encouraging them inside, encouraging them closer. the liquor's long since settled a pink to her cheeks, and before either of them have the opportunity to take it back (the invitation and the acceptance), she's unlocking the door for them.
a quaint, cozy apartment greets them, filled with whites and creams and complimenting earthy tones; tall windows with gauze curtains, plants of all shapes and sizes propped on bookshelves, end tables, behind the couch. it's simple—but incredibly intimate, she suddenly realizes, so much evidence of her left in plain sight—toeing out of her heels in the genkan, shrinking a few inches.
she doesn't mean to draw it out- this... it's not inexperience so much as the fact that he was no stranger, pausing mid-drift to the kitchen to twirl and catch sight of him again—savoring the way he looks in her space, tie and eyes loosened—lingering slightly. )
Can I get you anything?