In what seemed like a heavy blizzard, there has been a dramatic turn of events.
Shoko and Getou exchanged awkward, sidelong glances. To say they were kneeling on the floor, heads bowed, complete silence looming inside the room for three straight minutes felt like a lie. Shoko could feel her knee joints bulging out, neck aching from only looking downwards. She was about to lose her mind from keeping her posture — she was more of a carefree person, slouching her back worked best for her.
Getou, who was beside her, had his lips pursed, tapping his fingers on his lap, as he watched Utahime's footsteps while she paced back and forth in front of them. For someone who stayed beside Gojo during classes and special missions, he was able to increase his patience, Gojo being the worst case he's ever dealt with. Utahime taking her time to think didn't affect him as much, he could hold his position right now until night comes.
The two were like criminals caught by the police, Utahime being the industrious officer, and Gojo being the slacker. The tempo of Utahime's steps depended on what was on her mind. She would take quicker steps whenever she was thinking too much, and slower steps whenever she looked at her kouhais.
Surely, there was only one person who was enjoying the whole show — none other than Gojo Satoru himself. While his friends were about to receive a scolding from their senpai, he sat comfortably on the edge of Utahime's bed, barely letting his laugh escape his lips.
'These two would make a hilarious duo,' Gojo thought, making it even harder for him to restrain his laughter. Being the type to laugh at serious situations and even crack up a joke during a funeral, it was quite an achievement for him not to fully succumb to doing something stupid.
"Shoko. Getou-kun," Utahime called for their attention. The two did as they were told, with Shoko almost snapping her neck from the quick shift. Finally, they can see their senpai's face, and whatever expression she was wearing.
"Let me get this straight," Utahime paused, her finger on her chin. "The two of you were eavesdropping behind my door because Shoko," she took a moment to point at her friend, "thought that Gojo and I were making a miracle," the last word was said with finger quotes.
"Enlighten me with the word miracle," Gojo teased, knowing exactly what it meant, but he wouldn't let this one pass. He wanted to see a particular expression on Utahime's face. He folded his arms over his chest.
"Oh, there's no nee—"
"That's right!" Shoko slammed the table in front of her with both hands, making Utahime startle. "I thought you and Satoru were having sex," Shoko spelled out, making the first-years laugh out loud, Gojo being the perpetrator. The room was in an uproar, and Utahime's voice couldn't cut in. The only way for her to be heard was to wait for their laughter to die down.
Utahime's skin reddened, mortification stirred inside her chest. The mention of that word, even though she was an open-minded individual, hit different — like a truck at full speed. When Shoko specified Gojo's name — Satoru —she was nervous. But it wasn't like they actually did it, right?
Utahime cleared her throat once they were catching their breaths, already moved on from laughing. Shoko held onto Getou, her right arm clinging on his shoulders, the other was gripping her shirt as she breathed in and out slowly. Getou was supporting Shoko's weight, still in his kneeling position as he wiped tears on the corners of his eyes. Gojo laid flat on the bed, hands on his stomach from the pain.
