Gojo licked his nose.

He had long lost track of the time.

How long had it been since he'd been abandoned? Eighteen hours? Twenty? He wasn't sure.

He silently cursed himself for not clinging to Utahime more before she'd left. He'd instead taken to lazily watching her curl her satiny hair into loose waves, spectated as she painted her lips red with rouge. Watched her drape her svelte body in a short, skin-tight dress, ruched at the chest, red fabric splitting into a large V at the back.

By the time he realized that, no, she wasn't treating him to a nice fashion show as a break from her constant moping — and what he liked to call "bad vibes" — she had already left the house, ecru Louboutins 1 clacking away, door shutting in his face.

The last thing he saw was bright red.

He expected her to be back around midnight, most likely going out to have a drink with her friends, something he knew even as a human she had a predilection for. Perhaps they'd be celebrating society's gradual convalescence from the Culling Games.

However, he could see the sun begin to dip into the horizon, melting into the heavens, coloring the foyer in hues of gold, amber, crimson.

Violent images ran through his head, superluminal bullets.

Although all the circumstances differed, they all ended the same way - with Utahime's bloody carcass.

He could no longer feel his limbs, nerves numbed, the feeling of hard tile pressed against the side of his head waning.

He shrinked into the floor, gazing at the aureate sky, waiting.

Waiting for his owner to arrive, to come home, to drown him in love, explain just exactly why she had forsaken him. He'd ignore her apologies, show her only his back, and reluctantly succumb after a few minutes of her doting. Just like always.

He raised his head the moment he heard the smallest sound, then sadly lowered it upon realizing it was either a figment of his imagination or the wind playing tricks on him.

He stared at the darkening sky, feelings blackening with it.

Just as he was thinking of how he could probably still use some cursed energy to break down the door and look for her himself, he caught wind of an ever-growing susurrus emanating from the outside.

"Thanks for lunch and driving me home!"

"Don't mention it. Let me take you out again. Sunday good?"

"Sunday sounds perfect!"

Gojo's ear flicked.

The two outside bid farewell. He heard a rustle of metal clanking together, then a push. Soft footsteps treading against the floor.

He opened his eyes to stare at Utahime.

He couldn't believe it. All his worrying had been for naught. She had absquatulated with this stranger and abandoned her beloved cat?

She gasped. "Noodle! How long have you been waiting here for?"

Gojo meowed mournfully, looking her up and down, eyes drooping upon seeing her dressed in someone else's clothes. Clothes that smelled of someone else. He opened his jaws, tasting the air, glaring as he found that her entire being ranked of the person she'd been chatting with outside. At this rate, the entire house would stink.

Sometimes his heightened sense of smell was incredibly helpful. This was not one of those times.

It didn't take a genius to realize just what she'd been up to for the past couple of hours.

He quickly rose to a sitting position, ignoring the knots pervading his creaking muscles. He threaded himself through her bare legs, furiously rubbing his cheeks against them in vain, wishing to immediately cleanse her of the putrid smells she'd collected. He marked his territory, replacing the other woman's scent with his own.

She laughed, petting him, picked him up. "What are you doing? Did you miss me that much?" she smiled, let him lick the red apple of her cheek. He frowned, the horrid stench spreading across his tastebuds.

She then rocked him in her arms, humming a small tune, carrying him towards the kitchen. She set him down on the crisp dekton counter, and turned away, pulling condiments out of the fridge.

He hadn't seen her this happy in months.

"Oh, Noodle, that was the best lay of my life. And she bought me lunch! No walk of shame for me!"

Gojo tucked his tail in, hair standing on end.

You're too old for this! Thirty-four and you wanna act like some high-schooler?!

He hopped off the counter, scrambling to his feet, and stalked all the way to their shared bedroom, ignoring Utahime's calls after him. He threw himself onto the silk sheets and aggressively kneaded them with his paws, wishing he could've gotten a glimpse of the other women so he could put a face to the voice and imagine the sheets as her.

He didn't know why he was so bothered. It should be a good thing that life was finally looking up for her, that she was going to be able to fill in the parts of her heart that Daisuke had cleaved.

But it simultaneously wasn't. In fact, it was a horrible, dreadful thing, the mere thought making him want to hurl in the nearest trashcan. It was physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually impossible for him to subject himself through the torture of sharing Utahime with another.

Never again, he shuddered.

Then and there, he decided.

He would not allow that woman, or any other person, for that matter, to come into his home and steal his owner away. He refused to.

The trend continued.

Once or twice a week, when the clock struck twilight, she would leave in sinful dresses after kissing Gojo goodbye. She'd come home at midnight, slur him a greeting, and throw herself into bed, heels dangling off her feet.

He took care of her, obviously. Pulled the covers over her head with his mouth, knock the heels off her feet, sit by her side and cuddle into her warmth.

She would always come back to him. No matter who she'd been with during the night, she'd always come back to him. And that was what mattered most.

Just where would she be without him?

Utahime left early one Monday afternoon. Dressed in a modest black dress, ending just below her knees, face bare of makeup. She'd given him a simple pat before leaving the house, coming back two hours later.

Everyday, for the next thirteen days, she repeated the same process, leaving in black clothes and carrying something thin, colored black-and-silver, coming back with a pale face.

He hadn't thought much of it. In his mind, she was leaving to go on dates, two-timing three or four people. More power to her, he guessed.

The cause of the black outfits? Perhaps she was finally entering her emo phase with the departure of Daisuke. With Megumi and Nanami both having fallen down the same hole, albeit on opposing sides of the spectrum, he could proudly say he had incredible experience in dealing with these sorts of people.

That was what he'd thought until the fourteenth day, at least.

The sky that day was cloudy. Nor'wester glossed the sky, a thin layer storm clouds brewing. He leisurely blinked his eyes, squinting at the towering windows, bobbing his tail up and down. He heard a pitter. Then a patter.

Be-speckled melee diamonds fell from the welkin, dotting the window, sliding down and disappearing. It seemed straight out of a painting of pastels, like those hung in the empty hallways of the Gojo household. The scenery outside warped, blurred, phantasmal and surreal. It seemed as if he was no longer of this world, transported to another through a wrinkle in time. It wasn't entirely implausible, given the nature of his technique.

Utahime will be back soon, he thought. Hope she's warm.

His ear jerked, the tinkling of the raindrops lacing through his eardrums, mixed with the sound of car tires slowly rolling into the wet driveway.

He sprang to his feet. When she'd opened the door, he'd chirruped, commencing his daily ritual of replacing the mess of scents she carried from the outside with his own. He knew it was futile, knew it every night she left him again for someone else.

But even if it was just for a single, ephemeral moment, she was his. And that was what mattered most.

She suddenly scooped him up, kicked her shoes to the ground. The thunk they made resounded, and he blinked in confusion as she marched to their room and nestled him to her chest.

Gojo tilted his chin up at her, watching as her lip began quivering, eyes reddening. Tears began streaming down her face, skin turning blotchy. She promptly flipped him around, flopping onto the bed, burying her face in the thin threads of his white fur. Her arms shook as she held him.

"Noodle. We're finally holding funerals for the... the people who died in the Culling Games." she gulped, took a quivery breath. "Oh, Nanami. Poor Nanami. He... he was s-so young, and he's gone. I still remember wishing how he'd been my underclassmen instead of those two demons." Her hold on him only tightened and the sobs grew louder. "And Mai and Kokichi, G-god, I failed them both. I was supposed to guide them, teach them, and..."

Oh. I'm an idiot.

Gojo climbed out of her now-limp arms, licking his nose at the sight of her clenched hands serving as her pillows, her eyes squeezed shut. Her eyelashes were beaded with moisture, dew clinging onto the long, curled hair. Her chest rapidly heaved up and down as she choked on her sobs, trying to force words out.

"I'm a horrible teacher. I r-ran from the Culling Games to be with m-my family, and now look what happened. I s-should've died with them." Utahime gasped. "That'd be a b-better use of my life. Wonder who'd come to my funeral then."

She curled into a ball, uncontrollably shaking like a leaf.

His pelt prickled, muscles frozen in place. His breathing quickened. He imagined waking up to an empty bed, searching the house for her, only to find her corpse bleeding out in the kitchen.

What would he do then? Without her?

"A-and then... Gojo didn't even have a body for us to cry over. I d-didn't think I'd cry for him, b-but how could I not? Fourteen years, Noodle! I watched the brat grow up!"

Gojo lapped at her cheeks, rough tongue tracing the tear tracks. He tasted saltiness, her sadness, raw pain. The traitorous emotions of joy he'd felt when he saw her crying over him disappeared just as quickly as they came as he watched sobs wrench her entire being.

He'd seen her cry before, back when they were in high school; he'd been a freshman, her a senior. He'd bumped into her in the hallway, laughed at her, said something off-handed. She'd teared up, Shoko smacking him and telling him something about how she was sensitive from the death of her aunt. Told him not to be a dick. Her words had been white noise.

He was too elated with the sight of Utahime crying, and dedicated all the time he had with her to try and coax more cries from her, obsessed with it. His own personal drug.

But this was different.

Don't cry. I'm here.

His chest ached, knots tying in his stomach. He cursed himself for being unable to console her, wishing so dearly that he was human, that he could take her in his arms and tell her that everything would be okay. Tell her he was there for her.

He had to protect her, shield her from the horrors of the world, make sure she'd never weep so broken-heartedly ever again.

He loathed being so powerless, only able to be a bystander to her breakdown.

He thrust his muzzle into her neck, praying to whatever higher being was out there that his intentions would get through to her.

I need you.

And then,

I love you.

cat facts: cats can smell thru their mouths, cats licking their nose a lot is also a sign of stress, and cats can sense changes in atmospheric pressure so they're aware of storms way before they happen.