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starmapz · 1 month ago

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what you know - ch17: ghosts || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). medical content. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 22.7k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

Two million, seven hundred and eighty seven thousand, four hundred and three. That's how many of those stupid little dots are scattered across Sukuna's aging apartment's popcorn ceiling.

Well, no- it's not. But mindlessly counting from absurd numbers is preventing his stomach from upheaving any more of its contents.

Funny, that he pretends to count the spots on his ceiling, but he can't count how many hours he's been awake, fighting against his own body to get some rest. His back, forehead, and the valleys of his chest and abs are nothing more than pools of sweat, his sheet and blankets long tossed aside in favor of cooling down his perspiring skin.

He groans in pain as his stomach churns, clutching his abdomen as he finds himself breathing deeply in an effort to prevent the inevitable. He can't decide whether the taste of the Everclear from earlier in the night coming back up or the feeling of shame as he’d passed by Uraume sprawled across the couch on the way to the washroom is worse.

He'd had more than enough of their scolding for one night. Is it even still night? He isn't sure anymore. If he twists to look at the clock, he'll be sick.

What's worse is that even as his hair sticks to his forehead, slick with sweat, he thinks he'd do it all over again. There's another bottle barely an arms' length away, tucked in his drawer for the moment he would need it most, the same one he’d contemplated having before Satoru’s frat party months ago. It's one of those party favor bottles, the one meant to be a sampler that's hardly a single shot, but with Everclear, it'll go the distance.

It’s not dependency, it’s just… escape. A cowardly escape.

He doesn’t consider himself to be a coward, but there’s relief that comes with the idea of being one, just this one time. If he can’t fix things and reverse the trial then… Just once, he wants to be allowed to do something for himself, even if it’ll actively make him feel worse afterwards. Still, he wants to forget, until the wounds close and the scars fade and his day-to-day routine isn’t filled with questions.

How could he have done better? What had he missed?

What stage of grief would that put him at, anyway? Three?

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

He wants to say that puts him at the bargaining stage, but in truth he thinks he’s experiencing them all at once in some sort of unfair turmoil. The denial and anger hit months ago, as though he knew from day one that he’d lost, but the bargaining and depression hit hard and fast after the trial, pummeling down whatever was left of him.

The acceptance… That slunk its way into his psyche somewhere along the way, like a parasite he never noticed taking root. He can’t remember when it was that he realized he’d lost and began preparing himself, but it was long before the trial ever even started.

His eyes are heavy lidded as he trails his gaze across the ceiling, the rise and fall of his chest weighed down by his stomach churning again.

He groans again, slowly raising an arm to rest over his overheating forehead as he’s reminded of his pounding head. He supposes he can only blame himself for that, Uraume had forced him to drink two full bottles of water before letting him pass out. If they hadn’t, he figures he would be worse off.

As the sun rises and filters through the gap in his curtains, a strip of light casts vertically across his wall, his stomach settles enough that he manages to flip onto his side and get some rest.

He can’t say how long he slept, but it can’t be much later when he’s awoken by the sound of knuckles rhythmically hitting the door. Dazed, he groans as he pushes up onto his elbows, bleakly letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. His shadow is cast over the strip of light at the center of the room, his hair sticking up in every which way.

Rubbing at his dry eyes, he kicks his feet off the edge of the bed, still in yesterday’s clothes. Still half asleep, he can practically see his little brother shuffling from foot to foot with teary eyes just outside his door. Probably another nightmare, Sukuna figures.

That makes it all the more jarring as he opens the door and finds Uraume staring at him. It hits him like a head-on collision and he’s pulled to the present suddenly, reminded of just where his life sits now.

Uraume’s gaze evaluates Sukuna’s well-being before they let out a long sigh. “I made you some coffee.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, his mood soured as reality settles in. He pushes past them, making his way to the old coffee machine sitting atop his counter, the vinyl scratched beneath the machine from the amount of times he’s pulled the machine forward and backwards. He pulls the brewed pot out of place, met with a sudden pain right above his left eye as he reaches for a mug. He squints hard at the onset of a hangover headache, setting the mug down and pouring himself a cup of black coffee.

Turning from the counter, he presses the ball of his palm against his forehead in an attempt to dull the pounding, squinting hard. Rubbing small circles into his skull, he takes a sip of his drink, the familiar bitter taste and caffeine providing clarity to his morning, if it can even still be called that.

Half past one in the afternoon. He supposes that makes sense after his tumultuous night. He doesn’t even think he was at the bar that long, completely plastered before ten o’clock even hit, but his stomach kept him up most of the night.

“Are you ready to talk about last night?” Uraume calmly stands opposite him, arms crossed across their chest with a mostly neutral, albeit slightly unimpressed expression.

“What’s there to talk about?” He grumbles from behind his hand, peeking up at them with one eye still shut.

“I’d like to start with what drove you to order three shots of Everclear within an hour,” they begin pointedly.

He sighs, frustrated. “You know what did.”

Uraume nods slowly, casting their gaze aside in thought. “Right,” they affirm to themself quietly. Moving to the side of the open concept apartment, they pull a chair out from the table, taking a seat and settling their hands in their lap. “Everyone knows now,” they state.

Leaning his hip against the counter, he takes a sip of his coffee. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anymore,” he grumbles.

“Do you really think that? Have you actually given up?”

Sukuna pauses in thought, rubbing the pad of his thumb above his eye to relieve the pressure of his headache.

Does he really think it’s fruitless? He wants to say no, but is that just the first stage of grief, still? Is he just in denial that there’s nothing he can do? He supposes he doesn’t have a definitive answer to their question, like he wants to believe that he has a chance at turning things around.

But… What else can he do? He’d searched endlessly for incriminating records concerning Kaori. He’d searched the internet tirelessly, he’d been through his records twice, and he’d called enough telecommunications companies to last a lifetime. What’s left? At the end of the day, he thinks it’s little more than a daydream to hope for evidence to show up on his door on a silver platter.

Maybe he’d missed something in his documents? But still. Twice, he’d gone through everything. Kaori had tied every loose end with a bow at the end to really rub it in.

His lack of response is all that Uraume needs for their lips to quirk up into a minute smile. He’s not resolute yet in his acceptance of the loss of his brothers, and that’s enough for them. His spark isn’t out yet.

It’s dim, but it’s there. He may not have it in himself to nurse it back to life, but unbeknownst to Sukuna, he has a support system more than willing to help him bear the weight of his loss, if he’ll just let them in.

But therein lies the problem, doesn’t it?

“Maybe you missed something,” they point out, “when you went through your old files. I can take a look through them with you.”

Sukuna’s attention turns back to Uraume as he considers whether they could be right. He wants to say he’s looked through everything rigorously, but some files are harder to look through than others. Some of them he’s more than willing to admit sting to the very core and he avoided looking at them for too long. Some bring back memories that seem to burn the back of his eyelids, desperate to be seen once more, even when he closes his eyes to them.

He wants to say it can’t hurt to check again, but it hurt to check the first time.

He thought the second time would be easier, but that wasn’t the case either.

Still, the old storage closet filled with bankers’ boxes may have been stacked by Sukuna, but it was Uraume who packed them, all those years ago when Sukuna couldn’t bear to do so. Maybe they’ll see something he didn’t.

“Fine,” he relents, pushing a hand through his knotted and messy hair. It still sticks up in places, a sheen of sweat clinging to each and every strand after his shitty night. His skin is slick with that same sickening feeling and his head pounds with no sign of relent. “Not right now, though,” he grumbles, turning away to lean his elbows on the counter as he hunches over with his head in his hands.

Uraume gets up and pats him on the back, setting a bottle of Advil beside his elbow. He recognizes the telling rattle of the bottle and doesn’t hesitate to pop an extra strength tablet into his mouth, completely forgetting about his coffee as he throws the fridge open and grabs a half finished jug of apple juice- one of Yuji’s favorites- and drinks straight from the jug. He supposes it doesn’t really matter anymore.

Tossing it carelessly back onto a shelf in the fridge, he lets the door shut and throws himself down on the couch face-first. His limbs hang over every side, but his headache calms down the moment he’s laid across the cushions.

Unfortunately for him, Uraume’s always had a tough sort of love.

“Let’s start now,” they push, moving across the open kitchen and living space towards the hall.

“Fuck no,” he groans, muffled by the couch cushion. “Gimme a day or two, christ.”

Uraume grimaces, pushing his feet aside as they turn to take a seat at the end of the couch. They want to push to get it done as quickly as possible given that he has one month since the end of the trial to file for an appeal and it’s already been just over a week, but pushing won’t get anywhere when the throbbing of Sukuna’s head is making him increasingly grumpy.

Grumpy is better than numb, though, by Uraume’s standards.

“Can we talk, then?”

“Whatever.”

Uraume’s unphased by his frustration, settling their hands neatly in their lap as they begin. “Satoru told everyone he felt bad. He didn’t mean to get under your skin like that.”

Sukuna’s silent, staring blankly at the coffee table as he slowly blinks.

“You know, I actually think you two would get along well.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Uraume lets out a breath through their nose, something akin to a chuckle. “Toji?”

“Mm.”

They nod to themself, staring up at the movie shelf beside the TV. It’s usually full, with a little Star Wars Lego tank off to one side and a few bead lizards dangling off the higher shelf. That’s not the case anymore, though. A handful of family movies are missing, and the lizards that used to be scattered across the entire apartment have all been gathered in a pile they can just barely spot atop the shelf, mostly out of view.

He’s also cleaned up the final remains of the tinsel that used to pop up every so often from Christmas, the one that used to hang from the edge of the TV now having finally disappeared.

In fact, contrary to Sukuna’s personal living space, which is a mess- clothing everywhere, empty energy drinks and coffee cups scattered across every surface and a surplus of laundry ready to topple over the basket- the apartment is startlingly clean.

They recognize this pattern in him from when he lost his dad.

Wake up, lay in bed until he’s forced to his feet by an outside force, and find any and every way to keep himself busy, whether that’s chores or work or working out. Back then, that outside force was Yuji and Choso who would keep him on track. Now, Uraume can only pray that work is enough of a driving factor to get him out of that slump.

It’s why they aren’t exactly keen on leaving him to his own devices right now.

Moving along, Uraume says your name, trailing off for a moment before they continue, “you didn’t kiss her, did you?”

He shuffles, pulling his feet out from behind Uraume. “No,” he sighs, sitting upright. “Don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

His chest rises and falls heavily as bile sits sourly at the back of his throat. It tastes of Everclear, strong and repugnant. “I didn’t,” he doubles down, sinking back against the couch as his head rests on the back, his weary gaze plastered to the ceiling.

“Did you want to?”

He doesn’t move his gaze as his hands flail up into a frustrated shrug. “I guess, yeah.”

“Do you have feelings for her?”

Sukuna’s head whips up to look at his friend. “Can you stop? Fuck, I don’t wanna talk about it.” He winces as his head pounds in response to his snappy behavior, like sweet karma. Still, he’s too irritated and exhausted to be willing to apologize right now.

The thing about Uraume is that they don’t take anything Sukuna says to heart, really. They’re used to his outbursts and simply move on without a second thought. Simultaneously, Sukuna knows not to take their bluntness and tough love to heart when they’re a little bit too honest. That’s the dynamic that allows their friendship to work so well and has Sukuna just a little bit more willing to let Uraume in.

It’s sheer stubbornness, on their part. They walk in and take matters into their own hands. It pisses him off sometimes, but it was exactly what he needed back when Uraume caught wind of Sukuna’s situation all those years ago. They walked in and taught him the ins and outs of managing a one-year-old’s diet and baby proofing a new apartment, no matter how adamant he was on shutting them out. They even showed up out of the blue to help him pack up his dad’s old room when he couldn’t bear to.

They were there. They were there, and they found a way to help him manage, and they’re here now. For all his complaining and groaning, he appreciates it. Somewhere deep down, there remains a scared and lost man who’s grateful he isn’t alone.

He is, however, genuinely less grateful that they won’t drop the fucking subject.

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Sukuna.”

“It’s not fucking simple,” he growls, twisting in search of his coffee to find he’d left it on the counter. Huffing, he lets it go, unwilling to risk his head pounding if he attempts to get up.

“Why isn’t it?”

He flashes a snarl at his friend. “It’s just not, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Christ, how old are you?” He hisses in exasperation, letting his head hit the back of the couch with enough force that Uraume winces at the sound. “Stop fuckin’ asking, you’re worse than-”

Yuji.

The words die in the back of his throat, his shoulders slumping as realization crosses his face again.

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for Uraume to catch his drift. With a sympathetic smile, they get up and cross the room, grabbing his coffee and handing it to him. It’s not quite as hot as he’d prefer, but it’s better than nothing and it’s helping to settle his stomach a bit more, which still churns every so often.

Uraume rephrases their initial question now that Sukuna has some more caffeine in his system. “You do have feelings for her, don’t you?”

Sukuna’s grip on his mug tightens. He wants so badly to say that it’s the hangover making him feel sick again; that maybe three shots of Everclear is too many (two is perfectly acceptable though, of course), because admitting that he drowned his sorrows is easier than admitting there’s something to be said about the way his heart seems to take a different shape when you’re around.

The piece of himself that you hold has transformed over time, becoming something else that he isn’t quite sure what to do with and it’s easier to push it away. Last night, though, something in the way your eyes shone in the moonlight struck a chord with him. Your eyes gleamed, not with pity or sympathy that Sukuna's tired of receiving, but with care.

All the shit he’s put you through, and you’re still goddamn there. Putting your heart into every single thing you do for him.

The clammy skin of his palms sticks to the mug as the same feeling from last night sits heavy in his stomach.

He stills wants to kiss you. Not to guide you to a bed and chase a night of pleasure before moving on with his life, no, he wants to feel how soft your lips are again. He wants the taste of whatever lip gloss you decide to wear to permeate his tongue and coat his own lips. He wants to keep you tucked tightly to his chest and fend off anything or anyone that dares to take your warmth from him, as though your care is fleeting.

Heat blooms in his chest, rising to his throat. It’s not like bile, it doesn’t taste quite as bitter, just… foreign. He doesn’t think he minds it, though. Like your warmth last night, this offers respite from the onslaught of bad thoughts and guilt that presses down harshly on his lungs and threatens to stop his breaths.

It’s almost a relief, he thinks, to come to terms with the thought that he’s been running from for so long now.

Fuck, he has feelings for you.

And they run deep. They’re ingrained into the way he seeks your company, or the pull at the corner of his lips when you say something so sweet that he can’t help but smile. They’ve taken root in him in such a way that holding your hand and wrapping an arm around you is second nature.

But with that realization comes the tightening of his throat, the undeniable and inevitable feeling that he’s not what you deserve, and you both know that. You don’t see him in the same way as he sees you. Why else would your hands press against his chest last night, pushing him back?

Maybe you’re okay with him seeking comfort in your kindness, but the intimacy in which he held you last night was too much.

It’s sickening, to think he’s only just come to terms with something he thinks he’s known all along and you’ve already slipped through his fingers. How many times does he need to lose everything and start over again before he gets a break?

He remains silent for a long while before his thoughts slip from his lips without a second thought. “Doesn’t matter. She pushed me away.”

Nodding slowly, Uraume shifts to face Sukuna. “I’ll admit, I suppose I don’t know how she feels,” they agree, “but you’ve made it through this much and your friendship stayed intact, is it not worth it to ask?”

The truth is, Sukuna doesn’t know. So many last chances crushed under the weight of his arrogance, what if that’s the final straw? He’s not sure if he can handle that.

Not right now.

There’s too much going on, he’s not willing to drown you in his demons or to start something only to pull back when everything is too much to bear. He knows himself well enough to know that no matter what angle he looks at things, he can’t do that to you.

No matter how hard it would be, he’d rather be just your friend than bring you down with him. He’d rather drown alone than be forced to watch the life leave your eyes as you drown alongside him. It’s easier this way.

“‘M gonna go shower,” he mumbles, deflecting Uraume’s question as he sets his mug on the coffee table.

They grimace as he holds his head while he walks away, but they’ll take any amount of progress when it comes to the grumpy man struggling once again to find his place in the world.

–

It was a relief to hear from Sukuna the morning following the night out, even if it was the driest of updates.

Quite literally. He sent a thumbs up emoji.

Uraume had given you updates on him throughout the night. Maybe even too many, honestly. According to their nearly hourly texts, he’d been up most of the night throwing up, which was… a gross dozen texts to wake up to. It’s not like you didn’t expect it (eight shots, and all), but you still didn’t need that much detail.

Hearing from Sukuna himself made your afternoon just a little bit easier. It also made your study session with Kento infinitely more productive as he helped to guide you through the final few chapters of your textbook, putting you back on track with your most difficult class.

A godsend, that man.

In fact, all of your friends are. The views on Sukuna seem to shift over the course of the weekend too, as you fall into step with Suguru the following Monday on your way to lunch. He’s looking relatively disheveled himself in unusually baggy clothes for him, with his hair down, rather than his signature half-bun. Strands fall in front of his eyes as he gives you a small wave.

“Morning,” he greets you with the easy smile he always manages, pushing his raven hair back out of his face.

“Morning, Suguru! How was your weekend?”

He hums. “I’ve had better,” he chuckles, casting the thought aside. “And you?”

“You and me both,” you sigh. “Everything alright?”

Suguru finds himself chuckling once more. “I’m fine, don’t you worry one bit about me.”

Pouting, a crease forms between your brows as you look up at him. “But-”

He interrupts you with a firm statement of your name, though his tone is playful and scolding. “I’m fine,” he reaffirms. “I’ll admit that I’ve been better, but I’m managing. I have lots of support from people with less on their plates and as much as I appreciate your kindness, I would prefer to see you not join myself and Sukuna in this state,” he chuckles, tired amusement pulling at the corners of his lips as his eyes crinkle at the corners just a bit.

You relent, smiling at him. “Just know that I’m here.”

“I’m well aware. Likewise for you,” he offers. “Speaking of Sukuna, how’s he handling things?”

“I’ll spare you the details from Uraume’s texts, but it sounds like he had a rough night.” You wince at the mere thought of the context from Uraume’s texts. “He hasn’t really been all that chatty otherwise.”

“Understandable,” Suguru acknowledges. “Give him some time. He’ll come around.”

“I hope so,” you sigh as you follow your friend into the lunch hall. A majority of the group from dinner the other night is there, and you know you’re moments away from being bombarded with questions, which does no favors for your disdain for being at the center of the attention.

Satoru also does you no favors as he practically leaps from his chair to take the empty seat that was once Sukuna’s between you and Uraume. “Hey,” he greets you, genuine sorrow painted across his pale features. He’s not the most genuine person, usually hiding behind comedy to mask his feelings, so the painfully serious look in his striking blue eyes causes you to shrink.

“Hi, Satoru.”

“Listen,” he starts, “I didn’t mean to start shit like that. I didn’t realize he-” he cuts himself off in an effort to keep his voice down to outside groups. The last thing he needs is to also accidentally spread rumors.

“You didn’t know,” you brush him off, keeping your eyes down on your lap as you avoid the curious gazes of onlookers and the rest of your friends. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s kinda his fault,” Toji adds dryly from across the table, his mouse full of food. “I fuckin’ told ya to shut up, man.”

“We were drunk!” Satoru retorts, throwing his hands up. “I thought you were just fucking around!”

Toji just shrugs. “I told ya you’d get along with him just fine if you just shut y’re damn mouth for two seconds.”

“Toji,” Uraume scolds him from across the table.

Satoru turns towards Uraume, clearly seeking answers although Uraume is the least likely to give them. “What even happened with his kids that I got to him so much?”

The air is silent as glances are exchanged between those who know of the lawsuit, and his loss. No one is quite sure what to say to appease the rest of the table, jaws ajar and eyes wide as anyone searches for an explanation.

“Would this have anything to do with the woman I heard him talking legal shit to outside his place the other day?” Atsuya asks, sounding wholly disinterested in the entire matter for someone who has no clue whether he’s airing out his friend’s issues. He chews on a toothpick, glancing between you and Uraume.

“Why were you at Sukuna’s place?” Uraume questions, incredulous.

“Didn’t know it was his,” Atsuya shrugs. “I was seeing someone who lives in the same building. Was gonna say hi, but he seemed busy.”

Uraume just sighs, making an executive call on behalf of Sukuna, which you’re grateful for as it pulls the attention to them, rather than you. Going back to Atsuya’s question, they nod. “Yes, it does. I’m not answering any more questions, though. It’s not your business,” they point out.

Satoru’s questions end there, though he still seems confused as he turns back towards you. “Can you tell him I’m sorry, at least?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“I appreciate you, short stuff.”

You swat his hand away as he tries to use your head as leverage to push himself up from the seat and head back around to his spot between Toji and Suguru. You shoot him a scowl, but he just grins, unphased.

–

You send Sukuna a text that afternoon letting him know that Satoru wants to apologize, but Sukuna’s replies remain dry.

In fact, he shifts his attitude not just within his texts, but even when you see him at work.

There’s no coffee awaiting you, nor does he ask you to accompany him for any of his four coffee runs on Tuesday alone, not to mention his five runs on Thursday. He also brushes you off for lunch both days, choosing instead to hole up in his office with headphones in. You can tell he’s at least going home since he’s in different outfits both days, but… you can’t help but feel as though it’s not doing him any favors to brush everyone off.

He’s doing it again.

So, you confront him by text on Thursday night after work.

6:49 PM You || Kuna?

It takes him a bit to get back to you, but he does. His replies are still as dry as ever, though.

8:01 PM Kuna || yeah

8:03 PM You || You’re pulling away again

Another break in his texts, it takes a bit to hear back from him.

8:29 PM Kuna || yeah.

8:30 PM You || I know things are hard right now, but you can’t push me away every time something goes wrong

You do what you can to express your frustrations, praying he takes it well.

8:34 PM Kuna || what do you want from me

8:34 PM You || I just wanna talk

8:35 PM Kuna || fine

8:35 PM Kuna || uraumes on my ass anyway about going through my files again

8:36 PM Kuna || come over tomorrow after your lecture

Able to finally breathe a sigh of relief, you send him confirmation that you’ll be there, followed by a thank you.

8:38 PM Kuna || mhm

Your day passes quickly and you’re standing at his door in a cute burgundy sweatshirt and a skirt, along with a pair of tights and some brown boots before you know it. Waiting outside Sukuna’s door, you smile as Uraume answers, raising your hand in a small wave.

“Hey,” you greet them as they move aside to let you in. Kicking off your boots, you shoot them a glance. “How’s he doing?”

They shrug. “I don’t think he’s sleeping much. I got here maybe ten minutes ago and he answered the door shirtless, then headed straight to his room and shut the door. He doesn’t seem all there.” They shake their head, running a hand through their white locks.

“Distant?”

Uraume grimaces. “Somewhere between distant and angry,” they shrug. “I don’t think he really wants to do this.”

“Look through the files?”

They nod.

Steeling yourself, you nod solemnly in agreement as Sukuna emerges from his room in a pair of black sweatpants and a black hoodie with an illegible band name on it. He’s freshly showered, hair hanging over his forehead and dripping down the bridge of his nose. He wipes the water with the back of his hand, pausing when he meets your gaze. His lips part and his shoulders tense as though the air’s been sucked from his lungs while his gaze travels the length of your body, but he finally shakes himself from his stupor and clears his throat.

“Storage closet’s this way,” he mutters, ducking his head and trudging away. Not even so much as a hello, just straight to the point. His movements are as empty as his words as his heels drag on the hardwood.

You suppose you’ll have to talk to him later about his frustrating tendency to push everyone away.

He barely waits for you both to make it to his side when he pushes the storage closet door open. It scrapes against the cardboard boxes painstakingly shoved inside, many of them on the verge of falling apart with frayed corners, while others look ready to burst at the seams. They’re all labeled with names, though you can’t tell what’s in them otherwise.

Sukuna pulls down the first few boxes, passing them along to the both of you, who move them into the living room. You shove the coffee table aside, attempting to set the piles of boxes up based on which brother they belong to. Sukuna brings out all the ones labelled for his little brothers, as well as any with his name on them in case they have something incriminating concerning Kaori. Lastly, he pulls down a couple of unmarked boxes that are mostly junk, setting those aside as well just to be sure.

With your hands on your hips, you survey the piles of boxes. “Where should we start?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Wherever. Doesn’t matter.”

You nod, looking him up and down before you move to a stack of boxes. His chest rises and falls heavily, you assume from lifting the boxes, his gaze settling heavily on the sight of them. He frowns at the stacks, the crimson of his eyes swimming with uncertainty. You find yourself lingering a moment too long on the gaunt skin beneath his eyes that denotes just how little he sleeps these days, as if he wasn’t already sleep-deprived before losing his brothers.

Now, the thought haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

You miss the way he’d attempt to hide his smirk when you made a dumb joke and the way he’d snort in amusement when you teased him.

Now, every reaction you get from him is hollow. A ‘whatever’ thrown around here, a ‘fine’ there. He just doesn’t care. He’s going through the motions, surviving, and that’s it. Alive, but not living. It hurts to see him so pained as he carelessly tosses a cover aside on the first box he grabs, labelled with his youngest brother’s name.

The detachment is likely the only way he knows how to handle going through this paperwork again.

As Uraume settles on the other side of the couch, you take a seat opposite them both on the floor, leaning back against the coffee table, and open a box marked ‘Ryomen’ in writing you assume must be Jin’s. It’s proper, albeit a bit bubbly. Teacher writing, easy to read.

Peeking into the box, you take in the contents. A variety of documents and paperwork all piled messily on one side, while seemingly random bits and bobs all fit along the side. You pull out a bandana, some pencils with various city names engraved into the sides, keychains that say ‘#1 Teacher’, and a stack of sports trading cards in rough condition, tied together with a dried elastic band that’s one tap away from crumbling.

Setting them aside, you purse your lips as you find an inhaler. The liquid within, or what’s left of it, sloshes around inside as you tilt it to read the label. Sukuna, Ryomen. Salbutemol, two to four puffs per day. Huh.

“Do you have asthma?”

Sukuna pauses, raising a brow. “No, why?”

As an explanation, you hold the inhaler up over the stacks of boxes between you for him to see.

He clicks his tongue, returning to sorting through paperwork. “Nah, it was a misdiagnosis,” he mutters with a hint of frustration.

“Is that what they gave you that day I drove you to the hospital?” Uraume queries as they squint at the plastic puffer held between your fingers.

Sighing heavily, Sukuna nods. “Yeah.” His exasperation doesn’t waver as he explains, “it was supposed to help with my breathing. Didn’t do shit, though.” You run your thumb over the label, nodding as you set it aside with the rest of the trinkets from the box you’re tackling.

His breathing. Anxiety, you figure. Yeah, you can only guess that an inhaler wouldn’t do much for shortness of breath induced by stress.

All three of you return to silence as the sound of paper flipping fills the air. You pull out the top portion of the haphazard pile of documents before you, flipping through a stack of old resumes, cover letters, and job applications. Nothing really sticks out, so you flip through the bottom portion of the pile before dumping the rest back into the box, setting it all aside.

Dragging the next box labeled with your friend’s name towards yourself, you pop the lid of the box off. This one is more well-organized, and when you leaf through the documents, it’s primarily school documentation. Grades, report cards, attendance records, and odds and ends of projects.

It’s organized by grade, beginning with first and ending with seventh. Although you do your best not to snoop, it’s tough when you need to double-check documents for anything that could help Sukuna’s case.

Also, you’re nosy.

His grades are stellar from the first grade all the way to the seventh, though the last couple of files are a little bit thicker. Most of the extra weight from the file comes from permission slips for field trips, as well as notices of school events like sports rallies and school plays. Most of them don’t seem to have much to do with Sukuna as far as you can tell, but Jin must have kept them anyway. A couple of notices of unexcused absences signed by Sukuna’s father are also tucked within the last two files, though one with a different signature catches your eye.

Kaori Itadori. The first sign of her involvement in Sukuna’s life seems to be grade six, coincidentally lining up with the start of Sukuna’s unexcused absences. It could just be by chance, but you’d wager a guess that there’s a reason behind the change in Sukuna’s behavior. After all, he’d mentioned that he was eleven when Jin introduced her to him.

Still, this box is a bust, so you place the lid back on top of it and push it aside with the other completed boxes.

As you drag the next box over, Uraume holds something out to Sukuna. Hospital documents, it seems. “Is this from when Yuji got that ear infection?”

He squints at the page, adjusting his view to see it better. “Yeah, it was.”

“That was a nightmare,” Uraume comments, though there’s a certain fond timbre to their words.

“Don’t remind me,” Sukuna grunts.

As you peer curiously over at Uraume, who sets the paperwork aside, they direct their attention to you. “Yuji woke up in the middle of the night and woke Sukuna up complaining that his ear hurt,” they explain, “but by the time Sukuna and I got him to the urgent care clinic, he was in tears.”

“More like having a fuckin’ nuclear meltdown,” Sukuna comments, crumpling and tossing aside something from one of the boxes labelled with Choso’s name.

Uraume chuckles, shaking their head. “Yuji got treated almost immediately because he was causing such a disruption.”

“At least the brat never put slime in his ear again,” Sukuna sighs, shoving aside the box he was looking through.

You wince at the mere thought of what a mess that would have been.

“Because he learned his lesson, or because you never bought slime again for him?” Uraume raises a brow with a hint of a smile.

For a fleeting moment, you think even Sukuna smirks, but the moment is gone when you blink. “Never bought it again.”

“Figured,” Uraume chuckles, shaking their head.

You laugh along with them at the thought, able to picture the poor kid sniffling when Sukuna refuses to buy him any more slime. The poor kid’s clearly been a troublemaker since birth.

Your attention returns to the next box, which you’re expecting to be grades eight to twelve, but it’s a box packed full of old printed photos.

The top few are more recent, mostly made up of photos of little baby Yuji with barely a hair on his little head. You pout at the adorable sight, setting it aside as you quietly sift through photos. The top of the box is made up of baby photos of Yuji, and the deeper you go into the box is where childhood photos of Sukuna begin to pop up, along with many of Choso.

“Oh my god,” you gasp as you pull out a photo of Sukuna all dressed up for his father and Kaori’s wedding with a little scowl. “Look,” you gasp, holding it up for Uraume to see.

They grin at the sight, suppressing their laughter as best as they can. “I see you’ve always been grumpy.”

Unimpressed, Sukuna scowls at you. “Focus,” he grumbles, his expression matching the photo in your hand. Mischievously, you hold it up beside his face, your giggles slipping through as you’re unable to hold it in. Sukuna reaches out to swipe it from you, but you pull it back before he can.

Your smile remains in place as you continue to sift through photos. “Do you think any of these photos would be worth bringing up?” You query as you hold up a tall stack you’d set aside, primarily of Sukuna with his little brothers.

Scratching the stubble along his jaw, Sukuna reaches over the boxes between you to take a look at the stack. Halloween, Christmases, nothing that really screams ‘guardian’ as far as he can tell, aside from the few at the end.

Holding his baby brother’s hand as the infant got his vaccinations. Choso on Sukuna’s shoulders at some sort of outdoor fair show so that the little boy can see. Sukuna helping Choso cut some steak off the bone, followed up by Sukuna flashing the photographer a snarl to stop taking pictures. Sukuna hunched over the table, pointing to something in Choso’s homework. Furious Sukuna covered in whatever baby food Yuji had flung at him.

And lastly, the first time Sukuna held Yuji. He’d held Choso too when he was born, but he was an older teen when he held Yuji, and everything seems so much more daunting at that age. You can see that fear in Sukuna’s expression in the photo, too. Having another little brother to look after felt like a world of responsibility given that Kaori couldn’t seem to be bothered with her own motherly duties.

Even back then, Sukuna knew.

Jin had excused her behavior as a part of the experience of postpartum, but Sukuna wasn’t so sure. His father was blind to Kaori’s quiet mistreatment of her children. Hell, he was blind to her quiet mistreatment of himself.

And so, Yuji always felt like a new responsibility.

He just never expected his father to not be there to handle the brunt of it.

With a sharp inhale, Sukuna passes the stack of photos back. “No.”

Your brow knits together with concern at his obvious dismissal as he buries himself back into whatever he was looking through. You exchange a glance with Uraume, silently sharing their worries. Casting the thoughts aside, you plop the photos back in the box and shove it into the pile of completed boxes.

Surely, you think the next box will be grades eight to twelve, but the inside of the box takes you by surprise. You glance at the label on the outside of the box, but Sukuna’s name is crossed out, with nothing to replace it.

Shuffling through the box’s contents, you pull out a variety of old acrylic paints, little figures of dinosaurs and trees, glue sticks, paint brushes, and toybox sand in a little bag. Setting them all aside, you blink at what sits at the bottom of the box. It’s honestly… hard to decipher exactly what it is.

It’s mostly orange, and whatever it is seems to have somewhat imploded. It… might have been one of those old volcano science fair projects at one point? Jin must have kept it, you can’t envision Sukuna wanting to hold onto it.

Shifting the box towards him, you tilt your head. “Is this a volcano?”

Sukuna swallows hard at the sight. “Yeah. It was a project for our school’s Science Fair Day.”

“Oh! Choso’s?”

“Mine. It was a demo of how eruptions preserve life,” he explains blankly, his scowl deepening as he stares down at his lap.

That was the one box he’d intentionally known to skip the last couple of times he’d gone through files, but it slipped his mind this time around. Seeing that project all these years later doesn’t make the memory any less painful.

“Y’r volcano looks great!”

Sukuna grins at Toji. “Thanks! Dad helped me put it together and I painted it,” Sukuna states. He knows it’s just about the most generic project he could have put together, but it allowed him to show off his history knowledge thanks to his dad by talking about volcanic events throughout the years, and he’d get to show off his art, both of which he prefers over science.

Bonus points that it explodes, and what twelve-year-old doesn’t love that?

“Lucky. I did the lemon and potato battery thing, didn’t know what else to do,” the raven-haired boy shrugs. There’s a hint of jealousy in his eyes, but he moves along. “Is Jin comin’?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna help with the eruption,” Sukuna nods, turning to face the baking soda, water, dish soap and vinegar set up along his table in the corner of the school gymnasium.

Other students wander and look around at different projects around them as Toji shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, his emerald gaze focused on the ground. “I hope he looks at mine, too.”

Sukuna doesn’t really understand why Toji’s parents never show up, too young to grasp his friend’s situation, but he does like that his friend gets to spend a lot of time at his house because of it.

It’s only in the later years of their childhood that Sukuna would grow to realize just what it means to have an absent parental figure. Maybe even neglectful, if he’s more honest with himself.

“I’m sure he will,” Sukuna shrugs. He pulls his flip phone from his pocket to check the time. “He’s supposed to be here in ten minutes.”

“Sounds good. I’ll go back to my project!” Toji calls, racing off towards the middle of the gymnasium.

Watching as he practically barrels over a girl in Sukuna’s math class, the pink-haired boy shakes his head and surveys his project. He adjusts a dinosaur at the base of his volcano and shifts on his feet as he waits for his father to arrive.

Jin’s never late. So, five minutes past the time he said he’d be there, Sukuna pulls out his phone to check for calls or messages.

Nothing. It’s probably an accident.

Picking at his nails, Sukuna glances around the gym. The teachers are a couple of rows away from his project, so he still has time.

Once they’re only a row away, Sukuna finds himself searching the entrances every few seconds. He flips his phone open, but there’s still nothing. Pulling his baseball cap off, he pushes his hair back, settling the black cap back on his head.

The teachers only a few tables away when he pulls his phone out to call his dad.

One ring, two, three.

Five.

He gets the answering machine.

“Hey, Dad. Uh- I’m just waiting for you in the gym. Uh- bye.” He hangs up, staring down at the phone screen as though it’ll light up instantly and his dad will apologize and be running through the door, but that’s not the case. He tucks the phone back in his pocket, shifting from side to side.

As the teachers arrive at his table, he searches the entrances quickly. “Uh- my dad’s just late, can I go last?”

It’s not a problem, and they move on to complete the last few rows circling the outside of the gym. His dad has another thirty minutes or so, plenty of time.

As the minutes go by, the gym begins buzzing as it nears time for the teachers to judge the projects and announce a winner. The students get louder as they converse with friends around them, all while Sukuna silently watches the doors. With each second, he feels his shoulders falling. He wants to believe his father will show up, but…

He’s not sure what the feeling bubbling within him is, really. The emotion that rolls within his stomach and tightens his throat. The one that sends his mind reeling as he wonders if this has something to do with his dad’s girlfriend. He can’t say why his thoughts go there first, but maybe it has to do with that feeling he can’t describe, right?

Maybe he should call her.

He flips his phone open again, scrolling through his few contacts until he finds Kaori, calling her as well.

Voicemail.

He calls his dad.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Scowling down at his phone, his eyes are hot and he wipes any evidence of his disappointment away, turning towards his table.

This can’t be any different from that soda and mint experiment, right? So… the baking soda would be the mints, he supposes.

Sucking in a breath, he pours water into the base of his volcano with a bit of dish soap and food coloring, and finally the vinegar. He picks up the diorama to give it a little shake to mix it all, and stands straight as the teachers make their way to him.

One frowns, concerned when Sukuna is still alone, without his father, but Sukuna begins before they can ask any questions. He explains the process behind the preservation of the dinosaurs due to molten lava rock, the ways it solidifies around its victims and forms shells that allow humanity to cast an approximation of what something may have looked like. He points to a poster board standing behind his volcano with examples of such a thing, and goes over moments in history where it’s been recorded.

He doesn’t falter once.

The teachers can’t even tell that he’s wracked with nerves that his volcano won’t erupt as he dumps the baking soda into the volcano. It erupts without a flaw, leaving a trail of orange across the diorama and demonstrating his point by having bumps where the dinosaurs once were.

The teachers all clap, before heading off to discuss each project.

Sukuna’s hardened expression searches for his friend, threading through the sea of bodies when he finds Toji.

“Hey, where’s your dad?”

Sukuna casts a glance back at the entrance. He pulls out his phone in hopes of a missed call, but the screen is still blank. “Dunno.”

Toji’s head tilts, scratching at his neck. “Sorry, Ryo.”

“It’s fine,” he dismisses, although Toji can see through his friend’s thin-lipped neutrality.

For all his stupid antics and the dumb shit Toji pulls his friend into, Toji was forced into maturity at a young age, even if he doesn’t always come across that way. He recognizes the depths of Sukuna’s disappointment more than he’s willing to admit, so he launches into a discussion about how shitty his favorite basketball player has been this season to distract the pink-haired boy.

It works well enough as Sukuna stops obsessively checking his phone and tapping his foot. Although Toji and Sukuna don’t often talk about their home lives, they’re always there for one another. They’re too young to see all of the pieces of the puzzle when it comes to either of their families, but they do understand the quiet agreement to look out for one another.

Someday in the future, Toji would find himself wondering where exactly he went wrong.

Sukuna would find himself wracked with guilt.

But for now, Toji wraps an arm around his friend’s shoulders with a grin as Sukuna cracks a joke about Toji’s terrible taste in basketball teams.

It’s not long before the teachers return to the gymnasium to congratulate the winners. Third place goes to a girl in Sukuna’s math class who did a demonstration on aerodynamics with paper airplanes.

Second place goes to Sukuna, and though his chest swells with pride at the unexpected victory, something else festers within his chest.

He almost wonders if it’s a pity win. A volcano is nothing special, and to him, the history lesson he threw into it is just another day at the Sukuna household. He doesn’t realize the depths of his research and understanding of history, art, and even science.

He grins as Toji shoves his shoulder in congratulations, but even as he jogs to the front to accept the prize, the eyes of students around him feel…

Do they know, too? Do they feel bad, too? His skin itches with the strange crawling feeling those questions leave behind.

First place goes to a girl in Toji’s science class. She’s beyond smart, everyone knows she’ll go far, and her homemade lava lamp proves it.

When Sukuna’s finally allowed to slip away, he ducks through the dispersing crowd back to his table, where he pulls out an old banker’s box to dump everything into. He doesn’t bother to even wipe down the diorama, just tosses it inside along with all the materials and tucks the box and his display under his arm.

He pushes out of the gymnasium, beelining straight for the outdoors.

Rain downpours, hitting the cardboard lid of the box in his hands with a subtle plap! as droplets accelerate around him until it’s pouring. He blinks, his lips parting as he realizes there’s no car waiting to take him home, and the bus route is still a good twenty minute walk from his house.

“Hey, come back to mine.”

The pink-haired boy spins around to find Toji grinning. There’s no sign of pity in his eyes, to Sukuna’s relief.

He fumbles with his project box to pull his phone out one more time before nodding when he finds the screen blank. “Sure,” he relents, pulling the hood of his sweater over his ball cap to prevent it from getting completely drenched and soaking his hair.

It would be two hours later, just after dinner, when Jin would call Sukuna in a panic.

He’ll apologize- eyes red and cheeks puffy- to his child as he explains what happened. An emergency at work, something completely out of his hands. Sukuna still won’t really get it, but he’s old enough to recognize the signs of tears on his father’s face. He’s at that age where things begin to click, and just as they had clicked earlier than usual for Toji, things are beginning to make sense to Sukuna, as well.

He would learn later that there was no emergency at his father’s work, but rather that his girlfriend had chosen Sukuna’s science fair time to reveal something to Jin.

The pregnancy was an accident on both parts. An unexpected baby boy.

The timing to tell Jin, however, was no accident. It was an opportunity to erase Jin’s past, to pull all focus and attention to a chance at a new life and leave behind the old one, should Jin allow it. That’s the thing about Jin, however. He would never, not in a million years. And so despite Jin’s joy, they had fought. The first- and maybe even only- time, to Sukuna’s knowledge.

Unfortunately for the little boy drenched right down to his socks in rain with his head down as he walks away from the Zenin household that night, he isn’t aware of the depths of Kaori’s manipulation in his life. It’s because of her that it won’t be the last time Sukuna is disappointed by her, or even by his father at her beck and call.

“Sukuna?”

Uraume’s staring at him with a raised brow, their arm outstretched. He blinks, pulling a document from their hands.

“Would that help with anything?”

Flipping the file to face him, Sukuna frowns at the contents. Detailed medical records for Kaori, and thus far the only record of her existence aside from one signed absence record. After looking through his documents the first time earlier this year, he’d come to the conclusion that Kaori had scrubbed her files and taken them with her before she’d left, as though she might someday get accused of something by Sukuna.

As though she knew.

“Maybe,” he hums, looking the records over. They’re detailed records of a full exam before Yuji’s birth with not a single thing out of the ordinary that he could potentially use to disprove whatever medical records Sukuna is certain that Kaori forged. Still, they’re from a year prior to the supposed sickness, so can he even be sure that would work? “Dunno if it’s enough.”

You narrow your eyes briefly at him, having noticed just how zoned out he’d seemed for a good few minutes, but he seems fine now. Shaking it from your head, you pull the next box towards you.

The following banker’s box that you find is grades eight to twelve, as you had expected of both previous boxes. This one is packed as full as it can possibly get, nearly bursting at the seams. Grade eight is similar to seven, a couple of unexcused absences, a few unsubmitted projects that Sukuna was allowed to make up, but nothing that stands out and no evidence of Kaori.

Grade nine does stand out. Dozens of notices of unexcused absences, and for whatever reason all of the signatures shift to Kaori’s. His report cards all seem to be missing from this year, as well as most of the evidence of his grades at all. Tucked between a novel study and math worksheet is also a photocopy of an apology letter, handwritten by Sukuna, asking for forgiveness for stealing an answer key for an exam.

You can only guess the lack of evidence of what took place this year means this is the year that Kaori bailed him out, and consequently the year that changed Sukuna’s entire perception of her.

Following the ninth grade, he seemed to pull his grades together with nothing that really stands out or points to Kaori.

Grade twelve tells a story that has your heart sinking.

Excused absences start here. Each one is signed by Jin, but as they progress, the signatures get sloppier- weaker. There’s a document denoting Sukuna becoming a part-time student in order to take care of ‘familial obligations’, and his signature to sign off on dropping an art class in order to have two spare time slots in his schedule.

You cast a glance up at Sukuna, who yawns and rubs the corner of his eye as he squints at something Choso wrote when he was in second grade, the little boy’s writing nearly illegible. Shaking his head, he continues to sift through files with the same devoid expression on his face.

You can’t help but wonder if this really isn’t affecting him, to go back through his siblings’ files like this, or if he’s just bottling up whatever emotions arise from the documents.

Frowning, you turn your attention back to the box. The last thing tucked at the very end of the box is Sukuna’s graduation cap. You pull it out, unflattening it and untangling the golden tassels with a minute smile. It’s clear that Sukuna meant the world to Jin, keeping every last detail from each year.

Sukuna catches sight of his graduation cap out of the corner of his eye, averting his gaze before you can ask any questions about the day. Talking about the time Yuji shoved slime in his ear is one thing, but he can feel his ability to search through documents waning as the day stretches on.

He’d thought he had no tears left to shed and no anger left to yell, but it would seem that isn’t quite the case as each one of Choso’s little worksheets and duotangs with sweet drawings of him and his brothers claws the wounds open once again. It seems as though Sukuna can still bleed.

Sukuna had never really cared for graduation, he’d always reasoned that high school was just that- high school. Grades hardly mattered to anyone but Jin, attendance was a joke, and he’d been adamant that math was a waste of time when instead of understanding the equations properly, he memorized how to program formulas into his calculator and still got high marks.

But Jin cared.

And Sukuna’s not sure he’ll ever forget the proud look on Jin’s face, alone in the crowd, as Sukuna crossed the stage.

“Right here’s great, Ryomen.”

Sukuna leans down to Jin’s eye level, squinting up at the stage. “You can’t see anything from here, Dad.”

“I can figure it out, you go to your seat,” his father insists, but Sukuna just rolls his eyes. Taking a hold of the handles of his father’s wheelchair, he stands up straight and takes a look around, making the executive decision to find a better spot. The venue choice for the ceremony is just about the least wheelchair-accessible option that the school could have chosen, but Sukuna’s positive they just went with the cheapest choice.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, go to your seat,” Jin attempts to shoo his son away, insistent that he can find a spot, but Sukuna knows damn well from the tremble in his fingers and telltale wheezing that today isn’t a good day for his father’s health and he’s just pushing through. Some days are better than others for Jin, and while today isn’t a good one, Sukuna deems that he’ll make it one, if that’s what his father wants. If he wants to watch his son graduate, then he will.

Slowly wheeling his father down an aisle of chairs, he moves him off to the side, out of the way but with a narrow view between the seats that allows Jin to actually see the ceremony. “Better?”

Jin sighs and nods, grateful to his oldest son. He reaches up to adjust his glasses before affixing the camera in his lap to a stabilizer that Sukuna had saved up for to help with the tremor in his hands. His father always loved photos, and Sukuna wouldn’t let his frailty take that from him.

Jin’s beyond proud of the man his son has become. He once worried Sukuna wouldn’t make it through high school when his grades began plummeting as he and Toji often disappeared the moment they were dropped off at school. As soon as no one was looking, they were gone with the wind.

Jin never blamed Toji, though. They were just kids, out doing what kids do best. Having fun and getting in trouble.

“Got it working?” Sukuna asks, leaning down to check the camera’s screen himself.

“All set!” He smiles, his eyes gleaming from behind his glasses. “Go sit,” he shoos his son away.

Sukuna’s gaze evaluates his father’s wellbeing a moment longer, looking over the way his fingers tremble, his slightly labored breathing, and his pale complexion, paired with obvious weight loss. His illness is undeniable, but he looks happy right now, so Sukuna finally nods and takes his assigned seat between a couple of people he scarcely knows who just happen to share last names close to his in the alphabet.

The ceremony is painfully long and Sukuna pays little attention throughout the majority of it. He probably would have stayed home and had his diploma mailed if this wasn’t the single most important event for his father. All month, it was the only thing Sukuna had heard about.

Could be worse, he supposes. At least he isn’t sitting between four sterile white walls with the sickening smell of some sort of pungent cleaner. There’s no rhythmic beeping, no distant sounds of the chatter of nurses. Just a low buzz of excited students and parents. It’s almost comforting knowing that he’s here with his father, rather than where he could be.

Row by row, students rise and cross the stage until it’s Sukuna’s turn. With a quiet sigh, he steps across the stage under bright lights and shakes the principal’s hand, taking the diploma in his opposite hand as he turns to pose for a photo.

His eyes scan the crowd, settling on his father, who has the biggest grin Sukuna’s seen on his face in months. The pink-haired man’s lips quirk at the corner, his shoulders relaxing at the sight as his father’s contagious smile somehow crosses the whole crowd to Sukuna.

For all his complaining, that one sight might have even made this whole ceremony worth it.

Stepping down off the stage, Sukuna returns to his seat, waiting for the ceremony to end with the traditional cap toss.

Sending his cap flying through the air, the graduate slips out of his seat as the ceremony comes to a close. He makes his way to the back of the conference hall where his dad is still seated, eagerly awaiting his oldest son.

“I’m so proud of you, Ryomen,” Jin beams, tears in his eyes as his son returns to his side.

A puff of air leaves Sukuna’s nose, something between a laugh and embarrassment as the tips of his ears warm. “Thanks, Dad.” He rounds the wheelchair to grab its handles, waiting patiently for the room to clear.

“We should find your cap, I want to make one of those graduation frames with the photo and cap.”

“School’s cheap, they rented the caps and gowns. We don��t get to keep ‘em,” Sukuna explains stoically.

Jin contemplates this for a moment as he places his camera within the bag he’d brought along. He pulls his phone out, fiddling with it as he speaks up again. “You know, they probably won’t notice if one is missing.”

Sukuna’s brow raises, a faint smirk on his lips. “You wanna steal something?”

Jin chuckles, a faint cough rocking his frame that causes Sukuna’s smirk to falter. “Let your old man have this.”

With a quiet sigh, Sukuna stares out at the hats littering the area in front of him. “How am I even supposed to tell which one’s mine?” He mutters, staring across the expanse of unmarked hats.

“My son’s got a big head. You’ll know,” Jin teases in such a way that it’s easy to forget anything is wrong in the first place.

Sukuna snorts. “Thanks, Dad.”

Wheeling his father to the edge of the seats where most of the caps litter the floor, he attempts to look for the biggest hat, but they’re all the same size. Jin knows it, too.

As Sukuna steps over the caps, he moves towards his seat, looking in the general direction that he thinks he tossed it. There’s literally no way of knowing, so he picks up a cap and holds it up for his father’s evaluation.

“Too small,” he calls from the edge of the caps.

Sukuna shoots him a look, but there’s amusement swimming in his eyes. With a little huff, he carelessly tosses the cap back into the pile, sifting through the remainder. After a moment, he picks up another one, flipping it only to see the tassels are somewhat mangled. He makes the executive decision to not even show his father that one, instead finding one that seems to have avoided being stepped on while the students all made their way out. He holds it up, satisfied when his father grins.

“That’s the one.”

“Great,” Sukuna chuckles, setting the cap on his dad’s lap as he steps over the remainder of them. Jin tucks it into his bag, his expression morphing to a more pained one as he pulls up his texts afterwards.

It’s not often that the pink-haired young man snoops, especially on his father, but one look at the contact has him immediately reading over his father’s shoulder. It’s not easy with the tremor in JIn’s hands causing the screen to shake, but that won’t stop Sukuna.

From what Sukuna can tell, Jin and Kaori seem to be in an argument about the graduation ceremony. Jin had told Sukuna that Kaori wouldn’t be able to make it due to her work schedule overseas (which is for the better, if you ask the brutish man), but his heart sinks as he sees the truth of what they’re fighting over.

It was never work at all. Kaori just didn’t want to miss an outing with her friends and colleagues.

It’s not like Sukuna cares, but Jin does. In the eight or so months since she left, she hasn’t once returned. Not for birthdays or anniversaries, not for Christmas, and least of all for graduations.

Yuji isn’t even a year old.

As he reads over Jin’s shoulder, he wonders if the lie about her being unable to make it due to work was something she said to Jin in an effort to cover up the fact that she doesn’t give a flying fuck, or if Jin always knew all along and came up with the lie himself to protect Sukuna. It’s not like he needs the protection, but his father’s always been a kind soul like that.

With a final ‘talk later’ text, Jin sets his phone inside his bag and glances up at Sukuna, who coolly wheels him out to the parking lot, where he proceeds to help him into the small family car.

“How does lunch sound, kiddo?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sukuna mutters as he lifts his father into the passenger seat before rounding to the driver’s side. “And that’s alright. I know we’re short on cash, we can skip the-”

Jin frowns. “You don’t need to worry about that. As soon as my surgery date’s here, I’ll be back to it in no time and your step-mother can help until then.”

From the driver’s seat, Sukuna’s grip on the gear shift tightens. He knows damn well that Kaori has sent the bare minimum as far as money goes, just enough to pretend she cares. Being as kind-hearted as ever, Jin always sees the best in people and of course he believes her.

“Sure, Dad. Where do you wanna go for lunch?”

Sukuna swallows hard, grateful that when he glances back up at you, that the godforsaken cap is out of sight.

He stares down at the slight tremble in his own fingers, as though his own body is mocking him. His jaw clenches at the mere thought as he shoves aside the box he’d almost finished, deeming whatever sits at the bottom to be a waste of his time as he carelessly shoves more documents into the box.

He pulls the next box from the stack with a hardened expression as nothing continues to jump out at him, given that he’s already seen all of this shit.

Time passes in relative silence until Uraume needs to excuse themself to head to their evening plans. Sukuna follows them to the door to chat, though you hear their quiet exchange as Sukuna claims he doesn’t need them to check on him. Still, his friend insists they don’t mind and want to spend time with him.

You honestly expect him to put up a fight to defend his pride, but whether he’s too dejected or too tired, he doesn’t bother, back to sorting boxes before you know it.

Finishing up with the last box with Sukuna’s name on it, you take a look around. “Which one should I take next?” You ask, unsure what’s already been checked.

With a long inhale, Sukuna scans the remaining boxes. “Uh- just take this one,” he nudges a box near his foot. “It’s another one of Choso’s shit.”

You pull it towards yourself, popping the lid off. You pull out a stack of drawings from the top, unable to hold back a bittersweet smile at the drawings made by a very young Choso of what you can only assume is himself, Sukuna, Jin, and Kaori doing a number of fun activities. As you flip through them, your smile falters when Yuji appears, but Kaori disappears from the art altogether.

Sukuna’s expression in the art changes, too. From a neutral one to a frown.

There are no more drawings following one of the four of them around a Christmas tree. You’re grateful, honestly, because you’re not sure you could stomach seeing the way the drawings would shift after Jin disappears, too. Would Choso’s smile turn into a frown?

You don’t want to know.

You set the drawings atop the last box you sorted, alongside a hospital bracelet with any information completely smudged from its surface.

Sukuna glances up as you set a stack aside, the bracelet catching his attention. He blinks, rubbing his eyes. Why had he agreed to look through everything again? He already knew you would all come up short. A few medical records with Kaori’s name on them won’t do much to help his case. What’s he supposed to say? ‘Well, Your Honor, she was fine a year ago’?

Things change in a year. Hell, they can change in an instant. Sukuna knows that all-too-well.

The door shuts behind him as Sukuna turns to hang his keys off of the hook on the wall. Choso’s at a friend’s house, though his father should be around somewhere with Yuji. Sukuna skips every second step on his way up the stairs, heading past the chairlift they’d had installed to allow Jin to remain independent. He peers into his dad’s room, before finding him in Yuji’s nursery.

The kid had almost outgrown it at this point, but his father insisted on waiting until the last moment to swap everything out.

Jin’s not slick with his lies either, unable to hide anything from his keen eldest son. Sukuna knows the real reason is that they aren’t just short on cash, they’re completely and utterly broke. Jin’s relying on the medical leave payments from his work to cover their living expenses, and whatever pitiful amount of money Kaori claims she can spare. It’s not enough to care for the four of them, but he won’t allow Sukuna to drop out of college in order to get a job.

It’s his one and only request from his tattooed son.

Jin doesn’t ask Sukuna to drive him to appointments, or to help him around the house. In fact, if anything, he insists that Sukuna doesn’t help. He continues to take care of Yuji on his own, doing what he can to eliminate work for his oldest, but it doesn’t stop Sukuna from stepping in.

On shaky legs, Jin leans heavily on Yuji’s crib, pulling the child into his arms. It pains Sukuna to watch his father play a balancing game, all the while the baby in his arms is crying.

“I got him,” Sukuna mutters, pulling Yuji from his father’s grip.

“It’s fine, Ryomen, I-” Jin cuts himself off with a sigh, shaking his head as he takes a seat back in his wheelchair.

“Lemme take you guys down to the kitchen.”

Although Jin struggles with his loss of strength and therefore his loss of mobility and overall independence, the kind man struggles the most seeing Sukuna handle so much of the responsibility. He never allows his son to change a diaper or cook, he handles the bulk of the responsibility of having children, but for all of his denial, he’s grateful that his oldest has grown into a smart and capable young man.

It’s easy to see where Sukuna got his prideful independence from when you consider the way he misread his father’s intentions at the time. The young man always assumed that Jin tried to refuse Sukuna’s help out of pride, but that was never the case. From the moment Jin began to need an extra hand, he tried to spare his son of the responsibility not out of pride, but out of love. He always wanted his son to have the opportunity to enjoy the freedom of being a young adult in college.

Still, Sukuna just brings Yuji downstairs without a word, setting him down in a high chair and coming up next for his father.

The process is easy enough when you’re built like Sukuna is. He wheels his father to the stairs and doesn’t bother with the chair lift, opting to carry his dad down to the awaiting second wheelchair to transfer into. From there, he leaves his dad to do his thing, ducking away to his room without another word.

Shutting the door, he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, falling face-first onto his bed.

It’s been a long day. College is a different experience from high school and he needs to put in a lot more effort to apply himself properly and he’s not looking forward to studying for his exam tomorrow. Why did he take geology anyway? There had to be easier credits elsewhere.

Pushing himself back up after taking a breather, he unloads the contents of his backpack onto his desk and settles down with his laptop.

With headphones on over his ears, he stares blankly at his geology textbook as he considers the life choices that led him to learn about sedimentary rocks. He thinks a part of him had expected more of a focus on mountains, or fossils, or… something. Either way, he doesn’t think he likes rocks enough for this.

His brow furrows as he swears he hears something loud and piercing over the sound of his music, which is loud enough as it stands. Pulling his headphones down, he hears Yuji crying, but shrugs it off under the assumption that Jin will handle it.

As a minute goes by and he hears more wails, he pulls his headphones down once more. He hears no movements, no shushing. What the hell?

Huffing, he tosses his headphones down on his desk and makes his way back down the stairs to the kitchen. He stops dead in his tracks when he reaches the edge of the tile, blood running cold at the sight of his father on the floor, slumped against the kitchen cabinets. He’s still conscious, clutching his chest, but has no energy to even attempt to soothe Yuji’s cries. His mouth is parted as he focuses on breathing.

“Shit,” Sukuna reaches into his pocket urgently, pulling his phone out and dialing the emergency number. He sets it on the floor on speaker as his wide eyes take in his father’s shallow breaths. His skin is pale with a sickening blue hue, and as Sukuna attempts to adjust him, he groans. “Shit,” Sukuna mutters again as the phone clicks to connect him to an emergency operator.

He runs on autopilot as the emergency operator begins questioning him. The nature of the emergency, his address, his father’s medical history. It comes naturally to him now, but it didn’t always. No matter how many times he’s gone through this cycle, however, it doesn’t get any less terrifying. Even now, the fourth time in five months that he’s called the emergency number, his hands tremble as he attempts to keep his father present and awake while replying to the operator on the other line, all while doing what he can to shush his little brother so that they can hear Sukuna on the phone.

When the ambulance arrives, Sukuna races to the door to let them in, pulling his hungry little brother into his arms as he surveys what his father was doing before he collapsed. There’s some sort of food in the blender, maybe he can just feed that to Yuji and take the kid with him to the hospital.

It’ll have to do.

He races to strap Yuji into his car seat, taking the family car and following closely behind the ambulance. The little boy’s wails only intensify as he grows hungrier, unaware of the goings on around him.

“I know Yu, fuck, gimme a moment, okay?”

Sukuna’s words don’t appease the little boy, who continues to sob. Reaching the hospital parking lot, the brutish man sighs as he parks, the screams of his little brother pounding in his head already. He turns in his seat, grabbing the baby food- or whatever it is- and spoon that he’d shoved into a little bag on his way to the car.

“C’mon, it’s alright,” he grumbles in his best attempt at soothing the toddler when he leans over the center console of the car to attempt to spoon some food into Yuji’s mouth.

Yuji throws his hands around, knocking the spoon from Sukuna’s hand. The man pulls back, raking his hand aggressively through his hair in frustration.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles to himself, picking it back up and wiping it on his shirt. He can clean it later, it doesn’t matter right now. With a sharp inhale, he scoops up another spoonful of what he can only guess is carrots and pauses before Yuji’s arms can reach out again. “Don’t be a brat,” he mutters, holding it barely out of arms’ reach.

Yuji calms down for a split second, just enough time for Sukuna to propel the spoon through the air towards him. Just before it can reach his mouth, the toddler wails and turns his head, sending the spoon to the floor again.

Sighing heavily, Sukuna twists back into the driver’s seat, head in his hands as he levels himself so as not to take out his frustrations on his baby brother. He isn’t even one year old, Sukuna can’t be upset with him for acting his age. He knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with his current reality.

Sukuna’s head pounds with each sob that tears from the boy’s lips, and after a shaky breath, Sukuna flips again in his seat, composing himself with a frown as he picks the plastic spoon back up, wiping it on his shirt once more with a slight curl of his lip, and tries again. He recalls what his dad likes to do to get Yuji’s attention, raising the tone of his voice as best as he can to mimic his father’s gentle tone.

“Look, Yu,” he holds the spoon out, waiting for the baby to react. Yuji’s cries die down as he curiously stares at his oldest brother, kicking his feet. Sukuna takes the miraculous opportunity to spoon food into the little boy’s mouth, relieved as he eats in spite of his face being drenched in his own tears.

Breathing out a sigh, Sukuna feeds the kid until he begins to rub his eyes and refuse any more, yawning as his eyelids grow heavy. Able to easily get him into a blanket in his arms, Sukuna scoops him out of his seat and finally is able to make it inside, where he’s informed to sit in the waiting area.

He’s been here a handful of times for the same reason once or twice, though he’s sat in this waiting room for other issues more times than he can count. He knows the harsh overhead lights serve a purpose, but he despises the sterile glow they provide. He’d rather sit in the dark if it means he doesn’t need to see the equally terrified and sickly faces plastered across the waiting room around him.

A man with a towel held tightly over his hand, a woman with two crying children hugged tightly to her although she’s barely holding it together herself, a kid around Sukuna’s age, maybe just barely eighteen, asleep under his coat by himself. Different people, all in different stages of their lives, all here with the same shared experience under harsh lighting.

At least the walls are a pale blue, rather than white or eggshell. He wants to think it’s the hospital designer’s way of acknowledging what’s really going on here, like the blue is meant to let everyone down easy. It’s less harsh, more solemn.

He can only pray he isn’t about to be let down as a familiar face makes their way out of the double doors at the front of the room. The attending physician who’s been here the last couple of times this has happened spots Sukuna and makes his way over.

“Hey,” Sukuna greets him, rising from the chair carefully in an effort not to wake Yuji, who’s finally resting quietly in the blanket Sukuna had wrapped him in.

“Hi, Ryomen. Your father’s stable,” the man explains, looking over the records on the clipboard in his hands.

“Thank god,” Sukuna sighs, letting out a breath.

“We do need to discuss something important, though,” the doctor adds, his gaze settling on the page before him.

Sukuna’s chest tightens as he prepares himself.

“Your father’s not responding to his medication anymore. With that being the case, we need to look at surgery now. The original procedure is off the table, we’re looking potentially at a transplant.”

Sukuna’s jaw slacks in disbelief, his back straightening as unease slithers up his spine. His lungs feel as though they’re physically shaking within his chest, squeezing the air straight from him.

“We’ll need to find an urgent donor, so we’ll keep monitoring him here until then, but you need to make the call now whether to proceed, in case he doesn’t wake up before then.”

Sukuna’s eyes shift wildly around the room, searching for something to anchor the way his skin crawls and his heart races. He adjusts his hold on Yuji, hugging the little boy tightly to his chest, though he’s careful not to disturb the baby. “Uh-” his voice breaks before he can begin. He clears his throat, starting again. “I thought the meds were working?”

“They were,” the man affirms. “The human body can change in an instant,” he explains with a shake of his head, offering a thin-lipped smile in understanding. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about it.”

Sukuna lets out a shaky breath, staring down at Yuji. “Right.”

The little boy deserves to know his father, and if this is their only change at that, then-

“Do it.”

The physician evaluates Sukuna’s expression as he nods. “I’m glad you’re open to it, though I’d like to go over the risks with you first, transplants aren’t easy on patients or surgeons. In the meantime, you’re welcome to visit him. I’ll meet you in there to discuss potential complications.”

“Thanks,” Sukuna mutters.

“Room three-one-four.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Sukuna passes through the double doors. He hates that he knows his way around like second nature. His dad shouldn’t be going through this to begin with, he’s too young for this shit.

Sukuna, Choso, Yuji, they all are. They’re all too young to sit by their own dad in this state.

He stands at the door to the room, feeling it hit his back and knock him past the frame before he approaches his father. Using his foot, he drags a chair closer to the hospital bed, eyes scanning the man’s pale features, unconscious on the bed. Sukuna keeps Yuji clutched tightly to his chest as he lets out a shaky breath.

Risks, huh?

He knows what that means. He supposes he should see if Choso can get dropped off at the hospital. He should be here.

Just in case.

Sukuna blinks a number of times, moving a hand up to rub his eyes and accidentally sending the paperwork on his lap across the floor. He frowns, reaching down to gather the papers and dump them back into the box he’d pulled them from.

He glances up at you as you sift through a box of mostly Choso’s baby possessions. His first onesie, his first plush, a blanket knitted by one of Kaori’s parents, a baby tooth that you visibly grimace at as it clicks what’s in the little bag you’re holding.

The next sealed bag you grasp is filled with powder that faintly glimmers with pink sparkles. “What’s this?” You query as you notice Sukuna openly staring at the bag as well.

“Tooth Fairy dust.”

Your brow raises as you hold it up to get a better look at it. “Salt and sparkles?”

“Probably,” Sukuna shrugs. “Cho stopped believing pretty quick,” he adds, choosing to omit the fact that it’s because he forgot to replace a tooth with cash.

You frown, tossing it- along with the other contents of the box- back inside and pushing it into the pile of finished boxes. Dusting your hands off with a couple of claps, you peer around, eyes landing on the last box that you think is unfinished. “Can I take that one?”

Sukuna nods, uncaring one way or the other. He just wants to be done with this, at this point. He thought since he’d already been through these files twice that he could steel himself and make it through it, but it hasn’t proven to be that easy. He’d been so sure he’d spilled enough oh his own blood that there was nothing left to bleed, a husk of his former self, but every reopened wound pulls out more from him than he ever thought possible.

You hear him sigh as the silence returns while you both read through your boxes.

The last box is labeled with the youngest Itadori’s name, though when you open it, there’s no drawings, or plushies to be found. It’s filled with paperwork from back to front and side to side. Nothing jumps out at you immediately, so you pull out the stack stuck to the leftmost side and begin sorting through it.

It’s almost all hospital records and paperwork, the whole pile. You quickly flip through what else is in the box, your brow drawn together in confusion. Had Yuji spent a long time in the hospital as a baby? Settling down to get a better look at the documents, you flip the first one open. It seems to be a document printed off the internet with general information on a disease you aren’t familiar with.

Homozygous Familial Hypocholesterolemia. HoFH, for short. Inherited genetically from both parents, and a very rare form of the disease that affects patients from a young age. It influences how the body processes cholesterol and puts those affected at a high risk of heart disease at a young age.

You skim the remainder of the document, lips pursed in confusion as you flip to the next page. Does Yuji have HoFH? You know the document details that it affects kids at a young age, but you would think it would have come up by now.

The next document seems to be the second or third page from some sort of hospital discharge planner with a detailed recovery plan listing a number of prescribed drugs and when to take them in order to prevent heart failure, along with an extremely detailed health and diet plan in order to help the body accept a heart transplant.

Your chest tightens and you check the name on the outside of the box again. It does say Yuji’s name, but you get the feeling these files have nothing to do with him.

Frowning, you quickly flip through paperwork until you find exactly what you’re looking for.

Jin Itadori. HoFH. Heart Disease. Acute Heart Failure. Acute Cellular Rejection.

Your fingers pause on the page as the weight of the loss buried within the box settles in and you frown, sparing a glance up at Sukuna. You delicately and neatly put the paperwork back into a pile, setting it atop the box, and slide it across to him.

“I don’t think I should look through this one,” you tell him softly, your voice low with sympathy.

Attempting to rub the pounding in his head away, Sukuna presses circles into his forehead with the pad of his thumb before looking up at you with a pained sigh. It’s clear that he wants nothing more than for this to be over and it’s getting increasingly difficult to flip through the pages without losing himself in one memory after another, each one tearing away the scabs of old scars.

Dragging his hand down his face, he pulls the box towards himself in exasperation, his eyes skimming the paper you’d placed in a pile atop the box. This is the only box he deems not to check each time, because he knows the contents like the back of his hand. It’s one of the few he’d packed rather than Uraume, over the course of the year that his father had grown ill. The front is shoved full of dumbass brochures on how to handle Heart Disease and transplants, and one of the last things at the very back of the box, poking its corner out, is the obituary he’d been forced to write.

Sukuna’s fingers tapped along the top of the page, his eyes drawn to the photo he’d chosen for the column. Is that what you call an obituary? A column? Makes it sound like some sort of drama piece. He supposes that maybe that’s fitting, given the drama his life had become.

From appointments to unanswered phone calls to lawyers and social workers, followed by funeral arrangements, the most daunting task isn’t even the obituary that he’s struggling with. It’s the baby sound asleep in his little cradle… thing. That, and the kid clinging to his writing arm, watching as Sukuna struggles to figure out how to write an obituary.

Choso’s sitting on his knees in a chair he’s pulled up next to his older brother. Each time he shuffles, he tugs Sukuna’s hoodie, choking him and grating further and further on his nerves.

“Cut it out!” He hisses finally, shooting his little brother a sharp glare.

The little boy looks up at him, his expression entirely unreadable. Sukuna had expected him to be upset at the very least, but he’s just… nothing.

That’s been the case since Jin died.

Pure, unwavering silence.

Sukuna hears the older of his two brothers crying alone at night sometimes, but he doesn’t have it in him to face the kid. He blames himself for a portion of it as it stands, and that only weighs heavier on his conscience. It’s not like lashing out is helping, but his anger towards the world clouds his judgement.

It shouldn’t have happened like this. Sukuna followed every guideline to a T, and made sure his father did too.

So why the hell did his body reject the transplant? It had to be some sort of cruel joke that Sukuna swears he should wake up from any moment now, because this is too much. It’s all too much.

He wrenches his arm out of his little brother’s grip, leaning back in his seat and pushing his hand through his hair. His chest is painfully tight as he captures another glance at his father’s photo. Maybe it’s just the angle, but it feels as though he’s judging Sukuna’s behavior. He’d be disappointed, if he could see what had become of his family, and what had become of Sukuna.

Before Jin had passed, Sukuna had long grown out of his anger towards the world. Jin had labeled it as a ‘rebellious phase’, although Sukuna knows the cause of that ‘phase’ was Kaori. The anger he feels now, it’s not like back then. Sure, he’s always been on the quieter side and not an overly enthusiastic or emotive person, but he wouldn’t have called himself an angry guy. Now, he thinks the label might make sense.

Jin had been so proud of him, even just a couple of months ago when he’d awoken from his heart surgery.

He’d thanked Sukuna for being there for him, and for taking care of the kids. Then, without so much as a break to rest, he’d immediately taken over in caring for them all, again. After the first few weeks, he’d even been able to take some steps on his own. There’d been so much progress, and the whole family’s spirits lifted.

Then, out of nowhere, acute cellular rejection. He’d gotten a fever, and that was it. Sukuna had let Choso say his goodbyes before sending him out of the room. The two Itadori brothers had sat alone on the other side of the wall with the seven-year-old watching his baby brother, while Sukuna held his father’s hand as the light behind his eyes faded.

He turns his gaze back towards Choso, examining the way the little boy quietly sits and stares at the page in front of Sukuna, blank aside from a few scribbled out phrases.

The oldest clenches his jaw.

Choso’s mother should be here. Kaori should fucking be here now. How many more missed calls before Sukuna needs to accept the reality that he’s a guardian to two kids while trying to make his way through college?

It’s not a life he wants, nor one he ever prepared for, and he’ll hold it against his step-mother until the day he croaks. Not just for himself, but for Jin. For his brothers.

With anger festering in his chest, he doesn’t realize how hard he’s pressing the pencil he’d picked back up at some point into the paper until the lead snaps from the pressure. The sound brings him back and he stares at the blank page.

He should just try this again later. Maybe it’ll be easier when Choso’s asleep.

He drops the pencil with a heavy sigh, pushing away from the kitchen table with the heavy scrape of a chair. The sun is setting anyway, he should just make dinner.

He turns to his brother, one hand on the open freezer door. “Chicken fingers?”

No reaction.

“Uh-” he swaps to the pantry. “Veggie soup?”

Nothing.

He rubs the bridge of his nose, staring at what’s left of the food from their last shopping trip. “Do you just want cereal, or somethin’?” He shrugs, turning back to the little boy.

No reply, but there’s a shift in his expression.

“Fine,” Sukuna relents, too tired to worry about the fact that his little brother is having cereal for the third dinner in a row.

The little boy slides off the chair, making his way over to Sukuna to be handed a box of Froot Loops and a bowl. His older brother helps to pour the milk before turning on the oven to throw in some spicy chicken pockets for himself. He supposes he can’t judge his little brother when he’s been living off of these for the better part of a week.

He leans back against the counter, watching his little brother silently stare at the multi-colored cheerios in his bowl as they soak up milk.

They’re both shadows of what they once were. Him, and Choso. He knows it’s not fair of him to pull away from the boy, but he’s never been great at managing his emotions, now it’s simply amplified by the situation they’re caught in.

How is he ever meant to take a step in Jin’s shoes when his own barely seemed to fit?

He’s failing his brothers, and he’s failing his father. Hell, he can’t even write an obituary. He’s never been good with words and nothing seems to do his father justice.

His thoughts gnaw at him, even as the oven beeps to let him know it’s preheated, he doesn’t move a muscle, not until Choso has dumped his bowl into the sink and quietly slunk off to his room. It’s then that Sukuna feels everything pressing in on him.

“What am I supposed to do?” He mutters to himself, his eyes hot and watery, as though somewhere his dad might hear him and give him a sign. But this isn’t some sort of fairy tale and he’s hit with the harsh reality that he doesn’t get a happy ending like that.

Sukuna shakes his head as you call his name, bringing him out of his thoughts like a damn life preserver saving him from drowning.

He’s sick of it. Sick and fucking tired of reliving all of these moments, of being forced to recall the way his father deteriorated. Most of all though, he feels shame. Shame, and rage towards himself for how he’d handled everything. His brother only ever seeked comfort from him and what the hell did he do? Shove him off.

For fuck’s sake, he was seven. He didn’t know any better. Probably didn’t even understand what was going on, and Sukuna pushed him away. The guilt eats away at him still, and he wants so badly to go back in time and fix things. The struggle to take care of two kids is one thing, but fuck, he wishes he could go back, erase some of the things he said.

He never meant a word of it. He never meant half of his actions. He was just a kid too, angry at the world with no way to express it.

Yet somehow, they still chose him, didn’t they? Both Yuji and Choso clung to him like their life depended on it, like he’d somehow made their lives better and now more than ever he struggles to see how he could have ever earned that trust, that love from them. Somewhere along the line, they became his world. His family. His anchors.

He wishes he could grab his younger self by the collar and shake some sense into him in order to get him to step up and be the brother those two kids deserve.

He supposes that’s why they’re not with him now, though. He’s never been what they deserve. And as he sees the contents of the final box which have no information regarding Kaori, with very little to work with as new evidence, he thinks that maybe this is just the way things should be.

His jaw tightens, and he scowls as he quickly picks the pile up, opting to shove it forcefully back where it had come from, only for it to get caught on something.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, attempting to shove them in with more force.

Sensing his distress, you shuffle forward on the floor until you’re in front of the box, one hand over his as you gently take the stack from his hands, pulling it back out to adjust it and see what was preventing it from being replaced.

At the bottom of the box is a paper folded neatly into three like a letter ready to be slid into an envelope. You pull it out, setting it aside on one of the boxes you’ve already searched as you neatly tuck the stack of paper back into place.

Catching a glimpse of handwriting on the paper you’ve set aside as the tri-folded paper pops open, Sukuna’s scowl remains in place as he reaches forward to grab it. He slides his thumb along the side of the page, letting the contents of the paper breathe for the first time in four years, unbeknownst to him.

The paper itself is torn from a staff hospital notebook with the facility logo in the corner. It’s lined, with shaky and smudged blue ink spanning the top three quarters of the page. The writing is somewhere between the bubbly and easy-to-read print of a teacher and cursive, though the shakiness of the writer’s hand means it’s no longer as easy to read as it clearly once was.

His eyes scale the length of the page without reading a word for longer than he’d care to admit as he takes in the state of his father’s writing. It’s not hard to deduce when this was written without even reading a word, and that pains him so much that he finds his own hands trembling, afraid to read the text written out before him. He’s not certain that he’s ready to face whatever Jin likely wanted his last words to his eldest son to be.

When he collapsed a month after his operation, when his body rejected his heart, there had been a moment in the hospital that burned itself into Sukuna’s mind. With Yuji in Sukuna’s arms and Choso curled into Jin’s side on the bed, the eldest son had exchanged a look with his father, one that said what they were both thinking.

Jin’s time had become limited. The dour exchange made Sukuna want to get down on his knees and beg for another chance, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Jin looked tired. More tired than Sukuna feels now, and he thinks it was that weariness that told them both that it was time.

Shuffling his hands over the paper, he snaps himself out of his trance. He holds the page taut as his eyes finally settle at the top when he finds some courage.

Ryomen.

I hope by now that you know this, otherwise maybe I haven’t done my job well enough (haha!) but I’m so proud of you. I know how tough the last year has been, but I’m so grateful I got to see you graduate and be there for your first day at college. Thanks for looking after your old man, too. Obviously I made it look easy, but taking care of the three of you is no joke.

Sukuna stiffens, his jaw clenching as he feels pressure build within his chest. A lump forms at the back of his throat as his lip minutely trembles.

You’re a good kid, and I know you’ll nail whatever you put your mind to. If I’m being honest, I was surprised you chose the same major as me, even if I’m proud to see you follow in my footsteps. I think I always expected you to go into art. Maybe I didn’t do a very good job of telling you that I’ll support you no matter what you chose, I just want you to be happy. Or maybe you like history more than I realized! I did make it pretty fun to learn, hey? Maybe I’m a better professor than I thought, haha!

Sukuna’s eyes burn and he blinks, rubbing them with a thumb and forefinger. He stares for a moment down at his hand, wet with warm tears that he can’t feel running down his cheeks, his face otherwise numb from the tension of his grinding teeth.

I wish I could continue to watch the three of you grow. You’re so good with your brothers, it’s always made me happy to see Choso follow you and Toji around. I know I’m supposed to scold you for spray painting around him, but I was just happy to see you including him. Someday, maybe that’ll be Yuji that Choso is including with his friends. Keep an eye on them for me, yeah?

I know you and your step-mom had your fair share of issues, but she told me she’d look out for you. She’s coming back, and she said she’ll make sure there’s space for all three of you until

Sukuna blinks. He flips the page, but the text simply… ends. He inhales shakily as he scans the front of the paper again as though he somehow missed the rest of the letter, but there’s nothing more. Sure, he was nearly at the bottom, but he couldn’t have meant to end it there, right?

You sit with your hands in your lap as you quietly watch Sukuna read the folded paper you’d set aside. You watch as he flips it once, twice, his jaw set with tension and eyes reddened with the streaks of the tears that have run down his cheeks as he searches for something. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he sets the paper aside and drops down to his knees on the floor across from you, beginning to pull documents out of the box, scrutinizing each one.

Your lips purse as his movements grow increasingly urgent, no longer setting the paperwork aside but rather tossing it. Sitting up on your knees, you shuffle towards him, frowning as you gather the paperwork back together into a pile where he’s tossed it aside.

“Is everything okay?” You ask softly, but he’s so caught up in whatever it is that he’s searching for that your words barely register in his mind.

Hospital discharge papers, prescription information, insurance claims, legal documents, that damn obituary that he’s still ashamed of.

It didn’t matter how many times he rewrote it, Sukuna had always been bad with words. There was nothing overtly personal about it, about as generic as an obituary gets, and fuck Jin deserved better than that. His hand trembles as he stares at the paper, unaware of his own strangled gasps as his grip tightens and the paper crinkles.

Attempting to prevent what feels inevitable, you sit up on your knees and attempt to take his hand and grab his attention. Before you can, the obituary slips from between his fingers and he continues digging through the box. His movements grow erratic, tossing paper anywhere in the hopes of finding something that answers the question of what remained to be said.

“Sukuna, stop,” you softly attempt to urge him as you reach for his hands, but he pulls away, intentionally dodging you. His breathing, the tears, his movements, it all grows increasingly manic by the minute, so you try again to reach out. This time, you’re faster. Your hands grip his wrists, gentle but firm as you momentarily halt his movements. “Stop,” you whisper.

“It has to be here, I-” he pauses, but you can tell even he isn’t really sure what he’s saying. “There has to be more.” With that, he pulls himself from your grasp and tosses the remaining neatly stacked paperwork from the box, searching whatever has fallen to the bottom as though there might be another tri-folded paper hidden as well as the first one was.

He sifts through long-dried sticky notes and half-crumpled hospital documentation, continuing to mutter to himself that there has to be more as he ignores every attempt you make to slow his movements and bring him back down to earth. When nothing seems to work and you find your own anxiety bubbling up into your throat at the sight of your friend- hell, the man you love- so broken, you do the only thing you can think of.

“Sukuna, please,” you beg, your voice barely above a whisper as your hands settle on his cheeks. They’re warm with his tears in contrast to your cold fingers, and you feel him stiffen under your touch, his movements coming to a halt. His chest rises and falls heavily as his fingers slow and the sticky note he was holding falls from the tips of his fingers. “Please,” you repeat quietly.

With labored breaths, his gaze rises to meet yours, flickering between your eyes as he searches for answers that he won’t find. Not with you, and not within the box. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, it’s then that he breaks. He grits his teeth harder, if that’s even possible, leaning on the edges of the box. He grips the cardboard so hard that one edge nearly collapses under the force of his hand as finally the tears in his eyes fall freely.

He’s deathly quiet, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and gathering along your palms as he blinks and averts his gaze. His face is warm with his frustration, confusion, and unadulterated melancholy, but the worst feeling of it all is chagrin.

If Jin only knew all the way Sukuna would let him down in the future, the brute’s not so sure his father would have written something of the sort.

You give Sukuna time to let everything he’d bottled up out in the open air and catch his breath, swiping away any stray tears with your thumbs as you keep your grip steady, fighting your own shakiness in order to do so. As his breathing evens, you slowly and carefully nudge the box between you off to the side and out of his grasp and shuffle forward. You let your fingers slide back through his hair and pull his face into your shoulder, letting him relax into you as you rake your fingers soothingly through pink strands.

His hands find purchase on your waist for a moment, before his arms slide around you. He pulls you closer, your body slotting against his like you belong, and he feels the slight vibration of your voice as you speak quietly.

“What was on the paper?”

You feel him swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing against your collarbone. “A letter,” he mumbles hoarsely. “From my dad.”

You nod slightly. “What else were you looking for?”

His grip on you tightens. “The letter-” he pauses, sighing against you, “- it’s not done.”

You shift slightly, looking over his head tucked into your shoulder to the letter folded on the couch. “Like, he didn’t finish writing it?”

He shakes his head against you. “It just ends.”

Nodding slowly, you turn your attention back down to Sukuna, who’s hunched forward in such a way that it can’t be comfortable given how much taller he is than you. “Can I read it?”

His chest rises and falls slowly. “Yeah.”

You pull back from him, sliding your hands back through his hair and down his cheeks with a solemn expression as you separate yourself from him to pick up the letter. Taking a seat on the couch, Sukuna plops down beside you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

The feeling you would describe upon reading the letter is wistful. A musing sadness, mixed with a yearning desire for Sukuna to find peace. Ever since he told you of his father’s passing, you’ve sensed that he never really got the opportunity to grieve, to understand, and to forgive himself for the blame he’s clearly taken when no one is at fault.

Jin’s writing dissipates three quarters of the way down the page. There’s more than enough space for him to have continued, but time clearly wasn’t on Jin’s side, and he’d run out of it before he could finish. You can understand why Sukuna so desperately searched for an end to the letter, but seeing it for yourself, you know he won’t find it. You can see in his eyes that he knows that, too.

The letter may not offer any real parting words given that it’s unfinished, but you can only hope that it’ll offer your friend the closure he desperately seeks.

“Your dad seems really nice.”

His head tilts back to look at you as he nods.

“Was he the kind of dad that made a lot of jokes?”

“Constantly,” he mumbles. “Y’know what one of the last things he said to me was?”

You tilt your head at him.

He lets out a short breath through his nose, shaking his head at the mere thought. “He told me he was glad he made it through his book about anti-gravity.”

Your brow furrows momentarily, but when it comes to you, you find yourself with a small, wry, smile. “Because he couldn’t put it down?”

The faintest hint of a quirk pulls at the edge of his lips as he stares at the pile of paper scattered around your feet. “Guess that’s a common one,” he mutters.

You shrug with one shoulder. “My dad’s a connoisseur too.”

Sukuna’s gaze slides to the side as he eyes you through his peripherals. His hair falls forward over his forehead, blocking most of his view of you, but sharp crimson irises peek through the curtain of pink as he examines the gentle and caring look on your face. Raising a hand, he pushes his hair back, tilting his head more towards you as he catches a glimpse of the tired look you seem to be trying hard to hide, probably for his sake.

A pang of guilt tugs at his chest at the realization that everything has been so focused on him that he’s failed to ask about you.

Fuck, he thinks he may even have never asked about you. Surely he must have, but… he can’t think of a particular moment. The shame makes his skin crawl and he damn near wishes he could crawl right out of it in an effort to rid himself of the feeling.

Maybe he can at least right his wrongs now.

So, he tests the water. “What’s…” he pauses, still leaning forward on his knees. “What’s he like? Your dad.”

You blink a couple of times, glancing off to the side in thought. “He works hard. My parents both do. They work hard to make sure I can be here, in school. It’s why my scholarship is so important,” you begin, considering Sukuna’s question. “I guess… he’s a little bit strict, but he’s always been really supportive. Money is really tight, you know? But…” you pause, smiling, “him and my mom work extra hours to make sure I get to go to school. They help with everything the scholarship doesn’t cover.” You smile at the thought, staring down at the letter held within your hands. It’s clear that Sukuna’s dad felt the same way. “Your dad seemed really proud, too.”

You twist the conversation so naturally back to Sukuna, and he blinks as his opportunity to check in on you seems to dwindle, and he isn’t quite sure how to turn things back. Still, he replies. “Yeah. Back then, maybe.”

You frown, eyeing Sukuna’s contemplative scowl. “He’d still be proud, Kuna. I know it.”

Doing his best to brush past the nickname that he’s still struggling to handle, he sighs. “I don’t think he’d be thrilled to know I dropped out, or lost the kids.”

“None of that is your fault,” you point out, holding the letter pointedly towards Sukuna. He glances down at the paper, sitting upright and leaning over to look at it as you hold it out. “Kaori made promises she didn’t keep.”

“Maybe she really was sick.” The defeat in his tone is devastating from someone who holds that woman in the lowest possible regard.

“You don’t mean that.” You know he doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. You turn slightly towards him on the couch, your gaze flickering around his reddened eyes and slightly puffy cheeks. “Why do you blame yourself for all of this?”

He doesn’t move for a moment, his brow twitching as his scowl deepens. You wonder briefly if he’s ever even thought about the answer to that question, if maybe it comes from a place of self-loathing so deep-seated that he’s never once stopped to consider it. Your question is quickly extinguished like a flame underwater when he doesn’t so much as waver when he replies.

“I don’t blame myself for his death, or the shit Kaori pulled,” he explains grimly, his eyes darkening a shade as somewhere within him a wall is broken down as he allows himself to be vulnerable with you. Truly, and utterly vulnerable. “I blame myself for the fact that I’m in this damn position to begin with.”

Unsure of the meaning behind his admission, you set a hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sure Kaori lied about a lotta shit,” he shrugs, staring ahead blankly at the wall behind the TV. “But everything she said about me was true. I didn’t…” he trails off, harshly raking his hands through his hair. “I didn’t even know Cho was being bullied.”

Frowning, you run your hand up and down his spine as he leans forward on his knees again. His eyes briefly flicker shut, a sense of calm flooding him as you attempt to soothe his nerves.

Sukuna allows himself a moment to bask in the silence. It’s funny, he thinks, how difficult it seems to let someone in, to air out your stress, and yet this is the first time since he lost the kids that his mind isn’t screaming at him. There’s no flood of self-deprecating thoughts or doubts, no ‘what if’s clawing at his throat and pressing down on his chest. It’s just open air and acceptance, because you never judge or pity him.

His eyes flicker back open, the dark circles beneath them more apparent now than ever. “When Dad died, I was so fuckin’ angry at the world,” he shakes his head, “I never meant to, but I took it out on Choso.” He shuffles to put his head in his hands. “I always wonder if I’m the reason he’s so quiet now,” he admits, muffled from behind his hands. “I know I’m all they had, but-” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t make all the doubts any easier.”

You shuffle closer to him, your thigh brushing his as you drape an arm over him in a makeshift hug. Your warmth and weight seems to lighten the pressure in his chest, even if only for a moment. Resting your cheek on his sculpted back, you run your thumb up and down his side softly. “You’re a good brother, Kuna,” you whisper. His muscles ripple beneath you, something you’ve begun to catch onto. “Your dad said so himself.”

He lifts his head from his hands, letting his eyes adjust for a moment before searching for the letter, settled in your lap. He sits upright, careful to let you slide off of his back without disturbing you too much. Slowly, he flattens the letter within his fingers again, listening only to the distant sounds of cars passing by outside the apartment. His eyes slowly move across the page as he takes in the words once more, settling within him with a sense of finality, rather than the anxiety that had threatened to drown him barely fifteen minutes ago.

You’re so good with your brothers.

With a long, deep inhalation, he grips the paper a bit harder.

Keep an eye on them for me, yeah?

Still, he frowns. He’d dropped out of school and lost his brothers. The two things his dad had asked of him. He can feel your eyes on him, examining the way he stares dejectedly at the scribbled words. He can see a question within those pretty irises of yours, held within the way you purse your lips. He answers before you can ask what he’s thinking.

“He asked me to look out for them, and I-” he shakes his head and shrugs, waving his hands through the air pointlessly.

You nod in understanding. “When do you get to visit them?”

Sukuna scoffs. “Today. She cancelled, shocker.”

Fuck. You had hoped that maybe she would prove both you and Sukuna wrong, but that’s clearly not the case.

“Dunno what the hell I’m supposed to do. There’s nothing here,” he gruffs, hopelessly motioning to the pile of paperwork scattered across the floor and within boxes. You know he has a point, there’s nothing here that won’t get the appeal request denied instantly as far as you can tell, but it’s not in your character to just give up.

It’s not who he is, either. But you hold the pieces of yourself close to your heart, while Sukuna’s are scattered across the floor with the paperwork at your feet. You can see it in the way he doubts himself, how he pauses whenever he gets a glimpse of a mirror, and now he’s flinching at the sound of his own nickname.

He’s lost himself.

“That’s not your fault. He wouldn’t blame you. He would see Kaori for who she really is,” you decide, steeling your own resolve as you attempt to take the blame from him and place it with whom it belongs.

He doesn’t reply, staring at the letter as he contemplates where it ends. He can only assume it was written at the hospital bed where his father passed, but how did Sukuna miss the letter? How did it end up in the box? Had he read it years ago and buried it so deeply within his psyche that it came across as new to him? Hollowly, he shakes his head at the mere thought. He’s not sure he could do such a thing. Not when this is the closest thing to closure that he’ll deem to get.

Silence hangs heavily over your heads, but the shared space held between you is comfortable. Your thighs are still pressed together, his bulky bicep brushing yours each time he shuffles. You help bear the weight of his troubles without so much as a peep.

It’s just who you are, and makes you far more fitting of the nickname he has for you, that he’s always thought was a little too sweet coming from him. Maybe it’s been more fitting than he thought all along, though.

“Are you okay, princess?” He asks out of the blue, finally finding the opportunity to ask the question that had been plaguing him for the better part of the last twenty minutes.

You straighten, eyes wide with confusion. “Yeah, why?”

Sitting upright, he tilts his head to get a better look at you. “You’re startin’ to look like me.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you try to make heads or tails of what he means. “Buff?” You ask lightheartedly.

“No, smartass,” he scoffs. “You wish.” He lets the teasing quip hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Tired.”

“Oh!” You nod slightly, considering where he’s coming from. “Yeah, I guess. I’m fine though, really.”

Sukuna’s no fool, he can tell you’re hiding your emotions. He’s spent the better part of the last four years with a little brother who hides behind silence when he’s upset and in comparison to Choso, you’re easy to read. “C’mon, princess. Your turn,” he offers you the floor, waving his hand through the air as he leans back against the couch.

With pursed lips, you fiddle with your fingers uncertainly. Of course, he is right. You’ve been struggling a lot recently, and Kento’s told you time and time again that your emotions and stress are just as valid as Sukuna’s, even if his issues feel greater, but…

It doesn’t make it easier to admit to someone who you can’t even really say has seemed like himself in months.

“You don’t need to worry about it, Sukuna,” you brush him off, careful to use his full name. He doesn’t seem as bothered by it. His eye does twitch, but that might just be because you’re attempting to deflect.

You do so much for him, you push him to talk, and yet you won’t.

How frustrating.

Okay, so maybe he gets it, now. It is annoying.

“Princess,” he deadpans with an unimpressed curl to his lip. “What’s goin’ on?”

Sighing, you shake your head. “It’s not a big deal, really,” you attempt to brush off his concerns, but he’s staring at you pointedly now. “I just- um- I’m worried about my scholarship,” you admit. “But I’ll figure it out! It’s really not a big deal,” you quickly add before he can chime in.

He scowls in confusion. “What’s happening with your scholarship?” He queries.

“I- um-” you search for an explanation that doesn’t place the blame on him given that you’ve been helping him so much that your study time went to the wayside. “I missed a paper,” you sigh, deciding on something that might spare him a bit of stress. “It’s stupid, I thought it was due Wednesday but it was due Monday and the prof won’t let me make it up,” you shrug. “And now I’m kinda just behind.”

He nods slowly, staring down again at the letter in his lap. He sets it aside on one of the boxes, wrapping a bulky arm around your shoulders and giving you a squeeze. “If you’ve got a history class to study for, let me know.”

You chuckle. “Not this semester, but thanks, Kuna.”

He inhales sharply, nodding. His arm doesn’t move from its place as the both of you sit there, silently comforted by one another within your shared stress. Within the warmth of his arm, tucked into his side with your head resting on his pec, things don’t feel quite so bad.

That is, until the realization of just how close you really are sets in, and your poor heart begins to race and a pang of pain overtakes the comfort. You do what you can not to make a big deal of it, sighing as you sit back up and pull yourself from his grasp. You tell yourself it’ll be easier this way. It’s better you let yourself down than have him do it again. You’ll heal in due time, but you need to allow yourself the opportunity to do so. You need to separate the comfort you offer him from the confusing signals he sends you.

“I’ll handle this,” you offer in a mutter, looking for anything to create some space between the both of you as you slip down onto the floor and carefully gather the paperwork at your knees.

Sukuna examines you carefully, trying to make sense of where you stand as friends. It’s strange the way the lines seem blurred and one moment he’s certain you share his feelings, but the next moment… He watches the way you push away from him to gather the paper at your knees.

“I’ll help, just… gimme a moment,” he grumbles behind you, making his way to the washroom.

You breathe out a sigh when the door clicks behind him and the sink turns on. You shouldn’t even be thinking about a romantic relationship between all of the issues you’ve already got to deal with.

How are you even meant to think like that when Sukuna can’t bear the sound of the name that you and the kids call him? You scarcely catch a glimpse of the man you’ve grown so fond of over the last few months, the last thing he needs to add to his plate is romance.

Your eyes scan the contents of each of the pages before you as you sweep them up into a pile, heart sinking with the words strewn across each page, and the knowledge that Sukuna would have just barely been an adult as this was all happening. To need to list your own child as an emergency contact when they’re barely an adult is a terrifying thought.

Casting the thoughts aside, you finish gathering the last of the paperwork and shove it as neatly as possible into the box, taking the lid and shutting it before pushing it aside. Only a couple of documents aside from the letter were taken from the boxes, but Sukuna’s right to say they don’t consist of enough evidence to sway a court that’s clearly already under Kaori’s influence to Sukuna’s side.

Frowning, you take a seat on the couch once more, awaiting Sukuna’s return. You can still hear the sink running, so you find your eyes running along the familiar TV stand and shelves before you find your old GameCube tucked aside.

With Sukuna taking as long as he is, you take the opportunity to move the GameCube back to its original spot (conveniently in the center of the floor, of course) and flip open the disc reader, pulling out a Sonic game and popping in your old Animal Crossing game. Taking a seat back on the couch with an indigo controller in-hand, you wait for all the logos to finish crossing the screen before starting your old save file.

You occupy yourself with trying to figure out how to find bugs and catch neat fish once again when you finally hear Sukuna shut the water off and the handle of the door slightly jiggle. When he re-emerges, his hair is slightly damp near his forehead and a single drop of water drips from his chin to the hardwood below.

He takes in the somewhat cleaner living space and nods to you as thanks, taking a seat beside you and draping his arms across the back of the couch. His forearm brushes the back of your head as he blankly stares at the screen, watching as you run up to a little pink bear villager. An exclamation forms over her head as she notices you, before dropping what might be the funniest line Sukuna’s ever seen from a very family friendly game as the little bear proceeds to say ‘woah! You look so weird! And not weird in a hip way, either. More like, “weird” as in “makes me wanna barf.”’

He snorts. “Isn’t this game for kids?”

Giggling, you nod. “It is. They used to be really mean in the old games, though.”

Sukuna hums.

“Here, hold on.” You leave the dialogue with the bear villager, wandering around until you find the character that was your biggest hater when you were, like, seven. You spot the white cat with purple makeup and run over to her. “I spent so many hours as a kid trying to figure out how to get her to leave my town,” you explain.

“They can leave?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, doing little circles around her as you chat. “She made me cry as a kid, so I sent her hate mail-”

“Hold on,” Sukuna’s chest rumbles at the sheer amount of childhood information that one sentence just unloaded onto him. “You and your lil’ Flower character sent hate mail? You cried?”

You laugh harder, subconsciously leaning into him as he slides somewhat towards you. “Yeah, to both. She was really mean and my friend told me that’s how you get them to move away, so I wrote to her every day to tell her I hate her,” you speak through laughter, throwing your head back.

Even Sukuna seems himself for a moment with a tired smile as he chuckles alongside you, comfortably reclining his feet onto the coffee table. “Christ, princess.”

“The hate mail obviously didn’t work,” you add, finally approaching the cat and speaking with her. You can’t say you’re shocked when she says ‘what’s with you!! Get away from me! You smell!!’

Sukuna snorts again, his chest continuing to rumble with laughter. “Dunno. Maybe she’s right.”

Pouting, you shove Sukuna’s chest, but he hardly budges as he snickers at your side. You roll your eyes as you settle back into place, falling into easy conversation about the goal of the game and why you stopped playing as a kid.

For a moment, Sukuna doesn’t feel quite so hollow. As though maybe the piece of him that crumbled when his father passed can be mended with the revelation of the letter, and the piece of him that you keep within your heart is being held in place, just for a brief moment in time.

He finds himself staring at you more intently than usual, a calm, albeit weary look in his eyes. He settles comfortably into the couch, leaning back into the cushions and eyeing the way the green and blue tint of light from the TV illuminates your features and shines within your irises.

When it comes to you, Sukuna knows he’s a fool. He’s messed up so many times that the look of hurt on your face that he caused is something he knows he’ll be living with for a long time, but he feels like a fool now more than ever. He wants to think that maybe you still have feelings for him, he wants to think that maybe it isn’t just him that finds peace with you subtly tucked into his side, and yet…

You always pull away. And he can’t tell if you’re scared, or if you don’t feel the same way at all.

He frowns, staring down at his lap. Is he that much of a coward that he can’t just ask?

He contemplates it, examining the little content smile on your face.

Yeah, he thinks he is.

Yawning, you catch a glimpse of the time on your phone. “I should probably get going,” you say softly, saving the game and quitting. Sukuna grunts quietly, yawning himself. His eyes don’t leave you as you begin gathering your belongings, shrugging a jacket over your shoulders. “What do you think you’re gonna do next?” You query as you pull your keys from your bag.

He shrugs. “Dunno,” he admits quietly. “Guess I’ll talk to my lawyer again,” he sighs, shrugging hopelessly. “I think my only option is to sue her for not lettin’ me see the kids for visitation.”

You frown. It’s not ideal in the slightest, nor is it what any of you want, but at least he isn’t completely giving up. In fact, he seems okay right now. His breathing is deep and even and his jaw isn’t set with tension. There’s even a sliver of the Sukuna you’ve grown to care very deeply for peeking out at you.

“I’ll let you know what the lawyer says. Maybe there’s another way,” he mumbles from where he sits on the couch.

In comparison to the complete and utter defeat he’d been struggling with, this is a positive change. He’s more present than you’ve seen him in ages, and the drive to do right by his brothers has a flame lit beneath it once more, even if it’s not the brightest.

You smile softly. “Sounds good. See you at work Tuesday?”

“Mm. See ya, princess.”

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❦ a/n ; i got a little carried away again with this chapter again LOL i hope everyone enjoyed the long chap!! this was such a challenging chapter to write when it came to keeping sukuna in character, while exploring different parts of his life, times when he wasn't quite so angry. the way he's grumbly and tired but still kinda happy at his grad might be one of my fave scenes tbh

i also really enjoyed writing for jin, even if it was just a bit. adding the little pieces of his personality to the letter was such a bittersweet moment as a writer to kinda wrap up a character i've teased so often :') i love these characters sm

anyway, thank you all for sticking with me for my very long and very slow burn LOL, ily guys and i hope you all enjoyed <33

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

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