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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 - coming soon

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.”

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

❦ 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

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@toulouse365 @dabieater @janrcrosssing @satsattoru @moonchhu

@privthemis @captainsarcasmandsass @ryomeowie @vitoshi @kunasthiast

@axxk17 @toratsue @bluestbleu @yuji-itadori-fave @totallygyomeiswife

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

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fever-fluff · 2 months ago

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Strangers masterlist

pairing: husband!suguru x f!reader

synopsis: the love between you two died long ago. no, neither of you acknowledge it, you hardly acknowledge each other. in between the busy schedules and blinding lights of upscale events is an unspoken rule— to pretend.

genre/warnings: dying love, angst, smut, marriage, emotional distance, mutual hurt, miscarriages/infertility, happy ending, ceo!suguru

tag list is open!

PREVIEW:

You were perfect, something he mumbled under his breath once. It wasn’t a compliment, but it wasn’t an insult either, yet something about the way he said it created even more distance between you two.

No longer the woman he fell in love with, just the woman he was married to.

The only thing that catches his attention is the agitating noise of metal continuously clinking. Glancing over at you from the corner of his eye, he sees you struggling to clasp your bracelet and knows well enough that you weren’t going to ask him for help. He’s not even in the room at this point, at least that's what it felt like as you fumble with the uncooperative bracelet.

Not one word comes out of you, not even a huff, just silence from the pure determination that you were going to get the damn thing on by yourself with no one's help. The fact that the thought to ask doesn’t cross your mind was another reminder of his failing marriage.

It’ll never soothe the loneliness that’s brewed inside of you these past couple of years, he knows that, yet he still finds it in himself to take your wrist and clasps the stupid bracelet it for you.

It was the one he gifted you for Christmas three years ago, you have so much jewelry now that he doubts you even remember it.

“Hurry up, can’t be late like last time,” he mutters, followed by a click of the metal.

“I know,” you mutter back, not even bothering to thank him. Not like he was waiting for it, he was already out of the room by the time you realized it.

take me to chapter one

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fever-fluff · 3 months ago

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what you know - ch15: aftermath || r. sukuna

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

❦ 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 ; 25.9k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

Your breaths come quickly as you exit the courtroom, gaze drawn to the ground to avoid the prying eyes of onlookers. Tears stream down your face as quickly as you can wipe them, leaving streaks of mascara in their place.

Trailing after Sukuna, you pause at the large wooden doors past the security check, sucking in a sharp breath. Holding it for as long as you can, you desperately attempt to wipe away streaks of makeup as you compose yourself the best that you can. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that you’re barely holding it together, but you need to remind yourself of something.

Whatever state you’re in, Sukuna’s doing worse.

No matter how scared you are for Sukuna and his brothers, your friend is experiencing it tenfold.

With a shaky breath, you swallow the lump in your throat, blinking away what you can of the remnants of your tears before pushing through the heavy wooden door.

The early spring air relieves only a modicum of the anxiety gripping your chest. Without the dull walls of the courthouse bearing down on you, you had expected the claustrophobia to lighten, but it only worsens when you spot Sukuna.

“That fucking bitch!” He roars, physically shaking as he pushes his hands through his hair, disheveling the strands. “FUCK!” He screams, gritting his teeth so hard it sends a jolt of pain straight to his head.

Keeling over, he lets out a shaky breath as he claws at his chest. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he explodes once more, ripping a box of cigarettes from his pocket and sending them flying across the parking lot. They collide with a van at the edge of the asphalt, falling to the ground as bent cylinders scatter across the ground.

Your heart shatters at the sight of Sukuna balling his hands into trembling fists as something between a pant and a panicked sob parts his lips. The muscles in his back rise and fall quickly, trembling just as his fists do. Finding your footing, you wipe at your tears once more as you slowly approach him from behind.

Before you can offer any comfort, he bursts once more. “What the fuck am I-?” His voice breaks as he stares into the distance, screaming out another “FUCK!” as he reaches into his pocket for whatever hits his fingers. Blinded by the pain of his anger and drowning under the weight of his anxiety, his movements become mechanical. Fingers brushing the cool metal of his lighter, he doesn’t register what he’s doing as he prepares to fling it through the air like he had so many moons ago.

A metallic gleam catches your eye as you finally find it in you to step in and stop his pained rampage. Your hand wraps delicately around his wrist seconds before he can send the lighter flying through the air.

Whipping around to face you, his eyes burn with emotion unlike anything you’ve seen in him before. White-hot fire burns and sparks behind foggy crimson irises as he turns to face you, his lip curled as if he’s ready to spew venom at whoever might touch him, but the flames sputter out when he’s faced with you. You’re not quite sure who he expected, given his lawyer has loose ends to tie and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Kaori wouldn’t care to be there for him.

But it’s you.

The one and now only constant in his life.

Confusion, uncertainty, and fear all fight for a place within the man’s hollow chest as he struggles to grapple with the weight of a decision that’s flipped his life on its head.

Failure.

It echoes deep in the recesses of his mind, serving as a reminder of everything he’s tried so desperately not to be. All these years, all the effort he’s put into making a life for him and his brothers, and he’s amounted to no more than what everyone has always seen him as. A delinquent. A failure. A man who’s spent so long trying to prove himself only to be beaten down into a husk of himself.

Your lips move, but he doesn’t hear you, stagnant as his eyes stare straight through you. Gone is the cunning history major with all his flirtations and bravado. Gone is the man who scoffs in the face of those who doubt him. The man who stands in front of you now, his pulse racing beneath the tips of your fingers, is completely and utterly unrecognizable.

If it weren’t for the defining tattoos and striking pink hair, you might even think you’d found some distant twin of the man you’d grown to love.

With another gentle squeeze of your hand to attempt to grab his attention, you say his name with more conviction. His eyes snap to you suddenly. Distant, but he hears you. He’s listening. “Don’t throw that,” you say softly, giving his arm a small tug.

Slowly, he begins to lower his arm, becoming more aware of his surroundings. It’s just you and him in the parking lot right now, though he hardly remembers getting here. Confusion riddles his mind as your words sink in and he finally pulls his arm free, holding his hand out before him to stare at his lighter.

His thumb brushes the engraving on it, leaving behind an eerie prickling feeling on the pad of his thumb. His chest heaves, jaw ajar as he struggles with air. He can only stare at the name, which was once dear to him as a reminder of the family whose surname he doesn’t share, but still belongs to. Now, it’s a reminder of everything that’s been torn away from him.

He inhales sharply, shutting his eyes as he clasps his hand around the device. Now conscious of his own decisions, he finds himself wanting to whip the lighter into the ground anew. He wants to erase every remnant of the name ‘Itadori’ from his life. He wishes his father never took her name when they got married.

“Sukuna, talk to me,” you plead, doing what you can to get his attention, but he’s trapped in his own world once more.

His breaths grow more harsh, scaling in anger until every exhale is a huff and every subsequent inhalation sounds downright painful. Unable to catch his breath, he finds himself stumbling to the edge of the stairs to cling onto the brick guardrail on either side, bracing himself on his forearms.

With three more unsuccessful attempts to call his name, you take a step forwards, placing your hand gently on his upper arm. “Kuna?”

Sukuna sucks in a breath at the sound of his brothers’ nickname, dropping his forehead onto his arm as he struggles to breathe.

Sukuna. His surname, and the name he’d chosen to go by after his father died. His father had chosen the name Ryomen for him, and he’d never been able to break that association once Jin had passed. The pain dulled with time, but that name, that part of him, remained permanently scarred. Now his chosen name stands as nothing more than a testament of what once was, too.

What’s left of him, if he does away with the damn lighter? If he does away with the silly nickname his brothers call him because both Ryomen and Sukuna are a mouthful?

It shouldn’t matter, he knows he shouldn’t let it get to him so much, but his very identity is ingrained so thoroughly into his family that he’s not so sure what he stands for anymore.

The name ‘Ryomen’ hasn’t even bothered him for a while now, but the pain of losing Jin feels like an open goddamn wound again. One in which he’s peeled the scab off so many times that there’s no blood left to spill. It only leaves behind increasingly deeper scars that don’t heal.

When Sukuna doesn’t respond again, you quell your own concern and anxiety as best as you can, wiping your silent tears once more before stepping closer. You take another deep breath as you slide your hand down from his upper arm until you find his hand. Slipping your fingers beneath his, you carefully pull the lighter out from his hands and tuck it back into his pocket given that your skirt doesn’t exactly have any.

“Please, talk to me,” you plead, unable to do anything but watch as Sukuna’s muscles tense and he pushes to his feet suddenly.

“How the fuck did she get away with this shit?” He barks suddenly as though he’s come to his senses, staring out at the parking lot. When he whips back around to face you, though, he’s as lost as he was while keeled over the railing. “Four fucking YEARS!” He roars, balling his hands into fists. “For fuck’s sake, I-” He pauses, clutching at his chest as he pants and heaves to catch his breath.

“Sukuna, plea-” you try to step in again with a hand to his shoulder, but it’s as though he barely registers your presence.

“Can’t fucking breathe, why can’t I fucking-” he cuts himself off, wrenching his hands painfully through his hair as he shrugs your hand off of shoulder. He pulls desperately at his tie, ripping it away from his neck and shoving it into his pocket. He proceeds to unbutton the top two buttons of his dress shirt, but it doesn’t help the lingering feeling of suffocation.

His chest heaves at a pace that does his lungs no favors as his hands drop from his shirt, hanging at his sides. His eyes are red-rimmed and glossy, and you can’t bear to let him choke himself in his own frustration anymore.

“Sukuna,” you breathe, stepping in front of him and taking a hold of his forearms.

Your steady grip grounds him enough that you manage to catch his gaze as he stares at you, though you don’t miss the way that something akin to pain glimmers in his eyes. “So fucking frustrating, I can’t fucking breathe-” he grumbles mindlessly as your thumbs soothe circles into his arms.

“I know,” you whisper in reply to his grumbles, stepping forward to pull him into a hug. Your arms wrap tightly around his middle as you rest your cheek on his broad chest. His heart is pounding so fast against your ear that you fear it might just escape its cage, but what’s more startling is just how shallow his breaths have become. Threatening to pull him under, his anxiety seems to be getting the better of him, even managing to dim the flames of his anger as his body trembles and gasps with each breath.

Sukuna’s arms remain frozen in the air, his gaze flitting wildly around his surroundings before finding purchase on the sight of you, clinging to him.

Tilting your head up to look at him, you run your hand up and down his spine soothingly in an attempt to ground him.

And by some miracle, it works. His arms wrap around you tightly, clinging to you as though you might slip through his fingers at any moment. With his attention now fixated on you, you adjust the speed at which your fingers trail up and down his back to match the speed of your breathing.

“Breathe with me.” With his attention now drawn to you, you begin the familiar routine that draws Sukuna back down to earth. You don’t need to instruct him when to take his breaths, knowing he can feel the rise and fall of your chest that follows the lead of your gentle hand.

Much like every other time that your presence has soothed him from a place he doesn’t know how to come down from, his body gradually stills. Air fills his lungs as his breathing slows to a reasonable pace.

Exhausted, his chin falls to the top of your head, his entire body weary as you take on more of his weight than you anticipated and nearly stumble backwards. You catch yourself just in time as he buries his face into the top of your head. Along with the warmth of his breath, you feel the heat of silent tears streaming down his face, too.

Swallowing hard, you’re grateful his suit has him in multiple layers so that he can’t feel the stains your own tears are leaving on his chest. You may owe him a trip to the dry-cleaner’s, but that’s a worry for later.

The silence bears down on you both, pressing in on every side like walls closing in on you. It seeps into the embrace you find yourself in, leaving doubt and uncertainty in its wake, but for the first time in months, it’s not because of your strained friendship. You can’t be certain that the rift is gone, but the unbearable silence is caused by something new, something you had been sure the trial would alleviate.

Fear. Your own, but even more so, Sukuna’s. It’s probably why he can’t bear the quiet, and speaks up.

“What the fuck am I supposed to say to ‘em?” he mutters into the crown of your head, muffled by your hair. His voice is so quiet, so despairing, that you barely recognize his tone.

With a sniffle, you shake your head within his grip. “I don’t know, Kuna.”

His muscles tense in your hold, though you can’t be sure why.

“I failed again,” he mumbles hollowly, his fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes tightly.

Again? You’re not sure what exactly he’s referencing, but you squeeze him back regardless. “It’s not your fault,” you assure him. He may have gotten emotional multiple times throughout the trial, but any judge with a brain would recognize that he simply cares. As far as you’re concerned, Kaori manipulated every piece of the process in her favor. Surely if Sukuna appeals, he can play his cards right and get a fair trial.

You have to believe that for him, because the kids deserve better than a mother who’s never been present.

“I could’ve…” He hesitates, searching for something more that he could have done, but the fact is that as far as he sees it, his fuck-ups began years ago.

He could have been a better kid. He could have been a better friend. He could have been a better brother.

His chest heaves out a long sigh laced with frustration. “I shoulda done more.”

“Stop blaming yourself,” you scold him gently, pulling back a bit to look up at him. He stands upright enough that his weight is relieved from your shoulders, his gaze avoidant. You know he just doesn’t want you to see his reddened eyes rimmed with downright weariness. No matter how many times you’ve been there for him while he’s vulnerable, he still doesn’t want you, or anyone to perceive him as weak.

“It’s my job to look after them,” he mumbles blankly, devoid of any real emotion as he pulls back out of your grip to lean against the brick railing of the stairs once more. His chest heaves as he continues to catch his breath, but it’s steadier now, grounded in reality.

“You have to stop blaming yourself, Sukuna.”

His shoulders visibly tense. Taking a deep breath, he rolls them back and scowls deeply at the concrete beneath his feet. He wants to listen to you, he really does, but his brain isn’t seeing eye to eye with that desire. Every fault, every argument, and every regret resurfaces all at once. His jaw clamps tightly shut as he shakily inhales in an effort to push away even just one of the memories desperately gnawing at the edges of his psyche for a taste of his fear.

“What happened today isn’t your fault and I know- I know that you know that,” you keep your voice low, attempting to keep it level, but it betrays you, cracking mid-sentence.

The falter in your speech catches Sukuna’s attention and for the first time since he left the courthouse, he gets a good look at you. He’d been so lost in the narrow passageways of his mind that he hadn’t noticed that you’re barely holding it together too, only managing to keep yourself in check through sheer will.

His heart drops at the sight of the mascara that streaks down your cheeks. You’ve obviously wiped a fair bit of it away but the evidence is there.

All at once, it becomes painfully obvious that an answer he’d been seeking for the past month is staring him straight in the face.

He’s always known you love his brothers. You wear your heart on your sleeve and their love wrapped in purple and red twine on your wrist.

But he supposes if he’d ever stopped to really think about that, that maybe there’s more to that. Because you don’t love them in the way that a babysitter would. You don’t love them in the way that you would care for a friend’s siblings.

You love them like they’re your own family.

Because after months of looking after them and months of spending time with Sukuna himself, the two of you became best friends and he isn’t sure he ever really had the time to stop and notice that fact himself before driving a nail through your heart two months ago.

You loved him then, and he thinks you might love him now.

In fact, he knows you love him now.

What a terrible fucking moment for him to realize something that holds so much weight in the unsteady balance between you.

Because whether he knows or not, there’s another question left unanswered.

Why does Sukuna care so much about knowing if you still love him?

He’s not sure.

There’s an answer somewhere deep within him that he needs to bury with every other emotion if he plans on making it out the other end of this miserable week alive. It’s an answer he’s not ready to face, even if he knows, deep down.

How can he face those feelings, after all, when he did this to you? He failed Yuji. He failed Choso.

He failed you.

He attempts to take a step back, stumbling when his heel hits the brick railing. Steadying himself with his hand on the brick, he stares at the overcast sky. The sun hasn’t been visible for even a mere second the past couple of weeks, almost as though the world was warning him of his impending failure. Sukuna thinks it may as well rain, while it’s at it. Really drill it in just how much he lost. Just how miserable he deserves to be.

Failure hangs over him, the bold lettering facing him no matter which way he turns. He shuts his eyes, praying the suffocating feeling will go away, but it seems to press down heavier on him the longer he stands there. Rubbing his eyes harshly, he blinks his eyes open in time to see the front doors of the courthouse swing open to reveal Kaori and her lawyer.

“Oh, you are still here. Ryomen, I just wanted to say-”

To your shock, Sukuna seems to lock in at the sight of his step mother, his eyes darkening as he pushes off of the brick railing and stands upright. In two long strides, he places himself between you and her, much like he did in this same situation last week, only now there’s no security, and even Sukuna’s lawyer isn’t here to stop him.

Your viewing angle of the conversation isn’t ideal, but you don’t move given that you don’t particularly care to be around Kaori anyway. You know Sukuna’s just trying to keep you safe.

And if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t really want to stop him either.

“I don’t give a damn what you have to say,” he growls in a voice so devoid of any warmth it sends a shiver straight down your spine. “I hope you fucking burn in hell, Kaori,” he snarls in a tone so grating that you swear it could shake the very ground you stand on.

“That’s not an appropriate way to speak to your m-”

“FUCK YOU!” He roars, pointing his finger in her direction with a fire that you still have no desire to quench. “Don’t give me any of that bullshit. You’ll be in for a rude fucking awakening when you realize your kids fucking hate you.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Mr. Cahn places himself between Kaori and Sukuna before your friend can sink his teeth into his step-mother’s throat. Unimpressed, Sukuna scoffs, but steps down, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your lawyer needs to speak with you, Mr. Sukuna. She’s inside,” he explains, shaking his head in disapproval as he leads his client away from the courthouse.

Sukuna’s slicing gaze follows Kaori for a moment before he lets out a deep sigh as his anger lowers to a simmer in the pit of his stomach. His eyes are still ablaze when you finally step forward to watch Kaori discuss something with her lawyer before she casts you a glance as she gets into her car.

Turning to face him, you suck in a breath, attempting to wipe at your cheeks again, only smudging your disheveled makeup further. “You, um-” you cut yourself off as your phone starts vibrating in your coat pocket. Peeking at the screen, Kento’s name flashes back at you. “- Sorry, um-” Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to Sukuna. “I feel like you should ask her about an appeal. You deserve a fair trial.”

Sukuna blinks slowly, that familiar distant look beginning to settle in his gaze as his anger and anxiety both level themselves out. As his hands fall to his sides and weariness cradles his eyes, he nods. He may be downright exhausted with low spirits, but Kaori hasn’t put his flame out quite yet.

He’ll fight for what he loves.

Your phone begins to vibrate once more in your pocket just as Sukuna’s turning away.

“I’ll wait here,” you tell him as you hit the green button on your phone. Your friend nods as he trudges back inside. “Hello?”

“Hi. Are you alright?” Kento’s voice is tinged with worry. Even in the midst of a tense and stressful situation, you find a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Yeah, thanks Ken. The- um- the trial just happened. Sorry, I would have mentioned I wouldn’t be there for lunch, but it was pretty last minute,” you explain, chewing on your lower lip.

“I see,” Kento hums on the other line. “You don’t sound pleased,” he adds gravely.

Your raspy voice must be all he needs to deduce what happened. “... No,” you agree, “I’m not.”

Silence permeates both sides of the line. Your eyes trail the parking lot blankly. A crow puffs its chest out at another larger crow as they both fight over morsels of some sort of food despite there being two pieces. In the end, the smaller bird takes off with both pieces of food shoved in its beak as the other bird stomps around the asphalt.

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Sighing softly, you shake your head although he can’t see the movement. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Right. Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

“I will, thanks Kento.”

He hums affirmatively before the line cuts out. Your hand falls to your side with your phone firmly clutched in your grasp. You slide it back into your coat pocket as you stare back out at the sea of cars.

Although the day’s been overcast, you’d sworn on your way here that the sun peeking through the clouds was a sign to keep your head up. Now, it just seems like the sun is taunting you.

Taunting a world that could have been.

How many times would Sukuna need to reset his entire life? To start from square one and rebuild to a point that he’s content?

To your knowledge this will be Yuji’s first time experiencing something of this degree. Will he change like Sukuna has in the past couple of months?

Or Choso?

How will Choso cope without Sukuna when he’s barely coping with Sukuna’s support?

Taking a seat on the front step, you find yourself staring down at scattered and bent cigarettes and lean down to pick them up, shoving them all into the cigarette box sitting amongst them. Just as you gather the last one, an exasperated ‘fuck’ rings out behind you.

Sukuna looks frustrated once more as his feet lead the way straight to you.

“Can you appeal?” You query.

“Yeah. She’s gonna gather more evidence to see what we can do. We’re gonna talk to Cho’s teacher too,” he growls, his annoyance really coming through as he recalls the testimony that sealed his fate. “I’m supposed to see the kids every two weeks for visitation, but…”

You tilt your head.

“I fuckin’ guarantee it’s not gonna happen.”

“You can fight it if she doesn’t,” you point out, hopeful that the visitation schedule will give both Sukuna and the boys some sort of piece of mind given that you hadn’t expected the judge to grant visitation.

“Princess…” Sukuna sighs, avoiding your gaze in defeat. “I don’t have the money to fight for custody and visitation.”

Your brows knit together as you nod. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He hums, pushing a hand through his long hair. His nose wrinkles at the feeling of gel coating the strands mixed with the sweat of his panic and anger. Attempting to shake the miserable feeling of perspiration and just plain dejection that coats his skin, he brushes his hand off on his suit jacket.

“Are you gonna be okay telling your brothers?” You query, watching his face contort in misery and discomfort.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” He grumbles.

“Yeah…” you whisper, barely audible. “And Uraume?”

As though he hadn’t even considered that Uraume is still watching the kids, he sighs heavily. The weight bearing down on his shoulders presses harder than ever and for once, Sukuna wants to let it win.

He wants to fall to the ground and give in. To let the pain crush him.

He wants to let go.

Sensing the dread that Sukuna can’t shoulder on his own anymore, you take his hand, clasping your fingers like he had at lunch the other day. “Hey,” you shoot him your best reassuring smile as you step into his view. “It’s okay.”

His chest rises and falls as he stares blankly at you. His eyes are lidded, heavy with exhaustion as he regards you.

“Did you want to drop by my place to take a shower first?”

With a long inhalation, Sukuna nods. “Yeah. I think I need that,” he agrees, squeezing your hand back before pulling away to drag his hands over his face.

He lets you lead the way to your car, getting in the passengers’ seat and staring out the window. He leans so heavily to one side of the chair that you have half a mind to think he might have fallen asleep, but the moment you pull into your parking spot, he’s out and following you up to your apartment as though the distant look in his eyes isn’t ever-present.

He follows you wordlessly into your home, discarding his shoes at the door as he follows you to the washroom. His movements are painfully limp, so dead-tired that he’s running on fumes as the results of the trial catch up with him.

As you leave him to shower, he twists the tap until it won’t go any further, stripping as he waits for the water to warm up before letting the hot water sear his skin. It doesn’t rid him of the guilt that plagues him, nor does the way he scratches harshly at his chest. The reddened stripes across his skin tingle beneath the hot water. He grits his teeth at the feeling, leaning both hands against the shower wall as he lets the stream wet his hair.

It may not relieve the burdens that make his skin crawl, but at least the sweat and hair gel pool at his feet before slipping down the drain.

It’s a start.

Shutting off the tap, he hops out of the shower, drying himself off and wrapping the towel around his waist. With a swipe of his forearm, he rids the mirror of fog, leaning over the sink as he stares at the man before him.

If the man staring back at him from the judge’s glasses this morning was foreign to him, he doesn’t know what to describe the person in the mirror right now.

His skin is gaunt, his eyes lidded and weary as dark circles weigh them down. His overly long hair hangs down over his forehead and into his vision as he hunches over the sink. It’s the eyes, though, his eyes, that have never seemed quite as unfamiliar as they do now. They’re dull, lacking in all of the things he prides himself in.

Something wet hits his knuckle and he watches as the liquid from his hair drips down the side of his hand onto the porcelain beneath. Meeting his own gaze again, he blinks as he’s forced to drag a finger across his cheek to smear the evidence of his tears.

Strengthening his grip on your sink, he pushes upright and pulls his clothes from earlier back on, leaving only the suit jacket aside. He doesn’t bother tucking anything in, it’s not like his brothers or Uraume haven’t seen him in a worse state.

When he leaves the washroom, you’re sitting on the couch with a concentrated scowl as you nosily scan the internet for any signs of a Kaori Itadori. Your search comes up short, leaving you with no explanations for the questions that continue to plague you.

Your gaze rises as Sukuna’s languid movement catches your attention. Your lips part at the sight of his reddened eyes, but you don’t dare point it out. You inhale as you prepare to say something, but he gets to it first.

“Mind driving me?”

“Oh- um- yeah, sure.”

He only grunts in reply.

–

Given Sukuna’s detachment, you almost expected him to say no when you offered to come up to his apartment for support. Some part of his subconscious must be clinging to you like a lifeline whether he realizes it or not, because despite saying he’d be alright, he took your hand.

He didn’t even seem to question you following him up to his apartment even as he unlocked the door.

Dropping your hand, he pushes into his home, dropping his keys on the side table as six pairs of eyes all stare back at him. His blood runs cold at the sight of two puffy-cheeked little boys staring back at him with so much misplaced hope in their eyes.

The room closes in on him, stealing the breath from his lungs again. He coughs abruptly, feebly clearing his throat as he casts a glance at Uraume. Their eyes say it all, the kids have told them. They don’t even seem all that hurt, with understanding gleaming within their eyes.

He’s not sure he deserves it.

Worse still, is the way that they straighten when Sukuna doesn’t immediately speak. They know.

The silence bears down on him as he forces himself to be strong, to be what the kids need him to be.

“Hey,” he hoarsely greets the three of them, kicking his shoes off. He takes a hesitant step forward, “can you kids go to your room for a bit? I gotta talk to-”

“You lost?” Choso interrupts.

Always too smart for his own good.

His pupils shrink to mere pinpricks, his chest rising and falling in frantic breaths as he stares between you and Sukuna. This sends his little brother into a panic as well, the salmon-haired boy jumping to his feet as he lacks the maturity to understand the situation, but recognizes the tonal shift of the room.

Tears well immediately in Yuji’s eyes as he frantically tugs at his brother’s sleeve. “What’s happening?” He murmurs repeatedly, confused as Choso pulls away.

The tension rises in the room as Choso wraps his arms around his middle, shrinking into himself. Yuji erupts into tears at the lack of response from his brother, and for the first time that you’ve ever been witness to, Sukuna’s composure breaks around the kids.

His head falls, a shaky breath parting his lips as he can hardly bear to look at the brothers he feels he’s failed. His hands ball into fists at his sides, the tang of iron flooding his mouth as he bites down harshly on his lower lip. The taste grounds him, reminds him of the weight his presence holds for the two bawling kids in front of him.

The moment of broken composure is fleeting and before either you or Uraume can process the scene in front of you and react, Sukuna steps into the familiar role he’s carved in the kids’ lives pushing his emotions down. He steps forward, steeling his expression. He takes a breath to steady himself as he kneels in front of the children, pulling them each into him with one arm.

Yuji buries his face into Sukuna’s dress shirt, his loud wails muffled by the thin material. Choso’s arms wrap around Sukuna’s shoulders as the boy clings to his older brother with silent tears. Sukuna’s poor shirt has seen enough tears for a lifetime, let alone one day.

Exchanging a look with Uraume, they beckon you over to the kitchen.

Keeping your voices down, Uraume pipes in first. “How are you holding up?”

“Um-” you pause in thought, casting a glance at Sukuna. “I’ve been better,” you admit, your eyelids heavy. “I didn’t think he’d…” You trail off, as though finishing the sentence somehow makes it seem more real.

The overhead light flickers a number of times, capturing your attention as Uraume sighs heavily. “I just wish he’d let more of us know before it came to this,” they state with a grimace. “Is it just you?”

You shake your head. “Kento knows.”

Shock passes across their features. They blink a number of times, before scrutinizing you with a scowl. “Kento Nanami?”

“His friend is in the law program,” you loosely explain, though it’s enough of an explanation to make sense to Uraume. “It also made Kento want to punch him less,” you shrug, forcing a smile.

Uraume returns the smile, though they note it doesn’t meet your eyes. They cast a glance back at Sukuna and the boys before quietly evaluating your disposition. Uraume isn’t entirely unlike Kento in that way, ever observant and painfully on the nose when it comes to those they care about.

Lacking any subtlety, you attempt to wipe at the mascara that you probably should have removed when you visited your house, but Sukuna had asked to be driven home so quickly that you didn’t have time.

The main difference between Kento and Uraume?

Uraume lacks the decorum that Kento has, and can be painfully blunt. It may be what Sukuna needs, but you’ve got enough bluntness in your life from the man himself.

“You don’t look so good.”

At least they have a polite way of telling you that you look like shit.

Sighing, you lower your head into your hands. “Thanks,” you mutter.

“Go wash up,” they tilt their chin in the direction of Sukuna’s washroom. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Nodding thankfully, you slip away into the washroom. The sterile overhead lighting brings back memories of Sukuna sitting pitifully on the floor, hunched against the tub.

Your eyes linger a moment too long on the floor near the tub, the image of his desperate gasps as he clutched at his chest appearing a bit too vividly in your mind.

But maybe that’s because you only just got him back down from that very same headspace.

It’s cruel, really. To put him through so much. Ever stoic and aloof, you never could have known when you first met him just how much he really struggles. Then again, you recall a time where he wasn’t struggling nearly as much. At that moment, it strikes you that this isn’t normal for Sukuna. He’s the type of man who bottles up his emotions and shoves his problems down, but he figures them out. He has the ingenuity and resourcefulness of a man with twice his experience, while keeping the facade of mysteriousness to anyone on the outside looking in.

But within a few months, that all faded.

Everything faded, in favor of a man attempting to accomplish a herculean task alone.

The upside, you suppose, is that the task isn’t sisyphean.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you turn your attention to the mirror, turning the tap to warm water as you wipe away the remnants of mascara staining your cheeks.

No matter how battered and bruised he is, Sukuna always gets back up.

And so do you.

Satisfied with your appearance, you make your way back out of the washroom, finding Sukuna now on the couch with both boys crying into his shoulders. His eyelids are heavy as his stare hangs distantly onto the coffee table in front of him.

Uraume is in the kitchen making three mugs of tea and two mugs of what you assume is hot chocolate when you emerge into the living room. Tossing the tea bags into the trash, they set the first mug of tea on the coffee table for Sukuna, before handing one over to you, keeping the last for themself.

“Chamomile,” they state, loud enough to be heard over Yuji’s broken wails even as Sukuna attempts to calm him with hesitant shushes.

You mumble a thank you, pleased as the warm liquid soothes your raw throat.

Sukuna stares at the mug blankly as he holds the two kids, reminding himself of your words from earlier when Choso was struggling.

“He just needs you to be there for him. You don’t have to say anything.”

And what would he say, anyway? Sorry he failed again?

It’s not like he can even reassure the kid that he’ll still see them since he was granted visitation, because the reality is that he doesn’t believe Kaori will honor that. It doesn’t mean he won’t try, but he has a suspicion that Kaori will head back overseas as soon as she’s able to get the boys out of the country, leaving behind everything they know and love.

Shutting his eyes, he lets the kids bawl, lets them get it all out. Hell, he thinks he’d be crying too if he had anything left to give.

That leaves you and Uraume to do little more than watch. It’s gut-wrenching to see their family so torn up, and you get the feeling that the rest of Sukuna’s week will be equally as draining as the past twenty four hours already has been.

You frown as neither boy’s sobs die down, but right now you’re not what they need. You can’t step in and calm them down, they’re exactly where they need to be. They’re exactly where they want to be.

Sitting at the table towards the back of Sukuna’s apartment, Uraume keeps up a quiet conversation with you to keep your own mind off of the situation. It’s hardly a matter of moments before your stomach is growling, betraying the fact that you’d forgotten breakfast and at this point the sun’s nearly reaching the end of its journey across the afternoon sky.

“Why don’t we go get food?” Uraume offers, casting a glance at Sukuna and the boys. “I think he’d appreciate it,” they add in a softer tone.

With a nod, you let Uraume lead the way out to the familiar chicken joint you last visited with Sukuna months ago. After placing your orders, you take a seat at one of the booths in the back corner to wait.

“How long have you known?” Uraume queries.

Reading between the lines and assuming they’re referencing the lawsuit, you sigh. “He told me last year at Satoru’s after-finals Christmas party.” Coincidentally, that’s also the first time you were here with Sukuna.

“So he’s known for a while,” they comment, piecing together what they’ve learned throughout the day.

Nodding, you examine their features. They don’t seem hurt by the revelation that Sukuna’s kept something so big from them. Their fingers tap a number of times on the table as they contemplate something.

“Did he pay for the lawyer?”

You nod.

Rolling their eyes, they mutter “dumbass” under their breath.

Your head tilts at their reaction curiously.

“Atsuya is well-off. Very well-off. Had he asked for help, Atsuya would have had no issue paying.”

“Like he’d ask for help,” you scoff lightheartedly.

Uraume cracks a smile, sitting upright. “I suppose you have a point.”

The sounds of the diner fill the air as you continue to wait on your order. A coffee machine whirrs to life as someone takes a seat at the counter. Their foot kicks at the base of the counter, the rhythmic sound serving as a distraction from your thoughts.

“How are you faring, really?”

Your meek smile fades as you consider their words, fiddling with the receipt between your fingers. You’ve spent so long focusing on the well-being of Sukuna and the kids that you haven’t really had the opportunity to stop and consider your own emotions. The momentary pauses in the washroom between stressful events and the short-lived silence of the world at night hardly give you a chance to unwind these days.

How are you?

Chewing on your lip, you feel your resolve shattering. Tears well in your eyes, but you don’t bother hiding them for once. As they slip past your lashes and down your cheeks, you shake your head in reply.

“I don’t know,” you whisper honestly, sucking in a breath as you wipe at your cheeks.

Uraume’s brow pulls together in sympathy. “You still love him, don’t you?”

Did you even tell Uraume about that, or is it that obvious?

Making a line of small rips across the top of the receipt between the tips of your fingers, you chuckle wryly. “I don’t know,” you repeat yourself, deflecting the question. Your deflection is all the answer that Uraume needs. They offer a sympathetic smile, passing a napkin across the table. “I don’t know, I feel sort of dumb if I say yes,” you admit through tears as you take the napkin from them to dab under your eyes.

“You’re not stupid for having feelings,” they shrug. “Sukuna’s a good guy-” they pause, sighing as they add “- he’s also an idiot and he pushes away everyone he cares about,” they shake their head, “but what happened between you both tells me that he cares about you a lot.”

Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you continue to tear the receipt, a pile of small pieces of paper gathering beneath your hands.

“Look at what happened with him and Toji,” Uraume points out. “I think you know as well as I do that Sukuna feels bad, he’s just too stubborn to do anything about it.”

You nod slowly. “What about you, then? Has he ever pulled anything like that with you?”

Uraume scoffs. “He used to, all the time. I’ve known a lot of people like Sukuna though, so I think it just doesn’t affect me anymore.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” you sigh, arranging the pile of shredded receipt pieces into a little fish shape. “I think it’s just hard when I’ve seen the other side of him, you know?”

“You get used to it.”

You glance up at Uraume at that, catching a hidden meaning to their words. Their eyes speak of something deeper, but you don’t push. Clearly they’re not referring to Sukuna with that statement, but whoever it is that they used to know that was similar to him.

With an understanding smile that doesn’t meet your eyes, you rest your chin on your knuckles, your elbow leaning against the table.

“For what it’s worth, I do think you’re right about Sukuna.”

Your gaze rises again and you watch as they lean back in the booth in thought.

“I don’t think he ever wanted things to get this far. With you, or Toji. Any of us. He’s a complicated person.” They raise their hand, running it through their hair. “So, no, I don’t think it’s wrong for you to still have feelings for him, even after the fight.” Running their tongue over their lower lip. “And I don’t think it’s wrong for you to miss his brothers,” they add in a softer tone. “They’re family.”

Reminded of the situation waiting for you back at Sukuna’s apartment, you turn your attention back to the fish-shaped pile of receipt shavings. Pushing your finger through it, you inhale shakily.

“I think he’s gonna appeal,” you mumble in an effort to cover up the evidence of your tears.

“That’s good,” Uraume agrees, smoothing their baggy jeans beneath the table. “I don’t know much about their step-mom, but Choso sounded pretty torn up for the past couple of hours,” they state worriedly.

“Yuji doesn’t even know her.”

Uraume grimaces. “She’ll take care of them. They’ll be okay, even while they’re gone. Sukuna will get them back.”

You nod, but salty tears won’t stop now, running down your cheeks at record pace. Between shaky breaths, you use the napkin Uraume handed you earlier to attempt to dab away the evidence of your sadness, but they just keep coming.

“Oh honey, is everything alright?”

You dab more at your tears, sniffling as you raise your head to find the sweet older waitress who served you and Sukuna months ago in the early morning hours.

“Oh, let me get you some tea.”

“No no, it’s alright!” You insist, shaking your head as you offer an unconvincing smile to the kind woman.

“I insist, on the house!”

Before you can protest, she’s running back around the counter to pour some hot water into a mug and toss in a little tea bag. She runs back over to set it back on the table.

And god that’s just too sweet and it makes you want to cry even more.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“You two take care, okay? Your order is just about ready.”

You can’t even manage another thank you as she makes her way back behind the counter and a sob wracks your body.

“I should have tipped her more,” you mumble, waiting for the tea to diffuse before taking a sip.

Uraume chuckles, pulling some cash from the wallet in their pocket. “I’ve got it.”

“Everyone is too sweet,” you laugh in return between the cries, thankful at least that the energy in the air is overall positive. Even Uraume seems confident that Sukuna’s appeal process will go well.

It’s hard to hold the same confidence when you’d been so sure that Sukuna would win in the first place and it wouldn’t get this far, but you cling to their positivity regardless.

“How are you doing so well?” You query, sniffling as you dab at your cheeks. “Aren’t you close to Yu and Cho too?”

“I am,” they confirm, “but if you’re holding Sukuna together, someone needs to hold you together, right?”

Meeting their eyes, you see the underlying sadness that no longer hides behind their kind smiles.

“Who’s gonna hold you together, then?” It comes out as a whisper, but you know they heard.

They blink quickly as tears gather along their lash line, but their control is better than your own. “I’ll be fine,” they affirm.

“You know, it would make me feel better about crying if you also cry,” you point out.

Uraume laughs, but liquid gathers in their eyes once again, spilling over their cheeks as they allow themself to indulge in the moment with you. In truth, it’s nice to have someone like Uraume here when you’re so used to holding yourself together for Sukuna’s sake.

The waitress returns a moment later with a couple of bags of food, setting them on the edge of the table for you.

“You poor sweethearts, let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Uraume thanks the waitress, wiping at their tears and nodding reassuringly at the kind lady. Once the waitress has retreated, you grab another napkin, dabbing at your cheeks again. Uraume follows suit, burying their face in it.

“If what Choso said is true, I’m worried,” Uraume admits, their strong facade faltering in favor of the vulnerability that they so easily hide. “Sukuna never told me why they ended up in his care, but I never got the impression that this would happen,” they mutter, lifting their face from the napkin as their tears dissipate.

You breathe out a sigh, nodding. “Whatever he said is probably true.”

Uraume’s lip curls downwards at the thought. “I see,” they hum, staring at the bags of takeout. They allow a moment for the air to clear of sniffles and the tension to pull back from the table as you both attempt to mentally reset before returning to Sukuna. The last thing he needs right now are his two friends crying into his meal.

As the sounds of the rumbling coffee machine and the sizzling of the grill in the back overtake your collective sniffles and sobs, Uraume pushes to their feet.

“We should all have some food,” they insist, grabbing one of the bags. “Let’s go.”

With one sharp final breath, you steel yourself as you nod and push all the shreds of receipt into your used napkin. You thank the waitress, tossing the paper out on the way to the door as you begin the walk back to the apartment.

It’s made in relative silence as both you and Uraume take the opportunity to breathe in the early spring air. It’s still cool out, the breeze ruffling your hair as you walk in tandem. Birds sing overhead, the sounds of feathers in the wind serving as a distraction as your eyes follow a small brown songbird. Some sort of finch, likely, that lands and pecks at the remains of what looks to have been a fry. Its little head tilts side to side as it contemplates the taste before flying off.

Your gaze sticks to the skyline where the bird disappears as the sun falls behind a cloud. Maybe it was always a pipe dream all along, but in your head you’d pictured a time where you would be able to take Sukuna’s little brothers to the park while Sukuna worked. Maybe you never should have envisioned that from the start. Between the stability that your friendship with Sukuna lacks and the fact that they’re his little brothers and not your own, maybe it was always too much to hope you might be able to see the two of them grin as you hand them ice cream on a warm and sunny day.

Caught up in your own little world, you hardly realize that you’ve come to a halt before Sukuna’s apartment. Uraume dials up to his unit to no reply as you exchange a glance.

“You didn’t happen to grab his keys, did you?”

Shaking your head, you reach forward to dial the number again.

Nothing.

“I’ll call him,” you offer.

The tone repeats as you await his reply, praying something hasn’t gone wrong. When he picks up seconds before his answering machine would have, you breathe out in relief.

“I fuckin’ hear you, I’m trying to get the buzzer,” he replies abruptly to your call. Between the shuffling on his end and Yuji’s muffled whines and cries, you’re barely able to make out what he said. “Just give me a- c’mon Yu, it’s alright- give me a momen-”

The call cuts out before he can even finish his sentence. Pulling the phone back from your ear, you stare at it in confusion. “Um, dial the buzzer again?”

Uraume nods, dialing up again. On the final buzz tone, the door unlatches and you head up in silence. Taking a moment to pause before the door, you both mentally reset to the best of your abilities.

It seemed Sukuna hadn’t bothered to- or been able to- lock the door as you push your way in once you’re both ready.

The scene you’re met with strikes horror through your heart like a bullet. Yuji is wailing, wrapped in a blanket on the couch as Sukuna attempts to peel Choso’s hands from his dress shirt.

“C’mon brat, I’ll be right back. I just wanna change,” Sukuna grumbles tiredly, running on fumes as irritation dances around the edge of his tone. Each time he manages to free one of Choso’s hands, he latches back onto his brother the moment Sukuna reaches for his other hand.

“You can’t leave us,” the little boy panics through tears, “don’t leave us, please don’t leave us.”

Yuji’s sobs increase in volume as you exchange a look at Uraume. Handing them the second takeout bag, they take it to the table as you make your way over to Sukuna and Choso. Uraume is behind you shortly as they attempt to soothe Yuji.

Sukuna locks eyes with you. Concern, frustration, and sadness all linger within the crimson of his irises but most of all, he looks like he just needs a moment to himself. His movements are weary with the weight of exhaustion and whatever fight he has in him to peel Choso from his shirt dwindles by the second in favor of guilt, but he just needs a moment to himself so badly.

“Hey, Choso,” you gently greet him. The little boy eyes you through tears, his grip on Sukuna remaining firm. He doesn’t answer, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he refuses to let go of his older brother. “Why don’t you come get some food?” You encourage with a sympathetic smile.

“‘M not hungry,” he murmurs, his voice small as he tugs on Sukuna’s shirt in an attempt to get the man to sit.

“Cho, c’mon-” Sukuna gruffs, although he doesn’t want to yank himself from his brother lest he make things worse than they already are.

Which is saying a lot, because he’s pretty sure this is about the worst things have ever been.

So to think that this might not be rock bottom is something he doesn’t want to consider.

“Maybe you aren’t, but I bet your brother is,” you offer, casting a glance at Sukuna. “Come hang out with Uraume and I for a bit, okay? Kuna’s not going anywhere.”

“He’s leaving us,” Choso mutters, eyes wide with fear.

Kneeling down to his height, you offer your best smile. “You’ve got time with Kuna still, sweetheart,” you reassure him. “And you know what he told me?”

Glancing between you both, Choso’s fingers loosen their grip a minute amount as he whispers “what?” between shaky breaths.

“He told me he’s gonna fight to get you back.”

Choso whirls back around to Sukuna, searching for a response. He can’t afford to hesitate to reassure his brother, even if he has his doubts that he’ll ever get a free trial. With that in mind, he nods curtly.

With Sukuna’s response, Choso’s grip relents just an inch more. “And you know what else, honey?”

Choso turns back to stare at you.

“He’s got my help, and Uraume’s.” You point a thumb back to Uraume who’s soothed Yuji’s sobs into sniffles and small gasps.

Choso stares past you to Sukuna’s friend, his grip relaxing enough that Sukuna could back away if he chose, but he stays in place. The last thing the poor kid needs is to feel as though it’s Sukuna who’s pulling away, when the tattooed man is the only constant that still remains in Choso’s life.

Jin’s gone, Kaori’s gone, only to return like a fly they can’t get rid of, Toji’s gone, their house has changed, their financials have changed. Even you had been gone for a month, though the kids don’t need to know that.

Sukuna is the one thing that’s always been the same. You don’t doubt the fact that he’s likely all Choso feels like he can cling to for some sort of sense of normalcy.

“Come have some food,” you encourage with a smile. “We got some chicken and fries for you both,” you coax, offering your hand out to him.

With a final glance up at Sukuna, Choso takes your hand and lets you pull him to the kitchen table. Yuji and Uraume are shortly behind you as you unpack the food.

Sukuna lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, slipping into his room for a reprieve.

When he emerges, he feels ages better, as though the suit and slacks had some sort of negative air, something to hold over his head. Shedding himself of them, he feels miles more comfortable in a pair of black sweatpants and a shirt with the sleeves torn off and the Alien logo across the front. It’s clearly well-loved, the print cracked and fading from years of use.

He slumps into his chair at the table, pulling the last unopened takeout container towards himself. He doesn’t think twice as he bites into the chicken sandwich, grateful to finally get some food in his stomach.

The unexpected side-effect of eating a full sandwich in just a few bites is that he damn-near hurls when Yuji speaks up.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he mutters meekly. “I don’t-” he sniffles, dipping a fry in ketchup. “I don’t get it.” He dips the same fry in ketchup again, his brow pulled together in confusion. “Did we do something wrong?”

With the way Sukuna’s face drains of color, you take it upon yourself to answer, even as you feel tears fill your eyes. You don’t let them break the seal though, keeping those emotions as tucked away as possible. “No, sweetie. You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing that’s happening is your fault.”

Yuji, still confused, continues dipping the same fry in ketchup. “Did Kuna do something wrong?”

Sukuna tenses at your side. Chewing hard on your lower lip to prevent your tears from spilling, you shake your head. “No, no one here did anything wrong.”

Sukuna wishes he believed you. He wishes the circumstances of this lunch- dinner- whatever it is, could be celebratory, but the mood is sour, somber.

“You’re just gonna go stay with your mom for a little bit while Sukuna takes care of some things, okay?” Uraume offers in that familiar reassuring smile they’re always able to offer. You wish you had their resolve, but your body betrays you. “It’ll be fun,” they add. “Like a field trip, and Choso will take care of you, right Cho?”

Choso’s hand trembles as he nibbles on a fry. “Yeah,” he whispers, his eyes flickering between the adults in the room as he gathers the meaning behind Uraume’s words and reassures his little brother.

“But… Kuna can’t come with us?” Yuji asks, dipping his fry in ketchup again.

“I’ll try, Yu. Your mom doesn’t like me,” he admits honestly.

“Why?”

Grimacing, Sukuna wearily shakes his head. “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he mutters, dropping the subject as he leans back in his chair.

The rest of the meal is otherwise silent as each of the boys continue to pick at their food, their appetites lacking. Uraume excuses themself shortly after to attend an evening class, and Sukuna takes the chance to follow them to the door to talk.

“I shoulda told you,” he mumbles, keeping his voice down. The apartment is quiet enough that his voice would carry if he raises his voice in the slightest.

“It’s fine, Sukuna. I don’t expect you to tell me everything, though I wish you would have reached out if you needed a hand,” they admit as they pull on their jacket.

To be fair, he did reach out when he needed a hand. Unfortunately the day he needed a hand was, well, today, which solves no problems. That’s just Sukuna being stubborn.

“You don’t need to tell me everything,” they add tentatively, pausing as they throw their bag over their shoulder. “But Toji deserves to know.”

Sukuna averts his eyes from Uraume, guilt squeezing his throat. “Yeah,” he rasps quietly, offering nothing more.

Toji’s broken words cling to his memory.

“He was more of a father to me than my parents ever were and you know that!”

With a deep sigh, he crosses his arms over his chest, defeat weighing heavily on his lungs as his breathing becomes labored.

Shit, he’s done it again.

If Jin was like a father to Toji, had he never stopped to consider that Choso would be like a little brother to him? How many hours had the little boy tagged along on their adventures and sat at skateparks or basketball courts with them?

With every question, his brain conjures another image of Toji including little Choso in their adventures. His hands were too small to hold a ball and Sukuna and Toji’s skateboards were a bit too big for Choso to learn on. Hell, Jin would have killed them for even letting the kid step foot on a board without a helmet, but they didn’t have one for him.

Still, Toji found ways to include Choso, just as Sukuna did. He was their scorekeeper and hype man for basketball, grinning happily as Toji would hoist him up onto his shoulders and run around the court after each basket. Choso would grin and giggle in glee, always cheering for Toji. He’d even managed to put together a little chalk set for Choso to play with while they skated. Sukuna recalls some of the older kids making requests and including the little boy, encouraging his artistic skills.

Toji was always better with Choso than Sukuna ever was. It came as a shock given both men were rough around the edges and they’d both sworn they would never want kids of their own when they got older.

But Toji was always great with them.

Now, the thought makes Sukuna want to wretch.

With a frown, he finally meets Uraume’s gaze again.

“Think about it,” they urge him.

Oh, if they only knew.

“And Sukuna? Try to give them a good last few days with you. Don’t let this be the way they remember their time with you,” Uraume adds, casting a glance past Sukuna at a very somber table as you clean up and attempt to encourage the kids despite your own glaring sadness.

“Right,” he hums in agreement.

“Let me know if you need anything. I’m sorry it came to this,” they sigh, grimacing in earnest. “Don’t give up. They need you.”

Sukuna follows their gaze, watching the way you do your best to feign enthusiasm, ruffling Yuji’s hair. You do what you can to let them know they still have time, but Sukuna can see the underlying sadness behind your eyes and if he can, so can Choso, maybe even Yuji. He appreciates your effort, regardless. He’s not sure how well he could manage what you’re doing.

“Right,” he mutters again. “Thanks.”

Uraume offers a bleak smile as they leave. Sukuna shuts the door behind him as the late afternoon sun sets over the horizon and evening approaches quickly. He’s not sure how you manage it, but you keep yourself together while quietly encouraging the boys to play video games, helping them get past some Sonic level they were stuck on.

Or, at least trying to.

Both boys are sitting on the floor with you, the coffee table pushed aside to make room. Yuji is sitting in your lap, giggling as he mashes the A button for you and sends Sonic off every ledge. You let out a mock gasp each time, playing along with Yuji’s little plan and even find Choso calms down, leaning against your shoulder.

The moment allows Sukuna some sense of relief, giving him time to mentally go over the trial. He evaluates each and every thing that went wrong, but for every detail he finds that he could have done something different, it’s always counteracted with some lie he’s sure Kaori already practiced.

Leaning back in the corner of the couch behind you, he stares up at the ceiling. His chest clenches as a the level you’re playing changes and the apartment grows silent during the loading screen. No sniffles, no gasps for air, the first moment of genuine silence since he’d broken the news to his little brothers.

He usually craves the silence after a long day, but now it strikes dread into his heart. He’ll need to grow accustomed to that silence, and that’s not something he’s prepared to face.

He sits quietly, watching the way you interact with his brothers and offer them reassurance so effortlessly. His heart picks up its pace as you laugh when Yuji sends your character off a ledge again.

You’re so good with them.

You’re so good with him.

His jaw tenses as his eyes travel the length of your face, settling on your eyes, set on the screen. You’re struggling to hold yourself together, but you’re doing it so willingly for him and his brothers. You’re being the beacon of support they all so desperately need, even Sukuna himself, as much as he hates to admit that he needs help.

You don’t even blink twice about skipping class, about the study time you’re missing out on, or bearing the weight of Sukuna’s shattered mental health. You’re just there.

Without realizing it, he’s openly scowling at you. He has the answer he needs as to why you’re doing all of this for him, but he can’t help but feel like it’s still not enough.

It’s not enough to think that you do this purely out of love for him and his brothers. Why do you bother when Sukuna doesn’t reciprocate those feelings?

He grinds his teeth as his stomach flutters so dramatically that it feels like it’s doing a damn flip. Shuffling uncomfortably, he pushes aside his thoughts and focuses on the screen, finally able to zone out as you hold the controller over Yuji’s head. Yuji giggles as he clambers over you, but you’re able to cross the finish line before the little boy can sabotage you.

Sukuna can’t say how long he zones out, but it’s dark when you suggest a movie as Yuji tiredly begins to hunch over in your lap. Twisting to get a look at Sukuna, you’re not shocked to find him staring at you with a lidded expression. The dark circles beneath his eyes feel especially accentuated in the dim blue lighting emanating from the TV.

“Can we watch Ice Age?” Yuji requests through a yawn.

“That’s up to your brother.” You nudge Choso, who shrugs. Though he’s been somewhat responsive today, it’s clear that he’s not all there right now.

“Go sit with Kuna,” you encourage them both, getting to your feet to set up Ice Age. Making your way to the shelf beside the TV, you peer back at the three brothers as Sukuna grunts. A bittersweet smile makes its way to your face at the sight before you.

Yuji crawls into Sukuna’s lap, kneeing him in the stomach in the process, but before Sukuna can mutter out a ‘watch it, brat’, or something similar, Choso settles at the man’s side, resting his head on Sukuna’s shoulder.

The brute’s eyes soften as his words die in his throat. He lifts his arms to encircle the boys, slumping back into the cushions again. Fatigue overtakes his expression as quickly as you can pop the DVD case open with a click! and get the movie started.

With the movie on a lower volume than usual, Sukuna’s asleep before Scrat the squirrel finds his acorn.

Which is impressive, given that it’s maybe twenty seconds into the movie, but between the comforting weight and reassuring warmth of his little brothers still safe with him, it’s all he needs to find peace. Even if it only lasts for the hour and twenty one minute run-time of the movie.

With Sukuna’s gentle snores piercing the air every few seconds, Yuji whispers a sweet “night, Kuna,” but he’s not far behind.

You can barely bring yourself to pay attention to the cartoon antics of the characters of the movie, yawning yourself every time you catch a glimpse of the three brothers. It’s sweet, but their fear isn’t lost on you. The way Choso clung to Sukuna earlier, you can only imagine how painful it’ll be to really be forced to let go.

They don’t deserve this pain.

Swallowing hard, your vision grows blurry as liquid clouds your vision.

Your eyes widen in surprise when Choso whispers your name, barely audible over the TV even at a low volume. You had no idea he was awake, his eyes closed each time you would catch a glance at them. Swiping at your tears before they can fall, you quietly reply.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“Do you really think Kuna can get us back?”

Your heart shatters at the sound of Choso’s doubt. You’d convinced the boys that Sukuna would win this time around. You’d spent so long reassuring them that he would, that you’re not sure your words carry any weight anymore. Yet Choso still seeks your guidance.

“I do,” you reply with all the certainty you can muster.

Satisfied with your response, he blinks with a drowsy nod. “I’ll miss you,” he mumbles, his head falling back against Sukuna.

Choking on the sobs you need to hold back, you bring a hand up to your mouth. “I’ll miss you, too.”

Choso’s already asleep (for sure this time, if his ajar jaw is anything to go off of) by the time you say it, and thank god for that as the dam breaks again. They’re not your family, you keep reminding yourself, but it doesn’t matter. You love them like they are.

Your quiet heartbreak penetrates the air as you keep your eyes on the movie. Somehow the little found family of characters hardly manages to soothe your frazzled nerves as you find yourself comparing each of the characters to the people in the room. Does that make you Sid the Sloth? Shit, probably. But somehow that doesn’t stop the tears.

The credits roll, leaving the room pitch black as you take deep breaths to even out your breathing. The DVD player clicks a number of times before sending the movie back to the title screen, playing the same few scenes on repeat. The loop only seems to last a minute or two, but it allows you to get your bearings.

Casting a glance at your phone and the multitude of ‘are you okay?’ texts from Kento, alongside a couple from Uraume, you figure it’s late enough that you should head out. After all, you have classes and work tomorrow and the last thing you need is the stress of being a third day behind on everything.

You have your own life that you can’t afford to slack on. With a deep breath, you get to your feet, careful not to disturb the pile of sleeping brothers. Brushing your clothing off, you gather your belongings and set everything at the door before returning to the couch, contemplating waking Sukuna up.

His head is leaning back on the back of the couch, which will undoubtedly leave him with a kink in his neck.

But god they look so sweet. They look like a happy family, to anyone who doesn’t know.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you tap your fingers along the glass momentarily before opening the camera to snap a very dark, barely visible photo. Your phone does what it can to brighten and make sense of the image, but there’s something so real about the dark and fuzzy image that brings a small smile to your face.

Shoving your phone back in your pocket, you turn to creep away when a grunt makes you jump.

“Headin’ out, princess?” Sukuna’s voice is gravelly with sleep, low and husky in a way that would set your senses alight in different circumstances. Now that tone carries with it the weight of loss.

“Yeah, um, the movie’s over. I have class and work tomorrow.”

“Right,” he grunts, yawning as he attempts to adjust his sore back. “Shit, these two’re getting heavy,” he grumbles.

You offer a bittersweet smile, watching as he attempts to crack his neck, only to manage to muss his hair out of place until a large tuft covers his vision. Unable to move his arms, he attempts to blow it out of the way, leaving him with a mildly frustrated scowl and a very disheveled appearance.

He huffs, giving up as he’s forced to peek through his overgrown hair up at you. “Thanks for comin’ today.”

“No problem, Kuna,” you whisper in return, taking a ginger step towards the tense man. His piercing gaze doesn’t leave you as you hesitantly reach forward. You pause before you touch his hair, your outstretched fingers giving away your intentions, but when Sukuna doesn’t react, you proceed to card your nails through his hair and brush it out of his vision.

You pull back quickly when his stoic expression remains unchanged, his thoughts painfully hidden behind a mild look.

“Your- um- hair’s gotten long,” you comment to fill the mildly uncomfortable silence.

“Mm. Haven’t really had time to cut it,” he replies evenly as Yuji flips in his sleep.

“I like it, it suits you,” you state, chewing on your lip absently.

Sukuna’s grateful for the darkness as heat creeps up the back of his neck. He keeps his gaze aloof, but he knows his cheeks would betray him if the lighting were the tiniest bit brighter.

He’s not sure when your compliments started heating up his neck and cheeks, but he hates it.

This isn’t Ryomen Sukuna.

But then again, he’s not so sure he knows what makes him him anymore, anyway.

So what’s one more thing to add to the pile?

Quietly clearing your throat when he doesn’t react, you begin to turn, excusing yourself. “I should go. Call me if you need anything, though.”

“Mhm. I owe you one.”

You pause before you can turn towards the door, raising your brow.

He blows air from his nose, as amused as he can manage. “Thanks.”

You offer him a smile before heading towards the door, pulling your shoes on and your coat over your blouse. “Sukuna?”

“Mm?”

“I’m really sorry.”

He blinks once, followed in quick succession by several more as he averts his gaze to the coffee table. His brow pulls together, but he doesn’t know what to say in response. He wants to hate the pity. From both Uraume and from you, but he can’t bring himself to. The Sukuna he’s used to feels out of reach now, a stranger residing in his own body.

“I know you’ll figure it out, though.” It’s the best you can offer in his silence.

He hums.

“See you at work tomorrow.”

“Probably not,” he grunts, pointedly jutting his chin out towards his brothers.

“Right. Um- text me?”

He hums once more.

“Goodnight, Kuna.”

–

As expected, Sukuna doesn’t show up to work the following day. He must have given Maya a heads’ up because every time someone is missing without notice since the disappearance of the original graphic designer, she tends to freak out.

It’s tough to focus with the image of Sukuna and his brothers all passed out on the couch burned into your mind. Even as you edit a young adult novel, an evil step-sister type character makes you want to leap through the page and tear her throat out as though she’s Kaori.

You can’t decide if that’s a dramatic reaction or not.

You don’t hear from Sukuna for most of the day, until late at night when he finally replies to your inquiry of how they’re all doing. You can practically envision him laying in bed, eyes half-lidded as he struggles to stay awake while he texts you.

10:49 PM Kuna || ok. theyre like koalas clinging to me

Under any other circumstances, that would bring a smile to your face, but their fear can be felt through the screen. It resonates deep within you as you reply.

10:51 PM You || And you?

Sukuna doesn’t reply.

Friday is radio silence as well, until the late night hours roll around. You wouldn’t usually be awake at this time, able to focus on your studies more in the morning, but playing catch-up on two days’ worth of studies while struggling to focus has you racing to work through your textbooks.

Your phone buzzes, and it would seem your friend has finally replied to your question from the previous night.

1:03 AM Kuna || tired

You stare at the word, the meaning bleeding through the screen. He’s worn out, running on fumes. You’re honestly surprised he’s managed to hold himself together so well over the past couple of days. Not because he isn’t strong, but because the circumstances he’s fallen into aren’t fair and no one should be expected to be as strong as him or his brothers.

1:06 AM You || I’m so sorry, Kuna

Sukuna doesn’t reply.

Mid-day Saturday, you crack your window open, grateful that the snow has melted and it’s warm enough to let some fresh air into your apartment. Sunlight streams through the window, warming your skin and bringing a sense of life to your work. Studying doesn’t feel quite as dreary when you can enjoy some natural light at the same time.

Stretching your arms over your head, you let out a sigh, deciding to take a break from classwork. Unlocking your phone, you instinctively check your messages with Sukuna, like second nature. He still hasn’t replied.

Frowning, you stare out the window at the sun beaming down on grass outside. It’s still too early in the year for signs of regrowth and greenery, but even the yellowed grass and leafless trees feel full of life with birds flying overhead and children laughing in the distance.

Your shoulders fall at the thought of Choso and Yuji, who might be out among the laughter if their life hadn’t recently taken such a dramatic turn.

Maybe you need a little sunlight yourself to keep your thoughts in order.

Pushing to your feet, you put together a light makeup look, toss on a jacket and make your way out the front door.

The feeling of warm sunlight on your skin is refreshing after such a long winter. You weave your way through the apartment parking lot until you reach a walking path that curls down into a ravine basked in sunlight.

The pavement beneath your feet curls further into the ravine and the further you walk, the more serene it grows. The laughter and the hum of engines becomes distant until it’s all a distant memory. Finches sing overhead while a squirrel peers curiously at you from its perch on a branch that hangs over the path.

For a moment, it allows you to forget. To forget about grades and scholarships, to forget about internships and impending job applications, and to forget about the trials that plague your dear friend. Both metaphorically, and physically.

But peace can only last so long when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

Expecting to see Shoko or Kento’s names, you raise your brow when you’re met with the sight of neither.

2:17 PM Kuna || you busy

2:17 PM Kuna || ?

You don’t hesitate to reply.

2:18 PM You || Nope! What’s up, Kuna?

2:19 PM Kuna || fucking exhausted

2:19 PM Kuna || can you watch the kids for a couple of hours

2:20 PM Kuna || i need a nap

Frowning, you turn on your heel to head back up to your building. You don’t bother heading to your floor, hopping straight into your car with an easy ‘On my way!’

Your screen flashes before you pull out of the parking lot with a quick thanks from Sukuna, and it’s not long before you’re at his door, knocking.

“Can you get that, Cho?” you hear Sukuna’s muffled voice on the other side of the door. There’s some shuffling before the little boy quietly opens the door, peering up at you uncertainly until he realizes it’s you. His form relaxes as he lets you swing the door open, following him inside.

His hair is a disheveled mess, sticking up in every which way, but he’s okay. He doesn’t seem entirely distant, maybe just a bit detached, which isn’t entirely unlike how Sukuna looks. The oldest brother sits at the kitchen table with Yuji on his lap, teaching the man how to make a friendship bracelet.

“Then- then-” Yuji pauses, contemplating the next step as Sukuna pulls a few strands of twine together somewhat clumsily. “Um- pull this piece,” he points at Sukuna’s left hand, “over this one.” Sukuna’s hands almost feel too big for this activity, but he’s surprisingly calm as he follows his youngest brother’s instructions. “Oh- wait.” Yuji holds the bracelet out a bit. “Um- I think I messed up.”

You half expect Sukuna to sigh, rolling his eyes with some comment about Yuji being a brat, but he simply undoes the last step without a word.

When the door shuts behind you, he casts a glance at you and you realize why.

There’s no life behind his eyes. His chin is covered in stubble, more than you’ve ever seen on him. His shirt is covered in holes and obvious tear and snot stains that you can only imagine are from Yuji. His hair is just as unkempt as Choso’s, and his chest rises and falls so evenly and slowly it almost seems as though he’s already asleep sitting up.

His head sways slightly as he looks you up and down. The sunlight filtering in through the patio window highlights just how pale his skin is as he blinks a number of times. Tears form in his eyes not from sadness, but from his complete and utter lack of sleep over the last few days, more so than usual. He yawns, nudging Yuji to grab the boy’s attention.

The youngest Itadori peeps around his brother’s broad form to catch a glimpse of you, bounding down off of Sukuna to give you a hug.

“Hey, sweetie,” you greet him, obliging his request to be held when he puts his arms out. “Hey, Cho,” you greet the middle brother as well, who’s fiddling with a piece of string as he blankly stares at Sukuna.

He knows. He knows Sukuna’s at his limit.

Letting out a breath, you make your way to Sukuna’s side, peering over his shoulder as he sets down the bracelet he was working on and harshly rubs his facial features.

“Looks good, Yuji and Choso are teaching you well.”

“Mhm!” Yuji agrees, leaning down to point at the half-tied bracelet. “He’s using my favorite colors, see!” He insists. It matches yours, red and black, though it’s designed with a different style of stripes.

“Good choice, Yu,” you agree, attempting to adjust him in your arms as he leans over a bit too far.

“Your brother stole the piece of string you wanted me to add,” Sukuna states dryly, pointing lazily at Choso who’s in his own little world as he stands still near the door where you left him. “Go bother him,” he instructs, mostly just to get a moment to yourselves.

Yuji practically leaps from your arms, stumbling as he lands on the kitchen tile and surely disturbs their neighbors in the apartment below, but Sukuna doesn’t have the energy to care.

“Are you okay?”

Sukuna drags his hands down his face again. “I feel sick,” he admits quietly.

He looks it, too, but he doesn’t need to hear that from you. Raising the back of your hand to his forehead, you’re actually shocked to find he’s not. At least, he isn’t running a fever.

“Go get some sleep,” you murmur softly, dropping your hand. “I’m gonna take them out for a bit.”

He sighs deeply, his muscles relaxing as he pushes out from the chair. “Thanks, you’re an angel,” he rasps.

Barely audible, yet it hits your heart like a semi-truck. Shit, he needs to stop finding such sweet titles for you that make your heart flutter every time he uses them. It’s not fair, even if he doesn’t know it.

As Sukuna drags himself to his room, leaving you staring after him with a steady hammering in your chest, Yuji barrels into you. “Where’s Kuna going?”

“He’s gonna get some sleep,” you explain, ruffling Yuji’s hair. You glance down at what you think are Yuji’s pajamas, making a motion towards the boys’ rooms. “Why don’t you two go get ready? Let’s go out to the park.”

Yuji gasps excitedly, bounding off without a second thought as Choso stalls behind you.

“Cho?”

He hesitates. “I don’t wanna leave Kuna.”

Shit.

“Hey,” you kneel down to his height. “We’re not leaving him. We’ll come back. He just really needs some sleep, sweetheart.” You know Choso already knows that, but the reassurance sets him a bit more at ease. “It’s really warm out, I think some fresh air will make you feel better.”

Choso’s dark hazel eyes examine your expression for a moment as he nervously runs his hand up and down his opposite arm. “Kuna will still be here,” he breathes out as reassurance for himself more than you.

“That’s right.”

“Okay,” he agrees, slowly making his way back to his room.

Letting out a breath, you make your way to the table, taking a look at the friendship bracelets that the brothers were making. Twine is strung along the table alongside a book with instructions. There’s a purple bracelet that seems complete off to the side, though it’s much too small to fit on any adult wrist, and a half-finished red one with a matching pattern where Sukuna was just sitting.

Taking your lower lip between your teeth, your brow pulls together.

Sukuna’s making friendship bracelets for his little brothers.

Gingerly reaching for the book, you skim the instructions, flipping back a page to look at the first page for the pattern. The pattern in full makes a few diamonds along the length of each bracelet, which the book details as symbolizing an unbreakable bond. Your lips part as the words settle like a stone in the pit of your stomach.

Your fingers minutely tremble as you flip through the book, searching for the stripy pattern that matches your own bracelet.

Inspiration.

Shutting the book abruptly, you shut your eyes and let out a breath to mentally reset before you allow tears to break through the barrier you’ve barely kept up over the past few days.

It’s just a children’s craft book, surely it’s all just made up.

But that doesn’t matter, does it? Not when the boys believe it.

Chewing harder on your lip, you let the book rest gently on the table again, flipping until you reach the page it was open to originally.

Running your fingers through the pile of tangled string beside the book, you smile as you realize the red and purple string has nearly run out. Pulling your fingers from the mess of string, you quirk your head to the side when you find it’s covering something.

Beneath the mess is a pile of mail, three unopened envelopes all addressed to Sukuna. Or, well, Ryomen. Unsure if the boys buried them and if Sukuna’s even seen them, you gather them in your hands to set them aside- just in case.

You drop them on the counter with a small plop! They bounce once, settling slightly askew as the bottom envelope, thicker than the rest, slides out slightly. Red text across the front catches your eyes as you spot ‘URGEN’ in bold red text. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the last letter would be.

Reaching out, you hover over the mail for a moment as your curiosity nearly gets the better of you, but it’s not your place to look. Hell, you shouldn’t be snooping on your friend. He’s got enough going on.

Re-adjusting the pile, you shuffle the envelope back in place despite the concern that chews relentlessly at the lining of your stomach. As Yuji and Choso re-emerge from their room, you will the thoughts away, focusing on trying to make sure both brothers have a good day.

They both look a bit more put-together now with brushed hair and teeth. Yuji is in a T-shirt for a show or game of some sort that you don’t recognize, while Choso wears a black sweatshirt.

“Yu, grab your basketball and let’s go!”

His eyes widen as he finally gets the chance to use his Christmas gift now that the snow has cleared. He races towards you, excitedly letting you wrap his coat around him as you lead the way out the door.

It doesn’t take long by car to reach the spot you have in mind. You can’t say you know the area around the college too well, but you do know of one park in particular.

And maybe it’s a little bit selfish to bring the kids here, but it’s also the only park with basketball courts you can think of.

Two bus stops past your work sits a massive skatepark with graffiti covering every surface and four basketball courts with worn concrete just outside the fence protecting the half-pipe. Just behind the courts is a small playground with a swing set and a fairly elaborate set-up for climbing with a big curly slide painted yellow.

Giving Yuji’s shoulder a nudge, you watch as he runs over to one of the empty courts, bouncing his basketball a few times as he gets the hang of dribbling. Sukuna won’t let him practice in the apartment, so this is a thrill for the little boy, who giggles and runs around when he sends the ball flying across the concrete on accident.

“You know,” you start, peering down at Choso’s lack of enthusiasm, “I’ve heard you used to join Sukuna out here.”

The brunette returns your gaze, his expression aloof. Shit, sometimes he’s too much like the ex-history major. “I guess,” he agrees.

“I think your brother would love that right now.”

Choso wraps his arms around himself as he watches his little brother clumsily dribble the ball. He’s quiet for a long while as the sun beats down on him, warming his skin with its rays. Birds sing and crickets chirp in the fields that extend on either end of the park, interrupted only when Choso’s raspy voice finally cuts through.

“I don’t really want to. I don’t feel good,” he admits.

Nodding slowly, you set a hand on his back as you lead the way to the empty swings, which let you keep an eye on Yuji while you talk to Choso. “Why not, sweetie?”

Swinging his feet out in front of him, Choso swings back and forth a small distance. You follow suit, bringing you back to a simpler time.

“I’m scared,” he admits. “I don’t wanna see my mom again,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he shakily gasps for air. Wiping at his tears, he keeps his head down.

Your lips part as you feel Choso’s doubt and pain zipping through the air like lightning. You recall Sukuna yelling at Kaori that Choso asked for multiple Christmases whether she would be home. How long had it taken before it really settled in? How long had it taken for such a young kid to realize that his own mother wasn’t coming home?

Staring up into the sky, you take a deep breath. “You remember what I told Yuji the other day?”

Choso kicks his feet again, continuing to wipe his tears on his sleeves. “It won’t be like a field trip or vacation,” he mutters, staring at his black sneakers. “She doesn’t care.”

His words leave you stcuk between a rock and a hard place and even if you’re just as sure as he is that you’re wrong, you have to try to reassure him. “She must care. We wouldn’t be here if she didn’t,” you point out, trying to see the positivity behind her fighting so hard for her children. In reality, you would argue that the reason you’re here is because she doesn’t care, but you can’t tell Choso that.

He eyes you, a tear slipping down his cheek. “You think?”

“I have to,” you admit, shedding light on your own doubts. Choso’s smart enough to see through lies, you don’t need him believing that adults always lie. Especially not someone he’s placing his trust in. “You know, I think you could have a lot of fun with it.”

He eyes you again, something between curiosity and suspicion pulling his brow together.

“It’s gonna be a lot different, but I bet you could make some new friends and you’ll get to meet lots of fun people and play with a bunch of different toys.”

“I don’t want different toys or new people,” he retorts, wiping another tear.

“Maybe not, but I bet you wouldn’t be sitting here right now if it wasn’t for meeting new people.” You make a point of throwing a thumb back in your direction. “I was a new person once.”

Choso’s nods slightly in agreement as he sniffles.

Before you can continue, a shadow casts long over the both of you. You wrench your gaze up to the figure blocking the sun as they smirk.

“Well if it ain’t my favorite brat and my biggest fan,” Toji grins overhead, a basketball tucked under his arm.

Lifting a hand to block the sun as Toji shifts, you pout up at him. “Since when am I a brat?”

“Since ya started hangin’ out with Ryo,” he snorts.

“I never even knew you before then!”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

No wonder those two were so close.

“Are you playing basketball?” You query.

“Nah- well, kinda,” he replies, spinning around as he searches the park for someone. When he spots who he’s looking for, he beckons them over.

Two girls around Choso’s age come into view, both with stark deep green hair. One wears glasses with her long hair up in a ponytail while the other has a chin-length bob-cut. They both bound up to Toji as the girl with glasses wastes no time swiping the ball from under his elbow.

“Hey-” he huffs, but the girls are already running and giggling as they head towards the courts where Yuji’s still practicing dribbling. Sighing, he shakes his head. “My little cousins,” he explains, pointing a thumb back in their direction. “Fuckin’ handful.”

You smile at the heartwarming interaction. “They’re kids,” you shrug.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his neck to either side, grimacing when it cracks loudly. “How’s my biggest fan doin’?” Toji turns his attention to Choso, who looks up from his shoes.

“Hi, Toji.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he greets the little boy, his brow twitching at the sight of reddened eyes and puffy cheeks.

“It’s a tough day,” you explain in an effort to spare Choso.

Toji hums, his scar pulled taut. “You still play ball, kid?”

“Not really,” Choso mutters. “My brother does.” He points towards little Yuji chasing a kid-sized basketball.

“Oh yeah? You wanna show me?”

Choso glances at you, as if looking for permission. You motion with your chin towards the court. Gingerly, Choso hops off the swing and pads after Toji, jogging to keep up with the man’s long strides.

“Maki! Mai! C’mere!” Toji calls to his cousins, motioning for them to pass him the ball. Choso calls Yuji over, who bolts over excitedly when the middle brother finally joins him. He blinks up in awe at Toji as the man introduces himself and his little cousins. You can’t hear any of the words being exchanged, but Yuji positively beams and holds his basketball out excitedly to the group.

You smile, your heart as warm as the sun on your skin at the sight of even Choso’s little smile. It doesn’t take long before Toji’s coaching them in two teams, cutting in to help teach the ropes to Choso and Yuji where they need it.

Maki manages to get a basket for her and Yuji’s team, high-fiving the little boy with a proud grin. They creep ahead in points of Choso and Mai’s team, each time celebrating with raised arms and cheers.

Mai breaks away from her sister, tossing the basketball over Maki’s head to Choso. The brown-haired boy hesitates for a split-second, glancing to Toji for encouragement, who nods. Taking a breath, Choso holds the ball out to the side to keep it away from Yuji, spinning in place as he dribbles somewhat clumsily to the basket. He pauses near the hoop, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth before jumping and shooting.

The ball hits the rim, rolling around the side before slipping into the net. Choso’s eyes light up and you grin from your place on the swingset as Mai cheers and high fives him, followed shortly by Toji who jogs over with a grin.

“Way to go, kid.” You can just barely make out Toji’s words of encouragement from the opposite end of the park.

As the day continues, they swap between different games, although the girl with her hair up in a ponytail- Maki- seems to consistently pull ahead. You know Yuji loves sports, but it’s surprising to see just how easily the five-year-old is able to keep up with Choso and the two girls. He doesn’t quite have the height to be sinking baskets, but Toji gives him a hand anyway.

As the sun crosses the sky, you migrate to a bench courtside, sharing the children’s glee as Toji hoist’s Yuji onto his shoulders so the boy can, somewhat more fairly, try to sink a basket.

Your attention is drawn to your phone as it vibrates in your pocket.

5:19 PM Kuna || whered you 3 end up

5:20 PM You || Your favorite park :)

5:20 PM Kuna || go figure

5:21 PM Kuna || brat

Two times in one day you’ve been called that now. Rolling your eyes at your phone, you smirk as you reply.

5:22 PM You || Come show me your art!! The kids are having a great time

Along with the message, you snap a photo of Yuji concentrating on the basket in front of him as he tosses the ball with all of his might from atop Toji’s shoulders. It bounces off the backboard, slipping through the net with a satisfying fwip!

It takes Sukuna longer to reply.

5:26 PM Kuna || you called toji?

5:26 PM You || He was here with his cousins by the time we got here

5:27 PM Kuna || ah

You grimace at his lack of enthusiasm, but you suppose it makes sense. He’s running on maybe two hours of sleep and if he does choose to join you, he’ll need to gear up to have a chat with Toji. It’s not exactly anyone’s ideal situation.

Still, he does pull through. A half hour later, he trudges across the skatepark, casting his disinterested glare in the direction of someone who nearly hits him with a scooter. His hood is up, his airpods in his ears, and his hands in his pockets as he approaches the courts.

Pocketing his earbuds, he lets out a sigh as he chooses to ignore the sight before him, hiding his face from his ex-best friend and taking a seat beside you.

“Thanks,” he sighs, “I was fallin’ asleep sitting up.”

“I noticed,” you comment with a raised brow, examining his expression. He still looks downright exhausted, but he’s not swaying, so that’s a plus. “Have you not been sleeping?”

With a shake of his head, he lets out a frustrated breath. “Yu’s been wakin’ up early and Cho’s been havin’ nightmares,” he states, with no need for further explanation. “I can count on one hand how many hours of sleep I’ve gotten since-” he pauses, furrowing his brow. “- Wednesday? Fuck, what day is it?”

“Saturday.”

“Christ,” he breathes, dragging a hand down his face. “One day left. Still gotta pack, too.”

Your heart sinks, gazing over at Yuji and Choso as they pass the basketball between one another. Beneath the golden hours of warm rays beaming down on them, the moment seems almost picturesque. They look so happy, it’s so easy to forget that this is the last time you’ll see them.

For a bit.

You inhale sharply as you mentally remind yourself that Sukuna will get them back. You can’t have doubts, there’s no room for them.

Lest you all fall apart.

“It’ll be okay,” you assure him, reaching out gingerly to rest your hand over his as it sits on his thigh. His irises flicker down to your hand as he moves his thumb up to brush the side of your palm. “Do you have a meeting with Ms. Harte soon?”

“Wednesday,” he mutters, his gaze raising to focus on the court in front of him. The four kids are playing some variation of ‘HORSE’ while Toji stands off to the side. If his frown is anything to go off of, he’s noticed Sukuna already. “Well, shit.”

Pushing to his feet with a drawn-out sigh, he pushes his hood down and drops your hand back at your side.

“Be right back,” he mutters, crossing the court and ruffling both of his brothers’ already messy hair as he makes his way to Toji. They both call out some form of ‘hey!’, which transforms into gleeful giggles and smiles at the realization that it’s Sukuna.

Stepping past the court to where Toji is standing with arms crossed over his chest, Sukuna finds himself hesitating. “Hey,” he starts uncertainly, “I was a dick-”

“No fuckin’ shit,” Toji interrupts, earning a glare from Sukuna.

“Don’t push it,” Sukuna hisses, crossing his arms over his own chest.

“Don’t push it? Don’t push what, Ryo? Ya didn’t fuckin’ tell me-” Toji pauses, momentarily glancing at the kids when he finds Mai’s gaze trained on him. Lowering his voice, he continues. “- you didn’t fuckin’ tell me Jin died, you asshole.”

“Fuck, I know,” Sukuna growls, “can you shut up for a second and let me talk? Christ,” he huffs, shaking his head as Toji disdainfully frowns. “Look, I fucking know. I fucked up, okay? I should have said something but when their mom didn’t answer-” he begins explaining, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “- I just had too much goin’ on and I didn’t think it through.”

Toji’s sharp emerald gaze follows the direction that Toji points, flickering between the two kids and back to the exhausted brute standing in front of him.

“I don’t-” Sukuna pauses, dragging his hands down his face and back up through his hair to keep it out of his eyes. “I don’t know what happened,” he admits with a dry shrug. He knows his excuse is shit. He knows he fucked up. He feels like shit.

He’ll feel even worse when he tells Toji this is his second last day with the kids and he also omitted that information until now.

“I just didn’t tell you, alright? I didn’t wanna go out or see anyone, I didn’t wanna tell anyone what was going on.”

“I get that, but come the fuck on, man,” Toji raises his arms in an exasperated shrug. “You know what Jin meant to me.”

Sukuna averts his gaze, trailing along the cracked concrete beneath his feet.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s the best he can offer. He doesn’t even really expect Toji to accept his apology.

Toji sighs, scratching at the dark stubble dotting his chin.

“Look,” he starts, unimpressed, “I fuckin’ get not wantin’ to talk to anyone, but you were my fuckin’ brother. Jin was like-”

“I know!” Sukuna barks, attempting to compose himself with a roll of his shoulders. “There were lawyers there constantly, I had to fuckin’ sell the house, I had to learn how to change diapers-” he pauses, throwing his shoulders up in a shrug. “It’s a shit excuse, I just didn’t have time to think about others. I’m a piece of shit, whatever. Not like that’s new.”

“Christ, Ryomen,” Toji continues to frown, looking him up and down as he evaluates just how shitty Sukuna looks, even now. “So what, I’m s’posed to accept your apology n’ act like nothin’ happened?”

Frowning, the salmon-haired man just shrugs. “Do whatever you want,” he grumbles. “I appreciate the phone, though.”

Toji’s eyes narrow a smidge, irises flickering to and fro as he contemplates Sukuna’s words. “Y’re welcome,” he gruffs, shaking his head in an effort to move some hair from his eyes as the wind whips across the court. “Dunno if I’m willing to let that go, but I’ll try,” he sighs.

It’s different. It’s not what Sukuna wants, but he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. Omitting Jin’s death is a lot more serious than most of his other transgressions.

“You oughta thank your girl, though,” Toji grunts, nodding his chin in your direction as you cheer the kids on across the court. “‘Cause she must be rubbin’ off on me to be willin’ to give y’r ass a break.”

Sukuna follows the tilt of Toji’s chin to you.

He already knows he owes you a lifetime of favors, what’s one more?

As the breeze dishevels Sukuna’s already mussed hair, he stares out across the court at Toji’s little cousins who he hasn’t seen in years passing a ball around to Yuji and Choso. It’s so painfully normal and it’s what the kids should have. It’s what they deserve.

“I guess before you decide if you’re gonna give me a chance,” Sukuna inhales sharply, shutting his eyes. “I’m losin’ the kids.”

Shifting to face Sukuna again, the man’s brow knits. He runs his tongue across his lower lip, lingering on his scar. “What?”

“Kaori stuck me with a lawsuit. She won.”

“You’re kiddin’.”

Sukuna blinks his eyes open again. Yuji laughs gleefully in the background as Maki tosses the ball to him. It rolls off the tips of his fingers, rolling along the ground as he chases after it.

“Fuck, man,” Toji clasps his hands together, resting them on his head as the revelation settles in. He turns to face the court alongside Sukuna, watching the scene unfold as Yuji tosses the ball back towards Choso. He scowls as his gaze rests on Choso. “Y’know that kid was like a lil brother to me?”

“I know.” There’s nothing more to be said.

“Christ, Ryomen.” Toji’s hands fall down to his sides as he shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t you tell me this shit?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Didn’t tell anyone.”

“Nah, just Shoko n’ Kento.”

Shit.

“Didn’t have a choice, Toji.”

“Bullshit!” Toji roars, shoving a figure pointedly at Sukuna’s chest. “Bull-fucking-shit. Maybe you didn’t have a choice with them, but you did with me. N’ you made your choice,” he hisses, dropping his hand as he frustratedly turns away from his friend, needing a break from simply seeing him. “Anythin’ else while we’re here?” He asks, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Dad asked about you a lot,” Sukuna begins hesitantly. His father’s words had echoed in his mind so frequently that he’d never quite been able to grapple with the fact that he’d kept them to himself all these years. What better opportunity than now, when he’s six feet under in guilt? “He wanted you to know he was proud.”

Toji stands ram-rod straight, scowling at the asphalt. “Shit,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his forearm over his face. He sucks in a breath, turning away from the court and Toji.

It’s not enough, Sukuna’s shitty apology. He knows it isn’t. Toji has enough on his plate between school, football, and his strained relationship with his family, and Sukuna isn’t making that any better. He’s a shitty friend.

“‘M sorry.”

Toji just shakes his head, exasperated. “What the fuck even happened, really? All those years, everythin’ we went through, it meant nothin’ to ya?”

Sukuna just shrugs, too drained to argue. “I fucked up.”

Toji huffs, dragging his hand down his chin. He pauses for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth before turning on a dime and ramming his fist into Sukuna’s shoulder. He didn’t put his full strength into the punch, but it had enough power to leave Sukuna irritated as he stumbles a step back, catching himself before he topples over.

He glares at Toji, who just shrugs as he scratches his shoulder. “Made me feel a lil’ better,” he grumbles. “Just- stop bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass, okay? Gettin’ real sick of it.”

It’s not forgiveness, but he can live with that all the same.

“Yeah,” the tattooed brute mutters, rolling his arm out. “Trying not to.”

“Good.” Toji turns to face him, taking a step forward to lower his voice, dangerously so. “‘Cause me, Uraume, Atsuya, and y’r girl don’t deserve that.” He backs up, crossing his arms over his chest. “I ain’t holdin’ back next time.”

“Yeah, yeah. And she’s not my girl.”

Toji’s brow raises. “I just told you not to feed me bullshit.”

“I’m not.”

“You wanna hold hands, then? Since that’s somethin’ you do with people y’re just friends with?” He deadpans, holding his hand out mockingly.

“Shut up,” Sukuna grumbles, smacking his hand away.

Amused, the raven-haired man snorts. “Whatever, man. Keep lyin’ to yourself.”

Toji has every reason to suspect Sukuna will make a big deal out of that, but when he turns to find the ex-history major’s reaction, it’s blank. His eyes are trained on you across the court as Yuji puts his entire weight into dragging you onto the asphalt, much to your dismay.

“I’m not good at basketball like Toji or Kuna,” you insist, giggling in embarrassment.

The two men watch in silence as you try to sink a few baskets, missing the first couple of shots entirely before being able to consistently hit the backboard, but never sink a shot. The kids chase after the ball with each miss to toss it back to you, continuing to encourage you.

“It’s okay that you’re really bad!” Yuji insists brightly. “You’re good at other things.”

Toji snorts at the backhanded compliment.

“Yu, that’s rude,” Sukuna scolds.

“He gets it from you,” Toji mocks, much to Sukuna’s dismay.

But you’re laughing at the hilariously blunt way Yuji phrased his version of a compliment, so Sukuna can’t be too upset.

“Sorry,” the little boy mutters, walking up to you for a hug.

Suppressing your laughter, you rub his back. “It’s fine, sweetie. You wanna know a secret?”

His little fingers curl into your jacket as he clings to you, nodding.

“You’re right. I’m really bad at basketball.”

He grins, content as you encourage him to show you the right way to sink a basket.

The two men are forced to watch as your form somehow gets worse as you mimic Yuji. Your shots get progressively further from the basket until you’re outright missing again, hot with embarrassment given your painfully large audience.

“Use your wrist!” Toji calls, making a motion with his wrist.

You watch the motion, attempting to mimic his advice and getting a bit closer, albeit still missing. Mai tosses the ball back to you as it rebounds off the backboard straight towards her.

Pulling your lip between your teeth, you focus on the basket, narrowing your eyes in concentration. Just as you’re about to shoot, you’re caught off-guard by a nudge to your shoe. Squeaking in surprise, you stand upright, turning to find Sukuna directly behind you.

“Right idea, wrong execution,” he says plainly. “Turn back to the net.”

Blinking, you follow his instructions.

He nudges the inside of your shoe with his foot from where he stands a small distance behind you. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Bend your knees.” He circles to the side to get a look at your form. “Focus on the square on the backboard, then do what Toji showed you with your wrist.”

You nod slowly, mentally going over his words as you recenter yourself and stare in concentration at the backboard. Leaping into the air, you watch as the basketball soars through the air and hits the backboard, circling the rim before tipping away.

“Close,” Sukuna catches the ball as it rebounds, dribbling it once before tossing it to Choso, who immediately tosses it back like they’ve done this before. He dribbles it once more before passing it back to you. “Here,” Sukuna instructs, stepping behind you. The warmth emanating from his body feels more like fire as every nerve and hair on your body stands on end at the strangely intimate position you’re in with him as he nudges your feet slightly apart.

Your face is positively burning, and you can’t bear a glance at Toji, who’s smirking on the sidelines.

“When you shoot,” he instructs, his arms wrapping around to guide yours as he simulates a shot with his hands resting over yours. He guides you through the motion without actually letting go of the ball. “Make sure you shoot from here,” he instructs, holding the ball straight above your elbow. “Not here,” he adds, mimicking where you were holding it.

Nodding, you keep your vision forward, chewing your lip raw with the amount of fluttering and flipping your stomach is doing. Sukuna backs up an inch, giving you space to breathe properly now that the scent of smoke mixing with his cologne isn’t invading your senses and clouding your thoughts.

Running over his instructions in your head, you send the ball flying again, missing once more, though you were close again as it tumbled from the rim with little speed. Throwing your head back in frustration, you groan. “It’s fine, I’m okay being bad,” you shake your head as Sukuna prepares to toss you the ball.

“Give it one more go,” he encourages, bouncing it on the asphalt as he passes it back to you.

You grimace, but get back into position, bending your knees and hopping as you send it flying through the air. The ball bounces off the backboard, falling into the net as though it comes to you effortlessly.

“Atta girl,” Sukuna smirks, catching the ball in one hand as he locks his arm around your middle, much to your dismay as he picks you up and flips you to face the kids. “See, just takes some practice.”

You know he’s just making a point to the kids, but it feels as if he’s trying to show them just how flustered you are as you cling to his forearm for purchase. “Put me down,” you gasp, squeaking in surprise as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your waist, though by now you know it’s no use. You’ve been the victim of Sukuna’s manhandling enough to know he’s not letting go until he feels like it.

Yuji excitedly cheers for you while Choso and the two girls grin. “Me too, Kuna!” Yuji insists, reaching his arms out to be lifted into the air with you.

“Not me,” you try again, flailing your legs and even kicking his shin on accident, but it still doesn’t seem to affect him. You swear he thinks you’re a sack of potatoes.

Sukuna uses his spare hand to toss the ball back towards Choso, who dribbles it in place upon catching the ball. Sukuna leans down to the best of his ability with you writhing in his arms as he lets his youngest brother wrap his hands around his bicep, standing back up as the little boy dangles from his arm, laughing and cheering as he kicks his feet out.

Even Choso has a little smile on his face at the sight of Yuji laughing so freely.

It’s the way things should be.

Even if that means Sukuna’s manhandling you.

He sets you back on your feet as Yuji hops down onto the ground, running back to Choso. Taking a couple of steps forward, you put some distance between you and Sukuna, practically praying for a breeze that might cool your warm cheeks and neck. You don’t dare look back at the smug expression you’re sure he’s sporting, smoothing your outfit as you turn away.

“Not too bad,” Toji comments, jogging up to you to give you a pat on the back. Your eyes widen briefly at the amount of force he used, though you assume he’s just used to doing such a thing to his team members. People with a bit more muscle mass.

“Thanks.” As you turn to face him, you catch Toji eyeing Sukuna with a frown, unable to read his otherwise neutral expression.

“Kid’s got a point though,” Toji adds with a smug grin as he nods towards Yuji. “Don’t quit your day job.”

“I told you I was bad,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Oh hey, can you watch the kids for a moment? Sukuna owes me a favor.”

Raising a brow behind you, the salmon-haired man takes a step forward at the sound of his name.

“I gotcha,” Toji nods.

When you grab Sukuna’s wrist, he doesn’t argue, following after you compliantly.

“Alright, King,” you tease with a mischievous gleam in your eye as he falls into step beside you. “Or should I say, The King?”

Groaning, he rolls his eyes, making a show out of huffing in irritation. “That why you brought them here?” He grumbles, pulling his wrist out of your grasp.

“Nope, I just didn’t know where else there were basketball courts,” you smile innocently. “I’m not from around here, remember?”

“Right.” He can’t even really be upset with you though when you’re beaming at him with a little tilt of your head. Your thumb subconsciously rubs circles into his tattooed wrist, and for a moment, everything seems to fall away.

The world seems to mute itself, putting his responsibilities and exhaustion on pause as he finds himself staring at your lips. He knows they’re moving. He knows you’re talking, but he can’t hear a word as everything he’s been running from seems to flood his mind at that moment.

His lips part as his heart accelerates rapidly. Can you feel it? Through the pulse point in his wrist? Do you know that you’ve made Sukuna reconsider the lens in which he views the world and try to be better for his brothers, for himself, but also for you?

Is that what his feelings have been this whole time? Is Toji right, that Sukuna is lying to himself? Does he already see you as his girl?

But that leaves him with a bigger, more daunting question.

Does he deserve that luxury?

He swallows hard, averting his gaze as the ringing in his ears melts away, leaving behind your continuing dialogue.

“- it’s convenient, though.” You pause, casting a glance back at Sukuna. “This is the tunnel, right?”

Sukuna’s expression is a mystery in itself as he blinks at you as though he’s seen a ghost. “Hm?” He gazes at you blankly, taking in his surroundings as though he’s just getting his bearings. “Yeah. Uh, this is it.”

Your brow furrows at his strange reaction, but you let it go, dragging him into the tunnel.

Though it’s currently void of skaters, the entire tunnel is made up of a funbox with ramps and pipes all over the ground. Every inch of smooth concrete is covered with art of all different styles and colors, trailing up the walls where it begins to taper off towards the top of the tunnel where it’s harder to reach.

“How did you even get up there?” You ask, craning your neck to search the ceiling for his tag.

“Uh-” he chuckles as he scans the ceiling as well. “Toj’ n’ I tied a rope up there-” he points towards the top of the tunnel where the bridge above has a railing. “I swung down, and Toji had another rope that he dragged me around with.”

With your jaw ajar, you stare at him in wide-eyed horror.

“Relax,” he snorts, “I wouldn’t do it again. We were kids, seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“This is why men die younger than women.”

“Probably,” he agrees with an amused scoff.

There’s only the occasional tag here and there across the ceiling as you slowly make your way through the tunnel, until you come to a piece that is undeniably what you’re looking for. A steady grin spreads across your lips as you come to a halt under the tag, dropping your grip on Sukuna’s wrist.

Scrawled across the ceiling is ‘THE KING’ in sharp and bold red lettering with black outlines. It almost resembles a graffiti logo for one of the metal bands he often has on his shirt with seemingly random branches and lines jutting out from each letter. Off to the left is also a surprisingly charming little ‘+ Toji’ and a small face beside his name.

“It’s really good!”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.” Whirling around to face him, your eyes shine as you grin. “I mean it, it’s really good.”

“Thanks, princess,” he mutters, a very noticeable amount of pink dusting his cheeks as he scowls at nothing in particular.

“It does scream edgy teen, though,” you giggle.

“There it is,” he gruffs, rolling his eyes. “I was a teen.”

“An edgy teen.”

“Oh whatever, prom queen,” he grumbles, kicking at a pebble by his foot as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

You giggle, and along with that comes a sense of relief that you aren’t still upset over the outcome of your fight and his use of that name. He can’t help but smile.

As your laughter settles, you look back up at the tag. “How didn’t you get paint all over yourself?”

“Oh, I did.” He takes a step towards you, pointing towards the edge of the tag where it seems as though something got in the way of the spray can. “That line is from my sleeve. My dad was pissed, it was all over my hair.”

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

He hums in agreement, turning his attention to you as you pull out your phone. Narrowing his eyes, his lips quirk into a frown. “Don’t,” he warns.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, attempting to hide your smile as you open the camera app.

“Don’t.”

Raising your camera towards the ceiling, you squeal as Sukuna attempts to grab your phone. Jutting your hand out to the side to dodge his grasp, you duck away and quickly snap a photo.

“Give that to me, brat.”

Sukuna takes a long stride towards you, using his height advantage to grab a hold of your wrist. You swap the phone into your other hand, but your friend’s one step ahead of you, grabbing your other wrist in his free hand. His hands are big enough that he can hold both wrists together in only one, much to your dismay, as you watch him snatch your phone and delete the image while holding your hostage.

“Wait, please, I won’t even show anyone!” You insist.

He raises a brow, unimpressed. “What, you’re just gonna stare at it for fun by yourself?”

Shrugging in his grasp, you grin mischievously. “I was thinking more like I’d use it to tease you.”

“Not happening.”

He shoves your phone in the pocket of your jacket, dragging you out from the tunnel by your wrists. Even with both of your arms held in one of his large hands, he’s careful not to cause you any harm.

“Killjoy.”

“Whatever, princess,” he grumbles, but you’re privy to the little smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

The sun’s rays are beginning to fall beneath the horizon, and between the night beginning to envelop the world and Sukuna’s own fatigue, he makes a motion for Choso and Yuji to wrap up their game as he releases your arms when you get back to the courts. Yuji pouts, begging for another few minutes.

Once his time is up, he takes Sukuna’s hand as you say your goodbyes to Toji.

“Will we see them again?” Yuji asks.

Sukuna wants to say yes. He wants to think he’s mended enough that Toji might give him a shot at fixing what he broke, but that’s not even the problem.

“Once you’re back from your mom’s…” he exchanges a glance with Toji, who shrugs. “Maybe.”

Yuji’s smile fades. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, dragging his foot along the ground.

“Hey,” Sukuna kneels down. “Ya still got a day with me, okay?”

Yuji nods, continuing to pout. “Okay, Kuna.”

As Maki and Mai begin complaining about being hungry, Toji grabs his basketball, tucking it under his arm. “We’re headin’ out. See ya around.”

“Us too,” Sukuna agrees. “See you,” he grunts, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Mind driving us home, princess?”

The car ride is fairly silent as your stomach churns. You’re fairly sure Sukuna can hear it grumbling from his place in the passenger seat, but if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

You continually glance back at the boys, the uneasy feeling of this being the last time you’ll see them for a bit sitting like a lump in your stomach. They don’t need to think that way. You don’t want them to.

Normally you wouldn’t get out of your car when dropping them off, but this isn’t quite the same. Hopping out of your seat into the parking lot, you help Yuji out of the vehicle, letting him hold your hand as you round to the other side where Sukuna and Choso are.

Kneeling down to Yuji’s height, you smile as you hold out your arms. “You have fun at your mom’s, okay?”

Yuji crashes into you, holding onto you tightly. “I don’t wanna go.”

“You’ll have so much fun, okay?”

He sniffles as you feel a tear dampen the thin material of your jacket. “Okay.” Pulling back, he peers up at you behind emotional eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, sweetie.” You force a smile, proud of yourself for keeping your own sadness at bay as Choso slowly approaches you. “Hey honey, come here.”

Stepping forward, Choso gingerly wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your shoulder.

“I don’t wanna go,” he whispers truthfully, leaning his weight more and more into you with each second. His voice carries a tone of resignation that wasn’t there when you last saw him, as though he’s come to terms with the decision in spite of his words. “I really don't wanna go.”

You rub his back gently, hugging him tightly. “I’m gonna help Kuna with that, okay? You look after your brother. We’ll be like a team, even if we’re far away.”

Choso just sighs. “I’m not a kid anymore, you don’t have to pretend like that for me.”

Well that’s heartbreaking.

“I’m not pretending, Cho. I mean it. We’ll all look after one another and Kuna and I will fight for you two, okay?”

“Promise?” He whispers.

“Pinky.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Choso. Stay strong, okay?”

He pulls back, immediately hiding his face in his sleeve as he wipes away what he can of his fear and sadness. “Um- okay.” He sniffles, staring at you for a long moment when he drops his arm from his face, as though he’s trying to commit you to memory.

When you tilt your head at him, trying to get a read on his thoughts, he seems to come back to the world and backs up until he bumps into Sukuna. Craning his neck to find his oldest brother watching with a somber expression.

Chewing on your lip, you inhale sharply as you force a smile. “You two have fun, okay?”

Yuji nods, though Choso doesn’t reply.

You hide your tears as long as you can, but the floodgates finally break when you pull out of the parking lot.

–

Sukuna swears the world mourns for him as he stares up at the ceiling. He’s not sure how early it is, but the sun only casts enough light to faintly make out the outline of his ceiling lamp as it casts a barely visible shadow and his alarm hasn’t gone off yet. The birds have taken some sort of oath of silence as far as he can tell, and he hates the way the quiet leaves him with his thoughts.

As it stands, yesterday had already served as an ample challenge. Getting two young boys to pack bags and box up their belongings through tears is a task and a half.

And that’s not even mentioning the fact that he’d had to tell them to leave a lot behind. At the end of the day, he knows Kaori, and he knows that things like their Gameboys would end up mysteriously disappearing. He just needs to remind himself that this won’t be forever, just as he reminds them. He won’t let it be forever.

Sitting up, he throws his legs over the end of the bed, hunching over as he leans his elbows on his thighs and stares down at his feet. Letting out a long breath through his nose, he rests his face in his palms.

Everything seems to move in slow motion around him, or maybe it’s the nausea that comes along with five consecutive sleepless nights filled with a churning in his gut.

Dragging his hands down his face, he holds his breath, willing his stomach and head to work with him. “Fuck,” he mutters, pushing to his feet as he makes his way to the washroom.

Flicking on the light, he blinks as his eyes adjust to the sterile lighting, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

“I’ll get them back,” he whispers to himself, but the person looking back at him doesn’t seem convinced. He’s done so well at suppressing his emotions since the trial to keep his brothers at ease but he finds it bubbling to the surface now that reality is settling in.

Sucking in a breath, he stares down at the sink, letting it out shakily. His stomach convulses as his alarm goes off in the other room.

Two hours.

Two hours until they’re gone.

His knuckles go white as his grip tightens on the sink. It feels as though he moves in slow motion when he turns the tap on to cold water and splashes it in his face. Blinking quickly, he lets it drip from his chin for a moment before wiping his face. He wets his hands again and drags it through his hair, pushing it back off of his forehead.

Shutting the tap off, he heads back to his room, pulling on a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt. As much as he wants the comfort of a hoodie and sweats, he can’t leave any kind of negative impression on Kaori. He can’t give her more ammo if he’s planning on bringing her back to court.

Grabbing his phone, he shuts off the alarm, checking his notifications. A couple of emails, a low battery warning given that he’d forgotten to plug his phone in, and three texts. Two from you, and one from Uraume.

He opens the message from you first.

6:03 AM Princess || Hey Kuna, are you okay?

6:07 AM Princess || I’m here if you need anything

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, reading over the words a number of times. He’s not sure how long he stares at the words. It’s as though each time he tries to read them, they just don’t register.

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, he scowls as he focuses on the words. Glancing up at the time, he figures you must have woken up early just to send him a text, but some part of him feels that this process is better left between him and his step-mother. He doesn’t want you involved and he doesn’t want to make this harder on the kids when they’ve already said their goodbyes. As it stands, he was shocked they handled it somewhat well.

He thinks you just do a better job at reassuring them that you’ll see them again than he does.

6:14 AM Sukuna || im okay. thanks princess

He sets his phone aside again, raking a hand through salmon strands as he stares blankly at the photo of him with his brothers and father on his dresser. The corner is torn, showing the back of the frame where Kaori had been standing. He’s never been able to get the full picture out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. Now, it seems to taunt him.

The wounds she’s caused will always remain on him as scars.

Pushing to his feet, he makes his way to the living room. There are four boxes, two duffel bags, and two backpacks set up and ready at the front door. It had been a hassle to get them to even pack anything beyond the backpack and duffel bag, they’d fought with him the entire time on what to bring and what to leave, but it mostly came down to what Sukuna trusted Kaori with.

That being said, it’s also hard to convince a five-year-old to leave some of his favorite things behind because Sukuna doesn’t trust the boy’s mother.

He makes his way over to the table, where two woven bracelets sit, along with two photo frames. His lips turn down at the sight as he drags his finger along the bottom of one of the frames. Picking it up, he stares intently at the photo he’d printed.

Halloween, two years ago. Yuji is in what might be the scariest Sonic costume he’s ever laid eyes on, while Choso is a vampire, though his sweet smile would indicate otherwise. Sukuna, as unimpressed as ever, has Yuji on his shoulders and Choso in front of him. Uraume had taken the photo right before Sukuna took the boys out trick-or-treating.

His eyes land on his dramatic grimace at the center of the image. Yuji had begged him to dress up, and for all his huffing and puffing, it really didn’t take much for Sukuna to fold. His costume was nothing fancy, he’d bought a cape and crown from the dollar store and called it a day, but Yuji was happy.

His terrifying Sonic grin remains one of Sukuna’s favorite memories with the two boys to this day.

And don’t even get him started on what the makeup looked like by the end of the night, once it had smudged.

Easily among the most horrifying costumes he’d seen that night.

Sighing, he turns towards the boxes at the door, tucking each frame into different boxes. Even if Kaori tries to cut his visitation, and god forbid Sukuna fails again, he prays that someday the boys will be smart enough to check the back of the frames, where he had tucked his contact information away.

And that’s even if she lets them keep the photos.

He frowns, tucking the box wings back in place as he glances at the clock.

An hour and a half left.

He blinks, heading back to the washroom to brush his teeth while he gathers some shoes and other things the boys will need that may have slipped their minds with the emotional day yesterday.

He wants more time with them, but he also can’t bear to wake them up until they need to leave. He’s not sure he can manage to keep his emotions bottled up any longer than necessary.

He busies himself until the clock hits seven thirty in the morning, and finds himself standing in their doorway for what might be the last time. Crimson irises survey the two beds tucked against either wall. Toys no longer litter the floor, mostly all tucked away, while a few books are missing from the shelf and the open closet is mostly empty.

His heart sinks, his senses all fading and leaving behind a familiar numb feeling. His ears ring, his vision blurs, his skin feels fuzzy. Everything is shrouded in a layer of fog as familiarity settles over him.

Three months after his father had passed away, the house had sold.

Sukuna had no part in it, he let the lawyers and realtors do their thing. Not like he knew what the fuck was going on anyway.

Standing at the entry to his father’s untouched room, his eyes are glazed over as he surveys the dusty surfaces. It takes him a moment to work up the courage to step inside.

He keeps to the wall, looking over the belongings scattered across the surfaces of the dressers and desks that line the wall.

Cologne, pens, a few documents, a pill bottle. Several pill bottles. Hospital records. More pill bottles.

He turns, scanning the surfaces closer to the bed.

Prescriptions. It’s all emptied prescription bottles.

Between the prescriptions, he spots the gleam of a silver frame. Reaching out, he blankly watches as a full bottle tips and a pile of white pills spill across the surface. He can’t bring himself to be bothered with the mess as his fingers brush the frame. He lifts it from its place, blowing the dust from the surface.

All these years, all of this time single-handedly taking care of Jin and he never knew he was in this photo. He’d never stopped to look at it. He’d always seen his dad in the top of the photo, but he didn’t realize his dad was holding him. Sukuna can’t be more than a few days old, just a little baby in the blurry image.

He blinks, something warm trailing down his cheek. He lifts his head, looking around blankly at nothing in particular as grief pulls him back underwater.

“Why’d you have to go?” Sukuna mutters, staring at an empty container of blood thinners. His gaze travels an inch to the right, settling on a bottle of perfume. Kaori’s. Covered in an extra layer of dust, untouched for over a year.

His brow twitches, and before he can consider what he’s doing, his lip curls into a snarl and the perfume hits the floor. It shatters, the weight of the impact sending the ringing in his ears wild.

Letting out a shaky breath, the numbness fades as everything seeps into the cracks of his carefully crafted walls, overbearing. Sucking in a breath, he recoils at the pungent smell of the room.

With gritted teeth, he sets the photo down and turns to grab a towel, heading back to toss it on the floor, soaking up the majority of the liquid. Once it’s been mostly wiped away with his foot, he gets down to his knees to finish cleaning up the floor. He scans the hardwood, pausing when something glints at the edge of his vision.

He reaches under the dresser, picking up a smooth, metallic lighter.

‘Itadori’ is carved into the side. He recognizes it from a while ago. He doesn’t know where it came from, but he remembers seeing his dad use it, back before he cut his smoking habit.

That’s probably around the time Sukuna gained the same habit. His father’s health waned, and with it went Sukuna’s mental health.

He flips the lid open, sparking a flame. He tosses the towel aside, the odor of his step-mother’s perfume no longer at the top of his mind.

Continuing to stare at the flame, he feels a lump settle in his throat, unable to swallow to shove it down. Reaching into his pocket, he finds the familiar shape of a box of cigarettes in his pant pocket and nimbly slides one cylinder out. Setting it between his lips, he lights the cigarette and sucks in a harsh breath of nicotine.

It settles in his veins, calming the tremor in his hand. He shuts the lighter as he breathes out straight up in the air. The smoke swirls above him as he slumps down onto the floor, leaning against the dresser. A drawer handle digs into his back, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He props his knee up, leaning his arm against it as he stares at the lighter.

He can practically hear his dad scolding him for smoking, let alone inside. Let alone in a house that’s been sold. The new owners will have a strange experience with scents when they reach this room, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Sukuna’s simply too tired to care.

Yuji’s sobbing starts up again out of nowhere. Shutting his eyes, Sukuna drops his head back onto the dresser with a resounding thump.

“Dunno what I’m doing, Dad. Don’t think you’d be too proud if you saw me now,” he mutters, as though maybe his father can hear him somehow through the lighter. Maybe he’s listening, watching. Disappointed, probably.

The lump grows until the feeling of something building in his chest seems to overflow. Warmth floods his eyes, overflowing and falling down his cheeks. They trail down his chin, leaving behind the evidence on his shirt.

Yuji’s cries continue and Sukuna shuts his eyes harder. “I’m such a shit brother,” he mutters, coughing as smoke fills his lungs. “I can’t do this,” he rasps, but even as he doubts himself, he pushes off of the ground, grunting as he reaches his feet. He picks up the towel, heading with purpose to the balcony to put out his cigarette and toss out the towel on his way.

Wiping his face on his sleeve, he sniffles once before making his way into Yuji’s room. Just over a year old, he’s probably just woken up hungry. Lifting the toddler into his arms, Sukuna rubs his back.

“C’mon Yu, it’s okay.” His best attempt at soothing the child in his current state of mind comes out dry. “Didn’t mean to take so long.”

Another day for Sukuna to push through. He’ll soldier on until he can’t any longer.

His lips part as he comes back to, shaking his head at the realization that he’d spaced out. His heart is beating fast, the memory causing his muscles to tense.

“Shit,” he mumbles, glancing at the clock. Twenty minutes.

He steels himself, his brow drawn together as he shakes both brothers awake. He waits off to the side with the clothes they’d set aside for the day as they begin to stir.

Choso’s movements are mechanical, Yuji is simply tired. Sukuna can’t say for sure if Yuji truly understands what’s happening, even now. He appreciates that the boy’s been relatively alright, all things considered, but he’s not actually sure if the boy gets it now.

Choso, on the other hand…

Sukuna watches as the boy takes the clothing laid at the end of his bed, moving out the door without even acknowledging his older brother.

He fluctuates between wanting to talk and being completely devoid of any emotion. It’s like he wants to take your advice, but he’s fighting his own demons, distant.

It’s a hollow feeling to watch his siblings prepare to leave. The house is silent, forlorn. The air hangs stagnant, a musty feeling clinging to Sukuna’s skin.

“Can’t I just stay here?”

Sukuna turns towards Choso. The little boy’s face has streaks of wetness down either side, his gaze pleading.

Sighing, Sukuna kneels down to his brother’s level. “You can’t. I’ll get in trouble.” He grimaces, letting out a breath through his nose as he sets his hands on either of Choso’s shoulders. “Listen, I’m gonna do everything I can to get you both back, okay? I need you to look after your brother just like I looked after you, got that?”

More tears streak down the little boy’s face as he nods.

Sukuna pats his right shoulder, pushing up to his full height again. Choso peers up at his brother, sniffling as he wipes his cheeks. Choso grabs his little brother’s hand as they make their way into the living room.

Before they can begin getting their shoes on, Sukuna makes his way to the table. “Hey,” he mumbles as he swipes his thumb across the material of the two twine black bracelets waiting there. “These, uh-” he pauses, turning to his brothers. “These’re for you.” He holds out the two black bracelets, watching the waterworks begin to flow as Choso’s unable to hold in his sobs.

As Choso rushes forward to hug Sukuna’s leg, Yuji watches uncertainly, looking to Sukuna for guidance. “It’s okay, Yu. You’ll be back before you know it,” he reassures with a weak smile. Yuji nods slowly, mumbling a ‘thank you’ as he hugs Sukuna’s other leg.

As the buzzer goes off, the brutish man’s forced to waddle to the landline connected to the front door with the two boys glued to him.

“We’ll come to you,” he gruffs through the phone, hanging up without allowing them building access. Setting the phone back down, he pats Yuji. “Go get your bags.”

It takes a moment before Choso follows suit, but eventually he helps Yuji get his backpack on before they’re both stationed at the door. Choso’s body silently trembles as they stay put while Sukuna carts the boxes down first, leaving the cardboard outside the front door without a word to Kaori or the two social workers she’s brought to tag along.

With all four boxes waiting outside, Sukuna pulls Yuji into his arms, balancing him on his hip, taking Choso’s hand. His hand is wet with the evidence of his sadness and fear as Sukuna painstakingly drags his family down to the first floor.

When they reach the outside with Kaori in sight, Choso shakes violently, pressing himself against Sukuna as he hides himself from the woman who he no longer feels any familial love for.

Sukuna scowls, fury in his eyes as he regards Kaori, but he holds his tongue. He’s here for his brothers now. This isn’t about him. He needs to make sure the social workers see only dedication.

Kaori gasps, approaching slowly as she takes in the sight of her children. “Yuji, hi sweetheart. Goodness, you have your father’s hair.”

Sukuna sucks in a breath through his teeth as the five-year-old looks between Sukuna and his mother. “Is that Momma?”

It takes Sukuna a second too long to answer, leaving Kaori the time to butt in. “That’s me, darling,” she smiles sweetly, but Yuji’s gaze doesn’t leave Sukuna.

Sighing, he nods.

Confirming Sukuna’s suspicions that he doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, Yuji’s eyes widen as he outstretches his arms. “Hi, momma!”

Kaori takes Yuji from Sukuna’s arms, hoisting him up. “Hi, Yuyu. It’s so good to see you again,” she replies with a grin, tapping his nose with her pointer finger. She turns her attention back to Sukuna, then. Choso is peering out at her from behind Sukuna with a deathly grip on the fabric of his older brother’s button-up. “And little Choso, look at you! All grown up.”

Choso mumbles out a “hi”, tugging hard enough on Sukuna’s shirt that he’s nearly choking the man.

“Come on out, honey. I want to see my baby.”

Choso doesn’t move an inch.

“Go on, Cho,” Sukuna mutters, casting a glance at the social workers watching the interaction carefully.

His heart twists as Choso cranes his neck up at his brother, his eyes flickering wildly around Sukuna’s face as he silently begs for help.

Frowning, Sukuna sighs as he lowers himself to Choso’s height, opening his arms. The little boy buries himself in Sukuna’s arms, shaking hard as he audibly sobs. The tattooed man’s eyes flicker shut as his brows knit together.

“Cho, listen to me.”

The brunette’s sobs simmer down as he pays attention to Sukuna’s quiet words, low enough to keep Kaori from hearing.

“Do you trust me?”

He feels his little brother nod against his shoulder.

“Then trust me to fix this shit.”

Choso nods again, sniffling as he hugs Sukuna harder. “I love you, Kuna.”

Sukuna’s chest tightens as his resolve threatens to break then and there, the threads he’s tightly woven fraying at the ends. “Love you too, Cho.”

The brunette boy takes a step back, shaky hands slowly unraveling from Sukuna’s now-wrinkled dress shirt. Choso’s reddened eyes flicker wildly around Sukuna’s stoic face, nodding slowly when he spots the intent and commitment behind his eyes.

He turns towards his mother, muttering out a barely audible “hi,” again as he takes her outstretched hand.

Kaori smiles as her eldest child takes her hand. “Thank you for being cooperative, Sukuna dear. I really wish things didn’t have to be this way,” her smile turns mocking as she directs her gaze back towards him.

His lip curls into a snarl. “Don’t push it, Kaori.”

“I do hope you have the time to focus on your studies now,” she offers in a fake attempt at sympathy, like every other interaction they’ve ever had.

Pushing past her comment that borders on condescending, Sukuna keeps his voice even in an effort to keep Kaori from seeing through the cracks in his facade. “See you in two weeks.” He knows visitation won’t happen, but he wants to remind her at every turn what she’s taken away from her children and step-child.

“Oh, of course, dear! See you then,” she smiles, tilting her head slightly as her eyes crinkle at the corners with the weight of her faux cheer.

Sukuna’s chest rises and falls heavily as Kaori turns to walk away while the social workers aid with the boxes.

It’s then that it seems to settle in for Yuji what’s going on. Still sitting in Kaori’s arms, he faces Sukuna now when she turns around. As his brother gets further and further from him, his concern grows.

“Kuna?” He calls, only a short distance away. “When will our trip be over?”

Sukuna shuts his eyes tightly, a pending headache settling at the edges of his mind. Of course the trip reassurance would come back to bite him in the ass. He opens his mouth, but he struggles to find the words to assure his brother when this whole situation goes over the little boy’s head.

He can only sit there dumbly with his jaw ajar.

“Dunno, Yu,” he answers, settling on honesty. There’s no reassurance left for him to give that doesn’t border on a lie. Even the idea of calling it a trip bordered on a lie to begin with, but what other option was he left with? The poor boy is simply too young to grasp the gravity of his own situation, by no fault of his own.

The little Itadori devolves into pure panic, contorting his body in an effort to get away from his mother as he screams and panics, reaching desperately past Kaori’s shoulder for his brother.

“KUNA!” He cries with such a rasp to his voice that Sukuna feels the pain it caused. “Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t-” his voice breaks as he wails and sobs out unintelligible words.

Sukuna brings a hand up to his mouth, dragging it down his prickly chin as he watches the scene unfold. Yuji fights Kaori with every ounce of power he has as she attempts to shush and soothe him, but it’s to no avail.

“I don’t wanna go! Don’t make me!” He bawls, pushing against his mother to reach for Sukuna.

He looks to Choso for guidance, but the brown-haired boy is trembling at Kaori’s side in his own fit of tears, worsened by Yuji’s manic state.

“KUNAAAA! S’KUNA!” He calls out again, writhing to push back against the woman whose arms he’s held in. “PleASE!” His voice breaks, his vocal cords beaten to a pulp with all the crying and screaming he’s done over the last few days.

The closer they get to the awaiting car, the more Sukuna feels everything crumbling around him. The world slows even further if that’s at all possible, a cloud covers the sun. He half-expects it to start raining just to really stick it to him. Even the wildlife holds its breath as they watch.

Rooted to his place, Sukuna keeps his demeanor steady in spite of the overwhelming urge to throw up whatever sits in his stomach. His skin feels heavy, like he doesn’t belong within it. He wants to shower in hopes that it’ll rid him of the feeling.

His guilt, his fears, and his failures twist and turn in the pit of his stomach, heating him up from the inside out as if to burn him alive.

It would be a kinder fate for a hole to open up in the ground beneath him and swallow him whole. Watching his brothers suffer feels as though it’s a cruel divine punishment for every misdemeanor he’s ever committed.

“Kuna plea-ea-EASE!” Yuji cries out with each sob that parts his lips as one of the social workers helps Choso into the waiting car. Kaori has to fight against Yuji’s flailing limbs in her attempt to buckle him into the awaiting car seat.

“No! NO!” Yuji screams, pushing back against her the entire time that she attempts to buckle him in.

Both kids are barely in sight at this point, hidden behind tinted windows and Kaori herself as she struggles to buckle in her child. Sukuna’s head falls, his gaze stuck on the ground before him as all he can do is stand in place and watch, listen.

“Let me go!” He screams out, prying himself from her grip as he attempts to slip past her.

“Yuji, this isn’t appropriate behavior, honey,” she scolds. She manages to catch him before he can slip away, adjusting her grip on him so that she can lift him easier. As she hoists him into the air, his sobs and cries only continue, growing raspier by the moment.

“NO!” He screams out, writhing against her grip. He reaches out for Sukuna, whose gaze lifts to catch a final glance at Yuji when- “DAD!”

Sukuna’s lips part, his eyes widening as every muscle, every nerve, every thought, every goddamn bone in his body screams at him to move, but he can’t. His body runs cold, his blood freezing in place as the world presses in around him. His knees go weak, vision blurring. He can’t say whether it’s the blur of tears or the nausea steadily setting in.

All he knows as the car engine starts up and gradually fades into the distance is that at some point his knees gave out, and the discolored spots dotting the concrete beneath him are the tears he can’t feel himself shedding.

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❦ a/n ; hey everyone, thank you sm for reading as always <33 the support on this continues to be so wonderful and i can't thank you all enough for that 🫶

the angst just keeps on coming 😭 i won't blame anyone for calling me a monster for that last scene either, that devastated me to write

i'm posting this from out of the country so forgive me for the strange update time :)) since i'm away i also won't be able to respond to asks or comments very quickly but know that i absolutely will be reading them as they come in and they never fail to put a smile on my face <33 i'll reply whenever i have a moment, though! you guys are the best and i appreciate each and every one of you 🫶

anyway, thank you so much for the love, and i hope you all have a great day/night <33