Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Condensation forms on a copper pipe over the tiger cub’s head. The water drops and lands in dusty pink hair. This old heap used to be a fish cannery. It still smells like one, fishy and metallic like rust. The old factory building is empty, except for the two of them and the corpse. The windows have yellowed with time and dust, broken or boarded up. Abandoned equipment rusts around them. The only light comes from the flickering street lamp outside.


The little tiger is still unconscious. His wrists are bound behind the back of the metal chair. His knuckles are wrapped like a boxer's. He’s dressed a bit too colorfully. The hoodie is somewhere between tangerine orange and dandelion yellow. The bright color makes the stains stand out. Blood from that corpse has ruined the cuffs. The wrap on the knuckles was soaked.


Underneath those knuckles would be bruised; caving someone’s face in will do that. There’s also blood and bits of skin from his arm under the cub’s claws. He sucks his teeth in disappointment. Cub had the nerve to steal his prey, yet all it took was a basic choke hold to take him down. He thought Wasuke would have raised him better.


Sukuna returns to the corpse once more to keep from losing his self-control. The tattoos are like stitches, making the dead bastard easy to identify. It really is his target lying here dead. The cub becomes all the more appetizing. Sukuna had been looking forward to hunting this dead bastard down. He can’t be too disappointed in this loss; a bigger prize has been dropped at his feet. This little freak used to turn his victims into grotesque figures for people to find. Crazies are the best to fight and kill; their unpredictable nature kept him on his toes.


Yet now he had something better strapped to the chair. A nephew he never knew existed. Sukuna doesn’t know what to think. Jin was fifteen the last time he saw him. It was hard to imagine any woman wanting him. His milk bread brother, weak, fragile, Sukuna thought after everything, Jin would die before letting someone touch him. Somehow, sweet baby Jin landed himself a woman stupid enough to ruin her body. Some whore bore fruit. Sukuna licks his lips at the thought of plucking the boy off the branch. Jin got away, thanks to Wasuke, but his little tiger wouldn’t be so lucky.


Reaching down, he moves the corpse’s hair out of their face. The face is just a jagged, bloody hole, and bits of teeth poke out. Blood splatter is everywhere, painting a story for him. He wasn’t there to witness the murder, much to his disappointment. It must have been a thing of beauty. The kid was done by the time he arrived, blood dripping off his knuckles, his shoulders moving with heavy breath.


That idiot didn’t even hear him. Amateur. Shameful. The tiger cub was still a teenager, but he should have known better than to lower his guard. If he kept it up, it was going to get caught; what a spoil that would be. Snatched off the street before his prime.


Standing, he brushes off his clothes and walks away, leaning against a far wall. He waits.


“Unnh…” The cub raises his head, blinking as he tries to adjust to the dark. The flickering light is of little help. Screaming for help was useless. He waits, submerged in the deepest of the shadows, for the cub to spot him. Those amber eyes scan the surrounding area. Innocent, long lashes like a doll. The cub is young, with baby fat still clinging to his frame, despite his slender appearance. It’s a little late for cation, but the cub keeps quiet, his shoulders shifting like a cat as he tests the binds.


Sukuna had limited supplies for holding someone hostage. His whole thing was dismemberment. Curiosity is what first led him to taste human. Mother left when Jin was a toddler. Wasuke, being the bastard he was, left the women's work to his eldest son. Sukuna was a skilled cook as a result. Although he hates the act of cooking, it was worth it for the pleasure of eating. Humans proved to be tasty. Since this wasn’t his kill, he would take nothing from the body. His freezer would have to stay empty for now.


Once the little tiger cub realizes he can’t get away, his head rolls back. Sukuna watches to see what he’ll do. There’s no telling what the kid had up his sleeve. Jin wasn’t like him or their father; he was no brute. Jin, however, was patient; he played the long game, always plotting. Sukuna wonders if this boy is like Jin in that way. Or do the comparisons stop at their appearance? Time would tell. 


Sukuna continues to watch the cub. Their shoulders are shifting again, and he’s breathing in grumpy huffs. It’s rather cute. Hearing those little huffs and grunts takes him back in time. Right back to Jin. They could have made a name for themselves in the underbelly of Japan. Jin ruined everything by ratting him out to his father. Fucking pussy. If this cub were anything like Jin, he would have him in all the ways he had his traitorous younger brother.


If the cub was a mean bastard like Wasuke, Sukuna would not entertain him. He would kill him swiftly and without any flourish. The first thing he would eat would be the heart. Next, the liver. Then, depending on his mood, he might strip the skin and fry it in oil. Pluck the eyes and bathe them in salt until the right texture, and spread them over toast. There are so many ways he can devour him. Maybe just maybe, he’ll drop what’s left on their doorstep.


The cub glares at his surroundings. The street light provides him with little visibility. He cranes his neck to look at the door. Then the cub grabs the chair, the best his binds will allow, and bounces. Fucking dounces toward the door. The metal legs screech as he moves. Even if the kid made it out, what then? He was still stuck on a chair in the middle of dumfuck nowhere. Sukuna can’t help but smile. A chuckle slips from his throat, and the cub’s head whips in his direction. “What the hell, man?! Come out here where I can see ya!”


It’s clear that the kid still hasn’t spotted him; his eyes lack focus. He walks out regardless, his hands in his pockets. Unlike the cub, he’s all in black except for the splash of red for style. “This is brutal work, kid,” Sukuna says as he nudges the body with the toe of his boot. “Real nasty work, but this fucker deserved it. What’s your name?”


“You a cop?”


Sukuna barks a laugh and walks closer to the chair. ”Do I look like a fucking cop to you?” He leans in so they’re face-to-face. The cub stares at him, eyes moving from the tattoos to the eyepatch, and he shakes his head. There’s no recognition in those eyes. Dear uncle, Sukuna was reduced to a stranger. Good, that would make this more interesting. “You’re Wasuke’s boy, right? Why don’t you give me your name?” He could play the role of stranger.


The zip tie snaps, flying through the air from the force, and the damn kid kicks a leg at him. “I’m his grandson, so don’t fuck with me!” That leg keeps kicking. Back and forth, like a toddler's tantrum. The chair wobbles, and if he keeps kicking, he might go toppling over. It’s funny to watch the cub thrash around, more like a fish out of water than any sort of predator.


“Wasuke must have lost his edge,” Sukuna says as he steps, looping around the chair. He grabs the chair and tilts it back. It makes the kid stop kicking. “The old man I knew would never let his kin be so amateur. Did the Blood Tiger of Sendai go soft in his old age? Do tell, what is the great Blood tiger’s little cub called?” Then he jerks the chair as if he were going to drop it. The kid braces to fall, trying to move his hands to keep them from getting crushed. Sukuna doesn’t drop the chair; he doesn’t want to break those hands. Those amber eyes glare at him; the hate is so sweet. It feels like home. 

“Blood Tiger?” The tiger cub seems shocked that he knows who owns that title. Blood Tiger was a name Wasuke always hated, but it was a name he had earned. Cutting stripes out of skin was quite the calling card. It wasn’t the sort of thing any good father would drag his kids to see. But Wasuke wasn’t a good father, and Sukuna saw more than just murder under his claw. “Who are you? How do you know my grandfather?” The cub finally asks. 


Making up a story on the spot isn’t difficult; all he had to do was tell the truth. “He was a boxer back in the day, when he wasn’t cracking skulls for the highest bidder. Old man taught me everything I know. I do mean everything.” Sukuna gives the body a pointed look. The kid seemed to have forgotten all about the man he killed. His face turns to stone at the reminder. “Are you going to tell me your name now?”


His eyes are glued to the body, blood like a devil’s halo around the head. After a bit, he sighs and stops struggling to get loose. “I won’t apologize for killing your buddy. He killed my friend…so if you're gonna kill me for revenge or whatever, just do it.”


A fire lights in his belly. This kid was a fucking brat; he had to have him.


“Don’t insult me. He was not my friend. I wanted to kill him. I’ve been stalking him for weeks, waiting for my chance.” Sukuna grabs the back of the chair, caging the kid further. There’s nowhere for him to go, but he tries to lean away.  Sukuna invades his space, leaning in more. “Besides…I wouldn’t kill Wasuke’s cub. In fact, once you give me your name, I have an offer I’d like to make you.” He was tempted to kill the kid for making him repeat the same question.


The free leg bounces, trying to decide between kicking and risking death, or remaining still. “I’m Yuuji Itadori.” And so the tiger cub finally gives his name. It’s not what he was expecting. Sukuna forces a smile. Itadori? Not Ryoumen. Did that old bastard go so far as to change their last name? But Yuuji. It’s a cute name, definitely something Jin would have picked out. Annoyance paints the kid’s expression; his leg still bounces. “So are you going to tell me your name, old fuck.”


Fucking brat. Delightful, he was nothing like Jin, and the quips lacked sincerity. This was a good boy. Nothing like Wasuke either. An angel with knuckles made of lead. Yuuji was something else; he needed to learn more. He pulls a knife from his belt and cuts the zip tie that holds one leg to the chair. “I am known by many names. Tokyo Ripper. Sendai Cleaver. Kyoto Curse. The King.” Each of those names sinks in like a knife. The cub, Yuuji, pales. Walking behind the chair, he drags the knife down the ruined sleeve of the hoodie. He hesitates to slice through the binds. “You can call me Sukuna.” He cuts.


Yuuji rubs his wrists. “You’re a serial killer.”


“So are you.” Sukuna slips his knife back into the holster on his belt. Yuuji hasn’t garnered enough bodies to gain media attention. So far, all this looked like drunken brawls that have gone too far. The police weren’t interested enough to care yet. “You kill the same sort of people I do.” He smiles as Yuuji remains sitting.


They’re not the same, sure, they hunted the same sort of people, but their motives couldn’t be more different. He can see the kindness in Yuuji’s soul; it’s everywhere in the soft, sweet features of his face. You can see the good in people; it shines out of them like light. Yuuji, despite the blood on his hands, was a good boy. When Yuuji killed, he did it to help people, a loyal servant, a guard dog; his sole motive was to remove any wolves from the sheep.


When Sukuna killed, it was purely selfish. It was a hobby for him. He is neither dog nor wolf. He was a hunter out to collect game. Both sheep, dog, and wolf were there for him to strike down as he saw fit. Sheep with their humdrum lives were akin to fast food to him. Hunting down other monsters was more thrilling. Killing people like himself was like eating in a five-star restaurant.


The tiger cub doesn’t need to know that; it was better that he didn’t. Yuuji is cautious as he stands, keeping a healthy distance between them; their only source of light flickers. Those eyes never leave him, never lose track of him in the dark. It’s a school night, and Sukuna can’t imagine Wasuke would be too happy with Yuuji being out this late. 


Sukuna puts his hands in his pockets. “Let me drive you home.”


Yuuji scoffs, but his body relaxes. “You trust me enough to do that? What if I kill you?” He questions, but the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile. 


Smiling in turn, Sukuna walks over to the boy and leans down so they’re eye to eye. “I would love for you to try.” With that, he stands to the side. Yuuji does his cleanup. Sukuna cringes watching, but he doesn't help. He lets the boy collect his trophy (the ring finger, which is promptly tucked into a pocket), and they leave the building.


The car is parked out of sight, and the black paint makes it vanish into the shadows. He doesn’t miss the way Yuuji’s eyes widen when they get closer.  Sukuna doesn’t give two shits about cars, but he still paid a small fortune for his. Yuuji opens the passenger door with a whistle. His messy hand running over the black leather. Inside, Yuuji checks the lock before closing the door. Good to see that the kid had some sense. In his last car, Sukuna attached razor blades to the lock so his prey couldn’t escape. He hasn’t had the time to mod his new vehicle to the same degree.


It’s quiet as he drives, Yuuji touching the leather with his messy hands, acting as if his stomach wasn’t growling. Change of plans. He ignores the kid’s directions, despite the worry that edges in his voice, the further off track they go. Instead of taking Yuuji home, Sukuna pulls into a little restaurant. Talking would have been impossible with the way that boy’s is rumbling.


It smells nice inside, but the food was nothing to write about. Sukuna was a picky eater. There were better places to eat, but none where they could talk openly. The decor is overdone in a traditional Japanese style, clearly meant to lure in tourists. Royalty-free music plays, but an ’80s theme tune is playing somewhere in the back kitchen.


The menus are handed to them by a dead-eyed waitress. Purple bags sit under her eyes, and she reeks of cigarette smoke and a life of regrets. She leaves without taking their drink orders. Yuuji hesitates to look, quietly admitting that he doesn’t have any money. Sukuan waves off his concerns.


Yuuji chews his bottom lip as he looks at the menu. It’s limited, only four ramen to choose from, and a few sides. Reading the menu only makes that boy’s stomach growl louder. “Shit, does Wasuke not feed you?” Sukuna questions, knowing his old man, that was a possibility. Yuuji stares at him, those eyes going somber.


“You don’t know?” Yuuji speaks from behind the menu, using it almost like a shield. He sounds smaller than he is. Sukuna has to lean in to hear him better. “He’s in the hospital. I don’t really have the money right now for stuff.”


“And your parents?”


“Dead.” Yuuji shrugs and removes the wrap from his knuckles. He returns to the menu with his leg bouncing.


Sukuna has to bite his cheek to keep from reacting. It takes everything in him to keep from smiling. It's euphoric. So that rotten fucking bastard was on his deathbed. The kid didn’t need to say it. Sukuna could feel death in the word hospital. It felt good. 


It wasn’t enough. He needed more. “I’m sorry, kid, but hear me out.” He already knew the kid would accept. But it didn’t matter; he still had to close the cub in the trap. “Would you like to play a game?” Sukuna asks. City lights illuminate the area in an array of colors.


“Is that a Saw reference?” Yuuji perks, excitement making his age all the more obvious. It makes his blood burn hot.


“What? No, listen. You like to kill killers-”


“Not just killers….” Yuuji interrupts without thinking. Color enters his cheeks, and he turns to look back out the window. His fingers rub the stained bandages at his knuckles, picking at the fraying bits of fabric. “I started with rapists. Sometimes I pretend to be younger online, ya know,” He shrugs his shoulders as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sukuna has no comment. “Whatever, just listen, let’s make a game of it. I’ll have a friend of mine look into possible cases, and we'll both hunt the same fucker down. Whoever kills him first wins.”


Yuuji looks away from his menu to stare out the window. Headlights blur past, and drunk men in business suits stumble arm in arm. “This sounds stupid?” Yuuji says, but his eyes are shining with interest. He brings a knuckle to his mouth and bites at the flayed skin until it comes off.  “But what would I win? How do I know you won’t cheat?”


Stupid brat made a foolish mistake earlier. “I’m well off. If you win, I’ll give you enough money to cover rent for a year. There’s no sport in cheating. Whatever intel my friend digs up, I’ll openly share.” He says and sets his menu down.


Their conversation is paused as the waitress returns with steaming hot cups of tea for them. She then takes their orders. Yuuji orders his, making puppy dog eyes as he asks permission for an extra slice of pork in his. Sukuna rolls his eyes but allows it. Sukuna orders, keeping it basic. Putting lipstick on a pig didn’t change the fact that it was a pig. He should have taken them somewhere nicer. 


Yuuji’s head tilts. “What do you get if you win? I can’t pay you a cash prize.”


What would he win? Sukuna takes a moment to think about. A few ideas cross his mind. Images of the brat spread out on his sheets, skin shining with sweat, bitemarks glowing red on his thighs, gasping in his ear. The tight heat of his-


Sukuna forces the line of thought to end there. What could he realistically ask for? All he can think about is feeling him underneath him. Yuuji stares at him, those pretty eyes blinking. “Is it not enough that I get to enjoy the competition?”


The kid shakes his head, making an X with his fingers. “That’s boring. It's not a real game, with only one of us ends up with a prize. Come on, there has to be something. ”


“What are you willing to give me?”


Yuuji chews on a different knuckle and stares down at his hand. He closes his fingers into a fist, leaving just the pinkie out. “My finger.”


“Huh?” Sukuna stares at the little digit before laughing. “You would cut your finger off?”


“No. I’ll let you cut it off. You seem like you would enjoy that.”


“What about next year? Would you let me cut another finger off?”


“Next year? You want this to be a thing, like a tradition?” Yuuji seems skeptical of the idea. He bites his lip, brows pinched as he mulls it over. “And each year you’ll pay me if I win?”


Sukuna nods his head.


Yuuji swears under his breath and runs his hands through his hair. “Okay, sure, but no more than two fingers. Oh, and one more condition!” Yuuji holds up a finger. Sukuna leans back and smiles, nodding to signal he’s listening. “It had to take place during winter break. I can’t miss school for this, and I don’t really do anything for winter.”


“I can agree to that.” Sukuna holds out his hand. They shake on it and eat their dinner in silence. Back in the car, he then quickly learns that the kid doesn’t own a cellphone, not even a burner. After a bit more prying, Yuuji admits that they still use a landline at his apartment. Sukuna groans, knowing he would have to buy the kid a cell if he was to have any hope of staying in contact. Thankfully, the city is alive at night; it’s easy to find an open place. Sukuna doesn’t buy the kid anything too nice, but he does let him pick out a case. Yuuji smiles at the phone and starts fiddling with it, softly playing ringtones in his ear. Cute if not instantly annoying.


Sukuna also buys two new burner phones, keeping one for himself and giving Yuuji the other.


Yuuji chews his lip once they’re back in the car. “How does a burner phone work?” Yuuji holds both phones together. “I didn’t think they were real. Dumb, I know, but I thought they were a crime movie thing.”


“You always pay cash for it, but it's just a phone with minimal features. You can call and text, but not much else. They’re useful for our hobby because they don’t have any personal information attached. It’ll keep our communication anonymous. Once it's done, you toss it and get a new one.”


“Sounds like they should be illegal.” The kid makes a soft sound as he looks back down at it, only looking up to point out directions to the apartment. “So I can use it to chat with my friends?”


Sukuna shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not your dad. If you want to be stupid with it, be my guest. But you should use the regular phone for your friends. Save the burner for our game.” He pulls into a parking space. The apartment building looks normal, it’s painfully average. It’s certainly not the home he grew up in. It made sense that Wasuke had to downsize, but it was still disappointing. The lights are on in most of the windows. Yuuji’s eyes are fixed on one dark window. With a deep breath, he opens the door and gets out. Sukuna stays long enough to watch the kid vanish inside, the light coming on in the empty apartment. He pulls out and has barely left the parking lot when his phone pings.


thanks for the lift (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)


After saving the contact under the tiger emoji, he doesn’t text back.

Chapter Text

Friday:


Flowers wrapped in colorful plastic line the window. Glass vases of every size and color line the shelves. So many flowers sit at the ready, just waiting to be turned into beautiful arrangements. The shop is a cloud of perfume so strong that it can make anyone dizzy after too long. There are so many options to choose from. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the bouquets he’s torn between.


Big orange lilies with black speckles along the petals, small clusters of baby blue hydrangea, and snowy white bundles of baby’s breath. The next bouquet is dark blue irises, lily of the valley, framed with fern leaves. The final one looks like the sun, yellow chrysanthemums, cute little white chamomile flowers, and yellow Billy Buttons. Deep down, he knows better. He sends the pictures to Sukuna.


Yuuji: which one should I get (⁠・3・⁠) ?~?⁠

Sukuna: You like flowers?

Yuuji: ╮⁠(⁠＾⁠▽⁠＾⁠)⁠╭

Yuuji: they aren't for me

Sukuna: A girl?


He should stop this. The last thing he should be doing is casually talking to some old guy he barely knows. Especially a guy who had looked at him the way Sukuna had. It makes his stomach flutter; it shouldn’t, but there’s something wrong with him. He’s sick, that’s the only way to explain it. He likes girls his own age, so why didn’t that extend to boys? Why was it only older men that made him feel the way girls do?


Yuuji never sends the first message. He gives these creeps every chance to do the right thing. As much as he wants them, they were old enough to know better. These men shouldn’t want him back. It always ends the same way. Yuuji has spent so much time online pretending to be the perfect target for creeps. Now it threatens to bleed into his reality. Everything he’s learned is so close to melting away.


Predators never change; they’re all the same, they all use the same lines. He scrolls up to previous conversations to remind himself. Nobody understands you like I do. Words he’s read before. Creep after creep. It feels different coming from Sukuna. One serial killer to another, how could he not understand? It’s not like Yuuji could tell anyone else about it. All he had was this man with the hungry eyes (or eye, since he had no idea what was left under that eyepatch).


The shopkeeper breathes loudly, annoyed that he is taking so long to pick something. Yuuji chews his lip. Typing and deleting, trying to convince himself to just stop talking to him. The only communication should be for their murder game. The phone gives a quick buzz alerting him to a text.


Sukuna: Get the first one, they suit you best

Something inside of him is broken beyond repair. Blush burns on his face as he takes the bouquet. The plastic wrap crinkles under his fingers, and water drops from the cut stems. All of the options are beautiful, but Sukuna was right, this one did suit him. Tiger lilies for the tiger cub. Wasuke would like it even if the old man would never admit it. Yuuji can already hear the half-assed lecture about wasting perfectly good food money on some damn flowers. Yuuji always ignored it. He was young, and he could sustain himself on instant noodles. Bringing them to the counter, he thumbs at his phone.


Yuuji: thanks ( ˙▿˙ )⁠♡

Yuuji: im looking forward to our game!


At the counter, he tucks his phone into his back pocket. While in there, he fishes out the money for the flowers. The shopkeeper, despite their earlier annoyance, offers a gentle smile and thanks him in a super nasally voice. As he leaves the give him a ‘Please come again’ that’s spoken as if the nostrils were the ones saying it. He doesn’t say anything back, he raises a hand in a half-hearted wave, and nods.


The route to the hospital is pretty nice at sunset. All the beautiful colors in the sky, the way the orange glow reflects off the windows of so many tall buildings. He holds the flowers out towards the sky, seeing the colors fuse. He takes a picture and yet again sends it to Sukuna.


The nurses at the hospital were nice to him. Maybe it was his age or the fact that he was the only one to ever visit Wasuke, but they always let him in when visiting hours were over. He could stay in that room for hours with no problem. If he accidentally stayed too late and missed the bus home, they would sneak him a pillow and blanket. In the morning, the nurses would bring him a blueberry muffin or a bagel and send him off to school.


It’s always cold inside. A nurse, a woman with the first peaks of gray starting to show, waves to him. She’s wearing an oversized cardigan over her uniform, her hair up into the world’s most perfect bun, as if she were a ballerina in a past life.


“Good to see you, Yuuji. You came just in time. Wasuke just woke up from his midday nap. He’s in a better mood.” Her voice is soft like a breeze of wind. Yuuji has heard that voice yelling up a storm once or twice. Most of the time, she’s sweet. Her makeup is minimal, but it's caked under her eyes. “What lovely flowers! You’re such a good boy.” She stands, and he follows her to the room. 


Wasuke is sitting upright, his arms crossed over his chest, and his usual scowl on his face. Yuuji smiles and changes out the wilted flowers for the new ones. Unlike most of the time, Wasuke doesn’t complain. His eyes are fixed on him, and he huffs and puffs like some wolf in a children’s story. Yuuji keeps smiling, fiddling with the flowers until they sit just right in the vase. The nurse looks between them, eyes lingering on his back, before she bows and leaves them be. 


There are so many questions taking shape on his tongue. Lines that map the way he would like this conversation to go. The Blood Tiger of Sendai. Yuuji knew his grandfather was a boxer; the man taught him how to throw a punch as a kid, how to wrap his knuckles. Yuuji has never cared much for the past. It never felt fair to ask about then when it wasn’t their now. Wasuke was a different man, still rough around the edges, but not someone who bashes skulls in. He’s sure there are memories his grandfather would like to keep buried.


Wasuke kept very few pictures. Yuuji went through them once, and a lot of the older ones were torn or damaged in some way. Something about that fact allows him to hold his tongue. 


“You should visit less often. Study for your exams…or at least go get a girlfriend. It’s weird for a kid to spend this much time with an old man.” Wasuke starts, and Yuuji is already rolling his eyes. Maybe he should convince Nobara to pretend to be his girlfriend for the old man’s sake. He could always skip visiting once, then tell his grandpa he went to the movies or something. Yuuji won’t do any of that, but he thinks about it. 


Tidying the room is a pointless endeavor as it's already spotless. All it does is keep his hands busy. “Once you're back home, I will, I promise.” Yuuji pulls a hard plastic and metal chair to the bedside. Wasuke grumbles, and his frown lines deepen.


“You know damn well I’m not leaving this hospital alive.” Wasuke thumps the back of his knuckles softly on the top of Yuuji’s head. It wasn’t hard, but his fingers are so bony that it still hurt a little. Rubbing at the spot, Yuuji frowns. What was he supposed to say to that? Wasuke is old and sick; when he says his time is coming, Yuuji has no choice but to believe him. “I’ve made arrangements. Your cousin has agreed to move here so you can finish high school with your friends.”


Choso always acted more like a big brother than a cousin. He was a little unusual at times, but he was a good guy. Yuuji likes him well enough, but he doesn’t want to be raised by him. He wants to be able to rely on his grandfather for a little while longer. “You didn’t have to do that. Focus on getting better.” Yuuji tries to smile, but it fails to reach his eyes. “Can we talk about something besides you dying? Please?”


Wasuke’s eyes narrow. They’re a warm shade of brown; as a kid, Yuuji could have sworn they were red in the right light. He grumbles, moving his pillows so he can sit straighter. Yuuji feels like shrinking, but he holds his ground. “Hands.” Wasuke demands. Yuuji looks down as he puts his hands where his grandfather can see.


The bruises there are fresh, black, and the knuckle on his ring finger is mended with two little stitches. Quiet. It's worse than getting yelled at. Wasuke grabs his hands and bends his fingers, and checks the rest of his hand. Yuuji’s hands are sore, but they’re not damaged past the surface wounds. “I’m fine, I got carried away.”


“You need to get some proper gloves, boy. You have soft skin like your father, and you punch harder than your flesh can handle.”


“Did my dad box?”


Wasuke gives a dry laugh and shakes his head. “Jin…Jin wasn’t a fighter. He was quick like a fox and just as clever. It’s probably why your mother liked him so much, birds of a feather and whatnot.”

“Was mom the reason you and dad stopped talking?” Yuuji feels like he’s walking on ice as it cracks. He’s never asked about this before. He knows that Wasuke and Jin didn’t talk for a few years. His birth is the only thing that got them back in contact. 


Wasuke closes his eyes, recalling the memory, his eyelids moving as it plays out.  Then he sighs and shakes his head. “No, I wish it were that simple. Someone hurt him, and I was too caught up in my own problems to notice. It went on for too long, and no matter what action I took, the damage had been done.” He takes and deep breath, and rubs at his chest. “I should have been happy he found love after all that. All I could see was my son dropping out of school for his first serious girlfriend.”


They fall into silence for what feels like hours. Yuuji has more questions than answers. He wants to probe for more, but just that little has left his grandfather drained. For the sake of his health, Yuuji lets the subject drop. After a couple of minutes, Wasuke drifts off. Yuuji does his homework at his bedside, in case the old man wakes up again. He likes to tell him goodbye when he’s awake to hear it. Dimming the lights, Yuuji fiddles around the room a bit. He moves the vase by the window, closing the blinds halfway so the sun wouldn’t wake Wasuke in the morning.


By the time he leaves, he just barely catches the bus home. The ride is quiet, with the few faces there becoming familiar with the passage of time. At the apartment, Yuuji doesn’t go right to bed.


Despite the time, he sits in front of the computer, logging into one of his many profiles. Adachi was a man in his mid to late sixties, average height and weight, active in the community. He also likes chatting with girls between the ages of thirteen to fifteen. Tonight, Yuuji was Yumi.


Saturday:


Nobara sits at the edge of his desk as they eat lunch. Her perfume smells like something a woman three times her age would wear. Roses with a musk of vanilla. “Let’s go to the mall tomorrow.” She’s been hounding them all week about it. She needed someone to carry her bags, and who better than the two pack mules she called friends. Yuuji shrugs his shoulders. She often treated them to dinner after.


Megumi groans at the idea as he pops the tab on his canned coffee.  “We did that last week.” He complains. “Let’s go to the arcade. My sister went to one that’s all vintage machines.”


Yuuji keeps eating as the two bicker back and forth. Yawking between bites, he stayed up too late chatting online. The pictures of Yumi were of him in drag. All he had to do was add a few girly filters, some digital stickers, and boom, Yumi was as real as rain. The Yumi profile was popular. Most of the messages he got were trolls.


Then there were men like Adachi, who first warn about the creeps online, then ask for nudes within the hour. It took Adachi less time than that to switch it up. In the same message comparing Yumi to his stepdaughter, Adachi asked if she was a virgin. It made Yuuji sick. It took only three days for the man to ask for nudes. In a week, Adachi to ask to meet in person.


The way this man talked in those messages, this wasn’t his first rodeo. The confidence to act so boldly, so quickly meant experience. The taste of food turns bland in his mouth the more he thinks about it. Adachi sent videos showing him using a pair of girls' panties to masturbate, breathing that he wished they belonged to Yumi. Yuuji can’t eat. If Yumi wasn’t him, then it would be a real thirteen-year-old girl getting sent stuff like that.


If not for that, Yuuji would have happily agreed to join his friends.


“You aren’t skipping this time.” If Nobara could read his mind, then she was really bad at it. Yuuji stares at them with wide eyes, but he doesn’t get the chance to speak. Nobara’s manicured nail pokes at his chest. “You’re turning into a shut-in weirdo. Even your gramps wants you to visit less and get out more,” She warns, her eyes narrowing in on him, suspicious.


All he can think about is the gross messages. You should bring a friend over; she can hold your hand while I’m inside you. Would you be okay if I kissed her too, or would that make you jealous? Are you sure you want to meet me? I’m so old, and you're so pretty. Boys your age only want one thing. I want to take care of you. Yuuji looks down at his half-eaten lunch in disgust. His friends misread it as guilt.


“You’re coming, that’s final. I don’t want you ending up a hikikomori.”


“I won’t end up a hikikomori. You’re being dramatic.” Yuuji rolls his eyes, looking to Megumi for backup. Megumi looks away, not agreeing, but also not coming to his defense. Yuuji sighs, closing his bento box, admitting defeat. “I’ll try.” Fuck, he feels so guilty for skipping all the time. If he didn’t get too bloody, then maybe he could join them. He stares down at his knuckles, but none of the scars are super noticeable. Hopefully, he wouldn’t split them open this time; it was hard enough explaining it last time.


Megumi swishes the last swallow of coffee around in the can. Like a beer, he throws it back, drinking it. “We’re meeting at my place at seven. Gojo won’t be home, so we can play games on his TV.”


Sunday:


This went beyond badly. Adachi’s breathing comes out in a gurgle, lungs filling with fluid. Yuuji broke his ribs, felt them shatter against his knuckles; he can assume that one punctured a lung. After that, everything got all fucked. The broken beer bottle shines, still clutched tightly in the fingers of the dying creeper. Yuuji stumbles away from him, his hands throbbing, his adrenaline burning him alive. He’s panting, ragged, his whole body breaking out in sweat. His shoulder hits against the brick, and he nearly falls over.


This wasn’t the plan. He stares at the wig torn from his head. A few bobby pins are still in his hair. Whatever makeup that remained on his face was smeared to a clownish mask. They were supposed to meet at a love hotel; the area was secluded, with barely any foot traffic. So when he got grabbed, his mouth covered by a hand that tasted like salt and cigarettes, he expected someone else. He didn’t expect Adachi to get the jump on him first. Tears blur the vision of his remaining eye. His clothes were torn, but he could feel the phantom touches.


His backpack feels like a stone weighing him to the spot. His change of clothes is folded inside. Yuuji can’t think about it. He’s still wearing a hoodie, but it's for girls. The stings are each capped off with a plastic daisy. The white skirt is speckled in blood, and the leggings to hide his hair are equally ruined. The wig lies in a tangled heap, looking more like road kill than anything else.


Blood pours from the wound, his skin flayed down the the bone. Yuuji holds his hands to it to try and slow the bleeding. The flap of skin feels like warm, raw chicken against his fingers. Blood oozes between his fingers, rivers of it trailing down his hand into his sleeve. It’s everywhere. It’s painting his clothes. His blood. Not Adachi’s. His.


He tries to open his eye, tries to remove his hands. The skin and flaps open, fresh blood pouring into his eye. Yuuji can’t see out of it. Sukuna would love this; they could be eye patch buddies. God, it's on the same side too, isn’t it? Yuuji thinks. He prays he didn’t lose his eye; he would really like to keep both. This was bad. This was really fucking bad. With his good eye, he looks at the man. Adachi is still breathing, but he hasn’t tried to get up.


“Fuck, oh fuck.” Yuuji whispers. Why do face wounds have to bleed so much? Anytime he removes pressure, a new gush flows down his face. There was no way he was going to make it to Megumi’s now; he was such a horrible friend. “Why won’t you fucking die?!” He kicks Adachi in the ribs, the already broken bones still crunching from the blows. Adachi’s face is swollen, but he blinks and groans. Still alive. Again, Yuuji kicks him. He falls to his knees, off balance from holding his face.


Yuuji turns to look down the length of the alleyway. It’s deep and ends at a chain-link fence. The chances of anyone coming this way were slim. But his luck was shit tonight, and he doesn’t want to test that theory.  He keeps one hand to his face, wiping the other dry on his pants. “He-he-lp.” Adachi chokes out, the inside of his mouth a bright crimson.


“Shut up.” Yuuji snarls. His hands were shaking, and his hair was sticking to the blood and sweat on his forehead. It was too hot, and his hand was too wet; his phone didn’t want to register his touch. Swearing, Yuuji wipes his hand on every dry spot of clothing he has on.


Yuuji: i neeed help


His hand is shaking so badly that it makes it difficult to type. The blood in his vision doesn’t help; he can’t even tell if he sent it. He sits on the ground by the trash cans, which fell over when he attacked Adachi. Plastic bags full of rotten-smelling trash are everywhere. Food waste, litter, and whatnot. Nothing feels real. He doesn’t even consider that this was how Adachi got the bottle.


It was humiliating. Yuuji didn’t even get to throw the first punch. Once Adachi felt a cock instead of the bald pussy he’d been looking forward to, he slapped him. Yuuji was so stunted that it took until he was hit again before he could react. Twice. Twice, someone has got the jump on him.


First, Sukuna, who was in his prime. Mindlessly, he touches his throat, remembering how he clawed at that tattooed arm. Sukuna was out of his league; agreeing to the game was a mistake. Once Sukuna learned this old fuck out smarted him, he’d never talk to him again. That felt worse than getting caught.


Sukuna: Location? I'll pick you up.


The buzz from his phone makes him jump. Adachi’s gurgling breaths were deeper now, slower. The pleas for help were just watery air. With his sleeve, Yuuji tries to wipe blood and cheap makeup from his face. Seeing that Sukuna texted him back calms him. He sends his location.


Yuuji: im hurt

Yuuji: guy alive


Shadows of people passing stretch out into the alley. Each feels like a threat. His phone buzzes again, and when he tilts to look, blood drips onto the screen. 


Megumi: Heyyy are you coming???


That was a slutty amount of ys and question marks. Nobara must have stolen his phone, trying to bait his bisexual ass into going. It would be funny if he weren't in a crisis. Well, if he ended up in jail, that would dampen her matchmaker schemes. Megumi was nice, hell, he was hot. But he was too young. He laughs, it's so ridiculous, hunting pedos has fucked with his brain. Yuuji tries to reply when a woman screams. Her shadow is pointing into the alley.


Fuck, he’s such a fucking idiot; he left that bastard right out in the open. Left with no choice, Yuuji bolts for it, yanking his hood over his head. Climbing the fence before anyone can think to chase after him, Yuuji runs for dear life. He’s not that familiar with the area, but he darts into alleys, crashing out onto the sidewalk. Lungs burning, he keeps running, even after he can stop, he keeps running. Yuuji runs until he comes crashing to his knees in a small grassy park.  

Now safe, his adrenaline crashes. Vomit rises quickly. The taste was pure bile, the acid burning at his throat and nose. Smelling it, putrid and sour, like lemons left to rot, was enough to make him gag. Air burns his raw throat, but he keeps gulping lungs full of it in. It was all he could do to keep from puking again. 

Everything is wet from the sprinkler system. It smells better than trash. With no strength to stand, he lowers his hand. It was bleeding less. Yuuji's phone vibrates. Whining, he pulls it out.

Sukuna: Where are you?

Yuuji: had to run 

He sends his location again. The park is empty, but he can't stay sitting in wet grass by a pile of vomit. Spitting the taste from his mouth, he stands. The gash on his face wasn’t bleeding all too much. The continuous pressure, even while running, had done its job.


The skin still flops open if he removes his hand. It drops into his lap. The skin must have been barely clinging on. Yuuji stares at it. It’s thinner and thicker than he thought it would be, all at the same time. Moving it around, it doesn’t feel real, more like a Halloween prop. Yuuji has seen scary movies with more realistic gore than his own skin flap. Not knowing what else to do, he throws it away, knowing some animal would come to eat it.


In a nearby drinking fountain, he washes the blood off his hands. Yuuji washes his face; the water stings the open wound, but he clenches his teeth and keeps cleaning.

Sukuna: I'm sending someone to get you. Don't move unless you have to. They're taking that guy to the hospital. 

Yuuji presses the green phone, and the dial tone rings in his ear. It goes once, then twice. When it's answered, there's a weird sound, almost like a cave your voice can echo in. “He'll tell. I'll get caught.” There are no greetings, just raw panic. He knew he was screwed before, but it finally sinks in just how screwed he actually is. His life was over. Wasuke would surely die if he got arrested. He needs to hear Sukuna's voice.

“How is that my problem? I only agreed to get you. I'm not your mommy. I'm not interested in cleaning your mess, brat. ” Sukuna's tone is harsh. Yuuji expected a bit more charity and understanding.

“I’ll do anything!”

Sukuna laughs. “Anything. Now-now don't go making promises you can't keep, you might hurt my feelings.” Sukuna teases. 

“I mean it…anything…Please, I need you to make it go away.” Yuuji knows better. He knows better than this. Sukuna is a predator; he could take something he wasn't ready to give. He could do worse, and here he was giving this animal the green light. 

“Say please again.” 

Pervert, Yuuji thinks. His throat still stings from puking. “Please…” He hates how fuzzy it makes him feel. The deep sound of Sukuna's laugh makes butterflies flutter. It's too confusing. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, especially not now. 

“Good boy. I'll handle it. Don't move unless you have to. I'll send my friend to come get you.” Sukuna is softer this time. Yuuji nods his head even though Sukuna can't see. There's no goodbye or even a click as the call ends. He keeps the phone there, waiting for the slim chance to hear Sukuna again. The texts from Nobara and Megumi are left unread.


Not wanting Sukuna’s buddy to see him dressed like this, Yuuji changes clothes. The clean clothes made a huge difference. He only looked half as pathetic as he did earlier. He’s not sure how much time goes by when he finally sees another person. 


They’re either a really girly-looking young man or a boyish (but still pretty) young woman. No makeup, no perfumes, no jewelry. They’re dressed in black slacks with an intentionally oversized white button-down. “You must be Itadori Yuuji.” Their voice also doesn’t help to answer the question. Both men and women can speak in that same range and tone. Yuuji stares at the person, trying to figure it out, before deciding he really didn’t care.


“That’s me.” He says with a nod. Their eyes go to the wound, a wrinkle, like a grumpy rabbit forms on the bridge of their nose. It vanishes quickly, and with a wave, they motion for him to follow. There’s only one car in the nearby lot. It looks like an older model of the car Sukuna drove. Except this one is white with some black and silver detailing.


“I assume you changed clothes. Please put the bag containing the bloody articles in the back.” Pressing a button on a black key fob, the trunk of the car pops open. Yuuji goes to do as he’s told when a firm shove knocks him inside. The trunk closes, and he finds that the release nob has been cut off. As if his night couldn’t get any worse. Kicking and pounding his fists gets him no closer to freedom.


The tires roll over pavement. Every pothole (which feels intentional) sends his body crashing around. The wound on his face starts to bleed again, never to the gushing degree as it had when fresh. The ride feels like it goes on for hours. Right-hand turns. Left-hand turns. Yuuji wonders if this person was driving in circles. It finally stops, and when the trunk opens, he’s blinded by lights. His hands raised, expecting to be met with police officers and his would-be kidnapper in handcuffs.


There’s no police, only the lights from the well-lit parking garage. “Out.” His kidnapper demands, appearing annoyed when they notice he’s started bleeding again. Yuuji hesitates but exits. “This way.” They turn sharply and walk. Yuuji is short on options, so he follows, keeping his complaints to himself. Together they enter an elevator, then an apartment lobby, and then another elevator. His kidnapper doesn’t speak as they pull out a keycard and unlock one of many doors in the hallway.


“Where are we?” Yuuji looks around. His kid napper doesn’t answer, they point for him to sit before disappearing down a hallway.


The apartment looks like a magazine picture. Dark wood tones, cream to add light, modern, and traditional decor blended in perfect harmony. As pretty as it is, it feels performative. Where were the pictures? The signs of life? Things were barely out of place. There’s a book with a spine so broken it looks split in half, face down on the kitchen counter. The leather shoes are half-hazardously kicked off at the door instead of being straightened out. And there’s a very large knife on the coffee table.


They return with a first aid kit. Everything inside looks like it has been used. The tube of antibiotic ointment was rolled like a tube of toothpaste. Yuuji counts three Q-tips left in the travel-size container. Boxes of bandages look like they were torn open by a dog. There are only a few centimeters of gaze left, not even worth keeping. They tsk their tongue, seeing what they had to work with. 


Yuuji bites back a yelp as his kidnapper sanitizes the wound. “You got lucky. If he cut you a little more this way, you would have lost the eye.” They bandage him up the best they can, wiping their hands together after they're done. “I’ll take my leave now. Sukuna should return home shortly. Please behave yourself until then.” With a nod, they close the kit and leave it in the kitchen.


“This is Sukuna’s place!?” He turns in his seat, following their motions as they slide chunky loafers on. They scoff and don’t answer such an obvious question. The door shuts harder than necessary.


His phone was binging, alerting him to missed calls and unread texts from his friends. He looks at their worried messages; he never ignored them like this before. He stares at his phone, poking at the bandage, wondering how he would explain this one. Yuuji makes himself comfortable on the couch and covers himself with a throw blanket. Coming up with an excuse was a problem for tomorrow. There’s nothing left in him, no energy to give it further thought. The pillow on the couch is uncomfortable, but he’s too tired to care. He was only going to close his eyes for a moment. 


Monday:


Light shines in through the window, and he covers his face, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep. The muscles in his body throb, his wound aches and itches. Yuuji turns his back to the window, nearly drifting back to sleep. The warm buttery scent of a home-cooked meal reaches him. Instantly, the smell of warm butter and fresh-brewed coffee has his mouth watering. Wasuke hasn't made him breakfast since he was in elementary school. He buries himself in the pillows, waiting for the old man to call his name, not fully awake.


Wait, Yuuji’s body tenses. Wasuke didn’t drink coffee.


Last night comes crashing back to him, and he jolts out of bed. The sheets smell like wood and spice. Even the smell of breakfast couldn’t mask the cologne. His heart races. Sukuna’s bed. He was sleeping in Sukuna’s bed. Blush fills his face, and he slaps his cheeks to try and stop it. Wearing the clothes from yesterday, Yuuji exits the room. Snooping around, he can find only one bedroom. The apartment isn’t as large as he originally thought it was. It’s still larger than the place he shares with his grandpa.


Slowly, he finally walks down the hall to the kitchen/living room. Sukuna stands at the stove, his sleeves rolled to the elbow. Yuuji sits on a barstool, watching the man as he cooks. Grilled fish sizzles in the pan, the melted butter popping. Bowls of rice and tsukemono are already ready. There isn’t miso soup or tea; instead, there’s only coffee. 


“I…” Yuuji stops talking. He doesn’t know what to say.


“Don’t worry about it. Everything is taken care of.” Sukuna makes their plates and serves the coffee black. Yuuji nods, but he has no idea what to expect. Sukuna stares at him from his side of the island. “I called your school pretending to be a relative. The story is that you were attacked by a drunk looking to mug you. When you didn’t have any money on you, he snapped. The police are looking into it.”


“The police? Won’t people be able to check-” He’s silenced as Sukuna gives a warning glare.


“Don’t ask questions, brat. Be thankful I helped you, and I’m making you breakfast. Didn’t that old man teach you any manners? Why don’t you try showing a bit of gratitude?”
“Thank you…” Yuuji hisses through his teeth.


Sukuna’s hand snaps out, and he grabs him by the jaw. Yuuji’s eyes go wide, and his fork clatters to his plate. When Sukuna speaks, it's low, a growl from somewhere deep in his chest. “You aren’t allowed to get caught. I’m not letting you worm your way out of our game that easily.” It’s a threat, and yet Yuuji can hear concern mixed in.


Fuck. Yuuji bites his tongue until it hurts enough to make him whine. Getting grabbed like that should terrify him, should make his blood turn to ice, and stop his heart. Getting grabbed like that shouldn’t feel so good. His mouth opens and shuts, no words coming out.


Sukuan’s hand leaves his jaw, his thumb trailing the edge of the bandage. “There are also worse things than getting arrested. You could have gotten yourself killed. I would be disappointed if that happened.” Sukuna grimaces, the back of his finger trailing down the bandage. Yuuji doesn’t realize he’s leaning forward until the touch leaves him. “Eat, you must be hungry after the night you had.”

His mouth feels dry, and he takes a swallow of coffee. Normally, he didn’t drink it black, but the flavor is something else, chocolatey, almost savory. A splash of milk would elevate this to the next level. “I think riding in the trunk bruised me more than that creep did.” Yuuji smiles, ignoring the crawling sensation that spreads over his skin. Phantom hands returning for just long enough to remind him of what happened.


“Uraume shoved you in the trunk?” Sukuna sighs.


“Yeah…it’s fine, I assumed you didn’t want me to know where you lived.”


“And why would I care? I know where you live.”


“True…” Yuuji shrugs and picks at the fish. It smells amazing, and steam pours out when he opens it. Flavors burst on his tongue, and he closes his eyes to enjoy it. Yuuji was used to eating to fill a need. Eating for pleasure never made sense until now. The fish is flaky but not dry, and the herbs and butter are like a warm hug. Yuuji thought he was a good cook, but Sukuna is on a whole new level. Everything is amazing. 


Sukuna refills his coffee. “I’ll talk with Uraume. Shoving you in the trunk, while funny, is overkill.” Sukuna says and starts to pick at his own plate. “When you’re done, feel free to go back to bed. I’ll take you home when you’re ready.”


“Thanks, but you’ve already done enough. I’ll go home.” He could bury himself in debt at this rate. Spoken and unspoken services and favors surrounded their every interaction. Yuuji should have never promised him anything because now anything hovers over his neck like a guillotine. He couldn’t predict what it could be, and deep down, he wants to find out. “I owe you one….”


“I know.” They return to their meals, and it feels normal. For once in his life, Yuuji feels like a normal person. Yuuji can see Sukuna’s red flags, and they outnumber his own, but he doesn’t care.

Chapter Text

Two months until the Game:


Knife in hand, he trims the ends off the leek, removing the first few outer layers. He then gives them a quick wash to remove any dirt that might be left. His phone buzzes on the counter, and he picks it up. “What do you want? It’s the middle of the night.” With his shoulder, he keeps the phone pressed to his ear, leaving his hands free to work.


“Wow, rude,” Yuuji says. Sukuna shakes his head, even though the kid can’t see him. “I was bored, I thought I’d call. Are you busy?” Yuuji asks.


Sukuna sighs. He’s in the middle of making dinner, but he can’t say he’s busy. It’s an easy recipe. “I just got home from work, so no, I’m not busy.” He says as he chops the leek into 5cm pieces, setting the flat side down in a buttered roasting dish with flaky salt. Sukuna starts lining up his chopped leeks. The other line is quiet except for the loud typing. “Why?” Sukuna questions as he sprinkles more salt over the top and adds tarragon leaves.


Yuuji is quiet for a moment, making a little humming sound, the typing continuing. “No reason.” Click. Click. Click.  The keyboard is clanky, and each punch of a key echoes into his ear. Sukuna throws some butter into a pot with anchovies. Click. Click. Click. The burner takes a few tries before it lights. The little blue flames lick over the edge until he turns down the heat. “What are you doing?”


Sukuna leans against his kitchen island. “I’m cooking dinner. Have you eaten yet?” Sukuna can’t tell if the kid is actually bored and lonely enough to be talking to him. Or if he was walking into the same trap Yuuji had set for plenty of bastards before. It was easy to underestimate the little tiger cub. Wasuke was soft on him in a way he never was with him or Jin. Yuuji feels sheltered even as a serial killer.


“I had a bag of chips,” Yuuji answers.


“That’s not a meal.” Sukuna scoffs, throwing a large pinch of thyme leaves, a splash of dry white wine, heavy cream, a pinch of salt, and a hint of lemon zest.. He mixes and leaves it to sizzle for a bit, taking a breath. “Come over for dinner.” Sukuna knows damn well that this was the wrong move. If Yuuji was fishing for evidence that he was one of the creeps he hunts, then he was handing him proof on a silver platter.


Click. The typing that’s been a constant throughout the entire call comes to a stop. “You just want me further in debt. I’m not stupid enough to think this is a free meal.” There’s a rustling sound that Sukuna assumes Yuuji is standing, leaving behind the cheap keyboard.  “Besides, how would I even get there? It’s late.” Yuuji questions.


Sukuna pours the sauce over the leeks. “Nothing is free, but if you ruin our game with your shitty diet, then I lose either way.”


Yuuji laughs. “I don’t trust you.”


“And yet you’re still talking. It’s like you want me to convince you.” Sukuna smiles. He still isn’t sure if Yuuji is trying to lure him into a trap, but he doesn’t care. He wants to sink his teeth in, taste the iron in his blood, melt the sweet fat of his flesh in a pan. “I saved your ass. Is it really so hard to believe I’d offer you dinner?” Sukuna questions.


Yuuji scoffs before laughing again. “I had to sell my soul for you to help. So yeah, it’s hard to believe.” There is some more noise in the background, but Sukuna can’t make out what. “And I’m talking to you because I’m bored.” His voice goes soft, and for just a moment, Sukuna can hear Jin in his voice. He presses the phone closer to his ear, chasing after a ghost.


There are so many ways he wants to make the cub repay his debt. It’s too soon to do what he wants. “Right…” Sukuna pours some wine into a glass. Swirling it, he breathes in the scent. “I’m making braised leeks with a cream and wine sauce. I also have pork in the slow cooker.”


“Fuck, that does sound good.” Yuuji breathes, and Sukuna closes his eyes. The ghost of Jin was just an illusion. He can’t hear his brother in the cub’s voice now. No Jin. No Wasuke. Only Yuuji. “Will there be dessert?”


“Cheesecake.”


“Fuck…” Yuuji damn near moans the word.


“Are you interested?”


“No…”


“That didn’t sound very convincing.” He laughs and holds the wine glass under his nose. “Should I have Uraume pick you up? I can’t guarantee they won’t throw you in the trunk again.”


“Okay, okay, you win.” Yuuji groans, fakely, his smile still shining through in his voice. “You aren’t going to hold this against me, are you?” Yuuji questions, groaning again.


Sukuna takes another drink. Wine wasn’t his go-to choice of alcohol, but a dry white was better than a sweet one. Swirling the glass, he smirks at nothing. “Consider this one a freedy, brat. Fixing your fuck up is a deep enough debt, I’m not worried about the little things.” He ends the call and shoots Uraume a quick text with directions. Uraume, thankfully, was never one to ask too many questions. With that, he put his phone down, slipped his eyepatch back on, and continued making dinner. The cheesecake was already done, but he was tempted to make a raspberry drizzle for it, maybe grate some white chocolate on top. Leaving the cheesecake as is was also an option, but not one he was sold on. 


Uraume delivers Yuuji to the door but doesn’t follow him inside. Yuuji moves like a cautious animal, shoulders tense, hands in the pocket of his hoodie, eyes surveying. Sukuna makes their plates, pretending the cub’s caginess isn’t obvious. The laces of his shoes are untied, and Yuuji straightens them after kicking them off. There’s a fresh bandage on the wound, awkwardly held on with scotch tape. Yuuji stands on the opposite side of the island, leaning to peek at the plates.  Sukuna pours a second glass of wine. “Do you drink?”


“I’m fifteen,” Yuuji says. Sukuna grabs his plate and sets it down in front of him.


With that thing on his face, Yuuji’s resemblance to Jin was dwindling. He couldn’t imagine his vanilla pudding brother with a big scar like that gash would be. “So?” Sukuna questions as he turns around to grab the glass by the stem. He sets it in front of Yuuji before taking his own glass. “I drank when I was your age.”


“You could have drugged it.”


“I could have.” Sukuna agrees as he takes a sip of his wine. Yuuji stares at him before looking down at the plate. Pork seasoned with rosemary, apple, fig, and the braised leeks. The food could be drugged. He runs his thumb over the bandage and picks at the tape. “Sit,” Sukuna says, lowering his hand.


It's quick, but Yuuji’s eyes flick to the door.


The cub does sit, and Sukuna takes the only other stool beside him. Yuuji watches him, waiting for him to take the first bite. “What did you tell Wasuke?” Sukuna asks, wanting to rip that bandage off and see how the gash is healing. Yuuji touches the edges where he used tape to keep it down. His other hand pushes the food around on his plate, still not touching it.


“That I got mugged.”


“Did you tell him about me?” Sukuna leaves his plate untouched as well.


Yuuji lowers the fork, and it clanks against the glass. “No…”


“Things ended badly between us…it’s best if you keep it that way.”


Yuuji fiddles with the wine glass, fingers trailing down the stem, sliding back up to chase condensation on the glass. “Will you tell me what happened?”


“No…at least not tonight. It might ruin your appetite. Eat.”


“You first.”


Sukuna teases him, cutting into the meat as slowly as he could, admiring the color. Yuuji’s stomach growls, and it's so loud. Damn teenagers, none of them cared enough about food to eat properly. There are so many glorious and easy recipes out there, and they would rather fill up on trash. Finally, he takes a bite, chewing it slowly, Yuuji still waiting to see what would happen. The pork is tender, almost sweet; the slow cook really did wonders in layering the flavors at play. Even after he swallows, Yuuji doesn’t move to enjoy his plate.


Sukuna ignores him and eats.


Convinced the food was safe, Yuuji finally takes his fork and knife in hand. For how chatty the kid was on the phone, he’s quiet once in person. Wasuke had been firm about not talking at the table. The only place where that rule didn’t apply was in a restaurant. Sukuna wonders just how much of his father’s parenting carried over to the softer way he raised the cub. Yuuji’s eyes close as he chews, his body visibly relaxes, swaying slightly as his shoulders drop, and the fork lowers back to the plate. Sukuna keeps stealing glances at Yuuji as he eats.


Yuuji looks at the wine, untouched, and he takes the stem between his fingers, cupping the bowl in his palm. He gives the mouth a curious sniff before taking the smallest sip possible. His face wrinkles, but he continues to take another sip, following it with a forkful of leek. Again, his eyes shut. Flavors marry on his tongue. The sight is so fascinating. Sukuna wants to feed him all sorts of things to see how he’ll react. He wants to learn what foods will make him moan on the first bite. What sort of face would he make if Sukuna fed him human secretly?


Both their wine glasses are empty, and their plates are reduced to scraps. With his stomach full, Yuuji has that placid, glassy look in his eyes. Sukuna stacks their plates together, leaving them in the sink. “Do you have room for cheesecake?” Sukuna teases, refilling Yuuji’s glass halfway.


“Hmm.” Yuuji wets his finger, running it around the rim until it sang. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asks with a tilt of his head.


Sukuna laughs and shakes his head. “Why would I want that?”


Yuuji shrugs his shoulders and takes a gulp. “Probably for the same reason I would.” He’s looking down at the wine when he says it.


“And what reason is that?” Sukuna refills his glass. Yuuji is still looking at the wine when he shrugs his shoulders. “Come on, kid. Aren’t we friends?” He teases, trying to get Yuuji to relax.


Laughing Yuuji swirls the glass. “You aren’t my friend…” Yuuji meets his eyes. There’s a bit of color in his cheeks, and he brings the rim to his mouth, pausing just shy of another drink. “I’d want to see how you act. It would be useful to know if you are a mean drunk, a sleepy drunk, or a giggly drunk. Some people are more competent than others when drunk, too. Knowing could keep me safe or aid me if we ever decided to kill each other.”


Sukuna feels his blood get hot. He laughs and shakes his head. “Interesting, but it's more important for you to know how you are drunk. How I am won’t matter if you’re too shit faced to run.”


“Hmm…” Yuuji nods and looks back into the glass. “That’s a good point. I guess it's a good thing we don’t want to kill each other yet.”


“Yet?” Sukuna smirks.


“Duh, that’s the only way this thing ends, right?”


“It doesn’t have to be.”


Yuuji rolls his eyes and drinks the last of his wine. The tip of his finger returns to the rim, seeing what note would hum this time. “Yeah, maybe,” Yuuji shrugs his shoulders, but he looks like he has more he wants to say. He toys with the empty glass, mindlessly, his eyes scanning up his frame. He flashes a smile, whatever he wanted to say would remain inside his head. “ So about that cheesecake… I would kill for a slice right about now.”


Sighing, Sukuna reaches out and ruffles his hair. The space between Yuuji’s eyebrows wrinkles as he scrunches up his face. Yet he never once tries to move away from the touch. Plating them each a slice, Sukuna adds the finishing touches. A blackberry drizzle instead of raspberry, and dark chocolate instead of white. A darker dessert was just the thing to end the night. Yuuji slides off his stool and walks over to the bookshelf.


Sukuna sets their plates down. Yuuji’s finger is tracing the spines of the books. It’s mostly poetry and the classics; Sukuna was old school in his reading tastes. There are very few modern authors who have caught his interest. Sukuna taps his fork against the glass to get Yuuji’s attention. Yuuji pulls one of the books from the shelf and flips through the pages before putting it back. Yuuji rejoins him at the island and dives into the cheesecake.

One Month until the Game:


The pig’s mouth hangs over, the skin a pale fleshy pink, surprisingly soft to the touch. Running his hand along the body, he lets out a breath. Some pigs are rough, the hair coarse and wiry. People are much the same way. Some are soft, with pretty skin smooth as silk, meat sweet with fat. Others are rough, stringy, good for a hearty soup and nothing more.  He stares into the big black eyes, and they can only reflect the light with the moisture that remains. Any light that had existed prior was gone. Butchering is an art form. He starts the same way every time with the head. He uses the saw before switching to his boning knife. It takes a bit of careful pressure, but the head comes off clean enough.


Cheek meat is a delicacy, perfect for braising or slow cooking. He cuts it and adds it to his personal cooler before returning to the animal. Pork is such a lovely meat to work with, he can’t phantom why anyone would hate it. It’s so versatile. Sukuna runs his hand down the length of their back. The smell of blood is like rust. It’s so thick in the air he can taste it on his tongue. People are wrong about humans tasting like pork. While similar, humans are gamey. The wide range of diets among humans also has an effect on taste. Some humans taste like straight shit.


He takes a deep breath; he had all the time in the world, but he was hungry and ready to be done here. There are four primal cuts: shoulder, loin, belly, and ham. He breaks it down further, switching between knives and saw as needed. Sukuna is focused but always aware of his surroundings. When Uraume enters the room, he stops and looks at them. 


Uraume holds a box against their hip. Pushing the door open, they step in, tucking their hair behind their ear. There’s something different about his right hand. It doesn’t take him long to notice the vintage clip-on earrings, shiny as if they were new. “The menus came in.” They say as they walk past him to place the box on the table.  Sukuna puts down his knife and pulls off his gloves, missing the trash when he tosses them. Pushing in on the sides of the box, he tucks his finger into the space between the cardboard and tape, peeling it open. The box cutter was missing, and he would be damned if he used one of his good knives on a filthy package. 


Sukuna flips through one of the menus, looking for errors, and is glad to find none. Tossing it back into the box, he gives a nod of approval. “Good work. Is there anything else?”


Uraume shakes their head. “Not at this moment, sir. I’m still looking into possible cases that I think will be suitable for your playdate with that boy.” Barely hiding their judgment in their tone. Sukuna lets it slide; if it were anyone else speaking to him like that, they wouldn’t be so lucky.


Crossing his arms over his chest, Sukuna eyes Uraume. While they were the only person who could get away with that attitude, it was unlike them to be so snarky. “Uraume, do you have something you’d like to say?” He cocks his head, and Uraume is looking down at the ground.


“No, sir.” They say, keeping their gaze down. He sets his hand on top of their head and pets their hair. Uraume’s eyes shut, their lips a thin line. He trails the touch down to trace their jaw, raising their head to look at him. “I was just concerned about the grand opening. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. My apologies.” Uraume says, blinking up at him. It's easy to forgive them for the overstep, and Sukuna pats their cheek, returning to his pig.

Month of the Game:


Yuuji is bundled in his winter clothes, which is the first thing he’s seen him in that isn’t brightly colored. The coat reaches his knees and is army green with cream colored fur linging the oversized hood. His mittened hands are holding the strap of his backpack. His face is bandage-free, and the gash, while still not fully healed, is looking better. The tips that mark the start and end were already closed in a glaring red scar. His breath comes out in a thick cloud as he yaps away with his friends.


Snowflakes fall in cottonball-sized flakes. The ground is covered in a blanket of fluffy white snow. Sukuna leans against his car, watching him as he has a smoke. There’s another boy, slightly taller than Yuuji, with a head of messy black hair and an expression full of teen angst. And a girl who isn’t dressed for the weather but for fashion, her teeth chattering. He can’t hear the conversation, but Yuuji throws an arm around her shoulder, trying to rub warmth back into her skin.


The conversation continues, the girl speaking animatedly, most likely about her plans for the break. Yuuji smiles, playfully pulling her along to bump into their friend. That smile falls as soon as Yuuji spots him. Those eyes widen, and his arm quickly leaves the girl’s shoulders. Yuuji quickly tries to recover, turning to his friends with a tight smile, his hands up. The two lean around Yuuji and look at him before puffs of clouds leave their mouths. Sukuna can only imagine the barrage of questions the two are hounding the cub with.


Sukuna wishes he could hear what they were saying. Yuuji was doing his best to disway them. It must work because the two don’t follow him when he comes over. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” Yuuji snarls, quickly looking over his shoulder at his friends. Sukuna can’t help himself; he rubs his thumb up the length of the gash. Yuuji squeezes his eyes shut but doesn’t move away.


“Does it hurt?”


“No! What are you doing here?” Yuuji speaks through his teeth, choosing now to slap his hand away. The cold has his cheeks rosy like he’s blushing, which makes him want to tease him further. Snow clings to Yuuji’s beanie, and Sukuna brushes it off. “You shouldn’t have come here without warning me? Asshole….”


Sukuna shrugs his shoulders. “Didn’t you get my text?” He leans to the side and looks at Yuuji’s friends. He waves at them, and the two take that as their sign to come over. Yuuji glares holes into him as he digs the phone out of his pocket. Sukuna tsks and shakes his head. “The other phone. Our game starts today, so I’m picking you up from school.


Yuuji groans, but his posture changes once his friends are close. That smile slaps back on so quickly, it was like it never left his face. Yuuji waves to them, knowing he couldn’t prevent them from meeting. Sukuna smiles once they’re close enough for him to get a better look. The girl rubs her arms, trying to keep herself warm and failing. She stares shamelessly at his eyepatch. The boy stands closer to Yuuji; his clothes are plain in that expensive way. He stares at Sukuna with a cold look, not a glare but something close to one.  


Sukuna claps his hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades. “Please forgive me for stealing my nephew.” He says, and the two turn to Yuuji. The cub’s jaw clenches for a second, his smile twitching, nearly failing to remain. Sukuna keeps his hand on his back, leaning so he’s hovering over his shoulder. 


“You have an uncle! Why didn’t you tell us?” The girl snaps the question. The cold was getting to her; her nose and cheeks were a burning red. Snot was running, but she was quick to wipe it away with the back of her glove when she thought no one was looking. She looks him over, as if trying to find where he sat on the family tree.


“I didn’t know I had one until recently,” Yuuji answers, and he feels so tense.


He’s loving Yuuji’s discomfort. “Family drama, you know how it goes,” Sukuna says with a shrug. The girl returns the shrug, and the boy looks off to the side, down at the road. “So I’m taking the cub skiing to make up for lost time. Ryoumen Sukuna,” Sukuna holds out his hand for them to shake.


Yuuji jumps in before either of his friends can introduce themselves. He pushes Sukuna towards the car. “We’re going to miss the train. Sorry guys, I totally forgot, but we really have to get going. I’ll text you later.” He waves and returns to shoving. Sukuna laughs but plays along, waving goodbye before getting into the driver’s seat. Yuuji slams the door when he gets inside. Snow from his boots gets everywhere. “Drive! Now!”


“So is that who you keep buying flowers for, the girl?” Sukuna teases. Yuuji glares as he shakes his head.


“Are you serious? No, she’s just a friend!” Yuuji throws his head back in his seat. “Can you just drive!”


“What’s the magic word?”


“Please…”


“Was that so hard?” Sukuna teases. Before doing anything, he reaches over to open the glove compartment. Inside was a folder, and he dropped it into Yuuji’s lap. “Uraume found a fun one for us. It’s a long drive, so you have plenty of time to read it.” He turns the key and watches as the shape of Yuuji’s friends disappears in his rearview mirror.


Yuuji flips open the folder, and there’s not much inside. “I haven’t packed yet. I didn’t expect you to jump right into this.” Yuuji leans his chair back, slouching, flipping the folder open and shut. Flipping through the papers and photos, but not investigating any of it fully. “You can come inside if you want to. It shouldn’t take me too long.” Yuuji pulls out his phone, tilting the screen so Sukuna can’t see it. His thumbs drum against the screen, and he’s like that the whole drive.


At the apartment, Sukuna follows Yuuji at a distance. All it would take was some gossip telling Wasuke for his plan to go up in flames. Even in poor health, he can’t imagine the old man taking kindly to some grown man following Yuuji into the apartment. Yuuji steps inside, the sun providing enough natural light for him to keep the lights off. It’s a small two-bedroom. The kitchen is tiny; Sukuna would lose his mind trying to cook in here. Everything is tightly packed, suffocating in comparison to his place.


With his hands in his pockets, he watches Yuuji pack from the narrow hallway. The boy’s room is trashed. Dirty laundry and other junk litter the floor. The desk is right across from the bed and has leftover noodle cups. “Throw this shit away before you leave, you’ll get roaches. I’ll wait in the car, don’t take too long, brat.”