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sabraeal · 2 years ago

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Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

Written for @sepalina's birthday, who deliberated for two days only to suddenly remember, oh yes right she has a favorite fic 🤣

That Seiran chick might have a princess’s pedigree around here, but there’s nothing dainty about the way she grips the metal bar at the end of each of their cots, twisting her wrists like she’s picturing flesh and bone rather than steel.

“You two have to be the biggest boneheads I have ever seen stuffed into a drive suit.” Her fingers clench, and Obi could swear the mental dints. “A bare knuckle brawl in the dome? At a time like this? Are you two insane?”

“Ah, well…” The Big Guy may have looked tough when Obi took him to the mats, a more solid anti-kaiju wall than anything the PDPC could toss into the Pacific, but he cringes just like any other mortal would when Kiki Seiran looms over him, all her disappointment honed to a point. “It wasn’t really a brawl. Just a…regulated spar, like usual—“

“Usual?” Her arms fold the way steel does into rebar, and oh, the princess is not amused. “Obi’s more bruise than bone.”

“Aw, Princess,” he croons, trying not to wince from the effort. “If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.”

Her spine straightens, giving her all the extra inches she needs to give that glare of hers momentum, hitting him like a body off the Golden Gate hits the bay. “I can see the other guy. You’re both in the same infirmary, because you’re the same amount of stupid.”

“Actually, I’ve been wondering about the logic on that one.” He tilts his head, trying to go for that doleful dog stare that does wonders on sweet little nurses with hearts of gold. Too bad he’s got Yuzuri, who only wrenches his head back to the side, holding him still enough to swab when the skin’s split over his cheekbone. “Is this our— yikes, careful there, Florence— get along shirt or something? Two guys take some swings and you hope sticking us in a bottle sorts it out?”

“No,” she deadpans, taking a pen light out from the pocket of her scrubs. “I’m trying to quarantine the idiocy. You better be careful, Major” —she casts a long glance princess-side— “it might be catching.”

That regal mouth twitches, somewhere in the realm of amused. “Too late for me. No one ends up in a drive suit unless they’re born with it.”

“Ha, that’s for sure.” A light sears across his line of sight, leaving constellations in its wake. “As for you two, I didn’t see the point in sending you to your corners when you’re so friendly. Saves me space, and you can treat tonight like a sleepover. Braid each other’s hair and talk about cute boys.”

“Er…” How a big man like that can go through basic and still blush as easy as a school girl, Obi will never know, but it’s funny as hell. “I don’t really have opinions on cute boys…”

“Don’t worry, Big Guy,” he grunts, snuggling his shoulders into the pillows at his back. “I’ve got enough for both of us.”

That gets him a real side-eye from GI Joe, one that only ends when he swings those golden retriever eyes onto the real authority in this room. “Is there any way I get to go back to my bunk tonight?”

“Sorry, Major.” No matter what she says, Yuzuri’s shrug doesn’t give a single hint of regret. “Gotta keep you both on observation. SOP for rangers with head injuries. Last thing we need is for you guys to hare off and play hero just because you heard the dinner bell.”

He grimaces, all perfect teeth in a perfect face. Pity this guy fell into the military before someone could get him a magazine cover. Obi would have loved to hang that pin-up over his bunk. “Ah, right. That…makes sense.”

Of course it did. They might all be kaiju-fodder in the end, but they were the expensive, top shelf shit. The kind the PDPC wanted to stretch out as long as possible, not waste on some idiot who went into the drift concussed and had his brain melt right out his ears for the effort. Obi half surprised they haven’t been shoved into an MRI just to make sure.

“Aww, but you don’t really want to leave, do you, bestie? Not when we’re gonna have so much fun.” The target of his grin shifts from bed to bedside. “What do you think, Yuzuri? Think we could borrow some ManGo For It or Red Hot Rio?”

“I dunno,” she deadpans, not even looking up from her notes. “I think he’s more of Rosy Future guy.”

“Really? Still running your mouth?” Her Highness tosses her head, more pony than princess. “Did you not get beat bad enough?”

“What, this little mosquito bite?” Obi gives his jaw a good clench and turn, displaying his medal of honor at its best angle. Hurts like a bitch, but it’s worth it to see even Princess get squeamish. “Lucky shot. I got three hits for his one.”

Her mouth does that thing it does, that twitch, the one he’s starting to figure out is a laugh. “Yeah, and that’s all he needed to make you crumple like a tin can.”

“I already said I felt bad about that,” Big Guy grumbles, all folded in on himself like a teddy bear longing for a good squeeze. “I wasn’t trying to…well…”

“It’s okay, Superman, we all know you’re living in a world of cardboard.” Obi leans over, giving one of those meaty shoulders a good pat. Probably feels like a whisper to a man that stacked. “How can I blame you, when you were only defending milady’s honor—?”

Her weight shifts, no longer balanced parade-style between their cots, but sitting back in her hips, displeasure heavily implied. That man-sized mountain straightens so much it Obi can practically feel the plate tectonics beneath his palm.

“I was not!” Big puppy eyes swing right around to the ticking time bomb at the end of their beds. “I would never do that!”

One elegant eyebrow arches, and ah, now he can see why half the PDPC pisses itself when she punches the bag right off its chain. Most of the rangers the Academy rolls out are brawlers, the kind of guys that get in between a kaiju’s punch and the Pacific coastline, but this girl— her power’s in the application of force, the art of finessing a blow to where the bones can’t bear it. Can’t get into a brawl with a fighter like that and expect an old fashioned beatdown, oh no— when princess steps on the mats, she doesn’t fight, she dismantles.

Ha, and by the way she chucks her chin, all challenge, she knows it.

Now how about that. It’s a whisper in his ear, a hum across the million and one electric impulses in his brain, dangerous and fond. Remind you of anyone you know?

Knew, maybe. Bright blue smears over stark white when he closes his eyes; suits that stood out, even among halls that housed living legends. Eye-catching, the higher ups had called it, but it caught all the wrong eyes when it came to Sonisay. They all learned, of course; even now he hears the sickening crack of bone, sees the sweep of dark hair as she steps out of her spin—

Not just that. That laugh jangles his nerves, too close to his own and yet infinitely different, inimitable. Not just her.

There’s a boy too, too small, too skinny, too…not enough. Might as well be a shadow for how closely he clings to that same dance, to those same stances. Might as well be a monster for how easily the bones crack under his heels too, no remorse, no regrets—

A boy that shouldn’t exist. A boy that no longer does. Obi closes his eyes.

You can’t look away forever. Too many voices to count on that one. Watch me, only his reply.

“Let me make something clear.” Big Guy’s grunt grounds him, dragging him right back down to his bed, to the finger waggling at him. “Kiki doesn’t need me to fight her fights for her. If she wants to kick someone’s ass, she can make her own bodies.”

Ah, great. Got back just in time to witnessing Bloodbath Barbie over there desire Big Guy carnally. Not that he notices; oh no, the Jolly Marine Giant only has eyes for him, serious as a heart attack. Makes him want to mention that these rickety little med cots can’t handle two ranger pilots going at it, let alone three, but of course Yuzuri’s gotta make it a rain out.

“All right, all right, visiting hours are over,” she sighs, and oh, by Princess’s look, this is the first time someone’s tried to shoo Kiki Seiran out of anywhere. “These boys need some rest, not an audience. Just gonna rile ‘em up.”

This guy benches almost twice Obi’s weight, a monster of a man, but the second Yuzuri aims that scold his way, he’s all puppy. “But I wouldn’t—”

“You might behave, but he won’t.” She jerks a thumb back where Obi lounges, pointed. “And if he doesn’t want to play nice, he’ll find some way to drag you along with him.”

Sounds about right, hums a nuisance that has no right to throw stones. Not at this particular glass house, at least.

“Me?” Obi a presses a hand to his chest; harder to see it tremble that way. “Why, I was only going to take a small snooze. A cat nap, really. How could I—?”

“No sleeping!” Yuzuri glares at him, incredulous. “Didn’t I just say you could have a concussion?”

“Aww, come on,” he sighs, hooking his hands behind his head. “First no fighting, now no napping? What else are we supposed to get up to in here?”

Princess hangs in the gap of their curtain coverage, and oh, she may not smile, but that’s one masterclass of a grin. “Strenuous activity.”

“Kiki—!”

“None of that either!” With an officious wave of her hands, Yuzuri succeeds in doing what PDPC has failed to do for years: tell Kiki Seiran where to go. “Now, get. These two don’t need a bad influence.”

“Aww, c’mon, Flo! That’s no reason to shoo Princess out,” Obi whines now that his entertainment has sashayed right out of his evening. “I’m an even worse influence, so—”

“You don’t need to tell me,” she sniffs. “Now give it a rest. Or else I’ll call Shirayuki down here, and she can read you the riot act.”

There’s a time he might have laughed. Might even have let one shoulder and a wry eyebrow do the heavy lifting as he said, I’m sure the Good Doctor has better things to do with her time than worry about little old me.

But a week ago he woke up in one of these cots soaked in his own sweat, ears still ringing from a klaxon that never rang. At least, not in this dome, not that day; his stomach churning from the heady brew of trauma and military grade sedatives. He’d turned, half convinced he’d see either six bodies or and empty room, and instead—

It was her. Tiny ponytail and all, clumps of it making a bid for freedom from that poor excuse of an elastic. A borrowed one, all stretched out from trying to contain the fallout from Yuzuri’s nuclear-level event that she calls her hair, but it’s serviceable. Enough to bridge the gap between now and whenever Doc finally decides whether she’s gonna bite the bullet and grow it out again, or just chop the whole thing off.

That’s not the sort of stuff he knows about people. Not the sort of stuff he ever gets close enough to find out. But she was sitting right there, head tipped off the back of that chair, breath trembling the little flyaways splayed over her lips, and—

“Fine,” he sighs, settling back into his pillows. “I’ll play nice.”

Yuzuri snorts. “I won’t hold my breath.”

It’s when Big Guy lumbers out of their cozy little curtained love cave to go take a piss— or a shit; Obi might be nosy, but even he’s got his limits— that Yuzuri swoops back to his bedside, using his vitals as an excuse to say, “What the hell were you thinking anyway?”

None of her business. There’s a gruffness to that, a texture that implying barbed wire fencing with the prickly bits facing inside. Embarrassment, the kind a boy at the cusp of manhood couldn’t bear with any grace. Not that he had done all that well with other emotions either.

Could never bear being anything but the hero. A taunt, a snipe across the mess hall’s tables. Even in his head those two would never get along.

You can just admit it. Sonisay speaks the way silk would sting, if it could, a smooth stab with no mess left behind. A sliver beneath the fingernail, only noticed when it slips deeper. It’s not as if you were thinking of anything sexual.

Sure. There’s no need for the smile-like stretch over his synapses, too smug. But not from lack of trying.

He appreciates the honesty is the best policy shtick, especially from the girl who always spoke out both sides of her mouth as easy a breathing, but Obi settles on a nice neutral, “What?” instead.

Might earn him the sort of look that begs the question of just what is rattling around between his ears, but it’s better than having to explain that when he closes his eyes he sees red. Not spread out across his pillow or tangled in his fingers, but caught up in plain little hairpins, already slipping free.

“Are you kidding me?” Her gaze darts over the the empty bed beside his, pointed. Oh, so that’s what she’s asking about. “Did you somehow miss how big that man is? He could fit two of you between his shoulders!”

“Aww, Flo, he’s harmless.” Pain shoots up his cheek when he tries to grin, settling somewhere near his temple. Damn, that’s gonna put a real crimp in his game. “Big Guy’s a gentle giant.”

She stares at him. “Half your face is a bruise.”

Obi hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing himself in the mirror lately, but by the way one half of his face feels heavy enough to make him lean like a tower in Pisa, he doubts that’s an exaggeration. “He didn’t mean it though.”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to your capillaries whether he meant it or not.” One finger of hers brushes an eyebrow— yowch— and she scowls. “They’re broken all to shit anyway. God, you’re gonna be lucky if that smile of yours isn’t permanently lopsided from this.”

Already was, but she didn’t ask for his medical history. “I’ll be roguish.”

“You’ll be in PT, that’s what you’ll be.” She pulls back with a cluck of her tongue. “Lucky as hell that he didn’t break your orbital. Ugh, or your nose. That would have been a bitch to set. And your cheekbones—”

A cough, timid for how deep it is, rustles outside the curtain. “Sorry,” Big Guy starts, all doleful hound dog eyes as Yuzuri pulls them back. “I didn’t want to, er, eavesdrop, but…”

He’s smarter than to say, but you told us not to leave. Not to someone like Yuzuri, who’s already ruby red from the collar of her scrubs to her headband, ready to crack out of her shell like a crab left too long in the pot.

“You…I…” She slides out right around him, never once turning her back. “G-go. Lay down. Or something! Ugh!”

Big Guy blinks once at her back before swinging those hound eyes back to him. “Is she—?”

“Embarrassed,” he agrees. Yuzuri’s always happy to share her opinions, up until she get caught. “Big time. She’ll recover. But until then it’ll be your fault.”

“Oh…” He winces, though Obi can hardly tell if it’s from the thought of Yuzuri’s ill-wishes, or the kick he landed on his hip, making what should be an easy walk a bit of a hobble. “I am sorry about that, you know.”

That lantern jaw juts itself toward him, or more specifically, the shiner painted up one side. “This old thing? Don’t worry about it. Got worse from a mosquito.”

If Big Guy is impressed with his bravado, he’s got a funny way of showing it, looking all hangdog like that. “I just…I didn’t really mean to…”

Fuck you up is what the big guy can’t bring himself to say. It’s probably rude to tell him, I’ve had worse.

“No hard feelings, Major.” It’s half a laugh, half a groan as he hauls himself up his pillows, every muscle aching. “I did tell you not to go easy on me.”

A grimace is what he gets in reply, and a pained, “Still…”

The you didn’t know what you were getting into hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Like maybe he’s never fought a guy above his weight class. Like he’s never stood in front of a boy a third again his age, watching his knuckles crack beneath the cloth of his binds.

More like he doesn’t know how much he can mean it, a grim mouth huffs humorlessly. He will though. Give him a few months.

“Didn’t really expect you to try to kill me, though.” For a moment, he’s not quite sure who he’s talking to. He rubs at his jaw, pain scintillating beneath his palm, and, haah, yeah, he knows what fist laid a kiss on this cheek alright. “Damn, no wonder kaiju don’t walk away from you.”

“I wasn’t try to…” It’s funny watching a mountain hunch like that, shoulders riding up again his ears making him a whole range instead a single peak. “With someone who moves like you, there’s only two sure ways to win. I went with the one that relied on power. Wasn’t going to land many hits on you but had to make the ones I did count.”

“And then did too good a job.” That’s the thing with having a body that shares more in common with a jaeger’s chassis than human flesh; the fall back option is to just do everything more and harder. Obi had met more than a few men like that in his time, but none of them so friendly. “I gotta admit though, Big Guy, you got me curious. What’s the other way?”

Big lungs heave big sighs, and oh, this one feels like it could take a few trees with it before he settles back against the headboard. “Tire you out. Quick guys typically don’t have a lot of stamina when things drag on, so—”

“All right, all right, don’t let the ladies hear that one.” Or most of the men while he’s at it, even if Obi’s personal tastes tend more toward the techs tending the tin cans than the bodies they throw in them. “Don’t want anyone to get the idea that I can’t keep up off the mat either.”

That won’t be much of a problem. It’s rare to hear advice from that corner of his mind, but Buma’s habit always was to watch first and speak too late. Not with all the training you’ve done outside—

That’s Need To Know only. Obi casts a long glance over where giant feet nearly hang off the mattress. And I don’t think the Major needs to know.

“Anyways,” he huffs, the sort of quiet career boys get when they’re shy. “Sorry.”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Guy. I asked you to bring me a fight and you did! I’m hardly gonna blame you for that.” He turns his head, grinning at him across the poor excuse for a bedside table. “Besides, now I know what it’s like.”

Those puppy eyes blink, too innocent for a guy who could break him in half by breathing. “Hm? Do you mean—?”

His eyebrows lift —well, one of them tries to— enticingly. The wince probably doesn’t do him any favors. “Kissing your girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.”

Oh, it’s a real treat to see a lantern jaw drop so hard it nearly shatters. Too bad Princess isn’t here to enjoy it. “What?”

“You know…” His fingers weave through some hazy dips and lazy dives. “I can see what was good between you and High Highness, or whatever. The way you’d could compensate for each other in the drift. But you and me” — his hand flicks between them— “we don’t fit.”

“Oh.” It’s a pleasure to watch his mouth wrap around that noise, to see him really wrangle with the meat of what his meaning. “Yeah. I get it. I think.”

“I mean, for one thing,” Obi says, so casual. “We’re both bottoms.”

“Come again?”

“Kidding, kidding.” Kind of, Sonisay hums, and oh, he could swear he feels that forked tongue flickering where she coils in his mind. I doubt he’d complain if that blonde woman took it into her head to—

Hey. Maybe if he had a mirror, he could give himself a warning look, the kind Doc was always giving him right before he took a joke too far. But instead he had to settle for just thinking louder, like trying to shout over a crowded bar. I still gotta talk to this guy with a straight face for the next twenty-four hours.

Sounds like, that too-familiar voice hums, a real personal problem.

It’s too bad Major Do-Right over there can’t hear the speculation of the peanut gallery; then he might no be so quick to let relief bring those shoulders relax, to settle back into those pillows with a sigh that speaks of a light conscience. What did Yuzuri say? If Obi doesn’t want to behave, he’ll drag you down with him…?

Well, he hates to disappoint.

“Or am I?” The cot nearly cracks down the middle from how fast the Big Guy turns on it, sputtering. Obi just tosses him a wink. “Don’t worry, Big Guy. I’m not the kind of girl who likes to kiss and tell.”

For all that their lovely nurse devotedly frets over the potential stupors they could slip into with even the slightest bit of shut eye, or sometimes even something like getting up too fast or breathing too easy, she’s sure eager to encourage them to piss all by their lonesomes one she’s sure they can make the walk.

“What, this doesn’t get you going?” Obi asks, peeking around the door. “I hear some people really get into—”

“I hear some people really don’t get jello at dinner,” she replies, shoving him bodily through the crack. “Wanna see if you’re one of them?”

“What if the stream’s too strong and I get vertigo?” He winces, hearing all those words echo in so small a space, but it’s worth it for the noise she makes outside the door. “What if I crack my head on the floor and get a double concussion?”

“Then at least you’ll be quiet.”

There’s a slam— a door. Not this one, the particle board so paper thin Big Guy could probably sneeze it off its hinges; but the heavier infirmary door, one meant to withstand a mortar shell, maybe even nuclear blast— but Obi doesn’t bother to bite back his grin. Maybe if he’s lucky, she’s run into Suzu on the way to the commissary and give him a full run down of all the ways she could make Obi’s death look like an accident. Some real romantic talk to keep a nerd warm at night.

With shake and a wriggle— how Big Guy managed to move around in here when his elbows keep cracking into the tile, Obi’ll never know— he wraps up his business, sauntering straight out onto the infirmary floor. With no kaiju to keep the place hopping, it’s dark, the only light coming from the lamp angled over Yuzuri’s desk, and from behind their ring of curtains. A nice way to find his way back; or at least it would be if he didn’t already count two shadows there: one hitched up on the bed, shoulder big enough to overflow the outline of the pillows, and the other—

The other’s standing, tall enough to make Big Guy seem normal sized, and radiating authority the same way the sirens do danger.

Ah, fuck. It’s the Marshal. Hide, a cacophony of whispers hiss, which— he’d love to, if there was a single goddamn place to do it.

“I take it this isn’t a social call.” Big Guy doesn’t have a deep voice, not the way the circumference of his chest would suggest, but he’s pitched it low now. Still too much to be contained by a curtain, though.

The Marshal cocks his head, wry. “Would you believe me if I said, ‘yes?’”

There’s a hesitation, a huff that might be something like humor. “No.”

“Then let’s not waste time pretending.” It might be a trick of the acoustics in this room, a little reverb on that tinny echo, but Obi could swear His Majesty sounds amused. “I’ve heard you’ve quite the rapport with our new ranger.”

Oh, hell. As if this isn’t the cherry on top of his shit sundae: not only is he stuck, standing right out in the open as the top brass talks Top Secret, he’s the topic they’re having tea over.

“News travels fast.”

“Danger of living in one of these little warrens.” The Marshal shrugs. “Rats like to chatter.”

Air hisses between Big Guy’s teeth, the way it did right before he threw his haymaker. “Not a lot of people eager to be on the wrong side of the mat from him. Not after the way he and Zen went at it the last time.”

“So you…what?” It’s uncanny how even the Marshal can make his voice; no inflection, no judgment, no answers. “Thought you’d help him keep his edge?”

“He asked.” There’s a rustle, a creak, and even though he can’t see it, he knows mountains are moving to make that shrug. “Not like I’ve got much to be afraid of.”

If one half of his face didn’t feel as ginger as the oldest wicker chair on some grandma’s patio, Obi might take some offense to that. That’s what you get for being so scrawny, a gruff voice scrapes over his ear, everyone underestimates you.

That, hums another, too pleased, is kind of the point.

“Good.” There’s something final in the way the Marshal says it, less like an observation, and more like an assessment. A test passed with much anticipated flying colors. “Keep doing that.”

Obi could cut the consternation in this room with a knife. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Was I not clear?” His Majesty’s tone conveys his confidence that he was. Maybe even too much so. “I’d like you to pursue this…relationship with our new colleague. Foster this tentative trust you have managed to build.”

Ha. Obi’s heart stutter hard enough— loud enough— that even the peanut gallery keeps their opinions to themselves. He should have known something like this would happen; sure, all the paperwork calls Hachimaru a failure, one that should have never flopped its way out of dry dock, but to someone like Izana Wisteria, well—

He’s got a reputation for ruthlessness for a reason. Enough of one that it escaped containment, slipping past the PDPC’s iron curtain of silence to spread around the streets of Sitka. Buildin’ a wall to keep the monsters out, one of the wallmen had chuckled over his pint, but no matter how high we do it, that one will still be in here.

Obi might have called that unfair, once. Sure, His Majesty wasn’t exactly a friendly guy, at least not with the rank and file, though there were magazines enough that showed him being chummy with the higher ups, but, well— pedigree might have put him in a pod, but it wouldn’t have pulled him a position so high above it. No, that only went to the corps' top minds, the ones who knew what it took out there to take your lumps and drag your metal coffin home. The ones who understood what they were asking when they dumped two men out into the Pacific and asked them to stop a natural disaster or die trying.

But if that guy is gonna meddle in his business like this, well, maybe once they finish building that wall, they can dump him over it. Lets the monsters sort it out between themselves. Knowing the Marshal, he’d still find a way to come out on—

“No.”

“No?” The way the Marshal wraps his mouth around the word sends shivers up his arms.

“I can’t do that. I mean, I won’t.” Big Guy snorts, like there’s a stench in the air he can’t quite get rid of. “I’d do a lot for you, sir, I would. Take a bullet. Die for the cause. But I’m not going to…to manipulate that man back into a jaeger for you. Not like this.”

A breath catches in Obi’s throat, nearly choking him. Big Guy’s got a heart of gold, but he can’t possibly be stupid enough to— to—

“Well well.” To his utter surprise, the Marshal laughs. “Good thing that’s not what I’m asking.”

Big Guy grunts. “Isn’t it?”

“If you couldn’t manage to convince my brother into the cockpit, I doubt you’ll have much luck with a man you barely know.” For how casually it’s said, there’s a bite to it, each word honed to sting. “I only meant that he’s not responding to the typically recommended course of therapy.”

Right. Because after that one session with Doc post-drift, all his peanut gallery clamoring to have their turn now that cat had clawed its way out of the bag, he hadn’t been able to drag himself back. And with all the dinners and hallway-run ins they’ve had since, Doc didn’t seem eager to sit him back down on her couch any time soon either.

“But he seems responsive to you, Major Lowen.” Or at least responsive to getting his shit kicked in, whatever that said about him. “Rangers are typically taciturn about their issues. I thought this route might be worth encouraging, since he seems amenable. Sometimes it’s easier for military men to discuss their problems with someone who has gone through the same ones. Especially” —Obi doesn’t need to see his smirk to know it’s there— “if they’re with the same person.”

Obi might not have stuck around under his dome once the dust settled, but he knew all about guys like Lowen. The regulation haircut, the closet full of BDUs, the fondness for field rations and boiled chicken— just a thin veneer of muscle and bravado over a reflex to ‘sir, yes, sir’ his way out of any problem more complex than picking which socks to put on in the morning. He might have stuck his neck out for something that twinged the weather vane that was his moral compass, but now that someone with stars and bars has explained to him that black is white, he’ll—

“That all?” Big Guy’s too nice to spit out the “sir?” but that little hitch before it, that small hesitation— well, sky writing would have been more subtle.

“Yes.” There’s no tone to that one either, no flavor. Just the implacable bite of subzero. “Unless, of course, there’s something you’d like to discuss?”

There shouldn’t be, his tone conveys, clear enough it could be heard in the hangar. Obi could swear he hears Big Guy’s teeth grind from here.

There’s a long stretch of silence, the kind that makes his skin itch.

“Just one thing, actually. Sir.” The bed creaks, and his shadow shifts, pulling straight. “Been noticing there’s a lot of hopefuls hanging around the past few months. Thought they might be clearing out now that all this business with Tyrannis is done.”

The Marshal hums, distant. “There’s hardly any rush, Major. A few sets of extra hands is always welcome.”

“Even when they don’t come with their own ride?”

For once, His Majesty hesitates. “Even then.”

“Even” —Big Guy almost savors his next words— “if they’re Hisame Lugis?”

“Dangerous times makes strange bedfellows.” The Marshal laughs, sour. “Especially ones like Hisame Lugis. Now if you don’t mind” — the curtain pulls aside— “I think our friend might like to use his bed. Isn't that right, Major?”

Ha, a voice tingles in his ear, busted.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #pacific rim au #my fic #ans #there is something about this arc in this fic where i keep thinking i'll never have enough words #and then I get there and I have to move like at least one or two major scenes to another chapter #and POV!#but this one was less of a surprised because all of the peanut gallery was added in on the second draft #which changed a LOT of Obi's narration #and made him more introspective than I usually keep him #I think next chap is a Shirayuki chap #and is possibly more shippy. BUT WE WILL SEE

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starmapz · 2 months ago

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what you know - ch10: miscalculation || 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. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. 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 ; 12.5k.

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

The campus feels quieter than usual without Sukuna’s presence. It’s not as though he’s particularly loud or boisterous, he simply demands attention with his demeanor. Of course, you knew he wouldn’t be at lunch, but it doesn’t change the fact that you find yourself drifting away from the topic at hand quite frequently. Uraume, sitting in what’s usually Sukuna’s seat, finds themself nudging you every so often just so that your friends can hold your attention for a few moments.

But Shoko and Kento can only pull you aside so many times. It’s not like you’re unhappy, so they can’t be upset with you, but it doesn’t ease their concerns.

As the lunch hour ends and you snap a lid over your tupperware, you’re surprised when Toji drops a strong hand over the container, staring at you intently to stop you from getting up. Peering at him with a raised brow, you tilt your head.

“Got a minute?”

“Um- yeah,” you smile, peeking at the time on your phone. “I have a few minutes before class.”

“Great.” Toji pushes to his feet, letting you throw the container he’d held down into your bag before leading the way out into the frigid air. Your breath billows around you as you trail after Toji’s long strides. Finding a spot with an overhang, he takes a seat on a dry bench pressed against the brick of the lunch hall. It’s not warm, but at least it’s free from snow. You take a seat beside him, kicking at a pebble by your foot.

You’re thoroughly ready for winter to be over, sick of the chilly walks between classes and waiting for your car to warm up. Nothing sounds nicer right now than being able to go back to cute sundresses and shorts with a tank top, only needing to throw on a hoodie during cool mornings and nights.

Turning your attention to Toji on your right, you shoot him a curious smile. “What’s up, Toji?”

“Sorry ‘bout yesterday,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. As usual, it falls back into his face, clearly bothering him as he scowls at the feeling of raven strands tickling the bridge of his nose.

“It’s fine,” you mirror his sigh. “It’s not your fault. He’s like that,” you shrug.

Toji rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no fuckin’ kidding.” He shoves his hands in his pockets as he leans back against the brick wall. His unimpressed emerald eyes train on a dripping icicle clinging to the overhang above. “Who else knows ‘bout the kids?”

You hesitate, not really sure it’s your place to say, but you also get the feeling that Toji has no intention of backing down. Toji is the emphatic version of Sukuna, with all the attitude, but lacking in stoicism. He’s far more vocal with his disdain than Sukuna usually is.

“Uraume, Shoko, and Kento know.”

“Shoko and Kento?” He parrots in disbelief. “Oh yeah, let’s tell the whole fuckin’ peanut gallery, but not Toji.” He puffs out a breath of air, rolling his eyes. “Shit, I knew the fucker didn’t care ‘bout me, but he ain’t close to them either,” he huffs, pulling his hood up over his head. “Nothin’ against y’r friends. Sometimes I just feel so fuckin’ stupid when it comes to that dumbass.”

“I get it.” You kick your heel against the packed snow at your feet, staring at the indentation left behind. “I think he still cares about you,” you offer, though there’s not much else to be said in Toji’s favor about the situation. “He’s just…”

“An asshole,” he snorts, leaning forward on his knees.

With a tight-lipped smile, you lean back against the rough bricks behind you, understanding immediately why Toji isn’t leaning back anymore. It isn’t particularly comfortable. “Was he different when you guys were kids?”

“Mmm…” Toji hums in thought, tilting his head side to side as though to say ‘somewhat’. “He’s never been a saint, but Jin kept ‘im in line. We played a lot of basketball, his kid brother liked watchin’.” Toji smiles to himself, the scar on his lip stretching. “He was always a bit more into skatin’ and art than sports, though. He had every old court tagged somewhere.”

You tilt your head curiously, engrossed in learning more. “Tagged?”

Toji smirks, tilting his head to get a better look at you. “Graffiti.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen, glimmering as you learn more about a younger Sukuna, before he became so jaded. “Was he always quiet?”

“Nah. Wouldn’t say he was chatty, but he wasn’t so tough to have a conversation with. He was always draggin’ me along to some new place he wanted t’ paint,” Toji gruffs, raising a hand to his chin to scratch at faint stubble. “Always thought it was weird he just stopped wantin’ to do anything. Guess I know why now,” he sighs, idly moving to pick at his nails, which are already fairly destroyed.

“I’m really sorry, Toji. It sounded like Jin meant a lot to you.”

With a long, deep inhale, Toji nods. “Yeah. Yeah, he did. Always will.” He swallows hard, harshly rubbing his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was about to cry. He doesn’t seem like he’s the type to cry often, but if Jin was as much of a father to him as he’d made it sound, you can only imagine he’s more beat up than he’s letting on.

The raven-haired man lets his hair drape over his face as he leans on his knees, his gaze glued to the ground. You’re keen enough to notice that it seems like he’s attempting to mask how upset he truly is, but you don’t know him well enough to offer much more than words of sympathy.

“I always wondered what happened f’r him to change so much. God-” Toji shakes his head, rubbing his face against the back of his forearm. “He’s such a fuckin’ prick. I knew Jin got sick but I never thought-”

Whether his voice breaks or he cuts himself off, you aren’t sure. With your brow drawn together as you listen intently, all you can do is watch as he turns his head away.

Toji clears his throat, his gaze kept firmly on the ground. “Did you talk to ‘im after I left?”

“A bit. He told me you guys didn’t talk about that sort of stuff when I asked why he didn’t tell you.”

Toji shoots you a look of utter disbelief, his lip curling in frustration as he narrows his gaze. You see now that his eyes have a red sheen to them. “That was his excuse?”

With a tight-lipped smile, you shrug.

“Christ,” he groans. “What a dumbass. Guess Jin takin’ me in every time I got kicked out didn’t mean anything to ‘im.”

You chew on your lip, uncertain of how to answer that. Clearly things are a bit more gray than how Sukuna considered their friendship, but you can’t exactly say where you stand when it comes to being in the middle of them. Toji’s unequivocally in the right to be every bit frustrated with Sukuna, but you hardly know the man.

Sighing, Toji pulls his phone from his pocket, getting to his feet. “I gotta get to class. Thanks for this.”

“Sounds good!” You get to your feet as well, getting ready to make your way to class. “Oh-! Um, Toji?”

The raven-haired man doesn’t say anything, turning to face you with one hand on the strap of his backpack and a look of mild discontentment. You pull your bag strap up over your shoulder, clinging to it tightly.

“Please don’t give up on him. He needs the help.”

Toji’s sharp gaze flickers between yours, examining the curl of your brow as you hopefully fiddle with the fabric beneath your fingertips.

Blowing out a breath of air from his nose, he shoots you a half-hearted smirk before turning to walk towards his class with a wave.

You pray to whoever will listen that that’s Toji’s version of saying he’ll hear you out.

–

The past week after your chat with Toji has not been kind to you, and as you wait for Sukuna to open his door late in the evening, you find yourself just about ready to pass out. You want to lean your head on the door and let sleep take you right then and there, but at least you can get some rest soon- even if it will be strange falling asleep in a foreign environment- Sukuna’s apartment.

As Sukuna swings the door open, clad in his blue polo that looks painfully out of place on his bulky form, you can tell he’s as gassed as you are. His eyes travel the length of your body, something that makes you blush more than you maybe should, as you know he’s just evaluating that you’ve had as long of a day as he has, based on the business attire beneath your jacket.

Still, his eyes linger on the pencil skirt just long enough that you think you’re fooling yourself.

Swallowing, you smile as you push past him without a word, catching even Sukuna off-guard as your usual sunny disposition is replaced with a yawn and a drag of your feet. He shuts the door, trailing behind you and catching your gaze where your dark circles are just as apparent as his.

“If I’m askin’ too much of you-”

“I’m fine, Kuna,” you yawn, using your sleeve to cover it before shrugging the coat off. Setting it on the back of the couch, you tilt your head with a mild smile. “Just tired.”

“Mm.” Sukuna idly hums, raising the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Are you-? Stop it, I’m not sick.” You swat his hand away, sticking out your bottom lip dramatically.

Sukuna’s chest rumbles in a low chuckle. “Alright, alright. Just lookin’ out for ya.”

Hugging your arms around yourself, you plop down on the couch behind Yuji and Choso, who are sitting on the floor in front of your old GameCube as they contemplate what game to play for their last couple of hours before you have them get ready for bed. You frown at the sight of Choso, who seems to languidly agree with anything Yuji chooses.

Sukuna leans over the back of the couch by your shoulder, holding himself up on his forearms. “That Animal Crossing game you left here, it had a memory card in the case, they found your file.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he snorts, “you called yourself ‘Flower’.”

Giggling, you tilt your head to better see him. “Really?”

“Mhm. You were dressed in all pink with little pigtails.”

“That… Sounds about right,” you grin, unable to help it as you continue giggling at the thought. “I stopped playing because one of the cat villagers made me cry. My mom took the game away and I didn’t find it again until I moved out.”

Sukuna’s lips purse as he stares at you. “A cat made you cry?”

“They were mean in that game!”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Sure they were, flower.”

“I’m begging you not to call me that,” you whine.

“Dunno, it kinda fits,” he hums impishly, giving your shoulder a nudge. He’s so close that his breath tickles your neck.

You shove his bicep in return, catching him off-guard just enough to have him stumbling to keep himself upright. He chuckles to himself, standing straight and stretching his arms over his head. Your eyes trail down to the way the shirt rides up, revealing his toned abdomen and- oh god stop thinking about his salmon-toned happy trail. Tearing your gaze away, you stare at the pile of games on the floor.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Sukuna relents with a chuckle, your wandering eyes going unnoticed. “Washed the sheets for ya, you know where everything else is.”

You hum, nodding your head along gratefully.

“Tired, princess?”

You nod again, yawning as you’re reminded of your drowsiness. “Yeah, I was shadowing all day. It’s stressful.”

“Yeah?” He asks as he shuffles around behind you, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge to toss into his work bag.

“Mhm. My co-worker was practically drilling me with questions all day.”

“I’m sure ya did good,” he grunts, taking a final look around the apartment. There’s something strange about leaving at nine at night rather than three or four, but the sight of you, with a tired, albeit content expression, curled into the corner of his couch in your work attire seems to light something within him.

His stomach churns uncomfortably, as though something is trying to break free from his gut. He brings a hand up to scratch beneath the polo, telling himself it’s just the material of the shirt, but he can’t deny the way he can’t seem to tear his gaze from you. Your attention is on Yuji and Choso, your arms wrapped around yourself and legs pulled up onto the couch in the comfiest fashion you can manage with a pencil skirt on.

He clears his throat, dragging a hand down his face. Christ, he’s tired too. It’ll be a long night.

Making his way to the door, he casts a glance at his brothers before fixing you with his stare. “I’ll see ya in the morning. Let me know if you need anything.”

You tilt your head briefly given that you’ve never been able to contact him at work, before your eyes light up with realization. “I can text you now!” You gasp excitedly.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” Sukuna grumbles as he closes and locks the door behind him.

Unfortunately for him, you would make a habit of it.

For now though, you turn your attention to the boys, stifling a yawn. “If you two choose something multiplayer, I’ll join you.”

Now at the center of the kids’ attention, you can see the way Yuji’s eyes light up instantly, while Choso’s reaction is far more subtle. His hands still, no longer occupied with a button on his deep purple plaid shirt sleeve. It’s hardly worth calling progress, but it’s a sign he finds comfort in your presence, and you’ll take that.

Yuji flips a couple of games over, separating any that allow three players before he’s left with Super Smash Bros. Melee, Mario Party 6, Ribbit King, and MarioKart.

“What’s this?” He asks, holding up the case for Ribbit King to you.

“That’s a golf game,” you explain, “with frogs instead of balls. Frog golf.”

“Frolf!” Yuji exclaims with a grin. You catch a glimmer of amusement in Choso’s expression as he shares a more subdued version of his brother’s sentiment.

Popping the disc into the system, you slide off the couch onto the ground, where both kids join you as you lean against the couch. Yuji immediately leans into you, holding the orange controller that’s become his favorite since you’d left the system at their house.

As the game boots up and you each choose your characters and frogs, it takes only a moment before the boys have a decent grasp on the mechanics. Falling into competitive banter with Yuji comes fairly easily, and to your delight, every so often even Choso chimes in.

Yuji pulls ahead fairly handily before you know it, leaving you and Choso to compete for second place. After a close competition, the middle brother manages to just barely pull ahead of you in points, leaving you in last place. As the podium pops onto the screen and your penguin character dips its head in defeat, Yuji bounds up excitedly before hopping into your lap.

With a brief oof at the force that Yuji uses to collapses against you, you find yourself giggling at the boy’s glee.

It doesn’t matter how tired you are, Yuji is a bundle of joy and his happiness is infectious. You pull Choso into the hug, praying the happiness is infectious to him as well. He may not display the same jovial expression that you or Yuji do, but he does hug you both back with enough force that tells you that if nothing else, he appreciates the effort to include him.

“Good job Yu, you make a good golfer,” you pat his back lightly.

He pulls back with a pointed stare. “Frolfer.”

Amused, you blow a puff of air through your nose. “Right. Frolfer.” Yuji pushes himself to his feet, plopping down in front of the stack of games again. His little hands flip each case as he examines them. “Did you want to play something else?” You query, watching Choso carefully as he slips back into his spot beside you with a distant expression.

“I wanna play what Cho wants to play!” Yuji insists, a hopeful expression crossing his face.

Your lips part at what would usually be a kind action from a little brother, but the context behind his words makes it feel more like pleading. A hopeful action to bring his older brother back, even if only for a moment.

Choso’s sullen gaze trails slowly from Yuji to the pile of games, lingering on the stack. When the moment draws on a second too long, the little boy deflates.

“Cho?” Yuji leans forward on his knees, staring down sadly at the pile of games. His thumbs smooth over the case in his hands, before he sets it aside and drags himself across the floor until he’s seated on his knees in front of his older brother.

With a frown that mirrors Yuji’s, you set a hand on Choso’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you wanna talk, Choso?” You try to encourage him, pulling him from whatever stupor he was trapped within. There may be fleeting moments of amusement or appreciation here and there, but the young boy rarely seems present.

Choso rubs his nose with the back of his hand, blinking at the stack of cases on the floor. “Um- whatever Yuji wants is-”

“I wanna play what you wanna play,” Yuji pouts, his tone now laced with desperation as he drags the stack of games towards his big brother. His lip wobbles as he holds up a Sonic game, to be met only with indifference. He blinks away tears, setting the case down, only to hold up a Mario game. Met with the same indifference, his whole body trembles.

You swear it all happens in the blink of an eye.

At the sight of the Yuji’s trembling hands and wide-eyed expression, Choso scrambles to keep his brother happy, stammering over words as he attempts to sate his brother’s sadness, but it’s too late. Yuji bursts into sobs, crying loudly about missing his brothers, which in turn causes Choso to pull his knees into himself, hiding the silent tears that fall down his face as well as guilt swirls in his eyes.

You scramble to pick up the pieces as quickly as possible, wrapping an arm around Yuji and pulling him into a tight hug. You attempt to do the same for Choso, but he stiffens to prevent you from doing so. Recognizing that he doesn’t want or need the same attention as Yuji, you opt for simply sitting beside him with Yuji in your lap.

You’ve noticed Choso tends to prefer talking things out, and in all honesty you think all three of the brothers could use a could talk. That’s a tough sell with Sukuna though, so you’ll settle for two out of three.

You soothingly hush Yuji, rubbing his back gently as he clings to you, no doubt staining your dress shirt in tears and snot. You’d likely need a trip to the laundromat for it, but it hardly matters when your heart squeezes at the melancholic sobs that fill the air.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” you coo softly, eyeing Choso to make sure he’s not getting any worse either. You suck in a deep breath to soothe your own nerves, giving Yuji a reassuring squeeze as his sobs slowly begin to die down.

Once the apartment is filled only with sniffles and not sobs, you gently place Yuji on the ground beside Choso, who looks up at you for reassurance. You force your best smile, patting his back softly before turning to Choso.

From what you can tell, his tears are dried and he’s simply staring blankly at his arms curled around his knees now.

“Yuji, have you told your brother how you feel?” You ask softly. Choso’s head raises slightly as he listens to you.

Yuji shakes his head through silent tears.

“It’s important to communicate how we’re feeling when something’s wrong,” you tell him with a small smile, motioning towards Choso. “Why don’t you tell Choso?”

Choso’s auburn gaze flickers between you and Yuji, waiting as his little brother’s face scrunches up into an expression fitting of a five-year-old deep in thought.

Once he’s decided on his words, he looks up at his brother with teary eyes, his little hands fiddling with the game case on the floor in front of him. “I miss you, Cho. You never wanna play with me anymore.” Yuji mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.

Choso sniffles, raising his head. “I’m sorry, Yu.” He curls into himself further if that’s even possible, guilt pulling his face into a scowl reminiscent of Sukuna. It’s easy to forget those two are related until Choso mirrors one of Sukuna’s expressions so perfectly.

“Do you wanna tell your brother what’s going on, Choso?” You encourage him, setting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Um-” Choso buries his face into his arms, his brows pulled together so tightly you’re certain he’s giving himself a headache. “I don’t feel very good,” he admits, his words muffled against the sleeves of his shirt.

“You’re sick?” Yuji tilts his head in confusion.

Choso shakes his head. “I’m…” he pauses, glancing up at you. “Scared,” he admits.

“Why?” Yuji wastes no time in demanding answers, shuffling closer on his knees to Choso.

“I don’t wanna lose Kuna,” Choso admits, leaning his face into his shoulder to wipe a tear that rolls down his cheek.

“But we won’t,” Yuji pulls himself forward over the hardwood again, tugging at his brother’s arm lightly. “Kuna never loses. He’s the best.”

You can’t help but smile at Yuji’s confidence, which seems to encourage Choso, even if only a little bit. Choso lifts his head, blinking in thought at the pink-haired little boy. Even with a face covered in tears and snot, it’s hard not to believe every word the pink-haired kid says.

As Yuji continues tugging at Choso’s arm, the brunette finally relents, letting his brother tug him into a hug. When Choso pulls back, he slumps against the couch again, a hint of life breathed back into him.

“It’s okay to be sad, Choso, but it’s important to talk about your feelings to others like you do with me,” you encourage him with an understanding smile.

Choso swallows hard, nodding slowly. He blinks at the ground, doing somewhat of a mental reset, before he points at the stack of games with a sniffle. “Let’s play Mario Party.”

Yuji’s eyes light up as he sets up the game while Choso wipes the tears from his face.

“I’m proud of you, Choso. It takes courage to talk about your feelings.”

Choso shoots you a half-hearted smile with tired eyes, serving as a reminder of just how worn out you all are.

“One short game and then it’s bedtime, okay boys?”

“Okaaaaay,” Yuji agrees, though his expression mirrors the exhaustion across Choso’s. The crying had clearly tired them both out, and while normally you would have them go to bed right away, you’re pretty sure they need a fun game before bed.

While the boys play games, you get up to change into an oversized tee that’s free of tears and a pair of shorts, grabbing a tissue and wiping Yuji’s face, much to his dismay as he groans and complains the whole time.

Planting yourself back on the couch, you pull up Sukuna’s contact, and shoot him a text.

Thursday 9:42 PM - You || hey, not urgent but wanted to let you know what happened!

Thursday 9:43 PM - You || the boys had a bit of a meltdown because choso’s been so quiet, but i think everything’s okay now

You lock your phone and set it in your lap as you turn your attention to the screen. Choso’s still clearly down and not himself, but you can see the effort going into giving Yuji the sense of normalcy he’s desperate for. Although you can see Choso’s needing to force himself out of his shell, you’re reassured that this is good for him when for the first time in what feels like ages, he laughs.

Your lips quirk up into a genuine smile at the sight of Choso’s sleepy grin, just as your phone vibrates in your lap.

Thursday 9:59 PM - Kuna || okay. let me know if they give you more trouble

Thursday 9:59 PM - You || i can handle them, no worries! :)

With the game coming to a close and no meltdowns even as Yuji steals Choso’s stars in the game at the last second and pulls off a win, you urge them to get ready for bed. Neither boy had given you a hard time as Yuji tended to, far too worn out from the emotional day to protest.

With the boys in bed, you set your overnight bag down on the washroom counter and lean over the sink, fairly worn out yourself. You can see the effects of the day on your face, dark circles under your eyes and makeup in disarray, having been done well over fifteen hours ago.

So much for the twenty-four-hour long-lasting guarantee they promise. What a lie.

Dragging your hands over your face, you lean on the edge of the sink, letting the seconds tick by as you grapple with your own emotions.

You spend so much time treading carefully around the three boys in an attempt to help them as best as you’re able that sometimes you forget to check in with yourself mentally. Between Sukuna’s increasing snappiness and the two boys learning to handle their fear, grief, and concern, you’ve hardly had a moment to yourself. That’s not even beginning to mention classes, studying, and your internship.

You can only pray the bubble doesn’t pop. You need to keep up being strong until the court date, then you can relax.

Once that’s over, you’re certain things will be alright.

Giving yourself a moment to reset and take a breather, you slow down as you dig into your bag and handle your skincare and hair routines, taking a moment to indulge in the self care of it all. It’s refreshing and allows you a moment of peace, a moment to simply be and take care of yourself, something you can’t help but feel you’ve neglected to do as of late.

As you finish up your hair routine, you open the pocket where your toothbrush should be, only to come up short. Blinking, you dig through your bag in search of it, when you realize where it is.

On the counter.

At your own apartment.

Quietly groaning, you pull out your phone again.

Thursday 10:46 PM - You || hey kuna?

Whether he’s on his break or just has his phone on him, you’re not sure, but he answers quickly.

Thursday 10:48 PM - Kuna || what now

Thursday 10:48 PM - You || i forgot my toothbrush :( do you have an extra?

Thursday 10:49 PM - Kuna || no

Thursday 10:49 PM - Kuna || dont fucking touch mine

Thursday 10:49 PM - You || rude

Thursday 10:50 PM - Kuna || use your finger

Thursday 10:50 PM - You || :(

Frowning at your options, you tap your fingers on the washroom counter in thought.

Thursday 10:51 PM - You || do you have mouthwash?

Thursday 10:53 PM - Kuna || you know im working right

Thursday 10:53 PM - Kuna || under the sink

Thursday 10:53 PM - You || thank you!!

Opening the cupboard beneath the sink, your eyes scan the mess of shampoos, aftershave, replacement razor heads and various other hygiene products. Off to one side, you spot some mouthwash and a bag from a dentist with a toothbrush concealed within, brand new.

And it’s pink. Cute!

Thursday 10:55 PM - You || i found a toothbrush under the sink, can i use it? i’ll pay you back!

Thursday 10:55 PM - Kuna || whatever

Under the assumption that means he doesn’t really care one way or the other, you crack open the packaging, relieved that you won’t need to quickly run to your apartment in the morning before class. There is no way in hell you could go without a toothbrush for that long.

Dumping your belongings back into your bag, you push into Sukuna’s room, taking a look around. It’s not like you haven’t been here before, but it has a different feel now that you’ll be sleeping here. Taking a step into the room, you stare at the papers strewn across his drawing table.

Anatomy practice makes up most of what litters the table, alongside pencils and a tin of charcoal, but what really catches your eye are sketches of random characters, mostly from video games you recognize. Your lips quirk into a small smile as you spot a small glimpse of color and can just barely make out a red shoe. It must be the drawing that Yuji colored the other day, and Sukuna is still working on the second half of it. It warms your heart that in his spare time, he still finds little ways to take care of his brothers.

For all his complaining, he loves them very dearly.

Pulling your gaze from the drawings, you take slow steps to the edge of his bed, taking a seat on the mattress. You’ve never really considered the comfort of his bed until this moment, but it’s fairly plush and his sheets are cozy as you run your hands beneath the covers. It’s also massive, but you can’t imagine your double bed would fit someone of his height.

Not that you should be thinking about that.

You know he welcomed you to sleep in his room, insisted on it, but a part of you can’t help but feel like you’re invading his space. Yet somehow, as you settle under the covers and stare at the ceiling, it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as you thought it might. There’s some part of you, deep down, that feels like this is what you want. Some selfish part of you that wants to feel like you belong here.

But it’s not your place to feel that way, and that feeling tugs at your lips, pulling them into a frown.

It’s a strange feeling to sleep in a bed that isn’t yours, owned by someone you can’t give your heart to. It leaves you with a sensation like static settling into your chest as you aren’t quite sure what to do with your thoughts.

Turning to your side, you pick up your phone, plug it into Sukuna’s charger, and send him one last message.

Thursday 11:12 PM - You || night, kuna!

You aren’t sure whether you send it in an attempt to comfort yourself, or if maybe it’s a sad attempt to find affection where there is none.

Regardless, all you can do is set your phone back down on the table and try to ignore the way the whole room smells painfully like him.

Thursday 11:58 PM - Kuna || night princess

–

Your alarm blares in your ear at the crack of dawn. You shoot your hand out to grab it before it can accidentally wake the kids, squinting at the time.

You may have set the alarm with your first class at eight thirty in the morning in mind, but seven still feels too early. Yawning, you scroll through your social media in an attempt to find any semblance of wakefulness before finally making your way out of Sukuna’s room. You’re about to make your way to the washroom, when the sound of a video-game-y groan in the living room catches your attention.

Padding quietly back down the hall, you peek around the corner, spotting Sukuna lounged at his full length across the couch, his legs hanging over the edge. He’s in his work khakis, but his shirt is laid on the back of the couch, a GameCube controller in hand as he plays Super Smash Bros. Melee.

Oh, it is too fucking early for this.

Your mouth goes dry as you try painfully hard to keep your attention on Sukuna’s face, and not his sculpted and tattooed abs.

“Morning,” you greet him with a groggy smile.

He pauses the game, equally drowsy eyes darting up to you. Unlike you, Sukuna is exhausted, has been awake for over twenty four hours at this point, and you’re startlingly hot in casual clothing. He’s used to seeing you in short skirts and tights, a cozy sweater adorning your top half, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen you in casual clothes before.

But Sukuna is too sleep-deprived to come up with a time he’s seen you in casual clothes.

A baggy shirt hangs down your frame, stopping barely in time for Sukuna to see that you’re wearing a pair of shorts. He swears his brain fizzles out as he steals a glance at your legs, and he has to tear his gaze away to meet your eyes again.

“Hm?”

Your lips part, cheeks hot as you watch his eyes trail down the length of you. He’s probably just judging the oversized shirt with Kiki’s Delivery Service on it, but his sharp gaze never fails to warm your cheeks.

“I just said ‘morning’,” you quietly repeat with a small smile.

He hums, peeling his eyes from you and unpausing the game. “Morning.”

“How was your shift?”

“Other than you annoying me, it was fine,” he grumbles, shooting you a sideways glance to gauge your reaction. He smirks when he finds you pouting.

“Well, your bed’s all yours-”

“All good, princess. I’m takin’ the kids to school at eight and got class at nine.”

Your brow raises. “You haven’t slept,” you point out.

He shrugs, his character tossing the enemy Bowser off a platform as he continues playing games. “I’ll live.”

You frown, but you know him well enough to know he won’t budge once he’s made his mind up.

“What happened last night?” He queries, his eyes still glued to the screen. You don’t need to know the video game is the only thing keeping his attention away from your bare thighs.

With a sigh, you round the couch, sitting on the edge of the cushion opposite his head. With his feet dangling off the edge of the couch, your back presses just barely against his calves and he finds himself stealing a glance at you, your expression forlorn.

“Yuji asked Choso what he wanted to play, but Cho’s been pretty out of it lately and didn’t really care-” you pause, putting a bit more weight against Sukuna’s legs as you lean back slightly when you look at him. Sighing, you shake your head. “Yuji got pretty upset that Choso hasn’t been himself lately and hasn’t wanted to play,” you continue, “whiiiiich lead to tears, sobs, the whole nine yards.”

Sukuna pauses his game, draping his arm over his eyes with a quiet groan. “‘Course it did,” he grumbles, yawning. “How’d that go?”

“I got them to talk it out, I think everything’s alright. They were laughing and playing games when you texted back.”

Sukuna hums, rubbing his face against the back of his forearm. “Figured that would happen eventually,” he manages between another yawn, lifting his arm to push a hand through his disheveled hair. A few strands fall over his forehead, so long now that they nearly block his vision.

“Yeah,” you agree with him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Honestly, Yuji’s been pretty patient with Choso, I’m surprised it took this long.”

“He’s a good kid.” Sukuna barely shrugs, his groggy gaze finally fixing on you. He can’t say for sure what’s come over him and if he was in his right mind, he’s sure he’d brush it off as exhaustion normally, but he finds himself admiring the way your hair falls naturally to frame your face.

In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you without makeup, but you seem almost radiant, and that thought alone has him spiraling into territory that’s beyond unknown to him.

He bristles at his own thoughts, an unfamiliar feeling creeping up his spine. As though fighting a battle against himself, he pulls his feet from behind you and sits up, leaning forward on his knees. Clearing his throat, he gives you a dismissive wave of his hand.

“You should go get ready.”

“Hm? Oh, right!” Hopping to your feet, you bound off to the washroom to take a shower, leaving Sukuna to grapple with his thoughts alone.

You’re forced to leave your hair to air-dry without a blow dryer or any styling products, but at least you have a toothbrush. Opening the door once you’ve finished getting ready, Yuji makes his way past you towards the kitchen with a grin and his basketball in hand. His oldest brother is trailing after him sluggishly with a hoodie that he’s attempting to get over the little boy’s head.

The five-year-old happily dribbles the ball a couple of times as he eludes Sukuna’s grasp on his way to the kitchen.

“Yuji, it’s too early for that. Our neighbors’ll have my head if you make noise,” Sukuna scolds as he uses his wide gait to step in front of his little brother and grab the ball in one big hand.

Yuji jumps at his leg as though the little amount of height his jump covers is what he needs to get his basketball back, whining at the tall man to give it back.

“No. Oatmeal’s on the table. Go eat,” he guides the little boy towards the kitchen, scratching at his jaw as he catches a glance at you.

You’re back in your usual attire, a tight tank top hugging your top with a long cardigan draped over your shoulders and light jeans adorning your lower half. You’re hardly dressed up, yet Sukuna still feels underdressed in a red hoodie and baggy black sweatpants, with a beanie covering his obviously disheveled hair.

You look cute.

Whether he’s too tired to fight that thought, or he’s simply grown accustomed to it, he doesn’t mind thinking of you in such a way.

“Need a hand?” You ask cheerily, glancing at your phone before dropping it into your pathetic excuse for a jean pocket. “I have a few minutes before I need to go.”

“Nah, I got it,” he gruffs, tilting his chin towards the kitchen. “I, uh, made you some breakfast.”

Your eyes widen as you curiously bound towards the kitchen counter, where there’s a bowl with oats, fruit, and yogurt sitting on the counter. Your eyes light up as you grab it and turn back to Sukuna.

“This is for me?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s so sweet, thanks Kuna!”

He hums, a hint of a smirk giving away his satisfaction. Choso makes his way slowly to the table to eat his dinosaur oatmeal, his usual void stare plastered across his face. After last night, you had honestly hoped maybe he would bounce back, but progress is often slow. Maybe he’ll come around.

Sukuna trails over to the kitchen counter alongside you, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the vinyl countertop. You follow suit as you spoon some yogurt into your mouth, your elbow brushing Sukuna’s arm as he watches over the three of you.

There’s something strangely domestic about the whole situation that seems to tighten your throat as you force another spoonful of yogurt down. It tastes great, but the thought of a life like this with Sukuna is bitter on your tongue. This moment, to you, feels like a glimpse at something real, something substantial, while it’s likely nothing more than a fleeting thought to Sukuna.

Spooning another mouthful of yogurt into your mouth, you tilt your head to catch a glance at his expression. You shouldn’t be surprised to find he’s drifting off, eyes glazed. His eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, but there’s no room for a nap, so he’ll just deal with it.

Turning to the sink to rinse your bowl once you’ve finished, you check the time and bid the kids a farewell, nudging Sukuna to make sure he’s awake. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

He nods, only managing a yawn as you make your way out the door.

–

Really, it shouldn’t surprise you that Sukuna slept through lunch. And your Literature History class, for that matter.

But your professor is clearly less than pleased when her grimace lands on him in the middle of the lecture. You nudge Sukuna awake, who blearily lifts his head, pushing his hood up to see why you’re bothering him. The sight of a frustrated professor doesn’t mean much to someone running on an hour of sleep (on tables, mind you), so he simply drops his chin back down onto his arms, pushes his hood back down, and shuts his eyes again.

Well, that was the wrong move.

You nudge Sukuna awake for the second time when the lecture ends, only for the professor to call both of your names in a stern tone. With a frustrated huff, he trudges down the steps and stands before her desk. You shuffle from side to side on your feet, glancing between him and the professor with an anxious frown.

The last thing you need is to be on bad terms with a professor given your scholarship.

“Mr. Sukuna. Glad you could join us after being absent for nine days,” the professor begins in an unimpressed tone. She takes a seat at her desk, motioning to both of you to grab a couple of chairs from the side of the room. Sukuna is too busy scowling at the woman to listen, so you gently tug him down into one of the chairs you drag over.

“Some of us got shit to handle,” he explains in the broadest terms possible.

“I understand that, and while attendance is not expected, I would advise with your grades sitting where they are that you do attend.”

Sukuna grinds his jaw at your side and you swear you can hear the enamel of his teeth wearing down with the force of the pressure.

“That’s not to mention that when you do show up, you sleep through the lecture,” she grimly continues, clasping her hands as she leans over the desk. Her graying blonde hair falls over her shoulders as she frowns.

“I can’t make that shit happen right-”

“Language, Mr. Sukuna.”

Sukuna shuts his eyes in a futile attempt to contain his anger. “I can’t make that happen right now,” he huffs, sharp eyes locking onto the professor. “I show up for tests and turn in papers. What more do ya want?”

This isn’t the first time he’s been pulled aside by a professor, but this is the first time in a long time that he’s been doing poorly in a class. He knows his last paper was half-assed. He knows his last test results barely skirted by.

“You need to apply yourself.” When Sukuna doesn’t reply, smoke practically blowing from his ears at the professor’s words, she continues, turning her attention to address you. “I’d like you to tutor Ryomen. You will receive extra credit,” she tells you, turning back to him, “and so long as I see an improvement in your grades, I won’t say a word about your attendance.”

The offer works well in your favor, why wouldn’t you want extra credit? Plus, you already see Sukuna enough that it wouldn’t change too much about your schedule.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is beyond pissed.

On a good day, he would have rolled his eyes at the suggestion and brushed it off, but on one hour of sleep, the history major isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of being put in his place. Especially not in front of you, someone he holds a great deal of care for.

“I’m managing just fine, I don’t need to be tutored,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes, reddened from a lack of sleep.

The professor grimaces, her gaze flickering between you both. “You’re hardly passing,” she states plainly. “I’m not going to sugar coat things, Ryomen. You’re on your last legs in this class, and I will fail you if you don’t pass the test next Friday.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t need a tutor,” he growls, clutching at the arm of the chair with white knuckles.

“It’s not a huge deal, Sukuna, I can-”

“No,” he shoots you a pointed glare, pinning you to the seat. You bite the inside of your cheek, falling back into uncomfortable silence.

Unimpressed, the professor sits up a bit straighter as if to assert her authority over the situation. “This isn’t up for discussion, Mr. Suku-”

“Like hell it isn’t!” He snarls. “I’ll pass, you fuckin’ got that?” He stands abruptly, his chair screeching as it’s pushed back suddenly. With narrowed eyes, his fiery irises seem to consume him, his pupils mere pinpricks. The professor grimaces, unphased by his defiance, but her lack of reply only serves to piss Sukuna off further as he scoffs in frustration and barges out the door without another word, hands shoved in his pockets in search of his cigarettes.

The sound of the door slamming on its hinges echoes across the lecture hall as you shut your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line.

The professor sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry to get you involved,” she apologizes with a wry smile. “I thought you two were close, and that maybe he wouldn’t be opposed to a tutoring session with you.”

“We are close,” you chuckle half-heartedly, staring down at your lap. “He- um- he’s going through a bit of a tough time, I don’t think he meant anything personally.”

The professor fixes you with her deep brown gaze, leaning back in her chair. “I see. Has he spoken to the faculty about this? He could get some assistance-”

You laugh nervously at the mere mention of help. “Believe me, if it were that simple, I would have suggested it by now.”

The professor taps her fingers along her forearm in thought, finally nodding. “I see. Well, if you’re able to step in, I would appreciate that. If not, I’m not sure what other options I have.” She shrugs. “There’s nothing I can do at the rate his grades are plummeting.”

“Is it just this class?” You ask meekly, brow drawn into a tight knit as you dread her answer.

“I can’t say,” she tells you, sympathy laced into her tone. “He’s a bright student, but it’s become clear over the past couple of weeks that he’s not here to learn.”

“Right,” you whisper, staring down at your manicured nails, a chip in the polish catching your attention. “I’ll do what I can.”

“I appreciate that,” she says with a sense of finality, grabbing a pen to begin grading some papers. You take that as your dismissal, gathering your belongings to make your way out the door. “Oh-” the professor calls your name before you push outside. “Please remind Mr. Sukuna that this class is a requirement for his major, and if he fails this next test, he will be retaking my class next semester.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

–

Had you known that was the last you would hear of your hot-headed friend until the afternoon before the test, you would have tried harder to get a hold of him.

Which is saying a lot, given that you emailed, and texted, and called incessantly.

Your only sense of reassurance was Uraume letting you know that they had run into him clad in his coveralls while Uraume was headed to campus one morning. They’d mentioned that he was taking shifts throughout the mornings to make sure he didn’t need to rely on anyone but himself. He would simply work only while his brothers were in school.

For every step forward, Sukuna takes two backwards. And this time, it seemed he was drowning in the guilt of just how much he owed you, not even bothering to respond to your texts either.

Unfortunately, along with the news that Uraume had relayed to you, came the news that he hadn’t been to a single class since the not-so-friendly run-in with the professor.

Which, as it would turn out, was the first of many impromptu meetings that you would have with her. The Wednesday before the test, you’d practically jumped out of your skin as she stopped you before you could make it out the door.

The look on her face didn’t ease your nerves as she waited for the students to file out of the lecture hall.

“Will you please remind Ryomen that if he doesn’t show up to the test on Friday, I’m failing him?” She speaks gravely, an air of deathly sincerity surrounding her.

You had swallowed hard, assuring her that you would make sure he knew, slipping away with a shiver up your spine.

While you knew she’d be talking to you about your friend, you couldn’t help but feel like she would have had some sort of comment about your messy notes, your distracted gaze, or the inattentive tapping of your nails over the keyboard.

But then again, she couldn’t see your notes, so she didn’t know that your mind had been fixated on your concern for your friend all week. Your notes were the proof of it, words hardly making a lick of sense, and you knew it would come back to bite you in the ass. Still, every trail of thoughts leads back to the delinquent student.

You know Sukuna is likely only upset with life in general, but that shouldn’t make it fair for him to ignore you.

Or maybe you’re too in love with someone too incapable of reciprocating, and nothing feels fair to your fragile heart.

That series of events all lead to you standing at his door now, your fist raised to knock on the door. If he wouldn’t reply to your texts about the test tomorrow, you wanted to make sure he knew this was a death sentence for his semester should he choose to not show up.

That, and you want to make sure he’s okay.

Still, you hesitate as your heart pounds. One of his neighbors had let you into the building, so you hadn’t needed to buzz up to the apartment, and he had no clue you were showing up.

Swallowing your nerves, you rap your knuckles against the door, patiently waiting for him and praying he’s home at all. To your relief, it only takes a couple of moments before you find yourself face to face with the source of your racing heart.

With a bottle clutched in one hand, he opens the door with a mild expression, tilting his head down to look at you as he leans against the doorframe. A muscle shirt adorns his top, his broad shoulders and bulky arms on full display, along with what might be the sluttiest cut hand-cut armholes you’ve ever seen on a shirt, dipping down to his waist. His abs peek out from the way the material of the shirt curls inwards at the bottom and his hair hangs loosely over his forehead, long enough that a stray strand nearly reaches his eyes.

“Hey, princess,” he gruffs, heavily lidded eyes doing a languid once-over of your outfit, your usual business attire since you’d come straight from your internship. Heat creeps up your neck as it always does under his intense gaze. “How was work?”

“Hey, um- it was good,” you smooth your skirt down, chewing on your lip as you look up at him through your lashes. Your brow is knit with concern, but Sukuna is so fixated on the pretty way you chew on your lip that he doesn’t notice your concern. “Is everything okay? You stopped answering me.”

His expression hardens at your question, his gaze now fixated on the woven bracelets still tightly tied around his wrist. He stares hard at the red and black checkered bracelet that’s tied around his wrist alongside a matching black and purple one. He can just barely make out the pair of bracelets still secured around your own wrist as well.

“Yeah,” he forces out a reply to your question, his mind moving slower than he’d like. He continues his little staring contest with your coat sleeve, his brow furrowed deeply as he searches for an answer to why he stopped responding, but all he finds are failures.

It seems as though that’s a trend with him lately, as though letting people down is his thing.

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” he finally spits out, a meager excuse for his shortcomings that clearly confuses you as you tilt your head.

“You know you could never bother me,” you point out. “So what’s this really about?”

Sukuna sighs, bringing the bottle in his hand up to his lips. Your eyes scan the bottle, blinking as you realize the bottle he’s holding is a cheap bottle of beer, although he doesn’t seem drunk. If anything, he’s maybe a bit out of it.

“I’m handlin’ things on my own.” He grips the bottle in his hand harder, his knuckles white. His eyes raise finally from your sleeve to meet your gaze, pupils blown and scleras reddened. Your lips purse, and you straighten at the realization that he’s high too.

“Are you high?”

“Yeah. Want a gummy, princess?”

Your brow furrows as you adamantly shake your head. “No. Sukuna, don’t you think that’s a bit reckless? I mean, with the kids and all?”

Offense passes through his glazed eyes, almost as though he’s taken aback. Your question takes a moment to settle within the recesses of his inebriated mind, but once it does, he bites back. “The fuck are you suggestin’?”

“What if the kids got into the weed or alcohol- or- or needed help while you’re-?” You clarify with a wave of your hand at his current state, disbelief and concern laced into your tone.

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious right now.”

“What about this isn’t serious?” You attempt to peer past him to see the kids, the sounds of the TV in the background telling you they can’t be far, but Sukuna’s completely blocked your view with his broad frame.

Sukuna laughs dryly, a cold smirk pulling at his lips. He swipes his tongue over the front of his teeth, shaking his head as he stares distantly behind you. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?” Although he’s addressing you, you get the feeling it’s a rhetorical question, something he’s asking himself.

You purse your lips, startled by the whole situation.

When you don’t reply, Sukuna continues. “You don’t seriously think I would do this in front of them, do you?” His voice raises, mind moving slower than the words pouring from his mouth. “Do you seriously think that lowly of me?” He takes a step back into the apartment, slamming the door open on its hinges with a wooden creak to make a point as he motions into the apartment. “They ain’t fuckin’ here!” He barks, turning on his heel once his point’s been made to set his beer on the counter.

You follow him into the familiar apartment and shut the door gently, turning to the TV where you can now see that he’s got Monty Python and the Holy Grail playing, his laptop hooked into the screen. Swallowing your pride, you grimace as you attempt to backpedal before things get out of hand.

“I’m sorry, Sukuna, I didn’t realize. I just got worried because they’re always with you.”

Facing the counter, he rubs his fingers over his eyes. “Whatever,” he grumbles, punctuating his sentence with your name. “Why’re you here?”

You swallow hard. “You haven’t been in class for a week, and-”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” he interrupts in a flippant tone, turning to face you. He crosses his arms over his chest as he examines the way you��re visibly grappling with his attitude. “It’s the only way I can make this shit work.”

“You know I’m here to help. You know I want to help. You’re gonna fail if you don’t show up tomorrow.” You take a step towards him, feeling small under his harsh glare, but praying you can get through to him.

Sukuna watches you take a step towards him, his eyes dry as he feels the urge to rub at them again. He blinks a couple of times as his mind slowly processes your words. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he shakes his head. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s better this way.”

“What are you talking about? You’re so close to graduating. Just let me-”

“Let you what?” He interrupts your relentless insistence to help him. “Let you fuckin’ tutor me? Come in and turn my life around?” He pauses abruptly, his jaw tensing as realization flashes through his glazed eyes. “That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“What?” The question comes out more milquetoast than you would have liked, but you’re left in genuine confusion at his query.

He laughs, a bitter smile burning straight through you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s what this has always been, isn’t it? God, I’m so fuckin’ stupid.”

“What do you mean, Kuna?”

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses suddenly. “Don’t pretend you’ve ever cared. Don’t fucking pretend. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Completely taken aback, you stumble one step backwards, failing to understand where he’s coming from.

“You’ve been nit-pickin’ me non-stop since we got back from Christmas break, every single little thing I do is wrong. Did you talk to that prof about tutoring me too, add another box to check on your list? Play it off like she suggested it?”

Fuck. Of course the talk with the professor had this much of a negative effect on him. Of course one stupid little moment fucked up everything you’d worked so hard to build up.

“You don’t seriously believe that.”

“What the hell else am I supposed to believe? That I’m worth losing sleep over for someone like you? That I’m worth the time you’ve spent chasing me?” His chest heaves as he glares at you, his voice raised. “I’ve always been some little project to you!”

Caught somewhere between frustration, disbelief and hurt, you shake your head. “I’ve never- ever-” you pause for emphasis, “- seen you as a project.” You chew on your lip as your gaze flickers between his eyes, clouded with anger, but painfully distant. Whether that’s from the weed, alcohol, or stress, you can’t say for sure. “You’re my friend, Sukuna. That’s what friends do, they show up!” You wave a hand through the air as if to say that’s what you’re doing now. Even if it hardly feels that way at the moment.

“Yeah, maybe they do. When you’re little miss perfect.”

His words strike you, sharp and icy, threatening to draw blood. Fury courses through you at his blatant disregard not only for you, but also Toji and Uraume, even Atsuya and Kento. “Your friends do show up! We’ve all been showing up!” Your hand waves through the air again as you raise your voice to match his. “What do you call Toji and Uraume, if not your friends? What do you think of me?” You pause, shaking your head as you stand up for not just yourself but his friends. Your friends. “You just push us all away because you’re afraid!”

“I ain’t afraid of shit, I’m not here to be some charity case for you or any of ‘em!” His eyes blaze as he abruptly turns away, pacing a couple of steps towards the fridge as he rakes a hand through his hair.

“You never were! Oh my god, you’re unbelievable.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring out the window at the steady snowfall. “I’m so sick of you being such a dick just because you’re insecure.”

Sukuna scoffs, still facing the fridge as if he can’t even bear to look at you. In truth, he knows these emotions have been brewing within for a while now and it’s all come to a head with yet another mistake piling into the seemingly endless list of things he’s done wrong. He could let your gripes with smoking slide, your insistence about his major he was willing to talk through and the offer to tutor he could deal with at the end of the day.

But the way he’d never felt dumber in his life than when you seemed to think he’d get inebriated in front of the kids was the final straw that caused the pile to crumble.

And now he’s insecure and scared, too? He’s not sure he wants to admit, to you, or himself, just how much that all hurts. Sukuna doesn’t have the luxury of admitting that he’s hurt. He doesn’t have the luxury of being anything less than fine, because that’s what he needs to be for his brothers.

If he’s about to let you down, then he’ll dig that grave himself. He won’t let you put him there at the cost of what’s left of his dignity.

“Everything’s gotta be wrong with me when it comes to you, huh? It’s always somethin’. I’m never good enough,” he snarls, taking a step towards you as he finally turns to face you.

“That’s not-”

“The smoking, my major, my grades, this,” he points to a six pack of beer and a bag of weed gummies sitting open on the coffee table behind you. “Now I’m insecure too, right? Keep going, princess, find more shit to fix about me.”

His words hit hard, blood steadily seeping from an invisible wound in your chest, a gaping hole in your heart that Sukuna has no clue exists in the shape of him. You swallow hard, inhaling sharply to prevent the hot tears welling in your eyes from falling. “I’ve never been trying to fix you.” With another steady breath, you barely manage to push out another sentence. “I’ve only ever been trying to help because I see you struggling and I care about you.”

“But it always comes back to this, doesn’t it? We piss one another off and it’s always me who goes crawling back to you,” he points out, taking another step forward. He’s barely a foot away now, towering over you as you struggle to keep yourself from falling apart.

God, why do arguments always make you want to cry?

“I’m always the fuck-up, and you’re the perfect little prom queen. You can do no wrong.”

You bring a hand up to your cheek as you stare at the hardwood under your feet. You can only pray Sukuna doesn’t see the way a tear trails down your skin, warm and salty. “Don’t call me that.”

“Hit a nerve, prom queen?”

You swallow hard, wiping another tear as you refuse to look up at him. “You’re being an ass.”

“Yeah, maybe. But at least I’m not a fix-me-up for the school’s little scholarship princess.”

“That’s not fair, Sukuna.”

He crosses his arms, fire raging wildly behind his sharp glare. Everything about this feels foreign, from the complete and utter genuine rage that burns within him, the flames licking and simmering against your skin, to the way he seems genuinely hurt. “But it’s fair for me to sit here while you work on me, right?”

“I didn’t know you felt that way!” You raise your voice in your defense, taking a step back. Being so close to his personal space is nauseating and you want nothing more than to leave right now. “I never meant to make you feel like that, I was only ever trying to help,” you insist, gaze pleading through the tears that now freely fall down your face.

Guilt swirls alongside the downright humiliation you feel as you cry in the middle of an argument, one that leaves you standing in a metaphorical pool of your own blood as each of his words grate further into you while he steels himself.

“I told you from the start I didn’t need help.”

“You called me for help!” You point out, chewing hard on your lip, the skin raw at this point as iron tinges your tongue.

“That was a favor. I paid it back.”

“That doesn’t matter, Sukuna! I was only ever trying to be a good friend,” you wipe at your tears again, certain your makeup has streaked down your cheeks and you look like a complete mess.

“If I’m nothing but problems to you, why try?” He hisses, gritting his teeth as he takes another step forward.

You stumble back until your foot hits the couch, desperate for space from him. “Because this-” you pause, motioning at him. “This isn’t you! I’ve seen the real Sukuna, and I like him, I- I like you.”

If ever there was a way to feel your heart break physically, you think this might be it. It shatters as Sukuna only scoffs, completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve confessed something so personal to you. Something so deeply ingrained within your being from spending so much time with him that saying it aloud to him and seeing nothing but disdain in return might be the cruelest punishment of all.

Is it fair to think Sukuna might understand what you mean? Maybe not. Maybe he’s too dense, too guarded to understand the true meaning behind your words. Maybe he’s too jaded to think that anyone could possibly have feelings for him. ‘Like’ is just another synonym to him.

But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

“What, I’m fake now, too?”

“God, you’re such a dick!” You groan, leaning against the back of the couch as you face him. “That’s not what I meant.” You inhale sharply in an effort to keep your tears at bay.

“Then what the hell did you mean?” He barks, though he doesn’t wait for your response. His voice lowers suddenly, dripping with venom. “I didn’t ask for this fuckin’ life, you know that? I never wanted to work two jobs or take care of my brothers!” His hand flies through the air in exasperation, his jaw clenched so tightly that the veins in his forehead are practically bulging. “But guess what? I didn’t have a choice in the matter.” He huffs, irritation coming off of him in waves. “And I definitely didn’t fucking ask for you to come in and tell me everything I’m doing wrong.”

“I was never doing that, Sukuna-”

“Then what the fuck is going on right now?” He hisses, motioning back towards the six pack and bag of gummies that sit atop the coffee table again, doubling down on your earlier accusation.

“I only showed up to try to help with classes!” You insist, parting your lips to continue but in his blaze of fury, he’s already growling out a reply again.

“Oh right,” he scoffs with a dry chuckle. “How could I forget that my grades aren’t good enough?”

“Oh my god, stop! Can you listen to me for one second? You’re gonna fail if you don’t show up tomorrow!”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he shouts, punctuating the sentence with your name. “It doesn’t… fucking matter anymore.” There’s an air of defeat around his words. Even angry with the man, it’s unbefitting of him, of someone so driven and prideful.

Shaking your head, you stare up at him with a furrowed brow. “I thought your degree mattered to you.”

“It does,” he gruffs, pressing a thumb to his temple as his head pounds. “It did.”

“Then why quit when you’re so close?”

“Close?” There’s no humor in the chuckle he lets out, shaking his head. “I’ve never been further! Their fuckin’ mother made sure of that when she slapped me with a lawsuit!” He barks, dragging a hand over his face, dropping it to his side with a thump as his hand collides with the fabric of his sweatpants. “No matter who wins the lawsuit, she’s still comin’ out on top because I can’t afford any of this shit and she knows that.” He shakes his head, disdain twisting his features into a deep frown. “So what I want doesn’t matter, as long as Yu and Cho get to have a better life. That’s all that matters now.”

You know there’s an obvious solution here, one in which Sukuna takes his foot out of his ass and stops being a stubborn prick and asks for help, but that’s not who he is. He’s set in ways so deeply ingrained in him that no amount of convincing will get through to him, and as much as you hate to admit it, you think you need to accept that.

It’s not like this argument is doing your friendship any good, anyway. Sukuna knows his last chance shattered the moment he snapped, but beneath the surface it’s clear that on both sides there were unspoken frustrations that had been brewing for longer than either of you had cared to admit. They were bound to come to a startling explosion eventually, but this just feels like a slog for an inebriated Sukuna.

Every word piles onto his troubles, a mess of misunderstood words and confusing intentions that he can’t seem to grasp in his high state. A glimpse of your teary face has him scowling at the ground, wondering if this could have been prevented, wondering why there’s a weight in his chest practically begging him to find a middle ground with you, but it’s far too late for that and he knows it.

The whole situation has his head pounding as emotions swirl in his chest, leaving a deep discomfort that he wants nothing more than to drown in liquor. He grasps at his head, pressing the ball of his palm hard against his temple as he takes a step towards the table at the back of the apartment, leaning over it on splayed palms.

Bile rises in his throat, but he’s not nearly drunk enough for it to be caused by alcohol. One beer wouldn’t do that to a man of Sukuna’s stature, leaving him wondering if it’s you causing the bitter taste to surface at the back of his throat. He swallows hard, his chest heaving.

No, this isn’t from alcohol. He recognizes this feeling all too well. But this time, he has no one to rely on as his chest and throat tighten. He inhales sharply, pushing himself up to face you again. He steels himself to the best of his ability, masking any and all signs of the anxiety stirring deep within his chest.

You’re not oblivious to the way he’s visibly shaking and struggling to breathe, you recognize all-too-well the signs of his pain, but he won’t let you help. You know that. You know what’s coming and the worst part is that you still want to help. Your heart still aches for something you won’t find within the hardened and cold man.

It’s who you are. You’re the type to help, no matter what. Even if it leaves you hurting.

But Sukuna is incompatible with that mindset.

Worse still, is the guilt that boils deep within your stomach. Sukuna’s made a handful of mistakes, ones that he worked hard to make up for, but you’d been so deeply engrossed in helping that you didn’t realize it sometimes came across as fixing. You’d never intended to hurt him, you never wanted to add to his burdens.

But it seemed for once you’d hurt one another, both too bogged down by the world that somewhere along the way you’d both harboured too much pain and lashed out.

It wasn’t just Sukuna at fault this time, but he would be the one to end things where he stood.

“Get out.”

Your lip trembles at the finality of the situation, zipping your coat up as you head for the door, keeping your gaze drawn to the floor in an effort to keep Sukuna from seeing how destroyed you are.

Pausing at the door, you briefly turn back, your lips parting as you contemplate saying what’s on your mind. “I didn’t ask for a lot, Sukuna. I’ve never cared if you paid me back, or returned any favors.” You swallow hard to keep yourself from audibly sobbing. “You, Choso, and Yuji were always worth the extra effort just by being yourselves.” Before you can see his reaction, you swing the door open and shut it behind you.

It’s not until you’re in your car that you finally let yourself fall apart, sobbing against the steering wheel.

Countless sleepless nights spent worrying over the brothers had blinded you to the way you had been hurting Sukuna, even if you’d never intended it. It wasn’t even just a case of his pride or ego getting in the way for once, you’d made a genuine mistake and stung to know you’d caused him pain.

You can’t be upset that he reacted the way he did when you accused him of drinking around the kids, but it doesn’t give him the right to step on you. You know Kento and Shoko would be happy to know you stood up for yourself, but there’s no satisfaction in that fact. You hadn’t wanted to stand up for yourself, because this isn’t what you wanted for the friendship you treasured so genuinely.

For all the closeness you shared with the burly man, one mistake was all it took for it to fall apart.

But really, was it ever only one mistake? The smoking, his major, his grades, although all little things, they all added up. It doesn’t give Sukuna the right to say the things he did, to hurt you and dig so deeply until he crushed the very core of your soul, but for once you know this isn’t one-sided.

This isn’t like your other arguments, bogged down by Sukuna’s deeply jaded views of the world and distrust for those around him. You made a mistake, sure, but he took it too far, leaving you both in equal parts in the wrong.

The only difference is that where you would have talked things out, Sukuna stomped out any remaining flame of connection, burying the hatchet with cruel words.

Leaning over the steering wheel, you contemplate where you went wrong. Where along the winding road of what was once a very deep connection one of you found a bump and turned it into a pothole.

Sukuna would contemplate the same himself, but not until a gruelling morning hangover found him the following morning.

Tonight, his sufferings would leave him in a painfully familiar position on the washroom floor, drowning in his anxiety.

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❦ a/n ; forgive me 😭 i do hope you all enjoyed the chapter regardless though <33 it makes me beyond happy how much you all enjoy this story and the support for it never fails to make me smile. i promise i'll make up for the angst!! in the meantime, thank you as always for all the love, it makes my day <33

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