lobsta

But Yuuji’s rotten to the core, these days. These days, months, the past year. He’s become the kind of person who thinks things like that; thinks of himself before the kid he’s traveling way the hell across the city to pick up. Yuuji’s been trying very, very hard not to act on his impulses, on account of all of them screaming at him to torpedo his own life irreversibly. He’s not acting on his first thoughts, and he doesn’t judge himself for them, either. Yuuji’s been focusing on what he does after.

The action after he hangs up the phone is he gets in the car. But the thought is ‘this is a fucking terrible time to saddle me with an orphan I’ve never met.’

Damning. Unignorable. When Yuuji finally kicks it and they place his ugly heart on the scale, the weight of his sins will send that metal plate straight into the ground.

His first thought is foul; cracks open a hideous side of himself. His second thought is ‘this is a terrible time to become a foster parent.’

He almost throws up after that one. But he doesn’t have time; there’s a six-year-old waiting for him in a police station an hour away. Yuuji might not be father material, but even he knows he’s gotta get to that kid as soon as possible. He can’t leave Sukuna alone for long.

Yuuji grips the steering wheel, flying down the highway. Sukuna. Kaori’s son, which makes him Yuuji’s…cousin? Nephew? Yuuji’s not sure there’s a word for “child of a distant cousin who went rogue and married a juiced-up ex-cult leader.”

His nails dig into the wheel’s leather upholstery. Well. The word now is ‘guardian.’ ‘Parental guardian,’ if he’s got the legalese right.

Yuuji resists the urge to crash into a guardrail. Instead, he tries to make a to-do list.

Pick up Sukuna. 

In progress. Already, Yuuji’s doing just great.

Get a lawyer. 

Higuruma, Yuuji thinks distractedly. He’ll call him tonight.

Crushed that problem without even trying. Yuuji’s a natural at this parenting shit.

He grimaces; kind of wanting to throw up again. He grits his teeth and shoulders on.

3. …

What else should he do? What the hell else will Sukuna need?

A place to sleep, Yuuji realizes with dawning horror. He’s taking Sukuna back to the apartment, he’s going to need a bed. He’s going to need a room.

Yuuji’s stomach twists, folds in on itself. He forces himself to breathe, can’t, and pulls onto the shoulder of the road.

Car goes in park. Head pushed between his knees; hands clasped behind the back of his neck. Breath shallow, unstable. Sukuna needs a room, Yuuji’s got a spare room. It’s dusty, no doubt. Shoved out of sight behind a locked door, and Yuuji would’ve swallowed the key if Megumi hadn’t given him that flat, unimpressed look. Forward thinking of him.

Yeah, Sukuna will get his own room. Trembling, Yuuji pulls himself upright and steers back onto the highway. His own room, and that’s—good, Yuuji thinks, skin too tight. It’s good, it’ll, it’ll probably help Sukuna adjust, or whatever. Good for him to have his own space.

Yeah. Sukuna will get his own space, Yuuji just has to swap out the crib for a big-boy bed.

God above.

At least the crib’s untouched, he thinks miserably. Unused. He can probably just dismantle it and send it right back to the manufacturer.

For a moment, his vision goes white hot. He swallows it back and glances at the GPS. Twenty more minutes to—to figure this out.

Yuuji’s brain spins in circles. He cannot, for the life of him, figure out number four on the to-do list.

And then he’s at the police station.

He is suddenly aware that he—he cannot mess this up. Yuuji—Yuuji needs to be very, very careful.

A voice rings in his ear, sudden and sharp. Too careless, too reckless, too ready to throw a punch. You never slow down, you never think, Yuuji!

Yuuji bats it away desperately. He can’t bring that with him into this meeting, he’s a wreck enough as it is.

Carefully, hands shaking with the physical exertion of holding himself back, Yuuji eases the car into a parking spot.

He kills the engine; leaves his hand on the key. Yuuji needs to get to Sukuna as soon as possible. But he also needs a minute.

He sets a timer on his phone, sixty seconds. When it’s done, he tells himself sternly, when it’s done he’ll go in.

Yuuji unbuckles his seat belt thirty seconds after the sharp alarm hits the windows. Outside, he pulls his hood up over his head. It’s raining, he notes dully. Dark and gloomy, because the universe always knows when to kick him in the ass.

Inside, the station is busy. His eyes track motion, jumping from person to person as he watches people scurrying about.

A stone settles in his stomach. Where…where the hell is he supposed to go? Is there a “new orphan waiting for distant cousin” room?

Panic spreads, then drops as he catches a flash of bright pink hair. Exhaling gratefully, Yuuji heads toward it like a beacon. Sukuna has the same shade of hair as his own, though even from afar he can see Sukuna’s is longer, more unkempt.

Same hair, and that, apparently, is where the similarities end, because as Yuuji approaches the little boy slumped in the rickety folding chair, Yuuji realizes Sukuna has four arms.

Four arms.

What—what the fuck?

How the fuck is he supposed to—what do they expect him to—what the fuck?

Half-terrified, Yuuji takes in Sukuna from behind the safety of his drawn hood. Four arms, some kind of whacked up facial scarring, and three—four eyes total. Two normal ones (ha) stacked on the left side of his face, and two big, pulsing, diagonal ones bulging out of the angry scar tissue.

It’s enough to make his blood run cold. What were cousin Kaori’s prenatal vitamins, Yuuji wonders faintly, chippings from the Chernobyl elephant’s foot?

Someone coughs, and Yuuji hastily whips his head up and throws off his hood. Water scatters everywhere, and the woman at the desk in front of Sukuna winces as droplets fling across her face.

“I am so sorry,” Yuuji apologizes hurriedly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crushed up napkin. “Uh, I don’t know if you—” He offers it up awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” the woman reassures him stiffly. “You must be Itadori Yuuji.”

He nods quickly. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m the social worker assigned to Sukuna’s case,” she gestures meaningfully at the kid huddled up by her desk.

R—right. Okay. Uh—

Not knowing what the hell to do with himself, Yuuji crouches down, kneeling so he’s eye level with Sukuna. He works overtime trying not to react, but holy fuck, it’s even worse up close. Sukuna’s eyes are red, big and red and entirely unnatural. What the fuck even is this kid?

Four big red eyes, that were big, for a second.   Wide and captivated, looking right at Yuuji, isn’t that something? Staring bright at him, God knows why, before narrowing into slits. Suspicious, and—and this kid isn’t slick, Yuuji can tell Sukuna is devastated.

The ground rumbles; Yuuji struggles to keep up. What happened just then? Did Yuuji let the shock show? Fuck, fuck, he’s gotta make that ground up, right the fuck now. Sukuna needs to trust him, because he is hunched and huddled and gripping the chair with all four hands, and Yuuji is not sure he’ll be able to get him in the car if he doesn’t go willingly.

Yuuji forces himself to smile—genuine, genuine, please for the love of God let this lie stick—and relaxes his face. “Hey, kiddo,” he says softly, gently, Yuuji can be gentle. “My name’s Yuuji.”

Sukuna stays quiet, face scrunching even further. Yuuji’s prepared to wait him out, but the woman behind the desk speaks up.

“Sukuna’s very quiet,” she says, a little too severely. 

The kid flinches, small shake wriggling through his body.

Yuuji raises his eyebrows. “Is he?” he calls out to her without turning, without moving his eyes from Sukuna’s face. Then, to Sukuna: “are you?”

There is a wild fraction of a moment where Yuuji thinks Sukuna will open his mouth. The woman cuts him off, if he was even going to talk in the first place. “Sukuna hasn’t said anything since he came here.”

Her tone is reproachful. Yuuji rolls his eyes, only for Sukuna to see. Kid just lost his father, what the hell does she expect him to say?

Yuuji doesn’t bother answering her. Instead, he talks to Sukuna. “I knew your mom, she was my cousin.” 

We’re related, he begs silently, please trust me on that alone.

Yuuji waits. Waits, waits. Finally, Sukuna opens his mouth.

“Did you think she was crazy for marrying my psycho dad, too?”

Defiance like armor, brittle and weak. His voice is high and thin, and extremely like any other six year old’s. It breaks Yuuji’s heart a little.

“Sukuna,” the woman at the desk hisses. “How dare you say—”

“No,” Yuuji interrupts her. Sukuna shrunk small even further, this woman is not helping. “It’s fine. I didn’t—Kaori and I weren’t close.”

Yeah, he thinks. We all thought she was crazy. Now I’m worried your dad fed her straight bleach while she was pregnant.

Sukuna sizes him up. He doesn’t say anything else.

Yuuji almost raises a hand to rub the exhaustion out of his eyes, but catches himself. This is not exhausting, he chants in his mind. Sukuna is not a burden. 

Abruptly he realizes the severity, the quiet horror of the police station. Fluorescent lights buzzing, fans whirring, and Sukuna trembling lightly in his crap folding chair. Yuuji needs to get Sukuna out of here. Yuuji needs to get himself out of here.

He stands up. “What,” he clears his throat. “What are the next steps?”

The woman gestures at a second chair in front of her desk. Yuuji falls into it awkwardly. She begins to talk, but Yuuji quickly tunes her out. 

Sukuna is on his right, a couple inches behind him and almost a foot away. He’s awfully far, and he probably can only see the back of Yuuji’s head.

He hesitates, then slides his chair backwards. It makes a horrible grating sound on the linoleum, but when he’s finished, he’s level with Sukuna. Still a foot of space between them, but he’ll leave that bridge for Sukuna to cross. If he wants to.

“Sorry,” Yuuji calls to the woman, “could you say that again?”

She grimaces. Yuuji might have imagined it, but he would swear Sukuna’s body unclicked.

He settles his hands on his thighs. Okay.

There are forms. Lots of them. Yuuji stretches his arm out and passes the clipboard back and forth; signs on the long lines, initials on the short ones. He has no idea what he’s signing, Higuruma will probably eviscerate him for it later, but Yuuji can’t focus on little bits of paper with words that run together. He’s got an ear on the conversation so he can nod in the right places. The rest of him is trained on Sukuna.

This kid is a four-armed lockbox, Yuuji realizes in dismay. He has no idea what Sukuna is thinking, only that he’s angry. That’s not normal, right? Kids are usually easy to read, aren’t they? Open?

Well, Yuuji certainly was, he thinks wryly. Heart on his sleeve and emotions in his mouth. Sukuna seems more closed off, which is going to make this even harder.

Which is—great. 

Yuuji stifles a sigh and keeps an eye on Sukuna anyway. Closed off, but he’s got a feeling a crack’s gonna show.

Three minutes later, Yuuji gets the miserable satisfaction of being right: Sukuna sniffs. Just a little.

Yuuji locks onto it like a missile. And then—

Sukuna’s lip wobbles. Almost imperceptible.

The neurons fire, and Yuuji’s lifting his hand to—to what? he doesn’t know—when the woman’s sharp voice intercepts him.

“We’ll need to do a home visit.” She looks him over coolly. “Tomorrow. To make sure Sukuna’s in a safe environment.”

She says his name harshly. The whole sentence is harsh. Sukuna’s lip goes again, and Yuuji chooses to invade his space because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“That’s fine,” he says easily, widening his hips, stretching his knee toward Sukuna. The kid can—can have it, or hold onto it, or push it away in disgust. Yuuji’s too drained to panic about how Sukuna reacts.

Sukuna does nothing. Yuuji leaves the knee where it is.

The social worker takes him through what to expect during the home visit. Again, Yuuji’s only half paying attention; he’s pretty sure he’s too boring to have any red flags. Instead, he watches Sukuna carefully out of the corner of his eye. 

It takes a couple minutes of Yuuji nodding vacantly at the woman, but soon that unclicking bit happens again. Shoulders lowered just a fraction, all four hands loosened. Sukuna must think no one’s looking at him, Yuuji guesses. He doesn’t realize Yuuji’s got an unblinking, quiet focus when he wants to. He can be a very, very good listener.

It’ll probably save his skin, because soon enough, Sukuna gives Yuuji a crack. A little fracture, just enough room for movement, and Sukuna shifts. Yuuji braces himself, worried it’s going to be a tear this time, but instead Sukuna just shuffles himself closer to Yuuji.

It’s almost undetectable. Completely soundless; the chair remains right where it is, but that small, little-kid body is definitely closer than it was before. As if to prove it, Sukuna does it again, slides himself just the slightest bit closer to the knee Yuuji’s shoved in front of him.

Yuuji’s entire body relaxes, breath coming easy for the first time since he picked up the phone. Okay. Maybe he can do this.

Then the woman says the magic words: medical records. 

Yuuji nearly jumps out of the chair, scrambling up to get the file from her hand. He startles Sukuna, who freezes solid. Yuuji shoots him an apologetic look, dropping back down and resettling his knee right where it was.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he murmurs, already flicking through the papers. “This one’s important.”

The woman’s giving him a knowing look, and Yuuji can’t even blame her for it. He pours through the forms eagerly, looking for something, anything that can explain why Sukuna’s got two too many arms, why his face is so deformed.

He looks, but there’s nothing. There isn’t anything. Sukuna is an incredibly healthy child. 

That can’t be—

Yuuji goes through it again, this time as if he were at work and reviewing a client’s history. Kenjaku had X-rayed—rightfully so—and the films of Sukuna’s chest and arms look good, he notes absently. Well—it’s the most fucked up thing he’s ever seen in his life, those extra arms below the armpits, but all the bones are the same. Yuuji checks, traces every arm right down to the fingertip, but there’s not so much as a joint out of place.

Hm.

There’s information on his vision, too. Eyes aren’t in the realm of a physiotherapist, but Yuuji reads the document anyway. Twenty-twenty vision, in all four eyes. Yuuji’s fascinated despite himself.

Sukuna should have seen a dermatologist, too, Yuuji thinks. Make sure there’s nothing hiding in that extra tissue. But when he looks around for a derm’s report, there’s nothing.

Damn. Yuuji will have to find a doctor. He adds it to the to-do list.

Then he checks the dates on the x-ray, the eye doctor appointment. His head flies up, eyes seeking out the social worker.

“These are two years out of date,” he says, almost accusatorially.

She fixes him with a grim look. Anger begins to light him up.

“When’s his last checkup?” Yuuji asks, louder now.

The woman’s face hardens even more. “Those forms are all we have,” she says quietly.

His head whips to Sukuna. “When’s the last time your dad took you to the doctor?” he demands.

Sukuna shrinks, jolts away from him. Shit. 

“Sorry, kiddo.” Second apology in less than two minutes, but Yuuji finds himself shaking with rage. “Not your fault, just trying to sort through some stuff. Make sure you’re healthy.”

Sukuna’s eyes drop to his own arms, but Yuuji doesn’t have time for that, he’s too busy fishing for the vaccination records.

It’s—it’s not as bad as he feared. Sukuna got his scheduled vaccines up until he was four. 

Two years behind schedule. That’s fine, Yuuji thinks distractedly. Well, it’s not—he needs to find a pediatrician. 

Damn. He adds it to the to do list; bumps it up to priority number one. Two, after calling Higuruma.

Dental records—oddly enough, Sukuna had his last checkup within the year. 

Yuuji has to stop at that one. Dentist, but not the pediatrician? He’ll never know what the hell went on in Kenjaku’s head.

He looks over the document. All fine; baby teeth starting to fall out. Looks like Yuuji will have to play tooth fairy.

That kicks him in the chest. He has to stop and control himself; make sure Sukuna can’t see that he feels like he ate a bullet.

He forces a deep breath. Yuuji’s got to be careful with his expression, now, because Sukuna is outright staring at him. No shame, no awareness, just boring his eyes straight into Yuuji’s face.

It’s better than ignoring him, Yuuji supposes. He pushes on.

Medical records finished; a few more forms, and then the social worker stands up. “I’ll need to talk to you privately.” She glances at Sukuna, then at Yuuji. “We can speak in a room down the hall.”

Yuuji has a feeling this will be bad. He starts to get to his feet.

A hand—two hands—shoot out and grab hold of his knee. Two from the same side, two little-kid left hands.

Yuuji swallows down his shock and looks to his right. Sukuna’s dropped his stony anger, now his face is wide with fear, eyes big and pleading.

Yuuji stays right where he is. “I think we’ll need to talk here,” he says softly.

The woman grimaces. “It’s—I know, but,” her eyes flick to Sukuna, and she shakes her head.

His throat tightens. Sukuna can’t see, can’t hear whatever she’s going to tell Yuuji.

Shit. It is going to be bad.

He exhales slowly. Okay. 

Carefully, he turns to Sukuna. “Listen, kiddo—”

Sukuna interrupts with a violent shake of his head. 

“I—I’m not going to go anywhere, okay?” Yuuji tries to sound soothing. “I just need to talk to the social worker, but you’ll be able to see me the whole time. Just a couple steps that way.”

Sukuna’s hands clench into fists. “How many steps?” His voice is so tiny.

Uh. He looks at the social worker. “Ten?”

“Six,” Sukuna insists immediately. 

Sure, what the hell. “Okay, then. Six steps.”

He stands up slowly. Yuuji’s not trying to trick Sukuna, but these aren’t exactly going to be the smallest steps Yuuji’s ever taken.

He walks six medium-sized paces away, then turns back to look at the kid. 

Sukuna nods begrudgingly. Okay.

Yuuji looks pleadingly at the social worker. Surprisingly, she gets up readily enough, joining Yuuji the short distance away from Sukuna.

She takes a file with her, opening it so that it's carefully angled away from Sukuna. “We had to take pictures,” she explains in a low voice, showing him a printout of Sukuna’s naked torso.

Yuuji feels his face twist. His throat catches horribly. Across Sukuna’s stomach is an ugly scar, maybe three inches long. The skin around it is raised and mottled; it healed infected; likely not cared for properly.

He raises his eyes to the social worker. Her mouth sets. “We don’t know,” she says quietly, reading the question on his face. “This kind of wound, it’s inconclusive.”

His face goes heavy. She’s really going to tell him that that hellish, mottled line was unintentional? That someone—that Kenjaku didn’t do that to Sukuna?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says reassuringly. “But it is entirely possible that it was by accident.”

Yuuji looks at her sideways. She’s been rude and stiff with Sukuna this entire meeting; can Yuuji really trust her? If she thinks he’s a freak, would she ignore this red flag because it’s on a four armed body?

She must pick up on his suspicion, because she takes a deep breath. “Listen, I—I’ve seen this kind of thing before,” she whispers imploringly. “Sometimes it’s an intentional wound, sometimes not. We can’t say for certain.”

He clears his throat; glances at Sukuna. The kid’s glaring at him hard, like he could grab hold of Yuuji with his four red eyes and yank him back over with the strength of his stare.

Yuuji wobbles. He clears his throat again. “Did Sukuna say anything?” he breathes softly.

The woman shakes her head. “He wouldn’t answer when we asked,” she murmurs, “but that’s normal.”

He nods carefully, eyes dropping back to the photo. One of Sukuna’s hands is in the shot, he realizes, scratching at his chest. Yuuji looks closer and realizes there are tiny, bright scrapes spanning his torso.

Yuuji snaps his gaze to the woman, questioning. She inclines her head. “Self-inflicted,” she confirms. “He didn’t like the picture, but we, we had to.” She looks almost apologetic.

His throat sticks. Right. 

“Is that all?” he asks softly. Yuuji doesn’t want to stay this far from Sukuna any longer than he has to. Not after—not after that.

He steps toward the chair, but the woman stops him with a hand on his arm. “Don’t rule out that it’s self-inflicted,” she intones quietly, eyes flicking to the file.

Yuuji nearly chokes; forces himself to swallow. God almighty.

He holds in place, steadying himself. Wills his bones to stop rattling. “O—kay,” he answers, voice low. “Thank you.”

Handing the file back to her, Yuuji walks back to the chair, kicks it a few inches closer to Sukuna, and drops into it. The kid immediately grips the denim of his pants with his two left hands, the right twisting into the hem of his shirt.

Yuuji reaches out and pats him on the back tiredly. Sukuna stiffens, recoiling.

Suddenly, Yuuji’s exhausted. “Is there—what else is there to do?”

“Release form,” the social worker hands him a clipboard. “Then you’re all set.”

Thank god. Yuuji scribbles his name, then nudges Sukuna carefully. “C’mon, kiddo, let’s get out of here.” He rises to his feet.

The woman hands him a file. “Your copies of the documents,” she explains. “Guardianship will go through the courts, it might take a while.”

“Right.” Yuuji has no idea what she just said, there is not a single spare inch in his brain to process anything other than the fact that Sukuna just stood up.

Yuuji stares down at him, taking him in. The extra arms look even odder now, sitting just beneath the others, torso long enough to accommodate them. Yuuji looks at the arms for half a second, then fixates on Sukuna’s shirt. T-shirt with four sleeves, he realizes. 

Damn. Where the hell is he going to get four sleeved t-shirts?

A tomorrow problem, Yuuji decides wearily. His eyes travel down, looking at the worn green cargo pants, the scuffed little kid sneakers. He glances up to see Sukuna glaring at him, chin raised defiantly even as his shoulders fold in on themselves. 

Yuuji forces his face to flatten out, pulls on a weak smile. Sukuna’s hair’s long and grown-out, falling into his eyes. He needs a haircut, and that sounds like just the kind of thing Sukuna will love, Yuuji notes grimly.

His eyes fall on Sukuna’s bare arms, gooseflesh under the cool air of the station. It’s late February, chilled enough that Yuuji’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt under his rain jacket. 

“No sweater?” He speaks softly to Sukuna. “Raincoat?”

Sukuna freezes, then shakes his head.

Yuuji tries not to dwell on it as he shucks off his jacket. Putting the file under his arm, he takes a step closer to Sukuna, holding his coat by the shoulders.

Sukuna looks up, anger barely covering the anxiety in his eyes.

Yuuji looks down. Kid only comes up to his hip.

His hands shake; he swiftly clenches them into fists, waterproof material of the coat crinkling in his grip. Yuuji makes himself relax, kneeling down to Sukuna’s height again. 

“It’s raining out there,” he explains. “Want to wear this until we get to the car?”

Sukuna hesitates, then bobs his head. Carefully, Yuuji drapes the coat around him, helping his upper arms into the sleeves and rolling them up until his hands show. When he zips him up, the hem nearly touches the floor.

His hands stutter again. Can Yuuji do this?

Sukuna looks at him, eyes wide enough to eat up his whole face. 

No other choice. Yuuji stands up. “I parked just down the road,” he says, then stops short.

The car. Shit. Yuuji doesn’t have a car seat.

Fucking he’ll, this just gets more and more complicated.

“Uh.” He looks at the social worker. “I—I don’t have a car seat for him.”

She narrows her eyes, then shrugs. “Common enough, just be careful. He’s on the older end, anyway.”

Yuuji nods. He can be careful.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s go.” He holds out his hand, just in case Sukuna wants to take it. 

He catches hold of it immediately, squeezing tight. 

Yuuji exhales. Okay.

They make it five paces before Yuuji jolts, turning to look over his shoulder. 

He never asked the social worker about Kenjaku. About how—how Sukuna found out.

His stomach pitches. Did that slimy motherfucker do it at home? Was—was Sukuna the one to—

Yuuji abruptly turns, marching Sukuna backward. He’s gonna have to talk to the social worker alone again, he realizes. Fuck.

How should he—Okay. 

Crouching down again, Yuuji grabs Sukuna’s other hand. “I need to talk to the social worker again,” he says seriously. “By myself.”

Little kid nails dig into his palms. Sukuna shakes his head violently enough that hair whips Yuuji in the face. 

“I know,” Yuuji tries to be soothing. “So, uh, this—this is what we’ll do.”

He gets to his feet. “You said six steps?” Sukuna nods. “Okay, we’ll walk until we’re six steps away.” Letting go of one hand, Yuuji shuffles Sukuna toward the desk. When he gauges the six steps he stops, looking down at Sukuna seriously. 

“I will be right back.” He enunciates, words slow and careful. “Wait right here.” Yuuji holds in place until Sukuna gently lets go of his hand. Then he bounds back to the social worker.

Yuuji angles himself so he’s still facing Sukuna, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “What happened with his father? How did—how did Sukuna end up here?”

She takes a breath and stands up, putting her mouth at Yuuji’s ear. “Sukuna came to school wearing the same clothes for a week. When the teacher asked, he told her he hadn’t seen his father in a long time, longer than usual.”

Longer than usual. His chest tightens.

“Our officers picked him up at the school,” she finishes. “He came right here.”

“So—so he didn’t see…anything,” Yuuji trails off lamely.

“No. He didn’t.” The woman catches his relief. “Small blessings.”

Yuuji nods. Okay. “What happened—where did you find Kenjaku?” Something occurs to him. “How do you know it was a suicide?”

Her gaze shifts, like she’s giving Yuuji a moment to brace himself. “Coroner is doing the report, but we found him washed ashore beneath a bridge. Technically inconclusive; we might label it as an accident, depending on if we find anything in his system.”

They’ll find something, Yuuji thinks savagely. Rage blasts through him, contorting his face into something foul, something he doesn’t want Sukuna to see. He adjusts slightly, turning to hide until he can get himself under control.

The woman’s eyes widen; he’s startled her. Yuuji’s not in a position to care. 

“W—we have grief counseling,” she offers, placating. “If you need it.”

Ha. Yuuji’s lips twist into a snarl. Maybe tomorrow this will kill him all over again, maybe he’s adding to the list of things to hate himself for later, but all Yuuji can feel for Kenjaku is pure loathing. Raw hatred for what he did to Kaori, to Sukuna.

His skin’s got that terrifying hue again, he knows it has. The voice in Yuuji’s ear surges. Stop getting so angry, stop with this bullshit sense of justice! Righteous anger doesn’t give you an excuse to throw a punch, Yuuji!

He turns his back to Sukuna. The kid—the kid doesn’t need to see this. Yuuji takes a step away from him, distancing himself, trying to get his expression under control.

As soon as he moves, there’s a small yelp. Sneakers scuffing on the linoleum, water-proof fabric screeching, and a thud.

Yuuji looks over his shoulder. Sukuna’s sprawled on the floor, hands splayed out in front of him, looking at Yuuji with such keen betrayal it makes Yuuji’s heart stop.

He’s there in a second, knees hitting the floor as he comes to rest by Sukuna. He reaches out a hand, but Sukuna skitters backward before he can touch him. 

“You said six steps!” Shaking; little-kid voice hollow with despair.

Yuuji swallows. “I know, bud. My—my fault.” He sits back on his knees and watches Sukuna struggle to his feet. “Forgot I put you in that straight-jacket,” he says, ruefully eyeing the raincoat.

Sukuna glares at him distrustfully. More ground to make up. 

The exhaustion hits deeper. Taking a deep breath, Yuuji stands up, reaching down a hand.

This time, Sukuna doesn’t take it. Which is—great.

Feeling suddenly hopeless, Yuuji turns slightly toward the social worker. “Thank you,” he calls quietly.

Her face evens out. “Of course.” Then she fixes him with a look. “Home visit. Tomorrow, eleven am. Don’t forget.”

Yuuji nods. Eleven am. Don’t forget.

“Thank you for coming,” she adds softly, eyes on Sukuna.

It takes Yuuji aback. He manages a small nod. Of—of course he was going to come for Sukuna, what else would he have done?

He looks down. Sukuna’s staring at him again, eyes wide and fixated. As soon as Yuuji meets his gaze, the kid glares at the floor, lip jutting out.

Yuuji takes a deep breath. “Ready to go?”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything.

Yuuji walks a step forward; turns and waits. 

Sukuna hesitates, then scrambles to catch up. He nearly trips again, but Yuuji’s quick to reach out and steady him.

He pulls his hands away as soon as Sukuna’s solid on his feet. Sukuna huffs, crossing his arms protectively across his chest.

Yuuji stuffs the file up his shirt to keep it safe from the rain, then leads Sukuna out of the police station. As soon as they get outside, Sukuna latches onto Yuuji’s leg.

Carefully, Yuuji puts his hand in front of Sukuna’s face. “Gotta walk, bud.”  

Sukuna grabs onto Yuuji with both free hands. Okay.

They step out from under the awning. Immediately, rain drenches Yuuji, and he grimaces. Glancing at Sukuna, he realized the hood of the raincoat is down; Sukuna’s hair is getting wet.

“Want the hood up, kiddo?” he calls.

Sukuna shakes his head furiously. Shrugging, Yuuji walks him to the car.

It’s close, but by the time they get there, Yuuji’s soaked through. Opening the back door, he gestures at Sukuna. “Hop in, you’re wet enough as it is.”

Sukuna looks at the car, distrustful again. He doesn’t want to get in.

“We gotta get home, kiddo,” Yuuji tries. Sukuna glowers at him, refusing to cooperate.

Yuuji—has no idea what to do.

“Uh, what would—” he shakes his head. “Okay, uh, look.” Yuuji reaches inside and turns on the interior light. “See? Just a car.”

That doesn’t seem to help much. Sukuna stays where he is.

Rainwater drips down Yuuji’s back. The documents from the social worker will get ruined, he worries frantically, and then Higuruma will have his head. 

He’s losing patience. “Sukuna.” Voice flint, hard. “Just get in the—”

Sukuna flinches, sharp and violent. His body jerks like he wants to get away from Yuuji but has nowhere to go.

Yuuji stops. Brings himself to heel. 

One breath later, he’s crouching in front of Sukuna. “We need to go home, bud,” he explains slowly. “And I want to get out of the rain.”

Sukuna’s face twists. He says nothing.

Yuuji almost yells aloud. What do you want? Why won’t you get in the damn car?

He exhales. “What is it, Sukuna? Can you tell me why you don’t want to get in the car?”

Sukuna looks at Yuuji, lip trembling. No, he can’t. Yuuji gets to play a guessing game.

He is so tired. Yuuji can’t—he is so tired.

He grits his teeth and replays the afternoon in his head. How Sukuna freaked when he had to step away and talk to the social worker.

Oh. Okay.

“Listen, kiddo—I’m gonna help you get into the car,” he explains. Sukuna begins to shake his head. “I know you don’t want to, but, just listen, please?” Yuuji waits until Sukuna holds his head still. “I’m going to help you into the car, I’m going to click the seatbelt for you, okay? Then I’m going to shut the door.” Sukuna freezes solid, little hands squeezing Yuuji’s painfully.

“I’m gonna shut the door,” Yuuji continues, and then I’m going to run to the front of the car, open the door, and jump inside.” He looks at Sukuna seriously. “‘Cause it’s raining. I will be right there, I promise.”

Sukuna squints at him. Yuuji bites back a groan. “It’ll be—look, I’ll be back in the car before you can count to six.”

Lightbulb moment. He raises his eyebrows, looking at Sukuna appealingly. 

Sukuna shifts on his feet, sneakers squelching in the rain. “Promise?”

Little kid voice. Yuuji nods firmly. “I promise.”

Sukuna nods, then lets go of Yuuji’s hand and climbs in the car. Yuuji gets the seatbelt buckled, then leans back and eyes Sukuna. “You know how to count to six?”

Those four eyes roll. “Everyone knows how to count to six,” he mumbles.

Longest sentence yet. Yuuji pats himself on the back. “Okay, show me.”

He waits. Sukuna gets a gleam in his eye. “Onetwothreefourfivesix!”

“Yeah, see?” Yuuji shakes his head. “Thought you would do that. I’m fast, but I’m not that fast. Let’s count together.”

Slowly, Yuuji leads him through the count. “Okay, now just you. Slow as we did it.”

Dutifully, Sukuna counts again to Yuuji’s pace.

“Okay.” Yuuji stands up. “I’m gonna go now. I’ll be in the car by the time you get to six, as long as you go like we practiced.”

Sukuna’s tiny jaw sets. His lip wobbles. 

God, this fucking sucks. “I know, bud,” Yuuji tries to reassure him. “Just count to six, okay?”

Sukuna pulls in a shaky breath. “One—”

As soon as his lips form the long ‘o’ Yuuji’s moving, shutting the door as carefully as he can manage and sprinting to the driver’s side door. He yanks the door open, throws himself inside, and slams it shut behind him.

Panting, he turns to Sukuna over his shoulder. “How was I?”

Sukuna looks at him, jaw slack for a moment. Then he gets that clever look again. “I got to seven,” he says reproachfully.

“Liar,” Yuuji accuses easily. If he had taken more than six seconds, he’s pretty sure Sukuna would have had a meltdown.

Sukuna pouts. “How’d you know?”

Yuuji taps his forehead, taking out the damp file from under his shirt. “Secret.”

He turns the car on and gets a good look at Sukuna. He’s small in the backseat, seatbelt coming up a little too high on his chest. One pair of hands is gripping the strap, the other playing with the sleeve of the raincoat. “Want me to help take that off?” Yuuji offers.

Sukuna clutches it tighter, shaking his head.

Yuuji shrugs. “Okay.”

He fiddles with the dash, turning the heat on and engaging the windshield wipers. It’s dusk, he’d spent almost two hours with the social worker. Late enough that he’s going to need to sort out dinner.

He glances at Sukuna in the rearview mirror. What on earth does the kid want to eat?

He’ll deal with that later, he’s got an hour’s drive to figure it out. First, he needs to call Higuruma. 

Yuuji twists around again to face Sukuna. “We’re driving to my apartment, okay? It’s far away, it’ll take about an hour. You’ll stay there for tonight.”

The kid tenses up. That may have been the wrong thing to say. He’d only added ‘for tonight’ because he wanted to reassure Sukuna; let him know that Yuuji would only be permanent if he wanted him to. But now he’s made Sukuna retreat again.

A sudden wave of self-hatred and despair nearly takes him. He forces it back.

Getting a grip on himself, Yuuji turns back around, puts the car in gear, and pulls out of the parking spot. When they’re cruising on the highway a few minutes later, he looks briefly over his shoulder. “I’m gonna make a phone call, okay? It’s gonna be on speaker so I can keep driving.”

Without waiting for an answer he pulls up Higurama’s contact and hits call. He answers on the first ring.

“Evening, Itadori.” His cool baritone fills the car. Instantly, Yuuji feels a bit better. 

“Hello, Higuruma.” Then he stops. How should he say this?

“What’s got you calling on a school night?” 

A joke, but Yuuji flinches. “I, uh, I need your help.”

“My help?” Higuruma clarifies. “Or a lawyer’s?”

Honestly? “Both.”

“Tell me what happened,” Higuruma orders.

“My cou—” Suddenly, Yuuji is hyper aware of Sukuna’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

Yuuji switches gears. “Uh, can I—can I call you back later? In a few hours?”

Silence.

Please, Higuruma. I need help.

“Is it an emergency? Can it wait until tomorrow? I’ve got a tricky case going.”

Yuuji meets Sukuna’s eyes. He swallows. “It’s an emergency. It can’t wait.”

Higuruma clicks his tongue. “Alright. Call me when you can.” The line disconnects.

Yuuji exhales slowly. Damn. He was hoping to cross off number one on his to-do list in transit, but he—he can’t call Higuruma now. Not where Sukuna can hear.

“Do you like music?” Yuuji offers politely. 

He nearly smacks himself in the face. What an idiotic question. But it seems like Sukuna can’t answer. Yuuji watches him worry at his lip.

“I’m going to put on something quiet,” he decides. “Let me know if it bothers you.”

Yuuji switches on the radio, knocking the volume down. He needs some mindless background noise so he doesn’t think too hard about—about anything.

Plus, he doesn’t want to talk to Sukuna. It makes him wince, but it’s true. He’ll have the rest of tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after that and on and on to talk to the kid, try and get him to open up. For now, for this car ride, Yuuji wants to pretend that the four-armed, four-eyed kid in his backseat doesn’t exist. That his life is still the same as it was three hours ago.

The play-pretend lasts about a minute, before his stomach growls. Dinnertime, he thinks grimly. Yuuji’s about to walk into another minefield; how can he get Sukuna to tell him what he wants to eat?

Yuuji tries to narrow down the options. He’s not cooking; doesn’t have the energy. What takeout can he get? What’s on the way, what’s close enough to his apartment, what will Sukuna eat? How many choices should he give him?

He’s preparing a list when there’s a gasp from the backseat. Yuuji looks in the rearview mirror to see Sukuna frantically searching the floor of the car, head whipping back and forth. “What’s going on, bud?”

“My—” Sukuna gasps again. “My—” he sucks in a breath and can’t make it go down; body jerking against the seatbelt.

Yuuji turns off the radio, panic rising. “Whoa, slow down, kiddo. What happened?”

“My backpack!” Sukuna manages, clearly terrified. “I lost my backpack!”

Oh. Yuuji relaxes. “Did you have it at the police station?”

Sukuna nods, tears brewing in all four eyes. His face is pale, and his chin wobbles.

Yuuji chews his lip. They’re most of the way home now, only about twenty minutes out and a good forty from the station. If he goes back for it now, they won’t be home for another hour and forty minutes.

It might make sense to go now, save twenty minutes from when he inevitably makes the drive tomorrow. But Yuuji’s exhausted, and the thought of driving for another two hours in the rain makes him want to keel over. 

Besides, at this rate Sukuna won’t need the backpack; he’s not going to school tomorrow.

School. He needs to figure out Sukuna’s school. 

Fuck. He nearly bashes his head against the steering wheel.

Wearily, he adds it to the to do list, then calls over his shoulder. “We’re almost home, and it’s raining pretty hard. I’ll come back for it to—”

“No!” Sukuna yells fervently. “No, I need it now!”

The shouting surprises him. Yuuji opens his mouth indignantly, ready to give as good as he gets, but the words die when he takes another look at the kid. Sukuna’s shivering, shaking like a leaf, and slow tears are dripping onto his shirt. His eyes are wide with panic, and he’s still gasping for breath.

Okay. Yuuji steels himself and pulls onto the shoulder.

He puts the car in park, then unbuckles his seatbelt so he can turn around fully. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching a hand towards Sukuna in case he wants to hold it. “We’ll go back, okay? I’ll turn around and we can go get your backpack.”

Sukuna grabs onto Yuuji with all four hands. One around his thumb, two encircling his fingers, and the last around his wrist. Unnerving, but he forces himself not to flinch. “Alright, kiddo? I’ll turn around right now.”

Sukuna nods, tears still flowing. If he were a real parent, Yuuji would have a pack of tissues in his car. 

Instead, he’s just himself. He twists, taking his free hand and wiping Sukuna’s face with the edge of his shirtsleeve.

Sukuna switches his hands and takes hold of Yuuji’s other wrist. Two little kid hands on each arm, tugging almost painfully, but Yuuji lets himself drift closer.

“Is—” Sukuna hiccups. “Is my backpack still there?”

It’d better fucking be. 

Yuuji deliberates. “Well, the police station is like, the ultimate lost and found, right? So even if someone loses it…it’ll still be at the police station.”

He grimaces. That did not make sense. But Sukuna nods, tears beginning to subside.  

Yuuji stretches to drag his shirtsleeve against Sukuna’s cheek one last time. Then he blows a raspberry. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s motor.”

He tries to turn around. The hands on his arms latch tighter. Yuuji raises an eyebrow. “Need these hands to drive, bud.”

Sukuna pushes out his lip. His fingers don’t budge.

It stops Yuuji dead. Sukuna wants the backpack, but he needs to hold Yuuji’s hands? What the hell is Yuuji supposed to do?

He glances at the steering wheel. He…he could probably drive with one hand.

Yuuji nearly screams at himself. On the fucking highway? In the rain? Don’t be reckless, Yuuji!

He looks back at Sukuna, taking in the firm set of his jaw; the staunch determination in his eyes. The persistent wobble of his lip.

Kid’s not letting go. 

Okay.

“Can I have one hand?” Yuuji asks quietly. “Need one hand to drive.”

Slowly, Sukuna peels two tiny hands off Yuuji’s left wrist. They fly to his right hand, clutching at his fingers.

Okay. Yuuji twists himself around and does his seatbelt one handed. He reaches across his chest to put the car in gear and merges back onto the highway.

No car seat. Be careful. Yuuji carefully drives one-handed for forty minutes, in the rain, back to the police station.

To his credit, he has never been more cautious in his life. No room for distracted driving, not an inch. He shoulders through his exhaustion and drives on.

Distantly, he registers a tapping against his fingers. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he realizes Sukuna is gently pressing Yuuji’s fingertips onto his chin, one after the other. Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb. Then in reverse; thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky.

Huh. Yuuji chooses not to dwell on it.

The rhythm stays constant, mellow background noise until they reach the station. Yuuji quickly parks, collects Sukuna, and hurries inside.

He’s trying not to show it, but Yuuji is shaking in his boots. Instinct tells him that if the backpack really is missing, it’s going to be catastrophic.

The social worker’s still there, and she nods at them as soon as they’re in earshot. “The backpack?” she guesses.

Relief floods through him as he spots it, laying by desk. “Yeah. Look, kiddo, it’s still there.”

Sukuna gasps, already running toward it. Again, he trips on the edge of the raincoat, and Yuuji snags the back of the jacket to halt him in place. 

“Careful, bud,” Yuuji warns as Sukuna rights himself. “Still got that ballgown on.”

Impatient, Sukuna wriggles free and launches himself at the bag. He checks it on all sides, then hastily rips it open. Yuuji watches as he peeks into the backpack and sighs, tension leaking out of his body.

“All good?” Yuuji asks.

Sukuna nods, plunging his hand inside the bag. Yuuji thinks he’ll pull something out, but Sukuna just keeps his arm there, other three hands holding the backpack aloft.

Yuuji exhales. Okay. One river crossed.

Before they go, he turns back to the social worker. “Will I be able to—can I get into their apartment?” He needs to get his hands on some of Sukuna’s shirts, he realized, along with his other clothes.

“You’ll have to go with one of our officers,” she says apologetically. “But yes, as long as you call ahead of time, we can let you in.”

Yuuji sucks his teeth. “Can I get a key?” Makes things easier if he can get in and out on his own.

The social worker smiles sympathetically. “The apartment and everything inside it is tied up in the courts now. Anything for him is fair game,” she explains, nodding at Sukuna. “But the rest has to be sorted out.”

Yuuji winces. Right. 

He glances down at Sukuna. “Any chance I can look in the bag for an extra shirt?” Elementary school kids carry backup clothes, right?

Sukuna clutches the bag tighter. His eyes go hard. Or, as hard as a half-soaked six year old can manage.

Yuuji deflates. No going in the bag. Damn it.

He looks at the shirt Sukuna has on. Grubby. He’s been wearing it for days, Yuuji remembers. And the home visit’s tomorrow.

Yuuji will just wash it tonight, he thinks wearily. Do a pathetically small load of laundry. Jack up his electricity bill.

Whatever. No other choice.

“Is there—anything else?” he asks the woman lamely.

She shakes her head, looking almost a little sorry for him. “No, that’s all.”

He nods. “C’mon, kiddo.” Yuuji reaches down in case Sukuna wants to hold his hand. He grabs onto it, one hand in Yuuji’s, three on the backpack.

“I’m glad you came and got the bag,” the social worker calls out. 

Yuuji nods tiredly. No other choice.

He walks Sukuna back to the car. Yuuji prepares for the worst, but the kid goes into the backseat far easier this time. Yuuji instructs him to count to six, books it to the driver’s side, and falls into the seat, exhausted to the core.

Seatbelt, key in the ignition, and Yuuji eyes Sukuna in the mirror apprehensively. He doesn’t want to cause a meltdown, but he can’t drive one-handed. He’s too tired, it’s too dark, it’s raining too hard. He’s not willing to risk it again. 

Thankfully, Sukuna seems to be fine, pacified by whatever’s in his bag. Maybe Yuuji should check, make sure it’s not a dead rat or something, but there’s no energy for it.

Barely energy to put the car in drive and get back on the highway. Yuuji doesn’t bother to put the radio on, just turns on his headlights, cranks up the windshield wipers, and focuses on the road.

He looks at Sukuna every so often. The kid’s still holding the bag tight; clutching it right against his small chest. His face is half inside it, and for a few minutes, Yuuji’s really worried about the rat. But after a couple of anxious glances, Yuuji sees a flash of pink synthetic fur. He’s got a stuffed animal of some kind, he realizes, a plushie.

His heart squelches. Thank God Sukuna didn’t leave it at the school, he thinks wearily. Or the apartment.

The apartment. Shit. Yuuji will have to make the trip there, and soon. Probably by the end of the week. 

And it’ll have to be when Sukuna is in school. Instinct tells him not to bring the kid back there if he doesn’t have to.

He taps his thumb against the steering wheel. Sukuna has to be in school when he goes to Kenjaku’s apartment. So Yuuji will have to figure out school first. Then he can go get Sukuna more clothes.

His fingers twitch. Should he pull Sukuna out of his school? Yuuji’s pretty sure he’s enrolled in an elementary school near the police station, over an hour from Yuuji’s place. Gonna be hell hauling him there and back every day. Would it be better to stick him in a school that’s closer?

Better for himself, Yuuji thinks. But what’s better for Sukuna?

Probably to stay where he is. Can Yuuji commute there and back twice a day?

Fuck. He doesn’t know.

His breathing ticks up. God, this is already so fucking hard. How the fuck is he supposed to do this?

How the fuck is he supposed to do this alone?

Breath coming thick and fast, nearly panting now. His foot shakes on the gas pedal, his hands white-knuckle the steering wheel.

No, this won’t work. Yuuji thinks about his breath, his lungs, the clusters of alveoli inside. He counts his inhales, counts his exhales, and thinks of nothing but the road until the clock ticks five minutes over.

He’ll solve the school problem tomorrow, Yuuji decides dully. To stave off retching into the dashboard. The home visit, that’s his first priority.

From the backseat, Sukuna’s stomach growls.

Yuuji smiles to himself. That’s his first priority. “Alright, kiddo,” he calls. “I’m starving. What should we get for dinner?”

It’s dark, he can barely make out Sukuna’s expression in the backseat. Which is a shame, because the kid stays silent. 

Predictable.

Yuuji decides to throw out some options. “It’s late, and I’m too tired to cook,” he says honestly. “That means takeout for tonight.”

He catches Sukuna perk up excitedly. “Don’t get too used to it,” he warns. “I cook at home, and I’m a vegetable guy, okay? You’re walking into a vegetable household.”

A pout. He’ll learn to live with it, Yuuji’s not about to feed the kid fast food every night.

“This is just a treat,” he adds. “Because—”

Because what? Because Sukuna’s father died? Because his life will never be the same, because Yuuji’s life will never be the same?

“Because we met today,” he finishes lamely. “And—”

Come on. Come on, Yuuji, say something good, say the right thing, say the right thing—

“And I’m glad I met you. No matter what.”

He swallows. That, okay—okay, yeah. That went down okay.

Sukuna turns his head into a pocket of shadow, unreadable in the backseat.

Yuuji clears his throat. “So—do you like McDonald’s?”

Silence. When he checks the review mirror, Sukuna’s vibrating.

He grins. “Let’s go to McDonald’s.”

Soon enough he’s pulling onto the exit ramp, navigating through the twists and turns of his little neighborhood, and nosing the car into the McDonald’s drive thru. 

Yuuji stops, just before he’s level with the intercom. Foot firmly on the break, he twists to look at Sukuna. “Can you tell me which Happy Meal you want?” he asks softly. Yuuji really, really doesn’t want to get the wrong one.

Sukuna answers immediately. “Chicken nuggets.”

Yuuji bites back a laugh. “Okay, great. One chicken nuggets Happy Meal coming right up.”

He feeds the order into the intercom, along with two double cheeseburgers and two orders of fries. He’s absolutely starving; the past seven hours have eaten him alive. Surely two helpings of McDonald’s fries will fix him, Yuuji thinks tiredly.

Yuuji idles, pays, and drives off, taking them back to the apartment. It’s close, and soon Yuuji’s pulling into his parking spot. Grabbing the food and the paperwork, he kills the engine and quickly circles the car to reach Sukuna. 

It’s drizzling. Thin, but it soaks into Yuuji’s hair anyway. He opens the back door, and Sukuna unbuckles his seat belt and hops out, backpack held tight in all four hands. He’s still wearing Yuuji’s raincoat, and Yuuji takes one of his hands carefully and helps him into the building, making sure he doesn’t trip.

Keys, lobby door unlocked, and then they’re at the elevator. Yuuji looks down at Sukuna, and for a moment he swears he remembers being that small. “You want to push the button?” he asks, gesturing at the call button for the elevator.

Sukuna holds, then shakes his head. Yuuji shrugs, pressing it himself.

Another flint thought, this one cautious: how will Sukuna fare in the elevator? His reactions have been kind of—is he going to be afraid? Claustrophobic?

As it turns out, no. Sukuna walks into the elevator without a care in the world, one hand absently playing with the frayed end of the backpack strap. Yuuji presses the elevator for his floor, waits for the ding, and leads Sukuna down the hallway. “Here, kiddo, you ever get lost, you remember 5K, alright?” Yuuji says mindlessly. “I’ll teach you the address, and I’ll give you my phone number to memorize, okay?” That’s standard elementary school stuff, right?

Sukuna doesn’t give an answer, but Yuuji doesn’t look for one. He unlocks the door and flicks on the light, hanging his key on the hook. “Shoes off, bud,” he instructs. He braces for another meltdown, but Sukuna complies readily enough.

It occurs to Yuuji that this is a big moment, looming large in Sukuna’s world. This is going to be his new home, this is his first look at his new life. Yuuji should—should put some effort into this. Should make it sparkle, make it exciting, make Sukuna feel special and wanted, above all else.

Yuuji has had a hell of a day. He is so tired. 

Slow, sluggish, he plods over to the small dining room table and drops the food onto it. Then he retraces his step; helps Sukuna out of the raincoat. “C’mon, before the food gets any colder.” 

Sukuna follows Yuuji to the table, backpack still in his grip. Exhausted, mindless, Yuuji unpacks the food, leaving the kid to scurry onto one of the two wooden chairs. Sukuna has his milk, Yuuji thinks, but maybe he’ll want some water. Mechanically, he gets a glass out of the cupboard and fills it at the tap.

Yuuji should have some water, too. Well—

He freezes.

Shoved in the back of the fridge, hidden behind a bottle of soy sauce and a jar of pickles Yuuji’s pretty sure is expired, is a beer. Not a six pack or anything, just—just one.

He should’ve dumped it out. He doesn’t think Nobara and Megumi know he didn’t.

Yuuji has a vision of himself pulling open the fridge door, closing his hand around the cool neck of the bottle, pulling it free and cracking the beer open.

He takes a deep breath. Thinks of his lungs, and the alveoli in them. 

By the time he exhales, his muscles have loosened. Tendons relaxed, joints opened up. It’s easy to get a second glass of water for himself and carry both over to the table.

He places one cup in front of Sukuna, who’s eyeing the Happy Meal reverently. He’s too short for the chair, and he kneels on the seat so he can reach the table. Yuuji sits across from him, falling into the other chair and blearily pulling his bag of food closer. 

Yuuji unwraps the first burger and inhales it in two bites. He watches Sukuna while he eats, curious what the kid will do. Sukuna closes all four eyes, clenches all four hands very tightly, and whispers something to himself. Then he eagerly opens up the box and fishes out the toy. 

Amused, Yuuji looks on while Sukuna rips open the plastic wrap and wrestles the toy free. He holds it close, cupping it in two hands and bringing it right up to his nose. Anticipation and hope shine so brightly.

Then his face falls, disappointment etched into the downturn of his mouth. Huffing, Sukuna sits back on his heels, crossing his upper pair of arms over his chest. 

“Didn’t get the one you wanted?” Yuuji guesses. 

“No,” Sukuna mutters. “I already have three of this one.”

Yuuji raises an eyebrow. Three? How many Happy Meals was Kenjaku feeding this kid?

Morosely, Sukuna goes to put the toy in the backpack, laid carefully beside his chair. 

“Well, hold on,” Yuuji interjects. “Let’s see it.”

Sukuna looks at him distrustfully. He holds the toy in two hands, closing them tight so it’s hidden.

Yuuji tries again. “Can I see it?”

Squinting all four eyes, Sukuna removes one hand, holding out the toy in his palm. He doesn’t hold it out very far, and Yuuji grimaces internally, leaning way over to get a good look.

It’s a McDonald’s bag, he realizes, in miniature. Only a couple of centimeters tall; a little plastic replica of the paper brown bag that sits on the table below it, carrying the rest of Yuuji’s meal.

“Cool,” Yuuji says honestly. It kind of is. Sleek, insofar as a tiny piece of plastic can be sleek.

It was the right thing to say. Sukuna’s face relaxes, his eyes light up, and for a moment, he wears a triumphant grin.

Then he tries to play it off cool. “I guess,” he mumbles, a six-year-old’s attempt at nonchalance. It fails instantly, and Yuuji nearly chokes as Sukuna carefully polishes the toy clean on a napkin and stores it in his backpack.

Yuuji starts in on his second burger, watching as Sukuna gingerly pulls out the box of nuggets, bag of apple slices, and carton of fries. Surprisingly, he goes for the apple slices first, opening the bag and shoving them into his mouth. Yuuji expected him to ignore them; that’s what he did as a kid. Instead, Sukuna wolfs them down at Mach 1.

Huh. He’ll have to buy some apples.

Sukuna cleans out the bag inside of a minute, then puts the spent plastic into the big red box. He turns to the nuggets, undoing the latch and popping the box open.

He jolts, looking up at Yuuji in confusion. “There’s six!”

Yuuji swallows a mouthful of burger, wiping his mouth. “Yeah, I got the six-piece meal.” He looks at Sukuna a moment. “Did you want only four?”

Sukuna holds, then shakes his head. “Six is better.”

Yuuji nods. He thinks so, too.

Then he realizes he has an opportunity to tease Sukuna. He tries it on for size. “I could eat two,” he offers. “Give you only four.”

The reaction is immediate. Sukuna scowls, yanking the box closer. “No!”

Yuuji smiles, holding his hands up in surrender. “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m not after your nuggets.”

Sukuna still looks at him with narrowed eyes. “You have two burgers,” he accuses. “And two fries, that’s not fair! I only have one!”

“You’re right,” Yuuji agrees easily. “Here, we can share.”

He rips his bag open, sliding the mess of fries to the middle of the table. “Now we both have a lot of fries.”

Sukuna stares up at him, mouth open. Yuuji shrugs. “It’s only fair, right?”

Sukuna nods enthusiastically. Yuuji opens a ketchup packet and squirts it over some of the fries, popping them into his mouth. Sukuna copies him.

Yuuji exhales. Okay.

He picks up his burger and keeps eating, while Sukuna turns back to his own meal. Yuuji quickly realizes that he has a method. He takes a nugget, drenches it in ketchup, then dunks it into a mustard container. Sukuna carefully eats only a quarter of it, sets it down, and then selects three fries that are all around the same length. He dunks them again, just ketchup this time, and stuffs them in his mouth. He repeats the process; quarter of the nugget and three fries, until the entire chicken nugget is gone.

Yuuji takes a handful of fries for himself. Huh. Kid’s very…systematic. Precise.

Sukuna continues the pattern for the first nugget. On the second, he stops after the first bite of chicken. 

Sizing Yuuji up, gauging his reaction, Sukuna reaches out and snatches another fry, this time from the pile between them.

Yuuji inclines his head. “Go ahead. We’re sharing, aren’t we?”

Another nod, so strong Yuuji worries those extra eyes will fall off. Sukuna finds three other fries that are around the same length as the one he took from the pile, dunks them in ketchup, then eats them greedily. 

Yuuji finishes his burger and begins to steadily make his way through his portion of the fries. Sukuna repeats his routine until the chicken nuggets are gone, then burns through at least a quarter of the bag of fries in the center.

Yuuji wipes his mouth. “Pace yourself, kiddo. Don’t want you to get a stomachache.”

Sukuna picks his head up furiously, nostrils flaring. “You’re still eating!”

“True,” Yuuji allows. “But I’m an adult. I know when to stop so my stomach doesn’t hurt the next day.”

Does he? Is he that good at taking care of himself? Whatever. He’ll lie to get Sukuna to slow down.

“I’m still hungry!” Sukuna insists. 

“You sure?” Yuuji questions. “What’s your stomach telling you?”

Sukuna pouts. “He’s hungry!”

Yuuji nods. “Okay.” He really doesn’t want Sukuna to get sick, but he also doesn’t want to fight with the kid over this.

And, he realizes, and he doesn’t want to withhold food from him. Not on night one.

Eyes narrowed, Sukuna grabs a fistful of fries and gobbles it up. He might be sick in a few hours, Yuuji thinks wearily. Oh well. 

…is it just ‘oh well?’ Should he have pushed harder to prevent Sukuna from getting sick? Yuuji desperately wishes he were a real parent.

The feeling swallows him. The spiral approaches, Yuuji can see it from the precipice. He teeters for a moment.

A wrinkle of plastic has him refocusing. Across the table, Sukuna’s wrestling with the milk bottle, trying to get it open.

Yuuji reaches his hand out. “Need help?”

Sukuna huffs, dropping it into his palm. Yuuji opens it and hands it back, placing it into two of Sukuna’s outstretched hands.

Sukuna drinks the milk in careful sips. Yuuji keeps picking at the fries, but Sukuna doesn’t touch them again, just drinks the milk until it’s empty. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Sukuna pops the lid back on and sets the bottle on the table. He sits back on his heels and looks at Yuuji expectantly.

Yuuji raises an eyebrow. “Not gonna have any more fries?”

Sukuna pushes his lip out. “My tummy said no.”

Yuuji cracks a grin, nodding. “Good on you for listening.”

He chugs his water, then stands up from the table. “Need the bathroom, bud?”

Sukuna nods, hopping down from the chair. Yuuji leads him down the hall to the bathroom. “Here, go ahead.” He pushes the door open and flicks on the light, leaning against the doorjamb. He half expects Sukuna to shut the door behind him, but he keeps the door open. Yuuji nods. Classic six-year-old stuff, right?

He lets his gaze wander to give Sukuna privacy. Bedtime, he thinks wryly. What does he need to do?

Bath, he thinks, then immediately rules it out. Yuuji doesn’t have a shred of paternal instinct in his body, but his gut is telling him that forcing Sukuna into a bath is a battle he doesn’t want to fight.

He thinks of the scar across the boy’s stomach and feels his bones harden. No bath, he decides grimly. Not tonight.

Fine. What else?

Kid needs to brush his teeth. Does Yuuji have an extra toothbrush? Maybe, but he definitely doesn’t have any kid-toothpaste.

Sighing, Yuuji pushes off from the wall. “I’m going to look for another toothbrush,” he calls, then walks a few steps down the hall to the closet, out of Sukuna’s line of sight. He keeps talking so the kid doesn’t get spooked. “You don’t have a toothbrush in your bag, right?” 

“No.” Yuuji hears the toilet flush, just as he snags a new toothbrush from a haphazard pile of toiletries on the shelf. Back in the bathroom, he sees Sukuna standing at the sink, stubbornly trying to reach the faucet.

Step-stool, Yuuji thinks wearily. He adds it to the list. “Can I pick you up to wash your hands?”

Sukuna freezes. He glares at the floor.

Yuuji waits a tick, then goes and drags over a dining room chair, positioning it by the sink. “Here you go.” Sukuna scrambles up, washing his hands while Yuuji unwraps the toothbrush.

He passes Sukuna a hand towel. “I don’t have any toothpaste for kids,” Yuuji says with an apologetic grimace. “I’ll get some tomorrow, but for now, think you can use mine?”

Sukuna nods very seriously, holding the toothbrush steady while Yuuji squeezes out a dollop of toothpaste. He shudders when he tastes it, but soldiers on bravely, cleaning his teeth with a textbook precision that would make a dentist cry.

Yuuji looks on, almost impressed. “You’re doing a great job brushing those teeth, kiddo. Better than I do it.”

Sukuna spits, then beams at him. “My Dad taught me.”

Then his face shrivels up. Yuuji’s stomach drops. Oh, shit.

All four of Sukuna’s eyes squinch tightly shut, as if to hold back the tears already brimming at the corners. Two of Sukuna’s hands grip the edge of the sink, while the others clasp around the toothbrush. His breath comes in sharp, tiny gasps. 

Instinct drives Yuuji to his knees, reaching out to take Sukuna in his arms. Sukuna flinches backward before he can get too close.

Fuck. Yuuji freezes, hovering, watching Sukuna fight a losing battle. The kid holds out for another moment before his lower pair of arms comes up to hug himself around the middle. Breath hitching ugly, sobs brewing in his throat. He drops the toothbrush, hands pressing against his face. Yuuji catches it before it hits the ground; lays it gently on the countertop.

The tears start to fall from behind tiny fingers and Yuuji nearly cries himself. He’s exhausted, at the end of his rope, and he doesn’t know what to fucking do because he’s not a fucking parent.

Self-hatred whips in his blood. Yuuji has one move, he thinks bitterly, give Sukuna a hug. It worked on him when he was a kid, Yuuji’s always been a tactile little fucker, clinging at physical touch like he’s worried he’ll never get it again. Still like that, he thinks wryly.

If the roles were reversed, a hug would’ve done the trick. But Sukuna isn’t like Yuuji. He doesn’t have a blueprint for this.

He looks at Sukuna. He doesn’t sob loudly; his little chest heaves, but he’s swallowing his cries. The kid’s hands aren’t big enough to cover his eyes, not the big, fucked up, angled ones on the right side of his face. One peeks out from between tiny fingers, and Yuuji can see how devastated it looks, how absolutely shattered Sukuna is at the loss of his father.

Anger surges. At Kenjaku, for doing this to Sukuna, doing this to him, and at himself for—for not knowing what to do. How to comfort the child breaking down in front of him.

In the end, Yuuji stays where he is, centimeters from Sukuna, and talks to him. Murmurs nonsense, “I’m so sorry sweetheart; I know you loved your Dad so much; you must be feeling so terrible, I’m sorry you’re feeling this way,” things like that. He has no idea if it works, but he keeps at it.

What does work, the one brilliant move Yuuji can offer, is putting his hands out in front of him, within Sukuna’s reach. Just holding them there. 

“My hands are here,” Yuuji says quietly. “If you want them.”

Sukuna reaches out without hesitation, pulling his hands from around his torso and latching them onto Yuuji’s wrists. Soon, the other hands follow, gripping Yuuji’s fingers. Yuuji looks into the swollen, red-rimmed eyes and feels his chest kick.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Yuuji says softly.

Sukuna sniffles, a sob escapes. He looks wetly at Yuuji, looking for something.

No idea what he’s looking for. Yuuji clears his throat. “When I lost my grandpa,” he starts, but Sukuna interrupts him.

“What about your dad?” he demands. “Is he still here?”

Oh. Good point. “No, kiddo, my Dad died a long time ago,” he tells Sukuna. “When I was younger than you are.”

The hands on his arms tighten. “How?”

“Accident,” Yuuji shrugs. 

“Do you remember him?” Sukuna asks, wide-eyed.

Yuuji furrows his brow. “Not really,” he admits. “I can remember a few things, but I was too little to remember anything big.”

“Do you miss him?” Sukuna’s eyes are dinner plates now.

Yuuji swallows. “Yeah, I miss him,” he says, voice soft and sad.

“My mom died when I was really little,” Sukuna offers earnestly. The tears have stopped altogether. “I miss her, but I can’t remember.”

Yuuji gives a half smile. Smart kid. “My mom died, too. Same accident as my dad.”

Sukuna gasps. “So you have no parents, too?”

Knife to the gut. Yuuji smiles grimly. “Yeah, kiddo. I have no parents, either.”

Sukuna stares at Yuuji a moment longer. Something in his eyes settles, and he takes a deep, shaky breath.

Yuuji takes that as a cue. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s get you some water.”

Sukuna gets down from the chair, two hands still holding onto Yuuji. Together, they troop back into the kitchen. Yuuji refills Sukuna’s glass, and he drinks obediently, wiping his mouth and handing the cup back.

Yuuji sets it on the counter, the sound ringing softly through the room. “Okay. Bedtime.”

Bedtime. 

Two things hit Yuuji like a truck. One—pajamas.

Two—Bedroom. Bed.

He swallows thickly. Sukuna skips ahead of him, then stops, looking back. 

Yuuji tries to smile; it feels pasted onto his face. “What should we do about PJ’s?”

Sukuna just stares at him. Of course he doesn’t know.

“You can’t wear those clothes,” Yuuji continues, “I need to wash them for tomorrow.”

Sukuna grabs at the shirt protectively. “I know,” Yuuji apologizes. “But that one’s dirty. I’ll get more of your shirts as soon as I can.”

I’ll get. Yuuji will make a trip to the apartment. Sukuna seems to understand this immediately and begins to open his mouth, but Yuuji hurries past it. He can’t deal with—with whatever Sukuna’s about to say, not right now.

“We’ve got a visitor tomorrow,” he explains quickly. “The social worker’s coming over. Need a clean shirt for that, I’ll wash it while you’re asleep.”

Sukuna scrunches up his nose, like he’s going to protest. Yuuji tries to think. What can he do to pacify him?

“Want to see the washer?” he asks hastily. “Where it’ll go? And then the dryer?”

Sukuna hesitates, then nods begrudgingly. Yuuji leads him back down the hallway, past the bathroom, to the stacked washer dryer at the end of the hall. He points out each one, then looks down at Sukuna, eyebrows raised.

Sukuna pushes out his lip, face tilted up distrustfully. 

Shit. Yuuji wracks his brain. “Wanna see inside?”

Sukuna nods. Yuuji’s about to go grab the dining room chair, but Sukuna holds out his arms, all four lifted toward Yuuji.

Oh.

Yuuji reaches down and hoists him onto his hip. Those four arms settle around him, stretching across and behind Yuuji’s torso to reach his shoulder. It is so odd Yuuji has to fight back a shiver.

“Here.” Yuuji opens the lid of the washer, then the dryer stacked on top. Sukuna peers inside dubiously. “What do you think?”

Sukuna considers for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”

Exhaling with relief, Yuuji sets him back on the floor. 

“Can I see it go in?” Sukuna asks.

Yuuji shrugs. “And why not?” Again, Sukuna lifts his arms up, and Yuuji crouches and tugs the shirt over his head.

Then he freezes solid, body locking up. He can see the scar.

There it is, drawn wide across Sukuna’s bare stomach, gnarled and ugly. No place being there, no place on a six-year-old’s skin, not something that brutal.

Yuuji’s reaction is swift. Rage lifts in his throat, snatches the breath right from his lungs. Suddenly, Yuuji’s panting, because he’s starving, this is the kind of anger that wants and begs, and it’s gotten him in trouble before, and don’t be so reckless, Yuuji!

He halts; catches himself before the edge. He closes his eyes and folds that rage onto itself over and over again, smaller and smaller until he can kick it away; shove it into a corner of his mind where it won’t scream so loud.

Yuuji brings himself back under control in two seconds. Sukuna doesn’t notice at all, a point in Yuuji’s favor.

He forces himself not to look at the scar. “Let’s do those pants too, while we’re at it.” He holds the grubby shirt in his hands while Sukuna wrestles the pants off.

Yuuji saves the underwear for later. That’s easy, that he can just run to the store and pick up so Sukuna doesn’t have to go without.

“Okay, here we go.” Yuuji grabs the detergent from the shelf and measures out a thimble full. Small load, he reasons, dumping it in. He goes to toss in the shirt, but Sukuna stops him.

“Can—can I do it?”

Yuuji looks down at him. Sukuna’s jaw is set, face determined.

“‘Course you can.” Yuuji hands him the shirt, reaching down to scoop him up. Sukuna skitters away, holding the shirt up as high as he can reach.

Yuuji pauses, then holds the lid of the washer open so Sukuna can gently throw it inside. He turns to Yuuji, holding out two hands, and Yuuji gives him the pants. He dumps them in the wash.

“Okay, kiddo, I’m gonna turn it on.” Yuuji turns the dial to ‘light colors' and presses start. Sukuna waits until he can hear the machine hum before he blinks and looks up at Yuuji.

Yuuji stares down at him. Scarred kid standing in his underwear. Hair unkempt, too many arms, too many eyes. Too many eyes that are trained on Yuuji expectantly. Waiting for him to point the way.

It all rolls over him like a wave, and he has to work to stay upright. This is his, now. This, all of it, this is his.

He clears his throat. “Let’s find you something to wear.”

It hits him again. PJs. Bed. For a moment, Yuuji’s swaying on his feet.

Shakily, he walks into the bedroom, going for his dresser. “I, uh, I think one of my shirts will fit both—”

He cuts himself off. Both arms.

Sukuna nods like nothing happened, like Yuuji didn’t stutter at all. He takes the shirt Yuuji offers and slips it over his head. Yuuji was right, the sleeves have enough room for both of Sukuna’s extra arms.

The hem drops to his ankles. “It fits!” Sukuna says triumphantly.

Yuuji sucks his teeth. Not really, but it’ll do.

“It fits,” he allows, giving a small smile. Sukuna beams.

Yuuji takes a deep breath. Now the hard part. “We gotta—” he coughs awkwardly. “We gotta figure out where you’re going to sleep, kiddo.”

Sukuna shrinks into himself. Yuuji’s unsteady in his own skin. God, this sucks.

“Where—” he catches himself before he blurts it out: where did you sleep back at home?

Not helpful, Yuuji. Don’t do that, don’t lead Sukuna down that road. Kid’s practically trembling as it is.

…it would be helpful to know, Yuuji thinks ruefully. To know what Sukuna expects, to have an idea of what Yuuji’s working with. Where did Sukuna sleep? Did he have his own room? Did he have a bed? A futon? Nothing, did he sleep on the floor?

A thought strikes like a hot iron: did he sleep in Kenjaku’s bed?

Yuuji nearly bites clean through his tongue. Rage runs high again, rage mixed with hatred, with disgust. The kind of rage that makes him want to do something, the kind of rage that brings consequences.

He swallows it down. Focuses on the problem in front of him.

Where can Sukuna sleep for the night?

Yuuji breathes carefully through his nose, training his eyes above Sukuna’s head. Okay.

He decides to run through the options. “There’s my—there’s this big bedroom,” Yuuji corrects himself. “With the big futon, right there. I also have the couch, and a smaller futon.” He falls silent. That’s it, really. 

Unless he counts the second bedroom. He’s really hoping Sukuna doesn’t ask about the nursery.

Sukuna is six, so he doesn’t. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

Yuuji looks down to see Sukuna staring at him with wide, determined eyes. He exhales heavily. “I’ll sleep on the small futon. Or the couch.” Not the bed. Yuuji hasn’t slept in that bed in over a year.

“And I can sleep wherever I want?” Sukuna asks persistently. 

Yuuji nods. “Pretty much.” He’d much rather Sukuna make the decision. 

He looks down at the kid, eyebrows raised. Sukuna pushes his lip out. “The futon goes anywhere?”

Yuuji nods again, unsure where Sukuna is going with this. 

Sukuna stays silent. Yuuji waits him out.

Finally: “can I sleep there?” Sukuna points at the big futon.

Relief hits him like a hammer. “Of course.”

Problem solved. Yuuji’s chest unlocks. Then it tightens, pulses. Is it a bad sign? That Sukuna wants to sleep in Yuuji’s bed? Does that mean that Kenjaku—

Despair takes him. He pushes it back—there’s nowhere for it to go. Nothing he can do with it, not tonight.

Yuuji will do something about it tomorrow, he thinks wearily. He’ll—he’ll talk to the school.

He pauses. Yeah. That’s—actually, that’s a great idea. Surely they would have noticed—would have seen something. That’s part of their job, right? He can talk to the school. See what they can tell him about Sukuna’s life before—before this very moment.

Wow. Yuuji’s outdone himself. It almost makes him smile. 

Then Sukuna moves, walking toward the futon. Panic grips Yuuji. Where—which side is Sukuna going to pick? 

Yuuji always slept on the near side. Claimed it for himself; he wanted to be between the door and—and the far side.

He grimaces, trying to shove the thought from his mind. There’s a reason Yuuji doesn’t sleep here anymore.

In the end, Sukuna scampers into the middle of the futon. Hands shaking, Yuuji pulls the covers back so he can slip inside. Of his own accord, Sukuna grabs the pillow from the near side—Yuuji’s pillow—and tugs it into the center for himself.

Sukuna lays down, and looks up at Yuuji. Yuuji nearly chokes.

It’s—it’s awful, no matter how he slices it. Pure awful, sends despair shooting right through him, because—

Yuuji’s body locks up. Because he wanted this so badly. 

He wanted—

His heart beats, thumps, jumps. He grits his teeth. Yuuji wanted this so desperately he could have clawed his skin off.

He wanted—he wanted a little boy who looked like him, and Sukuna almost looks like him. A boy, and they said they wouldn’t care, that they would be happy either way, but Yuuji knew he wanted a boy with that stupid, pastel-pink hair, and there Sukuna is. Little boy with his hair laying in his bed, except it’s not Yuuji’s bed, it’s their bed. Futon big enough for two. Sukuna will sleep in it by himself; Yuuji doesn’t sleep there anymore, but he used to share it with someone who—

Who wanted to be there. Someone who wanted this. With him. Until she didn’t.

Didn’t. Doesn’t.

Yuuji’s stomach heaves. Doesn’t. Not anymore, but she did. And she fucking—infected Yuuji with this, this dream-kid, she sold him the idea on a string and he swallowed it until his gut grew taut and bloated. She let Yuuji get so excited, let him grind the idea of fatherhood into his bones, let him fucking believe that he could do it, that he would be good at it, that she wanted it too—

He inhales; coughs against the bile rising in his throat. His hands clench into fists, and he turns his face away from Sukuna so he doesn’t see.

She sold Yuuji a dream, made him want it for himself, and then she woke up and decided that she didn’t. Didn’t want it, not anymore. Not with him, because Yuuji couldn’t hack it—can’t hack it. Because he doesn’t have it in him to be a father.

His shoulders hunch. She said it over a year ago, but it still makes him recoil. Yuuji’s no father. Yuuji can’t, Yuuji shouldn’t—

Yuuji has no other choice. The child is here—Sukuna is here, and Yuuji has to do it alone. And he doesn’t think he can.

This—Sukuna is so close to what he wanted that it goes down like a bitter joke. Yuuji wants to vomit.

“Wait!” A little kid voice pulls him from his stupor. He refocuses; Sukuna’s pushing off the blanket and jumping out of bed, running back into the living room. Before Yuuji can blink, Sukuna returns with his backpack. He looks at Yuuji distrustfully before turning around and taking something out of the bag, holding it against his chest and hiding it beneath three arms.

He scrambles back onto the futon, resettling under the covers. A lump falls hard in Yuuji’s throat. “Okay, kiddo,” he says hoarsely. “Sleep tight. See you tomorrow.”

He expects Sukuna to lay down and prays he’ll close his eyes, that this won’t be another war zone Yuuji didn’t sign up for. Instead, Sukuna stills, looking fiercely at Yuuji.

He stares back awkwardly. What—what does Sukuna want him to do?

They stay like that. For several minutes. Sukuna glares at him, almost imploringly. Yuuji stares back dumbly. What does the kid want?

Another three minutes go by. Finally, Sukuna winces. “You said—you can put the futon in here,” Sukuna mumbles.

Yuuji nods slowly. He can. But Sukuna’s already—

Oh. Sukuna wants Yuuji to sleep in here. On the futon.

Yuuji rubs his hand over his face. Fuck.

“Look, kiddo,” Yuuji starts clumsily. “I, uh, I’m gonna sleep out there—”

Sukuna twitches. Convulses, really, whole body jerking like Yuuji hooked him up to an electrical battery. His knees fly to his chest, his arms wrap around his shins, and he buries his head in whatever he pulled from his bag until Yuuji can only see his top two eyes.

Tears brim, mournful and desperate.

Yuuji walks it back immediately. “Okay, okay, kiddo, I’ll sleep in here.”

Sukuna jolts again, face brushing against his kneecaps, but he doesn’t unwrap himself. And he doesn’t stop crying.

Fuck.

Yuuji decides the best thing to do is set up the futon. Exhausted, he gets it from the living room and begins to roll out the tatami mat. That was on him, he realizes, laying it down flat. It was stupid to think that Sukuna would want to sleep here alone, that he would be comfortable in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, after his father—died.

Yuuji grimaces, unfolding the mattress. Still, he’d give an arm if it meant staying out of this room for the night. Yuuji doesn’t want to share the room with a ghost.

He grits his teeth. No other choice. 

Spare futon in place, he stands up. Sukuna’s peeking out from behind his knees, calmer now that Yuuji’s sleeping right beside him.

Yuuji clears his throat. “See? I’ll be right here.”

Taking a deep breath, Sukuna nods, laying his legs out flat. Yuuji exhales gratefully. Hopefully that will be the last minefield of the night.

It isn’t. “Goodnight, kiddo,” Yuuji offers, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Now that Sukuna’s settled, he needs to get out of here. He still has to call Higuruma, and it’s late enough as it is.

Plus—he hates this room. He’ll come back here to sleep, but he won’t be here any longer than he has to.

Sukuna looks at him blankly. “I’ll see you in the morning,” Yuuji prompts.

Sukuna doesn’t move, but his face pinches in the center.

Christ, what is it now?

Yuuji can’t guess anymore. He’s too tired to try and figure it out on his own, too tired to read Sukuna’s signals that don’t make any fucking sense, too tired to—

“Sukuna,” Yuuji says quietly. “Sukuna, sweetheart, I don’t know what you want. Can you tell me, please?”

Two of Sukuna’s arms come up to hug himself around the chest. He says nothing, just turns those big eyes on Yuuji, willing him to understand.

Yuuji doesn’t understand. “I’ll do it,” he promises wildly, “whatever it is, I’ll do it, I just—you gotta help me out here, bud. You gotta give me a hint.”

Sukuna’s shoulders fold inward. He pulls his eyes from Yuuji to flit them around the room. He looks at the corners, then the door, then Yuuji, then back to the corners. Then back to Yuuji, face wide with abject fear. He hesitates, then leaps out of bed, skidding across the floor until he’s right by Yuuji.

Sukuna’s close enough to touch him, and this time he does, placing a shaking hand on his leg and gripping the fabric of his jeans.

He tilts his face up at Yuuji. There’s that fear again, and Sukuna gently tugs him toward the futon.

Oh. Sukuna wants Yuuji to go to sleep now.

He still needs to call Higuruma. “I—”

Yuuji cuts himself off. He already told Sukuna he would.

“Okay,” Yuuji surrenders. Sukuna’s face relaxes. “Just—just let me get ready, too.” 

Sukuna follows him around as he brushes his teeth and changes into a sleep shirt and old gym shorts, before leading Yuuji back into the bedroom. He goes easy into the wide futon, watching carefully as Yuuji flips off the light switch and settles into his own.

In the dark, Yuuji can just make out the line of Sukuna’s body beneath the duvet. If he squints, he can see the extra arms: two slipped under the pillow, two clutching what must be the plushie. 

Four eyes blink at him. “Night, kiddo,” Yuuji says softly. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

Sukuna closes his eyes instantly. Yuuji counts his inhales and thinks of nothing until Sukuna’s breathing drops off, little chest rising and falling steadily. 

His eyes are on the ceiling. His joints are stiff. Mechanically, he gets off the futon, crosses the room silently, and slips through the door.

In the living room, Yuuji exhales, then drops into a squat. He pushes his head into his knees, holds his arms protectively over his head, and stays like that until he counts to a hundred. A hundred and fifty. Two hundred.

Then he stands up. Yuuji picks up his phone and calls Higuruma.

an: his tummy said no :(