toward the east, in eden.

"it's feeling like yorozu left a handle over the flame and told me the pan was good to go and had me burn the the shit out of my hand," you snap, angry with no where to put it. "that's what it's fucking feeling like."

you pull your hand from under the tap and examine the pink burn. thankfully not anything too serious, just painful as hell and a bitch to cook with on your dominant hand.

"let me help," he offers.

"fuck off," you bite out, angry at yourself for not paying attention, angry at yorozu for not saying anything when she watched you go for the pan, and angry at sukuna for seeing you in pain.

the kitchen's dark, only illuminated by the warm light over the stove and he looks much softer without the harsh white lights of the kitchen falling over his face. his is hair fluffy and pastel pink, not drenched in sweat like normal, falling his eyes like it's just as sleepy as he looks. and he does look sleepy, but rather than being in bed, he's up with you. he's asking to care for your burn.

he doesn't heed your rude warning, instead he grabs the little jar of vaseline with one hand and the wrist of your injured hand in his other one.

you don't fight him, you don't have the strength after that dinner service.

"should've been fucking paying attention," he chides, dipping his thick fingers in the vaseline jar. "every fucking thing in the kitchen is hot. you know that."

you nod, "i've been working in a kitchen for years, of course i do. i don't need you to tell me."

"obviously you do. you're standing here with the skin burned off your palm."

you don't respond as sukuna smears the vaseline lightly, more gentle than you knew he was capable of, over the tender skin of your palm. you hiss a little and his eyes flicker up to meet yours before looking back down.

"don't do anymore dumb shit like that again," sukuna makes sure to cover the very edges of your burn, not missing an inch of burned skin. "winning won't taste as sweet next time knowing you took yourself out for an injury."

"you're not winning another dinner service again, so don't worry about it."

sukuna chuckles, "yeah? you guys lost yorozu tonight. you think you, yuki, shoko, and utahime can beat my guys on the blue team?"

you look up at him, letting your mouth drop open. "your guys on the blue team? who? gojo can't cook a scallop to save his life; geto cooked a raw steak for a pregnant woman, twice; and choso can't count to six."

kissing his teeth, sukuna rolls his eyes. "don't know how many fuckin' times i gotta say 'two halibut, two wellington, one chicken, one duck' before he realizes that's six fuckin' entrees. he almost fuckin' killed me on garnish tonight."

you giggle a bit, the pain from your burn subsiding as you hand sukuna the gauze to wrap you a bit.

"yeah, well you pulled it together. you won."

"almost didn't."

you look up at him in question but he focuses entirely on the very simple task of wrapping your palm.

"what do you mean? you had it together the entire night, you kept them together, i could hear it," you ask wondering what he was playing at now.

honestly, you were a little too tired for the mind games.

"i heard it when you grabbed that pan," he speaks quieter, like he doesn't actually want you to hear what he's saying. "the way you fuckin' screamed...geto had to grab me, make sure i didn't leave to see you."

you don't respond as he finishes, still holding your wrist in his hand, not pulling away and not pulling you in. just letting the moment sit in between his teeth. letting his care rest on his tongue.

"shut up," you try to break the tension but it's been simmering. it's been simmering since your first week here and every day, every challenge, every service turns up the stove, and it's nearly unbearable.

truthfully, you don't know where to put sukuna. he's wrapped up in the kitchen, in the competition, in everything you want and everything you could lose. most days, almost all days, he's standing between you and the thing you want most.

but recently, in moments like these, when you picture your prize, what you've been busting your ass for, you can't picture it without pink hair and a sharp, teasing grin.

"you're playing dirty," you say finally, shaking your head but not pulling your hand back. "don't do that."

"you're playing dirty," he shoots back, words tight and his grip on your wrist tighter. "you scared the fuck outta me tonight. i couldn't see you, couldn't check on you, couldn't help. i had to stand there cooking wellingtons not knowing if you were okay."

his hand pulls you in, your bandaged palm touches his chest, over his racing heart. "don't do anymore dumb shit," he rebukes you again, serious this time. "don't be fucking stupid."

you nod, slow, noting that the pace of his racing heart matches yours.