Koiyo

An exhilarating battle, a delicious meal, or scenery that has caught his eye.

You, maybe.

Perhaps he's giving you that blank look, lips pressed into a line while you're beside him acting as if he'd actually bother with listening to every word. Gazing at you like he's bored and definitely not thinking about the way the untamed ends of your hair curl like hanging vines, splitting every which way despite your best efforts at straightening them out. Similar to himself, his own attempts to stray from you, only to be within your presence again. Or the way your hands were never still, hands waving, clenching, pointing, as if insisting they should be heard by movement alone. Like your hands could somehow convey meaning in ways your words cannot.

It's annoying.

Distracting, even.

Much like you, he supposes.

...

"...are you even listening?"

"Obviously."

"No, you're distracted."

"You simply speak too much."

it's obvious, or at least, it should be.

yorozu is loud. constant. persistent.

and sukuna... well, he's sukuna. everyone knows how he is.

wherever sukuna is, there's like, a ninety percent chance yorozu is there.

arms around him, talking at him, clinging to his arm, leaning against him.

and he lets her. so obviously everyone is going to assume he's just being a hardass.

including you. even if only partially.

you're not close to any of them, not really. it's more like you're friends with people who know them, but you aren't necessarily apart of that circle.

but despite that, the romance writes itself, doesn't it? the outgoing and relentless girl paired with the quiet and introverted guy.

that's like romance 101. everyone certainly believes so.

right?

it's why you hardly bat an eye when sukuna starts lingering around you.

it starts with him appearing near you outside of classes. sitting next to you during lunch. sometimes walking with you to class. he doesn't even do anything, he's just... there. hands in his pockets. staring ahead. scrolling his phone maybe. and yorozu is hovering half the time so you just assume you're being integrated into whatever friend group they have.

so when his behavior changes from lingering to intentional, you continue to assume the same thing.

"we're friends now"

stealing your food, watching your phone from over your shoulder as you doomscroll, making fun of you. sukuna doing as he pleases with yorozu at his side.

it's easier to tell yourself that than humor anything else.

in fact, you've spent so long convincing yourself of this that you're profoundly confused when you wake up one morning—with complete clarity—half naked in unfamiliar covers and staring up at a ceiling that is certainly not yours.

it doesn't take you long to recognize the room you're in belongs to the sleeping pinkette pressed against you, one arm draped over you like he hasn't permitted you to leave quite yet.

ah, you realize belatedly.

You're with your friends at school, late at night. Snuck in after hours, hunched around an LED candle (because using a real one is dangerous, obviously) while one of them boasts about a 'cursed finger' he obtained courtesy of his cousin (stolen from their dad's research).

It gets tossed around like a shared blunt before someone suggests eating it.

You hold it out with your arm extended, the 'finger' dangling between your thumb and forefinger. It's a wrinkled, old thing. Stinks to all hell more than it looks grotesque. Whoever this finger belonged to seemed to take care of their nails though. Nice and sharp.

Your friend leans against you on your right, their face illuminated by the candle.

"I dare you to eat it."

"No way."

They laugh.

"C'mon, you ate last weeks lunch concoction no problem!"

You roll your eyes. You pass the thing to the next person.

"That's different."

Two seconds pass until someone offers to buy you those limited Christmas meals from KFC next week.

…

You point at them.

"Extra crispy."

Surprisingly, it goes down pretty easy.

Unsurprisingly, it tastes about as horrible as you'd expect.

…

Blinking, you stare down at your hands. You don't feel any different. Everyone jokes about it being disappointing as interests shift from the anticlimatic finger to other horror stories. The lot of you linger for about an hour more before everyone ends up going their separate ways.

You walk down the dark street without a care in the world, gaze down as your feet carry you home. Sneaking inside, you gently tiptoe back to your room, setting your bag by the desk and change into something more comfortable. It isn't until your head hits the pillow that something feels… wrong.

"Oi," a deep voice cuts, sounding mildly irritated. "Address me."

Your eyes shoot open.

----------------

You get used to the guy in your head. He says the finger you ate was his. Something something sorcery yada yada. You ask if his nails are natural or if he gets them done like that. He ignores you.

For the most part, he doesn't really talk much, but when he does, he always sounds annoyed or inconvenienced. Probably both.

Usually, he speaks just to make fun of you. Pathetic this, useless that. You hear worse at family gatherings.

You once remark that he's just an old man trying to take control of a teenager's body. He goes silent then. Instead of feeling like you've won, something in your gut tells you that you're going to regret it one day.

----------------

"So…" You trail off, thinking out loud. "You're like, super ancient right?"

You're at home, supposed to be studying for the test come Monday but you have other, more pressing matters. Back leaned against the chair, you stare at the ceiling with mild interest.

A tiny little mouth forms under your right eye.

"What of it."

You hum at that, tapping a pencil lightly against the desk. A thought forms in your head and you angle yourself forward, elbows propped on the table.

"Can you tell me the answer for question triple?"

"You weaklings always try for the easy way out, don't you."

You roll your eyes.

"So you don't know the answer. Okay. Just say that next time."

"…The answer is twenty-four."

----------------

It's a few days later when one of your friends approaches you.

Classes are over for the day, everyone readying to either go home or their bukatsudo as you see someone stand in front of your desk. You set your pencil down, closing your notebook and you look up at him.

"Hey, uh," he starts, rubbing his arm nervously. "so about that finger you ate last week…"

He doesn't look at you.

You raise an eyebrow.

"What about it?"

"I um, I kinda need it back?"

You give him a look.

He does a double take at your expression before quietly freaking out.

"Listen—okay, so the finger wasn't mine to begin with—"

His voice hushed as he tries to laugh it off.

"—but my cousin told me their dad found out it's missing and now he's on their ass about it and I really don't want to be next."

You regard him for a moment before deciding that this is genuinely not your problem. He stares as you resume putting your things into your bag.

"I really need it, man."

You stand, frowning. The chair screeches beneath you.

"Dude, I ate that thing like, days ago." You push your chair in, bag in hand. "I'm still waiting on that KFC meal, by the way."

His hands slam on the desk. He flinches at how loud it ends up being.

"fuck the kfc meal," he forces through clenched teeth. "You don't understand, my uncle—"

You start walking away. He follows at your side, continuing his tangent.

"—my uncle doesn't get angry. Please."

He stops, clasping his hands and inclining his head slightly. You turn to look at him. Then at your surroundings. Oh god, people are staring.

You shift in place, awkwardly scratching the back of your head.

"Okay, I get it, but literally I don't think it's in my system anymore."

He peeks up at you with one eye open, hands still clasped.

"…any odd bowel movements…?"

…

"Give me my damn chicken meal."

----------------

"Are you like, always watching what I'm doing, or…?"

"More or less."

"So like, even when I'm changing?"

"…"

"What about when I'm in the bathroom?"

Silence.

"…hello??"

----------------

You're standing by the window one afternoon, arms crossed as you frown at the raging blizzard on the other side of the glass. Head tilted, you consider calling in.

"Hey Sukuna," you call out. No answer, but you know he's listening. "You wanna work my shift for me tonight?"

There's a pause before he answers.

"And why," he drawls, bored, a mouth manifesting just under your left eye. "Would I do that?"

"'Cuz I don't feel like it."

"Then don't."

"But I don't wanna get fired," you whine, animatedly gesturing out the window. "Look how bad it's snowing. I'm not walking through that. I'll die."

He scoffs.

"And you think I will?"

"I'll let you have control for 5 minutes if you work my shift—in its entirety—in a respectable manner."

No response. You start to think he won't do it. Too good for a measly 'bottom feeder' job.

"...make it 10."

Yes!!!

The little mouth grins manically, letting out a faint 'ke ke ke' but you kind of ignore it in favor of skipping out on work tonight. You're too busy getting yourself ready for work instead.

----------------

It actually goes well. If you ignore the glaring, the creepy smile, and passive aggressive remarks he makes in your voice then yeah, not too bad you'd say.

It's the disaster that occurs afterwards that's the issue.