“Do you understand?”

You blink, eyes trailing from the window to your mother. You take in the sight before you of the beige paste in the mortar before you, before your gaze lifts to meet hers. You nod in spite of hearing little else but ‘stomach ailments’.

“Good,” she smiles, going on to explain more herbs and their uses in basic treatments, although your mind keeps dragging you elsewhere as you struggle to stay present.

You know better than to think this comes from a good place. It’s not that your mother doesn’t care, of course these lessons are, technically, well-meaning and useful, the only reason she keeps you here is to keep you away from Sukuna.

Ever since the ‘incident’ in question, stray glances have been thrown towards your friend more and more often from more and more villagers. It has your hair standing on end, and being apart from him leaves you listless. Your mind can’t shed the image of your best friend with blood trailing down his shoulders, and the strange way he holds himself sends your mind into a near-constant spiral of panic.

If you find him like that again, will Arai help? Will you be so lucky as to find him in time again?

Instinctively, your eyes wander to the spot where Murata’s house resides, an overwhelming itch to check in on him suddenly coming over you.

With a severity to her voice that makes you flinch, your head whips back around to your mother as she states your name. “You need to pay attention. Someday, you could help heal your husband’s ailments using this. It’s your duty.”

Your brow knits, your disdain obvious in spite of the fact that you obey.

Husband. Duty.

You want nothing less.

The only boy who isn’t the worst is Sukuna.

Still, you murmur a half-hearted apology and let her carry on in another lesson you can’t escape.

You would be willing to wager a bet that a part of the reason she’s left the village so little since the incident with Imai’s boys is that she doesn’t want you near your closest friend. It feels as though every chance to sneak out and every attempt to simply walk out the door is foiled. It doesn’t often stop your friend, pokes you with a wheat stalk through the window on the nights where he hasn’t seen you all day.

He can’t pull his weight through the window anymore, struggling to carry the near-dead weight of his extra arms that never recovered from nerve damage, even nearly a year later.

But he never fails to show up.

And you rarely fail to sneak out on those nights.

Your mother carries on, droning on about mugwort and perilla until your ears feel as though they’ve just about fallen off and your eyes begin to glaze over. Were you being taught under different circumstances, you’re positive you would retain more. It’s not like the information isn’t useful, even if you were to approach it from the guise of using these remedies on yourself as an archer, but you can’t bring yourself to care, staring at the mortar and pestle with hardly-feigned interest every time she lifts it.

There comes a point where you swear time must have stopped because every time you look outside, the sun is still in the same place over the horizon.

It’s like the world is just playing games with you at this point.

Your head lifts when you hear someone young yelling. It’s distant, too far to tell whether it’s your friend or another of the village boys, but it drags away any semblance of concentration anyway.

“Pay attention,” your mother scolds you. It’s not like screaming is uncommon when it comes to children playing, so you give her back the small fraction of your attention that she had to begin with. 

But it only lasts so long when the yelling turns into a full-blown scream. Not the kind that you might brush off, but the kind that turns your blood to ice. You freeze to the spot, eyes wide as you stare at the pulverized mugwort for only a split second as your nervous system goes haywire.

Your breathing picks up, every single scenario you’ve conjured over the past three years whisking through your mind like a whirlwind. Your body acts on sheer panic alone. Inaction had you nearly losing him once, and now that the wind isn’t muffling the noise, you know your best friend’s cry.

You push up to your feet in an instant, your mother’s protests lost on you as you forgo shoes and go racing out the door towards the racket. Your mother’s steps aren’t far behind as you find Imai and Arai dragging something out of the fields behind Murata’s house. Your feet carry you over the packed dirt and scattered grass so quickly you almost wish they didn’t.

Your body betrays you when the sight before you is somehow worse than anything you’ve ever conjured in your mind. Your nightmares seem easier to navigate than the cruel fate that awaits you.

Blood seeps too fast from a large hole in Sukuna’s chest, punctured all the way through by the hunting spear that usually lies behind Murata’s home. It’s lodged in his chest, too close to his heart. His head hangs. Pink hair, matted and bloodied, hangs from atop his head, enough stray strands scattered across the ground to say that he didn’t give in without a fight. He hangs limp as they drag him by the end of the spear and one of his upper arms, and you can’t say for sure whether you’re too late or not.

When your body freezes a second too long, your mother grabs a hold of your arm, trying to drag you away from the sight.

“NO!” You scream, the sound wrenching from so deep within your chest that pain rips through your throat. You throw your full force in the opposite direction of her grip, nearly barreling you both into the dirt as you physically claw at the ground to keep her from dragging you away. “RYO!”

Arai shifts, continuing to hold the back of the spear as he steps between you and Sukuna in an effort to prevent you from the gruesome sight as though he isn’t the very cause of it. One of the lower arms hanging awkwardly from Sukuna’s torn sleeves twitches against the ground where he’s been dragged.

With one goal and one goal only in mind, you dig your nails into the earth, pulling with all of your might against your mother. “LET HIM GO!” You screech, tears gathering in your eyes as you fight your instinct to wail and cry for help when you’ve already witnessed the reality of Sukuna’s life. The only help coming to aid him is you, and you alone.

The adults fail to acknowledge you as anything more than a nuisance. They’re tearing your world apart in broad daylight, and they talk about you as though you’re not even there.

“Get her out of here.”

“I’m trying!”

More footsteps follow, but everything else is a blur when your mind clings to your friend. It holds on for dear life, your grip on the ground so desperate that when you drag yourself forward, your knees scraping harshly over rock, the pain doesn’t even register.

“RYO!” You plead again, clinging to a thick root in the mud that sticks under your nails. “Please,” your voice breaks into something harsh and jagged as tears spill, the sobs tearing through your body. The words that spill from your lips next don’t sound like you. “I need you.”

Your friend twitches again, a movement you barely manage to spot from around Arai’s figure. It doesn’t give you hope, but it’s all you have. It’s the last thread that keeps you from losing yourself, too, in that moment.

“Get,” Imai grits far more harshly this time, “her out of here.”

Your mother’s grip shifts long enough for you to surge forward, but Arai grabs you by your collar, keeping you out of reach of your friend.

You can only catch another mere glimpse of him, and it sends your stomach into a nauseating spiral. The dizzying sensation throws you off-balance and your mother catches you beneath your arms, dragging you back.

“No. NO!” Fighting against your body’s flighty instincts and your mother, you take everything you’ve learned from your limited time spent sparring with Sukuna to launch your weight straight into the ground. The impact is sudden and immense as you shake your head and attempt to pick yourself up, not having expected to successfully pull from her grip.

She scolds you, calling your name repeatedly on top of every consequence she can think of, but it’s nothing more than noise to you. Every scream attracts more attention, and for better or for worse, her words fall in amongst the rest of the chatter.

“Is that the boy I keep seeing around Murata-san?”

“Does it have four arms?”

“Stop fighting!”

“What’s wrong with his face?”

“We’re better off without it.”

“We must return home!”

“STOP!” You screech through the onslaught of overwhelming commentary as your mother drags you by the arm again.

Your chest heaves, vision blurred by tears as you fight with every last piece of iron will in your body to save your friend.

To your surprise, your scream silences much of the gathered crowd’s chatter. The shrill nature of it catches even Arai off-guard and he recoils from the noise, the tip of the spear he was holding stabbing into the ground and holding Sukuna in place at an awkward angle. Arai steps aside just enough that you finally can face your friend. Your mother still attempts to drag you away but you hang as a deadweight to prevent her from doing so with ease.

Your chest heaves, but with every inch you’re dragged further from him, your nervous system is sent into a frayed panic. Your heart pounds, the overwhelming sensation that it’s been torn by hand from within its cage like sawing through steel. Your breathing picks up, eyes burning as every inch you’re dragged backwards betrays everything you’ve spent the last three years building up since Saya’s passing.

“NO!” You cry out again, wrenching at your mother’s grip hard enough to pin yourself to the dirt again. Blood slowly wets the ground where gravel digs into the skin under your nails, but it’s the least of your worries as you’ve finally anchored yourself, tiring both yourself and your mother, and you can see Sukuna at last.

Really see him.

His breaths are shallow but present as he hangs limp on the spear. You can barely make out movement of his chest at all, thanking every god that might listen that his robes shuffle just enough to call it breathing at all. The protruding part of the right side of his face is covered in blood, as though one of the men holding your friend hostage has attacked his face, drawing blood as it drips from his scalp and an exposed area at the top of the cartilage.

His shoulder doesn’t hang right. In fact, most of them don’t. The bottom two remain damaged, hanging limp, while the upper arm Imai still has a grip on is twisted wrong. It must be completely out of the socket. Blood pours without stopping from a slice that starts at the same arm’s palm, jagged when it reaches his wrist, only ending midway up his forearm. The crimson pooling beneath him is unrelenting, staining the burlap of his robes from the waist down into something earth-shattering.

But the worst part is the spear whose sharp stone end protrudes from the upper left of his chest, angled into the dirt. On the off-chance it didn’t scathe a vital organ, it may have only narrowly avoided it.

“Ryo.” Your voice is frail, scraped over rocks as a sob wracks your body. Ignoring the pain in your fingers, you dig your nails further into the dirt-packed ground. You’ve lost faith in the onlookers to help, the most you can do now is hope. Pray. As if your dearest companion was ever protected by a god.

Fingers on the better of his two lower arms twitch again. His lashes flutter, and you find immediate relief in the fact that, by some greater force of good, he lives still. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Ryo,” you continue desperately, something uncomfortable churning in your stomach like stones. It’s heavy and nauseating, but you cling to the fact that he’s listening. He can hear you. Over your mother’s yelling, over Arai and Imai trying to navigate the situation. He hears you. You suck in a breath through your sobs, your chest heaving as the sensation rips through you like a wildfire. “You can’t leave too.”

His lashes flutter once more, remaining a crack open this time. His head still hangs, and it’s only the slight tilt to the way he’s positioned that allows you to get a glimpse of one of his upper eyes. When your breathing picks up as he responds, the upper eye positioned on the protrusion from his face slowly opens as well. It’s red, far beyond just the natural hue of his irises or even the strain of tears. A blood vessel has burst, flooding the eye with a deep, unnatural crimson.

Your mother drags you by your torso, but your grip on a stone in the mud is unrelenting. You hear her call out for someone to help her, further flooded with anger when movement stirs behind Murata’s house. Saya’s mother, proving that she’s not an onlooker, but a perpetrator of the violence, too. You grit your teeth, steeling yourself as your attention returns to Sukuna.

He doesn’t look at you, but he’s aware of you. It’s all you need. “Please,” you hiccup as you inhale sharply. “I need you.”

Like an axel lodging back into place, your words jolt something in his mind. The fog splits as though it’s been sliced, and his pupils rise to meet you.

You’re hunched over, dirt and mud clinging to your nice pink kimono. You fight tooth and claw, giving everything you have to be there with him.

Even as you fight, he hates the way your eyes flicker across his face, cataloguing every last detail you can before he becomes nothing more than a memory in the mantle of your mind. He pictures himself as a whittled carving, similar to the toys you once played with together. He’s sure his lower arms would be whittled with less care than the upper ones, a distant memory given that even you rarely see them. His lower eyes would be barely an indent, a remnant of what was, and what you can recall.

His mind cruelly conjures the image of his best friend, not even thirteen, alone in the world. Hunched over, your knees pulled to your chest as everything you’ve ever known is torn from you by forces out of your control.

He hates the anguish twisting every feature on your face out of place. He hates the temperature of red as it boils under his skin. His fingers twitch again, the muscles of his lower arms protesting when he tests them.

Familiar static lingers at the tips of his digits, little slices that barely divot the dirt at first. Sensing his defiance, Imai grabs the spear again, giving it a hateful and harsh jolt. Sukuna’s head hangs again, blood crawling up his throat to spill from his lips.

“RYO!” Your fighting grows more frantic, less controlled, as Saya’s mother bends over to tear your fingers from whatever it is you’re clinging to.

Sukuna’s jaw hangs ajar as he adjusts to the sharp seizing of torn musculature and chest pain that bleeds red. Imai spits cold words at him, but his mind swims with the only warmth he knows.

You. You. You. You.

The static grows sharp.

He doesn’t know how to unleash it with accuracy. It’s never been a blessing. It’s always been something dark that simmers like hot oil beneath his skin. An energy he can’t quite wield, yet it seems to draw some people to him like a beacon and he has yet to understand it. He sees creatures you don’t. He knows different of the supposed folklore you’ve both heard stories of.

He knows the horned beast with a long curled tail and spikes along its back, the entity so demonic for tearing down an entire village in one fell swoop is no demon at all. He knows there are no claws, no fangs, and no venom.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” You cry out in defiance as the two closest things he’s ever had to a motherly figure both try to pull you away without so much as a glance at him.

His head lifts again. He blinks as viscous crimson seeps between his lashes, temporarily blinding him in one eye. With the stronger of his lower arms, he drags it to the best of his ability to the spear, but before he can even grab it, Arai’s foot comes down hard on his wrist.

He’s never been more grateful for the severed nerves in his arms, but his jaw still hangs loosely in pain. It’s dull, but not gone.

You scream at the sight as Saya’s mother frees your hands from whatever it was that you were holding so steadily onto. The sight has your fear turning ugly. Both the maw on Sukuna’s stomach and face grit their teeth in kind. Tears flood your face as you pull, writhe, and scream against your mother’s wishes. You attract more attention that Sukuna has never shown himself to and it brings a startling thought to his weakened mind.

He wants peace. He wants to be normal.

But if not normal, he just wants to see you smile again.

“RYO!” Your voice is ragged, tearing through him in a violent wave. The hurt wavering your voice is more painful than any spear through the chest. He sucks in a shallow breath as he grits his teeth, both men above finally distracted enough that he’s able to reach for the spear with his good hand. The stone blade is sharp against his palm, but the static of tiny slashes provides enough friction that it doesn’t touch him.

He tries to push himself up, to maneuver his body in a way that it pulls the spear from the dirt, but his strength is miniscule. He shuffles uselessly against his assailants, but he’s left with no sensation in the lower half of his body. “Stop,” he sputters through the blood, not for his sake, but yours.

“Grab a dagger. Finish this,” Arai ignores him.

The man’s words are lost on him. “Stop,” Sukuna coughs. The way his body wracks sends pain like a jolt up his spine. He groans, giving a weak tug at the spear to pull it from the earth, but it only serves to bloody his palm.

Imai and Arai move around him like a mission as your mother and Saya’s drag you away. You dig your heels into the ground, you claw, you scrape, you bite.

But it’s the screaming that finally gets through.

“DON’T HURT HIM!” His heart wrenches. “LET HIM GO!” It twists, and he has to grit his teeth to bear the pain. “RYO!” You’re almost out of sight when he hears you cry out in pain as you’re dragged away wrong. “I CAN’T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU!”

His blood runs cold as something inside him tilts. The static erupts into furious slices as he cries out for you. They travel over the ground, leaving harsh divots in their path. They sit in the air like a storm, cutting through tension, thick, hot, and no longer figurative, but undeniably real. He falls out of Imai’s grasp at last as the man steps away, allowing Sukuna to catch himself on the one good arm he has before his torso slides further down the spear. His attacks die down as he catches his breath when he startles both men.

“Get the dagger!” One of them yells with more urgency.

He can’t say which one of the men it is that moves first, but his good arm lifts as he cries out in fury and rage and in mere moments, the man has halted, bones sliced through so cleanly that the way he falls apart is unnatural. It doesn’t phase the child. His hand lowers back to the spear as he unlodges it from the ground with a harsh pull in the midst of the terrified screaming surrounding him.

Someone moves towards him, wrenching one of his bad shoulders. He recoils immediately, and with one look, they pay the price for touching him. His hand whips up and redirects his anger in a series of slashes. Their arm meets the ground as Sukuna falls back, the spear pulling more blood from his mouth as its weight shifts. He grabs the weapon again, his movements panicked as he feels the only gaze that matters searing into him.

He runs on adrenaline, fueled by an innate need to survive. He can’t let the image of you, alone in the world, become reality.

He slices clean through the spear’s wooden handle, holding the stone tip in a shaking hand. The situation around him has grown dire with many running to protect their families while others scream to kill him. To kill the two-faced curse.

One of his weaker arms drags off the ground, a modicum of strength and feeling returning to it. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but the energy within him shifts in ways he’s never felt before. In the same way your words stirred something within him, a grasp on the energy curling within fell into place out of sheer need.

His head lifts, bloodshot eyes searching the commotion for you. He looks past the stack of severed limbs at his side where you’re still fighting with every fiber of your being to get to his side.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” You cry, being dragged by one arm. With his senses on high alert and a new understanding of something within, he can practically feel your pain. In spite of the fact that your arm is at an odd angle, it’s the fear and desperation in your chest that he feels the strongest.

He wonders briefly if it’s the innate understanding of the energy in the world around him beginning to fall into place, or if your places in one another’s lives has simply connected you as such.

“STOP!” You sob again, your head whipping around to look back at him. You don’t see the limbs. You don’t see the blood. You don’t see the people running in fear.

You see your best friend.

You see a man with a dagger ready to plunge it into his back.

“RYO! LOOK OUT!”

One by one, every scream knocks something into place until his systems all begin to function once more. It’s fragmented and broken, it’s not the smooth motion of a waterwheel, but something far more cobbled together.

He twists awkwardly, plunging the tip of the spear into his assailant’s knee before they reach him. As they recoil, he reaches for the spear’s handle in his chest, gritting his teeth as he pulls it through his chest. Inch by painful inch, the bloodied handle gives way until he’s able to release it onto the ground before him. A hole runs clean through his chest, blood pouring from it in waves without the spear to cauterize the wound.

Your chest heaves with exhaustion as you kick and scream, yelling protests for the world to hear. Your calls and prayers are met in tandem with Sukuna’s ability to fight back, grateful to see life in his eyes, in spite of the ensuing violence.

When you see him free of the spear, his lower body slowly beginning to move as he gathers himself, your movements pause as you can only pray that by some miracle he isn’t left with horrible injuries. Saya’s mother takes the opportunity to reposition her grip, unaware that you’re paying avid attention. You twist your wrist, turning towards her as you free yourself. With your free hand, you pry your mother’s hand away and dart through the mess towards Sukuna.

What they might do to him, you can only hope they won’t do to you.

It’s the last ditch effort you can possibly think of that might stop this mess from ending in the only way you see it going.

Your arms wrap around him, blood soaking and staining your kimono as you collapse on top of him on the ground. His entire body heaves, his breathing laborious and his heart in a fit of uncertainty.

He wraps one weakened lower arm around you. The other remains limp, the effort of channeling his energy not worth it in the moment, and one upper arm remains out of the socket. He’s not quite sure how to fix that one with his limited understanding of his abilities. The other holds him up on an elbow, just out of his own pooling blood, cool and viscous against his skin.

The pressure and weight of your embrace doesn’t soothe the pain, but the world’s action quiets down for a moment.

Because you were right.

What they might do to Sukuna without worry, they will not do to you.

You sob endlessly into his shoulder while his head spins. His brain function is barely put together, unable to fully wrap his head around the concept of forcing the energy he wields to heal his chest when he’s running on fumes and lost an immense amount of blood. He can’t begin to tell where your tears end and his start. At some point, he became numb to the very sensation of his own.

The world is an overwhelming uproar of voices and yells, questions about the origins of the unknown boy and calls to find Murata. Between the noise, the sun, the wind, and your warmth all pressing down on him, he can’t make sense of the way the energy within him curls and bends. It may have clicked for long enough to pull himself away from death’s door, but now as he tries to stitch himself back together and reverse the damage of his injuries, he’s losing himself in the fog.

Imai’s voice rings out over your ragged breaths, grave and furious as he favors the knee without a sharp stone lodged into it.

“Move aside. This doesn’t have to do with you.”

You flinch, your grip tightening. Sukuna’s chest protests the movement, his jaw hanging open as a groan of pain parts his lips. He coughs, blood sputtering from his mouth as he struggles to hold himself out of his own pooling blood.

Imai calls for your mother, trailing behind as she watches in horror with Saya’s mother. “Get her out of here!” He hisses, his fingers clutching the back of your kimono as he attempts to drag you from Sukuna. The boy’s grip on you tightens, but even so, he prepares himself for disappointment.

But you only cling harder to him, burying your face into his shoulder. His heart pangs.

“NO!” You scream as your mother wrenches on your shoulders. Sukuna offers enough weight that pulling on you means trying to drag him along with you, an effort that can’t be accomplished with only one person. Asking someone to get near the equal parts terrified and furious boy is a big ask when they’ve seen what he’s capable of.

But with you this close, he doesn’t even know what he’s capable of and fears it altogether.

But even more so, he’s tired. The fight is leaving his body with your comfort tied to his side in a bloody bow.

As your mother fails to pull you from him, Imai takes matters into his own hands, the dagger in his hand suddenly held unsteadily at your jugular.

Sukuna’s eyes, bloodied and blurred, rise to meet Imai pleadingly. “Don’t,” he manages to rasp through the fog, “please.”

Imai’s lips curls. “You have no authority to make demands here. Let her go or–”

“How dare you?” Your mother roars furiously, her grip on you loosening on your shoulders as she makes a move to protect you. In the effort to do so, she staggers Imai’s stance, and the dagger lodges itself into Sukuna’s shoulder. He groans, inadvertently digging his nails into your side as it drags more of his blood to the earth below.

Your mother rounds Imai until she can separate him from you and Sukuna by the shoulders. She gives his hunched shoulders an adamant tug, sending him back and his hand flying outward, still tightly wound around the weapon’s handle. The dagger drags heavily over Sukuna’s shoulder, opening his wound further. Blood spills from his lips again, his eyes fluttering as he struggles to keep conscious under the weight of blood loss and brain fog.

He doesn’t even hear your yelp, it’s the way you jolt that makes him open his eyes again.

His clouded vision goes red at the sight that meets him. The cut from his shoulder drags straight into yours, the two forming a single, long slice telling of the misfortune that comes with being friends with the creature of nightmarish tales.

He swallows hard, pupils flickering across your shoulder until he finds your face. Contorted in pain, you look like another person.

His breathing comes hard. Every breath is purposeful when he pours every last ounce of harnessable energy into one hand, turning to shield you from the onslaught of slashes he lets out in the air.

Imai’s guttural cry makes you flinch.

But it’s your mother’s shocked gasp that has you looking up.

Regardless of how frustrated you’ve been with her, she’s still your mother. Some part of you hasn’t fully registered what Sukuna is capable of, in spite of the dismemberment and blood surrounding you. You don’t fully have a grasp on the damage he’s wrought and the choices he can’t come back from anymore, too caught up in anguish and anxiety.

But when you look up, your vision glazes over as you lift your head past the remnants of Imai to your mother, her chest heaving and eyes wide with fear. Sukuna’s arm falls into the pooling crimson beneath him, no longer only his own blood, as his consciousness begins to fade. Your mother’s scratches are only surface-level, a decision Sukuna made through fog and iron.

But she still breathes fury and desperation as she raises hell to pull you two apart, begging for help from villagers unwilling to come any closer. You can feel Saya’s mother’s fury burning into your back as she’s forced to watch Imai succumb to the violence that she already blames for the loss of her daughter and husband.

“What’s going on?” Murata’s voice rings out in the midst of your mother’s cries. You can hear Imai’s boys sobbing in the distance. Arai’s wife cries with them. No one dares to speak ill of the child whose very existence is calamity. The guardian locks eyes with his own child, his lips pressed into a thin line as he’s backed into a corner.

He doesn’t need any replies to his question, because through your sobs as you cling to Sukuna, Murata knows. He’s likely always known it would come to this.

Even as Sukuna– a few days from thirteen– stares up at Murata from over your shoulder, he knows already that there was never any question in what decision his guardian would choose. He’s seen it all before and he knew from the start that he would see it again.

“Forgive me, Ryomen.”

Crimson irises fall, rolling to the side as he willingly gives in with no fight left in him. He lets his head fall back into the bloodied dirt, matting his hair with the remains of those lost as he prepares for death, protecting you with what last energy he has and praying that when his world goes black, yours remains intact.

It’s the least the gods above could do for smiting him in such a cruel way.

–

When you wake, your head pounds. You shut your eyes tight, praying that the light won’t harm you, but it’s that same familiar sensation from when you slammed your head against the tree last year when facing Imai’s boys. The sun’s light furthers the sensation of something rattling in your brain and your memory is fuzzy.

You can’t recall falling asleep, nor can you recall passing out, if that was the case either.

There’s nothing but fog in every direction, and no discernable way out.

Your limbs are heavy as you lift them towards the sun, blocking its rays from hitting your face. Your throat is dry, raw, and you sputter out a cough as you attempt to sit up in your bed.

The noise attracts your mother’s attention, who kneels in front of you without niceties. You try to shake your head of her grip as she grabs your cheeks and turns your head this way and that, seemingly looking over your vision as though it isn’t swimming.

“Stop,” you rasp, clumsily swatting at her.

She grabs your wrist in her palm, her grip tight. Your brow furrows on instinct as you squint up at her, trying to make sense of your surroundings. When you shift your gaze, the back of your head begins pounding.

“I am not playing around,” she states, punctuating the phrase with your name.

You try to shake your head, but it just results in harsher pounding. You hiss, reaching for the back of your head to find swelling, but you can’t recall how it happened.

“I’m not playing,” you mutter, tugging on your arm, but her grip is without relent. “My head hurts.”

“I would imagine it does.”

Confusion clouds your mind as you stare at her, attempting to blink away the incessant onslaught of sunlight on your senses. She doesn’t grace you with a reply, though she finally drops your wrist.

It’s then that you notice that her arms and parts of her chest are bandaged, though you can’t recall why. Had she burned herself?

She gets back up to her feet, shaking her head at your father as they speak in a low tone you can’t quite make out. Your head drops, gaze fixating on your blanketed lap where your hands reside. Blinking, you flip one over, staring at your palm. It’s not just dirty from the day’s usual grime, it’s dry and cracking, a deep and stomach-churning crimson dried into the cracks. You lift your other hand, finding the same of both, with dried blood packed beneath your nails and a noticeable sting when you pick at it.

Your mind swims, cloudy as you trudge through memories in search of what happened.

Dried blood clings to you in all of the spots that aren’t so easy to clean, but what really strikes you is when you look down at your shoulder and find blood soaked into the hemp material of your clothes. You lift a hand, pushing them aside and staring blankly at a tightly wrapped bandage, soaked in deep crimson as it wraps from your clavicle to your shoulder and across your chest to secure it.

In true childlike manner, your first instinct is to touch it, taught an instant lesson when your body fights back with a stinging sensation. You wince, staring down at it in confusion.

“Do not touch your shoulder,” your mother reprimands you with little care in her tone as she physically wrenches your hand away. You whine in protest, resisting the way she pulls your arm.

“That hurts.”

You don’t even get a snarky reply this time.

“What did I do?” You query, completely at a loss as to what’s happened recently when something strikes you. “Where’s Ryo?”

Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “Do not ask about that boy.”

You can only watch in confusion as your stomach churns uncomfortably when she crosses the floor to whatever she has cooking over the fire. “What? Why?”

Her head whips towards you with enough venom to make you shrink away. “He’s gone.” The word sits before you like the ill omen they always considered him to be. You swallow hard as your stomach threatens to throw up the limited amount of food that’s already in it. Your body runs cold, a horrifying sensation settling into the tips of your fingers and toes as though they’ve already gone numb.

Your chest feels as though a weight presses down on it and in a horrifying burst of panic, you throw your blankets off and make for the door. Your mother calls for you, but you’re too fast as the door slams open and you’re met with a horrific sight.

The iron in the wind hits you first. A low metallic tang that grips you by the throat has you bringing a hand to your lips as there is no fresh air to save you. It’s the still-bleeding remains that finally wrench your stomach into full unease. Whatever food you had managed to eat in the last day is emptied from your stomach as you clutch it uncomfortably, unable to tear your eyes from the spot where the pooling blood is just that– still a pool. Not dried.

It hits you hard, yesterday’s events. The blunt force of the memory is more painful than whatever blunt object Murata made the decision to knock out not only Sukuna with, but you as well.

Which leaves you with one bitter question. He’s gone. That’s inevitable. But how gone? For as cruel as Murata could be, you don’t believe him to be a killer. You can’t. So you can only hope the hate harbored towards your friend wasn’t enough to spear him through the chest yet again.

The mere thought leaves you dizzy as your mother pulls you back inside. You stumble back, falling over your feet and onto your knees as you try to gather yourself, but nothing feels right. Anxiety grips every muscle in your body, stuck in a permanently tense sensation like your nervous system doesn’t know how to let go.

Struggling to suck in a breath from where you’ve fallen to the floor, you stare up wildly at your mother. “Where is he?”

Not an ounce of care stares back at you. Your father doesn’t even glance over his shoulder as you struggle to put together the missing pieces of the puzzle. “He’s gone.”

“Where is he?” You cry with increasing panic. White encroaches on the edges of your vision as your body goes into full-blown paranoia. “I can’t–” You shake your head wildly, pushing to your feet and taking a couple of steps away from your mother in the midst of your anxiety. “I need him, I can’t–” Your breathing picks up, every gasp serving to send your body in the wrong direction as you stumble away from the figures you can barely make out anymore. “Not Ryo too,” you cry out, tears spilling over.

Your mother calls your name, taking both of your biceps as she holds you in place. Your nervous system goes haywire, your body tipping over the edge as you’re sent into fight or flight. She tries to explain that you don’t need him. She tries to explain that you’ll be a good daughter. She tries to explain that someday you’ll be a good wife to a husband who you’ll take care of.

But nothing registers as all you can picture is your brute of a friend, cast away if the blood loss didn’t take him first. He didn’t even get ten years at your side before being sent out into the forest again to scavenge for rabbits and search for warmth in the sort of places most people don’t dare look.

And that’s only if you can hope he’s still alive.

“Where is he?” You repeat your question as she outright refuses to give you a real answer.

There’s no hope in your mother’s scream when she finally raises her voice past the disappointment she’s been holding over you. “HE’S GONE!” She moves you to a chair, your feet moving clumsily over the ground as she drags you across the floor. Your shoulder protests every movement and your mind can’t make out the difference between your left and right, caught between panic over Sukuna and the sickly feeling that comes with the complete and utter shutdown of your body.

Spiralling into a complete manic state, you stare through her as you barely manage to scrape a reply past your lips. “He can’t be. He can’t– I can’t–” You swallow hard in an effort to quell the uneasy feeling in your stomach as your head swims, the white ring around your vision closing in on you.

“You can and you will.”

But your world is dark again when your body and mind protest that sentiment with a complete and utter shutdown.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

➴ a/n ; it hurts my heart to put these poor babies through so much :'( i promise things won't be quite as intense going forward! thank you for the support on this series though, i appreciate you all <3

➴ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @gojosoups @sukunas-one-n-only-peach @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo @sukubusss @matchaenthusiast1111 @peachhiz @seellove @msrinnnn @amenabiii @jasontoddscumslut @asimpinamillion @rottenrange @ricktastix @indiewritesxoxo @cosmotoic @berry-marys @eli54sa @lovers-roq @arcanelusttt @cheol-lies @scarletcachecyclone @bam-boozledx @icebearcucumber @meatboy167 @t4ters @slushycoookie @yarimarjane @dishs0pe @martianzmars @tohru-tales @loijkiupo0 @crimzie129

Do you draw inspiration from other authors, be it on Tumblr or traditional publishing authors?

Trish: Absolutely! I think it’s important to analyze the work you really enjoy as an author. I like to think about what it is that I enjoy about other work, as well as enhancing my vocabulary through others’ work. 

Which tabs are mostly open while writing?

Trish: I tend to go back and forth between a couple of pieces so I usually have 2-3 writing tabs open, my planning app with all of my notes, and the Merriam-Webster Thesaurus.

How do you deal with writer's block or in any case, writing insecurity?

Trish: Writer’s block is tough, as unfortunately I think it’s one of those things where the best option is simply to give yourself time. I think that, much like with writing insecurity, the best thing you can do in both situations is to be kind to yourself and give yourself grace. In the case of writer’s block, I like to have the time to play video games, watch movies and shows, or go out and have fun with friends. Inspiration will come when you least expect it. With writing insecurity, write for yourself and yourself only. The more you write, the more you’ll improve and the more you improve, the easier writing insecurity will be to get through.

How much does engagement affect your creative process?

Trish: It honestly doesn’t! I understand not everything I write will be for everyone, so I focus on writing for myself. I write the sort of pieces I enjoy reading and it’s more than okay if others aren’t into it. On the flip side, I do really appreciate engagement, thank you to everyone who comments, sends asks, likes, and reblogs <33

What are your favorite genres to write besides romance?

Trish: Angst is definitely my favourite as a whole! My favourite part of writing is the character analysis that it allows, and angst I think allows me to approach a lot of interesting topics.

What is your favorite work until now?

Trish: I think it goes without saying that What You Know is my baby, but With Eyes to Hear is also very dear and personal to me as someone in the deaf and hard of hearing community.

What trope is your favorite?

Trish: Slow burn. Extremely expected to those who’ve read my work I’m sure :) 

Is there a genre/trope you'd like to see be explored more in the fandom?

Trish: Honestly with the fandom being so big, I think there’s a lot of work on most genres and tropes so nothing comes to mind!

What would you like to write more in the future? sfw/nsfw/angst/fluff?

Trish: Angst will always be my fave, so definitely that! I like to do pieces that include a bit of fluff and nsfw as well though.

Do you outline your stories or not? If you do, how is said process?

Trish: My outlines read like notes I wrote while half asleep (because they are generally LOL), but I do have outlines for my work! I tend to daydream a lot and typically my ideas come at the worst time, so I generally send them to myself on discord and then transfer them to a planner later. They’re pretty vague, usually a sentence or two per scene but I do generally plan a fic from start to finish before I write it. I tend to add a lot in the middle that wasn’t based on notes though!

What has been the hardest fic you've written?

Trish: What You Know, hands-down. Between how long it was, the emotions behind it, the complexities of the plot, and the research that went into it, I had a lot to keep track of. I had a lot of other ideas for pieces while writing it, but wanted to focus solely on it towards the end as there were too many loose ends to keep track of.

How do you improve your writing?

Trish: I would say a mix of media consumption of all sorts that inspires specifically the way I format my storytelling and my vocabulary, as well as constant practice. The more you write, the more you improve!

Do you set yourself personal deadlines?

Trish: I have to for editing bc I’m not the biggest fan of it but otherwise I try to allow myself time and grace to put out the best work I can :)

How often do you read your old works?

Trish: I wouldn’t say I read them super often, but I do read them here and there! I write for myself first and foremost and every now and then I go back to read them. With Eyes to Hear was written with no intention of being posted as it was for me, so that’s the one I re-read most commonly.

What do you think makes a good story?

Trish: I think there can be a variety of factors behind this. Plot and characters are a driving factor behind long stories and I think when they play off of one another, a long story can be super engaging. For shorter pieces, I think prose is super important and something short but thoughtful can be gorgeous.

Which is your favorite character and why? (can be outside the jjk story or even outside anime)

Trish: Sukuna and Vergil (Devil May Cry gameverse) are my two comfort characters, but I’m also really fond of Zagreus from Hades, Alec from Broadchurch, Ripley from Alien, and Aleks and Emma from Veil.

Do you write with music? If so, which songs get you pumped? or do you listen to ambience music or work in silence/outside noise type?

Trish: I don’t typically, but if I do I can’t listen to anything with english lyrics, otherwise I get distracted LOL. I either listen to Bring Me The Horizon’s Lo-Files or anything from Ólafur Arnalds.

What is the inspiration behind your theme?

Trish: I change it pretty often, but right now it’s inspired by Amo from Bring Me the Horizon! I love the aesthetic of that album :)

Does your culture play a huge part on how you write, and if so, why? 

Trish: I would say my experience does more than my culture. Culture didn’t play a huge role in how I was raised, so a majority of the pieces of myself that can be found in my writing come more from personal experiences.

What are your honest feelings or opinions on the rise of ai in writing spaces?

Trish: It makes me pretty sad, to be honest. Writing is something I’ve always seen as a fun hobby and being able to share it these past couple of years has been such a fun experience. Having to worry about my work being scraped and fed to ai (which is unfortunately has been) is disappointing. The shared creative experience with others has to be one of the greatest parts of the hobby. I love sharing wips with friends and getting advice or inspiration through chatting with them and I highly encourage others to do the same. Writing should remain human.

Do you believe it to be unethical to use ai in any step of the writing process? And if so, why?

Trish: Yes. ai is trained off of stolen work. Whether from a non-fiction article or something as simple as reddit, everything genai is stolen and as such all ai “writing” is stolen. Even simply asking it questions gets you answers that are typically wrong. I will always encourage doing your own research and finding resources that you can come back to if needed.

What is something you had wished people told you while beginning to write?

Trish: Don’t be afraid to post! I wrote for over 10 years without ever posting anything and I genuinely think interaction helps you improve a lot. When readers tell you what they enjoy about your writing, it can give you an idea of what’s working and what you need to improve on.

You are currently writing two series - Grudge & FYE. How do you manage to balance time and dedication for each, given that they are two different AU's and stories?

Trish: I find having two series gives me the freedom to go back and forth when I need more time to ideate on a certain section. They’re also very different moods, and how I’m feeling on any day can determine which one I work on. I think I give them a pretty even amount of time based purely on how often I need to take a step back to think through a section or conversation, and usually switching mindsets to the other story allows me to find inspiration through the switch in context.

Where did the inspo for FYE stem from, given it is about virgin!reader - would you say it stemmed from representation of the latter in fics, real life, or both?

Trish: I might sound old here LOL but I grew up in the “sex sells” era. Every ad, every blockbuster movie, every TV show was plastered in a portrayal of sex and sexuality that I think caused a lot of harm to people who were young in that era. Particularly as a woman, there was a push to look a certain way, act a certain way, be a certain way, so when I had the idea for an adult shop au where I wanted to safely explore kinks and sex, I contemplated what context made the most sense, while allowing me to tackle a lot of the more difficult topics above and how that might affect someone. I think nowadays there’s much more body positivity and the discussion about sex has changed a lot, but I feel like it’s still not open in the ways it should be. Obviously sex ed failed us all but I also think there’s very little content when you’re an adult trying to explore your sexuality that allows one to do it safely. That’s a part of why I aimed to make mc in FYE older. She’s the kind of person who grew up with the “sex sells” era and is comfortable with the concept and has had the opportunity to try to educate herself on it where she can. She knows her body and she knows what she likes, but has had no opportunity to explore that because the sex toy industry isn’t particularly open, porn is an entirely other very difficult subject that often is very fake, and she wants to be with someone she’s comfortable with and not everyone gets that opportunity in early adulthood. I wanted to explore that stigma, not just around virginity, but sex as a whole, and hopefully show another side to all of those topics. I want to show the awkward sides, I want to show that not everything is perfect, I want to show that all body types are beautiful and that it’s okay to wait for the right person and I think this gives me the opportunity to do so.

Continuing that train of thought, how do you feel about the representation of virgin reader in fics/JJKblr? Do you feel it is inaccurate, fetishized, or something else?

Trish: Truthfully, it’s a tough subject. I will say that I don’t particularly read virgin reader content so I can’t say I have the most experience in what that looks like in fics, but I think there can be a lot of sides to it. I think, like a lot of tough subjects, it’s something that should be open to discussion. I think it’s absolutely okay to want to write a virgin reader, even in pure smut pieces. There are people who are virgins and want to read or write work in regards to losing their virginity and that should be something that is an open option to them. Like I mentioned in the above answer, I think it’s important to keep the discussion around sex open as it allows people to educate themselves. On the other hand, I do see the argument that it can be fetishized or inaccurate and I can understand frustration surrounding that. I think at the end of the day, it all comes down to intention. Much like other tough subjects, I do think it should be handled with care, but I also think it should be something that we as a society can approach with a positive mindset and without judgement.

WYK was a fic that you started in 2024 [as per the post date] and only finished the epilogue in 2026. How does it feel finally wrapping up the bow on what is considered one of your best work?

Trish: Thank you :’) Bittersweet!! Genuinely, that fic is my baby. I worked on it for just short of two years and those characters are a part of me and always will be. I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am for all the support over the years, every single comment/ask/like/reblog means the world to me and I still read and try to reply to every single one. So a huge thank you to everyone who followed along, everyone who binged, and everyone just finding it now <33

Continuing that train of thought, what were the emotions and thoughts when you sat down to write the last chapter of WYK? Did you feel relieved, sad, or something else?

Trish: Excited for sure but also sad! I’m beyond proud to be able to say I finished something of that caliber, but parting with the characters was very bittersweet. I think knowing that I have the opportunity to continue their story in small pieces through oneshots and extended pieces had me leaning more towards excitement though. I think it’s just something I didn’t know I had in me and I’m happy I get to share it with so many people.

What is it about Sukuna that makes you write for him often, especially with your recent series (WYK, FYE and Grudge), and how do you think these different AU's bring out those qualities in him?

Trish: I think Sukuna is a very multi-faceted character! I think between the fact that in canon he existed in two very different eras with very different circumstances and how open-ended a lot of his background is while still making calls to what happened leaves a lot of room to explore the different sides of him. On one hand, Sukuna is obviously very evil. We see how mercilessly he kills and how little it affects him. On the other hand, we see glimpses into why he is this way and what leads towards that outlook on life. In the same breadth, we also see a man who is fairly reasonable and very smart and thoughtful. We see a man who holds resentment towards people for his mistreatment, while equally being someone who can be reasoned with and is willing to see the other side, whether he agrees with it or not. I think that with him (in canon) having so much depth to him, means that when you take away the evil portion and make him human, there’s a lot you can do with that. He’s smart, misunderstood, frustrated and lashes out here and there. I think each version of Sukuna doesn’t necessarily need to be the same to portray all of these things, and for that reason I think there’s a lot that can be done with him.

What is a character trait/quirk of [canon] Sukuna you feel writers are not talking about and representing more?

Trish: Sukuna’s pretty nerdy and I love to see even the most bad and evil interpretations of him show that side :) I think with the fandom being so big, I do see this a lot but one of my favourite quirks about him is how much he loves flowers, history, and knowledge and how he’s very smug about it.

What advice would you give new writers or people who are just starting?

Trish: I will never stop preaching to write for yourself and give yourself grace. You’re only human, and setting yourself harsh deadlines can burn you out quickly. Take your time, enjoy the process, and write what makes you happy.

“Do you understand?”

You blink, eyes trailing from the window to your mother. You take in the sight before you of the beige paste in the mortar before you, before your gaze lifts to meet hers. You nod in spite of hearing little else but ‘stomach ailments’.

“Good,” she smiles, going on to explain more herbs and their uses in basic treatments, although your mind keeps dragging you elsewhere as you struggle to stay present.

You know better than to think this comes from a good place. It’s not that your mother doesn’t care, of course these lessons are, technically, well-meaning and useful, the only reason she keeps you here is to keep you away from Sukuna.

Ever since the ‘incident’ in question, stray glances have been thrown towards your friend more and more often from more and more villagers. It has your hair standing on end, and being apart from him leaves you listless. Your mind can’t shed the image of your best friend with blood trailing down his shoulders, and the strange way he holds himself sends your mind into a near-constant spiral of panic.

If you find him like that again, will Arai help? Will you be so lucky as to find him in time again?

Instinctively, your eyes wander to the spot where Murata’s house resides, an overwhelming itch to check in on him suddenly coming over you.

With a severity to her voice that makes you flinch, your head whips back around to your mother as she states your name. “You need to pay attention. Someday, you could help heal your husband’s ailments using this. It’s your duty.”

Your brow knits, your disdain obvious in spite of the fact that you obey.

Husband. Duty.

You want nothing less.

The only boy who isn’t the worst is Sukuna.

Still, you murmur a half-hearted apology and let her carry on in another lesson you can’t escape.

You would be willing to wager a bet that a part of the reason she’s left the village so little since the incident with Imai’s boys is that she doesn’t want you near your closest friend. It feels as though every chance to sneak out and every attempt to simply walk out the door is foiled. It doesn’t often stop your friend, pokes you with a wheat stalk through the window on the nights where he hasn’t seen you all day.

He can’t pull his weight through the window anymore, struggling to carry the near-dead weight of his extra arms that never recovered from nerve damage, even nearly a year later.

But he never fails to show up.

And you rarely fail to sneak out on those nights.

Your mother carries on, droning on about mugwort and perilla until your ears feel as though they’ve just about fallen off and your eyes begin to glaze over. Were you being taught under different circumstances, you’re positive you would retain more. It’s not like the information isn’t useful, even if you were to approach it from the guise of using these remedies on yourself as an archer, but you can’t bring yourself to care, staring at the mortar and pestle with hardly-feigned interest every time she lifts it.

There comes a point where you swear time must have stopped because every time you look outside, the sun is still in the same place over the horizon.

It’s like the world is just playing games with you at this point.

Your head lifts when you hear someone young yelling. It’s distant, too far to tell whether it’s your friend or another of the village boys, but it drags away any semblance of concentration anyway.

“Pay attention,” your mother scolds you. It’s not like screaming is uncommon when it comes to children playing, so you give her back the small fraction of your attention that she had to begin with. 

But it only lasts so long when the yelling turns into a full-blown scream. Not the kind that you might brush off, but the kind that turns your blood to ice. You freeze to the spot, eyes wide as you stare at the pulverized mugwort for only a split second as your nervous system goes haywire.

Your breathing picks up, every single scenario you’ve conjured over the past three years whisking through your mind like a whirlwind. Your body acts on sheer panic alone. Inaction had you nearly losing him once, and now that the wind isn’t muffling the noise, you know your best friend’s cry.

You push up to your feet in an instant, your mother’s protests lost on you as you forgo shoes and go racing out the door towards the racket. Your mother’s steps aren’t far behind as you find Imai and Arai dragging something out of the fields behind Murata’s house. Your feet carry you over the packed dirt and scattered grass so quickly you almost wish they didn’t.

Your body betrays you when the sight before you is somehow worse than anything you’ve ever conjured in your mind. Your nightmares seem easier to navigate than the cruel fate that awaits you.

Blood seeps too fast from a large hole in Sukuna’s chest, punctured all the way through by the hunting spear that usually lies behind Murata’s home. It’s lodged in his chest, too close to his heart. His head hangs. Pink hair, matted and bloodied, hangs from atop his head, enough stray strands scattered across the ground to say that he didn’t give in without a fight. He hangs limp as they drag him by the end of the spear and one of his upper arms, and you can’t say for sure whether you’re too late or not.

When your body freezes a second too long, your mother grabs a hold of your arm, trying to drag you away from the sight.

“NO!” You scream, the sound wrenching from so deep within your chest that pain rips through your throat. You throw your full force in the opposite direction of her grip, nearly barreling you both into the dirt as you physically claw at the ground to keep her from dragging you away. “RYO!”

Arai shifts, continuing to hold the back of the spear as he steps between you and Sukuna in an effort to prevent you from the gruesome sight as though he isn’t the very cause of it. One of the lower arms hanging awkwardly from Sukuna’s torn sleeves twitches against the ground where he’s been dragged.

With one goal and one goal only in mind, you dig your nails into the earth, pulling with all of your might against your mother. “LET HIM GO!” You screech, tears gathering in your eyes as you fight your instinct to wail and cry for help when you’ve already witnessed the reality of Sukuna’s life. The only help coming to aid him is you, and you alone.

The adults fail to acknowledge you as anything more than a nuisance. They’re tearing your world apart in broad daylight, and they talk about you as though you’re not even there.

“Get her out of here.”

“I’m trying!”

More footsteps follow, but everything else is a blur when your mind clings to your friend. It holds on for dear life, your grip on the ground so desperate that when you drag yourself forward, your knees scraping harshly over rock, the pain doesn’t even register.

“RYO!” You plead again, clinging to a thick root in the mud that sticks under your nails. “Please,” your voice breaks into something harsh and jagged as tears spill, the sobs tearing through your body. The words that spill from your lips next don’t sound like you. “I need you.”

Your friend twitches again, a movement you barely manage to spot from around Arai’s figure. It doesn’t give you hope, but it’s all you have. It’s the last thread that keeps you from losing yourself, too, in that moment.

“Get,” Imai grits far more harshly this time, “her out of here.”

Your mother’s grip shifts long enough for you to surge forward, but Arai grabs you by your collar, keeping you out of reach of your friend.

You can only catch another mere glimpse of him, and it sends your stomach into a nauseating spiral. The dizzying sensation throws you off-balance and your mother catches you beneath your arms, dragging you back.

“No. NO!” Fighting against your body’s flighty instincts and your mother, you take everything you’ve learned from your limited time spent sparring with Sukuna to launch your weight straight into the ground. The impact is sudden and immense as you shake your head and attempt to pick yourself up, not having expected to successfully pull from her grip.

She scolds you, calling your name repeatedly on top of every consequence she can think of, but it’s nothing more than noise to you. Every scream attracts more attention, and for better or for worse, her words fall in amongst the rest of the chatter.

“Is that the boy I keep seeing around Murata-san?”

“Does it have four arms?”

“Stop fighting!”

“What’s wrong with his face?”

“We’re better off without it.”

“We must return home!”

“STOP!” You screech through the onslaught of overwhelming commentary as your mother drags you by the arm again.

Your chest heaves, vision blurred by tears as you fight with every last piece of iron will in your body to save your friend.

To your surprise, your scream silences much of the gathered crowd’s chatter. The shrill nature of it catches even Arai off-guard and he recoils from the noise, the tip of the spear he was holding stabbing into the ground and holding Sukuna in place at an awkward angle. Arai steps aside just enough that you finally can face your friend. Your mother still attempts to drag you away but you hang as a deadweight to prevent her from doing so with ease.

Your chest heaves, but with every inch you’re dragged further from him, your nervous system is sent into a frayed panic. Your heart pounds, the overwhelming sensation that it’s been torn by hand from within its cage like sawing through steel. Your breathing picks up, eyes burning as every inch you’re dragged backwards betrays everything you’ve spent the last three years building up since Saya’s passing.

“NO!” You cry out again, wrenching at your mother’s grip hard enough to pin yourself to the dirt again. Blood slowly wets the ground where gravel digs into the skin under your nails, but it’s the least of your worries as you’ve finally anchored yourself, tiring both yourself and your mother, and you can see Sukuna at last.

Really see him.

His breaths are shallow but present as he hangs limp on the spear. You can barely make out movement of his chest at all, thanking every god that might listen that his robes shuffle just enough to call it breathing at all. The protruding part of the right side of his face is covered in blood, as though one of the men holding your friend hostage has attacked his face, drawing blood as it drips from his scalp and an exposed area at the top of the cartilage.

His shoulder doesn’t hang right. In fact, most of them don’t. The bottom two remain damaged, hanging limp, while the upper arm Imai still has a grip on is twisted wrong. It must be completely out of the socket. Blood pours without stopping from a slice that starts at the same arm’s palm, jagged when it reaches his wrist, only ending midway up his forearm. The crimson pooling beneath him is unrelenting, staining the burlap of his robes from the waist down into something earth-shattering.

But the worst part is the spear whose sharp stone end protrudes from the upper left of his chest, angled into the dirt. On the off-chance it didn’t scathe a vital organ, it may have only narrowly avoided it.

“Ryo.” Your voice is frail, scraped over rocks as a sob wracks your body. Ignoring the pain in your fingers, you dig your nails further into the dirt-packed ground. You’ve lost faith in the onlookers to help, the most you can do now is hope. Pray. As if your dearest companion was ever protected by a god.

Fingers on the better of his two lower arms twitch again. His lashes flutter, and you find immediate relief in the fact that, by some greater force of good, he lives still. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Ryo,” you continue desperately, something uncomfortable churning in your stomach like stones. It’s heavy and nauseating, but you cling to the fact that he’s listening. He can hear you. Over your mother’s yelling, over Arai and Imai trying to navigate the situation. He hears you. You suck in a breath through your sobs, your chest heaving as the sensation rips through you like a wildfire. “You can’t leave too.”

His lashes flutter once more, remaining a crack open this time. His head still hangs, and it’s only the slight tilt to the way he’s positioned that allows you to get a glimpse of one of his upper eyes. When your breathing picks up as he responds, the upper eye positioned on the protrusion from his face slowly opens as well. It’s red, far beyond just the natural hue of his irises or even the strain of tears. A blood vessel has burst, flooding the eye with a deep, unnatural crimson.

Your mother drags you by your torso, but your grip on a stone in the mud is unrelenting. You hear her call out for someone to help her, further flooded with anger when movement stirs behind Murata’s house. Saya’s mother, proving that she’s not an onlooker, but a perpetrator of the violence, too. You grit your teeth, steeling yourself as your attention returns to Sukuna.

He doesn’t look at you, but he’s aware of you. It’s all you need. “Please,” you hiccup as you inhale sharply. “I need you.”

Like an axel lodging back into place, your words jolt something in his mind. The fog splits as though it’s been sliced, and his pupils rise to meet you.

You’re hunched over, dirt and mud clinging to your nice pink kimono. You fight tooth and claw, giving everything you have to be there with him.

Even as you fight, he hates the way your eyes flicker across his face, cataloguing every last detail you can before he becomes nothing more than a memory in the mantle of your mind. He pictures himself as a whittled carving, similar to the toys you once played with together. He’s sure his lower arms would be whittled with less care than the upper ones, a distant memory given that even you rarely see them. His lower eyes would be barely an indent, a remnant of what was, and what you can recall.

His mind cruelly conjures the image of his best friend, not even thirteen, alone in the world. Hunched over, your knees pulled to your chest as everything you’ve ever known is torn from you by forces out of your control.

He hates the anguish twisting every feature on your face out of place. He hates the temperature of red as it boils under his skin. His fingers twitch again, the muscles of his lower arms protesting when he tests them.

Familiar static lingers at the tips of his digits, little slices that barely divot the dirt at first. Sensing his defiance, Imai grabs the spear again, giving it a hateful and harsh jolt. Sukuna’s head hangs again, blood crawling up his throat to spill from his lips.

“RYO!” Your fighting grows more frantic, less controlled, as Saya’s mother bends over to tear your fingers from whatever it is you’re clinging to.

Sukuna’s jaw hangs ajar as he adjusts to the sharp seizing of torn musculature and chest pain that bleeds red. Imai spits cold words at him, but his mind swims with the only warmth he knows.

You. You. You. You.

The static grows sharp.

He doesn’t know how to unleash it with accuracy. It’s never been a blessing. It’s always been something dark that simmers like hot oil beneath his skin. An energy he can’t quite wield, yet it seems to draw some people to him like a beacon and he has yet to understand it. He sees creatures you don’t. He knows different of the supposed folklore you’ve both heard stories of.

He knows the horned beast with a long curled tail and spikes along its back, the entity so demonic for tearing down an entire village in one fell swoop is no demon at all. He knows there are no claws, no fangs, and no venom.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” You cry out in defiance as the two closest things he’s ever had to a motherly figure both try to pull you away without so much as a glance at him.

His head lifts again. He blinks as viscous crimson seeps between his lashes, temporarily blinding him in one eye. With the stronger of his lower arms, he drags it to the best of his ability to the spear, but before he can even grab it, Arai’s foot comes down hard on his wrist.

He’s never been more grateful for the severed nerves in his arms, but his jaw still hangs loosely in pain. It’s dull, but not gone.

You scream at the sight as Saya’s mother frees your hands from whatever it was that you were holding so steadily onto. The sight has your fear turning ugly. Both the maw on Sukuna’s stomach and face grit their teeth in kind. Tears flood your face as you pull, writhe, and scream against your mother’s wishes. You attract more attention that Sukuna has never shown himself to and it brings a startling thought to his weakened mind.

He wants peace. He wants to be normal.

But if not normal, he just wants to see you smile again.

“RYO!” Your voice is ragged, tearing through him in a violent wave. The hurt wavering your voice is more painful than any spear through the chest. He sucks in a shallow breath as he grits his teeth, both men above finally distracted enough that he’s able to reach for the spear with his good hand. The stone blade is sharp against his palm, but the static of tiny slashes provides enough friction that it doesn’t touch him.

He tries to push himself up, to maneuver his body in a way that it pulls the spear from the dirt, but his strength is miniscule. He shuffles uselessly against his assailants, but he’s left with no sensation in the lower half of his body. “Stop,” he sputters through the blood, not for his sake, but yours.

“Grab a dagger. Finish this,” Arai ignores him.

The man’s words are lost on him. “Stop,” Sukuna coughs. The way his body wracks sends pain like a jolt up his spine. He groans, giving a weak tug at the spear to pull it from the earth, but it only serves to bloody his palm.

Imai and Arai move around him like a mission as your mother and Saya’s drag you away. You dig your heels into the ground, you claw, you scrape, you bite.

But it’s the screaming that finally gets through.

“DON’T HURT HIM!” His heart wrenches. “LET HIM GO!” It twists, and he has to grit his teeth to bear the pain. “RYO!” You’re almost out of sight when he hears you cry out in pain as you’re dragged away wrong. “I CAN’T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU!”

His blood runs cold as something inside him tilts. The static erupts into furious slices as he cries out for you. They travel over the ground, leaving harsh divots in their path. They sit in the air like a storm, cutting through tension, thick, hot, and no longer figurative, but undeniably real. He falls out of Imai’s grasp at last as the man steps away, allowing Sukuna to catch himself on the one good arm he has before his torso slides further down the spear. His attacks die down as he catches his breath when he startles both men.

“Get the dagger!” One of them yells with more urgency.

He can’t say which one of the men it is that moves first, but his good arm lifts as he cries out in fury and rage and in mere moments, the man has halted, bones sliced through so cleanly that the way he falls apart is unnatural. It doesn’t phase the child. His hand lowers back to the spear as he unlodges it from the ground with a harsh pull in the midst of the terrified screaming surrounding him.

Someone moves towards him, wrenching one of his bad shoulders. He recoils immediately, and with one look, they pay the price for touching him. His hand whips up and redirects his anger in a series of slashes. Their arm meets the ground as Sukuna falls back, the spear pulling more blood from his mouth as its weight shifts. He grabs the weapon again, his movements panicked as he feels the only gaze that matters searing into him.

He runs on adrenaline, fueled by an innate need to survive. He can’t let the image of you, alone in the world, become reality.

He slices clean through the spear’s wooden handle, holding the stone tip in a shaking hand. The situation around him has grown dire with many running to protect their families while others scream to kill him. To kill the two-faced curse.

One of his weaker arms drags off the ground, a modicum of strength and feeling returning to it. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but the energy within him shifts in ways he’s never felt before. In the same way your words stirred something within him, a grasp on the energy curling within fell into place out of sheer need.

His head lifts, bloodshot eyes searching the commotion for you. He looks past the stack of severed limbs at his side where you’re still fighting with every fiber of your being to get to his side.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” You cry, being dragged by one arm. With his senses on high alert and a new understanding of something within, he can practically feel your pain. In spite of the fact that your arm is at an odd angle, it’s the fear and desperation in your chest that he feels the strongest.

He wonders briefly if it’s the innate understanding of the energy in the world around him beginning to fall into place, or if your places in one another’s lives has simply connected you as such.

“STOP!” You sob again, your head whipping around to look back at him. You don’t see the limbs. You don’t see the blood. You don’t see the people running in fear.

You see your best friend.

You see a man with a dagger ready to plunge it into his back.

“RYO! LOOK OUT!”

One by one, every scream knocks something into place until his systems all begin to function once more. It’s fragmented and broken, it’s not the smooth motion of a waterwheel, but something far more cobbled together.

He twists awkwardly, plunging the tip of the spear into his assailant’s knee before they reach him. As they recoil, he reaches for the spear’s handle in his chest, gritting his teeth as he pulls it through his chest. Inch by painful inch, the bloodied handle gives way until he’s able to release it onto the ground before him. A hole runs clean through his chest, blood pouring from it in waves without the spear to cauterize the wound.

Your chest heaves with exhaustion as you kick and scream, yelling protests for the world to hear. Your calls and prayers are met in tandem with Sukuna’s ability to fight back, grateful to see life in his eyes, in spite of the ensuing violence.

When you see him free of the spear, his lower body slowly beginning to move as he gathers himself, your movements pause as you can only pray that by some miracle he isn’t left with horrible injuries. Saya’s mother takes the opportunity to reposition her grip, unaware that you’re paying avid attention. You twist your wrist, turning towards her as you free yourself. With your free hand, you pry your mother’s hand away and dart through the mess towards Sukuna.

What they might do to him, you can only hope they won’t do to you.

It’s the last ditch effort you can possibly think of that might stop this mess from ending in the only way you see it going.

Your arms wrap around him, blood soaking and staining your kimono as you collapse on top of him on the ground. His entire body heaves, his breathing laborious and his heart in a fit of uncertainty.

He wraps one weakened lower arm around you. The other remains limp, the effort of channeling his energy not worth it in the moment, and one upper arm remains out of the socket. He’s not quite sure how to fix that one with his limited understanding of his abilities. The other holds him up on an elbow, just out of his own pooling blood, cool and viscous against his skin.

The pressure and weight of your embrace doesn’t soothe the pain, but the world’s action quiets down for a moment.

Because you were right.

What they might do to Sukuna without worry, they will not do to you.

You sob endlessly into his shoulder while his head spins. His brain function is barely put together, unable to fully wrap his head around the concept of forcing the energy he wields to heal his chest when he’s running on fumes and lost an immense amount of blood. He can’t begin to tell where your tears end and his start. At some point, he became numb to the very sensation of his own.

The world is an overwhelming uproar of voices and yells, questions about the origins of the unknown boy and calls to find Murata. Between the noise, the sun, the wind, and your warmth all pressing down on him, he can’t make sense of the way the energy within him curls and bends. It may have clicked for long enough to pull himself away from death’s door, but now as he tries to stitch himself back together and reverse the damage of his injuries, he’s losing himself in the fog.

Imai’s voice rings out over your ragged breaths, grave and furious as he favors the knee without a sharp stone lodged into it.

“Move aside. This doesn’t have to do with you.”

You flinch, your grip tightening. Sukuna’s chest protests the movement, his jaw hanging open as a groan of pain parts his lips. He coughs, blood sputtering from his mouth as he struggles to hold himself out of his own pooling blood.

Imai calls for your mother, trailing behind as she watches in horror with Saya’s mother. “Get her out of here!” He hisses, his fingers clutching the back of your kimono as he attempts to drag you from Sukuna. The boy’s grip on you tightens, but even so, he prepares himself for disappointment.

But you only cling harder to him, burying your face into his shoulder. His heart pangs.

“NO!” You scream as your mother wrenches on your shoulders. Sukuna offers enough weight that pulling on you means trying to drag him along with you, an effort that can’t be accomplished with only one person. Asking someone to get near the equal parts terrified and furious boy is a big ask when they’ve seen what he’s capable of.

But with you this close, he doesn’t even know what he’s capable of and fears it altogether.

But even more so, he’s tired. The fight is leaving his body with your comfort tied to his side in a bloody bow.

As your mother fails to pull you from him, Imai takes matters into his own hands, the dagger in his hand suddenly held unsteadily at your jugular.

Sukuna’s eyes, bloodied and blurred, rise to meet Imai pleadingly. “Don’t,” he manages to rasp through the fog, “please.”

Imai’s lips curls. “You have no authority to make demands here. Let her go or–”

“How dare you?” Your mother roars furiously, her grip on you loosening on your shoulders as she makes a move to protect you. In the effort to do so, she staggers Imai’s stance, and the dagger lodges itself into Sukuna’s shoulder. He groans, inadvertently digging his nails into your side as it drags more of his blood to the earth below.

Your mother rounds Imai until she can separate him from you and Sukuna by the shoulders. She gives his hunched shoulders an adamant tug, sending him back and his hand flying outward, still tightly wound around the weapon’s handle. The dagger drags heavily over Sukuna’s shoulder, opening his wound further. Blood spills from his lips again, his eyes fluttering as he struggles to keep conscious under the weight of blood loss and brain fog.

He doesn’t even hear your yelp, it’s the way you jolt that makes him open his eyes again.

His clouded vision goes red at the sight that meets him. The cut from his shoulder drags straight into yours, the two forming a single, long slice telling of the misfortune that comes with being friends with the creature of nightmarish tales.

He swallows hard, pupils flickering across your shoulder until he finds your face. Contorted in pain, you look like another person.

His breathing comes hard. Every breath is purposeful when he pours every last ounce of harnessable energy into one hand, turning to shield you from the onslaught of slashes he lets out in the air.

Imai’s guttural cry makes you flinch.

But it’s your mother’s shocked gasp that has you looking up.

Regardless of how frustrated you’ve been with her, she’s still your mother. Some part of you hasn’t fully registered what Sukuna is capable of, in spite of the dismemberment and blood surrounding you. You don’t fully have a grasp on the damage he’s wrought and the choices he can’t come back from anymore, too caught up in anguish and anxiety.

But when you look up, your vision glazes over as you lift your head past the remnants of Imai to your mother, her chest heaving and eyes wide with fear. Sukuna’s arm falls into the pooling crimson beneath him, no longer only his own blood, as his consciousness begins to fade. Your mother’s scratches are only surface-level, a decision Sukuna made through fog and iron.

But she still breathes fury and desperation as she raises hell to pull you two apart, begging for help from villagers unwilling to come any closer. You can feel Saya’s mother’s fury burning into your back as she’s forced to watch Imai succumb to the violence that she already blames for the loss of her daughter and husband.

“What’s going on?” Murata’s voice rings out in the midst of your mother’s cries. You can hear Imai’s boys sobbing in the distance. Arai’s wife cries with them. No one dares to speak ill of the child whose very existence is calamity. The guardian locks eyes with his own child, his lips pressed into a thin line as he’s backed into a corner.

He doesn’t need any replies to his question, because through your sobs as you cling to Sukuna, Murata knows. He’s likely always known it would come to this.

Even as Sukuna– a few days from thirteen– stares up at Murata from over your shoulder, he knows already that there was never any question in what decision his guardian would choose. He’s seen it all before and he knew from the start that he would see it again.

“Forgive me, Ryomen.”

Crimson irises fall, rolling to the side as he willingly gives in with no fight left in him. He lets his head fall back into the bloodied dirt, matting his hair with the remains of those lost as he prepares for death, protecting you with what last energy he has and praying that when his world goes black, yours remains intact.

It’s the least the gods above could do for smiting him in such a cruel way.

–

When you wake, your head pounds. You shut your eyes tight, praying that the light won’t harm you, but it’s that same familiar sensation from when you slammed your head against the tree last year when facing Imai’s boys. The sun’s light furthers the sensation of something rattling in your brain and your memory is fuzzy.

You can’t recall falling asleep, nor can you recall passing out, if that was the case either.

There’s nothing but fog in every direction, and no discernable way out.

Your limbs are heavy as you lift them towards the sun, blocking its rays from hitting your face. Your throat is dry, raw, and you sputter out a cough as you attempt to sit up in your bed.

The noise attracts your mother’s attention, who kneels in front of you without niceties. You try to shake your head of her grip as she grabs your cheeks and turns your head this way and that, seemingly looking over your vision as though it isn’t swimming.

“Stop,” you rasp, clumsily swatting at her.

She grabs your wrist in her palm, her grip tight. Your brow furrows on instinct as you squint up at her, trying to make sense of your surroundings. When you shift your gaze, the back of your head begins pounding.

“I am not playing around,” she states, punctuating the phrase with your name.

You try to shake your head, but it just results in harsher pounding. You hiss, reaching for the back of your head to find swelling, but you can’t recall how it happened.

“I’m not playing,” you mutter, tugging on your arm, but her grip is without relent. “My head hurts.”

“I would imagine it does.”

Confusion clouds your mind as you stare at her, attempting to blink away the incessant onslaught of sunlight on your senses. She doesn’t grace you with a reply, though she finally drops your wrist.

It’s then that you notice that her arms and parts of her chest are bandaged, though you can’t recall why. Had she burned herself?

She gets back up to her feet, shaking her head at your father as they speak in a low tone you can’t quite make out. Your head drops, gaze fixating on your blanketed lap where your hands reside. Blinking, you flip one over, staring at your palm. It’s not just dirty from the day’s usual grime, it’s dry and cracking, a deep and stomach-churning crimson dried into the cracks. You lift your other hand, finding the same of both, with dried blood packed beneath your nails and a noticeable sting when you pick at it.

Your mind swims, cloudy as you trudge through memories in search of what happened.

Dried blood clings to you in all of the spots that aren’t so easy to clean, but what really strikes you is when you look down at your shoulder and find blood soaked into the hemp material of your clothes. You lift a hand, pushing them aside and staring blankly at a tightly wrapped bandage, soaked in deep crimson as it wraps from your clavicle to your shoulder and across your chest to secure it.

In true childlike manner, your first instinct is to touch it, taught an instant lesson when your body fights back with a stinging sensation. You wince, staring down at it in confusion.

“Do not touch your shoulder,” your mother reprimands you with little care in her tone as she physically wrenches your hand away. You whine in protest, resisting the way she pulls your arm.

“That hurts.”

You don’t even get a snarky reply this time.

“What did I do?” You query, completely at a loss as to what’s happened recently when something strikes you. “Where’s Ryo?”

Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “Do not ask about that boy.”

You can only watch in confusion as your stomach churns uncomfortably when she crosses the floor to whatever she has cooking over the fire. “What? Why?”

Her head whips towards you with enough venom to make you shrink away. “He’s gone.” The word sits before you like the ill omen they always considered him to be. You swallow hard as your stomach threatens to throw up the limited amount of food that’s already in it. Your body runs cold, a horrifying sensation settling into the tips of your fingers and toes as though they’ve already gone numb.

Your chest feels as though a weight presses down on it and in a horrifying burst of panic, you throw your blankets off and make for the door. Your mother calls for you, but you’re too fast as the door slams open and you’re met with a horrific sight.

The iron in the wind hits you first. A low metallic tang that grips you by the throat has you bringing a hand to your lips as there is no fresh air to save you. It’s the still-bleeding remains that finally wrench your stomach into full unease. Whatever food you had managed to eat in the last day is emptied from your stomach as you clutch it uncomfortably, unable to tear your eyes from the spot where the pooling blood is just that– still a pool. Not dried.

It hits you hard, yesterday’s events. The blunt force of the memory is more painful than whatever blunt object Murata made the decision to knock out not only Sukuna with, but you as well.

Which leaves you with one bitter question. He’s gone. That’s inevitable. But how gone? For as cruel as Murata could be, you don’t believe him to be a killer. You can’t. So you can only hope the hate harbored towards your friend wasn’t enough to spear him through the chest yet again.

The mere thought leaves you dizzy as your mother pulls you back inside. You stumble back, falling over your feet and onto your knees as you try to gather yourself, but nothing feels right. Anxiety grips every muscle in your body, stuck in a permanently tense sensation like your nervous system doesn’t know how to let go.

Struggling to suck in a breath from where you’ve fallen to the floor, you stare up wildly at your mother. “Where is he?”

Not an ounce of care stares back at you. Your father doesn’t even glance over his shoulder as you struggle to put together the missing pieces of the puzzle. “He’s gone.”

“Where is he?” You cry with increasing panic. White encroaches on the edges of your vision as your body goes into full-blown paranoia. “I can’t–” You shake your head wildly, pushing to your feet and taking a couple of steps away from your mother in the midst of your anxiety. “I need him, I can’t–” Your breathing picks up, every gasp serving to send your body in the wrong direction as you stumble away from the figures you can barely make out anymore. “Not Ryo too,” you cry out, tears spilling over.

Your mother calls your name, taking both of your biceps as she holds you in place. Your nervous system goes haywire, your body tipping over the edge as you’re sent into fight or flight. She tries to explain that you don’t need him. She tries to explain that you’ll be a good daughter. She tries to explain that someday you’ll be a good wife to a husband who you’ll take care of.

But nothing registers as all you can picture is your brute of a friend, cast away if the blood loss didn’t take him first. He didn’t even get ten years at your side before being sent out into the forest again to scavenge for rabbits and search for warmth in the sort of places most people don’t dare look.

And that’s only if you can hope he’s still alive.

“Where is he?” You repeat your question as she outright refuses to give you a real answer.

There’s no hope in your mother’s scream when she finally raises her voice past the disappointment she’s been holding over you. “HE’S GONE!” She moves you to a chair, your feet moving clumsily over the ground as she drags you across the floor. Your shoulder protests every movement and your mind can’t make out the difference between your left and right, caught between panic over Sukuna and the sickly feeling that comes with the complete and utter shutdown of your body.

Spiralling into a complete manic state, you stare through her as you barely manage to scrape a reply past your lips. “He can’t be. He can’t– I can’t–” You swallow hard in an effort to quell the uneasy feeling in your stomach as your head swims, the white ring around your vision closing in on you.

“You can and you will.”

But your world is dark again when your body and mind protest that sentiment with a complete and utter shutdown.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

➴ a/n ; it hurts my heart to put these poor babies through so much :'( i promise things won't be quite as intense going forward! thank you for the support on this series though, i appreciate you all <3

➴ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @gojosoups @sukunas-one-n-only-peach @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo @sukubusss @matchaenthusiast1111 @peachhiz @seellove @msrinnnn @amenabiii @jasontoddscumslut @asimpinamillion @rottenrange @ricktastix @indiewritesxoxo @cosmotoic @berry-marys @eli54sa @lovers-roq @arcanelusttt @cheol-lies @scarletcachecyclone @bam-boozledx @icebearcucumber @meatboy167 @t4ters @slushycoookie @yarimarjane @dishs0pe @martianzmars @tohru-tales @loijkiupo0 @crimzie129

Back when he roamed the earth alone, destined to walk moonlit streets only, seeking his prey in the dark. It was a life he had grown accustomed to, but every single time he hunted, he was hoping he could find someone else. Just one person.

One person to exchange a kind word with. A soft caress maybe, to breathe life back into this dead body of his.

Just someone like him. Who understood.

The worst thing a vampire could be was lonely, Suguru thought before he met you. Now he knows the pain of heartbreak was far greater.

Because how cruel does this cursed existence have to be, to give one a sliver of hope – and then brutally take it all away again?

You made Suguru realised he wasn't a dark void after all, because if his heart hurt this much, it was surely still there.

Dead, unmoving, but there.

It changed everything.

You changed everything.

You.

In all his years, no – centuries alone, you finally came to him like an angel in the night. Dripping in blood, the red crimson mixing with your skin and glowing under the full moon.

You hadn't noticed him straight away, which he thought amusing. Considering the amount of work Suguru had put into his stealth abilities, he was glad to see it could work even on those of his kind. It also gave him just a few seconds longer to just…watch.

You were pinning down someone under you, teeth deep into their neck as you gorged yourself. Nothing more than an animal at that point, reminding Suguru of the worst part of his condition. But such a primitive, hideous sight was made mesmerizing by you.

You were like a painter.

Blood was your ink. The street was your canvas.

Did you know he was watching? Was that why you took your time in that way?

Suguru always drank with nothing but disgust for himself, swallowing the other person's essence as fast as he could as if a quick death was somehow an apology.

Such a disgusting act shouldn't be made so beautiful.

Where had you even come from?

Suguru had roamed this continent for years and had never met anyone else.

Here you were – the answer to all his prayers. Maybe they weren't going on deaf years after all. Maybe he still deserved a little respite, despite being what he was.

Suguru wanted to cry, but he held it in so to not disturb you. The worst thing that could happen was startle you and have you ran away.

At that moment though, he had decided he'd follow you to the ends of the earth if he had to.

An odd promise made to someone not even aware of his existence yet, but Suguru was desperate – he needed you. Hadn't even met you, but he fucking needed you.

You finally tilted your head upwards, fangs fully on show, red on white.

And then you saw him.

He noticed how your eyes immediately met his, like an invisible thread had pulled you to him. The eyes of a beast, deformed like his were, an unnatural colour that matched the blood you were wiping from your chin.

Suguru saw you get ready to run away, with the way your legs tensed and your posture rearranged. But he was quick to put his hands up, taking a quiet step in your direction.

You cocked your head sideways, assessing. Understanding.

And then your beautiful lips parted.

"How long have you been watching?" you finally asked, the small hint of a prideful smirk tugging at the edges of your lips.

What a beautiful sound it was. Suguru couldn't breathe – your voice was nearly as gorgeous as your beautiful face, now fully visible to him.

You were his salvation. He was sure of it.

An angel sent from above. Or… below, in this case.

"I didn't know there were others" he heard himself say, voice shaking just like the hands he hid in his pockets; too worried of anything that might make you look down on him.

You stared at him for a moment. Taking him in, your head tilted in curiosity.

And then your posture dropped a little, less guarded and more sad. Pitiful, even.

"How long have you been alone?"

That's when the first tears started pouring out of Suguru's red eyes, his body reacting to your question before his mind could.

He felt himself sink to his knees, falling to your feet, tears spilling and spilling like they hadn't in years. Probably not since before he had lost his mortality.

You could have run away. Could have laughed at him, thought him weak like his maker had, and left to find your next victim.

To expect compassion from a vampire was far beyond reason.

But you didn't do that.

Instead, you walked towards him. Slowly, carefully, maybe even wondering if this had been a trap. It didn't hurt to be cautious, not in this world. Not for who you were.

You lowered yourself on your knees – so close, much closer than he had been to anyone he didn't intend on drinking blood from in the past centuries. And then you extended a tentative hand, and cupped his cheek.

"I know what it's like" you murmured.

Suguru didn't mean to throw himself at you like he had, but all reason had left him the second you spoke to him so kindly. His arms crossed your back, pulling you into him and crashing onto you at the same time, crying onto your chest so loud it might alert other people to the crime scene you currently found yourselves on.

But nothing else mattered at that moment.

He had found you.

His angel.

The feeling of arms around his back was foreign to him at this point – how long had it been since someone pulled him in instead of away? Since someone held him?

Your skin was as cold as his, but he could swear his heart felt warm.

And as Suguru cried tears of grief and of relief, you slowly caressed his long strands, shushing him with gentleness a creature like him did not deserve.

 Suguru wasn't even sure how long you held him like that. So patient.

You were perfect.

He took you to his apartment that night – you were surprised he even had one. But in all his years alive, or, dead, really, he felt a bit of comfort was necessary. After too long roaming aimlessly, Suguru just wanted a home.

He just never expected he'd actually get to invite someone in, and expose a little more of himself than he had intended. But Suguru wanted to try.

You told him your name. An old sound, not native to this land and maybe, to any of the modern day. But you refused to say more; to tell him who was your maker or how long you had been like this, so Suguru didn't pry.

You wanted to move forward, you explained. Look ahead instead of behind. That sounded great to him – Suguru was never able to look at anywhere but the past. His regrets. The wrong turns he had made. Maybe you could help change that.

Another curious thing about you was that you didn't speak of your vampire condition with hatred at all. To you, living forever was exciting, not a curse. You spoke of lands you wished to see and things you still wanted to do.

The world changed every day and you were changing with it. It was a beautiful perspective, something he had never even considered.

But when he asked of the things you missed, you stayed quiet.

Too quiet.

"What's the point of reminiscing" you scoffed, and Suguru could tell there was a splinter there somewhere.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Don't be" you interrupted, looking him in the eyes once more. If he had a living heart, it would have beat faster, he was sure of it. "Are you hungry?" you squinted, so good at reading him already.

"I try not to over indulge" he explained. He worried you might call him weak for admitting he hated to kill, but you seemed more confused than anything.

"It's almost dawn" you muttered. "Will you be ok until nightfall?"

Were you worried about him?

"I am used to it" he tried to smile.

You were still not convinced.

"You don't like the taste?" you asked, one brow raising as if trying to conceal your judgment.

"It's not that, it's–" he struggled with his words, letting out a long sigh. "I don't like inflicting pain"

Your lips turned into an almost smile, amused. "But you're a vampire" you said, as if he didn't already know.

"Am I?" he teased, letting out a self deprecating chuckle.

You laughed with him. Head falling forwards just slightly, your pointy teeth in full display as you let out the sweetest laugh he had heard in centuries.

"I'd assume so" you teased back. "Fangs, check. Red eyes, check" you paused, humming with a finger to your chin. "Perhaps you are just a deformed human?"

Suguru laughed with you. "I haven't seen my face in years, but I'd hope it wasn't deformed"

"No" you smiled. "It's a very handsome face"

That gave him pause, his mouth hanging open before he could blurt out the next taunt in your back and forth.

You thought he was handsome?

He had heard it often, back when he was alive. But being unable to see his reflection was one of the curses of a vampire.

Truth was, he didn't even remember his human face anymore.

"It is?" he asked, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"It is" you smiled. And then you brought your hand to his face, a single finger ghosting over his cold skin. You took your time in tracing every curve and ridge of his skin, your eyes tracking your finger like you were making a mental map for later.

"I like the shape of your eyes" you murmured. "And of your cheeks"

Suguru almost pulled you into a kiss right then, but he was left completely frozen under your touch. It had been years, no – centuries, since someone touched him with such kindness. Looked at him like something to admire instead of fear.

"How is mine?" you asked suddenly, dropping your hand despite how much he wanted you to keep going.

"What?" he murmured, like snapping back from a trance.

"How is my face?" you repeated.

Oh, he smiled, unsure of where even to start. Suguru had many words for it. Beautiful, mesmerising, gorgeous.

But instead, he said–

"I could show you"

Your eyebrows immediately drew closer, head tilting to the side in confusion.

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"I can draw" he nodded to the small notebook lying on the table, some white pages scattered around it. "Would you like me to draw you?"

It was your turn to be completely frozen in place now. He could have sworn your lower lip wobbled a little, tears starting to form in your beautiful eyes, though you swallowed them as best as you could.

"Could you?" you asked. "I don't even remember what I look like"

"I know what that's like" he echoed the words you had said earlier in the evening.

Something happened between the two of you then.

One of those things only poets could really do justice. It felt like that invisible thread had tugged the two of you just a little closer.

And in your face, a myriad of emotions – gratitude. Acknowledgment. Kinship between monsters, who didn't feel very monstrous at all in this moment in time.

Suguru pulled out his materials – parchment paper and ink, while his model watched patiently.

"How do you want me?" you asked, sounding a little nervous, if he had heard it right.

There were a million ways Suguru could answer that question.

"You're perfect just like that" he replied.

Your eyes blinked, whole face tensing before it relaxed finally, and you sat back a little more on the sofa you shared.

"It's mean to tease" you complained with an adorable frown.

"It's just the truth" he hummed, starting to prepare.

The first step was looking at his subject. Suguru took his time to take in every little detail of your expression, unable to ignore how you struggled to hold his gaze or how you tried to force your lips to not smile.

How did he get this lucky?

Eventually the pen did touch the paper, tracing dark lines carefully, hoping his hands would be skilled enough to capture even a fraction of your charm.

You waited calmly, the most patient subject he had ever had. It had been a long while since anyone allowed him to paint them like this – not since this cursed had removed him from society and life.

He had long felt unable to walk among the living.

But now with you, he'd happily walk among the dead.

"Let me see" you said as soon as his hands put the pen down. Not that patient, it seemed.

Suguru turned the paper around, and your hands wrapped around it to bring them closer. Your eyes darted from one corner of the page to the other, taking in everything, every single thing.

"It's beautiful" you whispered.

"You are" Suguru agreed.

You turned to him, and he noticed you were crying.

"Is this what I look like?" you asked, holding the drawing close.

It was Suguru's turn to cup your cheek, thumb brushing under your eyes. "I was only able to capture a fraction of your beauty"

You swallowed thickly, lip trembling, and then you turned to the picture again. "They used to say I had my mother's eyes" you whispered, brushing a finger over the drawing. "I haven't seen her eyes in years"

Suguru didn't know what to say to that. He didn't remember his family's faces either.

You looked back at him, clutching the drawing to your chest.

"Thank you" you whispered among the tears.

Suguru couldn't take it any longer.

He leaned forwards, slamming his lips across yours as your hands gladly found his long strands, pulling him desperately closer to you.

How long had it been since he had been kissed?

He couldn't even remember.

Your mouth eagerly parted for him, accepting him, inviting him, your own tongue searching for his as neither of you cared about how messy you were. Lips, tongues, teeth – all slamming together in a dance of pure need.

He only noticed you were bleeding when he felt the metallic taste on his tongue, reawakening his empty stomach. "I'm sorry–" he said, kissing your lips over and over where he had impulsively bitten them.

But you laughed. "Are you that hungry?" you teased.

"I couldn't help it, I–" he tried to explain.

I just wanted you whole, is what he would have said, maybe. I just need you too much.

But your laugh once again interrupted all thoughts going through his head.

He watched you bring your forearm to your mouth, biting right in the middle of it, and extending the dripping red to him.

"You can feast on me" you said. "I'm already dead"

Suguru didn't know if you were taunting him for his comment earlier, but he gratefully accepted. Vampire blood wouldn't fill him up like human, but it would definitely help quench his hunger.

His lips closed where you had bitten your skin, swallowing your essence as his eyes closed and his throat hummed.

No one had ever tasted this sweet.

He was lost in it. Addicted from a single taste.

His hands held each side of your arm, pulling you closer to him as he gorged on you.

And then you made a sound – small, unintentional, and beautiful. Suguru snapped his fox eyes open to look at you, your mouth open in pleasure as the sweetest whimpers escaped your lips.

Suguru's lips immediately left your forearm to find yours again, needing to swallow your symphony. "Did you like that?" he asked, hands traveling to your waist and lower, settling on your hips where you rolled them with abandon, grinding against his.

"Yeah" you moaned, nodding your head and desperately holding his face.

Suguru didn't need any more encouragement.

His mouth traveled to your neck this time, fangs sinking into your flesh in a blink, your whole body convulsing at the contact.

"Fuck–" you whimpered, as Suguru kept drinking from you, stealing your blood like you had stolen his unbeating heart.

His whole body was caging you in, his hands encouraging your hips to keep moving as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him further into you.

"Suguru" you moaned his name, and he was gone.

His hands moved from your hips to your middle, easily tearing the fabric of the clothes you wore, and you looked at him wide eyed with an amused smile, the red still dripping from your neck along the curve of your collarbone.

Suguru repositioned himself, bringing his body lower and forcing your legs to your chest, desperate to taste all of you.

In a quick movement, he was bunching his long hair into a bun, eyes hypnotized by the sight of you, naked, legs open in invitation.

"You're beautiful" he whispered, finally sinking his head between your thighs. He inhaled your scent, so sweet it was intoxicating, and licked a long stripe along your underwear that made your whole body jolt up.

He was sure your strength could match his, but you didn't complain when he pinned you down fully and gave your underwear the same treatment the rest of your clothes had gotten, the tearing sound of the fabric echoing in the room until you were fully exposed.

How long had it been?

Suguru felt something close to anxiety in his stomach, worried he wouldn't know how to satisfy you properly. It had been decades of no practice, after all.

But your hand closed around his, urging him with a single blink of your long eyelashes, bottom lip caught between your fangs like you needed him to.

Suddenly all worry was gone, and the only thing left in the world was you.

Suguru lowered himself, tongue licking a flat strip along your slit, and your other hand searched for his hair, pulling strands off the loose bun he had hastily put together.

He took his time exploring, learning what you liked, paying attention to each little reaction. He was so grateful you let him be here. So grateful you had stumbled into his life.

"Right here?" he asked, smiling against your folds when you let out a particularly loud moan.

"Mmh" you shook your head yes desperately, rocking your hips on his face, and Suguru thought himself the happiest man unalive. "Right there, please, Sugu–"

"You're so pretty when you beg" he smiled, dragging his tongue along the same spot that had you seeing stars.

Your moans kept building and building, echoing through the walls of his small apartment.

"Close already?" he asked, feeling just a little bit smug at how quickly he was making you unravel. Perhaps this wasn't a talent easily lost.

"It's been–ngh–a long time" you explained, hands gripping his shoulders, body folding inwards.

Suguru watched you fall apart on his tongue and it was the most beautiful thing he'd witnessed in all his years.

But not only that – it felt almost a little special, that it also had been a long time for you.He wasn't sure why he had assumed the contrary, but he hated to think life had been as lonely for you as it had for him.

Your nails dug so deep into his shoulders they drew blood now, but you didn't seem to notice in your daze. Gods, Suguru wished he could see you like this every day to the rest of eternity.

He finally stood up, removing each article of clothing slowly, as his smug grin followed each tremble of the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Beautiful.

Your eyes followed each new uncovered inch of him. His defined shoulders, his veiny forearms. How his bun came loose and fell along his broad back, dark strands brushing over the skin of his defined chest.

He was handsome. Perfectly chiselled and perfectly defined like he had been created to bring you to your knees.

And to your knees it brought you. You swiftly pushed yourself off the sofa to kneel in front of this magnificent, beautifully unnatural man, as your fingers hooked to the edge of his trousers, the last bit of clothing that hid him from you.

"You want to take me in your mouth?" he asked, thumb brushing your cheek as you nodded an eager yes. "You're so good to me" he hummed in amusement. Each word from him was a mixture of tender and lewd, his soft tone dripping with desire himself.

You finally freed him of his clothes, a little startled at the sheer size of him. You wanted him so bad, wanted to feel every inch of him–

"Open"

All thoughts disappeared in a puff of smoke, hearing him sound like that.

So you did.

"Good" he groaned, sinking into your mouth. He took his time, slowing down when you gagged around him, holding your head in complete control. A control you relented, considering you could easily bite his member off if you so wished.

But it felt… nice, to not be in control anymore.

A vampire life was calculated, precise, constantly on the look out.

It felt nice to give him all of you.

And the boy who was crying in your arms hours ago, was now rocking his hips against your face with abandon, whispering little praises that motivated you to take him deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

Suguru was close to losing his mind, each thread of reality snapping away at the way your throat constricted around him. He was so close to releasing himself in your mouth, but he didn't want that.

Not before he had felt your orgasm on his cock.

He pulled you away, panting, but didn't give you much time to question it. Suguru was on top of you in an instant, hands on either side of your head, his mouth back on yours.

His body pinned you down on the floor, your legs closed around his waist again – as if neither of you wanted to waste any more time, your hips slammed together in a unnatural pace, all of him sinking into you while your face scrunched at the stretch.

"Too much?" he asked, but you were smiling at him again.

"Not enough" you replied, pushing yourself up to bite his bottom lip, urging him back down towards you.

He was probably the one bleeding this time, but he didn't care, the taste mixed perfectly with your tongue. The urgency with which you kissed him urged his hips to start moving, slamming into yours harder and harder.

His hands came to lift your hips to give him better leverage, while yours held on to his shoulders so you could let him. You had met only hours earlier and now Suguru had you practically folded in half, with scratches all around his back to prove how much you loved it.

"You ngh feel so good" you panted, drawing blood from him again, some of the red dripping against your cheek to contrast your beautiful skin.

Maybe it was because his senses were so much sharper, but he didn't remember sex ever feeling like that. So intimate, so… surrendered. Two deadly monsters rejoicing in pleasure together.

It was the beginning of something he hoped would never fade.

An eternity he finally felt happy about.

 "Why do you close your eyes?"

"What?" Suguru's head snapped back to you. There was still a faint trace of red where you had wiped it on your cheek; and he suspected on the tips of your fingers too, where they were interlaced with his. Suguru thought it better to not check, deciding to focus on your red eyes instead, and how they sparkled under the moonlight.

It was a night like any other. Hunting unaware passerby's, walking hand in hand back to your lair as if it was romantic.

You hated when he called it murder. So he didn't.

"When you feed" you answered, the breath coming out of your mouth and forming a haze all around. It was a cold winter, this one. The coldest one yet.

"Do I?" he mused, noticing he had never quite thought about it.

"You do" you replied. "And you avert your gaze when I feed too"

"Hm" his grip tightened around your hand, pulling you in closer ever so slightly. "I suppose it's because I don't enjoy it"

He didn't need to look to see the way your jaw had tightened. "You'd rather go hungry?" you scoffed.

"No, of course not" he replied. His thumb traced lazily over the top of your hand, soothing you – or himself. "Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it"

You stopped moving then, bringing him to a stop before you. You squinted your eyes, assessing him with a slight pout. Suguru's long fingers traveled to your jaw, gently wiping the red still there, letting the touch linger over your cold skin.

Suguru had seen you in every possible state in the months since you had been together – when you were naked and beautiful as an angel on top of him, crying from how good he made you feel; to dripping in blood and looking no more than a beast.

But he always found you beautiful.

Maybe that was a problem.

He didn't care.

"Do you enjoy it?" he asked, fighting against the lump in his throat that didn't want him to ask the question. He was sure nothing you said could make him see you different, but this was walking dangerously close.

To his surprise, you paused, tilting your head so your cheek would rest on his palm. Your eyes met his, but they weren't fully with him, something else clearly on your mind.

"I don't know" you answered, truthfully. "I never really thought about it"

That answer seemed to confuse him even more.

"You never thought about it?" he echoed, brushing his thumb over your skin.

You shook your head sideways in confirmation. "I suppose… it's just what I do" you murmured, and for a moment, you weren't there again.

Too lost in whatever memory your mind had locked you in.

Suguru didn't want to pry, but he also couldn't help wanting to know everything about you. "You never told me about your past" he said, more a suggestion than anything.

It was clearly the wrong move.

Your eyes suddenly snapped back to reality, not tender like they had just been – they locked on his with a hiss, and you stepped back from him like his touch burned.

"I'm sorry, I–"

"I don't want to talk about it" you interrupted, tone final and cold like a dagger right in his unbeating heart. Suguru put his hands up, not wanting to startle you further. If there was anyone who understood regrets, it would be him.

"I'm sorry" he said again, and you finally softened, letting your guard down little by little.

Your lips pursed sideways, annoyed with yourself at how easily Suguru got through your defenses. He half expected you to turn around and brave the night alone, maybe find another victim to take out the frustrations he brought out of you on.

But to his surprise, you moved closer.

A tiny step in his direction, too shy for your eyes to meet. But your forehead leaned in, resting on his shoulder, letting the weight of whatever was on your mind sink into him too.

Suguru tentatively brought his arms around your back, slowly, careful not to startle you. But you let him. Leaned further into him, accepted the embrace and even brought your own arms around him.

Your face was squished against his chest the tighter he held you, but you didn't dare move. Your breath had changed, he noticed as well, but he didn't dare move.

"I'm sorry" you said this time, voice small. Too small.

If Suguru didn't know you better, he'd think you were crying.

His hands slowly brushed your hair back, shushing you softly. Your hands gripped his shirt so tight they threatened to tear at the fabric, and with your strength, he knew you could easily do it.

Here, on this cold moonlit street, you finally let him in a little. Allowed him to see some of the pain you carried, despite not being able to voice it.

To Suguru, it was enough.

He would have held you like this forever, were it not for the police sirens bringing in the reminder of your brutal reality.

"We should go" you murmured, and your voice was cold as ice again.

 "Maybe we should go somewhere else" you suggested one night.

You were sprawled over the long sofa, completely naked, your arms stretched over your head where they began to hurt. Holding still wasn't exactly your forte.

Suguru lowered his pencil with a long exhale, looking at you with tired eyes. "You're distracting me, sweetheart" he chided.

You pouted, snapping back into position as he started drawing again with a grateful sigh. Over the years, Suguru had drawn you a million times, in every position imaginable – clothed, naked, happy, sad. All of those now hung proudly on the walls, every inch covered with images of you and times you had spent together.

You thought it was a lovely thing when it first started.

Now you were starting to get bored of it.

The years had passed but you didn't exactly change, did you?

Still, seeing how he focused to get every detail of your complexion right, every little line and crevice and perceived imperfection – it made it worth it again.

Sometimes you wished you could see yourself through Suguru's eyes.

What would it be like to love yourself in that way?

"Suguru" you called. His eyes left the page again, squinting at you, but he seemed to notice something was wrong from the way you called his name alone.

He placed his pencil down fully this time. "What is it?" he asked.

"Do you ever wish things were different?"

The words left your lips before you could really think about them. You saw his desire to come to you straight away, but Suguru wasn't one for unnecessary bursts of passion. No, he always though about what he said. Especially because any wrong move might risk losing you.

"I used to" he admitted, answering your question as truthfully as he could. He also didn't care for going into the long years he had spent alone and miserable, something you surely could understand.

"What changed?" you asked, pushing yourself to a more comfortable position.

"Well" he huffed out, a little shy. "I met you"

You blinked at him, feeling your cheeks warm. "Was that a good thing?" you huffed out self-deprecatingly, but his resolve continued.

"It was the best thing" he confessed.

There hadn't been many love confessions between you two through out the years.

Suguru would have told you a million times over, but he realised soon enough he shouldn't. It's not that it wasn't there, on the contrary – it's that acknowledging it was there would make it too real. Too breakable. Too easy to lose.

Love wasn't meant for creatures like the two of you.

"You mean that?" you asked, and Suguru calmly put his paper down, motioning you for come towards him.

You did, waltzing in his direction with no shame at the lack of clothes – he had seen you like that enough times already. When you finally approached, he opened his thick thighs for you to sit on, a hand already to your waist.

You fit so perfectly on his lap, felt so safe next to him like this. Your leaned your weight on him, resting your head on his as his thumb traced absentminded circles on your lower back.

"Look" he said, picking up the paper again. "Look at how beautiful you are"

Your eyes traveled to the picture, eyeing the person you had seen on paper multiple times but could not relate to in any form anymore.

"It's still the same" you murmured, the words cutting your insides like daggers. This curse had robbed you of ever seeing your face again, robbed you of the natural wonders of old age, of maturity, a body that reflected your soul.

You should have been old now. Hell, you should have been dead.

"It is" Suguru agreed, but he was smiling. His eyes darted all over the page, taking in the perceived beauty of the woman you didn't recognise. Your hands. Your curves. Your mother's eyes. All made beautiful under his pencil, but foreign. Distant. "Isn't that a good thing?"

You tensed immediately on top of him. "How is it a good thing?" you spat. "It's unnatural"

He turned to you immediately, his hand dropping the page and cupping your cheek instead. "Where is this coming from?" he asked, gentle, sweet like honey.

"I don't relate to it at all" you protested. "She's beautiful, yes, but I'm… it's not me"

"What do you mean?" he asked, brows furrowing close. One of his hands tightened around your waist, hoping to keep you close, while the other brushed gently just under your temple.

"I'm not beautiful. I'm a predator, I'm cursed" you kept repeating, your words getting more and more sharp despite how kindly he held you.

"You're not cursed" he argued, bringing your head to the crook of his neck. Despite all the fight in you, you let him.

"I am" you cried.

Suguru felt the cold little drops that escaped your eyes fall on his skin, just under where the bite marks that originally made him this way were. He held you tight, hoping it would be enough.

"You're not cursed" he repeated, kindly. "You're everything"

Suguru couldn't bear seeing the person who had made his existence bearable speak so low of herself. You were the one who made him see this as more – as a gift, even.

But you didn't see it that way.

And the way your breathing suddenly stopped and you pulled away made that very clear.

"Don't pretend you don't think I'm a monster" you growled, before pushing yourself off him completely. "I see the way you look at me"

"The way I looked at you?" he echoed, confused. Surely he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, because you were.

You were fully standing now, towering over him in your nakedness. Suguru could never not find you beautiful, but right now you reminded him of the power you truly held.

"Righteous Suguru, always feeling bad for his prey" you mocked, starting to wander around the room just to do something. "And horrible me, enjoying having my stomach filled"

"I never said that–"

"You don't have to" you scoffed. "You can't even bear to look at me"

How could you think that of him?

Hearing those words come out of your lips was unbearable. It was wrong.

"I don't like killing, it's true" he tried to reason. "But–"

"You call it killing" you interrupted. "We're feeding"

"It doesn't change the fact these people were–"

"We would be dead too if we didn't" your voice was rising louder and louder, a debate of morals Suguru never wanted to have with you. "Would you prefer that?"

"No, of course not" Suguru said too quick, coming closer to you. But you just kept going, voice rising higher and higher.

"Should we just walk into the sun to protect your conscience?" you mocked again, but the words got stuck in your throat, scratchy. They were meant to hurt, meant to challenge – but there was something far too real about the words you were saying. Like this was the only way you managed to actually utter them out loud.

Suguru understood that too.

"Don't say that" he pleaded with you. Not angry, not confrontational. Just… scared.

His sudden change made you stop pacing.

"You don't even look at me" you rasped out to the floor, like he wasn't even meant to hear it.

"I'm looking at you now" he tried.

But you just shook your head.

"If you can't accept all of me, what good does it do?" you murmured.

"But it's not you" he tried to reason. "If we weren't like this, you wouldn't choose to kill anyone, I'm sure, and–"

"You don't know what my life was like" you spat.

And it's true. He didn't.

"Because you never told me" he exhaled, unable to hide how much that fact hurt him.

How much longer would he have to wait for you to let him in? Were decades not enough?

"You have no right to know" you repeated what you had said many times already.

"I don't understand" it was his turn to lose his composure a little, that wound growing larger and larger now that the two of you were acknowledging it. "I would never think less of you"

"You already think less of me" you hissed, squaring up to him again.

Beautiful, and naked, but not vulnerable. You were strong like this, the way you made the energy shift in a room showing him how much power you had, no doubt accumulated by the amount of years you had spent as a vampire already.

But that was also speculation. Suguru didn't even know that.

"I don't" he said too quick, putting his hands up. "And I'm sorry, just don't…"

He was the one who trailed off this time, struggling with the words.

"Don't what?" you asked, the words biting into the space.

"Don't leave" he finally said.

You seemed… surprised.

Surely after all this time, it wouldn't be surprising.

But what were years for a vampire, after all? For all he knew, you saw him as no more than a chapter in the long novel of your life. Worst than that, he almost expected that to be the case. And Suguru was terrified of it.

"Why?" you asked.

Suguru noticed it was him who was crying this time, but his lips still formed a shy smile. "Because I love you"

Saying it felt easy than he had anticipated, the words he was so scared to utter just rolling off his tongue, sounding just right. But your red eyes grew wider than they ever had, your feet stumbling back like the words cut instead of soothe.

"You–" you almost tried to repeat them, but you couldn't.

Suguru stood there, unmoving, now that he had finally said it. He wouldn't walk back on them, not when it was the truth.

"I love you" he repeated.

Again, you flinched like you had been hurt. But you stopped moving back, just standing across from him in the middle of the room, chest heaving up and down, up and down.

"No one has ever said that to me"

Your voice was too small for how angry you were just a moment ago.

Suguru's hands balled into fists as he tried to control the urge to run to you. Pull you into his arms, hold you close with a gentleness you should have known centuries ago.

You looked like a cornered animal in the middle of the room, completely frozen. Your eyes were crying again, though you made no mention to dry them. The corner of your lips threatened to move, but to a frown or a smile, he didn't know. You didn't seem to know either.

But your eyes stayed lock on his unwavering, decided ones.

Suguru would stand here, unmoving, for another decade if it meant you trusted him because of it.

"How do you know?" you finally said, bringing a hand to wipe under your eyes.

He tried a step towards you then. "Because just looking at you makes me forget all the bad things that ever happened to me" he said. When you didn't flinch, he stepped forwards again. "Because your laugh is my favourite sound in the world"

You almost moved closer, a barely there shift of your weight forwards. He continued.

"Because laying in our small coffin together doesn't feel claustrophobic, it feels…safe" he almost laughed at himself, the ridiculousness of this vampiric love confession.

Maybe love wasn't meant for creatures like you, but he had found it anyway. And that was a miracle in and of itself.

"You make me feel like this life isn't just worth living, but worth sharing" he completed, standing right in front of you now. Your bottom lip bobbed a little where you struggled to contain your tears, but when his hand reached forwards to cup your cheek, you didn't stop him.

"And I don't see you as a monster" he whispered, thumb dragging along your skin to catch the tears. "Seeing you enjoy killing, it just… makes me wonder why"

Your breathing hitched at that, but you still did not move.

The two of you stood so close, your bodies bathing in the moonlight. It was getting late, and it would be dawn soon – but neither of you seemed to be thinking about that right now.

"I think…" you started, struggling with the words. "I think I might love you too"

Suguru didn't think he even remembered what it was like to feel this happy.

His fox like eyes went wide, his mouth hung open – his turn at surprise. For so long he was so worried you'd get bored of him, that maybe you were too wild a creature to choose this domestic eternity.

Even in his wildest dreams, he never dared to imagine you felt it too.

"Can you say that again?"

You smiled, bringing your hands to cup his face too. "I love you"

Suguru slammed his lips on yours, pulling you in for a desperate kiss that you both completely melted into.

This was what pure bliss felt like.

You loved him.

You loved each other.

Even following all your sins and your ungodly existence, he had found it. He had actually fucking found it. The two of you had just gone against all odds and conquered fate.

"I love you" he kept saying, while his pointed teeth grazed your bottom lip, while your hands held tight to his face, and your mouth's refused to part.

"I love you too" you echoed back, crying, and crying, and crying.

Suguru couldn't stop smiling – and you couldn't stop your tears.

Hadn't he been so absorbed in this miracle then, he might have guessed what happened next.

 You weren't there when he woke the next nightfall.

Suguru had grown used to your weight on top of his in the tight space, but he felt none of that when he started to blink his eyes awake. He called your name immediately, lifting the lid of the coffin with a loud creak, asking the void if you were there.

There was no response.

How could he have slept if you were not there? He would have surely woken up if you decided to leave before he did. Was he this lost in his own fantasy coming true? Had he slept too well?

The night was still young, you surely couldn't had gone far if you had just left when the sun went down.

Or… did you leave before that entirely?

Suguru's blood immediately ran cold. You wouldn't leave in the sunlight.

You wouldn't.

You knew what that could mean.

He paced the apartment with so much force his feet made the floor boards sink, but he was desperate. He had to find at least some hint, some clue of where you had gone, why you had gone.

Finally, he noticed something that wasn't meant to be there.

A different portrait sitting on the table, matching the walls full of you that decorated the space. But this one was of him – his long dark hair tied into a knot at the back of his head, his eyes looking far ahead, staring at something off the page.

He didn't remember posing for this, so it must have been made from memory.

Despite the years Suguru had spent teaching you to draw, you never seemed quite able to take it. You lacked the patience, you said. But this was a skillful drawing, no doubt something that would take long to master. Had you been working on it in secret for all this time?

What else did he not notice about you?

Suguru flipped the page around, finding the three words he had been so happy to hear the night before hastily scribbled on the back.

I love you

His response was immediate; Suguru's fist bunched up the drawing, and slammed it back on the table before he could damage it completely. It was a gift from you, he should love it. But where the hell were you?

If you loved him – why would you leave?

Because… you had, hadn't you? And all he had left of you was a portrait of himself and hundreds of images on the walls that now seemed to mock him.

He called your name once more, more pained this time. Maybe this was all a mistake, maybe he was just scared… but how did he feel it so deep in his soul, this truth he had spent years trying to deny?

Suguru's red eyes scanned the empty space, hoping for a sign of you, desperately praying to whoever was out there to listen.

But there was only the void again.

All those fears and assumptions he always had proving themselves true.

The worst thing for a vampire was to be alone. But there was also safety in that, wasn't there?

To love and loose was so much worse.

So, so much worse.

His knees gave out before his brain could keep him standing, loudly crashing onto the floor as every memory of you started storming his brain. He had kissed you on this floor many times, had made love to you right there on the first night you met.

Now it wasn't the sweat of your bodies and the blood you shared staining the wood, but his own desperate tears, falling in a cascade of grief he didn't think himself capable of feeling.

In feeling so much pain, Suguru wished desperately for that void again. To just feel nothing. Nothing was so much better than this.

But nothing wasn't an option anymore – you had made his life full only to tip it over the edge, letting it all spill into a wet mess similar to the one he was making on the floor.

Your name escaped his lips when he lowered his forehead down to the ground, his hands balling into fists next to his dark hair, coming loose all around his handsome features. How dare you give him life back, only to take it away again.

He slammed his fist against the floorboards, so loud the pictures of you rattled on the wall. There were so many – portraits that span years but the subject remained the same, remained beautiful, perfect.

How could you hate that? Suguru loved having you immortalised not just on paper, but in life itself.

It was a gift.

You were the one that made him see it that way.

Why had you changed your mind?

Why couldn't things just stay the same?

Forever.

You had made forever sound so nice.

Another fist hit the wood, his knuckles beginning to split. His skin would heal, but the depth of his mistake never would.

What a fool he was for confessing his love to you. Suguru knew what that would mean, how much it would frighten you – he knew, and still did it anyway.

Idiot.

Suguru couldn't bring himself to throw the next punch, choosing to curl inwards instead, into himself, away from everything else.

He shouldn't have said anything.

What a stupid fucking mistake.

Maybe all of this.

All of it was a mistake.

He couldn't outrun fate, after all.

But pretending sure felt nice.

Suguru finally pushed himself up, making a point to look at every image that decorated the walls. He remembered each one, what the conversation had been about, what you had been doing earlier in the night before he decided the moment was too precious not to capture.

Suguru found himself looking for a specific one, though – that first one. The one that had gained him your trust, your love.

He could have sworn it was still inside his sketchbook.

He turned page after page after page, growing increasingly annoyed that he couldn't find it. Despair turning into anger, looking for any form of release it could find. Until he finally noticed a tear at the corner of the page, right where it should have been.

Had you taken it with you?

His breathing stopped, swollen eyes focusing on the careful way the page had been torn from his book, his finger grazing along it with the devotion he would caress your skin.

In the many years you spent together, you had never once mentioned the image – not after that first night.

Did it mean as much to you as it meant for him?

Suguru's hands closed around the notebook, shutting it tight and bringing it to his chest. It was at least one more proof that you didn't lie when expressing your love for him. That maybe leaving was as hard for you as it was for him.

And among the pain in his chest where his heart should have been beating, Suguru understood.

Being alone was far less scary than love.

What he saw as an act of cowardice, maybe you saw as an act of kindness. Choosing you'd rather be alone than to face the end of this love you didn't think you deserved, his hatred you saw as inevitable.

So you left. Your version of compassion, learnt from a world who had never showed you that in the first place.

You wanted him to hate you, didn't you?

He couldn't do that.

This would be his last act of rebellion against this evil world that had made you this way.

This cursed fate he didn't seem able to escape.

Suguru would love you still.

And he would find you.

 Time was a blessing as well as a curse. Suguru had an infinite amount – but each strike of the clock dragged longer than it had before, every coming dawn seemed to linger, every passing season reminding him of what he had lost.

The winter you left eventually turned into summer, longer days meaning shorter nights – less opportunities to look for you.

But Suguru didn't give up hope.

He wandered the streets for as long as he could, every single night, just hoping for your scent. He visited places you had gone to together, wishing he'd find you on the park bench near the churchyard, or the cemetery behind it, among the bones of people who had found peace in death, unlike the two of you.

Suguru even visited your known hunting spots, the seedy alleyways just out of town that tended to harbor criminals and people who wouldn't be missed by society. It was a suggestion Suguru had made, and that you had agreed to. It made what you had to do more bearable, but he still hated every second.

When he finally reached the location, you weren't there. Suguru had hoped to at least hear rumours and whispers about recent kills around this spot, some urban legend beginning to grow that he could tie back to you; but still… nothing.

Had you gone back to preying on whoever you could put your hands on? Was his odd moral compass another thing you resented him for?

"You seem lost, boy" a voice came from right behind him, distinctively not yours. The sharp metal sound of a blade came along with it, as Suguru heard the footsteps approaching – slowly, deliberately.

This man clearly had the wrong idea of who prey and predator were.

Suguru took a sharp inhale in, hating this man for interrupting his search. He turned around, slowly, the reds of his eyes making the man come to a halt a mere feet away.

"You sick or something?" the man scoffed, clearly intrigued by his appearance.

Suguru just stood there. His hands had balled into fists as he inhaled he man's scent. He was hungry, so hungry, and hated the way he looked down at him. Had you been here, you would undoubtedly already have a twisted smile on your face, excited to gorge on the stranger's blood.

"That's a nice coat you've got there" the man mocked, making the knife visible now. It glistened where it caught the light, making sure Suguru could see it too.

A pathetic threat, Suguru rolled his eyes internally.

This man sure had chosen the wrong time for this, because Suguru's blood was already running cold with anger. And he caught himself thinking, just for a moment… that he would enjoy this kill.

No.

This was a line he didn't want to cross.

"You deaf or just stupid?" the man laughed this time, closing the distance.

Another breath in, slowly while the man approached. It didn't matter how hungry, angry, lost Suguru was – he couldn't bring himself to enjoy feeding, would never forgive himself if he lost this last shred of humanity he still was proud of. He couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't–

But when the man brought the knife to his throat, it was too easy.

Suguru turned around in the blink of an eye, taking his fangs to the tall man's neck as his body effortlessly pinned him down, bringing the two down to the wet pavement in the process.

Blood, tears and sweat spilled everywhere, while Suguru enjoyed the way the much bigger man thrashed beneath him, helpless.

Is this what you wanted all along? For him to be just like you?

It wasn't merciful, and it wasn't clean. This was rage personified, but in the moment he swallowed the sweet taste, Suguru didn't care.

It wouldn't be the last of his kills like this.

In fact, there would be many, many more throughout the years.

He hated himself for it every single time after, sometimes crying next to the limp body he had just ravished, sometimes throwing it all up again. Suguru felt shame at his lack of control, at this blinding rage that made him the monster he tried so hard not to be.

It took him years before he finally decided he couldn't do it anymore.

You had spoken about wanting to leave this pathetic town before, and maybe it was time for him to accept you probably had.

That after a decade of this, you wouldn't be showing up at your shared home anymore.

The place had been cold since you left, but in every sense it still remained the same. The furniture hadn't been moved, the curtains were still the same though faded and full of spider webs now. And, most importantly – your face still adorned the walls.

Suguru knew you probably had left town entirely, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave this.

The home you two had made, in spite of everything.

Did you still remember? Or did you try not to?

Did you hold on to that first drawing and cry, like he did? Reminisce about the good times and the worst times, miss his touch and the way you held each other in that tight coffin?

In the years that passed, Suguru even tried to hate you. Tried to give you what you wanted.

But he just couldn't.

What he hated was how much he regretted confessing his love, the single greatest mistake of his existence. Was hearing those three words leave your lips worth the years of solitude that would come after?

Maybe.

His long fingers ghosted over your face in one of the drawings – one in which you had a rare, easy smile. Had you found someone else who would paint you like he did?

Suguru knew he was only tormenting himself at this point; it was no use lingering on the thought. If he knew you as well as he thought he did, then he was sure you hadn't just found another person to give your heart to.

He believed what you said that night.

You didn't leave because you didn't love him, you left because you loved him too much. Suguru would have to find some comfort in that.

 Seeing the world change was a miracle, one thing that did console him. The streets changed just as often as the seasons did now, every day bringing new inventions and curious new ideas Suguru enjoyed learning about.

He found himself sitting by the park more and more often now, drawing the outline of new buildings that began construction far ahead. The future seemed to look brighter than anyone could have hoped for.

But despite the obvious changes to the outside, his inside world remained the same. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

He had found some peace in the fact that you could find him there, if you wanted. And it didn't matter if it took another decade, or half a century or more – Suguru would stay right here, waiting.

His fingers dragged the chalk over the page, marking the coming of a new age.

When you returned, he'd show it to you. He documented every little thing about this town just so he could share it, and he was hopeful the time would come.

Can you believe they were building shops in the alleys you used to hunt? And how the church had been rebuilt, much larger, after the fire five years prior?

Life changed all around – beautifully so, tragically so too.

But the seasons always came. Winter, then summer again, and just like he could trust in that, he trusted what would come after too. It was a better position to be in than the desperate animal he had become for a few years.

But he would have never wanted you to see him like that, and so, he changed. He–

Suguru's hands dropped the drawing suddenly, his spine going rigid in the blink of an eye.

That smell. He knew that smell.

He inhaled deeply again, shutting his eyes tight, focusing on it.

It couldn't be.

The scent he had almost feared he had forgotten.

Your name escaped his lips in a sound much smaller than he expected, which turned into a desperate cry as Suguru began to turn around, searching for any glimpse of you.

The scent was present, but it was still far away – he had to follow it. Fast.

The picture he was working so precisely on got scrunched up when he rushed to pick up his belongings, shoving it all in his pockets as he began to ran.

Probably wasn't the best to bring attention to himself like this, but Suguru couldn't stop.

He kept moving, letting his senses guide him as he rushed past the night owls and confused strangers. Turning a corner here, going through someone's garden there – he feared he lost it completely when the smell almost faded at the edge of the city, but he turned around again.

Where could you possibly be going? Were you looking for your regular hunting grounds of almost a century past?

Things were different now, didn't you know?

But no, it wasn't that – the smell faded again, and so he followed it back to the main road, finding it again.

It grew stronger and stronger with each step, until it led to the last place he expected.

Home.

It was undeniably strong, so much so his nerve endings were staring to prickle, like they only did when another one of him was around. Suguru rushed up the steps, jumping two at a time, throwing the door open, and–

There you were.

Was it a dream? Or had death finally come for him?

You looked exactly the same. Standing there, staring at the wall of your face with a much smaller paper held tight to your chest.

Suguru remained completely frozen, struggling to catch his breath. When you turned to him, he noticed you had tears in your eyes.

"You kept them?" you whispered, your beautiful bottom lip trembling slightly. The first words he had heard from you in years, and they were a question you obviously should have expected the answer to.

Suguru finally took a step inside, closing the door behind him. He couldn't bring himself to meet you there, even though everything in him wanted to pick you up and wipe your tears and kiss you everywhere.

"Of course I did" was all he managed to reply, but it only made you cry harder.

You brought a hand to dry your face, and Suguru desperately wished you'd just let him. But he was so terrified of making the wrong move again.

"I'm sorry–"

That he couldn't bear to hear.

Against better judgment, Suguru rushed forwards, towards you, needing to touch you to confirm you were real. His body found yours with too much strength, but you completely gave in to it, closing your arms around his shoulders when he closed his over your waist.

You were here again.

Your feet left the floor when he raised you to his level, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as you did the same, both letting the tears flow unabashedly. Your legs came to lock around his waist, pulling him into you completely, the one thing Suguru wanted most in the whole world.

"You came back" he cried into your hair.

"I needed to see it again" you replied, his clothes bunching up in your fists.

"See what?" Suguru asked, pulling back just a little. His nose brushed against yours, so close he could just kiss you, but he wanted to hear your voice even more than that.

"Home" you replied, looking him right in his red eyes. "I didn't think you'd be here"

His eyes held you tighter, his forehead pressing against your. "Where else would I go?"

"Anywhere that didn't remind you of me" you tried a small self deprecating laugh, but Suguru shook his head, forehead rolling against yours.

"I've been waiting for you this whole time"

You cried, cupping his face with both hands. "Don't lie to me, Suguru Geto" you pouted.

"I have never lied to you" he replied.

It was the truth.

It was you that closed the distance this time, urging his face forwards as you leaned in for a kiss. It wasn't desperate like he had imagined, no, it was gentle. Feather light, almost. Far too small for something that was so huge, but also exactly what you needed.

It lasted for the blink of an eye and for an eternity – just a moment in time where everything was just right again.

"I'm sorry I left" you whispered, breaking the kiss and placing your forehead back on his. "I'm sorry I got scared"

"I know" he kissed your cheek, smoothing your hair back. "It's ok"

"It's not" you lowered yourself down, sinking into his chest this time.

"Shh" he kept smoothing down your hair, holding you tight against him, right where his heart should be beating. Getting used to your scent again was salvation for him, but there was also something different about you, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, tilting your chin towards him. You nodded your head up and down, some sort of shame deep within your eyes. "We still have some time before dawn, if you want to–"

"I don't hunt anymore" you replied, looking down. "Not people"

Suguru's eyebrows knit together, pulling you up to look at him again. "What do you mean?"

To his surprise, you cried. And just kept crying. Harder than he had ever seen.

"I guess I realised–" you tried to say between hiccups. "Maybe someone loves them too"

Suguru's mouth hung open, in complete surprise. You coming back was something he had hoped for and convinced himself to believe in, but this? This he could have never fathomed.

"You–" he didn't even know what to say, choosing to crouch down in front of you instead and pull you down with him, giving your legs some rest so maybe they'd stop shaking.

"I'm sorry, Suguru" you cried, throwing yourself at him. "I'll tell you why, I'll tell you what happened, I'll tell you everything, just please– please, forgive me"

Suguru stood sentinel while you sobbed, holding you tight. Didn't you know? He had never blamed you for it.

He understood your pain far too well for it.

"I would be glad to listen" he said into your hair, arms closed around your back. "If you want to tell me"

You nodded your head, clawing at his back like he was your salvation.

For a very long time, Suguru could only speculate on what had happened to make you the way you were. But right now, he found his curiosity was the last thing on his mind.

"Here" he said, pulling an arm from you to bring it to his fangs. The blood started dripping from it, as you watched from below while he did for you what you had done for him that first night you met. "You should eat first"

You smiled at his generosity, but brought yourself up again to better match his height. You cupped his cheeks again, leaning in for another kiss, realising there was still something much more important you wanted to say and hear.

"I love you, Suguru"

"I love you too" he kissed you back.

In time, Suguru would show you his sketches depicting how this town had changed, his little documentations of every day life he had hoped to share with you. He would listen to every single thing you wanted to tell him, he'd hold you close when it was too hard to say, and he'd shush you kindly whenever you tried to force words you weren't ready for just yet.

There was so much still to be said, and time was, of course, a luxury you both had.

But right now… in this moonlit night in the apartment you had made a home of so many years ago, the silence was just enough.

A/N oof this one really took a long time to write. I started writing this when I was in a very bad place, and found it very therapeutic to just blurt it out on the page – it unfortunately also meant it was extremely hard to go back to it when I started feeling better (which I am!). there's so much of me in both these characters so it makes me a little nervous to post but maybe you relate as well, and if that's the case I'd like you to know you're not alone! hope you all have the most wonderful day or night and thank you for reading my story <3

“Do you understand?”

You blink, eyes trailing from the window to your mother. You take in the sight before you of the beige paste in the mortar before you, before your gaze lifts to meet hers. You nod in spite of hearing little else but ‘stomach ailments’.

“Good,” she smiles, going on to explain more herbs and their uses in basic treatments, although your mind keeps dragging you elsewhere as you struggle to stay present.

You know better than to think this comes from a good place. It’s not that your mother doesn’t care, of course these lessons are, technically, well-meaning and useful, the only reason she keeps you here is to keep you away from Sukuna.

Ever since the ‘incident’ in question, stray glances have been thrown towards your friend more and more often from more and more villagers. It has your hair standing on end, and being apart from him leaves you listless. Your mind can’t shed the image of your best friend with blood trailing down his shoulders, and the strange way he holds himself sends your mind into a near-constant spiral of panic.

If you find him like that again, will Arai help? Will you be so lucky as to find him in time again?

Instinctively, your eyes wander to the spot where Murata’s house resides, an overwhelming itch to check in on him suddenly coming over you.

With a severity to her voice that makes you flinch, your head whips back around to your mother as she states your name. “You need to pay attention. Someday, you could help heal your husband’s ailments using this. It’s your duty.”

Your brow knits, your disdain obvious in spite of the fact that you obey.

Husband. Duty.

You want nothing less.

The only boy who isn’t the worst is Sukuna.

Still, you murmur a half-hearted apology and let her carry on in another lesson you can’t escape.

You would be willing to wager a bet that a part of the reason she’s left the village so little since the incident with Imai’s boys is that she doesn’t want you near your closest friend. It feels as though every chance to sneak out and every attempt to simply walk out the door is foiled. It doesn’t often stop your friend, pokes you with a wheat stalk through the window on the nights where he hasn’t seen you all day.

He can’t pull his weight through the window anymore, struggling to carry the near-dead weight of his extra arms that never recovered from nerve damage, even nearly a year later.

But he never fails to show up.

And you rarely fail to sneak out on those nights.

Your mother carries on, droning on about mugwort and perilla until your ears feel as though they’ve just about fallen off and your eyes begin to glaze over. Were you being taught under different circumstances, you’re positive you would retain more. It’s not like the information isn’t useful, even if you were to approach it from the guise of using these remedies on yourself as an archer, but you can’t bring yourself to care, staring at the mortar and pestle with hardly-feigned interest every time she lifts it.

There comes a point where you swear time must have stopped because every time you look outside, the sun is still in the same place over the horizon.

It’s like the world is just playing games with you at this point.

Your head lifts when you hear someone young yelling. It’s distant, too far to tell whether it’s your friend or another of the village boys, but it drags away any semblance of concentration anyway.

“Pay attention,” your mother scolds you. It’s not like screaming is uncommon when it comes to children playing, so you give her back the small fraction of your attention that she had to begin with. 

But it only lasts so long when the yelling turns into a full-blown scream. Not the kind that you might brush off, but the kind that turns your blood to ice. You freeze to the spot, eyes wide as you stare at the pulverized mugwort for only a split second as your nervous system goes haywire.

Your breathing picks up, every single scenario you’ve conjured over the past three years whisking through your mind like a whirlwind. Your body acts on sheer panic alone. Inaction had you nearly losing him once, and now that the wind isn’t muffling the noise, you know your best friend’s cry.

You push up to your feet in an instant, your mother’s protests lost on you as you forgo shoes and go racing out the door towards the racket. Your mother’s steps aren’t far behind as you find Imai and Arai dragging something out of the fields behind Murata’s house. Your feet carry you over the packed dirt and scattered grass so quickly you almost wish they didn’t.

Your body betrays you when the sight before you is somehow worse than anything you’ve ever conjured in your mind. Your nightmares seem easier to navigate than the cruel fate that awaits you.

Blood seeps too fast from a large hole in Sukuna’s chest, punctured all the way through by the hunting spear that usually lies behind Murata’s home. It’s lodged in his chest, too close to his heart. His head hangs. Pink hair, matted and bloodied, hangs from atop his head, enough stray strands scattered across the ground to say that he didn’t give in without a fight. He hangs limp as they drag him by the end of the spear and one of his upper arms, and you can’t say for sure whether you’re too late or not.

When your body freezes a second too long, your mother grabs a hold of your arm, trying to drag you away from the sight.

“NO!” You scream, the sound wrenching from so deep within your chest that pain rips through your throat. You throw your full force in the opposite direction of her grip, nearly barreling you both into the dirt as you physically claw at the ground to keep her from dragging you away. “RYO!”

Arai shifts, continuing to hold the back of the spear as he steps between you and Sukuna in an effort to prevent you from the gruesome sight as though he isn’t the very cause of it. One of the lower arms hanging awkwardly from Sukuna’s torn sleeves twitches against the ground where he’s been dragged.

With one goal and one goal only in mind, you dig your nails into the earth, pulling with all of your might against your mother. “LET HIM GO!” You screech, tears gathering in your eyes as you fight your instinct to wail and cry for help when you’ve already witnessed the reality of Sukuna’s life. The only help coming to aid him is you, and you alone.

The adults fail to acknowledge you as anything more than a nuisance. They’re tearing your world apart in broad daylight, and they talk about you as though you’re not even there.

“Get her out of here.”

“I’m trying!”

More footsteps follow, but everything else is a blur when your mind clings to your friend. It holds on for dear life, your grip on the ground so desperate that when you drag yourself forward, your knees scraping harshly over rock, the pain doesn’t even register.

“RYO!” You plead again, clinging to a thick root in the mud that sticks under your nails. “Please,” your voice breaks into something harsh and jagged as tears spill, the sobs tearing through your body. The words that spill from your lips next don’t sound like you. “I need you.”

Your friend twitches again, a movement you barely manage to spot from around Arai’s figure. It doesn’t give you hope, but it’s all you have. It’s the last thread that keeps you from losing yourself, too, in that moment.

“Get,” Imai grits far more harshly this time, “her out of here.”

Your mother’s grip shifts long enough for you to surge forward, but Arai grabs you by your collar, keeping you out of reach of your friend.

You can only catch another mere glimpse of him, and it sends your stomach into a nauseating spiral. The dizzying sensation throws you off-balance and your mother catches you beneath your arms, dragging you back.

“No. NO!” Fighting against your body’s flighty instincts and your mother, you take everything you’ve learned from your limited time spent sparring with Sukuna to launch your weight straight into the ground. The impact is sudden and immense as you shake your head and attempt to pick yourself up, not having expected to successfully pull from her grip.

She scolds you, calling your name repeatedly on top of every consequence she can think of, but it’s nothing more than noise to you. Every scream attracts more attention, and for better or for worse, her words fall in amongst the rest of the chatter.

“Is that the boy I keep seeing around Murata-san?”

“Does it have four arms?”

“Stop fighting!”

“What’s wrong with his face?”

“We’re better off without it.”

“We must return home!”

“STOP!” You screech through the onslaught of overwhelming commentary as your mother drags you by the arm again.

Your chest heaves, vision blurred by tears as you fight with every last piece of iron will in your body to save your friend.

To your surprise, your scream silences much of the gathered crowd’s chatter. The shrill nature of it catches even Arai off-guard and he recoils from the noise, the tip of the spear he was holding stabbing into the ground and holding Sukuna in place at an awkward angle. Arai steps aside just enough that you finally can face your friend. Your mother still attempts to drag you away but you hang as a deadweight to prevent her from doing so with ease.

Your chest heaves, but with every inch you’re dragged further from him, your nervous system is sent into a frayed panic. Your heart pounds, the overwhelming sensation that it’s been torn by hand from within its cage like sawing through steel. Your breathing picks up, eyes burning as every inch you’re dragged backwards betrays everything you’ve spent the last three years building up since Saya’s passing.

“NO!” You cry out again, wrenching at your mother’s grip hard enough to pin yourself to the dirt again. Blood slowly wets the ground where gravel digs into the skin under your nails, but it’s the least of your worries as you’ve finally anchored yourself, tiring both yourself and your mother, and you can see Sukuna at last.

Really see him.

His breaths are shallow but present as he hangs limp on the spear. You can barely make out movement of his chest at all, thanking every god that might listen that his robes shuffle just enough to call it breathing at all. The protruding part of the right side of his face is covered in blood, as though one of the men holding your friend hostage has attacked his face, drawing blood as it drips from his scalp and an exposed area at the top of the cartilage.

His shoulder doesn’t hang right. In fact, most of them don’t. The bottom two remain damaged, hanging limp, while the upper arm Imai still has a grip on is twisted wrong. It must be completely out of the socket. Blood pours without stopping from a slice that starts at the same arm’s palm, jagged when it reaches his wrist, only ending midway up his forearm. The crimson pooling beneath him is unrelenting, staining the burlap of his robes from the waist down into something earth-shattering.

But the worst part is the spear whose sharp stone end protrudes from the upper left of his chest, angled into the dirt. On the off-chance it didn’t scathe a vital organ, it may have only narrowly avoided it.

“Ryo.” Your voice is frail, scraped over rocks as a sob wracks your body. Ignoring the pain in your fingers, you dig your nails further into the dirt-packed ground. You’ve lost faith in the onlookers to help, the most you can do now is hope. Pray. As if your dearest companion was ever protected by a god.

Fingers on the better of his two lower arms twitch again. His lashes flutter, and you find immediate relief in the fact that, by some greater force of good, he lives still. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Ryo,” you continue desperately, something uncomfortable churning in your stomach like stones. It’s heavy and nauseating, but you cling to the fact that he’s listening. He can hear you. Over your mother’s yelling, over Arai and Imai trying to navigate the situation. He hears you. You suck in a breath through your sobs, your chest heaving as the sensation rips through you like a wildfire. “You can’t leave too.”

His lashes flutter once more, remaining a crack open this time. His head still hangs, and it’s only the slight tilt to the way he’s positioned that allows you to get a glimpse of one of his upper eyes. When your breathing picks up as he responds, the upper eye positioned on the protrusion from his face slowly opens as well. It’s red, far beyond just the natural hue of his irises or even the strain of tears. A blood vessel has burst, flooding the eye with a deep, unnatural crimson.

Your mother drags you by your torso, but your grip on a stone in the mud is unrelenting. You hear her call out for someone to help her, further flooded with anger when movement stirs behind Murata’s house. Saya’s mother, proving that she’s not an onlooker, but a perpetrator of the violence, too. You grit your teeth, steeling yourself as your attention returns to Sukuna.

He doesn’t look at you, but he’s aware of you. It’s all you need. “Please,” you hiccup as you inhale sharply. “I need you.”

Like an axel lodging back into place, your words jolt something in his mind. The fog splits as though it’s been sliced, and his pupils rise to meet you.

You’re hunched over, dirt and mud clinging to your nice pink kimono. You fight tooth and claw, giving everything you have to be there with him.

Even as you fight, he hates the way your eyes flicker across his face, cataloguing every last detail you can before he becomes nothing more than a memory in the mantle of your mind. He pictures himself as a whittled carving, similar to the toys you once played with together. He’s sure his lower arms would be whittled with less care than the upper ones, a distant memory given that even you rarely see them. His lower eyes would be barely an indent, a remnant of what was, and what you can recall.

His mind cruelly conjures the image of his best friend, not even thirteen, alone in the world. Hunched over, your knees pulled to your chest as everything you’ve ever known is torn from you by forces out of your control.

He hates the anguish twisting every feature on your face out of place. He hates the temperature of red as it boils under his skin. His fingers twitch again, the muscles of his lower arms protesting when he tests them.

Familiar static lingers at the tips of his digits, little slices that barely divot the dirt at first. Sensing his defiance, Imai grabs the spear again, giving it a hateful and harsh jolt. Sukuna’s head hangs again, blood crawling up his throat to spill from his lips.

“RYO!” Your fighting grows more frantic, less controlled, as Saya’s mother bends over to tear your fingers from whatever it is you’re clinging to.

Sukuna’s jaw hangs ajar as he adjusts to the sharp seizing of torn musculature and chest pain that bleeds red. Imai spits cold words at him, but his mind swims with the only warmth he knows.

You. You. You. You.

The static grows sharp.

He doesn’t know how to unleash it with accuracy. It’s never been a blessing. It’s always been something dark that simmers like hot oil beneath his skin. An energy he can’t quite wield, yet it seems to draw some people to him like a beacon and he has yet to understand it. He sees creatures you don’t. He knows different of the supposed folklore you’ve both heard stories of.

He knows the horned beast with a long curled tail and spikes along its back, the entity so demonic for tearing down an entire village in one fell swoop is no demon at all. He knows there are no claws, no fangs, and no venom.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” You cry out in defiance as the two closest things he’s ever had to a motherly figure both try to pull you away without so much as a glance at him.

His head lifts again. He blinks as viscous crimson seeps between his lashes, temporarily blinding him in one eye. With the stronger of his lower arms, he drags it to the best of his ability to the spear, but before he can even grab it, Arai’s foot comes down hard on his wrist.

He’s never been more grateful for the severed nerves in his arms, but his jaw still hangs loosely in pain. It’s dull, but not gone.

You scream at the sight as Saya’s mother frees your hands from whatever it was that you were holding so steadily onto. The sight has your fear turning ugly. Both the maw on Sukuna’s stomach and face grit their teeth in kind. Tears flood your face as you pull, writhe, and scream against your mother’s wishes. You attract more attention that Sukuna has never shown himself to and it brings a startling thought to his weakened mind.

He wants peace. He wants to be normal.

But if not normal, he just wants to see you smile again.

“RYO!” Your voice is ragged, tearing through him in a violent wave. The hurt wavering your voice is more painful than any spear through the chest. He sucks in a shallow breath as he grits his teeth, both men above finally distracted enough that he’s able to reach for the spear with his good hand. The stone blade is sharp against his palm, but the static of tiny slashes provides enough friction that it doesn’t touch him.

He tries to push himself up, to maneuver his body in a way that it pulls the spear from the dirt, but his strength is miniscule. He shuffles uselessly against his assailants, but he’s left with no sensation in the lower half of his body. “Stop,” he sputters through the blood, not for his sake, but yours.

“Grab a dagger. Finish this,” Arai ignores him.

The man’s words are lost on him. “Stop,” Sukuna coughs. The way his body wracks sends pain like a jolt up his spine. He groans, giving a weak tug at the spear to pull it from the earth, but it only serves to bloody his palm.

Imai and Arai move around him like a mission as your mother and Saya’s drag you away. You dig your heels into the ground, you claw, you scrape, you bite.

But it’s the screaming that finally gets through.

“DON’T HURT HIM!” His heart wrenches. “LET HIM GO!” It twists, and he has to grit his teeth to bear the pain. “RYO!” You’re almost out of sight when he hears you cry out in pain as you’re dragged away wrong. “I CAN’T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU!”

His blood runs cold as something inside him tilts. The static erupts into furious slices as he cries out for you. They travel over the ground, leaving harsh divots in their path. They sit in the air like a storm, cutting through tension, thick, hot, and no longer figurative, but undeniably real. He falls out of Imai’s grasp at last as the man steps away, allowing Sukuna to catch himself on the one good arm he has before his torso slides further down the spear. His attacks die down as he catches his breath when he startles both men.

“Get the dagger!” One of them yells with more urgency.

He can’t say which one of the men it is that moves first, but his good arm lifts as he cries out in fury and rage and in mere moments, the man has halted, bones sliced through so cleanly that the way he falls apart is unnatural. It doesn’t phase the child. His hand lowers back to the spear as he unlodges it from the ground with a harsh pull in the midst of the terrified screaming surrounding him.

Someone moves towards him, wrenching one of his bad shoulders. He recoils immediately, and with one look, they pay the price for touching him. His hand whips up and redirects his anger in a series of slashes. Their arm meets the ground as Sukuna falls back, the spear pulling more blood from his mouth as its weight shifts. He grabs the weapon again, his movements panicked as he feels the only gaze that matters searing into him.

He runs on adrenaline, fueled by an innate need to survive. He can’t let the image of you, alone in the world, become reality.

He slices clean through the spear’s wooden handle, holding the stone tip in a shaking hand. The situation around him has grown dire with many running to protect their families while others scream to kill him. To kill the two-faced curse.

One of his weaker arms drags off the ground, a modicum of strength and feeling returning to it. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but the energy within him shifts in ways he’s never felt before. In the same way your words stirred something within him, a grasp on the energy curling within fell into place out of sheer need.

His head lifts, bloodshot eyes searching the commotion for you. He looks past the stack of severed limbs at his side where you’re still fighting with every fiber of your being to get to his side.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” You cry, being dragged by one arm. With his senses on high alert and a new understanding of something within, he can practically feel your pain. In spite of the fact that your arm is at an odd angle, it’s the fear and desperation in your chest that he feels the strongest.

He wonders briefly if it’s the innate understanding of the energy in the world around him beginning to fall into place, or if your places in one another’s lives has simply connected you as such.

“STOP!” You sob again, your head whipping around to look back at him. You don’t see the limbs. You don’t see the blood. You don’t see the people running in fear.

You see your best friend.

You see a man with a dagger ready to plunge it into his back.

“RYO! LOOK OUT!”

One by one, every scream knocks something into place until his systems all begin to function once more. It’s fragmented and broken, it’s not the smooth motion of a waterwheel, but something far more cobbled together.

He twists awkwardly, plunging the tip of the spear into his assailant’s knee before they reach him. As they recoil, he reaches for the spear’s handle in his chest, gritting his teeth as he pulls it through his chest. Inch by painful inch, the bloodied handle gives way until he’s able to release it onto the ground before him. A hole runs clean through his chest, blood pouring from it in waves without the spear to cauterize the wound.

Your chest heaves with exhaustion as you kick and scream, yelling protests for the world to hear. Your calls and prayers are met in tandem with Sukuna’s ability to fight back, grateful to see life in his eyes, in spite of the ensuing violence.

When you see him free of the spear, his lower body slowly beginning to move as he gathers himself, your movements pause as you can only pray that by some miracle he isn’t left with horrible injuries. Saya’s mother takes the opportunity to reposition her grip, unaware that you’re paying avid attention. You twist your wrist, turning towards her as you free yourself. With your free hand, you pry your mother’s hand away and dart through the mess towards Sukuna.

What they might do to him, you can only hope they won’t do to you.

It’s the last ditch effort you can possibly think of that might stop this mess from ending in the only way you see it going.

Your arms wrap around him, blood soaking and staining your kimono as you collapse on top of him on the ground. His entire body heaves, his breathing laborious and his heart in a fit of uncertainty.

He wraps one weakened lower arm around you. The other remains limp, the effort of channeling his energy not worth it in the moment, and one upper arm remains out of the socket. He’s not quite sure how to fix that one with his limited understanding of his abilities. The other holds him up on an elbow, just out of his own pooling blood, cool and viscous against his skin.

The pressure and weight of your embrace doesn’t soothe the pain, but the world’s action quiets down for a moment.

Because you were right.

What they might do to Sukuna without worry, they will not do to you.

You sob endlessly into his shoulder while his head spins. His brain function is barely put together, unable to fully wrap his head around the concept of forcing the energy he wields to heal his chest when he’s running on fumes and lost an immense amount of blood. He can’t begin to tell where your tears end and his start. At some point, he became numb to the very sensation of his own.

The world is an overwhelming uproar of voices and yells, questions about the origins of the unknown boy and calls to find Murata. Between the noise, the sun, the wind, and your warmth all pressing down on him, he can’t make sense of the way the energy within him curls and bends. It may have clicked for long enough to pull himself away from death’s door, but now as he tries to stitch himself back together and reverse the damage of his injuries, he’s losing himself in the fog.

Imai’s voice rings out over your ragged breaths, grave and furious as he favors the knee without a sharp stone lodged into it.

“Move aside. This doesn’t have to do with you.”

You flinch, your grip tightening. Sukuna’s chest protests the movement, his jaw hanging open as a groan of pain parts his lips. He coughs, blood sputtering from his mouth as he struggles to hold himself out of his own pooling blood.

Imai calls for your mother, trailing behind as she watches in horror with Saya’s mother. “Get her out of here!” He hisses, his fingers clutching the back of your kimono as he attempts to drag you from Sukuna. The boy’s grip on you tightens, but even so, he prepares himself for disappointment.

But you only cling harder to him, burying your face into his shoulder. His heart pangs.

“NO!” You scream as your mother wrenches on your shoulders. Sukuna offers enough weight that pulling on you means trying to drag him along with you, an effort that can’t be accomplished with only one person. Asking someone to get near the equal parts terrified and furious boy is a big ask when they’ve seen what he’s capable of.

But with you this close, he doesn’t even know what he’s capable of and fears it altogether.

But even more so, he’s tired. The fight is leaving his body with your comfort tied to his side in a bloody bow.

As your mother fails to pull you from him, Imai takes matters into his own hands, the dagger in his hand suddenly held unsteadily at your jugular.

Sukuna’s eyes, bloodied and blurred, rise to meet Imai pleadingly. “Don’t,” he manages to rasp through the fog, “please.”

Imai’s lips curls. “You have no authority to make demands here. Let her go or–”

“How dare you?” Your mother roars furiously, her grip on you loosening on your shoulders as she makes a move to protect you. In the effort to do so, she staggers Imai’s stance, and the dagger lodges itself into Sukuna’s shoulder. He groans, inadvertently digging his nails into your side as it drags more of his blood to the earth below.

Your mother rounds Imai until she can separate him from you and Sukuna by the shoulders. She gives his hunched shoulders an adamant tug, sending him back and his hand flying outward, still tightly wound around the weapon’s handle. The dagger drags heavily over Sukuna’s shoulder, opening his wound further. Blood spills from his lips again, his eyes fluttering as he struggles to keep conscious under the weight of blood loss and brain fog.

He doesn’t even hear your yelp, it’s the way you jolt that makes him open his eyes again.

His clouded vision goes red at the sight that meets him. The cut from his shoulder drags straight into yours, the two forming a single, long slice telling of the misfortune that comes with being friends with the creature of nightmarish tales.

He swallows hard, pupils flickering across your shoulder until he finds your face. Contorted in pain, you look like another person.

His breathing comes hard. Every breath is purposeful when he pours every last ounce of harnessable energy into one hand, turning to shield you from the onslaught of slashes he lets out in the air.

Imai’s guttural cry makes you flinch.

But it’s your mother’s shocked gasp that has you looking up.

Regardless of how frustrated you’ve been with her, she’s still your mother. Some part of you hasn’t fully registered what Sukuna is capable of, in spite of the dismemberment and blood surrounding you. You don’t fully have a grasp on the damage he’s wrought and the choices he can’t come back from anymore, too caught up in anguish and anxiety.

But when you look up, your vision glazes over as you lift your head past the remnants of Imai to your mother, her chest heaving and eyes wide with fear. Sukuna’s arm falls into the pooling crimson beneath him, no longer only his own blood, as his consciousness begins to fade. Your mother’s scratches are only surface-level, a decision Sukuna made through fog and iron.

But she still breathes fury and desperation as she raises hell to pull you two apart, begging for help from villagers unwilling to come any closer. You can feel Saya’s mother’s fury burning into your back as she’s forced to watch Imai succumb to the violence that she already blames for the loss of her daughter and husband.

“What’s going on?” Murata’s voice rings out in the midst of your mother’s cries. You can hear Imai’s boys sobbing in the distance. Arai’s wife cries with them. No one dares to speak ill of the child whose very existence is calamity. The guardian locks eyes with his own child, his lips pressed into a thin line as he’s backed into a corner.

He doesn’t need any replies to his question, because through your sobs as you cling to Sukuna, Murata knows. He’s likely always known it would come to this.

Even as Sukuna– a few days from thirteen– stares up at Murata from over your shoulder, he knows already that there was never any question in what decision his guardian would choose. He’s seen it all before and he knew from the start that he would see it again.

“Forgive me, Ryomen.”

Crimson irises fall, rolling to the side as he willingly gives in with no fight left in him. He lets his head fall back into the bloodied dirt, matting his hair with the remains of those lost as he prepares for death, protecting you with what last energy he has and praying that when his world goes black, yours remains intact.

It’s the least the gods above could do for smiting him in such a cruel way.

–

When you wake, your head pounds. You shut your eyes tight, praying that the light won’t harm you, but it’s that same familiar sensation from when you slammed your head against the tree last year when facing Imai’s boys. The sun’s light furthers the sensation of something rattling in your brain and your memory is fuzzy.

You can’t recall falling asleep, nor can you recall passing out, if that was the case either.

There’s nothing but fog in every direction, and no discernable way out.

Your limbs are heavy as you lift them towards the sun, blocking its rays from hitting your face. Your throat is dry, raw, and you sputter out a cough as you attempt to sit up in your bed.

The noise attracts your mother’s attention, who kneels in front of you without niceties. You try to shake your head of her grip as she grabs your cheeks and turns your head this way and that, seemingly looking over your vision as though it isn’t swimming.

“Stop,” you rasp, clumsily swatting at her.

She grabs your wrist in her palm, her grip tight. Your brow furrows on instinct as you squint up at her, trying to make sense of your surroundings. When you shift your gaze, the back of your head begins pounding.

“I am not playing around,” she states, punctuating the phrase with your name.

You try to shake your head, but it just results in harsher pounding. You hiss, reaching for the back of your head to find swelling, but you can’t recall how it happened.

“I’m not playing,” you mutter, tugging on your arm, but her grip is without relent. “My head hurts.”

“I would imagine it does.”

Confusion clouds your mind as you stare at her, attempting to blink away the incessant onslaught of sunlight on your senses. She doesn’t grace you with a reply, though she finally drops your wrist.

It’s then that you notice that her arms and parts of her chest are bandaged, though you can’t recall why. Had she burned herself?

She gets back up to her feet, shaking her head at your father as they speak in a low tone you can’t quite make out. Your head drops, gaze fixating on your blanketed lap where your hands reside. Blinking, you flip one over, staring at your palm. It’s not just dirty from the day’s usual grime, it’s dry and cracking, a deep and stomach-churning crimson dried into the cracks. You lift your other hand, finding the same of both, with dried blood packed beneath your nails and a noticeable sting when you pick at it.

Your mind swims, cloudy as you trudge through memories in search of what happened.

Dried blood clings to you in all of the spots that aren’t so easy to clean, but what really strikes you is when you look down at your shoulder and find blood soaked into the hemp material of your clothes. You lift a hand, pushing them aside and staring blankly at a tightly wrapped bandage, soaked in deep crimson as it wraps from your clavicle to your shoulder and across your chest to secure it.

In true childlike manner, your first instinct is to touch it, taught an instant lesson when your body fights back with a stinging sensation. You wince, staring down at it in confusion.

“Do not touch your shoulder,” your mother reprimands you with little care in her tone as she physically wrenches your hand away. You whine in protest, resisting the way she pulls your arm.

“That hurts.”

You don’t even get a snarky reply this time.

“What did I do?” You query, completely at a loss as to what’s happened recently when something strikes you. “Where’s Ryo?”

Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “Do not ask about that boy.”

You can only watch in confusion as your stomach churns uncomfortably when she crosses the floor to whatever she has cooking over the fire. “What? Why?”

Her head whips towards you with enough venom to make you shrink away. “He’s gone.” The word sits before you like the ill omen they always considered him to be. You swallow hard as your stomach threatens to throw up the limited amount of food that’s already in it. Your body runs cold, a horrifying sensation settling into the tips of your fingers and toes as though they’ve already gone numb.

Your chest feels as though a weight presses down on it and in a horrifying burst of panic, you throw your blankets off and make for the door. Your mother calls for you, but you’re too fast as the door slams open and you’re met with a horrific sight.

The iron in the wind hits you first. A low metallic tang that grips you by the throat has you bringing a hand to your lips as there is no fresh air to save you. It’s the still-bleeding remains that finally wrench your stomach into full unease. Whatever food you had managed to eat in the last day is emptied from your stomach as you clutch it uncomfortably, unable to tear your eyes from the spot where the pooling blood is just that– still a pool. Not dried.

It hits you hard, yesterday’s events. The blunt force of the memory is more painful than whatever blunt object Murata made the decision to knock out not only Sukuna with, but you as well.

Which leaves you with one bitter question. He’s gone. That’s inevitable. But how gone? For as cruel as Murata could be, you don’t believe him to be a killer. You can’t. So you can only hope the hate harbored towards your friend wasn’t enough to spear him through the chest yet again.

The mere thought leaves you dizzy as your mother pulls you back inside. You stumble back, falling over your feet and onto your knees as you try to gather yourself, but nothing feels right. Anxiety grips every muscle in your body, stuck in a permanently tense sensation like your nervous system doesn’t know how to let go.

Struggling to suck in a breath from where you’ve fallen to the floor, you stare up wildly at your mother. “Where is he?”

Not an ounce of care stares back at you. Your father doesn’t even glance over his shoulder as you struggle to put together the missing pieces of the puzzle. “He’s gone.”

“Where is he?” You cry with increasing panic. White encroaches on the edges of your vision as your body goes into full-blown paranoia. “I can’t–” You shake your head wildly, pushing to your feet and taking a couple of steps away from your mother in the midst of your anxiety. “I need him, I can’t–” Your breathing picks up, every gasp serving to send your body in the wrong direction as you stumble away from the figures you can barely make out anymore. “Not Ryo too,” you cry out, tears spilling over.

Your mother calls your name, taking both of your biceps as she holds you in place. Your nervous system goes haywire, your body tipping over the edge as you’re sent into fight or flight. She tries to explain that you don’t need him. She tries to explain that you’ll be a good daughter. She tries to explain that someday you’ll be a good wife to a husband who you’ll take care of.

But nothing registers as all you can picture is your brute of a friend, cast away if the blood loss didn’t take him first. He didn’t even get ten years at your side before being sent out into the forest again to scavenge for rabbits and search for warmth in the sort of places most people don’t dare look.

And that’s only if you can hope he’s still alive.

“Where is he?” You repeat your question as she outright refuses to give you a real answer.

There’s no hope in your mother’s scream when she finally raises her voice past the disappointment she’s been holding over you. “HE’S GONE!” She moves you to a chair, your feet moving clumsily over the ground as she drags you across the floor. Your shoulder protests every movement and your mind can’t make out the difference between your left and right, caught between panic over Sukuna and the sickly feeling that comes with the complete and utter shutdown of your body.

Spiralling into a complete manic state, you stare through her as you barely manage to scrape a reply past your lips. “He can’t be. He can’t– I can’t–” You swallow hard in an effort to quell the uneasy feeling in your stomach as your head swims, the white ring around your vision closing in on you.

“You can and you will.”

But your world is dark again when your body and mind protest that sentiment with a complete and utter shutdown.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

➴ a/n ; it hurts my heart to put these poor babies through so much :'( i promise things won't be quite as intense going forward! thank you for the support on this series though, i appreciate you all <3

➴ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @gojosoups @sukunas-one-n-only-peach @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo @sukubusss @matchaenthusiast1111 @peachhiz @seellove @msrinnnn @amenabiii @jasontoddscumslut @asimpinamillion @rottenrange @ricktastix @indiewritesxoxo @cosmotoic @berry-marys @eli54sa @lovers-roq @arcanelusttt @cheol-lies @scarletcachecyclone @bam-boozledx @icebearcucumber @meatboy167 @t4ters @slushycoookie @yarimarjane @dishs0pe @martianzmars @tohru-tales @loijkiupo0 @crimzie129