#higukuna

The openness of the room immediately did the opposite, cool air gracing his skin causing his hair to stand on its ends. Grabbing his towel, Higuruma swifty wrapped it around himself. He didn’t bring clothes in with him, so he’d have to leave the stale warmth of the bathroom behind. He wasn’t ready. Not for the chill of the apartment, the darkness of his bedroom, or the following sleep. However he did look forward to the full body warmth his pajamas would bring him.

Sighing, Higuruma pulled the soft cotton shirt over him. This temporary comfort of his, before falling into a deep sleep, before dreaming dreams that have been plagued for as long as he can remember, what did it even do? Twisted visions become nightmares as he tosses and turns during the night. It's always the same. falling endlessly into darkness, whether it be a misstep or the ground crumbling beneath him, he is always caught in the same fate, the same feeling.

What bothers him isn't the falling, or the waking up in a cold sweat, or the way his heart pounds in his ears. It's the small amount of light he can see as he tumbles and the figure silhouetted by it. He remembers when he first began having these dreams. He'd reach for the figure, clawing at air as he desperately tried to scream. The figure's back was turned though, and no noise would come out to catch his attention. Higuruma was forever helpless, held captive in a cycle.

He laid down to dream anyways.

***

"Useless." Sukuna sneered as he hammered the side of the shower head with his palm.

The pressure was running low again. He was used to it by now, but it was still an annoyance. His hands were already pruney from washing dishes all night, the final clean up before close. He wanted a shower but between the low pressure, his hands, and the fact it was already running cold, the rewards weren’t worth the effort. Maybe if he wasn’t so tired. Maybe if he managed decent sleep. Maybe if this bathroom wasn’t worth a shit.

Stepping out of the shower, Sukuna reached for his towel. The humidity in the bathroom made the fabric feel rough, an odd texture against his hands. Ignoring it he dried off, dressing slowly. He needed time to think before laying down to sleep, time to process his day. Process his dreams. The mornings were too groggy, too plagued by echoes to let him.

Each night they matched pace with the last. Sometimes, he was in battle, fighting just to connect with the feeling that sunk deep into his chest. Other times he was watching scenes unfold; chore boys in the kitchen, late nights at a casino, archery practices. Always though, he could sense the man behind him, falling. Reaching.

Sukuna used to turn around. When he was just a boy he would frantically reach for the dark haired child, wide eyes pleading for his help. It was fruitless though, a nightmare ending in fingers grazing, missing each other each time. Despite the air escaping him, Sukuna could make out one strangled word. His name. The boy knew his name and there was nothing he could do.

So Sukuna stopped turning.

***

He stood once again, back turned towards the abyss. A looming feeling filled it. He wasn’t here yet, the nameless boy who grew into a man alongside Sukuna. In front of him a scene unfolded, this time Sukuna need not fight.

Past the door that separated dream and abyss stood a pink haired boy, a reflection of Sukuna he had seen before. In front of him a dark haired man laid amongst a pile of broken, scattered chairs. He felt familiar. He looked exhausted, vaguely withdrawn from the world around him, The pink haired boy was confessing, claiming he was too weak to stop something. The other man, tired, said he could see. Then Sukuna’s likeness spoke, softly, barely above a whisper. He caught one word. Higuruma.

“I remembered why I got into law in the first place. Itadori...” the man responded, getting up.

That’s when it hit him. That’s when Sukuna realized, anger seizing through him at this man calling an echo of himself by the wrong name. It was him. The man that was falling. The man that was absent from his dream. The man he couldn't seem to save, after all these years. It was Higuruma.

Stepping forward, a raw voiceless effort to get Higuruma’s attention tried to escape Sukuna. His body lurched forward, tensing into an uncomfortable arch. The hollow attempt echoed in the back of his throat, settling like a pit. It meant nothing though, as this was a dream and what he was witnessing was a life he wasn’t currently living. No one could hear him.

There was silence.

***

Higuruma fell asleep quickly, the heaviness from his eyelids seeping its way through his body the second his head lay on the pillow. Like most nights, he practically fell into it, his dreams stirring immediately. Tonight was no different.

He lost his footing this time while escaping some strange creature, a monster or hooded figure. Its large black body outlined a small white face, black lips and eyes. Almost as if it was a mask settled into a blanket, but sentient and forceful. It loomed over him like a canopy and left him shaded in nothing more than doubt. The creature draped itself around him, falling like a parachute, submerging him in darkness.

Wrapped in it, Higuruma began to peer through the blackness, hopeful the light would be closer this time. Hopeful he would hear him. Hopeful the figure would turn, reach, help him get out of this cycle that plagued him. It never occurred that the person standing there no longer shared that hope, that he had tried night after night, creating a swirling emotion of nightmares no child should be lost in, no adult should be desperate to avoid. Higuruma wasn’t sure why he kept his. Maybe it was to pass the time.

“No different. No different than the last,” the words barely left him.

He was trapped. There was nothing, no door, no escape, no figure. No way out.

***

Sukuna awoke, confused. He had spent that dream alone, flipping through court cases that varied in degree of evil. The last one landed on him, this time separated from his pink haired reflection, in a form with four arms.

He didn’t like it.

He sat up, stretching while trying to recall other aspects of his dream. Reaching over to his nightstand, he grabbed a tattered black journal. Written in it were cleanly written, yet scattered notes. Some written down in what seemed like a rush, others painstakingly done.

He started writing. His notes ending with one word, underlined multiple times, Higuruma. He knew the man’s name, now he just needed his dream to align with his. Normally they did, but this time...

Bzzrt. Bzzrt. Sukuna’s alarm began to go off, pulling him from his thoughts and settling him back into his undersized twin sized mattress. He didn’t realize, but he had awoken well before it, rolling over and getting lost in his notes immediately. There was no use in caring right now though, he had things to do and this was just going to add to it. He would worry about it tonight, before he dreams, before he lets sleep take him to somewhere that echoes in familiarity.

***

Higuruma awoke, restless and tired from the night before. The empty atmosphere of his dream brought a sense of unease, one that didn’t leave him upon waking up. It felt like he had run a mental marathon and he no longer had the cerebral capacity to do anything. It was good he didn’t work today, convenient even.

Sitting up, Higuruma tried to think. Tried to recall the night before, the day before, the dream before. Slowly information started to trickle in. The wrongfully accused man standing trial he was tending to during his days, the long baths at night the doctor recommended to try to reduce stress and tension, but nothing about the dream. His mind entered blackness almost immediately upon mention, tiring him out even more. Some more sleep… That’s what he needed... Sleep…

***

The hooded figure from before enveloped Higuruma, suffocating him. The black cloak practically suctioned to his frame creating an outline, leaving him unable to move. Tension moved throughout his body as Higuruma tried to fight it, tried to break free. His muscles began to tense and his abdomen buckled under the pressure. His arms hung at his sides and clung to his frame. His body began to sway, the movement awkward and clunky. Then he went down.

Down.

Down.

Into the darkness he went. The tension from the cloaked shadow loosened, allowing Higuruma to bend his elbows and shimmy his arms upward. What was wrapped around him became undone, almost as quickly as he had fallen into it. He was freed from its weight, but not the open air he was falling through. It whipped against his skin, burning. Looking around frantically Higuruma began his search for something to orient himself with, a spec of light hopefully. A door with a figure that was close enough to reach. That’s what his heart desited despite the fact it was unlikely, despite the fact it hadn’t happened since his youth, despite the fact he knew he was alone. What was the point of dreams if not to hope?

Twisting mid-air he finds it. His heart sinks, it’s too far. Just a spec in the distance with no one silhouetted in its frame. Higuruma goes limp.

A whisper breaks the silence.

“Sukuna..”

He reaches.

***

The sizzle of grease mingles with the heat of the restaurant’s kitchen, something Sukuna is accustomed to by now. Turning his back to the sink that’s now clear of dishes, he sighs. The days are long, the nights are long. He cannot seem to catch a break. He used to get caught in daydreams about running the kitchen. Instead, he’s been stuck in the same endless cycle of line cook to dishwasher, dishwasher to line cook. You would think by now Sukuna would know not to be so quick to go. He was skilled, but angry and this held him back in the kitchen. Maybe the heat got to him, maybe it was the lack of sleep. Either way he was back at the lowest offered station, so it didn't matter much.

“Heading out early?” a puzzled Uruame asks, their tray filled with various drinks. It was near closing but that never seems to stop a table full of customers.

“I finished the bulk. Jin can handle the rest.” it came out low, almost like a command.

Uruame nods humbly, something they tended to do around Sukuna. Accepting this, Sukuna throws his towel down and heads toward the door.

The harsh winter air hits the second the door opens, filling the back part of the kitchen with a cool, wintry blast. His white t-shirt and apron do nothing to protect him from the cold. He doesn’t mind though, it refreshes him. When the temperatures drop this low it almost burns, turning to a heat you can only find this time of year. If anything Sukuna looks forward to it. It’s only 6pm but the sun has settled elsewhere already. The night has never bothered him, if anything the darkness felt as welcoming as the cold. It was less that he could hide in the night and more that he finally felt like he could show himself. He was free.

Taking long strides, Sukuna headed north towards his apartment. His feet sunk into the snow, crunching to a steady rhythm. The rubber of his slip proof shoes protected them from the dampened snow, but not the hems of his pants. Ignoring it, he slowed to an easy gait, his mind wandering back to the dream he’d had. The dreams he’d always had. Back to Higuruma. FInally he knew his name, but what was he supposed to do with it? Calling out to him felt useless. Previous nights he was unable to create a single sound, and had lost all motion, there was nothing left to do. Higuruma was an unfamiliar familiarity lost in a void that housed no echoes, and Sukuna was without hope.

He could turn. The thought came as quickly as he rejected it. His heart froze at the thought of reaching and being out of touch, slightly yet thoroughly. He kept walking. There didn’t seem to be a point in yelling out, there didn’t seem to be a point in reaching out. What was he supposed to do? The answer felt as far away as Higuruma, like a separate figure looming behind him. Sneering, he turned onto his street, heading straight to his apartment. There had to be some worth here, something outside of the obvious. Sukuna didn’t want to give in to what was pronounced, what was standing so clearly in front of him. He would much rather go dreamless, settling into a vacant slumber each night. He wasn’t sure he had a choice though.

***

Slowly, Sukuna pulled his pajama pants up. It was less that he was sore, and more that he was anticipating what was to come. Dreams weren’t supposed to be this entrapping. He pulled out his well worn journal and began rereading his notes from the night before. Court case after court case, two of which stuck out; the one with the pink haired embodiment of Sukuna, and the other with Sukuna himself, each one coming off as more of a battle between the accuser and the accused. He didn’t understand, but he didn’t feel like he needed to either. It was just a dream.

Sukuna laid back, stretching his large body across the length and width of his bed. He exhaled, letting out all of the air in his lungs. He let the sensation take hold as he lured himself into a deep sleep.

***

Higuruma knew he would need to sleep again soon, it was past midnight and he hadn’t so much as tried to get any rest. He kept telling himself the nap he’d had earlier was enough, that the nightmares were enough. Sighing, he placed his hands around the sides of his head, running his fingers through his hair. The back and forth motion was relaxing, and eased some of the stress. He rose, slipping his feet back into his slippers and slunk off towards his bedroom.

Maybe tonight would be different.

***

The hooded figure didn’t appear this time. Instead, Higuruma was standing on what felt like an invisible platform. He was surrounded by blackness. He didn’t feel that familiar, unnerving pressure from it though. It felt lighter this time. Almost like a clear sky after the rain, where the air feels lifted around you and the clouds mask the warmth of the sun. He reached with one foot, testing the bounds of the platform. It kept going. Slowly he began looking around, hesitant that he would see nothing at all.

There.

In the distance.

He could see another platform covered in light, with a large, familiar man standing on it. Without thinking, Higuruma took a step forward, trusting that the platform would continue under him. What starts as a walk becomes a sprint, and soon Higuruma is running. He tries to get Sukuna’s name out, tries to scream, but nothing comes. He chokes, running on fumes and nearly stumbling as he draws closer.

Meanwhile Sukuna doesn’t turn, doesn’t hear or see anything. He’s caught in his own dream, watching a new scene unfold. Arms folded, tattoos lining his body. That’s when it hits though, as quickly as it takes to come out.

“Sukuna!” it finally escapes Higuruma’s lips.

Before Sukuna can think he reacts, almost like it was Jin calling for him at the restaurant, the voice coated in familiarity. Turning, Sukuna sees a tired looking man running towards him. He pauses, recognizing him immediately. Higuruma. Sukuna takes a step forward, then another. Before he realizes it he’s also running, trusting the platform just as much as Higuruma. A sense of determination overtakes him.

This dream would end.

They reach each other. Exhausted, panting, breathless, they meet. Face to face, Sukuna immediately notices Higuruma’s dark set eyes, his angled nose. Higuruma notices Sukuna’s large build, the black lined tattoos that cover his arms and face. Both of them stand there, intrigued. They say nothing, just stare into each other’s eyes. The shock doesn’t wear off.

Higuruma starts to take a step forward, “Suk-”.

There, in the darkness of the dream, his missteps. Beginning to fall he looks up, he reaches. His eyes pleading. His trust in the platform depleted. Memories of childhood start to flood Higuruma, all the nights spent reaching for someone that didn’t reach back. All those nights where he fell, fell into a darkness that didn’t end until he woke up.

“Pleas-” before he can get the word out, Sukuna reaches.

A gasp escapes Higuruma as he tries to stretch his body upwards. Sukuna quickly drops to his knees, reaching downward while keeping his balance, stretching his body too. Their hands graze each other, fingers barely intertwine. He flashes back to all those times as a child, reaching frantically through air at someone and through nothing.

That’s when Sukuna decides it. Reaching further than the platform, he meets Higuruma’s hand. Weaving his fingers into Higuruma’s, he grabs him, pulling him upwards and into his embrace. Higuruma’s scent fills Sukuna’s nose as he draws the other man closer, bracing himself for whatever was to come.

Higuruma turns in his arms, looking up at him, confused. One glance at Sukuna and he knew, his look of determination being a marker. He wasn’t going to fall alone anymore.

***

Sukuna woke up exhausted, his mouth dry and eyes still heavy. Sleepily checking his phone, he assures himself that it’s Sunday, 10am. No shift today. Drifting off, he began to remember his dream. The rush of darkness came back to him, the desperation on Higuruma’s face, in his voice. He began to relive it all, waking him up abruptly. Frustrated Sukuna turned onto his side and grabbed his journal. He sat up in bed and began writing out every detail, trying to make sense of it. Scoffing, he puts it back, slips on his house shoes, and lumbers off towards the bathroom. He would go out today, get breakfast. Go for a jog. Clear his head. Anything to distance himself from his dreams, from Higuruma.

***

Hirmoi woke up with a piercing headache, one so intense he could barely keep his eyes open. The sun posed a threat, so he covered them with his blanket. Laying there he began to think about the platform and how it was long enough to run on, yet the moment he stood… and about Sukuna. He had reached for him. After all these years he reached, he embraced him even. It felt surreal. Rejuvenating even. Maybe these dreams would finally come to an end.

Hirmoi sighs, slowly sitting up. Rubbing his temples, he makes the decision to go out today. Get breakfast. Go for a walk. Clear his head. Anything to distance himself from his dreams.

***

Sukuna sat motionless as he waited for his coffee. He had ordered it black, dark roast, with a grand slam breakfast. The extra meat and eggs felt needed after last night. He needed to reset, needed to energize himself in a way that didn’t involve sleep. He didn’t feel patient this morning, his eyes lingering between his hands folded on the table and the kitchen doors.

Ding! the quiet chime of the door drew his attention. Someone bundled in a dark coat walked in, their black stringy hair shining under the diner lights. The man turned, his dark eyes connecting with Sukuna’s. Sukuna immediately began tracing his features. His long angled nose, thin lips and brows..

It clicked. Like lightning striking a tree, the man in front of him was Higuruma. Sukuna rose from where he was seated within the same second, towering over everything around him. He couldn't believe his eyes. His mind ran in circles, half convincing himself this was a dream. He remembered waking up this morning though, the grogginess and how it wore off. He slid from his place behind the table and took his first step.

***

Higuruma knew a place close by where he could get a decent breakfast for a decent price, so he headed in that direction. Before he knew it he was walking through the diner door, the smell of greasy meat and eggs overwhelming his senses. Immediately he began looking for a server. Glancing around he took off his gloves, his eyes falling towards the kitchen. That’s when he noticed a tall, muscular man standing near a table, staring in his direction. The man was adorned in tattoos, they covered his arms, his face.. His face. That’s when it connected, the moment Higuruma realized who he was looking at. Blinking rapidly he tried to clear his eyes, clear his mind. It didn’t work though. Sukuna was still standing there. Shoving his gloves into his pocket, Higuruma took his first step.

***

It's been months since their first meeting, months since Higuruma's dreams became that of everyday monotony. Filing papers regarding a current case, riding the train home, running late. They were nothing compared to the ones he used to have, and sometimes they even filled Higuruma's chest with a sense of hope. Like finding a piece of case breaking information, or watching Sukuna cook. There was pride in how he held himself, his hands moving effortlessly. It caught Higuruma's attention.

Ever since they met in the diner, Sukuna and Higuruma started to spend time together. Stolen hours after long shifts, middays on the weekends, all to mostly talk about their dreams. Figure out how they connected, why they connected. Higuruma felt useless. His only clue, his only differentiation being that hooded figure.. Otherwise he was falling every time, staring desperately at Sukuna. Waiting on him.

Sukuna though, journal in hand, had everything. He was hesitant to share though, reading the pages himself then sharing certain information with Higuruma. Higuruma allowed this though, quickly accepting that it was enough to go on. He'd gone one less from would-be criminals in court, this was like being tossed candy at a parade. He caught each, turning it over in his mind.

Little did either know, though, was that they were both falling. This time in a way that would piece together, stumbling into their grooves recklessly. This time outside of their dreams. This time..

This time..

The green expanse opens wide, vivid and radiant beneath the scorching midday sun of summer. The fields stretch endlessly, shimmering under the golden light that pours down from above. Children dart across the open plain, chasing one another, laughing, and playfully jabbing their friends as their joyous voices ripple through the warm air. The echoes of their laughter fill the space. Makes it even brighter and livelier.

Among them sits a boy apart from the commotion, a sickly, fragile child whose frail body contrasts sharply with the energy around him. Draped in a silk kosode and wearing a polished wooden sandal, he sits quietly on the grass, arms wrapped tightly around his knees as if to hold himself together. His posture is reserved, knees drawn close to his chest, the elegance of his garments contrasting the rough play of the common children before him. His gaze follows the other children, eyes wide with silent wait. He blinks, watching them run and tumble and shout, hoping that they might turn toward him, call his name, and welcome him into their games. But the laughter continues without him, and no one seems to notice the small, still figure sitting in the middle of the boundless green.

“U-um… please, I want to play with you all too!” the boy finally says, his voice trembling with a mix of hesitation and irritation. His thick eyebrows draw together in frustration, and his dark eyes glare at the children running across the field.

“No! You’re too slow! You always trip and fall,” one of the kids shouts back, not even pausing in his play.

“Higuruma, you’re such a bother!” another yells, laughing loudly as the others join in.

Hiromi’s small frame stiffens. He rises to his feet, fists clenched tight at his sides, jaw tightening until his teeth grind together. “Then why do you all always ask me to bring tonjiki and eat them, huh?” he snaps, voice breaking with anger.

“Because you’re rich!” one of them calls out, grinning. “Whatever you’ve got, we’d like to eat it!”

The laughter rings in Hiromi’s ears, sharper than the summer sun above. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. His jaw tightens, lips pressed into a trembling line.

“What’s so funny?” he snaps, his voice slicing through their laughter. “Say it again.”

The kids pause, startled for a second, then one of them grins. “Oh, the rich boy’s mad now?” another teases.

That’s the last straw. Hiromi storms forward, his silk kosode flaring around his legs. His geta dig into the dirt as he closes the distance in three quick steps and shoves the loudest boy hard in the chest. The boy stumbles back, losing his footing.

“You call me slow again!” Hiromi yells, his voice cracking but fierce. “Say it one more time!”

The taller kid stares at him with shock, “You think you can fight, rich boy?” he barks and swings a hand out, pushing Hiromi’s shoulder. But Hiromi doesn’t back down. He pushes back harder, shoving him again and again until the other kids rush in.

Hands grab at sleeves, someone yells, and the air fills with dust and scuffling feet. Hiromi ducks under a wild swing and hits the boy square in the side, his small fist landing with more will than strength. Another kid tugs his hair, and Hiromi twists, elbowing him away. It’s messy, desperate  and full of childish fury.

“Stop it, stop it!” one of them shouts, but Hiromi doesn’t stop. He lunges at the boy who mocked him, tackling him to the ground. They roll in the grass, dirt smearing across Hiromi’s fine sleeves, the expensive silk creasing and tearing at the edge.

“Take it back!” he yells, breathing hard, his voice hoarse and trembling. “Take it back!”

The boy beneath him squirms, face red, finally gasping, “Fine! Just get off me!”

Hiromi slowly stands, brushing the dirt from his knees, his breath still unsteady. “If you hate me,” he mutters, voice low but firm, “then stop eating what I bring.”

“Get him!” one of them yells.

A kick lands against his ribs, another hand yanks his hair. Hiromi lashes out, hitting, scratching, doing anything to fight back. Tears sting his eyes, not from pain but from humiliation.

“Think you’re better than us, huh?” one boy sneers, panting. “In your fancy clothes?”

Hiromi’s breathing turns ragged. “I didn’t…” he tries to speak, but another shove sends him sprawling again.

Then, from the edge of the group, a thin boy with a sly grin says, “Let’s take him to the Oni’s house.”

The words fall like a chill wind. The others go quiet for a moment, their laughter faltering.

Hiromi looks up, confusion flashing across his red face. “What… what are you talking about?”

The sly boy grins wider. “The abandoned house by the woods. They say an Oni lives there. Maybe he’ll like eating spoiled rich kids.”

The others exchange glances, half scared, half thrilled. The idea catches like wildfire among them. “Yeah,” someone snickers, “let’s see if the Oni wants him!”

“No! Let me go!” Hiromi shouts, struggling violently as two of the boys seize him by the arms. He kicks and thrashes, wooden sandals scraping harshly against the dirt, but they are stronger, their grip does not loosen at all. The others laugh, cruel, as if they have never seen anything this entertaining in their entire life, closing in around him.

Before he can regain any footing, two more boys grab his legs. Hiromi’s small body is hoisted into the air like a cut-down tree log, limbs dangling helplessly as the group starts moving toward the forest at the edge of the fields.

As they march through the forest, hoisting Hiromi like a heavy log, the boys begin to chant in a teasing, sing-song rhythm, their voices louder with each step they take closer to the forest:

“Rich boy, weak boy, what a surprise, Off to the forest where the curse lies! Oni waits with eyes so wide, Step inside, get eaten, no way to hide!”

The sun blazes above as they drag him toward the tree line, where the green turns darker and the air cooler. Hiromi struggles, breathless and furious, the once-bright field shrinking behind him.

“Let me go!” he screams, voice cracking. “You’ll regret this!”

The Oni’s house looms ahead, a dark silhouette against the blazing green of the fields. Every villager has whispered about it in hushed, fearful tones, that this is a cursed place, they say, where anyone who steps inside is doomed to bear the curse forever. Its walls are warped and cracked, the roof sagging like it might collapse under its own weight. Even the bravest of men avoid it, crossing to the far side of the street or running past with quickened steps. The air around it feels heavier, as if sunlight itself hesitates to touch its shadow.

Hiromi struggles against the grip of the older boys, but they drag him closer with cruel insistence. “The Oni will get you!” one of them hisses, half-laughing, half-shivering at their own story. “You’ll be cursed forever!”

His small heart pounds, fear and anger mingling. He’s always been frail, always been careful, yet now he’s being forced toward the house no one dares approach. He glances at the crooked doorway, the broken shutters, and for a moment, the whispered warnings of the village crawl into his mind.

The children throw Hiromi toward the dilapidated hut and then scatter, their laughter fading into the distance. The wooden walls rise unevenly around him, warped and jagged, enclosing him in a tight, oppressive space. A narrow, rotting veranda runs along the front, its planks cracked and splintered, some hanging loose like broken teeth. The faint creak of the boards under Hiromi’s feet echoes through the empty space as he steps onto it, sunlight filtering through gaps in the weathered roof and casting jagged patterns across the dirt floor inside. Shadows pool in every corner, crawling along the walls like dark fingers.

He moves cautiously, eyes scanning the ruined interior, when a low hiss cuts through the silence. On a pile of broken planks near the far wall, a snake coils, tongue flicking, fangs bared toward his ankle. Hiromi freezes, a shiver running through him, small hands shaking in fear.

“A-Ah!” Hiromi screams.

Then, a sudden movement. A boy with messy pink hair, taller and broader than Hiromi, lunges at the snake. His hands clamp around the slick body, twisting and tearing with feral strength, blood spraying across the dirt and the splintered veranda planks. The snake writhes and hisses, but he holds firm, finally tossing its lifeless body aside.

He straightens, chest heaving, and grins at Hiromi. Two teeth are missing from his jagged smile. “Don’t worry,” he says with a shrug, blood smearing his sleeves. “I’ve got this.”

Hiromi swallows hard, the terror of the snake still thrumming in his veins, and glances at the rotting veranda, the splintered boards and warped railings surrounding him.

“T-thank you?” Hiromi stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. He keeps his eyes fixed on the boy before him, studying him with a mix of awe and unease. The boy is larger than Hiromi expected, a bit stout, and somehow carries the restless energy of a wild animal, like a tiger cub pacing in a cage. One side of his face is peculiar, the flesh twisted resembling that of a burnt mark, and also two extra holes as if he has an extra pair of eyes, and his messy pink hair falls in uneven strands over his forehead.

He wears a small, torn-down kimono, clearly tailored from an old woman’s garment. The fabric is patched and frayed, tied hastily around his torso with loose knots, as if he had dressed himself in a rush. The boy sits back on his heels, rubbing his belly absently, eyes lingering on the snake he threw aside, blood still streaking on its body.

Hiromi’s gaze drops and freezes. One of the boy’s feet is bound by a long, heavy chain, the metal link rattling faintly as he shifts. His breath catches. The boy notices Hiromi staring and tilts his head, a small, almost sad smile curling across his jagged grin.

“My mother… she kept me shackled,” he says simply, voice soft yet edged with something like pride. “So I don’t curse other people.”

Hiromi blinks, confusion knotting in his chest. “C-curse…?” he murmurs. He is a just a kid like him, how can he even curse others?

Before Hiromi can even gather his thoughts, the boy’s stomach growls loudly, the sound startling the quiet of the hut. He presses both hands to his belly, eyes squeezing shut, as if trying to quiet the twists inside of his stomach. When he opens his eyes, they land on Hiromi, and that’s when he notices his eye color.

Red orbs look like gemstones, his father often bought from foreign merchants.

“Can I… eat the snake?” he asks softly, voice tinged with hesitation.

“Ehhh!” Hiromi almost yells, stepping back instinctively. “Never! No!” He straightens, fists clenching at his sides, heart hammering with disbelief.

The boy glances down at his belly again, poking it lightly with one small index finger, lips curling into a pitiful little pout. “B-but I’m hungry… I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday,” he mutters, his words soft, almost childlike.

Hiromi swallows hard, and for a moment, his mind flickers to the image of a small, pouty tiger cub from a picture book he once saw, a tiny, round face, pink fur, and wide eyes.

“Hold on a minute!” Hiromi jumps from the veranda. “I will get you something to eat!” Hiromi starts to run towards the greenery but pauses midway and turns his back.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Sukuna. Ryomen Sukuna.” The pink haired boy says. “And you?” he whispers.

“Hiromi. Hiromi Higuruma. Nice to meet you, Sukuna.” Hiromi waves at Sukuna. “I will come right back with lots of delicious food!”

Hiromi runs away, keeping Sukuna seated on the veranda. Sukuna cannot but think to himself if he has scared the child away, or if eating the snake would be a good choice.

At least he can fill his belly till his mother comes in the evening.

He tries to reach it, but fails, because his feet do not allow him to move that far. He has thrown the snake quiet far away from the house.

Sighing, he presses his belly once again.

He is so hungry, it hurts, his belly hurts.