#lftw

A new inmate had been detained earlier in the week, transferred from the county jail. Immediately, Sukuna could tell this guy was far too self-important and thought way too highly of himself. Everything about him screamed entitled. He probably ended up in prison for some boring white-collar crime that only idiot rich people ended up committing. Like embezzling money or counterfeit checks or insider trading, whatever the fuck that was. 

Word quickly spread that his name was Noaya Zenin. The Zenins were well known in the area, owning several big shot businesses in the city in large buildings doing things Sukuna could give less than a fuck about. His initial assessment about the guy had been spot on. He was a spoiled rotten brat who had never been told no in his entire life. This was probably the first time he had ever actually faced consequences for his actions.

From the very start, Noaya was picking fights with whoever he came across. Anybody who crossed his path was met with harsh words and a smirk that suggested he thought he was the smartest person in the room. It escalated to the point of several fist fights that often turned into lockdowns. Worse, Noaya actually was good at fighting and had managed to hold his own in several of the ones he started. 

Of course, this did not intimidate Sukuna by any means. Nobody intimidated him. That didn’t mean that he wanted anything to do with the idiot. Yet somehow, whenever he did not want something, life became determined to give it to him regardless.

To make matters worse, it was not a good day for Sukuna. It was July 14th, the day that his younger brother Yuji had died. What had irrevocably changed the course of his entire life. When people said that time healed wounds, they were fucking lying. Every single fucking year it hurt. And it put Sukuna in a foul mood for weeks before and after. 

That day at lunch, all hell broke loose. As he was standing in line ready to receive his daily allotment of prison slop that was somehow legally considered a meal, he had the misfortune of Noaya standing in line next to him. He was at least half a foot shorter than him, and judging by the expression on his face, Sukuna knew he wanted to say something to him. Nearly thirty seconds later, he finally spoke.

“Pink hair on a man? Kinda feminine, no?” Noaya said, just loud enough for several people to hear, Sukuna included.

It wasn’t the first time someone had commented on his hair color with some attempt at a misogynistic insult. Having pink hair was certainly a genetic outlier and drew glances just as much as the rest of his appearance. People’s opinions on his looks or what they thought of him did not bother him. He couldn’t care less if they thought he was strange looking or if his tattoos were garish or if his pink hair was weird or “feminine”. Sukuna liked the way he looked. Or rather, it didn’t really matter that much to him. 

What mattered more was how his younger brother had felt. A vivid memory flashed back through him of the first time Yuji had been made fun of for the way his hair looked. 

‘Do you think my hair looks silly, Ryo?’ Yuji had asked him, voice small and unsure. ‘What the fuck are you talking about? No. We have the same hair, dumbass. Do you think mine looks silly?’ he had barked at his brother.  ‘Well…..no,’ Yuji admitted sheepishly. ‘Exactly. Don’t listen to that idiot,’ Sukuna said defensively. He reached forward and ruffled his brother’s hair for good measure. Then playfully pushed him so he stumbled a bit.  ‘One of my classmates made fun of me. He said I looked like a girl,’ Yuji said slowly after regaining his footing, ‘And I think girls look cool, but then everybody laughed at me. It didn’t make me feel too good.’ Sukuna’s stomach twisted and then anger had coursed through him. He didn’t like the thought of anybody upsetting or belittling his younger brother or making him feel bad for stupid shit. Only he could do that. And even then, there were limits to that.  ‘Don’t fucking listen to them. They’re stupid and their opinions don’t matter. Looking like a girl isn’t a bad thing. Anybody who tells you otherwise is just a dumbass who hates women, Don’t be one of those idiots,’ Sukuna huffed, ‘Tell me who that asshole is and I’ll make him regret it.’ ‘No that’s okay, Ryo. You don’t have to do that. I already feel a bit better, thanks,’ his brother smiled at him in that beaming way of his. One of his front teeth was missing, having fallen out the previous week. It was hard not to want to smile back at his dumb face. ‘Good. I got your back, kid. Always.’ ‘I know.’

Flashing back to the present was jarring, and Sukuna’s entire body nearly jolted. An ache in his chest felt like a spear had gone through his heart. His jaw clenched at the memory and he was already on a hair trigger. He needed an outlet for the pain welling up inside of him, and there was a convenient blond one standing right next to him with a vapid look on his face. Begging for a fight.

“The fuck did you say to me?” Sukuna asked, his voice dangerously low. Calm, despite the rage simmering beneath the surface, waiting to burst. It felt like the world around them froze, people holding their breaths. They knew what he was capable of.

“Your hair. It’s pink. I’m assuming you’ve noticed given we do have mirrors here,” Noaya snorted, “Makes you look like a bitch.”

On a normal day, Sukuna would’ve been able to contain himself a bit better. It was a stupid comment that relied on sexism and the belief that pink was an inherently feminine color. Noaya was trying to make him feel bad about himself. As if being compared to a woman or femininity itself was an insult. Fucking idiot.

 He would’ve probably ignored his goading, as Noaya was beneath him. Not even worth it. And he was clearly just attention seeking. But today was not a normal fucking day. All he could picture was his brother’s face twisted in distress. Where his brother was concerned, he could not easily contain his emotions, even after all these years.

‘Good, I got your back kid. Always.’ ‘I know.’

“I’m going to give you three seconds to shut the fuck up or you’re going to regret it,” Sukuna said evenly, taking a step forward in line like they weren’t having the conversation they currently were.

One.

“Or what?” Noaya asked petulantly.

Two.

“You gonna make me shut up?” 

Three.

“I fucking dare you-”

Without further warning, Sukuna whipped around like a panther, ready to strike. Lifting the metal lunch tray in his hands, he used the entire force of his body to smack it across Naoya’s face. The sickening twang of metal meeting skin rang through the lunch room. Caught off guard by the velocity of the attack, Noaya went flying to the ground in a heap. 

Of course, that wasn’t enough. He had warned the fucker. Stupid games win stupid prizes. And Sukuna was out for blood.

Tossing his tray to the side, it clattered to the ground as he descended upon Noaya like a rabid wolf. Drawing the interest of inmates around them, people began jeering and laughing with interest. Fights always drew a crowd, and Sukuna couldn’t deny that he was entertaining to watch.

Grabbing hold of the collar of Noaya’s orange jumpsuit, Sukuna lifted him up enough so he could land a good punch. Drawing back his fist, he slammed it forward right into his nose. A loud crunch echoed along with the cacophony of voices that became more animated by the second. In the background, he heard the prison guards yelling for them to break up the fight. It was only a matter of time before they pulled them apart, so Sukuna intended to make the most of it.

Again and again, he brought his fist down on Noaya’s face, punching him with every ounce of rage in his body. Blood splattered, staining his knuckles and dripping onto the ground. Noaya scrambled, trying desperately to get out of Sukuna’s grasp, but his sheer bulk did not allow it. He ignored Noaya’s fingernails digging into his other wrist, ignored him thrashing and garbling nonsense. He felt nothing. Like he wasn’t even in control of his body. Just like that one night.

Suddenly, there were two prison guards on him, screaming at him to get on the ground. A gun was pointed against his back, the muzzle insistent and cold, and he knew the testy guards would not hesitate if he didn’t comply. Noaya certainly was not worth dying for. 

Sukuna dropped him without warning, making Noaya’s head smack against the concrete floor. As requested, Sukuna lowered onto the ground and put his hands behind his head. Inmates continued to laugh and call out, most of them severely amused at Noaya finally getting his shit rocked. Even the prison guards didn’t exactly rush to go make sure he was okay.

After his hands were cuffed behind him, he was hauled to his feet. Looking down at the pathetic heap of red and orange, with a smattering of that offensive blond hair, Sukuna felt a surge of pride and satisfaction. He knew he shouldn’t relish in violence, yet he simply couldn’t help it. The fucker had it coming. And he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Fuck with me again and I won’t go easy on you next time,” Sukuna threatened boldly, not caring that the guards could hear every word. 

For a moment, he forgot that aching pit in his chest. Unfortunately, sometimes it did feel really good to beat the shit out of someone who deserved it. He knew that all too well.

After he got his knuckles cleaned at the infirmary by the less than amused nurse, Sukuna was forced back into his cell into what was essentially an adult time out. He knew he was going to lose several privileges like time outside for the next few days to weeks, but he didn’t even care. He had done what he needed to do. And he knew that Noaya would have probably kept picking at him anyway until he snapped. He had just gotten the inevitable out of the way.

The next day, he was summoned to Suguru’s office, and he knew he would probably receive a begrudging earful. He caught a glance at the bruised and battered Noaya through one of the cell doors and he couldn’t help give him a warning glare. He had absolutely no regrets. He could only hope the guy was smart enough not to test his luck again.

Once he sat down and was uncuffed, Suguru gave him a quick onceover. Like usual, his gaze was probing and unapologetic, like he was viewing Sukuna through a microscope. He folded his hands on top of his desk and gave a small sigh.

“Heard you got into a fight,” he said simply. Almost as if he was bored. As if they were discussing the weather outside, which was unforgivingly warm. Both of them had their sleeves pushed up and were pretending like the air conditioning was doing anything useful. It wasn’t.

“Yep,” Sukuna confirmed. No need to beat around the bush or deny it. 

“Noaya?” Suguru asked.

“Yep,” Sukuna confirmed.

The caseworker’s lip twitched in barely concealed amusement. Clearly he didn’t like the new guy either. The expression quickly settled into something more serious, and he knew he was going to be admonished. 

“I read the letter you sent,” Suguru said next.

Sukuna frowned, the whiplash of a statement he was not expecting catching him off guard. It was the last thing he thought Suguru would bring up. He had no idea how that was possible and hadn’t fathomed an audience to his letter. Which was stupid because he was in prison for fuck’s sake. Privacy didn’t exist.

“How the fuck did you read it?” he huffed with annoyance.

“They send me copies of all communications you send. Don’t worry, you’re not special. They do it for everyone,” Suguru smiled with faux warmth, dripping with condescension, “You came across pretty harshly.”

“I was being honest. Not that it’s any of your business,” Sukuna said, hackles raised. 

His voice sounded way too defensive and for the first time in a long time, he felt an unfamiliar emotion. Guilt. It needled at him in a way that was extremely uncomfortable and he hated it. He hated feeling guilty. Ryomen Sukuna did not feel guilty. Guilt was a sign of weakness. A lack of conviction.

“Well, it is my business. You don’t have business of your own in prison, Sukuna,” his caseworker reminded him sternly, “Do you really think you’re going to get anywhere useful with the way you were writing to her? Especially if you’re back to starting fights.”

“Fight wasn’t my fault,” Sukuna mumbled. Not necessarily true. But he had given Naoya a chance to shut the fuck up and he hadn’t. So really it was his fault for not backing down.

“That’s irrelevant. A fight is a fight to the judge. You decided to write back and given the way you addressed her, you didn’t do it out of the kindness of your own heart. You want that recommendation letter. How the hell do you expect her to want to do that when you’ve all but told her to back off? You’re being given a very rare lifeline and you’re throwing it away. For what? Pride?” Suguru pressed, his tone becoming less practiced and more acidic. The loss of normal composure, however small, was a bit surprising.

“What are you, my therapist?” Sukuna scoffed, eagerly avoiding his questioning. That guilt continued to seep through his ribcage, settling down in his stomach. It made his hands clench and he wanted to leave that stupid office. To run far, far away from the uncomfortable feeling.

“Worse. Your case manager,” Suguru sneered, “It is unfortunately my job to assist you and set you up for success when you finally get out of here. My job hinges on you getting the hell out of here and not bothering me again. And contrary to popular belief, I do want the best for you. So get your head out of your ass, Sukuna.”

The man may as well have pulled a ruler out of his desk and rapped him across the knuckles. Sitting on the other side of his desk made him feel like an unruly child. Sukuna was 32 years old, not some middle schooler who had spray painted the locker room.

“What the hell do you know?” Sukuna muttered. Unlike his earlier fight, he knew he was clearly losing this one. Sukuna hated to lose a fight. 

“Well, I’m sitting on this side of the desk instead of where you are, so clearly I must be doing something right,” Suguru gave him an overly sugary smile that was dripping with sarcasm, “I’m not saying you need to befriend her, you made that quite clear. But put in a little bit of effort. These letters go in your case file. They can be read by any lawyer or judge looking at your sentencing and deciding your fate. Either do it well or don’t do it at all. Don’t waste her time. Better yet, don’t waste mine.”

Tense silence settled between them, and they both stared at each other with unflinching disdain. The most frustrating, aggravating part of this was that he knew that Suguru was right. If he pushed you away, there was no point in him exchanging letters at all. It was a frustrating dichotomy that felt like it was going to disappoint everyone involved.

One thing was certain, however; Sukuna wanted to get the fuck out of this place. Despite the familiarity, he was tired of this. He was tired of preening assholes like Noaya, as fun as it was to put him in his place. He was tired of living under intense scrutiny To do that, he needed to form a connection with you.

“Fine,” Sukuna conceded, his jaw clenched so tightly he barely moved it. One would have thought he was being held at gunpoint with the way he reacted. 

“Great. You can go,” Suguru waved him away like an unruly dog.

Thoroughly exhausted and annoyed, Sukuna stood up and turned around to put his hands behind his back. By the time he got back to his cell, your next letter was sitting on his bunk. That disgusting guilt made him feel nauseous again, and he was tempted to throw your letter away. Suguru had said to either do it well or not at all, and not doing it at all was far more preferable. However, he had already told you he agreed to it, and Sukuna never went back on his promises. They were the only laws he tended to abide by.

Reading through it, that guilt got so bad that he actually felt like a piece of shit. He had clearly hurt your feelings, even if you had bravely and diplomatically accepted it. You really were a much nicer person than him. If he was going to do this, you deserved at least some level of respect. And fuck’s sake you seemed to be going through a lot at the moment, so he didn’t really want to add yet another thing to your plate of misery.

Booking time in the library to write a response was much trickier than he thought. Due to being punished for his brutal fight with Noaya, his first few requests were denied. It wasn’t until he brought it up to Suguru at his next case meeting that he was finally able to get approved. By that point, it was nearly a month later. You probably thought he was ignoring you, so now he had to put even more effort into the dumb letter to make up for it.

Sitting down at the library computer, he spread your letter out onto the desk next to him and stared at it, willing it to give him inspiration. Sukuna sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was overthinking this. Shaking his head, he started typing without thinking and hoped he wasn’t sounding like an idiotic asshole.

[Y/N], I got your letter again. Things were a bit crazy here so I haven’t had a chance to respond. I was just allowed to get back into the library again and it’s the only way I can write these letters. I don’t do this often. Really ever at all. But I wanted to apologize. I came off like a dick in my last letter and you’ve been nothing but nice and respectful to me. I should be giving you that same courtesy. I want to be clear that I’m still not looking for a friend, but I don’t want to be an asshole to you. So…I’m sorry. It sounds like you’re going through a lot right now. Life has a way of piling shit on top of some people relentlessly. It isn’t fair, but it is what it is.  I have a suggestion for you. Stop looking down on yourself. I know you aren’t asking for pity, but I’ll be honest that you come across kind of pathetic. I’m not trying to be mean, I’m being serious. I know life is tough on you, but you aren’t doing yourself any favors by being your own worst enemy. Who cares if people don’t like you? You don’t need their approval. You only need your own. And until you give yourself that approval, you’ll just keep chasing a high that you can’t obtain. Since you were honest with me, I suppose it's fair that I try to do the same. I’ll just address the elephant in the room about why I’m in here. You may not want to continue talking to me after, so we may as well get it out of the way. It’s the anniversary of when my brother died, so it’s fresh on my mind anyway. I’m in here for third degree murder and involuntary manslaughter after making a plea deal. I got twenty years with the possibility for parole in 11 years. Like I told you, the time for parole is coming up soon. Can’t even believe it’s been almost a decade since I’ve been here.  I know what you might be thinking. No, I didn't kill my brother. Quite the opposite. We got caught up in something we shouldn’t have and he got caught in the crossfire. He never should have been there. Someone shot my brother and I shot them in defense in simplest terms. I don’t like talking about what happened, to be honest, so that's really all you need to know. You might be wondering if I regret my actions. I know I should but I don’t. I did what I had to do to protect my brother but he still didn’t make it. Would I do it again? I’d do anything to protect the ones I love. I know a lot of people would. So there you go. Now you know. Figured it was best to just lay that out on the table. If you want to find someone else, I understand. Not that there’s a lot of people who are shining examples of model citizens in prison, but there’s certainly people who have never killed someone. I told you, I’m not a good person.  Do whatever you need to do. R.S.

There. He had done it. He hated talking about Yuji’s death and the aftermath, but he felt like it was a necessary thing to do. You deserved to know what he had done. Otherwise it would just exist between the two of you like a chasm. It was best if he just admitted it now and suffered the consequences for it. Deep down, the thought of you not wanting to talk to him anymore after realizing what he had done made his stomach go sour. 

Before he could overthink or regret his disgusting vulnerability, he stuffed the letter in an envelope and sent it on its way. Then, he went back to his bunk and laid back, trying to will the pain in his chest to go away. Tried to tell himself that he didn’t care whether you responded or not.

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⁀➷ a/n: sorry for the re-upload if you saw the original. i realized i wanted to provide further clarification on his background. i think i just got excited about writing and didn't think further in the context i was going for. i'll try to avoid this again in the future! also readers pov will return next chapter hope you enjoyed sukuna's pov and learning more about him and how he ended up where he is. it sets an important milestone for him and reader's relationship. there will be a lot of growth on his part and how it plays a role in his character and grief

⁀➷ sukuna art by innaillus on twitter

It seemed to him that you were probably desperate for any scrap of human interaction. A weird sort of feeling twisted in his stomach, one that he wasn’t sure how to identify. Pity, perhaps? Sukuna didn’t like it and shoved it away as far as he could.

After reading the letter, he had no idea what to do. Normally, he would’ve ignored it and went on with the same monotony happening at the prison day after day. Yet Suguru’s words kept echoing in his head about how this could help him get out sooner if he struck up something of an alliance with this random person messaging him. This unknown accountant who was practically begging for his attention.

Later that day, he was outside leaning against the familiar brick wall waiting for Toji so they could smoke. He was so lost in thoughts of your letter that he didn’t even notice when he was no longer alone. A cigarette popping up in his field of vision startled him and he glared at the intruder only to find Toji’s typical blank stare.

Without a word, he took the cigarette and lighter from Toji and lit up. Most of their interactions were wordless, which normally suited Sukuna just fine. They smoked in silence like usual, staring out into the dismal looking courtyard as other inmates milled around. Some stood together and chatted, some were jogging in small circles or doing push-ups. Some were smoking and looking like they wanted to be anywhere else but where they were. 

“I got a letter yesterday,” Sukuna blurted out stupidly. 

It was like someone else had taken over his body entirely. The second the words left his mouth, he immediately felt like an idiot. What on earth had possessed him to say that? Glancing over at Toji from the corner of his eye, he saw the brawny man giving him a look that suggested he had violated a sacred rule of theirs: not talking.

“Yeah?” Toji grunted, sounding neither interested nor disinterested. More like he didn’t know why the hell Sukuna had brought it up in the first place.

“Prison penpal program,” he explained gruffly, feeling slightly foolish now.

“Hm,” his counterpart hummed, “Heard of those.” 

There were a few moments of awkward silence between the two of them. Sukuna was about three seconds from excusing himself and never speaking to Toji again when the other man surprisingly broke the tension.

“You gonna write back?” Toji asked curiously. He took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke in a large cloud that temporarily blurred the world around them.

“Dunno,” Sukuna shrugged. To an outsider, this conversation would be like pulling teeth, but this was easily the most they’d ever talked. Probably in the entire time they had known each other. “Not really sure what to say.”

“Yeah,” Toji nodded in understanding. Another beat of silence before he added, “‘You know, I‘ve thought about doin’ that. The penpal thing.”

Now this was surprising to Sukuna. Given the fact that the man was so quiet and gruff, he would have thought him completely uninterested in any sort of emotional matter. Toji struck him as a man that did not do things for the fuck of it and did not waste his time on frivolity. It was one of the reasons they tentatively tolerated each other’s company so well.

“Really?” he asked, tapping the excess ash off his cigarette.

“Yeah…seems like it might be kinda nice to talk to some pretty little thing. She might even send me money,” he glanced at Sukuna from the corner of his eye, his tone sardonic. 

“How would you even know she’s pretty?” Sukuna mused. 

“Trust me. In my head she would be,” Toji gave him a sharp grin that twisted around the scar on his mouth.

Both men shared a brief chuckle. For a moment, it almost seemed like they were friends. Of course, Sukuna wasn’t dumb enough to believe that, nor did he want them to be. Pleasant conversation, if it even qualified as such, was fine. 

“You should write her back. If somebody’s crazy enough to send a letter to you then you might as well take advantage of it,” Toji shrugged. 

With his cigarette finished, the man flicked the butt onto the ground, crushed it with his shoe, and walked away without another word. As was customary of their smoking arrangement. No goodbye, no bullshit pleasantries. Just the way Sukuna liked it.

Toji’s words ran through his mind as the inmates were led back inside, the chains on their shackles clinking together loudly. Sukuna didn’t give a flying fuck what you looked like, unlike Toji. In fact, he hadn’t even considered what you might look like. You were just a faceless blob of a person on the other end of the paper.

He knew about the connotations and assumptions most inmates had about penpal programs. Many treated it like some sort of antiquated dating website, assuming that any woman who contacted them was immediately in love and promised to them. It was ridiculous and pathetic in Sukuna’s eyes. Something he wanted to avoid entirely.

If he had to guess, you probably looked tooth rottingly sweet. Someone who would be the complete antithesis to him. Regardless, it didn’t really matter. He had no intention of ever meeting you and hoped you could exchange a minimal amount of letters so he could get his recommendation.

The way that Suguru and Toji had framed it was that he should essentially emotionally manipulate you. Sukuna couldn’t do that. One, because he couldn’t be fucked. That was a lot of work. And two, it made him feel gross. Especially considering what you had told him. You were wanting a friend out of him, and he didn’t want the same thing.

If he was going to go through with this, he needed to be honest about his intentions. Sukuna didn’t want to lead you to think something of the situation that it wasn’t. He wanted to lay everything out bare and if you didn’t want to talk to him anymore, then that was fine. He would just mosey on and continue life as he had been. Even if that weird curiosity still burned deep within him in a part he desperately tried to shove away.

With that, he booked time at the prison library so he could sit down and write something under supervision. Inmates weren’t allowed to have pens (the ink tubes could be used for snorting) or pencils (sharp object, self-explanatory), so they had to use ancient computers that sounded like airplanes when they ran.

[Y/N], I got your letter. Look, I’m going to be honest because you seem like a nice person. I never wanted to be in the prison penpal program. My dumbass caseworker signed me up for it. I was surprised I even got a letter in the first place. First one I’ve had since I’ve been locked up.  The reason he signed me up for it was because it might look good for getting parole early. Shows that I’m willing to re-integrate into society or whatever the hell. I don’t want to give you any false impressions. I’m not going to be your friend. Trust me, you don’t want me to be. I’m not really a good person and probably not someone you should associate with. I don’t really do “friends”.  That being said, we can still keep exchanging letters if you want. You can send me whatever, I don’t care. Vent, talk complete nonsense, do whatever you want. Doesn’t matter. I’ll send you something back. Probably not anything exciting. We become penpals. It looks good for my parole. Win-win. If you want to find someone else who might be more receptive or friendly, that’s fine. It doesn’t really matter to me. I won’t be offended or anything. You said you’re lonely, and I get that. You probably won’t find what you’re looking for with me.  Good luck with whatever you decide. R.S.

It wasn’t exactly the most eloquent, and he came across pretty harsh, but he felt that was necessary. He had no intention of lulling you into a false sense of security. Maybe even part of him was hoping that if he was a little mean, you wouldn’t write him back. Regardless, he fully did not expect a response. He printed it off, stuffed it into an envelope, and put it in the mail collection basket on his way back to his cell. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day that you got Ryomen’s letter had been a particularly rough one. Things at work were chaotic to say the least. A high profile case had caused a sudden surge of expenses from billing large, complicated amounts of time to transportation to hotel stays and evidence collection. 

The lawyer in charge of the case, Hiromi Higuruma, was notoriously terrible at documenting his expenses and even harder to get a hold of. You had spent the better part of the week chasing him down trying to get a response or any sort of receipt that would correspond to company records. It had been drilled into you throughout your education that documentation was everything, especially as far as money and taxes were concerned.

Everyone in the office was running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It made people snappish and strained, with even less patience than before. When you accidentally spilled coffee on your desk neighbor’s stack of documents, he had chewed you out as if you had committed a heinous crime. You had spent the better part of your lunch crying in the bathroom and then trying to erase all evidence of it. It would make you even less popular if you were known as the pathetic woman who cried at a law firm at the slightest bit of stress.

Your feet were aching in your pumps by the time you came home after a late night. Like usual, you trudged to the mailroom to collect whatever happened to be in the tiny metal box and practically limped back to the elevator. As it rose towards your floor, you flipped through your mail and your heart stopped when you saw one in particular. 

It was from the prison. From Ryomen. 

Suddenly a burst of hope went through you, tiny and small like a fledgling leaving the nest for the first time and flapping its wings. In the darkness that had surrounded your week, there finally appeared to be a light at the end of the tunnel.

It was all you could do not to run to your front door, your fingers trembling with excitement as you fumbled with your keys. When you finally got inside, you kicked your shoes off and went straight to the couch, not even bothering to change out of your work clothes. 

Excitement thrummed through your veins, making your heart pound. You couldn’t believe he had actually written you back. It felt like this could be the start of something new and exciting. Finally a way to move past this plateau of your life and start to build your confidence again.

All of that excitement came crashing down as you read through his typed letter. Line after line, your heart sank into your stomach, and by the end of it you felt completely dejected. Ryomen did not want anything to do with you.

Bitterness at the rejection flooded through you like poison. You couldn’t exactly say you blamed him. It wasn’t like your letter was the most titillating and didn’t paint you in a good light. In fact, you had all but begged him for attention, which made you feel slightly ridiculous.

It felt like you were in a cycle of continuously being unwanted. First your boyfriend, then your new coworkers, and now some random inmate that you had gone out of your way to contact. Even if it didn’t seem exactly personal based on his letter, it still hurt.

At first you thought you might not write him back. He clearly was not interested in any sort of acquaintance with you and you felt like an undue burden if you were to reach out again. Truthfully, your ego had taken a bit of a blow as well, and part of you wanted to never speak to a single person ever again.

Yet, as you sheepishly read through the letter once more a week later, you realized it wasn’t exactly an outright rejection. Sure, Ryomen did not want to be friends, that was explicitly clear. Yet he did say you could continue to write to him. 

He described it as a win-win. While it didn’t exactly feel like a win, you started to come around to the merits of it. Ryomen had a clear advantage in what he was getting out of this; freedom. You couldn’t fault him for that. Depending on how long he had been in prison for, it was no surprise that would be his top priority. Some random woman wanting a bit of friendship was likely the last thing he wanted to worry about.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that maybe it could still be good for you. He had said he truly didn’t care what you wrote about, so you could continue to practice your social skills on him. It was the equivalent of talking to a brick wall, but some sources you read online said even talking to the mirror could be helpful for building confidence. Plus, he was still the only obtainable lead you had on any sort of human interaction outside of work. 

Swallowing your pride felt like glass shards in your throat, but it was necessary. When you eventually put yourself back out there, you were going to have to face rejection like this anyway. Now was the time to toughen up a bit. It didn’t feel good, but growth hardly ever did.

Two weeks after receiving Ryomen’s dismal letter, you made your decision. You were going to take him up on his offer. At the very least, you could help him out with getting parole. That seemed like a charitable good deed, even though you still had no idea what he had done to end up there in the first place. That was something you still didn’t have the stomach for.

Ryomen Sukuna, Inmate# 0032147 Dear Ryomen,  Thank you for your honesty. While it wasn’t exactly what I was hoping to hear, I do appreciate that you were clear with me in your intentions. I completely respect your decision and don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. I’d like to help you, though. If my letters can help you with parole, then I think that could be a really good thing. Being locked away for years probably isn’t the easiest thing, though I don’t really have much experience with the prison system directly or indirectly. It’s not really any of my business on how you ended up there in the first place, but I hope you’ve been able to heal from whatever happened. Since you said you don’t really care what I write about, I suppose I can vent a little bit. You don’t have to read any of this if you don’t want to. As I said in my last letter, I don’t really have anybody to talk to currently. My ex-boyfriend was my only support system. To be honest, it was probably unhealthy the way that I relied on him for everything. When he broke up with me, it crushed me and I realized how alone I really had been throughout that relationship. It doesn’t really feel that great to not be wanted and I had painted myself into a corner without realizing. You would think that living in a large city with lots of people would mean plenty of opportunities to make friends, but somehow I’ve found it much harder. I come from a small town where everybody knew everybody. Everyone had their assigned roles. My ex was a lot more popular than I was. He always found it easy to make friends. Naturally, people gravitated to him after we broke up, which I can understand.  I don’t mean to throw myself a pity party though, and I’m not trying to gain sympathy. It only happened six months ago, but I really do want to start to move on with my life. That was part of what motivated me to start writing to you. While the situations aren’t the same at all,  I’ve been in a prison of my own making of sorts. I just don’t know how to break out of it. It doesn’t really help that work has been crazy. I’m still the new girl there and finding my place. There’s a big case happening right now and there’s all sorts of chaos so everyone is a bit tense. It’ll settle eventually but I’ve had to work a lot of late nights and long hours. At least the pay is good and the benefits are pretty nice. I certainly wouldn’t be doing any of this for free. I know you said you don’t want to be friends, but I do want to wish you well. I hope things have been alright for you, all things considered. You can feel free to vent to me too if you’re not sure what to write about. Or you can just send me a picture of a giant thumbs-up emoji and that would be fine too. The weather has also been blistering recently, so I hope you are staying cool there. Take Care, [Y/N]

There, you thought with mild satisfaction as you finished the letter. Being vulnerable with a stranger was scary, but you knew this would ultimately be a good thing for you.

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⁀➷[a/n]: sukuna: i don't need friends i'm fine. also sukuna: doesn't stop thinking about it. methinks the lady doth protest too much. also the pace starts out pretty slow since they're establishing "friendship" so bare with me and i hope you enjoy! also the reason for his imprisonment will eventually be revealed too

⁀➷ sukuna art by innaillus on twitter

It did not help your mental state that work had been absolutely insane. The high profile client was part of the Zenin family. Noaya, you thought his name was. His family was in the firm every other day, complaining about the fact that he had still faced a conviction for his insider trading charges and demanding that they appeal the judge’s decision. Even though your desk was separate from the cushy offices that the lawyers had, you could still hear when tensions got high. Plus, you eavesdropped around the water cooler and lunchroom without meaning to.

The family was spending what had to be ridiculous amounts of money, as if that alone could sway the court of law. While you had heard there could be some amount of corruption, money was often not a final defining factor in the outcome of a case. Yet the Zenins didn’t seem to believe that. You had the sense that they were used to throwing cash at a problem until it somehow went away or solved itself. 

Every time you saw Hiromi, he looked like he was seconds away from quitting his job and fleeing to another country to never be heard from again. There were heavy bags under his eyes and he looked so exhausted you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. 

You thought about offering some sort of condolences or support to him in an effort to establish friendship, but every time you happened to catch him alone outside of the context of work matters, you chickened out and stared pointedly in the opposite direction of him. It was no wonder your coworkers didn’t ever invite you out, they probably thought you were being rude or hated them. Yet, still, you couldn’t push past the terrifying ordeal of being known and facing rejection.

Given the client’s perceived urgent matter of the case, expenses continued to be high, which meant you had to bother Hiromi even more to try to track down his receipts. In your mind this further created a divide between the two of you because he appeared visibly annoyed with each subsequent time you hunted him down and sheepishly asked for the necessary documentation. Hiromi hardly knew you existed except as a minor inconvenience and disruption to his day.

Five weeks after you had last written Ryomen, you had a particularly long day at work. The ledgers you had received weren’t adding up and you had stared at the spreadsheets until you were practically cross-eyed. When you had started seeing the black and white grids when you closed your eyes, you knew you needed to call it a day.

The drive home was unremarkable, and you barely even remembered making your way down the familiar highways and streets. That probably should have concerned you, but you were too exhausted to care. You also used to check your mail every day as you were waiting for Ryomen’s reply, but lately you had been letting it go for several days. You couldn’t bear the disappointment anymore.

It had been four days since you last checked your mail, though, and you didn’t want to get another note from the mailman telling you to “get your shit out of the damn box.” Trudging over, you opened it and pulled out a thick pile of mail, not bothering to look at it. 

Making your way back to your apartment, you all but fell through the door, collapsing forward on the couch with your sensible pumps still dangling on your feet. The pile of mail ended up next to your head, and you lazily flicked through them, letting some fall upon the floor.

You almost skipped over it. Almost didn’t see the intimidating seal of the prison in the upper left corner. Almost didn’t see that it had come from the very man who you thought had been avoiding you.

It was a letter from Ryomen.

The way your countenance flipped should have been embarrassing. All you could feel was excitement and curiosity, the exhaustion melting away for a brief moment of respite.  Your fingers fumbled with the envelope seal, breath coming in quick, shallow pants as you struggled to open it.

Even with strained eyes, you read every word of that letter with rapt attention. A multitude of emotions flooded through, as reality started to set in about Ryomen’s past. You broke down each section of his letter piece by piece to process it.

First, his apology. Even if he had been firm in his last letter, you hadn’t thought he was an asshole at all. You would much rather he be honest about what he wanted rather than tolerating your persistence. That had happened with your ex, and you didn’t want a one-sided friendship or relationship ever again. The fact that he had felt the need to apologize at all was very thoughtful, and you found your heart melting a little bit at it. Even if it was slightly unnecessary in your opinion.

Second, his advice for you. At first, you felt a bit taken aback by his phrasing. That you came across as kind of pathetic. Yet as he explained himself, you could understand more what he meant. Even if you hadn’t intended, you had taken a “woe-is-me” mentality in your letter. Even your own mom had told you recently that you needed to get over the breakup by now, though you still felt like that was a bit unreasonable. That wasn’t even what Ryomen meant, though.

The thing that was really important outside of his brash wording was his actual advice. He told you to be nice to yourself. It seemed so obvious, but it was something you had always struggled with your entire life. Whenever things went wrong, you automatically blamed yourself. You minimized yourself and capitulated. It was probably why you had stayed in a failing relationship for so long and assumed you were the one at fault for it despite that probably not being the case.

Ryomen telling you to be nice to yourself and stop caring about other people’s opinions was eye-opening. Tears flooded your eyes when you read the phrase, “You don’t need their approval. You only need your own. And until you give yourself that approval, you’ll just keep chasing a high that you can’t obtain.” You needed to approve of yourself first. A mindset that could ultimately change the way you thought about everything.

The third, and most complex part of his letter, was his admission of how he had ended up in prison in the first place. Even without the specific details, it was enough information for you to know what had happened. 

If you thought about it plainly in a purely polarizing way, Ryomen Sukuna had killed someone. The ethics of this were complex and something you had never given thought to before. On the one hand, you had always been taught that taking a life of any sort was immoral or wrong. It was an act of finality that could not be undone. One of the most cardinal sins that came to mind for many people.

Yet, life could never simply be categorized by such simple terms. Was murder still immoral if it was done in self-defense? Was it still immoral if one fought back against their abuser? Or what about Ryomen’s case: to protect someone you loved?

It was clear that he deeply cared about his brother. The way he wrote about it, you could almost feel his pain through the paper. His reluctance to talk about it spoke volumes to how much the event had traumatized him. Though you didn’t know the details, Ryomen had done it because someone had hurt his brother. According to him, he had tried to save and protect him.

You tried to put yourself in his position. When you were still with your ex-boyfriend, if someone had tried to hurt him, you couldn’t think of many things that you wouldn’t do to save him. Though you weren’t that close with your own younger brother, you would have done anything to protect him from harm, too. In this sense, you could not fault Ryomen for what he had done. 

Sure, the details were fuzzy, but it was also not really any of your business. He seemed like a very honest person from the few interactions you had. Someone who did not beat around the bush or hand-wring like yourself. Something in your gut told you to trust what he was telling you. Even his admission that he did not regret what he had done made sense to you.

Sure, there was still an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach when you thought about someone no longer being alive because of something he had done. The fact that he was capable of violence, even in accidental terms, was something to be aware of and take into consideration.

You didn’t want to judge him too harshly though. You hardly knew the man and had only exchanged two letters. The right thing to do was to give him the benefit of the doubt and get to know him better. Even if the two of you weren’t going to be friends, you could at least try to understand each other. If things got weird between the two of you, then you could simply stop writing to him. His communications were likely monitored, so it wasn’t really like he could do much from prison if things went south. 

Curiosity burned through you though. You wondered if maybe there was a news story that gave more details, and if that would make you a terrible person if you looked it up. If that would be a violation of the tentative link between the two of you. You wanted to understand him…so it couldn’t be all that bad to look it up, right? 

You opened up a private internet browser on your phone like you were doing something illegal or illicit, with full plans to delete the history afterwards. Feeling only slightly ashamed of yourself, you typed “Ryomen Sukuna death” into the search bar.

The third result was a news article from over a decade prior. You clicked on it, your heart jumping into your throat.

2 Dead in Robbery Gone Wrong In what police are calling a “botched robbery gone wrong”, two died during an intense exchange of gunfire. Four young men are reported to have broken into a jewelry store at 1:34 am two nights ago with intent to steal merchandise. After an argument broke out amongst the men regarding how profits would be split, shots were fired. The two victims have been identified as Yuji Itadori, 16, and Noritoshi Kamo, 19. The remaining men were taken into police custody and have been identified as Ryomen Sukuna, 21, and Aoi Todo, 20. According to the accused, the fight initially broke out after the security alarm had been disabled and the robbery had taken place. After discovering a diamond ring of high value, a verbal altercation broke out between Kamo and Sukuna on which party would be responsible for selling it and obtaining the profit and how such profits would be split. Police say it is unclear who shot first as investigations are still underway, but the accused both agreed that Kamo shot Itadori and Sukuna shot Kamo.  The police were notified by a concerned neighbor upon hearing gunshots down the street. When emergency dispatch services arrived, Itadori was pronounced dead on the scene and Kamo was taken to a nearby hospital where he eventually succumbed to his injuries later that morning. Both Sukuna and Todo were arrested on scene and taken to the local county jail. Ryomen Sukuna is being charged with third degree murder, third degree robbery, and illegal possession of a fire arm, while Aoi Todo is charged with third degree robbery and destruction of property. Their separate trials are set to start in two months. 

There was a picture of both Kamo and Itadori. His younger brother was smiling brightly, all of his teeth showing. He looked like a nice kid, like someone who had laughed loudly and often. His hair was shockingly pink like bubblegum, something that stood out and clashed due to the orange hoodie he was wearing. You wondered how much the two of them looked alike. If Ryomen saw his brother every time he looked in the mirror.

Your heart sank as everything started to click into place. Questions were answered and yet there were still details that you wanted to know more of. Ryomen had said he and his brother got caught up in something they shouldn’t have. You wondered if maybe the robbery wasn’t their idea and had only been something they went along with out of desperation. 

Ryomen had tried to save his brother. To protect him. He probably didn’t even get to go to his own brother’s funeral having been locked away for doing so. Given that he was older, you could imagine he felt a sense of responsibility for his younger brother’ s death and it constantly weighed on his shoulders.

Even if he didn’t want one, Ryomen really could use a friend. While there were still so many unknowns, you knew that you couldn’t give up on this. You were going to give Ryomen a chance. Just like he had given you one.

Ryomen Sukuna, Inmate# 0032147 Dear Ryomen,  I have to admit, at first I thought you were not going to write me back, which is completely within your rights to do so. I would never want you to feel obligated if you really didn’t want to continue exchanging letters. It honestly did make me happy to see your letter in the mail, though. I was looking forward to it! You also didn’t need to apologize to me. I appreciated your honesty and I prefer it to lying or avoiding telling me something so you don’t hurt my feelings. For what it’s worth, I didn’t think you came across like an asshole. You’re direct, but not mean. At least, I never interpreted it that way. You’re right, though. I am very harsh on myself. It’s something that I’ve always struggled with and really  has gotten worse since the break-up. It’s easier to blame myself when things go wrong, because I’m the only person who is completely within my control. I’ve never had a very high opinion of myself, so seeking validation through others is where a lot of my self-esteem has come from. It’s a good reminder to be kind to myself, so thank you. As far as why you are in prison, I understand why you don’t like talking about it. That is such a horrible way to lose someone. I’m so sorry for your loss, Ryomen, nobody deserves that. It sounds like you really cared a lot about him and that you were really close. You seem like a really good brother. While we don’t know each other that well at all yet, I don’t think you’re a bad person. I don’t think humanity is usually that simple. Nobody is all good or all bad. We’re all made up of our individual actions and experiences. It’s easy to say something is always bad or always good, but I don’t think that’s often the case. Everything requires nuance, like in your case.  Sure, it’s not great that somebody died because of what happened, but it sounds like you were trying to protect your brother. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for my family, too. And in high pressure scenarios like that, sometimes you have to make a split second decision and there isn’t time. I really don’t think you’re a bad person for that Ryomen. I hope you are well all things considered. Again, I’m sorry that it is the anniversary of your brother’s death and I hope you are doing okay. We’re not “friends” but I am still here if you need anything. I want to do whatever I can to help. Just know that the offer is open. Stay cool in this heat and take care! Sincerely, [Y/N]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

That night, Sukuna dreamt about it again. He often did around the time when Yuji had died, but sometimes it was completely random. Nightmares would plague his subconscious and make him wake up gasping. Cold sweat would pour down his back and his stomach tied in knots. 

It was usually the same fuzzy recollection. Yelling. Anger. Kamo raising his gun and pointing it at Yuji, telling him to shut up. A gunshot firing. A reaction from Sukuna without thinking. Silence. Police sirens.

The only vivid part of his dreams was Yuji. The surprised look on his face as he fell to the ground. His eyes slipped closed as he lost consciousness. Sukuna would scream, desperately applying pressure to the wound in Yuji’s chest. Blood seeped out across his fingers and he pressed down harder. He begged Yuji to stay with him. To not die. Yet he did, right under his hands. And it was the only time in his life that Sukuna had ever sobbed like a baby.

It was the same nightmare again, only this time, Yuji didn’t pass out. He looked Sukuna right in the eyes and said, “Please, help me, Ryo. Ryo, I don’t feel good. This is because of you. Why did you do this? Why didn’t you just say no? Why couldn’t you save me, Ryo? You’re not a good person.” 

When Sukuna bolted awake, there were tears in his eyes much to his humiliation. He roughly scrubbed at them, trying to catch his breath. It was the middle of the night, but he didn’t want to try to go back to sleep and risk falling into the same nightmare.

Familiar emotions bubbled up that he always tried to keep desperately locked away. Guilt, shame, grief, and bone crushing sadness. He beat them back, knocking his fist to his forehead as if he could physically do so. His breath was still coming out in great, heaping gulps like he had run a marathon.

So, he did what he usually did. Tried to distract himself. Poured himself into physical activity to focus the energy threatening to tear him apart inside. Despite the lights being off, he got up and started doing push-ups. He did twenty before switching to situps. His cellmate stayed fast asleep, as Sukuna had gotten good at doing this quietly.

He didn’t stop until he was panting quietly and sweating. Until his limbs trembled slightly with exertion. Until sweat dripped down his temples and down along his neck. Only then did he collapse back on his bunk and stare at the ceiling. His mind was numb to anything other than the aching muscles of his body.

Later that day, he was finally given permission to go back outside. The lack of fresh air had made him feel cooped up like a caged animal. He took a long deep breath after he stepped out, even if it was so humid it felt like he was swimming through the air. The sound of cicadas buzzing in the distant trees created an almost relaxing atmosphere.

To his surprise, Toji was leaning against the wall first this time, an unlit cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He saw Sukuna and actually nodded. They almost never acknowledged each other like that. Nodding back, Sukuna made his way over and took his spot next to him.

“Welcome back,” Toji grunted, handing him a cigarette and lighter. Another formality that they usually avoided. It was strange. Almost like they were friends or something.

“Thanks,” Sukuna huffed a humorless laugh. He lit his cigarette and handed the lighter back to Toji, who did the same with his own.

“Heard you had some fun in the lunchroom last month,” Toji commented, smoke flooding out of his mouth as he talked instead of blowing it out properly.

The two of them were in different cell blocks, so they didn’t share the same lunchroom. Their blocks were still close enough that they used the same yard for time outside, but anything that happened to the other outside of that wasn’t able to be witnessed directly by either of them. Sukuna knew that people had talked about what he did to Noaya. Heard them whispering it as he walked by. They stopped when he would fix them with a glare. 

“Yeah, he pissed me off,” Sukuna said plainly. Many others in his position would brag about it, but Sukuna didn’t need to brag. Only insecure men bragged about shit like that. His fists spoke for themselves.

“That fucker is an idiot. He’s actually my cousin,” Toji snorted, glancing at Sukuna and clarifying, “Distantly.”

“Unfortunate for you,” Sukuna mused, the edges of his tone bordered with what was almost humorous.

“You’re tellin’ me. Kid’s always been a spoiled brat. Had that shit coming,” his counterpart shook his head, “Dumbass.”

Sukuna nodded in agreement and continued smoking. Silence fell between them once more for a few moments. The summer air beat down upon them with no forgiving shade and Sukuna was already sweating like a pig. Still, he preferred that to being locked inside for the past few weeks.

“You ever write that girl back?” Toji asked out of nowhere. 

It surprised Sukuna enough that he actually fully looked at Toji to see if he was joking or trying to give him shit. Yet his expression was completely serious. Like he actually wanted to know.

“I did, yeah,” he admitted, “Told her why I’m locked up so I don’t expect her to respond.”

Neither of them had talked about why the other was in there, but it was an unspoken understanding that the inmates there weren’t exactly the cream of the crop. Most of them had done fucked up shit, especially those who had been in there the longest. Of the two of them, that was Sukuna. He had seen many people come and go while he stayed in exactly the same horrible place.

Another stretch of comfortable silence passed between the two men as they smoked and tried not to bake alive in the oppressive heat. Then, suddenly, Toji spoke again.

“Do you want her to?” 

Such a simple question, yet incredibly hard for Sukuna to answer. The part of him that hated vulnerability wanted to avoid it entirely and deny that he felt anything at all. Yet, there was a small glimmer of something he was almost afraid to glean further insight into. 

“I don’t know,” he lied. Sukuna did know the answer, and it was unsettling.

The truth was, he did want you to write back. Your letters were a break in the monotony he had told himself he had accepted. That was all, he tried to convince himself. He was just bored.

Yet, when he got back to his cell a half hour later and saw your letter, he couldn’t ignore the way his pulse picked up slightly. Couldn’t ignore the way your familiar handwriting made something click inside of him. And that damn fucking curiosity that threatened to cloud his judgement completely. Without as much hesitation as he probably should have had, he sat down and opened your letter.

As he read through it, his emotions were more conflicting than the last letter. You offered condolences. You told him he wasn’t a bad person. A good brother, even. For fuck’s sake, you said that you understood. You seemed…to care. The two of you didn’t even know each other, yet you cared. 

A dangerous feeling started to build inside of him. Like flames licking up the side of a tree, it tried to smother any semblance of logic that his brain thrived on. That connection that Suguru had warned him he needed to build was starting to do just that. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. And he wanted more of it.

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⁀➷ a/n: hey everyone, hope you liked this chapter! sukunas part is a bit shorter but i felt like that was fair given he had a full one to himself. things are finally starting to develop and sukuna is starting to Realize Things. taglist is now open, pls see links above for more info!

⁀➷ sukuna art by innaillus on twitter