Chapter Text
It’s been hard, getting things back to normal.
“Yeah? Sorry to hear that.”
Toji shakes his head. The speaker phone cuts off each word like staccato, nipping at the heels of Shiu’s words.
“Nah, it’s fine. Just annoying, ‘s all,” he murmurs as he grabs a few containers out of the fridge. There’s a few options for lunch: leftover Chinese takeout from a few nights ago, some fried rice Tsumiki dropped off last week, two eggs. Wonderful.
“Well, if you ever need anything, give me a call. Can’t have my favorite ex-worker rot his 40s away,” Shiu lets out a short laugh, more like a bark than anything. Toji rolls his eyes.
“Just ask me out already, why don’t ya,” Toji drawls, cracking two eggs in his pan. They sizzle loudly, oil popping dangerously close to his fingers.
Another bark-laugh. “Shut it, Toji. Just…” Shiu pauses. Toji can hear the hiss of his lighter coming to life. A deep inhale. A soft exhale. He can almost smell the expensive smoke of Shiu’s cigarettes. The conversation hangs in limbo.
“Listen, I gotta go. Talk later, okay? And make sure to call Megumi later. He misses ya.” Toji hums and Shiu hangs up with a click. Toji stills, listening to the dial tone ring for a moment before haphazardly throwing his phone onto the counter. He flips his eggs and plates them. He’ll eat them for later.
God, he’s exhausted. Toji feels his balance waver before his knees buckle and he crumples to the ground. His heels dig into the cheap cardboard floor and his knees buckle. His fingers dig into his palm painfully. The ground sinks beneath his weight.
The world spins, and his hands grip the countertop to steady himself. For a moment, his vision blacks out. According to the doctor Megumi set him up with, his eyes are getting “considerably worse”. Megumi had stiffened at her words, shoulders drawing up like a cat’s hackles. His eyebrows were furrowed just slightly, the way Jinichi’s always had when he scolded Toji when they were younger.
Toji didn’t need her confirmation to know it’s bad. The darkness that used to linger at the edges of his vision has started to spread, dissolving into random splotches across his eyes. He leans forward and presses his eyes to his knees, letting his kneecaps squash the spots in his vision into bright bursts of color. Sharp shocks of pain shoot into his skull, and Toji groans silently.
A few years ago, this would’ve been nothing to him. He’s been through hell and back, his eyesight shouldn’t even be an issue. He scoffs at that - the Sorcerer Killer, brought to his knees by impaired vision. But that’s all in the past. He’s got a life outside the ring now, a life outside of punching and getting punched. He’s not the Sorcerer Killer anymore. He’s just Toji Fushiguro, underpaid oil rigger and father. Glorified dogsitter at best.
As if on cue, Shiro pads towards him, white tail swishing against Toji’s legs. Ever since Megumi left for college, Toji’s been taking care of Shiro and Kuro, his two mutts. Toji’s never seen the kid so protective of anything: their text conversations generally consist of Megumi’s daily reminders to feed his dogs, the exact amounts of protein and vitamins to give them (customized to each of their needs), their exercise plans. Toji’s almost impressed with how much Megumi cares.
“Gimme a sec, you mutt. I’m getting up, alright?” Toji grunts, brushing off his knees. It takes a moment to adjust, black spots bouncing around his head. He leans against the table, taking shallow breaths as his world balances out. His greasy black fringe obscures his vision, and he makes a mental note to ask Megumi for a trim.
At Shiro’s impatient bark, he ambles towards the cupboards. Toji’s kitchen isn’t much to look at, but it’s decent. Lacquered floor, shiny wooden pantries. A small table, four rickety chairs - one for each of the Fushiguros and one for when Shiu comes over. A working fridge. A small, flickering lamp overlooking it all. Floral wallpaper chosen by his now late wife. Though he’s put away most of her things, he hasn’t had the time to take it down. Next to the kitchen countertop, there’s a small golden frame storing a tattered black-and-white photo. A smiling couple in wedding attire, taken by Shiu. Toji swallows harshly when he makes eye contact with it.
“C’mere, you two.” Shiro prances along happily, Kuro slinking quietly behind him. Toji reaches into the near-empty cupboard, feeling around for the luxury kibble Megumi always reminds him to stock up on - it’s their favorite, he says. Toji snorts. As if dogs have favorites. To them, all food is the same as long as it fills them up.
He fills their bowls generously, barely managing to set them down before the dogs lunge at them. Toji ignores the faint nausea he feels listening to the crunching and snapping of their jaws, teeth against teeth racing to eat and lick as much as they can.
“Relax, it ain’t going anywhere,” He grumbles, “Shit, if someone saw you like this, they’d think you two get fed once a month.”
“Swear to god Megumi cares more about you than he does his own father,” Toji remarks offhandedly. The dogs perk up at that, tails wagging upon mention of their owner. Toji rolls his eyes. He pauses, leaning his head against his palm, before reaching for his phone.
Megumi hasn’t called in a week. Toji’s supposed to have dinner with Tsumiki tomorrow, celebrate her new promotion at work. He sighs before tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.
What are you up to? He texts Megumi. The text bubble pops up on the screen, joining a sea of short, one-word responses. A few minutes go by; no reply. Toji lingers, staring at the screen, something dark and ugly swelling in his chest. He’s busy, Toji reasons.
He checks his phone again that night. Read 5:57pm. Toji tosses his phone to the side and clutches the covers to his chest. Fucking brat.
Tsumiki, like the angel she is, comes over the next day with a new batch of fried rice. They go out in the evening and stop by Toji’s favorite udon place for dinner.
“Give him some space, Dad. You know, college is a big change. And you know how Megumi is. He’s probably just stressed and tired. Don’t…don’t worry about it,” she reassures him, sipping her tea.
Toji grunts and nods halfheartedly, ignoring Tsumiki’s worried glances.
It’s their weekly hang-out, “father-daughter bonding time”, according to Tsumiki. She’s all grown up now, working an office job with office friends and living in her own city apartment. She’s recovered from her time at the hospital and getting healthier by the day. Her skin is flushed and tan, nothing like the sickly purplish hue she had as a teenager. Her eyebags are near-nonexistent. It’s almost like she was never even sick.
Toji should be happy for her. He is, really. But a small pit of jealousy forms every time he listens to her talk about her workplace drama. Her new boyfriend who treats her so well. Her ridiculously exciting girl’s night out. Her perfect, perfect life.
Something ugly rears its head when he listens to Tsumiki tell him about a life he could never have. One he was never destined for. He should be glad they didn’t turn out like him; after all, that was the whole point of leaving his family behind. He is glad. Still, he grits his teeth, traces the scar on his lip, and swallows down his bitterness with swigs of cold beer.
“Hey, you still listening?” Tsumiki snaps her fingers, cocking her head.
“Sorry, got distracted,” Toji mumbles. Black spots cover half of her face, turning her into some kind of fucked up Picasso piece.
“I was just saying the place is about to close. Wanna head out? I gotta get to work early tomorrow to set up some stuff anyways.”
Toji clumsily grabs his wallet, cringing when he sees the price on their receipt. He’s about to pull out his card when Tsumiki’s soft hand stops him, her manicured nails digging ever so slightly into his skin.
“It’s fine, dad. I got it,” she says softly. A pang of anger and guilt. Toji gapes as Tsumiki hands their check to their waiter.
“Seriously, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Consider it payback for raising me so well!” Tsumiki laughs to herself.
The next few moments go by in a blur. All he knows is three things.
One: he’s kicked out of the restaurant. Leftover udon is strewn all over the furniture and floor, porcelain bowls cracked beyond repair. Toji’s fist hurts. It’s bleeding.
Two: Tsumiki cries. With her head bowed like that, she looks like Toji’s mother, neck limp against the tree. Toji’s almost nauseous at the realization, pressure puncturing his chest with an unshakeable grip. Her hair is olive, almost black, wet from udon broth being thrown all over her. Hands clasped timidly in her lap. If he squints, he can pretend the pattern on her skirt is the pattern of his mother’s prized kimono. He chokes and rushes out the door. He makes it a few hundred meters before he’s kneeling on the ground, hurling the few meals he’s had that week.
Three: Tsumiki doesn’t come around for the next few days. The next few weeks, even. Toji isn’t mad. It’s his fault, he knows. But he finds himself dozing off at the bar for the next few nights, drinking until the nausea he feels is from alcohol instead of the sound of his daughter’s sobs. He’s sorry. It’s not like he doesn’t want to apologize, but what the fuck does he even say?
Sorry I made you cry. Sorry you got stuck with me. Sorry that I couldn’t be the dad you needed.
Megumi’s mom would know what to do, he thinks as he nurses his fourth (fifth?) bottle of beer that day. He curls up on his little bar stool, face flushed and hands shaky from drinking.
There’s barely anyone here except the bartender, who glances over at him every so often, face laced with concern and pity. For once, Toji’s glad he looks the part of a hobo - the last thing he wants right now is for someone to talk to him.
“Mind if I sit here?” A low gravelly voice asks. Toji blearily looks up, vision obscured with blurry dots. He makes out broad shoulders covered in odd-looking tattoos and pink hair that sticks up in every direction. The mystery man rolls his shoulders, as though he’s about to sock Toji in the face.
“I’m Sukuna,” Sukuna offers. Toji hums and turns back to his drink, sipping it daintily.
“Not much of a talker, huh? That’s fine, I can do quiet,” he chuckles. His voice is deep, deeper than Shiu’s and Jinichi’s. It has a gravel that reminds Toji of the Zenin compound. Calloused hands, scratching, screaming. Toji grimaces.
“Can I at least get you a drink?” Toji’s head whips to stare at Sukuna. Up close, Sukuna’s eyes are almost unnatural. They’re brown at the core, but in the light, they have a red glow. Freaky.
“Sure, but I ain’t doing anything…” Toji motions at Sukuna with his right hand and looks him up and down. “Y’know. None of that.”
Sukuna guffaws, throwing his head back to expose his Adam’s apple. Toji watches it bob as Sukuna laughs, face flushed.
“Never said anything about…that.” Sukuna wiggles his eyebrows, grinning teasingly at Toji. “Just saw you over here all alone and wanted to give you some company.”
“What, you got a thing for lonely old men?” Toji grunts. Sukuna leans on his hand, eyes piercing into Toji’s. It feels like he’s looking into the eyes of a tiger. A shiver runs down his spine, and Toji grips his drink tighter. Like he said, freaky.
“Nah, just the hot ones.” At that, Toji scoffs, pursing his lips. Something sweet pools in his stomach, and Toji blanches.
“I’m not interested, man. How old are you, anyways?” Sukuna smirks at that, sitting up straight. The bartender passes him their drinks, sliding the bottles across the table. Sukuna cracks them open with one hand. His fingers are thick, Toji notices. No ring, either.
“I’m older than you’d think,” Sukuna replies, handing Toji his beer. Toji cracks his knuckles.
“I’m probably old enough to be your dad, you little shit,” Toji deadpans. Sukuna smiles even wider.
“Oh, you got kids? Shouldn’t you be at home taking care of ‘em, then? Or, pfft, are you one of those deadbeats who come out to drink every night?” Toji flushes. The syrupy sweetness in his stomach sours. His eyes dart away from Sukuna’s unflinching stare, but his eyes seem to pierce into his soul. The black spots grow and blur his vision to the point where the only thing he can make out from the globs of black is a single red eye.
“Are you trying to get your ass kicked?” Toji’s not a small man by any means, but neither is Sukuna. His head feels heavy, dazed with the warmth of the bar and the copious amounts of alcohol he’s had these past few days. He’s not in the shape to fight, but he’ll be damned if he lets this asshole get away with this.
“Relax, I’m just tryna get to know you. You caught my eye, you know. Not a lot of miserable old men around these parts,” Sukuna snarks and smiles, all sharp white teeth. Toji grits his teeth, blunt nails digging into his palm.
“Get the fuck away from me before you regret it, asshole,” Toji bites, but it comes out slower than he wanted; his tongue feels like lead in his mouth. Sukuna’s hand inches closer until he’s resting it on Toji’s arm. It’s unnaturally hot, almost like a furnace.
Sukuna’s palm is big and wraps around Toji’s forearm with ease. Surprisingly, his hands are smooth, as if he’s never worked a day in his life. His touch burns, and it feels overwhelmingly familiar.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” Toji spits. Sukuna only gazes at him, almost with pity, before moving his hand away with an air of nonchalance. Toji despises him.
Sukuna coos when Toji glares at him, treating him like some kind of skittish alleycat; a fucking joke. If only he knew who he really was. Who he used to be, at least.
“Easy, cowboy. Just trying to lighten the mood,” Sukuna smirks. Toji grits his teeth. Cracks his knuckles. The anger settles inside him like mud in a river, murky and heavy.
“I already warned you. Get the fuck away from me before I beat your ass,” Toji growled. Sukuna only smiles with his unnaturally white teeth. “I’m fucking serious, asshole. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
Toji knows he sounds drunk, knows he sounds like he’s just an average drunkard looking to lose a fight. He’s given up fighting for good, but deep down, he’s still a fighter. From his core, he’s always been one. It’s what they made him to be.
The spots in his vision grow larger, pulsing in time with his rapidly increasing heartbeat. Toji glowers at Sukuna’s stupidly charming smirk, feels his fist connect with a strong jaw before he knows what’s happening.
A sickening crack echoes, drowning out the smooth jazz from the bar’s speakers. Toji winces, the force of his hit rippling through the rest of his arm. God, was his jaw made of fucking metal?
More importantly, Sukuna hasn’t gotten back up. Toji can vaguely make out the outline of his limp body pressed against the bar counter. His legs are starting to slip off the edge of his stool. Maybe he was all bark no bite. Holy fuck, Toji just knocked out a stranger.
“Shit, I fucking-I fucking told you not to fuck around with me dude, shit, just…I’ll get someone to look at it, fuck-” Toji panics, hands scrabbling to find Sukuna’s body amid his spotty vision. “Just get up first, you gotta stay upright or else-”
Toji feels it before he sees it. A solid force connects squarely with his nose, and if the crunch of his nosebridge is anything to go by, it’s broken. The punch is strong enough that the pain spreads to Toji’s eyes and temples, and his ears ring shrilly. He falls out of his seat like he’s in a cartoon and barely manages to orient himself before his head cracks painfully against the tile floor. His whole body ricochets before crashing back down, and the force of it is enough to knock him out cold. Toji blinks, and his world is pitch black.
“Fuck, I guess those muscles aren’t just for show, huh?” A voice echoes out. Toji can barely hear, let alone see. His nails scrabble against the floor, trying to stand up before this guy can beat the living shit out of him. Toji pushes himself up, but he’s so dizzy he barely manages to get up halfway before collapsing.
He chokes on his own spit when he’s roughly picked up from the ground by his collar, pressed against a wall of solid muscle.
Drool spills out of Toji’s mouth. Blood drips steadily from his nose, making a soft splattering noise as someone drags him out of the bar. Toji manages to make out an apology and the sound of a windchime before he feels the cool night air against his sweaty skin.
God, it hurts. It hurts to breathe. Hurts to even think.
“What, not gonna hit back?” Toji’s unceremoniously dropped to the hard concrete ground, hands scraping against the surface. He groans and crumples in on himself, knees up to his chest. His hands wrap around his skull, sinking into his hair - always protect the head, he remembers.
“C’mon, thought you were gonna fight me.” He hears someone drop down next to him, a quiet whoosh accompanying their arrival. The air suddenly warms. Sukuna.
“Can’t-can’t see, you fucking…asshole,” Toji slurred, spit pooling on the concrete next to him. Sukuna grabs his hair and pulls him up, causing Toji to choke on his own spit. The angle makes blood slide down his throat in thick rivulets.
Toji mumbles quietly in dissent, shaking his head to loosen Sukuna’s grip. It only makes Sukuna grip harder and Toji dizzier - even though his vision’s gone, his world seems to spin.
“Shit…lemme go, fucker,” Toji almost sobs. Tears spill over his swollen face, trailing down his grimy face, puffy from Sukuna’s punch. He squeezes his eyes shut to stop them, but it hurts so fucking bad to do anything but cry. Ugly wails erupt from his chest, shaking his body with every breath he takes. His hands knock against the pavement uselessly, only bruising his knuckles even more. Everything hurts. The hand in his hair makes everything worse, pulling back his fringe to show pale, unmarked skin.
Sukuna finally lets go, letting Toji crash and curl up on the ground. Toji can barely make out the light from the bar, and the ringing in his ears is overwhelming. Shudders wrack his body as he tries to shrink, tries to hide. He can’t see anything, can’t hear. All he knows is his head hurts and it’s dark. Too familiar.
Panic grows in his chest when he realizes he still can’t see anything. He can feel someone staring at him, stalking after him. He twists around, his lungs hoarse from screaming for help for hours. He sniffles, and the wet shlick of blood is impossible to ignore. It drips from both nostrils steadily, and he feels light-headed knowing how much blood he’s losing. His body is so tired from fighting all day. He wants to go home. He wants to see his mother. He wants-
“Calm down.” A low voice murmurs in his ear. He can feel Sukuna’s warm breath against his ear. A strong hand comes down to brush against Toji’s fingers, holding both his wrists in place. Somehow, his heart rate starts to slow. “Jesus, where’s your fucking head at? You gotta breathe.”
“‘M fucking trying, asshole,” Toji mumbles, chest heaving. He slaps away Sukuna’s hand tiredly. He feels like a fish out of water, flopping around uselessly on land, belly up. Still, he can feel the warmth emanating from Sukuna’s body next to him, and like a moth to a flame, he finds himself inching closer. Toji crawls, blood dripping from his nose mixed with snot. Tears fall from his eyes as he bows his head and tries to ignore his pounding headache.
Sukuna chuckles, and it’s the only warning he gets before Toji’s tugged close to Sukuna’s chest. Like this, the small of Toji’s back is pressed against Sukuna’s stomach, almost searing hot. Sukuna gingerly props up Toji so his head doesn’t loll back and forth like a broken puppet.
“Better?” He asks hushedly. Toji stiffens and almost breaks free. But there’s a sudden shock of pain that shoots up his spine when he squirms, so Toji stays perfectly still. Toji chooses to ignore the sudden closeness for the dull ache of his face.
“Hey, answer me.” He nods, barely moving a muscle. Sukuna’s legs rest against Toji’s waist, a gentle pressure, like he’s afraid he’ll try to run away. Toji pushes against his torso, but gives in when Sukuna nestles his face into Toji’s neck, nosing at his collarbone.
“Get offa me.” Sukuna ignores Toji’s halfhearted retort and instead burrows further into the divot of Toji’s neck.
Toji’s eyelashes are clumped with tears, there’s snot and blood all over his face, and he’s sure his nose is already swelling up horribly, but he’s never felt more wanted. His world has never been quieter. The ringing in his ears has faded to a pleasant buzz in the back of his mind, and the darkness of his vision is less disorienting than before.
“You fucking jerk,” Toji spits. His hands reach for any sign of Sukuna’s presence. A smooth hand meets him halfway, intertwining their fingers together. Toji lets himself reveal in this stranger’s hold, allows himself to sink deeper into the quiet rumble of his voice.
“You talking to me?” Sukuna whispers, not lifting his head up. The sound vibrates against Toji’s skin as though it’s being imprinted onto him.
“I can’t…I can’t see anything. Think you blinded me, dickhead,” Toji says tiredly. There’s no real bite behind his words, just precautionary measures if anything. After all, he barely knows Sukuna. He could be a serial killer. Maybe even a monster in human skin. How would Toji know?
Still, Toji lets Sukuna’s hands roam around his body. Lets him press against old scars along his waist, lets him hold his wrists with just enough pressure to bruise but not break. Tears make their way down Toji’s face lazily, and his nosebleed has stopped. His vision still hasn’t come back though.
“Hey, did you hear me? You fucking blinded me. How the hell am I supposed to go back to work?” Toji gripes. Sukuna’s hands stop for a second, resting against Toji’s hipbones. They jut out from his skin, products of years of hard training and skipping meals. His fingers run over them like they’re made of pure ivory, smoothing over them again and again. It feels good to feel desirable, Toji thinks. This feels good.
“How should I make it up to you?” Toji feels Sukuna smile into his neck, sharp teeth pressing into the softness between his jaw and his throat.
“Write me a check big enough that I won’t think about taking you to court,” Toji glowers, but there’s no real fire behind his glare. He barely even knows if he’s looking in the right direction, to be honest. The alcohol has dulled his senses, and his head is fuzzy from getting beat to a pulp. Sukuna’s warmth and his constant touch doesn’t help either.
“Hmm, yeah? What about I take you home instead? Don’t want you messing up that pretty face of yours even more.” Toji swallows harshly and he knows Sukuna feels the sudden rise in temperature. He squirms in Sukuna’s grip, hands coming back up to slip out of his arms. Sukuna retaliates by holding him even tighter, tight enough that Toji’s gasping for air.
“Don’t run away now. Let me take care of you,” Sukuna says, sinking his nose into Toji’s hair. Toji flushes. He knows he doesn’t smell great, having spent eight hours toiling away in the sun at an oil rig. But he can’t deny that it feels good to have Sukuna act like he smells like roses and hold him like he’s fragile.
“You-Make it…make it quick then. And help me get up, we probably look stupid as shit right now,” Toji stumbles over his words. His tongue seems too big for his mouth, and he blinks drowsily. Exhaustion rolls over him in waves - he hasn’t fought like this in years, decades even. Sukuna grunts as he brings Toji to his feet, looping one arm around his waist.
“Lean on me. Makes things easier for the both of us.”
“You’re the one who blinded me, asshole. Fuck did you do to me?”
“Relax, I told ya I’d take care of you when we get home,”
Toji grumbles, but he can’t find it in himself to be mad. He feels like he’s floating now, senses honeyed. Sukuna guides him along the sidewalk, pressing him close to his chest. He smells good, like some kind of expensive perfume. Something spicy, but sweet, like cloves and vanilla. The faint scent of oil and sweat makes Toji flush, knowing he’s probably tainting Sukuna’s image. No doubt he looks like a charity case right now; a messed up pulp of a geezer limping alongside a put-together young man. Fantastic.
Still, he lets Sukuna guide him to his house. He barely even questions it when Sukuna kneels to take off Toji’s shoes. It feels like second-nature, having Sukuna take care of him. It feels good.
“Lemme call my kid, she’ll know what to do,” Toji mutters when Sukuna lays him down on his bed. How they got up to his bedroom, Toji has no idea. But the bed is comfy, nothing like Toji’s cardboard mattress. The bedding is soft and fluffy, similar to his mother’s old blankets.
“You mean the kid you never talk to?” Toji’s heart stops. The comforting darkness of his mind turns ice cold. It feels lonely.
“Shut the-fuck up, you don’t-you don’t know shit about my family,” Toji snaps. He hoists himself up by his elbows, sitting upright on Sukuna’s absurdly comfortable bed.
“You don’t know anything about me, actually, you’re a fucking stranger who-you fucking punched me in the nose! Fuck, why the hell am I even here, this is so fucking sketchy-” Toji pats his pockets for his phone.
“You can’t even see, how are you gonna call her? You’re not in the right state of mind to be doing anything but resting.”
Toji jolts when Sukuna pins down his hands out of nowhere, soft breath against his neck. It feels oddly intimate, Toji spread out on the bed, Sukuna hovering above him. Toji’s heart hammers in his chest.
“Besides, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s in a rush to contact you.” Toji bites down on lip to stifle a gasp. It stings more than he’d like to admit.
“No one’s called you in a week? Must be lonely,” Sukuna continues in his drawl. Toji feels weak. The pain in his face spreads to his chest, spearing him open like a fish on a stick. Pressure builds behind his eyes and soon tears are falling again. God, he hates being drunk.
“Fuck off, asshole,” Toji says wetly, “That’s just how they are. You don’t fucking know anything.” Sukuna smoothes over Toji’s sweat-slick forehead, pushing back his too-long fringe. Toji’s hands push back against him, more ceremonial than anything. With how heavy his limbs feel, Toji’s doing little more than petting Sukuna’s chest.
“Aww, don’t cry. I’ll take care of you, okay? You just gotta trust me,” His voice deepens, low in a way that Toji hasn’t heard in a while. He can barely make out the outline of wild hair, broad shoulders. And that voice. In his delirium, there’s no doubt about it. He knows who’s in front of him.
Jinichi.
“Sorry, ‘m sorry, Jinichi, I’ll stop,” Toji mumbles between sniffles, talking to himself. He curls up on his side, clutching his stomach. He hears a soft laugh from above him.
“Who’s this Jinichi person, and what the fuck did they do to you?” Sukuna jokes. His chuckle tapers off when Toji starts to heave, shoulders piling in and out like he’s one touch away from crumbling. His touches soften.
“Go to sleep, Toji. I’ll take care of you, promise,” Sukuna presses his lips to Toji’s hairline, smoothing over wrinkles from years of stress and paranoia. Toji’s eyes are open, glassy and unseeing like a porcelain doll. They stare off into the distance. He barely even registers Sukuna knowing his name despite never introducing himself.
Toji’s shuddering slows when Sukuna pulls him in close, rolling the two of them into the center of the bed. Teartracks slide to a stop and start to dry. Toji barely feels Sukuna taking off his clothes and whisking him away into a nice, soap-smelling shower. He lets the warm water fall over him. He’s tired.
The cucumber-scented soap Sukuna uses on his hair reminds him of the few times he bathed Megumi as a kid. He was a fussy kid, always whining or crying about this or that. But it was always worth handling Megumi’s tantrums in the shower when he came out all sleepy from the warm bath, ready to fall asleep in his father’s arms. Toji lets himself smile a little at the memory of baby Megumi’s sleeping face, chubby cheeks and all.
Sukuna dries him with a gentleness he hasn’t felt in years. Not since his wife passed. He musses up Toji’s hair and runs his fingers through it like he’s touching silk. It feels good, Toji thinks, to be treated like more. Being with Sukuna feels good. He leans into Sukuna’s touch, chases after it when he leaves to put back the towel. He doesn’t have to wait long though, because Sukuna returns quickly and gives him a warm hand to hold onto and a broad shoulder to lean on for his troubles.
He dresses him in what feels like a ratty old T-shirt (“One of my favorite bands,” Sukuna explains) and Sukuna’s boxers. Both items are slightly large on him - where Toji is taller, Sukuna is wider, taking up what seems like infinitely more space. The boxers are loose on Toji’s hips, but he doesn’t mind. Sukuna hums in approval when he guides Toji back to the bedroom, one hand steady on his waist.
They lay in bed together, side by side. Toji’s not sure what side he’s facing, but he can feel Sukuna’s warmth all around him. His hands unconsciously reach for Sukuna’s, and they meet at the halfway point in between their faces.
“S’kuna,” Toji slurs. Sukuna hums, a quiet acknowledgement.
“You throw…a hell of a punch,” Toji drools all over his pillow, jaw slack with exhaustion. Sukuna huffs, and uses one hand to wipe the drool from Toji’s mouth.
“I got experience. I’m sure you do too. Not a lot of people hit as hard as you do,” he remarks. Toji smiles lazily. If only he knew.
“Hm, yeah. Lots of experience…” Toji trails off before falling into a dreamless sleep.
Sukuna glances over at him. Like this, Toji seems younger. His wrinkles smoothed out, shoulders relaxed. His eyelashes brush against his cheekbones with every twitch of his eyes, and his freshly towel-dried hair lays shiny against the soft planes of his face. Sukuna reaches out one hand to open one of Toji’s closed eyes.
Toji’s eyes are a stunning green. He hums in approval, watching the iris move around dazedly as Toji mutters something in his sleep. He really is blessed physically.
“Sleep well, Toji,” Sukuna brushes the hair out of Toji’s face gingerly, careful not to disturb his slumber. Toji grumbles quietly, but he inches closer to Sukuna anyways.
Sukuna pulls the covers over them, resting one hand on the small of Toji’s back. He watches Toji sleep until his eyes are too heavy to bear.
In his dreams, he sees emerald eyes and tears at scarred skin. He smells blood.