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Sukuna rubs at his chest as he coughs up another mouthful of petals into his palm. Mostly yellow tulips, but there’s a lovely sprinkle of camellia and red carnations. He tsks and tosses them away, taking a moment to watch them sink into the red water below.
His chest aches, and his throat feels raw even after healing it. Sukuna sighs and leans back in his throne, staring up at the spinal column above him.
He’s not sure when exactly this all started, but it’s probably been a few months since that strange itch in the back of his throat first made its appearance. And now he’s spending every waking moment trying not cough his lungs out. The worst part is that he sounds like he’s wheezing with every breath.
It’s disgusting.
Sukuna’s heard vague stories about this mythical disease back when he was still human. Of people coughing up flower petals as their lungs are shredded apart by the thorns growing within them. Something about love of all things being the cause of it. The mere idea of it was ridiculous to him at the time and he never looked further into whether it actually existed or not. Besides, his life was a cacophony of bloodshed, he didn’t care about some laughable love disease.
And yet, here he is.
At first, he thought he was sharing the suffering of this illness from the brat and his idiotic love for anyone and everyone. But Itadori Yuuji has been carrying on just fine, completely unaware and unaffected. Sukuna’s been watching silently from within, observing the brat’s interactions with his friends, the easy laughter, the casual touches. Itadori is healthy and strong and happy.
Sukuna coughs again, hard, clutching at his chest, and this time yellow hyacinth petals spill into his hand. He throws them away, closes his eyes, and tries to sleep.
He’s getting weak, he can feel it—his strength withering away like all the wilted petals scattered around him and clinging desperately to the bones of his throne. It’s a disgusting realization only aided by the fact that simply breathing hurts.
And he knows exactly why.
Itadori Yuuji is the cause of all this. Not that his vessel has any clue, and that makes it both better and worse. Better because Sukuna would rather die than let that brat see him in this state. Worse because a traitorous part of him wants Yuuji—Yuuji—to turn his desire to save and help people onto him. To ease him through this pain, find a way to make it go away. To look at him with those sparkling hazel eyes full of concern and love—
Sukuna coughs violently, a mass of thorns accompanying the usual petals and carving up his throat in the process. It all falls into his hand, blood dripping between his fingers and sliding his arm. He throws the mess down into the water and curls up in his throne.
He tried attacking the source of the disease, ripping his lungs out from his body and healing afterward. But it all just grew back twice as fast. Desperation made him try again only to have the vines grow back instantly and leave him hacking up blood for hours.
He stopped watching Yuuji ages ago, stopped listening, just shut himself off entirely. He’s felt his vessel give minor attempts into contacting him, but Sukuna never responded. Yuuji tries every time he eats another finger, and it feels like a ghost trying to touch him. Those moments are a breath of fresh air, power coursing through Sukuna’s veins once again. But it’s short lived and his strength is quickly sapped away by the disease.
He wonders, though, if these little attempts at contact are a sign that Yuuji does care about him. Though, to be honest, he imagines Yuuji’s just wondering why Sukuna isn’t bothering him anymore.
Sukuna laughs wetly, lungs rattling with thorns and blood. A mythical disease about love and somehow, Ryoumen Sukuna, King of Curses, is the one to get it. All because he somehow managed to fall in love with his vessel.
A heavy splash in the water draws him to a sitting position in time to see Yuuji stand up from where he fell. His chest tightens, petals and thorns working their way up his throat at the mere sight of him. Sukuna bares his teeth, fingers itching to slice the brat into ribbons, but finds himself caught up in the warm, teasing look Yuuji gives him.
“Wow,” he says, grinning. “You’ve been quiet for so long I thought you died. Did you miss me or something?”
Carnations, lilies, and orchids threaten to spill out of his mouth. It takes everything to swallow them and the thorns back and say, “Me? Miss you? You sure you’re not just projecting?”
His voice is hoarse from lack of use and a torn throat. He watches Yuuji’s teasing expression turn into curious concern and Sukuna’s chest aches. He wants this, wants his concern and attention, wants his love. His soft, warm, and undying love expressed in the gentlest and sweetest of kisses that, last he checked, he only gave to his fellow first years.
Sukuna strains, the thorns and petals coming back full force, and he hacks them up into his hand along with a mouthful of blood. He vaguely hears Yuuji’s exclamation of alarm but otherwise he’s too caught up in trying to breathe through the vines in his lungs.
Strong hands are suddenly on his shoulders, and Sukuna flinches. He snarls and on instinct flicks his fingers and shreds Yuuji into pieces. He doesn’t banish his soul, but he doesn’t put him back together until the worst of his coughing fit is under control. His breath rattles in his lungs, wheezing and undignified, but it’s as good as it’s going to get these days.
Yuuji stands in front of him, whole and untouched, before crouching down to look him in the eyes. And oh, those hazel eyes, full of warmth, burning like the sun. Sukuna thinks he might melt, maybe turn to ash if he looks for too long.
He looks older, the remaining baby fat from his teenage years gone. There’s a couple of scars etched into his features now. One traveling from his forehead and nearly dipping into his right eye. The other marring his mouth on the left side, leaving his teeth partially bared.
It ignites something in Sukuna, a rage at who could have done that to his vessel—his vessel. He should have been there to stop it, to put the perpetrator in their place. But these scars look old, and Sukuna shut himself away years ago. Years.
“What’s going on?” Yuuji asks, voice filled with so much worry. Worry for him.
Sukuna reaches out and gently cups Yuuji’s face like he’s holding the world in his hands. Not that he ever really cared much for the world itself, but Yuuji. Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji...
“I hate you,” Sukuna murmurs. “I hate you because I can’t have you. Even though you’re my vessel, I can’t have you.”
Yuuji frowns. “Sukuna, please, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
Sukuna just sighs and sends Yuuji’s soul back to reality. The sound of his name coming out of Yuuji’s mouth, full of concern, that desire to help, was a death grip on Sukuna’s heart, clogging up his lungs even more. This isn’t something Yuuji can fix, he can’t save him from this. He’s trapped, only to be freed on the day of Yuuji’s execution.
He hacks up more thorns and petals, and there’s so much blood he can’t tell what the flowers are. It’s just a mess of red in his hands, his throat shredded and in absolute agony.
Sukuna lays down, exhausted, and curls back up in his throne while clutching at his chest. He shuts himself off from all of Yuuji’s thoughts and senses again. The connection makes everything worse, though it’s not like keeping himself isolated is doing him any better.
But at least this way he can wallow in his pathetic, hopeless love alone. Sukuna sighs, straining against another coughing fit, and closes his eyes.