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Summary
Sukuna’s eyes flicker up to Toji’s, though he only notices this in his peripheral vision with how focused he is on Sukuna’s still-squirming flesh, the pouring of blood from the missing chunk of his arm onto his pristine white kimono. He doesn’t dare open his mouth and question why his presence has led to Sukuna pondering love – with the sight in front of him, he isn’t sure he wants to know.
“What does love mean to you, Toji?” He’ll never be used to the way Sukuna drawls his given name, coated in the syrupy tone he lends all his words, a remnant of his Heian-era speech. “To me… ah. I never courted anyone when I was alive previously. I never saw the need to. But as I spend my time thinking about it, I have determined that love is a variable, and whatever she was preaching about was not what I was seeking. For me… Well. I like food. I like to eat.”
Oh god, Toji swallows.