Chapter Text
Yuuji wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it was a gradual thing, like how rain could erode stone until it crumbled into nothing. He had begun noticing the small, almost imperceptible signs—his hands trembling when they shouldn’t, his voice coming out quieter than he meant, and the way his chest felt hollow, as if the air inside it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t a sickness. He would’ve welcomed that, something he could point to and explain. But this was something deeper, stranger—like his very soul was wearing thin, fraying at the edges, thread by invisible thread.
He didn’t tell anyone. Who could he even tell? Megumi was gone, Nobara was… well, he didn’t know, and Gojo was still sealed. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone needed him around anymore. He wasn’t the hero who would save the day. He was just the vessel.
The body wasn’t his anyway.
The thought didn’t sting the way it used to. It felt logical, natural. Of course Sukuna would take it eventually—it was his, wasn’t it? Yuuji had simply been borrowing it this whole time, like a tenant overstaying their welcome.
But Sukuna didn’t seem to know. Or maybe he does? Yuuji is not so sure. Sukuna has been odd as of late.
Yuuji noticed it in the way the curse watched him, a crimson gaze sharp and calculating. Sukuna’s taunts, though biting, had become less cruel, almost restrained. And when Yuuji faltered, when he made mistakes, the King of Curses didn’t lash out the way he used to. Instead, there was a strange kind of patience, one Yuuji didn’t think Sukuna was capable of.
It made sense, in a way. If Sukuna knew Yuuji was disappearing—if he could feel the soul that tethered him to the body slipping away—then it explained the attention, the way he lingered more often, the faint edge of curiosity in his voice when he spoke.
Sukuna was waiting. Preparing for the inevitable.
Hm. So that's how it is?
He decided to make it easier.
He started taking better care of the body. He cleaned wounds meticulously, started trying exorcising curses with minimal injuries, made sure to eat enough, even if the thought of food churned his stomach. He exercised when he could, forced himself through motions that felt increasingly foreign.
The body wasn’t his, but he could still maintain it. Or, well.
He is trying. It's not the norm for him for as long as he has been alive. Even he thinks this is odd.
So naturally, it probably brings attention to the only other occupant of this little project of a body.
“You’re obsessing over something again, brat,” Sukuna’s voice echoed in his mind, low and rough.
Yuuji didn’t flinch. He was used to the curse’s sudden appearances by now. “I’m just doing what I need to,” he replied, his tone even.
Sukuna materialized in the corner of the room, leaning casually against the wall. “And what’s that? Playing nursemaid to yourself?”
Might as well be frank.
“I’m keeping it ready for you,” Yuuji said quietly, tying off the bandage around his arm.
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “The hell are you talking about?”
Yuuji didn’t answer, he might have rolled his eyes though. He finished wrapping the bandage and set the roll of gauze aside, his movements steady and practiced.
Sukuna clicked his tongue, the sound sharp in the silence. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
Yuuji glanced at him, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I know.”
Sukuna pushed off the wall, his towering figure stepping into the light. He looked Yuuji up and down, his crimson gaze unreadable. “You keep doing this. Why?”
Is there any correct answer to that? He might as well be repeating himself.
Why? Ugh.
Yuuji hesitated, what does this guy want to hear?, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“The right thing?” Sukuna barked out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You’re a fool, brat. What’s the point of all this if you’re just going to give up?”
“I’m not giving up,” Yuuji said, his voice soft but firm. “I’m making sure you don’t have to deal with anything… messy. When I’m gone.”
Sukuna froze, his laughter cutting off abruptly.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he growled, stepping closer.
Yuujis pretty sure they are speaking the same language, but Sukuna has been asking that question every time Yuuji answers him now.
Is it not obvious?
Yuuji didn’t meet those crimson eyes. “You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? I’m disappearing.”
….
?
Sukuna’s brow furrowed, his lips curling into a snarl. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re standing right there.”
“For now,” Yuuji said simply.
Something about the way he said it—calm, resigned—made Sukuna’s chest tighten. It wasn’t fear, because the King of Curses didn’t feel fear. But it was something close, something foreign and unwelcome. It’s uncomfortable, it’s annoying. Yuuji is annoying.
“You’re not disappearing,” Sukuna snapped. “Stop talking like that. It’s pathetic.”
Yuuji finally looked up at him, his eyes tired but clear. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not scared.”
Sukuna glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing with something he couldn’t name. “You’re wrong,” he growled. “You’re not disappearing. And if you were, I’d know.”
Yuuji didn’t argue. He just nodded, as if humoring Sukuna was the easiest thing in the world.
“Get some rest,” Sukuna barked, his voice rough. “You’re useless like this.”
Yuuji nodded again, laying back on the bed without complaint. As his breathing evened out, Sukuna stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on the boy’s still form.
He didn’t know why, but something about Yuuji’s words lingered, scratching at the edges of his mind like a splinter he couldn’t reach.
Disappearing? No. That was impossible.
But the thought wouldn’t leave him.