Chapter Text
The wind blows his peach-colored hair into his eyes, causing Sukuna to click his tongue in irritation. His hand pushes it back in an automatic gesture of frustration, and he returns his focus to the parchment in front of him. His red eyes dart from one corner of the paper to the other as his mind absorbs the information outlined in the curving, slightly sloppy handwriting. The Kanbun, already rolled up on his tongue and in his mind, paints his tongue with the new flavor of the lines before his eyes.
Reading was his favorite part. Whenever his mother brought the scrolls from Mr. Ono's residence, Sukuna felt as if he were tasting a freshly prepared dish, with old ingredients familiar to him mixed with new ones, the combination making his mouth water and creating new flavors each time better than the last. Sukuna devoured each word, whether in Kanbun or in that new kana script, and murmured, learning the pronunciation and filling his stomach. The taste of the new kanji distracted him from the persistent rumble of his stomach.
His stomach rumbled, and Sukuna pursed his lips. He ignored it and returned to reading the scroll in his hands. It was poetry. Most of the time, it was. His mother often brought him chronicles and poems about wandering soldiers, fierce princes, and brave princesses, which she believed inspired Sukuna. He simply accepted the scrolls and bit back an angry retort, so as not to dim the gentle, hopeful glow in her eyes.
Those stories of the imperial court, Sukuna thought. They're stories of the province and its noble and aristocratic sons who can dream of being courageous warriors without worrying about the hunger that eats them up inside.
However, he never expressed such thoughts to his mother. At least dreamers do something good with their lives—silk and feathers—which produced poetry for Sukuna to study. And learning new words like that damn Kana he couldn't decipher. Great. It was a challenge, and he loved it every time.
Sukuna took the newly carved piece of wood and dipped it into the pot of ink, then delicately brushed on the strange kanji. Muttering the pronunciation, Sukuna repeated it several times, comparing it with those he already knew until he grasped what the correct pronunciation of the word should be.
"Chuushuu no Meigetsu. Harvest Moon. Another festival to look at the sky and babble imperial court nonsense," Sukuna scoffed. The wind blew again, blowing his hair over his eyes, making him grit his teeth.
Before he could toss his locks back, Sukuna heard the sound of crickets and the crunch of leaves underfoot. He clutched the scroll tightly to his chest and turned around, baring his teeth.
"Honey, I told you not to stay out all night," a woman with tired eyes smiled at him, and Sukuna relaxed automatically. His mother was home.
Her peach-colored hair, like his own, was slicked back and tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her simple hakama, the color of the foliage beneath her feet, was worn and dirty, likely from the day's work, while her hands were slightly stained, as if she'd tried to wash them, but the bluish color was too strong and she hadn't succeeded. This caused a pang of anger to begin to blossom in Sukuna. But when he looked at her face, the anger erupted and faded.
Her kind eyes, always kind, were focused on him as if he were a gift after a long day of work. The lines of fatigue on her face faded, and she smiled with something between amusement and exasperation. Sukuna's cheeks burned with embarrassment.
"I didn't stay on purpose, I just missed the time and didn't see the sun set," he said, trying to sound as firm as possible. His mother, however, let out a snort of disbelief.
“Yes, just like you missed the time yesterday and every day before when I didn’t come home,” she returned it with an arch in her right eyebrow and Sukuna felt like burying himself in the ground.
It wasn’t intentional, it just happened sometimes. Sukuna tried to stay in his tiny home, but the heat, the closed environment and being alone was too much, then he would go outside and read, without straying too far, distracting himself and perhaps, who knows, waiting for his mother to return.
She approached him and placed her hand on his cheek. Sukuna couldn't help but lean into the affectionate gesture.
“My sweet boy, I’m so glad you always wait for me to come back, but it’s dangerous to be outside at night,” she says in a tone with nothing but concern, yet Sukuna rolls his eyes.
"I was very close to home, and it's easier for them to be afraid of me than the other way around," he replied in an ironic tone, hoping to reassure her. Receiving a frown in response, he knew he'd said the wrong thing.
"You know I don't like it when you talk like that. Sukuna, you're not a monster." The welcoming tone of her voice as she said this almost made Sukuna want to agree with her. Almost.
His other pair of hands clutched his hakama, too large for his body, tightly. His mother was foolish. Sukuna had known from the moment he saw his reflection in the lake and realized he wasn't normal. The extra pair of eyes, the four hands, the deep red of his eyes made other people see nothing but "evil," "freak," "monster" when they laid eyes on him. But not his mother. She insisted he was her beautiful gift, no matter how deformed, weird, or rude Sukuna was. He was sure she wasn't quite normal either, but sometimes Sukuna believed her.
Like now when she looked at him like that, like he was a blessing, not a curse.
"Come on in, I have a surprise for you!" she said, the corners of her mouth turning up, and with an irritated exhale, Sukuna grabbed the scrolls with his left hand and his makeshift quill and ink with his right. Leaving one hand free for his mother to grab if she wanted. Sukuna never asked her to do this, but she always did anyway, and Sukuna hid how comforting it was with a look of displeasure.
She held his hand just like he expected and laughed at his frown.
"You're always so grumpy, dear. A seven-year-old shouldn't frown so much."
A seven-year-old shouldn't have four arms, but here I am, he thought.
Entering the house, Sukuna saw that the candles were already lit on the kitchen table, in the narrow hallway that led to his and his mother's bedroom, and at the back door that led to their bathing area, which meant she had arrived a while ago and had left him in the backyard for a while. Sukuna appreciated the gesture, but scolded himself in his mind and promised himself that he would pay attention to sunset the next day to light the candles before his mother returned so she wouldn't have to do the work.
Sukuna carefully placed the scrolls on the kitchen table and sat in the chair, swinging his feet. He tried not to get excited, but his mother told him she had a surprise. He loved anything from her, but when she said it in that tone, it was something he usually really wanted, like the pot of India ink or his little writing stick.
Sukuna followed her walking through the kitchen with his red eyes barely containing his excitement.
“Close your eyes!”
“Mommy, no just show it already” he tried, but she crossed her arms and Sukuna pouted, closing them. “Alright, eyes closed, happy?"
He heard her bubbly laughter and a thud on the table making his little heart beat faster.
“Open your eyes!”
Sukuna opened his eyes quickly and held his breath when he saw it. A bowl of mochi. Sukuna remembered the poem about the Harvest Moon his mother had brought the day before.
“You planned this,” he exclaimed and she gave a little smile.
“And you didn’t notice, thank goodness. With your clever mind, I was worried you’d find out, but you were so engrossed in the scrolls that you didn’t even notice,” she said, with that kind shimmer in her eyes.
Sukuna replayed the previous day in his mind, thinking about when she might have had time to pound the mochigome dough . And there hadn't been any time at all unless it was during work, which he thought unlikely, or while he himself was sleeping. Sukuna's excitement faded like a fire doused by a bucket of cold water.
"You spent the night doing this," he said accusingly, and saw his mother grab her wrist. He immediately felt bad about it.
"Yes, but it's autumn and tomorrow is Juugoya. You love mochi, and I thought we could celebrate." Her tone was small and fragile, her eyes not meeting Sukuna's.
"Mom, I didn't know about this festival, and it's just another chore for you, not important," Sukuna said with uncertainty in his voice. He hadn't known anything about the festival until a few hours ago, but it seemed important to her.
"It was my first festival when… what I mean is, I know it's not common to celebrate it in the Hida countryside, but I'd like you to try it." The hopeful tone in her voice grew with each sentence, and Sukuna knew she'd already agreed before her mother had even finished.
"I won't say no to eating mochi if that's what you're thinking, but I'm not sure how to do it," Sukuna proclaimed, his mind already wandering and his hand reaching for the scrolls.
His mother gently grabbed his wrist and gave him a soft smile.
"I thought so too, let's go." She blew out the candle, and Sukuna grabbed the bowl with one hand, using the other to discreetly pick up the scroll of the Harvest Moon.
They left the house and walked down the hill toward the river. Sukuna tensed automatically.
They lived on a hilltop a few miles outside of town. Sukuna knew it was because of him, as his mother was welcome to do various jobs, including for Mr. Ono, from whom she borrowed scrolls, but people glared daggers at him when Sukuna was with her. It’s alright, the hill was much better and he didn’t need to hear the idiots in the city. Only he didn't like how they looked at his mother when they were together, as if she was a freak like him and she certainly wasn't.
So he braced himself for the hostility of the locals, but his mother turned toward the other side of the river, not far enough that he couldn't tell the way back, but not close enough for the other locals to hurl insults at them.
Sukuna saw a small boat parked on the bank, tied to a log. Its dark paint, the color of oak trunks, and the way it gleamed in the moonlight told Sukuna it was new. And expensive. Sukuna was about to reprimand her when his mother held out her hand, probably anticipating his complaint.
"Before you say anything, I didn't pay for this. Mr. Ono is going to Heian-kyo Prefecture to attend the festival with his family and said I could use the boat. As long as we kept it in good condition, he said it was fine," his mother explained, already untying the boat's mooring. "Come on, son, you're going to miss the best part!"
Sukuna climbed into the boat, carefully holding the bowl of mochi, and his mother pulled the oar and steered them toward the middle of the river. He didn't quite understand the purpose of this; he could observe the moon every day.
"Look, Sukuna! It's not really at its highest point, but we can already see the rabbit and the mush," she said, pointing to the moon, and Sukuna stifled a laugh. It did look like a rabbit, but a very ugly one. He imagined the shadow would be better under the higher full moon the next day, but it was funny in a way. The ears were one larger than the other, and the fluffy tail was too long for its body. The shadow brought Sukuna a certain comfort.
"Isn't it beautiful?"
"It's deformed."
"Sukuna!" his mother scolded in horror, and he laughed until tears welled up in his eyes.
"He's just growing up. Tomorrow, in his prime, he'll be a magnificent sight to behold—just you wait," she said, looking at him, and Sukuna had the strangest feeling she wasn't just referring to the rabbit on the moon.
He picked up a mochi and chewed. The burst of sugar on his tongue made him groan in satisfaction, earning a smile from his mother.
"It's good, isn't it? Mr. Ono let me use your kitchen and sugar to finish this afternoon, and I managed to finish my work early, so I had time," she proclaimed, stretching her back proudly. Sukuna couldn't help but pout.
"He always does this. He lets you use his things and his house, then makes you work on weekends or even late to make up for it," Sukuna exclaimed irritably. Kindness from people like Mr. Ono made him sick. It was never about the act itself; it was always because they wanted something. His mother could use the kitchen and his spices as long as she could do a few extra loads of laundry. She could take his scrolls as long as she always expanded his reading area. She could get materials for Sukuna as long as she stayed late for dinners he hosted at his house. Sukuna hated him. He hated him even more because he always offered things Sukuna wanted or needed, and his mother never said no.
"This time it was a silly thing, Sukuna. I just have to wash the dishes after dinner," she said as if it were nothing. But it meant everything to Sukuna.
For this good moment to happen, his mother would have more work to do throughout the day, and he hated himself for it and hated her because she would do it anyway, no matter how much he complained about it. When Sukuna realized what was happening, he tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. So Sukuna accepted every little selfless act his mother did, even if he thought it was silly, like the damn mochi. She sacrificed herself for it and would eat every single one without leaving a single scrap.
Sukuna chewed the mochi and hated how delicious they were, and his stomach stopped growling.
"Okay then. But I can help with the clothes," he said, leaving no room for contradiction, and his mother sighed.
"As long as it doesn't interfere with your studies," she said in an even more emphatic tone than her own, and Sukuna wanted to retort. Instead, he held out a sweet to her with narrowed eyes, and she grabbed it, chewing.
"I love this tradition, you know? It's so simple, but who would notice that something like the moon turning into a rabbit happens every year?"
"Someone useless,” Sukuna said, munching on his mochi, and his mother just shook her head.
She wrapped him in a hug, and Sukuna relaxed against her.
"Or someone who appreciates the little things. There's so much beauty and curiosity in the world if you know where to look, Sukuna," she said, pointing to their reflection in the water. Sukuna almost looked away. "I like the festival because it's something small where you can create memories with the ones you love, like just seeing the moon's reflection."
"Or eating mochi," she replied, munching on another cake.
"Yes, or eating mochi," she said, giving him a soft smile. "The first time I was at a festival like this, I was so enchanted. I didn't want you to miss it, even if it wasn't like what I saw."
"I liked it, despite the ugly rabbit," he said with a mischievous smile, and his mother rolled her eyes.
"Mom, you know the rabbit’s story, don't you?" he asked, and she turned to him with a curious look.
"I do. Why?"
"The poetry I read said that people sing and recite poems at the festival. You don't sing very well, but you're a great storyteller. You could try," he proclaimed, earning an offended look from his mother.
"I sing very well, by the way. But I'm a better storyteller, it's true," she said with a thoughtful expression. "I already know. In the countryside of Mino Prefecture, there was a little baby rabbit..."
Sukuna let his mother's voice lull him to sleep next to the swaying river. The mochi in his mouth grew sweeter as her words wrapped him like a blanket. Warm and welcoming. Home. He stared at his reflection in the water, and from this distance, he looked like just an ordinary child hugging his mother on a boat. It was good.
He didn't realize when his eyes were closing, but Sukuna fought to stay awake. He wanted to know the end of the story, what happened to the baby rabbit, but his tiny eyelids grew heavy.
—————————
Sukuna's eyes flew open.
He heard the sound of water, or rather blood, running beneath his feet and looked around. He had fallen asleep on his throne within his innate domain, in the brat's body. Sukuna blinked, orienting himself. He had slept. He had dreamed.
A look of disgust washed over his features, and somehow he knew it was the damn brat's fault. It didn't matter that it wasn't directly his doing; his stupid head in his dream must have triggered his own dream. That was it. Especially a dream as old as that.
Sukuna hadn't known he could still dream, let alone remember things like that. A moment as stupid as that one with his mother. He had killed and buried that part of himself long ago, but a week in the idiot's mind had made him remember it. Pathetic. Sukuna wanted to rip his guts out or break his ribs one by one, but he couldn't do such things, because for some reason the boy was able to suppress it. Doubly pathetic. He must be truly weak if a brat could force his will over his own.
Sukuna felt the boy's consciousness flicker. He, too, was waking up.
Searching for an exit, Sukuna saw the boy's eyes open to a bright light flooding his room. He only groaned in sadness and covered his face with the blanket.
Lazy, Sukuna thought.
The blanket was ripped off abruptly, and the boy whimpered.
Sukuna felt it before he heard it.
"Good morning, Itadori-kun! We have a long day ahead of us, and it's time to wake up!" The six-eyed sorcerer's shrill, cheerful voice invaded the boy's ears, and consequently Sukuna's, more disturbing even than the sun itself.
Sukuna felt a little dizzy. In his current state, much to his discomfort, the sorcerer was indeed stronger than him, but receiving a hug from his power so early in the morning made Sukuna huff in irritation. He appeared on the brat's cheek and glared at him. The brat obviously noticed him, but showed no irritation.
He was incredibly tall. The uniform seemed to fit him well, despite the baggy top, and the dark, almost black blue of the clothing suited jujutsu and shamans. Sukuna would have found the uniform useful in his time, though the excessive fabric bothered him. The sorcerer's wide smile raised his irritability level by a notch. He stood in the middle of the room, grinning from ear to ear, his hands in his pockets casually, as if he weren't a nuisance to everyone in the room. His white hair, however, slicked back, gave him a bad feeling.
His eyes, which Sukuna was sure were as blue as a cloudless morning sky even though the brat hadn't seen them yet, were covered by a blindfold, similar to... the damn dream had reminded him of things he didn't want.
Sukuna remembers a week ago when he stood atop that building and felt the moonlight for the first time in centuries. Then the damned brat suppressed him, the black-haired boy declared his execution, and then he appeared. Sukuna's senses were intoxicated by his recent awakening, but when that icy power touched his skin, that chill that was so unexpectedly familiar made Sukuna want to vomit.
Buried things, things he hadn't spoken about in a long time and didn't want to remember. Like his mother and Mochi. Like the man wilding the six eyes standing there, annoyingly waiting for the brat to wake up.
"Well, good morning to you too, Sukuna! I just woke you up, and I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry at all, so." The smile turned mischievous and evil as he spoke, in a way that made Sukuna want to punch him in the face. It was as familiar as his reflection in the mirror. Sukuna swore in response, similar to the language of poetry in his dream, which he doubted the six-eyed man understood from the surprised expression that washed over his face. This satisfied Sukuna. Then he retreated to his innate control, letting the brat deal with it.
Sukuna felt his skin itch slightly and ignored it. It was just a dream, it wouldn't happen again, a childish nonsense, a reflex of being in another child's body who probably missed a relative, considering how hurt he had been after seeing his grandfather's photo the day before.
It would pass, and that memory would return to rest in the back of his mind like all the others. Like the memories of a blue sky held in a pair of eyes.