Chapter Text
“This some kind of goddamn joke?”
“I can assure you, Mr. Itadori, this isn’t a joke. You are the closest living relative we could find within our database. All other blood-related family members are either marked deceased or are unable to be located.”
Sukuna gazes out from the balcony of his shitty apartment complex, lit cigarette in hand, the city lights of Austin glimmering in the distance. It had been a frustrating day at work, with one no-show while another client demanded a refund because he apparently ‘had an attitude’ while giving her a tattoo and it made her feel ‘disrespected.’ He made a point to insult her directly before kicking her out of the shop, no refund issued.
Now hours later, he’s getting a phone call from some social worker, as if he hasn’t dealt with enough annoying people for one day.
He takes another drag of his cigarette, then blows the smoke out into the air.
“Look again.”
“Mr. Itadori—”
“Listen, smartass, I ain’t taking in some brat just ‘cause you say we’re related. Who do you think I am?”
The man on the other end of the phone releases a long-suffering sigh.
“Sir, please take this proposal into consideration. The chances of us finding another relative are slim to none. The parents who adopted her previously were not biologically related, but given the circumstances, they became her legal guardians.”
“Then send her back to her guardians, the hell are you pestering me for?”
“They’re dead. Housefire. Both parents and her sibling were present with neither of them making it out alive, except for her. That was three weeks ago.”
The light steadily burns against his cigarette, ashes falling over the railing towards the sidewalk. He feels little to no effect from the tobacco, which isn’t new, but he wishes for once that it would alleviate what must be his fifth headache of the day.
“And you’re telling me no one from her guardian’s side of the family can take her in?”
“…The Dreemurrs do not appear to have any close relatives as far as we know. The son, Asriel, seemed to be the last member of their bloodline.”
“Fucking fantastic.”
“You don’t have to make a decision right this second. However, I strongly encourage you to consider becoming her legal guardian. She’s twelve years old. Statistically, children within that age range have a small chance of getting adopted.”
“Not my problem.”
“Sir—”
“Don’t call me again.”
Sukuna doesn’t bother giving the man a chance to respond before hanging up the phone. Afterwards, he crushes the rest of his cigarette out, leaving it in the ashtray he keeps on the balcony, then heads back inside the apartment, ready to call it a night.
He thinks that’s the last he’ll hear about it, some random orphan kid losing their rich parents, which leads to some social worker reaching out to him because a distant cousin of his who he’s never met knocked up some broad, only for them to abandon their offspring like the useless sacks of meat they are.
Like hell Sukuna’s getting involved. He isn’t fit to raise a kid, not that he would ever want to in the first place. He can barely tolerate his own nephew whom he rarely speaks with—a deliberate choice. The fact that someone would suggest he adopt a kid just because they share ancestry is almost enough to make him laugh. Almost.
If that social worker truly did his research and still thought to ask Sukuna—retired gang leader of one of the most feared groups in the country—to adopt a kid, then clearly the man doesn’t give a shit about Little Orphan Annie and is just looking to pass her off to whatever lowlife is willing to take her. An offer like that holds very little interest to Sukuna. He may be a criminal, but he isn’t in the habit of collecting little girls, that’s for damn sure.
Last thing he needs is some snot-nosed brat running around his apartment, leeching off him like some sort of charity case.
He doesn’t owe anyone anything.
So he lets it go. Until a week later, he gets another call from the same unknown number, a number that he was beginning to regret answering in the first place. He pauses from chopping bell peppers on the cutting board, which he planned to throw together in a quick stir fry, and answers his phone with no shortage of irritation.
“Thought I told you not to call me.”
“Hello again, Mr. Itadori,” says the man, seemingly ignoring Sukuna’s rude introduction. “I was hoping after some time you would have reconsidered my offer.”
“Only thing I’m reconsidering is my phone number. The answer is still no. Piss off.”
He swipes his thumb a little too forcefully against the end call button before shoving the phone into his pocket. He then picks up the kitchen knife and continues chopping up the bell peppers, trying and failing to push the unexpected phone call to the back of his mind.
He almost expects a third call the following week. It doesn’t come. Day after day, the sun rises, he goes to work, comes home at night, then he goes to bed. On days off he does chores, otherwise he watches TV or exercises in the spare bedroom where he keeps his workout equipment. On rare occasions, Toji will drag him out for a drink and, depending on whether he’s in the mood, they’ll hang out and smoke for a bit.
It's a mundane life, which is fine. He isn’t looking for excitement; he’s had his thrills and if he wants it again then he’ll seek it out himself. Anyone who tries to challenge him or criticize his lifestyle post-gang retirement gets beaten to a pulp, but that’s few and far between. Most people who know him know to stay away from him, and he’s fine with that, he has no issues being alone nor does he expect that to change anytime soon.
It’s 15 days after the second phone call when he sees that unknown number appear on his screen again.
Sukuna is once again on the balcony, having just lit a cigarette right before his phone rang. He takes a long drag before blowing the smoke out in one heavy breath, watching it fade into the night. He doesn’t rush to answer the phone, instead waiting for it to reach its last ring before swiping his thumb against the green button on the screen.
“You just don’t give up, do ya’?”
“I would like to offer a compromise.”
The man’s words catch him by surprise. His curiosity piques despite himself.
“Straight to the point, huh? What, no pleasantries this time?”
“Instead of adopting the girl, I suggest that you take her in as a foster parent.”
The muffled sound of a man and woman arguing in Spanish can be heard coming from a room downstairs. A beat-up car passes through the lot, bumping hip-hop, headlights briefly illuminating the apartment coworker. Sukuna observes the car as it exits onto the main road, music fading into the distance.
“What’s the difference?”
“With foster care, she will only be temporarily residing with you. You will also receive a monthly stipend to help cover the expenses that will come from taking care of her. This will allow her to be comfortable until we find a more suitable home for her.”
That pulls a chuckle from Sukuna, low and bitter.
“Comfortable, huh? You sure about that?”
“I know who you are, Sukuna.”
His hand pauses mid-drag. Another car passes down the main road, lights disappearing as quickly as they came. After seconds of no response from Sukuna, the man on the other end of the call takes it as a sign to continue.
“Believe it or not, I used to be acquainted with your brother, Jin. He was a good man. He also spoke fondly of you despite your differences. It is for this reason that I’m choosing to contact you. I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought there was a better option.”
Sukuna is silent, processing the information this man just dumped on him. Eventually, he brings the cigarette to his lips, the paper nearly gone as it steadily disintegrates.
“You’re invested in this girl. Why is that?”
“All children deserve a good home.”
“Yeah yeah, you’re a model employee trying to change the world one bastard at a time. Cut the act. Why are you pushing this so hard? What have you got to gain from all this?”
A long pause. Sukuna waits, listening keenly for any tells that may give away his true intentions. When the man does respond, his voice is somber, the first sign of emotion Sukuna has witnessed from the man.
“No child should have to endure the things Chara has gone through. I’m worried that if she doesn’t find a suitable home soon, she will regress to the way she was before her adoption. The world isn’t kind to those who have been damaged the way she has. I just want her to have a chance at a hopeful future.”
An odd feeling stirs deep within his chest. It’s small, barely present. Still, the fact that it’s there at all, that peculiar sensation, is enough to throw him off, like a foreign object falling into the ocean—it doesn’t belong.
The thing is, Sukuna is more than familiar with damage. He’s been on the receiving end of it, sure, but he’s caused much more, has raised more hell in his youth than the average man would in their entire lifetime. It’s what shaped him into the man he is today: strong and unbeatable. Someone who doesn’t have room in his heart to care for anyone, let alone a weak and vulnerable child.
He opens his mouth to make this exact point, yet somehow, his voice betrays him.
“She’s gonna go through worse living with me.” Not an untrue statement, yet more subdued than what Sukuna was initially going for.
“Not unless you make an effort to care for her,” the man says matter-of-factly.
Sukuna snorts, but otherwise says nothing. The argument between the man and woman downstairs finally dies down, allowing peaceful silence to return. The city lights continue to glow in the distance, its pollution making the sky less visible.
He doesn’t remember the last time he saw the stars. They were a constant back in the countryside of Japan—the place he was born—where the only lights that glowed at night were dim lanterns and fireflies during summertime. That was years ago. At nine years old, he moved to America with no choice but to adapt. And adapt he did, but not in the way his father wanted him to.
He went from unwanted child to a fearsome legend. Now, having basically retired from his old life, he’s being offered to take in someone else’s unwanted child. He thinks there may be some form of irony here, but he doesn’t care to look too deeply.
“I will pay you personally on top of the monthly stipend,” the man’s voice speaks up again.
“That doesn’t sound very legal, mister Model Employee.”
“I doubt legality is of any concern to someone like you.”
A smirk tugs at his lips. So the man does have some snark in him after all. The fact that he’s willing to rebel against the system by bribing Sukuna makes both him and the situation more interesting now than it was before.
One of his most well-known traits is that he often does things on a whim, with little regard for others, and right now, he thinks this proposal could be, at the very least, entertaining.
He takes one last drag of his cigarette, the rest of the paper disintegrating until only the butt remains. His elbows rest against the railing as he stares out at the parking lot, focusing on nothing in particular as he weighs his options. The man on the other end must take his silence as a rejection, his voice soon reappearing from the speaker.
“Is that a no, then?”
“I’m thinking.”
Silence.
Eventually, Sukuna places the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray, having come to a decision.
“What’s your name, smartass?”
“Nanami Kento.”
“This better be fucking worth it, Nanami.”
Winding up in the office of Child Protective Services that week was not on Sukuna’s bingo card. Yet here he is, sitting in one of the much too small plastic chairs lined up in the lobby, arms crossed as he waits impatiently for his appointment with Nanami.
There’s a baby that hasn’t stopped bawling since they arrived with their mother, the noise grating on his ears by the second. The receptionist is typing incessantly on her computer, a middle-aged woman who keeps glancing at Sukuna every few seconds. It’s obvious she’s staring at his face tattoos, likely judging him, but like everyone else, doesn’t have the balls to outright say what she’s thinking.
He catches her looking at him for the umpteenth time and fixes her with a hard stare, startling her. Satisfaction goes through him as her eyes dart back to the computer. The feeling doesn’t last long as the baby in the opposite corner of the room lets out a particularly ear-piercing scream, the mother trying in vain to soothe them.
Already, Sukuna is regretting having agreed to this.
Just as he’s considering walking out of here and never returning, the door leading to the back of the building opens. A man with sleek blond hair and a beige suit steps out, expression stoic as he surveys the room. His eyes land on Sukuna, and he wonders if this is who he thinks it is—
“Mr. Itadori,” the man says, and yep, there he is, the smartass. Sukuna rolls his eyes before rising out of his seat.
“Drop the honorifics. It’s just Sukuna.”
Nanami nods wordlessly, holding the door open as Sukuna steps through. He finds himself sitting in a slightly less uncomfortable chair within a cubicle while Nanami sits at his desk directly across from him. They begin going over the arrangement: how the process works, the expected duration, and so forth.
As it turns out, Nanami is as no-nonsense in person as he is on the phone, carrying himself with the professionalism of someone dedicated to their job. It’s not exactly what he imagined—if anything, he expected the white-collared pen pusher to cower the moment they met face-to-face, but the man is unfazed. He also pictured him being scrawnier.
“Before you sign the paperwork, I’d like to inform you of Chara’s background,” Nanami says, as if Sukuna were actually interested in getting to know this girl. Sukuna doesn’t bother to hide his boredom, cheek resting on his knuckles.
“Does it matter?” Sukuna replies. It’s a genuine question; after all, it’s not like this kid is going to be staying with him permanently. Nanami appears to have a different thought process, two fingers pushing up nonexistent glasses against the bridge of his nose, a habit.
“Considering that you both will be living together for presumably the rest of the season, then yes, I would say it does matter. Anything can happen during that timeframe, and the more information you have, the more prepared you’ll be.”
He knows Nanami is right, but rather than giving him the satisfaction of admitting it, Sukuna gestures with his hand for him to get on with it. Nanami releases a sigh before continuing.
“Chara was born on September 9th in a small town here in the state of Texas. At nine years old, she was adopted by the Dreemurrs who lived here in Austin.”
Sukuna is nothing if not observant; he doesn’t miss the way Nanami skips over the eight-year gap between Chara’s birth and the day she was adopted. But that’s a thought to mull over later, when he’s more in the mood to investigate. Right now, he just wants to get this meeting over with.
“She performs well in school,” Nanami continues. “Her grades are above average, not to mention, she has a talent for art. Last school year she won first place in an art competition, and the year before that, she won second place.”
Nanami pulls a drawer out from his desk before grabbing what appears to be a photo. He pushes it across the table for Sukuna to view.
“Here is a photo of her.”
Sukuna leans forward, getting his first look at the orphan.
She’s White. Or at least, she looks White. She has to be part Japanese given their blood relation, but he would never guess that they were in the same family by appearance alone. They look nothing alike.
“You’ll get to meet her in person relatively soon,” says Nanami. “Just keep in mind that Chara may be cautious of you in the very beginning. I’ve known her since she was first introduced to our program three years ago. She’s a good kid, but I should mention that in the past, she has struggled with behavioral issues.”
That catches Sukuna’s attention. He eyes the man closely, searching for any hidden clues involving this kid’s past behavior.
“Go on.”
“Our main concern is her emotional regulation: dissociation, mood swings, and at times, violent tendencies. We suspect this behavior was developed prior to her adoption. I won’t delve too much into it—what’s important is that these issues have decreased significantly within the past three years. That’s why it would be best for her to move into a stable environment as quickly as possible, to avoid her regressing back to those earlier stages.”
He absorbs the information, tucking it away in case he needs it later. He then leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest.
“Is that all?”
Nanami frowns, and Sukuna gets the sense that the man isn’t pleased with how nonchalant he’s being given what the man just divulged to him. He releases another sigh, this one heavier than the last, like a man way too overworked to deal with this. Sukuna almost pities him. Almost.
“It seems we’ve covered the basics, yes,” says Nanami. “Once you sign the paperwork, we can begin making arrangements to have Chara move in with you.”
“How long will that take?”
“It depends on how long it takes for you to sign your name on a piece of paper.”
“Not that, smartass, I’m talking about the moving part.”
Nanami flips through a small planner on his desk, calculating.
“We’ll be transferring her into your care three days from now.”
Three days. That should be enough time for him to set up, and by that, he means converting his current workout room into a bedroom for the kid to stay in. He’ll have to pick up a mattress, maybe a dresser, too.
This brat better be grateful.
Now that he thinks about it, he has no idea what the kid’s thoughts are regarding this arrangement.
“Does she know about all of—” Sukuna waves his hand around him. “—this?”
“I’ve spoken to her, yes. She’s aware that a single man and distant relative of hers has volunteered to foster her for the time being.”
“And?”
Nanami quirks an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t expecting you to care about her opinion.”
“Don’t be naïve. I just need to know if she’s gonna cooperate on the drive home, ‘cause if not, I’ll pack duct tape.”
“Duct… tape?”
“To tie her down.”
“Please take this seriously, Mr. Ita—Sukuna.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
Nanami clears his throat before calmly responding.
“She is accepting of the situation. I assume she understands that her options are limited and that this is the best plan for her right now. She’s a smart kid, I’m sure she won’t give you any trouble, but even if she were to, I urge you to be delicate when handling her.”
Sukuna doesn’t mention that delicate is the furthest thing from what he is, and instead, pulls out a box of cigarettes from his back pocket.
“We’ll see.”
Nanami watches in disbelief as Sukuna lights one of the cigarettes.
“Sir, you cannot smoke in here.”
Sukuna takes a long drag of his cigarette before nonchalantly releasing the smoke straight towards Nanami.
“Or what? Gonna call the cops?”
Nanami’s bottom eyelid twitches, a crack in his stoic composure. Sukuna flashes him a self-satisfied grin, then, picking up a pen, begins to sign the paperwork.
It’s three days later when he finally meets her.
His alarm goes off at 6 AM, two hours before his scheduled pickup time. He drags himself out of bed, takes a shower, brushes his teeth, then throws on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Afterwards, he fixes himself a quick breakfast, pulls on his boots, and heads out of the apartment. A black Ford F-150 awaits him in the parking lot, somewhat new and fully functional.
He arrives at the CPS building at precisely 7:47 AM.
Already he sees Nanami standing in front of the building, chatting with a smaller figure. Both heads turn as he pulls up, hip-hop blasting from his speakers. He parks the truck, music cutting off the moment his keys are removed from the ignition. Hands shoved in his pockets, he makes his way over to the pair, his steps unhurried.
“You’re here early,” says Nanami, and for a moment, he thinks the man might be mistaking his punctuality for thoughtfulness.
“I’ve got shit to do,” Sukuna says bluntly.
Nanami sighs.
“Right. In any case, let me introduce you. Chara, this is Sukuna Itadori. As we discussed, he’s going to be your temporary caretaker starting today.”
Chara looks up at him then. She looks the same as she did in the photo Nanami showed him: brown eyes, straight hair in a bob cut, light skin. Just a regular child. He watches as she awkwardly fidgets with the straps of the backpack she’s carrying, studying him from head to toe. When she reaches the tattoo bands around his wrists, her gaze lingers.
Sukuna feels his lips tug back into a sharp smirk.
“My eyes are up here, brat.”
Her eyes dart back towards his face, shoulders tensing like a deer caught in headlights. At least he gets some amusement from seeing her embarrassed.
Before things could get any more awkward, Nanami clears his throat, then addresses Chara.
“Do you have everything you need? Your phone, toothbrush, clothes?”
Chara readjusts her backpack before responding.
“Yeah, everything’s here.”
“Good. You have my number should you ever need to contact me. Be safe, okay?”
“I will. Bye, Mr. Nanami.”
Her voice sounds innocent as she bids farewell to him, and like a complete sap, Nanami’s stoic composure crumbles, his expression becoming softer. Disgusting, Sukuna thinks to himself.
“Goodbye, Chara,” says Nanami.
Afterwards, Chara begins heading over to his truck parked near the curb. Sukuna barely takes two steps before Nanami calls out to him.
“Sukuna.”
His feet stop, though he doesn’t bother to turn around as he waits to hear what the man has to say. There’s a moment of hesitation before Nanami speaks.
“Please be careful with her.”
Another instance of vulnerability in the otherwise unmovable man that is Nanami Kento. It would be easy for Sukuna to take advantage of that, to make him regret ever entrusting Sukuna with this task. No one tells him what to do.
Still, he refrains, for now.
“If you’re so worried, why don’t you adopt her yourself?” says Sukuna.
“This line of work hardly allows me enough time to care for myself, let alone care for a child.”
At that, Sukuna raises a brow, looking over his shoulder to eye the well-built, objectively handsome man who, from what he could tell, is also financially stable.
“No housewife?”
Nanami doesn’t so much as blink, stone-faced.
“I don’t have time for dating.”
Of course this guy’s a workaholic. Sukuna never understood the appeal of a desk job; he’d much rather put up with drunk idiots wanting shitty tattoos than sit in front of a computer all day long. That was more Jin’s speed.
Unlike Sukuna, Jin preferred the simpler life: a 9-to-5 job, a nice house in the suburbs, a loving wife. Then he and his wife had a child, and Jin couldn’t have been happier. One big happy family.
Sukuna knew he had no place in that world.
He pushes the thought aside before facing forward again, waving a dismissive hand.
“The kid will survive. Now quit bugging me before I change my mind.”
Nanami doesn’t say anything else, and Sukuna doesn’t bother checking behind him to see if his words actually convinced the man—he doesn’t care either way. When Sukuna approaches the truck, which he left unlocked, he finds Chara already in the passenger seat, while her backpack lies in the backseat. He doesn’t comment on either.
He climbs into the driver’s seat, sticks the key into the ignition, and begins the thirty-minute drive back to the apartment.
Neither of them says a word during the ride home, hip-hop bumping through the speakers.
Sukuna tries to ignore the kid’s presence as he focuses on the road. Music fills his ears, the bass vibrating through his limbs. It’s enough to occupy his senses, drowning out thoughts he deems pointless or unnecessary. He hates thinking about meaningless things. So he chooses to absorb himself in the fast pace lyrics, in the unapologetic energy that resonates from vulgarity woven in rhythm.
It’s a temporary distraction, and inevitably, his mind wanders. He thinks about how much he’s loathing his shift at the tattoo shop today and briefly considers calling out before deciding against it. He thinks about what he’s going to make for dinner tonight—he'll have to take the chicken breast out of the freezer so it can thaw. He thinks about the individual sitting in the passenger seat, who hasn’t spoken a word since they left the CPS office, hasn’t questioned how long the drive is or complained about the volume of the music or—hasn't commented on anything, really.
After ten minutes, he finally glances at Chara from the corner of his eye.
She’s gazing out the passenger side window, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. He’s struck with the realization that he’s never had a person so small ride in his truck before. Only once did Yuji ride in his truck—it was the day of Wasuke’s funeral, which Sukuna had been practically forced to attend, what with him being one of the few Itadoris left in their so-called family. By then, Yuji had been a teenager, taller and older than Chara. He'd been gazing out of the window that day, too, neither of them speaking a word.
When they finally reach the apartment, Sukuna unlocks the front door and steps inside, taking off his boots and replacing them with slides. Meanwhile, Chara stands at the doorway, backpack on her shoulders as she looks around the room.
“Leave your shoes at the door, brat.”
“It’s Chara.”
It’s the first time she’s spoken directly to Sukuna, and of course, it’s to correct him. He elects to ignore her as he stands near the couch, arms crossed, watching Chara carefully remove her boots before leaving them by the door, right beside his. She then approaches him, looking up at him expectantly.
An awkward moment ensues as Sukuna struggles to determine what he’s meant to do next. Very rarely does he have guests in his apartment, and not once has he had a roommate.
The reality of the situation hits him: he has to keep this kid alive for the next few months, potentially longer if CPS doesn’t find a suitable home for her within the anticipated timeframe. He’ll have to reconsider his budget and maybe pick up a few extra shifts at the tattoo shop if needed.
According to Nanami, the state will be issuing him a stipend of $800 a month. Not horrible, but probably won’t cover everything, and he’s already refused Nanami’s offer to pay him personally—last thing he needs is some desk drone thinking Sukuna isn’t capable of earning his own money. Worst-case scenario, he’ll have to dip into his savings account. It’s not ideal, but at least he has a backup plan.
His thoughts are interrupted as Chara shifts her weight, eyes darting away from him.
“Uh…” There’s confusion and uncertainty in her voice. “Aren’t you gonna show me around?”
Sukuna raises a brow. He doesn’t see why she would need a tour; the apartment isn't that big. On the other hand, it does give them something to do before his shift starts, which is better than standing in awkward silence.
He gestures lazily around him.
“Living room. TV’s got cable, feel free to watch it, or don’t, I don’t care. Just be sure to keep the volume down while I’m trying to sleep, and don’t eat or drink on my couch. If I see a single stain, you’re scrubbing it out, got it?”
Chara nods wordlessly. Good. Obedience means they’re off to a great start.
He continues the tour as he leads her to the adjacent kitchen. While he’s there, he takes a pack of chicken breast from the freezer and leaves in the sink, allowing it to thaw for tonight’s dinner.
“Here’s the kitchen. Dishes are in the top right cabinets, food is to the left, and there’s the fridge. Make sure you clean up whatever you use and don’t leave dirty dishes lying around. This ain’t a pigsty.”
He leads her to the bathroom next, opening the door to reveal a tub with a shower head, a toilet, and a sink.
“Bathroom. Pretty self-explanatory. Shower knob is broken, you can use the pliers on top of the toilet tank to turn it on for now.”
He brings her to the spare bedroom which he had been using as a workout room prior to this arrangement. A full-size bed, a dresser, and a nightstand have all been placed inside. Included with the room is a single window and a small closet. Other than that, the room is unremarkable.
“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” says Sukuna.
Chara steps into the bedroom, a glint of curiosity in her eyes as she looks around. He observes her for a moment, taking in her expression. Eventually, he tears his gaze away and heads back to the hallway, expecting her to follow. She does.
One last area remains: his bedroom. Rather than entering it, however, he merely points towards the door at the end of the hall.
“My room is off limits. That means don’t go snooping in there while I’m at work, and if I am home, don’t bother me unless it’s an emergency.”
Chara doesn’t respond, though she seems to get the message. Having completed the tour, Sukuna and Chara return to the living room.
“Alright, you’ve seen the place,” says Sukuna. “Now let’s lay out some ground rules.”
“Seems like you’ve laid out several rules already,” Chara replies dryly.
A sharp grin stretches across his face.
“Smartass, aren’t cha? Maybe I’m being generous by calling ‘em rules. You should think of them as warnings instead. I don’t have the patience to deal with spoiled brats, and trust me when I say this…”
He leans forward slightly, his next words slicing through the air like a blade.
“I’ve got no issue canceling this deal and sending you back to that social worker. I couldn’t care less that your mommy and daddy died. Are we clear?”
Chara tenses, her face hardening with anger. So she does have some fire in her. He’s reminded of what Nanami mentioned about her past behavior, the alleged mood swings and violent tendencies.
He leans closer, staring directly into her defiant eyes. A silent dare.
“I said are we clear?”
Her jaw clenches, hands tightening around the straps of her backpack. Finally, she caves.
“…Crystal.”
He smirks before slowly raising his hand, giving her a mocking pat on the head.
“You’re catching on quick. Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”
Chara glares at him. Sukuna pays it no mind—if anything, it amuses him more. Then he retracts his hand, the humor fading.
“First rule,” he continues, “keep the doors and windows locked. That means do not open the door for anybody. I don’t care who they say they are, if it’s not me, then that door stays closed.”
“Second rule: don’t leave the apartment unless I say so. This ain’t your friendly neighborhood in the suburbs, so don’t go wandering out in the streets by yourself, unless you’re looking to get kidnapped. Lastly…”
He pauses, considering. Soon he decides.
“Don’t be an idiot. Any questions?”
Chara gives a small shake of her head, eyes trained to the floor. Where before she appeared nervous, now she appears resigned. It’s for the best. The sooner she accepts this situation, the better the chances of her adapting. That’s what separates the strong from the weak: the willingness to adapt. It’s a hard lesson Sukuna learned from a young age, back when he was weak, dependent. If Chara is lucky, she’ll learn that lesson early on, too.
He crouches until they’re nearly the same height, prompting Chara to look up, their eyes leveling.
“It’s a simple gig,” says Sukuna. “You get a roof over your head, food, and functional water pipes. All you gotta do to maintain this is keep quiet and stay out of the way for the next few months until some couple with a savior complex decides to take you in. I’m sure you can manage that much.”
He checks the time on his phone. If he leaves now, he can make it to the tattoo shop before his shift starts.
“I’m heading to work. Don’t forget what I told you.”
He doesn’t specify which part, because really, he means all of it. Chara says nothing as Sukuna prepares to leave, pulling on his boots before grabbing his car keys.
He locks the door behind him, and for a moment, just stands there.
No one else has ever been left alone in his apartment aside from him.
It’s disconcerting, for what reason, he isn’t sure. He’s never liked other people invading his space, yet he’s allowing a stranger to live in his home indefinitely. There’s a nagging feeling in his head that he’s not in control so long as he isn’t around to monitor the kid. For all he knows, she might decide to book it the moment he’s not around.
He shakes off the thought. If Chara decides to run away, then so be it. Not his problem.
He hops into his truck and heads to work, the image of curious brown eyes lingering in his mind.
Chara dumps her backpack on the floor, then proceeds to flop down on the bed, staring up at the bare ceiling.
Everything is happening so fast.
First the fire, then the funeral, and now, this.
When Nanami first described the man who would be fostering her, she felt suspicious. He mentioned Sukuna’s criminal history, and after seeing the photos of him, she believed it. Nanami emphasized that he wasn’t trying to scare her, but also didn’t wish to keep secrets from her. She believed that, too. Out of all the social workers she’s met, Nanami has always been the most honest, which is why she trusts him and no one else.
So when Nanami tells her that Sukuna is her distant relative, that he isn’t going to cause her any serious harm, she agrees to go along with his plan, not because she believes that second part, but because she doesn’t want to cause Nanami any more trouble than she already has.
After a moment of contemplation, Chara unzips her backpack and begins unpacking her stuff. It’s not much: basic hygiene materials, clothes, her headphones, and hidden at the very bottom, her kitchen knife that not even Nanami knows about. The knife has been with her ever since she ran away from her hometown over three years ago. She doesn’t intend to get rid of it anytime soon.
She finishes putting her clothes in the dresser relatively quickly. Unsure of what else to do, she sits on the edge of the bed and thinks.
Most of her stuff got lost in the fire, including her sketchbook and gaming consoles. She could play on her phone, but she’s really not in the mood for that.
She misses her parents.
She misses Asriel.
Too tired to think about that, she lies back down and closes her eyes. Her last thought before falling asleep is of an intimidating man who looks nothing like her, with dark tattoos curling around his wrists.