Chapter Text
Chapter One
Yuji inhaled slowly, his chest rising as he slowly came to awareness. The dim glow of a clock reflected off the scars on his chest and abdomen. They crisscrossed across his chest and ribcage, lower to his hips before disappearing beneath the low-slung blanket.
Those scars held memories.
He knew every line—he knew why. He remembered the pain of every cursed slash. He remembered every warm splatter of blood. Not even his face had been spared.
So much had come to light. Truth and lies.
The bed shifted beside him; a warm body turned and curled close against his side. Yuji turned his head, his eyes moving over the woman whose bed he'd shared last night. Memories of the night before moved through his mind.
Warm kisses that turned messy with need. The way she had kissed her way down his scars—the way he had dragged her body upward when he was suddenly impatient to be inside her. She didn't mean anything to him. Erica? Or was it Veronica? Yuji couldn't remember her name.
Not that it mattered.
She was just a warm body. No different than those who had come before her.
He didn't care. His heart had long since hardened past the thought of caring. He'd lost too much to care. He couldn't care.
How could he, when he had to watch everyone he loved grow old and die?
Something he would never experience.
Yuji sat up slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed as he ran a hand through his already messy hair. He didn't age. He was immortal.
Like Sukuna, he could be killed. He just didn't age.
But who could kill him?
It was an unsettling thought.
He simply…lived.
Day to day.
Never aging.
Never changing.
Never moving forward.
Life moved on without him.
Or maybe he left life behind.
He wasn't sure which one.
He looked over his shoulder, vaguely aware that his hand had moved, dark violet nails trailing over a feminine thigh, upward over a hip—black tattoo like marks circling his wrist.
Yuji turned his head and looked in the mirror across the room. Sukuna's reflection stared back at him. Burning eyes, the facial markings that signified the King of Curses. His own reflection smiled back at him. "I'm not done." Sukuna's voice.
Yuji looked away and drew his hand away from the sleeping female behind him—just as naked as he was. "You had your fun last night." Yuji's voice.
And he had.
He'd despised Sukuna in his youth.
And wasn't it ironic that now he accepted him?
Sukuna was as much a part of him as he was a part of the King of Curses. Sukuna was a part of him.
He'd been born for the sole purpose of being a vessel.
It all made sense. Everything had come full circle.
But that didn't mean his soul wasn't stained in the process. Because he remembered everything Sukuna had done—every murderous intent that his hands had been used for.
But that was why he was a vessel, right?
Because he could control Sukuna.
They coincided within each other.
That was the simple truth.
The ugly truth.
Yuji stood in the semi darkness, uncaring of his nakedness as he leaned down to pick up his discarded pants. He dressed in silence and then tugged his shirt over his head. He laced his shoes silently and then stood to leave. He turned silently and picked up the phone at the foot of the bed. His thumb slid along the screen, scrolling downward. The light briefly illuminated his face.
He deleted his number and tossed the phone back onto the bed before slipping out of the room.
It was the last place he should be. Public. Sterile. The scent of bleach assaulted his nostrils as he strolled down the door lined hallway, his hands in his pockets, his head hung.
He hated hospitals.
He hated the sick and the dying.
He hated the reminder that he would never experience those things. It was the last thing that his grandfather had asked of him, and it was the last promise he'd broken.
One would think security would stop him; a suspicious character with his face hidden beneath the hood of his jacket. But no one gave him a second look. No one questioned his silent steps. He had that way about himself, didn't he? He didn't draw attention. He wasn't loud. He didn't stop at the desk. He knew where he was going. The nurse looked up and smiled; Yuji didn't even acknowledge her. He didn't need to.
He honestly didn't care to.
As if they could stop him.
The cameras would give him away, he knew.
Not that he cared.
His steps slowed as he reached the end of the hallway and then turned to the room on the right. He didn't bother knocking; he never did.
He simply opened the door and entered.
The hospital room was as he'd left it. Silent and neat. Except the rooms occupant was not asleep.
Yuji lowered the hood of his jacket.
Megumi looked up from the book he'd been reading, annoyance crossing his face. "You can't keep coming here, Yuji."
"So you keep telling me." Yuji said. "You're welcome for the book, by the way."
Annoyance and something very close to affection.
Megumi looked down at the book in his hands, his knees shifting under the thin hospital blanket. "Thank you."
Yuji sank into one of the chairs surrounding the bed and lifted one ankle to rest over the other knee. "How you feelin'?"
Megumi shrugged. "Like shit."
"You look like shit." Yuji retorted.
"Gee, thanks."
Yuji's lips twitched, though the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes.
His friend had aged. Lines creased eyes and his lips, the center of his forehead when he frowned too hard. His hair was no longer the rich black it had once been. It was laced heavily with gray. He looked the same, but older. Life had taken its toll on Megumi—and Yuji hated it. He wanted nothing more than to experience that with his friend.
But all he could do was watch.
His childhood friend was dying.
Yuji could save himself the torture and walk away from it all, but he owed his friend that much. He'd be damned if he wasn't there until the bitter end. It was sad. He hadn't aged a day in more than twenty years. But Megumi…
"Stop it, Yuji." Megumi said softly.
Yuji lowered his head, his legs shifting apart to hang his hands between. Of course, Megumi knew what he was thinking.
Yuji still blamed himself for so many things.
He blamed himself for not aging.
He blamed himself for Megumi being sick. There should have been something he could do. He was immortal; why couldn't he do anything?
Someone knocked briefly on the outside of the door before it opened. Shoes padded softly and Yuji saw blue out of the corner of his eyes—a nurse.
"I'm on my break, Papa. Just thought I'd come and check on you. I thought maybe we could have lunch together. I brought you Salmon; lots of ginger—" The feminine voice trailed off. "Oh." She said. Just that. OH. Caught off guard. "I didn't know you had company. I'm sorry."
Wait.
Yuji's head jerked up.
WAIT. Did he just hear her right?
Megumi shook his head. "It's ok, Kagome. Lunch is fine." He shifted his legs over and patted the bed.
Yuji stared at the woman dumb founded. And then his gaze jerked to Megumi.
Megumi had a daughter?!
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