Chapter Text
The summer night was still when Yuji heard the faint creak of the door, signaling Sukuna’s return. Yuji lay sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly through his feed. The faint blue glow of the screen illuminated his face, masking the slight flicker of curiosity in his eyes when the door clicked shut. He didn’t look up at first; there was no need. He could already picture Sukuna – shirt rumpled, hair mussed like he’d nervously raked his hands through it one too many times. He always looked like that after a date.
Yuji thumbed idly at the screen, pretending he hadn’t noticed the faint thud of shoes skidding across the floor.
“How’d it go?” he asked, his voice steady and nonchalant, though a trace of genuine interest lurked beneath the surface.
Sukuna’s chuckle broke the quiet, tired yet easy, the way it always sounded when he came home late.
“She was nice,” he said, his voice drifting toward Yuji as he tossed his jacket onto the nearest chair. “But… I think she’s looking for something more serious.”
Yuji finally looked up, locking eyes with Sukuna. He studied him for a moment – the faint slump in his shoulders, the way his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. The corners of Yuji’s mouth quirked up in a smirk as he set his phone down.
“And you’re not serious?” he teased, arching an eyebrow.
Sukuna laughed, the sound warm and self-aware, as he flopped onto the couch beside Yuji. His exhaustion was palpable, yet his grin was as carefree as ever.
“You know me,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not like that.”
Yuji nodded, the smirk lingering. He understood without needing an explanation. The conversation drifted into the background as they sat together in comfortable silence, the night wrapping around them like a familiar blanket.
A few nights later, Yuji found himself stumbling through the front door, the chill of the night clinging to his skin and the sharp tang of alcohol still on his tongue. His steps were uneven, and his hair was wild, swept up and tousled by the wind. He closed the door behind him with more force than he meant to, wincing at the sound.
The house was mostly dark, save for the faint amber glow of a lamp from Sukuna’s bedroom. Yuji’s pulse quickened slightly as he kicked off his shoes, the familiar thud grounding him. He swayed for a moment, his hand brushing against the wall to steady himself. The night had been fun, sure, but there was something hollow in the way it ended – a feeling he hadn’t been able to shake no matter how many drinks he’d had.
He made his way to the bedroom, his movements clumsy but quiet. Sukuna was half-asleep, his form barely visible beneath the covers. His eyes fluttered open as Yuji approached, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
“Good night?” Sukuna asked, his voice thick with sleep.
Yuji shrugged, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “Yeah, it was nice,” he mumbled, the words heavy on his tongue. Nice was the easiest answer, the safest one.
He slid under the covers, feeling the warmth of Sukuna’s presence beside him. Before he could overthink it, Sukuna’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. Yuji exhaled deeply, the tension leaving his body as he sank into the embrace. It was moments like these – quiet, unspoken – that anchored him in ways he couldn’t fully understand.
His eyes closed, and for the first time that night, the restless hum in his mind stilled.
The next morning, Yuji woke to the space beside him empty, the sheets already cool. Sukuna was up, probably bustling around the house, getting things in order for the big move. Yuji rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. A few moments passed before his gaze drifted to the wall, where a handful of framed photos hung. There was one of them as kids, grinning wide with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders after winning some meaningless neighborhood soccer game. Another captured a more recent memory, both of them standing on the pier at sunset, Sukuna holding a fish they’d caught together.
Yuji swallowed hard. The truth hit him like a punch to the gut, harder than he’d ever admit out loud: Sukuna was leaving for college in just a few days. The thought wrapped itself around his chest, squeezing tighter with each breath.
He tried to shake it off, but his mind refused to let go. What would the house feel like without Sukuna? Too quiet, he thought. Too empty. The idea made his stomach churn. He clenched his fists under the covers, forcing himself to focus on the faint sounds of Sukuna moving around somewhere in the house.
“Hey,” Sukuna’s voice called from the hallway, cutting through the silence. “You awake?”
Yuji took a moment to compose himself, forcing a casualness he didn’t feel. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice steady – he hoped.
Sukuna appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his signature easy confidence. “You look terrible.”
Yuji snorted, but the laugh felt hollow. “Thanks. Just tired, I guess.”
“Right.” Sukuna stepped inside, his expression softening as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re bummed about me leaving, aren’t you?”
Bummed was an understatement, but Yuji shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling. “It’s just college. You’ll be fine.”
Sukuna tilted his head, studying him. “Yeah, but I’m not the one stuck at home.”
The words landed like a brick in Yuji’s gut. Stuck. That’s exactly how he felt – like life was moving forward for everyone but him. He tried to shrug it off again, though it felt like his heart was sliding out of his chest. “It’s no big deal. You’ll be busy with classes and stuff.”
Sukuna grinned, nudging his arm. “Please. College is just a series of parties with a bit of studying thrown in. You think I’m gonna forget about my little brother? Not a chance.”
The words stung, though not in the way Yuji expected. Sukuna made it sound so easy, like distance wouldn’t matter, like things wouldn’t change. But Yuji wasn’t so sure.
He rolled his eyes, pushing down the lump rising in his throat. “Right, parties. Sounds great for you. Meanwhile, I’ll be here... by myself.”
Sukuna’s grin faded, replaced by something gentler, more understanding. “Come on, lighten up. I’ll definitely invite you to the best ones. You’ll be my VIP guest.”
Yuji forced a laugh. “Sure. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“No, seriously. Trust me.” Sukuna leaned forward, his voice earnest. “You’re my brother. Just because I’m in a different place doesn’t mean you’re out of my life. We’ll find a way to make it work.”
Yuji wanted to believe him, but the fear of being left behind gnawed at him. He hated himself for feeling this way – so needy, so uncertain. “What if you’re too busy to hang out?” he said, barely above a whisper.
“I won’t be,” Sukuna said firmly. “And even if things get crazy, you’re my brother. That doesn’t change just because I’m a few hours away.”
The sincerity in Sukuna’s voice eased some of the tightness in Yuji’s chest, but not all of it. He wanted to cling to those words, to let them shield him from the fear creeping up his spine. “I guess. It’s just hard to imagine everything changing.”
Sukuna nodded, his gaze steady. “Yeah, it is. But change doesn’t have to be bad. Think of all the new stuff we’ll get to share. You’ll have your stories, and I’ll have mine. It’s not goodbye. We'll see each other.”
Something about the way he said it – calm, certain – made the weight on Yuji’s chest lift, just a little. He let out a long breath. “Okay. I’ll try to keep that in mind.” He hesitated before adding, “And I’m holding you to that party invite.”
“Absolutely,” Sukuna said, standing up and ruffling Yuji’s hair on his way to the door. “Now get some more sleep. I’ll be making a list of all the things we need to do once I’m settled in.”
Yuji watched him leave, the door clicking softly shut behind him. The room felt darker now, but not as suffocating. He lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
The day finally came, creeping up faster than Yuji had anticipated. The house felt unnaturally still that morning, as if it too was holding its breath, unwilling to let go. Yuji dragged himself out of bed, rubbing at his eyes, trying to shake the fog of sleep and denial. Downstairs, Sukuna was already packing up the last of his things, his bag open on the couch, items spilling out in a disorganized mess that somehow still looked like him.
Yuji lingered on the stairs for a moment, watching Sukuna move about, folding clothes, checking his phone, glancing around the room as if mentally cataloging everything he’d miss. It was surreal, this moment he’d thought about for so long – But now it was real. Sukuna was leaving.
Sukuna looked up, catching sight of Yuji standing there, and broke into a smile. “Hey, man,” he said, as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks instead of just a few hours. “I thought you’d sleep through the whole morning.”
Yuji forced a grin and made his way down the steps, moving slower than usual, as if each step were holding him back. “And miss your last-minute packing crisis? Not a chance,” he quipped, reaching out to swipe one of Sukuna’s shirts from the pile, folding it absentmindedly before adding it to the bag.
Sukuna chuckled. “You think I’m a mess now? Wait until I’m actually at college.”
For a while, they bantered back and forth, like any other morning. But the weight of the day hung in the air, unspoken but heavy. Eventually, the house fell silent again as Sukuna zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. The finality of that sound was like a punch to Yuji’s gut, and he struggled to keep his face composed, forcing his gaze to stay steady as he watched Sukuna.
At the door, they stood in silence, neither willing to be the first to say goodbye. Sukuna, his hand resting on the doorframe, looked over at Yuji, his face softening.
“Well,” he began, a hint of awkwardness breaking through his usual confidence. “I guess… this is it.”
Yuji swallowed, his chest tightening as he stared at his brother. He had so many things he wanted to say, things he’d rehearsed in his mind, but now that the moment was here, the words felt too small, too hollow. Instead, he gave Sukuna a quick, tight smile, and managed a simple, “Yeah. This is it.”
Sukuna let out a quiet breath, a kind of bittersweet smile on his lips. He reached out, pulling Yuji into a hug, and for a moment, they just stood there, holding onto each other. Yuji closed his eyes, trying to commit the feeling to memory – the solid warmth of his brother, the familiar the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Sukuna pulled back, his eyes a little brighter than usual, though he was trying to play it off.
“You know,” he said, his voice dropping to a quiet tone, “you can call me anytime. Doesn’t matter what time it is. Even if I don’t pick up right away, I’ll call you back.”
Yuji nodded, barely managing to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, I know.” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Same goes for you. Don’t get too caught up in your fancy college life.”
Sukuna grinned, ruffling Yuji’s hair like he always did, a gesture that suddenly felt both comforting and unbearable. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Who else is going to keep me grounded?”
They exchanged a few more words, each one feeling like a stretch to fill the silence that lay between them. And then, Sukuna turned, stepping out onto the porch, his footsteps echoing faintly. Yuji followed him to the driveway, watching as Sukuna tossed his bag into the trunk of the car, the sound loud in the quiet of the morning.
Sukuna’s hand rested on the driver’s side door, but he paused, looking back one more time.
“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than before, “I meant what I said. This isn’t goodbye. I’ll see you soon.”
Yuji swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod, his throat thick. “I know. See you soon.”
In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Sukuna leaned in closer, their foreheads touching, sharing a breath, an intimacy that felt both tender and agonizing. As he leaned down, Yuji closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of his presence.
Their lips met softly, at first. It was a kiss steeped in memories, a silent acknowledgment of all they had shared; laughter, whispered secrets, dreams woven together under starry skies. But it was also a farewell, tinged with the sadness of things left unsaid and the future that would now be different.
Finally, they pulled away, their foreheads still touching, breaths mingling in the morning air. With one last lingering look, they stepped back, their hands slowly slipping apart.
And then, Sukuna got in the car, the engine rumbling to life with a low, steady hum. Yuji stood at the edge of the driveway, his arms crossed tightly against his chest as though to keep himself from breaking apart. Sukuna rolled down the window, giving a final wave, his grin full of excitement and a flicker of something else – something closer to sadness.
“I’ll call when I get there,” he said over the sound of the engine.
Yuji raised his hand in response, managing a faint smile. His throat felt tight, the words he wanted to say caught somewhere deep inside. Sukuna hesitated for a beat longer, as if he, too, wasn’t quite ready to leave, but then he nodded, shifted the car into gear, and pulled out of the driveway.
Yuji stayed rooted to the spot, watching as the car grew smaller and smaller until it was just a blur, then nothing at all. The road stretched out before him, empty and quiet, the kind of quiet that seemed to seep into everything. The world felt unnaturally still, as if it were holding its breath alongside him.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the empty road, but when he finally turned back toward the house, his legs felt heavy, like he was walking through water. Each step back to the door was harder than the last, the house looming ahead of him, familiar yet unwelcoming.
Inside, the silence hit him harder. It wasn’t the usual calm he’d grown used to on quiet mornings when Sukuna was still asleep. This was different – a hollow silence that seemed to echo off the walls. He walked into the living room, his eyes drifting to the small, forgotten remnants of Sukuna scattered around. A stray sock peeked out from under the couch. A half-empty water bottle sat on the coffee table. An empty coffee mug rested by the sink, its handle chipped slightly at the edge.
Yuji picked up the mug, turning it over in his hands. The smooth ceramic felt cool against his fingertips, and his mind filled with flashes of mornings spent at this very table. Sukuna teasing him about his bedhead, Yuji retaliating with some sarcastic quip, the sound of their laughter filling the room. It was a simple memory, but it felt precious now, like something he wanted to wrap himself in.
With a sigh, he set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against the counter startling in the quiet. “This is just the beginning,” he told himself, his voice barely a whisper. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” He wanted to believe it, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease.
The promises they’d made lingered in his mind – texts, calls, visits – but they felt fragile now, like threads stretched too thin. He knew Sukuna meant them, but as he stood there in the empty house, it was hard not to feel the weight of his absence, a hollow space where his brother used to be.
As he moved toward his room, he caught a glimpse of the hallway wall, lined with photos from their childhood. In one, they were sitting in a pile of autumn leaves, their faces smudged with dirt and their smiles wide with missing teeth. In another, they were in matching striped shirts, Sukuna's arm slung casually around Yuji’s shoulders. The photos felt like windows to a different world, one where they were inseparable, untouched by the inevitability of growing up.
Yuji ran his fingers along the edge of one frame, his chest tightening as he traced the outlines of their younger selves. The memories felt both close and unbearably distant, like something he could almost grasp but not quite hold onto.
Later that night, Yuji lay on his bed, the weight of the day pressing down on him. The room felt impossibly quiet, the kind of silence that amplified every small sound – the creak of the floorboards, the rustle of the trees outside, his own shallow breathing. His phone sat on the nightstand, the screen dark, but he kept glancing at it, half-expecting it to light up with a call or a text from Sukuna.
His fingers hovered over the phone for a moment, tempted to call him, to hear his voice and fill the emptiness. But he stopped himself. Sukuna needed space to settle in, and Yuji didn’t want to seem like he couldn’t handle this.
Instead, he reached for the small bottle on his nightstand, shaking a pill into his palm. The anxiety had been simmering all day, bubbling just beneath the surface, and he knew better than to let it boil over. He swallowed the pill with a sip of water, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue.
As he lay back against the pillows, he tried to focus on the promises Sukuna had made. They’d stay close. They’d make time for each other. They’d find a way to make it work. He clung to those words like a lifeline, repeating them in his mind until the medication began to take the edge off his racing thoughts.
The room was still quiet, but it didn’t feel as suffocating now. Closing his eyes, Yuji allowed himself to imagine Sukuna’s voice on the other end of a phone call, sharing stories about his first day, laughing about something ridiculous.
He spent the first week in a daze, adjusting to the absence of his brother’s teasing remarks and shared laughter. The house felt cavernous without Sukuna’s easy presence, the silence pressing in on him from every corner. Mornings were the hardest. Without Sukuna’s routine – his loud clatter in the kitchen, his off-key humming of some obscure song – everything felt subdued, like the air itself had grown heavier. Yuji would wake up to the pale light filtering through his curtains, the chill of early fall creeping into his bones, and the stark reminder of Sukuna’s absence settling in his chest.
The ritual of making breakfast, once a chaotic affair of competing for the toaster and joking about who’d eaten the last of the cereal, was now subdued. Yuji moved through it like a chore; pouring milk, setting his bowl down, and listening to the lonely clinking of his spoon against the ceramic. Outside, the trees were just beginning to turn, their edges tinged with orange and red, the rustling leaves whispering secrets he couldn’t quite decipher. The hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards were constant companions as he shuffled aimlessly from room to room, the spaces now echoing with emptiness.
When school resumed, Yuji forced himself to rejoin the world. The alarm blared too early each morning, and he’d fumble through his routine, determined to make it to the bus on time. The bus rides were quieter now; no Sukuna beside him, elbowing him awake or ranting about some YouTube video he’d stayed up too late watching. The first few days at school were awkward. The familiar halls felt almost alien without Sukuna’s presence. His brother had been a constant – a laugh in the background, a running commentary on the mundane absurdities of high school life. Without him, the lockers seemed taller, the classrooms colder.
Even surrounded by his friends, Yuji felt off-kilter. They greeted him warmly, but there was an unspoken hesitation in their smiles, a subtle shift in their dynamic. He caught the concerned glances they exchanged when they thought he wasn’t looking, the way their laughter sometimes faltered.
One crisp morning, the golden sunlight streaking through the windows, Nobara called out to him as he approached his locker.
“Hey, Yuji! What’s up?” Her voice was bright, her smile a burst of energy in the muted world around him.
Yuji looked up, grateful for her effort. “Hey,” he replied, forcing his lips into a semblance of a smile. The warmth of her presence was appreciated, even if it couldn’t completely fill the void. They fell into easy conversation, her quick wit and animated gestures drawing him out of his fog. Around them, the buzz of students echoed off the lockers, the smell of floor wax and faint autumn air mingling in the crowded hall. For a moment, Yuji let himself be carried by the flow of their chatter, laughing at her dramatic retelling of a failed chemistry experiment.
But even then, a part of him stayed tethered to the emptiness. Laughter came, but it felt lighter now, lacking the weight of shared history. The cafeteria, the classrooms, even the soccer field – all carried traces of Sukuna, like the ghost of his presence had been imprinted into the world Yuji now had to navigate alone.
As time passed, Yuji needed more and more distractions to keep it together, and that’s exactly how he ended up in a crowded mall on a Friday evening. The mall was alive with energy, a hive of activity on a cool evening. Families bustled between shops, teens huddled in groups, and couples strolled hand in hand. Yuji walked slowly, his eyes scanning the sea of faces. Neon lights from the storefronts cast an artificial glow, reflecting off the polished floors. The murmur of voices mixed with the faint strains of music piped through the overhead speakers, creating a comforting hum. It was noise he didn’t have to think about, noise that drowned out the tumult inside his head.
By the fountain in the center of the mall, he spotted Kai. Tall and handsome, Kai leaned casually against the stone edge, his smile as bright as the lights that shimmered in the water below. Yuji hesitated, nerves fluttering in his chest. On the dating app he’d lied to Kai about his age – something he told himself didn’t matter, even though it tugged at the back of his mind. What difference did a few years make when this wasn’t about forever?
With a deep breath, Yuji approached, plastering a smile on his face. His heart raced, though not for the reasons Kai might have hoped. He wasn’t here for love, or even attraction. He was here because the silence of his empty house had become unbearable. The solitude felt suffocating, each moment alone another reminder of the weight he couldn’t shake. Kai was a distraction, a way to fill the void, even if only for an evening.
“Hey,” Kai said warmly, straightening as Yuji came closer.
“Hey,” Yuji replied, forcing his voice to sound casual. His smile felt tight, his body stiff.
Kai didn’t seem to notice. “I’m glad you made it,” he said, his tone light. “I was starting to think you were going to bail.”
Yuji shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
They began to walk, Kai leading the way through the mall’s winding corridors. He pointed out stores as they passed – a trendy clothing boutique, a gadget shop with a display of blinking electronics, a bakery with rows of frosted pastries in the window. Kai chatted easily, his voice a steady stream of commentary, but Yuji only half-listened. He nodded and murmured agreement when it seemed appropriate, his gaze drifting to the people around them. Strangers moved with purpose, laughter and conversation trailing in their wake. Yuji envied their ease, their apparent lack of struggle.
When they reached the movie theater, Kai stopped and gestured toward the glowing entrance. “Wanna catch something?” he asked.
Yuji seized on the suggestion with a spark of enthusiasm. “Sure. Sounds good.”
They bought tickets for the next showing and stepped inside the theater’s cool, dim interior. The smell of buttered popcorn was thick in the air, mingling with the faint scent of spilled soda. The world outside seemed to fade as they found their seats, the darkness offering a brief respite.
As the previews rolled, they talked in low voices about movies they’d seen, Kai’s remarks punctuated by Yuji’s occasional chuckles. But when the feature began, the conversation ceased. Yuji tried to focus on the screen, but the images blurred together, the dialogue muffled by the noise in his mind. He was too aware of the tightness in his chest, the thoughts pressing in from all sides.
At some point, Kai’s hand found his, warm and steady. Yuji squeezed it, not out of affection, but because it tethered him to the present. He closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to stay grounded, to let the film’s flickering light distract him the way he’d hoped it would.
When the credits rolled, Kai stretched and turned to him with a grin. “Food? I’m starving.”
Yuji nodded. “Yeah, let’s grab something.” The thought of going home – of facing the stillness – was unbearable.
They wandered to a quiet restaurant tucked into a corner of the mall. The soft glow of its hanging lights and the low hum of conversation made it feel inviting, almost intimate. They slid into a booth, the leather cool against Yuji’s skin. Kai launched into a story about his week at work, his tone animated as he gestured with his hands. Yuji nodded along, offering polite responses, but his mind was elsewhere.
When the food arrived, Yuji picked at his plate, the aroma doing little to stir his appetite. His fork scraped against the plastic as he moved the food around, the sight of it blurring as his thoughts turned inward.
Kai noticed, his voice softening. “Hey, you okay?”
Yuji looked up, startled by the concern in Kai’s eyes. He forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Just… stressed, I guess.”
Kai nodded, his brow furrowing. “Want to talk about it?”
Yuji shook his head quickly. “It’s nothing. Really.”
Kai didn’t push. Instead, he reached across the table and took Yuji’s hand again, his grip firm and reassuring. “If you ever want to, I’m here.”
Yuji’s chest tightened, the kindness almost too much to bear. He nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
The moment Kai suggested they go back to his place, Yuji felt a jolt of relief. The idea of being alone in his own head was unbearable. He nodded in agreement, and they finished their meal in a companionable silence. The ride to Kai's apartment was short, but it felt like an eternity. Yuji's heart thudded in his chest, the anticipation of the distraction he desperately needed pulsing through his veins.
When they arrived, Kai fumbled with his keys, the jingling sound punctuating the silence. Kai's place was exactly what Yuji expected: clean, modern, and impersonal. It smelled faintly of cologne and something else – something that made Yuji's stomach flip.
"How about we watch a movie?" Kai suggested, trying to fill the space between them with something other than awkwardness.
"Sure," Yuji said, a little unenthusiastically, his eyes scanning the space.
They settled on the couch, Kai's arm draped casually over Yuji's shoulders as he navigated the endless sea of streaming options. Yuji felt the warmth of Kai's body pressing into him, a stark contrast to the coldness he'd felt outside. He allowed the familiarity, his own arm resting on the couch's armrest, a slight distance between them. The TV's light reflected off the ceiling, painting the room in a flickering blue.
As the minutes ticked by, Yuji's patience grew thin. His eyes kept darting from the screen to Kai's profile.
Without a word, he dropped to his knees, unbuckled Kai's belt, and pulled his cock out. Yuji took it in his mouth, eager to feel anything.
Kai's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't protest. He leaned back against the couch, watching as Yuji took him deep, his hands in Yuji's hair, guiding him in a rhythm that grew more frantic with each passing second. The muscles in Kai's thighs tensed, and his breath grew ragged. Yuji focused on the task at hand, blocking out everything else. He could feel the tension in Kai's body, the way he responded to each stroke of Yuji's tongue. It was a heady feeling, one that made Yuji feel alive, if only for a brief moment.
But just as Kai's grip tightened and Yuji felt him approaching the brink, he pulled away, leaving Kai panting and needy. "Strip," Yuji said, his voice firm. Kai complied, his pants falling to the floor in a heap. He lay down on the couch, his cock still hard, a silent plea for Yuji to continue.
Yuji straddled Kai, his legs on either side of him, his own pants already discarded. He reached into his hoodie’s pocket, pulling out a condom and a small bottle of lube. He rolled the condom onto Kai’s cock, watching as Kai's eyes fluttered close, his hips rising slightly to meet the touch.
Yuji squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. Quickly, his hand moved to his own body, his fingers sliding between his cheeks. He'd done this before – used sex as an escape – but tonight it felt different. The pain was sharper, the need more desperate. He pushed a finger inside, his breath catching in his throat. The sensation was foreign, a stark contrast to the numbness he'd been feeling lately. He added another, moving them in and out, stretching himself open. Kai's eyes snapped open, watching with a mix of arousal and confusion.
“Can I help?’ Kai asked, his hand stroking Yuji’s thigh, brushing higher and higher.
Yuji gently swatted Kai’s hand away. He didn't bother with foreplay or sweet nothings. He just needed the distraction, the burn to overtake the ache in his chest. With one swift move, he positioned Kai's cock at his entrance and lowered himself onto it. The initial sting was intense, but he welcomed it. It was real, tangible pain that pushed the shadows of his mind aside. He rode Kai hard, their bodies slapping together in a rhythm that matched the pounding of his heart. Kai's hands roamed his body, reaching under his hoodie, but Yuji kept his eyes on the TV playing in the background, focusing on anything but the connection between them.
"You're so hot," Kai said while tugging at Yuji’s hoodie, his voice thick with lust. Yuji didn't respond, didn’t take his hoodie off, but the words echoed in his head.
The room was a blur of light and shadow, the only sounds their panting and the squeak of the leather couch beneath them. Yuji's mind raced with thoughts of the past, the present, and the future. He thought of the unanswered texts on his phone and the coldness of his bed. But here, in this moment, he was alive, he wasn’t alone.
With a sudden burst of energy, Kai flipped them over, catching Yuji by surprise. Yuji's body slammed into the cushions, his eyes going wide as Kai hovered above him, his muscular frame outlined in the dim light. For a split second, he felt vulnerable, but then the rush of adrenaline took over, and he welcomed it, his legs wrapping around Kai's waist, urging him deeper.
Kai's hand moved to Yuji's cock, his grip firm and sure. He began to stroke in time with his thrusts, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through Yuji's body. The sensation was almost too much, but Yuji craved it. He wanted to feel alive, to feel anything other than the crushing weight of his own thoughts. Kai's eyes bore into his, searching for a connection, but Yuji kept his gaze fixed on the wall, letting the shadows wash over him.
Yuji's breath hitched, and his body tensed as he approached his orgasm. The sounds of their bodies colliding filled the room, punctuated by Kai's grunts and his own gasps. He felt the familiar tightness in his stomach, the coil of pleasure that signaled his impending release. It was a welcome distraction, a momentary reprieve from his inner turmoil.
With a final, desperate thrust, Yuji came, his orgasm ripping through him like a storm. His eyes squeezed shut, and he threw his head back, moaning Kai's name. For a few blissful seconds, everything else faded away, replaced by the sweet oblivion of pleasure. The tension in his body melted away, leaving him trembling and weak.
As the waves of ecstasy receded, Kai followed suit, filling the condom with his cum. Yuji felt the warmth and the pulsing of Kai's cock inside him, the sensation grounding him in the present. He panted, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as Kai's body went slack on top of him. The room was silent except for their heavy breaths and the distant murmur of the TV.
Yuji waited patiently, feeling the weight of Kai's body pressing him into the couch. His thoughts began to trickle back in, the distraction of sex now a fading memory. He knew he couldn't stay here, couldn't face the inevitable questions or the awkwardness of the aftermath. The need to be alone with his thoughts, to unravel the chaos of his life, was stronger than the comfort of Kai's embrace.
Slowly, so as not to wake him, Yuji began to extricate himself from Kai's arms. Each movement was a silent ballet of precision and restraint. He slid his legs out from under Kai's, his muscles protesting the sudden change in position. Kai stirred slightly, his breath hitching, but he didn't wake. Yuji held his breath, his heart thundering in his chest. He waited for a moment, listening for any sign that Kai was aware of his escape, but the only sound was the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Once free, Yuji pushed himself upright, the cool air of the room hitting his bare skin like a slap. He shivered, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the chill or something deeper. His gaze lingered on the crumpled clothes scattered across the floor, the remnants of an evening he already wanted to forget. Mechanically, he bent down and began gathering them, his movements stiff and deliberate. The dim light from the TV flickered across the room, casting Kai’s sleeping form in an otherworldly glow. The bluish tint made him look almost unreal, like a figure in a dream – or a nightmare.
Yuji paused and stared at Kai’s peaceful face. For a brief moment, an ache of guilt rose in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. Kai didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be used as a temporary escape, a fleeting distraction from the storm in Yuji’s mind. But the guilt was fleeting, soon swallowed by the urgent need to flee. Staying meant facing the quiet, and the quiet was where the thoughts lived – relentless and suffocating.
His heart pounded as he slipped into his jeans and pulled up the zipper on his jacket. The fabric felt rough against his skin, grounding him as he silently rehearsed his exit. One last look, he told himself, his eyes flitting back to Kai. His face remained unreadable, as if even his own emotions refused to betray him. Was it wrong to wish Kai would wake up, call him out, or ask him to stay? Maybe. But it didn’t matter now.
Without another sound, Yuji tiptoed across the room, his bare feet pressing into the plush carpet. Every step felt heavier than the last, his breath shallow as he approached the door. It stood before him, a silent sentinel, waiting to mark his retreat. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, a fleeting moment of hesitation tightening his chest. But he didn’t stop. He slipped through the door, closing it gently behind him, the faint click of the latch echoing in the stillness.
The hallway outside was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the flickering glow of the apartment. The air here was cooler, sharper, filling his lungs with a strange mix of relief and regret. Faint laughter and muffled music seeped from behind closed doors, hints of other lives moving forward in their ordinary rhythms. Yuji took a deep breath, his exhale shaky. For them, life went on. For him, it felt like it had stopped weeks ago.
He descended the stairs, his sneakers quiet on the worn concrete steps. Each floor he passed felt like shedding a layer, though not one of comfort. As he neared the exit, the brisk air of the night beyond calling to him, a stray thought flickered through his mind. I have to get home before Grandpa notices I’m gone.
The thought halted him mid-step. The air left his lungs in a rush as the realization hit, sudden and cruel. He wasn’t there anymore.
His hand gripped the railing, his knuckles whitening as he steadied himself. The house was empty now. Cold. Silent. Just like it had been every night since the funeral. Just like it had been since Sukuna had left for college. A bitter laugh escaped his throat, dry and hollow. Even his own mind refused to let him forget how alone he was.
He forced himself to move, his steps faltering but steady enough to carry him forward. The echo of his footfalls in the stairwell felt too loud, each one bouncing back at him like an accusation. Why do you keep running? the echoes seemed to ask. He didn’t have an answer.
When he stepped outside, the night air hit him like a wave, sharp and biting. The city stretched out before him, its distant hum alive with possibility. The stars above were faint, drowned out by the glow of streetlights, but he looked up anyway, searching for something he couldn’t name. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and began walking, the weight of the night settling on his shoulders.
Home wasn’t far, but the thought of going back felt unbearable. He could already picture it; the stillness pressing in on him, the empty chair in the corner, the faint smell of his grandfather’s old cologne that lingered in the air no matter how many windows he opened. And Sukuna’s bed, dark and untouched, as if his brother might walk through the door at any moment, laughing about something stupid. Yuji shook his head; he was thinking about Sukuna as if he was dead, instead of living his best life – just elsewhere. Somewhere without him.
He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to budge. Keep moving, he told himself, his legs propelling him forward. The streets were quiet, the glow of the occasional window hinting at lives unfolding behind closed curtains. He wondered briefly if anyone else felt this kind of weight, this gnawing ache that never seemed to leave. Probably. But that didn’t make it any easier to carry.
As he walked, he let his thoughts blur into the rhythm of his steps. The guilt, the grief, the need to escape – it all swirled together, a messy tangle he couldn’t hope to untie.
The bus ride home felt like an eternity. The city blurred by in a haze of streetlights and passing cars, the rhythmic hum of the bus’s engine a constant companion. Yuji stared out the window, watching the world pass by, feeling disconnected from everything and everyone. His mind was a jumble of half-formed thoughts, none of them comforting. The night had felt like a blur, a frantic escape from the silence that always crept back when he was alone.
When the bus finally pulled up to his stop, Yuji stepped off into the cool night air, the chill hitting his skin like a slap. He walked home with his head down, the familiar streets offering no solace. The house loomed ahead, the porch light casting a dull glow on the front steps.
As he walked through the door, the familiar creaks of the house echoed in the stillness. The silence wrapped around him like a weight, settling over his shoulders and pressing down. He couldn’t escape it, no matter how hard he tried. His eyes drifted to the hallway, to the bedroom he had once shared with Sukuna. It felt like a thousand miles away now. The room they had lived in together – fought in, laughed in, just existed in – was now a ghost of what it had been.
Yuji hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway of the room. His bed was unmade, the sheets a tangle of blankets and pillows. The room was still the same, but it no longer felt like his. It felt empty, hollow. But it was the only place in the house that felt even remotely familiar, the only space left where the echoes of his brother’s presence still lingered.
He stepped towards Sukuna's bed, and stood there for a moment, feeling the creeping sensation of being too much in a space that didn’t belong to him. He hadn’t even asked for permission.
But there was something comforting about it. The thought of how wrong it felt only pushed him further into the pull of it. He couldn’t stand the thought of his own bed, so he crawled under the covers of Sukuna’s, the sheets still smelling faintly of him. The weight of the blanket settled over him like a shroud, and he felt a strange mixture of comfort and guilt.
His mind screamed that this was wrong, that it wasn’t his place. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be in Sukuna’s bed. It felt creepy, like he was crossing a line he couldn’t uncross. It was irrational, he knew that. But nothing about tonight felt rational. Nothing about this entire mess made sense.
He pulled the covers tight around himself, hoping they could shield him from the discomfort gnawing at his insides. His body was exhausted, the kind of tiredness that went beyond physical. It was a tiredness that settled deep in his bones, one that no amount of sleep could cure. But for a moment, at least, he felt the weight of the world lift a little. The familiar hum of the house seemed to lull him, and the constant churning in his mind faded, if only for a little while.
His hand brushed against the side of the bed. There were the familiar books and half-empty bottles of water scattered across the floor that Yuji couldn’t bring himself to throw out, evidence of a life now distant. The memories of their late-night talks, the lazy mornings spent doing nothing – everything about this room screamed Sukuna, and yet it was empty, as if the space was trying to hold on to something that was already gone.
The guilt tugged at Yuji again, sharper this time. This is messed up. He shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t just Sukuna’s space he was invading; it was the last piece of something real, something untainted by the silence and absence that filled the rest of the house. He wanted to lie down, to shut his eyes and pretend that nothing had changed, that Sukuna would be home tomorrow, laughing about something dumb, messing with him the way he always had.
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, willing the thoughts to quiet, if only for a while. The weight of Sukuna’s absence, of his grandfather’s death, of everything that had spiraled in the last few months – it all crashed back in waves. But for tonight, lying in his brother’s bed, Yuji let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could hold on to something.
Even if it felt weird. Even if it felt wrong.