Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

His wife gets increasingly sick as time goes on. She threw up often, both in the morning and at night, sometimes even in the middle of the day. Despite that, she constantly ate. Something always had to be on standby for her. It was mostly beef, pork, or chips. Sometimes all three. She had long discarded her aversion to touching food, but in exchange couldn’t stand anything sweeter than fruit. 

She’d wake him up in the middle of the night, when he was having those odd dreams, to cook for her. 

“Our greedy little beast is hungry,” She’d say with wide eyes, patting her increasingly large stomach. It seemed to dwarf her frame, so big that it seemed unreal. “Won’t you make us something?” 

He always did, telling her to stay put and to rest. She would, for up to twenty minutes, before hovering around him in the kitchen. Skin hunger seemed to be a symptom they both shared now. They always had to be near, always had to be touching or else it’d feel wrong. 

They weren’t complete without each other, Jin understood that now. 

While she ate, Jin would rub her sore shoulders, making sure to avoid digging into the bite marks that littered her body. If it was a particularly bad day, he’d massage her calves and feet. 

Sometimes she asks him, “What did you dream about tonight?” 

He’d talk about the different places and things he saw. The dreams were becoming clearer as time went by, but as soon as he woke, he forgot everything besides one frame of memory. It made him wish for a camera to capture them, anything to hold onto and help him remember. He does his best to remember what they contain, and each time he does, he ends up with a headache.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kenjaku would chuckle, often paired by a wince as the baby kicked. She’d grab Jin’s hands to place them on her stomach when he did. 

“See how strong our son is?” She would sometimes say, a layer of pride underlying it.

“Do you think he’s asking for more?” Kenjaku mused one night. “I’m not full yet, but these days I’m never full.” 

“Greedy thing,” Kenjaku would coo after devouring a particularly large meal. “Mama’s little parasite.” 

“He’ll be a wild thing,” She nodded to herself, rubbing her stomach. “Luckily, we baby-proofed the house, huh?” 

For the first time in years, he thinks about his father seriously. Jin is about to be a father, but he vows never to be his father. He won't talk over his son, he won't shame him for his interests even if they don't align with Jin's own, and he won't suffocate him with values and ideas of what he should be. Yuji will be whatever he wants to be. He'll have a choice, a real choice, in what he wants to do. 

Wasuke had no idea that he was about to become a grandfather at the age of... Jin was about to turn twenty-four, so that made Wasuke about fifty-five, give or take a year. Was it bad that he didn't know his father's age? Was it bad that he didn't know his father's birthday? 

He wondered if his father would nag him for having a baby so young and not going to school to get his law degree. He's a househusband now, not anything his father aspired for him to be. Did his father love him? Did he love the idea of him? Would he have kept Jin's room the same as how he left it, or would he have gotten rid of all traces of him? Is he happy that Jin was gone? Does he feel regret for chasing him away? 

Wasuke's an old man now, and people would naturally assume that he'd have a wife and kids. Jin's mother died when he was young, or perhaps during childbirth–to this day, he wasn't sure. So, when Wasuke was asked about them, would he take the easy route and say that they were both dead? It'd save him the shame if he felt it. It'd save him the long and tedious explanation that his son hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. 

Did Jin hate him? 

If he hated him, why was he thinking about him? Why was he so bothered by the idea that his father lived a normal life without him, that his life was better without him? 

Why did his father have him in the first place? Why would anyone have a child if not to love them?

He tossed and turned in bed until his wife dragged him close with a tug on his hair. She complains softly, groaning as she turns on her side so that the baby doesn’t dig into her spine. He held onto her stomach and silently vowed to show Yuji so much love that there’ll never be a moment in his life when he’ll doubt it. 

When he dreamt that night, Jin was met with darkness as far as the eye could see. The air was cold, tickling against his cheek as some imaginary wind passed him by. It whispered an echo of old words, of old people and places that did not exist. 

Nothing existed here beyond himself. 

There's water covering his feet, a red light bouncing off of it, and casting the glow onto his clothes. When he looked up, there was no sun or moon or stars, just the same darkness that was everywhere else. Where was the light coming from then? When he looked down, he could only see the barest amount of reflection: a shadow and the highlights, which were then further distorted by the ripples as he moved forward. 

He had to move forward, never back, not again. 

In the distance, there was another—

Jin—

He woke up to a splash against the hardwood floors and his wife’s soft exclamation. She giggled then, gripping onto the bed. 

“So that’s what it was.” She inhaled, her other hand supporting her stomach. “And here I thought you simply wanted a midnight snack, Yu-chan! Silly mama, mhm?” 

Jin sat straight. “Was—was that your water breaking?” 

“Sure was,” Kenjaku nodded. Her eyes closed tightly as she winced. Her pain was audible as she inhaled deeply once more. “Be a dear and get our bag, won’t you? I’ll need some assistance getting downstairs and into the car as well.” 

Jin did as he said, grabbing the bag from their closet and quickly moving to her side to support her. He felt Yuji kick within her, her stomach deforming under the blow. It was so strong and forceful that Jin’s hand was almost knocked away. Her stomach vibrated with her laughter. 

“He might just claw his way out of there before we get to the hospital!” She joked through her pain. Still, her hands dug into Jin’s skin, tightening every time a new wave of pain shot through her. She continues, “Wouldn’t that be a scene? It’d be like one of your movies, the one—” 

She grunted in pain as he helped her down the stairs. “You know what I’m talking about, right?” 

“Alien,” Jin nodded, keeping an eye on her feet so she wouldn’t slip. “There you go.” 

“He’ll be cuter than those Xenomorphs,” She sighed as they exited the front door. “Even if it comes out with a cone head. Jin, I will laugh if he comes out with a conehead, don’t hold it against me.” 

He smiled despite all his nervousness. 

Labor was a messy thing. When was it otherwise? If someone ever said that birth was a magical and mystical experience that went smoothly, then they were obviously lying in your face. The only people who talked like that were the ones trying to sell you something.

Jin and Kenjaku both knew that it was not going to be fun, but Jin had also noticed her unwavering confidence despite it all. It worried Jin because, before modern medicine, women died during childbirth all the time; something Kenjaku would know better than Jin. Even with all the advancements, it was entirely possible for her to die. Kenjaku was strong, but there were some complications they couldn’t avoid if they arose, no matter how much they prepared and planned. 

Kenjaku had shown pain as they entered the hospital, pausing and waiting for a contraction or a kick to end, but otherwise her composure remained. She was still able to crack jokes and speak, but as soon as labor began in full force, her composure melted away completely. 

She whined and screamed. Her back arched, her hand gripping Jin’s so tight that it felt as if it would break. There were no jokes, only curses, and bitten off pleads. Even after hours of labor, his wife still had her pride. 

Wasn’t that just the cutest? Even after all this time, Kenjaku kept their pride. 

He was there to hold her hand, to pat her forehead dry of sweat, and to encourage her. Even then, she seemed embarrassed by the constant care and encouragement. More than once, a mean comment had passed through her clenched teeth aimed at the nurses. 

“One more push!” One urged. “One big push! You got it!” 

Kenjaku braced herself, feet digging into the bed. Her eyes were on the verge of rolling back, glistening with tears. When they finally started to fall, Jin reached to wipe them away. 

A yowl tore out of her throat, only to be muffled by the fat of his arm. Her teeth dug into his flesh, digging and digging and digging until blood began to trickle into her mouth. It burned like a brand given by a red-hot iron, and he loved it. 

He would have let her continue. He would have let her bite and bite, until she had her fill. He would have let her strip him down to bone and sinew if that’s what she wanted. He wanted her to. He needed it. 

Still, he let a nurse pull them away from each other, holding a bandage to his bleeding wound. The nurse tried speaking to him, but he couldn’t draw his attention away from his wife and the baby that was pushed out of her. Once the nurses wipe away the blood from her mouth and clothes, they set the baby down on her chest. 

Kenjaku laughed weakly, her eyes focusing unsteadily on Yuji’s perfect little face. She pet his head, dragging her fingers lightly through his full head of pink hair. 

“He’s so chubby.” She pet his head, dragging her fingers lightly through his full head of pink hair. “My chubby little thing.” 

Later, when everything is situated, he sat beside Kenjaku, cradling Yuji in his arms. He’s a heavy baby, much larger than Nobara was when he saw her last. The nurses had said Yuji was just over five and a half kilograms when the average baby was only three to three and a half. 

Jin cried more than the baby. He thanked his wife repeatedly for giving him such a lovely gift as Yuji. It was all he ever wanted and all he ever needed. Kenjaku was tired, but still indulgent, letting him cry without a scolding. 

“How’s your arm?” She asked instead, a hint of worry in her voice. “I didn’t take a chunk out of you, did I?” 

Jin sniffled and shook his head. He passed Yuji into her arms before rolling up his sleeve. He tugged up the bandages to reveal the already scabbed-up wound. She nodded, leaning back and bringing Yuji to her chest once more. 

“He looks just like you,” She hummed, running her knuckles up and down Yuji’s face and under his chin. She cooed as Yuji made a noise. Jin was drawn to their side, leaning close enough that they touched. 

“Have you ever heard about that theory?” Kenjaku began. “The one that says babies believe their mothers to be an extension of themselves? It makes sense, doesn’t it? I was the one to carry him for nine months. Whatever I ate, he ate; my blood was his blood; whatever happened to me happened to him. I made him. He was within my body, and he used me to create himself.” 

“Now that the umbilical cord is cut, I wonder if he still feels as if we’re connected. We are, I suppose, both of our bodies have changed to suit each other. His cells have invaded my body, all so he could grow stronger.” She tapped her scars, supporting Yuji with one arm. “Even my brain would have changed to suit him better. He really is the perfect parasite, isn’t he?” 

Yuji made a sound. Jin couldn’t tell if he was offended or agreeing with his mother. Kenjaku, on the other hand, only took it as encouragement. 

“Yes, you are,” She cooed over Yuji, pressing their foreheads together gently. “You’re mama’s little parasite! Mama’s little monster, that's right! You’re so cute! All of mama’s trouble was worth it because you’re so cute! Yes, you are!” 

 If it had been anyone else, Jin would have taken offense at Yuji being called a parasite. Kenjaku said it with love, and that’s what mattered to him. 

He took a picture of his family when he had a chance. When the nurses came in, he asked them to take a picture of all three of them. 

Chiyo stopped by in the late afternoon. Nobara came with her and was strapped to her side in a sling. She was six months old now, and only slightly bigger than the newborn Yuji. They introduced the babies to each other after their typical greetings. 

Jin held Yuji in his arms and presented him to Nobara. The girl looked curiously at him, leaning forward in the sling. 

“Say hi, Nobara,” Chiyo instructed. 

The girl waved, or at least made an attempt at it. Her right arm jerked up and down, barely missing her own face. Her hands clenched and then she was reaching down to Yuji. 

Jin held Yuji up higher so that she could touch him. “Gentle now, Bara, gentle.” 

She patted the newborn's face with a serious frown. “Baah.” 

“I think she’s telling you to shut up,” Kenjaku commented as she applied her lipstick.

“You think?” Jin hummed, watching the two babies carefully. 

Nobara continued to pat and observe Yuji. Finally, she decided to plant her fingers in his pink hair. She didn’t pull, but simply held it. It was easy for Chiyo to untangle them before she started pulling. 

“Don’t be mean to your cousin,” Chiyo scolded. “Pull your uncle Jin’s hair, not little Yuji’s.” 

“Agah,” Nobara responded, and quickly pivoted to reach for Jin’s hair. He sighed but leaned down all the same. She pulled at his hair right away, too weak to be painful.

He stood straight after a few seconds, and graciously, Nobara allowed him to. He handed Yuji back to Kenjaku. She kissed Yuji’s head and then his cheek, leaving ruby red lipstick marks. When Jin laughed, she pulled him down to do the same. 

Jin’s cheek was stained slightly red as he walked Chiyo out. 

“Do you think,” Jin began before he paused to lick his lips. “Should  I introduce Yuji to my father? Is it worth it?” 

“Do you want him back in your life?” She asked. “You two were never close.” 

“I don’t know,” Jin closed his eyes, trying to imagine his father’s face. It had been so long that he had forgotten the man’s features. What did he look like now? What would his expression be when reuniting again? “I don’t know.”

“I understand that.”The expression on Chiyo’s face was complicated. “You’ll never know what’ll happen until you get in contact again. If it's a positive experience, then maybe Yuji grows up with a couple of visits from his grandfather. If it ends up like shit, then what do you have to lose?” 

“A low risk, low-reward situation.” Jin mused. 

“A high risk,” Chiyo corrected, her lips thinning. “I think you have a lot more invested in this than you think.” 

Yuji was a happy baby. It was almost impossible to catch him without a smile on his face. It was hard to upset him, though maybe that was also due to how much Jin and Kenjaku spoiled him. He was a clingy baby, always wanting to be held in some manner. It was only when his parents left him in Chiyo’s care that he would frown and cry. He’d hold onto one of their sleeves, so hard that the fabric would begin to tear. 

More than once, those fits had convinced Jin to cancel whatever plans they had. He couldn’t help it. Whenever Yuji began to cry, it was as if his guts began to twist into knots. Yuji would eventually grow out of it, Jin knew. He’d have to when he went to school. 

School was a while away; that was Jin’s excuse whenever Kenjaku shook her head in disbelief. He wasn’t going to be little forever. 

She’d often reply that Yuji wasn’t little at all. 

Jin couldn’t refute that. Yuji was a huge baby. He was often assumed to be much older than he actually was by any of the people who approached them in public. They’d coo over his pink hair, ask if it was natural, and then ask if he had begun walking. Both Jin and Kenjaku found humor in the shocked expressions when they told them what Yuji’s real age was. 

One shocked mother had taken Kenjaku by the hand and commended her on her bravery. A grandmother had patted her back, asking how her body was recuperating after what must have been a very hard and painful delivery. Kenjaku had brushed all of those worries aside. 

“It was all worth it,” She always said with a toothy smile, patting Yuji’s head.  

One of Yuji’s quirks was that he had to be constantly chewing on something. He’d chew on anything if given the chance. His shirt collars usually ended up drenched, and his binkies usually ended up breaking within a week. His stuffed animals often faced the same fate. They either ended up drenched or torn from Yuji’s rough handling. Beheading seemed to be his favorite way to destroy them. He also liked throwing around their stuffing once they popped open. 

Until Yuji got a hold of his strength, they strayed away from giving him a stuffed animal without supervision. Jin was more worried about him eating the stuffing than them being ruined. He could always buy more toys, but he did not want to take Yuji to the hospital. 

Oftentimes, when they’re without a pacifier on hand and they don’t want Yuji gnawing on his clothes or some random item, they give him their fingers to chew on. It’s really their only option. They sanitize their hands before they end up as chew toys when they get the chance. It works for a while, until it doesn’t.

Eventually, Yuji began to seek out their fingers. He chews on them like ‘a horse eating carrots’ as Kenjaku puts it. It’s for that reason that Jin discovers Yuji’s first tooth growing in very easily. He was only four months old, which was on the younger side but not unheard of, when the process began. 

Yuji’s left incisor is the first to grow in. The others fail to follow for months. It gave Jin the perfect collection of photos of his gummy smile, with that little white tooth as the center of attention. He definitely had more than one photo of Nobara making fun of him for it. She was too young for words, but she wasn’t too young to point and laugh.

Kenjaku started to compile a book for Yuji, just as Jin had. Instead of a collection of pictures, hers was a collection of poems. From what Jin could tell, they weren’t organized in any particular fashion, but they were all purposefully added. They were some of her favorite poems: pieces from Dante’s Divine Comedy and Paradise Lost by Milton, Dickinson, Poe, Sara Teasdale, Matthew Arnold, and dozens of different traditional poems. 

When he asked her why she had collected those in particular, she paused. 

“They’ll come in handy one day,” She said. “They all have a certain message that he’ll find useful when he’s all grown up.” 

She sits by Yuji’s bedside as she reads. It's not a proper book yet, but a loose and hole-punched paper set in a binder. Kenjaku read to him softly, but her tone followed the emotions of each poem perfectly. 

“In a roadside field stands a leafless willow tree- Spring will come, and then the wonders of long ago, Will all return.” She read, looking over the side of Yuji’s cradle. “Should I read you another, Yuyu?” 

The baby cooed in response, sleepy but in no way refusing the offer. 

Jin went to her side, peaking over the side just as she did. Yuji’s amber eyes blinked slowly, and his hands reached for Jin’s. He allowed Yuji to grab hold of his fingers, but made sure they didn’t end up in his mouth. Yuji was too sleepy to make a fuss about the denial. 

“I know that one,” Jin said softly. “I read that one before. I remember where or when I did.” 

“You have,” She nodded, thumbing over to the next page. “It’s Sugawara Michizane” 

Sugawara Michizane. That did sound familiar. Where did Jin know that name from? 

Kenjaku read another, “Should the east winds blow, Carry me the fragrance, Of plum blossom; And though your lord is gone, Never forget the springtime.” 

Plum blossoms. Why did that make him so melancholic?

He kept thinking about plum blossoms throughout the night. Perhaps that's why he dreams of them. Petals flutter down from the trees, carried by the wind. Some travel to far distances, past even the horizon. Others don’t go far at all. They fall to the ground at his feet or at his side. 

They are a constant companion, and his day is filled with them. No matter where he goes, the blossoms follow him. They’re one of the Three Friends of Winter, and they live up to that name. The cold air does nothing to deter them from blooming. When he allows himself to brush against them, they’re cold to the touch. 

Yet he does not feel cold.

There's a certain contentment that bubbles up within him. 

He wakes up with a name right on the tip of his tongue. 

Nobara’s birthday comes around quickly, too quickly for Jin’s taste. Nobara came inside on her own two feet. She’s a slow walker and a clumsy one, but she is determined. Her face is set in an almost constant scowl as she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. 

She knew how to say a couple of words now.

“Hi!” She greeted them when her mother prompted. “Hi! Hey! Hi!” 

“Hi Bara-chan!” Jin exclaimed with excitement. “How are you?” 

“Good!” Nobara responded, grabbing hold of his pants. She waved to Kenjaku, who was still drinking her morning coffee. “Hi! Hi!” 

“Hello,”  Kenjaku greeted. “Happy birthday.” 

Nobara beamed, patting her chest where the words ‘birthday girl’ were written in sparkles. She looked around the room, squinting. She looked up at Jin, something like suspicion on her face. 

“Baby?” She questioned. 

“You’re a baby too, you know?” Chiyo commented, picking the girl up and placing her on her hip. “Are you asking where Yu is?” 

Nobara grabbed a hold of her mother’s hair, still squinting. “Yuyu?” 

Chiyo nodded, not bothered by Nobara’s habit any longer. “Can you ask your uncle where Yuyu is?”

Nobara stared. 

“Where’s Yuyu?” Chiyo repeated, drawing out the words. 

Nobara frowned but did her best. “Whe’ Yuyu?” 

“Good job!” Chiyo praised, getting a smile out of Nobara. 

“Yuji’s asleep right now,” Kenjaku said. 

Jin didn’t miss the way Chiyo flinched when she spoke up. He was always aware of how on edge Chiyo tended to be. He just chose to ignore it. 

“Do you want to see him?” Kenjaku asked, getting out of her seat. “You’re going to have to be quiet. Can you do that?”

The girl nodded. 

Kenjaku took Nobara from her mother, grabbing her nose playfully. The girl giggled in return, grabbing a hold of the black hair in reach. They vanished out of sight as Kenjaku carried her up the stairs. 

Chiyo stared blankly in their direction. 

The photos of that day consist of Chiyo holding both babies on her hips and Nobara’s face covered in the remains of her first cupcake. He begins making a scrapbook for her as well.

He eats. He eats and eats. He needs to eat. He was born to eat and consume. Eating makes him stronger, more whole. He needs to be whole. He needs to be filled and sated, and that means he needs to eat. 

He claws at a mess of flesh. His hands pierce it open, and he opens it up with a wet crack. Red coats his hands, and it spreads to his entire body. He is drenched in it, like a second skin. With every bite he takes, he stains himself forevermore. 

To eat meat is a sin. 

He can not live without it. 

To eat the flesh of man is one of the highest offenses. It's a degradation of the soul. 

He can not live without it. 

He is a disgraceful creature. A wretched thing. He’d rather live in sin and be known as what he is, than to suffer as—

Jin found himself in the nursery. He looked down, seeing his son staring back at him. He reached down and allowed Yuji to nip at his fingers. 

He finally calls up his father as the temperature begins to drop. He was alone in the house for the first time in ages. Yuji and Kenjaku were on a trip to the park for the sole purpose of giving him the time needed to talk to his father. 

The phone rings and rings. Jin’s heart feels heavy and tight, as if it were going to squeeze itself until it exploded. He didn’t like phone calls. He didn’t like the waiting and the expectation. Not anymore, at least. 

His father, against all of his suspicions, does pick up, but he doesn’t speak. Jin is the one who has to do so. 

“Hey,” He said, licking his lips as he paused. “It's me.” 

“Jin,” Wasuke responded, voice gruff, but just as hesitant as Jin’s. It made him satisfied that they were in the same boat, and that his father wasn’t…

Jin didn’t know what he was expecting from his father.

“It’s been a while,” Jin said. He had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times, and yet he was left speechless still. “How have you been?” 

“It’s all been the same,” His father responded. “What did I do to earn this call? It's only been seven or so years since we spoke.” 

There was the attitude he was expecting. 

Jin sighed. “You have a grandson now.” 

Silence.

“Just thought you should know,” Jin continued. He waited. 

“What's his name?” Wasuke asked stiffly. 

“Yuji,” Jin replied. His nails dug into his palm. “Do you want to meet him? If it's not a bother—” 

“No,” Wasuke shot back instantly before he hissed painfully. “No, I’ll meet him.” 

Queiter his father continued, “I want to meet him.” 

“Okay,” Jin sighed, leaning back in his chair. He let the tension locking up his body flow out of it. “How about Sunday? Are you free then?” 

His father hummed in agreement. “Are you coming back home then?” 

Home, his father said. Home. Was that ever his home? Was that—

“Yeah,” Jin responded. “Will the afternoon work? I don’t know what your shifts are like anymore.” 

They talk for maybe two minutes longer before the conversation dies awakradly. It might be the longest conversation he’s had with his father since he was a child. 

The drive isn’t long to his father’s house. It’s short enough that it unsettled him. He hadn’t known they were so close. He hasn’t thought to check. 

The neighborhood is the same. There are familiar faces walking the streets. The old diner that his father took him to when he was very young is closed down. The house is the same too. It had the same paint, the same unruly grass, and broken pavement. When he glanced around the back, he saw a glimpse of the shed. 

It was weird. It almost felt like looking back on a hazy dream. Jin knew those well now. 

He knocked on the door, Yuji in his arms, while his wife finished up a call in the car. The expectation and anticipation in his chest was almost too much. 

His father opened the door, and he looked old. He was thinner, his hair had turned a color more similar to white than pink, and wrinkles had appeared over his face. His father had always had a wrinkle here and there, but now they were pronounced. There were deep crow's feet around his eyes, and thick lines across his forehead. His cheeks were slightly sunken in, giving him a somewhat sick look. 

Was his father sick? No, not more than usual. His health was always bad. Jin had almost forgotten that. 

His father smelled old. He had that earthy sweetness that followed the elderly wherever they went. It was similar to the smell that old books and vinyls had when you paid attention. It made sense. His father was old now, much older than Jin remembered. 

He was weak. It made Jin think about—

Wauske still had a scar where Jin’s teeth had torn into. 

No, he wouldn’t repeat his old mistakes. 

Yuji cooed from his place in the baby sling. His feet kicked eagerly in the air, causing his shoes to light up. He reached outwards, towards his grandfather, and Wasuke allowed him to grab onto his fingers. 

“He looks just like you,” Wasuke said, something in his voice. Something soft, maybe. Something noglatic. “He even has that same stupid tooth grown in before all the rest. It took you months to begin getting any others. It was the first of your adult teeth that came in, too.” 

Jin didn’t know what to say. 

“He has Kaori’s eyes.” Is what came out of his mouth. “We’re not identical.” 

“No,” His father agreed, his finger slipped out of Yuji’s hand. “You’re not. He’ll grow into his own features when he’s older, too.” 

His father looked over his shoulder. “Where is that woman? That girlfriend of yours is she the one you ended up with?” 

“Can you not refer to my wife so rudely?” Jin huffed, adjusting the happy baby on his chest. 

His father scowled, but conceded. “Fine. Where is my daughter-in-law then?” 

His wife’s high heels clicked against the pavement behind him in answer. She came to a stop behind him, her hand landing on the back of his neck. Her nails pressed against his skin soothingly. 

“I’m right here, father-in-law,” She answered, smiling sweetly. 

Wasuke’s eyes are wide, struck with horror. They focus on scars on his forehead. “You.” 

“It’s nice to see you again after such a long time,” Kenjaku said. “Can we come inside?” 

It strikes Jin that Kenjaku is not speaking as Kaori but as herself and that his father recognized her. Kenjaku was a stalker and an ancient one at that. How long had she been stalking Jin? He had never found out that. He had never asked. Had she just been stalking him, or had it extended to his father? Maybe beyond that? 

It made his head hurt thinking about it. 

Focusing on Yuji made him feel better. His son cooed and giggled. His amber eyes were wide and attentive as he stared up at his father. His smile was wide, his one tooth on full display.

He was adorable, and whatever had happened in the past was fine. It was all worth it if it meant Yuji got to be born. 

Despite his hesitation, his father allows them inside. The conversation is tense and nervous. Not once does his father make eye contact with Kenjaku. Wasuke is equally hesitant to hold Yuji, but he does with some struggle. Its a awkward hold, with Yuji constantly moving around. 

Wasuke tells him to stop by every once in a while. There’s an implied ‘don’t bring your wife’.

Yuji grows up fast. On Halloween, they dress him as a pumpkin just to take photos of him. They don’t go to a theme park due to how young he was. They spend the day indoors, watching movies in the living room while Yuji sleeps either on their lap or on their chest. 

It’s soon after Halloween that he says his first words. 

Kenjaku sits with him on the floor while Jin washes the dishes. Kenjaku read to him, stretching out certain words to encourage him. 

“Can you say, mama?” She asked. “Mhm? Yuyu, say mama.’ 

Yuji giggled as she tickled his stomach. Kenjaku paused, eyebrows raised. 

“Mama!” Yuji said, before squealing in joy as she picked him up and spun him around. She pressed ruby kisses into his cheeks. 

Jin dropped a plate. 

“That’s it!” She praised. “Good boy! Can you say it again, Yuji?” 

He giggled. “Mama!” 

Jin took him from her arms, spinning him around just as Kenjaku did. “What about me? Can you say, papa?” 

Yuji giggled, chubby hand patting Jin’s nose. “Eh!” 

Jin pouted dramatically. 

“Ph!” Yuji blew a raspberry. “Pa!” 

“Close enough,” Kenjaku laughed.

After his first words came his first steps. Then he was running around after Nobara. She laughed every time he fell, no matter how many times Chiyo tried to correct the behavior. They get into trouble more often than not. 

Yuji was a strong kid, just as Jin was or perhaps even stronger. He does his best to help him adjust, but it's hard for both of them. Even now, Jin finds himself making simple mistakes. For a child like Yuji its almost impossible to control it fully. 

Yuji cries when he destroys his favorite blanket. Both Jin and Kenjaku do their best to calm him down, but it's nearly impossible. He cries and cries until he falls asleep. Chiyo sews it back together when she comes over, but it wasn’t the same. Yuji complained about that new seam and refused to be covered with it. Yet he couldn’t part with it. He used it as something to hold or as a pillow. 

His teeth do grow in, and Kenjaku spent her mornings and evenings teaching him how to brush. She taught him a lot of things: how to read and write, his colors and numbers, and different animals. She was a natural-born teacher, or maybe Yuji, and she simply thought and learned in the same way. Either way, it was something they both enjoyed. 

When Yuji started kindergarten, Jin sobbed the entire day. He sobbed when he helped Yuji change into his uniform. He sobbed when he cooked them all breakfast and packed his lunch in his red bag. He sobbed when they walked him to school, certainly getting an odd look here and there from others. Yuji had hugged both of them as tightly as he could. 

“Bye bye!” Yuji exclaimed. “I love you!” 

Jin had barely been able to respond, too choked up. Kenjaku pretended to be unaffected, but Jin could see her eyes glimmering with emotion. 

It's with those small moments that Jin is reminded she loves them both just as they love her. There are passing moments where he doubts her, doubts the entire life they’ve built, but he always remembers the truth: she loves them in her own way. She needs them, just as they both need her. 

The dreams don’t help. Neither do the urges. 

The earth was cold. The sun was hot. Winter’s friend burned too easily, and they hid away in the shade. Their cheeks were still rosy from the little sun they had gotten that day. In the clearing in front of them was a fire, where stew had been brewing for an amount of time he forgot. 

It was something he had ordered for them to make despite the heat. He had craved this recipe above anything else today, and they were always glad to serve. 

He filled his bowl to the brim once it was done. It was perfectly seasoned with flavorful vegetables and tender meat that fell apart before it reached his mouth. He did not praise them aloud, but the satisfaction on his face was enough, at least that was what Jin thought. 

He should at least do something in return. There was a river nearby. It would be all too easy to catch fresh fish for them to enjoy. If not today, then tomorrow. 

Yuji brings home a drawing he made in class. It’s messy and colorful and wonderful. It’s a picture of their family. Jin is drawn with his red glasses and a pink circle with spikes as a stand-in for his hair. Yuji’s in the middle, made the same way, with bigger hair and no glasses. Kenjaku was dressed in all black, her angular bob clear. Her smile is red. Yuji even got the scars right, though they look more like her stitches due to the color. 

In Yuji’s large and crooked handwriting is “My parents and me!!!” 

It's written correctly, and that’s what really mattered. 

Jin places it on the fridge, rustling Yuji’s hair. “We should show it to Mom when she gets back from work.” 

“She’ll like it?” Yuji asked, pulling on Jin’s pant leg.

Jin picked him up, biting his cheek gently. He didn’t know why he did it, but it made Yuji laugh. 

“Yeah!” Jin nodded, pulling back. “How about we make a couple more drawings while we wait for her?” 

They doodle for perhaps an hour before Kenjaku gets home. Yuji completed his portrait of his mother during that time, doing his best to stay within the lines. He broke his crayons multiple times, but had learned to use the tiny pieces or find the same color in some other box. He wrote ‘mom’ on the bottom of the portrait and brought both drawings up to Kenjaku as she walked in. 

“Let’s see,” she said, bringing the drawings into the light. “Oh wow, I love it! Good job!” 

She knelt down to give her son a high five. The boy giggled. 

“Did you write this all by yourself, too? Did your teachers help you? Your dad?” Kenjaku asked, pointing at the labeling. The boy leaned against her. She brought him closer, petting his head.

“I did it!” Yuji exclaimed. “By myself! It’s good?” 

Jin nodded in agreement when his wife cast him a look. He hadn’t helped Yuji at all, merely cheered him on. 

“It’s amazing!” She smiled. “You’ve gotten much better at writing! Your lines aren’t shaky either, and you’ve done a wonderful job of coloring in the lines! Mom is so proud! Maybe we should go out for a treat tonight, hm? Maybe some ice cream? What do you think, Yuyu?” 

The boy turned serious as he always did when it came to food. 

Bodies were piled up so high that they pierced the sky. It was a towering mass of flesh for all to see; a perverse display of power, of conquest. There were too many bodies to count, each indistinguishable from those beside it. Viscera knotted together, forming thick clumps or chains that decorated the makeshift throne for which he sat atop. 

He did not care for how his foot dug into a man’s chest cavity. He did not care for the blood that seeped between his toes with a sickly squealch. He did not care for unreconiable things clumping in his pink hair. He did not care for the ashy, burnt smell that overpowered everything else. He did not care for the sound of fire crackling, eating away at the lower levels of meat. 

He did not care for anything at all. 

Yuji liked watching movies. He was old enough to understand a vast majority of them on a basic level. He was also old enough to have favorites. He liked Super Sentai, Yu-Gi-Oh, and Pokémon when it came to television. He wasn’t a big fan of Digimon for some reason. He’d turn off the TV or switch to a different channel whenever it came on. He didn’t watch a lot of it, maybe an hour or two every day, before he couldn’t stand to sit still any longer. 

Movies were a different story. Yuji would curl up by his side, head against Jin’s chest, and would sit still for hours at a time. At most, he’d fidget with his hands or Jin’s. Otherwise, he was as still as a doll.

Sometimes Jin felt as if their heartbeats and breathing were syncing up, becoming undifferentiable from each other. Sometimes he could forget the boy was there at all. He was just an extension of Jin’s body, like another arm. If he were just to push, there would be no difference between them at all. It would be natural if he simply—

But he wouldn’t.

Yuji was his baby, the very reason why Jin lived. 

They sit. The sun had just begun to set, casting an orange glow into the room. Food was set on the table, steaming. One gripped onto a pair of chopsticks while the other held a hot cup of tea, and the other pressed against his knee, and the other remained on the table. 

He wasn’t alone. 

He was never alone. 

A man dressed as a noble sat in front of him. The man’s face was unclear, features sliding off of his face when he focused on them. The face he wore was unimportant. What was important were those fresh stitches that circled around his head. 

“—Vow.” The man said. “Though I assume we both have our own conditions, isn’t that right?” 

“—trust—a conniving snake.” 

A laugh, most familiar. 

“Aren’t you bored?” he said. 

He was. Nothing was interesting anymore. Nothing was exciting. He had achieved everything yet nothing. All that was left was to die. He did not want to wither away simply because that was all there was to do. He wanted to die properly. 

“Our first condition…“ 

The man grabs a hold of his head, his thumbs pressing against the seam that connects his skull. He bears down on it, pulling upwards until each stitch pops one by one. 

“…I’ll tell you the truth and nothing but the truth about the process of turning yourself into a Cursed Object.” 

Clear liquid steams down his face, running over his eyes, and into his clothes. He keeps pulling. The final thread breaks, and the mass within is revealed. A brain with pink teeth that open and close with every twitch. 

He reaches outwards, his thumb running along those teeth. His hands slip underneath Kenjaku, coddling their weak form. He wrenches them upwards, out of their host body. It falls limp at his feet, and liquid pours out of its head, spilling onto the floor. 

“The future generations will birth a plethora of talent.” The teeth mouth. There's a divot in the brain where a mouth should be. “You’ll love it, trust me. I’ll make sure of it.” 

“Will I?” Jin asked. 

“Of course,” Kenjaku responded. 

“Will I really?” He pressed, looming over the brain. “Even if I suffer?” 

“To love, you must suffer,” They said. “It’s something you can’t avoid, you are bound to it.” 

“I am bound to you,” Jin said. “We’re all bound together.” 

Liquid reached his knees, and the walls faded away. 

He held the brain tenderly to his chest and reached some sort of understanding. 

And then—

He woke to his teeth deep into his wife’s shoulder, and his hand clutching her stomach. Blood filled his mouth, coating his tongue and spilling down his chin. Kenjaku panted, body tense, but they did not struggle. 

Jin released their shoulder, licking the wound with enjoyment. He whispered into her ear, “I want to eat you.” 

All of them. He wanted to eat them up until there was nothing left. He’d spare nothing of her body, all of it valuable, all of it editable. He wanted to become one with them, mind, body, and soul. He needed it more than anything.  

“Will you?” Kenjaku laughed. “I’m sure I’d taste good.” 

“No,” Jin panted against her skin, sparing a second to suck on the wound. “No, I won’t. I love you too much. I love Yuji too much.” 

Kejaku shivered, hand trailing up his. “Is that so?” 

“Kenjaku,” Jin said softly. “You’ll take care of him, won’t you? Even with what you have planned for him?” 

“Of course,” She sighed, turning around to face him. “He’s my baby, of course I will. I told you back then that you’d enjoy the future, do you not remember that?” 

“I’m not him,” Jin denied, pressing their foreheads together in a semblance of a kiss. “You know that.” 

“Yet you remember it, don’t you?” Kenjaku whispered, leaning in. “What a fascinating creature you are—you both are. I love you, Jin. Out of all the things that have been born during these years, you’re my favorite, along with our son, of course. You’re tied for first place.” 

“Because we’re soulmates,” Jin said. “I can feel it now.” 

He could feel the pieces of Sukuna within her, just as he could within his own body. They were pieces of their son that tied them together forever.  Beyond that, they resonated with each other, perfectly balanced, perfectly matched, perfectly fitting. 

His soft tears joined the blood soaking into their sheets.  She wiped them away, warm blood smearing along his cheek. 

“It’s alright,” Kenjaku soothed. “Everything’s going to be alright in the end. I’ll make sure of it.” 

“Yuji will be happy?” Jin asked.

“Of course,” She smiled, closing her eyes. “He’ll be whole and stated. He’ll have the time of his life going against the sorcerers I’ve gathered for him. It’ll be spectacular, just you wait.” 

It’ll be hard for him. Yuji was always going to have a hard life; it was all a part of the curse that had plagued him from the start.  

“I won’t see it.” Jin's tears continue to fall, one after the other. “I won’t be there.” 

“Yes, you will.” Kenjaku’s hand moved to press on his chest. “You’ll be there right beside him.” 

Sukuna was a monument to man and monsters. He was a towering figure, standing head and shoulders above anyone else. His strength was evident in each refined muscle. Four tremendous arms remained at his side, larger than pillars. His hands were larger than other men’s skulls, built to main and kill. 

His skin was clear and polished, embellished with tattoos that stretched from his feet to his cheekbone. His features were sculpted and harsh, solemn. Purple skin bubbled up on one side of his face, forming thick plates where engorged eyes sat. There was a distance held within them, an unknown expanse that no one had ever attempted to explore. 

The man was cruel. He found enjoyment in the suffering of others. He found enjoyment in being strong and better than those around him. He was separate from the world of men; removed, elevated.

Yet, now, whenever Jin dreamt of the man, he only saw his son. 

Jin gets weaker as time goes by. 

Yuji only gets stronger. 

Jin gets sick for the first time since childhood. Yuij curls up at his side, not one degree warmer than he should be.

Yuji always rushed back to him when he got out of school. Kenjaku doesn’t go to work as often. Jin spends all the time he can with them as much as possible. They go to theme parks and the playground. Kenjaku takes them out to the American diner in Tokyo that he enjoyed before Yuji was born. They see dozens of movies, each one more special than the one that came before it. 

He sat beside Kenjaku as they read aloud by Yuji’s bedside every night now. Sometimes he falls asleep on her shoulder, with Yuji’s hand in his. Other times hes wide awake, watching Yuji’s little eyes flutter shut. One night, he read a single William Blake poem before he had to stop. Kenjaku took over for him, reading it aloud in her voice. 

Kenjaku’s book is complete now, bound neatly. Jin feels as if hes falling behind. So he hurries, filling his collections with as many pictures as he can. He organizes them and then reorganizes them to make his gift perfect. It had to encapsulate their family, had to show all the love they had for each other. It’s hard, but he finalized the version that belonged to Yuji just in time. He finalizes the one he made for Nobara as well, giving it to Chiyo when they last saw each other. 

“What is it?” Chiyo had asked him. The look on her face was one of confusion. “Why’d you follow me out?” 

He handed her the book. “It’s for Bara-chan. There’s not a whole lot of photos in, but…” 

She ran her fingers over the cover. “Its like two inches thick! You have such a skewed sense of things.” 

He opened his mouth to say something, an accusation, a confession, but neither of those came out. He wanted to say something about Curses, something about Kaori, something about his wife, something about the future, yet none of those could fall off his tongue. 

“See you later,” Jin said instead, smiling brightly. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Chiyo replied, her smile matching his. “What’s gotten into you, you freak?” 

He laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t know! I just felt I should say it. Drive safe, okay?”

Her smile faltered, but she nodded. She glanced back at him before she got in her car, and that was that. 

He visits his father. Yuji and Kenjaku were at home, and it pains him to be away from them for so long. 

His father is the weakest part of the whole. Unlike Yuji, he had no pull, and unlike Jin, he resisted it. There's a certain violence that wells up in Jin when he speaks with the man. It tells him that if he were to kill his father, no one would notice until it came to his next shift. It tells him that no one would miss him. Yuji wouldn’t ask about him; they had only interacted a few times, after all. He would forget about his grandfather. He would forget about Jin. 

So he doesn’t. Maybe it’s because he’s tired now. There’s no point in it. 

They sit in the backyard. Wasuke brings out a pair of chairs and an old table, where he sets down a bottle of brandy in the center. By the time they start talking, it's half empty. 

“I knew this was going to happen,” His father said, hands clenched as he looked towards the shed. “I had a feeling it would come to this.” 

“Did you?” Jin asked conversationally. “My wife likes to talk about fate, and how everything is meant to go a certain way.” 

“She might be right about that,” Wasuke grumbled into the lip of his cup. “That type of thinking comes from old age. Usually, you can just chalk it up to pattern recognition. We both know that ‘your wife’ is much older than she appears.”

“Yeah,” Jin agreed, leaning back in his chair. “She is. How’d you figure that out?” 

“Because I met her when I was a child. She was a client of my grandfather’s, or rather, he was.” Wasuke paused, turning to Jin with a complicated expression. You know that thing isn’t the girl you actually married, right? It’s something using her corpse to move around. It’s…” 

“I know!” Jin chuckled, finding his father’s concern amusing. “I don’t mind! We work better than me and…”

His voice got softer, chest suddenly hurting. He fiddled with his hands. “We work better. Even if she were in someone else’s body, I’d love them just the same. It doesn’t matter if it was a man or a woman. She’s, you know…” 

“She’s going to your ruin,” Wasuke finished. “I find it hard to trust that thing with how involved it seems with our curse. It’s been attached to our family for longer than I even know; watching us, playing with us.” 

“With Sukuna,” Jin corrected. “She was involved with Sukuna.” 

“What?” 

“You don’t remember,” Jin closed his eyes. “I do, in a way. The name of our ‘curse’ is ‘Ryomen Sukuna’, a sorcerer from a long, long time ago.  We were all born from him, and we want to return to him. I think that’s what you’ve been calling a curse.” 

“Is that not how you see it?” Wasuke huffed. He paused to digest the information. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Are you here to kill me, Jin?” 

He let that question sit. 

“No,” Jin said, eyes opening to only focus on the shed. “No I’m not.” 

“Do you want to?” Wasuke pressed.

“You were going to let me kill you back then,” Jin said instead, rubbing the bite mark on his arm. He glanced at the near identical one on Wasuke’s arm. “Why?” 

“You’re my son,”  Wasuke answered. 

Jin filled in the blanks with hopeful explanations. You’re my son, I couldn’t hurt you. You’re my son, so I had to feed you. You’re my son, and I love you. You’re my son, and I understand you. It’s the explanations Jin would issue if Yuji asked him, but Wasuke isn’t Jin, no matter the soul they shared. 

“I thought,” Wasuke began, pausing as if reconsidering speaking at all.  “I thought it was the natural thing to happen. That I deserved it, for killing my own mother.” 

Jin turned to face him properly. Now, Wasuke was the one looking away, facing the sky. His guilt was highlighted by the cool glow of the moon. The shadows cast by his sharp features deepened his wrinkles, aging him another ten years. 

“That family of ours, all we did was kill each other, slowly and painfully,” Wasuke continued. “Like poison, and we couldn’t help it. We can’t help it, because it's how we were made. I had hoped the cycle would end with you, and a day like that one wouldn’t have happened again. Now though…” 

“It will end with me,” Jin said. “With Yuji, really. My wife will make sure of it.” 

“You’ll be lucky if that boy doesn’t pull you right out of your skin,” Wasuke scowled. “I don’t know how you trust that thing. You’re aware of her age, of sorcerers and their ilk, how long shes been watching us, and you’re okay with it? You love that ancient thing to have a child with it. You’re not even thirty yet and—” 

Wasuke stilled, eyes wide as he looked Jin over. He wondered what his father saw to make him so—

“You stupid boy,” Wasuke hissed. “You stupid, stupid boy.” 

—sad. Sad? Concerned? Was that right? Jin didn’t know. He could never read his father. 

He wished he had received that level of concern when he was younger, back when he wanted it, when he needed it. Was it actually concern? Was Wasuke capable of that? More likely than not, it was pity. 

“I want Yuji to have the best life possible,” Jin explained with a small smile. “That means I have to exit stage right so he can shine. I want him to be the star of the show, you know?” 

“I can’t imagine that’ll end up any good,” Wasuke said quietly. “Not with that thing involved. Not with what we are. Yuji’s stronger than we are, even when you were younger. If sorcerers got into the mix…What is your wife planning, Jin? What was the goal for all of this?” 

Jin hummed. “For Yuji to be happy, of course.” 

“You can’t actually believe that.” Wasuke crossed his arms. “Tell me the truth.” 

“It is the truth.” Jin crossed his own arms. “You won’t understand. You never understand.” 

He ignored the way his voice cracked. It was the alcohol, he thought, making him more emotional than he should be. He didn’t care anymore. He was a grown man now. He wasn’t a little boy anymore.

Wasuke had nothing to say to that. That was the worst thing out it all. He just stared at Jin, analyzing, judging.

“Why didn’t you love me?” Jin blurted out against his will. “I know it's not Sukuna’s influence. It’s easy to love Yuji and to be loved by him. What was wrong with me? What could I have done to make you love me?” 

“What a stupid thing to say,” Wasuke huffed. 

Before he could say anything else, Jin stood up, nearly knocking his chair down. He was too scared of the rejection that would surely follow. He was too scared to know the truth, too scared to know what was wrong with him. He felt ridiculous for even coming here, for ever trying to reconnect with his father. 

Nothing had been accomplished. All they did was talk in circles, over and over again. They were never the type to have meaningful conversations, and tonight was no different. He should have known. He should have known. He should have known. 

So he leaves before he does anything he regrets, before he says anything worse. 

He does not check if his room is the same as he left it. He feels as if he already knows the answer. 

Yuji and Kenjaku are sleeping on the couch when he returns home. Yuji lay on top of his mother, her arm thrown over him to keep him close. His own arms snaked around her shoulders, his head tucked into her neck. Drool escaped the corner of his mouth, wetting her shirt collar.

A documentary on praying mantises played on the TV. Coloring sheets were scattered around the coffee table along with his scrapbook. Placed on top of his scrapbook were pictures Kenjaku had taken of their day together, so Jin could still remember it. It was from his old Polaroid. He wasn’t even aware it still had film or that he had it at all. 

They had colored together and then dissected a small rodent. Yuji had worn oversized goggles and bright blue surgical gloves. Kenjaku held the scapel in a shaky picture, one that Yuji had taken. Yet he was the one tasked with probing and cutting the organs out with small scissors. She took a picture of him smiling, presenting their hard work. 

He loved them so much. That’s why he knew what he needed to do for them. It was his duty as a father. 

He placed a blanket over them, kissing them both on the forehead. He went to the kitchen and wrote down a recipe for stew in his nicest handwriting. Jin stuck it to the fridge with one of Yuji’s letter magnets. 

This is what he wanted. 

This is what they all needed. 

This would keep Yuji safe from him. 

This would make Yuji stronger. 

This would make sure that Yuji wouldn’t end up like him; slowly degrading over time, unable to think clearly, confused, and emotional. He wouldn’t feel that tiredness that came from being eaten away slowly. He wouldn’t feel the guilt that came with killing kin. He’d be whole, and he’d be love. That’s all Jin wished for him. It made sense to him, and if it didn’t, his wife would make it so. 

They take a trip to the beach right at the beginning of summer. 

Yuji loved the sand, and he loved the water. He liked rolling around in it, even letting Jin bury him under it.

Kenjaku read a book under the umbrella for most of the day. Yet even she could not deny the fun of a beach trip. She chased Yuji around, picking him up and tossing him into the water. 

“Again, again!” Yuji demanded, jumping up and down with his arms raised in the air. “Mom! Again!” 

She laughed, giving in easily. Kenajku did it over and over until he got bored and moved on to sandcastles, which both of his parents helped out with. 

Yuji gets tired eventually. They spend that time floating in the water, Yuji's head on his chest as Jin supported his weight. 

“I love you, Yuji,” Jin said to him softly. “You know that, right?” 

Yuji nodded, smiling. “I love you too! Lots!” 

“Yeah? But you know what?” Jin grabbed his noise. “I love you more!” 

“Nuh uh!” Yuji denied, voice nasally. “I love you more!” 

“Well…” Jin drawled off in thought, knowing there was one way to beat him at this before it devolved into a childish game. “I love you to infinity and back. Nothing can beat that!” 

They get a family portrait taken of them. It’s a professional one with a photographer and large pieces of lighting at some studio he’s ever heard of. He held Yuji on his lap with Kenjaku standing behind them. Her nails dug soothingly into his neck, grounding him in place.

He feels faint, weaker than he should be now that he’s given up on all his defenses. He hopes the makeup his wife applied to his face covers any of those feelings up.

He starts crying once they’re done because it feels like his final one.

“Will you let me kiss you properly?” Jin asked as Kenjaku’s hands wrapped around his throat. 

She smiled with all her teeth on display, just as cute as always. “We’ve kissed plenty of times!” 

“I’ve kissed this body’s lips, but I haven’t kissed yours,” Jin replied. He was too weak to fight back even if he wanted to, so he could only plead. “Please? Just once before I go?” 

Kenjaku frowned, her lips pursing. “I don’t have any lips to kiss.” 

“You know I don’t mind teeth,” Jin rubbed her hips. “I love every bit of you, so please let me touch you.” 

She sat up straight, and just like his dream, she bore down on the seams of her skull. Liquid started to pour down Kaori’s face in thick rivets, as Kenjaku revealed their body to him. They moved back some, helping Jin to sit up so that they were eye-to-eye.

“You’re beautiful.” Jin’s hand moved to caress the lip of Kaori’s skull. He smiled at the way Kenjaku shivered. He cupped her jaw, bringing his lips to their teeth. It was softer than all of their previous kisses and all the more precious for it. He savored its sweetness. “Okay, I’m ready now.” 

Kenjaku pushed him down, rubbing her hands over his chest. “I’ve given you a good life, haven’t I?” 

“You have,” Jin nodded. “I couldn’t have asked for a better one.” 

“I’ve given you a life you’ve always wanted,” Kenjaku continued. “A house, a son, whatever you could name, I made sure you had it. You never went without something, did you?” 

“You did everything perfectly.” 

Her hands moved up to his throat. “I satisfied your curiosity, just enough to keep you sated. You might have lived a life of ignorance, but it was a happy life. Anything more would have caused you hardships.” 

They pressed down, their toothy smile regaining its place on her face. An ugly sound left his mouth, washed away by the liquid that poured from her head. His vision started to fade in and out, but his eyes were always focused on his wife’s real face.

“Use the recipe I left on the fridge.” He said to them. 

Her smiled seem to grow. “So you’ve thought of that too? I’ve always loved that about you.” 

“I love you,” Jin’s choked words came, hands falling limp against the bed. 

His vision and hearing were too far gone to make out what they said. This time, though, he had no doubt about it. 

Jin was met with darkness as far as the eye could see. The air was cold, tickling against his cheek as some imaginary wind passed him by. It whispered an echo of old words, of old people and places that he had never seen with his own eyes and never would. 

There's water covering his feet, a red light bouncing off it. They were no sun or stars hung in the sky with no moon to accompany them. Perhaps they were in hiding, or perhaps they had found another place to spend their time. It was fun to think about. He continued moving forward, just as he should. His movements created ripples in the water that continued on and on, much farther than he could ever reach. It’s not like he needed to go that far; this was the end. 

In the distance, there was another person. Seeing the other made Jin smile. 

He let the waters consume him. 

Kenjaku hummed as they busied herself in the kitchen. Her cooking skills were rusty after having Jin do all of it for years, but she made it work. Within a couple of hours, a pot of fresh stew was done. 

She dabbed at the fresh stitches on her forehead with a handkerchief, sighing as she finally finished. 

“Yuji!” She called, immediately hearing his little feet pound against the floorboards.“Dinner’s done!”

Yuji jumped into his chair, eagerly eyeing the stew. “Smells good!” 

She placed it in front of him, petting his head. “Does it? Tell me if it tastes good! Your father left this recipe just for you!” 

Yuji devoured the meal like a man starved. Perhaps he was, for it had been a thousand years since Sukuna had indulged in his favorite meal.