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*I should have died.* The mind-numbing statement is on constant repeat in Yuuji’s head, non-stop, forever circulating among other thoughts, flashes of memories, of things he hadn’t done—of the things he had not said to those he cared for. Accompanied by those memories, and his thoughts, Sukuna’s voice cackled in his head, berating him, mocking him, pulling all of those awful visions to the forefront of his mind until he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe without seeing repeats of thousands of people dying in front of him. *I should have died, I should have died, I should havedied, Ishouldhavedied, I SHOULD HAVE DIED—*
Yuuji stared listlessly at his palms. They were clean. Rough with callouses from training and using cursed energy. He could count every line and crease in the skin, following the life line that was abruptly cut off, and yet suddenly seemed far too long. But now, his skin seemed overlaid with a thick sheen of blood that he couldn’t wipe away, couldn’t smear off of his body even if he wanted to. The blood of those who had died because he had collapsed, because he wasn’t strong enough to have ten of Sukuna’s cursed fingers shoved down his throat and resist him at the same time. He should have been able to. *No one should have died because of him.*
*Nanami.* Yuuji’s memories brought up painful recollections of the man. His usually elegant blond hair, stern disposition, and the smile he had given him right before he had died. *Nobara.* Yuuji desparately wished she was there, cajoling him for thinking about such stupid shit, and… nothing. And Gojo… *Gojo* was gone. Sealed in a prison realm for who knew how long.
Tears, hot and fresh, bled down Yuuji’s cheeks. A knot worked its way into his throat and his chest felt tight, compressed by thousands of memories weighed down by the truth of what he—his body, Sukuna—had done. The crime that he had committed in letting Sukuna slaughter so many innocent people. Horrible, gut-wrenching sobs escaped his lips, forced upwards past the restricting knot in his throat, escalating into agonized screams that made his ears ring.
*I shouldn’t be alive.*
Pain rushed through Yuuji’s fist as sparkling shards of his bathroom mirror rained down onto his skin and the sink, knuckles bloodied and raw. His face, reflected in the remaining shards, was fractured, pieces that were no longer whole. Pieces that were beginning to resemble Sukuna more than himself. Fingers trembling, he gripped the edge of the sink and inhaled, brows furrowing tightly, when a knock on his door sounded through the room.
It wasn’t the first time someone had knocked on his door and didn’t get an answer. But he felt so trapped in his own skin, alongside Sukuna’s voice relentlessly mocking him for his weakness, that he couldn’t resist having another soul with him, *anything* other than the ghosts of those who had died haunting him in his head.
Twisting the knob and opening the door, the knot in Yuuji’s throat relaxed marginally, a slack expression of surprise crawling up his face. “you? You… shouldn’t be here.”
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