Chapter 1: The Interrupted Encounter
The knock at the door was too soft, the sound almost swallowed by the bass thumping from the neighbor’s apartment. Sukuna heard it anyway. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring in the dim hallway light, and pulled the door open without checking the peephole.
Yuki stood there, her fist still half-raised. The smile died on her lips.
He was in boxers, nothing else. The sharp lines of his torso were a map of fresh marks—bruises the color of storm clouds, a trail of dark red bites marching from his collarbone down over his pectoral muscle. One, right over his heart, was particularly vicious, the skin broken. The familiar, musky scent of him, mixed with cigarette smoke and stale whiskey, rolled over her.
“Hey,” she said, her voice smaller than she intended.
Sukuna exhaled a plume of smoke, not moving to let her in. His crimson eyes scanned her, detached, like he was looking at a piece of furniture he might’ve ordered and now regretted. “Didn’t call you.”
“I… I wanted to see you. Last night was…” She trailed off, her eyes stuck on the bites. She remembered being drunk, passionate, but not that. She didn’t remember breaking his skin.
His mouth twitched, not a smile. More like a sneer was getting warmed up. Behind him, the living room was a cave of neglect. A flickering TV screen cast a blue neon wash over empty bottles, a stained couch, and—
A girl.
Curled on the armrest of the sofa like a cat, wearing only lace-trimmed panties and a thin black bralette. Pale skin, long dark hair fanned out. One leg was hooked over the back of the couch, the other foot planted on the cushions, an obscene and effortless display. She was looking at Yuki, her eyes half-lidded, her fingers tracing slow, meaningless circles on the back of Sukuna’s neck where he stood in the doorway.
Yuki’s brain stuttered. “You… you have company.”
“No shit.” Sukuna finally stepped back, a silent, mocking invitation. The movement made the girl’s hand slide from his neck to his shoulder. She didn’t look away from Yuki.
The air inside was thicker, hotter. It smelled of old smoke, cheap whiskey, and underneath it all, a sweet, feminine perfume that clashed violently with the decay. Yuki’s shoes stuck slightly to the floor with each step.
“Who is she?” Yuki whispered, though the girl could obviously hear.
“My baby sister,” Sukuna said, dropping onto the couch. The girl immediately shifted, draping herself across his lap, nuzzling her face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. A possessive, animal gesture. “Megumi. Say hi, baby.”
Megumi peeked at Yuki. “Hi.” The word was a puff of air, devoid of any interest. Her hand drifted over Sukuna’s chest, a fingertip stroking one of the darker bites.
“Your sister,” Yuki repeated, the word feeling like broken glass in her mouth. The girl looked nothing like him, but that wasn’t proof. The way she was touching him was proof of something else entirely. “Those marks… Kuna, I didn’t…”
“Make these?” he finished, his voice a low rumble. He tilted his head, giving Megumi better access. She pressed her lips to a bruise. “Nah. You were pretty tame last night. Passed out quick.”
The casual cruelty of it landed like a fist to her diaphragm. Yuki’s face burned. She stared at Megumi’s mouth on his skin, the quiet, sucking kiss she was now placing over his pulse point. A fresh mark. Right in front of her.
“Why?” was all Yuki could manage.
Sukuna shrugged, the motion jostling his sister. She made a small, annoyed sound and bit his earlobe. Not playfully. A sharp, corrective nip. “She gets pissy if she’s not satisfied. Woke up cranky.”
Megumi sat up slightly, finally giving Yuki her full attention. Her eyes were a bottomless dark, shiny and empty. “You’re the one who kept him out so late,” she said, her voice a petulant singsong. “He came home smelling like bar trash and your cheap perfume. I had to fix it.”
“Fix it,” Yuki echoed, nausea rising in her throat.
“Mhm.” Megumi’s hand slipped down Sukuna’s stomach, towards the waistband of his boxers. He didn’t stop her. He watched Yuki instead, a challenge in his bloody gaze. “He’s mine first. You just borrow him sometimes. But you don’t mark what isn’t yours.” She pronounced each word with a chilling, childish clarity. “Only I get to do that.”
The world tilted. The stained carpet, the clutter, the two of them tangled together on that filthy couch—it all sharpened into a single, horrifying picture. Last night’ vague, happy memories curdled. His distractedness, his rush to leave her apartment afterwards. Not to go home. To come back here. To her.
“Is this a joke?” Yuki’s voice cracked. “Sukuna, tell me this is some fucked-up joke.”
He took another drag, ash dropping onto his own thigh. Megumi brushed it away. “You saw the door,” he said, his tone flat, final. “You walked through it. Nobody forced you.”
“You said you loved me last night.” It was a desperate, pathetic weapon.
“I say a lot of shit.” He finally moved, shifting Megumi off his lap. She pouted, crossing her arms under her chest. Sukuna stood, looming over Yuki. The intimacy of his nakedness was now a weapon. The marks were a ledger of her blindness. “You were convenient. You’re not anymore. You’re asking questions, getting clingy. Looking at my shit.” His eyes flickered to Megumi, a silent communication that excluded Yuki entirely. “I hate that.”
“So that’s it?” Yuki spat, anger piercing the shock. “You’re breaking up with me because your sister is jealous?”
The slap of his hand on the wall beside her head wasn’t loud, but it made her whole body flinch. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. His breath was smoke and mint. “Watch your mouth. You don’t talk about her. You don’t even think about her. You’re nothing. A warm hole I got bored with.”
Tears blurred her vision, hot and humiliating. She willed them not to fall.
Megumi giggled from the couch, a light, airy sound. “Bye-bye, bitch.”
Sukuna straightened, his expression dissolving back into bored indifference. He took the cigarette from his lips, glanced at it, then dropped it. It landed on the worn toe of Yuki’s sneaker, a tiny shower of sparks dying on the canvas. “Get out. Don’t come back. Don’t call.”
He turned his back on her, walking back to the couch. Megumi opened her arms, a triumphant little smile on her face as he sank down beside her, already tugging her close, his mouth finding the top of her head.
Yuki stood there, the acrid smell of the extinguished cigarette stinging her nostrils. The sounds started again behind her—a low whisper, another giggle, the wet, soft sound of a kiss.
She turned, fumbled for the door handle, and stumbled into the bright, anonymous hallway. The door clicked shut, solid and final, behind her. She made it three steps before the first sob tore loose, ugly and raw, echoing off the peeling paint.
Inside, the TV flickered. Megumi traced the old bite marks on her brother’s shoulder, her earlier petulance soothed. “She was boring anyway, Kuna-nii.”
“Yeah.” He caught her wandering hand, bringing her fingers to his mouth. He bit down on the tip of her index finger, not hard enough to break the skin, just enough to make her gasp. A punishment for the interruption. A reward for her performance. A reminder.
He tasted salt and her perfume. “You’re all I need.”