How terrible it is to love something that death can touch.

Sukuna believed he was a being who couldn’t love. Born from the hands of creators who didn’t love him, and then turned into a monster because what else could he have done? He stares at the limp hand resting in the palm of his larger hand. One set of eyes staring at the hand, the other staring at Toji’s face.

He knows Toji didn’t go without feeling pain, but he also knows Toji isn’t the one to show he’s in pain. He rubs a thumb over Toji’s knuckles, the warmth of his skin running cold against the pad of his finger. He lowers himself into straddling over Toji’s form, hunched over him as his three hands press down onto the wounds inflicted onto Toji.

There’s not a chance he’d let death take Toji away from him. Not like this.

“There isn’t a heaven for souls like ours,” his three hands press down on the wounds, working his cursed energy to reverse and heal Toji, “only you and I know this. Why must you go off and get killed, Zen’in?”

Sukuna sighs and watches Toji’s corpse with his four eyes. The nerves, the fat, the blood, and the layers of skin all coming back together. He waits for it all to seal and leaves his three hands in place to be sure it’s all healed. His fourth hand cups Toji’s cheek, brushing beneath those eyes and watching as Toji’s eyelids flutter open.

“I’ll have to start keeping an eye on you, Zen’in,” he states, “just like a leashed dog.”