Human life was always weak. Sukuna never let the thought cross his mind of how weak Toji would be once he’s gotten old— if he lives until he’s old. He has no choice but to acknowledge it as he uses his bottom left arm to lift Toji up, his upper left wrapping around the man’s waist in a gentleness that he realizes needs to be in his actions.

Sukuna ignores the weak punches and hits from Toji, the constant scolding that “I don’t need to be picked up, I can handle myself” falling on ears that’re too stubborn to actually listen.

Just how long does he have until he’s lifting up a corpse? Forty years together— a time that seemed slower than the centuries he’d been alive, most spent killing and conquering the world he was made to do.

Forty years was almost Toji’s whole life with Sukuna.

“Zen’in,” he looks up at Toji and he finds himself trailing over the man’s face, wanting to keep it held in his mind. He hated how weak Toji got, but knows that Toji himself is still strong-willed. Even when he’s so close to be stolen by death. “They say you get softer with age. Why are you still hardheaded, so difficult?” He shakes his head, continuing his steps throughout their shinden-zuki.