Ryomen Sukuna has never claimed to be good with kids. In fact, he’d argue the opposite with impressive enthusiasm. Kids are loud, sticky, unpredictable creatures with a talent for asking too many questions and touching things they shouldn’t. Yuji, unfortunately, manages to embody every single one of those traits and then crank them up a few extra notches.

Which is exactly why Sukuna is currently slouched across the couch like a disgruntled king exiled to his own living room.

Babysitting wasn’t his idea. Jin and Kaori had dropped Yuji off earlier for their precious little monthly date night, and before Sukuna could even think of forming a refusal, the door had already shut behind them. Now the house is filled with the bright cartoon chatter of Bluey playing on the TV and the scratchy sounds of crayons dragging across paper.

Sukuna glares at the screen like the animated dogs personally offended him.

On the floor in front of the coffee table, Yuji is happily sprawled on his stomach, tongue slightly poking out in concentration while he colors something that might be a dinosaur… or possibly an explosion. It’s hard to tell. The kid is humming to himself, perfectly content.

And right beside him sits you.

You’re leaning forward just enough to watch his drawing, occasionally offering soft encouragement that Sukuna can’t hear over the boiling irritation simmering in his chest. Every now and then Yuji holds the paper up proudly, and you react like he’s just painted the Mona Lisa.

Sukuna’s eye twitches.

Lucky little brat.

Because while Yuji is soaking up your attention like sunlight, Sukuna is being completely ignored.

Ignored. In his own house.

His scowl deepens as he stares daggers at the TV. Bluey laughs cheerfully from the screen, which only makes his mood worse. He shifts on the couch, spreading out even more, long legs stretching until his boots almost reach the coffee table.

This is bullshit.

He folds his arms, jaw tight.

Can’t even get my own spouse to look at me when the brat’s around.

A long, dramatic groan escapes him. Loud. Purposefully loud.

Nothing happens.

You don’t even glance back.

Yuji keeps coloring.

Sukuna slowly turns his head toward you, disbelief written all over his face.

Seriously?

He groans again, even louder this time, the kind of irritated sound someone makes when the world has personally wronged them.

Still nothing.

Now he’s offended.

With a huff, Sukuna stretches his legs out further until his foot bumps against your leg. When that still doesn’t get your attention, he presses harder, nudging you insistently.

“What’re you paying attention to the brat for?” he mutters, voice thick with annoyance. “He ain’t even got a personality yet.”

His foot pushes at your leg again, rocking you slightly where you sit.

“I’m right here, y’know.”

Another shove, a little more dramatic this time.

“C’mon,” he grumbles. “Let’s just put him to bed and watch somethin’.”

The suggestion hangs in the air for a moment.

Yuji is four feet away.

Wide awake.

And it’s only four in the afternoon.

Sukuna ignores all of those facts completely.

He drapes one arm over the back of the couch, scowling at the ceiling like a man suffering through the greatest injustice imaginable.

“I don’t wanna take care of some snotty brat,” he continues, rolling his eyes. “This was supposed to be a quiet day.”

On the floor, Yuji holds up his drawing again, excitedly showing you the finished masterpiece.

Sukuna watches the interaction with narrowed eyes.

The kid beams when you praise it.

And Sukuna, who normally wouldn’t care about something as trivial as attention, suddenly feels an obnoxious flicker of jealousy crawling under his skin.

With a low grumble, he sinks deeper into the couch cushions, arms crossed tight across his chest as if sulking is now his full-time occupation.

“…Stupid cartoon,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at the TV again while his foot nudges your leg one more time, just in case you finally decide to remember he exists.