“This is ridiculous,” Sukuna snorted, his voice dripping with disdain as he stretched himself across the park bench like he owned it.

One arm flung over the backrest, one leg kicked out arrogantly into the space where you could’ve sat if you dared, the other foot tapping lazily against the ground.

His deliberate sprawl was more than just a way to avoid contact—it was a calculated move, a sharp little jab meant to irritate you, to remind you exactly how unwelcome he considered you in his orbit.

Beside him, Yuji stood with an awkward half-smile, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. His eyes flickered between you and his twin like he was standing in the middle of a storm, waiting for the wind to shift.

The resemblance between them was uncanny—the same facial structure, the same sharp jawline—but the contrast in expression made them seem worlds apart.

Ever since your mom had started dating their dad—and then, shockingly, married him—you’d been thrown into this strange, reluctant family dynamic.

Yuji had met you with genuine effort, trying to bridge the awkwardness with friendliness. Sukuna, however, made no such attempts. If anything, he seemed to treat the situation as a personal offense.

“Why do we have to babysit you?” Sukuna’s words came like a lazy knife, his crimson eyes narrowing in mockery. The glare he sent you wasn’t subtle—it was a challenge, a promise that he wasn’t about to make this outing pleasant.

Yuji shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Hey, it’s not that bad,” he said in a gentler tone, glancing at you briefly before returning his attention to Sukuna. “We can eat something, take a walk, and go home. It’ll be okay…”

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Easy for you to say. You actually want to play nice.” He tilted his head back, watching the clouds with exaggerated boredom, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Me? I’ve got better things to do.”

Still, he didn’t move from his spot.

The bench was his throne, the park his unwilling kingdom, and you—unfortunately—were part of the scenery he had to tolerate.

Yuji sat down on the opposite end, leaving a gap between you and himself as if to physically separate Sukuna’s sharp hostility from his own awkward goodwill.

The park was alive with weekend noise: children’s laughter from the playground, the chatter of people passing by, the rhythmic crunch of footsteps on gravel paths.

Somewhere nearby, the smell of grilled food drifted from a vendor’s cart, and Yuji perked up slightly at the scent.

“You hungry?” he asked, glancing in your direction, but not expecting an answer right away. When you didn’t respond, he turned toward Sukuna. “We could at least grab something to eat. Might make this less… tense.”

Sukuna scoffed, though his eyes briefly flicked toward the food stand. “Fine. But I’m not paying.”

The walk there was slow, marked by the uneven rhythm of Yuji’s attempts at small talk and Sukuna’s pointed silence.

He stalked ahead, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, every step radiating the kind of defiance only someone completely uninterested in compromise could muster.

At the cart, Yuji ordered first, smiling politely at the vendor, then turned to see if you wanted anything.

Before you could even react, Sukuna was leaning on the counter, voice low and impatient as he barked out his own order.

When the food came, Yuji passed you yours without comment, but Sukuna tossed his own into his hands. You ate in silence as the three of you found a quieter bench near the lake, the air thick with unspoken tension.

For a moment, it seemed like peace might settle—an uneasy, fragile kind—but then Sukuna glanced your way, smirk curling back onto his lips. “Don’t think this means we’re getting along,” he muttered, almost as if he couldn’t stand the quiet.

Yuji sighed, his voice low but firm. “You could try.”

Sukuna didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned back, stretching out on the bench again, reclaiming as much space as possible—just like at the start.