Chapter Text
Jin Itadori learnt too late that love could be architectural.
That it could take shape as corridors and ceilings, as promises layered one on top of another until the air grew thin. He believed love meant endurance, meant staying even when the walls whispered back. He believed that if he stood still long enough, if he braced himself properly, the house would settle.
But love like this never settles.
It expands. It presses its weight into every quiet moment until devotion feels less like shelter and more like a sealed room with no windows. That kind of love, was the most twisted curse of them all.
“Don’t talk about such things in front of Yuuji,” Jin said, voice even. He adjusted the two-month-old in his arms, lifting him slightly. Yuuji let out an unintelligible giggle — all gums and light — and Jin almost faltered under the weight of that innocent gaze.
But he swallowed the lump in his throat, shoving the treacherous warmth down where it couldn’t reach him.
“They say babies remember more than we think.” The words fell from his mouth like a swift blade, clinical and detached.
Predictably, Wasuke bristled.
“I know you wanted a child,” he barked, marching toward his foolish son.
Jin stood his ground, though his fingers tightened around Yuuji. He couldn't afford to waver — not now. Not when he’d already made his bed.
Wasuke, too caught up in his anger, couldn’t detect the slight flinch from Jin, “and that didn’t happen with Kaori. BUT HER DEATH WAS–”
“Father in law…..”
Love is blinding.
It strips the world of reason, drowns it in colors too vivid to bear. Love makes a coward of him, because he would choose its sweetness even when I know it rots. It makes a monster of him, because he would kill to protect what he cannot keep.
Jin shifted the grocery bag onto the counter, the clink of bottles and the crinkle of plastic far too loud in the stale air. Kaori wasn’t home. Again.
He tried not to let the knot in his chest tighten. There were many things he justified for Kaori. There were many things he turned a blind eye to in order to let them have this consistency
.
There was a chance that she was at work, he rationalized ignoring the quiet whispers that Kaori had been a housewife since they first exchanged wedding vows in the back of his mind. Or maybe she’s at her family’s—the ones Jin hasn’t seen since she moved in with him permanently after a year of marriage.
Maybe she just needed air. Postpartum was a serious thing amongst young mothers these days. They hadn’t spoken properly in days. Still, he forced himself to hum a lullaby under his breath, fingers moving by muscle memory as he unpacked formula and diapers, pretending like things were still normal.
Like they were still a family.
"Kaori... would’ve come back by now," he muttered to no one, before shaking his head and forcing a smile. “It’s just a phase. She’s tired. We’re tired. And the accident…. It’s fine. This will pass soon.”
He turned toward the crib set up in the corner of the living room. Yuuji lay on his back, tiny hands balled into fists, gurgling softly at the ceiling. A bubble of laughter spilled from his lips as he kicked his feet.
Jin’s chest ached.
It was a regular occurrence. Yuuji was their miracle baby and Jin had always been rendered speechless whenever he saw that bright smile adorning his infant’s chubby face.
"Hey there, little tiger," he whispered, stepping closer.
Yuuji giggled again—this time looking past Jin’s shoulder. Straight at the ceiling corner.
There was nothing there.
Just plaster. And shadow.
And yet—
A chill raked down Jin’s spine. He turned quickly, eyes scanning the room. Nothing. He frowned, stepping back, trying to ignore the prickling sensation in his skin.
He had been feeling it for weeks now. That same cold pressure. That presence that flickered at the edge of his senses but always vanished the moment he tried to focus on it.
Sometimes, it was just the feeling of being watched. Sometimes, a flash in the mirror behind him. Sometimes, just a shadow moving when it shouldn’t.
He’d dismissed it all.
He had to.
Because what was the alternative?
That there was something wrong with Yuuji?
Or Kaori?
Or worse—himself?
No. No, he wouldn’t entertain that thought. Couldn’t.
Later that night, Jin stood in the cramped bathroom, water dripping from his chin as he stared at the mirror. He reached for his glasses, setting them down beside the sink.
Just a second.
He blinked.
And it was there.
A face — barely human, blurred and rippling like heat haze. Its skin was the color of oil, eyes wide and red like car brake lights, pupils like bleeding pinholes.
It stared directly at him.
Jin’s breath caught in his throat. He stumbled backward, slipping on the mat.
“No—no, no—” he gasped, fumbling blindly for his glasses. “They’re not real. They’re not real.”
He shut his eyes tight, chest heaving. He felt like a child again, reciting bedtime prayers in the dark, hoping monsters wouldn’t notice his fear.
He shoved the glasses back on his face, panting, staring at the mirror.
Nothing.
Just his own pale reflection, gaunt and tired. Unshaven. A stranger.
Kaori didn’t come home that night.
Or the next.
That night, Jin didn’t bother putting Yuuji in the crib. He curled up in bed, baby tucked to his chest, the soft rise and fall of Yuuji’s breathing grounding him to the here and now.
“But you’re real,” he whispered, brushing Yuuji’s downy hair. “You’re real. You’re the only thing I know is real.”
He held on tighter.
For one so small, Yuuji seemed so strong and Jin felt helpless in the light of his small infant.
Some loves are born paired, inseparable from their reflection. One heart learned the rhythm of another so well it forgot its own. When one faltered, the other staggered. Jin saw this in his parents. He saw how Itadori Wasuke had eyes only for one woman in his entire life.
It's the kind of love that believed suffering was a form of loyalty, that bearing pain together made it meaningful. But pain does not transform simply because it is shared. It multiplies. And when one could not be saved, the survivor carried the weight of that failure like a permanent bruise—unseen, unhealed, and aching in every quiet moment. Wasuke hadn't been the same when she died, and Jin never could feel the warmth again,
There were loves that tried to rescue. One that Jin felt first hand when he met Kaori when they were fourteen. A remarkable kind of love that made vows to unseen forces, that believed devotion could negotiate with darkness. These loves exhausted themselves in effort, convinced that if they just tried harder—watched closer, held tighter, sacrificed more—the ending could be rewritten. They did not understand that love cannot outmaneuver fate; it can only walk beside it. And sometimes, walking beside it is what allows the darkness to follow you home.
Love is blinding… because when he looked into those eyes —those dark captivating eyes— he no longer saw curses, nor fate, nor death waiting at the edge of tomorrow. He saw only her. His Kaori. His beautiful strong Kaori.
And in that moment, the world became unbearable in its cruelty, because he knew he would never be able to let go.
The soft clatter of a spoon against porcelain broke the silence.
"Kaori," Jin called out, beaming as he carefully placed baby Yuuji on his back. "Look at this! Yuuji’s learnt to turn on his own now! Pretty soon he’ll be able to crawl and —"
He turned just in time to see the door click open.
Kaori stepped inside. Her heels clicked sharply on the floor. Her gaze — a far cry from the warm ones that Jin replayed in his mind — was hollow, distant, like glass with nothing behind it.
Jin’s smile faltered.
"Hey," he said gently, brushing a lock of hair from Yuuji’s temple as the baby gurgled. "I was thinking we could try taking him for a walk tomorrow. Let him feel some fresh air and the grass—"
Kaori barely glanced at them.
She walked right past.
Didn’t even acknowledge the cute tiger onesie Yuuji wore, or the smear of spoiled milk on Jin’s sleeve and decorating their sofa.
The air seemed to drop ten degrees as she vanished into the bedroom, door closing behind her without a word.
Jin sat frozen for a few seconds, his arms already cradling the infant to his chest .
He swallowed. The Kaori he knew was so different from the Kaori now.
She loved with a vigilance that bordered on prophecy. Every smile carried an inventory of possible disasters; every moment of peace felt borrowed. She watched the people she loved as if catastrophe were inevitable, as if affection were a fragile thing that required constant guarding. Her love did not reach outward—it folded inward, curling protectively around imagined futures.
“She’s just tired,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “-must’ve been a bad day at work. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.”
Yuuji let out a tiny burp — high-pitched and triumphant.
Jin blinked, startled. Then smiled, all the tightness in his chest easing just a little.
“There we go,” he murmured, wiping Yuuji’s chin. “See? Still a good day.”
Later, with the evening dimming into night, Jin curled up in bed with Yuuji nestled to his chest. He absently combed his fingers through the baby’s soft cherry blossom locks — so much like his own.
So warm. So real.
And before he knew it, he had drifted off.
Jin woke to absolute darkness.
His phone screen blinked 12:47 AM.
He rubbed at his eyes blearily, glancing down to see Yuuji still asleep, curled like a tiny blossom against the rumpled blankets.
He did the math automatically.
Four hours. Yuuji would be hungry again soon.
Quietly, Jin slipped out of bed. His glasses—where had he—? He patted the mattress but found nothing.
Must have fallen beside Yuuji when he dozed off.
He hesitated, not wanting to disturb him.
It’s fine. He’s been through the house hundreds of times, he can get there without his glasses.
He shuffled toward the kitchen, squinting slightly in the dim corridor light.
That’s when he heard it.
Voices.
Low, guttural. A foreign cadence that made his skin prickle and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
He froze.
His breath caught.
He stepped closer, careful, quiet.
The voices were coming from the kitchen.
The apartment was dark — save for a strange, flickering glow from beneath the kitchen doorframe. Something not quite firelight, not quite electrical.
He crept closer, half-shielded by the edge of the wall, hidden behind the furniture.
Then he saw them.
His breath stopped cold in his chest.
Kaori sat languidly at the dining table, her posture elegant and composed — almost regal. Her eyes shimmered faintly with something… wrong.
Around her sat things akin to a sacred communion.
Twisted, grotesque beings that didn’t obey the rules of the world he knew. Their limbs were too long. Eyes in the wrong places. Skin like sludge and smoke and bone. Curses — if he had ever believed in such things before, he did now.
And Kaori was smiling at them.
She was smiling at them in her usual placid, sharp smile–one she always used when she was trying to strong arm someone into doing her bidding. She was smiling at those monsters like they were her fucking collegues.
Jin’s pulse thudded in his ears. His fingers trembled against the wall.
And then he heard her speak.
Her voice — gentle, precise — cut through the thick silence like a scalpel.
“...when the time comes, Ryomen Sukuna will rise with that child serving as his vessel.”
The world stopped moving.
Jin couldn’t breathe.
Yuuji.
She meant Yuuji.
His brain raced, latching onto impossible things.
Who was Sukuna? What did she mean by vessel?
What would happen to Yuuji?
What would happen to them? Was this still his Kaori? Was she ever?
The cold crept into his bones, numbing him.
And yet—his first instinct wasn’t to confront her.
It wasn’t to scream or cry or demand answers.
It was to run.
The hallway tilted as he stumbled back into the bedroom.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
By the time Jin reached the futon, his knees gave out. He dropped to the floor, his hands clawing at his hair, breaths breaking into ragged, uneven gasps.
The truth of the matter in actuality, is that the curse was never that love failed.
The curse was that love persisted.
It lingered after forgiveness had run out, after hope had thinned to habit. It remained long after the house should have been abandoned, after the doors should have been shut. Love became obligation. Then guilt. Then a haunting so subtle it felt like responsibility. The kind that convinces you that leaving would mean erasing everything that once mattered.
In the end, love did not destroy them violently.
It wore them down gently.
It asked them to carry what was never meant to be carried alone. It convinced them that pain was proof of depth, that endurance was the same as devotion.
Images flickered behind his eyes — grotesque shadows, the twisted faces of things that had followed him since childhood. Whispers in empty rooms. Hands that reached from corners. The weight of eyes watching him when no one else could see.
He thought he had learned to ignore them. He thought that all those years in secluded pristine room, lying on the couch with a certified practitioner writing off prescriptions were enough to keep his sick imaginations at bay. To live a life half-blind.
But Kaori’s voice — that thing’s voice — stripped away every fragile lie he’d built.
Jin pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until stars burst behind his lids.The darkness felt alive again, curling at the edges of his sanity. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t—
A sound broke through.
Soft. Wet.
A hiccuping sob.
Yuuji.
Jin froze. His head snapped up, the panic in his chest twisting into something else.
Yuuji’s tiny body squirmed against the blankets, face scrunched, eyes shimmering with tears. His small, trembling voice cracked through the silence again. Jin’s first thought was guilt.
Guilt that he couldn’t keep his wits of him enough that his own child could sense something amiss. He felt the echoing shame of failure in his role as a father, a protector.
For a moment, Jin didn’t move.
He just sat there, staring, terrified of breaking anything more.
But then—instinct overcame fear.
He crawled forward, hands shaking, and gathered Yuuji into his arms. The baby was warm and soft and heartbreakingly real against his chest. Jin’s breath caught as he forced himself to look down — to really look.
Those eyes.
Amber, flecked with gold, like melted sunlight through honey.
So impossibly alive. So trusting.
Yuuji blinked up at him through the blur of tears, and then — just like that — the crying stopped. Tiny fingers reached up, brushing Jin’s cheek with feather-light curiosity. Something inside Jin cracked open.
He choked on a sob that never came, pressing Yuuji closer, forehead resting against the baby’s.
“There, there… it’s alright,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Daddy’s here, little tiger… oh, dear heart…”
Yuuji gurgled softly, his lips quirking into a faint, sleepy smile — as if he somehow understood. And Jin broke, completely and quietly.
There were a million thoughts running though his head; The fear of the looming threat of things obscured beyond his comprehension. The damning realisation of his current predicament, the levity of his less than ideal circumstances. But none of it mattered.
Not when this small life breathed against his chest.
In that moment, Jin knew — utterly, irrevocably — that he was no longer living for himself.
He would fight. He would run. He would bleed. He would burn, if he had to.
All for this child.
Love is blinding. And still, he opens his eyes, and Jin burns.
He stays.
5 months later
Jin had never liked company dinners. He hated the cheap beer, the forced laughter, and most of all, the way his coworkers always insisted on “bonding” until everyone was stumbling. But as the most junior accountant, he couldn’t refuse. So he smiled, endured the noise, counting the seconds till he could reach his safe haven and only winced when someone slapped his back too hard and knocked his glasses to the floor.
Snap.
The frame bent, the lenses cracked.
Jin really wanted to curse. Not at them, but at himself — for agreeing to go out, for readily agreeing to be away from his precious Yuuji longer than the necessary work hours. It’s not like he actually wanted to come, he just thought that participating might open more chances for his prospects money-wise. But he should’ve expected that office work rarely benefits beyond the absolute bare minimum.
Still, Jin only bowed, waved off their drunken apologies, and hailed taxis for them one by one. He smiled the whole time, polite as always. But when the last cab pulled away, his expression slipped. He was exhausted, half-drunk, and his eyes stung from too many grotesque silhouettes crawling through the neon-lit night.
Just get home. Pretend you don’t see them.
Yeah. Remember cute things–like rabbits or better yet, Yuuji!
His sweet cute Yuuji with locks a shade lighter than him resembling the sight of cherry blossoms during spring and softer cheeks than the most delectable mochis. Yeah,
He quickened his pace, avoiding the warped shapes that hissed and shifted at the edges of his vision. His heart thudded too fast, his skin prickling. That was when he rounded the corner of a side street — and collided with someone stepping out of an alleyway.
A tall, broad-shouldered man loomed over him, shadow swallowing shadow. Jin staggered back, blinking. The first thing he registered was the stench of blood. The second was the limp shape of a body deeper in the alley, head bent at an impossible angle.
Jin’s stomach lurched. Metallic tang burned his throat.
And before any coherent thought could form—he vomited. Right onto the man’s shoes.
Silence.
“Oh—oh no, I—I’m so sorry!” Jin gasped, bowing so fast he nearly fell again. “I didn’t mean—I’ll, I’ll pay you back—please, I’m so sorry!”
He could barely form any coherent sentences, mind already fuzzy from the alcohol—though doubled with the nauseating prickle of wrongness that he desperately tried to ignore, Jin cursed his terrible luck.
He kept his eyes locked to the ground, hyperfocused on his own worn leather shoes, which unfortunately gave him the sight of his own regurgitation on a random man's shoes in his peripheral view.
The man didn’t answer. Just stood there, eerily quiet, watching him with an unreadable look. Jin, tipsy and frazzled, didn’t recognize the danger coiling in that silence. His mind scrambled, his mouth running faster than his brain.
“I’ll compensate! I swear, I-I’ll—I’ll make it up to you!” He looked up.
And up.
Oh, good. He’d thrown up on a skyscraper with abs.
This was it. This is how he’s gonna meet his creator–being squash to death by this hulkish possible yakuza whom he throwed up on. Jin wonders if he’d be given just one chance to say his goodbyes to sweet Yuuji before he goes.
The man’s head tilted, eyes glinting with something between boredom and amusement.
“With what?” he drawled, voice low and rough. “Your body?”
Jin froze. His face went scarlet. “Wh—what? No! I mean—I—wait—”
Before he could think better of it, something between panic and sheer survival instinct seized control of his body. His brain was a storm of half-formed thoughts—the cheap alcohol fuzzing his focus, the stench of blood thick in the air, sharp and metallic like rusted knives shoved up his nose.
Even as he tried not to look, his gaze flickered helplessly to the alley again, catching the faint gleam of maroon on the stranger’s shirt, dark stains that hadn’t yet dried. Worse still, in his peripheral vision, something moved deeper inside the alley—too jerky, too distorted to be human.
His stomach twisted, bile crawling up his throat a second time. No. No, he couldn’t deal with that right now. He just needed to leave. Get the hell out of dodge. Before that thing actually gets up and comes to him.
The world tilted for a second as he swayed on his feet, dizzy from the alcohol and the oppressive weight of the things crawling just beyond sight. In a split-second of drunken logic, his mind supplied the only solution that made sense: take the terrifying man and leave the terrifying alley.
So he acted. Jin reached out—because apparently his survival instincts were suicidal instead—and grabbed the man by the wrist. His fingers clamped down with more force than he thought he had, adrenaline lending him a strength born of pure desperation.
“Come on,” he blurted, words tumbling out too fast. “We—uh—we shouldn’t stand here, right?”
And then he was moving. Dragging. Tugging a man nearly twice his size who he’s convinced was an actual yakuza or at the very least knee deep in some sort of criminal activity–welp he’d rather take a convict felon over curses any day.
The stranger barely resisted - a blessing Jin was grateful for- blinking in faint surprise as the wiry, trembling salaryman half-pulled, half-stumbled him down the street.
Which was how Jin ended up in a fluorescent-lit 7-Eleven, sitting on a flimsy plastic chair with a hulking, dangerous man across from him.
Before he could think better of it, something between panic and sheer survival instinct seized control of his body. His brain had been a storm of half-formed thoughts—the cheap alcohol fuzzing his focus, the stench of blood thick in the air, sharp and metallic like rusted knives shoved up his nose.
Even as he tried not to look, his gaze flickered helplessly to the alley again, catching the faint gleam of maroon on the stranger’s shirt, dark stains that hadn’t yet dried. Worse still, in his peripheral vision, something had moved deeper inside the alley—too jerky, too distorted to be human with a distorted ringing noise.
He didn’t want to think about what it was. He didn’t want to think at all.
So he did the only thing that made sense in his muddled, alcohol-soaked logic: leave. Take the stranger and go. Get out before the air itself swallowed him whole.
By the time they stumbled several meters down the street, the heaviness pressing against his shoulders began to ease. The prickling on his neck—like dozens of invisible eyes scraping against his skin—finally dulled. Jin hadn’t even realized how tightly he’d been holding his breath until it escaped in a shaky exhale. The further they got from the alley, the less wrong the world felt, and for the first time that night, he could hear his own thoughts again.
He straightened slightly, rubbing at his temple. His head was pounding. His vision swam without his glasses, the lights of passing cars blurring into ribbons of neon and shadow. He blinked hard, instinctively reaching to adjust the frames that weren’t there, and grimaced at the memory of his cracked lenses.
Great. He’d have to dig out his backup pair later—where had he left them? Bottom drawer? Or maybe Yuuji’s room, the toddler really liked playing with them, maybe he ought to buy some toy glasses for–.
A low, deliberate grunt broke through his thoughts.
Jin froze mid-step, realizing with creeping dread that he was still holding the stranger’s wrist. His fingers shot back like he’d touched fire.
Now that the danger of the alley had receded, he finally saw the man properly—and oh, oh no. He was enormous. Broad shoulders, arms that looked like they could crush bricks, and a stance that screamed trained fighter.
Even standing still, he radiated that quiet confidence of someone who knew how to hurt you, but didn’t need to prove it. Jin recognized the posture instantly; he’d seen it before, years ago, back when his father forced him into martial arts after he came home with a black eye. People who moved like that knew how to make you regret ever picking a fight.
And then there was the face. Sharp cheekbones. Dark hair that fell carelessly across his forehead. A faint silver scar tracing over his lips, catching the streetlight just so. It was the kind of face that shouldn’t be attractive, but somehow was—dangerously so.
Jin’s brain, apparently determined to sabotage him, made the connection out loud before he could stop it.
“Are you—uh—are you with the Yakuza?”
The man didn’t even blink. Just stared at him with that unreadable calm, as if the question barely warranted acknowledgment.
Jin’s panic spiked anew. “Because if you are Yakuza, I’d just like to say that I really didn’t mean to throw up on your shoes! And also, I don’t have that much money, but I can—uh—I can reimburse you? For the damage? Please don’t kill me, I’m not ready to die yet!”
The words tumbled out in one long, breathless string—too fast, too slurred, too sincere. Somewhere in the back of his foggy brain, Jin thought distantly that maybe he should stop drinking if this was what it did to his self-preservation skills.
For a long, suffocating moment, the man didn’t say anything. He just looked at Jin, expression unreadable, eyes heavy-lidded and assessing.
Jin felt it—the weight of that gaze—like standing under a spotlight with nowhere to run. His pulse jumped, his brain yelling at him to stop talking, but his mouth apparently had other plans.
“I mean—obviously, not that there’s anything wrong with being a Yakuza! It’s a legitimate line of—okay, maybe not legitimate, but—uh, honorable? I’m sure your work has... ethics? Oh god, please don’t kill me.”
The man blinked once. Slowly. Then his lips curved into a faint smirk.
“You done?”
The words were mild, but they carried the same casual menace as a blade drawn half an inch from its sheath. Jin froze, shoulders locking. The man’s voice was rough but low, like someone who’d forgotten how to sound polite and didn’t care to relearn.
Toji—though Jin didn’t know the name yet—shifted his weight, the motion lazy but deliberate. The streetlight carved harsh lines along his cheekbones, glinting off that faint scar. He reached up and brushed something invisible from his sleeve, and the small movement made Jin flinch like a rabbit expecting claws.
“You yap too much,” Toji said, tone flat but faintly amused. “Relax. If I was gonna kill you, you wouldn’t still be talking.”
That… did not help.
Jin’s nervous laugh came out high-pitched and strangled. “Ahaha, right, of course, funny joke! You’re—uh—you’re kidding, right? Right?”
Toji tilted his head. Didn’t answer. Just kept looking at him with that bored, wolfish patience—like a predator indulging a particularly confused prey animal.
Jin swallowed hard. He should probably run. Or apologize again. Or call the police. Or anything really, other than standing here sweating in front of a bloodstained man with arms the size of his thighs.
Instead, because the alcohol had long since taken over what little common sense he possessed, Jin blurted, “You—uh—should probably clean your shoes. And maybe your shirt. Bloodstains are hard to get out.”
The words slipped out before Jin’s brain could slam the brakes. The moment they left his mouth, his stomach dropped.
The stranger’s expression didn’t change at first. Then, slowly, his head tilted — just a fraction — and something in the air shifted. The easy disinterest drained from his face, replaced by a quiet, dangerous sort of stillness.
“The fuck did ya just say?”
The low, gravel-edged voice crawled up Jin’s spine like static. The kind that made your instincts scream run, even when your body refused to move. He could feel it — the pressure, the suffocating, invisible weight in the air, like a blade pressed flat against his throat.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Oh, great. Just perfect. He’d gone and pointed out the blood on the possibly-not-human man’s clothes. Brilliant, Jin. Absolutely stellar judgment.
“I—uh—nothing! I meant—paint, probably? Or ketchup? I—I’m sure it’s nothing serious, haha!” he sputtered, voice breaking into a panicked laugh that sounded closer to a dying kettle.
The man’s eyes — dark, sharp, unblinking — didn’t waver.
If anything, he looked… amused. Like a wolf watching a rabbit trip over its own feet.
Jin’s brain scrambled for an exit, any exit. He could practically feel the bloodlust radiating off the man, subtle but unmistakable, prickling along his skin like goosebumps.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
Then, mercifully, his phone buzzed. The shrill ringtone sliced through the heavy silence like a lifeline. Jin flinched, fumbling it out of his pocket, and his heart dropped further when he saw the screen: the babysitter.
Right. Yuuji.
He was supposed to have picked him up fifteen minutes ago.
“Oh crap,” he muttered, mostly to himself, and then to the man, “I—I really need to go! Like, right now! I’m so sorry about all this, and uh—thank you for, you know, not murdering me, I guess—”
The man raised an eyebrow, still silent, still terrifyingly calm.
Jin, in full panic autopilot, shoved a wad of crumpled bills into the man’s hand — far more than necessary — and bowed awkwardly, nearly dropping his phone in the process.
“Please take this! For the—uh—trouble! And the… shoes! And—okay, bye!”
And with that, he spun on his heel, cheap oxfords slapping against the pavement as he bolted out of the alley like a rabbit who’d seen the glint of fangs.
Behind him, the man—Toji, though Jin didn’t know yet—watched him go. The smirk returned, small and sharp, curling at the edges of his mouth.
“…Paint, huh?” he murmured, voice low with something dangerously close to laughter. Leaning back against the flimsy plastic chair, Toji dug a hand into his pocket and fished out his phone, thumb swiping over the screen to redial the most recent number. The device rang twice before the other end clicked.
“Yo,” Toji greeted, voice lazy, almost bored. He reached for the half-empty bottle Jin had left behind, taking a slow swig that still carried a faint hint of sweetness. “Did you clean it up?”
A muffled response crackled through the line. Toji’s gaze drifted to the crumpled wad of bills the pink-haired man had shoved into his hand earlier. A faint smirk ghosted across his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah. Good,” he muttered, only half-listening now. His mind was still replaying the night’s mess—the faint stench of cursed blood in the alley, the way the skittish guy’s gaze had flicked, just once, toward the scene Toji had left behind.
Harmless, maybe. But careless words had a way of spreading fast.
The guy didn’t seem like trouble—too soft around the edges, clearly not used to this kind of ugliness. Still, something about the way he’d said bloodstains nagged at Toji. That brief flicker of recognition in his eyes.
He stared down at the money again. “Generous for a broke drunk,” he muttered under his breath. Then, with a quiet exhale that might’ve been a laugh, he straightened.
“…There’s something else you’ll need to take care of.”
By the time Jin reached the babysitter’s door, his lungs were burning. His breath came out in shallow gasps, the remnants of alcohol and adrenaline mixing unpleasantly in his chest. He paused for a moment, one hand braced against the hallway wall, trying not to wheeze like an old man.
The door creaked open before he could knock twice. Mrs. Kobayashi peered out, her expression a mix of relief and mild disapproval.
“Mr. Itadori, again so late,” she scolded softly, though her tone was more fond than angry.
“I’m so sorry,” Jin whispered, bowing until his bangs brushed his forehead. “The meeting ran long and—uh—there was… traffic.” He wasn’t sure why he tried to lie. His voice cracked anyway.
But the second he saw the bundle in Mrs. Kobayashi’s arms, every nerve in him seemed to settle. Little Yuuji, cheeks puffed and pink, was fast asleep—tiny fists curled near his face, lashes trembling with each even breath.
And just like that, whatever fucked up mess he went through earlier takes a backseat in his mind.
“Thank you,” Jin murmured, voice barely a breath.
Mrs. Kobayashi sighed, handing the baby over carefully. “Go rest, dear. You look like death warmed over.”
He smiled weakly, muttered another round of thanks, and started up the stairs. The old couple lived one floor below his, a stroke of luck he’d never stopped being grateful for. Even now, with his body aching and the scent of beer clinging to his clothes, Jin felt that gratitude settle deep in his chest.
Balancing Yuuji in one arm and his briefcase in the other, he climbed each step slowly, afraid even his breathing might wake the child. Halfway up, Yuuji stirred, letting out a small, sleepy whine.
“Shh,” Jin hushed gently, shifting his hold to rock him slightly. He hummed—soft, tuneless, just the first melody that came to mind. Something he remembered from his mother’s voice long ago.
By the time he reached his door, Yuuji had gone limp again, head nestled against Jin’s shoulder. Unlocking the door one-handed was a herculean task, but he managed after three failed tries and a quiet curse under his breath.
The apartment smelled faintly of detergent and baby powder—home. Jin barely made it to the bed before his knees gave out, sitting down heavily with a sigh. He laid Yuuji beside him, tugging the thin blanket over the boy’s legs.
He really should shower. His clothes reeked of cheap beer and city grime, and his head was still spinning from that encounter. The man’s face flickered briefly in his memory—the scar, the smirk, the way his eyes caught the light like a predator sizing him up.
“Yakuza,” Jin muttered under his breath, lips twitching. “Great. Just what I needed.”
Well at least it wasn’t ghosts or spirits. Jin snorted.
But then Yuuji gave a soft snore, tiny lips parting in a peaceful sigh. Jin felt his chest loosen. The heaviness in his limbs took over.
As his eyes fluttered shut, his last thought, hazy and fading, was that he never even asked the scary man’s name.