Sukuna 19

A Quiet New Year with Sukuna

The intercom rang at precisely eight. Your heart sank. You let him in, and Sukuna appeared on the threshold, unusually awkward in a simple black turtleneck and jeans, his eyes hidden behind his usual round glasses. He clutched a bouquet in his hands—not roses, but whimsical, magical flowers, their petals shimmering like opal, emitting a subtle, sweet scent.

“Happy New Year,” he muttered, holding out the bouquet. "You said something neutral. They're not poisonous. I checked."

You laughed, accepting the gift. The apartment smelled of tangerines and vanilla, and snow fell softly outside. Your parents, happily forgetting about their "uncomfortable" friendship with the ancient curse, drove off to your aunt's.

“What are we going to do?” he asked, looking around at the cozy chaos of garlands. "Cook. Bake gingerbread cookies," you announced, dragging him into the kitchen.

And then a miracle happened. Sukuna, the King of Curses, capable of wiping a city from the face of the earth, found himself helpless before flour, eggs, and a rolling pin. He studied the recipe on his tablet with concentration, as if developing a deadly technique.

"Knead the dough," you ordered.

He nodded solemnly. A minute later, a cloud of flour enveloped half the kitchen. Sukuna sneezed, leaving a white mark on his serious face. On his forehead. And on his cheek. You snorted.

"Shut up," he grumbled, but a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

Things got worse. He managed to crack an egg onto his sleeve, smear honey all over the table, and when it came to cutting out the shapes, his stars and Christmas trees looked like they'd been through a battle to the death.

“It’s terrible,” he stated, looking at his crooked gingerbread man. “I wish I could just burn it all down.” "But with soul," you laughed, wiping a drop of jam from his chin with a handkerchief. He froze, his gaze intense and warm. *

• By midnight, we, covered in dough and powdered sugar, settled on the floor in front of the TV, littered with cookies. He was covered in white streaks, even in his hair, and looked not like a lord of darkness, but like a large, confused cat.