22sublime

“Did you see his face?” Nobara cackles, looping her arm through yours as you stumble over the curb. “He looked like he was gonna cry!”

Nobara had, of course, decided to place bets against the sketchiest-looking guys at your favourite club and see how many of them she could arm wrestle out of some cash. 

Needless to say, she was much stronger than she looked, and the 10k or so yen she pocketed was enough to cover your entrance fees, drinks, and a round of farewell tequila shots.

“He was crying, Kugisaki.” Yuji corrects from your flank, sliding an arm around your shoulder. His hand sticks to your sweat-damp skin, making you shudder.

Nobara shrugs, sending you an inconspicuous wink. “Should’ve known better.”

Megumi walks just a few paces behind, his face illuminated by the blue light of his phone. Though he’s kept to himself most of the evening, a faint pink tugs at his cheeks, his dark eyes glazed over and not entirely present. Who knew he was a cocktail guy?

“It’s vile,” he comments suddenly.

Nobara gasps in mock offence, shaking all three of you walking in tandem. “Excuse me?”

“The way they looked at you.” He finally raises his gaze, and there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. You mirror it. “Most of them were like forty.”

“Well.” The girl shrugs. “To some, age is just a number.”

One of you gasps, another laughs.

“Don’t ever say that line around me again.”

You feel a lightness swell in your chest. It’s the genre of comfort that helps you forget about exams, deadlines, and the intricate, gnawing knot of feelings about a certain someone you’ve been trying to drown out this entire weekend.

“Okay, I’m tapping out y’all,” Nobara yawns, scrolling through her phone. Without raising her gaze, she points a finger at the dark-haired boy pacing along the curbside. “Megu, you coming?”

Megumi, without much thought, grunts in affirmation and hops off the sidewalk to join her.

“You’re so lucky to live in the area,” you can’t help but exhale. “I think I’d kill to have a place in Ebisu.”

Nobara blows a raspberry at you as she pockets her phone. “As I said, I’m looking for roommates.”

“Ebisu rent?” Yuji snorts, squeezing you closer. “In this economy?”

She sticks her tongue out, pocketing her phone just to replace it with a sleek cigarette from her purse. “You’re just bitter ‘cause you have to share a place with your brother.”

Your tummy flutters. 

“It’s cheaper!” Yuji counters as Nobara’s lighter flicks to life.

“It’s envy.”

Megumi sighs, popping his earbuds in as the other two continue bickering. You exchange pitiful looks, too sleepy to endure another hour of Shibuya’s heat.

Across the street, the massive intersection pulses with bodies. A girl in a very short, very glittery dress laughs so hard she nearly doubles over, caught only by the grace of her friends. Screens above blare advertisements in blinding color, promoting whitening creams and weight-loss supplements you’ve grown to ignore years ago. 

Ah, Tokyo at night. You never grew tired of it.

At some point in your post-party daze, Megumi started walking, catching Nobara’s attention and thereby breaking up the brewing argument between her and Yuji.

“Hey!” She calls out, tapping her cig out over the sidewalk. “Where the hell are you going?”

He cranes his neck lazily, and though you can’t hear it through the thrum, you can tell he’s sighing. “Are you coming or not?”

Nobara checks her phone again, takes a drag, and exhales loudly. Then she throws a free arm around your waist, pulling in to kiss your cheek. Your arm presses against her sequined top, tickly and cool to the touch.

“Text me when you’re home,” she murmurs against your hair.

“I always do.” You reply, wiping her fruity lip gloss off your face with the front of your wrist.

“Before you fall asleep this time.”

You laugh, pulling back with a squeeze to her palm. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her smile drops to a grave stare the moment she looks at Yuji, one finger stabbing against his pec. “Don’t let her walk alone.”

Yuji suddenly straightens, throwing out a wonky salute. “Never!”

“Good.” She eyes him for a moment longer before nodding, satisfied enough to finally leave just as her cigarette burns into a nub. “Bye, losers.”

Megumi nods a farewell, already half-swallowed by the crowd. You keep waving until he and Nobara finally disappear entirely, leaving nothing but the faint sound of the girl’s uppity vocals tearing through the street.

You stand there for a moment, taking in the smell of grilled meat and stale cigarette smoke. Their absence slowly dulls the warmth in your chest, feeling like a small hollow against the boom of foot traffic around you.

“Hey,” Yuji bumps your shoulder. “You okay?”

You look up at him, blinking until his small, worried smile comes into focus.

“Yeah.” You blow out a breath. “Yeah, just tired.”

He squints, taking you in for a while. His gaze, you realize, is glassy like Megumi’s, and despite his best efforts, he sways to one side at all times. “Liar.”

You elbow him in the ribs and he oofs dramatically, clutching his side. 

“I’m serious!” you insist.

“So am I!” He grins boyishly, looping his arm through yours. He smells like frying oil and the black pepper of his cologne. “Let’s get you home then, yeah?”

The city streets are bright things of neon and smoke. Salarymen spill in and out of izakayas with loosened ties while groups of pretty girls in 7-inch heels teeter outside dimly-lit clubs, beckoning tourists to join them for a drink. Somewhere down the main drag, a street performer’s off-tune guitar drifts through traffic. 

You let Yuji pull you along the sidewalk, your heels clicking against the pavement in a hypnotic rhythm. The buzz from earlier hasn’t fully worn off, so every step you take feels a bit like a dream.

Where were you going again?

“Did the last train run already?” you ask as the two of you round the corner to Daikan-Yama station.

Yuji fishes for his phone, squinting at the screen. It takes him a moment to find what he’s looking for, which is when you realize he’s probably a little drunker than you thought. 

“Yeah, like twenty minutes ago.” He glances over at you, shrugging. Indeed, the station looked unusually empty. “We could take a cab.”

“From Shibuya? To my place?” You snort. “I’d have to sell a kidney. Maybe a lung.”

“Orrrrr, you could stay over,” Yuji offers instead as the two of you cross the street, settling against a boarded-up storefront. “Couch is free.”

You scoff, watching a small group of teens giggle over a shared joint as they walk by, and you’re almost compelled to join. Surely, it’d be a better time than figuring out your transport home for the night. “Your free couch makes my back hurt.”

Yuji shrugs. “Beggars simply can’t be choosers.”

“You’re the beggar!”

You both laugh into the autumn air, heads bobbing when something buzzes against your hip. Yuji, still latched onto your shoulder, finally pulls back, fishing his phone out again.  

And you, of course, can’t help but peek. 

Your curiosity quickly proves unwise when you glimpse the name of the person he’s texting. You swallow dryly, looking away as Yuji’s thumbs click over the keyboard, lip quirking once in a while as he exchanges messages with he, who mustn’t be mentioned.

“Actually,” Yuji finally says, his grin illuminated by the screen. “Kuna’s in the area. He’s driving back home, so he could pick us up.”

“What?” Your voice comes out higher than intended, so you swallow it down and try again. “No. No, that’s–I’ll just take the cab. Seriously, I don’t mind.”

He quirks a brow at you, lip pursing. “Bunny?”

“Yuji?”

“It’s free.”

“I have money!”

The reason you had been avoiding Sukuna wasn’t just about your leaving him on read. It’s because while he was gracious enough to settle your car problems, you were busy jacking off to his dulcet tones like the sex-crazed pervert you were.

So with that atrocity in mind, you realized you’d much rather walk the few hours home than spend them in awkward silence in the car of a man you desperately wanted to fuck.

You pucker, arms crossing. “What’s he doing in the city so late, anyway?”

“One of his friends got engaged recently,” Yuji says slowly, giving you a single glance over his screen. “They were celebrating.”

You hum. “So… serious.”

Your friend only shrugs, clicking his phone off and finally pocketing it once more. You hope he doesn’t spot the warmth that suddenly, inexplicably coats your cheeks and nose.

“Comes for all of us.” He shrugs, and all you can do is nibble at your bottom lip. You hate that your limerence-addled mind shoves a very specific image in your face at the very mention of an engagement. 

But if you were to entertain the fantasy just a little?

You think he’d do it somewhere on holiday. 

Maybe a weekend trip to the seaside, filled with good wine and sex in the hotel room’s shower. He’d ask like it’s any other question, while you’re both lying on the sand (getting on one knee just wasn’t his style, you thought). You’d cry, he’d hum out a chuckle, and all your friends would be notified within an hour.

You think about a quiet Tuesday, months after that moment. 

The two of you tangled in sheets that smell like him, a muscular arm slung over your tummy on a morning you decided to sleep in. You’d have to wake him up eventually and tell him he’ll be late for work. He’d grunt, pull you closer, and bury his face in your hair. His hand would slide down your nude hip, thumb tracing the waistband of his boxers you stole again. Then he’d mumble something filthy against your neck. Or maybe he’d let his teeth graze your neck instead, lips trailing down your breasts, tongue flat against your sternum: worshipful as you knew he was.

You’d let him do everything to you. Then more.

You’d let him push you down and have his way with you, all slow and lazy, the way couples do when they’ve got nothing to prove anymore. He’d let himself grunt more that day, voice gravelly with sleep. You’re mine, he’d groan, playing with the zircon-studded ring on your finger, all fucking mine.

Afterwards, you’d shower together. He’d wash your hair with the expensive shampoo he insists isn’t worth the money, yet you both end up smelling like. You’d tease him for it, and he’d only pretend to be annoyed. 

Then, when you finally stumbled into your shared kitchen, all fresh-faced and hot, he’d pour you a cup of coffee and kiss the top of your head like it wasn’t anything at all.

But it’d be everything.

Oh, god. 

Your stomach lurches. 

On an average Saturday night in October, you started to realize that this wasn’t just about wanting to fuck him anymore. You’ve known that for a while, maybe, but you’ve been too good at ignoring the signs. You were just a woman, after all; a warm-blooded, young woman with a pulse and working eyesight.

But now you’re stuck at the edge of a train station with your best friend, sweating bullets and close to throwing up, missing an engagement ring that never existed in the first place.

You were irrevocably developing strong, untamed, household feelings for Ryomen Sukuna that extended far beyond arousal.

Oh god, oh god, oh god–

“He’s nearly here.” Yuji’s voice shakes you from your terrible daydream. He’s looking at you with a smile, totally unaware of the filth you had just constructed in your brain.

Somehow, you felt that getting in Sukuna’s car tonight would become the point of no return – your very own event horizon – forcing you down a rabbit hole that would eventually leave you wrung out.

“I really don’t think–” you start, choking on air. “I-I think I should just–”

Then, headlights sweep down the street.

The truck is apparent with its sleek gloss and Chevrolet logo, its tires too big for this city’s narrow roads. With a low rumble that you feel in your chest, it pulls up to the curb with the crunch of gravel, booming with the same kind of deep bass you heard back at the garage.

The driver’s window is already rolled down when it comes parallel to you, the man inside leaning comfortably in his seat with one arm braced against the passenger’s headrest. His face is half-lit by the dashboard glow, jaw sharp, and his eyes unreadable when they finally, unmistakably, land on you.

“Yuji.” He speaks slowly, but his gaze never even flickers to his brother. Instead, it stays fixated on your form, from the crow’s nest that is your hair to the rumpled dress you’ve been sweating in all night.

Run, your mind screams at you, run for the hills and never come back.

“Kuna! You’re a savior. Our savior,” the younger exclaims, pushing towards the truck and leaning against the window with a grin. “I thought we’d be stranded here all night again. Can Bunny ride with us? You know Bunny, right?”

“Yes.” His eyes flick over your entire form: head-to-toe, then back.

Yuji’s already popping the backseat doors open, scrambling inside awkwardly. “Can she crash on our couch?”

And, as tradition warranted, you and Sukuna answer in unison:

“No!”

“No.”

“Fine, fine.” Yuji sighs in dramatic exasperation, rolling his own window down and leaning a pink cheek against it. “Let’s at least drop you off, okay?”

But you’re still standing on the sidewalk, hands clasped against your front as the engine continues to rumble impatiently. You should probably insist you’re fine, but the way the driver’s eyes bore into you with thinly-veiled annoyance makes your tongue run dry.

“Where do you live?” He suddenly asks.

You lick your lips, swallowing thickly before finally attempting dialogue:

“By Inokashira Park.” Your voice is thin and mousy when it comes, so you clear your throat and try again. “Kichijōji.”

He just watches you for a moment, eyes stern but rounded with a need for sleep. A group of rowdy young men crosses the street, whistling as their eyes anchor on your nude legs. As sad as it was, you were used to this treatment.

“Get in.” Comes a rough-edged command.

You turn to Sukuna, eyebrows rising with the sudden change in tone. Your chest tightens alongside your fists. “What?”

“Get in,” he affirms, jaw ticking. “Last chance.”

Feeling like he’ll actually leave you here if you don’t make a choice, your gaze sweeps over him, then Yuji. The latter is already collapsed against his seat, eyes half-lidded.

“Come onnnn,” he whines, “I’m so hungry.”

And that’s how you end up in your crush’s Chevrolet Colorado, window rolled down and hair whipping about as you ride through the glittering streets of Tokyo.

The leather seat is warm beneath your thighs. The truck smells like tobacco and something woodsy, mixed with the faint metallic tang of engine grease. You grip the edge of your seat with both hands, knuckles pale, too tense to enjoy the views outside.

“I’m nauseous.” Yuji suddenly groans from the backseat.

“Hold it in,” Sukuna grumbles, and you deliberately keep your gaze ahead. You think if you got to see him driving right now, you’d hurl yourself. “I just cleaned the seats.”

“I’m drunk, okay?” the younger whines, pressing his forehead to the back of his brother’s seat. “Let me be drunk. I deserve it.”

You keep driving in quiet for a while longer, soon entering a colourless expressway that leads you west. You feel the engine below your feet rumble as Sukuna accelerates, dashing past smaller cars without as much as a blink.

You, on the other hand, dig deep into the flesh of your thighs.

His chin tilts towards you for a split second, then back towards the road. You can’t help but watch with bated breath when his veined hand forces the gear up with a single, smooth push.

“Too fast?” He asks, and it takes you a few beats and Yuji’s silence to realize he’s actually talking to you.

“No,” you answer semi-earnestly, forcing your fingers to uncurl. “I’m good.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but after a few seconds, you feel the car smoothly decelerate, anyway. For some reason, the act itself makes your heart race heavier than his speeding ever could.

“Oh my god,” Yuji gasps from the backseat, urging Sukuna to check the rearview mirror while you crane your neck to get a better look at what got your friend so surprised.

The soft hiss of a can fills the car, crisp and mouth-watering. Yuji, with his boyish smile and bright eyes, takes a thick swig of a black-labelled drink.

“Is that a–”

“Yuji.” Sukuna growls, forced to hear his younger brother down an assumingly lukewarm beer in the backseat of his truck while he himself can do nothing but watch and keep the three of you from swerving off the road.

“What?” Yuji smacks his lips, already reaching for another can from the six-pack you hadn’t even noticed on the unoccupied backseat. “I’m hydrating.”

“I’m about to pull the fuck over,” Sukuna warns, voice perfectly steady despite his well-warranted frustration. 

“On the expressway?” Yuji scoffs, then hiccups. “Be serious, Suku.”

You bite back a laugh, watching Sukuna’s knuckles go white on the steering wheel. His jaw ticks once, then twice. The thickest vein in his forearm flexes. And then he exhales, letting the tension disappear completely, save for the sharp look in his dark eyes.

You quickly look away.

“And you?” 

The question catches you off guard. You turn to him hesitantly, even if his attention is trained on the road ahead. “Me?”

“You drink with him?” he elaborates flatly.

You play with the hem of your dress, tracing the sparkly thread with your fingertip as Sukuna’s sharp profile shines with a passing streetlight. You exhale through your nose.

“I wish,” you admit, because you currently couldn’t trust yourself to conjure up a lie. “But no. Exam tomorrow.”

“His brow lifts slightly. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

You furrow your eyebrows and sigh in self-pity. “Eight AM.”

“On a Sunday.”

You shrug with a small, non-commital smile. “Professor’s a sadist, I guess.”

From the back, you hear a crunch of metal, followed by Yuji’s voice cutting through the hum of the radio. No, not the radio; you spot a scattered pile of plastic CD cases in the center compartment, most of them titles you don’t recognize.

“Bunny’s soooo responsible,” Yuji muses, leaning forward with his arms anchored behind your seats. “She keeps up our good reputation.”

“She’d have to,” Sukuna says dryly. “Since you’re clearly incapable.”

You chuckle, pushing a hand through your hair as you deliberately avoid mentioning the countless times you got yourself in more trouble than was worth, drunk or otherwise.

“Hey!” Yuji counters. “How can you say that?”

“You’re shit-faced with a paper due on Monday.”

“That’s–” You see Yuji’s eyebrows rise, then lower, then knit together. “How did you even know about that?”

Sukuna hums, shifting the gear again. “You left your laptop open in the kitchen. Again.”

“Stop going through my stuff!” Yuji whines so loud you flinch.

“Stop leaving it out, idiot.”

You can’t help but choke out a short and breathy thing that makes Sukuna’s eyes flick toward you for just a second. The truck hiccups slightly.

“What?” Yuji pouts, kicking the back of your seat gently. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, Yuyu.” You assure, flicking a finger under his chin. The gesture, while innocent and friendly, makes you want to search Sukuna’s face for a reaction. “Always yours.”

Yuji, seemingly satisfied with your answer, hums as he slumps back against his seat. The truck rumbles on, expressway lights flickering through the windows in hypnotic succession. 

For a moment while the CD track changes, there’s only the thrum of the engine and the distant hiss of asphalt. You watch the city blur past, tall buildings slowly giving way to residential blocks, neon signs giving way to darkened storefronts.

Then, from the back, with the malfeasance of someone who’s had just enough to lose his filter:

“Hey, Kuna.”

Sukuna huffs an exhale. “Uh huh.”

“Don’t you think Bunny’s pretty?”

Your stomach curls inwards, and for a second, you’re sure it’s over. Your face ignites with the strength of at least a dozen suns, gripping the edge of the seat as you resolutely stare at the road ahead. “Yuji–”

“What? I’m just asking!”

“You’re drunk.”

Suddenly, you wish you had been drinking.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he grins with his chin propped against the window. “I’m asking out of nothing more but genuine curiosity.”

Even with the new, upbeat track on the CD, the atmosphere feels suffocating in a way you can’t quite articulate. You can feel Sukuna’s presence beside you, massive and warm, his hands steady on the wheel like his own fucking brother hadn’t just asked if you were attractive.

You steal a glance at his profile. His expression is unreadable, with a set jaw, fixed eyes, and the odd thumb tapping against the leather wrap of his wheel. 

Tap, tap, tap. You count about ten before Yuji speaks again.

“Kuna?”

“I heard you.”

The car finally pulls up to an intersection, idling as the light turns from yellow to red. 

And Sukuna, with his hands flexing against the top of the steering wheel, actually turns to look at you. Head-on.

He’s wonderful in this crimson wash, a streak of hair falling to his forehead as he studies you with an unsettling kind of repose. His gaze starts at your face: eyes, mouth, the way your lips part slightly under his attention. Then it drops down.

You feel it like a physical touch, eyes dancing down the length of your neck, the curve of your shoulder where your dress has slipped, then lower, to where the hem has ridden up your thighs, exposing more skin than you’d planned.

It’s like he’s assessing you to form an answer, one that he eventually delivers with perfect peace.

“I’ve got eyes.”

Your breath catches, fuelled by a sudden, self-assured arousal at the way he seems to be eating you up whole. Paired with his vaguely affirmative answer, you think you could just about pounce across the console.

And maybe, if it weren’t for your best friend sipping a beer in the backseat, you’d have made a serious move by now. Making out in a car suddenly sounded much, much better than cumming to a forty-second voice message.

And when Sukuna’s eyes finally meet yours again, they shift narrower for a beat.

Your lips part to say something, but the light turns green before anything dares to leave your throat.

He holds your gaze for a heartbeat, two, three–

His eyes turn back to the road, he shifts the gear with a soft grunt, and finally pulls the truck forward with more power than is necessary.

And as your head gets flung against the headrest, your heart pounds so hard you can hear the blood rushing through. 

But in that short while where you were, debatably, eye-fucking each other into oblivion, you’ve gained a newfound confidence to push your luck. 

So you reach your right arm across the space between you and the driver, splaying your palm against the back of Sukuna’s seat, just inches away from his shoulder.

It’s, objectively, a small thing. Innocuous, even. Just your smooth, soft hand resting on leather, fingers curled slightly, manicured nails catching the glow of passing streetlight.

Then why does it feel like you’re about to implode?

You don’t look at him, instead keeping your eyes fixed on the narrowing road ahead. Your heart hammers against your ribs, loud enough that you start to worry he might hear it, too.

Sukuna doesn’t exactly react. His hands stay locked on the wheel, gaze fixed forward like yours. But his thumb stops tapping to the beat of the song, and you’re quick to notice.

The quiet stretches once again. For a few minutes, you rush down the expressway, harsh wind lapping at the sides of the truck as the sky opens clear above you, littered with stars you wish you could see.

Then, Sukuna slowly shifts in his seat, his delt brushing your fingers. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Either way, the side of your palm suddenly comes to rest against his shirt, the warmth of skin palpable through the thin material. 

Your hand twitches involuntarily, but you don’t move it. If anything, the darkening streets urge you to take advantage of the intimacy and brush your thumb against the nape of his neck.

Just once, you think. Just to see what he’d do.

Your thumb lifts barely a centimeter over his skin, hovering, hovering, and waiting for the right moment. You smell tobacco, and spice, and the heat of his skin radiates enough to scorch now. You inch closer. A millimeter, then two, then–

“We’re here!”

Yuji’s voice slices through the truck like a blade made of ice, making you snatch your hand back so fast you nearly elbow the door. Your face is on fire and pulse rabbiting, so all you can do is clasp your hands in your lap again and pretend nothing at all had happened.

You wonder if he felt it at all, the soft presence of your hand before you could even make contact. And if he did, would he have let it happen?

From his focused gaze and relaxed stature, you figure he doesn’t know. Even though his thumb suddenly resumes its tapping.

Tap, tap, tap. You’re about to go mad.

Then, the truck rolls to a sudden stop in front of a familiar building. You hear Yuji already unbuckling, stretching his arms above his head with a long yawn. You figure that, while you were busy seducing the driver, he must have taken a catnap.

“Home sweet home,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, fumbling with the door handle.

You move to climb out, too, out of habit, or nerves, or the desperate need to put a distance between yourself and the man whose skin you almost just touched.

But just as your door clicks open, Sukuna’s voice stops you.

“Where are you going?”

You freeze, one foot on the pavement already, purse in hand. “Oh. I’ll just take a cab from here.”

He looks at you like you’ve just suggested something deeply, deeply stupid. Offensive, even. Like you were attempting to betray the little bit of maybe-friendship you’ve been growing. “You’re already in my car.”

“I know, but–”

“It’s a ten-minute drive.”

You bite your bottom lip, hard. “I don’t want to be a–”

“Bunny.”

Your name leaves his lips low and patient, acting like a balm to your frayed nerves. Your lips part, then close again.

You know you’re free to go if you want, but the offer stands so firmly you’d be silly to refuse it. I mean, what were you thinking? Taking a cab while there’s a perfectly good, attractive man offering to drive you? 

“Close the door,” he says. 

So you do. 

You let it shut, locks clicking in place as you focus on rolling down your window, if only to avoid the driver’s gaze. It was doable with Yuji around, but now you’re watching him skip wobbly towards the front door, leaving you and Sukuna alone in a small, enclosed space. Feels just as daunting as it sounds.

“Bye, Yuyu!” You exclaim through the window. 

He turns to you with a grin.

“Promise to sleep over next time, okay?” he answers, making grabby hands toward you. You notice his shirt is buttoned up wrong. 

“Drink water,” Sukuna hollers.

“You drink water!” the younger retorts, poking his tongue out before his keys drop to the concrete with a metallic clink. You hear him swear under his breath, but the truck rolls forward before you can tease him about it.

You’re still a bit on edge, and the CD has run its course, so you drive in quiet for a while. The city thins out around you, trees rustled by a warm wind that swirls through the truck and helps you chill again.

“Sorry, by the way,” you suddenly say, elbow planted against the window.

“For what?”

“Leaving you on seen.”

You can feel the burning of his eyes on you for a second before he replies. “Not sure what you’re on about.”

That’s when you finally turn away from the window. You hope to catch his gaze, but he’s focused on the road ahead. 

“The voice message,” you explain, almost surprised at his nonchalance. “You sent me a voice message. About my car.”

“Mm.” He says it as if you’ve just told him the sky is blue.

You can’t help but bristle a bit, turning your torso to face him better. “I didn’t reply.”

He glances at you for a split second, eyebrows low and relaxed. He’s not upset, or irked, or anything at all. “Mm.”

You roll your lips together with a sharp exhale, crossing your arms against your chest as you watch the streets ahead become familiar. You’re almost home.

“I listened to it, though,” you add despite yourself, words bursting out before you can stop them. “You sounded…”

Good to eat? Hot? 

Fuckable?

You trail off, suddenly aware of how risky this sentence could become. 

He glances over again, this time for a beat longer. One of his brows is raised an inch, head tilted.

“I sounded?”

You force a smile, rubbing the length of your exposed thighs to soothe the ache of stress, and nothing more. Yet somehow, in this simple process, you manage to draw the man’s attention to that exact span of your body, if only for a moment.

Good, you think. Notice me.

“Busy,” you shrug, inching your fingers towards the hem of your dress, satisfied to see how high it’s ridden up during your drive. “You sounded busy.”

Sukuna hums. “One way to put it.”

You sigh, shifting in your seat as your hand reaches for the central console. You withdraw one of the plastic cases, toying with the sleek edges. “I got nothing done that night.”

He doesn’t look at you this time. “Nothing?”

Your heart jumps into your throat at the sheer undertone dancing on his tongue, like he was taunting you with just how well he could read you. Did he know you did, in fact, get busy that night? Even if it was in a way too unspeakable to voice?

But you know the show must go on, and showing fear now would mean acknowledging his assumptions, which could not see the light of day, so help you god.

“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ like a bubble, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to frustrated instead. “Nothing at all.”

The streetlight overhead catches his face again, carving the hook of his nose and the glint in his eye. He’s furrowing his brow, too, and you suddenly can’t tell if he believes you or not.

You don’t find out.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He pivots coolly.

You blink at him, thrown off by the shift, yet equally thankful you get to live yet another day without paying the price for your private activities.

“What?”

“Friday,” he continues. “Can you pick her up?”

It takes you a second too long to process, brain still stuck on the voice message and the way it managed to give you one of the best orgasms you’ve had in a while.

“Who?” you ask dumbly.

He gives you a look under his eyebrows, crooked and tinged with amusement. “Your car.”

Right. Her being Mugi: the whole reason you were able to get a bit closer to Sukuna in the first place. You make a mental note to treat her to a new air freshener once she’s out of his garage. That’s if you made it through this drive alive.

“Oh, yeah.” You clear your throat, setting the CD case back in the console with a soft click. “Yeah, Friday’s totally fine.”

“Seven.”

You nod. “Seven works.”

You sit in this quiet for a few budding moments, tapping the carpeted floor with your foot and letting the wet smell of an incoming thunderstorm overcome your senses.

Inokashira Park comes into view as a blanket of lush green, settling over the horizon like your personal “welcome home”. You loved this area. You loved how quiet it got at night. You loved when the cicadas hummed their breeding song in the summer, and how the snow refused to melt come wintertime.

“Nice area,” Sukuna observes as if on cue, eyeing the two-story homes lined with bonsai. “Kichijōji is expensive.”

“I live with my parents,” you shrug. “They’re abroad right now. And often.”

“Must be nice,” Sukuna hums. “Having the place to yourself.”

You wordlessly taste the phrase on your tongue. Must be nice. What’d be nice is something a little less solitary, and a little more touchy-feely. You were hungry, and thirsty, and tired, and the thought of going home to silence felt like a punishment.

“Gets quiet,” you confess quietly. “Lonely.”

You try your best to ignore the blatant innuendo you’ve managed to (accidentally) insert into your reply like a quiet, desperate bid. 

And for what, exactly? 

Attention? Sex? Love? Or perhaps just a single, quiet night curled up on the couch as rain thundered through your windows. As long as you’d have a warm body to hold onto when it got cold.

Sukuna doesn’t respond immediately. The car rolls through a yellow light, and the street ahead narrows greatly, lined with parked cars and somnolent storefronts. You’re quick to recognize the familiar curve of the road and the old vending machine on the corner, its sterile light flickering in intervals.

The truck pulls up to the curb just before 3 AM, the last vehicle humming with life amongst a sea of parked ones, bathed in the warm glow of a single streetlamp. The narrow, foliage-encumbered alley lies just a few paces ahead, dark and not nearly as inviting as you had hoped.

“I can walk from here,” you say breathily, reaching to unbuckle yourself. “My place is around the corner.”

He follows your gaze into the thicket, hand reaching for the car key stuck inside the ignition. “It’s dark.”

You quirk an eyebrow, shooting him an easy, polite smile. Teasing, you’d like to think. “That it is.”

After another beat of quiet, you hear his seatbelt click open. And just as you’re about to protest, he’s pushing the driver-side door open. It slams, and when you turn to look over the dashboard, Sukuna’s already rounding to your side of the truck, boots crunching on pavement. 

You hesitate, lips parting to fight for your sovereignty again as he pulls your door open with a surprising amount of fervor. “I can–”

“Come on.”

And without knowing how to deny him this simple pleasure, you shift your weight out of the car with a loud huff, careful not to trip over your heels. 

The night air hits you immediately, thick with a dampness that promises rain. Somewhere in the distance, the neighbourhood dogs sing their off-key harmony.

Sukuna doesn’t wait for you to lead. He falls into step beside you, close enough that your arm almost brushes his, but doesn’t. Just like that, with the heat radiating off your bodies, you step into the narrow alley.

The path is lined with overgrown bushes and potted plants, their leaves brushing against your bare calves as you pass. The deeper you go, the less lamplight you get.

So, while you still can, your gaze shifts to Sukuna. His profile is barely visible in the shadows, revealed through only the sharp line of his jaw and the glint in his eye when he looks down at you. So close, you truly felt how imposing his size was.

Inexplicably, you also realize just how safe you felt being around him. If it were any other man walking you home through the thicket – maybe save for Yuji and Megu – you doubt you’d have such a pep in your step.

“You didn’t have to walk me.”

He looks ahead again with a hum, and you finally lose his features in the darkness. “I know.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, just as your heel catches on a particularly large pebble. Your body flings forward, but before you can even react to what’s going on, something firm and weathered catches your elbow.

You don’t need a visual cue to know exactly what happened. 

Sukuna’s calloused palm holds you tightly, even as you stand tall with your balance fully restored. “Careful.”

And somehow, even in the shadows, you catch the depth of his gaze boring into you.

You only scoff, tearing your gaze away from the vaguely Sukuna-shaped blob. Then, you continue walking, pushing a few paces ahead. He doesn’t try to match you.

Eventually, you emerge on the other side of the greenery. 

The alley opens up into a small courtyard, with your building at the verge of a treeline. Old wood, a warm porch light, and a tiny staircase with its marble surface matted from decades of use.

Home.

You walk until you’re at the top of the stairs, turning to face him. Sukuna emerges from the shadow of the alley a few seconds after you, his large frame slowly coming into focus under the porch light.

He stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets. The warm glow catches his cheekbones, the slope of his shoulders, and the soft swoop of his hair. It’s grown a shred wavy from the moisture, curling near the temples in pink strands.

“Thanks,” you say softly, suddenly struggling to make eye contact. “For the ride and all.”

“Mm.”

You shift your weight, suddenly aware of how quiet it is here, away from the city thrum. So much more intimate than the industrial drone of Shibuya, and even the tight walls of Sukuna and Yuji’s shared apartment.

You should say goodnight and leave, but the distant chirping of crickets makes you feel like the mood would be perfect for something other than sleeping.

“Sukuna.”

His eyes meet yours in the dim light. You nibble at your bottom lip, feeling the ghost of a smile tug at you.

“Why did you walk me home?”

He’s quiet for a long, lonely while. You count the seconds with the thrum of your heart, speeding boldly through your veins as you await an answer. 

Any answer would do, you think. Tell me anything, and I’ll be satisfied.

Thunder rumbles somewhere far off in the countryside. Sukuna cranes his neck to watch the open skies for a moment, the thick column of his neck tan and open to your gaze. You can’t help but watch him like that for a while, all vulnerable on the ground below you. 

And when he finally looks at you again, the corner of his lip twitches.

“You got a boyfriend?”

The question strikes through your ribs like a solid stone in water, crashing through the delicate surface of your soul. Your breath catches audibly, and you hope it’s not loud enough to startle him away.

Because after that vaguely romantic drive, and that moment at the red light, and him walking you home, you think this could finally be it.

“No.” The word leaves your lips too fast, strained and breathy. You swallow thickly and try again. “No. No boyfriend.”

He nods slowly, his gaze persistent against the arcs of your face.

“No one?” he follows up in a low gravel.

Your heart hammers so fast you feel it red-hot in your throat.

“No one,” you echo. 

No one. Just you. Just the thought of you alone.

A train rumbles in the distance, the sturdy one that carries coal across the country. And, after five beats of your meanest muscle, you think that you’ve finally made it. This was the moment.

Ask me, you plead silently. Please, just ask me.

His lips part, and your breath stops. Your thighs clench as if they’ve forgotten your new undertaking.

“Good,” he says.

Good.

Your mind races with mighty horsepower. Good means good. Good means he likes the answer. Good should only mean the beginning, but he’s already turning to leave. Why is he turning to leave?

“Wait,” you call out, and he obediently stops mid-step. The light illuminating his features suddenly feels cool and uninviting. “That’s… that’s it?”

He tilts his head, brow furrowing slightly. “What else would there be?”

You stare at him, graceful enough to try and understand. Him admitting you’re pretty, the hand on your elbow, the way he looked at you in the kitchen, in the garage, in his truck. All of it had to mean something, didn’t it?

Didn’t it?

“I thought–” you choke, shaking your head in cessation. Your cheeks burn. Your legs feel like cotton. “Why did you ask?”

He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. For a split second, he almost looks uncomfortable; an unfathomable thought that you scarcely entertain.

“Gojo asked me to ask you.”

Oh.

“Oh.” Your voice is quick, but small and hollow. You try to smile, but it quickly disappears, brittle against your lips. “That’s… that’s nice. That’s nice of him.”

“He’s an idiot.” 

You, naturally, don’t know what to say to that. The warmth you’d been carrying in your chest cools rapidly, replaced by a heaviness so embarrassing you can’t help but rub at your temples. Stupid. You were so fucking stupid to think–

“Right.” You wrap your arms around yourself. “Well. You can tell him I’m… available. I guess.”

Something dark flickers across his face, too brief to get a read on.

“I’ll tell him.”

Your legs beg you to leave him out here, close the door, and collapse to the floor into an ugly, sobbing mess. Maybe have that drink, after all, and certainly pretend this conversation had never happened.

You do the very opposite.

“Sukuna.”

He looks at you, boots planted firmly against the cobblestoned pathway.

“What did you tell him?” you ask quietly. “When he asked you to ask me.”

His jaw ticks with tightness. You think you’ve maybe pushed things too far, or overused his kindness. After all, it was enough that he drove you all this way. Asking for intel on his best friend was probably beyond overkill.

“I told him I’d ask.”

You exhale slowly, willing your gaze to focus on his. “And?”

His eyes flick around your face, looking for something you make sure he can’t find. If he were to be this cruel, to dangle the possibility just to snatch it away, you’d make sure to keep your head high and make him watch.

“And nothing.” He finally states, taking a step back. The distance between you thickens, cold rushing in to fill the space where he had been. “Get inside.”

You watch him turn, head low as he walks the small courtyard back into the darkness. You’d like to laugh at the poeticism of the scene, but you’re afraid it’d come out as a frustrated cry instead.

“Fine.” Your word comes out sharp, but you don’t take it back. You, too, turn and head towards the front door, blinking rapidly against the sudden sting in your eyes.

You’re fumbling in your purse for your keys when his voice cuts through the night again.

“Bunny.”

You freeze. Not because he called your name, though that prickles your skin, too, but because he’s closer now; you feel the heat radiating into your back, even through the thicker satin of your dress.

Slowly, you allow yourself to turn.

He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, one foot perched firmly on the first step. The porch light catches the top of his head, illuminating the pink that contrasts so greatly with the umber of his eyes, darker than you’d ever seen them, settled on your face with a vehemence that makes your skin itch.

The silence reaches your ears in a tight, painful ring of white noise.

His hands are at his sides, fingers curled into loose fists. You watch the rise and fall of his broad chest, counting to ten before anything else finally happens.

His voice is low when it comes, but so sure you can’t mistake it:

“Don’t date him.”

Your eyes widen, heart stopping and accelerating at the same damned time. You stare at him, speechless, the tears that had been threatening to spill over, silent and hot, suddenly dissolve into a soft oblivion.

“Why?” You whisper.

He doesn’t answer. His jaw works, his eyes drop to your lips, and then he steps back again. Off the stair, back onto the rough gravel you’ve stepped down countless times.

He holds your gaze for one heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

Then, just as you’re close to confessing yourself, he turns and walks back down the alley, boots crunching. His shoulders are broad, his back straight, and he doesn’t look back once.

You imagine him treading back to his truck and starting the engine. You imagine his strong hands sliding a new CD in. You imagine the quiet drive back home, passenger seat cold and empty.

You try, and fail, to imagine what he’s thinking about sprawled on his bed as rain thunders through Tokyo. Selfishly, you pray it’s you.

You only move when your skin needles with rain, lips unstuck and finally letting you whisper a hushed promise into this warm October night: 

“Okay.”

☆

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