#1 romcomrry advocate

The shower had been running long enough for you to read the same paragraph three times.

Joel had claimed the heat might help his hand, although the doctor had prescribed ice, elevation and several days without gripping anything. The X-ray had shown no fracture. Joel had treated that information like permission to ignore the rest, trying to open the truck door with his injured hand before you had even left urgent care. By dinner, the bruising had spread in deep violet shadows across his knuckles, and you had needed soap to ease his wedding band over the swelling.

That had bothered him more than the pain.

He had watched you work the ring slowly over his knuckle, his mouth set in a hard line, and when it finally slipped free into your palm, his thumb had rubbed once over the pale indentation it left behind.

“Only for a few days, honey,” you had told him.

“I know, I know.”

But he continued staring at his empty finger until you placed the band on the bedside table beside your own things, safely within view.

You opened his painkillers, replaced his bandage and left him to shower while you climbed into bed with your book. But the water continued to run and you had retained nothing from the page before you.

You closed the book.

“Joel?”

No answer.

You glanced at the clock, set the book aside and crossed the bedroom.

Steam rolled through the bathroom when you opened the door. His discarded bandage lay damp beside the sink, his clothes gathered in a careless heap near the hamper. The mirror had fogged completely, but through the glass of the shower you could make out the broad, blurred shape of him standing beneath the water.

“Joel?” you called again.

No answer came, though beneath the steady rush you heard the faint scrape of skin against tile, followed by a low curse that was unmistakably his.

You undressed and stepped inside quietly, drawing a breath when the hot water struck your shoulder.

Joel stood with his back to you.

He had his head bowed and his right arm braced against the wall from elbow to wrist, protecting the swollen hand from bearing his weight. Even in the softened light, you could see the mottled bruising across his knuckles, his fingers held stiff and slightly apart. His left palm rested lower on the tile. His broad shoulders were drawn tight, every muscle along his back rigid beneath the water as it streamed through the silver beginning to thread the dark curls at the nape of his neck. It followed the shallow groove of his spine, split around the soft fullness above his hips and disappeared between his legs.

For several seconds, you simply watched him.

His left arm moved, but the motion lacked the steady, practiced rhythm you knew, his fist travelling over his cock with an awkwardness that seemed to frustrate him more each time. He adjusted his grip, tried again and shifted his hips forward, chasing a sensation his other hand could not quite give him. His shoulders tightened. A harsher curse slipped from him when his injured fingers flexed instinctively against the tile.

The sight sent heat through you with such sudden force that your breath caught.

Joel touching himself would always affect you—the thick length of him flushed dark in his fist, water shining over the soft curve of his stomach and the wet hair beneath his navel—but it was the vulnerability of the moment that drew you closer. This was the man who noticed when your shoulders hurt before you complained, who left water on your bedside table every night because you always woke thirsty, who could read the smallest change in your breathing beneath his hands and know whether you needed more, less, faster, slower. He had spent years learning every language your body spoke.

Yet he stood alone beneath the water, unable to give himself what he needed, too proud to call for you and too stubborn to stop trying.

You stepped closer without speaking.

He was so absorbed in the effort that he did not hear the shower door close behind you. He did not notice the water shift when your body interrupted its path or the quiet whisper of your bare feet against the tile. It was only when you placed your mouth between his shoulder blades, lips pressing softly to the center of his wet back, that his entire body jolted.

“Jesus!”

His head turned sharply. Pain flashed across his face when his injured fingers contracted against the wall, and he forced them open again with a hiss.

“Didn’t hear you, darlin’.”

“I noticed, baby.”

Your lips moved over his back once more, slower this time. Water ran between your mouth and his skin, tasting faintly of soap. Up close, the heat of him felt different from the heat surrounding you, deeper and alive, held taut beneath skin that shivered when you kissed the raised ridge of an old scar near his shoulder.

“What’re you doin’ in here?” he asked.

“Checking on my handsome husband.”

You rested your chin against him and looked down the length of his body. His left hand had gone still, the grip around himself loosening now that he knew you were watching. Embarrassment was not something Joel wore easily; on him, it appeared as a stubborn tilt of his chin and a refusal to look directly at you.

“Looks like I was right to worry.”

“Ain’t anythin’ to worry about.”

“You’ve been in here twenty minutes.”

“Lost track.”

“That so?”

Your palms settled at his waist and moved around him, spreading over the curve of his belly. He had grown softer through the middle over the years, his body shaped by long workdays, evening beers and all the second helpings he accepted after insisting he was full. You loved the weight of him, the solid breadth of his chest, the coarse hair flattened beneath your fingers. You loved the familiar scars and the places age had begun touching him. You loved that you could stand behind him with your eyes closed and know precisely where your hands rested.

“Seems like you’re hurting yourself because you’d rather wrestle with the wrong hand than call your wife,” you murmured.

“Wasn’t hurtin’ myself, sweetheart.”

“No?”

Your nails travelled upward through the hair on his stomach before descending again, leaving pale trails across his flushed skin. Joel’s breath changed when your fingertips passed beneath his navel.

“That hand doesn’t seem to be accomplishing much either.”

His jaw tightened, but his hips shifted subtly into his fist.

You closed the remaining distance between you and pressed your naked body to his back. The instant your breasts touched him, his breath caught. Your mouth found the side of his neck while one hand remained spread over his stomach and the other followed the dark line beneath his navel.

“Couldn’t get it right?” you asked softly.

“Left hand don’t feel like mine.”

There was so much quiet frustration in the admission that your teasing softened.

“You could’ve called me.”

“Didn’t wanna bother you, baby.”

You lifted your head. “Joel Miller, I don’t care if I’m reading, sleeping or halfway through the best dream of my life. Asking me to touch you is never going to bother me.”

“Ain’t exactly somethin’ you should have to—”

“No.” You kissed the back of his shoulder as your hand slipped lower, fingertips barely grazing the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “You take care of me so often that half the time I don’t notice you’re doing it until it’s already done. So let me have my turn.”

The rigid set of his shoulders loosened by a fraction.

His left hand opened around himself, although surrendering even that unsatisfying contact made his hips follow your hovering fingers.

“Need a hand, don’t you, cowboy?” you teased, catching the edge of his ear gently between your teeth.

A strained breath left him, somewhere between a groan and a protest.

“You gonna help or keep makin’ fun of me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” You clicked your tongue. “You do look awfully pretty struggling, baby.”

“Christ, woman.”

“Although…” Your hand settled over his left wrist and guided it away from his cock. He allowed you to place his palm on the tile, but his body remained tense, caught somewhere between wanting what you offered and resisting the act of receiving it. “I suppose I could lend my favorite cowboy a hand. If he asks nicely.”

Joel lowered his forehead to the wall.

Water slipped through the grey in his beard and fell from his jaw. Pride held him silent for another moment. You could almost feel the struggle taking place inside him—the same man who would carry too many grocery bags rather than make a second trip, who would work through a fever and insist he was only tired, who treated being needed as though it were the simplest form of love but had never learned how to need someone without apology.

You spread your palm over his bare ring finger.

The touch made him look down.

His gaze rested on your hand covering his, your wedding band shining through the water while his finger remained pale and empty beneath it. His thumb moved once against the tile, reaching for yours before remembering the awkward angle.

Then his weight shifted back into you.

“Need you,” he admitted quietly.

You waited with your lips resting against his shoulder, though the answer had already travelled through you. Joel asked for so little that sometimes you resented him for it. He would mention that his boots needed replacing only after the soles had begun admitting water, would say he was hungry once you had already placed a plate before him, would carry an ache for days until you noticed the careful way he avoided turning his neck. Even now, naked and hard between your arms, he had tried to make the request smaller than it was. Need you. Two words offered in place of everything his body had already confessed, as though wanting something from you was still harder than enduring without it.

His breath left him slowly. His empty ring finger shifted beneath your palm. When you still did not move, his hips pressed back against you before rolling forward, his cock brushing heavily against the hand you kept just beyond his reach.

“Please,” he said, whatever remained of his pride finally yielding to the need roughening his voice. “Put your hand on my cock. Stroke me. Been tryin’ to come for so goddamn long, and I can’t—I need you to do it for me.”

Joel had trusted you with his home, his daughter, the parts of his past he still struggled to name. He had stood before everyone you loved and placed a ring on your finger with hands that had trembled more than his voice. Yet this small surrender seemed to cost him something too.

You kissed the pale place where his wedding band belonged.

“Good boy.”

Joel went utterly still.

His breathing stopped for one suspended second, his stomach turning rigid beneath your forearm and his left palm pressing flat against the tile. His cock pulsed before you had even closed your fingers around him.

Slowly, he looked back at you.

Steam had gathered in his lashes. His dark eyes found yours over his shoulder, surprise exposed there before he could conceal it, followed by a heat so immediate that your thighs drew together behind him. A flush travelled higher along his throat. He appeared almost offended by the force of his own reaction, as though his body had answered you before his pride could intervene.

“What’d you call me?”

“You heard me, baby.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Say it again.”

A smile touched your lips, but you did not laugh at him. There was something too open in his expression, too uncertain beneath the want.

“Later,” you promised. “Face the wall and lean back against me. Let your wife take care of you, big boy.”

Joel held your gaze for another moment before looking forward again. His forehead settled against the tile as his shoulders gradually loosened beneath your arms. He moved back until the curve of his ass pressed firmly against your lower stomach, giving you more of his weight than before.

You kissed the center of his back and slid your right hand down.

This time, you did not stop.

Your fingers curled around the base of his cock, and Joel’s entire body answered.

His abdomen contracted beneath your forearm. His left palm slipped before flattening against the wall again. A sound left him—low, involuntary, pulled from somewhere beneath the frustration he had carried into the shower—and the thick length of him hardened further in your grip.

You held him without moving at first, letting him feel the fit of your hand around him although your fingers could not quite meet. Heat pulsed beneath the slick skin, his heartbeat fast and heavy against your palm. You adjusted the showerhead until the strongest part of the spray struck his back rather than your joined hands, then tightened your grip. Another broken breath warmed your cheek.

“There,” you murmured. “Better?”

“Fuck, yes—”

“I thought so.” You stroked him slowly from base to tip, watching his stomach pull tight beneath your arm. “Next time you need my hand around your cock, come put it there.”

Joel’s hips followed your fist as it descended. “Knew you’d enjoy this.”

“You knew correctly.”

Your thumb swept over the broad head before your fist travelled down again. At the base, you loosened your grip and slipped your free hand beneath him. Joel groaned when your palm cupped his balls, the swollen, heavy weight of them filling your hand while the other continued moving slowly along his cock.

“Oh, baby...” You rolled them gently beneath your fingers, and his hips pressed forward as though even that small touch had reached somewhere deeper than he expected. “No wonder you were getting so frustrated. These are awfully full.”

“Don’t start.”

The words lacked any real warning. They came roughened by the careful twist of your wrist, Joel’s breath catching when you tightened your fist beneath the head. You smiled against his shoulder and gave him another long stroke, refusing the faster pace his body was beginning to seek.

“I’ve already started.” Your lips followed a rivulet of water toward the sensitive place behind his ear. “You should’ve seen yourself, hiding in here with all of this aching for relief.”

“Enjoyin’ yourself?”

“Very much.” You squeezed the weight in your palm once more, tender enough to make his thighs tense. “I’ve got my handsome husband naked in my arms, getting harder every time I tease him. I can feel how badly he needs to come, and he’s making the prettiest noises while I take my time giving him exactly what he asked for.” Your thumb gathered the slickness from the tip and spread it beneath the head. “What’s not to enjoy?”

“Mean woman.”

The complaint dissolved into a groan when your fingers tightened around him. His hips followed your hand instinctively, cock sliding through your wet fist while you maintained the slow rhythm already wearing away his restraint.

“Mm. And you love me.”

“Yeah.” His answer came without hesitation, broken slightly by the next stroke. “More than anythin’.”

The words entered you with the familiar weight of truth. Joel could spend ten uninterrupted minutes complaining about traffic, Tommy or the price of lumber, but anything that mattered was pared down until only its simplest form remained. More than anythin’ was extravagance from a man like him, offered with his forehead resting against the shower wall, his injured hand held carefully before him and his body surrounded by yours.

You kissed him behind the ear and released the heavy weight beneath his cock, bringing your free arm around his middle. Your palm spread over his stomach as you drew him more securely against you.

“Good,” you murmured. “Then be sweet and let me take my time with you.”

You kept the first strokes long and measured, your fist gliding over every thick inch before closing more firmly on the descent. Joel attempted to follow you, but impatience made his hips arrive too early. You adjusted without comment, refusing to hurry; the next time he thrust forward, you slowed near the head and held him snugly in your palm until a strained breath escaped through his teeth.

Water ran over his shoulders and divided around your arms, gathering briefly in the dark hair beneath his navel before disappearing between your joined bodies. The shower could not conceal the low sounds he made whenever your grip changed or the unconscious contraction of his stomach beneath your palm. You understood what he wanted—the shallow movement of his hips asking for more speed, his left hand spreading against the tile to brace for the pressure he preferred—but kept him at that patient rhythm a little longer. By the time you tightened your fist, frustration no longer held his shoulders rigid. He was waiting for you, and his cock pulsed heavily against your palm.

“That’s it,” you whispered, your mouth close to his ear. “You can move with me now.”

Joel released a deep, uneven breath and rolled his hips forward. You met him, your fist descending as he pushed into it and closing more firmly when he reached the base. On his retreat, you stroked upward, letting the swollen head drag through the circle of your fingers before guiding him into the next movement. He followed more carefully this time, the rhythm hesitant only for the first few strokes before pleasure taught him what you wanted.

“There you go, baby.”

“God—feels so damn good.”

You held him close and let the rhythm develop between you. Each thrust grew deeper, Joel’s ass pressing into your lower stomach when he drew back before he drove forward again. Your fist worked over him in time with the motion, no longer making him wait, though you retained enough control to keep his impatience from carrying him too quickly toward the edge.

The change reached his breathing first. Those deep, measured pulls of air began catching halfway into his lungs, his mouth opening against the tile to release the low sounds he had tried to suppress when you entered. Soon he no longer seemed aware of them. His attention had narrowed to your fingers around his cock, your palm against his stomach and the body supporting him from behind.

You kissed the wet slope of his shoulder.

Joel had touched you in darkness and sunlight, slowly and with desperate hunger, had learned your body so thoroughly that sometimes a single adjustment of his hand could make you fall apart. Yet this felt different from simply returning the pleasure he had given you over the years. Tonight, he could not reach back and distract you with your own need. He could not turn, gather you against him and assume the responsibility of taking care of both of you. All he could do was remain inside your embrace and trust that being wanted did not depend upon what he could offer in return.

Your grip tightened. Joel groaned and drove forward with enough force to push the air from your lungs. You widened your stance and continued meeting him as the movement grew rougher, each thrust dragging his cock rapidly through your closed fingers before your hand followed him back to the base. Wet skin moved against wet skin beneath the shower, punctuated by his heavier breathing and a broken curse whenever you changed the angle of your wrist.

You pressed your mouth beneath his ear.

“Take it, baby,” you murmured. “Use my hand exactly how you need.”

Joel stopped trying to follow each movement you gave him and began taking the friction for himself, thrusting through your fist with all the force he had been restraining. You let him, your hand closed and steady around him while your other arm held him against you—until his injured fingers curled instinctively against the tile. The hiss that left him cut through the pleasure. You caught his wrist at once and drew his arm away from the wall without slowing the motion between his legs.

“Give me this one.”

Joel allowed you to fold his arm across his chest. You tucked the bruised hand against his opposite shoulder and covered it with your own, your forearm securing it safely in place.

“Ain’t bad,” he managed.

“Shh.”

You kissed the uninjured edge of his wrist. Your fist continued working steadily over his cock as though caring for one hurting part of him required no sacrifice from the rest.

Joel’s chest rose beneath your arm. His bruised fingers gradually relaxed against his shoulder, and his left hand left the tile to cover yours where it held him. His thumb searched through the water until it found the smooth band around your finger and rested there.

You turned your face and kissed his cheek.

Joel leaned into it for a fleeting second before the next stroke pulled a groan from him. His thumb remained pressed over your wedding band as he settled farther back, giving you more of his weight without looking to see whether you could hold it. You planted your feet, tightened your arm around his chest and did.

He was letting you have all of his need now: his injured hand held safely beneath yours, his balance entrusted to your body, his pleasure naked in every sound he could no longer contain. When your fist moved faster, his hips answered immediately. The rhythm that had belonged to both of you began to unravel as he pushed forward too soon and retreated only far enough to thrust again, each movement shorter and rougher than the last.

You adapted without breaking pace, concentrating the friction where his body responded most strongly. A rough curse left him when you repeated it, his cock almost painfully rigid within your fist, the pulse against your palm heavier and more insistent. His thighs began to tremble as the measured roll of his hips disappeared altogether. He was no longer fucking your hand with any discernible rhythm; he was chasing it, moving on instinct whenever your grip reached the sensitive head.

Your own breathing quickened against his back. Heat gathered low in your stomach as you watched the man who could reduce you to pleading with the smallest movement lose himself in your arms. You pressed your thighs together, but every sound he made travelled directly through you, every desperate thrust sending another pulse of want between your legs. None of it made you want to turn his attention toward you. Tonight, his pleasure was enough.

Your mouth found the place beneath his ear that always made his shoulders rise.

“Look at you,” you whispered, affection wrapped around the teasing words. “You were so determined to handle this yourself, and now you can barely keep those legs steady.”

Joel tried to answer, but your fist tightened and the words collapsed into a hoarse moan. You smiled against his skin.

“No clever answer for me?”

“Hard to—” He broke off, thrusting roughly into your grip. “Hard to fuckin’ think.”

“That’s all right, baby. You don’t need to.”

You increased the pace until the movement became relentless, your slick fist closing around him as quickly as his hips could push forward. Joel’s forehead pressed against the tile, shoulders drawing tight as pleasure gathered beyond his control. His breathing fractured into rough, shallow pulls, each ending in a sound he no longer attempted to swallow.

His left hand abandoned yours and flattened against the wall, fingers splayed wide for purchase. Your wedding ring remained warm beneath the place his thumb had pressed it. He drove into your fist once, twice, then faltered, the next thrust arriving shorter as his cock throbbed heavily in your palm. You felt the approaching release before he spoke—in the sudden rigidity of his stomach, the way his thighs locked as if bracing might delay what your hand was already pulling from him, the helpless twitch that travelled through his cock whenever your grip reached the head.

“Baby—” His voice cracked around the word.

You kissed his jaw. “I know.”

“Close—”

The admission came through clenched teeth, barely louder than the water. You kept your fist moving at the same firm pace, refusing to startle his body with any sudden change.

“How close?”

“Real fuckin’—close.”

Joel attempted another thrust, but the rhythm had abandoned him entirely. His hips jerked into your hand and stopped, leaving you to carry the movement while he trembled within your arms. His weight tipped backward. You accepted all of it, your forearm held securely across his chest and his injured hand protected beneath yours.

“Please,” he rasped. “Don’t slow down—”

“I won’t, baby.”

Your fist travelled over him in fast, complete strokes, drawing the tension tighter with each pass. His cock pulsed violently against your palm, so close now that every movement seemed to pull a broken sound from the deepest part of his chest.

You caught his earlobe gently between your teeth.

“Every drop for me?”

“All yours.” The answer came instantly, stripped of breath and pride. His head dropped as his hips gave one final, desperate drive through your fist. “Every fuckin’ drop.”

A tender satisfaction spread beneath the heat in your chest. You tightened your embrace, lips brushing the shell of his ear while your hand gave him the exact rhythm his body had been seeking from the moment you entered the shower.

“That’s my good boy,” you whispered. “Give it to me.”

The praise undid him.

Joel came with a sound so raw it seemed torn from the center of him.

His entire body locked in your arms. His cock jerked hard in your fist, the first hot pulse spilling over your fingers before the shower could carry it away. His hips punched forward with the next one, wrenching a broken groan from his throat as another thick streak struck the tile beneath him.

You kept your hand moving, drawing every stroke from base to tip while release continued to pulse from him. Each one seized a different part of his body—his stomach clenching beneath your arm, his thighs jumping, his shoulders drawing taut beneath your mouth. You felt the force of it pass through him until there was nothing left with which he could hold himself upright.

His knees buckled.

You caught his full weight before either of you could fall.

Your chest pressed tightly to his back, your arm banded across his ribs and your palm protecting the swollen knuckles tucked against his shoulder. Joel trembled through every aftershock, forehead resting heavily against the wall. His cock gave one final, helpless pulse into your slowing hand.

“Fuck,” he choked. “Baby—”

“Easy. I’ve got you.”

You continued moving until the last throb softened beneath your palm. Only then did you loosen your fingers, careful of the sensitivity that made his hips flinch when your thumb grazed the head. The water washed your hand clean, carrying the evidence of his release toward the drain.

Joel remained folded against the wall, his breathing coming in ragged pulls. You kept him gathered within your arms, lips moving over his shoulder and along the nape of his neck while the final tremors passed through him.

“Take your time, baby,” you murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His left hand covered your forearm where it crossed his chest. His thumb rubbed slowly over your skin, Joel still searching for some way to touch you even while you bore most of his weight.

Eventually, he lifted his head.

“Need to turn around.”

“You steady?”

“With you holdin’ me? Yeah.”

You helped him move carefully, keeping his injured hand against his chest until his back met the wall. The moment he faced you, his left arm came around your waist and pulled you against him.

Joel kissed you before you could speak.

The kiss held none of the frantic hunger that had taken him apart moments earlier. It was slow and open, his lips moving over yours with an exhausted tenderness that left you more exposed than anything he had said. His damp beard scraped gently across your chin as he kissed you again, lingering this time, breathing you in as though the release had stripped him down to the simplest things he knew.

Your hands settled against his chest.

He rested his forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You never have to thank me for touching you. Your needs are my needs too.”

“Ain’t only that.”

His hand moved slowly up your back, keeping you close.

“Been meanin’ everything else.”

You traced the wet line of his jaw with your thumb. “Joel…”

He watched you, something tired and unguarded in his eyes.

“You’d do the same for me,” you said.

“In a heartbeat.”

“Then quit acting like it only works one way, my love.”

The corner of his mouth lifted before he kissed you again. His hand travelled down your arm until his fingers found yours, and he raised your left hand between you. His thumb passed over your wedding band with quiet concentration.

“Feels strange not havin’ mine on.”

“I know.”

“Kept reachin’ for it all night.”

“I noticed that too.”

You guided his injured hand closer and pressed your lips to the bare place where his ring belonged.

“Still all mine without it.”

His eyes softened. “Always.”

You stayed beneath the water until his breathing settled, holding each other in the humid quiet. When you finally turned off the shower, Joel allowed you to dry him, although he complained when you knelt to run the towel down his legs.

“Can dry my own damn feet, darlin’.”

“With which hand?”

His mouth closed.

“That’s what I thought.”

You wrapped the towel around his waist and guided him into the bedroom with your palm resting at the base of his spine.

The wedding band remained exactly where you had left it.

Joel looked at it while you sat him on the edge of the mattress and knelt between his knees with fresh gauze. You worked carefully around each bruised knuckle, smoothing the bandage without pulling it too tightly. He watched your hands throughout, quiet and heavy-limbed, his left palm resting warmly against the back of your neck.

When you finished, you raised his injured hand and kissed the pale indentation once more.

His gaze moved from his bare finger to the ring on the table.

Then he reached for it with his left hand.

“Joel, you can’t put it back on yet.”

“I know, baby, but I was thinkin’…” He picked up the band and held it toward you. “You still got that chain in your jewelry box? The one you don’t wear?”

Your heart gave a small, painful pull.

“I do.”

You retrieved the thin chain and sat beside him. Joel placed the ring in your palm, trusting you with it as he had trusted you with everything else that night. You threaded the chain through the band before fastening it carefully around his neck.

The ring settled against the damp hair on his chest.

Joel looked down and touched it with two fingers. His thumb passed slowly over the familiar curve before he closed his hand around it, holding it against his sternum. The tension that had lingered in his face since you removed it finally eased; his shoulders dropped, and the breath he released sounded deeper than any he had taken since leaving urgent care.

“Better?” you asked.

“Yeah.” His eyes lifted to yours, tired and unmistakably relieved. He gave the ring another small squeeze but did not release it. “Much better.”

You covered his closed hand with yours. “You really hated having it off.”

Joel glanced down at the pale indentation around his finger. “Kept feelin’ for it.” His thumb rubbed over the empty place as though demonstrating a habit his body had not yet learned to abandon. “Every time I looked at my hand, somethin’ felt wrong. Like I’d left part of myself sittin’ on that table.”

The quiet confession tightened your throat. It was only a circle of gold, small enough to disappear inside his broad palm, but Joel had worn it through years of work, sleep, arguments, dinners and mornings when neither of you had anything more important to say than asking who had finished the coffee. He had grown so accustomed to carrying the visible proof of your life together that its absence had left his hand feeling unfamiliar to him.

You curled your fingers around his, pressing the ring gently against his chest. “It was never going anywhere.”

“Know that.” His gaze returned to yours. “Still didn’t like bein’ without it.”

You leaned forward and kissed the crease between his brows, lingering until it softened beneath your mouth.

“Come here,” you murmured, drawing back the covers. “Let me hold you, my love.”

He lay down without argument, his injured hand elevated safely on the pillow. When you settled beside him, Joel rested his head against your chest and curved his left arm around your waist. The ring lay cool between his skin and yours, warming slowly where your bodies met.

His thumb found your wedding band once more.

“Mine safe, sweetheart?” he asked, already half asleep.

You covered the ring resting over his heart.

“Right here, baby.”

Joel released one final, tired breath against your skin. His entire body softened into the mattress, giving you its full and familiar weight.

This time, when you held him, he did not try to hold you up in return.

volume I

volume II

volume III

epilogue

they were all stunned as the bouncer at the door pulled the velvet rope back, giving pope one of those bro handshakes before stepping to the side to let them in. "this is where you do security?" deran snickered, eyebrows raised as they made their way into the club. all he could do was shrug, making his way to one of the booths that was empty. he constantly found himself checking his watch, making sure that he wasn't too late to see you on stage. he had never done this before. never showed up on one of your nights off just to watch you dance. the fear that you would be freaked out by it was swirling in his mind, all thoughts telling him to leave but he was glued to his seat. one of the girls was quick to make their way around with a tray of shots, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of pope tucked into the back of the booth. "hi pope," she spoke, a knowing smirk on her face. all of them knew why he was here. for you. he simply nodded at her, eyes looking right past her at the stage. he didn't care for the other girls. sure, he liked to look at tits but not ones that didn't belong to you. "you fucking her?" craig laughed with his eyebrows raised, his laugh immediately dying from the scowl pope threw his way. "no, idiot," he spat, quickly downing the shot.

as if on cue, the lights dimmed and your song began to play. pope was quick to sit up in the booth, elbow resting on the table as he stared at the stage. the hot pink set with matching heels almost had him drooling, your hair all curled and done up. it looked lighter, like you had gotten highlights. "jesus christ," j mumbled beside him, all of the cody's eyes locked on you as you worked the pole. jealousy immediately began to boil inside of him, taking notice as to how all his brothers were now glued to you. his eyes were immediately focused back on you, bills being thrown at your feet. he was quick to notice how you didn't look throughout the crowd, you didn't hold eye contact with anyone, you looked like you just wanted it to be over with. he couldn't help but smirk a little, the thought of you not being into it because he wasn't there only made his ego grow. they all sat in silence as they watched the rest of your routine, pope's eyes never leaving the stage. "yeah, i want a room with her," craig laughed, downing another shot. he nearly choked as pope's arm shot forward to grab at his collar, pulling him to face him. "you aren't getting shit from her," he snarled, shoving craig right back into his seat. they all looked around at each other, almost a silent agreement that yeah he was fucking you.

"pope's here," one of the girls giggled to you once you had made it back stage, stuffing all the cash you received into a bag. you were quick to spin around to face her, eyebrows furrowed together. "no, he's off today," you spoke confused, shaking your head as you moved to put your lip gloss on, popping your lips in the mirror. "he's with some guys," she snickered, your posture immediately straightening. did he come just to see you? you were quick to wave her off, doing another once over at yourself in the mirror before you were rushing to grab a tray of drinks and begin your rounds around. your eyes were quick to scan the room, trying to spot him out of the crowd. it didn't take long either, it was like your body was trained to find him. he was looking right at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when your eyes locked. you couldn't help but smile back, slowly making your way over to the table. "hi, andy," you cooed a little as you stood in front of the table, all of their eyes now locked on you. "andy?" baz mumbled with a raised eyebrow, pope quick to elbow his side. "you guys want a bottle?" you spoke with a raised eyebrow, manicured hand wrapped tightly around the one you held.

pope was quick to nod, pulling out his wallet immediately. "fuck yeah, drinks on pope," deran laughed, grabbing the bottle once you had set it down. pope only shot him a glare, reaching forward to place a couple hundred dollar bills in your hand. you knew he knew how much bottles were. why so much? "i'll be back with your change and glasses. gimme a minute, yeah?" you spoke, that sweet smile on your face only causing pope's jaw to clench tightly. he watched as you walked away, eyes never leaving your ass or legs. "jesus christ dude, you look like you're about to explode," craig mumbled to pope, the other man immediately standing to push his way out of the booth and follow after you. you had already made it up to the bar, your back to the crowd as you asked for some glasses. "don't want the change. keep it," pope's voice spoke next to you, making you jump a little as you turned to face him. "that's so much extra," you giggled, arms crossing over your chest tightly. he shrugged, grabbing some of the glasses for you so you didn't have to carry so many. "thank you, andy," you spoke softly, smiling at him. he didn't hide the fact that he was looking you up and down, his foot reaching forward to gently nudge to heel of your stiletto. "these are pretty. they new?" he mumbled, eyes finally making it back up to your face.

you could feel the blush burning your skin, the glasses clinking together quietly as you held them. "do you want a dance?" you blurted out, wanting to bite your tongue off at your eagerness. he just looked so good. you couldn't resist. he stared deadpanned at you, chewing at the inside of his cheek. you could never read him, never tell how he was going to react to things or what he was feeling. he glanced back at the table where his brothers sat, before he slowly turned back to you. "sure," he nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. you were quick to go back to their table to set the glasses down, pope next to you the whole time. "make sure you guys tip the girls good," you winked at the men, turning to grab pope's hand gently before leading him back. they all stared dumbfounded, pope turning back to look at them as he followed you with a shit eating smirk on his face. he felt like he was melting just from your hand holding his as you dragged him down the hallway. he could feel your heartbeat racing through your fingertips as you slowly pushed open the door to the room, leading him inside. he hesitated to let go of your hand, moving to sit on the large couch that was pushed against the wall. the hum of the music was completely drowned out from the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

you were never nervous when you danced, the flow of it just coming naturally to you. but now you felt like you were dancing for the first time, pope's hands resting on his thighs as he stared up at you. "why'd you come in today?" you asked as you slowly moved to straddle his waist, his hands immediately moving to the side. he would hate to make you uncomfortable with any unwanted touch. the last thing he wanted you to be was scared of him. "you can touch me, andrew," you spoke softly, your hands moving to wrap around the backside of your neck as your hips slowly began to move to the music. it was like he was stuck, his hands raising slightly before they went right back down against the couch. "no touching. that's the rules," he spoke, his voice low and raspy as he stared up at your face. you couldn't help but giggle, your hips only grinding down harder onto him. "can break the rules for you," you spoke softly in his ear, the feeling of your lips brushing his ear causing him to swallow hard. it was like the world was moving in slow motion as his large hands came to grip tightly onto your hips, the feeling of your soft skin against his rough hands having him growing hard immediately.

it was like all his shame went out the door when you turned around, nearly bent in half as your ass moved back against him. the small groan that left his lips only egged you on more, looking back over your shoulder at him. you reaching to grab one of his hands, placing it on your ass, a small moan leaving your lips that you prayed to god he didn't hear. you were quick to sit up, your back pressed to his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder. "you didn't answer my question, why did you come in today?" you spoke again, his hands moving slowly up your stomach till his fingertips were brushing the undersides of your tits. he swallowed hard again, his hips involuntarily bucking up against you as you pressed rather hard down against him. it was like he forgot how to speak, his eyes shutting for a moment before his hands were moving to grab at your boobs. "i wanted to see you," he finally spoke, eyes opening back up to study the side of your face. you couldn't help but smile, hands resting on top of his that were on your chest. the pride that was exploding in your chest almost matched the ache that was exploding in your cunt as his hands groped at you, small groans leaving his lips. you had completely lost track of time as his hands roamed you, a quick couple knocks from the door making pope's head drop against your shoulder.

"you guys okay?" one of the bouncers called from the other side, a small chuckle leaving your lips. "i'll be out in a minute," you called back, slowly standing up between his legs to turn and face him. his fingertips slowly brushed your thighs as his stared up at you, both his and your cheeks a light shade of pink. "how much do i owe you?" he finally spoke, clearing his throat a little as he began to pull out his wallet. it made your heart hurt a little, the reminder that you were just putting on a show for him clear in your mind. your hand was quick to reach and stop on his arm, shaking your head. "it's okay. you tipped me good for the bottle. on the house," you spoke quietly, your voice cracking a little, your eyes burning with the threat of tears. he only furrowed his eyebrows a little bit, slowly raising so he was now stood in front of you. "you can't do that. you'll get in trouble for doing it for free," he mumbled, fishing in his wallet, but again, you pushed it away. "please don't pay me. i enjoyed it," you spoke quietly, your head shaking a little bit. a small sigh left his lips, finally shoving his wallet back into his pocket. "let me take you out. my treat for your treat to me," he almost whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. you couldn't help but smile, a small breathy laugh leaving your mouth. "fine. if you insist," you teased, the smile finally stretching across his lips. you both stood just staring for a moment, the loud knock repeating at the door. "bye andrew. i'll see you soon," you spoke, pressing a quick peck to his cheek before you were rushing out of the room.

you couldn't erase the large smile you had on your lips the rest of the night as you served drinks to the other patrons. you didn't even do any other private dances, too worried about losing the feeling of his hands on your body that remained. he simply nodded at you as he left with his brothers, all of them poking fun at him as they made their way out the door but again, you didn't care. as the night slowly finished you were giddy as you made your way back to the shared dressing room, the smile never falling off your face. "someone left you a present," one of the girls teased to you, pointing at your vanity. there was a large white envelope peeking out of the top of your book bag. you opened it slowly, your jaw almost dropping at the sight. stuffed inside was at least a thousand dollars, a small note left in the front with some straggly handwriting.

'buy something pretty for our date'

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊

kay's note: i love this man so bad. if you want tagged let me know

( ܸ.ˬ.ܸ)

It’s not what you expect.

His voice is lower than usual. Doesn’t sound careless or thrown out just to fill space.Its Measured.

You blink, caught off guard for half a second.

“I haven’t.”

He nods once, like he’s already thought that through.

“Earlier than before.”

There’s no accusation in it.No edge.Just quiet observation.

And the fact that he noticed at all lands heavier than it should.

You shift your weight slightly, eyes flickering away before settling back on him.

“I’ve always left like this.”

A small pause.

“Maybe you weren’t paying attention before.”It’s quiet.But it lands.

He doesn’t react the way he used to.No pushback.

Instead—his gaze drops briefly, like he’s considering it.

Like he knows it’s true.

“…Yeah,” he says after a moment.

It’s softer than you expect.

For some reason that unsettles you more than anything else.

The silence stretches again, but it’s not empty.

There’s something in it now. Something held too tightly, like it might slip if either of you moves too fast.

He shifts slightly, not stepping closer,but not giving you space either. Like he hasn’t decided which one he’s supposed to do.

“I—”

He stops.Your attention sharpens. Because him hesitating? Is new.

He tries again, slower this time.

“…I didn’t come last week.”

You nod once.

“I know.”

The words come out before you think about them. And the second they do,you feel it.That small slip.

His gaze lifts fully to yours.With no intent of searching or questioning, its just there.

“…You noticed.” It isn’t a question.

You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should.

“I notice things.”

It’s controlled and Careful ,But it’s not nothing.

He exhales quietly, like something in him eases and tightens at the same time.

“I didn’t think you would.” There’s something off in that. Almost as if its uncertain.

You don’t answer immediately. Because that doesn’t match him,none of this does.

“You still came today,” you say instead.

It’s a small thing,It shouldn’t matter.But by now you know it does.

His jaw shifts slightly, like he’s holding something back.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Didn’t want to miss it again.”

The words sit between you. The words are simple but anything but casual or empty.

You stand there for a bit. Because you can hear what he didn’t say. Because it feels like something is trying to reach you,and stopping just short.

You look away first,Of course.

You step past him, keeping just enough distance, your shoulder brushing the air between you but not him.

Still—

you feel it.

The way his attention follows.

He doesn’t turn right away.He lets you go.That is in his control.

What isn’t—is everything else.

His chest feels tighter than it should. Not enough to hurt, or so he thinks,but its noticeable.

Because that wasn’t how he meant it to go. He had more.He just couldn’t get it out right.

His hand lifts briefly, dragging through his hair before dropping back down, like he’s trying to shake off something that won’t leave.

You noticed.That’s what stays. Not what you said or how you said it. But That you were paying attention at all. Even now.

And that changes something.

Because it means this isn’t one-sided, it means he didn’t lose it completely.

He exhales slowly, eyes shifting forward before he finally starts walking.

This isn’t enough.He knows that.Not even close to enough.

But it’s the first thing that hasn’t felt—empty.

Sukuna doesn’t just want to be near you.He wants to get it right.

He just doesn’t know how yet,but he’ll do what it takes to figure it out.

——

The library is quieter than usual.

Calm enough that every small sound feels sharper. Pages turning. Chairs shifting. The low hum of people trying not to disturb each other.

You’ve been here long enough to settle into it , to be focused.Almost.

You don’t notice him at first.

It’s only when the chair beside you pulls out, not across or behind—

beside.

That gets your attention. Just slightly.

You don’t look at him immediately. You don’t need to. You already know.

Your fingers still against the page for a second before you turn it. You continue writing. Like nothing changed.

Sukuna sits down slower than he means to. He’s careful with it. Like he’s aware of the space he’s stepping into.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

The silence stretches.And its different from before,tense.

He glances at you once.Then again.

You don’t look up.

Your focus stays on your notes, your posture steady, controlled,but your pen presses harder than it should.

He notices that.Of course he does.

“..You always sit here?”

It’s quiet but it’s not casual, like you’d expect from him.

You nod once.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“You’ve seen me.”

It’s not a question. Your hand stops. Just for a second.

Then—

“…I’ve seen you everywhere,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

Silence.

You feel it immediately ,What you just admitted.

Your gaze lifts, And he’s already looking at you. Closer this time. Too close to ignore.

Something shifts between you.And its feels so real.

His brows pull together slightly, not in confusion,something else. Something you can’t name yet.

“…I didn’t mean it.”

The words come out before he can adjust them. Your expression changes.

“Mean what?”

He exhales slowly, looking away for a second before forcing himself back.

“The way I said it.” It’s not a full apology. But it’s not nothing.

Your chest tightens.

this is different.

You don’t respond immediately.

“You said what you meant.” Your voice is steady but softer than before.

He shakes his head slightly.

“No.” A beat.

“I said it like it didn’t matter.”

His words hit. Because it did.

You don’t look away this time. And for a second…neither does he.

The space between you feels smaller. Not physically ,just…closer.

Like something is about to shift into something neither of you knows how to handle.

His hand moves slightly on the table, they’re not reaching but they’re closer.

Then stops.

“…It did,” he adds, quieter. that’s the closest he’s come.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. Because a part of you,wants to believe him. And that’s exactly what you don’t trust.

You close your notebook.

“I should go.”

He nods immediately.Too quickly.Like he expected it. Like he knows you wouldn’t want tostay.

“Yeah.”

You stand.He doesn’t stop you or reach for you,doesn’t even say another word. Doesn’t say anything else.

But when you walk past, you feel it again.That same thing.

Stronger this time , and you know this time that its not just awareness but something stronger pulling, something which is unfinished.

He doesn’t move for a long moment after you leave.

Because …..that was close. Closer than he’s been. Closer than he’s comfortable with. And still its not enough.

His jaw tightens slightly as he looks down at the table.He meant it. Not the words but what he tried to say. And it still came out wrong.

He exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair.

This isn’t something he can force like before ,something he can win by pushing harder. If he does,he loses you again. And,that’s not something he’s willing to risk anymore.

He just wants to keep this from slipping through his hands again. And maybe that’s why he starts paying attention to details he would’ve ignored before.

The crease between your brows when you reread a line too quickly. The way your fingers pause against the page whenever your concentration drifts. The quiet habit you have of tapping your pen twice before continuing your notes.

Tiny things.

The kind of things that settle into him before he realizes he’s memorizing them.

The distance between you changes slowly after that.

He starts sitting closer during lectures, close enough that your shoulder brushes his line of sight whenever you shift in your seat. Somewhere along the way, it stops feeling strange to find him there.

You stop reacting to his presence immediately. Your body no longer stiffens every time he sits beside you, and your gaze doesn’t dart away as quickly when you catch him looking.

The tension remains.It simply changes shape.

One afternoon, you miss part of a lecture while searching through your bag for a pen you swore you packed. By the time you look back up, his notebook is angled slightly toward you.

The missing lines are already there.

Your eyes linger on the page for a second before you copy them down quietly.

When you finish, he pulls the notebook back without comment and continues writing like nothing happened.

Something about that stays with you longer than it should.

Not the gesture itself. The ease of it. The fact that he noticed at all.

You begin expecting him in small ways after that.

A seat occupied before class starts. A familiar presence beside you in the library. The low sound of pages turning a few minutes before the lecture begins.

The awareness settles carefully, slowly enough that you almost miss it happening. Almost. Sukuna notices the shift immediately.

Your guard still exists. He can see it every time your attention catches itself lingering too long. Every time you seem to remember, halfway through a moment, that you should probably pull back.

But you stay. And for him, that changes everything. Because every second you allow him near you feels painfully earned. And every second makes him want to keep earning more.

Somewhere along the line, the space between you changes as well, without either of you acknowledging it.

It shows up in small ways first.

His shoulder ending up close enough to yours during lectures that you become aware of the warmth before you realize why your focus slipped.

You notice it. You stop reacting to it. That’s the dangerous part.

you’re reaching into your bag for a pen when your fingers brush against his by accident.

The contact lasts less than a second,your hand stills immediately after. So does his.

Neither of you says anything.

You pull your hand back first, finding the pen a moment later than you should have.

When you finally look up again, his attention is already on the front of the room.

But the grip he has on his own pen has tightened slightly. And for some reason,it came to your notice.

Another time, the lecture hall empties too quickly around you.

You stand at the same moment he does, both of you stepping into the narrow aisle at once. Too close. Your shoulder brushes his chest lightly before either of you can stop it.

The contact is brief.Its barely there.

Still, something in Sukuna’s posture changes instantly, his body going still in a way you’ve never seen before.

Like he felt all of it.

You murmur a quiet apology and try to move past him.

His hand lifts instinctively. Not grabbing or holding. Just settling lightly against your waist for half a second to steady you before letting go again.

The touch burns long after it’s gone. You feel it all the way back to your seat. Sukuna feels it longer. Because you didn’t pull away immediately.

You looked at him first. And for one dangerous second neither of you moved.

After that, he becomes more careful with himself.

Ironically, it only makes everything worse. Because now every accidental touch feels deliberate in the moments after.

Every brush of your hand. Every shift of your knee beneath the desk. Every second you remain close instead of creating distance.

And you let it happen. Slowly, reluctant. But enough that the tension between you begins settling into something warmer. Something softer around the edges. Something that almost feels safe.

That’s what ruins him.

The way he starts getting used to it. The way he starts waiting for those tiny moments like they mean more than they should. Like they’re proof that maybe, slowly, you’re letting him back in.

——-

The café was loud in the comfortable way it always was around them.

Gojo’s voice carried over half the room effortlessly, something animated and exaggerated spilling out of him while Geto sat across the table looking deeply regrettable about ever responding in the first place. Shoko was barely participating, curled into her chair with a drink in one hand and the expression of someone enduring a long-term inconvenience.

It felt normal. Easy.

The kind of scene you hadn’t realized you missed until you were standing in front of it again.

“There she is,” Gojo announced the second he noticed you. “Thought you died.”

“I was in class.”

“Exactly. Suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes softly, shifting your bag higher onto your shoulder as you stepped closer to the table.

Geto gave you a small nod in greeting. Shoko lifted two fingers lazily without looking up from her drink.

And despite yourself,you relaxed.Just a little.

“Sit down before he starts crying,” Shoko muttered.

“I cry beautifully,” Gojo said immediately.

“You cry loudly.”

A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Gojo pointed at you triumphantly. “See? She likes me.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It basically was.”

You shook your head, still smiling faintly as you moved around the table,then stopped. Because Sukuna was walking toward the group.

Your attention caught instantly. Not intentionally, It just did.

He slowed slightly when he reached the table, gaze flickering toward you first before anyone else. The look lasted maybe a second. Still enough that something low in your chest shifted unexpectedly.

“Move,” he muttered toward Gojo, nudging the empty chair beside you lightly with his foot.

Gojo’s grin appeared immediately.Dangerous.

“Oh, this is interesting.”

Sukuna ignored him completely. Which somehow made it worse.

The chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it out and sat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not across from you. Beside you.

You became suddenly, painfully aware of how close he was.

The warmth of him settled near your shoulder almost immediately, familiar enough to make your chest tighten before you could stop it.

Gojo looked delighted.

Geto looked like he’s fighting a smirk.

Even Shoko glanced up briefly over the rim of her drink before looking away again like she’d expected this already. And that unsettled you more than anything else.

Because suddenly it didn’t feel contained anymore. Whatever had been happening between you and Sukuna over the past few weeks had stopped existing only in quiet moments and lingering eye contact, Other people could see it now.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table.

Instinctively, your gaze shifted sideways, And found Sukuna already looking at you. Not intensely , not carelessly either its,

Just….there. Aware.

Like his attention kept settling on you before he realized he was doing it. Like it happened naturally now.

Your breath caught softly.You looked away first.

Conversation drifted around you again after that, easy and overlapping, but your awareness stayed split strangely in two.

Half listening to Gojo argue dramatically about something meaningless. Half aware of Sukuna beside you. Every small movement registered.

The brush of his sleeve near your arm when he reached for a drink. The quiet shift of his posture whenever you spoke. The way his attention flickered toward you before anyone else whenever the group laughed about something.

None of it was obvious. That was the problem.It felt unconscious. And somehow that made it harder to dismiss.

“You’re quiet,” Gojo said suddenly, looking between the two of you with immediate suspicion.

“She’s always quiet,” Sukuna answered before you could.

Your eyes lifted immediately.So did Gojo’s brows.

There was something strange about hearing him say it. Not teasing but…familiar. Like he’d spent enough time paying attention to know.

The realization hit harder than it should have.Because he had.

Sukuna seemed to realize it a second later too.

A faint tension pulled briefly through his shoulders before he leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze shifting away.

Gojo looked moments away from losing his mind.

“This is insane,” he muttered dramatically into his drink.

“Please shut up,” Shoko sighed.

You tried focusing on the conversation again. It didn’t really work. Because every few seconds, your attention drifted sideways again without permission.

And every time—

you found Sukuna already there.

Then Gojo spoke again.

“So,” he said lazily, stretching back in his chair, “we’re all still alive enough for tomorrow night, right?”

Shoko groaned immediately. “No.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because every time I mean it.”

Geto glanced toward you. “You coming?”

You blinked once. “Coming where?”

“The party.”

The word settled strangely in your chest. Your gaze shifted toward Sukuna automatically. His expression flattened almost immediately, like he already disliked where the conversation was heading.

Gojo noticed. Which meant everyone noticed.

“The frat’s finally doing something tomorrow,” Gojo said.

“And our Frat king here actually agreed to show up.” Gojo continued, far too entertained by this entire situation.

“Historic moment, honestly.”

The thought caught uncomfortably against everything else that had been building these past few weeks.

The carefulness.The lingering looks. The quiet touches that never seemed intentional until they were over.

And then—a party.

Crowds. Music. Girls draped across him like before. Like nothing had changed at all. Your chest tightened unexpectedly. Because you suddenly couldn’t tell which version of him was real.

The one beside you now,or the one you’d spent so long trying to forget.

“I’m only showing up because you people wouldn’t shut up about it.” Sukuna’s voice cut through the table quietly.

“You don’t have to come.” He said to you, carefully.

You looked at him immediately. He was already watching you again. And there was something restrained in his expression now. Almost wary, like he was trying to spare you from something before it happened. The look settled somewhere dangerous beneath your ribs. Because it felt sincere.

And that,that was becoming harder to protect yourself from.

———

The conversation happens later, after the noise of the café has faded and everyone drifts off in different directions.

You end up outside one of the campus buildings with Shoko almost by accident, the evening air cooler now, carrying that faint tiredness that settles over campus after sunset. She’s leaning against the railing near the vending machines, tapping the bottom of a cigarette pack against her palm while you stand beside her with your bag hanging loosely from your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you says anything. It’s comfortable enough that the silence doesn’t need fixing.

“You’ve been weird lately,” Shoko says eventually.

You glance at her immediately. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“I’m always weird. Yours is recent.”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose, looking away toward the dim lights scattered across campus.

“I’m fine.”

Shoko hums softly like she doesn’t believe you for even a second. The image from earlier keeps circling quietly in your head despite yourself.

Sukuna beside you at the café.The way his attention kept drifting toward you without meaning to. The way he sounded when Gojo brought up the party.

Flat.Detached.Different. Dangerously easy to believe.

“You’re thinking about him again,” Shoko says observing you.

Your shoulders tense slightly.

“That obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.”

You stare ahead quietly for a moment.

The worst part is that you don’t even know what exactly you’re thinking anymore. Not clearly. Not in a way that makes sense. Because things have changed. You know they have.

You feel it every time he sits beside you without hesitation now. Every time his hand brushes yours and neither of you pulls away quickly enough. Every time his gaze settles on you like it’s become instinct.

And somehow,that’s exactly what scares you.

“I don’t know what he wants,” you admit finally, quieter this time.

Shoko glances sideways at you.

“Neither does he.”

A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Tired. Brief. Then the silence settles again.

Not awkward. Just thoughtful.

“You going tomorrow?” Shoko asks after a while.

You already know what she means.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Shoko finally pulls a cigarette free but doesn’t light it yet, rolling it slowly between her fingers instead.

“You should.”

You blink once. “Why?”

She shrugs lightly.

“Because you’ve been orbiting this thing with him for weeks.”

The words land more directly than you expect. Your brows pull together slightly.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Still calm. Still matter-of-fact. Shoko tilts her head back slightly, looking out across campus.

“And honestly? Whether he’s miserable or having some identity crisis over you isn’t really the point.”

Your chest tightens unexpectedly at the word miserable. You hate that she notices. Because of course she does.

“The point,” Shoko continues, “is that you’re allowed to exist outside of whatever’s happening with Sukuna.”

You stay quiet.

“You don’t have to avoid places because he might be there,” she says. “And you definitely don’t have to sit around wondering whether every look means something.”

That one hits a little too accurately. A faint smile pulls at the corner of Shoko’s mouth when she notices your expression.

“Go to the party. Have fun. Ignore him if you want to. Talk to other people. Remember your life doesn’t stop every time Ryomen Sukuna starts acting emotionally constipated.”

You laugh despite yourself. A real one this time. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you stare ahead quietly. Maybe she’s right.

Maybe you’ve spent too much time reading into every glance, every careful touch, every almost-word like they carried more meaning than they should. Maybe going would finally settle it one way or another.

“I guess I could go for a little while,” you murmur eventually.

Shoko snorts softly beside you.

“That’s the closest thing to recklessness I’ve ever heard from you.”

You roll your eyes lightly, but a small smile stays on your face this time.

And somewhere deep down,beneath all the hesitation and caution and doubt a quieter thought lingers.

You want to see him there.

——-

The party swallows you in pieces.

First the music. Then the heat. Then the blur of bodies moving through colored light like the whole house is breathing around you.

For a moment, you linger near the entrance beside Shoko, fingers curled around a drink you haven’t touched yet while people brush past your shoulders laughing too loudly, already drunk enough to lean into each other without caring.

Rain taps steadily against the windows outside, soft beneath the bass vibrating through the walls.

You tell yourself to relax. To stop thinking so much.

“You look like you’re preparing for war,” Shoko says beside you.

“I’m standing.”

“You’re standing aggressively.”

You glare weakly at her over the rim of your cup.

Shoko only snorts softly before glancing around the room.

“You know, normal people usually come to parties to enjoy themselves.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

“You’ve looked at the door six times.”

Heat crawls unpleasantly into your chest.

Because the worst part is, you hadn’t realized you were doing it. Not consciously.

Your attention just keeps shifting every few minutes before you can stop it. Toward the hallway. Toward the stairs. Toward every flicker of pink hair moving through crowded rooms before disappointment settles quietly afterward.

You hate it.The automaticness of it. The way some part of you keeps waiting anyway. You came here for yourself. You remind yourself that immediately.

Because Shoko was right.

Your life shouldn’t tighten around Sukuna every time he enters it. You shouldn’t still be carrying him around inside your head this heavily after everything.

Tonight was supposed to prove that. That you could still exist somewhere he existed too and remain untouched by it.

And maybe, if you were being honest, some quieter part of you wanted to know if he’d look for you too.

The thought settles heavily enough that you immediately shove it away.

Gojo appears before you can spiral further. Naturally.

“There she is!” he announces dramatically, nearly sloshing his drink onto both of you as he throws an arm around your shoulder. “I knew you secretly wanted to come”

“You invited me three hours ago.”

“And yet you still came. Beautiful character development.”

A laugh escapes you despite yourself. Real enough that it surprises even you.

Geto appears behind Gojo looking deeply exhausted already.

“She’s been here five minutes and you’re yelling.”

“I’m creating atmosphere.”

“You’re creating public disturbance.”

The night gets easier after that slowly.

You let yourself get pulled into conversations instead of standing quietly at the edges of them. You argue with Gojo about something stupid enough that halfway through neither of you even remembers what side you were defending anymore. Someone drags you into a blurry group photo you definitely didn’t agree to.

And somewhere along the way, the tightness inside your chest starts loosening. Not completely, Never completely. Because Sukuna still exists in every corner of your awareness whether you want him there or not.

Every low laugh behind you makes your attention shift instinctively before your brain catches up. Every tall figure moving through crowds pulls at your focus for half a second first.

You keep wondering if he’s seen you yet. You hate that you keep wondering.

But eventually even that begins softening beneath the warmth of the night around you.

Shoko disappears somewhere upstairs. Gojo gets distracted by literally everything at once. Rain crashes harder outside now, silver streaks racing down dark windows while thunder rumbles faintly overhead.

And for the first time in weeks,you breathe. Actually breathe.

Maybe this is what you needed. Maybe Shoko was right, whatever has been. happening between you and Sukuna lately doesn’t have to consume every part of you. You can exist around him without unraveling,perhaps.

And beneath all those thoughts—another one slips in quietly.

You want to see him tonight. Not for closure or for any answers. Just to know if he’ll look at you the same way he has lately. Like something in him shifts every time you enter a room. Like he feels this too.

Your chest tightens around the realization.

Because somewhere along the way, you stopped being afraid of wanting him.

And started being afraid he might not want you back in the same devastating way.

The thought is still sitting low beneath your ribs when your attention shifts suddenly. No reason.Just instinct.

Your eyes lift across the room, and find him immediately.

Your breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.

Sukuna stands near the open patio doors, rain-heavy air curling into the house around him while dim gold light cuts across the sharp line of his jaw. His dark shirt clings slightly at the collar like he’s already stepped outside once tonight, pink hair damp near the edges from rainwater.

And even from here,he looks restless. He doesn’t seem drunk or entertained, like the Sukuna everyone else sees at parties.

His gaze moves distractedly through the crowd, shoulders tense beneath the flashing lights like he’s searching for something without fully realizing it.

And suddenly, your chest softens.

Because some horrible, hopeful part of you wonders if he’s been looking for you too.

The thought lands gently.Deeply.

Enough that your pulse stumbles around it.

Then someone stumbles into him. A girl.

At first, you barely react. People have been colliding into each other all night ,but she doesn’t move away after.

She grabs onto his arm laughing breathlessly, body swaying slightly from alcohol as she nearly slips near the wet patio entrance. Sukuna catches her automatically before she falls, one hand circling briefly around her waist while the other steadies her wrist.

Your stomach drops. The girl laughs again getting closer this time.

Her fingers slide upward slowly against the chain resting near his collarbone while she leans toward him, saying something near his ear with the kind of easy familiarity that makes your chest tighten instantly.

Sukuna’s brows pull together immediately. Not softened or amused.He looks Distracted. Like he barely even registers what she’s saying.

His hand stays at her waist only long enough to steady her before it loosens again, attention already shifting elsewhere through the crowded room.

But from where you’re standing that distinction barely matters. Because suddenly it all comes rushing back at once.

Every party you ever saw him at before this.

Girls draped across him effortlessly. Lipstick-stained glasses. Hands touching him like everyone already knew he’d let them.

The version of him that never belonged to anyone long enough to matter.

Your throat burns violently. And the worst part?

For weeks now,you let yourself forget. You let yourself believe in quieter things instead.

Library tables.Lingering eye contact. The warmth of his hand steadying your waist.

The way his gaze softened around you lately before he even realized it was happening.

The almost apology in the library.The carefulness.

God.

The carefulness ruined you most. Because you believed it. You actually, genuinely started believing he meant it.

Your eyes sting immediately.

Hot enough that you blink hard against it on instinct. Because standing here now, watching another girl lean into him while rain crashes outside the windows and music drowns the room around you—

you suddenly feel unbearably stupid.

Not angry.Not even jealous.

Humiliated.

Like every hopeful thing you carried carefully these past few weeks existed only because you wanted it to. Because you kept mistaking scraps of softness for something real.

The girl says something else, leaning closer into his space.

Sukuna looks like he’s about to answer when his gaze shifts absently over her shoulder instead, restless, searching—

Then stops,

On you.

Everything in him stops,like the world stopped. You see it happen in real time,the confusion first,then recognition.

Then absolute fucking horror crashing across his face so fast it almost doesn’t look real. His hand drops from the girl immediately like the contact burns him alive.

The color drains from his face. His entire body goes rigid. Because he knows.

He knows exactly what this looks like. Exactly what you’re thinking. Exactly what just shattered inside you.

“Wait—”

The word rips out of him rough enough that several people nearby actually turn. The desperation clear in his voice.

The girl beside him startles when Sukuna jerks completely away from her now, attention locked entirely onto you with something frantic breaking apart behind his eyes.

Like he’s watching a car crash happen in slow motion and can’t stop it. But it’s already too late. Because something inside you has broken open completely. And suddenly you can’t breathe in this room anymore. Can’t stand inside his world another second.

Not where you let yourself believe, even briefly, that maybe this time, maybe this time he was finally reaching for you the way you’d been reaching for him all along.

You turn before he can get to you.

Rain crashes violently outside as you shove through the crowd toward the front door, pulse hammering painfully beneath your skin while behind you-

you hear Sukuna calling your name.

And for the first time since you met him—

Ryomen Sukuna sounds terrified.

——

Sukuna doesn’t think.

The second you turn away from him, something primal tears through his chest so violently it almost knocks the breath out of him.

Pure panic.

He’s moving before the girl beside him even finishes reacting.

Her hand slips from his sleeve as he jerks away from her completely, eyes already locked on the space where you disappeared through the crowd.

“Wait, Sukuna, I was just—”

He doesn’t hear the rest.Doesn’t even register her voice.

Because all he saw, all he can still fucking see …is your face. The look in your eyes. It wasn’t anger. He could’ve handled anger, You yelling at him,Hating him,Slapping him across the face. Anything.

But that look—

Like something inside you had quietly given up. Like every fragile thing he’d spent weeks trying to rebuild between you collapsed in a single second.

Like you finally regretted believing him. Fear hits him so hard it borders on nausea.

People turn as he shoves through the crowded house, shoulders slamming hard enough into strangers to send drinks splashing onto the floor. Someone curses at him. Someone says his name.

Gojo maybe, maybe Toji, He doesn’t know.

Nothing matters except getting to you before that look settles permanently into your eyes.

Rain crashes against him violently the second he steps outside. Cold enough to sting. Heavy enough to soak through his clothes instantly.

His eyes search frantically down the street before he finds you halfway across the sidewalk, walking too fast through the storm with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you’re physically trying to hold your chest together.

And something inside him fucking caves in. Because you’re crying. Not loudly, or dramatically but,

Worse.

Silent.

Your shoulders shake once beneath the rain before you wipe harshly at your face, still moving like if you stop for even a second you’ll completely break apart.

And Sukuna,

Sukuna has never felt terror like this before. Because this is his fault.

Not the girl. Not the party.

This.

You hurting like this because he was too late. Too stupid. Too fucking blind to realize how fragile your trust in him still was.

“Hey—”

His voice comes out wrecked and its barely recognizable.

You don’t stop walking.Panic claws viciously through his chest. Sharp enough to hurt.

He catches up quickly, shoes splashing hard against flooded pavement before instinct takes over completely and his hand closes around your wrist.

His touch is Warm,desperate,shaking slightly.

You gasp softly as he pulls you back before you can slip against the slick pavement, your soaked body colliding lightly against his chest for half a second before you stumble back again.

But not before he feels it. How badly you’re trembling.

And God.

That nearly fucking destroys him on the spot.

Rain pours violently between both of you now, thunder cracking somewhere overhead while water streams endlessly down Sukuna’s face, his hair plastered against his forehead, his chest heaving unevenly beneath a shirt soaked through completely.

And for a second,he just stares at you. Because you look heartbroken. Painfully heartbroken. Your eyes are red beneath the rain. Your lashes clumped together with tears and water.

Your mouth trembling slightly every few seconds like you’re trying so hard to stay composed and failing anyway.

The sight tears something open inside him so violently he almost physically recoils from it.

Because he did this. He did this to you.

And suddenly Sukuna realizes with horrifying clarity that he would rather let someone carve him open alive than have you look at him like this again.

“It wasn’t—” His voice catches hard.

His voice catches hard.

Too many things trying to come out at once. He tries again immediately.

“It wasn’t like that.”

You laugh softly. And the sound absolutely fucking ruins him. Because it sounds exhausted. Humiliated.Like you’re trying not to completely fall apart in front of him.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

Rainwater drips endlessly from your lashes as you look away from him, jaw tightening hard enough to shake.

“I can’t do this right now.”

Sukuna’s chest caves inward so violently he physically steps closer without meaning to.

Because you sound done. Not angry. Done.

“No.”

The word leaves him instantly in such panic. Desperate,Almost pleading.

“No, don’t— don’t fucking say it like that.”

You finally look at him again. And, he’s losing you. He can feel it happening in real time. Like sand slipping violently through his hands no matter how hard he tries to hold on.

“She grabbed onto me,” he says immediately, voice uneven in a way he’s never heard from himself before. “I wasn’t even fucking paying attention to her.”

Rainwater drips from his jaw as he drags a shaking hand through soaked hair.

“I was looking for you.”

Your breath catches. Tiny.

And suddenly he’s talking too fast, panic ripping every sentence out before he can think.

“I’ve been looking for you all fucking night,” he says roughly. “That’s why I kept looking around. I didn’t even realize she was talking to me until—”

His voice breaks violently.

“Until you looked at me like that.”

Your throat moves sharply as you swallow. But your expression doesn’t soften and somehow that terrifies him more than if you screamed.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Okay. Thats all you say.

The word hits him like a knife straight through the chest. Because it doesn’t sound like belief. It sounds like surrender. Like you’re already trying to kill your feelings for him before they hurt you worse.

“No.”

He steps closer immediately. Too close now. Close enough that your rain-soaked breaths mix between both of you.

“Don’t say it like that.”

Your composure finally cracks then.Not dramatically but if there’s something Worse than that.

Your face crumples slightly before you look away again, one shaking breath leaving you hard enough that Sukuna’s chest physically aches hearing it.

“Then how am I supposed to say it?” you ask quietly, voice breaking apart. “How am I supposed to react to this?”

Sukuna freezes Because there it is. Not jealousy. Not anger. But pain.

Raw enough that it strips him open instantly.

“You know what the worst part is?” you whisper, eyes burning now despite the rain washing endlessly down your face. “I actually started believing you.”

Something inside Sukuna shatters completely.

“You looked at me like…” Your voice breaks so hard you stop speaking entirely for a second, shaking your head once like you hate yourself for even admitting this. “God, you looked at me like I mattered to you.”

“You do.”

The answer leaves him violently fast.

Immediate ,Like breathing ,as if him not saying it fast enough would make it worse. Your eyes widen at his words slightly.

And Sukuna steps closer again before he can stop himself, hands hovering helplessly near your arms like he wants to hold you together physically but is terrified you’ll pull away.

“You do,” he says again, rougher this time, rain soaking through every word. “You matter so fucking much it’s driving me insane.”

Your breath catches sharply. And suddenly Sukuna can’t stop anymore. Weeks of restraint split open all at once.

“I can’t fucking sleep anymore,” he admits, voice wrecked now. “Every room I walk into, I look for you first.”

Rain streams endlessly down his face while his eyes stay locked desperately onto yours.

“I sat through that stupid fucking party hoping you’d show up.”

Something in your chest twist sharply.

“And when you did…” His voice catches roughly. “Fuck.”

He laughs once in disbelief Like even now he can’t believe how badly this has ruined him.

“You looked so beautiful tonight I couldn’t fucking think straight.”

The confession lands between both of you like lightning. Its raw, ugly and honest .

“And then you looked at me like that—”

His voice cracks completely this time. Actually cracks. Like he physically cannot survive replaying that moment again.

Before you can react—

he drops.

Straight onto his knees against the flooded pavement. The sound of it shocks you visibly.

“Sukuna—”

“I don’t care.”

His voice is wrecked now. Absolutely wrecked.

Rain pours over him mercilessly while he looks up at you from the ground like he’s watching his entire life walk away from him in real time.

And maybe he is.

“I don’t care if this is pathetic,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t care if I look fucking insane right now.”

Your chest tightens painfully. Because Sukuna never begs. Never. But he is now.

“You can yell at me,” he says, breathing unevenly. “You can hate me if you want to. But don’t stand there and tell yourself none of this was real.”

His voice breaks hard around the last sentence.

And suddenly he looks…something which isn’t,arrogant like his usual self, he looks … terrified.

“I meant every fucking thing,” he says desperately. “Every look. Every touch. Every second.”

Your composure visibly splinters then.

A shaky breath leaves you as your hand rises instinctively toward your mouth.

And Sukuna’s expression crumples completely the second he realizes you’re crying harder now.

“Fuck,” he whispers brokenly, like the sound physically hurts him. “Baby, please don’t cry.”

The nickname slips out accidentally.

Raw. Unthinking. And somehow that ruins you even more. Because Sukuna is kneeling in the middle of the storm looking at you like losing you would destroy him completely

Rain crashes endlessly around both of you. Cold water streams down Sukuna’s face, soaks through his clothes, drips from his lashes every time he looks up at you from the pavement beneath your feet.

Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even seem aware of the storm anymore. The only thing he sees is you.

Shaking. Crying. Looking at him like he’s broken something fragile beyond repair.

And it’s killing him.

“Sukuna” you whisper shakily.

He looks up immediately.Like your voice physically pulls at him.

“Stand up.”

He shakes his head once instantly. Small.Desperate.

“I can’t lose you.”

The words leave him before he can stop them. Raw enough that your breath catches.

Rainwater slides down the sharp line of his jaw while he stares at you like he’s drowning in front of you and doesn’t care who sees it.

And suddenly he looks nothing like the Sukuna everyone else knows. No arrogance. No control ,just fear.

“Sukuna,” you say again, voice cracking harder this time. “Stand up.”

Slowly,hesitant enough,he does.

But the second he’s close again, your hand presses hard against his chest instinctively. Holding space there.

Keeping him from getting any closer before you completely lose yourself in him again. Your fingers fist weakly into his soaked shirt.

Sukuna looks down at them like the contact alone nearly destroys him.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whisper.

Rainwater clings to your lashes while your voice trembles apart more with every word.

“You don’t get to look at me like I’m everything to you and then make me feel this replaceable.”

Sukuna physically flinches. Like the words hit somewhere deep enough to bruise.

“You think I wanted her there?” he asks roughly.

Your jaw tightens immediately.

“That’s not the point.”

“I know it’s not the fucking point.”

His voice breaks suddenly. Violently. And that shocks both of you into silence for half a second. Because Sukuna never sounds like this. Never.

Rain crashes harder around both of you while he drags a shaking hand through soaked hair, chest rising unevenly like breathing itself hurts now.

“You know what the problem is?” he says hoarsely. “I don’t know how to do this right.”

Your eyes flicker toward him again despite yourself.

“I don’t know how to stand in front of you without feeling like everything I’ve ever been is suddenly disgusting.”

The confession lands hard between both of you because its Ugly and honest.

“You look at me now and I can see you trying so hard to trust me again.” His voice roughens further. “And every fucking second I’m terrified I’m gonna ruin it.”

Something in your chest twists painfully.

“You think I don’t know what people say about me?” he laughs once softly.

There’s no humour in it.

“They’re right.”

You shake your head immediately. But Sukuna keeps going before you can stop him.

“No, listen to me.” His eyes lock onto yours desperately. “I spent years acting like none of this mattered. None of them mattered. Drinking too much, sleeping around, acting like I didn’t give a shit about anything because it was easier than…” His voice catches hard. “Than feeling something real.”

Your grip tightens involuntarily against his chest.

“And then you happened.”

The words leave him quietly this time.Almost disbelieving. Like even now he can’t fully understand what you did to him.

“And suddenly I couldn’t breathe properly every time you looked at me.”

Your breath catches sharply.

“I started noticing everything.” His voice shakes. “The way you play with your rings when you’re nervous. The way your face changes when you’re trying not to smile. The way you always look for everyone else before yourself.”

Rain drips endlessly from his chin while his eyes stay completely fixed on you.

“I tried so hard not to want you this badly.”

The honesty in his voice hurts , it hurts so much.

“But you kept getting under my skin anyway.” He laughs again softly, devastated this time. “And then one day I realized I was rearranging my entire fucking life around the chance of being near you for ten minutes.”

Your composure visibly cracks.

“I stopped going to parties because they felt empty without you there.” His voice lowers roughly. “I sat in classrooms I didn’t care about because you were in them.”

Tears mix endlessly with rain on your face now. Sukuna notices every single one. And it destroys him more each time.

“When you stopped talking to me…” His throat moves sharply.

“Fuck.”

He looks away for the first time. Only for a second. Like the memory physically hurts to touch.

“I thought that was it,” he admits quietly. “Thought I finally pushed too far and lost the only person I’ve ever looked at and thought…”

His voice breaks completely. You stare at him with your heart hammering.

Sukuna swallows hard, eyes finding yours again with something unbearably vulnerable split wide open inside them.

“The only person I’ve ever wanted to be better for.”

Something inside you caves inward violently.

“And tonight—” His breathing turns uneven again.

“When you looked at me like that…”

He presses a shaking hand briefly against his own chest like he physically can’t steady what’s happening inside it.

“I swear to God it felt like someone ripped my fucking heart out.”

Your eyes sting harder instantly.

“You wanna know why I panicked?” he whispers.

He steps closer despite your hand still against his chest. Not enough to overpower you. Just enough that warmth collides between your soaked bodies again.

“Because I knew exactly what you saw.”

Your breath trembles.

“You saw every reason you ever had not to trust me standing right in front of you again.” His voice cracks hard. “And I couldn’t fucking survive knowing I put that look in your eyes.”

The storm roars around both of you. Neither of you notices anymore.

“You don’t understand what you’ve become to me,” Sukuna whispers brokenly. “You walk into a room and suddenly everything else disappears.”

Your hand tightens in his shirt. Instinctively.

“And yeah,” he laughs softly again, devastated. “Maybe this is pathetic.”

His eyes burn into yours.

“But I’d rather kneel in the rain begging for you than spend one more second pretending I don’t belong completely to you already.”

Sukuna’s words hang between both of you beneath the storm. Heavy. Breathless. Still vibrating somewhere deep inside your chest. For a second, neither of you move.

Rain crashes endlessly around you, soaking through everything, thunder rumbling low somewhere above the city while your pulse pounds so hard it almost hurts.

And suddenly, you realize Sukuna is shaking. Your hand is still twisted tightly in the front of his soaked shirt, fingers trembling against his chest while he looks at you like he’s waiting for the final blow. Like he genuinely believes you might still walk away. And somehow that hurts worse than anything else tonight.

“Sukuna…” you whisper.

His eyes close briefly at the sound of his name in your voice. Like it physically wounds him. You hate this. You hate him. You hate the terrifying amount of power he has over your heart.

“I hate you,” you whisper shakily.

The words collapse halfway through because neither of you believes them anymore. Something helpless flickers across his face. Not defensive or angry. Just devastated.

“I know.”

Your throat burns harder instantly. Because he sounds like he’d let you.

Like he’d stand here and let you destroy him if that’s what you needed.

You shake your head sharply.

“No, you don’t.”

Rainwater slips down your cheeks endlessly now, your breathing uneven and fragile while Sukuna watches you with complete, terrifying attention.

“You don’t understand how terrifying this is for me,” you admit finally.

And there it is.The truth. Raw and shaking between both of you.

Sukuna’s expression crumples instantly. Because suddenly he understands. This was never about another girl. This was about you finally allowing yourself to hope. And thinking he destroyed it.

“I know,” he says again, rougher this time. “I know I fucked this up, I know I scared you, I know I’ve given you every reason not to trust me but—”

His voice breaks hard.

“But please don’t give up on me now”

The plea nearly destroys you. Because Sukuna never asks for anything.Never. And yet here he is in the middle of a storm looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

Your composure finally gives out completely. A broken sound leaves your throat before you can stop it, fingers tightening harder in his shirt as tears mix violently with rain against your face.

And the second Sukuna sees it, something inside him snaps.

He stands abruptly. Not to leave but to catch you. His hands find your waist instantly, careful for all of half a second before he pulls you against him like he physically cannot survive another inch of distance between you.

You gasp softly against his chest.Warm. Solid. Shaking just as badly as you are.

“Sukuna—”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately.

The words spill out against your wet hair desperately, uneven and wrecked. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your chest aches violently. Because he means it. Every single word.

“I didn’t know how bad this got,” he admits roughly, hands tightening at your waist. “I didn’t realize how much of you I already had until I thought I lost it.”

Your eyes squeeze shut instantly.

“And you have me,” you whisper brokenly before you can stop yourself.

The confession hangs there. Both of you freezing slightly beneath the rain. Sukuna pulls back just enough to look at you. And the expression on his face absolutely ruins you. Because he looks stunned. Like nobody has ever handed him something this precious before.

“You can’t say shit like that to me right now,” he whispers hoarsely.

Your breath catches sharply.

“Why?”

A broken laugh leaves him. Wrecked.

“Because I’m already one second away from losing my fucking mind over you.”

And suddenly you can’t take it anymore. Not the way he’s looking at you. Not the honesty splitting him wide open. Not the unbearable tenderness underneath all that desperation.

So you kiss him.

Your hands slide into his soaked hair before you pull him down toward you hard enough that his breath catches violently against your mouth.

And for one stunned heartbeat, Sukuna freezes. Like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he thought you were about to leave him here instead.

Then he kisses you back. And it isn’t smooth , Isn’t polished. Its desperate. Weeks of restraint collapse between you all at once beneath pouring rain and shaking breaths.

Sukuna kisses like he’s starving.

Like every quiet look and lingering touch and swallowed confession finally shattered open inside him at once.

And God, the sound he makes against your mouth nearly breaks you apart completely. Because it sounds relieved.

His hands slide up your back instinctively, pulling you impossibly closer while rain pours endlessly over both of you. You can feel his heart hammering violently through his chest.

Feel the way he keeps holding you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you gets far.

Your foreheads stay pressed together, breaths tangled, eyes still half closed while the storm rages around you unnoticed.

And finally in the entire night, the panic inside Sukuna finally starts settling. Only slightly. Just enough to breathe again.

“I meant everything” he says quietly .

Your eyes open slowly. Sukuna looks wrecked still.

“I know,” you whisper back this time.

And the relief that floods his face is so raw it almost makes you cry again. A quiet laugh escapes you suddenly through the remains of tears.

You’re an idiot.”

Sukuna huffs out the faintest laugh against your forehead.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Probably.”

Rainwater drips from his lashes while his thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, wiping away tears even though more immediately replace them.

The touch is impossibly careful. Like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to hold you like this.

Then quieter he says,

“So don’t scare me like that again.”

You blink at him in disbelief. A laugh escapes you despite everything.

“You’re blaming me?”

“No.” His arms tighten instantly around your waist again. “I’m saying I almost fucking died.”

The dramatic sincerity in his voice makes another wet laugh break from your chest. And Sukuna stares at the sound like he wants to memorize it forever.

The storm hasn’t softened yet. Neither have your feelings. Neither have your feelings or hurt.

But for the first time in a while, neither of you is running from it anymore.

Sukuna presses one last lingering kiss against your forehead before resting his against yours again, eyes finally closing properly this time.

And standing there beneath pouring rain with your heart still shaking violently inside your chest,

you realize something quietly. You’ve never seen Ryomen Sukuna look more terrified. Or more in love.

——-

The storm still crashes endlessly around you, rain soaking through your clothes, dripping from tangled lashes and trembling fingers, but somehow it feels farther away now.

Muted.

Like everything narrowed down to this one moment instead. To him.

Sukuna keeps his forehead pressed against yours, breathing unevenly while his arms stay locked around your waist like he’s still scared you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even slightly.

And Maybe he is.

Your heartbeat hasn’t settled yet. Neither has his. You can still feel it hammering violently through his chest every time your body shifts against his.

Still feel the occasional tremor running through his hands when they tighten unconsciously at your back.

Then quietly, almost too low beneath the rain, he says,

“I’m sorry.”

The words land differently this time. Because the words aren’t out of panic, but honesty.

Sukuna’s eyes close briefly, lashes wet against his cheeks while he exhales shakily through his nose.

“For all of it.”

Your eyes sting immediately. Sukuna notices.

“Fuck,” he whispers softly, thumb brushing beneath your eye carefully. “Don’t cry again, baby, I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

A watery laugh escapes you despite yourself.

And the relief that floods Sukuna’s face at the sound of it is almost unbearable to look at.

Like hearing you laugh again physically brought him back to life.

The storm softens slightly after that. Not fully.

But enough that the rain becomes steadier instead of violent, washing quietly through empty streets shining gold beneath streetlights.

You finally become aware of how cold you are.

Your clothes cling heavily to your skin now, fingers stiff from rain while your entire body shivers suddenly beneath Sukuna’s hands.

His expression changes instantly.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering.”

“You’re also shivering.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You stare at him tiredly.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re cold.”

Before you can argue again, Sukuna is already shrugging off his soaked jacket despite the rain still falling lightly around both of you.

You blink immediately.

“Sukuna, that’s literally worse.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll freeze.”

“I said I don’t care.”

The jacket settles around your shoulders anyway, still warm somehow despite the storm. And your chest aches quietly at the gesture. Because old Sukuna wouldn’t have noticed. Wouldn’t have cared enough to.

This Sukuna does.

You just stand there beneath dim streetlights while rainwater drips steadily around your feet.

And then, Sukuna reaches for your hand.

He’s careful, no confidence just care. Like he’s still asking permission. Your fingers slide into his before he can second-guess himself. And even such a small gesture makes his breath hitch.

The walk back is quiet. Not awkward. Just soft.

The frat house comes into view slowly through the rain after that, lights still glowing warm behind fogged windows while distant music hums faintly from somewhere inside.

For a second, your steps slow down, he sees that.

His fingers tighten around yours slightly.

“You okay?”

Your eyes linger on the house quietly.

This place used to feel like proof that you could never have him properly.

Too many stories attached to it. Too many girls. Too many nights where Sukuna belonged to everyone except himself.

But tonight, standing here soaked through while his hand holds yours so carefully it almost hurts,

the feeling is different.

“Yeah,” you whisper finally.

And Sukuna’s shoulders loosen so subtly.

The second you step inside, warmth wraps around your skin hard enough to sting. The party has mostly died now.

Music still hums quietly somewhere downstairs, low conversations drifting through the house alongside the smell of alcohol and rain-damp clothes.

Gojo looks up first from the kitchen island. Then pauses dramatically. His eyes flick toward your joined hands. Then your soaked clothes.

Then Sukuna standing absurdly close beside you like he’s terrified distance might happen again if he allows it.

Silence.

“Oh my God,” Gojo breathes.

Shoko looks up from the couch immediately afterward.

One glance at both of you and understanding settles across her face instantly.

“You cried and fixed your lives in the rain, didn’t you?” Gojo whispers dramatically.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna says immediately.

But his grip on your hand tightens instinctively afterward.

And Shoko nearly smiles into her drink. Nearly.

“Called it,” she mutters quietly.

Geto looks deeply exhausted by all of you.

Heat creeps unexpectedly into your face which doesn’t go unnoticed by sukuna. And before anyone can continue further, his hand settles gently against your lower back.

Protectively, guiding you toward the stairs.

The walk upstairs feels strangely intimate now.

The frat house quieter here, distant bass fading beneath rain tapping softly against windows while Sukuna keeps glancing back at you every few seconds like he still needs visual confirmation you’re following him.

And suddenly,you realize he’s nervous. That realization nearly ruins you all over again.

Because Ryomen Sukuna can beg in the rain, confess his feelings with his heart practically bleeding out of his chest,

and still look scared bringing you into his room.

Sukuna’s room is warm. Warmer than the rest of the house somehow. Maybe because it’s quieter here.

No flashing lights. No shouting. No chaos vibrating through the walls.

Just soft rain against the windows and the faint sound of both your breathing still trying to settle after everything.

The door clicks shut behind you.

Sukuna just stands there staring at you like he still hasn’t fully recovered from the fact that you followed him upstairs willingly.

That you stayed.

Then his expression tightens suddenly.

“You’re still freezing.”

Before you can answer, he’s already moving.

“Sit,” he says, grabbing a towel from somewhere near his closet.

You blink once.

“You sound bossy for someone who cried in public ten minutes ago.”

Sukuna pauses mid-step. Looks at you completely seriously.

“I’ll cry again.”

A startled laugh escapes you instantly.

And the relief that flashes across his face at the sound of it is almost embarrassing in its intensity.

Like hearing you laugh physically keeps him alive now.

You settle onto the edge of his bed while Sukuna kneels in front of you again, towel draped carefully over your head before he starts drying your hair with surprising gentleness.

The intimacy of it nearly undoes you. Because Sukuna touches you now like he’s aware you can bruise.

“You really got on your knees in the middle of the street,” you mumble again while he works carefully through damp strands.

He exhales quietly through his nose.

“Yeah i did”

“Yeah?”

You glance down at him finally.

His pink hair still damp. Sleeves pushed up slightly. Eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them before.

“You looked one second away from proposing.”

That actually gets a laugh out of him. Its small and rough around the edges but its real.

“Would’ve if you kept walking away.”

Your chest tightens painfully at how honest he says it. No ego. Just truth.

“You’re insane,” you whisper.

Sukuna’s hands still briefly in your hair.

“Probably.”

He disappears for a moment after that before returning with one of his hoodies.

Black. Too big. Still warm from the dryer somehow.

“Put this on.”

You take it slowly, fingers brushing his accidentally. Sukuna’s breath catches so softly you almost miss it.

Almost.

By the time you finish changing in his bathroom, the rain outside has softened into a quiet steady rhythm against the windows.

When you step back into his room wearing his hoodie, Sukuna looks up from where he’s sitting against the headboard.

And completely freezes.

Your stomach flips instantly beneath the intensity of his stare.

“What?”

Sukuna blinks once like he’s trying to recover from a thought.

Then he says,

“Nothing.”

A beat.

“You just look really good in my clothes.”

Heat crawls immediately into your face.

“You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

The words leave him easily. Then suddenly both of you go quiet. Because that means something different now. His expression softens afterward.

Like he’s still getting used to the idea that he’s finally allowed to say things like that openly.

“C’mere,” he says quietly after a moment.

You go without hesitation.

And Sukuna visibly melts the second you settle against him. Actually melts.

His arms wrap around you carefully at first before tightening slowly, like he’s still convincing himself this is real.

Your head rests against his chest while the steady sound of his heartbeat fills the quiet room between rainfall and distant music downstairs.

And for the first time in weeks, neither of you feels restless.

Sukuna presses a lingering kiss against the top of your head.

Then another. Like he can’t stop.

“You know,” you mumble sleepily against his chest after a while, “Gojo’s never letting you live this down.”

Sukuna groans softly above you.

“I’ll kill him tomorrow.”

“You cried in the rain for me.”

“I said don’t tell people that.”

A tired laugh slips from your chest.

And Sukuna’s arms tighten around you immediately at the sound.

Silence settles softly after that and this time its Warm.

Outside, the storm finally passes.

Inside, Sukuna keeps one arm around your waist while his fingers trace absentminded patterns against your skin beneath oversized sleeves.

Still touching you like he’s afraid this might disappear by morning.

But it won’t.

And this time,

when he reaches for you,

you reach back. ♡

note:AHHHH i know that this took so long, but i didn’t want to rush it, i needed some time to think because i wanted it to be as realistic as it can be 😭

He doesn’t notice that he’s not breathing.

Because something about you…is wrong.

It takes him a moment to figure it, you look the same, same face, same posture, same way of standing, hands losely gathered together, talking low enough that he can’t hear from the distance.

But somethings missing, and its easy to overlook, he would have , if he wasn’t paying attention to you before, but he did.

He knew the way your eyes used to hold light when you spoke. The way your expressions shifted too quickly sometimes, like you forgot to guard them in time. The way you looked at people- at him, like you were still deciding if you were allowed to.

That’s gone, not in a way that its hidden or replaced, its just gone.

Your face is calm.

Composed.

Careful…like always.

Even when you nod, even when your lips curve slightly in response to something the other person says,it doesn’t reach your eyes the way it used to.

It doesn’t soften you.

It just sits there.

Sukuna’s chest tightens, so hard that it feels heavy.

His breath catches,

and this time, he feels it.

Feels the way it stutters, the way his body reacts before his mind can catch up.

Because this isn’t what he expected.

He thought—

No.

He didn’t think.

That was the problem.

His jaw tightens, gaze fixed on you longer than it should be, longer than he allows himself to admit.

You don’t look around.Don’t scan the space.

You’re just… there.

Existing, without him.But not untouched.That’s what settles in.

You didn’t move on.

You changed.

And he knows,

He knows exactly when.

The memory hits without warning.

Your face.

That moment.

The way your expression had dimmed, quietly, almost politely, like you were trying not to let it show too much.

The words echo again.

But now,They sound different.

Not dismissive.

Final.

Sukuna exhales slowly, something tightening deeper in his chest, something unfamiliar and unwelcome settling where nothing used to stay.

This isn’t irritation or distraction,something he can walk away from and forget.

This is consequences.

And now he can see them, Standing right in front of him.

Quiet. Composed.Dimmed.

Because of him.

He doesn’t move forward or call out for you, because for the first time he hesitates, and this- hesitation feels worse than anything.

——

The first time he tries he doesn’t plan it. At least that’s what he tells himself.

He just moves without much thought, like if he gave it a thought he won’t do it at all.

You’re there. And it irritates him.

It irritates him that you can just be there, and exist as if nothing-

Or

Not nothing, but… like he doesn’t matter.

Sukuna stops a few feet away.

Close enough now for you to have noticed,

But you don’t

His jaw tightens.

“…You’re hard to find lately.”

Then you turn.

Your eyes meet his.

And for a second,

something in his chest shifts.

Because you’re looking at him finally.

But it doesn’t feel like before.There’s no hesitation,No softness,No quiet curiosity.

Just-

recognition.Flat.

“Wasn’t trying to be found.”

Your voice is even.Calm.

Like this conversation doesn’t matter.

Sukuna exhales slowly, something tightening under his ribs.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can tell.”

You want to go away, away from this situation, but you stay, facing him.

Sukuna shifts slightly, weight uneven for the first time in a long time.

“…you’ve been skipping class lately.”

You blink.

“I haven’t.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“I was there.”

Everything you say is short and direct.

No space for him to push further.

He does anyway.

“You changed seats.”

A small pause.

“It’s a free classroom.”

Again, you reply, just direct.

Like you’re not going to give him anything more than he asks for.

Like he has to earn even this much now.

That twists something in him.

“Why?”

The question slips out before he can stop it.

You tilt your head slightly.

“Why what?”

“Why’d you—” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “Why’d you move?”

There’s a beat.

You look at him properly this time.

“I didn’t think it mattered.”The words land softly.

Sukuna stills.

Because that’s…his line.

That’s what he said.That’s what he made it.

And now,it’s yours.

“That’s not—”

He stops before he says anything else,

Because he doesn’t know how to finish it.

Because whatever he says next won’t sound right.

You wait, in a way that says that youre not expectant.

that’s worse than if you had interrupted him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says finally.

The words feel unfamiliar and heavy,

Like they don’t belong in his mouth.

You don’t react immediately.

Then you just nod. “Okay.”

With the same flat acceptance as if you don’t want to question him, as if it didn’t matter enough to ask.

He takes a step closer , its not aggressive, but instinctive.

“Don’t just say that.”

You don’t move.

“Say what?”

“Like that,” he mutters, frustration slipping through now. “Like it’s-like it’s nothing.”

You hold his gaze and it has something,

Something which is not soft, but heavy.

“You said it was nothing.”

It lands clean, with no emotion or accusations, but just as a fact.

And suddenly,he hears it properly.

Not from himself but from you.

Sukuna exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again, slower this time, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“That’s not what I meant.”

You don’t argue, you just look at him.

And this time there’s a flicker in your eyes,not entirely of hurt but , of tiredness.

“Then what did you mean?”

The question is simple.

But it hits harder than anything else.

Because he doesn’t have an answer.

Because whatever this is,he hasn’t named it,doesn’t want to.

He knows naming it would mean something he’s not ready to admit.

“I don’t know,” he says finally.

that’s the first honest thing he’s said.

It sounds worse than everything else.

Your expression doesn’t change.

But something in your posture shifts.

Like that confirms something.

“Okay,” you say again , and then you step back , without stopping.

Sukuna watches you go, he doesn’t reach out or call after you, Because something in his chest feels heavy enough to hold him in place.

And that feels worse than losing you, because now he knows that it’s his fault.

———

The second time he catches you after this,

He doesn’t mean to wait.He just ends up there ,outside your class.Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, like it’s nothing.

Its not nothing.

His eyes keep flicking to the door.

Every time it opens.

Every time someone walks out.

It’s irritating.This isn’t him.

He doesn’t want to wait, and yet he does.

When you finally step out,he notices immediately.

“…Hey.”

It slips out quieter than usual.

You pause at his voice and turn.

All that he’s met with is recognition,nothing more.

Sukuna pushes off the wall.Closes the distance.

“You leaving already?”

“I have another class.”

Of course.

He doesn’t move.

“…Walk with me.”

You hesitate, Just for a second.

“…Okay.”

You walk with him, but there’s space between you now.

“…You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

“I’ve just been busy” you say , calm and flat.

He exhales.

“Thats not what this is.”

You glance at him.

“What is it then?”

He doesn’t answer.

“…You’re acting different,” he says instead.

“Yeah.”

No explanation.That throws him off.

“…Why?”

you speak after a second.

“Because I listened to you.”

It lands quietly.

“You said it didn’t matter,” you add.

“So I stopped acting like it did.”

Something in his chest twists.

“That’s not what I meant.”

You nod.

“I know.”

Thats worse,Because you don’t ask for more, you just let it go.

He slows , but you dont.

“…Don’t do that,” he mutters.

You stop.

“Do what?”

“Act like it’s just—over.”

You look at him.

“What else is there to do?”

He has nothing to say.

“…It wasn’t nothing,” he says finally.

You hold his gaze.

“ That’s not what you said.”

That line again.That wall again.

You step back.

“I have class,” you say and you just leave.

He doesn’t follow you, but he feels it slipping, he knows its getting out of his control, he doesn’t know how to stop it, and maybe he’ll let it slip, for you.

——

The third time he’s not waiting, not watching from a distance or pretending that its accidental.

He finds you.

And when you try to walk past him—

he stops you.

“Wait.”

You don’t.

So he steps in front of you.

Close enough that you have to stop.

For a second,neither of you says anything.

Then,you look up at him.

And there’s something in your eyes now, and its sharp.

“What?” you ask ,No hesitation.No warmth.

Sukuna exhales, already off, already restless.

“Can you just—” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening. “Stop walking away from me.”

you let out a quiet breath.

“You didn’t have a problem walking away from me.”

It lands clean.

Sukuna steps closer.

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

You cut him off immediately.

And this time,you don’t hold back.

“You got what you wanted,” you continue, voice steady but tighter now. “You got close, you made it easy for me to trust you, and then you left like it was nothing.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“That’s not—”

“You don’t get to say that.”

Your voice isn’t loud , But it cuts.

“You don’t get to come back now and act like it meant something when you were the one who decided it didn’t.”

He doesn’t have a response.

Because you’re right.

“You’re the same as everyone else,” you go on. “Actually—worse.”

His brows pull together.

“Worse?” he repeats.

“Yes.”

You step closer now.

Eyes locked on his.

“Because t least they don’t pretend.”

That goes straight to his chest.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” you continue. “Showing up everywhere, making it feel like it was real,like I wasn’t just another girl to you.”

Your breath stutters,just slightly,but you don’t stop.

“And I believed you.”

There it is,the line that’s been following him.

But this time,it’s heavier.Angrier.

“Do you even realize how messed up that is?” you ask. “Or do you just go around doing this to people and not think about it?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer.

Because he can’t.

Because everything you’re saying,is exactly what he’s been trying not to look at.

“You walk around like nothing touches you,” you continue, quieter now. “Drinking, partying, girls all over you—like none of it means anything.”

Your eyes don’t leave his.

“Like people don’t mean anything “

The knot in his chest tightens.

“You don’t care about anything but yourself,” you say.

There’s no hesitation in your words, No softness.

Just truth.

“And the worst part is…” your voice drops slightly, “I still thought there was something real in you”

There it is, that’s what he’s been avoiding.

“I saw you,” you say. “Not whatever this is—you.”

“And you proved me wrong.”

The silence between you is thick.

Because there’s nothing left to defend.

Nothing left to deny.

For the first time,he has nowhere to stand.

“I know,” he says.

The words are rough and unsteady.

“I know.”

You don’t respond.

Because knowing doesn’t fix anything.

“And I—” he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, something breaking through now, something unfiltered. “I didn’t think you’d-”

He stops.

Because that sounds worse out loud.

Your brows furrow.

“Didn’t think I’d what?”

Sukuna looks at you.Really looks.

He doesn’t dodge it.

“…Believe me,” he says.

Its odd and heavy coming from him,because that’s the truth,thats what he knew you would and he used it.

Your expression shifts into something quieter.

“Exactly,” you say.

Sukuna exhales, he can’t push the feeling in his chest anymore.

“I messed it up,” he says again.

There’s no control left in it.

“I know I did,” he continues, voice lower, rougher. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have—”

He stops.

Because now, he’s remembering it properly, not how he said it but how you heard it.

His breath falters.

“I shouldn’t have looked at you like that,” he adds, quieter.

That’s new.That’s real.

You don’t interrupt.

That makes it worse.

“Just—” he exhales, pacing slightly now, restless, like he can’t stay still inside this anymore. “Don’t act like it didn’t matter.”

You blink.

“It mattered,” you say softly. Like he’s been wanting to hear.

“That’s why I’m done.”

The words land gently.

But they hit harder than anything else.

He can’t do anything but just be still.

that’s not something he can push against.

Not something he can argue.

Not something he can fix with words.

“…Don’t,” he says, quieter now.

It’s not a command, it’s pleading.

You look at him.

And for a second,there’s something there.

Not forgiveness, not yet.

But not nothing either.

“You don’t get to come back just because you feel bad now,” you say.

You’re saying it, the things he didn’t want to accept.

“You didn’t care when it mattered,So don’t act like you do now.”

Sukuna swallows.

This is where he loses….or changes.

He doesn’t argue , Doesn’t deflect.

He just stands there,and takes it.

You look at him for a long moment.

Then you speak.

And its not rushed, Just… steady.

“You know what the worst part is?”

Sukuna listens quietly

Because your tone isn’t angry.

It’s calm.

Too calm.

“I knew,” you continue. “I knew you were like that.”

His brows pull together slightly.

“I knew you drank too much. I knew you didn’t take anything seriously. I knew the way people talked about you.” Each word lands slower than the last.

“And I still—” you pause, breath catching just slightly, “I still thought you were different with me.

His expression is scrunched , like he remembers clearly, how you looked that day when he said those things.

“I thought,” you go on, quieter now, “maybe you just don’t care about everyone… but you care about something.”

A pause.

“Or someone.”

The silence stretches.

“And that’s on me,” you add.

That throws him.

Because you’re not blaming him.Not completely.

“I let myself believe it,” you say. “I let myself get comfortable. I let myself trust you.”

just for a second your gaze flickers , before it steadies again.

“And you proved me right for a while.”

Sukuna exhales slowly.

Everything you’re saying feels worse than if you had just screamed at him, accused him, because it reminds him of how real this is.

“And then you said that,” you finish.

Simple.No dramatics. Just final.

“And I realized I was the only one who thought any of it meant something.”

Then there’s just silence, heavy and unavoidable.

———

With that you leave,

Your words stay with him,

Not what you said.

Not how you said it.

But maybe the fact that you don’t look back.

Sukuna stands there longer than he should.Long enough for the hallway to empty,for the noise around him to come back.

None of it gets to him, because your words stay exactly where you put them.

“You don’t care about anything but yourself.”

He exhales, It doesn’t come out steady,

For once he’s not trying to prove you wrong, but figure out if you’re right.

But what he’s sure of is,

This time,

it wasn’t about winning.It was about not losing you like that again.