sukuna's

He acted like you exhausted him while simultaneously orbiting around you like he physically couldn't help it.

Everyone at school noticed, especially since Scaramouche hated being touched by anyone.

Girls that were infatuated with him in the Akademiya learned that quickly. One accidental brush against his arm and he'd give them the dirtiest stare in history. Someone once tried linking arms with him during a festival and he immediately peeled her off with visible disgust look on his face.

And yet you're sitting across from him in the middle of the library while braiding little sections of his hair between your fingers because you were bored.

He didn't mind it, didn't complaint nor insult you. Sitting there silently while your legs rested over his lap beneath the table, his hand absentmindedly holding your ankle like it belonged there.

"Ribbon is crooked," he muttered eventually.

You gasped. "How did you noticed!" "I have eyes." "Well, no shit. So you care about my crafts!" "I care because it looks stupid on me." But he still tilted his head lower so you could fix it easier. At the same time, the girl at the next table over looked genuinely devastated watching the interaction.

Scaramouche glanced toward her briefly before looking back at you again, unimpressed. "You missed a piece."

"Hush."

"You are bad at this."

"At least I'm trying!" Your lips curved into a small smile and immediately he looked away because apparently even after all this time he still couldn't handle when you looked at him too sweetly. Another thing people noticed was that he folded for you and no one else. You could push his hair away from his face while he studied to get a look at his pretty face. Steal his rings to wear on your own fingers. Sit directly in his lap during late-night study sessions because his dorm chair was "more comfortable."

Sometimes he'd be reading while your head rested against his shoulder and his hand would automatically move to play with your hair without realizing.

He adored your hair.

Archons, he loved touching you in general.

However, he had a very peculiar way of exhibiting that. Most people wouldn't catch it unless they paid attention. His fingers brushing your wrist while passing notes. Straightening your blouse collar before lectures. Fixing your fake lashes with terrifying concentration because your hands shook a lot. "Quit blinking," he would whisper softly into your ear, close enough that you could smell the mint and smoke on his breath.

"It's hard not to. You're so intimidating." “That sounds like a problem for you. Not me,” he replied as his fingers went to cup your chin with noticeable firmness while he fixed the corner of your lash.

You stared at him a little too long and he noticed it immediately. It was really obvious. "…What?"

"Nothing." "You were staring." "Well, you're pretty." The glue nearly smeared because his hand jerked slightly at your words.

"You're so annoying," he muttered, ears pink.

You grinned at him, knowing that you'd already accomplished part of your goal in getting him to be soft only towards you. And one evening while you were strolling around the Akademiya, you found him outside one of the Akademiya buildings long after sunset, sitting alone on the stone railing with a cigarette balanced between his fingers while the city lights glowed below.

The sight of him like that nearly ruined you.

Dark clothes. Half-lidded eyes. Smoke curling past his lips while the breeze moved through his hair.

Scaramouche looked up when he heard your footsteps and immediately frowned. "Why are you here?" "I was finding you." "Well, here I am." You stepped closer anyway, eyeing the cigarette with curious eyes. "You smoke?"

"Geez, what do you think?" "Hmmm."

His eyes narrowed a little. "What?"

You shrugged. "Nothing. I just like the smell." Scaramouche stared at you like you'd personally short-circuited his brain. "What kind of answer is that?" "A truthful one..?" "So you like the scent of cigarettes smoke?" "Mhm..." "You're concerning me." "You smell nice," you teased him a little, leaning into his space.

His face immediately twisted into something halfway between irritation and embarrassment. "You're impossible..." However, he continued to hold the cigarette away from you at least somewhat.

And then a week later, when he was beginning to try to teach you how to smoke despite clearly regretting agreeing to it. "You inhale too fast," he flatly stated while standing behind you beneath the quiet glow of the street lamps near campus housing. "No wonder you're coughing." "I'm trying!!" "Poorly trying.." You spun around dramatically, "Maybe cause you're a horrible teacher!" "And you would be hopeless to teach." But his hand still came up to steady yours when you lifted the cigarette again. His fingers wrapped around your wrist carefully, colder than yours as he guided the motion slightly.

"Take it slow," he whispered next to your ear. "Just like this." Your heart was racing way faster than usual. No surprise when he stood that close to you, his chest touching your back every time either of you took a breath.

"You're doing this on purpose," you said with a quiet accusation in your voice.

"Huh? Doing what?" "Distracting me...?" A soft chuckled escaped from his throat lowly which made your stomach fluttered. "You're distracted all on your own."

You slightly tilted your head back in an attempt to glare at him but quickly realized just how close his face was to yours.

Close enough for you lips to interlocked. Scaramouche apparently realized that at the same time because you could see his face transforming from the previous teasing look into something softer, warmer and more dangerous in a way you'd never seen before.

His gaze dropped to your lips, trying so hard to not capture your mouth with his.

"Kuni…" you whispered softly.

His hand tightened slightly around your wrist.

Footsteps echoed another pathway and he pulled back instantly, jaw tense like he was annoyed at himself for almost losing composure.

"…You're burning the cigarette wrong," he muttered instead.

You stared at him in disbelief. "Oh my god."

It didn't make it hurt any less. Not once did it make you forget him because you never did. Not even close. And certainly not when your body still remembered him in ways your mind tried to ignore. Every quiet night turned into the same dream of you and him together again and his hands on you, lips pressed on your neck giving you small kisses and everything was just the way it was before. You'd wake up with that ache sitting heavy in your chest and lower, frustrated with yourself for still wanting something that had already ended.

So yeah, seeing his name again felt like a joke you weren't in on. The first time you see him again, it's like your body reacts before your brain does.

Even though he looks almost exactly like you remember except for how he looks a little older, a little more tired around the eyes, but still unmistakably him.

His body language is identical to what it has always been. The same posture, confidence, and has a presence that commands attention without ever trying to.

His eyes find yours almost immediately, "Didn't think they'd pair us again," he says in stoic voice, like you're just another assignment.

You give a short, sarcastic laugh and try to act like flipping through your documents like you don't care. "Yeah, figured they'd have better judgment than that."

You see his expression change briefly before it disappears again. "Still got an attitude."

"Still got bad timing," you shoot back, not even looking at him.

That comment landed harder than you thought it would. You can feel it without needing to see it. But he doesn't argue. Instead, he just exhales quietly and shifts back into mission mode like that conversation didn't mean anything, as if you didn't just reopen something that never properly closed.

You hate how easily he does that. Everything felt too familiar. Working together again feels wrong in a way you can't explain.

With the way he moves beside you, the way he hands you weapons without needing to say anything, the way he stands just slightly behind you during briefings like it's instinct to have your back.

It should feel normal, professional, routine but it hardly is. Every small interaction feels loaded, like there's something sitting just beneath the surface neither of you are acknowledging.

You feel his hand brush against yours when he handed you a knife, and it lingers just a second too long to be accidental. He notices that you noticed, but neither of you says anything about it. Is he doing this on purpose? "Focus," he mutters at one point, stepping closer to you than necessary while going over the plan for the mission.

You glance at him, unimpressed at his tactics. "I am focused."

"Doesn't look like it." "Maybe you're just distracting," you say casually. His jaw tightens slightly, his gaze flickered to yours before he looks away again. “Not the time.”

You take one more step forward, just enough to test his reaction. "You say that every time."

For just a moment, he doesn't move away. Then he exhales slowly and steps back first, creating a distance between you two. "Get your head in the mission." You almost laugh, because if anyone's not focused, it's definitely not just you.

Although the actual mission wasn't particularly stressful, it didn't leave you unharmed.

Once your adrenaline has subsided and you're back at the safehouse, you can finally start feeling how much pain you're in. A sharp and incessant pain along your side. When you first start feeling the pain, you try to ignore it and pretend it's nothing, but Leon somehow always notices.

"Sit," he says, already grabbing the med kit.

"I'm fine." "Sit. You're bleeding." "It's really not that bad."

When his eyes lock onto yours, the annoyance fades into something softer, almost resigned. "Sit." His tone is quiet but holds a note of authority that keeps you from challenging him.

So you sit down.

He moves closer, kneeling slightly so he's on the same level with you, opening the kit with practiced ease.

"Take your shirt off," he says without looking up.

"You always this direct?" "You want me to waste time or you want me to fix it?" he states flatly but not cold. With a sigh, you shake your head, lifting the fabric up slowly and wincing when it tugs on his skin. "Still bossy."

"I've seen everything before," he replies finally looking up after examining your injury for a second. "Don't make it weird."

That shouldn't have affected you anymore but it still does. Because he's right. There's nothing new about this, the closeness, the feel of his hands on your body, how you react physically, even though you're trying so hard to keep your brain from freaking out.

His fingers press lightly against your side as he cleans the wound, and you suck in a breath before you can stop yourself.

"You're tensed up." he mumbles.

"Maybe because I'm hurt?" "Yeah," he responds softly. "I know."

There's something in his voice that makes you look up for real and suddenly, all those feelings you have held back since the breakup came back out of nowhere.

"You don't get to care," you say, "You gave that all up."

His hands stilled standing up now. "…I know,” he repeated again but his tone was quieter and rougher now. That answer made something snap.

"That's it?" you push, leaning forward despite the discomfort. "You don't get to just say that and act like—"

"What do you want me to say?" he cuts in, finally looking at you, "That it was easy? That I didn't think about it after?"

You didn't respond right away, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop again.

"I did it because I thought it was the right thing," he continues, voice lower now, more honest than you've heard it in a long time. "Doesn't mean I didn't regret it."

For a second, you just stared up at him, trying to process whether he actually said that, whether he really means it or if it's just another one of those things he says to soften the damage after it's already been done.

"You regret it?" you repeated, the tone of your voice sharper than you thought. "Then why did you even break up with me?" Leon doesn't respond right away, adding to the anxiety and uncertainty you're feeling.

"You didn't have the right to make that decision for me!" you continued, expressing all the frustration that you have kept bottled up inside you. "You don't have the right to decide what I'm capable of handling, just like I didn't get a say in any of it."

His jaw tightens. "I was trying to—" "Protect me?" you cut in, almost laughing. "From what? From you? From something I have already chose?"

Your chest feels tight now, like everything you kept buried is forcing its way out after keeping it in for so long. "I wanted to stay with you," you murmured, "I chose you, Leon. You didn't even give me the chance to keep choosing you." He gives you a proper look then, and you see his usual composure slip. It was like he suddenly couldn't hold it together anymore.

But you weren't finished yet. "I lay there every night after you left," you continue, your voice cracking now despite how hard you try to hold it steady. "It's so quiet, and it feels wrong because you're not there anymore. No stupid comments, no… nothing." You laugh weakly, shaking your head as your vision starts to blur. "And I kept thinking it'd get better and that I'd get used to it." "Every time I woke up from a nightmare," you added, the words slipping our of your mouth before you could stop them, "you weren't there beside me. No one was. I just had to… deal with it. Go back to sleep like it didn't matter." Your hands curl into your own sleeves, trying to calm yourself.

"I tried moving on. I tried acting like everything was normal, going out and meeting people or whatever. However, every time I got close to a person," you shake your head again, "it just felt wrong. I kept thinking about you, and I hated it." Your breathing is uneven now, your chest rising too fast, your eyes burning.

"I don't want anyone else except for you," you finally look him in the eyes again and show him, "and I still don't."

Leon doesn't move. The silence between you both were thick. For once, he looks… lost. He doesn't have the right answer, doesn't have the control he usually holds onto so tightly. "Did you think that would have been easy for me too?" he asks softly and stares at you for what feels like an eternity.

You don't respond.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair, he looks tired in a way that has nothing to do with work.

"I drank more than I should've," he admits. "Stopped sleeping properly. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept thinking I made the wrong call."

"I'd pick up my phone more times than I can count," he continues explaining, jaw tightening slightly. "Thought about calling you. Showing up. Saying I screwed up."

"Then why didn't you do it?" "Because I thought if I came back, I wouldn't be able to leave again." Whatever you were holding onto breaks completely, your vision blurring as tears spill over, your shoulders shaking despite how much you try to steady yourself.

"Then don't," you say, voice breaking. "I never wanted you to leave, never will when you're the only one that understands me. Just don't... leave me again." Leon's expression shifts instantly. He moves without thinking, closing the distance between you, kneeling down in front of you so quickly it almost startles you. He places both his larger and calloused hands on your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes as if he can wipe away everything you've been holding in.

"Hey," he speaks softly now, "Hey…look at me."

You try, but it's hard when everything feels like it's caving in at once.

"I'm here," he says, more firmly this time, his forehead almost brushing against yours. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere right now." Your hands clutch at his jacket, like you need something solid to hold onto, and he lets you, doesn't pull away, doesn't create distance like he always do.

Instead, he moves his face close to yours and kissed you. This kiss wasn't rushed, it was as if he is helping to steady you rather than overwhelming you. His lips brush against yours softly at first; testing to see if you'll pull away or continue to lean into him. When you continue to lean into him, he tightens his grip on you, one hand now resting on the back of your neck, holding you close.

As you press your breath into his, your fingers clutch tightly onto his jacket as he continues to push his tounge in deeply but not forcefully. His thumb glides along your jaw, slowly and softly providing reassurance, and when he pulls back slightl, he simply presses his forehead against yours.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, voice low, rough in a way that feels honest. "I really am." You pause there for a moment, still holding onto him, your breathing beginning to settle down as the heaviness within you settles into something calmer, something more constant now that he is here and not just a past experience that you are yearning for.

"You promised?" you say softly, but still with an air of uncertainty, afraid he may change his mind at any moment to let yourself trust in him. Leon doesn't waver at all.

"I promise." You look up at him for a moment longer, searching for his face the same way you used to, trying to find some flaw in his promise.

"Then," you start, sniffing lightly as you pull back just enough to look at him properly, "you should take me out." Leon raises a brow slightly. "Take you out?" "Yeah," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips now, the softness creeping back in. "Like… a proper one. After we give our reports." He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head a little. "You're negotiating already?" "You owe me," you point out, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours. "So I'm thinking something nice. Somewhere expensive. Like really expensive."

"Seriously?" He chuckles and his hand still resting at your waist like he forgot to move it.

"And we could always have dessert afterwards." you added, like it's a crucial detail.

Leon hums, pretending to think about it, but the way his thumb starts brushing absentmindedly against your side again gives him away.

"Desserts, huh…" You narrow your eyes slightly. "Yes. Don't try to skip that part." A small smirk tugs at his lips then, "Don't you mean…" he leans in just slightly, voice dropping enough to make your stomach flip, "you're the dessert?" You stare at him in disbelief, feeling your face turning red. "You're—"

"Charming?" he cuts in.

"Annoying," you corrected.

He gives a small chuckle as he shakes his head, moving his hand from your waist yet staying clos.

"Yeah," he says softly, almost to himself. "Missed that."

"…Don't get used to it," you mumble, glancing at him.

His hand shifts behind his back, fingers brushing the familiar weight of the gun tucked beneath his jacket, instincts kicking in hard.

"Hey?" he calls out. There was no response from you. He moves through it quickly, scanning, every sense on edge until he reaches your room. And he finally stops when he spots you curled up in bed, blankets half tangled around you, face pale, breathing uneven. There's a small trash bin nearby, a glass of water barely touched, your phone abandoned on the nightstand. The tension drains out of him so fast it almost makes him dizzy once he realized you weren't in danger.

"Jesus…" he exhales, voice going softer now, the edge gone completely.

He enters quickly and finishes closing the distance between you and him in seconds. He kneels by your bed, moving one hand up to brush your hair away from your face.

Your skin's warm. A little clammy. "Hey," he whispers.

You stirred at his touch, slightly wrinkling your brow before opening your eyes. It takes you a while to register who is next to you. When you finally do, confusion flickers across your face.

"...Leon?" "I'm right here," he quickly reiterates. He strokes your cheek with his thumb. "You didn't answer back, I thought..." He stops himself and breathes deeply. "You scared me."

Your voice was weak as you respond, "I'm sorry. I just feel awful..." His eyes completely soften as the look of worry on his face becomes a calmer and much more focused concern.

"Cramps?" he questions gently. You wince slightly when you move yourself… "Yeah... I threw up earlier. Everything just hurts." Leon's jaw tightens again. He hates seeing you like this. If he could he would rather have your pain transported on to him so you wouldn't have to go through the pain. "Hey," he murmurs softly. "It's okay, I'm here now." Leon takes off his jacket and sets it aside, then pulls the blankets around you more securely than before. His hand finds yours and Leon strokes your knuckles with his thumb in a slow motion. "Did you take anything?" Leon asks you.

You shake your head weakly.

"Okay," he says. "I'll get you something and water to stay hydrated, alright?"

You nod again. Too tired to respond anymore. Before he gets up, you grab his hand just a little tighter.

"…Stay for a minute?" Leon doesn't hesitate at all. He leans forward, kisses you softly on your forehead, stares at you a moment, before finally whispering, "I'm not going anywhere." He then lifts his hand to rest on your stomach where it would remain there gently like he's trying to take some of the pain away just by being there.

You find yourself relaxing into it without thought. You're focused on feeling the warmth of his hand on top of your stomach, his thumb rubbing against your skin, and the quiet comfort he offers you by just being there . The ache dulls just enough, your body giving in, exhaustion pulling you under. Leon noticed it immediately when your grip loosened on his other hand, breathing evened out.

He hesitates for a few seconds, studying you closely to ensure you are asleep. When he's sure, his expression grows even gentler, much like a quiet affection that he only has for you. "Finally," he murmurs under his breath.

Carefully, he adjusts the blanket around you, tucking it in a little better so you stay warm. His hand lingers at your cheek for a second, brushing lightly over your skin before he reluctantly pulls away.

"Just give me one second, okay?" he states softly, although you can't hear him. He moves around the apartment quietly and closes your bedroom door halfway so there is no extra light bothering you as he slips into your kitchen area.

Leon isn't exactly a chef but he thinks he knows enough. He checks what you have, settling on something simple and warm that would relieve the discomfort in you. Something that won't make you feel worse when you wake up.

A pot simmers softly on the stove. The earlier panic of his completely replaced with quiet focus.

As he waited for the food to cook, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water, setting it down neatly on a wooden tray. He also added the pain killers next to the glass so you wouldn't have to look for them later. After that he made you some tea and waited for it to steep against the counter with a sigh while running his fingers through his hair.

He glances toward your room more than once, making sure that you're safe and sound. Once everything was prepared, he carefully picked up the items to go back to you and nudged the door open with his foot.

You're still asleep. Curled slightly into the blankets, breathing slowly, and looking more relaxed than before. Leon set the items on your night stand as softly and carefully as he could. Not waking you up yet, because you needed more sleep.

Instead, he sat back down next to you, and put his hand on top of your hand lightly again, running his thumb across your hand slowly and absentmindedly.

"I'm going to make you eat when you get up," he said softly, but it was almost like he was teasing with you.