writing a dream

Worry.

Restrained but unmistakable.

Like he had been counting the seconds you were gone.

You looked at your undone bed, the wrinkled sheets inviting you into a hug that promised to undo everything your body went through.

But then your eyes drifted past it.

To your laptop.

Still open.

Still waiting.

The cursor on the document was right where you left it, blinking in sync with your heartbeat.

Steady.

Relentless.

Alive in a way your body no longer felt.

You exhaled, and it felt heavier than it should have.

Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you sat down, your fingers hovering over the mouse.

“What are you doing?” His voice was calm. Gentle.

It always was.

“I need to finish this paper.” You said.

“Y/n,” his eyebrows knitted together. Not sharp. But concerned. “You collapsed earlier today because of this.” A slender finger pointed at your laptop.

“Yes but i must finish this paper.” Your hand tightened around the mouse.

“No.” His voice dropped. Final. “No, you don’t.”

And before you could say anything, he closed the laptop.

You instinctively reached for the laptop when his hands wrapped around your wrists.

“Y/n.” He was calm in his desperation.

“You have been missing meals. Irregularly sleeping. Exhausting yourself to the point of collapse.” His gaze softened.

“This is not ambition anymore, y/n.” His thumbs moved slowly against your skin

“This is compulsion.”

You looked away.

Not at him.

Not at the laptop.

He crouched down and looked up at you. “Tell me,” he said quietly. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because of you.”

His thumbs against your wrist halted, and his eyes widened a fraction.

“…what?”

Silence.

You sighed. Of course he wouldn’t understand. It was all in your head.

But then again, it was all that was in your head.

“Because of you. The prodigy Zayne. The chief cardiac surgeon Zayne..”

You stopped, your voice wavering.

“I… i can’t keep up with you-“

“It’s not-“

“You’re always the smartest in the room. The brightest. You excel in every way and then-“ your hands gripped your knees.

“…Then there’s me” your voice was little.

But you… even smaller.

“I keep thinking that-“ you lowered your head in a shaky exhale.

“Maybe one day you’ll wake up and realize you deserve someone better. Smarter. Someone who can match you in every way.” You slowly lifted your gaze to meet his.

“Someone who doesn’t lag behind.”

“But-“

“This is why i have to finish the paper. This is why i have to become more and more and more… to-“ you closed your eyes shut.

“To deserve you.”

Silence fell upon you.

For a moment, the only sound was that of the distant cars outside.

Zayne didn’t speak.

Didn’t interrupt anymore.

Didn’t even correct you.

And that… that hurt even more.

Your laugh was weak, and it carried no humor. “See. It’s even more embarrassing said aloud.”

Still nothing.

When you finally looked up, he was staring at you.

Not angry.

Not confused.

Heartbroken.

Like you inflicted the most terrible pain he’d ever faced.

“Y/n,” he said quietly, hands tightening around yours.

“Please correct me if im wrong.” His words were careful, handpicked even.

“What?”

“Are you trying to earn the right to be mine?”

You couldn’t say yes.

But you couldn’t say no.

Your silence was enough of an answer.

The look on Zayne’s face crumpled.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for you to see how much your answer hurt him.

“Y/n…” he whispered like he didn’t know whether to comfort you or grieve for you.

He got up and pulled you with him, seating you both on the bed.

Pulling you onto his lap, his chin resting on top of your head. “Love isn’t earned.”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair. “I might be a doctor, a good student, even…” he hesitated, “conventionally attractive.”

“But do you know what i’m most proud of?”

You hummed against his chest, and his arms tightened around you.

“That i am loved by you.”

it was a rainy sunday morning. you had woken up before sylus (which was rare) and pulled yourself away from his hold quietly. you had brushed your teeth, tied your hair in a bun before tiptoeing your way down to his kitchen.

it was so peaceful and calm, listening to the drops of rain against the window as you cooked breakfasts. you made coffees and glanced at the clock. an hour had passed, surely he was already awake ?

you quietly sneaked your way up the stairs, feeling excited at the thought of having a lazy sunday with sylus. it was rare for you both to stay at home ; even if you had free time, sylus always opted for dates outside. and today, you could use the excuse of rain to stay in.

together, lazy, relaxed, and with nothing to bother your alone time with him.

you pushed the door slowly as you squinted your eyes at the giant figure laying on the bed. with how dark the room was, it was quite impossible to know if he was awake.

that is until you saw him stir up, his silver hair sticking in all directions. he made a noise, somewhere between a yawn and a groan. he flipped on his back before extending his arm toward you : come here, kitten.

you walked over and got on the bed before he pulled your wrist, gently guiding you to sit on his lap. his eyes were barely open, his warm big hands rested on your hips, his bare chest exposed to the cool air.

good morning, kitten ; his husky voice gave you chills. then gently, he caressed the curves of your waist, tenderly, lovingly. he smiled softly before closing his eyes again.

you leaned down and softly planted kisses all over his collar bones, then his shoulders, then his neck, then his adam apple. his breathing hitched every single time your soft lips touched his burning skin. he dug his fingers onto the fat of your hip as he blinked his eyes open.

then you gently bit down on his cheek. he practically purred, or groaned -- it was difficult to differentiate as you continued your attack of kisses and bites.

a feisty kitten in the morning, sylus hummed as he grinned, amused.

you've rarely seen sylus in such disheveled state. even if he just woke up, sylus would still look handsome, manly, perfect. but now, he looked like a mess.

a cute mess. it was very hard to not notice how his grey hair seemed unusually fluffy, how his manliness no longer seemed so dominant but instead, warm and inviting.

he looked like a giant teddy bear. you squished his cheeks together, his lips puckered : ''you look so cute, sy''

he was now fully awake. he pointed his index finger at his pouty lips, a silent request for a kiss, which you gladly did.

cute, huh ? show me just how cute you find me, kitten. his hands gripped your hips firmly as he sat up, nuzzling against the crook of your neck.

this tender moment was certainly not going to be the last. in fact, sylus was already making a mental note to look ''messy'' the next morning so he could experience more of your kisses and bites.

You looked at him expectantly.

“My laptop has officially died.”

Silence.

He tilted his head. “Do I not get an RIP MSI Crosshair 15, you were a good laptop or something?”

He pushed himself off the doorframe and wandered into your room, resting his hands on the back of your gaming chair.

“That being said,” he eyed you for a few seconds.

“That being said…?” You raised your hand, ushering him to go on.

“I need to borrow yours. I have a report to submit by midnight.”

“Okay.” You shrugged.

He blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” He placed a hand over his chest. “I had an entire speech prepared.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“You don’t understand. It was a really good speech.”

He grabbed the laptop and was about to disappear into his room when, “wait, what’s the password.”

You looked up from your phone, “birthday.”

“Your birthday?”

“No. Yours.”

Silence.

“…what?”

“Jesus just log in, Caleb.”

“No but why is your password my birthday?”

“Because i remember it?”

“And you don’t remember yours?”

You stared at him. He stared back.

You got off your bed and started pushing him towards the door. “Could’ve used this time to write your report!”

Caleb was back in his room, your laptop now opened on his desk, a half written report displayed on the screen.

“So…” he eyed the last written paragraph, head between his hands. He decided that it was unclear, and a much needed definition for the term “MIMO” should be added.

He wiggled the mouse, locating the cursor on screen and opened Chrome to google the definition.

He clicked on the search bar.

The recent searches that appeared made him forget all about MIMO.

“How to tell if someone likes you”

“Signs of accidental flirting”

“Why do i randomly think about someone in the middle of the day”

Caleb blinked once.

Twice.

He exhaled amusedly through his nose.

“Such an… academic approach to things, y/n.” He shook his head, smiling.

His finger mindlessly scrolled through the recent list, your search history proving far more interesting than his report.

“Can roommates fall in love or is it because i see him all the time”

Huh?

Caleb’s smile faltered slightly.

His finger hovered over the trackpad.

“Can you miss someone who’s in the next room?”

…what?

“How do i stop thinking about my roommate”

“Oh.”

He slowly leaned back in his chair, arms intertwined behind his neck.

He leaned forward again, scrolling further down.

“If someone teases me a lot do they like me”

His hand froze against the mouse.

Caleb stared at the words.

He clicked away from the page for a second.

Opened something else.

Closed it.

Opened the search history again.

The words hadn’t magically disappeared.

“Fuck,” he dropped back into his chair, smiling at the screen sheepishly.

“I’ve been caught.”

Three hours later, you heard a knock on your door, followed by the entrance of the man and your laptop in hand.

“How did it go?” You chimed.

“It was fun.” He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

“By the way, y/n, you should really clear your search history more often.”

You froze.

He smiled. “Very informative, by the way.”

You gulped. “Caleb-“ You had no words. Your brain wouldn’t cooperate.

“And the yogurt was on 35 percent discount! Caleb i’m sure they’re probably expired because what the fuck-“ Caleb was giggling.

You froze.

That was your voice.

“-because who makes this high of a discount on FOOD, Caleb?”

Caleb dissolved into another fit of laughter.

That was definitely your voice.

Your voice from more than a month ago when you went grocery shopping before exams.

An entropy problem sat open in front of him, two pages of calculations already filled in.

The latest line of symbols slanted crookedly across the paper as Caleb’s shoulders shook with another laugh.

He was ruining his own homework because of a voice note about discounted yogurt.

You waited. Not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t know what to do.

What to say.

“Caleb you seriously should’ve come here with me because i am LOST”

He murmured the words as they played over the phone speaker, his pen spun between his fingers as he rocked left and right.

The voice note ended. His pen halted between his fingers, and you could hear a tiny “oh no” as he scrolled down the screen and pressed play.

It was another voice note.

Of yours.

“The teacher assigned 9 chapters for the exam. NINE!” He tapped his pen against the sheet, muttering a passionate “NINE” with your recording like it was his favorite lyric.

“Caleb this is such depressing news i really need you here right now”

He replayed the exact snippet once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He was about to rewind the voice note to the same sentence once more when you finally spoke up.

“Are you okay by any chance?” You stood up, stepping into his view.

He grabbed onto the paper like it could brace him against the embarrassment and quickly turned off his phone, head snapping upwards and his eyes wider than you’ve ever seen.

“Holy fucking shit y/n you could’ve knocked or something.” He huffed, acting like his entire life’s worth of privacy had been breached.

“Why would i knock walking into my own place?” You sat down beside him, and he stiffened as he looked away to face the couch instead of you.

“I literally could’ve been,” he flailed with his arms summoning any thought, “i dont know- jerking off or something.”

“Would’ve been less embarrassing than knowing a message about discounted yogurt word for word but okay.” You side eyed him.

“Also, nothing I haven’t seen you do before.” You softly jabbed him with your elbow.

His freckles disappeared into the blush that devoured pale skin, and he gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “Shut up already.” He refused to look at you.

Something in your chest pulled tight, but you swallowed it down anyway. For the longest time, you would find yourself mindlessly staring at his pictures when he wasn’t home.

Or walking into his room just to get a familiar whiff of his warm scent.

But you wouldn’t admit that.

Not to yourself.

Not to him.

You chuckled. “Gosh, you’re such a disaster.” You supported yourself up, and threw the yellow bag of sweets above long forgotten books.

You just sat there in your oversized, faded blue hospital gown, looking small and fragile as your confused gaze met his. The man froze, roughly brushing a strand of pink hair out of his face. His clothes were covered in a layer of grey dust and dried grit, looking as though he had sprinted straight off a construction site the second he got the news.

"Fucking... God. Hey, princess... fuck, don't you ever scare me like that again" he breathed, his deep, gravelly voice cracking as he took two massive strides toward your bedside, staring down at you with a desperation that made the air feel heavy.

You shrank back into the pillows, your brow furrowing. Princess? Were you in some bizarre historical simulation? Did kings and horses still exist? No, the blinking medical monitors around you disproved that immediately.

"Mr. Sukuna, please. I need to speak with you in private for a moment" a woman in her mid forties interrupted, her expression incredibly grave as she stepped between you and the huge man. She glanced at the other people lingering by the door. There was a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, who had the exact same pink hair as the tattooed man, his face streaked with tears. Beside him stood another boy with unruly, spiky black hair and a dull, stoic expression that couldn't quite hide the anxiety in his eyes. At the doctor's quiet command, they all slowly filed out into the hallway.

Left alone for a moment, you stared at the stark white walls, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table, and the crushing, dull monotony of the room.

When the door clicked open again, the female physician returned, holding a thick medical chart. The tattooed man followed closely behind her. He tried to offer you a small, reassuring smile, but it looked incredibly strained on his rugged face. His crimson eyes locked onto you, tracking every breath you took as if you might literally vanish into thin air if he dared to look away for a single second.

"Hello, y/n. I am Dr. Jennifer" the woman said kindly, stepping up to the mattress. "Do you know why you were brought here today?"

You frowned, looking between her and the towering man. "No."

The syllable was short and hollow. Beside the doctor, Sukuna’s entire frame stiffened. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently beneath his tattoos, his knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists.

"Right. But you do remember your name?" she pressed gently.

"Yes... y/n I am Y/N." you answered firmly. You knew the name belonged to you, even if the history attached to it was completely gone.

"And do you know where you are right now?"

"A hospital?"

"Correct" Dr. Jennifer nodded, opening the document in her hands. "Look, I am going to explain exactly what happened, and I need you to listen very carefully, alright?" You gave a small, hesitant nod. "You were in a severe accident yesterday evening. You were walking home from the local market when a car veered off the road and hit you. It is a miracle you walked away with minor physical injuries, but the trauma to your head has caused a severe case of retrograde amnesia. Honestly, it's a surprise you even remember your name right now."

You let out a quiet hum, your eyes drifting down to your own hands resting on the thin blanket. That was when you noticed it a slender, platinum band set with a brilliant, flawlessly cut diamond resting securely on your left ring finger. It looked incredibly expensive, classy, and entirely foreign

So you were married.

"Y/n" Dr. Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You snapped your head up to look at her. "This man standing beside me... he is your husband."

The doctor tilted her head toward the giant. He was massive easily over six feet of raw, intimidating muscle, his tattooed face giving him a terrifying, dangerous aura. Your very first instinctual thought was that this man looked incredibly scary.

Sukuna didn't say a word. He just stood there, letting you analyze him, before he offered you a tiny, incredibly vulnerable nod. You tilted your head, staring into his intense red eyes, desperately searching for a single spark of familiarity. Did I really marry this giant?

"His name is Ryomen Sukuna, and he is going to take care of you" the doctor continued, closing her chart. "For the next few weeks, you need to let your brain rest, but you also need to gently stimulate it to try and regain those lost memories. Spending time in a familiar environment, in your own home with your husband, is going to be the best medicine for you."

You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly have a choice. You were being handed over to a complete stranger who happened to hold a legal claim to your entire life.

"Alright then. I wish you a safe and speedy recovery" Dr. Jennifer said with a final, empathetic smile before slipping out of the room.

The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Sukuna cleared his throat roughly, taking a few slow, tentative steps toward the edge of your bed. He moved with an immense amount of caution, as if he genuinely believed a sudden movement might break you into pieces. He pulled up the small plastic chair, sinking into it.

"Hey" he said softly. Even in a whisper, his voice was incredibly manly, deep, and rough.

"Hello" you replied shortly, your eyes tracking his hands.

To your surprise, his large, scarred fingers were trembling slightly as he fidgeted with them, refusing to meet your eyes. When he finally looked up, you realized the piercing red of his irises was completely glossy, swimming with unshed tears.

"Yo... you're getting discharged today" he choked out, taking a deep, ragged breath as if the mere act of speaking was causing him physical pain. "I'm going to go sign the paperwork, and then I'm taking you to... our house. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it takes to help you remember, princess."

You stared at his rugged, tattooed face for a long moment before letting out a soft, distant hum.

An hour later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek, black Jeep, The man Sukuna kept his left hand firmly on the steering wheel while his eyes flicked toward you every sixty seconds, his intense gaze making a nervous flutter erupt in your stomach.

You stared out the window, watching the city buildings, sprawling neighborhoods, and vibrant green trees blur past. Intrigued by the warm breeze, you raised your hand, pressing your palm gently against the glass as if you wanted to touch the passing leaves. Instantly, the window smoothly rolled down. Startled, you turned your head to find Sukuna adjusting the master controls, his eyes locked onto you with an unreadable warmth.

"Can I ask you something-" you murmured softly.

"Yes." The answer came incredibly fast, almost desperate. He was hanging on your every word, practically begging for you to speak to him.

"How... how did we meet?" you asked, leaning your elbow on the door frame as the wind whipped through your hair.

"We met in high school" he answered quickly, navigating a sharp turn onto a quiet, "We've been married for seven years."

"High school?" You tilted your head, a faint smile touching your lips as you extended your hand just slightly out into the rushing air. "Were we friends back then?"

"Careful" he commanded firmly, though there was no real heat in his voice. You obediently pulled your hand back inside. A faint, nostalgic softness crept into his red eyes as he looked ahead. "Friends? no. You could say we didn't liked eachother each other when we first met. You thought I was a loud, arrogant mannerless jerk and I thought you were a stubborn, bossy brat."

He smoothly pulled the Jeep into a long brick driveway, coming to a stop in front of a breathtaking, modern two story house. It was painted a crisp, elegant white with sleek charcoal-grey accents, boasting massive, floor to ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun.

"This is...our house" Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've been living here for about four years."

He killed the engine, threw his door open, and practically sprinted around the hood of the car to open your door before you could even reach for the handle. He extended a massive, tattooed hand toward you, his palm open and waiting. You stared at his hand, your eyes traveling up the thick muscles of his forearm, before you deliberately stepped down onto the driveway without taking it.

Sukuna’s hand froze in mid-air. You watched his fingers slowly curl back into a fist before he pulled his arm away, a flash of pure, agonizing heartbreak crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.

As your feet hit the pavement, you looked up at the towering structure, desperately begging your brain to spark even a single ounce of familiarity. Nothing came. But as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of the man standing beside you. He was on the absolute verge of tears. His chest was tight, his jaw locked as he stared at you. You were his entire world, his beautiful wife, and yet you were looking at him like he was a total stranger. He suddenly felt a wave of profound hatred for every single time he had ever been mean or stubborn with you in the past, even in jest. He just wanted his girl back. His sweet innocent girl.

"The house is beautiful" you murmured gently, walking toward the porch.

'The house.' Not our house. The detached wording made Sukuna’s jaw clench painfully.

"Of course it is. I built the damn thing" he muttered, following closely behind you.

It was your exact dream house. Years ago, back when you were just broke college students dating in a cramped apartment, you had traced a clumsy design on a napkin, telling him you wanted a modern white house with endless windows, three bedrooms, and a kitchen large enough for the two of you to bake and slow-dance together while listening to old jazz records. Sukuna had kept that napkin. The moment he made his fortune, he hired a crew but did the vast majority of the heavy structural work with his own two hands. He had gifted you the keys on your third wedding anniversary, and he could still vividly remember the way you had wept tears of joy, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him until you were both breathless. He wanted that smile back. He would give anything just to have you look at him the way you used to.

You stepped inside, ignoring the heavy emotion rolling off him. Sukuna quickly gathered your small hospital bags and followed you into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.

Your eyes immediately gravitated toward the kitchen. It was vast, open, and undeniably stunning, featuring a massive quartz island and a huge sliding glass door that opened directly into a manicured backyard garden. The entire layout felt strangely perfect.

"Let me show you... around" Sukuna offered quietly.

He spent the next half hour guiding you through the corridors of what was supposed to be your life. But as he showed you the grand master bedroompointing out the side of the bed where you used to curl into his chest every single night your face remained entirely blank. You felt a twinge of heavy guilt pooling in your stomach. He showed you the living room, drawing your attention to a collection of large, breathtaking canvas paintings hanging on the walls.

"You painted those" Sukuna noted, a faint trace of pride in his rough voice. "You're a brilliant artist, princess."

You blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at your hands. "I drew these?" You were suprised, you don't even remember touching a brush in your life. But this is your new life. New start.

"Yeah." Sukuna stopped at the edge of the hallway, looking down at you with completely bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept a single second since the hospital called him about your accident. All he wanted to do was wrap his massive arms around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, and bury his face in your hair until the nightmare ended. But he couldn't. "Look... you can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall, or you can take our bedroom and I'll stay in the guest room. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable you."

"Okay" you hummed softly.

His heart broke a little more at the compliant, distant tone. "I'll go start on some dinner, and then I'll get your medication ready. If you need a single damn thing, you just call out for me, alright? Your clothes are all in the dresser, undergarments in the top drawer, pajamas in the second..."

You nodded, offering him a polite murmur of thanks before retreating into the guest room. You changed into a simple, comfortable t-shirt and sweats. A little while later, his deep voice echoed up the stairs, announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the dining room, sitting at the large table like a polite houseguest waiting to be served.

"Do you need help?" Sukuna asked, carefully sliding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup and a large spoon toward you. You shook your head, grasping the utensil and taking a quiet sip. He sat across from you, his own bowl entirely untouched as he just stared at your face. "Y/n... you really don't remember a single damn thing about me?"

His voice cracked completely on the last word, the raw vulnerability of a ruthless man exposed right in front of you. You looked up, meeting his glossy red eyes.

"No... I don't. I'm really sorry" you whispered genuinely.

He let out a slow nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced himself to look away. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"Do I... do I have parents? Or friends?" you asked, a sudden curiosity about your own forgotten life bubbling up.

"Yeah. You have parents. Your father—"

"Where are they?" you interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "Do they know I was in an accident? Why aren't they here?"

"They haven't spoken to you in over seven years. Not since the day you married me" Sukuna said, his tone dropping into something cold and bitter.

"Why?"

"Your family is rich as fuck. Extremely strict, arrogant aristocrats" Sukuna explained, his red eyes locking back onto yours. "They completely forbade you from seeing me because I was just a rough, tattooed bastard from the wrong side of the tracks with a criminal record and a unstable future. They told you that if you walked out that door with me, you’d be cut off permanently."

You stared at him, a sudden spark of heat flaring in your chest. "Well, that's so stupid of them. It sounds like a good thing we don't talk to them then."

The sheer, unyielding loyalty in your voice made Sukuna’s lips twitch, a genuine, heartbreaking smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. Even with a wiped memory, his sweet wife still possessed that exact same fiery, protective spirit.

"Yeah" he chuckled hoarsely, letting out a long sigh. "You have an incredible best friend named Shoko. You two are both doctors. you work in the exact same surgical unit at the city hospital. We have a ton of mutual friends we met back in our high school days. And those kids at the hospital? The pink-haired teenager is my nephew, Yuji, and the dark-haired one is Megumi, our friend's kid. They practically worship the ground you walk on, princess. You love those brats to death."

"Can I see them?" you asked, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

"Of course. Whenever you want." he promised, his eyes tracking the way your lips curved.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm thirty two. You're thirty" Sukuna answered smoothly.

"Wow. So we're getting old," you teased gently.

Sukuna let out a sudden, rough snort, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Old or not, woman... you're still completely breathtaking."

A deep, violent blush instantly stained your cheeks. You hadn't been around an attractive man or any man, for that matter in your conscious memory, and having this giant, dangerously handsome individual throw such a raw compliment at you made your heart do a chaotic somersault. You quickly looked down at your soup, missing the way his eyes softened at your reaction.

Over the next three weeks, the fragments of a life began to surround you, even if the puzzle pieces wouldn't quite lock into place.

Yuji and Megumi came over to the house constantly. Yuji spent hours enthusiastically teaching you how to make his signature protein shakes and weird jello molds, his loud laughter filling the quiet house, while Megumi sat nearby with his usual serious expression. But the moment you offered Megumi a soft, encouraging smile, his sharp features would instantly melt into something deeply tender. Yet, beneath their smiles, you could see the underlying sadness in their eyes every time you failed to remember a shared inside joke.

When Shoko finally visited, she broke down completely, throwing her arms around your neck and sobbing into your shoulder. It was a bizarre maybe stupid too, overwhelming feeling being fiercely loved by people you couldn't even remember and a heavy weight of guilt began to settle deep in your chest. You even met Toji, Megumi's father, a tall, stoic man who didn't say much but looked at you with a quiet, profound pity that made you realize just how broken your situation truly was.

And then, there was Sukuna.

Your husband spent every single day patiently guiding you through your routines, driving you past your old university, cooking your favorite meals, and trying every gentle trigger possible. But your mind remained a stubborn, locked vault. Sukuna was growing desperate furious and completely fucked up by the stagnation.

To make matters worse, just one week before the accident, you had playfully taken down every single one of your framed marriage photographs to rearrange the living room gallery wall, hiding them away in a "genius spot" that Sukuna had completely forgotten more like you didn't even told him. He had spent hours frantically tearing the house apart while you were out, searching for a single modern photo of the two of you together.

He was completely unraveling. He couldn't sleep. The woman he loved was sleeping in the room next to him, yet she looked at him with the polite, distant eyes of a stranger. He felt like a ghost haunting his own home. One evening, he sat alone in the dark kitchen and wept the third time he had ever cried in his entire life. The first had been tears of pure joy on your wedding day when he saw you walking the aisle. the second had been out of terror when the ER doctor told him a car had struck you. and now, he was crying simply because he missed his wife so damn much

His phone offered no help either. his gallery was filled entirely with candid photos he had taken of you you stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head, you laughing in a department store dressing room, or a hilarious picture of you biting into a raw lemon and making a completely disgusted face. He had no photos of the two of you together on his device, you had always been the one insisted on keeping the physical, printed albums. The only joint photos he could find were a few faded, wrinkled prints from your high school days, showing a younger, wilder version of himself wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laughed into the camera. When he showed them to you, you just stared at them blankly. It was killing him.

At the end of the third week, Sukuna was sitting heavily on the living room sofa, completely exhausted after another failed search through the house. He was mindlessly scrolling through the candid photos of you on his phone, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips. His fingers traced your face on the photo, your bright smile. your bubbly laughter at his most unfunniset jokes, now all of that are vanished.

The heavy front door clicked open. Shoko had taken you out for an afternoon of shopping to get you out of the house, and she had just dropped you off at the curb. You stepped into the foyer, balancing several shopping bags in your arms.

Sukuna instantly locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he stood up, his red eyes drinking in the sight of you. "Had fun, princess?"

"Yes, I did. And thank you... for letting me use your credit card" you said softly, walking over to the coffee table and gently sliding the black card back toward him.

"You bought dresses?" he asked, pointing toward the bags. Honestly, he didn't give a single fuck about the money. you could have emptied his entire bank account and he would have gladly signed it away just to see you happy.

"I bought a few things..." You cleared your throat nervously, your fingers twisting together. "But... I actually bought something for you, too."

The words hit his chest like a physical blow. Even with her mind completely wiped, your beautiful, kind soul was still looking out for him. "Really?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see it?"

You gave a small nod, walking over to the couch and tentatively sitting down right next to him. The close proximity made his heart start to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"I don't know if it's really your style, or if you'll even like it..." you mumbled bashfully, reaching into a small velvet pouch and pulling out a heavy, intricately braided silver bracelet studded with raw, brilliant red stones. "The color... it just immediately reminded me of you. Of your eyes."

You gently reached out, grasping his massive, calloused wrist to drape the metal over his skin. Oh God, if you only knew how fast his heart was racing beneath his chest. Your soft, warm fingers lingering against his pulse point was pure, exquisite torture.

"It looks incredible, Y/n. Thank you." he whispered, a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile spreading across his tattooed face as he looked down at the crimson stones.

"Thank you... for being so incredibly patient with me" you said quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Sukuna let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. "I will always be patient with you, princess. Always."

You looked directly into his burning red eyes, and for the first time in three weeks, a warm, genuine smile broke across your face. Sukuna felt his breath hitch. he was entirely certain he was about to pass out from the sheer weight of his love for you.

"Can you stay right here for a bit? I need to go jump in the shower real quick. I'll be fast" he muttered hoarsely, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently ruffle your hair a comforting, domestic habit he had carefully maintained. You let out a soft chuckle at the gesture.

The moment his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs and the sound of running water echoed through the pipes, you stood up, wandering aimlessly around the quiet main floor. Your feet pulled you toward the small, cozy library nestled just off the living room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books some ancient leather volumes, others modern art textbooks. You pulled one off the shelf, flipping through the pages before sliding it back into place.

As you stepped back, your eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden on the absolute highest shelf, shoved far back into the shadows near the ceiling. It looked like a massive, heavy frame leaning flat against the back wall, obscured by a decorative ceramic vase. Intrigued, you stood on your tiptoes, stretching your arms up as high as they could go, blindly reaching for the top edge of the wooden frame.

Your fingers caught the molding, but as you pulled, the heavy ceramic vase shifted, losing its balance.

Crash!

The vase shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening, echoing smash. Startled, you let out a sharp cry, stumbling backward as the massive hidden frame came tumbling down from the top shelf, striking the edge of the desk before landing flat on the rug. The backing of the frame split completely open upon impact, and a massive cascade of loose, glossy photographs erupted across the floor hundreds of them, scattering like playing cards across the room.

You gasped, placing a hand over your racing heart as you looked away from the broken pottery, your eyes drifting down to the sea of images covering the floor.

You froze.

Right at your feet lay a massive, professionally printed portrait. In the photograph, you were sitting securely on Sukuna's lap. You were wearing a breathtaking, flowing white lace wedding dress, holding a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers, and laughing so brightly your eyes were crinkled shut. Sukuna was clad in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo, his massive arms wrapped fiercely around your waist from behind, an absolutely massive, unbothered, triumphant grin plastered across his face.

Your breath hitched violently. You stumbled forward, falling to your knees as your hands frantically snatched up another photo from the pile. In this one, you were hoisted high up on Sukuna's broad shoulders at a crowded, flashing outdoor music festival; your mouth was wide open in a breathless scream of laughter, while his large hands were clamped firmly around your thighs to keep you safe, both of your faces painted with pure, unadulterated euphoria.

You grabbed a third photo, and the entire world stopped spinning. It was a quiet, intimate shot taken right in the backyard garden outside. You were sitting cross-legged on the green grass, wearing a simple summer dress with a soft, shy smile, while Sukuna’s heavy head was resting completely in your lap. He was looking up at you with an expression of such pure, unconditional adoration it made your soul ache, while your fingers were woven gently through his soft pink hair.

Pink hair.

The backyard.

The jazz music.

The napkin.

A sudden, violent explosion of memories ripped through the barriers of your mind. It wasn't a trickle; it was a catastrophic, roaring tidal wave. Seven years of laughter, fierce arguments, passionate late-night apologies, the smell of his skin, the exact weight of his body pressing you into the master mattress, the sound of his deep voice whispering "I've got you, princess" into the dark. It all hit your brain at once with the force of a freight train.

The sheer, overwhelming velocity of the memories made the room spin violently. Your vision blurred into a vortex of white light and crimson eyes. You let out a choked gasp, your strength entirely giving out as your body collapsed sideways onto the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud, the scattered photographs of your life pooling around your unconscious form.

When you finally opened your eyes again, the harsh glare of the ceiling lights was gone, replaced by the warm, dim ambiance of the living room. You were laying flat on the soft fabric of the sofa.

"She's waking up! Sukuna, look, her eyes are moving!" Yuji’s panicked, loud voice cut through the quiet room.

You blinked heavily, your vision slowly focusing. Megumi was standing right beside his cousin, his dark eyes wide and completely swimming with anxiety. Shoko was hovering over you, a small medical flashlight in her hand, her face pale as she checked your vitals.

But your heart didn't care about any of them. Your eyes frantically scanned the tight circle of people, instantly landing on the massive, tattooed man standing frozen at the foot of the couch. His pastel pink hair was damp from the shower, his chest heaving under a plain black t-shirt, and his face was a mask of pure, absolute terror.

As your eyes met his, a single, heavy tear spilled over your eyelid, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The vast, terrifying void in your mind was completely gone, replaced by the roaring, beautiful fire of your reality.

"Ryo..." you choked out, your voice a broken, breathless sob.

Sukuna froze, his entire frame visibly violently shuddering at the sound of the nickname the private, intimate name only you were ever allowed to call him.

Before anyone else could even blink, you threw yourself forward off the sofa cushions, completely ignoring the dull ache in your muscles. You lunged straight into his space, your arms wrapping fiercely around his massive neck. You buried your face in the crook of his collarbone, gripping the fabric of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity as you pressed a hard, crying kiss directly against his tattooed jaw.

"I remember... us" you sobbed violently into his skin, your entire body trembling as the tears flowed freely. "I remember everything, Ryo... I remember you."

Sukuna’s mind completely blanked. For a single, breathless second, he couldn't even process the words. And then, a raw, ragged sound escaped his throat a mixture of a sob and a laugh. His massive, powerful arms came crashing down around your frame, pulling you so close against his chest you could barely breathe, lifting your knees entirely off the floor as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

And there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his family and the scattered photographs of your love, Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes and wept for the fourth time in his life.

"I fucking love you" he whispers

A loud crash has Zayne on his feet in a heartbeat. He runs to the kitchen, standing in the doorway to assess what happened. Glass fragments - big, small, and smaller - litter the floor in a staggering display to your mistake. You’re at the center of the mess, crouched down to carefully pick up the larger shards. Barefoot.

“Be careful. Stay right there.” He disappears from the door to grab his shoes.

God, you feel awful. There’s something so entirely horrendous about breaking a glass object like this. It’s not easy to clean up, for one. You’d have to check under the cabinets and counters to make sure you got all the big pieces, and then sweep the smaller pieces up with a broom, and then vacuum thoroughly to make sure you got it all. And secondly, you never get all the pieces, no matter how thorough you are. Which means the hazard lingers for a while after. It’s a small mistake that has lasting consequences that all add up to make you feel like shit right now.

Sharp, shimmering edges of glass rest against your skin, threatening to dig in if you’re the slightest bit too careless. It glistens across the floor like a stunning array of gems on white tile, catching the glow of the overhead light and refracting it back to you. Zayne’s work shoes crunch over the fragments like thin ice as he carefully makes his way to you. His hands support you by your elbows as you stand. He transfers your small collection to his hands and goes to throw them away. Next to the trash can is a broom and dustpan.

You’re not really sure when it happened. Somehow, between the few seconds it took for Zayne to cross the kitchen and throw the chunks away, and him returning with the broom in hand, you cut yourself. You don’t feel the sting, but you do see the blood on the floor. Zayne quickly props the broom against the counter and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you all the way to the bathroom. He sets you on the countertop and sits on the lid of the toilet to check your feet, which, sure enough, are bleeding.

“Did you step in the glass?” His voice is sharp, straight to the point. He gently dabs a wad of tissue over the cut on your big toe that just seems to keep welling up with more blood, growing into a dark red bead that gets soaked up just before it gets the chance to succumb to gravity. You hiss when something sharp pokes into you at the site. “You have a piece of glass in your foot. Be still.”

“I must have, but I don’t know when…” you answer the mostly-redundant question. Your stomach sinks deeper and deeper with every second. If you didn’t feel like shit before, you definitely do now. You hiss again as he uses his thumb, wrapped in tissue, to pry out the small piece of glass. He wraps it in the spent tissue and grabs a fresh wad to hold tightly to the cut.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He keeps a hold on your one foot while lifting your other one by the ankle to see the bottom. There’s a trail of blood sliding down to your heel from the middle of your foot. He sighs softly, taking in the damage.

“I’m sorry,” you meekly apologize.

He lifts the tissue away to check the bleeding. It’s slowed considerably, allowing him to focus on the other injury you’ve sustained.

You love Zayne, with every ounce your afflicted heart can give, but when he’s this quiet, snapping into his doctor mode, you can’t help but feel like you’ve royally fucked up. “I can put on some shoes and help you pick up the pieces,” you offer.

He shakes his head slightly, gently feeling for any embedded glass in your skin. He, thankfully, doesn’t find any. “I can take care of it,” he dismisses.

And your stomach hits rock bottom with a quiet fwump, weighed down by the guilt of your stupid accident.

Needing to find something to do to distract yourself, you turn your upper body to open th medicine cabinet and retrieve the box of bandaids on the bottom shelf. They’re covered in fun designs and colors, but they don’t bring the same joy right now as they normally would when you use one to cover up a paper cut. You pick out a few of the bigger ones, unsure what shapes he’d need.

He takes a long, fat one and removes the paper tabs, wrapping it securely around your toe. He rests that foot on his thigh as he turns to the other one. He takes a square bandage this time, and sticks it to the bottom of your foot.

“I’m sorry,” you say again.

His hands rest on the back of your ankles, keeping your feet on his thighs as he looks up at you. “You’ve already apologized.”

“I know, I just… Are you mad at me?”

“For breaking a glass?”

“For getting hurt.”

His thumbs rub mindlessly over the lateral malleolus of your ankles. “No, I’m not angry,” he says softly. “I was worried. If the glass went deeper into your skin, you’d need to go to the hospital to have it removed. There wouldn’t be anything I could do for it here.”

You stare at the box of bandaids in your lap, putting away the ones he didn’t end up using. One of his hands slides up your calf to rest just under the crook of your knee. Soft lips press against your knee.

“Look at me, my love.”

You hesitantly meet his eyes.

He offers you a soft smile. Dr. Zayne has been replaced once more by boyfriend Zayne. “I forgive you for breaking the glass, and for getting hurt. I only ask that you be more careful next time you break something.” He squeezes the meat of your calf affectionately, massaging the strong muscles underneath as he presses another sweet kiss to your leg. His other hand massages your ankle, tracing shapes up and down your Achilles tendon.

You set the box aside. The tension in your chest eases up as you run a hand through his hair. Getting so upset over this is so stupid, you know that. There’s just something so demeaning about breaking not just a drinking glass, but something of his. He looks up at you with something that kills the apology bubbling up your throat. You brush his bangs out of his eyes and say instead, “I’ll be more careful next time.”

“I know you will.”

He presses a final kiss to your other knee before slipping your feet from his lap. He stands and throws away the bloody tissues in the small trash can. You wrap your arms around his neck as he picks you up, holding on as he carries you to the living room couch. “Stay here. I’ll clean up.”

You grab his sleeve, stopping him before he can get far. You pull him until he’s leaning over you, with one hand supporting himself against the back of the couch and a raised eyebrow that silently asks what you’re doing. You lean up to kiss him softly, trying to pour all your gratitude and love for him into the kiss. “Thank you,” you murmur when you pull away. “I love you.”

He smiles and kisses your forehead. “I love you, too.”

---

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