no one dared to comment on it, not when he was scanning the room with those heavy-lidded crimson eyes, jaw set in its usual resting position that hovered somewhere between bored and actively hostile. a girl in the corner actually pulled her knees up to her chest, like she was trying to make herself smaller, and a guy two tables over dropped his pen and decided, very wisely, to just leave it there.

then sukuna's entire face changed.

it wasn't really dramatic; sukuna’s expression didn't soften so much as it unclenched — the tension bleeding out of his brow, the hard line of his mouth twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile but was definitely adjacent to one. his shoulders dropped half an inch, and his eyes, still sharp but suddenly warm in a way that felt almost illegal to witness, landed on a table near the window; you.

you didn't look up right away.

you were absently chewing on the end of your highlighter, eyebrows pinched together as you stared down at what looked like a truly offensive amount of organic chemistry notes. your hair was piled into a messy bun that was already escaping in several directions, and you'd stolen one of sukuna’s hoodies once again — the gray one with the ripped cuff, which he'd specifically told you not to steal because it was his favorite, which meant you'd worn it approximately four times in the past week.

sukuna crossed the room in seven long strides, ignoring the way people practically threw themselves out of his path. by the time he reached your table, the hydro flask was already extended toward you, bumping gently against your elbow.

you finally looked up, and your whole face lit up like someone had flipped a switch.

"hi, baby," you said with the cutest smile.

your voice was so casual, so utterly unbothered, like you weren't currently being stared at by half the library, like the six-foot-four tattooed menace looming over you was just a random guy, just your guy.

"you forgot this," sukuna said.

and his voice — god, his voice. it was still that same low, gravelly rumble that made freshman cross the street to avoid walking past him, but there was something else underneath it now; something softer, almost shy, if shy was a word that could ever apply to ryomen sukuna. the boy set the pink hydro flask down next to your elbow, and his long fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary.

"you always forget it. your head's gonna dry up and fall off one of these days."

you laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that came from your chest, easy and warm.

"that's not how dehydration works."

"you don't know that. you're not a doctor."

sukuna was already pulling out the chair next to you, the metal legs scraping against the floor in a way that made several people wince; he didn't seem to notice, or care, sukuna dropped into the seat like he belonged there, which he did, because he'd been sitting in that exact chair every tuesday and thursday for the past four months, ever since you'd declared this your official study spot.

"i'm pre-med," you reminded him, twisting the cap off the hydro flask and taking a long sip.

water dripped down your chin, and you wiped it away with the back of your hand, completely unselfconscious. sukuna watched you do it with an intensity that should have been unsettling but somehow just looked like devotion.

"pre-med isn't med," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.

sukuna’s heart was somewhere in the vicinity of your pinky finger, which was suddenly very close to his hand on the table. he stared at it for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if touching it would make him seem desperate.

( he was desperate. he was always desperate. but he had a reputation to maintain, or whatever. )

"did you eat?" you asked with a little smile, capping the bottle and setting it aside.

your knee knocked against his under the table — deliberately, sukuna knew, because you always did that when you wanted his attention. like you didn't already have all of it, constantly, every single second of every single day.

"yeah."

"liar."

sukuna looked away.

"i had a protein bar."

"that's not food."

you were already digging through your backpack, and sukuna watched your hands move with that same quiet intensity, cataloging every small movement; the way your nails were painted a chipped, faded lavender, the way the sleeve of his hoodie kept slipping down over your fingers, the way you bit your lower lip when you were concentrating, just slightly, just enough to make something twist low in his stomach.

you emerged victorious with a granola bar, thrusting it toward him like a peace offering.

"eat."

"i'm not hungry."

"ryomen."

and that was it, that was all it took; just his name, falling out of your mouth in that particular tone — not angry, not nagging, just warm and expectant — and sukuna was reaching for the granola bar like his hands had stopped belonging to him. he tore the wrapper open with his teeth because he was still him, still a little feral around the edges, but he ate it.

every last bite, even though he'd genuinely not been hungry, because you'd asked him to.

you smiled at him, small and pleased, and then you turned back to your notes like that was just a normal interaction, like you hadn't just made the most feared man on campus eat his vegetables, metaphorically speaking.

sukuna watched you for another very, very long moment, and then he did something that made the girl at the next table literally drop her phone.

he rested his chin on your shoulder.

it was such a small thing, such an unconscious thing — the way sukuna leaned into your space, his chest pressing against your back, his nose brushing against the curve of your neck. his eyes fluttered half-closed, and he made a sound that was almost a sigh, something low and content that vibrated through both of you. sukuna’s arms came up to wrap around your waist, loose enough that you could still move, still highlight your notes, but present and anchoring.

"you're heavy," you said.

but you were already leaning back into him, your head tilting to give sukuna better access to your neck, and your hand came up to rest over his, your fingers slotting between his like they'd been made to fit there.

"mmh. you're warm," he mumbled against your skin, and his voice was so soft now, so private, like he'd forgotten there were other people in the room entirely.

sukuna’s thumb slowly traced absent patterns on your hip, over and over, a mindless rhythm that he probably didn't even realize he was doing.

a guy at the table across from them — some lanky kid with a beanie and an aura of misplaced confidence — whispered something to his friend, and sukuna's eyes snapped open; just for a second, just long enough to pin the guy in place with a look that said i heard that, and i will remember your face, and you should probably leave now.

the guy left, and his friend followed, looking vaguely nauseous.

you poked sukuna's hand.

"stop terrorizing the other students."

"he was staring."

"everyone's always staring. you're kind of noticeable."

sukuna made a noise that might have been a grunt of acknowledgment. his grip on your waist tightened slightly, and he pressed his face more firmly into the junction of your neck and shoulder, breathing you in. you smelled like vanilla and coffee and that specific laundry detergent you used, the one that made all your clothes smell like clean linen and something floral he couldn't name.

sukuna had started buying it for his own clothes too, which was embarrassing, but no one had to know that.

"you should study," you said, even as your free hand came up to card through his hair.

pink strands slipped through your fingers, surprisingly soft, and sukuna practically melted against you; his whole body went loose and pliant, the tension draining out of him like water from a cracked vase.

"didn't you say you had a paper due?"

"finished it."

"when?"

"this morning. at four."

you stopped moving your hand.

"sukuna."

"don't start."

"four in the morning?"

"couldn't sleep." he said it like it was nothing, like it wasn't a confession, but you knew him too well to let it slide.

you turned in sukuna’s arms, just enough to look at his face, and what you saw there made your chest ache; dark circles under his eyes, barely visible in the phosphorescent light but definitely there. a certain tightness around his mouth that he only got when he was running on empty.

"baby," you said softly, and his expression flickered, cracked, just a little. "why couldn't you sleep?"

sukuna looked away a second time, jaw working, and his hand naturally found yours under the table, fingers interlacing, squeezing once, hard.

"just didn't. it's fine."

"it's not fine. you need to take care of yourself."

"i take care of myself."

"baby, you eat protein bars for dinner and stay up until four in the morning writing papers you could have written during normal human hours."

you cupped sukuna’s face with your free hand, thumb brushing over his cheekbone, and he leaned into the touch like something starved finally finding warmth.

"that's not taking care of yourself. that's surviving."

sukuna didn't say anything for a long moment, he just looked at you, with those eyes that everyone else found so terrifying.

you'd never understood that.

his eyes were just eyes — intense, sure, and the color was unusual, but all you saw when you looked at him was the person who remembered to bring you water when you studied, the person who carried your groceries even when you insisted you could do it yourself, the person who'd stayed up with you until three in the morning last week, not because you'd asked him to, but because you'd had a terrible nightmare and he'd felt it through the wall between your apartments and had shown up at your door in his boxers with a glass of water and a quiet "you okay?"

"i'm not good at this," sukuna finally said, and his voice was rough, scraped raw around the edges. "the whole... being a person thing. i'm not good at it."

"you're good at it with me."

"yeah?

and there it was — that flicker of vulnerability, there and gone so fast you almost missed it. the reminder that beneath all the tattoos and the resting bitch face and the reputation that preceded him like a shadow, ryomen sukuna was just a guy; a guy who didn't know how to take care of himself but would burn the world down to take care of you, a guy who'd learned how to be soft not because you'd asked him to, but because you'd looked at him like he was already soft and he'd wanted so desperately to live up to that.

"yeah," you said, and you kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and brief. "now put your head down. i'm gonna finish this chapter, and you're gonna nap for twenty minutes."

"i don't nap."

"you do now."

sukuna stared at you for a beat, two beats, and then, with a sigh that was mostly for show, he folded his arms on the table and laid his head down, cheek resting on his forearm, and his other hand stayed wrapped around yours, thumb still tracing those absent patterns on your skin.

"twenty minutes," he mumbled, already sounding drowsy. "not a second more."

"whatever you say, baby."

sukuna's eyes drifted closed, and the last thing he saw before sleep pulled him under was you, bent over your notes, highlighter in hand, wearing his hoodie and looking like the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

across the library, someone's jaw was still on the floor.

the pink hydro flask sat between them like a promise, condensation beading on its surface, and sukuna — scary, shitty, tattooed sukuna — smiled in his sleep, just a little, because your thumb was tracing patterns back.

You were the "How to" Girl. How to do this how to do that, but not everything you wrote really represented what you truly wanted to bring out there to the world.

"And only then will the people of Tajikistan know true and lasting peace."

Shoko leans over the back of your chair, her chin nearly on your shoulder as she scans the paragraph. “Wow,” she says softly. “That’s actually really moving.”

She sighs. “You do know that’s never going to run in Composure, right?”

You drop back into your chair. “Yeah. I figured that part out around ‘post-conflict economic instability.' I didn't think busting my ass in grad school would only make me the "How-to" girl."

"I wanna write about things that actually matter Sho."

Shoko only looks at you and softly smiles, "maybe if you keep busting your ass you might get there sunshine" she then turns around to sit on her own desk while her smile turns cheeky.

“But,” she says slowly, pushing off your desk and walking back to hers, “I might have something that could improve your mood immediately.” She reaches down to grab something, "You know that editor from Sports Illustrated that you have been shamelessly flirting with on the phone for, I don't know, a month, now? He made a little delivery this morning."

“I have not been shameless.”

“You absolutely have.” She straightens up, holding a sleek envelope between two fingers. “He dropped this off this morning.”

You’re on your feet before she finishes the sentence. “Give it.”

She dangles it just out of reach for a second before handing it over. You carefully open it, trying not to look too eager, and immediately fail.

"Tomorrow night..."

She looks at you with her brow raised, "What happens tomorrow night?"

"The NBA finals are in town, and I got tickets!" You smile, "and you are coming with me."

She shrugs, "All right, i'll go watch sweaty men follow around a bouncy ball for two hours, why not."

Before you can respond, a coworker pops her head into your doorway. “Ladies! Meeting in thirty minutes. Don’t disappear.”

You and Shoko exchange a look. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you call sweetly.

The second she leaves, you glance around the office. “Wait. Have you seen Utahime?”

Shoko only looks at you with a face "She's probably wallowing."

You sigh as you get your bag and coat and prepare to leave, "I'll go get her, it's my turn anyway."

"I'll get the coffee"

By the time you make it up the narrow stairwell to Utahime’s apartment, you already know what you’re walking into. Curtains probably half-drawn. Lights off. She for sure hasn’t brushed her hair yet. Maybe hasn’t even moved from the bed at all.

"Morning, sunshine!" You greet her as she stares at you through her teary eyes. "Come on, get up. I'm not gonna let you lose your job over everything else."

She just stares at you, unimpressed and tired, and moves to lay down on her bed. “I’m going back to bed,” she mutters, collapsing face-first onto the mattress. “I have no reason to live.”

You sit down on the edge of the bed, raising a brow. “Hime. You dated him for a week.”

She makes a wounded sound and rolls toward you, burying her face into your shoulder. "It was the best week of my life." You soften, wrapping your arms around her for a hug.

A few moments pass before you speak again, "I’m opening the curtains.”

She groans as sunlight floods the room, dramatically shielding her eyes like a vampire. “You're cruel,” she mutters.

“Mhm, and unfortunately for you, you’re also employed.”

Ryomen Sukuna had the kind of life people assumed came easy. He had the face for magazine covers, the job title that impressed at dinner parties, and just enough friends to keep things interesting without ever feeling crowded. Stable job, steady pay, freedom to do what he wanted.

He pushes through the glass doors of the agency, helmet tucked under his arm, already mentally drafting taglines for DeLauer Diamonds. If he lands this account, it’s not just another client, it’s the client. DeLauer owns half the diamond market. Whoever handles their campaign might as well stamp their name across the entire industry.

“Morning, kitty-cat,” Gojo sings, far too cheerful for 8 a.m. “We’ve got news.”

He sets his motorcycle helmet on his desk and starts sorting through mockups. “Can’t. I need to get ahead on DeLauer. If we win them over, we’re not just another agency anymore.” He glances at them briefly. “We’re the agency.”

Gojo and Toji exchange a look as they follow right behind him.

“Yeah,” Gojo says carefully, rocking back on his heels. “About that.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow. “What.”

Toji drops onto the small couch by the window. “Yeah boss gave the account to the Judys.” Silence.

Sukuna stares at him. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Nope.” Gojo shrugs. “Happened late yesterday. Whole thing’s theirs.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Can’t,” Toji says as he sits down on the small couch.

“And why the hell not?”

“He’s in Chicago for a meeting, but-” Toji pauses, smirking faintly, “he’ll be at Mullen’s tonight. With them goin’ over the campaign direction.”

Gojo only hums, "Do what you will with that information."

Sukuna only takes a deep breath and makes up his mind in a second, “You know what?” he says, grabbing his jacket again. “I will do something with that.”

The way to the meeting room was pretty uneventful to say the least.

“Alright family! Shos off!” Your boss starts, “Okay, Lori, let's start off with you.”

Lori smiles and starts, “Well, the BOTOX for Beginners piece is done.. Now, it's a little scary, but mostly upbeat.”

Everyone only looks at each other once and hide a small smile.

“Now I'm on What Your Gyno Won't Tell You, which is also pretty scary, but, you know, upbeat.”

Your boss only looks at her and finally lets out a small smile break out, “Upbeat. Marvelous. Well, what's next for How-To With you?” she says as she looks at you.

“Well,” you begin, “I thought of trying something more different this time”

She only stares at you, “Okay… what.”

You sigh and continue, “Well its more of a political thing and-“

you’re cut off.

“No no… sweetheart you work at Composure magazine,” she starts, and looks at you with a look, “We don’t do politics, we do fashion, trends, diets, gossip and so on.”

“But-“

“Look.” She cuts you off, again. “How about this”

You sigh and look at her, letting her know you’re willing to listen.

“If you can make your next work a must-read, ill let you write whatever you want.”

You look away and swallow, and let out a small ‘understood’ and dropped it. Trying to win against her will only make things harder so maybe just letting her get her way might be better.

The conversation shifts to her asking Utahime about her, to which she answers that she didn’t feel well enough to work on anything.

You knew your boss was somewhat of a bitch, but to hear the words come out of her mouth just makes you hate her even more.

“Write about it.” she said to Utahime.

“I can’t write about my personal life..”

“Oh youre right. So who will use her personal life for a story?”

Lori raises her hand in a split second, and you can see Utahime furrow her brows in an uncomfortable way.

“No, no, no” Utahime starts, “Lana, with all due respect, Lori has no business mucking around in my personal life, and I can't let her.”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?” Shoko looks at you after you said that.

Your boss raises an eyebrow at you, and you take this as a sign to explain.

“Okay so uh-“, you begin, “I was thinking that I could start by dating a guy and then drive him away, but only using the classic mistakes most women, make all the time.”

Your boss looks pleased, and her eyes shine in mischief, “Go on…”

“I'll keep a diary of it and it will be sort of a dating how-to in reverse.”

She only looks down for a second like shes thinking, “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.” She says. “Okay, go.”

You smile but it quickly vanishes as you now realize the deadline for it, “Wait- why ten?”

“Five days is too short, and we go to press in 11. Yes?”

You sigh and then only nod.

Now, the only thing left to do, was to find the guy you’ll have to lose in 10 days.

a/n : if this does well im making part 2 but ive been so fucking obsessed with this movie and i dreamed of this fic the same night i watched it