Barbie

By the time he gets to you, you’re prodding at the battery terminal with pure confusion, clearly out of your depth. He stops by the driver’s side fender, his shadow stretching over the engine bay and swallowing up what little light the morning offers.

"Get in and try to crank it," he rumbles, his voice still rough from sleep.

You flinch slightly, nearly dropping your keys, as you turn to find the massive mechanic who’s just materialized out of the fog. Stumbling through a rushed, embarrassed explanation about how the dashboard lit up like a christmas tree before the steering went stiff, you slide behind the wheel, fingers trembling as you twist the key. The engine coughs out a pathetic, sluggish click-click-click before dying completely.

Sukuna leans over and scans the open engine bay with narrowed eyes. He brings his hand down to the alternator, then straightens and wipes a streak of grease off on his thigh.

"Alternator's shot," he diagnoses, pinning you with a flat stare through the windshield. “It stopped charging your battery while you were driving. That's why your steering went stiff, and all those warning lights came on. Battery's flat now."

He glances down the road toward his garage, jerks his chin in that direction, then flicks his gaze back to you, waiting. "Not fixing it out here. I can tow it in and take a look, if you want.”

You blink at him, hesitation suddenly tightening your chest. He's a huge, imposing stranger with eyes that seem to see right through you. You have no clue what his garage charges, and for all you know, he’ll tow your car a few meters and hand you a bill big enough to drain your entire savings account. Biting your lip hard, you look down the foggy road toward the distant city lights, debating whether freezing out here for your usual mechanic is worth it.

"Really?" you ask, your voice thin and cautious.

"You got a better plan?" Sukuna asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. He doesn't look like he's got the patience for a long deliberation this early in the morning.

Your eyes flick from the dead dashboard to the shutters of his garage down the road again. Waiting for your own mechanic could mean hours out here, and you’re already running late. Shoulders sagging, you let out a shaky, resigned sigh and nod. "No, not really. Okay, yeah. Please tow it."

True to his word, ten minutes later your car is hooked up to his truck and rolled right onto his hydraulic lift. He works quietly, hooking up a diagnostic scanner and testing the voltage. You stand on the side, nervously watching him work through the tangle of wires and metal, while the smell of old coolant and burnt oil fills the air.

Finally, he wipes his hands on his coveralls. He glances up, meeting your gaze with a flat, unreadable look before speaking. "Alright. It's definitely the alternator. Parts and labor, you're looking at around two hundred, maybe two-fifty if the belt snapped when it seized up."

He braces himself for the usual routine: the hesitant sigh, the defensive wince, maybe a drawn-out complaint about how expensive car parts are these days. He’s seen it all before, a thousand times over.

None of that happens, though. You just blink at him, completely speechless, like he’s started speaking a foreign language.

"Are you..." You swallow hard, eyes darting between your car and the man in front of you. "Are you undercharging me out of pity? Did I really look that pathetic standing on the side of the road?"

Sukuna freezes, and the rag stops mid-wipe against his palm. He stares at you, his brow knitting into a dumbfounded, deep scowl, entirely derailed by the accusation. "What? No. That's the price of the part and half an hour of my time. I don't do pity discounts.”

"Seriously?" A breathless, half-disbelieving laugh escapes you, as your hand comes up to press against your forehead while you try to make sense of the numbers. "My mechanic charges me a small fortune every time I bring this thing in. Like... last year I paid almost three hundred for an oil change, so I figured something that actually stopped the car from running would be..." You trail off, your eyes wandering up to the underside of a different car on the lift. "Honestly, I have no idea. Just… more."

Disbelief hardens his stare, and a sharp, sudden outrage flares in his chest at whoever’s been fleecing you, quickly followed by a heavy wave of disappointment. He can't quite believe you’d just hand over a small fortune for basic maintenance without so much as a second thought.

"An oil change," he repeats in a low rasp. "He charges you three hundred dollars for an oil change?"

"Well... yeah? And..." Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you wince as your sneakers squeak against the slick concrete. Your hand waves uselessly in the air when you’re trying to remember the items from the invoices you received. "Some other things? He always says there are other things."

Silence settles over the garage, broken only by the steady drip of fluid into a drainage pan nearby, each drop echoing like a ticking clock.

Sukuna tosses the rag aside, leans against the workbench and folds his arms across his chest. His eyes narrow, studying you with a look that grows more troubled by the second, like you’re some puzzle that refuses to make sense.

"You know what those other things were?"

You frown, your shoulders pulling in slightly under the weight of his intense stare. "Not really."

That stare doesn’t budge, flat and unblinking, and it makes you want to sink straight into the concrete floor.

"And you paid anyway."

It's not a question, but a flat statement, paired with a slow, disappointed shake of his head that twists your stomach.

Heat crawls up your neck, embarrassment prickling across your skin. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself defensively, trying to salvage a scrap of dignity. “He’s a mechanic, so like… why wouldn’t I trust him about… mechanic stuff?”

"So you just pay whatever he puts on the invoice?"

After a beat of hesitation, your eyes flick toward the garage exit before you force yourself to meet his gaze again. "I mean..."

The irritation in him doesn’t fade; if anything, it settles in deeper. The more you talk, the clearer it gets that this wasn’t just one bad invoice. It’s a pattern.

"How long you been taking your car to this guy?"

A startled blink, caught off guard by the rapid-fire questioning. "A few years?"

A muscle jumps in his cheek as his jaw flexes. "Christ." His arms drop, one hand coming up to rest flat against the workbench behind him. "You don't know anything about cars, do you?"

You open your mouth, ready to stammer out some flimsy defense, but he cuts you off with a sharp, impatient wave.

"No, don't answer that." He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment. "I already know." When he lowers his hand, his expression darkens. "And he knows it too. That's the problem." He takes a slow step toward you, his towering height making the small garage feel instantly crowded. "He knows you don't know what you're looking at. He knows you won’t question the invoice. He knows you’ll just nod, pull out your card, and pay whatever number he pulls out of thin air."

His words hit with bruising accuracy, uncomfortable in their honesty. Swallowing hard, you feel the bitter reality of years of being scammed settle like a stone in your stomach. Sukuna clicks his tongue, the sharp, dismissive sound echoing off the concrete walls.

"And he's been taking advantage of it, overcharging the hell out of you.” He shakes his head again, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "It's disgusting."

—

The last clink of metal fades, giving way to the low, steady purr of your car’s engine. Sukuna lingers, listening to the alternator hum, his attention fixed on the sound until he’s sure everything is running just right. Only then does he cut the ignition and shut the hood.

At the sink, he scrubs at the thickest layer of grease on his hands and forearms, while each pass of the soap gives him a moment to stew. The whole time he’d been working on your hatchback, the audacity of your last mechanic kept simmering in the back of his mind, needling at his sense of professionalism and refusing to let go.

He dries his hands on a clean rag, then heads back to where you’re waiting by the office door. The invoice comes off the clipboard, and he holds it out to you along with your keys.

"Alright, you're good to go," he rumbles, his voice level and calm. "It was just the alternator. Parts and labor came out to two hundred, exactly like I said."

You take the keys and the paper, relief washing over you as your eyes land on the total. Exactly what he quoted. No hidden fees, no sneaky line items, no surprise charges, nothing lurking in the fine print.

Sukuna stands there, his large hands settling loosely on his hips. His gaze flicks from your face to the paperwork in your hands, brow furrowing slightly as he hesitates. Then, the words slip out before he can stop them.

“If you want, you can bring your old receipts by sometime. Dig 'em out of your glovebox or whatever." He clears his throat, the sudden offer surprising even him as it leaves his mouth. This isn’t something he does. He doesn’t take work home, and he sure as hell doesn’t do clerical charity for strangers. Still, he pushes through the awkwardness, keeping his tone flat and businesslike. "I’ll look through 'em and write down what you actually should have been paying for that basic stuff. That way you have a baseline reference sheet next time you go back to your guy, and you'll know if he's trying to pull a fast one."

There's no pressure behind his words. He leaves it entirely up to you, offering a casual favor simply because he despises seeing someone get taken advantage of.

You blink at him, completely caught off guard. You look up to his face, and gratitude cuts through your usual wall of caution.

"Really?" you ask, a soft smile breaking across your face. "You'd actually do that?"

Sukuna gives a short, dismissive shrug, shifting his weight like he’s trying to play down the gesture. "Takes me ten minutes. It's no big deal."

"Thank you. Seriously, that’s... incredibly nice of you," you say, genuinely touched by the gesture. You fold the invoice carefully, tucking it into your purse. "What day would work best for you? I don't want to interrupt your business."

Sukuna rubs the back of his neck, eyes drifting toward the calendar tacked to the garage wall as he does the math in his head. "Day after tomorrow," he decides, looking back down at you. "I usually wrap up around six. Come by then. The shop's quiet after hours."

"Six on Wednesday. Perfect," you nod, your smile widening slightly. "Thank you again. I really appreciate you fixing the car so fast, and for... well, everything else. I'll see you Wednesday."

"Yeah," he mutters, his voice dropping a fraction softer as he nods back. "See you then. Drive safe."

He stands in the open bay, watching as your hatchback backs out of the driveway and pulls into the morning traffic. Only when your taillights disappear down the street does he finally let out a low breath, turning back to his tools and wondering what possessed him to volunteer his free time to look at old paperwork.

——

Just like he promised, the shop is mostly quiet when you pull up to the garage on Wednesday. With the bay doors rolled halfway down, the usual street noise is muffled, leaving only the clink of a wrench against metal to let you know he’s still inside.

Pushing open the side door, you’re greeted by the soft chime of the bell overhead. Sukuna appears from the back a moment later, dragging a clean rag over his forearms. His crimson eyes catch yours before flicking down to the stack of papers in your hand and the box tucked securely under your arm.

"You actually found 'em," he rumbles, a faint quirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before his expression smooths back into that usual, unreadable mask.

"Every single one I could find." Stepping up to the high counter that separates the office from the shop floor, you set the invoices down and nudge the box toward him, careful not to jostle what’s inside. "And I brought this. As a thank you."

Sukuna glances down at the cardboard box but doesn’t reach for it. He folds his arms across his chest, and his brow instantly furrows into a stubborn, defensive scowl.

"I don't need cake," he snaps, voice blunt and dismissive. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than accepting a gift. "I fixed the alternator, you paid the invoice. We're even. You don't owe me anything."

"It's not cake. It’s an apple pie. And it’s homemade," you counter softly. Before he can get another word in, you reach out and pop the lid open, letting the sweet scent of baked apples and cinnamon spill into the grimy, oil-scented room. You shoot him a small, stubborn look that dares him to refuse. "And you're taking it."

For a split second, Sukuna freezes, his eyes darting from the warm pie back up to your face, looking completely out of his depth. The tension drains from his broad shoulders, and he lets out a low, grudging grunt, realizing he’s being difficult for no good reason.

"Fine," he mutters, reaching over. He grabs the box and carries it to the small, cluttered desk in the corner, sweeping aside a stack of part catalogs to clear a spot. Pausing, he peeks into the box again, then nudges a metal stool toward the desk for you with his boot. "Sit down. Let me wash up."

While he heads over to the sink to scrub the grit from his hands, you pull the pie out of the box. Only as you glance around the cluttered office does the realization hit you. You look down at the pie, still warm in its baking dish, then at your empty hands.

When Sukuna walks back in, drying his hands on a paper towel, he finds you perched on the stool, mortification written all over your face.

"Um," you manage, cheeks burning with embarrassment that creeps up. "I just realized... I forgot plates. And forks. I was so focused on getting the pie out of the oven and not showing up late that I didn't even think about it."

Sukuna stops, staring at your flushed face, and a slow, amused smirk tugs at his lips. He opens a filing cabinet, rummages through a plastic bin in the top drawer, and pulls out two plastic forks he clearly hoarded from a takeout order.

"Don't worry about it," he says, dragging a second stool over and settling in beside you. One fork is pressed into your hand, while he plunges his own straight into the pie, breaking off a steaming chunk. "We can eat it out of the dish. Problem solved."

A relieved laugh slips out as you take a bite for yourself. The pie is actually good—better than you hoped and the relief from that is almost dizzying. Watching this massive, intimidating mechanic quietly savor a dessert you’ve made in his own garage fills you with a sudden, unexpected warmth.

A few bites in, Sukuna reaches for the stack of invoices you brought along. He fishes a battered yellow highlighter from the drawer, uncapping it with his teeth, and drags the first sheet closer. Instantly, his whole demeanor sharpens, focus narrowing as he scans the lines of text.

"Two hundred for an air filter?" he mutters, jaw clenching so fast you can almost hear his teeth grind. Flipping the page back a little too sharply, he scans the top of the sheet, eyes narrowing. "When was this?"

"Last… three months, I think?" you offer, leaning in to peer over his elbow, the edge of his sleeve brushing your arm.

"Three months ago," he confirms, voice dropping into a dangerously low, tight register. The highlighter clicks against the paper, and a muscle jumps in his cheek. "I looked at your air filter on Monday when I was checking the belt. There is absolutely no way a filter looks that bad after ninety days of city driving. He didn't even change it. He just wrote it down and charged you for the part."

Your fork stalls halfway to your mouth. Staring at the highlighted line, you feel disbelief crash over you, cold and sharp, prickling along your skin.

"Wait... what? He just... left the old one in there?" You shrink down on your stool, while both embarrassment and genuine offense burn in your chest. "I actually remember sitting in his waiting room for an hour because he said he had to go fetch the specific part from the back warehouse."

Sukuna lets out a sharp, cynical grunt that cuts through the room and makes you wince. "Yeah. He was probably back there taking a nap on your dime." He flips to the next invoice and scoffs loudly. "A hundred and fifty for a 'diagnostic fee'? Your car doesn't even have a complex computer system. You plug the reader in, it takes two minutes. He's padding the numbers because he knows you’re not gonna question it.”

You blink, eyes glued to the number on the page, the math slowly ticking through your head. "Two minutes... for a hundred and fifty...?"

He’s working himself up again, but his eyes keep flicking to you, making sure you’re following every step of his explanation on why it's a scam. He breaks down the mechanics in plain English, laying out the real labor time versus what was billed, and you find yourself keeping pace with him, asking about parts, checkup schedules, and why on earth a single fluid could ever cost that much.

Sukuna’s highlighter hovers over a line, pausing as he takes in the questions you’re firing back at him. Whatever assumption he had about you being gullible is gone now. He sees you're not stupid or careless, just someone who did what anyone would: you trusted a professional because you didn’t have the background to know better. The way you’re sitting here, eagerly learning, determined to protect yourself, earns a flicker of respect in his eyes.

"You're tracking this fine," he says, irritation melting away into something unexpectedly gentle. "You just needed someone to actually layout the baseline for you."

"Yeah," you murmur, smiling a little self-consciously. "Nobody ever really explained it before."

Any trace of your nervousness has vanished. Settled into his office, you absentmindedly swing your legs beneath the stool, taking another bite. Eating straight from the baking tin, you instinctively leave the best pieces of crust for him. It’s a small, polite habit that doesn’t go unnoticed, and Sukuna finds it oddly endearing.

Powdered sugar dusts your thumb as you hold the dish steady while digging your fork in again, and without thinking, you lick it off while scanning an invoice. The gesture is so unselfconscious, so normal, but it catches his attention and draws his gaze to your face.

This close, he can’t help but notice the small things: the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you’re focused on the paperwork, the little smile that appears each time you taste the pie, how small you look perched beside him. For a moment, his mind just goes completely blank.

The realization hits him square in the chest—you’re beautiful. And you went out of your way to bake a pie for him.

All at once, the office starts to smell different. The sharp tang of oil and metal slips away, replaced by the sweetness of apple and cinnamon, and beneath it all, your perfume.

You point to a line on the invoice, but his attention drifts to your hand resting next to his on the desk. His own fingers are thick and calloused; yours look impossibly soft and small by comparison. The urge to see how your hand would feel in his is so distracting he nearly loses track of what you were saying.

For a moment, the usually unshakeable and confident mechanic is thrown completely off balance, his thoughts tangling so fast he almost forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. Somehow, he keeps his face neutral, handling the rest of the paperwork with a steady voice, but underneath, panic is already clawing at him. He has no clue how he’s supposed to get your number before you walk out that door.

Hesitation or tentativeness have never been his style. If he wants something, he takes it; if he likes someone, he just tells them. It’s always been that simple. But with you leaning over his desk, a crumb of crust clinging to the corner of your mouth, something unfamiliar creeps in and stiffens his limbs. It isn't shyness—he doesn’t have a shy bone in his body, and he certainly doesn't embarrass easily. Still, this strange, careful caution settles in his bones, making every movement feel intentional and new.

For once, he actually cares about the reaction he’s going to get, and that shift in the stakes makes his usual straightforwardness feel too rough, too heavy-handed for this. The thought that messing this up could mean never seeing you again roots him to the spot, every instinct to act suddenly tangled up in hesitation. His hands feel too big, his words too blunt, and the risk of screwing this up presses in until he feels almost clumsy.

Ideas tumble through his head, each one worse than the last, none of them good enough. Sliding his business card across the desk? Too impersonal, like he’s just angling for another job. Handing over his phone and asking you to put your number in? That’s too aggressive, too much like he’s trying to corner you in his own shop. Even making up some excuse about needing to text you a follow-up on the alternator warranty feels cheap, and the idea of playing a game just to get your number makes him feel ridiculous.

The whole thing leaves a sour taste in his mouth, every option making him feel more foolish than the last. Frustration builds until his jaw aches from how tightly he’s been clenching it, tension crawling up into his temples. He can’t remember the last time he was this stuck on something so simple.

At last, he forces his jaw to unclench, loosening his grip on the highlighter before setting it down. Glancing around the cramped office, something cuts straight through his frustration. Here you are, sitting in a garage after hours with a man twice your size you barely know, just because he offered to help. You trusted him enough to walk into his shop after closing, carrying a homemade pie as a thank-you that feels so genuine it almost hurts.

The last thing he wants, and the absolute last thing his pride will allow, is to make you feel like he used a professional angle just to corner you. If he pushes for your number now, after spending an hour showing you how vulnerable you’ve been to a scam, it’ll feel like an ambush. It’ll undo every bit of safety you felt sitting next to him and ruin any chance he might have had. The thought hits him like a splash of cold water, cooling his temper.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sukuna reaches past you for a pen resting on the clipboard. He pulls the top invoice toward him and scrawls his phone number across the margin of the page.

"Look," he rumbles, his voice steady and stripped of the chaos in his head, sliding the stack of paperwork back across the desk to you. "You're gonna have to find a new shop now or keep dealing with that idiot down the road. If he—or anyone else—hands you a quote and it feels even a little bit off, you text a photo of the invoice to that number." He taps his thick thumb against the handwritten digits on the page. "That's my personal cell. I’ll look at it and tell you if they’re trying to rip you off."

Blinking down at the paper, you’re completely oblivious to the war he just waged with himself. The gesture is so unexpectedly kind that warmth blooms in your chest and a soft smile tugs at your lips as you glance back up at him. "Are you sure? I don't want to bother you any more than I already did."

"It's not a bother," he mutters, keeping his face carefully blank even as his pulse hammers a little harder against his ribs. "Just think of it as a backup plan. I can't stand watching people get scammed."

"That… actually makes me feel a lot better. I’ll make sure to save it," you murmur, glancing up to meet his unreadable gaze. The papers fold neatly beneath your fingers before you tuck them into your bag and rise from the stool. "Thank you. Seriously. For the alternator, the invoices, all the explanation and… for the company."

"Yeah," he mutters, his throat suddenly tight as he gives a single, gruff nod. "Don't sweat it."

Once your empty baking dish is tucked back into the box, you offer him one last warm smile that squeezes his chest uncomfortably tight. He pushes himself up to walk you to the door, the bell above your head chiming bright as you step out into the cool evening air.

"Goodnight, Sukuna."

"Goodnight," he calls back, standing entirely still as he watches you walk toward your car.

The warmth lingering in the office vanishes, leaving only a cold, hollow ache in its place. Through the glass, Sukuna watches your car start up, headlights slicing through the dusk as you ease out of the driveway and disappear around the corner. The instant your taillights blink out, frustration slams into him, heavy and relentless.

"Damn it," he barks into the empty shop, slamming his hand flat against the workbench.

Never in his life has he felt this powerless. Control is what he prides himself on—knowing exactly how a machine or a situation will play out because he’s the one steering it. But right now? He’s handed over his only leverage, left the whole gamble in your hands, and the lack of control is enough to make him want to tear his hair out.

He has no name saved in his phone, no confirmation. Nothing. He’s got no way to reach you, which means he’s stuck waiting, and everything now hangs on whether you decide to text. What if you lose that paper? What if the number gets buried in your purse and you forget about it until your car dies again months from now? What if you just think he was being polite and have no intention of ever using it?

The weight of not knowing gnaws at him, driving him to pace the shop floor, muttering curses under his breath for being so damn careful.

Two hours later, fresh from the shower, he sinks into the couch with a cold beer he hasn’t even opened yet. Usually, Sukuna finds the quiet of his apartment a relief after a day spent surrounded by noise, but tonight the silence feels heavy and irritating.

His phone lies face-up on the coffee table. By ten, he’s already picked it up and set it down more times than he cares to admit, each glance met with nothing but the glow of the lock screen and the relentless crawl of minutes. By eleven, frustration curdles into something uglier—doubt.

Doubt isn’t something he’s ever felt before, but alone in the dark, his mind starts tearing apart every second of that hour you spent in his office. The memory of your shoulder brushing his lingers. He can still hear your laugh when you realized you’d forgotten the plates, see how easily you followed his explanations, and how you smiled. He’d been so sure there was something there. He’d bet on it.

But as midnight approaches without a single vibration, his thoughts twist, turning defensive and sharp. Maybe he’d read the whole thing wrong. His brow knots as a heavy, sour thought appears and settles right in his gut. You didn’t feel a connection. You were just being polite, bringing an apple pie to thank a mechanic for doing his job. Sitting on that stool, chatting with him, you were just well-mannered, not interested. He’d blown it all out of proportion, let himself believe there was a spark when, to you, he was just the guy who fixed your alternator and handed out some advice.

—

Sukuna arrives at the shop in the worst mood humanly possible. Sleep barely touched him last night, and whatever patience he might have had for the rest of the world has been ground down to nothing.

Fingers curling around the cold iron handles, he wrenches the shutters up, and metal slams against the top of the frame so hard the glass windows in the office rattle. Not that he gives a damn. His jacket lands carelessly on the hook as he storms inside, and the paper coffee cup hits the workbench hard, sloshing the dark liquid over the plastic lid. It tastes like battery acid, but he drinks it anyway, needing the bitterness to match what’s inside of his chest.

He sets his personal phone right at the edge of the workbench, telling himself it’s just so it won’t get crushed in his pocket while he works. He knows that’s bullshit. Each time he reaches for a tool or crosses the bay for another socket, his gaze flicks back to the black screen, searching for a flicker of light that stubbornly refuses to appear.

Around nine, the shop's cell rings, echoing through the empty bay. Sukuna’s heart lurches, a ridiculous, frantic leap before his brain can rein it in—maybe you lost his number but found the shop’s online. The wrench clatters to the floor as he strides into the office, snatching the phone off the desk with a grip that’s just a little too tight.

“Ryomen’s Automotive," he grunts, his voice a rough, impatient gravel.

"Hey, man, just checking if you got those brake pads in for the pickup?"

Disappointment slams into him right beneath his ribs. His jaw locks, knuckles whitening around the mobile. "Yeah. They’re here. Come get 'em," he snaps, hanging up before the customer can get another word in.

Storming back into the bay, he grabs up his phone and shoves it deep into his pocket, as if that’ll keep the urge to check it all the time. The impact gun roars as he goes after a stubborn lug nut, the booming racket finally loud enough to drown out the chaos in his head. That’s it. He’s done checking. If you haven’t texted by now, you’re not going to. You probably tossed the paper, and he needs to get over it.

By one, Sukuna is elbow-deep in the greasy undercarriage of an old sedan, forearms streaked with black smears, his expression locked in a scowl so forbidding that even the delivery drivers have been giving him a wide berth all day.

He’s just reaching for a torque wrench when his phone vibrates on the workbench.

Bzzzt.

The sudden vibration catches him off guard, freezing him mid-reach. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all, letting the faint clicks of the cooling engine overhead fill the silence. It’s probably just spam, he tells himself. Or some useless data plan alert. Or a wrong number.

Peeling off his gloves, he slides a hand into his pocket, pulls out the phone, and swipes the screen awake. There’s a text from an unknown number—except the first line of the preview makes his chest seize up.

[You]: Hey! Sorry for the late text, I didn't want to bother you last night since it was way too late. Just wanted to send this so you have my contact too. Thanks again for looking through those invoices with me, the pie was a small price to pay for saving my bank account!

OH THANK FUCK.

Relief hits him in a bone-deep wave, draining the tension from his shoulders. He draws in a slow breath as he stares at the words glowing on the screen. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up and register the gap between his own spiraling and your ridiculously polite message. You were just being considerate, that’s all.

Clearing his throat, he uses a clean patch of his forearm to wipe the grease off his thumb before he even thinks about typing. Something clever would be good, something that proves he’s not rattled by any of this, but his fingers feel thick and awkward on the keys. Finally, he settles for something short that won’t give him away.

[Sukuna]: No worries. Pie was great, by the way. Just let me know if you get any more of those invoices.

He taps send, eyes glued to the delivery confirmation, then instantly adds the number to his contacts. Your name appears at the top of the chat, and for the first time all day, a smirk tugs at his mouth, breaking through the hard set of his jaw.

The phone disappears back into his pocket, and he turns to the sedan on the lift, with a jolt of energy running through him. As he grabs his wrench, the reality of the situation hits him from a completely different angle: you texted just to be polite and acknowledge the professional favor, and he just capped his own response by telling you to let him know if you get more invoices, boxing himself right back into being the helpful mechanic. Now what? How is he supposed to ask you out without trampling all over the boundaries you just so carefully respected?

By Friday night, that pitiful text thread on Sukuna’s phone has become a full-blown obsession. Sitting on a kitchen stool, he ignores the bowl of dinner going cold on the counter, his attention fixed on the glow of his screen. The chat is as embarrassingly short as it was the previous day: your polite thank-you, then his own awkward reply about the pie.

With a low, frustrated rumble in the empty apartment, he taps the empty text box. He’s never had to plan a conversation in his life, but suddenly, the weight of actually caring what you think drags every word through mud.

Hey, you free this weekend?

He glares at the five words. The line looks all wrong, like something a teenager would send on a dating app, hovering over his phone, waiting around for a girl he barely knows to throw him a bone. Sukuna is a grown man; he doesn't do vague, open-ended checking-in. And if you say no, or tell him you have plans, that’s it. Conversation over. No way to push back without looking like a desperate idiot.

Worse, you texted him because he'd offered to help with invoices, not because you'd expected him to use your number for anything else.

"Don't be a fucking asshole, Sukuna," he mutters.

With a heavy, irritated sigh, he holds down the backspace key until the box is wiped clean.

Saturday evening drags in after a brutal ten-hour shift, wrestling with stubborn leaf springs and rusted exhaust bolts. As he’s slumped on his couch with a cold beer in his hand, his muscles ache, but his mind is still stuck on the same loop. He pulls out his phone again and opens the chat. All he needs is an excuse—something car-related, since that’s the only ground you both actually somewhat share.

Let me know if that alternator’s making any noise.

His thumb freezes before he can hit send, and he scowls at the message, a sharp spike of professional irritation cutting through the haze. If the alternator was making noise, that would mean he’d screwed up the belt tension. He knows it’s perfect. He checked it twice before you left the bay. Asking about it now is basically calling his own work sloppy, and his pride won’t let him insult himself just to get a text back. With a shake of his head, he deletes the line and takes a long pull from his beer, trying to rework the phrasing, still clinging to the car angle but making it less about his own hands.

Make sure you check your oil this week.

He drags his hand over his face, catching himself immediately. If he sends that, he’s just barking orders at a customer who already admitted she doesn’t know a thing about cars. It sounds bossy, too gruff, and leaves you nothing to say except a flat agreement. 

"What the fuck am I doing?" 

He clears the text box again and tosses the phone face down onto the cushion beside him, ready to bang his head on the wall.

Monday night is the worst. The silence of the last few days feels like a personal insult. Standing by his kitchen window, looking out at the dark street, he’s completely fed up with his own uncharacteristic hesitation. He’s Sukuna. He doesn’t sit around overthinking a three-line message like some awkward kid. Enough. He’ll just give it to you straight, no games or professional excuses. He snatches the phone off the counter and types, fingers jabbing at the screen.

I'm heading to the diner by my shop for lunch tomorrow. Come with me.

He stares at the message, breathing heavier as his thumb hovers over the blue arrow. For a split second, he almost hits it. But then your reaction flashes through his mind—opening your phone and seeing a blunt lunch demand from the mechanic who fixed your car last week, suddenly wondering whether the man who seemed so put-together had been working an angle the whole time.

"No. That's fucking creepy."

He’s completely trapped by his own respect for you, stuck suffering the consequences of having zero organic reason to reach out. He can rebuild a transmission blindfolded, but figuring out how to move a text thread from professional advice to I want to see your face again without being an asshole? That breaks his brain entirely.

A low, bitter curse slips out as he clears the message. He throws the phone onto the kitchen table, furious that one person has managed to jam his gears so completely without even lifting a finger.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

By Tuesday afternoon, the frustration has cooled into a quiet, stubborn determination. Leaning against the workbench during a lull in the shop, he stares at your name in his contacts. One more try to find a middle ground that feels natural but actually gives him an opening.

Found another complaint about that shop online. Thought you’d wanna see it.

Sukuna deletes it before he even finishes the sentence, dragging his hand down his face. Thought you’d wanna see it. He sounds like he’s trying way too hard to find an excuse to talk to you. It’s not a lie, but he’d rather die than let you catch on.

"For fuck's sake."

By Wednesday afternoon, Sukuna’s completely done with himself, and he’s become absolutely insufferable to be around. Leaning against the tool board, he glares at the calendar pinned crookedly to the office wall, his thumb drumming a relentless rhythm against his thigh.

Every scenario he plays out in his head ends with him looking like an idiot. If he’s going to make a move, it has to be on his own terms, in his own space, where he actually knows what the hell he’s doing. Turning back to his tools, he forces himself not to spiral into another round of pointless drafts. Finally, his mind clears—he doesn’t need a smooth pickup line. He just needs a real, professional reason to get you back in the garage. Maintenance. That’s it.

I’m closing up the shop tomorrow around 6. If you wanna swing by, I can show you how to check your fluids and oil so you aren’t just guessing. No worries if you’re busy.

He stares at the message for a moment. There. Completely professional. Nobody in their right mind could mistake that for flirting. Another second passes. Perfectly reasonable text to send a customer.

With that, his thumb slams the send button, heart thudding stupidly against his ribs. The phone disappears deep into his pocket as he turns back to his tools, pulse racing, completely irritated by his own anticipation and already hooked on the slow, torturous wait for your reply.

Meanwhile, you’re at home, finally sinking into the couch after a long day, when your phone buzzes against the coffee table. His name flashes across the screen, and your heart gives a small, unexpected flutter. You read his invitation twice, and a soft smile tugs at your lips. Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you tap out your reply, keeping it light and trying to match his tone.

[You]: I'd love to! Need me to bring anything? (I promise I'll actually remember the plates this time if there's food involved!)

Down in the garage, Sukuna’s been organizing the same shelf of oil filters for the last four minutes, trying to distract himself, when his pocket finally vibrates. He freezes mid-reach. He deliberately finishes placing the last filter on the rack, forcing himself to move at a normal pace, refusing to look like a lunatic even to his own reflection. Only then does he step back, dig out his phone, and unlock the screen.

Reading your text, the tight, stubborn knot in his chest unravels all at once. Relief hits so fast it’s almost dizzying, and a rush of heat crawls up his neck. You didn't say no. You didn't find an excuse, you didn't think it was weird, and you explicitly said you'd love to come back. And that little joke about the plates instantly crumbles the remaining walls of his stubborn frustration.

A massive, genuinely victorious smirk spreads across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners as a low, rough chuckle rumbles out of his chest. Energy surges through him, ridiculous and electric, like he’s just rebuilt a blown engine in record time.

Then his gaze snags on that last sentence, and his thumb freezes over the keyboard.

Food. You’re asking about bringing food.

For you, it’s testing the waters for a little more time together. But to him, it's enough to send his thoughts careening straight off the rails of the maintenance lesson and into a chaotic spiral of logistics. Does he buy something? Does he tell you to bring something? If he says no, does that mean you’ll just learn how to check a dipstick and drive away immediately after? He doesn't want you to leave. He wants you back on that metal stool, right where he can see you.

Pacing a short line next to the workbench, he types out a response, frowning as he slams straight into a wall of overthinking that’s completely foreign to him: I’ll grab some burgers. No, that’s too much like a date. Don't worry about food. No, that sounds like he doesn't want to eat with you at all. Or worse, you’ll eat before you come, and he’ll miss his chance entirely.

Frustrated with his own hesitation, he deletes the drafts, grunts, and decides to handle it the only way he knows how: blunt and completely practical.

[Sukuna]: Just bring the car. I’ll order a pizza. Pepperoni alright?

He hits send, tossing the phone back onto the bench with a sharp exhale. The message is demanding, a little aggressive, and leaves zero room for negotiation. Still, it guarantees you're staying for dinner.

A wide grin splits his face as he spins around and surveys his empty shop, eyes scanning the bays with sudden, critical focus. Twenty-four hours. That’s all he’s got to make sure his office looks halfway respectable before you walk through the door.

—

Rolling into the gravel driveway with five minutes to spare, you idle near the entrance just as the side door swings open and Sukuna steps out into the cool evening air. He’s in a plain black tee stretched across his broad shoulders and dark grey sweatpants. The change catches your eye immediately because he looks ridiculously good out of his coveralls. You can’t help but wonder if the wardrobe swap was just a coincidence, or if he actually cared about making a good impression tonight.

He walks over to the front of your car, waving his hand to guide you forward. "Bring it straight into the second bay," he calls out.

Following his gesture, you shift into drive and ease the car forward into the bay. The engine clicks softly when you shut it off, and as you step out, Sukuna’s already at the front bumper, nodding at you.

“You’ve made it," he rumbles, stepping up to pop the latch and lift your hood into place with a practiced, heavy thud.

"Told you I would," you say, glancing over the open engine bay with curiosity. "So, where are we starting? Am I going to get entirely covered in grime?"

Sukuna lets out a low, amused huff, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and pivots toward the rolling tool cabinet. "Not if I can help it."

He reaches into a cardboard box on top of the cart and pulls out a pair of thin, black single-use gloves. His size is impossible to ignore when he steps in close, suddenly crowding the space, and hands them over.

"Put these on first," he instructs, his gaze locking onto yours for a heartbeat. "The alternator's fresh, but everything else under that hood isn’t. No reason for you to ruin your hands."

You take the gloves, smoothing the black rubber over your wrists before looking up at him with a playful smile, tilting your head. "Very thoughtful. I didn't think a tough mechanic like you cared about a little dirt."

"I don't care about it on me," Sukuna mutters. His eyes linger on your hands for a second before he jerks his gaze back down at the engine bay, clears his throat, and points into the tangled mess of metal and hoses. "Alright, come here. We’re skipping the basic fluid check—you’re smart enough to know how to read a dipstick. I want to show you more interesting stuff."

Stepping in close, you slide the gloves over your hands, your shoulder brushing his for just a second. It's barely a touch, but enough to make both of you hyper-aware of the space you share.

"See this belt right here?" Sukuna asks, leaning over the grille. His deep voice drops into a steady, confident cadence as he gets into his element. "This is your serpentine belt. In case someone tells you it’s about to snap, I'll show you how to check the tension yourself, and how to spot actual dry rot versus regular wear."

He tugs on his own gloves, then reaches down. He navigates the cramped space around the engine block with ease, and you find yourself briefly distracted by the contrast between the size of his hands, the precision of the movements, and how gentle they look as he grips the heavy rubber belt. Then, with a twist, he exposes the underside to the light.

"Get your hand in right here," he says, glancing sideways at you, his eyes dark and intense in the low light. "Feel the edge of the rubber. Tell me what you notice."

For the next hour, Sukuna guides you through a standard oil change, patiently talking you through each step. He doesn't do the work for you; he has you reach beneath the chassis with a socket wrench to feel the exact point of resistance on the oil pan drain plug, his hand covering yours to adjust the angle, explaining the difference between a secure seal and stripped threads.

When he shows you a spark plug, he holds the tiny ceramic piece beneath the shop light, pointing out the faint color differences that separate a healthy engine from one that's burning fuel too rich.

All the while, Sukuna stays at your shoulder, keeping you grounded. Each time your gloved fingers falter over a stubborn clamp or an unfamiliar valve, his hand is there, nudging your wrist or guiding it with a confidence that makes it impossible to feel foolish. He answers every question thoroughly without a hint of impatience, pleased with your curiosity. By the time you peel the gloves from your hands, the machinery that once felt so intimidating is just a puzzle you’ve learned how to solve, and the satisfaction settles deep in your chest.

A sudden chime of the office bell cuts through the quiet, shattering the spell. Sukuna pulls his hand back from the engine block, his head snapping toward the front door.

"Pizza's here,” he rasps.

He strips off the gloves, tossing them in the trash before heading to the glass door to pay the delivery guy. You follow suit, peeling yours off and grabbing the plates you stashed in your trunk earlier. Stepping into the dim office, you find Sukuna already setting the steaming pizza box dead center on his desk.

"Look at that," you tease softly, sliding the plates onto the desk. "Real plates this time."

Sukuna glances down at them, and a faint, genuinely amused smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Fancy," he mutters, eyes flicking up to catch yours for a split second before his hand moves to the cardboard lid. “Bringing the good stuff to a garage."

The moment he flips the lid open, the rich, savory scent of hot cheese and pepperoni floods the room, instantly smothering the stubborn trace of motor oil that still clings to the air. He slides a massive, steaming slice onto your plate before grabbing one for himself. "Eat up before it gets cold."

For the first twenty minutes, conversation just flows easily, and to his immense relief, not a single word about car parts comes up. You ask about the shop, how long he’s been running it, and whether he always wanted to be a mechanic. He tells you how he likes working with his hands, how machines make sense in a way people never do, because if something’s broken, there’s always a reason, and always a fix.

After a while, Sukuna starts tossing questions your way. One answer leads to another, and before long you're deep in a story about that trainwreck project at work and the latest chaos your friends managed to stir up over the weekend. He doesn’t interrupt, his crimson eyes fixed on your face, watching your eyes crinkle with laughter, how your hands sketch wild shapes in the air, and the tiny smile that sneaks out when you mention your friends.

Some part of him is convinced this should be awkward. Or, at the very least, harder than this. But it feels completely natural, and before he knows it, he’s talking more than he ever does. And that’s exactly when the invisible trap closes right back around his throat.

Ask her, his mind orders, the thought landing in his chest with a sudden, heavy thud. Eight words. Do you want to go out with me? Just say the damn words.

You finish your slice and lean back a little on your stool, thumb brushing a stray crumb from your lower lip without thinking.

Do it now. She's sitting right here. She likes talking to you. Just open your stupid mouth and ask for a real date.

Sukuna shifts his weight on the metal stool as his large hand tightens around his napkin.

Don't be a coward. It's a question, not a marriage proposal.

He opens his mouth, but his throat locks up tight. He isn't actually afraid of hearing the word no—he has plenty of pride, but a rejection wouldn't break him. What paralyzes him is the fiercely protective boundary he’s drawn around you in his own head.

And then what? She realizes the mechanic who helped her has been working an angle the whole time?

He’s desperately trying not to abuse the trust he’s built with you. The sheer weight of wanting to keep this clean and respectable for your sake completely jams his gears.

"Hey," he blurts out anyway, his voice a little rough, cutting right through the middle of whatever you were saying.

You pause, blinking at him with curious eyes. "Hm?"

Sukuna freezes as his brain goes completely blank again under your direct gaze. His eyes drop to your mouth, staring at the soft curve of your lips in the dim light of the desk lamp, his mind scrambling for any kind of escape hatch.

For fuck's sake, Sukuna. You've started already. Just finish it.

Instead, his throat stays bone dry, jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumps in his cheek. The words just refuse to come, and the surge of internal fury that follows nearly knocks him sideways.

“Never mind.”

You study him for a long moment, and a small, knowing look flickers in your eyes as you set your crust down on the plate.

"Well," you say softly, with a playful little tilt to your head. "I guess I officially know enough about drive belts now. At this rate, I won't have an excuse to bother you anymore."

The words hit like a bucket of ice water. The thought of you just fading back into the real world, never showing up at his garage again, triggers a raw, defensive panic that steamrolls right over his hesitation.

"You don't need car trouble to stop by," he quickly says.

It comes out too blunt, his voice rough and a little too sharp in the quiet room. He winces inside, bracing for you to pull away, but you just look at him, a soft, slow smile spreading across your face.

"You know," you murmur, your voice dropping into a gentle, teasing tone as you lean just a hair closer over the edge of the desk. "Most people just ask for a date."

Sukuna goes utterly still. The words hang in the air, and the silence that follows is so thick you can hear the faint, steady hum of the fluorescent bulb overhead. He doesn’t answer right away—he can’t. The gears in his brain lock up as he stares at you, completely stunned that you’ve just outmaneuvered him without even trying.

But then the sheer absurdity of it all hits him, and the tension in his chest snaps like a rubber band.

A low, rough chuckle shakes his chest, half frustration, half pure captivation. He drops the crumpled napkin onto the desk, and suddenly his eyes are burning with that hyper-confident heat he’s been holding back all week. The cautious, hesitant mechanic is gone in a blink.

"Yeah?" he rumbles, his voice dropping an octave.

Before you can blink, he closes the distance between the stools. That massive hand of his finds the back of your neck, thick fingers curling gently, thumb pressing into the warm skin along your jaw. His sheer size blocks out the rest of the office, casting you in his shadow as he leans down, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

His eyes drop to your mouth, and the intensity of his stare makes your breath catch.

"Been trying real hard to be polite all week," he mutters with a wicked smirk right against your lips, tracing a slow line along your jaw with his thumb. "But you're entirely right. I'm taking you out tomorrow night."

He pauses, giving you one last chance to pull away if you want to. When you don't move, matching his smirk with one of your own, he closes the last bit of space without a single shred of hesitation.

The moment his lips meet yours, a ragged breath escapes him, a sound so raw it sends a shiver tearing down your spine. He’s been starving for this all week, and the force of it knocks the air from both your lungs.

Sweet vanilla and tobacco from his perfume flood your senses, drowning out everything else. Sukuna tastes exactly like he smells: warm, intense, and utterly intoxicating. Any coherent thought vanishes beneath the rush of it. Your hands find the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers twisting the fabric at his chest and bunching it tight in your fists as you pull him closer. Every bit of hunger he pours into the kiss, you give right back.

Feeling you lean in and your hands on him, a low, gravelly groan rumbles from deep in his chest. His grip at the nape of your neck tightens, thick fingers slipping higher into your hair until they're tangled in the strands at the base of your skull, leaving no room for doubt about how badly he's wanted this. His other hand leaves the desk, sliding up to cup your face, calloused thumb sweeping hard over your cheekbone as he tilts your head back, searching for a better angle.

Slow, insistent pressure parts your lips, and his mouth moves over yours in a rhythm that makes your head spin. The heat pouring off him is overwhelming, swallowing up the entire office until there's nothing left but his lips and the rough drag of his hands against your skin.

Sukuna pulls back just a fraction, barely a breath of space between you, so you can both drag in ragged breaths. Eyes closed, his forehead drops against yours while his chest heaves. But staying away isn’t an option. He leans right back in, catching your lower lip between his, sucking on it with a slow pull that rips a quiet gasp from your throat.

That deep drag is followed by a series of quick, hot pecks—one to the corner of your mouth, another firm press at the center of your lips, and finally a lingering kiss that seals your mouths together all over again.

Every tiny, breathless break just makes him hungrier. He presses in deeper, tongue tracing the shape of your lips, completely taking over the pace. Your heart hammers stupidly against your ribs, your body turning to liquid on the metal stool, kept upright only by the iron grip of his hands. He’s kissing you like he wants to leave a permanent mark, making up for an entire week spent talking himself out of this.

Even when he finally tears his mouth away, he refuses to let you go. His breath comes in short, heavy rasps that tangle with your own, crimson eyes fluttering open to find you—dark, hooded, and completely blown wide as he stares at your swollen lips. His thumb sweeps over your lower lip, wiping the dampness away with a slow, heavy pressure that makes your chest ache.

For a moment, neither of you says a word. The office is silent except for the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath. His chest rises and falls close to yours, and you can feel the lingering warmth of him, the tension that hasn’t left either of your bodies.

A smirk slowly tugs at the corner of his mouth. He savors the silence every bit as much as the kiss itself.

“Text me your address,” he rumbles, his voice incredibly low and rough. His hand is still tangled in your hair, fingers threaded deep enough that when you instinctively try to lean back and get a better look at him, his grip tightens just enough to stop you. It isn’t rough, but it’s firm, keeping you exactly where he wants you as his fingers shift slightly against your scalp. “And be ready at seven.”

Blinking up at him through the haze of the kiss, you tilt your head as much as his grip allows, brows lifting as you study him. The corner of your mouth twitches, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

"Pretty sure that wasn't a question, Sukuna."

His smirk deepens as he looks down at you, completely unfazed by your tone. That arrogant confidence in his eyes is impossible to miss now, and somehow it only makes your stomach flip harder.

"Neither was taking you out tomorrow night," he murmurs.

You don’t bother answering. Instead, your fingers curl tighter into his shirt as you drag him down, crushing your lips into his. He chuckles deeply into the kiss as his hands slide from your face to your waist. Before you can think about what he's doing, he's pulling you off the stool and into his lap. Deepening the kiss, you bury your fingers in his hair, drawing a low groan from him that sends a shiver racing down your spine and straight between your legs.

notes:

> sukuna: somebody has been scamming this woman > sukuna: she baked me a pie > sukuna 5 minutes later: i need her phone number or i'm going to lose my fucking mind

The first hour passed in relative silence, punctuated only by occasional comments about traffic or which exit to take, maybe a short story about mutual classmates here and there. Somewhere around the first rest stop, after you'd both stretched your legs and grabbed terrible convenience store coffee, the conversation shifted into something more substantial.

"So," Sukuna said, merging back onto the highway, "how long have you and what's-his-name been together?"

You lean down to untie your shoes and hum, "Kenji. and three years now. We met in Yaga's class, actually, he graduated last year." You sipped your coffee, wincing at the bitterness. "What about you and...?"

"Misa. A little over a year, I guess." He glanced over. "You think you'll marry him?"

The question caught you off guard; Not only did he seriously not seem like the type to marry, but he also did not seem like the type to think about it or care. "Uhh, I don't know. Maybe? We haven't really talked about it."

"Talked about it?" Sukuna's tone suggested what he thought of that. Chuckling, he continued, "I mean, either you know, or you don't, right?."

You didn't like the idea of being stuck in the car with someone you were arguing with, so you just sighed a bit and murmured, "I don't know, I don't think it's that simple."

"It kind of is, though." He switched lanes to pass a slow-moving truck. "Three years... I mean, you either want to spend your life with someone, or you don't. That should be communicated up front."

You turned in your seat to face him properly. "Really? And you know you want to spend the rest of your life with Misa?"

Something flickered across his face, "Hell no." Laughing, he merged back.

You gaped open-mouthed, "Wha- how could you say that!"

He turned a moment to look at you, smiling, you had smacked your hand on the console between you both in shock, the man turning between you and the road before speaking, "Are you kidding? You think she wants to marry me, either?"

You paused, "You are incredibly unromantic."

"You're the one saying, 'oh, I don't know' when I asked." He shrugged, mocking your tone with a casual gesture that seemed to dismiss everything. "Romance is more about finding someone you don't want to strangle after living with them for a year."

You smiled a little despite yourself. "Is that really your bar for marriage? Tolerability?"

"You say that like it's nothing." He glanced at you again, and there was something almost defensive in his expression. "Most people can't even manage that. They get married because "they're in love", or the sex is good, but then six months later, bam, they realize they hate how the other person chews their food or whatever, and suddenly they're divorced."

"So you're planning to just find someone you tolerate well enough? Man, I feel bad for Misa..." You shake your head at his implication and stretch your legs in front of you.

Sukuna shakes his head, "I'm saying love isn't enough. You need more than that." He paused, considering. "You need to at least be somewhat" he adjusts the visor, searching for the word, "...friends, too. They gotta be someone who you want to be with even when they're driving you crazy." He used his hand as an air quote on "friends".

"Does Misa drive you crazy?"

"No." The answer came quickly, a higher tone. "But that's just cause our thing doesn't allow for the crazy to come out, we're not serious like that. Just comfortable."

You settled back into your seat, processing this. "I think I'd like more than comfortable, actually."

"Yeah?" Sukuna's smirk returned. "Good luck with that. Let me know how it works out for you in twenty years when you're still chasing some perfect fairy tale instead of building a real life with someone."

The comment stung more than it should have. Who was he to say something so harsh to someone he had just met? How come he was so abrasive? You couldn't tell why he wouldn't just concede. "At least I'll know I didn't settle."

"Settling." Sukuna shook his head. "That's what people say when they're holding out for something that doesn't exist. Every relationship is settling in some way. You think there's some perfect person out there who matches everything you want? That's a fantasy."

"I think there's someone out there who makes you want to be better. Someone who... I don't know, challenges you and supports you, and makes you become like the best version of yourself." You crossed your arms. "And I don't think that's settling."

He is still for a moment, and you think you've won, until he just flattens his mouth, almost rolling his eyes, "Sounds exhausting, or like counting on a whole lot of luck."

You groan, "It sounds like actually being in love."

The man was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a rhythm that suggested irritation. "You know what your problem is?"

"Please, enlighten me."

"You know, your friend told me that you're gonna be a personal assistant. No wonder, cause I bet you overthink everything." You squirm in your seat to face him, and he murmurs something along the lines of "right up your alley".

You turn away, watching the countryside blur past the window. "I would be willing to wait for the person I'm meant to be with."

"Give it a few years. You'll change your mind."

You were done fighting, eventually, he caught your drift, and the conversation shifted, moving into safer territory like your new jobs, mutual friends, and professors you had. But an undercurrent of tension remained.

Somewhere around hour four, Sukuna pointed out something in your line of conversation that would become the cornerstone of your argument. Only at this time, you didn't know how important it would become.

"You have a lot of guy friends, huh?" He asked it casually, but there was something leading in the question.

"I mean... a few. Why?"

"Just wondering." He paused for a long moment, but eventually he said it. "You really think men and women can be friends?"

You rolled your eyes, having heard it all before. Clearly, to you, this man was trying to be annoying, "Oh, please, of course. I have plenty of male friends."

Sukuna snickered, and for some reason, it bothered you more than anything else in this whole discussion. "No, you don't."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm saying, you might think they're your friends, but I guarantee at least half of them want to sleep with you." He said it matter-of-factly, like discussing the weather. You gasp, and he continues, "That or they're closeted," when you were stuck looking for a reply, he added, "That's just how it is."

"That... is so not true."

"It absolutely is." Sukuna merged into the exit lane as signs for a rest area appeared, landing the final blow with certainty. "Men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way."

"That's ridiculous." You felt heat rising in your face, annoyed by his finality. "Not everything is about sex."

"I didn't say everything was. I just said it gets in the way. Even if neither person acts on it, the thought is there. One person catches feelings, or wonders 'what if', and suddenly the whole friendship thing is compromised."

"So you're saying it's impossible? Under any circumstances?" He nods. "Nuh uh, no. They all know I have a boyfriend, they don't see me like that."

"I'm just saying, I've never seen it work." He pulled into the rest area parking lot, cutting the engine. "One person always wants more. Or they sleep together, and it ruins everything. Or one of them gets into a relationship, and the friendship fades because their partner is uncomfortable. I'm surprised your guy is cool with it." He turned to look at you directly. "Show me one example of a real, lasting friendship between a man and woman where neither person has ever thought about it."

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. Ran through your mental list of male friends, you didn't hang out with a bunch of single guys but you would definitely call them friends.

"Itadori. Literally all of my guy friends."

"Kid," He shakes his head, "that's just not true."

You unbuckle your seatbelt. "First of all, we are the same age; secondly, just because you don't respect women enough to want to talk to them unless you're boning, doesn't mean every man is the same."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, who says I don't respect women?" He unbuckled his seatbelt too, following your lead. "Come on, let's just grab dinner. We've got two more hours of this."

You followed him out of the car, still worked up, not responding to his last words.

"Sure, sure, I can tell by how you treat Misa that you're really quite the feminist." You draw out your words, hoping that the poor girl wasn't in love with this bastard.

Sukuna turned, looking down on you with an arched brow, "Oh? And how do I treat her?"

You scoffed a laugh, "'Oh hell no, I'm not going to marry that!' 'Our relationship doesn't allow for her to bother me', blah blah blah. You're such a womanizer!"

For some reason, Sukuna did not seem upset; in fact, as you spoke, his little grin grew more and more. "Listen, lady, I treat Misa exactly how she likes being treated; you don't think she sees what we've got the same way? She doesn't want something serious with me, and I've got no complaints."

After a few comments about you passing judgment on him, he pushed open the diner door, a bell chiming. At the table you were seated at, you scanned the menu while your road trip buddy went to the bathroom.

You ordered off the 24 hr breakfast and got a cup of caffeinated tea. You massaged your temples, confused as to how your roommate had ended up hanging around a man this insufferable. Smug and cynical and so certain he had life figured out when clearly he was a player and incapable of mature relationships.

When he returned, the waitress was ready for his order. He dropped down in front of you to grab his mug of coffee. After a few awkward moments of not looking at him, he leaned back in the booth.

"Look," he said, less antagonistic. "I'm not trying to piss you off."

"I'm not pissed off?" You said. Clearly, pissed off.

"I'm just saying-" he laughs again, "this idea that men and women can be close, like proper friends, uncomplicated companions... it's... I mean, it's a little naive. That doesn't mean you can't have guy friends. But there's always going to be that thing underneath it." He raises a brow, "I'm tellin' ya to look out."

"That thing?" You ask, ignoring his mocking care for you.

"Attraction. The possibility. The knowledge that you two could be something else if circumstances were different." He gestured with his finger as if pointing between you and some invisible man, took a long drink of his coffee, and sighed, "Even if both people are in relationships, even if neither one would ever act on it, it's there. And that changes things."

You considered this, turning your water bottle in your hands. "So what you're saying is that you've never had a female friend."

He looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think, "No. Not a real one at least." When he saw your unamused face, he continued, "Hey, I know they haven't seen me as a friend either." He put his hands up, as if being ordered to by a cop and took a bite of his hash browns. "I've had plenty of women I was friendly with, but pure friendship? Get out of here." He shook his head. "That's different. That's intimate in a way that crosses lines."

"You..." You paused to think, "Are so full of yourself." He looked up from his heaping fork, a brow raised, "You really think every woman who has called you a friend just wants to sleep with you?"

"Let's be honest here." Sukuna gestured at himself. You scoffed. "Better to acknowledge what it is than pretend it's something else and end up hurting people."

You started to eat quicker, ready to be done with this trip and never see this man again. The last two hours of the drive passed with less conversation. You both retreated to your own thoughts, the weight of the disagreement sitting heavily on your mind.

"You know, Itadori, this is really a shame, cause you were gonna be the only person I knew in the city."

Sukuna shook his head, "Nu uh, aren't I taking you to your man's place right now?"

You rolled your eyes, "My only friend."

He sucked on his cheek, "Ahh, I see...friend."

When he finally pulled up outside your boyfriend's apartment building, you grabbed your bag from the back seat, eager to escape the confines of the car and his frustrating certainty about everything.

"Well," you said, not quite meeting his eyes, "thanks for the ride."

"Yeah." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Enjoy your stay."

You hesitated, hand on the door handle. Some part of you wanted to say something more, to end on a better note. You were here in a new city, with a new scary job, with nobody but your college lover to know you. It was such a shame to leave like this, but the words wouldn't come.

"I hope things end up well with Misa," you finally said. "That it works out the way you both want."

The man's expression softened just a smidge, "Sure, I hope you find what you're looking for too. Even if I think you're chasing a fantasy."

"It's not a fantasy." You sing-songed, turning, you shut the passenger door.

He rolled down the window, "If you say so." His tone wasn't unkind. "Take care of yourself."

You climbed up the stone stairway to your boyfriend's apartment complex buzzer, pulling your bag up after you. As Sukuna drove away, you found yourself annoyed at how the weekend had started. Six hours in a car with someone who seemed determined to be wrong about everything.

You were certain you'd never voluntarily spend time with Itadori Sukuna again.

--

Two years later

Time carved its changes into both your lives in ways neither of you could have anticipated. The occasional argument would occur, but you still loved your boyfriend deeply. And truthfully, arguments were perfectly natural for critical thinkers, and you had always been attracted to a talkative man.

You had actually invited your boyfriend to stay with your family this year, the prospect of your first Christmas together bringing the first set of butterflies you had felt in a while. He had politely declined, though. It was alright, he wanted to be with his parents. You understood, but there was a small tickle of pain when he did not ask you to join them.

That was neither here nor there; now you were on your way back from your hometown, post-Christmas chills in the air.

It was at the gate that you spotted him. Certain your eyes were playing a trick on you. But no, how could you forget the distinctive smirk, the pink hair, and ever broader-shouldered frame? He was unmistakable even in a crowded airport.

Even though you had only known him for six hours of your life.

Sukuna Itadori was stood near the window, looking out at the planes on the tarmac, and for a moment, you considered walking up to him, but decided against it, ultimately pretending you hadn't seen him at all.

But fate seemed determined, and as you approached the gate, he turned and caught sight of you too.

Recognition dawned slowly just as you turned away from his face. Boarding, you shook the idea away, certain he would pretend as well, or, more likely, he wouldn't have recognized you at all.

Once you were seated, a flight attendant asked if you would like a drink. You agreed after the gentleman beside you mentioned how good his tea was. That was something you simply could not pass up.

After ordering, the strange gentleman beside you maintained a steady conversation. Just as you were starting to hope that he wasn't planning on talking the whole flight, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Say it isn't so." You heard his foux shock.

And even more to your surprise, he remembered your name. Of course, you remembered Sukuna; how could you not with such a good memory... but why would he remember you?

You stutter, "Hey, wow, it's been a while..." You nod, looking back at the man to your right.

"Oh," The stranger grinned, "do you two know each other?"

"We're actually childhood friends," Sukuna interjected, grinning, and the man seemed elated at the idea.

"Oh... we're definitely not." You sigh, sliding a hand down your face.

The man did not seem to hear, "Would you like to take my seat? Catch up?"

"You're too kind." Sukuna beamed coming in to take the man's seat at your side.

He whispered your name, "Well, well, well, how have you been?"

"Itadori. Good. Busy." You set down your tea. "You?"

"Same. Work's been hectic." You paused, then there was a brief exchange of 'how were the holidays', and 'what are you doing now?' before he eventually stumbled upon it. "So, how are you and your guy? I'm sure you have a partner."

"Yeah, we're good. I'm actually on my way to seeing him now." You left out the part where Kenji worked long nights and recently never made time for serious conversation that didn't involve him raising his voice, but Sukuna didn't need to know about that.

"And you?" You asked in turn, he looked at you with a wry smile, as if waiting for you to explain, you couldn't remember the name of the woman he had been messing around with before, so you just asked, "Are you seeing anyone?"

"You could say that." You leaned back, and he spread his legs wide, "We're engaged and all.", wiggling the ring in your area of vision.

"Oh! Congratulations." You paused, trying to avoid saying "wow, you?". Something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. How was it that he was getting married? "I'm happy for you." And somehow, you meant it.

"Yeah." He looked down at his hands, and you noticed he was more considerate of his volume now. "It's been good. Different than I expected, but good."

The intercom dinged to let you know you could unbuckle your seats.

"So, tell me more, how are things with you and the lucky guy? You must be glad to be on your way home."

You didn't want to really talk about it, for some reason, you were feeling a bit jealous about his upcoming marriage, so you tilted your head, "Yeah, you could say that." You laughed, but there was no humor in it.

You had some difficulty keeping your eyes trained on his; he had acquired several new tattoos over the years that kept drawing your attention, but you didn't want him to think you were checking him out or anything. After some mildly awkward catch-up about work and hobbies, Sukuna hummed, "So," and after a short silence, "Executive assistant. I guess you made your little Type A dreams come true."

You roll your eyes, "I did." You felt a small surge of pride despite knowing he was teasing you.

"That's great. Really." He seemed genuine. "I remember you talking about that. In the car."

You bring your eyebrows together, "You remember that?"

"Oh, I can remember most of that drive." He accepted a tomato juice from a passing cart, making a face at the taste. "You were funny."

"I was?"

"Sure you were." He turned to look at you properly.

And you spent a horrible length of time trying to remember when you had last been complimented so easily like that.

--

Late the next spring

It would be almost another full year before you saw Sukuna again, and just like before, you wouldn't be looking for him. You had thought when you last spoke that the New Year would be filled with good fortune, but as it would turn out, your lives would take many turbulent shifts in the time it took for the winter to come back around.

You were walking into your neighborhood's bookstore on a rainy and windy Saturday afternoon. You were looking for a birthday gift for a colleague, something thoughtful but not too personal, and the small independent bookshop near your new apartment seemed like an easy place to browse.

You were in the romance section when you heard his voice.

"You've got to be kidding me."

You turned to find a certain salmon haired man standing at the end of the aisle, holding a couple books, the top one appeared to be on sports training. He looked as surprised as you felt.

You squinted, trying to find some words before landing on, "Is this going to become an annual thing?"

"That can't be right. I can hardly remember the last time I saw you." He moved closer, glancing at the book in your hands. "'Cowboy needs a little lovin' '?"

"It's not for me." You shudder, showing him the cover of the half-naked model. "It's for a colleague, I'm sure she'll love it."

"...I believe you," he said with an unconvincing tone, "sure you don't want a copy for yourself, though?"

"Oh, yeah," You look down at the cover, "just my type." You rolled your eyes and set the book down, fond of his smile that didn't mock. "How've you been?"

He looked around the shop before answering, "Busy." You traced a finger across the casing you were leaning against.

"Just busy? I haven't seen you in over a year, the flight back, right?" You knew you were right, but asked anyway. Cringing when you think back on that time, how you waited for your now ex to come and pick you up, eventually realizing too slowly that he had forgotten, and you would need to figure it out yourself. How he hadn't told you he had "stayed home" for New Year's, and how you had tried to make it work for months after that.

"That's right..." The man's expression shifted, became something more guarded. "Ehhh...a lot's happened since then."

Something in his tone made you pause. "Yeah, same. How are you? You had your wedding, right?"

"No, yeah, I definitely did." You scrunch up your face at his cadence; he doesn't seem happy about it. He knocks his knuckles against a bookcase. You were just starting to get the uncomfortable notion that an early divorce was in his voice when he proceeded.

He looked around again, like someone might hear, like the weight of something was pressing on him.

"My wife, well, she and I aren't together anymore." He said it bluntly, shaking the thoughts out of his head.

Well, that had not at all been what you had expected. "Sukuna, I'm so sorry. That must be hard."

"Sukuna...." He wrapped both hands around his coffee cup, staring down at it. "That's a first, you've only ever called me by my last name."

You didn't know if that was true but it didn't feel like the time to ask, "I don't know what to say."

"Nobody does." He finally looked up, sighing, and you could see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "People want to help, but there's nothing I can do without airing out her business, and I'm not really interested in doing all that.

You looked down at your shoes, not even pretending to know what he meant. "I'm sorry." They're the only words you can get out. You were hurting too, as much as you wanted to pretend you weren't, but you knew this must be different. Kenji hadn't even proposed... not really at least.

"I kinda wish none of it had happened, almost felt like a waste of both of our time."

You shake your head. "It doesn't have to be a waste. This stuff isn't linear. You can be sad about losing someone even if the relationship wasn't working."

"Yeah, that's what people say." He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair. "Her family hates me. They think I changed her for the worse and left her because of it."

You don't understand, so you can't exactly console him. You just mutter, "They probably would've sided with her regardless."

"Yeah, that's true, logically, I know that." He took a shaky breath. "But I feel like I let them down, not sticking it out."

You sat in silence for a moment. This bookstore trip had not at all gone according to plan. The café hummed with other conversations, other people living their normal lives, while the both of you silently seemed to mourn people who weren't even dead.

It suddenly hit you, like it randomly will, that feeling that everyone is living their own lives, and even though you live in the same city, you never really know what anyone is going through.

"Are you seeing anyone?" You asked carefully. "A therapist, I mean."

He chuckles,"Yeah, actually, pretty much once a week. Apparently I'm supposed to sign up for some Nar-Anon family group."

You pause, a little bit more of his story coming out, "For what it's worth, I'm sure you're handling this better than you think you are."

He tilted his head, and a smirk came across his face, and for a moment, he looked exactly like he had when you first met him, "I'm standing in a bookstore unloading on someone I barely know, but thanks." He ties your name to the end of his sentence, and it feels like a sweet reminder that you both weren't technically strangers.

"We spent six hours in a car together arguing about the nature of love." You returned his smile. "I think that counts for something."

Sukuna appeared to consider this. "You know, you're probably the only person I've talked to who doesn't speak to me like I'm about to freak out any given moment."

"Do you...want people to look at you like that?"

"God, no." He took a loud sip of his coffee and grimaced. "This is terrible. Why do bookstores always have the worst coffee?"

You can see he is ready for a change of subject, "It's part of the aesthetic."

"Pretentious literature requires pretentious bitter coffee?"

"Something like that." You smile.

The two of you went on to talk for another hour, the conversation flowing easier than it had any right to. Sukuna told you about moving out of the apartment he'd shared with Emi, the woman who was now his ex-wife, about his work, and trying to find some kind of normalcy. You told him about your recent promotion, about the project you were heading up that was consuming all your time, but you did not mention Kenji, and thankfully, he did not ask.

When you finally left the bookstore, rain still falling softly outside, Sukuna actually walked you to your car.

"Thanks," he said, hands shoved in his pockets. "For listening. These types of conversations are always weird."

You squint up at him, never having anticipated him of all people finding a strange conversation uncomfortable, "Hey, not at all." And you meant it. "I'm serious, Sukuna, if you wanna catch up or want someone to talk to, call me."

"Yeah?" He looked almost vulnerable, something you'd never seen from him before. "You want to give me your number?" He makes a weird face at you, "That's not going to complicate things?"

You paused and rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone. "I think we're way past worrying about complications."

And the smile he gave you felt perfectly natural. After you'd exchanged numbers, Sukuna hesitated before turning to leave.

"Hey," he said, "that thing I said in the car. About men and women not being able to be friends."

"Yeah?"

He shrugged, "I'm pretty sure I was wrong about that."

There was something very mature about admitting when you're wrong, and as you watched him walk away, disappearing into the rain, you felt with strange certainty that something had shifted between you. Maybe he had come back into your life for such a time as this, and you into his, after all that had passed, to be a friend.

--

That Summer

It started with text messages. Simple things at first, Sukuna sending you a photo of truly terrible coffee with the message "Even worse and somehow $7". You would respond with pictures of your latest project and "entirely optional purchase btw", asking his opinion on design elements you knew he wouldn't understand but somehow always had thoughts about anyway.

Then came the phone calls. Late-night conversations were surprisingly easy with someone who held such strong opinions so weakly. When neither of you could sleep (which, unspoken of but very present, your loneliness appreciated), the two of you would always have something to go on about. Sukuna told you about his experience with group therapy, about this slow process of untangling the pain and guilt of loving someone you didn't want to. And you told him about the disastrous rejections you had made to the poor men who asked you out.

And slowly, you opened up a little about how you and Kenji had ended.

For some reason, you liked to pretend it was some other guy who had torn you up so humiliatingly. You didn't lie exactly; you just never said Kenji's name. And besides, Sukuna didn't ask for details; he knew if you wanted to, you would share.

The thing was, you had been with Kenji for so long, it felt embarrassing for Sukuna of all people to hear about the specifics. The shame you felt, some of it valid, some of it overkill, drove you to extreme individuality, or maybe independence.

"So what was wrong with this one?" He asked during one of these calls, his voice rough with after-work exhaustion, but still actively engaged in the most recent guy you turned down.

"Nothing, really. He was nice. Successful. Good-looking." You sighed, curled up on your couch with tea and a bowl of pasta. "There was just no spark, you know? No connection."

"Hey, maybe you're being too picky." You heard something in a pan sizzling on his line.

"Sorry, not really interested on taking love advice from you."

"Ouch." But he was laughing. You had both become comfortable enough to joke around with one another. "Fair point." He must have turned on the sink to douse the pan and after a pause, he asked, "So what are you looking for then?"

"I don't know. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone I can talk to naturally." You paused.

"That is a tall order." He chuckled.

"Is it though? Shouldn't that be...like the bare minimum?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Of course it is, actually, I would say that should be pretty standard."

--

A month after the bookstore, the two of you had dinner. It happened after a conversation about the new place that opened up nearby, and it had been such a fun change of pace in your mutually boring lives that you decided there would have to be another. And after that, the dinners became almost a weekly tradition, usually it was a hole-in-the-wall place that Sukuna found with incredible food and questionable ambiance.

"How do you even find these places? I've lived here for over three years now and never heard of it." You asked, looking around at a ramen shop that seemed to consist entirely of a counter with eight seats.

"It's a gift." Sukuna slurped his noodles. "Also, I'm a cheap bastard and this place is perfect."

You chuckle because he was cheap, "You're not cheap. You're frugal." What a lie.

"That's what cheap people say to feel better about themselves."

"True." You hum, only after having kicked his shin under the counter, and he grinned.

It was a nice change of pace, these dinners, and somehow, after weeks and weeks, the two of you still had things to talk about.

It was during one of these dinners that Sukuna brought up your ex.

"So," he said, pushing into a steak, one of your fancier picks, "Whatever happened with the guy you were with during our lovely introduction?"

"What?" You looked up from your pasta. "I told you. We broke up, you know that."

"Yeah, but why?" He waves his fork around, "I've told you everything, can't you spill about this? I mean, the two of you were together three years. That's not nothing."

You considered how much you even wanted to share, you hadn't told hardly anybody, hell, even your family knew not to mention his name. You never made it a rule or anything, but nobody dares. Most days, you tried to just avoid anything that would make you think of him and how pathetic it all made you feel.

But Sukuna had proved to be someone easy to speak with, and quite objective, no matter your feelings, and besides, maybe it was time you were able to talk about it. You took a bite of your food, as casually as you could, admitting, "We were together over six years...actually."

Sukuna squinted, a confused expression, "No...hold on, how can that be?"

"Uhhh, it can be because that's how long we were dating, duh." You reach for your glass of water, and for some reason, your heart was beating rather fast.

"But that would mean you were together... like... recently?" He shook his head at you, as if you didn't understand your own life's timeline.

"I wouldn't exactly call it all that recent." You clinked your fork into the bottom of the dish, skewering more pasta.

"Hold on. You were together for six years?" He seems shocked, only not realizing you were telling the truth.

"Yes." You exasperate, rolling your eyes at his expression.

"You were with that one guy all this time... like... when you were telling me about that breakup... it was with him all along? College boy?"

You blink up at him.

He straightened up, "I mean... damn you dodged a bullet." It was a nice way for him to put it.

"Eventually, I guess."

Sukuna's hand found the counter after he set his own fork down; all too invested now, he seemed quite serious. "Jesus, girl, you were with him for over six years?"

"Thank you, Sukuna, for repeating it." You grin before pulling away, tucking any other explanation into the back of your brain. "What about you? Any relationships between Emi and now?"

He rolls his eyes because he knows you know the answer, "God, no." Horrified by the thought, he groans, "I'm a mess, you know that. I'm not bringing that into a relationship."

You sigh, "You are not a mess."

He calls your name, teasing, "I'm in therapy with Narcotics Anonymous, where even I feel unwelcome because I decided to leave when things got tough."

"That's a pretty extreme glossing over of your story." You flagged down the server for the check. "But you're a functional mess. That counts for something."

"I'll definitely be putting that on my dating profile. 'Functional mess seeks patient woman with low standards.'"

"You'd get more responses than you think."

Walking back to your cars afterward, Sukuna brought up something that had clearly been on his mind.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you thinking of seeing anyone right now?"

"What? No, why?"

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Just wondering if I'm monopolizing your time. If you need to cut back on these dinners to make space for someone. I mean... I wanna encourage you to do that."

"Sukuna, if I had someone I was serious about, I wouldn't be calling you all the time, and we wouldn't be having these dinners anyway; you're not 'taking up' my time."

He's still for a moment, thinking, "Okay. Good." He paused by his car. "Because this... hanging out with you. It's like, a fun part of my week. It'd be a shame to not have someone to complain to."

"You can always count on being able to complain with me." You bumped your shoulder against his. "That is what real friends are for."

"Yeah." But something in his expression was uncertain as he chuckled to himself.

--

That Fall

The restaurant was nicer than your usual spots, a sleek place in the city with low lighting and expensive-looking cocktails. You'd suggested it for several weekends now, having wanted to try it after hearing your friend rave about the food after her disastrous date there.

Sukuna had agreed without complaint, even though you knew it was more than he was usually willing to spend on himself.

"This place is fancy," he said, looking around with amusement. "Are we celebrating something?"

"Do we need a reason?"

"I guess not." He picked up the menu, "Though my wallet might have some complaints."

"My treat."

He dropped the menu right back on the table, "Absolutely not."

"Kuna-"

"Girl, it's not happening." He was clearly not amused. "If you want to go to expensive places, that's fine. But don't go offering to pay my share."

You knew better than to argue when he got that look. "You may be a big shot EA, but even I can afford a few expensive meals once and awhile." He teased. You knew he made more than you did.

The food, when it came, was just as good as you'd hoped. You shared plates, wanting to try his order too, and you talked about everything on your mind, and also nothing at the same time. The easy comfort of your friendship wrapped around you like a comfy sweater.

It was somewhere between the main course and dessert that the conversation shifted.

"Anyway," Sukuna said, swirling the drink in his glass. "I went out again last week."

"You always make that sound so ominous." You knew about him and his coworker, Toji's antics.

"It wasn't really a date." He shrugged, as if you needed the clarification..

You felt something in your chest, quick and unexpected. "And how did that go?"

"Fine. She was nice." He took a drink. "We slept together, and she got mad when I was less than keen on spending the night." He seemed so matter-of-fact about it all, but you saw how he almost shuddered when setting his drink down.

This wasn't weird, you told yourself; the two of you had talked about his one-night stands before. "That's... to be expected, I think." You raise a judgmental eyebrow at him. Not knowing what else to say, you ask, "Did you at least have a good time? Any plans to go see her again?"

You knew there weren't.

"I don't know if it was good or bad. It just was." He ran his finger along the condensation of his glass, and there was something almost clinical in his tone. "I'm not gonna call."

You blinked. "Of course not."

He rolled his eyes, finally smirking again, "It's not how it sounds." Sukuna ran a hand through his hair. "It's just easier this way. There aren't expectations or complications. It's more like...just physical..." He pauses when he sees your face and quickly adds, "for now."

"That doesn't sound healthy." You murmur. This was a topic the two of you had touched on. Sukuna seemed averse to a relationship, but never said no to a woman who hit him up at a bar.

"Says who? You know I'm upfront about it all. I tell them I'm not looking for anything serious. If they're okay with that, what's the harm?"

You didn't want to say that you were starting to think he used sex as a way to avoid actual intimacy in such a nice restaurant with such nice service when the conversation was so light, so you just rolled your eyes.

"Aren't we both just enjoying being single without the pressure of a relationship?" His tone had a question to it now.

You weren't judging him... or are you? You don't know, but you shrug, not believing him when you say, "Yeah, I guess we're both just casual for now."

But he laughs at you. "No, no, you're not fine with casual. You're still worried about getting hurt again."

The ease of his saying it shouldn't have surprised you, but even now, his bluntness caught you off guard, it helps you know where your tone comes from when you say, "Wow, okay. Are you my therapist now?"

"I'm your friend." Sukuna leans back in his chair, something hard in his expression. "Let me ask you something. When's the last time you had sex?"

You felt heat rise in your face. You had talked about pretty much everything with Sukuna, but for some reason, this topic always left you feeling a bit scandalized. "That's none of your business."

"Exactly. So maybe don't judge my choices when you're clearly not making any of your own."

"And what does that mean?"

He leaned forward. "You spend all your time working or hanging out with friends. You always avoid actually putting yourself out there. I'm constantly hearing from you or your girls about the latest boy you rejected. I'm just saying, don't judge me as if you're perfect yourself."

The words hit harder than they should have, or maybe you just didn't understand why you cared, "I'm not avoiding anything. I just haven't met the right person."

"Or you're scared. Just like you're accusing me of being."

You both fell silent, the tension thick between you. Around you, other diners laughed and talked, oblivious to the argument playing out at your table.

"Look," He finally said, his voice softer, he rolls his eyes, "whatever, that was probably out of line."

"No, you're right." You agreed, although you wished he hadn't said it, you would settle for him admitting his own flaws. You pushed food around your plate. "Every time I think about dating seriously, I remember how stupid I was with Kenji. I don't feel like doing it again, and besides, I just haven't been able to catch feelings."

"Great. So we're both fucked up."

You think about denying it, but you had wondered the same thing for a while now, "Apparently." You managed, "Great friendship we've got going on here. Two emotionally stunted people enabling each other."

At least the two of you were honest. Sukuna grunts,"No way am I enabling you, I'm counting on you getting over this weird phase you're in and falling in love."

"Good luck." You meet his eyes.

Sukuna didn't seem to have an answer for that.

The rest of dinner passed with forced lightness, both of you trying to recapture the easy comfort from earlier and not quite managing it. When the check came, Sukuna grabbed it before you could, ignoring your protest. He probably felt bad for taking things too far.

Outside the restaurant, you stood on the sidewalk, neither of you quite ready to leave but not sure what to say.

"I'm sorry," you finally offered. "I don't want you feeling like I'm judging your dating life."

"No, you were right, I don't know why I am this way." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Maybe I'm just a mean fuck, I don't know. But if I trust anyone to tell me, it's you."

"Maybe you just have to be aware of it so you can grow from here."

"When did you get so wise?"

"I have a smart friend who gives terrible advice but occasionally stumbles onto something profound."

Sukuna's laugh was genuine this time. "I'm pretty sure that's an insult, not a compliment, but okay."

"It's both."

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. It was weird. You two never did this, and he stiffened when your hands found his back. For some reason, you just felt like it was the right thing to do. Neither of you had been particularly emotional tonight, but something seemed to have changed in between the words neither of you had said. After a second or so, he returned the gesture, and his weight felt almost unrealistically gentle for his size.

"We're going to be okay," you said into his chest. "Both of us."

It was out of nowhere, he didn't seem to have expected it, but he also didn't seem to mind, "Yeah." His arm tightened around you. "Of course we will."

But neither of you sounded entirely convinced.

--

That Winter

Sukuna sat across from Toji in their usual bar, nursing a beer and only half-listening to his friend's story about some disaster at work. His mind kept drifting to you. That afternoon, you had texted him about finding a new spot with coffee that was "aggressively mediocre." It reminded him of when you two started getting close.

"Are you even listening?" Toji asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Yeah, sorry. Our boss is an idiot, the job is impossible, the usual." Sukuna took a drink. "What were you saying?"

"I was asking about your girlfriend."

Sukuna pauses, beer in hand, squinting. "...I don't have a girlfriend."

"Right, the woman you spend every waking moment with but aren't dating." Toji rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want to call her."

"She's my friend."

"Uh-huh." Toji's tone was deeply skeptical. "And this is... what, a booty call you text constantly, have dinner with multiple times a week, and apparently think about enough that you can't focus on my very important story."

"It's definitely not like that with her."

"Then what's it like?"

Sukuna considered how to explain it. "She's... I've just known her for a while, we just talk. About anything. Like I'm talking to you, but..."

"But she's a woman."

"That's not what I meant."

"But it's true, isn't it?" Toji leaned forward. "Look, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with having female friends. But the way you talk about her... man, that's not friendship. That's something else."

"No, seriously, we're just friends."

"Okay, fine. Let me ask you this." Toji finished his beer, signaling for another. "If she called you right now and said she met someone, that she's in a serious relationship... how would you feel?"

The thought made some surprising feelings twist in his gut. "I'd be happy for her."

"Bull. Shit."

"Nah, you don't get it, I would-"

"You'd be devastated. Don't lie to me." Toji accepted his new beer from the bartender with a grin. "I've known you for years. I can tell when you're full of shit."

Sukuna was quiet, turning his own beer in his hands. "It doesn't matter how I'd feel. I'd be happy for her to find someone good after all this time."

Toji pauses, "And you don't suppose you could be that person?"

"I know I couldn't." Sukuna's voice was suddenly firm. "Toji, I was married, you know that, I'm divorced in my 20's. I'm fucking around with random women all the time. You really think I'm in a position to offer anyone a real relationship?"

Toji rolls his eyes, "Ah, not this shit again, you know, I think you'd be ready if you just let yourself be."

"You, Toji, really are not one to talk."

--

Spring, the next year

"What exactly is it that you do with these women? You just get up out of bed and leave?"

You're sitting across from him at the burger place that reminds you both of your old college town. Sukuna is adding ketchup to his bun as he shrugs, "Sure."

"Well, explain to me how you do it." The man raises his brow as if your request made no sense. You continue, "What do you say?"

"I say I've got an early meeting or an early haircut, an early tattoo appointment, who cares-"

You stop him, "You don't take meetings. You said the one thing you like about your job is that you never have to sit through meetings."

He puts a finger up, taking an egregious bite, "They don't know that, they've just met me."

You just stare at him with your mouth agape. Sukuna begins to grin. "That's disgusting." You shake your head and dip a fry into your shake. You always regret doing it; it's never as good as you hope it will be, never as good as it once was.

"I know, I feel terrible." He shows no remorse at all.

"You know, I am so glad nobody I cared about ever got involved with you. They just would have ended up being some other woman you got up out of bed and left at 3 o'clock in the morning to the excuse of..." You fish around for something, "...needing to mow the grass- mind you, you don't even have a lawnmower- not that they would know that."

Sukuna chuckles, stealing one of your fries, "Why are you getting upset? This has nothing to do with you."

"Yes, it does." You say matter-of-factly, setting your smash-burger down. "You are an affront to all women you come across, and I, believe it or not, am a woman."

The man before you sighs, "Hey, I don't feel great about this, but I don't hear anyone complaining."

You scoff, "Of course not, you're out the door too fast."

He turns as if to look agast at the other customers, a silent audience who weren't listening, then he looks back at you, pauses strangely,

"...I think they have an okay time."

You meet those eyes, his ego always has this way of bugging you, "And how would you even know that?"

"What 'dya mean, how do I know? I know."

"What?...because they..." You flounce about for the word, shaking your hand about, but childishly, you can't bring yourself to say it.

Sukuna shakes his head, seemingly amused, "Yes, because they..." and he waves his hand around, mocking your own unconscious movement.

He's actually starting to bother you now, "And how do you know that they're really-" You waggle your hand again, and Sukuna stops you by grabbing it in his fist, laughing now.

"What are you saying? That they fake their orgasms?"

You yank your hand away, and a crawling feeling shivers over your neck. You lean back in your seat to look at him. You shrug. "It's possible." You don't say what you're thinking, which is (based on your own experience) that it's more likely than not.

Sukuna chuckles and hits the table this time with his palm when he tries to choke his laugh; it catches the attention of those at other booths. "Get out of here." He cackles.

"Why?" You bend your face to try and catch his eye as he goes in for a big bite, "Most women, if not all, have... absolutely done it."

"Well, they haven't faked it with me." Sukuna's voice has finality in it, like he wants this conversation to be done with now, but his behavior is actually bothering you now.

"How. Do. You. Know."

Sukuna grabs a napkin and wipes his fingers, holding your gaze for a long moment before simply, "Because I know."

You're now officially too annoyed to actually carry on, so you just huff, deciding to let it go. But, like he usually does when you give up on things like this, he just refuses to let you. "What? You don't think that I could tell the difference?"

You shake your head, wiping down the table a bit unnecessarily before mouthing a silent, "no".

"Get out of here." He just shrugs, like it doesn't bother him.

You're not sure if it's because he doesn't care about all those poor women he takes to his bed, or if he really just has that enormous of an ego.

--

Almost Winter

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, hear me out." You passed Sukuna the bread basket across the table at your usual place. It had finally become the case that you were sick and tired of hearing about his late-night escapades, and it just so happened that your co-worker, Fushiguro, was into his type.

Large, a bit broodish, and good for a chat. "She's perfect for you. She's also a physical therapist, so she's into fitness like you are. She's funny, she's stable, she's-"

"Not interested." Sukuna hummed taking a piece of bread just to have something to do with his hands. "I don't need you setting me up."

"Why not? You need to date someone seriously. This fuck boy stuff really isn't doing you any favors. Trust me, she'll like your tattoos too."

"Yeah, sure she will. You know what would help me?" He leans back in his seat, "You getting laid."

You nearly choked on your water. "Excuse me?"

"I'm serious. When's the last time you even went on a date? Like, an actual date, not drinks with coworkers that you pretend isn't networking."

"I literally do date, and what exactly does that have to do with my friend?"

"Name one guy you've seen in the last eight months."

You opened your mouth, then closed it. A while ago, you actually had tried to go out with a guy. The prospect of...liking someone, it had gnawed at you so painfully leading up to your evening that you almost backed out. Later that night, you were overcome with this frantic anxiety when he had reached out to hold your hand, something so small and simple. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to do it. Everything had been fine, but any emotional closeness he tried to bring seemed to trigger an ever stronger need for distance.

You never talked about it with Sukuna, which was weird because these days you told each other everything.

As of late, it became clearer and clearer that you were convincing yourself something was just wrong with every potential relationship that came along, you would go out of your way to find flaws in order to not grow attached. Every time, even with friendships that grew closer, when things began to get too serious, it's like you needed space. Your independence felt much safer than any vulnerability, and receiving affection -- to you-- was more vulnerable than giving it.

You had left early from that date, stricken with shame, and deciding never to talk about whatever this problem you had was, "That is so not the point. I can see you deflecting." You reply to the man across from you.

"That's exactly the point." Sukuna leaned back, arms crossed. "Don't tell me to go out with your girlfriend, you'll only be mad at me about how it ends up."

"Ew." You didn't want to think about what he meant by that.

He licks his fork, "I'll gladly take her out once you finally loosen up with some guy."

"Don't drag me into this." You sigh. Knowing that you would never allow yourself to be in a position to beg for fondness ever again. Maybe you were just frightened of abandonment, but something in you had changed with the humiliation of Kenji. Now, you were safe to never need another man again, and the idea of it had a confession coming out.

"You know," You grin strangely, "you were right all those years ago. I used to have a problem with chasing a fantasy, but I don't think I'm really interested in a relationship anymore."

Sukuna stops whatever he was doing. He squints for a moment, his brows coming together in a way you rarely ever see. There is a long pause before he says, "I didn't want to be right about that."

"Sure you did."

His mouth slightly quirks. "Okay, maybe a little, but not really."

You tap your foot, remembering how sweet Fushiguro (your coworker) had begged to meet your "beefy tattooed friend". You pulled out your phone. "How's this: I'll let you set me up if you let me set you up,"

Sukuna's eyes jump up from his plate. You quickly add, "and you have to take it seriously."

"That's a terrible idea."

"Scared?"

His eyes narrow. "Of what?"

"Of putting yourself out there. Of actually letting yourself like her instead of running away the morning after."

He squints at you, his jaw tightened, a little smile, a little ego, but after a long moment, he nods. "Fine. One date. But I get to pick the guy for you."

"Of course, you know I've already picked your date."

"Deal."

You shook hands across the table, both of you trying to ignore the fact that the gesture felt more like a challenge than an agreement.

Three weeks later, you found yourself sitting across from Toji Zenin, a guy Sukuna knew from work (and had told you all about). He was handsome in a conventional way. He had nice dark hair.

You liked dark hair. He also had a flirty smile and big hands; you should like him. He would have been a good catch, but as hard as you tried that night, you just couldn't seem to be at ease.

"So, Sukuna tells me you're into fitness too," you said, cutting your steak with precise movements.

"Mm-hmm." He pushed himself forward, chewing quickly before speaking, "Tell me a bit about what you do."

You launched into a detailed explanation of your latest team development project, and he nodded at appropriate moments while your mind drifted, explaining what an Executive Assistant even does. You wondered how Kuna's date was going. Fushiguro was a coworker, but also a friend. She was smart, funny, and also quite beautiful.

A part of you was distracted thinking about whether they would sleep together. If he would bring her to his place, if he had cleaned, how he would do it, if tomorrow she would tell you about how mean he had been, or maybe if she would say...something else...

The thought of it made you feel a bit weird. You hoped he didn't mess it up with her.

"Don't you think?" Toji asked, and you realized you'd completely lost the thread of conversation.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, the future of sports betting is pretty unsustainable in comparison to regular gambling, don't you think?"

"Oh. Yeah, for sure." You took a drink of your wine and tried to focus. How on earth had you landed on sports betting? "I've actually heard about the analytics of it...I'm pretty sure that stuff is more and more like slot machines..." Your words were getting quieter; you didn't really care to talk about this stuff, but then again, you wouldn't mind talking about it with Sukuna.

Maybe it was exactly what you had feared, maybe you just didn't like the fact that you were on a date. Maybe you were wrong when you thought you were over all this stuff. Maybe none of this would ever be enough for you.

Suddenly, you were feeling a bit upset, but it wasn't an angry feeling; it was much worse than that.

You blink hard, remembering how Kenji had looked at you when you said you wanted to be married. It had been after months of arguments; he was hardly home, he was always irritable, you never asked anything of him because it was too burdensome, you knew it.

He had said some variant of, "Fine, we will." He had sounded annoyed, and he had seemed to think it would make you happy.

You had felt like it should have been. But it hadn't.

This love thing just didn't work for you, you know that now. You had learned a long time ago that shutting down is the best response to any of these strong emotions, especially when you know they are coming out of nowhere. You know how to rely on yourself; you no longer wanted any kind of emotional support.

And now you feel silly.

"Well, the key is finding the right people, people who have like... mules, you know, that's where the long-term value is." He smirked up from his plate. Poor Toji, he hadn't done anything wrong, but you felt you needed to go now, slink off and apologize about whatever came to mind.

You nodded, letting him talk, though.

When the dinner came to its end, the two of you had officially slipped back to "polite conversation", and as you drifted nearer and nearer to the exit, you said some variant of, "I'll call you."

He smiled noncommittally, and you had a feeling he was aware you would not call.

--

Inside your apartment, you immediately texted Sukuna.

That was terrible, how could you do this to me.

He hadn't done anything wrong; you just wanted to tell him how you were feeling, and even though you knew you couldn't get into the details of why it would never work, you wanted to open the possibility for your next conversation. After a moment, you add,

How was yours?

And then,

Be nice to her

His response came quickly after, surprising you:

I'm always nice.

Followed by,

Ehh, leaving now. She's sweet, but not really for me.

You're so lucky I'm not banging her.

You sigh,

Please do not. Not if you're telling me she's not your type.

He "thumbs-up"ed your message, and instead of replying directly he offered,

Want to come over? I have beer.

You consider it. Something inside of you wanted to hear about his date. About what they talked about, what he had said to her, why he didn't think she was 'for him.'

Be there in 20.

When you arrived, he was already on his second beer, you curled up on your couch in the comfortable clothes you had quickly changed into.

"So, Toji was that bad, huh?" He asked, dropping down beside you, handing you a sweet cider.

You consider joking, but you can't seem to find it within yourself, "Not actually, no." You hold back on saying 'I wish it had worked', because it's not as if you had tried, "You forgot to mention he's a gambling addict."

Sukuna chuckles, "He's not."

"Could've fooled me." He chuckles again. "How was Fushiguro?"

"Beautiful." He rolled his shoulders back on the cushions, spreading his thighs out. If he still had shoes on, you envision him knocking them off and lounging like a jungle cat, "she laughed at my jokes." Sukuna shrugged, and you turned to face him. "Felt nothing."

You pause, "Nothing?"

"Nothing." He leaned his head back against the couch. "We had dinner, we talked, she's cool. And the whole time I just kept thinking..."

"What?"

He turned to look at you. "I kept thinking I'd rather be here." The silence almost killed you. What did he mean by that?

"Home." He clarifies.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning neither of you seemed ready to examine. But then his words were flowing out, "I didn't really... want to sleep with her."

That drew you up short, surprised you, "Really? I mean... You didn't anyway..."

"Yeah, I didn't." He pursed his mouth, adding, "It was weird to not have that expectation. I knew you wouldn't want me to. But it was nice all the same."

You didn't know what it was that he was saying exactly, "It's not that I 'didn't want you to', I just didn't want you hurting her."

"Right." He takes a gulp.

"There's no expectation to sleep with the women you're around, you know that, right?" It seems too obvious to you, but he scrunches up his face.

"I don't know, I'm kinda a slut, you say it yourself." And you do, but you wouldn't say it right now, not when you're being honest with one another. "I don't really know why I go out and do that shit."

"I mean..." You look out the window, because he wasn't meeting your eyes anymore, "I guess because it feels good?"

He shrugs, "I guess."

The truth was, Sukuna felt he had very little control over his own choices; he was a promiscuous guy, he had been in college, and he had been when he met his ex-wife. But when he was in a real relationship, he was loyal.

He hadn't even minded the fact that she would only show her affection with sex when they were together. He had loved her, he had loved being with her, had loved making love to her...maybe not so much in the end.

But he had loved when she loved him, though. No matter what.

"Well," you finally said, trying to keep your tone light, "at least we tried."

"Yeah." He had a lot of breath in his voice, his eyes were looking somewhere far away. "At least we tried."

People always talk about how those who fall into addiction do so to cope with a poor family life, or maybe a toxic relationship, a dissatisfaction with their current predicament, but that hadn't been the case for Emi. Maybe she had tried them for fun, maybe it was boredom, he could never really be sure; everything had fallen apart so fast.

It didn't take long before it bled into their relationship, taking its toll on her, making her... different. Everything about the two of them had always been passion, from start to finish. They had gotten married young, fallen so quickly into each other, but eventually the nights they shared had Sukuna feeling like there was this... well of affection he could no longer draw from anymore.

All too quickly, she only ever seemed to maw at his body like a hungry animal. Maybe it used to be fun, but he couldn't seem to remember that time.

He would stumble onto eggshells at first, but eventually, he had learned not to turn her down. One night, she had come home, her touch had been so slow and heavy, it didn't feel like her anymore. And when he placed his palms against her cheeks and kissed her so intently, whispering a questioning, "maybe not tonight?", she had just burst into tears.

And he just couldn't understand.

She was hurting so terribly, and it wasn't him, it wasn't her family; it wasn't even her job that she was getting closer and closer to losing, it wasn't anything at all, but to her, it felt like everything was caving in.

That night, he hadn't wanted to, but she made him.

He must not love her anymore. That's what she had wailed to him that night. She wept, but it wasn't true. He would do anything for her. Anything to make her know. And so he did it, to prove it to her.

It wasn't so bad. He had been much stronger than she was; she couldn't have forced him to do anything even if she tried.

The women at the bars couldn't force him into anything either,

Still, somehow, he felt this tight lack of control in his chest; he didn't like being this way. Sometimes he enjoyed it, sure, he liked pleasuring women, that had always been true.

But when he had been with her, he knew now that was when he started to crave it as if it were love itself.

To her, it had been just that.

It had been all the love she could give, and thus, all the love he received.

And that night, quietly drinking with you curled up on his sofa, Sukuna decided what he really wanted was to stop, even if it took some time.

--

Some time later, New Year's Eve

The party was everything you usually hated: crowded, loud, full of people you barely knew, making forced conversation while waiting for midnight. But Fushiguro had insisted, and you were trying out this exposure therapy thing, and besides, you'd also completely run out of excuses to stay home alone.

You were watching her across the room, mutual friends and strangers around, but in the moment, you're focused on how she's dancing with Kuna's friend, Toji. They looked so good together. It was funny how it happened. You and Sukuna's best friends might genuinely be perfect for one another.

You couldn't deny you were a little jealous.

It comes and goes in waves. You love your independence, but sometimes you're lonely, you refuse to rely on someone, but there's still this hole in your heart that wants something, something you refuse to give it.

You had been propositioned the night before, inviting you to a different party, but you had said no.

Recently, you started to wonder more and more about what your problem was. Even now, you were contemplating a graceful exit when you spotted Kuna across the room.

He was alone, holding a drink and looking about as comfortable as you wish you felt. When your eyes met, his expression shifted, his eyebrows raised, and he wiggled a finger in a "get over here" kind of way.

"Fancy seeing you here," you said, working your way through the crowd to his side.

"You weren't just about to leave, were you?" He handed you his cup without being asked, and you took a grateful sip, giving him a nod. "Say it isn't so. Let's get out of here?"

"God, yes."

You didn't discuss where you were going, just let him walk you through the quiet streets until you began to come upon a familiar park you both had visited these past couple of summers. It was empty at this hour, the playground equipment casting strange shadows in the streetlight.

You couldn't deny it. You and Sukuna were getting older.

You always felt like this during the new year, this panicky feeling you couldn't ever give a name.

Thank God, Sukuna was here with you.

The desires you kept hidden sometimes peaked their head up, but it was comforting to remember that you had him. You had each other.

The two of you walked around for a bit, and the outside air started to leave a chill on the back of your neck. Eventually, you came upon the swingset and took a seat.

Sukuna brought up New Year's resolutions, and you just chuckled.

Maybe the stress from the holidays was getting to you, maybe you had taken a few too many sips from his cup, but you said what you had been wanting to say for a while now. Honesty was always easier with him; you found it more helpful, too, with this new maturity he had developed.

"I just wish I wasn't like this... but I feel like I can never change."

Anytime you teetered on the edge of bringing it up, your friends would talk about how it wasn't a big deal, that you were just self-sufficient, but Sukuna didn't say anything. Not for a long while.

"Remember that conversation we had?" Sukuna asked as you both sat on the swings, the metal chains creaking gently. "In the car. About whether men and women could be friends."

You look over at him, his feet were firmly placed on the mulch, you stop the slow kicking of your legs, "Hard to forget. You were pretty adamant."

"I was wrong." He kicked at the wood chips beneath his feet.

"Am I getting deja vu or have you said that to me before?"

"I'm trying to say people can change, you know?" He pauses, looking at you seriously.

You felt so glad you could have someone like him. He just...understood you, he would listen without making you feel crazy,

"You think so?"

"I do...at least... I'm trying...you know that.." He sighs, and you turn back to look at him.

You know it's true. You've seen it. You pointed it out after Toji and Fushijuro got together because Sukuna doesn't go out to drink anymore, he doesn't bring girls home, or at least, he doesn't tell you about it.

And there was something so raw in his expressions recently. He spoke with less certainty these days, but somehow that made him seem more level-headed.

He threw his hands out of his pockets, admiring the winter air, "You know I can't imagine my life without you in it." You scratch the back of your neck, looking away.

That was sudden. What was he saying?

He didn't stop, "Talking to you is the best part of my day. Don't act like I haven't told you that before. When something happens, good or bad, you're the person I want to tell."

You pulled back from him mentally, unsure of how to respond, "Kuna..." You stand up and slowly pace away, requiring the comfort that it brought.

"And I know we said friends. You're my best friend."

You stop, how had you not expected this? You start to feel sick to your stomach, because deep down, you had always known this was coming; you had been teetering on the edge of it for forever, and somewhere deep inside you, you had hoped it could stay that way. Tucked away and safe. A dark fantasy you never shared even with yourself. Something, that in your moments where you were the most honest with yourself, you allowed yourself to find romantic.

"...I... you know I feel the same-"

"No, listen," He shakes his head like he's in pain. You stop pacing and face him. He's looking down at his shoes, hands in his lap, "Toji asked me something a while back, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

You watch as he leans his head against the swing's chain, staring, waiting for you to ask, so you do, "What did he say?"

"He asked how I'd feel if you met someone. If you got into a serious relationship." His hands tightened on the swing chains. "And the truth is, I genuinely think that it would kill me." He sounds like someone is choking him. He doesn't have enough air, even though he's heaving.

Sukuna purses his lips, shaking his head, "The thought of you with someone, it makes me want to....I don't even know." He sighs your name because you are starting to cover the sides of your head with your hands. "I want you to know you can be loved... like that. I want to see you safe and comfortable with someone, I want... I want to show you."

You couldn't breathe either. Exhaling, you dig your nails into your palm. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm tired of this weird thing we have going on. And because I want to tell you the truth? And because... I want to show you it can be good. That it doesn't have to be scary. I'm..." He shakes his head again, finally getting off the swing, running a hand over his mouth, "I'm saying it because I'm tired of lying to everyone. You know it. You have to." He's shaking his head, like he expects you to finish his sentence, "I'm in love with you."

Sukuna throws his hands up, a "what now" type of gesture, and then there is just the moon and stars in the space between you. Little puffs of warm air that are clouding the chilly night. He keeps going, maybe because you haven't said anything yet, and he needs to fill the space.

Maybe it's because you're hurting him just like you hurt everyone else who gets close. "...and I know that's probably the worst thing I could tell you because it ruins everything, doesn't it? but I can't-"

You take a step back, shakily breathing.

You're not some wounded animal, but he's looking at you like you might dash, a scared little deer.

"I really don't think it would have to be that different. We can be honest with each other, can't we? Haven't we been? I swear I'll do whatever you want, I'll be whatever you need. You know you can trust me....you know that."

In some deep recesses of your mind, you wonder if you would have ever allowed yourself to envision this happening. It doesn't feel real. Of course, you think, how had you not seen this coming?

It's scary, your hands are shaking, and every part of you is telling you to haul ass and get away from here, to text the next morning that the two of you were drunk, knowing he was dead sober, maybe pretend this never happened, to forget, or maybe, to never allow closeness with Sukuna again.

But louder than any fear, there's a crashing wave of realization that you cannot let that happen. With your wobbly feet, you tiptoe nearer, reaching for his hand.

He had been waving it around just a moment ago. You don't know why you do it, you just feel as though you should.

You and Sukuna rarely touched. It just wasn't really your thing, and he didn't mind. But right now, in this moment, it felt like the most correct response.

You stood up as straight as you could and closed the distance between you both and pulled him by his back into your arms. If you hadn't, maybe you might have actually sprinted. For a second, he froze, shocked, and then his arms came around you in turn, pulling you closer, almost painfully so.

He was trembling. How strange.

His grip was relentless on your body, cradling you so close that you wouldn't have been able to escape, unless you asked.

He felt like he must be breaking you; he knew how you got, how you just...couldn't let someone in, not if it meant love. So when you finally broke apart, he took the moment to rest his forehead against yours.

"I'm so sorry. I wish I wasn't, but I'm in love with you, and I need you to believe me,"

"I just..." And you're doing it all wrong; the words aren't coming. You love him, too. Of course you do, how could you not? He's the safest place you have. He's so worried, you're sure, that in telling you his feelings, he's ruining your safety, but as he holds you there, you realize he hadn't. Not really.

He cannot see your face, you look down, forehead no longer on his, tuck yourself into his chest, and hiccup some air. "You know I..."

And he's nodding, and his shaking hasn't stopped, so you try to speed it up. "No! No, I'm saying.... that I... oh, Kuna, how could I not love you?"

And you've crumpled to your knees now, but he's falling after you, as if he hadn't heard the words. Holding your shoulders, you gasp, "You know I'm horrible at this, I'm so bad, I could never be what you deserve-"

His grip tightens, he's frantically shaking his head, but he doesn't interrupt, "Damnit, Sukuna, of course I love you too."

And right there in the empty park, at quarter till midnight on New Year's Day, you feel a weight unlike anything you've ever felt come off your shoulders as Sukuna drapes his own over yours.

It hadn't been easy; the sickness did not depart, but at least you weren't hiding anywhere but his chest anymore.

The two of you sat there too long to tell, a stupid laugh or a mildly agonized whimper joining the quiet.

After a while, you pulled back a bit wetly just enough to see his face properly. "What do we even do now?"

"Well," Sukuna said, and he was being very soft, very genuine, wiping a stray tear off your cheek, "it's almost midnight. We could kiss at the stroke of the new year like everyone else at every other party."

And the idea of Itadori Sukuna offering you a kiss was genuinely so bizarre that you covered your warming face in your hands. You let your weight rest against his, and he takes it on completely, without complaint. In fact, for him, it's a great pleasure. You mutter into his coat, "We're not at the party."

"No...we're not."

In the distance, you could hear fireworks starting early, people too impatient to wait for midnight. It appeared Sukuna was too; his hands framed your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones.

But now it was just his cheek that had a tear.

"I'm not good at this," he said quietly. "It hurts to want you this badly."

"I know." And although it was different, you really did.

"I'm going to fuck it up, almost certainly."

"Almost certainly." You covered his hands with yours, for the first time, allowing an inkling of hope to bubble to the surface. "You know I will too."

Will. What a definitive word. So committed, but you know you meant it.

"We're going to be fine. We have been all this time."

He nods, and quietly, he feels like this might be a dream. "We have." He seems like he's testing out new words, trying them out on his tongue. "I want to make this official. I want you to know you can trust me with this. I want to be good for you."

You're shaking your head, and all you can utter is, "So long as it's you and me."

Perhaps it had been so frightening because the idea of losing him was so much worse, but it was Sukuna. You could trust him to hold this tender part of you. You knew he would take care of it.

When midnight came, you were still in that park. He had dragged you to your feet, and as if you were still teenagers, with an expression of anxiety and excitement, a gentle nod his way, he quickly bent himself to meet you, and a quick and over-too-soon peck was placed ever so softly on your lips.

You were so inexperienced, so repressed, the feel of him caused another swell of panic to crest, that perhaps it wouldn't work. And how terrible that would be. But then he was covering his face. A stupid grin barely hidden, and his presence alone soothed you once more.

Both of you were near laughter at the absurdity of it all. All these years of friendship, of circling around what you both felt, of pretending that what you had was simple when it had never been simple at all.

You wrapped your arms around him again, if nothing else but to feel his heat. Now that the seal was broken, it was easier to allow yourself this closeness. "You know," you said eventually, wrapped in the man's jacket as you both saw fireworks bloom far away. You're chuckling strangely, "What was that you said about men and women not being able to be friends?"

"Huh?" He's a bit dazed, "I took those words back."

"I think I recall you saying all those years ago," you leaned back, his arm automatically wrapping behind you, "that you would need a lover who is also a friend."

"...Did I say that?"

You're not so sure, "I think...I mean, it's probably for the best that we're so close."

Sukuna smiled, nodding. He grasped the back of your hand up to his face to press a kiss there. "Probably...When did you get so wise?"

You whisper, "I have a very smart friend who gives terrible advice but occasionally stumbles onto something profound."

His tone was teasing now. "I thought I got promoted."

You furrow your brows until, "Ahhh, wow....Boyfriend?"

"Almost sounds too plain," He pulled you closer.

You agreed, it sounded way too casual, you shake your head, smirking, the ease of conversation returning, almost as if nothing had changed al all, "Sukuna Itadori, are you proposing to me in a park at twelve-thirty on New Year's Day?"

He hadn't been, he was going to spin something about how perhaps friends were always more romantic than lovers, but he's grinning now, "Would you say yes if I were?"

You turned to look at him properly, at this man who had gone from an irritating stranger to your best friend to the person you couldn't imagine living without.

You hadn't expected his response, and you flounder a bit before just choking, "Ask me again in a couple of years."

His spine straightens up promptly, "Years?" Your eyes did not sway and he runs a hand through his hair, "Fine. Deal, I'll wait." He kissed your hand again. "Clearly, you know I'm good at that. But I'll have you know I'm never letting you forget you said yes."

As the two of you stand, walking back in the direction you came, you think about all that had transpired this night. Leaning against him, you smile, "Oh, I'm counting on it."

Around you, the city celebrated the new year, full of noise and light and promise. But in that quiet moment, just the two of you, it felt like the only thing that mattered was right here. The secret hope you'd both been searching for, the one that had been obvious all along if you'd just been brave enough to see it.

He had been with you this whole time. Sometimes love was friendship itself, and sometimes, the most important thing was recognizing when that couldn't be enough anymore, and having the courage to reach for something more.

They say when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

For Sukuna and you, that had started far before romance had joined the equation.

Only now, whatever the answer to the age-old question, you and Sukuna sadly never solved it.

this is lowkey unedited… I’m sorry :P

you got by closing your eyes at the scarier parts and subtly whispering to sukuna to tell you when it was over.

then the movie hit you with the most horrific, satan-spawned jumpscare imaginable.

you shrieked so loud the entire row flinched.

your hand jerked violently.

and your ice cream launched directly into satoru gojo's face.

silence.

then satoru yelling, “WHAT THE HELLY?”

suguru and toji snickered.

and suddenly you were crying.

partly because you’d just assaulted sukuna's friend with matcha soft serve after you'd spent a whole minute outside the theatre convincing all of them you weren't scared in the slightest before you'd gone in.

partly because that was some really good ice cream you'd just wasted.

partly because everyone was staring.

but mostly because that movie was fucking terrifying.

sukuna immediately grabbed your wrist and stood up. “aight, we’re leaving.”

you hid your face in his arm while his friends snickered behind you. humiliation burned hot in your chest as he guided you out of the theater, your legs still shaky.

outside, the cold night air hit your cheeks.

“sorry…” you mumbled miserably.

sukuna snorted. “it's fine, baby. gojo deserved it, he was being an asshole."

you whined, covering your face. "i wasn't talking about that!"

he laughed under his breath, but there wasn’t an ounce of cruelty in it. just amusement. then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, “i’ll take you home, yeah?”

you sniffled and nodded. “that was scary.”

“i know, babe. i'm sorry,” he opened the passenger door for you, buckling your seatbelt himself with surprising gentleness. “should’ve known that shit would freak you out.”

“it was my idea…” you hiccuped.

“i still shoulda said no.” he shut the door and rounded the hood of the car.

the few seconds you sat alone were awful. your eyes immediately darted to the rearview mirror. the backseat looked way too dark. you stared at it, fully convinced some horrifying demon woman was about to crawl over the seats and kill you.

the driver door opened and sukuna slid in and caught you staring.

“…you looking at your little friend back there?”

you gasped, “kuna, don’t SAY that!”

he barked out a laugh while starting the engine. “you want another ice cream?”

your watery eyes widened hopefully. “…yeah.”

“thought so.”

by the time you reached your apartment complex, you were clutching a drive-thru soft serve with both hands while sukuna walked beside you toward your door.

you were finally calm again.

until he kissed your forehead, patted your ass lightly, and turned away. “see you tomorrow, babe.”

terror immediately flooded your face. you grabbed his arm so fast he almost stumbled back.

he looked down at you with a blink. then sighed. “…should’ve expected that.”

your eyes welled up again. “y-you’re leaving?”

“nah.” he unlocked your apartment and walked in beside you. “just wanted to see your face.” sukuna lied smoothly.

you blinked. “…oh.”

“cute reaction though.”

you huffed at him before setting your ice cream on the counter. “um… i need to pee.”

“okay?” he said, lifting a questioning brow, not quite sure what this has to do with him.

you awkwardly twisted your fingers together before looking up at him nervously.

a beat passed.

then sukuna sighed the sigh of a man accepting his fate.

a minute later, he was inside your bathroom aggressively yanking the shower curtain open .checking the cabinets. looking behind the door.

“there.” he deadpanned. “no demons.”

you stood in the doorway anxiously. “is it safe?”

“yes.”

“…promise?”

“baby, if something attacks you while you piss, i’ll personally beat its ass.”

you considered that seriously.

“…okay.”

you stepped inside cautiously.

“stand by the door.”

“stand by the—” he repeated in disbelief, before he stopped himself with a long exhale. “fine.”

“and turn around.”

“baby, i’ve literally seen you naked—”

“TURN AROUND.”

“bossy as hell,” he muttered, turning around anyway.

“and cover your ears.”

he stared at you over his shoulder in disbelief. “why?”

"i don't want you hearing me pee!"

sukuna sighed slowly. then lifted two resigned hands to his ears.

“not all the way though,” you continued nervously, “or you won’t hear me scream.”

sukuna closed his eyes and covered his ears, “that all, princess?”

“mhm!” you chirped brightly, kissing his cheek. “thanks honey. you’re sooo brave.”

he looked up at the ceiling like he was asking the universe for strength.

“next time we’re watching finding nemo.”

supa kyoot dividers by my fave @anitalenia !!

perm taglist: @dreamydaredevil @paparaysstuff

he looked at you as if you'd asked whether the sky had always been blue. "no."

you blinked. "no?" you didn’t know what you expected to hear but it certainly wasn’t this. osamu had always been a good looking guy. as long as you remember he dated before you, he's also the perfect guy every girl wants, what does he mean he's never loved someone?

"no," he repeated simply. "like... no serious relationships?" you ask again. "had relationships." he says taking another bite of the sandwich but his eyes didn’t move from yours.

"but you were never in love with them?"

he shrugged. "didn't feel like this."

you stared at him. "wait."

osamu finally put down what remained of his food and gave you his full attention. "yer’ acting like i said something impossible."

"you're telling me that out of everyone you've met, dated, liked whatever i'm the only person you've ever actually been in love with?"

the confusion on his face deepened. "yeah."

"no, see, that's insane."

"why?"

"because people don't usually only fall in love once."

"says who?"

"says..." you gestured vaguely at the world around you. "everyone." he snorted. "sounds made up."

"samu." you turn your body to face his, the sun setting beside you two, glowing a yellow light on his face.

"hm?"

"how old are you?"

"thirty one." he shrugs, you know how old he is.

"you expect me to believe that at thirty one years old, you've only loved one person?"

his eyes stayed fixed on you, steady and unbothered in a way that almost frustrated you. "what?" he asked after a moment. "am i not the only person you've ever loved?"

you let out a short breath through your nose.

"of course not."

the answer came easily enough. too easily. you’ve lived a long life too. you have met many people, had many relationships, fell in love too. that's just how it is.

osamu went quiet.

"oh."

it was such a small response that you almost missed it. he nodded once to himself before turning his attention back toward the horizon. the sun had begun sinking lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that reflected against the water below.

"oh, come on," you said immediately. you shifted closer, reaching for his arm. "samu-"

he caught your hand before you could touch him, not rough but firm enough to stop you. "no," he said, still looking ahead. "it's fine."

"yer an adult" he said with a small shrug, trying for casual and missing by a mile. "would've been weird if i was actually the first."

"that's not what i meant."

"didn't say ya meant anythin'."

you stared at his profile. the slight tension in his jaw. the way he suddenly found the sunset far more interesting than you.

"samu."

"i'm fine."

you studied him for another moment before nudging your shoulder against his.

"for the record," you said softly, "none of them mattered enough for me to remember them the way i remember you."

"that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"it's true."

he looked back towards you again.

"hey" you murmured, almost embarrassed by the sincerity in his expression. "we're not teenagers anymore."

osamu reached over, his fingers brushing against yours before intertwining them together. his thumb rubbed absentmindedly over your knuckles. a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"yeah," he said softly. "i'm thirty one now and i have only loved you."

Your fingers curled on the door handle and you twisted it slowly, the lock clicking under your command. The air outside felt humid— no, hot even. It felt like the sun had decided to come a little bit closer.

And it smells . . . Awful. Utterly, awful. It smells like charcoal. Were the kids burning wood again? The second your foot stepped out, you were on the ground. Someone had sped past you frantically, screaming bloody murder, and hence, you decided that this wasn't just Shakkin-tori nor a normal forest bandit visit— this was actually real. And you weren't sure what to make do of the lack of information.

"Hello—" Your voice was futile, drowned under the crackles of wood and the mix of agony wafting around.

Your head turned frantically, hoping for anyone, anyone to just notice you this one time. But to no avail, nobody came to your aid as they were also busy with themselves. Families running, clutching onto their little ones as they fled the village only to be a cluttered, lifeless mess the second they try to escape any further.

The smell of metal whiffed into your nostrils, it doesn’t take two and two to conclude that it was blood that you were currently smelling. Especially with this whole fiesta, you’d think blood might have been the first thing you could smell instead of burning wood.

You could make out kids crying beneath all the terrified screams and crackles of burning wood growing louder. It was bound to happen to your safe haven so you stopped yourself from getting back inside— navigating your way outside all based on pure memories and instinct. Your movements were ran by adrenaline at this point, and you disregard the bumping made to the corner of your shoulders, refusing to let it push you down this time.

“Anyone?” You call out, your fingers grasping the air, quietly hoping for someone’s hand to hold yours and bring you to safety.

But nothing came. And you were left to be alone, walking down with your arms stretched out, you felt like a fool.

You stumbled over the hem of your kimono slightly and cursed under your breath, using one hand to grip the fabric and pulling it up slightly so you could step better. However, the lack of stretched arms to navigate your way only allowed you to crash into a wall— no, it sure felt like a wall, but you aren’t stupid enough to know that walls don’t make noises.

“Hello?” Your voice comes out meek and careful, a bit relieved that this was someone you could ask for help from, “What is happening? Hello?”

“Uraume.”

Who is Uraume? You don’t recognize that name anywhere and you surely don’t recognize anyone with that name inside the village. You staggered back, they must be the perpetrators. You turned on your heels and tried to rush away, only for a force to tug you back by your forearm.

“My Lord?”

“Seize her.”

Seize? You try to pull your arm away— keyword: try. When it failed under the touch of the person named “Uraume”, you reason out, “I’m afraid I do not understand what that means, what is happening right now?”

“My Lord, she lacks the knowledge of seizing. She is quite unlettered,” your jaw dropped in offense at the words strewn about you, “shall I discard her away and search for a different woman for you—?”

“I am not unlettered! Forgive me for lacking the vision to see what is revolving around me right now,” you muttered under your breath.

“Seize her. Drag her back to the shrine.”

“Ow,” you wince out, your hair pulled back roughly.

“Hold still,” you didn’t dare move at the annoyance lacing in her tone— you still have yet to know what was happening and who “Uraume” and “My Lord” is.

They had dragged you here without much fight from you. As much as you tried to stop them, their touch roughly screamed out strong and you weren’t brave enough to fight back. Not currently, to keep it short, “Uraume” had commanded a woman to hurl you into a quick bath so you’d look presentable.

“Why have they decided to bring in a blind girl? This is so troublesome,” she spat out, despite that, her fingers worked inside your hair, scrubbing it roughly, pulling the strands back.

Your wince and hisses of pain had gone unbothered by her. And you’d assume she worked under “Uraume” and “My Lord”. By her complaints, she’d rather be doing something else rather than bathing you. Mind you, you had the ability to clean yourself without help!

Don’t even start with the drying. She had used a rough fabric you couldn’t make out, it prickled your skin like needles; you try not to rip the fabric out of her grasp to do it yourself, but the curses she spat under her breath made you endure it. She had dressed you in a kimono, you assumed. The process equaled to the one you do everyday.

Although she had pulled the obijime tighter than how you do it, deliberately cutting the air slightly that you struggled to walk.

She pulled you along. No, she dragged you along her side and you complied. Before then, you’d stumble over wooden stairs she doesn’t inform you of until the sound the traditional shoji door sliding made you shudder. Once the door opened, the aura from the other side made your body felt lightweight.

The woman, you assumed, dragged you inside the room. Her hand lands on the top of your head, pushing it down. Your forehead kissed the rough tatami mat harshly at the force, and she murmurs under her breath; all hostility from before dissipating into one of fear and caution, “My Lord, she has been cleaned up like you assigned.”

“You may leave.”

Her hand disappeared from the top of your head and the footsteps fled, you internally screamed for her to bring you along. But, she doesn’t. The shoji door slid shut and you were left inside the room, on your knees. Slowly you brought your head back up from the mat, palms growing clammy at the silence.

“What is happening—?” Your question doesn’t vary from when they had found you roaming around like headless chicken.

“Silence. You are as of to shut your mouth when not given the permission,” someone solicited.

Again. You were offended. Surely they could have said it in a nicer manner, you fisted your hands on top of your lap. First, they had dragged you here. Second, made you shower with a woman who clearly doesn’t want to do it. Third, tell you to shut it when you needed closure.

“I have been stolen against my will,” you told in a matter of fact tone.

“Kidnap, I believe is the right term.”

“Yes. This is a crime. A felony. You will be severely punished for this,” you mutter under your breath, furrowing your brows, “they will put your head up on spikes and present it to the whole village!”

“Surely they wouldn’t go against someone who had vaporized your village,” you gasped in surprise, “and I made sure to leave the adults choked on their own blood. Who will have whose heads on spikes? I’d say not the adults.”

“I can’t tell if your naivety is laughable or pathetic,” the new voice, deeper, and hoarse made your head cast down slowly, “why so scared now? Where has that courage gone off to?”

The words were blown out of your mind. Whoever this was right in front of you smells of great danger and you weren't ready to deal with this until you've gotten your way around. A low chuckle escaped his lips at the sight of you so meek, "Uraume, show her the chambers."

Chambers? Your head snapped up, "Chambers? I will be detained?"

"Sleeping chambers," Uraume clarify.

You felt Uraume brush against you as they walked, you stood up slowly, trying to follow their footsteps; only to plant your face into the shoji door. A heads up would have been wonderful, you mumbled to yourself internally. Uraume kept his silence, watching you struggle with the fact that the Shoji door was on your way— they pushed the door wider for you to step out, and you did. our foot caught onto the sill of the door and your body jolted forwards slightly.

You would think that Uraume at least had the basic decency to guide you to follow them, but they had took a few steps ahead. No worries, you'd rely on your hearing for so long that you have grown accustomed to this kind of behavior. Your fingers laced against each other, following their steps and making sure that you hadn't lost them along the way.

"When you address him by 'My Lord', what is he? King of the forest? Head of village? Owner of a shrine?" You questioned in confusion, "And who was that lady? She could have been nicer to my hair."

"We do not do nice here. Be glad that My Lord has decided to spare your measly life unlike the adults there . . ." Uraume muttered back, turning around the corner.

Which you didn't hear. Hence, the loud 'thud' your body made as you fell off the end of the engawa, unknown about the sharp corner. Your palm dug onto the ground, little pebbles irritated the surface of your skin, digging into your flesh. A loud hiss escaped your lips at the sting and Uraume's footsteps close in, "This is quite troublesome."

"It would not have been if you had told me about that corner, Waraume."

"Uraume," they corrected.

"Uraume," you fixed.

They didn't help you up. You kept yourself stranded on the ground, one of the zori sandals you wore came off when you took a tumble and you had no idea where it had landed. After seconds, you brushed your palms onto the fabric of the kimono, tapping the ground to find the missing piece of footwear. This is humiliating.

When your fingertips grazed over it, you cheered internally, placing it upright. Uraume grunted, "Be quick, I do not have all the time in this world to wait for your tardiness."

"Tardiness? I am not being tardy. I need help, and nobody is willing to give me the help I needed," you grumbled under your breath, putting the sandal back on begrudgingly.

Uraume shuffled back onto the engawa, letting you climb back on yourself. This time, you try to keep quiet and put all ears up to listen to their footsteps, and you did. Horribly.

Uraume stopped right in front of a shoji door. Their fingers gripped onto the back of your obi, pulling you into a halt. They slid the door open widely this time, "This is where you will reside. You are to consume three meals a day —breakfast, lunch, and dinner— in the Ooku with the other concubines. They can be . . . distasteful, so keep your mouth shut at all times."

You stood there, "Ooku? Concubines? Surely your Lord wouldn't want a blind concubine, no?"

"He has not said anything about you being a concubine, a command is a command."

Uraume ushered you inside the chamber, "But I do not know when breakfast, lunch, or dinner is," your voice was timid, but Uraume isn't there anymore— They had walked away the moment you stepped inside the chamber, with your arms stretched out, you try to find your way around the room. It was spacious, maybe even bigger than your house in the village.

There is the cabinet. A dresser. A few tokonoma hung on the walls. An ikebana vase rested on the cabinet gingerly, and you hummed. Your fingers touched a circular handle and you slid it open— the oshiire, this was where the fluffy futon was tucked inside. And you touched the soft cotton based bedding, this was better than the thin mattress you used back at home.

Walking around the room, your shin bumped onto a small desk by the corner, a loud groan escaped in between your lips and you rubbed the area in the middle of your leg, "Who puts a table in the corner?" What a poor planning.

Like the usual, you only recognized it is nightfall by the time an owl began hooting right outside your chamber. The gargling in your stomach made you huddle down in pain, when was dinner? Right as you began laying down on the tatami, the door slid open.

"You are late for dinner."

"I don't know what is night. Or day. Or time at all. For one, the owls have been my night radar for . . . ever now," you muttered out, clutching on your stomach, "and I have no sense of direction. I do not know where the Ooku lays beneath all these walls and engawa. Nor do I know where the engawa ends," the reminder of the fall you took earlier made you grow annoyed.

Uraume blow out a soft sigh, they walked inside and lit the lantern by the corner of the room, "My Lord is requesting for your presence. The other concubines are not allowed to eat unless your presence is there."

"Is he supposed to eat with the concubines?"

" . . . Not usually," Uraume grappled onto your bicep, tugging you up, "it is an exception just for today."

"Why isn't he dining with his empress—"

"My Lord has no empress."

"Consorts?"

"No."

The walk to the Ooku is quiet. Uraume walked with purpose, often stopping to make sure you hadn't fall off the engawa like earlier— every time you fall back, Uraume stepped their foot once to notify his presence. You followed them down. And when the two of you reached the Ooku, Uraume took a good look at you.

"Make yourself look presentable."

"Do I not look presentable?"

"You look a mess."

"I am still presentable, am I not here to dine? I have no wants to woo your Lord," you smooth down the fabric of your kimono, puckering your lips slightly at how harsh their words are, "I am starving. I hope you served deer meat."

"Fish."

"Fish is delicious as well."

Uraume pulled the shoji door open, and the smell of food immediately caressed your nostrils. The smell made your stomach gargle even more, but you don't dare step inside— not when the whispers of the concubines made your stomach drop in a way not even the dread from the village did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, waiting for Uraume's next command.

"Step inside."

"Where?" Your whisper made Uraume grunt, they slowly grip the corner of your fingers, dragging you along the room. The tatami mat seemed to dig under your foot more as you walked. Before you could process it, they had helped you sit on the fluffy zabuton, right behind the table full of plates and bowls.

Sukuna's eyes watched you cautiously. He kept his mouth sealed, eyeing the way you sat on your knees on top of the zabuton, tucked to the right where a high ranked concubine should have been sitting. Instead, he had requested for you today. And his request was accepted in begrudging acceptance from the concubines.

Inside the Ooku, you sat there awkwardly. The whispers continue and you grumbled under your breath, you just wanted to dine in peace. A low voice came from your left side, "Eat."

The same voice you heard before. 'My Lord', you mumbled inside your mind. Bowls clanked, and you look around, tapping the table in search of your utensils. This was already humiliating as it is, but the fact that all these people have to wait for you to finish eating before being able to leave was even more humiliating— you end up discarding a lot of food just to make it all stop.

Uraume guided you back to your chambers under Sukuna's command.

You guessed a month passed by in a whim. You kept track of it, every single time the owls made their noise, you try to carve the walls of the chambers with a piece of sharp wood. The deep carve helped you counted the days you have been sitting here inside the chambers. It was ridiculous— the days passed by and every single thing in a day was always the same. Wake up, try to fold the futon, shove it back inside the oshiire as much as it could fit, shut the door and hope it doesn't bust, wait for Uraume to bring you to the Ooku for breakfast, bathe, dilly-dally, lunch, more dilly-dallying, dinner, bathe, bed.

"Dinner is served."

The walk to the Ooku was no longer awkward, you had accepted the fact that this will be your life from now on. 'My Lord'— or Sukuna Ryomen, you heard has made no attempt to talk to you at all, and you were glad. He was clearly occupied with the higher rank concubines, or that's what you assumed.

Exception for tonight, Uraume said. And Sukuna had been dining in the Ooku since you arrived here. Also, that explains why these ladies haven't been the nicest to you. By all means. Bath time was the worst, you wouldn't be surprised when one of your kimono pieces go missing, or your sandals, your socks. Even the soap. Or the wooden bucket you use frequently for water.

The constant bumps on your shoulder when you walked by the engawa, or the way you constantly trip on someone's foot as you walked by. They were doing a pretty damn good job at making you feel like chopped liver, not that you feel at home here anyways. You had no plan to get them to stop, nor do you want to be involved with the higher ranked concubines.

"Eat," Sukuna muttered like the usual.

Your fingers grasped the wooden chopsticks. You weren't a food connoisseur, but the cooks seemed to be in a mood to get married today— the salt made your throat ache, but you swallowed it nonetheless. At least the rice was delicious and it killed the over salty . . . everything.

"Uraume."

Every movement inside the dining hall collapsed. The silence is deafening and your movements stopped along with the others when Sukuna suddenly piqued out for Uraume, "Yes, My Lord?"

"Call the dokumiyaku."

The woman to your right speaks up, "Is there a problem with the food, My Lord?" her soft voice was wonderful— one of the kind you'd expect from a noble woman, although it would have been nice if her attitude matches the softness of her voice, "I'd say it tastes quite exquisite today."

Uraume went off and hoisted a dokumiyaku into the Ooku; you sat there, ready to shove your face inside the food, but your chopsticks were stolen right from your grasp at the last second, "I had not command you to eat, did I?" Sukuna's voice glowered.

You couldn't see his expression, but you stayed quiet. Sukuna faced the poison taster standing in fear right by the shoji, and he spoke out, "Taste this woman's food," he commanded.

And by woman, he meant yours. Everyone's eyes panned towards your platter of food. The only thing about this was somehow you were the only one unknown of all this, but you waited. You felt a presence right to your side and you scoot away in response.

"My Lord, there seems to be no problem with anything . . . Though," and then it hits you that the man was trying your food, your food. Sukuna had called a poison taster for your food for whatever reason he believed, "it is quite salty. A little more than . . . usual, and too much salt can cause complications to the body—"

"Hence, it is poison?"

" . . . If digested too much, yes."

"Uraume, discard the platter."

"My food," you mumbled, "surely I will be getting another platter, right?"

Sukuna grunts. He took a look at Uraume, gesturing to his platter as a hint to hand it to you, Sukuna hates human food anyways. Uraume complied, moving the platter onto your table. The concubines brows furrowed at the sight of his generosity— this was the first time Sukuna had done something as humane as this. The jealousy that had been brewing inside their heart boiled even more at the sight, the silence was there, but their hearts were noisy; sending knowing glances at each other as if to make sure every single one of them inside that room saw what just happened.

After Sukuna's command to continue eating, everyone continued. You chowed down the better tasting food and finished everything. How come he had notice something was wrong? Were your expressions saying too much?

Deespite that, you were thankful enough to finish the platter. Also, why does he have a poison taster? Aren’t curses immune to them?

A few months passed by slow, the concubines were being miserable. Especially the higher ranked ones, you would have thought mentions of them being pure evil were just myths— but they were right. You had been miserable all these months.

It started off small like a few months ago. Bath time problems. Missing clothing. Then it escalates to tampered foods, light framing. For example, last month, you had gotten framed for breaking one of the concubine's priced jewelry she custom made from one of the rarest gem in all of Japan. You took the judgement like a rock, with pointed fingers at you, you don't bother at all. Sukuna dismissed the problem, he doesn't sound like he cared enough to be bothered by a broken gem.

Or the other time another high ranked concubine told Sukuna about you somehow being a spy sent by your village to put an end to him. Sukuna blatantly shut down the ridiculous statement by saying he had killed every single person in that village and the said concubine was sent to the chamber . . . not for sleeping ones.

Sukuna doesn’t bother with measly troubles as this. Perhaps it’s the fact he was bounded to these women with lust— he has no problem throwing them away when they get too troublesome. Although, he did have to admit, you had done nothing but be troublesome for him.

Yet, you piqued his interest to the brim. Perhaps it is also the fact that you couldn’t see him that you were not spewing out words of disbelief. Most of his concubines fear him, they feared death. But you? You act like this was another trip around the village and lived life to the fullest.

He loathes dining in the Ooku, the concubines there —most of them— acted insufferable. The tone of their voice differ from the way they spoke to people of lower ranks. Now, Sukuna doesn’t bother with how they acted to the shrine maids or the workers, though his ears twitched every time he overhears them talking about you like you were just a hindrance to them.

The first time Sukuna laid his eyes upon your figure, he had been itching to kill you. To just slice you open and watch the crimson paint the ground like he did to every other people in the village that night, it took him by surprise that he had even commanded Uraume to bring you here.

These concubines were chosen by him, personally. Either that or . . . They had rightfully given themselves by their own want. Sukuna fixed his black hakama as he sat down inside his chambers, the darkness consumed him; and the only light were from the lanterns Uraume had forced inside the room.

“Uraume.”

“Have the concubines been giving that woman a hard time?” Sukuna questioned, shutting his eyes, “They will stop at nothing to get rid of that woman from the shrine.”

“Seems like the concubines are a bit . . . Envious.”

“Envy?” Sukuna questioned in amusement, he stared up the ceiling of his chambers, “Of what?”

“You seem to be favoring her.”

“That blind wench? Favoring? I’m just merely toying with her.” He scoffed.

“Mm.”

Sukuna grunted, “There will be time when I get rid of her— she’s utterly irrelevant and useless.”

Uraume hums softly, “She has no manners, no class, is never on time, takes long baths, mismtaches her outfits often, unable to take care of her looks, and is just . . . Terrible to look after. She is quite troublesome, I’d appreciate if you do get rid of that woman,” they finished in annoyance, “she go on about falling off the engawa and blamed it on me. How rude.”

“She lacks the vision.”

“And common sense.”

Sukuna leaned his chin onto one of his knuckles, his thought reeled back to the way you seemed to be all smiles despite the wrong-doings of the other concubines. He was right, you put no mind into the stuff that revolved around you right now and lived life like you always do— clearly, it shows how much you had been through to be able to accept these kinds of doings with open heart.

Uraume grumbled under their breath, “She lacks the knowledge of time. She lacks the knowledge of etiquette. She is quite the messy eater that even the maids get tired of scrubbing her outfits, it is about time that you get rid of her, My Lord.”

“It will come.”

A sliver of smile appeared on Uraume’s lips and they bowed their head down, “I will be waiting.”

You held back a light sneeze, idle on the futon. Your sleepwear tangled lightly, wondering how you were supposed to be sleeping in such complex materials— you thought of discarding them and sleep with just your skin on, but it would be shameful for Uraume to see first thing in the morning if you hadn’t wake up.

Your eyes were wide open, blinking. The darkness that covered your vision felt suffocating, and you breathe in softly and let the air back out loudly. Your back ached as the rough tatami dug into the futon. Today had been a bad day, you had managed to fall off the engawa once more when one of the concubines, you assume, had tripped you while you walked by.

Two, you spilled your grilled fish and didn’t get another one as change. You tried to complain to anyone. And three, someone had taken your obijime during bath time and you had nothing to hold your obi up. So, you walked towards your chambers holding up the piece of clothing your limbs turning into a makeshift obijime.

This was childish, you thought.

You stood up, the kosode faltering a bit and the oversized hakama Uraume gave to you were annoying. Not only were they too big, they had refused to change anything to fit you.

You slowly slid out of the room, tapping on the walls to navigate your way out. In all honesty, you were not supposed to be roaming out after dark. Uraume frequently goes on to check, but they stop after a certain amount of time— you walked down the hall, finding your way turning corners after corners trying to remember the directions to the garden you came across while exploring alone the other month.

“Running away so soon?”

You stumbled over your foot at the sudden voice and fell face first onto the wooden engawa, the pain registering seconds later into your nose and forehead. A hiss escaped your lips as you scoot aside, sitting on your knees, “Who is speaking?”

“Your Lord.”

“Sukuna?” You confirmed.

The no answer was an answer and you sighed, “How may I be as of help, My Lord?” You murmured out, rubbing the tip of your nose.

“You? Think I need help?”

“You might, which is why I am asking,” an amused scoff went past your lips and he raised a brow at your words, nobody dared to say that to him. Not even Uraume, “I was . . . Heading to the restroom.”

“Wrong direction.”

You freeze. He owned this place, of course he knew everything, a nervous laugh rumbled from the deepest part of your body, “Oh, it seems like I have made a mistake. Please, excuse me then, My Lord.”

He drawls out again, “You are quite the bad liar, wench.”

You retaliate, “Excuse me?” Had he just insulted you? Wench? Oh my goodness, if he weren’t so powerful, you would have your fist all the way up his bottom that it shows up when he opens his mouth! “Do not address me as such. I am not a wench.”

He scoffed, “You’re pitiful.”

“I am not.”

“All smiles under peer pressure, my concubines are giving you a hard time, are they not?” He hummed in amusement, adjusting his black colored kosode hanging by his broad shoulders, “I do not know whether you are being brave or foolish. You are a mere toy for me to enjoy, and until that enjoyment ends, I am to keep you alive and breathing.”

“And once it ends?”

“You will be discarded like every other person,” he spoke with such ease that it made vomit pile in your throat, you were kept here for the sake of his amusement while you were trying to stay alive, “nobody would choose a blind wench, not even humans. You would serve as nothing but a toy to anyone out there, surely you’d be appreciative of the royalty I give you?”

You gasped in horrid, “Appreciative? Over this?! You are insufferable, and terrible. Yes, you are terrible and disgusting.”

He barks out a rancid laugh, “That so?”

“Disgusting!”

You lift your hakama to prevent tripping and walked forwards only to step over . . . Nothing. And the tumble sent you face first into the ground below. Damn that engawa!

“Fool.”

Sukuna’s heavy footsteps began echoing as he walked around the corner, leaving you to complain on your own, blaming the hakama over your fall. The soil stuck beneath your nails as you pushed yourself up, holding the hakama in embarrassment. All that talk and you fall after, shame!

You stood there. The tremble in your legs stood you up there for a moment, graveling in your own shame. After a moment, you found yourself climbing back up onto the engawa, sauntering down the hall in continue to find the garden you accidentally came across some time ago.

Unlike the other concubines, you don’t care about that fiend. Fiend is the right word, he is now a fiend since you are a wench to him. How dare he degrade you like that? Even if nobody was there to witness it— still, how terrible of him. Maybe the folklore was right, maybe he is as terrible.

Ugh. You stomp your foot down on the engawa in annoyance. Not only did he manage to foul your already foul mood, you also did not find the garden even after an hour of roaming around endless corners, slowly lowering yourself onto grounds just to pat over the ground seeking for the familiar feeling of the bushes you touched and seeking for the slick rock that stopped you from toppling over the small pond.

You end up tangled under the blankets of your futon, angrily tugging on the warm sheet like your life depends on it. No, actually, you were channeling your anger towards Sukuna to the poor thing, cursing it under your breath as you kicked your legs in annoyance.

Before then, you had fallen asleep in fits of rage. The crease in between your brows deepened in your sleep, Sukuna plaguing your dreams. You woke up early like a fresh bucket of water had dampen you, earlier than usual. You slip out of your room with a towel and a change of kimono the maids had packed in sets so you wouldn’t mix the colors up— a warm bath without any of the concubines up felt like a breath of fresh air, you tied the obijime just right.

No missing sandals. No mismatched socks. You walked back to your chambers, tidying up the futon and shoving it into the oshiire as much as it could fit in. A low rumble of hunger reverberated and you held your tummy, sitting on your knees, waiting for Uraume to come fetch you.

And when they did, they were fairly surprised to see you up and dressed well. You feel their fingers curl around yours, pulling you out of the chambers. You trudged alongside them, entering the Ooku proudly. Chest puffed up, like you hadn’t been loudly cursing the pink haired curse into the sheets of your futon.

Sukuna’s many eyes panned to you, scoffing under his breath when you sat on your usual spot. Already reaching out for the chopsticks, “Had I given permission for you to eat?”

“I do not need anybody’s permission to eat,” yes, that was great, you thought already poking on the white fluffy rice in an attempt to rile him up.

And you sure did.

His brows deepened, “You dare defy me?”

“I dare!”

His concubines gasp in shock, surely Sukuna wouldn’t let you out of this alive. His maids and servants have died for various reasons— even the little ones, his outfit folded in a wrong way. Death. His room slightly dirty. Death. Caught shit talking him. Death.

Sukuna stared down at you, riled up. All while you were blissfully feeding yourself the warm rice. A delightful moan vibrating inside you, “This is delicious rice.”

Uraume blinked their eyes in surprise before actively trying to stop you. However, Sukuna waves one of his hand towards them, “Leave us.”

Uraume wastes no time ushering out the other concubines— some of them stifling laughter of satisfaction knowing you were in deep trouble after your stunt. They walked out elegantly, bowing down to Sukuna. You were blissfully unaware of the tremble on his shoulders, the way his nostrils fumed at your action.

“You dare shame me in front of my people?”

“In no way am I trying to shame you, I was just simply dining and appreciating how delicious this food is,” his arm swerved, hurling his platter of food aside. The loud crash echoed in the dining hall and you froze.

What the fuck just happened?

Your chopsticks hovered over the pickled radish on the side, the air blown out of you at the noise. Sure you were planning to rile him up, not to this extent though. You couldn’t see but the ominous aura he pushed out of him made you shudder in fear, the pressure on your shoulders added tenfold when his hand lands on your nape.

Oh, no. Is this the moment he crushed your neck and you die? Or is the moment he hurled you like he did to that platter? Or—

“You have the guts for someone who lacks the vision,” he spat out in annoyance, tone deep and brooding, “do you understand the position you are in? Know your place.”

“Respect is earned, if you do not respect me, I will not respect you,” you muttered out through gritted teeth, your chopsticks trembled from how hard you were holding it and you breath in heavily, “you dare address me as a wench, you do not know me.”

“I said, know your place.”

“I refuse.”

His hand clamped tighter on your nape, pulling your head back. You widened your eyes, “You dare—?!”

“Shut your mouth.”

You clamped your lips tightly shut at his command, briefly realizing how overpowerful this man is. You weren’t sure even 100 men could go against him. Sukuna leans in, his lips touching your earlobe, “You dare defy me?”

“ . . . No, My Lord.”

“Know your place.”

You stayed silent because you weren’t sure if you were to agree, you’d be able to keep your mouth shut next time. He’d surely have forgotten about this in a bit, no?

No. He doesn’t forget.

Patience and Sukuna don’t make a great pair, he has no time for patience. If he doesn’t like something, he gets rid of it quickly. Including humans, he has no single care for them. For him, they’re useless.

It was unnerving every time meal time rolled in because he has no idea what kind of stunt you’re planning. The concubines were surprised to see you still standing, they had even prepared tear works and nicely arranged compliments after the news of your death pass by. But, it never came.

Much like you did the other day, you continue to test his short string of patient. Sukuna waved at Uraume to drag you out of the dining hall before he takes a leave to blow his own steam off. Gosh, how can one measly human be so infuriating?

You have continuously succeeded in making him a fool out of himself. It was frustrating, at the same time, Sukuna couldn’t kill you. Not now anyways.

Hence the reason why he had arranged your meal time privately with him from today on. The concubines weren’t elated at the fact that Sukuna has yet again retracted back from eating with them— the reason he came in the first place was to keep his eyes on you anyways. None of the concubines mattered to him.

You were guided into his chambers, “Uraume? Are you sure you are guiding me to the dining hall? The walk today feels longer.”

“Shut it.”

“No. This is a felony.”

“What about everything in here is not?” Uraume snaps, sliding the door open and Sukuna was already inside, one leg up and his hand leaned onto his knee

You were sat next to Sukuna, reaching out for the chopsticks. Once again, that devious smile on your face plays out, “You never cease to annoy your Lord.”

“I do not understand you.”

“You are very stupid that you make animals look smart to me,” Sukuna rumbled, he watched you shove rice into your mouth happily in an attempt to rile him up, “you do understand that from now on you are to dine under my watch and my watch only?”

You froze. And he smiled in satisfaction, “Nobody would be there to assist you.”

A few moments pass by and you suddenly scrambled up, only to be tugged back down, one of his hands clamped onto your wrist, the other onto your ankle. They tugged you back ominously slow into a sitting position, you try to calm yourself in that fleeting second, “Why so scared now? Surely the courage is still left there as when you always shame me in front of the concubines?”

“Fiend!”

He rolled his tongue behind his lips in victory, “What is new?”

“Monster!”

“I have heard worse.”

“Ugly!”

“You are blind,” he deliberately copied a yawn out of people, leaning back to relax himself.

“I don’t need to see to be able to judge that you are ugly!” You point your finger accusingly towards him— no, to the space beside him that Sukuna coaxed himself to look at the space you pointed at slowly. A lopsided grin forming onto his lips, “You are wretched!”

One of his lower eyes shifted towards you, unnerving. And even if you couldn’t see, the shudder strikes you down once more, “Please, kill me now.”

“Careful of your wish, little wench.”

“Do it.”

“I’ll be your guest.”

You waited for the pain to hit, shutting your eyes. But it never did, and you looked around, it was still dark everywhere, of course. Had the action been so quick that you couldn’t decipher the pain before dying? Or had he not done it?

“For someone who dare to defy me, you seem pretty intent on dying, huh?”

How dare he! You narrow your eyes, “You are pulling laughter out of this,” he scoffed at your hypocrisy, he was doing what you were doing, “shut your mouth.”

“Or what?”

“Wretched fiend!”

He hums, “I heard you the first time you told me.”

Sukuna wanted to keep you for the fun of it longer, this was amusing.

“Uraume, does Lord Sukuna eat humans for a meal?” You questioned them.

“Yes.”

“ . . . Is blood equivalent to water for him?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“What a disgusting fiend,” Uraume’s head snapped so fast towards your way that they could only let their jaw clench as they guided you down the hall, towards Sukuna’s chambers.

Nothing had change much for the past few months, you continue to pull at his string and he continues getting angry. But he has made no attempts to kill nor to get rid of you, “My Lord,” Uraume greets softly, sliding the door open for you to walk in.

You no longer fear Sukuna. Sure, he was a menace at times, testing your waters of fear. But strangely, you had gotten used to that practical that it doesn’t bother you anymore— he can try all he wants to be scary, it will never work.

“Tell me, are you a virgin?”

You sputter out the rice towards . . . God knows where. Cheeks warming at the sudden question, “What kind of indecent question is that? I suggest you to shut your mouth this instant,” you scolded in embarrassment.

“I have two. Which one?”

Two!? You would have thought that a curse being not so folklore was shocking enough, but he has two mouths. No wonder he eats humans for a living and slurps blood like a vampire, “That’s . . . Odd. In a very displeasing way.”

Sukuna grunt, “I have four arms.”

“Four!? What else? Two heads and nose?”

“Four eyes.”

“What?”

He grumbled, “You are not deaf, no?”

“So you are a monster,” it wouldn’t have been the first time Sukuna has heard the term, he could care less about it, because he himself agreed to it. He is a monster, what is there to be ashamed of?

“That is right,” he boasts out, chest puffed out.

“You sound proud.”

“I am proud.”

“Nobody would be,” you mumbled, wiping your lips with the sleeve of your kimono in a way that made Sukuna groan out, “what are you groaning about?”

“Even I, a monster, have better manners.”

“I don’t care.”

“You are doing terrific at pulling the end of me,” he tells you, watching you eat your food soundly like another walk around the estate. Your eyes shut in delight as you took a bite out of the grilled fish, Uraume serves them everyday but you don’t seem to be bored of it— unlike the concubines who has the time to complain about it every time Sukuna was not around.

Every single one Sukuna has heard. He doesn’t bother to indulge in it.

“Also.”

His ears twitched, already annoyed, “Speak.”

“Why do you have a poison taster?”

“According to the name—” you cut him off immediately.

“I understand what they do, though, I’m curious because are you not immune to poison?” Sukuna blinked, you were right. He is indeed immune to poisons, he has no idea how long that poison taster has been living inside the estate.

All he knew was that he had one. Apparently, Uraume had hired one to look after the concubines, it would be a nuisance to get rid of every single body all at once.

“I leave Uruaume do the estate handling.”

“So,” you conclude, “you are lazy.”

Sukuna raised a brow, your appearance has trained him patience. Something he has not been fond of for as long as he lived, the way your words nonchalantly flow out as you cocked your head to the side, “No. I simply cannot be bothered to do all that, why should I do such things when I can lay back?”

“Lazy and deluded.”

“Virgin.”

You stammer out, “I did not answer that!”

“You are defensive enough to tell me the truth,” he plays your game, “virgin.”

“Stop saying such things!” You slammed the table, letting the dishes clatter against each other in unison, “And why are we speaking of my sexual experience!?”

“Curiosity.”

You angrily asked, “And if I am not a virgin?”

“No man would want a blind significant other, not only are you a burden— you are too deluded to realize you are a burden,” he points out and you got offended at his words because clearly it hits close to home. Once realizing the effect, he smirks, “and no infant would be honored to grow in that wretched womb of yours.”

You clenched your fists. “If I am such burden, then I should leave. Have a good day, My Lord.”

The lack of “terms of endearment” from you made Sukuna wonder, has he finally pulled your strings? He smiled in victory watching you stumble out of his chambers like a chased fugitive, walking away, even leaving the shoji door open widely. How adorable.

You walked down the engawa in annoyance, the indescribable ache in your heart bloomed even more. No infant would be honored to grow in that wretched womb of yours. How could he say that? If he were to talk about your lack of vision, you would have retaliated because it is something you couldn’t change— but to say something so harsh.

It was to be expected from someone like him. Still, it aches.

A few days pass by. You blatantly refused to come out of your chambers, Uraume doesn’t bother, less work for them to do. You sat there facing the doors, you had been doing some thinking. Maybe if you declined meals, Sukuna would eventually get tired and throw you out. Or even better, end it all for you!

Despite the growing hunger, you kept yourself sane. Sitting on the same spot, dressed in the same kimono, not moving an inch. Days go by, you’d go out every once in a while to fetch water and leftovers to feed inside the privacy of your chambers. Sukuna hasn’t said a thing about the lack of your appearance.

Of course he hasn’t. He’s a monster, he cares of no one but himself! What were you expecting, (Name)? For him to come by, drop to his knees, and start apologizing for his wrongs?

He’s a curse for gosh sake.

You crossed your arms over your chest. And you hear the shoji door to your room slide open, you part your lips, speaking the default sentence you have told Uraume for the past few days, “Uraume, I do not want to—”

“I am not Uraume.”

You blinked, “You don’t sound like them.”

His voice trickles calmly, “You don’t wish to dine in my chambers? As you wish. From today on, we will dine right here in your chambers,” your jaw slacks and clenched over and over at the conclusion he made, “any denial?”

“I refuse. This is my chamber.”

“This is my estate.”

“Still!” You complained like a petulant little brat, “I do not wish to dine with a monster. I wish to dine in this humble abode myself.”

“Denied.”

You gasped, “You selfish—”

“Uraume, dinner,” Sukuna commanded boredly with a yawn, waving one of his arms.”

“Uraume, no dinner!”

Anxiety tightens in your body. He had blatantly ignored your request and you felt assaulted, your safe space was getting bombarded by his ruthless tendency! You stood up, “I command you to leave my chambers this instant,” you point your finger out, body taut.

Sukuna glowered, “You dare command your Lord?”

“You are not my Lord.”

Sukuna stepped towards you, his fingers curled against your wrist into a lock. And your facade falters against his touch, this was back to square one in a flesh— when you had anger him for the first time. The heaviness weighing in your throat grew and then you blow into fits of coughs, all the words caught up in a second. Sukuna pushed your wrist away from pointing at him, “You will dine with me, whether you want it or not. I will force feed you like a bird.”

“No.”

“You are confident the second my touch disappear,” he points out, his hand already hovering right above your throat, ready to pounce, “have the courage to say something with my touch.”

“I can too.”

And his fingers curled over your throat, pressing the sides of it tight enough for you to start gasping for air, “Let me go,” you manage to choke out before he lets go of your throat with a low chuckle, “you are sick in the head, Sukuna.”

“My Lord,” he corrects.

You blurt out, “You are no Lord of mine.”

Sukuna again, chuckles at the answer. Never in his years of life have he ever met someone as stubborn as a mule like you— oddly enough, he couldn’t find the heart to slice you open like he does to anybody else. The heart. What an odd thing to say, he doesn’t have a heart at all.

He’s utter crazy. If crazy had a definition written out, you’d see his name as an example. You stood there before sitting down on your knees. Sukuna sat down next to you; awfully close to you, the musky smell of earth clung onto him, and for once, you wondered if he bathes constantly or if it is just how he smells daily.

No men could smell that good with no bath. Right?

“Are you going to feed yourself or do I need to do the feeding for you?” He questioned, too daring. You know everything that comes out of his mouth was practically something he would do, and you somehow tested the waters once more.

“I am not hungry.”

“I can hear your stomach growling from three rooms away.”

“Do you have four ears too?” You annoyedly asked him, keeping your hands glued onto your lap.

Sukuna shuffled slightly on his spot. He notices the devilish crinkle by the corner of your eyes, as you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, “Do I?” He hums softly. Puckering his lips, Sukuna stared down at you.

The way your feet shifted constantly under your weight, the way your fingers curled and uncurled. Or the way your eyelids flutter slowly, lashes batting against your skin. Your lips pucker and pulled back, waiting for his next move.

Gosh, Sukunq has never felt this annoyed. He’s a curse, he shouldn’t have feelings. For a mortal at that— he wiped his palm over his face, sobering himself up from the plaguing thoughts of you, “Eat or I will force it in you.”

“I said, I am not hungry.”

Your lips part to utter more complaints to him, but before the words could leave the tip of your tongue, Sukuna shoved a piece of radish into your mouth. Your jaw clamped shut, and you began crunching on it. The sour sensation bursts in your mouth like an explosion, it’s been days since you took a bite out of the pickled radish.

“It’s . . . Delicious.”

Sukuna scoffed, “Uraume is a good cook.”

“You made them cook?”

“For us. The concubines has too much time to tamper on your food,” he muttered under his breath, “are you going to dine yourself or do I have to feed you?”

“I don’t know,” you tease, “I do not feel like eating myself.”

Sukuna scowled, “You are making a fool out of me.”

“You gave the choice. I answered. You made a fool out of yourself,” you nonchalantly replied, “also, oh no, I struggle with my chopsticks. I think I will need help.”

“Uraume,” Sukuna calls out.

You stopped him, “I can eat by myself, My Lord.”

“I thought so.”

The fact that you’re still alive right now is a miracle. Sukuna had been stuck to your side for ages now— counting 6 months, according to Uraume. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem to mind your presence at all.

Meals have been more relaxed. The teasing added up (on your side). Sukuna hadn’t let his concubines get away with fucking with you, his four eyes have come in handy with keeping tabs on you. Especially during bath time. He doesn’t follow you in, you had reprimanded him once for trying and he stopped.

Surprise.

From then on, he stood outside the bathe house. Arms crossed, concubines wonder what business he had waiting here. And were quite surprised when they find out you were the one he was waiting for— Sukuna commanded Uraume to get you the finest jewelries from all around, the finest fabrics to tailor into home wear, and the finest dine in experience.

“My Lord, do you not think that you are giving too much attention to that blind bitch?” One of the higher ranked concubines questioned in a sultry tone, her slender fingers rubbing Sukuna’s shoulder in a way he doesn’t enjoy.

In fact, he hasn’t been in bodily contact with any of his concubines even if they had indirectly suggested so. He brushed them off like they don’t matter more than a leaf on the ground, “Dare to repeat that?”

“We are neglected,” the other spoke, red kimono flowing elegantly along the tatami mat, “it is quite unfair for her to receive all your attention, and she isn’t even a concubine. Surely, you wouldn’t want to make love with . . . That.”

The way they spoke of you made his blood boil, but he kept his composure calm. Sitting there with two of them latched by his side, fingers tracing the shape of his chest languidly— their eyes screaming ‘make love to me, My Lord’. However, he paid no interest to them. Their fingers traced lower than he liked them to, and with a simple shrug, they were strewn off.

“I have no interest in making love with any of you.”

“My Lord—”

There was one thing he hates more than humans and that is weak humans like such. With a flick of his hand, the hall was blood filled. No screams of agony were fit in before these women’s lifeless bodies dropped loudly. Sukuna brushed his outfit, the splatter tattered his hakama, eliciting an annoyed grunt.

He wastes no time walking out of the chaos, Uraume eyed the condition of the room and instantly understood, “Get rid of them.”

“Understood, My Lord.”

“Inform me of (Name)’s presence.”

“She’s currently in her chambers, she had requested to be brought to the garden today . . .” Uraume bows his head down, retreating into the bloody hall. It wasn’t the first time they had to clean over Sukuna’s mess, and they know it wouldn’t be the last. To think that his Lord would do such things for a mortal was surprising, even surprising is an understatement.

“I will assist her,” Sukuna grabbed the napking Uraume offered, “get rid of the living concubines as well, I have no need for them anymore.”

“Get rid of them?”

“Kill them all.”

Sukuna took the fabric in between fingers, scrubbing off remnants of blood that etched onto his skin. His thundering footsteps echoed along the hall, the engawa shuddered under his weight as he sauntered down towards your chamber. He cleared his throat, sliding the door open.

There you were, sitting in the middle of the room. On your knees and fingers laced against each one of the other, he huffs at the pitiful sight, “Do you await for Uraume’s presence in that position?”

Hearing his voice made a small smile pop up on your face, your head bobs slowly, “I occasionally bump onto the furnitures here, and it doesn’t leave the most un-painful marks. I would rather sit here and wait.”

“Surely, you could have said something.”

“And bother Uraume? As much as I love bothering them with my constant nagging, I do feel somehow . . . Emphatic,” Sukuna blinked, his bottom pair of eyes looking around the room. Neatly made up, he had commanded Uraume to have the maids clean your room every morning during breakfast, “where is Uraume anyway? They are supposed to be assisting me to the garden.”

“Uraume is caught up in . . . An important matter as of currently,” the lie smoothly rolled out, “so, I will be assisting you today.”

“Really? I do not take you for a garden type of person— curse,” you correct yourself last second with a teasing smile.

Sukuna couldn’t hide the tug of his lips, he cleared his throat, “Shall we then?”

The invitation elicits a question, “Do you have your hand out? Because if I must remind you of the lack of vision once more, I will walk out by myself into the garden.”

“And fall off the engawa again?”

“I haven’t fall off in a long time,” you rolled your eyes, trying to find his hand, “and nobody cared to give me precautions over the estate’s turns. Am I supposed to learn everything by a miracle?”

“I would not let you fall.”

“How can I trust a curse?”

“By letting this curse prove you so,” you hummed when the warmth of his hand engulfed yours, slowly pulling you up onto your feet, “shall we?”

“I am unused to you acting so . . . Humane, it is quite odd,” you whisper out so softly that you couldn’t even hear it, almost.

His hand, so rough. Used to kill, used for the negatives of the world, now felt so little under your touch. The lingering warmth he felt under your fingertips made his chest flutter— he is a curse, he should not be getting attached to a mortal. In a way, he was signing up for heartbreak and heartbreak means weakness.

Sukuna and weakness don’t sit well together.

He averted his gaze out to the greens of his estate, guiding you around the corner, making sure your steps aren’t overlapping each other. Despite the brewing dilemma, he still handled you with care. Care. Odd feeling, his lower pair of eyes discreetly pan towards your form. Your dull eyes staring forward. If he thought about it, somehow be would love to thank your lack of vision.

Sukuna isn’t entirely attractive. To humans, at least. Two pair of eyes, two pair of arms, two mouths? For all he knows, even the concubines spoke ill of his appearance— they fear for their lives, and in his eyes they were just a flock of chicken prying for safety by going with the flow. The disarray look they had when he chose them proved enough. Pathetic.

"We have arrived," he announces out loud, "watch your step."

You took small steps on the wooden stairs leading down into the garden, his fingers curled against yours as guidance, "My Lord."

"Yes?" So soft, so unsuiting. He thought to himself, but the sight of you just made it come out.

"I do not know much about curses and their . . . Bathing schedules, do you not realize that you awfully smell of . . . Blood today?" Ah, yes. He swallowed slowly, his thumb caressed the back of your hand unconsciously, "do not get me wrong, usually you reek off earth and incense. Today however?"

"I heard you the first time, do not elaborate further," he hushed you in annoyance, "I killed the concubines."

You freeze. "Why?"

"That is what I do," he lied again, looking up at the sky. It was already a big blow to his ego that he dissected his concubines because they spoke ill of you— he does not need to elaborate further than that, no?

"I am sensing lies," Sukuna tightened his grip on your hand, "I don't want to pry."

Curse this. "They spoke ill of you," he fessed up, looking around the estate, "nobody speaks ill of you, but me."

"You are weird." So weird.

Sukuna grunt, "Am I now?" The teasing in his voice echoed softly into your ears. This is so unlike him at all that it scares you, the warmth in his voice differs from months before and you inhaled softly.

"I am a bit scared."

"Of me?"

"The new you."

Sukuna watches you step deeper into the garden, his steps followed behind yours slowly. Two pairs of eyes constantly looking left and right for any danger that lurked even in the estate, "Why do you attract yourself to such places as this? Quite boresome."

"It smells nice in here."

"Nice?" The sweet smell of flowers made his throat ache, it us anything but nice in here. But he held himself back from ruining the moment, arms crossed tightly.

You took small steps along the path, limbs stretched out to touch every single thing around the garden. Even if you have been here so many times, you were still one curious being, "Do you know what flower this is? Any knowledge?"

Sukuna spared a glance at the flower, "That is . . . A pink flower," he answered.

"I understand if you do not know the name of it, it has a funny shape," you touched the soft petals of it, and Sukuna's jaw slacked at the shame of not knowing his own flowers, "I like this one. I like this flower. Uraume is also quite clueless about the flowers around the estate. And they get pretty annoyed when I ask about it all the time."

You inhaled close to the flower, "Although I find it odd that it has no particular fragrance like other flowers."

Sukuna watched you from a good distance, the delicate touch against those flowers. And he took a good look at himself, the bloodied hakama, the way he looked. Surely, you wouldn't like how he looks . . . He remembered the shock on your face when he told you about the extra features. Monster. Fiend. Disgusting. It should have not bothered him that much, it didn't back then. But now that he's seen you in a different light, it does bother him to no end.

"My Lord."

"Mm?"

"I am ready to head back now, I think I'll ask Uraume to plant more of these flowers," you mumbled the first part to him and the rest to yourself, trying to find yourself back to him.

Sukuna lets you navigate on your own. And when you grasp his girthy arms, he felt himself relax, "Then we shall head back," he muttered, hiding the lower pair of his arms behind his back.

“Uraume.”

“My Lord?”

Sukuna looks out the window, grunting out softly, “I need a re-decor on that woman’s room, she keeps getting herself into trouble,” he muttered out, his eyes tracking down the birds flying around the estate, “and that pink flower in the garden. Plant more of those.”

Uraume raised their brow, “A re-decor?”

“A re-decor is what I said,” Uraume nods their head, unable to fight back. They had felt the softness that shaped around Sukuna gradually along the months, and as much as Sukuna tries to keep his sharp facade around you, Uruame isn’t stupid. They didn’t need long to put two and two together.

The curse, Sukuna Ryomen is in love with a mortal. Sukuna and love don’t go together, everyone knows that.

“I understand, I will have someone do a re-decor on her room,” they retracted away from Sukuna’s chambers, “and the flowers.”

Uraume lifted their gaze, the estate has been serene. Sukuna has not been furious once ever since you, he has been . . . Patient. Everything Sukuna isn’t— well, he is now. And it’s extremely odd! Swallowing back their words, they walked down the hall, feet slowly bringing themselves towards your chambers.

Following Sukuna’s orders, they had got rid of any living concubines from the estate. So, the estate was void of anyone besides the maids and well . . . You. Though, you were clueless of it. But you do wonder where all the concubines have went since you haven’t been exactly losing anything in particular.

Uraume slid the door open, expecting you inside. However, your chambers void of your figure, usually sat neatly in the middle waiting for them. Uraume furrowed their brows, “(Name)?”

“Uraume?”

Your voice came from outside. They tracked you down immediately, finding your form hunched over a bush, “I have fallen and I need help,” you tell them. Uraume took a good look at you hunched over the thick bush, green leaves stuck to your hair and outfit, you were a mess.

“How long have you been stuck there?” Uraume swallowed back a laugh.

“I do not know,” voice ripe with sheepishness, you wiggled your legs, “I cannot tell, I have lost count of it. I felt the need to guide myself to the garden alone today, but of course, this happens.”

“How have you managed to take a tumble?”

“I have fallen off the edge of the engawa yet again.”

Uraume had wasted no time informing of the matter to Sukuna right after they helped you up, brushed the leaves off your kimono, and made sure you spent a good time in the garden.

“(Name) has taken a tumble.”

Sukuna’s head panned up. He was quiet briefly, “The engawa, again?”

Uraume hums softly. “Yes.”

“Re-decor the whole estate,” he bluntly spoke, surprising Uraume mildly, “as fast as possible.”

So the whole redecorating begins, and as much as the maids and Uraume tries to keep their mouth shut about it. There will come the time when you find out the strongest curse has told the whole estate to shut their mouth about redecorating everything to favor you.

“Uraume,” you call out. Oddly enough, Uraume had moved you to a different chamber, much emptier, futon neatly folded and there weren’t any sharp corners at all. However, they did tell you this would be temporary.

It all started making sense when the maids would announce you about being careful around new things around the estate you do not remember anything of, “Mm?”

“Why has the estate change?”

You started the interrogation slowly, wanting Uraume to think you were this stupid and clueless woman asking innocent questions. Uraume grunted softly, “My Lord thought it needed some . . . Changes.”

“It is very (Name) friendly.”

“There is no point in fooling her anymore, she is not stupid.”

Mustering all the courage, Uraume turns their back to face Sukuna. His black hakama hung loose. Bare body, thundering footsteps, “Fooling me? You have been fooling me?” You gasped dramatically, throwing your hand over your mouth.

Sukuna glances towards Uraume, signaling for them to leave. And so leave they did, rushed footsteps leaving you behind. Sukuna’s hand brushed against the small of your back, guiding you back to your chambers. Your newly re-decorated chambers— very you, very carefully made, “I assumed you have done something to my chamber?”

“You assumed right.”

You blinked, “Tell me what is new.”

Sukuna’s eyes traveled around the new chamber, “Everything is new.”

“Which are . . ?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw before he spoke, “I made them rid of what could have been dangerous for you. Which were everything, the oshiire stays in the same place— I have made the maids search for the finest futon. They installed cabinets right here,” Sukuna’s hand brushed against yours, pulling your hand to touch the cabinet, “the corners are dull, hence, you would not hurt yourself,” he was right, the corners are dull, so dull that it made you stood there in awe.

“I had them move further into the chamber, so you would bump into them less, I hope.”

“You are quite kind.”

“Kind?” He scoffed, only to you.

A hum came from you, less convinced. You began making your way around the chamber, “Why?” Your one word question managed to rent the curse speechless, because he was internally asking himself the same thing, “Why do you go out your way to do this for me?”

“Courtesy.”

“Since when do you care about courtesy?” You questioned slyly, “The Sukuna caring about courtesy? I would think that you are excusing yourself, but truth to be told, I had not expect to still be alive by now.”

“Why would you think as such?”

“You said so, once I put up no use— I am a gone woman.”

The atmosphere shifts, he remembers clear as day. The words. Everything he told you in the past, “I misjudged you then,” he spoke, clearing his throat awkwardly, “it feels odd . . . Doing such things for a mortal. Believe me.”

“I believe you.”

Sukuna lets out a low chuckle, “Fool.”

“The garden has changed as well.”

“I commanded Uraume to plant a lot of the flowers you seem to like,” Sukuna replied, “I have learnt about it. They are called camellia. Do not question where I inherited that information.”

“Where have you inherited that information from, My Lord?” You asked him anyways.

“From the scrolls.”

“You ventured the scrolls for me,” your conclusion made his body jolt. His fingers tightened a fraction around yours, “that is very nice of you.”

Sukuna huffed, “I am a monster, I am not nice.”

“Did they tell you that?”

Sukuna raised a brow, “I announce myself as such,” he dragged his hand up towards your arm, “I am quite glad that you lack the vision to see me. I am hideous.”

“Do you announce yourself as hideous too?”

“The mortals address me as such,” he scoffed, “at least I am powerful.”

Your smile faltered. For a beat, you were quiet, unknown of what to say. But you start parting your lips, “May I touch your face? I’d like to feel what my kind concludes as hideous.”

Sukuna freezes. He contemplates, but at the end, he hunches himself in front of you slightly, “I suppose,” it comes out a timid whisper and you pat down his hair first— the thick strands of his hair, the maids spoke of how thick they are and how beautiful his hair is. It is soft under your touch, and your fingers grazed over his forehead.

“Big forehead,” you bluntly spoke, “people of my village wanted their offspring to have big foreheads because they symbolized high intelligence. I suppose they are right about it.”

Then your fingers grazed over his shut eyes, you remembered his revelation about having four eyes. Two of them smaller than the others and located on a hard structure protruding from the right side of his face . . . A bone? Or wood perhaps, “What color are your eyes?”

“Red.”

“I do not know, but it sounds suiting,” you comment again as bluntly as possible, his warm breath pushed into your palm. And your fingers traced the outlines of his lips slowly— tugged into a frown, typical of him, “I think you should smile,” and the corners of his lips began tugging upwards slightly.

Your hand pats down his face, down to his neck, “Thick neck, okay,” you remind him, “very muscle filled. That’s nice, you must work out a lot.”

Do not even start, his muscles were just wonderful. The outline of his bicep that you trace slowly made your stomach flip, “Are you shirtless?”

“I am always shirtless.”

“Creep.”

“You seem to enjoy touching my muscles,” he teased, letting your fingers traced onto his wrist, “what about my wrist now?”

“Big arms. Signifies strength,” and then you began patting the air around him.

Which for a bit, confused him, “What is it you are seeking for, woman?”

“Four arms.”

Ah. Sukuna tried his best to hide the two pair of arms but now that you had asked for it, he couldn’t help but to help guide your hands onto the bottom pair of arms, “It feels odd, no?” You elicit a giggle out of you, “What is so worthy of a laugh right now?”

“I can only feel two arms.”

Sukuna begrudgingly tucked the collar of your kimono neatly, covering your collarbone, and your hand shoots out to grab his hand, “Three.”

With the last hand, he grabbed your free hand, “Four. It feels disgusting, no?”

“You have an extra pair, where is the problem at that? I’d say you would work faster labor,” you whisper, wiggling your fingers gently as his fingers circled around your wrist, gently stroking your skin like a delicate glass, “I do not find any monstrosity on you, hence, you are not hideous.”

He stares you down. He isn’t hideous to the only human that matters, that is more than anything else. Sukuna swallowed the rest of his unknown insecurities inside. How funny, the curse, proclaimed strongest. Never had he felt insecure about his look until you— a blind mortal decided to drop by out of the blue, all of a sudden everything mattered more than usual.

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

He released your hand, “Then you are blind—” he stops himself, looking down at you. Who currently had a cheshire smile on your face, “Apologies. I seemed to have forgotten.”

“You? Apologized?” Only to you. Only to his woman.

“I did. We speak no more of that.”

“I will speak of it to Uraume.”

“Especially not Uraume.”

“I want to venture beyond the estate.”

Sukuna eyed you incredulously, you were safer behind the gates, right here with him. Why would you choose to venture out straight into the dangers of the world? He has made it clear to everyone that you belonged to him, here you were tucked inside the safety behind his arms, and you were asking such . . . Odd questions.

“Beyond? Elaborate.”

“I want to go outside and have fun,” you spoke out with such happiness that his heart swaggered, “I can take Uraume for precautions. I want to explore the world more, I do not want to be stuck here like a bird in a cage.”

“Why take Uraume when you can take me?”

“Uraume seems more loose on schedule.”

“I do not have schedules.”

You coaxed yourself to look up, “You do not? I would have thought royalty—”

“I am no royal.”

“You are king of curses, that is royalty,” your opinion flows out like an argument, he sighs at your stubborn tone, “victory is mine yet again.”

“Yes, yes. Why would you possibly want to put yourself in danger beyond the estate when you are safer in here?” You were stuck in the belly of his shrine, cringing from how frequent you walked down the engawa that you had remembered every route by now. You wanted more. The thrill of it, the fun, “I am not letting you step foot out of the estate.”

His lower pair of arms curled around your torso, pulling you back onto his chest. You sulked, “It is not the same, you are being selfish.”

“I am protecting you.”

“From what?”

“Humans. Predators. You do not know what is out there,” he spoke, tone laced with impatience, “I do not wish for you to get hurt, is that too hard to understand?”

“I will be fine, I am always fine.”

He should have known you, you have always been a rebel since the first time he commanded Uraume to drag you back here. So, it wasn’t a surprise when Uraume told him that you were not located in your chambers, “Locate her, Uraume. Surely she hasn’t gone too far.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Sukuna stood up, a black haori hanging on his shoulders loosely. He stood up, should have known, you don’t back down. That’s one of the reasons why he had gotten so attached to you, “Prepare to set out, Uraume.”

You had taken a broom out, using the stick as a navigator. So far, you had successfully entered into biomes of trees outside the estate and you couldn’t tell how far you had gotten. The stick of the broom prevented you from bumping into the rough tree barks and tumbling over bushes. Uraume should make a stick like this for you, how could you not think of this?

A soft tune echoed in a form of a hum from you, curious fingers touching every single thing. Burying your nose into different things you could touch, “Mm,” you moaned, plucking the wild flower and shoving it into the obi of your kimono to show Uraume later.

What a vast mistake this is. No sense of direction, you should have brought a maid along with you. Every turn you took seemed the same, trees and bushes. Occasionally wet patches on the ground made your sandals sink slightly. When the owls began sounding their loud horns, a wave of panic washes over you.

The itch on your arms made you groan, fingernails digging to cease the feeling. Your brows pinched together, trying to find anything that could be of help, “Hello?” You call out.

But the trees are endless, every time you call out for anyone, your voice bounced back to you. And you were beginning to grow restless, the feeling of uneasiness creeping into your body. Your kimono felt heavier, and your sandals felt wobbly now. You cursed, you should have listened to Sukuna. You should have asked Uraume to come along to guide you.

On the other hand, Sukuna walks calmly through the trees, Uraume walking ahead. The darkness was his forte, he loves it. But he had lost track of the hours he spent walking around what seemed to be similar places, “Where has that woman off to? I tell her one time that she is safer inside that estate and she flees.”

“There are bandits residing in this forest, we should locate her quickly, My Lord.”

Bandits. Sukuna scoffed, they could never compare to him— but you? You were as defenseless as a newborn calf. And now that it was dark, the bandits were surely on the move to find income. And God knows what they could do to you. Sukuna grunted, crossing his arms.

You ran into the trees. Unknown of what was currently chasing you deeper, the adrenaline striking inside you made you lose your broom and all you could rely on was your limbs. You could make out the crude laughter from . . . People? Or were they animals?

A loud yelp escaped you when your foot dug into what seemed to be a trap, the pain dug into your ankle. No, no, no. You chant, this couldn’t be happening right now, your fingers dug onto the wet soil, trying to find the power to continue running, “There!” Ah, so they were humans.

Bandits. You assume. Back when you lived in the village, bandits frequently dropped by and chaos ensued. But there were so many people fighting back, now? It was just you.

“She’s dressed grand, surely she has a few dimes on her,” one of them spoke, the bushes rustling to your right and you clutch onto your hands in fear. Moving slowly backwards, crawling on the ground hopelessly, “her necklace looks pricy.”

“Just get anything that looks grand. We’ll get a price outta whatever.”

You shook your head, “Please,” your plead fell into deaf ears when you feel someone pull on the necklace Sukuna made for you, the string snapping under the force and you grasp the air, “no, anything but that. It means a lot to me, please.”

Your head snapped to the side, your cheek seared. Had one of them just striked you? You whimpered in pain, muddy hand flying up to touch the burning spot. They laughed. How could they laugh at the expense of you!?

“Get the hairpin. Looks like gold.”

You grabbed it before they could, “No,” you clutched it into your chest, another one of Sukuna’s gift from not too long ago, “this is precious to me.”

“Unfortunately, we do not care.”

The gems ripped into your skin when they forcefully grabbed it. You lunged forwards, grabbing onto whatever belonged to them you could hold onto, “Give that back to me,” you mutter out.

“Let go of me, you blind bitch!”

The hits delivered to you were relentless. Then again, these were bandits, they don’t care about anything but money. You held onto one of them tightly, the pain slowly registering into every place they hit— punches, kicks. One of them tried to wiggle their leg out of your grasp, pulling your hair back in annoyance, “I’ll kill you, you prude!”

And then just like that. Silence ensued.

You felt the leg go limp and you breathe heavily, what was happening? Sukuna emerged from behind the trees, annoyance written on every crease on his face as he approaches you. And the second his eyes landed on your battered figure, he glowered out, grabbing your arm tightly, “Why did you not call for help!?”

The surprise from before lingered, and you stuttered out, “My Lord—”

“Look at this,” he loudly said, clamping your jaw tightly, the cuts on your face registered into his mind, “and this,” he pulled your leg.

“I . . .”

“Shut your mouth.”

Once you were settled back inside the estate, Uraume helped you draw a warm bath. Scrubbing the mud stuck to your hair, your kimono was left for the maids to scrub, your wounds were taken care of quickly. The bandages wrapped around your ankle a constant reminder of your stupidity, and once all of that was settled, Uraume helped you into Sukuna’s chambers.

He was not happy. He was far from that.

The door slid shut softly and Uraume walked away. Sukuna steps closer to you, “I give you everything you wanted. You ask me for a bigger garden, I commanded them to reconstruct it,” he drawls out calmly, his fingers thrusting to your shoulder gently, “you ask me for deer meat and I commanded Uraume to hunt the finest deers. I have complied to you every single time.”

“You ask me for the finest fabrics and I have the maids venture out from village to village to earn it, you ask me for a new hairpin and I have provided, you ask me for everything I have complied,” his voice grew louder, “I ask for one thing. For you to stay inside the estate, in safety, and you chose the danger outside.”

Your head fell in shame, “I just . . .”

“You are stupid.”

Your brows pinched, “I am not . . .”

“You track back on what had happened, is it not caused by your stupidity? You claim to be smarter than a curse and here I am saving you from a scenario you created on your own,” he shook your body in anger, “and if Uraume and I hadn’t been there on time? You would have died!”

You snapped back, “Why do you care!? You are just a curse, you do not have feelings!”

“To hell with that!” He yelled back, “I hate admitting but I do care for you. Only you, haven’t I made it clear?”

“You’ll get rid of me nonetheless!”

“Do not put words into my mouth, woman,” he muttered out, clenching his fists in anger, “don’t you dare say I do not care because every complies I did was for you. I did this for you. I lowered my ego for you. Is that not enough? Tell me then, tell me what makes it enough for you to digest that I, king of curses, Sukuna Ryomen do care for a human.”

You stammered, “I . . . You are lying.”

“I lie occasionally to people, yes. Have I ever lied to you?”

“Probably!”

“Mention it to me,” Sukuna growled, “mention one time I have spat out a lie to you.”

“I . . .” You left the gap open.

And Sukuna filled it in, “You do not know? Because I have never done that to you,” he muttered, releasing your shoulders. His heart burnt in anger, but he kept his mouth shut.

You clenched your fists, your anger turned into tears. The crystals slowly dribbled out and you sniffled, “I just wanted to explore.”

“Alone? You are out of your damn mind.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed.”

Sukuna scoffed loudly, “You have a habit of putting the words into my mouth,” he scowled under his breath, looking down at you. The harder your tears fall, the more he becomes annoyed, “stop crying. I command you to stop crying this instant, your tears won’t stop my fury.”

Sliding your arm over your eyes, you striked a hand blindly towards his presence. Which managed to land along the side of his neck, “You dare strike me?”

“I hate you!”

Sukuna hummed, “You are angry.”

“I will never be able to love someone like you, you are a monster. You do not let me do anything, I feel like a prisoner here,” you sobbed. The feelings were not like that— his words made the ticking time bomb blew and you were pulling at his strings, “I hate you. I loathe you. I wish for you to disappear.”

Sukuna stepped back, his hand hovered over his lips. He wanted to say much, but stopped. And he shuts the conversation down, “Understandable. Get out of my sight.”

As the night draws on. You laid on your futon, your chest heavy, you had been lying awake there since . . . hours ago. Your own words eating you up, knowing they weren’t right. The anger speaking for you, just for the victory because he made you angry. But now it was eating you alive.

Your emotions were divided. One side, you were angry at yourself for saying that. And the other part of you just felt sad that you had pushed him away; to think that you told him he was a monster too. Another tear slipped from your eye, and you sat up.

You brought yourself to the front of his chamber, for a bit you wondered if he was in the mood to see you right now. But, you shook your head, clamping your hand onto the shoji door before sliding it open, “What business do you have in here?”

You try to pinpoint his position. Teeth sinking onto your bottom lip, “I need to apologize.”

“For speaking the truth?”

“For speaking of lies.”

Sukuna grunts, “Does not sound like lies.”

You stomp your foot, “Those are lies, you are not a monster. And I am too immature to realize that you were just protecting me . . . I was too prideful to admit my own mistakes. I do not hate you, I do not loathe you, and I do not wish for you to disappear . . .” Your voice cracked at the end and you pursed your lips tightly.

Sukuna turns to look at you. How pitiful and small you looked right now, “That so? You spoke of not being able to love a monster like me—”

You cut him off, “I still love you anyways. I do not care if people view you as one, I love you. I have always do,” your voice broke into wrecked sobs, fingers dug into your own hakama, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for saying that.”

Sukuna watches your body tremble from the sobs, one of his hand tugged on your arm and you fell into his lap. He huffs loudly, “Watch your tongue next time.”

You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He lets you have your time, sitting there, unmoving.

Sukuna blows out a sigh, “Are you finished with the waterworks?”

“If it means that you will stop holding me like this, no I am not done,” you muffled out. Sukuna held your nape, peeling you gently away from your hiding spot. Snotty nose, red nose, tear stricken. You looked terrible, he thought, “what?”

He leans in, his tongue stretched out scooping a tear and his lips touched your eyelids. Sukuna shuts his eyes, “You say that but I never stopped you from touching me, do I?” His lips moved against your skin.

“You . . .” You began to say, but he stopped you, lips tracing down your cheek and he stopped right at the corner of your lips, “do not tease me.”

“Your reactions are amusing.”

“It is not,” you whisper in shame, brows already drawn together in embarrassment. Sukuna cuts the embarrassment short, his lips molded into yours slowly— you slowly relaxed under his touch, brows relaxing and you shut your eyes, leaning into the kiss.

For a curse, his movements were gentle. Like he feared that his own hand would hurt you, one of his hand tucked right behind your head gently tangled into your hair as his lips moved against yours slowly. He pulled back briefly, muttering out, “We do not speak of this to Uraume.”

“I will tell them all about it.”

“Is that so?” Sukuna asks, you nodded.

“Then tell them all about this, yes?” He sealed back the kiss, lips moving with fervor that you whimper into his mouth. He swallowed your noises, tongue caressing your plump lips slowly that you couldn’t help but to part them in a trance, his arms held you so close that your chest pressed against his, but Sukuna pulls back the moment he realized you sucking in a breath, “I have gone too far. Apologies. Are you alright?”

You bob your head, covering your face. He used a set of his hands to peel your hands away, “Surely Uraume would not mind the details, no? Or shall I elaborate more?”

“N . . . No, that was enough details.”

Sukuna’s thumb traced over your lips, his iron hands used to do all the wrongs in the world. Now, clasped in sets of velvet gloves, just for you.