coworker!sukuna likes to make your life harder
All it took was thirty minutes for everything to descend into chaos.
One moment you're aggressively tapping away on your crooked ten year-old keyboard at 8:00 p.m, the keycaps practically vibrating it's way off of the switches from how roughly you were typing.
And the next you're repeatedly dragging 20 pounds of bucket water to the office kitchen because apparently Ryomen fucking Sukuna forgot to take his sandpaper sandwich out of the microwave which has now resulted in the microwave exploding and bursting aflame.
You just wanted to go home early, embrace and inhale the cool oxygen your beloved home has prepared for you. Not inhale smoke from a heating machinery that started puking and farting the thickest soot known to man like a traditional train choo-chooing.
And after all that, your job, which was supposed to end at 8:30 p.m, delayed a whopping hour late because of said incident, resulting in your quaking stomach and a brain that threatened to shut itself after 12 hours of continuously staring into the bright screen.
You're going to go blind, at this point.
Clocking out with fumes steaming out from the entrances of your eardrums, you march—albeit wearily—out the building and approach your cute brown beetle, yanking open the car door and ferociously slamming it shut.
Reaching out for your phone that is stuffed somewhere in your also crooked bag, you snatch it out and dial him in pure, utter fury.
Him, in other words, Sukuna.
—
You and the man didn't go way back; The first time you laid eyes on him was when you clocked in during the very first day of your job. He had a... somewhat decent first impression—tall, beefy build, soft pink hair, tatoos every fucking where. It's giving Yakuza, you first thought.
That was an exaggeration, but anyway!
He seemed chill, at first. You bumped into eachother at times, like when you were getting your 7th cup of coffee or when you had to use the office printer to print shit your boss ordered you to. All in which didn't have a bad experience. It was rather easy to talk to him and you almost preferred it than working your way with the computer before you.
Oh, you were so wrong.
It all began when he started getting comfortable with you—starting slow by snickering at your messy way of eating, picking at you for preferring this over that, purposely rearranging some of your things on your desk so you'd have a hard time looking for them.
And it escalated to the point he's willing to burn a thing or two in the office just to piss you off, including the microwave incident.
He thought it was hilarious, fun, adorable.
You thought it was downright villainous.
And now, instead of preferring him over work, you prefer getting a fracture or two in every single body part than breath the same air as him.
—
He answers the call.
"hey, dimwit! Did you know you left your shitwich in the microwave and busted the farenheit up to 400° IN THE KITCHEN OFFICE??" you yelled into the speaker of your phone, your voice being so loud you can hear it echo back from his end of the call.
"What sandwich?" He innocently asks. He knew damn well.
But you don't answer his question. "YOU LEFT THE ENTIRE FUCKING COMPANY TO CLEAN OVER YOUR LITTLE CRIME EVIDENCE AND BROUGHT US TO A BURDEN BECAUSE OF THE MICROWAVE EXPLODING. AND WHAT'S WORSE, YOU DID THAT TO ANNOY ME. WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU??????"
"I forgot about my sandwich.. I swear, I had no intention in annoying you!!" He did.
"Fuck you I hope u get rolled up in a noodler." And before he could say anything, the beeping sound of the call ending echoed from his phone. He was practically cackling from how aggressively you reacted.
You couldn't fathom the fact that he isn't fired yet.
