#manipulation

“are you sure you’re fine?” ayato asks softly. he brushes a stray strand of hair away form your face. he presses his lips to your cheek like it belongs there.

a frank ‘no,’ dances on the tip of your tongue. your survival instincts are screaming at you, begging you to call off this entire thing. you want to go home. you want to tell him no, you’re not fine. but if you do, ayato would most likely take you home. not your home. but home. and as much as you wanted to escape, you knew being in a room alone with this man who stared at you as if you were is one and only was even worse. 

so you don’t. you do what you practiced. you stare into this man’s eyes and smile like you mean it. you kiss him on the lips, to which he reciprocates eagerly, and tell him, “i told you, i’m okay.” 

the way ayato smiles is devious. he smoothly hooks his hand around your waist and guides you to the center of the ballroom. try as you might, you can feel the envious gazes burning into your skin. towards you or ayato, you’re not sure, but you don’t want to think about it further.

ayato, it seems, doesn’t mind. his hold on you becomes all the more tighter, confident.  

the two of you are once again talking to one of ayato’s associates. you’ve seen this man at other social events here and there, but you’ve never talked to him personally. 

you shudder at the way he eyes you up. 

“oh, you must be the rumored miss ayato seemingly can’t stop talking about,” the man surmises. he stares into his glass of wine before taking a greedy gulp. “ayato has never talked about a woman so fondly, so i figured you must’ve been really special. now that i’ve finally been introduced to you, i can see i was right.”

you open your mouth to retort, but ayato beats you to it. 

his nails are practically digging into your bodice. “yes, this is my fiance,” he hisses. you don’t appreciate how much emphasis he puts into his words. you almost want to correct him, but you don’t, because this is what you’re paid for: to ward off potential marriage proposals. so sure, you’ll let this one slide, as long as he says nothing about it in private.

the man, seemingly oblivious to ayato’s rising anger, smiles. “ah, so you’ve finally put a ring on it? what a pity.” 

“i can hardly say it’s a pity,” ayato mutters. “we’ve been together for a very long time, it was only a matter of time. if anything, it seems as if you’re trying to make a pass.” 

ayato’s associate jumps at his tone. “oh,  no, that wasn’t my intention...”

his words start to melt into the background noise, the music, the meaningless chatter. you smile awkwardly, knowing that if you tried to handle things yourself ayato would only take over for you. so instead, you stand there and look pretty, trying to not draw any more attention than you should. 

instead, you opt to observe the room. between the crowds of mingling elites, you’re desperate to find out where kaeya had gone. was he close? was he far? did he leave? did he see you? 

your stomach flips at the mere thought. at the very beginning, kaeya was fun. casual. he was friendly but not invasive. he’d flirt with you and mean it, but you knew his attraction to you didn’t extend beyond the bedroom. at least, that’s what you thought. before you knew it, kaeya had grown so attached to you it were as if you were his second heart, as if he wanted to meld you into his skin and whisper all of his thoughts and praises. 

if he discovered you here with someone else, you don’t know what would happen. 

in the midst of your discreet search, you catch a familiar glimpse of someone else in the crowd. you usually see him in his work attire when it’s designated day, but today he’s donned on an emerald suit, decorated with gold embellishments.

your heart drops to the pit of your stomach when alhaitham’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, as if he’s looking for something too. to his right, tighnari matches his pace. they seem to be in some sort of conversation, mumbling to each other over glasses of champagne as the crowd moves forward.  they live on the opposite side of the city. what are they doing here? you were so sure that this event would only be attend by those with business in the inazuma district. what went wrong? 

you’re just about to look away when it happens. 

alhaitham looks back.

it’s like a bucket of ice has been poured over you. 

his stare goes from surprise, to confusion, to realization, to absolute anger.

you don’t forget how ayato’s hand rests comfortably on your waist. alhaitham’s eyes seemed to be pinned there, like he’s undressing you with his eyes, burning holes into every pore of ayato’s hand. 

you’re caught like a deer in headlights. tightnari’s trying to talk to him, but alhaitham ignores him entirely. his entire focus, his entire being, is locked onto you. you don’t know what to do at this point.

ayato’s tight grip loosens. without even realizing it you’re being guided away from the conversation. 

“i’m so sorry about that,” ayato murmurs as he wraps both hands around your waist. he presses into you, his nose finding its way inbetween your neck and your shoulder. 

you’re entire body freezes as alhaitham’s gaze drags up your hips to your neck. for a second, his eyes catch yours and he gives you this look as if to say, i’m going to kill him. 

“ayato, we’re in public,” you say as you gently press onto his shoulders. you hope that he can’t feel the way your fingers tremble.

“let them see,” he replies with a breathy exhale. “that way, no one ever tries anything with you again. besides, is it wrong for two lovers to express their love in public? especially so soon after being engaged.”

this is wrong. the ayato you knew when you first met didn’t like drawing attention to himself. he’d rather sit in the shadows and people watch rather than become the spectacle himself. and of all things, at the worst time. 

you feel as if ayato is unknowingly digging your grave. every time ayato moves so much as a milimeter closer to you, you can see alhaitham’s jaw clench just a little tighter. 

at this point, tighnari has caught on to what alhaitham has been so distracted by. tighnari doesn’t hesitate to size you up. the both of you. for a moment, his ears pull back. he’s threatened. 

“my dear?”

you’re attention whips back to ayato. his gaze is almost intense as alhaitham’s and tighnari’s. it’s full of love, adoration, and obsession. he looks at you like you’re the one for him. that he had just discovered you two were soulmates. but you’re not. 

you smile, even though you feel like turning your stomach inside out. you have to pretend that you’re fine. and you’re good at that, right? you’re good at pretending to be what these men want, which is convenient, emotionally available, and loving. even though you’re entire world, everything you’ve worked so hard to maintain, is falling apart right this moment, you will smile. because that’s your job, isn’t it? you’re good at giving what your customers need. you’re good at your job.

so you keep your voice nice and light, even though you’re words are anything but what ayato wants to hear. “but we aren’t engaged, though.” 

he hums, nuzzling deeper into your skin. “but we are, aren’t we? my ring is on your finger.” his fingers thrum against your hips. “did you know? my name’s engraved on the inside.”

as much as ayato’s words alarm you, your entire focus is locked onto alhaitham and tighnari, who look livid. their mouths are moving. the two of them are speaking to each other, and it kills you not to know what they’re saying. 

just before you can get away from ayato, they make their way towards you. 

their pace is slow, but intentional. their gazes don’t dare pry away from you.  

and just like that, it all becomes too much. 

“i have to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out. with some kind of newfound adrenaline, you manage to push ayato off of you. he gives you a look of hurt, confusion, anger, and absolute shock. “i’ll be right back.”

ayato’s clearly confused, but as he attempts to reach out to you, you blend yourself within the throng of people. without looking back, you disappear into the crowd, leaving ayato all by his lonesome. 

you’re quick to push through the crowds, but careful to avoid the other ticking time bombs in the room. you feel as if you’re being chased. and in reality, you are. you zigzag through different conversations, hoping to miraculously become invisible. and yet, despite your absolute care, you somehow step on your own minefield. 

you hear the sound of your name first.

you see him second. 

childe’s standing there, in a suit you’ve never seen him wear before. 

is everyone at this party? 

“i thought it was you, looking so pretty. are you all dressed for me?” 

you both know what the answer is, and yet you don’t say anything. 

childe chuckles. “why do you look so scared? you look like you’ve just been caught cheating.” 

he slowly slides his hand down your arm, almost sensually. his fingers interlock with yours before he’s swinging it playfully, but you know his mood is anything but. he’s staring at your interlocking hands so intently. you look down to realize that he’s staring at the ring ayato put on your finger. 

shit. 

childe doesn’t say anything. he simply kisses your hand all prince-like, his gaze meeting yours. he’s so calm it’s disturbing. 

“whoever got this for you has bad taste. i bet he just chose whatever ring had the biggest jewel, right?” he plays with your fingers dismissively, gentlely drawing patterns around your ring finger. “you always told me i couldn’t buy you a ring, and yet this fucker can. what’s so different? i bet he just thinks whatever is biggest is the prettiest. but truth is, it’ll never be pretty. it’ll never be my special kind of pretty, isn’t that right, girlie?” 

you’re tempted to curl into yourself, but you hold your ground. 

“let go, childe.”

“and let you run away from me to some other man who doesn’t know you as well as i do? hmm? he uses his hold on your hand as leverage to pull you closer to him. his other hand wraps itself around your torso, pressing you into him. you struggle to escape, but you can’t. to anyone else, you two would’ve looked to be in a lover’s embrace. he caresses your cheek, as if appraising you. “maybe i should leave my own mark on you. maybe that’ll show everyone who you really belong to.”

you wriggle in his grasp. “childe, i’m serious. stop—”

“hmm, at least your next is exposed. yes… i think a hickey here would be nice—”

“childe! what are you up to this time?” 

childe immediately pulls away to reveal a man smiling amicably at the two of you. a pair of silver frames rest on his nose.

“ah, pantalone.” childe replies. “it’s nothing.”

you don’t hesitate to use this opportunity to escape. the moment you can, you whisk yourself away. you don’t care for niceties at this point. instead, you find refuge in the ladies’ restroom. 

you lock yourself in one of the stalls, grateful that no one else is in there. with no one around to stare, observe, or judge you, you close the toilet seat and plop onto it unceremoniously with your head in your hands. 

at this point, everything is spinning. your heart is thumping at thousands of miles per minute, and you’re trying to get a grip on reality. you think about the bills you need to pay, your overwhelming debt, and the life that rests on your hands. you think about all the things you need to do, and all the things you can’t do, not by yourself.

you need money to survive. 

once you’ve properly calmed down, you take a deep breath and open the door. you look at yourself in the mirror, taking note of all the little details in your makeup and your outfit, all of which were made by ayato, for ayato. all dressed in light blues, you look like you belong to the kamisato clan. 

you look like ayato’s wife.

“you look wonderful in blue.”

you don’t have the time to turn before he’s on you. 

if you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought that kaeya had returned to his old self. he’s kissing you like he hates the space between you. his mouth is hot and tastes of alcohol. his hands find their place on your hips like it’s natural. 

you can’t breathe, with the way he kisses you. 

underneath his heated movements, there’s a underlying desperation. like kaeya somehow needs to overdose on your every breath to survive. his hands are all over you, rumpling the dress you tried so hard to smooth out. 

he pushes the two of you into one of the open stalls, smoothly locking it behind him. you’re pressed against the bathroom door, a hardness pressing into your abdomen.

“kaeya—” 

your words are immediately swallowed up by his mouth. he can’t be bothered to speak to you. you can feel how angry he his with his fingers dig into your skin. he just wants to kiss you senseless, is that so wrong?

his tongue runs over yours. he’s exploring your mouth like it’s a treasure trove. as if this his first time ever kissing you and he wants to learn what makes you tick. 

but really, you can’t breathe. 

“kaeya—”

he pulls away from you like it’s the most painful thing he’s done. and it’s then you meet his eyes for the first time that night. his gaze is vulnerable. it’s obsessive, and needy, and desperate, and too, too much. too emotional. it’s not what you signed up for, and it’s not what he promised you. 

but he doesn’t care about that right now. he nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent like it’s his drug. 

“i saw you. with him.” 

“who?” comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. 

“i saw you the moment you got here,” kaeya replies, ignoring your question. “do you know how hurt i felt? how much i wanted to just strangle him? i could do it, you know. i could stage it like it was an accident. or make it look like he was a danger to the people. no one would know.”

you knew kaeya was a ticking time bomb, but you’ve never seen him like this. 

he wraps himself around you and pulls you close, resting your head on his chest. you can hear how fast his heart is pounding. “you’d still love me, if i did that, right? you know everything about me, everything no one else knows. only you could love me.”

there’s a crazed look to him. he’s so out of it, you’re hesitant to touch him. his embrace steals the breathe out of your lungs, quite literally. he holds onto you like if he let up for just a second you’d disappear into thin air. 

“kaeya—”

he kisses you again, a small moan leaving his lips. “say my name again, please. say it like it’s yours. i’m all yours.”

you run your hand through his hair and pull, but he only groans in response. you can feel his hard-on grinding into you. a whimper escapes you as he brushes against your clit through the dress.

if it’s not his name, kaeya’s bent on not letting you speak. his kisses keep getting more insistent, more greedy. 

you run your hand through his hair and give it a hard tug.

“aagh—just like that.”

you’re out of options at this point. kaeya won’t pull away, so eager to breathe you in. 

kaeya’s too lost in you to notice your hand blindly grabbing at the bathroom’s lock. when the door opens, it creates enough momentum to seperate the two of you. kaeya’s taken off guard, so you take the chance to bolt it out of there and escape back into the crowd.

you just want to run away from everything. from these disastrous men. from these claustrophobic parties. from this entire situation. from all your problems. your debt. from small, tiny hospital rooms and endless nights praying for a miracle—

you don’t care what you look like at this point. you don’t care that your dress is in disarray, that tears are probably streaking down your face, or that you’re so out of breath you’re gulping down air like it’s water. 

fuck this. 

fuck that.

fuck everything.

you’re so focused on escaping you bump shoulders with a stranger. quite roughly, at that. 

diluc looks surprised. he appraises you concerningly, but you can’t stomach it. his gaze is so full of love and adoration and possessiveness you think you’re going to hurl. 

you don’t even say anything. when you see kaeya chasing after you, you book it. you don’t even text ayato you’re leaving. you just…disappear.

the hospital room’s quiet. it always is. save for the occasional nurse, no one else is here, save for the patient. 

in a way, this room is your escape.

you’re still in ayato’s dress. it’s a bit dirty from tonight’s events, a bit ruffled. you look like a victim in those crime TV shows with a shock blanket. 

right now, you’re curled up on the sofa, staring into nothingness. you don’t want to think of anything right now. there’s no point in saying anything. you know she won’t say anything back. 

what would she say if she were here right now? 

she’d scold you, for sure. she’d nag you for how messy your apartment was. how you dropped out of college when you promised her you’d pursue your dream. how you haven’t once visited your parents’ grave. how you sold your mind, body, and soul just for some few bucks. 

you crumble at the thought. oh, how much money it took to keep her alive. to hide the both of you away from them. to keep sniffing dogs off your trail. you could always move away, hop from place to place. but if you did, what would you do about her? 

your sister was like a second mother to you. how could you abandon her like that? 

the door opens so abruptly, you practically jump out of your skin. 

“kazu?”

“i knew you’d be here.”

somewhere down the line, you heard that kazuha had descended from a long line of honorable samurais. seeing him like this, appearing out of thin air as if he was there all along, you thought it could be true.

kazuha enters the room like a soft gentle breeze, like it’s a suggestion. 

you’re speechless. 

he sits next to you on the couch and presses the side of your head to lean onto his shoulder. the two of you look at your comatosed sister together, as if if you stared hard enough, she’d finally wake up. 

“it’s going to be okay,” kazuha whispers.

“how did you know i was here?”

“what do you mean?” he turns to kiss the crown of your head so tenderly. “i’ll always be there for you, don’t you know that?”

your blood runs cold. you pull away to look at him. “kazuha, i never told you where i was. no one knows about this hospital.”

he looks at you earnestly, as if you don’t know any better and he adores it.

At the party a week later, he already knew your name and was drinking more than anyone else. You laughed at his jokes even when they were kind of mean, even when you were nervous. He looked at you a little longer than he looked at everyone else.

Sukuna touched you more than necessary. His hand on your waist felt like a brand. When he leaned in and told you you were pretty, something inside you tightened with happiness.

You ended up in his bedroom.

The door shut.

The music behind the wall turned muffled.

He kissed you like he wasn’t used to asking permission. You were shaking. You didn’t want to look naive. When he pushed inside you and understood you’d never done this before, he froze for a second.

His fingers tightened on your thigh.

You wished you hadn’t let him realize.

You wanted to seem grown, brave.

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Maybe even a little confusion. But he exhaled and kept going, like he’d decided it was just a detail.

Sukuna didn’t stop.

You clenched your teeth, buried your face in his forearm, pressed into the tattooed skin so he wouldn’t notice how much it hurt. He wasn’t cruel. He just didn’t think about the fact that you might be scared. He was too focused on himself.

Later you lay beside him, staring at the ceiling, convincing yourself it had been right. That it had meant something important to him. And in the morning Sukuna lazily said he liked you while you were cleaning up his room.

That you could try being together. He said it like he was talking about a new playlist, not your heart.

You agreed.

You said “yes” so fast he even smirked. Easy. Way too easy.

You remember your friends trying to talk you out of it. “He’s insane, can’t you see that? He’ll dump you in a week.” You didn’t listen. You looked at them and thought: You just don’t know him like I do. Stupid.

The stupidest girl alive.

Sukuna knew they were warning you. You told him. Complained that they didn’t get him, that he was good, just complicated. He half-listened, nodded, thought about something else.

Good? He wasn’t good.

But if that’s what you needed to believe — fine.

What did he care?

Sukuna knew you were foolish. Not dumb — you did great in school. Foolish in the way you looked at him. The way you waited. The way you forgave. He saw it and found it amusing. Sometimes even cute. Sometimes annoying. But overall — convenient.

At first, everything felt almost normal.

Sometimes he was almost gentle.

Sukuna could pull you into his chest out of nowhere and rest his chin on the top of your head. He could text you at night, a short “You asleep?” and when you answered, tell you to come over.

He could lace his fingers through yours like it was natural.

You lived for those moments.

They were rare.

That’s why they felt precious.

But most of the time, he was different.

He knew you loved flowers.

You’d send him pictures of bouquets, text “They’re so pretty,” sigh when you passed flower shops. He saw. Sometimes he even thought, Maybe I should get her some. Then brushed it off. Flowers die. Waste of money. And if he bought them once, you’d start expecting it again. He didn’t want you expecting things.

He didn’t want to owe you.

You wanted to be understanding for him.

He knew you were hurt when he forgot important dates. Your birthday. Valentine’s. Your anniversary. He didn’t remember numbers. Didn’t try to. What was the point? Days pass, everything repeats. Why celebrate?

The truth was he remembered your birthday. He just didn’t think it mattered enough to show up. A friend’s party, lots of booze, girls looking at him with interest. Why go home where you’d be waiting with that look in your eyes? He didn’t want to see it.

The candles had already burned halfway down by midnight.

You had bought a cake he never saw.

He came back three days later. You were sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea, not looking at him. Your eyes were red. You only asked, “Are you hungry?” He was. You cooked. Everything was “fine.”

You tried to smile. Asked if he’d had fun. You didn’t ask why he hadn’t come. And Sukuna pretended not to notice.

Easier that way.

He didn’t get why your friends hissed at him. They looked at him like he’d done something unforgivable.

What had he done?

He was with you.

What more did they want?

He knew you wanted real dates.

The kind you chose. Rom-com movies. Parks. Stupid little fairs. He refused. “Boring.” “Not going.” “Just come over.” You agreed. You always agreed. He didn’t think about how you felt. If you really wanted it, you’d drag him there, right?

So it must not matter that much.

He took advantage of the fact you wanted to be a good girlfriend.

He knew you hated horror movies. You’d say, “They scare me, I can’t sleep after.” But when he turned one on, you sat beside him, pressed close, and stayed quiet. He didn’t turn it off. He liked them. And if you were scared, you’d just cling tighter.

Not so bad.

He knew you were exhausted. Classes. A job. Four hours of sleep...

But when he wanted sex, he just came up to you and started. If you said “I’m not in the mood,” he’d insist. Not harshly. Just, “Come on.” Kissing your neck. Tugging at your clothes. You gave in, because it always felt good with him. Always.

Sukuna didn’t see a problem.

You weren’t really resisting.

So you must’ve wanted it too.

He knew you picked out thoughtful gifts. Hid them. Gave them to him with that hopeful look like you’d brought him a stray cat. He’d say “Thanks” and shove them in a drawer. Not because he didn’t care — he just didn’t know what to do with it. Books he wouldn’t read. Sweaters he wouldn’t wear...

Why? He didn’t ask.

You give, he takes. Fair.

He didn’t need anything.

Sukuna remembered how you hugged him after fights.

He yelled — he knows he yelled.

Sometimes for a reason, sometimes just because he was in a shitty mood. And you’d come up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, press your cheek to his back. Quiet. He felt your breathing through his shirt. It was strange. Warm.

He didn’t get why you did it, but he let you.

Sometimes even waited for it.

Never asked.

He knew you were hurt when he disappeared for days without answering.

You’d text. Call. Then stop. When he vanished, you barely ate. You checked your phone again and again. Replayed everything you’d said. Convinced yourself you’d ruined it. And when he came back, you’d throw your arms around his neck like he’d returned from war.

Something in his chest tightened.

A weird feeling.

He brushed it off.

You’re just emotional.

You just missed him. Nothing special.

But there was something special about being waited for.

You thought if you loved him hard enough, he’d become better. You saw him as wounded. Broken. You believed you could be a quiet place where he didn’t have to be hard.

You believed that if you were patient enough, understanding enough, one day he’d want to be softer too. You didn’t try to change him. You just hoped he’d notice how much you did.

He never asked you to.

Sukuna knew what you felt when he came to bed smelling like someone else’s perfume.

You never said anything. Just turned to the wall and breathed quietly. He thought, If you’re not asking, good. He was too lazy to explain, too lazy to lie, too lazy to handle your feelings.

They were yours. Not his.

Sometimes he noticed something off.

The way you looked when he joked about you in front of friends. How you dropped your gaze when they said he didn’t deserve you. How you flinched when he yelled. And in those moments something unpleasant stirred deep inside him.

Guilt? No. Just discomfort.

Like he’d done something wrong but couldn’t figure out what.

He’d brush it off.

Drink. Leave. It would pass.

The worst part — he genuinely didn’t understand.

To him, you were just you.

Always there. Always available. Always forgiving.

He didn’t see boundaries because you never set them. He didn’t feel pain because you never showed it. He thought everything was fine. Because if it wasn’t, you’d leave. Or cry. Or scream.

But you didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You just stayed.

You never cried in front of him.

That matters. You never cried.

He got used to thinking you were strong. That you could handle everything. That you’d always be there, always ready, always forgiving. He thought that’s just how you were. That tears weren’t your thing.

He was wrong.

That night at Gojo’s.

Sukuna was drunk. Really drunk.

He remembers you walking up to him — in that black dress he once called “decent.” You took his hand carefully, timidly. Your fingers were cold. They were shaking.

He thought you were freezing outside.

He didn’t think you were scared.

Didn’t think you were hurting.

“We need to talk,” you said.

He looked at you and noticed your eyes were shining. Something was off, but he couldn’t place it. He was drunk. He was having fun. He didn’t want to talk.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered. “Go home.”

Music. Noise. Laughter. He was always busy when you showed up serious. He knew what that meant. Complaints. Questions. Those eyes he never understood.

He pulled his hand away.

Your fingers slipped off. You stood there watching. He had already turned back to the crowd when something made him glance over his shoulder. Your lips were trembling. Just a little.

He decided it wasn’t his problem.

And walked away.

The rest is blurry. Booze. Laughter. Music. The brunette from another class who’d been eyeing him for months. She sat on his lap. He let her. She was warm, smelled sweet, said something playful.

He half-listened.

Then she kissed him.

He remembers the taste of her lipstick — sickly sweet, chemical. Not like yours. Actually, he barely remembered what you tasted like. Did you even wear lipstick? Maybe if he’d once said he liked it.

Did he kiss her back? Maybe. He didn’t push her away. What difference did it make?

Then Sukuna opened his eyes.

And saw you.

You were standing at the other end of the room. In the middle of the crowd. Of the laughter. Of all that shit.

You were standing there, looking at him.

And tears were running down your cheeks.

He didn’t know you could cry like that. No sound. No sobbing. Just tears — big, fast, endless. You were holding your hand to your chest like something hurt there.

And you were looking right at him.

For the first time, his indifference made him sick.

Something in his chest jolted. Hard enough to make him want to grab his ribs. He moved — wanted to stand, shove the girl off, go to you. He even opened his mouth to call you...

But the brunette tugged his hair. Turned him back to her.

And when he looked again, you were gone.

Sukuna doesn’t remember how he pushed through the crowd. The brunette shouted something after him, but he didn’t hear it. He shoved people out of the way and didn’t understand why his heart was pounding so hard.

You just left.

You always left when he told you to.

But you didn’t leave with that face before.

You didn’t cry.

He searched the whole house. He almost slipped on something spilled near the kitchen and didn’t even notice. Checked every room, the kitchen, the bathroom, even the damn storage closet. You were gone.

Someone said, “The girl in black? She left like a minute ago.”

He ran outside.

Cold. Night. Empty street. No one.

He headed toward the bus stop. Didn’t know why. Just instinct. He knew you wouldn’t have enough for a cab.

He remembered that one time after a fight when you’d stormed off, and he’d found you at that same stop. You were sitting there, staring at your phone. When you saw him, you smiled.

God, you smiled, even though he’d been yelling at you thirty minutes earlier.

Like he was the solution, not the problem.

He walked and thought, What am I even going to say? Why am I going?

He didn’t know.

His legs just kept moving.

Maybe it was the right thing to do.

He saw you from a distance.

A small figure on the bench, curled into yourself. You were staring ahead. Not crying. Just sitting there. He came closer. Stopped a couple of meters away. Didn’t know what to do. Shoved his hands into his pockets — he’d come out without a jacket, was freezing, but didn’t feel it.

“Hey,” he called.

You looked up.

And he saw your face. Swollen. Red. Wet. You looked at him like you were seeing a ghost. Like he was the last person you ever wanted to see. And for the first time, he was actually scared.

“What’s wrong…” he started. “You were crying?”

The words sounded wrong the second they left his mouth.

Stupid question. Idiotic. You were covered in tears. But he genuinely didn’t know what to say. He’d never seen you like this. And you just kept staring. And in your eyes there was something that made his insides twist.

“What…”

And then you sobbed.

You broke down.

Loud, shaking, like a child, like something wounded, like someone being killed from the inside out. You covered your face with your hands, your shoulders trembling uncontrollably. The sounds you made were awful.

They cut through the air.

Cut through him.

Dug under his skin and stayed there.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered.

Sukuna froze. He had never — never — seen anyone cry like that. Especially not you.

You, who waited and tolerated all his bullshit.

For the first time in his life, Sukuna didn’t know what to do.

His mind went blank. His mind was blank.

Not a single thought.

Just panic — sticky, cold, unfamiliar.

He stepped closer. Crouched down in front of you. Reached out, hand hovering over your shoulder.

“Hey…” he tried again. “Come on… stop…”

You jerked away. Hard.

Like he’d hit you.

And something twisted violently inside him.

You shrank back against the bench, pressing yourself into the backrest, curling in tighter. And cried louder.

“Don’t touch me,” you breathed out. “Don’t touch me!”

Sukuna went still. His hand hung in the air.

He stared at you, confused.

You always wanted him to touch you.

You reached for him, clung to him, asked for affection even when he was rough.

And now — don’t touch me.

“I just—” he began.

“Just leave,” you cut him off. Your voice kept breaking, choking on tears. “Please. Just go.”

He didn’t go. Something held him there, pinned him to that asphalt, to that bench, to you. He watched you cry and felt something inside his own chest start to hurt.

Not like before. Worse. Deeper.

“I didn’t mean to,” he tried. “I didn’t think you’d—”

“You never think!” you suddenly shouted.

And that scream, wet and shattered, hit him like a slap.

“Have you ever thought about me? Even once? Do you know how many nights I couldn’t sleep? Do you know how I waited for you? Do you know how much it hurts when you do this?”

Sukuna stayed silent.

He didn’t know. He genuinely didn’t.

“You forgot my birthday. You left and didn’t come back. You slept with other girls and didn’t even hide it!”

“I didn’t fuck anyone!” he snapped back, frowning slightly, but you cut him off immediately—

“And I still loved you!” you cried. “I still waited! I thought if I was good enough, patient enough, you would—”

Your breath hitched.

You covered your face again.

Your shoulders shook harder.

And Sukuna felt something tear slowly inside his chest.

With a crack. With pain.

He didn’t understand what it was. He’d never felt it before.

“I…” he started again. Stopped. Swallowed. “I didn’t know it mattered that much to you. You never said it straight.”

You looked up at him.

So full of pain he almost flinched.

“I did,” you hissed quietly. “A hundred times. You just…” another sob, “…you just never listened.”

He wanted to argue.

To say he did listen.

That he remembered. That—

But he didn’t. He truly didn’t.

Your words had always slid past him because they felt small. Petty. Unimportant.

He reached out again. Slowly. Carefully.

Like you were a wild animal he might scare away.

His fingers touched your shoulder. Gently squeezed.

“Come here,” he said quietly. “Just… come here.”

He wanted to hug you.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to hold you not for sex, not out of habit, but because you were crying and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He tried to pull you toward him — careful, almost soft.

You tore yourself away.

You shoved him.

Hard. Both hands. So hard he nearly fell back. You jumped to your feet, stepping away. One step. Two. You stood there, soaked in tears, shaking, broken, screaming:

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare! Not after you— not after her—”

Your voice cracked.

You couldn’t finish.

You covered your face and froze.

Sukuna stood up slowly. Took a step toward you — then stopped. His hands dropped. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms.

It hurt. It should.

He turned his head away.

Not because he didn’t want to look. But because seeing you like that — crying, hating him, distant — was unbearable. And because for the first time, he felt ashamed. He stared at the empty road, at the lonely streetlamp. Anywhere but at you.

His throat tightened.

He ruined it.

He didn’t even know when it started going wrong.

He just lived the way he knew how. Took what was given. Didn’t think about consequences. And now you were standing there crying, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Only knew he had to do something.

But what?

“I’m sorry,” he said into the dark. “I… I’m sorry.”

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t look at you. He didn’t have the guts.

The night stayed silent. You stayed silent.

And something inside him was dying.

Slowly. Painfully.

For the first time in his life.

How many times had you smiled when you were breaking?

He’d never said thank you.

Never said you were beautiful.

Never chose you — just let you stay.

He thought about how if you walked away right now, he’d have nothing left. Just an empty apartment. A cold bed. And the memory of how you smelled. Something warm. Familiar. His.

He clenched his jaw and, for one second, hoped you’d say, “It’s okay. I’m just tired.”

Let him hold you.

But you said:

“Get lost, Sukuna. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

You didn’t say you didn’t love him anymore.

But he understood anyway.

Maybe the only right thing he could do now was leave.

Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!) English is not my first language, so yes, my writing might not be perfect.(