Bee.

chapter three - heart quickens south of the river

You wake up to music echoing through the flat, Jamie T’s voice familiar, making you smile. While you favor the remix, the original is Megumi’s go-to song on slow days, on days when an aching heart is more bearable and hurt resembles longing instead of pain. Your legs are tangled up with the blankets, the collar of Sukuna’s hoodie half-pulled up over your face. The curtains are still drawn, only a soft golden glow spilling into the room and over the wooden floorboards.

You roll onto your back, eyes stuck on a crack in the ceiling while you’re blinking slowly, still a little sleep-drunk. Memories, images, from last night flicker through your head – Sukuna smiling, the dimple in his cheek, your head on his thigh, his arm casually resting over your waist, his fingers stroking over your cheek to wake you up. 

The last one has you grinning into the semi-darkness of the room, and you’re short of kicking your feet into the air, a flutter in your stomach. You squeal before you can stop yourself, the sound thankfully muted because of the cotton still hiding half of your face. 

Last night feels kinda surreal, like a fever dream you don’t want to snap out of. You always thought such things only happen in movies, in books, in the lives of people that aren’t you. But here you are, still wearing his hoodie and with images in your head that have you flushing down to the roots of your hair, with a heart that’s all but tearing apart at the seams. 

You sigh, thinking back to that touch this morning in the silence of his car, Sukuna’s fingers grazing over the sensitive skin behind your ear, the touch that lingered and felt like a promise. You allow yourself to squeal one more time before you peel yourself out of the blankets and make your way out of Megumi’s room. 

In the kitchen, the air’s filled with the sweet scent of weed, blending together with the bitter scent of freshly brewed coffee. Megumi’s sitting on the windowsill, his legs dangling outside, a joint clinging to the corner of his mouth. He must have heard or seen you because he doesn’t flinch when you wrap your arms around his stomach from behind, hugging him tightly with a cheek pressed in between his shoulderblades.

He’s leaning back into your touch, smoke curling up around him. The two of you stay like that for a minute or two before you get yourself a mug filled with steamy coffee, climbing up next to him on the windowsill. The sun is shining brightly, its rays warming up your legs, the skin on your face. Megumi turns down the music, swinging one of his legs back inside so he’s sitting sideways and is able to look at you. 

He offers you the joint and you take a deep hit, smoke filling up your lungs, the taste lingering on your tongue until you take a sip of your coffee. Megumi lets you be, keeps his silence until your hands are wrapped around your second cup. 

“Nice hoodie you’re wearing there,” he says, the corners of his lips twitching, something mischievous sparkling in the green of his eyes. “A new one? Haven’t seen it before.” 

You stare at him blankly, not giving him an inch. Megumi grins. 

“Cat got your tongue? Or do you have a sore throat?” 

You take the joint out of his hands, taking another hit and blowing the smoke directly into his face. 

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” you say around another mouthful of smoke, shaking your head dramatically. Megumi punches you in the shoulder. 

“Because I’m a fucking delight,” he tells you and you snort into your coffee. “But c’mon, give me something at least.” 

“It’s Sukuna’s hoodie,” you mutter, gesturing down to yourself. Megumi stares at you, lips pursed. You stop yourself from laughing just so.

“No, really? I’d never have guessed that,” he rolls his eyes. “Especially with that grease stain at the hem. Who do you think I am? A dumbass?”

“Well, I wouldn’t rule it out exactly,” you shrug, chuckling when he punches you again. You share the rest of the joint between you, and only when the last of the smoke’s gone do you finally give in. 

“He took me to the mountains,” you start, fingers tightening around your cup of coffee. “To his hometown, met a lot of his friends.” You swallow heavily, because with the sun high in the sky it isn’t as easy not to overthink, to stop yourself from inspecting every little detail. Megumi keeps his silence, waits for you to continue even if his eyebrows are steadily climbing up his forehead.

“He showed me drifting and it was amazing,” you take a deep breath, another sip of coffee. “We got something to eat on the way home, stopped somewhere at the outskirts of the forest and –” You pause again, your mind caught up in memories. The city sparkling in front of you, the orange pink glow of the rising sun, the feeling of his thigh pressed against yours, his warmth. 

“And?” Megumi leans forward, stealing your cup of coffee right out of your slightly trembling hands. 

“And we watched the sunrise together?” You can’t help it – as soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re hiding your face behind your hands, cheeks burning. “He brought me home after and there was kind of a moment? I mean, I think it was?” 

“A moment,” Megumi repeats, staring at you with furrowed brows. “You kissed?” 

You’re kneading a thumb in your thigh, the grey cotton of your sweats sliding over your skin. You finally shake your head. 

“No, it was –” you remember Sukuna’s gaze, the intensity of it, how your heart all but burst out of your chest. “Do you know these moments when everything is slowing down around you? When you’re all caught up in each other and nothing really matters except for the what-if inside your head?” 

“So the feeling before a kiss,” Megumi hums. 

“Yeah,” you shake your head again, grabbing the pack of cigarettes lying on the kitchen table. The clicking sound of the lighter is grounding, the raw feeling in your lungs familiar. “I don’t even know, maybe I just imagined the whole thing.” 

Megumi sighs, leaning against the wall in his back. He doesn’t stop watching you, takes it all in, the tremble in your hands when you lift the cigarette up to your lips, the small motion of scrunching your nose up halfway, because rays of sunlight tickle over its slope. 

“Can I be honest?” 

“Of course,” you hum, legs swinging back and forth outside the window, the heel of your feet brushing against the cracked facade of the apartment building. 

“I really thought he’d fuck you and be done with it.” He’s massaging his own hand, two fingers kneading into the palm of the other. “And now, I feel kinda bad? Because it sounds like –” he shakes his head, eyes roaming but never settling. 

“Like what?”

“It sounds special,” he finally answers, voice quiet. “It sounds like more, kinda, because no one who’s only out there for a quick fuck would spend a whole night with someone without even trying to get in their pants. And I’m –” he takes your free hand, intertwines your fingers. “I’m glad about it because you deserve something special like that. You deserve someone who wants to get to know you.”

“Don’t make me cry, I’ll shove you the rest of the way out the window.”

Megumi laughs, a crack in his voice. 

“I really hope I’m not reading this whole thing wrong,” you sigh, your thumb brushing over the back of Megumi’s hand. “But well, he did let me sleep on his thigh.” You grin at that and Megumi smiles too. A little crooked, a little fond. “And fuck, I didn’t know that getting to know someone can feel like this.” 

“How so?” 

“It feels easy. He never gives me the feeling that I have to meet some expectations, that I’m too much or not enough, that I have to change how I behave, what I do, what I say. It’s –” your next inhale is shaky, a little rough in your throat. “It’s scaring the shit out of me.” 

“Scared because it’s unfamiliar or because –”

“Because I’m already in too deep,” you interrupt him, your gaze on the blue sky outside, roaming down, over the trees of the park across the street, the elderly couple sitting on a bench and reading the newspaper. “I don’t even know if he wants to date, if it’s even an option, and I’m already feeling as if there’s no coming back from all of this. I squealed this morning, Megumi, me – squealing.” 

Megumi snorts, bumps his forehead against your shoulder, stays there. 

“I kinda squealed yesterday, too.” 

“What?” Your eyes go wide and you shake your shoulder to dislodge him from his hiding place, shoving him back with a hand on his chest so you’re able to have a good look at his face. Megumi’s blushing. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks and he’s very pointedly not meeting your gaze. Holy fuck. 

“Fushiguro Megumi, spill.” 

He groans. “I need a beer for this shit,” he mutters, hopping down the window sill, his bare feet slapping over the kitchen tiles. “You want one, too?” You take a quick look at the clock – three in the afternoon. Well, why the fuck not. 

“Sure.” 

Megumi comes back with two bottles, lukewarm because neither of you put the sixpack in the fridge when you bought it four months ago. You take a sip, grimacing at the warm taste. 

“Mh, tasty,” you take another sip, eyes going back to Megumi who’s sitting next to you again. “C’mon, I gave you something, now give me something in return.” 

“You know that I exchanged numbers with Choso, right?” 

“Thought as much,” you shrug.

“Yeah, well, we’re kinda messaging each other every day?” 

“That isn’t something that makes you squeal,” you squint at him and he groans, spilling half of his beer down his throat. 

“He asked me on a date.” 

You stare at him, the grin on your face growing into something big. Megumi meets your gaze for a second, looks away again, but you see the twitch on his lips, the shiny sparkle in his eyes.  

“And you said yes?” 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, starting to peel the label off of the bottle of beer. “And I kinda get what you mean by ‘being in too deep’.” 

You smile at him. “I’m happy for you,” you hum. 

“And I’m afraid,” he says. “What if –” 

“Yeah, no, stop right there,” you tell him. “If I’m not allowed to overthink, you’re sitting in the same boat.” 

He groans again, but nods, emptying his beer with one long sip. You give him the rest of your own. 

“So,” he hums. “Off day routine?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Megumi and you have had a routine for your days off ever since you moved in together. The curtains stay closed, no matter the weather outside, you’re spending the day in one of your beds, eating your own weight in frozen pizza and tubes of ice-cream while you’re watching the worst reality shows you can find. 

Your bed is the winner for today, and you’re both bundled up under the blankets, you still clad in Sukuna’s hoodie. You’re already afraid of the day when it doesn’t smell like him anymore, or worse, when he wants to have it back. You’re playing with your phone, Megumi half-asleep with his head on your shoulder, some very old re-runs of Jersey Shore playin’ on the TV. 

Should you – you groan, opening your text messages. Be brave. 

Me (16:47) Hey, I just wanted to thank you again for last night. I had fun. 

Before you can start overthinking it, you hit send, just to immediately regret it. You lock your phone, eyes back on the TV. 

You look down at the dark display. No new message.

You look away again.

Phone. TV. Phone. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself. Seriously, how desperate can you be? It’s only a simple message, maybe he won’t even answer. On your lap your phone vibrates and you almost stop breathing altogether. You try to hold back from reading it immediately but who the fuck are you trying to impress – your phone vibrates a second time and your thumb swipes over the display.

Sukuna (16:50) You’re welcome.

Sukuna (16:50) You enjoyin’ your day off?

In your head, you’re screaming. You didn’t really expect him to answer in the first place and now he’s trying to keep the conversation going. It sends you reeling, making you almost giddy. 

Me (16:51) Yeah, Megumi and I have some kind of routine going for these days. Watching trashy tv shows, eating too much frozen pizza and spending the day in bed, mostly. 

Sukuna (16:52) Sounds good, you should invite me someday. 

Your eyes almost roll out of your head. Is he – is he flirting with you? Okay, just – keep your cool. 

Me (16.52) It involves a lot of cuddling, you up for that?

Sukuna (16:53) If it means you’re falling asleep on me again, yes. 

Sukuna (16:54) Naps are a thing on these days, right?

Me (16:54) Of course they are, who do you think I am?

Sukuna (16:55) Oh thank god, I don’t know if I could’ve continued talking to you if you said no and that’d be a shame.

Me (16:56) You saying you’d miss me?

Sukuna (16:57) Already do. 

You stare at your phone in absolute shock. 

Eyes wide. 

And then you’re half-screaming, half-groaning, throwing your phone at the end of the bed and hiding your face behind your hands. Holy shit. Megumi grunts, straightening up next to you, a deep scowl on his face. 

“Why are you screaming?” 

“I didn’t scream,” you answer immediately. Megumi only raises an eyebrow at you and you deflate like a popped balloon. “Okay, maybe I did.”

You gesture in the direction of your phone, Megumi fishing it out between the blankets. He smirks upon reading the messages, throwing the phone back in your lap. 

“You should answer him before he thinks he went too far.” 

You take a deep breath, the pace of your heartbeat finally back in the realms of something normal. 

Me (16:59) You could come over now. There’s still some space left in my bed.

Shit, shit, shit. You aren’t made for things like these. Flirting. Waiting. Holding your breath. 

Sukuna (17:00) Can’t, have to get three cars done tonight because we’re already overdue.

Your heart sinks in your chest, plummeting straight into your stomach. You can’t help but ask yourself if he’s really busy or if he just – if he just doesn’t want to. Because that’s a possibility. At least your insecurities are telling you that right now, and you’re inclined to believe them, because yesterday has been too good to be true, and you’re already waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Maybe this is said shoe. 

Megumi throws you a concerned look, but he isn’t prying, not yet. You’re thankful for that. 

Me (17:01) Uh, alright, I get it. 

You watch the dots appearing on the display, watch them vanish again. The skin on your nape burns in embarrassment. And then your phone rings, Sukuna’s name staring back at you. 

“I’ll give you a moment,” Megumi mutters, hopping out of the bed and leaving your room. One deep breath, two and you’re accepting the call. 

“Hi?” You sound dejected, even to your own ears. Gods, but you’re pathetic.

“Hi,” Sukuna says and he sounds serious, maybe worried. Is this the moment he’ll tell you that he isn’t interested like that? That he changed his mind or that the message saying that he does miss you was only a joke? “I can basically hear you overthinking,” he sighs, “stop doing that.”

You hum, not really knowing what to say in a situation like this one. 

“Speckles?” 

Your heart skips a beat.

“Yeah?”

“This was not me saying no, this was me saying I’d love to but I still got shit at work to finish, alright?” 

“Oh, I – alright.” You let yourself sink back into your pillows, your heart a little lighter, the good kind of fluttery feeling back under your skin. 

You can’t believe that he really called, just to make sure there aren’t any misunderstandings between you. It settles warm in your stomach, lets you dive a little deeper, lets you hope that he’s right there in the sea with you. He’s still on the line and you can hear him breathing, a calm and steady pattern, one you’re matching after a few more seconds of shared silence. 

“Feelin’ better?” His voice is deep, a little gruff in the way he always is. 

“Yeah, thanks for– “ you pause, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on your blanket. “For calling me.” 

Sukuna hums, the sound of a clicking lighter comin’ through the phone. 

“Good,” he says. “I’ll see you on Saturday, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you smile. “I’m – I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Me too.” There’s a shuffle, someone yelling Sukuna’s name. “Have to go, Choso’s callin’ and he’s already pissed that I only came down to the shop around one.” A sigh, a pause that lingers. “You can write to me whenever though.”

There’s something in his voice, something soft you wouldn’t have thought him capable of. 

“I will,” you answer. 

“Good,” another pause, a door falling close with a thud. “Later then.”

“Yeah, bye,” you murmur, teeth digging into your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling like a lunatic. Sukuna’s holding the call for another few seconds, after that, silence. Your heart’s doing somersaults in your chest, your whole body warm, kind of tingly.

Megumi comes back, slipping under the blanket, his shoulder resting against yours and it’s familiar, grounding you even more. 

“Everything alright?” He isn’t looking at you but the TV instead, a grimace forming on his lips when he watches Snookie vomiting once again. 

“Yeah, it –” you look down at your phone, the thread of messages with Sukuna still open. “It really is.” Megumi squeezes your hand and you squeeze it right back, a small smile still on your lips. You can’t wait for Saturday to finally come. 

In the end, Saturday comes faster than you’re actually ready for. Friday was spent at the hospital, a twelve hour day shift that passed by in the blink of an eye, especially with Sukuna and you writing to each other almost constantly. Megumi teased you about it, laughed about your flushed cheeks, but he stopped the moment you told him how dumb he looks every time Choso’s sending him a message. 

And today, you spent most of the morning doing laundry, your dresser almost empty, the thought of wearing socks twice a little too disgusting, even for someone as lazy as you. Your thoughts had circled around Sukuna all day, no matter what you were doing, and it’s nice, getting to know him and to read about the little tidbits he decides to share with you. There are stories about Choso and Yuji, the occasional anecdote about Yuki, Suguru and Satoru. It kind of fascinates you how open he is, how he doesn’t have a problem with showing you that he cares. 

You do your best to be open and honest in return, even if your subconscious tells you to be careful, to not make yourself vulnerable. It’s a defense mechanism you learned pretty early on in life. There have been too many people abusing your trust, too many people trying to manipulate you for their own gain and in regards to romantic partners – well, let's just say you haven’t the best track record. 

For Sukuna, you try anyway, because it feels special, that thing between you that is steadily growing and you can’t imagine that telling you this much about himself comes easy to him either. You share what little good memories from your childhood you have, telling him how Megumi and you met, small and kind of funny stories from hospital life and the weird shit you see there on the daily. 

Messages flow easily between the two of you, and you can feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into the sea, the ground of it nowhere in sight. You aren’t sure if you want to find it in the first place, the floaty feeling inside your chest warm and comfortable. 

Sukuna, as well as you, hold back on the flirting though, even if there’s the occasional suggestive comment, a compliment that comes out of left field. It keeps you on your toes and lets you fly into the sky at the same time and you’re a little excited to find out if the simplicity, the banter and openness will continue outside of the safeness messages provide.

Nine o’clock comes closer at rapid speed, the squeasy feeling in your stomach spreading and getting harder and harder to ignore. Megumi notices but he lets you be for the most part, doesn’t take the opportunity to tease you some more and you’re thankful for that. You don’t know if you wouldn’t just snap at him with your nerves being on edge like this.

Currently, you’re sitting on the kitchen counter, your eyes stuck on the sky outside the dusted window, on the rosy-golden orange glow that is stretching all over the horizon. At this point, you want to laugh about yourself, about the way your fingers are trembling around the cigarette, how shaky every inhale is, how your feet can’t stop swinging back and forth, the heel of your sneaker bumping against the wood of the counter again and again. 

Megumi’s sitting at the kitchen table, his own fingers tapping a wild rhythm on the wooden tabletop, his cigarette slowly burning down in the ashtray.

“Nervous?” Megumi asks, his green-eyed gaze flickering back and forth between you and the window, you and the table, the counter, the wall, never settling for long. 

“I guess,” you mumble, taking a drag of your cigarette, smoke curling up in front of you. Megumi hums, a small sound that is almost getting lost under the creaking of the chair he sits on when he shifts his weight. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, clicks his tongue, puts his hands down again. “You too, huh?”

Megumi groans, his whole upper body leaning forward, his forehead thumping against the tabletop.

“Yes,” he whines, his voice muffled. “And it’s not even our date. It’s only him and me and a bunch of friends hanging out and I’m seriously freaking out here, like what the actual fuck.” 

You snort, hopping off the counter to stub out your cigarette in the ashtray in front of Megumi. “I want to tell you something encouraging but I’m kind of drawing a blank here, sorry.” Megumi looks up at you, making a waving gesture with his hands. 

“Kinda figured,” he sighs, both your eyes flicking over to your phone that’s vibrating on the counter. “Go on, just leave me here to die in agony.” You ruffle his hair, your heart beating too fast, hands getting clammy. Just – don’t panic. It’s Sukuna. You already spent a whole night with him, surely you can do another without going into cardiac arrest. 

Sukuna (21:01) I’m here.

You send him a quick thumbs up, your breathing pattern all out of whack. 

“You can do this,” you mutter to yourself, turning around to Megumi again. “I see you later?” 

“Yeah, I am supposed to meet Choso in,” he takes a quick look at his own phone, “twenty minutes.” Megumi rests his forehead back on the table, and with another chuckle you leave him to fend for himself. 

The front door falls close behind you and you all but skip down the stairs, taking two at a time and almost landing face first on the stair landing. You open the door of the building with a little too much force, your heart skipping a few beats when you spot Sukuna across the street, leaning against his Nissan. Holy shit. 

You make your way over the street, stopping next to him. You let your eyes roam all over him, taking in the sight of worn down sneakers, the black ripped jeans clinging to his muscled thighs. He’s wearing a hoodie again, and when your gaze finally reaches his face, he’s already looking at you, the red in his eyes kind of glowing with the sunset reflecting in them. 

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless, excited. He still holds your gaze, keeping you in place.

“Hi,” he grunts, his voice deep, gruff like it always is. It settles warm in your stomach, to see that nothing much has changed even if it feels like it has. You send him a small smile, the corners of your lips twitching up on their own. 

Sukuna nods in the direction of the passenger door, bumps against your shoulder with his own. It’s awkward and it’s him, and your smile only grows. You make your way around the Nissan before you embarrass yourself with telling him how cute he is, climbing inside the car and letting your fingers brush over the soft nylon of the seat. 

The sight of Sukuna behind the wheel is a familiar one, the car purring for him, rumbling and it’s a little crazy, how fast your heart calms down, how the nervousness that rested inside you all day simply flows out of you. Your hands stop trembling, the itch to move your fingers vanishes. For the first time in three days you feel absolutely relaxed, a little more like yourself. 

Sukuna merges into traffic easily, his hands loosely resting on the wheel and the gear shift, and you watch him for a bit, only stopping when he throws a quick glance your way. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” you hum, looking back out the windshield and ignoring his raised eyebrow. Sukuna goes along with it, offering you his iPod when he has to stop at a red light. The choice in music is an easy one – the two of you spend hours talking about your favorite musicians, exchanging your favorite tracks, your favorite b2b’s. 

As soon as Sukuna recognizes the first beats, his fingers start tapping in tune on the steering wheel, the engine rumbling again when the light switches to green.

“Is the meet-up at the same spot it was last time?” Another quick glance, the muscles in his left thigh flexing upon pushing down the clutch, the shifting of gears smooth, seamless, nothing else than instinct. 

“No,” he answers. “It’s at a more central spot today. Have to put on the masks beforehand, take down the license plates before we’re even gettin’ close.” 

You raise an eyebrow at that. “Why’s that?” 

“It’s one of those places everyone knows,” Sukuna explains. “It’s fuckin’ listed in travel guides, and it’s a real pain in the ass. A lot of tourists snooping around, too many cameras.” 

“Sounds risky,” you mutter. 

“It is,” Sukuna huffs. “But it keeps the police at bay, mostly, because they think that the overall racing scene is still centered around there. Makes racing and meet up’s in other spots a little easier.” 

You hum, your gaze roaming over the blur of city lights, neon colors blending in.

“So, it’s also not the same route?” 

“Nah, we’re driving the outer ring tonight,” Sukuna says, his manic-excited grin flashing over his face for a few seconds. “The route’s longer and definitely more fun because the sections with multiple lanes stretch for several miles. The skill-level between drivers is more balanced that way.” 

There’s a flutter in your stomach when you think about the upcoming race, about the speed, the blur outside the window, the rumble of the engine that’ll vibrate through your body, down into your bones. You’re a little worried about the risk this race is wrapped up in, not because of Sukuna’s driving skills but because of the very valid concern that the police will get wind of it.

You’re sure your boss wouldn’t take kindly to an employee with a criminal record, but that thought isn’t enough to deny yourself the pleasure of experiencing another race, to see Sukuna in his element, to silence your head if only for a few minutes. 

After stopping in a side street and taking off the licence plates, you put the medical mask on Sukuna kept in the glove box, the hood of your sweater pulled deeply over your head. You reach the parking lot where the meet-up’s taking place in only a few minutes later. And holy shit, Sukuna had been right – it’s packed to the brim with people.

Car after car after car, tourists taking photos, truck drivers looking pissed because they can’t get an ounce of sleep and rest with all the noise echoing over the lot. There’s the revving sound of engines, music and heavy bass vibrating out of cars, laughter, voices blurring together. It has already been a little too much last time, but this is on another level entirely. It’s overwhelming and you can’t help but wish that you’re back in the mountains, watching a small group of friends make the roads their own. 

“Holy shit,” you mutter, your eyes and ears already overstimulated. You’re getting kind of fidgety, fingers tip-tapping on your thigh, toes curling and uncurling in your shoes. Sukuna keeps his silence, but you know he’s scowling behind his mask, the small creases at the corners of his eyes giving him away. 

“At least the race will start earlier than last time,” he sighs and there’s relief spreading inside your chest upon hearing that. You spot Satoru’s white Mazda at the same time Sukuna does, and he stops the Nissan right next to it, the engine rumbling one more time before it’s going quiet. 

Satoru greets you with an one-armed hug, his own mask hiding his smile, blue eyes sparkling. He looks better than he did on Wednesday night, almost as if his black out didn’t even happen. Suguru’s leaning on the hood of Satoru’s car, greeting you with a nod, before he’s pulling Sukuna into a conversation you only understand half of. 

“Are you racing again tonight?” 

“But of course,” Satoru hums. “Wouldn’t want to miss a try at finally beating Sukuna.” 

“You haven’t won against him once?”

“Nope,” Satoru answers, popping the p. “The only one who ever beat him is Yuki and she only succeeded because Sukuna was sick and half knocked-out on pain killers. And even that has been a very close call.”

You snort, glancing over at Sukuna with your breathing gettin’ caught up in your lungs. The golden-orange light of the street lantern kind of makes him glow, his broad shoulders looking massive with the cotton of his hoodie stretched thin, the air around him seemingly brimming with energy from his presence alone. 

It’s a little funny to watch how everyone in his vicinity, everyone who exchanges a few words with him and ends up in his personal bubble, stands a little taller, their spines straightening in an attempt to not shrink under the weight of his gaze. You just can’t take your eyes off him, your gaze always comin’ back like a moth to a flame. Satoru snaps his fingers in front of your face a few times and you flush at that, heat filling up your cheeks while Satoru’s absolutely amused.

“Can you stop eye-fucking one of my friends in front of me? Can’t have you ruining my innocence,” Satoru tells you and you give him a dead-pan look. 

“Your innocence,” you repeat, one eyebrow slowly climbing up your forehead.

“Yes, my innocence,” Satoru huffs. “I’ll have you know I’m a model citizen.” 

“Liar,” you hum, eyes going back to Sukuna’s shoulders and roaming down his body.

“You have it bad, huh?” Satoru bumps his shoulder against your own, his voice quiet and more serious than before. 

“Is it that obvious?” 

“Yeah, kind of,” he hums, burying his hands in his jeans pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. “But it’s very obvious on both sides.” 

“What –”

“Chosooo,” Satoru yells before you can finish your question, already on his way over to Choso’s car who just arrived with Megumi in tow. You shrug to yourself, putting Satoru’s words into the box labeled ‘inspect later’ inside your head. It wouldn’t get you anywhere to start analysing it now, and well, it’s Satoru. You may not know him for long, but you already clocked that he’s one of those people who like to hear themselves talk. That’s not to say that his words aren’t true, they just have to be inspected a little more carefully. 

Megumi’s arms around your neck startle you a little, and he’s hugging you tightly, the medical mask he’s wearing a little scratchy on the skin of your neck. 

“I’ll die,” he grumbles, adding a groan after his words for good measure apparently. You chuckle, your own arms wrapping around his waist, squeezing him for some comfort.

“What happened?” 

Megumi groans again, rests more of his weight against you and you almost topple over. 

“He put his hand on my thigh,” Megumi finally says. “For the whole fuckin’ drive. He even squeezed it and those fucking rings and ugh.” 

You can’t help it. You start laughing at his words, at the misery swinging with the syllables and Megumi leans back, tries glaring at you but fails, thanks to the pinkish hue on his cheekbones.

“Stop laughing, this is seriously a problem.” You snort again, the sound ugly and raw, your cheeks already hurting. 

“Oh my god, you’re honest to god blushing,” you cackle, eyes roaming over the visible parts of his face. 

“I hate you so much,” Megumi barks out, shoving his middle finger straight in your face before he’s turning around and making his way back to Satoru and Choso.

“No, you don’t,” you sing-song after him, a grin still on your lips.

“You can kiss my ass!”

You laugh again, your heart filling with warmth after the familiar bickering. You spot Sukuna sitting in front of the hood of his car, mostly hidden from the sight of strangers, and your legs move on autopilot until you’re next to him. Sukuna’s already holding up a cigarette for you, the tips of your fingers brushing and making your skin tingle. 

“Everything alright between you two?” 

“Mh?” You look up, following his nod in the direction of Megumi. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. He just makes it a little too easy to tease him sometimes.” 

You sit down next to him on the asphalt, lighting up your cigarette before you’re answering the silent question written on his face. 

“It’s about Choso,” you answer around a mouthful of smoke. “But only good things, I promise.” Sukuna hums, leaning back against the car, his shoulder, his arm, pressed against yours. 

You’re getting enveloped in his warmth like this, and your head comes down on his shoulder without a second thought, as if it’s already instinct by now, as if it’s something normal you’re doing every day. Sukuna isn’t shaking you off. You close your eyes, heart thumping wildly, a giddy feeling spreading inside your chest. 

You enjoy his closeness, the scent of his cologne, and that he lets you do this in the first place. You’re out in the open with his friends being right there, but he allows you to be close anyway, and it isn’t something you’re used to, isn’t something you ever experienced before. There’s still a part inside of you that is anxious, afraid that you’re imagining things and making things bigger than they actually are. 

It doesn’t feel like it when you can feel Sukuna’s lips brushing against your temple. It’s the fleeting hint of a kiss, nothing to write home about, but right now, for you, it means the world. There’s care in that ghost of a touch, something unsaid that’s still taking root between you. Your cheeks flush, a small smile playing on your lips that stays even when you take another drag of your cigarette. 

Gods, but your heart feels short of bursting into thousands of tiny shards, their sharpness cutting you open and leaving you raw, bleeding with a feeling it’s definitely too early for. 

When you look up, you spot Megumi a few feet away, phone in hand. He’s staring at you and Sukuna, something fond written on his face, a little wonder sitting in the corners of his lips. It seems as if he sees it too, how special this is and maybe you aren’t as delusional as you think you are. Maybe this tiny bubble around you will grow with time, with closeness, with moments like this, bodies touching – the fleeting brush of lips on skin carving promises into your bones. 

Sukuna and you stay like that for a long time, both of you content with the quietness between you, with sharing space and feeling each other’s presence. You’re listening to the conversations between your friends, sighing or chuckling at their bickering, their banter. Sukuna nudges his elbow into your side and you follow his gaze, finding Megumi and Choso standing a little off to the side, the both of them sharing a hug that lingers, that looks cotton candy sweet.

You don’t stare at them for long, letting them have their privacy as much as that’s possible in a parking lot filled to the brim with people. After another cigarette, it’s finally time for the race to start and Sukuna snorts at your eagerness to get on the passenger seat and close the door behind you. You spot Suguru taking his place next to Satoru, Sukuna following behind them to the exit of the lot. 

There’s no white van this time, only another car that looks as if it’s perfect for racing. A guy comes up to every car, asking if everything’s alright, explaining and reminding everyone of the rules in place. Apparently, the race won’t get filmed this time because of the major risk factor, and even the orga-team’s wearing masks, hats pulled deep in their faces. 

The freeway is just around the corner, butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach when Sukuna merges into the traffic there. He doesn’t ask how you want it this time. He already knows. The flag goes down and Sukuna floors the gas pedal, the Nissan rumbling and roaring, the world outside the window getting painted in a golden orange blur. 

You kinda see why Sukuna took his time at the start of the race last time. He isn’t even pushing the button on the steering wheel that had the car lurch forward, but he’s leaving the other drivers in the dust anyway. Satoru kept close during the first hundred metres, but as soon as the freeway got smaller, switching from six lanes to two, he was gone from sight. 

It’s thirty seconds later that Sukuna’s phone rings. 

“What?” Sukuna barks, maneuvering the car from one small gap into the next. He puts the phone on speaker, letting the device rest in his lap. 

“The police are on our tail,” it’s Suguru who answers, his voice serious but not really worried. “Every driver’s got a shadow, saw yours passing us a few seconds ago.”

“Fuck,” Sukuna grunts, his voice gruff. “Can you estimate how far behind they are?” 

“Twenty seconds, maybe?” 

Sukuna curses, checking the rearview mirror again and again. There’s the faintest flicker of blue lights, and he clicks his tongue, pushes the car from 160 mph to a steady 180.

“I’ll leave the freeway and try losing them downtown. Call ya in an hour?” 

“Alright,” Suguru’s answer is clipped, the line going dead immediately. You don’t dare to say anything, not with Sukuna looking as if he’s on the hunt for blood and burnt flesh. You also don’t want to distract him, not with the freeway being as packed as it is, with Sukuna speeding down the slip-road. 

Your heart is short of plummeting straight into your stomach when he ignores a handful of red lights, the flickering lights of the police car coming closer. Suddenly, Sukuna’s slamming on the brakes hard, the tires squealing and the engine grumbling as if it’s grumpy at getting treated like this. 

Sukuna’s turning into a parking garage, driving up the ramps one after another in search of a free spot. He finds one in between two SUV’s, their massive rears almost hiding the Nissan from view entirely. 

“C’mon,” he tells you gruffly, opening his door. “Take off your hoodie and the mask.” 

You obey on the spot, slipping out of your hoodie and throwing it back on your seat, your heart still jackhammering away in your chest. Sukuna’s pulling you along with his fingers wrapped around your wrist, down the stairwell and out onto the street. The street’s almost empty, except for the police car that is slowly driving down the street. 

“Fuck,” Sukuna curses under his breath. “Trust me?” You nod, his gaze burning, eating you alive. He lets his eyes roam all over you and you’re getting painfully aware of the top you were wearing underneath the hoodie. It’s an old one because you didn’t think you’d take off the hoodie tonight, one that became a little too small from too many rounds in the dryer and your tits are basically spilling over, the black lace of your bra sitting out in the open. 

Sukuna’s staring at your neckline, lips half-opened, eyes wide, a slightly pinkish tint on his cheekbones. You poke him in the ribs, embarrassed as hell and he snaps out of it, his eyes meeting yours for the fraction of a second. 

Next thing you know, Sukuna has you pushed up against the facade of the parking garage, his big hands smoothing over the curve of your ass, coming to a rest at the backside of your thighs, thick fingers digging into the flesh over the cotton of your jeans. He lifts you up easily, not even the slightest hitch in his breath, and you wrap your legs around his waist without him needing to tell you. 

Fuck, but he’s close. He’s everywhere. His broad chest pushed up against yours, his nose brushing along the length of your neck, his breath tickling over the shell of your ear. 

“Have they passed us?” Sukuna’s question is like a bucket of ice water coming down over your head. Right. Right. This is not him being close to you because he wants to, but because it’s a ploy to get the police off your asses. You look up, spotting the police car instantly. They’re almost next to you, your cheeks burning when you remember –

“Can you put your hand over my left collarbone?” 

“What? Why?” You try not to shiver at the feeling of his lips ghosting against your skin, squeezing your eyes shut tightly for a moment. 

“Because I have a tattoo there that will only make this whole situation worse.” 

Instead of asking any more questions, Sukuna’s pressing more of his weight against you, supporting the one hand that’s lifting you, his other arm coming up, hand cupping your neck while his forearm hides your tattoo. Thank fucking god. 

The police car passes you, and for a second you think that’s it. 

It isn’t. 

“They’re stopping,” you murmur and Sukuna curses up a storm where his face is still hidden on the side of your neck. Suddenly, catching you completely off guard, Sukuna’s face is in front of your own, his nose brushing against yours, your breaths mingling and warming up the small gap between your lips. It’s only a fraction of a second until your lips meet, the kiss soft, gentle and – barely a kiss at all. 

You never imagined your first kiss with Sukuna to be like this. A kiss born out of necessity. A kiss without any hint of feelings being involved. A kiss that’s only lips on lips, no force, no pressure, nothing. It feels kind of wrong, hurts somewhere deep on the left side of your chest. 

“Excuse me?” One of the police officers is standing next to the two of you and Sukuna turns his head, breaks the almost – did I already lost you – what if – kiss. 

“Yeah?” He sounds bored, unaffected and you wonder if he’s just that good of an actor or if you were really existing on different pages all along. You stare at him, trying to get a read on him, trying to notice every little micro-expression, anything that’d tell you what the fuck is going on here.

“We’re searching for a black Nissan with no license plates, have you seen it somewhere in the area, by chance?” 

“Does it look as if I had the time to look at anything else than –” Sukuna pauses, raises an eyebrow and nods in your direction. The officer blushes faintly, shifting his weight from one foot to another, obviously uncomfortable.

“Probably not,” he clears his throat, straightens his shoulders to gain back at least the resemblance of authority. “I must ask you to take this somewhere else though. I don’t want to have to impose a fine for public indecency.”

“Of course, officer,” Sukuna nods, only barely suppressing an eye roll from the looks of it. 

“Have a good evening.” 

The officer turns around, joins his colleague back in the car and you can hear them discuss their next course of action until the car door falls shut behind him. Your next exhale is a little shaky, the adrenaline from being chased by the police slowly flowing out of your system, the hurt inside your chest spreading like a malignant tumour. 

Sukuna sets you down on your own feet, your knees a little weak when you instinctively take a step back. His gaze falls to your collarbone and he snorts, shakes his head with his lips tilted up in amusement. 

“Yeah, that wouldn’t have helped in the slightest,” he half-laughs, his eyes still taking in the four black letters painted on your skin. 

“Told ya,” you shrug, your own fingers coming up to rub over the tattoo. Sukuna tilts his head, furrows his brows as if he isn’t sure where your change in tone comes from. You aren’t planning to bring the topic of the kiss up though, too afraid of the rejection you’re almost sure will come. 

“Come on, the next subway station is a few blocks down there,” Sukuna mutters and you follow him along the street, gaze focused on the glow of the street lanterns, on people passing you by. 

“Which line do you have to take?” 

“Uh, line six,” you mutter, your voice kind of raspy, your hands buried in the pockets of your jeans. Sukuna only nods, keeps his silence. For the first time, the quietness between you is uncomfortable and you’re gnawing on your bottom lip, asking yourself how you could have read a person, a whole situation, this wrong.

Maybe it’s bad luck, or maybe it’s the good kind of luck, but when you step onto the platform the train you’ll have to take is in the middle of arriving. You don’t know what to say, what to do, if there even is something to say at all. 

“I’m –” Sukuna grimaces, cards his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t elaborate what he means by that and you don’t ask.

Is he sorry for the police chase? For the kiss? For not returning your feelings? For something else entirely?

The brakes of the train screech, doors sliding open.

“Good night,” you murmur, already turning around and pointedly avoiding his gaze.

“Good night.” 

The doors slide shut behind you, the train slowly gaining speed and the darkness outside the window blurring into shapes and shadows. You greet the numbness seeping into your soul like an old friend.

The grocery store is almost empty, the air filled with the humming sound of the cooling racks, fluorescent lights burning in your eyes and making you even more tired than you already are. The lamps remind you too much of work, your body exhausted, your mind empty and kind of numb. You come to a stop in front of the freezer section, your eyes roaming over tubes of ice cream with the hope that one of them will soothe the ache inside your chest at least for a little while. 

You wouldn’t bet on it though, not after the last two days. Hell, it wouldn’t even surprise you, if you buy a tube, just to open it at home and see that it’s already expired.

Work has been an absolute shitshow, too, a twelve hour day shift while you’re already running on empty. Every little task felt like climbing the fuckin’ Mount Everest, every laugh, every loud voice feeling like a personal attack on your eardrums and your frayed nerves. Megumi noticed, and so had Hajime, and both of them did their best to shield you from the worst of it. You spend your day patching up kids that came in with their parents who are a little too careful, while Megumi and Hajime took on the more severe cases.

You thanked them with a hug that lingered, with your eyes burning and half a sob caught up in your lungs. Ever since Saturday night, your mind and heart are screaming for you to cry, but your body doesn’t quite get the memo, as always. You can’t even remember the last time you cried, maybe as a kid, when you fell down a tree and your mom only threw a pack of band aids at your head. 

You sigh, tipping your head in your neck and staring at the ceiling of the store. A few people pass you by but they pay you no mind. They just continue their shopping, continue with their life and there’s a stab of jealousy in the middle of your chest, a hint of anger at yourself that you let it get to you this much.

Your head tips back forward, eyes once again roaming over the colorful containers. Chocolate, vanilla, caramel – you hate yourself for the fact that the first thing coming to your mind is that caramel is Sukuna’s favorite. You want to scream, to smash the glass doors in and yell some more. Fuck. 

His name in your thoughts opens the floodgates once again. Your mind travels back to Saturday night, to a kiss that should have felt like relief but didn’t. A kiss that tasted like hurt, like promises only you could see. The worst thing is that you can’t help but make a big deal out of it. 

You’re forcing yourself to analyze every small situation, every minute you spend together, again and again, trying to see, to find the moment in which he turned left and you continued going straight ahead. Three little words play on loop in your head, I am sorry, and you should have asked what he meant, should have asked for reassurance at least once in your life. 

But you didn’t and now you’re bearing the consequences.

You spent the whole of Sunday in bed, your curtains drawn close and the blanket pulled over your head. Lights burn dimmer echoed through your room on repeat, because if you’re already suffering there’s no harm in making yourself suffer even more and hit yourself where it hurts the most. Sukuna’s hoodie rested on your pillow next to your face, his scent still faintly sitting in the cotton and sending pinprick needles all over your skin. 

You waited for a message that didn’t come and you didn’t send one either. You ignored Megumi who came in at one point in the afternoon, his hand brushing through your hair, a fleeting kiss to your cheek, his voice reminding you that he’s there if you need him and thankfully not asking what the fuck happened in the first place.

A hand clapping on your shoulder snaps you out of your thoughts, your whole body flinching, recoiling from the touch and you just barely stopped yourself from shrieking and embarrassing the hell out of yourself.

“Sorry,” Satoru sing-songs, a bright grin on his face that doesn’t look apologetic in the slightest, a grin that turns into a pout when you punch him in the shoulder. 

“Fuck you,” you tell him, your voice raspy from not using it much in the last two days. “And you’re definitely not sorry, you should work on your poker face.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off. “Suguru tells me that all the time, but it’s more fun like this.” 

Satoru’s gaze roams all over you, taking in the hoodie you’re wearing, Sukuna’s obviously because you like to hurt yourself, flicking over to the freezer section, and back to you. You give him credit for not commenting on the dark circles under your eyes, but he’s squeezing your upper arm once and that small, comforting move alone almost makes you tear up. 

“Is everything alright?” 

You contemplate lying for a moment, but it doesn’t feel right, not when misery is written all over your face anyway. 

“Not really.” 

Satoru hums while he’s making a show out of looking at the tubes of ice cream, seemingly very much interested in choosing one. 

“What a coincidence,” he says. “You know, a friend of mine, a really handsome guy I must say, isn’t feeling that great either.”

You hold his gaze, trying to give him nothing, even if your mind is already jumping straight into turmoil. He is talking about Sukuna, right? But why –

“But thankfully tonight is our weekly get together that never fails to cheer anyone up, a night filled with movies and friends and –” Satoru’s looking at you over the rim of his glasses, his gaze piercing. “You should definitely join us.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Oh, but it is,” Satoru says, very matter of factly. He throws an arm around your shoulder, pulls you along to the check-outs and there’s no way you’ll get out of his death grip. You squirm anyway and he stops, pins you in place with his gaze and looks way more serious than you thought him capable of. “You like him, don’t you?” 

“Yes, but –”

“There are no buts. I get that we don’t know each other that well, but I know Sukuna for years and I never saw him like this. Just trust me, alright? At least try to?” 

You stare up at him, your mind working in overdrive and hurling one possibility after another at you. Is Satoru telling the truth? Are you not the only one hurting right now? Was all of it just one big misunderstanding? Was it you once again coming to conclusions that are founded on old experiences and insecurities but don’t fit into reality?

You groan, not really knowing what to do. You’re afraid of disrespecting boundaries of which you don’t even know if they exist, still afraid of rejection, of everything, really. Satoru stays quiet, lets you work through it at your own pace, and it’s that, Satoru looking serious, genuine, that lets you take a leap of faith, that makes you finally agree. 

“Alright,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But if this backfires I’ll set your ass on fire.” 

Satoru grins, claps into his hands once, twice before he’s pulling you into the snack aisle and filling his shopping basket with tons of sweets. You can only watch, fascinated and horrified at the same time, how he throws package after package inside, your stomach turning once when you see the price on the cash register. Satoru doesn’t even blink.

“Don’t judge me, I have a sweet tooth,” he pouts while you make your way through the parking lot. 

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You wanted to.”

“No.” He throws you a look, one eyebrow raised and your shoulders slump. “Well, okay, maybe.” 

Satoru sticks his tongue out at you like the responsible adult he is, dumping his purchases into the trunk of his Mazda, gesturing for you to get in. The interior is a little more on the fancy side of things, leather seats, a blinking dashboard, a center console that isn’t only a single compartment. The rest of the car does resemble Sukuna’s Nissan though, a rolling cage, missing backseats and safety nets on the windows. 

As soon as Satoru starts the car, you know that something’s missing. There’s no deep rumble of an engine, no purring sounds or a vibration under your thighs. It makes you miss the Nissan instantly, makes you miss Sukuna, and the thought of seeing him again has you feeling slightly nauseous.

Satoru’s chattering away during the drive, content with the one-word answers you give him from time to time. The drive is over faster than you’re ready for, and you wipe your clammy hands off on your jeans, your heart beating in the rhythm of war drums when you get out of the car. 

Sukuna’s apparently living above his mechanic shop, which is looking bigger than you expected. There are three big rolling doors at the front, a handful of cars standing in front of it. As if he knows that you’re short of running away, Satoru wraps his free arm that isn’t holding on to at least five kg’s of sweets around you, pulling you along to the front door. 

“Trust me,” he smiles, and you sigh, steeling yourself when he rings the doorbell and the door gets buzzed open only seconds later. You follow Satoru up the stairs, passing a door which, apparently, leads to Choso’s flat, further up until you’re coming to a stop in a hallway with red-painted walls. 

Satoru steps into the flat without pause, humming all the while and giving you another raised eyebrow when you don’t immediately follow. He dumps his bag filled with sweets on the floor, wrapping his long fingers around your wrists and trying to pull you inside. 

“What the fuck –” he mutters, “Don’t be a fucking coward!”

“I’m not a coward,” you snap back at him, turning your wrists this way and that in a desperate attempt to get free. The commotion is enough to call Sukuna and Suguru into the hallway and you freeze on the spot, Satoru almost falling forward from the sudden lack of counterweight.

“Satoru, what –” Suguru stares at the both of you a little wide-eyed, brows furrowed for the slightest of moments. “Forget it,” he sighs, turning back around and making his way into what you assume is the living room. 

Satoru uses your momentary distraction to make himself rare, all but running after his boyfriend and leaving you alone with Sukuna. You’re standing in the doorway like a dumbass, mouth opening and closing like a fish, not really knowing what to say, now that you’re standing in front of him. Sukuna just stares at you, not saying a single word, no real expression on his face, at least none that you’d be able to decipher. 

“Uh, hi?” You squirm on your feet, cheeks flushing with heat.

“Hi.” 

“I –” you huff, eyes going up to the ceiling because it’s easier to search for cracks than meeting Sukuna’s gaze. “Sorry, I didn’t want to intrude, but –” you swallow heavily, “Satoru kind of kidnapped me after we ran into each other in the grocery store and yeah. I mean I can go if –”

“I told you there’s something wrong with your survival instincts,” Sukuna interrupts you and his voice trickles down your spine like honey, your gaze finally settling on the sight of his face. “And you aren’t intruding.” 

“I’m not?” 

Sukuna comes closer, intertwines your fingers and pulls you fully into his flat. The front door falls shut behind you, and fuck, he’s close again, smells like smoke and the spice of his cologne. He’s looking at you, his gaze burning and setting your skin ablaze, and –

and it had only been two days, but fuck, you missed this, missed him and his shitty attractive voice, and his everything. It still scares you, how fast you got attached, how fast you –

“I’m happy you’re here,” Sukuna murmurs, the words not coming easy to him but they’re sounding honest. 

“Me too,” you mumble, gnawing on your bottom lip, looking down at his chest, up at his face again, the tension in your shoulders lessening.

“Is that my hoodie?” 

Your cheeks flush, the tips of your ears burning up. “Yeah, I – you can have it back obviously, I mean –”

“Keep it,” Sukuna hums, “Looks good on you.” 

He’s squeezing your fingers, the palm of his hand warm, a little scratchy with callouses but it’s kind of grounding, keeps you tethered to earth. 

“You stayin’ for movie night?” 

“If that’s alright with you?” His next exhale is a little shaky, and he rests his forehead against yours for a few seconds, his nose brushing over your cheek. There’s a crackle between you, sparks firing over your skin, lips tickling. The butterflies are back in your stomach, their wings fluttering fastly, building up a storm.

“More than alright,” his lips brush against the corner of your mouth and all air catches in your lungs before it leaves you in a rush. Sukuna leans back, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Oh, fuck you,” you mutter and Sukuna snorts, waits until you slipped off your shoes and pulls you along into the living room, his hand still holding on to yours, his thumb brushing over the back of it.

You take in the sight of his flat, now calm enough to actually do so, and it’s more cluttered than you expected. Not in a messy way, but in a way that shows that someone’s living here. Shoes carelessly kicked off in front of the shoe rack, a basket full with laundry sitting forgotten in a corner of the living room, shirts thrown over the arm of the couch. Tools are everywhere, on the couch table, window sills, you even spot a screwdriver in one of the plant pots and it’s the most endearing thing you ever saw. 

Sukuna pulls you on one of the two massive couches that take up most of the space inside the room. Dark green and sunshine yellow fit each other well, the cushions to sit on almost as big as a mattress. And holy shit, they’re comfortable. You wouldn’t actually mind staying here forever. 

Sukuna sits down next to you, his arm resting on the back of the couch, the warmth of his skin seeping into your neck. Satoru winks at you when your gaze meets his, and you mouth a silent thank you. He smiles at you, makes himself at home on Suguru’s lap who already has a hand in his hair, fingers softly carding through the strands.

You settle a little more on the couch, your head finally getting a little more clear, a little more calm. It’s a relief to know that you didn’t imagine things, even if it means that you let your insecurities take the reigns once again. It’s a thing you’re working on, and most definitely have to for a few more years. Sukuna’s a calm steady presence at your side, his scent a constant prickle in your nose while he’s searching for a movie on the TV. 

With the first sounds of the movie your eyes go wide, dread filling your chest in waves. No, no, no. 

There aren’t many things you’re afraid of, that make you uneasy. You’re working in a hospital, so you’re seeing crazy things on the daily and disgust isn’t really something that you’re still able to feel. But – 

Well, it’s one thing if you’re watching a movie where the killer is human and you can see him, and laugh about the dumbness of the characters on screen. It’s another thing entirely to watch a movie that depends solely on not seeing a damn thing and a whole lot of jumpscares. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a few deep breaths to get your increasing heart rate under control. Sukuna’s gaze is already on you, amusement glinting in his eyes when you look over at him. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a fuckin’ movie,” he murmurs, lips twitching.

“I –” you wipe a hand down your face, crossing your legs under yourself. “It’s the jumpscares,” you finally shrug and when you look at Sukuna again you spot him trying his best to suppress a laugh. He isn’t really succeeding, his nose all scrunched up, creases sitting at the corners of his eyes. You glare at him, and he chuckles, grabbing a blanket from the armrest and throwing it in your lap. 

He shuffles around until he’s lying sideways on the couch and in front of you, his head propped up on a pillow. Sukuna pats his chest a few times and oh. You bite into your bottom lip, heart thumping wildly when you let yourself fall sideways, taking up the space at his side, head resting on his broad chest.

It’s better than you could have ever dreamt of. His scent’s instantly overwhelming your senses, the familiar spice, the smoke clinging to his shirt, something musky underneath that is all him. You pull up the blanket, your arm slowly wrapping around Sukuna’s middle. And okay, yeah, you’re cuddling with Sukuna and for a moment you think you’ll die any minute now. 

It only gets worse (read: better) when Sukuna wraps his own arm around your shoulders, pulling you even closer until you can’t tell anymore where one body starts and the other ends. You’re absolutely sure that your head’s resembling a tomato at this point, and you can’t focus on the movie for the life of you, not that you’re complaining about that, really. 

The next 90-something minutes you exist somewhere in between heaven and hell. Heaven, because you’re close to Sukuna, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, his fingers massaging over your scalp, and hell because well, you’re close to Sukuna.

It’s all a little surreal – three hours ago you were contemplating in which tube of ice cream you can drown your sorrows in, and now you can feel the weight of Sukuna’s arm against your shoulder, his warmth seeping into your skin under the blanket. 

When the movie ends, you can proudly say that you didn’t flinch once.

“You lied about being easily startled?” Sukuna raises an eyebrow when you both sit up and you’re very pointedly not meeting his gaze. 

“I was kind of distracted,” you tell the living room ceiling, voice nothing more than an embarrassed mumble. From the gruff laugh spilling over his lips you can tell that he heard you just fine and you don’t think you’ll ever come back from this. 

“You were distracted,” he repeats, something mischievous glinting in the red of his eyes. 

“Fuck off,” you mutter, shoving him to the side. Sukuna grins, brightly and with that fuckin’ dimple showing up on his cheek again, and this time you aren’t fast enough to stop yourself – you poke a finger right into it. 

“You have a dimple when you smile like that,” you tell him, your hand falling back into your lap. “It kind of suits you.” 

You can’t really tell with the dim lighting in the room, but for a moment it looks like Sukuna’s blushing. He’s opening and closing his mouth once, twice, his fingers fidgeting with the blanket. Suguru saves the two of you from any more awkwardness, throwing his phone your way so you can choose which pizza you want to order. Thankfully, the space between you and Sukuna goes back to something more normal after that, and you roll yourself a cigarette while Sukuna argues with Satoru about which movie to watch next. Of course it’s another fucking horror movie, and you mentally prepare yourself to stare at the ceiling for the next two hours.

Of course you’re too curious for your own good. Your gaze flicks to the TV the moment a door falls close with a bang on the screen and you flinch violently, almost losing your cigarette and burning a hole into the cushion of the couch. Your heart’s beating somewhere up in your throat and next to you, Sukuna stares at you wide-eyed. 

He starts laughing seconds later. 

You hate your life. 

“Shit, I thought you were lying but –” he’s holding on to his stomach, mean sounding cackles still tumbling out of his mouth. “Your face, holy shit.” Sukuna’s breathing heavily, still grinning and when you look over to the other couch you meet the amused gazes of Satoru and Suguru.

“You’re all assholes,” you sigh, taking a drag of your cigarette and repeating the mistake from a minute ago. A rattling door, a scream and you flinch again, slapping one hand over your eyes automatically as if it would save you from the horrors the TV screen provides. 

The living room gets filled with another round of laughter and you groan into your own hands, the skin on your neck hot with embarrassment. When he finally calmed down enough, Sukuna pokes a finger into your ribs, and you send him the meanest glare you can muster.

“M’sorry, but you have to admit it is a little funny.” 

“You saying my fear amuses you? That’s good to know.” 

His eyes go wide and he looks short of apologizing again when he spots the amusement dancing in your eyes, the corners of your lips twitching. He shakes his head at you, a heavy sigh spilling over his lips. 

“Well, I kind of deserved that, I guess.” 

You bump your shoulder into his, leaning a little of your weight against him and his nose brushes against your temple. The pizza arrives a few minutes later and you’re at least halfway successful in not flinching too obviously for the remainder of the movie. Outside, it’s dark, stars dotted all over the sky, the moon hanging low and its shine spilling in through the window. 

The third movie started a few minutes ago, Satoru already asleep and snoring away while Suguru’s busy scrolling on his phone. A wide yawn stretches over your own lips, your eyes falling close and fluttering open on their own accord. 

“I can drive you home if you want,” Sukuna murmurs next to you and your heart stops beating for a moment. You meet his gaze, and – you aren’t ready to leave yet. Not really. You want to have this, his closeness, his warmth for a little longer, want to make sure that your body knows that this is real, that it’s okay for the pain in your chest to lessen. “Or – or you can stay here?” 

Sukuna’s voice is carefully devoid of emotion, but you tell yourself that he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want you to stay. 

“I’d like to stay, I think.” 

“Oh, okay, yeah, I –” There’s something soft on his face, a tender tilt to his lips. “That’s good.” 

You send him a small smile, one of your fingers brushing over the back of his hand that’s closest to you. 

“You have an early shift tomorrow?” 

You shake your head. “I’m on night shift for the rest of the week.” 

Sukuna hums, lies back down on the couch again. This time, you don’t wait for an invitation. You lie down in front of him, your head cushioned on his bicep that is surprisingly comfortable. He’s all pressed up against your back, his body warm, his arm wrapping around your stomach. The blanket’s pulled up over both of you, and at this point you couldn’t pay attention to the movie even if you wanted to. 

Sukuna’s too close for that, too big, too all consuming. His nose rests against your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin, making you shiver. You kind of want more of his touch, and in a sudden bout of bravery that only ever comes with the darkness of the night, you slowly shove his hand under your, well his, hoodie and your shirt. Behind you, Sukuna lets out a puff of air, your own breathing pattern kind of shaky, too. 

It’s a slow and kind of careful touch he starts with. It’s only his thumb lazily brushing back and forth over the skin on your stomach, but it feels like so much more. He continues like that for some time, and only when you don’t react further does he get a little bolder. His hand flattens on your skin and he pulls you even closer, your bodies touching from head to toe, his thumb starting its lazy journey over your skin again. 

You must have dozed off, because when you open your eyes the next time, the room is completely dark. The TV’s turned off, the couch Satoru and Suguru occupied empty. Sukuna is still wrapped around you, and carefully, slowly so you won’t wake him, you turn around under the weight of his arm. 

Sukuna’s face is completely relaxed, his lips half opened, and fucking god, he’s so unbelievable handsome. One of your hands lifts on instinct, one finger tracing along his tattoos. It’s a fleeting touch, featherlight, just a fingertip trailing over black lines. You take your time with it, and maybe you’re also getting a little lost in the sight of him. When you got your fill, you continue with mapping out his facial features.

You brush your fingers along the sharpness of his cheekbones, ghost two fingers over the curve of his jaw. The journey continues with smoothing your finger over his brows, down over the slope of his nose, settling in the small dip right above his upper lip. It’s then that his eyes flutter open, still hazy with sleep. 

“What are you doing?” His voice is even more rough than usual, raspy and deep, a shiver racing down your spine and heat spreading in between your legs.

“Just looking at you,” you hum, finger still brushing over his face. You meet his gaze again, and only then do you realise how close your faces really are. Your hand stops all movement, heart thumping one – two – three times. 

You have no idea who leans forward first.

Your lips meet, soft and gentle, careful. It’s a chaste kiss that has your toes curling anyway, his lips warm and pliant against your own. When the kiss ends, you don’t really separate, the touch still lingering, noses brushing together. 

The second kiss is as good as the first. There’s a little more force, a little more heat. It’s what you dreamt about, the spark, the relief in your chest when you feel him against you. There’s the wet touch of his tongue on your bottom lip, and you open up easily, the first touch gentle until it’s anything but. 

It’s overwhelming.

Sukuna is overwhelming.

He licks into your mouth and over your tongue, explores the roof of your mouth as if he has waited all his life to do this. He’s mapping out every inch, tests out the sharpness of your teeth, tests his own by biting into your bottom lip. Your tongues create a dance that resembles a fight, the force of it pushing you on your back and you don’t even think about denying him anything. 

Your arms curl around his neck, fingers brushing through his hair, tugging slightly on the strands. You both get a little lost in it, in the kiss, in feeling each other like this. The taste of him is all you know, one of his hands cupping your face, thumb brushing back and forth over the apple of your cheek. His hand slips further down, wraps around your throat and it’s that that has you moaning into his mouth. 

It’s a deep moan, one that vibrates over skin and lingers between you. 

Sukuna rests his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy and he seems to be just as out of it as you.

“We should,” he groans when you lick over his lips, his thumb slipping in between your lips and into your mouth. You suck, circle it with your tongue, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he pushes it down on your tongue. “We should stop.” 

You let go of his thumb, protective walls slowly building back up around you. Sukuna laughs, a little breathless, a little manic. He presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth, another one right under your chin. 

“Stop overthinking, woman,” he grunts. “Believe me when I say that I want nothing more than to rip your clothes off and fuck you until you’re begging me to stop but –” another kiss to your cheek, another on the tip of your nose. “But I really don’t wanna screw this up again.” 

And that is – that is actually quite lovely. And thoughtful. 

And somewhere deep inside you you know that he’s right. Should the two of you fuck now, you’d just start getting in your head again, finding a way to convince yourself that sex is all he wanted. 

You meet his gaze and you can see how hard it is for him to stop you both from going too far, too soon. 

“Alright,” you whisper against his lips, and there’s obvious relief on his face. Maybe you aren’t the only one who needs a little reassurance that this thing between you is as special as it feels. “But hold on to that thought of fucking me until I’m begging you to stop, because that sounds pretty good actually and we’ll definitely have to do that at one point.” 

Sukuna chuckles, a little gruff and a little mean, and you kiss him again, close lipped but lingering. 

“Can we go to sleep in my bed though? My back is already killing me.” 

You snort at that, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth just because you’re allowed to do that now. “C’mon then, old man.” 

“Fuck off,” he grunts, getting up and throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He carries you to his bedroom, puts you down next to the bed that looks as inviting and comfortable as the couch, if not more so. With darkness surrounding you, it’s easy to take off your jeans and the hoodie, to slip under the blankets where Sukuna’s already waiting. 

You try not to lose your mind at the fact that he’s only wearing boxers, his skin smooth, soft. He pulls you back into his arms and you tangle up your legs, the blanket high enough to keep you warm. 

Sleep never came easier. 

@nyraeafterdark