Archive of Our Own

What happened that night was most definitely a mistake. The whole thing was absolutely not my scene. I didn’t do parties because they simply did not fit into my ridiculously busy schedule. Still, Friday night, Yuki Tsukumo, my roommate and friend, convinces me to attend a party. She skips over the details like organizers and locationwhen presenting the event to me, stating that they aren’t very unimportant. 

Well, one, the JJK University basketball team is throwing the party. 

Two, the house belongs to none other than the — beloved by girls and boys alike —  trio of demons ruling the basketball team. Namely, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru and Ryōmen Sukuna. I wouldn’t know because I am too freaking busy — this is a lie obviously, because I used to have a disgusting, ugly, and overwhelming crush, on one of them. 

Three, Sukuna is most definitely going to be present. He lives there.

I review point one to three as I stand in the driveway with Dumbass Tsukumo while she bargains with me.

“I would have told you, but you’d say no! You need to get out of the books and relax babe!” She talks as if thisisn’t a problem. I have been avoiding him for the better part of a year. Which was unnecessary because we don’t run in the same circles and there is no way for us to frequent each other, anyways.

But the catch is: the ex-crush had been aware of the crushing. 

Did he flirt with me back then? Yes. Was there some touching at a party? Uh-uh. Was this in our last year of high school? Indeed. Was it technically ancient history? Perhaps. Do I still want to do a ballet routine on the highway because he laughed it off when I misinterpreted signals after that party? Most definitely. At least it wasn’t in front of a crowd, a win is a win. 

Getting accepted into JJK was great until I remembered that he was going for the same school. I knew that because in my “crushing era”, I had in fact dipped my feet into the stalking level a bit, maaaybe. I didn’t want him to think that I followed him into uni, hence the fervent avoidance. 

All was going well until Yuki decided it would be a brilliant, smart, “romantic” idea to pursue Kamo Choso. Member of the team. Accessorily, Sukuna’s younger brother. Who I knew — see part about the light stalking (it was not light) — and who knew of me because of my dark “crushing” past. I wanted to push her off the balcony when she told me but, unfortunately, the fall would’ve done little to no damage as we live on the second floor. 

Now, back to the party and the driveway. 

“Tsuki… fuck. you.” I sigh out and she chuckles. This is all very unserious to her as a person who rarely gets embarrassed. She told me how she went up to Choso the first time with “what’s your type of girl?” which proves she doesn’t care about rejection, public or not.

“It’s gonna be fun!” She tries to reassure as she grabs me by the arm and drags me. 

▪︎▪︎▪︎

I am two beers in when I forget I am avoiding someone. And because I have weird luck, as I stumble around to find a place to just take a deep breath, I walk into a bedroom. It’s a well-coordinated space, no clothes to be found haphazardly on the back of a chair, no textbooks left open on the desk, well organized, with red and black accents everywhere, which makes me snort. I then opt to sit on the floor, back against the bed. I would feel bad sitting on a bed with my outdoor clothes, especially if it didn’t belong to me.

I cannot tell if I’ve been in the room ten minutes or an hour before the door opens as I hear footsteps. Then, someone nudges me with their foot, and I look up to see the cursed ex-crush — I ignore the way my heart jumps to my mouth and threatens to fall out. 

“You party now?” He cocks an eyebrow up and I just stare at him, like I have never learned one single word. 

His question almost sounds like he acknowledges my existence in this same school, almost. I ignore it completely. I have worked my ass off to never check his social media, or his brother’s, or any of his friends’ — a little dramatic, but going from borderline (really?) stalking to ignoring is actually a hard thing. 

I had even forgotten what he looked like — lie again, I have a password protected folder from high school that I didn’t have the heart to delete. I do sometimes look through it. BUT. It’s more of a nostalgia thing (another lie) and I have no updated pictures. I have willfully not updated the folder. No pictures in the folder have the fucking face tattoos. Those are new, and they are ridiculously hot. There are more on his arms, and some are peaking from his shirt collar. I did not know about them. I could spontaneously combust. The ex-crush is back to actualcrush status. My meager efforts are reduced to dust. I need to get out.  

“I-” I dumbly let out as I stand up. I would say something, but I have nothing to say at all. Especially because of him. “Sorry for intruding.” I add as I walk to the door.

My wrist is suddenly surrounded by a large hand, and I turn to look at it, not at him. I can’t meet his eye. I don’t need the impending heart attack to actually happen. 

“Stay. I’m kind of the one intruding, even if it’s my room.” 

And I stay. 

Why? Alcohol in my system, probably — not really, but this is my weak attempt at deflection. 

I try to sit back on the floor, but he pulls me next to him on the mattress. 

One thing leads to another; his tongue is in my mouth, and I would explain but I don’t know how. Genuinely. Maybe he is so hot I blacked out? 

Nonsense, I know. 

▪︎▪︎▪︎

I wake up at 1:57 am. He has an alarm clock on his nightstand. I am wearing a shirt, his, according to the size of it. He is huge. He also smells good. I remember everything very vividly and my heart is about to jump out of my chest. He is not in the room. In fact, the spot next to me is freezing cold. 

Oh.

Well.

After getting out of his shirt and finding my clothes — except my underwear that I cannot find anywhere — I leave. The party is somehow still going, albeit not with as many people as there were. Yuki’s bike is still in the driveway, but I don’t want to face her at the moment. Plus, chances are she’s having a similar night as me, but better, because Choso will still be there when she wakes up. I shoot her a text. 

▪︎▪︎▪︎

I didn’t die. 

I cried though. 

Why? Unsure. 

It wasn’t my first time or anything — that was a little bit of a regrettable event when I was sixteen and on vacation with the “boyfriend” I met during the summer. 

In fact, it should be considered unsignificant, mindless, sex. But this was Sukuna. And it was without a doubt, mind-blowing. 

Maybe I cried — great way to be left the hell alone in public transports, though — because I had life altering, mind expanding sex, with a guy I thought I used to have a crush on. And said guy did in fact, not give a fuck enough to stay with me until the sun rose. 

Or maybe because I thought I underperformed; I would have asked if he had stayed. 

Or maybe because I would probably never get to do it again, seeing the aforementioned situation. 

2. Don’t get updates about his dating life, from him, his supposed girlfriend or anyone actually

It has been two weeks since the “situation” when Yuki comes back with sickening news. Okay, I’m being a little dramatic, but I do feel sick to my stomach when she enters the apartment not with “hello” or “hey, how was your day?” but “Yorozu finally managed to get Sukuna to take her on a date! Miracles do happen!” 

Have we — “we” being Yuki and I (me mostly through Yuki) — been following the “Yorozu tries to get Sukuna to like her” saga for months? Yep. But the man never indulged her — it has been nearly two years of uni and he was not interested in her. Well, up until now. 

I don’t tell Yuki how I’m about to bite through the coffee table, but she does tell me all the details Yorozu has given her. Yuki being in the cheerleading squad does entail having information of the sort. I didn’t tell her about what happened at the party. I have pride. 

I don’t tell her I’m about to implode and turn into a black hole and maybe swallow the entire building and perhaps the neighborhood because I did (re)follow Sukuna on insta and he has not followed me back. I am officially a clown. 

No promises were made, and I didn’t expect much out of him. My roommate is talking as I take my phone and promptly block the basketball player, maybe I shouldn’t have followed him. He probably didn’t notice, so I suppose this won’t change a thing.

Coincidentally, I see Yorozu trying to charm the pink haired demon the week after. He, as usual, seems to be uninterested. Or maybe, he is interested. Maybe his face is just set up that way. I am not friends with him, and I don’t know him like that. Plus, I’ve decided to ignore my crush on him, I pretend it doesn’t exist.

Yuki nudges me with her elbow, “let’s go eat with them,” and I can’t reject the idea because she’s already going. I can already see Choso waving at her. I sit between the blond with the stern looking face and Yuki while avoiding eye contact with the rest of the table. Not that any of them would mind because, again, not my circle. The only reason I’m even in this cafeteria is because my class got canceled and Yuki asked me to lunch.

“Do you not care what you put inside your body?” A voice I did not imagine to be that way asks. I only react when Yuki nudges me, and realize I’m being talked to. Yorozu has her cute little nose scrunched up in disgust at the sight of my fries. “Like, the amount of oil they use to fry those things? I don’t think they have air fryers in that kitchen.” 

I look down at my plate then back up at the girl with a blank look. “I don’t mind the oil.” I shove a couple of them in my mouth. 

“You’re really raw dogging them? No sauce?” A grating voice asks next. I look up at a guy with long, light grey hair, staring right at me. I immediately despise his proximity; he’s hunched over the table towards me. “That’s terrifying, can I get one?” He doesn’t wait for a response before his finger is already near the topmost fry. I’m about to pop a vessel when Yuki does what I’m about to do and she slaps his hand away. 

“She doesn’t share food.” She declares. 

“Seriously?” The guy — I learn later his name is Mahito — asks, incredulous. “Why not?”

I simply shrug because explaining is too much of a hassle. I don’t care what any of them think but explaining that someone touching my food would essentially stop me from finishing the plate, simply because if I did let him eat (with his fingers), I’d think about bacteria for the rest of the day. If I did let him eat, then ate after him, then I’d end up panicking at some point.

“Just go get your own fries.” Yuki chastises. She’s had the whole rambling explanation when we moved in together and was very understanding. 

“Thanks,” I mumble to her.

“No problem, I got you.” 

I keep my eyes focused on my food and hear bits and pieces of conversation. I wish I was chill, a social butterfly, or something. I am not any of that. I’m too in my head about Sukuna being nearby but worlds apart, essentially. Yorozu is talking his ear off about how they should go to the aquarium because she wanted to post some pictures. He doesn’t really entertain her; she’s essentially speaking to herself. 

Yuki being an angel, she tries to include me in her conversation here and there. I wouldn’t say it’s going well, but at least it’s not oddly quiet because I’m too strange. 

“Sooooo… How much do I need to pay you to get me an invite for that club you work in?” Finally, blondie asks the — cursed — question, the one she asks every couple of months. 

“Nothing. Because I am not getting you on it.” 

“Oh, so you hate me. I thought we were best friends.”

“I am still not getting you on. The people on that list pay more than what I’m paid in a month to get on.” I explain. Again.

“Cho, I told you she hated me.” She has the audacity to whine. 

“Just ‘cause you cry to him doesn’t mean I’m going to concede. I could fight him and win.” I declare. 

“Why am I being threatened?” He exclaims, entirely offended. 

“You wouldn’t fight her for me?” Yuki quirks an eyebrow up and I can’t hold back a chuckle because now they’re going to bicker over his unwillingness to fight me — it isn’t the first time this specific fight has happened between them. 

“You work in a club?” The mouth asking that question belongs to the entirely wrong face. I don’t want to speak to it. I have kissed it before, and it has kissed me in places I can’t speak out loud. I don’t look at it but just nod.

“Which one?” Someone else quips and now I have entirely too much attention on me. The person who asks is tall, white hair, freakishly blue eyes. Undeniably pretty. He stands up and walks around the table, tells Mahito to fuck off — verbatim — then sits in front of me. I know this is Gojo Satoru because Yuki’s described him as, “tall, white hair, blue eyes, friendly.”

Night clubs don’t seem to be my scene, and in a sense, they aren’t. But they kind of are. People in there are too drunk to pay attention to me, ask me questions, bother me, or touch my food. There’s generally a lot of music, which I happen to enjoy, and I can just walk around and vibe while being entirely invisible. When I say Divine, there’s a gasp. 

“Oooooh, I know that place, heard the DJs are amazing. Rumor has it, you gotta know someone to get in.” 

“That’s true.” 

“And I know you.” 

“You don’t, actually.” Yuki chimes in. 

“Yes I do!” He gives her a nasty up-down look and then says my name as if he’s always been aware of my existence. “How do I get into that club?” 

“Go to the entrance of the club, wait in line, pray security lets you in.” 

“No, no, that’s easy. I mean the part of the club that requires a list.”

“Ah. You gotta know the owner. Which I assume you do not?” 

“But you do?” 

“She’s my boss, so… inevitable.” 

“Can you ask her? For me? Please?” And he’s serving me his best puppy dog look, which I bet makes a few hearts drop or whatever the saying is. 

“Nope.”

“Ughhhhhh…” He lets out a long whine and I’m entertained by his antics really, but I refuse to ask Mrs. Fushiguro a thing. She’s a really sweet, caring boss, but it doesn’t mean I’m comfortable asking her for favors. “I’ll find a way to convince you,” Gojo mumbles as he stands up and I’m worried because this might mean he’ll keep bothering me. Or if I’m lucky, he’ll forget I exist and where I work — wishful thinking, yes. 

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Another week goes by and I luckily am too busy to see Gojo again, and Sukuna doesn’t contact me, very obviously. I do get the incredible displeasure of crossing paths with Yorozu, though. Or it’s more like she found my path and posted herself on it like a boulder to hopefully annoy the ever-living hell out of me. 

She found her way to my area of the university — whatever hers is — and stayed posted into the main hall of the Performing Arts department building for who knows how long. It is particularly odd because my department is without a doubt the smallest and not the focus of this university — the focus being finance and business management — everybody knows everybody in PA, and she is not one of the students. I’d have seen her in a class.

It’s when I’m leaving to get back home that I catch sight of Yorozu — and she of me. She’s an agitated little thing and immediately, she’s angrily — skipping? — towards me. 

“Hey, can we talk?” She asks and doesn’t wait for a response before she’s grabbing me by the hand — a little too touchy for my liking — and dragging me outside the building with her. 

“Uh… what’s this ab-”

“You’re not his type.” She cuts me off in the haughtiest manner. 

“What the f-”

“Just because you guys fucked doesn’t mean anything, you know? Like okay, he sleeps around, but that’s myman.” She adds quickly and my eyes are probably bulging out of my skull because why does she know about that? Okay, it wasn’t a secret in any capacity, but did they discuss that together? I can feel the embarrassment fill my stomach and my chest warming up. 

“Okay, listen, I don’t know what you thin-” 

“You better back away, you know, be a girl’s girl because-”

“Alright, can I talk?” The whole exchange’s been going on with her still — firmly — holding my hand. I rip my hand out of hers and she doesn’t seem to mind at all. “I don’t care about you two. You can have him, no need to mark your territory or whatever the hell this is.”

I am seething as I leave her there, but not before I notice her satisfied little smile. I hope to never have any form of contact with her again. 

▪︎▪︎▪︎

The encounter with Yorozu leads me to tell Yuki about the night at the party, for two reasons: one, I needed to vent but without context she’d just be lost, two, I needed to physically yell at Sukuna — or have a discussion with him about his little girlfriend — and for that I needed Yuki. 

I don’t know if it’s my roommate’s craving for drama or just her being supportive that makes her drive me to his place. She’s made Choso ask his brother about his whereabouts before we left and while I was still unnerved over my odd exchange with Sukuna’s whatever-the-hell-she-is. 

Their house looks suspiciously quiet when it’s daytime and without party-goer cars parked in front and across the street. Why and how university students even have a house, I’m not sure, but then again, all three of the men living in it are from relatively rich families. 

“Go girl!” Yuki encourages as I step towards the door after getting off the bike and handing her my helmet. 

It rings for less than twenty seconds before the door opens to show Gojo with a head band holding his hair back.

“Oh, hi you!” He seems surprised to see me, but before he can add up to his greeting, I have to cut him off — I worry about my anger-built momentum. 

“Hey Gojo, is Ryōmen here?” I try to seem like this is a serious matter — with the rational part of me knowing it really isn’t that big of deal. 

“Ooooh, he’s in trouble,” Gojo mumbles to himself, “It’s Satoru by the way. S’kuna! ○○○’s here for you!” He briefly turns to yell somewhere behind him. “You wanna come in?”

“Here’s perfectly fine, thank you.” 

“This is baaaaad.” He sounds very amused. “So, about the club, can you just let me know what I need to-”

Before Gojo can say another word, we hear a thump, a groan and then the sound of someone — running almost? — down the stairs, before he appears at the door. Gojo stays at the door for a comically long time, looking between Sukuna and I, waiting for drama to unfold. He finally decides to step away after his housemate stares insistently at him — I would have probably laughed at the situation if it wasn’t for how hard I was focusing on trying to stay on task.  

“What’s up?” The pink-haired man eventually turns to me. 

I could melt in a puddle, disappear into the cracks in the ground and become part of nature or something. My heart is about to beat out of my chest, frankly, it has been beating way too fast since I got behind Yuki on the bike. 

“Hmm… This is so fucking stupid but uh. Okay. Your girlfriend is what’s up. She-”

“My what?” His eyebrow ticks up and he looks sincerely perturbed by my words. 

“Yorozu.”

“That’s not my girl.” He quickly says, as if to clarify. 

“Well, she’s showed up to my department earlier today calling you her man, so… whatever. I don’t care what you two are to be honest, I told her she could have you anyways, I’m not about to be caught dead fighting over boys. The reason I’m here is because you told her…” I ramble and then take a deep breath before I add, “you told her we had sex?” That part is whispered, which makes no sense because there is no reason for secrecy. 

“I didn’t tell her shit, . It was probably Mei Mei, I think she saw you leave the party. What do you mean she can have me? What the fu-”

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s just act like that never happened and avoid interacting in the future, and never speak about it to anyone ever again and goodbye.” I say as fast as I possibly can, completely unsure whether he’s heard me or not because I’ve reached my limit and need to get as far from him as I can. I’m too embarrassed, anxious and admittedly, vaguely nervous because Sukuna was staring down at me and it brought me right back to thatnight.

I’m essentially hauling ass before he can respond and in less than five seconds I’ve reached Yuki and I’m grabbing her arm, whisper-screaming “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go”. 

“Did you just run away from him?” She giggles and my dead stare makes her snort, “alright, let’s go.” 

3. Don’t befriend him or his silly lil’ friends. 

Five days after I semi-humiliated myself — fully humiliated really, but this is me trying to salvage a semblance of my dignity — things get worse, somehow. One would think that my little “let’s avoid interacting in the future” was a surefire way to not be put through anymore awkwardness. 

But no. 

It starts off pretty slow, imperceptible almost, with Gojo — insisting I call him his first name because “we’re friends” — Satoru, suddenly following me on Instagram and on Twitter, which I barely use so why? Since I have no issues with the guy, I follow back. 

Surprisingly — or not really because he’s just friendly, I guess — he messages me about, one, how he wishes to be called because “we’re friends”, two, to know the process for getting on the list. He’s not trying to get me to ask for favors either, he just needs information. 

Because of that, I do give him the okay to say my name when asking to get on the list — one phone call to the club suffices as long as he promises to buy a bottle of Dom Pérignon for his table, with their start price beginning at ¥39,500*, although he essentially reserves the table with the bottle and has to pay for it. With that, I get to sponsor my first table at the club and if they consume over a certain amount, I get a commission. 

But Satoru’s nothing compared to what happens after.

I get a day off, after a night of work at Divine. A night of work Mrs. Fushiguro offered me because she said I do a pretty good job. Although my schedule is fairly packed, with the club and classes, I figured, seeing I wasn’t too tired, I could take one more day this week — it’s more pay, no reason to refuse, and I like getting along with my boss. 

On said day off, I come back from the club at around four in the morning — on regular nights, I’d finish around one or two in the morning — I take a quick shower, get to bed with an ibuprofen, a sleep mask, earplugs, and no alarm to wake me up. This late-night delays my day, but it’s alright, there’s miraculously no assignment to rush on, no impending exam, nothing. 

I should have known the universe would try to balance out my luck, clearly. 

I wake up at around 2:30 p.m. and lazily make my way to the kitchen, stretching my whole body, glad I got to sleep almost nine hours. I have time, which honestly feels like heaven. These sort of opportunities happen maybe once in a semester. And as I’m opening the fridge, I hear noise behind me. 

“Hey Tsuki,” I greet my best friend without looking, as I would any other day. 

“Hey babe, say hello to everyone!” Yuki responds and it feels like a bucket of ice-cold water has been poured over me. Everyone. Everyone means more than Choso and with how my luck has been disgusting these past few weeks, I really hope it’s people I’ve never met. People from one of her classes I’ve never seen. 

Of course, when I turn around I see her, her boyfriend, Satoru, and because I can’t have nice things apparently, Sukuna. The urge to run off is strong, but this is my place, it’d be really embarrassing. I briefly look down at my outfit — a black Nasa shirt with a hole at the bottom left corner that I’ve tried to sew back twice, hanging on its last thread, with a pair of male boxers I’ve bought the year I got into uni with my mother’s advice because “having men things around might deter burglars” — then back up at the group sitting at my coffee table. The same table I wanted to chew on after Yuki came in with news of Yorozu going on a date. 

“Hey, everyone.” I dumbly let out, before promptly turning around to focus on the fridge. I’m now going to have to disappear into my room for the rest of the day. But I can’t do that now, I’m actually starving. I have no choice but to downgrade my meal project from cooking to slapping two slices of bread together with whatever I can find within three minutes. 

“I talked to Yorozu, she won’t bother you again.” His voice sends a shiver down my spine — and my legs and through my hair up to my skull. How did he even get here so quick and so quietly?

“Oh? Uh… cool, that’s- thanks.” I could crawl inside the fridge and close the door behind me, maybe, sounds like a valid escape plan. 

“I tried to uh… message you on your insta but I couldn’t find your account. Six said it meant I was blocked, did you? Block me?” He’s so close to me, I’m actually stunned. I take a whole step back. He watches me with what I think is, amusement? 

“Six?” 

“Six Eyes. Satoru.” He clarifies. “Did you block me, ○○○?” His voice has dropped a whole octave, and I have no idea what the hell is going on. Why does he care?

“Hmm hmm,” I hum in approval, turning around trying to make myself something to eat so I can go somewhere else. The feeling of awkwardness is about to squash me into the ground. 

Who in their right mind physically confronts someone for blocking them? Especially someone they’re not even friends with? I mean, he didn’t even follow me back when I followed him in the first place — admittedly, he was not following many people, but still.

He stays quiet and won’t retreat back to the living room area, and nobody else seems to mind. I’m not even sure what it is I’m doing because he’s derailing my whole train of thoughts.

“Hey babe, could you please come and read this business plan? We need a fresh perspective.” Yuki calls out to me. I’m holding a knife and nothing else, still semi-paralyzed by Sukuna’s presence. 

“I’m sure it’s fine, Tsuki.” 

“Ah pleaaase. I need your artistic vision here.” 

“I’m not an artist.”

“You’re in the performing arts dep, that’s artistic stuff.” She continues. 

“Can I make myself something to eat first?” I sigh because she’ll absolutely whine if I say no. And it doesn’t cost me much to help her, really. 

“I’ll make you something.” The menace next to me suddenly blurts out and I turn to him with big eyes. 

“Huh?” 

“Kuna’s a good cook! Come read this thing!” Satoru quips and I can’t say anything because Kuna’s hands are on my shoulders as he stands behind me to guide me to what, I’ve gathered, is a study group. 

I’m rereading their business plan attentively and pointing out any possible mistakes — although there are so little — and any aspect that might need clarification, when Ryōmen Sukuna, wearing an apron he found in the kitchen, presents me a freshly made plate of omurice. I’m actually seriously impressed by the gorgeous yellow blob and the way he actually plated the whole meal, with a bit of ketchup on the side. 

“Ugh, Kuna would it have killed you to draw a heart?” Satoru asks and all he gets is a snort from Choso and a seriously dirty look from Sukuna. 

“Quit calling me that.” He hisses at his friend. 

“Thanks.” I manage to mumble before I grab the plate and utensils from him. 

“Enjoy.” He says in the softest voice, and I’m almost taken aback. 

▪︎▪︎▪︎

The next day, Satoru sends me a message.

I would have done it without hesitation if I wasn’t so nervous my stomach started grumbling. Instead, I pretend I haven’t seen the messages and even leave them unread. I cannot process the sudden interest, if it’s even interest, or him being friendly or whatever else it could be. 

I’m relatively successful at avoiding it, and Sukuna-related situations for the next week or so, until I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket while at work, or more specifically during my pee break. 

I was made aware by Mrs. Fushiguro at the beginning of my shift that I would have to escort my table tonight, but I expected the bouncer to contact me with the walkie-talkie or something, not this.

Regardless, I walk through the club as I usually do. Unlike bar staff, serving staff, and DJs, as long as I’m wearing black I can wear mostly what I want, which makes me imperceptible to our clientele. I usually go for the shirt with the Divine logo at the front. The rest of the staff has a more noticeable look and on certain days, they tend to wear different colors. Mrs. Fushiguro likes that I can just walk around discreetly and rapidly, so she doesn’t impose the dress code on me. 

I poke my head out first and only when I notice Satoru’s stark white hair do I fully walk outside. “That’s my table, Asahi.” I say to the bouncer, and he nods when he sees me. I wave the group over — all eleven of them, silently noting the absence of one pretty, black-haired, Sukuna-obsessed, girl. She’d usually be there, especially if there was some sort of party. “Let’s get you to your table, guys.” 

After I silently wait for them to leave their jackets at the coat check, I guide them up to the second floor of the club and to their table in the VIP area where not one but two bottle of Dom and one of Krug are sitting. I’m baffled because what in the world? 

I’ve never sponsored before, thus never had the commission, my usual hourly salary is more than enough but I’m not about to scoff at 25% on ridiculously expensive champagne. Are they celebrating something? 

▪︎▪︎▪︎

When they’re settled, I’m about to leave after I’ve called for their waitress for the night — I really am just their VIP area ticket.

Before I can make my exit, a hand is surrounding my wrist. A touch I am somehow starting to get used to, which is odd because it’s still so rare. “You’re not staying?” He’s standing up and he’s saying this directly into my ear — probably because it’s loud in here, it is a nightclub after all — he’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin. 

“Oh, I uh…” I get closer to him in the same gesture, and he bends over a little for me, the whole thing probably seems intimate, but it’s all environmentally caused, nothing more — or so I say to myself because my heart is beating faster than a hummingbird’s. “I’m still at work so I can’t, I have to run all around this place.”

He takes a little step back and nods before he gives me a mini heart attack, sliding his hand behind my neck and his lips close to my ear again. “When does your shift end?”

I’m uncertain if he’s aware or not but I’m essentially in a trance, I blame the proximity, the semi-obscurity, his hand on my neck and his breath on my skin. 

“1:25 tonight.” I respond and he hums, I can almost feel the vibration in my chest. 

“Alright, see you then, I’ll walk you home, don’t leave without me, yeah?” He just decides, before taking a full step back, looking at me and then actually smiling before going back to his spot at the table.

▪︎▪︎▪︎

I’m a little out of it for the rest of my shift and partially convinced I’ve slipped into some kind of alternate reality. When it’s time for me to leave, I get out through the employees’ entrance, as usual — after I’m told through the walkie that my table has ordered another bottle, and other cocktails, and being congratulated for it. Just as I’m about to rejoin the main street where the club entrance is, I see him standing there, waiting for me. 

He doesn’t speak at first as we start walking down the street but then, we stop at a crosswalk. “You always get home all by yourself like this?” 

“Hmm, yeah, it’s pretty chill though.” 

“It isn’t. This is actually real fucking scary.” He sounds like he’s scolding me, almost. 

“Well, I’m not scared so you don’t have to worry.”

“I’ll worry if I want to worry.” 

“Aaalright then.” I say, amused by this whole exchange. It’s so… new. And odd. 

“Alright.”

We’re quiet again until we reach the subway station. I’m not expecting more conversation out of him when he says,

“You didn’t unblock me.” 

“I… didn’t. Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, does it matter if I unblock you?”

“Yeah. I want you to. And I can’t message you through Satoru forever.”

“I followed you and you didn’t follow me back so, I figured it was unimportant.” I explain.

And after maybe a full minute of silence and getting into the subway, he says the most words I’ve heard him say. How his youngest brother created the account for him. And how Choso and Satoru are the ones who make him update it every once in a while. Which explains the odd dates between each posts — and here I thought that he was just being cool as hell. 

He then adds that he didn’t even see my follow notification because he has them off. And that is because of the amount of engagement on his thirst traps — he didn’t call them that, for him they’re “gym updates” for himself, he doesn’t care about how they come across. The guy is just flexing and showing protein shakes, essentially, some of those pictures are without a shirt on. I doubt he minds the attention, though.

“Are you gonna unblock me?” He teases, pushing me gently with his shoulder. 

“I am.” 

“Thanks, ○○○.” His way of saying my name has something so suave about it that I get the infamous butterflies. For a split-second I think if he asked anything out of me with that tone I’d probably just do it.

After he’s dropped me off at my door, he simply walked off into the night after saying stuff about messaging him on nights I worked so I wouldn’t walk home by myself, that “he didn’t like it.” I’m in some sort of stupor as I start my nighttime routine and when I come back from the bathroom, I see a notification on my phone.

4. Don’t go to another party at his house

The next couple of weeks are… different. In the sense that Sukuna messages me daily. It isn’t much, mostly him asking for the end of my shifts — which he’s picked me up from every day since the club night and also hinted that he was getting a car soon, and this would be easier? ­— and sometimes to say good morning. I am at loss as to what is this friendship we’re developing, even if we haven’t talked about that night.

Satoru’s really happy about the club, even if he also managed to tell me he doesn’t like to drink even if he paid for four bottles and earned me a ridiculous ¥45,000 commission. At lunch — I had lunch four times with the whole group of friends and a couple times more with the closer circle, while Yorozu is avoiding me like I carry the plague — he told me he had a great time but hoped I could join in on the partying and dancing next time.   

I get to join in on the partying the following month, and on my own free will this time, without Yuki forgetting details. Same house with too many people, when I walk in with Yuki — who for once in our almost two years of shared living has convinced me to let her dress and style me — the first person I actually cross paths with is Yorozu, who looks at me briefly, huffs, then goes the other direction. 

“What is her deal?” I ask this without expecting any answer because I do not get her. She’s widely unpredictable, I can’t really hate her because I don’t know her. I doubt she’d want to know me though, but I’m not mad about it. 

“Sukuna got pissed at her, yelled at her to quit telling people they’re a thing and then said to never speak to you again.” Yuki explains as if this is the most casual, unimportant thing. 

“He did not do all that.” I turn to her fully and she seems so, so entertained. 

“He diiiid. At practice. They were on half-court because the cheer team had a change in schedule. And he just came up to her. Didn’t I tell you this?”

“No. No you did not, Tsukumo!” 

“Oh, well, my bad!”

I’m at a loss for words now, because there’s a knowing smirk on her face and I can’t understand why the hell she has it. “He told me not to tell you about it.” She adds before she walks past, then speed-walks away from me.

“You look really good in that.” He says behind me, and I turn so quick I could have given myself whiplash. His hands are on my shoulders to stop me from falling? Passing out? Doing a full pirouette? Does it matter?Because my common sense is running for the hills. He’s touching me. He has not been shying away from these touches for the past few weeks and I cannot fully get used to them. 

“You too.” Is all I can muster because he’s so close and touching me and staring at me so intently I do not know what to do with myself. And I’m stuck with the dilemma of doing a full body check on him — which I try to do when he’s not actually staring me down as he is now — or just looking at his face, which is another problem for me. Because I can’t meet his eye for too long for fear of forgetting how to breathe, or at his lips for fear of flashbacks from a life-changing night. 

When he takes my hand in his and drags me to the party I still cannot say a word, because maybe, just maybe if I speak I’m going to wake up from what is most definitely a — really sick and twisted — sweet dream. I’d cry. 

He’s so sweet to me as he gently drags me with him from a friend to another. By the half hour I’ve finally managed to relax. Maybe he notices, when instead of keeping my hand almost immobile in his, I’m mindlessly playing with his fingers. It doesn’t connect in my brain that we’ve essentially been holding hands all over the place. Until it does. And I suddenly feel out of place, so I attempt to get my hand back. I say attempt because he doesn’t let me. His fingers actually interlock with mine and I feel him press my hand just tightly enough to make me look up at him. 

Is that a… pout? As if he doesn’t want me to let go?

This whole situation feels so clear. Yes, we’re holding hands. No, he won’t let me go. Yes, he complimented, me. Yes, I have a crush on him — it’s a little beyond that word at this point but still. Yes, he is showing interest and care. I could infer that he’s as into me as I am into him. But I don’t want to assume, that’s an infallible way to get my heart wrecked. And I can pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but him leaving me to wake up alone all those weeks ago hurt like a bitch.

I feel the sudden urge to isolate a bit, just to collect myself because I don’t know how to deal with the emotions. Sleeping together one night at a party doesn’t mean a thing, to be honest, but now he’s holding my hands, touching me, picking me up at work, messaging me and I’m lost. I feel the telling sensation of my nose tingling like I’m going to cry — I won’t. A deep breath will suffice. I just need to go… regroup. 

“I gotta go pee.” I announce loudly enough for Sukuna to hear and I’m hoping he’ll let me get my hand back. 

He gives me a look with his eyebrows furrowed and I see his jaw tick subtly, I’m probably a little too fidgety for his liking. “I’ll be right back.” I add. Not that I need to explain anything, but this feels necessary. He lets his fingers untie from mine in an almost slow manner and while maintaining eye contact as if staring at me is its own form of communication. 

▪︎▪︎▪︎

I get a well-deserved break while in the restroom. Just sitting on the closed toilet lid and finally breathing. There’s something suffocating about loving Sukuna. Loving. I’m in deep trouble if I’m reading the signals wrong this time. 

Him not being that into me in high school was semi-fine. I even convinced myself that the high-school party was being warped in my head, turning the mundane into a dramatized version of what actually happened. We didn’t even get to kiss back then, it was that unremarkable.  

I spend maybe ten minutes sitting on the toilet before there’s a knock at the door and I’m forced to rejoin the party. And possibly have Sukuna overwhelm me by just looking at me too long. The boy who knocked is one I recognize, big round eyes, bowl cut — Haibara Yū, one year my junior, like Choso and the stern looking one, Nanami. “Sorry, I really need to go!” He says before slipping past me and closing the door behind him the second I’m out.

I don’t have time to do a little stretch and decide what to do — like perhaps sneak away from the place and go home, it’s a possible route — before someone’s holding my hand. Of course, I recognize his touch. It’s firm but soft, with a warmth I can’t help but crave when I don’t have it. “Are you okay?” He tugs me towards him, and I follow like a puppet. 

“Uh- yeah, I just needed to-” I don’t really know how to tell him that I’m scared I might be confusing his every gesture for affection and that if it isn’t that, I’ll probably go cry in the train — which wouldn’t even be the first time. He raises his other hand to my face and with his thumb caresses the arch of my eyebrow, effectively making my frown disappear — I’m about to turn into a comet at that and again, all words escape me. 

“Come on.” He drags me with him, through the living room where the party is mainly happening, up the stairs and to his bedroom door. There I mark a full stop, as if my shoes are actually made of lead. 

“I don’t know if… we should probably get back downstairs, the others are gonna wonder whe-” The need to escape is so great, I can almost sense my vision tunneling. I don’t really want to get into that room again. Last time I did, I ended up crying on my way home and I have an ugly feeling it might happen again. 

“Please come in, ○○○. Clearly something’s up with you and we’re gonna… talk… about it.” There’s a bit of hesitation at the end of his sentence, he himself doesn’t seem to know what he’s saying. I decide to give this talka chance, maybe somehow it goes well, we establish boundaries for our “friendship”, and I get out of this whole situation emotionally unscathed. 

▪︎▪︎▪︎

I’m sitting cross-legged on his bed, looking at him ruffling through one of his drawers, before he turns to look at me. “Do you need to change? I have the shirt you wore the other night.” 

My chest burns in a mix of embarrassment and something else because he knows which shirt of his I wore on a night weeks ago. Maybe it wasn’t a random hook-up for him. I’m flying so high right now, I’m terrified the crash down will be extremely violent. 

“You left,” I blurt out. 

Either it’s the adrenaline from being here and realizing he remembered a detail about me, or it’s bravery and stupidity together. I’m unsure which, maybe all of it at the same time. He seems to freeze briefly, before he raises his shoulders. He takes a deep breath before turning to face me, a piece of clothing scrunched into his fist. I see him flex his hand once, twice, and I’m very attentive to it because I can’t bring myself to look at his face. 

“I did.” He finally responds and I feel an unpleasant tension in my throat. “And I’m sorry that I did. I didn’t think it through, how you’d… feel about me leaving you alone in here. I talked about it with-” he interrupts himself then, walks to the bed, sits cross-legged facing me then physically grabs me by the knees and pulls me towards him. My legs are partly on top of his and we’re close, intimately so. 

“Who did you talk about it with?” I prob a little further. I’m not as dreadfully worried as I was when we came up to his door. I feel like maybe, he’s got his own share of awkwardness to work on, maybe he’s been worried about the situation just like me. 

“Satoru and Suguru. They said I was an idiot. That no one wants to wake up to a cold, empty bed, after sex. unless it was meaningless. And it wasn’t that. I need you to understand that.” 

“It wasn’t?” And there’s relief in my chest but I have so many emotions that my voice cracks a little. 

“It wasn’t. You fell asleep and I was so… I couldn’t sleep because you were there, and I was stoked. I didn’t want to wake you up, you looked so good, in my shirt and everything. I decided to let you sleep peacefully and I went back downstairs. Then Mei Mei said she saw you leave, and I freaked out. I thought maybe… you didn’t like it or something.” I’ve never seen him do this. Talk so much or ramble. 

“I did like it. A lot. I thought you didn’t, so I took my leave.” I mumble.

“Yeah… I figured. I mean… Suguru did. After I explained and then he called me a fucking idiot and told me how you must have felt. I’m sorry about that.”

I hum in acknowledgment. His hands are rubbing up and down the sides of my thighs and I’m floating again. His right hand travels under my thigh, pulls at it and then wraps it around his hip, then he brings me even closer to him, as if he’s trying to wrap his body with mine, when he’s so much bigger than me. I indulge him because this is nice, this is something I’ve been essentially dreaming about for the past three years. I wrap my arms around his neck, and I hear him groan lowly, then louder as my fingers thread with his hair. The feeling of his nose nuzzling into my neck is heavenly. 

“Fuck... I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.” He sighs.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and other things, but this too.”

All of a sudden, I remember a minor detail about that night, a strange one. 

“By the way, did you… maybe… find my panties? I looked around for them but-”

He chuckles and pushes me back just enough to be able to look at my face, then his lips raise in a smirk. 

“I have them.”

“You have them?”

“Hmm hmm, took ‘em with me downstairs that night because I wanted something of my girl with me, except wearing your clothes would have been a little too much.”

I’m baffled at his confession. He pocketed them. I didn’t even think of that possibility, I thought maybe they were thrown haphazardly in his room or something. Interesting to know he’s a bit of a pervert, but good, because I used to stalk him vehemently. We both have our issues. I decide to focus on the possessive way he spoke of me instead. 

“Your girl huh?”

“My girl.”

“Does this mean I can go around telling people you’re my man or something?” 

“Please do.” The words barely leave his lips before they’re pressed on mine in the softest, yet most passionate kiss he’s ever given me.