Archive of Our Own ^beta

it's been two weeks since sukuna had last spoken to you.

fourteen days since you'd pecked him softly on the lips and wished him goodnight, before closing your door and heading to bed, the weed still humming in your bloodstream.

three hundred and thirty-six hours since he'd confessed that sleep is rare without you to curl up against.

twenty-thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes since he'd reached the closest he'd ever been to telling someone he loved them.

and now all there was between you both, all that he could bear to have between you, was distance. his own compunction towards the entire ordeal wasn't directed at you - he couldn't blame anyone but himself for any of this. after all, he'd wanted to kiss you-

-but he'd wanted to do it sober. in front of somewhere nice. romantic. sukuna makes a face to himself, one of disgust.

romance; the word tasted just as foul as everything else when it came to thinking about you - all these soft, gushy feelings given form in sentences made from soft, gushy words - no better than word vomit waiting to be expulsed from his tongue.

but that was just the problem. all the words that were ready to be said, that he should have already spoken aloud, were swallowed back, weighing him down in the pit of his stomach until all he could think about was you.

maybe he didn't want to kiss you (or have you kiss him, rather). beneath all that yearning, he identifies the comfort in playing this dance with you forever, waiting at the edges of your life like a parasite that feeds off of your warmth.

music blares in his ears, hard rock drowning out the turmoil inside his mind while he lifts weights that would have been enough to crush a small child with ease, jaw clenched from the effort as beads of sweat run down his face and neck, glaring at the wall like it personally owes him repentance. he'll look for it in everywhere except the one place where he'll get it.

thoughts of you manage to wheedle through the loud thrum of music blasting in his ears, and he grips the bar a little tighter, fighting against the memory of how he left your building in shambles -

(he'd been walking for what seemed like years. part of him was convinced that it had been. years of just aimlessly trudging along the dimly lit paths, going nowhere. the girl he was planning on fucking after kissing you - he still can't believe that happened - was probably three streets behind him by now.

sukuna's lips still tingle with the gentle heat of your mouth on his. for a kiss that lasted no more than five seconds at most, it had a way of lingering, the ghost of your breath still fanning out over his cheek - should he have closed his eyes, he'd have felt the brush of your nose against his, so vivid it would have been like you were there.

the weed had worn off after a while, and now he was stone-cold sober as he wandered the city. sukuna knows he makes an intimidating figure on a good day, but at that moment - with that scowl on his face, lip upturned just faintly as though every breath away from you was like breathing in acid - he looked bullying.

you'd asked him to stay the night, had given him an easy ticket into restful sleep, and he'd been stupid enough to deny it. frustration boils beneath his skin, simmering like a bomb ready to blow - he should have said yes.

he'd have had his head on your chest by now, sukuna thinks, knocked out and snoring softly while the scent of vanilla washes over his skin, surrounding him betwixt the sheets and you.

he's far from not wanting it - sukuna's not enough of an idiot to contradict anything so integral to who he is. he wants you, under him, on top of him, around him - but he needs you to want something more. this self-loathing he dresses up as pride won't allow him to step away from you..

the sky starts to lighten by the time he finishes walking. the tingling still lingers on his lips.)

- a hiss pushes past his teeth, eyes narrowing as he shakes off the memory like water rolls off of a duck's back. he just has to keep lifting, one powerful push after the other, again and again and again, until the burn of his muscles are enough to distract him from what he can't get over.

"-una. sukuna. sukuna."

the muffled voice jolts him out of his vehement trance, and with the loud clang of metal being settled back into it's rightful resting place, sukuna sits up with a grunt, shoving his headphones from his ears, glaring up at the towering figure stood before him with it's arms crossed.

"you deaf?" toji shoots him a sidelong grin, and sukuna scoffs, lips twitching upwards in the smallest of smiles.

"quit talkin' shit, fushiguro." he stands, rolling the vast breadth of his shoulders before dapping up toji like he hadn't just been five seconds away from running himself into the ground. sukuna pushes down the heaviness in his gut, focusing on the burn in his arms instead.

toji smirks, slapping him on the back as chuckles fall from his lips. sukuna didn't have many friends - calloused and rude as he was - but toji was the closest thing to it. aside from the obvious 'bond' he had with you, that is.

it wasn't much of anything currently, not when your messages and calls have been steeping in imposed silence for the past two weeks, piling up in his inbox like temptation made digital, until about a week ago, when his phone turned silent and barren.

you were never the sort to look for attention when it wasn't given freely.

"how long have y'been here?" toji's question snaps him out of his thoughts, and sukuna glances up at the other man, blinking him into focus. it's obvious from the mildly suspicious expression on toji's face that he's not acting normal enough.

"three hours." sukuna grunts, nodding to where he'd been doing his sets previously, wiping the sweat from his face and collar using the towel slung over his shoulder.

toji whistles in appreciation, raising an eyebrow at his counterpart. "that's a long time, sukuna."

"yeah, well," he shrugs, "nothin' much to do."

"oh, there's plenty to do." toji snickers, "like three bitches pulled up to the frat in this week alone, jus' to ask about ya." his voice rises an octave, mimicking the high-pitched drawl of the girls coming by, "'have you seen my sukuna? is he free this weekend? can you tell him i stopped by?' makes me sick, man."

he snorts, attempting to jab his elbow into toji's ribs to stop him from rambling on further, already tired of the small talk. toji dodges his attempt effortlessly, grinning from ear to ear.

"come on." he leans closer, "why aren't ya indulging, ryomen? don't tell me you're goin' celibate. or losin' your touch?" toji pauses for dramatic effect, and sukuna prays to whatever god out there that he gets struck by lightning before he finishes what he has to say. his prayers go unanswered. "or maybe you've found someone?"

a dangerous stillness seems to descend over the gym, recognised only by himself and toji, stood in front of him, smug, like he'd solved some great mystery.

"nah." his gaze hardens. "nothin' like that."

"not even with that chick? y'know, the one you keep runnin' to every time shit happens?"

immediately, he's tense, mind flashing with pictures of you - smiling, dabbing at the cut on his temple while your other hand holds his face still, pinching his cheek like he was made of glass, kissing him-

- sukuna winces, turning his head to the side. "not even with her." he confirms, forcing his features into a casual, schooled expression, fingers twitching as he struggles not to clench his hands into fists.

toji falters, raking his gaze down to the slight tremor in sukuna's hands as he references you, surprised to find that the mention of someone he'd once thought fundamental in sukuna's life could bring out such a pained reaction from the man himself.

"hey." he steps forward, nudging his shoulder against the pink-haired giant with his brows furrowed. "the hell's goin' on between you and her? y'feelin' alright?"

sukuna grunts, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he stuffs his hands into his pockets like a sulking child, working his bottom jaw while he stares at the floor, shrugging - there's no point in telling toji a single thing, not when he knows exactly what's going on between you and him.

he could lie - spread rumours that you had been the one to drive him away, just so that he could save face and pretend that he doesn't want you - but sukuna couldn't do that to you. not now, not ever. even without your presence, you still had him wrapped around your finger.

toji takes the silence as an answer, huffing out a bemused scoff. "trouble in paradise, huh?"

sukuna risks a glance at him, and catches a glimpse of himself before he'd met you: proud, too cocky to take the safest option, too scared to settle. now, he was more akin to a stray you'd fed by the roadside and let follow you home.

he knows exactly what's going on between you both. but it's only a question if somebody brings it up.

sympathy mingles with toji's sharp features, noting that sukuna's body language doesn't hint at anything going particularly well, and he stirs to make some attempt at alleviating the obvious weight bearing down on his friend's mind.

the only problem was that toji fushiguro was single-handedly the worst person to have comfort anyone - let alone sukuna ryomen, who dealt with anger via fistfighting and fucked out his frustration on the nearest willing sorority girl.

toji's lips pull open to reveal a toothy grin, slapping his hand on sukuna's back with enough force to knock out a weaker man, rolling out a laugh as he spoke, "i did tell ya to never fall for good pussy, man. 's how they reel you in-"

"-we never fucked."

sukuna interrupts, slapping off toji's hand with an undertone of malice as he reaches down to snatch up his gym bag, slinging it over his shoulder and storming off without another word.

there's no emphasis to the statement - he says it with a resignation found only in criminals before a public hanging - and there doesn't need to be. the words themselves do the trick. it's a universal language between men like sukuna and toji, where matters deeper than the flesh mean trouble.

toji gawps after him in shock, hand hovering in the air where it had been smacked off. it takes a couple of seconds for his mind to catch up, because suddenly he's rushing after sukuna's retreating figure in quick strides, catching up with him just as he's about to slide into the driver's seat of his car.

"hey! look, didn't mean to touch a nerve-"

"it's fine."

black lines twitch where a muscle in his jaw feathers with irritation. sukuna doesn't want to hear you talked about so disrespectfully again, but he can't voice those wants without indirectly laying his emotions bare.

toji grunts, nodding as the awkward silence takes over, filled with an urge to undo whatever wrongs he'd done, and yet, remaining at a loss as to how he can make things better.

"listen," he holds his hands up as sukuna meets his look with a cold one of his own, expression as serious as he could make it, "i don't know what the fuck is goin' on between you and her - all i know is that you're pissed off."

"i am not pissed o-"

"you are." toji insists, folding his arms over his chest, "which means you need to let loose, right? need to get your mind off of the shit she's puttin' you through."

"she's not puttin' me through anythin'." sukuna growls, "you better start watchin' what you say about her, fushiguro."

"fuck you, asshole, this is exactly what i mean." toji lets out an exasperated puff, motioning to sukuna's tense form with one hand, before pointing at himself. "you gotta listen to the guy who knows about bein' pussy-whipped. it's a tough hole to get out of, man. you gotta power through."

"yeah?" sukuna snarls, slamming his car door shut and leaning back against it, "and how the hell are y'gonna help me do that when 'm not even pussy-whipped? like i said, asshole - we never fucked."

toji snorts, rolling his eyes, "doesn't matter. you've got the same mentality, which means there's only one way to get you outta it."

sukuna pauses, eyes narrowing, but mildly hooked on whatever bullshit his friend is yet to spout. the black haired man before him smirks, beaming deviously.

"we gotta get you to a party, man."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"so you've just stopped speaking to him…completely?"

shoko tilts her head to one side, unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth while she looks at you, and you exhale, amused. mercifully, you take out the lighter in your pocket, lighting the end of your own stick before throwing it over to her.

"mm, no. he stopped talking to me. i just stopped asking after him." you shrug, letting smoke pool in your lungs just long enough for it to tingle, blowing it out with a languid ease that matches the quiet energy between you both. "if he doesn't want to talk to me, i won't bother him."

the flame from your lighter briefly illuminates shoko's face, before it's gone and you're swallowed by the tender darkness again. "you're better than me." she says, "i hate losing friends."

"oh?" you mutter, "and i don't? i'm fucking devestated." the words are hard to say, bittersweet, and you take the cigarette out of your mouth to rest between your middle and ring finger, leaning against the bannister of shoko's balcony, with your elbows propped up against the edge. "it can't be helped, though. if he's avoiding me, he's avoiding me."

it takes a few minutes for your words to settle, rippling through the noiseless atmosphere between you and shoko, and dying quietly in the air between your lips and the butt of your cigarette.

for the past week, you've forced yourself to stop sending sukuna texts, to stop trying to call him every time you get an urge. it had been difficult, considering he was such an inherent factor in your day-to-day life - needed a rant? call sukuna. want something? send the link to sukuna. hungry? get sukuna to pay for a takeaway. bored? ask sukuna to come over.

but it didn't take a genius to understand that he was avoiding you, and you missed him - his voiceless presence hurt you more than you cared to announce.

shoko stares at you, watchful. "do you think it's 'cause of that kiss?" she asks.

"it was barely a kiss." you sulk, runnning a hand down your face in a brief attempt to physically wipe the memory from your head. as expected, it doesn't work, and you're left with confused regret, damp with the tears of longing.

"you're tellin' me he's acting like this over a peck?"

you nod, overcome with the urge to either break down or laugh - the situations you keep finding yourself in are just so…peculiar.

a snort escapes shoko, and she waves a dismissive hand, as if ushering away the unpleasant feeling creeping up inside of your gut. it works - you've always enjoyed being around women who know when to let go of a problem, and look good doing it. you're glad shoko is one of those people.

"it's pathetic. you're better off without that dick, anyway." she grins crookedly, "i mean, come on, right? how sensitive do y'have to be to get hung up over a little smooch?" you roll your eyes, chuckling, and shoko blows out another cloud of smoke. "i'm gonna confess somethin'."

you smirk, "you're not in love with me, are you, ieri?"

she holds up a hand, a breathless scoff falling from her lips, "guilty as charged."

you're chortles are interrupted with a yelp when she smacks your arm, and you rub where she'd hit you, feigning a pout. "ow. okay, tell me."

"no, i'm gonna ask you a question first." shoko straightens, and you lie in wait for what she has to say, mildly intimidated by her unbelievable ability to go from joking to deadly seriousness in a few seconds flat. "the kiss - did you mean it in that way? you know, like…not platonically?"

that gets you thinking, and you're already placing the cigarette back in your mouth to taste the smoke again, giving you something to focus on while you file away each thought you have in a logical order.

shoko lets you ponder. it's a nice night for a smoke outside, clear and not too cold - you're glad she'd invited you over after hearing the whispers about you spread like wildfire through campus. most were just fickle observations - there was less talk about sukuna taking another girl to bed, and more talk about the absence of him at your side.

you take your time, never the sort to rush coming to a conclusion. after all, you weren't dumb enough to think that this question wouldn't be asked at some point. even before he started ignoring you, the rumours circulating the masses never went unnoticed.

but that never clouded your senses, not really. the only things that forced you to make lapses in judgement were either alcohol, or weed, and you'd been under the influence of the latter when you'd sent sukuna off with a kiss.

"it's…tricky." shoko nods at you to continue, and you relent, coughing once to clear the smoke from your lungs, "we'd smoked a blunt before he'd walked me up to my door. i'm not trying to make excuses or anything, but i think it's common knowledge i don't handle that stuff as well as i should."

she opens her mouth to speak, and you hold up a finger to silence her, taking another long drag of your cigarette to give yourself more time to think. "still, he'd been…nice about it." you're interrupted when shoko snorts loudly, and she grins when she catches you raising an eyebrow at her in silent question.

"'s nothin'." she shakes her head, "just…sukuna? nice? while he's high?"

"i know, i know. he's a bastard with a taste for human flesh, believe me, i get it." you laugh, and it rings out through the calm air. "but i was in a good mood, you know? all of it was just falling so perfectly into place, and he looked so…" a frustrated noise escapes you, and you run a hand through your hair, glancing up at her helplessly.

"sad?" shoko finishes for you, stubbing out her cigarette on the balcony ash tray once the heat at the end reaches the filter, threatening to burn her fingertips, "pathetic? dumb?"

"at a loss." you murmur, wringing your hands in front of you. "like he didn't know what to do with himself, with me." you exhale deeply. "i don't know how i meant that kiss, sho. and, christ, now that he's ignoring me, i don't want to know." the cigarette in your mouth shakes as your lower lip trembles with mild resentment. "fuck him."

unsurprisingly, shoko is a little shocked by your answer. she'd been your friend for years, a close confidant when things got tough, and even after all this time, you were still a mystery. charming and witty as you were, you had enough stubborn pride to rival - well - sukuna's.

"right." she reaches over, taking the cigarette out of your mouth to throw it off of the balcony, ignoring your protests and grabbing both of your shoulders firmly, pulling you around so that you're both face to face. "i'm goin' to say something, and it's gonna be a little controversial."

you blink at her for a few seconds, still mourning the loss of your cigarette (for the last time, you aren't addicted-), but you manage to wipe the minute pout off of your lips and steel your gaze with a steady determination. "okay, ieri, hit me with it."

"i want you," you're shaken a little by firm, unrelenting hands for the emphasis - and shoko had paused at the most inconvenient time because now you're really wondering if this was a love confession- "to come to a party."

time freezes, and you're left trying to process how underwhelming the climax of the conversation had been - and maybe even a little disappointed. "so…"

a big, shit-eating grin splits your face in half, "you aren't in love with me?"

you're slapped silly before the cackle explodes out of you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

the concentrated smell of spilled beer and bad decisions fill your nose the second you step inside the frat house. music pounds through the walls like it aims to melt you into the floorboards, deep bass rolling from the speakers in repeated vibrations until it chimes like a second heartbeat.

shoko laughs as you wrinkle your nose, never being one for parties that were so distinctly masculine - made for men, by men - grabbing your wrist and tugging you into the crowd before you can turn on your heel and leave.

coloured lights flicker, purples and greens and blues and yellows, rolling over heated bodies. at some point you accidentally kick someone's leg, glancing down to see a very public display of intimacy. averting your eyes as quickly as you can, you single out a few familiar faces in the crowd-

suguru's in the far distance, smirking as he leans against a wall, hand on some girl's hip while she stammers and tries not to sway too much from the alcohol. he catches your eye while shoko drags you by, and winks. you giggle, running your tongue over your top teeth, before winking back.

choso's sat somewhere in the corner, on one of the plush sofas that you wouldn't sit on if somebody was threatening you with a gun, rolling a joint with practised fingers while he talks with some other nameless frat bro you don't happen to care for.

and utahime's already tumbling over air as she rushes towards you, your name bursting past her glossy lips when she giggles and falls right into your expectant arms. "you're here! hic! i am sooo glad shoko convinced you to come!"

her hand fumbles over your cheek, poking it firmly as you laugh and grin down at her, hoisting her up to her feet so that you're a little better prepared for when she eventually passes out or throws up, "i know right? real miracle that i even came in the first place."

shoko giggles behind you, and she slaps a hand over your shoulder, helping you balance utahime onto her stilettos by grabbing an elbow and pulling her up. "i'll deal with this one," she nods at you, smirking fondly, and you blow her a kiss in your gratitude. "go get yourself a drink."

predictably, you don't have to be told twice, tugging down the hem of your sinfully short dress (flashing someone for free in this economy would be unwise) as you step over several couples making out on the stairs, and the occasional victim of too much vodka, ensuring that you don't accidentally sprain your ankle from slipping on a crushed beer can.

the kitchen is littered with empty bottles, alongside ones that are half-filled or spilling and knocked over. you try to avoid skin-to-surface contact as best as you can, but it's inevitable when you reach the table, because a loud, joyful voice booms from somewhere in the crowd, and thick arms are gathering you in their hold, tugging you inwards toward a very firm, muscular chest and knocking the backs of your legs against the sticky surface.

"holy fuck, you're actually here!" satoru's on you like an excited puppy, squeezing you so hard you swear a few ribs are broken by the time your arms wrap around his middle. his arms flex around you, one hand sifting through your hair to cradle the back of your head, keeping your nose buried into the fabric of his white t-shirt, nestled into his pec.

for the first time ever, you realise he wears the same cologne as sukuna. tom ford. dark and heady. for a reason unbeknownst to you, your fingers twitch to text him - it's pushed down and ignored before the urge can solidify.

"air." you rasp, and he makes a small grunt of amusement before releasing you.

laughter bubbles out of him as he watches you gulp down oxygen, hand pressed firmly into the small of your back for some line of contact to keep you both connected, holding you firm in his personal space. by the time that you're sure he didn't crack anything, satoru's already pouring you a drink.

"i didn't expect such a warm welcome." you tease, taking the drink (mentally, you note it's ninety percent alcohol, ten percent mixer - the first sip tastes like paint thinner), and he lifts his cap to run a hand through snowy-white locks while he looks at you.

"yeah, well, when i invite you, all i get is radio silence, but when shoko invites you-"

"you don't threaten me cigarette burns. shoko does." you snap, slapping his shoulder delicately as you force another sip of his drink down your throat, fighting not to wince at the taste because you know he'll make fun of you for it.

"maybe i should start." he sticks his tongue out at you, and just like that, all the doubt you'd felt before coming into this party evaporates into thin air. you liked satoru, annoying and entitled though he was (and always will be), at least he was constant. and very easy on the eyes.

conversation flows easily between you. for the most part, you're enamoured with each other, sharing cups and giggling when he fumbles out another horrendous joke, keeping you warm despite that skimpy dress, with his hands on your hips and his face close to yours.

you should be grateful, really, to have someone so ready to hold his arms out and wait patiently for your embrace, whether you entertain those ideas or not, but standing so close to satoru, watching those pale-blue irises turn heavy with longing, it worsens the gnawing at your edges.

you can't tell whether it's guilt or shame that burrows itself into your skin - but it makes your heart weak, makes you wonder if this is all worth it.

satoru leans closer, his words murmured into your ear as loud music muffles what he has to say, his eyes twinkle when you laugh anyway, and when your mouth pulls into a languid smile, something buried rises to the surface.

he stares at your lips just like someone else you know.

the thought makes your expression falter. satoru doesn't notice. sukuna would.

maybe it's the alcohol. you think it might be. they say that drunk words are sober thoughts, but how much of that applies to you? if it had been satoru you had smoked a blunt with, if it had been satoru who'd walked you up to your door in silence, who'd hesitated when he'd denied himself entry into your room, would you have kissed him?

predictably, the answer lies just out of your sight, but it's within reach - your fingers trace over the warmth of it with your hand on satoru's chest, following the shape of each letter with every ba-dum! of his heart, drumming out of time with yours. it speaks in morse code, whispering to you like muted prayer.

'no.'

not if it was satoru.

it's strange how an epiphany can sound like death tolling in your ear - so intolerably loud that it drowns the rest of the party out.

your heart thumps violently in your chest, threatening to spill out from your ribcage and morph into the shape of him. you breathe in deeply, eyes closed. the homely smell of his cologne lulls you deeper into satoru's hold.

(sukuna stirs that next morning, only slightly, mumbling nonsense against your ear as his grip on your waist tightens, dragging you closer.

sunlight slides through the blinds in uniform, thin sheets of yellow, placed over your duvet like a third blanket. some of it catches in the pink of his hair, still caught between your fingers. a little drool dribbles from his mouth onto your shoulder.

you stifle a giggle, picking the sleep out of your eyes with your free hand as he melts back into unmoving slumber.

he'd been like a living furnace the night before, and remained equally as warm until morning, meaning that, for the most part, you'd slept comfortably under his crushing weight without any problem, regardless of the faint snoring right beside your ear.

it surprised you - you don't sleep well around other people.

you glanced down at his face, peaceful, cheek smushed against your shoulder. the hand in his hair combs through it again before you can tell it to stop, gentle brushes of your fingers through pink tresses, pulling back the strands falling over his eyes.

the bright red cut on his temple, still fresh from his fight with satoru the day before, catches your attention. it's clean, the bruise around it matching in colour with the wound on his bottom lip. something tugs at your heart.

it's always a struggle - not acknowledging parts of yourself when you know that you should. it's not healthy. there's pride in knowing what you're feeling, in knowing what brings certain emotions to the surface, and what makes you bury them deep into the sinews of your chest. you don't like this ignorance.

the trouble here is that you can't help but push it down when sukuna appears - he holds a callousness only you can match with a forced numbness. but you aren't fond of the fear you feel when he's around - like you might uncover something you can't take back.

you aren't fond of who you are when sukuna's near you.

he's not entirely to blame. you know enough about what love isn't, to recognise what it might be.

it has to be conditional when it comes to him, though. you can't afford it otherwise.

not when he's all sharp teeth. not when he comes to you lined with spitting resentment and simmering frustration. you see how he is with the girls that come up to him - watching as arrogance crawls out from the depths of his personality with an ease that doesn't come from being a good person, shouldering past their puppy-soft looks, biting back cruel amusement when they plead.

he enters every situation armed with enough entitlement to drown thousands, his ego large enough to fill every room, every crevice, as if the pure size of him wasn't previously sufficient.

it stains his interactions with you, sometimes. you know he cares - his face softens when you appear, terribly obvious in a way he doesn't allow for anyone else. but he'll sulk when you deny him, lips pulled downward, unaccepting of the fact that it's your life, not his, that he gets no say in who you talk to, who you let in.

but there, in that moment, with him sound asleep, his body half-thrown over yours in a comical imitation of a weighted blanket, you feel him.

his heart beats in time with yours.

he makes a home out of your ribcage, clumsy and poorly executed, but he's there and he's real, drooling slightly on the strings of your heart as wet muscle cushions his head while he snores.)

"-you ok? 'm not that boring, am i?"

your eyes flutter open, and satoru's still stood so near, smiling dotingly at you - you swallow the taste of sweetened alcohol and cigarette smoke before smiling back, shaking your head, "no, 'course not. keep going."

"so, the fight with ryomen-" your smile fights to keep from melting off into a wince, satoru puffs up his chest, "-i had him in this nasty headlock, right? kept tryna go for his face but he managed to slip out like the slippery bastard he is-"

"what was the point of it, again?" you interrupt him, wondering how you could have let this conversation get to this point without realising, "the fight, i mean."

satoru huffs, smirking, "glad to know you're listenin'." he watches you roll your eyes, and chuckles, "alright, i'll say this one more time, just because i like you so much."

you lean in when he does, and satoru pauses for effect, just to be annoying, before his lips part.

"the fight was about you, sweetheart."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"fuckin' watch it."

there's the faint sound of crashing as someone stumbles past him, and sukuna glares as he watches a guy stumble into the nearest corner and retch, obviously victim to the overzealous drinking that's detectable literally everywhere.

he'd barely stepped out of his car for five seconds before he wants to go back - back to where, exactly, he isn't sure. usually his main form of comfort came in the shape of you.

the thought makes him ill. toji insisted on this party - swore up and down that this would be the one and only cure for the lovesickness, and had given firm instruction on what to do.

("find some girl." toji smirks, "fuck her, get her number, and then leave."

sukuna grips the steering wheel, glaring at the road, moderately disappointed that his car engine did nothing to drown out toji's sure tone. he weighs the pros and cons of swerving into the nearest tree:

cons - there's a big chance he'll kill toji and himself in the process (although arguably that would also do him a world of good, considering he'd fought tooth and nail against going to gojo's party, and toji had still convinced him to get in the car.)

pros - regarding the small chance of survival, he'd get an excuse to see you, albeit strapped to a hospital bed and probably paralysed for life, but it's something. you'd come of your own volition, and he'd miss out on the shame of having to ask for your attention (god forbid).

"then." toji wags his finger at him, "you gotta text her three days later. exactly three days."

he lets toji ramble. at this point, though, there's no use in believing he'll have enough strength to stop thinking about you - ever.)

sukuna stands a little straighter, not bothering to wait for toji as he takes the first step forward, shouldering past drunks tripping by, and stepping over people passed out on the porch, scoffing.

the door opens, the night begins.

house music punches out from the speakers, muffling voices as they surround him. a cup is in his hand before he can blink, and he daps up several hands that belong to faces he can't see in the flashing lights, baring his teeth in a pathetic imitation of a smile.

he catches the eyes of many - a few guys he knows from his lectures, soaking him up in awe, girls in groups, giggling as he walks past. he even smirks at some, downing the first cup like the burn does nothing but breathe life into his lungs.

confidence pulses through his bloodstream along with the alcohol. it reminds him of who he is - who he'll always fucking be. sukuna ryomen doesn't mope. he doesn't yearn. and he doesn't sleep in the beds of girls he hasn't already fucked. most of all, he heart doesn't belong to the likes of you.

the night is going well, unfolding better than he'd thought.

there's no sign of you - the closest reminder is some girl in the far corner, laughing with her friends. you have the same smile. sukuna promises she'll be the one in his bed later.

but he catches himself.

how could he renounce you, and in the same breath, lust over someone who looks so familiar?

he grapples with the thought of it - being inside someone else, kissing another girl when he's already had your lips on his, knowing he won't find anything better.

sukuna pauses, stilling right at the heart of a thick crowd. hands are all over him, some wandering up his shirt, others patting him on the shoulder, all of them ignored in rapid succession until he comes back to reality.

the little, red, plastic cup is crushed in his hand, palm wet with sticky liquid. sukuna doesn't care. he doesn't care about anything. not when every pore is opened on his skin, leaking love and adoration for you.

he has to call you.

the world rushes back to him in an instant, sucker-punching him in the gut, as though it aims to knock some sense into him - it succeeds. the same thought echoes: he has to call you.

all he remembers is frantic movement, throwing the crumpled plastic cup onto the floor, and shoving past each soul-sucking body that wants to drag his attention from what actually matters.

heavy footsteps jolt drunkards out of his way as he clambers up the stairs, pursuing a place of quiet, envisioning satoru's bathroom as his sanctuary, giving him the stillness he needs to just take his phone from his pocket, pull up your contact, and press one button.

sukuna fights a smile as he reaches the second floor, opening out into another common room and kitchen, just as full of bodies dancing to a hard rhythm as downstairs, aware that he's merely a minute or two from pure ecstasy, from the peace he can only find in-

-you.

his stomach drops. actually drops. creating one big black hole that just sucks all good emotion from his chest.

his hand falls from the stair banister to his side as every part of him stiffens - is practically breathing out dust the way his heart hardens into stone.

there's a sharp, pulling pain that follows. his lip quivers.

because you're right there-

-smiling, cup in hand, clothed in that sinful dress, the hem short enough to be riding up your thighs teasingly. you're dressed like every guy's wet dream.

but then a blur of white hair ruins the vision, arm slung lazily around your waist, snatching the drink from your hand to sip from where your lips had just touched.

sukuna ryomen watches as gojo satoru takes everything he's ever wanted in a matter of five seconds.

"like two sides of the same coin." you'd once said. so why not him? why not sukuna? if both satoru and himself were cut from the same cloth, if they were supposed to have the same value, why did you find more worth in that blue-eyed freak?

he's moving forward before he can stop himself.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"-and 'ella tells me that exactly two weeks ago he fucked her in his car and just…drove off." satoru finishes, nursing your cup as if he feels what you feel, as if he could comprehend the hurt that's striking you hard enough to make your fingers shake. "i mean, shit, 'm bad, but y'gotta be nice to people after you fuck, y'know?"

satoru raises his finger up, matter-of-factly, "it's a matter of principle."

two weeks ago. exactly two weeks ago. for a moment, an evening spent with a joint between your forefinger and thumb flashes through your head. the distinct smell of sacharrine sweet perfume that wasn't yours begins to replace the tom ford lingering on satoru's skin.

like a memory turned odorous.

"that's-"

you don't get finish it - you don't even have time to properly process anything - because a rough hand had wrapped itself around your forearm, and you're yanked backward, dragged away from satoru, who had the same shocked expression as you did, flinching forward on instinct and reaching. his fingers graze yours before he stills, recognition appearing on his features.

the cup in his hand falling to the floor is the last thing you see before the crowd closes in around you.

"what the fuck-?"

you hiss it out, fighting to stay on your feet as you threaten to lose balance on impractical heels, heart dropping.

sukuna's practically kicking down the door to the bathroom, his hand around your arm unmoving as the door gives.

two very shocked people glance up from where they were precariously making out against the sink, eyes wide and fearful as they see a six foot four inch behemoth of a man tower in the doorway, gripping your smaller form at his side. one of them glances at you, gobsmacked, and you shrug with equal helplessness.

"out." he snarls, and you pause awkwardly as you watch two figures bolt out of the room faster than your eyes can follow.

sukuna gives you no chance of escape - you're already yanked into the enclosed space, door slamming shut behind you, music muffled and barely heard against the rough sound of his breathing. the light - white and unrelenting - shows every detail.

his eyebags are the first thing you notice - dark, like he hasn't been sleeping. his chest rises and falls with a telling urgency, tan skin covered in a faint sheen of sweat, pink strands of hair sticking to his forehead as he regards you. his cuts have healed in his absence, but the heaviness in his eyes had only become worse.

neither of you know what to say for the first minute alone together - after a fortnight of being ignored, you stubbornly decide that you won't be the one to speak first. he's stood in the middle of the room, one hand fixed on the edge of the sink, pinning you against the door with his crimson gaze.

another beat passes. as expected, he's the first to break the ice.

"i don't talk t'ya for two fucking weeks, and you replace me with gojo?"

it's vehement - the way he spits satoru's name at you, like tasting it on his tongue is the worst thing to ever grace his tastebuds. for the tiniest moment, you consider blowing up at him. part of you yearns for the satisfaction of seeing his face morph into shock and hurt.

you settle for something that cuts deeper:

silence.

you don't speak, you don't even waste more than a few seconds to just look at him. instead, you shoulder past, walking over to the sink like he wasn't even there, stood behind you, glaring holes deep into the back of your head like he could force you to meet his gaze with willpower alone.

your gaze loiters on your own face, staring into your reflection in a mirror smeared with drunken fingerprints. your hair is a little messed up, maybe even frizzy from the sweaty air in an atmosphere that felt like it was a world away.

for a second, you risk a glance at the door - sukuna follows that look. he wonders if you're thinking about satoru, how it feels so much better to be outside with him, rather than enclosed in this minimal, bereft bathroom with someone who'd shown himself to make a shit friend overall.

mercifully, you speak. "it doesn't count as a replacement." the words are clear, ringing like crystal in the thick air. "not when you left a space made for filling."

"you've got no fucking shame." he snorts, hand reaching out to wrap around your bicep, tugging you around to face him, the gentleness of his grip not going unnoticed by you. if he'd wanted this to be an angry conversation, it would've been.

screaming matches weren't new for either of you - sukuna respected that you could hold your own, though it'd never have to be against him. your space was your space - even now he knew that being at your side was a privilege. you'd have left him to die in the dirt if it didn't suit your mood.

part of the problem, amongst other things, was that you were well aware of how he thought that you thought like that. though as it stood, the idea that you had little tolerance of anything remained one of the biggest misconceptions about you.

once, you'd have hoped that sukuna would never fall victim to it. disappointingly, you were proven wrong.

"look who's talking." you sneer, pushing off his hand but making no move to leave the space between his towering form and the sink, resting your hands on the edge of the bowl. you stare at one another for a few minutes more.

and he can't take it.

because, fuck, how could somebody look so pretty? beautiful, unreachable you, in that little dress, shoulders sagging under the weight of his actions, and of your passiveness. he feels the harshness rippling off of your skin, and sukuna fights the urge to flinch. it isn't like you to be so mean - if anything, that's his job.

and if anything, it's his fault you're like this - two seconds away from baring your teeth and ripping out his throat with whatever snarky comment you plan on using to break him down. the look you give him is reminsicent to a cornered animal. he wonders if satoru ever makes you feel this way.

"you kissed me." he bumbles it out like some sort of idiot, although lately he finds that he's able to categorise himself under such a label more and more. your eyes widen, surprise mingling with…shame? confusion? disappointment? it's hard to tell.

"you stopped talking to me after." you mutter back.

"i was scared."

"not good enough of an excuse, ryomen."

"i missed you." he spills.

"go fuck yourself." you feel bitter, dangerously so - mouth watering to the point where you're sure you're going to throw up from the flavour of it. under other circumstances, those three words would have got sukuna out of a lot of shit. but you'd missed him, too. you just weren't stupid enough to say it out loud.

there's no satisfaction in telling him exactly what he needs to hear. judging from the look on his face - wounded, like you'd actually managed to get to him with just a few murmured expletives - he's surprised by it. you're nothing like the men that challenge him, or the girls that screech and spit in his face when he smirks cockily and tells them to go to hell.

no, your anger is slow. accumulated over time. deserved.

and he hates it. just as much as he hates the fact that he can see you fighting with yourself. and right now, he feels like fighting with you, too.

"i thought you'd reach out."

your head snaps up, silence cracking between the both of you as he fires a warning shot in the emotional battlefield that seems to grow barbed wire along every edge. "don't." you seethe. "don't you dare turn this on me."

sukuna savours the animosity like a second skin. he feels his knuckles twitch, notes the quickening of his heartbeat, like this argument between you - mild and brittle as it was - was equivalent to a real fight. one with fists used and noses broken. a large part of him wishes it was. after all, it would hurt less than the way you no longer talk to him like he matters.

"you stopped talking to me." it's like an echo, a pounding drum that sounds out over the loud music blasting in through the four walls around you, so much worse than whatever brazilian phonk one of the frat brothers had put onto the speakers outside.

"and?" sukuna snorts, raising a hand as if he can physically brush off your point like it's nothing, like you're just another nobody begging for his attention, turning his head to the side while he grins pathetically at the wall, holding back a sludge of emotion threatening to suffocate you both in the heat of the moment. "still doesn't explain gojo."

"stop acting like you're the only one who's entitled to being my friend-"

"friend?"

sukuna scoffs, rolling his shoulders back as crimson eyes fall back to you again, deep, like somebody had poured blood into his irises and called it a day. the way he utters your word back to you makes something inside your chest physically recoil.

"is that what you meant by that kiss? friendship? y'kiss all your little friends on the lips as a goodbye, babe?"

"i don't know what i meant with that kiss."

"you'd know if it was gojo."

"i'd know a lot about myself if it was gojo. at least he's consistent. at least he's stable." for a conversation spoken in hushed tones and biting mumbles, it seems like every word would have been better off yelled out loud. no whispering voice could cushion the sharpness of your sentences. you don't stop. neither does he.

"'stable'." sukuna shakes his head, "y'know, 'm not surprised. you always liked it easy, didn't you? was never above throwin' a tantrum when i didn't play by the rules."

"what tantrums, ryomen?" it's like a switch has been flipped on between the both of you, your voices raised only slightly louder, muscles a little more tense, faces a little bit closer, like the aim was to make the words hurt more with the proximity. "what rules?"

"don't act clueless, babe. 's not your style. everythin's gotta be perfect with you, right? just how you want it to be."

"i want things to be fair. going around and comparing what i do with you to what i do with satoru isn't fair, ryomen."

"oh, so it's 'satoru' now, is it?" he shuffles closer, and real anger seems to flicker from behind his lashes, barely there for long enough to provoke anything in you. his voice lowers itself again, imitating that same, ridiculous, raspy drawl you notice he always uses while arguing.

strange, how once upon a time you wouldn't have been able to imagine a moment where he'd use that same voice on you.

"it's always been 'satoru'." you hiss, "and you leave him out of this."

"why? you're real protective over someone who wants to play fair, babe. can't be unbiased when you're like that."

"unbiased? that's funny coming from you, ryomen."

"yeah? the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

you pause, wondering if you're willing to change this entire debate and turn it into something worse, all for the sake of your stinging pride and the shame in missing him so much.

as it stands, it turns out you are.

"it's means i know you fucked 'ella."

for once, sukuna's speechless. the words hit him straight in the gut, and suddenly it's like breathing the same air as you means death, because he's stumbling back a couple inches. his breath hitches, and guilt gnaws at him, full of sharp teeth.

"i fuck everybody." it's a pathetic defence, spoken in a pathetic voice, by a pathetic man.

but it stings all the same. from the very beginning, you've known better than to want something more with sukuna. he acted exactly like he looked - cocksure, with his fair share of people tripping over themselves just for one night in his bed. somehow, being aware of his habits only made you more curious. you find yourself thinking you should have nipped that curiosity in the bud when you had the chance.

"i know."

"so what's the problem?"

"the problem," you whisper, "is that you keep coming to me afterwards."

all the fight leaves him the minute you stop talking, sagging back against the wall behind him, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. the slight jut of his lower lip would have tempted you into kissing him again, under better circumstances.

you wonder if the aforementioned 'better' circumstances would ever circle back - time has a habit of repeating itself, after all.

but men like sukuna don't change.

"i can handle sleeping in the same bed." you begin, "i can handle being that person for you, ryomen, the one that you come to for safety, for security. but what i can't bear-" your voice cracks, and his heart breaks along with it, "what i can't bear is being a second thought."

"you're never a second thought-"

"but you're acting like i am." you interrupt, trembling from a cold that you can't even feel, so weak from the effort it takes to be confronting him that you take a minute to kick off your heels and let the soles of your feet plant themselves on the cool tile of the floor beneath you.

"you think it doesn't hurt me? hearing everyone talk about us as if there's something going on?" a tear slips down your cheek, hammering the final nail onto his coffin - he's never seen you cry before, not really. you've never let anyone get close enough to see.

"you get every fucking girl on this campus to lay at your feet. all i get is you."

silence lingers. it stains his knuckles, highlighting his anger. it stains your lips, highlighting the biggest mistake you've made since letting sukuna use you for comfort.

even then, there's still a massive rift between you both - your greatest sin was letting a curse made into man have a moment's respite, his biggest sin was thinking he could love you and get away with being the man he was at the same time.

"why do i-" you have to take a deep breath in to stop a whimper from escaping your mouth, head bowed, eyes glaring at the floor between your feet. "why do i get only you, huh? someone comes up to me for five fucking seconds and you sulk. satoru talks about me for one minute and you're fighting-"

"it's not his fuckin' place-"

"it's not your place, either!" you seethe, more tears spill from your eyes, clumping those pretty lashes together. sukuna's mouth waters, like he wants to lick them from your cheeks and cradle that gorgeous face in his large hands until you feel better. instead, he stays still.

"i get lonely, ryomen. real fucking lonely. you know that, and you still left for two weeks - like it's my fault you're so insecure. i'm not the one telling you to fuck every girl within a fifty-mile radius. if that's what you want-"

"that's never been what i want." he chokes, taking a step closer. you take a step back. close proximity with the one person you're too stubborn to cloes the distance with is the last thing you need. sukuna winces at your recoil, angular features twisting into something pained.

"they don't mean anythin'." his hand stretches out to you, pausing millimetres before your arm. you take the chance to press your fingers into his palm. he tries to hold them. you use the contact to push him away.

you're slipping between his fingers right before his eyes, and he isn't strong enough to stop it.

"they mean something to me." you swallow, closing your eyes, hand falling limp at your side again.

you've both fantasised about laying your hearts bare for one another, more often than you can count, in the privacy of your own rooms. sukuna likes to imagine the silence being so warm it melts him right into your open palms, and it smells just like the bottle of perfume you'd given him weeks prior.

it was never meant to be like this - born into existence with thorns jutting out of pillow-soft words. and he's never been the sort to take a hit and not strike back.

he struggles to say something, to convince you that you shouldn't worry about anyone else, that there's only been you. what he manages to mumble out is different:

"i'm not gonna change for you, babe."

it's a lie. he'd morph into a monster with four eyes, four arms and two mouths if you'd ask him to. he'd burn the world down with malevolent intent if it meant keeping you warm. you don't know that, though. he's kept every devoted thought about you locked away, deep in the depths of a heart he's only rumoured to have.

"i've never asked you to." you murmur, "but i can't do this anymore, sukuna." you shake your head, one shuddering sigh breathing past your lips as you ready yourself for the hardest thing you'll ever do.

"i'm gonna go." you tell him. he knows that this is final. feels it in the way his heart sinks to his stomach and stops beating. every muscle stiffens with dread. his eyes water. you look away.

"don't…" you start moving, heading straight for the door, hand on the handle, vibrations buzzing with each soulless beat of music resounding off of the walls outside. faintly, you hear the quiet babble of people waiting for a turn in the bathroom lined up outside.

a morgue would have had more life in it than the atmosphere between you both. sukuna waits for you to finish your sentence. you falter once. he catches the break in your line of thought, and hopes that while you have the strength to end what you're about to say, you might not have the heart to do it.

instead, he just proves to himself that maybe he doesn't know you at all.

"don't stop by any time soon." your hand tightens around the door handle. he jolts forward, your name falling from his lips like a plea folded into scorn, and you hold up a hand to silence him. it halts between you both, a hesitation, but he's close enough to put one foot in front of the other, pushing his chest into your open palm.

his heartbeat is forceful, you feel it. as always, it matches your own.

gently, you apply pressure, pushing him away.

"you take care of yourself, alright?"

's not possible without you with me." he clenches his jaw, and a shadow falls over his face from where the light spills from behind his head, darkening the wrinkle between his brows. as always, you're tempted to give into the urge of smoothing it out using your thumb.

as always, you refrain.

"please," he drops your name into the air like a plea. sukuna ryomen doesn't beg. he's not supposed to. but somehow he's never not on his knees when he's around you, unsure whether he's there to worship, or confess or pray.

"let me fix this, babe."

you shake your head once. he either changes for himself, or he doesn't change at all - you won't give him the chance to use you as a scapegoat for his pride. "if you really need me," you watch his lower lip tremble, "you knock. but don't come looking for me if you don't have to."

"i always fuckin' look for you." he growls, slamming his hand against the doorframe beside your head. you flinch. "and now you're just gonna leave me here-?"

he hears the slap before he feels it.

it's loud and crisp and so much less than what he deserves for all that he's done, but at least you've given him something.

the force of it snaps his head round until he's looking at the wall. the outline of your hand burns itself into his cheek. he's never wanted you more. you've never been further out of reach.

and you're looking at him like he's some kind of monster. maybe he is. maybe he'll have to settle for the shape of your perfume bottle to sleep against for the rest of his life. your breath comes in, heavy. he listens to it despite the drumming of his heartbeat.

then - there's only silence.

because you're thinking. because every moment of delicacy, of gentle touches and longing glances, happens to flicker through your mind like a sick montage of what once was and what could have been.

another tear spills down your cheek, a lone soldier treading over smooth skin, wetting it. sukuna's breathing shakes as he moves his head back around to face you properly, pink eyelashes heavy with liquid emotion. his cheeks match the wetness of yours.

you know that if you don't leave - if you don't say something, anything - at that very moment, you won't ever be able to muster up the courage to turn on your heel and walk away from him ever again. so your lips part, and your tongue gets to work:

"don't you dare pretend that it was ever my idea to leave first." you follow the way his adam's apple bobs in his throat - as though it pains him to swallow the truth you're feeding him. "this is on you."

and you're gone.

just like that, the door opens and shuts. he catches a final glimpse of your back, retreating into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of smoking, lustrous people dancing in unison, before the door swings shut, and he's left alone.

the sob that leaves him is muffled into his fist, and sukuna presses his forehead against the door, trying to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows against the smooth wood out of defiance - because why would he need you to do it for him?

one hand grips his chest. there's an ache inside of him that he knows he won't ever be free from - not without you by his side.

it's not your fault. you've given what you can - sukuna just never knew what you were giving for. that was his own burden to bear.

the next sob that rips through him comes out tortured, a mangled sound that he didn't even know was possible to make. somebody knocks on the door, asking if he was alright.

sukuna doesn't answer.

another sob rips it's way out of his throat.