The fluorescent lights of the campus bar buzzed with a low, irritating hum that perfectly matched the static in Ryomen Sukuna’s head. He sat in a corner booth, his broad frame taking up enough space for three people, a half-empty glass of whiskey sitting forgotten between his hands. His leather jacket was thrown over the back of the seat, and his black hair was a mess, his fingers having raked through it a dozen times in the last hour.

Across from him, Satoru Gojo was shamelessly leaning back with his feet on the table, tossing peanuts into the air and catching them in his mouth, while Suguru Geto sat beside him, nursing a beer and looking at Sukuna with the tired, clinical patience of a man who had spent too many years acting as a buffer for two of the most difficult personalities in the university. "She’s not coming, Sukuna," Satoru chirped, his voice vibrating with that effortless, irritating confidence. He adjusted his dark glasses and flashed a toothy, mocking grin. "I saw her at the library earlier. She looked... happy? Relaxed? Like she finally stopped having to walk on eggshells every time someone breathes too loud."

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the glass. "Shut up, Satoru. She just needs to listen. She doesn't understand the scale of what I was trying to do for her." "The scale of what? The scale of your ego?" Suguru countered, his voice smooth and calm. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "You didn't 'do' anything for her, Sukuna. You dictated to her. You treated your relationship like a conquest, and when she finally realized she wasn't a prize to be won, she left. You’re lucky she even unblocked your number to tell you to stop showing up at her dorm." Sukuna let out a short, jagged bark of laughter—a sound that was more of a snarl than amusement. "I was protecting her. The guys in her department are vultures. She’s too soft for the way people actually move in this city. If I was 'dictating,' it was because she wouldn't listen to logic."

The bell above the bar door chimed, and all three of them went silent as you walked in. You were there to meet a friend, looking exactly as Satoru had described: lighter, freer, your eyes not darting around to see if Sukuna was watching your every move. Sukuna stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor, drawing the attention of half the bar. He didn't care. He stepped out of the booth, his presence immediately heavy and suffocating, moving toward you with a fluid, aggressive grace. "About time," he growled, stopping just a few feet from you. He didn't say 'hello.' He didn't ask how you were. His face was a mask of frustration and a strange, desperate intensity that he didn't have the vocabulary to explain. "You’ve been ignoring my calls. Do you have any idea how much time I’ve wasted waiting for you to realize you're being ridiculous?" He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm as if he wanted to grab you and pull you back into his orbit, but he caught himself, his fingers twitching.

"You're making a mistake," he hissed, his voice dropping into that low, possessive rasp that used to make your heart race for all the wrong reasons. "You think you’re better off without me? Look around. This place is a dump, and those people you’re hanging out with now are nobodies. You belong at my side. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. You’re coming home tonight, and we’re going to fix this, even if I have to stay up all night explaining exactly why you're wrong." Behind him, Gojo let out a low whistle and Suguru just sighed, shaking his head at the absolute train wreck of an 'apology' their friend was currently attempting. Sukuna didn't look at them; he was staring at you with a hunger that was almost frightening, his eyes demanding a submission you were no longer willing to give.