Sukuna was not a man easily unsettled.

In fact, nothing in this pathetic modern world had managed to shake him—until now. Until you.

The worst part? You didn’t even know what you were doing to him.

You step out of your apartment at the exact same time he does, like some sick cosmic joke designed to test his patience. His grip tightens around the doorknob before he releases it, forcing his expression into something unreadable. He is not bothered. He is not affected.

And yet.

You smile at him, all warmth and ease, oblivious to the way he stiffens ever so slightly. “Morning, Sukuna.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Hn.”

It’s all he can manage when just last night—again—his dreams had been flooded with you. Your voice, breathless. Your body, arching beneath him. The intoxicating way you had moaned for him, reached for him.

The fact that none of it was real made it worse.

You walk ahead toward the elevator, and he follows at a slow, measured pace. He’s not about to rush—or worse, walk beside you—when every inch of him is still burning from the remnants of a dream he didn’t ask for.

The doors slide open. You step inside first. He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, before joining you. The space feels smaller than usual.

But as you pass by, the scent of you lingers, brushing against his senses like a cruel reminder of everything he can’t have.

His fingers twitch again.

This is getting out of hand.

You glance up at him. “Did you sleep okay?”

A sharp exhale leaves him. He should lie. Should throw out a snide remark, deflect, something. But instead, his voice comes out lower than intended—rough, edged with something dangerous.

“No.”

You blink at him, lips parting slightly. “Oh.”

He nearly curses. That reaction—it reminds him too much of—tch. Enough.

The elevator hums around you. The air is too thick. His body is too tense. You’re too close.