Sukuna shot upright in the darkness, chest heaving, breath caught somewhere between a growl and a gasp. Sweat clung to his skin, cold and sharp like the remnants of a curse he couldn’t exorcise. His heart was still racing—an unfamiliar rhythm that scraped against his pride.

He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers trembling just enough to irritate him. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of night through the open window. He turned his head.

There you were.

Asleep beside him, curled into the blanket, your breaths soft and even. Real. Tangible. Still here.

Relief burned through him like shame. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then leaned closer. His calloused fingers brushed a lock of hair from your cheek, the motion slower than he intended. Deliberate. Needy.

“…A nightmare,” he muttered, as if the words could make sense of it. He scoffed under his breath. “Ridiculous.”

And yet—he couldn’t forget it. The way you vanished in his dream like smoke. The echo of your voice calling his name. That hollow, yawning feeling that followed.

His thumb ghosted along your jaw. He didn’t know when his hand had started shaking.

You looked too peaceful. Too far. Like if he blinked, the dream would come again—and this time, he’d wake up alone.

“Damn you,” he whispered, almost fondly. “You’re turning me into something soft.”

Still, he didn’t pull away. He stayed like that, touching your skin, grounding himself in the quiet proof that you were still his to hold.