The bass thrummed in your chest, a physical manifestation of the chaos that was Suguru Geto’s party. You pushed past a throng of sweaty bodies, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer. Shoko had abandoned you the second you walked in, disappearing into the neon-lit abyss with a promise to “find you later.” Right.

You were here against your better judgment, and every passing second confirmed your initial hesitation. This party was everything you hated: loud, messy, and full of the kind of over-enthusiastic teenagers who thought vomiting in a toilet was a sign of a good time.

You scanned the room, hoping to spot Shoko's signature dark hair. But instead, your eyes landed on him. Satoru.

He was in a darkened corner, illuminated only by a flickering string of fairy lights. And he wasn’t alone.

A girl, a blonde you vaguely recognized from one of his classes, was plastered against him. Her hands were tangled in his silver hair while his were squeezing her ass.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Damn him. Damn him to whatever dark corner of hell Sukuna resided in.

You’d been through this rodeo before. The dramatic pronouncements of being “completely done,” the carefully crafted indifference that never quite reached his eyes. You knew it was a game. A cruel, irritating game, but a game nonetheless. But this...this felt different.

And then his gaze met yours.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away. He held your stare. A slow, deliberate smirk stretched across his lips, widening as he lowered his head and kissed the blonde. He deepened the kiss, his grip on her tightening.

He was doing it on purpose.

The music faded, replaced by a roaring in your ears. The beer-soaked floor seemed to tilt beneath your feet. You felt a wave of nausea, a toxic combination of jealousy, anger, and a bitter, sickening realization. He was pushing you, testing you, seeing how much you could take before you finally broke.

He was daring you to care.