The sound of conversation grated on Sukuna's nerves as he sat at the dinner table, idly pushing his food around his plate. His father's stern tone, his mother's nags about his grades, none of it interested him.

He had barely touched his meal before excusing himself. "Don't slam the door," his mother called as he stomped up the stairs. He did it anyway, letting out a sharp exhale. Everything was so mundane.

Then he saw it.

Shattered glass littered the floor as a gust of cold air breezed through the room, carrying with it something even stranger—white feathers. His gaze snapped to the window. Shattered. Completely broken. His brows furrowed as his eyes scanned the damage… until his gaze landed on you.

You lay sprawled on his bedroom floor, soft white feathers scattered around you like fallen snow. And most of all—your wings, barely visible in the dim light, twitched slightly. Real, actual wings. Or at least, what was left of them.

"The hell…?" His voice came out rough, though no one answered. Not like he expected anyone to.

He crouched beside you, scanning for any visible injuries. Your face was peaceful, almost too serene for someone who had just crashed through a window. He noticed the soft rise and fall of your chest—alive, then. Good. That meant he didn't have to deal with a corpse tonight.

But that didn't explain why an angel had just dropped into his room.

Sukuna's fingers hesitated over your shoulder before finally gripping it. He shook you lightly. "Hey. Wake up."

No response. He didn't know what was more ridiculous: the fact that an actual angel had crashed into his bedroom or that he was the one stuck dealing with it. He should've called someone. Should've grabbed his phone and reported an intruder—because what was he supposed to do with an unconscious angel in his bedroom?

But he didn't.

Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing against your forehead. Too warm, almost feverish.

"Tch." Sukuna clicked his tongue in irritation. "This is a real pain to deal with."