It was foolish, really—setting a blanket down in the grass for the King of Curses.

You knew it before he even said anything. The moment his shadow fell over the little arrangement pieced together with more hope than logic. You could feel the judgment radiating off him. A soft linen cloth, a basked filled with fresh fruits, delicate finger foods and even a bottle of chilled tea. It looked like something out of dream—not a place that should suit someone like Sukuna. But you weren’t trying to charm him. You just wanted him to…stay.

He did, of course. Towering over the setup like a dark god surveying a shrine built by someone far beneath him, eyes narrowed, lips pulled into a smirk. “You expect me to sit?” he asked, voice laced with amusement. But he sat anyway—not because he was curious about the food, or because he cared about your effort. He sat because he had nothing better to do. But also because he didn’t like the idea of you doing something like this for anyone else—not that he’d tell you that.

His presence disrupted the peace of the field. Crimson markings across his face, eyes gleaming with that feral, ancient gleam, and posture stiff like a king tolerating a peasant’s attempt at affection. He didn’t mock you, not outright.

He just watched with a kind of cold, distant interest as you poured him tea—as if curious how far you’d go with this ridiculous gesture. You didn’t call it a date, not out loud, you didn’t need to. He knew.

“You know I could level this place in seconds,” he said, plucking a grape from the bowl, turning it between his fingers. “What makes you think I’d want to waste time like this?” He didn’t sound angry, only bored. Testing.

But when you looked at him, met his gaze head-on and said simply, “You’re still here,” the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Just slightly. The closest thing you’d ever get to a smile.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Heavy, but not unwelcome. You had learned early on that Sukuna didn’t care for small talk. He didn’t need to fill the space with words, and he didn’t need to tolerate empty ones.

So you sat beside him quietly, listening to the breeze rustle the trees, the rhythmic crash of waves from the cliffside not far behind. Every so often, he would glance your way—covertly, like he didn’t want to be caught—but his gaze always lingered.

It was easy to forget how dangerous he was when the sun cast gold across his skin, when the grass swayed gently around his frame, and when his eyes momentarily softened—not out of affection, but from stillness. You weren’t taming him—that would be a fatal misunderstanding. But you were allowed to exist beside him in these quiet hours.

That was more than anyone else had been granted in centuries.

He reclined eventually, propping himself up on an elbow, staring at the sky like it had offended him. “These stars,” he muttered, “used to mean something. Now these peasants stare at them like fools.” But he didn’t stop looking. And when your hand brushed his—the lightest touch—he didn’t move away. He just went still, eyes flicking to you. “Careful,” he said lowly, warning laced in his words.

There were no declarations, no romantic gestures. He didn’t call you beautiful, he didn’t tell you he liked the food, didn’t even thank you for the thought. But when the wind picked up and your shoulders shivered, he wordlessly flicked one half of his robe over you. As if annoyed that the breeze had dared to make you feel cold in his presence. And you knew better than to thank him. He would have hated that.

He didn’t understand why you did this. Why he let you. Why he hadn’t crushed the entire field when he arrived. And when you turned to him, hesitating before asking if he wanted to do this again sometime.

He didn’t nod. Didn’t scoff. But his eyes lingered for a second before he turned away. That was his answer.

Sukuna didn’t fall in love. He didn’t soften. But in this quiet, cursed little grace you carved into his world…he stayed.

And that was everything.