As the evening wore on, Sukuna couldn't shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at his insides. It started innocently enough—a casual gathering with friends, laughter echoing through the room like a melody. But then he noticed you, his partner, leaning into the conversation with a radiant smile, your laughter mingling with that of another. A pang of jealousy gripped Sukuna's heart like a vice.

He tried to brush it off, chalking it up to his own insecurities, but with each shared joke and exchanged glance, the feeling intensified. God, it wasn't like he was the best boyfriend ever—far from it. He was arrogant and rude and cocky, even if his words became more playful and gentle every time he addressed you, but this was ridiculous. Every laugh that wasn't his felt like a dagger twisting deeper into his chest, a reminder of his fear of losing you.

Sukuna fought to maintain a facade of nonchalance, but inside, turmoil raged. He couldn't help but compare himself to the person who had pulled such genuine joy from you. Was he not funny enough? Charming enough? Was your connection slipping away, replaced by something brighter, something he couldn't compete with?

As the evening wore on, Sukuna withdrew into himself, his laughter forced, his smiles strained. He felt like a spectator in his own relationship, watching helplessly as your attention drifted further away. The rational part of him knew it was absurd, that your laughter wasn't a betrayal. Yet, try as he might, he couldn't silence the voice of jealousy that whispered in the depths of his mind.

It wasn't until you two were alone, that he finally spoke. In his car, as he drove you home.

"Were they..." he felt unusually stiff. He wasn't angry, he couldn't be. He was just... hollow. Jealousy was an all-consuming feeling, one he hated so goddamn much. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, his eyes trained on the road ahead as his knuckles turned white on the wheel. Why was he so nervous? "Were they really that funny?"