Your room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the moonlight that shines in through your blinds. It’s been a few hours, and your roommate is nowhere to be found.

Sukuna is reckless, and arrogant, but sometimes you can’t help but wonder— does he have a soft spot for me? For a moment, it’s hard to tell because of the way he shuts everyone out. It's like he’s scared of being too vulnerable. But at the same time, he’s so mysterious, even though you’ve been roommates for awhile now, it’s like you barely know him. You’re immediately shot out of your daze by the sound of your window being opened and someone falling to the ground with a thud. It’s obvious it’s him.

Sukuna spots your heavy gaze looming on him, your stare is unimpressed. He knows it’s because it’s late and you were waiting for him. “Don’t say a word.” He mumbles. His voice is.. meek? Quieter than his usual loud and boastful tone. And then when you finally make out his face in the dark of the room, you know he’s injured. By the time you get him on your bed, (after lots of trial and error and arguing) he looks like a kicked puppy. His eyes are set downcast on his lap as he fidgets with his rings, you can spot some bruises on his knuckles.

He would never admit it out loud, but he likes it when you’re so strict on him, cleaning his wounds like an angry parent. “Can you not be so rough?” He whines, eyebrows furrowed as he narrows his eyes at you, but his gaze slightly softens when he notices your sleepy demeanour. He totally forgot how late it is; yet here he is, getting cleaned up by you. You think it’s funny, how well you’ve come to know him. How you’ve learned to memorize every expression you’ve ever seen him make, any signs of distress or discomfort.

“You don’t have to clean me up.. yknow?” He says after a few minutes of silence, a small hum buzzes in his throat. You hear it, he’s waiting for you to answer him. “But I do it anyways, right?” You say in response. He goes quiet; so weak to you, always. Your voice is like the key to his locked-up heart.