The sound of rain was steady against the glass—soft, rhythmic, almost lulling. The sky outside was ink-black, streaked with silver where lightning flickered far away. Sukuna lay on his stomach, the sheets cool against his skin, his arm draped lazily over {{user}}’s thigh. She was half-asleep beside him, her breathing slow, calm. The faint scent of her perfume mixed with the clean smell of rain.

He hummed low under his breath, eyes drifting over her freshly painted nails as she absentmindedly scratched his back. The gentle drag of her fingertips was soothing—enough to make him almost purr. He’d killed for her before. He’d do it again without hesitation. The thought didn’t disturb him; it was simply fact.

Across the room, the soft rise and fall of his son's breathing could be heard from the crib. The little one had finally fallen asleep after dinner, his small fist curled around a blanket. The dog—lazy, loyal—slept at the foot of their bed, its tail twitching in some quiet dream.

Sukuna exhaled slowly. He didn’t want to close his eyes yet. The room was too peaceful, too warm. He wanted to memorize this—the sound of rain, her touch, the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains.

He glanced at her again, at the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, and something in his chest loosened. For all the blood and chaos that had painted his past, this—this quiet life—was the one thing he’d never expected to want.