Everyone agreed on three things about Ryomen Sukuna. 1. He ran the most feared frat on campus. 2. He looked like sin itself carved into human form. 3. If he so much as looked at you, your life expectancy dropped by five years.

Which made it objectively cruel that his biggest weakness was you.

You—who kept your head down in lecture halls. You—who smiled at professors and avoided eye contact with literally everyone else. You—who had started taking the long way around campus just to avoid crossing paths with him.

Sukuna noticed. God, did he notice.

Every time he saw you freeze the second you clocked him in the distance, his stomach twisted. Every time you turned on your heel and disappeared, he told himself it was fine. That it didn’t matter. That you were just another student who bought into the rumors.

Except it wasn’t fine. And you weren’t just anyone.

Because every time he did get close enough—every accidental brush in the library, every near-miss in the hallway—his usual confidence evaporated. He’d go quiet. His gaze would linger too long. His answers would come out clipped, rough, like he was annoyed.

You took that as confirmation.

He hates me.

So when your friends dragged you to the frat party—his frat party—you swore you’d stay for ten minutes max. Grab a drink, be polite, leave before he even noticed you were there.

That plan died instantly.

The moment you stepped inside, the energy shifted. People parted without realizing it. Conversations dipped. And there he was—lounging against the stairs like he owned the building, eyes sharp, expression bored.

Until he saw you.

Sukuna straightened immediately. Too fast. His cup stilled in his hand. For half a second, his brain went completely blank.

Say something. Anything.

He didn’t.

Your eyes met his for a split second—and you panicked.

You turned and slipped through the nearest door, heart hammering, praying it led anywhere but back to him.

It led to a side room.

You barely had time to breathe before the door swung open again.

Sukuna stepped in—and the door slammed shut behind him.

The lock clicked.

Both of you froze.

The room was small. Dim. A storage space packed with old furniture and boxes. Music thudded faintly through the walls, distant and useless.

You stared at the floor, already mortified. “I—I’ll be quiet. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming in here.”

Sukuna’s brows knit together. “…What?”

You took a step back, clearly trying to make yourself smaller. “I’ll just wait until it unlocks. I won’t bother you.”

That was it.

Something in him snapped—not angry, not violent—just desperate.

“Why do you keep doing that?” he asked, voice low.

You looked up, startled. “D-Doing what?”

“Avoiding me,” he said. Blunt. Honest. “Like I’m gonna bite.”

Silence stretched between you.

In the dim light, Sukuna looked… different. Less terrifying. Almost unsure, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn’t trust himself to use them.

Because the truth—the humiliating, soul-destroying truth—was that he’d been trying not to scare you since the day he met you.

And failing miserably.