Use of alcohol, toxic relationship, Angst- You and Sukuna really should’ve ended your relationship by now…
You were stomping around Sukuna’s and your apartment, anger crawling under your skin as you grew more and more frustrated with the man. He’d slammed the front door in your face after a stupid ass argument that morning, and you hadn’t heard from him since.
It was late evening now. Every message left on delivered. Every call unanswered. You weren’t surprised. This happened at least twice a week. An argument that exploded out of nothing, one of you storming out to cool off. It was routine. But never this long. A few hours, sure. Not all day.
Your head spun with scenarios. Maybe he was just cooling off, maybe he was cheating or maybe he was drinking again. You tried to shove the thoughts away, but your thumbs didn’t listen. You were blowing up his phone with messages. Some begging. Some vicious. After another unanswered call, you finally heard shuffling outside, keys fumbling, then the door swinging open and slamming shut. Again.
“What is your fucking issue, woman?” he snapped, voice rough, already loud. “My issue?” You laughed, sharp and humorless. “My fucking issue is that you walk off like a coward every time you don’t get your way.”
Sukuna scoffed, tossing his keys onto the counter. The smell of alcohol hit you before he even looked at you. Cheap, bitter, soaked into his clothes.
“Don’t start,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh, you’re never in the mood,” you shot back. “Unless it’s for drinking or pretending I don’t fucking exist for hours.”
That got his attention. He turned then, eyes dark, jaw clenched so tight you could see it twitch. “You don’t shut the fuck up, do you?” he growled.
Something in you snapped. You grabbed the nearest thing, a glass from the counter, and hurled it past his head. It shattered against the wall, glass raining down like a bad decision.
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” you spat, walking towards him and getting in his face.
For a second, everything froze. The apartment hummed with tension, broken glass glittering on the floor. Sukuna stared at the wall, then at you, breathing heavy. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer.
“You love pushing me,” he said quietly. Too quietly. “You know exactly how to do it.”
“And you love disappearing,” you fired back, chest tight. “You make me feel insane.”
With one swift movement you were against the wall his hand slammed beside your head. close enough that your heart jumped.
“Then fucking leave,” he snarled. You swallowed. You didn’t move. “You don’t mean that,” you said, softer now, betraying yourself.
He laughed, bitter and empty, pulling back and stumbling toward the couch. He dropped into it like his bones were tired of holding him up, rubbing his temples.
“God,” he muttered. “You make everything worse.”
You stood there for a moment, shaking, then slowly crouched to pick up the shards of glass. Your hands trembled, a small cut blooming on your finger. You let out a small “ouch.” Sukuna noticed. He always did.
“Idiot,” he said, getting up again. He grabbed your wrist, a little too rough, inspecting the cut. “You’re bleeding.”
“You don’t care,” you said automatically. He scoffed. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here.” That was the problem, wasn’t it?
He moved over to the kitchen counter grabbing a paper towel and with a huff wrapped it around your finger, movements clumsy but familiar. You watched his face up close, the dark circles under his eyes, the way he smelled like liquor and smoke.
“You should’ve stayed gone,” you whispered. “And you should’ve stopped texting me,” he replied. Silence settled between you, thick and uncomfortable. He didn’t let go of your hand. You didn’t pull away.
Eventually, he sighed and rested his forehead against yours, exhausted rather than gentle. “We’re fucked,” he murmured. You nodded, leaning into him anyway. “Yeah.”
You never do, even though you should.
