sukuna when he runs into a classmate at the bus stop
the fluorescent hum of the bus stop was the only thing keeping the silence from swallowing you whole. you sat on the edge of the damp wooden bench, your thumb hovering over a screen filled with lies.
mom: i wish you were here
mom: can i video call you? grandma wants to say hi
mom: i'm sure sure you're alone again
you: i can't now
mom: why? at work again?
you: no, i’m just at a party too. hanging out with friends. it's just loud here, the music is too loud and there's a lot of people so i can't call.
mom: how nice! have fun!
your mother’s messages felt like tiny lead weights. she wanted to see your face, to hear the noise of a life you weren't actually living. behind you, the city was dark, and the "party" was just the sound of a distant siren and the cold wind biting at your ankles. you felt small, curled into your oversized blue hoodie, trying to blink away the sting in your eyes before it could turn into something more permanent.
the truth was that you're embarrassingly homesick. you miss your mom's cooking, you miss your childhood friends, you miss taking late night drives and sitting in the park, talking about nothing in particular. but you're the one who chose to pick the furthest university that accepted you so you're not about to admit it.
then, he walked into the light of the terminal, a flash of ink, coral and tan.
it was sukuna.
you recognized him immediately—the star athlete, the guy who usually had a trail of teammates behind him and a jersey that seemed three sizes too small for his frame. on campus, he was the guy everyone gave a wide berth to, not just because of his size, but because of that permanent, unfriendly scowl he wore like a warning to stay away.
but as he got closer, the scowl wasn't there.
you blinked, watching him stumble into the light. he looked different without the jock-squad. he looked human.
and then, he saw you.
he froze for a second, his hand flying up to cover his face, but he wasn't fast enough. “what the fuck is she doing here?”
in the harsh glare of the streetlamp, you saw it: his eyes were red, puffy and raw, the tell-tale sign of a long, heavy cry.
huffing, he pulled his jacket tight, his tough-guy persona struggling to click back into place. he let out a sharp, wet sniff and wiped his nose with the back of a cold hand.
"hey!" he called out, his voice cracking slightly before he lowered it into his usual tone. he walked over, trying to loom, though the effect was ruined by the way his shoulders slumped. "why are you sitting here alone? it's late."
he peered down at you, his intimidating height usually enough to make anyone nervous, but your eyes were fixed on the tears he was desperately trying to stem. his flushed face made the tattoos framing his face pop.
“are you okay?” he questioned, strong brows lowered as he stared at you down the line of his crooked nose.
his hair was a mess of salmon tufts, flames licking the tips and melting them into a burnt orange now that he's backlit by the warm glow of a streetlight that crowns his head like a halo.
"are you okay?" you countered, your voice soft. "your eyes... they're really red and puffy."
sukuna stiffened, snapping his head away as if he’d been slapped. he let out a sharp, defensive huff, his hand scrubbing at his face again.
"oh, um, yeah," he muttered, his voice thick. "i'm fine. it's just allergies. this damn city air, you know?"
he tried to laugh, but it came out as a wet, miserable sound. he sat down on the far end of the bench, looking everywhere but at you. despite his reputation for being mean and scary, he looked incredibly small right now.
"okay," you said gently, not pushing it. "i'm fine too."
he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, the tough facade slipping back into place, though it looked more like a mask than a reality.
"you shouldn't be out here," he grumbled, looking at your small frame and then back at the dark street. "a girl like you shouldn't be sitting at a bus stop alone this late. it’s not safe. where are your friends?"
you looked down at your phone, the screen still showing the lie you'd sent to your mom about being at a party. you didn't have the heart to tell him you were just as lonely as he clearly was.
"sorry," he added after a moment of silence, his voice dropping to a whisper as he swatted a fresh stray tear away. "i've just got some really bad allergies tonight."
you sat together in the silence of the rain, two people from the same campus who didn't know each other at all, both holding onto lies just to get through the night.
reaching into your grocery bag, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet night, you pulled out two small cartons of apple juice. you nudged his arm, offering one.
"here," you said softly. "sorry i don’t have a beer. we can pretend though," you sang, wiggling the box at him.
sukuna looked at the tiny straw and the bright packaging, a sudden, genuine bark of laughter escaping him. his hand dwarfed the juice box comically.
"apple juice? really?" he took it anyway, his large fingers clumsy with the small straw. "thanks. it’s actually better than a beer right now."
when the bus finally arrived, neither of you got on.
instead, he stood up and adjusted his bag. "look, it’s late. i’ll walk you home. i don't want to hear about some girl from my psych elective getting mugged because i was too busy suffering from allergies to be a gentleman."
the walk was surprisingly easy. you talked about the grueling professors you both shared and the way the campus dining hall always smelled like burnt onions. the scary aura he projected in the hallways melted away, revealing someone who was just tired.
as you turned down your street, you stopped and looked up at him. "are you sure you’re okay, sukuna?"
the wall went back up instantly. he shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the pavement.
"well, even if i'm not, so what? what would you do about it?" he shrugged with a bitter, self-deprecating huff. "i'm too big for anyone to hug me the way i’d want. like, i couldn't even rest my head on your chest. it’d just look dumb."
“would you want to feel small when you're hugged?” you tilt your head to the side, curious rather than judgemental as you nibble on your lips, your hair fluffy and ruffled by the breeze.
honestly that made it worse as he rubbed a hand down his face again, dragging his eyelids and cheeks, embarrassed, groaning into his hands, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes.
“when you say it like that it sounds even more embarrassing,” he grumbles, hands dropping as he glances up at the starry sky to avoid your gaze.
you looked around the dimly lit sidewalk. near a pile of construction debris sat an old, sturdy plastic bucket. without a word, you dragged it over and stepped up.
now, for the first time, you were looking down at him. you opened your arms wide. thinking better of his size, you spread them a bit more, expression expectant.
"what are you..." he trailed off, eyes squinted in confusion and incredulity.
eyes narrowing in suspicion, he frowned. “not funny if that's your joke.”
"it's not a joke," you assured him firmly. “come on, i'm not gonna stand like this forever.”
"whatever," he muttered, but his feet moved forward anyway. he leaned in, burying his face against your shoulder, his large frame finally relaxing as he let you hold him.
heat enveloped you. you stayed like that for a long time, the only sound was the distant hum of the city.
eventually, he started to chuckle against your hoodie that smells like fabric softener and perfume. "this is ridiculous. you’re standing on a bucket."
"shut up," you laughed, pulling back just enough to look at him.
the laughter died out. the air between you changed, turning thick and charged. you found yourselves staring deeply into each other's eyes, the streetlamp casting long shadows across his face.
tentatively, he leaned in, lips pressing to yours in. the kiss was soft at first, a hesitant question, but it deepened quickly when you moved yours too. as he began to tilt his head, his tongue flicking out against the seam of your lips to slip in, you let out a small, sharp intake of breath—a tiny, surprised noise.
he practically jumped back. "fuck, i’m sorry! shit, i... i shouldn't have—"
"it's okay," you interrupted, your face flushed. "i've just... never kissed anyone before."
sukuna’s face went from pale to a deep, panicked crimson. "what? like, ever? your first kiss? what was i thinking?" he started pacing the small patch of sidewalk. “what were you thinking?! you’re supposed to give that to someone important, not some random guy from uni you met at a bus stop!”
maybe those texts he got from his father earlier were right. maybe sukuna is a fucking disappointment. he kept fucking screwing up.
"no, no! i wanted to give it to you," you cut his rant off, stepping off the bucket. "i don't regret it."
chewing on the words, you peer at your sneakers, rocking on your heels, gaze dragging back up to him, eyes shimmering with sincerity. “besides, who said you're not important?”
that seemed to break his brain. for the rest of the walk to your apartment, the confident athlete was gone. he responded to everything in bashful grunts and short nods, his ears glowing red in the dark.
at your front door, you fished your keys out of your pocket. you looked up at him one last time, a playful smile on your lips. "so has your allergy gotten better?"
he blinked, looking confused for a split second before remembering his cover story. he cleared his throat, looking away shyly. "uh, yeah. it’s better now."
"good," you whispered, turning the key, a devastatingly sweet smile on your lips. "see you in class, sukuna."
“ryomen,” he offers, hands shoved deep in his pockets, mouth tingling and stomach fluttering as your brows raise, eyes doe-eyed and so fucking cute, he wants to smother you in his arms and kiss you silly again. “call me ryomen.”
“ah,” you nod slowly, suppressing a giddy grin. “goodnight, ryo,” your mouth rounds at the last letter, his skin prickling in delight.
leaving that encounter, you realise that maybe this city isn't that different from home after all and sukuna accepts that he isn't as disappointing as his old man thinks.
a pretty, kind girl like you shared your juice with him, hugged him like he always wanted and gave him your first kiss, after all.
note: based on a comic i saw
tags: @yailuxe @liahcharms @getopilleds @cttelina @mrswhitethornbelikov @shazzer29 @dadonprimma @vigumii @petalsmoons @sunabff @luoodle @wwasabiiiii @bruleecream @princesspeach0-0 @vm4879bb-blog @zenaskull @icebearcucumber @beaniesayshi @iluvgetosuguru @yoonsucks @sukubusss @6x-x9 @booboobear-12
