sukuna leaving mid-date :(
You knew Sukuna worked too much. You’d known that before you ever started whatever this was with him. You knew that every extra shift, every call‑in, every overtime hour usually meant the difference between him scraping by and actually having enough money left at the end of the week to breathe. You knew that. It didn’t mean you had to like it.
The afternoon had started suspiciously well, which should’ve been your first warning. You and Sukuna had been sitting on a bench outside a convenience store, sharing a carton of fries you’d bought after wandering aimlessly around the city for nearly two hours. Not a date… definitely not a date. Just the two of you hanging out. Alone. On a Saturday. After he’d specifically cleared his afternoon. Totally not a date.
“You keep stealing the good fries,” he complained.
You looked up from the carton. “The good fries?”
“The crispy ones.”
“Those are all the fries.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
You grabbed another one, and Sukuna immediately narrowed his eyes. “That was a crispy one.”
You giggled. “Too slow.”
“I literally bought them.”
“And?”
His jaw twitched, and for a second he almost smiled back at you. Almost–until his phone rang. The smile vanished instantly. You watched him pull it out, and his expression shifted. Not annoyed or irritated, just tired, which made your stomach sink because you knew that look.
He stared at the screen for a moment before answering. “Yeah.”
Silence followed. You kicked your feet against the pavement, picking at the corner of the fry carton while he listened, sighed, and ran a hand through his pink hair.
“How long?” he asked.
Your stomach dropped.
NOoOooOoOOoOoOooO. Not today. Not now. You already knew. You knew before he even said it. Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine.”
You looked away before he could see your face. The call ended. A few seconds passed, then he said, “I gotta go.”
There it was.
You nodded. “Oh.”
His brows furrowed. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged, trying to sound casual. Normal. Totally unbothered.
“Okay.”
Sukuna stared at you. You stared at the road. He knew. You knew he knew, but neither of you were going to say it.
“They need someone to cover,” he said.
“Okay.”
“You mad?”
“No.”
A lie. A terrible lie. Possibly the worst lie ever spoken.
Sukuna scoffed. “You’re literally pouting.”
“M’not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
You shoved another fry into your mouth aggressively. Sukuna stared, then snorted–actually snorted, the jerk.
“I’m not pouting.”
“You look like someone kicked your dog.”
“I don’t even have a dog.”
“You look like someone would kick your dog.”
You glared at him. He looked annoyingly amused, until his expression softened slightly.
“They’re short‑staffed.”
“Okay.”
“I need the hours.”
“I know.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yuji needs new shoes.”
Your gaze flickered up. Sukuna looked away. “Kid grew out of the last pair in like three damn months.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “And Choso’s helping with rent already. I’m not dumping more on him.”
Your chest tightened, because there it was–the real reason. Not cigarettes, not stupid spending, not because he wanted to leave. Because there was a five‑year‑old waiting for him at home who somehow managed to outgrow everything the second it was bought. Because Choso was already carrying enough at sixteen. Because Sukuna had been playing the role of provider for so long that saying no almost wasn’t an option anymore.
“I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to,” he said quietly.
You hated that, because you knew it was true. He wasn’t ditching you because he wanted to. He needed the money. You knew that, but the stupid hurt feeling wouldn’t go away. Because for one afternoon–one stupid afternoon–you wanted him to pick you. Just once.
You immediately hated yourself for thinking it, because that wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Bills weren’t fair. Rent wasn’t fair. And Sukuna had never gotten the luxury of putting feelings before survival.
Still… it hurt.
“Whatever,” you muttered. There it was–the dangerous whatever.
Sukuna sighed. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You get this tone.”
“What tone?”
“That one.”
You stood up. “There is no tone.”
“There is.”
“There isn’t.”
“There is.”
You grabbed your bag. “Go to work, Sukuna.”
His jaw clenched. You knew that look too–the one where he wanted to argue but couldn’t, because he really did have to leave. So instead he stood, towering over you.
“Walk home safe.”
“Yeah.”
“You got your keys?”
“Yeah.”
“Phone charged?”
“Yes, dad.”
That earned you a glare.
Good. Maybe he should suffer too.
“You being annoying on purpose?”
“Maybe.”
His eyes narrowed, then he reached over and flicked your forehead. Hard.
“Ow!”
“Brat.”
Then he started walking backwards toward the street. “Text me when you’re home.”
You rolled your eyes.
He pointed. “Seriously.”
“Okay.”
“Promise.”
You huffed. “Promise.”
Only then did he finally leave, and somehow watching him disappear around the corner felt way worse than you’d expected.
The walk home sucked, mostly because it gave you time to think, which was terrible. Thinking was terrible. You replayed the afternoon over and over–the way he’d looked disappointed too, the way he’d tried explaining, the way he’d said he wouldn’t leave if he didn’t have to–and somehow that only made you more upset, because if he’d been a jerk about it, you could’ve stayed mad. Instead, he’d been reasonable, which was annoying.
Your phone buzzed.
Ryo🤰: Made it.
You ignored it.
Another buzz.
Ryo🤰: You home yet?
Ignored.
Five minutes later:
Ryo🤰: Answer your phone idiot.
Ignored.
Then–
Ryo🤰: Don’t make me come check.
You immediately typed back:
You: You’re literally at work.
His reply came instantly.
Ryo🤰: So you’re alive.
You stared at the screen for a moment, then locked your phone.
Nope. Not doing this. You were too sad and too grumpy to talk.
Three hours later, you were curled up in bed, still grumpy, still refusing to text him properly, and still pretending you weren’t checking your phone every ten minutes. The quiet of your room made everything worse, and when the sudden knock at the door echoed through the apartment–three sharp raps–you froze. It was nearly midnight, and before you could even process who would be knocking at this hour, your phone rang. Sukuna’s name lit up the screen, making your stomach flip as you answered with a flat, “What?”
“Open the door,” he said.
You sat upright, confused. “...What?”
“Door.”
“Sukuna.”
“Door.”
“You were literally at work.”
“I still am.”
“What?”
“Open the damn door.”
Still confused, you dragged yourself out of bed and opened the door, only to find him standing there in his work uniform with tired eyes, messy hair, and a paper bag in his hand. You blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”
“You wouldn’t stop sulking,” he said.
“I wasn’t sulking.”
“You ignored me for three hours.”
“That’s not–”
“Sulking.”
You glared at him, but the irritation didn’t hold. He looked genuinely exhausted–dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped like he’d worked a twelve‑hour shift–and yet he’d still come all the way here. Your anger weakened immediately, traitorous thing that it was.
He shoved the paper bag into your arms, and when you looked inside, you found your favourite takeaway–the exact thing you’d mentioned wanting earlier but never ended up getting. Your chest tightened just a little.
“Sukuna…”
He looked away, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. “I know today sucked,” he muttered.
You stared at him.
“And I know you were upset.” You opened your mouth to deny it, then closed it again, because pretending now felt pointless.
Sukuna sighed. “I just…” He struggled with the words, like saying them physically hurt. “I need the money.”
Your heart squeezed because he sounded almost guilty, like he'd done something wrong when he hadn't. Not really. “I know,” you said softly.
His shoulders loosened slightly, just a fraction.
“I know,” you repeated.
Silence settled between you, and before you could think better of it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Sukuna froze completely, like you’d hit him with a truck, but after a moment his arms came around you–slow, heavy, warm. You felt him exhale, the kind of breath someone lets out only after holding it in all day.
“I’m still annoyed,” you muttered.
“Mhm.”
“You left me.”
“Mhm.”
“You suck.”
“Mhm.”
He rested his chin on your head. “Still bought you food.”
“…Yeah.”
“Still came here.”
“…Yeah.”
“Still got another shift tomorrow.”
You groaned, and he actually laughed–a low, tired sound against your hair. And despite everything, the stupid hurt feeling finally faded. Because maybe Sukuna couldn’t always choose you first; life didn’t give him that luxury. But even after a miserable shift and an exhausting day, he still ended up on your doorstep at midnight. And maybe that counted for something too.
a/n: Inspireddd by the faaact exams are preventing me from talking to my girlfrieeends :(
lowkey me every time they tell me they gottaaa goo (also, I wrote this while listening to snoozeeee just in case anybooody else wanted to do that too😓)
