the voice was masculine, sharp, and vaguely familiar— just enough to make you freeze. your pen, previously scribbling smoothly on your paper, suddenly halted in it’s place, slowly bleeding down on the white sheet as your eyes slowly flickered up to the blank-faced pink-haired frat boy casually slumping down beside you.
you would have considered pretending you didn’t hear his voice if his sharp red eyes weren’t already meeting yours, eyebrows raised just the slightest, pretty pupils just barely shifting as they slowly eyed you up and down, before his lips were tugged into a small frown.
“oh.” you mumbled, face finally tilting up enough to meet his eyes properly, almost grimacing at how quiet your own voice sounded. “…hi?”
he blinked once, twice, before he nodded towards your notebook. “did you take notes last lecture?”
you nodded, almost slowly, utterly confused on why a guy known for being untouchable to girls and ‘throwing the best punches’ was currently sitting on the bench beside you, why he was even speaking to you— and why his voice was low, almost like he was afraid to be loud. “yes?”
“can i take a picture of them? i missed last lecture.” he grunted casually, propping his elbow on the table. you ignored how his muscles flexed at the move, and how you had the unnatural thought to fucking bite them.
when his words registered, you paused. you could have sworn you saw a flash of pink hair last lecture.
whatever, why would he lie, right?
“oh.” you mumbled quietly. “um, they’re in my other notebook. i can get it tomorrow—“
you could have sworn you saw his eyes fucking sparkle, his lips twitching into a smirk he immediately forced into a frown, pulling out his phone. he slid it open, and you decided not to question why his contact’s page was already open. “no need. you can just send them to me.”
you paused, before slowly nodding, which seemed to make his badly hidden smirk widen just the slightest. he held his phone out, and you accepted it, quietly writing down your phone number before awkwardly holding it out.
he reached over, warm fingers brushing against yours, eyes half-lidded and smirk softening. you cleared your throat quietly, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, ignoring the feeling of your cheeks heating up just the slightest. “uh, ‘m—“
“i know.” he cut you off, standing up. at your confused look, he scoffed. “we have been in the same classes for four years.”
“oh.” you mumbled. “you… noticed?”
his smirk sharpened, leaning down, his hand leaning on the table again as he leaned closer, stupidly attractive muscles on view. he was just a few inches away, pretty eyes set on yours almost intensely, trailing down your face. “i would be stupid not to, sweetheart.”
before you could even respond, he was pushing himself up and walking away, leaving you to stare at his back in pure confusion.
you shook your head, probably seeming stupid to the small crowd of people gaping at you due to that interaction, and returned your gaze back to your notebook.
there was no way the sukuna was fucking flirting— and definitely not with you.
truly, you almost forgot about the interaction by the end of the day, hell bent on insisting it meant nothing, and that he just genuinely wanted the notes. you couldn’t be delusional— not about this.
after all, sukuna could literally choose anyone and get them— why would he flirt with you? hell, everyone knew famous models have been in his dms before— he really must have wanted these notes.
you nodded to yourself at the thought that night, fingers aimlessly scrolling through social media, sleepy eyes barely open until a notification made you freeze.
rsukuna requested to follow you.
you stared at the notification for a second, two, then breathed out. that still meant nothing, right? maybe he just lost your number.
quietly, fingers shaking just the slightest, you clicked on the account.
thousands of followers, gym photos (fuck your life, an eight pack? and why were his biceps bigger than your head?), pictures with his frat bros, but your attention was quickly falling on a much more important item.
the small ‘rsukuna has requested to follow you’ stared at you at the top, unmoving. he hadn’t even removed it yet, even with a few minutes having passed, which meant you couldn’t shrug it off as a mistake.
there was no way your university crush on four years was suddenly doing this. oh my god, did you accidentally manifest him? were the videos of ‘this initial will confess to you’ actually onto something?
you almost scoffed at the thought. no way, right? he was definitely just being polite! he definitely just deleted your number and just—
xxx-xxx-xxxx: yo, pretty. it’s sukuna.
you sucked in a sharp breath, mind stuttering and halting, unable to make up more excuses at the moment. it took a second, two, before you were quietly stumbling off bed, trying to convince yourself he was still being strictly platonic, fingers shaking as you saved his contact, then snapped pictures of the notes, and blankly sent it back to him.
he responded almost immediately.
sukuna ??????: you’re too cute for such a shitty hand writing. you should help me read it tomorrow over a coffee, my treat.
fuck. you were out of excuses.
your flushed face fell against a pillow with a quiet scream.
(a/n: i have not written in four years lol. i know he’s ooc and i do not care.)
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