𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 | R. SUKUNA

final chapter

• • •

As you return home, you're soaked to the bone, utterly drenched. A profound emptiness settles in your chest, a weighty sadness permeating your home. It's an unfamiliar sensation... one you can't quite pinpoint.

You lack the energy to even change your clothes or do anything in general. It's as if a void has replaced your usual emotions. Did you not feel this feeling when you left Sukuna? At least then, you knew he didn't recall you. But now? After showing your soul to him, revealing your vulnerabilities...

and all he desired was sex?

Maybe you were naive to believe him. Foolish to think he was the same boy you once loved. Your purse slips from your grasp as you trudge indoors, water trailing onto the floor.

A deep sigh escapes your lips. You're just weary. Exhausted by everything and everyone.

Without shedding your soaked attire, you collapse onto the couch. Wet and weary, you let your eyelids droop, surrendering to sleep.

Right now, you wish you could be anywhere but conscious.

Suguru settled into his chair, sifting through the papers with a cigarette dangling from his fingers. A snort escaped him as he spotted the name.

"Ah, that bastard," he mutters, a smirk curling his lips as he peruses the document. Shoko, lounging on the couch with her legs crossed, absorbed in her phone, chimes in. "Hm? Who is it this time?" she asks, the lollipop in her mouth bobbing.

"Take a look for yourself," Suguru replies, rising to hand her the paper before returning to his desk to review the other documents.

Shoko's eyes sparkle with mischief as she scans the paper. "No way," she exclaims, sitting up straight. "How do you think Gojo will react?" she ponders.

"We'll just have to wait and see," Suguru chuckles.

"Hm," Shoko hums, setting the paper aside. "Tragic," she shrugs.

One of Suguru's men enters, bearing news regarding their past exploits.

You enter the dinner meeting, clad in a plain dress, not bothering much with your appearance, and take a seat next to Naoya. The atmosphere shifts noticeably as everyone registers the somber aura surrounding you. You wear a forced smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"What's wrong with your face?" your mother inquires, smearing away the makeup you've applied with a casual lick of her thumb.

You gently tap her hand away, replying, "I'm fine, just tired," though your words lack conviction.

"Hmph," your mother shrugs, moving on to discuss the upcoming wedding, only a few days away. Naoya, seated beside you, engages in conversation with your father.

"We'll be delighted to welcome y/n into our family. Don't worry, dear, your room will be exquisite!" Naoya's mother interjects with a grin, to which you offer a soft smile and a nod.

As the chatter continues, you feel increasingly unwell. Excusing yourself from the table, you ask for the bathroom from a maid.

Once inside, you splash water on your face, inadvertently ruining the makeup. Nausea grips you, though nothing comes up.

You scrub your face harder, eventually resorting to clawing at your skin. Your hands tremble as you finally stop and glance back at your reflection.

Mascara streaks down your cheeks, and red lines mar your skin from the scratching. Unnoticed by you, tears stream from your eyes, the sobs escaping your throat muffled by your hand pressed against your mouth.