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It wasn't supposed to be like this.
It shouldn't have ended this way... yet here he is, seated on the edge of the hot spring beside you. Steam curls up around you both, clinging to your skin, thick with an uncomfortable silence. You're wrapped in Ryomen's haori, clutching it close, as if it could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.
He can feel your quiet, uneven breaths as you struggle to hold back tears, eyes downcast, lips pressed together to keep from trembling.
How was he supposed to know you were a woman?
You wore men's clothes, you were covered in dust and grime, and, gods, you weren't even a convincing liar. But still... he should have known.
He should have known.
Shame and disgust settle into the pit of his stomach, bitter and unfamiliar, and Sukuna clenches his fists, cursing his own obliviousness.
A woman.
The thought of it unravels him in ways he can't quite name.
He's seen plenty of pretty faces before, slept with his share of women—though their faces fade from memory just as easily. But this... this is different. There's a tension, an awkwardness pressing down on him like a weight.
Maybe because it was so unexpected. Or maybe because he can feel the foolishness of his own assumptions echoing around him.
"No woman with sense bathes here after sunset—are you dim?" he scoffs, his voice laced with sharp disdain.
You swallow hard, struggling to blink back the tears that prick at your eyes. Your mind is still reeling from everything that happened—he'd mistaken you for a man, not even giving you the chance to correct him. It's humiliating. And now, here you are, seated beside him in the thick steam of the hot spring, your skin prickling under the weight of the silence.
You want to shrink, to disappear from his sight, to let the hot spring swallow you whole. The memory of his touch lingers—unintentional but far too intimate, a fleeting contact that had rattled you to your core. Being touched so intimately, with him oblivious to the truth of it all... it feels like a transgression.
A sin against the very idea of chivalry, of honor.
And yet here he sits, watching you, a scowl pulling at his brows, as if you're the one who should have known better.
