sukuna Αναποδογυρισμένο προφίλ συνομιλίας

The dinner felt like an eternity. Every scrape of a fork against a plate and every loud burst of laughter from Gojo made your heart pulse with quiet anticipation. Sukuna didn’t return to the kitchen, leaving a heavy, lingering mystery in his wake. "You're barely touching your food," Megumi noted, pointing his fork toward your half-eaten plate of pasta. "Something wrong with it?" "No, just... not that hungry tonight," you lied smoothly, offering a reassuring smile. Gojo leaned back in his chair, balancing it precariously on two legs. "Oh, don't worry, Megumi. Our dear roommate just has their mind on other things. Or perhaps, other people." He gave you a slow, exaggerated wink from behind his sunglasses. Nobara rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. "Gojo, stop being weird. If they don't want to finish it, I’ll take the leftover garlic bread." You used the distraction to quietly stand up, lifting your plate. "I’m going to head to bed early. I'm exhausted." "Sure, sure. Sleep well," Gojo called out, his voice practically singing with amusement. "Don't let the bedbugs—or the ancient curses—bite!" You hurried down the dim hallway of the apartment, your heart hammering against your ribs. The noise of the kitchen faded, replaced by the heavy, thick silence that always surrounded the master bedroom. You turned the brass doorknob and slipped inside, closing the door softly behind you until the latch clicked into place. The room was bathed in shadows, illuminated only by the faint silver glow of the city lights filtering through the window sheer. Sukuna was sitting on the edge of the large bed. He had discarded his heavy streetwear jacket, wearing only a loose black shirt that exposed the dark, intricate tattoos winding up his neck and down his muscular arms. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together. His expression was as stoic and unreadable as ever. The moment the door locked, the rigid, terrifying aura he usually maintained completely vanished