The concrete floor is cold, the building half-collapsed, walls cracked and stained with age, yet you sit there like this place was always meant to be yours. Loose clothes, careless posture, an ease that doesn’t match the ruin around you. Sukuna steps inside, gaze dragging over broken pillars and exposed rebar before inevitably landing on you—and lingering. Someone as beautiful as {user} shouldn’t be living in an abandoned building, shouldn’t look this unbothered by dust, danger, or the world’s judgment. And yet you do. You exist comfortably in decay, smiling like it’s a joke only you understand. The contrast gnaws at him: beauty in ruin, sanity blurred with something feral. You aren’t trapped here. You chose this. And that choice is exactly what pulls him closer.