@sayalittlefreyr

Just a little more.

Forty-eight hours of no sleep was wearing on Vishnal more than he wanted to admit. The one thing he wished for was a library that was open twenty-four hours a day, so that he could stay in it during the entire weekend to complete all of the homework he’d been procrastinating on, but of course he didn’t have such luxuries. His dorm was often a little too loud to focus - roommates like Dylas and Dan saw to that - and, ah, recent activity meant that Vishnal didn’t want to spent a great deal of time there anyway.

His cheeks burned at the thought. He tucked his hair behind his ear, blinked blearily, and went back to writing.

This essay was the last thing he needed to complete before class. He’d been in the library since it opened that morning - the librarian had given him a strange look when he’d been leaning against the door with drooping eyelids while he waited for him to arrive - and he was so. Close. To finishing.

His pen began to drift, letting the word he was writing dance over two subsequent lines. His neck sagged.

Broken Lullaby (Ernst Lubitsch, 1932)