note ﹐ use of yn, « die », light mode is readers pov
WINTER IS A SEASON, NOT A FEELING
You're “studying” in the campus library, but your notes are half way finished, laptop screen is off, book stuck with its page unturned, along with your highlighters and pens neatly capped. You haven't studied at all for the past 30 minutes. The words on the paper just blur together. You can't focus, but you can't bear to go to your dorm quite yet, either. It’s too late for the library, where the heat is busted, but just warm enough in contrast to the outside, yet too early to go back through the dreary winter campus.
A shadow looms over the desk. You swear you can feel the heat emitted off of him. Dragging a chair with an arrogance only he knows, and falls into it. His glance briefly flickers between you and the notes, ultimately landing on you. You can't read him, but youre beyond a tired that sleep can fix, so you save yourself the headache.
“Are you going to keep pretending like you're actually working?” He sounded bored, and taunting. If you weren't frequent, it would come as a surprise that he's talking to you, but in reality, he's trying to rush you out in his own way so he can close up.
He’s intrusive, not kind. But it managed to cut whatever tension was breathing itself to life.
You scoffed, “I'm sorry?” your hand twitches like it’s going to reach for a pen for the first time in at least 20 minutes. “I didn’t realize you owned it,” you decided to humor him, you knew he worked here and not by choice.
Sukuna stretches into the chair, making himself comfortable. Legs spread and arms draped over the back like it was made for him. “It’s after midnight,” his free hand gesturing to your notes, only to fall back in his lap, “you’ve been staring at the same paragraph for the past half an hour. You’re not fooling anyone.”
His words grate through you with ease, though not wrong.
“I wasn’t trying to fool anyone,” truth be told, you don’t know why you were entertaining this. Looking at another person was better than the uncomprehended, blurred words and going home.
“Is that why your highlighters are lined up like you're about to go under an operation?” They’re color coordinated, neat, and currently neglected.
“Illusion of control,” you shrugged. It earns a huff of breath being squeezed out of his lungs. Still under the weight of his stare.
“Is it working?” you almost crack a smile, but your shoulders slump instead. Your exhaustion weighs on you more than his stare and scrutiny. He notices the way your fingers go white holding onto the edge of the table as if it's the only thing anchoring you.
Soon, you notice it too and an exhale leaves quietly as you lean back into your chair. For a beat, you don’t respond and neither does he.
“You’re not the only one who doesn't want to go back out there,” you blinked at him, at first he sounds like he’s referring to the outside. You swear he is, it wouldn’t make sense for it to be anything else. There is an underlying meaning, you just can’t pick it up.
“It’s not the cold,” it leaves your mouth before you can think to stop it, “not really.”
Something in his eyes flickers, but you don’t elaborate and he doesn’t ask. It’s not as though he softens, considering it’s Sukuna, but the tension subtly shifts. Still taut and cautious, but not as sharp.
You both sit in silence for a moment too long-the presence isn’t quite friendly, but at least you weren’t alone. Just as the heat kicks on, a quiet hum follows suit. You take that as your sign to leave.
“I’ll let you close up,” the faint warmth welcomes itself against your skin as you collect the remnants of your belongings into your bag. Any trace of you now gone.
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