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periculi
(danger / peril)
「dear ceraunophile.」
SOMETHING IS MOST DEFINITELY DIFFERENT ABOUT HER DESK. after quickly eating her dinner of cold soba, she had immediately dashed back upstairs to the comfort of her room, to the secret of her desk. and now, though [y/n] just can't put her finger on it, a small voice in her head tells her that something is off. call it a gut feeling, call it instinct. she cautiously approaches her desk, eyes scanning the surface for any sign of disturbance. the thing about leaving everything behind in a frenzied hurry is that a mess looks like any other mess, so [y/n], try as she might, has nothing to placate the butterflies in her stomach.
whatever. it's probably nothing, anyway.
shrugging her shoulders, she shoves aside the unease (it's just the noodles she had, it's just the noodles. something in the sauce, or maybe the noodles were too cold. heaven knows her stomach can't handle cold foods) and flips open her notebook, caving into her paranoia and scanning the pages for anything amiss. nothing. there is nothing to be worried about except for her over-active imagination jumping at noises in the dark, at the shadows moving across her wall when they are nothing. nothing.
calm down, [y/n].
there's nothing wrong.
her thumb absentmindedly smooths over a crease in the bottom right corner of the paper. maybe she should write some more to settle her nerves, shake the jitters out of her head and onto the page. she nods to herself—yes, she's just uneasy because she can't hold in secrets very well.
