Suna Rintarou 🖤 · Y/n story by @kings

The bass thrummed up through the soles of Y/n’s shoes, a physical vibration that felt entirely separate from the numb static in her chest. The air in the cramped apartment was thick with the smell of cheap beer and sweat, a fog of collective, effortless joy that she couldn't seem to breathe in.

Hannah Dee

Come on, just a little further!

Hannah’s hand was a vise around Y/n’s wrist, pulling her through a sea of gyrating bodies and shouted conversations. Y/n moved like a ghost, her gaze skating over laughing faces without landing, each one a stark reminder of a feeling she could no longer access.

Hannah Dee

following Y/n's gaze and grinning Oh, perfect. That's Suna. Come on.

Before Y/n could protest, Hannah was steering her over. Suna’s eyes, a startlingly clear shade of brown, flicked from the crowd to them as they approached. He didn't straighten up, just took a slow sip from his cup.

Hannah Dee

Suna, this is my friend, Y/n. Y/n, this is Suna. He’s in my PoliSci seminar.

Suna

his voice is low, a dry counterpoint to the party's roar The one where everyone argues about theoretical governance while actively creating anarchy in the student lounge.

A surprised, almost imperceptible sound escaped Y/n before she could stop it. It wasn't quite a laugh, but it was the first crack in the ice that had encased her for weeks. Suna’s mouth quirked at the corner, his gaze sharpening on her as if he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.

Suna

It’s a living case study. Or a dying one. Depends on your optimism levels.