sinful watchers: the rewrite

₀₀₂ NOCEUR

002 noceur
━━━━━━━━━━━━
(n. )  one who stays up late.

ꜜ¡ warning/s   none ¡ꜜ

AS Y/N TRUDGED down the stoned path; a yawn accidentally tumbled off her tongue after the transparent puffs illustrating the chilly breeze attempted to ambush her clothed figure despite the oversized coat she clung to in desperation to obtain body heat.

Beginning her third year at university had its benefits – such as the academic term beginning mid-autumn, which permitted admiration for the sky's decorative imagery.

Murky swirls obscured the visibility of the highest building tops as street lamps guided citizens. Fumes of revved engines at a standstill via traffic were one of her favourite scents, an unhealthy aroma similar to one of petrol, whilst the fog embraced a noose around residents of this specific road as it revelled in forcing drivers to operate their headlights despite the mornings' arouse. The gloomy mist encompassing Y/n's location was apologetic, forced to shoulder the benevolent sun's role who'd been dismissive of its job.

Her half-lidded eyes struggled to cloak the remaining tiredness, still apparent, having not attained any peaceful hours of Z's last night.

Eight AM. How dreadful for commuters in Tokyo?

Having been awoken around two hours prior, a forceful splash of freezing water to revive her sunken traits, followed by her cramped travel on the overcrowded tube, hadn't benefitted her as she remained unaffected by the chilly liquid and bustling crowd.

Reserved behind her shoulders was her hair, typically down and lacklustre of any fancy styling, which slightly swayed with each sluggish step she took towards her first destination before reaching the building home to campus grounds she was to be present in – the frontal pieces feathered to frame her beguiling features; wispy and requiring low maintenance.

Her excuse for the inflation of her eye bags (although smartly disguised with concealer) was solely due to her commitment to achieving the highest grade possible; Y/n's intelligence was overlooked and never truly acknowledged, yet a far more important attribute compared to her stunning looks. Fortunately, her lashes and the upper curve of her eyes, thinly lined with black, beautified her irises.

Truthfully, despite Y/n's nose buried between countless books last night, the off-white pages were repetitive and struggled to grasp her full attention. Although she genuinely attempted to cram as much revision as possible so she could attain the best possible grade.

Generally, she thoroughly enjoyed the subject, the literature entertaining and enjoyable to assess – especially when using a multitude of highlighters, the vibrant colours signifying essential sections of text. Furthermore, the rhythmical language studies expanded the pallet of her vocabulary.

Focusing her sight on her suede mules, largely clocked by her baggy jeans, she continued her journey in silence. Her headphones awaited use in her tote bag, the pattern of her breathing less irritable than the music usually pooled within her ears.

One small purpose of her timid amble down the dimly lit road busied by rampant engines was to regain control of her flailing nerves, not prepared to settle until her favourite beverage soothed the dehydration of her throat – Tokyo's chill her body's enemy as the lightweight haze infused itself upon her flesh, her paleness temporary and due to dissolve once she emerged past the homey entrance of her favourite café.

"My dear L/n!".

Y/n jolted as her lips pinched together in a hard line from the sudden verbal attack. Her body flinched before she swore impulsively in a sharp outburst. Her muscles relaxed, and her expression contorted into an unimpressed flat-lined frown, having registered the lanky man sneering before her.