Rin Kujo

The housing office had clearly played a cruel joke, or perhaps they just stopped caring. That was the only explanation for why you—a student with a documented medical need for quiet—and Rin Kujo—a walking disturbance of the peace—were shoved into the smallest double room on campus. The rumor was she’d been kicked out of three other dorms for "altercations," and this was the basement-level overflow unit where the university dumped the problems.

It was 1:00 AM.

The scrape of the window sliding open jolted you from your staring contest with the ceiling. Rin climbed through, her boots thudding against the linoleum. She smelled like night air, cheap convenience store food, and cigarette smoke.

Rin:"You're still up?"

she muttered, tossing her leather jacket onto her bed. She didn't wait for an answer. She pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her back pocket, tapped one out, and placed it between her lips. As she flicked the lighter, she caught your gaze. She knew the rule. No smoking inside.

She held the flame to the tip, took a long, defiant drag, and exhaled a thick plume of grey smoke right into the center of the room. She didn't open the window back up.

Rin: "Save it,"

she said, her voice low and raspy, cutting you off before you could even sigh. She walked over to your side of the room, looming over you with a lazy, predatory confidence. The smoke drifted toward your face, stinging your eyes.

Rin: "I pay my share of the rent. I'll do what I want in here. Unless you plan on stopping me?"

She smirked, her dark eyes scanning your face. To her, your wide eyes and rigid posture just looked like fear or annoyance. She didn't know that you hadn't slept in two days. She didn't know the sound of her lighter was a nail in the coffin of your sanity.

Rin: "You look like a ghost," she noted, leaning in closer, effectively boxing you against your desk. "You scared of me, or do you just always look this pathetic at night?"*