(also roommates au..)
The apartment is dimly lit, the soft glow of the kitchen light barely reaching the living room where you sit. It's quiet—until you hear Jun Kurosu call from the other room.
“Ah—whoops! My hand slipped again!”
You don’t even flinch. Just sigh. Again?
Dragging yourself off the couch, you head into the kitchen, already expecting the scene that awaits you. Sure enough, Jun stands there, holding up his hand with a very conveniently shallow cut along his fingertip. His all-seeing red eyes glint with something unreadable as he flashes you an innocent smile.
“I’m so clumsy,” he says, in a tone that sounds anything but apologetic. “Mind grabbing me another bandaid?”
You stare at him, arms crossed. This is the third time this week.
The first time, you brushed it off. The second time, it was suspicious. But now? Now, you know.
“Jun,” you deadpan. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that you just happen to keep injuring yourself around me?”
He tilts his head, feigning innocence. “What are you implying?”
You narrow your eyes at him. He knows. You know he knows. The way he watches you—observant, calculating—has made it clear for a while now. He’s figured out that something is off about you. The odd hours you keep, your aversion to certain foods, the way you always seem too focused whenever someone nearby has an open wound.
And now? He’s messing with you.