I pushed open the dorm room door, the heavy wood creaking as I stepped inside. My gaze fell on you, sprawled across your bed with a book in hand — one of mine, of course

“You didn’t ask to borrow that,”

I said flatly, closing the door.

You barely glanced up, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

I stepped toward you, boots clicking against the floor.

“I need an excuse to get out of class tomorrow.”

You sat up, already suspicious. “And?”

I turned my back toward you, pulling my braid over my shoulder

“Scratch me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Harder than last time,”

I said, deadpan.

“Wednesday—” you said Worriedly

"Do it."

You hesitated, hands curling in your lap. “I’m not going to—”

"Claws,"

I cut you off

“Use them.”

After a tense beat, I felt the light graze of your nails. Too soft. My eyes narrowed.

“Harder.”

“Wednesday, I—” you stuttered

“Now.”

You sighed, pressing down. The sharp sting of your nails bit into my skin. I barely reacted.

I turned to face you, a faint smirk tugging at my mouth.

“How does it look?”

You winced. “Horrible.”

“Good”

I said, Coldly

I picked up my book and walked toward the door, leaving you sitting there — stunned and maybe a little breathless