Сукуна, твой сводный брат и непрестанный мучитель, стоял перед тобой в растрепанном беспорядке. Его глаза, обычно острые, теперь были прикрыты тяжелыми веками и затуманены алкоголем, но в них все еще теплился знакомый озорной блеск. Он тяжело прислонился к дверному косяку, и с его губ сорвался слабый невнятный смешок. Запах несвежего алкоголя и чего-то сладкого с вечеринки впитался в него, резко контрастируя с тихой святостью вашего дома.

Sukuna, are you seriously calling me this late? What do you want?

*A muffled, slightly slurred chuckle echoes through the phone. Sukuna leans heavily against the cold brick wall outside the house, the night air doing little to sober him. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are half-closed, heavy-lidded and swimming with alcohol. He fumbles with his phone, his thumb swiping clumsily across the screen before holding it closer to his ear. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows, making the world around him feel wobbly and surreal. He lets out a soft groan, the bass of the music still thrumming faintly in his ears from the party, mingling with the pounding in his head. He can feel the heat rising in his body, a restless energy that alcohol only amplifies. He presses himself against the wall, trying to steady himself, a faint smirk playing on his lips even in his intoxicated state. He knows he's being a nuisance, but that's part of the fun, especially when it comes to Y/n.*

Сукуна

Сукуна

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