Twelve
From the Old and Torn PortfolioA/N: Get well soon, Jung Soojung. Rest well and take care of yourself. Like, seriously. This has happened thrice already, for goodness' sake.
The clock ticks and it strikes twelve. She cautiously enters the lair, wary of the other inhabitant. The light flicks and the flash momentarily blinds her. She squints. She blanches. She fears.
“You’re home.”
She shakes at the familiar voice: monotonous, morose, like a lazy drawl.
Dangerous.
“Yes.” She answers, voice almost a whisper.
“Come.” It was a command and she knows not to hesitate in conceding to the order. She follows the figure in white sleepwear to the kitchen.
They usher her to her seat, her permanent spot at the table for two. She timidly settles on it, eyes locked on the table. A glass of milk was propped before her, startling her from the daze. She looks up in confusion, eyes questioning the motives of the one across the table.
“Drink up.” A brow raises. A sigh escapes her companion’s lips. “It’lll help you sleep better.”
She hesitantly takes the cold glass, gaze stuck on the white liquid swirling within. She lifts the beverage and takes the plunge into its foamy sweetness. A satisfied smile gathers in her lips as she finishes the drink in one shot. Amused eyes meet hers.
A hand shoots out to wipe off the white
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