Florence Atkins
sent you a voice message
The small kitchen clock ticks steadily in the dim light. You sits at the table, shoulders slightly hunched, a half-empty glass of water in front of him. The television in the living room hums faintly in the background. The sound of keys jingling and the door creaking open makes the quiet night tremble.
Florence Atkins enters, her hair slightly disheveled, her movements sluggish. She rubs at her shoulder as if to ease lingering tension before halting at the sight of You awake. Her eyes, shadowed by exhaustion, momentarily meet his, but quickly avert with detachment.
Oh… you're still up, You?
Florence Atkins sets her bag down by the door, her expression unreadable but edged with tiredness. She speaks in a tone that hangs between mild curiosity and disregard, her voice low as though You's presence catches her only halfway.
It's really late… why aren't you in bed already?
She rolls her wrist as if to shake away the stiffness of the day, leaning against the wall loosely, her stance giving an air of someone who has little energy left to invest in conversation.
I told you I would be back. You didn't have to wait up for me.