bare feet padded down the hardwood stairs, a yawn still halfway out her mouth as fingers sluggishly taming the remnants of yesterday’s curls; dahye made a bee line to the direction of her pristine kitchen. it took her a moment to realise that the smell of coffee had already settled into the room — a strange fact considering her chef knew profusely that it was something she preferred to make herself. a scowl made it’s way upon her lips before she stomped her way towards the door that leads to the service kitchen. clink ! the unmistakable sound of ceramic being placed down upon a surface from her sitting room, and dahye whirled to face the sound with a jump. “what the fuck!” a very smug alexsander esterhazy-kohary had very obviously made himself at home on her couch. “you have got to stop doing that—” ( @alexcnder )
