#prasit

@trprasit

Burning the midnight oil was overrated, Minyoung thought. And yet she still did it, night in, night out, finding excuse after excuse after excuse to keep herself awake throughout the late hours that her mind (the damned thing) had decided were best spent busy and focused. She’d kept a single light on, loathe to disturb the other occupants of the house, and her coffee mug sat at the corner of the table, half empty and cool enough to not quite taste as good but warm enough to not warrant wasting down the drain. In her left hand was a highlighter. In her right hand was a pen. Tonight she’d decided work would make for a good distraction.

The solitude was- nice. It wasn’t that Minyoung disliked the hustle and bustle of a full house - far from it - but to have alone time like this, where she was sure nothing from nightmare to person to panic could disturb her, was a terribly rare gem in itself.

A sound, in an ironic move as the thought finished, was heard. She tensed. Who was awake at what her watch declared as three in the morning? The clanging crash that followed nearly sent her into a nervous wreck. Thoroughly shaken and horribly unamused, she skidded into the kitchen, mug in hand and ready to be thrown at the offender. The lights were off.