when her (step)grandmother had first suggested doing late night deliveries, yerin’s first thought had been … she may be the youngest to die in her family yet. because her grandparents still have no clue about her activities in the RFA, they don’t know how she’s been spending most late nights googling subjects like arabica coffee to write to a barista association. though she still believes it’s better to keep them a little unaware for now, yerin was thus left with no excuse as to why she couldn’t adjust her hours.
so, a little sleepy and wobbly on her moped, it’s no surprise when yerin has a little crash en route to her third delivery; but strangely, that rush of pain serves as an effective rush to jostle her fully awake. it’s with muddy pants, a lightly-scratched face, yet smile still that yerin greets the customer with when they answered the door. ❝ gaehwa delivery, good evening. ❞
she doesn’t notice when her nose starts to b l e e d .
so much for top quality customer service.
pen poised between fingertips, papers & files ever neatly laid against desk’s top, ankles crossed as glasses are disposed of. attention’s entirely committed to the paperwork not yet finished despite the late hour, only straying at the occasional notification lighting up her phone screen. a sigh parting lips at the work still left to complete, only drawn from brief wallowing at the knock.
raising from her chair, sweater’s straightened out in precise movements, expecting the delivery & to hole back up in her home for another late night. opening the door there’s the slightest flash of surprise crossing visage. ❛ oh, miss, you’re bleeding. --- i’m sorry, please pardon my brashness, i wasn’t expecting that. i apologize if you were harmed on the way here, i was under the impression this neighborhood was one of the safest options. ❜