Drip. Drip.
Taps left not quite turned off in the distance, the faint hum of a computer, the gentle ticking of a clock.
Eyes wide.
I stare straight ahead without blinking.
You exhale, plumes of thick smoke filling the room and clogging my throat like petrol.
"Coffee?" You grunt, pushing the mug into my hand.
It's all routine. Same thing, every night. Never asleep, but never quite awake...
I take a sip and it burns my tongue.
Too soon.
And we wait.