𝐈 𝐍 𝐂 𝐔 𝐁 𝐔 𝐒 | ᴀᴛᴇᴇᴢ

𝐈𝐈

The rest of the night was awful. You weren't able to sleep properly considering that you had nightmares every time you closed your eyes. The rest of the group, however, seemed to have had sweet dreams, seeing that they slept as babies and Mingi snored lightly. In the end, you all slept in your living room, you and Wooyoung on one of the two sofas, Mingi on the other one and Hongjoong on the armchair under the window.

When you woke up, it was already midday, your parents were at work and you skipped your classes. But, thinking about it, you would've never been able to wake up at seven o'clock and face a day in college with only a few hours of occasional sleep. It was better this way, even because you had a terrible headache and you didn't know why. Last night you had a few drinks, but you couldn't even consider yourself stoned and you remember everything that happened perfectly.

You hissed, brushing your hand on your forehead while looking at your surroundings: all of your friends were still sleeping deeply and you didn't want to wake them up. At least they managed to sleep. Lifting your back from the couch, your gaze fell on the Ouija board on the floor where you left it the previous night. Goosebumps formed on your skin as soon as you remember the low and deep, raspy voice that whispered in your ear your name. What could that be?

Just by thinking at the voice, you had the impulse to touch your ear and so you did it. You felt that voice as if someone was really behind you because you felt its breath caressing your ear and moving the hair near it. You gulped and drove away these memories from your head before you moved the blanket from your legs and standing up. That's what it was, a memory, nothing else.

You went to the kitchen yawning and rubbing your right eye to prepare the lunch. You were so tired that you barely noticed that there was something strange in your kitchen, that day. You glance at the table with your eyebrows furrowed as soon as you notice a red with black edges rose lying on your table. There was also a small, red piece of paper tied to the stem.

Maybe it's from your parents. That's what you thought, even though you yourself weren't convinced about that, either. They didn't have a reason to give you a rose.

The write in the paper confirmed your suspicions: it wasn't from your parents, but from someone you didn't know who, given that there wasn't a name or a phone number. The writing was thin and in cursive, so clear that you almost think it was printed.

"Summon me -xx"

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to understand who wrote it, but most importantly, how it got on your table, in your house, without anyone seeing anything. What you also found strange was the choice of the word "summon". Why not "call"?

You shook your head, shooing your thought away, convinced by the fact that it was a joke. No one could ever sneak in your house without making any sound and without anyone becoming aware of someone's presence. That's why you threw the piece of paper in the trash can but kept the rose. It was beautiful and it had a nice scent, too. You took the first long glass you found in your kitchen, fill it with water and put the flower inside it and place it on the counter.