sugar daddy || liskook

|devils|

Caffeine is a powerful thing and it should not be taken lightly. Lisa hates coffee with all her entire being but she can't deny the magical wonders it does to her; the smell, the comfort of the hot mug when it warms her hands, and the unexplainable ability to ease her pain. Especially when she stayed up all night revising the questions with Jennie until five in the fucking morning. The brunette appreciates the simple pleasures in life—complicated ones are usually too hard to come by.

And expensive, she grunts sourly, though her part-time job at the club helps with her expenses a whole lot. She's a budding university student, after all, studying hard during the day and some nights, while using her job nights as an escape goat to release her stress and frustration. Along with the bullshit she went through with her previous professors... And their very angry wives.

She takes a huge sip of her coffee and places the mug on her desk drawer, wincing at the sharp pain when the hot liquid stings her tongue as the steam fogs up her glasses.

It's not like she's lazy or something—being a scholarship student takes a lot of hard work and dedication, not to mention the careful steps she has to take in order to avoid meaningless friendships (but still keep a somewhat close relationship) with the rest of her schoolmates because if anyone were to find out about her not-so-decent night activities, her reputation will fly out of the fucking window in a heartbeat. She worked so hard to be on top and built her rapport from specks of dust and dirty rocks—she'll be damned if she were to throw it all away due to her carelessness.

She's done with fixing her hair in a high ponytail and she's staring at her reflection. Her translucent, chiffon blouse is a pretty shade of maroon, sheer and almost see-through, with a black camisole underneath. She pairs her top with a pencil skirt—it ends right above her knees but there's a daring slit that trails up to her thighs. Lisa's makeup is minimalistic and not too heavy, just a little bit of mascara and a bold red lip that brings out the colour of her eyes (Jennie's words, not hers). She opts out her contact lenses and decides an old-school, black-rimmed rectangle glasses calls for the occasion—it completes the whole look, too, if one is going for professionalism, even though the top might be a little too revealing. She—well, Jennie bought it two days ago along with the Prada bag for a boost of confidence, and it did work at first, much to Jennie's credit.

Lisa swipes her bangs to the side and squares up her shoulders, giving another do over at her reflection instead of allowing the insecurity to eat her up. To say she's nervous is an understatement, because for one, she can't stop the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of meeting Mister Jeon in a professional setting and for two, what the fuck is she doing, playing journalist when three days ago she was shamelessly grinding on his knee?

She grunts and decides she'll figure that out later. They still have a bit of time—it's only a quarter to ten and they have two hours until the awaiting interview. She slings her new Prada bag over her shoulder and picks up her file, crossing over to Jennie's room—her Christian Louboutins clacking confidently against the marbled floors—not bothering to knock as she opens the door.

Lisa tries not to laugh while she stares at a grumpy Jennie while she attempts to cover the purple and red bruises on her neck. In their time together, the brunette is quick to take notes of Jennie's weird mood swings—if she growls after she had her morning coffee, she's grumpy, if she goes all quiet and weird and emo, she's upset about something, and if she says, 'I don't want to talk about it,' it usually means the complete opposite and she's just waiting for her to probe deeper. Her roommate and best friend require a lot of work and effort but she's the only person who's willing to take her in and Lisa is more than grateful for the gesture.