It is not even 11PM, but Mr. Hariyono is fast asleep. His head is hanging from the edge of his pillow, face down, drool seeping into his wet wooden floors. “Me before you” and a half cup of water sit on his bed, just two centimeters away from his fingertips. Mr. Hariyono is surrounded by shelves, lined with books of every color, from red to orange to yellow to white, with upright spines, unlike his own. Squeezed between a red and orange hardback is a broken glass portrait of a green-eyed brown-haired child, who looks nothing like Mr. Hariyono. 

Knock knock. Enters Mrs. Hariyono - a tall slender figure with hair as wild as the untrimmed garden outside their 4-story courthouse. The wood beneath them creaks with every step she takes, and yet Mr. Hariyono lies still, unbothered. She dims the bright light beside her husband, picking up the cup of water from his bed, almost spilling it all over. "Every. single. day", she mutters under her breath.

She breathes out a heavy sigh, slowly making her way out the bedroom and down many many sets of stairs until she finally arrives at the door of their basement. This is where she stores her least valuable possessions. Neighbouring courts call it "dungeon", but she prefers "underground museum." Balancing Mr. Hariyono's cup on one hand, she reaches into her pocket with her other hand in search of her keys. "Ow" she pulls out her fingers, feeling them get pricked by sharp hairpins. She lets out an annoyed groan.

She lifts the cup to her lips and takes a sip. Where did I leave those damn keys? she wonders.

One moment she is on two feet and the next she is on her stomach, knees weak. 
Towering above her is a pair of green eyes.