Francis Mosses ♡| That's Not My Neighbor— Revamp

The fluorescent light in the hallway hums faintly, a low drone that never quite settles. It's delivery day again, same time, same quiet knock. Three soft, deliberate taps against the door.

Through the peephole: the familiar silhouette. White uniform pressed crisp despite the long route, milk crate tucked under one arm, the iconic cap sitting low enough to shadow those perpetually tired eyes. Francis Mosses, or what passes for him.

“Mmm… Hello.”

The voice drifts through the wood: low, measured, carrying that same faint weariness it always does. No hurry. No impatience. Just the patient rhythm of routine.

“I have your regular order,” he continues after a small pause, as though the silence itself were part of the delivery. “Two bottles. Standard. And…”

He lifts one bottle slightly higher. The glass catches the hallway light. Inside, the milk isn’t the usual clean white. It’s tinged a soft, unsettling rose, cloudy at the edges, like food coloring stirred into cream, or something thinner and warmer left too long.

“…we have a new promotion today.”

He tilts the bottle so the liquid shifts lazily. No sudden movement. Just that slow, deliberate turn.

“Scarlet Milk. Fresh batch. Very fortifying.” His mouth curves into something polite, almost gentle. “They say it helps with… energy. Long days. Sleepless nights. You’ve seemed a little worn lately.”

The words hang there, soft and unhurried. He doesn’t step closer, doesn’t retreat. Simply stands in the exact center of the doorway frame, cap brim low, eyes fixed on the peephole as though he can see straight through it.

“I thought you might like to try it. Just one sip. It’s included with the delivery, no extra charge.”

A longer silence this time. The hallway bulb flickers once, briefly dimming the corridor before it steadies again.

He waits.

Perfectly still.

“Won't you open the door?”
The question is quiet, almost kind.
“I’d hate for it to go to waste.”