I think we need to have a little chat was how Taehyung had started the conversation that had ended up with him dumping her, and Yeonhee’s initial reaction was one of kneejerk fury.

“No we don’t,” she snapped.  “I have nothing to say to you.”

“If you are going to be difficult,” the prince rebutted without even hesitating, “I will call Minseok back in and you can have this conversation with him instead.”

Yeonhee shrank down.  She didn’t want that to happen, but it didn’t stop her from attempting a parting shot.

“You shouldn’t be here anyway,” she mumbled.  “Breaking and entering is illegal.”

He cocked an incredulous eyebrow at her.

“The student room tenancy contract doesn’t give you ownership,” he pointed out.  “All we needed to do legally was get permission from the university accommodation office, though we could technically have bypassed that as well since we have a warrant for you.”

For second, Yeonhee froze.  A warrant?  “But I haven’t done anything wrong?”

That eyebrow tipped a little higher, brushing under strands of an expertly messy fringe.  The prince pointed at the injury on his cheek.

Yeonhee shook her head.  “But I didn’t do that,” she said, her heart pounding unpleasantly.  “I didn’t throw anything – the really— I mean, your bodyguard saw—”

“I saw,” he told her.  “But you were the organiser of the protests and you and the student group are also legally liable for student violence in connection with protests like this.  You told me so yourself.  What was it, twenty percent of all damage financially that you have to pay because of limited liability on the university’s part?  Or was it thirty and the perpetrator pays seventy?”

He had her on that one.  Yeonhee gulped.  She’d been the first one to bring up the arrangement that student protest groups had with the university, too.

“Legally speaking,” the prince went on, “this constitutes assault.”

Yeonhee restrained herself from an immediate response about being happy to cover medical expenses if it got him kicked out of the room, because realistically speaking, it was a bruise and a scratch, and covering the cost of antiseptic and a plaster would have trouble challenging how much it cost for a meal in the university cafeteria.  Unless he was genuinely that petty (which, to be fair, she would have assumed up until yesterday evening or seeing that speech was definitely the case), he wasn’t here to claim medical expenses.  If he was going to sue for assault, Yeonhee and the other students would end up having to foot some of the legal fees and at most be brought in as witnesses for testimony, and so that probably wasn’t the prince’s primary reason for showing up out of the blue in her room.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Some respect would be nice,” he shot back wryly.  That was Lonelyblues through and through.

Yeonhee’s reply was automatic.  “I don’t think you’ve done anything to earn it.”

She expected a scoff, but he just sat there, his expression unreadable.

“It’s a shame you’re so blinkered by preconceptions and prejudice,” was all he said.

It was all he needed to say.  Yeonhee could hear the unspoken nice to know that our discussions over the past few weeks counted for nothing and you’re projecting an image you have over reality to get the image you want and seriously, you should have come to my speech.  She couldn’t help ducking her head guiltily.

“What do you want?” she asked again.

And again, he was at it with a wry, witty reply.  “Since respect is apparently off the menu, how about some fairness and honesty?  We both know you wouldn’t be reacting like this if it hadn’t been me.”

Yeonhee huffed.  “That’s kind of it, though.  You have a terrible track record that makes it impossible for me to—”

He held up a hand, and she immediately shut up.  “You’d have a negative impression whether or not I had a track record because of my status, and because of my parents.”

That Yeonhee could not deny.  She gave a little nod.

The prince lowered his hand, something on his little finger catching the light in a tiny flash of gold.  She didn’t get an opportunity to look at it properly before he tucked both hands under his thighs and leant forwards.

“Miss Im,” he said quietly, “that’s really unfair.”

Up close, the bruise on his cheek looked an unhealthy shade of yellow, and she could see that his right eye was slightly bloodshot.  He looked extremely tired.

“Why me?” she blurted out, disconcerted.  “There are any number of people who think the same way, so why are you targeting me?”

He blinked slowly.  “When we were chatting online, you seemed sensible.”

Implying he now felt she wasn’t.  Yeonhee frowned.  “That’s offensive.”

He scoffed and straightened up.  “One of the reasons I invited you out to dinner, in the full knowledge of who you were, was because I thought we’d be able to have an interesting discussion about your views.  It’s disappointing I was wrong, especially after all the intellectual engagement online, but I guess one can’t have everything.”

Yeonhee wasn’t sure why she was quite so upset about this.  It wasn’t like his opinion mattered, after all.  The only real loss was the virtual friendship of a fake, online persona that she oughtn’t to be too bothered about in the first place.

“You could have told me who you were sooner,” she complained.  “Or not at all.”

That produced another scoff.  “You would have run a mile if you’d known.”

That was completely true.

“And if you’d heard my speech, you would have figured out it was you.”

That was also true.

“You could have just left out any reference to me,” Yeonhee said bitterly.

“Not citing your sources is bad academia.”

Yeonhee glared at him, and he gave her a very cheeky smile, flashing a little dimple that she and Sehun and Taehyung had once joked was evidence of the black hole by which his soul left his body.

“Let’s do a trade,” he said.  “I don’t actually like operating like this, but