"Boss, she's in the restroom again!" a man yelled.

            "I got it!" A woman replies from her office. She rubs her temples. "I'll take care of her, you just close up the rest of the club!" The woman rolls her eyes before getting up to leave. She locks her office and heads downstairs to the women's restroom.

            Upon entering, she immediately heads to the stall in the back as if she's walked this path one time too many. She opens the door to the stall to see an unfortunately familiar sight: a young woman clad in a leather jacket resting her head on the seat of the toilet. "Hey! Can you stop doing this?" she yells.

            The intoxicated woman utters no response.

            The boss grunts. Passed out again. Again! She walks over to the woman and pulls her off the toilet by the collar of her jacket. A rancid smell enters her nose and she uses her foot to flush the toilet. Damn this woman! Dirtying my establishment! She leans down and throws the woman's arm over her shoulders. She places an arm around the deadweight’s waist and walks and half drags the young woman with her out of the club.

//

            Upon awakening, the young woman feels sore all over, her head pounding. She buries herself deeper into the covers, hoping the cool softness of the bed will somehow reduce her pain. Minutes later having felt no relief at all, she peeks her head out to stare at the ceiling. Back here again. That damn nosy lady. With every ounce of strength remaining in her body, she struggles to sit up and peers around. She finds the clock on the wall and squints to read the time. 9:23? , the first lesson has already started. They're gonna yell at me again. She moves the covers off and drags her heavy body to the bathroom.

            As she makes her way out of the apartment, she speeds past the kitchen’s entryway. Deep down the young woman knows she should at least acknowledge the woman inside, but her hangover is telling her to leave as soon as possible. She crouches down by the shoe shelf near the main entrance and starts digging around for her boots. Where the hell did she—Fuc— “Hey! Where the hell did you put my boots?”

            “Is that ‘hangover’ talk for ‘good morning’?”

            The young woman rolls her eyes before turning around and standing up to look at the woman before her. In one hand, her boots! In the other, an insulated lunch bag. And what the hell is she doing still wearing just a negligée? She huffs, “We didn’t hook up again did we?”

            “We didn’t but,” the other woman pulls back the hand with the boots, “don’t make it sound like you don’t enjoy it when we do.”

            The young woman grumbles, anger seeping into her voice, “Can I just get my boots back already? I’m going to be late for work.”

            “I think if you cared so much about being on time, you wouldn’t get so drunk the night before.” The woman shrugs. “Always passing out at my club. And in the bathroom of all places.” She gives the woman a stern look. “Yes, you really care about being on time for work.”

            “Yes yes yes, and you’re such a saint!” She leans forward to grab her shoes, “Just give me my damn boots!”

            “Patience, dear.” The woman deftly leans back and instead shoves the lunch bag into the woman’s outstretched arm. “Here. There’s a bagel inside, toasted and I’ve put jam on it for you already. Blueberry. And I also packed a lunchbox for you for later. Mostly kimbap. And a coffee. Iced. And the little pouch has some aspirin.” She ends with a smile.

            Except the smile doesn’t actually pacify the young woman, it annoys her really, but she’ll fake it. She snatches the bag from the woman. “Well thank you. May I have my boots now?”

            The woman smirks. “Yeah.” She tosses them at the younger and laughs when she barely manages to catch them. “Ahh, sorry, I forget hangovers are bad for hand-eye coordination.” But her giddy tone is anything but apologetic.

            The younger woman glares before leaning down to put on her boots. She taps the tips of her boots on the ground to ensure they’re a tight fit before reaching for the door. She stops midway, however, when a hand flies into her periphery and lands on the door. “Wha—”

            “Don’t. Forget. The. Lunch. Bag.” The other woman shoves it into the younger’s chest. “Did you think I really wouldn't notice you try to leave it behind when you were putting on your shoes?”

            She rolls her eyes. “Well damn, I didn’t know your old eyes were still that good.”

            The woman growls, “I am not that old.”

            “Look.” The younger woman clutches the lunch bag and stares down the woman opposite her. “Why? Why do you keep doing crap like this, Irene?”

            Irene takes a step back and looks at everything but the young woman. “I…”

            “No answer? Then I’ll take my leave.” She opens the door and starts walking down the hall.

            Irene runs out after her. “Hey I just,” she stops running and slows to a walk. “Hey. Stop! Look at me! You asked a question!” She stops.

            The young woman stops too and looks over her shoulder. She an eyebrow, indicating to Irene she was listening. Somewhat. And what exactly is her answer going to be huh.

            Irene’s hands rest lifelessly at her side and she lets out a breath. “I just… Wendy, I need to do something while I wait, okay?”

            Wendy rolls her eyes and starts walking again. She tightens her grip on the lunch bag. “Well you should stop. You’re waiting for nothin’ hon’!”

A/N: There are plans to expand this into a short series, at some point in the next couple months lol.