a/n: this chapter has an official stamp of approval by an actual amputee js

+ k r i s

w u ,

t h a t ’ s

w h o

Moonyeon was growing increasingly regretful that she did not purposefully leave Kris Wu to asphyxiate under a pile of his own freaking hair product.  As if it weren’t enough that he was making her trek across campus more times than actually necessary, he had upped the madness by practically authorizing her to spend a minimum of five minutes with each and every host club member—all eleven of them—for “acquainting purposes.”  She wanted to know what that even meant.  Was it supposed to be a soft professional term for “get friendly with your new bros or die”?  Because that’s what it felt like.  (Well, that and speed dating.)  Apparently the norm of civil work relationships between coworkers was no longer acceptable; she also had to befriend them.  

“You know, like—ask them what their favorite color is—what’s their hobby, religion, etc.  You know, just the normal questions you find on dating sites or whatever.  That should do it.”

The memory of those words made her organs sour.  To her way of thinking, she was hired to do a job, not fraternize with a bunch of boys over girl scout Thin Mints.  She didn’t hate the guys by any means—in fact they were truly fascinating; she even thought she’d found a friend in Yixing—but they were draining to be around and her first priority was to review the books.  Besides, she had already met them all.  Wasn’t that enough?  Seriously, though, what kind of depraved, misbegotten butthead expected its brand-new employee to ingratiate with her colleagues before she even learned all their names?  It’s college, not a corporate gala event among mafia bosses.  Good Lord.

 Seeing as how she didn’t feel quite chummy enough with Kris to call him out on his BS at the moment, she decided to execute her other favorite option: complain to Kyungsoo about it using dumbest locution possible.

> Yes hello Kris Wu is a dumbnugget goodbye

< Sup

> My feet hurt and I have to be at the HC in like 10 mins brb crying

< Oh I thought it was something actually important. Goodbye.

> Come back, you insolent knave!

< U have heard of campus shuttle service tho rite

> …

> It feels like smth u use when ur an invalid or just lazy

< You ARE lazy!!

> I’m self-sufficient

< Quit being dumb.

< They’ll pick you up outside of JYP loser

> THAT’S GEHY THO I’ve already passed it LMAO

< WelL TUENRF OAROUND THEN

> RU SRS

< or walk all the the way and experience respiratory failure jEEBUS OLROENSZO IDC

> I don’t think u can get respiratory failure like that but ok

< Ok

> Can u come pick me up

< No

> Ok

Campus shuttle service was an amenity Moonyeon normally refused to use on personal grounds (e.g. sheer stubbornness).  She once sustained a complicated ankle injury that remained undiagnosed and improperly treated for over two years; and even when she could barely see straight because of the pain, she absolutely put her foot down when her mom tried to convince her that a wheelchair was the way to go when out on a strenuous shopping trip.  All this walking revealed just how out of shape she was, though.  Most of the places she frequented were within a relatively small proximity, so she rarely had the need to roam this far on campus; she was practically hiking by this point.  Absentmindedly she wondered if she was in the Himalayan foothills yet.  At least there were new sights, though.  She passed the building where Tibetan monks were constructing a sand mandala, and she had to admit her curiosity was piqued.  She should go check it out before the big reveal on Monday.  Maybe she’d get inspired to pick up art again.  Maybe the monks would offer some words of wisdom: “Follow your heart.  We have put it in a safe place, but act fast!  You have four minutes before your brain cells start dying.  Side effects include: bad breath, insomnia, loss of hair, loss of appetite, premature aging, increased risk of a , shingles, chronic bronchitis, emphysema, heart disease, tuberculosis, and even death.  Live tobacco-free.”

She was torn from her dumb potential marketing strategy by the sight of a golf cart.  A very flashy one.  Big—for a golf cart—with a square body.  All lime green and shiny chrome and expensive rims catching on the sunlight.  All-terrain, 25 x 12 inch tires.  The sort of golf cart only Tiger Woods would own.  Yes.  Someone was driving a tricked-out golf cart on a No Motorized Vehicles section of campus lawn.  It rode every rise and dip of the landscape with bulky rebellion, weaving in and out between people and occasionally just plowing on through.  The cart even clipped somebody on the once.  Moonyeon didn’t know golf carts could go that fast.  Seemed fun, honestly.  Maybe if she saw him again, she’d flag him down and ask for a ride to the LSM.

Somehow, for some reason, the driver spied her anyway.  He was probably fifty yards away headed southeast of campus while she was going south.  Abruptly he bore to the left—barely managing to stay on all four tires—and brought it back, gunning across the grass in a wide arc headed straight for her.  Then he sailed on past a few feet before braking hard and shifting into reverse, zooming backwards to put the cart parallel to the path she was making, maybe only three feet off to her side.  Then he eased off the ac