Every single member of BTS looks like they want to kill me the next day.

Even Jimin, who usually acts decent towards me in his own obnoxious way, looks really, really mad.

“You really ed up Yoongi, you know,” he utters in a soft voice when I pass by him in a hallway.

I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“When you threw that knife, it hit Yoongi right in the stomach. He almost died.”

“Okay, that was to get away from you and your stupid friends. If I didn’t hurt someone, I would’ve gotten hurt.”

Jimin merely curls his lip. I cross my arms.

“Well, I hope he gets better,” I spit in an acid-filled tone. “Thanks for almost kidnapping Sora and almost killing both of us.”

I shove past him and stomp away- and then come face-to-face with Joonmyeon, who was talking to Jongin before he looked ahead and saw me.

His lip curls as he spots Jimin standing a few feet behind me.

“Lovers’ spat?” he pointedly remarks.

“ off,” I snap, and storm away.

I’m too pissed off to attend any classes today. So I head to the Galmegi and decide to drink away my problems instead. Never mind the fact that I woke up an hour ago. Simple human constructs such as time and societal expectations can’t stop me. that .

“Pour me a stiff one,” I mutter, barging into the Galmegi.

Himchan is wiping down the surface of the bar. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees me.

“It’s 11 in the morning,” he says.

“I’m aware of that.”

“I’m calling Sora.”

“Go ahead. Just pour me a drink first.”

After a few more attempts to stop me, Himchan quite fittingly makes me a Death in the Afternoon: champagne (because I’m a classy ) and absinthe (because I need to not be sober right now), created by Hemingway and downed by miserable housewives everywhere.

Sora gets here by the time I’m on my third one. She takes one look at me and says, “Make me one, too, Himchan.”

“I love you, Sora!” I squeal, throwing myself at her.

“Did you hear that, Himchan?” Sora smirks. “You have competition.”

Himchan’s lips curl upward in a very, very satisfied grin. “Well, well,” he drawls. “It doesn’t even take alcohol to get you flirty, huh?”

“Oh, please,” Sora snorts. “You think I didn’t drink before I came here?”

Himchan blinks. “Uh, I’d hope not, seeing as how it is still the morning.”

“Honey, I pregame anytime I have to come to the Galmegi. Do you really expect me to deal with all this sober?”

“That’s such a great idea!” I gasp as Himchan opens his mouth to protest. “Oh my god, why didn’t I think of that before?”

“You two are nutjobs,” a familiar voice says. Zelo is leaning up against the doorway, shaking his head. Half of his bright blond hair is sticking straight up.

“You look so dumb,” I giggle. “You- your hair... what the ?”

“Your screaming woke me up, okay?” Zelo yells over me and Sora’s raucous laughter. “This is your fault! I haven’t gotten up before 2 PM in five years, ! Thanks a lot!”

Sora grabs his arm and drags him over to the barstools. “Take a shot! Take a shot!”

“I just got up! I’m not taking a shot!”

“Zelo’s a !” I holler. “Zelo’s a- aaah!”

“Say that again!” Zelo bellows, rubbing his knuckles across my scalp.

“Stop it!” I whine, giggling. “I’m going to sue you! Stop!”

“I’ll need to be drunk to deal with all of this,” Himchan grumbles, knocking back a shot. Sora cheers loudly.

“Oh, yeah! Keep going, Himchan!” she screams.

He smirks. “That’s what you’ll be saying tonight.”

“Ew!” I fling my bag at him. “!”

“Give me some Sangria,” Zelo calls to Himchan. I tsk.

“Sangria? Nah, man. You gotta start with the hard stuff. At least vodka.”

“Everclear!” Sora cries, and Zelo and Himchan simultaneously say, “No!”

“Everclear? Isn’t that the drink with 95% alcohol?” I hiccup.

“Yes- don’t even think about it!” Zelo slaps my arm.

“Another round of shots!” Sora yells, pumping her fist in the air.

We’re all faced before noon.

Sora is passed out on Himchan’s bed (we all had to carry her there since we didn’t want her to sleep on a table, like Zelo ended up doing five minutes after we dropped Sora off in Himchan’s room). Himchan is currently snoozing on his sofa.

And I?

I am currently in the bathroom, debating whether or not I should call a very, very important person.

“I won’t!” I shout. My thumb is hovering over the name Joonmyeonnie in my phone. “I won’t do it! No!”

I pause for a few moments... and then rest my head against the toilet.

“But I want to,” I moan.

Ahh. This toilet is so cool. So nice. I lazily wrap my arms around the base of the beautiful porcelain bowl. No one ever appreciates toilets as much as they should. Toilets are always there for you. They’re always.... always there.

“I won’t call him!” I screech.

But then my finger accidentally- accidentally- presses down on his name, and before I can hang up, a cold voice says, “Hello?”

“Joonmyeonnnn!” I bleat. “Hiii! How are you?”

There is utter silence. I pout.

“Hey! Where did you go? Joon-myeon!”  

“Are you drunk?” Joonmyeon asks in disbelief.

“I’m d-drunk on you,” I hiccup. “Ha! Get it? That was a pickup line!” I snuggle next to the toilet. “I miss you, Joonmyeon. I really, really miss you.”

“Hyo, where are you right now? I’m coming to pick you up. Okay?”

“No!” I shriek. “Don’t come! You can’t come! Otherwise... you might get really hurt! And I don’t want you to get hurt, Joonmyeon!”

“Hyo, please tell me what you’re talking about. What do you mean, get hurt? What is going on?”

“I... I...,” My lower lip quivers. “I can’t tell you.”

There is a tense quiet.

Then Joonmyeon says, “I see.”

I swallow.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asks in an aloof, distant voice.

“Don’t go,” I whisper.

“I’m hanging up.”

The call ends.

I sit there for a few moments. The pain sinks in.

    And then all of a sudden I feel a sob rise up in my chest.

    “This is all your fault!” I cry, tears pouring down my cheeks. “If it wasn’t for you- if it wasn’t for stupid BTS and stupid Jimin and stupid everyone- then this would’ve never happened! I hate this so much! I hate gangs! I hate everything! I- I-,”

    I dissolve into sniffles- before something churns in my stomach.

It takes two seconds for me to throw up half of my soul and being into my new best friend.

“Sorry, Toilet,” I whisper, caressing its beautiful, curvaceous body. “Thank you for being here for me. I love you.”

I’ve never been hungover at 7 PM.

And I’ve never been hungover this badly.

After Sora woke me up, the two of us joined forces with Himchan and Zelo to figure out what the hell happened in the few hours before we all passed out.

“I found a raw chicken in my bathroom sink,” Zelo whispers, his head clutched between his hands. “There was dish soap all over it. I don’t know why.”

“You didn’t steal my underwear, right?” Himchan questions Sora. “Because when I got up, I was wearing pants, but no underwear, which makes no sense, but-,”

“Are you stupid?” Sora hisses, wincing. “How could I have even done that? Why would I even want your underwear?”

Himchan shrugs innocently. “Some girls like keeping my underwear as a trophy.”

The rest of us roll our eyes.

I rub my temples, attempting to recall why I woke up hugging a toilet.

Let’s see. I remember screaming. And crying. A lot of crying.

Real specific, Hyo. That describes every other event in your life.

Wait. There was a voice...

I’m coming to pick you up. Okay?

My insides go cold.

Shaking, I hastily withdraw my phone from my pocket and go to my call history.

Please don’t let it be what I think it is, please don’t-

Oh, no.

“Guys, I ed up,” I whimper, shooting up.

Sora looks at me with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asks raspily.

“I need to make a call.”

My throbbing hangover is too unimportant to deal with right now. I lock myself in the bathroom- the bathroom- and dial the number, anxiously gnawing at my fingernails.

He picks up after three rings.

“Hello?” Joonmyeon says.

“Did I call you a few hours ago?” I immediately ask.

There is a pause.

And then he responds, “Yes, you did.”

I shut my eyes tight. Why did I decide to get drunk on a weekday afternoon? And why didn’t I hide my phone from myself so this exact situation wouldn’t happen?!

“What did I say?” I ask between gritted teeth.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Perfect. Pretend like that never happened. Okay?”

“Done.”

For some strange reason, his unfeeling response causes my chest to ache even more.

I hang up the phone before I say anything I’ll regret.

Someone knocks on the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?” Zelo asks.

“As okay as I’ll ever be,” I mutter.