The light flitted through the window, just a small slit of light through the tiniest of cracks between the window shades. Being closest to the window and in the Sun’s direction that light (naturally) cast itself in the direction of Seolhyun’s bed—or rather, that specific portion of the bed that Hyejeong had cast her head on the previous night. Or morning. Whatever.

Groaning, Hyejeong tried to subconsciously adjust her head, attempting (in vain) to get her head out of the satan Sun’s line of fire. That, however, ended up with her twisting her neck on the mattress, rudely jerking her awake.

Hyejeong cursed to herself, her two hands undecided and thus switching, at random, between rubbing her lethargic eyes and massaging her sore neck. Last time Hyejeong checked she swore that she still had a proper bed, a bed which was out of the direct line of fire from the bloody Sun.

Groggily (and somewhat annoyed), Hyejeong’s vision finally cleared sufficiently for her locate her bag (it was still strapped around her torso, somehow), fish out her phone and check the time. 7:34. What was she doing awake at 7:34 on a Saturday anyway?

Then her eyes scanned to her right, and noticed the sleeping figure of someone a little too familiar. Seolhyun? What is Seolhyun doing there? Am I in her room or something? Wild theories sprang through Hyejeong’s mind as she tried to make meaning of this strange occurrence, before the faintest scent of Dettol from behind her reminded her abruptly of where she was.

The search.

The confession.

Everything flooded back into Hyejeong’s mind, and the more that came in the more Hyejeong was embarrassed. Did she really say those things to Seolhyun? Gosh, and she was the one that thought Seolhyun was the dependant, lovesick type.

Hyejeong had no reason to feel embarrassed, or even a slight tinge of regret at the words she had uttered last night. And yet now she still felt slightly relieved that Seolhyun didn’t hear her fatigued-fuelled confession; she had envisaged her first real relationship to start on a more dramatic or worthy note. For their confession to be some tear-filled, passionate thing.

(Well, it was kinda tear-filled and passionate. But you know…)

Her eyes traced Seolhyun’s resting body, in sudden awe at how delicate her breathing was, how smoothly her chest heaved and dipped along with her breathing, or how peaceful, pure and innocent her face looked while she was lost in the lands of unconsciousness. Her expression a distinct difference from how Hyejeong saw it last night. It must have been the lighting, Hyejeong surmised to herself, before gathering her things in preparation to leave. She didn’t want get caught by a Seolhyun who just woke up, nor anyone for that matter. Certainly not those two angry sounding girls who discovered her landline and yelled down over voicemail last night, either.

Soundlessly she rose from the hospital chair, and pivoted towards the door of ward 239. Just as her head was turning, however, she caught the faint glimmer of light off a tiny card, placed on the table beside Seolhyun’s bed. Curious, Hyejeong decided that it wasn’t too much of a risk to peek at what was written on the card. In Hyejeong’s mind they were a couple anyway (except for Seolhyun not officially hearing her confession, of course), and surely what she was about to do was within the legion of “permissible couple things to do”.

So her hand dove down onto the table, and gently picked the card up. It was slightly tough, tougher than paper for sure, but it was what was written on it that intrigued Hyejeong more.

“Shin Hyejeong, please meet us at the hospital café, at the seat nearest to the west window.”

--Kwon Mina and Seo Yuna

It was directed to her anyhow, so Hyejeong decided that she shouldn’t have felt too guilty for reading it.

Whoever that Kwon Mina/Seo Yuna person should be nice, Hyejeong thought to herself, as she finally made her way out of the room, leaving one last longing glance at Seolhyun’s peaceful figure. Someone with that nice a handwriting ought to be quite nice.

Or maybe it was just the feeling of being in love. Even the worst things start to take on a nicer, kinder tinge.

Hyejeong tentatively stepped into the hospital café, looking around for where those two might be. “West window” wasn’t a really helpful indicator, especially when Hyejeong frequently thought east was west and vice versa. She did, however, spot two girls, around her age, huddled together in a booth near a window, and surmised that it must have been them.

(Of course, a more helpful indicator would have been that there were no other patrons in the café.)

Hesitantly, Hyejeong halted in front of her target, gingerly reaching her hand out in acknowledgement to them. Hyejeong was mortally afraid of mis-identifying people, and she wasn’t about to ruin her entire day right from the start with this. She knew that those two in front of them were probably the people who asked to see her, but she couldn’t exactly place the name to the person. Whatever, she thought. Mina sounds a hell lot like someone who is dorky and clumsy, and the left girl looks pretty damn clumsy to me (she already has multiple water droplet stains on her shirt).

“Kwon Mina?” she asked haltingly, tilting her hand slightly towards clumsy girl.

“That