Tell me, how's it feel, sittin' up there? Feelin' so high, but too far away to hold me...

A young lady fluttered her eyes open at the sound of Halsey's voice singing on her speakers. She squinted and rubbed her eyes, adjusting herself to the brightness that seeped through her curtains. She stared into the space in front of her for a minute or two, almost panicking that she would be late for practice before recounting that she actually didn't have any practice that day. It was Sunday, she remembered, sighing in relief. Yawning, she stretched her arms over her head and slowly sat up.

"Ow, ," she hissed sharply as a lingering pain engulfed her head. She rubbed her temples and forehead with her fingers, reminding herself of how much alcohol she had taken in the night before. Spoiler alert: she's only had three shots of soju, and she was already hugging someone's neck during the way home.

The girl brushed her butterscotch hair that was covering her face and looked around, meticulously observing the mess that was her bed, her floor, and herself. She was dressed—no, covered in an oversized white shirt with a vague scent of perfume, most likely the scent a man would wear. Thin strands of hair were everywhere like leaves during the autumn, and she fished some of them and dropped them onto the floor. Her bedcovers were tousled and disarranged as if someone had had a pillow fight, and pieces of clothing were scattered in various places on the floor. She didn't need a detective to figure out what had happened the previous night: she had obviously spent the night with someone.

As to confirm her observation, a tall man walked into her room through her open door with a smile. Apparently, her cry of pain had alarmed him. He was shirtless, not much to her surprise, his hair slightly disheveled, giving him a natural bedhead look. He had a mug of tea in his hands as he walked towards the girl.

"Good morning, Andine," the man greeted as he settled the mug on the nightstand. He kissed her forehead and sat beside her. Eyeing her up and down, he smiled in content, admiring how his shirt gave her a soft look. "Lookin' good, aren't we?"

Andine chuckled softly at the compliment. Taking a deep breath, she gave him a look of gratitude. "You can blame the shirt for that. I must admit, you have a splendid taste of cologne, Mr. Choi."

"Oh, please, just Siwon is fine," the man placed his hand on her significantly smaller one. "When we're alone, you can c