My sister tells everyone that our meet-cute—Sehun and I—was full of fireworks and apparently, right then, we’d known things were never going to be the same for either of us.

    She was only partly right. If my mother knew that I’d almost accidentally killed my future husband, she’d probably kill me before word even got out. It’s too bad I don’t really care about her opinions.

    Like the fact that she’d wanted me to go to Harvard University for an MBA but in the end, I chose to spite her for not giving me a choice.

    Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on a personal tangent. Don’t mind me. I do that a lot. So, where was I? Oh. Right. I almost committed manslaughter.

    You can’t blame me. I mean. Not really. If you know me, I’m the queen of procrastination. The assignments that I have months to do are drawn out until my deadline is in weeks, so I end up shutting myself in the art studio in the basement.

    I dorm in the infamous Dunster House, a whopping six-story brick building with architecture strongly influenced by a church that is unironically where my neighbors upstairs find it thrilling to screw. But it’s okay. I’m mostly locked up in the basement anyway, so it’s not like I can hear them going at it until midnight.

    Anyway, back to the story, I’d been busy putting finishing touches on my sculpture, a life-sized Grecian male with a pretty nice set of ia. We were doing a realism study in my sculpting class and I had the genius idea of using marble as a medium. Of course, when I had that idea, it was actually months before I had to turn this thing in.

    Now it was two days before the deadline and three in the morning and I had a feeling caffeine wasn’t going to save me the next day in class.

    As I said, it’d been three AM, and the only living people alive during this time are insomniacs—usually locked in their rooms intensely studying for exams which I don’t do nearly enough. I don’t expect anyone to be up and about in the hallway, certainly not in the basement level of this building.

    So you could probably anticipate how surprised I was when I heard footsteps and you could also probably feel my anxiety—ramped up to a hundred by the way—when I called out and no one answered.

    Clutching my tiny but hefty hammer, I slowly inch toward the door, opening and peeking behind it. It’s completely dark and after muttering a silent prayer, I slam the door open, letting out a war cry and swinging my hammer.

    It turns out I’m restrained before I can even attack this creepy weirdo. I drop my hammer with a start when I’m shoved against the wall with my hands twisted behind my back. I hiss several profanities as I attempt to turn around to kick whoever this is.

    The lights go on. I suspect it’s a phone flashlight because it’s not doing me very well. At least I can make out that there are two other people in here with me.

    “Let me go!” I shout.

    “If you promise you won’t bash my head in,” the other man—not the one currently holding me captive—utters. He has an accent. On other occasions, I’d totally coo over the fact that he’s English, and I love me a boy with an accent, but considering the life-threatening situation I’m in, I decide it’s not a good time.

    “Fine. If you promise you won’t gang me and leave me for dead,” I impatiently snap.

    He murmurs silently to man #1 to let me go, and I have never been more relieved in my life. “A ‘thank you’ will do.”

    I whirl around, narrowing my eyes at the audacity of this man only to realize he’s not serious and attempting to break the ice. Relaxing my expression, I shoot him a skeptical look. “Thank you for not breaking my hand?”

    Let me tell you one thing though—seeing him up close and hearing him from behind are two different experiences.

    The side of lips twitches, but he doesn’t smile all the way and for some reason, it bothers me. It’s like when you have a strong urge to sneeze but you don’t quite make it there.

    His face is godlike. I’ll give him that. Listen. I would know. I just carved one.

    His nose slightly scrunches. “You’re worried about your hand when things could be worse?”

    I laugh at him like he’s just an innocent child. “What’s scarier than not finishing an assignment two days before it’s due?”

    He nods awkwardly before turning to look at the other man. I jump when I realize he’s still there. There’s just something impressive about the fact that he’s more dead than my sculpture.

    “So…who’s this?” I ask casually, smiling between the two of them and trying my best not to think about the possibility of being killed.

    The handsome man answers out of what sounds like instincts, “my bodyguard.”

    I stare between the two of them. No one’s laughing except for me. Okay. He’s not lying. Great. I’m the crazy one, and I’m not even the one with a ing bodyguard.

    He’s pretty tall himself but next to his bodyguard, he looks like an ant. His bodyguard is a ginger and he’s on the buff side. He has that expression that says take one look at me and you will scurry off like a rat. A silent killer, that one.

    “You do this a lot? Getting accidentally attacked by girls?” I tease, quirking an eyebrow at him.

    He puffs out an amused chuckle, shaking his head. “Apparently not by ones that don’t have a clue who I am.”

    “And who might you be?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips.

    His eyes trail down, and yep, he’s sizing me up, but I doubt he got anything out of that other than the fact that I’m a slob. My hair is bundled in a greasy bun, left unwashed for about a week—still counting. I’m wearing a shredded denim apron with gnarly paint splotches and wet stone smears. My hands are crusted with leftover residue.

    For some reason, he doesn’t look too off-put and instead smiles cordially as he replies, “maybe if you’re lucky enough, I’ll tell you another day.”

    I frown, watching him silently exchange words with his bodyguard. And without another word, the two turn to leave. I wait for a beat before deciding to ask, “what’s luck got anything to do with you?”

    Oh boy, if only I’d known.

[2]

I’m woken up in the most atrocious way that involves being violently shaken awake. When I ignore the girl currently trying to remove my soul from my body and turn my head slightly to check the time on the cheap analog clock, I decide it’s way too ing early for this.

    I attempt to fight her off of me and go back to sleeping like the dead, but she’s relentless. I hear vaguely straggled pieces of “you’re ing savage” and “how could you be sleeping right now after what happened?”

    To which I crack open an eye. Apparently, I’ve become a superstar overnight, and I don’t even know what I did. “Sooyoung, if you keep going, my neck will roll onto the floor.”

    She smiles apologetically and falls to my side as I prop up against the headboard. “No offense, I’ve always thought you were kind of crass but not this crazy.”

    Ah, yes. Ladies and gentlemen, Park Sooyoung always has a way with words. She somehow makes me feel like I’m her friend and the girl she’s -talking behind closed doors. “What’d I do wrong this time?”

    “This time, you’ve committed a heinous crime.”

    I tsk. “Wow, wow. Easy there, cowgirl. It’s not even seven AM yet.”

    “Word got around that you threw yourself at Prince Francis,” she says.

    “Who?”

    Sooyoung gasps as if I’ve just insulted her mother. “The Prince of Wales?”

    “Since when has he been on campus?” I ask, not believing a single word she’s spewing. It all smells too fishy to me.

    She rolls her eyes. “Since when did you leave the basement?”

    I snort. “Touché. Still. Shouldn’t he be at Oxford or some posh London university?”

    “You’re trying to change the topic, missy.” She scours my expression, but nope, I’m not giving her anything.

    “Rumors are rumors, you gullible girl. When have you seen me actually get a guy? Half of the time, I’m covered in paint. Besides, it was just a run in.”

    Sooyoung’s eyes bulge, and I’m afraid they’ll fall out. “No!” She shouts, gripping both of my shoulders. “You ing met him?”

    I make a gargled noise. “You just sprung a rumor on me, and this is what you’re surprised about?”

     makes an ‘o.’ Truth to be told, she’s mostly dense, so I’m probably her only friend. “Spill,” she demands.

    I attempt to get out of her hold, but like—let’s call Mr. Bodyguard Fred—she’s got me in a bind. “Nothing happened. I swung my sculpting hammer at him because I thought he was out to get me. Turns out, he happened to wander down the basement at three AM.”

    She makes a face. “What business does he have down there at such an ungodly hour?”

    I merely shrug. “Beats me.”

    I should’ve thought twice about telling my best friend because I’ve known her since freshman year when we were roommates and she’s the biggest blabbermouth on campus. I end up getting promoted from an audacious harlot to a raging psycho-murderer.

    To be fair, I clearly never kept up with major news networks because I hadn’t known a single thing about Sehun then.

[3]

My next run-in with Sehun I wouldn’t really count as one. It was more like he came pounding on my door and I let him in.

    It’d been four AM (you can probably see a pattern by now) and I was flipping through my sketchbook to see if there were any plausible pieces I could use for my professional portfolio, but I’m only halfway through when a terrible, obnoxious set of pounding echoes from my door.

    My next-door neighbor seems to be awake as well when I get another set of loud smacks on the wall in response to the absurd noise level.

    I groan in despair and force myself out of bed to go see what this person’s business is. When I pull the door open, I’m suddenly submerged in the smell of tequila. I blink at the stumbling drunk in front of me who wobbles at the doorway.

    I recognize him immediately. “Prince Francis?” I ask in confusion.

    He’s also confused, trying to fathom why I was here and it’s even more obvious when he voices it out, “why are you in my room?”

    I tilt my head. “What are you talking about? This is my—“ I’m not able to finish my sentence when he stumbles past me, blatantly inviting himself in my personal space.

    I didn’t blame him too much because he was drunk off his .

    “Um—“ I begin only to get interrupted by him plopping on my bed.

    He hums in content. “I don’t remember having such a nice bed.”

    “That’s because it’s m—“

    “I’m Sehun,” he says, interrupting me yet again.

    I sigh, not knowing if I should become concerned for his wellbeing or yell at him for interrupting me. If you must know, I hate being cut off. “Sehun? What do you mean? That’s not your name.”

    There’s a flash of pain across his face, but it disappears quickly by the time I blink that I have to doubt if I’d ever seen it in the first place. “Francis Edward Augustus,” he murmurs. “I don’t feel like being him right now. I’m just Sehun.”

    “Okay,” I breathe out nervously. “Sehun. Are you—“

    “I like the way you say my name, say it again,” he mumbles, turning on his side to smile drunkenly at me. His dark hair falls over his eyes and his smile is reminiscent of all the boys that Dad told me not to go after because I’ll have my heart shattered to pieces. But they’re my guilty pleasure, and it couldn’t hurt to indulge once in a while.

    “You need to quit interrupting me—“

    “I’m so pissed,” he grumbles, throwing his arm above his head. My eyes fall to the sliver of delicious skin when his shirt rides up, but I immediately shake off my trance before I realized that he interrupted me again.

    Son of a . Not him. Just the situation.

    “Who are you pissed at?” I ask, deciding that he’s had too much alcohol to do anything harmful. I pull a chair across from him and resign to sitting down.

    “No, I’m just…pissed,” he reiterates as if I would understand easily.

    I squint my eyes, still not understanding what he’s trying to say. His accent gets heavier when he’s had alcohol. Okay—note taken. Not that I’d needed it stored in the back of my head or anything. “Fine, you’re pissed. Moving on. I think you’re in the wrong room.”

    Sehun frowns in a way that makes him look like he’s adorably confused. If that’s a thing. If not, he can make it one and I’d loop in my head all day. “I’m sure this is the right one. This is the fifth floor, innit?”

    “You’re on the fourth floor,” I tell him.

    “,” he mutters, but he doesn’t look that bothered. In fact, I’m kind of spooked by how off guard he is. He’s different from when I’d met him initially. That night or morning (however you want to call it, it’s just stupid technicalities), I could tell he keeps people at a distance. His smile had been a rarity, and he’d been vague with just about everything.

     “Speaking of, are you the one who’s constantly ing girls?”

    He makes a face. “Gods, no. That’s next door. He’s a bit of a knob.”

    “A knob?”

    “Oh, you Americans and your hardly creative insults.”

    I decide to ignore that. “So you aren’t friends with him?”

    “Who?”

    A short attention span when he’s drunk. Noted. “The knob next door,” I answer in a faux English accent.

    Sehun lets out a happy snort of laughter. “You’re cute, but don’t ever do that again.”

    “Why? Is it bad?”

    He wrinkles his nose. “Oh, bugger off. You can’t be that dense.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “What if I said I’d wanted to kiss you then?”

    I can’t decide if I should be flattered or outright afraid. “You must think I’m an easy woman,” I say through a smile inevitably breaking onto the surface.

    Sehun chuckles warmly before asking, “am I in the right country?”

    “Not all of us are desensitized non-committal one night stand enthusiasts.”

    “That was oddly specific,” he notes.

    “Where’s Fred?” I ask.

    “Who’s Fred?” He echoes.

    I realize that not everyone’s particular like me and makes name for strangers. “Your bodyguard.”

    “His name isn’t Fred,” Sehun tells me.

    “Well, then. What’s his name?”

    He shrugs. “Don’t know. He never told me.”

    “What do you call him then?”

    Sehun stares off into the distance, looking like he’s in the midst of an identity crisis. “I don’t.” He drops a hand on his face. “I’m such a prick.”

    “Are you okay? Please don’t cry.”

    He grumbles, “I’ll try not to.”

    “Are you always this sensitive when you’re wasted?”

    He levels a serious look at me. “I mean—I don’t know, really. I’m allowed to drink. Just not to the point that I’m seeing stars.”

    I jump to my feet. “You’re not supposed to see stars. When did you last eat?”

    He can’t answer because he doesn’t know. Again, a common theme. He’s more of a lost child, and I feel a sense of protectiveness.

    I dig through my stash of snacks in the bottom of my drawer and grab a water bottle from my mini-fridge.

    “Ooh,” Sehun prompts. “I think I might be hungry.”

    Shaking my head in amusement, I toss him a family-sized bag of lays and the water. He doesn’t catch it, and it ends up bouncing on him. I stifle a laugh behind my palm.

    He doesn’t waste any time and makes his way into the bag. “This is good stuff.”

    “I’ll kill you if you get it on my bed,” I threaten casually.

    Sehun waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll just buy you a new one.”

    I snort. “Money can’t buy nostalgia.”

    He stops eating, the chips in fingers stopping just an inch from his mouth. “Did you shag someone here?”

    “No,” I immediately answer, but I realize I sound too hasty, so I pretend I hadn’t just been defensive. “I mean—no, but there’s nothing wrong with me, okay? I can still get boys…just fine.”

    He nods and proceeds to yawn sleepily. “I’m knackered.”

    Before I can protest, he’s already knocked out on my bed with the bag of chips still in his hand. I laugh because his innocence is childlike.

    I make sure to wipe his hands and put away the chips before tugging him in under the covers. Then, I anticipate an all-nighter.

[4]

Over the past week, there’s no sign of him at all. I go on with my life normally. It isn’t until I return to my dorm room one day to see Fred standing there comically with a giant bouquet and a box of chocolates.

    “Fred, nice seeing you,” I greet with a wave.

    Fred blinks at me, not yet realizing his name (the name I’ve given him). He doesn’t answer, and instead, holds out the flowers and chocolate.

    “I’m guessing this is Sehun’s way of apologizing,” I murmur, staring at the two items. I grasp the chocolates. “I’ll be taking these. I’m allergic to pollen.”

    Fred nods curtly, and he turns to leave as if nothing’s gone on between us.

    Apparently, Sooyoung saw the entire exchange and shrieked the minute my peripheral catches her. She interrogates me about Fred, but I remain ambiguous because lesson learned. I’m going to pass the chance of waking up to hearing the news that Prince Francis of Wales is vying for a commoner. Not that I think he’s vying for me. I’m not—forget it. I don’t know what any of this means.

[5]

Not surprisingly I decided to ditch my classes on Halloween. Dad totally knew I’d do it. It’s been our tradition for seventeen years. He texted me that morning and asked what I was up to and to anticipate a care package.

    I told him that I’d probably stay in my room and watch horror movies, snacking on anything I could get my hand on until I couldn’t anymore—whether that be from excessive gore or excessive gorging.

    He replied with several emojis, and I decided I was texting him for too long then. And when Dad proceeds to ask if I’ve talked to my mother at all, it’d been the icing on the cake because I didn’t want an overbearing parent to rain down on my parade especially when she’s been doing it my entire life.

    My day goes as I predict. Though, I get random text messages from my sister who makes jokes about the day because it’s Halloween and coincides on a Friday and it’s also my birthday. I usually ignore her but I’d secretly hoped Jason would mix up his days and come for me already.

    Sooyoung’s the only person at Harvard who knows it’s my birthday so she comes up with a plan. I told her I wasn’t following any of it, and I was especially steering away from the infamous Halloween party just outside of school grounds.

    Somehow, she convinced me using the magical excuse of free booze all night. Normally, I didn’t like getting wasted to the point of having an out of body experience but today was one of those days that didn’t feel right.

    I was somewhat lonely and despite ignoring Dad, I’d missed him. If he were here, he would’ve taken me out and followed our tradition of eating candy until we got a call from our dentist the next day.

    But that isn’t the only thing about this day that I’d missed. Dad made everything right. He’d help me forget about the constant pressure my mother puts on me. When he was around, I’d feel like I was enough. I didn’t need a fancy degree or a wide range of connections. He made me feel human, and I wanted to feel like one for at least one day. Certainly better if it happened on my birthday.

    So you could probably understand my surprise when I have another run-in with Prince Francis—or Sehun if he actually remembered giving me permission to call him that.

    By nine PM, Sooyoung’s successfully drags me from the comfort of my dorm room into a costume that looks more like it’d fit better on a prepubescent body. I was sure my was hanging out, but Sooyoung assured me that I didn’t have one.

    Eventually, I stop trying to pull down the PVC that was certainly not moving any time soon. I it up and haul the poor excuse of a playboy bunny aka me down four flight of stairs.

    It was not fun on stilettos and definitely not fun with a constant hard wedgie. I don’t know how Sooyoung doesn’t feel embarrassed by the stares we were both receiving. Then again, she’s the braver one, and I’m just glad I’m not sporting a hot pink suit that feels like it came straight out of a crappy nineties teen chick flick.

    About an hour in, I lost her to a boisterous crowd of stoners, drunks, and a dangerous combination of two. When I see Sehun being buried by the crowd and in danger of being jumped on by people who think it’s funny to flip off of the second floor in hopes of surfing, I get a sudden flare of protectiveness in which I forcibly push past everyone to get to him.

    His eyes widen once he realizes I’m his knight in shining armor. It could be a lot of things. The horror of crashing my room in an utterly vulnerable state. The surprise that we’ve met yet again for the third time unwillingly. Or—I really hope it’s not this one—the anticlimactic misogynistic belief that women can’t be saviors.

    I’m probably reaching with the last one. Sehun helps me get across the one blissfully ignorant person still in my way. His fingers feel warm on my skin. Blistering, actually.

    He tugs me upstairs, and I hadn't suspected a single thing, following behind him with the occasional I’m-not-checking-out-his-back-profile-you-are.

    “Do you even know whose room this is?” I ask, staring curiously at him.

    Sehun scratches the nape of his neck, shifting on his legs. “No?”

    I nod. “Right. Cool. Is everything okay?”

    He blinks. “What do you mean?”

    “Ignore me if I’m reaching, but you seemed unsettled and…afraid? Earlier?”

    “I—“ He bites down on his lower lips. “I lost Fred.” Sehun quickly realizes what he’d said and snorts. “You’re impactful for who you are.”

    I lift an accusing brow at him. “And what place do I have in your oh-so-sophisticated world?”

    He doesn’t even bother leaving the previously large gap between us and addresses it suavely. “A friend who’s not quite a friend. A stranger who feels like she could be more. An unwanted acquaintance?”

    I blow a raspberry. “Are you a poet or are you just drunk?”

    There’s a vague smile twisted at his lips. “Neither.”

    “Then, why are you here if not to make terrible mistakes?”

    “I thought I’d meet you again,” he replies, his voice sounding suspiciously hoarse.

    My jaw slightly unhinges. “Will Fred like that?”

    Sehun’s expression is tight again. The almost-smile. He’s enchanting, but I’d like to see under the facade. “If he weren’t one of my men, he’d probably fall on the scale of a voluntary hitman.”

    “You make it sound as if you’re the lord of an organized crime.”

    “Maybe I am. Do you really know who I am?”

    I get chills, and he notices.

    “Are you cold?” No, I’m just hypersensitive from being in close vicinity with him for too long, but I obviously don’t tell him that.

    “I’m good,” I answer, trying to appear tougher than I am. He lays off, so hey, it worked. “What about you? You never answered any of my questions.”

    “I’m feeling bloody marvelous, luv.”

    I get another set of chills, but I ignore them. “So, what’s stopping you from getting out of here then?”

    His eyes twinkle with amusement. “I was waiting for my getaway driver.”

    “Listen, dude. You’ve gotta stop generalizing America. We aren’t a giant Hollywood sign.”

    To my surprise, he laughs, and honestly, I feel like I’ve accomplished a million things in the span of twenty-two seconds. “I’m kind of stuck here. Evidently, People magazine caught sight of me. I can’t be seen leaving this place.”

    I pretend to be offended. “I know this isn’t a five-star hotel, but you should show some respect.” We stare at each other for a brief minute before a lightbulb goes off in my head. I tug at the mattress, and to my relief, this person had been weird enough to use a top sheet.

    “What are you doing?” He asks cautiously.

    “Getting us new costumes. Will you find me a pair of scissors?”

    Despite his hesitance, he does it anyway. In fifteen minutes, we’ve donned our improv fifth-grade, mind you, state of art ghost costumes.

    Sehun looks ridiculous with the sheets not completely draping over his feet, and on the other hand, I’m completely dwarfed by it.

    We share a laugh before someone barges in the room. I suspect it’s the owner of this room because he looks bewildered when his eyes dart between our silhouettes.

    Yelping in surprise, I grab Sehun’s hand and make a run for it. We find out the single most important thing from this: it worked.

    I save him from paparazzi sharks, and all I get from Fred is a disgruntled grunt. Funnily, Sehun asks Fred to pretend he’s lost him but of course, at the same time to know his exact location.

    Before Fred can answer, it’s Sehun this time who takes my hand, and we disappear as fast as the wind.

    “I’m impressed you can run in those,” he observes.

    I kick off the stilettos when we’re back at Harvard. “Me too, but what can I say? Special circumstances require special measures.”

    “Does that include a second invite as well?”

    “Feeling a little frisky today, Prince Francis?”

    “How could I not when you’ve been so kind as to go as far as stealing someone’s bedsheets to protect me?”

    That gets a delighted laugh from me. “I have a better place in mind.”

    “Are we allowed here?” Sehun asks when I open the door to my second home on campus.

    “Sure, we are. Just don’t repeat what I’m about to do. It’s probably illegal,” I tell him, pulling out a sign that reads NOTICE CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE DO NOT ENTER.

    He watches me slap it on the front of the door before pulling it shut. “You’re mad, luv.”

    I hum in agreement, “at least I didn’t drink. Oh—and you’re safe to take off the attire.”

    “Thank , I wasn’t sure if I could breathe a minute longer under that thing.”

    “A ‘thank you’ will do,” I playfully mock. Though, I did do the costume dirty by pulling it off of me at the speed of light.

    There’s a massive metal craft table pushed to the back of the room as of now and some of us have been using the bottom storage part as a makeshift bed. Conveniently, there’s an old mattress on it and several throw blankets that I don’t trust.

    A girl brings her own. I dig through my stuff that I often forget in this room from practically living here.

    My laptop from earlier this morning is here, so we’re doing an improvised movie night whether he wants to or not. Sehun doesn’t complain and easily settles on the mattress.

    He offers his stomach to support the laptop and his chest for my head. I take both, ignoring the fact that this is somehow all going too fast and nowhere at the same time.

    It marks the first time I fell asleep in a traditionally ty costume tangled with a body of a man whose net worth is millions along with the gruesome screams of victims who had taken the wrong turn and met their fateful death of being tragically eaten by stunted human cannibals playing in the background.

    In my case, I’d later be tragically eaten up by British tabloid, but you’re not here for that. You’re here for a bizarre romance that by some means makes perfect sense, and who am I to not give you what you want?

[a/n] oh hi. didn't see you there. i honestly don't know what i've written but it's the weirdest set of dialogue ever. i like it. so yea. queen of dialogue is back in the game. im pretty sure i was supposed to write more for this chapter but i wanted to at least have one chapter up dfhsdkfhasdk

sorry im kind of all over the place. it's like almost 2 am and im struggling staying awake. hope you lovelies enjoy this. i tried a new writing style heh