“Yeah, yeah, I know, but can we at least do it somewhere where you won’t be a hazard to yourself? I swear, I’ll hear you out then. This ought to be good,” Alex groaned, fatiguing from weaving through the mixed crowd with Seungmin basically clinging onto her for dear life. Finally, they made it to the upstairs bathroom, Alex figuring this was the best place away from the enabling and intoxicating commotion downstairs. Additionally, from experience, she knew that what would follow would undoubtedly be a combination of vomit, trauma, and eventually, rest, so she figured after cleaning him up, he may as well knock out in one of the beds. While no one had claimed any of the rooms yet, Alex took the initiative to take off her hoodie and toss it on the single bed, now claiming it. It would be easier to explain—and handle—when Seungmin inevitably tumbled onto her bed clamoring for slumber. She would sleep on the floor or downstairs on the couch with anyone else who might have needed assistance throughout the night.

            But first, there was Seungmin.

            “Alright, alright, just come with me to the bathroom. I’ll sit on the edge of the bathtub and you can just do your thing. It’s best to get it out now. It won’t be pretty, but I promise I won’t take any pictures or anything that could hurt your reputation. See,” she cooed, patting his back as she placed her phone on the edge of the sink. He nodded, despite knowing absolutely nothing of what she said and knelt down, legs trembling and hands shaking. He stared at the reflection of himself in the toilet bowl, groggy, confused, and most of all, upset. He had missed his chance before the concert, missed his chance during the concert and now, that same chance was eluding him once more. Despite the less than favorable conditions, he couldn’t even look at his own reflection in the bowl. He had so much to say, but he knew what would come out of his mouth next would not be words. He gulped, desperate to avoid the inevitable, desperate to find the willpower to come forward with his truth. He was in supportive hands, this he knew, yet he was still ashamed at his cowardice. Though he found comfort in her smile, he also found malice, a taunting that only he knew for he had brought it upon himself. She was judging him. She was annoyed. She was considerate. She was tending to him. She was everything that he didn’t want her to be and yet, she was still her and he was still himself.

            “If you’d like, I can text someone to get you some water. I would do it myself, but I don’t think it’s wise to just leave you here, lover boy. Maybe, I should text Talia. I’m sure she would love to!” she offered mindlessly, reaching for her phone. She jumped slightly when he shot his hand to grab hers. She raised an eyebrow before relaxing his grip on the phone and watching the trembling boy. She gingerly crept her hand away, wondering what his next move was, petrified as he stared up at her, the thousand-yard stare in his eyes piercing through and beyond her soul, beyond her heart. Her heart raced, though with adrenaline or fear, she was unsure. She was all too familiar with the blank look in his eyes, the dim light behind his pupils that seemed to ebb and flow, come and go, yet she was still startled as this time was different. It excited her. She wanted him to endure the wave of intoxication, hoping that the liquid courage had indeed done its job. She was ready to text Talia as soon as he finished. She would call for Talia and then she would Seungmin to the other’s room and slip away into the crowd below to enjoy herself. Talia would then gab about her darling night and the world—not her heart—would be right again.

            The sound of him hurling into the toilet startled her out of and away from her ingenious scheme. She instinctively crouched down behind him, patting his back and making sure he did not sink too far into the bowl. She reached around his round face to pull any stray hairs away before he lurched forward powerfully once more. Twice. Thrice. Finally, the familiar huffing and gasping followed. She pat his back once more before reaching for one of the face towels that hung near the door. She crouched down once more to pat away the moisture around his lips, her face and demeanor calm all around, a sight that haunted him. She slowly stood him up afterwards, tossing the used towel to the corner of the room, grateful for and remorseful to the maids that would come upon their checkout tomorrow. She silently thanked the host for having a small, travel sized essentials packet in the room as well. She fiddled to open the plastic bag and handed the toothbrush and toothpaste to the dazed boy, who stared at it, more confused that he could hold something than at anything she was insinuating.

            “You can brush your teeth and wash your face. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s something. Don’t worry about me. I brought my own stuff,” she offered. “Do you think you’ll be ok in here by yourself?” He nodded slowly, still staring at the articles in his hands, too dazed, too ashamed to look up at her. “I’ll be in the room and then I can take you back downstairs when you’re ready. Or you can sleep here, and I can check on people downstairs, if you would prefer,” she stated softly, about to close the bathroom door. He grabbed her wrist and she flinched at the contact, though she knew it was likely because he didn’t want to be left alone, a typical feeling after a binge like that. She sighed and wriggled her wrist from his grip. “Don’t worry. I’ll be just right outside, but you can do at least this much, can’t you? You blew it earlier, lover boy, but you can’t face her in your state right now. Clean yourself up, please,” she reassured him before closing the door and flopping on the bed, exasperated.

            Her.

            He struggled to steady himself against the sink, inspecting his eyes as if there was any solution to his folly, any way out behind those blown pupils of his. What would he say to her? He knew she was waiting and yet, as before, he couldn’t free himself from himself to get to her. He couldn’t take the first move, couldn’t open the door to her heart and instead, was stuck with himself and the words that rang so clearly in his head. He wondered how she had understood those words, if she knew the true intention nestled in each syllable, in each breath of his heart. He wondered if he had been too blunt, too charming, not obvious enough, not alluring enough. She was still waiting, and he would have to face her eventually. He grew weary of his own reflection and reluctantly splashed water on his face before beginning to brush his teeth, hoping to gain inspiration from who knew where, from anywhere or anyone other than who was in the mirror.

            She wish she would have drunken more, hoped that she could sink into the bed and waves of alcohol so she wouldn’t have to process the reality unfolding before her. What could she say to him? She knew he was biding his time,