Walking along the corridor to the door marked 312, you enter the pin—which you somehow, miraculously remembered—and let yourself in.

It’s very quiet in the apartment.

“Oh my goodness.” Hweji breathes out softly, eyes wide in wonder as she follows you inside.

Okay, so you admit, Jiho’s apartment is pretty impressive.

But then again, he does get 70% of the money that your Mom sends, and plus, he models.

Hweji has recovered from her initial shock and has started running around, as per usual.

“Sohee! Come look at this!” she calls from the kitchen.

You wander over to her to look at what she’s looking at so intently—only to get hit in the face by a powerful stream of water.

Spluttering, you stare in shock—and complete horror—at an equally shocked Hweji, who is holding a long faucet of some type.

“Do Hweji,” you say through your teeth, “Would you like to die?”

Hweji shakes her head rapidly. “I didn’t know it would do that…”

Staring down at your clothes—which are completely soaked—you wish that you had never brought Hweji along.

You can’t think of anything intelligent to say, so you just snort and stomp off into the bathroom to look for a towel that you can dry yourself with.

By the time you’re dry and wrapped in a white towel, Hweji is sitting on the couch.

“Hey, Sohee, I was thinking…” she clears .

“No,” you say flatly.

“You haven’t even heard it yet! Look,” she says, standing up and dragging you to the window. Pointing outside, she smiles—it’s slightly scary.

“See that bakery over there? Let’s paper scissors rock and whoever loses has to go buy some food.”

You stare outside.

“It’s so far away,” you complain. The bakery is about a 10 minute walk away—approximately, because you’re not the best at estimation.

“So? How about it?” Hweji’s eyes are twinkling.

“Okay,” you agree grudgingly—only because you’re starving.

For some reason, you have this feeling that it’s not going to turn out well.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Your feeling turns out to be some sort of 6^th sense.

You manage to lose the paper scissors rock (you’re not even sure how you did yourself) and when you call for a rematch, you manage to lose that as well.

And that is precisely why you are trudging down the road to the bakery, clad in your brother’s pullover, your brother’s sweatpants, and your brother’s beanie.

It was Hweji’s brilliant idea—to dress up as a guy.

You knew none of Hweji’s ideas would ever turn out good, but since Hweji wouldn’t strip and let you wear her clothes and your only other option was to go out in a towel, you opted for the dressing up as a guy.

Your long hair tucked into a—your brother’s—beanie, you stood in front of the mirror listening to Hweji telling you that you look much more attractive as a guy.

Which,you thought despairingly, was true.

It’s not like you ever bothered to put makeup on, anyway, much to the dismay of Hweji, who views makeup—and boys—as her life.

You’re ambling along, hands tucked into your pockets when you manage to overhear 2 girls whispering about some hot guy.

Glancing over at them, you try—not very successfully—to look around without being suspicious, but don’t see no hot guy. The road is empty, apart from you—and the two girls.

Glancing around again, you meet their gazes and they giggle and smile and simper like 12 year old girls meeting their crush.

“He looked at us!”

“Oh my gosh, we should go talk to him. Go—” one of the girls is pushed forward by her friend and she comes tripping towards you, smiling in a manner that is probably supposed to be seductive.

That’s when you realize—in horror—that the hottie they’re talking about, is you.

“Hi, oppa~ We’re just going to head to the club up the road,” the girl giggles. You can feel a headache coming on. “Would you like to come with us?” she bats her eyelashes, reaching to link her arm with yours.

You dodge away. “Uh, actually, I’m not—” you try to explain, but she doesn’t let you.

“Come on oppa, it’ll be fun~” she pouts.

You resist the urge to gag.

You also resist the urge of yelling leave me alone.

“No, thanks,” you manage to say, and then you start jogging. Then, because you don’t feel that a jog is adequate enough for getting away from those girls, you start sprinting.

You can hear them screaming something or other behind you, and you look back—still running—to check if they're hot on your tail.

They're not.

Sighing in relief, you turn your head back around—and then there’s a sharp pain in your forehead and a yell and a scream and your vision blurs for a while.

You’re not sure what is happening, but you’re pretty sure you’re falling, and the scream you heard probably came from your own mouth.

You screw your eyes shut.

Thud.

You’re on the ground.

There’s something very heavy on you.

There’s also something cold—and soft—on your lips.

.

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