Min ran a hand through his jet-black hair, sighing inaudibly. Keiba watched him curiously out of the corner of her eye. He was tall, his height reaching at least six feet, and handsome too—even with his hair mussed like that—but he had an odd aura. Since she’d shaken hands with him, she got the sense that he was really tense about something. She knew it wasn’t her place to pry; besides, she had her own demons to deal with, so she couldn’t exactly judge. She’d let it be until they got to know each other more.

“No.” she said.

His dark brown eyes, so like hers in color and in depth, slid to her. “What?”

“To answer your question earlier. I haven’t gotten knots in it in a few years.”

“You’ve had that thing for years?” he asked, astounded.

She nodded.

“Why?”

“Well, my mom always used to say that taking care of the little things can directly correlate to how you take care of the bigger things later.”

“Okay yeah… but string?”

“Well, she cut this string from her knitting. I cherish it because it was one of the last things she’d given me before she died.”

“Oh.” His voice softened. “How did she die?”

Keiba’s smile slowly vanished as she remembered that fateful evening several years ago. She remembered the sound of glass shattering, the taste of blood in , and the rage as someone received rewards for deeds that should never be thanked. For just that moment, her fury was all-consuming. This was the side of herself that she tried to hide. She struggled to contain herself as a cloud drifted lazily in front of the sun, momentarily shrouding the world in shadow.

When she didn’t immediately reply, Min looked down at her to find an uncharacteristic scowl sharpening her features. She then shook her head to dispel whatever dark thoughts had crossed her mind.

“That’s a story for another time.” She murmured.

Silence befell them. There was something oddly dark and foreign about it. Awkwardness was preferable to… whatever this was.  

He cleared his throat as they were coming up on the dorms. “Do you need to set your things in your room?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She said.

“What dorm are you in?” he asked.

She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and gave it to him.

“Crestmoore. Room 306.” He read. “Okay, cool. That means we’re in the same building. And the same floor.” He thought they probably did that on purpose.

“Yeah? Neat.” Her smile was back. The sun was back out too now. “That means I can bug you whenever I need to.” She teased.

He sent her a look.

She grinned. “Just kidding.”

He led her inside Crestmoore and pressed the up arrow on the elevator. “So what are you majoring in?” She asked as they got inside.

“Pre-law.” He replied, pressing the third floor button.

“You want to be a lawyer?”

He nodded once.

“That’s cool.”

“What about you?”

They stepped out as the elevator dinged.

“I want to major in musical studies.” She said. “Like composition and performing. I’m minoring in French.”

“French?” he repeated, intrigued. “Say something to me.”

“Pourquoi? Tu ne sauras pas quoi je dis.”She said with perfect accent.

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Exactly.” She grinned. She walked into her room, set her things down onto the unclaimed bed, and walked out. “Do you speak any other languages?”

He raised a brow, leading them back to the elevator. “Is this a serious question?”

She bit her lip, still smiling expectantly.

“Korean.” He replied.

“Say something to me.”

“Eotteohge ma-eum-e deu syeossnayo?”

She blinked. “Uhh… Quoi?”

He smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Touché.”

“I understood that.”

She laughed. “I would imagine.” They stepped off. “So where to now?”

“Cafeteria?”

“Definitely. Girl’s gotta’ know where to eat.” She joked.

He took in her full-figured form and decided it suited her. Though he found himself wishing her clothes, a white boyfriend t and dark jeans, weren’t so baggy. Why not flaunt what you had?

He said, “The music room’s on the way.”

“Oh! I should’ve brought violoncelle!” She exclaimed.

“What?”

“My cello. I named her violoncelle because it’s the French word for cello.”

“Huh. Okay...”

“What?”

“You usually name the things you own?”

“Yeah-huh.” She nodded. “I give them a gender too.”

“Why?”

“It forms a bond.” She said, as though this were completely normal. “But I only name the important things, like my cello, my phone, and my laptop.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. Do you have a car?”

“Yeah.”

"You like it?"

"It gets me from A to B."

“What is it?”

“It’s a 1998 Toyota Tacoma.”

“What color?”

“Black.”

“How does it run?”

“Pretty smoothly, I guess.” He paused. “Wait. Why the hell are you asking me all this?” And why the hell am I answering?

“’Cause I’m naming your car for you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” She tilted her head at him. “Do you mind?”

“Well,” he acceded. “Not really…”

“Okay. Then I dub it ‘Midnight’. It’s good ‘cause it’s a uni name.”

He shook his head at her quirkiness. “You’re really weird, but okay, fine. ‘Midnight’ it is then.”

“Yay!” She giggled. “I was gonna call it ‘Blackey’, but that would be racist.”

His laugh surprised him. This was the first time in at least two weeks that he’d really laughed. Sun-Hee hadn’t been able to bring much more than a smile and maybe a chuckle from him. Yet this girl, who he hadn’t even known for two hours, practically had him in tears.

He didn’t know what that meant, but he figured it was something significant.