Seo Minho woke with a start.
His head throbbed, and his temples pounded like a marching band had set up camp inside his skull. The early morning light leaking through the curtains was cruel, and very unforgiving.
He groaned and sat up slowly, pressing his palm to his forehead. His throat was dry, his tongue heavy, his stomach queasy.
A hangover.
"Brilliant," he muttered hoarsely, flopping back against the pillow. "Absolutely brilliant, Minho. After insulting those men for getting drunk. Guess you're actually no better than them."
Fragments of last night flickered in his memory, but they were hazy at best. The restaurant… soju… far too much soju. More than he could handle.
He remembered the noises the group made as they left, still chattering away. He remembered digging into his meal.
And then—ah. His eyes snapped open.
The delivery girl. The waitress with the mask.
He remembered leaning against her, maybe even falling on her. He remembered her steadying him, her voice sharp but not unkind. He remembered… being dragged? Groaning, he buried his face in his hands.
"She took me home, didn't she?" It was the only logical explanation as to how he had somehow gotten home last night, despite drinking himself to a stupour.
Embarrassing didn't even begin to cover how he felt. That she, the waitress had to take him home because he was too drunk to walk. How much did she see?
Suddenly feeling conscious, Minho's eyes scanned the room, searching for a potential red flag.
There was nothing so far, victory was almost his.
But it shattered as his eyes found the red bra Mirae had probably left behind. "Damn it." He groaned, louder this time, kicking the sheets off. She had most likely seen that.
His phone suddenly vibrated violently on the nightstand, and he reached for it, squinting at the caller ID.
Ryu Dasom.
Of course.
He contemplated ignoring it. But the ringing grated on his headache until he cursed under his breath and swiped to answer.
"What?" His voice came out gravelly.
"Good morning to you too, Oppa." Minho's soul almost left his body. Did she just call him oppa? Scary, brash Ryu Dasom?
"Don't call me that, Dasom."
A chuckled floated into the speaker. "We're engaged, no? To be married soon, so I don't see why I can't call you that. And besides, I just wanted to let you know I'll see you in school today."
"…What?"
"I thought you sharper than this, Minho. You shouldn't be surprised my father would have settled everything with Daehan university by now. And you know better than to think there is some way out of this for the both of us." She said.
Minho sat upright, ignoring the nausea swirling in his gut. She was right. Money could buy almost anything, and they were both stuck in this arrangement.
Two mere pawns.
Chess pieces.
Him, and Dasom.
"Okay, you've made your point," he stated, "so what will you do, law?"
"Oh, God forbid. I'm going with Culinary arts. I have always wanted to learn how to cook. I'll be joining the second year students."
Minho said nothing for a while, thinking to himself. If truly, she had decided to go with culinary arts, and join the second year students, she would be classmates with Park Haeun.
"Since you've suddenly gone mute, I shall take my leave. See you later, Seo Minho." She hung up without waiting for his reply.
Minho stared at the phone, processing all he had just learnt.
He smirked faintly despite his headache. That girl, Haeun, the one who had stylisly refused him, the one who had burned from defeat.
"Good," he muttered. "I'll poke her a little more."
Yes. Minho would taunt and push Haeun. Mostly for fun.
But also because he knew she would push back.
Minho yawned, leaning on his bed and shutting his eyes. But suddenly, a memory from last night stabbed at him again. A mask. A girl's voice. The one from Goyung Garden. The waitress.
He would need to apologize for causing her stress.
Seo Minho groaned, covering his face again. "You fool."
~
At campus, Park Haeun tried very hard to focus on the words spilling from the lecturer at the front of the room.
Psychology of Eating. A fascinating class, or at least, it would have been if her mind wasn't wandering places it shouldn't. She tapped her pen against her notebook, staring down at her half-written notes, and her thoughts slipped back to last night.
"Don't leave me with him."
His voice, cracked and broken, had echoed in her head since the moment she left his apartment. Who was "him"? What had Seo Minho meant?
"Haeun!"
Her name hissed from beside her. She blinked, snapping back to reality and turning her head to the side. Yuna's eyes were wide, drilling hers for answers.
But it was too late. The entire class was already staring at her, including the lecturer.
Professor Han Eunsook's sharp eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "Miss Park, perhaps you would like to share your thoughts with the class since you seem so absorbed in them?"
Heat rushed to Haeun's cheeks. She scrambled to her feet and bowed. "I-I'm sorry, professor. I wasn't paying attention."
A murmur of laughter rippled through the room, and Professor Han's lips pursed. "Then perhaps you can pay attention by yourself. You will complete a written assignment on today's lecture, alone."
"Yes, professor." Haeun bowed again before sinking into her chair.
The class moved on, but her heart was still thudding from the embarrassment.
Yuna leaned closer once the professor turned away. "We will talk after our next class. Ten-thirty to twelve, okay?"
Haeun nodded mutely, still scribbling notes as punishment.
~
By the time noon rolled around, they stepped out of Restaurant Management & Service, the sun warming them. Haeun was silent, hugging her notebook to her chest.
"So," Yuna said casually, then glanced sideways. "What were you thinking about back there?"
"Nothing important," Haeun muttered.
"Liar." Yuna stopped walking, forcing Haeun to pause too. Her gaze was firm, and it looked like she was on the edge of becoming livid. "Unni, I've known you for over a year now. And you always keep secrets. Why is that?"
Haeun opened her mouth but froze. How was she supposed to answer that?
Choi Yuna was her bestfriend, yes. But generally, Haeun had a really hard time opening up to people, no matter how much they mattered to her.
Before she could find words, whispers rippled around them. Students turned, eyes darting forward.
Haeun followed their gaze.
A girl walked through the crowd. Her short spiky hair caught the sunlight, dyed the faintest silver at the tips.
A leather jacket hugged her broad shoulders, rolled-up sleeves exposing toned forearms. Loose jeans and combat boots completed the look, and she looked more like she was about to mount a motorcycle than attend a cooking class.
Haeun blinked in shock. "Who is that supposed to be?"
The girl's eyes scanned the space until they landed on her. Without hesitation, she strode forward, boots clicking against the pavement.
She stopped right in front of them, lips curling into a smile.
"Hello," she said smoothly. "I'm Ryu Dasom."