I didn't walk into the house; I shuffled in like a reanimated corpse.
The smell of soybean paste stew hit me, rich and savory. For the first time in weeks, Mr. Lee was actually sitting at the dining table, not at the hospital. He was wearing casual clothes, a rare sight, and ladling soup into bowls.
"San-ah! You're late," Mr. Lee beamed, his kind eyes crinkling. "I came home early to cook. Come, sit."
"Where have you been?" Ha-neul appeared from the kitchen, holding a bowl of rice. She narrowed her eyes behind her glasses. "You missed Modern Music History. And Sight Singing. And your phone has been vibrating on your desk for eight hours. Do you know how many notifications you have?"
I looked at them. I looked at the delicious food.
My brain tried to form a sentence. Recorded with G-Dragon. Almost died at Hanyeong. Need sleep.
Instead, what came out was a groan.
"No... speak... Korean..." I mumbled, swaying on my feet.
I walked past the dining table, ignoring Mr. Lee's concerned "San-ah?" and Ha-neul's indignant "Hey, I'm talking to you!"
I climbed the stairs, opened my door, and collapsed face-first onto the bed. I didn't even take off my shoes. The darkness took me before I finished exhaling.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
I jolted awake, flailing my arms.
Sunlight was streaming through the window, blinding me. I sat up and immediately regretted it. My neck was stiff, and I felt something scratchy against my skin.
I looked down. I was still wearing my Kirin Arts uniform. My shirt was wrinkled beyond recognition, my tie was a noose around my neck, and one of my shoes was still dangling off my left foot.
"Oh no," I rasped.
I looked at the clock. 7:45 AM.
"Blyat!SHIBAL!"
I scrambled off the bed, tripping over the other shoe. I tore off the uniform—blazer, shirt, tie, trousers—and stuffed the sweaty, wrinkled pile into my laundry basket.
I needed a shower. Now.
In my haste, I didn't grab a towel or a robe. I just grabbed my toiletry bag and sprinted out of my room wearing nothing but my black boxer briefs.
I whipped around the corner into the hallway.
THUMP.
I collided with something soft but solid.
"Oof!"
Ha-neul stumbled back, clutching her school bag. She looked up. Her eyes went wide. She stared at my bare chest, then lowered her gaze to the black boxers, then snapped her eyes back up to my face.
Her face turned the color of a ripe strawberry.
"Y-You!" she shrieked, covering her eyes. "Again?! Are you a flasher?! Is this a hobby?!"
"Emergency!" I yelled, side-stepping her. "Late! Very late!"
"Put some clothes on, you pervert!" she screamed at my retreating back.
"It's aerodynamics!" I shouted back, slamming the bathroom door.
I took the fastest shower in human history. Three minutes. Soap, rinse, cold blast, done.
When I ran back to my room (with a towel this time), Ha-neul was gone. The house was silent.
I threw on a fresh uniform, grabbed my backpack, shoved my phone (finally) into my pocket, and bolted out the door.
I sprinted down the hill toward the bus stop. I could see the familiar green bus idling at the curb.
"Wait! Wait!" I waved my hand.
The doors hissed shut. The bus pulled away, leaving a cloud of exhaust in my face.
"No..." I slumped, hands on my knees. "That was the last one before the bell."
I was stranded. The walk to Kirin was at least forty minutes. I was going to be late. Again. Mr. Kang and his yellow ruler were going to have a field day.
VROOOOOOM.
A low, guttural roar echoed up the street.
A sleek, black motorbike came tearing around the corner. The rider was wearing a matte black helmet and a leather jacket over his Kirin uniform. He leaned into the curve with practiced ease, the machine screaming power.
It was a beast of a bike. Expensive. Fast.
As the bike zoomed past the bus stop, the rider turned his head slightly. Through the tinted visor, I felt a pair of eyes lock onto me—standing there, pathetic and breathless.
The bike didn't slow down. It sped up, disappearing down the road.
"Great," I kicked a pebble. "Everyone has cool wheels but me."
Then, the sound of the engine changed. The pitch dropped.
I looked up.
Fifty meters down the road, the bike had stopped. The rider balanced it with one leg, idling the engine.
He sat there for a moment, looking forward. Then, he shook his head, as if arguing with himself.
He spun the bike around in a tight, aggressive U-turn and drove slowly back toward me.
He pulled up to the curb and flipped the visor up.
Myung-dae glared at me.
"You look like a lost puppy," he spat, though there was a twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth that he quickly suppressed.
"Myung-dae!" I grinned.
"Get on," he interrupted, jerking his head toward the back seat. "Before I come to my senses and leave you here."
"You came back for me!"
"I came back because if you're late, Ms. Choi will yell at us for having an irresponsible frontman," he lied smoothly. "Jump in. Or... hop on. Whatever."
He tossed me a spare helmet that was strapped to the side.
"Hold on tight," he warned as I scrambled onto the seat behind him. "And don't hug me. Grab the bars."
"Aye aye, Captain!" I clicked the helmet strap.
Myung-dae revved the engine. The bike lurched forward, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, I was speeding through Seoul. But this time, I wasn't running away.
I was riding with my bassist. And despite the wind whipping past us, I couldn't stop smiling.