PITY PARTY FOR TWO / @hdcheorin
minah bursts into the dorm like she's been fired from a cannon. the door slams open, ricocheting off the wall with a kind of finality that implies something has happened. though with minah, "something" could range from world-shifting heartbreak to a minor inconvenience at the bubble tea stand. there's a bang (her knee, the desk), a thud (her bag, dramatically yeeted), and then, in her signature tone of voice (somewhere between an unmedicated theatre kid and a girl who's just discovered sarcasm) comes the declaration: "do not be alarmed, but i've just committed several crimes, mostly emotional."
she's already halfway across the room, trailing the scent of watermelon bubble-gum, cheap dry shampoo, and faint disappointment. her hair doing that vaguely electrocuted thing it does when she's been out in the wind too long. her shirt's buttoned wrong, bra strap showing, one glittery earring dangling like it's trying to make a break for it. "can we have a chat? like, a real one. not one of those 'why does the rice cooker smell like trauma' chats. i mean a capital c conversation. because babe, i am-" she pauses dramatically, throws herself across chaerin's bed (ignores the 'get off' look) "spiralling. in heels."
she flings an arm over her eyes like she's starring in a black box production of les misérables: glitter edition, sighs loud enough to register on the richter scale, and then peeks from beneath her elbow.
"it started fine. like, suspiciously fine. i was just going to nayeon's stupid art thing, don't look at me like that, she bribed me with soju and smoked almonds-and next thing i know i'm sat on the floor of some gallery in itaewon, talking to a man who smells like bergamot and daddy issues about the meaning of pink."
she sits up suddenly. wild-eyed. "you do know pink has meaning, right? it's not just a colour. it's a statement. it's rage with good cheekbones. anyway. this guy, he had one of those voices, like if velvet could gaslight you, starts talking about my aura, and how i've got 'unresolved creative tension' and 'lunar sensuality' and all that bollocks. and then, like a moron, i kissed him. chaerin, i kissed him. while holding a cheese cube. it was deranged."
she flops back down, muffled scream into a pillow.
"and the worst part? he ghosted me. mid-evening. like. left me on read while i was still chewing camembert. i've known war, but i've never known humiliation like this. i was fully about to ask him his star sign. i was gonna give him a nickname. he was gonna be in the notes app." long silence. minah wriggles until she's cocooned under chaerin's duvet like a pathetic, slightly glittery caterpillar of regret. "…so anyway, i need to borrow your hoodie. the soft one. and also possibly your soul. i'm emotionally bankrupt. also, do you think i should get bangs again or is that too 'i'm going through something'?" she peeks out again. eyes glossy but defiant. all puppy dog and middle finger. all bruised ego and biting humour. "…also i may have eaten your entire stash of honey butter chips. they were a casualty of heartbreak. forgive me or fight me. no in-between."
