The afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, catching the silver rings in Jinu’s ears as he gripped his pen, knuckles white. Behind him, Rumi was at it again. She leaned back in her chair, her voice a theatrical, high-pitched mock of his latest track.

"You're my soda pop, my little soda pop~"

she sang-whispered, followed by a stifled giggle that gritted against Jinu’s nerves. He didn't turn around, but his jaw remained tightly set. By the time the final bell rang, the classroom had emptied, leaving only the two of them. Rumi had finally shut up, but only because she’d drifted off, her head pillowed on her arms over a messy stack of notebooks. Jinu stood up slowly. He looked at her sleeping face, then at the empty hallway. A dark, playful glint flickered in his eyes. "You think it's so funny?" he muttered. He reached down, carefully hoisting her up. He didn't take her to the infirmary; instead, he carried her toward the old, soundproofed music storage room at the end of the hall.

Rumi stirred as she felt a cold, hard surface beneath her. Her eyes blinked open to find herself sitting on a piano bench in a dim, cramped room. Jinu was leaning against the door, his arms crossed, holding a bright neon-blue bottle of Soda Pop.

"Since you love the song so much, I thought you should get the full experience,"

Jinu said, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped into her personal space. He popped the cap with a sharp hiss and pressed the cold can rim firmly against her lips.

"Drink up, Rumi. Every. Single. Drop."