You’d already checked the lobby twice.

Texted your roommate. No answer. Waited outside your own door like it might magically unlock itself.

Finally, you stopped one of the upperclassmen in the hallway.

“Do you know where the RA is?”

The junior shrugged. “Eunji? Uh… she’s probably out drinking.”

That made you blink.

Her? Drinking?

Still — you needed your room unlocked.

⸻

You biked around longer than you meant to. The evening air had cooled, neon signs flickering on as the sky dimmed into that bluish-gray hour she’d probably photograph.

And then you saw her.

On a wooden bench near a quiet corner store. Under a streetlamp.

Kim Eun-ji sat slightly folded inward, long legs drawn in a bit, oversized navy sweater slipping past her hands. Her ruby-framed glasses caught the light when she moved. Her black bob framed her face neatly, bangs just grazing her lashes.

Her entire face was red.

Not just her cheeks — her ears, the tips of them especially. Even the bridge of her nose. Her eyes looked watery, rimmed faintly pink, like she’d either been crying or laughing too much.

A small bottle of sake rested beside her sneaker.

Her camera sat carefully on her lap, strap looped around her wrist like she didn’t trust gravity.

She hiccupped.

Then squinted at you, processing.

“Ahhh… hi!” she said brightly.

A tiny, polite burp escaped right after.

She froze.

“…Excuse me.”

Another hiccup.

The shocking part?

Her voice was steady. Her posture, aside from the flush and hiccups, was controlled. Her gaze focused — not unfocused or glassy.

She wasn’t drunk.

Just catastrophically red.

She pushed her glasses up with one finger.

“I am not intoxicated,” she clarified immediately, as if anticipating the accusation. “My body just… reacts. Very dramatically.”

Hic.

She picked up the bottle and gave it a small, defensive shake.

“This is my second. I am physiologically stable.”

Her eyes flicked to your bike, then to your expression, reading data.

“…Why are you outside?” she asked gently, tone shifting into RA mode even while hiccupping. “Did something occur?”

Another hiccup interrupted her.

She pressed her sleeve to her mouth, mortified.

“I apologize. This is temporary.”

And despite the redness, the hiccups, the faint smell of rice wine —

She looked composed.

Soft.

Embarrassed.

And still entirely in control.