#moncoeurseo

hangover is a word foreign to agatha. not that she doesn't know what they are but that she never really have the displeasure of experiencing it. she's someone who holds her alcohol well, ever aware of the amount she drinks every time she's been invited to a party. but not tonight.

all agatha remembers was minseong cheating in beer pong, drinking an insane amount of piss liquor and then seoyun heaving her through the campus towards gaeum building.

she doesn't even have to open her eyes to know that lol who ever is making noise in the kitchen was none other than her best friend. agatha snuggles into her covers some more, already used to sleeping over, relishing in the comfort and warmth. she could feel a minor headache but she knows it will soon go away once she drinks water. and she definitely needs a lot of water.

staying over at seoyun's wasn't foreign to agatha. she could've walked to her door herself even if she was drunk out of her mind but she probably wasn't even in the state to walk if seoyun had to drag her here. flashes of her behaviour last night fills her memory and mentally, agatha was already slapping herself for being so careless.

fashion isn’t something hwaryun cares too much about, just put on some nice comfortable clothes and be done with it, right? then a decent outfit for more formal occasions… it’s pretty simple in his head. so when it comes down to the craft, he can’t quite understand the intricacies behind fashion, but he respects the people who weaves their ideas into life with their hands. designing, sewing, picking fabrics and all that; it isn’t an easy job.

stepping into the room of a fashion design major is pretty interesting, really. there’s so much things going on with papers, sewing boxes, mannequins, fabric and more fabric… it looks like the workshop of someone who’s poured their heart and soul into. hwaryun thinks about how much more colourful this place is, beyond his eyes. it’s times like this when he wishes he could see a little more colour.

though, his purpose today is pretty simple: be seoyun’s model!

“so this is where all those rolls of fabric goes…” hwaryun mumbles, almost in awe. he remembers when the girl dragged him to go shopping and assisted her in carrying materials. he listened to her shopping ramblings without much complaint. most of it was flying over his head. it’s not that he wasn’t interested, he simply… could not understand. but he didn’t wanted to be rude… so he listened to everything! and somehow, he’s here as her model…?

thinking about it, it’ll be the perfect chance to get to know more about fashion!

one second, he’s shimmying into the fitted slacks he reserved specifically for his nine a.m. mock trial — tailored, pressed, not a cheap purchase in the least — and the next, he hears the unmistakable death cry of overstretched fabric coming apart at the seams. literally. between his thighs.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe. just stands there, pants halfway up, staring at the ceiling like maybe if he stays still long enough, the universe will ctrl+z his life. it was too fucking early for this.

minseong only has forty seven minutes before they're supposed to start. how convenient that he lives a good thirty-something minutes off campus, which means no time to run back and grab a different pair from his apartment. his gray sweatpants taunt him from his duffel bag while he glares down at them like all of this is their fault — that he can't wear what he slept in during a trial. fuck.

fuck. fuck. he curses under his breath and runs a nervous hand through his hair, which he'd spent way more time trying to perfect this morning compared to making sure that the pants he'd gotten actually fit him properly. now, standing in the cramped restroom stall with his pants pooled at his ankles with the expectation of being downstairs in the courtroom in just a little over half an hour, he already knows judge kwon was not going to hear another excuse about how he just-so-happened to rip his pants right before his mock trial.

he opens talktalk to message reiko in a panic — not that she would be of any help (or even awake, probably). his eyes instantly latch on to han seoyun's name in his message history like a capsized sailor grasping to his ship for dear life. he doesn't bother messaging — not enough time. again, completely fucking weird for him to be calling her out of the blue so early on a saturday morning, but god damn it, he can't stand in this stall with his pants down forever.

"seoyun-ah." relief floods his chest so fast it makes him nauseous when he hears the call connect. "i’ll pay you. whatever you want. just — please. i need your help now. i’m in the law building, third floor bathroom, and my fucking pants just ripped. like, ripped-ripped. i have a mock trial in forty minutes and there is no backup outfit. none. zero."

his voice cracks in pure, naked desperation, like he's on the verge of tears or a public indecency charge. "can you — like — sew it? here? now? i’ll literally get on my hands and knees and risk giving myself MRSA on this disgusting-ass tile floor if you just show up. i am begging you."

hera is moving back to her dorm.

not that she ever moved out really, she just hasn't been sleeping there in the last few months (eight, actually) even though she'd already paid for it. it was definitely helpful to be living on campus during year one and two but soon her schedule was packed with late-night filming that it only made sense for her to step out of the campus for a bit.

now with her final semester approaching, she made sure to clear her schedule enough that she can focus on wrapping up her degree. she doesn't want to have done all this work (staying up even later just to finish her classes online) just to not graduate in the end. she's sure that the media would go on a frenzy just to smear her name and she'd been so good at keeping any negative news at bay.

one thing does bother hera and that is inconveniencing her next door neighbour who sometimes gives her homecooked meals. she never refused of course, not when homecooked meals are her favourite type of food having grown up with her grandmother's skilled hands (not only in writing hit romance shows, but also hit five star dishes in hera's tastebuds).

the last time she saw han seoyun, the snow was still on the ground and it is now the tail end of summer. embarrassed as she was, she peeks her head out of her own dorm to check the latter's, straining her ears to see if anyone was home.