Ha-neul walked beside me in silence, her eyes glued to the side of my face. She was holding her strawberry milk with both hands, looking like a stunned lemur.
"Stop staring," I said, adjusting the garment bag over my shoulder. "You'll trip."
"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice filled with genuine suspicion. "And what have you done with the idiot who lives in my house?"
She reached out and poked my cheek.
"Did you get surgery?" she gasped. "In four hours? How did you pay for it? Did you sell a kidney? Or did you rob a bank? Is that why you're wearing a suit? To rob a bank in style?"
"It's a haircut, Ha-neul. And some BB cream," I sighed, swatting her hand away. "And stop wandering around the neighborhood this late. It's dangerous for a girl to be out alone in pajamas."
She snapped out of her daze, blinking rapidly.
"I'm not a child! We ran out of strawberry milk. It was an emergency. My brain needs sugar to process complex integrals."
"Next time, text me. I'll buy it," I grumbled, channeling my inner older brother.
We turned the corner past the neighborhood park.
The streetlamps buzzed overhead, casting pools of yellow light on the empty swings.
But the basketball court wasn't empty.
Under the lone floodlight, a figure was shooting hoops.
He moved with a lazy, practiced rhythm—dribble, spin, shoot, swish.
He was wearing a black sleeveless tank top, sweat glistening on his arms, and large noise-canceling headphones over his ears.
It was Myung-dae.
"Is that... Myung-dae?" Ha-neul squinted.
"Shh," I put a finger to my lips. A mischievous grin spread across my face. "Watch this."
I handed my garment bag to a confused Ha-neul.
I crept toward the chain-link fence.
My shoes made soft clicking sounds on the pavement, but the ambient noise of the city—and his headphones—masked my approach.
Myung-dae retrieved the ball.
He stood at the free-throw line, closing his eyes, centering himself.
I walked right up behind him, leaning in close to his ear.
"BOO!"
Myung-dae jumped a solid foot in the air.
The ball went flying, bouncing off the rim and rolling away into the darkness.
He spun around, fists raised, eyes wide with adrenaline.
"Aish!" he ripped his headphones off. "Do you want to die?!"
From the sidewalk, Ha-neul burst into laughter.
Myung-dae blinked, adjusting to the light.
He looked at Ha-neul laughing, then he looked at me.
He stared.
He frowned.
He scanned the styled hair, the Kirin blazzer, the fitted trousers, and the face that was currently free of its usual messy charm.
He didn't recognize me.
He lowered his fists, looking back at Ha-neul.
"Who is this?" Myung-dae asked, jerking his chin toward me. "Your new boyfriend?"
Ha-neul laughed harder, clutching her stomach. "B-boyfriend?"
Myung-dae looked me up and down again, assessing the suit and the broad shoulders.
He let out a scoff.
"Well," he muttered, picking up his towel. "At least he looks better than Jae-min. That guy looked like a wet rat. This one actually looks like he showers"
Ha-neul let out a sound that was half-squeal, half-howl. She was practically doubling over.
She wheezed. "He thinks... oh my god..."
I couldn't hold it anymore.
I smirked.
"Thanks for the compliment, Bassist. I'll be sure to shower daily from now on."
Myung-dae froze.
His eyes widened.
He took a step closer, peering at my face.
"San?" he breathed. "Motuzenko?"
"In the flesh," I bowed theatrically.
"What the hell happened to you?" Myung-dae asked, looking horrified and impressed at the same time.
"Chae-rin," I said simply. "She kidnapped me after rehearsal. Apparently, my previous face was 'unacceptable' for her stage."
"Chae-rin did this?" Myung-dae whistled low. "The Ice Witch has taste. I almost respected you for a second there."
He picked up his basketball, spinning it on his finger. He looked at me, then at the hoop.
"You're still in your uniform though," he noted.
"Yeah. Just heading home."
"Wanna play?" Myung-dae asked suddenly.
He bounced the ball to me.
I caught it.
The texture of the rubber felt good against my palms.
It had been days since I'd done anything physical.
My body was itching to move.
"One on one?" I asked, loosening my tie completely and stuffing it into my pocket.
"First to ten," Myung-dae challenged, a competitive glint in his eyes.
"You're on."
I turned back to the sidewalk where Ha-neul was finally recovering from her laughing fit.
"Ha-neul-ah," I called out sweetly.
"What?" she wiped a tear from her eye.
I walked over and unslung my heavy backpack.
I placed it onto her shoulders.
Then, I grabbed the garment bag containing the suit jacket and my other clothes—which was surprisingly heavy—and draped it over her arms.
Then I added the bag with the new shoes.
She buckled under the sudden weight, her knees knocking together.
"Oof! Yah!" she struggled to balance the pile. "What is this?!"
I finished her with my blazzer thrown on top
"Bring that home for me, yeah?" I patted her head, careful not to mess up my own hair. "Be a good little sister. Oppa needs to defend his honor."
"Are you insane?!" she shrieked, her face turning red.
"Thanks! Don't drop the suit, it costs more than my life!"
I turned and jogged onto the court, the leather soles of my dress shoes scuffing against the asphalt.
Myung-dae chuckled, shaking his head as he watched Ha-neul waddle furiously up the hill, looking like a pack mule.
"I'm going to kill him!" her voice echoed down the street.
"She definitely likes you," Myung-dae smirked, getting into a defensive stance.