Greg doesn't know where his roommate, Josh, is. It's late in the evening and he can barely be bothered to look for him—so he pushes all worries about Josh aside. Besides, Josh is probably partying it up with their other friends while he stays at their dorm room, studying and nuking Hot Pockets. He cracks open his accounting book and starts to read while waiting for his Hot Pocket, but it's only a few minutes until he falls asleep on his desk.

He wakes up to the buzz of his phone, irritating and persistent—it's 3:50 AM and he's been sleeping for 45 minutes. Unaware that he actually set an alarm for himself, he trudges back to sleep and falls on his bed, limbs sprawled on top of his duvet. He doesn't bother unplugging the appliances and checking if the door is locked. He figures it will be alright.

Turns out, it won't be.

Rebecca is tired of being sane. Sanity is overrated, she tells herself, as she peruses through her neatly-written notes. She's tired of all the order in her textbooks, the routinely call of her mother every six in the morning and six in the evening. She's tired of the routine; she's tired of being safe.

And most of all, she's tired of waiting for Josh Chan to call her.

Rebecca met Josh at the boba place where she gets her caffeine fix everyday—she swears she's not an addict—when their orders gets mixed up. It happens twice—she misses her triple-shot espresso with no sugar and cream, and wants to throw away the cotton candy concoction that always has her name on it.

The third time it happens, she finally gets a hold of him and points an accusatory finger at him.

"Aha! You're the one who's been stealing my drinks!"

"I didn't steal anything!" It's an insistent tone, and Rebecca looks at the face of the guy who's been stealing her drinks. He has charming eyes, she thinks, and finds herself stepping over her feet.

"Uh, I, of course you didn't. What I meant to say was, you have my drink order." She points to the tall iced beverage in the guy's hand, and his eyes widen and brows furrow. "Oh, Is that why this tastes so different?"

Rebecca's surprised at his tone and decides that while he may not be the brightest bulb, he sure is cute. "Yup, you've had my drink order for three long days now. I really need my caffeine and you've taken it from me."

"No wonder I'm not happy. This tastes terrible," the guy says as he raises his—her—drink.

"Hey!"

"Who orders coffee at a boba place?" The guy asks her with a smirk, and she finds herself answering in defence.

"Who orders this straight shot of strawberry sugar?" She asks accusingly, and a glow spreads throughout her as the guy laughs.

"I do. I'm Josh," he stretches out his hand to her, and Rebecca grabs on to it. Fast.

"I'm Rebecca..

They talk for a few minutes until her next class, and Josh tells her that he'll call soon so they can share a table and boba again. She looks forward to it more than she realises.

It's been seventeen days since he told her that.

Is he sick? Terminal? Dead?

Rebecca knows that none o that makes sense, that Josh is a perfectly healthy, buff dude, but she can't help but make assumptions.

Until she realises that she never gave Josh her number. And she never asked for his.

So stupid.

She looks at the clock on her desk, and it flashes at her. 3:30 AM.

She calls her best friend for help. "Paula, I know it's late, but I need your help. Look up Josh for me."

"Where?" Paula's voice carries over the phone, strong and unwavering, despite the possibility that she might have just woken her up. She feels just a tad bit sorry.

"In the residential database."

"Are you crazy? That's confidential, private information!" Paula bellows at her, and she rolls her eyes. "Why do you want it anyway?"
"Because I forgot to give him my number and he hasn't called me yet and he told me he would! He told me! We had a great time when we met and he hasn't called me yet, and so I need you to give me his address so I can go to his dorm and surprise him."

"Whoa, okay. Give me a second." She hears faint tapping and the murmur of a man, but she files it away for their next conversation. Josh is far more important. "Okay, he lives at Sproul. Third floor. You can ask the RA but it's the last room down the hall."

"Right or left?"

"Right. Good luck."

"Thanks." Had it been any other person, she'd be confused with the good luck comment, but it's Paula. They understand each other best.

She changes out of the sushi-patterned pyjamas and into a pink satin chemise, with lace trimming the edges. It's something she brought out of curiosity and sheer will after she graduated, and kept from her mom. As she grabs her keys and purse, her heart starts to pound.

Oh my God, what am I doing?

She doesn't know, but there's a driving force in her, spreading through her veins, giving her courage.

And she knows she has to—wants to—do it.

It's time to see Josh again.