"What the—what are you doing here?"

A pillow slams into the back of your head, pulling you from your pleasant dreams. You groggily open your eyes and are assailed with more pillow pummels.

"Get out of my bed you creep! How did you even get in here? Oh my God did you see me naked?"

You try to sit up in bed but a pillow smacks you in the face. Twin rivulets of blood immediately spout from your nostrils as you cover your head.

"Get out! Get OUT! You're bleeding on my Egyptian five thousand thread cotton sheets!"

You frantically pinch your nose and tumble out of bed onto the hard floor, gushing blood everywhere. Opening one eye, you are shocked to see that Krystal is indeed butt naked, with only a bed sheet covering her body. The whole situation would be funny if you didn't feel like you'd bleed out soon.

"Hey, I—I can explain if you just give me a chance to!" you screech as Krystal jumps off her bed with her sheet and advances towards you with her pillow raised.

"Explain what? There doesn't need to be an explanation! You came in here and tried to have sex with me while I blacked out. I'm going to call campus security right now and—"

"STOP! LET ME TALK!" you shout, your voice cracking with effort.

That stopped her for a second. It would have to be enough.

"Look, I don't know why you're assuming that I took advantage of you, but last night I brought you back because you were too drunk and I made you some grilled cheeses and put you to sleep. And for the record, you asked me to put on your PJs for you and cuddle and I swear that's all we did. I don't know where your clothes are," you speak as quickly as you can before she starts attacking you again.

"How can I believe you?" she sneers, holding the sheet more tightly around her body.

"You keep your PJs in that drawer, you have my red handkerchief in your jeans pocket, and can you please not hit me anymore?" you plead thickly through the blood.

Her face softens a touch as she lowers the pillow.

"The bathroom is to your right. Go clean up and then strip my bed."

You freeze, in the process of getting up, blood pounding in your ears.

"Excuse me? Strip your bed? You hit me in the first place! I'm not your freaking slave!" you argue.

She looks aghast.

"But it's your blood! How can I touch that? Ugh, never mind I'm going to call housekeeping."

You watch her as she picks up a phone mounted on the wall and dials a number.

"Spoiled brat," you mutter as you head to her restroom.

"I heard that!" she shouts as the door closes behind you.

You smirk and run the water, cleaning your face. The bathroom is spotlessly clean. Neat rows of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face wash, pumice stones, bath bombs, essential oils, and more line the twelve shelves recessed in the walls. The shower has a rain ceiling and the sunken marble bathtub has gold faucets. Fluffy white towels hang on silver racks and monogrammed bathrobes peek out from the closet. You take a glance in the closet and discover that it's three times the size of your dorm room, every inch of space absolutely filled with designer bags and luxury brands. The richness of the bathroom disgusts you and it is with a certain vehemence that you twist the sink faucet shut and march back into the room.

Krystal has on a white shirt now and has her back turned towards you, examining something in her hands. You survey her sheets, trying to find how much blood you spilled. There, in the middle of the bed, you find a single drop the size of a pinprick. What a princess. Nevertheless, you did feel a bit guilty about spoiling her perfect bed, but that guilt is tempered by your anger at her accusing you of things you'd never even dream of doing. Especially after what happened to Hyuna.

"What?"

You're broken out of your reverie with Krystal staring intently at you.

"Huh?" you ask.

"Your face went all sad. What?"

"Nothing," you whisper, sorrow lapping your voice.

She rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders.

"Fine. Be all gloomy then. By the way, I believe you," she states matter of factly, waving your red handkerchief at you.

"Okay," you tacitly say.

"And I'm sorry for assuming you did something to me. That wasn't fair so I'm sorry," she follows up in a single breath.

That catches you off guard. You didn't expect Krystal of all people to apologize. Well, maybe you did after you saw a cute side of hers last night, but you passed that off as her drunken state. This apology rattled you because you didn't know what to think of her anymore.

"I forgive you. I guess it would be easy to assume that since you were naked and I was in your bed and you blacked out," you respond, walking forward to collect your handkerchief.

"Yeah but still, I'm sorry. No, let me wash it for you with these sheets. The housekeeper's coming now. I'll send it back to you after it's done."

She tosses the handkerchief onto her bed and gets up. You nod and move to collect your backpack. A part of you wants to ask her what she remembers from last night, but you refrain. To ask would be to try to become friends. And there was no way you guys could ever surmount the walls between you two.

"Okay, seriously, what's wrong? Your face got even sadder and it's making me sad so just spit it out Amber."

You stare at her, one hand trying to force your foot into your shoe that's three sizes too small for you.

"How do you know my name?" you probe, wondering if she'd give the same answer as last night.

"I know everyone's name," she shoots back a tad too nonchalantly.

You feel disappointed, but you don't know why. Maybe because you wanted to feel like you were special, like she wanted to know your name for you. You shake your head, trying to focus. No use thinking those thoughts.

"Are you actually not going to tell me?" she asks folding her arms across her chest.

"What if I just don't want to? It's not very nice of you to keep asking if I'm not comfortable talking about it," you reply curtly.

"So you are sad. I'll stop asking then. Glad to confirm you're sad," she tosses over her shoulder as she goes to the bathroom.

Again, you feel disappointed. She gave up too easily on you. You wanted her to keep asking to make sure you were all right. But you stopped her. So it was really your fault she didn't push too hard. But still, you couldn't help wanting her to ask. You didn't know where this passive aggressiveness came from, except that you didn't like it. As you finish putting on your pinching shoes and shoulder your backpack, she emerges, encased in a bathrobe.

"Where are you going? And I didn't realize your feet were so small," she points out.

"Back to my poor life. And my feet aren't. I just have these shoes," you say, wincing.

"Why?" she seems genuinely confused, tilting her head to the side so her long hair falls off of one shoulder.

"They were cheaper in this size," you explain patiently.

"Oh."

This exchange rankles you. Again, the differences between you two are thrown into sharp relief. As if God were mocking you by showing you how impossible any sort of relationship between you two is. Annoyed, you swiftly turn on your heel and walk through the door, past her sitting room with the flat screen TV and distressed leather couches. Past the kitchen with the gleaming stainless steel appliances. Did she even need to cook? Past her shoe rack stuffed with red-soled Louboutins and limited edition Stan Smiths. You're just about to rush out the door when you hear her padding after you.

"Hey, um, do you want to go to brunch with me? I know a nice place in town," she offers suddenly.

You half turn and raise an eyebrow. So she did want to spend time with you after all. You'd accept this as a small victory.

"I don't have money to spend."

You regret what you said instantly. What was with you and pushing people away? You couldn't understand your stupidity. Now she'd just give up again and you'd never have a chance to talk to her. Ever.

She bites her lip and fiddles with a small pendant hanging from her neck.

"I'll buy. I just—you just look too sad and I want to repay you for what you did last night."

There seems to be some hope for your sorry soul.

"I'm fine and you don't need to repay me. I didn't do it to be paid."

And with that, you obstinately thunder out of her cozily packaged apartment where money didn't mean a thing and hopes were just airy dreams after black out nights.

You felt like crying.