He was drunk, that was for sure. He also didn't remember there being so many stairs to his room. It didn't matter though, he would soon be in bed. Sure, he probably shouldn't have had those last few beers, but he was pissed. He still couldn't get that damn Italian out of his mind, and to make matters worse, the girls he usually slept with bored him. Their voices seemed to grate on his nerves, their appearances too gaudy for him. They didn't care about him; they just wanted to use him to move up in life, or to look good. Who knows, maybe some of them did care. But it wasn't like he cared for them either. Hwoarang was just feeling tired from dealing with them and their incessant chatter.
His gang was no help either, seeing as how they seemed to rely on him too much, not capable of thinking for themselves. They couldn't even complete simple tasks for him without some kind of screw up; something always had to go wrong. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have realized that he was overreacting to their failures. Each had lost a match at a local fight, leaving Hwoarang to clean up their mess by himself. Not that it bothered him, but he was growing tired of always saving the day.
Hwoarang reached his door and twisted the knob. It wouldn't open, and he never locked his door. He started banging on it, using his head more than his fists. After close to thirty seconds of that, it opened suddenly and he stumped inside.
"What the hell are you doing here?" The voice was female, he could tell that much. He looked up and tried to clear some of the haze from his mind. He heard the door shut behind him.
"What are you doing in my room?" He asked, his head reeling. He had no idea who was in his room or how they got there.
"Your room? This is my place. Are you feeling OK?" It hit him then.
"Isa?"
"Hwoarang, you don't look so good. You need to sit down," he pushed by her and walked to the couch, stumbling as he walked. He knew he was past the point of being drunk and on his way to being sick. He was sure he would regret it in the morning.
The next morning, Hwoarang awoke to the smell of coffee. He didn't own a coffee maker and neither did Baek, his master. He was aware of the pounding in his head, but it seemed weaker than most hangovers. He turned on his side, his eyes still closed. It was then that he realized something was wrong with his bed. His pillow felt different, and the sheets smelled clean. He could even smell something almost fruity on the pillowcase, something like the remnants of a girl's shampoo.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked around the strange room. It was not his room, not even close. It was bigger than he remembered, and he didn't have pictures hanging on his walls. He also didn't have a curtain hanging over his window. Hell, his window wasn't even in the same place. However he had no idea where he was.
He continued to lay there, trying to remember what happened. He had gone out with the gang, as usual, but drank more than normal. In fact, he seemed to remember drinking a lot. He wasn't sure he had ever had that much before, and certainly if he did he never ended up alone. He remembered trying to walk home, and that is when it hit him. He didn't make it home; instead he somehow ended up at Isa's apartment.
He looked down at himself, carefully picking up the sheets. He didn't remember getting in her bed, and he sure didn't remember removing his boots or pants. He felt himself panic for a moment, briefly trying to recall anything from after he entered the apartment. Nothing came to mind, but he felt certain that they had not done more than sleep.
Hwoarang sat up and noticed a glass of water and some pain pills sitting next to the bed. He swallowed a few and finished the water. He pulled his clothes on and then headed to the kitchen. He found her there, humming to herself. She was arranging some items on a plate. He noticed her hair was damp, leaving wet spots on her black shirt. She had another skirt on, this one red and knee-length.
"Morning sunshine." She turned to look at him, breaking her song.
"Hey there. You feel OK?" He nodded, and she motioned for him to sit at the dining table. She brought a plate to him, full of cheeses, bread, lunchmeat and fruit. She walked over to the counter and poured him a glass of coffee before sitting at the small table with him.
"What were you humming?" He ripped open the bread and began to stuff it into his mouth.
"Just some song I used to listen to almost obsessively one summer. It's by Cesare Cremonini."
"Never heard of him."
"He's not terribly popular, but he had one song that was quite catchy. It had an interesting video, as well."
"Sing a few lines for me." He took a sip of coffee and looked at her in anticipation.
"You want me to sing?"
"Yeah, why not?" She shook her head at him, and cleared her throat before starting.
"Fidati di me, non sono un latin lover!
Canto alle donne ma, parlo di me...
Rido perché tu mi chiami "Latin lover"
io sono un amante ma, senza una donna con sé...
Vuoi ballare con me?
Senza dire che poi, ci proverò?
Con te, vuoi parlare con me
senza dire che poi, giocherò,
oh... giocherò...?" She stopped and looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
"It's basically a love song, sung from a guy to a girl." Hwoarang looked at her and laughed.
"Not bad, not bad." He was almost done with his food, ignoring the fruit on the plate.
"It's really a beautiful song." There was a bit of silence hanging between the two.
"Do you always eat breakfast like this?"
"Not always, but most of the time. Sometimes it is just coffee and bread." Another silence fell. Hwoarang was now done eating, the fruit still on his plate. He sat back in the chair and put his arms behind his head. He was tired, and wanted to get to the point. No more skirting around the issue.
"So, uh, how did I end up in your bed?" Hwoarang asked. He wanted to get to the point before she asked something to embarrass him.
"Well, after you started banging on my door at four in the morning, I got you inside. Once you realized that this wasn't your room, you seemed to start to feel sick. Anyway, you wanted to lay down and refused to do so on the couch. I got you to the bed, and you couldn't get your boots off your feet. So, I tried to do that while you watched and laughed at me. You then complained about your jeans, so I had to help you out of those. I don't know what you thought was so funny, but you laughed for almost fifteen minutes before you passed out."
"Did I say anything dumb?" He ventured causing her to laugh.
"Let's see…" she tapped her mouth with her finger. "You told me about twenty times that you were drunk. You said you went out with some friends, and then you told me all about them and some girls. I don't remember all of their names or exactly what you said about them, but you kept calling them idiots, or sluts. Then you started to tell me that I wasn't like them. About that time you decided you wanted to get in my bed. You tried to carry me, but I made you put me down. After you got in the bed, you just laughed and tired to talk but didn't make any sense."
"That's what happens when you drink too much," he muttered. She didn't seem mad at him, just a bit frustrated.
"It's OK. It was a bit funny at first." She smiled, but her eyes looked sad.
"You didn't take advantage of me, did you?" He was half-joking, but enjoyed the reaction he got. She glared at him and then laughed.
"You passed out before the fun could start." She was playing along with him, and he found it enjoyable. Most females would either get mad or get flustered. He had yet to meet one who could stand her own against him in this kind of talk.
"Maybe we should try again?" He raised both eyebrows for emphasis.
"If that means you are going to drink yourself into a stupor and wake all of my neighbors, no thanks." She was smiling now, gently shaking her head.
"You know, I don't even know why I feel so good. I should feel like shit after all I had."
"I made you take some medicine before you went to sleep. It's supposed to help get the alcohol out of your system." He nodded, impressed that she had thought of that. Another silence fell between them. It was more uncomfortable than he wished it to be.
"What have you been up to since I last saw you?"
"The usual, work and grading papers. How about you?"
"Practicing, partying, stuff like that."
"Do you not have a job?" She asked, causing Hwoarang to sigh. She was starting to sound like some kind of parent.
"Not really, no."
"How do you live and eat? Buy things you need?" He paused, for some reason unsure of what to tell her. He decided on the truth, he was proud of his work. He had money, power, and most of all respect. Besides, what did it matter what she thought, no one else seemed to care. Why should she?
"I run a gang. We rig fights with foreigners to get money. It's a joke really, how dumb can these people get." He saw her staring, almost disgusted with him.
"So are you going to rip me off too? Is that part of your plan?"
"I thought you would understand." He was a bit indignant by now. What the hell did she care about that stuff for? Besides, he didn't rip off females, just males. "There's stuff like that in Italy, the mob and shit." She stood up, almost knocking her chair over.
"My family was not part of the mob," he noticed that her voice was on edge and shaky. "Get out." That part was much more firm.
"What?"
"Get out of my apartment now." She then started speaking in another language and Hwoarang guessed it was Italian. He didn't know what she was saying, but it didn't sound like something nice.
"What's your problem? I thought you would understand."
"I understand perfectly well. I want you out of here, now." Hwoarang stood up and angrily eyed her. He walked past her, slamming the door shut as he left. He didn't need this kind of drama so early in the morning, or at all. She was acting like a baby, and he wasn't going to deal with that kind of crap.
Author's Notes:
So that's the end of chapter three. Hope you enjoyed it. And now you know where the title of this story comes from! If you are interested, the music video is available to download through the Lunapop site (lunapop dot com). It is really an interesting video. The site also includes the lyrics (in Italian only).