Summary:It had been quite some time that you had let himself drink that much,
and you had forgotten how sweet water always tasted the next morning.
“Thank you for the microwave, by the way.” The boy chirped, his voice pulling you from your bliss. You parted your lips to ask what
the hell he was talking about, but instead found your gaze lingering
over to the only other piece of furniture in the room- your black
The soft hum that echoed throughout the room was enough to shake you awake from your sleep; the low buzz quaked within your brain and made it ache with the remembrance of the night before. One drink had led to another, and lines had blurred somewhere between your fourth and fifth bottle of soju. All you remembered was the constant laughter of your friends, who would raise their own glasses and chug their shots before slamming them down on the table to repeat the process.
Trying to fight off the headache that was already daring to rattle your bones, you couldn’t help yourself from opening your eyes as you heard the soft click of a door, followed by another low buzz. Sitting up, you had to hold one hand against your head to keep yourself steady, and the amount of light that poured in the room kept you straining through half lidded eyes. Even as blurry as the scene around you was, you knew that it wasn’t your dorm; the sheets that covered you weren’t your own and the bed that you laid in was too foreign to be yours. The room around you was empty, save for a brown headed boy who sat in front of a microwave with a plastic bag by his side.
Imagine Rapmonster calling you over to his little studio where he tells you he wrote you a song and wants to play it for you in all seriousness. You listen carefully as he begins to push random buttons like a child going “beep beep bop, beep bop beep”