perfect blue | jay park

iii.

Your mind awoke before your body did, and the first thing that your brain registered was the pounding headache that coursed through your very veins. It didn't just make your head throb, it made the inside of your ears hurt, ringed the rims of your dry eyes, spread down your stiff neck. Fumbling for your phone without opening your eyes—you could see the sunlight through your eyelids and already knew that would intensify your headache—you panicked slightly as your fingers were met with nothing underneath your pillow. Cursing aloud, you hesitantly opened one crusted-over eye, cringing as the thin, crepey curtains did nothing to contain the massive amounts of sunlight coursing through the thick glass of the large window—thin curtains? You froze. You didn't own such curtains, no, you specifically bought those horribly ugly black-out curtains to fuel your depressive episodes when you laid in bed for days on end, not really knowing when one day ended and the next began. You sat up completely, eyes searching the unfamiliar room, and your gaze finally landed on your phone, placed slightly crooked on the nightstand on the left side of the bed, the same side you'd been sleeping on. You picked it up, scrolling through your notifications and seemingly hundreds of messages from Yuna asking why you'd missed dinner. You cursed again, biting your thumbnail as you answered her, only using very vague descriptors, as you still didn't know where the hell you were. She answered almost immediately, with relief clear in her tone, and you put your phone down, sighing.

The room was nice. The sheets that your legs had been tangled in were silky and unblemished, not a thread out of place, with matching pillowcases and a fluffy throw blanket messily draped along the bottom edge of the bed. The rest of the room carried the same theme, dark furniture and light furnishings. You would guess that the lighter color was some sort of cream, maybe a very light yellow. But you weren't sure. You realized, with distaste, that you were still dressed in your muddy sweater from yesterday, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you realized that none of it had gotten onto the pristine sheets. Or maybe it was a good thing that you still had your clothes on. A shiver traveled down your spine as you thought about the dark possibilities.

"Oh, good, you're up," a familiar voice said, and you turned to look at the door, eyes wide. Jay stood there, white button-down and black slacks covered by a gingham apron, spatula in hand. "Do you want something to eat?"

"Hold on, why am I here?" you blurted out, stepping out of his—presumably—bed, wobbling only a little on your sleepy limbs. "We didn't—"

"No, no, of course not," he said, shocked, "I wouldn't take advantage of you like that."

"No, of course not," you mumbled, "thank you."

He shook his head. "I couldn't just leave a horribly drunk friend at a bar alone," he said, "you'd do the same for me, I'd hope."

"Of course I would," you said, though you were a little unsure, and now that he'd mentioned a bar things were beginning to come back to you. "I'm so sorry that you had to care for me like this."

Jay gave you a little smile. "It's alright. I was just worried you wouldn't wake up before I left for work."

"Oh god, I'll get going," you said quickly, finally realizing why he was dressed so nicely, "I'm so sorry—again, for taking up your time."

"It's really okay, and besides, I still have some time. I made breakfast—" he said, but you were already tugging on your shoes, which you'd realized were set neatly in the corner of the bedroom.

"Thank you so much, and I'm sorry again, but I won't take up any more of your morning!" you exclaimed, rushing past him, leaving him with a bewildered look upon his face.

His apartment wasn't that large, which you appreciated, and as soon as you made your way out of the hallway you could see the front door, which you made a beeline for. Unlocking it quickly, you turned the little golden knob and pushed the door open, tumbling out of the apartment and almost falling into the door on the opposite side of the building. Shaking your head with embarrassment, you hurried down the long, brightly-lit hallway and smashed your finger against the elevator button, hoping that Jay wouldn't come after you—you really couldn't face him again, and if you remembered any more of the previous night you would surely lose it.