𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞

▸ chapter 2.

Chapter 2

Naturally, Chaeyoung's first port of call is Lisa.

She knocks until she hears shuffling movement from inside the room, the thud of something heavy being knocked over, followed by a string of muffled curses. After a minute the door opens a crack, just enough for one baleful eye to glare back at her. "Chaeyoung, what the fucking fuck? It's the middle of the night, you asshole."

"It's 7:15 am."

"My point stands," Lisa grits out.

The door falls further open, revealing her in a sleep-rumpled Frozen t-shirt and black yoga pants, a deep scowl etched on her face. Between the Disney shirt and a severe case of bed head, it's difficult to take her ire seriously but Chaeyoung manages to school her expression to one of neutrality.

"There better be a fucking good reason for this and I mean some end-of-the-world bad shit going down. Like an alien invasion, or nuclear apocalypse, or the divorce of Ellen and Portia."

"Can't I just come by to bask in your sunny disposition?"

Dark eyes narrow, taking on a suspicious glint as they study Chaeyoung for an interminably long moment. She tries not to wilt under the intense scrutiny.

"Okay, I'm going to let that weak sarcasm slide because a) what is up with your face? and, b) why do you look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards?" It takes only a second for the penny to drop. "Did—oh my God—did you get laid?"

Chaeyoung's lip bite must communicate enough.

Lisa sticks her head out the doorway, peering up and down the deserted hall. She grabs Chaeyoung by the wrist to yank her into the room. It happens so quickly Chaeyoung doesn't even have time to object to the rough handling.

Once the door is shut Lisa stoops to retrieve two history textbooks—the source of the thud, most likely—and places them on the nightstand by her bed. She perches on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, foot tapping against the carpet as she levels an expectant stare at Chaeyoung.

"Well?"

Wringing her hands together, Chaeyoung launches into a full blow-by-blow account: about skipping the wrap party, about the ride to Jennie's place, that Jennie's an art major, that it was the most mind-blowing sex of her life and it went on all freaking night until the sun came up. That they exchanged numbers. That Jennie sent her a photo of her boobs not five minutes after Chaeyoung left.

"Show me." Off Chaeyoung's frown, Lisa rolls her eyes so hard she's in danger of giving herself an aneurysm. "I've already seen her cooch and a whole lot more on the internet, remember? Don't hold out on me, Park. All I do is study and RA. At this point, I'm living vicariously through you and I hate myself for admitting that."

Still, Chaeyoung refuses to hand over her phone. She isn't sure why she feels so protective of the image. Maybe because it's Jennie, not Ruby Jane, not the actress with hundreds of explicit photos of herself in the public domain. It's private, something just between the two of them, and it would feel like a violation of trust to share it with anyone else without Jennie's permission.

Lisa heaves a sigh, like Chaeyoung withholding a nude is the most egregious thing that's ever happened to her.

"Fine. Whatever. Take the moral high ground." She points a finger at Chaeyoung. "But you're buying me breakfast."

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They end up at Jentle Cafe, their favorite coffee shop off-campus, a cozy little place with exposed brickwork, comfy old leather couches, and a constant rotation of acoustic rock on the stereo. Sometimes the owner, Mino, gives them free pastries. By the time Lisa's inhaled a complimentary croissant and a large caramel macchiato, she seems marginally less grumpy.