"Ah, you're back. I was getting worried!" Monica exclaims as you drop into your seat.
"It took forever to get in! There were so many people and all in the fricking dark - I need to shower ten times over..." you shake your head, not voicing your concerns about getting a UTI from the overused toilets because you're within earshot of too many people. Including the rude guy.
The official who had got you guys in this room brings you an emergency light. As she is about to say something, a staff member with a young kid of three or four years of age comes to her, "Linda, just take her for a while -" the kid is wailing for her mom.
Suddenly, it dawns on you the immense amount of work it is for the staff right now - managing all the grumpy people, their families, everything in this disastrous situation.
You decide to use your talents to help out a bit.
"Lily, get me my ukulele," you order.
"Erm - Y/N, one of the strings broke, remember?"
You groan. "You planning to compose something?" Monica asks.
"Nah - I just figured I'd lighten up the mood a little," you reply with a wave of your hand.
"Ooh, that would be good PR -"
"Exactly, great PR! Maybe I should -" you glance tentatively at the guitar bag across you, where the crimped hair rude person is sitting.
"You could ask," Monica says.
You distinctly hear the word "Phee aaRu" in a flow of foreign language from the other side - by one of the older men. Both you and Monica turn to face him, eyes narrowed. They stare back at you. There's an awkward silence.
"Um -" you turn back to Monica, "are they talking about us?" you speak as low as you can.
"Maybe. He looks like an idol." Monica's voice is so soft that you have read her lips.
"What?"
"Idol. You know. K-pop singer. They're speaking in Korean, too."
You obviously don't know, but you nod. You hope that's not true because you just spent three-quarters of an hour teasing Lily for liking K-pop.
But it's worth a shot.
So with a deep breath, you get up and face the rude guy, putting forth a polite yet reserved smile, "Hi. I'm Y/N, I'm a songwriter," you pause. Most people either recognize you by then or are curious enough to be excited by the way you introduce yourself. But all he does is stare at you coolly. Well, what the hell. You continue, "I see that you have a guitar, can you help me out by lending it to me? For a little while?"
He's sitting with one leg over the other, his linked hands resting over his knee. He listens to you with his head tilted ever so slightly. You wait as the person sitting next to him translates your words. And once that finishes, he replies immediately,
"No."
"Tha- hmm?" That 'no' catches you off guard. This rude little -