“Twenty-four seven and he has mine too, we live in each other’s walls,” Sydney responded with the utmost confidence.
“It’s definitely not Cahya, he has a recital this morning,” I said. “It might be staff, maybe?”
“Screw it,” Remi huffed in frustration, wearing her froggy pajamas and overnight acne cream still on, she trudged towards the door and unlocked it, then froze. “Listen I don’t care who the— oh.”
She remained unmoving in the doorway, her cheeks immediately turning pink, her mouth opening and closing as if there were something she was trying to communicate but couldn’t get out.
“What is it, Remi, who’s at the door?” I questioned.
“Are you okay…or?” Sydney wondered, getting a little concerned and rightfully so at that.
“Is there a sane way to say that there’s an Olympic champion standing in our dormitory doorway?” Remi announced, and my jaw dropped.
“You dishonour me.” His sleuth English accent floated through the apartment, and I immediately knew exactly who it was.
“Here we go…” I rolled my eyes in annoyance.
“It’s actually two-time Olympic champion,” he corrected her with a rather pretentious edge to his tone.
“How’s that even possible you’re twenty-one?" Sydney puzzled.
“I won for both singles and pairs," he clarified.
“Wynter Kwon is in our doorway,” Remi repeated in shock, almost robotically. “Hi!”
“Hi,” he responded. “Do you fancy frogs?”
“W-what—”
“Your frog-print nightclothes, are they all the rage in fashion these days?” Wynter queried with the kind of interest so genuine one would often mistake it for sarcasm.
“A Versace ambassador asking an average college student what’s happening in fashion is an atrocity. I’ll be emailing your employers to terminate your contract,” I threatened and he let out a soft laugh.
He smirked. “They couldn’t do that, theyloveme.”
Damn it, he was right.
“Why are you even here?” I protested, looking at the clock on my bedside table, it was 6:04 AM.
“For you,” he answered plainly.
“Forher?” Remi gasped as if she’d heard of the most elaborate scandal.
“For her?” Sydney giggled. “I’ll sit here and act surprised.”
“Why?” I wondered.
“Can I at least come in?” he asked me. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rather impolite to keep guests waiting out in the hall?”
“You’re so annoying,” I grumbled. “Just come in!”
Remi then stepped aside and Wynter made his way into the room. He wore a black North Face puffer jacket and washed blue jeans. His sneakers made him appear much taller than heactuallywas, his hair had a single gold star hair clip at its side—he was flawless and he wasn’t even trying to be. He had an iced americano in hand.
“Hi.” He smiled menacingly.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I scoffed.
“It’s time for you to wake up, we have practice.”
