The first thing she noticed was the unfamiliar ceiling. For several seconds, she simply stared at it. White. Plain. Not hers. Her brow furrowed. A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes. “…Where am I?” She slowly pushed herself upright. The blanket slipped from her shoulders. The room was small, neat, and surprisingly quiet. A gaming setup hummed in the corner, books stacked neatly nearby. None of it looked familiar. Then the memories hit in scattered fragments. The guild event. The drinks. The spinning world. And… Yamada. Her eyes widened. “No way.” She looked down at herself. Still in her jeans from yesterday, but her shirt was gone. For one horrifying second, her brain completely short-circuited. Panic exploded. “What?!” She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it tightly around her chest just as the sound of a chair rolling across the floor made her freeze. A few feet away, Yamada turned away from his monitor. He’d clearly been gaming the whole time. His long dark hair was slightly messy, bangs falling over those piercing blue eyes. He removed one side of his headset, expression completely calm and blank. “…You’re awake,” he said quietly. She stared. He stared back. The silence stretched for a beat too long. Then she pointed at him with a shaking finger. “W-WHAT HAPPENED?!” Yamada blinked once. “You passed out.” Her voice rose. “What happened after that?!” “You threw up.” Her face drained of color. “I WHAT?!” “You threw up,” he repeated, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. He stood up slowly and walked toward the bed, hands in his pockets. She immediately scooted backward across the mattress, clutching the blanket like a shield. “STAY BACK!” He stopped mid-step, tilting his head slightly. “…I’m not going to do anything.” Her heart hammered. “WAS IT A ONE-NIGHT STAND?!” The words echoed loudly in the quiet apartment. Yamada looked at her. Then away. Then back again. His voice stayed flat and low. “…No. Nothing like that.” She stared, still panicking. “Then why am I—?!” “You vomited on your shirt,” he explained patiently, pointing toward the laundry rack near the window. Her shirt hung there, freshly washed and drying. “I had to take it off so you wouldn’t sleep in it. I cleaned it.” The room went very quiet. Her cheeks burned hot. “Oh.” Another pause. “Oh.” The panic melted instantly into pure humiliation. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Yamada sat back down in his chair but kept facing her. “You should drink some water. There’s a bottle on the desk.” She stared at the floor, mortified. “Sorry…” No response. Just the faint hum of his PC. “Really, really sorry,” she added, voice small. Still nothing. Then, quietly: “I also paid for your food and the drinks at the bar.” Her soul left her body. “You WHAT?!” “You didn’t have your wallet out,” he said simply, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. His bangs shifted, revealing more of that sharp, handsome face. “It wasn’t a big deal.” Guilt crashed over her like a truck. She lowered her head until her forehead nearly touched her knees, blanket still clutched tight. “I’m the worst… I’m actually the worst.” “…You’re not.” “I threw up in your apartment.” “Yes.” “You washed my clothes.” “Yes.” “You paid for everything.” “Yes.” She groaned loudly into her hands. “I’m so sorry, Yamada… Thank you. I don’t even know how to repay you.” He gave a tiny, almost invisible shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching in the faintest hint of a soft expression. “Just don’t drink that much next time. And… be careful.” She got dressed as quickly as possible once her shirt was dry, mumbling thanks again and again. Then she practically fled the apartment, face still burning. The entire walk home felt like a fever dream. Only after she collapsed into her own room did she finally start to calm down. Then something felt off. Her hand rose to her neck. Nothing. She froze. The necklace — the one her ex had given her. It was gone. She checked her pockets. Her bag. Every corner of her room. Nothing. Slowly, a terrible realization settled in. There was only one place it could be. Yamada’s apartment. Again. And somehow, that felt even more embarrassing than waking up half-dressed in his bed this morning.