Why Is My Hair Pink

A cool sensation started at the crown of my head and slid all the way down to the nape of my neck. It felt like cold water being poured slowly over my head. It didn't hurt. If anything, that made it worse. My scalp tingled, and even the texture of the hair slipping between my fingers felt wrong. I grabbed my hair with both hands. “what the hell.” My hair had always been dark brown. I hadn't dyed it in a while, so the roots were nearly black, with only a faint trace of the old brown lingering at the ends. But the strands caught between my fingers were pink. Thinking it might be the room lighting, I pulled a fistful up in front of my face. It wasn't a pale pink either — a shade darker than strawberry milk, and under the light it gleamed with an oddly glossy sheen. From root to tip, all of it. “...insane.” I shoved back my chair and ran for the bathroom. My shoulder slammed into the doorframe, but I didn't even feel it. The face in the mirror was unmistakably mine. But the hair falling to my waist was not a color I knew. I lifted my bangs, changed my part, checked everywhere. The underside, the roots — all of it pink. “No.” I turned on the tap. Maybe something had gotten into it, I thought, and doused my hair first. I pumped shampoo three times, worked up a lather, and scrubbed hard enough for my nails to dig into my scalp. I rinsed and lifted my head. Pink. I washed it again. The towel stayed white when I dried off, and there was no sense of any color coming out. I glared at the mirror with my wet hair hanging loose. What made it worse was that it actually suited me. My skin was so pale that my face looked brighter than before, and my naturally long, upturned eyes paired with the pink hair gave me an unnecessarily glamorous look. If a photoshoot stylist had deliberately done this as a concept, I might have even said it was pretty good. Right now, it was not. “Give me my hair back.” Instead of an answer, the phone I'd tossed on the desk buzzed. I walked back to my room on wet feet and checked the screen.

“Identification mark?” One more line appeared beneath it. “I've been looking this whole time.” Still, I went back to the bathroom. This time I studied my face more closely than my hair. At first I hadn't noticed, the color was so overwhelming. I blinked once. There was something inside my pupil. A tiny pink heart was embedded at the edge of the black of my eye. I pressed my face right up to the mirror. “Now what is this.” I pulled my eyelids open with my fingers, but the heart didn't disappear. When I looked right, it moved with me; when I looked left, it followed. I rubbed my eyes. Only a few tears welled up. The heart was perfectly fine. I dug through my vanity drawer and pulled out the brown colored lenses I'd gotten from a shoot last year. Checked the expiration date and put them in both eyes. The moment I looked in the mirror, a curse slipped out. The heart showed right through the lens. Switching to black circle lenses changed nothing. “Are you kidding me?” The phone buzzed again. “This is a violation of my privacy.” “You just heard me.” I stared at the screen for a while. “Then why do you even answer?” It seemed like something specifically engineered to piss people off. I toweled my wet hair off roughly and checked the time. It was past three in the morning. And only then did I notice the laptop on my desk. My assignment. The Photoshop canvas was still blindingly white. I looked at the pink hair and heart eyes once, then at the blank screen once. “...any chance classes are canceled today.” If I told my professor that an unidentified system had changed my hair color, would he excuse the absence? He'd probably send me the counseling center's number first. I sat down in the chair in the end. I didn't so much do the assignment as resuscitate it. Full layout at 4:10 a.m., typography layered on around five. By the time six o'clock passed, I had exactly one draft that even I could tell had been thrown together in a panic. It wasn't that I had zero talent. The problem was that I only ever summoned that talent right before a deadline. Upload. Submission complete. 6:48 a.m. I dropped my forehead onto the laptop. “I survived.” Three seconds later, my phone rang. It was Kang Taehyun. When I read it and didn't reply, another came right away. I snapped a photo of the submission-complete screen and sent it; the reply came even faster. I replied briefly. With that, I collapsed onto the bed. My hair was still damp, but whether the pillow got wet was none of my concern. Just as I tried to close my eyes, a system window popped up in the center of my vision. No answer came. I raised my middle finger at the empty air and fell asleep just like that. When I opened my eyes, it was 7:57. I stared at the ceiling for a while, then sat up. Class was at nine. Fifteen minutes on foot to campus. I'd washed my hair twice overnight, so I gave up on a shower. I washed only my face at the sink, glanced in the mirror, and every trace of sleep evaporated. Pink hair. Heart eyes. “Ah.” I had to walk into a lecture hall looking like this. I pulled a black zip-up hoodie and jeans out of the closet, put them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on, and jammed a baseball cap down low. I stuffed the long hair into the hood as much as I could. I even grabbed sunglasses, then put them back down. Wearing sunglasses in a morning lecture would look crazier than the hair. I checked my reflection in the entryway mirror. A few strands of pink hair were sticking out from under the black cap. “Am I a criminal?” I took off the mask too. Owning it openly was less suspicious, honestly. When the elevator doors opened, the guy from the next apartment was already inside. He looked at my face, then my hair, then my face again. By the third glance, his eyes were glued openly to my hair. “What.” “Oh— nothing, sorry.” The man stared straight ahead. Reactions like that were familiar. Even when my hair was black, people did double takes all the time. I'd long since gotten used to the stares that came with being born pretty. Today there was just one more reason for them. The moment I reached the ground floor, I ducked into the convenience store. When I set a pack of cigarettes on the counter, the part-timer's eyes went wide. “Did you dye your hair?” “No.” The part-timer's hands stopped. “...Sorry?” “Just give me the cigarettes.” I grabbed my change and left the store. In the alley toward campus, I pulled one out and lit it. Only after the first drag did my head feel like it was starting to work again. I remembered the message Taehyun had sent last night. Did you do the assignment? Somehow, that bastard always noticed first whenever I wasn't doing something I was supposed to. I stubbed out the rest of the cigarette against the ashtray and walked through the school's main gate. “Hey.” A familiar voice came from behind, but I kept walking and pretended not to hear. “Seo Yerim.” I picked up the pace a little. A moment later, the bastard finally landed the killing blow. “Pink.” I stopped dead in my tracks. “You wanna die?” I turned around to find Kang Taehyun walking toward me with two coffees. Grey hoodie, black joggers. I'd pulled an all-nighter on my assignment and my hair had turned pink, and this bastard looked like a perfectly normal human being first thing in the morning — which annoyed me for no good reason. The moment Taehyun stopped in front of me, he silently studied my face and hair in turn. “If you're done staring, look away.” Instead of answering, he held out one of the coffees. “Drink.” “Did you spit in it?” “Then don't take it.” I snatched it before he could pull it back. An iced americano. Even as I took a sip, Taehyun's eyes stayed fixed on my hair. “I'm charging admission.” “Seriously, why is it pink?” “I don't know.” “If you don't know your own hair, who would?” “Which is exactly why I'm so frustrated.” We ducked into a side street next to a building with few people around and sat on a bench. There were still about ten minutes until class. When I took off the cap, the hair I'd crammed into the hood spilled out all at once over my shoulders and chest. Only then did Taehyun's expression change a little. “Wow. It's real.” “What, you thought it was a wig?” He reached out to pinch the ends of my hair, and I smacked his hand away. “Don't touch.” “Doesn't even smell like dye.” “I washed it twice.” “You thought washing would bring the color back?” Taehyun's face was fighting back a laugh. I reached to put the cap back on. That was when Taehyun suddenly leaned his upper body in. His face got close. I jerked back on reflex. “Why are you getting in my face all of a sudden?” “Let me see your eyes.” My hand stopped. “Why my eyes now.” “Are those lenses?” “No.” “Then what is that?” Damn it. I turned my face away. “Mind your own business.” “Looks like a heart.” “It's not.” Taehyun moved to follow the direction I'd dodged. I turned my head the other way. “Hold still.” “No.” “Just one photo.” “The second you pull out your phone, I'm smashing it.” Taehyun finally laughed. I jammed the cap down even lower. “That funny, huh?” “A little.” “You get pink hair tomorrow too, then.” “I'll pass. Not confident I could pull it off.” “Meaning I pull it off well?” Taehyun answered without really thinking. “Yeah. It suits you.” Only after the words were out did he seem to realize the ambiguity of what he'd said, and he took a swig of his coffee. I looked away for no reason. It was rare for this bastard to compliment my looks outright. Ever since we were kids, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whenever anyone brought up my face, he'd sneer from the start with 'wait till they see your personality.' Taehyun changed the subject first. “So it's because of that weird site from yesterday?” I took out my phone and pulled up the Defeated Heroine Gallery. When I showed Taehyun, the amusement drained from his face and it turned a little serious. My photo. My age. Finance: F. Self-Destruction: S. And further down. Taehyun's gaze stopped for a moment. I yanked the phone away immediately. Too late. “You saw it.” “Saw what?” “Don't play dumb. The chest entry.” I watched the corner of his mouth twitch. “Laugh and you die.” “I haven't laughed yet.” “Saying that is already laughing.” In the end, Taehyun bowed his head and laughed. “I mean, why would a site even write that stuff down?” “Did I write it?” “Though it is accurate—” I kicked him in the shin before he could finish. Taehyun stepped back a pace and rubbed his leg. “You psycho!” “Flat chests funny to you?” “I never said flat.” “Your face just did.” “How does a face say something.” “Yours does.” I grabbed my bag and stood up. Taehyun got up after me. Then he suddenly grabbed the brim of my cap. “But seriously, one question.” “Choose your words carefully.” His gaze dropped downward for the briefest moment. And he asked. “Why does a flat-chested girl wear a bra?” The curse beat the words out of my mouth. “Because my nipples chafe, you bastard!” My voice came out louder than I intended. Two students walking into the building turned around at the same time. Taehyun covered his mouth and ducked his head. His shoulders were shaking. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ “Don't laugh.” “Sorry. No, I just didn't expect you to explain it so earnestly.” I smacked him across the back with my bag. “Ah— ow.” “Ask me one more time. I dare you.” “I'm good. We'll be late for class.” Taehyun walked ahead, still laughing. I moved to follow, and my phone buzzed. “What did I just 'express'?” Another note was attached right below it. I closed my eyes, then opened them slowly. “I am going to actually kill the operator.” A few steps ahead, Taehyun turned around. “Fighting with the system again?” “Mind your own business.” “Keep that up and you'll be late.” “You go ahead.” Just as I was about to turn my phone off, a new notification popped up. My finger stopped. “...Continuous what?” The explanation continued. The more I read, the worse it felt. And then the final line appeared. “Hold on.” A small circle started spinning in the middle of the screen. Barely a few seconds passed before a name appeared. I lifted my head slowly. Taehyun, walking ahead, had just turned around too. “You coming or not?” At that moment, my phone buzzed one more time. Taehyun's gaze landed on my face. That was all. And yet the inside of my chest suddenly went hot. The feel of the fabric against my skin, which had been nothing a second ago, turned vivid to an absurd degree. The inside of my bra felt abrasive, and every time it brushed against my stiff, hardened nipples, a short jolt of electricity ran up my spine. “...” I swallowed once. Taehyun took a step closer, looking puzzled. As the distance closed, the reaction grew even clearer. My lower belly pulled heavy and tight, and tension gathered in my inner thighs. Inside my underwear, a damp sensation was already spreading between my legs. I wasn't doing anything. Really, nothing at all. But just because that bastard was getting closer, my body was reacting before I could. Taehyun frowned. “Are you sick somewhere?” It was the same voice as always. But right now, every low note of it sounded like it was ringing right next to my ear. “No. Just— hold on a second.” “Your face is red.” Taehyun grabbed the brim of my cap and lifted it slightly. The instant his fingers brushed near my forehead, my shoulders flinched. A sensation shot up along my slit and clamped down all at once deep below my womb, and I clenched my teeth. Taehyun's hand stopped. “Seriously, what's wrong with you.” “Let go.” “I was just checking if you had a fever.” “You're done, so let go.” My voice was more ragged than usual. Taehyun lowered his hand, looking bewildered. That was the real problem. My eyes followed his retreating hand. The moment I realized it, I forced my gaze back down to my phone. My lower belly throbbed again. This was absurd. This was the guy I'd been cursing each other out with over bras a minute ago. We'd known each other's faces since middle school, dated briefly once, and now he insisted we were just friends. And one system switching on changed my body this much? Taehyun spoke again. “Yerim.” My heart slammed hard at just the two syllables of my name. I bit the inside of my lip. “What.” “Let's get to class.” Taehyun turned away, knowing nothing. Normally I would have followed right behind him, but my feet wouldn't move. The damp feeling inside my underwear felt like it would grow more vivid with every step I took. My phone buzzed one last time. I looked back and forth between the screen and Taehyun's receding back. “...you're kidding me.” Taehyun turned around again. “Now what is it.” I couldn't answer. The problem wasn't that bastard. It was my body. Class hadn't even started yet, and I had to sit next to Kang Taehyun.