The Morning After Disaster

“Nngh…”

My whole body felt off. My head was pounding like it might split open, my stomach was churning, and my chest especially felt like someone had been groping it all night…

“Ugh, so stiff…”

I barely managed to lift my heavy eyelids, and what came into view was the familiar ceiling of my one-room apartment. How the hell did I even get back here…?

I closed my eyes under the covers and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wriggled around, trying to remember, but nothing came to mind properly.

“Ah, whatever. Noona must’ve brought me home.”

Thinking about it any more would just make my head hurt worse, and when you’re nursing a hangover, nothing beats staying cozy in bed. Just as I was pulling the blanket back up to drift off again.

The short bell chime rang right by my head, snapping my drooping eyes wide open. I could’ve ignored it and gone back to sleep, but honestly, if a text comes in before I nod off, my instinct is to check it—no helping that.

I flailed my slender arm around and groped for my phone on the nightstand. With a groan of annoyance, I checked it, and sure enough, there was the familiar name.

“Eek…!”

No way—did she send that because the read receipt showed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up and I didn’t reply? A chill ran down my spine as I hurriedly tapped out a response.

I’d unconsciously loaded it with exclamation points before sending and let out a sigh. I debated copying one of those cute emotes she used, but I had no idea how and didn’t really need to with Noona anyway.

“Haa, wide awake now.”

I tossed the phone aside and shut my eyes to sleep again, but my queasy stomach and the weird ache in my chest kept sleep at bay.

Do I have a habit of kneading my boobs when I drink or something? I didn’t back when I was a guy, but now that I’m a girl… who knows. Honestly, even touching them myself felt kinda nice—they’re all soft and squishy.

“But no way I’d do that myself.”

I mean, what kind of lunatic has groping her own chest as a drinking habit? After wriggling around in bed for a while, just as I was about to get up, a snippet of memory flashed through my mind—someone’s words and a goofy face.

‘Our Yoonie’s even squishier after some drinks~…’

“…Crazy.”

That memory had to be wrong. It just had to be. Yeah, that’s right.

I shook off the intrusive thought and staggered out of bed.

“Ugh… my head.”

Whether from the booze or Noona, my head really felt like it was splitting. I stumbled to the fridge, grabbed a PET bottle, and chugged it straight.

The cool water helped a bit, but then a signal from my lower belly hit me late, driving me nuts again.

“Agh… hate this.”

I shuffled slowly to the bathroom, grabbing clothes for a shower while I was at it. No plans to go out today, so skipping the bra should be fine…

“Ah, feels so damn refreshing.”

Guess I didn’t shower last night—feels amazing after so long. And the cold water? Hungover’s basically gone.

“Plenty of time till stream then. Hangover cure later—might as well hit the gallery for old times’ sake…”

I roughly dried my hair and dove onto the bed, grabbing my phone happily. Why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not the computer? One wrong keystroke in the address bar and boom, gallery pops up—disaster. Plus, no desire to boot it up.

Any ASMR relay from yesterday still up? Half excited, half worried, I tapped the recent posts tab.

“...Huh?”

Why’s searching my name pulling up more notice talk? Unease prickling, my hand shook as I tapped the top post.

“Crazy…”

When the hell did Noona post that? I wanted to call her out, but it was already past 9—no way to ring her at work.

I quickly closed the gallery, jumped into the Pajijik app, and checked my channel board. The notice from the gallery was pinned right on the main page. Comments from viewers and gallery trolls had blown past 100.

Staring at the chaotic comments brought my headache roaring back. I knew Noona wrote it out of worry I’d oversleep, but still—better to get flak for sleeping in than this.

Saying I passed out drinking invites demands for proof, headache city. Sure, it was just Noona, no one else—but words alone won’t cut it; they want evidence.

“Haa, this is a total mess.”

First things first: post that I’m up. I hammered out a notice on my phone.

Sighed in relief after posting.

“Ah, seriously bad. How do I prove it?”

I rummaged through my phone gallery—nada. Worst case, bug Noona at lunch for card receipts or photos.

“Seriously, what a mess because of Noona.”

For now, ask her at lunch. Priority: soothe this aching gut. Still in bed, I closed Pajijik and opened the delivery app to hunt hangover food. Meant to get gukbap at first, but why’s my finger searching for the Mala Tang Shop…?

“No, mala tang is a hard no.”

Eat mala tang for breakfast and my entire girl-life diet’s just mala tang. Nope. I forced my eyes away and tapped gukbap.

“Hangover cure’s gotta be bean sprout soup gukbap.”

Ordering bean sprout gukbap for delivery’s insane, but going out like this is crazier. Plus, I made 4,000 won streaming—covers delivery fee easy.

Anyone hearing I made 4k in two days might pity me, but for a day-2 trash streamer? That’s huge. Most don’t even hit 1k in a week.

I checked the screen and sighed deeply.

“Ah, really don’t wanna stream.”

What if Noona has no pics or it was cash, no receipt? Imagining the worst made me gloomy.

Gallery trolls’ll spin tales of secret boyfriend all-nighter drinking—tears blurring my vision already.

Last resort: fanservice pic? This face might land one killer shot. Or nah, they’d rage harder that a face like this has no BF…

Faceplanted in bed, wallowing pathetically, my chest started hurting. This useless rack aches just from lying prone—infuriating.

“Agh, so uncomfortable I could die.”

I groaned and rolled over, staring at the ceiling brainstorming excuses, when—

*Ding-dong*

Doorbell and delivery guy footsteps came and went. Bean sprout soup from a nearby spot—super fast.

“Damn, quick.”

I kicked off the covers, grabbed the bag outside, and hauled it back. Set it up on the desk like always. Unpacked, expecting that fresh bean sprout aroma… but something felt off.

“Hmm… new lady running the shop?”

Old fave even pre-girl days, but tastes different. Spooned some in—sighed deep, staring blankly at the bowl.

“Ah… shoulda ordered mala tang.”