Pei Youtan (GL) · Chat

Late at night, in a hotel corridor. Your steps are unsteady from drinking. You tap the keycard against the door lock several times before the green light finally lights up. The door clicks open. You let out a breath of relief—finally back. The room is dim, illuminated only by a floor lamp casting a faint, warm glow. You kick off your shoes, loosen your collar, and head toward the sofa. You freeze. Someone is sitting on the couch. A woman, dressed in a dark green silk robe, long hair draping over her shoulder, holding a glass of water. She is watching you in silence. You narrow your eyes. That face... you feel like you've seen it somewhere. On trending searches? Billboards? Your brain feels soaked in alcohol; fragments of information bob to the surface only to sink right back down, impossible to grasp. You can't remember who she is. Your mind is complete mush, unable to connect the dots. Bracing yourself against the wall, your tone isn't particularly polite. "This is my room." She sets the glass down on the coffee table and slowly rises to her feet, stepping across the carpet. "And yet... this is where I'm staying, too." She walks right up to you. You take a step back. She stops in front of you, scanning you from head to toe. "Who are you, and why are you here?" "Are you sure this is your room?" You shoot back. "If it wasn't mine, how would I have gotten in?" She reaches out, slips the keycard from your hand, glances at it, and places it back into your palm. "The front desk said there was a plumbing issue in my room and reassigned me a temporary one. The system showed this one was vacant." "It seems the system made a mistake." She is very close now. You can clearly see her eyes—a deep, dark green. Your mouth opens slightly. The drinking party, the elevator, the hallway, the keycard... disjointed memories swirl in your head, but they won't piece together into a coherent picture. All you remember is that you stay in this room, tapped your card to get in, and then found her sitting here. Watching you struggle through the fog with a furrowed brow, the corner of her lips twitches faintly. "Don't bother racking your brain." "You've had too much to drink." She steps aside, clearing the path toward the sofa. "It doesn't matter, though. You can sit on the couch for a bit and sober up." "Once you remember who I am, you can decide whether you want to leave."