IT WAS HALF-PAST TWO in the morning, and the students were either asleep or enjoying themselves doing God knows what. There were no rules to regard when you knew the right people. I stretched my body outwards on the railing, exhaling. I savoured the cool weather of Paris and welcomed the chilly breeze. Bathing in my own company on the private terrace, I inhaled air of relief and admired the city lights that illuminated the sky. It was refreshing to be away from the ominous stares and attention, where I didn't feel like I was constantly walking on eggshells.

Sipping on a glass of iced water, I perched myself on my tippy toes. Shutting my eyes, I leaned forward. And while I enjoyed myself, a string of sloppy curses rung from behind me. There was a sound of furniture crashing and a grunt of pain. Pivoting to lecture the intruder of being so loud, I was surprised to find Nicolas. His face was tinged red and was, positively, drunk as hell. Although it was Nicolas who interrupted first, I couldn't help but feel like I was imposing. Sloppily, Nicolas collapsed into the dark grey sectional couches, oblivious that I was witnessing everything. Gripping tightly onto the treasured bottle of tequila, he slumped his head down and shook. Was he crying?

I took a quiet step forward and reached out, only to spring back when he spewed out his dinner at his feet. In instinct, I covered my nose and looked away, convinced that the thought of him crying was all in my head. Good luck to whoever has to clean this up, I thought pitifully.

Nicolas suddenly snapped his head up, flickering toward me. From the darkness, it was impossible to discern what kind of expression he had, but I knew he wasn't happy. He stumbled to his feet, nearly losing balance. Swaying, Nicolas treaded toward me like a predator.  Every step I took back, he quickened his pace. As he closed in, I tossed the remnants of my water in his face and slapped him at the back of the head, "What the hell do you think you're doing, Nicolas Alexander?" I hadn't stepped back out of fear but from the urge to hit reality back into him.

"W-Why'd you do t-that?" It seemed that he sobered up because he had whined out in a stuttering mess, "It-It hurts."

"Well, who told you to parade around drunk and try to intimidate me?" I argued back, "What did you think I was going to do? Let you cliché-ly corner me against the wall?"

Nicolas sighed out discontentedly, then pushed the bottle of tequila into my hand. "You're quite literally the opposite of her."

"Why on earth are you giving me the bottle?" I questioned out, setting it down onto the table instead. "And that's nice to know, but I really don't care or want to know."

Taking this as a cue to walk away, Nicolas tugged the hem of my shirt. Groaning, I sunk into the cushions as Nicolas followed in-suite, making sure to sit the furthest away from the mess he created moments ago. "She was quiet and didn't speak her mind," he continued, and I massaged my temples as I contemplated how to get myself out of this situation.

"Nicolas, really, shut up," I urged. I really wasn't curious and had no desire to hear his deepest confessions about the love of his life either. In fact, he should have been thanking me that I wasn't prying.

Completely ignoring me, he continued, "But-But she's different, you know? Brazen and outspoken, I admire it. She has these mesmerizing eyes that I seem to get lost in. And she had thought it had been our first time meeting, but how wrong of her," he chuckled hoarsely. "I love you, or maybe I love her. I can't remember?" I vaguely remembered being told of August and Nicolas' grudge against one another. They were out to get each other and went for whoever the other was interested in. It didn't take a genius to figure out that their friendship had ultimately crumbled over a girl in the past, which made me wonder if his confessions were to whoever ruined the bond in the first place.

The moment the words escaped past his lips, both our phones rung with notifications from the academy's private blog. It had all the latest gossip and the latest information on the Heartbreak Society Games.

NICOLAS IS OUT! 100 POINTS TO CALISTA!
WHAT SHOULD HIS PUNISHMENT BE?

What I recently learned as a participant was that there were consequences as a loser. They had not directly announced this, but everything knew of it. And while quitting was easy from three simple words, punishments were given out—and they could be embarrassing, detrimental, or painless. The decisions were decided through the majority, which made it impossible for someone like me to quit. I had a feeling that my punishment wouldn't be an easy one that left me unscathed.

Nicolas' confession seemed like it wasn't directed toward me but to his unrequited love. But I had wondered why I had gotten that many points for something so insignificant. When I was informed that they were would keeping track, I hadn't taken it literally until today. I slapped the back of his head, hoping to wake him. Instead, he swatted my hand and leaned on my shoulder. As still as possible, I huffed out and flicked his forehead. If he dared to empty his guts while I was right next to him, I'd strangle him–no questions asked. "Nicolas, wake up. You're heavy."

He moaned out but remained unwilling. And out of thin air, began full-out sobbing. "How-How could I-I betray her?"

"For fuck's sake," I cursed, patting Nicolas' back reassuringly as he dried out his eyes on my shoulder. How, in God's name, did I get caught up like this?  Everything had felt like it had happened in a blink of an eye. I waited until I could hear his light snores, moved his head toward the couch, and sprinted through the glass doors without looking back. I was just going to forget the events and move on with my day. I had enough problems on my plate already.

AN OVERLY JOYOUS face leaped into my bed, pinching my cheeks as I laid half-asleep, moaning and groaning about how early it was. "I knew you could do it!" Her optimism in the morning was revolting, and I scrunched my face up, blocking her face with my hand from how bright her grin was. "How'd you do it? Tell me, tell me, tell me," she laughed shrewdly, bouncing up and down. "Take that, you stupid Royals."

I flung myself beneath the covers and cozied closer, "What time is it?"

"It's a quarter to eleven," she poked the back of my head. "You promised that we could go explore Paris together. You promised!" It was official. My best friend was an eleven-year-old stuck in a nineteen-year-old's body. I loved Asra, but I really wanted to slam my pillow into her head like an alarm clock.

Begrudgingly, I propped my head up and yawned, "My father put my credit card on hold," I broke the sad news to her. "How about–"

"I've got this," she interrupted and flexed her right arm as if she was my hero. She tapped my nose, "Don't worry, you have me."

I tutted my tongue and rolled away from her, "You've been watching way too many romcom dramas again."

"They're addicting!" She defended, "You're the only one who understands my addiction."

"Go outside and touch some grass, Asra." I joked, listening to a huff and a line of silence following. After a moment, I turned over to find her on the ground with a Korean-drama episode loading.

And minutes later, she had flipped off the screen and refuted, "No! You're the second male-lead! Go away, you little shit!"

Safe to say, it had taken less than ten minutes for me to scramble out of bed and get ready for the long-awaited day with Asra. And in return, she had cheekily beamed while munching on a bowl of tteokbokki. Although she had offered to pay for all my purchases, why did I have the feeling I was losing?

WE WERE SHOPPING, AND I felt like dropping. I had praised myself multiple times for settling with my natural waves. Humidity and straightened hair didn't pair well. For some reason, to think it would have been a casual tour that I decided on a bandaged knitted top, black leather pants, and the most uncomfortable five-inch stilettos I'd ever worn in my entire life. And there was certainly a reason why Asra was qualified as a model, and I had run away when she proposed I try on her latest designs.

One minute we were lavishly sipping on a cocktail, the next, I was dragged through half the city from boutique to boutique. In fact, she had gotten reckless with her money that she had ended up purchasing an entire establishment because she liked one of their fragrances. I missed the rational Asra.

And when she darted off to a random side boutique, I failed to catch up with her. After trying to chase after her, my ankle and the heel gave in. Not only did the heel snap, but I had gone flying into a stranger's arm and endured fifteen minutes of his girlfriend lecturing me that I should avoid flirting with taken men. All the while, August had caught sight of the entertainment and sat on a bench directly across from me.

Catching wind of him, I pointed toward August then flung myself into his arms. And I watched as the female's eyes roamed everywhere at him. I stuck my tongue out childishly and clung to his arm. "Did you see all of that?"

"From the heel breaking to the lecture, all of it," he confirmed. "So, why do I keep hearing that my supposed girlfriend kicked Nicolas to the curb? Anyhow, I have no complaints," said August in a praising manner. "Where's Asra?"

In the corner of my eye, I could see her petite stature weaved through the crowd, holding three large shopping bags from Louis Vuitton. "Are you bullying, Calista?"

My face went blank. She was like an elk facing off with a tiger. "Nice to finally meet you. I'm Calista's boyfriend."

"Wait, we didn't talk about this," I gaped in a hushed tone, nudging repeatedly. Was he getting back at me for telling his parents how he was a clingy lovesick fool? Turning to Asra in a panic, she was looking at me like I had betrayed her.

The familiar warmth slipped around my waist and drew me closer to his side. And before I could explain myself, August clutched my chin lightly and shifted it upwards. His gaze was hypnotic. I widened my eyes, "What do you think–" he dipped his head down, cutting me off. His teeth had teasingly bit my bottom lip, and seconds later, he pulled away.

"Did you have a French martini?" He asked, stroking dangerously high at my waist. Leaning in, his cool breath whispered casually, "That was just the tip of the iceberg, by the way. And usually, I'm not a fan of cocktails, but they tasted better from your lips."

With a rouge smirk, he faced Asra, "Take good care of my girlfriend, and make sure she has an extravagant dress, okay?"

"Huh?" She blurted, "Oh, sure, I will." And perhaps she had been too overwhelmed to fully comprehend and digest his words.