"Rokim . . ." I grumbled. "Are you sure about this?"

He sat down and folded his legs. "It's supposed to relieve stress."

"But . .  won't it be weird?" I asked, reluctant.

"No. Just relax and it'll be fine."

"If you say so." I flopped down, crossing my legs underneath me. I watched skeptically as Rokim tapped 'play' on his phone. An ethereal female voice immediately floated from the speaker.

"Emptyyyyy your miiiiiiind . . ."

"Oh, god," I muttered. 

"Shh!" Rokim hissed.

"Why? It's not like she can hear us!"

"Just shush!"

The woman's voice continued to speak in low, languid tones. "Feeeeeel the energy flowing through your body. Can you feeeeel it?"

"I knew this was a bad idea."

"Just give it a chance!"

"Cloooose your eyes . . ." 

I watched incredulously as Rokim actually followed this random lady's orders. I eyed the phone suspiciously.

"Now," the woman breathed. "In order to begin the de-stressing process, we must remind ourselves . . . of the good things in life . . ." 

"Why does she throw in random pauses like that? Is she trying to make me uncomfortable?"

"Han, if you don't shut up, I swear to god . . ."

"Okay, okay! Yeesh . . ." Sighing, I grudgingly decided to go along with it. Benefit of the doubt, right?

"We'll be going over some question-and-answer type exercises . . . envision my words, and you'll be sure to feel more . . . relaxed . . . by the end of the session."

"If you say so," I mumbled quietly, followed by a sharp tch! from Rokim.

The woman began, her voice airier than ever. "Visualize . . . your happy place . . ." 

"Huh," I murmured. "Easy. McDonald's." 

"Visualize. That means no talking," Rokim admonished.

"Hmph," I grumbled, but piped down anyway. Still keeping my eyes closed, I waited impatiently for the lady's next words.

"Picture . . . an enjoyable activity . . ."

Okay, I thought. Cooking.

"Favourite genre of music . . ."

Classical, of course. Piano. 

"Your proudest moment . . ."

First blue ribbon.

"An important possession . . ."

Knife set.

"Most precious person . . ."

R—

"O-kay!" I bolted upright, grabbing the phone and spamming the 'stop' button. "That's enough of that, don't you think?"

Rokim opened his eyes, exhaling loudly. "You lasted longer than I thought you would. Congrats."

"Where'd you even find this lady?" I asked scornfully, tossing the phone on the couch.

"Searched up 'stress relief meditation.' She was the first hit." 

"What kind of questions were those, anyway?" I mumbled, feeling heat flood my face. I stepped past Rokim, heading for the kitchen. I opened his fridge, sticking my face inside to cool off.

"So," Rokim called. "Do you feel better?"

Groaning, I withdrew my head and sagged against the door handle. I'd almost forgotten the reason why I was so stressed in the first place.

The Evaluation Competition. More specifically, my partner.

"Not even a little bit." I slammed the fridge door shut and started to pace the floor. "What was Prof thinking? Me and Rian entering the Evaluation Competition? Together?" I dug my hands into my hair. "I'll end up spontaneously combusting or something!"

"Calm down," Rokim assuaged. "If it makes you feel any better, you were gonna be picked to go anyways. You're the best chef in our class. Prof said so too, didn't he?"

I collapsed on the couch. "I know," I sighed. "I'm really happy about that, but . . . but why does it have to be with him, of all people?" I let my head fall into my hands, ignoring the hair tumbling through my fingers. "Why can't it just be you, Rokim?"

I heard Rokim chuckle quietly. "I know, right?"

I didn't reply, even when I heard him move onto the couch beside me. I was too busy imagining the emotional hell that awaited. 

Rokim interrupted my train of thought. "But Han . . ." he began.

"Hmm?"

"I have something to ask you." 

I raised my head resignedly. "Fire away."

Rokim scratched his head. "Earlier, during that meditation thing . . . about one of the questions she asked . . ."

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. "Y-yeah?" I asked apprehensively.

"I just thought it was worth mentioning . . ."

"What?" I responded, my nerves threatening to overtake me. Finally, Rokim opened his mouth to reply.

"Is your happy place really McDonald's?"

I blinked, flabbergasted. "Huh?"

A note of amusement creeped into Rokim's voice. "I mean . . . you're a chef, for goodness sake. McDonald's, of all places? Where's your pride?"

His question hung in the air. After a moment, I burst into laughter. Doubling over and clutching my stomach, I laughed until all my tension from before seemed to be alleviated.

"Ohh," I wiped the corners of my eyes. "Wow. That's a good question," I said lightly, nearly breaking into another fit of giggles.

Rokim smiled at me. "I thought that would do the trick."

Still grinning widely, I glanced up at him. "Thanks, I probably needed it. I was going out of my mind."

He leaned back into the cushion, his arms and legs sprawling over the couch. "Anytime, Han."

"To answer your question," I said, my smile softening slightly. "I don't like McDonald's for the food."

Rokim smirked. "Then is it for their fantastic service? Their perpetually broken ice cream machines?"

"It's the atmosphere," I joked, wiggling my eyebrows. "Every time I hear the words 'I'm lovin' it,' I get goosebumps. What could be a better happy place than McDonald's?"

"Weirdo," Rokim chuckled. I felt a pang of guilt for not telling him the real reason. I usually told Rokim everything, but I wanted to keep this private. 

"Ah, that reminds me," Rokim said suddenly. "I forgot to tell you this. Remember that day I stayed behind after class to talk to Prof, and you went home alone? Prof said he wanted to see you and Rian outside of class today. To organize a prep schedule or something."

My mirth deflated slightly. "Oh, really? What time?"

"Around 4:00 p.m."

I glanced at the clock on the wall, my eyes widening. "Rokim, that's in like 20 minutes!"

He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry?"

I jumped over the back of the couch and grabbed my coat, darting to the door. "Buy me food later to make up for it!" I called over my shoulder.

"How about McDonald's?" I heard him shout just as the door closed behind me.

I smiled, but it soon gave way to the all-too-familiar sensation of butterflies in my stomach. I headed to the elevator and pressed the 'down' button, tapping my foot restlessly. For some reason, it seemed to be taking much longer than usual.

I glanced at my watch again, going over the bus schedule in my head. At this rate, I'd miss the bus and have to wait thirty minutes for the next one.

I closed my eyes in defeat. "I can't believe I'm doing this," I muttered as I headed to my left. 

To the stairs.

I reluctantly pushed open the door to the stairwell, looking back one last time at the elevator. It still hadn't come, so I resigned myself to my fate.

I took the steps two at a time, going as fast as I could. It was only four floors, but I was still out of breath. "Stupid stairs," I puffed. 

When I got to the ground floor, I was surprised to see a small piece of paper tacked onto the main elevator doors, with the words 'Out of Order' scrawled onto it with sharpie.

"Why is it that everywhere I go, the elevators are broken?" I grumbled in irritation. Going back up would be even more annoying than coming down, and I was not looking forward to it.

But there were more important things to attend to. I jogged towards the door, trying to suppress my nerves with some more forced exercise. 

I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I accidentally bumped into someone on my way out. I rebounded against the elevator doors, knocking off the piece of paper attached to it.

"Watch where you're going!" a female voice snapped at me. 

"Sorry, sorry," I replied distractedly. For some reason, her voice sounded familiar, but I didn't pay attention. I bent down to pick up the 'Out of Order' notice when I noticed the shoes of the woman I'd bumped into. 

"Prada . . . ?" I murmured, a slow realization dawning on me. I froze, everything suddenly clicking into place. 

This wasn't happening. Not now.

"Uh, hello?" the voice from before said snidely. "Is that all you have to say?"

A vision flashed before me: my death, at the hands of press-on claws and six-inch heels. I straightened slowly, looking up at her face with dread.

No. Fucking. Way.

Rikki, Rokim's ex-girlfriend, stared back at me, her eyes widening in recognition. "You!" she hissed.

She reached for me, her fake nails seeming to extend and sharpen into points. I ducked under her arms, dashing for the door. I didn't want to die. Not like this.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" she screeched. I heard the terrifying clack clack clack of her heels chasing after me. It was a sound that followed me even in my nightmares.

Pushing open the door, I ran towards the bus stop. Fumbling for my phone, I speed-dialed Rokim. "Hanna?"

"No time," I panted. "Rikki is here." 

"What? In the building?"

"I barely escaped," I gasped. "Still running away. I called out of duty, but you're on your own, Kimmy."

"Han, wai—"

"I wish you luck in this life," I wheezed, before hanging up. 

Throwing a look over my shoulder, I saw Rikki standing back at the entrance to my apartment building, making a very unsavoury gesture in my direction. "You better run, 'cause I'm coming for you! Just you wait!" she called viciously.

I shuddered and continued running till I reached the bus stop. Thanks to Rikki and the terror she instilled in my soul, I managed to just make it before the bus left the station. Panting heavily, I climbed on, waving my card at the scanner and collapsing into the first empty seat available.

"Training for a marathon?" said the person in the seat next to me. 

My breath caught in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to believe my luck could be this bad. This was too cruel, wasn't it?

"I didn't know you were the athletic type," the voice continued drily. An all-too-familiar voice, one that made my already crazy heart rate speed up even more.

Slowly, laboriously, I turned my head to the person next to me. A derisive chuckle escaped my lips as soon as I laid eyes on them, because why not? The universe was obviously conspiring against me. 

"I guess we're both late, huh?" I said to Rian, with another incredulous laugh. He crossed his legs, looking cool and collected as ever. I shook my head in disbelief. "Prof is not gonna be happy."