REBUS Dorm — Bo Ra's Room, Late Night
Pink.
That was the first thing anyone noticed.
Not soft pink.
Not gentle.
Demanding pink.
Silk sheets, plush toys, vanity lights glowing like a stage, racks of carefully curated outfits. Everything in the room said one thing:
I deserve attention.
At the center of it all—
Bo Ra.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through clips from the airport. Again. And again.
Romeo accepting her gift.
Romeo saying "thank you."
Romeo breathing in the same direction as her.
She replayed it.
Paused.
Zoomed in.
A slow smile spread across her face.
"He took it."
A small voice, tired and flat, drifted from the air nearby.
"He took a bag."
Bo Ra didn't look up.
"He took my bag."
Floating near her vanity mirror was her wài yǒu.
Unlike the others—
this one looked… worn.
Its glow was dimmer than it should have been. Its small body flickered unevenly, like a candle that had been left in the wind too long.
Its movements were slower.
Careful.
Like everything cost it something.
Bo Ra finally glanced at it.
"You're being negative again."
"I am being accurate."
Bo Ra rolled her eyes and tossed her phone aside.
"Whatever. I need your help."
The wài yǒu went still.
That sentence never meant anything good.
"…No."
Bo Ra blinked.
"You didn't even hear what I was going to say."
"I don't need to."
Bo Ra sat up straighter, irritation rising instantly.
"I said I need your help."
"And I said no."
A pause.
Then Bo Ra's tone shifted—sharper now.
"I want you to make something."
Silence.
The wài yǒu already knew.
"…No."
Bo Ra's eyes narrowed.
"A love potion."
The words landed heavily in the room.
The wài yǒu didn't move.
Didn't glow.
Didn't even drift.
Just—
"…No."
Flat.
Final.
Bo Ra laughed once, disbelieving.
"You're joking."
"No."
"You're my wài yǒu."
"Yes."
"So you do what I say."
"No."
That hit harder than it should have.
Bo Ra stood up from the bed.
"Excuse me?"
The wài yǒu floated back slightly—not out of fear, but distance.
"You are not asking for help. You are asking to take something that is not yours."
Bo Ra scoffed.
"Not mine? Please. He just doesn't know it yet."
"That is not how hearts work."
"That's exactly how they work," Bo Ra snapped. "People just need a push."
"That is not a push."
"It's harmless!"
"No."
Bo Ra's patience snapped.
"You think I won't get him without it?"
"I think you are afraid you won't."
Silence.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Bo Ra's expression hardened.
"…You talk too much."
The air in the room tightened.
The wài yǒu dimmed slightly.
"You are selfish," it said quietly.
"And you are mine," Bo Ra shot back.
The words carried weight.
Not emotional.
Binding.
The kind of weight that didn't belong to normal conversations.
The wài yǒu flinched.
Just slightly.
But it was enough.
Bo Ra stepped closer.
"I give you energy. I let you exist here. And this is how you repay me?"
"You drain me."
"I use you."
"You consume me."
Bo Ra folded her arms.
"Same thing."
The glow flickered again—unstable now.
Pain, quiet but real, rippled through the small being.
It lowered slightly in the air.
Struggling.
Bo Ra watched.
Unmoved.
"Make it," she said.
"No."
The word came weaker this time.
Bo Ra tilted her head.
Then—
she reached out.
Not physically touching—
but something in the air shifted.
Pressure.
Invisible.
The kind of pressure that didn't bruise skin—
but crushed something deeper.
The wài yǒu gasped—
if something that small could gasp.
Its glow dimmed further.
"Stop…" it whispered.
"Then do it."
"I won't—"
The pressure increased.
The room temperature dipped.
A glass bottle on the vanity trembled.
The wài yǒu dropped lower in the air, struggling to maintain its form.
"…please…"
Bo Ra's face didn't change.
"Make it."
Silence.
Then—
very slowly—
the wài yǒu's glow shifted.
Not brighter.
But sharper.
Forced.
Energy gathered weakly in its small hands.
The air twisted.
A faint shimmer formed between them.
Unnatural.
Unwilling.
A tiny vial began to take shape.
It wasn't beautiful.
It wasn't magical in the way stories made magic look.
It looked… wrong.
Like something that shouldn't exist.
The wài yǒu trembled violently as it finished forming it.
Then—
the vial dropped onto the vanity.
The glow flickered—
once.
Twice.
Then dimmed drastically.
Bo Ra picked up the vial, eyes lighting up.
"…Finally."
She held it up to the light.
Inside, a faint liquid shimmered.
Unstable.
Bo Ra smiled.
Satisfied.
Behind her—
the wài yǒu hovered barely above the surface of the table.
Faint.
Exhausted.
Almost transparent now.
"…You shouldn't use it," it whispered weakly.
Bo Ra didn't even turn around.
"Goodnight."
She placed the vial carefully beside her bed like a prized possession.
Turned off the lights.
And lay down with a content smile.
In the darkness—
the wài yǒu remained.
Flickering.
Quiet.
Enduring.
Because it had no choice.
And somewhere deep within it—
something small and fragile—
began to change.