"Gods," she muttered hoarsely. "Why does food have to hurt?"
"That's what happens when you go full masochist on your first real weekend."
She groaned again and flopped back onto the bed.
"I regret everything."
I sat down in the chair nearby, crossing my arms.
"No, no. You were right, remember? I was the scaredy-cat. The weak one. The—what did you say again? 'Mild sauce is for toddlers'?"
She waved her hand weakly at me without looking up.
"I take it back. I take everything back."
I couldn't help laughing.
For her first weekend as a normal teenager, she really went all in. Singing, spicy food, zero self-preservation. It was kind of impressive, honestly.
"Don't worry," I said, patting her shoulder. "You'll survive. Probably. Just… next time, stick to medium spice, okay?"
She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "traitor," but she was too far gone to argue.
Looking at her, I couldn't help but think about yesterday.
[Flashback — at the Karaoke Room]
