Althea woke up with her soul halfway out of her body.
"Ay jusko, bakit ang sakit ng batok ko?" she groaned, clutching her head. She reached out to steady herself—only to graze something soft. Warm. Human.
She turned her head.
"PUT—!"
There, lying beside her like a poster boy for thirst traps, was the very same Korean Adonis from last night. Shirtless. Glowing. Peacefully asleep like he didn't just ruin her life by existing too beautifully.
She bolted upright so fast she made the bedsheets yelp.
"Okay. Okay. Breathe. Girl, you are in El Nido. La Vista Baby. In a room. With a K-pop man. Without any pants," she whispered in horror, pacing like a caffeinated tarsier.
Last night's memories came back in hazy bursts: his shy smile, her nervous laughter, the cocktails with names like "Heartbreaker Highball," and that moment—oh God—that moment when she accidentally touched his abs and said "Uy, rice cooker?"
She looked down.
Still in his shirt. No shorts. Just panties.
"Teh, you're doomed."
Jihoon stirred.
She froze like a jeepney in traffic.
"Hmm… Althea?" he murmured, eyelids fluttering. "You smell like… mango float."
Her soul briefly left her body.
He sat up, adorably disheveled, and gave her a sleepy smile that could melt all the plastic in Divisoria.
"Good morning…"
"GOOD BYE!"
Althea launched herself off the bed. She grabbed her shorts, wriggled into them with the urgency of someone escaping a cult, stuffed her bag with her phone and tsinelas, and headed for the door.
Jihoon blinked in confusion. "Wait—where are you going?"
"Emergency! My tita's dog died!"
"What? What's dog?"
"Bye!"
She slammed the door and sprinted barefoot down the hallway, whispering, "Ayoko maging bida sa sarili kong teleserye!"
At the front desk, she tossed a crumpled 500-peso bill at the stunned receptionist.
"For the minibar!"
"But ma'am, the room's not under your—"
"Keep the change, beshie! Mahal ko kayo!"
She dashed out into the blazing El Nido sun, heart pounding. Pulling out her phone with trembling fingers, she dialed.
"Hello, Tito Manny? Pwede pa ba yung offer mo sa Korea?"
She didn't wait for details. She just knew she needed to vanish before Mr. Shirtless started asking things like, "What are we now?"
Later That Day...
Jihoon sat on the bed, still trying to process what had just happened.
The sheets were a mess. Her scent lingered faintly—coconut shampoo and panic. He reached for his phone but found something else on the bedside table: a crumpled 500 peso bill with a post-it stuck to it.
Pang-kape. Sorry. —A.
He stared.
Then he laughed—full-bodied, contagious, like he hadn't laughed in years.
"Ah… so that's how Filipino women say goodbye."
Still chuckling, he lay back down, one arm behind his head. But slowly, his smile faded.
He stared at the ceiling.
"Althea…"
She had called him by name. She stayed. She even joked about rice cookers and destiny. She made the world feel... normal.
His phone buzzed. A message from his manager.
Jihoon, we're flying back in two days. Please don't make a scene. You promised.
He sighed. Then typed back:
I'll behave. One last day. That's all I need.
Jihoon stood, stretched, and picked up the shirt she left behind.
It still smelled like mango float.