Oneshots Collection || BTS.

Game Over || KSJ.

Beep! Beep! Pow! Beep! Pow! Boom! 

"Ugh, I can't stand this anymore!" 

The noise of fist against plastic resounded in the near vicinity, drawing the brief attention of indifferent passersby. Ignoring the curious side-glances of those who cared to look, her fist remained stamped against the surface of the machine as she sucked in deep, labored breaths at the familiar words on the screen: Game Over. 

Song Ha-Rin resisted smashing the screen open at the message taunting her hundredth failed attempt. All she needed was this last victory, and the elusive Golden Ticket was hers—a ticket that, once attained by triumphing the hardest level of this hardest arcade game, would grant her anything in the prize shop or a trade for straight-up cash at the counter. Her grumbling stomach was enough to tell anyone which option she was going to choose if— no, when —she got her hands on it. 

And so, with no gusto, Ha-Rin shoved a couple more coins into the machine, pushed up her glasses, and bitterly selected the same option she'd chosen for the past six hours: Retry. 

It didn't matter that she was an adult hogging up this arcade machine for an entire Saturday night among a throng of kids in Seoul's most luxurious game bar. It didn't matter that she was in an oversized sweater and sweatpants while every other rich family decked out in Louis Vuitton and Gucci was paying for unlimited attempts for their precious snowflake's victory. 

What did matter, however, was how quickly her pockets were growing lighter and lighter each hour, and that if she didn't snag this top prize today, she would have to skip lunch for the next four days. Her day job— an uninspiring, call-center gig— was hardly enough to sustain even a life in poverty. So, winning any loose cash, even when it meant crashing a place clearly meant for well-off families to pamper their spoiled children, was a big enough incentive, as long as it promised her something more interesting than canned peas and dried laver for dinner. 

And the Golden Ticket was that promise.

"Dammit!" she swore loudly as her little avatar on screen was once again demolished by the enemy's overpowered cannon shot, garnering disapproving glances from surrounding adults for cussing so closely to the ears of their precious kids. One woman tsk-ed disappointedly at her, and Ha-Rin knew that these people—wealthy, beautiful, and privileged—were secretly shaming her and her pathetic, impoverished existence for tainting their poised establishment.

Whatever.

Swallowing down more anger and pride, Ha-Rin raised her hands to the arcade buttons once more. 

"Need help?"

The smooth, deep sound of an unfamiliar voice behind her caused her hands to freeze on the Retry option. 

Crap.

Mortified that her potty mouth had indeed caught someone's legitimate attention, Ha-Rin slowly turned her head, and her eyes were level with a silk dress shirt of a lean, tall man before they traveled upwards to meet the cocoa eyes of a ravishing stranger. 

Like everyone else here, he was beautiful.

She immediately threw her guard up. These rich people always had ulterior moves when they bothered wasting their time engaging with her: a boring, plain girl with thick glasses, an unkempt, messy bun, wrinkled sweater, and colorless sweatpants.

"Um...no," she muttered, diverting her gaze back down to the arcade screen. Since this man hadn't been rude to her yet, she slapped on, "Sir," hoping her politeness, albeit slightly forced, would shoo him away.

The young man chuckled, his laugh a suave chime. Then, against her hopes and to her utmost shock, he leaned down next to her, peeking at the screen.

Ha-Rin held her breath, flabbergasted by how much he'd trespassed into her personal space, but even still, she could smell the expensive cologne flowing off from him, the edge of his tie tickling her shoulder. His head of burgundy locks shook as he chuckled quietly again.