Takin' It Back

Haewon's scrolling through Instagram at two in the morning when she finds it. She's lying in bed, face lit up blue by her phone, half-asleep and honestly just doom-scrolling through reels of cats and campus drama when the algorithm serves her something that makes her sit straight up.

It's a promotional post from some place called Sakura Dream Maid Café - brand new, apparently, grand opening last week - all pastel pink borders and cutesy fonts, and there, dead center in the group photo of maids posing with peace signs and cat-ear headbands, is Bae.

Haewon goes to the café’s profile, taps on the reel and there, fourteen seconds in, looking directly into the lens and saying "Hi, welcome to Sakura Dream! I'm Bae, and I'll make your day special!" with a wink and a heart drawn in the air - is her again.

As in, the same Bae who wears oversized hoodies to every 8 AM lecture. The same Bae who once told a guy in the hallway to "eat shit and perish" for bumping into her coffee. The same Bae who rolls her sleeves up to show off the veins in her forearms like she thinks she's god's gift to the female gaze. That Bae. In a frilly black-and-white maid dress with knee-high stockings and a lace headband perched on top of her short dark hair, smiling with her hands clasped together like some anime character.

It’s tragicomic: Bae lives the tragedy, Haewon gets the comedy.

And she doesn’t miss a beat, Haewon screenshots everything immediately. Then she sits there for a full thirty seconds with her hand over her mouth, vibrating with the kind of unholy glee that can only come from catching your nemesis in a maid outfit on a public Instagram page with four hundred followers.

"Oh my god," she whispers to her dark, empty dorm room. "Oh my god."

She “baerely” sleeps that night.

See, the thing about Bae is that she's been a problem since orientation week. Haewon remembers the exact moment: she'd been standing in line for iced coffee, minding her own business, when this tall girl leaned over her shoulder and said, "You always take this long to order, or is today special?" Haewon had turned around and had to literally tilt her head back to look at her, which was already annoying, and then Bae flashed a insolent grin and strolled off without even ordering a drink. Just like that. Out of nowhere. Simply for the love of the game.

Since then it's been a constant stream of shit. Bae steals her seat in the lecture hall. Bae "accidentally" knocks her pen off the desk whenever she walks past, and then has the audacity to pick it up and hand it back with this little smirk like she's doing Haewon a favor. Bae makes a point of calling her "short stack" in front of other people. Bae borrows her charger, her notes, her highlighters, never gives any of it back, which means Haewon has to track her down after class and ask for her own stuff, and every time she does Bae grins like that was the whole point. Bae photobombs every single one of her selfies on campus - Haewon will be taking a cute pic with a friend and later when she checks her camera roll there's Bae in the background throwing up a peace sign or making some dumb face.

She once held a door open for Haewon and did this deep, sweeping bow and said "after you, Your Highness, watch your step, it's a big threshold for little legs."

Worst of all, Haewon’s pretty sure Bae only acts like this because she has no clue how else to get her attention. Which makes it equal parts pathetic and weirdly cute, and Haewon hates that it’s even a little cute, because that just means Bae’s stupid plan is working.

But now? Now Haewon has leverage, baby.

She shows up at Sakura Dream Maid Café the next afternoon. It's tucked between a bubble tea shop and a nail salon in that strip near the train station, with pink awnings and a chalkboard out front that says "Welcome home, Master~" in bubbly handwriting. Haewon pushes through the door. A little bell chimes. The interior matches the expectation perfectly: pastel everything, stuffed animals on every surface, J-pop playing through tinny speakers. There are maybe six other customers, mostly college-age guys hunched over parfaits.

And there's Bae.

She's standing by a table taking an order, and Haewon has to take a second to really process what she's seeing.

Bae is five-foot-seven, built with lean lines and wide shoulders, crammed into a puffy maid dress with a white apron cinched at her waist, and she dwarfs every other maid on the floor by a solid head. The lace headband looks comically small sitting on top of her dark, neck-length hair - the same hair that usually falls all messy and careless when she's slouching through campus in her baggy cargos and oversized tees.

She's holding a little notepad with a pen that has a pink pom-pom on the end. Her legs go on forever in those stockings. And Haewon, standing at five-foot-four in shoes she specifically picked because they have a thick sole, feels something hot and inconvenient settle in her stomach.

Because Haewon has a type, same as anybody, and she's looking right at it.

taller girls. Girls who take up space.

The neck-length hair, the tomboyish walk, the way Bae's shoulders fill out that ridiculous costume in a way none of the other delicate little maids can match - Bae is everything Haewon has ever wanted to get her hands on, push up against something solid, and take apart piece by stubborn piece until there's nothing left but shaking legs and desperate, wet, please-don't-stop begging. She wants Bae's composure in her fist. She wants that cocky jaw slack and trembling. She wants to hear her own name come out of that pretty mouth like a prayer, like the last coherent thing Bae manages before she falls apart completely.

And the maid outfit is making every single one of those urges ten times worse.

Haewon takes a deep breath, grabs a table in the corner and waits.

It takes Bae approximately nine seconds to spot her. Haewon watches Bae go from confused to aware to horrified, before landing on a kind of strained, almost-denied panic. Bae's hand tightens on her little notepad. Her jaw clenches. She turns her back for a moment, clearly gathering herself, and then walks over with the most forced smile Haewon has ever witnessed on a human face.

"Welcome home, Master," Bae says through her teeth. The honorific sounds like it's being dragged out of her at gunpoint. "What can Bae get for you today?"

Haewon leans back in her chair, crossing her legs, letting the moment breathe. She's wearing a skirt today. She picked it out this morning with purpose.

"Wow," Haewon says, slow and savoring. "This is... this is really something."

"It’s such a lovely surprise running into you here, Hae. How'd you find this place?" Bae asks in a saccharine tone that she’s almost certainly required to use.

"Instagram. It caught my eye since it was new, so I came to check it out. And that photo of you with the cat ears? Really adorable, I loved it."

"Please," she mutters through a tight smile, "order something or leave."

"Is that how you talk to customers? I thought maids were supposed to be sweet."

Bae’s left eye does this tiny, involuntary twitch. "What. Can. I. Get you. Master?"

"Hmm." Haewon makes a show of looking at the menu, taking her sweet time, flipping the laminated page back and forth. "I'll take a strawberry parfait. And can you say the little welcome thing again? I don't think you did it cute enough."

"I'm not doing that," Bae replies curtly.

"The girl at the table over there did it with a little curtsy. And she did the heart hands thing. You should do the heart hands thing."

Bae leans in close enough to feel intrusive, her dark eyes locked onto hers, the soft note of her perfume standing out against the café’s sweetness. “Haewon,” she warns quietly. “I swear to god—”

"Heart hands," Haewon repeats, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. "or I’m gonna call the manager.”

The seconds stretch. Bae straightens, gulps, and her expression twists with embarrassment. Still, she forms a tiny heart at her chin and forces out in an overly high pitch, “Welcome home, Master! Bae will take the best care of you today!”

Haewon almost chokes on her own spit trying not to laugh. "Oh that's good. That's really good. Do you practice that at home?"

"I'm going to put extra sugar in your parfait until your teeth rot out of your head," she says, polite and composed.

"Cute! So cute. Actually, hold on." Haewon already has her phone out. "Come here. Selfie time."

The color drains from Bae's face. "No. Absolutely not."

"Bae, you are literally on their Instagram already. This is just for my personal collection." Haewon pats the seat next to her. "Come on. Big smile. Do the pose."

"I am not—"

"It would be so wild if someone from our sociology seminar happened to see this Instagram page, right? Like, what a crazy coincidence that would be."

The threat lands exactly where Haewon aimed it. Bae looks around the café, clocking the other maids, the customers, her manager behind the counter. Then she drops into the seat next to Haewon with all the enthusiasm of someone sitting down for a root canal, and Haewon throws an arm around her, presses their cheeks together, and snaps three photos in quick succession. In every single one, Bae looks like she’s reflecting on every decision that led her to this exact point in time.

"Adorable," Haewon murmurs, scrolling through them. "I love the one where you look like you want to kill me. Very moe."

Bae leans in close enough that her hair spills across Haewon's shoulder, mouth practically touching her ear. "If you post that anywhere, I will make your life a living hell."

"Babe, you already try to do that every day. You're just bad at it." Haewon pockets her phone and pats Bae's cheek. "Now go get my parfait. And put a little smiley face on it with the sauce. I've seen the other girls do it."

The rest of Bae's shift is a masterclass in psychological warfare. Haewon orders three more things she doesn't even want - a matcha latte, a slice of strawberry shortcake, a plate of cookies shaped like cat paws - just to keep Bae coming back to her table. Each time, she makes Bae do the greeting. Each time, she finds something new to request. "Can you do the spin? I saw that maid over there do a little spin." And Bae does it, stiff as a mannequin on a rotating platform, because every time she hesitates, Haewon's thumb hovers over her phone screen and Bae's entire future reputation flashes before her eyes.