her lips and bad behaviour (i'm in danger)

Minjeong orders a cosmopolitan from the bartender, the silver threads through his hair catching beneath the dim moody lighting. While he prepares the drink, she finds herself scanning the bar almost absentmindedly.

The booths are full tonight, tables pushed together for some kind of celebration. A birthday, maybe. Someone near the back laughs loudly enough to rise above the music, champagne glasses clinking somewhere beneath the soft hum of conversation.

“Rough week?” the bartender asks casually as he slides the pale pink drink toward her.

Minjeong exhales softly through her nose, fingers curling around the stem of the glass. “You could say that.”

He nods like he’s heard every variation of exhaustion possible behind this bar before moving away to help another customer.

That’s when she sees him.

At first, it’s only familiar details that catch her attention.

Dark hair falling slightly over his forehead. Broad shoulders beneath a black sweater pushed carelessly to his forearms. The gold chain glinting faintly at the base of his throat when he tips his head back, laughing at something someone says.

Her stomach drops so suddenly it almost feels physical.

God. He’s here.

For one terrible second, relief floods through her so intensely it makes her feel pathetic. Then reality catches up.

Because he isn’t alone.

A woman sits beside him in the booth, pretty in the effortless way younger women always seemed to be. Long dark hair. Tiny dress. A body that looked like it could’ve been sculpted by Michelangelo. One hand hitting lightly against his arm as she laughs at something he says.

Minjeong stills completely.

The sight shouldn’t bother her. It really, really shouldn’t. Hell, technically, they barely even knew each other.

One night. That’s all it had been. One reckless, emotionally compromising night with a younger man she’d never even exchanged last names with. Minjeong had left before sunrise like she was fleeing a crime scene.

So why did the sight of him with someone else make something ugly rear its head deep inside her chest?

Minjeong lifts the cosmopolitan to her lips, forcing herself to look away.

The drink suddenly tastes sharper than she remembered, tainted by her own bitterness.

Of course he’d moved on easily. Men like him always did. Young, attractive, charming men didn’t spend weeks lying awake replaying the way someone laughed against their mouth or looked at them like they were beautiful beneath low bedroom lighting.

No. Men like him bought another woman a drink and kept moving.

A laugh drifts across the room again. His laugh.

Minjeong’s grip tightens fractionally around the stem of her glass before she catches herself.

Pathetic.

She should leave. But she couldn’t find it in herself to move. Some deeply humiliating part of her wanted him to notice her. To see her.

Ugh. Maybe Yizhuo was right. Maybe she had completely lost her mind.

Minjeong reaches for her phone instead, pretending sudden interest in non-existent notifications while trying very hard not to look toward the booth again.

That lasts approximately thirteen seconds.

When her eyes lift again, he’s already looking directly at her.

His entire expression changes. Subtle enough that nobody else would notice it. But Minjeong does. The relaxed amusement softens first. Then surprise flickers briefly across his face before something warmer settles underneath it almost instantly.

Relief.

Beside him, the pretty girl continues talking. She’s still smiling as she recounts whatever story she’d been telling, hands moving animatedly with every exaggerated detail, warmth radiating from her so effortlessly it’s almost contagious.

He doesn’t look away from Minjeong once.

And suddenly, she becomes hyperaware of herself. The navy satin dress. Her lipstick. The slit exposing one bare leg beneath the amber lighting.

Damn. Had she subconsciously dressed for him tonight?

Before Minjeong can spiral further, the woman beside him finally notices his attention has drifted elsewhere.

She turns. Dark eyes land on Minjeong briefly before flicking back toward him with immediate understanding.

Then - to Minjeong’s horror - the woman grins.

A huge grin. Like a Cheshire cat.

She says something Minjeong can’t hear over the music before nudging his shoulder lightly with her own. He laughs softly, finally glancing away long enough to answer her.

Then he stands.

Oh no.

No, absolutely not.

Minjeong immediately reaches for her drink again like alcohol might somehow save her from this situation.

He moves through the crowded bar easily, weaving between tables toward her with the same effortless confidence she remembers far too vividly. Sleeves still pushed to his forearms. Dark hair still slightly messy. Gold chain still glinting warmly against tan skin.

Minjeong keeps her expression carefully neutral by the time he stops beside her stool.

“You know,” he says softly, voice warm enough to send heat rushing through her immediately, “most people usually text before disappearing after life-altering sex. It’s the courteous thing to do.”

Minjeong nearly chokes on her drink. Her eyes widen sharply as she looks up at him.

He looks unbearably pleased with himself.

“You’re impossible,” she hisses quietly, heat rushing to her face. “You can’t say things like that in public.”