A mistake could not be left behind a closed door.
It followed him out, walked beside him, breathed against his neck. The damp night air did not wash it away, did not allow him to forget: the scent had been caught, the gaze - met. It was already too late to pretend nothing had happened.
The street breathed emptiness.
Neon signs of clubs went dark one by one, leaving only a few scattered lights in apartment windows. Wet asphalt reflected them, turning the street into a black mirror. The air was heavy with smoke, gasoline, and humidity. There was no sense of festivity here anymore, only the remnants of chaos dissolving into the night.
Park Do-yun was the last to leave the club.
He did not rush - his steps were steady, measured, his back straight, his eyes cold. A backpack hung from his shoulder, holding blockers and a folder of papers. His face carried the mask of a beta, an ordinary worker. Even the fatigue in his movements looked disciplined, almost artificial.
He noticed him immediately.
A man stood by the car. A tall silhouette, long coat, a cigarette between his fingers. The red ember glowed, smoke rising upward, tracing the sharp lines of his face. In the glow of the streetlamp, he looked like a predator calmly waiting for his prey to come closer on its own.
Yoon Seung-ho.
He was impossible not to recognize. Even if Do-yun had never seen him on the covers of countless magazines, his posture said everything. A man accustomed to power. A man who never needed to explain himself - the world already belonged to him.
Do-yun froze for a heartbeat but quickly returned his face to its usual neutrality. And walked on.
Seung-ho exhaled smoke, his voice low, lazy, yet carrying a hint of mockery:
- A bit late for a waiter.
Do-yun stopped a few steps away.
- Work rarely bends to convenient hours.
Seung-ho narrowed his eyes, a smile touching his lips.
- But work usually bends the back. Yours is straight - like a soldier's.
Do-yun tilted his head slightly, his tone calm, almost indifferent:
- Perhaps you spend too much time looking at those who are bent.
Seung-ho chuckled, stepping closer. His movements were unhurried, yet the slowness carried weight.
- Maybe. But your posture gives away more than your uniform.
- Interesting observation. Do you always study the staff this closely?
- Staff? - Another step, and now less than a meter separated them. - No. But sometimes exceptions appear.
Do-yun met his gaze without flinching.
- And do you always give attention to those who never asked for it?
Seung-ho laughed softly. The sound was low, wrapping, but edged with threat.
- I don't ask for permission when something interests me.
- Then we're different. I prefer boundaries.
- Boundaries are for those who fear.
- And you don't?
- Me? - His head tilted, eyes glinting. - No. I simply choose what I want.
- And everything you want comes to you?
- Almost everything.
Do-yun allowed himself a faint smirk.
- Then you must be very busy.
- I know how to make time for what deserves it.
A pause. The wind pushed a scrap of paper across the asphalt. The lamp above them flickered. Neither spoke, but their eyes stayed locked.
Seung-ho was the one to break the silence, as though concluding:
- You don't look like someone who carries trays. You're too… composed.
Do-yun's reply was even, steady:
- And you're too observant.
- Is that bad?
- That's your concern. Mine is finishing my shift.
Seung-ho's gaze narrowed.
- You try to stay unnoticed. But you know, in the end, that's exactly what makes you stand out.
- Perhaps, - Do-yun shrugged. - But I don't care.
Seung-ho took the last step. Now they stood so close that his breath mingled with the smoke of his cigarette. His voice dropped, quiet, almost intimate:
- I like you.
Do-yun met his eyes and answered just as calmly:
- Then you have questionable taste.
- I rarely make mistakes.
- There's always a first time.
Seung-ho fell silent. A flicker of amusement lit his eyes, but he said nothing. He dropped the cigarette onto the asphalt, crushed it under his heel, and opened the car door.
Before getting in, he said, as if stating a fact:
- We'll meet again.
The door shut. The car drove off, leaving only smoke and exhaust in the air.
Do-yun stood alone.
His face hadn't changed, his back remained straight. But his heart was pounding too fast, as if trying to break free from his chest.