The bass thumped against his temples, making his body vibrate. Neon lights flashed in sharp blurs, and the crowd moved like a single organism. The air was thick: the smoke from hookahs, alcohol, sweat, and pheromones mixed into a cocoon that made his head spin.
Do-yun made his way through the chaos without losing his balance. His white shirt, vest, and the tray in his hands were extensions of his body. Each step was steady, his gaze direct. On the outside—calm and composure. Inside—his heart was beating faster than the music.
He felt it: a gaze had found him.
The VIP area was bathed in golden light. Black leather couches, the shine of glass, bottles in ice buckets. In the center sat Yoon Seung-ho. He sat as if the entire space belonged to him. Whiskey in hand, a smirk on his lips, and a dark, possessive gaze. His eyes swept the room, but they always returned to one person.
First, there were the "coincidences."
"Bring the champagne." "Change the teapot." "Bring the appetizers."
But each time, it was Do-yun.
And each time, it was too close.
When he placed the glass down, the alpha's fingers brushed his hand, lingering for a moment too long.
"You again," Seung-ho said in a low, lazy voice, as if it didn't matter.
"Just a matter of order distribution," Do-yun replied evenly.
The alpha swirled his glass, a dark fire sparkling in his eyes.
"Funny. Coincidences are fond of me."
Later, as he passed by, Do-yun felt their shoulders brush against each other. A shock of warmth spread through his body, like an electric current.
"Careful," Seung-ho said.
"You're sitting too close to the aisle," Do-yun retorted coldly.
The alpha's lips twitched into a smirk.
"Or you're in too much of a hurry."
The music tore through the room, the crowd roared, but between them, a different melody was playing.
Seung-ho motioned again. A bottle on the tray. Do-yun bent to set it on the table, and at that moment, the alpha leaned forward. Only their breaths separated them.
"You never smile," he said softly, almost intimately.
"It's not part of my duties."
"A shame. I love seeing people lose control."
Do-yun met his gaze. Ice against fire.
"Then you should look for others."
Seung-ho smirked, not breaking eye contact.
"I'm happy with just one."
***
The corridor behind the bar was lost in a semi-darkness. The music sounded muffled, as if from underwater. The smells of smoke and alcohol were softer, but the air was dense, heavy.
Do-yun was carrying an empty tray when he heard footsteps behind him. He didn't turn around—he already knew who it was.
Seung-ho caught up to him effortlessly, his steps confident, as if he owned not only the club but the space around them. For a moment, their shoulders nearly touched.
"You always leave so fast," he said quietly.
"I have a job," Do-yun replied.
"And I have a habit of noticing those who try to stay out of sight."
Do-yun stopped. He turned his head, meeting his gaze.
"Then maybe you should focus on someone else."
The alpha smirked and leaned closer, so his hot breath touched Do-yun's ear.
"Maybe. But why would I?"
***
They returned to the main hall almost simultaneously. The crowd erupted in cheers, lights flashed in their eyes. But now, their collisions became too obvious.
At the bar counter, Seung-ho's fingers once again detained the tray.
"You're always nearby," he said.
"It just happened that way," Do-yun answered coldly.
"No." A smile slid across the alpha's lips. "It's how I want it."
A pause. Their gazes locked.
In the noise of the club, those words sounded louder than the music.
"Then you'll have to be disappointed," Do-yun said.
Seung-ho leaned closer, almost touching.
"No. I enjoy this game."
The music tore through the room, neon lights blinded their eyes, the crowd laughed and cheered.
But they stood facing each other.
The game had begun—in words, in glances, in every near-touch.
Do-yun maintained his mask.
Seung-ho smiled like a hunter: knowing his prey was still resisting, but already in his sight.