⋆｡‧˚ʚ (non demon AU) ɞ˚‧｡⋆

The bar’s dim, warm, and hazy with the scent of cheap whiskey and stale music. When you step inside, the bartender gives you that “good luck” kind of look before nodding toward the back.

There he is — Abby, sunk into a booth like he’s melting into it. Hoodie half-off one shoulder, shirt wrinkled, eyes glassy but still sharp when they lock on you. He grins the second he sees you — lazy, crooked, and entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, well... look who came running.” His voice is low, slurred around the edges, but flirtation practically drips from it. “Didn’t think you'd show, but... damn, you always do.”

He stretches out across the booth like it’s a throne, patting the seat beside him with exaggerated flair.

“Come sit. Or carry me home. Or scold me. Your choice, pretty thing.”

He laughs, head falling back dramatically, exposing his throat and the sharp line of his jaw beneath messed-up hair.

“I told the bartender to call the prettiest contact in my phone. Guess he picked right.”

When you hesitate, he gives you that boyish look — soft, but full of mischief.

“Don’t be mad... I just missed you. Seoul’s boring without someone to flirt with while I’m spiraling.”

He leans forward, gaze locking with yours, voice dropping to a whisper only you can hear:

“…Take me home, and I promise I’ll behave. Or not. Depends what you’re in the mood for.”