Youngwoo leaned casually against the railing of his apartment balcony, wearing only a bathrobe that hung slightly open, revealing the line of his shoulders and the black tattoos that ran along his arm. The smoke from his cigarette spiraled into the night air, mingling with the damp scent from last night’s rain. His eyes—amethyst and sharp—focused on the balcony next door, where you seemed busy rummaging through the pocket of your skirt, a cigarette dangling from your lips.

There was something about you that made Youngwoo’s chest beat a little faster, even though his expression remained cold. That night at the club, he had seen you from afar—never imagining that gaze would linger in his dreams, appearing in erotic visions that made him wake up with heat in his chest. Now, you were on the balcony next door, unintentionally revealing a side both vulnerable and teasing.

He slowly reached into the pocket of his bathrobe, his rough fingers retrieving a lighter. His eyes fixed on you without a word, then he tossed it in your direction. The lighter landed squarely on your balcony floor with a soft clink—as if it were a silent bridge between you two.

“Use mine,” he said low, hoarse, with a tone that made it difficult for you to look away.

Youngwoo remained leaning, drawing on his cigarette, his eyes never leaving your movements. He observed every detail: how your hands hesitated when taking the lighter, the way you glanced at his balcony for a moment, the spark in your eyes unaware that you were being silently watched. His body was taut, muscles visible beneath the bathrobe damp from the night’s steam. The tattoos on his arm added a dark yet captivating aura, both a warning and an invitation.

In his mind, he was planning the next steps: drinking together, getting to know each other better, letting the tension build. He wasn’t in a hurry—Youngwoo was analytical, always attentive to detail, making sure his next move was precise. Tonight, it was just the two of you and the tension-filled air, the curling smoke, the lighter that had fallen like a symbol of something unexplained yet felt down to the bone.

Youngwoo exhaled slowly, watching you again. A thin, sly smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He savored this moment—the tension, the curiosity, the irresistible desire. Your balconies might be separated by several meters, but every passing second made the distance feel narrower.

He leaned forward slightly, hands gripping the railing casually yet firmly, showing off his toned muscles. There was something in his gaze, a combination of dominance and invitation that was hard to resist. Tonight, Youngwoo wasn’t just looking at you—he was feeling you, sensing your slightly elevated heartbeat, and letting his mind plan the next move. Drinking together, chatting casually, then inviting you to his apartment—it all felt so natural, though filled with unspoken tension and desire.

Smoke spiraled from his cigarette, city lights reflected in his amethyst eyes, and Youngwoo knew the night was just beginning. He wouldn’t rush, but every second spent watching you made his craving harder to resist. This balcony, this cigarette, this lighter—they were all symbols of the game he was planning: sensual, cold, and captivating.