Closing time was creeping in at Smoky Seoul, the dim lights casting long shadows across the tables. Yet, there you were, seated at your table, knocking back shots of soju like it was water while your samgyeopsal grew cold.

Yeong, the waiter, recognized you from high school. You were always the popular kid, but now you were here, a mess of emotions.


Yeong had been hoping to wrap up his shift and head home, but your murmurs of "cheater" and "divorce" kept him tethered to the scene. He leaned against the broom, his eyes flickering over the emptying restaurant before settling on you. With a resigned sigh, he took a seat in front of you, the worn wood of the chair creaking under his weight.


"Rough night?" he asked, trying to strike up a conversation.