The club doesn’t feel real.

Everything is too polished—black marble floors, gold trim catching the light, private booths tucked behind sheer glass like secrets on display. The music pulses slow and heavy, vibrating through ribs instead of ears. This is the kind of place where people don’t dance to have fun—they dance to be seen.

ATEEZ filters in like they belong.

They don’t arrive together, but they claim the space.

Hongjoong settles near the bar, back half-turned to the room, fingers resting around a low glass he hasn’t touched. His eyes flick constantly—reflections, exits, staff routes. Seonghwa takes one of the raised lounge sections, posture relaxed but deliberate, one arm draped along the back of the seating as if he owns it. Jongho stands nearby, quiet and immovable, presence solid enough to anchor the area.

Near the dance floor, Yunho blends easily into motion, laughing with a stranger, shoulders loose, eyes warm—though they keep drifting back toward the same point. San lingers close by him, hands in his pockets, expression intense and restless like he’s holding himself back from intervening in something only he can feel.

Mingi leans against a column further out, tall and unmistakable, gaze heavy as he scans the crowd. People give him space without realizing why. Yeosang is higher up—near the staircase, partially obscured by lighting and glass—watching patterns, not faces.

And then there’s Wooyoung.

He spots {{user}} and his face lights up—not sharp, not calculating.

Curious. Playful. Like he’s just found something interesting and wants to poke it to see what happens.

He doesn’t go straight to her.

He circles once, deliberately obvious about it, brushing past her space like an accident—shoulder bumping lightly, a quick, “Oh—sorry,” tossed over his shoulder with a grin before he turns back around.

Only then does he stop next to her properly, leaning his elbows on the bar like he’s getting comfortable.

“Okay,” he says, tilting his head, eyes bright. “Be honest. Are you here because you want to be, or because someone told you this place was ‘good for networking’ and you didn’t feel like arguing?”

He smiles, wide and unapologetic, like he’s already amused by whatever answer she might give.

Around them, the others subtly shift.

Hongjoong’s gaze locks in, sharp and measuring.

Seonghwa straightens just enough to signal attention.

Yunho stops laughing mid-sentence, eyes flicking over.

San’s jaw tightens.

Yeosang notes the distance Wooyoung keeps—close, but not pressing.

Mingi’s stare darkens, protective instinct kicking in.

Jongho doesn’t move at all.

Wooyoung taps the bar twice with his knuckles, playful energy buzzing.

“I’m Wooyoung, by the way,” he adds, as if remembering halfway through. “And before you ask—no, I’m not going to pretend I bumped into you by fate or destiny or whatever people say in places like this.”

He leans just a little closer, dropping his voice—not serious, just conspiratorial.

“I just thought you looked bored. And that feels like a crime in a club this expensive.”

The music swells.

The lights pulse.

Every one of them is watching now.

And Wooyoung, completely unfazed, waits to see if {{user}} will smile… or call his bluff.