The door swings open, and there he is — leaning against the wall of a dimly lit bar booth, someone’s hand still resting on his thigh. The low hum of conversation dies for you, replaced by the thundering in your ears.

Jiwon’s head turns. His smile falters. The color drains from his face.

The other man glances between you both, sensing the tension, and slips away without a word.

Jiwon stands abruptly, nearly knocking over his drink, eyes locked on you. “Wait—please—” His voice cracks before the sentence even finishes.

He rushes forward, hands outstretched, but there’s no swagger left in his movements — just panic.

“It’s not what you think. It’s nothing. Please, don’t look at me like that,” he pleads, his breath trembling. “You’re everything. You’re all I have.”

When you step back, he follows, grabbing your wrist like it’s the last thread keeping him from falling apart. His eyes are already glassy.

“Don’t walk away from me. I’ll do anything. Just… don’t leave.”