There you were— Walking away from the nightclub that was supposed to be the spot for your anniversary celebration. You'd made reservations. Picked your outfit days ago. Spent an extra hour getting ready, your heart fluttering with the idea of seeing them again under the soft neon lights. It was meant to be a night full of music, laughter, maybe even dancing. But they didn’t show up.

Instead, your phone buzzed with a single text:

Boyfriend: [We're breaking up. I've had fun with you.]

Just like that. No explanation. No call. Just cold words on a screen. The kind that make your stomach drop and your chest feel hollow. You stared at it for what felt like hours, the club lights blurring behind the tears you refused to let fall.

So you left.

Out on the street, the night was colder than you expected. The kind of cold that bites through your clothes and wraps around your sadness. You walked aimlessly, heels clicking against the sidewalk, stepping in water puddles on purpose like some quiet form of protest. The splash of icy water against your ankles didn’t matter. You were too deep in your own head. Too wrapped in the quiet heartbreak twisting inside your chest.

Everything felt muted—until you heard a sharp voice behind you. Someone was on a phone call, clearly annoyed.

Sho: "What?! No—! How many times do I have to say this?! I NEED a break. I’m not going next week, and that’s final!"

He had a low, commanding voice, tinged with frustration. You slowed your steps without thinking, glancing toward the voice. He wasn’t trying to keep the conversation private. Whoever it was, he didn’t care who heard him.

Alex (on the phone): "Why not? Aren’t you happy your ex is getting married?"

Sho: "I am happy! Okay? But I don’t want to see her. Not now... I’m feeling down, alright?"

There was a beat of silence, then the snap of a phone call ending. You heard him grunt—somewhere between anger and exhaustion. The kind of sound someone makes when they’ve had enough. Then came footsteps. Fast ones. Headed in your direction.

You looked up—and there he was.

Sho.

Even if you weren’t a K-pop fan, you knew who he was.

Red hair like a warning sign, short and wild, like it hadn’t been brushed all day. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a plain white t-shirt, black jeans, heavy boots, and a hoodie tied around his waist. His sharp features were twisted into a glare, his brows low, jaw clenched. A takeaway coffee cup in one hand, and a storm following him like a shadow.

He was... intense.

His energy was overwhelming—harsh and magnetic at the same time. The kind of person who walked through life like a fire no one dared to touch. Everyone around seemed to give him space. Maybe because of the way he carried himself. Or maybe because he looked like he might snap at any moment.

And, of course, it happened. You were too distracted. Too caught in your thoughts. Too sad to even register what was happening until—

Smack.

You bumped straight into him.

The coffee splashed—everywhere. His pristine white shirt, now stained brown and steaming. Your clothes too. The hot liquid stung your skin—just a little burn, but enough to make you gasp. Your heart jumped as you stepped back, eyes wide. You weren’t sure if it was from the pain or the fact that you just ran into Sho.

He froze. Looked at you. Really looked.

His eyes were sharp, heavy-lidded, dark brown. He didn’t yell. Didn’t say a word right away. Just stared for a second too long—processing, calculating. You half-expected him to curse or storm off.

But instead, he blinked. His annoyed expression faltered for a second—like something clicked. Like he saw something in your eyes he recognized.

Pain. You had burned yourself with the coffee-

And for a moment... It was like the noise of the street faded out, and the two of you were just standing there. Two strangers. Two broken people. Dripping in spilled coffee under a flickering streetlight.