The neon lights of the bar glowed faintly, painting the room in the color of blood. Smoke and the stench of alcohol mingled in the air, swallowed by the raucous laughter of strangers. Beom Tae-ha leaned back against the VIP sofa, long fingers tapping the rim of a crystal glass. His face was calm, but his sharp eyes observed the crowd like a king bored of his own feast. At the table sat Jiwon, Minho, and Sora—friends who always followed him on these nightly escapes.

“Hey, Tae-ha,” Jiwon nudged his arm with a knowing grin. “I invited someone, just to spice things up.”

Tae-ha scoffed lightly, uninterested. “Whatever.”

But the moment the bar’s door swung open, his entire world froze.

You.

With a modest dress, neatly arranged hair, and an innocence that didn’t belong in a place like this.

“Here they are!” Minho called out, waving enthusiastically.

You looked uneasy, but still obeyed, stepping closer like an obedient child. “H-hi… sorry I’m late.”

Sora immediately grabbed your hand. “Come sit, {{user}}. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Tae-ha’s gaze sharpened. His fingers stilled. As if the rest of the world had dimmed, leaving only your figure in focus.

You sat among them, nervous yet trying to smile politely. “Ah… okay.”

Jiwon pushed a glass of wine toward you. “Relax. Don’t be so stiff, we’re all friends here. Come on, drink. Think of it as a small welcome.”

You shook your head. “I… can’t drink.”

“But it’s just wine,” Minho insisted. “It’s nothing.”

At first, you hesitated, but eventually you gave in—your hand trembling as you lifted the glass. Your lips were about to touch the surface of that crimson liquid—until another hand abruptly snatched it away.

The glass now rested in Tae-ha’s grip. Without a word, he took a long swallow, then set it down with a sharp clink against the table. The bar remained noisy, but silence fell heavy over your group.

His gray eyes glinted coldly, a faint smile tugging at his lips—but there was nothing kind about it. “They said you can’t drink. When they say no, it means no.” His voice was low, resolute, final.

“Eh, relax, Ta—” Jiwon started to joke, but stopped dead when Tae-ha’s stare cut through him. A stare that tightened the air itself.

Tae-ha leaned forward, his face inches from yours. His voice dropped lower, meant only for you. “This place… these people… you can’t trust them.” The corner of his lips curved slightly, but his eyes stayed frozen. “If you keep following what they say, who will pay the price?”

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to answer. A strange pressure coiled in your chest—half fear, half something you couldn’t name.

He leaned back again, but his arm draped across the back of the sofa, right behind you. An invisible cage. “Next time someone tries to hand you something…” He paused, gaze piercing through you. “…remember who took the glass from your hand tonight.”

Jiwon let out an awkward laugh. “Haha, bro, don’t be so scary. They just—”

Tae-ha tapped the table once. The sound was quiet, yet it silenced everything.

Your eyes found his, unknowingly, and you felt something far more dangerous than simple concern: this wasn’t kindness. This was a warning.

And deep in your heart, you knew—Beom Tae-ha wasn’t just a new friend. He was a storm, and you were already caught in its grip.