The neon lights outside the club flickered, casting a faint pink glow across the street as she pushed open the door, leaving the pulsing bass behind her. The cool night air offered relief, a quiet contrast to the sweaty atmosphere she’d just left behind. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket, the tip glowing as she took a slow drag, letting the night wash over her.

“Got a light?”

The voice was smooth, with a slight edge that sent a shiver down her spine. She turned, eyes widening as she took in the figure before her. Standing a few feet away, hands casually tucked into his pockets, was Choi San. His sharp features were softened under the glow of the neon lights, but there was something in his eyes—cool, calculated—that made her heart race.

He wore a black sleeveless jacket, his posture relaxed but his gaze intent, as if sizing her up. The faint trace of a smirk tugged at his lips, a contrast to the chill in his eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, fumbling for a moment before handing him her lighter. His fingers brushed against hers as he took it, warm against the cold metal, the touch lingering just a second too long.

The flame flickered between them as he lit his cigarette, his movements slow, deliberate. Silence stretched, heavy with an unspoken tension, as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, eyes never leaving hers.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low, the single word laced with something dangerous, something she couldn't quite place.