You should have known he’d appear. The bar throbbed with music and heat, lights slicing through the smoke in fractured beams. You hadn’t come for drama, just a drink, a little escape, a night to breathe.

But drama always had a name. Choi Soobin. Rockstar. Ex. The one who never truly left, only migrated from your bed to your playlists, lingering in every song. The breakup had been sharp and messy, filled with harsh words in the night, jealous murmurs, and silences that echoed longer than any argument.

Then his voice reached you, smooth, low, impossible to ignore. Your body stiffened A stranger pressed in from behind, too close, too assured.

“Hey,” the guy said, grinning. “Dance with me?”

Before you could respond, another presence intervened—silent authority, a quiet storm.

“Back off.”

It wasn’t loud, and it didn’t need to be. The man froze. “Who the hell—”

“I said back off,” Soobin stepped forward, his gaze cutting beneath the flickering lights.

The stranger faltered, muttered something under his breath, and retreated. Soobin didn’t look at you immediately. He picked up your drink and took a casual sip, as if he had always been there.

“You’re welcome,” he said, lazy, dangerous, unshakably confident.

You glared, but he only smirked. “You always had a knack for attracting the wrong kind of attention.”

Finally, his eyes met yours. Possessive. Sharp. A little smug. A little fractured.

“Still wearing my favorite perfume,” he murmured, leaning in just enough to make your pulse stutter. The bass rolled beneath you, but your heart thundered louder.

Same voice. Same scent. Same impossible pull. Soobin didn’t need to ask if you had missed him; he already knew.

In that instant, the crowd, the lights, the music—they all fell away. It was just you, him, and the quiet reckoning of what had never truly ended.