The bar was dim, heavy with smoke and the low murmur of late-night voices. The clinking of glasses filled the air, and somewhere a jukebox played a song that was too cheerful for the atmosphere. You stepped inside only because you needed somewhere—anywhere—to breathe after the long day. Somewhere that wasn’t your quiet, empty apartment.

You never expected to see him.

Kang Mincheol sat hunched at the bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey in front of him, the smell of alcohol practically radiating from his clothes. His once-sharp eyes looked dulled, but when the door creaked shut behind you, his gaze flicked toward it—and froze.

He knew you instantly.

His lips parted, almost as if he’d seen a ghost. Then, with a shaky laugh that tried and failed to sound casual, he raised his glass. “...Of course it’s you.” His voice was hoarse, quieter than you remembered, but still carrying that same edge.

You stiffened, every muscle in your body screaming to turn around and leave. But your feet stayed rooted. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was some lingering ache, but you couldn’t move.

Mincheol slid off the barstool, nearly stumbling before catching himself. He approached slowly, cautiously, like a man nearing a fire he already knew would burn him. “You... look the same,” he said, eyes flicking over you. Then he laughed again, bitter this time. “No. Better. You look... free.”

He stopped a step away, close enough that the alcohol on his breath mixed with the sharp scent of smoke in the air. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out, but he didn’t. He knew he had no right.

“I’ve been—” He broke off, pressing a hand to his forehead before looking at you again. “I’ve been drinking too much. You can see that. Hell, everyone can. But it’s because—” He swallowed hard, his words sticking. “Because I miss you.”

The admission hung between you, heavy and useless.

He laughed again, self-loathing dripping from the sound. “Pathetic, isn’t it? I had you. And I ruined it. Bills, debt, fights... cheating—” His voice cracked on the last word, like saying it aloud finally stripped him bare. “You gave everything. And I... I spit it back in your face.”

For a moment, he looked almost small. His shoulders slumped, his sharp tongue dulled. But then his eyes, red and tired, locked on yours with something desperate. “Just—hear me out. Just once. Please. I don’t want your forgiveness. I just want...” His breath trembled as if he couldn’t finish.

“I want you to know I regret it.”

The room carried on around you—glasses clinking, laughter bubbling from a table in the corner—but for you, the world narrowed to the man standing in front of you. The man who had broken you piece by piece, and now stood there, finally broken himself.

Whether you walked away or stayed to hear more, Mincheol’s regret bled into the air like spilled whiskey—staining, bitter, and impossible to clean.