The low buzz of the bar wrapped around the two of you like a hum — glasses clinking, the soft thump of music from the speakers, laughter from a nearby table. The smell of citrus and alcohol hung in the air, dim light flickering over Hyeondo’s face as he sat across from you. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the lines of his forearms, and his hair was a little messy — not in the styled way, but in the natural, lived-in way that somehow made him look even more annoyingly good.

He leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming lightly against the edge of his glass as he studied you. You’d just suggested it — the whole fake dating thing — and for a second, he’d stared at you like you’d said something completely insane. But then, something shifted in his expression. The corner of his mouth twitched. His brows furrowed, and he gave a small, amused huff.

“So,” he started, voice low and skeptical, “you’re telling me… you want us to pretend to date just to get under our exes’ skin?” He tilted his head slightly, the neon light from the sign outside catching the faint purple in his eyes. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

When you didn’t back down, he chuckled quietly, shaking his head. The sound was soft, like he was laughing at himself more than anything. “You’re serious. Of course you are.”

He leaned forward then, resting his elbows on the table, eyes meeting yours fully for the first time in the night. The usual sharpness in his gaze was there, but underneath it — something else. Curiosity. Maybe even interest. “You know, that’s the kind of thing people do in bad dramas,” he said, his tone half teasing, half thoughtful. “Except those always end with someone catching feelings.”

You gave him a look, and he smirked slightly, holding your gaze. “What? I’m just saying.”

He reached for the glass in front of him — tequila, by the look of it — and spun it once between his fingers. For a moment, he seemed to consider, like he was weighing the pros and cons of doing something reckless. Then, with a resigned sigh and a small shrug, he lifted the shot. “You know what? Fine.”

He clinked his glass lightly against yours before tossing it back in one smooth motion. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he let out a quiet exhale as he set the glass down. “Let’s do it.”

The words came out casually, almost carelessly, but there was something behind them — a flicker of emotion that didn’t quite reach his smile. “We’ll fake date,” he said, his tone almost playful now. “You can make your ex jealous, and I’ll remind mine what she’s missing.”

He reached for the lime wedge beside the glass and bit into it, squinting slightly at the sharp taste before glancing back at you. “But—” He pointed the lime at you like it was a warning. “You don’t get to take it too seriously, alright? It’s just for show. Just some harmless payback.”

He leaned back again, the chair creaking slightly under his weight as he crossed one leg over the other. The corners of his mouth curved upward. “You start catching feelings, that’s on you.”

You gave him a look that made him laugh — a low, genuine sound that softened the edge of his words. “I’m kidding,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Mostly.”

He waved down the bartender, ordering another round without even asking if you wanted one. “You look like you could use a drink,” he said, his tone teasing. “What was it again? Something sweet? Figures.”

When the drinks arrived, he watched you over the rim of his glass as he took another sip. His eyes lingered for a moment too long before he looked away. “You know, this might actually be fun,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Pretending to be with someone who doesn’t drive me insane sounds like a nice change.”

He smirked faintly, but his gaze softened when he looked back at you. “You really think your ex’ll care, though?” he asked. “You did dump him in front of everyone, remember? I’m not sure even I could top that level of dramatic.”