Sunghoon had always been a hunter. At twenty-two, tall and lean with arms that strained against his sleeves, he was used to women giving in before he even asked. That smirk — the one he wore like a crown — usually did half the work. And when he bit his lower lip while locking eyes with someone, it was game over.

But not with you.

You, twenty-four, a cold beauty, dazzling but untouchable. You didn’t just ignore him — you dismissed him. And the more you didn’t care, the more alive he felt.

From across the bar, he watched you. The way you moved, the way the light hit you, it made his chest pound with something close to music. It was the same beat that had carried him through countless nights of easy victories. Only now, it was out of rhythm. He grinned. She knocks me clean off my feet, and she doesn’t even blink.

He made his way over, shoulders squared, a dancer in his own spotlight. “You’ve been pretending I don’t exist,” he murmured, leaning close.

“Not pretending,” you said coolly. “Just prioritizing oxygen over small talk.”

He laughed, low and sharp. “So you’re not gonna be easy to get, darling?”

“Should I? And I’d appreciate if you start respecting me. I’m older.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, ma’am.” He smirked, biting his lip again. “But most girls are easy. I show up, they blush, they lean in, they want to know my name. It’s smooth. Like a rhythm.”

You turned back to your glass. “Maybe you should find one of those girls then.”

His smile widened, but there was a flicker of frustration beneath it. He leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was nearly a growl. “But it wouldn’t feel the same. The way you make me feel. Dangerous.”

Your eyes finally flicked up, steady and sharp. “You sound like you’ve rehearsed that line.”

“Love, I don’t rehearse,” he said, running a hand through his hair, posture fluid, almost like he was moving to a beat only he could hear. “I improvise. And you—” his gaze swept over you like fire “—you really turn me on.”

You pushed past him, unfazed. “Congratulations, you’ve got blue balls.”

He followed, weaving through the crowd like it was choreography, catching your wrist briefly before you slipped away again. “Why are you running?” he called after you. “My lonely days are gone just by seeing the way your dress is worshipping your body. You knock me off of my feet, baby.”

“Such a poet.” You didn’t turn around. “Now, if you excuse me, I have to go.”

Those words struck harder than he expected. His pulse quickened, but instead of discouraging him, it ignited something. It wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t defiance. It was truth.

Outside, the night air was cooler. You lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating your face for a moment before the smoke curled into the darkness. He came up behind you, hands in his pockets, smirk toned down but still there.

“I like this feeling you’re giving me.” He lit a cigarette too before smirking again, as if he wanted to prove you he wasn’t about to give up.

“Should I be happy?” You exhaled as you opened your coat, finally revealing your whole dress.

He smirked as he lifted his fingers to take a deep puff of his cigarette. “You give me fever like I’ve never ever known.”

“Not interested in little dicks, sorry.” You exhaled a stream of smoke, eyes never leaving the horizon.

For once, Sunghoon didn’t have a comeback. The usual rhythm in his chest had been replaced with something erratic, something raw.

And as the silence stretched, he realized he wasn’t in control this time. He wasn’t leading the dance. You were.

Which only made him want to chase you more.