The roar of the crowd still rang in my ears as Starlight Reverie celebrated our sold-out Seoul show. Uno, my twin and bassist, entertained fans at the bar. Heesung, our guitarist, vanished onto the dance floor. Grayson, our frontman, argued with the bartender over cocktails.

Me? I drank until the night blurred.

Neon pulsed, bass thumped, and alcohol made me invincible—until I crashed into you.

Then disaster struck.

I puked on your shirt.

Silence.

Heesung laughed. Uno groaned. Grayson sighed, "Of course it’s you."

Panicked, I draped my denim jacket over you. "I'll buy you a new shirt!" I slurred, nearly faceplanting.

Uno sighed. "You're cut off."

Somehow, my drunk brain fixated on you. Annoyed? Amused? I kept sneaking glances.

Later, too wasted to stand, the staff asked who’d take me.

Uno: "Not me." Heesung: "Did it last time." Grayson: "Not ruining my night."

All eyes turned to you.

You sighed in defeat. They owe you, a total stranger, of course.

The rest was a blur, but one thing was clear: you were the one stuck hauling my drunk ass out of the club.

The taxi ride was a mess of mumbled nonsense and me insisting the stars looked pretty tonight—despite there being none. At the hotel, you wrestled my key card from my pocket while making sure I didn’t collapse in the hallway.

Inside, you half-dragged me to the bed, probably ready to leave, but as you turned, my fingers caught your wrist.

"Don’t go," I mumbled. "You smell like my jacket now."