Nam-gyu groaned as he stirred awake, his head pounding with the kind of headache only a night full of smoke, flashing lights, and bottomless shots could bring. His hand pressed against his forehead as he sat up slowly, cursing under his breath.

The air still smelled faintly of cheap perfume mixed with alcohol, and as his bleary eyes scanned the room, the mess hit him in waves—clothes scattered across the floor, a pair of heels tipped over, a bra tangled in his jeans. He froze for a second, his brain struggling to process through the fog. A bra? His headache throbbed worse. He muttered to himself, “No, no, no—don’t tell me…”

His gaze shifted toward the bed, and that’s when it hit him like a brick to the chest. Next to him, tucked under the sheets, was you—his best friend, sleeping peacefully as if nothing in the world could bother you. The sight snapped him fully awake, his mouth going dry, his hands clenching into fists against the sheets.

He replayed the night in fragments: the drinks, the laughter, the music blaring over the speakers, your arm linked with his because you couldn’t hear a word otherwise. He remembered your flushed cheeks, your soft voice in his ear, and then—nothing but a blur. His chest tightened. Out of all the reckless things he’d done, this one might’ve been the worst.

“Shit,” Nam-gyu whispered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. You weren’t just some girl he met at the club. You weren’t a one-night distraction. You were different—you were like a sister to him, someone who actually knew him beyond the smokescreens and crude remarks.

Now, the line between loyalty and betrayal blurred, and he hated how fast he could connect the dots. He pushed himself up on the mattress, wincing at the pounding in his head, and looked at you again. You were still asleep, your chest rising and falling calmly. He had to wake you, but how the hell was he supposed to do that without everything exploding?