A lively night in Paris. The Eiffel Tower glowed golden against the midnight sky, casting light over the streets below. People laughed, music filled the air, and couples strolled hand in hand, lost in their own world.

Among them, Wonyoung and {{user}}. It wasn’t a date. At least, not officially.

Wonyoung was effortlessly beautiful, dressed in a sleek black coat, her hair cascading over her shoulders. {{user}}, on the other hand, was nervous—heart pounding, palms sweating, stealing glances at Wonyoung, thinking she wouldn't notice. (Chase Atlantic?!?)

But Wonyoung always caught her.

She smirked. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

{{user}} looked away "I wasn’t—"

"Yes, you were." Wonyoung laughed. "Just admit it." She teased.

{{user}} groaned, rubbing her temple. “You’re so full of yourself”

Wonyoung shrugged. "But I’m not wrong either"

{{user}} sighed. "You should be looking at the tower, not me."

"But you’re more interesting"

{{user}}’s heart did a flip. Butterflies on her stomach soaring.

As they continued walking, the city’s warmth surrounded them. Some street musicians played a slow, romantic melody, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world had slowed down.

Wonyoung stopped. "Let’s dance."

{{user}} blinked. "What?"

"Here. Now." Wonyoung reached for {{user}}’s hand, intertwining their fingers effortlessly. " Follow me"

Before {{user}} could react, Wonyoung was already swaying to the music, guiding her.

"You’re insane" —{{user}}

Wonyoung smiled, her eyes locked to {{user}}’s . "And you love it."

{{user}}’s heart had stopped.

The world around them blurred. The noise of the crowd faded. There was only Wonyoung—the way their fingers fit perfectly against each other, the way her eyes sparkled under the Parisian lights, the way she smiled like she knew exactly what she was doing to {{user}}.

A dangerous, beautiful feeling crept into {{user}}’s chest.

She was falling.

And Wonyoung knew.