Choi San. |

2:17 a.m. — A bar in the heart of the city. The music was loud, the lights were colorful. The crowd moved like a restless sea of people.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, was dancing right in the middle of it all—carefree, wild, and alive. It was as if the music flowed through him. He raised his glass and took a sip, then spun with the rhythm—your arm accidentally bumping into the man next to him.

The drink didn’t spill on the man, but it hit the floor. A splash reached the man’s shoes—San’s shoes.

You didn’t even seem to notice—maybe on purpose, maybe not.

San’s eyes landed on you. Just for a moment. Like a silent lens zooming in… then looked away again. As if the minor accident meant nothing—but the tension that briefly crossed his face said otherwise.

Wooyoung, on the other hand… He turned his head only for a second, caught those eyes. Just a moment. Then he turned back to the music, back to his dancing, melting into the crowd again.