lovememore

@ughyeju a dive bar at the edge of gangnam-gu

Minseo knows she’s been stood up when the bartender slides her a mixed drink across the counter, free of charge.

If anyone’s to blame, it’s her. Kiwoong told her not to download Tinder, cited his own failures as proof, but it didn’t seem fair to Minseo to use his experiences as a baseline for her own. After all Kiwoong is Kiwoong, and she’s maybe slightly above average on a good day. Which meant that the people who swiped right on her were doing so largely for her personality.

God. What a fucking joke.

She should’ve listened. She should’ve just given Kiwoong her phone until her desire to seek validation from pretty strangers had run its course.

(Though of all the stories he’d shared with her, not once had someone just outright stood him up.)

Whatever. The humiliation’s already settled in, might as well enjoy her pity party of a drink.

She gives her phone a break for the first time since sitting down and takes the opportunity to glance around the bar. There’s a sizable crowd for a Thursday evening, even if it is mostly made up of middle-aged men needing to unwind from their office jobs, cuffs undone and neck ties loosened.

Which is why she stands out the way she does, Kim Hyeju, slouched over at the opposite end of the bar. It’s the cherry on top of the shitcake that is this evening, and Minseo can only laugh at the twisted humor of it all.

Even so, she’s not in the mood for death glares or insults that cut a little too close to essential arteries. By the time she downs the last of her beer, she’s already got an exit strategy in mind. Head down, eyes on the ground, one foot in front of the other. She’s got a hand on the door when—

Shattered glass. Then: a series of harsh thuds. The sound of limbs hitting the floor.

Minseo turns around.

Hyeju is on the floor, attempting to push herself up onto her knees with no such luck. Several things become evident at once.

Hyeju is drunk, almost alarmingly so.

That is not Minseo’s problem.

Despite knowing #2 to be true, Minseo will make it her problem because that’s just the kind of person Harabeoji taught her to be, which is—unfortunate.

She hesitates just long enough to feel guilty for it before backtracking, mindful of scattered glass shards. Crouching, she holds out a hand, fixing her gaze on the side of Hyeju’s face.

@ugwoong  a club in hongdae

There’s a reason Minseo doesn’t stick around after shows.

Most nights, she’s able to slip out with relative ease—perks of being the least-attractive member of the group, she supposes—but every now and then, she’ll find herself getting stopped. By a fan (which, nine times out of ten, she doesn’t mind in the slightest), someone looking to shoot their shot, or, in this case, both.

The thing is, he seems like a nice guy. A bit forward, sure, standing a little too close for her liking, but it’s hard to walk away from someone while they’re telling you how much your music inspires them, how your lyrics resonate deeper than bone, how their eyes are drawn to you no matter where you stand on the stage.

(No, it’s not, Haera says when Minseo finishes explaining this phenomenon to her one evening. You literally just leave.)

(Yeah. She’s never doing that again.)

Minseo’s not ashamed to admit that it feels good, either. The attention. The praise. Is it sad? Yes. She lets him lead her away from the main stage, anyway, accepts the drink he offers, and listens to him talk. She zones out after realizing about two minutes into the conversation that he’s not going to let her get a word in edgewise and lets her gaze wander the club as discreetly as possible. She spots Sohee talking to a member of CTRL and can’t help the smile that blooms upon seeing the other so at is. Her drumming was better than usual tonight and Sohee knows it, glowing in the aftermath of her performance.

Another familiar face comes into view to her left: Kiwoong. He glows as well, in a different way. His effervescence is a constant, one that follows him wherever he goes.

She doesn’t realize she’s staring until he turns and catches her. The corners of his lips curl upward—then fall as his eyes skirt across her face and land on the guy in front of her.

There’s a hand on her waist she didn’t notice until now.

You okay? Kiwoong mouths.

She grins, tight-lipped, and nods. Yeah, I’m fine. Because she is. Still, now would probably be a good time to excuse herself. She takes a step back only to find that she can’t. She does her best to hide her annoyance, saying something that starts with it was nice meeting you and ends with thanks again for supporting us, but before she can leave he’s pulling her back by the arm and leaning into her ear to ask for her number and, well. Fuck.