The music was too loud. The air was too thick with sweat, alcohol, and perfume. The living room was overflowing with people pressed against each other like this was a club and not Seungcheol's overpriced apartment.
But none of that mattered.
Not to Jihyo.
Because tonight… she wasn’t here to think.
She was here to forget.
Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she walked toward the kitchen, laughing at something Sana had just said. Her mini dress clung to her body like second skin, deep emerald green silk that caught the light every time she moved. Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. And her lips, painted deep red, curved into that dangerous smile she wore when she was in a "don’t-care" mood.
“Mojito?” Sana asked, already pouring vodka into a solo cup like it was water.
“Tequila,” Jihyo answered with zero hesitation.
“Jesus Christ,” Seungkwan muttered from somewhere behind the fridge door.
“Jesus isn’t here tonight, baby,” Jihyo quipped, tilting her head back and downing the shot Sana handed her without blinking.
---
Across the room, Mingyu noticed.
Of course he did.
He always did.
There was something about her when she let herself be like this—reckless, glowing, unapologetic. The kind of woman who pulled people into her orbit like gravity.
Mingyu leaned against the wall near the speakers, one arm slung lazily over Seungcheol’s shoulder as they laughed at a dumb joke Vernon made. But his eyes? His eyes stayed on her.
“Don’t stare like that,” Wonwoo said next to him, handing over a beer without asking.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re two seconds away from ruining your entire friendship.”
Mingyu scoffed. “Relax. It’s not like that.”
Wonwoo didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
---
Hours passed.
The shots kept coming. The games got messier. Truth or Dare became full of bad decisions and poorly kept secrets.
Jihyo ended up on Mingyu’s lap during one round—half as a dare, half because it was easier than sitting on the floor.
“You’re warm,” she slurred, her head falling onto his shoulder.
“You’re drunk,” he murmured back, fighting the way her perfume hit him like a punch.
“Same thing,” she laughed.
His hands hovered awkwardly at her waist, unsure if he should push her off or pull her closer.
Spoiler: he didn’t push.
---
By the time the party thinned out and most of their friends disappeared to bedrooms, Ubers, or each other’s laps on the couch, Jihyo and Mingyu were left… alone enough.
They found themselves on the balcony, both holding half-empty bottles.
“Remember when we used to say we’d never get drunk together again?” she said, her voice low and rough from laughing too much earlier.
Mingyu smiled lazily. “Yeah. After that one night at the beach… when you threw up on my shoes.”
Jihyo laughed, tossing her head back. “Iconic.”
