My dance teacher is cute | Haobin

11 - Bittersweet

POV: Hao | SATURDAY

I bit my lip, the cold biting deeper into my skin with each passing minute. Why wasn't he coming? My fingers trembled as I pulled my jacket tighter around me, but the chill had already settled deep in my bones. I stared down at my phone, checking the screen again. Still nothing.

My thumb hovered over the messages, staring at the words I'd sent earlier. He had read them.

The "read" notification stared back at me like a slap in the face. He'd seen my message—he just hadn't bothered to respond. I clenched my jaw, frustration gnawing at me as I typed another message, my fingers shaking, not just from the cold.

'I'm not feeling good.'

A half-lie. But maybe it would get his attention.

I hit send and leaned back against the wall, the brick pressing hard into my spine. My head was spinning, my thoughts swirling in a messy blur as I took another sip from the glass in my hand. The alcohol burned its way down my throat, momentarily dulling the cold, but it didn't do anything for the ache spreading through my chest.

Where was he?

My fingers felt numb around the bottle, my body swaying slightly as I pushed myself harder against the building to stay upright.

Then the door burst open, and I blinked through the haze to see him—Hanbin. He looked around frantically until his eyes landed on me. The second he saw me, his face shifted, concern clouding his features as he hurried over.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice sharp with worry as he closed the distance between us. His eyes scanned me, taking in the drink in my hand, my unsteady stance, the way I was shivering.

I narrowed my eyes at him, the bitterness I'd been holding back all evening bubbling to the surface. "I could ask you the same thing," I spat, my voice colder than the air around us.

For a moment, he just stared at me, the concern still etched into his features, but now there was something else. A flicker of guilt, maybe. Or hesitation. But it wasn't enough. It didn't change the fact that he'd ignored me, that I'd been standing here waiting for him, freezing, while he... what?

Pretended I didn't exist?

He glanced down at the glass in my hand. "I think you've had enough," he said, reaching out as if to take it from me.

But I wasn't done. Not yet.

I lifted my arm out of his reach, tilting the bottle in his direction, a smirk playing at my lips.

"You want a taste?" I teased, my voice low, laced with something darker, something I knew he wasn't prepared for.

His eyes narrowed slightly, his concern twisting into something else. Something closer to frustration. He stepped forward, his hand still outstretched, but I kept the glass just out of his grasp, leaning against the wall with a lazy grin, pushing him to react.

I wanted to see it—to see him crack. To see him lose that perfect control he always had around me.

"I'm serious, Hao," he said, his voice firmer now, the tension between us growing with every second that passed. "Give it to me."

But I didn't want to listen. I didn't want to let him have the upper hand again. I wanted him closer, to feel the weight of his attention on me, to pull him into my chaos, because that was the only way I could get through to him.

"You're always so serious," I murmured.
Our eyes locked, and for a second, I could see it—the tension tightening between us, pulling him closer to me even though he was trying so hard to resist.