"Always a pleasure doing business with you, ma'am," he says, his tone laced with smug satisfaction, that same cold, calculating smile stretching across his face. He knows I'm running out of options, and it shows in the way his eyes flicker over me...
I'm five drinks in, wobbling on that fine line between tipsy and absolutely wasted, with no sign of the guys returning anytime soon. The alcohol has my mind racing, my body buzzing, and this pent-up energy, both physical and emotional, is becoming unbearable.
If they don't come back soon, I swear I'm going to start assaulting their couch.
A buzz from my phone pulls me from my thoughts. It's Hongjoong:
Hongjoong: One of our producers just sent a file with three new songs, so we have to listen to the tracks and write raps, figure out choreo 😌
We'll be back late, so don't stay up, grab some dinner, and if you want to, we would appreciate it if you made some for us too 😄
I stare at the message, feeling the alcohol loosen my fingers as I type back, not really thinking about how absurdly informal I sound:
Me:
That's totally fine, but don'toverwork yourselves! I'm surethey can wait a bit before yuo have the final tuches for the 🫶song!
I'll cook sometihng for you gyus 🫶Love
I blink at the screen, then cringe. I signed off with "Love" and a heart emoji? Jesus Christ. My drunk mind is doing the most tonight. They're going to see this, laugh, and then probably tease me for days. But I'm way past the point of caring.
I get up, stumbling over the table as I make my way toward the kitchen. My knee slams into the floor, sending a sharp wave of pain up my leg, but I brush it off, cursing at my lack of coordination. I decide to make bibimbap, something simple but hearty enough for the guys when they get home. I focus hard, trying to not turn the kitchen into a disaster zone, and after what feels like hours of effort, I finally manage to put together something that looks halfway decent.
I finish my portion and set the rest aside for them, staring at the food. It's not even close to midnight yet, and the apartment feels like a vacuum of silence. I'm still buzzing with energy and don't want to spend the rest of the night alone in my head.
The alcohol, along with my sudden urge for adventure, takes the reins. Before I can think better of it, I grab a change of clothes. Something daring. Something that will get me attention tonight.
I swap my casual fit for a plunging crop top that shows off my tattoos and a short skirt that clings to my curves. It's risky, especially here, where the culture around body ink and revealing outfits is more conservative. I know I'll get a few judging looks from some of the older ladies if I run into them, but right now, I don't care.
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I step out into the night, the city's neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement as I walk towards the nearest bar. The streets are alive, and the energy is infectious. By the time I get to the club, the alcohol has settled in, making my limbs loose and my mood reckless.
