yours forever and only | haobin

1.

The bar was a storm of sensory overload—the low thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, the kaleidoscope of lights flickering above the crowd like neon constellations, and the swell of voices blending into the music. The air was thick with the heady scent of alcohol and sweat, a blend of perfume and cologne mixing in the heat of bodies packed tightly on the dance floor. 

The music pulsed, a hypnotic beat that seemed to reverberate in his chest, synchronising with his rapid heartbeat. Yet despite the vibrant chaos around him, he felt adrift, like he was wading through a fog of his own thoughts, detached from the liveliness.

He stood among the writhing crowd, but he didn't belong to it. His dark red-brown hair fell in messy waves, catching the light just enough to give it a coppery sheen as it framed his face. The strands brushed against his forehead, slightly damp with sweat, casting shadows over his sharp features—features that, even in the chaotic ambiance, made him stand out. 

His almond-shaped eyes, usually soft and inviting, were shadowed with an emotion he couldn't shake off. His gaze was distant, clouded with a mix of unease and something darker, as if haunted by the weight of memories. His full lips, normally curved into an easy smile, were pressed together, the tension visible in his jawline as he tried to lose himself in the beat.

Dressed in a fitted black shirt that clung to his lean frame, every movement was graceful yet restrained, as though he was holding himself back from fully giving in to the rhythm. His dark jeans hugged his legs, accentuating his lithe form, but there was a stiffness in the way he moved. 

It was as if the music's pull wasn't strong enough to shake the heaviness that lingered inside him, and no matter how much he swayed with the crowd, he remained an outsider—isolated in his own turmoil.

The lights overhead flickered, momentarily illuminating the gleam of sweat on his skin, casting his face in sharp relief before plunging him back into the shadows. Around him, bodies pressed close, but none of them touched him, and even if they had, he doubted he would've felt it. He was too lost in his own thoughts.

Across the room, another man stood by the bar, a figure of effortless composure amidst the chaos. The bar's dim lighting caught the angles of his broad shoulders and strong frame, casting him in a soft glow that made him appear even more striking. 

He leaned casually against the counter, his posture relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world. The glass of whiskey in his hand gleamed amber, and he swirled it idly, his long fingers tapping lightly against the glass.

His jet-black hair was artfully tousled, falling just over his forehead in a way that gave him an almost effortless allure. The darkness of his hair contrasted sharply with his pale skin, highlighting the sharpness of his features—his high cheekbones, the defined cut of his jaw, the slight curve of his lips, which were set in a calm, almost detached expression. His eyes, deep and intense, scanned the room with a quiet confidence that seemed unshakable.

His attention was drawn to the lone figure on the dance floor almost immediately. Among the mass of bodies moving in sync with the pounding beat, there was something about him that stood out—an unmistakable contrast to the carefree, exuberant energy of those around him. 

It wasn't just his striking appearance, though he couldn't help but notice the way the dim, flashing lights caught in the man's dark red-brown hair, giving it a coppery glow. No, it was the air of vulnerability surrounding him, a quiet sadness that clung to his lithe frame like a shadow. 

He moved with the music, but there was a distance in his movements, as though he was disconnected from the joy and abandon of the dance floor.

He was captivated. There was something in the way the man's eyes flickered, reflecting the strobe lights and the faintest glimmer of something deeper—something melancholic. 

It wasn't the kind of sadness that demanded attention, but the kind that lingered just beneath the surface, subtle yet impossible to ignore. His chest tightened at the sight, an inexplicable urge rising in him to protect this stranger from whatever burden he seemed to carry.

Setting his drink down, his gaze never wavered as he began to weave his way through the crowd. His tall, broad frame allowed him to cut through the sea of people with ease, but his movements were deliberate, his focus singular. 

The music thumped around him, the lights flickered wildly, but he only had eyes for the lone figure, drawn to him by some invisible force that defied explanation.

As he moved closer, he could see the tension in the man's posture, the way his shoulders were slightly hunched, as if trying to guard himself from the world around him. Even in the dim light, the furrow of his brows and the tight set of his lips were clear, small signs that he was lost in thoughts darker than the neon lights surrounding them. 

He felt a pang in his chest—he didn't know this man, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to ease the weight he seemed to carry.

But just as he was about to step forward, his path was blocked. He noticed another older man heading toward the red-haired stranger, moving with an air of entitlement that immediately set off alarms in his mind. 

The man was tall and imposing, his frame covered in a designer leather jacket that glistened under the club's strobe lights. His strides were confident, almost predatory, as he zeroed in on the stranger, and there was something in his demeanour—something possessive, like he already owned the space around him.

His steps faltered, his body instinctively tensing as he watched the scene unfold. His instincts screamed at him to intervene, to step between this stranger and his aggressor, but uncertainty held him back for a split second. He didn't know the situation—what if they knew each other?

But as the man got closer, his unease grew. There was something off about the man's swagger, the way he looked at the red-head as if he was a possession to be claimed rather than a person to be respected. 

The flicker of discomfort in the younger's expression only intensified as the man approached, and his jaw clenched.

The man approached him with a swagger that spoke of entitlement, stepping into his space as if he had every right to be there. He was taller than the other, looming over him with an air of dangerous familiarity that would make your skin crawl. 

His leather jacket, sleek and expensive, clung to his broad frame, and his sharp, angular features were illuminated by the flashing lights. 

There was something predatory about the way his dark eyes narrowed on the younger's, and the twisted smirk on his lips sent a wave of unease washing over him.

A/N: wowee this chapter was longer than i expected bc of all the character introductions...any guesses on who they are? (i made it suuuper hard~)