I SLEPT WITH THE WRONG MAN

Some nights exist only to be misunderstood.

They wear loud music and dim lights like disguises, convincing people that nothing important can happen under neon and spilled drinks. They pretend to be forgettable. Disposable. A pause between ordinary days.

But fate has always loved crowded rooms. It likes witnesses. It likes chaos. It likes when people aren't paying attention

Joong didn't believe in destiny. He believed in momentum.

Life, to him, was a series of impulses stitched together by charm and instinct. You leaned forward, smiled first, spoke faster than your doubt. If you hesitated, you lost. If you joked, people stayed. If you left before things got serious, no one could hurt you.

This philosophy had worked beautifully so far.

Tonight, however, was not his idea of beautiful.

He was wedged into a booth at the corner of the bar, one leg bouncing, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against a sweating glass. Across from him sat heartbreak in human form, mascara smudged, voice trembling, telling the same story for the fourth time.

"He went to her," his friend, Pond said, breath hitching dramatically, "like I wasn't even there."

Joong nodded. Again. Supportively. He had mastered this nod. It said I hear you without promising I agree.

The bar hummed around them. Laughter burst and dissolved. Someone cheered near the dance floor. The bass vibrated through the floorboards, steady and insistent, like a second heartbeat.

Joong leaned back, scanning the room out of habit more than interest. He catalogued exits. People. Energy. It was a survival instinct disguised as casual observation.

Pond sniffed, gripping his wrist suddenly, "he's here."

Joong's gaze snapped back. "Here as in... here here?"

He nodded, eyes glinting with wounded determination. "I wouldn't lie about that."

That, at least, was true.

He leaned closer, lowering her voice like they were plotting a crime. "I want him to feel it. Just once. What he did to me."