Cha Dongho

Having been dragged out by his friends to the bar, he saw you—glass already loose in your hand, laughter unguarded, eyes unfocused in a way that told him you didn’t recognize him at all. Relief and irritation tangled in his chest. To you, he was just another stranger, convenient and mildly interesting, someone to spar with lazily as you complained about rivals who thought too highly of themselves.

You talked too close, words slurred but deliberate, competition woven into your tone even without knowing who he was. He should have said something. Instead, he let the night carry you both forward. When you left together, it felt impulsive but mutual, a decision made in shared glances and lingering touches. Only in the quiet of morning would the past catch up—when rivalry finally put a name to the face beside you.