Seo couldn't move.
The man next to her had a face she knew better than her own cousin's. Two hours ago she had been on her couch, and now Cha Minjae was sitting three feet away holding a glass of whiskey like any other customer.
"You're not going to faint, are you?" he asked.
"No." Her voice came out too high. She cleared her throat. "I'm fine."
"You're gripping the bar."
She looked down. Her knuckles were white. She let go and put her hands in her lap.
"This isn't real," she said. "I've had too much to drink and I'm imagining things."
"You've had four," the bartender said as he passed.
"Thank you," Yoongi told him, and the bartender grinned and moved on.
Seo stared at him. "You're actually him."
"I'm actually him." He checked the room, then pulled his mask up for a second and lowered it again. "Please don't say it too loudly."
"Sorry." She dropped her voice. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you have people with you?"
"My manager thinks I'm asleep at the dorm. I climbed out the back of a van."
"You climbed out of a van?"
"It was parked. I'm not that dramatic."
She laughed before she could stop herself. An hour ago she hadn't thought she would laugh again for a month.
"There it is," he said. "You should do that more."
Her smile faded. She turned her glass a quarter turn on the counter. "I don't have much to laugh about right now."
"I know. I heard some of it earlier. You weren't exactly whispering."
"Oh, no." She covered her eyes. "How much did you hear?"
"The part about the sneakers." He paused. "That was a very specific detail."
"I drew that heart myself. We were sixteen." Her eyes stung again, and she pressed a napkin under them. "I can't believe I'm telling this to you."
"Why not me?"
"Because you have a whole life. Fans, concerts, a schedule. You shouldn't be listening to a stranger cry into her drink."
"I don't think you're a stranger." He turned his glass slowly. "I've read a lot of fan letters. Yours was one of them."
Seo went still. "I only sent one. Two years ago, after a terrible week at work. I didn't think anyone would open it."
"I opened it. You wrote about your night shifts and my songs playing while you finished reports. You said you weren't asking for anything, you just wanted me to know it helped." He gave an embarrassed laugh. "I read it three times. The staff teased me for a week."
She didn't know what to say. Her chest felt tight, but differently than before.
"That's not fair," she said finally. "I'm supposed to be miserable tonight."
"I can take it back."
"Don't you dare."
He smiled, and it was smaller than the one from the interviews, and it was meant for her. She looked away first.
They talked for another hour. About food, about her job, about the song from his third album that he almost didn't release. She told him she had watched every interview, and he covered his mouth to hide his laughter. He switched to water after the second round, and when she noticed, he said someone had to make sure she got home safely.
"There's nobody waiting for me at home," she said.
The sentence landed harder than she intended. Neither of them spoke for a while.
Her phone sat face-down on the counter, buzzing every few minutes. Thirty-one missed calls. She knew exactly what waiting for her: the quiet apartment, the empty bed, that laugh from the bedroom replaying every time she closed her eyes.
"I don't want to go home," she said.
"We can stay a little longer."
"That's not what I mean." She kept her eyes on the phone. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
He looked at her. She could feel it.
"Let me say this before I lose my nerve." She turned on her stool to face him and pressed her shaking hands flat against her knees. "Spend the night with me."
His face went blank. He set his glass down carefully.
"Sorry, what?"
"You heard me."
"I heard you. I want to make sure I understood." He lowered his voice. "You want me to come home with you."
"Yes."
"Tonight."
"Yes." Her face was burning, but she kept going. "I know how it sounds. You're you and I'm nobody, and I'm probably making a huge mistake."
"You've had the worst night of your life, Seo. I don't think this is a good idea."
"Maybe not."
"You could regret it tomorrow."
"Maybe." She met his eyes. "But I'd regret sitting alone in the dark more."
He rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked away. She thought he was about to apologize and call her a taxi. Part of her almost wanted him to, so she could be embarrassed and go home and be done with it.
"Can I ask you something first?" he said.
"Okay."
"Is this about him? Getting back at him?"
She thought about it honestly. "No. If it were, I'd want him to find out. I don't want anyone to know." She shook her head. "You were kind to me tonight. Nobody else was. That's all it is."
He was quiet a moment longer. When he spoke, his voice was lower.
"I should say no."
"But?"
"But I don't want to." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "That's the truth, and I don't like it, because I know it's a bad idea."
"So we're both making a bad decision."
"Looks that way."
She smiled a little, and so did he.
"There are rules," he said. "Nobody hears about this. Not your friends, not mine. I can't afford it, and you don't deserve to be dragged into it."
"I wouldn't tell anyone."
"And if you change your mind, at any point, you tell me. In the car, at your door, it doesn't matter. I'll turn around and leave."
"I won't change my mind."
"You might. I need you to promise you'll say so."
"I promise."
He studied her face for a long moment, as if checking that she meant it. Then he stood, put a few bills on the counter, and pulled his hood forward.
"Then let's go," he said. "Take the side exit. I'll follow a minute behind you."
Seo slid off the stool. Her legs felt unsteady, but not from the alcohol. She picked up her phone, silenced it, and slipped it into her bag without looking at the screen.
At the side door she stopped and looked back. Yoongi was already walking toward her through the crowd, head down, hands in his pockets.
She pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold air, and for the first time that night, she wasn't afraid of what came next.