Your POV:

 

My head snapped to my left where a young man took a seat next to me.
 

Even though it was loud, I still felt like his voice was familiar.
 

Was he someone from my college?


 

I tried to look at his face but he was wearing a surgical mask and a cap.

"Oh."
 

"I really liked the way you sang m- the song," he said turning towards me and my breath hitched in my throat.
 

Even with the mask and a cap, he was beautiful. The dimly lit bar and the fact only his eyes were visible combined couldn't hide the fact that he was gorgeous.
 

But even then, I had a feeling I had seen him somewhere.
 

"Er, thank you," I felt shy. I wasn't used to someone other than people I knew compliment me.

 

I felt him studying me and I blushed harder, looking away and sipping on the water.
 

"You don't drink?," he asked.

Ugh where have I heard his voice?
 

"No, not really a big fan of alcohol," I smiled, irony shining in my eyes.
 

I knew he was smiling with the way his eyes crinkled on the edges.
 

"Neither am I," and the amusement was evident.
 

Where have I heard him? Damn the music-
 

A smile played on my lips. "I'm guessing you came here for the hot bartender then."
 

His smile got wider but his eyes remained on my face.
 

"Would you believe me if I told you I came here for you?"
 

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. "No."
 

He leaned on the table, his chin resting on his palm as he kept looking at me. "But if I told you, you earned a fan today, would you believe that?"
 

I choked on the water I was nervously gulping down.
 

"What?," I croaked.
 

He chuckled. A deep, resonant, booming chuckle.
 

"Surely I'm not your first fan?"
 

The deep pink shade of my cheeks clearly told him I was embarrassed.
 

And that I didn't believe him either.
 

Suddenly he slipped me a tissue and I looked at him, once again registering his beauty.

"Autograph, please?"
 

And he had played the joke too long.
 

But I wanted to be polite so I took the pen from Minjae.

"What's your name?"
 

"I'm J."
 

"Jae?"
 

"The alphabet J."
 

And that's how I knew he was playing with me. He wasn't even giving me a real name.
 

I don't know why but it hurt. Why would you play with someone's feelings by saying you're a fan when you aren't? Clearly you aren't. 

 

My face got colder and voice distant when I said, "here you go, J."
 

He sensed my change of demeanor and raised an eyebrow as he pulled the tissue towards him.
 

I knew he was going to toss it the minute he got out of here.

 

Who would want an autograph of a bar singer?

 

And who was cold enough to joke about it?
 

"Would it be too