Her surroundings are blurry to her sight, bright neon colors fused into tinges of lights. The pounding music resonates throughout the big crowd, cultivating her unleashed feelings. Feelings of which suffocate her, those that bring her to the uppermost boundary of her tolerance. The loud beats tickle everyone’s desire to move, to lift their hands up, to drop their bodies to the rhythm. All of those infatuations curl within their minds, losing them to each and every sound made.

Nóx is one of the most popular clubs in Seoul. It is well known for it’s high-class DJs, exceptional regales, as well as the elite and famous VIP members. If going to clubs were illegal, Nóx would hold the highest number of criminals in Seoul. Tonight’s crowd is unexceptional. The whole dance floor is packed, crowded with man and woman losing themselves into the upbeat music. Some have drinks in their hands, others come and go to the bar.

She stands in the crowd by herself, rocking to the music on her own. She moves, sings to the song, curses at guys that’d occasionally try to get to her, knowing full fact that some of her surroundings there are watching her, throwing quick glances of either curiosity or admiration. She doesn’t care. She never does.

Vexed by the fact that a guy just cheated on her, she decided that she had to go elsewhere, somewhere his stupid being won’t find her, somewhere none of his friends could find her. Ironic, she thought at first. But now, regrets aren’t what drive her frown deeper. Anger and hatred are. She knows she’s not heartbroken. She can easily admit, that being in love with him is most likely just a long shot. The fact that someone literally outplayed her—that man outplayed her is what’s driving her mad. Plus, the whole fight happened in public. Not that she cared, but it was just too much nuisance to go through just for the sake of breaking up and trying to make him come clean about that other girl he was seeing—not to mention how much of a social climber he was. Very, very unworthy compared to what she might’ve done if they weren’t in public. Though as far as it went, a punch was all she to his face.

As she regains her right mind, she walks confidently back to the bar—slightly tipsy, asking for another cup of Kumquat Mojito, her favorite. She drinks it down in mere seconds, and follows up with more never-ending orders. Soon enough, the clock hits midnight. She knows she has to go back, but is too lazy to call her brother and ask him to pick her up. The way he cares for her sometimes sickens her up too, she dislikes being taken care of as the inferior one. Yet again, she’s always been sickened by a lot of things. People that try to use her, people that get to her just for the money, people that seek her only by reading her father’s name. She hates being treated that way, but throughout those years, that was what taught and built her to be this strong and forward. She knows how to care for herself, more or less.

She’s still sober enough to decide that it has to be the last shot of Tequila for the day, and then she takes out her VIP card. The bartender soon inputs the bills, and as professional as ever, he offers to accompany her exiting. She gives it a thought, but soon shrugs it off and starts walking towards the door. Her slender legs succeed on bringing her out of the club without stumbling despite her being pretty drunk—still in sleek black stilettos. A lot of people are still outside, some are waiting in line to get into Nóx, some waiting for their vehicles to arrive and pick them up. She starts rummaging through her leather bag and finds her phone. She attempts to call and order a cab, but it soon dies due to the lack of battery.

! She mentally curses.

It’s still considered a busy hour in front of Nóx, and all the cabs that pass through aren’t empty. Swinging back and forth in her 12cm high heels, her nerves are getting back on her. Nausea starts to rise up in the tiniest part of her stomach. Slowly, she feels the urge to throw up. She gives up on the idea of looking for a taxi by herself and walks to the taxi queue. Unfortunately, there are still six other before her. And as she gets in line, her nausea kicks back in. She’s literally puking air.

“Hey, are you okay?” A young man in front of her asks.

“Ugh, yeah. I just… Drank too much.”

“Well don’t we all do?” He lets out a little chuckle. “Look, umm.. I think you need the cab to arrive faster than I do. Here, line up before me.”

As he says so, he takes her by the arm and moves to her back.

“Oh—what? Thank you! When was the last time a man’s been this nice, seriously.” She mutters, more to herself.

“Suit yourself.” He smiles.

Boy, that’s one heck of a smile, man, she thinks to herself.

“Err… Thanks, you look nice too.”

What! He reads minds?! She mentally shouts, and realizes a split second later that she said the compliment out loud before. She blushes and turns her back to him.

Fifteen minutes passed, but only three cabs were available. She lets out a big sigh, and squats down to relieve her calves. The stilettos aren’t giving her much help. Neither is mother nature—it’s getting quite windy and cold. Her pale skin grows paler as the cold wind lurks within her faint limbs. She mentally curses herself for not being able to drive, due to the level of alcohol she’s consumed. Her high tolerance of alcohol usually allows her to drive back home by herself. But today, she’s been drinking with no mercy. So this leaves her no other choice.

Soon enough, two other cabs come in, taking the people in line away. Thank Heavens, she thinks. Since she has nothing else to do but wait, she starts remembering everything that ever happened between her and that jerk. Slowly, a faint hint of smile rises at the corner of her lips—irony being the reason behind it—accompanied by her twinkling eyes, ready for tears to spring. But no, she’s not heartbroken. She’s sick of all the same things happening to her, all those bull, all those fakeness, motivated by all things but sincerity and love. When is she going to ever experience a real relationship?

Tears are almost running down her face. Just then, nausea hits right back into her stomach, this time sharp and piercing. She bows down as if in cue, one hand on her stomach, another holding onto the ‘Taxi Queue’ board—she pukes air, again. Her visions start to blur, and now, most of them to white. As another shot of nausea shoots right back to her stomach, she feels fluid rising up through but at the same time, a hand holds her back and another on her arm, trying to steady her. In a split second, she’s lost it. It’s pitch black.

___{[ first person point of view ]}

Ugh.

It’s hot. But my bed feels fluffy. Too fluffy, even. I start wiggling my toes, stretching my arms and legs, making my usual weird noises when I stretch. Hmm, my bed does feel different. And what is this smell? Vanilla? Weird.

I whipped the blanket away, still scrunching my eyes closed since it’s too bright outside. Stretching one last stretch, pain starts shooting in my head, it’s pounding. When was my last hangover? I rolled over to the end of the bed and opened my eyes.

WHAT.

THE.

.

THIS ISN’T MY ROOM!

I literally jump to stand, and as pain shoots right back to my head again, I shrug it off awkwardly and look around for any familiar things. My leather bag is still leather and zipped. My stilettos are right beside the chair sitting next to the window—whoa, that’s one big window there. I try not to panic for a couple of seconds, and fail right away. I intend on my bag to search for my phone, but there it neatly sits on the desk right beside the bed, being charged.

What kind of kidnapper charges their victim’s phone?

Well… I guess I’m not kidnapped then.

I look down and realize that I’m still wearing my little black dress, the same underwear—Thank Heavens!—but no earrings, bracelet or necklace. I quickly look around, and again, they’re on the table.

How did I miss those?

I take another look around the room, observing it thoroughly this time. The wooden floor is swept, clean. The walls of the room are white and decorated with simple nature-themed paintings, painted right onto the wall. The furniture is all white with hints of pastel light brown here and there. The room’s pretty big. The bed I slept on is in the middle of the room, pushed back to the wall and beside it stands the small desk where my phone and jewelries are put. Farther towards the huge windows sits a couch and a large TV desk with it’s TV. Across the bed stands a door to the bathroom and beside it stands a simple desk with an iMac on it, a couple of books; neatly put together, and a pitcher full of water accompanied by a glass. In a glimpse, I can see that the bathroom is pretty big too, complete with racks of clothes.

I take another glance at the pitcher and decide to have drink some water. Oh, there’s a note beside it.

‘Don’t freak out—you’re in good hands! If you’re awake and I’m not, feel free to wake me up outside the bedroom. I’m sleeping on the couch in the living room. Suit yourself.’

--JK’

JK? Just kidding? What! Wait—okay maybe this is just a damn initial.

I take several gulps of water to relieve my ultra-dry throat and go to the bathroom to pee and wash my face.

Hmm, I smell pretty nice despite going to the club yesterday…

Soon, I find myself standing right behind the bedroom door, contemplating on what reactions I should make after finally seeing who this person is, what their purpose was on carrying me back to their place and everything. I decide to take my phone with me, just in case. So I open the door, very slowly—too slowly—and peek a little outside.

The whole place has the same theme with the bedroom I slept at. It’s white and light brown and the walls are hand-painted, and a couch sits in the middle of the living room, right across the TV, next to the kitchen. And on the couch sleeps a man; half of his face covered with blanket, with one leg hanging from the couch. He might be a little too tall to sleep on that—wait. I’ve seen this guy….

It’s that nice guy at that taxi queue yesterday!

Okay now what should I do.....? I think I shouldn't wake him up.... I don't want to wake him up.... So I slowly creep back to the room, attempting to close the door. But just then, he wakes up. He stretches out his long body; muscular arms rising from beneath the fluffy blanket. He blinks several times and finally wakes. His face looks somehow perplexed, most likely a little confused of why he's sleeping on the couch. And I see him finding out why, just a split second later. He sits up, and sees me watching what he's doing just now.

"Oh, good morning, Jungrae-sshi." He smiles, a crooked, slightly sleepy--but boy, very, charming!--smile.

I blink a couple of times, "Err.. Good morning.. I'm sorry I woke you up." I twitch on my feet a little and open the door wider. I step a little outside and lean to the wall.

"It's okay, that's what I told you to do. I'm sorry, you must have been very confused when you woke up." He whips the blanket open--just like how I always do--and starts stretching again.

He's cute.

"Umm... Yeah, I was. Honestly, I’m trying to not freak out now. Can I… Ask you something?"

"I'm pretty sure you have more than something to ask."

"Well.. Yeah. What's your name? And... What happened last night? Did I pass out?"

"I'm Song Joongki. You literally puked and passed out right in front of me while we were in line waiting for cabs, and you were alone as I recall. Your phone was dead last night. After I’ve charged it, I found that it’s locked. Your VIP card only has your name on it. Also, your iPad was locked too, and there was nothing else informative in your bag. But I found the car keys, and I asked the valet attendant to help me search for your car in the VIP area. Fortunately, he found it, so I drove it back here."

"Oh... Well… You didn't hit anything last night, right?"

"You just woke up. In a stranger's apartment. Who apparently is a guy. And you're worried about your car?" He laughs. "No worries, I didn't hit anything last night."

"I'm just kidding." I grin. Umm.. Thank you, Joongki-sshi."

"You're welcome. It's not like I can just leave a girl who just passed out right in front me alone in front of Nóx though. So it really was all I could do. Glad to see that you're not freaking out though." He smiles a crooked smile again.

God--what is it about his smile!

"What, you always bring girls that pass out in front of the club back to your apartment?" I arched a brow, slightly smirking in amusement.

"No! I've never brought anyone that I don't know back to my apartment!" He laughs, waving his hand back and forth in disagreement.

"I don't know whether that's good or bad." I laugh, "Well thank you, once again, really." I smile my brightest smile ever and offer him a handshake as I walk forward. His hand shakes mine.

"You're welcome. So... Do you… Want any breakfast? Your stomach should be a wreck by now, remembering how drunk you were last night. Not to mention your head." He tilts his head to one side.

"Umm, can I? It's a thirty-minute ride back to my place and I don't think I'll survive it without food. And yeah, my whole body feels like a wreck. I can't even remember when my last hangover was."

"Oh, so you're actually a good girl, yeah?" His eyes twinkle with humor.

"No, I just have great tolerance towards alcohol. And last night, I literally drank one and a half of Tequila bottles, not to mention numerous glasses of Mojitos—Kumquat." I smile sheepishly, slightly embarrassed.

"Well hello there, bad girl. But Kumquat Mojitos are irresistible, I have to agree." He smiles, acknowledging, and leads me to the kitchen bar.

So this is the house of the guy that says 'suit yourself' after giving up his place in line for a cab to a drunk girl whom then puked and passed out right in front of him. Should I feel like it’s creepy? Or... Glad? Hmm, I'll go with glad. I watch him wander around the kitchen swiftly, taking cooking utensils out from cabinets and drawers. The sleek white refrigerator sits right beside the stoves, and as he opens it, my stomach makes a craving sound. I feel pathetic. I can almost sense him smiling--oh, how embarrassing. I take another look around the room and I realize, I like his place. I didn't realize that a black grand piano lies elegantly right beside another set of huge windows right on the corner of the room. I am intrigued.

"Do you play the piano, Joongki-sshi?" I tilt my head.

"Yes, I do. Do you? Oh, and please, just drop the formalities." He turns his head back, smiling.

"I do too. Haven't played it for quite a while now though."

"Well that's a pity. Classic or pop?" He's excited.

"My own songs. And jazz. Well... Basically everything." I shrug.

"You create songs? How nice! Can I hear them?" He grins like a boy who just found his favorite toy.

"Umm... I've kinda forgotten a lot though..."

"Come on, do me a favor. I'm the one that brought you back from the club after all, right?" He chuckles. I love the way it sounds.

"Well, okay. But… After I eat?" I smirk.

He rolls his eyes in humor, "Just spent one night in a stranger's place and already being bossy." We laugh.

He spends around fifteen minutes on making us both breakfast, and honestly, I do feel guilty that I didn’t help him at all. But I was still trying to believe the fact that this nice guy is actually taking a good care of me. Well… There are possibilities of him being some kind of creeper or good-looking maniac or something. But I don’t feel like he is. He’s too nice. Plus, I watched him cook the food, very carefully. Not any kind of suspicious looking ingredients were added in there. And if he wanted to do anything to me, he must’ve done it last night. . The thought actually sends me shivers.

The moment he puts both of our plates—that were full of ham and cheese and egg—the house phone rings. He looks up and walks to pick it up.

“Hello,” He pauses. “Good morning.”

“Correct, that is me.”

I eye the plates, seriously starving and literally dying to dig in.

“Yes, she’s still with me.”

Wait, someone’s looking for me? Through his phone? How?

“Oh, is it serious? Okay, I’ll get her on the phone.”

He looks cautious, and in an instant, I feel the same. He looks at me, still confused and cautious, and hands me the phone.

“This policeman needs to talk to you. He says it’s urgent.”

! What is it about?!

__

I am back! So this time, the one-shot features Song Joongki. Yes, the beloved actor, Song Joongki. Did any of you recognize that small thing I did by calling him a 'nice guy'? Lol yeah I was kinda referring to his drama. IDK, I'm weird.

Anyway! This one-shot is going to be a two/three-chaptered one-shot (depending on how your reactions are, if any), basically because I can't finish it in one. I mean, seriously, it'll be even weirder if I could finish this storyline in one chapter. So here it goes! I hope you like what I wrote. I wrote the bottom half of this chapter at church, when I was waiting for today's mass to start. It started at 7PM and I already arrived at 5.10--was trying to get a seat inside of the church for some air conditioner, since today's Holy Thursday and I'm Catholic.

Well then, see you in the next chapter! Here is a gift for you ♥

Please, encourage me by commenting ;A;