A shiny black BMW stopped in front of a nightclub. The door of the driver’s seat opened, revealing a man with a branded jacket and leather pants. He stopped in front of the rearview mirror, checking himself for the last time. His hair was spiked, and he had powder caked on his face.

Not long after, the door opposite the driver’s seat opened. It was the writer, getting out of the car awkwardly. He too, had fancy clothing on. Of course, he didn’t want to wear those stuffs, but Junhyung insisted. “You won’t attract girls’ attention if you look dull,” the party animal had said to him. He didn’t join his boyfriend to the club for girls, anyway. He was there for his new book, and that’s it.

“Come on,” Junhyung said, gesturing for them to enter the club. With a sigh, the introvert nodded and held his notebook and pen tightly. The two people entered the nightspot.

Noise. That was the first thing that entered Dongwoon’s mind. For some reasons, he felt like he wanted to go back, but this was for the sake of creating a perfect book. Why, he wondered, did he choose to write about nightlife? It was too late though: he was already halfway through the book. A hundred pages or more, perhaps.

Loud music blasted in the writer’s ears like deafening roars. Sure, he listened to upbeat songs sometimes, but it was never this loud before. He felt like his eardrums were about to break, and covered his ears. He caught up with the other, only to hear the music getting louder and louder.

It suddenly gave him inspiration to write a sentence or two.  He opened his notebook to an empty page and began scribbling in its blank paper, aware that writing looked weird in a club. The spotlights gave him a little bit of light, though they fade away sometimes and change its colours, making the writer slightly dizzy. He could have saved it for later, but he was afraid that he could forget most of the things he found.

As I step closer and closer to the dance floor, the blasting music begins to crescendo. With people shouting and talking, even over the loud music, their effects add. What is it called again, back in Physics class? Interference. It is supposed to be a type of destructive interference, but somehow, it is a constructive one. 

He slammed his notebook shut when a guy walked closer to him with a drink. He leaned on the writer, draining the red liquid in the glass. “Aye,” he greeted casually. “Isn’t it a bit weird to hold a notebook and a pen here like a journalist?”

“I’m not a journalist,” Dongwoon said as a matter-of-fact. “And I would appreciate it if you stop leaning on me.”

The drunken man frowned and straightened himself up. After a while, the smile on his face was back again. His free hand cupped the introvert’s cheeks. “You’re a cutie, I must say. Say, are you free? We could go to my place tomorrow.”

“No,” the writer replied shortly. “I’m taken.”

To his dismay, the stranger laughed as if it was funny.  Dongwoon wasn’t the type that loved to joke around, especially in this kind of situation. His heart began to beat faster: he didn’t want to get in any kind of trouble with someone he didn’t know. Especially when it involves love. Introverts like him don't easily take people's cheap offers like that. “Taken?” the stranger spat out. “By who?”

Before Dongwoon opened his mouth to answer, he heard a stern voice behind the drunken man. “Me.”

Surprised, the man quickly turned back. Dongwoon’s eyes trailed off to the familiar face behind. It was none other than Yong Junhyung wearing an angry expression on his face. For the writer, who had rarely seen the extrovert angry, it was quite terrifying. “Yong Junhyung,” the stranger said, smirking as he recognised the angry face. It took him quite a while, of course, since the alcohol in his body had messed with his system. “Your boyfriend is quite a cutie. It’s a shame that he has to be with a bastard like you.”

“It’s been a while, Yoon Doojoon.” Junhyung gave the baffled writer a quick glance before turning back to the stranger whom the older man called ‘Yoon Doojoon’. The name kept on replaying inside the introvert’s mind. “At least, he doesn’t end up with a son of a like you,” was his comeback. Dongwoon rolled his eyes. It was clever of the extrovert to defend himself, but really, did he really need to curse back?

Doojoon did not say anything. The introvert took the chance to pull his boyfriend out of the scene before an argument breaks out. They sat in a bar, the notebook and pen still safe on Dongwoon’s hands. He opened the page that had his scribbles earlier and continued the draft for the next pages of his book. “Who was that?” the writer asked after a moment of silence between them, his eyes still focusing on his scribbles.

“Yoon Doojoon,” Junhyung replied, taking a glass of cocktail from the bartender, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to him. “Sorry about that guy, really. He’s my nemesis, as you could probably tell by now. He likes both ‘cute’ men and women, so he tried to get you before, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“Luckily I came on time and stopped him.” Junhyung heaved a sigh of relief, somewhat proud of himself. “Hell, I’ve been searching for you on the dance floor and probably around this place. And then I found you with him. Did you not realise how worried I was?” He finished the wine in one go. He ordered another glass of wine, and instead of drinking it; he shoved the glass lightly to the writer, receiving a stare from him.

“Go ahead, give it a try,” the older man said, pointing at the red wine. “One glass won’t hurt. Plus, the sweet taste of this baby could inspire you. Like, ‘girl A sipped the wine she had ordered, enjoying its sweetness before swallowing it’.”

Dongwoon let out a chuckle at the goofy sentence Junhyung had suggested. “Nice try,” he said, his small laughter starting to fade away. “But I’ve tried wine before, and we don’t name our characters girl A or boy B. Besides” – he paused for a while to study the dance floor right behind them – “I’m not focusing on wines and their ‘sweet taste’.” He went back to his notebook after roughly a minute.

“Let me guess, the dance floor?” Junhyung’s lips curled into a smile. He glanced at the DJ, watching him mess around with an originally slow, ballad song, turning it into a 140 BPM dance song. The extrovert’s ears caught the lyrics of the song, only to realise that the words were quite romantic and sweet. He quickly grabbed the other’s arm and tugged it, dragging the writer to the dance floor.

Shocked, Dongwoon dropped the pen right on top of his notebook without even closing the book shut. He was worried that someone might see what he was writing, or even worse, steal the book from him. “What are you doing?” he asked, his feet now on the dance floor tiles. The spotlights blinded his eyes for a while, and he took a few moments to get used to it.

“Teaching you how to dance,” the party animal answered, moving his body along with the beat. The writer studied his moves for a while, and decided that it won’t really hurt to learn a thing or two.

“Fine,” he said, starting to move his body as well. Lucky for him, no one really cared about the wide-opened book for they were too busy drinking and dancing wildly.

As I step closer and closer to the dance floor, the blasting music begins to crescendo. With people shouting and talking, even over the loud music, their effects add. What is it called again, back in Physics class? Interference. It is supposed to be a type of destructive interference, but somehow, it is a constructive one. 

I lose my boyfriend in the crowd of jumping people. The only thing I can see now is the disc jockey, or DJ for short, mixing recorded music for them to jump higher, and I must say, crazier. It is harder to search now. I try to shove in the crowd, but end up in the middle of dancing people.

“Hey babe,” a voice call behind me. I turn my head quickly to see a man, looking at me rather seductively. He is quite hot, I notice. If only he did not ask me out like that, he would not have left a pretty bad impression on me. I try to push him away and continue to look for my boyfriend, but he blocks my way easily.

“Let me go. I’m taken,” I say coldly. Somehow, I could feel the bitterness in my voice. Poor guy, it must have struck him like a sword made of ice. I am a cocky and arrogant person. Dealing with it would be his problem, not mine.

“Chill, baby,” the stranger coos, “Your boyfriend isn’t here anyway. Spend a night with me, aite? Just the two of us together, isn’t that great?”

“Unfortunately it isn’t,” another familiar voice and I say in unison. I see my boyfriend behind the stranger, clenching his fist. The next thing I knew, he throws a punch at the man’s left cheek, leaving a bruise. “It's been a while, dear rival,” is the last sentence my ears catch before I make my exit. The rest are profanities and foul words out of each other’s mouth. So the stranger is my boyfriend’s rival for some reasons.

And I had created a new reason for them to fight.