A Cup of Bo.

I was standing near the bar of the crowded club when a leggy brunette clumsily bumps into my shoulder and a bit of her alcoholic beverage teeters over onto my authentic leather jacket. A gasp slips from her perfectly sensual lips as her eyes widens at the liquid seeping into the expensive material—apparently, she could tell just how costly this gifted garment of mine is.

"I'm so sorry," she begins as she slides her nearly empty glass onto the bar beside me. "I didn't mean to! Really! I-I'll pay for it." 

By this point, her fingers are shaking and she's nervously nibbling on her lip as she jots down her number. She hesitantly passes it to me before capping the pen and storing it into her purse.

"What's your name?" I ask her, her eyes rounding in surprise. I hold up the piece of paper, "I've got to know who I'm speaking with when I tell you the total for the cleaner's, right?"

"Bora, Yoon Bora." The confused woman replies before she squeaks out a wispy, "may I know yours?"

"Jongin." I pause as she nods her head in comprehension. "How about we call this a truce? I won't mind wearing this stained jacket for as long as I live so long as you have breakfast with me in the morning."