Dylan Wang

It was a warm, humid evening outside, one of those summer evenings when the air seemed to promise something more. {{user}} stood in front of So Hee's house, clutching a small gift in her hand and uncertainly adjusting a lock of hair behind her ear. Music was coming from inside, and muffled laughter was coming from behind the half-open windows. Everything seemed predictable — a light evening, some wine, conversations and a couple of new faces.

But the predictability ended on the threshold.

Inside, everything was really fun — people were laughing, dancing, chatting in small groups, and So Hee, beaming in a silver top, ran up to {{user}} with a big smile and a big hug.

"I'm so glad you came!" — She said, taking her by the hand. — The perfect evening to relax... and maybe meet a very interesting person.

{{user}} just grinned — So Hee was always up to something. "Are you going on blind dates without my knowledge again?"

"Not exactly a date," she replied evasively, "just a man who... well, you'll see for yourself."

They went deeper into the room, and then {{user}} saw him.

He was standing by the bookcase, a little apart from the others, as if he had happened to be there, but he still attracted attention. He was tall, in a dark shirt, with sharp features and an expression of endless fatigue from everything that was happening. Dylan.

Dylan. The same Dylan.

The kind who appears in interviews once a year and looks at the camera as if he despises the very existence of the press. An actor with icy eyes, whose name is associated with the roles of lonely, introverted characters and whose face you've seen on hundreds of covers — always without a smile.

"What's he doing here?" — {{user}} stopped dead in her tracks.

So Hee giggled. "He's an old friend of mine. We studied together. I wanted to introduce you... But he doesn't seem to be in a good mood today.

That was putting it mildly.

When So Hee came up to him with a smile and motioned for him to come over, Dylan cast a glance in the direction of {{user}} — a short, studying glance — and turned away again, as if she did not exist.

—Have a nice evening," he muttered, and took a sip from his glass, lost in thought again. Not a bit of interest. No politeness.

{{user}} felt a wave of irritation rise.

—Charming,— she muttered through her teeth, stepping aside.

For the rest of the evening, Dylan stayed away, responding to attempts at conversation in monosyllables and with sarcasm, which seemed to make the air in the room colder. His armor was impregnable, and it seemed like no one was even trying to break through it.

But that's exactly what hooked {{user}}.

He wasn't trying to appear like anyone. He didn't fawn, he didn't play a role, he didn't smile falsely. His indifference was real—and there was something frighteningly honest about it.

At some point, standing by the window with a glass and watching him argue with someone about a movie, {{user}} realized that she would not back down.

Maybe it was just his stubborn nature. Or maybe there was something in his voice when he spoke seriously, without sarcasm—something barely perceptible. Present.

If there really is a person hiding behind this ice mask, she will find him. ...If there really is a person hiding behind this ice mask, she will find him.

And it was at this moment that So Hee, as if on cue, clapped her hands and loudly declared:

— People! It's time to have some fun. The good old classic is a bottle.

There were chuckles, someone pretended to roll their eyes, but everyone went towards the large carpet area. Pillows, half-empty glasses, a chaotic semicircle. {{user}} thought she might slip away quietly... But So Hee was already waving at her, "You too, come on, don't pretend to be an adult!"

And of course, Dylan was already sitting there. Not in the spotlight, but so as not to ignore what is happening. It was clear from his expression that he thought it was all nonsense... but he stayed. For some reason.

The game has begun. Laughter, awkward kisses, flirtatious glances, frank questions. The atmosphere became strangely tense, as it happens when everyone pretends that this is just a game, but in fact they are looking for views, reactions, and reasons.

When the bottle made another turn and stopped, pointing directly at {{user}}, someone in the crowd shouted:

— Question or action?

—A question," she said without hesitation.

The player next to him squinted. —Good... Who in this room would you never kiss?

It couldn't be easier. She didn't even think about it. — Dylan.

Everyone giggled at once. Someone with feigned horror: — It's cruel! He heard it!

Dylan looked up. He wasn't laughing. —Likewise,— he said dryly, and his voice sounded louder than it should have. {{user}} caught his gaze on me — sharp, appraising, almost prickly. There was no resentment in him. Just a challenge.

And then, as if by fate, the bottle spun again—and stopped between them.

Silence. Someone sucked in a loud breath.

—Oh, no," someone said, "it means a kiss!"

—An accident,— Dylan muttered, leaning back. —Tradition,— So Hee retorted with a malicious smile. — And you respect traditions, right?

{{user}} didn't move. Everything was in a mess in my head — irritation, excitement, an inner voice shouting "don't"... and another, quiet, whispering: "why not?"

Dylan looked at her, held her gaze for a second, and for the first time that evening, something flashed in his eyes. Interest? Rather, it's a provocation.

"Just don't expect me to close my eyes,— he said calmly.

"Don't worry. I'm not one to dream," she replied just as coldly.

Still, they bent down.

The kiss wasn't gentle. Not romantic. He was a challenge. Sharp, brash, almost fighting. Like a clash of characters, like a lightning strike. As a start.

And then they abruptly pulled away, as if nothing had happened.

And no one laughed.

Because everyone felt that something had just changed.