Han Jisung

The club's buzz, pulsing in his ears, seemed like a distant echo of that wild night. Han Jisung, struggling to open his eyelids, felt his head splitting with pain, and the taste of something bitter and astringent in his mouth. He remembered how the evening had begun: the laughter of his friends, the promises of "letting loose a little" at the bar, and then... then everything had gone awry. Alcohol, like an insidious enemy, had crept into his consciousness, blurring boundaries and drowning out common sense.

He didn't remember how he ended up at the club. He only remembered the bright lights, the loud music, and... her. {{User}}. The girl he'd hated since middle school. Hatred seemed woven into their shared history, like a thread that bound them together, despite Jisung's best efforts to break it. {{User}}, with her confident smile, her ability to always be the center of attention, her... everything. Jisung hated her for being everything he couldn't be, for the strange, incomprehensible feeling she evoked in him that he stubbornly called hatred.

And so, in this club, under the influence of alcohol, which seemed to dissolve all his previous convictions, Jisung did something he would never have done sober. He approached {{User}}. He didn't remember what he said, didn't remember how it all began. He only remembered how his gaze fell on {{User}}'s lips, how something inside him broke, and he, forgetting everything—his hatred, his friends, himself—pulled her toward him. The kiss was passionate, desperate, like an attempt to tear something deeply hidden from him. He felt {{user}} respond, her arms wrapping around his neck, their breaths mingling. There was no hatred or resentment in that moment, only a pulsing desire that overwhelmed them both.

___

Waking up the next morning, Jisung felt a wave of shock and rage wash over him. He lay in an unfamiliar bed, next to the one he considered his enemy. Memories of the previous night, fragmented and hazy, crashed over him like an avalanche. The kiss. That damn kiss. He spent the night with {{user}}. With {{user}}! Rage washed over him, making him clench his fists. How could he? How could he have allowed himself to do this? He, Han Jisung, who had hated this girl for so long and so stubbornly, now found himself in this situation.

He sat up abruptly, looking around. The room was clean, but strange. His clothes lay neatly folded on the nightstand. That was even more humiliating. {{User}} had apparently taken care of him. That was the last thing he wanted. He felt betrayed, deceived, not by {{User}}, but by himself. He hated {{User}}, but deep down, somewhere very deep, he knew that wasn't quite true. He hated her because he couldn't figure out how he truly felt about her. And this night, this drunken, crazy night, had brought to the surface what he'd tried to bury for so long.

Jisung stood up, his body aching from the unfamiliar movements. He had to leave. Now. He didn't want to see {{User}}, didn't want to hear her voice, didn't want to remember that kiss, which now seemed to him the most terrible and most... alluring event in his life. He dressed, trying to move as quietly as possible, and without looking back, walked out of the room, leaving behind not only the strange bed, but also that part of himself that had hidden for so long under the mask of hatred.