JEON. WONWOO | HONEY

Wonwoo stepped out of the elevator with the slow exhale of someone who had finally—finally—finished a day that should’ve ended three hours earlier. The building was mostly dark now. Only the emergency lights glowed along the hallway, catching a faint reflection on his loosened tie and the fatigue around his eyes.

He rolled his shoulders back, trying to ease out the stiffness, already imagining the quiet of his apartment, the shower he was too tired to take, the sleep he’d fall into with half his clothes still on.

His phone buzzed.

He almost didn’t check it. At this hour, it was usually emails from different time zones or coworkers who had no sense of boundaries.

Then he saw the name.

{{user}}.

His tiredness evaporated instantly. He answered before the second ring.

The noise on the other end hit him first—music pounding from speakers, conversations overlapping, someone yelling too close to the phone, and then a shaky breath. Hers.

She wasn’t forming full sentences at first. Just trying to get his attention through the noise. Her tone was high and breathless—like she’d been trying to call him for a few minutes before she finally managed to hit the button.

Wonwoo straightened, confusion tightening his expression.

“{{user}}?”

She tried to speak, but whatever she said came out tangled, half a laugh, half a slurred whisper. She sounded disoriented, like the room around her was spinning and she was trying to catch one thought before it slipped away.

Her breathing wavered as she attempted again—words stumbling over each other, her voice soft and unfocused. She sounded drunk. Not just tipsy. Drunk.

Dizziness hit suddenly, like she could feel the room tilt again. Her stomach rolled uncomfortably. The air smelled like cheap liquor and someone’s perfume. Her hands felt too warm, her legs too unsteady. The voice in her ear—his voice—felt like the only solid thing she could cling to.

Wonwoo’s brows knit together. Her tone told him everything her words couldn’t.

Her voice wobbled as she tried to explain where she was. Tried to say she shouldn’t have stayed this late. Tried to say she didn’t feel good. Tried to say she didn’t want to be alone.

She kept losing track of her own sentences.

And then—softly, like she was embarrassed even through the haze—she said she needed him.

Not anyone. Him.

Wonwoo’s breath hitched. He pressed the phone closer, his steps slowing to a halt in the empty hallway as her slurred voice spilled into his ear.

She attempted the location again—her tone uncertain, apologetic, her words dragging like her tongue was too heavy. She kept saying she was sorry for calling. Sorry for being like this. Sorry she didn’t know who else to ask.

Each “sorry” made his jaw clench tighter.

She wasn’t being dramatic. She was barely holding herself together.

He could picture her perfectly: mascara a little smudged from rubbing her eyes, her posture unsteady, her hand gripping the phone too tightly, the rest of the world fuzzy and too loud.

And she was alone.

Wonwoo’s pulse spiked with something sharp and unwelcome—fear, protectiveness, anger at the situation, he didn’t know. All he knew was that she didn’t sound okay.

His voice came out low and calm, steadier than he felt.

“{{user}}... listen to me. It’s alright. Just breathe for a second.”

She tried—he could hear her inhale shakily, hear the tiny sound she made when her throat tightened, hear her swallow hard against the rising nausea and dizziness.

When she spoke again, her words were clearer solely because she was fighting to force them out. She didn’t feel safe. She didn’t trust the people around her. She didn’t want to stay there.

She needed him to come get her.

Wonwoo didn’t even realize he’d begun moving until he reached the parking garage door, pushing it open with more force than he intended.

“Stay where you are,” he said, firm but gentle. “Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming right now.”

She tried to say something in response—another apology, a nervous laugh, something about being embarrassed—her voice breaking between the words.

He swallowed hard.

“No,” he said quietly, but with finality. “Don’t apologize. Just... wait for me.”

He ended the call before she could spiral again, sliding his phone into his pocket with a shaky exhale.

Wonwoo pulled up to the curb, spotting {{user}} almost immediately. She stood a few feet from the bar entrance, clearly drunk, clearly over it, and very clearly trying to look more put-together than she was. Her stance wobbled every few seconds, like her body kept reminding her she was definitely not okay.

He stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind him. The first thing he noticed was the look on her face—part relieved, part miserable, part “I should not have had that last drink.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it; a tiny, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He walked over, stopping beside her. Up close, she looked even more dazed, her phone clutched in her hand like she’d been staring at the screen too long. When she tried to stand a little straighter, she nearly tipped sideways. He reached out automatically, steadying her with a light hand on her arm.

“Easy,” he murmured, guiding her gently.