Work Text:
Taekwoon finds himself staring at the same woman for the better part of his night, frustrated that his five (or was it six?) shots have done little to deter his eyes from the way her dress clings to her shapely form like a second skin. He pours the remnants of his whiskey down his throat, wincing when it burns past his lungs. Ignoring the look the bartender shoots his way, he signals for another. He knows he isn’t the only one paying attention to the mysterious woman. He sees yet another patron saunter up (stumble) to her, alcohol induced confidence coating him in a blissful ignorance as he spits out the first pickup line his tongue can muster, whilst displaying a less than subtle fingering of the ignition key of whatever flashy sports car he owns (McLaren? Impressive.). Taekwoon then watches with amusement as she raises a perfectly shaped brow – yet arched in an impossibly elegant curve – in response, eyes already fixated on the dance floor behind him. She calmly sidesteps him – avoiding the drink he has carelessly thrust towards her – shakes her head lightly once (apparently there is one person in the world who can make pigtails look that sultry) to the rejected man in departure, and melds into the crowd before her other lurking admirers can take his place.
Not bothering with the remnants of his drink, Taekwoon heads towards the one place he hasn’t step foot on since his university days, and is for once thankful for the support the wall of sweaty patrons grinding their bodies against each other is giving his unsteady legs. He shoves his way determinedly to the centre of the floor – the unmistakable flash of leopard print reinvigorating his faltering steps – not caring how his suit is likely ruined after he had impatiently shoved a pair of nineteen year-olds awkwardly making out aside, causing whatever abhorrent concoction they were holding to spill on his previously immaculate Tom Ford (no amount of dry cleaning would get that sewage-like stain out).
When Taekwoon finally catches sight of her, he doesn’t care how his gaze is just another in the mass of eyes locked on her, nor how there is already a new stranger dancing with her. He pushes himself between them, ignoring the abrasive barrage of swears from whomever he had just interrupted. Now that he has her attention (or rather he hasn’t yet earned her disinterest), Taekwoon feels the last of his eloquence fizzle with their proximity.
He finds himself staring into her lidded eyes, tracing the ends of her winged liner smudged into the honey of her skin. She hasn’t stopped dancing despite his intrusion – casually rolling her body in time with the music, head gently swaying with the undulating beat, but still maintaining just enough a distance between them to show an awareness of his presence. When the song ends, she looks at him expectantly, a small smirk playing against her glossy lips, the challenge in them clearly visible. Taekwoon’s mind draws blank after blank, so he succumbs to instinct instead. “Let me show you a few things,” he blurts, too inebriated to concern himself with how he has just become the number one contender for the cheesiest pickup line award of the night. Half expecting her to slink back into the crowd at his embarrassing attempt, Taekwoon is surprised when her lips draw back into a smile, and her finger reaches to twirl a loose curl that has escaped from her headband. “Oh? Like?” She drawls, her stare unwavering. “Love. About love,” he finishes earnestly. The tackiness of his words is obvious even in his intoxicated state, and he thinks the last shot of whiskey has finally gotten the better of him when the woman lets out a small bark of laughter, her voice twinkling amidst the heavy thrums of techno. “You’re cute.” Before he can react, she grabs his tie lightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she leads him out of the dance floor.