Night pressed close against the rooftop glass, the city below uncoiling in rivers of color and light, but inside Ha-eun's private lounge, the rest of Seoul might as well not exist. Jazz spun lazy circles from hidden speakers, soft as a secret. Cushions spilled across the floor in a haze of color, shoes discarded, makeup smudged, hair let down. For the first time all week, everyone could breathe.

Ha-eun lounged with the ease of a woman who owned every inch of her domain, her bare legs stretched out along the velvet sofa, silk dress loose on her skin. Joon-ho, caught between her and Min-Kyung, let his shoulders relax—Alina had curled herself at his feet, knees drawn up, eyes sharp with mischief. Natty sprawled on a pile of pillows, braid half unraveled, while Yumi sat cross-legged, twirling a cherry by the stem as she sipped something pink and fizzy.

Empty plates and half-full glasses already littered the low table, but Yumi's stomach rumbled loud enough for everyone to hear. She slapped a hand to her belly, giggling. "If I don't eat real food soon, I'm going to pass out and then you'll have to explain me to immigration."

Min-Kyung grinned, nudging Joon-ho's side. "She's not joking. You'll need to do more than pour us drinks if you want to keep this crowd happy."

Ha-eun's eyes glinted. "That's right. Surrounded by women, and you haven't fed a single one yet. Tsk tsk."

Alina chimed in, her English edged with playful Russian consonants. "You must cook for us, handsome man. Show off those skills."

Natty draped an arm over Yumi's shoulder, eyes bright. "Thailand men never cook for women. I want to see Korean style!"

Joon-ho stood, feigning exhaustion. "I see how it is. I'm only here for my labor."

Alina grinned, nudging his calf with her foot. "And your looks."

"Don't burn anything," Min-Kyung warned, eyes twinkling. "Or I'll never let you live it down."

Su-bin, busy wiping down the bar, straightened with a smile. "We have boneless chicken thigh, marinated earlier. Vegetables for dakgalbi, and lots of skewers—beef, seafood, veggies."

Joon-ho washed his hands at the sink, rolling up his sleeves. The kitchen island stood under pendant lights, close enough for the girls to see everything, but far enough that he could lose himself in the work. He set out the chicken, bright with gochujang and ginger, slices of onion and cabbage, sweet potato cut in thick wedges.

"Let's do dakgalbi and grilled skewers," he said, flashing a grin. "But I'll need an assistant."

Alina hopped up. "I will help!" She strode over, undeterred by her state of undress. Her pierced nipples peeked brazenly through thin cotton, and she looked up at him, eyebrows arched. "Tell me what to do."

He handed her a bowl of mushrooms and zucchini, gesturing for her to skewer them. Their hands brushed, sparks flying. She laughed—a low, throaty sound—and set to work, her fingers deft and quick.

Min-Kyung sauntered over too, hovering at Joon-ho's side. "I'll supervise. I can't let Alina poison us all."

"Oh please," Alina retorted, "I am better cook than you, Min-Kyung. You only know how to order takeout."

Yumi and Natty, now perched on barstools, cheered from their seats. "Oppa, fighting!" Yumi called, slapping the countertop.

Ha-eun poured more wine, swirling it in her glass, eyes intent on Joon-ho's hands. "You're more confident here than most men are in bed."

Joon-ho shot her a look, only half-flustered. "Maybe I just know what I'm doing."

The smells of searing chicken and vegetables filled the lounge, the heat from the skillet swirling with the laughter and lazy glances. Alina brushed hair from her eyes, the tip of her tongue peeking as she slid squid and bell peppers onto bamboo sticks. She kept pressing her hip to Joon-ho's, making it very clear what was on her mind.

He shaped rice balls one-handed, dusting them with sesame seeds, arranging them in a perfect ring. "You know," he said, looking up at the room, "this is probably the most dangerous audience I've ever had."

Yumi propped her chin in her hands, voice dreamy. "You look like you belong on TV, Joon-ho. Sexy chef show. Only we get the private version."

Min-Kyung flicked her gaze from Alina to Joon-ho. "You'll have to make breakfast too, at this rate."

He winked, tossing a piece of chicken in her direction, earning a squeal and a curse in return.

Su-bin worked beside him, the silent rhythm of the practiced, collecting finished skewers and laying them on a hot grill set up on the counter's edge. The sizzle rose, mingling with voices and the growing sense of anticipation.

Ha-eun moved around the table, handing out plates and freshening drinks. She caught Joon-ho's eye as she leaned in, lips close to his ear. "You make this look easy. I like a man who doesn't panic when he's on display."

He looked at her, something electric sparking in the air. "I'm not just on display for you," he said, voice low.

She laughed, slow and satisfied, and drifted back to the sofa.

Soon enough, the food was ready—steaming chicken and veggies in the skillet, the ring of glossy rice balls, a platter of charred skewers lined in rows. Alina snatched a skewer and made a show of feeding it to Joon-ho, eyes locked on his lips. "For good luck," she said, licking sauce from her own fingers.

Natty moaned at her first bite, dropping all pretense. "This is so good. You marry me, Joon-ho, I feed you forever."

Yumi was quieter, lost in the taste, her eyes fluttering as she rolled a rice ball between her palms and popped it into her mouth.

Min-Kyung let her knee brush Joon-ho's thigh beneath the table, her voice soft. "You're dangerous when you cook."

They ate in rounds, conversation dipping and soaring: confessions, jokes, stories from other countries and childhoods. Ha-eun kept the wine flowing, her laughter growing richer, her eyes never leaving the way Joon-ho moved among them. The world shrank to the circle of light and warmth on the rooftop, a world where secrets were safe and the outside couldn't touch them.

After dinner, Su-bin cleared plates quietly, smiling at the happy carnage. The girls stretched, sated and sleepy, bodies draped over the furniture.

Yumi blinked at Ha-eun, voice heavy with exhaustion. "Can I sleep here? I don't want to move."

Natty was already halfway gone, head lolling on a pile of cushions. "I just need a bed. Or the floor."

Ha-eun stroked her hair, gentle. "Of course. Su-bin, can you help them?"

Su-bin led Yumi to a spare room, where she found a reclining leather chair and a silk blanket. She sank into it, put on headphones, and melted into the cushions as music played. Natty stripped down to her pale blue lingerie and crawled under a thick, downy blanket, Su-bin tucking her in with a quiet word in Thai.

Back in the lounge, Ha-eun returned barefoot, dress slipping off one shoulder, cheeks flushed. She poured the last of the wine, sinking into the cushions beside Min-Kyung and Joon-ho. Alina followed, licking her lips, her eyes dark.

Su-bin tidied up the last glasses, then paused at the door. "Madam, I'll rest now. Let me know if you need anything in the morning."

Ha-eun nodded, her voice suddenly softer. "Thank you, Su-bin. Sleep well."

When the door clicked shut, the mood shifted. They were just four now, adults in a world suspended above the city. The lights grew lower, the music slower, conversation drifting from playful to intimate.

Alina stretched out across the sofa, her long body arching, nipples just visible through her thin shirt. "You should cook for me every night," she purred, one hand running down Joon-ho's thigh. "Or maybe I'll just eat you."

Min-Kyung grinned, twining her fingers with his. "Careful, or you'll start a fight."

Ha-eun smiled, slipping a hand onto his chest. "You handled us well tonight. Maybe you deserve a little reward."

He sat between them, feeling the press of their bodies, the weight of their eyes. The laughter was quieter now, more breath than voice. The city shimmered outside, but the world had shrunk to the warmth of bodies and the scent of food and wine.

Min-Kyung traced her fingers up his arm. "Do you want us to take care of you tonight?"

Alina pressed closer, her breath hot against his jaw. "Or should we fight over you?"

Ha-eun leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "There's no need to choose. Not tonight."

The touch of hands, the tangle of legs, the soft brush of silk on skin—all boundaries melted away as the night deepened. The city was far below, forgotten. Here, on the rooftop, in the shelter of Ha-eun's bar, they had each other, and nothing else mattered.

The last lights were dimmed. The world was just laughter, hunger, and the promise of secrets that would never leave this room.

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