CHANGE UP

The less favorable scenario isn’t important now. Junhoe’s undivided attention is fully directed at the other and no unnecessary worry should steal that attention from him tonight.

Jihoon’s microexpressions never fail to give the game away, however, it’s doubtful whether the man wants to hide any twitch from him at all. Whatever the answer is, Junhoe knows he’s on thin ice. But he’s going to keep on skating.

Before he gets to snidely comment the drink without tasting it yet, out of curiosity his eyes move onto the potential target. “For now… I’ll keep you company. Work can wait.” He sends Jihoon a wink and triumphantly lifts his glass. Before he finally has a sip, he leans in once more. “Do you keep tabs on everyone who walks through the gates of hell?”

Jihoon’s eyes slightly crease when he smiles. That was a good one. 

“Breaks my heart to say it’s the best part of my night.” He admits with the same joking tone, forearms on the polished and not-sticky countertop. Jihoon makes sure it is never sticky and all drinks have proper coasters. 

See. it’s so much easier to talk to people when they are not idiots. Plus, Junhoe covers more ground stretching over the counter, so Jihoon lets Junhoe come to him so they can keep that back and forth going. The night is slow, it’s still early, so he better enjoy the low moments before orders start to pick up. 

she’s not the closest to jihoon, but they do work together and see each other pretty much every day, so it’s easy to slip into casual conversation with him. his reply startles a snort out of her, and she finally tears her gaze away from the bills to look up at his face for a second. with a tiny amused smile, annie takes out a handful of bills out of the back pockets of her jeans and looks at it. “that it is, my friend.”

Dark Paradise looks the same as people would like at ass o’clock in the morning under bright white lights. Every line expression and crack exposed, and that’s the beauty of working nights: beauty has a time limit. Nothing survives under the excruciating truth that fluorescent tube lamps bring, not even Jihoon. 

He’s visibly tired behind the cash register, the gelled up hair that was fixed in a perfectly retro-biker swirl hours ago was now just flopping on top of his head, the suspenders hanging from his waist, the sleeves of his uniform shirt rolled up with no sense of style and the undeniable dark bags under his eyes, but he was smiling. All and all it was a good night, but he always expects a nice flow of tips and cash with business company meetings nights (off the record, of course) because it means a bunch of rich chaebols looking to rub their money on each other’s faces, and soon enough you have a pissing contest involving cash.

Money puts Jihoon in a good mood. 

His head now hurts for two reasons — over-drinking and the bottle someone smashed against his occipit. Regaining consciousness, the heated conversations of people around him are taken out of context, but he agrees — it was some wild stuff. Once he hears Jihoon’s voice, he realizes he chimed in aloud. “What are you talking about?” Maybe he doesn’t want to know. Straightening up, Jiyong takes small pieces of glass out of his ruffled hair. “For fuck’s– Firstly, you didn’t have to knock me out. I had business to handle.”

Jihoon is sure everyone has their own version of what it feels like to drown in regret of getting out of bed. To him, this sourness on the pit of his stomach that could easily be mistaken for ulcers materializes itself in the form of Jiyong, a regular alcohol-induced agitator that just doesn’t get tired of showing up, it seems. Jihoon has annoying regular clients, that’s a given, but few of them make him feel like a fucking babysitter like Jiyong does. 

While Jihoon likes to keep it to himself - most of his co-workers don’t even know his family name - he can see a proverbial neon sign floating above Jiyong’s head, blinking the capitalized letters spelling “attention whore”. He wears his metaphorical babysitter cap because he knows he would get in trouble with the boss if he lets shit like that happen, and by the time Jiyon is conscious again, the monstrous guys were dragged out fo the club already by even more monstrous bouncers. 

“Like I would get myself fired because of you, shit for brains.” Secretly, Jihoon wishes he could have been the one trying to guillotine Jiyong’s head off with a bottle, but that would for sure cost him his job. Even sketchy strip clubs have their rules. Crossing his arms, Jihoon watched the ever-amusing process of a drunk asshole picking glass out of his hair and he would not move a single finger to help past what he’d already done, breaking off the fight. 

He wouldn’t be so prone to toss frivolous remarks around if it wasn’t mutual. Thankfully, Jihoon is almost amusingly quick to bite back. Always, and now. “Well, alright…” Junhoe pouts in feigned soreness, as though his pride has been efficiently bruised.

In the meantime his eyes drift towards the eavesdropping companion. If he, on the other hand, felt too brave to take a less amicable dig at Jihoon, the guy would then have two people to deal with.

“But are you sure? I can bring you one of those cute little ladders.” Cute and little like you, he facetiously adds in his head and hopes Jihoon won’t spike his drink with something extra.

Oh yeah, JIhoon knew that kind of smile. 

In parts it is a good sign, means it’s not a shitty night at work, means that Junhoe is in a good mood, means that there won’t be any pity party hanging from the edge of Jihoon’s bar. Sometimes the club can get a heavier atmosphere, not all nights are nice and breezy - shit happens there. No one likes those nights. 

But on the other hand, that smile also means Junhoe feels like playing. Might not look like it, by the tight smile on Jihoon’s thin lips, but he also likes to play. Of course, the word “cute” puts Jihoon on instant alert, it means Junhoe is this close to actually calling him cute and then he would definitely be spitting in some drinks that night. 

“Yes. Super sure.” He replies through his tight jaw, fingers tapping the bottles, picking the ice and preparing the drinks. He’s not actually using the cheap stuff for Junhoe, he’s not into the danger zone yet.  

Rarely does Junhoe treat himself to a drink at his workplace. Just when he was beginning, he used to have a shot of something stronger before every show and now it’s only an occasional procedure, done mostly for the sake of boosting his mood than adding courage.

But tonight he makes his way right to the seemingly empty bar. Unlike the client who decided to quench his thirst with firewater or whatever he has in mind, he isn’t so quick to presuppose that his favorite bartender cannot be found behind the counter. And there he is, popping up like a kitten jumping out of a box. Junhoe doesn’t even bother to suppress his unusually goofy grin.

Shooting the man beside him a brief glare, his eyes soon dart at Jihoon, who’s probably boiling on the inside already. “If you can reach the shelf, then why not.” After fixing his lace shirt which barely covers anything, he leans in to face his colleague. He knows too well that he isn’t making the situation any better with the friendly raillery.

Oh, so it’s was a mutiny then. 

Jihoon quickly taps his fingers on the edge of the wooden bar and smiles to Junhoe as a replacement for showing his middle finger instead. Jihoon had his boos call him out on his attitude numerous times, but that was Junhoe and Junhoe doesn’t count. 

“No need to.” He was too short to lean in over the bar like Junhoe did, and Jihoon knows he does that on purpose, but he was smiling too. At least Junhoe was close enough for Jihoon to pinch his cheek. “I keep the drinks for cheap dates at the bottom.” And he turns to the guy next, who was currently coughing on the edge of his cup. “I’ll get you another one of those, pal.”

Jihoon always uses pal when he means something else. 

"... I don’t see anyone here.” Jihoon hears from behind the bar, where he was crouching down to tuck the empty bottles away inside the cardboard boxes designated for re-filling instead of throwing away. Good vodka diluted with 1/2 of water is still good-watered down vodka. 

When he stands up, black hair poorly styled in a somewhat 50′s reference to match the ridiculous  and unauthentic theme of the strip club, white button up with the sleeves rolled up, he sees two faces: one that he recognizes and the other must belong to the voice, a client. 

“Oh, I could have missed you there.” The guy cracks, and Jihoon rests his forearms on the top of the bar trying to smile trough the comment on his height. At the point in his life he’s heard it all. 

“What’s it gonna be?” He asks straight to Junhoe, the name belonging to the face he does recognize. “The house special?”