Chapter Text
Shouts and laughter filled the hot, salty air, always accompanied by the rushing and breaking of the waves, a steady undercurrent to the ever-changing sounds that could be heard around the beach. Children were splashing each other in the shallow water, some people were swimming farther back where the turquoise hue of the sea merged into a darker blue, others were relaxing on towels and beach chairs set up in the white sand.
Summertime was the busiest season. All of the hotels along the beach seemed to be well-booked, going by the mass of people on the shore and in the water, some still, some moving, lines blurring between the sections of beach belonging to each of the hotels.
Despite it only being noon, the sun was burning down brightly from the cloudless sky. Even with a pair of sunglasses, Sehun had to squint against the blinding light as he stepped outside onto the porch and walked down the small set of wooden stairs. The fine sand was soft under his feet, but it was also scorching hot, so he hurried closer to the water, nearly stepping on an elaborate sandcastle on the way, and sighed with content when his feet sank into the cool, damp strip of sand directly by the sea.
Then he began to walk along the beach, seawater licking at his ankles with every gentle wave. He still had more than enough time before he had to be back for his shift, so he took it slow. Straining himself this early wouldn’t do him any good — it was going to be an especially hot day, and he’d have a lot to carry back to the hotel. He’d need to buy a few things for the pantry so the chefs would have something to work with if the food deliveries were delayed again, as well as a bunch of stationery for the office. Hopefully, the bag he’d brought would be enough.
Just when he was in between debating if he should get ice cream on the way and going through the grocery list in his head, a flash of color caught his eye. His steps slowed further.
A little way ahead of him were two men wearing the most eccentric clothes he had ever seen anyone wear in person. One of them was sunbathing on a towel, the other dipping his toes into the sea, but Sehun was certain they belonged together — it wasn’t possible for two people dressed like this to coincidentally end up in the same spot on this small island. Even one would have been unusual enough.
It was the bright purple towel in contrast with the sunbathing man’s deep green swim trunks and pastel orange shirt that had first attracted Sehun’s attention, the pink-tinted sunglasses the icing on the multicolored cake. However, the other man, clad in black trunks with a flowery pattern on them and a translucent cropped top that shimmered in the sunlight, was no less of an eye catcher.
Apparently, the water was too cold for the man’s liking. His face scrunched up, and he pulled his foot back, then scurried over to the explosion of colors on the purple towel to plonk himself down on the white towel next to it.
As Sehun passed them, he stole one last glance. It was an image that seemed out of place, that belonged on the cover of a high-end fashion magazine. He wondered in which hotel they were staying. There weren’t any in the area that looked expensive enough to accommodate guests like these. Perhaps they were only here for a day trip to the beach.
The small convenience store soon came into sight, door wide open, the wind chimes hanging from the side of its frame dangling and tinkling in the breeze. By this point, his mind was back to groceries.
A while later, he left the store with the bag bulging at the seams and its straps cutting into his shoulder. The sun seemed to be burning down twice as strongly as before, only exacerbated by the thirst scorching his throat. The cool water around his feet as he walked back alongside the beach was both soothing and a tease. His only distraction was trying not to get run over or splashed by the children running toward him and flailing about in the shallow water. The two supermodel-looking men from before were nowhere to be seen, and he found himself somewhat disappointed — the one in the crop top had been especially cute.
Sehun was glad when he finally caught sight of the Summer Magic again. As fast as he could manage with the bag bearing down on his shoulder, he jogged across the hot sand toward the open door that led directly into the café at the back of the hotel. There were people sitting at the table on the porch where he had eaten his breakfast before, but the café itself was empty, save for Sooyoung behind the counter. She was stacking up dirty dishware and only interrupted herself to give him a friendly wave.
Sehun checked the clock; he still had around ten more minutes before his shift officially started. He strolled over to her while slipping off his sunglasses.
“Hey there.” He propped up his arms on the counter and grinned at her. “Got something cold for me? I’m dying.”
She laughed. “Actually, I have some peanut ice cream left over.”
Sehun raised his eyebrows. Peanut ice cream was usually in short supply.
“Left over?”
“Yeah, that one guy was whining to his friend about the scoops not being round enough. So I made him a fresh one, and now I still have the first one sitting around.”
He snorted. “Not round enough? For real?”
“For real. Here, look.” Abandoning the dirty dishes, she pulled out a paper cup from the freezer for Sehun to examine. The two scoops inside were unshapely but undeniably generous.
“Looks fine to me,” he said and took the cup as well as a spoon from the cutlery rack on the counter. “What an idiot. Thanks though!”
“No problem. Don’t let the managers catch you taking that inside.”
He shrugged. “I bet Joohyun would let it slide. And Junmyeon wouldn’t even mind.”
The look of mild amazement Sooyoung gave him was one he often saw on his coworkers’ faces whenever he talked so casually about or with their superiors. He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy their reactions, but even without them, he wouldn’t address either of their managers formally. The only occasions on which he did were in the presence of guests. At any other time, it was impossible for him to think of Joohyun and Junmyeon as bosses first and parental figures second — impossible to think of them as anything other than the kind owners of a hotel with twenty rooms and no café who had hired an eighteen-year-old with bad grades and no job experience, given him a place to live, and reassured his parents they’d take good care of him. No matter how many more rooms and cafés would be added to the Summer Magic in the future, Sehun wouldn’t view Joohyun and Junmyeon any differently than he’d always had. The kick he got out of scandalizing new coworkers was merely a bonus.
Sehun left the café and entered the hotel lobby, spooning up his blissfully cold ice cream, bag still slung over his shoulder. It was a promising start into the workday, he thought.
A flash of color; green, orange, pink, purple. He almost dropped his ice cream cup when he laid eyes on the two beach models from earlier waiting in line behind a woman who was talking to Jongdae at the reception. There was no mistaking them — chances that someone else on the island (or anywhere in the world, really) was wearing those clothes were virtually nonexistent. From this distance, Sehun could make out Gucci logos everywhere.
His feet were carrying him toward the reception on autopilot; he knew he was staring but didn’t quite know how to stop. Like before, the man dressed in flashy colors had naturally caught his eye first. His sunglasses were now perched in his bleached hair, revealing a pair of almond eyes with puffy lower eyelids, narrowed in a skeptical frown, and his thin lips were pressed together in a strict line. Then Sehun’s gaze fell on the other man, and not even the most jarring color combination could have drawn it away then.
He’d thought the man was cute — he’d been wrong. The man was stunning. Not only that, the closer he was, the more beautiful he appeared to become. Sehun was beginning to worry what would happen if he kept moving, what would happen if he came too close. It seemed dangerous, like flying too close to the sun.
With the garish light of the actual sun filtered through windows and curtains, everything was so clearly visible. The man’s tan skin was glowing, his full lips a deep red from the heat, fluffy, brown hair ruffled rakishly by the sea breeze. With his slightly hooded eyes and striking cheekbones, there was a regal air about him; and with that jawline and those body proportions, he had to be a model. There was a bit of a pout to his lips as he said something to the other man, a crease between his elegantly curved eyebrows.
When passing them, Sehun heard a snippet of the other man’s response, just enough to pick up on his heavy accent.
“…every single temple in Qingdao, remember? I thought we discussed this…”
The moment before Sehun reached the reception and tore his eyes away with an effort, they flitted up from the man’s mile-long legs to his chest, and through the transparent crop top he caught a glimpse of a singular piercing on the man’s right nipple. Sehun almost did a double take but managed to restrain himself.
He had to change. Yes, his shift was about to start. That was what he had come to the lobby for in the first place.
He would have attended to the two men himself, but he could hardly do that while dressed in shorts and an unbuttoned, decidedly not Gucci shirt. And so he instead rounded the reception counter and slipped through the door behind it, then walked a few steps through the small corridor until he reached the only two doors in it, one on either side. Still lost in thought, he opened the one to his right and found the staff room empty. He only remembered that he had a cup of ice cream in his hand when he almost spilled it trying to drop the heavy bag onto a chair.
He quickly changed into the neat but modest hotel uniform, occasionally pausing for a hasty spoonful of ice cream. As soon as he was done, he heaved the bag into the equally desolate managers’ office across the corridor, where he left the stationery, and finally stepped back into the lobby, not without carefully straightening his tie and name tag first. It felt like a wasted effort when he saw the elevator doors across from the reception close on a flash of green and orange.
Sehun shut the door behind him, slightly disappointed at the missed opportunity.
“Hi,” Jongdae greeted him from where he stood behind the computer screen. He hadn’t lost his professional smile, but there was a subtle strain to it that told Sehun he was ready to go home.
And so it came as no surprise that Jongdae, upon seeing the bag slung over Sehun’s shoulder, readily offered to take it to the kitchen for him so Sehun could take over his shift.
“Fair trade,” said Sehun, and Jongdae shot him a relieved grin.
“Sorry — I’ll hang around to chat next time, but I’m fried right now, I need food and a nap so bad I wanna cry.”
“Don’t cry, just go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jongdae took off, and Sehun settled in behind the screen in his stead.
A few guests were passing through the lobby or playing with their phones on the couch in the corner, but none of them looked like they would come over. There usually wasn’t too much of a rush at the reception, unless there was a batch of new arrivals all coming in all at once, and so Sehun tended to take his time with the things he needed to do. Today, he immediately opened the logbook, scrolling through until he found the entry he was looking for.
Huang Zitao and Kim Jongin had checked in this morning at eight, two separate rooms, 68 and 88, paid with one credit card.
That had to be them. The only new arrivals this day so far. Sehun was giddy with delight. Not only were the two staying on the island, but by some miracle, they had chosen the Summer Magic. It was certainly not their usual kind of clientele — they’d had the occasional well-off or fancy person, but never anyone remotely like that. Sehun checked the entry again. They would be staying for two whole weeks too. Something told him this was going to be a special time.
He looked pensively at the names. Huang Zitao had to be purple towel guy; the Chinese-sounding name matched perfectly with his accent. So the one that had knocked the breath out of Sehun’s lungs was Kim Jongin.
Content with the new information, Sehun proceeded to go through the rest of the logbook, doing his best not to let his thoughts wander off too far. But he couldn’t help wondering whether he would see Kim Jongin again before his shift was over. Or, even better, after it was over. There was no way he could flirt with the man during work after all. Although he could of course make friendly contact. That was within bounds, wasn’t it? The fact that the two men didn’t share a room boded well, as it made it likely they weren’t a couple…
“Good morning, Sehun.”
He flinched and reflexively closed the logbook. Talk about perfect timing. Junmyeon was smiling brightly at him and his tone had been cheery, and yet his mere presence made Sehun feel guilty, as if he’d been caught doing something forbidden. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was possible to summon Junmyeon with unprofessional thoughts alone.
“Uh… I got the stationery,” Sehun told him, hoping he didn’t look unfocused.
“Thanks.” Junmyeon came behind the counter, his smile now gentler. “Is everything alright?”
Apparently, Sehun did look a bit unfocused, then. He tried an innocent smile, which was probably even more suspicious, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. “Sure. Uh, I put it in you guys’ office, just so you know.”
“Wonderful.” Junmyeon tilted his head to the side. “Did you not get enough sleep?”
Sehun had slept like a log, but he gladly took the excuse. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Luckily, a guest was approaching the reception, so even if Junmyeon had meant to probe further, he was forced to leave their conversation at that. He gave Sehun another smile and his arm a fond pat before disappearing through the door behind the counter.
It seemed like that was the extent of Sehun’s luck for the day; soon after, Junmyeon took over at the reception and Sehun was sent to the kitchen to help, since their dishwasher had called in sick unexpectedly. When he finally finished cleaning all the dishes from breakfast, their food deliveries arrived, perfectly punctual, and he spent the rest of his shift hauling boxes and restocking the pantry. That naturally meant he didn’t get another glimpse of either Huang Zitao or Kim Jongin.
Still, Sehun thought as he finally took off his sweaty uniform at the end of the day, he’d already been lucky enough overall. There was always tomorrow — in fact, there would be several more tomorrows before Kim Jongin left this place again. Plenty of time.
The next morning, Junmyeon was drinking coffee.
Sehun’s shift started at an ungodly hour, but he’d come in early because he knew from experience that he needed some extra preparation time when it was his turn with the breakfast buffet. About to enter the staff room, he had peeked through the half-open door to the managers’ office and caught a glimpse of Junmyeon sitting at his desk and sipping from his mug, coffee pot in front of him.
If Sehun hadn’t been in charge of the buffet, he would have gone in there and asked what was wrong — Junmyeon only ever drank coffee when he wanted to indulge himself, and that was only if something particularly stressful had happened. It was still early, so Sehun assumed it was something from the day before. He decided to ask about it later.
He prepared the buffet as usual, laid the tables, set out the food, made sure the drink dispensers were filled, and eventually opened the door to greet the first guests with a bow at seven o’clock sharp. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Around eight o’clock, more than half of the tables were occupied but the room was still quiet, wrapped in the drowsy mumble of the morning hours. Sehun flitted back and forth between kitchen and breakfast room, refilling every toast rack and cutlery basket as soon as it threatened to run out. He kept moving at all times so he wouldn’t fall asleep standing by the food tables. The routine of it lulled him into a comfortable sense of monotony that didn’t require much brainpower and made time pass quickly.
“It’s gross, that’s what it is.”
A whiny voice to his right pierced through the general noise level and shook him out of his stupor. He looked over to where it had come from and saw Kim Jongin and Huang Zitao sitting at a table in the middle of the room, in a sleeveless denim top and a lime green silk shirt respectively. Sehun had to have been really out of it not to have noticed those two coming in.
Then his surprise about who had spoken faded, and he slowly began processing what had been said.
“They’re so greasy they’re dripping,” Jongin whined and poked an egg roll on his plate with a chopstick. “I can’t eat that, Tao!”
Zitao was chewing on his own egg roll, unperturbed. “Get less greasy ones, then. Mine are just fine.”
“I think there’s a stain on my spoon too.” Jongin was flat-out pouting now. “I wanna go eat somewhere else.”
Zitao grumbled something Sehun couldn’t hear, but it made the pout on Jongin’s face deepen into a scowl.
Then Jongin looked up and his eyes met Sehun’s, and Sehun realized he stood rooted to the spot, watching the scene before him unfold. He was also frowning so hard that his eyebrows were a blurry fringe sitting at the top of his field of vision.
As quickly and inconspicuously as possible, he turned away and walked over to the buffet. However, he was unable to force the frown off his face. What was that guy’s deal? Not that Sehun was surprised that someone who dressed like that was eccentric, but this was a bit much. Neither of their chefs was fond of using excessive amounts of oil; if anything, Sehun would have expected a complaint about the food being too dry. He casually inspected the egg rolls while refilling the pancakes next to them. If this was Kim Jongin’s idea of greasy, something he’d call dry would probably suck any moisture from a person’s body within an instant upon ingestion. Was he on some sort of special diet? Perhaps that was how he maintained his figure.
Thankfully, the rest of the breakfast proceeded in relative peace. Sehun almost forgot about the little incident until Jongin rose from the table with an unnecessary amount of chair scraping and dish clattering and strutted out of the room, a calmly sauntering Zitao in tow. Some people turned to look after them, and the dark fringe decked Sehun’s view again.
He really should have known something was off that day, right when he’d seen the cup of coffee in Junmyeon’s hand. Coffee was a bad omen, and after that buffet shift, Sehun was craving some himself.
The door to the managers’ office was still ajar by the time he walked into the corridor behind the reception, and he decided to spend his ten-minute break there instead of in the staff room (given the managers didn’t throw him out).
Joohyun was sitting at her desk, long hair tied back in her usual ponytail, a few stacks of paper in front of her. The empty cup was still on Junmyeon’s desk, next to an almost empty coffee pot. Sehun walked over, poured the rest of the coffee into the cup, and downed it in one big gulp. Then he shuddered because it was way too bitter.
“Ew. Morning,” he murmured and put the cup back on the desk with a clonk and a grimace.
“Morning.” She transferred a batch of papers from one stack to another with one hand and handed him a chocolate bar from her desk drawer with the other, eyes focused on the papers. “Did the buffet give you a hard time?”
“It’s fine. Just a couple annoying guests, nothing unusual.” He took a seat on Junmyeon’s office chair and tore the wrapper. “What was up with Junmyeon earlier?”
“Ah, he was a bit nervous about one of yesterday’s new arrivals. Some rich people, I think.”
Sehun perked up. There hadn’t been many new arrivals yesterday, let alone rich ones. “Were they the ones wearing Gucci?”
“Could be. I’m not sure though, I may have zoned out. He talked about it for at least ten minutes.”
Sehun snorted. “Damn. Must have really bothered him.”
He spent the rest of his break nibbling on the coconut-flavored chocolate bar and watching the paper stacks shrink and grow.
Two hours later, Sehun was pulled from the reception again, this time to help out at the café.
“I would give a hand myself,” said Junmyeon, “but I think I’d better take over at the reception.”
Sehun agreed wholeheartedly. The last time Junmyeon had ‘given a hand’ at the café had ended in a bunch of mixed up orders and two broken cocktail glasses.
When Sehun got there, he found a distressed Sooyoung alone behind the counter, in front of which was a queue that went out the open side door onto the porch.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” she muttered, and he gave her a thumbs up.
They often did this during busy hours: Sooyoung would take and serve the orders, and Sehun would prepare them. They were an efficient team and had eradicated the queue within minutes.
In the middle of a celebratory fist bump, Kim Jongin and Huang Zitao entered. The latter was still wearing his green shirt from breakfast, now accompanied by bright yellow trunks; Kim Jongin, meanwhile, had traded his denim top for a lavender shirt, unbuttoned so it showed off his toned stomach and the small golden stud in his right nipple.
Sehun stiffened as soon as he laid eyes on them. The breakfast buffet had left a sour aftertaste, and he wasn’t sure how to act. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Kim Jongin just wasn’t a morning person. In any case, Sehun was glad he wasn’t the one taking the orders. He watched the pair walk up to the counter and wondered whether the singular nipple piercing was supposed to be edgy, or whether it was part of a realm of fashion he didn’t comprehend. The realm where pairing orange, green, and purple was a good idea.
“I’ll have a frappé coffee,” said Zitao. Then he elbowed Jongin, who had been staring morosely at the drink menu, and received a glare in return. Zitao wasn’t discouraged.
“Come on, there’s gotta be something you like. If it helps, it’s my treat.”
Apparently, it helped. Jongin kept up his glare some more, then he huffed. “Whatever. Peanut ice cream.”
“How many scoops, sir?” Sooyoung asked, but he had already turned around and marched outside.
Zitao shrugged. “Make it two.”
“Certainly,” she said politely. “It will be ready in just a moment.”
Sehun was already working on the frappé. The question he had asked himself during the buffet cropped back up — what was Kim Jongin’s deal?
With the frappé finished, Sehun opened the freezer and had just dug the scoop into the peanut ice cream when he noticed Sooyoung was trying to catch his attention with frantic waves and snaps of her fingers under the counter. He waited until she dismissed the customer she was talking to with a friendly smile and turned her head toward Sehun.
“Round!” she hissed. “Make sure they’re round!”
He nodded, although he was confused. He wondered why she felt the need to stress that. Then it suddenly hit him.
He carefully placed two scoops into the paper cup, as close to perfectly round as he could manage. During the next customer-free interval, Sooyoung grabbed the two tablets with all the unserved orders. Before she could scurry off to distribute them, Sehun stepped closer and asked in a low voice, “Is that guy…?”
She understood right away and cast him a wry smile. “Oh yeah. That’s him.”
At that very moment, Sehun realized he should have known there was a catch. There was also little doubt now as to what precisely the catch was: Kim Jongin was an asshole.