Chapter Text
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For all intents and purposes, Jeon Jeongguk considers himself good at pretending. He wears emotions like masks — he's able to laugh off a poorly-hidden insult, and just as able to feign neutrality when his blood boils. Living in New York City tends to require some kind of mask-wearing ability. Every day, he passes hundreds of people on the street, count another few tens or so through working at a tattoo parlor that supplies their customers with unique designs and sketches inspired by micro-trends alike. As soon as a cool back tattoo or a multicolored arm sleeve blows up on TikTok, it's no surprise that INKDIGO, Jeongguk's beloved workplace as a tattoo artist, is sure to have a surge in clients the next day.
Regardless of the product, Jeongguk can lie to others just fine, but can't seem to lie to himself. It bleeds through the masks he's worked so hard to maintain and polish over the past two decades (and three years) that he's been alive. Say, for instance… he can't lie about his rapidly changing feelings towards INKDIGO. Rather, in more accurate wording — Jeongguk finds that being a tattoo artist also affects his mood on the daily. He loves his job, loves creating art so much that it could potentially ruin his day. Isn't that just brilliant?
Scribble, scratch. Scribble, more scribbling, scratch. This is the sound of Jeongguk's attempt at fighting the destructive artist's block hanging over his head via his fifty-third sketchbook.
The sound of ballpoint pen against rough paper is interrupted by the pained sigh leaving Jeongguk's pierced lips. Slouched over and using the client chair as a makeshift desk, he flips to the next empty page available and stares at its cream color for at least a minute. He loves his job because it gives him a reason not to dwell in sadness, see — it's four PM, and the wind chimes hanging over the front door haven't rung in a hot minute. Formally, Jeongguk clocks out at five. Formally, this means he is forced to think about how Coping Mechanism Number One (also known as being employed) is stagnant, while Coping Mechanism Number Two (that is, creating art without the input of others) has been busted for days.
In essence, Jeongguk is doing perfectly fine, thank you very much, and certainly is not being told go fuck yourself by his conscience.
"I would rather you not fuck yourself when we have floor-to-ceiling glass windows as our storefront," comments a deep, amused voice from somewhere behind Jeongguk, and… oh. The smell of pleasant earth and aged wood fills Jeongguk's senses — he puts the pen down, turning around to see the owner of INKDIGO (his lovely boss of two years now) hovering over his shoulder. Kim Namjoon is all smiles and exposed muscle, despite being an active spectator to Jeongguk's ruin. "You know to go into the breakroom if you want to jack off to whatever the hell Gen Z finds hot now, yeah?"
"You weren't supposed to hear that."
Namjoon is still smiling. For the audience record, he's also still wearing the INKDIGO t-shirt he chopped up into a sleeveless top. "I regret to inform you, Jeon Jeongguk-ssi, Jeongguk-ah, my scrappy employee of the month and the last employee on site at the moment, that we're the only two people here."
A simple glance at the clock on the wall — hanging over the large picture of puppies and several large prints of Jeongguk's LinkedIn headshot, for some reason — notifies him that only five minutes have passed in the time that he's started to scribble and the last word Namjoon has said. That's another fifty-five minutes of mental disassembling on the agenda.
Let it be known to all that Jeon Jeongguk loves his job (and not just because it doubles as Coping Mechanism Number One.) He graduated a year early from a state school with a degree in business administration and a minor in illustration and didn't give himself a minute to critically think before throwing himself into the hustle and bustle of New York. The city treats him just as well as he treats the city; it's kind to him, despite the feeling of uncertainty that hovers in the urban air every day. After camping with his aunt for a little bit and not knowing what to do with his life, Jeongguk used his free time to make art. He would scribble doodles on Post-Its and slap them onto cafe bulletin boards, draw random people in Central Park with his huge sketch pad, stumble from art exhibit to art exhibit with purpose — with each work, he'd leave "JK" and his Instagram handle in the bottom left corner. It garnered him quite a following, of course. More importantly, it brought him to Kim Namjoon, who reached out asking about a potential apprenticeship in tattoo art if Jeongguk could provide a portfolio for him.
And boy, did Jeongguk have a portfolio. Twelve years of acknowledging his ADHD diagnosis and learning how to cope through different mediums does that to a guy.
So here he is now, working at a job he loves with a boss he appreciates and coworkers and clients he likes. It's only on these off-days that Jeongguk really gets in his head and can feel every second slipping away from him. Subconsciously, he starts chewing on the straw that sits inside of the empty milkshake cup he'd picked up from his favorite cafe-bakery, KSJ, earlier that day.
Namjoon notices. (Given, it's hard not to when the parlor is completely silent, save for their commotion.) "Alright, you know what? I'll let you out early. And don't worry about the extra hour of pay. You've worked hard the past week."
It doesn't take more than two seconds for Jeongguk to hop out of his chair with the most joy a grown man can exhibit and throw his arms around his boss' waist. Namjoon grunts, but gives him a hearty pat on the back for his worries.
With his backpack on his shoulders, motorcycle helmet under an arm, and empty KSJ cup dangling from his fingers, Jeongguk bids his boss farewell for the day and steps out onto the sidewalks of New York City. Honestly, he isn't fond of cloudy days. The only thing that brings him some form of comfort is the fact that despite the dreary weather, there are still people sitting on the benches and the playground is pleasantly busy with children and their guardians.
Tossing the KSJ cup into the nearest recycling bin, Jeongguk's AirPods are in his ears without much additional thinking; his boots hit the ground to the sound of funk pop filling his senses as he makes his way to the garage where his motorcycle is parked. He passes by some familiar faces, letting hello and how are you fall out from between his lips on instinct. These kinds of interactions are easy, effortless. He doesn't have to pull out a mask from his mental closet or pick at the wiring in his brain.
Another hello to the employee working at his favorite motorcycle garage, and — ah, there she is, his beautiful Yamaha XSR700. Or, the light of his life.
"Hi, baby," he murmurs to the air. It's safe to say that seeing his motorcycle in tip-top shape can only make him melt. Jeongguk lets out a delighted sigh, running his hands up and down the leather seat. His bike has been with him since heavens know when, but she's certainly been a steady presence throughout the ups and downs of his New York residency. He pats the seat one more time, then realizes that with the ultimate task of getting to his motorcycle complete… well, he doesn't have much else to do.
There goes Coping Mechanism Number Three.
He could go home. Jeongguk makes a noise of contemplation to himself and holds his wrist up to his face to look at his Apple Watch. It's still around four PM so the corporate rush hasn't hit the streets yet — another confirmation of this is seeing his nine-to-fiver roommate still at work, according to the Find My app on his phone. The last thing he'd want to do is loaf around at home by himself with the risk of spiraling further.
Returning to the parlor would mean 1) Namjoon laughing at him and 2) another artist's block due to a location-association thing or some shit, as his dear friend Kim Taehyung would say.
Hm.
Jeongguk purses his lips, then slips his helmet over his head and triple-checks Taehyung's location on his phone. Taehyung works at an art museum. If he loved Jeongguk, he would let him be an annoyance for an hour.
"You again?"
Apparently, Kim Taehyung does not seem to love Jeon Jeongguk at five PM on a Thursday.
Scratching his head sheepishly, Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek and laughs. The museum wasn't too busy, and Taehyung's photography-centric exhibition often had quiet visitors, ones that typically kept to themselves. Jeongguk knows this because he was a frequent visitor to Taehyung's corner of the museum: on troubled days, he would let out his worries through a pencil to paper and a still image in front of him. Actually, he showed up so much that Taehyung eventually started to recognize him and approached him once. After that singular interaction, Jeongguk never shut up.
Taehyung's hair, black for the top layers paired with blond for the lower layers, made him look like an Oreo. A particularly exasperated Oreo, in Jeongguk's eyes. "Are you planning to redraw that one photograph of a baby chick forty times over," the Oreo mumbles, eyes flitting over to the subject in question. The composition of the image (alongside the baby chick) was so inspiring that Jeongguk had spent well over three hours trying to recreate it via pencil a few months ago. "Never satisfied, are you?"
"Nah, not this time."
Taehyung quirks an eyebrow. "Then?"
The music of choice for Taehyung's assigned section is a soft piano arrangement, something that sounds like a musical rendition of raindrops against pavement. To the sound of the white keys does Jeongguk take a seat on one of the long benches. He's surrounded by two children who are looking through pictures on a phone and a woman who has her eyes closed. Taehyung crosses his arms and peers down at him expectantly.
"It's just — well," Jeongguk begins. Then stops. Sometimes he forgets that the verbalization of his thoughts is much harder than the actual thinking itself. Though, if Taehyung were really creeped out by him, he would've shown it a long time ago, right? "I've been stuck in a massive artist's block. Can't do much about it… I think I'm lacking inspiration. Y'know?"
Taehyung's foot nudges his ankle. Jeongguk moves his helmet and his bag to the side to allow enough space for him to sit. Taehyung has this thoughtful look on his face, one that Jeongguk has seen when visitors ask him particularly good questions or when he studies a new photograph in his exhibition. "You live in the city. It's not exactly short on inspiration, Jeongguk."
"Funny how that works," he sighs, "'cause I can't find a place that'd give me, shit, I don't know. Somewhere alive, dynamic, even. Something I've never seen before."
The last statement clearly struck something in Taehyung's heart, because he immediately shifts, eyebrows furrowed and tongue swiping over his bottom lip. Jeongguk blinks. "Uh, what'd I say this time," he utters. He's confused, mainly, but a part of him is anxious.
It's still relatively quiet in the exhibition: the two children from before have gotten up and moved to their next adventure of the day, and the woman with closed eyes was making her rounds elsewhere. Now, it's just Taehyung and Jeongguk and the comforting sound of fingers against piano keys. Jeongguk isn't entirely sure if this fact can quell the jittery feeling in his gut.
Taehyung's eyes, narrow and adorned with thick bottom eyelashes, flit over to a picture of New York City from decades ago. "Why don't you come to this… place that I sometimes work at? I bartend if they need me or if I'm bored." When his eyes move back to look at Jeongguk, they're indifferent, but the small quirk of Taehyung's lips are enough to appear calculating. Jeongguk likes this part of him, the part that is sly and playful and bleeds through the professional act.
"So it's a bar?" He laughs at first. "What, am I going to drink away my artist's block?"
To that, Taehyung smiles something unreadable, his down-turned eyes focusing somewhere else. "Just wear something nice. I'll send you the address later," he adds. He brushes off his nice slacks and straightens out the oversized knit sweater he's wearing, before fixing the lanyard around his neck and moving to sit up. Jeongguk's eyes follow him for a moment; Taehyung offers him a last unclear look before grinning and shooing him away.
Several sets of eyes follow him out of the museum's exit. The sky is just as cloudy as it were when he entered the museum an hour ago. Jeongguk lets out a breath, then another for good measure. He hates feeling stagnant.
The Jeon Jeongguk in the hallway mirror is, for lack of better words, a visual upgrade to the everyday version. Granted, if one would ask him, he'd say that there's not much to upgrade. But nobody asked Jeongguk for this opinion, so he leans back on one leg and studies his reflection, hooking his thumbs in his pockets and pursing his lips.
The "fit" is simple: a semi-transparent white sleeveless tank paired with his heaviest leather jacket, and baggy jeans to boot. All eleven of his body piercings are being boasted with silver jewelry to match with the silver chain around his neck and the silver rings around a few fingers. It's nothing too out of the ordinary for a guy going out at night, sure, but to Jeongguk (and to the many people who, despite his disbelief, check him out on the streets), it's kind of the best thing ever. It's also very true that his closet is currently wrecked in terms of organization and there are several clothes on his bed. Not to mention, his desk is filled with makeup and cologne he hasn't touched in ages. All of this is worth it — he didn't spend two hours overthinking his attire for nothing, you know.
And objectively, he looks hot. "I look hot," Jeongguk affirms out loud. He changes poses and says it again. Changes the performative expression on his face and repeats the statement. Again. And —
"Yah, seriously," says a displeased voice at the same time the front door to Jeongguk's apartment opens. "Cover up."
Suit jacket thrown over one shoulder and work backpack over the other, Min Yoongi closes the door with his foot and makes a beeline for the couch. Jeongguk chuckles as his roommate flops face-first into their couch, backpack dropped onto the floor and suit jacket still lying on top of him. Yoongi, even while being one of the major creative geniuses in Jeongguk's life, has a nine-to-five working as a financial analyst. He comes home relatively late after sitting in front of a computer all day while Jeongguk gets to play drawing time on people's arms. Their gap in professionalism is a little funny.
Still, Yoongi was a huge source of comfort for Jeongguk when they first became roommates. He remembers it clear as day: moving in to the smell of tteokbokki on the stove and a clearly Korean man coming out of a bedroom wearing cat slippers. All of Jeongguk's anxiety melted away in a second — as soon as Yoongi insisted on being called hyung, the deal was done.
"Hyung," Jeongguk softly calls out in between small giggles. The Yoongi-lump on the sofa lets out a muffled noise of acknowledgement. It's so cute and just so endearing that Jeongguk can't help but walk over, pulling a knitted cat blanket (the birthday gift he gave to Yoongi last year) from another chair and throwing it over his roommate.
"Yes, I know, this job is shit, work is killing me, I'm going to die to corporate life." Muffled words notwithstanding, the statements come out so practiced and so deadpan. Jeongguk bites down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling. "I know you're laughing, punk."
"'M sorry, hyung."
Instead of a response, Yoongi peeks out of the cat blanket, wavy bangs displaced and eyes narrowed. He does the thing: for a few moments, Jeongguk feels heavily scrutinized and just a little bit like he's being evaluated. It isn't intentional nor is it filled with malice. Yoongi is rather fond of studying his predicament before expressing his opinion, quite like a grumpy-looking cat. In fact, the gesture is probably filled with more love than Jeongguk could ever accurately put into words.
"Why are you dressed like that."
There it is.
"Like what?"
Narrowed eyes peer at him again after he desperately tries to grasp Yoongi's words. "Like… that."
The riveting thing about their relationship is that to any other person, this may have come out as a little odd. Offensive, even, thanks to the somewhat disconcerted tone Yoongi takes on. However, one must remember that this is not any other person. This is Jeon Jeongguk, who instead interprets Yoongi's words as raw curiosity rather than distaste directed at fashion choice. What's crazier is that the Jeongguk-certified interpretation is as close to the true intention as he can get.
"As you've probably seen with the heavy amounts of Linkin Park that I've been playing over the past week," and Yoongi laughs (fondly?) at that, the lump shifting to listen better, "I've been in really bad artist's block, which fuckin' blows because that's my whole job, for one, and I love making art. So…" Jeongguk clears his throat, and angles himself back towards the mirror with a hand combing through his dark hair. "So I nagged Taehyungie at his job today and he told me to go to the bar with him. And dress nice, I guess? I'm thinking he just wants my mind off things."
"The bar? Which one?" Yoongi is fully flipped onto his back, eyes closed. If he were a cat, he'd be purring — Jeongguk is sure of it.
The name is lost in his mind despite being fresh information, so Jeongguk pulls out his phone to reference his text messages with Taehyung, and… "It's called Come Over."
Yoongi's eyes shoot open almost instantly, which should be a very quiet action that normal people wouldn't bat an eye at, but Jeongguk jumps. He even yelps. He's a grown man and he yelps.
"Come Over," echoes Yoongi at first. Then, slower: "You said Come Over? The bar you're going to is called Come Over?"
"Uh, if I can read Hangul correctly, then… yeah?" Jeongguk scratches the back of his neck.
There is a very pregnant pause following shortly afterwards. It's so pregnant that Jeongguk is ready to snap on some disposable gloves and assist it in giving birth. Silently, Yoongi wets his lips and nods. He seems to be contemplating something mentally — a bit of an overreaction in Jeongguk's eyes, even for Yoongi. "The… forget it, then. You're an adult. Surely you know everything." Finally, he meets Jeongguk's eyes. A flash of recognition, then some semblance of guilt is reflected in his gaze as he adds, "One of my close friends works there. Have fun, alright?"
What the hell does that mean, Jeongguk wants to ask. His adoration towards Yoongi is superior over the state of bewilderment that currently possesses his mind, so he laughs good-naturedly in lieu of a reply and gets the kettle brewing for his hyung. As he's going through the motions of preparing jasmine tea, he can't help but mull over Yoongi's words. You're an adult. Surely you know everything.
It sure is a good thing Jeongguk still is relatively young and thus, well. Relatively reckless.
Moments later, he's bidding Yoongi farewell("and don't forget that your tea is on the counter, hyung") with minimal items in his pockets for maximum mindlessness and his trusty helmet under an arm. Usually, Jeongguk would spend these kinds of dreary, cloudy days in a world of his own or co-existing with Yoongi. The weather gets to his head, changes his moods so quickly it's impossible to catch or prevent.
In the elevator, Jeongguk fights the urge to back out on Taehyung, slips on one of his many masks, and scrunches his nose up in the mirror walls.
"I look hot," he says. And actually kind of means it.
The sidewalk is swarming with people at eight PM. He's decided to leave his helmet and motorcycle in one of the garages for a fee that makes him wince; once he accepts the hit to his wallet and heads over to the block where Come Over resides, Jeongguk absorbs several new observations at once.
One: there are a lot of people. From past experience, this is a street filled with smaller restaurants and cozier shops, but the sidewalk is busy, with people forming small circles everywhere he looks and the sound of chipper voices filling the evening air. Two: everyone is dressed extremely well. Some women are wearing sequin tops and statement pieces, while the men are wearing suits. Jeongguk looks down at his outfit and realizes that his clubbing outfit may be just a little out of place.
Three: above the sounds of happy conversation, the presumable entrance to Come Over is playing some music. Mellow blues, with drawn-out vocals. Jeongguk relaxes his shoulders — he enjoys this kind of music and often plays it on days that require a bit more peace, so surely he'll be okay.
He steps in what he can only guess is a line to the entrance. The people in front of and behind him pay no attention to the way he's tapping his foot or his fidgety hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Jeongguk watches the cars go by and the minutes pass quickly, too quickly, because once he's next to go inside, he suddenly becomes aware that he is not at all mentally prepared for whatever Taehyung has prepared for him.
The doorman looks at him. Well, sort of, since he's wearing these fancy glasses Jeongguk guesses are at least two hundred dollars. "You on the list?"
"The — uh…" What list? The list to get kicked to the curb and thrown into the streets, that's for sure. Any rational reasoning fails to leave his mouth, and he manages to stutter, "Yes? My name is Jeongguk." As soon as the words come out, he braces for impact, wrinkling his nose.
In spite of his horrible delivery, the man seems satisfied with this answer and opens the door for him. Jeongguk almost wants to cry. Maybe give the doorman a hug while he's at it. But he doesn't, and he quickly nods, ducking in through the doorway.
The hallway he walks into is completely different than the urban cityscape he's used to seeing at night. It's hot, enough to get Jeongguk to squirm uncomfortably in his leather jacket, with the sudden smell of alcohol and smoke filling his lungs. From what he can see with a lack of lighting, the walls are some shade of red, lined with mirrors and decorations straight out of old films. He's in awe, certainly. His legs carry him farther down the foyer, even if his mind isn't entirely there.
At the end of the hallway, Jeongguk is met with a stand that a few women (hostesses, perhaps) are speaking around, with some of them lingering around the area and a few going in and out of the curtains.
"Sir," a voice says. He blinks, not realizing that he'd been mindlessly ooh-ing and ahh-ing at his surroundings. One of the hostesses shoots him a polite smile and positions herself at the stand. "Reservation name, please?"
"I'm… Jeongguk." Good going, Jeongguk. That wasn't the question at all.
She looks at him skeptically, then flips through the list in front of her with a long fingernail. "Oh. You're with Taehyung?"
Jeongguk nods. Maybe too much, because she studies his face again before slowly nodding. The hostess steps out from behind the stand, pulling away the velvet curtains to the next room and motioning for Jeongguk to go in first. Naturally, and because he still has zero clue what to expect, he does.
Unfortunately, even if Jeongguk did have a basis to go off of, he probably wouldn't have been close to prepared to see what was in front of him.
Everything is red — sultry, intimate red. The tables form a circle around a fancy runway connected to a circular stage at the center of it all, and warm spotlights are focused on the middle. There are comfier seating arrangements near the outskirts of the room and some extensions to the main room, but Jeongguk can only focus on the intricacy. The way the smoke from cigarettes and candles seem to blend together, the amount of people in one space, the sounds of low conversation whispered into the air. It should be uncomfortable, like there isn't enough space for a man to think. It isn't.
The hostess brings him to a seat that is, in fact, uncomfortable. If Jeongguk moved even a little bit, anyone on the runway would be able to perceive him clearly. That is a certain recipe for disaster, and he tells the hostess this.
"Is — is there anywhere else to sit," Jeongguk nervously asks, "I don't want to be too close."
In response, the hostess simply quirks an eyebrow — nice going, Jeongguk, she thinks you're an idiot and a wimp — but complies with the request and brings him to the back of the main room. "This is the bar and lounge," she explains upon arrival. "If you're with Taehyung, this should be more comfortable for you, sir."
"Thank you so much." Jeongguk doesn't realize how he's been holding his breath until she gives him an amused huff and walks away. He takes a quick look around, straightening out his appearance and heading towards the bar. It's an open side bar, hanging off of the main room but still separate enough with two different ambiences. This ambience is a little bit more relaxed, something suitable for the anxious feeling taking over his body; there are smaller tables around the area, filled with people holding drinks and showing a lot more emotion than what was shown in the main room.
Taehyung laughs as soon as they're within earshot of each other. "Well, well. Look who finally showed up, hm?"
"Everyone here is dressed so nicely." Barely two milliseconds pass before Jeongguk is speaking and turning his back to Taehyung so he can comfortably lean against the bar. "I feel underdressed. Is it a theme night? You suck as a friend for not telling me this."
"A theme night," Taehyung quietly repeats, then lets out a much fuller laugh. "Anyway, you look fine. I got you in regardless of what you're wearing, right? They like me here."
"First time for everything," Jeongguk cheekily sings.
The bar towel that was initially resting on Taehyung's shoulder is now slapping against Jeongguk's tattooed arm. Jeongguk knows it's deserved, though he still gives Taehyung a pout, to which the older man grins. "Watch it. I have to work, obviously, so just hang around here since you're new. There's a good view, I promise."
"A good view of what," he begins to ask. When Taehyung doesn't reply, Jeongguk turns his head to look behind the bar. His friend is answering to two women who are pulling him down for a request. Good on him for being a responsible employee, but what about his friend who looks extremely hot but is feeling extremely not? "Alright. Tell me to go die next time, Taehyung. That's fine," he mutters to nobody in particular.
With his only connection gone, Jeongguk decides to prop an elbow up against the counter and survey his surroundings. He takes in the sight of velvet chairs, of shimmery dresses and silk ties, of the few people who approach him with intention but are turned down with a wave of the hand and a smile. It's not that Jeongguk rejects the idea of love. To a certain degree, he was fonder of it than the average person. But he's here with a goal in mind, and that's to find inspiration in things he's never seen before.
Fortunately for him, the room begin to darken further as if the lights weren't already dimmed. He blinks owlishly, tongue swiping over his bottom lip and piercing in interest. People in the main room are taking their seats, individual phone lights going off one by one until the only light sources are the spotlights facing the main runway. A ring of floor lights, warm in color, light up the area surrounding the stage; the murmuring coming from the bar area is hushed, and then it's quiet.
Quiet, save for the first few keys of a piano from somewhere. Jeongguk looks around for the source: the main stage holds the shape of a person sitting at a large piano, playing the melody of the song he heard while waiting in line earlier. It's light, almost flirty, then the jazz band introduces themselves with a jump into the melody. Jeongguk's breath hitches quietly as the music engraves itself into the back of his head. It's perfect, it's immersive. He wants more.
An audible decrease in the band's volume has him looking towards the runway in the middle of it all. There, someone stands: a large black coat with red fur trim sits upon his shoulders to match the black boots that give him — Jeongguk guesses, eyes widening — at least four inches of height. His waistcoat is smoothened and a sultry shade of complimentary red. The man has stage makeup that makes his eyebrows dark and his lips glisten; his brown hair curls around the nape of his neck and makes him look absolutely gorgeous.
Someone whistles, for good reason.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies, gentlemen. And all of the beauties who choose to spend the night with us today." There's a microphone in his hand, but it's hardly needed with the way he can naturally project his voice. "Welcome back, our esteemed guests, to Come Over. A performance that lasts all night — though, unfortunately, we cannot help you with hangover you have come the morning." Laughter ripples through the audience, and Jeongguk can't help but join. "But we'll assist you in forgetting your name, your worries… and in return, save some space for our lovely performers, will you?"
With a sweep of his arm and his coat, the brunet man is gone in a flourish, replaced by a beautiful woman in a tall, feathered dress. She tucks back her curls, smiling to the silent crowd, then raises her hand to cue in the band. Her voice is velvet when she sings for a few minutes; the jazz singer takes a deep curtsy at the end of the set, and Jeongguk claps his hands together while she walks away.
"She's amazing, huh. Pure elegance." He turns his head to see his friend leaning against the bar, arms folded. Bar towel still laying on his shoulder, Taehyung shoots him an amused look.
"She is," Jeongguk agrees, "and you were right. This view is great, honestly."
"The view? Oh, right, I did say that," Taehyung muses. Then, with a big grin: "It's about to get ten times better, trust me."
By the time Jeongguk registers his words, he's already turned around, speaking to more of the guests at the bar. He shrugs off the interaction — Taehyung isn't known for being anything short of sly.
Ambience-wise, it's transitioned into something a little bit more comfortable: the waiters are freely moving around the main area and the lounge, and people are delightfully raising glass rims to their lips. Not just that, but the jazz band is playing some simple tunes to serve as background music for the time-being. Come Over has proven to be an experience worth seeing. His fingers aren't itching for a drink in his hands, but they're definitely itching to produce something with the same vibes as this place.
The lights dim, changing into a romantic pink that has Jeongguk's eyes focusing on the main stage once more. All of a sudden, the low jazz played by the piano and the double bass is interrupted by the sultry riff of a saxophone. Murmurs turn into applause, the lights rapidly change between different warm colors, and the sound of—
"Heels," Jeongguk breathes, just as the first dancer walks on stage.
It's all a blur from there. Dressed head to toe — well, there's certainly a lack of clothing, but he digresses — in glamorous attire and sparkly accessories, the dancer walks down the aisle slowly with her boa flowing gracefully behind her. Everything about her, from her silhouette to her movements, remind Jeongguk of old Western films. He nods to himself and makes a mental note to take inspiration from those later.
When she dances, it's playful: she lets out little giggles while bounding across the stage. Her heels hit the ground when she slides off and lands in front of a few audience members who let out noises of awe; the dancer is animated and gets the crowd to laugh several times in succession. The distance between the lounge and the center stage is cut down to basically nothing. Her dance steps are so intentional and vibrant that Jeongguk can feel himself smile alongside those she's interacted with.
She lands in her ending pose with a flourish. Applause erupts, as expected of such a wonderful act.
"Dancers, huh," Jeongguk mumbles, reverent in his tone. His fingers now itch for a sketchpad and a pen. Anything will do, really, so long as it can capture the remaining mental fragments of what he'd just seen.
He contemplates long enough for the lights to transition to blinding white from the cute pink they'd just been. More lights along the catwalk turn on to the overwhelming introduction of violins, accompanied by the twang of the slow double bass, piano keys led astray. It's an entirely different environment from the last performer's introduction, despite both of them taking place in the same exact room.
As the last lights turn on near the main stage, the next performer's shadow is revealed: a silk white robe similar to the emcee's, lined with extravagant feathers that fall gently to the ground. Jeongguk can't see much — their back is turned. All he can hear is the slow sound of their heels against the stage while they walk backwards, arms outstretched.
"He's beautiful," he hears someone say from across the lounge. He?
Like the performer was reading Jeongguk's mind, he turns in that moment, arms still extended dramatically and bounding to the sound of his catwalk. His face is indistinguishable, but his body is toned, and his blond hair cascades beautifully onto his shoulders. His hips sway to each twang of the double bass. He is, in the simplest words Jeongguk can pry from his mouth, a piece of artwork.
Even more so when his arms fall and allow the silk robe to seductively drop to the ground, leaving only a white corset, white gloves and lace tights, white heels, and silver jewelry, all topped with a silver crown. Jeongguk's throat goes dry as his eyes trace every bit of his body. He's not real — he wants to believe this man is a figment of his extremely active imagination.
The dancer's glossy lips curve into a practiced smile as he starts to dance. If the last dancer were all bouncy and teasing, this dancer played into the very explicit thoughts people surely held towards Come Over's performers. He circles the stage, almost close enough to touch the front row with his gloved fingers, but instead he peers down at him with an upturned nose and a pitiful smile. A sudden twinge hits Jeongguk's heart like an ache.
With the music intensifying, the beautiful dancer folds his legs over the edge of the center stage, doing some legwork that would be simple to him but looks devastatingly sexy to all who watch. He then gracefully folds himself over the edge and lands onto the ground, finally giving his front row some mercy and teasing them with winks and brief touches. Jeongguk feels himself get a little antsy, fingers tapping against the solid countertop of the bar and leg bouncing up and down at an irregular tempo. The dancer is grazing ankles with his heels and blowing kisses all the while.
It's too much — Jeongguk forces his eyes shut and takes a deep breath with his teeth digging into his bottom lip. When he looks up, the performer is there.
He's making his rounds around the main room and had reached the bar Jeongguk was lounging in. From here, Jeongguk can see everything from the shape of his plump lips to the stage makeup lining his eyes and his cheeks. God, is he a dream. He's delicious, absolutely beautiful in the pure white outfit that is reminiscent of a white swan, and he's… looking at Jeongguk with a curious gaze.
Immediately, Jeongguk swallows and looks down at the floor once more. There's a noise of amusement, then the sound of heels against the ground. This time, the performer is back to the center stage when Jeongguk finds the will in himself to look up.
The performer, wearing a smug smile and the same outfit Jeongguk will deem familiar in his vulnerable dreams, takes a deep bow to the ending of the song and leaves with his cloak hastily thrown over his shoulders.
Jeongguk only really registers the conclusion of the dancer's act when someone gives his shoulder a shove. "Ow, fuck—"
A snort, and a scotch on the rocks is placed on the counter behind him. "Someone's having fun," Taehyung teases. "You liked that last one, right?"
Only slightly embarrassed, Jeongguk bristles. "A cabaret, hyung? That seems important to mention, no?"
"Jeonggukie didn't do two seconds of research on Google Maps before coming here?" Taehyung then drags a finger around the rim of the scotch glass. "This is on the house, by the way. Since I allegedly surprised you."
Silence. Then, the sound of Taehyung's laughter when Jeongguk takes the glass quietly and raises it to his lips. He closes his eyes — it's nothing he hasn't sipped before, but he still winces a little when adjusting to the taste. It's considerably funny when all he can think about is the angel-like dancer he'd seen moments before, despite being in the company of a close friend and music that should serve as a distraction.
Taehyung makes a small noise of recognition. Jeongguk makes a noise back. "Oh, it's time for the intermission. You should fix your hair."
"Fix my what?"
As if on cue, the lights transition back to their state from the pre-show, and there's a larger commotion in the main area. Jeongguk dips his head backwards to take in some more of his drink in a large swig, letting out a breath afterwards.
"You were beautiful out there," says someone in the lounge. Intrigued, Jeongguk tips his head forwards.
Only a few paces away is the performer of his dreams, dressed in the same white attire but with his hair re-styled and makeup refreshed. He's smiling the same sultry smile he wore during his performance; the pleased light in his eyes is a considerable difference. Jeongguk can spot every detail of his appearance, including the light brown roots of his natural hair and how one of his gloves is folded over and how his heels add quite a bit to his height—
And, mortifyingly enough, how he's caught Jeongguk staring, glancing at him with an amused grin.
Fuck, why does this always happen to him? Isn't he supposed to be wearing a confident mask for the night? In a humiliating mimicry of the moment from before, Jeongguk looks away and clears his throat. He swears that he hears Taehyung snickering quietly behind him.
The performer seems to shrug off the small fumble, speaking to each group of patrons in the lounge area and possibly flirting with some of the people who are alone. At least — that's what Jeongguk can deduce from his gloved hands running up and down some forearms and the micro-expressions he makes while speaking. What he also notices is that he doesn't allow others to touch him. Though he'll touch some of the other guests, whenever a guest eases in to reciprocate, the dancer subtly dodges, instead interlocking his hands behind his back or tossing his hair to easily avoid the contact. It's clean, elegant, and most of all, experienced. Everything he does is with intention. In the easiest way put, Jeongguk loves it.
In fact, he loves it so much and stares so openly that he's barely given a second or two before the dancer has made his way to him.
He's heartbreaking up close: soft features, long eyelashes, pouty lips that curl into a smirk when his eyes flit down to Jeongguk's throat as he swallows. His head is tilted downwards, and he shamelessly trails his captivating gaze up and down Jeongguk's body. Jeongguk swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and his piercing — to no surprise, the dancer's eyes follow.
"Oh, my," he says at first, and oh. His voice is honey from the hive, sweet with a lilt that leaves Jeongguk suddenly speechless. He takes a dainty step forward in those heels of his, enough for Jeongguk to smell the faint citrus off of his exposed skin. "You're awfully gorgeous… may I touch you, handsome?"
Fuck the damned mask. Jeongguk is vulnerable, like prey to a drooling predator. He nods, quickly and fearfully.
The performer's eyes widen for a second, seemingly thrown off-guard by Jeongguk's lack of confidence, before giggling something fond. It can't be said for sure whether or not he can smell the fear. "Or, rather… would you be a good boy and help me out," he mumbles into the air between them. He takes another step, reaching out and curling one finger under Jeongguk's chin, tilting it upwards just so.
With the other hand, he raises it to Jeongguk's mouth. The white glove he'd been wearing from before is loose, dangling off of his finger enough to graze Jeongguk's lips. Briefly, Jeongguk hesitates — the performer narrows his eyes and nods, beckoning him to act.
Mask forgotten and mustering up every bit of vulgarity he has, Jeongguk lets his eyelids flutter to a close, leaning forward to take the glove's loose finger between his teeth and pulling it off of the performer's hand. It's all worth it. Everything from stumbling through Come Over's doors to feeling a little shy in front of his dream to this, because the blond dancer smiles with a bite to his lips and drags his gloved hand from Jeongguk's chin down his chest, resting it there as his naked hand reaches around Jeongguk.
Before he knows it, his glass of scotch on the rocks is gone, nested in the blond's hand. He can only watch with as much arousal as his astonishment will allow: the performer looks somewhere behind Jeongguk, winks provocatively, then tips the glass back and swallows the rest of his drink.
Everything feels too hot, too tight. The rim of his glass has lip gloss marks pressed onto it. Jeongguk watches the glass slide back onto the counter, then feels fingers curling around his chin once more and a thumb digging down into his bottom lip.
"Thank you, handsome," sings the same alluring voice from before, and — he's gone, just like that.
Somehow, it feels natural for the silk to lay itself upon his tongue. At least, until Jeongguk registers where the glove's probably been and grimaces. Still, it falls out of his mouth into his awaiting hands; he runs it between his fingers, feeling the texture against the grooves of his fingerprints.
"What," he starts, "the fuck."
"Hmm?" Taehyung is back in an instant. Jeongguk doesn't have it in him to care if his dear friend was waiting for an opportune time to mess with Jeongguk's head. "What happened?"
"What happ—" The stuttering is uncontrollable, shock evident on his face when he whips around to face Taehyung. "You didn't see any of that just now?"
Taehyung's eyes are big and explicitly feigning innocence. Jeongguk would know because the guy sucks at hiding his scheming expressions. This is no exception. "Clearly not… so? Fill me in."
"I can't move on anymore."
"From?"
He glances down at the silk glove, still carefully resting in his palms. There aren't any signs of wear or tear in the garment — clearly, the performer had taken great care of the attire he's been gifted. "I — forget it. I'm just gonna be over here. Don't even mind me."
Reasonably enough, Taehyung gives him a skeptical look with a solemn pat on the shoulder and then departs to make good on his responsibilities.
The rest of the cabaret's acts are beautiful and tear his attention away from what had happened momentarily, yet his eyes always return to the white glove. He claps his hand against a thigh in lieu of proper applause and uses the other to carry the glove delicately, worried he'll ruin it. Flashes of peachy lips and citrus scents run through his memory, possessing his attention a worrying amount; this is something he can't let go, regardless of how hard he tries. Jeongguk is, by all standard means, a great pretender. For some reason, this is something he cannot pretend to be unaffected by.
By the time the show is over and the brunet emcee from before has concluded the offerings, Jeongguk is antsy again. The glove is still with him. The beautiful swan-like performer would surely need that, wouldn't he?
As the guests in the lounge filter out of the room with merry laughter, he circles in on Taehyung, who is currently bent over the counter and wiping down its surfaces. Taehyung barely spares him a glance before Jeongguk is demanding, "For my own peace of mind, I need you to give this back to him."
"You enjoyed the show, I gather. And 'thank you Taehyung hyung for surprising me,'" Taehyung responds because he's annoying piece of shit. (Sorry. He would be Jeongguk's savior if he complied with the request.)
"Thank you Taehyung hyung for surprising me," Jeongguk deadpans. He places the glove gingerly on top of the table and moves it towards Taehyung. "Now — please. You need to return this to him. Doesn't he need it? Surely you know him, don't you? They like you here."
"Boy, do I know him," Taehyung mutters under his breath.
"What?"
He's waved off with a subtly dimpled smile and a bar towel in one hand. "Never mind. Listen, Jeonggukie, if you're interested in coming back for whatever reason, let me know. I'll take up a shift or two so you're not alone."
It's a simple statement yet Jeongguk feels his body relax. They exchange some more meaningless banter before Taehyung shoves him away playfully, informing him of the time and urging him to go home so he's not late for his bedtime.
His pride and joy, the Yamaha bike, is in perfect shape when he returns. Pulling on his helmet, Jeongguk takes a last look at the silk garment, turning it in his hands. A tag is peeking out from the inside, so he quirks an eyebrow and tugs off a motorcycle glove to fold it inside out slightly.
It reads: yours, prince — a heart is embroidered next to the words. Jeongguk lets a shaky exhale escape his lungs and carefully folds the glove back into his pocket. He usually drives his bike like he's floating on clouds, yet his pocket is weighted with memories of dainty touches and the intimacy of sharing breaths. The nighttime air is warm today. Still, Jeongguk shivers.
"So, the boy returns."
Yoongi is sitting at the kitchen island with his headphones slung around his neck and his laptop in front of him. Jeongguk responds with a small laugh — it must be one of those days for his hyung, where he'll be up until fairly late making music. Yoongi is never one to deny the flow of his creative juices, much like another certain someone. Maybe that's why they get along so well.
He can feel Yoongi's catlike eyes on him when he kicks his boots off and grabs a banana, leaning leisurely against the counter to peel it. "Hyung," Jeongguk cheerfully begins to say, "I think I can die now."
"What."
Jeongguk is now audibly chewing his banana while attempting to talk. Yoongi is justifiably wrinkling his nose. "I shaid — mmf — I said, I can peacefully die now."
"What about we don't do that?" There goes a tap tap tap of fingers against a keyboard, and then an audible click against the spacebar. For a beat or two, Yoongi is lifting one of the earpieces of his headphones to his hear, nodding along to a beat that Jeongguk can't hear, then he's making a noise of dissatisfaction and adjusting the track. "Seriously, did you have a good time?"
In the few moments that Yoongi has left his dear roommate alone with his thoughts, Jeongguk has been able to create extremely vivid pieces of artwork in his head involving a certain blond performer. Nothing explicit — he's not the kind to frame people in that way. Things like these just… invoke drive and inspiration, is all. "Eh," Jeongguk replies blankly. Truthfully, he's only half-paying attention to Yoongi. Rather disrespectful, but! "What? What'd you say?"
Yoongi is looking at him again with the silent, feline-esque, analyzing look that he uses. Jeongguk snaps back to reality and cocks his head like a confused puppy. They hold the eye contact for about a handful of seconds — then, Yoongi's lips shape a lazy smile and he shakes his head dismissively. "Ah. Forget it. Sweet dreams, bud."
So, with another thoughtless farewell to his roommate, Jeongguk retires to get busy with his nighttime routine. He leaves the glove on the desk, stripping himself bare of his clothing and hopping into the shower. While shampooing and conditioning his hair, he thinks about white feathers and smooth silk. While slipping on an oversized black tee and some basketball shorts, he can recall every part of the music playing during "Prince's" act. While brushing his teeth and giving himself tired blinks in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, he's replaying every single brush of the performer's fingers against his skin.
Even if the glove sits on his desk innocently, Jeongguk lies in bed and can't get the image of pouty lips and the feeling of an unfamiliar texture against his tongue out of his head. He remains awake when Yoongi eventually finishes up his music producer work in the kitchen and shuffles to his room. He closes his eyes, allowing the time to tick by, and is haunted by the smell of fresh oranges against faint cigarette smoke.
It's more than safe to say that Jeongguk got less than two hours of sleep, which isn't exactly ideal when you have a job that involves extreme precision and, likely, being awake the entire time you're working. He manages to get himself out of bed an hour before his alarm anyway, groggily shuffling out of his bedroom and destroying yet another banana. He's up unnaturally early — Yoongi does a double-take when he walks past the kitchen to use the bathroom.
At the rich hour of seven in the morning, Jeongguk can't tell if it were a blessing or a curse that he was able to experience the wonderful Come Over last night. Pros: he's now supplied with inspiration for the next three decades (four, if he's being optimistic.) Cons: the thought of a blond man he'll likely never see again will now haunt his dreams for the aforementioned next three decades. Incredible problems he's dealing with, truly.
With tired eyes and limbs that yearn to rest, Jeongguk fumbles through his morning routine: wash his face, brush his teeth, do some basic skincare and get dressed. He doesn't bother with the hair today and throws on a comfortable sweater over some wide-legged jeans. Honestly, it bugs him that he's leaving the house before Yoongi — Yoongi doesn't miss the way Jeongguk begrudgingly bids him farewell and lets out a laugh — but he supposes it means he can take the scenic route to KSJ, the bakery-cafe that always manages to wake him up with their lattes.
The elevator picks up several people on its way down and has to make more stops than usual.
The traffic sucks in New York City (though, Jeongguk expected this. It still sucks.)
He realizes while sitting in the midst of the traffic that he forgot his fifty-third sketchbook on his desk, where it's conveniently placed next to "Prince's" silk glove from yesterday.
As soon as he parks his motorcycle near the curb in front of KSJ, Jeongguk takes off his helmet and nests his head in his arms. Okay, so the day isn't going well thus far. That's fine. Surely nothing can surprise him now — that's what Namjoon always says whenever they're positively booked and busy in the morning and it gets overwhelming.
He leaves his helmet atop his Yamaha and heads towards KSJ's entryway. Pushing open the glass doors, Jeongguk takes a deep breath and feels himself loosen up at the familiar interior. It's cozy, with wood floors and booths along the side of the wall, and an intriguing amount of flora decorating every corner. He'd may as well count upon being the first customer of the morning, since it's — Jeongguk glances down at his wrist — seven forty-five AM.
"Oh! Sorry, we're not open quite yet — wait, Jeongguk-ah?"
Kim Seokjin looks nothing less than pleasantly surprised to lay eyes on him when he rushes into the cafe's main space from the kitchen. (Jeongguk figured he came from there since there's a streak of flour on his cheek and KSJ has started to smell a little bit like freshly-baked bread.) As its founder, KSJ is Seokjin's baby, the manifestation of his childhood dreams — Jeongguk knows this, because Yoongi was actually the one who introduced him to Seokjin and, by extension, KSJ. Over time, he'd started going to the cafe by himself, eventually becoming one of its regulars. Seokjin loves him, adores seeing him in passing or briefly giving him a personal hello if he's not too busy in the back.
"Good morning, hyung," Jeongguk chirps, if not a little bashfully. "You have something on your face."
"Don't I always?" Seokjin waves it off. He then looks Jeongguk up and down, cocking an eyebrow and placing both hands on his apron-covered hips. "You're up early. What's the situation?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"Ah, he couldn't overindulge on his rest. Take one for the team this time." The sage tone Seokjin takes on certainly gets a laugh out of Jeongguk and makes him feel lighter, at least by a little bit. "Our cashiers aren't here yet, so I'll have one of our other employees take your order — no, no, don't feel forced to order an Americano just because you feel bad," Seokjin immediately interjects when Jeongguk looks like he's about to apologize. He shuts his mouth, and Seokjin nods approvingly. "Good, good. Jimin-ah! Come take orders!" Jeongguk doesn't even get to shape the words goodbye with his lips — before he knows it, Seokjin is calling out to the kitchen and disappearing in the back once again.
So… it's just Jeongguk and the plants.
He rocks back and forth on his heels, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He's not too anxious for being overly sleep-deprived, thank God. A lack of eagerness doesn't stop him from fidgeting, though, and he does exactly that, pacing around in the main area (he's confident enough to with a lack of customers at this hour) while chewing on his bottom lip.
"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting," purrs an oddly-familiar voice. Jeongguk almost regrets turning around, because his heart drops to the floor.
He's a spitting image of last night's star and the centerpiece of Jeongguk's morning daydreams: the man has blond locks that are currently being pinned up with a claw clip decorated with polka dots, an apron similar to Seokjin's, and bits of multicolored frosting on his cheeks (seriously, what's with KSJ and getting food stylishly on their faces?) His gaze is tilted downwards as he focuses on messing with his hair with one hand while the other tosses a hair net and disposable gloves into a bin.
Even with a lack of stage makeup does he look beautiful. Just as beautiful with this raw version of himself. Jeongguk can't help it — his eyes trail from a soft jawline to pursed lips to pierced ears and cunning eyes. If he'd bestowed inspiration upon Jeongguk last night, then it's safe to say that seeing him like this has successfully stirred mental museums full of artwork in Jeongguk's head.
There are pins on his apron — a baby chick pin, some random Sanrio characters — and a nametag. Jimin.
Well done, Jimin, Jeongguk wants to say. All of my art for the unforeseeable future features you, now.
The same way he wasn't mentally prepared for Come Over, Jeongguk isn't at all prepared for Jimin to finish up on his hair and connect their gazes. Everything feels like it's ripped straight from a poorly-handled Korean drama: Jeongguk's breath hitches, searching for anything indicative of Jimin's emotions, while Jimin stares at him for only a brief second before his eyes widen in realization.
It's you.
Like a moth to a flame, Jeongguk can only really register his legs moving towards the counter, where he's left with only Jimin to confront. Things are different like this — different expectations, different appearances, different emotions. It's not awkward, at least Jeongguk doesn't think so, yet…
"Good morning," he manages to say, to his own surprise.
Jimin is drumming his fingertips against the counter, loose blond strands swaying as he tilts his head to the side. He's sizing Jeongguk up through long eyelashes and a pouty bottom lip. Then, his lips curl into a pretty smile, as if he knows something Jeongguk doesn't. He probably does know something. Jeongguk would confidently allow Jimin to dissect his heart and tinker with the pieces of his brain.
The fingertips stop drumming, and Jimin tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear before narrowing his eyes. It feels like Jeongguk's engaged in something he wasn't supposed to through a simple two-word greeting. Unfortunately for his good conscience, he's willing to see it through.
"Hi, yourself. I'm Jimin. What would you like today?"