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Neon bled down the walls like molten glass. The bass sank into his chest, pounding out a rhythm somewhere beneath his ribs. The air was thick with the acrid bite of cheap smoke, the burn of alcohol, and something sweet that mingled with the sweat of bodies moving on the dance floor. The gay club *Amber* buzzed like a beehive, and in this crush of people it was impossible to tell who was checking someone out and who was just hiding in a corner.
Myun Jaehyun appeared in the doorway like it was his damn entrance cue. Cap pulled low over his eyes, a gold chain flashing under the lights, half his face hidden by a mask — but half the room already recognized him. The ripple of whispers spread like rings on water:
“That’s him… Jaehyun…”
“No way, seriously? In Amber?”
He loved this moment — when people devoured him with their eyes, even if they pretended not to. Especially the ones who weren’t fans of his music — their irritation pleased him even more than admiration.
Through the crackle of music from the speakers, he made his way to the bar. Dragged a stool out, dropped onto it, leaned an elbow on the counter and lifted his gaze to the bartender.
Sungho looked far too calm for this place: dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from the heat, hands moving quick and precise. He wasn’t pretending to be some cheerful service worker — his gaze was cool, though polite.
“Whiskey. Double,” Jaehyun tossed out without glancing at the menu.
“Which one?” The bartender’s voice was low, steady, with no hint of pandering.
Jaehyun looked up at him and smirked.
“The most expensive. I’m not some kid with a fake ID.”
Sungho didn’t react to the bite in his tone. He poured amber liquid into a wide glass, set it in front of him with practiced ease.
“That’ll be—”
“Put it on my tab,” Jaehyun cut him off, taking a swallow right there at the counter like he was testing how quickly he could get under this man’s skin.
Sungho only nodded and went back to serving others.
The minutes dragged. Jaehyun drank quickly, feeding off the attention around him — someone asked for a photo, others just stared. But Sungho’s gaze was different — almost indifferent. And that started to bother him.
“Hey,” he leaned forward slightly when the bartender returned, “you even know who I am?”
Sungho didn’t so much as blink.
“I know you’ve ordered whiskey three times in the last half hour.”
Jaehyun gave a sharp little laugh, though it was edged with something predatory. He knocked back the rest of his drink and set the glass down louder than necessary.
“Usually when I walk into a place, people… you know… at least smile.”
“I smile when there’s a reason to.” Sungho slowly wiped the counter in front of him, as if he were speaking to just another tipsy customer, not one of the country’s most famous rappers.
“You serious?” Jaehyun narrowed his eyes. “You should be fucking glad I even came here.”
A few people nearby glanced over — their conversation was starting to draw attention. Sungho met his eyes for a beat. There was no fear there, just a lazy, ironic kind of appraisal.
“Should I?” He tilted his head slightly. “I thought you came here to drink, not measure your ego.”
Jaehyun laughed — loud, right in his face.
“You’re brave, huh? You know how many people would kill to be in your position right now?”
“In the position of a bartender being mouthed off to by some drunk asshole for the third time tonight?” Sungho slid a fresh glass toward him without being asked. “Doubt it.”
Someone nearby stifled a laugh. Jaehyun froze for a second — not used to being answered so directly. Usually people either flushed or apologized. This guy didn’t even flinch.
“Listen,” Jaehyun’s voice dropped lower, sharper, “I don’t think you get—”
“No, I think *you* don’t get it,” Sungho cut in, leaning on the counter until their eyes were level. “I don’t care how many fans you have. If you want another drink—” he pushed the glass closer “—you drink and keep quiet.”
Their gazes locked. Jaehyun felt it — that cold confidence had something… infuriatingly magnetic about it.
He smirked, but now there was less smug superiority in it and more interest.
Jaehyun leaned back in his seat, took a sip. The whiskey burned down his throat, but the heat spreading through him wasn’t just from the alcohol. He caught himself watching the bartender from time to time — the way his hands moved, the way the muscles under his shirt tightened when he reached for a bottle on the top shelf.
Sungho worked calmly, almost detached, but Jaehyun could tell — he knew he was being watched. And he knew that gaze wasn’t purely curious.
When Sungho passed by again, Jaehyun leaned in slightly, closing the gap.
“You know you look like you don’t give a fuck about anyone or anything?” His voice was slower now, like he was testing for a reaction.
“Is that not true?” The reply was short, with the faintest shadow of a smirk.
Jaehyun’s smile tugged wider as his gaze drifted down the line of Sungho’s neck.
“Didn’t think places like this hired guys who were… dangerous and gorgeous.”
Sungho met his eyes. Up close. Close enough that Jaehyun caught a faint scent — not cologne, but something warm, tinged with alcohol and the bitter ghost of tobacco.
“And I didn’t think loud, self-obsessed stars could be so damn persistent,” Sungho said quietly, in a way that cut deeper than a shout.
Somewhere behind them someone laughed, bass thudded through the floor, but it all felt far away. Jaehyun caught the moment — that shift when something else begins to flow between words.
He traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip, looking up at him.
“I feel like you’re deliberately trying to piss me off.”
“Maybe.” Sungho leaned in, bracing his palms on the counter. “You’re too predictable when you’re drunk.”
Jaehyun gave a low chuckle.
“Predictable, huh? We’ll see.”
Before Sungho could step away, he leaned in closer, shoulder brushing his, and murmured:
“Bet you actually want to know what I’m really like.”
The bartender didn’t move back. His eyes only darkened. He was the first to look away — not out of shyness, but as if giving Jaehyun space to stew in his own thoughts. He reached for another glass, polished it, set it on the shelf.
“You’ve got a talent…” Jaehyun said, waiting for him to turn back. “…for making people want you in the middle of a fucking club.”
“That’s not talent. That’s your lack of self-control.”
“My self-control…” Jaehyun rose slowly, planting his hands on the bar so they stood almost chest to chest. “…usually runs out when someone like you is around.”
For a split second, something flickered in Sungho’s eyes — not irritation, but something deeper.
“You shouldn’t—” Sungho started, but the words stalled when Jaehyun leaned in so close his cheek brushed his.
“I should,” he murmured, firm.
A sharp knock on the counter from a customer pulled Sungho’s attention for a moment. He poured the order, turned back — and Jaehyun was still there, eyes locked on his like a predator.
“When do you get off?” he asked.
“What’s it to you?” Sungho wiped his hands on a towel.
“Want to test that theory about me being predictable.”
This time the bartender smirked — barely, just at the corner of his mouth.
“Two a.m.”
“Perfect.” Jaehyun pulled out his phone, typed something into his notes, and pushed away from the counter. “See you then, Sungho.”
He vanished into the crowd, swallowed by the neon and bass, leaving behind a slow, heavy pull that had Sungho’s breath catching for a fraction of a second.
When the clock pushed past two, the club had begun to empty. Sungho untied his apron, slipped through the side door into the staff exit — and there, in the shadow by the wall, Jaehyun was waiting.
No cap now, hair mussed, cigarette between his teeth. He exhaled smoke, eyes dragging slowly over the bartender’s frame.
“Guess you actually came.”
“Guess I did.” Sungho crossed his arms. “Now what?”
Jaehyun flicked the cigarette away and closed the space between them. Very close.
“Now maybe you’ll show me what’s under that ‘don’t-give-a-fuck’ armor of yours.”
Sungho opened his mouth to reply but didn’t get the chance. Jaehyun caught his wrist and pulled him toward the alley, where the club’s noise faded and the air smelled of rain on asphalt.
They stopped in the half-dark. Jaehyun pressed him back against the wall, hands on his shoulders.
“Well? Still think I’m predictable?” His voice was loaded with challenge, enough to make Sungho laugh quietly.
“For now,” he said. “But you’ve got a chance to surprise me.”
Jaehyun did. He kissed him hard, hungry, almost rough — the taste of whiskey and smoke tangled with the thick tension of the night.
The kiss didn’t soften. It was exactly like Jaehyun himself — bold, demanding, impatient. Sungho felt the cold brick against his back, the warmth of the rapper’s breath mixing with the damp night air.
Jaehyun held him tight, fingers digging into his wrist, the other hand sliding to his waist to pull him closer. There was no hesitation in his movements — only a focused hunger, like he was intent on burning every detail into memory.
Sungho didn’t stay passive. He pushed back just enough to meet his gaze. Under the faint spill of neon from the corner, Jaehyun’s eyes gleamed like wet asphalt.
“You really are used to taking whatever you want, huh?” Sungho’s voice was quiet, but carried its own challenge.
“Only what I want.” Jaehyun’s lips brushed his ear, and a shiver ran down Sungho’s spine. “And right now, I want you.”
They weren’t really walking—more like stumbling into walls and doors—until they found themselves in a cheap hotel down the street.
The kind of place where, at this hour, no one came to actually sleep.
The door slammed shut, and the world narrowed to a small room, a bed, and two bodies no longer interested in keeping their distance.
Jaehyun kissed him again. Deeper, hungrier, fingers tangling in his hair until Sungho’s head tilted back. The bartender’s hands slid under the hoodie in return, feeling the heat of skin and the quick rhythm of his breath.
Clothes hit the floor almost without pause between touches. Jaehyun kissed like he was trying to prove something—both to himself and to him. Every movement was assertive, but beneath that force was something else, something unspoken and raw that he couldn’t name.
Sungho wasn’t the type to simply yield. He met every push with one of his own, every kiss with equal fire. His nails left faint scratches on Jaehyun’s shoulders, gliding along his neck, making him press closer.
The bed creaked when Jaehyun pinned him down. Their breathing tangled, and somewhere outside a car drove past—reality knocking faintly on the window—but neither of them cared.
The room was thick with heat from their bodies, the smell of sweat, alcohol, and cheap detergent clinging to the sheets. Every movement, every sound seemed louder than it should have been.
Jaehyun’s mouth trailed down his neck, leaving a chain of marks—messy, greedy, edged with a bite. Sungho, teeth clenched, still pulled him closer, as if trying to melt into the moment. There was no star with an oversized ego now, no bartender with a cold stare. Just two men stripping away everything that kept them in line.
“You got a condom? Lube?” Jaehyun breathed into his ear.
Sungho arched a brow, not bothering to hide the irony.
“Do I look like someone who carries that around?”
Jaehyun clicked his tongue.
“Guess we’ll improvise. Spit exists for a reason.”
“You’re seriously gonna spit—?” There was a note of mockery in Sungho’s voice, but something else too, something that said the thought didn’t entirely repel him.
“You against it?”
“Well… not exactly… just—”
He didn’t get to finish before Jaehyun lifted his hips and let warm moisture touch his entrance.
“Idiot,” Sungho hissed.
“Already know that. Want me to prep you with my fingers?” Jaehyun’s voice was low, eyes skimming his face.
Sungho snorted, mouth curling faintly.
“Seriously?”
“Right, stupid question.” Jaehyun smirked—and the next moment, he pushed in hard, without warning.
Sungho bit his lip, eyes squeezing shut at the sharp stretch, nails digging into his back, leaving long red marks that would linger for days.
Jaehyun didn’t give him time to adjust. His thrusts were sharp, forceful, rough—just like him. He nipped at Sungho’s ear, voice almost a growl:
“You like it when I’m rough with you, huh?”
A loud moan tore out of Sungho before he could stop it—especially when a deep, sudden thrust hit his prostate.
“No… hate… guys like you,” he panted, the words a shaky mix of gasps and moans as Jaehyun quickened the pace.
His kisses drifted lower along the line of his throat, teeth leaving a bright mark on his collarbone.
“Well, I like you,” Jaehyun said, thrusting harder, rewarded with another satisfied moan. He smirked. “God, the sounds you make… I could get addicted.”
“Fuck… could you shut up for like… a second?” Sungho managed to breathe out.
“Whatever you say, baby,” Jaehyun rasped, leaning into the last word deliberately.
Sungho wanted to snap back about the awful nickname, but the thought vanished when Jaehyun sped up again, every thrust hitting just right, wiping away the ability to think. His lips could only spill muffled gasps and loud moans now. His grip on Jaehyun’s back tightened until the younger man could feel him trembling underneath.
Close.
Jaehyun drove harder, until Sungho came with a strangled, drawn-out moan, and he followed right after, spilling inside him.
Sungho could have complained about that, but he was too wrung out to speak. Jaehyun collapsed beside him, chest heaving. For a while they just breathed in silence, until he finally turned his head toward Sungho. Light from the window slid over his body, and Jaehyun caught himself thinking: *God, he’s beautiful.*
The thought made him smirk faintly to himself. Sungho was already asleep, and Jaehyun, taking advantage, pulled him closer, burying his face in his neck. The scent of whiskey mixed with something warm and expensive clouded his mind.
*I like it*, he realized. *Too much.*
Light bled through the thin curtains, painting the room pale yellow. Jaehyun’s head throbbed—alcohol, lack of sleep, and last night’s pounding club noise all tangled into one heavy knot.
He propped himself on an elbow. Sungho was already sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt. His hair was a little mussed, his neck marked with bruises Jaehyun took a certain pride in.
“You always leave this quietly?” the rapper asked, voice rough, mouth tilted in a crooked grin.
Sungho didn’t look back.
“I always leave.”
Jaehyun dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head.
“Even after that?”
Only then did Sungho glance over his shoulder. His gaze was calm, almost emotionless—but somewhere deep inside, there was a shadow Jaehyun couldn’t read.
“Especially after that,” he said, standing.
He walked to the door, and just before stepping out—without turning—added:
“Don’t expect us to meet again.”
The door clicked shut softly, but in the silence, it sounded like a lock snapping into place. Jaehyun lay there, still feeling his touch on his skin, and for the first time in a long while realized he didn’t miss the applause, the hungry stares—he missed someone who could look at him like he wasn’t a star at all.
He let out a quiet laugh to himself and lay back down, staring at the ceiling.
“Fucking bartender…” he muttered—and there was far more interest than annoyance in his voice.