Chapter Text
Jisung is running late. Again.
Not that it bothers Seungmin anymore, having known Jisung since they were barely teenagers—back when Seungmin had braces, and Jisung started his downward spiral of wearing only the most obnoxious jewellery known to man—but it does always put a wrench in Seungmin’s plans for the night.
To be fair, he can’t blame it all on Jisung. It’s a joint effort between the three of them—Chan, Minho, and Jisung—to ensure nothing ever starts on time.
On the nights where their performance actually does start on time, as rare as that is nowadays, Seungmin gets to go home early. He gets to go home, curl up on the couch in his warm and snug pyjamas, and watch nonsensical shows on whatever streaming services he has access to while he waits for Felix to come home from work. And sometimes, on particularly good nights, Jeongin joins him for dinner before going back to his own place.
But most nights, Seungmin stays at the bar way past closing because he is friends with a bunch of tardy, sex-obsessed, drunkards.
It’s a quarter to eleven by the time Seungmin gives up waiting backstage. The last text Chan sent him had been from almost an hour ago, and he is not particularly interested in imagining what those three are doing in the meantime.
‘Hey,’ Felix greets him when Seungmin walks out.
Seungmin throws him a lazy wave. ‘You’d think they would get better at managing their time if they want to fuck before every performance.’
‘What happened to saying hello?’ Felix makes a noise of despair and tosses a used towel at him. ‘Hello, Felix. How are you, Felix?’
‘Hello.’
Felix glares at him.
Seungmin folds the towel and hands it back to him.
With nothing else to do, Seungmin ends up helping Felix restock the shelves. It’s a slow night, considering it’s a Tuesday, but there is nonetheless a sizable crowd sitting in the booths in front of the stage.
Some faces, Seungmin recognises; the majority of them are students from the nearby university, who have obviously chosen to reject reality by coming to a bar on a Tuesday night. There are also some overworked salarymen who have already drunk their share and are now just enjoying the general ambience of the place.
As he stacks the shot glasses into a precarious pyramid, he listens to Felix ramble about his day. Apparently, Jeongin’s finally escaped his demon-spawn of a landlord and has moved back into the dorms for his final semester.
‘I’m just so relieved he’s going to actually have hot water again, you know?’ Felix sighs.
The bar is in hell—Seungmin really lucked out with his apartment situation.
Sure, there is no such thing as a good landlord, but at least his and Felix’s complaints and requests are usually met with the appropriate levels of concern, and resolved with passable professionalism.
Initially, Seungmin had suggested having Jeongin move in with them; their place is big enough, and Felix could share a bed with his boyfriend if he didn’t want to banish the youngest to the couch. But Jeongin didn’t want to make the two hour commute to and from campus every day, which is understandable.
So, now Jeongin gets split his time between the dorms and harassing Seungmin in his own home. Not much different from how things were before.
Seungmin is in the middle of climbing down the step ladder, after Felix tricked him into cleaning the top shelves that no-one can reach, much less see enough of to care about the dust gathered atop it, when he lifts his head up just in time to see another wave of people enter the bar.
They are all dressed in the same drab tuxedos that look like it’s seen better days. Seungmin wonders what they’re doing here on a Tuesday, but then again, what does he know about business?
Now that Felix is preoccupied with actually doing his job, Seungmin is back to square one. He can’t even drink to pass the time, because he suspects that if he starts, he’s going to get drunk way before the other three even show up.
Sighing, he sits back down on the opposite side of the counter, the furthest corner from where Felix is taking orders, and laments that Jeongin isn’t here to suffer with him—he’s too busy getting eight hours of sleep and being a model student.
Lost in thought, Seungmin doesn’t realise that someone is coming up behind him until they are already there. The smell of fancy cologne fills his nose, and he has to physically stop himself from gagging.
‘Are you here alone, puppy?’
Though it’s framed as a question, with how the man’s tone lilts upward, to Seungmin it sounds more like a leading statement. It takes every ounce of his self-control to not roll his eyes. The answer should be obvious—duh, he is alone right now.
Seungmin can’t decide how he feels about being called puppy by a man he’s never met before, either; normal people don’t usually start with a nickname like that right off the bat. But all things considered, he has been called worse things on a first meeting.
Without waiting for a reply, the stranger slides into the stool to Seungmin’s left. The movement sends another waft of his smoky blend in Seungmin’s direction—he smells like cinnamon and expensive whisky that they don’t serve here.
Grimacing, Seungmin glares pointedly to his side.
He’s got a couple of colourful words at the tip of his tongue, ready to go, but the moment his brain catches up to what his eyes are seeing, the words die in his throat. He has to make a conscious effort to not let his jaw fall open.
Seungmin sits up straighter and channels his inner Lee Minho, giving the man an unimpressed once-over, as he haughtily asks, ‘are you talking to me?’
The man is, unfortunately, undeterred by this. In fact, his smile only grows wider.
He looks young, much younger than Seungmin had expected since he didn’t have anything except his voice to go off of until he saw him. And he’s very handsome, so it makes it hard for Seungmin to stay annoyed at him.
‘Who else?’ The man chuckles, eyes twinkling under the dim lighting. ‘I’m Changbin.’
His voice is voice smooth and warm, and it does a weird thing to Seungmin’s stomach. But he swallows it down in favour of properly rolling his eyes this time. ‘I didn’t ask.’
Changbin hums like Seungmin isn’t purposely being difficult. He fiddles with his cufflinks, seemingly nervous. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
Out of the corner of his eye, Seungmin can see Felix watching them intently from the other side of the bar. Felix makes a nondescript gesture with his hands, their signal for you okay?
Seungmin nods. Jisung and the others are late, and it’s not like he can perform until they get here anyway. He may as well keep himself entertained while he waits.
This guy is persistent and apparently not put off by Seungmin’s less than friendly demeanor, which already makes him more interesting than most of the men Seungmin has had the displeasure of meeting at this bar. And he seems harmless enough—he’s kept his body language passive, making sure not to inch too close into Seungmin’s personal space, and on top of all that, he asked to buy him a drink instead of just assuming he wants one the way others usually do.
Up close, Seungmin can see all the minute details of his expensive-looking suit; the gold buttons, the embroidered accents, and his crisp cuffs. Though on Changbin, these details somehow don’t piss Seungmin off. Maybe it’s the way Changbin carries himself; confident, but not overbearing—he’s charming, but it’s the sort of charisma that doesn’t feel threatening.
Plus, he’s incredibly hot, which is always a bonus.
So, Seungmin supposes he can give this man some of his time, the stomach-churning puppy aside.
‘Sure,’ he agrees.
Felix makes a face at him, but Seungmin ignores him. Changbin doesn’t need to know that Seungmin is allowed free drinks for life. Or, at least for as long as he and Felix are employed here.
Changbin’s face lights up, and it’s so bright and genuine that Seungmin has to look away.
‘Any preferences?’ Changbin asks.
‘I’m not picky,’ Seungmin lies.
He doesn’t drink much outside of social gatherings, or whenever Felix convinces him to try his new concoctions before they put it on the menu. But again, Changbin doesn’t need to know that. ‘Whatever you think is best?’
Seungmin makes a show of checking Changbin out, eyes slowly raking over the other’s body; starting from Changbin’s slicked back hair, all the way down to his impossibly shiny dress shoes. He’d be lying if he said that he isn’t a little interested.
Changbin dips his head to catch Seungmin’s eyes, a pleased grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Relaxing his shoulders, Changbin leans an elbow on the counter, resting his chin on the heel of his palm—it’s almost like he is encouraging Seungmin to check him out.
‘Leave it to me, puppy,’ he drawls, his smile palpable.
Seungmin decides he quite likes that. Because while Seungmin is not insecure about his looks, he also has eyes—if loaded businessmen wanted a pretty face to look at for the night, why would they come to him when Felix is right there? Felix has the kind of face people want to stare at, and he’s also a lot easier to talk to than Seungmin.
Which is why Changbin, in his tailored jacket, earrings worth more than all of Seungmin’s possessions added together, and warm smile, is so intriguing to him. It’s not like Changbin didn’t see Felix; in fact, he probably saw Felix first, but for whatever reason, he decided to chat Seungmin up instead.
‘Hurry up, then,’ Seungmin says. ‘I don’t have all night.’
Changbin winks at him before getting up and making his way to the end of the bar where Felix is pretending to polish glasses.
What a weird guy, Seungmin thinks to himself, hiding his smile behind a hand.
He watches Changbin point at a bottle behind Felix’s head; Seungmin can’t hear what they are talking about it, but he must have said something funny because Felix lets out a delighted laugh, and not his signature customer service grimace.
After a couple of minutes of casual banter with Felix, Changbin returns to his seat next to Seungmin with a drink in each hand; he’s sitting closer now. Seungmin pretends not to notice, and lets him.
He accepts the glass, making sure to avoid any physical contact with the other during the handover. There is no ice, but it’s still cold against the tips of his fingers.
‘What’s this?’ Seungmin asks, feigning interest.
‘No idea,’ Changbin says.
Seungmin brings the glass to his lips. ‘I’d have thought people like you would know your way around alcohol.’
He takes a small sip—it tastes nice, which is surprising. Businessmen who try to get Seungmin’s attention generally likes to go for the most expensive thing they think will impress him. Unluckily for them, though, Seungmin has no taste for expensive alcohol.
As Changbin swirls his own glass, his watch peeks out from his sleeves, glittering in the yellow light. Changbin cocks his head to one side, and Seungmin tries not to stare at the eyebrow slit that becomes more pronounced when he furrows his brows.
‘People like me?’
‘Yeah,’ Seungmin snorts, gesturing to his Rolex. ‘People like you.’
Blinking, Changbin frowns down at his wrist as if he can’t figure out what Seungmin is referring to. It’s kind of funny, kind of pathetic, and maybe even a bit endearing.
‘Well, I asked Felix if he knew what you liked,’ Changbin says. ‘He made this.’
Seungmin’s stomach does a another flip.
What is wrong with Changbin? Calling him puppy, asking if he can buy him a drink, and then going out of his way to make sure he likes it, too. He is so different from the usual men who expect Seungmin to fawn over them, bend over backwards for them, just because they gave him a little attention.
Seungmin can’t read him. His face feels dangerously warm, and he really hopes Changbin doesn’t look too closely.
‘By the way, are you friends with Felix? I saw the two of you talking when I first came in,’ Changbin continues conversationally, as if he isn’t ruining Seungmin’s night by being a gentleman. The hand not nursing his drink rests atop the counter, his fingernails lightly tapping at the wood. ‘And when I was ordering our drinks, it felt like he was sizing me up.’
Changbin turns to him again, expression suddenly serious. ‘I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you tell me to fuck off, I will.’
He looks intimidating like this—his eyes dark but sincere. And fuck, he’s so hot; Changbin might be unaware, but he is ticking off every box Seungmin didn’t even know he had.
Before Seungmin can answer, the front door flies open, setting off the string of wind chimes Felix had insisted on installing above it. It is barely audible above the general ambiance of the bar, but it’s enough of a distraction to pull Seungmin’s attention away from the imploring gaze of the man in front of him.
‘Sorry, we’re late!’
Jisung stumbles inside with Minho close behind. They are both out of breath, likely because they ran all the way here from the parking lot, with their clothes hastily fixed—Seungmin thinks a few buttons might be missing from Jisung’s already loose shirt.
Seungmin exchanges a tired look with Felix, who scrunches up his nose.
Chan walks in a minute later, and immediately begins ushering Minho and Jisung into the changerooms. At least Chan looks apologetic, unlike the other two, who are still taking their sweet time. Jisung even leans over the counter to give Felix a quick hug before disappearing backstage with a cheeky salute.
‘Hey, sorry for making you wait, Minnie,’ Chan says, stopping by the bar.
Eyeing the purple bruise peeking out from under Chan’s collar, Seungmin scoffs, ‘no, you’re not.’
The blush on Chan’s cheeks, and how his hands fly to his neck, is very telling. Felix says something to Chan in English which gets drowned out by an outburst of cheers erupting from the crowd gathered around the stage.
When they all look towards the direction of the commotion, Seungmin sees that Jisung is already on stage, setting up his guitar.
Jisung is a hit with the regulars; as awkward and socially inept as Jisung is off-stage, he becomes an entirely different person the moment he stands in front of a microphone. It’s quite incredible, especially to Seungmin, who doesn’t have such an extreme on and off persona.
Seungmin hopes the owners of the bar know how much they owe Jisung for their small but steady population of loyal patrons.
Upon noticing eyes on him, Jisung briefly looks at Seungmin. His eyes narrow at something behind him, which jolts Seungmin back into reality, suddenly remembering that he isn’t currently sitting alone.
Sighing, Seungmin turns back to Changbin, who has just been watching him silently.
‘Minnie, huh?’ Changbin smirks. ‘Cute.’
Not deigning that worthy of a response, Seungmin downs the rest of his drink before standing up. Changbin follows him, and Seungmin notes with a spark of satisfaction that the other man is a good half-head shorter than him; it means nothing, but, still, it feels validating to have something over Changbin, however superficial it may be.
‘You’re not making me uncomfortable,’ Seungmin assures him. ‘But I have to go.’
The look of relief on Changbin’s face morphs into disappointment. ‘Oh.’
He doesn’t know what possesses him to do so in that moment—it must be the alcohol, and most definitely not because of Changbin’s crestfallen expression. But before he can think twice, Seungmin blurts out, ‘I meant, on stage.’
Changbin blinks at him, looking between him and the stage. The smile is back, but with a hint of wonder this time. ‘You sing?’
‘I try,’ Seungmin says.
‘I’m looking forward to it, then,’ Changbin says. He’s quick to add, ‘puppy.’
‘Just call me Minnie,’ Seungmin deadpans.
With a good-natured laugh, Changbin shoos him away.
His least favourite throuple is waiting for him in the changing room behind the small stage.
The room is so cramped, it can barely fit the four of them. Which is why Jisung is sitting in Chan’s lap, but it doesn’t make it any better; Seungmin is happy for his friends, but Gods, they can be so obnoxious about it.
‘You’re looking chipper,’ Minho comments, looking up from the keyboard.
‘I’m not,’ Seungmin scowls. ‘You guys are an hour late.’
And all of a sudden, Minho isn’t so keen on engaging with Seungmin anymore; he busies himself with doing nothing, tapping his feet in rhythm to the jazzy tune playing from the overhead speakers.
‘We lost track of time,’ Chan says. Jisung giggles into his neck.
Seungmin holds his hand out for Jisung to pass him his mic pack and in-ears. ‘Oh, I’m sure.’
‘You looked like you were having a good time,’ Jisung says, hopping off of Chan. He makes a vague gesture with his hands. ‘With Mister Muscles over there.’
Was Seungmin having a good time? Kind of, yeah.
Though, more importantly, did Changbin have enough muscles to earn that nickname? Seungmin certainly hadn’t noticed, but leave it to Jisung to immediately clock the most muscular man within a fifty-metre radius.
‘How can you even tell?’ Seungmin can’t help asking. ‘He’s wearing a three-piece suit.’
‘Exactly,’ Jisung nods sagely. ‘Have you seen Channie-hyung in a suit?’
Seungmin considers this for a moment. ‘Ew.’
Chan makes an indignant sound of protest. ‘Hey!’
‘Yeah,’ Minho smirks.
Which is gross. Seungmin desperately purges all the terrible things Minho is no doubt implying from his mind by retorting, ‘whatever. Muscles or not, he was decent company while you guys were wasting my time.’
Jisung lets out a drawn-out whistle, which is not the response Seungmin wanted at all. He wants his friends to reflect and tell him that they won’t do it again, even if they all know that it’s a lie.
‘Our Seungminnie, having fun while talking to a sleazy businessman?’ Minho muses. ‘Who are you, and what have you done to Kim Seungmin?’
If this was about any other guy, Seungmin would be inclined to agree—who is he, getting all excited and giddy while being chatted up by some guy who hasn’t even bothered to ask for his name? Except in Changbin’s case, it’s different. With Changbin, it hadn’t felt like he didn’t want to ask, but more like he wasn’t sure if he could.
Regardless, there is something else about Minho’s words that bothers him.
‘Okay, first of all, fun is too strong an adjective to describe our conversation,’ Seungmin says. ‘Second, Changbin is not sleazy.’
The instant the words leave his mouth, Seungmin regrets it; he’d just given these fiends even more ammunition to use against him.
‘Changbin?’ Chan inquires, the same time Jisung exclaims, ‘you remembered his name?’
He hates all of them so much. Seungmin breezes past the two, making sure to bump into Jisung’s shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling back. Jisung sticks his tongue out at him.
‘Seriously, we need to perform at least one song before we start closing up,’ Seungmin points out. ‘It’s almost midnight.’
Minho rolls his eyes, as if he isn’t the one with a strict ten o’clock bedtime when the band doesn’t have night shows. ‘Okay, old man.’
They finally get up. Chan tosses Seungmin his microphone. By the door, Jisung is adjusting the straps on his guitar one last time.
‘If he doesn’t fall in love with you after hearing you sing, then he isn’t worth your time.’ Jisung gives him a lopsided grin. He holds his hand, clenched into a fist, up.
Despite his feigned irritation, Seungmin finds himself returning the smile. He high-fives Jisung’s knuckles. ‘Nobody said anything about love.’
Chan pats him on the back. ‘You never know.’
By the time they make it on stage, only a small group of people are left. They cheer nonetheless, which is nice.
As he fiddles with the mic stand, Seungmin spots Changbin in the crowd, sitting exactly where Seungmin had left him. There is a new drink in his hand, but otherwise he hasn’t moved at all. Their eyes meet, and Changbin quirks an eyebrow at him.
Inexplicably, Seungmin’s heart starts beating faster.
He hadn’t… he hadn’t expected Changbin to stay—it’s so late, and Changbin probably has work in a couple of hours. When he told Seungmin that he was looking forward to it, Seungmin had wanted to laugh and scoff, ‘of course you are’, because why would Changbin possibly care enough to stick around? What does he have to look forward to?
There’s no reason for him to stay and watch Seungmin. For all Changbin knows, Seungmin could be a terrible singer—this could all be a waste of his time.
And yet, here he is.
Chan counts them in, Jisung’s fingers strum the opening notes to their song—Changbin smiles at him, and Seungmin forgets how to breathe.
Even from across the room, Changbin’s presence feels impossibly big.
His smile radiates the same warmth as the rest of him; Seungmin absently wonders if this is what his touch would feel like, too. How long has it been since someone made Seungmin feel like this? Have anyone ever made him feel like this, much less a stranger he’s known for less than an hour?
It takes another half-second for his brain to come back online, but by then he’s already missed his cue. Minho seamlessly covers for him, giving Seungmin some more time to fumble his way back into the song.
Great, he’s never going to hear the end of this.
He quickly picks up where Minho left off, the lyrics rolling off his tongue with ease. The song they’re singing is an old one, familiar—one of the first songs they wrote together as a team. It’s muscle memory at this point; a single mistake isn’t enough to throw him off completely.
To his right, Jisung shoots him a questioning look, but Seungmin ignores him in favour of gripping his microphone tighter than necessary and pointedly averting his eyes. Except even when Seungmin is no longer looking at Changbin, he still feels the weight of the other’s gaze on him, and his skin prickles with a sort of anticipation and thrill that Seungmin had long forgotten about.
Being on stage doesn’t make him nervous anymore, and it hasn’t in years.
But all of a sudden, Seungmin is eighteen again, waiting backstage before their first ever public performance as a real band. He was fresh out of high school, fuelled by teenage angst and spite because his parents had just told him that music doesn’t pay the bills, son.
They were only half right, but Seungmin never held it against them, especially not after he spotted their proud faces in the crowd that night.
The novelty never really wore off—Seungmin loves music, loves their band; his members, his friends—though the adrenaline hasn’t hit the same since that first night.
Until now.
Just like that night almost ten years ago, Seungmin is filled with the overwhelming desire to impress.
Which is such a foreign concept to him now because Seungmin doesn’t care what other people think of him. Maybe once upon a time, he did, and sure, it feels good to be acknowledged and praised for his work, but none of that explains the desperation coursing through him now.
He wants. He wants Changbin to look at him—he wants to prove to Changbin that his decision to stay behind and watch their performance was the right one. He wants so badly to show Changbin, whose life is so different and far-removed from Seungmin’s own, that he can be worth his precious time.
The intensity of it all is dizzying.
Is Seungmin being a tad melodramatic? Probably. He doesn’t know Changbin nearly well enough to justify feeling like this. But he’s seen enough to want more. That, too, is presumptuous of him—who knows if he will even see Changbin again after tonight?
When Seungmin musters up the courage to look up again, Changbin is gone. He tells himself not to be too disappointed, for all the aforementioned reasons.
The rest of the song goes without a hitch, and they perform three more songs after that before calling it a night; they really cut it close by finishing four minutes before closing.
Jisung leaps off the stage—despite Chan’s best efforts to stop him, yelling watch your ankles, Hannie!—and greets the small crowd of people still gathered at the foot of the stage like he’s some famous celebrity.
A trio of twenty-something year old girls scream when Jisung flashes his signature heart-shaped smile in their direction. Well, Seungmin supposes that Jisung is kind of famous in this part of town.
With Jisung doing random acts of fanservice and Chan thoroughly distracted by Jisung, Seungmin quietly slips backstage, only to be jumped by Minho.
‘Hey there, lover boy,’ Minho says. He’s sitting in the single chair in the corner of the changeroom, knees crossed and hands folded neatly over his lap, like a comic book villain. The flickering lamp behind him casts a long shadow that reaches Seungmin’s toes.
‘There’s nothing lover or boy about me,’ Seungmin says, scowling.
‘Are you disappointed Chanhee left early?’ Minho asks.
‘Changbin.’
‘Are you disappointed Changbin left early?’
‘No?’ Seungmin lies. ‘Why would I be? I don’t know him.’
Minho’s laugh grates at his nerves, but not in a bad way—just the usual Lee Minho way. ‘You can’t hide anything from us, Seungmin. He is so your type.’
‘My type?’ If Seungmin had a type, then that was news to him. ‘What’s my type?’
Minho gapes. ‘Are you serious?’
Seungmin blinks owlishly at him.
Minho returns his stare. And then, ‘oh shit, you’re serious. Erm, hm. Good luck.’
‘Okay? Thanks?’ Doubting that the other is going to elaborate, Seungmin relents.
He says goodbye to Minho, tells him to get home safe, begs him to stop making them late every time, to which Minho innocently asks ‘what makes you think that I’m the one to blame?’
‘Everything is always your fault,’ Seungmin says.
This earns him a painful punch in the shoulder. His shoulder is still throbbing when he sees the throuple off through the back entrance, watching them climb into Chan’s car.
‘See you on Friday, Minnie!’ Jisung shouts from the passenger seat.
‘If you make me wait an hour again, I’m ditching!’ Seungmin shouts back.
Jisung blows him a kiss as the car turns out of the parking lot. ‘Love you!’
Shaking his head fondly, Seungmin flips him off. He hopes Jisung saw it.
As soon as he goes back inside, shivering slightly from the cold, he’s ambushed by Felix. There is no rest for the wicked, and Seungmin is not referring to himself.
‘Kim Seungmin!’ Felix barrels into him the moment he re-enters the bar. Thankfully, it’s mostly empty now, so there is nobody around to listen to Felix yell, ‘what the hell was that?’ into Seungmin’s ear.
Felix’s fingers get caught on the wires Seungmin had forgotten he was still wearing. Frowning down at the way his necklace is tangled with his mic pack, Seungmin grumbles out a short, ‘ugh, get off me.’
Unbothered, Felix starts helping him unclasp some of the straps holding the equipment together. ‘That guy from earlier was totally flirting with you.’
The wires remain tangled. Frustrated, Seungmin gives up pretending to care about potentially breaking the wires and impatiently yanks the microphone off.
Then, he turns back to Felix with raised eyebrows; he may not be the most perceptive person, and yes, he has, on multiple occasions, let people’s intentions fly straight over his head, but Changbin had been so unsubtle about it that Seungmin is a little offended Felix felt the need to tell him. ‘Yeah, I know.’
‘But you flirted back!’ Felix all but screams into his face. He has Seungmin by the shoulders, shaking him in excitement like they just won the lottery.
‘Did I?’ Seungmin muses.
He recalls a different story—he was very obviously ignoring the man’s advances. Not that Changbin seemed particularly bothered by it.
‘He bought you a drink,’ Felix says. ‘‘And you drank it. You’ve never done that before.’
‘Plenty of guys buy me drinks,’ Seungmin shrugs.
He’s not being egotistical, because it’s true. He may not be on Felix’s level in terms of attracting unwanted—and very rarely, wanted—attention, but he’s had his fair share of suitors. Seungmin doesn’t know what it is about him that makes broody, lonely men want to give him free things, but it happens more often than he likes to admit.
It’s kind of perplexing. Jisung says it’s the pathetic puppy energy, whatever that means. Seungmin thinks he’s full of shit. Except that’s exactly what Changbin had called him: puppy.
Felix is wearing a pensive expression. He nods. ‘Yeah, but you don’t actually drink those. Do you know how many drinks go to waste on those nights?’
Unfortunately for Seungmin, that is true. ‘It’s not my fault they have shit taste in alcohol.’
‘Yup. That’s why Changbin is different, right?’
Remembering the fact that Changbin asked Felix to make a drink that Seungmin likes makes his face heat up again. Ugh, is Seungmin too easily impressed? Isn’t that the bare minimum? What does it say about Seungmin if Changbin being nice and considerate is enough to make him descend into an existential spiral?
‘Well, since I know you’re sulking because he left before your performance ended—’
‘I am not sulking.’
‘—I’m here to tell you that while you were busy blushing like a maiden and forgetting the lyrics to a song you wrote, all because he dared to smile at you, I saw him take a phonecall. He left shortly after that,’ Felix continues cheerily.
Seungmin hates that he feels relieved. So, Changbin didn’t leave because he was bored…
Felix gives him a knowing smile. ‘I mean, you saw what he was wearing, right? He’s definitely important at work.’
‘Yeah, he was a bit heavy-handed with that cologne, too,’ Seungmin nods, ignoring the first part of Felix’s sentence. He was not blushing; Seungmin does not blush—he was just… flustered.
That doesn’t sound good either, Seungmin thinks grimly to himself.
‘If it makes you feel better, he looked just as disappointed to leave as you did when you realised he was gone,’ Felix says.
Was Seungmin really that obvious? Was Felix lying about Changbin also being disappointed? Two questions he does not want the answers to. ‘How is that meant to make me feel better?’
‘Anyways,’ Felix chirps. ‘He ordered another drink for you before he left.’
At that, Seungmin looks up. ‘What? Why?’
‘I think I know why,’ Felix says cryptically.
He slides a glass across the tabletop, and Seungmin rushes to catch it before it can topple over the edge. He holds it up to the light; the liquid is on the paler side, allowing the light to shine through. The crystal glass casts a spread of rainbow refractions—it’s pretty.
Seungmin takes a tentative sip. Not his style, but a free drink is a free drink.
‘Do you wanna know what it’s called?’ Felix asks, coming up opposite him. He sits down on the stool and rests his elbow on the counter. The faint smirk on his lips never bodes well for Seungmin.
Narrowing his eyes, Seungmin squints at the unremarkable drink in front of him. ‘Not really?’
‘Angel Face,’ Felix tells him anyway. ‘The name of the cocktail is Angel Face.’