Chapter Text
Tonight, you’re making a change.
Just a small change. It’s Friday night, and you’ve decided that you’re going out.
You never go out. A combination of newfound shyness – you didn’t used to be like this, you don’t think – and pure disinterest keeps you at home and around your neighborhood most weekends, away from the clubs and bars that light up other parts of town.
Around universities, in certain districts, there’s glittering nightlife. People come from all over just to play in the streets, get into packed bars, sip ridiculous drinks. To be seen, and to see. The street names are famous, the parties legendary.
It’s just not your scene.
Usually.
Tonight, you just want a little taste of it. And if it sucks, you can just go home.
That’s what you tell yourself, holding onto the vertical rail on the side of the metro car door. If it sucks, you can go home.
It’s dark outside, already firmly nighttime, people on the last legs of their commutes and college students heading to God-knows-where making up the rest of the train’s passengers. People with tired eyes and creased suits, hoodies and claw clips.
Them, and you, slightly self-conscious in your most bar-appropriate attire.
You’re not going out to pick someone up, or to be picked up, so it’s not an outfit meant to attract that kind of attention. Just something that won’t feel out of place.
The darkness outside lets you see your own reflection in the window glass, and you take yourself in, passively. You look good. You look good enough that it spikes your confidence, a bit. You’re still nervous, though, even if you’ve done this dozens of times in your life.
Get a drink, talk to some people, feel a little bit of novelty in your slow, easy, life that goes by much too quickly with not much in it.
It’s not that serious, really. You’ll be fine.
--
The train pulls into Itaewon Station, and you step out the doors onto the bustling platform.
Summer is coming slowly this year, you think, as you trudge up the stairs. It’s already warm out, but not humid yet. It’s honestly refreshing, after how cold this past winter was. Good call on your part, to come out and take advantage of the short springtime.
The difficult choice, you realize once you’re on street level, is picking a place to go.
You’re been to bars here before. Of course, you have. If you go to those places, you’ll probably run into acquaintances and friends of friends. The kind of people who are good to drink with, for one night, even if you’re not that close.
But you kind of want to be on your own, tonight. Even casual acquaintances bring social responsibility, and take away the thrill of anonymity, the making of a first impression.
Somewhere new it is, then.
Businesses change rapidly, here, anyway. Except for the few staple bars and clubs that outlive the rent hikes and ever-shifting demographics of patrons, places come and go every year. There’s no shortage of new venues to visit.
You wander down the main street, peering up the narrow alleys lined with chicken restaurants and hof bars.
One building that you pass looks completely redone, since last time you were here, all fresh paint and clean glass. You pause. The café on the ground floor is closed for the night, but there’s a side entrance that leads to the upper and basement floors.
At that entrance there’s a small blinking sign advertising a bar.
Might as well try a new place, you think.
The stairwell is white and scuffed and dingy as any in Itaewon, and you meander up to the second floor, where a single closed door awaits.
You open it.
The first thing that catches your eye is the name of the place, spelled out on the wall. The neon sign, much bigger than the LED one outside, reads “PADO” in blue script, with a little design of a curling wave over the top.
The space is larger than you expected, roomy, with rich dark velvet curtains lining the walls. You can’t tell if there are other rooms beyond them, or if they’re just decoration. The bar is gleaming white, the barstools are white vinyl. A big feature wall has beam projections of blue wave patterns on it, interesting swirls and lines.
It’s atmospherically dimly-lit, but by no means dark. There’s music, but it’s tastefully low.
There are plenty of people inside, but it’s not crowded. Small groups stand and linger, others sit at tables, their conversation audible over the pleasant music.
Venues that serve alcohol around here tend to be suspiciously loud, dark, and packed. Even the fun ones have that off-kilter vibe, manufactured or genuine, that something unsavory happens inside.
Not this bar. It’s clean, it’s open, it’s inviting.
You’re fascinated.
You like it in here.
“Welcome!” calls a man from behind the bar, as you approach to get yourself a drink.
There’s a menu taped to the bar, but you take a second to peruse the staff before you get down to the alcohol.
Usually you wouldn’t bother, but this staff is particularly interesting. There are three guys behind the bar, all in unique jackets, and they’re all…pretty. It’s commonplace for baristas and service workers to be good-looking to attract customers, but these guys are exceptional even by that standard.
The one who greeted you is also exceptionally tall, expertly filling up glasses with draft beer, an eye-catching figure in his white jacket and pink shirt.
There’s a shorter one in a purple jacket, all shaggy hair and bouncy energy, leaning all the way over the end of the bar to talk to a group of girls with a lot of suggestive eyebrow-raising.
And one other, medium height and medium build, leaning against the prep counter in the back, in a matching brown leather suit. His silvery hair is something like mullet-chic, and his attention is fully on his phone.
“Be right with you,” the white jacket guy says, when he catches sight of you. “Hey, can – oh. Where’s Dejun?”
The brown suit guy looks up from his phone. “Huh?”
White jacket rolls his eyes. “Dejun? To help customers?”
“Flirting, I think,” brown suit replies, pointing.
White jacket glances out at the bar floor, and rolls his eyes harder, apparently finding his missing staff member. “Well, you don’t fucking work here. But you’re behind my bar, so take an order, will you?”
This apparently singularly-capable staff member turns his attention back to the beers, and you just wait there, feeling exceptionally awkward.
Brown suit guy, for his part, looks at you as if he’s just noticed you. He has wide, surprised eyes, childish eyes. It’s endearing, kind of, the way he looks so flustered. His first impression gave off very cold and aloof vibes, but obviously, that’s not him.
He stuffs his phone into his pants pocket, and takes a step up to the bar.
“I don’t work here,” he says, echoes, “But…um. I can still help you. What can I get you?”
You tell him your usual drink order – something simple, luckily, because you suspect that if it was at all complicated, you would not be getting a drink for a while.
But the non-employee just nods at your order, and goes for the row of liquor bottles.
“I’m Taeyong,” he tells you. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
You answer with your own name. “And you’re right. I’m just checking it out.”
“Welcome, then,” he says, with a soft smile.
Taeyong slides your drink onto the bar, and watches expectantly as you take the glass and raise it to your lips to taste.
And when you nod your satisfaction, he asks, “Paying now, or opening a tab?”
You consider it. Paying now is easier, and you’re less likely to overdo it, but a tab means you don’t have to worry about money until the very end….
“Tab,” you decide.
Taeyong nods at your answer, that gentle smile taking on an edge that you can’t quite parse.
“Means you’re gonna stick around,” he says slyly.
You look over the rim of your glass at him, at that one. That sounded an awful lot like flirting. But a guy who looks like that…flirting with you…
“Do you want a table?” he asks you. “I can find one.”
“You don’t work here,” you point out, going for cheeky and hoping that your fluster isn’t showing on your face. “And you have to open my tab.”
“I’ll get Johnny to do that later,” he dismisses. “C’mon.”
He doesn’t open the swinging hinge at the corner of the bar top and let himself through the little door meant for exactly that. Rather, he jumps up and slides right over the top, and lands neatly beside you. Then, he takes off onto the bar floor.
More people have come in behind you, and there are only a few high-top tables left. The music is a little louder, to keep up with the rising conversational buzz.
Taeyong leads you to a vacant table with a Reserved placard on it, and flicks the little sign over. “As promised, a table. Reserved.”
“Not reserved for me. And you don’t work here.”
“Johnny put me work, you saw,” Taeyong says brightly. “Your table now.”
His good nature is infectious. You grin. “Can’t argue with that.”
“Have fun,” he tells you. “I’ll see you around.”
And with that, Taeyong leaves you. You can only watch him go, completely bowled over by what just happened. You watch him pause at another table on his way back to the bar to hook his arm around a short guy in a bright yellow leather jacket and drag him away, too. You assume that’s the missing Dejun, being forced to return to work.
You sip at your drink, and you watch Taeyong.
You can’t tell if he knows you’re watching him. You don’t think he does, seeing how he’s just back on his phone, hiding behind the bar. But you are.
Some bartenders flirt a lot, for their jobs. It keeps patrons feeling special, and as they get drunker, it keeps them spending more money. It brings people back, too, back to the bars with the nice, flirty bartenders.
But Taeyong isn’t a bartender here. If he was flirting – and you cannot confirm nor deny that he was – it probably wasn’t for the good of the business. He’s not talking to anyone else, that’s for sure. You can see the other workers buzzing around, chatting up the bargoers, making drinks. Taeyong has, as far as you know, only spoken to the bartenders themselves. And to you.
And yet, he stays over there, behind the bar.
The same shyness that keeps you home every night says that it’s just as well, that he was being polite and nothing more.
The hunger that brought you out tonight is keeping its unabashed focus on Taeyong, all the way over there.
After a while, the white jacket guy comes up to your table and introduces himself as Johnny, and takes your card to open that tab for you.
A while after that, you find out why the table you’ve taken was reserved.
“Excuse me?” comes a man’s voice.
You startle, still gazing across the bar at Taeyong, as he laughs with yellow-jacketed Dejun, and turn to see two guys.
They’re tall and handsome, strong-featured, one in a teal blazer over a teal shirt, and the other in tailored bootcut jeans and a red leather jacket. Just as good-looking as Johnny or Taeyong, just as peculiarly, otherworldly put-together. You wonder, fleetingly, wildly, if this place has some kind of secret dress code.
“I’m pretty sure this is our table,” says the guy in red. “Sorry, yo.”
“Sorry,” you apologize right back, “That one – I mean, Taeyong said I could sit here, let me-”
“Taeyong?” interrupts the guy in teal. “If Taeyong put you here, it’s chill.”
But the last thing you want is to be in the way, so you insist, “No, it’s your table, I can-”
“We can share,” the teal guy says. “It’s just us two, anyway. And Taeyongie-hyung.”
Before you can ask, the teal guy strides away toward the bar. Red jacket sits right down in the seat across from you, seemingly unbothered by his unexpected new tablemate.
You came out tonight for some variety, something different. This is not what you had in mind.
“I’m Mark,” he tells you.
You introduce yourself, too.
“How d’you know hyung?” he asks.
“I…don’t,” you say, nonplussed.
Mark leans over sideways and looks at you, quickly, from top to bottom. “Huh. Okay.”
His pointed gaze feels appraising, somehow, rather than objectifying. Nonthreatening, for certain. But you still catch the insinuation of it.
Apparently, you look like someone whom Taeyong would know.
“Nice to meet you, anyway,” Mark says.
When the teal guy returns, Taeyong is with him.
“I didn’t know if you’d be gone before Markie and Jaehyunie turned up,” Taeyong says to you, by way of greeting.
“I told her she could stay,” says teal guy, now Jaehyun.
“S’all good,” Mark agrees.
Taeyong points at him. “Don’t let Haechan see that you’re here. He’s already going nuts.”
Mark groans, and Jaehyun laughs, and you just sit there.
What have you walked into?
“Can we get you another drink?” Jaehyun asks you.
You eye him, rueful. “I really don’t wanna run up my tab.”
Taeyong waves his hand, as if dismissing your worries in the physical. “You’re not paying tonight.”
“Johnny opened my tab,” you say.
“Johnny was told to put your tab on our tab,” Taeyong corrects.
What?
Why?
“You don’t have to do that, I can pay,” you say, aghast.
Taeyong shrugs. “You can pay if you want to. But we’re more than happy to treat you.”
Mark nods, much too enthusiastic. “We take our friends out all the time, man, it’s chill.”
“Friends, being the operative part,” you say, but you can feel the smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “I don’t know you.”
“You do, now,” Jaehyun points out.
You should be much more worried, you think, about being here at this table, somewhat a captive audience, with several men whom you do not know.
They’ve been nothing but nice, but they’re still strange men.
Even so, you’re…comfortable.
Contingencies run through your head, all your options should this night go south. You’re not stupid. You know how to plan ahead.
But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? Something different? Something new? You promise yourself that you would go home if it sucked out here. This is weird, but it objectively doesn’t suck. For now, you’re determined to enjoy.
“Okay,” you cede.
Taeyong’s gentle smile is back. “What’ll you have?”
Your next drink comes several minutes later, delivered by a very exasperated Johnny (you honestly wonder if he’s capable of any other emotions).
In that time, you find out that Taeyong, Jaehyun, and Mark are school friends of nearly a decade who are in business together. You’ve found that men who say that usually mean ‘we’re unemployed’ rather than ‘we own a business,’ but it’s not your place to call them out. Not tonight, anyway.
You find out that Mark apparently cannot hold his liquor, and as much as he protests, neither can Taeyong.
You find out that Mark is Canadian, and Jaehyun spent some time in the States. They switch to perfect English in the wake of this discovery, much to your amusement.
You find out that they’re regulars here.
“Usually we’re not even drinking,” Jaehyun tells you, sidelong. “It’s just a good place to chill.”
“At night,” Taeyong clarifies.
“At night,” you repeat.
“We have other spots during the day,” Taeyong says.
It’s a leading question. It’s bait.
You see it, clear as day. Taeyong is setting you up to ask, giving you a chance. An in. A reason to come back, an invitation to see them…him…again. You can’t believe it.
It’s bait. You gather up all your courage, squash down your self-doubt, and you take it.
“Like where?”
--
You left Pado with a bottle of water (forced into your sober hands by Dejun the bartender, just in case), three phone numbers (Taeyong’s, Mark’s, and inexplicably, purple-jacket bartender Donghyuck’s), and the Instagram handle of the café on the ground floor of that same building.
Saturday passes without incident. You sleep in, you laze around at home. Do some chores, doomscroll. The usual.
But on Sunday, you wake up much too early. You have plans, if you’re brave enough to go through with them.
Sunday brunch, you’d been told, is always at Kangaroo.
And you’re invited.
You don’t live close enough to Itaewon to justify going there twice in one weekend under any other circumstances.
You’re honestly not sure that you want to go under these particular and unusual circumstances, you think, standing in your kitchen and trying to gather up the motivation to get ready.
But then your phone lights up. A text message.
Lee Taeyong 🐸: hey! kangaroo café today around 12 like i said! if u wanna come to brunch w us :)
Lee Taeyong 🐸: we gave you the address right?
You’d forgotten that he saved his contact in your phone with that emoji. The swooping sensation in your stomach, unbidden butterflies, embarrasses you even in the privacy of your own home.
Well. You wanted to make a change, right?
And if you dig through your closet for something green, frog emoji in the corner of your mind, that’s no one’s business but yours.