Chapter Text
Ivan is hard to surprise.
It’s nothing to boast himself with or something he chose out of convenience; it’s just a fact.
Like the sun rising and setting each day or death waiting for every living being at the end of the line; or that Till’s eyes have the most fascinating color he has ever seen. A rich teal that a boring person might compare to something as profound as emeralds, but that doesn’t come even close.
They are an endless ocean to drown in, harbouring just as much depth and calmness as they are a brutal force of nature, driven by pure rawness and passion. Beautiful and dangerous and mesmerizing and – oh.
He didn’t mean to make this about Till, but even if he gets back to his point of being a man who is nearly impossible to surprise, it leads Ivan back to him, inevitable. If there’s someone who actually manages to catch him off guard, it’s Till – but for once, it’s not in that positive, exciting way but rather… unsettling.
Things start with him being bored to death.
On the outside, Ivan wears a polite smile. Listens to the dull monologue of another irrelevant guy his father insisted him to meet, because ‘connections are everything’. This time, it’s the son of an influential tech entrepreneur and Ivan can already tell that he’ll ruin his father’s achievements within less than a year if he sticks to his attitude, but he keeps his thoughts to himself and nods appropriately.
The deal is that if Ivan plays along and fits into the role of his father’s successor to run his media and entertainment companies one day, he can basically do what he wants – if it doesn’t stain the Unsha family's reputation, of course.
Ivan doesn’t really care as long as he is allowed to study music in addition to the economy stuff and since he has perfected the art of fitting into whatever role is expected of him, he can play his part even at a weird location like this.
Seriously, who picks a host club for a business related meeting?
Faking a smirk as an answer to a stupid remark that is supposed to be funny, Ivan tries to drown his boredom in a sip of his champagne. Of course, this guy insisted on ordering the most expensive item on the card. He will never understand the urge to show off with something as insignificant as money. It lacks any passion or personality and never gave him a thrill. Hardly anything does.
The only silver lining is that the guy’s attention is occupied by their host now – the most popular of the whole establishment, of course – which gives Ivan some room to lean back and catch a breath.
He guesses that he needs to endure about another hour until it’s appropriate to leave – or enough alcohol was poured for that guy to not really get it anymore.
Ivan lets his gaze wander through the place without much interest, presses the glass against his lips for another sip and nearly chokes on it when he spots a certain shade of gray in the distance. It’s a colour he’d recognize among a million people within a split second.
Here it is. That rare moment of surprise, shock even, where for an instant, his eyes grow wide as moons and the heart inside his chest stumbles, falls, until it starts to flutter like a bird trapped in a cage, trying to escape.
Willing his face back into a neutral facade, he aims for the menu card at the table, but can’t suppress the light crease that forms between his eyebrows. Ivan skips the drinks and snacks and goes straight for the list of hosts. Just like that, his boredom is flung to the winds, replaced by the irrepressible urge to confirm what can’t be true.
He spots it in the middle of the penultimate row. A rectangular picture, trapped between the bland faces of two other guys trying to look appealing to the camera, but they can’t compete with the centerpiece in the slightest.
He can tell that Till didn’t even try to look a certain way. It’s just his natural expression, face serious and calm, the hint of a challenging gleam in his eyes if you look closely. It outshines everyone around him without any effort.
Ivan stares at the picture, but for once it’s not because he is captivated by the face that haunts his dreams; it’s the implications of finding it among all the others, offered for strangers to pay and spend time with him. Look at him. Touch him even if the guy Ivan is forced to spend the evening with is the standard, because his palm found its way to their host’s thigh with no intentions to remove it anytime soon.
The notion that someone might treat Till that way is like a gush of icy water running down his spine and his head snaps back to the gray mob of hair in the distance, checking for his posture and any signs of distress.
Till is sitting in a booth with a single guy, arms crossed in front of his chest. A glass of beer is sitting in one hand as he seems to listen carefully to whatever this man is telling him. He doesn’t look more bothered than usual and there's some space between them, but the way this guy is measuring him with his gazes, a complacent smirk plastered to his face, paired with an amused gleam in his eyes, brings Ivan to clench his fist. The thing Till did to his hair by taming the messy strands with some gel, which makes him look like he belongs on the cover of a magazine doesn’t help either.
Something unpleasant crawls up his throat and he has to force his gaze away from the scene. Force his thoughts away from the notion of anyone or that guy daring to stare at Till as if he is something allowed to be claimed.
Ivan’s head starts to spin as he moves around possible explanations and solutions for this like pieces of a messy puzzle. He knows that Till is going through something, although he didn’t tell them much, but Ivan can read between the lines.
The withdrawal from their group chat with Mizi and Sua, meaning that he barely even reacted to Mizi’s good luck message when he took the entrance exam for college and only gave her a curt ‘ok’ as an answer when she asked how things went; the way he dodged each of her suggestions to meet for a coffee over the past three weeks, blaming it on being busy with learning for his finals; how he cancelled all of their tutoring lessons with the excuse of needing to prepare for college as if Ivan couldn’t help him with that as well; the fact that he skipped his band practice with a similar excuse according to his band mates, although nothing is more important to Till than his music.
Ivan gathered all the information carefully behind his back, because it’s obvious that something is going on. Since he graduated together with Mizi and Sua it’s harder to keep an eye on Till, who has always been an expert at trying to hide; but Ivan became an expert at finding him anyway, without even being noticed most of the time.
Ivan guesses that he needs some money and thought, for whatever reason, that this is a suitable idea to get some. It’d be ironic in a way and so typical, because he has tons of it to spare, would give it all to him without thinking twice and yet, Till would never take any of it from him.
Not directly that is.
An idea crosses his mind. Forms into the outlines of a viable plan. Head propped onto his palm, Ivan taps his forefinger slightly against his champagne class. Adds more layers and calculates possible weak points, but comes to the conclusion that it’s worth a try, no, that it’s his only option and duty to make this work, because in no world will he ever allow Till to sell himself out that way.
It’s unacceptable – and Ivan gets to work immediately.
✦ ✦ ✦
Till isn’t made for pretty smiles and polite chattering. He’s rather the type to scowl at others for the sake of keeping his damn peace and hates smalltalk like the plague. Which makes this job the first level of his own personal hell, but the payment is too good to decline and he’s surprisingly successful despite his lack of a customer-friendly appearance.
Seems like some people prefer honesty over fake smiles – or they think it’s an act to play a certain role, but honestly, he doesn’t really care. As long as he gets the money, he will endure being called ‘cute’ when someone makes him a compliment that turns the tips of his ears red. Or his whole face.
Seriously, he hates this! But it’s for a greater good, Till never gets tired to remind himself and he won’t be here forever. He just needs to earn enough money to comfortably move out from his old man’s place and build his career in peace. Besides, it’s just one or two evenings per week. The others he keeps free for singing sessions at a local bar, which doesn’t really help money-wise, but it earns him some connections and popularity at least.
In the best case scenario, he’ll even get the scholarship to study music next semester – given he won’t get into another quarrel with his old man right before the entrance exam.
Being told that he’s a naive loser, wasting his life with pathetic dreams that won’t come true is one thing, but crushing his guitar? That’s where he drew the line, but the problem is, that his father is still a lot stronger than him and fighting back gained him not only some nasty bruises, but also a sprained wrist. Till can’t tell if that bastard actually did it on purpose or if it was just a lucky coincidence for him, but it made playing a guitar impossible.
Thanks for nothing, really! But he won’t give up! Like hell he will!
He’ll show this bastard and everyone else and if it means to spend his time as a host in a stupid host club, he’ll fucking do it!
His current customer is a guy in his early forties. Till prefers to be booked by women, but after a few beers, it doesn’t really matter anymore and he already knows this one. Some business dude, who is ‘amused by his attitude’ and spends a lot on drinks, which is good for his bank account.
“So you play the guitar,” the guy picks up the little piece of information Till granted him as if he’s only been waiting for a chance like this. Usually, Till doesn’t talk about himself, but that dude was really persistent, so maybe this will shut him up. “Is there a chance to ever hear you playing?”
“Probably not,” Till dodges and tries to read the intentions behind the wry smile of his counterpart.
“No band or anything?”
“Not right now, no.” He lies without batting an eyelash and smoothly tries to turn the attention back to his customer. “Bet you wouldn’t like my style anyway.” Till pairs it with a challenging grin and is rewarded with a chuckle. The good thing about regular customers is that he knows how they tick and feels a bit more comfortable around them. Which doesn’t mean he enjoys this, but it makes it a bit more bearable at least.
Usually, this guy books him for one to two hours and adds another one if he’s in the mood, but today someone else chimes in first. Till gets the notification on his work phone. Someone who paid a lot for a private room, which makes them a priority customer. It’s his hint to slowly wrap things up here and clarify that there won’t be any additional time today.
The guy doesn’t seem bothered and smoothly slides a 10,000 won note towards him, asking when his next shift will be and for once, Till gives in and offers the information. It’d be stupid to deny such a safe option for earning some more money, after all.
In the ten minute break afterwards, he downs a bottle of water and briefly checks his phone. Which is a mistake. Mizi asked for another coffee date in their group chat like ‘in the good old days’, and, to make things worse, even passed the message on in their private chat, adding, ‘I know you’re busy, but I’d be super happy if you could make it this time 🥺’, underneath. No way in hell he can ignore that.
Ivan annoyed him as well, but his weird, ‘In case you still want to pass your finals: I’m free next week.’, rather fuels his irritation instead of a guilty consciousness. That stupid, arrogant bastard!
With clenched teeth, he types a brief, ‘I’ll try.’ to Mizi and shows his middle finger towards Ivan’s message on his display, without bothering for an actual answer. He can read his silence as one.
Contritely, he shoves his private phone back into his locker and makes a mental note to never check in between clients again. This job is already annoying enough and dealing with this bullshit in addition doesn’t really help to lift his mood.
It’s not that he’s been ignoring his friends on purpose, but shit, he really doesn’t want a deep dive into his current situation or spill that college won’t happen this year and rather focus on the future.
Which won’t work forever, he knows that, thank you very much, but it doesn’t have to be now – or any time soon.
With mixed feelings, Till finally approaches the booked room. He hopes that his new client will be an easy one and crosses his fingers that it won’t be a bigger group. More people means more possibilities for annoying encounters, but contrary to his concerns, he finds the room empty.
Frowning, he double-checks his notification and the room number, but can’t find a mistake. On a closer look, he notices the different bottles and cans arranged neatly at the table, with a plain note in between.
Pick whatever you want and take a break.
His frown deepens and he skims over the drinks. It’s different kinds of beer, lemonade and even some sweetened milk tea from a brand he usually skips because it costs a little too much. There’s also a bottle of champagne in between, the really expensive stuff that none of his customers could afford so far, and Till surely won’t touch it. If this is some kind of dumb joke and he has to pay in the end, all of his earnings would go down the drain, plus some extra debts. No thanks.
Not sure what to do with this, he sinks down on the u-shaped leather couch and waits for a while, but no one appears. Maybe he should contact his boss or something, but truth be told, he could really use a break and it’s not his fault if something went wrong here. Besides, his customer left a note, so there seems to be a purpose behind it. True, it feels a bit off at first glance, but if they want to throw away their money like this, it‘s not his problem, is it?
He did nothing wrong and is ready to welcome them anytime, just in case they decide to show up. Which doesn‘t happen.
With a can of milk tea in reach (damn, that stuff still tastes way too good), he scrolls lazily through his phone, comparing prices of affordable guitars on different websites. It‘ll still need a bit of time before he can play again, but the sooner he can get his hands on a new one, the better.
Occasionally, his gaze flickers to his work phone, waiting for a new notification or something, but the display remains dark. His current session was booked for three solid hours, which covers literally every minute that is left of today’s shift, but he still doesn‘t trust this fully.
No one shows up or bothers him, however, and when he‘s checking in with his boss to announce that he‘s going to call it a day now and leave, there‘s no scolding either. Quite the contrary: the guy seems pretty satisfied and even compliments him on the good work, which translates to ‘you earned me a decent amount of money today‘. Which never really happened before.
It‘s not that Till is doomed to only sit on the sidelines and watch how the most popular hosts make tons of money, but he doesn‘t come close to the numbers of the favs either. Which is fine, really. He doesn‘t want to be in the top rank anyway, but he won‘t say no to a bit of extra money either. It‘ll help to get him out of here faster, after all.
Still, it‘s strange. The new (?) customer who made no appearance is obviously behind this and it feels a bit weird to be praised for literally doing nothing, but if someone finds joy in paying him for relaxing in a private booth, why not. Not his problem.
That‘s what Till is telling himself at least, but it keeps lingering somewhere in the back of his mind and he can‘t help but to think that somehow, this will blow back on him.
At that time, he never could have imagined how it would, though.