Chapter Text
He usually stands in the deeper corner of the bar counter.
His eyes flit from one corner to the end of the vast room, slowly scanning from one patron to another. His body languid, leaning forward to rest his arms on the wooden top, his fingers sometimes tapping against the surface in parallel with the rhythm of the music playing in the background.
His face focused, mouth neutral as he notes all the necessary improvements to the place in his head, but it never fails to break into a polite smile whenever he sees someone looking at him.
A tiny smile, then a small nod, to show respect.
Today he's wearing a three-piece brown suit, the same shade as a bar of milk chocolate. It fits him perfectly, obviously tailored from how the fabric falls neatly on his broad shoulders, the sleeves stop just a little bit below his wrists. His biceps bulge through the layers of fabric, leaving no imagination to whoever notices them. The waistcoat—in a slightly deeper brown—shows off his full chest, allowing wandering questions on how much he can bench press.
And the most ravishing thing is when the man lifts his left hand—the hint of a branded square watch glinting from the wrist—and uses his thick fingers to flip his hair back, showing off how hot he looks with his forehead unobstructed, with the slight mess of his hair, before he shakes his head lightly, the strands falling neatly into place.
His lips always pursed in concentration as he does that, adding a layer of cuteness on top of the sexiness, a devastating mix of opposites.
“Min, you're drooling.”
Mingi’s gaze snaps to the man sitting in front of him, finding that one of his eyebrows lifts up, amused.
“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes back, cannot believe Hongjoong disturbs his private time admiring the man behind the counter—oh, he's walking towards a table at the side now, talking to the customer with his back slightly bowed forward.
It is Thursday night, both music producers have just gotten out of their studio to have dinner at the cafe. To be more specific, it is Mingi who dragged a grumbling Hongjoong out of his soundproofed room to get his first meal of the day, ignoring his cycle of “just 5 more minutes, Mingi-yah, I just need to finish this chorus.”
Mingi is hungry, and while he can just bring a takeout to eat with his hyung in the studio, he’s insistent in going into the cafe itself. This is one of the few places he’s willing to spend time in, to eat and enjoy the food properly instead of eating hurriedly in their cramped studio. And especially on Thursday, Mingi tries his best to always go out and visit the place for dinner.
The reason for that is simple: Thursday night at the Eternal Cafe means open mic.
Starting from dinner time at 6 P.M., the cafe allows anyone to visit the place and put their name in the paper secured on the clipboard at the bar counter. Each person is given at most 5 minutes to use the small stage at the corner to perform, and the cafe allows any genre of performance art in the place as long as it doesn’t disrupt the other patrons. In the times that Mingi has visited the cafe, he sees people performing a rock ballad, poems, short stories, and even pansori. It is an inclusive and safe space for people to experiment, allowing artists to practice their skill in front of a small audience.
And between those performers is Mingi, who loves to sing the songs he creates to the small number of patrons in there to see the implicit feedback to his music before polishing the song and releasing it to the general public. The stage also gives a platform for Mingi, currently a small artist and music producer, to sing and share his love of performing. He doesn’t get a lot of these opportunities otherwise, and seeing people nodding along or stopping their meal to watch him strum his guitar–no matter the size of the crowd–makes him feel accomplished.
And other than for sharing his music, there is another thing Mingi loves when performing his music in this cozy stage. As he strums his guitar and serenades the cafe, he loves to surreptitiously track wherever the suited man is, whether he walks around the room attending to one of the customers, or at his usual perch near the bar, looking at Mingi, his legs tapping and head nodding to the beat of his music.
.
Mingi discovered Eternal Cafe three months ago through lunch with Jihoon-hyung, a senior producer in his agency.
“They cook the rice properly in this one,” Jihoon says as they walk five blocks from the studio to the cafe, the wind blowing in their direction, making both men bury their faces in their warm scarves. “Their grilled salmon portion size is also good for the price.”
“Whoah. This place is closer than I thought. How come I never noticed it before?” As Mingi looks around the building around the cafe, he realizes that it is surrounded by various corporate finance and tech company buildings. Between those tall buildings with floor to ceiling windows is a single-story cafe, its wood interior and yellow lighting contrasting the cold, detached vibe surrounding it. The street is full of office workers milling around, but with no acquaintances that work in these sectors, there is little to no chance for Mingi to visit this area, so it makes sense for him to never see the cafe in prior.
“It is in an unusual location, but my husband accidentally found it in the middle of his modeling gig, and I end up loving it too,” Jihoon says with a fond smile, definitely thinking about his husband, a tall model around Mingi’s height with a bright smile showing his apparent canine teeth. They’ve met once in a while whenever he comes to visit Jihoon, his loud voice reverberating in the small building. Mingi remembers clearly because it is one of the few times that he witnesses the serious and quiet senior producer laugh freely, nuzzling his head in the crook of the tall man’s neck to greet him back lovingly.
When the glass doors to the cafe open, Mingi feels a blast of heated air, and he sighs as the warmth seeps into him. Jihoon immediately leads them to a small table near the window, already familiar with the place.
“I don’t usually get coffee, but I heard the lattes are good,” the older man says as he takes off his puffer jacket, putting it at the back of the chair.
Mingi sits and browses the menu, seeing a good variety of full-sized meals, bite-sized snacks, and the usual coffees and teas. He notices the bar counter at the opposite side of the room full of bottles of alcohol, confused that he doesn’t see them listed in the two-page menu.
“Ah,” Jihoon intercepts when he realizes what Mingi is looking at. “They only open the bar for dinner until closing, which is why no one is attending it right now.”
The younger producer nods at that, also noting the empty stage near their table, with a piano at the center of it. “Do they have live music here too?”
“Honestly, I don’t think I ever see it used whenever I’m here. But I always come during lunch, so maybe the music is for dinner time?”
Mingi hums, looking back at his menu to decide whether he wants to follow the other man’s choice of grilled salmon or get braised ribs before they get interrupted by a man with a brown suit approaching them.
“Welcome to Eternal Cafe. Is this your first time here?” the waiter asks.
“Not for me, but it is the first time for him,” replied Jihoon.
“If you have any questions about the menu or our selection of beverages, feel free to ask me. Do you need more time to browse the menu?”
“No, I think we are rea–,” Mingi finally lifts his head up from the menu book to talk to the waiter when he notices the handsome man currently standing at the side of the table. “Uh.”
“Hm?” The waiter tilts his head in question. “If you both are ready I can take your order now,” he says as he takes out a small clipboard and pen, smiling and waiting for the two men.
As the senior producer gives the waiter his order (the grilled salmon rice bowl and a can of diet coke, as predicted), Mingi is watching the man with the suit attentively listening to Jihoon, praising his choice of food as salmon is perfect for the cold season, and taking his order. With him facing away, Mingi is free to gawk at the broad back filling the brown jacket. As he takes Jihoon’s order, his arm is slightly flexed, and Mingi notes his biceps stretching the sleeves. It takes everything in Mingi to stop himself from reaching out, wanting to touch and feel the stranger’s bulging muscles, his mind still intact enough to not follow his intrusive thoughts.
“And how about you, Sir?”
“Huh?”
“Is there anything that I can get for you?” the waiter asks again, snapping Mingi’s attention back to the present.
As the waiter turns towards him, Mingi notices the button on the other man’s inner vest is slightly stretched around his chest, an obvious tell of the soft and muscular body he obviously has inside the layers of clothing. Combine that with the beautiful face the waiter has, Mingi feels something brewing inside him.
“C-can I please have your breasts?” he stutters before realizing what he just said. He balks, his eyes widened in surprise at how his lips betray him. He curses at himself when he sees the waiter scrunch his nose, confused about what he’s asking for.
Mingi’s immediate plan is to move to Argentina (the farthest city from Seoul–he remembers from his unsupervised 3 A.M. internet browsing), change his name, and never come back to South Korea again.
“Um? Ah! Do you mean our marinated chicken breasts?” the waiter calmly asks him back, waiting for his confirmation.
“Uh, yes. That and a latte, please,” replied the producer with a small voice, his face heating up.
“Great! I will get both of you your orders soon, but in the meantime, if you need anything, you can press the button on your table to call me,” the waiter says cheerfully while showing both men the small white switch on the side of the table.
“Your breasts?” asked Jihoon playfully after the waiter walked towards the kitchen, squinting his eyes at Mingi suspiciously. “You are not subtle, Mingi-yah.”
“Hyung, have you seen him? He’s hot. Bet it feels good to be put in a headlock, especially with those biceps.”
“Try talking with your brain instead of your dick the next time he comes with our food, and maybe he will appreciate you more.”
“Ouch?” Mingi gapes comically. “Just because you get your husband’s cock inside you every night doesn’t give you the right to judge my flirting attempt.”
Jihoon scoffs at that comment, one corner of his lips lifting to a smirk. “Very presumptuous of you to think that Mingyu is topping me.”
.
“Is the waiter with the brown three-piece suit not here today?” Mingi asks the pretty blonde waiter, currently putting a cup of hot mocha on his table, during his subsequent visit to the cafe. Is it a requirement for the staff to be attractive to be hired here?
“Hm?” The waiter (“Yeosang”, based on the silver plate nametag on his vest) tilts his head. “Do you mean our manager? Round face, broad shoulders, around my height?”
“Yes, that person.”
“Ah. Jongho usually works alternately; sometimes on lunch shift and other on dinner. Today he’s working during dinner, since it’s an open mic day.”
“Open mic?”
Yeosang points to the small pamphlet held up on a standee at the side of the table. “Yes! Our cafe often organizes different events, and we have open mic on Thursday night. You should come visit and watch. We have a lot of amazing artists that join us. Or you can perform too if you want! It’s very easy,” Yeosang chatters more about the jazz singer he saw during the last open mic, having so much fun talking to Mingi that he forgets to convey his order to the kitchen.
“Oh, right! Why are you looking for Jongho?” the waiter suddenly remembers. “Do you want me to send a message to him?”
“No, it’s fine,” Mingi replies with a polite smile and telling him his order instead, not wanting the waiter to know that he has an ulterior motive for digging up information about the manager.
That night, Mingi opens instagram and types “종호” into the search bar, immediately cursing when the result returns a lot of unrelated accounts with the same name.
“Of course Jongho is a common name,” he mutters, beating himself up for not getting his last name to cut back the number of profiles he has to scroll through, scanning the tiny circles containing photos of different men and occasionally dogs. He spends a good ten minutes just scrolling, sometimes alternating between his right and left thumbs. His finger starts getting the telltale ache before it stops on an account–wanting to rest for a bit–when Mingi notices the photo. Most of the circle is filled with blue sky with someone standing at the corner of it. Even when the photo is too small for him to distinguish the feature, it’s like his heart knows that this is the one. And it is confirmed when Mingi clicks on the profile, showing the man he’s looking for.
Jongho 종호
Manager of Eternal Cafe
The concise biography is followed by a link to the cafe, but Mingi skips navigating to the place’s website. Instead, he focuses on all the photos in the profile. While the manager doesn’t post regularly, there are still a lot of them spanning throughout the years. Most of them are photos of scenery and painting (seemingly done by Jongho himself, according to the captions), but a spatter of them are mirror selfies of the young man.
When he clicks on the latest one, Mingi is immediately greeted by Jongho wearing a black turtleneck and winter coat, his left hand partially covered by the sleeves. The fingers splay across the back of the white phone, showing his thick digits. Mingi is sure his hands are still bigger–him being a taller man–and he wonders if he can grasp the other’s palms and completely envelop them within his. He can see some of the veins poking through the skin; however, the width of the hands makes them look soft.
“Like a bear paw,” Mingi thinks, remembering how he sees Jongho in his brown three-piece suit, making him resemble a brown bear.
Fondly smiling at the photos, Mingi scrolls down through another set of pictures, this time with Jongho only wearing a black polo shirt while sitting on a grassy field. With more of the arms displayed, Mingi appreciates how well-built the other man is, especially with a hint of his pecs showing through the folds of the shirt.
The more Mingi looks at the photos, the more he learns about the young manager; at how he likes the skies–proved by his landscape photos and paintings–. He also discovers who Jongho’s friends are–with one of them being the blonde waiter he met earlier this morning; although, with Jongho's arm casually slung across Yeosang’s shoulders, Mingi wonders if they are closer than platonic friends. The man also prefers mirror selfies, as it consists of almost all the photos posted that contain him, with only a few of them taken by someone else, showing him posing candidly.
Mingi also notices that Jongho prefers to dress modestly, mostly wearing long sleeves and jeans with layers. But despite all the coverings, the slight hints of bulging muscles here and there drives Mingi crazy. He craves to see more, captivated by the man on his phone, wondering how he would look when he peels all those layers off.
As he tries to zoom more on the photo, wanting to drink every detail of the other man, Mingi’s clumsy thumb accidentally taps on the photos twice, liking the post from 4 years ago.
“Fuck!” He drops the phone before scrambling to pick it up, immediately pressing the heart icon again to undo his like.
“Shit, now he knows I stalked him,” Mingi thinks before sadly realizing several moments afterwards that they’ve only met once. There is very little chance that Jongho sees his name on his credit card, but he doubts the manager remembers who he is after serving many customers after him. He sighs, excitement deflating at the apprehension.
“Well, I guess I should fix that, right?”
.
Sometimes the intensity of Mingi’s own feelings scare him. One moment he lives his day as usual, going to the studio at a reasonable hour, having lunch, work, and going home at proper hours for dinner. But suddenly, his lyrics book is open in front of him, full of sappy poems. And when he’s willing to delve deeper in analyzing the words written on the paper, they suspiciously sound like a love song.
It is not his usual genre of music–personally preferring his lyrics to talk about his life experience. Some of them talk about his battle against anxiety, while others talk about the world around him. He prefers producing things with a darker tone, a perfect compliment to his raspy voice.
A love song is completely new to him, the pink-ish hue of the words written on the paper contrasting his usual work. But with how easy the sappy phrases pouring out from his head, Mingi guesses that the sentimental poems are a reflection of his current feelings too.
It reminds Mingi of the one Destiel fanfiction Mingi read late at night that tells the story on how people see the world in a gray tint and see color the first time they meet their soulmates (yes, he ships them. sue him). In parallel, Mingi’s color conjures itself in the form of his lighthearted lyrics, of words filled with hope and warmer notes compared to his usual moody songs right after he meets Jongho.
Is he… falling in love?
After living for 26 years, Mingi experiences his fair share of love. He loves his mom, who bravely takes care of him alone since he was five, allowing him to choose his career path and supporting him to become a musician. He loves Yunho, his best friend since high school, his soulmate that is always beside him during ups and downs of his mental health. Yunho is the only one who has seen the worst of Mingi, giving the warmth of his hugs whenever Mingi needs it, the last thing tethering Mingi to his sanity. He loves Hongjoong, whom he met online through the music they both uploaded on SoundCloud and ends up becoming his first producing mentor and work partner.
Mingi is sure that he feels love for all of them, yet somehow this feels different.
This love is the type that envelops his whole. It fills his heart with overwhelming feelings, causing his heart to beat faster. Thoughts of Jongho are permanent in his head throughout the day, persistent no matter what he is doing at the time. It’s like his brain can barely do anything else than conjure images of Jongho, thinking about Jongho, and daydreaming about Jongho.
Sometimes, as he scrolls on the manager’s Instagram profile–which he embarrassingly does several times a day–he still misses the man. It drives him insane that a single innocuous meeting changes his feelings this much, making it spiral out of control. It is a new experience for Mingi, and he wonders if this is normal, to want to know everything about the other man and do everything Jongho wants him to even when they have only talked to each other for at most five minutes total.
“Huh,” Mingi scans the pages full of words scattered on the table in front of him. Putting some of them aside–enough for him to access his laptop–he clicks at the folder titled “Sample - Ballad” on the screen, scrolling through the clips, wondering which one he can use for his new song.
He hopes that the first draft will be ready in time for the next open mic, where Mingi hopes he meets Jongho again.