Lost & Found
Bars are where the lost go to be found.
Where liquid courage and chemical love bind them up in webs of comfort; most of the time spun into threads of temporary lies and happiness before breaking into pieces of ache and regret the morning after.
Yunho supplies those bits of release; sipped in glasses tall and short; sometimes lined with sugar, sometimes with salt. He comes in night after night, nimble fingers plying his craft like a pianist at his keys. Mixing and stirring and shaking and pouring. And in return, he gets stories and broken dreams and wads of cash that he halves in two. One for the common tip pool and one for him.
Changmin comes in every Friday and Saturday. A routine like clockwork, at about ten. He orders a glass of house pour red, a Santa Lucia 2009 or maybe a 6 if they had run out. Then he sits by himself at the corner of the bar, nursing his glass and swirling his wine. Acidity, dryness and twinge of notes. The sun on the vine and the slight twinge of crisp.
At about 11, his glass is refilled along with his plate of nuts and diced fruit. Sometimes other customers spy the extra and wonder why their own plates of nuts don't have the red of cherries or bits of apple. But Yunho merely smiles and winks and 9/10 times, the customer forgets to ask again. 1 out of 10 though, the customer gets the hint and most of the time, with a disappointed glance or the frown of disgust, back away and leave the dashing bartender and his brooding customer alone.
Nary a word is said but Yunho relishes the company all the same. His fingers always linger and brush against Changmin's when he exchanges the wine glasses or passes along a plate. The other's silence is still but the flush of pink along his cheeks and up to his ears belie his reciprocrity.
A year ago, Changmin had come. A young and fresh graduate out of business school. Hopes and dreams and shining, he had come to the bar to celebrate the start of his first job. He had bought a vodka orange and then a lemon drop, followed by bright, spritzy drinks that made his head spin and his words stutter. Yunho had been mesmerised. Like a puppet master in a theatre, he played Changmin's story out of him~ the whisky helped Yunho know that Changmin wanted to start his own business; the tequila shot revealed he was not interested in women; and the long island tea disclosed he lived alone and would very much want to shag Yunho. Yunho had broken a rule that night, lust and something deeper twirling in his gut, the start of a connection arisen from mismatched eyes and a toothy smile.
Long legs that looked beautiful wrapped around his waist, a muscular back up against a wall. Lips of sin and tongue of fire. It was a certainly a night to remember, and many weekends since.
But time was a hard master. Changmin's idealism got tampered by failure; Yunho prepared gin which comforted his pain; medicated him with smoked whiskies that licked up his wounds. His glowing aura became a faintly-shining one and Changmin became quieter. His hand held on to Yunho's tighter; his head tucked itself in the crook of Yunho's neck deeper; his sighs got drowned out in kisses that became softer. Time was tough but it also changed the course of their journey together.
At 2am, the bar closes. Yunho cleans his area and goes around to pick up his favourite customer. Changmin is dozing lightly against the wall. Long lashes fluttering against his eyes, breaths even and quiet. Yunho feels his heart skip a beat again; even after all of this time. He bends over and drops a kiss against Changmin's forehead; his nose and then his cheek. He gathers him close and whispers his first words to Changmin that night:
Let's go home, baby.
Changmin stirs, half-ruffled with sleep. He stretches and leans his forehead against the other's. Yunho reaches in and captures Changmin's lips in a well-practised move, hands up to hold his face as close as he can. Changmin moans and parts his mouth, tasting and sucking. He feels complete; maybe tired out by life but he's fine. He will be fine.
Yunho knows this; he's everything Changmin needs.
Where liquid courage and chemical love bind them up in webs of comfort; most of the time spun into threads of temporary lies and happiness before breaking into pieces of ache and regret the morning after.
Yunho supplies those bits of release; sipped in glasses tall and short; sometimes lined with sugar, sometimes with salt. He comes in night after night, nimble fingers plying his craft like a pianist at his keys. Mixing and stirring and shaking and pouring. And in return, he gets stories and broken dreams and wads of cash that he halves in two. One for the common tip pool and one for him.
Changmin comes in every Friday and Saturday. A routine like clockwork, at about ten. He orders a glass of house pour red, a Santa Lucia 2009 or maybe a 6 if they had run out. Then he sits by himself at the corner of the bar, nursing his glass and swirling his wine. Acidity, dryness and twinge of notes. The sun on the vine and the slight twinge of crisp.
At about 11, his glass is refilled along with his plate of nuts and diced fruit. Sometimes other customers spy the extra and wonder why their own plates of nuts don't have the red of cherries or bits of apple. But Yunho merely smiles and winks and 9/10 times, the customer forgets to ask again. 1 out of 10 though, the customer gets the hint and most of the time, with a disappointed glance or the frown of disgust, back away and leave the dashing bartender and his brooding customer alone.
Nary a word is said but Yunho relishes the company all the same. His fingers always linger and brush against Changmin's when he exchanges the wine glasses or passes along a plate. The other's silence is still but the flush of pink along his cheeks and up to his ears belie his reciprocrity.
A year ago, Changmin had come. A young and fresh graduate out of business school. Hopes and dreams and shining, he had come to the bar to celebrate the start of his first job. He had bought a vodka orange and then a lemon drop, followed by bright, spritzy drinks that made his head spin and his words stutter. Yunho had been mesmerised. Like a puppet master in a theatre, he played Changmin's story out of him~ the whisky helped Yunho know that Changmin wanted to start his own business; the tequila shot revealed he was not interested in women; and the long island tea disclosed he lived alone and would very much want to shag Yunho. Yunho had broken a rule that night, lust and something deeper twirling in his gut, the start of a connection arisen from mismatched eyes and a toothy smile.
Long legs that looked beautiful wrapped around his waist, a muscular back up against a wall. Lips of sin and tongue of fire. It was a certainly a night to remember, and many weekends since.
But time was a hard master. Changmin's idealism got tampered by failure; Yunho prepared gin which comforted his pain; medicated him with smoked whiskies that licked up his wounds. His glowing aura became a faintly-shining one and Changmin became quieter. His hand held on to Yunho's tighter; his head tucked itself in the crook of Yunho's neck deeper; his sighs got drowned out in kisses that became softer. Time was tough but it also changed the course of their journey together.
At 2am, the bar closes. Yunho cleans his area and goes around to pick up his favourite customer. Changmin is dozing lightly against the wall. Long lashes fluttering against his eyes, breaths even and quiet. Yunho feels his heart skip a beat again; even after all of this time. He bends over and drops a kiss against Changmin's forehead; his nose and then his cheek. He gathers him close and whispers his first words to Changmin that night:
Let's go home, baby.
Changmin stirs, half-ruffled with sleep. He stretches and leans his forehead against the other's. Yunho reaches in and captures Changmin's lips in a well-practised move, hands up to hold his face as close as he can. Changmin moans and parts his mouth, tasting and sucking. He feels complete; maybe tired out by life but he's fine. He will be fine.
Yunho knows this; he's everything Changmin needs.