'tis the nightingale and not the lark (1/3)
Title: 'tis the nightingale and not the lark
Pairing: sekai
Rating: pg-13
Genre: romance, romeo&juliet!au, mafia!au
Length: 12000~w
Summary: Happily ever afters just don't always happen.
'tis the nightingale and not the lark
For the idle, nights were defined with neon-colored lights and wine glasses filled to the brim with pale, bubbly liquid. Empty bottles of liquor with Italian and French names that no one could pronounce multiplied by the hundreds as they lay haphazardly on the brightly tiled floor. Music with beats louder than the melodies would pulse through the evenings, leading the day into the mystic beauty of the dark. It was easy to forget oneself in such a detached atmosphere, each person here to escape-and for those with lives less mundane and bland, to discover. No one knew the other, and even if they did, recognition would quickly be erased from their faces, and they would turn their backs to each other, heading towards opposite directions, pretending that they didn’t exist. The next time they meet, at a place elsewhere, they would put on a false, pleasant visage, lies floating their lips as easily as the breeze on a spring day. It was an unearthly place, a wonderland for those with an ill mind and a playground for those with booze as their medication.
It was a sick imitation of home to Jongin, a place where he could forget who he wasn’t, who he didn’t want to be, yet at the same time, forget who he really was. He would always find himself amidst the crowds of deadened people, eyes trained blankly to faceless acquaintances and nameless individuals. Midnights would pass with a blur as he swirls his lucid blue drink in his tall margarita glass, and dawns would sneak up on him hours too soon, and before he knew it, he would find himself facing the onslaught of harsh reality.
It was a week before Christmas Eve, and once again, he made his way through crowds of people and towards the tinted double doors of Eldritch, a fancy underground nightclub in downtown New York for the elite to nurse their boredom and burn their money. He bypassed the lines and lines of people that stretched around the curve of the street and headed directly to the doors, returning the bouncer’s bow with a small nod. Jongin could feel the glares and curious looks from the people behind him, but he ignored them and let himself in. He was a regular here, and the staff already knew to let him in without any questions.
An attendant materialized out of nowhere as he strolled through the dimly lit corridor to the semi-circular servery outlined with blue LED lights. He led Jongin to his usual spot, an alcove built beside the bar, tucked just out of sight. Jongin slipped a large bill into the attendant’s hand as he deftly sat down on the airlift stool, leaning his elbows onto the table.
“What may I get you sir?” The bartender asked, placing the blue green wineglass he had been wiping neatly by the rest of the glasses.
“One Manhattan.”
The bartender reached for a mixing glass. “A lover of the classic, huh?”
Jongin smiled slightly before shaking his head, raising his eyes from the bar table. He had never seen this person before; he must be new.
“No, just boring.”
“It would be nice to try something more daring,” the bartender said as he slid the wineglass over to Jongin. “How about a Maiden’s Blush or a Sub Zero after?”
“Maybe next time.”
That was the standard answer. Jongin alternated between drinks throughout the week, one for each day, but he never did try anything new. Nor did he drink two different cocktails in one night. The consistency was the only thing that tied him down to reality.
He sipped his drink slowly, letting the bitter taste of the drink burn his tongue as he eyed the dance floor packed with swaying bodies. The glaring disco lights made it hard to focus, especially after draining the first glass. He placed the cup on the table, vision blurring just a bit, and licked his lips.
“Another.”
The bartender wordlessly took the glass, and within minutes, Jongin felt the cool base sliding against his fingertips. He grabbed it, gaze not leaving the dance floor, though his eyes were unfocused, and brought it to his lips.
After the first gulp, he swiftly turned around to face the bartender, eyes narrowing as he set the glass in front of him.
“I asked for a Manhattan,” Jongin said in a low voice.
The bartender smiled slyly. “And I said it would be nice to try something else. Bellini.” He gestured at the drink.
Jongin raised an eyebrow at his audacity and warily eyed the champagne flute for a few more second before decidedly picking it up and taking another tentative sip.
“Not bad, huh?” The bartender asked, a tint of smugness coloring his voice.
Jongin grinned. “I’ve had better.”
He scowled playfully and furrowed his eyebrows before shrugging. “What can I say, I’m a novice at these things.”
“Your name?”
The bartender cocked his head, eyebrows furrowing.
“Just formalities and for the sake of curiousity,” Jongin said quickly, picking up the small movement.
The bartender relaxed and wiped his hands on the black apron strapped around his waist.
“Sehun,” he said, extending a hand.
Jongin took it and smiled. “Jongin. I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Hmm, a regular. Would you be surprised if I told you today was my first day?”
“Not bad for a first-timer,” Jongin replied, picking up his wineglass and swirling the clear, bubbling liquid. “Though a tad too insolent for your own good.”
Sehun grinned. “How long do you predict I’d last at this place?” He asked, leaning over the table so his face was level with Jongin’s.
Jongin noticed that Sehun's eyes were obsidian, so black they seemed to reflect the bright lights from behind him. He could smell the strawberry bubblegum he was chewing and the light scent of Clive Christian cologne.
“I’d say not over a week,” Jongin breathed softly. The Bellini was left untouched.
A week later, Jongin found himself sitting across from Sehun, watching the way he expertly shook the cocktail mixer. He thought Sehun had forgotten about what he’d said a week ago, until Sehun placed the drink before him.
“What was that you said about a week?” Sehun said teasingly.
“It appears that I was wrong,” Jongin replied, accepting the glass gratefully and taking a large gulp. The whiskey burned his throat, but he ignored it and instead fixed his eyes on Sehun.
Sehun gave a short laugh and gestured at the drink in Jongin’s hands. “The same? Why not something different?”
Because it’s Saturday. Saturdays were Manhattans.
“Because I’m boring,” Jongin said coolly.
Sehun frowned and watched as Jongin scanned the dance floor once more, elbows propped on the counter as his back faced Sehun.
“Hey.”
Jongin swiveled around at the sound of Sehun’s voice, eyes questioning. Sehun nodded at the shot glass sitting in front of him.
“Try it.”
Jongin picked it up, turning it around in his hands curiously. He looked up at Sehun. “What is it?”
“Screaming Orgasm.”
“Is that supposed to imply something?” Jongin grinned, lifting the cup but not taking a drink.
A light pink color dusted Sehun’s cheeks as he stared pointedly at Jongin. “No,” he said firmly. “It is not.”
Jongin chuckled and tapped his finger on his thigh, mind turning for a moment, before taking a drink from the cup. He set it down.
“Something wrong?” Sehun asked.
“No, not at all,” Jongin said nonchalantly, a small smile appearing.
“Are you not going to drink it?”
“Maybe later.”
“Mmm.”
Jongin turned back to watching the stream of people entering and exiting the door, tripping over themselves as their minds hazed from liquor. He absently wondered why they were here, why they decided to indulge themselves in alcohol and unconscious blurs on Christmas Eve, when they should be out with family and friends celebrating. He wondered if they were all like him, in need for a fantasy-esque Neverland, in need of understanding, yet too afraid to seek it out. Instead, they turned away from their fears and drowned themselves in litres after litres of ethanol in the form of self-reproach and regret.
He was shook out of his thoughts by a small “oh” from Sehun, and he looked up from the blue, marble tiles. The message Merry Christmas, Everyone! crawled across the LED boards surrounding the club. He could hear the fireworks go on outside over the loud, pulsing music, and he had half a mind to join the commotion in the streets. Computer generated fireworks began flashing on the boards as he shifted around to face Sehun.
The brightly colored lights reflected on Sehun’s pale skin, dousing him in a cloak of green and red, and Jongin knew that he looked equally as ridiculous. A playful smile danced across Sehun’s lips as his eyes curved into sweet crescents.
“Merry Christmas,” Sehun said.
Even with Bobby Helm’s Jingle Bells Rock blasting in the background, Jongin thought that he could hear Sehun’s voice loud and clear.
Christmas inched away and New Years rolled around the corner. It was Wednesday, and Jongin was back at Eldritch, watching Sehun laugh at a story told by a lady fresh from Los Angeles.
“-and I was just like, ‘What? Are you serious?’ And I couldn’t believe he laughed and really pissed on that guy’s car.”
Sehun’s laughter travelled around the servery to Jongin, and his own lips curled in the slightest way as he watched Sehun double over, chuckles shaking his whole body.
“Oh my God, did you hear that?” Sehun gasped as he left the woman and made his way back to Jongin.
“Her gay best friend took a piss on her ex-boyfriend’s car after he broke up with her. That is classic,” Sehun cried, shaking his head from laughter.
“I heard,” Jongin said good-naturedly. “Sounds fun.”
“Fun?” Sehun turned from the sink to Jongin, eyes wide with surprise. “Would you do something like that?”
Jongin shrugged. “If the time calls for it, sure. Why not?”
Sehun gawked at him. “You just don’t seem like the kind that would do that. You’re so… uptight. You’re like one of those businessmen who make it a point to glare at everyone who meets their eyes.”
“Uptight?” Jongin gave a humorless laugh. “I spent half my life at a club, drinking. How many CEOs do you see do that?”
Sehun raised an eyebrow and looked meaningfully around the bar. At least a dozen of thirty year old men clad in suits and formal attire were lounging around at the booths to the side of the club, away from the noise and dancing.
“They’re here for business purposes,” Jongin said, nodding at the pile of papers one of them was waving around, nearly shoving them in another man’s face. “None of them come alone and mope in a corner.”
“Are you moping?” Sehun asked, genuinely curious.
Jongin didn’t reply and merely pushed his glass towards Sehun. Wednesdays were Metropolitans. Sehun shook his head disapprovingly before setting about to brew the drink.
“Do I seem like I am?” Jongin asked after a while of silence, staring at the fizzing liquid in his champagne flute.
“Well, you’re alone, aren’t you?”
“That’s not an answer,” Jongin muttered.
“Honestly?” Sehun began. “You don’t seem like you’re moping at all. You seem like a fresh graduate, loaded with money from their family’s company, or corporation, or whatever, and are just here because this is where all the ‘cool’ people hang out.”
Jongin smiled at the air quotations Sehun made. “Maybe I am.”
Sehun scoffed. “You sure dress like one. Armani dress shirt? Gucci tie? Who wears that to a club?”
Jongin frowned at his purple shirt and aptly matched black tie. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“You’re at a club, not a business meeting. Can’t you come wearing normal clothing?”
“If you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a normal club,” Jongin said pointedly. “It’s a fireplace fueled by sickly colored alcohol for those with money to burn.” He flashed Sehun a smile. “And I happen to fall into that category.”
Sehun scoffed again, and Jongin thought that he could just hear the “whatever” Sehun muttered under his breath. Jongin smiled and picked up his drink, a Vesper, and took a sip. He let the mixture of gin and vodka burn his taste buds as he laughed silently at Sehun trip over a towel lying on the floor.
It’s only when he arrived home did he realize that his tie was a solid black, no logo in sight.
“Why do you come here so often?”
Jongin paused in scrolling through his e-mails on his phone. The question was going to come some time. It was a Monday in February, over a month from the first time Sehun mixed Jongin a Manhattan. He gulped down his glass of Stinger and gestured for Sehun to refill the cup.
Sehun gave a huff before grabbing his cocktail mixer.
“So?” He prompted as he shook the mixer, eyes trained on Jongin.
“Everyone needs a drink after a stressful day of work.” Jongin picked through his words carefully, not meeting Sehun’s gaze.
“No one sits in silence until the sun rises. And besides, don’t you have to go to work in the morning? How can you afford to stay at a club, drinking, until four in the morning?”
“I work in the afternoons.”
“And you get off when? Ten? Ten-thirty? An awfully short work day, if you ask me.”
Jongin looked up. “Are you interrogating me?” He asked with an amused smile.
Sehun blinked at him for a moment, taken back. “No?” He replied uncertainly.
“Good.” Jongin smiled. “’Cause I don’t do well in interrogations.”
Sehun nodded once, before turning away stiffly to serve another customer. The rest of the night was spent in silence, and Jongin resumed his task of watching and observing and wondering about the lives of others. By the time people began trickling out of the club, it was already three thirty in the morning, about time for Jongin to head home.
He had just gotten up, having left a tip on the counter for Sehun, and was about to leave, when he heard Sehun say, “You drank it.”
Jongin turned around, eyes questioning. Sehun was looking at the glass.
“You drank the Orange Blossom. Mondays are Stingers.”
As Jongin sat in the backseat of his limo, he thought back to the weeks he’d spent at Eldritch with Sehun, and realized that maybe, just maybe, his bounded routine was about to crack.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. Not joking at all.”
Jongin groaned and buried his head in his arms, unwilling to look at the newspaper shoved in his face by his consigliere, secretary, and best friend, Chanyeol.
“I thought you said you took care of it.” Jongin’s whine came out muffled.
“Apparently, the reporter was from a different publishing corporation, so the check was returned with a letter expressing only pure bewilderment,” Chanyeol said apologetically, laying the newspaper down on Jongin’s desk neatly. “My bad. Sorry?”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Jongin snapped, looking up from his arms. “How the hell are we going to cover up a ten-people shooting that’s now broadcasted to the general public?”
Chanyeol shrugged and gave him a sheepish grin. Jongin glared at him, then at the newspapers sitting on his desk, the headlines Shooting at Los Angeles-caused by Rosacea? in large font across the front. The letters of his family’s name swam in front of his eyes for a moment before he shook his head, a desperate attempt to clear it.
“You know what,” Jongin said, getting up and gathering his papers. “You take care of this. This is totally your fault; I have nothing to do with this. I’m leaving.”
“What? But it’s only six! I thought we were going out for dinner,” Chanyeol called after Jongin.
“Screw dinner, I need a shot of vodka now.”
“Actually…” Chanyeol began slowly. “You might have to rethink that.”
Jongin froze, hand placed on the door of his office.
“Why?” He asked, voice dangerous as he turned slowly around.
“I may or may not have agreed to your father’s dinner invitation,” he replied cheerfully. “On your behalf.”
Jongin groaned. “I hate you,” he growled. “I hate you so much. Why are you my friend. I hate you.”
“Shut up and go get ready. He’s picking you up in half an hour.”
“Go to hell.”
Jongin hated dinner parties with his father, mainly because the dinner party wasn’t really a party, but an interrogation of what Jongin’s been doing for the last couple of months. It was always a somber affair, and there was little noise save for the clinking of silverware and short, blunt questions asked by his father. His mother would stay silent through the whole affair, offering Jongin encouraging smiles from time to time. Chanyeol would sit across from Jongin, trying to look like he was sorry.
“So, Jongin, tell me about how information of the shooting got leaked to the newspaper firm,” his father said.
His voice was amiable enough, but Jongin could hear the underlying blames between the words. He chewed slowly on his salad and quietly placed his fork down.
“We-”
Chanyeol cleared his throat. “Sir, actually, that was my fault. I didn’t check the background of the journalist careful enough and ended up sending the money to the wrong newspaper company. It had nothing to do with Jongin. The only fault on his part was perhaps trusting me.” He gave a small laugh.
“Ah, but it is his responsibility to check over the work of his secretary, is it not? It seems to me that Jongin has been slacking off,” his father said lightly, looking at Jongin.
He gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yes father. I will be more careful from now on.”
“Bu-” Chanyeol began.
Jongin silenced him with a look. When he glanced at his father, he saw him looking at him with eyes that flowed with discontent.
He returned to Eldritch that night, stumbling through the doors one in the morning, already tipsy with the shots of whiskey he took in the limo. His drink that night was not his usual Metropolitan, but some strong, obscure drink Sehun had brewed for him. It was sweet, the bitter taste lost in the bottomless sea that was his heart.
It was called Diamond Tears, Sehun said.
Aptly named, Jongin thought. Aptly named indeed.
next
Pairing: sekai
Rating: pg-13
Genre: romance, romeo&juliet!au, mafia!au
Length: 12000~w
Summary: Happily ever afters just don't always happen.
'tis the nightingale and not the lark
For the idle, nights were defined with neon-colored lights and wine glasses filled to the brim with pale, bubbly liquid. Empty bottles of liquor with Italian and French names that no one could pronounce multiplied by the hundreds as they lay haphazardly on the brightly tiled floor. Music with beats louder than the melodies would pulse through the evenings, leading the day into the mystic beauty of the dark. It was easy to forget oneself in such a detached atmosphere, each person here to escape-and for those with lives less mundane and bland, to discover. No one knew the other, and even if they did, recognition would quickly be erased from their faces, and they would turn their backs to each other, heading towards opposite directions, pretending that they didn’t exist. The next time they meet, at a place elsewhere, they would put on a false, pleasant visage, lies floating their lips as easily as the breeze on a spring day. It was an unearthly place, a wonderland for those with an ill mind and a playground for those with booze as their medication.
It was a sick imitation of home to Jongin, a place where he could forget who he wasn’t, who he didn’t want to be, yet at the same time, forget who he really was. He would always find himself amidst the crowds of deadened people, eyes trained blankly to faceless acquaintances and nameless individuals. Midnights would pass with a blur as he swirls his lucid blue drink in his tall margarita glass, and dawns would sneak up on him hours too soon, and before he knew it, he would find himself facing the onslaught of harsh reality.
It was a week before Christmas Eve, and once again, he made his way through crowds of people and towards the tinted double doors of Eldritch, a fancy underground nightclub in downtown New York for the elite to nurse their boredom and burn their money. He bypassed the lines and lines of people that stretched around the curve of the street and headed directly to the doors, returning the bouncer’s bow with a small nod. Jongin could feel the glares and curious looks from the people behind him, but he ignored them and let himself in. He was a regular here, and the staff already knew to let him in without any questions.
An attendant materialized out of nowhere as he strolled through the dimly lit corridor to the semi-circular servery outlined with blue LED lights. He led Jongin to his usual spot, an alcove built beside the bar, tucked just out of sight. Jongin slipped a large bill into the attendant’s hand as he deftly sat down on the airlift stool, leaning his elbows onto the table.
“What may I get you sir?” The bartender asked, placing the blue green wineglass he had been wiping neatly by the rest of the glasses.
“One Manhattan.”
The bartender reached for a mixing glass. “A lover of the classic, huh?”
Jongin smiled slightly before shaking his head, raising his eyes from the bar table. He had never seen this person before; he must be new.
“No, just boring.”
“It would be nice to try something more daring,” the bartender said as he slid the wineglass over to Jongin. “How about a Maiden’s Blush or a Sub Zero after?”
“Maybe next time.”
That was the standard answer. Jongin alternated between drinks throughout the week, one for each day, but he never did try anything new. Nor did he drink two different cocktails in one night. The consistency was the only thing that tied him down to reality.
He sipped his drink slowly, letting the bitter taste of the drink burn his tongue as he eyed the dance floor packed with swaying bodies. The glaring disco lights made it hard to focus, especially after draining the first glass. He placed the cup on the table, vision blurring just a bit, and licked his lips.
“Another.”
The bartender wordlessly took the glass, and within minutes, Jongin felt the cool base sliding against his fingertips. He grabbed it, gaze not leaving the dance floor, though his eyes were unfocused, and brought it to his lips.
After the first gulp, he swiftly turned around to face the bartender, eyes narrowing as he set the glass in front of him.
“I asked for a Manhattan,” Jongin said in a low voice.
The bartender smiled slyly. “And I said it would be nice to try something else. Bellini.” He gestured at the drink.
Jongin raised an eyebrow at his audacity and warily eyed the champagne flute for a few more second before decidedly picking it up and taking another tentative sip.
“Not bad, huh?” The bartender asked, a tint of smugness coloring his voice.
Jongin grinned. “I’ve had better.”
He scowled playfully and furrowed his eyebrows before shrugging. “What can I say, I’m a novice at these things.”
“Your name?”
The bartender cocked his head, eyebrows furrowing.
“Just formalities and for the sake of curiousity,” Jongin said quickly, picking up the small movement.
The bartender relaxed and wiped his hands on the black apron strapped around his waist.
“Sehun,” he said, extending a hand.
Jongin took it and smiled. “Jongin. I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Hmm, a regular. Would you be surprised if I told you today was my first day?”
“Not bad for a first-timer,” Jongin replied, picking up his wineglass and swirling the clear, bubbling liquid. “Though a tad too insolent for your own good.”
Sehun grinned. “How long do you predict I’d last at this place?” He asked, leaning over the table so his face was level with Jongin’s.
Jongin noticed that Sehun's eyes were obsidian, so black they seemed to reflect the bright lights from behind him. He could smell the strawberry bubblegum he was chewing and the light scent of Clive Christian cologne.
“I’d say not over a week,” Jongin breathed softly. The Bellini was left untouched.
A week later, Jongin found himself sitting across from Sehun, watching the way he expertly shook the cocktail mixer. He thought Sehun had forgotten about what he’d said a week ago, until Sehun placed the drink before him.
“What was that you said about a week?” Sehun said teasingly.
“It appears that I was wrong,” Jongin replied, accepting the glass gratefully and taking a large gulp. The whiskey burned his throat, but he ignored it and instead fixed his eyes on Sehun.
Sehun gave a short laugh and gestured at the drink in Jongin’s hands. “The same? Why not something different?”
Because it’s Saturday. Saturdays were Manhattans.
“Because I’m boring,” Jongin said coolly.
Sehun frowned and watched as Jongin scanned the dance floor once more, elbows propped on the counter as his back faced Sehun.
“Hey.”
Jongin swiveled around at the sound of Sehun’s voice, eyes questioning. Sehun nodded at the shot glass sitting in front of him.
“Try it.”
Jongin picked it up, turning it around in his hands curiously. He looked up at Sehun. “What is it?”
“Screaming Orgasm.”
“Is that supposed to imply something?” Jongin grinned, lifting the cup but not taking a drink.
A light pink color dusted Sehun’s cheeks as he stared pointedly at Jongin. “No,” he said firmly. “It is not.”
Jongin chuckled and tapped his finger on his thigh, mind turning for a moment, before taking a drink from the cup. He set it down.
“Something wrong?” Sehun asked.
“No, not at all,” Jongin said nonchalantly, a small smile appearing.
“Are you not going to drink it?”
“Maybe later.”
“Mmm.”
Jongin turned back to watching the stream of people entering and exiting the door, tripping over themselves as their minds hazed from liquor. He absently wondered why they were here, why they decided to indulge themselves in alcohol and unconscious blurs on Christmas Eve, when they should be out with family and friends celebrating. He wondered if they were all like him, in need for a fantasy-esque Neverland, in need of understanding, yet too afraid to seek it out. Instead, they turned away from their fears and drowned themselves in litres after litres of ethanol in the form of self-reproach and regret.
He was shook out of his thoughts by a small “oh” from Sehun, and he looked up from the blue, marble tiles. The message Merry Christmas, Everyone! crawled across the LED boards surrounding the club. He could hear the fireworks go on outside over the loud, pulsing music, and he had half a mind to join the commotion in the streets. Computer generated fireworks began flashing on the boards as he shifted around to face Sehun.
The brightly colored lights reflected on Sehun’s pale skin, dousing him in a cloak of green and red, and Jongin knew that he looked equally as ridiculous. A playful smile danced across Sehun’s lips as his eyes curved into sweet crescents.
“Merry Christmas,” Sehun said.
Even with Bobby Helm’s Jingle Bells Rock blasting in the background, Jongin thought that he could hear Sehun’s voice loud and clear.
Christmas inched away and New Years rolled around the corner. It was Wednesday, and Jongin was back at Eldritch, watching Sehun laugh at a story told by a lady fresh from Los Angeles.
“-and I was just like, ‘What? Are you serious?’ And I couldn’t believe he laughed and really pissed on that guy’s car.”
Sehun’s laughter travelled around the servery to Jongin, and his own lips curled in the slightest way as he watched Sehun double over, chuckles shaking his whole body.
“Oh my God, did you hear that?” Sehun gasped as he left the woman and made his way back to Jongin.
“Her gay best friend took a piss on her ex-boyfriend’s car after he broke up with her. That is classic,” Sehun cried, shaking his head from laughter.
“I heard,” Jongin said good-naturedly. “Sounds fun.”
“Fun?” Sehun turned from the sink to Jongin, eyes wide with surprise. “Would you do something like that?”
Jongin shrugged. “If the time calls for it, sure. Why not?”
Sehun gawked at him. “You just don’t seem like the kind that would do that. You’re so… uptight. You’re like one of those businessmen who make it a point to glare at everyone who meets their eyes.”
“Uptight?” Jongin gave a humorless laugh. “I spent half my life at a club, drinking. How many CEOs do you see do that?”
Sehun raised an eyebrow and looked meaningfully around the bar. At least a dozen of thirty year old men clad in suits and formal attire were lounging around at the booths to the side of the club, away from the noise and dancing.
“They’re here for business purposes,” Jongin said, nodding at the pile of papers one of them was waving around, nearly shoving them in another man’s face. “None of them come alone and mope in a corner.”
“Are you moping?” Sehun asked, genuinely curious.
Jongin didn’t reply and merely pushed his glass towards Sehun. Wednesdays were Metropolitans. Sehun shook his head disapprovingly before setting about to brew the drink.
“Do I seem like I am?” Jongin asked after a while of silence, staring at the fizzing liquid in his champagne flute.
“Well, you’re alone, aren’t you?”
“That’s not an answer,” Jongin muttered.
“Honestly?” Sehun began. “You don’t seem like you’re moping at all. You seem like a fresh graduate, loaded with money from their family’s company, or corporation, or whatever, and are just here because this is where all the ‘cool’ people hang out.”
Jongin smiled at the air quotations Sehun made. “Maybe I am.”
Sehun scoffed. “You sure dress like one. Armani dress shirt? Gucci tie? Who wears that to a club?”
Jongin frowned at his purple shirt and aptly matched black tie. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“You’re at a club, not a business meeting. Can’t you come wearing normal clothing?”
“If you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a normal club,” Jongin said pointedly. “It’s a fireplace fueled by sickly colored alcohol for those with money to burn.” He flashed Sehun a smile. “And I happen to fall into that category.”
Sehun scoffed again, and Jongin thought that he could just hear the “whatever” Sehun muttered under his breath. Jongin smiled and picked up his drink, a Vesper, and took a sip. He let the mixture of gin and vodka burn his taste buds as he laughed silently at Sehun trip over a towel lying on the floor.
It’s only when he arrived home did he realize that his tie was a solid black, no logo in sight.
“Why do you come here so often?”
Jongin paused in scrolling through his e-mails on his phone. The question was going to come some time. It was a Monday in February, over a month from the first time Sehun mixed Jongin a Manhattan. He gulped down his glass of Stinger and gestured for Sehun to refill the cup.
Sehun gave a huff before grabbing his cocktail mixer.
“So?” He prompted as he shook the mixer, eyes trained on Jongin.
“Everyone needs a drink after a stressful day of work.” Jongin picked through his words carefully, not meeting Sehun’s gaze.
“No one sits in silence until the sun rises. And besides, don’t you have to go to work in the morning? How can you afford to stay at a club, drinking, until four in the morning?”
“I work in the afternoons.”
“And you get off when? Ten? Ten-thirty? An awfully short work day, if you ask me.”
Jongin looked up. “Are you interrogating me?” He asked with an amused smile.
Sehun blinked at him for a moment, taken back. “No?” He replied uncertainly.
“Good.” Jongin smiled. “’Cause I don’t do well in interrogations.”
Sehun nodded once, before turning away stiffly to serve another customer. The rest of the night was spent in silence, and Jongin resumed his task of watching and observing and wondering about the lives of others. By the time people began trickling out of the club, it was already three thirty in the morning, about time for Jongin to head home.
He had just gotten up, having left a tip on the counter for Sehun, and was about to leave, when he heard Sehun say, “You drank it.”
Jongin turned around, eyes questioning. Sehun was looking at the glass.
“You drank the Orange Blossom. Mondays are Stingers.”
As Jongin sat in the backseat of his limo, he thought back to the weeks he’d spent at Eldritch with Sehun, and realized that maybe, just maybe, his bounded routine was about to crack.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. Not joking at all.”
Jongin groaned and buried his head in his arms, unwilling to look at the newspaper shoved in his face by his consigliere, secretary, and best friend, Chanyeol.
“I thought you said you took care of it.” Jongin’s whine came out muffled.
“Apparently, the reporter was from a different publishing corporation, so the check was returned with a letter expressing only pure bewilderment,” Chanyeol said apologetically, laying the newspaper down on Jongin’s desk neatly. “My bad. Sorry?”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Jongin snapped, looking up from his arms. “How the hell are we going to cover up a ten-people shooting that’s now broadcasted to the general public?”
Chanyeol shrugged and gave him a sheepish grin. Jongin glared at him, then at the newspapers sitting on his desk, the headlines Shooting at Los Angeles-caused by Rosacea? in large font across the front. The letters of his family’s name swam in front of his eyes for a moment before he shook his head, a desperate attempt to clear it.
“You know what,” Jongin said, getting up and gathering his papers. “You take care of this. This is totally your fault; I have nothing to do with this. I’m leaving.”
“What? But it’s only six! I thought we were going out for dinner,” Chanyeol called after Jongin.
“Screw dinner, I need a shot of vodka now.”
“Actually…” Chanyeol began slowly. “You might have to rethink that.”
Jongin froze, hand placed on the door of his office.
“Why?” He asked, voice dangerous as he turned slowly around.
“I may or may not have agreed to your father’s dinner invitation,” he replied cheerfully. “On your behalf.”
Jongin groaned. “I hate you,” he growled. “I hate you so much. Why are you my friend. I hate you.”
“Shut up and go get ready. He’s picking you up in half an hour.”
“Go to hell.”
Jongin hated dinner parties with his father, mainly because the dinner party wasn’t really a party, but an interrogation of what Jongin’s been doing for the last couple of months. It was always a somber affair, and there was little noise save for the clinking of silverware and short, blunt questions asked by his father. His mother would stay silent through the whole affair, offering Jongin encouraging smiles from time to time. Chanyeol would sit across from Jongin, trying to look like he was sorry.
“So, Jongin, tell me about how information of the shooting got leaked to the newspaper firm,” his father said.
His voice was amiable enough, but Jongin could hear the underlying blames between the words. He chewed slowly on his salad and quietly placed his fork down.
“We-”
Chanyeol cleared his throat. “Sir, actually, that was my fault. I didn’t check the background of the journalist careful enough and ended up sending the money to the wrong newspaper company. It had nothing to do with Jongin. The only fault on his part was perhaps trusting me.” He gave a small laugh.
“Ah, but it is his responsibility to check over the work of his secretary, is it not? It seems to me that Jongin has been slacking off,” his father said lightly, looking at Jongin.
He gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yes father. I will be more careful from now on.”
“Bu-” Chanyeol began.
Jongin silenced him with a look. When he glanced at his father, he saw him looking at him with eyes that flowed with discontent.
He returned to Eldritch that night, stumbling through the doors one in the morning, already tipsy with the shots of whiskey he took in the limo. His drink that night was not his usual Metropolitan, but some strong, obscure drink Sehun had brewed for him. It was sweet, the bitter taste lost in the bottomless sea that was his heart.
It was called Diamond Tears, Sehun said.
Aptly named, Jongin thought. Aptly named indeed.
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