Blame it on the Alcohol
Title: Blame it on the Alcohol
Length: Chaptered; (1/3)
Author: intricateorchid
Rating: Rated PG-13 for swears and sexual innuendos. May progress.
Pairing: Jonghyun/Kibum
Summary: Jonghyun is a bartender.
The day Jonghyun meets Kibum is unlike any others.
He goes to work as usual. Driving in the same flashy, black car, passing the same broken streetlight in the road (the fourth one down, he counts), parking in his same designated area. SHINee is no different when he walks in, either. The place is yet to be filled with people, but it has that same particular ambiance. It is sleek. Sophisticated. Exclusive.
Just another day, he thinks to himself.
But as he changes into his work attire-black shoes, dark pants, and a sharp white dress shirt topped with SHINee’s trademark scarlet waistcoat. Gotta look good for the customers-there is this odd feeling at the back of his head. It is a strange sense of anxiety mixed with a bit of dread, like that chill he gets before entering a doctor’s office. Something is going to happen today. It is an inexplicable feeling, but he is sure of it. He could just tell things like this.
When the doors open and the lights dim, Jonghyun takes his position at the bar, grinning and putting on his best face for the customers. They arrive only after charming security with their elite membership cards and their trendy purses stuffed to the brim with cold, hard cash. Upon entering, they head straight to the main attraction, the heart of SHINee, which steals attention away from the suede couches, the shiny tiles of the dance floor, and the oddly-shaped glass tables. The bar is bright and flashy, shelves overflowing with towers of alcohol, ranging from the cheap generic brand of beer to the expensive Ritz cognac. The crowd is not focused on the liquor, though. Instead, they are watching the men employees behind the bar table. Handsome, stunning, young men.
But only one has the spotlight.
It is him.
His brown-blond hair sticks out among the other workers, but it fits in perfectly with the black and red, modernistic feel of the lounge-that’s all it is, a blur of black, red, white, and his brown-blond. Many stop halfway between their conversations to take a look at his dexterous hands, at his skilled fingers gripped around the cool metal of the cocktail shaker. He is done with an order within a minute, but he takes some extra time for that sprig of mint, that slice of lemon, that salted rim of the margarita glass. Once his work is finished and his customers are satisfied-a glass in one hand, their own expensive smokes in the other-Jonghyun waits. He waits and stares at the digital clock hanging above the glass doors, counting every small flash of the numbers. It was routine.
10:42 PM.
The customers will start filling up the dance floor anytime now, he reasons, their sanity thrown away along with the alcohol they chugged down. And sure enough, when the clock flashes the bright red numbers 10:46, empty glasses are left on the table and the crowd makes their way over to the other side of the room, bodies moving to the harsh, thumping beat. The alcohol overrides all of their senses. It is a drug. It is a potion. Jonghyun has seen it; the shy, reserved business woman that sits on the edge of the couch, yanking her bun down after a martini or two, long hair coming down in waves. She makes her way to the center of the dance floor, chest bursting with confidence and alcohol, body teasing as she moves sensually to the quick rhythm. Any bit of professionalism that she had before is hurled out the window.
Other customers come back to Jonghyun, thirsty for more poison and he happily obliges. As for those that don’t dance, drunk or not, they stay in front of the bar table, guzzling down drink after drink after drink. It is then that Jonghyun puts on his charming smile and socializes with them (as is part of his job), carefully twisting his words accordingly to the patron. He categorizes them by their drinks. Red wine? Snobby, not really much of a drinker. Flirt with the women, flatter the men. Scotch? A working man, most likely. Don’t talk too frivolously. Jagerbombs? Keep count of how much they’re drinking. Knives and other potential weapons should be out of their reach.
Jonghyun thinks it is pretty funny how he gets to see different sides to these people. Sides their mother probably doesn’t even know. It was painful sometimes, trying to console someone after they have lost their job. It was painful trying to keep an open ear to the drunk girl that rambles on and on about how, “Oh my god, she just like, totally stole my dress.” Mostly, it was painful trying to stay positive when they end up bawling over their love life.
“Suck it up, and move on,” he wishes to say.
But Jonghyun offers them a free drink and gives them some love advice. It doesn’t work out too well. Jonghyun has never really been in a relationship so he doesn’t have any experience to base his advice on. He has never been in an official one, at least. He is, after all, happily married to his work. In the end, he doesn’t want to be like these customers, wailing about how “so-and-so cheated on me with another girl!” (Or guy, in some cases. Or both.)
After the 12th returning customer crying over another relationship gone wrong-12:06 AM, the clock says-Jonghyun considers becoming a psychologist. He is sure that 4 years of working in the bartending business has taught him more than Psychology 101 could ever teach. No matter what though, he still keeps that grin on, pearly whites showing as he serves them another drink to drown their problems away.
It is around the 19th customer that another face shows up. A new face.
“White Zinfandel, please,” a voice shouts from the end of the table.
Jonghyun grabs a wine glass without sparing the customer a glance.
“Coming right up!”
He randomly selects an old bottle of Zinfandel wine from one of the bottom shelves, neglected for the more popular drinks.
White Zinfandel.
Does he know what this suggests?
The bottle is uncorked and poured into a chilled glass, clear, pink liquid swirling down into the cup. Jonghyun has to remark that the wine is quite pretty when the lights hit it in such a way. But it is something that he will never be caught drinking. Ever.
He puts on that charming smile of his again, walking over to the customer, White Zinfandel in hand.
A newcomer.
The customer’s face is turned away, too entranced by the moving bodies on the dance floor to pay any attention to him. But from what Jonghyun can see, the man is rather young. He is probably around his age. It is a surprising to see such a young person in a bar like this, especially such an upscale bar that was limited to only the wealthiest and most renowned. But Jonghyun thinks the man doesn’t seem out of place at all. His attire fits in perfectly with the expensive surroundings.
A silk suit, the bartender remarks.
That isn’t entirely unexpected. White Zinfandels and silk suits go together pretty well.
Jonghyun clears his throat.
“Here you go, sir.”
The man is pulled out of his trance with the clink of the wine glass against the table, face now squared with Jonghyun.
“Ah, thanks,” he speaks quietly, flashing a small smile at the bartender in front of him.
Jonghyun notices that it is here again. That feeling is here. Jonghyun doesn’t know why, but he starts to feel that same bubbling inside the stomach that happened in the dressing room. He thinks it might be him. It might be the new guy. Jonghyun has to admit that the man is quite handsome. Although he clearly screams “male,” he has several facial features that are more feminine. It suits him. Jonghyun oddly thinks that this man has a strange sexual appeal. His tousled asymmetrical cut gives him this sexy “just-out-of-bed” look that clashes nicely with the tasteful suit he has on. He is cool and refined. Intimidating. A man that knows just what he wanted and just how to get it.
The man is a beauty.
Jonghyun feels like he is up for a challenge. A new mysterious customer. A new case to crack. He wants to talk to this new face. To get to know him. To become friends. To see if he has an alternate personality after a sip of alcohol. Jonghyun can’t explain the reasoning behind his thought (there is none, he figures). At the moment though, he decides to just go with that nervous feeling in his gut and talk to the man before he gets away.
And Jonghyun approaches the black-haired customer, palms tinged with sweat. His eyes never leave the man as he walks, observing how the man's head throws back with every slow, tentative sip of the White Zinfandel, and how his long fingers curls around the stem of the wine glass.
Four years of practice. That means Jonghyun should have this under his belt.
“So… how’s your night coming along?”
He clearly doesn’t.
The customer spares him a short glance before placing the glass softly onto the table, lips curling slightly.
“Just fine,” he replies, uninterested in whatever it is the bartender has to say.
Jonghyun nods at the man’s answer, hands groping for the towel stuck in his back pocket. He absentmindedly wipes the counter as he thinks of the next question-don’t let him get away, Jonghyun!-as if the washcloth can wipe away the awkward tension that rose between them. Small sneaky glances are snuck towards the customer every time an inch is toweled down; the man is turned away, wine glass up to his lips.
“How is it?”
An eyebrow rises.
“The White Zinfandel, I mean.”
“It’s fine,” the customer murmurs into the glass.
Another nod. More wiping with his towel.
“I advise you not to drink that in public, though,” Jonghyun adds. At least the conversation is going somewhere now.
When he looks up from his excessive table-rubbing, the eyebrow is raised yet again, wine glass down this time, as if it is daring him to continue. And like the idiot he is-
“Let’s just say, typical drinkers of White Zinfandel aren’t exactly straight.”
Silence.
“Who said I was?”
Oh.
Embarrassed, Jonghyun returns to his work, hands rubbing diligently at the invisible stain he swears he can see on the table. There is a blur in front of him, the wine glass he assumes, but he is much too busy wiping away at that stain. That stupid, stupid stain that will not fucking go away (along with the awkwardness that was in the air). While he is rubbing, he fails to notice the pale slender fingers that reach in front of him for the glass. It is only after a small flash of movement that Jonghyun looks up to see the man there, the rim of the wine glass placed teasingly against his wide smirk. And with a small throw of his head, the White Zinfandel is chugged down. Mocked. Kim Jonghyun is being mocked by this bitch.
“May I have another glass of White Zinfandel, Mr. Bartender?” the man taunts, shoving the empty glass at his face.
With a snatch of the object and a scathing, “Why certainly,” Jonghyun turns on his heels and grabs that dusty bottle of wine from the bottom shelf. The wine glass is set down with a loud clank in front of the customer, and after a loud pop of the cork, the pink alcohol refills the glass.
“Just leave the bottle here,” the voice says, and he looks up to see that sarcastic grin on the customer’s face, sharp eyes ridiculing him yet again.
Jonghyun doesn’t think he wants to get know this guy anymore.
--
It was after a bottle and a half (and the turn of the clock to 1:52 AM) that the man starts to show outward signs of being drunk. After several wipes of martini glasses and sneaky glances at the male customer, Jonghyun notices it. A small red tint on his cheeks. The hold on the glass isn’t confident anymore but clumsy and sloppy. Sips of wine became outright glugs, entire goblets of liquid consumed in two gulps flat.
Jonghyun decides to give this one more try.
He always did seem to talk to people better when they were drunk.
“How’s it goin’?” he attempts again.
He receives a legitimate answer this time.
“LOVE. SUCKS,” the raven-haired man drawls, taking a long swig from the wine glass. With a loud slam of the empty cup, he seizes the bottle nearby and pours himself yet another drink.
Relationship problems are something Jonghyun wants to avoid (that’s why he rarely talks to women when they are drunk), but for the sake of conversation with this man, he listens. He wants to know who got him all riled up; who managed to upset the man who seemed so confident and well-put. He wants to know who got under this man’s skin and how he managed to do so. Jonghyun wants to learn from that person and do the same thing.
“Yeah?” he asks in reply. “How so?”
Not much is made from the drunken slurs besides “Jinki,” (a name, he figured) and a string of curses.
“Straight, my ass,” the man mutters, grabbing the Zinfandel bottle by the neck and refilling his glass once again. Jonghyun pretends he understood and nods along to the customer’s complaints about this “Jinki,” whoever it is, that denied the person’s affections.
Another long drink is poured, mingled with the man’s noisy sigh.
“Y’ever been in love?” the man questions. Jonghyun holds his breath.
“Because you don’t seem like you have.”
He realizes that even for being drunk, the guy is pretty sharp.
Jonghyun mutters a quiet “no”. Now that he thinks about it, it is embarrassing for a man his age to be inexperienced in love. The twenties should be the prime of one’s life-drinking, partying, traveling. Dating, making love, breaking up. Bartending has always been a main focus. With it, he never feels as though he needed anything else. His social life is fine. Bartending gives him friends from all different social circles.
But could bartending give him love?
The customer stops in the middle of drinking, eyes staring at him from behind the White Zinfandel. No words are said. No words are needed to be said. It is simple acknowledgment. He understands.
“How’s that feel?” A drunken whisper Jonghyun thinks he imagines.
He shrugs.
“How does loving feel?”
The man shrugs also.
--
Empty. The second bottle of wine is empty and the dance floor gradually empties out as well. It is then that the alcohol starts to settle in.
2:34 AM.
The crowd slowly starts to leave, some requesting one last drink before they ditch the night life and wake up for work the next morning. He is still at the corner of the bar table though, bottle empty but glass left with a few remaining drops of White Zinfandel.
Jonghyun knows it is against bartending rules to encourage already drunk customers to drink more, but there is something he needs to try. When the place grows nearly vacant, that’s when he gets to work. Bottles of grenadine, cream, flavored syrups, and various liqueurs are pulled out of the shelves. I hope this works, he prays to himself.
The chilled highball glass is grabbed from underneath the counter and each bottle is carefully poured into the cup. As he pours the alcohol, he calculates. He calculates just the right amount of this liquor to give it substance, and just the right amount of this syrup to be sweet without overbearing. Great care is taken in his work. The liquids are poured slowly, trickling down the sides of the glass to form soft gradients of color.
“On the house,” he remarks to the raven-haired man, passing him the newly created drink.
The man blinks out of his drunken stupor for a minute and stares in wonder at the drink with layers and layers of color. They are the colors of love, he thinks. White-pure and innocent. Pink-sweet, romantic, and still premature. Red-deep and passionate. And a slight tint of purple-love that is entirely spiritual. He glances up at the bartender, almost shyly, and the unfinished glass of wine is left on the table, ignored as he reaches over to grab the bartender’s new creation.
“Whas ‘tis?” he asks, tongue still numbed with alcohol, eyes gazing at the liquid tiers.
“I call it a Love Potion,” the bartender says proudly. “Go on. Try it.”
The customer carefully lifts the glass, as though he doesn’t want to upset the pretty layers of alcohol. He slowly tilts the cup forward to his lips and takes a short, tentative sip.
It is sweet and fruity. But there is a bite. A sharp but pleasant bite.
Perhaps this is what love tastes like.
“For someone t’at dunno what love’s like, y’ got the idea down pretty well,” the man slurs as the drink further saturates his tongue.
Jonghyun smiles.
After a couple more sips of the drink, the man pays the bartender, stumbles through the glass doors of SHINee, and leaves. As Jonghyun cleans up, he finds that the glass, the Love Potion, is still half-full. The smooth gradients of alcohol are gone. The colors are now muddled into an intense shade of scarlet. He wonders, perhaps, whether the man meant for him to drink the rest of this.
With a shrug, Jonghyun downs the rest of the drink.
--
A/N: I was planning for this to be a oneshot, but I wanted their relationship to build a bit more steadily, so I'm planning for it to be about 3-4 chapters. No more, I hope. ^^; (Because that's when I'll start to flake.) I really love the idea of being a bartender, that's why I was really excited about writing something like this. To be honest though, I had to do a lot of research to get this started. I hope my sources are all correct. ^^; (Yes, they can really judge according to what drink you order.)
TL;DR: Thank you so much for reading! Comments are really really appreciated! <3
Length: Chaptered; (1/3)
Author: intricateorchid
Rating: Rated PG-13 for swears and sexual innuendos. May progress.
Pairing: Jonghyun/Kibum
Summary: Jonghyun is a bartender.
The day Jonghyun meets Kibum is unlike any others.
He goes to work as usual. Driving in the same flashy, black car, passing the same broken streetlight in the road (the fourth one down, he counts), parking in his same designated area. SHINee is no different when he walks in, either. The place is yet to be filled with people, but it has that same particular ambiance. It is sleek. Sophisticated. Exclusive.
Just another day, he thinks to himself.
But as he changes into his work attire-black shoes, dark pants, and a sharp white dress shirt topped with SHINee’s trademark scarlet waistcoat. Gotta look good for the customers-there is this odd feeling at the back of his head. It is a strange sense of anxiety mixed with a bit of dread, like that chill he gets before entering a doctor’s office. Something is going to happen today. It is an inexplicable feeling, but he is sure of it. He could just tell things like this.
When the doors open and the lights dim, Jonghyun takes his position at the bar, grinning and putting on his best face for the customers. They arrive only after charming security with their elite membership cards and their trendy purses stuffed to the brim with cold, hard cash. Upon entering, they head straight to the main attraction, the heart of SHINee, which steals attention away from the suede couches, the shiny tiles of the dance floor, and the oddly-shaped glass tables. The bar is bright and flashy, shelves overflowing with towers of alcohol, ranging from the cheap generic brand of beer to the expensive Ritz cognac. The crowd is not focused on the liquor, though. Instead, they are watching the men employees behind the bar table. Handsome, stunning, young men.
But only one has the spotlight.
It is him.
His brown-blond hair sticks out among the other workers, but it fits in perfectly with the black and red, modernistic feel of the lounge-that’s all it is, a blur of black, red, white, and his brown-blond. Many stop halfway between their conversations to take a look at his dexterous hands, at his skilled fingers gripped around the cool metal of the cocktail shaker. He is done with an order within a minute, but he takes some extra time for that sprig of mint, that slice of lemon, that salted rim of the margarita glass. Once his work is finished and his customers are satisfied-a glass in one hand, their own expensive smokes in the other-Jonghyun waits. He waits and stares at the digital clock hanging above the glass doors, counting every small flash of the numbers. It was routine.
10:42 PM.
The customers will start filling up the dance floor anytime now, he reasons, their sanity thrown away along with the alcohol they chugged down. And sure enough, when the clock flashes the bright red numbers 10:46, empty glasses are left on the table and the crowd makes their way over to the other side of the room, bodies moving to the harsh, thumping beat. The alcohol overrides all of their senses. It is a drug. It is a potion. Jonghyun has seen it; the shy, reserved business woman that sits on the edge of the couch, yanking her bun down after a martini or two, long hair coming down in waves. She makes her way to the center of the dance floor, chest bursting with confidence and alcohol, body teasing as she moves sensually to the quick rhythm. Any bit of professionalism that she had before is hurled out the window.
Other customers come back to Jonghyun, thirsty for more poison and he happily obliges. As for those that don’t dance, drunk or not, they stay in front of the bar table, guzzling down drink after drink after drink. It is then that Jonghyun puts on his charming smile and socializes with them (as is part of his job), carefully twisting his words accordingly to the patron. He categorizes them by their drinks. Red wine? Snobby, not really much of a drinker. Flirt with the women, flatter the men. Scotch? A working man, most likely. Don’t talk too frivolously. Jagerbombs? Keep count of how much they’re drinking. Knives and other potential weapons should be out of their reach.
Jonghyun thinks it is pretty funny how he gets to see different sides to these people. Sides their mother probably doesn’t even know. It was painful sometimes, trying to console someone after they have lost their job. It was painful trying to keep an open ear to the drunk girl that rambles on and on about how, “Oh my god, she just like, totally stole my dress.” Mostly, it was painful trying to stay positive when they end up bawling over their love life.
“Suck it up, and move on,” he wishes to say.
But Jonghyun offers them a free drink and gives them some love advice. It doesn’t work out too well. Jonghyun has never really been in a relationship so he doesn’t have any experience to base his advice on. He has never been in an official one, at least. He is, after all, happily married to his work. In the end, he doesn’t want to be like these customers, wailing about how “so-and-so cheated on me with another girl!” (Or guy, in some cases. Or both.)
After the 12th returning customer crying over another relationship gone wrong-12:06 AM, the clock says-Jonghyun considers becoming a psychologist. He is sure that 4 years of working in the bartending business has taught him more than Psychology 101 could ever teach. No matter what though, he still keeps that grin on, pearly whites showing as he serves them another drink to drown their problems away.
It is around the 19th customer that another face shows up. A new face.
“White Zinfandel, please,” a voice shouts from the end of the table.
Jonghyun grabs a wine glass without sparing the customer a glance.
“Coming right up!”
He randomly selects an old bottle of Zinfandel wine from one of the bottom shelves, neglected for the more popular drinks.
White Zinfandel.
Does he know what this suggests?
The bottle is uncorked and poured into a chilled glass, clear, pink liquid swirling down into the cup. Jonghyun has to remark that the wine is quite pretty when the lights hit it in such a way. But it is something that he will never be caught drinking. Ever.
He puts on that charming smile of his again, walking over to the customer, White Zinfandel in hand.
A newcomer.
The customer’s face is turned away, too entranced by the moving bodies on the dance floor to pay any attention to him. But from what Jonghyun can see, the man is rather young. He is probably around his age. It is a surprising to see such a young person in a bar like this, especially such an upscale bar that was limited to only the wealthiest and most renowned. But Jonghyun thinks the man doesn’t seem out of place at all. His attire fits in perfectly with the expensive surroundings.
A silk suit, the bartender remarks.
That isn’t entirely unexpected. White Zinfandels and silk suits go together pretty well.
Jonghyun clears his throat.
“Here you go, sir.”
The man is pulled out of his trance with the clink of the wine glass against the table, face now squared with Jonghyun.
“Ah, thanks,” he speaks quietly, flashing a small smile at the bartender in front of him.
Jonghyun notices that it is here again. That feeling is here. Jonghyun doesn’t know why, but he starts to feel that same bubbling inside the stomach that happened in the dressing room. He thinks it might be him. It might be the new guy. Jonghyun has to admit that the man is quite handsome. Although he clearly screams “male,” he has several facial features that are more feminine. It suits him. Jonghyun oddly thinks that this man has a strange sexual appeal. His tousled asymmetrical cut gives him this sexy “just-out-of-bed” look that clashes nicely with the tasteful suit he has on. He is cool and refined. Intimidating. A man that knows just what he wanted and just how to get it.
The man is a beauty.
Jonghyun feels like he is up for a challenge. A new mysterious customer. A new case to crack. He wants to talk to this new face. To get to know him. To become friends. To see if he has an alternate personality after a sip of alcohol. Jonghyun can’t explain the reasoning behind his thought (there is none, he figures). At the moment though, he decides to just go with that nervous feeling in his gut and talk to the man before he gets away.
And Jonghyun approaches the black-haired customer, palms tinged with sweat. His eyes never leave the man as he walks, observing how the man's head throws back with every slow, tentative sip of the White Zinfandel, and how his long fingers curls around the stem of the wine glass.
Four years of practice. That means Jonghyun should have this under his belt.
“So… how’s your night coming along?”
He clearly doesn’t.
The customer spares him a short glance before placing the glass softly onto the table, lips curling slightly.
“Just fine,” he replies, uninterested in whatever it is the bartender has to say.
Jonghyun nods at the man’s answer, hands groping for the towel stuck in his back pocket. He absentmindedly wipes the counter as he thinks of the next question-don’t let him get away, Jonghyun!-as if the washcloth can wipe away the awkward tension that rose between them. Small sneaky glances are snuck towards the customer every time an inch is toweled down; the man is turned away, wine glass up to his lips.
“How is it?”
An eyebrow rises.
“The White Zinfandel, I mean.”
“It’s fine,” the customer murmurs into the glass.
Another nod. More wiping with his towel.
“I advise you not to drink that in public, though,” Jonghyun adds. At least the conversation is going somewhere now.
When he looks up from his excessive table-rubbing, the eyebrow is raised yet again, wine glass down this time, as if it is daring him to continue. And like the idiot he is-
“Let’s just say, typical drinkers of White Zinfandel aren’t exactly straight.”
Silence.
“Who said I was?”
Oh.
Embarrassed, Jonghyun returns to his work, hands rubbing diligently at the invisible stain he swears he can see on the table. There is a blur in front of him, the wine glass he assumes, but he is much too busy wiping away at that stain. That stupid, stupid stain that will not fucking go away (along with the awkwardness that was in the air). While he is rubbing, he fails to notice the pale slender fingers that reach in front of him for the glass. It is only after a small flash of movement that Jonghyun looks up to see the man there, the rim of the wine glass placed teasingly against his wide smirk. And with a small throw of his head, the White Zinfandel is chugged down. Mocked. Kim Jonghyun is being mocked by this bitch.
“May I have another glass of White Zinfandel, Mr. Bartender?” the man taunts, shoving the empty glass at his face.
With a snatch of the object and a scathing, “Why certainly,” Jonghyun turns on his heels and grabs that dusty bottle of wine from the bottom shelf. The wine glass is set down with a loud clank in front of the customer, and after a loud pop of the cork, the pink alcohol refills the glass.
“Just leave the bottle here,” the voice says, and he looks up to see that sarcastic grin on the customer’s face, sharp eyes ridiculing him yet again.
Jonghyun doesn’t think he wants to get know this guy anymore.
--
It was after a bottle and a half (and the turn of the clock to 1:52 AM) that the man starts to show outward signs of being drunk. After several wipes of martini glasses and sneaky glances at the male customer, Jonghyun notices it. A small red tint on his cheeks. The hold on the glass isn’t confident anymore but clumsy and sloppy. Sips of wine became outright glugs, entire goblets of liquid consumed in two gulps flat.
Jonghyun decides to give this one more try.
He always did seem to talk to people better when they were drunk.
“How’s it goin’?” he attempts again.
He receives a legitimate answer this time.
“LOVE. SUCKS,” the raven-haired man drawls, taking a long swig from the wine glass. With a loud slam of the empty cup, he seizes the bottle nearby and pours himself yet another drink.
Relationship problems are something Jonghyun wants to avoid (that’s why he rarely talks to women when they are drunk), but for the sake of conversation with this man, he listens. He wants to know who got him all riled up; who managed to upset the man who seemed so confident and well-put. He wants to know who got under this man’s skin and how he managed to do so. Jonghyun wants to learn from that person and do the same thing.
“Yeah?” he asks in reply. “How so?”
Not much is made from the drunken slurs besides “Jinki,” (a name, he figured) and a string of curses.
“Straight, my ass,” the man mutters, grabbing the Zinfandel bottle by the neck and refilling his glass once again. Jonghyun pretends he understood and nods along to the customer’s complaints about this “Jinki,” whoever it is, that denied the person’s affections.
Another long drink is poured, mingled with the man’s noisy sigh.
“Y’ever been in love?” the man questions. Jonghyun holds his breath.
“Because you don’t seem like you have.”
He realizes that even for being drunk, the guy is pretty sharp.
Jonghyun mutters a quiet “no”. Now that he thinks about it, it is embarrassing for a man his age to be inexperienced in love. The twenties should be the prime of one’s life-drinking, partying, traveling. Dating, making love, breaking up. Bartending has always been a main focus. With it, he never feels as though he needed anything else. His social life is fine. Bartending gives him friends from all different social circles.
But could bartending give him love?
The customer stops in the middle of drinking, eyes staring at him from behind the White Zinfandel. No words are said. No words are needed to be said. It is simple acknowledgment. He understands.
“How’s that feel?” A drunken whisper Jonghyun thinks he imagines.
He shrugs.
“How does loving feel?”
The man shrugs also.
--
Empty. The second bottle of wine is empty and the dance floor gradually empties out as well. It is then that the alcohol starts to settle in.
2:34 AM.
The crowd slowly starts to leave, some requesting one last drink before they ditch the night life and wake up for work the next morning. He is still at the corner of the bar table though, bottle empty but glass left with a few remaining drops of White Zinfandel.
Jonghyun knows it is against bartending rules to encourage already drunk customers to drink more, but there is something he needs to try. When the place grows nearly vacant, that’s when he gets to work. Bottles of grenadine, cream, flavored syrups, and various liqueurs are pulled out of the shelves. I hope this works, he prays to himself.
The chilled highball glass is grabbed from underneath the counter and each bottle is carefully poured into the cup. As he pours the alcohol, he calculates. He calculates just the right amount of this liquor to give it substance, and just the right amount of this syrup to be sweet without overbearing. Great care is taken in his work. The liquids are poured slowly, trickling down the sides of the glass to form soft gradients of color.
“On the house,” he remarks to the raven-haired man, passing him the newly created drink.
The man blinks out of his drunken stupor for a minute and stares in wonder at the drink with layers and layers of color. They are the colors of love, he thinks. White-pure and innocent. Pink-sweet, romantic, and still premature. Red-deep and passionate. And a slight tint of purple-love that is entirely spiritual. He glances up at the bartender, almost shyly, and the unfinished glass of wine is left on the table, ignored as he reaches over to grab the bartender’s new creation.
“Whas ‘tis?” he asks, tongue still numbed with alcohol, eyes gazing at the liquid tiers.
“I call it a Love Potion,” the bartender says proudly. “Go on. Try it.”
The customer carefully lifts the glass, as though he doesn’t want to upset the pretty layers of alcohol. He slowly tilts the cup forward to his lips and takes a short, tentative sip.
It is sweet and fruity. But there is a bite. A sharp but pleasant bite.
Perhaps this is what love tastes like.
“For someone t’at dunno what love’s like, y’ got the idea down pretty well,” the man slurs as the drink further saturates his tongue.
Jonghyun smiles.
After a couple more sips of the drink, the man pays the bartender, stumbles through the glass doors of SHINee, and leaves. As Jonghyun cleans up, he finds that the glass, the Love Potion, is still half-full. The smooth gradients of alcohol are gone. The colors are now muddled into an intense shade of scarlet. He wonders, perhaps, whether the man meant for him to drink the rest of this.
With a shrug, Jonghyun downs the rest of the drink.
--
A/N: I was planning for this to be a oneshot, but I wanted their relationship to build a bit more steadily, so I'm planning for it to be about 3-4 chapters. No more, I hope. ^^; (Because that's when I'll start to flake.) I really love the idea of being a bartender, that's why I was really excited about writing something like this. To be honest though, I had to do a lot of research to get this started. I hope my sources are all correct. ^^; (Yes, they can really judge according to what drink you order.)
TL;DR: Thank you so much for reading! Comments are really really appreciated! <3