At first glance, you thought it was a cowboy hat. You had initially scoffed inside your mind when you spotted the man with the hat on as he perched himself on the stool. Granted, it was only out of the corner of your eye, but it really did look like a cowboy hat. Not being an expert on hats, you didn’t deign a second look worthwhile, instead opting to stare into the flickering reflection of candlelight in your glass of whiskey. So what if a man decided to wear his hat at a bar? A big, huge cowboy hat at that too. Men who wear those don’t ever seem to want to take them off, so why should he? 

“Bourbon, neat, please.” A smooth, rich melody glided into your ears, drawing your eyes to the man in the black hat. It was then that you realized it wasn’t a cowboy hat– the rim was flat rather than curved at the sides, and the top was missing the signature canyon down the middle. Oh, was the only thing that your mind could come up with as the man took a hand enrobed in a leather glove, and grabbed the headwear and lifted it off his head. It dripped a singular tear onto the counter as the man set it down. The gloves joined it next, revealing slender, delicate looking hands. 

You didn’t have the time to guess on the type of hat it was– not that you knew much about hats, anyway. No, your eyes wandered from the hat, down his slender fingers, and up his arm, past his jacket-clad shoulder, to his inhumanly sharp jawline.  The dim lighting of the bar must be playing with your eyes, you thought, no one could be as gorgeous as this man that sat five seats from you. Full, pink lips were with a flash of a tongue, a straight nose gliding your eyes to his, dark and tinged with weariness. His features were held together with a delicate air of grace that truly captured your attention. 

“Long day, Mr. Byun?” The bartender asked as he handed the man his drink. Slim fingers traced the tulip shape of the glass. A tumble of unamused laughter escaped pink lips. 

“You could say that.” His voice matched exactly what he appeared– angelic, but with a suggestion of dark intrigue. 

You took a moment to tear your gaze away from Mr. Byun, self aware of the fact that you were staring– something you knew was against common etiquette. You look into your glass once again, no longer finding the flashes of gold and diamond captivating. You raise your glass to your lips, taking a sip, feeling the warmth slide down your throat in a velvety, vanilla cascade. The soft jazz music slid into a bass solo, the deep rumbling notes becoming a backdrop of sophistication. 

The place seemed enveloped in luxurious subtlety. It was the first time you had visited the little bar, stumbling upon it on your way home. It didn’t have a neon sign as most places around it did, opting only to have a quiet wood plaque embraced in warm lamplight. Maybe it was the promise of silence that drew you closer, maybe it was the whisper of mystery that caught your heart and lured you in. Whatever it was, it had brought you inside, sat you down and prompted you to nurse a scotch on the rocks. You had taken in the dark forest green walls, generously adorned with gold-framed renaissance paintings, the chandeliers that wept drops of crystal, the painstakingly polished dark oak furnishings, and you immediately decided you would become a regular here. 

The exquisite ambiance was embodied by the man the bartender knew by name. Your eyes found their way to him again, this time through the mirror between the shelves of liquor. You watched as he took a sip, closing his eyes to savor the flavor, letting out a breath after he swallowed, the slight bump of his adam’s apple bobbing down his slender neck. That flash of tongue reappeared for a split second as they swept across his lips. 

You your own lips as you once again tore your gaze away from the only other person sitting at the bar. It was quiet here, removed from the small murmur of the table section. It was natural, you thought, that most people would congregate there, in front of the jazz band. Not many places had a live band these days, and you appreciated the raw sound of it, like somber catharsis. 

“Another glass, miss?” The bartender asked, snapping you back from your contemplation. You looked down at your glass, finding only half-melted ice in it.

“Oh, uh, no thank you, I should get home.” You responded, smiling at the man who had patiently served you the last few hours. He returned the smile, nodding in understanding, but your attention split to the feeling of eyes on you.

“Shall I call a cab?” He asks. 

“Oh, no, no. I live close by.” You reply, thinking it was simply too much to ask of the man. 

“Are you sure? It seems to be raining.” As the bartender asked, his eyes flashed to the man sitting five seats down. Your eyes follow, and as if alerted, the man looks to the two of you. 

“Oh, it’s raining cats and dogs, sweetheart, I’d take that taxi.” Mr. Byun comments, flashing a smile so sweet it stole your breath. It was only after you recovered from his smile that you realized that the shoulders of his suit jacket was much darker than the rest of it– and that his hat didn’t in fact shed tears, but raindrops. 

“Well… then I guess I’ll ask for a taxi.” You say to the bartender, who smiles and retreats to call for the ride. You reach for your wallet, fishing for bills, when you feel eyes upon you once more. 

“I haven’t seen you here before.” Mr. Byun says, his voice soft, a suggestion of conversation. Your eyes flit from counting bills to meet sparkling depths of brown, filled with intrigue. The warmth in your gut seems to radiate throughout yourself. 

“What makes you say that?” You respond, giving a small playful smile that gets re pink temptation. He takes a sip of his bourbon before answering. 

“Well, I think I’d remember a pretty face like yours if I’ve seen it before.” He replies, smooth as single malt. You laugh a little, covering up how such an overused line worked so well for him. The light from a nearby candle flickered on his porcelain skin as he winked in jest. 

“Maybe because I haven’t been here before.” You hand the bills to the bartender, who returns to close your tab. “Though I think I might be coming back.” 

Mr. Byun chuckles, the sound melding with the music of the band. Your mind immediately imagined how he’d sound singing, that husky ribbon of satin gliding through a bubbling melody. His eyes sparkle as if they’ve become a drop of crystal from one of the chandeliers. “You’ll be back.” 

“You say that with such confidence.” You retort as the bartender returns with your change, scrunching your nose a little. You realized this man had a comfortable air about him, one that made you want to tell him your entire life, to confess your deepest secrets to. 

“Only because everyone that comes here becomes a regular.” He says, eyes flashing with wisdom. 

“Your cab has arrived.” The bartender whispers. You get up, leaving your tip on the counter, thanking the man. You turn back to Mr. Byun, who takes another sip of his bourbon with a knowing smile on his lips. 

“Is that so.” you answer. Mr. Byun grins, a flash of boyishness on his refined features.

“It is.” He replies as you walk toward the door where the front host holds your purse and coat. 

“Until next time.” Mr. Byun whispers as you walk by him, raising his glass ever so slightly with his graceful fingers. 

It truly was raining cats and dogs, you realize as you step outside, pulling your coat tighter against your body. The pitter patter of rain on the umbrella the valet holds for you mimics the jazz music inside, and for the first time in your life, you notice the sparkle of lights in the little tiny drops of crystal rain.