warning: kris is in this otl

+ w e l c o m e

t o

t h e

h o s t

c l u b

When Park Moonyeon found herself in need of a part-time job, being the bookkeeper of her university’s intramural host club probably made it into the same group as drug dealer, drug mule, and model.  

Yet here she was, receiving a tour of the host club’s facilities from Kris, a dizzyingly tall guy with slightly hunched shoulders and a husky voice.  “The place used to be one the faculty lounges,” he was saying over his shoulder.  “When we found out they were going to expand one of the other lounges, we jumped at the chance to use this one.  Up till then, we were still meeting out on the quad.  It was kind of inconvenient for everybody and our client numbers were growing, so we knew we had to do something.”

An interesting thing she noticed about Kris was that he loped rather than walked.  And it wasn’t even a normal lope.  It honest-to-God looked like his body and the floor made a 70-degree angle—a 70-degree angle with pasty skin and a stupid haircut.

“After pulling a few strings, calling in some favors, and maybe some groveling, we managed to snag the place,” he continued in a wry tone.  She was only half-listening, but still managed to catch most of what he was saying.  “It’s worked out pretty well, I guess.  There are bathrooms attached and a kitchen, so that’s nice.”

Moonyeon hummed in response, giving the main area a once-over.  It was spacious and rectangular, with an open floor plan and full-height glazing on the end that overlooked campus grounds.  She had to admit it was nice for a club room.  Black magic might have been involved.  Or politics.  Same thing, really.

“Um, yeah, so this is...”  Kris waved his hands around clumsily, bringing them to a halt in the middle of a champagne-washed kitchen.  “It’s kinda small for eleven people, but it has more amenities than a kitchenette.  We spend a lot of time here even when the host club isn’t open, so it’s easier just to make our own food instead of going over to the caf,” he explained.  Then, “You’ll find that most of us are lazy bums.”  He chuckled self-deprecatingly.  “Anyway, you’re welcome to stock the fridge and cabinets with whatever you want.  I can’t promise it won’t get eaten by the boys first, though.”  He kind of chuckled at that again, stuffing his hands into his pockets and lifting himself up on his toes before rocking back on his heels in a decidedly masculine gesture.  There was a beat or two of silence before he asked, searchingly, “Any questions?”

“Yeah, actually.”  She hooked an annoying lock of hair behind her ear.  “If I get the job, where will I be working?  And what will my hours be?  And also, what will my duties entail exactly?  I mean, your advertisement was a little...vague.

Kris froze, giving her this wide-eyed look that indicated he really hadn’t thought about this.  After a couple of seconds, the look disappeared and he relaxed.  “Didn’t I already tell you that the job is yours if you want it?  Because it is.  The guys are ready to come over and meet you any time now.”

She was puzzled.  “But you just met me, like, ten minutes ago.  And you don’t even know if I’m qualified.”  Moonyeon was qualified, but that wasn’t the point.  She could be a lumpenproletariat for all he knew.  Or a psychopath.

Kris shrugged.  “You seem sane.  I trust you.”

And probably against her better judgement, in complete deadpan fashion, she said, “I actually have three personality disorders and a gun permit.”

They held unwavering eye contact for a good thirteen seconds, the air between them fraught with circumspect silence.

Then, “Yeah, they’ll like you.”

Another pause, a quirk of the lips, a blink of deep brown eyes.

“Okay.  So will I be working every day or…”

“The host club is open Monday through Thursday from three to seven.  Honestly, your hours and all that will be up to you mostly.  We can do a three-week trial run if you want.  You may know what works best by then.  Or you may just decide that we’re all crazy and you want nothing to do with us.”  He lifted one thick eyebrow, grin becoming more crooked.  “But I’m feelin’ good vibes about you.”

“Mystic vibes?”

“Sure.”