When Myungjun finally arrived at the venue, his friends were already three drinks in and the opening act was well into the middle of their fourth song. He huffed, compulsively carding his fingers through his styled bangs. If there was one thing he hated, it was being late. It didn’t matter that it was a free show at a dive bar or that the bands playing were local no-namers that would probably remain in the realm of obscurity for as long as they lived. It was the principle, he told himself. If you make plans to go to an event and it starts at a certain time, it only makes sense to be there on time. He swore this was going to be the last time he’d go to Dongmin’s for some “pre-game fun;” he’d just drive himself in the future or catch a taxi.

“Hyung! We’re going to go dance,” Dongmin trilled, pulling a distracted and rather hazy Bin by the hand towards the open area in front of the stage.

Myungjun waved a hand dismissively, throwing in an eye roll for good measure. “Who dances at a rock show,” he muttered to himself, mostly bitter at the assumption that he wouldn’t want to join them. He made his way over to the bar, holding onto the wooden countertop as he hoisted himself onto the faux-leather stool. The female bartender held up a finger, acknowledging his presence while also letting him know, in not so many words, that it’d be a minute before she could get to him. He nodded, not in any rush, and found himself bobbing his head along to the music, his hands keeping time with the beat as they drummed against the tops of his thighs.

The music only stopped, on his end that is, when an auburn-haired male appeared in front of him. Myungjun could only see him from the waist up; he was wearing a white button up, sleeves folded up to his elbows. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing milky white skin and the ends of the male’s collarbones. But Myungjun didn’t find himself staring at the almost teasing section of skin that screamed “look at me.” He was more enamored by the stranger’s wide, dimpled smile that pulled him in like a magnet.

“What can I get you?”

“Huh?” Myungjun pulled himself out of his stupor, shifting his gaze up to meet the male’s. He leaned forward to cover up the fact that he was staring by pretending he just didn’t hear properly.

The bartender laughed and leaned in too, asking his question once more. “What are you having?” His voice was much louder this time so he could be sure his customer heard him. Though, as Myungjun soon found out, the bartender had a very poor sense of timing. The band ended their song just as he asked his question and his voice rang out around the small bar, causing fellow patrons to look over at him and snicker. Myungjun watched the small blush creep onto the bartender’s face and make camp on his cheeks and as the male’s face scrunched up in a sheepish grin. A loud, short burst of a laugh exploded from Myungjun’s throat before he could stop it and he tried to mask it with an exaggerated cough. The band continued with their next song and the other customers went about their conversations, leaving Myungjun and the bartender solely with each other’s attention once more.

“Dirty black Russian.”

“What did you call me?” Before Myungjun could respond, the bartender shook his head and laughed, already getting out the necessary liquors to make the drink, clearly more amused at his own joke than Myungjun was.

“Do you guys offer discounts for having to endure such horrible jokes? Seriously… that was so lame, I feel personally attacked.” A broad smile split across Myungjun’s face, his upper teeth lining his full lower lip like a row of white chiclets.

“Ah, sorry, we don’t,” the bartender said, his own grin ever present on his face as he slid a glass over to Myungjun. “But, tell you what—next time you come in, I promise to have even lamer jokes. So lame, in fact, that this one will pale in comparison and you’ll think ‘Ahhh, I was so lucky last time.’”

Myungjun lifted the chilled glass to his lips, still curved up in a smile against the edge of the glass, and took a sip of the dark liquid. “And let’s just say I take you up on this offer of yours. Who would I ask for?”

The bartender grinned, flicking his towel over his shoulder after wiping down the bar. “Jinwoo. Park Jinwoo.” He turned from Myungjun to tend to another customer when it appeared something came to him. He turned his head towards Myungjun once more. “There’s another show Friday. Seven o’clock.”

Myungjun slid a few bills onto the counter to cover the cost of his drink and tip. “Seven o’clock? I’ll be there.” Jinwoo nodded at him, clearly pleased at the information, and Myungjun spun around on his stool to face the stage, taking another sip of his cocktail. He’d be there on Friday and he wouldn’t be late.