The usual post-dinner crowd filled into the bar in groups of twos and threes. The familiar bittersweet scent of beer and cigarettes began to fill the air. The stools along the bar slowly filled up and the room began to come alive with the chatter and hearty laughter. You smiled and sipped at your tea, deciding to skip the alcohol ‘til after you performed. You hummed a simple set of scales as your guitarist, Yixing leaned in close and tried to tune his guitar over the hum of the crowd. He smiled with as much patience as he could muster at the excited but unhelpful chatter of your roommate, Taemin, who was wiping down glasses on the other side of the bar. It had been years since anyone had judged your voice professionally but old habits were hard to break.

The crowd seemed to get a little rowdier as a good portion rushed to the front door before they parted. You shook your head at the man walking through the swooning mess of both men and women. Your boss could never seem to stop himself from making an entrance every night he came in for work. You weren’t quite sure how someone like Kris ended up being the owner and bartender in a place like this. He was tall and handsome enough to be a model and clearly had more than enough money to get a better-paying job, or just not work at all, given the designer labels on all of his clothes and the different top-notch sports cars he drove to work. But he paid well and let you play whatever you wanted so you weren’t about to ask if he didn’t seem to want to tell.

It had been three years since you’d left home after high school, chasing the lights of the big cities and the hope of a professional career in music. Your parents were supportive since you’d managed to wrangle a full scholarship out of a small performing arts school. Performing at the bar had been Yixing’s idea. He was studying dance at the same university and you’d met during the cheesy orientation they’d put you through on the first day.  When Kris bought the bar, he’d put his friend Yixing in charge of finding a performer and Yixing had picked you. You agreed immediately. You weren’t sure what else you’d rather be doing on a weekday night and it wasn’t as if your university assignments were particularly taxing. The experience and the extra cash definitely didn’t hurt, either.

“Ready?” Yixing asked, picking up his guitar and stepping on stage.

“As I’ll ever be,” you smiled, grabbing a mic and joining him.

You were just running through your introductions to the crowd when you noticed a man dressed in dark clothes and a cap slip in through the doors. He moved to a table at the back and sat down. You couldn’t see his eyes from under the rip of his cap, but he seemed to be completely focused on the stage. One of the younger waitresses came over to take his order and he gave it to her, all the while facing the stage. He seemed completely out of place in the young, colourful throng of yuppies that filled every other nook and cranny of the room.

You continued with your set, going through the motions almost mechanically. You couldn’t help but glance over at the man more than any other patron. You weren’t sure what it was about him that captured your attention. You couldn’t help but wonder what a guy like him would want in a place like this. It clearly wasn’t the drink - it turns out he had ordered a diet coke and he hadn’t mingled with any of the other patrons.  In the little bits of chatter between songs, you found out Yixing had noticed him too. He was just as confused as you were.

At the customary break halfway through your set, you decided to point him out to Kris. He simply shrugged it off with his typical easy-going pout.

“Maybe he’s just a fan of the music,” he said, as he poured a drink for another swooning lady across the bar and handed it to her with a wink.

“Or maybe he just likes you,” Yixing nudged you with a smirk.

“Or maybe he just likes you,” you pinched his cheek. He stuck his tongue out at you and pushed you off.

“Or maybe he’s lost,” Taemin suggested. You shrugged. It was too much to think about right now.

The rest of your set finished without incident and you bowed to thank the crowd. When you looked up again, he had disappeared. Maybe you were overreacting, you decided in retrospect. Maybe he was just lost and decided to stop somewhere for a drink. Although you had to say this was an awkward place to do it. The bar was surrounded with convenience stores and restaurants, and even Kris admitted the drinks he sold were overpriced. You pushed it out of your mind. Whatever his reasons were, they were none of your business.

Until he showed up again, the next week. And the week after that. And the week after that one. And by then, even Kris was getting slightly curious. He always arrived exactly before your set was going to start and left just as it ended. He always wore the same grey hoodie - it was simple and devoid of any obvious labels. Any of the staff that served him simply said he kept his cap down, even sometimes wearing a mask so it was difficult to see his face in the dim light of the bar. He always ordered water or at most a Coke, but always at room temperature, and he completely avoided all the alcohol.

It soon became a kind of game. Everyone was trying to figure him out, but nobody would actually go up and talk to him. It made for conversation and something to do. Kris persisted with the idea that he was probably just a fan of the music. Yixing was convinced he probably lost a girlfriend at this very bar and returned every week to remember her. Taemin thought he was an alien studying the culture of young humans. You had no idea. You weren’t sure what had struck you the very first night he stepped into the bar, but you realized the second time you saw him that there was something familiar about him. An annoying, nagging something that you couldn’t quite place.

Tonight, the lights in the bar were off, leaving only the LED lights that Kris had installed just this morning. He’d decided to have some weird space themed night in honor of some random eclipse thing that he’d been talking about since forever. The concept was fresh and new and the buzz a few posters pulled up had surprised everyone. Bookings to enter had to be made in advance and they’d sold out in less than an hour. You’d set up an appropriate set list and managed to wrangle a few more classmates to form a full band.

As you were about to begin your set, Taemin slipped past the crowd and tugged at your sleeve.

“He’s here tonight too!” he whispered and ran off.

You looked up, trying to catch him in the crowd but it was a far too dark to make anyone’s face out clearly. Your band mates pushed you on stage and the crowd jumped to life as you ran through the introductions and the first portion of your set. As it was getting to the of the night, Yixing pulled out a little surprise Kris had set up by the side of the stage. You threw small bottles of washable flourescent paint into the crowd and the room seemed to explode with excitement. Paint was flying everywhere as you jumped, reveling in the energy. It had to be your favourite performance yet.

The following morning, your classmates stumbled into class. Half of them were still hung over from the night before and more than half were still talking about it. You’d been called together for some musical appreciation lecture and were sent to the theatre. As the lights turned off, you heard a gasp from behind you. The rest of the crowd turned around and your jaw dropped. A simple grey hoodie, covered in flourescent paint was slung around the shoulders of someone you completely didn’t expect.

*

“Okay, so then he struts in and tosses his sweater-thing on the table and just proceeds to sit through class like normal. I don’t get it!” you wave your hands exasperatedly at your cousin and he swats them down.

“Keep still, stupid,” Key manages to mumble around the pencil in his teeth. It had been broken far too long ago for either of you to remember and its’ ends now play host to two maroon push-on erasers that were part of the art supplies you’d given him for his last birthday.

“I mean, he’s… Lee Jinki,” you continued, attempting to shift back into the weird position he’d had you in before (face at an angle to the light, hand under your chin and hair draped over a shoulder). “What in the world would he be doing at the bar?”

“Maybe he got tired of the whole good boy act,” he shrugged. “What does it matter anyway?”

“It matters because he’s Lee Jinki,” you sigh exasperatedly. “Top-of-the-class, look-at-the-recording-deal-in-my-pocket Lee Jinki.”

Key simply raises an eyebrow at you.

“And I had the next 5 rounds of drinks on the fact that he might be Jonghyun.”

Key snorted. “He still hasn’t given up on that waitress?”

“Well, maybe he’d give up if someone made a move,” you glared at him meaningfully. “And I’ve told you for the billionth time, Taemin is a guy.”

“Kim Kibum doesn’t make moves,” he corrects you, pushing his oversized glasses up his nose.

“Oh really?” you raise your eyebrows. “Then what about that party at Minho’s when that Woohyun guy-“

“OKAY! Okay, fine,” he cuts you off, the littlest hint of a blush creeping across his cheeks. “Kim Kibum doesn’t make moves on that midget.”

“Well that midget,” you said, poking him in the chest. “Is hot property, apparently, and if you don’t make a move soon, he’s going to psychologically scar Taemin for life.”

“What?! Why?”

“He doesn’t believe he’s a guy either,” you shrug, upsetting your hair and Kibum tuts and pushes everything back into place. You sigh when you see him gaze off into nothing for a moment, lost in thought. “You’ve known each other since third grade. What could go wrong?”

“Everything,” he slumps onto the table in a heap, clearly too depressed to continue. You pat his arm sympathetically then tell him to grow a pair and take a chance. You barely miss the pencil he throws at you as you run out the door.

*

The fact that the town hero had been frequenting your particular corner of the world began making its rounds through the local gossip. It was now commonplace to find a reporter or two sneaking in, trying to fit in with the young crowd and interview them in increasingly ridiculous disguises until Kris finally hired bouncers to watch the front door. Much to their dismay, he had never showed up since that day in class. Eventually the hubbub dwindled down and for the most part, everyone had forgotten it had ever happened.

He still fascinated you, just like when he first walked in. The thought of him always demanded attention, even when he did nothing but sit a few rows in front of you and take notes as your professor droned on and on. He remained as he always had at lectures - quiet and somewhat shy. You did notice him staring at you once or twice in class, but you supposed he was just responding to all the times you yourself had been caught. Nobody in your class seemed close enough to see him outside lectures, much less question him about his after-school activities.

You’d decided to change that. You made it a point to say hi to him every time you passed by. Even if the majority of the replies you got were shocked expressions and incoherent mumbles, it made you happy to know he was responding.

Soon the “hi”s became “how are you”s and “how was class” and questions about your interests and the replies became welcome smiles, occasional high fives and awkward blushes when you unintentionally brushed hands. Your initial curiosity gave way to a full-blown crush and it wasn’t long before the lost stares in his direction turned to-

“Pining,” Yixing said, pointing an umbrella at you as he sipped the fruity concoction Taemin had named after you as a gift on your birthday. “You’re pining.”

“No, I’m not,” you replied, distractedly. You were looking through the crowd again, hoping to see him there. You’d never actually breached the topic in all your conversations over the last few months. Somehow it seemed taboo. It was almost as if he pretended it had never happened at all, and whenever you hinted at it, he had somehow managed to change subjects. You slumped in your chair when you couldn’t find him in the crowd and Yixing gestured at your dejected state, clearly using it as evidence in the case he was steadily building against your half-hearted denial.

As you were heading on stage to perform, Kris suddenly slipped past you and grabbed the microphone. The crowd burst into applause as he called them to attention and he quieted them with a wave of his hand.

“I’m not sure how many of you know this, but it’s our ______’s birthday tonight!”

The crowd cheered and broke into an impromptu chorus of “Happy Birthday”, you smiled and bowed, giving Kris a half-hearted glare. You’d told him not to make a big deal of your birthday but you’d kind of figured he wouldn’t listen.

“We have a very special performance tonight at the request of the performer himself! Please put your hands together for Lee Jinki!”

The crowd erupted into cheers as he walked out of the back room and up the other side of the stage. He tripped on the stairs a little before quickly righting himself, smiling and bowing to the crowd - the consummate professional. All you could do was stare in shock as he took a seat at the stool you yourself usually occupied. Yixing gave you a friendly pat on the shoulder and a mischievous smirk as he joined him on stage.

“This is a song I first heard about six months ago,” he said, immediately, he had the attention of the audience. “I immediately fell in love with it. I kept coming back here, hoping that the lovely voice that sang here,” he paused, and turned to smile at you. “I hoped she would sing it again, or at least sing something similar.”

“I was happy to find,” he continued after the abrupt applause died down. “That it was written by a certain someone who I hope to hire as a songwriter on my next album. I hope I’ll do justice to your song, ________.”

He began to sing words that you’d penned down yourself, but had almost forgotten. They were the simple words of a confession, written for a fleeting crush who you’d felt for intensely enough to sing about, but whose name you now could barely remember. They took on a new meaning now as he sang the last few strains, stepping down the steps and holding out a single daisy with a ribbon around the stem.

“Happy birthday,” he smiled.