Chapter Text
“You are a mystery to me, yet so familiar. Like a song I’ve never heard before, and a tune I’ve known all my life.” - Pavana
Bells chimed gently signaling entrance. The sound of pouring rain and ebbed upon the door closing. He should have remembered to lock the door.
“We open at five.”
Concentrating on his task of polishing a Reidel glass holding it up to the light for any specks, he did not realize the intruder did not leave, until a bar stool scraped softly on the floor.
He really should have remembered to lock the door. Turning around, a mop of wet, jet black hair and shivering shoulders greeted him. With no clear view of the stranger’s face, he saw a guitar case leaning on the counter also wet.
Without a word, he turned back to the sink and ran the glass under hot water for a few seconds. He took out his special bottle of Tesseron and poured it neat. With a gentle swill to bring up the temperature to that of the body, he placed the glass in front of the stranger.
“On the house.” He murmured, as he pulled his apron that was on the counter and tied it around his waist.
He continued polishing the other glasses as he covertly watched a pale hand come up to the glass and wrap reddened fingers around the bell shaped vessel. A discreet inhalation moved his shoulders as the warm notes of the spirit wafted from the light amber liquid.
“25 years old, Legende by Tesseron. The taste is warm but light. Like nectar on the tongue and a caramel on the breath.”
The stranger brought the glass closer to his lips, pausing for a moment and tipped the contents, taking a small sip.
He let the stranger savor the aroma of the aged liquor, seeing his mouth tip up, color climbing back on to his rain wet cheeks. A sweep of black lashes hovered under his unruly bangs, blinking at the gentle potency of the spirit he imbibed.
“Nectar on the tongue… caramel on the breath.” The stranger spoke for the first time. His voice characterizing the words he just uttered. Then he smiled, finally looking up.
“You made brandy sound like a song.” Locks of glossy black hair revealed eyes that tilted into crescents akin to a fox like expression.
“Well, the bar IS called ‘Siren’.” He returned the grin self deprecatingly. “Drunkenness generally calls to people.”
The stranger seemed young. Maybe two or three years younger than him. He took another sip and hummed.
“I see a guitar, do you play or did you just hijack it somewhere?” He asked lightly.
“Yes to the first and maybe to the second.” Deep brown fox eyes twinkled. “Are you calling the cops?”
“You appreciated my liquor properly, so I will turn a blind eye this time.” He folded a burgundy napkin and proceeded to wipe down the counter.
“You’re not asking me to leave.”
“You did not ask to enter.” He replied simply.
The boy inclined his head to the side, and a brief sparkle of silver winked at him. One, two, three… Four earrings on one ear which tip was slightly red from the cold. At least he wasn’t shivering anymore. “You don’t have live music.” A statement.
“Have you been here before?” If he did, he would have remembered.
“In passing.”
“If you’ve seen my patrons, or lack thereof, you will know why I don’t have live music.” The bar, while he managed to keep it above the water, was not exactly a thriving business. It was stable, and that was enough for him. He wanted to keep the calm ambience, attracting patrons who only look for a place for quiet, intimate conversation or retreat and of course, the best liquor.
The small two storey building was tucked behind two other establishments, a bakery and a florist. Not the optimum place to lure clientele.
“Care to give me a try?” Words purred coyly, a hint of mischief glinting in his grin.
“I am but a poor man. I cannot afford you.” He responded to the banter, his humor piqued.
“You only have to feed me.” A dimple appeared on his chin when he smiled.
He studied the boy for a long moment, watching the smile fade slowly from his his face, and sober eyes regarded him back gravely. He could see the calluses on the slender left hand perched on the table. A hint of roughness on what would have been almost feminine fingers.
“If you’re okay with takeout and cakes, then we can work something out.” He turned to his liquor cabinet, taking stock of what might need to be replenished from his cellar. Without looking back, “Patrons usually start coming in at seven. I close at eleven. I have some equipment in the back room that you can use, but if you’d prefer to use yours, that’s fine as well.”
“So does this mean you’re my boss now?” The boy asked.
He turned to him once more, raising his brow. “I don’t even know your name.”
It was like watching the break of day. The boy’s face expression softened with what could only be described as delight, his eyes becoming slits and his mouth stretching into a blindingly toothy smile. Color painted his cheeks almost matching his lips as he tilted his head back slightly.
“My name is Seungyoon. Kang Seungyoon.”