Work Text:
To an unassuming passerby looking in the frosted windows, it would seem like a normal, busy night at the bar, the air electrified with the steady thrum of house music and energy of a Friday night marking the dawn of a weekend.
But tonight is monumental for Seungcheol; it’s his official debut as a flair bartender at Diamond Edgy (Seungcheol has never approved of this awfully forced pun, but after almost a month of training he has to admit it’s warming up to him). Even though the place is hardly an upmarket bar with prestige, it’s still hell of an important place to Seungcheol. He used to be a frequent customer back in university with his friends—some of whom have actually acquired their licenses to be bartenders long before him—so it holds a certain nostalgic quality in its familiar playlists, homey lighting and slightly worn-out seats he remembers stretching out across. The ambience is nice; not too intense, and not too stale either. More importantly, the drinks are always memorable—exactly the way Seungcheol plans to keep it.
So far Seungcheol is holding up impeccably, a relatively small spill of vodka being the most perilous mistake he’s done so far forty minutes into his shift. He’s started off with ‘regular bartending’, with Soonyoung letting him serve customers who’ve had more than a few shots and usually too drunk to spell out an order, much less be awed by a proper performance. Not that Soonyoung doesn’t trust him, of course—Seungcheol had actually requested it for the first hour or so to make sure he's comfortable in his own skin in front of strangers. Having practiced for so long, there’s nothing he fears more than tipping drinks over midway through a pour, breaking a cup or—god forbid—spilling on a customer.
“Hyung, I think you’re ready for the real audience!” Seokmin shouts with an encouraging grin after watching Seungcheol’s now more fluid and natural movements from the other side of the bar.
Seungcheol shakes his head with a sheepish smile. “To be honest, I’d rather not jump into the fancy stuff just yet!” He half-shouts back over the steady thrum of bass, spinning a cup in his hand seemingly lightly (it actually takes a lot of concentration for Seungcheol to pull it off).
“‘Course not! You can just start with the basics, we can let them know you’re new.”
“Um—I, I don’t know,” Seungcheol catches the cup he’d just thrown over his head smoothly and places it on the counter, then proceeds to scratch his neck. “Can I do a quick run-through of the basic routine before I actually dive into the real thing?”
Seemingly out of nowhere, Soonyoung laughs and punches Seungcheol’s shoulder lightly. “Worrywart. Fine, but don’t take too long, customers are eager to see some new blood,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
Soonyoung and Seokmin are waved off with a mock whip from the tablecloth Seungcheol keeps nearby, the pair cackling off and attention already drawn to their next potential admirers. He picks up a couple of new glasses, reads off the recipe he’s gone over a hundred times once more and starts mixing for a Vieux Carré—it’s meant to be the hardest to make even without the ‘flair’ aspect of bartending, but he figures that if he can master this one then everything else he’ll be able to do in his sleep. Ice—where’s the ice? Right. Seungcheol makes a show of letting the ice cubes slide from a height, clinking into the mixing glasses with a pretty clink, clink. Next, Peychaud and Angostura—4 dashes, should be enough. He spins the half-empty bottle of Peychaud behind his shoulder, letting it land on his open palm gently, balancing it with bated breaths. Two spoons of Benedictine. Cognac, rye whiskey and vermouth all in 1:1 ratio, shit was that too much Cognac?
The delicacy of each step holds Seungcheol’s attention hostage, but only a few minutes into his routine he hears Seokmin’s voice exclaim, over the hustle and bustle of the bar:
“Oh, look! Jeonghan-hyung is here!"
There’s something Seungcheol still finds difficult as a bartender. Often times, he’s not sure where to look when he’s concocting a beverage—being overly fixated with his drink, Soonyoung tells him, would make him seem closed off and unfriendly, but staring directly into people’s eyes feels way too intimate. Focusing on any other part of their face is most likely going to end up with them asking ‘Is there something on my face?’, which is awkward to explain when there really isn’t anything. Concentrating on the… wall? It just makes him look sad.
With the arrival of this ‘Jeonghan', however, Seungcheol finds his dilemma unfortunately being amplified.
One glance at the newcomer's face—all sharp yet soft angles, messy brunette hair framing a captivatingly delicate face, thin lips showing off a row of neat teeth—is all it takes for Seungcheol to feel the heat rise to his face, his chest being tangled up into a tight knot as it threatens to cut off his much-needed oxygen supply. His eyes flit around, attempting to fixate on one detail at a time but his mind is whirring a mile a minute—and Seungcheol really doesn't know where to look, because glimpses of Jeonghan’s face is making him dizzy enough.
Seungcheol knows for certain that he hasn’t taken a sip of alcohol tonight, already too strung-up from the thought of finally being able to fullfil his job as a flair bartender; yet for some reason he feels light-headed as the constricting of his throat quickly turns it painfully parched, and his focus is quickly slipping and tumbling like an avalanche.
This is dangerous territory—he has customers to serve, and possibly more customers after that; all with expectations of a great show. Glancing over at his two friends eagerly waving the newcomer over, Seungcheol is awfully glad that they’re too busy to notice his flustered behaviour. If they find out he’s smitten by a stranger after two seconds of meeting, they’d never let him live it down.
“Jeonghan-hyung! Come and join us to watch our new bartender show off his skills!” Seokmin nearly shouts himself hoarse trying to divert attention to Seungcheol and for the first time that night Seungcheol wants nothing more than to hide behind the shelves of bottles and possibly stay invisible.
Too late—Jeonghan is slipping into the stool in front of him with over-eager Soonyoung and Seokmin bouncing in the background, clearly oblivious to Seungcheol’s silent panicking.
“Oooh, I see Cognac on the table!” Soonyoung leans forwards, almost knocking Jeonghan over in the process. "That a sidecar?”
“Nope, it’s a Vieux Carré.” From the corner of his eye, Seungcheol notices the slight eyebrow raise from Jeonghan. Heat rises on the back of his neck and he suddenly feels self-conscious, like a child with no clue as to what to do despite having gone through the routines with no hitches thus far.
Seokmin, for all it’s worth, is ecstatic. “You’re trying something extra challenging! I’m so proud! You know, we didn’t expect you to even try the intermediates menu, let alone something like this that you can probably categorise as expert—but hey, I’m rambling too much. I should leave you to it.” Here, he winks at Jeonghan. “Drink all you want, it’s on the house.”
“What? It’s not even my birthday,” he laughs, but Seokmin is already following Soonyoung back into the masses of the crowd and disappears quicker than Seungcheol would like.
Jeonghan spins back and pushes a strand of hair back from his face, the motion so fluid yet beautiful Seungcheol has to stop himself from gaping. “Hey, I’m Jeonghan. Don’t mind if I watch, do you?”
To hide the tremor threatening to slip out in his reply, Seungcheol gives Jeonghan a wide smile. “Seungcheol. And ‘course not, it’s what I’m here for. Mind you, I’m a first-timer, so… sit back and try to enjoy?” he gives a nervous laugh.
Jeonghan beams at him. “Will do.” Seungcheol appreciates this, he really does — how calm Jeonghan is being in the midst of all the hyped-up tension of the bar, like a warm tent in the middle of a bustling music festival or a quiet nook in a busy office. There’s mischief in the way that he shuffles forwards on his seat a little, as if to say I’m paying rapt attention , but still leaves enough space between them for Seungcheol to breathe.
Even with only a couple of words exchanged, Seungcheol’s knee-deep in emotional attachment already.
He snatches a cocktail glass from the hanging shelves above his head, throws it across his back and catches it on the other side with two fingers. At this, Jeonghan seems to lean back a little, perhaps not expecting such theatrics so early on, but Seungcheol’s already halfway into his routine, really, so there’s only the finishing touches to complete. He grabs a shaker and pours the entire contents of the mixing glass in. “We usually just stir the drink,” Seungcheol says. “But I want to try something new.”
I want to make an exception just for you , are the unspoken words, and usually Seungcheol would say this aloud but there’s something about Jeonghan that makes him more reserved, like he’s cowering in front of an exquisite flower or a star too bright to stare at.
“Oh, adventurous,” is all Jeonghan replies with, grin still toothy.
So Seungcheol shakes the contents, throws the shaker up in the air and catches it with his other hand, spins it again and tosses it back and repeats the motion until he deems it mixed well enough before tipping the drink in one smooth motion into two cocktail glasses. He spins the shaker with one hand and sets it back on the counter with a relieved sigh, noticing only minimal spilling of orange near the glass and looking up to see Jeonghan clapping softly, but enthusiastically.
“Not bad for a first-timer,” says Jeonghan. His voice isn’t low, by any means, but it sends a delicious shiver down Seungcheol’s back all the same. His cheeks are rosy from the compliment, no doubt, but he pretends to shrug it off as he wipes the counter down, taking care not to miss a single spot. “Are those for us?”
“Sadly, these are orders,” smiles Seungcheol apologetically. “But I have something better in mind.”
“Something better than this? I can’t wait,” smiles Jeonghan. Seungcheol makes quick work of delivering the drinks to a couple of patrons and sets about browsing the drinks on the shelves, wishing he’d eat his own words as mild panic rises up in him again. Oh my god, what’s more impressive than a goddamn Vieux Carré? Good job on using up all your bullets on a first shot that wasn’t even aimed at the target, Seungcheol. Think, think, think.
Suddenly, he's reminded something Soonyoung told him in the early stages of his training, and a sheepish smile slips onto his face. It’s worth a try.
“So, what are you making?” Jeonghan asks, chin now on the opened palms he’s resting on the table.
“It’s… a surprise.” More like a secret , thinks Seungcheol. He’s not sure how well-versed Jeonghan is in his drinks, but he’s going to play it safe because he thinks he might just die if Jeonghan finds out what he’s onto.
Southern Comfort, Sloe gin, orange juice and orange soda. His version of a screwdriver.
(Soonyoung had told Seungcheol on his first week, that “drinks aren’t just meant to be drunk. They can tell a story, too.”)
A screwdriver—in the language of cocktails, ‘I’m interested in you.’
“You a regular?” Seungcheol asks breezily, trying to make conversation as he sets out the cocktail glasses and shakers again, letting the bottles hop from one hand to the other, pouring them in one swooping motion from the bottom up. Calm down, Choi Seungcheol. You’re used to flirting, this is easy. You can do this much . “‘Cause I don’t remember you, but—“
Seungcheol freezes. Oh, fuck, he’s already fucked up what should’ve been his first subtle pick-up line and ends up sounding like a total dick.
But this Jeonghan doesn’t seem all that bothered by it, only throws his head back slightly in a surprised and amused laughter. “Unfortunately, I’m not. I live out of town, and I’m here to celebrate landing a new job and meet up with some friends.”
“Ah, congratulations. I’m assuming Soonyoung and Seokmin are your friends…?”
“Yes, and another friend was supposed to join us—Jisoo, but he had to cancel last minute.” Seungcheol wonders how it is that he’s been friends with the pair for years but has never met Jeonghan until today. For some reason, he feels like it’s the work of fate—this, tonight, was meant for them. "But the two of them are a handful already. Sorry about the loud entrance just then. Hope they haven’t been giving you a hard time?"
Seungcheol shakes his head. “No, not at all. They’ve been amazing teachers, don’t know what I would’ve done without them.” He shakes the shaker, spins it behind his shoulder and lets it land on his bent elbow, marveling in the perfect balance as he picks it up gingerly to pop the top open. So far, so good, and if he can just keep up this level of composure —
“What a relief.” Jeonghan is extending an arm across the counter, and the next second he’s resting a hand lightly the patch of skin on Seungcheol’s forearm that’s exposed from underneath his rolled-up sleeves in an amiable, but still altogether electrifying manner. "Wouldn’t want them to scare off such a cute bartender.”
And that just does it for him. It all seems to happen in slow motion — his hand losing grip on the shaker; his fingers attempting to grasp the base before it crashes onto the counter, the bright orange liquid tipping over the rim in a perfect stream —
Right onto Jeonghan’s lap.
“Oh.” Seungcheol says, dumbly. "Fuck."