Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1: ONE MORE HOUR UNTIL 3 AM
The soft clink of glassware blends with the smooth hum of jazz drifting through the near-empty bar, accompanied by the low murmurs of the last remaining customers.
Behind the counter, Gi-hun idly wipes a crystal glass with slow, practiced movements, the golden light from the lamps glinting off its surface. His eyes flick to the clock—one more hour until closing. One more hour until 3 AM.
Wednesdays are always quiet at Sinatra’s Bar.
The dimly lit space is small yet elegant. Dark wood walls and plush, wine-colored velvet seats add to its charm, while the warm glow of lamps shimmers over rows of bottles lining the shelves behind the polished counter.
The air is thick with the scent of aged whiskey and polished wood, giving the bar an old-world charm—a refuge from the restless city outside.
Gi-hun leans his hip against the counter, rolling his shoulders with a sigh as he keeps his half-lidded eyes fixed on the glass cup.
Just another quiet night, he thinks, the kind that blurs into the next without a trace.
“Gi-hun!” The hushed voice of his coworker snaps him out of his trance. “Just one more hour, and we’re free,” Daeho continues, flashing a silly, carefree grin as he approaches Gi-hun.
He can’t help but smile softly to himself at the childish, cheerful demeanor of his young coworker.
“You think Jung-Bae would let us close early if we have no customers left?” Daeho whispers, his smile growing, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Keep dreaming,” Gi-hun chuckles. “Jung-Bae wouldn’t let us leave early, even if the bar were on fire.” His gaze still fixed on the crystal glass.
Daeho clicks his tongue. “I don’t know why he makes us keep the bar open until this hour on weekdays,” he mumbles, leaning on the polished counter and interlacing his fingers. “It’s not like anyone decent is going to enter this late on a Wednesday.”
Gi-hun silently agrees with his coworker. Most of the customers who come at this hour mean trouble—unemployed people out to kill time who don’t want to leave even when closing time approaches, those who just happen to have no money on them at that moment, or even thugs just looking for a fight to blow off some steam.
He knows all too well what the young man is talking about. After all, he has been two out of those three things years ago—a gambling addict who lost everything in horse races or any other game he could get hooked on.
Gi-hun frowns slightly, unwilling to let those memories haunt him.
The soft chime of the bell above the door makes him look up, watching the last customer leave.
“Aaand there goes the last one,” Daeho mutters lazily as he straightens up and stretches slightly beside him.
“Finally,” Gi-hun mumbles under his breath, letting his shoulders relax as he loosens his grip on the crystal glass. He feels the weight of the day catching up to him, exhaustion settling deep in his bones.
Daeho’s idea is becoming more tempting by the second. With a bit of luck, he might be able to catch the night bus, get home early, sleep a little, and wake up in time to make breakfast for his kids before they leave for school—without dozing off on top of the coffee maker.
Gi-hun glances at the clock on the wall. 2:15 AM.
“Maybe I could send Jung-Bae a quick message...” He turns his head to find his coworker already watching him expectantly, nodding with that small, knowing smile back on his face.
“I’m sure he’ll understand, right?” Gi-hun adds, more to convince himself than anything else.
Daeho catches the flicker of doubt in Gi-hun’s eyes, and before that small spark could grow into something more, he steps closer. With a perfectly serious expression, he takes Gi-hun’s hands in his own, locking eyes with him. The sudden gesture throws Gi-hun off balance, nearly making him drop the glass he is holding.
“I’m sure he’ll understand,” Daeho says, nodding one last time as if trying to convince them both.
They know perfectly well that Jung-Bae definitely wouldn’t understand. But is that going to stop them? Absolutely not. The idea of finally collapsing into bed is far more promising than the fear of whatever punishment their boss would surely throw at them tomorrow.
“Fine, fine.” Gi-hun sighs, untangling his hands from Daeho’s grip, feigning annoyance while barely holding back a smile. “Go clean up the last tables, and let’s get out of here,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches his coworker grin widely, a smile of his own tugging at his lips.
“Yes!” the younger man exclaims. “I knew I could trust y—”
But his words are abruptly cut off by a sound neither of them wanted to hear—the sharp chime of the bell above the front door, announcing the arrival of a new customer.
“You must be joking,” Daeho whispers in a defeated voice, watching his plan crumble before his eyes.
And just like that, Gi-hun's hope of getting a little more sleep tonight slips away. He closes his eyes, his shoulders slumping once more, and lets out a heavy sigh. As he shifts his gaze, he meets the tired eyes of his younger coworker, who is staring at the clock.
Gi-hun nudges him lightly, drawing his attention.
“Listen, just leave the tables clean and go home,” Gi-hun whispers, trying for a half-smile. “I’ll take care of this one.”
Daeho pauses, processing what Gi-hun just said. When the realization hits, his eyes widen slightly, and his brow furrows.
“What? No, I’m not—” Daeho starts, shaking his head in disbelief.
Gi-hun cuts him off, raising one hand in front of Daeho, his half-smile widening as he watches his coworker’s innocent, kind demeanor.
“It’s fine, Daeho. It’s just one customer,” Gi-hun reassures him, trying to put his mind at ease. But Daeho’s furrowed brow and troubled eyes tell a different story. Gi-hun sighs with a teasing glint in his own eyes.
“Besides, I’m not doing this for free. You owe me one—next time, you cover for me,” he says with a tender smile, giving Daeho’s upper arm a playful pat. “Now go home.”
The crease in Daeho’s brow softens, and his shoulders drop.
“Fine, but you better call me if anything happens, okay?”
Gi-hun nods lightly, waving him off with a quick flick of his hand.
“Yes, yes. Now go, I want to be able to see my reflection in those tables,” he jokes, lightening the mood.
“Yes, sir!” Daeho straightens up, giving an exaggerated salute, hand to his forehead like a soldier, making Gi-hun huff out a laugh and shake his head. With that, Daeho heads toward the tables, cloth in hand, leaving the older man alone behind the counter.
Turning his head, Gi-hun searches for the newcomer, spotting him walking toward one of the seats at the far end of the counter.
Trying to push aside the tempting thought of closing early, Gi-hun takes a deep breath, sets the glass he is still holding under the bar, putting it away, and approaches the customer while folding the cloth in his hands.
As he gets closer, he can take a better look at the man—a well-dressed figure in a suit beneath a long dark coat. It’s the first time he has seen this customer, and judging by his slightly lost expression, it seems to be the man's first time in the bar as well.
Now at the counter, the customer lets out a sigh and sinks onto one of the plush garnet-colored stools. He removes his silky scarf and coat, placing them on the seat beside him.
Gi-hun observes him more closely, noting the dark, tired eyes framed by shadows. His hair is neatly styled, though a few strands have fallen onto his forehead, as if he had run his hand through it multiple times in frustration, only to try and fix it again.
His face is partially obscured by the bar’s dim lighting, yet even after just a few seconds of looking at him, Gi-hun can already tell—this man carries himself differently. He has the aura of someone wealthy and sophisticated—someone who seems more suited to a far more luxurious bar.
Ugh, I have a bad feeling about this, he thinks. There’s something about the man in front of him that unsettles him, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. Or maybe he’s just completely drained from a day that feels like it will never end.
Gi-hun tries to ignore those thoughts and, with a few final steps, reaches the customer, who is staring at the small cocktail menu with a furrowed brow, as if the mere act of reading it were an exhausting burden.
“Good night, sir,” Gi-hun says, announcing his presence to the distracted man in front of him, catching his attention.
The customer lifts his gaze a little shocked, as if seeing him for the first time, as though Gi-hun’s words had broken some kind of spell, snapping him back to reality and making him realize he’s not alone. The reaction makes the corner of Gi-hun’s mouth twitch with amusement.
“Good night,” the man responds, his voice a deep, low rumble.
With his head now raised, Gi-hun can see his face a little better. The bar’s dim lighting hits him directly, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and the elegant curve of his jawline. His skin is smooth, but the exhaustion in his eyes and the faint crease between his brows make him look older than he probably is. There’s something striking about him—something that feels out of place in a bar like this. Despite the weariness in his eyes, he exudes a quiet, effortless confidence.
His face looks familiar, but Gi-hun can’t quite place where he’s seen him before.
He really is handsome, his traitorous mind unhelpfully supplies. He’ll definitely blame it on exhaustion later.
“This is your first time here, right? Did something on the cocktail list catch your eye?” Gi-hun asks, tilting his head as he leans his hands on the counter.
The customer blinks a couple of times, quite adorably, as if trying to process Gi-hun’s words, struggling not to fall asleep in the process.
The endearing sight makes Gi-hun’s smile grow.
“Yeah—I… sorry, I was trying to decide, but there are just…” He glances back at the menu, frowning at it like it has personally wronged him. “Too many options.”
Gi-hun lets out a surprised laugh. In all his years working here, he’s heard plenty of comments about the menu, but never that it had too many choices. That’s a first.
“Maybe I can help you pick one,” Gi-hun offers, taking pity on the other man.
The customer looks back up at Gi-hun, something glinting in his dark eyes. The corner of his thin lips curls up as he gives Gi-hun a slow once-over, one eyebrow twitching slightly.
“Can you?” The man asks, his voice low, edged with teasing amusement.
Caught off guard by the look the man just gave him, Gi-hun straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest—a clear barrier against the other’s scrutinizing gaze. His smile vanishes, replaced by a deepening frown.
Not only is this man single-handedly crushing his hopes of getting home early, collapsing into his beloved bed, and waking up as a somewhat functional human being tomorrow, but now he’s also looking at him like he wouldn’t know a good drink if it hit him in the face.
The audacity.
“Uh?” Gi-hun blurts out, clearly offended. “What’s that look supposed to mean?” He points a finger at the man. “Just so you know, in all my years serving drinks, not a single person has ever complained about my cocktails or the selections I’ve made for them.”
“Is that so?” the other man responds calmly, his eyes crinkling with amusement as his smirk widens in reaction to Gi-hun’s attitude. He casually flips the menu face down on the counter, lacing his fingers together on top of it. “Go ahead, then. Choose for me.”
Gi-hun clicks his tongue, growing increasingly irked by the man’s smug, overconfident attitude. He almost wishes there was something like dishwater on the menu, just so he could serve that instead of a proper drink.
Taking a slow breath through his nose to steady himself, Gi-hun decides he’ll make the man a drink he’ll never forget instead.
“You’ll see,” he says with resolve, but just as he turns to grab the alcohol from the shelves, a voice cuts through the air.
“Gi-hun!” Dae-ho calls out, now dressed in his street clothes, reaching for the door to leave. “I’m heading out, see you tomorrow!” He gives a small fist gesture, offering Gi-hun some encouragement.
Gi-hun smiles softly at the gesture, some of the tension in his shoulders easing as he waves him off, Dae-ho leaving the bar with the soft tinkling of the bell above the door.
"Closing time already?" The customer's voice—deep and velvety—pulls Gi-hun’s attention back to him. There’s an unexpected note of concern in his tone, something that throws Gi-hun off for a second.
Taking Gi-hun’s silence as confirmation, the man shifts slightly in his seat. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you. I’ll just take a glass of whiskey and—"
Gi-hun blinks a few times, finally realizing the misunderstanding, and quickly reacts. "What? No, no, it’s not closing time yet. My coworker just finished his shift, that’s all." He gestures with his hand, signaling for the man to relax.
The sudden concern in the customer’s voice catches him off guard, making him wonder if the man was truly just teasing earlier and maybe isn’t as much of an asshole as he first seemed.
Even though he told him not to worry, the man seems to pick up on the half-truth and looks ready to argue—but Gi-hun won’t have it, not now that he’s made up his mind.
"Besides, you’ve offended me deeply with your lack of faith. So now, you’re going to keep your ass planted on that stool until I make you my incredible cocktail and bring you to tears with its brilliance." Gi-hun cuts him off swiftly, turning around to gather the bottles he’ll need.
The low huff of laughter behind him makes him smirk as well, something warm settling in his chest, the tension from before lifting. Picking up a few bottles, he turns back and sets them on the counter.
“Do you always treat your customers like this?” the man murmurs from the other side of the bar, the teasing in his tone now unmistakable.
“Only for first-time visitors.” Gi-hun plays along, feigning innocence. “Maybe next time, I’ll be an absolute delight—practically a saint, or maybe not, who knows?” He adds, “Gotta keep you curious enough to come back, right?”
"Charming." The deep rumble of the man’s voice carries through the space.
“Right?” Gi-hun grins now, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Emboldened by the playful banter, he leans forward on the counter, resting his weight on his forearms as he inches a little closer. “Now, you shut up, and I work my magic.”
The customer’s eyes widen slightly, but he recovers just as fast, raising his hands in mock surrender. He locks eyes with Gi-hun, then slowly lowers his arms, lacing his fingers together on the counter—perfectly still, except for the faint smile threatening to break free.
"Let's see," Gi-hun murmurs, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Maybe something with a hint of smoky oak and a smooth, vanilla finish," he adds, tapping a finger thoughtfully against the counter. "Or maybe something bolder—sweet cherry notes with just the right amount of spice to keep things interesting." He tilts his head, studying the man in front of him. "What do you say? Do you trust me?"
The other man just looks amused by this extravagant situation, and Gi-hun can’t help but notice how striking he looks with a full-on smile—all pearly-white teeth and eyes gleaming under the bar’s golden light. So different from the expression he had just a few minutes ago.
“With my life,” the man says, playing along, feigning a seriousness neither of them actually feels.
“Good,” Gi-hun drums his fingers on the counter. He straightens up, placing one hand on his hip and the other on his chin, scanning the bottles and ingredients laid out before him, though he already knows exactly what he’ll make.
In one smooth motion, he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, his focus sharp, and grabs the first bottle—Bulleit Rye whiskey. He pours it into the mixing glass along with the amaro and a few dashes of Angostura bitters. His slender fingers handle the bottles and spices with ease, a familiar and practiced motion.
And if Gi-hun hadn’t been so focused on preparing the drink, he would’ve noticed that he was also the subject of the same intense attention.
The fluidity of his movements holds the man’s gaze across the counter—half hypnotized, half in awe—his eyes never leaving Gi-hun’s figure. He really knows what he’s doing.
The soft clinking of the ice being poured into the mixing glass signals the end of the preparation. Ready to be mixed, he covers the glass, preparing to shake.
“What if I don’t like it?” The deep voice of the other man murmurs, cutting off Gi-hun’s movements midway.
Gi-hun hums, thinking for a moment until something makes his gaze twinkle with a hint of mischief.
“You won’t have to pay for it, and I’ll even give you a drink of your choice instead,” he says, resuming his movements. “But if you like it…” Gi-hun continues with a smirk, letting the words hang in the air as he grabs the mixing glass and starts shaking it. “You pay for it.” A brief pause, and his eyes gleam with a mischievous light, locking onto the other man’s. “Double.”
The same spark ignites in the other man, mirroring the smirk playing on Gi-hun’s lips.
“Deal,” he replies, and Gi-hun lets out a quiet laugh.
After a few seconds of shaking the glass, he pours the drink into an elegant coupe glass, topping it with a cherry speared on a metal toothpick.
As he slides the glass toward the customer, Gi-hun feels a mix of thrill and fear. He’s used some pretty expensive ingredients, and if the other man doesn’t like this cocktail, he’ll have to pay for both this drink and whatever the man chooses instead.
He silently prays that doesn’t happen, or he’ll be in serious trouble, but he hides his nerves with a confident smile.
“No lying allowed. I’ll know,” Gi-hun adds with a teasing edge, handing the glass over.
The man gazes at the drink with a serious expression, almost like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. The dark reddish-brown color of the drink blending with the deep intensity of his gaze, the liquid catching the golden light of the bar as he delicately twirls the glass.
He looks up at Gi-hun, his gaze warm. The soft jazz continues to play in the background, adding to the intimate atmosphere.
“How would you know? I’m pretty good at lying.” The man tilts his head slightly to the side, raising an eyebrow, the smirk now firmly on his face, as if testing Gi-hun.
“Trust me, I’ve got two kids. I’m trained to catch liars,” Gi-hun says proudly, crossing his arms and giving a slight grin.
“Really? Two kids?” the other man replies, his brows lifting slightly in surprise at the unexpected revelation.
Gi-hun hums in confirmation, nodding happily, his eyes barely visible from how much he’s smiling at the mere mention of his family. Not wanting to reveal too much about his personal life to someone he just met—no matter how attractive he is—he shifts his focus back to the glass.
“Go ahead, try it,” he prompts, tilting his chin toward the drink in a casual gesture.
The other man studies him thoughtfully, noticing the abrupt change of subject but choosing not to mention it—though the curiosity lingers. Instead, he lowers his gaze to the waiting drink, its semi-translucent liquid catching the warm light invitingly.
He lifts the glass by its slender stem, movements slow and deliberate. There’s a certain elegance in the way he swirls the liquid, watching it coat the inside of the glass before finally bringing it to his lips.
As he takes the first sip, his lashes flutter shut, savoring the taste fully, letting it settle on his tongue. Through Gi-hun’s eyes, it’s almost hypnotic—the way the light catches in his eyes when they open again, the subtle parting of his lips, the slow, deliberate way he moves, as if savoring the experience in its entirety.
Gi-hun feels his heart thrumming in anticipation. Why was he so eager to hear this customer’s opinion? What made him different from the countless others he had served before? He couldn’t say.
The other man swallows the liquid slowly, then pulls the glass away from his lips, staring at the drink. His face remains unreadable, perfectly composed. The silence only makes Gi-hun more nervous. Only the soft sound of jazz lingers in the background.
With a swift flick of his hand, Gi-hun brushes his hair from his face and leans his forearms on the counter, closing the distance just slightly—enough to catch any flicker of expression.
“So?” he asks impatiently, tilting his head slightly to the side.
The man keeps his gaze on the liquid, dark eyes steady, his features unreadable—until the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips betrays him. Gi-hun catches the movement instantly, his eyes tracing the shift in the man’s mouth. Then, with a quiet exhale, the man closes his eyes and lets a smile break across his face, slow and unguarded.
“It’s not bad, I guess,” he says, attempting nonchalance, but the grin on his face betrays him completely.
“Ha! Just ‘not bad’?” Gi-hun lets out a surprised laugh. “That smile says otherwise,” he adds, pointing a finger at the other man’s face.
His carefree attitude only makes the man in front of him grin wider, the exhaustion he walked in with now forgotten.
“All right, all right. I have to admit—it’s pretty damn good,” he finally concedes, much to Gi-hun’s delight, as he picks up the glass and takes another slow sip, savoring it. “What’s it called? I think I’ve had something like this before, but there’s something different about it.”
Gi-hun chuckles, straightening up. “It’s a Black Manhattan,” he says as he starts rolling down his sleeves again. “You might have tried a regular Manhattan before, but this one’s less sweet—stronger, more bitter instead. Figured you’d appreciate that extra edge.” His focus shifts to fastening the cuffs of his shirt, fingers working deftly over the buttons.
The other man, however, isn’t looking at the drink anymore. His gaze follows Gi-hun’s movements with quiet interest—his posture, the way his delicate fingers move, how the fabric of his shirt stretches over his forearms.
“How did you know I’d like it?” the man asks, curiosity threading through his voice.
Gi-hun simply shrugs. “Told you. I’m good at this.”
He finishes with the cuffs and smooths down his shirt and vest with a practiced hand.
The truth is, the only reason he’s working here is because Jung-bae, the bar’s owner, is an old childhood friend. Then, by sheer luck, he turned out to be good at reading people—and even better at making drinks. But the man across from him doesn’t need to know that, does he?
“Just by looking at you, I could tell this kind of drink would suit you.” He pauses, then adds, “Mysterious, refined, elegant—the perfect choice for someone with a sophisticated aura and a taste for the finer things.”
Then, before the man can get too pleased with himself, Gi-hun smirks.
“With just the right amount of cynicism.”
The customer raises his brows in mock offense before letting out a hearty laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s how you see me?”
“Maybe I see more,” Gi-hun muses. Like the traces of exhaustion that linger in the dark circles under your eyes—the kind that don’t just come from sleepless nights, but from something deeper, something that weighs on you. The kind I know all too well. Not just from nightmares, but from life itself. The way it’s obvious you don’t smile often. Your face seems more accustomed to restraint, to neutrality. But when you do smile, it changes you. Softens the sharpness. Makes you seem less untouchable, more human. And I realize, to my own surprise, that I want to see it again.
“But I can’t reveal all my secrets on the first night,” Gi-hun ends up saying instead.
The man hums thoughtfully, twirling the glass between his fingers before meeting Gi-hun’s gaze again.
“Maybe I should keep coming back, then.”
Gi-hun doesn’t miss a beat.
“Maybe you should.”
The other man's gaze shifts slightly, something darker, more intense flickering in his eyes as he holds Gi-hun’s stare. Caught off guard by his own boldness, Gi-hun blinks a few times, feeling a sudden warmth creeping up his neck. What the hell got into him just now? He brushes his hair out of his face in a nervous gesture, avoiding the man's gaze shyly.
The soft rustle of fabric pulls him back. He looks up just as the man rises from his stool, reaching for his scarf and coat.
“I think I’ve stolen enough of your time,” he says, his tone unreadable. But before Gi-hun can respond, he adds, “I really had a good time. I needed that.” He adjusts the collar of his coat, then glances back at Gi-hun with a warm smile. “Thank you, Gi-hun.”
Gi-hun is about to brush it off, to tell him there’s nothing to thank, when he suddenly freezes. Wait—did he just…? His smile falters slightly, replaced by a flicker of confusion.
“You know my name?” he asks, frowning.
The man stills for half a second, as if only now realizing it himself.
“Oh—your coworker mentioned it before leaving, so I thought I’d try using it,” he says, his voice softer now, almost tentative. “Sorry… does it bother you?”
Realization dawns on Gi-hun’s face as he recalls Dae-ho’s parting words from earlier and exhales, shaking his head.
“No, it’s fine,” he says, and for some reason, there’s a stupid little smile forming on his lips that refuses to go away. “I don’t know yours, though.” He takes a chance, asking before his courage completely fades—though he still can’t quite bring himself to meet the man’s eyes as he does.
“It’s In-ho,” the man replies smoothly while looping his scarf around his neck. Gi-hun turns the name over in his mind, tasting it. It fits. Solid, composed—just like the man himself.
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll come back,” In-ho muses, adjusting his coat as he reaches for his wallet to pay for his drink. “Even if it’s just to see how you surprise me next time.”
Gi-hun lets out a soft laugh. “Guess I’ll have to come up with something special then, huh?” he says playfully, grabbing the empty glass In-ho left on the counter to clean it.
In-ho places the folded bills on the counter and buttons up his long dark coat. “I suppose I’ll see you again,” he says, turning toward the door. “Good night, Gi-hun.”
Gi-hun lets a soft sigh escape his lips, relaxing his shoulders, his eyes still fixed on the other man’s back as he walks away. “Good night, In-ho.”
With the faint jingle of the bell above the door, In-ho steps out, disappearing into the night. The jazz still lingers softly in the background, and even though the clock reads 3:15, Gi-hun feels unexpectedly light.
Though In-ho is already gone, Gi-hun remains motionless for a moment, still staring at the door as if waiting for him to walk back in. His mind lingers on the strange encounter, the feeling that something was left unsaid. The exchange had been brief, yet something about it felt significant.
The bar now feels a bit quieter, the soft music the only company he has left.
Overwhelmed and light-headed from everything that just happened, he shakes his head, trying to clear his mind and return to reality. With a sigh, he looks down, starting to clean the counter, his hands moving automatically as he prepares for closing.
Gi-hun picks up the bills In-ho left behind and notices a folded 50,000-won note. He laughs softly, realizing it’s way more than the drink cost. But as he unfolds it, he discovers there are actually two bills—five times more than the amount he should’ve paid. “What the hell?”
Rich people really are something else.
And if Gi-hun presses the bills to his lips to stifle the silly laugh escaping him, thinking about how absurd and surreal this night has been, about the strange man who somehow made an impression, though he couldn’t quite figure out why.
No one could really blame him, right?