Chapter Text
Jiseok knows something has gone horribly wrong the moment he opens his eyes and realizes how bright the room is.
He doesn’t understand what the problem is yet, though. His brain is still somewhere between asleep and awake, his eyes crusted enough that opening them properly takes more effort than it should. He rubs at the corners with his fingers, only to somehow get whatever was stuck there directly into his eyes instead, and squeezes them shut again with a groan. Great. Wonderful way to start the morning.
“Ugh.. why is it so bright?”
He reaches across the bed for his phone, expecting his fingers to bump into it somewhere between the pillow and the pile of plushies he insists he doesn’t have too many of. Nothing. Jiseok pats around again, this time covering more of the mattress, then sticks a hand beneath his pillow and feels along the edge of the blanket. Still nothing. There isn’t even the slightest outline of a phone hiding beneath the sheets.
Wait.
“Shit.”
Jiseok pulls himself upright and throws the blanket away from his legs, disturbing half the residents of his bed in the process. One plushie gets knocked onto its back. Another goes flying completely over the edge and lands facedown on the floor. Poor thing. Jiseok would apologize if he had time, but the growing dread in his stomach has already dragged him out of the bed and toward the table beside it, where his phone is sitting innocently beneath the lamp, plugged in.
He grabs it and presses the power button.
8:50 a.m.
For a moment, Jiseok only stares. His first shift starts at nine.
“No way.” His attention drops to the battery icon and somehow the situation gets worse. It’s red. Still red, despite the charging cable hanging from the bottom of his phone exactly the way he remembers leaving it before he went to sleep. Jiseok tugs the cable out, looks at the end of it, then follows it down toward the outlet only to find that the plug has come loose enough from the socket to be completely useless.
So his phone hadn’t been charging.
Which meant his alarm—
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Whatever remains of his sleepiness disappears. Jiseok drops the phone onto the bed and crosses the room in a rush, pulling the door open hard enough that it bumps against the wall before he heads straight for the bathroom across the hall. He doesn’t knock, mostly because it doesn’t occur to him that there could possibly be anything more important right now than getting toothpaste into his mouth within the next five seconds.
There is, apparently, Jooyeon’s dignity.
Jooyeon is halfway through a song when Jiseok barges in, standing beneath the shower with shampoo worked into his hair and the curtain pulled completely open. He has a bottle in one hand that he appears to have been using as a microphone, though the performance ends the instant the door flies open.
“Ack! What the fuck, Jiseok?!”
Jiseok barely registers him. He is already at the sink, grabbing his toothbrush and squeezing far too much toothpaste onto it while Jooyeon scrambles for the curtain behind him.
“Hello?!” Jooyeon yanks it across with enough force to make several of the rings clatter against the rail. “You can’t just barge in while someone’s showering! What if I was doing something?”
Jiseok shoves the toothbrush into his mouth and starts brushing, staring at his own reflection with growing horror. His hair is crushed against one side of his head, there is crease running across his cheek from his pillow, and his eyes still look half asleep. He turns on the tap and bends over the sink to spit before answering.
“I’m late.”
“So?” Jooyeon sounds deeply unimpressed from behind the curtain. “Being late doesn’t suddenly remove the concept of knocking.”
“My shift starts at nine.”
“Okay, but—”
“My first shift.”
The shower keeps running, but Jooyeon stops talking.
Jiseok splashes cold water over his face and rubs it roughly across his cheeks, trying to scrub the last of the grogginess out along with whatever dignity he might have carried into his first day. When he straightens again, Jooyeon has poked his head around the curtain.
“What time is it?”
Jiseok looks at him through the mirror. “Uhh.. eight fifty something?”
Jooyeon's face changes at the answer. “Uh oh,” he manages.
Jiseok shuffles back into his bedroom, irritation prickling under his skin every time he looks at the useless red battery icon on his phone. He wants to be mad about it properly. He wants to stand there and figure out how the charger had managed to betray him overnight, because he distinctly remembers plugging it in before he went to sleep, but there is no time for that now. Whatever happened, happened. His first shift still starts in less than ten minutes and his workplace is nowhere near close enough for him to pretend otherwise.
Thankfully, at least one version of Jiseok from last night had been responsible.
His work clothes are already hanging together at the front of his wardrobe, nearly separated from everything else; a loose white shirt for the inner layer, the blue checked short-sleeved shirt he plans to leave open over it, and a pair of wide dark-blue jeans.
Nothing particularly formal, which had been one of the first things he liked about the job. The store only asked that employees look presentable and comfortable enough to move around, and considering his wardrobe already leaned toward oversized streetwear, Jiseok had taken that as a permission to dress more or less like himself.
He strips out of his sleep clothes and gets dressed as quickly as he can without putting anything on backwards, pulling the white shirt over his head before shrugging into the checked one and leaving the buttons untouched. The jeans take slightly more effort because his foot catches somewhere inside one leg, and he has to hop once to keep himself from falling into the wardrobe, but eventually everything is where it is supposed to be. Deodorant comes next, because being late is already enough of a first impression without arriving sweaty on top of it, and then he runs his fingers through his hair several times, decides there is no saving it beyond that, and reaches for his sling bag.
Wallet, phone, he shoves everything inside and steps back into the hallway just as Jooyeon comes out of the bathroom.
Jooyeon has apparently abandoned any hope of helping. His hair is wet and pushed away from his forehead, water still trailing down his chest, and a pink towel is wrapped low around his waist. He takes one look at Jiseok and seems to understand that there is nothing useful left for him to contribute.
So instead, he reaches out and gives Jiseok two firm pats on the shoulder.
“Good luck.”
The delivery is playful enough that Jiseok knows Jooyeon is trying not to make his panic worse, but there is something comforting about it anyway. Jiseok turns toward him with a miserable look. “I’m going to get fired before I even learn where they keep the spare strings.”
“You’re not going to get fired.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you’re probably going to walk in ten minutes late, apologize like your life depends on it, and then work as hard for the rest of the day because you feel guilty.” Jooyeon gives his shoulder another pat, this one lighter. “They’ll survive.”
Jiseok presses his mouth together. Unfortunately, that does sound exactly like something he would do. “Okay, fine. I’m going.”
He heads for the entrance and crouches long enough to shove his feet into his worn-out black Converse, barely bothering with the laces beyond making sure they will not trip him on the way out. His hand automatically reaches toward the little tray by the door before Jooyeon stops him.
“Don’t worry about the keys. I’ll be home all day.”
Jiseok looks over his shoulder. “Seriously?”
“Seriously, just go before you make yourself even later.”
“Okay!” He is already halfway through the doorway when he says it, pulling the door shut behind him before taking off down the corridor.
The bus turns the corner just as Jiseok reaches the stop. He breaks into a run and manages to get there before the doors close, climbing aboard with his chest heaving and his bag knocking against his hip. The relief lasts until he looks around and realizes there is nowhere to sit. Every seat is occupied, several people are already standing, and Jiseok ends up squeezing himself into a spot near the middle with one hand wrapped around the overhead strap.
Only then does he dare look at his phone.
9:05 a.m.
Jiseok closes his eyes.
The bus starts moving before he can properly mourn the fact, forcing him to tighten his grip as he sways with it. Nine exactly means there is officially no possibility of arriving on time anymore. All he can do now is minimize the damage.
He spends most of the ride checking the time far too often, even though watching the minutes change does absolutely nothing to make the bus move faster. By the time his stop finally appears ahead, Jiseok is already inching toward the door.
The moment it opens, he is out.
He crosses the pavement at a near jog, rounds the corner, catches sight of the instrument shop farther down the row, and gives up pretending to have any dignity left.
Jiseok properly runs. His sling bag bounces against his side while the loose hem of his checked shirt flutters behind him, and he has enough awareness left to avoid colliding with two people outside a convenience store before reaching the shop entrance. The sign above it barely registers. Neither does the display window full of guitars he had admired when he came for the interview.
He grabs the handle and pushes inside with more force than necessary. Jiseok stumbles through the entrance and has to catch himself before his momentum carries him any farther, one hand gripping the strap of his bag while he tries to get enough air into his lungs to speak.
There is a man behind the counter.
He looks up at the commotion with mild surprise, one hand still resting beside whatever he had been working on, and for a brief moment neither of them says anything.
Jiseok straightens as much as he can.
This has to be an employee. Possibly his senior? Possibly someone important. Possibly the person currently deciding whether Jiseok should be allowed to keep his job. Great.
He opens his mouth, still slightly out of breath. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”
The man behind the counter doesn’t answer straight away. He just looks at Jiseok. Not rudely, exactly. More as though he is trying to place him somewhere in his memory, eyes moving over Jiseok’s face before dropping toward the sling bag hanging from his shoulder. Jiseok can practically see the thought forming behind his eyes, pieces slowly clicking into place while the silence stretches just long enough to make him wonder if he has somehow walked into the wrong shop entirely.
Then something seems to register. “Ah.” The man looks down at his hands, wipes them against the cloth beside him, then steps out from behind the counter. “You must be the new employee.”
Jiseok’s mouth opens. “Ah— yeah. Yeah, I—” The rest of the sentence disappears somewhere before it can reach his tongue.
Now that the counter is no longer between them, Jiseok gets his first proper look at him.
They are roughly the same height, which should probably be the least interesting thing Jiseok notices, except the similarity only makes everything else stand out more. The man is broader through the shoulders, built in a way that is difficult to miss beneath the plain black T-shirt he is wearing. The sleeves sit a little higher on his arms, leaving enough of his biceps visible that Jiseok’s attention catches there for one embarrassingly long moment before he forces it back upward. Black jeans, no accessories beyond a watch, nothing particularly flashy about him at all.
Jiseok swallows. “I’m really sorry. I thought I charged my phone last night, but apparently it wasn’t actually charging, so my alarm didn’t— well, I mean, it probably did, but I didn’t hear it, and then the bus—”
The man lifts one hand. Not enough to interrupt harshly, only to stop Jiseok from digging himself any deeper.
“It’s okay.”
His voice is lower than Jiseok expects. Deep enough that the two words settle strangely somewhere in his chest.
The man holds his hand out toward him. “I’m Gunil.”
Jiseok looks at the offered hand, then reaches for it before his brain has enough time to make the interaction weird.
Their palms meet in a firm handshake, Gunil’s hand warm and slightly rough against his, calluses pressing faintly into Jiseok’s skin. Something about that texture, paired with the steady grip and the deep voice still lingering in his ears, makes his knees feel weak.
What the hell? It’s just a normal handshake. People do this all the time without suddenly forgetting how to stand, yet Jiseok is aware of every point of contact between them and, worse, how unfairly attractive Gunil seems while doing something as ordinary as introducing himself.
“I’m—”
“Jiseok,” Gunil finishes.
Jiseok stares at him. “Yeah.”
Gunil releases his hand first and gives him a polite smile. It doesn’t completely soften the natural sternness of his face, but it changes enough that Jiseok feels some of the tension leave his shoulders. Only some. Gunil still looks like someone Jiseok should probably avoid disappointing.
“Welcome,” Gunil says. “I’ve been working here for a while, so I’ll be showing you around today. The manager isn’t here yet, which is probably good timing for you.”
Jiseok looks at him, trying to work out whether he is being serious, but the hint of amusement on Gunil’s face gives him away. He’s joking. Probably. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”
Gunil turns toward the counter again, folding the cloth once before setting it aside. “You don’t need to worry too much about today. First shifts are mostly getting used to the place, learning where everything is, how we handle customers, stock, repairs, that kind of stuff.” He pauses before looking back at Jiseok. “But try not to make being late a habit.”
The reminder makes Jiseok wince a little, guilt returning just as quickly as it had started to ease. “I won’t. Seriously, I’m really sorry.”
Gunil seems to take that in before giving him a small nod. “It’s alright. Just let someone know next time, okay? No need to work yourself up over it.” Gunil doesn’t sound angry, which makes it harder for Jiseok to figure out what he is supposed to do with himself. His tone is firm enough to make the advice feel genuine, but there is no irritation behind it and no sign that he has already decided Jiseok is irresponsible.
Then he gestures toward the back of the shop. “Come on. You can put away your bag first, then I’ll show you around.”
Jiseok nods and follows after him.
By the time Gunil finishes showing him around, Jiseok has learned far more than he expected to on his first morning. Where the extra cables are kept, which guitars are display-only unless a customer asks, how the stockroom is organized, which repair requests need to be written down twice because the manager has a habit of misplacing the first copy, Gunil explains all of it, and then somehow keeps finding more things to add.
He talks more than he probably needs to, but Jiseok doesn’t mind. If anything, he finds it strangely endearing. Gunil seems to come alive when he points something out, adding little details that clearly matter to him even when they aren’t necessary for Jiseok to remember yet. There is something nice about watching someone care this much about what they do, and by the end of the tour, Jiseok has stopped worrying about memorizing every rule and started paying more attention to the way Gunil talks instead.
Once they make their way back toward the front of the shop, Gunil finally seems satisfied with everything he has covered. “I think that’s most of it for now.” He rests one hand against the counter, then looks over at Jiseok. “Actually, what do you play? I only knew your name and that we were getting a new employee. The manager didn’t tell me much else.”
“Uh, guitar,” Jiseok answers. “Mostly.”
“I see,” Gunil nods with immediate interest, and Jiseok finds himself liking how easily the conversation shifts away from work. “That’ll be useful here.”
“What about you?”
“Drums, mainly.” Gunil pauses before adding, “But I can play a bit of everything.”
Jiseok stares at him. “Everything?”
“Not well.”
“Hey, that still counts. It’s cool!”
Gunil laughs at that, and Jiseok catches himself smiling too. The conversation carries on from there without much effort, drifting between instruments, music, and the kinds of things they like to play, until the sound of the music store door opening distracts them.
A customer steps inside, dragging a large hard-shell case behind him.
Gunil brightens the moment he notices who has walked in. “Ah, Seungmin-ah.”
The customer lets the large case slide from his shoulder with a tired grunt, setting it carefully beside the counter before looking at Gunil with immediate frustration.
“Hyung, one of the keys just stopped making sound. I’ve been trying to fix it since last night, but nothing’s working, and I have an assignment due soon, so if this thing dies on me now, I’m actually finished!”
“Huh? Really?” Gunil steps closer and reaches for the case. “Let me take a look. It might not be anything serious.”
Jiseok watches the exchange from a short distance away, mostly because there is nothing else for him to do yet, though his attention lingers longer than necessary. Seungmin seems completely comfortable with Gunil, complaining without hesitation while Gunil listens with the patience of someone who has heard this kind of thing from him many times before.
Eventually, Seungmin notices the unfamiliar person practically staring holes through him. His eyes move from Jiseok to Gunil, then back again.
Gunil follows the look. “Oh, right. This is Jiseok, our new employee.”
Seungmin’s face relaxes at once. He lifts one hand in greeting and gives Jiseok an easy smile. “Oh, hey. I’m Seungmin.”
“Jiseok,” he replies, returning the wave.
“He’s a regular here,” Gunil adds while beginning to unzip the case. “Comes in often enough that I’m starting to think he works here too.”
“Hyung,” Seungmin complains, though there is no real annoyance in it. “You say that, but you’re the one who keeps telling me to bring everything here when something goes wrong.”
“That’s because you keep trying to fix things yourself first.”
“I have faith in my abilities.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Seungmin immediately launches into another complaint about his assignment, something about a recording deadline and a professor who has already given him an extension once. Halfway through, he reaches over and taps Gunil’s shoulder with the back of his fingers to emphasize whatever point he is making, then does it again a moment later when Gunil doesn’t react quickly enough for his liking. Jiseok stops following the actual story somewhere around there, too distracted by how comfortably Seungmin hovers beside him, whining and nudging at Gunil as if this is something he does all the time.
Jiseok only notices he has been making a face when the muscles around his mouth begin to feel sore from holding it. He lets them relax, mildly horrified that he has been standing there judging the two of them without even realizing it. Why is Seungmin being so clingy with him anyway? With this annoyingly attractive man Jiseok has known for less than an hour and has already developed a problem about.
The conversation somehow ends with Seungmin wrapping a hand around Gunil’s wrist and shaking his entire arm while pestering him about something Jiseok can no longer keep track of. Gunil barely resists, letting his arm be pulled back and forth while he waits for Seungmin to finish, and when Seungmin finally lets go, he points a warning finger straight at him.
“I’m serious, hyung. Please save it.”
“I said I’ll look at it.”
“You always say that too calmly.”
“What do you want me to do, panic with you?”
Seungmin gives him one last dissatisfied look before turning toward the door. “Just text me when you know what’s wrong with it.”
Then he leaves without so much as another look at Jiseok.
Jiseok watches the door close behind him, feeling a little offended despite knowing he has no reason to be. They had only exchanged names. Seungmin didn’t owe him anything. Still, would one goodbye have been so difficult?
Gunil, meanwhile, lowers the keyboard back into its case and closes it carefully before looking over at Jiseok again. Jiseok is still standing there, mildly dumbfounded by everything that just happened.
Gunil studies him for a moment. “You okay?”
Jiseok blinks. “Yeah.” He is not entirely sure that answers the question.
The rest of Jiseok’s first shift passes far more smoothly than the morning had promised.
Once the embarrassment of arriving late wears off, the work itself settles into something he can actually enjoy. He spends most of the afternoon following Gunil’s instructions, helping customers when he can, learning which questions he is expected to answer himself and which ones should be handed over to someone more experienced.
At some point, two more employees arrive for the later shift and introduce themselves between customers, both of them greeting Gunil with the same familiarity that everyone in this place seems to have with him. Jiseok learns their names, forgets one of them almost right away, then feels too embarrassed to ask again.
The best part of the day comes when Gunil leaves him with two guitars that need restringing.
Jiseok takes longer than he probably should on the first one, partly because he wants to make sure he doesn’t mess anything up and partly because he can feel Gunil moving around somewhere behind him, which does absolutely nothing for his concentration. By the second guitar, though, his hands settle into the work more naturally, and when he finally finishes and sets it down, Gunil comes over to inspect both.
“These are good.”
Jiseok looks up. “Really?”
“Really.” Gunil turns one of the tuning pegs and checks the tension before looking back at him. “You did well. Especially for your first shift.”
Jiseok’s chest does something ridiculous. “Thanks,” he manages, though the word comes out far less casually than he intended.
Gunil only gives him another approving nod before carrying the guitar away, unaware that Jiseok is left standing behind the counter trying to convince his heart to behave normally.
By the time six o’clock comes around, Jiseok realizes he has barely looked at his phone all day. He pulls it out while the others begin sorting out whatever needs to be done before the next shift takes over and presses the power button.
Nothing happens when Jiseok presses the power button, and a second attempt gets him the exact same result. The screen stays completely black in his hand.
“Oh, come on.”
Gunil, who is putting something away nearby, looks over. “Dead?”
“I think so.” Jiseok holds the power button down for a little longer, watching the blank screen with a growing frown before giving up. “It barely charged last night, and I completely forgot how low the battery already was when I got here.”
Gunil disappears behind the counter before Jiseok can say anything else and comes back holding a small power bank. “Here.”
Jiseok looks at it, then at him. “Are you sure?”
“Take it.” Gunil places it into his hand. “You’ll probably need your phone on the way home. For the bus, messages, emergencies, whatever else you’ve managed to survive without checking all day.”
Jiseok turns it over in his palm, hesitating for another moment before curling his fingers around it. “I’ll definitely bring it back tomorrow.”
“Whenever is fine,” Gunil tells him, already gathering the last few things from the counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway.”
Something warm unfurls in Jiseok’s chest at the words. Gunil says them so easily, with no indication that they are anything more than a simple fact, but Jiseok still has to press his mouth together to keep the smile threatening to spread across his face from becoming too obvious. Of course Gunil will see him tomorrow. They work at the same place. There is absolutely nothing special about that sentence, and Jiseok really wishes someone would explain that to his heart.
“Right. Tomorrow.” He adjusts the strap of his bag and gives the power bank a little lift. “Thanks again.”
Gunil sends him off with a warm goodbye, and Jiseok steps outside with considerably more energy than someone who has just spent the last nine hours on his feet should reasonably have. The evening air is cooler now, the street crowded with people making their way home, and he starts toward the bus stop with the power bank still tucked in his hand instead of putting it into his bag. His thumb brushes absently across its surface while the smile he had been trying to suppress inside the shop finally makes its way onto his face.
First day accomplished! He had been late, nearly died of embarrassment, restrung two guitars without destroying either of them, and somehow ended it with Gunil praising him and lending him something that guaranteed they would have to speak again tomorrow.
Well, not that they wouldn’t have spoken anyway. But still.
Jiseok is halfway down the pavement when a sharp honk cuts through the noise of the street.
He turns at the sound, more startled than curious, just as a voice carries through an open car window. “Hyunggg~!”
That voice.
Jiseok stops walking.
A car is pulled up near the curb a little way from the shop, and Seungmin is sitting behind the wheel with one arm propped against the open window. He calls toward the entrance again, dragging the word out with that same nasal, clingy tone from earlier, and moments later Gunil steps out of the shop.
Jiseok’s smile slowly disappears.
Seungmin says something he can’t hear from where he is standing, waving impatiently for Gunil to hurry up. Gunil answers him before walking around the car and reaching for the passenger-side door with the same complete lack of concern he had shown toward Seungmin’s pestering all morning.
Jiseok looks down at the power bank in his hand, then back at the car.
Wait.
Who exactly is Seungmin to Gunil?