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In these modern times, classic sophistication often toed the line with cheesy. This was the vibe of the upscale restaurant Taemin had been a bartender at for the past year and a half. The walls were a clean white, their glossiness softened by the dim lights reflecting a pallid periwinkle on their countenance. Tables were cut cleanly in chic squares with deep black tablecloths, all minimal in decoration so as not to take away from the more intricately adorned guests who patronized such an establishment. It was something out of a Bond film, suave and cool, but only so depending on who the titular players were for the evening.
It didn’t intentionally mean to be so cheesy, Taemin thought. At least, it was not any more intentionally cheesy than the crooner in the piano lounge. He had been hired a few months back, and had serendipitously worked most of the same shifts as Taemin since then. Typically, he was dressed in a white suit with a black lapel—and coat tails, spats and all—playing softly at the piano while he shared his musings. He possessed traits that only he could pull off, if only because his shoulders were so broad, his face so handsome, and his words so earnest. His name was Jonghyun.
Even now, as the dining area began to clear, the pianist continued to speak softly to the dissipating crowd. “There are some of you who enjoyed a lovely evening with a partner here in our lounge,” he said, voice light like a dance over his own tongue, “Do not feel pressured for the evening to end here, but do not feel pressured to the assumptions of how such romantic evenings should end.”
A slow melody on tinkered off the keys of his piano. There was a soft smile on his face that frayed the corners of his eyes. Taemin had gotten used to seeing it; it was a smile that said Jonghyun was somewhere else, lost in a world that was maybe still cheesy, but at least appreciated and cared for by its creator. Taemin wanted to go there, too, but he was always shy to take the leap.
As the crooner’s words flowed out, Taemin exhaled slowly. The voice was calming and familiar by now, the routine escape at the end of Taemin’s long, monotonous workdays. The black granite of the counter he was tending to was especially sparkling now, as he had wiped circles over the same spot for minutes without noticing.
“To be with someone can be something more than physical; it can be cosmic,” Jonghyun continued his speech, “You are putting out a positive energy for us all. There are rarely stars in the Seoul sky, but when you intertwine hands this evening, your fingers will become spindles: a burst of that soft light we were thought to be missing. It is a warm whisper to waiting hearts that to be alone is not lonely, and to be lonely is not forever.”
The piano gave a few more creaks of its keys and the song came to a close.
“Aishh,” Taemin sighed again. There was a rueful smile that betrayed his words as he said to himself, “so cheesy.”
“Oh?” Came that familiar voice, stronger now in body, but still as light in tone. “I’ve never heard these complaints from you before. Is honesty cheesy?”
Jonghyun was climbing up onto a barstool, his broad shoulders hunched forward as he peered up at Taemin with amused interest. It was the end of Jonghyun’s shift, meaning it was Taemin’s turn to humor him.
“Is it honesty?” Taemin asked with light skepticism, easily playing along. “Are you confessing to all these strangers?”
“Not in the traditional sense, of admitting a feeling to the someone it’s meant for,” said Jonghyun, his chin tilted up just the smallest bit, “But I am confessing my honest thoughts.”
It was amusing how proud he seemed to be of himself, but Taemin couldn’t help but playfully take him down a notch. “Then, yes, your honest thoughts are cheesy.”
They stared at one another for a minute. Jonghyun’s eyes were dim and brows flat as he feigned feeling dead inside. Knowing Jonghyun’s fading smile was in jest, Taemin felt his heart unclench and he offered a smile of his own to replace it. It was an impish grin, mischievousness that could only be coaxed out by the right charmer. They held one another’s gaze, one tempered and one tickled, for what felt like too long, but not long enough.
“Tch,” Jonghyun turned away with a noise of annoyance, and waved the younger boy off. “All this flirting and you haven’t even done your job—I’ll take my usual, then.”
It flustered Taemin to hear their banter called ‘flirting,’ though there might have been some clout to it. For months he had admired the pianist for all the skills he’d displayed—piano, song, words, charm. . . Then, after every show, Jonghyun would come to the bar to ask for a review of the show. Naturally, Taemin had nothing but praise to share, but he always tried to sound as objective as possible with the limited knowledge of music he had. And so, given he thought he’d covered his crush well, it felt too forward to refer to it as ‘flirting.’
Taemin turned toward the bar, readily hiding his embarrassment at his own obviousness. Perhaps that was apart of Jonghyun’s emotional sensibilities; he could smell the attraction off of others. Taemin busied himself from the thought, grabbing frosted tumbler from the shelf and looking over all the drinks and ingredients, trying to remember Jonghyun’s usual concoction. It was only then, as he caught his breath and thoughts, that he realized--
“What usual?” he turned back around to ask, his brows furrowed in confusion.
Jonghyun laughed softly, his smile back and his eyes twinkling like suns that caused Taemin’s face to grow warm. “Ah, you’re right—I don’t typically drink here. I tend to become too honest when I’m drunk, and I tend to become drunk too quickly. . .” His eyes lingered for a moment longer, then he requested with a light timbre, “Grapefruit soju? Do you have any?”
Taemin gave a quick nod and went to retrieve some. He handed Jonghyun the small, chilled bottle, as well as the tumbler, pausing before letting them go, as if to say ‘I could pour.’ Jonghyun shook his head and opened the bottle, drinking straight from the source. Most of the restaurant had cleared and it was only the two of them now; he could be comfortable.
“Drunk should not be a problem with me anyway,” Taemin mused, leaning on his elbows and watching Jonghyun drink with amusement. “I imagine I’ve heard all of your honest ramblings now.”
“Not all,” replied the other reproachfully, a pout on his plump limps.
He took another swig, then observed his bottle, thumb running over the paper label. It was obvious he was barely reading it, and soon enough he was talking again. Taemin wondered just how fast he got drunk.
“I don’t think my honest thoughts are always cheesy,” Jonghyun murmured, his voice low and eyes downcast.
Taemin felt a shiver of guilt, wondering if he had turned this usually smooth-operator anxious. Swallowing hard, he nodded to indicate he was listening and hoped Jonghyun would continue.
“I think it comes out cheesier in some situations than others,” the lounge singer explained. “Like in songs, such thoughts are more digestible. Tonight, I was testing out some thoughts for a song I am writing about a certain someone.”
Taemin nodded, swallowing down his scintillation at who it could be about. “I like your songs,” he said, throat dry, “I don’t think putting that in a song would be cheesy.”
“Well, it’d be certainly more inspiring than whispering it—“ he cleared his throat and mimicked himself from earlier, “—huskily into a microphone?”
With a giddy smile, Taemin faked a shiver. “Who knows, maybe some people are into cheesy.”
“Like you?”
“I—“ Immediately Taemin felt another impulse to shy away, but forced himself to choke it down. He gave a clumsy cough, then steeled himself to meet the other man’s eyes. He was no Cyrano, and was typically more of a physical being. Still, he had to at least try to match the sincere eloquence of his company that he so admired. He even squared his shoulders, getting ready for some honesty of his own, but—
“—it’d be so cheesy if I said ‘yes!’” Taemin whined, unable to relent.
Jonghyun groaned back, barely disguising a hiccup. “Aish, there’s nothing wrong with cheesy! Cheesy is just what people call the feelings they are afraid to own! One’s they’re afraid to explore! But I’m not afraid.” Jonghyun brought down his bottle firmly. “I like cheesy. And I like you, Taemin-ah. I like that you watch me when you’re pretending to watch the bar. I like that pretty smile of yours. And I like that blank look you get—like you’re nowhere at all—when really I’m the one who’s getting lost and writing songs with you in mind.”
Unbelievable, Taemin thought. Unbelievably cheesy. He shook his head as he began wiping down the counter again. “That’s not honest—you’re just drunk,” he sighed.
Jonghyun grabbed Taemin’s wrist, stilling his hand from his redundant cleaning. “--can’t it be both?” he asked with a smooth smile.
Taemin glanced down at his wrist where Jonghyun had encircled him. The man had that soft look in his eyes again, brows crinkled in the slightest way that assured Taemin that . . . yes, this man was definitely drunk. His grip was tight, like any shaken man’s would be. Taemin felt a sense of pride in being what kept him here, grounded. But even then, with Jonghyun’s brown, comically doe eyes half-seeing, their sweet honey still glinted with the promise of stars.
All Taemin had to do was accept.
It was as the crooner had said earlier; to accept would mean something bigger than doling drinks across a bar, or melodies across a ballroom floor. Drunk and honest, here and in the sky. To ponder such pluralities was not something in Taemin’s skillset prior to Jonghyun’s hiring. It was simply serving drinks. Somewhere along the way, as easy as lovers walking aimlessly at night, it became sharing songs and sentimentality. And now they were here, the two main players in something that could potentially make Taemin’s toes curl—in maybe the best ways.
Taemin pulled his wrist back just enough that his fingers brushed against Jonghyun’s and he could take piano-weathered hands in his own. It was a soft light guarded between their tense bodies. Both of them leaned into one another, eyes unfocused like they were somewhere else. All Taemin could see were those heavy set eyebrows, so concentrated, and flecks of gold, and, goodness, those lips he’d only ever heard sing but had never dared to look at so closely. . .
“Jonghyun?” he breathed, his lungs constricted in this tiny orbit between himself, the counter, and the man that sat before him.
“Mm?” Jonghyun murmured, also too mesmerized by the other. His other hand came up to cup Taemin’s chin, thumb running idly over his cheek.
“Earlier, when you said being with someone was more than physical, it was cosmic,” Taemin paused, hesitantly leaning into the other’s touch. “Can’t being with someone be both, too?”
Rather than answer in another sappy soliloquy, Jonghyun pressed his soft lips against Taemin’s in a very physical, confidently cheesy, unworldly kiss.