“You haven’t been coming in much lately…. You must be really busy.”
“Were you looking for me?”
It had been nothing more than a throwaway remark to fill the silence — he hadn’t actually been looking for the owner. Since there didn’t seem to be much point in saying otherwise, Yuhyeon just smiled awkwardly, and Seongjun’s lips parted ever so slightly. He looked, much like he had in room eleven, as though there was something he wanted to say.
Probably not.
The two of them weren’t close enough to be exchanging small talk like this. Yuhyeon shook his head and rubbed at his arms, which had grown cold. He ought to head back inside before he caught a chill. He pointed toward Glock’s entrance and turned his feet.
“I’ll be heading in now. It’s a busy time right now.”
Seongjun let his expression fall away and, in lieu of a reply, watched Yuhyeon descend the stairs in his hurried manner, quietly.
❄ ❄ ❄
One of the advantages of Glock, unlike ordinary bars, was that the serving staff had relatively little to do until the call bell rang. Yuhyeon had just finished clearing a large group’s table and settled into a chair near the kitchen for a moment to catch his breath.
“Ah, fuck…. This is fucking annoying.”
Yuhyeon was sitting there in a daze, watching the kitchen staff move around, when a sharp string of curses reached his ears. It was another part-timer who had just finished serving and had come back to rest, venting his frustration out loud. He looked thoroughly worked up, as though he’d run into a difficult customer. Apparently zeroing in on Yuhyeon as someone who’d listen to his complaints, he came trotting over and planted himself nearby.
“Hyung, have you been to room eight?”
Yuhyeon looked at the face of the part-timer addressing him and barely managed to place the name. Kim Juntae, who had started about a month ago. He raised his voice about some pervert in room eight, and apparently the irritation still hadn’t drained out of him — he undid a couple of shirt buttons. Whatever had happened to him in there, it was going to be a while before that crease between his brows smoothed out.
“Why? What happened? Have some of this and cheer up.”
The head chef came rushing out at the sound of raised voices and pushed a neatly sliced piece of watermelon into Juntae’s mouth as he asked. Whatever was going on, the message was to calm down first. Juntae crunched it down and swallowed, and as he recalled what had happened a few minutes ago, his face crumpled all over again.
“Room eight is a total nightmare. You’d think this was some kind of place that sells bodies. I was about to call the security guard, but it seemed like he was a regular so I held back.”
“How’d you know he was a regular?”
The head chef’s expression shifted by the moment as he listened to Juntae, seemingly trying to convey that he was following along.
“He came in before and I served him then too.”
If this is bad luck, then it’s off the charts bad luck, Juntae sighed heavily. Watching him express his misery at being assigned the same customer two days in a row through a full-body shudder was almost pitiful. The head chef bristled as though it had happened to him personally, scratching at the goosebumps on his arm, then shot a warning toward Yuhyeon.
“You heard all that, right? If a call comes in from room eight, be careful. If anyone tries anything weird, call the security guard.”
“Yes, I will.”
Since it was a space divided into private rooms, incidents did occur every now and then. Because of that, staff entering the rooms were required to carry a walkie-talkie connected directly to the security guards. The head chef warned that the ones who got drunk and acted up always ended up causing trouble, and told him to respond firmly if anyone tried anything.
Speak of the devil — while Juntae stepped away to wipe the watermelon juice from his mouth, a call from room eight came through, as if on cue. Pretending not to notice wasn’t an option since Yuhyeon was the only one left on the floor, and the eyes of the kitchen staff were on him too. He peeled himself awkwardly out of his seat and, with no real choice, grabbed his order pad and headed toward room eight.
He might have been better off not knowing. The whole walk across the corridor, his legs felt heavy and sigh after sigh kept slipping out.
“…Haah.”
Standing at the door, sounds of rowdiness that had managed to cut through the soundproofed walls reached Yuhyeon’s ears. He could do this. He was getting paid for it, so he decided to push through. Steeling himself, Yuhyeon pushed the door open.
“Is there something you need?”
Since he’d been warned this customer had already caused all kinds of trouble, Yuhyeon bowed his head with more formality than usual. No point in giving anyone an excuse to pick a fight — best to be as careful as possible.
“Hey, hey, part-timer! Come over here.”
Yuhyeon’s shoulders jumped. A man with flesh sagging at his sides was chugging whiskey straight from the bottle and patting the spot beside him. The seating in the room was made up of long sofas all around, so there was plenty of space, but Yuhyeon was under no obligation to sit down. On top of that, the way he was addressing the staff didn’t sit right with him. Glock was not an entertainment establishment that existed to entertain customers, and the staff were not objects prepared to satisfy someone’s personal desires. He had been trained to speak firmly in situations like this. Yuhyeon opened his mouth as he had practiced many times.
“I’m sorry. Since I’m on duty—”
“What?”
“Since I’m on duty, I’m unable to take a seat.”
“What, so you’re saying if I wait until after your shift ends you’ll sit down?”
The man set the whiskey bottle down hard and let out a lewd snicker. The grin stretching wide across his face was revolting enough to make Yuhyeon’s skin crawl. Rattled by the man’s crude manner, Yuhyeon faltered for a moment, but he was careful not to let his emotions show as he quickly lifted his order pad.
“What can I get for you?”
He tapped the pad with the tip of his pen without making eye contact. Even with that clear signal to place an order, the man had no intention of going along with it — a coarse laugh came back in response. When Yuhyeon still didn’t look up, the man seemed to take it as disrespect and his eyes narrowed in an instant.
“Hey, you. Come here.”
Every part of him wanted to refuse. But standing there and holding his ground wasn’t going to solve anything. Better to swallow his pride before things escalated and try to manage the situation as smoothly as possible.
Yuhyeon stepped over toward the man. That prompted the man to crook his fingers, gesturing for him to come even closer. When he moved a little nearer, the knee of the seated man barely grazed Yuhyeon’s leg. At this reduced distance, the man’s breath carried a strong smell of alcohol. He was quite drunk, apparently. If he tried to intimidate him or do anything inappropriate from here, Yuhyeon was prepared to call the security guard.
He was watching closely to see what the man would do next, when all of a sudden a hundred-thousand-won check was shoved into the waistband of his pants. The man didn’t stop there — he forced his hand further inside the waistband and rubbed along Yuhyeon’s hip bone.
His fingertips trembled with humiliation. He’d been on the receiving end of slurred insults from drunk customers before, and had nearly been struck, but a degradation like this was a first. Yuhyeon pressed his lips together through the twitching that had overtaken them and scrunched his eyes. A surge of fury rose hot and instant into the area beneath his eyes. He grabbed the man’s wrist to make him stop, but he must not have had enough strength — not only did the hand not come away, he was told his skin was soft. His breathing scattered and his throat bobbed sharply. If he opened his mouth right now, he felt certain his voice would come out shaking.
It’s okay. You knew going into this job that situations like this could happen.
He had deliberately practiced the cold expression and firm tone of voice many times, even after shifts. To get through this moment, he dredged up the memory of those practice sessions. A small controlled breath slipped through his teeth and carried a measure of composure with it.
“…Excuse me, sir.”
Just as he began to speak, the man cut him off.
“Leave it in. I’m giving it to you because I like the way you work hard — you remind me of my son. Hm? Take it as encouragement.”
A scorching breath shot out of Yuhyeon at the absurd remark. The indignation he had barely managed to push back down reasserted itself and shook him to his core.
“For someone who thinks I’m like a son—”
“Hm?”
“Don’t you think you’re touching me a bit too much?”
Responding emotionally wasn’t going to do him any good — he, the employee, would only come out the worse for it. He knew that well, but the emotion that had burst through was eating away at his composure. Yuhyeon, expression as sour as the man’s, yanked away the hand that had invaded his waistband. The man had clearly expected him to cower, so Yuhyeon’s defiant response threw him off — he shoved back his seat and got to his feet.
“What? Touched? Oh, give me a break! I touched you?”
The man who had just been pawing at him moments ago had apparently forgotten every bit of it, demanding proof, his veins bulging in his neck. He wasn’t done there — he started yelling at the top of his lungs about what kind of employee training could result in staff treating customers like this.
“Why don’t you just go ahead and sue me for sexual harassment, huh?”
The man shoved Yuhyeon in the chest and stepped forward. Once, twice, three times. The repeated shoves were actually painful, in their own way. Biting down hard on the inside of his mouth to endure it, Yuhyeon found himself thinking, too late, I should have just let it go.
…Juntae said he was a regular — this isn’t going to cause a problem, is it?
Nowhere else paid as well by the hour or gave tips this generous. Maybe he should just apologize and let it pass quietly. A flood of rapid calculations rushed through Yuhyeon’s mind. He was still absorbing the stream of shouting coming at him from the front when he sensed the door opening. It wasn’t the kind of situation where he could turn around to look, so he could only track the presence with his ears.
Who is it?
