Chapter Text
Jongho doesn’t care about what anyone thinks of her, but she definitely should. It’s starting to get out of hand.
It’s become a game for her to see how quickly she can get her date to leave the table, and this round has to be a personal best. He’s barely taken a sip of his cortado before backing out the door at the sound of “How many STDs do you have? I’m collecting them like the Infinity Stones and I’m missing some of the rarer ones.”
Maybe that might’ve been a tad too far. She thinks she could’ve gotten some entertaining reactions out of him had he stayed a bit longer. She sighs disappointedly as he hurries away, feeling like she’s watching a Jenga tower that toppled far too quickly.
Whatever. At least if they leave first, they’re more likely to do the dirty work of breaking the news to San that it didn’t work out between them. The more negative things they have to say about her, the better. She needs San to be convinced that there’s something fundamentally wrong with her. Something that makes her undateable. Detestable. Anything to convince her she’s a giant, flaming, unsalvageable red flag so she can finally give up on setting her up on these blind dates.
Unfortunately, Sannie is too optimistic and too damn persistent. It’s proven nearly impossible to crush her dream that she’ll one day find Jongho’s perfect match if she keeps trying hard enough.
A text comes in a few minutes after the cafe door closes behind the poor guy on his way out.
sannie
:((((((
sorry it didn’t work out.
jjongie
it’s ok, it happens.
sannie
next time i’ll find your soulmate!!
jjongie
you reeeaally don’t have to
sannie
no no no, don’t give up!! i have a few other friends who said they might be interested!!
Jongho shudders at the thought of San running around asking everyone she’s ever met to date her, but apparently that’s the life she’s living now.
She stares blankly out the window as she continues sipping her coffee. At the very least, she’ll have an excuse to keep coming back to this cafe. Even if her date’s reactions aren’t entertaining enough, the cafe owner’s definitely are. It’s obvious that she’s trying not to watch, but she still can’t help but eavesdrop from behind the counter. The way her eyes bulge out of her head whenever Jongho drops a one liner like “I can’t wait for you to meet my husband and our five kids,” is absolutely hilarious.
Plus the coffee’s good, and the ambiance is nice. Antique moulding with intricately carved flourishes line the windows and walls. But in spite of its tiny size and historic detailing, it’s bright and airy from the wide skylights in the high ceiling letting in the sunlight trickle in. Trailing vines drape down from where they’re hung under the glass ceiling, leaving leafy shadows across the starburst-patterned tiles beneath her feet. Even more greenery lines the windowsills, like an indoor garden with all its foliage and flowers. It’s a unique little spot that feels distinctly Parisian, but without the lingering scent of cigarettes.
At first glance, Jongho assumed this place would be one of those overpriced and overhyped coffee spots that sells $20 lattes that taste like dirt, but it wasn’t nearly as overpriced as it looked, and also far more welcoming than its admittedly pretentious interior initially let on. Jongho’s already left a glowing review on Yelp.
CAFE BELLFLOWER
1 Review
Choi Jongho
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 3 weeks ago
Best coffee in the city. Plus the owner is hot (respectfully). Highly recommend.
Maybe she should’ve left that second bit out on a review linked to her legal name and public profile, but that brings us back to the original point. She really should start caring about what other people think of her.
In her defense, the owner of Cafe Bellflower truly is drop dead gorgeous.
In spite of the coffee stains speckled across her linen apron, she has a regal air to her that makes her look like the movie version of a barista, like a model on an ad meant to entice people to buy her industrial coffee grinder rather than the one actually using it.
If San set the two of them up on a date, Jongho would play it nice and only tell one or two lies rather than the full extended director's cut worth of bullshit she normally subjects people to. She might even consider being honest and telling her upfront that she isn’t planning on ever getting into a real relationship.
Respecting someone’s time. That’s as close to romancing someone as Jongho’s willing to get.
The cafe owner readjusts the misshapen hand-knitted scrunchie she wears while she’s working. Jongho’s noticed it never really keeps her reddish-brown ponytail in place without coming loose at the most inconvenient times. But even with her frazzled hair, she still looks gorgeous.
They lock eyes momentarily as she adjusts her hair, and Jongho realizes she’s been staring. But the cafe owner smiles softly back at her, grabbing a cup off the counter and rushing towards her with it in tow. To Jongho’s confusion, she places it on the table in front of her before running back behind the counter to continue taking orders.
Jongho raises an eyebrow as she lifts up the drink — some kind of sugary frappé-esque concoction topped with a generous tower of whipped cream, dusted with cocoa powder and heart shaped sprinkles. Not the type of thing she’d ever order for herself, and she’d be willing to bet her date didn’t order it for her either. If the cafe owner hadn’t brought it to her so deliberately, she’d have already handed it back thinking it was a mistake.
She turns the paper cup in her hands in search of the name of who it’s actually for. But rather than a name, she sees a short note written in half-cursive Sharpie scribbles.
“Keep your head up! For what it’s worth, I’d never judge you for your STDs!~”
And beneath it, there’s a drawing of a dopey looking happy face with a flower on its head.
Jongho tries to contain herself. She really does. But the laughter bubbles up in her chest and there’s only so much she can do before it all spills out with loud snort followed by an unceremonious cackle.
She glances up at the owner who flashes her a thumbs up with an expression that’s so unmistakably, undoubtedly, and painfully earnest that only sends Jongho further into her giggle fit.
Once her breathing steadies, she tastes the drink. It’s far more sugary than the unsweetened americanos she normally downs by the gallon, but regardless it’s delicious. Just as she suspected — Jongho spouts a lot of buffoonery, but she’d never lie about coffee. She didn’t say this place serves the best coffee in the city for nothing.
On her way out, Jongho drops her cup into the trash bin by the counter, meeting the owner’s gaze as she passes by.
“Thanks for the drink,” Jongho says to her. “Glad someone will accept me for who I truly am.”
The bell on the door jingles as it closes behind her and she sighs. There’s never enough caffeine and sugar in her blood to cope with what’s coming for her next. The bus ride back isn’t long enough for her to mentally prepare for it either. It’s only long enough to make her sweat through her shirt in the midsummer sun so that enduring this next encounter will be physically uncomfortable on top of every other kind of uncomfortable it was already going to be.
She takes a deep breath before slowly opening the door to the apartment.
“Hey, San.”
“What was it about him?” San, who’d apparently staked out in the living room waiting for her to come home, perks up ready to dive headfirst into a whirlwind of post-date discussion before Jongho even has a moment to put down her purse. “Was he too short? Too tall? Too boring? Not cute enough? I thought he was pretty cute though.” She runs her hands through her long jet black hair, messing up her neat silky strands. “Ugh, I’m having such a hard time nailing down your type. You said no finance bros last time, so I thought a quieter guy would be better? Hmm, I don’t know. What did you think of him?”
Jongho wishes she could tell her that her ideal type is nobody. But she knows she has to hold her tongue. She can’t tell her that she’s sick of these dates either. As hard as it is for her to stomach them, it’ll be harder to stomach saying no and upsetting her cousin who has so kindly allowed her to crash at her place for the foreseeable future while she’s quote-unquote “looking for her own place before she starts her new job.”
San’s greatest vice is that she’s far too nice, for better or for worse, and a little too nosy for her own good. So the more Jongho says, the more questions she’ll have, and Jongho doesn’t want to talk about anything that might risk bringing her current predicament to light. And she definitely doesn’t wanna talk about where she’d be sleeping without the stiff leather couch that’s built more for aesthetics than for sitting on that, regardless of comfiness, she’s calling home for now.
She carefully kicks off her scuffed white sneakers as she formulates a believable lie in her head. “He was nice, we just weren’t on the same wavelength I guess.”
A vague half lie, but it’s good enough for San to accept.
“Love is so complicated sometimes, but let’s not give up! We’ll find your soulmate soon, I’m sure of it.”
She gives her a reassuring grin that Jongho half-heartedly returns.
Now satisfied with their debriefing session, San jumps up from the couch and whips out her phone. “I have to call Seonghwa now. She and Hongjoong are flying in tonight. Don’t forget the dinner reservation is at 7:30 tomorrow.”
She waltzes away with the kind of excitement that Jongho could only ever dream of having. “I can’t wait to see everyone again,” she says in her sing-songy voice, like she’s some kind of gym rat Disney princess. Beneath her skin tight athletic gear she’s all love, friendship, and sparkles, and it fascinates Jongho to no end that they share the same gene pool.
“I won’t forget, I promise,” Jongho nods, relieved to have survived the debrief unscathed.
How could she forget? San’s been talking about it ever since Jongho arrived on her doorstep, and Jongho’s been dreading it for even longer.
San’s birthday.
Also known as their annual college friend group reunion party.
Also known, specifically to Jongho, as her least favorite day of the year.
At 7:30 that evening, Jongho finds herself following San into their local KBBQ joint, praying the night will end quicker. She wedges herself into the corner of the booth between the wall Yunho while San, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa sit across from them, fiddling with the menu deciding what to order.
She knows she shouldn’t feel so irritated to be reunited with her closest friends, but right now it really feels like they’re all surrounding her flexing their emotional and financial stability.
She knows they’re not trying to — the new Louis Vuitton handbag Seonghwa carries around is just a bag to her now that she’s acclimated herself to the upper class lifestyle of a fashion industry professional. It’s not a targeted attack on Jongho’s ego, and she’d be heartbroken if she knew Jongho took it that way. Same with the bespoke leather jacket Hongjoong’s sporting from an up and coming brand she’s too out of the loop to even know the name of. She knows it all means nothing.
But knowing and feeling are two different things, and Jongho can’t stop herself from feeling like shit knowing that three years ago they were lined up at the same starting line at university, and now they’re so far ahead of her it feels like charity work that they’re even at the same table right now. Maybe she’s just a bad person for feeling this way. A terrible, jealous soul. She figures if she went to therapy that’d be one thing they’d wanna change about her. Too bad that’s not making it onto her to-do list any time soon.
While the other three girls are busy debating over what cuts of meat to order for the table, Yunho grabs her attention by sliding a freshly filled glass of water her way.
“How have you been feeling?” she asks.
“Like shit.”
There’s no need to sugar coat it when Yunho already knows most of what’s led up to this. While her encounters with the others were infrequent post-college, she was coworkers with Yunho up until a few weeks ago.
Yunho sets down the empty carafe now that she’s finished pouring everyone’s water. “Understandable,” she nods.
“Not gonna do your usual golden retriever routine and try to cheer me up?” Jongho snorts.
Yunho shakes her head. “Wouldn’t that be ingenuine? I’d feel like shit if all that happened to me too.”
“Thanks.” Jongho’s lip twitches, curling upward into the first minuscule, albeit genuine, smile she’s had in a long time. “Glad to know I’m not just being a drama queen.”
Their conversation halts as the waitress brings them their food. Plates and plates of raw meat pile up on the table — more food than she’s seen in weeks, and more expensive than she knows she can afford when they split the bill, but that can be a problem for future Jongho and her future credit card statement.
“So when did you fly in?” Hongjoong asks her, clicking her tongs together before laying the beef out on the grill top.
“A while ago, actually. I’ve been staying with San for the past couple weeks. Family bonding, you know?”
Her answer earns her a subtle side eye from Yunho, which Jongho kicks her under the table for.
“Really? That’s sweet of you,” Hongjoong says, oblivious to their silent exchange as her eyes stay trained on the grill.
“I’m glad we finally get to be together again!” San chimes in. “It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to spend time with my favorite cousin.”
“It’s just like college all over again,” Seonghwa chuckles.
San points her chopsticks at Jongho, sporting her signature pout. “Don’t find your own apartment too quickly because I’m not ready to start missing you again.”
Jongho lets out what she considers to be a convincing fake giggle. “I’ll try not to.”
When the rest of the table is distracted by the sizzling meat again, Yunho turns to her.
“Family bonding?” she snorts.
“Shh,” Jongho frantically hushes her through gritted teeth, “She doesn’t know. Don’t say anything.”
Yunho leans in, voice full of confusion despite how softly she speaks. “She doesn’t know? Why didn’t you tell her?”
Jongho fights to stifle down that irritated feeling that’s been bubbling under the surface ever since she arrived. But it dribbles over and scalds like the fat dripping off the meat on the grill.
“What? Did you think I was just gonna waltz up to her door like ‘hey Sannie, I just lost my job! And my apartment! Could you let me couch surf until I get my shit together?’ No, I’d rather be publicly embarrassed a second time by that criminal asshat I used to call a boss. Actually, scratch that, I’d rather die.”
Yunho gazes down towards the table, choosing her words carefully. “She’s gonna find out eventually, you know.”
“Not if I can help it.”
She picks up a sliver of beef with her chopsticks and holds it towards Yunho — an offering in exchange for her silence that she reluctantly accepts. Yunho has her opinions, but she knows Jongho well enough to know when not to poke the bear.
Dinner drags on.
Jongho silently invents a drinking game for herself where she takes a sip every time she feels a pang of jealousy, mostly so she has something better to do with her mouth than run it.
In another life, Jongho thinks it would be nice to pursue music like Hongjoong did. She tries not to think about it often, but hearing her friend rattle off about all the songs she’s working on makes her wonder. Maybe she’d even become an athlete, or take the peaceful route and work at a cafe like the one she so often frequents. But only in a life where her parents had the money for her to take that sort of gamble on her — money that unfortunately doesn’t come so easily in a single parent household.
Despite barely speaking all night, she feels drained. She misses when the distance between them was nonexistent. But ever since the incident a few weeks ago, it’s grown even more vast, and she only has herself to blame for it all going so so wrong.
It was her own fault for being so naive.
Jongho weasled her way into her first job on the coattails of Yunho’s nepo baby privilege, which really only helped just enough to open the door for her and not much else. She was still subject to an interrogation-like multi-round interview process compared to Yunho’s single-round interview that was only done as a formality.
Regardless of the unequal treatment, she was happy to be hired straight out of school, and grateful to Yunho’s uncle, an executive at the holding company that owned the small financial firm that hired them, for helping her out. Things were looking up. She worked hard, gunning for the promotion and raise that would allow her to live her life for once without being shackled by the restraints of her student debt. It would all be smooth sailing as long as she could stomach being brushed aside as nothing more than Yunho’s shadow. But then she looked a little too far into the numbers on documents her boss had been handing her.
Back then, Jongho was dumb enough to believe in frivolous nonsense like integrity and honesty, and reported her findings to HR:
Embezzlement.
She should have noticed the way the door was cracked open when she was called into her boss’ office one day. It still haunts her that every word leaked out for everyone to hear from their desks of the open floor plan.
“We feel like you’ve been underperforming lately,” he said, nodding to the HR manager poised next to his desk.
The woman handed her a stack of papers. Jongho’s eyes drifted upward to the title of the document:
Performance Improvement Plan.
She read through the bulleted list, and it dawned on her when every single item was an impossible task that she was doomed to fail. HR was protecting him. Not her. Not the law. Not the truth. But the fact that they didn’t fire her outright was proof enough that she was spot on in her accusation. They didn’t want a lawsuit, but they didn’t want to own up to their mistakes. Coercion was their only option.
“This is ridiculous,” she managed to sputter out.
“This is what we expect from employees with your level of experience,” her boss said plainly.
She scanned up and down the paper, rereading it again and again in hopes that maybe she was mistaken. “This— none of this makes sense.” The paper creased between the tense grip of her fingers. “I can’t do this.”
Her boss smirked. “Well, maybe you’re just not good enough.”
Jongho did what any reasonable person would do in that situation. She stood up tall and proud with all the dignity she could muster, stared straight into the eyes of her boss as she raised her laptop over her head, and slammed it onto the floor as hard as she could.
“I quit.”
She walked out the door leaving no trace of hersslf behind other than the dent in the linoleum floor and the bits of glass that flaked off her shattered screen as the HR manager scrambled to sweep them up.
On her way out, she passed by Yunho at her desk, the headphones she usually wore hanging around her neck, with a look of pity that told her she heard every word. It took Jongho everything in her to just keep walking so the tears wouldn’t fall.
It was dumb luck too that her lease was set to expire that month too. Her landlord had big dreams of demolishing the building and turning it into a strip mall, telling all the residents he wouldn’t offer any lease renewals. With no proof of income, she wouldn’t have been able to sign at a different apartment even if she wanted to. She never told Yunho that part, not wanting her to pity her more than she already did. And she just knows Yunho would absolutely get a kick out of her losing her home to a HomeGoods no matter how hard she’d try to keep her mouth shut. Jongho didn’t tell anyone about her predicament, and instead sold all her furniture for the spare cash she needed to pay for the trip to San’s doorstep.
Such is life as a woman who doesn’t know when to shut the hell up.
Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe how she feels. In hindsight it was ridiculous to even think she was in a position to stand up for anything, but it might just be in her blood to learn lessons the hard way. Not everyone gets to experience such an extensive variety of disappointments the world has to offer. Jongho’s lucked out so hard she might as well start buying lottery tickets.
Her mother had always warned her that that’s how life was. Stand up for something, and your head will get cut off for sticking out like a blade of grass that dared to sprout too tall. “Keep your head down. Don’t end up like your father,” was always what she’d lecture her. Jongho could never tell if the bitterness in her voice was directed at him for causing his own ruin, or at herself for never stopping him from waltzing unknowingly towards his inevitable fate. When Jongho repeated that saying herself, the bitterness in her own voice was directed at her mother for being so suffocatingly overbearing. She’s glad her mother moved back to Korea years ago so she wouldn’t have to hear that stupidly truthful line again punctuated by her “I told you so’s.”
The final piece of meat left on the grill threatens to fry into an inedible piece of charcoal before Jongho snaps out of her trance and scoops it up. Yunho notices the dead look in her eyes as she gnaws on the chunk of beef.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking…” she whispers. “If you were given the chance, would you ever consider coming back to the company?”
“After everything that happened?” Jongho scoffs. “They’d go under before they’d ever consider it.”
“I can pull some strings. I’ve already told my uncle about the situation.”
“I’d consider it if it was between that and jumping off a bridge.”
Yunho nods with understanding.
“But thank you, Yunho,” she adds sincerely.
As embarrassing as it was to lose her job in front of everyone, she’s glad that at least one of the witnesses is a close friend. At least one person can pity her. Nobody else ever could, if things play out the way she wants them to. This fuck up is a secret she’s planning on taking to her grave. She hopes that years down the line, this’ll be nothing more than an inside joke between the two of them that’s long been forgotten.
By the time everyone’s said their goodbyes that night, she’s drunk enough soju to know she’ll have the world's worst headache when the sun rises and wakes her sore body up from the rock hard leather couch.
The hangover hits her full force like a bat to the forehead when the midday sun shines directly into her half-opened eyes. Reluctantly, she rolls off the couch, grabs the water pitcher from the fridge and pours herself glass. She downs it in seconds, but her head keeps pounding and she can feel her pulse in her ears.
Sugar.
She needs it in her system before someone tries to talk to her and she ends up committing a felony. After everything last night plus the headache, her tolerance for the world is completely nonexistent.
Jongho swings open the door to the cafe and immediately disrupts the peaceful air, stumbling in and demanding the sweetest drink on the menu. She tugs her beat up baseball cap down to cover her face as she mumbles out her order, shielding her eyes from the sun rays lasering her through the skylights as though they’re trying to burn her vampiric body alive.
Maybe it’s all enhanced by how her head is spinning, but as she settles into the velvet armchair drinking her mocha strawberry cream whatever-the-fuck-accino, it feels even more surreal in here than it typically does.
She’d go as far to say that the drinks are suspiciously good, especially for the price point. Beneath the syrup and whipped cream, she tastes that this espresso doesn’t taste like any other espresso she’s ever tasted. If she had to guess, it would have to be some specialty variety like Gesha coffee — uniquely floral like a cup of tea. She isn’t sure since she’s never gotten to taste it before, but based on everything she’s read about it, it has to be. She thought she noticed it in that other sugary drink a few days back, but she doubted her instincts at first — it’s ridiculous to waste expensive beans like that on a drink that’s just gonna end up tasting like a milkshake.
On second thought, the entire café feels a little too good to be true. During her previous visits, she’s seen the owner hand out free croissants to kids short on cash, and leave food out for the stray cats that lurk behind the store. She apologizes to the coffee droplets she spills and to the plants when the sun gets a little too hot and they start wilting in the windowsill. And every afternoon when the shop closes, she packages up all the unsold food to donate to the local shelter. She’s almost too nice to the point where if Jongho caught her in the alleyway behind the cafe beating the kids up and stealing her croissants back, it would make a lot more sense to her in terms of karmic balance. Realistically speaking, someone that nice has to have a skeleton or two in their closet.
Regardless, every time she walks in, she feels like she’s entered an alternate dimension where angels and fairies are real and for some unexplainable reason have decided to make coffee. Truly. The owner was either sent from heaven to save Jongho’s wretched soul, or she’s just really really bad at running a business judging by the absurd amount of free stuff she gives out on a regular basis. She hopes it’s the former, though if she was an angel herself, she’d think it would be more productive to initiate world peace rather than run a coffee shop by herself. But what the hell does she know?
Jongho doesn’t know shit about heaven and its inner workings, but what she does know is that she still feels terrible and that her negativity is probably tainting this corner of the cafe with a permanent stain deep in the upholstery on this pink chair. She’s well aware that her life isn’t the worst life she could be living. She has a couch to sleep on and food to eat, but it does feel like the walls are closing in on her every second she’s not actively applying to a job. And every time reality starts to sink in, she wants to drown herself in that weird cold plunge tub San keeps on her balcony. It may not be the worst life ever, but definitely feels like the worst iteration of her life she could’ve chosen.
She’s lost in thought again when she hears someone sit down in the chair next to hers.
“Is everything ok? Is the drink not to your liking?”
Jongho looks up and sees the cafe owner gazing into her eyes with curious concern. Definitely an angel, she concludes. No human grows eyelashes that full. No human smiles that sweetly either. And that mark by her eye looks like a lipstick stain from being kissed by God — probably as an apology for sending her here to be stared at blankly by Jongho’s miserable ass. She’s seen her so many times from across the counter, but now that she’s next to her she realizes she should’ve waxed more poetic in that Yelp review.
“Oh, or did he not come?” she asks.
“He?”
“Your date. You’re always here with someone, so I figured…” she scans Jongho’s puzzled expression, jumping back when she realizes she’s misunderstood. “Sorry! I just assumed…”
“I guess I am always here on dates now that you mention it,” Jongho sighs. “Not this time, though. And if I was, I'd be wishing he did stand me up. It’d make my life a lot easier. I wouldn’t have to talk his ear off with all the made up bullshit I normally spout to get them to leave.”
“Made up? Oh, I…” The girl breaks down into a giggle fit. “I didn’t mean to overhear all of your conversations, but I really thought you were actually living such a crazy life.”
“Of course it was all bullshit,” Jongho snorts. “Half the lies I’ve told cancel each other out.”
“Well, you never know these days.”
“There’s no way I could be on the run for drug-related gang violence and also the front running candidate for the first female pope.”
The girl shrugs. “You could be the first.”
Jongho can’t help but laugh, clutching her chest as she doubles over. “My cousin likes setting me up on blind dates,” she explains. “To me, it’s like jury duty. I just act like I’m a little off my rocker so they’ll let me go home faster.”
“That’s certainly one way to handle the situation,” she chuckles. “And I will say that you’re quite the convincing liar.”
Jongho proudly crosses her arms. “I’d say I’m a pro.”
The girl pauses for a moment, eyes lighting up with an idea. “What’s your name by the way?”
“Jongho.”
“My name is Yeosang. I might have a job for you if you’re interested. I just so happen to be in the market for a professional liar.”
Jongho’s unemployed ass instantly perks up at the sound of the word job.
“I’m in.”
Jongho waits until closing time to talk with her privately upon Yeosang’s insistence. She’s curious to find out what kind of professional bullshitting a cafe owner would need done. When Yeosang’s finished waving goodbye to her final customer, she joins her again on the chair next to her, a nervous expression painting her normally joyful cherub-like face.
“Hmm, where do I start… I’m not exactly sure how to explain this,” she says shyly.
Jongho can’t imagine the issue she has being super complicated. If it’s a weird regular customer she needs to get rid of, Jongho would have no problem telling them off. Or if she needs Jongho to improvise her way through a business deal for the place, playing a salesman is nothing she can’t handle. She sits back and waits for Yeosang to put her words together.
Yeosang plays with the end of her ponytail, staring at the sunset through the window as she thinks. After a moment, she turns back to Jongho.
“I need my father to disown me.”
Ok, so Jongho might’ve been a little off on what she thought she signed up for. Her mind starts racing with a million different questions, but she keeps it casual on the surface, crossing her legs with a nonchalant flair. She’s a professional, after all.
“I’m quite familiar with the art of parental disappointment. Tell me more about your situation. What exactly is it that you need me to do?” she asks.
“I guess it wouldn’t be too different from what you’ve been doing here on those blind dates. I’ll be seeing him this weekend, so I was thinking we could stage a scene of some sort. Like, say we’re running off to elope. Embarrass him, maybe? But still keep it believable.”
“How embarrassed do you need him to be?” she asks. As Jongho’s first ever client, Yeosang deserves the best, most detail oriented customer service she can provide.
“Embarrassed enough to want to get rid of me.”
Jongho grins mischievously. “I’m up for the challenge.”
Yeosang finally drops her shoulders, the tension exiting her body as she takes note of Jongho’s eager excitement. “Amazing. And I’ll pay you for your work too, of course…”
Jongho waves her off flippantly. “As much as I need the money, I’d rather you not pay me like I’m some cheap whore.”
She’d pay for a distraction like this in all honesty — anything to rescue her from the endless vortex that is job applications and blind dates.
“You can pay me in coffee,” she adds. “That’s what I’d be spending my money on anyway.”
“Deal. One last question: are you sure you’ll be comfortable pretending to date a girl?”
Jongho looks at Yeosang positively glowing in the golden afternoon light. What a ridiculous question. “Oh, I’ll be more than comfortable. Especially if it’s with a girl like you.”
Yeosang turns away to hide her flush, hiding behind her face behind hands, but Jongho smirks as she’s quick enough to catch a glimpse of it. And in spite of her efforts to hide herself, her ears burn red as a dead giveaway.
This is gonna be a fun little side quest. In more ways than one.
Jongho stands on the curb waiting for Yeosang to pick her up, smoothing out the black polyester fabric of her department store dress. It’s plain and a bit constricting with its high neck and knee length hem — a piece she used to wear to the office that Yunho said makes her look like a sexy widow (specifically the kind that killed her husband, Yunho would insist, because of the way it hugs her curves, whatever that means). But to Jongho, it’s her Important Meeting Dress for important meetings. Typically she preferred pant suits in her day to day, but she’d play up her femininity if it helped her win a business pitch.
Sleazy businessmen love seeing skin, and while the most Jongho’s willing to give is a flash of her kneecap when she bends a certain way, some of them are big enough freaks for it to work. Weird, but she chooses not to question it.
Regardless of its persuasive abilities, the dress will do for a nice dinner appointment with Yeosang’s parents — she can’t think of a more important meeting she’ll be attending anyway. Besides, it’s all she has unless she’d want to ask San for an outfit and risk having to explain this entire situation to her.
Jongho hopes she isn’t nosy enough to look out her bedroom window and see her waiting to get picked up, but the corner she’s on is hopefully far enough away. She glances over to check if San’s head is poking out through the third floor window, bracing herself to duck behind a trash can if she’s there. Luckily, there’s no trace of her cousin’s catlike eyes watching her from above.
A shiny black SUV with tinted windows pulls up not long after. The car is much larger than she’d expected, and perfectly unscuffed. It’s so pristine it’s like a mirror, reflecting the image of Jongho’s awkward stance back to her. She raises her head and straightens her posture before stepping towards the car. When she reaches out towards the door handle, the driver hops out, wearing a full suit much to her surprise. He politely opens the door for Jongho before she can even react.
“Uh… thank you, sir,” she says, taken aback by his formality.
Yeosang is already in the car, waving sweetly as Jongho climbs in and fastens her seatbelt. The leather of the seats is smooth, and she runs her fingers over the precisely stitched seams running up and down the seats.
“This is a really fancy Uber,” Jongho mutters to herself.
“Sorry, is it too much?” Yeosang nervously plays with the ends of her hair. She’s wearing it down tonight, and it falls in soft waves against her slender neck, the ends resting on the pale skin of her exposed shoulders. It’s hard to see in the dim lighting, but her chiffon gown flows from her cinched bodice like water over the seats. Jongho resists the urge to shrink into herself, feeling way underdressed in comparison.
Yeosang shyly looks towards the ground. “I wanted to get something more lowkey, but my dad insisted he send us a driver.”
A driver. The evening gown. Jongho doesn’t like the way these puzzle pieces are fitting together.
“… So where exactly are we going?”
“To meet my father, remember?”
“Yeah but like, where are we meeting him?”
“Oh! I guess I forgot to mention it. We’re going to the Aurora Charity Gala.”
She says it plain as day but to Jongho it feels like she’s hit a speed bump that's sending her flying out the window. Jongho takes a deep breath and straightens the hem of her skirt. How the hell did this girl get an invite to this event?
Yeosang is evidently no ordinary coffee shop owner.
The drive is a bit long with the traffic, so midway through Yeosang pulls a silver flask out of her little clutch purse.
“Want some?” she asks, holding the flask out to her.
Jongho leans in and catches a whiff of the mystery liquor. “What’s in there?”
“Does it matter?”
“…I think I’m good.”
Yeosang takes a long, somewhat concerning swig of whatever liquor it’s filled with, then fastens the cap back in, her nervous fingers fumbling with it.
“I hate drinking but I hate these events more. They’re such a bore, honestly.”
Jongho nods along in agreement, as though this isn’t entirely new territory for her.
The car pulls up to the venue — some kind of mansion-castle-five-star-hotel-looking establishment that Jongho knows she has no business walking into. The ornate architecture screams “Peasants beware!” in the same way a poisonous frog looks a little too vibrant. But the other guests are unphased, making their way through the courtyard in their suits and gowns. They’re a different breed than her — clownfish swarming an anemone while an anchovy like her feels an instinctive desire to stay away from its stinging tendrils. The marble cherub atop the fountain at the center of the courtyard stands elegantly above the crowd, mocking her.
In spite of her dread, Jongho hops out of the car first, and holds out a hand to help Yeosang as she lifts up the seafoam green skirt of her dress and lowers a stiletto heel to the sidewalk. She steps out of the shade, swaying a bit in her tipsy state, and her dress catches the glow of the street lamps, revealing a glittering array of crystals woven into the sheer outer layers of her gown like she’s been sprinkled with fairy dust. In Jongho's monotonous life, she often feels like there’s nothing left for her to be impresssed by, but in this moment she realizes that she’s sorely mistaken.
“Thank you, Jongho.” Yeosang fluffs out her dress and smiles with her perfect glossy pink lips, absolutely radiant in the evening light.
“Damn.”
“What was that, Jongho?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Now, Yeosang already looked like an angel in her apron and messy ponytail. This side of Yeosang is something Jongho’s brain isn’t equipped to handle. All she can do is pretend she isn’t shaking in her kitten heels and act like everything is perfectly, unequivocally fine.
“Are you nervous?” Yeosang asks.
“Of course not,” she lies.
Honestly, she’s terrified to learn what kind of family a sweet girl like Yeosang would want nothing to do with. Inserting herself into a stranger’s family drama feels like a recipe for disaster and Jongho just being at this gala feels like a recipe for another disaster on top of that, but Jongho’s already at rock bottom and there’s not much more for her to lose at this point. She might as well waltz in and start turning her life into a cookbook of absolute chaos.
“Quick question, is your dad homophobic?”
“Luckily no, he isn’t,” Yeosang reassures her.
“Damn. I was hoping he was.”
“What, why?” Yeosang asks, utterly confused.
“Might make getting disowned a little easier. I never thought I’d wish for the girl I’m on a date with to have homophobic parents, but here we are I guess.”
“If we’re insufferable enough, maybe he’ll change his mind,” Yeosang jokes.
“I guess that’s the goal, isn’t it?”
“Exactly.” She laces her fingers into Jongho’s. She leans in, the scent of her perfume filling Jongho’s lungs. “Now let’s go be insufferable together.”
Yeosang leads her towards the stone steps that line the grand arched doors at the entrance. She looks at Yeosang and at all the guests, and her heart starts to race with anxiety. It’s straight up comical how out of place she looks.
These rich people are the ones who looked down on her and her family all her life. The ones who pitied her teenage self in her thrift store jeans working a cash register all summer rather than gallivanting across Europe on vacations her mother could never afford for them. They’re completely ignorant and unempathetic, just like her old boss who put her here. Her heartbeat gets more intense with every step they take up the stairs.
Jongho doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her, but she’s not an idiot. She’s just very much aware that as an outsider, she’ll have to watch her back. It’s all she can think of until they step indoors and the acoustics of the candlelit entrance hall amplify the crowd’s meaningless chatter into a booming, reverberating, suffocating cacophony.
“Wait,” Jongho says, pulling her behind one of the stately Greek columns in a desperate bid to stall.
“Is everything ok?”
“Yeah, I um…” she stalls, tugging roughly at the end of her skirt hoping the fabric will stretch out and swallow her up. “Let’s lay out some ground rules, shall we?”
“Sure,” Yeosang nods. “What kind of rules?”
“Umm… Touching? Kissing?” she improvises. “What boundaries should we not cross? Like, just how insufferable are we talking here?”
“I’m down for anything you’re comfortable with. I’m typically not a touchy person so I think anything like that will catch him off guard.”
Catch him off guard. Jongho can do that.
“I have an idea.”
Jongho lifts her thumb and swipes it across her bottom lip, smearing her lipstick. She reaches over and touches her thumb to the corner of Yeosang’s lip, mixing her lipstick and the lip gloss Yeosang’s wearing together as she artfully wipes it onto her doll-like lips. Jongho brings her thumb back to her own lips and paints it with what remains of Yeosang’s lip gloss.
Yeosang blinks at her, touching a finger to her smudged lip in confusion.
“It’s like we got a little frisky before we showed up,” Jongho explains. “That’ll make things awkward.”
Yeosang’s eyes light up. “Oh, smart!”
Before Jongho can react, Yeosang’s pulling her in by the wrist, and their lips collide.
Vanilla lip gloss and traces of vodka fill Jongho’s senses. Yeosang parts her lips, kissing her deeper, melting into her while Jongho attempts to match her pace. Jongho’s hands wrap around Yeosang’s waist, mostly in an attempt to keep herself from toppling over. She feels her back press up against the cool surface of the stone column while Yeosang’s fiery touch burns as she pushes her into it.
“Mess up my hair,” Yeosang gasps between kisses.
Jongho obeys, threading her fingers into her soft, wavy strands as Yeosang presses her tongue deeper into Jongho’s mouth. God, she hasn’t kissed anyone in ages. And definitely not like this. Yeosang runs her hand down her back and she realizes that this unassuming little coffee shop owner might not be so innocent after all. Jongho thought she was a little crazy herself, but with the way Yeosang sinks her teeth into Jongho’s bottom lip, she might’ve just met her match.
Her eyes open in surprise as Yeosang licks deeper into her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the judgemental looks of the other attendees around them. They’re making a scene. It’s all part of the act, she reminds herself, mentally clawing her way back before she falls off the edge and succumbs to whatever spell Yeosang is casting on her. When they break apart, Jongho’s psychologically gripping the edge of the cliff by the tips of her fingernails.
None the wiser, Yeosang takes a good look at Jongho’s bewildered face and swollen lips.
“Perfect.” She grins to herself, satisfied with her work. She admires the color of Jongho’s parted lips gently prodding them with her finger. “It’s pretty when it’s all mixed together.”
Jongho gapes at her, frozen, head spinning and out of breath. Yeosang squeezes her hand once more, bringing her back down to earth.
“I know you’re nervous, but I can assure you that you don’t need to be,” she whispers into her ear. “Everyone else is too worried about themselves to pay attention to us. They’re just a bunch of rich people who dump some spare change into a donation bucket so they can dress up and pretend they’re not screwing people over every other day of the year.”
Jongho nods, too breathless to speak, and too stunned to process what she’s just said. Wordlessly, she follows behind Yeosang feeling drunk off that kiss — just tipsy enough to play up the confidence she’s been trying to muster all night. It takes courage to be a fool, and luckily she has just enough of it now as.
They enter the main hall where a grand chandelier hangs high above them, bathing the baroque plasterwork ceiling in a warm orange light that fades down the equally ornate walls and bounces off the marble floor that echoes with every step. The round tables encircled by wooden chairs with delicate lattice backs span as far as Jongho can see in the dim lighting. Atop each of the pristine white tablecloths is an elaborate floral centerpiece of roses and candles that she personally would consider a fire hazard, but surely it isn’t as much of a worry to the upper class who can afford the insurance.
As they walk through, waiters rush up to them offering flutes of champagne. Jongho obliges — she may not be in the mood for straight liquor, but she’ll take a glass or two of something more reasonable. Each time someone passes by with a tray, she takes one. It tastes even better when it’s free, somehow. She sends her condolences to her liver for the rate she’s downing one. At least she’s a heavyweight.
Before she can ask if they’ll have to run around endlessly checking the name cards on each platter, a man spots them and waves to catch their attention.
“There he is,” Yeosang whispers to her.
Jongho takes in a deep breath. There he is indeed. She braces herself for what she knows will be an uncomfortable encounter.
When the two approach the table, he hurriedly gestures for them to sit down. The man is older, but not quite old old yet, and well put together with an artificially perfect friendly smile. It’s hard for Jongho to place his exact age beneath his dyed hair and smoothed out wrinkles, but she can easily place how she feels about him: overwhelmed.
Within seconds of Yeosang entering his vicinity, he’s all over her with frantic worry.
“Where were you? It’s not like you to be so late. Did you get lost? The driver should’ve picked you up on time. Was he late? I can file a complaint if he was. Such a shame you weren’t here earlier. You missed all the speeches.” His sentences fly out of his mouth quickly, merging into what sounds like one mega-sentence.
“Oh how unfortunate,” Yeosang says dryly.
Jongho stifles a laugh at her flagrant lack of remorse. The man however doesn’t notice her muffled snort in his frenzy, his attention on the girl in the green dress. Understandable, honestly. Jongho’s been doing the same all night.
Yeosang seems rather used to this treatment, standing stiffly as he dabs her smudged lips with the cloth napkin from his lap.
“What’s all this on your face?” he asks, worriedly. “You’re such a messy eater. Don’t you know dinner’s going to be served soon?”
He pulls out the seat next to him for her like a butler aiding his princess.
“How’s your day been? Have you run into Mr. Kim yet?” he asks.
Yeosang doesn’t reply, avoiding his gaze as she pokes at the silverware in front of her with her fingers. Jongho almost feels bad for the man as he struggles to get a word out of his daughter in spite of his endless worry. The normally warm and friendly Yeosang suddenly turned cold in his presence.
“He has a son I think you should meet. I know you don’t like making conversation with my colleagues but when you sell the coffee shop, you’ll need these connections again.”
“I’m not quitting the coffee shop.” She smiles her sweet little smile that she always has painted across her face, but this time it doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s venomous — a threat heard loud and clear.
“And I won’t be meeting anyone’s sons any time soon.”
She nudges Jongho, who had awkwardly seated herself on Yeosang’s other side to observe her exchange with this man. She squeezes her hand too for good measure, making sure Jongho’s paying attention.
Right, she has a job to do.
The man glances her way, his eyes momentarily landing on their intertwined fingers.
“And who is this?” he asks Yeosang.
“My fiancé.”
“Your what?”
“My fiancé. We’re getting married.”
“Is this another one of your pranks?”
“Of course not. Why would I ever joke about love?”
She pulls Jongho in tight to her side, Jongho’s chair nearly losing balance as she scoots her inward. He stares at them with a scrutinizing gaze.
Jongho takes the following silence as her cue to introduce herself.
“My name is Jongho. Please give me your blessing so that I can marry your daughter.”
She holds her hand and he takes it firmly, shaking it as though he’s trying to assert dominance in spite of her being a girl who’s a good few inches shorter than him.
“Mr. Kang. CEO of Legacy Corp.”
Legacy Corp?
“Oh, the massive tech company?”
Jongho’s shocked to be in the presence of such a famous man. Legacy Corp is one of the major players in the tech industry, but Jongho’s never entirely understood what it does aside from the elaborate buzzwords the tech bros use to describe its business model. But that’s a good litmus test for how important a company is — the more nonsensical their business model is to her, the more influence they probably have over her life, and Jongho frankly thinks the entire company sounds mega stupid every time someone tries to explain how its “AI cloud-based solutions will revolutionize how we process data.”
He nods approvingly, with the gusto only a man who understands what the hell an AI cloud-based solution could have. “I’m glad you’ve heard of me.”
His identity explains the gala invite. And Yeosang’s coffee prices. Any business backed by that kind of money doesn’t have to turn a major profit to stay afloat. She thinks of Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Yeosang is rich enough to pursue her dreams, even more so than her old friends. As much as she adores the place, Cafe Bellflower might really be nothing more than a rich girl’s side hobby, she thinks to herself cynically.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he asks in a cold attempt to make small talk.
“Uh, I’m a pyrotechnic engineer at a crematorium,” she bullshits.
Maybe she’s had a little too much champagne for this because everything Yeosang said about keeping this act realistic goes straight out the window. She bites her lip in annoyance at herself for coming up with such a ridiculous job title, but whatever. She’s supposed to be a wacko anyway. She presses her lips together into an innocent grin, ignoring the faint taste of Yeosang’s lip gloss that’s made its way onto her tongue again.
His mouth falls open as he attempts to formulate a response. “What a niche profession.”
“Not so much anymore. The industry’s been growing quite rapidly,” she lies. “Lots of people these days wanna go out with a bang.”
He pauses, taken aback. “That’s a bit morbid, isn’t it?”
“Not really. You don't see much as long as you’re using big enough projectiles.”
“You’re quite the comedian, aren’t you,” he says, audibly irritated in spite of the cheerful lilt he’s using to hide it.
“I get it from my father. Funniest thing he ever did was disappear when I was four.”
“…and what did you say your name was again?”
“Jongho,” she announces proudly.
He narrows his eyes. “And your surname?”
“Choi.”
His expression turns dark. She can feel him scanning her face, burning holes into her skin with his intensity.
“What did your father do for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He leans in closer, looming over her. She freezes up, her legs refusing to cooperate as she desperately wills herself to back away.
“Journalism.” The truth slips out before the frivolous lie she’s attempting to formulate can.
A forced smile splits across his face. “Thank you, Miss Choi.”
Jongho glances towards Yeosang who looks uncharacteristically shell shocked by their exchange. Jongho hopes this is a satisfactory level of chaos for her, and judging by her expression it’s safe to assume it is.
Mr. Kang stays silent as dinner is served — a jarring change from hearing him fuss endlessly over his daughter when they arrived. Jongho doesn’t notice at first, busy reading through the list of appetizers she’s never heard of before and deciding whether she’s more in the mood for filet mignon or lamb for her main course. It’s the recurring lull after they’ve finished a course and before the waiters bring out the next one that makes Jongho notice that yes, things are indeed a little uncomfortable. Even the live jazz band in the corner can’t seem to fill it, instead making their lack of conversation sound even louder.
She tries to draw his attention a number of times, but he avoids looking at either of the girls. She never considered herself to be that terrible of a girlfriend, but he was so put off by her first impression that she’s starting to think she has some kind of hidden talent for it. Maybe that should be her next career move. Professional Nightmare Girlfriend. There’s probably some demand for it somewhere out there, at least more so than a crematorium pyrotechnician.
Mr. Kang continues picking at his food, lost in thought. But he’s not thinking in the absent minded way Yeosang often is as she’s tending to her duties at the cafe. She can tell that below the surface, something is brewing. It’s only when Jongho excuses herself to the bathroom after finishing her oddly avant garde-looking slice of tiramisu when Mr. Kang finally decides to make his move.
As she leaves the bathroom, she turns the corner towards the hallway and he grabs her arm before she even notices his presence. He glares at her, and she shudders. In the same way Yeosang suddenly turned cold in his presence, he’s become frantic in Jongho’s.
“What do you want from me and my family?”
“…Huh?”
He looms over her, backing her into the wall. “Why are you really here? Tell me. Why did you seduce my daughter?”
“Well,” she gulps, “She’s a lovely woman and my heart is set on marrying her, sir.”
Unacceptable answer, apparently. He clenches his hand, digging his blunt fingernails deeper into her bicep. “Don’t play with me. Tell me what you want. Is it money? Revenge? How were you able to find me and my daughter after all these years?”
After all these years?
Jongho had prepared for him to be upset, annoyed, or angry even. But his expression contains none of the above. His facial muscles contort in a fight against the Botox struggling to keep his demeanor intact. Fear bleeds out from between the stiff, unmoving parts of his face. He’s not mad at her. He’s lashing out like a cornered animal.
He’s terrified.
“If it’s money you want, I’ll pay you. Just leave my daughter out of this.” His voice quivers with desperation. “Don’t hurt her. Please.”
Jongho yanks her bicep free of his grasp. “I understand that as a wealthy man you probably encounter a lot of people who want something from you, but that’s not how I go about things. I think you’re confusing me with someone else. I personally have nothing against you, and won’t unless you keep pushing me around and making baseless accusations.”
“Well then. Regardless of who you are, I don’t appreciate your attitude.”
“Likewise.”
He scowls harshly at her, at least as much as he can scowl with his frozen face. “I’d advise you stay away from me and my daughter for your own sake.”
Jongho returns to the table, and Mr. Kang rejoins them a few minutes later. Neither of them acknowledge the encounter for the rest of the night. She chooses not to dwell on it — just a case of mistaken identity and the consequences of inserting herself into a situation where she doesn’t belong.
By the time they leave the gala, it’s well past midnight. They could’ve stayed far longer, as Mr. Kang was set on dragging Yeosang around to chat with each and every one of his colleagues, but Jongho noticed the dead look in her eyes and made up an excuse for them to leave together — something about desperately needing to purchase a pack of heavy flow tampons, which she described in graphic detail, that shocked the prim and proper men into letting them go free.
“How was that for a shitty fiancé act? Do you think it worked well enough?” Jongho asks on their way out.
Yeosang nods. “Potentially a little too well.
“Do you think they enjoyed my tutorial on how to insert a tampon?”
“…Yeah… Definitely…”
The background jazz fades as they distance themselves further and further from the hall, and she wills the anxiety she felt after her confrontation with Mr. Kang to fade away with it. Her job is done here, and she’s never been the type to bring her work home with her. But traces of the lingering worry cling to her like the sweat-soaked fabric of her dress.
She’s already learned the hard way that getting on the wrong side of a powerful man was never without its consequences.