Chapter Text

Jungkook

The neon lights of the Ecliptica Lounge flickered sporadically overhead, a hue of pink and purple casting a garish glow on the rain-slicked pavement. In front of the blacked-out windows, I stood right next to the bright red open sign with a silhouette of a nude woman straddling it. 

While watching pervy patrons scurry for the front door, a cigarette found its way to my lips and there it sat while I fished in my pockets for a lighter. Loud sensual music filled the sidewalk as the door opened for another set of shameless individuals to enter and a different creep was thrown out. 

I fumbled with the lighter and brought it to the cigarette's tip, my eyes narrowing with frustration as the weak spark barely flickered. The small metal rectangle was weathered, with its once chromatic surface faded and scratched. Every time I pull it out, it reminds me of how long I’ve let this habit go on and that quitting will become infinitely harder after every light. 

One would think that a smoker would just trash the damn thing and buy a different one as the refilling of lighter fluid is considered tedious. And while it is true, I would never replace my lucky lighter even in this moment of irritation.

With a deep breath, I flicked the lighter’s wheel again, flint scraping against the metal, but the paper-wrapped tobacco refused to catch the sputtering flame. A low groan slipped past my lips as I feverishly tried to ignite the cigarette, each failing attempt adding to my mounting anxiety. Irritation and impatience took over as I shook the lighter, hoping to coax the remaining fuel into action. 

It was at this moment I couldn’t tell if my shaking was because the cold winter rain was piercing my skin or the stress caused by the withdrawal my addiction had prized me with. My composure slowly drained, and my lower half became restless as I slowly rocked on my feet. The sighing grew frequent unknowingly, thinking about the cigarette untouched by flame that was mockingly slipping from my mouth.

Before it became too embarrassing, the lighter glows long enough for an inadequate flame to catch an ember. One deep, satisfying drag later, my nerves finally settled alongside a mixture of resignation and irritation. My body softens slightly as it happily fills its lungs with toxic smoke.

As much as I know this was wrong, the way my body reacts to this cancer stick, I know I can’t fight it. I will always be weaker than my addiction, so I choose to blame the cigarette over myself. 

I started smoking soon after my grandfather passed away. Out of everyone in my family and community combined, I was the most devastated. Grieving affected me hard, my father refused to allow me to process the emotions properly. I never understood if it was because of his stance on emotional men or the fact that his father was a terrible parent. 

I heard the stories they told of how unforgiving he was, how he was a hard-ass and never let anything stop him from getting his way. The family describes him as authoritative and intimidating, but I only saw him as merciful and protective. 

Even so, they all admit he seemed to have mellowed out as he got older and I fear the picture they painted of him being brutish and rigid fit the description of his son more than him.

They say I’m lucky to have never known that side of him, but in all actuality, they haven’t got a clue how much I was fortunate enough to witness. It’s painful to think I could’ve learned so much more from him if he hadn’t left me so soon. 

I brushed my thumb over the engravings made on the last thing he ever gave me. With a weak smile, he repeated the same saying to me. 

“What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.”

My younger self didn't fully comprehend what it meant, never mind what he was trying to accomplish. But as time passed, digging through his belongings for the truth and watching my world darken and numb, I began to understand and took it upon myself to make things right. 

The lucky lighter returned to my jacket pocket, where it'll continue to be just a spent relic of mine. In that moment, I was pulled out of my daydreaming, long enough to realize my cell phone had been vibrating for a while.

I chose to ignore it, knowing exactly what it was for and not wanting to deal with work right now. 

Even after all that stress and effort just to light the smoldering roll I hate every minute it takes to burn and smoke it to completion. My chest grows hot as I inhale it into my lungs, the tightness I feel is unpleasant as useless air tries to escape. 

Shallow drags allow me to ease into the light-headed but pleasant hazy feeling that is present every time. My scrambled brain might finally take a second to calm or my achy depressed body might be soothed, but the blissfulness doesn’t always last long.

So I decided to take deeper, longer puffs, hold them purposefully, and repeat. I eventually find myself feeling sick after a moment or two because I greedily overdid it, starving myself from sweet fresh oxygen and trying to heal myself through lethal means.

But the cycle continues every few hours if I am lucky enough to last that long. No matter how much I always hated my bad breath or dry mouth, the feeling of even just part of my body wrapped tightly around a warm blanket was far more delightful than facing the senselessness and emptiness of my situation without it. 

I know I must quit. I’m killing myself slowly, which I’m well aware of, but I just can’t. 

The vibrations start back up again and I reach into my pocket for my phone. 

I answer.

“What?”

“Oh my god, finally!” My cousin Taehyung exclaims on the other end, sounding completely exasperated. “We need you to come quickly to the Poisoned Chalice, it's urgent! Your father-”

I hung up the phone at the mere mention of that wretched sperm donor, I’ve reached my daily emotional capacity for him already and I need a much-needed break. 

Grinding the remaining embers on the brick of the strip club, I toss the cigarette butt at my feet and dart my hands into my jacket pocket. The blistering wind is harsh on my skin after exposing it purposely for several minutes. My legs take long and quick strides into the building, feeling nothing but sensory overload when entering the lounge.

The air was thick with a scent mixture of cheap perfume, potent hard liquor, and sweet musk. This amalgamation mingled with the strong stench of tobacco and marijuana clung to the back of my throat. Dimmed-colored lights bathed the room in a lurid glow, causing my vision to see other patrons unclearly. 

Alluring and sensual music boosted its bass through the speakers, ear drums humming, and floor vibrating. My heartbeat thrums in synchronization with the rhythm and flashing lights. The room pulses and gives sober guests migraines. 

Glittering girls moved fluidly on stage, their costumes and lingerie catching the stage lights and sparkling. They danced hypnotically with a blend of seduction and athleticism as their bodies twisted and arched with grace. Both men and women watched, their faces lit with the glow of their drinks, enraptured by the performance. 

Everywhere you looked, there was movement, color, and noise, each element competing for attention in a relentless onslaught that left people reeling.

I walked through the kaleidoscope of colors and shadows to get to the bar. It wasn’t far from the entrance, but it was easy to become distracted and turned around. Navigating past clusters of bodies seated at or around plush couches, eyes fixated on the dancers on platforms a few feet in front of them. 

Reaching the bar top, I slipped past a guest retreating and taking their place at the counter. My gaze fixated on the woman behind the tending station, a gorgeous older woman with a striking figure. She was dressed more modestly than the other workers in the club, in a short and tight-fitted black dress that highlighted her curves.

As she wiped the countertop with practiced ease, her eyes flicked up to meet mine. A hint of recognition sparked her eyes seconds after, pairing it with a warm welcoming smile.

“Good evening, Jungkook.” She proclaimed with a smooth and confident voice that cut through the cacophony surrounding us. Instinctively she pulled a glass from below the bar and set it between us. “The usual?”

I returned her smile with a playful grin. “You know me too well, Nayoung.”

She fixed a neat whiskey, making it a double with no ice. As Nayoung poured the drink, she pressed her body on the counter, leaning over slightly to bring attention to her cleavage. 

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.” She smirked and slid the glass into my hand, intentionally touching my fingers and lingering for a moment. 

Every night I come to the lounge, she does this same song and dance, but she’s not to blame. When a man walks into a club dressed in his nicest suit, he stands out in a sea of casually attired guests. It is only business that she flirts with me to get me to throw cash around, pun intended. 

Flashing a wink in her direction, I grabbed the glass and turned away, propping my elbows up on the counter. I swished the drink in my glass, taking in the oaky aroma. Bringing the glass to my lips I tasted only a fraction of its contents, letting the burning sensation replace the sheer discomfort of a dry mouth.

My eyes darted across the room, looking through the haze of neon and shadow, methodically searching for the one reason I came here. The only reason I find myself here so often is that I’ve become familiar with the exasperating scene and eager bartender.

Jihyo.

From the bar I could see my beautiful Jihyo in the far corner of the lounge, performing on a small platform for a few other guests. My pulse quickened the moment my gaze locked onto her, the dim, sultry glimmer of the club intensified her presence. The stage lights cast her in a halo of seductive glow as the rest of the room seemed to blur, leaving only a luminous angel.

I could feel my eyes consuming every ounce of her being, so thirsty they could drink an ocean dry. Jihyo wasn't just another dancer, she was a vision from a dream, a muse trapped in a world of neon and velvet. Her movements were a delicate, rhythmic poem that captivated my senses. 

She was the embodiment of all my deepest yearnings and unspoken desires. 

Throwing back my drink, I finished it in one large swing and turned to place it back on the bar. Nayoung took notice, smiling coyly and making her way back over. I reached into my pocket and fished for my wallet. After fumbling with it briefly, I grabbed a fifty-dollar bill and placed it between us on the counter. 

The bartender’s expression brightened even more as she slid the bill into her possession, quickly pocketing it, probably afraid someone else would snatch it right up. With a slight wave of the hand to convey thanks, she went on about her business helping another patron.

I chuckle as I turn on my heel, feeling like I’m walking on air. My feet carry me over towards the other side of the club where my heart wishes to be. 

My body and stride radiate with only pure elation, an energy that is nearly impossible to contain. My state of being seemingly comes alive with an electric vibrancy as if every one of my nerve endings is celebrating. The muscles on my face grow sore as my smile stretches wide and almost unrestrained.

Whatever's going on back at that bar with my father almost completely escapes my mind, and once that happens, I'll achieve unadulterated bliss.

I approached a small doorway with an even smaller man standing in front of it. His perfectly stout frame sure acted as a better barrier than the skinny velvet rope that hung in the door frame behind him. When he made eye contact with me, his serious demeanor fell and flashed a delighted smile.

“Well if it isn’t Mister Jeon,” Yeesung, the owner of the Star-Crossed Lounge, snickered. “Back for more, I see?”

I try not to contort my face as he unknowingly addresses me by the title my father prefers to be called. 

“It’s been a rough one, this is the only spot to clear my head.”

The irony hits me as the words leave my mouth and reach my ears. The Ecliptica Lounge was the last place to collect yourself and take a mental break. How could a space where all your senses are overwhelmed help reduce stress?

My gaze caught the attention and hopeful stare of my Jihyo, who must have finished her performance just seconds before. As she retreats towards a staff-only door, her eyes meet mine accompanied by a devilishly sweet smile. A temptress she is known to be, but it’s only I who calls her my beloved. 

She is mine. 

“Who do you want to request tonight?” My attention was rudely pulled back by the manager in front of me. “We’ve got plenty of gorgeous ladies who would love to spend a moment alone with you.”

His tone was relaxed and playful, but I couldn’t help but feel annoyed by his proposal. There was only ever one woman I came to see, everyone working in this club knew it. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I snapped, admittedly too harshly. “Only the love of my life, Jihyo.”

“Uh huh…sure…” Yeesung's voice trailed on a moment, carrying a tone of uncertainty. “...pay the fee and I’ll send her in.”

He sticks his hand out waiting for payment. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, rolled bills in the expected amount and traded it over. The manager wasted no time in counting it, knowing I have never and would never jip him. He unhooked the rope and stepped out of the way to let me pass, a beaming smile plastered on my face as my stride carried me through. 

$1,200; a small price to pay for love