Your Vanilla Scent (Junhao)

Jun

Jun nursed his third rum and coke in half as many hours, trying his best to let the alcohol shake the funk that had settled in over him.

His obsession wasn't subsiding. Not at all. If anything, it was deepening. Worsening. He couldn't seem to stay away from that fucking coffee shop. What was more, he'd walked through that goddamn jangling door that morning and Myungho hadn't been at the counter, and Jun had needed to fight the most inappropriate, gut-wrenching disappointment at that fact.

And obviously Myungho wouldn't be working every single day, but he'd seemed up to that point to basically live at the damn place, and Jun's gut—his heart—hadn't been prepared for his absence.

It had sent Jun into a sort of...unfortunate spiral.

What the fuck was he doing here? Mooning over a little alien barista who waved at every living thing and had zero social awareness, especially when it came to flirting. Who was either incredibly naive or extremely diabolical with the way he had Jun strung along by his dick without them having even so much as touched a single time.

What was Jun hoping to accomplish even? Slow seduction via increasingly complicated coffee orders?

And then there was Myungho's friend. His friend from the other day. Never before had Jun been so intimidated by such a pretty face. Not by the prettiness itself. There was just a certain...menace underneath that odd grin. Jun had spent enough time around the unhinged to recognize it. He could feel it.

And what else could he feel? Fucking jealousy, that was what. Burning in his chest. Because the way Myungho had greeted the guy with such a warm, beaming smile? And okay, yes, Myungho greeted everyone with a warm, beaming smile. But there had been familiarity there; that was for sure. And the guy—Jeonghan—had lingered at the counter. He'd lingered. And he'd made Myungho blush, those pale cheeks adorably pink.

What had he been saying to make Myungho blush? What did Jun have to do to have the same effect?

Jun startled as the bartender appeared in front of him, shaking Jun's now drained glass, rattling the remaining ice. "Another?"

Junhui grunted his assent. "Please."

It was a bad idea. He'd skipped dinner that night, and the drinks he'd consumed already had gone straight to his head. But what did it matter anyway? He was nothing more than a ghost in this town. He had no future, no connections, no purpose other than stalking the poor little barista who'd caught his eye. What did it matter if Jun got blind drunk tonight? If he got blind drunk every single night? Who the fuck would care?

"No one," he muttered, glaring at the soggy coaster left in front of him. "Not a one."

"What was that?" The woman on the barstool next to him leaned in, her voice all husky.

Jun kept his eye on his coaster, fighting the urge to scowl at his neighbor. She'd chosen the seat next to him, despite a plethora of open stools at the counter, and she was sitting much too close, her breast brushing his arm every now and again, and it was starting to annoy the hell out of him. He was trying to brood, and her perfume smelled like flowers, and it was washing away the peppermint scent that somehow still lingered in his nostrils, a full day away from any contact with Myungho. "Nothing," he grumbled. "Wasn't talking to you."

He gave a nod of appreciation as the bartender placed a new drink in front of him, ignoring the annoyed harrumph from his neighbor.

This was part of why he'd never been one for bars, or at least not those outside his family's influence. With his size and his looks, he tended to get two reactions when he hit the town: women who wanted to fuck him and men who wanted to fight him. The first he had no interest in, and the second would only be appealing if it was the kind of tussle that led to the bedroom. And it never was, was it?