Page 5 of Damian & Jun: Episodes 1-4
Heart heavy, he forced himself to put away his phone. If he still hadn’t heard from Jun by the morning after Christmas, he’d fly to Seoul and follow Collin’s suggestion. He was a lawyer, after all, and Richard Reevesworth’s protégée. There was always a way.
Especially when the cause was worthy of the effort.
Jun had always been worth the effort. From the very first night.
Two Years Previous: Damian
K-pop pulsed over the speakers, and green soju bottles along with beer and shot glasses littered tables, the wait staff barely keeping up with deliveries of snacks and cleaning up after their patrons. Men in suits, a smattering of women in business wear, and girlfriends in more dramatic outfits packed the club.
Damian sat in a booth at the back on the second floor, sipping his cocktail, something with a long fancy name that claimed to be a Jeju dream. His business trip in Seoul had been a success. Dinner out had gone well, and he’d done the necessary lingering over it with his Korean counterparts and then drinking after that at a second establishment, but he begged off the after-drinks singing on the grounds that he had to work and fly out in the morning. Fortunately, the group was good-humored and not night owls. They’d been happy to call the outing well-concluded at just after eleven. Damian, though, was still restless and somehow hungry again. Something about soju did that to him. He’d ducked into this club because it was new and interesting and there was a crowd. On the ground floor an event was going on, probably with a celebrity. Around him, young women were gushing in Korean.
“He’s so good-looking!”
“Gah, did you see how they smile at each other? They’re such good friends.”
“I just want to pet his hair.”
No one seemed to think he could understand them as he made his way through the crowd. It was a blessing and a curse of being a Black American in Seoul. Most people didn’t think he would understand their language, let alone be fluent. Sometimes, though, people let slip information they didn’t want him knowing, or thoughts they wouldn’t have shared with him directly. The more experienced someone was with international work though, the more likely they were to assume he might speak Korean.
The noise below simmered for a couple minutes, and then the sounds of people dancing picked up a bit as a new song blared out of the speakers. Damian glanced down at his phone. Richard would want an update soon. No reason not to type it up while he savored his drink.
“Excuse me?” someone said in English.
Damian looked up into a pair of wide brown eyes framed by a trendy boyish cut. The young man was even wearing makeup, his lips glistening in the multicolored lights.
“I speak Korean,” Damian answered in Korean. Just because someone knew a few polite phrases in English didn’t mean they were comfortable with the language or wanted to continue using it.
“Oh. English is fine.” The young man tugged on his ear. “Mind if I catch my breath for a minute?” He pointed to the part of the bench between Damian and the wall, totally ignoring the empty side of the booth.
“Uh. Ah, sure.” Damian stood, picking up his hat and coat and stepped away. The young man slid in near the wall and immediately slumped, his arms folding into the table and his face dropping to his arms.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just need a break. Could I, um…wear your hat? Just for a little bit?”
“Uh, sure. Do you want the coat, too?”
The young man nodded and took the hat first, pushing it down over his face and then pulling the coat around his shoulders, hiding his body. He went back to his former position, his face hidden in his arms.
“Should I sit down?” Damian asked.
“Please.”
Damian returned to his seat and picked up his drink just to have something in his hands. His new companion seemed to be doing exactly what he claimed he had wanted to do, taking a break.
Or hiding.
“If anyone comes looking, should I just say you’re my friend and you’re drunk?”
Muffled words came out from under the hat. “That would be perfect.”
It was a pity the beautiful young man was hiding. He was interesting. But his comfort was more important than Damian’s curiosity.
Damian went back to his drink and his phone. Ten minutes later, a man in his fifties with a paunch and sweaty armpits hustled around the second floor. He was clearly looking for someone. He eyed the pile of Damian’s coat and hat. Damian gave him his best “What are you doing, creep?” look. No matter what language someone spoke, that look worked. The man moved on.
“I think whoever is looking for you is gone. Guy with a belly and button-down shirt with puppies on it.”
The young man lifted his head slowly, keeping the hat down low, and looked around. Then he huffed and leaned back, breathing deep. “Good.”
