He dips a finger into his shot glass, absentmindedly swirling the digit in the cool liquid for a moment or two before dragging it out to run it along the rim of the glass.
“I’ve always wondered how those glass harpist do it,” he remarks offhandedly, turning to face the bartender that was now rolling his eyes at him as though he were the most insufferable customer that ever existed ( and in a way, he probably was ). “What? I can’t even discuss innocent topics like music with you anymore?”
“If you want me to listen to your shit without giving you the stink eye, then quit stealing the glasses— hell, this glass will probably be your what? Sixteenth one?” And his bartender companion follows through with his words, by shooting him the dirties glare he could muster.
“Still grouching about that? Please Nightingale, I pay you more than enough to cover the cost, besid—”
He’s abruptly cut off by a very much, heated bartender, “First of all, can you not call me that in public; Second of all, fuck you. I still have to go replace the glasses you snatch and do you know how fucking troublesome that is?!”
Doyoung brushes off his companion’s gripe with a wave of his hand, entirely ignoring their complaints, “Anyways, as I was say before I was rudely interrupted,” Nightingale tosses his arms up in the air with a warbled groan, his face twisted up as though he were in unbearable pain. What a drama king. “Has he come by recently?"
His companion stiffly shakes his head, no.
Tsking, he sighs, "Ah, so troublesome when they don’t have contact numbers or emails. I’m not dealing with him again next time that’s for sure,” he tuts as he drums his fingers impatiently on the worn wooden bar. He takes out a slip of paper with a number on it, and slides it over to Nightingale, “Pass this to him when he does drop by won’t you?”
The man sullenly receives the paper, and even with the black mask stretched over the lower half of his face, one could tell he was smirking under it just from the way his eyes pulled into half-moons. Being the bane of anyone’s existence is very amusing indeed.
He’s about to initiate a probably lengthy ramble about hair and hair dying when he’s approached by a pleasant-to-look at stranger. It initially doesn’t occur to him that said stranger was talking to him; He only ever visits this bar to chat with his bartender ‘friend’, and people generally don’t talk to him. Ever. The mask kind of screams something along the lines of 'I’m sick’, or 'I’m closed off and emo,’ or whatever it might scream. In any case, people generally didn’t bother him.
So he sort of leans back, as though allowing the stranger to talk 'over’ him to another customer who he’d assume had to be seated next to him. But then he realises that oh, he’s actually alone over this side of the bar and the stranger could only be talking to him. Or the bartender. But probably him.
His head swivels around, as though checking to confirm he was really the one being spoken too before he responses with a, “Oh, you were talking to me? That’s new.”
His bartender companion snorts, injecting himself into the conversation, “Don’t bother, the little devil over here never drinks anything. And you’re better off finding a less annoying prick.”
Now it’s Doyoung’s turn to be irritated. “Shhh,” he hiss, snapping his fingers at the nosy bartender, “Let the man flirt. It warms my cold heart.” Turning to face the man, he cocks his head invitingly, ignoring the snide 'don’t say I didn’t warn you’ coming from behind the bar, “You were saying pretty boy?”
Just like the description said his target wore a black mask which made him pretty easy to spot when someone looked for him. As the other leaned back to let him talk to a person behind him that didn't existed, he blinked first before chuckling. He was a target but pretty cute. "Yeah, I talked to you." Under some nodding he shoot another charismatic smile. Seemed like the masked guy wasn't talked to very often, and it was obvious why, though Kang Joon wasn't bothered by it a bit. He wasn't afraid of danger or weirdness, it was more like he was attracted to these kind of things, so he felt curious about the other.
Plus getting closer to the male would provide him with money and maybe some skinship. As the bartender suddenly slipped into the conversation, Kang Joon couldn't hold himself back anymore. The two of them were a hilarious duo, it was funny to listen to their bickering. "I guess I will stay with this cute prick, unless he chases me away. " Placing his chin on his left hand, he tilted his head a little and grinned in anticipation of a cheeky reply. He wouldn't be easy to shake off though. "When you are alone, how about I invite you to food instead of a drink?" He charmingly asked with his rough voice. "I would like to get to know you.”
Shaking his glass filled with a amber coloured liquor, the same colour as his vicious eyes, he gazed at him, still the triumphant grin on his lips. Underneath the dim light his eyes shone even brigther, forcing their way into the other’s mind, as if he could read every single thought. Kang Joon was like a snake, lying in attempt to swallow him whole, he was a hunter who rarely lost his victim. And still- there were people outside who were immune against his offensive charm attack, and maybe this target was the same.
