Creator Note: 

Hi! I’m Shadow, and this is my emotional chaos baby.
Expect sarcasm, trauma, questionable flirting, and a whole lot of feelings.
I scream at desktop everyday, but this story means a lot to me.
Thank you for giving it a shot!

Chapter 1

How had he ended up like this?

The metal pole screamed against the cracked concrete—harsh, grating. No one glanced. No one cared.
Still, he dragged it forward. One slow step after another. His feet scraped against the ground like they carried the weight of the world. Shoulders hunched, body curling inward, as if shrinking might erase him. His cap cast a shadow over his eyes, but even then, that gaze was impossible to hide—deep, hollow, unblinking, like someone who hadn’t slept in years.

Every sound around him felt distant, muted, as though the city itself didn’t want to acknowledge him. Somewhere, someone laughed. A busker’s guitar strings twanged in the background. He kept walking.

He slipped into the alley. Past trash heaps. Past piss-stained walls. Into the shadows where no one followed.

Then, suddenly, his knees gave out. He dropped without a sound, collapsing onto the cold, hard floor. No curses escaped his lips—only ragged breaths, sharp and painful, as if breathing itself was a punishment. His palms pressed against the gritty ground, skin catching on tiny shards of glass he didn’t bother to brush away.

Time bled away.

When he finally stirred, sunlight stabbed his eyes. He blinked, disoriented, and scrambled out of the alley, hoping to vanish into the crowd. But the city had other plans.

The streets were thick with people, a sea of faces pressing in on him from every side. He hugged the wall, folding himself thinner, desperate not to be seen. His pulse quickened, though no one was chasing him.

What the hell is going on?

His gaze flicked upward and froze.

[CRYSTALISA IN YOUR TOWN]

A veteran boy band, seven years strong, was in town today?!

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes scanned the poster and landed on one of the members:

Song Ji Hun.

Even in print, he stood out.

Hair dyed a muted champagne blonde, styled with effortless volume that framed his face just right. His eyes—sharp, slanted slightly upward at the corners—held that familiar glint of confidence. Of stage presence. Of someone who knew exactly how many cameras were always on him. A half-smile pulled at his lips, the kind that had once driven fans wild. The kind Shim Eun Wol used to know all too well—charming on the outside, carefully constructed on the inside.

The poster shimmered under the shop light, but Ji Hun’s image gleamed brighter. Fitted blazer, silver jewelry, a gaze that seemed to look right through the lens and into you. The nation’s sweetheart. The center of CRYSTALISA.

Eun Wol took a slow step back. For a moment, the world felt too loud. His ribs ached like they were shrinking around his heart.

He stood there, staring—unable to look away, even as bitterness twisted in his chest.
A shaky breath escaped as he lowered his head.

They couldn’t see him like this.
Not like this.
Especially not Ji Hun.

With that, he turned and hurried off, keeping his head low and his footsteps quick. By the time he reached home, his body ached. The place had once been bright, full of life. Now, it felt still. Stale. He couldn’t even remember when it started to fade.

He stepped into the shower. The water ran down his back, cold and slow—almost as if punishing him for coming home at all.

After drying off, he pulled on a worn-out grey sweater and a pair of loose, faded pants. Dinner didn’t matter. Not tonight. He crawled into bed without a second thought.

But just as his body settled—
A thought hit him. Hard.
He jerked upright.

Turning to the side, he pulled open the drawer beside his bed.

A black phone was tucked away.

He reached for it and pressed the power button.
Nothing happened. The screen remained dark.

Of course. He had forgotten how long it had been since he last charged it. 

No one should be able to recognize me anyway.

Black, unruly, and unkempt. His fringe hung low over his lashes, often obscuring his gaze entirely—almost like he preferred it that way. The reason he’d hidden the phone away came rushing back, sharp and bitter.

He placed it back gently and shut the drawer with a quiet click. Then, with a soft sigh, he let his body fall back onto the bed, the weight of memory pulling him down harder than exhaustion ever could.

The next time he woke up, it was to the blaring sound of his alarm. He grunted and slammed the “off” button. After washing his face, he swapped his grey sweater for a black one. The oversized sweater swallowed his already-slender frame.

His stomach rumbled low and deep. He wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find something, anything, left to eat—and there it was: an almost expired loaf of bread. He pulled out a slice and began nibbling on it.

“Well… it won’t kill me anyway,” he muttered.

He made his way to the shoe cabinet, slipped into a pair of sneakers, slung a worn bag across his shoulder, then paused at the door. With practiced hands, he pulled on a cap and a black mask—covering himself completely before stepping out.

Rumble Thunder Bar — his workplace.

The door creaked open with a soft ding, releasing a low hum of bass-heavy music and the faint clink of ice in glasses.
Dim yellow lights bathed the room in a warm haze, catching on mirrored shelves stacked with liquor. A neon sign buzzed faintly in the corner, casting lazy shadows across the walls.
The air smelled faintly of citrus, alcohol, and something metallic—like the night had teeth.

Soo Young was wiping some empty glasses.

“Heh, guess it’s a slow night.” The bar was mostly empty, just two patrons nursing their drinks at opposite ends. Soft jazz pulsed from the speakers. Even the glasses behind the counter looked like they were waiting for something to happen.

“Hyung! You’re here!” Soo Young beamed. “Did you eat?”

Eun Wol nodded lazily and offered a small smile.

“Don’t tell me it was just bread again?” Soo Young frowned. “Come on, you’ve gotta eat properly!”

He scratched his neck awkwardly, chuckling. “I’m not that hungry. Besides, if I don’t eat it, it’ll expire.”

Soo Young let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, if you get hungry later, I’ve got some snacks in my bag. Just say the word!”

He smiled faintly and headed to the staff room, where he changed into the bar’s uniform.

The night was quiet—unsurprisingly. Tuesdays were never busy like the weekends. Eun Wol stood near the back, casually scanning the room, staying alert in case any drunkards decided to cause a scene.

Then, the soft chime of the entrance bell rang.

His body moved on instinct. He turned and bowed. “Welcome to Rumble Thunder.”

But before he could straighten up, an intense presence swept over him—heavy, commanding, almost suffocating.

He flinched.

Quickly stepping aside, he kept his gaze down as a pair of polished, expensive black leather shoes passed in front of him… followed by more of the same. A group. Men dressed sharp. Quiet, composed. Dangerous.

Only after they’d passed did he slowly lift his head.

The tallest of them walked like he owned the ground beneath his feet—shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets, not a single movement wasted.
His silver hair glinted under the bar lights, tousled in that frustrating way that looked accidental but definitely wasn’t.
He was lean, built like someone who climbed rooftops for fun or picked fights for kicks—not bulky, just dangerous in a quiet, capable way.
There was something unshakably calm about him. Like nothing could touch him, and he knew it.

Just great. The confident type. The type who looked like trouble and didn’t even have to try. “Kinda of beautiful too.” Eun Wol muttered then blinked.

What the hell did I just said?

“Eun Wol! Table 18 is calling!”

“Y-Yes!” he snapped out of it, turning away and hurrying off. His thoughts still trailing behind—

He didn’t notice it.

“Phew, why did I jinx it?” Soo Young groaned, finally collapsing onto a chair.
Eun Wol laughed. “Crowd only came in after 9pm. I guess night’s still young.”

A sharp knock on the staff room door made both of them grunt in unison.

“I guess that’s my cue,” he muttered. “You can just take five more minutes!” He brushed invisible dust off his pants and stepped out—already bracing for whatever minor chaos had arrived.

His face immediately soured.

What the hell is this shitty thing? he thought, staring at the black rabbit-ear headband in his hand.

“Some guy’s bachelor party,” another staff member said casually, already wearing the same thing. “He brought a whole box and asked everyone to wear one.”

Eun Wol blinked once. Slowly. 

“Apparently, he gave a huge tip,” the staff added. “Manager Lee’s throwing a fit about everyone wearing it.”

He groaned inwardly, mouth twitching in silent protest. His pride wanted to fling it into the nearest trash bin, but his paycheck didn’t. The staff member gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before walking off. Reluctantly, he placed the fluffy ears on his head. They sagged slightly to one side, as if mocking him.

“Hey, waiter!”

He turned toward the voice and made his way to the table.

“What can I get for all of you?” he asked.

There were four men seated.

And there he was—the man from earlier. The one who’d stared. Damn. He looked even more dazzling up close, and somehow, the dim lighting only sharpened his features.

 Meanwhile, Eun Wol stood there like a lost rabbit, complete with ears. Great.

“Vintage Mix, Elderflower Martini, Gin Fizz... what about you, Gyu In?”

Gyu In chuckled and looked him dead in the eyes.
“One Shirley Temple.”

His gaze was sharp. Beautiful, if you’re into the cocky type.
Eun Wol wasn’t. Probably.
He scribbled the order down before he did something stupid like look up again.

“Come on, man! You too? Shirley Temple?” one of the guys teased.

“Someone has to be sober enough to drive you drunkards home,” Gyu In replied, eyes still locked on Eun Wol. “Right, Mr. Bunny Waiter?”

Bunny... Waiter? Me?

“Cut the crap,” another laughed. “Since when do you drive anyone home?”

Still not breaking eye contact, Gyu In asked, “What about me? If I get drunk, will Mr. Bunny Waiter take me home?”

Eun Wol’s eyes widened.
Is he… flirting with me?!

“I—I’ll go get your drinks,” he blurted, spinning on his heels so fast his ears nearly fell off.

He could still hear their snickers as he retreated.

“Are you flirting with that waiter?”

“Well… he’s kinda cute, isn’t he?” 

The words clung to him like static. He hated how his ears warmed beneath the headband. 

Eun Wol returned to the table with the drinks in his hands. He placed them down and walked away, fully aware of Gyu In’s smirk following him. For the rest of his shift, he avoided that table, choosing instead to polish glasses that didn’t need polishing and linger in corners with the excuse of “checking stock.”. 

When his shift ended, he changed back into his usual clothes, pulled on his cap and mask, waved goodbye to Soo Young, and headed out. The cold night air wrapped around him instantly, sharp enough to sting.

Just as he was about to step onto the sidewalk, a voice cut through the quiet. 

“Oh, Mr. Bunny Waiter has turned into Mr. Mystery Man,” it teased, smooth and infuriatingly amused.

Eun Wol froze.

He turned his head sharply and saw Gyu In leaning casually against the hood of a sleek, black car. The streetlamp overhead caught in his silver hair, turning it almost white.

Mr. Mystery Man… me? Eun Wol tilted his head in confusion. But Gyu In pushed off the car, closing the distance between them with an easy, unhurried stride like a predator who knew its prey wasn’t going anywhere.

“I have a proposition. Interested?” Gyu In asked, stopping just close enough for Eun Wol to catch a hint of his cologne—fresh citrus with something darker beneath.

He wasn’t towering over him by much, but it was enough to make Eun Wol’s pulse trip over itself.

Eun Wol scoffed under his breath, already deciding this was the exact type of person he needed to avoid. 

Pretty boys who knew they were pretty—always the worst kind of trouble.

Still… he couldn’t help wondering what kind of proposition could make a man like Gyu In linger at the door of a near-empty Tuesday night bar.