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“A sound of something breaking…”
“Hope you’ve brought a handkerchief,” said the barman as he slid the drink across the bar. “He’s got the blues tonight.”
“Isn’t that every night?” grunted the regular. He took a sip then looked over his shoulder at the small stage and sniffed. “Torch singer.” Then he turned back to his drink.
The barman threw the cloth over his shoulder and leaned against the bar and listened.
“I hear that sound today, yet again…”
He wasn’t there. His body might be there, his dark hair coiffed in thick coils, his eyes kohl-lined, his body embraced by black satin, and his skin, or patches of it anyway, lettered in black ink, his lips turned down a pale pink pout. His voice might be there, another element in the room, like the cigarette smoke and the harsh lights and the even harsher darkness, mingling with the scents of perfume and booze, hair oil and sweat.
But he, Kim Taehyung, the torch singer, was somewhere else.
He was watching a card game in a place where the ill-fitting windows let in the winter wind, but no one seemed to care or even notice. Taehyung hated the man he’d come with, but business was business. Time passed, the night wore on, and it seemed that Taehyung’s date was making too few friends—and Taehyung was making too many. He’d got bored of watching and being watched, of being pawed and ogled and got up and started wandering round the room.
“A crack on this frozen lake…”
Taehyung shivered. He shivered on stage in front of those lights, amidst the cigarette smoke and the tables and glasses and eyes and ears, before the attention and the indifference, as he belted out his song, and he shivered in a too-cold room where men were making themselves drunk on chance and greed.
Then he felt eyes on him.
Taehyung found them.
A tiny lion of a dog was also shivering behind a pile of empty boxes. Their eyes met, but Taehyung looked away, just in case he was caught staring.
He was caught staring.
“Sheila left her little rat behind when she bailed,” said the host.
Taehyung knew the woman’s name wasn’t Sheila and she hadn’t so much as ‘bailed’ as ‘been killed,’ but he knew better than to argue.
“Come back, baby,” said the man Taehyung hated. “The Professor is getting clever on me, and I need some luck.”
“On the winter lake I threw myself in…
…a thick ice has formed…”
Taehyung had the requisite ice in his veins, in his heart, in his soul. The only time he’d allowed himself to melt was on stage. Then he melted completely.
“Time for us to go,” said the man Taehyung hated.
“One more hand,” said the host.
“We insist,” added the Professor.
“Too rich for my blood,” said the third. They let him go without a protest, but when he’d left, the tension was as cold and hard as the glass in the windows. Taehyung’s gaze flitted nervously to the corner by the boxes, but he couldn’t see anything.
“…the phantom pain that tortures me remains still…”
As the cards were shuffled, Taehyung wondered if he would see the morning. He thought the odds were slim.
The Professor announced, in a lecture-like tone:
“A man builds a home. All four sides of the home face south. A bear walks by. What color is the bear?”
“What is this? Some kind of joke?” shouted the man Taehyung hated. He made to stand, and Taehyung was jostled from his perch on the man’s thigh.
“No, it’s a riddle,” said the Professor.
“You’re the joke,” added the host.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“…I reach my hand to cover the mouth…”
Smoke burned Taehyung’s lungs, and he said aloud, louder than necessary because the gunshots had rendered him deaf and because the gunshots had rendered his audience dying.
“The bear is white. The home is on the North Pole.”
“…but, eventually, someday, spring will come…
and the ice will melt and flow away…”
Taehyung was brought back to the stage. He couldn’t see much of the house, and it was just as well, but there was applause, and he smiled his professional smile.
Eventually, he made his way to the bar.
“The honey is flowing tonight as fast as the tears,” said the barman as Taehyung slipped onto a stool at the end of the bar. “Lots of people want to buy you a drink, V.”
“Let them buy them, Kookie,” said Taehyung coolly. “But I only drink the ones on the house.”
Jungkook grinned and set a short, opaque glass on the bar in front of Taehyung.
“One Winter Bear, just for you.”
Inside the glass was a sweet, milk concoction with children’s cookies ground into it. A signature invention. Taehyung might be embarrassed if he didn’t know the barman himself preferred banana milk to any of the bottles arrayed behind him.
“My last set’s over,” announced Taehyung.
“And I’m on break,” replied Jungkook. “Can I walk you home?”
Taehyung nodded.
“Your bag.”
Taehyung took the large leather case but didn’t lift the flap until he and Jungkook were outside.
“Did you behave yourself tonight, young man?” asked Taehyung.
“He did,” assured Jungkook. He took the bag as Taehyung extracted the fluffy Pomeranian.
“I was thinking about the night we met tonight,” said Taehyung to the squirming pup as he nestled him against his chest. “How I thought it was going to be my last night alive, but I ended up with the money to buy my freedom—the pot was mine because I was the only one left standing—and a friend to enjoy my freedom with.” He kissed the tope of Yeontan’s furry head then looked at Jungkook. “And that friend led me to another,” he added.
Jungkook blushed. “And all because you solved a riddle.”
“A winter riddle.”
“A winter riddle.” Jungkook smiled.
“If I hadn’t…”
“…what should I have done then…”