Page 4 of Damian & Jun, Episodes 5-8 (The Residency Boys #7)

The waitress stared at Jun, blushed crimson, and turned back to Damian. Her hand shook so hard as she wrote it was an even guess if anyone was going to be able to read it.

Jun went back to speaking with émeric, asking about his work, clearly trying to give her space to collect herself.

Damian shared a look with Richard. There was something so right about seeing Jun interact with émeric.

For so long, Damian had been the third in the party, Richard’s pup and right-hand man, also with him and émeric, but no one there just for him.

That sense of singleness had only grown when Collin had joined Richard and then Richard and émeric romantically. This felt balanced.

And heavy. So much more responsibility. Terrifying but good.

Richard gave Damian a smile and a nod. “How was the trip back to the neighborhood?”

“We ran into Doyle but made it through.”

“He’s not giving up, then.”

Damian snorted. “Did you think he would? Miss Jozie saw us. We had a good talk, and she gave me a lead on a woman who’s working to improve things. Would it be too much to ask Collin to come look at the place?”

Richard raised his eyebrows. “Thinking of doing something with the property?”

“Jun wants to shoot a music video there. He had a point.” Damian pressed his lips together. “It’s time. I can’t let the investment just sit for another year. Either I should do something with it or I should sell it.”

Richard nodded in approval.

“Not a church, though.” Damian's shoulders tensed just at the thought.

“Collin was reading about the concept of multiuse properties and twenty-four seven utility this morning. We were talking about train stations, but the concept can be transferred.”

Damian tilted his head to the side. “What’s an overnight use other than residencies and bars? Hm… Unless I turned it into a dungeon.”

Richard’s face split into a grin, and he looked away, stifling a chuckle.

“Not that I’m serious…”

“Franklin had a chapel replica in his house.”

“Oh.” Damian rolled the idea around in his mind. It had a certain vindictive poetry to it.

Jun and émeric left off their conversation. Richard and Damian turned toward them, both in tune with their partners.

“We’re getting looks,” émeric noted.

Jun shrugged. “There were reporters earlier.”

Damian checked his phone. There was a set of links from Mi Hi in his messages.

He opened the first one: “Defiant Leader of 5N, Gang Junseo, promises new music from Chicago.” It was accompanied by a rather stunning photo of Jun with his chin lifted and fire in his eyes, the mottled bruises on his face in full view.

He turned the phone around, letting the other three men at the table see, then clicked on to the second link.

That one had included Jun holding Damian’s hand and followed the picture up with a short bio on Damian including his education, the fact he co-founded a law firm, and his role as Richard’s right-hand man.

They’d also included a lot of information pulled from Mi Hi’s social media posts.

Around the room, people were reading their phones and sending their table discrete looks. A few younger women were being less discrete. One tried to take a photo, and her older friend pushed her phone down, scolding her.

Buckwheat tea came to the table. Jun, as the youngest, poured for everyone and sipped at the drink.

The owner of the restaurant came over, bowing to Richard first and then Damian, Jun, and émeric, respectively. She inquired if there was anything special they wanted, dropping a hint they had privacy screens if necessary.

Richard and Jun shook their heads. émeric’s eyes crinkled up with amusement. Jun gave Damian a speaking look. He was going to do something and was clearly asking permission, but Damian had no idea what it was. He leaned forward, giving Jun his ear.

“They’ll stop staring if I say hello.”

Damian considered it. “You want to?”

“If you’re here and I’m going to be here, shouldn’t I?”

Damian nodded. He turned to the proprietor. “Is it all right if Jun says hello to the other patrons?”

“Take some soju to each table, our gift for disturbing everyone’s dinner,” Richard suggested.

Pride rose in Damian’s chest.

The proprietor bowed. “I’ll bring out a tray.”

When the soju appeared, Jun stood, taking three bottles in each hand, and sauntered over to the nearest table.

Damian couldn’t hear what he said, but there were immediate smiles and some faint embarrassed laughter.

Jun set the bottles on the table in front of the oldest members of the party.

He let one of the younger members take a selfie with him and then moved on easily to the next table, coming back only to grab more bottles.

Food came to the table. Richard and émeric started cooking meat and vegetables on the grill in the middle of the table. Damian kept his eyes on Jun.

“He’s a natural,” émeric said. He nodded at Jun, who was standing beside one of the farthest tables now, an attractive blush on his cheeks.

It was a table full of young businesswomen.

One of them turned and gestured politely toward Damian.

Jun’s eyes darkened. He looked across the room toward Damian and then leaned forward, whispering something, hand over heart.

There was a collective outburst of sighs and “ahs” followed by nervous giggling.

Jun’s cheeks flushed more, and he ducked his head.

It was too much. Damian stood and crossed the room.

As he approached, he realized Jun was speaking to the table in Chinese.

The young women cooed as Damian approached. Jun held out his hand and Damian took it, coming to stand behind Jun, his other hand going to Jun’s hip. “Yes, love?” he said in Korean.

“They asked if you were my boyfriend,” Jun translated.

The girls giggled. They truly looked in awe and thrilled to have Jun’s attention. This was what Bak was missing. Bak had never been progenitor of Jun’s reputation and success. Jun was his own elixir.

“Boyfriend seems so mundane,” Damian whispered just loud enough the table could hear. One of the girls translated into Chinese. He wrapped both arms around Jun’s waist, eliciting shocked gasps. “I prefer to say you are the light in my life, the drumbeat in my soul, my past, present, and future.”

Jun stared into his eyes at a loss for words. He gripped Damian’s hand where Damian held him and dropped his eyes.

One of the girls waved her hands, obviously second-hand embarrassed even though she and her friends were grinning wildly.

“Please forgive me, I’m going to steal back my man.” Damian bowed to them.

The girl who had done the translating straightened up, her eyes sparkling. “I think he would like to be stolen.”

Jun shook his head, cheeks crimson.

Back at the table, the four of them ate in companionable silence as the first round of meat and vegetables came off the grill.

Jun ate with gusto, favoring one side of his mouth but not letting it slow him down.

A live band set up in the main area. Damian recognized them from previous performances.

The proprietor spoke with the band leader; a few moments later, the man came over.

He greeted them formally, starting with Damian as they knew each other in passing. Damian introduced him to the table.

The band leader turned to Jun and bowed. “We would be deeply honored if you’d be willing to sing something with us tonight.” He offered Jun a microphone.

Jun exchanged looks with Damian, then plucked the microphone from the man’s hand with a bow of his own. “Please forgive me. I’m out of practice.”

He walked back to the rest of the band with the leader, and they conferred for a while. Damian texted Mi Hi.

She texted back. Normally I’d say don’t do it, but this is good. As long as there are cameras.

Damian smirked. There were cameras for certain. Even the kitchen staff was crowding into the room as Jun stepped to the front of the stage.

The drummer counted them in, and Jun’s body moved with the beat. The regular singer joined the two guitarists who usually sang backup. The keyboardist entered with a light, steady strum of chords.

“This sounds familiar,” émericnoted.

Jun raised the microphone to his lips, his eyes sliding shut as the opening melody floated from his lips.

A middle-aged woman a table away pressed her hand over her mouth.

Jun swayed through the first two lines, voice dark and strong as black silk. His eyes opened, finding Damian’s face as he sang.

Forget the media impact, Damian needed this performance recorded for himself.

No one moved through the entire song. There was a riotous applause and demand for more.

Jun exchanged looks with the drummer and held up one finger.

There were cheers. Jun turned to the drummer, his hips swaying to the beat.

When he turned back around, his shirt was fully open from throat to belt, the ugly bruises decorating his lower ribs and down his flat stomach visible in the stage lights.

One of the Chinese girls pointed, and two of her friends slapped their hands over their mouths.

Jun slotted the microphone into the mic stand and cupped his hands around it, leaning into it, his eyes shut, husking out the first two lines. This song was in Korean and English.

Damian shook his head, holding in his laughter.

Jun was singing for all he was worth as if this was an award concert and not a restaurant.

But when had Jun ever phoned in a performance?

The song was popular. At least half the people present seemed to know it, and they were nodding along, some of them singing quietly under their breath.

The main band singer joined Jun at the front, switching off the parts.

There were cheers when Jun broke out into an abbreviated bit of the choreography.

“The boy is throwing down a challenge,” émeric murmured.

“How so?” Richard tilted his head toward his husband.