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tastyykpop · 4 years

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𝑆𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛-ρ† 3

Pairings: enemy, barista, student!jaemin x student, barista!reader.

Warnings: fluff, angst if you squint real hard

Anger and frustration was the only way to describe it. Plus the lingering feeling of humiliation when jaemin didn't give a direct answer. Students eyed the two of you, mostly you for your braveness to even confront the boy which was shocking from their point of view, knowing all too well of your history with each other.

For once though, you've seen jaemin hesitate and stutter with an answer. It was quite something really, and you couldn't believe it.

And it wasnt like it was a yes or no answer, he only blurted out, "W-we have tu-tutor sessions...later...." and walked away after a few seconds of looking at you. God, and everyone was whispering among themselves and friends like it was the hottest topic, which in a strange sense it kind of was.

You dragged yourself back to the table where yeri sat and put your head in your arms.

You felt stupid. This wasn't how you thought your day would go, nor did you think jaemin would say something like that. Instead, you thought jaemin would for sure say yes. The things he said, the way he acted, jaemin couldve passed as your boyfriend and you thought maybe now it was possible.

"Y/n are you okay?" Yeri put a hand on your arm and you shook your head, still buried in your arms.

"I hate him." Your voice came out muffled.

Yeri let out a long sigh, "Its going to be okay. There’s plenty of other guys you'll meet who'll be worth your time." She stopped when you lifted your head. The look on your face was melancholy and red, but she didn't know what she could do about it. "What about that taemin guy? He's pretty cute. And from what you told me, he's super nice." Yeri wiggled her eyebrow suggestively making you groan.

"I don’t want to hurt him." You frowned, not being able to imagine using him as a rebound, "I realized I don’t like him like I thought I did."

"I get it. But don't pain yourself over a boy." She shook her head and let out a quiet chuckle, "especially jaemin."

"But jaemins literally what I want. How am I supposed to ignore that?"

Yeri stuck her bottom lip out in a pout, "Its almost impossible to ignore feelings..." There was a short pause until she started again, "So maybe just...ignore him? I don’t know man, I’m not good at this stuff."

"Yeah no shit," You snorted, "but ignoring him is an option. He gets mad when I do things like that, and ignoring him would get his attention, which means," you took a deep breath and grinned, "I’d get my ass destroyed by him whenever he breaks!"

"That’s literally not at all what I meant by ignoring him."

You sat back in your seat, smiling like a maniac to yourself at the devilish plan that would possibly not end well for you.

"But it could work." You pointed out.

"Could doesn't mean would. You know what, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall." As yeri stood up and gathered her trash, you threw your pile along with hers just to annoy her. "This is why I'm your only friend."

"I thought you were going over jaemins for tutoring?" Jimin asked with a raised brow at your sudden intrusion into the apartment giving him no time to put a shirt on.

"I decided not to go." You shrugged, setting your bag on the floor. In reality, it was just the start of your plan of ignoring jaemin, but you weren't going to tell jimin that.

"Huh?? But you said he was good at trig and you would fail without him." As he tilted his head in confusion, you tried to come up with an excuse.

And not even a second later, an idea popped into your head, "I’m starting to understand it better." It wasn’t far from the truth to be honest, jaemin was doing a very good job at explaining, but in reality, you weren't perfect at all.

"Liar! You suck at trig!"

Your eye twitched, "I understand it slightly better."

"I still don't believe you." Jimin shrugged, "its only been like 2 days."

"I’m a fast learner." You huffed. Sadly your roommate knew you too well for you to lie. It wasn’t surprising anymore that he could point out just one flaw.

"Another lie. Now run along, I’m watching tv." Jimin shoo'ed you away with a hand motion. It took almost all your patience not to say anything in return, but it was pointless now.

Once in your room, you threw yourself onto the bed, not caring enough to close the door as you started changing from school clothes to regular shorts and a tank top.

Now once looking back at it, today was just a weird day. It was quiet in all the classes like someone just flipped a switch and one thing that threw you off the most was that jaemin didn’t ignore you completely like you thought he would, but instead he still helped with the work you were struggling with. Other than that he never talked to you. And it wasn’t like you wanted him to, you actually didn't want him to because of your little plan.

To be expected, you got multiple texts from him wondering where you were and why you weren't at his house and each text got more and more threatening so you just put your phone on silent and decided to take a nap until work. If this is how jaemin acts when you ignore him for barely a day then it should be easier to break him then you thought.

Rolling over in your bed, you closed your eyes, ignoring the aching feeling of anxiousness in your gut and tried to get some sleep. But sleeping was almost impossible. No matter how sleepy you were, or how heavy your eyes were, sleeping just didn't want to come. And you really didn't want to go on your phone because jaemin was calling you and in a matter of time you would probably answer it because you were just a little afraid of him.

Moving out of the bed and getting ready for work was your last option. Though the amount of black pants and white shirts that were lost from your closet made you realize how much you actually worked. The last time you had a day off was during summer vacation with jimin and a few of his friends plus yeri. Its been a while, and you kind of missed the break but you can't complain too much since you're making such good money.

After throwing on the clothes and lacing up your shoes, you left after saying good bye to jimin. Its still early, but you couldn't bring yourself to pass time until work and going there wasn’t as bad as one may think.

After you got in the car, you left the apartment, driving off to the cafe. You blasted some of your music on the way, singing the lyrics loudly since no one was in the car. You gotta say, driving alone is sometimes more fun since you can do stuff like this without people judging you.

Finally at the cafe, Irene happily greeted you, not giving you time to say hi back and started jumping up and down talking about her promotion to manager. She literally looked like she'd explode any minute from too much happiness.

"I get to boss you around even more than I did before." She grinned and you playfully shoved her to get to your station.

"If that’s possible." A little fist punched your shoulder as you laughed, "I’m kidding, I’m kidding."

"Hey, I'm not that bad! But I could be worse if you’d like." You covered your mouth to stifle the laugh that would come out when she sent you a wink.

There were many orders coming up, food, smoothies, coffee, anything. It kept you, irene, and your coworkers in the back completely occupied and busy. Youd even catch yourself drifting off into space because you were working too fast, almost messing some orders up too.

"I can bring this to the customer, go work on the other orders please." Irene rushed away after you smiled and did what she wanted.

Moments passed and after a few more drinks you saw the familiar black haired man walking into the back where you stood making a drink.

Jaemin didn't look all too happy when he saw you, so you tried your best to ignore him, but its not easy to ignore someone who’s been on your mind the whole day and somehow you're just figuring that out now.

He looked nice too, well he always does, but his black hair looked particularly very good. The way it was parted yet still fell over his face on some ends, and the way some parts stuck out just looked pretty on him.

"You’re here early...again." jaemin spoke while looking up at the orders, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"I was kind of bored at home." You muttered, moving as jaemin reached over you for a cup.

"Should’ve came to my house to study, maybe you wouldn't have been so bored." He lifted an eyebrow in your direction almost tauntingly and expecting a snap back but you stayed quiet, keeping it silent for a bit.

Jaemin was doing his order, and you did yours, though it did feel like time was just dragging you slowly through the day because you were so anxious near him. You felt as if he would break if you stepped out of place even just a bit. But wasn’t that your plan in the first place?

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" Jaemin began and you looked up from the last drink you put in the tray. He had anticipated your answer as you suspired.

"I was sleeping.."It was obvious that you didn’t want to talk as you tried to walk away with the tray in hand followed by jaemin grabbing your shirt and pulling you back, the tray tipping slightly.

"Sleeping? How could you be sleeping when you read my texts? Now why are you lying to me?" Question after question, you tried wiggling out of his strong grasp and rolled your eyes to show you didn’t care. With only so much patience left, jaemin grabbed your hair, bringing your face closer to his. "I asked you a question so i suggest you answer before I spank your ass in front of everyone."

You stopped and nervously looked around the cafe to see if anyone heard him, but luckily for you everyone was minding their own business or not paying attention but still you couldn’t mask your shyness, "Y-you wouldn't do that. You're bluffing." You huffed.

Though you're not much shorter than jaemin, you felt small under his strong gaze, almost weaker near him too.

"Wanna bet?" He questioned and his sincerity was almost scary. You could feel his hand snake a bit too far down your backside and you pushed him off. "Answer me; why are you lying?"

"I don’t know." He slowly let go of your hair and ran his fingers through it. Nervousness fell over you, thinking he'd grab it again.

"You don’t know, huh." Jaemin said softly. You shook your head hoping he'd believe it.

"I-i don’t.."

Jaemin rolled his eyes, "Don’t lie or ignore me again."

"Yeah yeah whatever-" You cried when he grabbed and tugged on your hair again, making your face contort in pain, "Okay! Fine! I wont do any of that again!"

That being said, jaemin let go after giving you that natural look telling you not to push him today, or any day for that matter. "Little bitch." You mumbled.

"Call me that again, I dare you."

It took almost all of your self control to not flip him off.

Lee jeno, the infamous frat boy and fuck boy on campus, was jaemins closest friend. He was gorgeous, kind, and smart, but one thing that set you off about him was he could be quite rude. Just one flaw, and it happened to only be towards you. So you wondered; 'why the hell am I asking lee jeno for help when there's a hundred more men in this school?' Because jeno was jaemins closest friend. Plain and simple. The only thing is, your brilliant plan could fail. Either way it was a fifty-fifty chance.

"Lee jeno!" You called and ran up to the boy, confused as to why you looked happy to see him when you and him don't really like each other. "I have a question."

"I might have an answer." Jeno surprisingly smiled, now you see why people were whipped.

"I want to make jaemin jealous."

He stopped in his tracks and nervously laughed, "Why would you want to do that? Of all things?"

You smiled up at him, "I wanna be a pain in his ass so I have an idea and I need your help." Jeno scratched the back of his head, still not sure where you were headed with this conversation.

"Uhh...okay what is it then?" You happily jumped when jeno gave you the go to ask.

"Can you be my fake boyfriend?"

"You’re who-what!?" Jeno choked trying to find a hint that you were joking and just testing him or something, but you were dead serious and that's what made him scared. "So you’re plan to make jaemin jealous is to date me? Damn that’s kinda smart and bit bitchy."

You frowned, "I just like making him regret certain things and testing his patience is all."

"So a bitch," he shrugged, " but how the hell would this whole thing work? You and I don’t have a really good record with each other and hes well aware of that. Jaemins not dumb." Jeno pointed out as you tilted your head in almost a ‘you’re so stupid’ manner.

“Didn’t you take acting lessons?” There was a slight delay but he nodded nonetheless, “Then just act the part, lee. Its not that hard.” you rolled your eyes with a scoff, jeno playfully slapped your shoulder.

“Its not that simple! Its you for gods sake! How am i supposed to pretend to like you?”

“I dont know, you just do it.” Shrugging off the almost annoyed yet smiling boy, you noticed someone out the corner of your eye; the devil himself. Just staring at the two of you. Surprisingly, jeno took notice of that and grabbed your hand while walking close to you, never letting his smile fall, and walked around the school building to a bench.

"That was smooth." You mumbled earning a laugh from jeno. "See, was that so hard?”

The boy rubbed the back of his neck nervously with an eye smile, “I guess not, but do you really think he’ll fall for it?”

That was a good question and if you sat and thought about it more, you probably would’ve said no, but for some reason you pushed out a yes. Jaemins a jealous and possessive boy, there’s no way this shouldn’t work.

“Hell yeah. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Well-”

“Don’t answer that.”

Currently, you and jeno were awkwardly flirting with each other in front of jaemin at the cafe. Light touches and small smiles and giggles was kind of annoying in jaemins eyes. But this was the best plan yet.

After not going to jaemins third tutor session and ignoring multiple other calls because he didn’t bother texting anymore, you were at the cafe on your day off just to piss him off. And for some reason, this was probably the most fun, yet awkward moment in your life.

"Is he still watching?" Jeno whispered as he smiled to make it seem as if he was flirting.

You quickly glanced up and jaemin was indeed still watching, actually glaring, but you couldn't even tell if it was at you or jeno, maybe even both.

"Hes still watching." You turned and grinned at him. "He looks very mad."

"I know something to get him more mad."

"And what would that be?" Raising an eyebrow at him, jeno suddenly grabbed you by your face and kissed your cheek.

"Now look back and tell me if hes still there."

You were shocked but did as he said and sure enough, jaemin was no where to be seen, "Hes gonna kill us..."

"No just you, I’ll be gone by then." He laughed when you sent him a glare. "This was your plan not mine."

"And this will for sure end my life later on," You faced jeno, "When was the last time he was really mad?"

Jeno sat back to think about it and let go of your hand that you forgot he was holding, "He got into a fight with one of our friends just a few months ago. You know donghyuck, right?"

You nodded your head. Of course you knew donghyuck, he was the biggest brat of them all and out of every one of jaemins friends, you got along with him pretty well, turning out to be very good friends. You haven't talked to him in few weeks though, college kind of messed some things up for you guys but you still try to keep in contact as much as possible.

"Well a few months ago jaemin and hyuck got into this huge fight."

"Was it as bad as that time mark and hyuck fought?" You asked and jeno shook his head.

"No it was probably worse. Jaemin was almost in a fist fight with him--actually no I think they did end up physically fighting." Jeno sighed, "Anyways jaemin was super cold to everyone and got into a lot of fights with some other people like me," he giggled at the thought, "It was also around the time he dumped coffee on your head."

Only jeno could bring back that stupid coffee incident and make you remember when you wanted to commit a murder.

"That was one of the worst things hes done to me don’t make me think of that." You whined, throwing your head back, "And hes done a lot of bad things."

Jeno grinned, he was standing next to jaemin at the time laughing at you. In his perspective it was funny, but for you, it was not.

"Not gonna lie it was kind of funny, but I did feel a bit bad."

"Woah. You felt bad for me!? Who the hell are you?" You said dramatically making jeno throw his head back in laughter.

"Someone who actually has remorse," He looked you up and down before starting again, "for some people."

You huffed, "And to think you were becoming nice." Jeno giggled one last time but it quickly faded away when a hand slammed on the table.

Both of you looked up at the boy with jet black hair, he was none too happy with all your laughing and 'flirting', and wanted to interrupt it the best he could.

"Hey jeno," jaemin nodded his head in his friends direction, somehow managing to make his anger dissolve into a real smile.

"Whats up?" Jeno smiled.

You sat back staring at the two, jaemins eyes were locked onto jenos and his hand was still sitting there. They were like statues.

"Oh you know...working and watching you dumbasses flirt." Jaemin painfully grit his teeth, still holding a smile and you tried not to laugh.

Out of all things you found cute, it was jaemins poor attempt at trying not to be angry or jealous. It was like watching a rom-com but in real life.

"Its disgusting." Jaemin mumbled.

He turned towards you, but with no smile like you didn’t deserve one which in this case you was probably true since this was your idea in the first place.

"I've never seen you come here on your day off. Isn't that a bit strange?"

"Jeno wanted something sweet," you lied, "and we have the best sweets. What, can I not come here on my day off?” Man did jaemin find you annoying right now. It was getting to the point that talking to you was becoming a chore. Either he couldn’t talk to you because you ignored him or you started speaking in ways that made his eye twitch.

"You're gonna be in so much trouble later." Jaemin muttered low enough for you to hear. Jeno smirked at jaemins words too, knowing this was working way too well for you. "I should get back to work before irene gets mad and you guys should get going too."

You raised a brow, "And why is that?"

"Jeno always brings his dates home to fuck."

"If you're jealous then just say it." You growled.

Jaemin looked between you and a red faced jeno and snickered, "Im not jealous, I already had my turn." He winked and walked away leaving you and jeno staring at each other with wide eyes.

"I...feel like this didn’t go as we intended.." jeno laughed but with no emotion, almost in a sadistic way.

You puffed out your cheeks, not sure what to do now that jaemin was playing like this too.

"I should bring you back home." He started standing but you grabbed his hand to stop him.

"No wait.” He looked down at you, “Isn't there a party later?"

"Yeah?" jeno tilted his head, wondering why you’re asking this question when you never go to any of the frat party’s.

"Lucas is throwing it right?" Jeno nodded his head and you perked up, "Can we go?"

It was a strange request, you never wanted to go to any parties because you worked and studied whenever you felt the need to, so parties were never on your mind. But right now, you felt that a party is what you need. You've never been but it can't be that bad if you're with someone. And you even know the host so there should be other people you know too. It would be fun anyway.

"If you really want to, but you might lose me at some point."

"That’s okay," your face said otherwise, "I’ll try to find someone I know." It wasn’t likely that you would, but you knew that the main people who were going to go was hyuck and lucas. There was also jaehyun and johnny, the only thing was you didn’t know them as well as hyuck or lucas and ever talked to them a few times. They were nice, but you probably wouldn't go up to them and strike up a conversation.

"Alright then let's go, the party’s gonna start in like two hours. And seeing how long it took you just to get ready for this stupid date, you’re probably gonna need it." Jeno pulled you up by the hand that stopped him before, and you both walked out of the cafe.

You got into jenos car and put on your seat belt waiting patiently for him to drive off. The only problem was that he was busy on his phone, trying to find music to play.

"Don’t look at me like that." Jeno did a double take at your unamused face that clearly stated you wanted to leave so you can get ready for the party.

"Then pick a damn song and let's go." You smacked his thigh repeatedly causing him to groan and put his playlist on shuffle, driving off after hitting play. "See, that wasn’t so hard now was it?"

"Your’e annoying. I cant believe i even said yes to this fake dating thing. Now I see why jaemin didn’t respond."

"Hey that's not very nice," you pouted, "and don't make me think of that for God sake, its depressing."

"Good now shut up and let me drive." And so you did, letting just the music and jenos quiet singing be the only thing playing in your ears.

It was a quick ride anyway from your job to the apartment, jimin was doing his normal thing which was sitting on the couch shirtless and watching dramas. The little up and down he gave jeno wasn't unseen by you either, but you never commented as you walked by with a smirk.

Jeno was close behind you too almost like a lost puppy. He even sat on your bed and watched you apply a bit of make up for the party and lazily lounged about as you picked an outfit, not sure whether to go with an innocent pink flowy skirt, or black ripped jeans.

"I like the skirt better," jeno hoisted himself on the bed, "it gives me better access-"

"Don’t even think about it!" You whipped a pillow straight to his head, he wasn’t quick to dodge as it hit him perfectly where you wanted it to, "I’m about to choose the jeans."

The boy tilted his head as he pouted at the two choices in your hand, Jeno preferred the innocent look on women but this wasn’t for him--in fact it wasn’t for anyone except yourself, but he couldn’t stop from staring at the pretty baby pink skirt.

"How about you try them on and pick which one you think looks better on you." He smiled that eye smile of his after having a little war with himself.

You nodded your head and rushed to the bathroom to throw on one of the bottoms first.

Once you came back, you stood in front of jeno with the jeans on and checked yourself out in the mirror. It hugged your waist sweetly and complimented your legs well, but you didn’t think this was going to be the winner out of the two.

"Okay maybe a skirt would look better." You whispered loud enough for jeno to hear.

"Told you! Skirts suit you better anyways." Jeno sat against the headboard in victory as you went back to change into a skirt. The only thing left was a top, but jeno seemed to already have that covered when he threw a white laced bralette at your face. "This is cute." He made heart eyes at the bralette you held up.

"It is but don't you think it would show too much?" You questioned, though you couldn’t lie that you were a bit tempted to wear it though it did cut a bit low.

"Dude its fine, a lot of other girls wear way worse stuff than what I just gave you."

You decided to trust jenos words, and left to put on the shirt. Unsurprisingly it looked amazing with the skirt and your beautiful skin. So maybe jeno was good at picking clothes out, but you wouldn't tell him that.

After doing any last few touches you had, you and jeno left after saying goodbye to jimin, who was still checking jeno out, and left for the party.

"You’re not gonna change?" You wondered as you sat in the car.

Jeno shrugged and smiled, "I’m a guy so I don't care what I wear."

"Thats cap."

Jeno rolled his eyes and began driving to the destination. Sometime during the ride you snatched his phone to find a good song to play, ignoring the boy who whined as you took it from him.

After finding a song and placing the phone back down, you carelessly started belching the lyrics out to purposely irritate jeno who was struggling to not pull the car over and leave.

"Y/n, who sings this song?"

"Michael Jackson, why?"

"Please keep it that way."

"I-"

"And we are here!!" Jeno slammed on his breaks and peacefully left the car as if he didn’t just insult your singing. You got out, a bit intimidated by the crowd of people standing outside dancing with drinks in hand while others smoked. Girls all in tight shirts that hugged them perfectly or the shorts that made their ass pop almost literally. Boys being boys by taking shots or chugging their beer in competitions. This was all new to you and somehow you found yourself clinging onto jenos arm like a little girl.

"Is it always this crowded?" You looked up waiting for his answer.

"Yeah but that's because it's lucas' party. He always knows how to bring people in," he looked around at some of the unfamiliar faces that were chilling by the entrance, "c’mon let's go inside."

Jeno dragged you in like you were the lightest thing and passed you a cup once at a table filled with drinks.

"Want something. Maybe a shot?" Jeno winked as you scoffed.

You looked between the variety of drinks, they were all too strong or too bitter for your liking because of your lack of drinking so it only made your face scrunch, "These are all disgusting."

"Oh come on! Don't tell me you're a light weight!" Jeno complained but needless to say he still grabbed your cup, barely filling it with some alcohol and handed it back.

You looked at the somewhat dark liquid and sniffed it. Not the sweetest scent, but it is what it is. Tilting your head back, you drank the small amount that jeno gave you and he watched with wide eyes as you coughed at the intense flavor. Something like a mix of cinnamon.

"...you just drank fireball.." jeno mumbled but you were still focused on the burning sensation in the back of your throat. It definitely isn’t a smooth drink and its fairly strong, something you can't take, but you shook the cup in his face for more, "Are you trying to get wasted?"

"Well we are at a party-"

"Y/NNN!!!!" A voice interrupted the conversation and you both turned to see none other than lucas himself running towards you with wide arms, two cups in hand, and a huge smile on his face. "I haven't seen you in so long!!" Lucas engulfed you in a bear crushing hug making jeno laugh behind you.

"You saw me last week." You said in his chest, still being crushed by the giant.

"That’s a long time for some people, be considerate man." Lucas let go, drinking out of the cup in his right hand. "So what brought you here? You never come to parties."

"I asked jeno-"

Lucas spat out his drink, "Jeno!?" He looked behind you to jeno smiling and waving at him. "I think i drank too much cuz im seeing shit." He stared into his drink.

Jeno chuckled and took the other drink out of lucas' hand, "You aren't seeing things." He started drinking from the cup and Lucas frowned watching the younger. "She just wanted to come with me for some reason."

Lucas looked at you and you nodded back, "Then now that you're here, get drunk so we can play games."

"More fireball?" Jeno lifted the bottle up and Lucas nodded.

"More fireball."

You shouldn't have taken more than 2 shots of fireball. It was impossible for you to think straight, in fact, you found yourself sitting on jenos lap with him being equally as drunk, well, maybe not as bad but still pretty hammered.

There were even times where you both would start flirting with no context. From someone else's point of view, it was probably funny, but to you and him, it was like you wanted to get into each others pants.

"Look," jeno lazily pointed over to the entrance where seulgi walked in with jaemin close behind. "I have a plan if you wanna do it."

"Hmm," you frowned at the two, jaemin was smiling at seulgi who was talking his ear off and giving him subtle flirtatious hints while she walked to the drink table, "Sure what is it?"

Smirking, jeno moved his hand lower on your waist, "Promise you won't kill me after this?"

"Depends on what you're gonna do."

Jeno reached to take a sip of beer, knowing that after this night he'd be throwing up from all the drinking, "Ill do it when he looks over."

A drunken pout sat on your face as you were so curious to know what he had in mind, but jeno still grinned at your behavior, rubbing up and down on your waist.

What shocked you the most was when jeno suddenly put his lips on yours. You've figured out by now that this was his plan so you didn't push him off.

Though you couldn't see it, jenos was staring into jaemins eyes as he smirked against your lips. It was like he beat jaemin at something and came up to the top for once. But you were too focused in making out with jeno to even notice the burning eyes in your back, watching as jeno gripped your hips and kissed you back hungrily like a devil. He tasted like alcohol and you couldn't say you were any sweeter, but maybe it was the intoxication that made you start to enjoy this moment a little more than you should’ve.

"W-what the hell...?" Jeno pulled back hesitantly looking behind you. Trying to look back, jeno took you by the face making you look at him, "Please only look at me."

"Whyyyy?" You leaned into his hand and jeno almost softened up but clenched his jaw in return.

"Drink some water." He changed the subject, handing you his bottle of water that he kept with him the entire time for whenever any of you needed it, and right now seemed like the time.

You swatted his hand away, almost spilling the water and started, "But I wanna look."

"Unless you want to see jaemin shoving his tongue down seulgis throat, I suggest you don’t."

"Hes what!??"

Jeno giggled like a little school girl probably from your furious face, "Its what you get, so don't even get mad when you do the same thing."

"But you’re the one who kissed me first, I only went along with it." Your growled and took a heavy chug from the water you pushed away. "I’m mad at you."

"Should’ve pushed me off."

"I figured you did it for a reason."

"Then don’t get mad."

"I- you- I'm gonna be mad!!"

Jeno rubbed his temples like you were the most infuriating thing known to man. He doesn't know how jaemin could put up with you and hes amazed how far he got with your antics. It was ticking him off but he didn't want to just drop you now, it was still somewhat fun.

"We should go dance." You looked towards the many groups of sweaty people grinding on each other, having a good time enjoying the party. You sighed, it would be fun you thought.

Jeno perked up at your sudden mood change noticing how you weren't in the slightest mad anymore, now registering that you have mood swings when you're drunk or tipsy.

"I don’t dance."

"Don’t lie! You're literally a dancer, c’mon!" You got up off his lap and hoisted him up, bringing him to the dance floor. He placed his hands on your hips as you moved against him, just letting the music flow through you and let your body move on its own.

You didn’t actually care if jaemin saw you grinding on his best friend because right now, you were actually having fun. Maybe it was because you were wasted or maybe it was because of the excitement and happiness here that made you love it so much. Either way, you found joy just dancing with jeno.

"Isn't this fun?" You moved your head to smirk at him, but jeno seemed a bit uncomfortable.

"Maybe if you weren't grinding on me, I'd say yes, but right now it's a hard no."

You knew what he meant and that’s why you pushed back a bit. Stopping when he gripped your hips in a way that hurt a bit.

"Stop it y/n." He whispered in your ear.

You whined and said, "Make me." Jeno stood back, not sure what to do right now. He may be a fuck boy but he has boundaries. Plus you’re drunk and don’t know what you’re saying.

"We should go home."

"But I wanna dance and have fun with you!!" You voice came out slurred and jeno automatically took another step back.

"Not gonna happen, you’re wasted." Grabbing your hand, he walked towards the front door so he could bring you home, but of course this would be the perfect time for jaemin to stop him.

"Whats wrong with her?" His voice was laced with concern seeing your current state; droopy eyes, and a way too happy smile.

"Shes drunk so I’m taking her back home." Jeno tried walking passed but jaemin stopped him again. If jeno wasn’t as drunk or tispy, jaemin probably would’ve let him bring you back, but jaemin couldn’t be so sure and wanted you safe. Plus, he may or may not be a bit mad at jeno.

"No stay, I can bring her back." Jaemin pushed, not because he wanted to show you discipline for the last few days, but because he was genuinely worried for your current state.

"What about seulgi?"

Jaemin looked back at the girl who was now talking with some of her friends, clearly not paying attention or taking notice of his disappearance. "She'll be fine." He brushed it off, "Lemme take y/n."

It took a few seconds for jeno to let go of your hand and stand back for jaemin to take you before you fell over. But he was so gentle with you, and because of that jeno was sure jaemin wouldn’t do anything bad to you.

"Be careful." Jeno said, jaemin nodded back and walked away with you slightly stumbling down the stairs just after he said that.

You started giggling at yourself while jaemin was actually struggling to keep you up. Somehow though, he made it to the car before you tripped and out your seat belt on before climbing in the drivers seat.

"Nana, where are we going?" You slurred.

Jaemin smiled at the little nickname you never used, "To my house if that’s fine with you."

"Your house is nice." Leaning against the window, you rested your head as you started zoning out.

Jaemin didn't mind though, he wanted you to get some rest, at least before he got to his house so he could put you to bed. But it wasn't like you'd sleep for long because the drive was only 5 minutes.

When jaemin started carrying you out, that was when you started putting up a fight. Not only was jaemin try his best to not get angry, but he also tried to reason with himself when you started whining and pushing him away. Either sweet talk or show who's in charge.

"Y/n please cut it out, I’m just bringing you to my room." Jaemin groaned, struggling to keep you still in his arms.

"But I wanna walk."

"You can barely walk right now."

You didn’t care and continued moving around and kicking his arms away trying to get him to put you down, but just like you--he was stubborn and he carried you the whole way to his bed.

Softly putting you down, he went to grab some clothes for you. When he came back you already discarded your skirt and were about to take your bralette off until jaemin stopped you.

"What are you doing?" He pulled your hand away from the strap.

"I wanna play with you."

Jaemin shook his head at your sad face and pulled your body closer to his so he could start getting you changed, "Its almost 3am and you're drunk." but you whined once he rejected you.

“So what? Im still giving you my consent anyway.” You said, smiling at him as he took your top off, quickly putting a shirt on to cover you up. He wondered how you could wear such a tight top without feeling uncomfortable.

“You're not giving me full consent, y/n. I’m not gonna take advantage of you.” He stepped away after dressing you. Jaemin had only put a shirt on you and just left you in your underwear since it seemed the most comfortable.

Jaemin changed too, only wearing sweatpants and no shirt because he was most comfortable that way himself, and crawled into bed with you. Somehow you found yourself already snuggled into his chest, breathing in his delicious cologne.

“Goodnight nana.” you mumbled into his chest.

“Goodnight princess,” jaemin hesitated for a second before speaking again, “nana loves you.”

You woke up to a painful headache and an empty bed. You knew where you were at least, but didn’t know how you got here. The last think you remembered was sitting with lucas, jeno and some other people playing a game of beer pong. That was probably when you got hammered, but why where you at jaemins house?

As much as you wanted to sit up and go find jaemin, your headache is what kept you in bed.

“Jaemin!!” You screamed, the sound of feet came running up the stairs.

“What is it? Are you okay? Do you need water? Medicine?” Question after question and jaemin seemed worried at your distressed state.

“Medicine and water would be nice actually.” You murmured and jaemin was already on his way to get what you needed.

Jaemin handed you two pills and a glass of ice water. You thanked him and took them, swallowing both the pills and the water at the same time.

“Do you need anything else?” His face still held concern and you almost wondered why he wasn’t mad at you like he had been for the past few days. Though you easily brushed it off as a sign that maybe he let you off the hook.

“No I’m good now.” You shook your head causing jaemin to sigh in relief and fall on the bed next to you. He gave you space, letting you cuddle and wrap yourself up in his blankets assuming that you were trying to find ways to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. And as much as he wanted to hold you, he was almost too scared to. It was funny really. Jaemin; the most out-going yet introverted person ever, was too scared to touch you right now.

Maybe it was his feelings getting the best of him or maybe he was too scared to finally fall in love with someone hes afraid of hurting in the end.

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

In My Dreams Tonight

for @chaotic-bard who asked me for some fluff!

have a soulmates that dream about each other au featuring both a modern au and the canon universe!

brought to you by “Dreams Tonite” by Alvvays

---

“You’re nothing but trouble, bard,” the tall man glared from atop his horse. He always seemed to be glaring or glowering or huffing, the man in Jaskier’s dreams. The familiar stranger wore his long white hair pulled halfway back and he had golden eyes, the pupils of which were slit up the center like a cat’s. His name, Jaskier had learned after the third straight week of seeing him every night, was Geralt of Rivia. A Witcher, apparently, whose job it was to hunt down monsters.

“Ah, but what a lovely piece of trouble I am!” Jaskier replies. And he’s rather sassy himself in these dreams. Far more clever and ready to fight than he is when he’s awake. “You would miss me if I left, wouldn’t you, Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

The stranger hums a lot. He glares and he hums. Jaskier’s heart stutters frightfully in his chest whenever the man smiles, though. The sight is rare. Geralt has smiled perhaps three times in the past two months.

“Where are we going today?”

“Werewolf outside of town. You’re staying at the inn, where I know you can’t get into… nevermind. You can get into trouble anywhere.”

There’s a lightly teasing tone to the stranger’s voice that Jaskier hasn’t really heard before. He likes it. He craves more of it. He tosses and turns in his sleep, his skin damp with sweat. The dream goes on.

“Geralt, please,” he whines, “I can’t write ballads about monsters I haven’t seen! Or fights I did not attend! That’s lying to my audience, Geralt, and I simply won’t do it. I must go with you.”

“Drop it, Jaskier,” the man snarls. Jaskier feels sad. Incredibly sad.

Rejected?

“Gera-”

“I said drop it, bard.”

Jaskier wakes up feeling a little heartbroken and he yearns to be held. His pillow holds the fading scents of leather and wood-smoke. The sight of a pine sapling at the dog park makes him tear up.

He starts to wear the color yellow out of nowhere and his taste in jewelry switches from gold to silver.

When his best friend asks him about the recent changes, he cannot answer.

---

Geralt pours himself a mug of tea and shakes his hair out of his face. He’s been having odd dreams lately, things that feel familiar but manage to stay just out of his conscious grasp. Someone important is waiting for him. Someone he love and cares about and needs.

Geralt doesn’t really buy into the concept of soulmates, but he does understand instinct. He knows to trust his gut. He knows to listen and start paying attention when the same haunting blue eyes creep into his dreams every night for six months, plaguing him in the waking hours by refusing to give up their owners’ identity.

He wipes a hand down his face and sighs loudly into the otherwise empty studio apartment. “Fuck me, I gotta figure this shit out. I gotta talk to Yen.”

Talking to himself has always helped him calm down. He does it again, just to hear his own low voice scraping through the silence.

“I gotta see what’s going on with my head. These dreams are… getting to be a bit much, even for me.”

He nods to no one in particular and goes to text his best friend and coworker.

---

Jaskier hops off the bus and carries his guitar case down to the coffee shop on the corner. Finally, he’s managed to get a gig that wasn’t through the university.

He sets up his stuff in the tiny alcove the shop treats as a stage and watches as a few customers stroll around near the counter, waiting for their drinks or reading through the menu, hovering just far away enough from the line to keep others from growing confused.

He loves people watching.

Once everything is ready to go and the light outside the window has dimmed a bit, indicating early evening has finally arrived, he pulls his guitar onto his lap and strums through a few quick chords.

“Rode here on the bus,

Now you're one of us.

It was magic hour,

Counting motorbikes on the turnpike;

One of Eisenhower's.”

“Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who starts a fire just to let it go out?”

He watches a particularly handsome man with broad shoulders and a vintage denim jacket approach the counter. Jaskier adds a haunting, well-practiced lilt to his voice as he goes into the chorus, hoping to get his attention:

“If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight?

If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight, tonight?”

An equally beautiful woman with long, curly black hair approaches the denim-clad angel and whisks him towards a table nearby. She settles with her back to Jaskier, leaving him with a decent view of the man’s sharp, lightly stubbled jaw, glittering eyes, and severe white ponytail. He’s gorgeous.

He’s also uncomfortably familiar.

Jaskier continues to perform, trying to identify his attractive mystery man the whole time and failing miserably.

---

“He’s everywhere, Yen. I feel like I could identify him by scent if I got close enough. I can’t remember his name, though. Or the color of his hair. I don’t know his face, only his eyes. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Have you talked to Dr. deStael about it?”

“Yeah, but she said this kind of thing is normal. Recurring dreams often help us sort out our trauma or something like that. I don’t know. I don’t feel traumatized by this guy I feel… protective of him. Maybe even like I love him?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“Shut up for a minute, this live music actually slaps and I want to listen to it. Then we can discuss your weird possessive tendencies towards your dream boyfriend.”

Geralt takes a slow sip of his coffee and glances up at the singer off to their left, perched on a barstool with his guitar held carefully on his lap. His voice is soft but somehow bright. Geralt finds himself utterly entranced.

“On the weird guitar;

Said you'd go to work

In the waking hour.

In fluorescent light,

Antisocialites watch a wilting flower.”

“Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who builds a wall just to let it fall down?”

The lyrics are strange and hold a dream-like quality to them. They draw a picture in Geralt’s head, something dark and heavy and oddly hollow. He has another sip of coffee and tries to ignore the feeling of panic welling up inside him. He glances at Yennefer to see if she’s picked up on his mood, but her violet eyes are focused on the singer and his nimble fingers as he continues to play and sing.

When he glances up towards their table and their eyes meet, Geralt loses the ability to breathe.

That shade of cornflower blue was…

Couldn’t be…

Had to be…

The gorgeous, feathery tenor continues to fill the air, whirling pleasant notes past his ears and deep into his subconscious. Geralt knows that voice. He’s heard this man laugh and sing and cry and scream a thousand different times. Through a handful of different lives. Geralt knows that face, those hands, those strong legs and long arms and blue fucking eyes. He’s held this singer in his arms every night for centuries, feeling his breathing as they both drift off to sleep.

He has protected this man and been protected by him in return. He has kissed and been kissed, caressed and been caressed. The two men sitting across from each other in the coffee shop physically embody an endless cycle of love. It has been bound up in the souls of two no-longer strangers. Geralt knows that he knows this man.

He knows Jaskier.

Petal pink lips continue to form soft words and slender hands keep plucking at vibrating guitar strings:

“Don't sit by the phone for me,

Wait at home for me, all alone for me.

Your face was supposed to be

Hanging over me, like a rosary.”

Geralt stands suddenly, startling Yennefer but not the performer, even though he’s clearly just as shocked as Geralt about this recent development.

Their mutual realization.

“So morose for me,

Seeing ghosts of me,

Writing oaths to me,

Is it so naïve to wonder…”

Geralt crosses the room to the edge of the stage in three quick strides. Yennefer is close behind him, her latte just as abandoned as his coffee at their table. She grabs her friend’s arm as if to stop him from doing something violent, but when he doesn’t struggle against her grip she lets it go again easily.

“Geralt?” the musician asks.

“Jaskier?” Geralt replies. The guitar is placed quickly to the side and a pair of incredibly familiar arms are thrown around the taller man’s neck. Geralt hugs back just as firmly, his arms flung low around the brunette’s waist. Geralt knows that this is Jaskier’s favorite way to be embraced; he doesn’t know how he’s aware of that fact, but it comes to the front of his mind clear as day.

“Holy shit,” Jaskier breathes, leaning back to stare Geralt in the face. One of his string-calloused fingers traces down over Geralt’s eyelid and cheek and he cocks his head to the side. “No scar?”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “Not this lifetime, I guess.”

“Were we? Are we- are we, you know...?”

“Yeah,” Yen beams, adding her two cents from the sidelines. “I think so. Congrats, boys. This is one of those one in a million chances and you’ve gone and done it.”

“Done what?” Geralt asks. Jaskier tosses his head back and laughs. His happiness rings out through the cafe like a struck bell and Geralt’s heart stutters frantically. He really does love this man already. Wholeheartedly and without fear. “What have we done, Yen?”

“As obtuse now as you were then,” Jaskier chides affectionately. “Soulmates, my love. We’ve been bound by the red string of fate and ta-da! Here we are. Again, apparently.”

“Yes, okay,” Geralt breathes, nosing his way along Jaskier’s jaw with giddy determination. He presses a quick and wholly welcome kiss to the bard’s lips. “That makes sense.”

“Do you... do you want me again? This time around?” Jaskier asks, fingers fiddling with one of the ties on Geralt’s hoodie. A pair of chapped lips press against his again and he sighs into it, melting against his no-longer-Witcher.

“Yes. And the next one, as well.”

#bouncey's sappy hours #geraskier #geraskier fluff #yen #yennefer #yenerference kinda #getting together #soulmate au #prophetic dreams #geraskier soulmate au #geraskier soulmates #shared dreams #modern au #geraskier modern au #kissing #first kiss #magically getting together #prompt fill

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joontier · 3 years

Text

Subliminal in Scrubs | V2; report xiv

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, workplace relationships

warnings: none to note

word count: 2.4k

g/n: Send me your thoughts?

[taglist]: @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle @btsmakesmehappy @stargukkie @moonchild1 @starbear019

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) | navi. | m.list

“Do you really have to leave me?” you drag the words out as you chew your dinner, one you insisted on having inside Ayoung’s apartment on her last day. You even add a cute little pout afterwards, hoping that Ayoung might reconsider her moving last minute.

“_________, that was literally the third time you asked me tonight. One more and I think I might change my mind.”

You sit up straighter, an expectant look on your face. “Really?”

“I’m afraid not, __________. I’m even surprised you kept asking when you literally helped me pack the last of my stuff. Shouldn’t you have been doing the opposite if you wanted me to stay?”

You let out a rather unattractive burp and a pretty loud one at that, then you sigh again for the nth time tonight, knowing it’s going to be a while before you find another neighbor that is as unbothered by your poor table etiquette as Ayoung.

Speaking of neighbors, a coworker’s face pops into your mind and you’re suddenly reminded of your embarrassing encounter with Jungkook just the other day in the very corridor just a door away from where you were seated. “By the way...that guy you brought over the other day…”

“Oh him?”

You brace yourself for the bad news, tilting your head towards Ayoung while you wait for her response. “Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be moving in anytime soon.”

“Oh,” comes your reply, shockingly nonchalant enough to mask the joy of not having Jungkook as your neighbor. Giddy, you prod her on, wanting to hear the rest of the story. “Shame though, he was such a hottie.”

“How did you even meet him in the first place?”

“Just last week I went to a cafe to study and partly cure a hangover from the previous night, I checked the post I uploaded for new possible tenants and Jungkook...that’s his name by the way...he was one of the first who sent a message about wanting to see the apartment in person, so we agreed to meet up on a later date.” Ayoung pauses for a moment, stacking a box on top of another.

“But just a few moments later while I was reading, this boy came up to me and asked if I was...well me and he told me he was Jungkook. Eventually, he asked if I was free because he mentioned that he had nothing else to do that day and he would’ve appreciated it if he got to see the place and have a drink at the same time.”

There’s a funny look on her face and you raise a brow questioningly. “Have you ever seen a man more attractive in just sweats?” Oh Christ.

“I mean, most guys would look like a hobo in those, plus he’s probably dumb for just walking around in sweats with only 25 degrees outside but damn.... You know only truly hot men can pull off looks like that. And he surely was packing.” Shocked to the core, you stare at her with your mouth hanging open, not wanting to believe all of these were coming from your sweet sweet Ayoung. Especially not when they’re about Jungkook.

“So I thought, why not right? I guess the hot chocolate I made wasn’t the only thing that was warm that night…” A suggestive smirk graces her lips and you scoot farther away from her, absolutely scandalized.

Much to your chagrin, your mind betrays you with rather raunchy images. Goosebumps line the skin on your arms as the embarrassment comes back to you in waves. “Gosh Jungkook, that little fucker.”

Ayoung creases her brows. “You know Jungkook?”

Crap. Ayoung wasn’t supposed to end up knowing this.

“Yeah I know him. Sort of.”

“Oh, too bad. It would have been great if he moved in so you won’t have to deal with a total stranger for a neighbor. Where do you know Jungkook from?”

You contemplate for a moment, wanting to weigh if it would be of any benefit having to tell the story of how you met Jungkook. Ultimately, you ended up sharing a brief background, missing out on a few vital points aka Jungkook being a total prick.

You help Ayoung bring down the rest of her stuff to the lobby, wanting to see her off. “I wanted to bring you to your new apartment but I’ve got an early shift tomorrow, and being late won’t be a good record this early in my job.”

“It’s alright, silly.” Ayoung leans in for a hug. “We’ll see each other again soon, yeah?”

“You’re making it sound like I’m moving overseas, stop it!”

You wait until she gets inside the cab she booked, waving at the car’s rear until it fully disappears from your sight.

The next day you wake up freezing your ass off, even with you wrapped in a duvet burrito. You take a peek outside your window, grunting as a blanket of snow envelops everything in sight. Everything is white, and the gray trails on the road are the only thing that distinguishes the street from the sidewalk.

You do your morning routine fairly quickly, spending the rest of your spare time watching people outside your window while you finish your coffee. As a motorbike moves along the length of the street in front of your building, you silently wish the driver a safe trip, hoping he or she didn’t have to use such a vehicle in this weather.

You take another sip and Jimin instantly enters your scrambled thoughts, remembering how he mentioned he uses a scooter to and from work. There’s a side of you that is assured the Jimin is responsible enough to know how risky it is to use a scooter during the winter.

The other half of your brain, though, isn’t convinced. Quickly, you set your mug aside, replacing it with your phone and dialing Jimin’s number. He answers after three rings. “_________?”

“Hey Jimin, I know it’s too early for me to be calling you but I was wondering if you were going to use your scooter on your way to work today?”

“I was--”

“Because if you were planning to, don’t. It’s snowing really hard outside and I’m worried you’ll be taking your friend’s scooter on the slippery road….Would you mind if I’ll offer you a ride?”

You know you were risking a lot, with your own car - your very own Camry which you don’t even trust. It has aged gracefully, and was clearly nearing its end but you knew four wheels was better than two in this snow.

“I don’t...but I also wouldn’t want you to come all the way here to pick me up when I can just take the subway? Or the bus maybe…”

“Would you rather pick one that asks for a fare or a free ride?”

“You’re not exactly giving me a choice here, _________.”

“Great! ‘Cause I’m already on my way to pick you up.”

“Thank you for the ride, sunbaenim.” Jungkook pulls on the handbrake before setting his hands on the Porsche’s steering wheel for the last time.

‘Someday’, he says to himself, someday he’ll get a car of his own. Someday.

“Thank you for also letting me drive your car…”

“She’s a beaut isn’t she?” the younger doctor nods, wanting to rub his palms over the dashboard in fascination, but then he wouldn’t have wanted the senior resident to think he was some sort of lunatic.

Jungkook decides to keep his hands on his lap instead.

“You live around the area?”

“Yeah, just a few blocks from the garage…”

“Really? Which apartment do you live in? I’m quite familiar with the area.”

Jungkook is hesitant to mention the name of the building knowing that the apartment complex he stays at most likely has a reputation because it’s the cheapest he could find around the area.

Before the intern opens his mouth to reply, Seokjin’s phone rings just on time, the sound startling the latter. He opens the car door and alights from the vehicle to get more reception. Jungkook grabs his bag from the back and follows after shortly. Seokjin points to his phone, mouthing that Jungkook doesn’t need to wait for him, so the intern bows to his senior in gratitude, before heading off to the main building.

As he passes a vending machine, he remembers he wasn’t able to bring his jug with him today so he approaches the machine, scanning other options he could take with his water. He comes across a small carton of banana milk and a thought crosses his mind, a smirk playing on his lips as he adds the beverage to his purchase.

Jungkook hurries to the on-call room, hoping his tiny plan will fall into place.

“Thanks for the ride, ________. I owe you so much already. You’re too kind.”

You wave Jimin off, expressing your worry and how you thought you wouldn’t be able to handle your conscience if you didn’t ask about his mode of transportation to work today. Jimin gives you a warm smile in return.

“You’re a good friend, _________.” Jimin leans over the center console and gives you an awkward side hug, catching you completely off guard.

“Woops! Sorry! I didn’t… wasn’t…” Jimin has his hands waving around in the air as he tries to apologize for hugging you out of the blue. “It’s fine, Jimin,” you laugh as you put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Tilting your head outside, you tell him that you both should get going and that you’ll be heading to the toilet first to get changed. While Jimin heads to the surgery department, you make your way to the parking lot’s toilets, bumping into the one and only banana-milk-thief Jeon Jungkook.

“Hi _________, good morning!” He chirps, the uncharacteristically wide smile on his face throwing you off for a moment.

At least somebody woke up on the right side of the bed today. Jungkook chuckles, and you realize you weren’t supposed to say that out loud, but you’re somewhat proud that you did, making your sentiments towards the guy as clear as day.

“Bit rich coming from you miss grumpypants.”

Your mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, darling. See ya later....grumpy.” Before Jungkook leaves, he manages to give you a quick noogie, definitely messing up what’s left of the quick messy bun you made before leaving your apartment.

Taking in a deep, long breath, you calm your nerves down, deciding today wasn’t going to be the day Jungkook was gonna get to you.

After your brief encounter at the parking lot, Jungkook heads quickly to the on-call room and looks for a place inconspicuous but visible enough for you to see. He plucks a sticky note from a stack from the shelf just above the table and grabs his pen from his chest pocket.

Jungkook folds the yellow square into half and writes your name on it, just in case nobody would dare take a carton of milk for someone named after a dwarf from Snow White. He then sticks the note on the moist packaging, hopeful that the slight sheen of water will help stick the paper onto the carton.

Recognizing Jimin’s voice from the door, Jungkook quickly hides his peace offering behind the files on the table, and pretends he’s reading the patient’s charts before Jimin nears where he’s standing. You and Soomin enter the room shortly afterwards.

“Just in time!” Namjoon says, adjusting the large frame of his glasses. “Right, as you may already know from the orientation, I’m Kim Namjoon, resident, and specializing in neuro. I’ll be guiding you all throughout admissions and reports this morning while I am waiting for my Chiari decompression scheduled in a few hours.”

Namjoon gathers the rest of the surgical interns before proceeding to the wards to do rounds with the group. He partners with the head nurse and another doctor from the night shift, updating the patient’s condition before moving on to the others.

As soon as his rounds are done, he leads the group back to the on-call room to brief the interns on using the EMR system to keep a patient’s chart updated at all times. To speed up the charting, he asks everyone to come up in pairs and update the patient records.

True to the plan he’d come up with at the spur of the moment, Namjoon and the interns manage to get the job done quicker than expected. With the night shift’s updates already uploaded, the group disperses to carry out the orders and responsibilities.

Jimin, with his throat parched after having come up and down multiple flights of stairs, decides to return to the on-call room to get something to drink. He breathlessly pages Jungkook about it, telling him he’ll get back to his partner after drinking.

He no longer waits for Jungkook’s okay, too thirsty to even think straight. As Jimin goes through his stuff, he realizes he must have forgotten his jug inside your car but having to call you about it would have been too bothersome for you and him both.

There’s a water dispenser in the room but there are no cups or mugs free for him to use - and too unsanitary as well. Jimin searches the room in desperation and spots a carton of banana milk just behind some of the patient’s charts.

He makes a grab for the small carton, checking if it’s got any owner. There’s none written on the carton and no note stuck to it to indicate that it belongs to someone. He spots Yoongi on his phone just by the other corner of the room and approaches the senior resident.

“Excuse me, sunbaenim. Is this yours?” He points to the carton in his hands. Yoongi shakes his head no. “Any name written on it? Some note perhaps?”

“I couldn't find any.”

“Well, it’s yours then. All food on the table is communal unless it’s otherwise labeled.” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders as he explains, giving Jimin a thumbs up afterwards.

“Alright. Thanks sunbaenim.”

Throat as dry as the Sahara, Jimin grabs the drink and punches the straw in as quickly as he could before finishing the drink in a few gulps. ‘Thank god for free banana milk.’ He thinks to himself before throwing the packaging away, now more energized than ever.

#jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #jeon jungkook #bts aus #bts fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #doctors au

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alotofteez · 4 years

Text

Background Music | PSH

⇢ Pairing: Seonghwa x Reader (gender neutral) ft. bff Hongjoong ⇢ Genre: Fluff, College!au, Coffee Shop!au ⇢ Word Count: 2,196 ⇢ Synopsis: You knew every routine sound of the coffee shop; the friendly chatter, the clinking of mugs, and the chime that welcomed each visitor. It became your background music, and he blended into it. ⇢ Same Universe: Hazelnut Latte (San) and Love Shot (Yunho)

The strong brew of coffee beans hits your senses as you push open the entrance door. The usual chime rings above your head. The familiar face behind the counter drops. Your friend is already rolling his eyes at your presence.

“Aren’t you supposed to greet me nicely?” You ask and immediately imitate his voice, walking to the register, “‘Welcome to Beans ’N Cream.’”

“I’m not in the mood,” Hongjoong deadpans.

“I’m guessing you’ve seen the assigned groups for the online store project,”

“Unfortunately,” he sighs, “I don’t even know the people in my group.”

“Maybe you should show up to class then.”

“Maybe I won’t serve you.”

“No, I need caffeine,” you whine.

“Your order has barely any caffeine,” he says as he prepares a glass.

“I don’t tell you how to drink your coffee,” you counter, watching him check on the other barista.

“San, get back to work!” He yells over to the guy working the drive-thru.

San turns around saluting, “Aye, aye, Captain!”

An exhausted sigh leaves Hongjoong as his eyes meet yours again, “I hate it here.”

“Why don’t you just fire him?”

“I can’t… He brings in a lot of customers.”

“Then quit.”

“You know why I can’t. Now I’m screwed since we’re not in the same group.”

“You’ll live. Maybe it will be good for you to actually do your own-”

“Take your liquid sugar with a splash of espresso and go.” He places your usual iced macchiato on the counter with a clink.

“Love you, Joong,” you coo as you take it and head to your regular spot at the corner table.

Friday nights at the coffee shop are chill with the fairy lights glimmering through the wooden rafters above and soothing live music being played across the cafe. It’s the perfect place to work on some projects and papers.

A plate lands next to your textbook, and you look up to find San.

“Another anonymous blueberry muffin.” He smiles.

“Again? Why can’t you just tell me who it is?” You sigh.

“Because I’m here for the secret admirer cliche… and they said not to tell you.”

“San-”

“You sit here for hours not eating, and they want to make sure you do. So eat up, buttercup,” San says and begins to walk away before you can pry any further.

“Is it Hongjoong?” You call after him.

“I’m not telling, but no!”

Your eyes scan the cafe for clues, but all you find is other customers engrossed in their own lives. The music has stopped as the next open mic performer sets up. Conversations continue, and you resume studying symbolic consumption, self-image, and personality while nibbling on the muffin. A couple of popular songs fill the air, lulling you back into concentration.

The performer clears his throat before strumming the intro of the next song. The first few words sang sound familiar; the title on the tip of your tongue. It brings a warmth over you as your fond memories embrace you, but you can’t quite remember them. With each lyric that flows out of his mouth, you fall a little more in love with his voice.

“Forever is a long time, but I wouldn’t mind spending it by your side.”

“I Wouldn’t Mind” by He is We. Someone else actually knows this song? Your eyes shoot up to finally see the performer. His dark fringe hangs over his eyes as he focuses on his fretting. He looks familiar; you’re pretty sure he’s a regular here. His group of friends usually sit at the table next to the window, and sometimes they laugh loudly but are never a disruption.

You’ve become used to the routine sounds of the coffee shop. It’s your favorite background music. Right now, it comes in a soothing voice singing an old favorite song of yours. The atmosphere feels like home, and you wouldn’t mind staying like this.

When the song comes to an end, you watch him put his guitar away. One of his friends says something to him that makes the rest of them laugh. The guy glances back at you with curious eyes, and when he turns to his friends, they seem to tease him.

With your laptop snugly under your arm, you walk inside the coffee shop, ready to settle in to do school work. It’s a Monday night, and the cafe is a little more crowded than usual. The normal chatter is slightly louder with excitement.

As you head to the front counter, your eyes wander to the table by the window, making contact with the guy from open mic. He quickly averts his gaze to the table, hiding his eyes under his fringe. It flusters you for a moment before you greet Hongjoong.

“For that online store project, my group decided to sell our own brand of sustainable clothing,” you inform Hongjoong as you sit on a barstool, “One of them was talking about how difficult it would be to do that in our group chat. I don’t think they realize this online store is just practice and that we’re not actually going to make or sell any products.”

“The amount of stupidity that gets into college astounds me.” He wipes down the counter in front of you.

“Has your group figured out what you’re selling?”

He glances up at you pointedly, “My group hasn’t even responded to my emails.”

“Oh… I’ve already done research on hosting websites, different merchandising tools we need to implement, and established competitors in the market. I’m about to look into new technologies our brand can exploit to stand out from other sustainable clothing retailers.”

“You need to spend your time doing something else. This is a group project, and you’re doing all the work. You are wasting your crazy college party years being here and doing more work than you should.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I have no choice but to waste my time here. You should be out with friends or dating or something.” He argues as a coffee machine beeps behind him.

“You’re my friend.”

“Yes, but I’m working and you just sit over there in the corner doing extra random research that professors don’t even ask for.”

Ice clinks into the glass in Hongjoong’s hand before he pours coffee and creamer.

“But I like doing that.” You try to defend yourself.

“You tell yourself that, but you’re so stressed that you’re stressing me out.”

You lower your eyes to the counter in defeat, but you’re not going to admit he’s right.

“Look, I think I might know someone who’s interested in you. He’s over there,” Hongjoong gestures with his head to the table by the window where those few guys are sitting, “The one in the brown sweater. His name is Seonghwa. He’s a communications major with a minor in public relations. He sings at open mic most weekends.”

Your heart beats faster when your eyes land on the guy. He’s the one who sang that He is We song you like. “Him? There’s no way.”

“He stares at you every time he’s here. Trust me. He’s into you.”

“Well, I can’t just go over there. He’s with all his friends.”

“You don’t have to. Seonghwa, your order is ready!” Hongjoong calls out.

Daggers shoot from your eyes while Hongjoong just smirks at you. You hear footsteps come up next to you, but you’re too scared to even glance over.

Hongjoong looks at the drink in his hand and tsks, “One moment, didn’t put the extra vanilla.”

As your friend leaves you, you can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on you. Against your anxieties screaming at you, you look over and smile, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says and smiles back a bit shyly.

A clank pulls your attention back to Hongjoong returning with a glass. “Seonghwa, here’s your order. Y/N also drinks creamer with a milligram of espresso.”

“Strong coffee is nasty,” Seonghwa laughs and grabs his cup.

“Exactly!” You chime, giving Hongjoong a look.

“Thanks, Joongie.” Seonghwa nods to your friend and heads back to his table.

“What was that?” Hongjoong immediately scolds you.

“Shut up, ‘Joongie.’” You mock and slouch back onto the barstool.

After a few hours of writing a paper on Millennial and Generation Z coffee consumer behavior, you wander back up to the counter and plop onto a barstool. Noticing your presence, Hongjoong sits a blueberry muffin in front of you.

“From anonymous?” You question, and he nods.

“I saw you watching Seonghwa sing. Did I plant a seed of interest?” He teases, making your cheeks burn.

“Shut up,” you mutter, “Make me another of my usual.”

“San, you heard the order.” Hongjoong looks to his coworker.

“Aye, aye, Captain!” San salutes before grabbing a glass from the back counter.

“If you don’t stop calling me captain…” Hongjoong’s threat fades to the background as you notice Seonghwa out of the corner of your eye.

“You did really good,” you compliment as he passes by and stops at your words.

A sweet smile pulls at his lips. “Thanks.” His voice is quiet and a bit shy.

You try to suppress your smile and nod before he grabs some napkins from the dispenser next to you and leaves to go to his table of friends.

“I felt something there,” San says, snapping you back to reality.

“Shut up. Shouldn’t you be actually working?” You give him an annoyed pout.

“Yeah, he should be,” Hongjoong says, lifting a heavy box of new glass cups onto the back counter, “But also, why did you let Seonghwa walk away?”

“Yeah, exactly.” San crosses his arms next to Hongjoong.

“Where is my drink?” You bitterly ask San, igniting Hongjoong’s wrath once again.

You can hear the blood rushing in your ears; your whole body is on fire. The documents in your hands are clenched tighter. These circumstances wouldn’t be happening if you had just checked your email. For the past week, you’ve been too busy doing research and writing a small case study that checking your email slipped your mind.

Your group for the online store project is already inside Beans ’N Cream, and when you spot them, they begin to stand and collect their things. Panic sets in.

“Wait, I just got here,” You say, breathless from your anxiety-ridden journey.

“The meeting started over an hour ago, and we have finished the first part of the proposal,” the group leader speaks with a hint of annoyance.

“But I have my research and notes. It’s a group project, and I should have a contribution.” You feel so small and dumb. Why can’t you just do things right?

“Then you should have been here on time,” she retorts, “We’ll make sure your participation evaluation reflects that.”

The other group members avert their eyes away from the scene and awkwardly stand there.

Your vision starts to blur, and with a blink, a tear falls.

“Are you seriously crying?” The leader almost laughs.

“Hey,” A deep voice comes from behind you.

Before you even see who is interrupting, your documents are being slipped out of your grasp and held out to the group leader expectantly. When she hesitantly takes them, you realize who came to your rescue: Seonghwa.

“Find a way to use those.” Seonghwa’s eyes are locked on her face with his jaw tense.

“O-Okay,” she agrees but seems very intimidated by Seonghwa.

The group quietly leaves, and he turns to you. You can’t even form words to thank him as he instinctively wipes away your stray tear with his sweater sleeve.

“I know you work hard on your school stuff and couldn’t listen to her talk to you like that,” he says, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Thank you… for that.” You lower your head.

“Hongjoong kind of introduced us the other week, but, um, I’m Seonghwa.”

“Y/N.”

“Do you, um, want to get coffee together?” He asks nervously.

“Yeah.” You sniffle and pat under your eye with your own sleeve.

“About time!” Someone calls out from the table by the window.

You both glance over at Seonghwa’s friends.

“Yeosang, shut up,” Seonghwa says, cheeks turning pink, “Sorry, my friends are embarrassing.”

“I can probably do you one worse.” You already know what’s coming as the two of you approach the front counter.

“Wha-”

“About goddamn time!” Hongjoong yells, coming out from the back and successfully interrupting Seonghwa, “Would you like two iced coffee flavored milks?”

You and Seonghwa stare at him blankly.

“Alright, I’ll get them right out.” Hongjoong takes the hint and begins getting your usuals.

Seonghwa’s hand gently lands on your lower back as he leans closer. “Let’s go sit at your table.”

As you guide him over, his touch doesn’t leave, and you feel giddy. Stress no longer hovers over you while you settle into the chair you’re so used to with a closer view of the guy you have found so charming.

“Have you ate today?” He asks with a curious gaze.

“Um, no. I-I didn’t really have time,” you stammer out of embarrassment.

“Do you want a blueberry muffin?”

You watch him suppress a grin as you make the connection. A soft laugh escapes through your smile. “Yes.”

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connordavidscamera · 3 years

Text

Extra Shot | Connor Brashier

A/n: My precious Rina @goldenflickerx has been attacking me with CONcepts again and I decided that it was time to write one that we’ve talked about. Also, it’s Connor’s birthday, so what better way to kick that off?

Summary: You come into the same cafe at the same time, three times a week and Connor (your barista) has taken a liking to you.

Warnings: fluff, humor

Word count: 2.1k

***

“Hey, wasn’t your shift supposed to end like ten minutes ago?” My coworker, and unfortunate best friend, Sam asks.

I check the time on the clock again. She was supposed to be here by now, but I guess there’s a lot of traffic. At least, that’s what I’ve heard like six customers complaining about this afternoon. I don’t want to leave until I see her. It’s the best part of my day and if I could just hold off for -

The bell above the door rings and there she is. I push Sam out of the way and stand at the register to greet her with a bright smile. “Hi, y/n.”

She smiles back at me, and I swear my heart stops when she does. “Hi, Connor,” she says back and oh wow, my name sounds like heaven slipping off her tongue with ease.

“What can I get you today? Vanilla latte, right?” I ask, even though I know her order by heart. “Or are we looking to branch out a little this time?”

She sucks in a breath and looks at the menu, chewing on her bottom lip. “Hmm… I don’t think today will be a something new day. Maybe next time though. Next time you can get me your favorite drink. How about that?”

I nod, grabbing a cup and writing her order on the side. “I think I can’t wait for that.” I tap on the screen, “So that comes out to $4.36.”

She already has her card out, she always does, and inserts it in the chip reader. I watch her perfectly manicured nails tap the counter as she waits. She always has her nails done. Not in those long acrylics that most girls come in with, although I have seen her come in with those a couple times too. But they’re always done, I’ve noticed. “So, how’s your day going today? Busy?”

I shake my head, “Not too bad. It’s been pretty steady. You’re actually my last customer of the day. My shift ends in five minutes.”

“Oh, well lucky me,” she teases, but I know she means it and I have to look away so she can’t tell that I’m blushing.

The machine prompts her to take out her card, and at the same time we go, “No receipt.”

She smiles softly at me and gives me a single nod. “I’ll have your drink right out for you.”

“Thank you, Connor. You’re an angel.”

Now I really can’t fight the blush.

I take extra care making her latte. I’m the only one who makes it. Not because she requests me, but because I won’t let anyone else touch it. She’s my customer and I’m not letting anything get in the way of that.

“Here you go, y/n. Iced vanilla latte. I added an extra shot. Looked like you needed it.”

She smiles brightly at me, “An angel, Connor. I mean it. Thank you.”

I nod, “Of course. I’ll see you next week?”

“Same time,” she nods. “Yes. Have a good weekend.”

“You too,” I say as she turns to leave.

The door barely closes behind her before Sam is right behind me. “You’re drooling,” he says in my ear, causing me to jump.

“What? No, I’m not. Shut up.”

“Bro, you’ve been caught up on that girl since the day she started coming in. Just ask her out already.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, no? So you didn’t just push me out of the way so you could take her order? And you haven’t done it every single time she’s come in since the beginning?”

“Nope,” I shrug, untying my apron.

“Your shift ended almost twenty minutes ago. You were waiting for her.”

“Drop it, Sam. You have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Sure. I’ll leave it alone. But she does have you so fucked.”

I toss my apron at his head. “Fuck off! I’m gone,” I say, clocking out and grabbing my keys from my locker.

He laughs as I walk out of the building. I shake my head as I head to my car. Maybe he isn’t wrong. Okay, no. He isn’t wrong at all. I am completely and totally gone for her and I know next to nothing about her.

I do know this though. Tuesday, the first day she comes in during the week, she almost always gets an extra shot of espresso in her drink. And on Wednesday, she always gets a scone – if we have them, she prefers blueberry, but she’ll settle for any other kind if we’re out. (And when I’m in charge of ordering inventory, I make sure we have enough.) And Thursday is usually a surprise. She flip flops between what she gets on those days. I think she’s just worn out from school or work – I’m not sure which one, if either – at that point that she just comes in for a pick me up.

Little does she know that she’s my pick me up. Every day she comes in, I’m so excited to see her. The first time I saw her? I swear I saw my future walking through that door. She just looked so fucking pretty. And she was so sweet, and she smiled at me like she knew me, like she could see right through me. And not to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure her smile could light up the night sky if the moon wasn’t out. Actually, it could probably compete with the moon and win. (But again, I’m not being dramatic.)

---

Tuesday is crazy busy. Finals week. It always get s like this, and honestly, I am running around the café like a chicken with my head cut off. People aren’t getting what they ordered, they’re complaining that we’re out of something. Others are complaining that we’re taking our sweet precious time as if their time doesn’t matter – or as if there aren’t fifteen other orders in front of them that we have to take care of before theirs. It’s absolute chaos and I’m so ready for this shift to be over so I can go home and pass the fuck out.

And I swear if one more person complains about the fact that we’re having to use paper straws, I’m going to lose it. I’m in the middle of filling the coffee maker with more grounds when the bell rings above the door and I swear I can feel my heart beating in my eyeballs (although that might be because I added three extra shots to my drink when I took my break).

“Connor,” Sam pats my shoulder. “You take this one.”

“What? No, why? I’m already doing-“

“Y/n’s here,” he says.

I quickly turn to the register and it’s like my whole mood has changed. “Oh, yeah. I got this one.” I set the water down on the counter and run my hand through my hair that’s no doubt a mess at this point. I hope she doesn’t notice. “Hi.”

She sends me a sympathetic smile and that’s how I know I must look as bad as I feel. “Hi, Connor. You doing okay?”

“Better now,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’m glad you’re here. Good to see a friendly face.”

She hums, “Not a lot of nice customers today.”

I chuckle, “Let’s just say drinks have been spilt, names have been called, and my two week notice has been typed up and it’s ready to be sent if one more person complains about us being out chocolate chip cookies.”

She laughs, “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head, “It’s okay. Helping you out has been the highlight of my day.”

“Oh? Well, I am flattered.”

“What am I getting you today?”

“Well, I think we discussed last time, you making me your favorite drink. So I can branch out.”

I nod and smile, grabbing a cup, “Yes. We did. I’ll have it ready for you in a minute.”

“How much?” She asks, ready to insert her card, but I shake my head.

“No charge. It’s on me today.”

“What? No, Connor. I can’t let you do that.”

“No, please. I got it. Especially because I don’t want you paying for something and then you don’t like it? No way. It’s on me.”

“But-“

“Y/n, I’m not taking your money. And if you argue with me, I will put in my two weeks’ notice right now.”

She gasps, “The audacity!”

I laugh, I can’t help it. “Your order will be right out,” I say smugly.

Reluctantly, she puts her card away and moves to the side of the counter to pick up her drink. I’m about to start swirling in the caramel when it all comes out in one big glob and then nothing at all. I groan and look to Sam, “Gotta get more caramel from the back. You good here for a minute?”

“Yeah, got it covered.”

It takes me five minutes to find the caramel because whoever put it away during the morning shift didn’t put it where it was supposed to go. And in these five minutes, I have heard the bell above the door ring six more times and I know Sam can’t handle this on his own. But I finally get it, and promise to rip the morning staff a new one next time I come in. I rush out the back and Sam is working the cash register again, and y/n is standing there at the counter patient as ever.

I breathe a sigh of relief because of course she’s there with a soft smile on her face. I return the sentiment when I catch her eye. Then I’m back to making her drink. Before I hand it to her, I draw a semi-terrifying smiley face on the side of the cup and hand it to her. “I hope you like it. And sorry about that wait. The morning staff is so gonna get it tomorrow.”

She laughs, and I melt. I want to hear that sound for the rest of my life. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “Don’t worry about the wait. I’ve got nowhere to be, so I don’t mind the wait. Or the company,” she smiles. “You’re working tomorrow?”

I nod, “Same time.”

“Okay, maybe if it’s not so busy, you can tell me about how it goes with the morning staff.”

I smile, “Yes, I will definitely do that.”

“Okay, well I will leave you to work. Sam looks like he’s about to pull his hair out.”

I look over at my friend who is attempting to make three drinks at a time, which in a rush like this, is only a recipe for disaster. “Yeah, I should help him. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

She hums, “Yes, you will. Have a good rest of your day, Connor.”

“You too, y/n.”

---

I plop down on my bed, completely exhausted. Besides the drive home, this was the first time I’ve been off my feet since I got to work. I check the time on the clock by my bed and groan. I was supposed to meet a couple of my friends for a drink tonight, but honestly, nothing sounds more unappealing than that right now. So, I shoot a text to Will and tell him I won’t be coming out tonight and then I slowly push myself off the bed.

A shower would be nice. You wouldn’t think being a barista would cause you to sweat so much, btu dear god, when we hit that afternoon rush, it feels like you’re running a marathon. And right now, I just need to get out of these clothes and into bed.

My shower takes longer than usual, not for any particular reason other than I just stood under the water for a good ten minutes before I even thought of grabbing any soap.

I come back into my bedroom to my phone dinging with a message. I assume it’s just Will calling me out for not wanting to go with them tonight, so I ignore it and go to my dresser to get some boxers and a pair of shorts. I’m wringing out the water in my hair (that desperately needs a cut, but I’m far too busy to get one right now) when I go to grab my phone as it dings again.

I have one message from Will, and one from an unknown number. I furrow my brows at that and click on it.

Unknown

Hey! Did your day end up getting better after I left?

That’s weird. I never get random texts like this.

I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong number.

Unknown

Is this Connor?

… yeah

Unknown

It’s y/n. Sam gave me your number. Apparently you get mopey when I leave.

So… did it get better? Or were you mopey lol

***

I hope you enjoyed!! Please like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

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sweetjekyll · 4 years

Text

Under The Same Roof, part 2 — BBH

pairing: Byun Baekhyun x Reader

genre: Roommate / Flatmate AU, one-shot, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, blind date rating: teen and up warnings: tiniest and slightest bit of angst and jealousy, slightly suggestive towards the end word count: 5.2k

summary: Baekhyun and Y/N have been flatmates for a while and romance is in the air.

Requested: Part 2 was highly requested by both known readers and anons, so I hope you all enjoy the continuation of the first part! (keyword “roof” + sentence “Oh my God. You’re in love with her.” from this writing game post.)

Masterlist — PART 1

A/N: aaaaah it’s finally here! Merry Christmas everyone and happy holidays. I hope you’re healthy and surrounded with love, and I hope all of you are having a good time even if you don’t celebrate Christmas. Thank you to everyone who supported the first part of this story and patiently waited for the second part, I hope you will like this one as much as the first if not more! I made it way longer than the first part and added a bonus ending. Have fun reading! stay safe ❤

⟶ To my dear readers: feedback is highly encouraged and important! as it gives me motivation to write with more passion, knowing that you like what you are reading. Please LIKE and REBLOG so more people can find this and read it. ❤ My askbox is always open for questions or to chat ❤

Enjoy! ❤

The guys could’ve spent practically all night playing games, but Chanyeol had other plans in mind after the short chat he had with Sehun and Baekhyun about the latter’s crush on his roommate. Sehun was never one to turn down an invite to drink with his friends no matter the day of the week, so the fact that he agreed immediately to Chanyeol’s suggestion when he asked the two if they wanted to go have a drink at the bar Y/N and Baekhyun worked, it was an easy “yes”. You would’ve had about an hour and a half until it was closing time at 11PM, as it was a Thursday anyway.

Baekhyun on the other hand wasn’t that easy to convince. He was supposed to work the following morning and be at his best to serve freshly brewed coffee to university students, professors and other customers who liked to linger in the early hours of daylight. Also, Thursday nights were one of the few times he got to relax after working shifts from morning to late afternoon.

“I know you two,” Baekhyun scowled at his friends, who were waiting in the doorway to his bedroom while he pushed one of his legs in a pair of old black jeans. “It’s never just one drink with you… I’ll end up wasted under one of the tables and then Y/N will have to carry me home.”

“For someone so eager to get dressed and walk out of the house, you’re complaining too much.” Sehun smirked as he nudged Chanyeol with his elbow.

“Don’t worry, it’s just one drink,” Chanyeol reassured him as Baekhyun was finally done getting dressed. “Besides, you literally live a couple of blocks from your job and neither of us has to drive. We’ll call a taxi.” There was a faint yet lingering smile of satisfaction on the taller man’s face. He wasn’t really a patient guy and his mind was still in a frenzy after coming up with a plan to get Baekhyun and his flatmate to go out on a date.

Baekhyun threw on a leather jacket and brushed back his bangs with his fingers, ready to step out of the apartment. He was about to lock the door after switching off the lights but then stopped as he thought about something for a brief moment. “Hang on, I forgot something.” He let his friends know as he hurried back inside and into the bathroom.

Once he was back and finally locked the door, both Chanyeol and Sehun got a whiff of something in the air. “Is that… Perfume?” They asked inquisitive.

Baekhyun furrowed his brows as he walked past them down the corridor. “And what about it? Y/N gifted it to me for my birthday.”

“This is going to be easier than I thought,” Chanyeol hummed as they headed towards your workplace at last.

The cafe turned into bar during evenings looked cozy in autumns and winters; some Halloween decorations lingered here and there although it was past October and halfway through into November, but the fake vine leaves painted red, yellow and orange warmed up the walls nicely. You liked the fall decorations, but you loved even more winter and Christmas decorations, although it was a hassle to take everything down and put new things up, it was still satisfying as the end result.

You spotted Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Sehun out of the corner of your eye as soon as they entered the bar thanks to the bell ringing on top of the door. “There you go, Lucas,” you placed a glass of cold beer on top of a napkin in front of one of your regular customers and looked around, quickly facing the three new friendly faces once you made sure that no one else needed your services. “Good evening guys!” You said cheerfully, a warm feeling spreading through your chest to see Baekhyun keeping his promise to come pick you up after work, even more so considering he was rather early for it.

“Ah, my favorite bartender!” Sehun mused as he leaned against the counter with a smirk on his expression. ”You look a bit overworked although there aren’t many customers.”

Baekhyun noticed it as well and looked behind the counter and around the familiar workplace. “Where’s Minseok? Weren’t you two supposed to work tonight’s shift together?”

You inhaled a long breath as you glanced down with busy eyes to grab a rag from a hidden surface on your workspace, then picked it up and cleaned the countertop in front of the three men. “I think he had something for dinner that upset his stomach to the point where he was nauseated.” You winced as you explained to them without much detail as you didn’t know how your coworker was doing after he left. “I told him to go home and rest just in case… But anyway,” you smiled once again. “What can I get you guys to drink?” You asked as you returned the rag in its previous spot and placed three napkins on the counter.

“For starters, I’d say shots of soju and then beers?” Chanyeol looked at his friends but Baekhyun shook his head when he heard the doorbell signal the arrival of more customers.

“I’ll help Y/N,” he said and promptly walked behind the counter to join you. He picked up one of the aprons matching yours from a hanger on the wall and put it on after he took off his jacket.

“Don’t worry Baek, it’s your night off,” you tried to persuade him to just enjoy the night with his friends but he just gave you his usual warm and reassuring smile that made your heart flutter with content.

“Nonsense,” he shrugged as he spun around to softly bump his shoulder into yours and looked into your eyes, “I’m happy to work with you.” You felt your cheeks heat up at his words and you could barely hide the smile that graced your lips once your coworker welcomed the new customers with a loud and cheerful tone.

Your reaction didn’t go unnoticed to the two friends sitting on the other side of the counter, across from you. Chanyeol nudged Sehun with his elbow and whispered to just play along, after he made sure that Baekhyun’s ears were out of reach for what he was about to say. You placed two shots of soju on the napkins and turned around to fill two glasses with beer. “So, Y/N,” you looked over your shoulder for a brief second at Chanyeol, “are you single?”

The question wasn’t new to your ears, especially after working as a bartender, but it still caught you off guard coming from him. “I did not expect you to ask me something like this, Mr. Park.” You confessed with a chuckle while walking back to take away the empty shot glasses and placed two glasses filled to the brim with foaming beer. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, are you?” Sehun questioned with a raised eyebrow, carefully picking up the glass to take a sip from it while holding your suspicious gaze.

You let your shoulders slump with a sigh as you averted their eyes and, without meaning to, you looked in Baekhyun’s direction. “Yes, I’m single.” You nodded as your smile faltered, you looked around at the other customers while feeling a bit nervous.

“Perfect!” Chanyeol beamed as he clapped his hands once and leaned closer to the counter, you just eyed him with suspicion. “There’s this very nice guy, he’s a bit talkative and playful,” he began explaining but kept it quite mysterious, “A friend of ours, you know… I would like you do go on a blind date with him.”

“I’m sorry… What now?” You were taken aback by his sudden request that you didn’t know how else to react. It was a nice gesture, sure… but you already had feelings for someone else and weren’t sure if a blind date would be a good idea, not at the moment at least.

“I promise he’s a very friendly and good guy,” Sehun added, playing along to Chanyeol’s plan although they didn’t even talk about it beforehand. He licked his lips to get the residue of the beer foam and arched his brows at you. “Unless you like somebody else already.” Blood rushed to your face and you felt hot under your clothes, hesitant about answering your foot started bouncing nervously and you crossed your arms. Should you be honest and tell them or should you keep it for yourself? Well… “There is someone I like.” You confessed, but it just made you sad to say it so you continued before they could ask anything else about this crush of yours. “But I don’t think it’ll work out so I might as well go on a blind date with your friend.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Baekhyun’s curious voice made you slightly jolt on your feet and you flashed him a nervous smile. “Are you going on a date?” You tilted your head unsure of what to say since he was the one person you didn’t want to find out about this blind date, at least not like this… or ever. You thought you could maybe just go at the date and never call back Chanyeol and Sehun’s friend, but then another question popped in your head. Does Baekhyun know this friend of theirs? Would he mind? It’s not like he had feelings for you, so why were you so worried about it?

Thankfully, you heard the voice of one of your customers call for you and used it as an excuse to leave. “This is a discussion for another time, I gotta go back to work!” And just like that you were gone in an instant, meanwhile Baekhyun faced Chanyeol and Sehun with a half disappointed and half irritated expression.

“A blind date?!” He hissed under his breath.

They both nodded with pleased smirks. “She said yes, so you better make this work, otherwise you’re truly hopeless.” Chanyeol replied and finally let himself taste the beer that’s been sitting in front of him on the counter for a while.

Baekhyun’s anger dissipated immediately, his eyes widened in surprise and his mouth fell agape. “You set us up on a blind date?” He whispered while stealing glances in your direction. His heart rate began speeding up while he watched you smile politely at a couple who were paying for their drinks, getting ready to leave.

“Although…” Sehun inhaled a long breath as he looked down at his drink, his smile faded. Baekhyun’s attention was immediately on him, feeling his heart drop at the man’s words. “She did say she likes someone.” Chanyeol gave him a hard nudge with his elbow, eliciting a pained groan from the man sitting next to him. “What?! I’m just saying, she didn’t say who… Y/N thinks it’s not going to work out so you don’t have to worry.”

Baekhyun sighed and scratched his head, too many thoughts were running through his head in that moment and he didn’t know how to process the fact that there indeed was someone you liked… You’ve been friends for a few years and were roommates as well, so why did you not talk to him about this person you seem to like so much?

He became rather quiet that night and even the following days, he was practically sulking since he was stuck with the thought that the blind date was going to be a disaster. That didn’t stop Chanyeol from insisting on taking care of all the details about the date, he went as far as borrowing both yours and Baekhyun’s work schedules to set up a perfect timing for you to meet. You noticed immediately the change in his behavior, he wasn’t avoiding you, he would never do that, but he was acting too distant. You tried asking but didn’t push further because maybe he needed some time for himself, otherwise he would have opened up to you, at least you hoped.

It went on like that for a couple of days until you couldn’t take it anymore, you missed Baekhyun being his usual playful and loud self, he was the source of your serotonin and it affected your mood as well. It was the last few days of November, the shop was closed for the day due to the fact that you needed to take down the autumnal decorations and brighten up the place with Christmas ones.

“Baekhyun, we really need to talk.” You told him with a preoccupied tone, hoping he wouldn’t try and dodge the conversation as he had been doing for nearly half of November. He didn’t look at you from his high place on the ladder, instead, his pupils were fixed on his fingers unrolling the fairy lights and hanging them on the wall, supported by nails that had been stuck into the bricks for who knows how many years.

“Alright, alright,” he nodded and hummed for a moment, pausing his work to look down; your hands were securely holding onto the ladder for him and keeping it in place so he felt safe to be up there, occasionally passing him Christmas decorations from the boxes piled up next to your feet. “I’ll clean and decorate the bathrooms.”

You scoffed, incredulous that he actually managed to talk about anything else but his feelings. “I’m not talking about the bathroom, but since you said you’re going to do it, I won’t stop you.”

“Damn!” He chuckled with a shake of his head and went back to fixing the lights. “Okay, let’s talk, but I warn you, if this is about me—“

“It’s precisely about you! You’ve been avoiding my questions, I’m concerned about you. Something happened and you haven’t openly spoken to me ever since that night at the bar.” You interjected and heard him complain with a groan of your name, to which you let go of the ladder, making the man almost scream in fear.

“What are you doing—“ High pitched words reached your ears as you crossed your arms and just gazed up at him with arched brows, feeling so done with his behavior. He dropped the fairy lights without meaning to and wrapped his hands on both sides of the ladder, holding on for dear life. “No, no, no— Okay, fine! I’ll tell you, just please don’t let go of the ladder.” You held onto the ladder once more and watched him climb down until he was finally to your eye level. “There’s this girl I like, I’ve liked her for a while now actually.” Baekhyun let out a long, defeated sigh. “Turns out she likes some other person and I don’t know why I thought I could—“ He stopped himself from saying anything else as he ran one of his hand over his face, frustrated that he was confessing to you how he felt, except he was still hiding the actual truth. What a coward, he thought. He was convinced now more than ever that the blind date was truly a bad idea, he just didn’t know how to tell Chanyeol that he didn’t have the balls to go through with it and accept your rejection once you found out he was your secret date. “I like her a lot.” He added.

You felt you heart fasten at his words, it was drumming so hard that the pulse in your ears felt deafening… Baekhyun liked another girl, you repeated to yourself in your head. For a short moment and in a totally awkward silence you felt like an idiot; an idiot for feeling jealousy when he mentioned another girl, when you should’ve said something to comfort him. You were frowning, unable to move or say anything coherent until you forced yourself to say: “I’m sorry.” You bit your lip and looked down at your hands. “She’s an idiot.” You spit out with slight anger lacing your words.

“Why do you say so?” His tone softened when he noticed how upset you were over what he told you, he didn’t think you would care that much about a girl not liking him back… and the worst part was that you were that girl. “She’s allowed to like someone else, it’s just that I’m a coward and I didn’t tell her that I like her because I’m afraid of her rejecting me.” It felt so surreal that he was running his mouth like that, actually confessing the truth to you but you still had no idea.

Your head head snapped up towards him with your lips parted, ready to fight back his insecurities, except you didn’t realize what you were saying until it was already too late. “Well, she’s still dumb! Because what other girl wouldn’t like you? I like you!"

"You do?" He whispered almost breathless, too stunned to say anything else as soon as he processed your words; the corners of his lips curved up in a genuine and shy smile, yet you barely saw it since you looked down and bent you body forward to pick up a box with decorations and left him standing there. Your face was burning so hot with embarrassment it almost felt like you were going to combust. "Y/N, hang on, let’s talk it out—“ He tried to go after you, but you walked past the counter and entered the women’s bathroom, closing the door behind you. You dropped the box on the counter by the sink and looked at yourself in the mirror, cursing under your breath ad at yourself for being so careless with your words.

“Wait, hold on…” One of your friends, Hana, laughed at you on the phone for the second time that night, after you explained to her what happened at the coffee shop.

“I swear to God, Hana, there’s nothing to laugh about.” You mumbled, holding your phone against your ear with you shoulder; your hands were too busy going through the clothes in your wardrobe, searching for anything remotely cute and appropriate for a blind date.

“There actually is,” she continued laughing at your misery. “You confessed to Baekhyun that you actually like him, that’s a good thing isn’t it? I mean, he didn’t have a bad reaction, so where’s the problem, Y/N?” You groaned as you threw a pair of torn up jeans on the floor of your bedroom and took your phone in your hands.

“That’s the point, I chickened out!” You walked to the foot of the bed and let yourself fall on your back, bouncing on the mattress. “He tried to talk to me about it but I just couldn’t do it, so I locked myself in the bathroom. I’m the clown of the month!”

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’re unbelievable.” Hana’s laughter rung in your ear with disbelief for the situation you got yourself into, but soon quieted down to a serious tone. “Listen, you have to face him at some point. You can’t just avoid him forever.”

You sat up on the bed and thought about what she said, your eyes burning holes into the door leading to the living room of your shared apartment. Baekhyun wasn’t home yet, he was still setting up decorations at the bar with Minseok and going over December’s inventory. “What about this girl he said he likes?” A pout formed on your lips, like a child whining to their parent.

“You won’t know until you talk to him.” You sighed out loud and eyed the mess on your bedroom floor, clothes lying on top of each other as if your wardrobe got stormed by a hurricane. “Earth to Y/N, are you there? Promise you’ll talk to him?”

You snapped out of your daze and rubbed your eyes as you replied to her. “Yeah, sure, I’ll talk to him,” you replied in defeat. “But it’ll have to wait until after this stupid blind date. It’s tonight and I don’t even know what to wear…” You heard a noise come from the living room and gasped out loud, jiggling of keys made you jump on your feat and run towards the door until you pressed your side against it. “He’s here, I gotta go. Bye Hana!” You whispered with your heart drumming in your chest and said goodbye to your friend, before hanging up the call. “Baekhyun?” You carefully called out his name and waited impatiently for a reply.

His muffled voice came from the other side of the door, and as careful as you had been, he called out your name. “Are you okay? Can I come in?” He was right outside of your bedroom, your nerves were killing you and you didn’t know what to do, yet against your better judgement, you moved away from the door and opened it. You bit your tongue as you met Baekhyun’s reassuring smile, somehow eliciting a smile from your lips as well. Seeing as you had not replied to his questions, Baekhyun let his eyes look past you and onto the pile of clothing on the floor. “Getting ready for the blind date?”

You looked in the same direction his pupils did and chuckled with a slow nod. “Yeah, I just don’t know what to wear yet…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose to wear.” The sweetness of his words made you hyper aware of the way he was looking at you now, and you weren’t sure why it seemed… different.

“Thank you…” You almost stuttered. Your heart was ramming against your ribcage so hard you could have passed out from the lightheadedness it caused you, but you forced yourself to break the eye contact and walked further inside your bedroom. You picked up two dresses from the wardrobe, one filled with cute floral patterns and the other was a solid dark blue color. “Which one looks better for a fancy dinner?” You asked him, unsure whether it was a good idea but Baekhyun actually pointed at the dark blue dress with a cheerful smile. It was weird to say the least, he appeared to be more excited for your blind date than you were, and you didn’t even know who Chanyeol was trying to set you up with. “Okay, this dress it is then.”

“By the way, I need to go out in a bit.” Baekhyun caught you off guard and you just stared at him with slightly widened eyed. “Is there anything that you need before I leave?”

“Mmmh, no… No.” You show your head and flashed him a reassuring smile even though you were still nervous. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, see you later, Y/N.” He reached out for the handle and closed the door after himself.

As soon as you heard the lock click, you exhaled a long, shaky breath and dropped the dresses on the bed. “And there he goes…” You whispered, choosing to replace the deafening silence with some music from your phone.

Baekhyun stood in the hallways while holding onto his breath, ears listening to you shuffling around your bedroom before any other sound was drowned out by you favorite playlist. He had been dreading this blind date for so many days and now that it was happening — especially after he found out he was the person you liked and not some other guy — Baekhyun felt elated. He was ready to get dressed and run out of the door to get you flowers, unfortunately not your favorite ones because they were out of season, but he was still gonna get something pretty. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you were going to react once you met him at the restaurant as your date. Too much energy was coursing through his veins in that moment, he could barely contain himself.

Everything was perfect. Baekhyun had to remember to thank Chanyeol for taking care of the reservation, the restaurant was truly lovely and felt intimate, soft fairy lights were hanging from the red brick walls, adding to the romantic atmosphere of slightly dimmed lighting, a small candle was illuminating the table at which Baekhyun sat. A bouquet of pink and white chrysanthemums rested on his right side as he, on the other hand, couldn’t help but nervously fiddle with his fingers under the tablecloth. A shy smile graced his joyful expression while his eyes darted to the watch on his left wrist, growing restless as you were late to your date.

Baekhyun’s smile faltered when he felt his phone vibrating in the pocket of his elegant blazer, he shut his eyes tightly and prayed that it wasn’t Chanyeol the one calling him with bad news, saying you stood up on the blind date at the last possible moment. You wouldn’t do that, would you? “Hello?” He answered his phone still keeping his eyes shut, but they immediately shot open once he heard your voice greet him on the other side of the line. “Y/N? What’s wrong? Where are you? Shouldn’t you be at the date?” He showered you with questions to which you didn’t know what to answer.

“Uuh—“ You hesitated for a long moment, unsure of what to say. “I’m outside of the restaurant, I’ve been for the past 5 minutes. I don’t want to go inside and meet some guy that I don’t know.” He listened to you talk really fast, almost tripping on your words as your tone dripped with nervousness and regret. “I just don’t want to meet a new guy and I’m so sorry to Chanyeol, cause I said I would do this—”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” He tried to help you calm down over the phone, resisting the urge to just stand up from the table and run to meet you outside. “Everything’s gonna be alright, okay? Do you trust me?”

Baekhyun listened to you on the other side of the line as you tried to get through your panicked state, quietly repeating short and reassuring “okays”. You released a deep breath and finally replied to him. “I trust you. Will you come pick me up, please?”

He almost chuckled at the softness of your voice, instead a warm smile returned on his face as he told you what to do. “I will, but first I need you to walk into the restaurant, it’s cold outside and you’re wearing a dress.” You agreed to do it and his eyes quickly moved towards the door, as he was sat on the opposite side of the restaurant.

Baekhyun watched as the door opened and you stepped inside, brows furrowed with worry yet you still managed to look effortlessly beautiful; long black coat shielding your body from the cold of the last weeks of autumn. He could see the dark blue of your knee length dress peeking under the coat, a small purse swaying by your side from a long chain on your left shoulder as you glanced around and were greeted by a waiter. “I’m in.” You mumbled as your eyes looked frantically around.

“Look to your right, other side of the room.” And you did, you looked towards him and nearly dropped your phone, your jaw went numb for a moment as your lips parted in disbelief. One of the waiters helped you remove your coat and accompanied you towards Baekhyun, to your table. “You’re beautiful,” the words rolled off his tongue almost like a foreign sound, he couldn’t believe that you two were actually on a date, even if he had to keep it a secret for such a long time.

You were at a loss for words, yet your chest was flooded with immense happiness. “The girl you like a lot…” You began saying and he nodded before you could finish your sentence. “A very nice guy, a bit talkative and playful,” you giggled as you quoted Chanyeol’s words when he spoke about the friend he wanted you to meet.

“Yep, that would be me.” Baekhyun picked up the flowers and slowly stepped closer to you. “I know they’re not daffodils, but I hope you like chrysanthemums too.”

“You know what I like more than flowers?” You stepped even closer to him until you could feel his hot breath on your skin, completely forgetting the rest of the world as you felt a rush of bravery while gazing into his eyes. “You.”

When Baekhyun leaned forward to steal a kiss it felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if he had done it so many times before and you were out tonight celebrating an anniversary rather than a first date. The gentlest of touches left a lingering sensation of his lips on yours. The red of your lipstick transferred slightly on his lips and if you focused hard enough, you could see that his cheeks turned the same shade out of shyness and adoration.

“Hmm, what do you think?” You asked, tilting your head to the side while staring very hard at the Christmas tree.

You were currently in your new apartment with Baekhyun standing by your side, eyes focused ahead of you. “It’s crooked on one side.” The living room was bare of furniture except for a coffee table, the tv stand with the television on top of it and the Christmas tree you spent at least three hours on decorating with your boyfriend. Moving boxes were scattered all around the place.

“I think if we spin it around towards the corner of the room none of the guests will notice.” You suggested and Baekhyun hoped quickly towards the tree, being careful to avoid any boxes and discarded ornaments still lying on the floor. He crouched on his kneed and wrapped his fingers around the base of the fake pine tree, rotating the crooked side towards the corner of the room.

“What about now?” He asked as he looked up at the tree for a moment and back at you.

“Light it up.” Baekhyun took the end of a cable beneath the branches of the tree and struggled to plug it into the wall for a moment, making you giggle, but as soon as the tree was lit up, he stood up and walked back to stand by you. “Now it’s perfect!” You beamed while he wrapped one of his arms around your shoulders and brought you closer to kiss your cheek.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Baekhyun whispered in your ear, your smile became bigger and brighter when you looked into his loving eyes.

You pecked his lips with a soft kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Merry Christmas to you too, Baek—”

You didn’t even have time to finish saying his name because all of a sudden he snaked his arms around your waist, making you screech in surprise when he tried to lift you up from the floor and yelled at the top of his lungs: “To the bedroom, now!”

Loud giggles escaped you as you struggled to stay serious, but it was impossible when he was in a playful mood like this. “But we don’t have a bed frame yet—“

“We have a mattress and that’s enough for me!”

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labradoriteprince · 4 years

Text

Locket (Crumb)

Y’all be nice i haven’t written in like 3 years but this is just an intro to the au I am working on

“Okay Mr.Iwa, you're all good to go. Remember, physical therapy starts next Tuesday and you’ll be attending two days a week until your physical therapist decides you’ve come far enough to move down to once a week, then biweekly, and so on.” The doctor went down the checklist.

Deidara nodded along, staring down at the black and silver replacement for his left arm. He had lost the appendage in an accident at work in which his coworker had dropped a pallet from the sky shelves. Not that it was actually Gaara’s fault. The pallet was old anyways and the bottom planks decided to give. Deidara was lucky enough that only his arm was irreparable. His chest and ribs had recovered with minimal scarring. He had gotten a permanent leave, along with worker’s compensation and a lawsuit on the company for the faulty and dangerous work setting.

“Thank you” Deidara smiled as he got up. “See you next week, Dr.Senju.” He smiled as he headed out. He could already tell it was going to be weird trying to get used to his new arm.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Deidara stood outside the coffee shop, his nerves a little out of hand… Literally. Today was his first full day with his prosthetic arm. He had been without his left arm for almost a year, but he had to wait until he could actually invest in the device, given how expensive it was. He always came to this shop. And every Monday through Thursday the same red head was always working. A short, stoic man with bored brown eyes and… well, quite frankly, no visible personality. With a heavy sigh, Deidara headed through the door and into the line. They weren’t super busy today, given it was nine am on a Tuesday, but there was a lady ahead of him in line with her son holding tightly to her hand, ogling and drooling over the brownies and muffins.

The kid quickly let go of his mom’s hand, to run up and shove his hands up against the glass. The barista’s gaze moved to the kid, his lip curling the slightest bit at the greasy hand prints being dragged down the glass case. Oh boy, Deidara was definitely going to annoy him today. He was already having a morning. The blonde could tell.

Once the woman ordered and stepped aside, it was Deidara’s turn. He stepped up to the counter, looking over the menu to buy time, like he didn’t always order the same thing.

“Are you not ordering the usual?” The barista asked. Deidara looked over at him.

“No- I am, I just wasn’t sure” He assured the man. “Latte with four shots espresso.” He assured him.

“I know what you take.” The redhead turned around to the machines in the back. “I’ll make it. Last time Konan left out the extra shots.” Sasori grabbed the Styrofoam cup. Deidara noticed he had upsized the drink, a sweet gesture though it made him more nervous.

Once the barista finished the drink, he held it out for Deidara to take. "Its on the house. Congratulations on your arm."

Deidara smiled, carefully reaching for the cup. All was going well so far.. he just had to grip the cup.

By now, Sasori could see where this was going, locked in eye contact with Deidara, almost daring him to-

The cup broke when Deidara went to grab it, spewing scalding hot coffee all over the counter and floor. The redhead's eyes narrowed. "Konan, can I get your help cleaning this up. I need to remake a drink. " he sighed, grumbling to himself as he turned around to remake Deidara's latte.

"Sorry" The blonde apologized, embarrassed by the mess he had made. "I just wanted to practice grabbing things." He explained.

"Well, practice outside of my store." The redhead countered.

"Sasori-" Konan shot her coworker a glare. So that was his name.

"Well, he made a mess." Sasori muttered. He came back to the counter, handing the blonde a new cup. "Use your right hand this time."

“Yes sir, sorry again.” Deidara quickly apologized as he headed out of the cafe. Well, that was humiliating. He took a sip of coffee and scrunched up his nose. Oh that petty bitch, this was so much more than 4 espresso shots. He couldn’t be too upset. It was a free coffee, and he did just make a mess.

He was just desperate to be back to his full potential again. The past year he’s just felt like a burden, not able to move his own furniture when he moved into his new apartment, or having to relearn how to drive, cook, and everything. For a while there, he had to have his old roommate help him put his hair up. Neji always did, though. Even though they both knew he had better things to do.

Once Deidara got home, he sat his cup on the coffee table, before pulling out his phone. Sasori… hmm. That was an uncommon enough name. He should be able to find him. He logged onto Facebook, typing the redhead’s name into the search bar. It wasn’t long before he found the barista. Sasori Akasuna. The blonde clicked on his profile, scrolling through. He only had a handful of friends, including the coworker from earlier. Though, the only person who seemed to be tagging him in anything was a little old woman who, obviously, was newer to Facebook. Sasori’s entire timeline was full of outdated memes, posts about tagging loved ones, and random ‘I love my grandson’ posts, all of which were from this same woman, Chiyo Akasuna.

Huh, well, it was safe to assume Chiyo was his Grandmother. It was also probably safe to say they were close. Or at least seemed to be. Deidara scrolled all the way back to the top of the page, sending a friend request. He plopped his phone down on the coffee table as well, before looking at his arm. He slowly opened and closed his prosthetic hand, watching the fingers curl up, then open, then repeat. He smiled faintly, before laying back onto the couch. It wasn’t long before he closed his eyes and started to fall asleep. It was a good thing he hadn’t really drank his latte after discovering how bitter it was. Otherwise he’d be too awake to nap.

Once the blonde did wake up, he picked up his phone to check the time. It was about a quarter to five and he’d been sleeping since almost eleven. “Way to go, Deidara. Way to waste a day” He lectured himself as he got up. He noticed he had a Facebook notification and opened it. It was a message.

“How in the hell did you find me?

Why did you find me?”

How was Deidara supposed to respond? Lie? Yeah- lying is good.

“You were in my suggested friends list.”

It was almost an immediate reply.

“Right, with no mutuals and no idea what my name was before now.

This is almost obsessive. You come in everyday at the same time,

Constantly you're in my shop to just kill time, and now coincidentally, “

“You’ve found my Facebook.”

Oh man, this was taking a bad turn, and fast.

“No, look, really. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to see

Who you were. Not in a creepy way, though. Really.”

“Right

I’m blocking you.”

Oh shit. Deidara messed up. Now how was he supposed to show his face at the cafe? He groaned and tossed the phone down.

Well... Fuck.

#sasodei #sasori #sasori akasuna #sasodei au #modernsasodei #fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #naruto #akatsuki #akatsuki au #coffeeshop au #Sasori x deidara #deidara x sasori #modern au #otp #naruto shippuden #sasori fanfiction #deidara fanfiction

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merakiui · 4 years

Note

hey!! i was lucky enough to stumble across your blog, & i'm enjoying your writing!! could i request something for a first date w/ sian? maybe something more casual, like a cafe!

(I’m glad you like it! Hopefully this is what you had in mind with your request! I went for a “friends to lovers” vibe in a modern setting if that’s okay. Please enjoy and thank you for such a fun request!)

Courtesy Coffee (Sian)

You met under unpleasant circumstances. Sian was in a rush to get to his destination, and you were staring down at your phone with a cup of iced coffee in your other hand. Like that banal trope in shoujo manga, the two of you crashed into one another, and your drink spilled all over his outfit. As complete strangers, it was obvious that the one who was drenched would be incredibly frustrated. That was an exact observation, only Sian didn’t feel the need to use a filter that day.

“Are you kidding me? Watch where you’re going!” he had yelled, gripping his soaked shirt and glaring daggers at you. “How am I supposed to show up to work looking like this?!”

Anyone would feel frightened with his exasperated tone of voice and the intimidating aura that surrounded him, but you weren’t one to surrender immediately.

Straightening your shoulders, you met his heated stare. “I’m sorry. At least it wasn’t hot, right?” Hoping to dispel his anger, you smiled a little. “I can buy you a clean shirt if it’ll make you feel better.”

He puffed his cheeks out, suddenly bashful as he avoided your gaze. “It’s the least you could do! Seriously, this is the worst. I smell just like your stupid coffee.”

“Hey, don’t diss my iced coffee. It’s delicious and you know it.”

“If it’s so good, why is it all over me?” he snapped, crossing his arms. “This’ll stain, you know!”

“I offered to get you another shirt.”

“It’s not just on my shirt, you moron! I can’t face my colleagues like this. You have no idea what they’ll say.”

“Suck it up then!”

“No!”

You sighed heavily, gripping your empty coffee cup. “There’s no need to be difficult. Just let me get you a clean polo and slacks. Unless you’d rather parade around in wet, coffee-smelling attire. You’re making a scene with all of your yelling.”

“You were just yelling, too. Fine, whatever. I guess you can do that.”

Even as you spied his blush, you couldn’t ignore your thoughts. Is he seriously embarrassed by the fact that I’m getting him clothes? Anyone would do this to repay the damage.

“That’s all I needed to hear. Oh, and for the record you’re the one who should watch where you’re going.”

He didn’t take those words too well. Regardless, that was how you met the guy with a loud mouth and an even louder personality. You ran into him twice after that incident, and each time he seemed to stumble over himself. He tried to thank you for the clothes, but all he could manage was a huff and an angry comment about how the fabric was uncomfortable. Weeks later, that same boy just so happened to feel bad about starting a few shouting matches with you during those three times you interacted. He saw you in a café by chance and secretly covered your drink fee, making the barista promise not to reveal his identity. It was a sweet gesture, despite being anonymous and a bit of a shock on your end. You’d never experienced the magic that was receiving your drink for free, but it was great nonetheless.

You enter work that morning with a cheery disposition, passing by coworkers and even engaging in kind banter with those who aren’t the friendliest. You clock in and make your way towards the elevator while scrolling through an online article. Hearing a familiar ping, you glance up, urging whoever’s inside to hold the door. There are four other people crammed within the area, all of whom are silently waiting for the elevator to rise. You push the button for your floor and relax. Momentarily, you glance around the enclosed space to see if you can recognize anyone from your department. Your eyes sweep from one person to the next, and you spot polite Nine at the very back.

You’re compelled to greet him, but someone stands in your way. Someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to the guy who was showered in iced coffee two weeks ago. You gasp and turn away, hoping he won’t notice you.

No way! We work for the same company? What’re the odds? This must be a bad omen! I don’t want to start another fight with him, you think, having done your best to erase those memories.

The elevator pings, and you’re completely distracted. Though you don’t miss the hand that taps your shoulder. Your gaze follows his arm. It’s that guy again.

“Hey. This is your floor, isn’t it?”

The number doesn’t lie, but Sian’s memory might as he struggles to recall your familiar features. It clicks just as you bolt out of the elevator, the doors slipping shut and obscuring your backside for good. Sian blinks rapidly as his face heats up. That was...

Coffee idiot! he thinks. There’s no mistaking that stupid look on their face. He’s thrown into a bad mood at once, internally grumbling as he remembers that day. Even if he changed into new clothes, he still smelled of coffee. It was embarrassing, and his bothersome colleagues wouldn’t leave him alone. And now we work in the same building. Maybe I should just quit so I don’t have to face them.

"Can you believe it, Youssef?” you ask your deskmate, having ranted to him while typing up the progress of this week’s publication. At least that’s a monetary positive for the company. You can’t say the same for your mentality, though. “I do something nice in return and he yells at me. And then we meet again—twice—and he’s still rude.”

Youssef tilts his head, a childish gesture for someone his age. “Are you sure you’re not incorrectly reading his actions?”

“I’m positive. When have I ever been wrong?” You frown as your fingers slow their pace on the keyboard. “I just found out today that we work in the same building. This is totally unfair. Why do I have to bear the burden of knowing this information?”

“I’m sure he means well. What does he look like? I might know him.” You describe him to your helpful colleague, who nods and taps his chin in thought. His expression lights up with recognition. “If I remember correctly, his name is Sian, and he’s in the marketing department. We’ve only talked briefly, but I can assure you he’s quite diligent with his work.”

“Well, everyone’s got their own personality outside of their jobs.”

“I suppose, but it’s not polite to label someone based off of such little knowledge,” he advises lightly, turning his attention back to his computer screen. “Rather than using all of your energy painting a bad image of him, you should spend that time getting to know him. It’ll fix any negative impressions you may have.”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t like that...”

Since then, you haven’t run into Sian once. At first you made it your mission to keep an eye out for him, but now that you’ve been busy with this new project you can’t be bothered to let his image clutter your mind. So you brush him aside like a cobweb, certain you won’t bump into him again. Your floors are far enough apart, so it’s unlikely that that’ll happen. But you’re not always the luckiest, and fate tends to tease those who aren’t on good terms with one another.

You’re close to running late on a rainy day, having missed the train, so now you’re doing everything you can to catch a taxi. Cars speed by on the road, and you fail to flag down a vehicle. Dejected and soaked to the bone, you drag your feet along the slick sidewalk, wishing for your next paycheck so that you can put it towards a used car. Speaking of cars, one slides past you as it makes an effort to park along the walkway. In doing so, the tires kick up a huge puddle, effectively soaking your lower half. As if the day couldn’t have gotten any worse. The car almost moves out of the spot before it halts, and the window steadily rolls down to reveal the face of your greatest enemy.

Well, he’s not technically your greatest enemy, but it really feels like it in that moment.

“Do you need a ride?” As if correcting himself, he quickly adds, “I’m not doing this because it’s you! I’m just sympathizing.”

Does it matter? you wonder, bitter and cold and wet. Karma is so brutal.

“You’re Sian, right?” You approach his car, peering in at the flustered man. “From marketing.”

“Y-Yeah. So what?”

“I’m in publishing.” Awkwardly, you look up at the cloudy sky. “It’s really coming down. The forecast didn’t call for this much rain.”

“Are you getting in or not?”

“But you’re a stranger,” you jest, fixing him with a pout. “I don’t want scary Sian to kidnap me.”

He glowers at your joke. “I’m leaving now. I don’t have time for this.”

You hold back a chuckle, tearing open the door before he can drive off. “Wait! Sorry, I’ll get in. I can’t stand another minute in this rain.”

The window slides up, and he sets the car in motion after you’ve buckled up, easing back into the flow of traffic smoothly. Now that you’re sitting there with the AC blowing cool air at your face, you shudder. Oh, how wonderful it must feel to be in clothes that are warm and untouched by the rain. In his peripheral, Sian catches your shivering form, and he switches the AC from cold air to hot. You might not dry as quick as one would hope, but at least it’s something.

The silence is utterly tense. You almost expect him to bicker with you like he did in the past. Instead, he’s focused on the winding road ahead. Though you don’t miss the pink hue that tints his cheeks and gradually rises to his ears.

“So,” you say, if only to get a conversation going. “How’s work?”

“Fine, I guess. How did you know who I was?”

“My friend Youssef.”

“Oh.”

“You probably don’t know me. I’m (Name).”

“I already know.”

“Really? Stalker.”

“I’m not a stalker!” he exclaims, glaring hard at the windshield. “You’re kind of hard to miss.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re always so loud at our company parties. How can anyone ignore that?” Sian then proceeds to bless your ears with a story from this year’s holiday party. A few departments got together and went out for drinks and karaoke. Naturally, you had a drinking contest with your colleagues, which led to a tipsy night of bad singing and stumbling from one bar to the next. You were surprised Sian remembered that, mainly because you couldn’t recall seeing him there. And it’s been months since that rowdy night. “Do you see my point?”

“Don’t remind me. That hangover hurt my soul.”

He quirks a smile at that. “It’s not flattering when you sing high notes in the wrong key.”

“Like you could do any better.”

“I can because I was sober.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes, gazing out at the scenery that passes by in a blur of dull colors. Without meaning to, you eye Sian’s reflection in the window, taking note of his side profile. He’s actually quite handsome when he’s calm and not acting so stubborn. “I guess we’re even now.”

“Even?”

“I spilled coffee on you, and you splashed me when your tires hit that puddle.”

“Am I supposed to buy you clothes now?”

“If you’re offering...”

“I wasn’t offering!”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a spare uniform in my locker.”

I wasn’t worried to begin with, you coffee idiot, Sian thinks, gripping the steering wheel. He keeps track of your occasional trembling, and he can’t help but feel troubled. You’ll catch a cold if you don’t dry off soon. Suddenly, he regrets pulling up beside you and accidentally sending water flying in your direction. This time it was definitely his fault, wasn’t it? Sian wants to make it up to you, but it’s impossible. He’ll die of embarrassment before he succeeds in performing a good deed in front of you.

Truthfully, he’s always noticed you. The very first instance was last year at the company’s drinking party. You were glued to Youssef’s side, engaging in idle chatter with him and another guy he wasn’t too familiar with. At the time, Sian thought your behavior was obnoxious. No one wants their younger coworker clinging to them. It just made you look like an attention-seeking puppy. Although you were definitely upbeat at that party. He had watched you chug an entire pint of beer like it was nothing and then join in on a pointless game of Ten Fingers with enough energy to put a child to shame.

He thought you were annoying at first, and yet there was something captivating about your personality. He’d never had the guts to approach you outright, so when he ran into you that day all of his frustrations just spilled over. He was angry at himself for not having the courage to talk to you at every company party, and now that he had a chance he couldn’t think of what to say. He hadn’t mentally prepared anything! So he said the first thing that came to his mind, which passed through his unfiltered lips in a very abrupt manner.

But you didn’t show any fear. You hardly flinched. Instead you met his words with a few of your own, and that’s what ruffled Sian’s feathers. You were so good at communication, and he was very much unskilled, usually relying on phrases he prepared in his head. It’s not like he couldn’t talk. He could when he was interested in a certain subject or whenever he was reading from a page, but in front of someone he admired... Sian knew he’d make a fool of himself.

Now that you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, he has every opportunity to say what he wants. Yet the words scramble in his brain, and he can’t calm his racing heart. Before he can think of anything witty, the building comes into view, and the parking garage has never seemed so dismal. Sian’s kicking himself as he parks, disappointed with how he handled that situation.

“Thanks for this. I’ll go on ahead.” You unbuckle, holding your briefcase and squeezing water from your blazer. “I’m sorry if I got your seat wet.”

“It’s...fine.”

You’re going to walk away and then he’ll become the coffee idiot. He opens his mouth to say something that’ll stop you, but you turn around at the right moment.

“Let’s get coffee sometime in the future. You deserve it after all the trouble I gave you,” you propose, smiling earnestly. And I feel guilty for my initial judgement. Youssef was right.

Sian’s eyes widen, and he struggles to remain stoic. “Oh, uh...”

“That’s okay with you, right?”

“I guess. Whatever works for you.” He shrugs.

“Great!” You retrieve a pen from your case and close the distance between the two of you. Humming, you snatch his hand, spreading his fingers so that his palm is wide open. And then you scribble something on it, grinning in satisfaction. Sian stares at you the entire time, his face blank and head filled with static. “Text me the days you’re available. See you later!” You tuck the pen away, hastily dashing in the direction of the elevator.

Sian stands there for a moment, slack-jawed. He forces himself to look down at his hand. Your number is written on his skin in smudged ink. His face erupts in a flurry of red. That coffee idiot...

------

“It’s not a date,” Sian mutters as he walks to the café. “It’s not. Stop thinking that way.”

But maybe it is a date, the voice in the back of his mind whispers, goading him into believing so. He dressed as casually as possible, but he still hopes it’ll impress you. There are plenty of fears that flood his head, and he almost turns around as soon as he gets to the entrance. But he’s come this far, and he’d regret it forever if he left now. This might be his only chance; he can’t afford to pass it up. So he pushes open the door in search of you. It doesn’t take long to locate your form amongst the few who are inside. Sian’s pulse rushes into overdrive, and he clenches his jaw.

It’s not a date. Act natural.

You look up from your phone just as he slides into the seat across from you. A warm smile blossoms across your face, and you tuck your mobile away. “Sian, you made it! I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

“It’d be rude if I didn’t show up after you made all those plans.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Well, thank you. Now I won’t have to feel bad about Monday morning.”

You had felt bad? Sian’s cheeks must be burning intensely bright now, but there’s nothing he can do. “It’s your fault for being an idiot.”

You chuckle. “That makes two of us. One idiot ignored the forecast, and the other wasn’t watching where he was going.”

“Whatever. Just so we’re clear, I’m not as stupid as you.” He crosses his arms and huffs. “And you don’t have any taste. I mean, iced coffee? Really?”

“It’s good!” you insist. “You’re missing out. Everyone knows iced coffee is better than hot coffee.”

“Is it now? I don’t agree with that statistic.”

“You’re allowed to have your own opinion, Mr. Sian,” you tease. “Give me your drink order. I’ll go get it.”

“What? No way. I’ll pay.”

“As if! I’m treating you.”

“You already bought me clothes.”

“And now I’m going to buy you coffee. It’s to say thanks for picking me up during that storm.”

“I would’ve left you on that sidewalk if I knew you were going to make it a hassle now!”

“Just accept my kindness!”

Sian shuts his mouth, giving into your demand. He grumbles his order, and you’re very happy as you make your way towards the register to get the two of you drinks and pastries. He watches as you pay, releasing a soft sigh. It’s hard to say no to someone you’ve admired for so long. Sian’s not sure when he started to like you, but he’s certain these recent interactions have only added fuel to the burning fire residing in his heart. It’s embarrassing to think he’s even on a romantic outing with you, but it’s not like the two of you are close friends. So then what does that make this?

When you return to the window table, setting down the drinks and a plate with two strawberry bread puddings, he’s shaken from his daydreams. This is actually happening. It’s not just another fantasy he’s imagined while witnessing you drink your sanity away at parties.

“I’m not sure if you like strawberries, but I—“

“I guess it’s okay,” he interrupts, trying to hide the fact that he actually likes it very much.

“Good!” You ease into your chair. “You’re not as bad as I thought you were.”

He raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip from his latte. “Huh.”

“You seemed really upset when I spilled my coffee on you. But anyone would be, so it’s completely understandable. I thought you hated me because of that. When we saw each other again, you were pretty sensitive.”

“I’m not sensitive!” he snaps, proving your point. “That was a white shirt you ruined.”

“Will you feel better if you dump coffee on me?”

“What? Why would I do that? I’m not going to do something as petty as that!”

“Aw, so you do care.”

“I don’t. Get lost.”

You break out into a laughing fit, genuinely amused at his coldness. Even if he doesn’t want to show it, he’s quite nice, and you’re relieved that he didn’t turn out to be a bully seeking revenge. Then again, it’s been weeks since that incident.

“It’s not funny!”

“Sorry, sorry. You’re just so expressive. It’s hard not to laugh.”

A furious red darkens his face, and he decides to fumble with his fork in order to give his hands something to do. The bread pudding is surprisingly delicious. He fumes in his embarrassment while he eats.

Eventually, the two of you converse about work and that project your department took on. Sian listens to your rambling as you go on and on about how irksome it is when last-minute changes are made to a finalized draft. He enjoys every story you tell him, and by the time the plate is empty he feels as if he’s grown closer with you. Could this be the beginning of a friendship? He’s hit with a sudden wave of inspiration for lyrics that will never be sung. At least they can fester on a page in his notebook, where he’ll return on countless occasions to proofread and debate over the meaning of each line. Oh, how he’d love to share his music with you. It’ll take a while before he does something as bold as that, though.

“I just got an idea! There’s this awesome bar thirty minutes from work. I usually go with my friends because they’ve got a bunch of games you can play. Board games, card games—you name it. We should go one of these days.”

“R-Really?”

“Yeah! You seem like a fun guy to hang out with. Card games might sound boring, but they’re actually really fun when you’re playing for money. And when you’ve got a few drinks in your system.”

Sian struggles to hide the giddy smile that threatens to split his lips. “No... It sounds perfect. I’m actually really good at Slapjack, so be prepared to lose miserably!”

“Is that a challenge? What should we wager?”

"How about a meal? Loser has to pay for the winner’s lunch.”

“All right. It’s a deal. I’ll keep you updated on my schedule so that we can choose a weekend to meet up.”

“Sure!” Sian’s face won’t stop heating up and he can’t slow his erratic heartbeat. “I mean, I’ll only do it so I can get a free lunch. It’s not like I’m agreeing for your sake.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever floats your boat.”

His chest feels airy and light, almost as if he’s in a dream. Your words weigh on his conflicted heart. How can anyone make plans so easily? If the roles were reversed, he’d be an absolute mess. It’d be so embarrassing; Sian would probably want to curl up and disappear if he ever tried to ask you out on his own volition. You probably don’t even feel the same way. After all, this is merely two coworkers having a normal conversation. But he can’t get stuck in the friend zone. That’d be the worst outcome to all of this. So in the meantime he’ll do his best to act cordial. He can hide his shy demeanor and fluffy feelings behind a blunt attitude.

“All of this planning makes it seem like we’re a couple,” you muse with flirtatious intent. Leaning back in your chair, you gauge Sian’s reaction. Just as you figured, he’s turning crimson. It’s honestly endearing to see him get so flustered. “What do you think, Sian?”

“I... I don’t know. Don’t say stupid things! It’s really annoying.”

No matter how sharp his words are, you know he doesn’t mean it. After all, his expression clearly refutes those claims.

“Sian and (Name), sitting in a tree—“

“Shut up!”

If this isn’t a date, then what’s with all the flirting?

Sian’s going to have to take a cold shower when he gets home to lower his body temperature. And to scrub away the embarrassment that’s washed over him like rain.

It’s not a date. It’s just coffee with an acquaintance. Yeah. Just courtesy coffee.

He couldn’t be any further from the truth.

#after l!fe #afterl!fe #afterl!fe sian #afterl!fe x reader #afterl!fe the sacred kaleidoscope #afterl!fe sian x reader #sian x reader #oneshot

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londonfog-chan · 5 years

Text

Passione x Reader: Sudoh Buck AU

This was too fucking good to let it rot in AO3 so now you all have to be subjected to my JoJo thirst. All characters aged up (otherwise how the fuck would they have this job??)

...

“So you’re not working my shift???”

“No... you’re actually my relief.”

Your best friend is clocking out just as you’re going to clock in. She looks dolefully up at you, nearly in tears from how the day has treated her. It’s her last shift for the week at the Passione Street location for Sudoh Buck, but you’re not sure why it was she had such a horrible time.

“He’s so mean!” She whispers as you lean down next to her.

“Who?!”

“The one on drive thru. He kept kicking me off bar because I made too many mistakes. I don’t know what I’m going to do for a whole three weeks with these people. I miss our store.”

The system is unavailable for you to punch in on the computer, so you’ll have to hunt down the punch communication log and you’re not exactly enthralled to be asking the dudes at the front. One of the guys, silver haired giant with neon lipstick, fucking glared you down when you went to the back. Had it not been for your coworker from the old store (Kimmy) walking out to say goodbye you’re sure he would have pummeled you.

“Yeah?” You ask, slightly bristling as your friend continues to look sad. “Well fuck me I guess. I’ll have to find out where that damn book is and go talk to one of them, and then you’ll be out and I’ll have to deal with this shit all by myself. At least you had the luxury of working with our crew...”

You can’t help the bitterness in your voice even though you know your friend is hurt. It’s been one fucking thing after another. You kept asking everyone where to go, and after being ignored and given a gang face, you’re not altogether sure you like Passione location after all... it’s in a location where you used to live as a child, not too far a commute from your current house where you live with your mother, and it’s the newest location established. But the newness is a fucking facade. You already have a bad impression by how they treated your friend, you can’t imagine they’re taking too kindly to being invaded by a new store. A friend working the S. Platinum location told you the other day he heard some blonde bastard of a shift complaining that the Ogre Street crew was stealing all the tips from the regular crew.

From a customer’s perspective, this is a coffee drinker’s paradise. Everything looks bright and new, when you walk into the cafe area, the front where they have the registers and the pastry case is on one big countertop that’s shared with the espresso bar and cold bar. In back of the bar is the drive thru window, and at the end of the espresso bar there’s some seating arrangements where customers can watch their drinks being made. It’s a typical Sudoh Buck color scheme. Lots of greys and white, the customers flock to it looking to get their fix, but under the facade there’s apparently a bastard crew working it. On top of that, the remodel for your location is going to take longer than anticipated. What else can you do but just rough it out with strangers you don’t even know?

“Well... I guess I’ll go home now.” Your friend murmurs sadly.

“Yeah. Bye.”

Your friend gets up and gathers her things, looking at you wistfully before mouthing “good luck”. In a few seconds she’s gone, and you’re standing there in an unfamiliar back office, apron in hand, wondering how on earth you’re going to survive the first day without anyone from your old store to help you.

“Oh hi there!”

An unusually cheerful voice jolts you out of your stupor as you come face to face with an unfamiliar associate. He looks fairly young, black messy hair held back with a bandana, and he looks you up and down with a sly look in his violet eyes.

“You’re one of the baristas from Ogre Street Mall yeah? Are you looking for the book?” He asks, cocking his head to the side as he ties up the strings of his apron. His black metal name tag has green chalk marker on it too small to make out, so you can’t tell his name right away.

“Yeah, I started a few months ago at that location. And yes, that would be helpful.” You tell him your name, and you can’t help the jump in your pulse when you hear him roll it off his tongue.

“That’s a pretty cute name.” He flirts, coming up on you with his fist up. “Nice to meet ya, I’m Narancia.”

You have to smile as you fist bump him (hey, it’s impolite to leave a homeboy hanging). Immediately you feel the strongest connection to him; Narancia is the first helpful and friendly face you’ve met so far in this location. And if he’s this cute and working a shift with you, you fully intend to stick by him wherever he goes.

“That’s not a bad name either my guy.” You smile. “Now about that book...”

“Come with me to front, we keep the book by the register in case anyone can’t get into the system.” He casually drapes an arm around your shoulder and you instinctually lean into him.

Hey, no one’s ever flirted with you before at work, and there’s no harm in it if you’re single. You know he’s probably smiling wider than fuck, but you could really care less at this point. Embarrassment ended when work jaded you. When you’re working 36 hours a week for minimum wage you tend to lose things like dignity.

“Here, make sure you check off this part with ‘New Store Labor’. Want me to get the ASM so he can tell you where to go?”

“That’d be great.” You insist. “I really appreciate you.”

“Stay right there!”

He runs off to the same isolated corner where you can hear the guys running drive thru taking orders. Before you write your name in the book, you notice that Narancia doesn’t clock in on the computer. The entire week is him filling out his punches in the book, one of many indicators that he was a barista who hated the new update for the punch log on the iPads. This indicates he’s the best kind of barista: the lazy fuck who can shortcut anything and come out on top. A few others prefer the book too, and you can’t help but admire the immaculate handwriting of this “Leone Abbacchio”, and you wonder if they’re as nice as their handwriting.

While you write in your punch, some dude with a funny looking orange beanie looks at you from his spot by the convection ovens, and you notice he’s muttering to himself on what looks like a gaming headset. When you make eye contact with him, he looks away as though he’s been caught committing a crime, saved by the loud beeping of the oven. He takes the tongs he’s holding and takes out some croissants, bagging them and putting stickers on the front before running them past you.

Narancia seems to be taking his sweet ass time with the assistant store manager. There’s another young looking guy, a blonde, at the point of sales system, the cafe is dead but bar is bumping, you can see other baristas pumping out drinks like their lives depend on it. Occasionally one will hand a drink off to a counter out of sight (probably to neon lipstick asshole who gang faced you earlier). The blonde leans against the counter, looking at you up and down the same way Narancia did. Vaguely you wonder: why did your friend say these guys were assholes? The blond and Narancia, along with the warming guy, seem perfectly content to check you out, and frankly you’re enjoying the attention. Fuck a duck, the guys here are hot!

“You’re the barista from Ogre Street?”

The question comes from the blonde at the POS system. You nod.

“Yessir. Just coming on board until the remodel happens.” You reply. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Fugo. You?”

He smiles when you tell him your name, but evidently you’re going to have to wait your turn to talk to him. That’s the beauty of working a coffee shop, customers just crawl out of the woodwork and line up at the POS system, and you smile when you hear Fugo’s very lovely “Welcome to Sudoh Buck, what may I get started for you today?”. It’s pretty awkward just chilling out by the pastry case. Typically you just jump into the first unmanned task when you walk into your store, but this is entirely new territory. Even the espresso machines are different here, you heard talk that soon all the new Sudoh Buck locations are getting what’s called Mastrena 4’s, whatever the shit that means. All you know is it’s supposed to make things a hell of a lot easier, and that you have to have it mastered before the remodel is completed.

“Sorry we kept you waiting for so long, you must be so confused.”

You’re pulled out of your stupor and suddenly face to face with the most gorgeous assistant store manager you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got what your coworkers would call a “Karen” haircut, but he wears it well, and apparently he doesn’t mind it all too much that you’re staring at him like he’s a piece of meat in a butcher shop. He’s tall, all legs and arms with broad shoulders in a black turtleneck sweater. Narancia is almost overshadowed by the ASM’s beauty (he returns wearing the same headset as the guy on oven duty), but you sneak a glance at him too just for a minute.

“Y-yea... I mean, no it’s cool. I just, it’s like was anyone going to tell me what to do? Or was I supposed to have a sense of purpose myself?”

... Jesus Christ on a crutch... you note that the ASM must really appreciate your blunt humor, because his blue eyes are even smiling as he laughs. Narancia can’t help but laugh too, and with both men looking like snacks whenever they smile you’re about to drop from being so weak in the knees.

“I think you’ll be a great fit here.” The ASM smiles, “My name is Bruno Buccellati. You are...”

Your name rolling off his tongue makes you weak again. Oh lort... how does any barista get work done around here with all this man candy???

“Before we start, what position are you most comfortable with?” Bruno asks.

You’re about ten seconds from blurting out something nasty: spit roast sounds nice, Narancia and oven guy can watch.

“Ok...” you steel yourself, fully prepared with a speech you’d rehearsed in the car only an hour before. “I’m gonna keep it real with you chief, I don’t know how to do anything in a drive thru, and I don’t know how to run the new Mastrenas. If someone can show me I can do bar, otherwise I’m down to help on cold.”

Bruno seems to take this into consideration, looking over at the line that’s forming on front. Narancia looks too, immediately hopping onto bar where he starts steaming milk and pulling espresso shots from the machine without anyone having to ask him. His quick response triggers that look in Bruno’s eyes, and he nods you over towards the bar.

“I think I’ll have you with Narancia on cold bar for now. He’s going to be cafe and drive thru bar, so whatever he needs help with, just pull the stickers and he can show you where everything is. We’ll kill this line, and then I can give you a more permanent assignment. How’s that sound?”

“Gotcha!”

You instantly spring into action, much more confident now that you have direction. Narancia is pulling stickers out of a square machine and pasting them to cups, handing the plastic ones to you where you spring into action. Getting into a sequence, you start a drink, begin another one, work on the first, then start a third, going on like this until you’ve got a rhythm. Pumping out teas, fraps, refreshers, anything iced at all. Your hands fly over your work, and you almost don’t hear the praises that are being showered on you.

“Damn look at her go!” Whistles Narancia, “Hey Mista! Check out bar star over here!”

The guy from warming is over your shoulder as you hand out a drink, calling out Tom’s 20 ounce passion hibiscus tea. He smiles at you for a split second, too dazzling for words, then runs back to the oven when his headset lights up.

Vaguely you wonder how the hell your friend had such a rough time here at this location when there’s so much nice man candy to look at.

#vento aureo #jojo’s bizzare adventure vento aureo #jojo’s bizzare adventure #jjba x reader #jjba #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #guido mista x reader #guido mista #pannacotta fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga x reader #narancia ghirga #leone abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio #trish una #trish una x reader

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xmagicxshopx · 5 years

Text

Girl Meets Evil - Chapter 1

Genre: Action Adventure, Romance, Comedy, Angst Rating: PG-13 - M Warnings: violence, immoral and unethical behavior, smut (eventually), mild language Pairing: Jungkook x reader, Jimin x oc, Taehyung x oc Notes: mafia!bts / gang!bts au. Not idol!bts. Same goes for VIXX. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: The outfit Jungkook wears to the club is from the Love Yourself Tear O version jacket shooting. Taehyung is wearing the Airplane Pt 2 MV outfit. Jimin is wearing the white denim outfit from Fake Love MV and Jhope is wearing the outfit from the Fake Love MV Teaser.

Tagging: @justbangtanandjams @jiminnies-baby @och-ako @lizardsocial @katebacks

Summary: How could something so bad taste so sweet? All you wanted was an iced white chocolate mocha no whip extra ice on a hot summer’s day.

SERIES MASTERLIST

After a night out with your coworkers Sunshine and Raven, some liquid courage, and a mental pep talk, you were finally sitting outside the winery in the fresh air and dialing Jungkook’s number. You stood there in the cool night air asking yourself were you really about to call a tech geek and flirt with him? Here you were, coming up with some lame excuse to go see him.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Jeon Jungkook?”

“...........Who wants to know?”

His response being a question to your own question threw you for a loop. Definitely not the response you were expecting. Blushing and starting to panic, the wine was making it hard for you to focus as you tried to stutter out in explanation,

“O--Oh. This is the girl from the cafe just earlier today. Cafe Fantasia? We bumped into each other? Y--You gave me your card.”

And it was like the difference between night and day. Suddenly his tone was much lighter and he even chuckled a bit from what you could hear on the other end. Feeling relief wash over you, the sounds of rustling could be heard before he said happily,

“Aaahhh. Yes yes. The cutie pie from the cafe. Yes, I remember now. What can I do for you?”

The way he asked had you blushing. It wasn’t helping that the wine was already making you warm under the collar. Shamelessly fanning your face with your free hand and grateful that he couldn’t see you through the phone, you replied with the lines you had rehearsed in your head about a dozen times since the night began,

“Well----It’s my laptop. I think it might have a virus. But I don’t know for sure. It’s just kind of acting funny. I was wondering if you could take a look at it.”

“Sure thing, cutie. Wanna set up an appointment? I could get you in on Saturday.”

You looked down at his business card because you were pretty sure he didn’t include Saturdays as part of his working hours. Frowning with eyebrows knitted in confusion, you spoke up slowly,

“But you don’t work on Saturdays.”

“I know. But for a lovely lady like you, I’m willing to make an exception to the rule.”

Okay......This was totally not how you saw this conversation going. You were supposed to be the one to flirt with him but it was like he had totally turned the tables on you. Was he openly flirting with you??? It was almost impossible to believe. It was only when you heard his smooth, deep voice on the other end of the line that you finally snapped out of it.

“Babe? You still there?”

“Uh---- Ye-Yeah. I’m here. Um.....Wa--What time on Saturday?”

You could hear him chuckling and your face only felt warmer still. He was laughing at your stuttering, wasn’t he? Aish. The jerk. He probably had a super smug smile on that stupid handsome face of his too. Trying to control your heart and prevent yourself from passing out on the spot, you finally heard him reply casually,

“Eh, any time after lunch will work. I’m going to be home all day so no need for a specific time.”

“Okay. I’ll.....I’ll see you Saturday, then. Thank you so much, Jungkook.”

“Anytime, babe. Have a good night.”

“Y--You too.”

The rest of the week went extremely slow. It was hard to focus on your work as you jumped back and forth between feeling guilty for lying and nervous because you were going to be in extremely close proximity to a really handsome young man. You just didn’t know how to read him. His appearance screamed bad boy but his manners.....Well.....you were pretty sure he was trying to flirt with you that night.

Finally, Saturday was here and you spent your entire morning trying to figure out what to wear. Did you want to dress to impress or just keep it casual? This wasn’t a date. This was literally you lying so you could spend a couple minutes with him. Because if he really was a tech geek, it wasn’t going to take him very long to realize you had lied or that you’re just really dumb.

“Should I do something with my hair or leave it alone? Gah. This is stupid! How old am I, anyway?”

Finally steeling yourself up and settling for a dressy casual look, you decided to just blow dry your hair and let it fall however it wanted. This wasn’t a date. This wasn’t a date. Those were the words you chanted to yourself as you stared back in the full length mirror. You’re just there to spend enough time with him to see if maybe he’s someone you’re interested in pursuing.

You weren’t getting any younger and to be completely honest, you were lonely. You were bored and lonely. Sunshine and Raven could only help cure that boredom for so long when they had lives of their own to live. You had moved away from family so they were miles and miles away.

What did that leave you? With no one. Not even a pet dog or cat. So now it was time to start looking for that special someone before they were all picked over. Or at least that’s what you were telling yourself.

After walking to your car in the apartment complex’s parking garage, you had talked yourself out of doing this at least five times. To boot, when you finally climbed into your car, you realized you had completely forgotten the laptop. That would have made you look real good, wouldn’t it?

Dear god this was a horrible idea. How were you going to function when you saw him? If you couldn’t even get this far, how were you going to handle facing him and even more so......being in the same room as him???

Then it hit you. Finally having grabbed your laptop and plopping it in the passenger seat, you sat there with both hands on the steering wheel as a dreadful thought entered your mind. What if he just expected you to drop off your laptop and pick it up several days later? What if you were getting all dolled up for nothing?

You were on the verge of crying in frustration as the tears threatened to well up in your eyes. You felt pitiful. Downright pitiful. Was this really your life right now? Sniffling and trying to pull yourself together, you decided to follow through with your plan and hope for the best. At least you could say you tried.

After punching in the address printed on his business card, it didn’t take you long to realize that, one, his office was located fairly close to where you lived and, two, his office appeared to be.....an apartment building? Perhaps his apartment was also his office? Blinking in utter confusion and curiosity, you decided to drive a bit further to find a parking spot on the street and just walk from there. It was a nice day after all.

With your laptop clutched to your chest, you managed to find Jungkook’s room number and tried your best to knock without revealing how nervous you were. Dear lord this was happening. You couldn’t remember the last time you tried to flirt with a guy. To say you were rusty would be the understatement of the year. Heart pounding in your throat, you watched the door open only to reveal.....well....Not quite what you were expecting.

“Ah! Cutie pie! So glad you were able to find me. Come on in.”

“J-Jungkook. You’re still eating. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

There he stood with a smile on his face despite mid chewing on what you could only assume was his late lunch. You should have known you would come at a bad time. Why? Because that was just the way your luck ran. As usual, he was dressed in all black but a lot more casual this time around. Plain black t-shirt with black basketball shorts. Shaking his head, he swallowed and quickly waved for you to come in.

“Ani ani. Don’t be silly. I was just finishing up, actually. Come on in and let’s take a look at that laptop.”

So much for looking all cool, calm, and collected. Suddenly feeling extremely warm, you did your best to step forward and through the doorway. You were happy you could take a minute to distract yourself and bow your head as you timidly slipped your shoes off. During this time, you heard him close the door behind you and asked casually,

“Can I offer you something to drink? I have bottled water, orange juice, Coke. Or I could brew up some coffee.”

“Um.....I’ll take a bottle of water, thanks.”

The last thing you needed right now was caffeine. You were already jumpy and jittery enough as it was thanks to your fried and frazzled nerves. Taking a timid seat on the couch, you sat there trying not to bounce your leg while your laptop was still clutched to your chest like a teddy bear. Looking around, you took a moment to soak up your surroundings.

A soft R&B tune came from the fancy sound system he had surrounding his huge screen TV. It was more than obvious that he loved his technology. No wonder he was a tech geek who worked on computers and stuff. The apartment was decorated in a nice, clean minimalist look and it screamed Jungkook. Shades of black, white, and gray. Looking over to your right, you could see a diffuser releasing scented steam and surprisingly, the smell didn’t give you a headache.

You had no idea Jungkook was such a........sensual guy? Was sensual the word you were looking for? The soft music combined with the aromatherapy......it all just seemed really sensual to you. Not behavior you’d expect from a guy who dressed the way Jungkook did. But then again......they always did say never to judge a book by it’s cover and that was exactly what you were doing.

“Here’s your water. I sort of turned it into ice water. Hope that was okay.”

“Oh---Of course! That’s totally fine. Thank you, Jungkook ssi.”

You blushed when you heard him softly snort in amusement while taking a seat next to you. You were grateful that he kept a safe distance so that your thighs or feet weren’t touching. Taking a couple sips of your water, you were actually quite pleased with the fact that it contained plenty of ice. It would help keep you cool as much as possible. Carefully setting your glass down on the coaster located on the coffee table, you timidly handed over your laptop.

“Ah, yes. The laptop that’s acting funny. Let’s take a look here and see what we got.”

Gosh what if he realized you were fibbing? That this was all just some lame excuse to come see him? You were once again trying to keep your leg from bouncing like a jackhammer as you watched him flip open your laptop and turn it on. Thankfully, you had been smart enough to make sure it was fully charged before bringing it over.

While he worked, which you had no idea what he was doing, you couldn’t help but notice how focused he was. In fact......It was pretty hot. Sexy even. Especially when his eyebrows would furrow together in concentration. His doe eyes quickly flicked all over your laptop screen while he worked.

Unbeknownst to you, he was simply running a few different scans; looking for viruses. This wasn’t the first time one of his clients swore up and down they had a virus when really they just had a bunch of junk on their hard drive that was slowing their computer down. While waiting for a disk defragment to finish up, he leaned back into the couch and asked casually,

“Enjoying your weekend so far?”

You decided it would be best to take a drink of your chilled water before answering. This was the first time since he started working that you’d have to speak. Holding your glass in your lap as if it would keep you grounded, you smiled a bit timidly and nodded.

“Yeah. I am. How about you?”

“Eh. It’s just another day. I don’t usually do a whole lot on the weekends.”

“Oh? Gosh. I seem to be busiest on the weekends. That’s usually when I get to run all my errands and clean my apartment.”

Realizing he never asked to know such information, you immediately blushed and quickly ducked your head to stare at your glass, suddenly finding it quite interesting. Knowing you weren’t looking, Jungkook allowed himself to sport a wide bunny smile of amusement. You were just too cute.

“Well, I must admit, my apartment didn’t look this clean when I first woke up this morning.”

He chuckled softly while he started using the touch mouse pad once again on your laptop. Suddenly looking up from your glass, you watched him with amazement as he just continued to smile in casualness. Did that mean he cleaned up the place especially for you or was cleaning just a part of his Saturday morning routine? You tried not to think too much into it.

“Okay, I think your laptop is safe. I couldn’t find any viruses but I did clean up your drive a good bit. So if anything, it should run a lot faster and smoother now.”

Just like that, it was time to say goodbye. It all ended so soon. You were almost finished with your water so you couldn’t even use that as an excuse to stay just a little bit longer. Smiling and setting down the glass, you carefully took your laptop from him and couldn’t help but notice how his fingers brushed up against your own. Dear god your face felt so warm. So embarrassing. Clearing your throat, you carefully set your laptop to the side and started to dig around in your purse.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook ssi. How much do I owe you?”

You were surprised to hear him chuckling so softly and looked up to see him sporting a smile that you couldn’t quite translate. His eyes crinkled in the corners and his nose scrunched up a bit. He looked absolutely adorable, honestly. It was hard to believe he was the same man you bumped into at the cafe; looking all bad boyish and stuff. There appeared to be nothing bad about Jungkook at all. He seemed like a really nice guy.

“First of all, you really don’t have to be so formal. Jungkook is just fine. And secondly, I’ve been thinking about that and I was wondering.......”

Now it was his turn to be shy and timid. You watched him fiddle with the hem of his over sized t-shirt as he bit his bottom lip in thought; choosing his words as wisely as he could. Finally making eye contact with you, he said a bit sheepishly,

“I was wondering if you’d accompany me tonight. There’s this club I haven’t been to in awhile. Club Hope World. It’s a really cool place. It’s clean and strictly forbids underage drinking and they have a lot of fun dance battles. It’s a really great time but I didn’t want to go alone. I know you said you’re busy on the weekends but I----”

“I want to go.”

It was completely silent in the apartment as the two of you stared at each other. Jungkook stared on in shock and surprise while you sat there staring like a deer in the headlights. What did you just say? Did you actually say you’d go? To a club??? You hadn’t been to a club since your college days. Granted that wasn’t too long ago but still. Smiling sheepishly and trying not to fan your heated face, you repeated a little more confidently,

“I want to go with you.”

That seemed to snap the poor boy back to reality as he blinked his doe eyes and cleared his throat. Adjusting himself in his spot next to you, he soon sported a bright smile and replied with eagerness,

“Great! I’ll pick you up later tonight. Here----Let me put my number in your phone and you can put yours in mine. Then you can just text me your address and I can let you know when I’ll be picking you up.”

The whole thing felt like a dream as you both handed over your cell phones and started adding each other into your contacts. Was this really happening? Were you adding your number to a guy’s phone? And was that very same and very handsome guy putting his number in your phone??? Yes. Yes he was. Wow! Talk about a score! By the time you had your own phone back in your hands, you were smiling like an idiot.

“Cool! Now all I need is your address.”

Duh. Of course that’s what he was waiting on. Trying to pull yourself together and get your head out of the clouds, you focused once more on looking him up only to find he wasn’t there. That’s odd. You scrolled up and down through the J section of your contact list and eventually looked up to say softly in confusion,

“You’re not in here. Did you just not hit save?”

“Oh I’m definitely in there. Scroll down to your S’s.”

With knitted eyebrows and your expression one of confusion and curiosity, you did as he said and scrolled down to the S section of your contacts. Instantly you were able to point him out. Without being able to control yourself, you snorted softly and immediately covered your mouth before saying in amusement,

“Super Hot Tech Guy? Really, Jungkook? Aigoo.”

You were shaking your head while he just smiled and that bunny-like nose of his scrunched up; clearly pleased with himself. Not that you were about to tell him, but you actually liked the title. It fit him perfectly. He was super hot and he was a tech guy. Smiling like an idiot once more, you started to send him a text that would contain your address. After hitting the send button, you looked up at him and announced happily,

“Should be pinging your phone any second now.”

“Hmm......Yep! Got it!”

Due to......reasons, Jungkook immediately recognized two things about your address. One, you didn’t live that far away from him. Not quite walking distance but it was a very short driving distance all at the same time. Two, you lived in the shadier part of this particular area. Good thing he didn’t live far away, then. Part of him wondered why you would live in such an area. Perhaps it was all you could afford.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up later tonight. It’ll be well after dinner hours since that’s when all the fun starts. But don’t worry, I’ll text you before I leave here.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jungkook.”

There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you’d need every second of precious time you could get between now and then to help prepare yourself for what was to come. You’d have to pick an outfit, do your hair, and maybe even look into putting some makeup on. Good lord you didn’t know which was more nerve wracking. Getting ready to meet him today or getting ready to go clubbing for the first time in like three years.

“Thanks again, Jungkook. I really appreciate you taking the time out of your weekend to look at it. I hope I didn’t disrupt your day.”

He softly snorted once more while watching you clutch your laptop right back to your chest like you had done earlier. Your cheeks burned as he flashed you that charming bunny-like smile. Shaking his head in amusement, he said casually,

“You did no such thing. If anything, I should be thanking you for practically dragging you along with me to a club just because I’m lonely.”

‘But I’m lonely too, Kook.......I’m lonely too.....’

“Ani ani. I’m happy to go. Since my friends both have stuff to do this weekend, I’m pretty much lonely too.”

“Oh? Well then......that just means I have you all to myself then, doesn’t it?”

Dear god you were gonna pass out from overheating if he didn’t shut the hell up. With a soft laugh and clutching the laptop even closer to your chest like some kind of security blanket, you briefly bit your bottom lip before saying a little too quickly and an octave too high,

“Well I should go. Thanks again for everything.”

“Not a problem, cutie. I’ll see you later tonight.”

You didn’t risk saying anything else as you practically power walked to the door where your shoes were. All you wanted to do was stuff your face in a freezer to help yourself cool off. How on Earth were you going to survive tonight? Then again, you had asked yourself several times this morning how were you going to survive being in the same room as him and here you are barely surviving that.

While your back was turned as you slipped your shoes on and gathered your things up, Jungkook could only smile and silently laugh as he watched you. You really were the cutest thing he had ever seen. It would be fun playing with you. That’s for sure. So easy to fluster. After waving you off, he smirked to himself but a sense of fondness and endearment was there settling somewhere in his chest. Perhaps you were playing with him.

“I just did that.........I really just did that......”

You sat there in your car still parked on the side of the street as you took a few minutes to process what the hell just happened. A super hot tech guy just asked you out. His number was in your phone and......Your mind was just blown by all of this. Here you had been panicking all morning long that you weren’t even going to get two minutes with him and now you were going to a club with him. Life really did work in strange ways.

Indeed, you spent the whole afternoon trying to prepare for this one night. Clothing. That was going to be the hardest part. Ever since you graduated from college, all you did was work. Work, work, work. All work and very little play. Your job was wonderful but honestly you were being extremely underpaid if you were to be true with yourself.

So your biggest task for the day was to pick an outfit that didn’t make you look like you were heading for a business conference. That was proving to be harder than you anticipated. Clothes were scattered everywhere to the point where it looked like someone had ransack the place. You would try something on but then immediately take it off and this process repeated for quite some time. Just when you were sitting on your bed and about to make an emergency run to the department store, something caught your eye.

It was a cardigan. An old cardigan you had saved from your college days. It was too pretty and too expensive for you to just give away or to drop off at the local charity store so you kept it; hidden deep within the confines of your closet. It didn’t exactly scream club night but it also didn’t scream business conference either. Not to mention you really didn’t want to spend money on clothing if you didn’t have to. You could make this work after all.

Finding a black, sleeveless dress shirt to where the fabric cascaded down your chest, you put a crap ton of deodorant on before slipping your arms through the sleeves of your cardigan. It was a deep maroon color that accented your complexion perfectly. Now for some pants. Pants, pants, pants......Most of your bottoms consisted of pencil skirts or dress pants. Crap. You were so close to completing this outfit. You couldn’t fail now.

“A-ha!”

Just a little further down the row of clothing, you found an old pair of skinny jeans. They were black and ripped in the knees a bit because that’s the style you were in to back in the day. But could you even still fit into them? Why were they still hanging up in the back of your closet? Perhaps it was a sign that you were meant to wear them tonight? Either way, you held your breath as you slipped them on and thank the good lord above they still fit you.

There. The hardest part of the mission was over. Or so you thought.

Your hair. What should you do with your hair? This was starting to look and sound like this morning all over again. When all you had to do was work your life away, appearance was pretty cut and dry. You figured it would be pretty hot inside with all the bodies dancing around and such, so perhaps your typical bun would work? Maybe you could spruce it up with some curls hanging in your face? Yeah. That could work. Let’s do that! You got this! It’s all under control now.

After some bobby pins and tons of hairspray, you had your hair perfectly in place just like every other morning when getting ready for work. The curls that framed your bare face seemed out of place but you were trying your best to seem.....casual? You stared back at yourself in the mirror and that’s when the second guessing started up again. The self-doubt and wondering if this was such a good idea.

“No! I’m doing this. I got this far. He asked me. That’s got to count for something. I can do this and I will.”

After the small pep talk, you then decided to try and eat something before applying any makeup. No sense in putting lipstick on if food was just going to wipe it all off. Not to mention make said food taste like lipstick. Gross.

After downing a bowl of ramyeon, you brushed your teeth and used a ton of mouth wash before finally getting around to putting on some makeup. Deciding there was no need to go all out since it’d probably be dark in the club, you kept it pretty simple. Just your usual routine for when you got ready for work. Once finished, you stood there in the mirror in your bathroom and took a deep sigh of relief.

“I’m ready.”

Just like he had said, Jungkook arrived super late and you wondered if you were even going to make it the whole night through. Being someone who worked themselves to death, you weren’t exactly night owl material. Thank goodness tomorrow was Sunday. At least you could sleep in if needed. You had received his text and a little less than 10 minutes later, he was parked out front waiting on you.

‘Wow. He looks amazing!’

‘Oh god. She’s too cute.’

There Jungkook stood, leaning against the passenger side door and ready to be a gentleman and help you into his car. His attire for the night was pretty simple yet literally flashy all at the same time. He wore a v-neck white t-shirt and black jeans that hugged his thighs in all the right ways. Over the t-shirt he wore a deep red jacket that sparkled under the night lights. He looked like the pride and glory of Satan himself standing there all dark and confident. You couldn’t help but notice his hair was styled and he himself wore a bit of makeup. Dang.

You were too cute in his eyes. Clearly you didn’t get out much. What with your cute cardigan and your hair all up in a tight, neat bun. In fact, you wore your hair just like that the day he not-so-accidentally bumped into you at the cafe. Although he noticed you tried to mix it up a bit by letting some hair fall into your face which appeared to already be driving you nuts as you tried to tuck the soft locks behind your ear.

“Well don’t you look adorable.”

“Th---Thanks. You look really nice too.”

Curse you and your stupid stuttering. You gripped your clutch purse with white knuckles as you flashed him a bashful smile. This was going to be a long night that was probably going to leak into early morning when your butt would normally be in bed sleeping. Oh boy. You blinked when he suddenly leaned off the car, which was actually super nice by the way, and lifted his hand to reach out to you. Your heart pounding as you tried to figure out what he was doing.

“Just one thing I noticed here......”

The next thing you knew, your hair was falling and cascading all around you as he took out every bobby pin and the hair tie that was holding your perfect hair bun in place. Your mouth hanging open as he came back around to smile at you while holding all the hair accessories in his hands. Wow his hands were even pretty.....

“Jungkook!! I worked hard on that! Why’d you do that!?!?”

“You need to lighten up and let loose a little, cutie. You’re too uptight.”

Squaring your shoulders and folding your arms across you chest, you sported a loud pout before saying stubbornly,

“I am not uptight. This is just my unique style, okay?”

“Props for loving yourself but you’re too pretty to be dressing like your grandma. Come on. I know someone who can help us.”

You didn’t know whether you wanted to blush and giggle like a schoolgirl or punch him in the throat. He had just complimented you and insulted you all in one sentence. However, as he stood there smirking and opening the passenger door for you, you grumbled and muttered while climbing in,

“I don’t dress like my grandmother.”

Having no clue where he was taking you, you decided to focus on his appearance once again. Upon closer inspection, you noticed that he was actually wearing color. Not to mention that makeup. Dang. You wondered if someone had done it for him. Having nothing else better to do, you decided to try and get back at him by saying with a bit of attitude,

“I can’t believe you own something other than black.”

Your initial response was a soft snort of amusement. Sneaking a glance, you noticed his nose was scrunched up in that adorable bunny-like fashion and it made your heart leap. How could one man look so devilishly handsome and adorably cute all at the same time?? How?!

“If you can believe this, yellow is my favorite color.”

It was like staring at the biggest, loudest oxymoron you had ever laid eyes on. Jungkook, a man who was dark and mysterious, loved the color yellow? Yellow, one of the brightest colors imaginable. It just didn’t make any sense. Trying not to grin too much, you asked as casually as you could,

“Do you ever wear yellow?”

“Nah. I don’t think it looks right on me. I prefer sticking to dark colors.”

Now long over Jungkook’s little stunt of undoing all your hard work on your hair, you watched as he drove you both through a part of town you were unfamiliar with. Eventually, he parked along the side of the street and turned the engine off. With a wide smile and mischievous glint in his dark doe eyes, he announced happily,

“We’re here.”

Deciding it’d do no good to ask questions, you simply rolled your eyes while unbuckling yourself and climbing out. Once he had locked the car, he motioned for you to follow him up to a small and quaint looking storefront. It appeared to be a beauty boutique of some kind. Oh boy. You knew where this was going. So much for all your efforts to look nice. You totally didn’t dress like a grandma.......Did you???

Walking in, you listened to the bells chime against the door and took a moment to soak the place in. Yep. It was definitely a beauty boutique. There were two salon stations to the right and a couple mani pedi stations to the left. The decor was very......unique. You could only imagine who the store owner was and what they looked like. You jumped a bit when your date called out casually,

“Taehyung-ah! Get out here!”

“You brat! How dare you address me without honor......Ohh.”

Oh dear lord.

The man standing before you was......different. You didn’t know how else to say it without sounding rude. His attire screamed Arabian Nights with how baggy they were. Granted he pulled the look off really well. Glasses were perched on his nose but you had the distinct feeling those were just for looks as well. His eyes were sharp as they took you in; feeling like he was staring into your very soul.

“Tae, I need your help.”

“Yes I can see that.”

“I’m taking her to Hope World so.....work your magic, will you?”

“Ooohhh. Hobi hyung’s dance club, huh? You got it. I’ll fix her right up.”

“Yah! Will you two stop talking about me like I’m not literally standing right here?!”

With the two of them chuckling, you pouted and watched the male named Taehyung reach out for you and gently took both of your hands in his. Lifting one up to place a gentle kiss to your knuckles, he said with a charming smile,

“Don’t worry, love. You’re in good hands now. Come. Follow me to the back.”

Before following him, you looked over your shoulder to see a very smug looking Jungkook as he winked before turning away to lounge in one of the salon chairs. Jerk.

While you watched Taehyung flip through racks and racks of clothing, occasionally pulling an article out to inspect it only to put it right back, you noticed that he definitely had a natural talent for stuff like this. You could understand why Jungkook brought you here. Speaking of, it was Taehyung’s question that brought you out of your little daydream.

“So how do you know Jungkookie?”

“Oh um----We bumped into each other at a cafe and he gave me his business card. I had him check out my laptop earlier today because it’s been acting funny.”

“Hmm. What a fortunate coincidence for you, eh?”

You pouted when you realized he had just called you out on your lame and pathetic attempt to spend time with the boy. Had you really been that obvious? What if Jungkook realized it too? What if he knew all along your laptop was fine but was just playing along to......Ugh. You felt like such a loser. Your self-esteem now successfully shot all to hell, you suddenly turned on your heel and started to make your way out.

“Hey whoa whoa whoa. Don’t be like that. I was just teasing. Get back here. I have a job to do.”

You wanted to fight back. To rip your wrist out of his hold. But upon looking into the male’s eyes, you could spot sincerity and so you stayed. Silence followed as you watched Taehyung pick out piece after piece and you wondered how he could tell your sizes. Perhaps he was just that good. As he finally picked out a leather jacket, he said casually,

“Okay I think we’re ready. Be a doll and take these and try them on. The dressing room is just on the other side of this curtain here.”

Nodding in understanding, you carried the somewhat heavy pile of clothing and stepped through the curtain. Dang. There was a full length mirror on all three walls. Taking a deep breath, you placed the pile on the bench in front of you and started to shed your own clothing. Not gonna lie, you were a little hurt because you had put so much effort into your ensemble. In the same token, you knew darn well these weren’t clubbing clothes. So you couldn’t be too upset. But still, your pride was wounded.

“How do I look?”

“Like you were made for my little Jungkookie. He better have tissues ready because his nose is gonna bleed all over my damn floors.”

That wasn’t exactly the response you were expecting. Heat crawled up your neck and burned your cheeks to the tips of your ears. In all honesty, you had stared at yourself in the mirrors for quite a good few minutes before stepping out. It was like......playing dress up. Or putting on a Halloween costume. You looked so different but you knew it was you staring back.

“Thanks, Taehyung ssi.”

“Pffft. Please. You don’t need to use honorifics. It’s the punk outside who needs to use them. Come on. Let’s blow his mind.”

Feeling a smile spreading on your face, you nodded and allowed his hand to rest on your lower back as he guided you down the hall and back out into the open room. Your boots made soft thuds as you finally stood at the end of the hallway where the lighting of the store could wash over you.

Jungkook could have sported a boner right then and there. Had he not known how good Taehyung was at his job.

“Shit.”

There you stood looking absolutely perfect. Black boots that came up just over your knees and tied up the back. Legs clothed with super thin black stockings. Cute charcoal gray mini skirt that ruffled and came to your mid thighs. Black halter top that hugged your cleavage in all the right places but still kept things conservative. But his favorite piece of the whole thing was that jacket. Black and leather with belt straps and studs in all the right places.

Dear god he was in Heaven. It was like you were his dark angel here to take him to a sinful kind of paradise. Yet the shy smile and blush brought him back to reality. You were still that adorably shy girl who worked way too much and didn’t play enough. Hopefully tonight he’d change all of that. It was then that you shyly turned to the other male and asked timidly,

“What do I owe you, Taehyung ssi?”

“Oh my god. Get her out of here before I keep her all to myself. And take some pointers from her while you’re at it. She has way more manners than you do.”

“Will do. Thanks, Taehyung-ah.”

“Why you little bast---”

You were stunned as everything happened so fast. One second you were standing there watching the two boys interact and the next you were being dragged out of the boutique listening to the muffled cursing of one Kim Taehyung. You watched Jungkook snicker while he unlocked the car and once again held the passenger door open for you.

“If I had to take a guess, I’d say you enjoy messing with him.”

“Oh absolutely. And I can get away with it because I’m the baby and he loves me.”

“The baby?”

You watched him climb into the driver’s seat and start the car up once more. While he buckled himself in, he grinned and nodded while saying casually,

“Yeah. In our group of friends, I’m the youngest so that makes me the baby. Actually, the club we’re going to is owned by one of them. Hobi is a nice guy. If we’re lucky, he’ll be there and you’ll get to meet him.”

Nodding, you watched him put the car into gear and you were once again on the road. Seeing as how you didn’t get out much, you hadn’t really heard of this Club Hope World. You could only pray that Jungkook was right in saying that it was clean and strict on the rules. You were a good person with morals and you didn’t want to associate with things like underage drinking.

“Oh, and I meant to tell you, I’ll be the DD for tonight so try whatever you want. Hobi has some really nice cocktails. I don’t know if you like that kind of stuff or not but just throwing that out there.”

“Gosh I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a cocktail.”

“Well then tonight’s the night. Have whatever your heart desires, cutie. I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

You looked over just in time to see Jungkook flashing a wink in your direction and you immediately turned your head to look out the window; blush burning your skin. Getting drunk definitely wasn’t on your list for tonight. It was hard to tell what you’d do or say when you’re sober around him, let alone drunk.

It seemed like in no time at all, he was parking the car once more and helping you out like a real gentleman. You noticed his eyes looking you up and down once more and couldn’t help but smile. It was a mixture of pride and bashfulness as you liked his staring but it was also making you shy. It had definitely been awhile since you were out on the dating scene. But then again.......was this a date?

When it came time to enter, you were shocked how Jungkook jumped ahead of everyone else while tugging you along with him. You could hear the scoffs and snide remarks from people as your broad shouldered companion pushed through the crowd towards the entrance. Your one hand immediately going to your purse for your ID, you watched in astonishment as Jungkook merely exchanged nods with one of the bouncers and was let through and you along with him.

“Pays to be besties with the owner. So what do you wanna do first? Want to dance or maybe try a drink?”

You looked around in awe. It was plain to see why the place was called Hope World. Unlike most clubs, this place was bright and full of color. Colors that made your heart happy and filled you with.....well.....hope. It was like walking into some kind of spin off of Candy Land. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. You were glad you decided to see this through.

“Um.....how about----”

“Hey! Jungkookie! Over here!”

You look over to your left and despite all the people, you could make out someone, actually two someones, waving their arms up in the air in an almost desperate and embarrassing attempt to get the male’s attention. Looking back at your.....date? You notice him smirking in amusement before turning to look down at you.

“Come on. Meet more of my friends.”

It was amazing how.....comfortable....you were with having Jungkook’s large and warm hand on your back. It felt almost natural, really. Walking through the crowds of people, you notice how the two boys kept flickering their gazes back and forth between Jungkook and yourself. There was something about their smiles that seemed......mischievous.

“Cutie, this is Jimin hyung and Hoseok hyung. Hoseok is the one I call Hobi.”

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Oh god, Kook. She’s adorable. Where’d you find her?”

Hoseok, who you remembered Jungkook mentioning being the owner of the club, walked up to you and you were shocked at how okay you were with him gently squishing your cheeks together. It was an act of endearment for sure but it still took you a bit by surprise. Seems like this guy was quite the comfortable and social butterfly who could easily approach people. Strangers and acquaintances alike.

“At a cafe. We bumped into each other. Just so happens she needed my services. So she’s paying me by being my date tonight.”

Did he have to be so bloody honest????

Thank goodness for the different colored lights that hung from above. At least they could help you hide your raging blush. Looking over at the male named Jimin, you noticed him smiling a warm and knowing smile. It was almost like he was staring at you in fondness. Smiling back rather timidly, you listened to him speak up.

“Our Jungkookie is quite talented with technology, isn’t he?”

You nodded bashfully and subconsciously leaned further into the male who apparently was indeed your date. So did that mean Jungkook considered this a date? Gah. You were probably thinking too much into it. That is.....till you felt his hand leave the small of your back only to wrap around your waist in a protective manner. It was then that Hobi dramatically placed a hand over his heart and looked away while practically shouting,

“Oh my lord! They’re too cute! My eyes are burning!”

While you were a blushing mess and only wanted to hide in Jungkook’s chest, said male and Jimin exchanged matching looks with eye rolls and everything. Chuckling, Jimin nodded his head backwards towards the colorful floors of the club and asked Jungkook casually,

“Wanna battle? It’s been awhile.”

Looking up at the youngest male, you watched a smirk spread across his face and dang that was hot. You felt you were going to overheat as arousal stirred in your lower tummy. And then he was looking down at you and out of reflex, you gulped; suddenly very thirsty......in more ways than one.

“Want to watch me wipe the floor with this hyung?”

“Pffft. Please. Better have an ambulance on standby because I’m gonna break this delinquent.”

You were actually giggling behind your hand but the sounds died in your throat when you felt Jungkook give your waist a small and gentle squeeze. Looking back up at him in curiosity, you noticed his eyes and his expression took on a slightly more serious shade.

“Stay with Hobi hyung, okay? Don’t wander off alone.”

Well that was odd. Blinking up at him in curiosity and now confusion, you nodded all the same and you watched him visibly relax. With him flashing you a brighter smile, he leaned in and surprised you with a kiss to your forehead. Dang. You were gonna pass out for sure if he kept this up. Seeing your flustered state, he simply winked and started to follow his hyung over to the dance floor where the dance battles were held.

Immediately the crowd was going crazy as they recognized what was about to happen. You felt an arm snake around your waist and instantly tensed up. Looking over to your right, you quickly relaxed when you realized it was just Hoseok. His smile calmed your heart and you just knew his intentions were pure. He stared at you as if he were staring at a younger sister.

“You’ll love this. These two keep me in business. If you know what I mean.”

Curiosity and confusion filled you once more as you turned from the smiling club owner, to the two males standing a few feet apart from each other. Why was your heart racing? Was this what an adrenaline rush felt like? That very same heart skipped a beat when you noticed Jungkook flashing you another wink; almost laughing when some of the girls in front of you thought it was for them and they freaking swooned.

And then the music started. It was like watching an angel and a devil, yin and yang. Jimin was dressed in some kind of graffiti styled, off white denim ensemble while Jungkook was dressed in his signature dark colors. His jacket made him sparkle like the rarest jewel. You had eyes only for him as you watched him take his turn; seeing as how Jimin had won the coin toss to go first.

His body was so.....fluid. The moves he made. If you had tried to pull any of those moves off, you would have broken every bone in your body. But not Jungkook. And not Jimin either. You had to admit, Jimin was pretty dang good. But your eyes kept flickering back to your date. Even when all he was doing was standing there and grinning like a fool at his friend and opponent.

Jimin’s moves were more exact and precise while still being fluid. You could tell he had went to school for dancing. It was so obvious from the way his body moved and his hands caressed his own physique. You noticed that he was using his smaller body build to his advantage. Sometimes it paid off to be small. You would know. While you may have been extremely biased, you could appreciate Jimin’s style of dance.

Meanwhile, Jungkook’s moves were more......strong? It was like he was fluid but his moves were rough around the edges. He was going at it harder than ever as it was his turn once again. It was a wonder neither one of the two didn’t pop a socket. You didn’t even know the human body could move like that without breaking something.

At one point in time, you heard Hoseok excusing himself to take a call. Granted you weren’t worried, but Jungkook’s words from earlier swirled in your head. He didn’t want you wandering off alone. But why? Maybe he just didn’t want to lose sight of you in the crowd? Hmm. Weird. Shrugging to yourself, you continued to watch but quickly became aware that you were in dire need of something to drink.

Taking a quick trip to the bar by yourself wouldn’t hurt. You’d be back before the dance battle was even over. Solidifying your decision, you made your way for the bar where all kinds of glass bottles were on display in the background. Hmm. Jungkook said you should try a cocktail. And he did say that he’d be your DD for the night. Smiling as you felt yourself slowly loosening up, you nodded at the bartender who you noticed sported cute dimples when he smiled back.

“What’ll it be, beautiful?”

Trying to ignore the flirty mannerisms of the bartender, you smiled up at the board instead. Gosh it had been so long since you had a drink. You wouldn’t even know what to pick. Quickly looking back down at the male, you smiled sheepishly and replied over the sound of the music,

“Something fruity. Surprise me.”

“One fruity surprise, coming up!”

It all happened so fast and you were completely unsuspecting; having been wrapped back up in watching the two boys still battling it out to see who would surrender first. You could see sweat pouring down both their faces as neither one refused to bow out. They both wanted to be the victor but someone was going to have to lose eventually.

“Here you go, babe. Enjoy!”

But you were still watching. No worries. The glass of fruity, alcoholic goodness would still be there. The bartender had moved on to another customer and you were still watching your date like a lovesick puppy. It was just the right amount of time for something to go wrong. Terribly wrong.

Deciding you had deprived your body of liquid long enough, you turned around and grabbed your glass before walking back to the crowd. Sipping the drink, you realized the guy behind the bar knew what he was doing. Wow! This tasted amazing!

When you returned to your spot in the thicket of bodies, you noticed Hoseok looking from panicked to relieved the second he saw you. Smiling apologetically, you allowed him to reel you in once more and from the way his arm was hung protectively around you, you weren’t going anywhere any time soon. No more wandering off for you tonight.

“I let you win.”

“Pffft!! You’re a terrible liar, Kookie. I won that fight fair and square. Didn’t I, cutie?”

As you continued to sip on your drink, you simply shrugged and smiled around the small straw. You could hear Jungkook hissing a yes in victory; saying something about his girl staying by his side no matter what. It made you giggle and you leaned happily against Hoseok. Wow. This drink was really really good. You could have three more glasses and be happy as a clam.

Eventually Jungkook took you off the boy’s hands and you were happily leaning against him; tipsy as you grind your body against his own. You really weren’t much of a dancer but the alcohol in this drink was now rushing through your veins and controlling you. Granted perhaps you were a lightweight, but Jungkook knew even just one drink couldn’t make someone this......intoxicated.

“How about we go sit down for a minute, hmm?”

“Nnnnooooooouuuuuuu. I don wanna!”

Gosh you were too cute. If he thought you were adorable sober, you were twice as much while drunk. Smiling at your pout, he gently shook his head and started to penguin waddle the two of you over to a table that was thankfully empty. The cute walk had you giggling with your head thrown back; nearly knocking him in the chin.

“Jungkookieeeee. I don’t feel good. I----”

And the last thing you remember was the drink slipping out of your hands and a pair of strong arms holding you up before you could fall. You were pretty sure it was Jungkook’s voice calling out your name but it was like your mouth was full of cotton as was your brain.

Then your whole world went black.

#mafia!bts #mafia!jungkook #mafia!kook #gang!bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook bts #bts #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #s;girlmeetsevil #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts scenario #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #taehyung x oc #jimin x oc

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moonlit-seren · 5 years

Text

Reasons To Stay || Jung Yunho x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Y/n’s been working for one of the biggest news companies in Seoul for five years now, and like many others she/he wants a change in scenery. However, there are a handful of things keeping her/him from leaving, and one of them came in the form of an accidental blind date.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: SOFTNESS OVERDOSE- None

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: I’m posting my very first Ateez imagine on my two week anniversary as a new Atiny. I’m so psyched to be a part of this growing family and I’d like to thank @every1studio for welcoming me into it UwU. The main character’s best friend was inspired by this ray of sunshine right here @rubyyong, I wanted to show her a little appreciation for being one of the many writers who influence me to become better and let her know that I’m here supporting her from afar. So yeah, happy reading. <3

꧁Masterlist꧂

I sighed, glancing through one of the floor length windows adjacent to my desk. It was a particularly nice day outside, the fluffy clouds casting dark shadows on the world while the sun lit it up with a brilliant glow. The contrast was nearly eerie, like yin and yang, both the sun and the clouds out of our reach yet seemingly tangible if you lay on your back and reach your hands for the sky.

The streets below seemed busier than usual, the already terrible traffic appeared far more congested than normal. Due to the lack of movement in the streets, the multitude of car horns blared in a messy diarray with one another, the loud sounds varying in pitch but all sharing one thing in common. They wouldn’t stop.

Looking down at the vehicles made me glad that the office’s walls were soundproof, otherwise everyone in the building would have gone deaf by now. However, there were a few unlucky people on the street who had to endure cacophony of car horns as their speed quickened while walking to whatever destination they had in mind.

“It’s terrible isn’t it?” asked one of my coworkers, the newly promoted intern seeming to appear out of the blue. Her name was Chloe and she was one of the few reasons why I hadn’t quit my job yet in this suffocating office building. We worked for one of Seoul’s biggest news companies, her in the creative department and me in the editorial department.

Our departments were located on different floors, so it surprised me to see her standing here, one hand fiddling with her ID badge and the other resting on her hip. Her eyes were trained on the streets below like mine were, before fluttering up to meet mine while waiting for my response.

I simply nodded as my eyebrows furrowed, hoping that the traffic wouldn’t be this bad when I had to drive back to my apartment in the evening. It already took a solid half an hour to drive back home without any traffic jams, and just imagining trying to get back while moving at a snail’s pace… Well, I honestly didn’t even want to imagine that.

“I heard someone in the elevator say that the city closed a few roads to repair them, so that must be the reason why there’s so much traffic,” I stated, eyebrows arched and lips pursed in an expression that read ‘I don’t really know’ while I shrugged to emphasize my lack of knowledge over the situation.

Chloe nodded as if to show that she’d agreed with my thoughts, her sleek high ponytail bouncing with the movement. She was wearing a knee length, peach colored sundress today, with soft magenta roses littering the garment like powdered sugar on freshly baked cupcakes. Her excellent sense of fashion always brought a bright burst of liveliness into the office, regardless of whether she was in a black, leather jacket or a pastel blue sweater top.

The comparison I always made, much to her distaste, was a small, yet thriving plant amidst a world of manmade objects and other inanimate items. I thought it was fitting. She just found it cliché.

It was a little off how we ended up as friends. Originally I thought that it’d be best to keep my distance, as bubbly people tend to get annoying after a while. Although, when I was asked to show her around the building, I realized that her perkiness was a breath of fresh air compared to the droopy gazes of the sleepy workers mulling about on my floor.

She was a ray of sunshine that lit my dim world and inspired me to let loose and remember what it’s like seeing things from an optimistic point of view. To put it simply, she helped me learn to live again, something I had forgotten when I reached adulthood.

Suddenly seeming to remember why she was up here, Chloe let out a small “Oh, right” while snapping her fingers before turning her body away from the window to face me instead. “I just wanted to inform you that it was lunch break, since you tend to forget while you’re immersed in the fancy world of grammar and punctuation.”

Her wild hand gestures accompanying the last three words of her sentence had me rolling my eyes. It was a known fact that no one on my floor, except for me, actually enjoyed correcting the numerous grammatical errors of others.

I couldn’t blame them though, since most of us were just here to make a living. Which brings me to my second reason for tolerating my job. I used to love the idea of doing something in this field for a living, words always had a way to entrance me in them which explains why I practically lived in libraries growing up.

I practically jumped at the opportunity when I was offered this job, but after five years of being stuck here, the magic of it all faded away into oblivion. Originally I was only working part time, since I was in my second year of college, but when I graduated I was given a full time job.

Of course, when I entered the company, I started at the very bottom of the corporate ladder. My main job was to be an errand girl like Chloe was before her promotion. I won’t even lie, it was absolutely horrible, and I know the girl in front of me would agree.

I can’t even recall how many cups of coffee just a single worker needed, as they would all fall asleep otherwise. In the first few hours of the morning, the demand for coffee was so great that I had petitioned for there to be five coffee machines rather than the two that we had.

Needless to say, I went home everyday with at least one new burn from the boiling hot liquid I had to carry around, and my hands really weren’t a pretty sight due to them. Thankfully I learned my lesson after the first week, opting to buy gloves that would help protect my hands and a bright red stop sign I attached to my tray so that people would stop running into me.

It was quite the sight, and really just a mortifying memory I have ingrained in the back of my head. Though Chloe didn’t have it as bad, shortly after I was promoted the company bought three more coffee machines as requested and hired more people so that there were more sets of hands dealing everyone their daily doses of caffeine.

Which brings me back to present day, as a 22 year old who seemed to age mentally far beyond my actual years living on this earth.

“Yeah, I didn’t notice the time. Do you want to go get a drink with me? I heard a new cafe opened up a few blocks down and so far there have only been positive reviews from the people I’ve asked about it,” I asked, kind of hoping that Chloe would agree to go, because who wouldn’t want some company?

However, I could see her response before she verbalized it in the way that she furrowed her eyebrows with a slight pout. “I can’t, there’s a new batch of interns that came in just yesterday, and for some reason none of them know how to work a coffee machine.”

I laughed at her predicament, imagining Chloe surrounded by a small group of college students too used to buying an overpriced coffee at a local cafe than to make their own brews with a machine.

“Okay, have fun,” I teased, standing up to stretch my back and roll a few cricks out of my neck. Chloe cringed at the little pops and cracks, reaching behind me to help pick up my bag that strewn across the back of my chair. It was pretty warm outside still, being in the early months of fall, which is why I didn’t have a coat with me.

I thanked her as I slipped the bag over my shoulder, before walking away with a slight wave. Since Chloe wouldn’t be going with me today, I decided to get her something at the cafe since I knew her taste in pastries and drinks quite well.

The elevator ride was pretty quick, albeit rather crowded as large groups of people were also on their way out to enjoy their break somewhere else.

The company was rather generous with its workers, allowing them a full hour long break before returning back to their 9-5 schedule. Maybe that was my third reason for staying at the company despite being sick of the mountain of words I had to go through daily.

The elevator reached the lobby floor with a small ding, the door nearly closing on me as everyone shuffled out of the metal box. I had allowed myself to get trapped near the back of the elevator as people piled in, which was why I had been the last to leave.

The front lobby was rather big, with a fancy granite front desk with gold accenting, and several marble columns spread around the floor to support the high ceiling.

To the right of the front desk was a small sitting area marked by a sprawling beige rug, dark leather couches, and a bamboo table resting in the middle. To the left of the front desk was a small water fountain with a family of koi fish lazily swimming about the bed of pennies and nickels thrown in.

I never really understood the point of throwing coins into fountains. People were basically wasting change, poisoning the fish, and drowning their elusive dreams in a supposed wishing well.

Still, I never voiced my thoughts out loud. After all, I didn’t want to crush the pure wishes of the children begging for coins from their parents in order to perform the simple act of hoping.

Not to mention that I had also fit into that crowd as a young girl, making desperate wishes to get the boy I liked to like me back. Of course, they were all left unheard, or maybe even ignored, which only served to fuel my distaste for making wishes on copper coins.

I’d much rather save my change to tip baristas, as I finally understood their struggle after having made hundreds of cups of coffee myself. It was a grueling task and I couldn’t help but sympathize with anyone who had to do what I did as an intern for a living.

Speaking of which, I made my way out of the front door of the office building, immediately cringing at the racket of noise that met my ears. Much to my bittersweet relief, the cars seemed to be moving a tad bit faster than earlier.

Albeit, the new set of cars didn’t sound any different from the last set, with their loud beeping at the mini traffic jams that hadn’t quite thinned out yet.

I reached into my purse and pulled out my earbuds, skilled fingers working quickly to untangle the messy knots the cord had fallen into. There had never been a day where I found them neatly folded like I had left them, so untangling them had become a regular part of my daily routine.

It didn’t take very long, and soon enough I had them plugged into my phone and placed in my ears. Going to my usual playlist, a slow smile spread across my face at the song that had arisen first by chance.

The noise of the car horns completely drowned out with the melody playing in my ears, and I happily mouthed along to the lyrics when the sidewalk before me cleared of any prying eyes as I walked down it.

The only people who could see me making a slight fool out of myself was the people in the cars adjacent to me, nevertheless, they all seemed far too preoccupied with their own lives to notice. Some were on their madly typing away at their phones, others messing with toys they had received with their fast food, and in the driver’s case: vigorously slamming their fists on their horns as if it would help resolve the situation.

“Snapping, snapping,” I whispered softly, eyes taking on a playful lilt as I fell into step with the beat of the song. Despite wanting to burst out dancing, I restrained myself as my mouth snapped closed with an audible click when a figure appeared several feet in front of me.

I wasn’t quite ready to let go of my dignity to the extent of having a little dance break in the middle of the sidewalk of a bustling city. I could practically see steam coming out of the nose of the young woman in front of me, so I popped out an earbud wondering what she could be fuming about.

“Stupid date left me waiting there… Screw men… If I ever get my hands on him… He’ll be dead meat…”

The rest of her words faded with the growing distance between us, having already passed by her as she was walking off in the opposite direction.

“She must’ve been stood up,” I thought, almost pitying her if not for her horrid attitude and snobby scowl. Her date might of had a reason for not showing up, who knows?

Realizing that I had reached my destination, I looked up to check the name of the cafe to be sure. The sign was done in a beautiful gradient with a faint blush pink fading into a vibrant fuchsia. Looking out front, there were bright posters taped to the windows advertising popular drinks and desserts.

Just from the prices on the posters, I could this was a higher class joint, as there was even a small seating area outside with large, turquoise blue umbrellas shielding the tables from the sun. Not to mention that the place also offered breakfast and lunch despite just being a cafe.

In spite of the high prices, I stepped through the door, taking notice of the white daisies growing in the pastel green window boxes. The golden bells above the door chimed, notifying my entrance.

Like always, I was instantly hit with the heavenly scent of freshly ground cinnamon and coffee beans that most cafes seemed to boost.

After becoming employed, I never really had to worry about spending a little extra on a higher quality drink everyday. The high paycheck was the fourth reason why I found the idea of leaving my job so difficult. Besides, It never hurt to have a little extra cash in my bank account in case of a financial emergency.

Slowly making my way to a booth, I took in the interior of the cafe. The walls of the joint were painted the same color as the window boxes, with accenting lining the corners of the spacy room matched the color of the umbrellas outside. The round tables had a translucent glass top with black metal legs, and the chairs sitting around them were made of the same black metal twisted into an intricate design.

I highly doubted the large jewels in the back of the chairs were made of real glass, though they shone the same way a real gem would in the soft lighting coming from the beautiful light fixtures dangling from the ceiling.

There was a marble front desk where the cashier was incase someone just wanted to grab a takeout coffee and/or pastry. Speaking of which, there were numerous display cases lining the marble counters filled with various treats ranging from rainbow colored macarons to cream filled mochi.

Although, there were waiters and waitresses that came to you if you get their attention, in case you have the time to sit about, which is what I choose to do. Standing in line in front of the cashier just seemed like far too much work today, so I decided to just skip the wait.

I sat down in one of the empty booths lining the wall of the cafe. They also had glass table tops, however they were rectangular and the seats were made of artificial black leather the same shade as the chairs in the center of the room.

Suddenly a tall figure burst through the front door, the bells in front of the door crashing together rather harshly unlike the gentle tingle they let out when I walked through.

The male seemed to be around my age, though it was rather hard to tell if he was older or younger considering how his youthful face was paired with a ridiculously tall stature.

The straps of his beige jacket fluttered behind him in the small gust of his abrupt entrance, nearly getting caught in the closing door. His almost puppy like features were framed was light blue hair that looked softer than the clouds I had been admiring in the morning.

I was suddenly struck with the creeping urge to run my hands through the strands, causing an immediate flush to race up my neck as I averted my gaze.

“What am I thinking?” I thought, embarrassment and guilt coursing through my veins. This was precisely why I avoided attractive men like my life depended on it, because I knew as a matter of fact that my dignity did.

The moment my eyes settled on someone who was remotely handsome, my heart raced so quickly that I felt a love struck school girl all over again. Nonetheless, I could never keep my eyes off beautiful specimen for long, hence why my gaze subconsciously traveled back to the male standing at the doorway.

His eyes had been roaming the room, his shoulders sinking dejectedly as he didn’t seem to see who or what he was looking for. However, when he continued to look around his eyes met mine, much to my horror.

His eyes lit up, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape, as my eyes snapped back to my lap. A string of curses flew across the forefront of my mind at getting caught staring, as I desperately hoped with all of my being that he wouldn’t walk over.

Of course the heavens ignored my plead.

The cute male slid into the seat across from mine with an apologetic smile. Which struck me as odd as I should have been the apologetic one. Yet the words that slipped out of his lips were far odder, in my opinion.

“I’m so sorry for being late, the traffic today truly was horrible and I ended up stuck in this one traffic jam for…” he started, trailing off as he lifted his wrist to check his watch for the time. “An hour.”

“Huh?” I asked, completely confused. An extremely attractive stranger suddenly appeared out of nowhere, approached me out of all the pretty girls sitting alone in this cafe, and started apologizing when we had never met each other before?

I was about as lost as the person across from me was hot. Like dang, his visuals really attracted the curious gaze of all the aforementioned ladies sitting around the room.

Suddenly something nagged at the back of my mind, the vivid image of the woman from early resurfacing from my memories.

Oh.

He must have thought that I was his blind date.

I opened my mouth to explain the situation, but before I had the chance to collect my thoughts, the guy started talking once again. He had been taking off his coat so he didn’t see the way I had been gaping while pondering how to tell him he had mistaken me for someone else.

He looked up at me, eyes widening when he realized that he never introduced himself. A spellbinding smile spreading across his soft features as he held his hand across the table for a handshake. “Right, my name is Yunho, it’s nice to meet you.”

I hesitantly took his hand, introducing myself with a shaky smile. One look into his warm eyes and I knew that I couldn’t break it to him that his real date had left like a fiery hurricane while spitting out curses like a tasteless rapper.

Yunho repeated my name slowly, as if the savor each and every syllable with a thoughtful smile. It was clear that he was about to drop a cliché pickup line from the way his eyes sparkled mischievously, however, that didn’t soften the impact as my cheeks flushed red. “What a beautiful name.”

What he did next completely caught me off guard as he started mumbling to himself with a sly smile. “I wonder what our ship name would be…”

Deciding that my heart wouldn’t be able to take anymore of his cheesiness, I waved one of the waiters over.

“Ready to order?” Asked the waiter, his ears tinting red when I directed my gaze at him. His grip tightened a little on his mini clipboard and pen, eyes averting to Yunho instead.

“How cute,” I thought, slightly flattered over his actions. Although I never really dated before, I could recognize that smitten expression anywhere. It was then that I recalled that I never actually looked at the small menu, however, that didn’t turn out to be a problem as Yunho ordered for the both of us.

“Have you been here before?” I asked, surprised because I never saw him look at the menu either before the waiter walked away. The cafe opened a few days ago, so it wasn’t entirely unbelievable that he had gone before, though I didn’t think that was the case.

“No, I just ordered the special today if that’s okay with you,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. His shy smile was a stark contrast to the confident front he had thrown up while flirting with me.

I smiled, nodding to assure that I didn’t mind as I would’ve done the same thing. From his timid gaze, I could tell that he never really went out on dates, which greatly relieved me as I hadn’t either.

The waiter came back around again in a few minutes with two plates of omelets with hot cheese oozing out of the seams and juicy, cubed tomatoes peeking through pale yellow egg. On the side of both plates were small bowls of freshly cut fruit topped with little mint sprigs.

It gave off a very insta worthy aesthetic, so I fished out my phone before taking a bite, raising the camera. A smile unknowingly spread across my face at how at peace Yunho looked with the warm afternoon sun perfectly catching the soft curves of his full cheeks while simultaneously dusting golden flakes into his umber eyes.

I lifted my camera a little further, so that it still captured the plate before me but also included Yunho’s adorably focused face. His eyes snapped up at the sound of the camera clicking, fork dangling an inch away from his mouth as I had caught him midbite.

I put my phone away, bashfully mumbling that he looked like an angel glowing in the sunlight like that and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to capture the moment. He blinked a few times in surprise, before laughing softly.

“You should’ve told me beforehand, I could’ve posed,” he teased, cheekily wiggling two peace signs in front of his eyes before drawing up two finger hearts.

I blushed, internally cooing at how cute he looked with such an innocent sparkle in his eye that I thought only existed in children. He was everything he looked like at that moment. A complete and utter angel who radiated purity under the glimmering sun.

Deciding to get something to drink, we called the waiter over once more, who whipped out his mini notepad habitually. And like earlier, he refused to meet my gaze for long, something both Yunho and I noticed.

Yunho flashed me a wink, nudging his head subtly at the waiter as if we weren’t on a date ourselves. I hid a giggle behind my hand at his goofy antics, quickly returning my arm back to the table when the waiter glanced up at me for a second.

“I’ll take two bubble teas with normal tapioca,” I requested, biting back a smile at the bewildered look Yunho shot me. He asked for an iced latte, eyes never leaving mine as the waiter walked away.

“Do you really like bubble tea that much?” He asked, a little awestruck. It wouldn’t have been all that surprising if I did, since everyone on Earth had one big craving they could never get enough of. So, I nodded firmly, looking him dead in the eye with a stoic “yes”.

He looked scared for a moment as if worried he said something wrong and at that I couldn’t hide my snicker.

“I do, but the second cup isn’t for me. I promised a friend that I’d bring her back something since she couldn’t go out for her break,” I explained, smiling cordially as his expression melted back into its usual peaceful bliss.

“How thoughtful,” he whispered, but I heard his sweet words as my disappearing blush suddenly bloomed all over again. I chose to ignore his comment, eyes flashing up to the waiter who reappeared once more with our drinks and a plate of bite size sugar cookies.

He placed all three cups down before putting down the plate with a quiet clinking sound. “Here’s a complimentary plate of sugar cookies for all customers who come during our opening week. Enjoy.”

And with that, he was gone again, almost tripping over himself in his haste to get away.

“Does he think I have the bubonic plague?” I wondered aloud, despite knowing why he was in such a rush. It was written all over the back of his neck and the tips of his ears in various hues of red.

“Maybe you should ask for his number,” mused Yunho, still very clearly amused over the waiter’s crush on me. I narorred my eyes at him, normally if a date encouraged you to pick up someone else then that’s a telltale sign that they’re obviously not interested in a relationship with you.

However, I could tell that Yunho meant everything that he was saying lightheartedly, so I decided to tease him back. “No thanks, I’d rather have yours.”

I could tell the unexpected flirt stunned Yunho, as his jaw dropped. I winked at him the same way he winked at me when the waiter came over, enjoying his flustered reaction. Despite the fact that Yunho would tower over me if we both stood up, he looked no bigger than a child at the moment shrinking into himself with a fiery blush. “Oh.”

I loved how table had turned, with how many times he caused my cheeks to tint pink. It was a small stroke of success, but I didn’t have the heart to continue. Taking the initiative, I asked him about himself, wanting to spend the time we had together developing a close friendship since he seemed to be a fun person to have around.

It wasn’t long before we fell into a deep conversation about ourselves. I learned that he was indeed younger than me by two years, and managed to convince him to call me noona but drop all other honorifics.

Honestly if anyone had told me that I’d end up on a date with someone younger than me, I wouldn’t have believed them. It was always a condition on my ideal type list that the male had to be older. Yet the ridiculous list completely faded away into nothingness in the back of my mind the longer I talked to Yunho.

Instead a new list wrote itself with only two conditions on it: His eyes had to sparkle like a galaxy of stars being reflected on a still lake and his smile had to hold the same warmth as a steaming cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter night.

In other words it was describing the person sitting right in front of me, as he threw his head back, laughing at one of the many comical stories I told him about my fanatical college days.

He was currently in college right now, majoring in the same subject that I majored in. It was nice having someone relate so hard to my past struggles, as he was going through the same things I had gone through with crazy strict teachers and boisterous students marching down the halls like they owned the school.

In return I told him about how I worked as an editor, along with a few facts about me that few people knew or cared to ask about, such as my lowkey love for the artist Chungha.

Yunho said that he had heard a few of her songs before too, leading us down another conversation about our tastes in music and other pop culture.

Sometime during the conversation, Yunho’s phone started to ring as he excused himself from the table. I called the waiter over again during that time, asking for a small takeout bag.

I stuffed the rest of the cookies into it, deciding to take them back to Chloe along with the drink. Pausing for a bit, I pulled out one cookie and placed it back onto the plate incase Yunho wanted one more.

It wasn’t long before he came back, brushing off the topic when I asked him if the call was important. I didn’t want to invade his privacy, hence why I didn’t push the topic. In fact, I only asked because I didn’t want to keep him if there was some sort of emergency.

We picked up on the tail of our last conversation, reengaging in a passionate debate over which Harry Potter book was the best and other things of the sort.

Before I knew it, half an hour past and my break was about to end in twenty minutes. As much as I enjoyed learning about Yunho’s love for sports, fascination over the Harry Potter, and sweet but wild group of friends, I didn’t even want to think about how my manager would breath down my back if I came back late.

Looking down to see my empty cup, I realized with a start that my hand had somehow ended up in Yunho’s. During our conversation his hand had gotten closer and closer to mine, as I had left it lying on the table. I didn’t remember when that had changed, from the tips of his fingers brushing mine to slipping his hand on top of my own.

I wasn’t sure if he noticed this, but when I tried to remove my hand back from his grip, his hold only tightened as his thumb brushed the back of my hand. It became clear that it had been quite intentional.

“Hey, Yunho?” I asked, eyes lifting from our hands up to his face.

“Yeah?” He asked, sweet smile never leaving his lips before the corner of his lips quirked up into a small smirk. It was clear that he was only teasing me by not letting go, as I uncomfortably shifted in my chair.

Deciding not to mention it to save a little bit of my pride, I glanced over at the antique clock on the opposite wall. “My lunch break is nearly over, I have to go.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of my statement, reaching over with his free hand to sling his coat over his arm. “Is it close to here?”

“Yeah, just a ten minute walk away.”

He got up, pulling me up with my hand in his. Before I could comprehend what he was doing, he intertwined our fingers, taking the last sugar cookie off the plate and stuffing it in my mouth to muffle my protests.

My ears were burning scarlet as he led me out of the cafe, pouting slightly as I chewed. This guy seriously… A question floated up, bubbling through my mouth as I looked up at Yunho with furrowed eyebrows. “Did we just dine and dash?”

Yunho shook his head with a little laugh, eyes shifting down to meet mine before looking forward again. “No, I covered the bill earlier.”

That had me pause in my step, causing Yunho to come to a stop too since our hands were intertwined. I don’t recall ever receiving the bill at our table, nor did I hear Yunho say that he was going up front to pay, otherwise I would’ve forced him to split the bill. Although, there was that one time he left to take a call…

That was when the realization of what had happened dawned on me and from Yunho’s knowing smile he could tell that I had figured it out. “You didn’t.”

“But, I did.” he chuckled once more, pulling me forward as he began to walk again. It was clear that he didn’t actually know where we were going, so I widened my stride a little so that we would be walking side by side. It was rather sweet how he intended to walk me back to my office, the same way a guy would take a date home.

Before we got far, my phone went off, the familiar tune of Chungha’s debut song filling the silence between us. My cheeks flushed pink at Yunho’s teasing gaze, deepening as he teased, “Didn’t you say you were just a minor fan?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I brushed him off, excusing myself to take the call. The caller ID read ‘Chlo~’ with a couple of red hearts after it.

“Where are you? You’re usually back by now!” Exclaimed Chloe from the other side of the line, the faint bubbling in the background signifying that she was currently in the lobby near the fountain.

“Sorry, I lost track of time,” I apologized, smiling sheepishly despite the fact that she couldn’t see me. I heard Chloe sigh, telling me to hurry up and get back because ‘she missed me’ before hanging up.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, before swiftly making my way back to Yunho. “Sorry about that, my coworker was fretting over the fact that I wasn’t back yet.”

Yunho shook his head to dismiss my apology, saying not to worry about it since he was the one taking up my time.

Suddenly, a familiar voice could be heard from the distance coming closer and closer. “Stupid day… No, stupid date… Ditched by a guy now ditched by my clutch… I must have left if in that stupid cafe.”

The girl from earlier appeared in front of us as she rounded the corner, with her head down as she appeared to be typing away angrily on her phone. Pure and sheer panic coursed through my veins at the sight of her. If she was indeed who I thought she was, then the moment she opened her mouth, I’d be exposed.

However, before I could do anything, she slammed in Yunho’s chest due to not watching where she was going. Yunho’s hands flew to her shoulders to steady her, wincing at how he hadn’t seen her coming either since he had been looking at me.

“Watch where you’re- Oh,” she trailed off, eyes widening when she lifted her head up and saw Yunho’s face for the first time. It was almost comical how Yunho could attract the interest of everyone around him without even trying, me being included.

Her hands slowly slipped up to his arms, squeezing lightly while a flirtatious smile replaced her scowl. Since she was so close to Yunho, her back was to me and couldn’t see what I was doing.

Despite being wary of the situation, I couldn’t help but let out an over exaggerated, but silent, gagging noise. I muffled my own laughter at the act with the palm of my hand, however, Yunho didn’t have the liberty to, which was why he couldn’t hide his chuckle.

The girl clinging onto him was confused, but somehow took that as a positive sign as she started to bat her freakishly long eyelashes at him. “Hey, aren’t you Yunho? My name is Hayoung, I’m pretty sure a guy from my class set us up on a date. What was his name again… Junhao?”

I felt like my heart had stopped at her words, hands becoming cold and clammy as I looked at Yunho. Would he get mad at me? Maybe even leave and go on the date that he missed with Hayoung? In my defense I had tried to tell him that I wasn’t his date, though to be fair I really could have tried harder.

Still, Yunho didn’t notice my terrified gaze, instead looking at Hayoung’s hands which were shamelessly feeling up his biceps. He reached up to pry her hands off of him, stepping back to put some distance between the two of them.

“Yeah, that’s me, though I don’t think it’s appropriate to hang off a guy in front of his date,” he commented, shocking me to my core. Yunho finally looked at me with a soft smile, taking one of my hands in his once more.

Hayoung’s wide eyes weren’t nearly as large as mine as we were both baffled over what had just happened. My eyes kept scanning over Yunho’s face to see if I could get a read over his thoughts, yet all I could see in his eyes was the same warmth they always held.

He squeezed my hand in response, assuring me that he didn’t regret his actions as he turned back to look at a gaping Hayoung.

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we really need to go,” Yunho stated, quickly leading us away from the fuming girl.

Once we reached my office building, I stopped in front of it, saying that this was me. I gently pulled my hand out of his, shyly brushing a stray strand of hair out of my eyes.

Yunho, tucked both of his hands into his pockets as he stood in front of me, not quite wanting to leave, yet not having a valid reason to stay.

I took that as my que to ask the question burning in the back of my mind. “You didn’t seem very surprised at Hayoung’s appearance, did you know I wasn’t your date?”

Yunho nodded with a guilty smile, reaching up to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Yeah, the call I took earlier was from my friend Jongho, saying that Hayoung called chewing his ear off. I also may or may not have known what she looked like beforehand…”

My jaw dropped at his confession, and to think that I had worried over nothing. “You knew and yet you approached me out of the blue? Why in the world would you do something like that? Not saying that I didn’t enjoy your company, but that’s kinda creepy you know…”

“Sorry, you were just the most attractive person I’ve ever seen in my life. Not to mention the fact that you seemed to be alone in the cafe,” Yunho apologized, eyes dropping to the floor as he was unable to meet my gaze in fear of being scolded. I was stunned into silence. That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me, especially from someone so good looking.

Shoving down the reprimand I had in mind, I jokingly nudged Yunho in the ribs to get him to look at me again. “Well she didn’t really seem to be your type anyways.”

Yunho laughed at this, wholeheartedly agreeing with me. “It seems you know my type better than my own friends. Though to be honest, I’m pretty sure Jongho knew that I would never approach a girl like Hayoung and was only trying to get me back for finishing the last bottle of Sprite from his secret collection. We’re housemates.”

I laughed at his in depth explanation, relating to his struggles. Chloe moved in with me in the summer, a few months after we met. The air conditioning unit in her run down apartment kept breaking down and was twice the distance from the company than mine.

It was far more convenient with her as a housemate as we had more spare change to spend on the money we saved on rent with a split bill. However, with every housemate comes the temptation of stealing their things.

Just recalling that one time I finished the last slice of the cake Chloe bought… She deemed it fair play to sprinkle a few pinches of flour in our shared hairdryer while I was in the shower. Though I couldn’t get mad at her for it though, because she apologized immediately after, while laughing her head off. It was extremely fortunate for her that I loved her, otherwise she would have been in for it.

“Hey, you said you were an editor, but you never mentioned the fact that you worked for this particular company,” mused Yunho, drawing me back from the mini memory lane my mind had skipped down.

“Oh I must’ve forgotten to mention it,” I said, arching an eyebrow at Yunho who’s smile spread impossibly wider. I was curious as to why me working at this company sparked his interest so much.

“You know, I just passed my interview here a few months ago?” asked Yunho casually, eyes gleaming playfully at the way my eyes widened at his words.

“Holy spades, though why weren’t you with the other interns today?” I asked, recalling the reason why Chloe couldn’t join me today.

“Well we were toured around the company earlier this morning but when my group was handed off to this other woman I turned out to be the only person who knew how to work the coffee machine. I used to work part time as a barista,” he explained with a mirthful tone of voice.

“That’s explains it,” I thought, nodding at his words. As much as I loved talking to Yunho today, I knew my break was drawing to a close and that I needed to leave soon.

“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing each other more often then,” I smiled at him bashfully, already visualizing what it would be like seeing him around at the office in the future.

“Yeah,” he agreed, hesitating a little with his next actions before stepping forward and placing a chaste kiss on my cheek.

He pulled away with a burning red blush crawling up his neck as he waved goodbye and walked off, back in the direction of the cafe and what I assumed was his car.

I shoved down my own blush, trying to recollect myself as I stepped back into the front lobby of my apartment building.

Chloe was sitting on the rim of the fountain, seemingly preoccupied with her phone. It was clear that she hadn’t seen what went down outside, otherwise she would’ve pounced on me right then and there with a mountain of questions.

Sneaking up beside her, I dangled the paper bag of sugar cookies in front of her face with a small “tada”. Chloe looked up from her phone, smiling at the bag. “Ah, you’re back. Thanks.”

I also handed her the sealed takeout cup of bubble tea and a plastic straw that I had kept hidden inside of my bag. Miraculously there was still a few ice cubes left, as the cafe had its air conditioner turned pretty high to combat the early fall heat. Or maybe it was just that my bag had some sort of secret insulation tech embedded into the interior pouch. Who knows?

She accepted it with yet another “thanks” and popped the straw through the plastic covering. Taking a small sip, she hummed in content with the sweet drink. I grinned at her as she looked down at the sweet drink as if she was trying to see a visible difference between this mixture and every other milk tea she’s tried.

The cafe really did the name of bubble tea justice, with chewy tapioca pearls of a perfect consistency and a tea base with just the right amount of sugar and flavouring. It was a little pricier as expected, however the extra dollar was definitely worth it.

“It’s good isn’t it?” I asked, as she nodded without an ounce of hesitation much like I did at Yunho when he inquired about my love for bubble tea.

We made our way to the elevator arm in arm, with Chloe asking me why I had been gone for so long.

“Were you with a guy?” Chloe asked teasingly, expecting my usual mundane response of “no”. After all, dates were never my thing and she knew that quite well. I glanced at the bright red numbers flashing in the elevator’s screen, noticing that it had reached my floor.

“Actually, yes I was,” I stated mischievously, stepping out of the elevator when the door opened. I spun around, watching as Chloe’s eyes widened.

“What?!” she exclaimed, watching in horror as the door started closing before she could ask anymore questions. I knew that she wouldn’t risk angering her manager by going back late as she certainly would if she ran out of the elevator after me.

I waved at her as the door shut, laughing a little. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get away from her later when we got home, however, I was too giddy to really think about how I’d suffer her wrath for dropping a bomb like that and just leaving.

Making my way back to my own desk, I plopped down in the spinning chair with a soft smile at everything that had occurred today. Sure, the traffic I’d have to deal with later might put a damper on my mood, and sure, I’d have to deal with Chloe’s inevitable interrogation but the carefree giddiness I felt at that moment felt like it would last forever.

When tomorrow comes, the internships will officially start and with them will come the one blue haired male that captured my attention today and heck, maybe he’ll be my fifth and final reason to stay.

#ateez #yunho #fanfiction #imagine #oneshot #romance #fluff #ateez yunho imagine #ateez yunho oneshot #ateez yunho fanfic

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virmillion · 6 years

Text

Coffee’s for Closers

alternative title: lab has absolutely no chill when airing out their dirty laundry

Summary: Virgil is a barista. Logan is a barista. Everyone is gay—it's just that this gayness only occurs at Logan's cafe. Warnings: cursing, rude customers and coworkers, let me know if you think of any more Ships: romantic analogical, romantic royality, platonic LAMP+Remy Words: 22,222

Check it out on ao3!

Grande white mocha latte. Steam milk to the third line, four pumps of syrup, two shots of espresso, put on a sleeve, pour the milk, whipped cream, lid, hand it off, next. Kid’s hot chocolate. Steam milk to the bottom line at one-twenty seven degrees, two pumps mocha, one pump vanilla, pour the milk, whipped cream, lid, hand it off, next. Venti iced caramel macchiato upside down with coconut milk and an extra shot. Pull two shots of espresso into each teacup, six hits of vanilla in the cup, espresso over the vanilla, coconut milk to the top line, ice to the rim, caramel drizzle of seven vertical, seven horizontal, two circles, lid, hand it off, next. This is literally the only thing running through Virgil’s mind anymore.

Alright, maybe not the only thing. There is the odd customer who gets annoyed at receiving a small cup when they asked for a tall, because ‘I thought tall meant large!’ and Virgil has had just about enough of people not understanding the price difference. There’s also a regular here and there that hands off their reusable cup with a grin, so he can fill it with caramel and decaf and nonfat milk for the regular’s wife, and the guy can get a tall pike place roast with caramel syrup in a grande cup, and Virgil can hand it off and feel proud of himself for knowing a regular’s order so precisely. Oh, and lest we not forget the ever-present parents thinking it’s cool to let their toddlers run wild and knock down his signs and spill drinks everywhere because ‘it’s okay, honey, he gets paid to clean that up!’

Okay, so there are several things running through Virgil’s mind right now. At this incredibly specific moment, one of those several things is the fact that he only has to survive twelve. More. Minutes. With the literal worst coworker on the face of the earth. He can’t speak to the quality of workers beneath the earth’s crust—sorry, team members—but for air breathing losers such as he, his buddy here just. Takes the damn cake. Stole the candles. Blew out his wish. On his birthday. Without a birthday gift. Spit on the frosting. Grabbed two chunks with her bare hands. Ate them like a toddler. Complained when she was the only one eating cake. Took the cake anyway.

Virgil doesn’t particularly care for cake.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” Kim asks the next guest, plastering the absolute fakest smile Virgil has ever seen on her face. Like, he’s pretty sure it’s bordering on genuine. That’s how fake it is.

Virgil doesn’t particularly care for Kim, either.

“I’m good, how’re you?” the guest replies, staring up at the trifold menu and holding up a line of seven people behind them because they didn’t have the foresight to decide on a drink during the fifteen minutes they spent in line. “I’ll take a grande salted caramel mocha.” Virgil ignores Kim as she delivers the spiel about the limited supply of whipped cream, instead focusing on the measurements of all the drinks waiting to be finished. Sure, he admires that one lady for getting eight shots of espresso—he could definitely do with some of what she’s having—but her drink is doing a terrible job of holding up the line when their dinky little store only has one mastrena.

Ten minutes.

“Venti double quad for Debra?” Virgil calls, ignoring the line of drinks that haven’t been claimed yet. Seriously, if these people are as intent as they seem to be on getting out of here quickly, you’d think they’d jump at the chance to take their drinks. Virgil doesn’t really care either way, as he only has to survive nine more minutes.

“Hey, we need a milk run before tomorrow,” Virgil tells Kim, shuffling down the line of drinks. To be fair, they’re moving much more quickly now that the whole espresso machine isn’t focused on one drink from five minutes ago. “Want me to do it?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Kim groans, rolling her eyes. She waves off the concerned look from the next guest, eyeing Virgil’s obscenely long queue of drinks. “I’ll finish those up, you go get the milk, peace out in ten?”

“Something like that,” Virgil agrees, topping off the last row of grande hot chocolates. “You know where the button is for extra help?”

“Duh, of course I know where it is.” Rather than give a sarcastic remark to her attitude—which is what he wants more than anything—Virgil smiles brightly, pushing his way past the swinging door and straightening the hat that never sits quite right on his head. In the near back, he pulls out his constantly dying phone to snap a picture of the barren fridge. All the way to the back of the main store and into the freezer, he trundles one of the squeaky-wheeled carts between the aisles, dodging oblivious mothers and manspreading dudes with man-buns and ratty tennis shoes.

“Okay, twenty two blue, five pink, seven red,” Virgil mumbles to himself, double- and triple-checking the picture to reassure himself of what they need. “Maybe just seventeen blue, five pink, five red.” These corrections continue as he sets about pulling every jug he can find from the crates, absently tugging down his sleeves as the cold sends goosebumps skittering over his skin. “Two more red, maybe a few half and half?” Thinking back, he’s pretty sure corporate didn’t ship any half and half this week, either. Sunday’s gonna be a blast. “Still no heavy whipping cream, no surprise there. The rations thin. The plot chickens.” Allowing himself a small laugh at his own nonsense, Virgil backs the cart out of the fridge and deepens his chronic slouch to put more force behind the wheels. They squeal and scream in protest as he shoves the—trolley? Is that what they call it?—back to the front, practically spilling it everywhere as he swerves around a narrow corner to avoid a stray child pinballing off the end cap displays.

Finally at the near back again, Virgil fights with the cart to get it through the doors and over the floor mats covering the little alley, very nearly ramming his head into the sink when the wheels free themselves with no warning. “Okay, freakin’ ow,” he mutters, rubbing the bruise on his side from the impact. “Whatever, just a few more minutes, and I can go somewhere that doesn’t totally suck or drain the life from its patrons.”

True to his word, Virgil eventually succeeds in restocking the rest of the milks, popping his head out to check on Kim’s status in regards to whether she’ll survive the next three minutes. One severely long line that’s steadily trickling out, most of them with drinks in hand, and if the flurry of legs outside the shuttered window is anything to go by, another slam is hot on its heels. Virgil tosses out a flippant farewell to Kim and makes a break for the punch clock, having absolutely no desire to stick around for the hell that awaits.

“Okay, cool, cool, love driving in the rain, favorite part of my Saturday,” Virgil sighs, glancing at the window. If nothing else, should customers not be deterred by the weather? Seriously, just go home. Go home!

Of course, no one is listening to Virgil’s complaints. All too aware of this fact, he rolls his shoulders forward to shrug on a hoodie over his work-mandated black shirt—at least the uniform doesn’t suck, he supposes. Flipping his hood up to protect his hair and tucking in his earbuds, Virgil strolls out into the clogged aisles of people and things, easily blending in with the other loners that would rather be literally anywhere else, were it not for their families dragging them along. Virgil has no such ties, and accordingly escapes from the store with ease.

And no, he won’t lie—Virgil absolutely walks slower in the rain to the beat of the song in his ears, and he absolutely imagines some cheesy pathetic music video happening around him, and he absolutely would deny that if you confronted him with it.

By the time Virgil reaches his car—neon blue, mind you, because it was the cheapest model he could afford—his hoodie is sopping wet, and he has had just about enough of this whole ‘existing’ nonsense for today. But no, no, he wants to go to that new cafe one of the regulars told him about. Stupid stubbornness. Of course, he’s too stubborn to get rid of it. So. On he drives.

You might think this is where the stars align—where Virgil stumbles his way into a warm cafe from a cold car, where he bumps into his soulmate on first sight, where he knows in an instant that this is where he belongs, that this new place is the home he was always meant to find.

You would be wrong.

“Damn broken phone,” Virgil scowls, shaking his phone as the screen refuses to wake up, despite being at a solid seventy percent. He keeps his gaze toward his shoes and the tiled floor beneath them, pressing the home and lock buttons harder than he probably needs to. “If anyone dares to so much as look at me the wrong way, I am chucking you out the window and letting you electrocute yourself like a tiny toaster in the rain.”

“—Upside down, iced, and pick your poison for the milk,” the person waiting at the register is saying, leaning forward as if they have all the time in the world. Virgil’s frown deepens as the person starts to socialize with the barista.

“Ah, Roman? I believe there might be someone waiting behind you,” the barista says, their voice carrying over past the pompous person that’s basically a wall at this point. As the guest scuttles away to wait for his drink, the barista beckons Virgil forward, saying, “sorry about him. Never seems to understand that other people occupy this world besides himself.”

“It certainly would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” Virgil says out of the corner of his mouth, not looking up to meet the barista’s eyes. Regardless of whether they’re the social type, he isn’t about to find out the hard way. The hard way being the only way, of course. Virgil does not want to talk to this person, is what he’s saying. “I’ll just take a small of whatever the cheapest thing you have is that isn’t brewed coffee. Please.”

“Sure, that’ll be one fifty.”

“Keep the change.” Virgil passes over the first crumpled bill he can find in his pocket—a five—and moves for a table around the corner of the bar to wait. According to that regular, the baristas here are competent enough to hunt down the guests when their drinks are done. So. Hiding around the corner. His modus operandi.

The worn chair at a table for two is more than welcoming enough, offering a decent view of the crying clouds outside and the over-soaked flowers decorating the windowsill. Virgil dusts off the plum colored seat, which probably used to be plush when it was new—at this point, it’s so well-loved that there can’t be more than an inch of fabric separating Virgil’s rear from the wooden underside. He tucks one leg beneath himself, propping the other foot along the reddish brown window edge. The beaten-up greys and purples of his sneakers offer a painful contrast to the flowers, shining dull under the relentless rain.

“Hey, haven’t seen you here before,” a new voice says. The same guy that was bugging the barista plonks himself down across from Virgil, pressing his nose to the window. What was his name, Ho Man? “Did the rain scare you away from a main chain trash place like Starbucks?” Rather than dignify him with a response, Virgil holds up the too-small black cap he’s supposed to wear to work. Proudly displayed in white stitches is the Starbucks logo. The way Ho Man’s face turns beet red as he fumbles to cover up the mistake is almost enough to make Virgil laugh. Almost. “Okay, wait, I didn’t mean—it’s not like I wanted to—obviously I don’t disrespect your profession—not that it’s like you have to have it! I mean, unless you like it, but I didn’t want to assume—that’s what they always say about assuming, isn’t it, ass out of you and me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah, cool! I, uh, I’m just gonna—I’m gonna go sit over there now.” Ho Man jabs his thumb back over his shoulder, loudly scraping his chair back under the table as he stumbles over his own feet in a mad scramble for the front area of the cafe.

“He seems fun,” Virgil mumbles to himself, resting his chin on a knee and pressing his forehead to the window. Out in the parking lot—if you can even call it that, it’s basically just ten rectangles that happen to be outlined in white—his car looks incredibly crowded in. Neon blue trapped by dark greys and flat reds, all of them reduced to shields sending rain shooting to the concrete.

A few tables away, Ho Man has plonked himself at a bigger table, facing off with someone turned away from Virgil. They certainly seem to be in deep conversation about something, but Virgil doesn’t care enough to figure out what, much less elaborate on it. To drown out the light conversation of a considerable amount of quiet patrons around him, he digs his laptop out of his shoulder bag and unfolds it on the table. In any fantasy story he’s ever imagined, this is probably the part where his one true love appears in the vacant chair across from him, reaching out to close the laptop and reveal sparkling blue eyes that dance like the stars on a dark and clear night.

Yeah, no thanks.

“There you go, cheapest thing we’ve got that isn’t brewed coffee,” the barista says, appearing very much in Virgil’s field of view to hand over a ceramic mug decorated with tinier cups in every shade of blue and purple. “Apple cider with cinnamon and caramel.”

“That’s the cheapest thing you’ve got?” Virgil sputters in disbelief. “That’s, like, four bucks at a chain place.”

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized we were on par with a ‘chain place,’” the barista replies, making air quotes around the words. “Anyway, make sure you return the mug when you leave. If you take it with you, bring it back next time for a refill, five cent discount.”

“Seriously? Cool,” Virgil says, reaching for the mug as the barista turns away. “Seems like a good way to encourage people to steal the mug if you ask me, but alright.” The barista hesitates, looking from the bar to Virgil and back. No guests demanding service. Without asking permission or begging forgiveness, the barista slips into the seat across from Virgil. “Yeah, sure, have a seat.” Virgil closes his laptop, bringing the mug to his lips.

“So I’m not even going to ask whether this is your first time, since it’s pretty obvious,” the barista says. “For one, you didn’t even make eye contact when you ordered your drink, which, okay, rude, and for another, you don’t know the system with the mugs, not to mention that you didn’t even say hi to—”

“Yeah, yeah, cool, great, can I just enjoy my cheap drink in peace here?” Virgil interrupts. He certainly wouldn’t admit it if this guy asked, but it’s better than what they make at Starbucks. “Yes, my first time, I don’t like eye contact, I certainly don’t like conversation—actually, come to think of it, I have a long list of dislikes, and you are quickly working your way to the top. Please go away.”

“My name’s Remy.” The barista sticks his hand out, prompting Virgil to merely stare at it with thinly veiled disdain until he retracts it with an awkward laugh. “I run this place with my brother, since he bought the building when the lister needed to move before the taxes got too high, and he pulled me in on the deal for my sparkling charisma—”

“Of which you have none.”

“—and because he likes dealing with the numbers more. He’s actually sitting right over—”

“Don’t care. Why are you sitting here?” Remy wags a finger at Virgil, biting his lower lip and puffing out his cheeks. “Spring a leak much?”

“Mostly ’cause I was bored. You seem interesting, I don’t know. Thought I could educate you on the mystical ways of how we don’t go bankrupt from people stealing our mugs.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, cool. Great. Educate away. Special tip, though? You kind of suck at educating so far. Like, a lot.”

“Noted. We’re small enough that we don’t get many guests, and the ones that come in pretty often usually have their own mugs reserved. Picked yours out for you when I saw you walk in. Brand new, never used. Just for you. So special.”

“Alright, let’s lay off the dramatically short sentences, Mettaton. You still haven’t convinced me why I should care.”

“I mean, I think you’re cute, so there’s that. Anyway, we use the same mugs for our regulars, and we get so few one-timers that we barely ever lose a cup. Even when we do, they normally come back out of guilt for keeping the cup, and get another drink at a crap discount. That’s our motto, you know? Come for the guilt, stay for the five cents you save. Well, not really our motto. We don’t have a motto. I’ve always wanted one, but we never set one in stone, since my brother isn’t exactly into all that stuff. Speaking of which, you wanna meet him? He’s right over—”

“I do not want to meet your brother,” Virgil says. He shakes his head, trying to force his mind to register Remy’s nonstop babbling. “I literally just want to finish my drink in peace.”

“You’ll be back,” Remy replies, tapping out a rhythm on the table. “The cute ones always come back.”

“I have literally never wanted to come back to a place less than I do right now. Please go away.” Finally, miracle of miracles, Remy takes the hint, scraping his chair back and moving for the table where Ho Man is still chatting up whoever it is that probably doesn’t want him there.

Alone once more, Virgil exhales, scraping off part of the dollop of whipped cream on his drink with a finger. Before the caramel drizzle can drip down his hand, he fwips it off with a sharp inhale, pretending like he doesn’t care that he’d probably be drawing thousands of weird looks if anyone were paying attention. Over at Ho Man’s table, Remy slams his fists down on the tiled surface, making the collection of mismatched mugs bounce around dangerously. Ho Man’s friend relaxes their perfect posture by half an inch before straightening again as Remy leans forward to whisper something. Virgil quickly shifts his focus to stare out the window.

While the rain seems to finally be letting up, its aftereffects are long from forgotten. Orange tulips and red roses in the distance are wobbling on thin stems, desperately holding onto the last of their leaves as the wind does everything it can to wrench them away. Even the trees are mourning the early summer storm, their overgrown leaves tearing away and drifting across the streets to stick themselves to windows. Virgil fights back the urge to recoil as a particularly large leaf smacks into the other side of the glass, tiny drops of water peeling away to race for the flowerbed below.

When he lifts the mug to his mouth again, it’s empty. Smalls are always so much smaller than larges. Time to go.

“Hey, uh, where do I, um…?” Virgil calls to Remy as he moves for the door, lifting his empty cup as indication. “Like, do I just leave it on the table, or…?”

“Just keep it,” Remy replies, waving off Virgil’s annoyed sigh. “Seriously, keep it.”

“Seriously, no.” Rather than take the mug and run, which would be immensely gratifying if it were, you know, actually against the rules, he deposits it on the island with cream and sugar for coffee. Dammit, even their carts are nicer than the crappy little nothings that Starbucks has.

“See you later?” Remy yells as Virgil wills the door to close faster behind him.

“Maybe. Probably not, but maybe.” Before the bell over the door frame has even finished chiming, Virgil is already at his car, not bothering to dodge the few remaining raindrops. “Weirdo. Hate to see how much of a disaster his brother is.”

---------------

“How long, exactly, did you talk to that poor guy?” Remy appears none too impressed by the question, much less the implication of how annoying he probably was to said poor guy.

“Look, bro, he looked lonely, I thought I’d just pop in on his day and—”

“And encourage him to leave my cafe without taking the mug for a discount next time? Try harder to cover for yourself. And stop calling me ‘bro,’ it makes you sound like a teenager.”

“Alright, Logan,” Remy retorts, letting the mocking tone dangle in the air, “FYI, I am a teenager, so lay off for a hot sec, why don’t you?”

“I would rather not. Don’t use acronyms out loud, you sound like a preteen. You turned twenty last week. Roman, kindly refrain from displaying the inside of your mouth like that.”

“Dude, what? Happy birthday, man! Why didn’t you tell me?” Roman demands, leaning his elbows on the table and forcefully inserting himself into a conversation where he’s decidedly not welcome.

“I’m having a surprise party for myself,” Remy hisses in a stage whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, Logan thinks I don’t know about it.”

“I am not planning you a surprise party,” Logan says. “There is literally not one person planning you a surprise party, in this cafe or otherwise. Go help that next guest, I never said you could take a break for this long, anyway.”

“You aren’t the boss of me,” Remy grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching lower in his chair.

“Technically, I am, having been the one to buy the place, not to mention that I was born first. Go help the next guest.” Logan rolls his eyes as Remy trudges over to the bar, a completely different demeanor washing over him like a wave as he steps behind the register and turns into a cheerful mannequin. Shifting his focus back to Roman, Logan presses his glasses up higher on his nose and releases a low, steady, frustrated groan.

“Talk to me, man, what’s goin’ on?” Roman asks. “Are you really that mad that what’s-his-nuts didn’t take his mug? You didn’t even pick it out, Remy did.”

“Mmm, no, that’s not it.” Logan rubs his knuckles against a sore spot on his forehead, considering Roman’s earnest look. “We haven’t been doing too well in sales lately, not that many new guests coming in, much less any of them returning for the discount, and I’m still waiting on your list of ideas for how to make myself more welcoming.”

“Well, for one, don’t dump all your emotional baggage on the first person to ask.” Roman waves his hands quickly as Logan moves to get up, trying to fan whatever flames of frustration are boiling in his brain. “Kidding! Kidding, I am totally, completely, legit-ly kidding.”

“Legitimately.”

“Tomato, potato.”

“To-mah-to.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s tomato. Anyways, I did draw up that list for you, which, objectively, is the literal best thing in existence ever to be created. In existence. Ever. Objectively.” To be perfectly frank, Logan is incredibly close to shutting the cafe down and locking himself in the fridge to cool down, both literally and figuratively. Nevertheless, he endures, propping his chin on his fist and sighing heavily as Roman draws a stack of bent and ruffled papers out from who-knows-where. At the very least, if Roman’s antics don’t put him out of business, he’ll be able to end the month with a bang. Maybe.

Roman smooths out the uppermost pages on the tiled table, letting the bottom sheets flare out like a background for the top nonsense. Pointing to each piece of paper as it comes up, he fumbles his way through the chaos, periodically looking up to make sure Logan is paying attention. Against better judgement, he is.

“Okay, so first off, it’s June, right? Pride month, bay-bee! Break out a new collection of mugs—”

“I am not changing the mugs.”

“He is not changing the mugs,” Remy seconds, returning from the last guest.

“Alright, alright, truce, no new mugs. I know you don’t totally go for the pizzazz side of things, but—and hear me out here, just something small—we could put different colors of powder on each drink, like purple sprinkles on a latte can be called a purple drink—”

“We cannot do that, Starbucks already has pink and violet drinks, and I will not associate with them.” Logan straightens his glasses again, pulling one piece of paper out from beneath the rest. “Are all of these ideas centered around pride month?”

“No,” Roman grumbles, scraping about half of the papers off the table. “I do think it would be cool if you did pride stuff, though. Show support to everyone.”

“Me, in particular,” Remy cuts in. “Show some support to my gay ass.”

“Your ass is trans.”

“What’s your point?”

“I guess I don’t have one, Remy. Roman, please, if you would?” Logan gestures with his hand, indicating for Roman to find a new thread of ideas to follow. The watch on his waving wrist boasts of closing time rapidly drawing near, as a solid third of his patrons slowly head for the door, carefully selected mugs clutched between their fingers.

“Right. Okay, so you said no new mugs, and you said no pride stuff, and you said no fun, so let me just jot that down, and we’ll keep going.”

“I said no new mugs, I asked for different pride stuff that wouldn’t infringe on corporate coffee franchises, and fun is a subjective measurement on behalf of our patrons. Drop the attitude, or I’m cutting you off.”

“What? No, I’m your best customer!” Roman whines, wearing a pout for a good few seconds before continuing. “I really do think some nice decorations would probably help the atmosphere, maybe string up some white fairy lights around the ceiling? I know you hate those, but they do wonders for how the interior looks once it’s dark outside. Turn off the main lights, turn on the tiny ones, and bam, you’ve got a fairytale date night. Literally.”

“I don’t think you know what literally means.”

“I also think you should hire me. Not with obscenely high pay, I know how frugal you try to be, but Remy and I are basically your best bets for customer service. Let me cover the shifts when he disappears for clubs and stuff, you can make the drinks as precise as you like, and I’ll chat up the guests to keep the drinks coming. If nothing else, it’ll train me for how I should exist in the real world.”

“You’ve existed in the real world for years without working in a cafe.”

“What’s your point?”

Logan is very well aware by this point that the conversation is going nowhere. A few decent ideas, a few pieces of nonsense, and that’s about it. As such, he snaps the piece of paper he already grabbed, watching the top stand at attention at the peak of its arc.

“I guess I don’t have one. Remy, please, if you would?” Struck by how he’d unintentionally repeated himself, Logan shifts his focus to the paper, blowing a long breath out through puffed cheeks. “We’re supposed to close up soon, and I sincerely do not have the willpower to do it tonight. I have way too many things to deal with behind the scenes, and I can’t just—”

“Say no more,” Remy interrupts, plucking the paper from Logan’s hands. “Sit here, close your eyes, don’t do anything. I’ll teach Roman how to make your usual.”

“Seven extra shots,” Logan murmurs, dropping his head to rest on the table. “Actually, make it eight. Please.”

“Yeah, no, we’re only gonna give him hot tea,” Remy whispers to Roman, dragging him away from the table. A heavy exhale from Logan sends a few more sheets of paper fluttering to the floor. “He doesn’t get caffeine until he can go a full night without waking up to finish whatever piece of work he forgot about.”

“And you think he can’t tell there’s no espresso in that?” Roman asks, watching Remy move as quietly as possible, considering that he’s dealing with the sound of metal on metal.

“Oh, no, he can definitely tell. We’re both lying to each other, it’s kind of our thing, you know?”

“Sounds like a great sibling rivalry.”

“You could say that. Here, put these gloves on, protects from germs and junk when you’re handling the tea bag.” As the last dredges of guests file out of the cafe, most of them pausing to knock gently on the table in lieu of a soft goodbye to Logan, Remy and Roman fall into an amicable silence.

“Maybe the pride powder would be fun?” Logan mumbles to himself, dragging his chin to his chest so only his forehead rests on the tiles. “Or I could get some food coloring, dye the whipped creams? We definitely don’t have the funds for colorful cups or anything like that, but maybe I could put a little colored dot on the bottom of each cup, have random chance dictate what color whip they get? But then I might not meet the demands, we could run out of food coloring, run out of whip, it doesn’t let me appeal to vegans or people who abstain from dairy products, not to mention that the color might leech into the actual drink. Maybe the fairy lights, just as a summer thing for softer lighting, quiet hours once they go on, I could probably get some people to do open mic stuff or something, clear out a couple tables…”

Logan lets his words trail off at the sound of Remy plunking a drink beside his head, and while he knows very well that there’s no caffeine in the cup, he downs the whole thing in one go. Roman appears behind Remy, offering an identical drink in a bigger cup.

“Whoa, try coming up for air bro—brother of mine. Brother. Is what I was going to say. Was brother. And not bro. Brother.” Remy excuses himself to finish dealing with closing up the bar, letting Roman reclaim his seat across from Logan.

“Hey, buddy, you want to maybe get home, get some sleep?”

“Yeah, probably,” Logan mumbles, not lifting his head from the table. “Still got so much to do, though. Barely even touched most of your ideas.”

“Oh, please, you tore them to shreds!” Logan allows himself the smallest of smiles at that, shaking the back of his head and pressing his forehead deeper into the table. There’s probably a pattern of indents appearing on his skin by now. “And we didn’t even get to the best ones, which you can tackle tomorrow, after you get some sleep.”

“Get some sleep!” Remy echoes, flitting between the sinks with every possible piece of dishware in the building. “But not at home. Go hang out at Roman’s.”

Roman splutters indignantly, sending the rest of the papers flying. One lands over Logan’s head like a blanket. He does not remove it. “Why does he have to come to my place?”

Although he can’t see it happening, Logan would wager a good fifty dollars that Remy has positioned himself atop one of the counters that food doesn’t touch in a dramatic pose. “Because he literally lives at work. Like, the next floor up. He needs to get some distance from this place. Plus, I mean, look at him. I’m not putting him up for the night.”

“I’m the one paying your rent,” Logan retorts to the floor, watching his heels and toes click together.

“You’re also the one keeping me awake at three in the morning because you had a sudden idea and are seemingly incapable of restraining yourself from writing with a squeaky marker on a squeaky whiteboard, but no one’s asking me. Just go with Roman. Roman, take him. I am not asking you, I am telling you. Take. Logan.”

“Taking Logan,” Roman confirms. “Come on, Logan. I, Roman, am taking you, Logan. Onward, to my house, owned by a man named Roman, where I am taking Logan!”

“Shut up, you goof.” Remy’s semi-humored tone is accompanied by the sound of what is probably a balled-up napkin punting Roman in the head, but Logan still isn’t paying enough attention to see. When he hears Roman’s chair scraping into place, he forces himself to stand on exhausted legs.

Once he sees Logan steady on his feet, Roman shouts, “dibs on the bed!” and runs for the door. Logan offers a half-hearted wave to Remy before trudging after Roman, wincing against the ringing bell. Sure, the tea was good, but it does absolutely nothing to help his flagging energy.

“Why would I ever want to take your bed over the couch?” Logan mutters, barely stifling a yawn as he slides into Roman’s bright red car. “Moreover, you knew it was supposed to rain today. Why on earth did you not close your windows?”

“Because I like how it looks better with the windows down.”

“I want to make sure that you are aware that we are currently sitting on wet leather, and that your steering wheel is drenched beyond belief. Are you aware that we are currently sitting on wet leather, and that your steering wheel is drenched beyond belief?”

“I am aware of whatever it is you just said. Now be quiet, I can’t have you talking if I want to see the road.” Logan doesn’t bother to explain just how many levels of incorrect that is, instead reclining in the passenger seat and removing his glasses to watch the lights float by in blurry spirals of red and yellow. “So how ’bout that new guy?”

“What, the one that Remy assigned a mug to based on first sight? Yeah, no, just another guest. What about him?”

“Well, super cute, for one, and you’ll never believe this, but he actually works at—” Roman cuts himself off, glancing at a very much asleep Logan. “Alright, fine, I won’t tell you. Let you work it out for yourself.” With that, Roman turns up the radio and hums along quietly, careful to keep the noise low, to let Logan rest. Until tomorrow, at least, when Roman has every intention of screwing with his friends’ love life.

Come on, you’ve gotta let Roman have some fun.

---------------

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, we really don’t have blond espresso beans here, and we don’t have blond roast, and we don’t have decaf roast, as our shipment doesn’t come in ’til tomorrow. Is there anything else we can help you with?” To tell the truth, it is taking every single miniscule last ounce of willpower for Virgil not to vault over this counter and punch the very nice lady in the face.

“Okay, but could you just do a blond pour over?” The very nice lady seems to be getting very agitated, but Virgil very much does not care. “Like, I get that you don’t have blond roast brewed, but I’m willing to wait for a while for a pour over.”

Virgil is incredibly close to having to physically restrain himself from saying you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, since that’s when your stupid shipment will come in. Instead, he continues, “Sorry, no, we can’t do that. No blond roast beans.”

“Yeah, but I’m not asking for blond roast beans. I am asking for a blond pour over.”

“Pour over machine’s broke,” Virgil finally sighs. Yeah, sure, it just takes a small filter and some hot water, but he doesn’t have the patience for this person, much less to find any missing blond beans. So. Broken and nonexistent machine.

“Oh, well that’s perfectly understandable!” the very nice lady says. “I’ll just take a medium blond roast, then.”

Virgil leans over to grab Kim’s shoulder, pulling her closer to hiss in her ear, “if there are any hammers in here, you need to find and hide them immediately, because it will end up inside of this lady’s skull, and it will then find mine in quick succession. Fix her situation, I’ll catch up on the hot bar drinks.” Kim nods quickly, and Virgil is half-convinced that she thinks he’s serious. Maybe he is.

Nonetheless, he moves past her for the mastrena machine, praying for the end of his shift to come quickly and with reckless abandon. It does not.

“Grande affogato vanilla bean frap for Jenna?” he calls, handing off the espresso-drenched smoothie. “Thanks, have a nice day.” She probably says something or other about him having a good one, but Virgil doesn’t even bother pretending to care, already busying himself with the next drink. “Couldn’t’ve possibly picked a better day to start grinding beans slower,” he mutters, wincing against the comparatively louder screams from steaming coconut milk. Of literally all the times for the mastrena to decide that it was being too efficient with the espresso, this is the worst time imaginable—smack dab in the middle of a rush of people, none of whom understand the concept of ‘not having blond espresso.’

“Venti iced americano in a trenta cup with extra ice for Matthias?”

The end of his shift literally cannot come fast enough.

“Okay, dude, I’m really trying here, but I have absolutely no idea what this says,” Virgil informs Kim, showing her the illegible box on the cup. “You need to write the order down, and when you do, you need to make it possible for the most basic computer to decipher.”

“It’s a salted caramel mocha with two extra shots and almond milk instead of two percent for Tommy,” Kim says. It does not slip Virgil’s notice that she has to squint incredibly close at the cup for a solid five seconds to figure out what it says.

“Awesome. Great. Try to write it more neatly next time, yeah?” Finding a rare moment of gratefulness for his constantly cold hands, Virgil presses a frozen finger to his temple as he waits for the machine to finish rinsing. Is his shift over yet?

Miracle of miracles, his boss, Anne, pops her head around the corner of the bar. “Hey, Virge, call for you guys, I’m covering food av, can you take it?” Virgil plasters a fake smile on his face and nods, neglecting to comment on how he never agreed to that nickname as he accepts the phone.

“Gainesville Starbucks north, this is Kim speaking, how can I help you?”

“Breakfast sandwiches.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Breakfast. Sandwiches.”

“I, ah, I apologize, I’m unclear what you’re asking me.”

“Breakfast sandwiches! You got any?”

“Oh! Yes, um, we’ve got tomato mozzarella paninis, sausage egg and cheddar sandwiches, ham and cheese croissants, turkey basil—and they hung up. Cool.” Virgil nods at the dial tone coming from his hand, quirking his mouth to the side. “Just, uh, just gonna stick that right down there.” Dropping the phone on a nearby counter, he returns to the hot bar, where Kim is absolutely drowning in the chaos she caused by sucking so much.

“Virge? Seriously?”

“If you even think about calling me that, I am going to go find that hammer I was talking about and bury it in your spine.” Kim pulls her lips between her teeth and nods, turning back to the register. Sniffing twice, Virgil tops off the next round of drinks. “Salted caramel mocha, two extra shots and almond milk for Tommy?”

“Hey, Virge, over here,” Anne calls again. “Need to see you for a sec.” Virgil bites back a relieved huff for the break from Kim, instead settling for a long exhale through his nose. No, he doesn’t really care for the nickname, but he’ll suffer through it for a brief reprieve like this.

“What’s up?” he asks, leaning over the swinging door. “’Nother phone call?”

“No, it’s just—you’ve got a lot of overtime, you know that?” Virgil glances back at Kim, who is currently occupied with trying to find the serious strawberry frappuccino button.

“Frapp creme, second row, last on the right,” he calls, taking great pride in how he doesn’t roll his eyes at her. Turning back to Anne, he continues, “yeah, I kind of have to have a lot, since she’s kind of, you know…” Virgil trails off, hoping Anne is enough on his page to fill in the blanks.

“Drowning? Yeah, I noticed. You’re doing a great job carrying her, you know that?”

Virgil pokes a tongue against his cheek, unsure how to respond. “I mean, I’ve only been here a couple months.”

“You’re really doing great. Anyway, too much overtime for you, and we aren’t supposed to be letting team members have any overtime. You think you’d be good to head home early?”

“There’s nothing that would make me happier, but are you sure she’ll be okay with this on her own?”

“Definitely not, which is why I’m here. I’ll relieve your position, but you need to get going, like, now.” If Virgil were a more confident person, he would take Anne by both hands and press them to his lips in a show of relieved thankfulness. As it stands, he snaps and offers her a pair of finger guns, skirting the swinging door and making a run for the break room before Anne can change her mind.

“No human has ever existed with a better soul than Anne,” he murmurs, punching out faster than he’d ever done so before. There’s a certain cafe he’s interested in getting to a little earlier today.

In his car, Virgil hisses lightly as he scrapes his bare wrist against the scalding metal of the seat belt buckle. Now safely secured and ready to go, he queues up the route to the cafe on his maps, bopping his head along as a song starts up on the radio. Skip, skip, skip, skip, skip, he chants in his head, getting through a solid twenty songs on shuffle before finding one he likes.

The lights of the streets, not yet bright as they battle the sun for dominance over the mid-afternoon sky, pepper the sidewalks with golden flecks between the cracks of beige and white. Virgil tilts his head to avoid the glare of the light reflecting in his eyes, skipping through his chosen song before it’s over. As he flicks on his indicator to pull into the cafe’s parking lot, he belatedly wonders whether the owners will start to think he’s weird for showing up this often. Especially that Remy guy, what was his deal?

This worry chases him past several traffic lights and more than a few disconcertingly fast drivers, right up to pulling into the same parking spot as yesterday—decently far from the doors, but not so far that it’d be a hassle to get there if he happened to be holding seven cups of coffee. He shifts into reverse, triple-checking that he’s perfectly within the lines before parking the car and sliding out.

A cold breeze swipes over his face, startlingly out of place in the mid-June heat. Were it not for this abnormality giving him pause, maybe he would’ve gotten inside safely without drawing the attention of the silver car careening into the parking lot. It beeps brightly as it pulls into the furthest spot from the door, spitting out a driver dressed in bright blues and pale greys.

“Virge, hey, you made it! I was wondering whether you’d ever listened to my suggestions!” he calls, running over to Virgil and ignoring how his loose sleeves smack against his chin. “Find your way okay?”

“I mean, I’m here, so I guess I did.” Virgil shrugs, electing not to comment on the forbidden nickname that he would punch Kim in the face for using again. “And anyway, I always listen to your suggestions. Come here, try your usual—not a fan, by the way—and call you Pat. I’m not really one for nicknames, either, so I’d rather stick with Patton, if that’s okay with you.”

“Whatever makes you happiest!” Patton replies, taking Virgil by the hand and swinging it violently as he leads the barista inside. “So did you get to meet the owner yet, or is this your first time? I can introduce you to—”

“Pantone!” Remy exclaims, vaulting over the register counter to greet Patton. Virgil steps aside, bumping into someone’s shoulders and muttering his apologies as they leave. “I haven’t seen you around here in forever, what the heck, man? Hanging around with the cutest riffraff in town, I see.” Virgil scowls, moving for the register and scanning his eyes over the menus. Handwritten in white chalk, they look much more personal than the ones at Starbucks. Maybe not very colorful, but nice enough.

“Remy, how many times have I told you not to let any part of your body make contact with that counter? It doesn’t know where you’ve been,” someone scolds from a nearby table. The same person Ho Man and Remy were tormenting yesterday. Remy ignores them, still chatting up a storm with Patton. The person sighs, pushing back from a table covered in loose papers and moving to the register.

Virgil sizes them up as they walk, inspecting their carefully strict gait, the tie cinched perfectly around their neck, the strict khakis with only the most uniform of creases. If Virgil didn’t know better, he’d swear they were going out for a job interview at some craphole like Starbucks.

“Sorry about Remy. Little brothers, what can I do, right? What can I get started for you?” Virgil doesn’t answer, his gaze fixated on a speck of dirt marring their sharp glasses. They blink, waiting patiently and having no idea of where Virgil’s attention is directed.

Ho Man appears from around the corner, where only a few other patrons occupy the tables overlooking the windows. “Hey, it’s you! Logan, buddy, he was the guy here yesterday, the one Remy gave the wrong mug to! Wrong mug guy, this is Logan, he runs this joint!”

“Wrong mug?” Virgil repeats.

“Wrong mug,” the new person—Logan, apparently—confirms. “We carefully select mugs based on the person they go to, rather than selecting one at random like Remy does. He refuses to learn the process behind choosing mugs, so whatever he hands you, it’s probably wrong.”

“Sounds about right,” Virgil agrees, glancing back at Remy and Patton, both of whom are staring at him and giggling.

“So what can I get started for you?” Logan repeats. Virgil cocks his head to the side, considering Logan for a long moment.

“Surprise me.” Logan’s steely expression lightens for the briefest of seconds, revealing a soft grin and bright eyes. It vanishes as quickly as it came.

“I’ll have that right out for you.”

Virgil offers a small smile in return, passing over a five dollar bill and waving off Logan as he tries to hand him his change. “Just keep it.”

“We really don’t do tips—”

“Just. Keep it.” Virgil slips around the bar and moves for his seat from yesterday, tucking his legs under himself and watching Remy nudge Patton repeatedly. After a solid few bumps to the back, Patton stumbles forward, bumping into Ho Man as he curbs around the bar to straighten the creamer cart. Distracted by the way Patton’s hands flutter around his face as he talks to Ho Man, Virgil hardly notices Logan until he’s positioned himself in the empty seat across from him.

“Drink it first, then tell me what you think it is.” Logan pushes a mug across the table toward Virgil, careful to keep the motion near the bottom so it doesn’t splash. Unlike the cup covered in cups from yesterday, this one is something Virgil might actually consider stealing, if they hadn’t drained the excitement of doing so by explicitly allowing thievery.

Midnight blue and splattered with tiny white dots, this mug looks to be plucked straight from the heavens themselves. The inside offers a pale blue to offset the darkness folding in at the rim, enveloping the top of the drink’s meniscus in hues to rival the sky. Virgil traces a finger over some of the constellations skirting the outside—bright enough against the blue to be recognizable, but not going so far as to connect the dots with garish straight lines. All in all, a good mug. Maybe he will steal it.

Virgil takes a long, slow pull from the cup, pretending to be deep in thought as Logan stares unabashedly into his eyes. He holds the mug over his mouth a few seconds later, waiting for the flush in his cheeks to subside. Why couldn’t Logan have been the one to take his order yesterday?

Virgil lowers the mug, licking away the drink moustache on his upper lid and pulling his tongue back in with a pop. “First guess?”

“First guess.”

“Green tea latte.”

Logan grins, rapping the table three times. “Nailed it.”

“It’s ’cause I’m a genius,” Virgil says, lifting the mug once more. This Logan guy might keep some strange company, but he can make a mean green tea latte. “Eleven out of ten, would order again.”

“That’s an improper fraction,” Logan mutters, but there’s a gleam dancing behind his eyes. The bell chimes over the door, drawing Virgil’s attention to where Ho Man and Patton look to be in a particularly compromising position. With Patton flattened against the door and Ho Man hovering closer than necessary, Virgil can only watch as Remy appears out of nowhere, shoving Ho Man forward without warning. Logan releases a breathy laugh as he watches the debacle—moreover, as he watches Ho Man thrust his hands out to brace himself on the wall, as well as caging Patton in around the shoulders by doing so. If this were a romance movie, they’d probably start kissing right about now.

As it is, Ho Man stammers out some excuse, cheeks almost as red as the roses smattered his white shirt. Patton only smiles back widely, not moving from the wall. If Virgil didn’t know better, he’d swear his eyes were delirious. Maybe he doesn’t know better.

“I see you understand the nonsense I’m forced to endure around here,” Logan says. “With Roman being a flirt and Remy being the charming everyman, I do pretty much everything myself. Any tips on how to better survive it?”

Virgil blinks, unsure why Logan decided to dump all this on him. At least he knows what Ho Man’s actual name is now. Full disclosure, Virgil’s gonna miss calling him Ho Man. “I don’t know that I’m your best bet for help running a small coffee shop.”

Logan huffs something close to a laugh, gnawing on the corner of his lip. “Not a problem, I’m just uncertain where to go from here, and they’re being of little help. All they’ve done is force me to get sleep and toss a couple papers about pride at me, and that’s hardly a reliable way of forming a more successful business.”

“Sleep is important,” Virgil says. “I can’t speak from experience, but I’ve heard a lot of people say so.” Still midway through processing Logan’s words, his mind catches on a certain piece of information. “Did you say papers about pride?”

“Indeed, Roman thinks I ought to spruce the place up for pride month, and he’s even managed to pull Remy into the idea. You’re welcome to help, if you want to, but there’s no obligation on your end.”

“Sounds fun,” Virgil admits, raising the cup again and startling himself as he finds it empty. “I’ll take a look, if you want to show me those papers. Oh, by the way, my name is Virgil, in case I haven’t said that yet.”

“Virgil,” Logan repeats, testing the word and rolling it around his mouth. He peels his lower lip out slowly, savoring the V, puckering his lips out around the R and letting his tongue hesitate against his teeth on the L. “It’s a pleasure. I’m sure one of the other two said it at some point or another, but I’m Logan.”

“Logan,” Virgil confirms. “So, Logan, about those pride papers and this empty mug?”

Logan stands, somehow managing not to scrape his chair as he pushes it back. Virgil attempts a similarly graceful move, wincing at the grating sound of metal on tile. “Let me get that mug from you and I’ll fill you up—do not even think about handing me another five, this one is on the house, and I am returning your three dollars and fifty cents at my first opportunity. These papers, disorganized and chaotic as they are, are the only things we’ve got in the way of ideas to drum up more business.”

Virgil seats himself at the cluttered table, grabbing a sheet at random and letting the distant clanks of Logan behind the bar fill his head. Stuff about colored whipped cream—probably too expensive, not to mention non-vegan friendly, and powdered sugar colors—kind of similar to Starbucks with their colored drink gimmicks, which doesn’t seem like Logan’s style. He pauses on the mention of white fairy lights, glancing around the room and imagining how they might look framing the windows. Maybe a little too winter-holiday for mid June, but the tackiness could very well add to the overall charm of the place. Certainly a warmth that overcrowded Starbucks stores could never hope to have. Or they could line the windows in different colors, if Logan really does want to keep with the whole pride thing, or else—

“Try that, tell me what you think,” Logan says, plunking the blue mug on one of very few clear spaces between the papers. Virgil complies, poking his tongue at a crooked front tooth as he considers the flavor.

“Tastes like cinnamon, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“Cinnamon and almond milk latte, one of our most popular drinks,” Logan confirms.

“You don’t get called out for it being too similar to the one Starbucks does?” Logan goes deathly still, an expression somewhere between fury and shock freezing on his face.

“We are nothing like Starbucks here, and I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compare me to that steaming pile of garbage.” Virgil nods, deciding this probably isn’t the best time to inform Logan about his own line of work. “Anything good come out of that disaster?”

“Maybe.” Virgil takes another swig from his mug, running his tongue over his lips and humming to himself. “The colored powders and whipped creams seem kind of impractical, but the lights and quiet-hour thing doesn’t seem to bad. You could do soft pastels for a warmer tone around the room as a whole, and different colors around each window to fit pride month. I don’t know about open mic, since that’s a lot to organize, but maybe use that empty corner on the other side of the door for some little bookshelves and comfy chairs, have a chill zone when the lights go down and the moon comes up? Oh, and this is definitely just a suggestion, so you don’t, like, have to do it, or anything like that, but it might be cool if you changed up the colors of your menu signs, so they weren’t all just white and plain. You could do one board in blue and purple and pink for bi, and another in purple and yellow and white for nonbinary, and another in pink and yellow and blue for pan, and then do a bunch of little drink drawings on all of them in every color to represent gay pride as a whole?” Virgil bites his lip, suddenly realizing that Logan is staring intently at him. Again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—I mean, I wasn’t trying to—you don’t have to do all that, obviously, and it’s not like I’m forcing you to, and I wasn’t trying to—” Virgil cuts himself off, ducking his head down and hiding his face behind his mug.

“No, no, that’s great, really, I love those ideas,” Logan stammers, waving his hands frantically to shake away Virgil’s hesitation. “They’re splendid, exactly what I was looking for.” Virgil nods quickly, not coming out from behind his mug. Logan places a hesitant hand on Virgil’s shoulder, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. Against his own volition, Virgil leans into the touch, tilting his head toward Logan’s knuckles before he can stop himself. The moment his ear grazes the back of Logan’s hand, he jerks out of the seat, spilling the rest of his mug all over his work-mandated khakis.

“Oh, jeez, oh man, I mean, shoot, crap, okay, I just, I’m just gonna go,” Virgil rambles, stumbling for the door and clutching his unwittingly emptied mug tightly in his shaking fingers. Before Logan can even think about calling after him, he’s behind the wheel of his car and careening out of the parking lot, already berating himself for being such a dork.

---------------

“Where’d Wrong Mug Man go?” Remy asks, popping his head over the bar as he pauses midway through restocking the milk fridge. “Scare him off with your utter lack of charm and cold exterior?”

“A little too on the nose,” Roman calls out from his usual spot in the corner. Well, not ‘usual,’ per se—Roman can barely tolerate staying in the same place for more than a week before moving on for bigger, better seating options. He’s had much the same opinion regarding boys for as long as Logan can remember, and the selection of the week seems to be Patton on the windowsill with the Toy Story clouds mug. Practically a real-life version of Clue, with romantic motives to boot.

Remy finger guns at Roman and ducks back down to finish with the fridge. Logan blinks, the exchange flying past him as he tries to come up with a reason for Virgil’s sudden disappearance. The first person to choose his flatter tones over his brother’s exuberance, and they run away like an owl from a forest fire in the middle of Canada.

Logan has never been one for analogies.

He reaches across the counter, startling Remy in the process as he grabs for a clean rag and sanitizing spray. In no less than five minutes, the spilled latte is gone without a trace. At least Virgil took the mug with him—if nothing else, he’ll come back to return it. Maybe even to use it for that discount—not that Logan would charge him. Virgil doesn’t seem like the type to acquiesce not to pay, but Logan is the owner, so what’s to stop him from making every drink free for the short instances when Virgil shows up?

“Roman,” Logan says, “what are the odds you have some colored chalk you don’t need?”

“Fifteen out of three,” Roman calls back, not looking up from the phone tucked in his lap. Across from him, Patton mirrors the position, curled into the corner of the windowsill—not strictly a real seat, but they both seem to be making do well enough.

“So five?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I’ve got, like, a whole crate full of art supplies that I can’t use, because someone told me not to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming the next Leonardo Dicaprio.”

“Da Vinci. And I would hardly phrase it like that—I merely suggested that, were you to aim for realism, it might be wise to avoid giving your elephants tails for trunks and trunks for tails.”

“Stop stifling my creative energy!”

“Stop stifling his creative energy,” Patton echoes. Oddly enough, Logan doesn’t feel that familiar urge to roll his eyes as he watches Roman glance up from under a curtain of bangs, staring at an oblivious Patton. He’s never looked at one of his weekly obsessions like that before. Or maybe he has, Logan doesn’t pay very much attention to that sort of thing.

“The point being, you do have colorful chalk, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because I need some. Bring it in with you tomorrow, if you would be so kind.”

For reasons Logan doesn’t care to puzzle out, Roman tumbles off the windowsill, jumping to his feet and brushing off his knees as he rushes to Logan’s side. “Or,” he whispers excitedly, bouncing on his toes and waving his hands around his face, “I could run home and get them now! I could even go out to a store, buy more stuff you didn’t know you needed, spruce the whole place up! Patton could come with me!”

Patton’s head perks up at this revelation, and he pockets his phone before joining the other two. Even Remy leans over the bar, half-intruding on the conversation as he waits for the next guest to decide what they want. Logan crosses his arms, considering Roman’s eagerness.

“You know very well that I don’t trust you to decorate my cafe to your tastes, much less on your own dime.” Glancing at the menus in plain black and white, Logan does have to admit they look, well, plain. Boring. Virgil wasn’t wrong when he said they might look better with more colors. And yes, Logan would greatly prefer having Virgil here to coach him on how to properly execute the pride color schemes—Logan’s never been one for art—but Patton doesn’t seem totally hopeless. “Tell you what. I’ll close up early tonight, and us three can all go out and stock up on decorations. Keep the place closed tomorrow, and we’ll plan out how to make it look best to ramp up business.”

“Excuse you,” Remy cuts in, “but I think you mean us four. Don’t go excluding me from the party.”

“Who said you were invited?” Logan retorts. Roman stifles a snort behind his fist as Patton’s jaw drops in startlingly believable dismay.

“Logan! We have to take Remy with us, he brings half the fun! It wouldn’t be as exciting without him there!”

“Who said I wanted it to be exciting?” Logan mutters to himself, shooting a quick look toward the back of the cafe. Pretty empty, save for a couple patrons here and there nursing at their personal mugs. Casting his eyes to the ceiling, Logan pulls in a long breath through his nose, blowing it out through his lips and wondering why Virgil couldn’t be here to endure this nonsense with him. Immediately thereafter, he wonders why he wonders that. He didn’t even know Virgil’s name yesterday, why is he so set on having him here now?

Remy and Patton’s hopeful expressions drag him back to the moment—specifically, the moment where Logan is being forced to take three overgrown toddlers on a shopping spree to decorate the building that makes up his entire livelihood. No pressure.

“I am definitely going to regret this,” Logan sighs. Pretending as if he hadn’t said that, he continues, “fine, I guess Remy can accompany us. No candy, though—we don’t need to be buying food when we already have some upstairs.”

“Aha, but I have tips!” Remy declares, shaking a paper cup full of coins. “I’m gonna buy so many peanuts with these.”

“Explain how,” Roman says.

“Do not explain how,” Logan says. Not allowing either of them the chance to finish their charade, Logan turns to Patton. “You walked in with Virgil, didn’t you? Do you two know each other?”

“Something like that. I’m a frequent customer where he works.” This catches Logan’s attention. A direct pipeline to the owl that got away.

Again, Logan has never been one for analogies.

“Where does he work?”

A mischievous glint takes residence in Patton’s eye as he nudges Roman’s shoulder. The latter snickers quietly, nudging right back as the former gets out between giggles, “that’s just something you’re gonna have to figure out on your own. The answer will shock you.”

“If he works as a clickbait journalist for Buzzfeed, I am banning both you and him from this establishment.”

“He does not work as a clickbait journalist for Buzzfeed, but you’ll never guess what he does instead!” Roman hisses in an action-star voice. “This summer, coming directly to your screens, and coming soon to own on video and DVD—” He drops his tone to an impossibly deep register while ramping up his volume, drawing the attention of pretty much everyone in the room. Patton and Remy join in on the tagline, both yelling at the top of their lungs.

“Are you quite finished?” Logan asks, wholly unimpressed. Having failed to get so much as a huff of acknowledgement, the other three sigh dejectedly and nod. “Good. Remy, finish cleaning up behind the bar. Roman, can you wipe down the tables and start stacking chairs? Patton, I know you don’t work here, but—”

“On it,” Patton interrupts, already moving toward the back to gently rouse the student that fell asleep doing their homework at a table. Morally, Logan has no problem letting people stay as long as they like, even if they don’t buy anything, but it’s a little more difficult to be lenient about that sort of thing when he’s closing up the cafe. He turns his attention back to the papers scattered across the table as the other three flit about their respective tasks, and wonders whether Virgil might try to come back tomorrow. If they close the cafe for renovations, would he even get out of his car? Or would the lack of business and other patrons scare him off? Maybe Logan should position the other three at various seats in the back as he does all the work himself, making it look like he kept the place open so Virgil would still come in, without being terribly obvious about that being his goal all along. Of course, that brings up the inevitable he knows that I know that he knows situation, but it’s not as if—

“Hello? Earth to Logan? Paging alien squadron fleet two K four one nine oh?” Roman waves a hand in front of Logan’s face, pulling him out of his head. Before him is the only unwashed table in the cafe, still littered with papers that have yet to be picked up. The only page that managed to find its way into Logan’s arms is the one Virgil was talking about when he made additional suggestions. Logan blinks, gathers up the rest in a haphazard bundle, and steps back to let Roman finish his cleaning.

“Can I drive?” Remy asks. He slides around the bar, dusting his hands off on his pants and tossing a dirty rag over the lip of the sink.

“We need to get you an apron,” Logan replies absently, eyeing the gathering dirt stains on Remy’s thighs.

“I didn’t hear a no!” Remy singsongs, tilting his head to lean against Logan’s shoulder. The top of the mess of hair tickles along the crook where his jaw meets his earlobe, and Logan blinks as his mind unhelpfully conjures an image of Virgil in the same position under a blanket of stars. Where on Earth did that come from?

“No, you cannot drive. Give me Roman’s car keys.”

Roman emits an unholy shriek, somewhere between miffed and scandalized that Remy had managed to steal the keys to his soccer mom car. Granted, those things basically live in various spots around the cafe as it is, but still. Groaning in a pitiful attempt at getting sympathy, Remy tosses the jingling chain to Logan, who snatches them out of the air with ease. Before the owner of said keys can protest, Logan passes them on to him, biting back a laugh as Roman instinctively ducks.

“Hey! No dangerous projectiles in the house!” Roman whines. The keys hit the door and clatter to the tiles below.

“Not a house, and you don’t make the rules here, anyway.” Logan wisely keeps his gaze elsewhere as Patton makes his way to the door, grabbing the keys to pass them to Roman. Of course, the windows are reflective surfaces—this unfortunate reality fails to protect Logan from having to see how Patton’s hand lingers a moment too long on Roman’s. Honestly, the whole point of looking away was to not have to deal with their nonsense in the first place. “Let’s go.”

Lingering at the back of the group, Logan lets the other three exit before him, double- and triple-checking that everything is off, unplugged, cleaned up, closed, and generally in various states of presentable. The last thing he needs right now is for his life’s savings to literally go up in flames. Well, not his life’s savings. He’s got some common sense—everything he hasn’t spent is carefully accumulating interest in various reputable banks. So. The expendable portion of his life’s savings. That’s what he doesn’t want to go up in flames.

“What happened to ‘let’s go,’ sonny boy?” Roman calls, popping his head back in the door and making the bell chime. Logan tilts his head, wondering if anyone would ever question why he picked that bell in particular to greet his guests.

“I’m older than you.”

“Patton dared me to call you kiddo, but I thought mine was funnier,” Roman admits.

“I’m older than Patton, too.”

“You didn’t even tell me Patton’s name until last week!”

“Ever heard of barista-guest confidentiality?”

“No, because it doesn’t exist. Now hurry up and get in the car, or we’re tying you to the roof and I’m letting Patton use the backseat as his own personal lounge area.”

Tossing a sigh to the ceiling and casting one last glance at the way his cafe was always meant to be—before everyone else barges in to redecorate for him—Logan follows Roman out.

He slides into the back on the passenger’s side, not voicing his apprehension at Patton taking the front seat. That’s Remy’s seat, he thinks. Remy doesn’t seem to mind, though, already pressing his nose to the window and bouncing on the worn cushion.

“Seatbelt,” Logan reminds his brother—and the car as a whole, he supposes, as even Roman jolts to comply. “I am hereby imposing a price limit of one hundred dollars on this excursion. Anything over that will be coming off of your dime.”

“I don’t even—” Roman begins, but Logan isn’t having any of it.

“I know, I know, you don’t even work for me, but if you want to? And you want to help, shall we say, ‘spruce up the place,’ you will refrain from exceeding my budget, lest you pay the overages.”

“If we go to the place on the corner of Eighth and Main, I’ve got an employee discount for ten percent,” Patton offers.

“By the Texaco?” Roman punches the coordinates into the car, tapping his foot impatiently as Siri attempts to connect with his dwindling internet connection.

“You really ought to know your way around the town by now,” Logan opines. “You’ve been to the Texaco more times than Remy’s flirted with my guests.”

“Shut up, Logan!” Remy hisses. Were his face not pressed against the window and his shoulders hunched defensively, Logan is certain his comment would be rewarded with cheeks glittering ruby.

“Got it!” Roman exclaims, punching the roof. “And I refilled the tank a couple days ago, which means no gas money going into this excursion! Can I get a what what?”

“You cannot,” Logan says.

“What what,” Patton agrees.

“Plus,” Roman continues, shifting into drive and doing a mediocre job of backing away from the building, “with the discount, just think of how much more stuff we can get!”

“Yay.” Logan has never known his own voice to be more flat. He glances up just in time to see Patton shoot him an apologetic look, mouthing the word sorry. He smiles as he does it, though, so Logan isn’t completely convinced of Patton’s regret.

The excited conversation of the other three fills up the car as Logan lets his gaze drift out the window, watching the bright greens of summer flash by in bursts between the blemishes of humanity’s invasion upon the world. Traffic lights, street signs, lampposts, telephone lines, couches at curbs, discarded plastic bags, crushed coffee cups, dead patches of grass, cracked squares of concrete, buildings crawling for the skies and stretching to escape the natural world without which they could never dream of existing.

Logan does not particularly care for the overdevelopment of what used to be a homey nook of nature around his cafe. He can hardly see the stars at night anymore, what with all the city lights pulling his eyes to the ground.

“Beep beep!” Roman announces, punching the roof again before slipping out of the car. Logan blinks, suddenly realizing they’d already arrived at the store. Time to suffer.

“One hundred dollars,” he reminds the others. His words fall on deaf ears as they all sprint for the doors, chattering excitedly amongst themselves about color schemes and bargaining and how to make the most of spending every last dime they can squeeze out of Logan’s pockets. More to himself than anyone else, he murmurs, “I bet Virgil would understand the significance of imposing a spending limit before getting surprised with an obscenely high total crowning the receipt.”

“Come on,” Remy groans, doubling back to grab Logan’s wrist. Patton and Roman have already vanished, probably traipsing through the birthday party aisles for decoration ideas. “At least pretend you’re having fun, yeah? Show some enthusiasm for Virgil’s ideas, I bet he’d love that.”

“When did he tell you his name?”

“He didn’t. You used it when you asked Patton where he worked.”

“Where does he work?”

“If you push the price limit up to two fifty, maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Maybe I’ll stop letting you accept tips.”

Remy’s eyes widen slightly at that, and he wobbles on his toes before running the rest of the way to the door, waving his hands over his head. “La la la, I can’t hear you, I’m too fast for the sound barrier to keep up!”

“That’s not how—oh, whatever,” Logan mutters. Hands in his pockets, he dips a chin to the greeters just inside the door and maintains a leisurely pace, waiting for his friends to reveal themselves. Admittedly, he’s a little impressed when he sees them next—they’ve managed to avoid getting covered in streamers and sparkles. So far, at least. Unfortunately for Logan, the night is still young.

“Hey, what about these?” Patton asks, grabbing a pack of pride-themed playing cards from an end cap display.

“How are those supposed to drum up business?”

Patton shrugs, turning the cards over in his hand. “I dunno, they just look neat.”

“Make it a puzzle,” Roman suggests, picking up a matching set. “Have different fun facts about pride history written on cards from one set, but keep out a piece of important information. Someone finds a card and can tell you the answer without having to look it up, they get a card from the deck you didn’t write on. Get a full suit, get a prize. Maybe they get all the diamonds, then they get to name a drink after themselves. Get all the hearts, they can save ten cents instead of five.”

Logan has to admit, it isn’t the worst idea Roman’s ever come up with. The worst was probably that time with the stuffed sheep, the empty ramen cup, and the half-eaten ring pop. He shudders at the memory before relenting. “How much for a pack?”

Patton glances at the sticker on the side, sucks a sharp inhale through his teeth, and sets the deck back where he found it. “More than it’s worth, even with the discount. Come on, I know where the shelf is for stuff we’re trying to get rid of. It’s hidden in the back so we can make more money, but who ever had fun paying full price?”

“I did, back when it meant doing less damage to my cafe,” Logan grumbles. Nevertheless, he follows dutifully behind, stifling a snort as Roman grabs Patton’s hand and they skip—literally skip—down the aisles. Every few steps, one yanks the other to a stop, cooing over some toy or game meant to catch the eye of passing toddlers. Remy’s eyes sparkle, and he leans over to Logan when he thinks the other two aren’t listening.

“You know,” he whispers, “I like this one a lot more than Roman’s other flings.”

“They’ve barely been talking for more than a few days,” Logan retorts, careful to keep his voice low. “You cannot place all your eggs in the basket when the eggs don’t even exist yet.”

“You lost me, but seriously, bro, look at them.” Tutting to himself, Logan watches the way Roman’s eyes catch on Patton more often than they catch on bargain bin attractions. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe you don’t see it.”

“That’s hardly any of my business. All I care about is how much they’re making me spend. And what did I tell you about that ridiculous nickname? It isn’t even original.”

“Nothing’s original, not even originality,” Remy fires back. “A redux of something that already exists is way more fun than not doing it in the first place. Or would you rather have me tell Virgil the real reason you opened up the cafe?”

Logan yanks Remy to a stop by the neck of his shirt, balling the fabric up in his fists. “If you do that, then so help me, I will have you shipped back home faster than you can spit out that infernal nickname, and you will never set foot in my cafe again.” Remy blinks, laughs, and bops Logan’s nose.

“I bet Virgil would think you’re cute when you get all angry like that.”

“That’s not—I don’t—shut up!” Logan sputters. The epitome of elegance.

When Logan’s first instinct upon releasing Remy is to wonder whether Virgil would think he looked cute like that, he knows he is well and truly screwed.

Elegance, indeed.

---------------

Virgil’s current favorite shift is opening. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he shows up at the ass crack of dawn for work. A solid hour by himself to get the bar set up to his liking, to work in silence without worrying about angry guests, and the knowledge that he’ll be out by noon. The turning stomach of too little sleep is certainly less than ideal, but he’s lying to himself about liking being here this early. Cut him some slack.

“Just fire her already,” he mutters to himself, moving faster than he’d like to as he restocks the pastries. Not for the first time, Natalia closed last night, and she never does any of the shift’s duties right. Case in point, the expired pastries still being in the serving zone. The milk fridge being barren. Having less than three whips. Forgetting the refresher shaker lid in the washing machine—still dirty, mind you. Not wiping down the tables before stacking the chairs. Not washing the half and half from the little cart. A quick sniff reveals the insides to be well past curdled.

You know, maybe Virgil just wants to gripe in general about the incompetence of his fellow team members, and it really has nothing to do with the quality of his workplace experience.

Or it could be that he’s still reeling from the ridiculous note he left Logan on yesterday. That is a very strong possibility.

Glancing at the clock on the register he has yet to open, Virgil weighs his options. He can either sprint for the milk fridge and pray there’s enough left to restock, or he can stay up here and try to straighten up the place for the off chance that corporate shows up and tears Anne a new one. Though he likes Anne well enough, he’d rather face the consequences of corporate’s wrath than deal with pissed-off customers who can’t have their precious two percent milk.

Just his luck—the stock fridge is empty. This is the moment Virgil’s mind chooses to remind him that today is Monday, and that they’re supposed to be getting a shipment in later. So no half and half, no two percent, no heavy whipping cream, and an insatiable desire to go home before the whole ‘interacting with the public’ part of his shift has even started.

As the clock ticks over to eight, his boss’s boss’s boss, Stephen, walks over with his usual fistful of crumpled singles. Virgil doesn’t even bother asking for his numbers, already keying in the discount and punching the order into the register. In the amount of time it takes him to start lingering on yesterday’s disaster, Stephen’s usual—grande mocha, no whip—is already done and gone. Whether this is because Virgil is fast with making drinks or because he’s very adamant about the masochism of reliving embarrassment is open for debate.

Seriously, what was that? Logan puts a hand on his shoulder and gravity decides to be a little bitch, dragging Virgil’s head to the side to lean on a basic stranger? Naturally followed by the most logical reaction—dumping his entire drink all over himself. Yesterday was the first day he wore those pants after their wash, too; he can usually get three or four days out of a pair before they need to be cleaned. What a waste.

One singular glimmer of positivity in the hellscape that is the opening shift, though, is how much faster it seems to go by on Mondays. When the mid shows up, they vanish to the back to take care of the order, so Virgil basically has the bar to himself for four hours, then the fifteen minutes of dealing with the other mid. All the better to suffer through his own blunders in peace.

At least it’s a slower stream of guests.

“I’ll take a trenta very berry, but with all the kinds of berries in it,” some guy with a greasy man bun says, strolling up and scrolling through his phone. Virgil nods, keying it in and going through the usual polite spiel while he waits for him to pay.

“Anything else for you?”

Man Bun glances up from texting, raking his eyes over the purple fading from Virgil’s bangs. “Yeah, can I also get extra blackberries—”

“Sure.”

“—and your number?”

“No. Five twenty-nine.” Virgil turns his back to the register as Man Bun sets about dealing with his credit card, and wonders whether this guy’ll be a nuisance for him as he finishes the drink. “Trenta very berry, extra blackberries, have a good one.”

Man Bun takes the cup, tearing off the straw wrapper and throwing it on the floor. Literally, the garbage can is, like, right there, dude. Don’t be an ass. “So I seriously don’t have a chance with you?”

“Definitely not.”

“What, are you not gay? I mean, with the hair, and with—”

“I’m gay, just not for you. Have a good one.” To escape any further annoying questions, Virgil vanishes into the near back, organizing the drying dishes to wait out Man Bun. Once the coast is finally clear, Virgil returns to the bar, where Patton awaits with a bright grin. Fantastic.

“Hi, Virge!” Patton calls, bouncing on his toes. He does a twirl to make sure no one else is in line behind him before propping his elbows on the counter and leaning in as if he were sharing a secret. “I’ll take a venti iced caramel mach-yeet-ato with an extra shot of eek-spresso, if you please.” With another spin, Patton nearly crashes to the floor, the weight of the bag on his back yanking him faster than he can recover from.

“I got the yeet, but you’re gonna have to explain the eek bit.”

“I want you to pull three shots like normal, but scream at the fourth one. Scare it into submission. Then I’ll drink it, and get the scared bean energy.”

Virgil blinks, his pen hovering over the boxes on the side of the cup. “You. Want me. To scream at your espresso?”

“Only the fourth one! I need the other three to be brave, so I can have the bravery in addition to the terror.”

Virgil opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and shakes his head. “Okay. Five thirty five.” Patton presses a ten across the counter, refusing as Virgil tries to pass back the change, and slides to the end of the bar before Virgil can force him to take his money. True to form, Patton leans over the counter to watch Virgil making the drink, scrutinizing the pouring shots. “You know,” Virgil remarks, “it’s faster to pull two and two shots than two and one and one.”

“Yeah, but then my drink would be half scared, and we can’t have that, now, can we?”

“I guess not. What if I just pull the last two into two separate cups, and apologize to one to get rid of the scared emotions?”

Patton quirks his mouth to the side and hums. “I guess that could work. Make sure the apology’s genuine though, so I can have some empathy in my drink, too. And you don’t have to actually scream at it, either—just rile it up a bit. Scare it into submission however you see fit.”

This was one of the worst possible things Patton could have told Virgil to do. The barista leans in as the second round of shots pours, putting his mouth as close to the cup as he dares. “I’m going to stand outside your house and chant ominously about your sins while pouring expired coffee grounds on your sidewalk, then I’m going to hack into your sims account, give everyone full autonomy, and age them up to the maximum elderly age possible. Sorry, other espresso—I promise your sims are safe and your sidewalk is clean. For now.”

Patton looks understandably disconcerted by the time Virgil has finished, although the latter isn’t completely convinced that what he said was necessarily scary. He hands off the drink, drenching it in far more caramel than necessary and leaving the lid off. With an unholy grin on his face, Patton brings the cup to his lips and swallows half the caramel drizzle before the scared espresso even has a chance to settle.

“So hey, are you coming by Logan’s cafe today?” Patton asks. Virgil glances at the clock—five more minutes, and no line to be seen. He swings around the bar to sit at one of the guest tables, pulling out a sharpie and setting about dating the pastries. Whoever the mid is, they didn’t bother to show up on time, so they certainly can’t be trusted to do something literally in their job description. “You kind of left in a hurry yesterday.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t need a repeat of that embarrassment. I’m just gonna go home and hide under a blanket.”

“What embarrassment? I think Logan liked talking to you, I bet he’d like to have you come back.”

“Definitely. I’m sure he’d adore talking to the guy who couldn’t even keep his drink in his mug, much less remember to leave the mug there.”

“Virge, that’s the point of the mug system. You weren’t supposed to leave the mug there.”

“It’s not the point of my system, though. Now I’m basically, like, obligated to go back and return the cup, if not use it for that discount. Not to mention—which I already did—how I literally dumped my drink all over myself. I do not want that to happen again.”

“So just don’t drop your drink, and it won’t happen again! Simple.”

“Oh, and I bet you’ll just go ahead and police Logan so he doesn’t touch my shoulder again, prompting the situation that drove me to run out in the first place.” At the way Patton’s eyes sparkle, Virgil rushes to backtrack. “Not that it meant anything! It just startled me, so I shook my hand and my drink spilled.” Virgil glances at the bar, but there’s still no guests appearing to save him from this disaster of his conversation. All the pastries are dated, too, so he doesn’t even have the excuse of occupying his hands. “I do not want to go back.”

Patton grins. “So you’re going back?”

Virgil throws his hands in the air and groans. “I’m going back.”

“Promise?” Holding back a sigh as Patton thrusts out a pinky, Virgil links it with his own.

“Promise.”

“Great! Because your shift just ended, and Logan’s keeping it closed for the day so he can do renovations. Just you, him, and a few other people for as long as we’re there, doing decorations and generally engaging in close teamwork. Forming bonds to last a lifetime.”

“You tricked me,” Virgil hisses. “You scheming snot.”

“But it worked, didn’t it? And oh, look, there’s your mid! Let’s leave.”

Virgil glares behind him, where Natalia is tying her impeccably clean apron around her waist and fastening the hat on her hair. The only reason her stupid apron is so clean is because she’s impossibly slow, so as not to get anything dirty. The one time he could use her tardiness to his advantage, too.

“Fine, whatever, give me five minutes to clock out and I’ll meet you back here.”

Patton takes another sip from his quarter-scared drink and nods. “But if you aren’t back within those five minutes, I’m gonna find your boss and file a missing team member report.”

“You don’t even work here.”

“You don’t even understand the extent of my relentless matchmaking skills.”

“Nor do I want to. See you in five.”

“Make it four.”

This is how Virgil finds himself begrudgingly driving toward Logan’s cafe, with Patton’s car hot on his heels. Clever enough, he supposes, since now there’s a literal heavy piece of machinery holding him accountable for reaching the destination he pinky promised to attend. Virgil would rather be hiding under the covers at home.

Swinging into the parking lot and taking his normal spot, Virgil wonders whether Patton would notice if he just hid out in the bathroom until everyone went home. He glances at the mug nestled in the passenger seat—secured with a seatbelt, of course—and decides against it. If nothing else, Logan would probably get suspicious about the goings-on in there, not to mention he’d be the one to have to clean it. Patton’s cheerful honk rings through the air as he locks his car, scooting over to press his nose to Virgil’s window.

Virgil raps the glass lightly, jolting Patton into taking a few steps back before he not-so-discreetly points at the door and dances on his toes. To tell the truth, Virgil is procrastinating, because he absolutely does not want to go inside and see Logan.

“Hi, Logan!” Patton calls, bursting through the door with Virgil in tow. “We’ve been waiting all day to see you!”

“We?” Virgil repeats skeptically.

“Oh, right, right, my bad,” Patton says, waving his hands sheepishly. “Virgil has been waiting all day to see you!”

“That is not better,” Virgil mutters. He lifts a hand to his shoulder, massaging a sore spot along the slope of his neck and wishing he could be literally anywhere else right now. In an effort to diffuse the awkwardness that Logan hasn’t bothered to notice, he continues, “looks nice in here with the lights down. Kind of home-y.”

“Indeed,” Logan agrees, balanced precariously on the second-highest rung of an unreasonably tall ladder. At its base, Roman holds the legs steady, grinning as Patton slings his backpack onto a nearby table. “Patton, I assume you brought more decorations I never greenlit?”

“You know it.” Patton grins, upending the bag and watching every manner of rainbow trinket spill over the tabletop and onto the floor. “Okay, so see these? They look like normal food coloring, but they actually—”

“If they sparkle or make the drink behave like pop rocks, I do not want them.”

Patton pouts before tossing the food coloring stuff back in the bag. “Alright, well how about this one? It’s like a DIY mug for—”

“Don’t use acronyms out loud, and I am not having mugs that guests design themselves. That defeats the purpose of my system.” Patton puts the mugs away.

“Fine, so I also found these little mythical creature trinkets that—”

“No.” Patton puts the trinkets away.

“Or these things that look like scratch off tickets, but instead of the lottery, you can—”

“No.” Patton puts the tickets away.

“I found this book of stickers that has—”

“No.” Patton puts the stickers away.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you didn’t want me to bring all this stuff.”

“I did not want you to bring all that stuff.”

“Well, fine! I’ll just take it back home, then!”

“Good! I do not want it here! Please remove it from my establishment!” Virgil cocks his head to the side, his thoughts catching on the mock enthusiasm in Logan’s voice. If anyone could possibly be the breathing personification of a sarcastic exclamation point, it’s Logan.

“Can I help you up there?” Virgil offers. Logan glances down, still precariously balanced on his ladder and stretching out an arm to toss a strand of string lights over the menu boards. “You know, it might be more effective to pull the signs down and write the menu first, then tape some lights to the top, then hang them back up.”

Thrusting out a hand for stability on the top rung, Logan lowers the spool of lights waiting to be thrown. “You may have a point. Roman, if you even think about shaking this ladder, I am going to ban you from helping any further with the decorations.”

“Come on, dude, it’s pride month! Show some spirit!” Roman whines. Regardless, he holds the ladder steady as Logan descends.

“I’ve already shown my spirit by deigning to allow you in my cafe while it’s closed. Don’t push your luck.” At the sound of a yelp and something crashing near the seats around the corner, Logan presses his middle finger to his glabella and groans deeply. “Remy, if you broke one of my windows, I am legally obligated to inform our parents that you are unfit to be an adult, and that I am sending you back to them, effective immediately.”

“No, nope, everything is totally fine back here. You aren’t legally obligated to do anything whatsoever.” Remy pops his head into view, his cheeks flushed and his hair flopping into his eyes. Taking one look at Logan’s stern face and Virgil’s reserved one, he jerks his head at Roman. “Hey, wanna give me a hand back here? Your boyfriend can come too, I guess.”

“He’s not my—” Roman begins, but Patton barrels right through it.

“Sounds fun!” he declares, grabbing Roman by the elbow and dragging him toward whatever chaos Remy already caused. With a quick pause to point from his eyes to Virgil’s and back, Patton winks and vanishes from sight. In their absence, silence reigns supreme.

“So,” Logan says.

“So,” Virgil agrees.

“How’s your handwriting?” Logan asks, clearly just as desperate to fill the awkward silence as Virgil.

Virgil shrugs, grabbing one of many pens spilling from Patton’s abandoned backpack and twirling it between his fingers. “Not terrible, I guess. I do most of the boards where I work.” For a brief moment, Virgil wonders whether he’s ever mentioned to Logan where he works, but ultimately decides it’s not important just yet. He watches the pen spins for another few moments before continuing, “I have this style of super straight lines, though. Not exactly bubbly and inviting for your guests.”

“My guests know I own this place. They aren’t expecting any manner of bubbliness, inviting or otherwise. Help me pull down the signs?” Allowing himself the smallest laugh at Logan’s matter-of-factness, Virgil moves for the lower right corner of the trifold board, hoisting it off the wall in tandem with Logan. “I suppose we ought to erase it first, before we go about ruining it.”

“Do you know what kind of scheme you’re going for?” Virgil asks, shifting into decoration mode as he starts wiping off the first section. He shoves aside any lingering thoughts of yesterday’s fiasco in favor of focusing on the task at hand. Maybe if he pretends to have forgotten, it’ll be like it never happened in the first place.

“Scheme? I was simply going to write the drink options in various colors,” Logan admits. He scrapes together a pile of chalk from a children’s craft box leaning against the bar, grimacing as he rubs the dust from between his fingers. “Unless you know of a better idea.”

“I mean, we could do something like cold drinks here, and hot ones here, and you could have some people personalize based on this third one over here? And then, like, each third can be a different pride flag, like how I was saying yesterday—maybe make the miscellaneous board the pan flag, since it’s basically everything? Unless you don’t like the pun side of that, of course, then we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. Or we could do the whole rainbow there, again with the ‘everything’ deal, but it might not look so cohesive as being strictly separated thirds of the menu. We don’t even have to separate by themes, if you wanted the whole menu to be just one section. Maybe we could do the bi flag for the cold drinks—if you decide to go for the cold, hot, miscellaneous boards, I mean—just because the blues and purples could go well with cold drinks, color theory and all? Or I guess there’s also the possibility of stuff like the transgender flag, or the polyamorous flag—maybe you could have a pastry menu, and put it there for a sort of pie-pi pun? I don’t know how well that one would go over, but if it sticks out to you well enough…”

---------------

Logan props his chin on a fist, his legs crossed beneath him and his knee supporting his elbow. All of Virgil’s words are floating straight over his head, and he doesn’t even pretend to hide it, so entranced is he by Virgil’s enthusiasm. In all honesty, Logan stopped listening by the third sentence, more focused on how Virgil’s pale lips formed the soundless words, washing the cafe in an ocean of rolling tones and low asides. Not ten seconds into his rambling, Logan is certain he saw Virgil’s eyes light up, ever so slightly, at the prospect of having creative control over something so simple as menu theming.

“Does that work for you?”

Shit. Logan forgot he was supposed to be listening.

“Er, I’m actually somewhat unclear on what you meant. Do you mind rewording your suggestion?”

Virgil blinks at him, and Logan feels his soul melt—no human has a right to look that much like a confused puppy. “I don’t really know how you expect me to reword ‘I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick while you think about which theme you like,’ but I’m certainly willing to try if you need me to.”

“Yes, no, I mean—of course, absolutely. Go right ahead, second door on the right in the back.” Logan waves a flippant hand as Virgil pushes off from his knees, tossing a two-fingered salute to the other three working in the back. Logan has no idea what they’re doing back there anymore, nor does he really care. He’s slightly more concerned with that complete social blunder between Virgil and him. Could he have come across any more ridiculous?

“So what do you think of Virgil, hm?” Patton asks, appearing over Logan’s shoulder. Logan flinches, sitting up straighter and nearly slamming his head into Patton’s chin. “Think he’s got a cute butt?”

Pausing to absorb the second question, Logan wonders whether he doesn’t look too dissimilar to a computer rebooting itself. “He certainly has an ass.”

“Do you know any other swear words?” Remy groans, trudging over and draping himself across the bar. Meanwhile, Patton is spluttering in disgust at Logan for daring to use a more crude synonym for the word ‘butt.’

“You should be proud that he even knows that one,” Roman chimes in. “Why, when I first met Logan—”

“We are not doing emotional history montages,” Logan declares, getting to his feet and waving a hand at Roman. “We are here only to improve the environment in and around my cafe, so that is what we are going to do.”

“Actually,” Remy corrects, “I’m mostly here because I want to set you up with Virgil. He was a dick from the moment he walked in that first time, which is exactly your type.” Pointing at Logan with a wink, Remy moves to lean against the wall.

Logan doesn’t bother to question his motives, and pretends he didn’t hear the first half of Remy’s statement. He does, however, hear the general motivation behind the words, and responds accordingly. The sly grin on his face makes Roman take a subconscious step back.

“Oh, and you aren’t here to set Roman up with Patton?” Turning his focus on them, Logan wonders in the back of his mind whether Virgil might walk in on this. “Of course, everyone’s talking about it, Remy. Don’t you want to be the first trendsetter with the newest, hottest couple?”

“Since when does he know what ‘hottest’ means?” Roman hisses in a stage whisper. Patton shrugs, pressing his lips together as his cheeks stay annoyingly neutral, not at all embarrassed by Logan’s tirade. “Do you think he doesn’t know?”

“I think he doesn’t know,” Patton replies. He doesn’t even bother to lower his voice, which serves only to further infuriate Logan.

“What don’t I know?”

“He definitely doesn’t know,” Remy agrees, peeling himself away from the wall. “It’s almost pity full, really.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word. You don’t even know the pronunciation.”

“But I know you use it on me, like, all the time, which is only that much more pity full for you.”

“Pitiful. Like your tenuous grasp of the English language.” At the sound of the sink faucet turning on around the corner, Logan glances back at Roman and Patton, who are still whispering together intently. Patton is barely hiding his giggles. “So, tell me; what is it, exactly, that I don’t know?”

“Should we tell him?” Roman whispers. Patton shrugs, pushing his glasses up by pressing his finger directly against the lens. Logan can feel something shattering, deep inside his innermost soul.

“Oh, tell him, you dorks,” Remy groans. “It’s literally, like, so obvious, it’s almost sad that he hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Figured out what?” Virgil asks, materializing around the corner.

“That me ‘n Patton are dating,” Roman says.

“Duh, everybody knows that.” Glancing around, a look of concern grows on Virgil’s face. “Was I not supposed to know that?”

“Well, actually, Logan here—” Remy begins, but with a swift smack to the arm from Logan, he cuts himself off. “Nope, yep, totally justified in knowing that. Seven out of three. Good job. So smart. We stan a clever icon.”

“Please stop talking,” Logan says. “Can we just get back to decorating?”

“Way ahead of you.” Virgil drops to his knees, gathering up scattered pieces of chalk and positioning the blank slates in front of him. “Did you decide which theme you liked?”

Logan very much did not do that. “I like both the gender flags and the sexuality flags. What do you think?”

Virgil, clearly not prepared to be in control, blinks twice. “Um. Well. Maybe we could make the first board sexualities, and the second one genders, and have each drink be a different flag based on which menu theme they’re under? And Remy likes making up drinks, yeah?”

“Yes,” Remy unnecessarily confirms. Logan scowls at him until he disappears around the corner with Patton and Roman.

“Cool,” Virgil continues, “So that way we can do a little of everything on the menus, and then the lights can just look nice in general, and they don’t strictly have to coordinate with the menus.”

“Where do you work, some interior design place?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow at Virgil’s confidence, which rapidly grows the more he talks himself through ideas. “You really seem to know what you’re talking about.”

“Not exactly,” Virgil admits. “Where I work doesn’t really matter, though, does it?”

“Want to work here?” Logan blurts, before immediately clapping his hands over his mouth. “Sorry, that was probably too forward. I don’t even know why I said it, I mean, look at this place, I can barely pay Remy, let alone add another hire, not to mention—”

“You’re fine,” Virgil says absently, more focused on the menu spread. “Anyway, so the flags. Do you want to start listing off some drinks you serve, and I’ll write them on my phone, and we can just go from there to decide which drink goes with which flag?”

Logan swallows thickly and nods, launching into his perfectly memorized list of everything he makes on a day-to-day basis. At least Virgil elected to ignore his outburst.

As the sun makes its trek toward the horizon, shooting beams of light through floating bits of dust in the air, Logan sits back on his haunches to admire Virgil’s handiwork. For how consistently they’d been working all day, he has to admit some small amount of pride in the outcome.

The first board, comprised of iced and frozen drinks, proudly bears all manner of gender orientation flags that Logan could find, both common and obscure. Each in bright pastels, of course, as neither Roman nor Patton had the foresight to bring darker colored chalk. The second board boasts hot drinks and sexuality flags, and despite himself, Logan quite likes the soft brightness of the middle menu. The third is still blank, with an added wooden board at the bottom to hold chalk.

“That way,” Virgil explained, “whoever makes the custom drink of the day can draw it there, and write the ingredients without having to hunt for the chalk.” Although Logan doesn’t particularly care for letting guests take control of the menu, he begrudgingly agreed that it was a good idea.

“You guys took, like, forever to do basically nothing,” Remy complains, now sprawled out across a table.

“Guests eat off those,” Logan remarks, still more focused on the menus than his brother’s antics. “And you only managed to string up a few sets of lights between the three of you. I would hardly call that an achievement.”

“Among,” Virgil corrects.

“What?”

“You said between the three of them. Since it’s more than two, it’s among the three of them.” Logan can’t decide whether to be horrified or enchanted by how Virgil managed to catch his own grammar mistake.

“Roman?” Logan calls, drawing attention away from his flub. “What, exactly, might you be doing?”

Roman merely grins in response, precariously balanced on one of the tables near the front. He lowers his hands from the upper frame of the window and jumps to the floor, trying to duck into a somersault and failing miserably. Patton giggles before helping him up and glancing at what he’d been messing with.

“This is my cafe,” Logan reminds them, “so I believe I ought to know what you’ve done to it.”

Offering a shrug and a wince, Roman follows Patton’s gaze to the window. “Mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe,” Logan repeats.

“Mistletoe!” Patton agrees.

“Mistletoe,” Remy choruses. At Logan’s glare, he raises his hands defensively. “Sorry, I just wanted to feel included.”

“Why, pray tell, is there mistletoe in my cafe?” Logan sighs.

“Bitchmas in July,” Roman replies. Logan can’t decide whether to throttle him or to simply scream.

“Roman?”

“Yes, my dearest friend and barista?”

“It is June.”

“Yes.”

“Bitchmas, as you say, is in July.”

“Yes.”

“June is not July.”

“You lost me.”

“Actually,” Patton cuts in, “I think I know why Roman put mistletoe there.”

“Why might that be?” Logan is extremely close to tossing one of the people in this room out the window, and based solely on proximity, it very well might be Virgil.

“For this.” With no further warning, Patton grabs Roman by the neck of his shirt and yanks him to stand behind the chair he’d been using as a stepstool. Logan hardly has the chance to blink before Patton is pulling Roman in, closing his eyes, and—

“Yep, nope, super cool, very much did not need to see that,” Virgil announces, mercifully drawing Logan’s eyes away from the scene. “Besides that nonsense, did you guys get the lights all finished? I need to peace out pretty soon here, but I want to see the cafe in its full glory before the guests come and destroy it by existing in its presence.”

Roman hesitates to answer, still breathless beside a beaming Patton. Remy cuts in first, allowing the other two to regain their composure.

“We got everything done, so if you wanted to pack up whatever stuff you brought, I’ll get the last of the connections and cords all set up, so you can bask in the splendor before you go.” Leaning in close enough to whisper so that Virgil can’t hear, Remy’s breath tickles Logan’s ear. “His mug is on the side pocket of his bag. Sneak it away while I distract him, and make him a personalized drink. It’ll be totally endearing, I know it.”

“I am not doing that.”

Remy dangles the mug from his fingers with a smirk, thrusting it at Logan when Virgil isn’t looking. “You are doing that.”

Logan frowns and reluctantly takes the mug. “I am doing that.”

“Unless you want to be doing—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Logan hisses, snapping his head around to cast the entirety of his glare at Remy. “If you swear, in this moment, to shut your damn mouth, I will make him a drink.”

“That’s all I want,” Remy says, dusting his hands off and tugging Virgil to stand in front of the door. The mistletoe dangles a few ominous feet away. Logan’s scowl melts into a vague feeling of contentedness as he watches Virgil taking in the unlit decorations. His hands work on autopilot, making an old favorite of his that has long since outgrown its recipe. When Remy clicks the lights on and Logan catches Virgil’s face in the light, the barista is pretty convinced he might just collapse right then and there, coffee and all.

Framed in the soft blues and yellows of twinkling artificial lights, Virgil’s pale skin almost seems to glow against his jet black hair, a silhouette of ethereal splendor captured oh-so-perfectly for a split second, before the illusion shatters. Virgil turns to look at Logan as the latter absently slides the full mug across the counter, so entranced is he by the former.

“You good?” Virgil asks. Logan can only manage the smallest of nods, barely capable of closing his stunned mouth as he watches the way the moonlight flicks off the purple tips of Virgil’s hair. “Dude, you didn’t have to go and make me anything!”

“It’s one of his oldest favorites,” Remy cuts in, rescuing Logan from himself. “No, no, put your money away, this one’s on the house for helping us remodel.”

“All I really did was draw on a couple menus,” Virgil protests. Nevertheless, he pockets his wallet and takes a hesitant sip from the mug. A beauty to rival that of his shape against the night sky lights in his eyes as he tips the mug, draining the rest as fast as he can manage.

“Good, right?” Remy asks. Logan wonders whether his own mouth will decide to start functioning properly any time soon.

“So good,” Virgil murmurs, still holding the rim of the mug to his nose and inhaling deeply. “Smells amazing, too.”

With a swift elbow jab to the side from Remy, Logan manages to choke out a broken “thanks,” his voice cracking on the vowel. Miracle of miracles, Virgil doesn’t notice. Or, if he does, he pretends not to, which only makes it worse—or better, Logan isn’t sure.

“Well, uh, thank you too,” Virgil mumbles. He clutches the mug as tight as he can manage, shouldering his way out the door. Not two feet beyond the threshold of the door, he absently raises his shoulders toward his ears against a cool summer breeze.

“Logan, close your mouth,” Roman calls. Logan moves his jaw up, realizing all too late that he’d been staring open-mouthed at Virgil for no reason. Turning his face toward Patton’s neck, Roman giggles and whispers, “he’s so head over heels.”

“That’s an understatement,” Patton replies. “If his head is where it is now, you’d need a cinderblock and the Mariana Trench to get to his heels.”

“That was a bit of a stretch,” Remy says. “I know you’re trying, hon, but maybe try more puns, fewer metaphors?”

“Puns,” Patton echoes, rolling the word between his lips and chewing the n. “Pun pun pun.”

“Now look what you’ve done,” Roman groans.

“Pun,” Patton repeats, pointing up and nudging Roman to the side. Roman blinks and follows his finger to the mistletoe, which is wobbling dangerously. “Don’t think you used enough tape there, Crumb cake.”

“Maybe not,” Roman agrees. As he reaches up to adjust the decoration, Logan’s hand thrusts out of its own volition.

“Do you maybe want to move that over the door instead? Maybe? I mean, you don’t have to, I just—”

“Logan’s rambling,” Remy announces. “Better do what he wants before he short circuits entirely.” Roman and Patton titter at this before the former pulls down the mistletoe, removing the old tape and producing a new roll from his pocket.

“Thanks,” Logan sighs, watching Roman stick the mistletoe just to the right of the bell. What he wouldn’t give to be under that with—

“Closing time!” Logan shouts suddenly, ignoring how the other three flinch. “It was all very fun and nice, but it is time for everyone to go home. Right now. Please leave. This very second. Immediately. Get out.”

Remy exits first, followed quickly by Patton and Roman, none of whom bother trying to hide their laughter. Logan is the last to leave, still focused on that mistletoe. Still focused on who he wants to see beneath it.

---------------

Virgil is having a bad day.

He woke up with only two minutes to spare before having to leave for work. He stepped on poop from his neighbor’s dog when he went outside. He found a smear of mocha syrup along the seam of his pants in a very conspicuous pattern. He didn’t have any other clean pants ready. His car wouldn’t start fast enough. His USB cord to his phone wouldn’t connect, no matter how many times he turned it. His throat ached, but without a fever, he was still legally allowed to work with food. His voice was all but gone.

Virgil wants nothing more than to go back home, crawl under a mountain of blankets, and stay there until the sun goes away.

This would be a task much more easily achieved if Natalia would bother to show up on time. Virgil forces a tight smile onto his face as he mindlessly nods along to the latest guest’s conversation. Ten more minutes and he’ll hit compliance, which means a stern talking-to between Anne and her boss, which means a stern talking-to between Anne and him, which is basically the last thing keeping Virgil from walking out of the store right now.

Virgil wants to go home.

“Have you seen Natalia?” Anne asks, appearing on the other side of the bar once the line dribbles down to nothing. Virgil shakes his head, already halfway through making her usual order as she groans. “Okay, well, you’re gonna hit compliance in a second here.”

“I know that,” Virgil snaps. “There’s not exactly a whole lot I can do about it.”

“Mind your tone,” Anne chides lightly, and though Virgil can tell she’s kidding, he really isn’t in the mood for it today.

“Yeah, sorry. Do you mind, uh, you know?” He tilts his chin to the next guest, as well as the cluster of families preparing to queue up behind them. Anne nods and apologizes with a laugh, scurrying off to do whatever it is she deems more important than helping Virgil to keep this line in check.

This is the part where Virgil is supposed to launch into a spiel of every drink he makes, as well as the struggles that accompany calling out complete orders with a voice that basically doesn’t exist, but based on the morning he’s had so far? He has absolutely zero desire to get into it. Guests are rude, baby boomers are impatient, the sky is blue, Virgil is in hell, next question.

“Hey, um, excuse me?” Some dude leans over the counter, shaking his empty cold cup at Virgil. Evidently, he did not notice the line waiting to be helped. “Barista boy?”

Virgil glances where his name tag should be, shrugs at its absence, and nods. Yeah, that’s a fair nickname. “What’s up?”

“You made my drink wrong.” His empty drink, that is.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that, did you want me to remake it for you?”

“No, I want you to give me a refund.”

“Sir, I—you already finished your—by store policy, I can only make you a new drink, I can’t give you a refund if there’s no drink to take back in return for the money, sorry.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t like it.”

“Then why did you—never mind, would you like me to make you a new one?”

“No, I want compensation for a miserable drinking experience.”

This goes on for some time, and while Virgil is largely skilled at keeping his composure when he has to, that’s much more easily said than done when the guest is flinging curse words at him left and right.

“Sir, I’m sorry, it’s—there’s a long line, so unless you want to have me remake your drink for you, there’s really nothing I can do.” Angry Guest Man rips out a few more choice words before storming off, shouldering patiently waiting customers out of the way. Virgil rolls his shoulders back and moves on to the next guest, relieved when all they want is a grande mocha.

Virgil.

Wants.

To.

Go.

Home.

“Hey, I’m here to cover for Natalia!” Kim announces, prancing behind the bar without a hat on, as if she doesn’t notice the hold up Virgil’s dealing with.

“Awesome. Get here sooner next time. Put on a hat—or a hairnet, I don’t care which—and start taking orders while I catch up on hot bar. We’re almost out of skim milk, and the almond milk shipment is behind today, so only offer coconut and soy milk.” Virgil tosses out orders almost as fast as he hands off drinks, waving off Kim’s bewildered demands. “I don’t care how or why Natalia got you to show up late—better than not at all—but I need you to kick into gear. I’ll get you as caught up as I can, but I’m gonna hit compliance, so savor this partnership before you’re on your own.”

Kim bites back whatever protests she might’ve had, instead nodding and moving for the register. She plasters a welcoming smile on her face and starts chatting up the next guest as Virgil slowly but surely picks apart his backlog of orders.

Virgil does not want to be here.

Another guest complaining about their cappuccino not having enough foam is incredibly close to being the straw that shatters his back. Virgil bites back a groan as he gingerly takes the unlidded cup from her, nodding his apologies and profusely assuring her he’d remake it. She scowls and mutters something about hurrying up.

“There you go, sorry ’bout that,” Virgil says, passing off the new cup.

She removes the lid, glaring at the drink and completely ignoring the swarm of people behind her that would very much like to get their orders. “There isn’t enough foam for the caramel to sit on top.”

“Yeah, that’s how physics—I mean, yes, my bad, do you want more caramel drizzle?”

“No, I want you to make it right.” With no further warning, she scrapes off the top layer of foam and flicks it at Virgil, cocking her head to the side as it plops across the bridge of his nose.

He might just scream.

“So you’ll have me remake it, then?” Virgil forces himself to smile as she nods with a harrumph. “Right, okay, just give me a minute here, aaand—there you go.” He pushes the latest creation over the bar and comforts his shot nerves with the mental image of throwing the drink in her face.

“There’s not enough foam.” Before Virgil can even pretend to be sympathetic to her first world problems, she dips her finger into the foam.

And flicks this one square at his chest.

“Anne?” Virgil’s voice is sugary sweet as Anne drifts lazily over from across the seating area, moving as if she had all the time in the world. “I’m going to hit compliance in less than two minutes, so I am going to clock out. I will not be coming in tomorrow, as I have a backlog of sick days, and I will be using one to figure out whether I want to come in the day after that. Good luck getting someone to cover for me, since it was obviously such a difficult task for Natalia.”

“Virgil, if you don’t come in tomorrow, you can kiss this job goodbye,” Anne snaps.

Virgil considers this, removes his hat, and places it squarely on her head. “If you want me to stay away, I’ll do so happily. In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t a whole lot of qualified backup for you here.” Anne can only manage bewildered sputters in response as Virgil unties his apron, drapes it over a chair, and strolls off to the break room.

Virgil is leaving this hellscape.

“I really wanna leave this stupid town,” he sings to himself in the car, ignoring his blatantly wrong lyrics as he tears out of the parking lot. “And today, the time has come.” Ramping up his voice to little less than a furious scream, he pounds the steering wheel to the rhythm, and feels an odd lightness when he sees the empty passenger seat. For once, he doesn’t have to have the ever-present company of that obnoxious apron, wrapped up and tucked inside that ridiculous hat.

Virgil is going home.

At least, Virgil thought he was going home.

No one could be more surprised than him when he finds his hands steering the car toward Logan’s cafe of their own volition.

“Hey, Virgil, what’s going—wait, hey, you walked under the mistletoe!” Roman whines from the counter, where Remy is closely monitoring his work behind the bar. “You can’t just walk past mistletoe without a kiss-letoe!”

“Stop talking, or that mistletoe is going up your ass-letoe,” Virgil mutters, making a beeline for the mound of bean bag chairs in the corner. A nice touch of comfort amidst the soft lighting and colorful menus they’d added yesterday. Probably Patton’s idea.

He falls to his knees before he knows what he’s doing, shoving his face into the plasticky surface and letting the rustling beans consume his senses. He’d barely bothered to notice how loudly his pulse was thrumming through his head until it stopped, overpowered by the artificial cushion beneath him. At the sound of footsteps drawing near his head, Virgil briefly considers sweeping out a leg and knocking them to the floor. An action movie sequence fantasy at best.

He feels them speak before any words come out, and has never felt closer to cussing out someone he met mere days ago.

“Hey. Rough day?” By some merciful chance, it’s not Roman, or Remy, or even Patton. Logan continues, careful to keep his voice low and measured, “I get that. I had the lights turned down temporarily to test the environment in direct sunlight, but I’ll leave them down for your sake. We also received several compliments on the new menus—all your handiwork, of course.

“Remy’s training Roman on how to make drinks right now, since I’ve heard many guests discussing how to get their friends to join them on trips here. With that kind of increase in business, I could really use his extra set of hands, no matter how inexperienced. I see you brought your mug, as well—if it doesn’t upset you too terribly, I’ve already had Remy begin teaching Roman how to make up drinks, so you might get an odd flavor combination, what with the steep learning curve and all. Roman is creative, I’ll give him that, but he’s never truly been one for understanding the intricacies of taste and texture among our staple ingredients.”

With every word out of Logan’s mouth, Virgil can feel his mounting headache slowly, ever so slowly, draining away. In the wake of Anne and Kim’s nonsense, he hadn’t cared to notice the exhaustion, much less how severely it hurt. Even now, his pulse is pounding like a jackhammer against the roof of his skull.

“When Remy first picked out that mug covered in cups for you, I have to say, I was horrified. As far as I could tell, it was just the first thing he grabbed, which is about as basic a tactic as any other. Your current one, with all the constellations and the blues, just felt right, if you know what I mean. Not exactly a logical way to select your mug, but I can’t really explain it.”

“I like to call them mug-mates!” Roman announces. “You know, mug, soulmate, mug-mate?” An image crosses Virgil’s mind of throwing his current mug at Roman’s head, and he laughs. “See, Remy, told you I was funny.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Remy says gently, “but Patton was only lying about you being funny because you suck at everything else.”

“Shut up,” Logan singsongs, his voice achingly calm against their raising tones. In a voice that somehow manages to be even more soothing than before, almost dulcet, he continues, “most of my guests have a particular piece of clothing or accessory that stands out, matching their immediate mug. You just felt, well, different, somehow.”

Virgil fights the instinct to flinch as he feels something come to rest against his head. A moment passes, two, before it starts to move, lightly combing through his matted hair and gently scratching at his aching head beneath. Against his own volition, a contented sigh escapes his lips. The scratching continues unaffected.

If it were possible, Virgil would stay here, just like this, forever. Motionless in a pile of bean bags, with only Logan’s presence to remind him he still exists. Naturally, this isn’t possible, as a gentle set of three raps against the wall over his head jerks him out of his half-conscious state.

Logan nods with a smile as a guest lowers their hand, moving for the door and stashing their mug in their bag. At Virgil’s questioning gaze, Logan raises his hands and explains, “that’s how my best guests say goodbye. The first few regulars I had liked the peaceful silence, so instead of cutting through the air with words, they’d just knock on the tables. It sort of became habit, I suppose.” Virgil glances from Logan’s mouth to his shoulder and back, releasing another sigh as the scratching shifts down to his back.

“Feel any better?” Logan asks. His eyes are filled with a warmth that Virgil swears wasn’t there yesterday.

“Little bit,” Virgil mumbles. “Work sucks.”

“And where, exactly, do you work?”

“Starbucks north.”

The shock in Logan’s expression is almost laughable. “I have never been more disgusted with a single human being in all my life than I am right now.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. I think I just kind of quit, though. Not exactly a ceremonious end to my shift, if you know what I mean.”

“Rude guests?”

“Try obscene and pathetic. One flicked her foam at me.”

“Wait, don’t you get free drinks when you work there? Why buy my drinks when you can get stuff without paying for it at all?”

“We aren’t, like, a chain place, since we’re owned by the department store we’re in, so we kind of follow different rules than the regular stores. I only get one grande drink per shift, and it has to be while I’m on the clock.”

“Okay, but you can still get those drinks. Just make them on your last five minutes and walk out with them. Why bother spending money on what could be free?”

“I’m not funneling the money I get from that place directly back into it. They are a capitalist regime based on the basic downfall of the foremost man empowering story, and I refuse to fuel their fire.”

“How closely did you analyze Moby Dick?”

“Sparknotes.” Virgil pushes himself onto his elbows, still savoring the feeling of Logan’s fingers gently scraping along his back. “Hey, what was that you were saying yesterday about offering for me to work here?”

Logan’s face colors immediately, flush with about as much red as is humanly safe. “I didn’t mean to impose—I mean, er, I didn’t want you to feel like—”

“It’s cool,” Virgil interrupts. “Anyway, were you even a little bit serious? Because I don’t really have a reference from my last place, but if you’re willing to accept a new hire with a shady history who knows how to run a coffee bar, I’m your guy.”

Logan nods quickly, glancing back to where Roman is struggling considerably under Remy’s watch. “You’re hired. You start today.”

“Actually, I know this is probably a bad first impression on my new boss, but do you mind if I start tomorrow? I’m not really feeling it today.”

“Indeed, I should probably draw up the paperwork, as well.”

The finality of this tenuous agreement hangs in the air, an oddly relaxed cloud of, well, something that can only wait to be shattered.

Roman does a perfectly fine job of carrying out this task.

“Logan, you’re gonna be so proud of me in a second here—I made my very first drink! Remy said I have to give it to Virgil, since you won’t take it.” Roman passes the constellation-covered mug over to Virgil, who glances warily at the murky substance rippling within. “Relax, it’s literally the easiest drink I can make.”

“Earl grey tea,” Remy calls over. “Two tea bags, hot water, and honey. I promise he didn’t poison it.” Only after Remy’s reassurance does Virgil take a hesitant sip, admiring the flavor as soon as it hits his tongue.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Logan exclaims, raising a finger in the air. It takes everything in Virgil not to whine at the loss of the reassuring hand against his back. “I got something as a thank you for helping us with the decorations yesterday—it’s right upstairs, actually. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll have it right back down here for you.” As Logan rises, something jingles and clatters to the floor, escaping his notice as he moves for the door. A keyring, covered in at least ten keys and even more keychains.

“Hey, wait, you dropped these,” Virgil says, grabbing the keys and following Logan to the door. Logan lifts his chin slightly, taking the keys and shoving them in his pocket—careful enough that they won’t fall out this time.

“Oh, look at that,” Roman coos. Virgil raises an eyebrow, turning to see where Roman and Remy are excitedly elbowing each other and giggling. Even Patton appears from around the corner and smiles along with them—probably leaving the bathroom.

“Look at what?” Logan asks, obviously quite finished with their nonsense. Rather than dignify him with an answer, Roman merely points above their heads. Virgil follows the motion to see the last decoration he could’ve expected in June.

Mistletoe.

To the tune of the other three quietly chanting, “kiss, kiss, kiss,” Virgil swallows an annoyed moan and glances at Logan, whose face somehow managed to turn an even deeper shade of pink.

“If you don’t want to, I mean, if you didn’t, you know, feel comfortable with—” Logan stammers, every word darkening his cheeks, but Virgil cuts him off with a laugh.

“Maybe I do want to. Kiss you, that is. I mean, if you want to.”

“No, yeah, I mean—yes. I would like that. To kiss you, I mean.”

Virgil’s face glows like a rose on fire. “Okay, cool, because I also want to do that. Also.”

So he does.

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