#fruit and veg shop near me

[westernfreshfruitveg]

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[kariachi]

Who wants fic!? Some Kevin, some Argit, shopping went wild and our favorite rat is indulging in some of his ancestral culture.

~~

It had been expected for Argit to come back to the apartment with a decent pickling jar and a collection of whatever fruits and vegetables caught his eye. Ever since getting somewhat settled on Earth Kevin had begun working on making a traditional-enough broth like had been a mainstay of his early childhood, and Argit had eventually gotten the urge to follow suit. He hadn’t grown up with traditional Erinaen fare, his nostalgia was for what could be eked out of the Null Void, but since their escape he’d been slowly getting more and more exposure to the cultures, cooking, and so on of his parents’ homeworld. Especially now, with the thriving population in Geilla Bohln giving him every opportunity to sink into the whole. To try to get a pickle together, a household mainstay of the vast majority of the species, especially with Kevin doing similar with his broth? Had been an obvious step to take.

Kevin had not realized that it apparently required restocking the kitchen.

He stood leaning against a wall and watched, cheek on his fist, as Argit pulled item after item out of a jar that had to be at least twice what he’d expected. A stack of papers, about six different varieties of fruit and veg- only half of which recognized- a container of vinegar, a box of salt, cutlery-

“When you were late,” he said, “I was kinda hoping you’d met a cute guy.”

“I should be so lucky,” Argit said with a derisive snort. “Made the mistake of mentioning I was trying to make a pickle for the first time and was forced to buy a larger jar than I wanted because ‘planning for later never hurts you’. Then, the bastards had a few of the teenagers go with me to buy some produce, people there insisted I grab this-” He grabbed a bundle of some sort of green. “-because apparently it makes a healthier and faster pickle.”

“Then,” he continued, and at that point Kevin had to hop up to sit on the counter, “somebody asked what color knife I was using. I said ‘I’ve got metal ones’, immediately half the shop was arguing about what was the best color knife for cooking because apparently that makes a difference. Anyway, another couple of teenagers got sent to escort me to get some ‘good crystal’.” Stepping away from the jar as he finished unloading, Argit grabbed one of the small handful of knives. They were blue tones, with bone handles shaped down to a grip that looked natural in his hand. Kevin couldn’t help a little smirk.

“And is that color good for pickles?”

“Not a fucking clue.” Argit shook his head. “Once the others mentioned the pickle the argument started up again, finally said I wasn’t getting more than one set and seems everyone could at least agree that blues are good for general everyday use. Still tried to talk me into getting multiple colors, but by then I was just done. Damn near everybody with access to a pen and paper gave me a different recipe to follow too.” Snickering, Kevin shook his head. Reached out to fiddle with one of Argit’s ears.

“Think at this point I’m required to make some prayers to help it work,” he teased, snorting as Argit leaned into his touch.

“It fucking better, because if I have to go through this again we’re moving.”

[kiwibes]

PLEASE ADD YOUR PLASTIC FRUSTRATIONS IM CURIOUS

Things that come in plastic for absolutely No Real Reason, which frustrate me everytime I do my shopping:

Shampoo and soap refills

Dry cat food

Milk

Yogurth

Fruits and vegs? Leave the celery and cauliflower alone!?

The Extra Package around the toothpast. Maybe they haven´t noticed but it is already inside a package

Toilet and kitchen paper

Juices and sodas. Any large drink bottles really

Small rice, pasta, couscous....cardboard or refillable is perfectly usable

Nuts and dried fruits

Cookies packaged seperately. Sometimes I want 4, sometimes 6. Now I gotta open 1and a half tiny cookie package.

Most of this is stuff I buy regularly and if they were just sold differently I would have so much less plastic. And I know about shampoo bars (but I need a specific type of shampoo no matter how nice the shea butter magnolia bar smells), no-packaging shops (but there are none nearby), farmer markets (mine is small and even there some produce is packaged), etc. I found one spot near my work that sells milk in glass bottles but I just think it shouldn´t be so hard.

[therealpontius]

Are you dunn yet?

This is the only other series ive done, ive wrote a few chapters but i abandoned the end so i hope i can pick it up again.

Warnings: drug misuse

It was a normal saturday. You woke up at 7, got changed, watched the news then headed to aldi for your weekly shopping. You were only 23 but acted 53.

When you parked your car you headed for the shop getting milk, soup, veg, fruit and eventually icecream incase of surprise periods or down days.

"Oh piss off" you heard from behind you, making you turn round. A group of 5 men stood, looking at a bag of potatoes , they all looked around your age. One of the boys noticed you had turned around, he was shirtless with patchwork tattoos and a shaved head "hey, lady. Sure potatoes where the first food to grow in space?" The five men turned to look at you, waiting for your response. Unfortunately you knew the answer "yeah...?" The group of men look at each other "bull shit, steve-o payed her to say that. Im calling it" a smaller man with curly hair spoke to the rest "i can confirm he didnt" you laughed as you walked to go pick up your icecream. Aldi only done one you liked and that was cheeky monkey, if you didnt get it it was the end of the world.

You managed to spot it but it was on the top shelf, shit. "Okay ill jump" you whispered under your breath. Didnt work "just stand on your tiptoes" you encourage yourself. Didnt work. You look around, no ones there. "AASAHDHWJEJE" screaming into your hands in frustration "hello? Everything alright?" You freeze in horror and embarrassment as someone tapped your sholder from behind, you slowly turn round and it was one of the men from earlier, curly blonde hair and was probably around 6ft with beautiful eyes, he noticed you staring at himFor too long "hello? Lady?" You snapped out of it "um yes sorry im fine" you turned round again to hide your red face "well alright" his voice faded.

Once he had gone you continued trying to reach it when you felt an arm brush pass yours and grab the ice cream, you turn round to face who it was when you realise how close he is, practically hugging you close . Sure enough it was the beautiful stranger "here you go, im getting one aswell anyways" you raise your eyebrow since youve never heard anyone else actually liking it "you like this one?" He nods "its the only good one" a laugh escapes your lips as you relate to him, you took the cold ice cream and thank him going to walk off "hey lady wait one more thing!" You turn round and see him writing his number onto a bingo ticket, he gives you the paper and mouths "call me" before walking off. Strange.

After buying your items and walking out the shop, you took the number out your pocket

"845 747-" "hey watch where your going!" The older man you bumped into shouted and you noticed you had dropped the paper "sorry!" You chased the pink bingo paper in the middle of the carpark, everyones eyes where on you as you ran -ass in the air- after a soaking wet bingo paper but looked away once you had finally caught it

You checked  the number incase it had been damaged, it had, the black ink on your hands and smudged down "shit!" You exclaim earning a "cover your ears Tommy, she clearly isnt one with god" from an elder woman near by.

The sky got dark and you still held the peice of paper in your hand. Sitting on the couch, tv on in the background and the plasticity paper slotted between your fingers as if it had been cemented. No matter how hard you tried you couldnt make sense of it

"And for tonights bingo! Number one.... 45 Number two... 12...."

Wait. You look at the bingo ticket again.

'45  12  66   70  06'

"Number three 66"

Yes.

"Number four 70"

Okay.

"And for the last number of the night..... six!!!"

You jump up and celebrate as if you where sat with your friends, fists flung in the air and the pure look of joy on your face. "Fuck it" you say calling your friends "fancy a drink?"

5 friends and 5 excuses later you where left alone, the joy of wining far gone. Might aswell go drinking yourself?

You arive at a small pub to have a few ciders and go home, no intention of getting shit faced. The bar desk was sticky, it stank of beer and peanuts "hello lady, what can i do you for?" The bartender, jamie asked. He was a nice man, quite old and could not remember names for the life of him "just two cans of cider please jamie" he nodded and walked to get you your cans.

"Hey potato lady!" Your hopes got high, you turned feeling your face already blushed "hey! Oh.. hey" it was the guy with the shaved head and he sat with a girl with medium curly hair that had her face down onto the table, probably too drunk to stay awake. "What you doing here all alone?" You shrugged "didnt have anyone to come with" jamie placed your cider cans down and took in the change you had placed beforehand "thankyou my love" you nodded him off as you lifed your cans to the table the man was sitting at.

As you sat down you realised how drunk or high or whatever the man was, was. "The names o, steve-o" you tried to hide your cringe as much as you could, his face resembling a smoulder "my names y/n, nice to meet you" you put out your hand for him to shake but he couldnt manage to touch it, his hand swinging and swiping at anything but your hand "whos your lady friend?" You point to the strangely muscular woman who lay in her arms, raising your eyebrows. He goes silent and his eyes searched your face before a husky laughed escaped his lips "what? Is it your sister?" His laugh only grew stronger waking up the woma- wait "dude what" oh shes a man...

"Potato lady thinks your a girl!" The man looked around confused at who this 'potato lady' is "im so sorry!" You laughed out an apology making him smile too, his smile much more friendlier than

steve-os "hello mrs potato, my names chris. Now steve if you wouldnt mind im really sleepy" steve-o wiped the tears from his eyes and patted chris on the back .

"So back to business" he brought his nose up to a tissue and inhaled causing you to look at him in disgust.  He just looked you up and down "now my friend, ryan, was telling us he scored with a hottie and gave her his number. Why didnt you call him? I mean like.. like..." he zoned out and lay back in his chair leaving you to look around, confused. "Steve-o? Steve-o?" You nudged him and he sat up "what dude?" He looked more pissed "take my number and give it to ryan" he pulled out his phone and started stairing at it like it was changing shape "what the fuck dude, you do it" you slowly type your number into his phone and return it to him.

When you finally headed home you could barley sleep thinking about how eventful today had been...

[leedsvegboxuk]

Why Local Fruit and Veg Delivery is Better for You

 It is also difficult to set some time to shopping for fresh produce. This is where delivery services of fresh fruits and vegetables within the local markets come in handy. Not only are these services time-efficient but they also have numerous benefits for your health, the environment and the economy of your region. In today’s blog, we want to discuss why using local fruit and veg delivery service is more beneficial for you. Whether you are subscribed to a veg box Leeds or you are simply a customer at a fruit and veg shop, there are several benefits of choosing to use the services of aveg box Leeds.

Fresher and Healthier Produce

When you decide to order the local fruit and veg delivery, what you receive is fresh and healthy. In the local markets, fruits and vegetables that are marketed are harvested at the right time and hence contain many nutrients.

The shorter the time taken to transport the farm produce to the tables then the more fresh food is going to be. New and fresh fruits and vegetables are not only crispy and sweet in the mouth but also full of vitamins and other necessary minerals to bring change in health. That is why thefresh fruit and veg delivery near me are now so popular because you can get the best products of the season.

Encouraging Local Farmers and Businesses

Opting for local fruit and veg delivery not only ensures that farmers and local business people are encouraged but also that good quality products from nearby farms are availed. That means when you purchase from a local seller, you assist in the economy and support farming practices locally.

Buying locally produced food is one way of supporting local farmers and promoting sustainable farming practices. Local farmers produce higher-quality crops and food, which benefits the local food system in terms of stability.

Reducing Your Carbon Footprint

Making sure that you purchase your local fruit and veg delivery helps in reducing the impact of carbon footprint. It has been shown that long-distance transport of fruits and vegetables results in the emission of more carbon. It means that local produce is bought which limits the transport thus cutting on pollution and energy use.

Local delivery services incorporate environmentally friendly packaging and processes, which promotes them. This is in accordance with the various measures of running a zero-waste shop in Leeds, which aims to reduce waste and preserve the environment.

Conclusion

There are many advantages of buying local fruits and vegetables delivery. There is a variety of advantages, including the availability of fresh and healthy food, the encouragement of the local producers, the reduction of the carbon footprint, and the accessibility. There is no better Leeds Veg Box producer delivery service than this one. Our store stocks a wide variety of fresh and organic products so that you can be sure you are getting the freshest produce from your local delivery. Sign up for a local fruit and veg delivery today and discover the numerous benefits of making the change.

[vegboxuk]

5 Reasons to Choose a Veg Box from North London

Do you think of a healthier and more sustainable lifestyle in North London? A small change, such as choosing a Veg Box North London, can greatly affect your health, local community, and the environment. This blog will take you through five powerful reasons to select a local veg box, which could completely overhaul your weekly shopping routine. Delicious, practical, and ethical, these veg boxes are more than food; they are a move towards a more sustainable and healthy way of life.

1. Access Ultra-Fresh, Peak Produce

When produce travels shorter distances, it reaches customers sooner after harvest. Crops from North London’s countryside arrive within hours from field to box. The extreme freshness means exemplary texture and taste at every munch. The ripe, just-picked flavors offer delightful pops of goodness in every salad, smoothie and meal.

2. Get Inspired by New Ingredients

Veg box variety nudges home chefs out of recipe ruts. Changing seasonal selections may introduce lesser-known fruits and vegetables you wouldn’t normally try. Exploring innovative ways to prepare unique ingredients builds skill and range in the kitchen. Before long, you feel comfortable crafting impressive plates starring former mystery veggies.

3. Reduce Food Wastage

Without needing to buy bulk quantities lasting for weeks, boxes contain appropriate proportions fitting 7 to 10 day usage. The measured amounts mean you enjoy every last morsel without scraps lingering until decay. With less spoilage inevitably hitting trash bins, your household curbs ugly product waste.

4. Freshness and Quality

With a Veg Box Scheme near Me, you can get the freshest and best quality fruits and vegetables. While many supermarket products have been transported long distances and stored indefinitely, veg box products are picked and packed at their peak.

Have a taste of fruits and vegetables enriched with flavor and nutrients.

Observe the change in taste and texture as compared to a store-bought product.

The product's freshness prolongs the shelf life of your produce at home.

5. Health Benefits

When you subscribe to an  Organic Vegetable Box Delivery service, you are sure that you are nourishing your body with the utmost nutrients free from dangerous pesticides or chemicals. Include fresh organic fruits and vegetables in the diet and one will enjoy positive health improvements.

Boosts your consumption of critical nutrients, vitamins, minerals, and fiber.

Promotes a healthier diet and lifestyle modifications.

Organic produce minimize pesticides and chemical exposure.

A fruit and veg box scheme ensures that you get a balanced diet and allows you to sample new, healthy foods.

Conclusion

A veg box in North London offers countless arguments to do it, starting from support of the local farmers and getting the fresher and healthier products. Subscribing to a veg box is a statement for your health, local economy, and the planet. VegBox.org.uk has something for everyone, whether you fancy the Islington Veg Box Scheme, the Camden Veg Box Scheme, or just Organic Vegetable Box Delivery. Start the positive change today by picking a veg box and relish the benefits that come with it.

[bestdealzforyou]

   Top 10 Best Dog Cake in Hyderabad Best Dealz For You

1- Karachi Bakery

Bakery and Cake Shop in Hyderabad

4.3 (14T)

Service options: Takeaway · No-contact delivery · No dine-in

Address: Shop No.5, Jambagh Rd, NH 44, Mozamjahi Market, Malakunta, Jam Bagh, Hyderabad, Telangana 500012

Hours: Open ⋅ Closes 10 pm

Phone: 070328 88731

Order: swiggy.com

Karachi Bakery – Karachi Bakery is a chain of Indian retail bakeries. It was established in Hyderabad in 1953 by Sri Khanchand Ramnani with the opening of its first bakery in Moazzam Jahi Market. It is known for its Fruit Biscuits, Dil Kush and Plum Cake. The bakery rose to popularity when sales of their fruit biscuits exploded. In result, this helped the bakery expand across India. Apart from Hyderabad, there are exclusive Karachi Bakery outlets in Bengaluru, Chennai and Delhi. They also export a selection of their selected products to 25+ countries, including eight countries in Europe, USA, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, 3 in Africa and the Middle East. Karachi Bakery Gachibowli. A Great Place to hangout with Friends, Family and Dear Ones.

2- Conçu Jubilee Hills

Dog Cake in Hyderabad

4.5 (7.1T)

Sunny European patisserie with modest decor, wooden tables & cakes & pastries in a glass display.

Service options: Dine-in · Kerbside pickup · No-contact delivery

Address: Plot No, 738, Rd Number 37, CBI Colony, Jubilee Hills, Hyderabad, Telangana 500033

Hours: Closed ⋅ Opens 11 am

Updated by this business 8 weeks ago

Menu: concu.in

Order: concu.in

Phone: 099858 00031

Conçu Jubilee Hills – An elegant café and patisserie in the heart of Hyderabad, Conçu is aptly named after the French word for “crafted”. This sweet haven for delectable goodies has brought the quaint and cosy cafes of Europe closer to Hyderabad.

3- Humming Bird Cafe

Cafe in Hyderabad

4.0 (7.1T)

Cheery cafe serving casual fare & a selection of creative desserts in an airy garden setting.

Service options: Dine-in · Kerbside pickup · No-contact delivery

Address: Madhapur Rd, near Maharaja Chat, next to Vellanki Foods, Sri Rama Colony, Jubilee Hills, Hyderabad, Telangana 500033

Hours: Closed ⋅ Opens 11 am

Phone: 098857 06978

Order: swiggy.com

Humming Bird Cafe – A great cup of coffee never fails to put me in a good mood. Alongside the quality coffee and the mesmerising ambiance, this place also brings a lot of memories.

4- Autumn Leaf Cafe

Cafe in Hyderabad

4.2 (5.6T)

Address: plot no, 823, Rd Number 41, CBI Colony, Jubilee Hills, Hyderabad, Telangana 500033

Hours: Open ⋅ Closes 10 pm

Updated by this business 8 weeks ago

Phone: 073309 05551

Order: swiggy.com

Autumn Leaf Cafe – No reservation required. It’s a walk in only. Wait time ranges from 5mins to 30mins sometimes over the weekends or busy days. We’d like to know ahead of time if it’s a bigger group of more than 12 people and are coming for celebrating an event.

5- Brown Bear Bakers

Bakery and Cake Shop in Hyderabad

4.2 (3.5T)

Service options: Dine-in · Takeaway · No-contact delivery

Address: Gowlikar house, 3-6-270,270, Narayanguda Rd, AP State Housing Board, Himayatnagar, Hyderabad, Telangana 500029

Hours: Open ⋅ Closes 10:30 pm

Phone: 088851 19110

Order: swiggy.com

Brown Bear Bakers – Brown Bakery at Narayanaguda. Had had their donuts from another shop before. It was very tasty. This time we visited the bakery itself. They have a wide range of snacks. Donuts and cakes of different flavours. Other veg and non-veg snacks, chips, chocolates etc. Tea and coffee are available. There is a juice and shake bar too. You can either have the snacks there itself or parcel and take home. Parking is difficult in the area.

6- Tipsy Topsy Bakers

Bakery and Cake Shop in Hyderabad

3.9 (2.3T)

International snacks such as pizza available alongside a range of sweet & savoury baking.

Service options: Dine-in · Takeaway · No-contact delivery

Address: Address: House No. 16-11-477/6/1/A Shop No. 1 and 2, Sai Towers, Besides TMC, Dilsukhnagar, Hyderabad, Telangana 500060

Hours: Open ⋅ Closes 10 pm

Menu: order.tipsytopsybakers.com

Reservation: dineout.co.in

Order: swiggy.com

Phone: 086860 89444

Tipsy Topsy Bakers – Our bakers start work before the sun rises each day to ensure that every batch is as fresh as possible before it gets to you. The warm smell of baking often escapes onto the street before we’ve even opened. We’re dedicated to kickstarting your morning with warm muffins, buttery biscuits and a cup of hot coffee!

7- Country Oven Ameerpet

Bakery and Cake Shop in Hyderabad

4.0 (1.7T)

Service options: Dine-in · Takeaway · No-contact delivery

Address: Shop No.1, My Home Lakshmi Nivas, opposite Hotel Green Park, Greenlands, Ameerpet, Hyderabad, Telangana 500016

Areas served: 500018 and nearby areas

Hours: Open ⋅ Closes 10 pm

Phone: 040 4878 9988

Reservation: dineout.co.in

Order: swiggy.com, foodpanda.in

Country Oven Ameerpet – Country Oven Ameerpet is the perfect place to get Birthday Cakes, Anniversary Cakes, Wedding Cakes, flowers, sweets, and gifts.

8- The German Bakers

Bakery and Cake Shop in Hyderabad

4.0 (628)

Address: No. 5-9-1118/2, King Koti Road, King Koti, Opp. Neerus Rekha House, Hyderabad, Telangana 500029

Hours: Open ⋅ Closes 10:30 pm

Phone: 097052 42415

The German Bakers – Food is good. Chicken roll with cheese on top is amazing. Snacks are heated in microwave. Seating to eat in shop is available. Pav from this shop was also good.

No place for hand wash but has tissue paper. Cleanliness is 3/5. Accepts only cash. No card. No UPI.

9- The Sweet Bites

Bakery and Cake Shop in Hyderabad

4.2 (368)

Address: Prashanthi Hills, Almasguda Dlrl colony,Meerpet to Bn reddy, connecting road, Hyderabad, Telangana 500097

Hours: Open ⋅ Closes 10:45 pm

Phone: 081253 47414

Order: swiggy.com, google.co.in

The Sweet Bites – Seating outside is very nice.All type of fastfoods,cakes,pizzas, burgers, Frankie’s, sandwiches available. Nice place to eat and hangout. Mushroom rice is super & must be try.

10- Zoey’s Bakehouse

Cake shop in Hyderbad

4.5 (181)

Address: H No.6-57/2, 1st floor Raghuram Nagar Colony , Beside HDFC Bank, Chevella, Road, Sun City, Bandlaguda Jagir, Hyderabad, Telangana 500091

Hours: Open ⋅ Closes 5 pm

Phone: 089785 55664

Zoey’s Bakehouse – Got a cake baked from Zoey’s recently for my son’s birthday. It was an amazing fondant cake, so beautifully made, exactly like I wanted. Poonam understood my requirement well. A beautiful cake with awesome taste. Thank you for making a beautiful memory for us.

READ MORE....Best Deals online | Pet products, Clothing, health care products

[bizzlane15]

Bizzlane in Ahmedabad vegetables shop near me

Just place your order and get these at your doorstep within a few hours. It is known for its fast online fresh fruit vegetable delivery in Bizzlane in Ahmedabad .The best place to buy fresh capsicum in a variety of shapes and sizes is at Fresh Veg. Fresh, organically cultivated capsicum is what we specialise in giving.https://bizzlane.com/Search/Ahmedabad/Fruit-and-Vegetable-Shop

93740 30310

[sharkbait-huhaha]

today i picked up some rubbish in my neighbourhood. i took three shopping bags with me, and was planning on filling them all with as much rubbish as i could, but after the second one i got a bit overwhelmed + i was silly and didnt wear a long enough shirt and my arms were getting itchy from the plants.

i walked to the park near where i live and on the way i filled up a bag. and i mean FILLED. i could barely tie it up and i was scared it was gonna rip before i got to the bin. its mostly maccas packaging but i also picked up a lot of just like food packaging. empty chip/crisp packets, chocolate wrappers, coffee/drinks cups etc. some things that i picked up on the way there that i thought were interesting:

torn school? uniform (idk i didnt look at it too much)

empty bag of rice

big square of styrofoam (there was also like a metal roadwork sign frame which i didnt grab cuz it was pretty big, and tbh idk if id be able to put it in the bin. i might grab it tho at some point and try to figure out something to do with it)

a half deflated ball

sports bra and a pair of briefs (not together)

1x disposable vape (tbh i thought there would be more)

i got to the park and put it all in the bin. grabbed another shopping bag out and when to start filling it. there was so much stuff. lots of big stuff too, such as:

one of those big water container dispenser things (idk how to describe it)

LOTS of styrofoam (big pieces, little pieces. the really long piece (i actually dont know if thats styrofoam or not but im just call it that anyway) was right next to the footpath)

a pretty decent water bottle (i took it home and washed it and might actually use it or give it to someone)

wholesale fruit/veg box ( which was just like chilling in a bush)

ive got other pics but i dont wanna make the post too long so yeah (i am probably gonna start making more posts like this tho cuz i really like picking up rubbish :P)

[bizzlane17]

Bizzlane in Ahmedabad vegetables shop near me

Just place your order and get these at your doorstep within a few hours. It is known for its fast online fresh fruit vegetable delivery in Bizzlane in Ahmedabad .The best place to buy fresh capsicum in a variety of shapes and sizes is at Fresh Veg. Fresh, organically cultivated capsicum is what we specialise in giving.

[westernfreshfruitveg]

Find Best Fruit and Vegetable Market in Melbourne | Western Fruit and Veg

If you are looking for the best fruit and vegetable market in Melbourne, then western quality fruit and veg market is the best place to buy fresh quality fruits and vegetables. Get Exciting deals from Western Quality Fruit & Veg!! Visit:- https://bit.ly/3y5XOgi

[cythoughtsnmemories]

17.07.22

No more butterflies when we meet but I still get excited that I can see my bf. Lucky bf requested to meet somewhere near him, than to cancel dinner meet up. So I suggested Knock knock cafe, good service and acceptable food.

Rest of d week was just clearing work. Went for boss's step aerobics class and I would said, I'm not interested. Idk, I didn't sweat, too much coordination for me. I went for a 2.4km run afterwards and feeling good!

Mentor jio me to recee our upcoming dept walk last Fri evening and I enjoyed myself pretty much! Feeling so fit hahahaha~

Went for my full day course ytd and dinner w Della. I'm glad we still can enjoy a date. On and off, I still get my insomnia. Ytd I only slept 6 hrs and I guess it's okay since I'm not doing any cooking.

Grateful bf planned for today's date, although it's just lunch place. The Taiwan food is so good and love d peanut ice cream so much! Since, we had no plans, so I suggested to go JP to buy this new egg tart. Enjoyed the window shopping at furniture shop w bf, cos we shared what's our preference and I'm feeling excited to get our hse.

Bf last min got to do a bit of work, so we headed to his hse instead. I sat on d sofa w d fan blowing me. Feels like old granny falling asleep 😂 His mum cut fruits for us and I fed my bf some. When I went to wash up after eating, his mum requested me to help cook 2 dishes, veg and onions egg. Out of respect, I agreed but I'm so tired. Tbh, y not just tabao if u don't feel like cooking. Why d veg I need to cook need so much effort to peel every single stem. Luckily, his mum is okay for me to leave d stem out n just cook the leaves. Grateful bf knows I'm tired so he came to help after his work. He even went to tabao 1 more dish cos the portion wasn't enough.

As said, I'm tired and so I was careless. Dripped a drop of hot oil accidentally on 1 of my finger. Fxxk! Suddenly I feel like raging. Tahan~ So I went home to share that I kena arrowed to cook and I was told I can choose not to go my bf hse. Anw, I should help to cook since I'm eating dinner too. Yea, not wrong. But sister today not enough sleep, tired! Even told bf idw cook today already, end up...

All I wanted was my parents to feel heart pain or at least concern if I get bullied. But all I get was, I deserved it and making a big fuss. I'm not even married over leh. Fine! 只有自己心疼自己.

[in-a-trans-like-state]

hmmmm

I have just realised I haven't eaten a fruit or vegetable in a few days....

I wonder if that's whats making me feel crap

[snackhobi]

pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 13.4k / genre: fluff + comedy (I suppose)

summary: you work the night shift in a supermarket. and now your crush, aka the cutest boy in the world, aka the guy you’ve been thirsting after for months, aka jeon jungkook, works the night shift too. les geddit

warnings: this fic is sfw BUT there is cursing/explicit language—the reader is thirsty af, just SO thirsty, seriously the thirstiest, but other than that this fic is pretty soft

a/n: thank you to my darling friend and beta reader @hobi-gif​​, without whom this would have remained an unpublished fic I just wrote for funsies, and also to @yeojaa​​ for reading this through and enjoying this terrible self indulgence of mine, you’re both queens

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Why is it that all the interesting things happen whenever you’re not at work? Like the time you'd been off for one (1) night so that you could move into your new place, so you hadn't witnessed the full on brawl between a customer and the security guard right before the store shut. Or the other time when you were twenty minutes late because of road closures and you’d missed all the free doughnuts—Yoongi hadn’t even saved you one, opting to give it to his crush instead, even though Jimin wasn’t even night shift. 

(Yoongi was a Judas, betraying you all because of a little thirst. Snake.)

(Okay, sure, you're friends with Jimin too, but still.)

Anyway. You’re here almost all weeks of the year, and the few times you’re not, that’s when things get interesting. Working in any sort of retail job is boring at best, especially when the store is shut overnight (customers during the day were awful but at least they provided an ever rotating cast of varying characters that could provide amusing anecdotes to add to your repertoire), and it’s downright frustrating whenever you miss out on the few variations to your usually monotonous nights just because you happened to miss it.

Yoongi is also The Worst at keeping you updated. He has little to no interest in gossip and keeps himself firmly out of unnecessary interpersonal drama, staying uninvolved by being entirely unapproachable and blanking people whenever they try to talk to him. You keep out of it too, but in a different way— you don’t get involved in drama because everyone likes you. You’re personable and social, almost to a clownish degree, somehow treading the line between being Nice and Firm, so people simultaneously like you while also being wary of annoying you. 

Either way. When you’re not there, Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to find out any developments, so you’re always left floundering to catch up with whatever’s gone on so that you can keep your position as Liked-By-All-Sides as secure.

So, with all of this in mind, when he says that nothing interesting has happened in the two weeks since you’ve been off, you’re understandably sceptical, raising an eyebrow at him from where you’re reclining in his passenger seat. The entire supermarket could have burned down while he’d been working and Yoongi would probably say of the event afterwards—if pressed—that it had ‘been a little hotter than usual’.

(At least Jimin indulges you with petty gossip. You’re certain he’d let you know about any new developments, but he’s not on a late shift tonight, much to the disappointment of both yourself and Yoongi—although he won't admit it.)

You hadn’t sensed any ripples in the Force when you’d stepped into the supermarket. Everything looked the same, all the way down to the slightly wonky sign on the front display that was trying to persuade customers to buy the new lines of overpriced olives and antipasti, and nothing felt any different on your journey up to the locker rooms; the poster asking everyone to book their holiday before the 26th June 2001 was still up, as it should be; the sight of Yoongi walking in the direction of the staff canteen as you went to dump your stuff in your locker was as familiar as normal. You were usually good at sniffing out change, but everything had passed your smell check and so you let your guard down, bursting into the break room with your usual aplomb. 

That’s one thing about night shift that people don’t usually realise. Because there aren’t customers around, you can yell up and down the shop floor as much as you like (it’s usually faster than walking around to find someone) and swear or be inappropriate in ways that wouldn’t fly during the day (like bowling products across the floor instead of walking up to the shelf and putting them down). You don’t swear or yell, really, but the amount of time you’ve spent on nights has increased your overall volume and altered your verbal filter, so once you’ve kicked the door open, what comes out of your mouth is as follows:

“Wassup everyone? Ya girl is back from her time off and is absolutely RARING to go! I know you all missed me, but please, no flash photography,” you simper. You hear Yoongi snort into his coffee from his seat on the sofa, directly under the sign that says ‘No Food Or Drink Allowed On The Sofas’ alongside a picture of a dancing hot dog with a massive red X across it.

Most of your coworkers are a lot older than you—young people don’t tend to work overnight—so they don’t match your level of energy, but they’re still pleased to see you nonetheless, a little chorus of hellos greeting you when you walk into the room. You shoot finger guns at them, ending with an overly theatrical wink at Taehyung, wiggling your fingers in a wave at the boy as he grins at you through his mouthful of food (he’s not night shift but he finishes a lot of his shifts late so you're on friendly terms). 

When you flop down next to Yoongi he wordlessly hands you a coffee. You hiss a little at the contact of the hot mug against your skin—he’s holding onto the handle, and you’re quick to accept it from him so you don’t burn yourself—and peer down at the hot liquid before taking a small drink.

You’re mid-sip when your eyes flick up from the mug and you immediately splutter. You cough and hack, eyes filling with tears as you try to swallow the noises down to no avail; you sound distressed enough that even Yoongi gets concerned, thumping you on the back as you make a noise akin to a cat wheezing out a hairball.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is pained as you look out of the corner of your eye at the boy sitting next to you. “I thought you said nothing interesting had happened while I was off?”

Yoongi looks perplexed. “Nothing did,” he says. Somehow you resist the overwhelming urge to pour your coffee all over him.

“Then explain to me exactly why the Muscle Boy from morning shift who works on fruit and veg is sat over there in a night shift uniform,” you hiss.

“Oh, yeah.” Yoongi sounds entirely disinterested. “He moved on to nights the first week you were off.”

So not only has the hitherto-unreachable object of your affections moved on to your shift—great, you weren't mentally prepared for that at all—he'd apparently witnessed your unnecessarily theatrical entrance, as well as your subsequent near death experience via coffee. You wish that the near death experience had, in fact, been a full death experience; your final moments may have been undignified but at least you’d have gone out while looking at a pretty face and not have to live with the embarrassment afterwards, knowing that Jeon Jungkook had witnessed you spluttering coffee down your chin.

Normally your Jungkook-radar (Kookiedar? You’ll have to work on the name for it) is faultless, flawless, sensitive to his exact location at all times—but he was never there at night. You only saw him in the mornings, catching glimpses of him on your way out, lifting heavy crates of bananas or potatoes onto the displays. But he’s here, now, sat on his own table, alone, away from the other workers.

While you hadn’t spotted him before, what with how he’s sequestered himself alone, from your vantage point now? You can clearly see him, and you know that he would have had full view of you from the moment you’d stepped into the room.

He's on night shift now. With you. 

“Yoongi, buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“If I asked you to kill me, would you do it?”

“No." His answer is immediate, but before you can be warmed by the fact he doesn’t wish for your imminent death, he continues: “I’d have to find someone else to reduce food for me, and I can’t go back to buying full priced noodles after this long.”

“I’ll reduce your head from your body,” you threaten, even though it makes no sense. Yoongi doesn’t react outwardly to this threat but you would wager anything that he was quivering in his boots, even though he’s doing a very good job of calmly sipping at his coffee. Ahh, Yoongi, always the master of the pokerface, despite the fact he must be terrified.

Anyway. You’re getting distracted. Basically, snake Yoongi had snaked on you and hadn’t told you about Jungkook transferring to night shift, like the snake he was. Yoongi being the snake, that is, not Jungkook. He wasn’t a snake. Sure, you’d never spoken to him in all the months you’d seen him and knew next to nothing about him but no one could be a snake when they looked that innocent. Besides, you’d seen him help customers, smiling at the old ladies who asked for him to reach for specific bits of fruit from higher shelves, or carrying their shopping for them, or— 

Argh, you were getting distracted again. Essentially he was a hot, muscular angel who hadn’t had your existence on his own radar until approximately five minutes ago, and his first impression of you must be that you are an absolute clown. A buffoon. And, okay, maybe you are, but you usually only let people onto that fact after knowing them for at least a day or two.

He’d looked startled when you’d made eye contact with him across the canteen, tearing his eyes away from you the second you’d tried to inhale coffee instead of ingesting it. You’re grateful that he’s resolutely kept his gaze away, absorbed by something on his phone instead, but he must have heard your desperate wheezing from across the room. Even if you’ve managed to cough away the coffee in your lungs by now it doesn’t detract from the overall embarrassment that threatens to swallow you up.

Beside you, Yoongi continues to drink his coffee like a normal human being. He’s oblivious to your inner turmoil. Of course your crush had moved to night shift when you were on holiday. Of course you’d missed that. Why wouldn’t you? You were a snail and God was salting you. What had you done to deserve such torment? 

“I can’t believe you didn’t think a new person was something I’d at least like to be made aware of,” you mutter waspishly. “Especially as he’s around our age! Since Hobi left we haven’t had anyone on shift who isn’t at least a decade older than us, Yoons.” 

As is tradition, Yoongi says: “A moment of silence for our boy Hobi.” You both shut your eyes and tilt your heads forward as you mourn your fallen brother. (He wasn’t dead, he’d just moved to a different job a few months ago, although you both still see him on a weekly basis.) And then Yoongi continues: “I guess I didn’t think it was important.”

“Do you have a single wrinkle on your brain, Yoongi? Huh? Or is it completely smooth up there? Why wouldn’t a new night shift worker be something I’d want to know about?”

“I figured you’d find out eventually anyway.” Yoongi shrugs.

“I hope a stack of bread falls on you,” you say.

You’re glad when it hits 9pm and your manager, Sejin, gets everyone’s attention for the huddle so he can tell everyone where they’re working for the night. You normally don’t pay much attention but this time you’re like a bloodhound on a scent trail, sniffing out what where Jungkook is going to be.

“Jungkook, you’re on the fruit and veg section,” your manager says, and your nostrils flare. Of course. You’re entirely unsurprised when he delegates Jungkook to the fruit and vegetable aisles— it’s what the boy is familiar with, after all. 

Most people in the store have areas they’re better at and do the same thing over and over, but you’re a bit of a wildcard, happy to work anywhere, so your own role varies a bit. You’d actually been there longer than Sejin, who’s a fairly new manager; he’d latched desperately onto you when he realised that you a) had been trained on pretty much everything and b) were also a pretty decent worker, on the whole, and so he allows you more freedom than he might afford other people.

So, because of this, you know that if you asked then he’d happily move you to a different area of the store, but you don't actually know where you want to go. You’re torn between hoping that you’re in a section near Jungkook (so you can ogle him) or the opposite of the store (so you’re saved any further shame due to the fact that you’re an absolute dunderhead, just an absolute embarrassment, why were you allowed outside?), but then Sejin tells you your job for the night and you can’t help a groan from escaping you.

“It’s my first shift back after my holiday and you want me to reduce all night?” 

You can’t help but sound a little whiny. Reducing is so boring. Looking through everything on the shelf and scanning it and then having to stick the reduced labels on them? Over and over and over? For the whole night? Your brain is already shutting down in anticipation for the repetitive monotony. (You have to try to conserve what few brain cells you have left and you're not about to waste them on this.)

Sejin looks genuinely apologetic. “Some day staff called in sick so there weren’t enough people to finish everything. You only have the meat and fish sections to do.”

You’re so distressed at the idea of having to sift through piles of meat that you don’t notice how Jungkook perks up at this, sitting up a little in his seat; if you’d been paying attention you’d realise that the meat and fish area is directly adjacent to fruit and veg, both sections within direct eyesight of each other. Instead you’re remembering the time you’d had a packet of sea bass leak on you and no matter how many times you’d washed your hands, the fishy smell had remained. Eurgh. 

“Alright, that’s everything!” Sejin claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work, everyone.”

There’s the usual grumblings and mutterings as people start to make their way out of the canteen and downstairs to start work. You take Yoongi’s mug from him and dump both of your empty cups into the hatch of the canteen, already resigning yourself to a long night of misery and boredom. Why did you choose to work in a supermarket, again?

You dawdle around upstairs for longer than you probably should once everyone’s gone, dreading the fact that you’re going to have to properly introduce yourself to Jungkook. Night shift is very insular and you can assume that no one’s introduced themselves to him or made an effort to be friendly— hence why he's been sitting alone. You’re the one person who works overnight who actually goes out of their way to introduce themselves to any new starters, but you’re fairly certain that if you try to introduce yourself to Jungkook you’ll end up throwing up on him. He’s just so hot that it makes you nervous. 

You make a long drawn out ahhhhhhhhhhh noise, letting your frustration out before straightening up and puffing out your chest. It’s fine! You’re fine. You’re a strong, confident, smart night shift worker who’s introduced herself to new people multiple times before. Jungkook is just another person. Sure, he’s the cutest guy you’ve ever seen, but he’s just another person. It’s fine.

It’s not fine. 

The second you round the corner to the fruit and veg section on your way to meat and fish, you see Jungkook effortlessly heft a massive crate of grapefruit as if it weighs nothing and you want to pass out. The one time you’d tried to lift a crate like that you’d almost done your back in, but Jungkook just lifts it with ease.

What’s worse is that while you’ve seen him do this before, he’d been wearing a day shift uniform at the time. The day shift uniform is, honestly, pretty ugly, an ugly beige long-sleeve button up with an equally ugly tan tie under an ugly grey apron (but of course Jungkook had still looked radiant in spite of the ugly ensemble he was forced to wear). The night shift uniform isn’t necessarily attractive either, a simple black polo shirt and combat trousers, but unlike the button up, the polo shirt is a t-shirt— and Jungkook’s rolled the already shorter sleeves up so that all of his arm is on display (holy shit he has tattoos). You can see the flex of his muscles in all their glory, the way his biceps bulge as he lifts the crate higher, the veins that run down to his hands, and your mouth floods with saliva. 

“Arm,” you say.

“Pardon?” Jungkook looks up, confused, and then startles when he sees you. 

“Um, nothing!” you stutter. There’s a loose lock of hair hanging across his forehead and you stare at that rather than looking into his eyes. You’d probably burst into flames if you made eye contact right now. “I just wanted to, uh, introduce myself? I know you’ve been working nights for a few weeks now so I’m kind of late, but I was on holiday. I’m Y/n.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, and then he sees how your eyes widen and he scrabbles to explain. “Uh, Sejin said it during the meeting.” He swallows.

You cough. Of course. There’s no other reason Jungkook would have known your name without you telling him; you sincerely doubt he’d sleuthed your name out via the rotas pinned on the board, much as you had with him. (You swear you’re not a stalker, he’s just really cute, okay?) 

“I’m Jungkook,” he finishes, laughing awkwardly.

“I guessed,” you say, pointing at his name badge like that’s the reason you know it. He stares down at his chest, as if he’d forgotten that he had it pinned there, and although you'd genuinely been looking at the badge, you suddenly notice that you can see the definition of his pecs even with the thick fabric of the polo shirt. You want to pass out again. You need to divert your attention to something else, stat, your brain scrambling for something to say next. “You know, you’re the only person on night shift who’s wearing a badge. No one else does.” 

You wince. Great. Now you sound like an asshole. Nice going, idiot.

Jungkook glances away from his badge to your finger, which is still pointing. He’s staring at your nail polish. Even though no one cares what the night shift gets up to, nail polish is technically against the rules and you wonder if he’s about to say something derogatory—you’d deserve it, you were just kind of a dick to him—when he smiles instead. “I like your nails.”

“O-oh,” you stutter, surprised. They’re nothing special, the colour a little chipped in places, but you’re still flattered by how genuine Jungkook’s compliment sounds. “Um. Thanks.” And because you have a habit of responding to compliments with one of your own, you say: "I really like your tattoos. The flowers are beautiful."

Jungkook looks stunned and doesn't respond. You spend a few moments staring at each other before Sejin rounds the corner, and you both abruptly turn away so it doesn’t look like you’re just standing around and talking instead of working (although that is, in fact, what you’re doing). You hustle over to the meat section, grabbing packs of bacon and pretending to look at the dates, even though you have no idea what date it is. No thoughts head full of Jungkook.

Over the years, you’ve mastered the art of Quick Glancing™. While to anyone watching you it would seem as though you’re absorbed in your work, sifting through food to check if it’s going out of date, you’re actually looking at Jungkook more often than not. Whenever it seems like he might catch you, your eyes dart back to whatever cut of meat you’re holding at the time—a box of liver, eww, slimy—but you spend the majority of the time watching him move around. You can’t help but wonder if he’d lift you as easily as those crates and have to suppress a full body shiver. Down, girl.

Yoongi appears like clockwork the second it hits midnight, leaning against the fridge as you stare at a pack of chicken wings. “Coffee time.”

“Oh, thank God.” You straighten up, unceremoniously dropping the chicken wings onto the shelf. “Caffeine, I need caffeine, get me the caffeine.”

You get the caffeine. You and Yoongi always go back to the canteen at midnight for coffee—even though you’re technically not meant to—and bring your mugs downstairs—something else you’re also not meant to do. You drink your coffee between looking at the packets of food on the shelf, sifting through trays of chicken breasts and stickering whatever's due to go out of date as Yoongi idles around near you, peering at everything you’ve slapped a reduced label on. He clicks his tongue at a lacklustre reduction, unimpressed at how little money has been slashed off the price, and honestly? Mood. 

“Don’t you have bread to put out?”

“Finished it. I’m waiting for the next delivery.” Yoongi yawns, but then his eyes suddenly narrow as he looks in the direction of fruit and veg. “Your new little friend keeps looking at us. I think he might be a narc.”

“Huh? Oh, Jungkook?” You look up from the chicken thighs. Jungkook is far out of earshot but clearly visible, hunched over a shelf as he starts to furiously organise some courgettes. “Nah, I don’t think he’s a narc. Besides, what’s Sejin going to do? Fire us? We get coffee all the time and he's never said anything about it before.”

“Yeah, but Jungkook doesn’t know that.” Yoongi scowls. He sounds suspicious. “Hm. I’m going to go back to bread, but keep an eye on that one.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. “Got it,” you say with a salute. 

Yoongi wanders off but not before throwing Jungkook a sharp look, which the boy doesn’t notice, resolutely staring at the courgettes. Seems like he’s really intent on making them look neat, which you think is kind of unnecessary, but whatever. It's kind of cute actually. 

You don’t think Jungkook is a snitch, but you do have to admit it’s maybe a little weird how often you seem to catch him watching you, though he’s very quick to look away. Your suspicions grow somewhat when he ends up in the canteen at the same time as you, eating your lunch a lot later than everyone else. You like the peace and quiet when the room is almost empty. 

Yoongi normally has lunch with you, but today he’d had to eat earlier because Sejin had asked him to help unload the delivery lorry, so you’re alone in the room with Jungkook. Although he sits on the table farthest away from you, it’s maybe a bit strange that he’s up there when you are. Like, sure, you do appreciate the fact that you can gawk at him a little bit more, but maybe Yoongi is right about him being a narc?

Nah. You’re probably just being paranoid. Jungkook is clearly introverted, not talking to the other guys working on the fruit and veg section, so he probably came up at the quietest time of day (/night) so he could avoid everyone. You can understand that.

Your lunch is almost over and you’re in the middle of making yourself and Yoongi another cup of coffee to take downstairs when Jungkook suddenly appears at your shoulder. You yelp in surprise when you notice him there, scattering coffee granules across the counter instead of dropping them in the cup like you’d meant to, clutching your chest in shock.

“Oh, God, sorry,” he apologises, and he fumbles as he scoops the granules into his palm to clear them up—and then he just stands there with a handful of instant coffee as he looks at you. You’re still clutching your heart. “Uh. I was wondering, do you bring your own coffee in?”

“Yes,” you say, cagey, unsure what he wants. You notice that he’s unintentionally cornered you against the counter, and now that your earlier shock has ebbed away, you can’t help but notice your height difference when he’s this close to you. “Can’t get coffee overnight otherwise. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, I just didn’t realise we were allowed to?” Jungkook sounds awkward, unsure. “I would have brought my own in if I’d known.”

You stare at him for a second. Yoongi would kill you if he saw what you did next, but you just end up turning around to grab another mug and dump a spoonful of coffee into it. “Do you have milk or sugar?”

“Huh?”

“Do you have milk or sugar? In your coffee?” You repeat carefully, tapping a spoon against the third mug, trying to tamp down the blush that’s threatening to appear on your cheeks when you glance at Jungkook over your shoulder. “You want one, right?”

“Oh.” He goes a little lax with surprise, apparently not realising that he’s done so until he drops a few bits of coffee on the floor and then lifts his hand again—you can see where the granules that are directly in contact with his skin have started to dissolve a little, sticky. The pile of coffee looks so small in his big hands. You want to eat out of his palm, as gross as that thought is. “Yeah, milk and sugar, please.”

As he goes to wash the coffee from his hands, you stare at yourself in the reflection of the metal kettle, wondering what the fuck you were doing while also trying to tame your thirst into submission. You never let anyone have your coffee (except Yoongi, obviously, and Hobi, when he’d been here) (a moment of silence for your boy) and you’ve known Jungkook for less than one (1) shift and you’ve already initiated him as part of the Coffee Crew.

Yoongi picks up on this immediately, spotting you and Jungkook reemerging onto the shop floor at the same time, although you peel away to visit your friend in the bread section. “Is that a mug that I saw Jungkook holding?”

“Yeah,” you say with forced casualness, wary of Yoongi’s response. Here we go.

But to your surprise he seems pleased. “He can’t narc on us now that he’s drinking coffee on the shop floor too,” Yoongi says.

“Oh, right! Yeah, that was my plan all along.” You force laughter, as if your pulse hadn’t been racing as you’d watched Jungkook take the first sip from the coffee you’d prepared for him, worried that he wouldn’t like it. You’d wanted to vomit your heart out of chest when he’d given you a small, shy smile and said that it was perfect, as if he wasn’t drinking cheap, crappy instant coffee, which was subpar even when it was good.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your fake hyena laughter but decides not to comment on it.

He raises his eyebrows again the next night when he witnesses you preparing coffee for Jungkook firsthand, lining up three mugs at midnight instead of just two, making coffee the way Jungkook likes it. “Once was enough to stop him from double crossing us, I think,” Yoongi says.

“I’m making this for him because I want Jungkook to be part of the group,” you say firmly, ignoring the way your hand trembles a little when you say this. Jungkook had waved goodbye to you when he’d spotted you in the morning after your first shift together, and tonight he’d made eye contact when you’d walked into the break room—more quietly than you had the day before—before smiling at you. (You’re constantly torn between wanting to coo at how adorable he is or begging him to bend you over a table, and it’s hard to keep these thoughts from showing on your face whenever you smile at him, but you’re doing a damn good job.)

Yoongi, despite his usual unflappable nature, looks absolutely floored. Even though you’d both spoken to Hoseok from the moment he’d started working with you, it had taken you a few weeks before you’d even offered to get him a drink at midnight, a mutual decision both you and Yoongi had agreed upon. And here you were, inviting Jungkook in without consulting your coworker-turned-best-friend, after one night. (You’re sure Hobi wouldn’t mind, but you feel kind of bad when you think about it and resolve to pay for his lunch when you see him next week.)

Yoongi squints at you as you keep your attention focused on the coffee and so don’t see the realisation settling across his features.

“Oh,” he says once it’s clicked. “You wanna suck his dick.”

You end up scattering coffee across the counter again. At this rate you may as well just pour the granules straight into the bin and cut out the middle man.

“Yeah, you wanna suck his dick,” Yoongi muses, watching as you grouse and clean up the coffee. 

“At least when I talk about your crush on Jimin I have the decency to not be crude about it,” you say, jabbing a finger in Yoongi’s direction. He flushes.

“I don’t have a crush on Jimin,” he scowls. You scoff.

“Oh, please, Yoons. You’re not as subtle as you think. If I catch you staring at Jimin’s ass one more time with those googly eyes of yours I’m gonna yarf.” Jimin’s ass, admittedly, is very nice, the awful work trousers somehow flattering on him, but it’s the reverence with which Yoongi looks at it that makes his crush obvious. Amongst plenty of other things. “And you let him have my doughnut! As if that isn’t practically a declaration of marriage!”

“You’re still going on about the doughnut?” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That happened months ago.”

“It was a limited edition Krispy Kreme doughnut, Yoons!” Your voice has gone shrill. “A motherfucking Kit Kat doughnut! The only reason I didn’t strike you down where you stood is because I fully support your crush on Jimin, even if I think it’s ridiculous you haven’t asked him out already! Anyway,” you say, letting the spoon clatter into the mug. “Whether or not I want to suck Jungkook’s dick, I miss having a third person in this group. Hobi actually laughed at my jokes.”

“I laugh at your jokes when they’re funny.”

“You never laugh at them!”

“I said what I said.”

“I’m going to poison your coffee so Jungkook and I can drink the rest in peace,” you say. “Oh, moment of silence for Hobi, we almost forgot.” The moment of silence lasts for a second, and then you’re pouring the freshly boiled water into the mugs. 

“I guess I should talk to Jungkook, then.” Yoongi still sounds suspicious and you glare at him as you stir the coffee.

“If I find out that you’re being mean to him, I will genuinely poison your drink,” you say, lifting the spoon and gesturing with it aggressively enough that a droplet of coffee goes flying off and lands on Yoongi’s face. You have no doubt that Jungkook could snap Yoongi like a twig if he wanted to, but Jungkook seems far too nice for that, and Yoongi can be surprisingly intimidating. 

“You won’t poison me.” He wipes the coffee away, unperturbed.

You snort. “I’ll use decaff and I won’t tell you.”

This makes Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

"Watch me.”

With that threat firmly in place, you feel a little better when you hand Jungkook’s coffee to Yoongi to give to him. You’re not near the fruit and vegetable section tonight so you won’t be able to keep a direct eye on them, but you’ll catch up with Yoongi once he’s wandered back over to bread.

You’re starting to feel a bit suspicious at how long Yoongi’s been absent for and so you make your way across the shop floor to see if you can find him. To your infinite surprise you spot both guys near the salads, Yoongi perched on an upturned crate while Jungkook puts watercress onto the shelf, the two of them in deep discussion about something. You feel like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone when you see Yoongi genuinely laugh and you back away, unsettled. 

When you eat lunch that night, Jungkook sits with you on your table at Yoongi’s behest. It’s still a quiet affair, like normal—you take as many opportunities as you can to sneak glances at Jungkook, surprised at exactly how much food he puts away—but when he offers to make the coffee, you have a hushed conversation with Yoongi while your muscle boy is distracted. You keep your eyes fixed on Jungkook’s back, and it really is unfair how good his shoulder blades look with that black material stretched across them. There’s no point in trying to hide your thirst from Yoongi now that he knows about it so you’re free to stare.

“I thought you said he was a narc,” you whisper, eyes still fixed on Jungkook's back. How is his waist so small? (Lord have mercy on your soul.)

“Nah, Jungkook is okay,” Yoongi replies. In Yoongi-speak this means that he really likes Jungkook and you’re flabbergasted. 

You don’t get a chance to say anything else before Jungkook is turning around, proffering your drinks to you with a bright smile—you can see his teeth, and you’ve never wanted to lick someone’s teeth before but apparently the sight of Jungkook’s mouth will do that to you, who would have guessed. It’s been two shifts and you’re already this dehydrated, just dying of thirst, shrivelled up like Spongebob in that episode where he visits Sandy’s dome for the first time. You’re a crusty thirsty sponge and Jungkook is a tall, sexy glass of water.

(You’re so fucking screwed.)

--

The thing with initiating Jungkook into the Coffee Crew is that you’re faced with the reality of his good looks constantly. Jungkook still doesn’t talk to anyone else, really, but he lights up around Yoongi and yourself, and you start to look forward to seeing those shiny doe eyes of his, the way he perks up whenever he sees you. 

Work quickly becomes the highlight of your week, which is something you thought you'd never say, but Jungkook is just too powerful. Everything about him is absolutely fucking devastating, a few examples being:

The night when it’s a little warmer, and he unbuttons all three buttons on his polo shirt—you can see his collarbones and the tiniest bit of his chest, going feral over such a small slip of skin like you’re some sort of Victorian lady who keeps her ankles hidden in public and you’ve never seen bare skin before.

Or when you got caught behind him on the stairs while he’s explaining the difference between meat protein and vegetable protein—you get a wonderful view of his ass, which you take full advantage of (respectfully). You get another look at said ass when he plays a game of pool against Yoongi while you sit on the sofa and watch, Jungkook leaning over the wonky pool table so that he can make a particularly difficult shot, placing his wonderful butt directly into your line of vision.

Or when you notice that even though Jungkook cycles to work, he never seems to smell like sweat, and instead he just smells like fresh clothes, clean linen that’s so potent you can smell him before you see him. But no one smells that much like clean laundry, right? It must be his cologne.

“Jungkook, do you wear cologne?”

Jungkook, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised at your question and just answers it like he would any other. “No, why?”

“Oh, it’s just that you smell nice? Sort of like whatever 'clean cotton' is apparently meant to smell like. Y’know? Like fresh laundry.”

“I do wash my clothes every day,” he says. “I guess you could call me a bit of a clean freak?”

For some reason, the fact that he smells so nice because of his clothes is just so hot. You want to bury your face in his shirt and just breathe him in, but that would be weird and creepy and invasive. So you don’t do that and instead allow yourself to sniff from a polite distance, olfactory senses working overtime whenever he’s nearby.

(Yoongi finds you uncapping all the detergents down the laundry aisle one night, desperately huffing each type to try and work out which one Jungkook uses. “Jesus Christ,” he says, watching as you take a particularly long drag of whatever Spring Day is—it’s pleasant, whatever it is, but it’s not what you’re looking for. “Are you trying to get high?”

“Smell this,” you say instead, shoving it in his face. He takes a wary sniff, nose crinkling. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“I guess?” Yoongi seems baffled. “Okay, you’re clearly busy, I’ll tell Sejin to ask someone else to do the job.” You don’t reply, too busy sucking in a lungful of Crystal Snow as Yoongi backs away.)

Jungkook also seems to have this weird knack of appearing whenever you need help lifting or moving something heavy. Normally you hate it when someone steps in to help you, a little offended at the idea that you can’t do something yourself—you've been doing this for long enough that you've developed a technique for things—but when Jungkook does it you don’t feel disrespected at all. He’s just so nice about it.

Like the time when you’re struggling to move an empty wooden pallet and put it on top of a stack of others; not only is it heavy, it's large and unwieldy, too. The last time you’d tried to move one of these you’d ended up hitting it against your shins while also getting a palmful of splinters. You hate these things. Jungkook, however, materialises out of seemingly nowhere and offers you his help. He ends up lifting the thing himself, squatting down to grab it and just tossing it on top of the pile. He does it effortlessly, literally effortlessly, like the pallet weighs nothing to him, and when you ask if he thought it was heavy, he blinks.

“No, not really,” he says. You have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from screeching.

“You must lift a lot of weights,” you say, weakly, and Jungkook nods.

“I’ve started incorporating weights into my pull up routine recently, too.” 

“Oh? Do you, like… tie them to yourself or something? Uh. How heavy are they?” 

Jungkook perks up, apparently excited at the opportunity of talking about exercise. “I hold a fifteen kilogram weight in one hand while I do a pull up with the other,” he says. 

Your legs feel weak at this mental image and you end up sitting on the stack of pallets as Jungkook starts to tell you about the rest of his workout routine, and when you find out he does kickboxing as well, you almost have to excuse yourself so that you can try and calm down. Instead you grin and bear it, your fingers digging into your thighs in the horniest grip known to man, acting like this is just a normal conversation that is absolutely not affecting you, no sir, no sirree, holy shit you’re going to die.

That night you do have to excuse yourself at lunch when you make a comment on Jungkook’s food, and he says that he needs to keep his calorie count up because he’s bulking at the moment.

“Bulking? Like for abs?” Yoongi asks.

“I already have abs,” Jungkook says dismissively. Your leg jolts under the table and your knee hits the underside of it, sending your empty lunch box almost flying to the floor, and Jungkook and Yoongi look at you in alarm. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

“Bathroom,” you gasp. “I gotta—bathroom. Lady stuff.”

You splash water over your face and run it over your wrists, desperately trying to cool down. You’d suspected he had abs, for multiple reasons, not least of all the fact that whenever he leaned back in his chair the material of his shirt would settle on his stomach in a way that hinted at the shape of the muscles underneath, but to hear him confirm it—like it was nothing—good lord. (Yoongi’s caught you staring at Jungkook’s stomach multiple times when the boy was distracted, but you’re beyond caring. If you have to deal with Yoongi fawning over Jimin then he can put up with you ogling Jungkook.)

When you come back, Yoongi is at the counter making your coffees while Jungkook is still sitting at the table. You slide back into your seat, about as composed as you’re going to get, when Jungkook leans towards you.

“Are you okay?” He looks worried. “I have some heat pads in my locker if, um, you wanted them, if you’re having period pains?” he says, but then he looks unsure. “I don’t know if you’re actually meant to use them on your tummy, though.”

Tummy. You want to squeal at how cute the word is, not to mention the fact that Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered about talking about period related stuff, unlike a lot of guys you’d known. “Oh, uh, no, thanks, Jungkook,” you say, flushing. “That’s really nice of you but I’m alright.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, although he’s still clearly concerned. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

And that’s the other thing. You still think Jungkook is the hottest person you’ve ever seen, of course, but he’s also so nice. And hardworking. And sweet. And gentle and thoughtful and determined and talented and just—he's just a whole lot of man, really, just so much, too much. Initially you’d been attracted to him based purely on how cute he was, but now that you've actually gotten to know him, your attraction has morphed into a full-on all consuming crush that’s absolutely catastrophic. 

Even when you’re not at work, you keep zoning out because you’re thinking about: Jungkook’s arms, Jungkook’s thighs, Jungkook’s face, Jungkook’s personality, or a mix of all of the above. You can’t focus on things when all you can think about is Jungkook. 

Jimin, of course, has been kept fully up to date with the situation. You squat behind the bakery counter whenever he’s on a late shift, hiding away from prying eyes so that you can talk to him as he tidies up, although you know he’s making moony eyes at Yoongi, who’ll glance back at him between the shelves of bread. 

You groan into your hands from your cross legged position on the floor, sat atop a flattened croissant box, and Jimin pats you sympathetically on the head.

“Jungkook is very cute,” says Jimin. You groan again.

“I want him to raw me,” you say. Yoongi must have been closer than you thought because you hear a noise of disgust from the other side of the counter before the sound of his footsteps moving away. Jimin laughs his tinkly little laugh as you continue to speak. “But I also want him to hold my hand? And I wanna kiss his cute little forehead. And make him breakfast in bed. Ugh. I hate this,” you whine. 

Jimin pats your head again. “Why don’t you ask him for coffee?”

You take your head out of your hands and fix him with a pout. “Why don’t you?”

“You know I don’t ask people for coffee, Y/n, I’m the one who gets asked,” Jimin says, and you know he’s projecting his voice so that Yoongi can hear him. You also know that Yoongi is too dense to pick up on this obvious flirtation, even though you can see how Jimin throws a wink in the direction of where Yoongi must be; you don’t turn to look over the counter but you hear the distinct sound of someone walking into a stack of bread and knocking it over, before Yoongi swears. Jimin just looks fond.

“Oh my God, just marry each other already,” you mutter.

“He has to ask me out first,” Jimin says, softly enough that Yoongi can’t hear from where he must be furiously tidying up the bread, if the sound of plastic packaging and low curses are anything to go by. “Seriously, Y/n, it sounds like Jungkook likes you as well. I think you should just go for it.”

You sigh. “Jungkook’s so far out of my league it’s like we’re not even playing the same sport. He’s sinking three pointers while I’m, I don’t know, whacking balls with a croquet mallet,” you mumble.

Jungkook is nice and funny and works out and is hot, so hot, the kind of hot that has people literally stopping to look at him. (You certainly had, the first time you'd spotted him down an aisle, doing a literal double take at how cute he was.) You, meanwhile, are a clown whose sense of humour has been warped by years of niche internet memes, you drink more coffee than is probably medically advisable, and make-up can only take you up to a shaky 6/10 on a very good day. All in all: Not Exactly A Catch.

Jimin clearly disagrees. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n.” He sounds genuinely mad, frowning at you. "If I didn’t like Yoongi I absolutely would have asked you out by now. Jungkook would be lucky to have you, you are a wholeass meal.”

“Yoongi compared me to a slug the other day,” you say. Admittedly it was because he’d knocked on your door when you’d been in the middle of shaving your legs, your skin shining with coconut oil—so the slug slime comment was definitely warranted and hadn’t been an insult—but Jimin’s expression turns murderous, unaware of the context.

“Min Yoongi, you get over here right now,” he hisses. Yoongi is there in seconds. “Did you call Y/n a slug?”

Yoongi’s face looms at you from over the counter. “Should’ve called her a snake instead,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hiss hiss,” you say. “That’s what you get for chatting shit about coconut oil.” 

Jimin blinks before his face goes smooth and a look of understanding crosses his features, raising an eyebrow at you. You bat your eyelashes at him innocently.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m going back to the bagels,” he says, but then his voice is gentle when he continues: “Unless you need something else, Jimin?”

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” He smiles at Yoongi, soft and sweet, instantly forgetting about the slug comment.

The two of them look at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist and you mime throwing up, but because they’re looking at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist, neither of them notice. You hear Yoongi’s footsteps recede and you lift your hands in despair.

“How is it even when I’m having a breakdown over a boy, the two of you manage to be so incredibly gay over each other?”

“It’s a talent,” Jimin says. “Besides, as happy as I am to listen to you, there’s only so many ways you can say I wanna suck Jungkook’s dick so bad, or he’s so adorable, what the fuck, or oh my God, Jungkook is so hot and I’m so thirsty, which are all things you’ve said, verbatim, multiple times.”

“It’s true.” You pout. “You’ve only seen Jungkook from a distance, anyway. He’s even better up close.” The bakery section is the other side of the supermarket, as far away from the fruit and veg section as you can possibly get; Jungkook has a much better work ethic than you and Yoongi and actually stays in his area to work, so he hasn’t met Jimin properly yet. 

Jimin’s expression becomes thoughtful. “You know what, that’s true,” he says. 

You’re immediately on guard. Jimin is well-meaning and considerate and kind, but he also loves to meddle and has absolutely no shame about it—the second you see that glint in his eyes, you think that maybe you’ve said something you shouldn’t have, but then you notice the time and your eyes widen.

“Oh, shit, I better go pretend to work before Sejin realises I’m missing.” You scrabble to your feet. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe drive home, Jimin!”

Jimin’s usually pretty punctual about leaving on time (even if he’ll hang around to talk to Yoongi, ugh). You wander over to the fruit section to help Sejin fill a display stand, and you freeze in the middle of lifting some apples into a paper bag when you spot Jimin talking to Jungkook. Jimin looks coy, Jungkook looks confused, and you? You probably look constipated. Why is Jimin still here?

You only realise that your mouth is open when Jimin spots you and winks, overexaggerated and theatrical. Your mouth snaps shut as Jungkook’s attention turns to whatever he’s winking at. You duck out of sight before he can spot you, scampering down the length of the store before practically throwing your apples at Sejin, who is understandably caught off guard and fails to catch the bag.

“I’ll go get some blueberries for the other shelf from the back room,” you bark in his face, all but running away before he can respond, leaving him surrounded by the escapee apples (escapples?) that are rolling away from him. You skulk around the entrance of the fruit and veg room for a little while, waiting for Jimin to leave via the staff exit—directly across from where you’re standing—but he doesn’t appear and you can only pretend to look for blueberries for so long, eventually returning to Sejin while despondently clutching the trays of berries.

Jungkook doesn’t seem any different when you make your midnight coffee run, and lunch is about as normal as usual. When you mention Jimin, he smiles, saying that it was nice to finally meet him, but other than seemingly slightly distracted—as if deep in thought—that’s it. There’s no hint that Jimin mentioned anything about you at all, least of all your crush—thank God—but you can feel the ripples in the Force. (Or maybe that was all the coffee you were drinking, seriously, maybe you should slow down?) You know that it’s not a coincidence that you’d had yet another meltdown about Jungkook right before Jimin had introduced himself to the object of your affections. You also know that Jimin knows that you know that, utterly shameless as always.

Jimin is on another late shift the next night. You squat behind the bakery counter when it’s unmanned, Jimin going outside to throw away some old baguettes or whatever, and you (metaphorically) pounce on him when he reappears. “Park Jimin.”

Jimin is entirely unsurprised. In fact he even has a box for you to sit on, proffering a flattened piece of porridge packaging; you feel uncomfortable at the idea of sitting on the Quaker Oats guy’s face and flip it over so you can see brown cardboard rather than his weirdly smug expression looking up at you. “Yes?”

“What exactly were you talking to Jungkook about last night?” You peer up at him, attempting to look at least somewhat threatening, but it’s kind of hard when you’re so much lower to the ground than Jimin is right now. Jimin has to look down at you so far that he’s given himself a double chin, but he’s still gorgeous, because of course he is. (He should leave some for the rest of you, jeez.)

“Oh, a lot of things,” Jimin says. “You were right about him being a sweetheart. He’s very nice. I approve.”

“What are you, my dad?” You mutter to yourself, but then: “You didn’t say anything about my crush, did you?”

Jimin is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. So when he answers you with a simple “no” you believe him, although you can’t help but still feel a little suspicious. Your gut might be full of coffee more often than not, but she’s also a smart bitch—smarter than your brain for sure—and your gut is telling you that Park Jimin must have done or said something.

“Yoongi is putting the tortillas out, so excuse me if I’m distracted,” Jimin says. The tortilla wraps are on the bottom shelf so Yoongi has to bend over to work them. You make a face of disgust and stand up to leave.

“Fine, me and the Quaker Oats guy will take ourselves elsewhere.” You tuck the flattened box snugly under your arm. “We know when we’re not wanted.” 

You feel a little bad later when you put the box into the industrial baler that you have, the machine crushing all of your cardboard flat, saddened that you’ve had to part from your new friend so soon. Bye, Quaker Oats guy. 

Jungkook finds you standing in front of the baler with a genuinely sad expression on your face, silent as the machine makes mechanical squealing and wailing noises while it crushes the boxes inside it. “Uh. Is everything okay?” He asks, delicate.

“It will be eventually,” you say solemnly, but then you look away from the baler and immediately brighten, smiling at him. “Did you need me for something?”

Jungkook looks at you for a second and then shakes his head. “I was just out here to get some more stock from the back room,” he says, and you both get back to work, unaware of the glances you steal at each other as you part.

Later that night—well, technically, morning—you see someone you haven’t seen for a while, and you gasp with excitement when you spot him. “Namjoon!” You holler down the aisle, far too loud and energetic at 5am, jogging up to him. “I thought you stopped morning shifts!”

Namjoon is a beautiful tree of a man, tall and long limbed, and probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. You’ve missed his dimples. “I did, but, I’m doing a bit of overtime,” he says, and you can’t help but smile up at him.

You’re so caught up in your laughter, cackling at a story that Namjoon is telling you, that you don’t notice Jungkook spotting you from the other end of the aisle. He circles around a few times, pretending to be straightening up the shelves, but watches as you shuffle closer to Namjoon, your heads practically knocking against each other as you stare intently at something on his phone. Jungkook can’t bear it any longer and starts to walk over. He has no idea what he’s planning to do once he gets there but he’s marching over anyway, and that's when you spot him.

“Jungkook, Jungkook!” You beckon him over—like he wasn’t coming in your direction already—and you sound so excited. “Jungkook, look, puppies!”

Jungkook has no idea who the tall guy is but he’s nice enough to turn his phone towards Jungkook without being asked to. There are multiple puppies tumbling over each other in the video, nosing at each other and flopping around. “I thought a golden retriever would be good for Jin, because he’s never had a dog before,” the tall man says, and you coo.

“They’re so cute! Oh my God, Joon, you should get one of those little bandanas you could tie around their necks, those are adorable,” you squeal. “Ahh, I love dogs so much. Don’t you, Jungkook?” Your eyes are shining as you look up at him, excited. 

Jungkook feels like he needs to sit down. “Of course. Who doesn’t?” He says, and you beam at him; he has to dig his fingers into his palms at how cute you are. He desperately turns his attention back to the video, where one of the puppies is nosing at a ball. “Look at them retrieve.”

“Retrieve my heart,” you say, clutching your chest. “Ahh, gosh, Joonie, you’re really living the dream, moving in with your hot boyfriend and getting a dog together.” You’re too busy imagining living in that reality to notice how all the tension leaves Jungkook the second he hears that Namjoon has a boyfriend. Oblivious. “Anyway, you should probably get back to work, I’ve distracted you for long enough. Sorry!”

“No problem.” Namjoon quirks a smile at you, nodding at Jungkook before moving away.

“Ahh, Namjoon is so lucky,” you say wistfully. “He’s so nice though, he deserves it.”

Jungkook is looking at you, curious. “You really get to know everyone, don’t you?”

“Huh?” You blink. “What? Yeah, I guess. Is that weird?”

“No.” Jungkook pauses, and you think that’s all he’s going to say on the matter, but then his mouth opens again. “You’re just so nice to everyone, and you actually pay attention to what they say and remember it. Most of the time when people talk, they don’t actually listen, they’re just waiting for when it’s their turn to talk about themselves, but you don’t do that. It’s cool,” he adds, belatedly. “I really admire it.”

You’re staring at him in shock. No one’s ever said anything like that before, complimented you in such a wholehearted way about something they’ve noticed about you. It's thrown you for a loop. You’re so used to thinking of yourself as a clown—a friendly clown, sure, but a clown nonetheless—that you’re genuinely shaken to the core after hearing what Jungkook’s just said about you.

He looks alarmed when you don’t respond, just blinking up at him as your brain desperately tries to reboot, but you’re saved from having to reply when Sejin calls out to you.

“Y/n, the computer at the front desk is playing up again." His hands are cupped around his mouth, amplifying himself so that you can hear him down the aisle. “You’re the only one who knows how to fix it.”

You snap out of your daze. “Again? You’ve tried turning it off and on again, right?” You’re about to walk away from Jungkook, but first you glance up at him, shy. “Um. Thanks for always being so nice, Kookie. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says. He sounds a little breathless. You don’t have time to ask why, Sejin’s noise of distress catching your attention. 

“I’m coming!” You rush off, nearly tripping on a loose grape on the floor; you manage to regain your balance with minimal flailing, unaware of how Jungkook fondly watches you go.

--

A few weeks later, you get sick. 

You’re really bad at being sick, one of the reasons being that you don’t like to admit that you are sick—and so you still roll into work despite the fact you’re clearly unwell.

“You look like a body that’s just been fished out of the water.” Yoongi shows his concern in an interesting way. “Like you’ve been floating belly up near that trash island in the middle of the ocean that’s the size of Texas.”

You fix him with a baleful stare. He’d threatened to not let you into his car earlier, locking the door as you’d been reaching for the handle; he’d only relented after you’d hissed at him and scrabbled at the glass like some sort of feral cat.

“You do look a bit more tired than usual,” Jungkook says delicately.

You groan. The noise sounds like it’s being ripped out of your throat, which feels as dry as the sahara desert; why are your throat and eyes so dry while your nose keeps running? Why is the liquid in all the wrong places? The human body is a wreck. (After glancing at Jungkook, who looks as perfect as always, you mentally correct yourself—your body is a wreck.)

“I’m fine,” you rasp, and then sniff, trying to stop your nose from dripping. Jungkook hands you a tissue. “I don’t need this, because I’m not sick, but thank you.”

You proceed to blow your nose loudly into the tissue, a trumpeting noise that trails off into a squeak, a sad little thing that sounds like the farting noise a balloon makes when all the air finally escapes it. Yoongi snorts with amusement but Jungkook’s brow is furrowed with concern.

Rather than being disgusted at your appearance—you’re not sick, you’re just suffering from mild allergies or something, so maybe you’ll admit that you look a little washed out—Jungkook has been worried about you from the moment you’d walked in. He’d even offered you his work fleece when he’d caught you shivering, which you’d graciously accepted. (Again, you weren’t shivering because you were sick, it’s just weirdly cold in the store today, even though no one else seems to be affected by it.) (Also, like, hello? The man of your dreams was offering you the chance to wear his clothes? As if you were going to say no to that.)

Despite definitely not being sick, you do sort of feel like your head is full of cotton wool, and everything seems so much louder than usual. Sejin takes pity on you and gives you the surprisingly easy job of counting stock out back in the warehouse, where it’s quieter and warmer—but you still keep Jungkook’s fleece on anyway, breathing in the lovely smell of his fabric softener as you idly count items, taking it slow.

You’ve climbed a stepladder so that you can reach a higher shelf, mentally tallying the cans of coke you find up there; you shuffle through them so you can turn the labels towards you, making sure you’re keeping the different flavours separate. (What’s the difference between diet and zero sugar, anyway? Aren’t they both the same thing?)

“Did I just see a pigeon walk past?”

You startle and nearly knock your row of cans off the shelf. Somehow you hadn’t noticed Jungkook walking into the warehouse, even though he clearly hadn’t meant to surprise you; his hands fly out to steady the stepladder, and though you appreciate this it throws you off balance and so you grab the shelf in front of you. One of the cans falls off, jostled by your movements, and your instinct is to try and catch it with your foot so it at least slows enough before it hits the ground that it doesn’t explode. 

In theory, it’s not a bad idea. In reality, you wildly overestimate how heavy the can is and so you put way too much power into the swing of your leg and punt the can of coke into the distance. The two of you trace its arcing trajectory as it disappears over the metal racking before landing with a distinctly wet clatter. Yeah, it’s definitely exploded, hasn’t it.

“Wasn’t me,” you say immediately, but then your slower-than-normal brain catches up with what Jungkook just said. “Wait, what?”

“I was wondering if you saw a pigeon walking around,” Jungkook says. “I think I saw it walking from the back entrance into here?”

Much to his obvious surprise, your eyes light up. You’re maybe not as exuberant as usual because of your illness but you’re still clearly excited. “Oh!” You hop down off the stepladder, nearly losing your balance for a second—maybe you are a teensy weensy bit sick—but then straighten up before Jungkook can help steady you. “Shortbread’s back!”

Jungkook looks baffled but follows after you when you start to walk, abandoning your stock counts. “Shortbread?”

“Yeah! Hold on, you’re taller than me. You see that bit of metal that juts out of the ceiling there?”

Jungkook looks at where you’re pointing. It’s against the back wall of the warehouse, the ceiling lower here than in the rest of the room, panelling and wires supported by criss-crossing bars of thick blue metal. “Yeah?”

“Can you reach up there and feel around a bit?” Jungkook makes a face, clearly not wanting to shove his hand into some mysterious hidden nook, but you look up at him with the best puppy dog eyes you can muster. You probably look like a wreck (what with how sick you are) but Jungkook relents immediately anyway; you think it's because he's nice and not because your attempt at being cute had been successful. He cranes upwards and feels around with his hand until it makes contact with crinkly plastic, and you motion for him to grab it—it’s an open pack of biscuits, with a receipt wedged inside that has your name scribbled on it.

“Gimme, gimme.” You make grabby hands at him. He tilts it towards you and you latch onto a biscuit, which is clearly stale; it crumbles almost immediately in your hands but you don’t pay it any mind, gesturing for him to put the tray back in its hiding place. “Where did you see the pigeon last?”

“Uh, near the soup, I think,” Jungkook answers. You immediately head in that direction, talking over your shoulder as he follows after you.

“You’ve seen that fishing net near the cardboard baler, right?” Your eyes flit to and fro, trying to spot the errant pigeon.

“Yeah, the green one? I was wondering why that was there.”

You click your tongue. “A few months ago we had a pigeon who kept flying here and wandering into the building,” you explain. “We knew it was the same pigeon because it has a tag around its leg? I think it’s a tracker pigeon, I don’t know. So I would use biscuits to get it to follow me outside. But then management got the net and someone said they caught it and, uh, ‘disposed’ of it.” You look equal parts distressed and sad and Jungkook’s chest twinges. “I haven’t seen it since, so even though I hoped that it wasn't the truth, I kind of accepted that it probably was.”

You round the corner past soups, heading towards the cereal overstock, when you both spot the pigeon. It’s slowly walking backwards and forwards on the floor, but when you appear, it stops and looks at you.

“Shortbread! It is you!” You sound absolutely elated, squatting down and proffering the mess of crumbs in your hand, sprinkling them in front of you. “I knew they hadn’t caught you!”

The pigeon—Shortbread—hops forward immediately, heading straight for the crumbs. You laugh in delight as it gets closer and starts to peck at the food. “You’ve gotta stop coming here, bud, Sejin’s going to get really mad if he spots you,” you say. Shortbread, of course, ignores you, more intent on eating the crumbs of—well, the crumbs of shortbread that you’ve given it. You look away from the pigeon, up at Jungkook, who’s watching you with an expression on his face that you can only describe as consternation. Does he dislike pigeons, maybe? “Do you want to feed him?”

“Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?” Jungkook blurts. The remaining crumbs of biscuit fall out of your hand, scattering into a wild constellation of fragments that Shortbread immediately swoops down onto—but you’re not paying the bird any mind, completely blindsided.

“Uh. What?” You stare up at Jungkook. Your mouth is open and slack with surprise; you hadn’t quite caught his words, but you could have sworn that he said— “Come again?”

Jungkook’s put a hand over his face, which is starting to turn red. “Do you—do you want to get coffee with me?” Even though he’s turned his head away from you, his eyes are pointed in your direction; Shortbread makes a cooing noise and starts to peck at the crumbs directly in front of you, but neither of you pay the pigeon any attention.

“Uh.” You know your brain is running on around 25% capacity right now, a mixture of your sickness and lack of sleep catching up with you, but you could swear that—what does Jungkook mean—nah, he doesn’t mean that, no way… haha… unless…? “You… want to get coffee? You know where we keep the jar.” Shortbread pecks at your open palm, a few crumbs still stuck to your skin. You’re momentarily distracted from your mental breakdown, giggling at the sensation of the pigeon’s beak, even though it hurts your throat to laugh. “Shortbread, there’s way more food on the floor, why are you trying to eat from my hand?”

“Y/n.” When Jungkook says your name your eyes snap back towards him. “Can I take you out on a date?”

This time you do catch all his words. Your mouth falls open again and you stare at him like the dumbass you are. Is Jeon Jungkook—your cute, kind, buff angel seriously asking you out? Right now? When you're squatting on a dusty warehouse floor with a handful of stale biscuit crumbs, wearing the world’s least flattering uniform, all while looking like some sort of washed out river corpse? (Thanks for that lovely comparison, Yoongi.) Has he lost his mind? Maybe lifting all those heavy crates meant that all the blood has run into his arm muscles rather than his brain and it's been starved of oxygen, because there’s no sane reason as to why Jungkook would be asking you out on a date.

“Me? A date?” Your voice comes out as a squeak. “With you?”

Jungkook looks absolutely mortified. You didn’t realise someone’s cheeks could go that red. “Forget I said anything,” he says, turning on his heel so that he can walk away; you catch a glimpse of bright crimson climbing up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears, too.

“No, wait, Jungkook!” You snap up from your squatting position and grab Jungkook’s shoulder, smearing crumbs onto his shirt. You feel light headed as he starts to turn around, but not because he’s looking at you—you’d stood up too quickly and you feel woozy from your illness, swaying off balance. 

You nearly careen sideways into some cereal overstock. Jungkook’s eyes fly wide open in alarm, interposing himself so that you land against him instead. There’s the sound of metal clattering as your weight sends Jungkook into the cereal, rattling the cage, but he holds you steady. You still feel a bit faint, but now you’re sure that it’s partially due to the fact that you’re crushed up against Jungkook’s warm, firm chest, his hands on your hips as he frowns down at you.

“Are you alright?” 

“Never better,” you mumble into the fabric of his polo shirt. (Jungkook's at risk of you snotting on him if your nose starts to run, but he doesn’t seem to care.) He smells even better up close than you ever could have imagined—thank god your sense of smell is still intact—and you melt against him for a second before your brain catches up with the situation and your head snaps back so that you can look at him. “Wait. Why were you about to leave?”

Jungkook’s look of concern turns instantaneously into one of embarrassment. “No reason,” he says, voice higher than normal, clearly uncomfortable.

You clench your fist and hit his firm chest, but with no strength behind the punch; your hand may as well have been a slice of bread for all the impact it makes. “Liar.” There’s no heat behind your words. “Did you seriously ask me on a date?”

Jungkook’s face is reddening again, but you’re still leaning against him. He can’t try to escape this time. “Uh. Yes?” From this close you can count his individual eyelashes, pick out the moles that dot his face, and, yep, you were right, he’s even better up close. “I’m sorry?”

You blink. “Sorry? For asking me out? Jungkook. Do you seriously think I’d say no?”

“... yes?” Jungkook’s voice is a squeak, much like yours had been a moment earlier. Holy shit. Does he not realise how amazing and hot he is? Does he seriously think that you, resident clown, would turn him down? Does he think you’re the one who’s out of his league?

You try to put this into words. Try to ask him this gently, so you can highlight just how ridiculous he’s being. However, what comes out of your mouth is: “Are you an idiot?” Thanks, brain, for once again abandoning you in your greatest time of need. Quick, reel it back. “Why would you think that?”

Jungkook, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t seem offended at your implication that he’s stupid. He just seems flustered. “I—you’re just so unapologetically you, you know?” He says. "You're charismatic and confident and everyone likes you. You’re the most popular person on night shift. I’m too shy to talk to anyone and I just do the same thing every night I’m here, but you can do everything. I always saw you talking to the other morning workers and you were always so nice, but you never spoke to me? When you introduced yourself to me after I moved to nights, I was confused, but, uh, really happy.”

Holy shit. He really does think that you’re out of his league. He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up after this little speech, mouth snapping shut while his cheeks continue to blaze red. He's so cute. He's going to be the death of you.

“Jungkook. I didn’t talk to you before night shift because you made me so fucking nervous,” you say. “I could barely look at you for weeks because you’re so beautiful that it kind of makes me want to barf sometimes and I couldn’t handle it. But then you moved to nights and I couldn’t avoid talking to you, and I found out how kind and hardworking and interesting you are, and—Jungkook, I don’t think I’ve ever crushed this hard on anyone in my life.” Why are you telling him all this? You must be more sick than you realise. Your mouth is entirely out of your control. “I get so excited for work now because it means I get to see you. Yoongi and Jimin have been listening to me gush about you for months. And Hobi too, but you don't know him. But I didn’t think you’d ever like me back so I didn’t say anything,” you admit, and the tiny part of your brain that’s still functional shoots a prayer off to God, or anyone else who’s listening, begging to be struck down by lightning. No such luck. “Uh. Basically, yes, Jungkook, I would love to go on a date with you, please excuse my rambling, my brain feels like it’s full of cotton.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. He’s staring at you like he can’t believe anything you’re saying. You abruptly realise that the two of you are still wrapped around each other in a very compromising position, in an area of the building where anyone could appear at any moment—not to mention that Shortbread is still fluttering around nearby, eating up crumbs with typical pigeon inefficiency.

“You—you think I’m beautiful?” Jungkook asks, and you blush.

“I think you’re the hottest person who’s ever existed, probably,” you answer honestly. “Please don’t ask more questions, I start to feel queasy whenever I have to express real emotion.”

“Y/n.” Jungkook seems to be rapidly getting over his shock, and a smile starts curling at his lips, and—yeah, you still wanna lick his teeth. Good to know. “I couldn’t possibly be the hottest person who’s ever existed.”

You snort, even though the action grates the back of your nose and throat. “Where’s your evidence?”

Jungkook gently squeezes you. “Right here,” he says. 

Your brain desperately scrabbles for purchase in reality, shutting down and then rebooting, internet modem sounds crackling slowly in your head as you try to get to grips with the fact that Jungkook just did that, even though the motion was meant to be tender. Why must your mind be so dirty? 

Wait. 

Wait, he thinks you’re hot?

“Jungkook, I look like death,” you say, and although you’re ostensibly referring to the fact you’re sick right now (fine, you’ll admit it, you’re sick), it’s more of a general statement.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook says, deadly serious. Your heart flutters. What did you do to deserve this boy?

You’ve still got your faces tilted towards each other, and you can’t help but notice Jungkook’s eyes darting down to your lips. You’ve just started to inch closer to each other when your brain finally snaps back to full capacity and you’re shoving your hand in Jungkook’s face; the clean one, thankfully, not the one covered with biscuit crumbs. Seems like your brain came through.

“I don’t want our first kiss to be in the warehouse at work, when I’m sick,” you say. While that’s true, your heart is pounding in your chest at the idea that Jungkook apparently still wants to kiss you despite the fact you definitely need to blow your nose.

“Okay.” Jungkook’s voice is muffled against your palm. “That’s fair. Can you move your hand? It’s kind of hard to breathe like this.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” You pull your hand away, and Jungkook takes in a deep breath; you feel how his chest expands and you’re once again reminded of how you’re flush against him. Jesus. “Uh, we should probably get Shortbread out of here before someone catches him.”

Jungkook lets you go so you can coax Shortbread towards one of the fire exits. He holds the door open as you squat down, wishing the pigeon good luck before you say goodbye; when you glance back up at Jungkook you notice the look on his face, open and fond, and your heart does a loop de loop in your chest when you realise that he's been looking at you like this a lot—your brain had just refused to let you notice it for what it is. What the heck.

As Jungkook lets the door shut behind you, you clear your throat. “Um. While I do absolutely want to get coffee with you, can it wait until I’m better? I don’t wanna be all crusty and snotty on our first date,” you say, weirdly shy despite the fact it’s obvious that Jungkook seems to think that you hung the moon. (Which you still don’t understand but you’re not complaining, not at all.)

“Sure.” Jungkook smiles and your heart flip flops in your chest again. The feats of acrobatics your heart achieves when Jungkook around is honestly astounding, but everything he does is just so… adorable. You’re certain that when you see him out of his work uniform and in his regular clothes you’re going to spontaneously combust, but you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. “I should probably get back to fruit and veg, but, I’ll see you for lunch?”

“Yeah.” You smile helplessly back at him. “Of course. See you at lunch.”

Despite the fact you’re worried about getting him sick, Jungkook really doesn’t care about keeping his distance. When Yoongi walks into the canteen to the sight of you snuggled up to Jungkook and giggling as you feed him his lunch, your friend just rolls his eyes. “Kids these days,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You’re just jealous that it’s taken me and Jungkook less time to confess to each other than it’s taken you with Jimin,” you say, and then gasp as you remember something. “Oh, Jungkook, that reminds me! What was that long conversation you were having with Jimin the other week?”

Jungkook flushes. “Uh, he was giving me advice on how to ask you out,” he admits sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on just blurting it out in the warehouse, but you were being so cute that I couldn’t stop myself?”

You stare into Jungkook’s eyes for a few long moments, before solemnly saying: “Jeon Jungkook, if I wasn’t sick, I would absolutely be kissing you right now.”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Yoongi says. Jungkook buries his head into the material of his work fleece, hiding his embarrassment against your shoulder, and you just laugh.

[aidemint]

Impossible Year | BokuAka

word count: 5.3k+

pairing: Bokuto/Akaashi , Bokuto x Akaashi , BokuAka

warnings: none!

notes: this was made for a Christmas gift exchange, and is also cross-posted on AO3! merry christmas and happy holidays to all!

December was always a difficult time for Akaashi.

It wasn’t in the realm that he had something wrong with him health-wise, nor was it a sense of annoyance that came up whenever relatives once, twice, or thrice removed suddenly showed up to the house with fruits and a celebratory spirit (as desperately as he tried to avoid a particular annoying cousin). 

No, he could deal with things of that nature; he could bear the blaring infomercials that played in Tokyo square, loud and bright with pictures of things he could never even dream of, he could tolerate how wholly his classmates became consumed by Christmas (enough to “forget” to do their homework), and of course he could shrug off the occasional wayward kid that mistook him for their brother.

He had thick enough skin to push through the minor inconveniences.

But the thing that did bother him was a bit unconventional.

On every day of December, he would turn right instead of left on his usual walk home to avoid the front of the toy store he’d normally pass without a sound.

It isn’t the movement that bothers him—he, in fact, enjoys taking the long way home, as it meant that he would get to spend more time with Bokuto, talking and laughing as they retire after a long day. There is no roadblock, roof fixture, icicle blockade, magical spell that comes over him like a beckoning to Narnia—none of the sort (the path to the shop was almost humorously clear in December to support the sudden influx of customers).

He just doesn’t like the sight of so many people. 

It’s what he tells himself as he makes his way home from an hour-long grocery trip by bike.

As he swerves to turn the corner he’s gotten to know almost personally—the charming little dandelion growing out of the crack on the side, scrapes and scratches along the ground, and the mysterious brown stain on the side, as all ambiguous corners have—he shudders at the thought of the crowds near that one store, what discomfort they might bring.

Not long after the thought comes and goes, he arrives back home with a bundle of plastic bags and purple fingers, parking his bike out front as he waddles up the steps to get to the door.

“Mom,” he calls when he finally gets a good grip on the handle, using a shoulder to nudge his way through, “I’m back.” A delighted hum comes from the kitchen—just down a barren corridor.

“Oh, you’re back!” Akaashi can sense a smile in her voice and the corners of his lips turn upwards in response. “Can you give me the soy sauce? I’m in the middle of preparing something special.”

His heart flutters at the mention of the special thing. With his mind wandering and his hands taking upon a new tremble, he quickly digs through the pile of bags to produce the bottle, then walks hurriedly down the hallway.

When he pops his head into the kitchen, he doesn’t know what he’s smelling, but knows that it smells delicious. Seaweed stew, perhaps, from the saline fragrance cutting straight through the rich aroma of roasted chestnuts and star anise-rich, boiled peanuts. He spots greens cooking on the stove as his mom beckons for the soy sauce with a motion of her hand. Akaashi hands it to her in anticipation, peering over her shoulder to see the dish simmering, stalks a gorgeous light emerald.

“You usually don’t cook this much,” he comments, eyes following the soft boil, “What’s the occasion?” She chuckles and kisses his head, muttering a soft “thank you” before returning her attention to the veg.

“Well, it’s a very special occasion coming up in a few days!”

“Really?” He tries to mask his disguise as best as he can, though it seeps through as his features brighten, hopeful. “What occasion?”

Perhaps he should have expected something different before he listened to her answer.

“Michirou’s grandmother just turned 100! Some of the other mothers and I decided to make something special for her family.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, he—the mind behind Fukurodani’s powerhouse team, the boy that thinks too much too constantly—can only hear the sound of the frying pan in the background.

It’s unfamiliar, unexpected, how quiet it is—he’s had the expectation since third grade, but why does he fall for it every time? He thinks that he would have learned by now, that he would have been smarter by now, that he would have known by now.

I should have known.

Akaashi feels like throwing up.

“But what about dinner for the next two days?” Despite everything, he swallows the rising bile in his throat, forcing a steady tone. “Isn’t there… anything special you want to eat?”

“I mean, we have leftovers in the fridge, don’t we?” she muses without looking at him, “We can’t waste all that good food. I remember how much you liked the carrot and radish dish I made yesterday.”

“Okay.” There’s a pause before he continues, unable to stifle a choke long enough to continue the full sentence. “Well, the rest of the groceries are at the front. I’m… I’m gonna go study.” But before he can move, he’s interrupted by a sudden last-minute outburst.

“Oh, wait! Before I forget, I actually have something for you—!” Keiji barely has any time to react when his mom tosses a cylinder-shaped object towards him in a flurry of motion. He catches it with his right hand, chin dipping down to view the item, momentarily confused.

“Merry Christmas!”

He gives a tight-lipped smile as he looks at the pair of socks clutched in his trembling hand.

“Thanks.”

It’s not like they haven’t done anything in the past, he thinks as he slips the pair of socks into a small, ornate box with nine other long, similarly patterned pairs, They’re just… selective, that’s all.

Akaashi sighs as he collapses onto his bed, burying his face in his blanket to seek comfort, to root himself somewhere before he feels like floating into the abyss again, wallowing in disappointment. He furrows his brows, mind racing through everything he can recall his family doing as a part of a get-together.

There was the occasional road trip to hike at Mount Fuji, a family movie night here and there, perhaps even once or twice attending a school play Akaashi took part in. One year they’d even taken him to Europe as part of a promised reward for getting good grades on his finals. Those were good times. The opera tour was boring, but he liked the food, at the very least (oh, vegetarian lasagna, his love). 

It was enough. He called himself lucky to be able to go on those fancy trips around the world. It was enough to let him know that they loved him, that they were family. The thought was there, the heart was there, and the memories remained, even after the vacation ended.

It was enough.

Just as he’s on the cusp of tumbling down another metaphysical rabbit hole, he feels a small vibration come from his pocket. Digging for his phone, he pulls it out to reveal a text from Bokuto.

akaashiakaashiakaashiakaashiakaashiakaashiakaashi

Staring bemusedly at the message, he manages a chuckle before replying.

what’s up

you know how christmas is in 2 days

mhm

so i was wondering if you

would

like

to

??? spill it already lmao

come to my house for christmas if you aren’t already having dinner at your house with people or your parents :D

Akaashi stills for a moment, eyes wide as he tries to process the sudden request.

akaashi???

are ya still there??? :’0 do you not want to come :’(((( tell meeeeeeee

i’m still here don’t worry

oh ok!

are ya gonna come? no rush though because i know it’s two days until christmas you still have a lot of time! i think two days is a lot of time, right????? do people have christmas plans two days before??? i know i had christmas plans since november but i don’t know about your plans 

i mean i know my folks aren’t gonna do anything so uh sure

YEAAAAHHHHHHHHH

The brunette chuckles as Bokuto celebrates on the other end, messaging him pictures of cats with sunglasses and the occasional “WOOHOO!” in between the spam.

Koutarou is slow to calm down, but eventually is able to text Keiji the proper details of the plan on Christmas day. Ending the conversation with an “I’M SO EXCITED LET’S GO” as if he hadn’t made it clear enough, Bokuto logs off.

Akaashi is left to dwell in a pool of excitement—expectation, perhaps, in knowing that this Christmas would finally be different. It’s a sudden pull from reality (he pretends he doesn’t have a box full of socks—unfulfilled Christmas wishes—sitting on the bottom of his nightstand), of course, but a welcome one nonetheless.

Is this what it feels like? To be hopeful?

He smiles to himself as he puts a hand over his heart and pushes into imagination.

Memories of the toy store (and every night he’s cried because of it) melt away in the presence of the ample joy that his fantasies bring him. He can only imagine how Bokuto’s home must feel on Christmas—so much warmer, full of life, joy, happiness, and genuity—more like home than anything he’s really ever known.

Akaashi knows his parents love him, and he loves them too, but he feels as if there’s just something missing. The love, the affection, the care—what signs are there to display them? He often thinks about these matters.

Never once has there been comfortable silence without reaching justification burning at the forefront of his mind, something to convince himself that it was normal to not say anything to each other.

Perhaps he inherited the quality from both parents—one too lost in their own head to say anything and the other wanting to talk but all too timid to instigate a conversation. Through the odd relationship they’ve at least developed a way to talk to each other with only their eyes, but Akaashi gets lost in the exchange every time, not fortunate enough to have inherited the skill.

And it doesn’t help that the more he grows, the more self-aware he becomes. The feeling is odd and unwelcome, especially on sensitive, solemn nights, where he’s at the cusp of breaking when witnessing his one fear.

However, with Bokuto’s offer, the introduction of something new, something coveted, Akaashi finds a small warmth now residing within the darkened spaces of emptiness he let fester for so long. For once, he feels wanted, welcomed, celebrated—everything a member of a family should feel and a little bit more.

So offhandedly did the ace mention it, it really makes the proposal seem like nothing at all.

But really, Koutarou Bokuto has given him the promise of the world—

—and it’s the most alive Akaashi Keiji has ever felt in a harsh December.

Bokuto nearly flings himself down the steps of his home when he hears the doorbell ring and a shout come from the kitchen—both indications of the arrival of a much appreciated visitor.

“Your friend’s here, Kou!”

“Thanks Ma! I got it!” 

He darts to the door, a mad scramble to reach the handle before one of his sisters greet Keiji first. Jumping to unlatch the lock and open the door, he shouts excitedly when the barrier comes undone and the hinges rattle at the force they’re met with.

“‘Kaashi!” And lo-and-behold, there stands the brunette with a box of fruit and a small card to wish the Koutarou family a Merry Christmas. “You’re here!”

“Hey Bokuto,” Keiji greets him, a wide grin splitting his features upon seeing his cheerful friend, “And yes, I’m here!” They embrace after the formality and Akaashi is quickly invited into the house, urged to shed his coat and take a pair of slippers sorted out for him hours beforehand.

“Ooh! Your socks are so cool! Are those onigiri pattern socks?” Bokuto’s observation draws Akaashi’s attention downwards, eyes pointedly staring at his own feet. He winces as the memory of disappointment hits him with a pang to the chest.

“Yeah… sure are,” Keiji says, sucking a breath in, almost embarrassed to show them, “Got them for Christmas. Totally what I wanted.” When he brings his chin up to gauge his friend’s response, to his surprise, Bokuto’s expression doesn’t reflect his feelings of disgust—rather, the latter. Instead of agreeing and commenting on how awful they are, the ace instead whistles, his eyes trained on the blushing rice triangle that moves with every step the brunette takes.

“Damn! Your folks are real cool! I wish my mom got me socks for Christmas.” Akaashi furrows his brows and makes a face, eyeing Koutarou as if he’d just told the biggest lie of his life.

“You’re just saying that.” Akaashi says, brushing the comment off, “They’re socks.” Bokuto vigorously shakes his head in disagreement, crossing his arms and taking on a pout.

“No, I’m serious! I want cool socks like you! Owl socks! Potato socks! Ace socks! Socks with my face on them or something! Cool socks! Volleyball socks! Ooh, volleyball socks… You should ask for volleyball socks next time!” Keiji still feels puzzled at his enthusiasm, but opens up a bit more thanks to Bokuto’s sincerity.

“So I can give them to you?” Akaashi’s question earns a disapproving tongue click from Koutarou, who waggles his finger in the setter’s face.

“No, so we can match! I’m gonna ask my ma for some volleyball socks next year.”

“Ask… for socks?” 

“Yep! Cool socks! Molten socks are kinda like Christmas! Red, green, white. Yeah!” He beams proudly, pleased with himself at his supposedly clever notion. Akaashi bursts out laughing at the expression, a special kind of joy spreading from his thrumming heart to the rest of his body, through his limbs, to his hands and feet. His lips part to let hilarity spill out—unrestricted, unprocessed happiness—and his eyes squeeze tightly shut at the force of the fit.

It’s a welcome, natural feeling.

“Why are ya laughing?” Bokuto’s voice holds only curiosity as he stares at his friend, hunched over. “Did I say something’ funny?”

“No, no!” Akaashi stops to cough in the middle of his snickering, gasping for breath as he forces himself to calm down. “No, it’s just… the thought is endearing, Bokuto. It’s cute.” You’re cute.

“Oh!” The ace jerks back with a slight blush tinting his cheeks and a purse to his lips. “Thanks!”

“Yeah.” Silence overtakes the pair for a couple of seconds as they stand idly, catching glimpses of one another through shy stares. “We should— Uh, probably go in.”

“Yeah, we should!” And with that, the two are off.

Bokuto waits until the brunette shuffles in front of him to start walking, copying the same, tiny footsteps his setter takes until they reach the kitchen. 

“Akaashi!” Two voices ring out from behind the counter as the pair enter the room. 

“Hey Haya, Emi,” the man of the hour says to the sisters with a small smile, “Merry Christmas!” Approaching the island in the middle of the kitchen, he sets his box of tangerines and goodies down on the tabletop before rolling up his sleeves to go and help the family. But before he can get close, he’s pushed away by a tiny pair of hands pressing against his hip.

“No! Akaashi, go sit while we do stuff,” she huffs stubbornly, pushing him away from the kitchen, “Kou, go help mom with the soup. We are the hosts and have a loooot of mouths to feed!” Keiji suppresses a chuckle at the oddly placed phrase, figuring that the lively elementary schooler must’ve picked it up from one of her parents, if not someone older.

“Alright, alright, I’m sitting.” He raises his hands in surrender as he sets himself down on one of the chairs surrounding the dining table. Emi giggles at the sight, and turns on her heel to run back to the kitchen, but stops halfway to make one last comment.

“Oh yeah! Also!” She twirls back around with a big smile, hands clasped out in front of her. “Kou did my hair today! Do you like it? Do ya?” He takes a moment to stare at the neatly done fishtail, wondering how a guy like Bokuto managed to learn to do the complicated style.

“It’s great!” he says suddenly when an impatient puff comes from the smaller girl in front of him, “I love it.” She brightens up when hearing the compliment, a look of pure satisfaction gracing her features before she runs away, off to meddle around in the kitchen.

An hour (and many antics) later, the dishes are done, the table is set, and everyone is sitting around the dining table, ready to dig in. Akaashi’s eyes glimmer at the spread of food displayed across the surface, eyeing a particular dish with a sudden, piqued interest. Bokuto spots this and gestures to the plate with a wide grin in between a mouthful of chicken.

“Oh yeah! We know you don’t eat meat, so we fried some cauliflower and tofu for you! Also, I tried to make your favorite food? I don’t really know what it is, but it looks like the picture the recipe had, so I think I cooked it right! Nanohana-no-Karashiae, right?”

Keiji can feel his vision blur at the sentiment, a sudden wave of emotion overcoming him at Koutarou’s kindness. It takes a moment, but tears eventually build at his waterline, leaking out of the corners of his eyes, sliding down his rosy cheeks and dripping onto his lap from a wrinkled chin. The ace notices this and starts to panic, quickly reaching for Akashi’s arm to comfort him.

“Wait! Does it really look that bad?!” Bokuto says, completely spooked, “I’m sorry! I can remake it next year! We have other greens—” The brunette immediately shakes his head to disagree, but can’t find the right words to back up the action, head too caught up in its own thoughts to formulate an exact response.

Instead, Haya hands Akaashi a tissue with a gentle, understanding smile.

“Here you go.” He takes it with a grateful nod, dabbing at his eyes and blowing his nose before calming down to respond to the boy next to him.

“It’s ok, I’m ok,” Akaashi reassures, turning to the right, “It just means a lot to me, that’s all. I’m not upset with you—in fact, the dish looks great.” The ace sighs in relief and lets go of Keiji’s shoulder, putting the hand on his chest melodramatically.

“I thought you wouldn’t be able to eat anything, whew! Glad that’s not it.” Koutarou takes his chopsticks and heaps a large serving of the rapeseed plants onto his partner’s plate. “So tell me if it’s good or not!”

“Alright, alright!” Akaashi shoos him away to bring one of the stems to his mouth, biting into the head of the plant. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as the flavor and feel slowly start to reach him.

Crisp yet tender stalks, leaves that come apart at the bite, a harmony of gentle sauce and bitter greenery. Mirin and dashi mix together to create the taste of home, of warmth and safety in the biting coldness of winter.

It’s comforting, the crunch, the saltiness that comes, goes, then leaves a little bit of joy behind that leaves you wanting more.

He smiles, tilting his head thoughtfully, almost done, but raises an eyebrow curiously when he tastes a little bit of something else.

Perhaps he sensed that something was different in the way that it was prepared.

Gentle hands, picking the best bunches from the market, making sure that every chop was even, that every measurement was exact. Meticulous scrubs massaging the plant, careful not to damage or bruise the rapeseed stalks, lest they wanted the bitterness to pervade the green. A little flower plucked from the top of the bundle, set aside for future reference. Recipe taken from some website, but adjusted to suit individual taste.

Akaashi sees it now, in his mind—that silent image, the patient and ever-present message, waiting to be recognized.

It’s… love.

It’s love. It’s love.

And he feels like crying all over again.

“How is it?”

“It’s… it’s so good, Bo. So, so good.” He can feel the grin that takes over the ace’s features—so sure, in that moment, that he could sense it from even a mile away.

“Hooray!”

SIX YEARS LATER

Akaashi Keiji looks around the bustling square, a small puff of steam exiting his lips as he breathes out while rubbing his hands together. He shivers, the biting coldness of the atmosphere reaching a little too far under his skin—the surface that spreads over his cheeks and the tips of his ears a rosy pink, tinged from the wintry chill.

It’s been a couple of minutes since he last texted, so he should be here soon.

A tap on the shoulder interrupts his thoughts; he swiftly turns around to identify the identity of the intrusion.

“Keiji!” 

Another puff of air comes from between his teeth and— oh, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Kou!” The two embrace, the ace’s arms wrapping tightly around his partner’s shoulders, Akaashi’s hands coming to rest at the small of Bokuto’s back as he holds him close. They rock back and forth, weight transferring to their right and left foot, then to their left and right foot, the rhythm repeating for what seems like forever.

“I missed you so much,” the gray-haired volleyball player whines into his boyfriend’s shoulder, his grip tensing, “I wanted to hug you like this since I got off the train! And why didn’t you call me yesterday?”

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi apologizes, separating just enough to press a kiss onto the edge of his lover’s mouth, “I was working late, and there were a lot of last-minute changes in the office. You know how it gets around the holidays.”

“Hmph.” Koutarou sulks, the spikes of his hair growing flatter by the second, but a look of gradual understanding is quick to overtake the distress on his features when he spots Keiji’s raised eyebrow. “I understand though. Your job is busy and mine is too… livin’ in different cities ain’t easy.” The editor hums at the comment, leaning in closer and fluttering his eyes shut.

“But look on the bright side, Kou,” he says, “I mean, we’re together now, so.” His breath mingles with his lover’s as he speaks, hot air tickling the tip of his reddened nose with a swipe of his tongue across his chapped lips. Must’ve looked inviting, as Bokuto’s are on his the moment he finishes.

Akaashi stifles a soft groan as he presses back, hands snaking to his boyfriend’s shoulders, fingers curling around the joint to try and stabilize himself. Koutarou kisses him feverishly, hungrily, uncaring of the passersby that walk up and down the busy street. How long has he craved the feeling of Keiji’s tongue, his lips, his waist? A heat pools in his stomach, but before he can take things further, he’s stopped by a tap to the collar.

“Kou—” Akaashi mumbles, pushing a palm against the fabric of his partner’s coat, “Not in public, Koutarou—” His protests elicit an unsatisfied grunt out of Bokuto, who delivers one last, long kiss to his boyfriend’s lips before relenting.

“Is it an option to just go home now and have you to myself?”

Akaashi manages a laugh between flustered chokes, a feeling of drowsiness weighing heavily on his senses. The sensation of Kou’s mouth on his was dizzying, and Keiji needed a moment to take a breather.

“We still gotta see the Christmas tree light up,” the brunette reminds him after a moment of peace, “And I think we’ve spent too many years inside for Christmas. Just this once, outside, and then I’ll be all yours after.”

“Mmmkay, but I get ‘ta choose which shop we go to first.” With that, the pair is off to meander the busy streets of Tokyo during the winter rush.

During the next few hours, while perusing shops and picking up Christmas gifts with Bokuto, Akaashi reminisces about his experience with this time of the year. As Koutarou gets lost in the countless rows of Nutcracker dolls, laughing at how loosely their jaws move, Keiji is hidden away in the depths of his own mind, reveling in thought.

How far away are we from that shop?

It seems like a blurred memory now, the street, the cracked wall, the dirtied corner. The sound of crying no longer rings in his ears, no longer haunts him when he brings up the notion. He watches Bokuto clack the soldier’s wooden teeth together and laugh with a grin laced across his features.

How far away are we from home?

That room, that space. The tear-stained pillow around Christmas time and the wish that fills the place meant for the newest 2002 edition of that one Gundam figurine he’d been wanting to get—a lingering, always empty gap in his bookshelf, measured with precision and styled with the copies of the manga gifted from friends.

The hope. That love. And the disappointment that inevitably follows.

But he’s grown past that, it seems, as any adult would (he thinks so, at the very least). The space in his room still may be Gundam doll-less, but in its place sits a small owl figurine gifted from the Bokuto family.

It’s nice. Nice and cute.

Akaashi, lost in thought, doesn’t realize that Bokuto’s been done looking at Nutcrackers for a while, moving onto lines of tinsel stuffed into red and green boxes sitting on wooden shelves. The ace comes back to the Nutcracker aisle with a bundle of shining, white, fluffy string and a wide grin.

He sets a string of tinsel on Keiji’s nose and the memory of the Christmas past fades away, disappearing into the powdery fluffiness of the line. Akaashi sneezes, a sudden spike of sensation stinging his sinuses, blowing away his stupor as he blinks.

“Tinsel?” he asks, sneezing once more when he rubs his nose, “I think I might be allergic.” Bokuto laughs, taking the decoration off of Keiji’s face and shoving back in a bin.

“I was plannin’ on buying some for our Christmas tree, but I guess I can’t have you sneezing every thirty seconds.”

“Mmm, much appreciated.” He sniffs weakly, eyes closed and throat itching. “I think I need to go outside again… And besides, the tree lighting is in ten minutes. We’d better head out before it gets too crowded.” Bokuto nods and whisks him away without a second’s notice, tugging at his partner’s arm to go towards the exit.

As they move towards the front, Keiji spots a slice of black and yellow covering Bokuto’s exposed ankle, the band’s visibility becoming less, then more with every step. He raises an eyebrow at the sight, amusement bubbling in his stomach.

“Oh, and cool socks, by the way,” Akaashi chuckles, pointing at Koutarou’s MSBY-patterned socks peeking out of the divide between his pants and shoes. Bokuto’s face splits into a wide grin as his features light up looking at Keiji. He plants a small kiss on his temple and snakes an arm around him, squeezing his figure as they continue to walk.

“Was wondering when you would notice,” he murmurs against Akaashi’s skin, “Got inspiration from the best of the best.” Keiji pecks him back in appreciation, warmth blooming in his chest as he holds his lover close to him.

From this position, he notices that Bokuto looks happy—eyes sparkling with the same kind of joy as when he looked at those rows of dolls—despite leaving the shop empty-handed. It’s simple: he’s glad to be here and the moment is kind and forgiving.

Akaashi Keiji can’t help but wonder if there’s a god of tinsel somewhere out there.

It’s midnight when the light show ends, and the crowd has mostly dispersed from Tokyo Square, going home to retire for the night, or spend the rest of it with close family and friends.

But for some reason, Bokuto Koutarou, the man that nearly jumped Akaashi because he was too excited for kisses, still lingers in the same spot, staring at the giant tree positioned in the middle of the pavilion. Akaashi looks at the item with him, casting a glance over at him every three minutes, trying to figure out if he’s genuinely wistful, reflecting on something (which he doubts), or dazed and focus impaired.

When everyone leaves, he turns, looking straight at Akaashi with furrowed brows and a determined stare. 

“Keiji.” The brunette’s head tilts at the sudden firmness his partner’s voice takes on.

“Yeah?” The atmosphere is clear, taking his voice and spreading it far but thin, soft billows of fog painting the sky as they rise from in between his lips.

Akaashi’s gaze flits to Bokuto’s eyes, golden irises reflecting small pinpricks of light from the string of lights above. He stares, waiting for an answer while admiring the way they shine so honestly, so clearly.

“I, uh,” Bokuto says, clearing his throat in between, “Gotta tell you somethin’.”

He seems nervous—shoulders tense, posture rigid, jaw clenched, cheeks rosy—while trying to breathe with a shaking chest. Keiji’s sure he’s never seen him this nervous since that one time in high school where he forgot how to do a straight spike in the middle of the national tournament. Perhaps even then he was more disappointed than anxious, a gruffness about his voice that made him laugh in the past.

Now, he feels odd. It’s unfamiliar, this type of vulnerability, seeing his partner so riled up over seemingly nothing. Akaashi sets a hand on the ace’s shoulder and frowns.

“Kou? Are you okay?” The man in front of him doesn’t speak and Keiji feels terror prick his being for the first time in six years. “Kou? Kou, speak to me, c’mon. What is it?”

At the plea, Bokuto bites his lip and quickly pulls out a small, velvet box. The world stills and the snowfall seems to slow as Akaashi’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

For a moment, everything is quiet between the two of them. The buzz of the busy city outside doesn’t pierce the air of silence around the pair despite the blaring horns and chatter of the masses—it’s peaceful enough for the ace to whisper what he’d wanted to say since the moment he arrived in Akaashi’s arms.

“I’m going to the Olympics.” Bokuto Koutarou feels breathless, his lungs filled with helium and an expanding heart. “I got chosen for the national team. And I want you to be there with me for every step of the way.”

Akaashi Keiji looks up at him, eyes watering and face dusted a gentle pink, the twinkle of the fairylights overhead illuminating his irises, dots of tawny and flecks of gold circling a black, glistening pupil.

“So whaddya say? Promise me?”

All it takes is an earnest grin from Bokuto, and it’s over for Akaashi—tears start to spill down his cheeks as he laughs, nodding vigorously. 

“Why would— Oh God, how could I say anything but yes?” he sobs, a hand clasped over his mouth, “Oh, Kou… Koutarou, oh my God.”

He continues to cry as Bokuto slips a matching golden band onto his finger, giving him the other one so that he can slide the other around his lover’s digit. Looking at it through a vision full of tears, he gives a wobbly smile and flutters his eyelids shut as Koutarou leans in to give him a kiss, hands cupping the sides of his face.

“Merry Christmas, Keiji.”

[leedsvegboxuk]

Eat Seasonally, Support Locally: Your Guide to Freshness in Leeds

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