and so we begin (with java beans) → for yubat
Title: and so we begin (with java beans)
Recipient: yubat
Pairing(s): minseok/jongdae
Rating: g
Warnings: cheese
Word count: 2864
Summary: Everyone is a closet barista and/or college student.
In the back of a coffee shop, a thin-framed boy grips the handle of a mop with both hands, wetting the black, granite-tiled floor with a mixture of hand soap and water. The sky is a little cloudy outside. It bathes everything in a grey light that isn’t too bright, like the atmosphere is wearing thin, barely tinted sunglasses. Everything smells like early morning.
When the boy finishes mopping, he rolls his shoulders back and takes one hand off the mop, letting the handle tilt towards the floor as he relaxes his other arm. He looks outside, and the light coming through the giant windows that make up the walls twinkles in his eyes with a sort of hinted contentment. For a while, he just stares, watching the leaves twitch on the branches in the faintest bits of summer morning wind, breathing in the sweet scent of peach-flavored soap mixed with wet tile. An abnormally loud tick on the clock on the wall behind the counter. He places the mop into the bucket and pushes them into the supply closet where he flicks a switch, dimly lighting room to expose the sink basin and chipped toilet. Lips still tilted the slightest bit upward, he pours the soap-water into the sink and wrings out the mop, humming over the sound of sloshing water. It’s early. Maybe he yawns, once or twice.
A while later, after everything is dry and clean enough to be stored in the back corner, the boy dries his hands and heads back out to set up the chairs and tables. He does so almost rhythmically, maybe nodding to the rhythm of the scrapes as he slides the chairs off the table, the metallic thuds and squeals when he places them on the ground and pushes them in, dancing with his shoulders, swaying his hips.
Right when he finishes, the clock on the wall strikes 7:00 AM. He wipes his hands on his khakis and saunters towards the door. The key jangles nicely when he turns it in the lock, and when he pushes the door open, crisp air rushes in tiptoe, caressing his cheeks, carding lithe fingers through his hair. After letting morning filter in through the door for a while, he lets it close and flips the sign on the glass to “OPEN” and takes his place behind the counter, humming. Not even ten minutes pass before the shop gets busy. People file in and out through the door, placing their orders, sliding chairs loudly against the floor when they sit down, pulling out laptops and taking business calls as they sip at their drinks and read the newspaper.
The customer who catches his eye this morning stands out because he’s not a regular, and by now, most people are. In fact, he’s never been here before. The boy studies the new customer: bangs just at level with the eyebrows, sharp, high cheekbones, thin rectangular glasses resting delicately on his nose, tattered white T-shirt, worn jeans, tan, army-style jacket with color fading at the elbows, surprisingly tall for the way his wrists looked, bony and protrusive. New customer finally approaches the counter and pushes his glasses up on his nose, blinking a few more times at the menu on the wall before catching the boy’s eye.
“Good morning,” the boy says, smiling. “You’re new here, right? Welcome to Café Xiustretto! Are you ready to order?”
“Uhh, yeah, I think.”
“What can I get for you, then?”
“Um… just an espresso, please. Small. Thanks.”
When he says thanks, the boy leans forward a little. The way he says xie xie sounds a little more like a mix between that and shey shey. Korean, maybe. Just like him. He doesn’t ask.
“Sure. Name?”
“Jon-er,” the new customer scratches his nose, pushes his glasses up again. “Chen.”
The boy scribbles the name on a plastic cup with a Sharpie. “Alright-your drink will be ready in a bit. Have a nice day!”
Dipping his head, Chen makes his way toward a table against the window and sits down before pulling out a pile of books that makes a loud thud on the table.
The next time the boy looks back, Chen has earbuds in and a pen in his left hand, taking notes with his gaze focused on the textbook rather than the paper he writes on. Pursing his lips, the boy takes the orders of the few customers left in line before taking Chen’s espresso to him.
“Hello,” he says, almost playfully as he knocks on the table and sets the espresso down a safe distance from Chen’s books, “I’m Xiumin and I’ll be your barista-waiter for the day.”
Chen abruptly straightens and pulls his earbuds out, blinking himself out of disorientation before his eyes widen at the espresso at the opposite end of the small table. “Oh-oh, crap, I’m sorry-I just-”
“It’s fine! Really, it’s fine, I was just joking with you. Enjoy your coffee!”
“Uh… yeah. Right. I’ll do that, enjoying the coffee. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Xiumin smiles over his shoulder as he makes his way back to the counter, where his own textbooks sit, dusting over before college starts again. “Good luck.”
---
In the back of a coffee shop, Xiumin grips the handle of a mop with both hands, wetting the black, granite-tiled floor with a mixture of hand soap and water. The sky is a little cloudy outside. Grey, fluffy blankets of cotton cover the navy, star dappled backdrop, letting moonlight through in thin rays. Everything smells overwhelmingly of filtered java beans.
The coffee shop is empty, except for Chen, still scribbling away in his notebook although perhaps the movement of his wrist has slowed down. Xiumin moves methodically back and forth of the tiles with his mop, glancing up every now and then to see that Chen is still working. When he reaches the front of the shop, he knocks on Chen’s table again.
“Shop’s closing in a bit,” he says, resting one arm behind his back and gripping the mop with another. “You’re free to stay here, but just thought you should know I’m closing up soon.”
Again, Chen blinks a few times before he responds. It seems like he’s blinking fog out of his eyes by the way he looks around the shop. Eventually, his gaze wanders out the window and he does the same thing from this morning, abruptly straightening and pulling his earbuds out, winding them around his fingers as he glances at the clock.
“I’m sorry I, uh, I got carried away-” Chen bows, chair screeching as the backs of his knees push it across the floor, simultaneously shoving his earbuds into his backpack under the table. “Um, if I may, what time is it?”
Xiumin gestures to the clock on the wall. “Almost nine. But don’t worry about it.”
Mumbling another “sorry,” and a barely discernible “thank you,” Chen returns to packing his bag.
When Xiumin finishes putting away the cleaning supplies and goes back to set the chairs on the tables and wipe everything down, he pokes his head out in Chen’s direction and asks, “Are you Korean, by the-oh. Okay. You’re not here anymore.” He shakes his head, chuckling a little as he continues to mumble to himself. “Right. Bye, then. Come again soon.”
His textbooks sit on the counter, still dusting over. School starts in a matter of days.
Sighing, he picks them up and heads upstairs to his bedroom.
---
The next few days pass much the same way. Chen comes by as soon as Xiumin opens up, then leaves right when he closes. They don’t talk at all after the first day even though he always seems to be the focus of Xiumin’s gaze when he looks over the counter to call people up for their drinks. It’s a little less quiet during the hours when the shop is empty of customers with the constant scratch of Chen’s pen and the flip of textbook pages.
One morning, while Xiumin is busy taking chairs off the tables, Chen comes early, hovering outside the door with his backpack, peering in. When Xiumin catches a glimpse of him loitering about, his eyes widen slightly and he hastily pushes the current chair in before heading immediately for the door.
“You’re early,” Xiumin says, the usual, gentle smile on his lips as he welcomes Chen in.
Chen hesitates. “I, erm, thought I should help out since I always stay so late while you clean up.”
“Hm?” Xiumin props the door open and flips the sign on the door. The clock on the back wall reads 6:57 AM. “Oh, no, that’s fine! That’s totally fine. This place is my baby, so whether or not you stay late I’ll be taking care of it.” Without waiting for a response, he walks back through the shop to start on the last row of tables. “But if you really want to help out, I obviously won’t say no.”
Dipping his head, Chen steps in and begins taking chairs off the tables, placing his backpack in the chair he usually sits in, then moving along the row. At the same time, both of them reach for the same chair, noticing only when Chen moves to place the chair down and Xiumin is still in the process of lifting it.
“I got it,” Chen says, pursing his lips in a tentative curve upward, looking at Xiumin for barely a moment before he glances back down again at his shoes. “Sorry.”
“What’re you saying sorry for, really? You’re always saying sorry.” Xiumin laughs. “Really, though, thanks for the help.”
A brief silence passes before Xiumin wipes his hands on his jeans. Suddenly, he looks back to Chen again. “I meant to ask you the first day,” he begins, “but are you Korean? Your accent sounds a little like it.”
“Oh, really? Yeah, I’m Korean. I was hoping I didn’t have too much of an accent, but-”
“It doesn’t stand out or anything, really. It’s a lot better than mine when I first got here.”
“Really?” Somewhere along the way, it seems that Chen’s eyes have grown wider. “Wow. I never would’ve guessed.”
Grinning, Xiumin switches into Korean. “I’ve been here for years, so I would hope that no one would be able to tell. You can call me Minseok now, if you want.” Right after he reintroduces himself, someone walks in and taps on the glass. Minseok holds a finger up, a little apologetically, and goes to greet him.
“Hey, Kyungsoo,” he says, “thanks for doing this.”
Kyungsoo shrugs. “It’s work, you know? Better than being unemployed. And I like coffee shops.” His gaze settles on Chen, who stands awkwardly beside the chair he set his backpack on, eyes darting back and forth between Kyungsoo and Minseok. He quirks an eyebrow.
“Oh. Chen, er…”
“Jongdae.”
“Jongdae, this is Kyungsoo-he’ll be managing the shop when I go back to school-Kyungsoo, this is Jongdae, who practically lives here. I’m sure you’ll get to know each other quite well.” He laughs, and Jongdae’s lips turn up in a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Kyungsoo says, in a way that doesn’t exactly reflect the words given his lack of enthusiasm. He grabs an apron from behind the counter and blinks at Minseok. “So. School starts in three days, right? You gonna teach me these recipes or do I have to guess?”
“Right,” Minseok replies. The clock reads 7:03 AM. Fortunately, there’s no line yet. He turns to wish Jongdae good luck with his studies, but he’s already sat down, pulling his books out of his backpack, opening to a blank page in his notes.
Pursing his lips, Minseok goes back to his place behind the counter and pulls out his recipes to teach Kyungsoo.
---
During the initial rush of start-of-year classes, orientations, and assignments, Minseok hardly does much outside of college. As a junior, he no longer has guaranteed housing and walks directly back to the coffee shop when classes are over, nodding briefly to Kyungsoo as he passes by the counter before he climbs the stairs up to his room to work and never noticing Jongdae, who is all but forgotten despite the meager glances he shoots toward Minseok when he walks in, sweaty and tired on late August afternoons. But one day, when the back-to-school spur is over, Minseok knocks on the table, placing a cup in front of him, and says in his usual, perfect Chinese, “Hello, I’m Xiumin, your not-working barista-waiter for today. Mind if I sit here?”
Jongdae looks up, just as abruptly as always, but relaxes into a smile instead of blinking himself out of confusion. “Go ahead,” he says, gaze following Minseok as he sits; then, switching into Korean, “I see college has been busy for you as well.”
“Nah, I’m just not used to getting less than nine hours of sleep a night.”
“I feel that.” Jongdae takes a sip of the espresso previous placed in front of him. “Hey, did you make this?”
“Yeah. Went behind the counter again today, for the first time in like, a millenium.” Minseok drinks from his own coffee. “How’d you know?”
“It’s not so hard to tell, really. Kyungsoo makes great coffee, but your stuff has always got a touch of… I don’t know, borderline enchantment.”
Minseok grins. “I’ve never heard that before. Thanks, I guess.”
“Mhm,” Jongdae hums, turning back to his work, cueing Minseok to do the same.
Despite the hum of conversation in the background, they work in silence. As usual, Jongdae works until Kyungsoo comes by with the mop, this time eyeing Minseok with an otherwise unreadable expression.
“So that’s why you made two coffees.”
---
In October, around Hangul Day, the coffee shop starts to get busier, and Minseok breaks their usual tradition of studying silently at the same table in front of the window to invite Jongdae up to his makeshift apartment to work after bringing coffee for the two of them.
“I figured it’s getting a little noisy here,” Minseok says. “I don’t know about you exactly, but I can’t really focus, so I’m going up to my room-thing. You can come if you still want to study together.”
Jongdae hesitates, then shrugs and picks up his books, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Though there’s lots of space for one person, the floor above the coffee shop that makes up Minseok’s apartment isn’t all that luxurious. A beat up couch sits pressed against a wall in front of a window, and an air mattress sits in the space in front of it. Blankets topple over each other in a messy pile trailing from the seats of the sofa to the opposite end of the air mattress. On top of the blankets, there’s a laptop that looks almost carelessly tossed, given its angle. Minseok glances over his shoulder at Jongdae, who simply blinks at the setup before taking a seat on one end of the couch and getting back to work, then sprawls out over the mattress to study the chapter from today’s lecture.
Someone snores.
Minseok flips around on his couch to see Jongdae’s head drooped over against the armrest, left hand still scribbling-coherent notes, from what Minseok can read-right hand still placed at the corner of the textbook page as though he’ll flip it at any moment. At once, a strange, tender loneliness settles like affection around the room along with the dust particles. Minseok furrows his eyebrows, unsure if it belongs.
He leaves Jongdae alone until Kyungsoo calls from downstairs that he’s closed down the shop and is on his way out. Somehow, the sleepiness that comes with closing time reminds him of Jongdae, who hasn’t moved a limb since Minseok noticed he was sleeping. He puts his books away, then gingerly moves Jongdae’s textbooks to the floor, separating two blankets for himself and two to tuck his guest in.
Tearing a piece of paper out from his own notebook, Minseok writes, “Good morning!” and then places the note over Jongdae’s eyelids, and another that says, “Don’t be late!” on top of his textbooks.
---
The next morning, Minseok wakes up to a piece of paper held down onto the pillow by his cheek, which reads, “You don’t be late either. Thanks, I owe you.” He smiles, but leaves it where it is before rushing down to go to class.
When he gets back from school, Jongdae isn’t at their table, so Minseok sits first and takes out his books to study, only to be interrupted by a knock on the wood of the table.
“Hello,” Jongdae says, an endearing accent lilting his Chinese along with a smile on his lips, “I’m Chen.” He slides a mocha towards Minseok, a playful glint in his eye. “Even though I can’t make coffee to save my life, I’ll be your barista-study-buddy for today-but only if you agree to make it a date.”
Minseok blinks a few times, eyes wide, before breaking into a smile.
“Sure,” he says, peering at the slightly discolored mocha in front of him. “It’s a date.”
Recipient: yubat
Pairing(s): minseok/jongdae
Rating: g
Warnings: cheese
Word count: 2864
Summary: Everyone is a closet barista and/or college student.
In the back of a coffee shop, a thin-framed boy grips the handle of a mop with both hands, wetting the black, granite-tiled floor with a mixture of hand soap and water. The sky is a little cloudy outside. It bathes everything in a grey light that isn’t too bright, like the atmosphere is wearing thin, barely tinted sunglasses. Everything smells like early morning.
When the boy finishes mopping, he rolls his shoulders back and takes one hand off the mop, letting the handle tilt towards the floor as he relaxes his other arm. He looks outside, and the light coming through the giant windows that make up the walls twinkles in his eyes with a sort of hinted contentment. For a while, he just stares, watching the leaves twitch on the branches in the faintest bits of summer morning wind, breathing in the sweet scent of peach-flavored soap mixed with wet tile. An abnormally loud tick on the clock on the wall behind the counter. He places the mop into the bucket and pushes them into the supply closet where he flicks a switch, dimly lighting room to expose the sink basin and chipped toilet. Lips still tilted the slightest bit upward, he pours the soap-water into the sink and wrings out the mop, humming over the sound of sloshing water. It’s early. Maybe he yawns, once or twice.
A while later, after everything is dry and clean enough to be stored in the back corner, the boy dries his hands and heads back out to set up the chairs and tables. He does so almost rhythmically, maybe nodding to the rhythm of the scrapes as he slides the chairs off the table, the metallic thuds and squeals when he places them on the ground and pushes them in, dancing with his shoulders, swaying his hips.
Right when he finishes, the clock on the wall strikes 7:00 AM. He wipes his hands on his khakis and saunters towards the door. The key jangles nicely when he turns it in the lock, and when he pushes the door open, crisp air rushes in tiptoe, caressing his cheeks, carding lithe fingers through his hair. After letting morning filter in through the door for a while, he lets it close and flips the sign on the glass to “OPEN” and takes his place behind the counter, humming. Not even ten minutes pass before the shop gets busy. People file in and out through the door, placing their orders, sliding chairs loudly against the floor when they sit down, pulling out laptops and taking business calls as they sip at their drinks and read the newspaper.
The customer who catches his eye this morning stands out because he’s not a regular, and by now, most people are. In fact, he’s never been here before. The boy studies the new customer: bangs just at level with the eyebrows, sharp, high cheekbones, thin rectangular glasses resting delicately on his nose, tattered white T-shirt, worn jeans, tan, army-style jacket with color fading at the elbows, surprisingly tall for the way his wrists looked, bony and protrusive. New customer finally approaches the counter and pushes his glasses up on his nose, blinking a few more times at the menu on the wall before catching the boy’s eye.
“Good morning,” the boy says, smiling. “You’re new here, right? Welcome to Café Xiustretto! Are you ready to order?”
“Uhh, yeah, I think.”
“What can I get for you, then?”
“Um… just an espresso, please. Small. Thanks.”
When he says thanks, the boy leans forward a little. The way he says xie xie sounds a little more like a mix between that and shey shey. Korean, maybe. Just like him. He doesn’t ask.
“Sure. Name?”
“Jon-er,” the new customer scratches his nose, pushes his glasses up again. “Chen.”
The boy scribbles the name on a plastic cup with a Sharpie. “Alright-your drink will be ready in a bit. Have a nice day!”
Dipping his head, Chen makes his way toward a table against the window and sits down before pulling out a pile of books that makes a loud thud on the table.
The next time the boy looks back, Chen has earbuds in and a pen in his left hand, taking notes with his gaze focused on the textbook rather than the paper he writes on. Pursing his lips, the boy takes the orders of the few customers left in line before taking Chen’s espresso to him.
“Hello,” he says, almost playfully as he knocks on the table and sets the espresso down a safe distance from Chen’s books, “I’m Xiumin and I’ll be your barista-waiter for the day.”
Chen abruptly straightens and pulls his earbuds out, blinking himself out of disorientation before his eyes widen at the espresso at the opposite end of the small table. “Oh-oh, crap, I’m sorry-I just-”
“It’s fine! Really, it’s fine, I was just joking with you. Enjoy your coffee!”
“Uh… yeah. Right. I’ll do that, enjoying the coffee. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Xiumin smiles over his shoulder as he makes his way back to the counter, where his own textbooks sit, dusting over before college starts again. “Good luck.”
---
In the back of a coffee shop, Xiumin grips the handle of a mop with both hands, wetting the black, granite-tiled floor with a mixture of hand soap and water. The sky is a little cloudy outside. Grey, fluffy blankets of cotton cover the navy, star dappled backdrop, letting moonlight through in thin rays. Everything smells overwhelmingly of filtered java beans.
The coffee shop is empty, except for Chen, still scribbling away in his notebook although perhaps the movement of his wrist has slowed down. Xiumin moves methodically back and forth of the tiles with his mop, glancing up every now and then to see that Chen is still working. When he reaches the front of the shop, he knocks on Chen’s table again.
“Shop’s closing in a bit,” he says, resting one arm behind his back and gripping the mop with another. “You’re free to stay here, but just thought you should know I’m closing up soon.”
Again, Chen blinks a few times before he responds. It seems like he’s blinking fog out of his eyes by the way he looks around the shop. Eventually, his gaze wanders out the window and he does the same thing from this morning, abruptly straightening and pulling his earbuds out, winding them around his fingers as he glances at the clock.
“I’m sorry I, uh, I got carried away-” Chen bows, chair screeching as the backs of his knees push it across the floor, simultaneously shoving his earbuds into his backpack under the table. “Um, if I may, what time is it?”
Xiumin gestures to the clock on the wall. “Almost nine. But don’t worry about it.”
Mumbling another “sorry,” and a barely discernible “thank you,” Chen returns to packing his bag.
When Xiumin finishes putting away the cleaning supplies and goes back to set the chairs on the tables and wipe everything down, he pokes his head out in Chen’s direction and asks, “Are you Korean, by the-oh. Okay. You’re not here anymore.” He shakes his head, chuckling a little as he continues to mumble to himself. “Right. Bye, then. Come again soon.”
His textbooks sit on the counter, still dusting over. School starts in a matter of days.
Sighing, he picks them up and heads upstairs to his bedroom.
---
The next few days pass much the same way. Chen comes by as soon as Xiumin opens up, then leaves right when he closes. They don’t talk at all after the first day even though he always seems to be the focus of Xiumin’s gaze when he looks over the counter to call people up for their drinks. It’s a little less quiet during the hours when the shop is empty of customers with the constant scratch of Chen’s pen and the flip of textbook pages.
One morning, while Xiumin is busy taking chairs off the tables, Chen comes early, hovering outside the door with his backpack, peering in. When Xiumin catches a glimpse of him loitering about, his eyes widen slightly and he hastily pushes the current chair in before heading immediately for the door.
“You’re early,” Xiumin says, the usual, gentle smile on his lips as he welcomes Chen in.
Chen hesitates. “I, erm, thought I should help out since I always stay so late while you clean up.”
“Hm?” Xiumin props the door open and flips the sign on the door. The clock on the back wall reads 6:57 AM. “Oh, no, that’s fine! That’s totally fine. This place is my baby, so whether or not you stay late I’ll be taking care of it.” Without waiting for a response, he walks back through the shop to start on the last row of tables. “But if you really want to help out, I obviously won’t say no.”
Dipping his head, Chen steps in and begins taking chairs off the tables, placing his backpack in the chair he usually sits in, then moving along the row. At the same time, both of them reach for the same chair, noticing only when Chen moves to place the chair down and Xiumin is still in the process of lifting it.
“I got it,” Chen says, pursing his lips in a tentative curve upward, looking at Xiumin for barely a moment before he glances back down again at his shoes. “Sorry.”
“What’re you saying sorry for, really? You’re always saying sorry.” Xiumin laughs. “Really, though, thanks for the help.”
A brief silence passes before Xiumin wipes his hands on his jeans. Suddenly, he looks back to Chen again. “I meant to ask you the first day,” he begins, “but are you Korean? Your accent sounds a little like it.”
“Oh, really? Yeah, I’m Korean. I was hoping I didn’t have too much of an accent, but-”
“It doesn’t stand out or anything, really. It’s a lot better than mine when I first got here.”
“Really?” Somewhere along the way, it seems that Chen’s eyes have grown wider. “Wow. I never would’ve guessed.”
Grinning, Xiumin switches into Korean. “I’ve been here for years, so I would hope that no one would be able to tell. You can call me Minseok now, if you want.” Right after he reintroduces himself, someone walks in and taps on the glass. Minseok holds a finger up, a little apologetically, and goes to greet him.
“Hey, Kyungsoo,” he says, “thanks for doing this.”
Kyungsoo shrugs. “It’s work, you know? Better than being unemployed. And I like coffee shops.” His gaze settles on Chen, who stands awkwardly beside the chair he set his backpack on, eyes darting back and forth between Kyungsoo and Minseok. He quirks an eyebrow.
“Oh. Chen, er…”
“Jongdae.”
“Jongdae, this is Kyungsoo-he’ll be managing the shop when I go back to school-Kyungsoo, this is Jongdae, who practically lives here. I’m sure you’ll get to know each other quite well.” He laughs, and Jongdae’s lips turn up in a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Kyungsoo says, in a way that doesn’t exactly reflect the words given his lack of enthusiasm. He grabs an apron from behind the counter and blinks at Minseok. “So. School starts in three days, right? You gonna teach me these recipes or do I have to guess?”
“Right,” Minseok replies. The clock reads 7:03 AM. Fortunately, there’s no line yet. He turns to wish Jongdae good luck with his studies, but he’s already sat down, pulling his books out of his backpack, opening to a blank page in his notes.
Pursing his lips, Minseok goes back to his place behind the counter and pulls out his recipes to teach Kyungsoo.
---
During the initial rush of start-of-year classes, orientations, and assignments, Minseok hardly does much outside of college. As a junior, he no longer has guaranteed housing and walks directly back to the coffee shop when classes are over, nodding briefly to Kyungsoo as he passes by the counter before he climbs the stairs up to his room to work and never noticing Jongdae, who is all but forgotten despite the meager glances he shoots toward Minseok when he walks in, sweaty and tired on late August afternoons. But one day, when the back-to-school spur is over, Minseok knocks on the table, placing a cup in front of him, and says in his usual, perfect Chinese, “Hello, I’m Xiumin, your not-working barista-waiter for today. Mind if I sit here?”
Jongdae looks up, just as abruptly as always, but relaxes into a smile instead of blinking himself out of confusion. “Go ahead,” he says, gaze following Minseok as he sits; then, switching into Korean, “I see college has been busy for you as well.”
“Nah, I’m just not used to getting less than nine hours of sleep a night.”
“I feel that.” Jongdae takes a sip of the espresso previous placed in front of him. “Hey, did you make this?”
“Yeah. Went behind the counter again today, for the first time in like, a millenium.” Minseok drinks from his own coffee. “How’d you know?”
“It’s not so hard to tell, really. Kyungsoo makes great coffee, but your stuff has always got a touch of… I don’t know, borderline enchantment.”
Minseok grins. “I’ve never heard that before. Thanks, I guess.”
“Mhm,” Jongdae hums, turning back to his work, cueing Minseok to do the same.
Despite the hum of conversation in the background, they work in silence. As usual, Jongdae works until Kyungsoo comes by with the mop, this time eyeing Minseok with an otherwise unreadable expression.
“So that’s why you made two coffees.”
---
In October, around Hangul Day, the coffee shop starts to get busier, and Minseok breaks their usual tradition of studying silently at the same table in front of the window to invite Jongdae up to his makeshift apartment to work after bringing coffee for the two of them.
“I figured it’s getting a little noisy here,” Minseok says. “I don’t know about you exactly, but I can’t really focus, so I’m going up to my room-thing. You can come if you still want to study together.”
Jongdae hesitates, then shrugs and picks up his books, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Though there’s lots of space for one person, the floor above the coffee shop that makes up Minseok’s apartment isn’t all that luxurious. A beat up couch sits pressed against a wall in front of a window, and an air mattress sits in the space in front of it. Blankets topple over each other in a messy pile trailing from the seats of the sofa to the opposite end of the air mattress. On top of the blankets, there’s a laptop that looks almost carelessly tossed, given its angle. Minseok glances over his shoulder at Jongdae, who simply blinks at the setup before taking a seat on one end of the couch and getting back to work, then sprawls out over the mattress to study the chapter from today’s lecture.
Someone snores.
Minseok flips around on his couch to see Jongdae’s head drooped over against the armrest, left hand still scribbling-coherent notes, from what Minseok can read-right hand still placed at the corner of the textbook page as though he’ll flip it at any moment. At once, a strange, tender loneliness settles like affection around the room along with the dust particles. Minseok furrows his eyebrows, unsure if it belongs.
He leaves Jongdae alone until Kyungsoo calls from downstairs that he’s closed down the shop and is on his way out. Somehow, the sleepiness that comes with closing time reminds him of Jongdae, who hasn’t moved a limb since Minseok noticed he was sleeping. He puts his books away, then gingerly moves Jongdae’s textbooks to the floor, separating two blankets for himself and two to tuck his guest in.
Tearing a piece of paper out from his own notebook, Minseok writes, “Good morning!” and then places the note over Jongdae’s eyelids, and another that says, “Don’t be late!” on top of his textbooks.
---
The next morning, Minseok wakes up to a piece of paper held down onto the pillow by his cheek, which reads, “You don’t be late either. Thanks, I owe you.” He smiles, but leaves it where it is before rushing down to go to class.
When he gets back from school, Jongdae isn’t at their table, so Minseok sits first and takes out his books to study, only to be interrupted by a knock on the wood of the table.
“Hello,” Jongdae says, an endearing accent lilting his Chinese along with a smile on his lips, “I’m Chen.” He slides a mocha towards Minseok, a playful glint in his eye. “Even though I can’t make coffee to save my life, I’ll be your barista-study-buddy for today-but only if you agree to make it a date.”
Minseok blinks a few times, eyes wide, before breaking into a smile.
“Sure,” he says, peering at the slightly discolored mocha in front of him. “It’s a date.”