16. You’re Faking a Smile with the Coffee to Go (Blue Sky Holiday)
Title: You’re Faking a Smile with the Coffee to Go (Blue Sky Holiday)
For: inkcoherent
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slight cursing. Angst-ish.
It is snowing. Huge snowflakes are sticking to the window briefly before they melt into droplets, trailing down the surface. Repeat. It has been snowing for the most part of two days, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop anytime soon. The meteorologists had called it a Christmas miracle. Minseok just calls it more work.
“Don’t be a Scrooge, hyung,” Jino chirps from where he’s balancing on a stool, decorating the store window with tinsel, self-made hearts made out of cardboard and paper garlands in different colors. Their lunch room look like a mess, but Jino promised to clean it up, so Minseok just left him to his devices.
The café is running smoothly enough even though Jino is playing a tinsel fairy, not really doing anything productive. Baekhyun and Yixing are operating the registers, while Kyungsoo and himself are making the coffee. Jongin (and Jino) are on the baking shift, making sure that their displays are filled to the brim with tasty pastries. The ovens aren’t in use at the moment - their pastry displays are full - and that’s why Jino seized the opportunity to decorate. Minseok thinks he last saw Jongin ten minutes ago, curled up in a blanket, sleeping under the table where Jino had cut out his red cardboard hearts.
The café is almost full, only a few tables are empty, but the line is getting shorter, so Minseok lets Kyungsoo do most of the coffee making; he’s more than good enough to handle a rush of orders by himself, so he’s sure that Kyungsoo will manage the last six customers in line as well.
Minseok seeks refugee behind one of the pastry displays, pulling out a small stool from under the counter that he sits down on, glancing at his customers through the glass.
The café, his café was going well. Much better than Minseok had expected a year ago when he had dropped out of college to follow his dream. It had been a tough, risky decision that had cost him all his savings and then some. As the saying goes, he had sacrificed blood, sweat and tears while putting it up, making it work, establishing it. Luckily it had paid off. The café isn’t making him rich, but he earns enough to pay his coworkers and still have money enough for food as well as new stuff for the shop.
But there’s something missing. Minseok isn’t feeling accomplished, happy, pleased. Even though all his hard work paid off and he’s, clichéd enough, living his dream, Minseok often finds himself thinking that it’s not enough. Most of the time, Minseok feels empty.
A bell chimes, and the door opens, letting in a cold gust of air as the coat clad person steps into the café, duly closing the door behind him. Minseok watches idly as the person, instead of walking towards the cash register, heads for Jino, who’s standing with his hands on his hips, tinsel in his hair, frowning as he takes in the two windows he has decorated.
Jino yelps as the person, presses his front against Jino’s back, drizzling leftover, melting snow onto Jino’s bare arms as he hugs him from behind. It’s only when Jino turns on his heels, chides a soft “hyung!”, cheeks scarlet red, that Minseok understands who it is. To be honest he should have known right from the second he had headed towards Jino.
“Hyung, whatcha doing?” Minseok glances to his left and discovers Baekhyun, whose apron is spotted with dark flecks, presumably from the coffee. Minseok frowns. He hates when his employees are wearing dirty aprons (their aprons are white by default), so he always keeps a bunch of freshly cleaned ones in their changing room.
“There are clean aprons in the changing room,” he says. Baekhyun blinks at him. “Go change.”
To Minseok’s annoyance, Baekhyun remains at Minseok’s side, eagerly peeking over the display. “Kyuhyun hyung and Jino?” Baekhyun looks at him when he doesn’t get a reply.
“Why are you looking at Kyuhyun hyung and Jino?”
Minseok doesn’t dignify Baekhyun with an answer, instead settling for cleaning up in the pastry display, making sure it’s still full enough, that everything looks good and appetizing. He knows Jino is supposed to make another batch of croissants and bagels, but a quick glance over to Jino, he sees that he’s rather busy testing out the mistletoe with Kyuhyun.
He ponders if he should walk over there to remind Jino that he’s currently at work when a pair of hands slip around his waist from behind.
“Leave them be, ge.” It’s Yixing, who smells like sugar and cream and Christmas. Over his head he hears Yixing telling Baekhyun to mind the cash register. Amazingly enough, Baekhyun does what he’s told. Yixing is amazing. Minseok thinks he might deserve a raise for this. He holds Minseok in place for a couple more beats before he releases him, settling next to him by the display instead.
“We need more pastries,” Minseok hears himself say dimly as Yixing fusses with Minseok’s apron. Yixing grabs his hand, chuckles. Minseok doesn’t move, though, settles against Yixing, for now. He glances over to the clock hanging on the wall next to the cash register; ten to seven. Kyungsoo’s shift will be over soon, and they’ll be one person less. It’s okay though because usually the line of customers get shorter and shorter after 7 pm. The café is open until midnight, and by then there are barely two customers; usually students, that Minseok has to chase out.
“Shouldn’t you be going home?” Yixing asks softly, rubbing Minseok’s clothed tummy with his palms; Minseok can feel the heat emitting from Yixing’s skin. Minseok gives a non-committal sound, shrugging as he goes back to watch Jino, and now Kyuhyun, setting up the last of the tinsel next to a group of flustered high school girls.
Yixing might have a point though. Minseok has been at work since 5 am, opening the shop with Chanyeol who went home at 2 pm with eyelids looking much like they were made of lead. Chanyeol had pulled an all-nighter to finish the thesis proposal for his master’s degree. If Minseok had known earlier, he would have gotten someone else to work.
“Ge,” Yixing says, poking Minseok’s cheek with his index finger.
“Yeah,” Minseok answers, nodding briefly, hoping that it will please Yixing enough for him to let the topic go.
It doesn’t.
Before he manages to react, the hands on Minseok’s hips turns him around so he’s standing face to face with Yixing, under the mercy of Yixing’s rare, but effective, firm glare.
Minseok is opening the café again tomorrow, as he always does, so Yixing is right. Minseok knows that he is. But he doesn’t want to go home. Home to Minseok doesn’t really mean much. It’s a place where he sleeps, mainly. Baekhyun had once joked that Minseok just could move out of his flat when his lease ends and sleep in a sleeping bag in his office at the café; he spent most of his hours there anyway. Baekhyun had been right, in a way.
Minseok doesn’t really have a home. He has a place where he keeps his stuff, but it’s not a home,
“Hyung,” this time it’s Kyungsoo; whose huge eyes are the only thing Minseok can see over Yixing’s shoulder. He walks around Yixing, standing next to them. “It’s seven, so I’ll be going now.”
Minseok nods, leaning forward to ruffle Kyungsoo’s hair. He knows Kyungsoo hates it; he makes no attempt to hide his distaste for it, but lets Minseok ruffle his hair because Minseok is his boss, the oldest. “Thank you for your hard work, Kyungsoo-yah.”
Kyungsoo gives a small smile before he leaves, heading for the lunch slash changing room.
With Kyungsoo off the clock, Minseok re-takes his position next to the coffee machines, with Yixing trailing after him. There’s no one in line, so Baekhyun is fooling around on his phone; Minseok can see a kakao talk conversation splayed out on Baekhyun’s screen. Some places, bringing cellphones to work is banned, but Minseok told his employees that they could bring it as long as they kept it on silent and didn’t use it in front of the customers. Occasionally he’d have to remind Baekhyun and Chanyeol of this rule, but for the most part it went fine.
“Minseok hyung!”
Minseok looks up at the loud mention of his name to find Chanyeol standing on the other side of the coffee machines. The circles under his eyes are still dark, but he looks somewhat rested, what with the pillow creases on his cheek and his clearly unbrushed hair. Next to Chanyeol stands a young man Minseok never has seen before. If he were to guess, he’d say he was the same age as Chanyeol, probably just a couple of years younger than Minseok himself, and about Minseok’s height. Most of his face is hidden in an obnoxiously bright pink scarf, with one of the ends falling over and down over his worn, navy jacket. There are tufts of black hair curling out of his pink beanie, reminding Minseok of Yixing, whose hair would curl when wet.
“Minseok hyung, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot I was in charge of finding someone to perform tonight,” Chanyeol booms, flailing his long arms. The other man dodges Chanyeol’s stick-like arms with practiced ease. “But luckily Jongdae said yes!”
Jongdae.
“Jongdae?” Minseok asks, eyes trailing from Chanyeol to the other man, who meets his gaze. Chanyeol flails some more,
“I’m Jongdae. Kim Jongdae,” the other boy - Jongdae- says, pulling down his scarf to reveal thin lips, with a small smile curled at the corner of his mouth. With the scarf removed, Minseok could also see Jongdae’s high cheekbones, sharp as if chiseled out of marble.
“He used to be in my music composition class back in the second year,” Chanyeol helpfully adds, gesturing to Jongdae. “He can sing!”
Minseok can’t not smile at Chanyeol’s enthusiasm. “Hey Jongdae, I’m Kim Minseok. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Jongdae beams.
It turns out that most of Minseok’s employees know Jongdae, either through Baekhyun and Chanyeol, or through Jongin, who apparently is Jongdae’s cousin. Minseok wants to stay and watch Jongdae’s performance at 9, but Yixing gives him a talk about how: ”Rest is important too, Minseok hyung! You can’t run a place on no sleep.”.
So Minseok, wrapped up in his thick down coat, bids the guys goodbye, and makes sure to tell Jino (who he finds by the ovens, whipping out bagels like it’s magic) what a great job he did on the Christmas decorations. It’s with Jino’s beaming smile and Jongdae’s “Bye, Kim Minseok,” that Minseok steps out of the warm café and out in the cold December weather.
Seoul is extraordinary cold, even for December, and Minseok finds himself wishing that he had brought hot pockets or a hot Americano from the café before he left. Hongdae is bustling with life, as always. It apparently never gets too cold - or too hot - for the students who frequents there. As he passes an Angels-In-Us café, he shudders at the sight of a group of female students who are wearing skirts, their legs bare. Minseok would never understand how people could dress for summer, even when it was a whopping -18 degrees outside. He eyes a couple of high school boys, wearing no jacket but their school blazer, scarves thick around their neck as they stand outside of exit 8.
Minseok needs to catch the subway, but he isn’t so desperate that he by own free will chooses to venture down exit 8 at 8:30 on a Friday evening. It is completely surrounded by people, students waiting for their friends, lovers like a herd of sheep. He vividly remembers Luhan; a Chinese exchange student who had attended Yonsei at the same time as Minseok, and his eternal complaint every time the two of them had visited Hongdae together. As they fought their way through the crowds, Luhan had voiced his complete disdain. “I don’t understand why they can’t meet further away from the subway; or even better, at the actual place they’re going to!” .
A smile hides behind Minseok’s scarf as he squirms through the masses of students at exit 8, hearing Luhan’s accented Korean in the back of his mind as he does. Minseok settles for exit 9 instead, lying a bit further up the road. It’s crowded, but not as crowded as exit 8. He easily manages to enter the subway station without getting too squashed in the crowd.
Minseok takes the Gyeongui-line and gets off at Daegok. He beeps his phone at the ticket gates, and heads for exit 2. The subway station in Daegok is much calmer than the Hongik University one. Minseok greets the elderly man sitting in the information booth by the refund machines, the man half-asleep. There really aren’t a lot of things happening at Daegok subway station, so his work isn’t that stressful, Minseok assumes.
He runs by the GS25 that’s located under his flat, pauses to chat with the old lady working there before he heads out with his purchases in a black bag.
Minseok shudders in his thin sweater and sweatpants, shuffling over the floor to turn on the floor heater. After a second of thinking, he turns on the oven by the kitchen window as well. His flat is a tiny two-room, living room and kitchen in one room, with a small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. It really isn’t much, and Minseok can afford something bigger, but he likes the flat and his landlady adores him, so it’s hard for Minseok to even think about moving.
It’s in moments like this one, where Minseok is alone, body heavy, aching from too many hours spent at work, that Minseok feels it. He’s not sure what it is, or why, but as he is at home, eating instant ramyun, he lets his thoughts wander off. Minseok more often than not finds himself worrying. Worrying about his parents, his café; himself.
Mostly about his café. The worry settles in Minseok’s body like a feeling akin to sickness, making his heart race, body trembling.
To be honest, Minseok isn’t sure it’s even worry. It’s just the closest feeling that he can name. His parents are okay, he himself is okay and his café is going okay too. Minseok can’t see why he’d have this feeling.
He finishes his ramyun and goes to sleep with a heavy heart.
Saturday morning comes with even more snow and his accountant, Junmyeon. As usual, Junmyeon is dressed in a crisp suit, looking like he just walked out of a Hugo Boss commercial. Junmyeon’s brown hair is pushed back, coiffed to perfection; he has a kind smile on his face.
“Minseok hyung, how are you?” Junmyeon asks as he enters Minseok’s small office, closing the door behind him.
“I’m good, how are you?” Minseok mumbles, throwing a glance at Junmyeon before he looks back onto his papers. He’s in the middle of planning their Christmas menus for the holidays. While he doesn’t plan on changing it much, some changes are always nice.
“I’m good.” Junmyeon settles down in the chair on the opposite side of Minseok’s desk, placing his suitcase on his lap, promptly pulling a thick folder. “I’m going be really blunt with you, hyung.”
Minseok looks up from his menu, frowns as he sees the expression on Junmyeon’s face. His features are hard, determined, but his eyes are soft, filled with compassion. Minseok doesn’t like it.
“There has been too few customers the past three months, and from the looks of it, December won’t be any better. There’s a budget deficit for November, and unless you can manage to increase the income by at least 20%, you will have to close the store in a couple of months,” Junmyeon says, looking through his papers briefly, nodding.
Minseok’s world collapses.
“What?”
No, this couldn’t be. The numbers for the café had been good, ever since Minseok opened. He has had a lot of customers, even more than he had expected when he opened it. Minseok had been fully aware - even from the start - that starting up his own café, not being a part of an already existing brand, he took a huge risk. To Minseok it had been worth it. He had been set on making it. Which he thought he had done.
Minseok remembers working with the café, months and months before they opened. Remembers gathering a group of friends - Hakyeon, Taekwoon, Henry, Dongwoo and Sunggyu - after he had gotten the keys to the place. They had spent countless hours planning, painting. At one point they had even slept in the store, in between half-assembled furniture and bags of coffee beans, tucked into sleeping bags, ordering chicken in the early hours of the morning. The first cups of coffee, Minseok had brewed to his friends.
“Well, like I said, you need to increase the income, the number of paying customers, by February at latest, or else you’ll no longer make the money needed for the store to operate,” Junmyeon says softly, pulling out a simple piece of paper from his folder, placing it on Minseok’s desk. “Sure, you can choose to run it, even if you don’t earn enough money, but I wouldn’t recommend it, hyung. It’ll backfire onto your own personal economy, and that usually don’t work out in the end.”
Minseok feels numb. His face finds his palms, sighing as he lets Junmyeon’s words ring inside his head. He can’t believe his own ears. Can’t believe Junmyeon. His palms feel clammy against his face, but his body feels cold, like a fever is running through his body, hitting him like lightning. There’s a sudden pressure on his temples.
Far away he can hear Junmyeon’s voice, like a distant hum. Minseok isn’t sure if Junmyeon is still talking, or if it’s just his brain replaying Junmyeon’s voice. He’s not sure if he wants to know. Junmyeon has given him a little more than three months to increase the number of customers, the café’s income, but to Minseok, it feels a little bit like he’s already preparing his funeral. Of course, putting the blame on Junmyeon isn’t what Minseok is doing, but being the bringer of the bad news, he can’t help hit, but he tries not to.
This café, Minseok’s café (it’s called the Coffee Bun, but Minseok never refers to it by its name), is a failure.
“Minseok hyung!” There are hands on his shoulders, on his wrists, prying them away from his face. Minseok’s vision is blurry, his hands cold. He hears his name being repeated, a hand on his cheek. Minseok expects it to be Kyungsoo, Yixing, but instead he finds-
“Jongdae?”
He’s looking completely different than he did when Minseok saw him yesterday. There’s a frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed, genuine concern in his eyes as he holds Minseok’s wrists with thin, nimble hands.
“What are you-“Minseok begins, not sure if he’s supposed to be embarrassed or upset because he doesn’t know Jongdae, and yet here he is, hovering over Minseok, crowding into his personal space.
“Breathe,” Jongdae commands, letting go of Minseok’s wrists to place a hand on his chest, pushing him back in his chair. Minseok looks bewildered at him. Jongdae huffs, pushing Minseok’s chair backwards so he can step in-between Minseok’s legs, grabbing Minseok’s hand.
“Come on, Minseok hyung, follow me,” Jongdae murmurs, placing Minseok’s hand on Jongdae’s own chest. Minseok can feel Jongdae’s ribcage expand through his thin sweater. “With me now, ok?”
It’s then, and only then Minseok realizes he’s heaving for air, close to hyperventilating. He feels panic rise in his chest, mouth gasping as he tries to swallow enough oxygen. His heart pounds in his chest, blood pounding in his veins as his brain screams at him to breathe.
Minseok promptly passes out.
He returns to consciousness with a soft “I’m sorry, Minseok hyung,” followed by a punch to his cheek. Maybe it’s more like a slap, but it hurts like a bitch. However, it has him clinging at his consciousness with both hands, eyes snapping open as he grabs the thing closest to him; a plate of croissants that he starts throwing at the first person visible to him, who turns out to be Jongdae.
Jongdae yelps, diving behind Minseok’s desk to hide from Minseok’s croissant assault. However, Minseok continues pelting pastries at him, missing terribly due to his still blurry vision, but hurls them in the general direction of Jongdae, until someone grabs his wrist, halting his movements.
“Minseok hyung!” Jino chides as he kneels onto the floor next to Minseok - who realizes he’s lying on the goddamn floor, his feet propped up on a couple of pillows, frowning as he pries a chocolate croissant from his hands. There’s sticky chocolate left in his palm, but Jino doesn’t seem to care about that, instead placing the slightly squished croissant back on the plate. There are only three croissants left after Minseok’s rampage.
“Jongdae helped you when you were hyperventilating, helped you when you fainted and this is how you show your gratitude, hyung?” Jino asks in disbelief, crossing his slim arms over his small chest, scowling as if Minseok is paying him for it.
Minseok looks away from Jino, biting on his bottom lip as he glances over to Jongdae, still somewhat hidden underneath his desk, his soft, black hair and eyes visible as they meet Minseok’s gaze.
“He was being impolite by crowding into my personal space-“
“He was saving your ungrateful ass,” Jino snaps, his hands fisting at his apron, as if he’s fighting himself. Jino has never snapped at Minseok before, always respectful, chirping hyung at him with wide eyes and soft smiles.
“We barely know each other though,” Minseok protests weakly.
What Jino screams at him, voice shrill, Minseok really doesn’t know. It’s too high pitched for him to hear, or so it feels like. So Minseok settles for watching as Jino’s face get redder and redder with each second. He reminds Minseok of a blowfish.
Suddenly Yixing bursts through the door, immediately starts cooing as he sits down behind Jino, pulling him against his chest. With Yixing’s hands rubbing comforting circles on his tummy, Jino stops shrieking. Yixing hums something that sounds suspiciously similar to “chutuluchuchuchu” as he cradles Jino in his arms.
As Yixing distracts Jino, Minseok sits up, dizziness immediately settling in his bones, his head spinning. Suddenly there’s a warm body pressed to his side, a small palm resting on the small of his back, aiding him. Minseok doesn’t have to look to know it’s Jongdae. He’s not sure how he knows, he just does.
Jongdae helps him up from the blanket on the floor, kicking a heap of small pillows away from underneath Minseok’s legs. On his feet, Minseok feels rather ok, save for the weak dizziness he feels clouding his brain. Jongdae guides him back to his desk, telling Minseok to sit down on the hard wood before he turns on his heels and sprints out.
“Hyung what did you do?” comes Jino’s accusing voice from the corner of the room. Yixing and Jino have both gotten to their feet as well, Yixing now fussing over Jino’s appearance, brushing at invisible spots of dirt on Jino’s white apron.
“I didn’t do anything!” Minseok protests, lifting his hands above his head. Jino doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer because he keeps scowling at Minseok until Jongdae reenters the room.
“Eat this,” he simply says, pushing something into Minseok’s palm. Minseok would have recognized those brown squares anywhere.
“Chocolate?”
Jongdae nods vigorously.
“Who are you? R. J. Lupin?” Minseok says, looking at Jongdae, eyebrows raised.
“Eat your chocolate, Harry Potter,” Jongdae chuckles, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Minseok takes a bite of the chocolate, lets the sweetness of it fill his mouth, filling his senses as he relaxes.
Jongdae smiles.
Minseok’s doctor had prescribed him two weeks of rest, but Minseok had only managed two days before he was climbing at the walls of his flat, on the third day he was back at work, only to be chased out by Yixing and Jino, demanding that he went home to rest. They had permitted him back after a week.
So a week later finds Minseok back in his café, hunched over a bunch of papers as he takes notes, pen chasing over the lined pages of his notebook. He’s seated in a booth in the corner of his rather empty café - most of the students that frequent his café has classes - with books propped up on empty cups of coffee.
He’s looking for nothing, and anything that can help him from closing his store. Skimming though everything from cookie recipes to interior magazines that claims that the color of the walls determine how much the customers like the store, in hope to find something, anything. He’s been at it for hours and the only thing he has marked with a bright yellow post-it is a chocolate mousse recipe.
“Tough day?”
Minseok looks up, more a habit than anything, because he knows it’s Jongdae, sliding into the booth, clutching a cup containing something hot; Minseok can see the steam. Jongdae’s cheeks are red from the cold, the huge pink scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, his huge, navy jacket zipped open to expose a big, knitted sweater, pink like his scarf.
Jongdae places the cup on the table, pushes it closer to Minseok with his elbows as his gaze is fixed on something underneath the table.
“No thank you, I don’t need any more coffee,” Minseok mutters, eyeing the cup, then Jongdae. Jongdae’s looks up, eyebrows furrowed.
“It’s not for you, it’s for me!” Jongdae says, grabbing the cup, clutching it possessively in his small hands.
The tips of Minseok’s ears colors slightly as he turns his attention back to his books and magazines, ignoring the smirk he can see on Jongdae’s lips.
They remain in silence like that for a good while; Jongdae sipping to his beverage and Minseok flipping through a magazine. The café is mostly silent, only the small hum of Yixing and Jino’s conversation from behind the counter audible.
“So what are you doing exactly?” Jongdae asks, looking up from his phone. Minseok only shrugs non-committedly as he draws a flower in the corner of his notebook. He’s not really sure if he’s ready to spill all his problems to a person he barely knows.
“You look lost,” Jongdae murmurs, thin fingers trailing the flower pattern on his cup idly. Minseok freezes. Jongdae continues. “I can’t really put my finger on it, but you’re not the Minseok that Chanyeol and Jongin has been talking about for ages. It’s like… you lack something.”
Minseok stares at Jongdae, not quite sure if he’s supposed to reply to this or not. However, Jongdae just put Minseok’s worries into words. He’s lacking something. For weeks he has been feeling it, settled into his bones, into his very being but he hasn’t, isn’t able to put it in words. It’s frustrating.
He squirms slightly under Jongdae’s scrutinizing gaze. It’s as if Jongdae looks through his clothes to see him; see into the very core of Minseok’s body, determined to find out what it is he’s lacking. With trembling hands he turns back to his magazine, fingers shaking as he thumbs through the fine pages of a woman’s magazine that claims to have the best recipes for chocolate cake.
“You lack passion,” Jongdae says, whispers. His eyes are wide, impossibly so, and Minseok feels his own eyes widen as well. Yes. In his chest, Minseok’s heart starts beating faster, just like it had done a week ago, but this time it feels good, not painful. It feels like the breaking of chains, the dawn of a new day.
Jongdae opens his mouth to speak further, but is interrupted by his phone, buzzing on the table. Minseok stays silent as Jongdae’s fingers run over the screen of the phone. In the soft glow of his cellphone Jongdae looks ethereal, high cheekbones pushing against his pale skin, long dark lashes falling over his cheeks.
“Duty calls,” Jongdae says softly, slipping out of the booth. He turns, ready to leave, but looks back over his shoulder at Minseok.
“Find your fire, hyung,” Jongdae says, eyes knowing, before he slips out of Minseok’s vision, leaving Minseok alone in the booth with his brain that was running haywire.
His body feels numb as Jongdae’s words ring in his brain, surrounds him, overwhelms him. It feels too simple, how Jongdae had been able to pinpoint that after just ten minutes, while Minseok has struggled with this feeling for a couple of months, struggling to figure out why he was feeling like that and how he could stop feeling like that. And then Jongdae had just looked at him and figured it out.
Minseok looks down at his heap of books, magazines and papers and groans, resting his head on top of a magazine. Even though he now knew what was wrong with him, it didn’t make things any easier. He still had to figure out what to do about the low customer count, and with his lack of passion, it would be even more difficult.
He needs more coffee.
“So you gave up the books huh?”
It’s a couple of days later, and Minseok has abandoned the books and glossy magazines for coffee beans and cream. He has even broken his no-dirty-aprons policy in favor of spending more time in front of the coffee machine.
“What are you doing?” Jongdae asks, leaning against the coffee machine, sporting an entertained smile. He’s not wearing his pink scarf, or his navy jacket this time. He looks more put together now, with a soft, gray sweater and jeans. Not that Minseok is looking.
“Trying to come up with something new,” Minseok mutters, grabbing a cup from the counter, swirling its contents before putting it back, frowning.
Jongdae hums, gaze skirting over the counters, pausing at Minseok’s dozen cups, before looking back to Minseok. He doesn’t say anything though, just looks as Minseok grounds coffee beans, mixes chili in a cup of café latte, and spills hot chocolate on his already dirty apron.
Yixing pops by and hands Jongdae a cup, beaming like the sun at the both of them before going back to the cash register. Minseok leans back against the counter, contemplating what he should try next. In the corner of his eye he notices Jongdae grabbing the bottles of syrup, honey and cinnamon, pouring and drizzling it into his cup. Minseok raises an eyebrow. Jongdae pauses mid-stir, looking much like a deer in headlights.
“What are you doing?” Minseok asks, unconsciously wiping his hands on his apron.
“Flavoring my drink,” Jongdae answers hesitantly, eyeing Minseok wearily, as if he’s afraid that Minseok will pounce on him.
Minseok is about to ask him what he’s doing there, but Yixing gets there first, crooning something about a performance before he drags Jongdae away from Minseok.
Minseok’s brain helpfully supplies that Jongdae is hired as the regular performer at Minseok’s café after Jonghyun quit, and since it’s Friday night, he’s going to perform. Minseok hasn’t seen or heard him perform before, even though Jongdae has been employed for a little more than a month, but Minseok rarely works evenings.
Yixing dims the light in the café, capturing the attention of the handful of customers there. Jongdae grins at Yixing as he hands him a microphone, settling down on a stool next to him on the stage, a guitar in his lap.
Minseok drops a cup (an empty one, luckily) when Jongdae opens his mouth and starts to sing. Jongdae’s voice overwhelms Minseok’s senses, wrapping around his body, his mind until Minseok surrenders. It’s beautiful, perfect. The place, Minseok’s café doesn’t do Jongdae’s voice justice. The acoustics isn’t good enough, doesn’t let that warmth in Jongdae’s voice seep properly into his bones.
But Minseok hears it, feels it, settling like a warmth low in Minseok’s tummy. And Minseok wishes it would stay there, warming up his body on cold days, like a hot cup of chocolate or a perfectly brewed cup of coffee.
Not taking his eyes off Jongdae, all ears as he absorbs Jongdae’s voice, his hand fumbles for something, anything to drink. He grabs the first cup he gets his hand on and brings it to his lips. The liquid is still warm, Minseok notices duly in the back of his mind as he brings the cup to his mouth, taking a sip.
The flavor that fills Minseok’s mouth isn’t one he recognizes immediately. It’s sweet, almost nauseatingly so, but also spicy, warm as it rests on Minseok’s palate for a brief second before he swallows. Minseok has been making coffees all day and he distinctively remembers every combination he has tried, and this is not one of them. Which means that it’s Jongdae’s coffee.
Minseok’s eyes widens. This is it. It’s warming, spicy yet sweet, perfect for winter. Perfect.
It tastes like Jongdae’s voice would, Minseok imagines.
Jino eyes him with confusion as he paces behind the counter, waiting for Jongdae to finish his set. He sounds absolutely flawless, but Minseok needs him to talk about what he put in the coffee. Minseok begs, hopes, prays to every deity he can name that Jongdae remembers.
When Jongdae finally is finished, he uses his sweet time talking to some of the customers, dawdling for a considerable amount of time before he finally joins Minseok, Yixing and Jino behind the counter.
And then Minseok pounces. He doesn’t really remember what he said, but the slightly horrified look on Jongdae’s face as Minseok pounced was unforgettable. After some rambling on Minseok’s part, Jongdae does understand what Minseok is going on about.
“Of course I remember. I always drink my vanilla latte like that,” Jongdae states, looking more confused than anything. Minseok squeals. He actually squeals, to his own, and Jino’s, great horror.
“Oh,” Jongdae says knowingly as Minseok grabs Jongdae’s shoulders. “Do you maybe want to use it for your new recipe?”
And Minseok is so happy he could kiss Jongdae. So he does.
The kiss is short, sweet. Jongdae tastes sweet, spicy like his drink and Minseok can’t get enough. Jongdae stays unresponsive for a brief second before his hands is cupping Minseok’s face, kissing back with the same enthusiasm as Minseok.
Minseok’s heart feels lighter, body floating as they break the kiss. Jongdae stays in Minseok’s arms, not letting go of Minseok’s face, thumbs running over Minseok’s cheekbones.
“Thank you,” Minseok says, trying to pour as much thankfulness and genuine gratitude into his voice.
“I hope it’ll become a success,” Jongdae murmurs, a smile playing in the corners of his lips as he leans back in, kissing Minseok deeply.
It does.
Author's note: Dear prompter, this didn’t exactly turn out the way you wanted it to, but I hope it’s okay. This could have been even longer, but I ran out of time. I think this is more Minseok-centric than a pure Xiuchen fic, but I hope you like it. Title comes from Daniel Powter’s song, Bad Day.
For: inkcoherent
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slight cursing. Angst-ish.
It is snowing. Huge snowflakes are sticking to the window briefly before they melt into droplets, trailing down the surface. Repeat. It has been snowing for the most part of two days, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop anytime soon. The meteorologists had called it a Christmas miracle. Minseok just calls it more work.
“Don’t be a Scrooge, hyung,” Jino chirps from where he’s balancing on a stool, decorating the store window with tinsel, self-made hearts made out of cardboard and paper garlands in different colors. Their lunch room look like a mess, but Jino promised to clean it up, so Minseok just left him to his devices.
The café is running smoothly enough even though Jino is playing a tinsel fairy, not really doing anything productive. Baekhyun and Yixing are operating the registers, while Kyungsoo and himself are making the coffee. Jongin (and Jino) are on the baking shift, making sure that their displays are filled to the brim with tasty pastries. The ovens aren’t in use at the moment - their pastry displays are full - and that’s why Jino seized the opportunity to decorate. Minseok thinks he last saw Jongin ten minutes ago, curled up in a blanket, sleeping under the table where Jino had cut out his red cardboard hearts.
The café is almost full, only a few tables are empty, but the line is getting shorter, so Minseok lets Kyungsoo do most of the coffee making; he’s more than good enough to handle a rush of orders by himself, so he’s sure that Kyungsoo will manage the last six customers in line as well.
Minseok seeks refugee behind one of the pastry displays, pulling out a small stool from under the counter that he sits down on, glancing at his customers through the glass.
The café, his café was going well. Much better than Minseok had expected a year ago when he had dropped out of college to follow his dream. It had been a tough, risky decision that had cost him all his savings and then some. As the saying goes, he had sacrificed blood, sweat and tears while putting it up, making it work, establishing it. Luckily it had paid off. The café isn’t making him rich, but he earns enough to pay his coworkers and still have money enough for food as well as new stuff for the shop.
But there’s something missing. Minseok isn’t feeling accomplished, happy, pleased. Even though all his hard work paid off and he’s, clichéd enough, living his dream, Minseok often finds himself thinking that it’s not enough. Most of the time, Minseok feels empty.
A bell chimes, and the door opens, letting in a cold gust of air as the coat clad person steps into the café, duly closing the door behind him. Minseok watches idly as the person, instead of walking towards the cash register, heads for Jino, who’s standing with his hands on his hips, tinsel in his hair, frowning as he takes in the two windows he has decorated.
Jino yelps as the person, presses his front against Jino’s back, drizzling leftover, melting snow onto Jino’s bare arms as he hugs him from behind. It’s only when Jino turns on his heels, chides a soft “hyung!”, cheeks scarlet red, that Minseok understands who it is. To be honest he should have known right from the second he had headed towards Jino.
“Hyung, whatcha doing?” Minseok glances to his left and discovers Baekhyun, whose apron is spotted with dark flecks, presumably from the coffee. Minseok frowns. He hates when his employees are wearing dirty aprons (their aprons are white by default), so he always keeps a bunch of freshly cleaned ones in their changing room.
“There are clean aprons in the changing room,” he says. Baekhyun blinks at him. “Go change.”
To Minseok’s annoyance, Baekhyun remains at Minseok’s side, eagerly peeking over the display. “Kyuhyun hyung and Jino?” Baekhyun looks at him when he doesn’t get a reply.
“Why are you looking at Kyuhyun hyung and Jino?”
Minseok doesn’t dignify Baekhyun with an answer, instead settling for cleaning up in the pastry display, making sure it’s still full enough, that everything looks good and appetizing. He knows Jino is supposed to make another batch of croissants and bagels, but a quick glance over to Jino, he sees that he’s rather busy testing out the mistletoe with Kyuhyun.
He ponders if he should walk over there to remind Jino that he’s currently at work when a pair of hands slip around his waist from behind.
“Leave them be, ge.” It’s Yixing, who smells like sugar and cream and Christmas. Over his head he hears Yixing telling Baekhyun to mind the cash register. Amazingly enough, Baekhyun does what he’s told. Yixing is amazing. Minseok thinks he might deserve a raise for this. He holds Minseok in place for a couple more beats before he releases him, settling next to him by the display instead.
“We need more pastries,” Minseok hears himself say dimly as Yixing fusses with Minseok’s apron. Yixing grabs his hand, chuckles. Minseok doesn’t move, though, settles against Yixing, for now. He glances over to the clock hanging on the wall next to the cash register; ten to seven. Kyungsoo’s shift will be over soon, and they’ll be one person less. It’s okay though because usually the line of customers get shorter and shorter after 7 pm. The café is open until midnight, and by then there are barely two customers; usually students, that Minseok has to chase out.
“Shouldn’t you be going home?” Yixing asks softly, rubbing Minseok’s clothed tummy with his palms; Minseok can feel the heat emitting from Yixing’s skin. Minseok gives a non-committal sound, shrugging as he goes back to watch Jino, and now Kyuhyun, setting up the last of the tinsel next to a group of flustered high school girls.
Yixing might have a point though. Minseok has been at work since 5 am, opening the shop with Chanyeol who went home at 2 pm with eyelids looking much like they were made of lead. Chanyeol had pulled an all-nighter to finish the thesis proposal for his master’s degree. If Minseok had known earlier, he would have gotten someone else to work.
“Ge,” Yixing says, poking Minseok’s cheek with his index finger.
“Yeah,” Minseok answers, nodding briefly, hoping that it will please Yixing enough for him to let the topic go.
It doesn’t.
Before he manages to react, the hands on Minseok’s hips turns him around so he’s standing face to face with Yixing, under the mercy of Yixing’s rare, but effective, firm glare.
Minseok is opening the café again tomorrow, as he always does, so Yixing is right. Minseok knows that he is. But he doesn’t want to go home. Home to Minseok doesn’t really mean much. It’s a place where he sleeps, mainly. Baekhyun had once joked that Minseok just could move out of his flat when his lease ends and sleep in a sleeping bag in his office at the café; he spent most of his hours there anyway. Baekhyun had been right, in a way.
Minseok doesn’t really have a home. He has a place where he keeps his stuff, but it’s not a home,
“Hyung,” this time it’s Kyungsoo; whose huge eyes are the only thing Minseok can see over Yixing’s shoulder. He walks around Yixing, standing next to them. “It’s seven, so I’ll be going now.”
Minseok nods, leaning forward to ruffle Kyungsoo’s hair. He knows Kyungsoo hates it; he makes no attempt to hide his distaste for it, but lets Minseok ruffle his hair because Minseok is his boss, the oldest. “Thank you for your hard work, Kyungsoo-yah.”
Kyungsoo gives a small smile before he leaves, heading for the lunch slash changing room.
With Kyungsoo off the clock, Minseok re-takes his position next to the coffee machines, with Yixing trailing after him. There’s no one in line, so Baekhyun is fooling around on his phone; Minseok can see a kakao talk conversation splayed out on Baekhyun’s screen. Some places, bringing cellphones to work is banned, but Minseok told his employees that they could bring it as long as they kept it on silent and didn’t use it in front of the customers. Occasionally he’d have to remind Baekhyun and Chanyeol of this rule, but for the most part it went fine.
“Minseok hyung!”
Minseok looks up at the loud mention of his name to find Chanyeol standing on the other side of the coffee machines. The circles under his eyes are still dark, but he looks somewhat rested, what with the pillow creases on his cheek and his clearly unbrushed hair. Next to Chanyeol stands a young man Minseok never has seen before. If he were to guess, he’d say he was the same age as Chanyeol, probably just a couple of years younger than Minseok himself, and about Minseok’s height. Most of his face is hidden in an obnoxiously bright pink scarf, with one of the ends falling over and down over his worn, navy jacket. There are tufts of black hair curling out of his pink beanie, reminding Minseok of Yixing, whose hair would curl when wet.
“Minseok hyung, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot I was in charge of finding someone to perform tonight,” Chanyeol booms, flailing his long arms. The other man dodges Chanyeol’s stick-like arms with practiced ease. “But luckily Jongdae said yes!”
Jongdae.
“Jongdae?” Minseok asks, eyes trailing from Chanyeol to the other man, who meets his gaze. Chanyeol flails some more,
“I’m Jongdae. Kim Jongdae,” the other boy - Jongdae- says, pulling down his scarf to reveal thin lips, with a small smile curled at the corner of his mouth. With the scarf removed, Minseok could also see Jongdae’s high cheekbones, sharp as if chiseled out of marble.
“He used to be in my music composition class back in the second year,” Chanyeol helpfully adds, gesturing to Jongdae. “He can sing!”
Minseok can’t not smile at Chanyeol’s enthusiasm. “Hey Jongdae, I’m Kim Minseok. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Jongdae beams.
It turns out that most of Minseok’s employees know Jongdae, either through Baekhyun and Chanyeol, or through Jongin, who apparently is Jongdae’s cousin. Minseok wants to stay and watch Jongdae’s performance at 9, but Yixing gives him a talk about how: ”Rest is important too, Minseok hyung! You can’t run a place on no sleep.”.
So Minseok, wrapped up in his thick down coat, bids the guys goodbye, and makes sure to tell Jino (who he finds by the ovens, whipping out bagels like it’s magic) what a great job he did on the Christmas decorations. It’s with Jino’s beaming smile and Jongdae’s “Bye, Kim Minseok,” that Minseok steps out of the warm café and out in the cold December weather.
Seoul is extraordinary cold, even for December, and Minseok finds himself wishing that he had brought hot pockets or a hot Americano from the café before he left. Hongdae is bustling with life, as always. It apparently never gets too cold - or too hot - for the students who frequents there. As he passes an Angels-In-Us café, he shudders at the sight of a group of female students who are wearing skirts, their legs bare. Minseok would never understand how people could dress for summer, even when it was a whopping -18 degrees outside. He eyes a couple of high school boys, wearing no jacket but their school blazer, scarves thick around their neck as they stand outside of exit 8.
Minseok needs to catch the subway, but he isn’t so desperate that he by own free will chooses to venture down exit 8 at 8:30 on a Friday evening. It is completely surrounded by people, students waiting for their friends, lovers like a herd of sheep. He vividly remembers Luhan; a Chinese exchange student who had attended Yonsei at the same time as Minseok, and his eternal complaint every time the two of them had visited Hongdae together. As they fought their way through the crowds, Luhan had voiced his complete disdain. “I don’t understand why they can’t meet further away from the subway; or even better, at the actual place they’re going to!” .
A smile hides behind Minseok’s scarf as he squirms through the masses of students at exit 8, hearing Luhan’s accented Korean in the back of his mind as he does. Minseok settles for exit 9 instead, lying a bit further up the road. It’s crowded, but not as crowded as exit 8. He easily manages to enter the subway station without getting too squashed in the crowd.
Minseok takes the Gyeongui-line and gets off at Daegok. He beeps his phone at the ticket gates, and heads for exit 2. The subway station in Daegok is much calmer than the Hongik University one. Minseok greets the elderly man sitting in the information booth by the refund machines, the man half-asleep. There really aren’t a lot of things happening at Daegok subway station, so his work isn’t that stressful, Minseok assumes.
He runs by the GS25 that’s located under his flat, pauses to chat with the old lady working there before he heads out with his purchases in a black bag.
Minseok shudders in his thin sweater and sweatpants, shuffling over the floor to turn on the floor heater. After a second of thinking, he turns on the oven by the kitchen window as well. His flat is a tiny two-room, living room and kitchen in one room, with a small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. It really isn’t much, and Minseok can afford something bigger, but he likes the flat and his landlady adores him, so it’s hard for Minseok to even think about moving.
It’s in moments like this one, where Minseok is alone, body heavy, aching from too many hours spent at work, that Minseok feels it. He’s not sure what it is, or why, but as he is at home, eating instant ramyun, he lets his thoughts wander off. Minseok more often than not finds himself worrying. Worrying about his parents, his café; himself.
Mostly about his café. The worry settles in Minseok’s body like a feeling akin to sickness, making his heart race, body trembling.
To be honest, Minseok isn’t sure it’s even worry. It’s just the closest feeling that he can name. His parents are okay, he himself is okay and his café is going okay too. Minseok can’t see why he’d have this feeling.
He finishes his ramyun and goes to sleep with a heavy heart.
Saturday morning comes with even more snow and his accountant, Junmyeon. As usual, Junmyeon is dressed in a crisp suit, looking like he just walked out of a Hugo Boss commercial. Junmyeon’s brown hair is pushed back, coiffed to perfection; he has a kind smile on his face.
“Minseok hyung, how are you?” Junmyeon asks as he enters Minseok’s small office, closing the door behind him.
“I’m good, how are you?” Minseok mumbles, throwing a glance at Junmyeon before he looks back onto his papers. He’s in the middle of planning their Christmas menus for the holidays. While he doesn’t plan on changing it much, some changes are always nice.
“I’m good.” Junmyeon settles down in the chair on the opposite side of Minseok’s desk, placing his suitcase on his lap, promptly pulling a thick folder. “I’m going be really blunt with you, hyung.”
Minseok looks up from his menu, frowns as he sees the expression on Junmyeon’s face. His features are hard, determined, but his eyes are soft, filled with compassion. Minseok doesn’t like it.
“There has been too few customers the past three months, and from the looks of it, December won’t be any better. There’s a budget deficit for November, and unless you can manage to increase the income by at least 20%, you will have to close the store in a couple of months,” Junmyeon says, looking through his papers briefly, nodding.
Minseok’s world collapses.
“What?”
No, this couldn’t be. The numbers for the café had been good, ever since Minseok opened. He has had a lot of customers, even more than he had expected when he opened it. Minseok had been fully aware - even from the start - that starting up his own café, not being a part of an already existing brand, he took a huge risk. To Minseok it had been worth it. He had been set on making it. Which he thought he had done.
Minseok remembers working with the café, months and months before they opened. Remembers gathering a group of friends - Hakyeon, Taekwoon, Henry, Dongwoo and Sunggyu - after he had gotten the keys to the place. They had spent countless hours planning, painting. At one point they had even slept in the store, in between half-assembled furniture and bags of coffee beans, tucked into sleeping bags, ordering chicken in the early hours of the morning. The first cups of coffee, Minseok had brewed to his friends.
“Well, like I said, you need to increase the income, the number of paying customers, by February at latest, or else you’ll no longer make the money needed for the store to operate,” Junmyeon says softly, pulling out a simple piece of paper from his folder, placing it on Minseok’s desk. “Sure, you can choose to run it, even if you don’t earn enough money, but I wouldn’t recommend it, hyung. It’ll backfire onto your own personal economy, and that usually don’t work out in the end.”
Minseok feels numb. His face finds his palms, sighing as he lets Junmyeon’s words ring inside his head. He can’t believe his own ears. Can’t believe Junmyeon. His palms feel clammy against his face, but his body feels cold, like a fever is running through his body, hitting him like lightning. There’s a sudden pressure on his temples.
Far away he can hear Junmyeon’s voice, like a distant hum. Minseok isn’t sure if Junmyeon is still talking, or if it’s just his brain replaying Junmyeon’s voice. He’s not sure if he wants to know. Junmyeon has given him a little more than three months to increase the number of customers, the café’s income, but to Minseok, it feels a little bit like he’s already preparing his funeral. Of course, putting the blame on Junmyeon isn’t what Minseok is doing, but being the bringer of the bad news, he can’t help hit, but he tries not to.
This café, Minseok’s café (it’s called the Coffee Bun, but Minseok never refers to it by its name), is a failure.
“Minseok hyung!” There are hands on his shoulders, on his wrists, prying them away from his face. Minseok’s vision is blurry, his hands cold. He hears his name being repeated, a hand on his cheek. Minseok expects it to be Kyungsoo, Yixing, but instead he finds-
“Jongdae?”
He’s looking completely different than he did when Minseok saw him yesterday. There’s a frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed, genuine concern in his eyes as he holds Minseok’s wrists with thin, nimble hands.
“What are you-“Minseok begins, not sure if he’s supposed to be embarrassed or upset because he doesn’t know Jongdae, and yet here he is, hovering over Minseok, crowding into his personal space.
“Breathe,” Jongdae commands, letting go of Minseok’s wrists to place a hand on his chest, pushing him back in his chair. Minseok looks bewildered at him. Jongdae huffs, pushing Minseok’s chair backwards so he can step in-between Minseok’s legs, grabbing Minseok’s hand.
“Come on, Minseok hyung, follow me,” Jongdae murmurs, placing Minseok’s hand on Jongdae’s own chest. Minseok can feel Jongdae’s ribcage expand through his thin sweater. “With me now, ok?”
It’s then, and only then Minseok realizes he’s heaving for air, close to hyperventilating. He feels panic rise in his chest, mouth gasping as he tries to swallow enough oxygen. His heart pounds in his chest, blood pounding in his veins as his brain screams at him to breathe.
Minseok promptly passes out.
He returns to consciousness with a soft “I’m sorry, Minseok hyung,” followed by a punch to his cheek. Maybe it’s more like a slap, but it hurts like a bitch. However, it has him clinging at his consciousness with both hands, eyes snapping open as he grabs the thing closest to him; a plate of croissants that he starts throwing at the first person visible to him, who turns out to be Jongdae.
Jongdae yelps, diving behind Minseok’s desk to hide from Minseok’s croissant assault. However, Minseok continues pelting pastries at him, missing terribly due to his still blurry vision, but hurls them in the general direction of Jongdae, until someone grabs his wrist, halting his movements.
“Minseok hyung!” Jino chides as he kneels onto the floor next to Minseok - who realizes he’s lying on the goddamn floor, his feet propped up on a couple of pillows, frowning as he pries a chocolate croissant from his hands. There’s sticky chocolate left in his palm, but Jino doesn’t seem to care about that, instead placing the slightly squished croissant back on the plate. There are only three croissants left after Minseok’s rampage.
“Jongdae helped you when you were hyperventilating, helped you when you fainted and this is how you show your gratitude, hyung?” Jino asks in disbelief, crossing his slim arms over his small chest, scowling as if Minseok is paying him for it.
Minseok looks away from Jino, biting on his bottom lip as he glances over to Jongdae, still somewhat hidden underneath his desk, his soft, black hair and eyes visible as they meet Minseok’s gaze.
“He was being impolite by crowding into my personal space-“
“He was saving your ungrateful ass,” Jino snaps, his hands fisting at his apron, as if he’s fighting himself. Jino has never snapped at Minseok before, always respectful, chirping hyung at him with wide eyes and soft smiles.
“We barely know each other though,” Minseok protests weakly.
What Jino screams at him, voice shrill, Minseok really doesn’t know. It’s too high pitched for him to hear, or so it feels like. So Minseok settles for watching as Jino’s face get redder and redder with each second. He reminds Minseok of a blowfish.
Suddenly Yixing bursts through the door, immediately starts cooing as he sits down behind Jino, pulling him against his chest. With Yixing’s hands rubbing comforting circles on his tummy, Jino stops shrieking. Yixing hums something that sounds suspiciously similar to “chutuluchuchuchu” as he cradles Jino in his arms.
As Yixing distracts Jino, Minseok sits up, dizziness immediately settling in his bones, his head spinning. Suddenly there’s a warm body pressed to his side, a small palm resting on the small of his back, aiding him. Minseok doesn’t have to look to know it’s Jongdae. He’s not sure how he knows, he just does.
Jongdae helps him up from the blanket on the floor, kicking a heap of small pillows away from underneath Minseok’s legs. On his feet, Minseok feels rather ok, save for the weak dizziness he feels clouding his brain. Jongdae guides him back to his desk, telling Minseok to sit down on the hard wood before he turns on his heels and sprints out.
“Hyung what did you do?” comes Jino’s accusing voice from the corner of the room. Yixing and Jino have both gotten to their feet as well, Yixing now fussing over Jino’s appearance, brushing at invisible spots of dirt on Jino’s white apron.
“I didn’t do anything!” Minseok protests, lifting his hands above his head. Jino doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer because he keeps scowling at Minseok until Jongdae reenters the room.
“Eat this,” he simply says, pushing something into Minseok’s palm. Minseok would have recognized those brown squares anywhere.
“Chocolate?”
Jongdae nods vigorously.
“Who are you? R. J. Lupin?” Minseok says, looking at Jongdae, eyebrows raised.
“Eat your chocolate, Harry Potter,” Jongdae chuckles, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Minseok takes a bite of the chocolate, lets the sweetness of it fill his mouth, filling his senses as he relaxes.
Jongdae smiles.
Minseok’s doctor had prescribed him two weeks of rest, but Minseok had only managed two days before he was climbing at the walls of his flat, on the third day he was back at work, only to be chased out by Yixing and Jino, demanding that he went home to rest. They had permitted him back after a week.
So a week later finds Minseok back in his café, hunched over a bunch of papers as he takes notes, pen chasing over the lined pages of his notebook. He’s seated in a booth in the corner of his rather empty café - most of the students that frequent his café has classes - with books propped up on empty cups of coffee.
He’s looking for nothing, and anything that can help him from closing his store. Skimming though everything from cookie recipes to interior magazines that claims that the color of the walls determine how much the customers like the store, in hope to find something, anything. He’s been at it for hours and the only thing he has marked with a bright yellow post-it is a chocolate mousse recipe.
“Tough day?”
Minseok looks up, more a habit than anything, because he knows it’s Jongdae, sliding into the booth, clutching a cup containing something hot; Minseok can see the steam. Jongdae’s cheeks are red from the cold, the huge pink scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, his huge, navy jacket zipped open to expose a big, knitted sweater, pink like his scarf.
Jongdae places the cup on the table, pushes it closer to Minseok with his elbows as his gaze is fixed on something underneath the table.
“No thank you, I don’t need any more coffee,” Minseok mutters, eyeing the cup, then Jongdae. Jongdae’s looks up, eyebrows furrowed.
“It’s not for you, it’s for me!” Jongdae says, grabbing the cup, clutching it possessively in his small hands.
The tips of Minseok’s ears colors slightly as he turns his attention back to his books and magazines, ignoring the smirk he can see on Jongdae’s lips.
They remain in silence like that for a good while; Jongdae sipping to his beverage and Minseok flipping through a magazine. The café is mostly silent, only the small hum of Yixing and Jino’s conversation from behind the counter audible.
“So what are you doing exactly?” Jongdae asks, looking up from his phone. Minseok only shrugs non-committedly as he draws a flower in the corner of his notebook. He’s not really sure if he’s ready to spill all his problems to a person he barely knows.
“You look lost,” Jongdae murmurs, thin fingers trailing the flower pattern on his cup idly. Minseok freezes. Jongdae continues. “I can’t really put my finger on it, but you’re not the Minseok that Chanyeol and Jongin has been talking about for ages. It’s like… you lack something.”
Minseok stares at Jongdae, not quite sure if he’s supposed to reply to this or not. However, Jongdae just put Minseok’s worries into words. He’s lacking something. For weeks he has been feeling it, settled into his bones, into his very being but he hasn’t, isn’t able to put it in words. It’s frustrating.
He squirms slightly under Jongdae’s scrutinizing gaze. It’s as if Jongdae looks through his clothes to see him; see into the very core of Minseok’s body, determined to find out what it is he’s lacking. With trembling hands he turns back to his magazine, fingers shaking as he thumbs through the fine pages of a woman’s magazine that claims to have the best recipes for chocolate cake.
“You lack passion,” Jongdae says, whispers. His eyes are wide, impossibly so, and Minseok feels his own eyes widen as well. Yes. In his chest, Minseok’s heart starts beating faster, just like it had done a week ago, but this time it feels good, not painful. It feels like the breaking of chains, the dawn of a new day.
Jongdae opens his mouth to speak further, but is interrupted by his phone, buzzing on the table. Minseok stays silent as Jongdae’s fingers run over the screen of the phone. In the soft glow of his cellphone Jongdae looks ethereal, high cheekbones pushing against his pale skin, long dark lashes falling over his cheeks.
“Duty calls,” Jongdae says softly, slipping out of the booth. He turns, ready to leave, but looks back over his shoulder at Minseok.
“Find your fire, hyung,” Jongdae says, eyes knowing, before he slips out of Minseok’s vision, leaving Minseok alone in the booth with his brain that was running haywire.
His body feels numb as Jongdae’s words ring in his brain, surrounds him, overwhelms him. It feels too simple, how Jongdae had been able to pinpoint that after just ten minutes, while Minseok has struggled with this feeling for a couple of months, struggling to figure out why he was feeling like that and how he could stop feeling like that. And then Jongdae had just looked at him and figured it out.
Minseok looks down at his heap of books, magazines and papers and groans, resting his head on top of a magazine. Even though he now knew what was wrong with him, it didn’t make things any easier. He still had to figure out what to do about the low customer count, and with his lack of passion, it would be even more difficult.
He needs more coffee.
“So you gave up the books huh?”
It’s a couple of days later, and Minseok has abandoned the books and glossy magazines for coffee beans and cream. He has even broken his no-dirty-aprons policy in favor of spending more time in front of the coffee machine.
“What are you doing?” Jongdae asks, leaning against the coffee machine, sporting an entertained smile. He’s not wearing his pink scarf, or his navy jacket this time. He looks more put together now, with a soft, gray sweater and jeans. Not that Minseok is looking.
“Trying to come up with something new,” Minseok mutters, grabbing a cup from the counter, swirling its contents before putting it back, frowning.
Jongdae hums, gaze skirting over the counters, pausing at Minseok’s dozen cups, before looking back to Minseok. He doesn’t say anything though, just looks as Minseok grounds coffee beans, mixes chili in a cup of café latte, and spills hot chocolate on his already dirty apron.
Yixing pops by and hands Jongdae a cup, beaming like the sun at the both of them before going back to the cash register. Minseok leans back against the counter, contemplating what he should try next. In the corner of his eye he notices Jongdae grabbing the bottles of syrup, honey and cinnamon, pouring and drizzling it into his cup. Minseok raises an eyebrow. Jongdae pauses mid-stir, looking much like a deer in headlights.
“What are you doing?” Minseok asks, unconsciously wiping his hands on his apron.
“Flavoring my drink,” Jongdae answers hesitantly, eyeing Minseok wearily, as if he’s afraid that Minseok will pounce on him.
Minseok is about to ask him what he’s doing there, but Yixing gets there first, crooning something about a performance before he drags Jongdae away from Minseok.
Minseok’s brain helpfully supplies that Jongdae is hired as the regular performer at Minseok’s café after Jonghyun quit, and since it’s Friday night, he’s going to perform. Minseok hasn’t seen or heard him perform before, even though Jongdae has been employed for a little more than a month, but Minseok rarely works evenings.
Yixing dims the light in the café, capturing the attention of the handful of customers there. Jongdae grins at Yixing as he hands him a microphone, settling down on a stool next to him on the stage, a guitar in his lap.
Minseok drops a cup (an empty one, luckily) when Jongdae opens his mouth and starts to sing. Jongdae’s voice overwhelms Minseok’s senses, wrapping around his body, his mind until Minseok surrenders. It’s beautiful, perfect. The place, Minseok’s café doesn’t do Jongdae’s voice justice. The acoustics isn’t good enough, doesn’t let that warmth in Jongdae’s voice seep properly into his bones.
But Minseok hears it, feels it, settling like a warmth low in Minseok’s tummy. And Minseok wishes it would stay there, warming up his body on cold days, like a hot cup of chocolate or a perfectly brewed cup of coffee.
Not taking his eyes off Jongdae, all ears as he absorbs Jongdae’s voice, his hand fumbles for something, anything to drink. He grabs the first cup he gets his hand on and brings it to his lips. The liquid is still warm, Minseok notices duly in the back of his mind as he brings the cup to his mouth, taking a sip.
The flavor that fills Minseok’s mouth isn’t one he recognizes immediately. It’s sweet, almost nauseatingly so, but also spicy, warm as it rests on Minseok’s palate for a brief second before he swallows. Minseok has been making coffees all day and he distinctively remembers every combination he has tried, and this is not one of them. Which means that it’s Jongdae’s coffee.
Minseok’s eyes widens. This is it. It’s warming, spicy yet sweet, perfect for winter. Perfect.
It tastes like Jongdae’s voice would, Minseok imagines.
Jino eyes him with confusion as he paces behind the counter, waiting for Jongdae to finish his set. He sounds absolutely flawless, but Minseok needs him to talk about what he put in the coffee. Minseok begs, hopes, prays to every deity he can name that Jongdae remembers.
When Jongdae finally is finished, he uses his sweet time talking to some of the customers, dawdling for a considerable amount of time before he finally joins Minseok, Yixing and Jino behind the counter.
And then Minseok pounces. He doesn’t really remember what he said, but the slightly horrified look on Jongdae’s face as Minseok pounced was unforgettable. After some rambling on Minseok’s part, Jongdae does understand what Minseok is going on about.
“Of course I remember. I always drink my vanilla latte like that,” Jongdae states, looking more confused than anything. Minseok squeals. He actually squeals, to his own, and Jino’s, great horror.
“Oh,” Jongdae says knowingly as Minseok grabs Jongdae’s shoulders. “Do you maybe want to use it for your new recipe?”
And Minseok is so happy he could kiss Jongdae. So he does.
The kiss is short, sweet. Jongdae tastes sweet, spicy like his drink and Minseok can’t get enough. Jongdae stays unresponsive for a brief second before his hands is cupping Minseok’s face, kissing back with the same enthusiasm as Minseok.
Minseok’s heart feels lighter, body floating as they break the kiss. Jongdae stays in Minseok’s arms, not letting go of Minseok’s face, thumbs running over Minseok’s cheekbones.
“Thank you,” Minseok says, trying to pour as much thankfulness and genuine gratitude into his voice.
“I hope it’ll become a success,” Jongdae murmurs, a smile playing in the corners of his lips as he leans back in, kissing Minseok deeply.
It does.
Author's note: Dear prompter, this didn’t exactly turn out the way you wanted it to, but I hope it’s okay. This could have been even longer, but I ran out of time. I think this is more Minseok-centric than a pure Xiuchen fic, but I hope you like it. Title comes from Daniel Powter’s song, Bad Day.