just the way you are
pairing: mark/youngjae
rating: g \o/
warnings: cheesiness. lots of it. and cafe!au cliches oops.
summary: youngjae's a barista who thinks mark's in love with everyone but him.
part II
There are times when Youngjae likes to convince himself he’s past the pubescent stage of forming superficial, hormonal crushes based mostly on looks, that he’s a mature, decisive nineteen-year-old capable of making logical, sensible decisions regarding his love interests.
Then there are times like these when all that gladly goes flying out the nearest window in favour of accidentally forming previously mentioned irrational superficial hormonal crushes.
Times like these include the one afternoon when Youngjae’s working the register during his shift during a rather overcast late afternoon at the quaint café just a few streets away from the college dorms. It’s a cozy, quiet place frequented by the college students, run mostly rather reluctantly by the owner’s son Jaebum, a senior held in high admiration in Youngjae’s faculty who’d dragged him into the business once he heard Youngjae could make coffee, when his father fell sick and Jaebum had to take over the management. The pay’s decent, the company is good (though when Jackson’s sharing Youngjae’s shift he begs to differ) and making coffee’s fun, so Youngjae guesses he really can’t say anything in complaint.
Until today, that is.
The café’s rather empty in the late afternoon, even more so with thunderclouds above rumbling threateningly in the sky, and Youngjae’s rather happily accepting another quiet, easy afternoon he can spend catching up on his tutorial worksheets behind the counter when what he’s quite sure is an angel in a leather jacket and worn jeans pushes open the door, causing the bell hung above to tinkle merrily at his entrance, shaking stray droplets of rain from his vividly red hair that fall to the floor like crystals.
Youngjae almost ducks behind the cash register in shock- having someone stun him that badly with their looks is saying something, taking into account the already unearthly gorgeous humans he works with on a daily basis. There’s something in the stranger’s large, dark eyes, the porcelain paleness of his skin that looks like it’ll fracture and shatter with the slightest touch, the slenderness of the fingers that reach up to brush raindrops off the lapels of his jacket in vague annoyance. His presence seems to steal every last glimmer of light in the room, so in the hushed dimness of the atmosphere, the beautiful boy is practically glowing.
Youngjae can’t help but stare discreetly from behind the register as the gorgeous stranger hoists his black messenger bag a little higher over his shoulder, walking over to one of the smaller tables by the window and taking a seat, before rather carelessly draping his bag over the opposite chair.
He's here alone? With a face like that, that's hard to believe.
All thoughts are disrupted, however, when the door to the kitchens opens noisily, shattering the precious silence, and Youngjae almost jumps, turning with a glare to face an obnoxious grin on an equally obnoxiously handsome face.
“You dreaming on us or something, Youngjae-ah?” Youngjae whines when Jackson wraps a playful (but still very muscular) arm around his neck, bending him down several inches to rub a fist in his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a customer out here?”
“Because you’re supposed to be out here yourself already, hyung,” Youngjae pouts, glumly fixing his hair when Jackson lets go. Jackson isn’t listening anymore, though, and Youngjae doesn’t have to look to know he’s staring at the ethereal being casting empty glances out the window into the bleak street beyond.
“Whoa,” Jackson says, audibly but hopefully not audible enough to be heard over the soft ballads Jinyoung likes to play over the sound system on repeat in the background (but then again, when Jackson’s concerned, everyone hears him). “When did models start populating this dingy place? I thought only desperate college students came here for caffeine boosts.”
“He’s probably in college too,” Youngjae mutters at a significantly lower volume, nodding towards the messenger bag haphazardly tossed on the chair, notes stuffed into manila files peeking out from within. He wonders what course he’s taking, before realizing that it really shouldn’t matter to him, not when he’s probably never going to know, and he erases the thought easily.
“Alright, rephrase: when did models start attending college? Don’t they have actual lives?” Jackson squints, before whipping over to stare into the reflective surface of one of the straw dispensers, lifting his snapback and pushing his hair back. “Hey Jae, does my hair look good? This one’s gonna be special, I can feel it.”
“Hmm,” Youngjae says thoughtfully, before he lifts the cap again and tucks a lock of fringe back. “There. Now go make him swoon, hyung.”
“Right-oh,” Jackson salutes him silently, before sliding on his most charismatic grin, the one that’s the reason for the hordes of girls flocking in during lunchtime (Youngjae knows they’ve tracked all of Jackson’s shifts because he’s heard them giggling and swapping notes while he wipes down tables, gratefully unnoticed), and stalks confidently out from behind the counter.
Hyung will probably look good with him, Youngjae thinks mutely as he watches, slightly amused, as Jackson pops one of his cheesy, “what can I get you? This café’s first recommendation would be our white chocolate vanilla lattes, with a complimentary dose of the one and only Jackson Wang”, lines and the stranger gives him a look. It just fits, he thinks, someone short and built and loud as a foghorn with someone as demure and quiet and prim as that stranger, currently chuckling dryly, probably at one of Jackson’s deliberately lame jokes. He can see Jackson shelling ridiculous puns on their group dates out with friends, can see the stranger rolling his eyes and hitting his shoulder or pushing him over. They’ll fit. It’s a dynamic everyone can understand. They’ll look good together.
Better than with you, anyway.
Youngjae lets out a short, breathy laugh, dry and listless, at the thought. Yeah, true. He turns to the counter to find something to distract himself, and frowns at several dried droplets of coffee on the countertop, reaching back for a rag to wipe at them till they disappear. By the time he’s satisfied with the tabletop’s general state of hygiene, Jackson is returning, the notebook he uses to take his orders still open in his hand, a slightly miffed look on his face.
“I have never-…” Jackson’s slowly turning the colour of a tomato, and Youngjae’s suddenly trying not to laugh. “Met anyone so rude. He called me a poser. Me! I am the most original person he’ll probably ever meet. The one and only Jackson Wang. And what kind of a coffee order is this? I couldn’t spell half the things on this freaking grocery list, holy-…”
Youngjae’s already peering at the lengthy order in Jackson’s cramped scrawl on the rough paper, raising an eyebrow. “Wow. Raspberry and chocolate swirls with two hunks of caramel-…”
“Do we even have pumpkin spice?” Jackson gestures violently, almost knocking over the straw holder and several bottles of sugar syrup. “And why sixteen pieces of white chocolate chips? Why, is he gonna die of overexposure if we give himseventeen?”
“Chill, hyung,” Youngjae laughs, tugging the paper from the notebook. “I’ll handle it. I used to make coffee for my mom, she’d yell if I got one more grain of sugar in her coffee than what was predestined in her recipes.”
“Yeah, you handle this,” Jackson huffs, snapping the notebook shut. “I’m going to go yell at Yugyeom in the back for a bit to vent.”
“You gotta come back out after a while to give him the coffee!” Youngjae calls, and Jackson gives a noncommittal wave of his hand before disappearing behind once more.
Youngjae shrugs then, opening several cupboards and pulling out bottles of spices and ingredients he never thought he’d actually have to use here. The coffee is done in a little longer than usual (it’d taken a while to change the settings so the milk frothed at exactly 71.5 degrees Celcius) and Youngjae kicks the door as he sets the cup on a tray with a napkin to let Jackson know.
“You’re a wizard with this, you know that?” Jackson mutters, disgruntled, after he’s out, as he picks the tray up and starts off for the table, and Youngjae grins cheekily.
He can’t deny the fact that he’s watching nervously for the stranger’s reaction as Jackson sets the coffee down, exchanging a couple choice words with him, before heading back. The boy’s leaning back, face a picture of perfect indifference as he plucks the cup from the tray without even looking at it, and he takes a sip.
Youngjae swears his heart almost shoots straight up into his mouth when the boy frowns slightly, brow raised, after his sip, and he turns for the first time to look over to the register, and their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds. Then the stranger’s turning back, taking another sip, all expression sliding off his face once more in favour of what Youngjae’s starting to know as his usual uncaring listlessness.
The door to the counter opens, and Youngjae turns, dusting stray grains of sugar off his hands, to see Jackson giving him a knowing smirk.
“His name’s Mark, by the way,” Jackson says easily, and Youngjae gives him a weighted look, wondering if there’s actually a reason for this information.
“And you think I need to know that because…?” Youngjae asks, wondering what the ship name for the two of them would be (Markson sounds good, he thinks, satisfied with himself) as he turns around, pressing several buttons on the milk frother so the settings change back.
Jackson shrugs exaggeratedly, before heading back in (that jerk), and leaving Youngjae in rather bemused confusion.
*
That was two weeks ago, and by now Youngjae’s starting to get a little suspicious.
The stranger- Mark, he corrects himself, comes in every afternoon, sometimes earlier, sometimes later, always carrying his messenger bag and ordering the same thing with the same derisive expression, which quickly fades to indifference once Jackson, or whoever’s waiting on him, is gone. Only now, he places his bag on the floor, leaving the opposite chair empty, as if waiting for someone to sit with him.
To Youngjae’s surprise, no one ever comes.
Youngjae’s seriously starting to suspect at least a tiny crush that Mark may be harbouring for his obnoxious colleague, and watches their daily banter unfold with interest and amusement. It’s obvious that the two of them have a naturally stellar synergy- but on a certain Monday afternoon he changes his mind.
Youngjae doesn’t see Mark come in that day- he’s too busy whipping up white chocolate raspberry frappuccinos for the girls at table 4 on their daily Jackson fanclub visitations, so by the time he hands the tray off to Jackson, snickering at the exaggerated exhaustion on the other boy’s face (when everyone knows that Jackson secretly enjoys the attention more than anything else), Mark’s already in the café.
Yugyeom comes out from the staff kitchen, balancing a tray of delicate mouthwatering looking confectionaries, all painstakingly iced and decorated by hand, and Youngjae follows him with his eyes hopefully as he extracts a shot of espresso from the coffee machine.
Yugyeom, one of Youngjae’s longest childhood friends, still in his last year of high school, is the other reason for the clusters of tittering noonas that come straight from the office buildings during lunch hour, immaculately clad in their tight white Oxford dress shirts and slender pencil skirts and bold lipstick, pressing sophisticated words of praise for the pretty cakes and desserts onto the shy boy. Youngjae’s taken it upon himself to ensure their advances stay on that side of the counter, and though he protests it’s his responsibility to protect the café staff’s baby, Yugyeom always saves little cupcakes for him, with the marzipan flowers and soft icing, just as he knows Youngjae loves it.
“Yours is in the back, hyung,” Yugyeom says, rolling his eyes, as he starts to arrange the delicacies in the glass display and crystal tiered dishes, and Youngjae cheers.
“You’re gold, Gyeommie,” he grins, abandoning the espresso shot to poke his head into the back, picking the cake up like it’s a piece of treasure and heading back out.
It’s unfortunate, then, that just as he’s polishing off the dessert, making exaggerated embarrassing noises of pleasure to make Yugyeom laugh, that someone clears their throat behind the counter and Youngjae almost drops the cake.
“Can we make our orders here?”
Youngjae swallows his mouthful, face turning red as he grabs a serviette to wipe off his lips as Yugyeom sniggers behind him, heading back into the kitchen for another round of cakes, and Youngjae glares at him before he turns around and realises he’s face to face with Mark.
He really hates Yugyeom right now. And Jackson too.
It’s the first time Youngjae’s heard him speak up close, and he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but the deliciously rough edge to the baritone of his voice sort of catches Youngjae off guard, and he has to struggle to process a response.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Youngjae half shrugs, blinking, hoping there aren’t any smudges of cream on his face. “But um, actually, our waiter Jackson can just-…”
A loud round of feminine laughter shatters the atmosphere, and Youngjae almost rolls his eyes when he sees Jackson leaning over at the table, flicking the edge of his stupid cap back, grinning as the girls laugh at another one of his stupid jokes.
“…yeah,” Mark turns back, tone dry and unamused. “He’s kind of busy. So uh, about my order, could I have a double-shot Frappuccino with two-…”
“Your usual?” Youngjae says, amused, and Mark looks surprised.
“You memorised it?”
“Well, no one’s ever given me an order quite like yours,” Youngjae laughs, turning around to pluck a mug from where they’re neatly arranged on the draining rack. “You want anything to go with that?”
“Not really,” Mark says, already looking away nonchalantly, and Youngjae feels slightly put out by the lack of interest in his voice. Mark remains by the counter, though- so Youngjae turns around, slightly puzzled and amused.
“Um, I could uh, get Jackson to bring it over when I’m done? The girls have got to get tired of him eventually,” he chuckles, and Mark offers a breathy, short laugh, low and steady, which sort of imprints itself in the auditory recesses of Youngjae’s memory, rolling around in his head till he’s sure he’ll never quite forget the sound of it.
“Actually, uh…” Mark’s eyes land on the cakes, and he jabs a thumb in the direction of the glass displays. “Could you uh…tell me about the pastries?”
“The cakes?” Youngjae frowns slightly, then it hits him and oh.
Oh.
...Yugyeom?
“Ah,” Youngjae stutters slightly, trying to process the new information. It isn’t like he’s particularly opposed to the idea of Mark pursuing the younger boy, it’s just not possible… for other reasons. “Yeah, Yugyeom, our baker, his specialty’s the red velvet cakes actually, they’re really good. And my personal favourite would be the mini cupcakes, I’d eat them every day if I wasn’t worried about getting diabetes,” he gives a laugh he hopes doesn’t sound too forced.
“Ah, cool,” Mark nods, and by then, Youngjae’s almost done with the coffee, so he puts it on a tray with a serviette, quashing all unease at the pit of his stomach to beam up at Mark.
“Sorry about having to take it back yourself,” he laughs nervously, before raising his voice a little so he’s sure Jackson will hear. “Our waiter isn’t exactly very reliable.”
Jackson has the decency to turn around and give a sheepish grin from where he’s still at the table, probably signing the giggling girls’ files and caps with their lipstick, and Youngjae rolls his eyes, but by then Mark’s already gone, taking the coffee back to his table.
Maybe it’s fate, then, that that’s when the door’s pushed open loudly, so the bell above tinkles madly, and Bambam saunters in, designer tote swinging carelessly from a loosely curled hand, leopard print cap with cute matching ears painstakingly angled on his head so the styled pink locks of his bangs aren’t mussed.
“Hey hyung,” he sends a charming grin over the counter, flicking a rather insignificant crumb from the countertop in vague annoyance before he balances his bag on the supposedly sufficiently clean area, propping his elbows on the glassy surface as Youngjae waves a hello, trying not to laugh.
“Yugyeom’s inside, he’s coming out in a moment,” Youngjae chuckles derisively at the slightly affronted but still pleased expression that slides on Bambam’s face.
“You say that like I wouldn’t come here just to visit my friends,” he whines, twisting a soft lock of hair around his finger, and Youngjae rolls his eyes, used to the younger boy’s theatrics by now.
“Would you?” he raises an eyebrow, and Bambam pretends to gasp.
“That hurts,” he places a hand over his chest, a look of mock agony on his face, and Youngjae has to fight down gales of laughter. “Who wouldn’t want to come here just to see cute little Youngjae-ah?”
“I am your hyung,” Youngjae says defensively, and Bambam lets out a merry laugh that somehow still manages to sound harmlessly derogatory at the same time, before reaching over to pat Youngjae’s cheeks.
“Keep thinking that, hyung,” he says, grinning mischievously when Youngjae looks exasperated. “Now then, about my usual?”
“You are such a brat,” Youngjae huffs, turning around to pluck the tall, slender, iced coffee glasses from the shelf anyway. “I have no idea how Yugyeom manages you.”
“It’s a privilege, hyung, you don’t know what you’re missing out on,” Bambam says as he flicks open a compact mirror miraculously produced from the depths of his bag, before carefully inspecting his hair.
Youngjae rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t fall out of his head, but all exasperation is quickly reduced to confusion when he turns to grab the sugar syrup and his gaze happens to land on Mark, whose dark eyes are trained on Bambam, expression unreadable.
Come to think of it...
Bambam’s a frequent customer (no wondering why, when Yugyeom’s concerned), and more than a few of his visits had coincided with Mark’s. He’s a prominent figure, there’s no denying that, and Mark had definitely noticed him the last few times Bambam had come.
Could it be...?
But then, just as Youngjae’s getting unnecessarily worried, the kitchen door swings open quietly just as Youngjae’s spraying excessive amounts of whipped cream atop the ice blended maccha java chip mochaccino, and Bambam brightens up, before quickly hiding the change in expression behind a mask of lazy indifference.
“Bambam!” Yugyeom beams, eyes crinkling into a smile that has Youngjae pretending to puke into the register, balancing yet another tray of gorgeous chocolate morsels. “You came!”
“Of course I came,” Bambam rolls his eyes, as though it’s a given. “And shut up, Youngjae-hyung, it’s not like you’re any different with-…”
And suddenly Jackson bursts out of seemingly nowhere, making giant obnoxious X signs with his arms and mouthing exaggerated NOs though Youngjae is right there and can obviously see him, and Bambam trails off, looking slightly disturbed.
“Hyung, what the he-…”
“Wait, first of all,” Youngjae interrupts, momentarily forgetting the much feared repercussions of ever interrupting Bambam. “What’s this about me not being any different?”
Bambam glares at him with enough firepower to burn out an army of passive-aggressive middle aged househusbands. “I’m going to overlook the fact that you just cut into the middle of my sentence in favour of pitying your ignorance.”
Youngjae turns to look suspiciously at Jackson, who immediately does a wide about turn that makes him look like an overcooked noodle, before sidling into the staff kitchen.
“Ah, you’ll figure it out soon, hyung,” Yugyeom says reassuringly, before Youngjae can go into the kitchen and start an interrogation, and Youngjae turns to him, a betrayed look on his face.
“You’re in on this too, Gyeommie?” he says, and Yugyeom barely has a second to look guilty before Bambam’s cutting in.
“Yah, don’t disturb Yugyeom,” he snaps, straightening imperiously, once more automatically drawing all attention back to himself. “Like he said, this is something you need to figure out on your own. It’s a coming-of-age thing, or whatever.”
“But-…” Youngjae protests.
“Hush,” Bambam snaps his fingers, giving him a glare. “Mochaccino. Now. What kind of service is this? I’m so not tipping you this time.”
Youngjae mutters dissonance under his breath as he finishes up the extravagant drink, handing it over sourly, and Bambam flashes him a blinding smile, before promptly forgetting him as he turns to the staff’s maknae, still carefully arranging chocolate delicacies in the glass display case.
“Gyeommie-ahhh~”
Yugyeom looks up with an extremely halfhearted scowl, rolling his eyes slightly before setting the tray down on the counter and disappearing into the staff kitchen, reappearing a few seconds later carrying a gorgeously iced slice of chocolate fudge and cherry cake, and Bambam’s smile widens.
It’s a sort of ritual between the two of them, Youngjae’d realised some time ago, which can be reduced basically down to Bambam coming to the café and acting like a brat in front of his (younger, might Youngjae add) boyfriend until he caved in and gave him some prettily decorated sweet treat, and though Youngjae knows it’s Bambam’s rather twisted method of assuring himself of his control over the other boy, it’s kind of irritating when Jaebum comes to him at the end of the month with annoyed questions about how the café’s inventory keeps disappearing.
Youngjae watches in partial amusement, partial exasperation, as Bambam smiles sweetly at Yugyeom, leaning up to press a quick kiss on his lips, which causes a steady blush to bloom on the younger boy’s face. Something clicks at the back of his mind, and he turns so fast he almost cricks his neck, watching nervously for Mark’s reaction to the exchange.
To his surprise, there’s no resentment or disappointment- in fact, he can almost say Mark looks relieved, contented, even. But then the emotion disappears as usual, and he’s back to indifference, sipping his weird coffee, and Youngjae’s left even more confused than before.
part II
rating: g \o/
warnings: cheesiness. lots of it. and cafe!au cliches oops.
summary: youngjae's a barista who thinks mark's in love with everyone but him.
part II
There are times when Youngjae likes to convince himself he’s past the pubescent stage of forming superficial, hormonal crushes based mostly on looks, that he’s a mature, decisive nineteen-year-old capable of making logical, sensible decisions regarding his love interests.
Then there are times like these when all that gladly goes flying out the nearest window in favour of accidentally forming previously mentioned irrational superficial hormonal crushes.
Times like these include the one afternoon when Youngjae’s working the register during his shift during a rather overcast late afternoon at the quaint café just a few streets away from the college dorms. It’s a cozy, quiet place frequented by the college students, run mostly rather reluctantly by the owner’s son Jaebum, a senior held in high admiration in Youngjae’s faculty who’d dragged him into the business once he heard Youngjae could make coffee, when his father fell sick and Jaebum had to take over the management. The pay’s decent, the company is good (though when Jackson’s sharing Youngjae’s shift he begs to differ) and making coffee’s fun, so Youngjae guesses he really can’t say anything in complaint.
Until today, that is.
The café’s rather empty in the late afternoon, even more so with thunderclouds above rumbling threateningly in the sky, and Youngjae’s rather happily accepting another quiet, easy afternoon he can spend catching up on his tutorial worksheets behind the counter when what he’s quite sure is an angel in a leather jacket and worn jeans pushes open the door, causing the bell hung above to tinkle merrily at his entrance, shaking stray droplets of rain from his vividly red hair that fall to the floor like crystals.
Youngjae almost ducks behind the cash register in shock- having someone stun him that badly with their looks is saying something, taking into account the already unearthly gorgeous humans he works with on a daily basis. There’s something in the stranger’s large, dark eyes, the porcelain paleness of his skin that looks like it’ll fracture and shatter with the slightest touch, the slenderness of the fingers that reach up to brush raindrops off the lapels of his jacket in vague annoyance. His presence seems to steal every last glimmer of light in the room, so in the hushed dimness of the atmosphere, the beautiful boy is practically glowing.
Youngjae can’t help but stare discreetly from behind the register as the gorgeous stranger hoists his black messenger bag a little higher over his shoulder, walking over to one of the smaller tables by the window and taking a seat, before rather carelessly draping his bag over the opposite chair.
He's here alone? With a face like that, that's hard to believe.
All thoughts are disrupted, however, when the door to the kitchens opens noisily, shattering the precious silence, and Youngjae almost jumps, turning with a glare to face an obnoxious grin on an equally obnoxiously handsome face.
“You dreaming on us or something, Youngjae-ah?” Youngjae whines when Jackson wraps a playful (but still very muscular) arm around his neck, bending him down several inches to rub a fist in his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a customer out here?”
“Because you’re supposed to be out here yourself already, hyung,” Youngjae pouts, glumly fixing his hair when Jackson lets go. Jackson isn’t listening anymore, though, and Youngjae doesn’t have to look to know he’s staring at the ethereal being casting empty glances out the window into the bleak street beyond.
“Whoa,” Jackson says, audibly but hopefully not audible enough to be heard over the soft ballads Jinyoung likes to play over the sound system on repeat in the background (but then again, when Jackson’s concerned, everyone hears him). “When did models start populating this dingy place? I thought only desperate college students came here for caffeine boosts.”
“He’s probably in college too,” Youngjae mutters at a significantly lower volume, nodding towards the messenger bag haphazardly tossed on the chair, notes stuffed into manila files peeking out from within. He wonders what course he’s taking, before realizing that it really shouldn’t matter to him, not when he’s probably never going to know, and he erases the thought easily.
“Alright, rephrase: when did models start attending college? Don’t they have actual lives?” Jackson squints, before whipping over to stare into the reflective surface of one of the straw dispensers, lifting his snapback and pushing his hair back. “Hey Jae, does my hair look good? This one’s gonna be special, I can feel it.”
“Hmm,” Youngjae says thoughtfully, before he lifts the cap again and tucks a lock of fringe back. “There. Now go make him swoon, hyung.”
“Right-oh,” Jackson salutes him silently, before sliding on his most charismatic grin, the one that’s the reason for the hordes of girls flocking in during lunchtime (Youngjae knows they’ve tracked all of Jackson’s shifts because he’s heard them giggling and swapping notes while he wipes down tables, gratefully unnoticed), and stalks confidently out from behind the counter.
Hyung will probably look good with him, Youngjae thinks mutely as he watches, slightly amused, as Jackson pops one of his cheesy, “what can I get you? This café’s first recommendation would be our white chocolate vanilla lattes, with a complimentary dose of the one and only Jackson Wang”, lines and the stranger gives him a look. It just fits, he thinks, someone short and built and loud as a foghorn with someone as demure and quiet and prim as that stranger, currently chuckling dryly, probably at one of Jackson’s deliberately lame jokes. He can see Jackson shelling ridiculous puns on their group dates out with friends, can see the stranger rolling his eyes and hitting his shoulder or pushing him over. They’ll fit. It’s a dynamic everyone can understand. They’ll look good together.
Better than with you, anyway.
Youngjae lets out a short, breathy laugh, dry and listless, at the thought. Yeah, true. He turns to the counter to find something to distract himself, and frowns at several dried droplets of coffee on the countertop, reaching back for a rag to wipe at them till they disappear. By the time he’s satisfied with the tabletop’s general state of hygiene, Jackson is returning, the notebook he uses to take his orders still open in his hand, a slightly miffed look on his face.
“I have never-…” Jackson’s slowly turning the colour of a tomato, and Youngjae’s suddenly trying not to laugh. “Met anyone so rude. He called me a poser. Me! I am the most original person he’ll probably ever meet. The one and only Jackson Wang. And what kind of a coffee order is this? I couldn’t spell half the things on this freaking grocery list, holy-…”
Youngjae’s already peering at the lengthy order in Jackson’s cramped scrawl on the rough paper, raising an eyebrow. “Wow. Raspberry and chocolate swirls with two hunks of caramel-…”
“Do we even have pumpkin spice?” Jackson gestures violently, almost knocking over the straw holder and several bottles of sugar syrup. “And why sixteen pieces of white chocolate chips? Why, is he gonna die of overexposure if we give himseventeen?”
“Chill, hyung,” Youngjae laughs, tugging the paper from the notebook. “I’ll handle it. I used to make coffee for my mom, she’d yell if I got one more grain of sugar in her coffee than what was predestined in her recipes.”
“Yeah, you handle this,” Jackson huffs, snapping the notebook shut. “I’m going to go yell at Yugyeom in the back for a bit to vent.”
“You gotta come back out after a while to give him the coffee!” Youngjae calls, and Jackson gives a noncommittal wave of his hand before disappearing behind once more.
Youngjae shrugs then, opening several cupboards and pulling out bottles of spices and ingredients he never thought he’d actually have to use here. The coffee is done in a little longer than usual (it’d taken a while to change the settings so the milk frothed at exactly 71.5 degrees Celcius) and Youngjae kicks the door as he sets the cup on a tray with a napkin to let Jackson know.
“You’re a wizard with this, you know that?” Jackson mutters, disgruntled, after he’s out, as he picks the tray up and starts off for the table, and Youngjae grins cheekily.
He can’t deny the fact that he’s watching nervously for the stranger’s reaction as Jackson sets the coffee down, exchanging a couple choice words with him, before heading back. The boy’s leaning back, face a picture of perfect indifference as he plucks the cup from the tray without even looking at it, and he takes a sip.
Youngjae swears his heart almost shoots straight up into his mouth when the boy frowns slightly, brow raised, after his sip, and he turns for the first time to look over to the register, and their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds. Then the stranger’s turning back, taking another sip, all expression sliding off his face once more in favour of what Youngjae’s starting to know as his usual uncaring listlessness.
The door to the counter opens, and Youngjae turns, dusting stray grains of sugar off his hands, to see Jackson giving him a knowing smirk.
“His name’s Mark, by the way,” Jackson says easily, and Youngjae gives him a weighted look, wondering if there’s actually a reason for this information.
“And you think I need to know that because…?” Youngjae asks, wondering what the ship name for the two of them would be (Markson sounds good, he thinks, satisfied with himself) as he turns around, pressing several buttons on the milk frother so the settings change back.
Jackson shrugs exaggeratedly, before heading back in (that jerk), and leaving Youngjae in rather bemused confusion.
*
That was two weeks ago, and by now Youngjae’s starting to get a little suspicious.
The stranger- Mark, he corrects himself, comes in every afternoon, sometimes earlier, sometimes later, always carrying his messenger bag and ordering the same thing with the same derisive expression, which quickly fades to indifference once Jackson, or whoever’s waiting on him, is gone. Only now, he places his bag on the floor, leaving the opposite chair empty, as if waiting for someone to sit with him.
To Youngjae’s surprise, no one ever comes.
Youngjae’s seriously starting to suspect at least a tiny crush that Mark may be harbouring for his obnoxious colleague, and watches their daily banter unfold with interest and amusement. It’s obvious that the two of them have a naturally stellar synergy- but on a certain Monday afternoon he changes his mind.
Youngjae doesn’t see Mark come in that day- he’s too busy whipping up white chocolate raspberry frappuccinos for the girls at table 4 on their daily Jackson fanclub visitations, so by the time he hands the tray off to Jackson, snickering at the exaggerated exhaustion on the other boy’s face (when everyone knows that Jackson secretly enjoys the attention more than anything else), Mark’s already in the café.
Yugyeom comes out from the staff kitchen, balancing a tray of delicate mouthwatering looking confectionaries, all painstakingly iced and decorated by hand, and Youngjae follows him with his eyes hopefully as he extracts a shot of espresso from the coffee machine.
Yugyeom, one of Youngjae’s longest childhood friends, still in his last year of high school, is the other reason for the clusters of tittering noonas that come straight from the office buildings during lunch hour, immaculately clad in their tight white Oxford dress shirts and slender pencil skirts and bold lipstick, pressing sophisticated words of praise for the pretty cakes and desserts onto the shy boy. Youngjae’s taken it upon himself to ensure their advances stay on that side of the counter, and though he protests it’s his responsibility to protect the café staff’s baby, Yugyeom always saves little cupcakes for him, with the marzipan flowers and soft icing, just as he knows Youngjae loves it.
“Yours is in the back, hyung,” Yugyeom says, rolling his eyes, as he starts to arrange the delicacies in the glass display and crystal tiered dishes, and Youngjae cheers.
“You’re gold, Gyeommie,” he grins, abandoning the espresso shot to poke his head into the back, picking the cake up like it’s a piece of treasure and heading back out.
It’s unfortunate, then, that just as he’s polishing off the dessert, making exaggerated embarrassing noises of pleasure to make Yugyeom laugh, that someone clears their throat behind the counter and Youngjae almost drops the cake.
“Can we make our orders here?”
Youngjae swallows his mouthful, face turning red as he grabs a serviette to wipe off his lips as Yugyeom sniggers behind him, heading back into the kitchen for another round of cakes, and Youngjae glares at him before he turns around and realises he’s face to face with Mark.
He really hates Yugyeom right now. And Jackson too.
It’s the first time Youngjae’s heard him speak up close, and he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but the deliciously rough edge to the baritone of his voice sort of catches Youngjae off guard, and he has to struggle to process a response.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Youngjae half shrugs, blinking, hoping there aren’t any smudges of cream on his face. “But um, actually, our waiter Jackson can just-…”
A loud round of feminine laughter shatters the atmosphere, and Youngjae almost rolls his eyes when he sees Jackson leaning over at the table, flicking the edge of his stupid cap back, grinning as the girls laugh at another one of his stupid jokes.
“…yeah,” Mark turns back, tone dry and unamused. “He’s kind of busy. So uh, about my order, could I have a double-shot Frappuccino with two-…”
“Your usual?” Youngjae says, amused, and Mark looks surprised.
“You memorised it?”
“Well, no one’s ever given me an order quite like yours,” Youngjae laughs, turning around to pluck a mug from where they’re neatly arranged on the draining rack. “You want anything to go with that?”
“Not really,” Mark says, already looking away nonchalantly, and Youngjae feels slightly put out by the lack of interest in his voice. Mark remains by the counter, though- so Youngjae turns around, slightly puzzled and amused.
“Um, I could uh, get Jackson to bring it over when I’m done? The girls have got to get tired of him eventually,” he chuckles, and Mark offers a breathy, short laugh, low and steady, which sort of imprints itself in the auditory recesses of Youngjae’s memory, rolling around in his head till he’s sure he’ll never quite forget the sound of it.
“Actually, uh…” Mark’s eyes land on the cakes, and he jabs a thumb in the direction of the glass displays. “Could you uh…tell me about the pastries?”
“The cakes?” Youngjae frowns slightly, then it hits him and oh.
Oh.
...Yugyeom?
“Ah,” Youngjae stutters slightly, trying to process the new information. It isn’t like he’s particularly opposed to the idea of Mark pursuing the younger boy, it’s just not possible… for other reasons. “Yeah, Yugyeom, our baker, his specialty’s the red velvet cakes actually, they’re really good. And my personal favourite would be the mini cupcakes, I’d eat them every day if I wasn’t worried about getting diabetes,” he gives a laugh he hopes doesn’t sound too forced.
“Ah, cool,” Mark nods, and by then, Youngjae’s almost done with the coffee, so he puts it on a tray with a serviette, quashing all unease at the pit of his stomach to beam up at Mark.
“Sorry about having to take it back yourself,” he laughs nervously, before raising his voice a little so he’s sure Jackson will hear. “Our waiter isn’t exactly very reliable.”
Jackson has the decency to turn around and give a sheepish grin from where he’s still at the table, probably signing the giggling girls’ files and caps with their lipstick, and Youngjae rolls his eyes, but by then Mark’s already gone, taking the coffee back to his table.
Maybe it’s fate, then, that that’s when the door’s pushed open loudly, so the bell above tinkles madly, and Bambam saunters in, designer tote swinging carelessly from a loosely curled hand, leopard print cap with cute matching ears painstakingly angled on his head so the styled pink locks of his bangs aren’t mussed.
“Hey hyung,” he sends a charming grin over the counter, flicking a rather insignificant crumb from the countertop in vague annoyance before he balances his bag on the supposedly sufficiently clean area, propping his elbows on the glassy surface as Youngjae waves a hello, trying not to laugh.
“Yugyeom’s inside, he’s coming out in a moment,” Youngjae chuckles derisively at the slightly affronted but still pleased expression that slides on Bambam’s face.
“You say that like I wouldn’t come here just to visit my friends,” he whines, twisting a soft lock of hair around his finger, and Youngjae rolls his eyes, used to the younger boy’s theatrics by now.
“Would you?” he raises an eyebrow, and Bambam pretends to gasp.
“That hurts,” he places a hand over his chest, a look of mock agony on his face, and Youngjae has to fight down gales of laughter. “Who wouldn’t want to come here just to see cute little Youngjae-ah?”
“I am your hyung,” Youngjae says defensively, and Bambam lets out a merry laugh that somehow still manages to sound harmlessly derogatory at the same time, before reaching over to pat Youngjae’s cheeks.
“Keep thinking that, hyung,” he says, grinning mischievously when Youngjae looks exasperated. “Now then, about my usual?”
“You are such a brat,” Youngjae huffs, turning around to pluck the tall, slender, iced coffee glasses from the shelf anyway. “I have no idea how Yugyeom manages you.”
“It’s a privilege, hyung, you don’t know what you’re missing out on,” Bambam says as he flicks open a compact mirror miraculously produced from the depths of his bag, before carefully inspecting his hair.
Youngjae rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t fall out of his head, but all exasperation is quickly reduced to confusion when he turns to grab the sugar syrup and his gaze happens to land on Mark, whose dark eyes are trained on Bambam, expression unreadable.
Come to think of it...
Bambam’s a frequent customer (no wondering why, when Yugyeom’s concerned), and more than a few of his visits had coincided with Mark’s. He’s a prominent figure, there’s no denying that, and Mark had definitely noticed him the last few times Bambam had come.
Could it be...?
But then, just as Youngjae’s getting unnecessarily worried, the kitchen door swings open quietly just as Youngjae’s spraying excessive amounts of whipped cream atop the ice blended maccha java chip mochaccino, and Bambam brightens up, before quickly hiding the change in expression behind a mask of lazy indifference.
“Bambam!” Yugyeom beams, eyes crinkling into a smile that has Youngjae pretending to puke into the register, balancing yet another tray of gorgeous chocolate morsels. “You came!”
“Of course I came,” Bambam rolls his eyes, as though it’s a given. “And shut up, Youngjae-hyung, it’s not like you’re any different with-…”
And suddenly Jackson bursts out of seemingly nowhere, making giant obnoxious X signs with his arms and mouthing exaggerated NOs though Youngjae is right there and can obviously see him, and Bambam trails off, looking slightly disturbed.
“Hyung, what the he-…”
“Wait, first of all,” Youngjae interrupts, momentarily forgetting the much feared repercussions of ever interrupting Bambam. “What’s this about me not being any different?”
Bambam glares at him with enough firepower to burn out an army of passive-aggressive middle aged househusbands. “I’m going to overlook the fact that you just cut into the middle of my sentence in favour of pitying your ignorance.”
Youngjae turns to look suspiciously at Jackson, who immediately does a wide about turn that makes him look like an overcooked noodle, before sidling into the staff kitchen.
“Ah, you’ll figure it out soon, hyung,” Yugyeom says reassuringly, before Youngjae can go into the kitchen and start an interrogation, and Youngjae turns to him, a betrayed look on his face.
“You’re in on this too, Gyeommie?” he says, and Yugyeom barely has a second to look guilty before Bambam’s cutting in.
“Yah, don’t disturb Yugyeom,” he snaps, straightening imperiously, once more automatically drawing all attention back to himself. “Like he said, this is something you need to figure out on your own. It’s a coming-of-age thing, or whatever.”
“But-…” Youngjae protests.
“Hush,” Bambam snaps his fingers, giving him a glare. “Mochaccino. Now. What kind of service is this? I’m so not tipping you this time.”
Youngjae mutters dissonance under his breath as he finishes up the extravagant drink, handing it over sourly, and Bambam flashes him a blinding smile, before promptly forgetting him as he turns to the staff’s maknae, still carefully arranging chocolate delicacies in the glass display case.
“Gyeommie-ahhh~”
Yugyeom looks up with an extremely halfhearted scowl, rolling his eyes slightly before setting the tray down on the counter and disappearing into the staff kitchen, reappearing a few seconds later carrying a gorgeously iced slice of chocolate fudge and cherry cake, and Bambam’s smile widens.
It’s a sort of ritual between the two of them, Youngjae’d realised some time ago, which can be reduced basically down to Bambam coming to the café and acting like a brat in front of his (younger, might Youngjae add) boyfriend until he caved in and gave him some prettily decorated sweet treat, and though Youngjae knows it’s Bambam’s rather twisted method of assuring himself of his control over the other boy, it’s kind of irritating when Jaebum comes to him at the end of the month with annoyed questions about how the café’s inventory keeps disappearing.
Youngjae watches in partial amusement, partial exasperation, as Bambam smiles sweetly at Yugyeom, leaning up to press a quick kiss on his lips, which causes a steady blush to bloom on the younger boy’s face. Something clicks at the back of his mind, and he turns so fast he almost cricks his neck, watching nervously for Mark’s reaction to the exchange.
To his surprise, there’s no resentment or disappointment- in fact, he can almost say Mark looks relieved, contented, even. But then the emotion disappears as usual, and he’s back to indifference, sipping his weird coffee, and Youngjae’s left even more confused than before.
part II