Chapter Text
Namjoon is standing around the corner to Seokjin’s café but he just can’t seem to push himself any further. He can feel the sweat on his palms as he clenches his fists, and he feels extremely silly. It didn’t make sense for him to be so nervous; after all he was just here to return a shirt. It didn’t matter if the barista looked like a cross between the sculpted features of a Greek god and the ethereal beauty of an angel.
Namjoon found that he couldn’t stop thinking about his soft features and beautiful hair and tinkling laugh ever since he’d come across them. He’d packed up in a hurry that day, feeling embarrassed about his clumsiness. If he had some time to think, he could compose himself better and return.
He’d walked around a bit after that, and upon spotting an ice cream place he’d stopped. Even the soft swirl of his strawberry ice cream had reminded Namjoon of Seokjin. He looked accusingly at the oblivious girl behind the counter; the ice cream seemed to have been modeled after Seokjin in every way possible.
Once he’d managed to finish his ice cream, he’d taken out his laptop and tried to work—after making sure his headphones were plugged in—but the thoughts swirling around in his head about the pink-headed barista wouldn’t leave him in peace. It didn’t help that every time Namjoon moved he caught a whiff of Seokjin’s scent from the shirt he’d lent him. He smells like peaches and Namjoon can’t get enough of it.
He’d finally given up working and had gone back home, finding Yoongi, his roommate, already there. Namjoon went straight to his room and made for the bed, but kept tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
He made his way to Yoongi’s room “Hyung,” he said, standing outside Yoongi’s room. He knew not to enter without making his presence clear. Yoongi stopped writing whatever it was in his notebook and looked up to acknowledge Namjoon. “Can I read your lyrics?”
Yoongi closed the book. “No, you may not.” He looked at Namjoon, something registering in his eyes. He got off the bed reluctantly. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a sigh.
“Nothing’s wrong,” protested Namjoon. Yoongi just gave him the look. The ‘really?’ look, complete with the raised eyebrow Namjoon could never manage. Namjoon sighed. “I’ve been trying to work on that song all day but I can’t concentrate because of this cute barista that won’t leave my thoughts. I couldn’t even sleep it off.”
“He must’ve been cute, then.” Yoongi smirks. “Tell me about it.”
Namjoon does. “—And I said I would go back tomorrow to return his shirt, but I’m beginning to think that was a horrible idea because I made a complete fool of myself in front of him and what if I embarrass myself more?”
“You make a fool of yourself all the time, Joonie,” replied Yoongi. “This time was the same. Just relax and go tomorrow. You’ll do just fine.”
“You think so?”
Yoongi pauses to consider. “It is part of your charm, after all. That and your body proportions, because damn.”
“Okay then, hyung,” replied Namjoon, ignoring most of what he'd just said. “Thank you.”
“Now leave me alone, brat.” Yoongi shooed him out the door and swung it shut as soon as he’d stepped outside.
Yoongi had also been the one to push him out the front door the next day morning, Seokjin’s shirt in hand. Knowing he had no chance against the other, Namjoon had conceded early before Yoongi got the big guns out, because although he might be the laziest person on the planet, when he wanted something done, he would get it done. By any means.
And that’s how Namjoon ended up where he was, palms sweaty, knees weak at the prospect of meeting Seokjin again after the previous day.
Namjoon is still talking himself into moving around the corner when someone rounds the same corner and stops on seeing him, seemingly surprised.
“Are you…Are you Namjoon?” asks the guy. He’s short, much shorter than Namjoon, with black hair and the squishiest pair of cheeks Namjoon’s ever seen on a person.
“Um,” replies Namjoon, eloquent as always, “Yeah?”
The guy smiles, his eyes crinkling into small crescents. “I’m Jimin,” he says, “I work at Seokjin hyung’s café.”
“Oh,” says Namjoon. He feels like an idiot as soon as the word slips past his lips. He’s really showcasing his way with words today. He wants to add something more, but he doesn’t know what, so he drops it.
“You should probably go in,” says the guy—Jimin. “He’s been waiting for you.”
“He has?” asks Namjoon.
“Of course he has,” replies Jimin. He motions for Namjoon to follow, and Namjoon does. He feels a little like a puppy, but not for long.
“Hyung,” says Jimin, pushing open the door to the café. Namjoon immediately spots Seokjin in the empty café, doing something at the counter with his back turned.
“Well, that was quick,” says Seokjin without turning around. He looks like he’s kneading something into the counter. “Did you get the strawberries?”
“Of course,” says Jimin, rustling his bag for emphasis. “But guess what else I brought.”
“What is it?” asks Seokjin, still not facing them, “If it’s another bag of Reese’s Jimin I swear to god—” he turns around and spots Namjoon, trailing off. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” says Jimin, smirking. “I found him on my way back and told him how you were dying to—“
“Those cakes need to be taken out of the oven,” interrupts Seokjin loudly. The look on his face is enough to kill, but Jimin seems unfazed. Namjoon applauds his bravery. “Don’t stand around here chatting when you have work to do.”
Jimin grins. “Okay, hyung. Have fun with Namjoon.” Seokjin ushers him through the door to the kitchen, practically pushing the younger through the doors.
Namjoon finally says something. “Hey.”
“Hi,” replies Seokjin, smoothing down his hair. He offers Namjoon a smile, and Namjoon can feel his insides turning to mush. Namjoon knew it was only a matter minutes before he was lying there as a puddle of Namjoon on the floor.
“I—I brought your shirt,” he says. He internally curses his stammer. He shrugs off one of the straps of his backpack, unzipping it and retrieving the garment. “Here,” he says, handing it over. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore so he lets them drop to his sides awkwardly.
“Thank you,” says Seokjin, smiling again. He looks like an angel come down to earth to bless Namjoon with his purity, and Namjoon feels so very blessed.
“So, uh—“ He’s cut off by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a text from Yoongi. Don’t forget to get his number, it read. Was Yoongi psychic? He’d have to ask him later.
“Sit down,” offers Seokjin hospitably, pulling out a chair for himself. Namjoon takes a seat opposite him and wipes his palms on his jeans as inconspicuously as he can manage.
Not knowing what to do, Namjoon smiles awkwardly. Seokjin sighs, and Namjoon panics. Was he not supposed to do that? “What’s wrong?” he asks nervously.
“No, it’s nothing,” replies Seokjin, chuckling. “It’s just—you don’t know, do you?”
Namjoon frowns. “Know what?”
“The power of your dimples,” replies Seokjin. “Has nobody ever told you before?” Namjoon can remember vague mentions of his dimples, but nothing solid.
When he shakes his head, Seokjin continues, “I can’t believe it. Someone would have to have mentioned them. They’re so adorable and you could practically drink out of them.” He immediately turns red. “Not like I was suggesting that I would drink out of them or anything, just thought—never mind.”
Namjoon grins in reply. He feels much more eased once he knows that Seokjin could mess up too. The prospect of talking to Seokjin doesn’t seem so scary anymore, and they ease into conversation like old friends.
As they talk, they get to know each other. Namjoon learns that opening up this café had been Seokjin’s dream for ten years, and he loved it to bits. That he had to struggle for quite some time before he’d been able to hire Jimin to help out and relax a bit.
He’s just about to ask Seokjin for his number when the bell on the café door tinkles, and Seokjin excuses himself to take the customer’s order. Once he’s done handing over the coffee to go, Seokjin returns to their table, wiping his hands on his apron.
“You’re working,” says Namjoon, getting up. “I should probably leave.” When Seokjin protests, he cuts him saying, “I’d like to see you again, though.” He immediately backtracks. “That is, if you’d like to see me again?” He feels anxious.
Seokjin just stares at him, then breaks out into a laugh. “Of course I’d like to see you again,” he says. “Here, hand me your phone.” Namjoon does. Seokjin puts in his number, and hands it back. “Call me,” he says with a wink.
Namjoon flushes. “I will,” he says. He makes his way to the doorway, still looking at Seokjin. He almost trips over a stool on the way and Seokjin laughs. Namjoon decides he would trip over a thousand stools to hear that laugh again.
“Bye,” he says, lifting his hand in farewell as he exits the café. He holds his cool until he rounds the corner, then finally collapses against the brick wall. His face feels hot, and his brain feels like it just turned to goo in his skull.
“Oh my god,” he says, rubbing his face. “Oh my god.” He unlocks his phone and scrolls through his contacts until he finds the contact Seokjin put in. He stares at the number on his screen and Seokjin’s name above it.
He smiles wide.