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Somewhere, a butterfly flaps its wings, a baby hiccups in her sleep, a pebble tumbles from cliff down into a lake so large people used to call it the ocean. A million, million miles away, the world burns in cinder and smoke.
The coffee is too hot, but it's the morning rush hour and Jungkook doesn't have time to think about the repercussions. He shoots a grin at the customer without much thought and pushes the cup towards him -- he is made of sharp lines and soft curves, neither of which would be one without the other. He is an amalgamation of incongruities that, well, just don't add up, but Jungkook has never been good at maths.
"Thanks," the boy says.
Jungkook nods, already halfway through the next drink, the next customer, the next set of mismatched lines. He doesn't see the drop of scalding coffee seep out the lid of the first boy's drink slip down the side of the cup and settle on the boy's skin. He doesn't see the boy wince, fumbling drink, catching it only just --
No one knows where loops begin, only that they start, and they never really end, snowballing until everything crests over, till something gives, and something always does -- it's got to, after all. Neither of them will remember the drop of coffee, the tiny burn it left behind, the rush of the morning settling around them both like a season deciding to stay for three weeks longer than it did last year.
It's icecream next, where Jimin almost runs into Jungkook in line, waiting for his crushed caramel scoop, while Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet, already settling into his triple-chocolate fudge. He finds out Jimin's name then, when Jimin’s wallet falls and he ducks just in time to catch it, barely missing Jimin's stumble.
"Sorry," Jimin says, balancing his icecream in one hand, reaching out for his dropped wallet in the other.
"No problem," Jungkook answers, with a smile that's not quite his usual coffee-counter smile, the grounds stuck somewhere in his throat, the chocolate still cloying on his tongue. He swallows and takes a step back. Jimin takes one forward; they blink, they laugh, they trade scopes and names and numbers. They trade a handshake, a lingering afterthought, they trade a promise of hey, next time.
Jungkook bikes passed where Jimin studies. Jimin doesn't look up in time.
Jimin misplaces Jungkook's number. Jungkook cracks his phone and gets a new one.
The fire catches, and goes out, and they are back in the coffee shop, back on the morning before the light peaks up above the horizon, the counter separating the two of them. And this time, Jungkook fumbles the drink when he sees Jimin's face. The air shifts, the hot sinks its teeth into his hands and he snaps back to, dropping the cup with a startled yelp. A flush washes up into his cheeks and he dunks his burned hand into the sink to let cold water run over the already reddening skin.
Jimin frowns the kind of frown they shoot for car commercials and life insurance ads.
Jungkook is too busy cleaning up to notice, apologizing with a glance up. He catches Jimin's eye and Jimin shakes his head, grinning easy, grinning bright, grinning like everything in the world is right. And how could it not be with the pair of them just like that, with the scalding coffee spilled between them?
"You come here often?" Jungkook asks.
Jimin laughs, "Are you new?"
Jungkook's cheeks ripen again as he ducks under his green cap. He hands Jimin his promised drink, a size larger than Jimin had ordered, as a sorry kind of thing. Jimin wraps both his hands around it and quirks his head at Jungkook.
"Tomorrow, same time, same place?"
Jungkook almost chokes, but he nods.
The next morning, Jimin is right on time, and Jungkook somehow manages not to burn himself again.
They don't screw up the phone numbers this time, and both of them are early for the movie they choose to see, though neither of them can really remember what the movie was about. They kiss, because that's what people do after first dates at the movies, and hold hands all the way home.
They learn about kissing, and about morning breaths, and about how neither of them seem to care all that much about the latter, in lieu of the former. Jungkook learns that Jimin's nose is the perfect shape to kiss, and Jimin learns that Jungkook's lips will find his skin no matter where it is.
They learn that summers are just for summer things, and sometimes, some things are just meant to be summer things. When winter comes, when the coffee cools, their texts become sparse, their lips chapped and frozen. When the winter comes, Jungkook can't find the warmth he found in Jimin when they curled around each other in summer, and Jimin can't remember what it was like not to expect the sting of cold every time they touched.
Jungkook can't remember how many drinks he made that morning, already, in the span of what -- like thirty minutes. This is getting ridiculous. Jimin orders what he always orders, and Jungkook pushes it across the counter. It skims passed the other edge and splatters on the ground. Jimin jumps back and for a second, they are the center of the universe, with everyone in the whole damn world glancing over at what the commotion is.
Jungkook is frozen, none short of mortified. Jimin presses his hands to his lips, and for a second, Jungkook thinks he might scream. But then, Jimin laughs, and he laughs and laughs, and the world goes back to turning, to minding its own business. Jungkook takes the chance to hurry around the counter, muttering apologies, offering a gift card, or something else equally intangible and free. Jimin bends down and their fingers brush. A moment catches between them both, and Jungkook glances up. And oh.
Jimin blushes, tugging his hand back. The coffee is seeping across the floor, a tiny lake large enough to drown all their thoughts, burn it all down to caffeine and carbon, and Jungkook picks up the cup, sets it on the counter with a quirk of his lips.
"How about I make it up to you?"
Jimin's eyebrows hike up his forehead, and he crosses his arms, "I already paid for the coffee."
Jungkook shakes his head, "Dinner, on me."
Jimin agrees, and time stretches long and thin and endless. They get further this time, so much further. They find an apartment that fits them both perfectly, and Jimin buys Jungkook a coffee maker for Christmas.
They open a coffee shop together, decorate it with chalkboards and wood and pretty things, and Jungkook spends his days marveling over how great his boyfriend looks in their new uniform, or covered in flour, or with his lips slathered in sugar and spice and everything nice. They build a life seeped in coffee, the end of their days dunked in Irish Cream, or Hazelnut, or Vanilla Bean. They build a life that tastes sweet, and bitter, and sour, and thick, like the way happiness sits on your tongue and figures its way through your life in every single shape before it finds the one you need.
And sometimes, happiness isn't a smile or a laugh, or even a cup of well-made coffee. Sometimes, it is just a moment that has not been missed, one that played out so perfectly the world had to pause and watch it go by.
Jungkook figures that their life together is made up of a disproportionate number of those.
Until, it's not.
Jimin drops a cup while washing dishes one day, cuts his thumb, and Jungkook fusses like he always does, bandages it up with a frown dug deep between his brows.
"I'm fine," Jimin insists, slumping back into the sofa, rolling his eyes.
Jungkook kisses the tip of Jimin's now bandaged finger with a snort, "Of course you are."
Jimin smiles, "of course I am."
The moment stretches, stretches, stretches around the love they share, and then, Jungkook takes a breath, lets it out. It is morning, it is rush hour, the coffee machines whirr around him as he pours Jimin's drink. He takes his time, makes sure its perfect, before handing it over with a soft smile.
"Thanks," Jimin says, taking it with equally careful fingers. Not a single drop is spilled, not one molecule out of place. He takes a sip of his coffee, pushing through the cafe doors.
"No problem," Jungkook says, waving him off as he lowers his own eyes back down to the order list. The next customer glances between the two before lowering her eyes back onto her phone screen, waiting with tapping feet for her drink.
When he hands her drink to her, she grins and asks, "Was he a regular?"
Jungkook takes a second, eyes lingering on the vacant space Jimin used to occupy, before shaking his head, "Nah, but I do think he's been here before."