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“You’re about to fall over,” Namjoon observes, and Yoongi grabs the finger his partner stretches out to prod him with in a threatening grip, “ ow , hyung, I’m just saying,” he wrenches the appendage free, “maybe you should re-caffeinate.”
Yoongi thinks that maybe his ears visibly perked up when Namjoon said caffeine, but after stealing a quick glance at the counter, he slumps back over his laptop, defeated. Namjoon looks over, too, confused.
“Are you scared of the barista?” He asks, incredulously. “The guy that looks like a rice cake?”
“He’s judging me,” Yoongi hisses back, “he’s taken my last four orders, and I swear he made the last coffee decaf because he’s-he’s fucking judging my caffeine intake, and-”
“Paranoia,” Namjoon interrupts, “anxiety, jitters. All symptoms of caffeine withdrawal. He’s not judging you. He has pink hair.”
“I’m just gonna go home, make my own coffee,” Yoongi mutters, and Namjoon clears his throat, making a noise that Yoongi knows means he’s about to suffer.
“Maybe now’s a bad time to tell you I fucked up the Keurig,” he admits, and it takes every shred of willpower Yoongi has left not to bang his head on the table.
“You’re buying,” he gets out through his teeth, “and you’re paying to get the Keurig fixed.”
“Deal.”
Yoongi’s never actually done a walk of shame, but he thinks the two-yard trek from their table to the coffee counter comes awfully close, the way the barista stops in his movements to stare at Yoongi as he approaches.
“I’m gonna have to cut you off,” he says, before Yoongi can even open his mouth to order, “this is your sixth.”
“Fifth,” Yoongi corrects, because who does this guy think he is, “it’s my fifth. And also none of your business.”
“I’m supposed to look out for the wellbeing of my customers,” he replies back, and taps away at the register, “I’ll give you decaf, on the house.”
“I don’t want decaf,” Yoongi’s gut clenches in horror as he hears himself whine, petulant and high, “and my friend is paying.”
The barista sighs. Yoongi’s eyes catch on the flash of his metal name-tag in the fluorescent lighting, reading ‘Jimin’ in tiny, black letters that make his vision swim.
“I’ll bring your order to your table,” Jimin says, cordially, and Yoongi manages a nod before trawling back towards Namjoon and hopping back onto his stool with an inappropriate amount of effort.
Jimin brings the drink to their table and drops it off without a word, stalking through the swinging door into the kitchen, and Yoongi sees him hang up his apron and clock out.
Yoongi takes a sip and promptly gags, snatching Namjoon’s own mug from beneath his nose to wash away the taste of decaf from his tongue.
“You’re the guy Jimin told me to only give decaf!” The new barista says, eyes bright as he writes Yoongi’s name on his cup. “Don’t worry, my decaf lattes taste just as good as the regular ones, just make sure to ask for ‘Tae’ if you want a refill-”
“Caffeine,” Yoongi cuts him off, “I want a regular latte. Not decaf.”
‘Tae’ looks worried, spinning his pen between his fingers.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he tells Yoongi, “from what Jimin’s told me, you’re just one more coffee bean away from a heart palpitation.”
Yoongi can hear Namjoon snickering behind him and makes a note to pour salt into his overly-sweet drink later.
“Listen,” he says to Tae, “I’ll leave an awesome tip. Fifty percent.”
“Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Please let me.”
Tae purses his lips.
“Half-caf,” he says, and Yoongi wants to cry, feels tears pricking insistently at the corners of his eyes, “and I’m going to tell Jimin.”
Yoongi feels guilt pool in his gut, but Tae begins grinding the coffee beans and the smell is almost worth it. Almost.
Jimin walks in through the kitchen door just as Yoongi takes his first sip, tying his apron behind him, and Yoongi watches it happen in what seems like slow motion: Jimin’s eyes narrow as Tae leans in to whisper something to him, gaze flicking quickly over to hone in on Yoongi, on his mug, and then he’s striding over and plucking the vessel from his hands.
Namjoon’s eyes go wide, his croissant hanging from his open mouth.
“I can’t believe you bribed my employee!” He flings Yoongi’s tip back at him, coins clattering on the wood. “He’s new, and you took advantage of him.”
“I-”
“No excuses.” Jimin says, firmly. His eyes shine, and his cheeks puff out a little, making something in Yoongi’s chest throb. "Your caffeine privileges are revoked."
It takes a few seconds for Yoongi to find his tongue, and when he does, Jimin's already turned to walk away, the cute bow of his apron entirely too sweet for the venom in his voice.
"Fine," Yoongi manages, and feels his blood heat a little when Jimin turns his head and raises an eyebrow, "I have coffee at home, you know-"
"Keurig," Namjoon reminds him, sheepishly, "I forgot to call Hobi to pick up a new one."
"Once we wean you off, I'll see about reinstating your caffeine allowance," Jimin adds, over his shoulder, "until then, well," he smiles, beatifically, "Tae's decaf lattes are getting pretty good."
Yoongi has to physically restrain himself from doing something incredibly immature, like snatching the napkin Namjoon's using to wipe the crumbs off his face, balling it up, and chucking it at the back of Jimin's head.
"There are other coffee shops," Yoongi tells Namjoon, who looks up at him from his laptop, anxiously.
There's another café a little further from their flat, far enough that Yoongi's legs burn a little from the exercise of getting there, and the barista doesn't look up from her phone when Yoongi pushes the door open, Namjoon and Hobi in tow behind him.
"Why are we here?" Hobi asks, a bit too loud, and cowers a little when the barista fixes him with a dirty look.
"Change of scenery," Yoongi lies, and Namjoon rolls his eyes at him.
"Hyung got cut off," he says, once they've sat at a table with stools a little too high for Yoongi's taste, and Hobi lets out a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Who was it? The cute barista?" He asks, bouncing on his seat. "The pink haired one, right? He's been flirting with you since the day you walked in."
Yoongi chokes.
"What the fuck," he gets out, after Namjoon's whacked him on the back a few times. "Jimin's just-"
Annoying, persistent, determined. Cute, in a sense that he really does look like mangatteok.
Yoongi takes another gulp of his blessedly strong, caffeinated latte.
It's the first time in a week that he's been able to drink caffeine without being harangued for it, and perhaps that's what leads him to pull up Yelp on his laptop, and after a minute of searching he finds The Bean's page, five-star review after five-star review climbing down their wall into cyberspace.
"Over-invested staff," Hobi reads over his shoulder as he types, Namjoon making anxious little humming noises alongside him, "no consumer privacy. You don't think this is a little harsh?"
Another sip of his latte is what makes his mouse click submit. Yoongi leans back in his stool and winces as it wobbles, uneven on the sticky floor. He chooses to ignore the look Namjoon and Hobi share.
Three days later, and enough espresso shots that Yoongi feels like his fingers jitter constantly, Namjoon cracks.
"This place fucking sucks ," his eyes are wild when he looks at Yoongi, "I've made better coffee in the dorm sink, this shit tastes like lukewarm mud-"
"You're going to get us kicked out!" Hobi warns him, without an ounce of concern.
The barista has her phone out, her bored gaze trained on them.
"Good!" Namjoon shouts, and then, to Yoongi's horror, he turns to the counter. "You're just going to stand there and let your establishment be slandered?"
"I just work here," the barista says, and pops her gum.
"Employee loyalty?" Namjoon tries. "Public disturbance policies?"
Her eyes flick around the empty café before settling back on Namjoon.
"Please kick us out," Namjoon begs, desperately.
"Fake friends," Yoongi spits, as Hobi drags him out, the skip in Namjoon's step making him want to trip him, "where the fuck do you expect us to go now, assholes?"
The Bean is open, warm and welcoming, with floors that don't stick like quicksand, and Yoongi hates himself for feeling relieved when he doesn't have to fear for his life as he jumps on a blessedly steady stool.
"God," Hobi whispers, reverently, "the wifi. It's so fast ."
"Thirty-seven megabytes per second," Namjoon adds.
"Faster, baby," Hobi says, and Yoongi figures braving the coffee counter will be less painful than witnessing whatever love affair his best friends are having with The Bean's wifi router.
Tae looks so disappointed that Yoongi's heart constricts guiltily, shriveling up pea-sized and useless in his chest.
"I'm not supposed to take your order," he says, after a beat of painful silence, and he doesn't meet Yoongi's eyes, "I'll go get Jimin."
Yoongi's stomach turns to ice, which doesn't make any sense, because it's not as though he's scared of Jimin , of all people-
A second, two, and the door to the kitchen is swinging back open and Jimin is plowing through, phone in hand.
"'Over-invested staff'," he reads aloud, "'consumer privacy', really? A shitty Yelp review?"
He's livid, eyes blazing, and there are spots of color high on his cheeks.
"You cut me off from caffeine!" Yoongi protests. "Do you do that to other customers?"
The color deepens, and Jimin crosses his arms, petulantly.
"No," he says, coldly, "but for some odd, insane reason, I like you, and I was afraid you were going to have a caffeine-induced aneurysm before I got the chance to ask you out."
Yoongi blinks, the guilt roiling in his stomach finding its way up to burn the bottom of his esophagus. Hobi gasps from somewhere behind him.
"What," Yoongi gets out, and Jimin rolls his eyes, tiny hands settling on his hips.
"Exactly," he says, and then he turns to Tae, "take his order. Give him whatever he wants, I don't give a fuck."
Tae whistles, low and impressed.
"You pissed off Jimin ," he says, "what would you like? On the house."
Tae's decaf lattes aren't actually as bad as he'd thought they'd be.
Jimin is giving him the silent treatment, it seems, disappearing into the kitchen conveniently whenever Yoongi walks through the door. He chats idly with Namjoon, laughs with Hobi, but to Yoongi, he's ice.
Tae keeps him updated, and regales gossip as he pumps caramel into Yoongi's decaf macchiato.
"Jimin came over last night and drank himself stupid," he says, shaking the can of whipped cream, "he still likes you."
"He doesn't act like it," Yoongi replies, and gestures for Tae to add more, "it's been a week and he still hasn't talked to me."
"Because he's mad."
"I deleted the Yelp review, what else does he want me to do?"
Tae sets the can down with a clatter; Hobi jumps in his seat.
"Apologize like a normal person," he says, then tacks on "hyung" as an afterthought before Yoongi can reach over and smack him.
"What should I even say?" Yoongi asks Namjoon. "'Sorry for talking shit about your café on the internet'?"
"Jin could make you a card for that," Namjoon answers, absently, "he once made me an apology card for when I accidentally spilled hydrochloric acid on my chem professor. 'Maybe I should stick to the basics'," Namjoon laughs to himself, "he's so clever."
Hobi mimics a gag, shoving a finger down his throat.
Yoongi takes another gulp of his coffee and notices the jitters in his fingers are gone.
"Jimin-ah," Yoongi says, and his throat seizes a little, "can we talk?"
"Good try," Hobi comments, "now, sound a bit less like you want to die, and you're golden."
"He's not going to agree, anyway," Yoongi scuffs his shoes against the floor, "stupid, fucking, guilt, keeping me from having caffeine-"
"There's incentive," Hobi stops him, "apologize, so you feel less guilty, and you can have regular coffee again."
Just the word sets off an itch under Yoongi's skin, and he's tempted to ask Taehyung to make his next mocha with six shots of espresso, but then Jimin's pushing through the kitchen with two trays in his arms and the urge is tamped again.
"Go," Hobi whisper-yells at him, " go -"
Yoongi hops off the stool and strides purposefully towards Jimin's back, and stops about a yard away.
Jimin's hair bounces as he nods, and his hip juts out a little as he leans his weight onto one leg, biceps bulging from the weight of the trays, and the lump in Yoongi's throat is back full force when Jimin turns around and stops, still and shocked.
"What," he says, but it's blessedly free of malice, and it spurs Yoongi's mouth into action.
"Dinner," he manages, "tomorrow?"
Jimin raises an eyebrow, elegant as it arches.
"Okay," he says, and the golf ball in Yoongi's throat shrinks just a smidge, "pick me up here at seven."
Jimin steps past him, and Yoongi feels like he's on fire.
"What do you mean you think you asked him out?" Namjoon asks, after he's detached his mouth from Jin's long enough to get out more than two syllables. "You either did, or you didn't."
"I wanted to treat him to dinner as an apology for Yelp thing," Yoongi tells them, exasperated, "but he told me he liked me, and I don't even think he still does because he hasn't talked to me in two and a half weeks-"
"Do you like him?" Jin fiddles with Namjoon's hand in his lap.
"Who? Jimin?"
Namjoon stares at him.
"No, Tae," he says, "yes, Jimin, hyung. Do you like him?"
I shouldn’t," Yoongi muses, "he tried to kill me."
"He kind of saved you," Namjoon says, "you were easily hitting four-fifty, five-hundred milligrams a day."
"How come you didn't stop me, then?"
"Because I value my life?"
"Let me know if you want me to make you a card for the whole Yelp thing," Jin tells him.
Yoongi gets up and leaves after it seems like Jin and Namjoon have surgically attached themselves at the mouth again, Namjoon calling out a "think about your feelings" at Yoongi's back before turning back to his boyfriend, and Yoongi hates the lukewarm ache of loneliness that blooms in his chest at the thought of having someone, having a someone to be with the way Jin and Namjoon are. Except less disgusting, definitely.
Yoongi realizes he's never really seen Jimin without his apron, and now he'll never forget how he looks without it.
He's short, more noticeable now without a counter between them, maybe Yoongi's own height, with hands Yoongi could wrap both of in one of his own, and a sweet curve to his built figure, hips and strong shoulders and-
He clears his throat and Jimin looks up from his phone, fixing him with a quick quirk of his lips.
"Let me lock up, and we can go," Jimin tells him, pushing off the counter gracefully, with an ethereal fluidity.
Yoongi tries to keep himself occupied, to keep his mind on anything besides the way Jimin moves when he's not hidden by his apron or carrying four trays at once, but Jimin hums while he works, the sound sweet and high, tracking Yoongi's eyes to him as he flits around the café.
"Alright," Jimin says, finally, and pockets a key, "where to?"
"It's walking distance," Yoongi gets out. His brain's working enough that he has the foresight to get to the door first and hold it open, and the soft, wary smile Jimin gives him makes Yoongi's stomach pull.
The night is clear, the sun having just set, stars appearing at the darkest edge of the horizon. Jimin's hair matches the pink of the disappearing sun.
It's silent as they walk, the rhythmic sound of their footfalls easy enough to listen to, but Jimin's lips are curving into a frown, an unhappy little purse that Yoongi inexplicably feels in his very soul he needs to fix.
"Listen," he says, and the silence shatters, "I'm sorry about the Yelp review, I don't know what I was thinking, and-"
"Milkshakes!" Jimin's plastered his face onto the window of a diner they're passing, all fluorescent lights and checkered counters. There's a sign blinking bright and bubblegum pink above a vintage milkshake machine.
Maybe Yoongi should be worried that he cancels their reservations and pays the hefty fee to do it without even thinking as soon as Jimin turns and fixes that smile on him
He can't bring himself to care much about the state of his wallet when his knee touches Jimin's where they sit side by side at the counter.
Yoongi learns that Jimin hates coffee, goes to the gym more times a week than Yoongi does in a year, and has a sweet tooth the size of Seoul itself.
They drink their milkshakes in a comfortable silence Yoongi's only ever found with Hobi and Namjoon, but this one's still different, restless, almost charged.
"It's okay," Jimin says, softly, "about the review thing. I guess it wasn't really my place to cut you off."
"I needed to be," Yoongi says, truthfully, and feels his heart lighten.
Jimin chews on his straw, tiny fingers drawing patterns in the condensation on his glass, leg jittering where it touches Yoongi's.
"Is it good?" He asks, almost shyly. "Your milkshake?"
"Um," Yoongi's mouth feels too small for words, tongue a little frozen from the drink, "yeah, I guess. Yours?"
Jimin shrugs and moves a millimeter closer in, so his shoulder bumps Yoongi's as he leans in to drink.
"It's alright," he says, too casual, and Yoongi's heart starts up a drum solo in his chest, "can I try yours?"
Jimin smiles when Yoongi nods, breathtaking and brilliant, machiavellian and innocent at the same time. His hand fits easily at the nape of Yoongi's neck, bringing him in, and his lips are cool on Yoongi's own, his mouth soft and sure, his smile sweet and strawberry-tinged as he pulls away, addictive like nothing else and perfect as the moon hanging full in the sky.