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“Basically, that is all,” the manager said, hands on his hips, “Nothing too different from other coffee shops, I guess. Any question?”
“Uh,” Hoseok stutters. He has forgotten a good chunk of what the manager just told him but of course, he couldn’t say it. What if the manager notices that he, in fact, has never worked in a coffee shop, ever? “All good,” he says, trying to convince himself more than the man before him.
The manager smiles, wide and dazzling. Hoseok partly suspects that it was the reason he couldn’t seem to follow what the older man was talking about–the smile is distracting. The sudden employment might also be another factor. Hoseok was unemployed until a couple of hours ago when the manager called him with a desperate voice. It’s weird. It’s bizarre. Everything is.
While untying his apron and taking it off, the manager gleams. “Great,” he says. He looks at his watch and then to the street, outside their window. “Just in time for our first customer,” he grins, eyes seem to be fixated to something moving.
Hoseok looks to where the manager is looking. A man, clad in a padded jacket and bucket hat, enters the coffee shop with a huff and a grumpy grumble. Panic creeps up to Hoseok’s spine.
First customer.
His first customer.
“He’s a regular,” the manager whispers. “Always comes by at 9. Sometimes his order is weird but just bear with it.”
The customer reaches the counter before Hoseok could even form a response. His eyes scan Hoseok for a second, then he turns to the manager.
“New guy?”
The manager shrugs and pretends to get busy with the mugs and glasses. The gesture is teasing more than anything, but Hoseok is too busy panicking inside that he doesn’t notice.
The customer sighs. His expression tells Hoseok that he’s accustomed to the manager’s antique and he’s tired with it. He just stands there for a while and Hoseok’s brain helpfully provides a word that best describes the man.
Cute.
Cute.
Cute.
Cute.
Cu–
“Aren’t you supposed to ask for my order?”
The manager stifles a laugh and Hoseok feels heat crawling up his cheeks. “Ah, yes,” he starts. His voice is croaked and tiny and he hates it. “Yes,” he starts again. Better. “What would you like to order, Sir?”
The customer bends down to inspect the food display and lingers before standing up straight again to answer, “A quiche.”
Hoseok stops functioning for a second. Did he hear it wrong? He must be. “I’m sorry?” he leans forward to hear better.
“A quiche,” the customer repeats. Clearer, this time.
Hoseok is compelled to ask once again but he knows he didn’t mishear it. He’s sure blood is draining out his face right now and cold sweat is starting to break. He turns to look at the manager but the man just stands there. Waiting. Expecting.
Hoseok gulps. He is sure he heard it right but this deserves a confirmation.
“A... kiss, Sir?”
The customer folds his arms in front of his chest. His patience is running thin. “Yes. A quiche.” The corners of his lips are pulled tight. “Oh,” he says, an afterthought, “and an americano. Iced.”
Hoseok turns to the manager again. The man looks like Hoseok has just grown another head and gestures him to proceed.
Hoseok is reminded of the manager’s words just a few minutes ago. When he heard weird order, he sure didn’t think it would be this weird.
“Here?”
“The quiche? Yeah,” the customer says. “The americano is to go,” he adds, nonchalant.
“Uh.” Hoseok takes another glance at his manager. Nothing changes. Cold sweat is starting to break and he wants to scream. Did this person really just order a kiss? From him? And does his manager really think nothing is wrong about it?
Hoseok pinches his thigh and, boy, it hurts.
The customer throws a look at the manager then focuses back to Hoseok. His patience is really running thin now. Hoseok is running out of time.
“Uh, okay,” Hoseok says just for the sake of responding. “H— How do you want it?”
A quirk of an eyebrow. “Plain? Don’t make it too hot.”
Don’t make it too hot. Okay. Good. Hoseok could do that. A plain one, right? A small peck on the cheek, maybe? That, he can manage. A light press and that's it. No big deal. No big deal at all.
“Okay,” Hoseok takes a deep breath, repeating no big deal in his head over and over again, “Ready?”
A quirk of the customer’s eyebrow and a shrug. “Sure,” the customer says.
Hoseok presses his hands on the counter to hoist himself the tiniest bit higher. He stands on his tiptoes and leans forward, over the register. As he moves closer, he notices that the customer looks even cuter in close proximity. Cat-like eyes, button nose, fluffy cheeks that look soft like a cotton pillow.
God, Hoseok is about to kiss that cheek.
Hoseok swears his heart is about to jump out of his mouth, so he just launches ahead and lands his lips on the customer’s cheek before he lost his guts.
God, it is soft.
Hoseok moves a centimeter back and he sees the cheek bounces. What was once pale, turns rosy before crimson red. Hoseok slowly gulps. His heart skips several beats. A heat runs up his fa—
“What just happened?” the manager’s voice yanks Hoseok out of his trance.
Hoseok turns and sees the manager’s eyes wide. Now a cold runs down his spine. What just happened?
“Uh— A kiss? The order? A— kiss?”
“A kiss,” the manager repeats. “A— Hmpf.”
Hoseok freezes. He doesn’t know what is happening but he is afraid to look at the customer. Is this not what he ordered? Is this not?
“It’s a quiche, Hoseok-ssi. A”—the manager pulls out a tray from the display rack—“quiche.”
The tray has a plate on it. Quiche, ₩5,000, it says.
Quiche.
“I— I’m so—,” Hoseok stutters.
The customer doesn’t say anything, but the manager is laughing, loud and merry. He walks past Hoseok and out of the counter, slinging his arm around the customer.
“It’s okay,” the manager says. “Right, Yoongi-yah?”
The customer is still, it’s like he has turned into a statue. He’s still and red. His eyes are on Hoseok, but unreadable.
“It’s okay,” the manager repeats, assuring. “But, please, don’t go around kissing people who order quiche. Okay?”
“I— I won’t!”
“You’re lucky it’s just Yoongi,” the manager winks. He then leans forward and whispers not-so-discretely, “He seems to like it.” He stands straights up again and pats the customer in the back. “Right, Yoongi-yah?”
The customer is still unmoving. It takes a few seconds until he sighs, ever so slightly, and mumbles, “Can I get the quiche still?”
“The quiche, Hoseok-ssi, chop-chop now.”
That kicks Hoseok into movement. “Ah, yes, the quiche,” he says, grabbing a plate and putting the pastry into it.
“And americano,” the customer says.
“Ah, yes, americano.” Hoseok turns to his right and fixes a cup of iced americano. He stumbles with the machine and the cutleries, but he manages. He almost trips on his own foot, twice, but he survives. He just wants this moment to end already. The embarrassment is still fresh and it’s still reflected on his cheeks, he’s sure. He wants to just disappear, really, but at the same time, he also doesn’t because the customer is still there and his cheek is really, really soft. He puts the cup on the tray and slides it towards the customer, “A, uh, quiche and an iced americano. Anything else, sir?”
“Uh,” the customer hesitates. “Your number?”
The manager laughs.
Hoseok blinks. “My— my number?”
The customer sighs audibly. “Nevermind,” he mumbles while slamming a crisp bill on the table before stomping his way to a window-side table grumpily.
The manager laughs even louder at Hoseok’s red that matches the customer’s.
“Manager-nim—”
“After all that? Call me hyung. Seokjin-hyung.”
“Did he just ask for my number?”
“Yes, he did, Hoseokkie.”
“Is that, by chance, another pastry?”
The manager laughs and leaves the very flustered barista with a very flustered customer.
Hoseok gives his number anyway.