Archive of Our Own

The month leading up to finals week is, for lack of a better way to put it, the literal Worst Month of Doyoung’s entire life. That may sound dramatic. It’s not. He’s only eight days into it and he is already wondering if this is what burning in Hell feels like. At least in Hell you don’t also have to pay for groceries and rent.

And who’s bright idea was it to put finals in the summer anyway? He’s pretty sure not everyone does it like that, the lucky scoundrels. So not only is he tired and stressed, but he’s also melting. And because he’s melting he can’t sleep. And because he can’t sleep he can’t concentrate on his studies which means that he’s even more stressed and- Just thinking about it is making the knot in his left shoulder start hurting again.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, earning himself curious looks from the other students he walks past. He doesn’t care. He is miserable and suffering and they can think whatever they want.This month sucks and exam session sucks and everything fucking sucks expect…

The door to the only good coffee shop on campus swings open before he can reach for it. A short girl with bright red hair and massive cherry earrings comes out of it and almost walks straight into him. He’s not sure if it’s the look on his face or the prominent bags under his eyes that make her mouth form an “o” when she looks at him, but she’s quick to excuse herself with a sheepish nod and scuttle away. He doesn’t blame her. He would run away too, if he could. Doyoung catches the door handle just before it swings shut again. He holds it there for a moment whilst he rubs the palm of his hand over his eyes and through his hair. Hopefully he can make himself look at least a little presentable.

So, as he was saying, everything in his life really, really sucks right now (including his own face, apparently). But this month does have one saving grace.

“Good morning, welcome to Neo Coffee!”

Doyoung is momentarily blinded by the absolutely dazzling smile that greets him as he steps inside the café － so much so that he ends up standing awkwardly frozen in the doorway until someone actually does walk into him. He mutters an apology, which is not accepted if the glare he receives in return is any indication, and quickly moves out of the way. When he looks up the man behind the counter is grinning at him, an amused smile that, while not quite as paralyzingly gorgeous, is still a force to be reckoned with. Shit, Doyoung realises, he saw that.

“What can I get you today?” The world’s most spellbinding barista asks.

Doyoung has no idea. He doesn’t actually want anything. He just came for the, um, view. The view which is currently smiling at him, thus turning his brain to a useless mush, incapable of processing a thought. He should have planned this in advance; memorised a fancy order or something to impress him. He can learn that, what’s one more set of names to study?

“I, um- Caramel. A caramel latte. To go. Please.” He cringes at how breathless he sounds. Though if the Adonis behind that counter realises, he doesn’t react.

“One caramel latte coming right up!” He says instead, flashing another brilliant smile before he turns to the machines against the wall and starts doing whatever the hell it is that people do to prepare coffee.

Doyoung’s favourite thing about this coffee shop, other than the obvious, is how empty it always is. He knows it’s not exactly good for business, but it suits him just fine. No one to bother him, no waiting in line. No strangers to witness his embarrassing behaviour.

He’d discovered this place right at the start of the first semester, come a couple of times and then completely forgotten about it for several months. And who could blame him, he had a roommate who made excellent coffee, he didn’t need to leave the house for that. But then, one week ago, right in the middle of studying for finals, disaster struck: the coffee machine had broken, much to said roommate’s despair. Johnny had literally cried about it for about twenty minutes, the big baby (Doyoung had hugged him the entire time and rubbed what he hoped were soothing circles into his back, a part of the story he would be omitting when he told it at parties). So, faced with no alternative, he’d ventured out onto campus to once again track down the only place with decent coffee, and had been met with a pleasant surprise.

The surprise’s name is Yuta. Doyoung knows this because it says so on the adorable little nametag that sits above his shirt pocket. He hasn’t actually tried saying the name outloud to the man himself yet, partially because he’s afraid of butchering it and partially because he doesn’t want to come across as creepy. Yuta has a mop of hair made of golden brown waves and large, round eyes and a toned physique and a deep voice and a smile that could cure every ailment in the world and a ponytail- Oh my god he has a ponytail!! Doyoung’s brain supplies helpfully, as if his eyes weren’t already fixed intently on the tiny ponytail/ man-bun protruding out the top of the barista’s head.

The ponytail disappears from view as Yuta turns back towards the syrup dispensers lining the front of the counter, and Doyoung has to hurry to avert his gaze somewhere else. He looks at the clock on the wall, realises that’s broken, turns to the center of the room where he almost catches the barista’s eye again, and whips his head back to stare at his feet so fast that his neck stings in protest. Wow, maybe Johnny is right for once. He really is bad at this.

“One caramel latte!” Yuta announces, plopping a large take-away cup down onto the counter with another smile and what Doyoung thinks, he thinks, might be a wink. He could just be hallucinating though.

“Oh, thank you.” He mumbles. The cup is warm when he picks it up, but not too hot.

The barista watches him silently as he wraps both hands around it and inhales the sickly scent of sugar lofting up to his face. If this doesn’t wake him up enough to get through advanced statistics, nothing will. He smiles gratefully before turning to leave the shop the same way he came in, only to be stopped by a call of his name from the most unexpected of people.

“Doyoung!” There’s another cheeky grin on the barista’s face when he turns back to look at him. He gestures to the cup, an eyebrow raised. “Aren’t you going to pay for that?”

“Oh my god.” Doyoung could die from embarrassment right there and then. How did his stupid, sleep-lacking brain manage to forget something so important? “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I promise I wasn’t trying to steal it or anything, I’m just very tired and I-”

And Yuta, bless his perfect heart, just laughs. “Hey, hey, don’t worry about it! College, am I right?”

He is right. He is very, very right. Doyoung would probably agree with anything he has to say, no matter what that may be. He probably shouldn’t vocalise that fact though, so instead he just nods. “I’m so sorry again. Is paying by card okay?”

This time it’s Yuta who nods, sliding a card terminal across for the other to use. It’s then that Doyoung realises that the man has a small octopus tattoo on his inner wrist. That’s so cute. That’s so cute he could cry. Damn, he really needs to pull himself together. The little beep of the machine helps drag him back out of his thoughts and into the moment, where Yuta is pulling it back towards himself and ripping the two copies of the receipt out with one clean cut.

“That’s all, thank you.” He says kindly, as if Doyoung didn’t almost just walk off without paying for his drink. “Hope you have a nice day!”

Doyoung is so proud of himself when, for the first time this week, he remembers to say a quiet “you too” before leaving the shop. Even more proud of himself when he sees the smile Yuta gives him for it, because that smile is pretty much the only thing getting him through finals month.

Honestly, he knows it’s not the best to have a daily five-minute meeting with a complete stranger as his main coping mechanism. His friends have told him so － multiple times. But he’s stressed, and he can’t remember the last time he slept more than four hours at night, and he has a lot on his plate, so if his daily dose of pretty-barista induced serotonin is going to help, well, he’ll take it.

Maybe if he slept a bit more or thought things through a bit better he might have realised that Yuta had known his name today without ever asking for it.

☕☕☕

“Why don’t you just ask him out?”

Doyoung raises his head from where it’s buried in his hands just long enough to throw his companion a petulant glare. Taeyong gives a withering look right back. They’re sitting opposite each other on the terrace of a bar/ café/ candy shop that the elder apparently frequented, and where they were supposed to be meeting to take a break from studying for a while. Instead of resting, Taeyong seems to have decided now is the time to give him a lecture.

“I mean it Doie.” He continues, taking a sip of the horrific bright pink concoction he has sitting on the table in front of him. It’s hard to take him seriously when he looks like he’s drinking liquidised cotton candy. Even less so when his drink matches his hair. “Get his number or something. It’s not even that hard. You can be casual about it.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Doyoung huffs as he pulls his own mug into his hands, the contents of which is thankfully not the colour of his baby cousin’s princess castle. And it’s true; it is easy for Taeyong. He’s pretty sure no one has ever said “no” to that boy in his entire life. The many blessings of looking like a demi-god amongst men. Yuta can probably relate.

Taeyongs pouts (pouts, the horror) at him, crossing his own arms in front of his chest. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like what?”

“An idiot.” A self-satisfied grin threatens to break onto his face as he delivers the seamless insult. When Doyoung doesn’t respond it falls short, and he drops to a softer tone. “I’m sure he’d say yes if you asked. What’s holding you back?”

Doyoung stares holes into the little whirlpool he’s made in the center of his drink. He really doesn’t want to say it, because if he says it then it’s out there and it becomes a possible reality. But the look his friend is giving him is a kind one, and he can’t think of any way around it. “I think he might be straight.”

Taeyong, the absolute bastard, has the audacity to scoff. “Straight? That guy?”

He points across the square, straight at the spot Doyoung has been trying not to stare at the whole time. Way to make it obvious. The table where they are sitting was strategically chosen (by Taeyong) to give a perfect eyeshot right into the side window of Neo Coffee; and working in Neo Coffee, as always, is Yuta. He’s wearing a different shirt today, a light blue one, and Doyoung already knew this from when he went for his coffee run this morning but that’s irrelevant because it looks great. The collar is just the slightest bit loose, a few buttons undone to show off a peak of collar bone if Doyoung cranes his head just right. Not that he’s tried. Absolutely not.

He can see Taeyong trying too.

“Yes, that guy!” He whines, frustrated that his close friend can’t understand what a huge dilemma this is for him. “What if he doesn’t like, you know, men? I don’t want him to freak out on me.”

“Doyoung.” Taeyong says seriously. “He has a ponytail.”

“I know he has a ponytail!” He does. He takes great note of it, in fact. Yuta’s been sporting a ponytail for the last… six days. Actually three days, if you’re counting only the ones that came consecutively. “So what?”

“So” Taeyong draws the syllable out. He’s started to adopt that same tone of voice Doyoung’s heard him use when talking to small children at his part-time job. “No heterosexual male on this campus has a strong enough hold on their own masculinity to wear something as daring as a ponytail. He’s at least bi; or pan. And if not he’s a really cool guy with a strong set of values, and I’m sure that the two of you can at least be friends.”

“People don’t call people ‘males’.” Doyoung sighs. “And you got all this… from a ponytail?”

“A ponytail…” A pause, for dramatic effect. “And his nails.”

No. Doyoung has never turned around so fast in his life. He’s pretty sure he’s got whiplash. It blurs his vision for a moment, causing dark spots to break out in front of his eyes, but once the spots clear he can see it: sheer pink nail polish. It’s a subtle choice, but a choice nonetheless, and he has never felt happier to see a pair of hands in his life. Now that he’s thinking about it, Yuta has really nice hands. With nail polish on them. This is amazing. He could cry. He might actually cry, again.

“Please don’t, I am not getting out of this chair to comfort you.” Taeyong whines, interrupting his train of thought and making him 1. remember where he was, and 2. realise that he was speaking out loud. “Will you go for it now? Please. I don’t think I can listen to you pine anymore. It was cute for the first four days, now it’s starting to get annoying. There’s literally nothing holding you back.”

Doyoung sinks further into his chair. As much as he hates to admit it, Taeyong has a point. Now that he has what is essentially visual evidence that Yuta is not, in the words of the Legally Blonde musical, a metro-hetero jerk, there is not a single thing to stop him from asking him out. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. It’s not like they’re long standing friends, or like he’d still have to see him every day, he could just get coffee somewhere else. There is nothing to lose, and yet he can’t bring himself to do it.

The thing that his friends don’t understand, mostly because he hasn’t told them, is the true level of emotional investment that Doyoung has in his non-existent relationship with Yuta. Sure, at first he was just a barista, some good looking guy that lit up the room with the blinding power of his smile. No big deal. But the thing is, as much as he likes to exaggerate the depths of his wallowing, Doyoung really is having a truly wretched time of it all. He’s pretty sure he’s not going to pass his exams, and then he might have to drop out and move back home, and he really doesn’t want to do that, and he may or may not be spending half of his time sobbing his eyes out when he knows Johnny isn’t home.

The whole “not making a sole daily interaction his coping mechanism” thing? He definitely should have put more effort into that. For the first week it was fine; it was just a bit of fun. For the second, the thought of his daily coffee break was the only thing helping him wind down at night. Now, three weeks in, everything is falling apart; and then there’s Yuta. Bright, cheerful, beautiful Yuta. Yuta, who has apparently now learnt his name and his order by heart. Yuta, who has worked out that he’s got finals and wishes him good luck every single day in case he has exams that day. Yuta, who has started giving him free food with a conspiratorial wink.

So yeah, it’s a bit more than just having the hots for the cute barista now. He just doesn’t know how to explain that to anyone else without sounding stupid.

Back in the world outside the void of his thoughts, Taeyong sighs, clearly frustrated at the younger’s lack of response. “Come on, he probably likes you back. The signs are there.”

Sounds fake, but okay. “What signs?”

“Doyoung, he knows your name!” Taeyong’s clearly on the brink of losing his patience. “He gives you stuff! He called you his favourite customer, like, three times!”

“That doesn’t mean he likes me.” And it’s five times now, as a matter of fact. “It’s literally his job to do stuff like that. I’m sure he’s just nice.”

“Who’s nice?”

Doyoung is mortified at the ear-piercing screech that he lets out, even more so when he turns around to find Yuta standing right behind him. He’s still wearing his apron, smile turned slightly apologetic at Doyoung’s reaction. How long had he been standing there? Taeyong, not only a bastard but also a traitor, must have been able to see him all along. Not that he’s any help, just diving straight back into drinking his hair-dye coloured beverage.

“Yuta.” Doyoung splutters the name out. The man himself just cocks his head to the side slightly. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on break. Can I sit here?” He gestures to the spare chair between the two of them. When they nod he pulls it out and drops into it. He sits the same way he carries himself; relaxed stance and dropped shoulders. “Hi.” He says to Taeyong, as if he’s just noticed that he’s there as well. “I’m Yuta.”

Taeyong stares at the barista’s extended hand before reaching over to take it and offering him a wry grin. “Oh, I know.”

He yelps as Doyoung kicks him under the table. Yuta looks between the two of them. His expression is still kind but now a bit confused as well. Doyoung just smiles at him, completely ignoring his friend’s groans of pain.

“This is my friend Taeyong.” He says. Taeyong probably wouldn’t consider him much of a friend right now, but anyway. “Taeyong, this is the nice barista I told you about, the one who works at Neo Coffee.”

Nice, he thinks. Play it cool. He’s quite impressed with himself really; managing to not only shut Taeyong up but also infer that he’s mentioned Yuta in conversion before in a single sweep is quite a feat. Keeping it casual. Obviously not as casual as he would have hoped though, as Yuta’s face sparkles with unexpected joy.

“You tell people about me?” He asks with what appears to be genuine excitement. He inclines his body forward while he says it, bringing a hand up to rest his chin on.

Doyoung doesn’t know what to say to that. “I- Uh, I guess- I mean…” Yes, good job. Very eloquent. “I do. Sometimes. Sometimes it comes up in conversation, you know?”

He can practically feel Taeyong rolling his eyes at him. A gesture which he doesn’t pay much heed to, not when Yuta is leaning towards him across the table. He’s starting to get kind of… close. It makes him realise this is the first time they’ve interacted without a countertop between them.

“Oh? I see.” Is all he says, words that Doyoung doesn’t really process because he’s too busy looking at how many lashes the barista has. It’s a lot. He’s getting very, very close. Then he pulls back, and the moment is over. “Are you studying?”

“We’re taking a break actually.” Taeyong pipes up. They both whip around to look at him as if startled that there’s someone else here; a gesture which makes him raise his eyebrows. “We’re going to get back to the library pretty soon though, we’re just finishing up.”

“That’s nice, it’s good to take breaks.” Yuta nods to himself. It could just be Doyoung’s wishful imagination, but he seems sort of nervous. “I also should be finishing up here, I have to get back to work. Will I…” He pauses to clear his throat.. “Will I see you tomorrow? Not see you necessarily, I mean, like, are you going to come for coffee? Tomorrow. Like tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah.” Doyoung’s mouth feels a bit dry. Is that normal? For this mouth to feel dry? He realises he probably needs to give a response which is more than a syllable long. “Yeah, I will. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

The barista’s face lights up with the potency of a thousand dying suns － or something else equally cliché. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

And then he’s off, half speed-walking and half jogging away across the square. It makes the front of his apron bounce up and down. Doyoung watches him go with a yearning in his heart like he’s never felt before. Taeyong just looks between the two of them, his friend and the barista’s retreating figure, and shakes his head.

“He’s cute.” He offers, flicking at his now empty mug, the inner rim of which still has a suspiciously pink rim circulating it. “And totally into you.”

“He what?!” Doyoung almost chokes. “No, he’s not.”

This time he doesn’t have to imagine the eye roll that his words are met with. “Doie please. You’re both acting like lovestruck school girls. Please just ask him out or I’ll do it myself.”

Naturally, Doyoung kicks him under the table again. He tries not to think about it too much, because it’s Taeyong, and Taeyong is often wrong about stuff. But there are also things that he’s very, very right about, and much later, when Doyoung is laying in his bed letting his friend’s words richrocket around his brain and thinking back to images of Yuta’s smile, he really, really hopes this is one of them.

☕☕☕

Even though his interest in the subject does not waver, thoughts of any kind of relationship are quickly pushed to the back of Doyoung’s mind as finals week approaches. With his first exam tomorrow and absolutely no promise of rest for five days following that, the tension literally cannot leave his body. He might be panicking a little. Which is, you know, a completely reasonable response to the situation he currently finds himself in.

He pushes the paper right in front of him out of the way and into the pile in the middle of the table. It makes all the loose sheets shift a couple of centimeters. He probably should have come up with some sort of system instead of just throwing everything in there. It’s making finding the stuff he needs kind of impossible. His pen makes a high-pitched tapping noise as he bounces it against the edge of the frames of his glasses, pushing said glasses further down his nose to a point where he can barely see. Not that he could see particularly well anyway. Everything’s just kind of starting to blend together.

With a groan that turns in a whine halfway through he collapses onto the table; his forehead landing with a thud against the open page of his notebook. The impact leaves him dizzy. Dizzy and drained. As tempting as it is to just close his eyes and go to sleep right there and then, he needs to study. On top of that, he’s in a public place, he can’t just-

Doyoung lifts his head at the sound of something being placed on the table, looks up to see a hand putting a mug of something sweet and warm in front of him. Attached to the hand is his favourite person in the whole entire world.

“Hey.” Yuta says softly, a smile on his face that is not as large or as sincere as usual. “This is for you.”

Under any other circumstances he probably would have freaked out over the phrasing of that, but Doyoung can barely manage a quiet “thank you”. He pulls the offering towards him, basking in the warmth of it in his hands even though he’s literally sweating because of the temperature outside. There’s something comforting about a hot beverage, no matter the season. Yuta pulls out the chair opposite him and sits down, much in the same way he had done when they had been with Taeyong. Doyoung is about to question him doing that when he looks around the coffee shops and realises that it’s empty except for the two of them. The knowledge sets off pesky butterflies in his stomach. Not now butterflies, he’s trying to concentrate.

The drink tastes just as sweet as it smells, all sugar and caffeine and exactly what he needed. He can definitely taste a trace of caramel in there, along with a couple of other things he can’t identify. Yuta doesn’t say anything, although he does move a couple of papers in piles to make room for himself to prop his arms on the table. He just sits there silently and watches Doyoung down half the mug in under a minute.

It’s only when he’s pretty much finished it that the realisation hits him.

“Wait.” Doyoung says cautiously. “I didn’t order this.”

“You didn’t.” The barista shakes his head, his smile broadening. “But you seemed like you needed it, so I made it for you. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Yuta, it’s perfect, I can’t accept this for free. You told me before that you weren’t allowed to give away drinks to customers. Let me pay you for this, how much was it?”

A firm hand on his stops him from reaching for his purse. Yuta shakes his head again and uses Doyoung’s state of paralysed confusion to pull the other’s hands fully back onto the center of the table. Even once they’re there, he doesn’t let go.

“You can’t pay me for this.” He states firmly. Doyoung can barely hear him over the sound of his brain screaming HOLY SHIT HE’S HOLDING MY HANDS!! at him. “This is a gift. Consider it a good luck present for your exams.”

Doyoung smiles back at him gratefully, the first genuine smile he’s mustered in the last few days. He can’t stop himself from giving the other’s hands a squeeze, and is absolutely overjoyed when Yuta squeezes back.

“You need to get some rest.” Yuta says, keeping the same authoritative tone he had used to refuse payment. “I feel you stressing out from all the way over there.” He gestures vaguely to the other side of the café. “And it needs to stop. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”

“Can’t.” Doyoung tries not to pout like a scolded child, but doesn’t quite succeed. “My exams start tomorrow, this is my last chance to study.”

“You have studied.” The barista insists. He’s not running his thumbs in small circles other Doyoung’s knuckles. He has surprisingly soft hands. “I’ve been watching you study for the last month, every single day. At this point you have learnt everything you need to know, and, if there’s anything you haven’t, then at the very least you’ve tried your best. Sometimes an important part of absorbing information is knowing when to stop as well. And you’ll do better tomorrow if you get a proper night’s sleep first.”

He might have a point, the part of Doyoung that isn’t busy losing his mind over the suggestion that Yuta’s been watching him all month points out. He has gone over all of this a hundred times. He could pretty much recite the entirety of his notes by memory, if he was asked to. And he is feeling pretty tired; it would be better if he was more awake and therefore more alert when the actual exam rolls around.

“Okay.” He agrees quietly, then again with more determination. “Okay. Yes. I’m going to go home and get some sleep.”

Yuta looks like someone told him he just won the lottery. “You are? That’s great! Do you need any help clearing up your stuff?”

This time it’s Doyoung who shakes his head, pushing the other away so that he can get back to work. He instantly mourns the loss of skin contact when their hands separate. Maybe he can ask Johnny to give him a hug or something. His flatmate gives good hugs. Even so, deep down he knows that it wouldn’t be the same.

Downing the remainder of this drink, he starts to stuff random pages into his backpack without much thought to it. Now that he’s decided to do it all he wants is to get into his bed and clock the hell out. He can feel Yuta not-so-subtly looking at him from back behind the counter as he slings it over his shoulder. He’s almost apologetic that he has nothing better to offer the barista than a wave and another series of “thank you”s.

The air outside is sticky in that way that summer heat and humidity sometimes is, making it hard to breath. He can already feel another thin layer of sweat starting to build up on his skin. Images of a cold shower and his soft comforter flood his mind. It makes him feel even more drowsy. He gets so wrapped up in them that he doesn’t even hear someone calling after him until they’re right behind him, bending over in exhaustion as soon as he stops and turns towards them. Even having run a good couple of minutes Yuta looks amazing.

“Doyoung.” He says, sounding winded. Doyoung can’t help but think how much he likes the ring of his name like that. Breathless. “You forgot this.”

Doyoung looks down at the notebook being extended towards him. It is definitely his, which is strange because he hadn’t seen it on the table when he was clearing up. He doesn’t use it much, it’s mostly empty, but he doesn’t want to say that considering the barista ran all the way here to give it to him. There’s a couple of sticky notes pinned to the front of it, one in a colour that he doesn’t even recognise. Was that there before?

“Thank you so much.” He takes the notebook and slots it into the top of his bag, making a mental note to check the notes stuck to it later. The two of them stand there awkwardly for a second, staring at each other. “I guess I’ll see you once exam season is over?”

It could just be his imagination, but he thinks he sees Yuta’s face drop into a frown before it sets back into his signature twinkly eyes. “Yeah. See you then.”

It doesn’t take long for Doyoung to get home － he did select the coffe shop based on it’s proximity to his apartment. Once inside he lets exhaustion take control of his body, stumbling into the living room and discarding his bag and jacket over the side of the sofa. He’s not even sure if he has the energy for that cold shower he’d thought about. Surely he’ll have the time to wash up in the morning. He better, because as soon as his back hits the bed he can already feel himself drifting off.

His last thoughts before he falls asleep are of mathematical equations and tables of contents, but also of octopus tattoos, rose nail polish and kind eyes; and of a pastel blue sticky note that he forgot to have a look at.

☕☕☕

Six days after Doyoung’s exams finish, disaster strikes. It’s not that he fails any exams. He does rather well on them actually, so much so that Johnny throws him a small celebratory gathering, one that quickly escalates into a full-blown house party and ends up with the neighbours calling the cops on them. That’s not the disaster either, in case you were wondering. It was actually kind of fun. No, the absolute disaster, the dire situation that unfolds before his eyes, strikes two days later, when he’s finally recovered enough from his hangover to go out in public again. Doyoung goes for his daily coffee run, and Neo Coffee is closed.

See, he hadn’t actually passed by the café in almost two weeks. First he had his exams, then he was recovering from those, then they had their party, then he was recovering from that. But it was twelve days, surely it couldn’t be that bad. He had only started to go into Phase 2 of Yuta withdrawal － obnoxious sighing, daydreaming and doodling men with ponytails on his shopping list. So the sight of the closed door and turned off lights hit him like a bucket of icy water. Even worse than that was a the cardboard sign taped to the inside of the window, reading, in what he knew was not Yuta’s handwriting:

Neo Coffee is now closed for the summer. We thank you for your patronage and look forward to seeing you next semester!

For the first few days, Doyoung sulked. It wasn’t all bad, the coffee shop would open again, some day, and he would be able to see Yuta again then. Summer holiday lasted only a month and a half. He wouldn’t even be here for all that time, spending some time at his parents house every summer. And in the meantime Johnny had even bought a new coffee machine for their flat, so at least there was that. Not that the coffee their machine made tasted anywhere near as good as the one that Yuta makes.

Once he got over the sulking, he moved on to worrying. What if the shop stayed closed forever? What if the university realised they didn’t need it and asked them to relocate somewhere else? Worse, what if it opened again but Yuta wasn’t working there anymore? He had no idea if Yuta would even still be around, didn’t even know if he was also a student or not. Oh, if only he had listened to Taeyong (god forbid) and had asked him for his number.

Finally, having recovered from his state of constant questioning and reached a higher plane of wisdom i.e. realising that he had no way of knowing anyway so there was no point in thinking about it, Doyoung has moved on to what his friends have dubbed Phase 3 of Yuta withdrawal: pining. Endless, incessant pining. He’s driving everyone around him insane. He knows it, but they can deal with it. It’s not like they just lost the absolute love of their life, potentially forever. Johnny gets the worst of it, late at night and early in the mornings, when the two of them make their coffee.

He sighs as Doyoung stops in the middle of a supermarket, already used to his roommate's antics by now. It’s amazing how fast you can get used to habits when you live with someone. Doyoung doesn’t say anything, which is a relief. He just stares at a shelf of chocolate. Caramel chocolate.

“Maybe I could buy some of this and drop it into my coffee.” He says morosely. It would be funny if Johnny didn’t feel genuinely bad for him. “That’s got to do something for the flavour, right?”

“I’m pretty sure that would ruin it.” Johnny points out, grabbing his arm to steer him far away from anything vaguely caramel flavoured. “Come on buddy, we got everything we need, let’s just head home. We can stop at the Starbucks on the way there.”

Doyoung pouts. He doesn’t want Starbucks. It’s overpriced and not even that good. And Yuta doesn’t work there. Yuta, who he hasn’t seen in three and a half weeks. How he’s still going without his daily dose of serotonin is beyond him. But it will obviously make Johnny feel better to feel like he’s giving him some sort of consolation, and even if it won’t actually work the least he can do is allow his roommate that. He can pretend to enjoy a frappuccino or something. If he must.

The two of them start the tredge back to their house in relative silence, each carrying two massive shopping bags. They’re so heavy that Doyoung’s almost considering giving up on the Starbucks idea after all. But he doesn’t want to let Johnny down, and the closer they get to the green and white sign in the distance, the more he’s starting to think he actually would enjoy a sweet drink right now.

They’re almost at the door when he hears a very familiar voice cry: “You aren’t getting it Taeil!”

Before he can even process what he’s doing, he grabs Johnny by the shoulder and roughly shoves him behind one of the planted trees by the entrance, quickly following suit and hiding himself behind it as well; as if it obscures any more than 30% of their bodies. It does, however, form a bush right in front of their faces, a bush the Doyoung peers out from and spots a head of golden brown waves sitting at a table about five meters away. Oh my god.

Johnny, on the other hand, is less than impressed.

“Dude. What the fuck.” He hisses, at least doing the good grace of keeping his voice down. “Why are we hiding?”

“He’s here.” Doyoung whispers back. “Johnny, he’s here.”

Johnny cranes his neck upwards rather than sidewise. He barely had to stretch at all to be able to look over the top of the small tree, even if he does look a little bit ridiculous. When he comes back down he’s still frowning in confusion.

“Taeil? What’s your issue with Taeil?” He says, as if Doyoung has any idea who that is. Although he had heard Yuta say…

“Not him, Yuta! You know Yuta’s friend?”

“That’s Yuta?!” Johnny’s eyes have gotten comically large, his mouth hanging open a little. “Bro, I know that guy. He hangs out with Taeil all the time, they used to live together when they first moved here. I think he’s a third-year?”

A third-year. Even knowing that tiny piece of information sets off fireworks in Doyoung’s brain. He wanders what else he can get out of his roommate if he really prods him for information. He can’t believe that this whole time they had known people in common. All those weeks of wallowing when he could just have asked. Before he has the chance to do so, or the chance to kick himself any more for wasting so much time, Yuta speaks up again.

“It’s useless.” He proclaims. He sounds upset about something. “What’s a guy gotta do to get that boy’s attention? I’ve tried everything. I memorised his order; I dropped hints; I tried talking to him outside work; I held his hand and comforted him when he was having a hard time. I even gave him my number for fuck’s sake, and he never called.”

“There, there.” His companion, Taeil, says kindly, but also with the tone of someone who has had to have this conversation many times and is starting to get tired of it. “Maybe he just hasn’t got round to calling you. He might not know what to say.”

“I don’t care what he says, I just want him to say something! It’s been weeks!” Yuta throws his arms in the air dramatically before dropping them back down to his sides, slumping forward. “Whatever, I guess I was wrong and he doesn’t like me after all.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“But it is!” Doyoung has never seen Yuta this upset before. Not even when he broke one of the store's most expensive mugs. “If he liked me as much as I like him he would have called by now. I… I really like him, Taeil.”

“I know you do. Please don’t cry, I’m sure there’s a good reason why Doyoung hasn’t called you yet. He’s probably-”

Doyoung doesn’t hear the rest of what Taeil has to say, his voice entirely drowned out by the sound of his own heart thumping in his ears. They are talking about him. This whole conversation has been about him. Yuta likes him. Oh my fucking god, Yuta likes him! Him, Doyoung! And now Yuta is sad, all because of him.

He can feel Johnny’s eyes boring into him from where he stands beside him, but chooses to completely ignore him in favour of stepping out from behind the plant pot. One step closer to where Yuta and Taeil are sitting. The two of them are still talking, Taeil now having reached out to rest a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. He’s whispering something so quiet and gentle that Doyoung can’t hear it. When he looks up, their eyes meet, and he watches Taeil’s widen as he stops talking.

Yuta, however, completely misses that queue and keeps going.

“And I wrote him that note.” He’s saying as Doyoung comes to a stop just behind him. “It was so cute, Il. I used that fine liner that Mina left there on her last shift. I even drew him a little doodle of his favourite drink. Do you think that was too much? I should have just written my number down and left it.”

Doyoung can’t stay quiet any longer. “What note?”

The voice-cracking squeal that comes out of Yuta’s mouth makes some of the customers sitting at other tables turn to look at them, taking in the little group of them. Taeil and Yuta, sitting opposite each other, the latter of the two now turned around to stare at Doyoung, who is just standing there, shaking a little. Johnny has also emerged from behind the tree now, and he gives Taeil a never awkward wave which is not reciprocated.

“What note Yuta?” Doyoung repeats. He’s surprised at how stable his voice manages to stay when his legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly.

The barista blinks several times, probably thinking that Doyoung is some sort of mirage that will disappear when he opens his eyes again. He runs his palms over his eyelids. When he pulls them away and he is still standing there, he can’t do anything except stare.

“The sticky note.” He manages shakily. Doyoung wants nothing more than to drop to his knees in front of him and hold him in his arms. “I put it on the front of your notebook before I gave it back to you. The one with my number on it.”

And oh, Doyoung is such an idiot.

“Oh Yuta, I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.” He doesn’t even know when he did it, but he finds himself doing exactly as he’d imagined moments ago, crouching on the very unclean ground beside the other’s chair and reaching out a hand to caress his cheek. “That was you? I didn’t even see the note. I mean I did, but I didn’t read it. It was- It was exam season, and I thought about it and then forgot, and… I’m sorry, I promise I wasn’t ignoring you. I just had no idea. There was so much happening and I didn’t realise-”

“It’s okay.” Yuta interrupts, and Doyoung could cry from relief when he feels the other lean into his touch. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“But I do! God, I can’t believe this. I’ve been trying to get your number for almost two months and you’re telling me I’ve had it for half that time?”

“You’ve been trying to get my number?” The barista repeats, looking at him like he’s just grown another head. “Why?

Okay, maybe they’re both idiots.

“Because I like you too, dumbass.” He says, and suddenly he can’t stop smiling. He feels like he’s floating, like saying it aloud has lifted some invisible weight off his shoulder. “I really, really like you.”

If Yuta’s massive grin is anything to go by, he feels that same weightlessness too. “Oh. Cool.”

They stare at each other, smiling like the morons that they are, until Taeil clears his throat, an action that only causes them to start laughing; giddy on it all. Strangers are still staring at them, some are whispering and Doyoung’s sure hears the girls from the table over clapping for them. And Johnny’s still carrying the four shopping bags, two of which he’ll have to carry all the way home. And he still, after all these weeks, hasn’t got his hands on a decent caramel latte. All of those things suck. The month leading up to this moment sucked, and his day up until fifteen minutes ago really sucked as well.

But that doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because Yuta likes him back, and everything is great.

☕☕☕

Doyoung struggles to keep all of his books in his hold and he staggers across the square. He probably should have put them in his backpack along with the rest of his stuff, but he’d been too scared that doing that would actually, literally break his spine. The bag is heavy enough as it is. Really, college tuition fees should include the opportunity to go for a weekly check-up with a chiropractor or something. He’s going to spend the rest of his life not only paying off student debt, but also never ending bills for all the doctor’s appointments he’s going to need.

It’s only when he reaches the door that he realises that his arms are too full to open it. Goddamit, he’s too tired for this. He tries kicking it with his foot. Nothing. How the hell makes a café door which can’t be kicked open? No wonder they don’t have a terrace. They have no way of getting outside while carrying trays. Once he gets his degree he’s totally contacting the manager and forcing them to let him sort out the logistics of this place, because this is ridiculous. Perhaps if he hits it with his shoulder…

The door swings open before he gets the chance to attempt that possibly dangerous stunt. Yuta stands with his door on the handle and an amused smirk on his face.

“Need some help?” He asks.

Doyoung nods gratefully and deposits half of his books into his unsuspecting hands, making him almost drop the whole lot. He doesn’t, luckily. “How did you know I was there? Don’t say you could feel it somehow, you’ve used that one-liner before.”

“Aw come on, that’s a good one.” Yuta frowns theatrically. “Am I not allowed to flirt with my own boyfriend? But no, I saw you coming through the window.” He dumps the books unceremoniously onto the closest table. “Now, do I get a kiss?”

It really is a good thing that they don’t get many customers, this sort of behaviour would never fly with members of the public around. Doyoung rolls his eyes, letting the remainder of the pile onto the table as well. The barista stares at him expectantly. Honestly, Yuta’s lucky he’s so cute. And that he has a nice smile, and a great personality, and that he makes fantastic coffee, and that Doyoung really, really likes him. You know, the small things.

“You can get your kiss as long as you promise me my coffee.” He says seriously.

“Deal.”

This is a routine they’ve gone through hundreds of times before, but Doyoung will never get over the way that they so easily melt into each other. Yuta tastes like coffee, just as he always does, bitter but with an undercurrent of sugar that Doyoung can still pick up grains of if he runs his tongue along the other’s lips. He’s got this warmth to him that stays on Doyoung’s skin after they pull away from each other, as he watches Yuta give him one of his signature smiles and call out “One caramel latte for Kim Doyoung, coming right up!”.