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In Sunoo’s defence, the coffee shop is busy.
He can barely see the counter when he enters.
There's a line that stretches all the way down to the entrance, bodies packed like sardines, making it almost impossible to squeeze in through the front door. Which is odd for a Thursday afternoon, Sunoo supposes, but he simply assumes it’s because of Sunghoon, their most popular barista.
So, to be fair, when Sunoo manoeuvres his way to the back of the line, the new, beret-wearing barista doesn’t immediately catch his eye.
It’s only when he reaches the counter, that the gravity of the situation hits him.
It takes Sunoo all of a split second to realize that the new barista wouldn’t know his order. It takes Sunoo a bit longer, all of five seconds, for it to register that, oh – he’s smiling. Eyes curved into little crescents as he waits for Sunoo’s order.
He’s cute, is the first thing he thinks. Sunoo catches himself before the thought fully sinks in.
“Hi, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you today?” he asks.
The barista's still smiling, he realizes, a beat too late. And Kim Sunoo, who doesn’t really know what to do with that, simply stands there and feels his cheeks burn. Until Sunghoon, Sunoo’s heaven-sent, welcome intrusion, appears, in all his model-like glory, reaching across the counter, shooting him a Colgate smile before he swipes a Venti-sized cup. Then turns, making his way to the espresso machine, just in time for Sunoo to pull himself together.
The other barista takes Sunghoon’s place, brows furrowed ever so slightly, as he watches Sunghoon leave. A small frown tugs at the corner of his lips, though it’s gone as quickly as it appears when his gaze settles back on Sunoo. “Hi, what can I get for you today?”
He smiles again. Sunoo doesn’t know how he manages to speak.
“I'd like a Mint Chocolate Frappuccino. No toppings, please and thank you." The barista fixes Sunoo with a look, pausing his marker inches away from the cup.
It’s a bit disarming, the way his smile fades into a sudden frown.
There’s a beat. Then two. Maybe more, before beret boy seems to snap himself from his coffee order induced daze back to where he stands, clutching Sunoo’s Grande-sized cup. “Mint,” he starts, voice barely a whisper, then, “Choco,” almost incredulously. He cocks a brow, gives Sunoo a once over.
And Sunoo, who has so suddenly forgotten how to speak, finds himself caught in a stupor of his own. Nods, and gives an eloquent, “uh-huh.”
“For?”
Sunoo blinks.
Oh.
“Sunoo.”
The barista stops. Squints.
Slowly, he tilts his head, frown deepening as his fingers scribble the last characters of Sunoo’s name onto the cup.
He takes his money. Hands him his receipt. Pulls a napkin from the box, and swivels around to make Sunoo’s drink.
And Sunoo, still dazed, doesn’t know what to do with that either.
Sunoo’s long since zoned out of the conversation behind the counter by the time beret boy comes back. Maybe it’s because his barista’s been frowning at the blender the entire time. Maybe Sunoo’s just out of it.
Whatever the reason, Sunoo’s dazed. So much so that when the other boy slides Sunoo’s drink across the counter with a little too much force, Sunoo barely registers when the Grande cup slips from the other boy’s grasp, spilling onto Sunoo’s hoodie.
He feels the liquid pool by his fingers, resting on the counter. Watches the mild panic settle onto his barista’s face.
The blender whirrs somewhere behind them. Beret boy slides Sunoo’s change across the counter. He tries to hand Sunoo some napkins. Makes the stain even worse. Somewhere next to them, Sunghoon says something that makes beret boy’s frown deepen.
The barista pulls another Grande cup from the counter, another napkin. He goes to write his name.
He tries to reach over the counter, to dab at the rivulets of coffee spilling off the edge.
Then it happens. Though Sunoo doesn’t know why it happens.
“Sunoo.” And Sunoo doesn’t know what possesses him to say it again. Maybe he’s still out of it. Maybe beret boy might not remember. Sunoo’s justified, he decides.
“Sunoo,” he tells him again.
Beret boy blinks up at him.
“What?”
“Sunoo” he says again, face burning. Still dazed. Near feverish.
A beat. Then a few more. And the world starts spinning.
Then, the unthinkable.
The barista smiles.
Sunoo counts it as a small, private victory. Something to keep him from bursting into flames in front of the cute barista he’s just met.
Sunoo’s gaze flits downwards absentmindedly, to the new barista’s shirt.
Another beat passes. Maybe less, this time.
His nametag proclaims him “Jake” and Sunoo thinks he is, oh, so very screwed.
“It’s simple,” he hears Sunghoon say, sliding another customer's order across the counter. He pauses. Then turns to face the other boy. “You’re dumb,” he tells Sunoo’s newfound crush, rather matter-of-factly, with a smile, then turns again, in one suave motion, to pull another napkin from the holder for Sunoo.
And the Mint Choco has already seeped into his hoodie. Dripped down the counter. Onto the floor.
The clock hanging idly above his head reads 5:20 p.m. on the dot.
The bus is probably gone by now.
It’s late. Sunoo’s late.
Jake is still at the machine, scribbling his name onto another Grande cup.
It’s late. Sunoo’s probably late.
A blender whirrs. Jake scrambles for another cup. Sunoo’s probably late.
He can’t bring himself to mind.
It’ll take him five minutes to make another drink.
Sunoo has hagwon today.
He has about ten minutes before he misses the next bus. It’s a five-minute trip if he walks. Three if he runs. He can stay a little longer.
The epiphany of the day occurs to him only later, as he boards the second bus back home.
It’s with a certain level of belated personal horror that Sunoo realizes he might have a crush.