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The tip of Jimin’s pencil scraped to a stop on the notepad. “Come again?”
“Two strip steaks medium rare, one chicken fried steak, and one pulled pork sandwich.”
Jimin glanced around the booth unnecessarily. There was only one man sitting there. He stared back at Jimin with a completely serious expression, ruined somewhat by the way he slouched against the faded green vinyl cushions with his suit jacket unbuttoned. “I know what I’m about,” he promised.
Jimin shrugged. “You get two sides each with the steaks. The sandwich comes with fries.”
“Could I change that to onion rings?”
“It’ll cost you extra.”
“Sure,” the man said readily. “Three house salads, mac and cheese, fried mushrooms, and applesauce.”
“What dressing on the salad?” Jimin asked, eyeing that deceptively smooth looking stomach under the rumpled tie.
“Hmmmm. One Lemon, one Balsamic, and one Russian. And coffee, please.”
At least he was polite. Jimin walked to the galley window and called in the order. Yoongi didn’t even look up, nodding once before going for the grill. Taehyung, however, groaned. “I just cleaned up! What party had to come in at almost 10 PM?”
“Just the one guy.” Jimin pointed, and Taehyung stuck his head through the window. His brows came together as the rest of his face rearranged itself into an exaggerated gawp.
“You’re kidding. Look at him! Where would it even go?”
“Beats me.”
While Jimin went to fetch coffee, Hoseok passed him. The other server grinned, flashing a wad of bills before stuffing them into his pocket. Late night customers were usually pretty generous, grateful as they were to find such good food at this hour. Jimin was depending on this one.
When he came back to the booth, the man had finally sat up. He leaned his elbows on the table, a thick Filofax stuffed with tabs and what looked like business cards tucked here and there. A ballpoint pen tapped against a virtually unreadable page with long, crooked fingers while the man gazed unblinkingly beyond the backward stencils on the glass window. Sensing Jimin’s approach, he looked back and brightened at the sight of the coffee pot. “Thanks,” he said, corners of his mouth quirking up into a small smile. It made his cheeks puff out like a Cabbage Patch Kid.
Jimin returned it. Not a difficult action since the stranger was – despite exhibiting mildly odd behaviour – fairly easy on the eyes. And, Jimin was also good at his job which included having to charm people.
“That’s a lot of names,” he remarked as he poured, the bitter aroma filling the booth around them. “You’re in real high demand, huh?”
The man looked up at Jimin, lips still puckered over the rim of his cup. He looked so goofy that Jimin let out a genuine giggle. Then the man put down his coffee and leaned back, wrists on the edge of the table. His eyes, dark and almond-shaped, bored into Jimin, who stepped back from the intensity. “That’s right,” he said. “I’m just like a banana.”
Jimin blinked.
“Because no matter who you are, I’ve got a peel!” The man slapped his thigh as he let out a squeaky laugh that echoed through the near-vacant diner. Jimin shook his head ruefully, but still smiled as he left to help Hoseok with cleaning the rest of the tables.
Ding. Jimin went to the window, layered all four platters on one arm, and glided back over to the man, who immediately shoved his notes to one side. “Ah, finally!”
There was nothing left to do than hang back and watch an amazing show. Jimin wouldn’t have believed it if anyone else had told him how this handsome, polite, and svelte man packed it all away, but he saw it with his very own eyes. Hoseok stopped refilling the napkin holders when there were two empty salad bowls and every drop of barbeque sauce was gone. By the time he was down to the last entrée and side, Taehyung and Yoongi were also standing in the galley window, the former slightly hunched to get a full view.
The man popped the last bite of steak into his mouth. “Mmm! My compliments to the cooks.”
“You’re welcome!” yelled Taehyung. Yoongi saluted with his spatula.
Jimin put one hand on his hip. “What, no dessert?”
He was joking, of course, but the man – still chewing – looked over at their bakery display. Today’s special was the Sweet Dreams Pie: sliced strawberries layered with hand-whipped marshmallow cream so delectable that a single bite would plunge you into a diabetic’s darkest fantasies, or so Taehyung claimed.
The man demolished two slices. Hoseok applauded when he even wiped up the last few crumbs with the leftover fluff on his fork. “That was great,” the man said to Jimin while extricating one long leg after the other from beneath the table. “Definitely worth the price. Thank you so much, keep the change!”
He sauntered out the doors with his briefcase in one hand and tie flapping over that unbelievably flat but undoubtedly full stomach. Jimin thumbed through the wad of bills in his hand and realised that he’d gotten a 30% tip.
Now that the final customer was gone, they could finish wiping everything down and close for the night. Taehyung was slightly saddened that he had a quarter less pie to take home, but there would always be more tomorrow. Yoongi’s keys rattled in the entrance, then in his car where Jimin nodded off in the backseat until Hoseok shook him awake.
The house was dark. Jimin didn’t turn on any of the lights as he eased himself inside. He tiptoed through the silent corridor until he reached a small room at the end of it. He kicked off his sneakers beside the old dresser, pulled off his jeans, fell into bed, and did not dream.
When the man returned to the Silver Spoon Diner a week later, Jimin didn’t even notice right away. It was lunchtime and he had the counter, which seated a dozen and was full of single diners who were therefore focused solely on their gurgling stomachs and how they had ordered one simple little sandwich, so why wasn’t it here already?
“Hey, isn’t that Steak Shoulders?” Taehyung said to Jimin as he came to the galley window.
Jimin spun around. Sure enough, a tall and handsome man had just entered, same battered briefcase tucked under one arm. He stood there, a pillar amongst the hunched and munching people, black hair flapping over his brow when he looked back and forth in search of an empty seat.
“Don’t call him that!” Yoongi’s voice rose over the sizzle of the grill. “It sounds like he ate a steak made from shoulder, which we definitely do not do here.”
“He ate steak, and he’s got major shoulders. And we should totally use chuck more; it’s got good flavour for a fraction of the price–”
They argued about meat cuts until Hoseok came over to tell them to shut up and flip more burgers. Jimin got his plates to the right people, then grabbed the coffee pot to top up each cup on the counter. At the very end was Shoulders himself, having slid onto the last stool.
“Hey there,” Jimin said airily. “Done digesting yet?”
The man grinned up at him. “You weren’t kidding about the pie. I’ve had literal dreams about it. Do you have more?”
“Yes and no. Today’s When Life Gives You Lemon Pie.”
The man let out a dramatic sigh. Jimin rolled his eyes. “Do you really think we only have one good pie?”
“Fine. Lay it on me.”
Jimin slid him a menu. The man arched an eyebrow, but took the hint. “Fine. Tuna salad on rye with the coleslaw.”
Jimin awarded him with a coy wink and rushed away without seeing the faint blush and furious blinking it caused. Things were too busy to hang around and chat: he delivered food and cleaned spills and accepted tips with all the grace and charisma he possessed. It was a while before he went back to check on Shoulders, who had struck up a conversation with the woman beside him. “Have you had some of this?” He gestured to the remains of his slice of pie. “It’s so good!”
She nodded. “Of course. Jimin’s a pie genius. You new here?”
The man turned to Jimin with cheeks stuffed like a hamster. “You make the pies?”
Jimin ran a hand through his hair, bashful but proud. “Yes, but I don’t know about genius... It’s just lemonade, condensed milk and graham crackers—”
“Hush, honey. Anyone can dump ingredients into a pan and stick it in an oven, but it takes an expert touch to keep everyone coming back for more.” She took out her wallet, gave him a 22% tip, and bid him an affectionate goodbye. Jimin’s cheeks were still warm as he tidied away her dishes. Mrs Yancey was a regular, and had been for even longer than Jimin had worked here. She’d had her fair share of the diner’s desserts over the years, so that was a real compliment.
The rush was finally starting to die down, and patrons left with satiated smiles. The man still had a few bites left on his plate, but he made no moves to finish them off completely. He studied Jimin with dark narrowed eyes. “She’s right. If pies were… were like… cars, yours would be a Bugatti Super Sport.”
Jimin burst out laughing.
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“Kinda, yeah!”
The man didn’t say anything, watching Jimin smother his giggles. Then, he stuck his hand out. “I’m Jin.”
“I’m–”
“Jimin, the pie genius.”
Jimin preened a little at that, faintly registering the firm, confident grip of long fingers around his shorter ones. “If you say so.”
“I do! You guys do takeout?”
The best Jimin could do was wax paper and a paper bag for just one more slice of the lemonade pie, but Jin said that was perfectly fine, dandy and swell. He unrolled the top and peered in with such an excited expression that Jimin had to laugh again.
And with that, the diner was empty – for now, at least. Jimin took advantage of the lull to plop down at the far corner booth. He let his entire body sink into the puffy cushions, the fatigue settling into his muscles now that the adrenaline rush of fighting through peak lunchtime had subsided. Hoseok came over with two plates, and Jimin hazily recognised the same meal he had served to a very handsome, very enthusiastic customer just an hour ago.
Hoseok’s smile was Cheshire feral. “Oooooh, Jiminie, you’ve got an admirer!”
“Mmmf,” Jimin protested. He swallowed his food to clarify: “It’s not like that.”
“Yeah, probably not,” Yoongi the resident killjoy agreed, flopping down beside them without even taking off his apron. He smelled like oil. “But it really doesn’t matter as long as he comes back and keeps forking over so much cash.”
Taehyung finally emerged from the kitchen. But instead of sliding in and stealing the pickle off Jimin’s plate like usual, he leaned over to whisper in his ear: “She’s calling. Again.”
The booth went quiet. Jimin forced his limbs to regain mass and muscle once again so he could walk behind the counter past the bakery display, the tea and coffee urns, and the condiments bar to where a landline phone was attached to the wall. Taehyung had left the receiver balanced on top, the spiral cord still swinging slightly.
Jimin closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled for two seconds before picking it up and pressing it to his ear. “Hi, Mom.”
It was 10:34 PM. The diner had been void of customers for most of the night while rain lashed down so thoroughly that it cascaded down the darkened windows in rippling sheets instead of collecting there as tiny droplets. It rendered Jimin’s reflection a pale blur that was suddenly distorted when the door swung inward.
“We’re out of today’s special,” Hoseok said with a reproachful eye on the water pooling on the laminated tile beneath Jin’s umbrella, “and close in about 25 minutes.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I’m only here for pie.”
“Ahh, of course.” Hoseok spun on his heel to stare pointedly at Jimin before stalking over to the closet for the mop. Jimin turned quickly to hide his flushed cheeks, which he could feel turning as warm as the pie he was slicing. He rearranged his face in a serene mask of nonchalance before making his way over to where Jin was sprawled in the booth once again.
“Good evening, sir. I come bearing your requested dessert.”
“Yum,” was the very informal reply. Jin had discarded his blazer and loosened his tie. He’d unbuttoned his cuffs and pushed up the sleeves – not too far up his forearm, just before the elbow. “What’s the cute name? You always have one.”
“Time to Hit the Peach Pie.”
Jin chortled. “Not in this weather.”
“Well, I thought it fit this morning. It was boiling.”
“You’re telling me. My morning slushie turned to soup after just five minutes in the car.” Jin made a face before digging in.
Jimin sat down across from him, wondering whether he should say something about the almond crumbs stuck to those plump lips when a shadow loomed over them. Hoseok smirked as he plunked two cups of decaffeinated tea onto the table before leaving them be.
“Would love to hit the beach,” Jin was saying dreamily. “Just lying in the sun for a week and turning into a raisin. The perfect vacation.”
Jimin snorted. “Vacation? What’s that?”
“No idea,” Jin replied. “People think just because they don’t see me for a few days that I must be living some sort of high life. Sometimes I get a second floor motel room, that’s how high it gets.”
That was how Jimin learned that Jin was the marketing manager for a small but thriving manufacturing company that made parts for office computers, something related to projectors. Having started as a regular salesman with an innate knack for pitching, he’d moved up the ranks until they were sending him to other offices across the region to monitor and train others in emulating his powers of persuasion.
“How about you?”
Jimin fiddled with the tea tag, watching the pouch at the end of the string bounce around in the amber liquid. “It’s not an interesting story. I grew up in this town and needed a job. That’s pretty much it.”
“That’s how you got this job, not how you became the prince of pies. And if you don’t say anything, I’m going to have to make something up.” Jin stopped chewing to think. “Forbidden ritual. There was a secret trapdoor behind the oven and you went down a narrow spiral staircase to find a dark shrine that could summon a demon who granted your request to always bake the perfect pies.” He spread his hands flat on the table. “But with every bite, every slice, your soul is damned. Crust for all eternity. Even now, your pie-nishment awaits.”
“Stop! That’s terrible.” And yet it was all Jimin could do not to fall over in hysterical laughter.
“No can do! You’ve ins-pie-red me.”
Jimin began to get up to leave. He was only pretending, of course, but hesitated when he glimpsed three nosy faces peering out at him above the counter, right where mugs waited in a line and upside-down on a clean towel. It was just enough time for long fingers to wrap around his wrist.
“Come ooooon,” Jin whined, slightly leaned over the table as he tugged on Jimin’s arm. “Don’t abandon me.”
Jimin sat. “Really, it isn’t a very interesting story. I liked making pies with my mom as a kid and just kept practising.”
“Then I owe her big time. She must be a wonderful woman.”
Jimin knew what to do. The corners of his mouth went up, cheek muscles pushing hard to maintain the shape, and he squinted his eyes from the bottom, turning them into cheery-looking crescents. Jin’s smile was genuine though, and so full of the admiration that Jimin felt he didn’t deserve.
When he finally got back to the house, it was nearly midnight. Jimin had every reason to think that nobody would be up, but right after he had shut the front door as quietly as possible, he turned and froze in the entryway to the den where Namjoon was lounged in an armchair, bowl of popcorn in his lap and face illuminated by the flickering TV.
“Hey, Jimin! I didn’t even hear you come in.”
Jimin backed away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to–”
“You didn’t disturb me.” Namjoon did look fairly relaxed in his fuzzy bathrobe but Jimin didn’t trust himself enough to read into it. “Honestly, you’re like a cat the way you move around this house.” Then Namjoon frowned, as if something had finally dawned upon him. “...which is your house too, you know that, right?”
“It’s not mine.”
“Okay, maybe you don’t own it but you still live here. All this stuff is yours to use if you ever need it. Like the dishwasher, or dryer, the stereo, whatever you want.”
Jimin placed a hand on the doorknob to his allotted room. “I promise I’ll have rent by next week.”
“That’s not what I–”
“Goodnight.” Jimin yanked it back and rushed into the darkness before he could hear anything else. He fell onto the bed face-first, muffling his frustration with the lumpy cotton until exhaustion took over, like it always did.
The next time Jin came to the diner, it was early enough to passably be called dinnertime. He still ordered enough food for the average and very hungry nuclear family but in a strangely subdued manner. He leaned his chin into his palm with his eyes closed as Jimin repeated his order back to him.
“One strip steak, one ribeye, both medium rare. Sides: two salads, one Ranch and the other Italian, a fruit cup, and creamed spinach. One fettuccine alfredo with shrimp, and one fried chicken and waffles.”
“Yep,” Jin sighed rather than said. When the food arrived, he still managed to eat it all but a little more mechanically and slowly. Hoseok came by to refill his coffee, and Jimin immediately caught onto the forced smile Jin gave in acknowledgement. He went through all the steps, from mouth to cheeks to eyes, that Jimin himself had perfected in childhood.
Once Jin had crunched through the final breading on the chicken, Jimin was already there to replace the syrup-stained plate. Only then did Jin perk up and give a real smile. “Name?”
“Just Right Pie.” Butter, honey and oats in a porridge-like concoction that had been poured into a rolled crust then topped with blueberries that half-sunk into the filling during the bake, gooey and perfect. “I came up with the name for Taehyung since it’s his favourite and he is literally a baby bear.”
Jin side eyed the galley window, where the cub in question was gesturing excitedly at Hoseok, who was already lost in fond giggles that turned into a full shout of laughter when Yoongi appeared and shoved a waffle into Taehyung’s still-moving mouth. “You’re really close, huh.”
“He’s my best friend and only that, because when the foundation of your friendship was the time in preschool when you kept handing him paper towels to help wipe up his tears and snot because he’d wet his pants during naptime, that kind of sets the tone for the rest of your life.”
Jin relaxed into a grin. “It’s incredible how you’ve known each other for so long. Most people disappear after a while.”
“Yeah.” Especially when it was so hard to make them stay.
Like he read his mind, Jin looked up and asked, “How do you make them stay? After you’ve tried everything else?”
Jimin stared at him. Jin cringed, the shadows under his eyes looking more sunken than before until–
“I’m the absolute worst person to ask. Nobody stays for me.”
Now it was Jin’s turn to stare while Jimin cringed. His hands balled into fists under the table, anger rising in his lungs like milk boiling over in a pot. Anger at himself for saying such an embarrassing, revealing, uncomfortable thing to somebody who was barely a friend, but also in anticipation of the usual polite platitudes – oh, I’m sure that’s not true. When it was.
Anger so heated that the cool, hard metal suddenly poking at his lips was such a foreign sensation that Jimin immediately forgot about being angry, blinking back at Jin who shoved the fork at him. Jimin opened his mouth automatically. It was soft and tender, from when the oats had baked with the eggs, and sweet, from the blueberries and honey, a unique husky flavour of their own.
“Good, right?”
Jimin nodded. Jin dug the fork back into the slice and took a big bite of his own. “My mom. It’s my mom.”
Jin’s eyes widened. Jimin simply gave up. It was out there and he couldn’t take it back. Might as well keep speeding this runaway train of humiliation until it jumped the tracks and wrecked this barely-begun relationship that had been so, so nice for the short time it had lasted.
“She didn’t want to have a kid, probably because she was basically still a kid too. She hated being confined to motherhood but was also determined to show everyone she could do it. That wore off by the time I hit double digits so she left – and came back, over and over again because she couldn’t really hold a job for too long. Or a man, because that was the real reason she’d run about a third of the time.” Jimin pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids. “She was gone for good the day I turned 17.” Only a year until adulthood, but it hardly mattered when he had been raising himself since far before then.
“If you don’t mind me asking… how old are you now?”
“I’m 24.”
Jin nodded slowly. “Okay. So, has seven years of distance helped or not?”
“I… I guess… it’s better now. Because the relationship doesn’t really exist anymore. We can treat each other less like family and more like acquaintances. Sometimes she’ll call me, usually to ask for money.” Like the most recent one, which was for a sum that was nearly the same amount of Jimin’s biweekly paycheck. He had to apologise this time even though he had always done his best to give before, and was now still rattled – though unsurprised – by the ranting that had commenced over the speaker. “Sends cards on major holidays. Visits once in a blue moon knowing I’m still here because I can’t leave.”
Jin put down his fork. Jimin felt the hot anger bubbling up again as he braced himself for the why not? You could go anywhere! To the coast, the mountains, or Vegas, or Disney World–
“Has she had your pie?”
“I made my very first one with her when I was 9 years old.” It was the easiest thing in the world: a frozen pie shell, chocolate pudding, banana slices, and whipped cream from a can. But Jimin still remembered the weight of the old dessert knife in his pudgy palm, and the fingers that wrapped around them both to help him slice evenly – the nails were painted a bright bubblegum pink even if they were starting to chip around the beds. They had the whole pie for dinner that night, and Jimin was allowed to stay up to watch David Letterman with her until he nodded off in the armchair. Jin listened to the story with quiet but intense attention. “Whenever she comes back I make it again.”
“And does she like it?”
“She eats like, half of it in one go.”
Jin grinned again, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “Name?”
“It… doesn’t have one.”
“I’ll name it for you, then.”
Jimin bit down on his lower lip. He liked Jin’s dumb puns most of the time, but not right now.
“You’re Part of My Life Pie. Because even if you say that you don’t have a relationship with this woman anymore… you still do. You obviously care about her to take those calls, read the cards, send the money, and make her favourite pie. You don’t have to. Some people might say you shouldn’t. But you don’t listen to them, right? You do it anyway. That speaks to real kindness.” Jin unfolded his arms to take both of Jimin’s hands in his. “I’m glad to hear that space helps. And time, too.”
Jimin swallowed. “Most people would think it’s so sad that we can’t be family. The thing is that we can’t even be friends. Because she would have to do her part instead of just me.”
“That’s her fault and nobody else’s. If this woman can’t appreciate the love her son has to go to the lengths to pour his acceptance into something so delicious, she really doesn’t deserve to have it all that often.”
Jimin laughed, then reached for a napkin. It took a few tugs, but he managed to rip one out and dab at his eyes. Jin smiled at him, still holding onto one of his hands. Fingers wrapped around his palm, again.
Later, Jimin gasped in the back seat of Yoongi’s car. When Taehyung looked over with furrowed brows of concern, he whispered, “I never asked him about his life. I just made it all about me, and he was having a bad day.”
“It’s fine. Ask him next time.”
“What if–”
“He’ll be back,” Taehyung promised. He reached over to hook his pinky finger around Jimin’s, the way they’d done hundreds of times on the playground. “He comes back only for you, you know.”
The phone was somehow ringing at 8:22 AM on a Friday morning. Yoongi snatched it off the wall, hooking it under his chin so he could keep doling out batter for pancakes on the griddle. “You’ve reached the Silver Spoon Diner.” He froze, unblinking, before yanking it from his ear and bellowing through the window: “Jimin! It’s for you!”
Jimin was all the way across the chequered floor, carrying four omelette platters along his left arm and using his right to catch a falling fork without spilling a single crumb or breaking stride. By the time he made it behind the counter, he had also collected two plates, an empty ketchup bottle, and a tip. “Hello?”
“Hi, Jimin!” Jin’s bright voice was tinged by crackling sounds, and there were vague noises of car horns in the background. “Oh, is it a bad time?”
They were in the thick of breakfast, only under half an hour before people finally took off to make it to their workplaces for the boss’s expected 9 AM clock-in. “Nope, all good. What can I do for you?”
“So, you know that pie you said you always make for your mom. Can you have it this Sunday? I’m going to swing by some time after lunch.”
Jimin stopped refilling the bottle. “Uh.”
“I know it’s kind of sudden, but it would mean a lot to me.” Jin hesitated, then lowered his voice to serious and soft. “I’ll pay for the ingredients if you need.”
“No, it’s okay. Just the pie, like usual.”
The receiver blossomed with static yet again as Jin let out a sigh. “Thank you. I really owe you, Jimin. See you Sunday.”
Sunday rolled around and started like your perfectly typical weekend morning: packed to the brim. Jimin didn’t have time to think about Jin until it was well into the afternoon, when the flow of people eased up significantly but remained steady enough for Jimin to keep moving, as proven by a newcomer who nearly collided with him when coming through the doors.
“Sorry!” squeaked the young man, staring at Jimin with huge, glimmering eyes.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jimin said as sunnily as he could muster, taking in the baggy, mostly-black ensemble complete with scuffed Doc Martens on the boy’s feet. “Welcome to the Silver Spoon, are you here to meet someone?”
“Y-yeah. But they’re not here yet.” The boy slid into the window booth, the hem of his loose plaid overshirt dragging along the vinyl. He accepted the menu Jimin handed him with a hand that had letters and shapes inked on the knuckles and quickly buried his face in it so nothing could be seen but his long, chin-length hair that faded from natural black roots to a burgundy-red at the tips.
“You think he did it with Kool-Aid?” Taehyung asked when Jimin met him behind the counter. “I heard that’s how kids are doing it these days. Hey, maybe I should try it!”
Jimin shrugged. There was something vaguely familiar about the boy but he couldn’t place it.
The afternoon wore on. Jimin had enough to do with his other tables and their orders. The boy remained alone in his booth, having asked very sweetly and meekly for the cheese-stuffed french toast, and now took his time alternating between fiddling with a Game Boy and shooting glances out the window. The final corner of his toast sat cold on the plate. Jimin had offered to clear it a few times but the boy was quick to decline. He considered telling him that no, they weren’t going to kick him out as soon as he finished eating but seeing how any form of even the most casual conversation seemed to make the young man anxious, Jimin just refilled his coffee and left things at that.
Finally, at 3:48 PM, Jin stumbled through the doors as if he had just raced a tornado to get there. He returned Hoseok’s wave before turning around and doing a double take at the sight of the boy, who had gone rigid, in the window booth. They were locked in this position for a few seconds before Jin inhaled deeply, squared his wide shoulders, and took a seat across from the boy. “Fancy seeing you here!”
“You told me to be here,” said the boy, sweetness and meekness both evaporated as he folded his arms and leaned back, frowning, “at 3 o’clock.”
“I’m sorry. Got stuck in an emergency call with my superior, then traffic–”
“It took me two buses to get to this random town.”
“I’m sorry,” Jin repeated, this time with a slight edge to his voice. He smiled when Jimin came over, a real one but subdued by an obvious tension, so Jimin smiled back and asked if he wanted something other than his preorder. “No thanks. Just coffee, then pie in maybe a few minutes?”
It was clear that a heavy discussion was about to take place. Jimin retreated to the counter to slowly prepare. With so few people in the diner at the time, the men’s voices drifted over to him.
“So, what have you been up to? I barely saw you all summer. Don’t go taking off like that.”
The boy scrunched his nose and kept his gaze on the tabletop. “What’s it to you? I’ll take off whenever I want, because that’s what you always do.”
“That’s not true,” Jin retorted. “I have to work, Jungkook.”
“Fine, then I’m working too! Like, actually. The off-campus cinema had spots open for a projectionist. Between that and the videographer gig for the admissions office, I don’t have a lot of free time. And my professor says that this year, I can AD for her short film.”
“That’s great,” Jin said sincerely. “Not the no free time thing, but that you got jobs doing what you love. Dad would be so proud.”
Jungkook’s frown deepened. He said nothing when Jimin came by to deliver Jin’s coffee, but as soon as he turned to walk away, hissed through his teeth: “Don’t talk about Dad. Or Mom. I don’t know why you think you can, like – replace them, or something.”
“I’ve never tried to! Seriously, tell me when I ever did anything like that.”
Jungkook pressed his lips together. Jin exhaled, then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kookie, I didn’t ask you here to fight with you. I just wanted to catch up and eat some goddamn pie, could we at least do that?”
That sounded like a cue, so Jimin took it out of the display. He had upgraded over the last decade and a half, now making most of the components from scratch: the flaky crust filled with dark chocolate ganache and a layer of vanilla pudding over the banana slices. His mother had liked the added sophistication. The ghost of her hand helped him cut careful slices for Jin and his brother.
“I know I messed up early on. The insurance didn’t help as much as any of us thought it would, so I had to really hustle to get that first year tuition for you. And when you still had to defer, I just…” Jin rubbed at his temples. “I was trying to take care of things so you wouldn’t have to. But you did anyway, and I wasn’t there, and I really regret it. You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true.”
Jungkook sat there, silent and stonelike, even when the pie was gently placed before him.
“You’re part of my life. That’s not going to change. I know you need space and time. You have your own thing going on, and I don’t fit into some parts of it – that’s fine, I accept it! You might not believe me, but I’m proud of how independent you are. If we can’t be family, we can still be friends, right? Not just acquaintances. We can meet every once in a while and eat some really good pie.”
“I… I never said I don’t wanna be family.” There was a tremble in Jungkook’s voice, and his eyes had gone round and shiny again.
For a moment, Jin looked like he was about to say something again, but instead he just pushed one of the plates towards his brother. The layers of the pie oozed together when the prongs of a fork went through and scooped up a bite. Jungkook cautiously put it into his mouth. His brows furrowed at once, and for a moment Jimin was petrified that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
“Oh my god,” Jungkook whispered. “That’s so good.”
“I know, right? We need to come back in the fall when they start doing like, pumpkin or pecan.”
Jungkook chose to scarf down his pie at top speed in lieu of a reply. Jin took advantage of this to look over to where Jimin was already preparing seconds for them both. No words were needed, just the mirrored smiles of understanding. Then Jin looked back at his brother, and they began to talk more animatedly.
There was a movement at Jimin’s periphery, and suddenly Yoongi was for some reason out of the kitchen and nudging a napkin into his hand. “That’s the power of food. Your handiwork did that, Jimin.”
The leaves seen outside the small window above the sink were still mostly green, but Jimin did notice a few yellow-orange tinges on a few of them. Close enough to autumn, he thought to himself as he carefully used a towel to shield his hands from the hot pan as he took it out of the stove’s oven then placed it on a wire rack on the narrow kitchen counter.
And not a moment too soon. Telltale stomps sounded over Jimin’s head, growing distant for a moment as they descended into the adjacent corridor. Namjoon hopped the last two steps and spun his socked heel on the hardwood floor, stumbling a little before entering the kitchen where he screeched to a stop at the surprising sight of his normally avoidant housemate.
“Hi,” Jimin said.
“Hi,” Namjoon replied, already staring intently at the pie.
Jimin gestured awkwardly. “I remembered you like the classics.”
Namjoon inched closer. “That I do.”
Golden crust flaked when a knife sank into its latticed weave. Thinly sliced apples, gleaming with butter and speckled with cinnamon, threatened to ooze off the serving knife, but Jimin had anticipated this and was ready with a plate. After two pieces had been liberated from the pan and topped off with generous scoops of vanilla ice cream, they sat down at the small table pushed against the wall to eat.
Namjoon dug in with the delight of a golden retriever who had discovered their hardworking human had just finished raking all the autumn leaves into a big, jumpable pile. He finally managed to speak again after three big bites that nearly finished off the entire slice. “So, you’re going to have to tell me because I can’t remember what I’ve done lately to deserve such a treat.”
Jimin flushed and fidgeted. “Um. It’s not just one thing. A whole bunch, I guess, that a single apology pie probably isn’t enough.”
Namjoon looked even more puzzled, and doglike when he tilted his head to the side. “What? What are you apologising for?”
For the past 18 years. Starting from when Jimin had been dropped off, aged 6, at neighbouring Namjoon’s house one afternoon because his mother had a “late shift” that turned into four whole absent days. Mr Kim had spent each of those evenings making concerned phone calls to her workplace, other neighbours, and even the police to find her while every morning, Mrs Kim packed an extra lunchbox and every afternoon, Namjoon shared his comic books and dinosaur toys when they came back from school together. It wasn’t every time she disappeared that Jimin ended up at the Kim’s, but it happened enough that by the time his fateful 17th year had come around, he knew he didn’t want to inconvenience them anymore.
“I don’t think of it that way. None of us ever did,” Namjoon said now. When Jimin had found himself aged 22 and kicked out of the apartment he’d been sharing with much less friendly flatmates, Namjoon had offered up the spare room in the small house he’d mortgaged after his parents had retired and moved away “because we’re literally brothers at this point, Jimin.” Jimin could only see this as a move of great pity and condescension, and as such had refused to properly interact with him, or any other part of the house that he was technically not paying rent for… until now.
“I really missed your pies, though!” Namjoon came back to the table with an even bigger piece of pie for his second round. “They were always so good, even in high school.”
“You could have had some any time you wanted at the Silver Spoon.”
“Well, I didn’t know if you would have liked it if I ever showed up.”
Jimin was swept with shame once again, but Namjoon waved it off. He was already making up for lost time. “Please don’t call it Apology Pie, though. It’s not very appetising.”
“Then how about… Appreciation Pie?” Namjoon gave him a thumbs up, but Jimin gasped. “No. Apple-reciation pie!”
After a few theatrical grumbles, Namjoon’s cheeks dimpled around his smile. “You know, my parents ask about you a lot. They say you should come with me for one of the longer holiday weekends. There’s plenty of space, and they miss you.”
“I’ll make them a pie too.”
“Oh, then they’ll never let you leave.” Namjoon sighed. “There goes the rent.”
Jimin kicked him under the table, and they laughed. Some people were part of your life, and that couldn’t change.
They usually arrived at the diner by 6 AM. While Yoongi and Taehyung prepped their stations and Hoseok set up the counter, Jimin was given free rein of one side of the kitchen to make his pies.
He preheated the oven, then lined up ingredients on the worktable. Cold butter was cut into the flour until they became fine yellow dust, and the gradual addition of water formed the dough. After the bottom crusts were all rolled into their pans, Jimin mixed freshly rinsed berries in a bowl with vanilla, sugar and nutmeg before filling each pie pan. The final step was to give the top crust a quick egg wash before baking. With only 15 minutes to spare before they opened at 7:30 – a decent crowd was already gathered just outside the doors – Jimin lined the pies up in the bakery display, the jammy insides gleaming like rubies through the cute heart-shaped vents he had made with a cookie cutter.
The day brought what it usually did at every meal time rush: the unhurried regulars during breakfast, indecisive visitors at lunch, and those seeking some comfort at the end of another working day for dinner. The pies were divided and distributed over the long hours until there was just one left, still whole and perfect, waiting for night to seal its fate.
At 9:19 PM, the doors opened. Jimin glanced up from the counter. “You’re early.”
Jin sat down next to him. “Another half hour and I think I would have died from hunger. Died, Jimin!”
“Lucky you gets to have pie instead of die, then.”
Jin beamed and shot him double finger guns in approval. Yoongi audibly groaned from the galley window.
Jimin watched fondly as Jin ate his way through another three steaks. It was the most comfortable thing in the world to keep bantering and sharing the little updates of their lives: Jimin recounted how his housemate had somehow broken his brand-new birthday sunglasses when they had gone biking to celebrate (the gift had dropped from his face to the ground where the wheels quickly snapped them in half), while Jin had gone to Six Flags for his brother’s birthday (which was two weeks before but they had both been too busy) and had an… unfortunate incident right after they had gone on the Cyclone for the third time thanks to having eaten half his weight in funnel cake.
“There’s just something about those greasy crispy things that trick you into swallowing five of them. I think it’s the cloud of cream that they pile on top. Puffy little dreams on a plate.” Jimin pouted, and Jin quickly assured: “Nothing like your pie, though.”
Jimin felt light and giddy. The butterflies in his stomach did too, so much that it was like they were performing a kickline – particularly when Jimin finally took the blackberry and raspberry pie from the bakery display, every little red heart gleaming with hope.
“Oh, cute!” Jin exclaimed when Jimin set it in front of him. “Does it have a name?”
“Not yet.”
“On it.”
Berried Treasure Pie. Razzle Dazzle Berry Pie. Hearty Party Pie. Jimin’s Jams Pie. Cutie Pie. Because it looked cute, Jin argued.
Jimin agreed, but none of those felt right. “How about… Berry Happy Pie. Because I am.”
Jin smiled. “Oh, are you?”
“Yeah.”
“Since when?”
Jimin had to think for a moment. It was a really good question. He didn’t think there was one exact moment he had known – something this warm, bubbly, and safe had to come about gradually. Growing just a little bit more with each late night that came after long hot days of summer, and strengthening through fun flirtations, wonderfully bad jokes, a sincere lack of judgement, generous helpings of support and trust. He looked up at the clock. “Since almost an hour ago, I’d say.”
Jin looked too. It was now 10:13. “I think I’m berry happy too.”
“But not hungry?”
“I’m still hungry,” Jin promised. “I could eat the whole pie if you needed me to.”
“Really?” They both jumped at the sudden appearance of Kim Taehyung, who plopped down next to Jimin with eyes brighter than the neon sign pointing their way from the road. “Let’s see it!”
“No,” Jimin said, shoving at his beloved bestie who had the worst timing in the world. “He doesn’t have to.”
“Yes,” Taehyung insisted. “He should prove that he’s worthy of our Jiminie!”
Jin’s ears were starting to look like raspberries now. “S-sure I am!”
Taehyung pointed at the pie, expression stern. “Then get to it.”
There was a scraping sound when Yoongi pulled the stool on Jin’s other side closer. “Oh, I have to witness this.”
Jimin opened and closed his mouth. This was not how he imagined the night going. Jin’s fork was gingerly advancing upon the pie until Hoseok, blessed Hoseok, materialised within their midst to seize both Yoongi and Taehyung by the collar.
“Time to clean up,” he chirped while the two cooks cowered before him. Hoseok winked at Jimin before dragging them into the kitchen.
“Please don’t force yourself,” was what Jimin said as soon as they were out of sight.
“Yeah, cleaning up after me in the bathroom would be a terrible first date, especially after what I said about the funnel cake – wait, you working through our first date is also terrible. Wow, did I already hit rock bottom?”
“Then the only direction to go is up! Take me on a real date.” The butterflies broke formation to flutter madly around his stomach.
“It’s not that cold yet, so we could actually hit the beach. Or anywhere else you want,” Jin said, ears faded to a rosy blush.
Anywhere was a lot of places, and while they listed them all – from humble options such as Jin’s own hometown to the wild fantasy of riding whales, for some reason, to a magical land of pillow forts and bottomless buckets of fried chicken – Jin ate a still-impressive quarter of the pie, and Jimin thought about the future. Sure, he would love to go exploring with Jin, who would always fill his world with laughter, wonder, and good food. But even better were ordinary days of simply being together holding hands, like this one. Ended with a kiss, like this one.
Sweet and easy, just like pie.