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Furrowing his brow, Namjoon looked between his cart and the grocery list his mother had written up, wondering if he had gotten the good chocolate chips as his mother requested for her legendary New Year’s cookies. He’d stood in the aisle long enough, he thinks, and he kind of recognizes the blue packaging.
“Sir?” he hears, the small voice shaking him from his thoughts.
He looks up to see he’s next for the register, and oh no, he thinks frantically.
The check-out guy is cute.
Too cute.
Especially for Namjoon.
Because, well, Namjoon is a bit of a…he’s kind of…he’s just not the greatest around cute people, okay? And this kid might be the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
Trying to find a way out, he looks around at all the other registers, but none seem to be open, except for the “10 Items or Less” one. And he has like…12 items. Shit.
Reluctantly, he trudges up to the register and quietly places his items on the conveyor. He could do this, he thought, as he smiled politely at the cashier. He knew all the questions he would ask. Standard stuff.
“Did you find everything alright today?” the kid asks with the brightest smile Namjoon has ever seen.
“Yeah, I did, thanks,” Namjoon replied coolly. So casual.
He manages to get through the rest of the process unscathed.
Until.
“Do you have a card with our store?” Cute Cashier Boy asks.
And, well, shit. Namjoon hadn’t prepared himself for that.
“No…” he answers slowly, swallowing down the butterflies that are fluttering wildly in his stomach, trying to make an escape out of his throat. “But I have a number for one,” he continues. Because he does. Of course he does. His mom shops here all the time.
“Okay, whenever you’re ready.”
Namjoon rambles off the number, patting himself on the back for not flubbing any of his words or fucking up the number. Good job, man.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Cute Cashier Boy (Namjoon took the pause to look at his nametag…Jimin), looking up from the screen to stare apologetically at Namjoon. “That number isn’t coming up in our system…”
Shit. Namjoon’s mind screamed. Of course it’s not. I was supposed to give him my mom’s number. Fuck.
His mother’s name and number were the ones on file. His mother’s name was also on the card he was about to use to pay for these groceries. His mother’s. He just gave the wrong number. This probably would look bad. He had to think fast.
“Oh, that’s my cell phone number,” he replied, not even bothering to look up from his hands, where he was fiddling with his wallet, pulling out the card he was going to pay with.
There was a long pause, so he decided to look up.
Jimin was blushing. Why was he blushing?
Oh.
Namjoon was accidentally the smoothest motherfucker the world had ever seen.
So, obviously, he freaked out just a little bit.
“I mean, I’m sorry. Don’t use that number. I have another one. My mom’s. I have a mom,” he rambled quickly, not even bothering with the number at this point as he swiped the card, leaving the receipt behind as he grabbed his groceries and fled the store as quick as humanly possible. Jimin didn’t even have time to react.
Namjoon didn’t stop running until he got to his car, all the way at the back of parking lot. He was panting by the time he sat in the driver’s seat, his head resting on the steering wheel, causing the horn to let out a long, drawn out honking sound, as he let himself think about just what is was he had done.
After a minute or so, he sighed and sat up, about to rev up the engine…his phone rings. A text.
I have a mom, too.
The message from an unknown number reads. His phone chimes a second time.
And she would want me to ask you on a date.