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For the most part, Minho really liked working at Starbucks. He got to joke around with customers all day, his coworkers were great, and he scored free drinks so long as he made them himself and no one noticed. Of course, sometimes he would run into a bratty customer who asked for a Frappuccino then returned it and said they hated whipped cream, or a middle-schooler overly excited for their first time at Starbucks who spent fifteen minutes staring at the menu and holding up the line. Mornings were busy; Lydia especially hated the slew of office workers who either dashed in frazzled and running late for work or spoke on the phone to someone else the entire time they ordered and forgot to say thank you. Minho didn’t mind them as much; they mostly ordered the same thing every morning, and it didn’t bother him when they ignored him. That only meant he got to ignore them back.
In general, it took a lot to piss Song Minho off. The blond boy who walked in one afternoon managed to do it in ten seconds flat.
He strolled in with the air of someone who had better things to be doing. His middle-parted hair, soft and layered, looked like it probably took more time to style each morning than Minho took to put together his entire person. He didn’t remove his gold aviators the entire time he stood in line, impatiently tapping the toe of his pointed brown boot, not even when he stepped up to order. It was oddly disconcerting to talk to someone whose eyes Minho couldn’t see.
“Venti soy quad latte with no foam,” he said without preamble. The hello how are you died on Minho’s lips before it even had a chance. Minho was strongly debating asking if he wanted to die, ordering a quadruple shot, when the guy followed up with a curt, “And make it quick, please.”
Minho calculated the price and said, “Can I get a name for your order?”
“Taehyun.”
He grabbed a venti cup but hesitated a second before his sharpie touched the surface. Tongue peeking from the corner of his lips, he glanced at the guy, then back at the cup. With a decided nod, he started to write.
Hayi took over for the next customer in line as Minho struggled through making the complicated order. He was in the middle of trying to make sure he perfected the “no foam” part when Hayi glanced over, smirking.
“Sucks to suck,” she said cheerfully, leaving the register to make a nice and easy iced latte.
“Hey, have some respect for your suffering elders.”
She patted his shoulder with a falsely sympathetic pout.
When he finally finished and slid the drink across the pick-up counter, the guy snatched it up with a mumbled thanks. Minho waited, watching, until Taehyun froze halfway to the door.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, spinning around.
Minho dropped into a crouch behind the counter so fast his hair flounced into his eyes. Hayi glanced down at him. He pressed a finger to his lips and winked.
“Excuse me.” Taehyun’s voice came from much closer. Minho pressed nearer to the counter, trying very hard not to laugh. “Where’s the barista who made my drink?” Minho could see Hayi’s confused face from his angle, the cute one she faked when a customer was being annoying. “He had this dumb undercut, black earrings—”
Minho was about .03 seconds away from jumping up and shouting that his undercut was not dumb, thank you very much, but Hayi’s foot slid out and connected with his side to keep him quiet. “Oh, him? He just left.”
“But he was literally just here.”
“You totally missed him, so sorry.”
“But he didn’t walk out the door—”
“Yeah, he’s never coming back. Have a nice day!” She turned her back so decidedly that Taehyun didn’t even argue. After a moment, the bell above the door rang, signaling his departure. Hayi yanked Minho up by his ear. “Okay, what the fuck did you do?”
“Instead of his name, I wrote—” He broke off into laughter, slapping his leg. “I wrote, your hair is grounds for war.”
“That might be the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”
Taehyun returned two days later.
As soon as Minho saw his blond head pass through the door, he spun on his heel and tried to flee. He bumped right into Lydia, who spun him back and shoved him toward the register. “Am I going to have to tell Chaerin you’re shirking your duties again?”
With a heavy heart, he watched Taehyun purposefully approach him. This time his aviators were blue. Taehyun stopped right in front of him, pulled off his sunglasses, and hung them in the neck of his shirt. “Hello, what can I get for you?” Minho said dutifully.
Taehyun’s eyes narrowed. “Venti quad latte, half soy, half coconut, extra hot, no foam.”
Minho’s eyes narrowed further. Oh, it was on. “Can I get a name for your order?”
“Taehyun.” He made sure to sound out each syllable.
I can’t espresso how much of a dick you are was what ended up on his cup. He giggled to himself while he made Taehyun’s drink, fully satisfied with his own cleverness. This time, Taehyun checked his cup right when he got it, and Minho didn’t hide behind the counter.
“This means war,” Taehyun hissed, leaning towards him threateningly.
“Have a nice day,” Minho responded cheerfully, wiggling his fingers in a cheeky wave.
Taehyun marched out with a huff.
“You got a crush on the guy or something?” Seunghoon asked, lazily mixing a Green Tea Frappuccino. His apron was skewed, something he achieved purposefully. It makes me look hotter, he always said when anyone pointed it out.
“More like I wanna drag his stupid face through the mud or something.”
“Uh-huh.”
The third time Taehyun came, Minho was in the storage room.
He was supposed to be organizing, but really he was drooping over a box of napkins, eyes drifting shut. It had been a tough week. He had three exams and four papers due, he was running on about two hours of sleep for three days, and he was pretty sure he’d consumed so much caffeine he was immune at this point.
Seunghoon kicked the swinging door open with a bang, a wicked grin on his face. “Your boy is here.”
Minho blinked slowly, brain struggling to catch up. He could never understand how Seunghoon always had so much energy. “Who?”
“The fancy-looking kid with the pointy boots.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the register?”
“Yeah, but I told him I knew he wanted you, anyway, so I’d just save him the trouble of asking.”
“You did what?”
“Have fun!” Seunghoon sang, and promptly shoved him out the door.
He stumbled to the counter, where Taehyun waited, fingers tapping against the wood surface impatiently. When he opened his mouth for the customary greeting, Taehyun waved it away with a careless hand.
“Grande soy chai tea latte, three pump, lite water, no foam, extra hot.”
Minho didn’t even bother asking his name, just scrawled down the day’s insult, stifling a yawn in his arm. He nearly fell asleep at the dispenser and narrowly avoided burning his hand. When he jerked up, he realized Taehyun was leaning over the counter, watching him with a frown.
“Hey, be careful. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Minho stared. Blinked. That was the first time Taehyun had ever said anything not related to coffee. “Oh. Yeah.”
A few minutes later, he passed him the drink. Taehyun glanced down and snorted. “Teahyun? Really? You’re losing your touch.”
“I’m tired, asshole.” Minho muttered. Taehyun rolled his eyes and headed for the door. “Anyway, who the fuck asks for lite water? Did you have to Google most obnoxious Starbucks orders for that one?” he shouted after him, determined to have the last word.
Taehyun waved a lazy hand in farewell.
The bell above the door rang. Minho’s head jerked up so quickly that Lydia started laughing. By then, everybody knew about his little spat with the particularly well-dressed customer. It wasn’t Taehyun who walked through the door. Minho let his cheek drop back into his hand, a disappointed sigh escaping his lips. Taehyun hadn’t shown up in two weeks. He was starting to think he’d given up. It was hard to get more complicated than lite water, anyway. He tried to convince himself his disappointment was due to the fact that he had taken to jotting down clever puns whenever he thought of them, and now he had a page-long list but no one to use them on. The other day he had attempted one on Hayi and received a middle finger in response. It wasn’t nearly as fun as Taehyun’s glare.
“Your face is gonna melt off if you keep pouting about him that hard,” Lydia said. The door jingled again. This time he didn’t look up, determined to avoid Lydia’s judging stare. At least until she nudged him and said, “Speak of the devil.”
Minho shot up and bolted for the register, sliding to a stop in front of a rather surprised Taehyun. Today he was dressed in a soft gray sweater and a leather jacket. There were no sunglasses in sight, and his hair didn’t look nearly as styled as usual. “Hit me with your best shot.” Minho bounced from one foot to the other, cracking his knuckles. “The craziest order you can think of. I can handle anything.”
“Venti latte, no foam, with whip. Half whole milk and half non-fat. Two packets of Splenda, one sugar in the raw, a touch of vanilla syrup, three small sprinkles of cinnamon. Split quad shots, half decaf, half regular.”
Granted, Minho had said the craziest order Taehyun could think of, but now he was kind of regretting it. He closed his mouth with effort. “Uh. Is that all?”
“Oh, and extra hot.”
“Right.”
“What’s the matter?” Taehyun smirked. “Thought you said you could handle anything.”
“Fine, fine. Just so you know, this is such a waste of money. Also, it’ll probably taste like shit.”
“You’re supposed to make my drink, not give me your opinion.”
Minho started up the drink with a sigh that reeked of suffering. “What are you majoring in, how to be the ultimate asshole?”
“What an improvement. You’ve finally got the guts to insult me to my face instead of through my coffee cup.”
“It’s not about guts, it’s about opportunity.”
“That’s a big fat lie and you know it.”
He glanced at him, trying to think of a good comeback. Then Taehyun started laughing. And Minho started laughing, too. And they were both doubled over, tears in their eyes, because suddenly they seemed to have realized that they were grown ass adults arguing in the form of Starbucks coffee.
The next time Taehyun came, it was minutes before closing. Minho groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was make a ridiculous drink when he was getting ready to pack up.
“How’s it going?” Minho sagged over the register, ready to key in the cost. “You changed your hair.”
Taehyun patted his black hair subconsciously. “Trenta iced green tea with low-fat—you know what, fuck it.”
“Huh?”
“It’s been, like, three weeks and I’ve probably wasted, like, fifty thousand won doing this.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“And I honestly can’t think of any orders crazier than the ones I’ve already done.”
“Me neither.”
“And you’re probably running out of coffee-related insults.”
“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth.”
Taehyun huffed in exasperation. “Actually, your puns are really clever. Props to you.”
“And I can’t believe you actually came up with that many wild orders. That takes dedication, man.”
“You know, the first time it was a dare.”
Minho perked up. “It was?”
“My idiot friend Jiwon triple dog dared me to order something super complicated at Starbucks. Said I looked prissy so it would be extra funny.”
“Oh, dude. You can’t back out of triple dog dares.”
“I know, right? Anyway, sorry. You probably hate customers like that.”
“Actually, you’re the most entertaining customer I’ve ever had.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Probably.”
“Well. Do you wanna just be friends?”
“Song Minho, at your service. You can call me hyung.” Minho stuck out his hand with a grin.
Taehyun shook it. “Nam Taehyun. That’s t-a-e-h-y-u-n.”
“I know how to spell your name, asshole.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I think we’re going to get along great.”