Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Moving to a new town is one thing. Moving to a new town with no job lined up and only a two-week booking in the first bed-and-breakfast he can find - that is something else entirely.

The stairs of the B&B complain under Minho’s suitcase, each creak announcing him to the whole house. It feels ridiculous, dragging his life into a place that still smells faintly of lemon polish masking weed and someone else’s cooking, but here he is.

His old life hadn’t been unbearable, just… stale. Every day had blurred into the next until the thought of another spreadsheet made his skin crawl. Quitting hadn’t been brave, so much as necessary. Minho hadn’t planned much beyond that - just a suitcase, a booking confirmation, and a vague hope that things might look brighter somewhere new.

By the time he reaches the top floor, Minho is already flushed from hauling his bags. The end room is small but tidy, with a quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He drops his suitcase, shuts the door behind him, and flops onto the mattress with a long sigh.

The stairs creak outside Minho’s room, and he tells himself he’ll have to get used to this for now. This is only temporary, he reminds himself, a stopover while he figures things out. Still, an unsettled ache tugs at him - a feeling that even with the move, he is still searching for whatever it is he needs.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts.

“Sorry to intrude.”

It’s Chan, the owner of the B&B, who handed him his keys only moments ago and explained that breakfast was usually served around eight. He’s holding out a familiar rectangle in his hand.

“You left your phone downstairs,” Chan smiles, laughing when Minho’s hands shoot into his empty pockets.

“Oh. Thanks. Sorry you had to come up.”

“Don’t be daft, you’re all good. I was on my way up anyway to find Min-Min. Speak of the devil..”

As if on cue, the door across the hall opens. A younger man steps out, hair rumpled like he’s awoken from a nap. His sharp eyes soften by the faintest trace of a smile. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up, hands buried in the pockets as though he isn’t sure what to do with them.

“Seungmin - Minho. Minho - Seungmin,” Chan introduces.

They both bow in quiet greeting.

“Minnie’s a bit of a permanent fixture, you’ll find. Couldn’t get rid of him if I tried.” Chan grins, patting his hand on Seungmin’s shoulder. Seungmin immediately shoves it off and turns his attention to Minho.

“If you snore, I’m switching floors.” His voice is flat, but there is also the tiniest tug at the corner of his mouth, like he is half-joking and half-curious to see if Minho will laugh.

Minho huffs out a surprised laugh. “Guess I’ll try to keep it down.”

“Good.” Seungmin gives a curt nod, then slips back into his room without another word, the door clicking softly shut.

“Don’t mind him,” Chan says with a small chuckle. “He’s friendlier than he looks.” He gives Minho an encouraging smile before heading down the hall himself.

Minho lets the quiet return. He sets his phone on the nightstand and sinks into the mattress, staring up at the ceiling beams. The creaks of the old building seem louder in the dark, and his mind won’t stop tumbling - about how strange it feels to be here, how quickly everything has changed, and how little he knows of what comes next.

Eventually, exhaustion wins. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift.

The next morning, Minho wakes to the faint clatter of dishes and the smell of something warm drifting up through the floorboards. He pulls on a clean shirt, smooths down his hair with his fingers, and follows the sound downstairs.

The dining room is small but sunlit, with mismatched wooden tables and a sideboard crowded with coffee pots and condiments. Chan is already seated with Seungmin at one of the tables, the two of them working through a spread that looks halfway between a full Korean breakfast and something you’d see in a café - steaming rice, fried eggs, grilled toast, kimchi tucked beside scrambled eggs.

“Morning, mate,” Chan waves him over. “Help yourself and join us.”

Minho hesitates before sliding into the seat across from them, offering a quiet thank you as he reaches for a slice of toast. His stomach growls, betraying him, and Chan grins knowingly.

Between mouthfuls, the conversation turns easy - where Minho has come from, how long he plans to stay. He doesn’t mean to let it slip, but soon he admits, “I should probably start looking for work. Can’t live on savings forever.”

Chan nods, sympathetic. “Plenty of odd jobs around. I can keep an ear out.”

But it’s Seungmin who sets his chopsticks down and leans back. “You sound like you need fresh air more than a job right now.” His tone is matter-of-fact, as if it isn’t really up for debate. “Come with me to the bakery later. Might do you good.”

Minho blinks, caught off guard by the offer, but Seungmin is already turning back to his rice like it has been decided.

Chan chuckles. “That’s Minnie for you. Straight to the point.”

For the first time since arriving, Minho feels the corners of his mouth lift. Maybe he doesn’t know what’s next, but at least, he isn’t starting alone.

Chapter Text

Minho insists on helping clear the plates and wash up, despite Chan’s best efforts to play the good host. To Minho, it is the least he could do in return for the home-cooked breakfast and the easy, welcoming company.

They linger in conversation a little longer, and before Minho realises it, they have found a surprising amount in common. Both carried that same quiet, elder-brother quality, the kind that makes them feel responsible for everyone else. Chan laughs it off, but Minho recognised the weight behind it all too well.

Before heading out on errands, Chan brews him a mug of ginger tea and hands him an old, well-worn One Piece volume to flip through in the sitting room. Seungmin, on the other hand, vanished the moment dishes appeared in the sink. Minho couldn’t help finding it funny. Such a maknae move.
An hour later, after freshening up in his room, Minho hears a shout echo down the hallway.

“Let’s go, Minho-hyung!”

The ‘hyung’ makes Minho smile to himself, already glad he trusted his gut in choosing this bnb. He can’t help but think about the lack of guests at breakfast, the fact Seungmin has no issue shouting across the hall. Was he the only other guest? Grabbing his flannel, he heads downstairs.

Outside, the air is crisp with the first bite of autumn, the sky a clear September blue. Bright sun catches the rooftops, but it isn’t quite sunglasses weather. Seungmin stands waiting out front, hoodie pulled on, another bundled in his arms.

“You good?” Seungmin asks.

Minho nods.

“What’s with the extra hoodie?”

“Oh, Jeongin left it last week. He’s always forgetting things. Makes good bread though. Though don’t tell him I said that.”

Seungmin sets a steady pace through the streets, and Minho falls into step beside him. Sunlight spills in long stripes across the cobblestones as they walk. A pair of cyclists rattle past, bells chiming as they weave between pedestrians. Shop doors are propped open to catch the breeze, spilling out the scent of roasted coffee beans, soap, and fresh flowers.

By the time they turn a corner, another smell cuts through it all: freshly baked bread. Minho’s stomach gives him away before the bakery even comes into view.

The bell above the door gives a cheerful jingle as Seungmin pushes it open. The space is alive with motion: trays being pulled from ovens, racks lined with golden loaves, a dusting of flour hanging in the air like a halo around the workers.

“Yah, you’re late,” Jeongin calls from behind the counter, though the smirk on his face softens the jab. He flicks a tea towel over his shoulder and leans across to bump Seungmin’s arm.

“You’re just early,” Seungmin shoots back, tossing the hoodie onto the counter. “And you left this at the house last week.”

Jeongin groans. “Knew I’d forgotten it somewhere. You should’ve washed it before bringing it back.”

“Not my job,” Seungmin deadpans, already rolling his eyes.

Only then does he gesture to Minho. “This is Minho. He’s staying at the bnb.”

Jeongin’s expression softens as he gives a quick nod. “Nice to meet you.” Then, without missing a beat, he turns back to Seungmin. “Bet he’s already realised you’re a pain to live with.”

Seungmin snorts, unfazed. “Better than being a bread-obsessed workaholic.”

Their voices overlap, playful and sharp in equal measure, and Minho finds himself smiling quietly at the way they bicker like brothers.

The bell above the bakery door jingles again, and an angelic-looking freckled blonde guy steps in with a basket balanced against his hip, cheeks flushed from the brisk air outside. He sets the basket on the counter with a soft thud, brushing stray crumbs from his sleeves.

“Delivery done,” he announces. His voice carries that bright, husky warmth that makes people look up without meaning to.

Jeongin barely glances from the tray he’s sliding into the oven. “About time Felix. She called here twice asking where you were.”

Felix rolls his eyes, “I couldn’t help it, my halmeoni called me on the way over. I’m not gonna put the phone down on her am I?”

Felix shuffles then notices the stranger standing a little awkwardly near Seungmin. His expression lit with curiosity.

“Oh, hello.” He crosses the short distance easily, hand half-raised like he isn’t sure if he should offer a shake. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Minho,” Seungmin supplies quickly. “He’s new in town.”

That is all the explanation either of them give before Jeongin flicks flour at Seungmin and the two dissolve into further chatter, each trying to one-up the other with little comments.

Which leaves Minho standing opposite Felix.

Felix smiles at him, “So, you’ve survived your first night here already? That’s a good sign.”

“Barely,” Minho replies, the corner of his mouth twitches like he isn’t used to admitting it aloud.

Felix leans against the counter, folding his arms. “Don’t worry. Everyone feels that way at first. The trick is to find the good bread and the good people, and you’ve lucked into both already.”

Minho glances at the chaos of Seungmin and Jeongin arguing with mock outrage, then back at Felix’s grin. Against himself, he almost laughs.

Felix tilts his head, studying Minho like he is trying to place him. “Where’d you move from?”

“The city,” Minho answers, a little clipped at first. But Felix’s open curiosity makes it easier to add, “Needed a change of pace.”

Felix nods like he understands that completely. “Yeah, I came here a few years back. Thought I’d only stay a couple of months, but…” He gestures loosely around the bakery. “The bread kept me. Or maybe it was Jeongin nagging me to stay.”

“Sounds persistent,” Minho says.

“You have no idea,” Felix grins, and just then Jeongin yelps as Seungmin shoves his shoulder with a flour-dusted hand. Felix tilts his head toward the scene. “See? Persistent.”

That drags a laugh out of Minho before he can stop it. Felix’s grin widened like he’s been aiming for that reaction all along.

“You’ll fit in, don’t worry.” Felix reassures, casual but confident, like it’s obvious. “So what’re you doing for work?”

“That’s the million dollar question.”

“My friend Hyunjin texted me yesterday saying they’re looking for someone new in the bookshop. It’s literally across the street.” Felix turns to point and lo and behold, it sits directly opposite the bakery.

The shop fronts could not be more different, however. The bakery windows are wide and golden, filled with stacked trays of fresh loaves and rows of sweet buns, the glass fogged faintly from the ovens inside. The door jingles every time a customer pushes through, spilling out the warm scent of sugar, yeast, and butter.

The bookshop, meanwhile, has an entirely different mood. Its tall window is half-covered by a faded lace curtain, the other half crowded with uneven stacks of hardbacks and paperbacks, some tilted, some piled like they’d been forgotten mid-thought. There’s a carved wooden sign hanging above the door and the front window shows the shop’s logo: a branch of mulberries.

“Perfect symmetry,” Seungmin joins the conversation. “You eat bread and then go nap with a book.”

“Not a bad life,” Jeongin adds, dusting flour from his sleeves.

Felix jangles a set of keys from his pocket. “Well, I’ve got a delivery for them right now. Want to tag along? Easier than staring at it from across the street.”

He tips his head toward Minho in an easy invitation, and Jeongin perks up. “I’m on my break anyway. Let’s go stretch our legs.”

“More like you’re nosing on Jinnie.” Seungmin mutters under his breath.

“Am not. Felix is always going on about him. I just.. I wanna know what he looks like that’s all.. Is that a crime?”

Felix smirks and pats Jeongin on the shoulder as he runs to the back to set down his bag and grab the box of 2 dozen cupcakes laid ready on the side. The four of them set off across the cobbled street together, the bakery door clattering shut behind them, flour still dusted faintly in Jeongin’s hair.

Chapter Text

The bell above the door chimes as Jeongin pushes it open first, muttering under his breath, “Never had the patience for books. Pictures, paintings, that’s more my jam.” Seungmin follows with his usual unhurried gait, Felix holding the door half-open with his foot as he balances the cake boxes against his hip.

Minho lingers a second longer on the street. The shopfront has a kind of sleepy charm up close, its paint peeling in places, ivy curling around the window frame. Now that he can read the sign up close he sees the name: Thisbe’s. His eyes catch on a slip of parchment taped inside the glass, written in neat looping script:

Bookseller Wanted. Apply Within.

His stomach gives a small flip. He isn’t sure if he’s looking to settle just yet, but the words tug at him anyway, like a thread caught on his sleeve.

“Coming?” Felix calls, already halfway inside.

“Yeah.” Minho adjusts his collar and ducks through the doorway, the little bell chiming again as if marking his entrance.

The shelves to the left draw Minho in first. None of them look brand new, each novel and biography thumbed-through, carrying the faint musk of paper that had absorbed decades of handling. Whole rows were stacked tall with hardbacks, while others leaned precariously, like they’d been pulled down and half-forgotten. Handwritten cards are slotted between sections, offering categories in looping penmanship: History, Mythology, Classics, Folklore, Poetry.

The poetry shelf stops Minho in his tracks. Slim volumes in muted colours are pressed together like dried petals. A few covers are on display and illustrated, watercolours bleeding into titles he doesn’t recognise. The sort of collections you’d only find by accident, tucked away and waiting for someone to notice.
Further along, a display table stands as a centrepiece, piled with whatever the owner must think deserves a spotlight. Paper- and hard-backs stacked up together alongside a small antique vase of dried lavender.

It felt less like a store and more like someone’s private collection, opened up just wide enough for strangers to wander through.

To the right, though, is another world entirely. The café side is looser, with worn leather chairs and tables scattered like they’d grow roots wherever they please. A chalkboard menu leans against the bar, its lettering uneven and flourished, as though someone has taken real pleasure in the way each letter curled. Above the tables stretches a gallery wall showcasing a riot of framed oil, acrylic and watercolour paintings in every size, crowding for space but somehow harmonising together.
Behind the bar, someone is coaxing a stream of milk into a ceramic cup. He moves with a kind of fluid ease, head bent, dark wisps of hair brushing across his cheekbones. The barista doesn’t look up at the bell’s chime, his focus staying in the cup until every swirl is perfectly formed.

Jeongin and Seungmin drift toward Minho, neither of them sparing a glance at the shelves he’s quietly taking in. They mutter between themselves in the way of people who’ve known each other too long, Seungmin nudging Jeongin with an elbow only to get a sharp jab back to the ribs.

Across the room, Felix peels away with an easy bounce in his step, balancing the pastry boxes in one hand as he approaches the counter. “Special delivery, Hyunjin-ah” he announces with a sunshine grin bright enough to outshine the chalkboard menu.

Hyunjin finally looks up, his fringe falling into his eyes before he brushes it back with the flick of a wrist. His smile blooms wide and warm. “Felix! One moment, please.”

He slides the finished latte onto a saucer and carries it across the café, setting it down in front of a man tucked into a comfy leather chair. His laptop is on his lap and his headphones are half-hanging from his ears. The customer nods a thank you before Hyunjin ghosts back toward the bar, sleeves pushed to his elbows, every movement deliberate and unhurried.

The maknaes linger nearby, pretending interest in a stack of romance paperbacks but really just watching the exchange unfold. Seungmin smirks first; Jeongin rolls his eyes but doesn't look away.

Felix and Hyunjin lean over the counter, chatting in low tones as they update each other on their days.

Minho’s gaze drifts, quietly taking in the room, when a sudden burst of music cuts through the murmur: a high, sweeping swell of strings. He glances toward the source and catches sight of the young man hunched over his laptop. The opening notes of the Howl’s Moving Castle soundtrack spill into the space for just a heartbeat before he scrambles to reconnect his headphones, cheeks flushing pink as he mutters under his breath.

The music hiccups again, soft piano and strings blaring for a second longer, and the man’s gaze flickers toward Minho, eyes wide and apologetic. Then, with a small, bashful smile, he sets his laptop aside and looks down at his cup. He picks it up and tastes a sip hastily, clearly nursing a coffee that is far too hot. He winces as the heat touches his tongue.

Minho can’t help the small smirk that tugs at his lips. Something about the combination of clumsiness and concentration is quietly endearing.

“Oi! You lot, come on over!” Felix’s cheerful voice cuts through, and the group turn, drawing Minho from his little observation post.

Felix waves Minho over with a bright grin, guiding him toward the barista bar. “Minho, this is Hyunjin. He’s the one keeping the café running while Jeongin here bakes his magic. Jeongin, don’t be shy, now you know who’s selling your delicious cakes.”

“Hi I’m Seungmin!” Seungmin, interjects before his introduction can be made, throwing Jeongin off a few paces and making him more embarrassed. Of course Jeongin’s next action is to push Seungmin away..

“Hi Seungmin.” Hyunjin grins, “so.. are you two a couple?” he points between the pair.

Both maknaes make instant faces of disgust at each other.

“Ew. Ew, ew, ew.” Seungmin grimaces, whilst Jeongin hides his face in his hands.

“More like besties.” Felix chimes in, laughing at the pair of them as Minho also chuckles along.

“Nice to meet you all,” he smiles, his voice calm and warm.

Jeongin builds up the courage to lean on the counter, glancing around at the gallery wall to avoid Hyunjin’s eye contact he asks: “Wait…so who did all this artwork?”
Hyunjin chuckles, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Erm.. me actually. Well, most of it. The older lady who owns the shop did some too, but I added a lot myself.”

Jeongin’s jaw tightens just slightly, a faint blush creeping over his cheeks. “Oh. Um. Cool. You’re um pretty talented.” He coughs into his sleeve, trying not to look flustered.

Hyunjin’s smile doesn’t falter. “Thank you. I do enjoy painting when I’m not making coffees or selling books now too it seems. The owner’s granddaughter is leaving for university soon, she usually runs the rest of the shop. That’s why we’re short-staffed. Running both tills is… interesting, to say the least. Which is why we’re looking for a new bookseller.”

He gestures Minho toward a chair near the café tables. “You can sit if you want, she should be here any minute.”

Felix pats Hyunjin on the shoulder as a thanks. Ready to head back out, he tells Hyunjin he’ll call him later.

Seungmin, standing nearby, leans close to Jeongin with a mischievous grin. “Ooh, you’ve got competition, Innie,” he whispers just loud enough for Hyunjin to hear, nudging him gently.

Jeongin groans and turns on his feet towards the door while Minho stifles a quiet laugh at the playful tension surrounding him.

“See you back home.” Seungmin says, turning to Minho. “Will you remember the way?”

“I’ll figure it out. Thanks.” Minho replies. Home.

.

The interview isn’t really an interview. More like a conversation that drifts between shelves and teacups. The shop’s owner, Ms.Simm, is older than she looks, silver streaking her hair like deliberate brushstrokes. She speaks with that gentle, steady confidence of someone who’s seen countless faces pass through this place and somehow still believes in giving each one a proper chance.

They talk about books first, then about people: the ones who buy them, the ones who just come in to breathe for a while. She asks what Minho’s been reading lately, and he tells her honestly, even when it’s not impressive. She laughs, not unkindly. It feels... easy. Like they’ve already decided they get along.

When she finally says, “Well, we could use someone like you here,” it sounds less like a job offer and more like an invitation.

Minho accepts with a quiet smile, a small bow of his head.

Ms. Simm excuses herself and steps away to answer the phone, bringing the boy from earlier into Minho’s focus. The glow of his laptop screen reflects faintly in his glasses. Minho’s gaze drops to his screen and notices the split screen. One side looks to be a word doc. The other side has Spotify pulled up, the cursor hanging over the play button. The boy shuffles as though he can feel Minho’s eyes on him from the table behind. The cursor moves briefly as if debating to play the track which he seemingly must have paused half way through. Had he been listening in to their conversation?

The guy’s fingers hover near the keyboard. Minho notices he can see his reflection in a mirrored sign on the gallery wall and can’t help but stare at the faintest crease of concentration between the boy’s brows. He looks cute, Minho can’t help but think. Ms. Simm says her goodbyes on the phone and says something to Hyunjin over at the counter which makes the boy look up over his screen. He coincidentally catches Minho watching him in the mirror which spooks the pair of them simultaneously. Minho’s eyes however stay fixed on the reflection, a slight smile curving between his lips as he watches the boy look down then back up then look to the side as if considering to turn around but then he adjusts his headphones and fumbles to restart his music.

When Ms. Simm returns with a handshake and a warm, “Welcome to the team,” he catches, out of the corner of his eye, the subtle lift of the boy's shoulders like he’s just exhaled relief he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Ms. Simm goes over the start date and a few small logistics, her tone steady and kind, like she’s carefully threading Minho into the rhythm of the shop. “Hyunjin, make him a coffee for his walk home, will you?” she calls over, and the boy at the counter perks up.

“Black, please,” Minho says after thanking the owner, Hyunjin nods with a small smile, before turning to grab a takeaway cup.
Minho thanks Ms. Simm again as she heads into the back office and gravitates over towards Hyunjin.

“I knew she’d like you. Welcome to the mad house.” The barista smiles passing over his drink. The pair exchange socials and Hyunjin insists he’ll settle in well here which puts Minho at ease. He hadn’t realised how he’d been holding himself together - holding his breath - at all this newness of people and employers and places… and now he has a job. Seungmin wasn’t wrong, the fresh air had done him some good.

As Minho turns to leave, his gaze catches the boy at the table. Dark hair falls over his eyes as he slumps further over his laptop, clearly watching him. Minho tilts his head slightly, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, cheeky and knowing: a quiet acknowledgment that he’s caught on to the boy’s eavesdropping yet again. The boy gives a bashful smile back as Minho walks past.

Chapter Text

“Jeongin’s been going on about the elusive Hyunjin non stop recently,” Seungmin tells Chan and Minho, smirking as he lights a bowl and takes a deep breath in.

It’s day three by the time Minho comes to the realisation that the bed and breakfast he is staying in is more of a communal crash pad. The semi-detached townhouse had been inherited by Chan and his brother earlier that summer, and while the online listing Minho had booked was technically real, the place itself had morphed into a hybrid between a shared house and a half-functioning guest stay. The trio - Chan, his younger brother Changbin, and Seungmin - had spent the past few months advertising spare rooms that, until Minho, no one had ever actually booked.

When Chan confessed this over breakfast, Minho had folded with laughter, head tipping back as he tried to process how casual it all was. It made sense now why the living room looked like the aftermath of a student film set and why Seungmin had called it “home” with zero irony.

Now, the kitchen smells faintly of instant noodles and lemon cleaner. Chan is dusting off a smidge of ash that'd missed the tray and Seungmin is lounging against the counter with the ease of someone who owns the place.

“How’s he so invested if he’s only met him once?” Minho asks, leaning over the island.

“That’s the thing,” Seungmin emphasises. “He hadn’t met him till the other day. But he has been gushing about Hyunjin just from Felix’s descriptions. Apparently Felix was going off about his hair, his voice, the paintings on the wall..”

“Yeah, Jeongin’s been texting Seungmin nonstop since. Says he’s never met someone who is so cool.” Chan adds.

Seungmin scrolls through his phone to prove it, showing Minho a snippet of Jeongin’s messages: “Felix said he has paint on his hands all the time?? That’s unfair. How do I compete with that??”

Minho snorts, pressing a knuckle to his mouth to stifle it. “He’s doomed.”

“Completely,” Seungmin says flatly. “He’s been spending more time than usual on his cakes for the cafe, which is funny because Felix knows. He’s just letting him embarrass himself.”

That earns a laugh out of Chan, who’s now crushing ice with a towel and a rolling pin like it’s a delicate operation. “He’s learning character development.”

“Character assassination,” Seungmin corrects, grinning.

Minho takes the lighter Seungmin offers, the casual handoff unspoken proof that he’s been folded in already. “You guys do this every weekend?”

“Pretty much,” Chan says, smirking. “You’ll get used to us fast.” Chan leans across to pour some smaller ice cubes into the bong neck and Minho nods with thanks.

“Think I already have.” Minho exhales, letting the smoke curl between them.

The words make Seungmin glance up from his phone. He grins like he’s decided Minho’s one of them already.

They fall into easy talk after that - about work, about Jeongin’s new cake flavours, about what time Changbin’s visiting next week. Chan insists they’ll all get along.

The bowl is passed around and laughter settles into a comfortable rhythm.

Chapter Text

The bell goes and Hyunjin looks up to see Jeongin bashfully enter the shop. He’s holding his phone like a lifeline, pretending to scroll as if he hadn’t been standing outside for a full minute psyching himself up.

“Morning,” Hyunjin says, voice light, already reaching for a take out cup.

“Hey,” Jeongin manages, tugging at the strap of his bag. “Uh..same as last time, please.”

Hyunjin nods, “Caramel latte. Extra drizzle.”

Jeongin lights up like he’s just been handed the world. “Yeah. That.”

While Hyunjin works, Jeongin lingers by the counter, pretending to look at the cakes Felix had dropped off on display but really watching the way Hyunjin tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. He types something into his phone:. ‘he remembered’ sent straight to seungmin.

From his seat, the regular with the laptop hides a smirk behind his cup. He’s seen this scene enough times to start drafting it in his head: boy walks into coffee shop, forgets how to breathe. He makes a mental note to tease Hyunjin later, or maybe to write it down.

By the bookseller’s till, Minho looks up from his book long enough to catch Jeongin bump into a chair on his way out, cheeks pink, Hyunjin waving after him. The whole thing makes him smile and there’s something tender about it, that hopeful, nervous energy.

By the end of Minho’s first week at the shop, he’s learned three things: Hyunjin runs on espresso and pure theatrics, the regulars tip more when you slip them a book recommendation, and Jisung, whoever he really is, has no concept of taking a day off.

Every morning, the writer shows up around ten, sets up camp and sinks into his world of screens and half-finished playlists. Minho only knows his name because Hyunjin mentioned it in passing: “That’s Jisung.. he writes or something. Always overthinks his drink order.”

Every evening, the writer wishes the pair a good night, always directing his gaze to Hyunjin as if he doesn’t have the courage to catch Minho’s eye (despite his obvious glances towards the bookseller throughout the day that Minho has most definitely picked up on). He hadn’t expected to feel the flutter in his chest that he does each day at work. Least of all from a stranger hunched over a handmade mug and flickering cursor, like the world might make sense if he just kept typing..

That night, Chan decides the bnb deserves a ‘Minho’s-first-week-done’ celebration. Which apparently translates to a few drinks, a packed bowl, and Mike Tyson Mysteries reruns on the tiny living room TV.

Seungmin sits cross-legged on the rug, rolling his eyes every few minutes; Changbin merges into the group almost instantly having just met Minho that afternoon. He is in charge of snacks and has turned a single packet of crisps into a full-scale experiment involving hot sauce and chopsticks. Chan is half-lounging against the arm of the couch.

Minho is sinking into the couch. “As if I have a job already.” he thinks out loud.

“I know right?” Seungmin smirks, eyes still on the screen. “And a crush.”

Minho blinks. “What?”

Chan tilts his head. “Yeah, spill, man. You’ve been smiling at your phone all week. That or zoning out like you’re narrating a movie.”

Minho huffs, pretending to focus on the cartoon instead. Mike Tyson is chasing a ghost in a suit of armour. It somehow doesn't feel weirder than this conversation.

“I don’t have a crush,” he insists before instantly admitting, “I just, there’s this guy who’s always in the shop.”

“Describe him,” Changbin instructs, gleefully nosy.

Minho exhales slowly, smoke curling around his words. “Dark hair. Big hoodie. He writes, I think. He’s got this habit of chewing on the straw of his coffee cup when he’s thinking. And, I don’t know…” His lips twitched into a grin. “He’s kinda cute.”

That earns a low whistle from Chan. “And he doesn’t know?”

Minho thinks about all the times he’s accidentally caught eyes in Jisung over the past week. It’s more than he can say. Though Minho does work in a small shop.. and it isn’t that unusual for a customer to stare at a worker whilst they spent forty minutes creating a poetry display, is it?

“He’s in his own world.” is Minho’s reply on the subject.

Chan nudges his shoulder with an easy grin. “Then make him look.”

Seungmin snorts. “Yeah, because nothing says romance like interrupting a guy’s workflow to confess over cappuccinos.”

They all laugh, that comfortable, head-tilted kind of laughter that comes when the weed’s just starting to hum through everyone’s bones.

The episode rolls credits. The room fills with the soft rustle of snacks, muted giggles, the low crackle of another lighter and wick.

Minho leans back, half-dazed, eyes tracing the curls of smoke above them. He thinks of Jisung’s headphones around his neck, the way he mouths words when he types, like he is singing quietly to himself.

Yeah, he is definitely kinda cute.

Chapter Text

Mornings at Thisbe’s have already settled into a soft rhythm.

Hyunjin always gets there first. By the time Minho arrives, the espresso machine is already humming and a record is spinning lazily on the old turntable behind the counter. Hyunjin is usually half-singing under his breath, sleeves rolled up, a dust cloth in one hand and a mug in the other.

“Morning,” Minho greets, shrugging off his coat.

“Morning,” Hyunjin echoes, smiling over his shoulder. “You’re early.”

“Force of habit.”

He doesn't say it, but he liked opening with Hyunjin. The quiet suits them both. Hyunjin wipes tables while Minho straightens stacks of new stock by the display window. A few deliveries come in from a local press, so Minho sets about slicing the tape on the boxes, lining the spines up just so, pausing every now and then to flip through a cover.

The air smells of roasted beans and paper. Somewhere between the creak of floorboards and the soft hiss of milk frothing, Minho finds himself thinking that maybe he is getting used to this.

By mid-morning, Hyunjin is scrawling the day’s specials on the chalkboard. His handwriting loops and the door bell chimes. Jisung slips in with the same sheepish energy as always: hood up, headphones hanging around his neck, laptop tucked under his arm. He gives a small nod toward Hyunjin and Minho, muttering something that might be a hello, before gravitating to his usual comfy chair.

Hyunjin sets a flat white down for him, seemingly deciding to forgo the boy's inability to pick a drink and cutting the usual multitude of minutes umming and ahhing down considerably. “Wi-Fi’s stronger today,” he teases gently.

Jisung smiles, “Guess I’ll actually get something written, then.”

“Sure you will,” Hyunjin says, half under his breath, already moving back behind the counter.

Minho, shelving a stack of mythology anthologies, catches the flicker of amusement on Hyunjin’s face, and the way Jisung’s ears go pink at the edges.

It is quiet again for a while. The café breathes with them: pages turning, spoons clinking faintly, the soft taps of Jisung’s fingertips hitting each letter of his keyboard in rhythm with Hyunjin’s humming.

Then the bell chimes again.

Felix blows in like sunlight, a bundle of chaotic energy wrapped in a denim jacket. “Morning, dream team!” he gleams, setting a bakery box on the counter.

“Delivery?” Hyunjin asks, already smiling.

“Delivery and intel.” Felix leans an elbow on the counter, his grin sly. “You’ll never guess who’s been talking about you again.”

Hyunjin blinks. “Should I be worried?”

“Jeongin. He’s so down bad it’s kind of adorable.”

Hyunjin freezes for half a second before composing himself, reaching for a rag to polish the espresso bar.. anything to busy his hands. “He’s just being nice.”

“Nice?” Felix scoffs. “He described your smile like it was a weather phenomenon. Said you ‘make the place feel brighter.’ I think he actually used that phrase.”

Minho bites back a smile where he’s stood, dusting a shelf of hardbacks.

From across the café, a faint click sounds which only Minho seems to notice: Jisung’s mouse, followed by the slight, deliberate slide of his volume wheel. Muted.

Felix is oblivious. “I told him to just ask you out, but he’s too busy having a crisis over whether you’d think he’s too weird.”

Hyunjin’s laugh came out a touch nervous. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Felix only beams wider. “Someone has to be the cupid around here.”

The moment passes in laughter and light teasing, but Minho doesn’t miss the faint crease between Jisung’s brows - the way his typing had stilled, cursor blinking on an empty line.

He watched Jisung pretending not to listen, pretending even harder not to care. Minho catches eyes with him and they both have a slight smirk on their faces.
The day stretches out with a stream of customers keeping both Minho and Hyunjin at a good pace. There’s a woman who always orders a lavender latte and leaves lipstick on the rim; a man with a newspaper who sits in to do his daily morning crossword with a cappuccino in hand; a trio of students whispering over open notebooks.

Hyunjin floats through them all, an effortless current of charm and movement. He laughs easily, never forgets an order, and tucks a flower behind someone’s saucer just for the visuals. Minho works quieter, sleeves rolled, focus narrowed to the shelves. There’s a rhythm to it - unpacking, alphabetising, dusting, straightening - all the invisible care that makes a place feel warm and cared for.

Every so often, he glances toward a specific table. Jisung’s still there: brow furrowed, fingers tapping. He stops sometimes, mid-sentence, mid-thought, eyes far away, like he’s searching for something he hasn’t named yet. When Minho passes to shelve a book nearby, Jisung looks up, startled as though caught in the act of existing too openly.

At noon, Felix reappears briefly to grab a mint hot chocolate before heading off again. Outside, a soft drizzle starts, streaking the windows in silver lines.

The lull between one and three pm is Minho’s favourite part of the day. He puts on a record and hums under his breath as he stacks books by colour. Hyunjin sprawls in the window seat with a sketchbook of doodles.

At three, a group of teenagers come in, all chatter and bright scarves. Hyunjin springs back into motion, and the calm dissolves into the afternoon rush. The espresso machine hisses, the bell above the door sings, someone asks about different editions of Wuthering Heights. The boys lose themselves in the rhythm and the hours slip by.

When it finally quiets again, the light outside has turned gold, stretching long across the wooden floor. Hyunjin hums as he wipes down tables. Jisung packs up for the day, stretching, his hoodie riding up slightly as he reaches for his laptop cord.

Minho watches and pretends it doesn’t tug something loose in his chest. He doesn’t know why it does. Maybe it’s because he’d once looked at someone else the same way: half-hopeful, half-terrified to be seen. That relationship had dissolved in silence years ago, leaving only a faint ache he thought he’d buried.

But Jisung, with his chipped nail varnish and sleepless stare, had stirred it back up without even trying. Minho caught himself noticing too much: the quiet typing, the way he seemed to tip toe to his seat every morning before his first coffee, as if trying not to wake the world.

This evening, when Minho murmurs “goodnight,” Jisung looks straight at him. Really looks. No quick glance, no retreat. Just a calm, unguarded gaze that lingers long enough to feel like anything is possible.

“See you later,” Jisung replies before he tugs his hood up and steps into the rain.

Hyunjin locks up while Minho counts the till. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, warm and tired. Outside, the rain has eased to mist. As Minho switches off the lights, he catches their reflections in the front window: two blurred shapes behind the glass, soft and ghostly in the amber streetlight.

“See you tomorrow,” Hyunjin says, voice low.

“Yeah,” Minho murmurs. “Tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“Why would you add peanut butter to a protein shake?” Seungmin asks flatly from the counter.

It’s Minho’s day off but he doesn’t sleep in. He’s grown to enjoy his morning routine of a shower first thing followed by breakfast with the others. It’s a good way to push back any hesitations about the day when his bed is so warm and the air has become bitter as October comes to a close. Alarm goes off and he’s straight under the hot rainfall of the showerhead. He’s started playing the radio from his speaker as he washes, humming along as best he can as he brushes his teeth. More often than not there’s already the sound of eggs frying as he pads downstairs each day to the kitchen.

“Because it tastes good,” Changbin shoots back, shaking his blender bottle, threateningly. His presence is more of a regular occurrence at the bnb than Minho had first realised. He often stays over when he has classes on this side of town.

“Unlike whatever sludge you drink every morning.” Changbin bites back.

“It’s called coffee. Besides, you like coffee?” Seungmin huffs and Minho catches him mischievously rolling his eyes, clearly loving the attention.

“Frappuccinos are just sugar and cream, Seungmin. I like real coffee, sure.”

“Such an elitist.”

“Say that again?” Changbin steps closer, eyebrows raised.

Seungmin doesn’t back down. “You. Are. A. Coffee. Snob.”

“You’re such a baby, can’t handle a real drink.”

Chan looks up from his laptop and slides his headphones down, half-amused. “It’s been five minutes and you two are already arguing?”

“They started before breakfast,” Minho says around a mouthful of toast.

Chan smirks, voice low and knowing. “It’s almost like you like winding each other up. Something you’re not telling us?”

That makes Seungmin’s head snap around. “What?”

“Nothing,” Chan says, grinning into his mug.

Changbin’s grin widens, not perturbed by his brother’s comment in the slightest.

“He’s got a point..” he winks at Seungmin.

“Dream on.”

The shaker clatters onto the counter. Changbin leans unnecessarily into Seungmin to grab it before it rolls too far, shoulders pressing together. Seungmin stiffens but doesn’t move away; cheeks a little too pink for someone supposedly annoyed. Changbin looks delighted, all teeth and glee.

By the time Chan stands to refill his coffee, Minho’s biting down a grin.

“Anyway,” Changbin says, snapping the lid on his shaker, “I’ve got a client at ten, another at noon, and a kid who wants to learn how to deadlift without breaking his spine at three.”

“Riveting,” Seungmin mutters.

“Then rehearsal tonight,” Changbin adds, unfazed. “The pub’s got us a week on Friday, Chan’s mixing the live set.”

“So basically,” Seungmin says dryly, planting himself on the chair in front of him and pouring out some milk into his cereal bowl, “your whole day revolves around noise.”

“And yours appears to resolve around judging me,” Changbin says, already checking his watch. “Balance, Min.”

As he moves past, he bumps Seungmin’s chair, gentle but deliberate, and Seungmin’s spoonful of cereal tips, milk splattering the placemat.

“Dick.”

“Love ya.”

Minho hides a laugh behind his last bite of toast. The quick succession of jabs are giving a married couple vibe more than the bickering of two friends. It’s cute, really.

“What does he play?” Minho asks once Changbin’s gone.

“Drums.”

“Are they any good?”

Seungmin slurps up a spoonful of cereal before answering. He’s back to acting disinterested but Minho can see through it easily enough. “Who? The band?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re alright,” Seungmin says, then adds, “Changbin’s dating the singer.”

Minho looks at him, catching the flicker of something in his tone. Maybe Seungmin doesn’t even notice how it sounds: like envy wrapped in nonchalance. Maybe Minho’s not the only one with a crush.

Chapter Text

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Minho does what he can to try to settle his mind. He takes a shower at 2am. Flips his pillows over and tries his best to snuggle into the sheets. He even spends a solid forty minutes sleeping upside down in his bed, hoping the change of the mundane is enough to ease the persistent nagging of his thoughts and let him get a good night's sleep. It’s to no avail. The only plus side being he doesn’t have to drag himself to work in the morning since it’s his usual day off.

The two weeks at the bnb are nearly up. Minho can’t stop himself from thinking about it: the fact he hasn’t even started looking for a more permanent place to stay drifts through his mind like an unwelcome tide.

Everything feels like such a muddle of emotions, and it’s all going too fast. New job. New town. New people. And as much as he knows he can’t avoid the future altogether, he equally can’t bring himself to start the search for somewhere else to live. Maybe the boys won’t notice if he just tucks into the nearest crevice - he could hibernate under the stairs, pretending his quiet monotony is just part of the furniture.

It’s 7am when he pads downstairs, pausing when he sees a soft orange glow from the living space. Chan is slouched, curtains closed, the salt lamp casting the room in amber. His laptop sat closed beside him. The TV is on, muted, flickering blue light over his face.

“Have you slept?” Minho asks quietly.

Chan smiles faintly. “Couple hours. I’m not great at sleeping.” He looks up. “You?”

“Couldn’t switch off,” Minho admits. “Was thinking of going for a walk. You wanna come?”

Chan stands, grabbing a hoodie from the back of the sofa. “Yeah. Sure.”

The air outside is milder than it has been in days which is a nice break from the recent cloudless chill that’s been haunting this month’s air. This morning it’s damp with the ghost of rain. The pair follow the narrow lanes west, where mist threads through the hedgerows. It’s still dark and the boys stick close together as they walk.
Chan takes a few turns Minho hadn’t seen before, guiding him down a path lined with old oaks and uneven cobblestones wet with dew.

Eventually, they come to a low stone wall that borders a pub garden, then another turn opens into a clearing. Beyond it is an iron gate.

Minho stops, squinting. “You’ve brought me to a graveyard.”

“Not just any graveyard,” Chan says, tugging the gate open with a soft creak. “A very old one. The church and the grounds date back to around 700 AD. Isn’t that wild?”

They wander between mossy stones and weathered names, the mist curling around their ankles. At the far edge of the grounds sits a wooden bench facing the valley.

“I come here sometimes,” Chan admits, lowering himself onto it. “It’s quiet. Helps me breathe.”

Minho sits beside him. For a while, neither speak.

“You ever think about leaving?” Minho asks eventually.

Chan gives a quiet laugh. “All the time. Then I remember I already did. A few times. Never stuck.” He glances at Minho. “How are you finding the move?”

“Everything’s kinda happened overnight. I don’t know, honestly. I just wish I felt more grounded.”

Chan nods, understanding.

“I love the job so far,” Minho confesses, “but it's just embedding everything into memory. I’ve started taking notes like writing down my daily tasks for work or books that customers have recommended. It’s weird, I don’t know, I guess I keep feeling like I’m not doing enough or I’m going to get caught out for slacking.”

“Well are you slacking?”

“That’s the thing, no. It’s just like it shouldn’t be this easy - should it?”

“I get you. You’ve done a big thing, coming out here all by yourself. And once you get settled in a bit more you’ll probably realise you can relax, no one is holding you to anything. From what you’ve told me about work, everyone seems really chill.”

“Yeah. True. It’s just hard to believe. I felt so anxious before the move.”

“And now you can breathe?”

“I guess that’s the goal. That’s why I moved out here after all.”

The pair sit a while longer, watching as the cloudbank around them slowly brightens as day breaks across the meadows and stones.

“There’s a quote I really like by Terence McKenna that you remind me of.” Chan adds, breaking the peaceful silence they had fallen back into,. “Let me find it.”

Chan pulls his phone out of his pocket and goes into his gallery. He scrolls a few months back in his favourites before showing Minho a paragraph he’s previously hearted. It reads:

Nature loves courage. You make the commitment and nature will respond to that commitment by removing impossible obstacles. Dream the impossible dream and the world will not grind you under, it will lift you up. This is the trick. This is what all these teachers and philosophers who really counted, who really touched the alchemical gold, this is what they understood. This is the shamanic dance in the waterfall. This is how magic is done. By hurling yourself into the abyss and discovering it's a feather bed.

Minho passes the phone back to Chan, taking a deep breath in.

“I’ve never felt so alive and it hurts.” The vulnerability in Minho’s confession hits him more than he realises and he’s glad he feels he can trust Chan.
“Sometimes that’s enough reason to stay.”

Minho lets out a breath he doesn’t realise he is holding and gives a shy smile to Chan who rests his hand on his shoulder as they take in the muggy view of the trees and grass and gravestones ahead of them.

The morning stretches open and somewhere in the bushes a robin sings brightly, snapping the pair out of their reverie in moving them into their favourite ongoing dialogue reflecting on the flirty nature of Seungmin and Changbin.

The walk back is easy. Mist lifting, light breaking. Chan hums something under his breath - a fragment of an unfinished song - and Minho finds himself keeping step with the rhythm. By the time they return, the kettle’s whistling and the kitchen smells faintly of toast. Minho catches himself thinking that maybe this strange, quiet morning is exactly the kind of belonging he’s been chasing.

The same day, Minho and Chan come to the conclusion that Minho should at least stay at the bnb till the end of the month and his first pay check. It makes sense, especially whilst he’s settling in, and Chan admits he likes the company.

Chapter Text

Changbin’s band’s gig is approaching. Nothing major, just their usual slot at The Hollow: the kind of bar where the decor has barely changed since the 90s. A place for good music and fun vibes, with an audience ranging from teens and college bands to anyone old enough to remember when the jukebox actually worked.

Chan has promised he’ll go, partly out of brotherly duty and a promise he’ll help out with the sound, and partly because he likes watching Bin come alive on stage. Seungmin and Minho don’t take much convincing; Minho is genuinely curious to see Changbin’s band perform live and Seungmin, despite acting like the act of going is a major chore, can’t seem to stop talking about it in the week leading up to the night.

Seungmin mentions it offhand to Jeongin over text: “Changbin’s band’s playing - free entry, cheap shots, you in?” and Jeongin, ever the loyal best friend, replies with an all-caps YES before Seungmin can regret asking.

Minho, meanwhile, brings it up at work. Hyunjin’s eyes light up instantly, like he’s been waiting for an excuse to get out. “A band? Oh, I’m there,” he gleams, twirling a pen through his fingers. “Mind if Felix tags along? He’s been dying to see some live music.”

“Course.” Why not, Minho figures.

By the time the night arrives, the lineup of expected attendees has doubled, maybe tripled. The place is packed, warm with chatter and low amber light.

Changbin is already on stage when Minho and the others push through the crowd. Drums thunder, bass rattles the floor, and as they approach Chan, they laugh as he cheers so loud Minho half-expects him to lose his voice.

And then, somehow, there is Jisung.

It’s a strange feeling.. seeing someone outside of the place you’d quietly assigned them to. Like spotting a teacher from primary school in the supermarket: familiar, but out of context. It makes the world tilt. But there he is. Perched on the edge of the bar counter, drink in hand, mouthing along to the lyrics of one of the band’s cover songs. He looks softer here, looser. And when his eyes flick up and catch Minho’s, something in Minho’s chest stumbles.

For a second, everything blurs into colour and noise. Felix laughs too loud at something Hyunjin says, Jeongin and Seungmin are locked in a pointless argument about whether the bassist is off-beat, Chan is cupping his hands to yell encouragement toward the stage.

But Minho only sees Jisung.

A woman appears beside him, short hair, camera strap slung across her body; she catches his arm. Jisung startles, then smiles, pulling her into a quick hug. They start talking, heads bent close over the music. Minho tries not to look too long, tries not to wonder if this is a date.

He turns instead toward Seungmin, whose gaze is fixed on Changbin, all focus and rhythm behind the drum kit.

“He’s good,” Minho smiles, raising his voice over the crowd.

“Really good,” Seungmin agrees, taking another gulp of cherry cider.

The band is tight. Changbin’s drumming hits with precise force, the bassline weaves through it like a pulse, and the singer… well. They look the part. Blue-faded hair partially plaited over an undercut, glitter under their eyes, posture sharp enough to draw attention. But between songs, they toss smug glances at the crowd. Confidence? Arrogance? Bit of both maybe - Minho thinks.

Minho catches the faintest roll of Changbin’s eyes after one particularly long monologue about “the artistic process.” from the singer. He isn’t sure anyone else notices, but it says enough.

Still, the set is good. Loud. Alive.

The girl Jisung’s been chatting to comes into Minho’s line of sight, camera flashing as she weaves closer to the stage. He glances over at Jisung, noticing how his fingers tap absently against the bar, how he’s leaning in toward the sound, body swaying in time.

When the final chord fades, Jisung turns back toward him but before Minho can react, a hand lands on his shoulder and tugs him in.

“Minho-hyung! Thanks for the invite, man.”

It’s Felix, looking angelic as ever, and Minho can’t help thinking he wouldn’t look out of place on that stage. Minho introduces him to Chan, and within minutes they’re laughing over shared acquaintances. Jeongin and Seungmin join mid-conversation, the topic shifting to what schools they all went to and, inevitably, Seungmin’s teasing.

“Chan’s sooo old,” he grins.

“Shut it, you,” Chan fires back, making a face.

“I’m here with Hyunjin, though I’ve no idea where he’s got to.” Felix says looking through the crowd.

“Oh, are you two..?”

“Oh. No. I mean, we fooled around in uni, but no. We’re just good friends.”

Minho notices Seungmin nudge Jeongin, who goes red the moment Felix glances his way.

“You never mentioned that!” Jeongin whines.

“That was a million years ago, Innie. You have my blessing when you finally dare to ask him out.”

“Why this conversation has turned to my failed love life, I don’t know.”

“You haven’t failed, you goose, you just haven’t tried yet.”

“Where is he anyway? Chan-hyung, I’ll introduce you.”

Minho scans the room and spots Hyunjin by the stage door, now chatting to the photographer from earlier and the rest of the band.

“He’s over there, Lix.” Minho nods towards the door.

“Nice one.”

The group drifts off: Felix, Chan, and Seungmin heading stage-ward leaving Minho and Jeongin behind.

“You not joining?” Minho asks.

“I’d only embarrass myself. Or Seungmin would for me.”

“Fair.” Minho replies. Bless him.

They settle at the bar. Minho asks about Jeongin’s job, listening as he tells Minho about dropping out of school, landing a bakery apprenticeship, and loving everything about it.. except the early mornings. Every now and then, his eyes wander back to Hyunjin, and Minho can’t help smiling at the quiet affection there.

“You know you’re not the only one with a crush.”

“Yeah?”

“Your buddy Seungmin’s been getting real flustered around Chan’s brother lately.”

“What, who.. Changbin?”

“Changbin, yeah. Wait, do you know him?”

“Yeah. Chan and Changbin used to be neighbours with Seungmin when they were kids - we’ve all known each other since school.”

“Oh, I should’ve known. Well, you should see them at breakfast. Always trying to one-up each other.”

“I can imagine. Seungmin’s relentless.”

“It’s cute, honestly.”

“Wait. Isn’t Changbin dating the singer? I’m sure Seungmin told me that once.”

“Oh shit yeah, no, yeah, he told me that too. Oh my god. I wonder if Changbin knows.”

“I don’t know, man. Have you got your eye on anyone?”

“I’m just getting settled in, honestly,” Minho lies - his mind drifts immediately to the writer in the bookshop. Jeongin raises a brow that instantly says that Seungmin has most definitely told him about his crush on his favourite customer but Minho is glad he doesn’t ask further.

A sudden cackle cuts through the music, drawing their attention back to the stage. Hyunjin’s doubled over laughing with the group, hair catching the lights. Minho glances toward where Jisung had been sitting earlier, but the spot’s been taken by another couple.

“Shot?” Jeongin asks.

“Shot.” Minho grins.

Chapter Text

“Ughhhh….”

“Why can’t we just order breakfast?”

“We’ve got plenty of food in, Seung.”

“But I’m hungry…”

“Innie, c’mon. Ordering food would take way longer than the ten minutes it’s gonna take me to whip up some pancakes.”

“Yeah I guess.”

“Better be the best pancakes ever.”

“Kim Seungmin, you will get what you are given.”

“Min Min being a whiny bitch again?” jests Changbin, dragging his feet into the kitchen. Chan is currently mixing a batch of blueberry pancakes. Minho bins the egg shells and wipes the counter, looking over at the maknaes sprawled across the largest table in the dining room. Changbin shakes his head at the pair of them and grabs the filter jug to fill his water bottle.

“Joining us Bin?” asks Chan.

“You know I’m partial to a cheeky pancake.” he winks.

“Or three.”

“Seungmin!”

Minho can’t help but smile. He makes the teas and coffees and brings them out on a tray for the others.

“Thanks, Hyung.” Jeongin smiles, pulling himself up off the table. Minho had realised last night that Jeongin’s tolerance to alcohol was rather low, to put it lightly. He and Chan had ended up suggesting he crash at the bnb rather than trekking across town to bed. Seungmin had joined them for shots, which he soon discovered didn’t mix all that well with cider.

“Still breathing over there?” Changbin asks, leaning against the counter with his water bottle.

“Barely,” Seungmin grumbles, half-buried in his hoodie.

“Lightweights, the lot of you,” Changbin snorts, which earns him a sugar sachet launched at his head.

“Oi! Any need?!”

“Keep it down ‘til I’ve had some caffeine please,” Chan begs, flipping another pancake.

The table soon fills with plates, steaming mugs, and a mountain of pancakes. Jeongin brightens a little once he’s got food in him, prodding at a handful of blueberries that have rolled loose on his plate.

Changbin watches Jeongin for a moment, grinning. “You alive, Innie? Barely heard a word from you since you stumbled in last night.”

Jeongin groans. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You tried to challenge Seungmin to a shot contest. That was your first mistake.”

“That was his idea!”

“Sure, sure.” Changbin teases, nudging his shoulder.

Chan chuckles as he shares out the pancakes. “Was good to finally meet some of your crew last night though. Felix and Hyunjin, right? They seem solid.”

Jeongin brightens at that. “Yeah! Felix works with me at the bakery. Hyunjin’s his best friend - he works at the bookshop with Minho.”

Chan chuckles. “They all seemed like good kids. You’ve met them before, right, Bin?”

“Yeah,” Changbin nods, cutting into his pancakes. “I swear Felix was the year below me in school. Used to get the same bus in.”

“You know Hyunjin too?” Minho asks.

“Yeah, kind of. He did some photography for us once, back when we were trying to look like a serious band. Didn’t expect to bump into him though - small world.”

“You are a serious band,” Chan says.

“Tell that to my landlord when I’m late on rent again,” Changbin mutters, but he’s smiling.

Seungmin tries to hide his grin behind his mug.

“Why don’t you live here?” Minho can’t help but ask.

“Well we kinda assumed the rooms would be booked and I didn’t want to lose the bnb any money but that hasn’t exactly turned out to plan.”

“Now he gets to live with his lovely lovely singer.” Seungmin mutters under his breath.

“Bitter much?” Jeongin murmurs back, catching Minho’s eye with a raised eye of his own.

“Felix seemed nice too,” Chan adds, flipping the next pancake with practiced ease. “Didn’t realise how connected everyone was. Feels like the whole town’s one big venn diagram.”

“Welcome to small-town living,” Minho replies, smiling faintly.

The conversation drifts easy as the smell of hot coffee and blueberries fills the room.

Chapter Text

Changbin gives Minho a lift to work the next day. The ground outside is damp with rain from a heavy downpour that tore through the town overnight. The morning air is sharp and blustery; it takes actual effort to pull the car door shut once Minho climbs in.

To his surprise, Changbin’s car is spotless - none of the chaos Minho had half-expected: like empty energy drink cans or crumpled PT flyers scattered across the seats. Changbin catches him glancing around and chuckles.

“You like? Check this out.”

He flicks a switch and the ceiling lights up in a constellation of soft blue starlights, twinkling against the dark interior.

“You into cars?” Minho asks.

“She’s my baby,” Changbin grins. Patting the dashboard, he tells Minho how saving up for his first car was one of his proudest achievements.

“It’s like Chan with his tech setup,” Changbin muses, “When he got his first MIDI keyboard, it was like he found a missing limb.”

Minho smiles at the thought.

“Gimme a call if you need a lift back, yeah? I’ve got a class when you finish, but if you don’t mind hanging around a bit, I can swing by on my way home.”

Minho assures him he’ll be fine to walk, but thanks him anyway.

When Minho steps through the shop door, Hyunjin is standing in front of one of the gallery wall mirrors, trying to flatten his hair.

“That wind is wild,” Hyunjin mutters, laughing at his reflection.

“There was a branch down on our road,” Minho says, shrugging off his coat. “We had to take the long way round.”

“Oh, you got a lift?”

“Yeah, Changbin insisted.”

“He’s sound, isn’t he? I didn’t realise it was his band playing the other day, I’d have said. They went by a different name back when I knew them. Different guitarist too; I think the old one fell out with the singer.” He glances up. “Coffee?”

“I’d love some chai, actually.”

“Ooo, snap. D’you wanna pick a vinyl this morning?”

“Sure,” Minho says, smiling as he crosses to the record shelf. He picks out an old Funkadelic album and sets it spinning.

The low crackle of the needle fills the shop as the first bassline hums through the air. Hyunjin slides a mug across the counter and leans against it, watching the street outside wake up - early commuters wrapped in scarfs flying up in the wind, someone walking a dog with a bright red coat, the faint hiss of tyres on wet tarmac.

Minho falls into the quiet pace of the morning. The air smells of cardamom and black tea. Outside, the sky is still bruised with leftover rainclouds, but inside the shop, everything feels warm.

Despite the weather, by noon the bookshop café is filling with customers. Hyunjin is the perfect host, asking about everyone’s plans for the day, cutting through the usual chatter about the weather to make genuine conversation.

Minho spends the morning cleaning the windows, dusting the shelves, and tidying the service desk before sitting down with an orange. He’s just peeled apart the last segment when a familiar voice calls out.

“Minho, my guy!”

“What do I owe the pleasure?” Minho smiles, recognising Felix’s voice without needing to look up.

“Well, I came for a hot chocolate, but a four-person queue? What’s that about?”

“Storm’s brought people inside.”

“It is super cozy vibes in here, to be fair. How’ve you been?”

“Not too bad. Chan’s letting me stay another couple of weeks while I figure things out.”

“Aw, nice. He seems really chill. I’m sure you’ll get sorted.”

“Yeah, hope so. How’re you?”

“Not too bad, not too bad. Work’s work.. but I’ve got my boy Innie, he always brightens my day. Oh, before I forget - almond croissant?”

“Oh, lush. Thank you! What do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Orange slice?” Minho offers the last one, popping a piece into his mouth.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Felix grins. “Hey, have you ever been to an open mic?”

“I don’t think so. How come?”

“Me and Hyunjin were texting last night and thought it could be a fun idea for the shop. After going to The Hollow the other day, I just wanna immerse myself more in local artsy stuff, y’know?”

“That’d be pretty cool, to be fair.”

“Hey, wasn’t that guy at the gig?” Felix nods toward Jisung, who’s sitting in his usual spot.

“Yeah.”

“He looks artsy. Think he’d do the open mic?”

“He’s a writer, apparently. I don’t really know.”

“You should see if he’s up for it. The more the merrier.”

“I guess.”

“Queue’s died down. I’m ordering. Thanks for the orange!”

“Thanks for the croissant!”

Felix moves to join the queue, leaving Minho to clear a few cups from the nearby tables to help Hyunjin out.

Afternoon light filters through the freshly-rain-streaked windowpanes. The wind outside picks up, splattering a shower of heavy raindrops across the shopfront.

When he glances up, Minho notices Jisung watching him. He’s tucked into his usual seat, half-hidden behind his laptop screen, a mug laden with cream and sprinkles set beside him. There’s a plaster covering his thumb and a rogue curl of hair falling into his eyes. The moment their gazes meet, Jisung blinks, caught, and then gives a small, crooked smile that’s all invitation.

Minho hesitates, then crosses the room before he can overthink it.

“Hey,” he says, resting a hand on the back of the chair opposite. “You were at The Hollow the other night, right?”

Jisung looks up, surprised, then smiles. “Yeah, I saw you.”

“My friend’s band was playing - Changbin’s the drummer.”

“Oh, no way! He was great. That whole set was really good.”

Jisung flips his pen in his fingers absentmindedly. Maybe he’s a little shy, Minho thinks.

“The singer was… something else though.”

Minho snorts in response. “You can say it. Bit of a diva.”

“Bit?” Jisung laughs, warm and unrestrained. “I saw your drummer roll his eyes at one of their monologues. Thought I was imagining it.”

“Nope, that was very real. He’s still complaining about it. They’re actually dating, would you believe?”

“What, seriously?”

“I asked Chan - his brother - about them the other day. I don’t get the vibe that the others are a big fan of them to be honest. Changbin actually wanted to introduce them to the group after the gig but apparently they had a bit of a domestic back stage and fucked off home.”

“Well shit. You know all the goss.”

“You heard nothing.” Minho threats, mockingly.

“I’ll keep your secrets. For a price..”

“Trying to bargain your way into my good books?”

“You know a cheeky staff discount would really make a difference with all these drinks I keep buying just to use your wifi.”

“Staff discount for your silence, eh? I’d probably have to pass my probation first.”

“Worth a shot.” Jisung laughs. “Small world, though. The photographer there, the one who kept getting in everyone’s way? That’s my cousin.”

“Oh, really? Hyunjin mentioned knowing them too.”

“Yeah,” Jisung nods. “She’s the one who convinced me to go. Said it’d be good ‘creative fuel.’ I think she just wanted me to stop living like a hermit.”

Minho can’t help but smile. “Did it work?”

“Still undecided,” Jisung says, pretending to think. “But I did get a free drink and some new material, so… maybe.”

A small, easy laugh passes between them, warmer than either mean to let slip.

“Hey,” Minho says after a pause, “Felix mentioned this place might be doing an open mic night soon, would you be interested?”

Jisung pauses to pick up his drink and take a sip, pondering the suggestion.

“What, like going or actually taking part?”

“Either.” Minho shrugs.

“Erm… I don’t know. I mean, I’d definitely come along.. I practically live here. Performing’s a whole other ballgame, though.”

“True,” Minho says, leaning a little closer. “You must really like Hyunjin’s coffees. I don’t think there’s been a day since I started that you haven’t been here.”

Jisung tilts his head, smile turning mischievous. “Who’s to say it’s not your charming book displays that keep me coming back?”

“Sweet, but no dice. Hyunjin told me you’ve been coming here long before I started.”

Something flickers in Jisung’s eyes then - a memory, maybe, or a thought he doesn’t want to name. He looks away, tracing the rim of his mug.

“How’re you finding it anyway?” he asks, deflecting.

“Not too bad,” Minho says, voice softer now. “Good company.”

Jisung meets his gaze again, lips curving into a small, knowing smile. The air between them seems to warm; the world outside fades to the faint patter of rain on glass. Minho doesn’t mean to stare, but it’s hard not to when the moment feels like it’s holding its breath.

Chapter Text

The 27th of October starts with a pit stop at a drive-thru cafe. Changbin is in the driver’s seat beside Seungmin, who claimed shotgun the night before. Chan had been instructed to stay at home, the cold weather having taken its toll on him, he’d become a bundle of blankets and honey tea. The boys made sure he promised to stay tucked up in bed. Minho in turn had invited Hyunjin along at the last minute over text, and in Hyunjin’s words: “How could I turn down a day in the country? I feel inspired already.”

The goal for the day: pumpkin picking. But first, coffee.

The drive is an hour each way to the farm and caffeine is a must. It’s only after everyone has finished their coffee that the energy in the car picks up. Seungmin takes control of the music, making jabs at every opportunity about Changbin’s careful driving. Minho and Hyunjin chat away about the bookshop, deciding it would be cute to grab a couple of pumpkins for their displays.

The further out into the countryside they get, the narrower the roads become. Overgrown hedgerows and bare branches reach across the winding roads. Changbin notices a sign of a faded orange pumpkin pointing to a gravel road to his left and follows, clicking in his indicator.

“We’re here!” Changbin sings gleefully, getting a grumble out of Seungmin who begins wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck, bracing for the cold. The day itself is overcast and as the four step out into the carpark they each zip up their coats and jackets tighter in response to the chill hanging in the air.

“Oh hello, jagi,” Minho coos, crouching to greet the farm cat winding confidently between his boots. The orange tabby looks well-fed and quite smug - clearly accustomed to being worshipped by passing customers.

“Should I wait in the car? I feel like a third wheel,” Hyunjin mutters, phone already out.

“By all means,” Minho deadpans, fighting a smile. “Give us some privacy.”

Hyunjin snorts but lowers the phone to take a photo. Minho keeps crouching, hand absentmindedly scratching under the cat’s chin. The cat purrs louder, leaning in as if to prove a point.

“Honestly,” Hyunjin says, “I didn’t realise you were capable of such tenderness. It’s kinda cute.”

Minho huffs, but he doesn’t move his hand. “Don’t get used to it.”

They queue briefly at the outdoor payment booth: a little hut with fairy lights drooping lazily across the roof, a chalkboard listing the price per pumpkin and a badly drawn ghost. Hyunjin buys a hot chocolate with cream and sprinkles for the walk, insisting he needs the warmth. Changbin grabs a wheelbarrow and they each start up the muddy hill towards the upper field.

The walk is steady, boots crunching through frost-stiff grass. Seungmin walks beside Minho, hands buried in his coat pockets.

“We had three cats growing up,” he mentions casually, sniffing at the cold. “They’d all curl up in my bed in winter. It was like their attention was seasonal. Once the cold weather hit they suddenly remembered I had use beyond providing dreamies.”

Minho smiles. “That’s cats for you. I’m sure they loved their human radiator very much. I’m jealous, honestly.”

Seungmin side-eyes him, amused. “So… you want to be used for warmth? Let’s not forget the screams at five a-m when daylight savings hit.”

“Absolutely,” Minho deadpans. “I’d love to rescue a cat one day.”

Seungmin smiles, thinking he could imagine Minho with a cat or three very easily. He’s got the right temperament for sure.

The wheelbarrow creaks as it bumps over roots and stones. A family of two mums and two toddlers dressed in matching dungarees, puffer coats and bobble hats stumble past and the boys give a polite smile in their direction. So cute.

“Wait, do you go to Ember Gym?” Hyunjin asks Changbin, falling into a slow pace beside him as he sips his drink. “I swear I saw you there last week, yelling at a medicine ball.”

Changbin laughs. “Yelling encouragement. I’m a PT. I cover Ember, the leisure centre, and FitZone on weekends.”

“Oh.” Hyunjin blinks. “Well, that explains why you were making that poor guy do lunges. He looked half-dead.”

“That’s what I’m paid for,” Changbin insists, laughing. “You should have seen him in his first week of training. He can actually lift decent weight now.”

“I go there for yoga on Tuesdays.” Hyunjin says, adjusting his beanie.

Changbin grins. “Oh really, I’m based there Tuesdays now since my timetable changed. Hey, I could drive you if you want. Saves you walking from town.”

Seungmin nearly trips over his own boot.

Minho clocks it, eyebrows raising.

“Right,” Seungmin mutters to his scarf. “Because nothing says spiritual calm like being dropped off by a man who yells at hamstrings for a living.”

Changbin just pushes the barrow, smirking. “Mock all you want. The gain-train has no brakes.”

Minho nudges Seungmin. “You could join his sessions. Get some 1-on-1 time booked in.”

Seungmin scoffs, muttering, “He’s got his lovely partner for that.”

“Correct,” Changbin says far too quickly, way too cheerful. “Happily in a relationship, thank you very much.”

There’s a beat. Three pairs of eyes turn toward him.

Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin - same expression, different flavours of disbelief.

Hyunjin flicks a brow at the other two, a silent Did he seriously just jump to that?

Changbin looks personally offended. “What? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Minho gives a slow, knowing blink. “Just… ‘happily’?”

Changbin exhales sharply, gaze darting toward the fields as if they might save him. “Pumpkins,” he announces, louder than necessary. “Let’s talk about pumpkins.”

They meander through rows of muddied vines and splashes of orange and white, each spreading out but never too far. Minho and Seungmin gravitate toward the smaller pumpkins - rounded, dainty things perfect for window displays and bookshop stacks. Hyunjin takes photos of everything, including Changbin dramatically hoisting a pumpkin the size of his torso like it’s about to go into battle.

“Functional,” Changbin declares, loading it into the barrow with a grunt. “Great for carving. Or self-defense.”

By the time they’ve picked their favourites - three small ones for the bookshop, one oddly oblong one Minho claims has “character,” and three chunky giants destined for a carving massacre - their fingers are chilled and noses pink.

Payment involves some squabbling over who owes what and eventually, the car boot is full and someone mutters the sacred words: “lunch?”

The little barn café smells like woodsmoke and oregano. They find a table under a heat lamp near the stone oven, cheeks prickling as warmth seeps back in. Pizza arrives blistered and golden, edges charred just right. Hyunjin orders a round of ‘winter warmer’ ciders that taste like cinnamon and apple. They each wrap their cold hands around the steaming mugs.

“Is it socially acceptable to propose to a pizza?” Hyunjin asks, staring at a slice.

“Depends,” Minho says. “Are you ready to commit to indigestion and unconditional love?”

“That’s my current hinge bio,” Hyunjin jokes.

Changbin wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Mine would say, ‘certified in CPR and emotional damage.’”

Seungmin snorts into his cider. “That explains everything.”

“You laughing or impressed?”

“A little concerned, honestly.”

Minho tears off a piece of crust, eyes warm. “I’d swipe right for emotional damage.”

“Of course you would,” Seungmin mutters, but he’s smiling.

There’s a lull when the farm cat from earlier pads past the café window, leaping into a wheelbarrow full of pumpkins like it owns the place.

“There’s your husband,” Hyunjin tells Minho.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Minho says, without looking away from the window. “We’re keeping things casual.”

Their last stop is the farm shop. The low dark wood beams and smell of hay and burnt sugar give a nostalgic feeling to the place. There’s a sign on the door declaring border collie puppies for sale and the group can’t help but awww at the photos.

Minho wanders toward a display of handmade candles, sniffing each one like he’s searching for a missing memory. He pauses at one labelled beam me up with a little hand drawn spaceship and floating cow on the sticker. He twists the lid to smell fresh figs. Minho puts it in his basket without hesitation.

Seungmin goes practical: blackberry jam (for the bnb toast rotation, he claims, even though he knows he’ll likely eat half of it himself) and a carton of free-range eggs that he cradles as his eyes wander the rest of the shelves.

Hyunjin stacks milk and fresh cream against his chest like a dairy-themed jenga tower.

“Special’s gonna be seasonal chai latte with whipped cream and cinnamon foam,” he announces proudly - only to realise he’s talking to Minho and Seungmin, who stare back blankly.

“You two have no imagination,” he mutters.

At the till, Changbin appears with a surprise item: cinnamon fudge.

“You and that sweet tooth.” mutters Seungmin despite immediately going in for one the second his card swipes the reader.

They pile back into the car just as the sky starts to mute into mauve and orange, matching the pumpkins thumping gently in the boot. The heater kicks on, coats are discarded, and the cabin fills with quiet chatter.

Minho holds his candle in his lap the entire ride home.

Chapter Text

“Hyunjin, you’re on my side of town, right? I’ll drop you,” Changbin says casually, pulling up outside the bnb and popping the trunk.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Changbin turns to Seungmin. “You can keep my pumpkin if you’re planning on carving them. I hate the smell. Makes me feel like I’m breathing through compost.”

“Ever the gentleman.” Seungmin snorts.

“Chan’ll adopt it. He’s basically a foster home as it is.” Minho laughs, grabbing the pumpkins from the boot with Seungmin before waving the pair goodbye.

The day breaks in dull grey light, but inside the warmth pools gently. The kitchen radio crackles now and then, but the boys just let it - no one’s bothered enough to fix the antenna. The table is covered in newspaper, mugs of jasmine tea, carving kits, and a bundle of paint pens and tiny saws.

Minho is squinting at a photo Hyunjin had sent him for inspiration. Seungmin is sketching on his pumpkin rather than carving. He’s using a white Posca pen, brows drawn in hyper focus as he outlines a puppy onto the surface. Chan is seated with a blanket around his shoulders, looking pale but smiling, halfway through carefully carving a cute werewolf. Minho’s own pumpkin is slowly turning into the farm cat from yesterday with an exaggerated expression, big cheeks and pointed ears.

They’re halfway through their designs when Minho asks,

“So… Changbin’s partner. That’s… still happening?”

Seungmin’s pen skids for a fraction of a second but he keeps drawing, saying nothing.

Chan exhales, slow, focused on carving tiny werewolf teeth.

“He’s not the type to start a scene,” he says eventually. “He’s too forgiving for his own good.”

Minho pushes aside a mound of pumpkin guts with his spoon, brows furrowed.

“Or too scared to admit it’s not working,” Seungmin mutters under his breath.

Chan gives a soft shrug. “He’d rather carry something heavy than drop it.”

The table settles into a hush: just scraping tools, shifting chairs, Seungmin swapping pens.

Then the front door bangs and Jeongin barrels in wearing his big black puffer jacket.

He immediately catches his toe on the rug, trips, and crashes into the back of Minho, who reflexively clamps his arms around him in a bear trap.
“Guys look I caught a fox!” Minho crows.

Jeongin screeches, wriggling. “Let me GO!”

“Tickle him,” Seungmin orders, wickedly.

Jeongin tries to escape as Minho shifts beneath him, slips, and smacks his palm straight into a wet mound of pumpkin innards.

“Gross!!” Jeongin wails. Chan collapses laughing.

On Wednesday, Minho shows up late: scarf half-wrapped, hair sticking up all over the place, looking both guilty and slightly frozen. He’d texted Hyunjin the second he’d realised he’d slept through his alarm. Twice.

The door chimes as he enters. He yanks off his scarf and shakes a little paper bag towards the counter.

“Peace offering for abandoning you to open alone,” he announces.

Hyunjin, crouched by the pastry case, pulls himself up and takes the bag, peeking inside at the salted pumpkin seeds.

“These look snackable,” he coos, already pulling a handful into his mouth. “Did you actually make them or..”

“Chan,” Minho says. “I supervised.”

“He supervised by eating half of them,” comes a familiar voice.

Chan emerges through the front door, looking pale but alive, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. He leans on the counter. “Morning, Hyunjin. How’s the glamorous life of foam art and emotional labour?”

“It pays in gossip so I can’t complain,” Hyunjin says. “You alive?”

“Barely. Sorry about this one,” he pats Minho on the shoulder, “I might’ve kept him up half the night playing some stupid game.”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Never can,” Chan says lightly, like it’s just weather talk.

“You want waking up or knocking out?”

“Caffeine, please. I’ve got errands.”

“One double espresso,” Hyunjin nods.

Chan thanks him. Hyunjin refuses to take payment, and they exchange the kind of mutual nod reserved for people who’ve both survived occupational burnout.

Chan heads for the door, calling back, “See yous later.”

Minho turns, spotting the mini pumpkins from the farm lined up on the counter in height order, like a tiny orange military inspection.

He points. “You alphabetised the pumpkins?”

Hyunjin doesn’t even look up. “Height order. Get it right.” He rolls his eyes but he’s smiling.

“Oh, speaking of pumpkins,” he adds casually. “Your cat is Instagram famous now.”

Minho blinks. “My what now?”

Hyunjin raises his phone and swipes. On screen: a post with a carousel of photos from their day at the farm: the pizza, Changbin lifting the pumpkin like he’s entering the strong-man Olympics, and Minho crouched on the gravel greeting the farm cat, his soft smile caught on film.
Minho looks mildly horrified. “Hyunjin.”

“What? It’s aesthetic.”

“That cat and I had a private moment.”

“It has seventy-three likes!”

Minho looks betrayed.

Jisung pulls himself up from his slouched position over his laptop and drags himself to the counter.

“Tell me there’s caffeine,” he says.

Hyunjin is already sliding his phone across the counter. “Better. There’s fame. Look at Minho bonding with his feline soul mate.”

Jisung squints at the photos, then brightens. “Oh, that’s adorable. You look so.. cute.” he smiles bashfully, avoiding eye contact with Minho.

Hyunjin snorts. “I’ve got a drink for you. Our new seasonal chai latte. Farm milk, cinnamon foam. It’s all you need.”

Jisung gives in immediately. “Sold.”

As Hyunjin starts steaming milk, Minho leans on the counter beside him.

“You like cats?” he asks casually.

“Love them,” Jisung says. “I’d get one in a heartbeat if my roommate didn’t hate them. He just says they’re another liability, as if I’m bad enough.”

Minho looks appalled. “Unbelievable.”

“I know,” Jisung sighs. “I’m living in emotional poverty.”

Hyunjin slides over the drink. “Drink that. It’ll fix at least two of your traumas.”

Jisung takes a sip. “Oh damn, that’s good.”

The door chimes again, and Felix strolls in, backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He pauses by the counter, eyes flicking between the small group.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, grinning.

Hyunjin gestures toward Jisung. “We were just showing Jisung the pumpkin pics I sent you last night. Minho’s cat moment is now internet-famous.”

Felix laughs, “Minho does have the face of a star.”

He pats Minho on the back as he leans in against the counter, sandwiching Minho between Felix and Jisung. Felix gets a whiff on Jisung’s drink and begs Hyunjin for a re-creation and as the pair natter Minho hears a voice to his left.

“You do, to be fair.”

“Hm?”

“Have the face of a.. What I mean to say.. I guess you are..” he stumbles over his words and Minho can feel his ears go as red as Jisung’s face is.

“You’re pretty cute yourself.” Minho smiles back and Jisung can’t do anything but sip his drink, his eyes flickering around Minho’s face, suddenly very aware of how close the three of them are bundled up at the counter.

Felix thanks Hyunjin for his drink before remembering,

“Speaking of festivities… there’s a Halloween party at The Hollow this weekend.”

Jisung perks up, looking curious. “Oh? My cousin did mention that the other day…”

“You should come,” Felix says, eyes twinkling. “It’s meant to be fun, and plus we’ll be there!”

Jisung hesitates, glancing down at his drink, then up at the others. “Maybe… yeah, maybe I’ll check it out.”

Minho watches him carefully from the side, offering a small, approving nod.

Hyunjin smirks. “There we go. Social life activated.”

Felix laughs again, clapping Jisung lightly on the shoulder. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”