Archive of Our Own

“Hi, I’m looking for a jacket.” The words tumbled out of Minho's mouth, while trying to free himself from his too-tight wool scarf, not have his tote bag full of presents slide off his shoulder, and squinting his eyes in an attempt to see through his fogged-up glasses. All the while trying not to look like an idiot. He did, in fact, look like an idiot. An idiot who somehow forgot Christmas is always on the same day – every year – and just spent all afternoon last-minute Christmas present shopping and paying for most of it with gift cards he got given last Christmas. His sister wouldn’t mind if it was actually kind of her own money that paid for her Bath & Body Works present this year, would she?

He was a shame to humanity.

The cashier in front of him shrugged, a warm smile still in the place it was when Minho stormed in.

“If you turn around,” he pointed behind Minho, “there are all the jackets we have in store right now.”

Minho looked over his shoulder, more a reflex than anything, letting his gaze wander over the racks of clothes. Winter coats, knitted cardigans, questionable hoodies with sometimes even more questionable stains, wedding dresses, who gives away flip flops? Minho faced the cashier again, his glasses still clouding his vision.

“No, like a specific jacket. I gave it away last year and I forgot… that I still need it.”

“Oh, I see,” the words dragged from the cashier’s lips and- are those freckles? Minho decided against the wonders of technology and endless inventions and took of his glasses in what he thought was one swift motion but ended up a struggle between his beanie and the rims of his glasses.

“I can check if we still have it on sale, but I can't promise anything!” Thomas, according to his name tag, said. “If you turned it in last year then the chances might be… slim. Especially with the hot summer beach weather we’re having right now.” He lazily pointed over his shoulder out the frosted-up window, big glimmering clusters of snow slowly drifting to the ground.

Minho almost laughed but then felt the harsh reality of his socks soaked through due to the “hot summer beach weather”. He felt himself smile, nonetheless.

“Yeah, I’m also looking for a set of swim trunks and the shortest shorts you sell, by the way.” Minho joked, a grin settling on his face.

“Ah, no problem. If you’d follow me to the back, that’s where we keep the slutty summer couture and the seethrough underwear some people bring in.” Luckily, Thomas joined in on the joke and matched his smile beautifully, dimples pressing onto his freckled cheeks. The way this guy looked at him and also in general, Minho wasn’t sure he was even real. A second-hand shop cashier with dimples, freckles, a curly mullet resting stylishly on his nape and nail polish, how cool did he want to be? Thomas stepped around the counter, his straight jeans almost hiding his Converse. One dark green, the other dark red. Christmas-themed shoes; this guy out-cooled Minho in all aspects.

“What color was it?”

“What?”

“The jacket.”

“Oh.” He was making a fool of himself, “Brown. With like…fur at the top. Not real fur, I think.” Minho scratched his neck; stupid itchy scarf be damned. “H&M doesn’t sell real fur, right?”

Without even thinking about it Minho had followed Thomas through the store, well on his way toward the jacket section. In just one glance, he spotted at least 4 jackets that matched his exact description, which could either be his lucky streak finally working towards his own peace and happiness, or the total let down of realizing: Probably about a million people bought the same jacket as him. And now gave it away because they didn’t think it stylish enough anymore. Was he ever unstylish for wearing it? He couldn't win.

“I don’t think so and, no shade, but why do you want an H&M jacket back? I thought it had some emotional connection to maybe your great, great-grandfather or something but… H&M? If you want some real cool vintage jacket instead, we also have a bunch of those, see,” Thomas pulled a jacket off the racks at random, checked the brand tag to prove his point but before he spoke again, the sly smile slipped off his lips. “Okay, that’s from Zara, but my point still stands”, he put the jacket back on the rack and adjusted the one next to it in the same movement.

An amused gush of air escaped Minho as he put his, now finally see-through, glasses back on.

“It’s… really dumb.”

“Well, so am I, let me hear it.” Thomas, now fully turned towards Minho, demanded. Minho couldn’t even open his mouth to answer before Thomas apologetically put his hands up, shock written all over his face.

“Not that you need to tell me if it's something super personal or something. I mean you still can if you want to, but you don’t have to, of course, we can also just look for your jacket in complete silence if-“

“Thomas, are you scaring away customers again?” A deep voice called from behind Minho, not making him jump at all, no one saw that. Minho quickly faced the tall man behind him, Prince Charming hair cemented in place like he just escaped a romance movie set. A rustling paper bag, with a delicious bread-like scent that filled the air around them, was clutched in the man’s hand as he looked between the two.

An apologetic look settled on Thomas’ face.

“I’m trying not to, but we’re looking for a jacket.”

“Well, you’re in the right section then.”

“No, he wants it back.”

“Oh.”

“And he gave it to us like a year ago.”

“Oh oh.”

“It’s brown with fake fur at the top and from H&M.”

“Why do you want an H&M jacket back?”

The quiet groan Minho let out must have been utterly charming, according to the chuckle Thomas and the penny dreadful cover model shared. He really should be on one of those. It would sell millions immediately. Half of them to Minho.

“I-“ Minho sighed, taking off his beanie and ruffling through his hair to get rid of his Playmobil figurine hat hair, “I think I left something in there that I need back. Something tiny, just a small piece of paper.” He held his thumb and pointer finger a small piece of paper-sized measurement apart.

The tall stranger nodded knowingly and then looked at his watch. Of course, he was wearing a watch and not looking at his, God forbid, iPhone to tell the time.

“Okay, but we’re actually closed.”

Thomas quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and let out a faint surprised gasp.

“Oh right, sorry Newt! Just one minute.” Thomas flashed Newt what appeared to be an apologetic smile and turned his full attention to Minho again. His hot chocolate eyes looked right into his and Minho would have taken a cautious step back, to avoid Thomas seeing the warmth creeping up his cheeks, if it wasn’t for Newt behind him.

“If you come in tomorrow- No wait, we’re closed tomorrow. Taking stock of everything before Christmas vacation, you know?”

Minho nodded. He didn’t know.

“But we’re probably going to find a bunch of those jackets while looking through everything.” Newt added. “You could just… come by and help us find it.” Newt cocked his head to the side and looked at Thomas, eyebrows raised slightly. Unspoken questions passed between them and Minho wished he could catch them in the air and unravel their meaning. For now, he had to settle on watching Thomas smile enthusiastically.

“Sure! We’re here at around 9, but it the door will be locked, so just knock.”

“I don’t want to intrude on anything,” Minho quickly chimed in. Yes, what he thought he left in the jacket was important to him, but it could wait. Actually, if he was being honest with himself, it couldn’t, but he wouldn’t let his brain catch up to that thought. It was something so utterly unimportant to most people, but so integral to how he started the new year, he didn’t know what to do without it.

“You won’t if you bring coffee.” Newt had leaned down just a smitch to be closer to him and it must have been his thick winter coat over his warm turtleneck sweater, but the air around Minho heated up.

“O-okay, I will! Thank you so much, that’s…so helpful, you actually have no idea.” Minho ran a hand through his hair and let out a quiet chuckle. 9 am on the dot. He would be here with the most delicious coffee the world had ever seen or tasted. He would be so helpful and not in the way and they would find his jacket and- did he even have time tomorrow? Whatever, he would make time. All the time in the world.

“No problem at all.” Thomas and Newt both answered at the same time and after a beat of silence broke out into big, warm smiles.

A morning with those two sounded extremely fun right now, but “morning” meant that Minho had to leave now and he felt himself wanting to stay here. He wanted to… whatever they did, close the shop? Eat whatever dinner Newt brought? Just not commute home for the next 45 minutes on an overstuffed, slightly too heated and weirdly moist bus. But he had to be what his sister called “a big girl” and leave these two alone. For now.

The chimes jingled cheerfully as he entered the small, extraordinarily pink coffee shop. Despite his biggest efforts to look moody, tired and mysterious, a small smile crept up on his face at the sound of that. Luckily no one had walked in next to him or anywhere close to him, because the mistletoe right next to the chimes loomed above his head. The leaves were painted a soft pink, at least he assumed they were hand-painted. Spraypainted? Do some of them just grow like that-

“Happy pride month!” The barista at the register exclaimed in a queer greeting Minho wasn’t sure he knew how to respond to.

“It’s December?” was all he had to offer. He stepped closer to the cash register and watched another barista, dark brown hair in a mussed pixie cut, matching her general “small and slightly pissed off at the world” vibe quite nicely, as she held her hand out towards what appeared to be gay, pink santa next to her. The barista who greeted Minho let out a chuckle, scratched his pastel pink glittering beard, careful not to fuss with the miniature Christmas baubles placed neatly in there. He dug his hands in his - of course - pink apron and handed a dollar from his wallet to, according to her pink name tag on her pink apron, Brenda. Quickly the money found its way into the “It’s December” jar, which was about to burst from all the money in it. Minho watched, speechless.

“Welcome to the Cupids Cup, what can I get you, lovely?” Zart - Minho was getting good at reading nametags -  asked, cheerful as a Christmas elf. In watching the pink, sparkling, queer money exchange unfold in front of him, he completely neglected looking at the menu. He quickly glanced up and, in horror, felt 2 very important questions pop up in his brain. What did Thomas and Newt even like to drink? and What the hell was a Rose Espresso Daylight Sugarplumfairy Spritz?

“Oh…”, he muttered to buy himself some time, which he didn’t have as Zart already dug something out from under the counter.

“If you can’t decided or want something for someone special and you’re unsure what they would like,” he winked, “you can take a shot a Cupid’s dart and let the fate of love for coffee decide for you!”

Minho, not even done processing what the barista just said was already handed a small pink bow and arrow and followed Zart's gaze towards a target board on the wall to the left. He felt like he had missed a million steps in Cupids Cup Coffee Shop Lore.

“You have up to three shots for each coffee! And no do-overs! That’s the fun part.” Zart exclaimed, somehow now next to Minho, who was currently trying to figure out if it said salt or malt on the board. He really wanted to get something that Thomas and Newt enjoyed, good first or second expression and all that, but at the same time, it was Christmas. Well, a couple of days before Christmas and he was feeling the fun, quirky, all-year-round-Valentine’s Day-Pride-Month vibes of the shop get to him. And maybe it was time for him to find a hidden talent of his! Archery, with a plastic kids bow with a horrible grip (thanks to the spraypaint) and a suction cup at the arrow's peak.

Before he could start overthinking if he was really the new Katniss Everdeen in town, he aimed and watched the arrow fly straight towards Caramel Sirup, hell yeah, but in shock, noticed a sudden drop down towards either Nutmeg or BBQ Ketchup. It landed on, of course, BBQ Ketchup with an airy plop. He had to leave this town, sell all his belongings, well, maybe not his Twilight Blu-ray box set, and change his name. In that order.

“Well, it can only go up from here, honey!” Zart laughed next to him, a hand propped up on his hip.

“I actually wanted this to be my coffee anyway, so…” Minho joked and took a deep breath. It didn’t matter what else he got now anyway, his hopes and dreams died with BBQ Ketchup and he might as well stomp on their grave.

He aimed again, higher this time, took the shot and landed on Cinnamon Sirup. Zart jotted the second ingredient on a notepad and encouraged him with a small pat on his back to keep going.

For his last trick, he aimed all the way up, way above the board, because he was a pro now, one with the bow and arrow, and hit, just as he planned… orange juice. That’s exactly what he was aiming for, not “Plain Oat Milk” no, orange juice. He loved… orange juice in his coffee. And Cinnamon. And… Ketchup. He felt God looking down at him, shaking his head in disappointment at his own creation and gagging in disgust for good measure. Oh, Minho was so excited for his order.

“Could have been worse?” He asked, face turned towards a grinning Zart who just looked up from his notepad. He raised a perfectly groomed, pink, how dare you assume any other colour, eyebrow.

“It could have been?” He chuckled and handed the first order towards Brenda, who had been watching quietly from behind the counter. Her dark “it's not a phase, I’m in my mid-twenties and still cry to cancer by My Chemical Romance” eyemakeup creating an interesting mismatch to her pink work outfit.

“Okay, second one is for… a special someone I assume?” Zart teased and dotted a little heart with an arrow through it on the notepad.

“Yeah, well, no but… just not for me, so I have to get something that is at least drinkable.” Thomas and Newt felt special to him already, they would help him get back his jacket at least. Please, dear god in heaven if you exist and are still listening to your… lambs in distress, please gift Minho the ability to hit a target with a toy bow and arrow right now. Thank you so much, Amen.

“I say go for any of the normal sirups of the fruit purees, they’re always a hit.” Zart nodded thoughtfully and pointed at the board.

“To bad garlic juice is right next to hazelnut sirup then, huh.” Minho declared and watched Zart grin even wider.

“You wouldn’t know the wonders a little splash of garlic juice can do to your espresso, that’s all I’m saying.” The barista wistfully pondered.

Minho let out a deep breath and quietly whispered, “Please no garlic juice, please no garlic juice,” sending out all of his manifestation powers towards the universe. Aim, draw and shoot and to his utter luck: no garlic juice! Against his will he felt himself do a little embarrassing leap of victory as the arrow droopily dangled from the White Chocolate Sirup Section of the board. Brenda let the faintest whisper of a supporting whoop as she rang up the next customer while simultaneously keeping an eye on the gambling game that was happening to her left. Well, it wouldn’t be gambling if Minho had any control over where the arrow went, which he wanted to praise himself for having, but in reality, he knew, Zart knew, and everyone else knew: It's just plain luck and the slight nod into the right direction.

“Good start!” Zart encouraged him, leaning against the counter with his hip.

Not wanting to let his lucky streak walk out on him, Minho immediately un-plopped the arrow from the board, got into position, thought back on all the Summer Olympic Competitive Archery he had consumed and shot again.

“Uh, chilly flakes!” Zart cheered and wrote it down while nodding to himself.

“That’s good?” Minho didn’t think it was a good choice, but he would trust queer Christmas barista Zart with his life.

“Yes! Really brings out the sweetness of the chocolate and balances out the bitterness of the espresso.”

“If you say so,” Minho muttered under his breath.

“This could be good, don’t fuck it up.” Brenda chimed in, leaning forward on the counter while letting her chin rest on her hands. Minho held the archery set towards her.

“You do it for me then!”

“Oh hell no.” She quickly moved away from the threat of ruining what appeared to be a fun, and thought-through, very special yet balanced out coffee order with her hands up in surrender at her chest.

“Just don’t hit any vegetable puree… or ketchup again,” Zart explained and held up his crossed fingers. He so wouldn’t. His next shot would strike the perfect balance between bitter and sweet, exciting and … bland? Nothing you’ve ever had before and maybe never will again because it was so out of this world, nothing could ever recreate it again. Or he would hit Mayonnaise. Mayonnaise was always an option.

Just before Minho's next arrow hit the board, he closed his eyes and tried to remember the prayer he once had to memorize in his mother's church, but all that came to mind were the first lines of random poems he had to recite by heart in English class.

The chime of the bells above the door almost drowned out Zarts excited “Oh!” and only at the confirmation that it wasn’t a complete failure, he opened his eyes to see his arrow had landed in the Butter section of the board.

He quickly turned his head to Zart, a worried look on his face.

“People put butter in their coffee, right?”

“Well, yes some people do! This one’s is a pretty inoffensive cup of coffee then, well done!” Zart smiled warmly and handed the second order to Brenda, who immediately got to work.

“Do you want to go another time or is it too much of a gamble for you?” Zart asked, eyebrows raised. Minho quickly glanced at the menu above the counter again, and Peppermint Mocca Nutcracker Raspberry Punch still wasn’t speaking to him, so he might as well continue. He was in too deep now. He should never step foot inside a real casino.

Without answering, he drew again and suddenly felt a whisper of coldness next to him.

“Hit caramel three times for Tommy.” A deep voice advised him right next to his ear, making him jump and accidentally jerk the bow to the left. Minho turned his head to the side and locked eyes with Newt for a second, the top of his long blond hair hidden beneath one of those hats only cool people could wear without looking like a tryhard tourist in Paris. His dark green scarf covered almost half his face but as he looked at the board, Minho could still tell that he neither hit caramel nor anything other drinkable. His gaze followed Newts to where he hit Ginger shot and he might as well say goodbye to his Twilight box set, his lost jacket and his dignity.

“I hope that one is for you?” Newt asked and with his scarf now pulled further down, Minho could see the joking smile on his lips. Standing this close next to him, Minho felt a very welcome warmth travel from his chest up his cheeks.

“I already got… what was it…Ketchup and Orange Juice or something, so this might be a new delicacy.” Minho chuckled - Newt did that to him - and held out the bow and arrow into Newt's direction.

“If you want something good, you have to do it. I’m a lost cause.”

A smile spread wider on Newt's face and he raised his eyebrows, accepting the challenge.

“Tommy makes me do this all the time, which one do you want?” He turned his body to the left, absolutely looking like he knew what he was doing and drew the arrow.

“Uh…”, Minho stammered while noticing the glittering snowflakes that caught in Newt's hair and on his hat, currently melting in the cafe's warm air-conditioned atmosphere. Newt sideeyed him with a smirk and kept his eyebrow raised.

“Whatever Thomas would want!” he quickly added to what could only be described as undisclosed noise of confusion and hoped Newt didn’t catch him staring at him. Which, by the smug look on his face, he definitely did, but Minho chose to ignore that. The same way he ignored the beautiful straight slope of Newt's nose and his cheeks flushed from the winter air and his lips redder than they were yesterday because of the warmth of the scarf and-

“Caramel!” Zart cheered, “Just do that one more time and it might overtake the taste of ginger.”

“You’d have to grant us a few more shots to make the coffee taste like anything but ginger.” Newt joked and held the bow towards Minho again, who quickly shook his head. Of course, he could hit the target exactly where he wanted it to. What was he? Some type of Ex-Olympian? Robin Hood? Hot Robin Hood from the animated movie?

“I’ll only ruin it by hitting,” Minho quickly glanced at the board, “vegetable stock or something.”

“Sometimes I wonder what sadist came up with these picks…” Newt whispered but not quietly enough for Brenda, who overheard and pointed at herself with the widest grin Minho had probably ever seen in his entire life. Despite the look in her eyes that wanted to see the world burn, she offered up some good advice.

“Just get marshmallow fluff and it might be sweet enough for Thomas, he won’t even notice the ginger,” she nodded and already got the can of said marshmallow fluff out of the fridge, apparently so sure of Newt's archery skills she could almost get started on the drink.

“Good idea,” he agreed, aimed, shot and hit, of course, exactly what he wanted. With a cheeky wink towards Minho, Newt handed the bow back to Zart, who placed it back behind the counter.

“Can you also get us a,” Newt leaned down to where all of the baked goods waited for pick up, “gingerbread honey croissant, a piece of vegan cinnamon nutmeg cheesecake and a … oh god, Toffee Eggnogg Crème Brulee Spiced Candy Cane Blondie?”

“Absolutely! It should be ready in a second!” Zart told them, a knowing look on his face. Minho wasn’t quite sure what he knew but he knew something and that in and of itself was scary.

“Sorry, I didn’t know what you liked and then Zart handed me the bow and yeah.” Minho rubbed his hands together, suddenly feeling a little chilly. Newt leaned against the counter next to him and waved his hand in a casual gesture.

“Ah no worries. Tommy loves whatever is sweet anyway and it was fun so, really. All good.” Newt nodded, a golden strand of hair escaping his black newsboy cap, framing his face in a way Minho had only ever seen in drawings.

“Okay, thank god.” Minho exhaled, “I found a picture of the jacket by the way!”

Newt's eyes lit up at Minho's excitement. “Ah, that’s great news! I hope you brought some disposable gloves because digging around the pockets can sometimes be a bit... icky.” Newt added, a fake disgusted look on his face, selling the whole idea of accidentally touching someone's used tissue.

Before Minho could tell Newt that, no of course he didn’t think of that and hoped and prayed they had some spare gloves for him, Zart called out their orders, which now sounded even more disgusting than before, and Minho quickly rushed to the cash register to also pay for Newt's order of croissants and whatever the rest of it was. Newt immediately held out his own card towards Zart and gently nudged Minho away.

“Let me pay.”

“No, I caused this coffee-mess, I’ll pay.”

“Let me at least pay for the food.”

“No.

“Why not?”

“Just no, go away with that.” Minho pushed against Newt's side to get his hand away from the card reader. He had moved even closer while they were discussing the logistics of this whole order, holding up a small line of people behind them. Zart, suddenly oh so quiet, just watched their bickering back and forth with another one of those knowing smiles that Minho didn’t know what to do with.

After another second of nudging and pushing, Newt let out a defeated chuckle and held his hand, and his card, up in defeat. “Okay, go for it. Thank you.” And for the warm look on Newt's face Minho would pay everything all the time for the rest of his life if it meant he could see Newt smile like that again.

Zart told him his grand total and in a shock-induced blackout, Minho simply held his card to the reader and decided the total balance was between him and God.

“Whatdidyougetwhatdidyouget, oh hi, did you get a-“

“Gingerbread Honey Crossaint? Of course.” Newt dangled the paper bag filled to the brim with the most delicious, buttery, stomach-ache inducing but worth it baked goods in the air. Thomas, looking like if a butch lesbian and a gay man had a baby, was already speedwalking towards them as Minho followed Newt's lead and put his jacket up on the coat hanger.

The shop was even more dimly lit than yesterday evening. Fairylights in the windows, incense burning away in the far corner of the-

“Wait, is that a bookstore?” Minho leaned forward to see more of the room with the bottom-to-ceiling bookshelves.

“Have you never read what the sign outside says?” Thomas asked him, following his gaze into the out-of-this-world coziness paradise around the corner.

Minho just looked at him, expression blank, shrugged and started wandering into the book shop part of the second-hand shop.

“He has never read what the sign outside says.” He heard Newt behind him state with a smile on his lips.

“But to be fair, “Second Chapter – Second Hand Clothes & Books” isn’t all that clear.” Thomas continued the bickering and followed Minho deeper into the shop. Just one more turn to the left and suddenly Minho felt like he was in another world. Bookshelves bigger than he ever imagined bookshelves could be, filled neatly with more books than he thought they could carry. One quick glance revealed the different genre sections beautifully etched into the wood beams and the thought of a delicious croissant combined with a book, that pulled you into its world, completely, made Minho want to snuggle up with a blanket (or a thick wool jacket from the shop) into one of the armchairs in the corner.

“This is so cool, holy shit. Has this-“ he pointed at one of the bookshelves, “always been here?”

Newt, standing at the bottom of the tiny flight of stairs that separated the book shop from the second-hand shop smiled up at him.

“Yes since we opened back in…” he turned around, a questioning look on his face.

“5 years ago!” Thomas filled in the blanks, already rummaging through the paper bag and taking a big bite out of the croissant. His face immediately lit up at the sweet buttery taste before he closed his eyes and suddenly looked like he was in deep conversation with God, or any other divine creature that was currently telling him about the purpose of life on earth.

“… you opened it?” Minho was feeling stupid, or like he was at least undergoing some very fast working type of amnesia that was erasing the memory of the last five years of walking up and down this street. He must have been in here at least once, giving away his jacket that he now wanted back, but how has he not seen this part of the shop? Or Thomas and Newt? Was he losing his mind in a gay panic type of psychosis? Only time could tell.

Newt burst out into a grand big laughter, slapping his thigh with one hand like Minho had just told the funniest joke known to mankind. He hadn’t, of course. He wasn’t even aware that what he said could have been considered funny, but Newt's reaction made him want to go into stand-up comedy and try out his new material. Like: Asking a dumb question or saying, “Oh no, I’m sorry” when one of his friends told him they’re pregnant, but he didn’t know that was the plan all along and now he looked like a child-hating adult that also got angry at children screaming on planes.

“It was like the biggest queer shop opening ever, bro. Zart did the catering for free for us and I think that almost sent him into bankruptcy…” Thomas explained, mouth full of either croissant or a bite of the Toffee whatever-it-was blondie.

“That’s why you insist on buying something every time we walk past his shop.” Newt huffed through deep breaths, laughter still shaking up his body.

“Yeah, and because it's good, of course! But now he always gives us a “Friend and also best customer discount” so we’re making him less money again… it's hard being gay and kind, you know?”

“Wait.” Minho held up a hand to interrupt Thomas, then pointed at Newt, who immediately raised his eyebrows up, “You get a discount, but you let me pay my life savings away?”

Newt held up both of his hands in defence. “You wanted to pay!” A big grin spread on his lips.

“You should have said something!”

“You didn’t let me!” He placed his hands on his hips, already knowing that he would win this fight against Minho.

“Well I-“ Minho shrugged, not able to hold a grudge against Newt for any longer when he looked like that. He struggled to find another compelling argument until Thomas went up to him, shoved what was left of the croissant in his mouth and patted his shoulder.

“Thank you, we’ll pay another time.” Thomas' gentle words, spoken through smiles and oh my god his dimples, eased Minho's depressing thoughts about his bank account, and the delicious honey-gingerbread-heaven flavour took his ability to think away completely.

“I already looked through some jackets we had in the back and got out anything that’s brown and fuzzy looking.” Thomas handed the paper bag to Minho, who couldn’t wait to take another bite of whatever was in there immediately.

“Thank you!” He mumbled through the chewing and followed Thomas into the clothes part of the shop again. Past sections of sweaters, pants and wedding attire, they arrived at the part where Thomas had rummaged through the jackets. About 30 of them looked exactly the same, 10 of them had the wrong kind of fur at the top, Minho could already tell, and the other 5 weren’t even remotely brown. Thomas must have caught on to Minho’s thoughts like he was some type of supernatural mind reader and quickly pointed at the dark red and dark green jackets.

“I just got these out because I thought they might match your vibe.”

“My vibe?”

“Like your…vibe? Your vibe you know, man come on you know what I mean.” Thomas joked, sounding a little… flustered, maybe? His pinkish cheeks now matched the vibe of his stammering, growing even redder when Newt placed both hands on his shoulders from behind and leaned forward a bit.

“He means that he thinks they would suit you.” Newt cleared up, pressing his cheek against Thomas’ and having him break out into a smile.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant, but you got it, right?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah, I got it.” He didn’t get it. But het got what it meant that Thomas thought about him and about what he would like to see Minho wear and yeah he didn’t particularly own a crimson red jacket but hey there’s a first time for everything and it was almost time for New Year, New Me and what if the New Minho would get really into fashion and wear red jackets and got an ear piercing because the silver one, catching the light beautifully, dangling from Thomas’ earlobe looked really good on him. New Year, New Minho really wanted to spend more time in this shop with Newt and Thomas, drinking atrocious coffee abominations, eating cake that would have him make a new dentist appointment, and shelving books with Newt. Good god, how much he wanted to shelf books with Newt and get better at archery so that he could get Thomas a Caramel sirup, marshmallow fluff, White Chocolate Coffee.

“By the way,” Newt let go of Thomas and started pulling jackets off the hanger, handing them to Minho, “We didn’t catch your name yesterday.”

“Oh, Minho.”

“Ah okay, I’m Ne-“

“Newt.” Minho finished and nodded towards Thomas, who was already putting on single-use gloves, “That’s Thomas. You said each other's names yesterday.” And I didn’t spend the rest of the bus ride home looking through the shops pretty bare Instagram page, which mostly featured pictures of Thomas with cute Dog-stomers. Customers who came in with their dogs and asked if they had dog sweaters and Thomas, in return, asked if he could take pictures with their dogs. Minho knew basically everything about those two.

“Ah, yes right. Okay, now that that’s out of the way…” Newt nodded towards the pile of clothes. “Let’s go.”

Minho, glad that the weird “we’re strangers but not really but we met in weird circumstances so we don’t know each other's names yet, but this is already the second meeting but asking about your name now feels like its too late” conversation went over quickly, took the gloves Thomas handed him and looked at the first jacket in his hands.

Brown, even the exact right shade of brown, but the fur looked a little strange and oh, it wasn’t even the right brand. Minho put it back on the hanger, then pulled it out again in case he was simply remembering wrong and dug deep into the jacket's pockets. All that was waiting for him in there was an old receipt and a normal-looking, not pick up and put in your pocket worthy gray pebble.

“What are we even looking for by the way?” Thomas asked from the rack behind Minho, arm deep into an inside pocket of a jacket Minho could already tell was the wrong color.

“A little piece of paper and…”, he sighed, turning around to face the two. He suddenly felt embarrassed for caring about something so trivial so much, but cringe was apparently dead, so he might as well reveal his biggest personality flaw.

“I kinda really believe in like… fortune cookies?” he asked “And… for every year on my birthday, well not every year maybe since I was… 8 or so” or so like he couldn’t recite each one of them by heart, “I got one for my birthday and whatever it says inside is kinda like… my motto or something for the next year.”

Thomas and Newt looked at him, not judging, not second-hand embarrassed, just plain interested, which gave him the bravery to keep talking about his big, life-ending secret.

“And I put them on the front page of the photobook I make for each year, but last year was so stressful that I never really had time to sit down and do it?” He ran a hand through his hair, looking at his feet, “and now it's almost my birthday again and I printed out the pictures and everything, but I can't find the paper that was in the cookie and I can't remember what it said and I really need it back for the continuation of it all, you know?” Minho looked back up at the two, melting at the sight of their warm smiles.

“That’s such a cool tradition, oh my god!” Thomas exclaimed, nodding along.

“And kinda the only acceptable reason why someone would go through the efforts of looking through hundreds of jackets,” Newt added, joining in on Thomas nodding and general spreading good, non-judging, accepting vibes.

Minho let out a breath and scratched his head.

“Yeah and I found a picture of me from last New Year's Eve, that’s my birthday by the way.” He started, pulling out his phone to look for the picture he had taken a screenshot of the other day.

“Oh, what a special birthday! It must feel like all the fireworks are just for you.” Thomas interrupted him, excitement sparking up in his eyes. Minho waved him off with the free hand that wasn’t holding his phone, then turned it around towards them to show them the picture of him in the jacket, bright lights glimmering in the back of it.

“Yeah and also like no one you know really wants to go celebrate your birthday just for your birthday's sake and not you know… to watch the fireworks and stay up until New Year's but,” Minho waved his hand again, adding a shrug to his demeanour to sound like he didn’t care, “it's whatever, you know?”

“Ah, yeah I get that.” Newt nodded, now looking at Minho again with a sympathetic smile warming up his gaze. “But I mean this year… if you want to…” he turned his head to Thomas, who immediately understood that the question was meant for both of them and nodded in excitement, “we could celebrate your birthday together?”

Every single thought he ever even remotely had left his brain. Every single word he ever knew vanished in the blink of an eye and he felt barely like the same Minho that just lived on his normal, quite boring life just seconds ago. No one, in his 25 years of having the same birthday on the same day, since you know, his birth, had ever thought of asking him to celebrate his birthday instead of New Year's Eve. It was always a “Wanna go out celebrate?” or “Let's go to this New Year's Party on your birthday” type of question, never a full-on invitation to celebrate just his birthday.

“I- you- you don’t have to-“, he stuttered, his cheeks hot to the touch, “I mean- we barely know each other and-“

“If we don’t find that jacket quick, we might get to know each other quite well until then.” Thomas quickly interrupted him, leaning forward on the rack and resting his chin on his crossed arms. He looked at Minho like he was a firework himself.

“I- yes I would love to, actually, if that’s okay with-“

“I wouldn’t have asked if it wouldn’t be okay with us, right Tommy?” The joy written all over Newt's face was mirrored in Thomas's look, who only nodded.

“Yup, Newt’s a very straightforward person.”

Minho looked between the two. He could barely believe they were real right now, because what real person was this kind? This thoughtful, this warm and welcoming, this beautiful and fun. He didn’t even know them for 24 hours and yet it felt like he’d known them for years somehow. He would love to spend his birthday with Thomas and Newt. This year and all of the years to come.

“Okay, thank you. Yes, that would be so great.” He admitted and felt his cheeks hurt from smiling. He hoped they would never find that jacket.

His wish came true, they never did find his jacket. And with that they also never found his fortune cookie prophecy. What they did find was that Ginger doesn’t taste all to bad in really sweet coffee, Thomas could eat 3 pieces of Cheesecake before his stomach started hurting, and that neither Newt nor Thomas had ever really appreciated the Twilight movies for the masterpiece that they are. They found out that Thomas and Minho were very divided on what their favourite Christmas song was – BTS’ Dynamite (Holiday Remix) and Butter (Holiday Remix) were on loop while they were making gingerbread houses at Minho's flat – and they still didn’t let Newt know that those weren’t the original versions. Thomas and Minho both enjoyed mismatching socks, now mismatching more than ever because of them mismatching their mismatching socks.

Minho learned that Thomas and Newt met each other at a flea market 8 years ago and that he wished he were with them at the time. They knew everything about each other and Minho was still busy decoding their secret language built on years of knowing each other better than any other person on the planet. But they were kind enough to translate it to him, to let him in on their history. They got each other funny Paint by Number pictures for Christmas and spent the holidays working on a big puzzle on the floor of Newt's and Thomas' living room.

The day he stepped into the thrift store to get his jacket back felt lifetimes ago, but just a mere 2 weeks later, he found himself standing outside the Cupids Cup with his hands in a jacket that didn’t belong to him and smelled beautifully like Newt's perfume.

The line was outside the door, everyone trying to get their caffeine and sugar fix before the fireworks tonight and Minho tried to catch a glimpse inside the café. It was still as pink as ever and the baristas were basically flying through the room to get all of the orders ready in time. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to reply to Thomas’ “I really meant extra extra caramel! like double shot caramel not just one, please!” message when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Minho quickly looked at the person, hoping they didn’t notice his scared gasp at the interruption.

“Oh my god, hi!” Sonya exclaimed with a big smile on her face. They only met briefly at the Christmas market last week while she was busy running the spiral potato booth, and Newt introduced her as “my annoying sister, don’t even think about asking her for a friend or, god forbid, family discount, she wants you bankrupt and hungry”.

“Oh hi!” he responded, leaning into her hug. She gave as sturdy and comforting hugs as Newt, with a big pat on the back while embracing.

“Did they make you get coffee in the freezing cold while they're cozy and warm inside?” she joked, letting go of Minho and looking over his shoulder towards the Thrift Shop, glimmering lights on.

“Yeah, I suggested it actually. So, it's my fault.”

“Don’t let them get too comfortable, you’ll be their errand boy before you know it,” she laughed her big “I’m related to Newt and we all have the same booming, infectious laugh” laugh and patted Minho on the shoulder.

“I won’t- hey wait.” He gently grabbed onto the collar of her jacket. When he first met her, he had only seen her behind her booth in the red Christmas apron, but now she was wearing her normal clothes. Normal clothes that included a huge brown jacket with fake fur.

“When did you get that jacket?” Minho asked her, trying to sound as normal as he could while standing in front of Newt's sister, grabbing onto her collar like a normal person. He quickly put his hand down.

Sonya looked up and down her jacket, a confused expression on her face.

“This one?” She gestured towards herself, “Oh maybe last year? Got it from the shop while they were stocking it. Fresh from the rack the second they put it up.” She nodded behind herself towards the Second Chapter, and Minho felt like he would explode into a million pieces. A sudden electricity rushed through his body and he must have looked the part.

“Are you okay?” Sonya asked while huffing out a laugh.

“This is going to sound so dumb, but have you worn it much?”

“No, not really? Like maybe a few times? Why, what's going on?”

“I- I need to- Can you check the pockets?” He hoped he wasn’t visibly shaking.

Sonya blinked at him like he was a meal she did not order. She raised her eyebrows and patted the pockets of the jacket.

“Do you know something I don’t?” she asked, an unsure smile on her lips. The suspense was actively driving him crazy. There it was, his jacket, standing right in front of him on his birthday, and the person wearing it, the sister of the guy he might or might not be crushing on, was wearing it like it wasn’t the most amazing fate-defining, prophecy-declaring, set of planets aligning coincidence ever.

“No, I-“ Minho groaned and looked Sonya desperately in the eyes. “I gave away a jacket like this last year, and I forgot something important in there, and I’ve been trying to get it back. That’s how I met Newt and Thomas, and you might be wearing my jacket, please, please, can you just check the pockets for me?” He stumbled over his words. He was sending out prayers, manifesting thoughts, everything to get Sonya to move faster.

“Oh, holy shit, sure.” She nodded, finally sensing Minho's hurry and digging through the front pockets of the jacket. They were almost inside the shop now, the line moving quicker than before and Minho couldn’t tear his eyes off the jacket. Sonya's hands came away empty, and he had to restrain himself not to let out a sad sigh.

“Check the inside pockets,” he demanded, only adding a “please” as an afterthought, but thankfully, Sonya did as he said, opening the buttons of the jacket and rifling through the first pocket. Minho didn’t want to get his hopes up too high, but they were practically in space right about now. If this was it, then… this was it. His fortune cookie prophecy walking up and down Newt's family home, this very street, and probably also passing him by without him even noticing. He would finally know what one sentence was supposed to define this past year. He could read a new one later today without feeling like he was missing a crucial part of his own made-up traditions.

But if this wasn’t it then… this wasn’t it.

“Hm, nothing just this-“ before Sonya could even finish her sentence, he snatched the piece of paper out of her hand, not feeling bad in the slightest that the quick movement made her shriek. The people in the line looked at them funny, but Minho really couldn’t care less, even if they tried to set them on fire. Nothing mattered and at the same time, nothing had ever mattered as much as this moment in his life.

“Oh my god.” He looked at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, too shaky to unfold it, too excited to even move his legs. Without even thinking about it, he grabbed Sonya by the hips and lifted her up in the air, with her feet just coming off the ground, and spun her around like they were long lost and just now reunited lovers. She let out another shriek but joined in on Minho's excitedment with a big smile. When he put her down after 4 or 400 rounds, they were both grinning at each other wide enough to light up the entire street.

“I guess I stole your jacket?” she joked, white-people-smiling at some of the strangers looking at them.

“Keep the stupid jacket, I don’t care, but thank you, oh my god, you have no idea how much this means to me,” Minhio exclaimed, too loudly and glanced towards the Thrift Shop. He had to tell them. He had to tell them right this second or he might actually levitate off the ground and accidentally end up on the moon by how high with happiness he felt.

“I need to- sorry, I have to go!” Minho rambled on and passed by Sonya. He felt her smile on him as he ran towards the shop and faintly heard the “See you later!” before he entered through the main door. His glasses immediately fogged up and he quickly pushed them up on his head to see Thomas and Newt stare at him the way you look at a dog that just made a strange noise. He didn’t notice that he practically barged in like he wanted to rob the place and, in a few big steps, made his way towards the pair.

“Were they out of-“

“I have-“ Minho sucked in a big gulp of air, suddenly too out of breath to talk. His huffing and puffing combined with the big grin on his face must have made him look like he lost his mind, since Newt put a hand on his shoulder and looked him up and down in worry.

“Are you ok-“

“I met your sister and-“

“I have never met anyone who was this happy to meet my sister.”

“-she was wearing my jacket!” Minho burst out. Thomas immediately abandoned the CD player he was trying to get to work and practically jumped up towards Minho. His eyes opened wide enough that Minho could almost see the back of Thomas’ brain.

“What?”

“She got it last year, here,” Minho, finally catching his breath, nodded towards the inside of the shop, “like right after you put the jacket up for sale, she said and she had-“ he held up his shaking, sweating palm, inside: the crumpled piece of paper. Thomas and Newt reacted accordingly, with a big, drawn-out gasp that shook Minho to his core.

“No fucking way.”

“Holy shit, it was basically right there!” Newt added and Thomas and Minho just nodded excitedly.

“Yeah, like so right there it's almost scary.” Thomas chimed in, dimples pressing, matching his huge smile.

“Have you read it?” Newt asked, hand still resting on Minho's shoulder.

He just shook his head. Of course, he’d wanted to wait for the two before opening it and reading his fateful prophecy again, but now that he stood before them, he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to know. What if the message wasn’t as warm and hopeful as he wanted it to be? What if it didn’t actually match what he experienced this year and his lifelong obsession with them turned out to be all made up and fake and okay, never mind. He had to read it right now.

Their mind-reading powers on the heights of alert, Newt and Thomas quickly moved behind Minho, looking over his shoulder as he uncrumpled the crumpled note. The font had rubbed off a bit making it hard to read at parts, but right before his own eyes was what he thought was lost forever and it read:

What you think might be lost forever can be found.

An eerie silence settled over the thrift store. The candles stopped flickering for a brief moment until the three of them burst out into laughter.

“Well, it was lost.” Thomas started.

“And then we found it.” Minho added.

“Oh, what great prophecy.” Newt finished. All of their laughter echoed happily through the store, getting caught in the hundreds of jackets on the racks. Minutes and minutes passed laughing. First Thomas went down, knees dropping to the floor and holding his stomach from laughter, then Newt bent over, resting his hands on his thighs, occasionally wiping his teary eyes and taking deep breaths between giggles. Whenever they thought they were over it, a short silence washed over them before they looked each other in the eyes and one of them just whispered, “What you think might be lost…” until the whole laughing explosion started again.

By the end of it, Minho found himself lying on his back, staring at the grey ceiling and unsure of how long they had been laughing. He could barely believe he found his jacket again, yet that he got his prophecy back. He placed the piece of paper on his chest, slowly sitting up and looking at Thomas and Newt in front of him. They both looked like they had just spent the last hour exercising, cheeks red and out of breath. Their warm smiles meeting Minhos’ made his heart ache with love for them.

Thomas, not ready to get up yet, bent to his left trying to grab a hold of the plastic bag next to him.

“I know you just found your old one, but” Thomas rummaged through the crinkling bag and pulled out three shiny, golden plastic packets, “I got all of us fortune cookies for your birthday.”

He tossed one to Newt at random and held his hands out towards Minho, one fortune cookie in each.

“Pick your fate.” He said, making his voice sound low enough to be mistaken for a quest-giving wizard.

Minho couldn't believe his luck. He looked from the cookies to Thomas' big smile, to Newt's knowing, loving eyes, back to Thomas, who was still eagerly waiting for him to pick one.

“If you don’t like what it says,” Newt started, voice going quieter before dropping to a whisper while cupping one hand in front of his mouth, “we have a big box full of them at home.” Minho chuckled and thought of what home had suddenly become to him. No longer was it his lonely flat or his parents' place. It was this shop, this street, it tasted like overtly sweet coffee and looked like Thomas and Newt.

He grabbed a cookie at random, feeling the warmth of Thomas's hands on the plastic. He ripped open the gold foil, Thomas and Newt doing the same and when they were all holding their cookies in their hands and exchanged looks, Minho knew that whatever this new year had in store for him, he didn’t need a little prophecy to decide his fate for him.

How lucky he was already that what was lost, was lost in the first place.