Archive of Our Own

Gi-hun should be working from home right now, sitting comfortably in his pajama pants with a blanket over his lap, typing away like a responsible adult. Instead, he’s at a café that charges an absurd amount for an iced coffee, sitting at his usual corner table where the Wi-Fi signal is strong, the air conditioning is just right, and—most importantly—he has a perfect view of the counter.

Not that he’s looking. Gi-hun tells himself it’s about the Wi-Fi and the coffee.

Really, it is. 

Except he is…

Because behind the counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, pouring steamed milk into someone’s latte like he’s creating a work of art, is the real reason Gi-hun has made this place his second home.

Hwang In-ho.

The super-hot barista, with beautiful dark eyes that suck you in at the first sight and never let you go, making you do things that you should definitely not be doing!

Gi-hun doesn’t even like coffee that much. He drinks it because society expects him to, but he wouldn’t go out of his way for it. Yet here he is, for the third time this week, paying way too much for an iced americano that he does not even need just so he can get a glimpse of those eyes. He sits here, pretends to work, and watches In-ho move around behind the counter when he should be watching his laptop screen.

He assures himself that he is being subtle about it. That no one has noticed. That he is just another customer enjoying the ambiance. (That he always comes to this cafe when the hot barista is on the shift is just a co-incidence and nothing more.) But when he gets up to order his second drink of the day—a completely unnecessary but absolutely justifiable purchase—he catches the knowing smirk from one of the other baristas, a girl with dyed pink hair whose name tag reads Kang Sae-byeok.

“You again,” she teases as he steps up to the counter.

“Me again,” Gi-hun replies, trying to sound casual. “Big workday. Lots of emails. I need the fuel.”

Sae-byeok hums. “Right. And you definitely did not time this so you could have him make your drink, huh?” She jerks her chin toward In-ho, who is currently focused on tamping down espresso grounds, completely oblivious to their conversation.

“What? No.” Gi-hun scoffs. “That is ridiculous. I just happen to like—” he glances at the menu and picks the first thing his eyes land on “—uh, vanilla oat milk lattes. Can I have that… err, vanilla oat milk latte.” Gi-hun doesnot even like milk

Sae-byeok raises a single unimpressed eyebrow. “You ordered an americano just five minutes ago.”

“It was bad,” Gi-hun lies, even though it was not bad. Anything touched by In-ho’s magnificent, chiseled arms can never be bad. “Too bitter.”

“Then why didn’t you add sugar?”

“Because.” Geez, is this an interrogation. He crosses his arms, now on the defensive. “Maybe I just wanted something different.”

“Yeah, right,” Sae-byeok says, clearly not buying it. But she punches in his order anyway and calls over her shoulder, “In-ho, your favorite customer’s here.”

Gi-hun nearly chokes. “You– I… I am not his favorite customer—”  Am I?

“Of course. You’re right,” Sae-byeok agrees. Then she grins. “You are just his most consistent one.”

Before Gi-hun can argue to save his face, In-ho steps up to the counter. “What’s the order?”

“Vanilla oat milk latte,” Sae-byeok supplies, and the grin has yet to leave her lips as she gestures towards Gi-hun with a tilt of her head.

In-ho looks at Gi-hun once and then nods, grabbing a cup and marking it with quick, precise strokes of a sharpie. He doesn’t even ask for a name. He knows it already. The thought makes something embarrassing flutter in Gi-hun’s chest.

As In-ho starts making his drink, Gi-hun watches—not in a creepy way (probably)—but in a way that is… appreciative. Objectively speaking, In-ho is just a good-looking guy. Tall (though not taller than Gi-hun himself… Gi-hun takes pride in winning that never-happening competition) broad-shouldered, a little too sharp around the edges, but annoyingly attractive in that effortlessly good way. He moves efficiently, not wasting a single motion, and his expression is unreadable as he works.

Gi-hun has never once seen him smile.

Well, that’s not true. He has, just… never at him.

It’s not like he wants In-ho to smile at him specifically. That would be ridiculous. It’s just—well, okay, maybe a little. (But that’s not why he’s here.)

“Here.”

Gi-hun blinks out of his thoughts as In-ho slides the drink across the counter. Their fingers almost brush, before In-ho pulls away as if burned, already turning back to the espresso machine. No lingering eye contact, no secret smile, no acknowledgment that Gi-hun has spent so much money at this café just to see him.

Typical. 

“Thanks,” Gi-hun mutters, grabbing the cup.

Sae-byeok, ever the intern at the Instigator Department, calls after him as he heads back to his table. “Hey, since you like our coffee so much, you should get a loyalty card. Every tenth drink is free.”

Gi-hun shoots her a glare over his shoulder. “Oh, come on—you’re enjoying this way too much,” he accuses.

“Just saying,” she sing-songs. “At the rate you’re going, you will have a free drink in no time.”

“Well, I am happy to see this café flourish.” He shakes the cup in his hands like he’s making some noble sacrifice.

Sae-byeok sighs, then beckons him closer with a finger. Gi-hun should probably ignore her, but alas, he cannot.

During his frequent visits, although he has yet to truly familiarize himself with In-ho, Sae-byeok has become something of a friend.

Once he is near, she half-whispers, “Why are you not taking the hint? Just ask him already.”

“Hint?” Gi-hun blinks. “What hint am I supposed to take?”

Sae-byeok looks at him like he is the dumbest person in the entire world—which is not true. Hopefully.

“He has been giving you his number for days, and you still haven’t called him—”

“Hold on… what?” Gi-hun looks at Sae-byeok for any hint of prank or jest. There is nothing of sorts. Rather she looks just as dumbfounded as he feels.

“You didn’t see the number?”

Gi-hun shakes his head. To say that he is confused is an understatement.

Sae-byeok exhales like she’s dealing with a lost cause. “He literally writes his number beside your name. Have you never noticed?”

Frowning, Gi-hun checks his cup quickly. Sure enough, thereis a string of numbers scrawled right there, next to his name. He never checked before. And now that he is looking, there is a tiny heart drawn beside it.

Gi-hun opens his mouth, but no words come out. “I—” He looks at the string of numbers again, as if they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something else. “I never checked!” He squeak-whispers.

Sae-byeok groans, rubbing her temples like she’s getting secondhand embarrassment. “Oh my god. He’s been giving you his number for days. How have you not noticed?”

Gi-hun, still staring at the digits written next to his name, can barely comprehend the question.

Has he been hitting himself in the foot with an axe this entire time? Because every time In-ho handed him a drink, he just quietly went to his usual seat and sipped at it while sneaking glances at In-ho. He never looked at the cup. He never needed to—because, in the early days, it was just his name. He got used to it.

“I’m a fool,” he groans, rubbing his hair so hard it probably looks a mess now. “Is it too late? How do I—” His thoughts are spiraling. Poor In-ho. How must he feel after giving his number only for Gi-hun to never call? “Oh god.” Gi-hun drags a hand down his face. “Should I just… go home and die?”

“Drama queen,” Sae-byeok says in an unimpressed tone. Then she leans in,  “You like him. He likes you. That is two people mutually liking each other. Math says it is simple.”

“Math can go to hell.”

“Gods! Just ask him out. It’s that simple.”

Gi-hun pointedly ignores her (as if it’s ever that simple). Sae-byeok rolls her eyes but doesn’t press the issue. Instead, she gestures toward the back-counter, where In-ho is rinsing out a blender. “Look. He’s literally right there. Just do something about it!”

Gi-hun makes the grave mistake of looking.

In-ho, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he works, a tiny crease between his brows as he concentrates—

Yeah.

Nope.

Gi-hun is not going up there.

Instead, he hurries back to his table, heart pounding, and pulls out his phone. If he can’t be brave in person, he can at least try to salvage this through text. He takes a sip of his latte—sweet, smooth, perfectly balanced. Of course it is. Because In-ho made it.

Goddamn it!

He needs a plan. (Should he bring flowers? Would that be too cheesy? Yeah, probably.) Instead, he quickly types the number into his phone and sends:

One tick. Then two. Message delivered.

Then, the dreaded blue tick.

Gi-hun swallows hard.

He’s officially in fight-or-flight mode over a single text. This is so much worse than losing money at poker.

But then—

A typing bubble appears.

Then a response:

Gi-hun groans. Oh, he is never going to live this down. He might as well be the stupidest man alive.

Gi-hun glances up, considering asking Sae-byeok for help. But then he notices—In-ho is back in his usual spot, one hand resting on the counter as he leans against it, phone in the other. And—oh no—he’s watching him. Their eyes meet, and Gi-hun immediately looks away, ears burning.

Shit. He needs a better response. Something smooth. Something flirtatious. Something that—

God, he’s an idiot with zero rizz.

From the counter, he hears In-ho snort. When he glances up again, there it is. That arc of lips—not just a smirk, not a polite curve, but an actual smile, and it’s directed at him.

His brain short-circuits. His soul leaves his body.

A new message pops up.

Gi-hun’s fingers move before he can think.

… Tyeah?

He cringes but doesn’t have time to fix it before another text comes in.

And immediately regrets it.

He must sound like a stalker.

He quickly follows up. Then groans internally. Oh god, he’s making it worse.

Gi-hun pauses.

Then, finally, with a deep breath, he owns up to it.

Gi-hun glances up again, preparing to gauge just how badly he’s messed this up. But instead of annoyance, he sees something surprising—

In-ho is biting back a laugh, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Oh.

Oh, that does things to Gi-hun.

Gi-hun blinks.

That’s it? That’s the response? No teasing? No calling him out?

He stares at his screen. Then at In-ho.

Then back at his screen.

Then back at In-ho—who, by the way, is still smiling.

Gi-hun is smiling himself now.

He may have zero rizz, but somehow, somehow, In-ho is agreeing to meet him.

And waiting.

Oh boy.

He’ll definitely do that.