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Chan had no idea why this meeting Jisung called couldn’t have been an email, or at least a perfectly nice lunch in the company cafe where they could’ve used their staff discounts. When he and Changbin arrived instead at the new place across the street and met Jisung at his booth, he shoved both of them onto the bench on the other side of him.
“See that tall, pretty guy over there?”
Chan and Changbin gazed towards the counter at the centre of the room. Three people in black aprons stood behind the counter with their backs to them. Chan noticed first of all that one of them was blindingly blond, but clearly that wasn’t who Jisung meant.
“That one over there.”
The tallest of the black aprons turned around. A good-looking young man with wavy hair and a pair of big earrings was stirring a steaming cup before taking a milk pitcher and creating an elaborate latte art for a bunch of mesmerised teenagers. Changbin made an appreciative noise that had Jisung grinning ear to ear.
“I’m gonna get his number by the end of lunch,” Jisung said. “If I don’t get it, lunch isn’t over.”
Changbin tched. “We’re gonna be here a while, then.”
“It’s my treat today! Let’s order something and hope he comes over.”
“This says you have to order at the counter,” Chan pointed out the placard on their table.
“It also says you can request table service!” Jisung said in the way he did when he was excited and chuffed and no one was as excited as he. “And I’m requesting some latte art.”
When Earrings finally stepped away from his coffee station and attended to the counter, Jisung made a break for it, giving him the most radiant of grins. Chan would’ve worried about this sudden maniacal crush of Jisung’s if he weren't so happy, and of course Chan liked to see him happy, even if Jisung was definitely frothing at the mouth a little.
He could only guess that Jisung had been planning this for a while when their enormous lunch arrived some minutes later, delivered by the undoubtedly pretty Earrings.
“I’ll start making your latte in a bit, the milk’s heating up now,” he told Jisung. “Are you okay waiting like five minutes more?”
“Take all the time you need,” Jisung said, all moon-faced.
Earrings smirked at him. “I was wondering if you’d ever order any of our food. Enjoy.”
Chan waited until their barista-slash-waiter was out of sight and hopefully out of earshot. “Just how many times have you been here?”
“Where’s the rest of it? Didn’t you get us any drinks?” Changbin complained.
“I was distracteddddd,” Jisung somehow said with food-swollen cheeks.
“Thanks a bunch,” Chan sighed as he stood up. “Binnie, shall we?”
Together they approached the counter and looked over the menus printed on the surface.
“What’re you feeling like?”
“You choose, hyung,” Changbin said, getting out his phone and typing away on it. Chan briefly wondered if it was to tell their boss they’d be back late because of the seven and a half courses Jisung had ordered. They’d be taking most of it to go and eating leftovers for days in the studio. But maybe they’d be more productive that way.
“Hi, welcome, can I take your order?”
Chan looked up. The cutest, most handsome man ever to wear a black apron looked back at him. He had a soft face but such a piercing gaze that Chan’s mouth dried in an instant.
“Um.” Chan scanned the menu frantically. Everything on it was coffee. Of course it was. But he couldn’t just up and leave this barista hanging. Then he spotted a very small selection of teas just to the side.
“Oh, jasmine tea, please!”
“That comes in a pot, just so you know. I can make it a smaller pot if you’re not sharing.”
“Y-yeah, that’d be great!” Chan flustered, then realised Changbin side-eyeing him. “I mean! No! I’m sharing it! With him. Or is there something else you want, Binnie—”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“Okay, coming right up,” the barista said professionally. Or if only because he didn’t care. “Name, please?”
“I… sorry?”
“Your name so you know when it’s ready.”
“Oh, my name is—” Chan promptly forgot his name “—oh, shit.”
“I don’t think I can repeat that out loud and keep my job,” the barista deadpanned, though his lips quirked up just a fraction. “Do you have another name I can put down?”
“His name is Chris,” Changbin said for him.
“How do you spell that?”
“C-H-R-I-double Z.”
Chan went as red as a fire engine. He waited until the barista’s back was turned before grabbing Changbin by the arms.
“Oops,” Changbin fake-gasped. “Is that not how you spell it?”
“Binnieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Changbin’s eyes crinkled with laughter yet to erupt. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure the barista knows your name isn’t spelt with double Zs.”
Chan didn’t dare look back. Then he did anyway. Their barista looked like if a cat had made the wish to become human and struck the lottery in every way possible. Through the other names called out and drinks being dispensed, he focused on theirs, steeping teabags in a white pot with his lips puckered. It was criminal, how that one action doomed Chan in an instant.
Their barista’s nametag read Minho.
“One jasmine tea for Chrizz-ssi,” Minho the barista called out, zinging the Zs. Changbin practically sank into the floor from trying not to laugh.
Chan blushed horribly when he went back up to the counter. “Thank you.”
“No problem, Chrizz.”
“It’s actually spelt with one S.”
“Shrizz?” The barista smiled and his teeth were like that of the Easter Bunny’s. “Enjoy your tea.”
It was a miracle Chan was still standing after that. Changbin scrunched up his face in an attempt at not absolutely losing it in public, and all but smashed it into one of the many cakes Jisung had ordered for lunch when they made it back to their seats.
Jisung looked at their tray in surprise. “Oh, you didn’t get coffee?”
“I don’t even drink coffee,” Chan reminded him with a croak. His head turned of its own accord towards the counter and snagged an eyeful of Minho, cat-bunny barista extraordinaire. Chan’s never been one to openly stare at somebody — much less somebody who’s borne witness to his latest faux pas — but.
He couldn’t think, eyeing Minho as he attended to new customers. He couldn’t help but notice that Minho didn't smile at anyone else. Maybe Chan read his nametag wrong and his name was actually Jinho or something. The inexplicable urge to find out pricked Chan from somewhere within and pressed. He wanted to know this man, or at least know more about him.
But not today. They were royally late getting out and returning to the studio. Jisung, at least, planned to present PD-nim with a slice of something smothered in cream cheese frosting in a paper bag to make up for it.
“Thank me later,” Jisung said, even though Chan and Changbin had just done so for his footing the bill. “Nothing can stop me now! I might get a text from Hyunjin!”
“Who?” asked Changbin.
“My barista!” Jisung said as if Changbin had asked if water was wet. “I wrote down my number on a napkin when I paid and he actually took it!”
“I thought you were getting his number,” Chan said dumbly.
“Ah, I changed my mind,” Jisung waved it off. “Didn’t wanna look like I was trying too hard.”
Changbin rolled his eyes. “Both of you are hopeless.”
“Eh, it’s you again,” Minho said, not unkindly, when Chan returned to the cafe two days later. The next day and he’d be way too obvious, three days and Minho will have no doubt forgotten him, seeing dozens and dozens of faces each day. Chan breathed easier when his nametag did in fact read Minho.
“What can I get for you today?”
Fuck it. Life is made for experiencing new things.
“What coffee do you, um, recommend?” Chan asked.
“You do not wanna ask me that question.”
“Oh yeah? Is it all really good?”
“No. You might just get something you hate, throw a fit and never come back to this establishment.”
“I promise I would never,” Chan couldn’t help chuckling, but then it occurred to him that this terrible event must have happened if Minho was being so serious. “Oh, I’m sorry, did someone… actually…”
“No, so you’d better not be the first. Our most popular drink lately is iced double espresso, but I’m guessing it’s because we get lots of office suits. Now I’d offer you some latte art, but only Hyunjin knows how to do it and his shift isn’t until this evening.”
Right, of course. Chan should admit defeat and order tea.
“The double espresso sounds great!”
“Okay, coming right up.” Minho entered his order into the screen on the counter. “That’s so cute.”
Chan must’ve misheard. “Hm?”
“Your wolf.”
Chan didn’t know why his first instinct was to grab the damn thing off his backpack. His wolf plushie keychain bounced onto his shoulder when he missed and seized a fistful of air.
“It looks just like you,” Minho started a hulking coffee machine. “It’s like your son.”
“Oh! I suppose so— my friends got him made for me specially so I named him and everything—”
“You did? What’s he called?”
“Yeah! This is Wolfie!” Wow. Real creative. But Minho’s eyes sparkled.
“Hold on, they should meet,” he said, hurrying to the far end of the counter. He came back with a knapsack armoured with a dozen colourful badges and tiny fluffy keychains, and picked one out to show him.
Hanging off the chain was a white rabbit’s face with two perky ears. Its eyes were narrowed all tough-like, but otherwise it was too entirely squishable.
“Awww! Yours looks just like you, too!”
“How dare you.” Chan’s heart did a swandive as Minho snorted. “You’re saying I look evil?”
“N-no! I’m saying you’re both cute!”
Minho’s eyes widened. And if they looked as if they might contain all the stars and galaxies…
“Flirting will get you nowhere, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Chan said, standing up taller. Straighter. Hah. If he chuckled now, Minho might not believe him. “I turn 22 in October.”
“You’re older than me?” was his startled reply. “When in October?”
“The 3rd.”
“Ohhh. I’m on the 25th. You’ve got like one year and 22 days on me—”
“Minho-hyung! You gonna take out your drink?” Another barista called from behind. Minho ran for it at once, grabbing a plastic takeaway cup on his way back. With a twinge of mirth he copied Chan’s grimace.
“Sorry for distracting you,” Chan said embarrassedly. He then realised that he was the only customer actually inside the cafe, save for a pair of old ladies eating paninis al fresco.
“No you’re not. They’re abusing their store perks.” Minho said of his coworkers. “They turn their daily free drink into ten.”
“Ten! Do you use yours on the espresso?”
“Of course not,” Minho smiled at him — well, it was close to that. “I go for iced Americano.”
Chan has had approximately a singular sip of Americano his whole life, and it was only because he didn’t know what it was at the time. He’s pretty sure that sip is why he hasn’t touched a drop of coffee since. He looked at the darkness Minho had just poured into the coffee shaker and tugged at his ear.
This is going to be… bitter.
“So… um…” Asksomethingmeaningfuldon’tflirtlikecrazy “… you really like coffee, huh?”
“Can’t live without it,” Minho replied. “Not addicted anymore though. This job’s just so I don’t mooch off my parents.”
“I get that, I get that… do you take cash?”
“We do.”
As Chan opened his wallet, Minho produced a marker pen from his apron pocket and put it to the plastic cup. For a moment — and totally because of Jisung’s stunt yesterday — Chan thought that Minho had seen fit to give him his number.
“One iced double espresso. For my October twin.”
“We’re a year and 22 days apart,” Chan smiled.
“Whatever, October is longer than that.”
Oh, Chan can’t help it. He’s down.
“Thank you, Minho-ssi.”
Minho’s eyes bulged for a split second before he looked down at his nametag.
“You work around here, don’t you?”
Chan’s lanyard and badge were inside his hoodie. “What gave it away?”
“I read your mind.”
“Oh yeah? What am I thinking about now?”
“You’re thinking about how your wolf is gonna eat my rabbit.”
Chan clutched his coffee with a gasp. “I swear he won’t! He’s friendly!”
“I know,” Minho was enjoying this, leaning on the counter with his arms wide. “Just wanted to make sure you’d come back.”
“Of course I’ll come back,” Chan said, if you keep that up. “You’re right across the street, after all.”
“What, you work there?” Perhaps Minho was trying not to show it, but Chan knew all too well when people suddenly discerned him in a whole new light — the subtle reverence, the hushed downplay of their whole body from trying not to look or sound too interested before delving into the regular twenty questions of what exactly he did there.
But Minho smirked, a diamond glint in his eye. “JYPE’s coffee can’t beat mine, huh?”
Chan actually wished he knew the answer to that question. “I guess we’ll find out.”
He walked out of the cafe smooth as butter, and nearly tripped on the kerb when he saw the scrawl of black ink on the side of his cup. It was a little doodle of his wolf, except this wolf had his tongue poking out.
Awww.
Minho had definitely forgotten his name.
When Chan next returned Minho had airpods in, and was in the middle of taking one of the huge coffee machines apart. His blond coworker and the famed Earrings — Jisung’s Hyunjin — were stood at the counter, scribbling onto a notepad, where a group of about five people watched on.
“Sorry again for the inconvenience,” said Blondie in a deep voice that Chan did NOT expect. “We are experiencing… um…”
“Technical issues,” Hyunjin nodded. “In the meantime, please take your seats and we’ll serve you your food first.”
Bows were exchanged as the two of them scurried away from the counter and into a back room, probably where the kitchen was. Minho, now washing out a part of the machine at the sink, caught sight of him in the corner of his eye. He tapped one of his airpods.
“Yah, can you wait a couple minutes?”
“Sure, it’s no rush.”
“You are so polite. Everybody should be more like you.”
Now, that’s only basic courtesy. Chan felt himself pinking all over just the same.
“What’ll it be this time? The machine takes like ten minutes to clean, so you might as well order now.”
Aha! Chan did his research last night.
“A caramel macchiato would be great. To go.”
“What, not a fan of my espresso?” Minho played at being highly offended. “Fine, I’ll win you over just yet. Whipped cream?”
“Please, yeah. Extra.”
“Okayyyy,” Minho took out a bottle of large tablets, dropped one into the tray he’d just washed, popped it back into the machine and started it. “Want a snack? The cakes sold out, but now we have loaded cookies.”
Chan bought three of those. He supposed he meant to take them back to Changbin and Jisung, but he ate two of them while trying not to look at Minho, who’d rolled up his sleeves to clean and reassemble the rest of the machine. It just so happened that the counter was smack dab in the exact middle of the cafe, so it was never out of sight. His body wouldn’t let him take a seat, so there he was, leaning against the far end, close to the windows. Several passersby looked in as he stuffed his mouth with the delicious cookies.
Chan was aware he wasn’t Jisung — Hyunjin had texted him that night, and now the two of them were off to see a movie this weekend. But Minho wasn’t Hyunjin, of course. There was no saying how he would react if Chan took just a step closer to him. Chan had the feeling that Minho might bite him if he tried. It secretly tickled him. What was wrong with him?
Minho had finished his business with the machine, and was now setting up the milk steamer. Chan stared hopelessly at his back and the ties of his black apron, thinking of the right thing to say. He had a pen in his jacket pocket. A clear plastic box to the right of him held a stack of napkin tissues.
Awkwardness was not the worst thing that could ever happen if you really wanted to know somebody.
They could completely mishear your name, for one.
“You’re still here,” Minho appeared right in front of him, and Chan only jumped out of his skin a little. “You like our cakes that much?”
“Oh! Right! I’m admiring the cakes!” Chan said about the display case of only cookies right next to him.
“You’re not subtle at all,” Minho tapped his airpods again. “Don’t waste your time on cake anyway, the texture's awful. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Chan went through every single shade of pink. He couldn’t let this turn into a discussion about cake.
“What’re you listening to?” Chan tried instead.
“You probably don’t know it, it’s indie.”
“I’m pretty indie myself,” Chan grinned. “Try me.”
“No, you really probably don’t know it,” But Minho grinned at him too. “So if you somehow do know 3RACHA…”
Chan barely registered the gasp that left him.
“Yah, you okay?”
“That’s— that’s — you’re—”
“Wow, okay, calm down. Now it’s Ariana Grande, but I really prefer her earlier stuff—”
“No, wait! That’s me! I mean, that’s me and my two friends. We’re 3RACHA.”
Minho blinked. His head went to one side.
“And I’m king of Joseon.”
“Well, Jeonha, I’m not pulling your leg! That’s my team you’re listening to!” Chan laughed, which made him sound like he in fact was. Minho looked at him disbelievingly, lips pursed in a terrifyingly irresistible way.
“Which one of them are you then?”
Ah, he’s that familiar.
“Wanna guess?” Chan said, leaning on the counter in a burst of confidence, or if only to prove himself. He swore he saw Minho’s nose twitch imperceptibly, like a bunny’s. “Three strikes and you’re out.”
“Two strikes before I eventually get the right answer, you mean.”
“So you’re chicken?”
Minho snorted, eyes half-lidded. “It’s only fun if there are stakes to it.”
“You’re on.”
“Let’s say… if I guess right, you tip me 150%.”
“Deal,” Chan nodded. “But if you guess wrong? You give me your free drink privilege for the day?”
“Don’t push it, you. If I guess wrong…”
Chan was vaguely reminded of a fairy tale from his childhood. A name-guessing game to determine the fate of a princess’s firstborn child. Sometimes he was very glad that some stories were just stories. And that his macchiato wasn’t that exorbitant.
“But if I guess wrong…” Minho said slowly. “I give you my number.”
Chan’s mouth fell open.
“What? You think we didn’t all see your friend give Hyunjin that napkin?” Minho chuckled. “Somehow he managed to be way less subtle than you. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“I— I mean— only if you’re comfortable with it—”
“I’ll write my guess on your cup. Then we’ll see what happens.”
With that, Minho dramatically uncapped his marker, but stood with his back to Chan, hiding what he was doing. Chan desperately tried to recall the ending of that fairy tale as he put his cash on the counter.
The princess won that game, didn’t she?
“Yah. Wait,” Minho whirled around and grabbed the counter. “If you really are 3RACHA…”
“Well, 1RACHA at the moment…” Changbin and Jisung would never believe him when he got back and told them.
“I have a crew. Because I, um, dance. That’s my dream.”
“Wow, really?” Chan said in wonderment. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the possibilities of this. “That’s so cool!”
“We’re taking part in a hip-hop competition about a month from now, and it’s the final round. We’re supposed to set a routine to a song, so… is it okay if we use a 3RACHA song?”
The heavens opened and rainbows appeared. Chan didn’t think he’d ever been this thrilled.
“Ohmygoshohmygosh, of course you can! Which one?”
Chan and Minho snapped up sharp at the door jangling open to welcome new customers, but Minho jostled his phone out to open SoundCloud, then a playlist.
“This one,” he showed Chan.
“Please, by all means!”
“Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!” Minho bowed to him rapidly before taking off like a shot to retrieve Chan’s macchiato from the machine. “I’m indebted to you!”
“Thank you,” Chan said, fuzzy from head to toe. “I’d love to see you dance— or if there’s a video of the competition when you’re done—”
“There should be! Thank you again!” Minho said, handing over his drink.
Very quickly he was swamped, eyes bright and beautiful, to look upon the new customers in the line.
Chan put his straw into the coffee as he left, unable to stop smiling — so much so he just nearly missed the big CB97 scrawled in marker on the side of his cup.
Okay. Minho must definitely remember his name. Or some form of it.
That night, Chan had taken to all the social media he had and typed Minho’s name into the searches. The problem was that every man in Seoul might as well be named Minho. Perhaps if he knew Minho’s surname… or bothered Jisung to bother Hyunjin for it… or started checking all the accounts that didn’t have a selfie as the profile pic…
He gave up sometime after 2 am. Or maybe 3. He slumped over his laptop the next morning, weighed down in his bones.
“It’s from the coffee you drank yesterday,” Changbin said, pulling Chan’s cap over his eyes. “Come take a break, hyung, Sungie’s ordered lunch.”
“You go ahead, just bring me my share.”
Jisung tutted. “Now, hyung, we’ve talked about this.”
“I’m really, really close to finishing,” Chan insisted. It was true enough; he just wasn’t happy with this demo. He also felt the same way about the track Minho had chosen yesterday, listening to it on loop last night and imagining how a group of dancers could possibly move to it. He’d mix it a dozen different ways if he could, now that Minho knew about it.
There was a knock on the door. Jisung answered and the security guard poked his head in.
“Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a boy here with food delivery for you?”
“That’s right!” Jisung exclaimed. “Let him in, quick!”
The guard shuffled down the corridor to bring their courier in, and Chan’s hands froze above his keypad as Minho strode into the room with two large paper bags.
Jisung deflated like a stepped-on balloon.
“Expecting someone else?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“Hyunjin is occupied,” Minho said ominously. “He wants to know what flowers you like.”
“HE DOES?”
As Jisung rushed out his phone to search for answers, Changbin, snickering silently, got up with his wallet in hand.
“I’ve got this,” Chan said, standing up. He meant to grab Minho’s shoulder — and Changbin snickered a lot louder when Chan led Minho out of the studio by the hand. Wrist? His mind was racing too much to be sure.
Was Minho here to invite him to the competition he talked about? Not that Chan’s so presumptuous to assume an invitation, even with the inclusion of the song he made, but the second they were out in the corridor together, the tightness that'd been in Minho’s shoulders seemed to lift.
“I just wanted to tell you that I've choreographed a routine to the song,” said Minho. His tone had totally changed. He seemed a little shy, actually. “Thanks again for letting us dance to it.”
Chan softened immediately. “Ah— of course, it’s a huge honour you wanna dance to it!”
“I’d invite you to come see, but I can’t.” Oh, Minho was reading his mind. “I already invited my parents.”
“That’s okay, really! I’m sure they’re really proud of you!”
“I hope,” Minho shrugged, which made Chan realise he was holding something. A small cup of coffee hung in a little plastic bag on his wrist. Minho’s lips curved up when he saw Chan looking.
“So,” he said, back to menace barista mode.
“Mhm?”
“I guessed right yesterday, didn’t I?”
Chan sighed. He retrieved his wallet from his pocket.
“Wait, that’s not what I came here for.” Minho held out the cup of coffee, the straw already inside. “This was my free drink. Consider us even.”
“Minho-ssi, you didn’t have to!” Chan gasped. Because he really didn't.
But if Chan wasn’t already so stuck on him, this would’ve done it. “Let me tip you for your delivery, then?”
Minho nodded. Chan made sure to tip generously — if only to show Minho he kept his word — as he studied the drink that’d been made for him. It wasn’t as dark as the espresso nor as creamy as yesterday’s macchiato, but it was frothy and had been sprinkled with what Chan hoped might be chocolate.
“You made me an Americano?”
“Does this look like an Americano?” Minho said, scandalised. “This is cappuccino! With an extra shot of vanilla, since you’re clearly a sweet guy.”
Chan wondered if Minho heard the last bit of what he’d just said. Then he noticed the marker ink on his cup, and it was a face. Not a wolf, not a rabbit’s. Chan didn’t know if it was meant to be a person, either.
“Oh, who’s this?”
“Jureumi,” Minho replied, which was a relief before Chan took gold in the Embarrassing Yourself Olympics by asking if it was meant to be him or Minho himself.
“Is he… an alien?”
“He’s eternal,” Minho said cryptically. “Well, I hope you like it. Thanks again. For, eh, you know. I guess I’ll see you next time.”
“Wait, Minho, about your competition…”
“Mm?”
“Well, actually, about your dancing: they’re gonna do open auditions here in a couple weeks. You should try out! You’re gonna be 21, right? You're still eligible and everything! Consider it, at least?”
“Already did,” Minho said, which made Chan’s heart soar until: “I tried four years ago.”
“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry — if you ever wanted to try again—”
“It’s okay,” Minho shrugged again. “I know when things just aren’t meant to be.”
That little statement devastated Chan in ways he didn’t have words for. He’d never even seen Minho dance before. If this was about dance and only dance, why did it feel like something more than that?
“Well, if you ever change your mind…” Chan began to say.
“I know where to find you,” Minho finished for him. “I should probably be getting back.”
“Let me walk you out?”
“Nah, you’ll make me want to stay,” and Chan’s insides squeezed. “Enjoy. Don’t let Jureumi drink it all.”
It took a good few minutes before Chan returned to the studio, Changbin and Jisung having started chowing down cakes and sandwiches without him. Jisung was scrolling through pages and pages of flowers, but Changbin zeroed in on the cup in his hand.
“Hyung,” Changbin said carefully. “You have something you wanna tell us?”
Chan sighed.
Minho vanished after that. Chan looked in on the cafe daily, but there was no sign of him. He wasn’t there in the morning when Chan walked by, not in the afternoon when he tagged along with Jisung to buy lunch, nor in the evening when Chan was making his way home.
“He’s practising for his show. It’s pretty serious this time, so he’s asked for time off,” Hyunjin revealed when Chan finally had the guts to ask after a week. He’d grown acquainted with Hyunjin, if only because Hyunjin and Jisung were now head over heels. “It’s so serious, he shut off his phone.”
“That can’t be practical,” Jisung commented. “What if there’s an emergency?”
“That’s probably an exception.” Hyunjin fed him a piece of strawberry from the cake he’d just brought over. “Chan-hyung, are you sure I can’t get you a refill of that?”
“Nah, I’m okay,” Chan shook his head. His jasmine tea was so refreshing, so easy on him. He almost, almost missed the sour edge of Minho’s coffee.
Hyunjin seemed to hold the fort most days when Jisung dragged them all there for lunch or tea. Seungmin arrived shortly after and was the closest the cafe had to having Minho back; exuding the same silent but deadly vibe when he calmly retorted to customers giving cheek. Chan later learnt that Minho had specifically trained him on how to clean the machines, which more or less cemented his role as Minho’s replacement. Chan tried not to think too much about that.
“You’re one of them,” Seungmin said to him one day, in almost the same cryptic way Minho did.
“Sorry, one of who?”
“Those three Minho told us to watch out for. He said to serve you three anything you want.”
Chan couldn’t help but laugh. “Isn’t that usually how cafes work?”
“That’s what I told him,” Seungmin said. “But he wouldn't say anything more.”
A few days later, just a street short of the JYPE building, Chan turned his head to peer into the cafe’s windows. He was in there before he could blink.
“Minho,” he said, dashing to the counter, only for the barista there to look up at him with an amused, fox-like glance.
“You know, you’re like the second person to call me that,” he said, and Chan noticed only then that his nametag read Jeongin.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were—” but clearly they both knew that. “Are you new?”
“Yeah. Minho-hyung trained me.”
“Is there… um, any news from him? He kinda up and went.”
“Eh, he’ll be back,” Jeongin said, as if Minho had just gone to the restroom. “Did you know, he did mention something to me…”
“Yeah?”
“He told me I should keep an eye out for this one guy…”
“A guy?” Chan tried to be cool. “Did he give you a name?”
“Why?” Jeongin smiled. “Are you him?”
Chan ordered three loaded cookies to go.
When Chan next came to the cafe after days and days of work, the blond barista had reappeared at the counter, and Yongbok was a name Chan had never heard of before.
Feeling nostalgic for all of three weeks ago, he ordered an iced cappuccino with an extra shot of vanilla to go.
“Can I get your name for the order, please?”
“Sure, it’s Chris.”
“Oh?” Yongbok’s eyes lit up, as did the rest of him. “Where are you from?”
“Oh, I was born here, but I was raised in Sydney.”
“Far out, me too! Born and raised in Seven Hills,” Yongbok replied in an accent that was as strong as his. “Now I’m here studying. You're a student too?”
“Wish I were,” Chan said. “Say, where were you lately?"
“School. Studying in another country is wicked hard. We barely spoke Korean back home so I’m not that fluent. But Hyunjin really needed backup, so..."
“I’m not super fluent either,” Chan confessed. “You’re doing a bonza job, though!”
“I’ve got Minho to thank. He teaches me in exchange for help with English.” Yongbok smiled when Chan’s face changed on hearing that, and started the coffee machine. “You’re familiar with him, aren’t you?”
“A… little, I guess? He’s still off rehearsing’s what I heard.”
“Well, if you know that, you’re definitely familiar.”
So Minho talked about him to his coworkers... without once mentioning his name. Chan wondered how that was possible. Did they know it was him? It was him Minho was talking about, wasn’t it?
“Don’t worry, he’ll be back,” said Yongbok. “Hey, what’s your Korean name?”
“Chan.”
“Chan what?”
“That’s it,” Chan chuckled. “Should’ve told you that, huh? Could’ve saved you some ink.”
“On the contrary, I’m glad you didn’t, ‘cause I can’t for the life of me remember what the Hangul for ‘Chan’ is.”
For the first time ever, Chan left the cafe with a cup marked CHRIS. He’d pictured it going far more differently — and supposed it was on him for having expected that.
+1
The sun was setting outside. The road was getting busier, the wind picking up with it. Jisung had left with Hyunjin for a romantic dinner on the outskirts of town. Changbin had made Chan shut his laptop to eat a supper of pho with him in the company cafe.
“It’s been a while since we've been here," said Changbin.
“We can’t live off cake and coffee forever,” Chan still looked in the cafe’s windows each morning and night as he passed by, and realised then that they’d sampled all the food on the menu. Except he’d switched back to strictly water for a whole week and was finally sleeping a little more because of it. “When were you gonna tell me my tea also had caffeine in it, by the way?”
“I thought you already knew, hyung!” Changbin protested. “Wouldn’t have made much difference, honestly. You were super hooked on coffee.”
“I wasn’t,” Chan mumbled into his soup.
“Yeah, I figured. I was wondering why you suddenly offered us double espresso that day.”
“Oh, but you guys said you liked it!”
“Yeah, it was super strong… what’s up with you and the guy who delivered us lunch?”
“Mhm?”
“Tch. You know who I mean, hyung.”
Chan didn’t know what to tell him about that. Was there even anything to tell? Chan wasn’t even sure if Minho knew his name.
Was it actually that important, though?
“He’s still on time off,” Chan decided to say. “I didn’t get his number or anything.”
“Hasn’t he been off for ages now? I thought he’d quit.”
“Yongbok — the blond guy — he was off ages too, but that was for school, so now he's back."
“Oh, Yongbok’s great,” Changbin said suddenly, and Chan’s eyebrows all but leapt off his face. “He’s like a fairy and a dragon. I’d listen to him talk for hours.”
“You—” Chan began, spluttering some of his noodles in the process, but thought better of it. Right then his phone buzzed with texts from Jisung, who was supposed to be wining and dining his date.
“What’s he done now?” Changbin joked when he saw.
OMG LOOK AT THIS, Jisung had captioned a video of a TV playing above an alcohol shelf.
THATS OUR SONG!!!!
Chan's heart slid around his ribs as he pressed play. A black-box stage awash with harsh lights came to life. The people onstage were clad in dark hoodies.
Their track blared all tinny through his phone’s speakers, but it was their music.
And to their music, the people onstage were dancing powerfully.
“Someone on there’s a fan!” Changbin said, eyes wide, leaning over to listen better. Chan emptied his earbuds case into his hand and quickly connected them, pawing one off to Changbin.
Crossing the TV were the occasional shouts, heads and clothes walking past, zoom-ins from Jisung that made the video grainier than rice. Their song went on through and through.
“They’re…” Chan breathed.
“Really good,” Changbin said.
When the video cut at the applause kicking in, Jisung sent a second video. The audio on it was completely shot. The group that’d been dancing to their track had taken off their anonymising hoods, and heads of every colour hugged each other, faces bleary and grainy and no doubt sheened in sweat from their efforts.
“Hm, he looks familiar,” Changbin paused the video as the broadcast close-upped on one of the dancers, the one holding the trophy in the air. Even with the fuzzed quality of their video, Chan knew before Changbin said his next words. “Don’t we know him from somewhere?”
Chan polished what was left of his pho before telling Changbin he’d only be a minute. How funny that was, since a minute was so impossibly short. Chan bit his lip when a stream of cars blocked him from crossing the road right away. He couldn’t explain it. He had to do this now, or it’d be never, and if there was a chance of it being never, he very well couldn’t wait.
Chan got to the cafe door, busy and bright. Yongbok and Seungmin were behind the counter, taking orders from a line of people. The pen was still in his jacket pocket, as was the unused napkin from the last time he'd bought lunch here with Jisung.
He’d leave it with Yongbok to pass on, Chan decided, even if he went to pieces doing it. You miss all the shots you don’t take. And then he’d wait.
“Yah!” Someone yelled from behind him. “Chris!”
Chan blinked when he spun around and stared. Firstly, Minho looked out of this world with that silver dye job. Secondly, he had the most hilarious shirt on with a Godzilla cat destroying the city around it, his hoodie tied in a big rope around his waist.
Minho sighed tetchily at another rush of cars, running up to him the second it cleared, perhaps thinking Chan didn’t recognise him.
“You know my name??” Chan said, happy and bewildered.
“Of course I know your name! You’re the first person I’ve ever met called that!”
“You knew it all this time??”
“What? Of course I did! They wouldn’t let me in your building even when I gave it!” Minho said incredulously. “Okay, maybe I didn’t think that through enough. I should’ve shown up with some food or something.”
Chan surged forward and hugged him.
“Yah!” Minho yelled again, but before Chan could pull away, he felt one of Minho’s arms swing up his back.
“Um, I have good news. My crew—”
"Won first place! I’m so proud of you!” Chan said, unable to stop smiling. “Our Jisung's out right now and he saw your competition on the TV so he recorded it—”
“You watched it?” Minho’s eyes were like stars. “Did you like it?”
“Of course I did! I gotta be honest, I couldn’t tell which one you were until the hoods came off, but your moves are killer—"
“Stop making me want to kiss you,” Minho said incredibly suavely before he realised exactly what he said. “Shit, I mean— um… fuck.”
“Wow, Minho, at least buy me a coffee first!”
“Aishh!” Minho pushed himself out of Chan’s arms. “You don’t even like coffee, do you?”
“What gave it away?”
“Gagging at even a caramel macchiato with extra cream, maybe.”
“You saw that? How?”
“I wanted to see if I guessed right! But then it got me thinking…”
“About what?”
“You letting me make you coffee repeatedly, maybe?” Minho said, annoyed. “Even when you can’t stand drinking it?”
“I— I just really liked being around you. Talking to you. You’re…”
“Cute?”
“Yeah, but also really witty… a little devious…”
“So you do think I’m an evil rabbit.”
“You’re a really cute and witty evil rabbit,” Chan said. "I really like that."
Minho took a breath, gazing at him with no hardness. His hoodie had begun to unspool from his waist, and he huffed, retying it around himself like he would his black barista apron.
“I’ll have you know,” he started, serious once more, “I never mix business with pleasure. I still work here, so that makes you my customer. “
“But we’re not in the cafe right now, Minho! And you’re not on the clock! Speaking of which..." Chan bit his lip. “Are you a time-traveller?
Minho stared at him, eyebrows raised.
“Because I can see you in my future.”
Minho stared at him, silent. Then he snorted.
“Fuck, you’re so corny! I’m not making you coffee after that.”
Chan pouted dramatically at him.
“No, I’m making you tea. Non-caffeinated.”
“How are you doing that?? I was literally just thinking that!”
“I’m reading your mind, I said,” Minho said. “Trophy's with the crew. Got here in my parents' car. They're fine with it; they have to buy everyone supper anyway. And now you’re about to ask for my number.”
“Actually,” Chan, overcome, palmed the napkin in his pocket. “I was about to give you mine.”
Minho's eyes widened before they softened again. “Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing,” Minho said with a devious smile. “I think I just really like saying your name.”