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Sung Hanbin has always been, by nature, a people person.
Which sounds incredibly generic when someone say it out loud, because he knows it by heart, and it's genuinely just true. He really likes people. He likes learning their orders before they even open their mouths, likes the way Mrs. Park from the apartment complex down the street always asks for her americano scalding hot even in the middle of July and he always does it without blinking. He likes Jiwoong-ssi who comes in every Friday for his date-with-himself latte and reads philosophy books or sometimes new released novels alone at the window table. And he likes some of college students who come in packs during finals season and look like actual ghosts of their former selves, looking for a short refresh after burning down their brain.
Basically Hanbin knows his regulars. All of them he had catalogued neatly in his head like a library he's quietly proud of.
So when there's two new faces start showing up every Tuesday and Thursday, he notices them immediately.
They're both unfairly attractive in a way that Hanbin feels should be illegal or at the very least require some kind of permit. One of them is a little bit taller, probably around his co-worker Gyuvin’s height. The other one is shorter but not that short, when he come to order Hanbin can see they're about the same height but that guy just few centimeters above him, rounder in the cheeks (he thought about an apple right away), and with a face that makes Hanbin think of the word ethereal and then immediately feel embarrassed for thinking that. They always order the same things depends on the mood under one name: Zhang Hao, which Hanbin learn it was the apple cheeks guy’s name. Usually it's one iced americano and one caramel macchiato, sometimes it's a sweet one like strawberry milkshake and matcha frappe. They always sit at the small two-person table that's approximately two meters from the counter, which means Hanbin can hear everything they say.
The thing is, they speak in Mandarin. And Hanbin coincidentally, in progress of learning that language.
Okay, look. Hanbin had started learning Mandarin four months ago on Duolingo because he'd watched a cdrama at 2 AM and thought this seems like a fun challenge. He was on a forty-day streak now, already knew how to say nǐ hǎo and xièxiè and he'd recently leveled up to colors and food vocabularies. It was going great, genuinely, he was thriving on it.
He just couldn't understand a single complete sentence these two were saying. But that was fine, because that was a learning opportunity, right? It was a perfect chance for him to improve himself. Imagine having immersive listening practice, essentially free, delivered right to his workplace, provided by two native speaker themselves. His Duolingo owl would be proud once he come back to finish all the challenge on that app later.
The first time those two Chinese men come in and sit down and start talking, Hanbin is mid-wipe on the counter when he catches a few words, and one of them sounds very much like shuài that means handsome, which he knows, because he'd just learned it. And then the apple cheeks guy glances over very briefly, in Hanbin's general direction, and then looks back at his blonde friend and keeps talking.
Hanbin knocks over a stack of cups at that moment.
"Hyung, you okay?" asks Kim Gyuvin from behind the espresso machine, checking up on his co-worker.
"Yeah," Hanbin says, in a voice that is completely normal and not at all three octaves higher than usual. "I'm fine, thank you. And you?" And he earned a very confused stare from Gyuvin.
Funnily, after that it keeps happening. Every Tuesday or Thursday, those two will come in and sit down, and they talk in Mandarin for an hour or sometimes more, and then Hanbin catches words the way he only understand some of it, never the whole picture. Hǎo kàn, which he also knows, because it means good-looking. Wǒ xǐhuān, means I like. Zhēnde, means really. His brain, ever helpful, takes these fragments and constructs the only logical narrative it can that they are talking about him. Specifically, the apple cheeks guy is talking about him, because it's always that one guy that saying these things while glancing in his direction, and, well. Hanbin starts taking extra care styling his hair on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
"Why are you acting so weird whenever those two come in?" Gyuvin asks one afternoon, watching Hanbin straighten his apron for the third time in a minute.
"I'm not acting weird," Hanbin answered, trying to play it cool.
"You literally just fixed your hair using your phone camera, hyung.”
"I'm just—I’m having an educational mission here," Hanbin says, with great dignity.
Gyuvin looks at him for a long moment. "Bro thinks he's slick," he says, and he goes back to steaming milk.
Hanbin tells himself every time they walk in, that he's not doing this because of Zhang Hao specifically. He's not listening extra hard because of Zhang Hao's voice, which is, objectively, a very good voice for learning Mandarin. That's just incidental, but this is about his language education.
Turns out, his so called educational mission in secret has to be stopped. It was one good Thursday and Hanbin already in his best looks and do his work like usual.
He is at the counter, pretending to check the inventory list on the iPad, when he hears a voice calling him out.
"Excuse me!"
Hanbin looks up. Immediately catching that Zhang Hao’s friend is waving at him cheerfully like this is a completely normal thing to do.
Hanbin points at himself. Me?
The guy nods, still grinning. Zhang Hao, beside him, is watching with an expression Hanbin can't quite read from here but that looks somehow amused. Hanbin sets the iPad down, fixes his apron one more time purely out of muscle memory, and walks over to approach their table.
"Hi," he says, in Korean, and then his brain short-circuits and adds, "Is there anything I can help? Is something wrong with the order?" he asked.
"No, no, the order's perfect," the blonde guy says, waving a hand. His Korean is good actually, with a little western accent on it. "We just wanted to talk to you,” he added.
"...Me?” Hanbin pointing at himself again.
This time, the familiar voice that has been ringing on his head for past weeks, speaking. "We've noticed that you've been listening to us," Zhang Hao says.
Hanbin immediately looked at him and listened to it because it's somehow addicting, his Korean is different, a little more cutely, but it's clear and steady and Hanbin immediately forgets every language he's ever spoken.
There is a pause for a second.
"I," Hanbin starts. “...I'm sorry.”
"It's okay," Hao says. There's something at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. "We don't mind. We were just curious."
"Um, yeah," Hanbin admits, because what else is he going to say, deny it? The man had just watched him knock over a full display of to-go cups two weeks ago. "I'm sorry. I'm—I've been learning Mandarin recently, and I thought it was a good chance to practice listening, and I know that's not appropriate to just eavesdropping and I should have asked first, I'm sorry, I—"
"Sung Hanbin-ssi?" Hao says looking at his name tag on his apron, cutting him off.
"I—what? Oh, yes, I'm Sung Hanbin." He said, confirming it. He sounds like he's never introduced himself before in his life.
"Hanbin," Hao repeats, and the shape of it in his mouth does something to Hanbin's cardiovascular system. "I'm Hao. This is Ricky."
"I know," Hanbin says, and then continued "I mean, you were always the one ordering, and then I heard your friend’s name too. By accident, of course."
Ricky looks deeply entertained in his seat.
"So," Hao continues, tilting his head slightly. "How much do you understand? When we talk."
"I, um." Hanbin decides honesty is probably the right move here. "Not much, actually. A lot of it goes over my head. But I catch words sometimes, and I—" He stops.
"You?" Hao prompts.
"I thought," Hanbin continues, slowly, with great suffering, "that you were talking about me, a lot. Because I kept catching words like… shuài, hǎo kàn, and wǒ xǐhuān, and—sorry, I don't really remember the rest of it."
Hanbin watches Ricky's face do something extraordinary, moving through several distinct stages of comprehension before arriving, helplessly, at a grin he's clearly trying to smother with his entire hand. Meanwhile Hao blinks, his smile curving more clearly.
"Well, the first time we came here, it was true I told Ricky you were handsome,” Hao said. "That was... four weeks ago? Probably."
"The rest of the time, we were literally just talking about a TV show.” Ricky manages to jump in, already wheezing.
And there it is. The full and complete humiliation of Sung Hanbin, twenty-four, a barista, and allegedly learning Mandarin. He had spent four weeks styling his hair and carefully choosing his outfit even though he will wear apron at work on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a conversation that was, at most, one sentence long.
Hanbin can feel heat surged up to his neck, ears, and his whole face. He really wish the floor can swallow him right now.
"So, you thought we were complimenting you every time," Hao says, already holding himself from laughing.
"I was going to say it's a misunderstanding," Hanbin says, "but it's really not."
And apparently, that's what made Hao break into laughs, while Ricky abandons all pretense and just cackles, and Hanbin still stands there in his apron and considers if there's any dignified exit from this situation (there isn't, he just accepts it).
"For what it's worth, you weren't wrong about the context what we were talking about the first time we come here," Hao says, once he's settled, looking up at Hanbin with something that's softer now.
Hanbin opens his mouth about to say something to reply, but nothing comes out and he choose to close it again.
"Well, Hanbin-ssi, if you want to improve your listening, maybe I could help you personally. Instead of you guessing in the background," Hao continues, straightforward in a way that makes Hanbin's heart trip over itself.
"...Yeah?" he asked, trying to process all of those words wasn't just hallucinations. "I—yeah, of course. I’d really like that," Hanbin says, apparently his vocabulary has reduced to some syllables in the presence of Zhang Hao.
Then Hao's phone is already on the table. "Your number?"
Hanbin types it in. His hands are only shaking a little, which he considers a personal victory.
"I'll text you later then," Hao says, and he's smiling again, and Hanbin thinks about shuài and the fact that he'd been right, actually, about that one thing on the first day, it had been about him.
"Okay," Hanbin says.
Ricky is still laughing as Hanbin walks back to the counter. Meanwhile Gyuvin is watching from behind the espresso machine again with the expression of a man who had already seen whatever everything happened earlier.
"Not a word," Hanbin tells him.
"I didn't say anything!" Gyuvin says, in a tone that actually says everything, Hanbin could feel the teasing stare and he hates it so much but he can't stop smiling right now.
Hanbin's phone buzzes in his apron pocket. He picked it up and there's an unknown number coming to his message notification.
Are you free this Saturday?
He looks up. Across the cafe, Hao is watching him over the rim of his caramel macchiato, and when their eyes meet, Hanbin can see him smiling with one eyebrow raising.
Hanbin types back: yes.
He didn't even consider the fact Saturday is one of the most busy day and Gyuvin probably needs him to stand by. He will file a day off for Saturday, he definitely not going to lose the chance to go with Zhang Hao. It turns out his Duolingo streak is about to get a lot more interesting after this.