Chapter Text
Coffee BeaM capitalized the ‘M’ on their sign, which still didn’t stop most of their patrons from calling it Coffee Bean. It used to be a weird, vaguely space-themed coffee shop just close enough to campus to be a viable option for a coffee break, but far enough to always have open tables. Still not Minho’s favorite. There was a cat cafe right next door that required his presence much more urgently.
“No, I require your presence,” Changbin whined.
“Are you a stray cat whose livelihood depends on me buying coffee?”
“No, but I am your bestest friend in the world whose love life depends on you buying coffee,” Changbin batted his lashes. “And I said ‘please’ like twenty times already.”
The issue and the current bane of Minho’s existence was the fact that Coffee Beam, along with the capitalized ‘M’, got a new barista a few months ago. Some tiny blond boy with freckles and a foreign name that Minho pretended not to remember, even though Changbin brought it up thirty times a day. Minho’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time - him and Changbin ended up at Coffee Beam for Blondie’s first ever shift, where he somehow spilled a whole americano on Changbin’s shirt. The rest was history.
“We went twice this week and he wasn’t working on either of those days. I’m not going anymore just to watch you sulk before we even get our coffee,” Minho put his foot down.
“Exactly, third time’s a charm!”, Changbin insisted. “Please, just one more try and then we’re not going again this week.”
“It’s literally Friday. That means you’re dragging me again on Monday.”
Changbin nodded, as if it was a given.
And really, Minho cursed God many times for giving him the purest of hearts and an undeserved amount of love for his friends, but there was nothing he could do about it. Just as Changbin was getting ready to say his twenty-second ‘please’, he turned on his heel and started walking towards Coffee Beam. The did not want to see the look of triumph on Changbin’s face.
“That little twink better be there.”
“Hey, don’t talk to my future husband like that.”
Not that Minho would ever admit it out loud, but Changbin’s little crush was mildly amusing. Given that he had zero love life of his own, it was sometimes nice to live vicariously through other people. Emphasis on “sometimes” - most of the times, it was genuinely annoying.
Sure, the guy was cute. Cute was an understatement - he was objectively ethereal. Not your typical hot guy, more on the soft, androgynous side, yet with an unexpectedly low voice and a dozen ear piercings that gave him an edge. He was exactly Changbin’s type, so Minho should’ve seen it coming. Still, it was the first time Changbin was calling some random man his future husband before even speaking to him. The fact that he had to go to his workplace at least three times a week to see him was also mildly concerning - Changbin insisted that’s just how love works and Minho wouldn’t know about it.
The jury was still out on whether Changbin’s new crush was endearing or pure delusion.
Still, Minho played along like the good friend he was. That, and Changbin promised to make a hundred-dollar donation to his cat cafe next week. But mostly, Minho was just a good friend.
Coffee Beam was small, which meant the counter was visible immediately upon entering. That was a blessing and a curse - a blessing because Minho knew right away if he was working with lovestruck Changbin or sulking Changbin for the day, and a curse because Changbin couldn’t hide either of those emotions from the other poor, non-blond baristas. They probably all thought Changbin had a personal vendetta against them, which meant Minho had to be extra polite to assure them they’re not bad people. Honestly, the whole thing was a hassle.
Today, lo and behold, Blondie finally showed his freckled face. Changbin was immediately incapacitated.
“Gay people are so useless,” Minho scoffed under his breath.
“You realize I’m bisexual and you’re the actual gay one, right?”, Changbin whispered back as they elbowed each other all the way to the counter.
“The way you look at that boy alone is more homosexual than my lack of attraction towards women.”
“Fair.”
“Hey there, what can I getcha!”, the barista chirped, smiley as always.
“Um, yes, two ice americanos, please!”, Changbin squeaked. Minho had never seen him nervous except for when he was ordering from this particular guy, and he couldn’t wait to get to their seats to do an exaggerated impersonation of his voice.
“Two ice americanos coming right up! Please wait at the left side of the counter.”
After saying their thanks and moving to the side so the next person could order, Minho was already punching Changbin’s arm like they were middle schoolers at recess.
“So, when are you going to ask for his number?”
“Shh, he can hear you, you dickhead!”
“As he should,” Minho said, but he still lowered his voice. “Hey, Felix, my friend here wants to fuck and also marry you. Your pick.”
“I didn’t know I was capable of hatred until I met you.”
“Two ice americanos,” another barista called out, while Felix was still taking orders. Minho got their coffees while Changbin was seething in embarrassment and sneaking his last upclose glances at Felix before they moved to the table.
Of course, they already had their assigned table - the one with the best view of the counter, obviously. Minho sat with his back turned to the counter to give Changbin an unobstructed view, and most of the time they drank their coffee in silence while Minho looked at his phone and Changbin gazed dreamily at his man. Today was different.
As soon as they sat down, Minho noticed a notebook lying abandoned at his feet. He picked it up to find a black hardcover Moleskine, the classic one that half of his class used for note-taking. It was heavy in his hands, almost bursting at the seams, obviously well-loved.
“Huh, someone forgot a notebook?”, Changbin asked.
Minho turned the unassuming notebook to the other side to check if it got dirty on the ground, but was there a surprise waiting for him. On the cover page of the otherwise unassuming, serious notebook, there was an ungodly amount of stickers, glitter, and a giant title made of magazine cutout letters.
My Diary.
The stickers were all over the place - from some rock bands Minho vaguely recognized, to cute cartoon versions of various animals, to smiley faces dispersed in every corner just to fill the space. Some of them were peeling off, and Minho already knew he was going to have a hard time scrubbing the glitter from his palms.
“Oh my god, it’s someone’s diary,” Minho grinned like an evil elf.
“No, no, bad Minho,” Changbin warned. “We’re not going to read a stranger’s diary.”
“Why not? We don’t know them, they’ll never know we read it,” Minho pouted. “We’ll give it to Felix after we’ve checked that there’s no good tea.”
“It’s their privacy. How would you like it if someone read your diary?”
“You’re no fun,” Minho decided and put the notebook in his bag. “I’m going to read it at home alone.”
“No, give it to the baristas right now.”
“Only if you let me read one page.”
“You’re such a nosy bitch,” Changbin sighed. “One page, then you’re giving it back.”
With an ear-to-ear grin on his face, Minho cleared his throat and opened the last page that had been written on. It was a fresh entry, written earlier that week.
April 3rd, 15:00
“Dear Diary,”
“Oh my god, it actually starts with dear diary,” Minho chuckled. Changbin gave him another one of those disapproving dad looks he did when Minho was being a menace.
“Cafe Guy is here again and I think I’m losing consciousness so I need to write to keep myself grounded. When did God start making people that fine? We’re supposed to just be a bunch of organs wearing some muscle, but I swear I can’t imagine him having like, a spleen, or you know, kidneys? But speaking of kidneys, I would give him mine if he asked me. Both, no questions asked.”
“Wait, they’re just like you,” Minho exclaimed. “Down bad for some dude in a cafe. What a coincidence.”
“Okay, that’s kind of funny,” Changbin admitted, leaning over the table to hear the rest.
“Hmm, but I don’t think we should keep invading a stranger’s privacy,” Minho pretended to ponder on the morality of it all as he closed the notebook.
“No, come on, I want to hear about this kidney-less Cafe Guy.”
Minho cleared his throat.
“Anyway, he’s so beautiful I almost started crying, but then I realized that would be really creepy. Not that he’s ever looked in my direction, and he probably wouldn’t even notice I was crying, but still. TPO. I’m getting a lot better about not crying in public places and I’m not about to break my streak because some guy’s ass looks phenomenal in blue jeans. Not that it wasn’t also phenomenal in black jeans, but the blue ones really accentuate the curve and oh my god I need to shut up this is not the train of thought I’m about to have in a fucking coffee shop. TPO. Filing his ass away for future consideration.”
Changbin nodded sagely. “So Cafe Guy has a nice ass, and Diary Guy is a man of culture to appreciate that.”
“Why do you think everyone’s gay like you? It could be a girl.”
“Sorry, but I think girls are a bit too intellectually developed to cry over some guy’s ass.”
“True.” Whatever this person’s gender was, Minho was intrigued by their prose.
“Of course, he brought The Boyfriend today too. Sigh.”
“Ha! I told you,” Changbin gasped. “Nice Ass Cafe Guy is gay, so that means Diary Guy must be too.”
Minho shrugged, still not giving up on his feminist take that girls can appreciate a good posterior just as much as men. There was only one line of text left on the page, maybe that will answer their questions.
“But I don’t blame him, really. They’re super cute together and Boyfriend is mad jacked… Sigh.”
The entry ended there, and the bottom half of the page was filled with wonky but cute doodles of rabbits, almost like the author got bored of their own lovesickness in the middle of writing. Minho was a little disappointed.
“I think it’s gay,” Changbin concluded. “C’mon, what girl says ‘mad jacked’? And also, why are you fighting for heterosexuals in the first place?”
“Your crush on Felix made me homophobic,” Minho shrugged. “That was only half a page, we should be allowed to read another one.”
“No, a deal is a deal. I already feel bad.”
“You’re lying to appear morally superior, but you enjoyed this way more than me,” Minho glared at him, but he bound the notebook again.
“So we’re giving it to the baristas now,” Changbin announced, reaching over the table to take the notebook.
Minho put out his hand to give it to Changbin at first, but then, as if some mysterious forces possesed him, he changed his mind and pulled it back towards his chest protectively.
“I’ll make you a better deal. You let me keep the notebook, and I come to Coffee Beam with you four times a week and pay for your coffee the next time.”
Changbin rolled his eyes. “Oh my God, are you really that desperate for drama?”
“My life’s boring,” Minho defended himself. “All I do is go to class, go to work and drink this sewer water with you. Some light reading will be good for me.”
“Buy me three coffees and return it to the baristas when you’re finished reading,” Changbin bargained.
“Deal.”
They shook on it, and Minho already couldn’t wait to get home and get to reading.