“How much does an americano cost?”
Jimin almost doesn’t answer. He’s in his fifth hour of work, trudging around his older cousin’s coffeeshop having to explain, at least once every half hour, that they don’t sell the sugary hell otherwise known as a frappucino to some disappointed kid who really shouldn’t be in a coffeehouse anyway because they are not a candystore, and he honestly can’t be bothered to tell a customer a useless bit of information that can be easily found on the massive board directly above Jimin’s head. Also! Jimin’s busy. Can’t the guy see! Jungkook recently continued in his habits of making a gigantic mess of the one of the machines before disappearing into the back of the shop on his break with no intentions of cleaning up.
Now, this is a normal occurrence that usually resolves itself when Seokjin shows up and threatens to crack skulls, but Jimin, being the good guy he is, is making an effort to clean the mess before his older cousin arrives.
(Bullshit, he’s just afraid of Seokjin’s wrath.)
But hey, Jimin reasons, I’m probably the most patient person in the universe. I’ll let it slide.
“Two-fifty.” He makes an effort to hide his exhaustion by pulling a huge smile onto his face. Jimin knows what his smiles look like. He knows that they’re big and bright because he brushes his teeth three times a day, and that they usually have enough of an effect on people to get them to smile back.
This guy doesn’t, though. It’s really a shame, too, because his voice is really cute and Jimin really wants to see his smile. And so, faltering, Jimin stops his frantic wiping to take a look at what could be the only customer immune to his incredible charms.
And is almost knocked to his ass by the sheer brightness of the guy’s hair. It’s pink and fluffy and probably one of the best things Jimin has seen all day, maybe even all week. It looks exactly like cotton candy and if people were allowed to touch stranger’s hair you can bet that Jimin’s hands would be all up in that soft-looking bed head. This is it. Jimin is dead and gone to heaven this guy is too cute. Too beautiful. Oh my god.
The man’s outfit, however…
Jimin almost pulls a bitchface. Almost. But really, who wouldn’t when they see a guy decked out almost entirely in blacks and greys except for a neon orange, faux-leather belt?
“I’ll have that, then.” The guy mutters, reaching into his pockets for his money and pulling out a literal handful of coins. He counts them agonizingly slow, seeming to tell each apart by how they feel under his fingers rather than sight.
JImin looks away for a second. One second, he swears. And that one second is enough for his best friend Taehyung to come barreling through the door dashing through the relatively cleared space between the door and the register without hitting a bookshelf, interrupting the guy in his senior citizen-like counting of change and sending said coins flying across the counter and into Jimin’s face while the guy shouts and turns around, swinging aggressively and missing Taehyung by about two feet. In a gross display of physics, the guy lurches forward, propelled by the momentum from his own punch, and lands, face-first, on the floor.
Taehyung looks like they’re going to have an aneurism, too.
Wow! Jimin’s day just gets better and better!
Despite Jimin leaping over the counter like the gallant hero he is to save the pink-haired prince with questionable belt choice, and Taehyung’s repeated apologies, the guy doesn’t say much more than, “Can I please just have my coffee to go, please?”
Yoongi is his name, and Jimin writes his number on the cup along with an apology and promise for a free drink to make up for Taehyung’s bull in a china shop tendencies. Fuckin’ score.
Jungkook, having returned from his cave in the back of the shop, side-eyes Jimin. Hard.
xx
Two days pass, Yoongi-free and much too abundant in Jungkook’s teasing.
“Oh, Yoongi! I’m in loooove with you!” Jungkook whispers in his ear for what has to be the seventh time in two hours. Jimin visibly slumps as he hands a customer her change. The woman is at least in her thirties with two small kids in tow for whom she’s bought cinnamon buns (Jimin approves, because no kid under any circumstances should get anywhere near a caffeinated or sugary drink). She passes a sympathetic look to Jimin before dropping in a little bit of an extra tip and going to wait for her drink. Jimin takes the time to draw a latte-art smiley face on it, which the kids shriek in awe at when she shows them, smiling and dipping her head in thanks to Jimin. He likes people like that, who try to cheer up others no matter how misplaced their compassion may be.
Jimin asks Jungkook to work the register while he takes some extra time with drinks, knowing that while the younger is much less of a people person than himself, Jungkook still likes to give orders much rather than make them.
(Really, Jimin’s just trying to get away from Taehyung, whose orange hair he can see bobbing distantly across the street, eyes dead set on their coffee destination.)
“Ji-miiiiiin!” Taehyung practically yells when they enter, garnering aggressive glances from several of the customers who come to work on their laptops in the relative quiet of the wi-fi-providing coffeehouse.
“Hey, Tae. Volume, please!” Jimin greets happily, high-fiving them over the counter before making himself look busy. He really doesn’t want to talk about his failure with the ‘Cute Pink Prince’ as Taehyung has taken to calling the costumer they barreled over, and hopes that by cleaning the machines relentlessly, Taehyung will only stay a few minutes after getting their caramel macchiato, rather than their customary half hour or more chatting time.
“So. Jimin. My friend. My buddy.” Taehyung begins in a sugary sweet, pleading tone. Jimin groans.
“I love you, but you’re not getting my employee discount if you forgot your wallet. Jinnie’s a devil and took away some of my privileges.”
“No!” Taehyung waves their hands, watching eagerly as Jimin dumps extra caramel sauce into their drink. (Jimin will never understand how Taehyung can consume so many calories and keep their slim physique. Hell, he wonders how they could even like the artificial caramel flavoring.) “I was just saying, maybe you wanna jump in back and fix your hair because your Cute Pink Prince is on his way here.”
“What?” Jimin is shocked enough to forget he’s still pouring caramel sauce. Taehyung looks smugly pleased at how full their drink is becoming. “For real? How the hell do you know that, Tae?”
“Saw him on the way here with one of my friends. Wasn’t too hard to go up and apologize to him; he even remembered me.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, finally remembering himself and putting the caramel away, handing the drink with a disgusted grimace to Taehyung, who smiles wide enough to eat their entire face. “Of course he remembers the kid who almost crushed him.”
Taehyung noncommittally shrugs their shoulders, before reaching over with one long, tanned arm to smooth Jimin’s brown hair over his head. Smiling to themself, they stick out a thumbs up before gasping dramatically at the window, scarcely visible past several rows of bookshelves.
“He’s here, therefore, I must depart. Farewell, kind Jiminie!” Dramatically, Taehyung flings a hand over their forehead, spinning fast enough to make their chiffon skirt fluff out before they begin to make the long, twining journey through a maze of uneven rooms and haphazard bookshelves to the front door.
“Good riddance.” Jimin teases, almost making Taehyung stop dead in their jelly-shoed tracks to whip around and give their friend a piece of their mind. They don’t, however, and continue to nurse their caramel hell as they glare through the window where they once spotted Yoongi. They look like they’re going to stay, so Jimin flashes them a quick ‘shoo’ sign before turning to face Yoongi with a blinding grin.
“Hello, Yoongi, what can I get for you today?” JImin cheerily asks, noticing that the grumpy costumer’s belt, today, is not orange but a nice, muted leather, matching well with his dark red skinny jeans and black tee shirt.
Jimin likes this look a lot better.
Yoongi looks puzzled, blinking blankly with his eyes focused just over Jimin’s shoulder to the left. “I’m sorry? How do you know my name?” He looks surprised, and a little cautious.
“Ah, no, I’m sorry.” Jimin’s heart falls to the floor. He can imagine Jungkook will step on it soon, with all the ruckus his stupid, expensive Doc Martens are making behind the counter. “I just remembered you from last time. My friend knocked you over in their mad dash to the counter, and it’s pretty hard to forget something like that.”
“Oh. That was you, at the counter, then?” Yoongi, same as last time, pulls out a handful of coins, counting them swiftly before handing them over. “Same thing, please.”
“Coming right up.” Jimin forces a smile onto his face, but the gesture is wasted; Yoongi isn’t even looking at him anymore. As Jimin works on his drink trying hard not to frown, Yoongi leans against the glass divider. “What is your name?”
Jimin is caught off guard, hands freezing where he is about to aggressively misspell Yoongi’s name out of spite. “What? I left it on your cup last time, can you really not remember me?” Jimin can feel the dejection in his voice, and in a half ditch attempt, covers it up with a sassy cocked hip. “Forreal? Damn, I even left you my number but I guess you just weren’t about that.” It’s supposed to sound more sarcastic, but the effect is lost when his voice cracks.
Shit. Jimin’s always been a little too emotional.
As if to rub salt in his already upset heart, Yoongi’s stony face is split in half by a giant grin as he laughs deeply, huge, shaking tremors coming from his core as he leans on the glass even more for support. Tears are leaking from one eye, and his back is hunched in an effort not to disturb the quiet scene of the coffeehouse. It’s not working, and even Jungkook comes out of the back to see what’s going on, joining in on the laughter at Jimin’s distraught expression, Americano forgotten and steaming in his tight grasp.
“What the hell is so funny!” Jimin is angry now. This man completely ignores him, acts like they’ve never met, and is laughing at the fact Jimin gave him his number? What the fuck kind of person does that!? “I get it if I came on too strong but-”
“You left it… On my coffee… cup…!” Yoongi’s words are broken by hiccuping laughs, having truly lost his shit at Jimin’s ‘flirting’ as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. “You wrote it! Not even… In puff-pen! Jimin, oh my god!” Yoongi laughs, pointing to a very obvious collapsable white cane tucked into his backpack. Jimin nearly slaps himself.
Yoongi counts his coins. Asks what the pricing is. Doesn’t read coffee cups. Couldn't see Taehyung. Yoongi-
“Jimin, I’m fuckin’ blind!” If Jimin though Yoongi was losing his shit before, he definitely was yet to see this. The pink-haired man is about one step from rolling on the floor, silent giggles shaking his entire body. He manages to calm himself after a few breaths, before raising his head in the vague direction of Jimin’s voice. “Like, I appreciate the effort, but seriously? You couldn’t tell?”
Oh.
Shit.
He’s blind?! It makes so much sense, Jimin almost staggers back, clutching his heart through his tee. Yoongi, the pretty boy with the pink hair who counts his coins and asks for the prices to be read to him is blind! It almost makes too much sense, and Jimin feels like a complete dunce. Responding to Yoongi, Jimin shakes his head embarrassedly, before correcting himself and responding verbally. “No. I really couldn’t.”
It’s Jungkook’s turn to lose his shit apparently; the younger is guffawing in a corner while frantically tapping at his phone. Texting Taehyung, most likely. Jimin makes a momentary promise to himself to stomp all over Jungkook’s precious new boots the moment he gets the chance.
“Listen, Jimin. Whenever your coworker stops having an aneurism, you should take a break so I can talk to you.” Yoongi’s trying to play it cool, but Jimin can see the slight pink dusting his pale cheeks.
Cute.
Jimin finishes Yoongi’s order, and several more, before declaring it his break time and hanging up his apron, trudging out into the maze of Seokjin’s bookshelf-lined coffeehouse that would really be more functional as a library in search of Yoongi.
Since Yoongi can’t see, Jimin flips Jungkook off in plain sight.
--
“Jimin!” Yoongi greets over his coffee in response to a Marco-Polo-like game Jimin has begun. The bookshelves of Seokjin’s shop, while muffling sound and creating endless corners to snuggle into with a hot drink and a laptop, also provide too many twists and turns to look for people in.
Yoongi is seated with two people, whom Jimin recognizes as two of his earlier orders made in the half-hour before he could escape the bar. Green tea latte with soy milk for the muscular, black-haired one with a heart-shaped smile (he could definitely drink whole milk, but Jimin follows orders because you never know; he could have an allergy.)
He’s a pretty boy who looks vaguely familiar, wearing a snapback with the logo of Jimin’s dance studio on it. Sadly, Jimin still can’t place a name; he must be a hyung. However, even stranger is the recipient of a black iced coffee with three sugars: a slightly taller but incredibly lankier man, outfitted in 100% black 100% too-baggy, almost translucent clothes, down to a pair of smoked, circular spectacles. It contrasts with his white hair, Jimin thinks.Hell, it contrasts with nearly all of the remotely fashionable population.
Altogether, they make a strange crowd, but Jimin isn’t one to judge when he’s the one standing awkwardly outside their pile of pillows and scattered notebooks. They look busy, and if black-iced-coffee-with-three-sugar’s facial expression is any indication, Jimin may have interrupted something.
“Sit down." Yoongi waves a hand, gesturing to Jimin and then the other two people in the circle. "Hoseok, Namjoon: Jimin.” The dancer is Hoseok whom Jimin finally recognizes as a dance major he only sees every once in a while since their practice times are different. “Jimin wrote on my coffee cup the other day when I was nearly killed by a deep-voiced menace in some really soft fabric.”
“My friend, Taehyung.” Jimin supplies.
Green-tea-latte-with-soy’s face dawns in understanding, while the other, black-shrouded boy looks a little more lost and a little less angry. He barely lifts his head from where it’s bent over his lap when he mumbles, breathily as if recalling a fond, distant memory, “Oh, the one that wrote his number on the cup and I didn’t read it to you?”
“Yes- Wait. What?” Yoongi scrunches up his nose in anger at Namjoon, finding his knee and attempting to trace his way up Namjoon’s thigh to punch him in the stomach. Namjoon laughs loudly, taking a break from his frantic scribbling to tease at Yoongi’s darkening expression.
Hoseok’s eyes widen, and he leans forward to gram Namjoon’s arm. “What-? What if he decided to never come back, huh? Then what? Jimin wouldn’t just walk up to Yoongi on the street! Yoongi’s too unapproachable for that! What would we do!”
“Hey.” Yoongi growls. The ‘unapproachable’ comment must ruffle his feathers a little bit, and not knowing if this is going to become a real fight or not between the three friends, Jimin jumps in.
“It’s ok, I mean, I never would have forgotten the pink hair…”
Namjoon and Hoseok’s faces are taken over by horror as they stare, first looking at Jimin with slack-jawed fear, and then at Yoongi, who seems to still be processing the words.
“Pink?” He growls, attempting to glare at Hoseok and Namjoon in turn. “You fucking told me this was blonde! I fucking trusted you! I fuckin’- Yo, yo yo. Holdup.”
Yoongi stops himself, and Jimin watches him. Is he actually doing breathing exercises? His chest rises and falls, eyes downcast as Hoseok and Namjoon look like they’re both about to soil their pants.
“Get out. I’ll fucking deal with this later. I’m not in the mood to write anything other than a diss rap now, and if Namjoon knows what’s good for him-”
“Okay! Hyung!” Hoseok and Namjoon hurriedly shove their things into Namjoon’s black leather backpack that fits too well with his outfit before escaping quickly. Hoseok forgets his drink (it's probably too close to Yoongi to risk grabbing without being burned), so Yoongi takes a sip before wrinkling his nose.
“I hate soy milk. God, Hoseok doesn’t even need to diet-”
“You really didn’t know that they dyed your head pink?” Jimin asks, interrupting and causing another dark look to fall across the other’s face. He manages to hide his chuckles, but not his smile, which is a good thing because that is a seemingly impossible feat.
“‘f course not. No matter what the hell you think about blind people, I assure you that I cannot feel color.”
“Well, yeah-” Jimin begins, and is cut off in turn by Hoseok, who pops his head by the bookcase to retort: “That’s not what you said three weeks ago when I dyed it!”
The older is banished with Yoongi’s threats of coercing Jimin to throw the green tea latte at Hoseok’s stupid head, as well as Yoongi’s somewhat sassy reply of, “We were fuckin’ high as shit, at least I didn’t make a ‘freestyle’ about the alphabet!” He makes a constipated face between air-quoting fingers, as if pretending to be Hoseok. “ A B C D E F G and Hakuna matata, motherfu-”
“BYE, YOONGI.” Namjoon drags Hoseok away, most likely for real this time, and Jimin relaxes, leaning into one of the pillows piled up around Yoongi and trying to read what is written on his laptop.
Each key is textured, most likely a Braille pattern, and the screen has an document vocalizing app open and processing a large file. “What’s that?” Jimin points, before quickly amending himself. “I mean, what is…” Squinting, he reads the title, “Cypher?”
“Rap song. Me, Namjoon ‘n Hoseok are working on it. it’s actually ‘Cypher Part Two.’” Yoongi smirks proudly. “Of course, my part is the only thing remotely close to being done. Nam and Hoseok haven’t even finished their roughs.”
“Can I hear it?” Jimin asks before he can help himself, excitement too evident in his voice. “I mean, only if you want to.”
“See our performance, how about?” Yoongi smiles lazily in Jimin’s direction. He slaps closed his laptop and stuffs it in his bag before feeling around for an obnoxious pair of sunglasses. “Jimin, help me up and do me one more favor?”
Jimin takes Yoongi’s hand, helping the other stand up and grabbing his bag for him.
“Sure. Want your coffee?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “Will you find me my beanie? It should be in that bag somewhere…”
.Jimin sifts through notebooks, gum wrappers, a few bottles of random pills (maybe breathmints, who even knows), and a useless photobook before finding a rather dingy, gray beanie on the bottom of the bag, crushed under Yoongi’s laptop. “Y’know…” He begins, “I think you’d be better off just going with pink hair. This beanie’s kinda gross.”
Yoongi seems to consider the idea, before shrugging and running a hand through the pink, fluffy locks that stand up on his head in agitation. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“Where?” Jimin asks bemusedly as he’s tugged along by Yoongi, who quickly becomes lost in Seokjin’s maze of a coffee shop. After allowing the man to search, hads-out and feeling his way along the walls made by at least twenty maze-like bookshelves, Jimin grabs one of Yoongi’s hands. “This way. Where’re we going?”
Cheekily, Yoongi grins in Jimin’s direction, swinging their clasped hands. “I donno. I thought a date might be nice?”
A date would be really nice. Very nice. Super nice.