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“Hello, welcome to the Mini Café!”
Park Jimin has had months of practice with this line, and the words now roll off his tongue easily as he ramps up the charm with a dazzling smile at every customer that walks in through the door- he likes to think that it increases his sales. He may have tuition fees to pay off- he is a dance major at a prestigious university after all- but he isn’t heartless. He had been fortunate enough to be hired as a salesperson at the Mini Café, but once he had found out about the financial crisis that the owner of the bakery had been in, he had taken it upon himself to make more of an effort to bring in profit. He wears his brightest smile, makes sure to keep every customer satisfied, and asks his friends to promote the bakery whenever they get the chance (Taehyung and Jungkook may not be the most tactful people, but their good looks tend to play out well with most people, Jimin had discovered). Gradually, he starts seeing more and more people fill up the café, and his heart swells at the progress that’s been made.
He hears the familiar tinkling of the bell chimes for the umpteenth time that day- a gentle reminder to greet the new customer brightly- just as he finishes cleaning the countertops. He sneaks a peek at his watch. 8:03pm. An inaudible sigh escapes his lips, because why don’t people ever obey the opening and closing hours? Jimin has had many encounters with angry, querulous mothers that crowd around the café before its opening time, not to mention one (or fifty) too many temperamental, grouchy adults that clearly think that the world should run by their own schedules. Although his charm is typically enough to subdue most of them, he can’t help but feel a flood of annoyance each time it happens.
Jimin runs a hand through his newly-dyed orange hair- force of habit, a habit that he’s never been able to kick- and he turns around to face the latecomer, ready to tell him off in the most courteous way possible that the café doesn’t make exceptions for anyone, and-
-the words catch in his throat. Jimin gulps.
The stranger looks… gorgeous, to say the least. He sports a simple black t-shirt with ripped denim jeans, and he holds a caramel-colored wool coat in his arms. His hair, a flattering shade of mint green, sticks up in all the right places, his bangs fall just short of his eyes, and Jimin watches with utmost interest at the way he bites his lower lip absently.
“Hello… Park Jimin-ssi?” The green haired boy peers at the name tag on Jimin’s apron. He has a deep voice with a unique timbre, and Jimin decides at that instant that he likes it. “Is there something on my face?”
Jimin starts, and he flushes in embarrassment. “I-I just- you’re- the c- thecaféclosedthreeminutesagoandwe’renottakingordersanymoresoi’msorrybuti’llhavetoaskyoutoleaverightnowimmediately,” he blurts out, and he immediately regrets it as he begins to feel lightheaded. He tries to catch his breath as he watches the other’s expression shift, from surprise to confusion to pensiveness and, eventually, to disappointment. “I’m sorry,” Jimin repeats, this time with more sincerity and clarity, but he doesn’t know whether it’s for asking him to leave or for his own ridiculous behavior.
“It’s fine, I understand,” the stranger sighs. He ruffles his hair, looking more distraught by the second, and his eyes meet Jimin’s. Jimin swears he feels a spark rush through his system, and he shivers. The other man doesn’t move. He opens his mouth, then closes it, before opening it again. “It’s just that… I’ve had a pretty rough day, and I… I just need a little something to calm me down, I guess.”
Jimin gives him one last look, his eyes lingering on the visible bags hanging under his eyes like a heavy burden, before shaking his head slightly in resignation. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He has a calculus test the next day that he’s barely prepared for, not to mention a high-intensity dance session right afterwards. Everything about him is screaming against it, but he finds himself going with his instinct. “What would you like, Mister…” he trails off, realizing that they haven’t exchanged names yet.
“Yoongi. I’m Min Yoongi,” Yoongi replies, and he brushes his bangs away before raising an eyebrow questioningly at Jimin. “Didn’t you just say that you-”
“Didn’t YOU just say that you’ve had a rough day?” Jimin interrupts. “You should order before I change my mind.” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice, and Yoongi recognizes this as he moves towards his position behind the cash register. He offers him a small, genuine smile, to which the other returns after a moment of hesitation. “What would you like?”
“A strawberry shortcake please, with extra whipped cream on the side.” Yoongi steps forward to the counter and pulls out his wallet. “How much is it?”
He sees Jimin staring at him again, this time with his mouth agape. Yoongi blinks, confused. “Jimin? Are you okay?”
The corners of Jimin’s mouth quirk upwards for a millisecond, and just when Yoongi is beginning to think that it had been a figment of his imagination, he sees it again. And again. And again. And Jimin finally cracks.
Jimin cracks up.
It starts out as a quiet giggle, then a low chuckle, and then Jimin’s doubled over, full-out laughing. Tears are forming at the sides of his eyes, he’s slapping his knee with one hand, and the other is clutching his stomach. His laughter seems to be bordering on painful, Yoongi observes. Once Jimin starts wheezing after a solid two minutes, Yoongi clears his throat to remind him of his presence, and Jimin looks up, breathless, his cheeks red and puffy. He’s wearing a wide grin, and Yoongi suddenly has an urge to wipe the damn look off his face.
“I’m sorry, I- I just,” Jimin bursts into a small fit of giggles again, before quickly composing himself when he realizes that Yoongi is losing patience quickly. “It’s just funny that you’d order a strawberry shortcake.” He stands up straighter, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “You just don’t seem like the type.”
Yoongi feels strangely defensive. “What type do I seem like then?” He crosses his arms, waiting for a response. He isn’t sure why he’s acting so childish, and he has no idea what he’s expecting Jimin to say, but-
“Honestly, you seem like a green tea with plain sponge cake kinda guy, but hey, to each their own,” Jimin responds with a shrug, still smiling. He presses a few buttons on the register, before announcing the price of $4.20.
Yoongi hands him a five, and he huffs. “What’s that supposed to mean? That sounds like something old men typically like. I’m 23, and I just so happen to have sensitive taste buds. The sweetness of the strawberry tends to mix well with the smooth texture of the cake, and I was recommended to try out the cakes here, so that’s what I’m doing. I didn’t come here to be judged,” he mutters.
Jimin makes quick work of the bill handed to him, giving a few coins to Yoongi in return, and he gestures towards an empty table. “Alright, alright, Mister Connoisseur, just take a seat over there and I’ll get you your order shortly.” Yoongi doesn’t budge from his spot. “What?”
“Answer my question first. What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi answers stubbornly. Jimin shrugs again, as if to say nope, suit yourself, and he turns away, preparing the cake. He knows that Yoongi had given up once he hears the scraping of a chair against the marble floor, and he finds his lips curving up once again. The annoyance he had felt before has all but dissipated.
Jimin makes sure to add a generous amount of whipped cream on the dish.
“Your strawberry shortcake, hyung.” Jimin places the plate down gently, complete with a bright smile. Yoongi is looking at his phone, but he nods curtly in acknowledgement. He sends one, two, three texts, and then his phone is away, he’s taking a bite of the cake, and his stoic expression melts into one of pure bliss. Once he chews and swallows, he lets out a sigh of contentment. Jimin watches him silently, entertained by this new side of him. He puts a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, and he flinches, clearly unaware that he had been so close. Yoongi looks up, his mouth stuffed with cake, and Jimin can’t help thinking that he looks so harmless, so cute, so endearing. Before he could stop himself, he pokes Yoongi’s cheek.
He visibly stiffens at the touch, and Jimin withdraws his hand immediately at the realization of what he was doing. “I-I-sorry,” the younger stammers, and he takes a few steps back before retreating quickly. Jimin ducks under the counter and curls up, burying his face in his arms in embarrassment. There it is again, the scraping of the chair. He hears footsteps coming closer to the counter, and Jimin swears that he feels Yoongi’s presence surrounding him.
“Thanks for the cake,” Yoongi says, his voice just above a whisper. Jimin holds his breath and waits, and eventually, after Yoongi had left and the bell chimes had stopped ringing, he gets up and dusts himself off. He feels oddly empty.
For the first few days after the first meeting, Jimin had stayed 30 minutes after the closing time just for the heck of it, telling himself that the atmosphere at the café was ideal for doing homework efficiently and he should try new things, but he had never gotten anything done, choosing more often than not to stare absent-mindedly at the door instead. As if he was willing a certain green-haired someone to come in, just a few minutes late.
In a way it works, because Yoongi comes strolling in exactly one week later, at 8:01pm. To be exact, he’s 1 minute and 43 seconds late. He looks much better with his eye bags left behind, Jimin thinks.
“Did you miss me?” Yoongi asks, before adding with a smirk, “because you sure look like you did with how you’re staring at me again.”
“Yes,” Jimin hears himself blurting out without much thought, wincing inwardly immediately after. Surprise flickers in Yoongi’s eyes, and his lips part slightly in an “o” shape. “You look better,” Jimin adds rushedly, an attempt to stray away from his frank reply.
“Does this mean I can get another cake? I’m only… a minute late, after all,” Yoongi checks his watch before looking back up at Jimin. He doesn’t comment on the younger’s outburst, and Jimin thanks him mentally for not bringing it up again.
“Actually, as much as I’d love to, we’re completely out of the special extracts we need to make our shortcakes,” Jimin replies sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t notice Yoongi’s eyes following his action. “Would you like a drink instead?”
Yoongi sits down at a table and gestures towards the empty seat across from him. “How much do you charge for an hour of your time then?” he asks nonchalantly.
Jimin’s jaw drops (because oh my god if that isn’t an invitation to flirt he doesn’t know what is) and after silent prompting from Yoongi’s eyebrow raise, he breaks into his trademark smile, complete with crinkling crescent-moon eyes. He sits down and makes himself comfortable.
“On the house, only for you.”
Yoongi stays this time for nearly an hour, and in that time Jimin learns a lot about the older boy. They’re similar in some ways- in their love for music, performing, and appreciation for the arts- and different in others- “okay but I’m a chocolate fudge brownie kinda guy”/ “I despise brownies, how could you!” Yoongi finds himself opening up to the quirky boy quickly, and Jimin, well, he finds himself enjoying himself more than he had ever been at the café. Conversation flows easily, with Yoongi telling him parts of his day and eventful moments as an aspiring musician and producer, with Jimin recalling anectdotes from his life as a dance major, with the both of them listening to one another, and with the café filled with a pleasant ambience perfect for nights like these.
It gets late all too soon for Jimin’s liking, and the two of them reluctantly part ways afterwards, brief goodbyes lasting just a bit longer than brief, and an unspoken promise ever so present in the air; a promise to meet again, to ensure that this won’t be their final parting.
And it isn’t.
“Jimin?” Yoongi calls out. For the first time in three months, the orange-haired boy isn’t at the counter, waiting patiently for Yoongi to walk in as he does practically every day. On the days where he isn’t able to go to the café because of a late schedule or an extra assignment, the older boy makes sure to send Jimin a text, apologizing and promising that they would catch up later. And they always do.
Yoongi waits for a response, and once he hears nothing, he steps forward uncertainly, walking around the usual tables and venturing farther back, behind the counter. He notices a door slightly ajar at the very side, typically hidden a customer’s sight. As quietly as possible, he slips through, entering a room brightly lit. It’s a kitchen, much larger than he had expected for a café. Yoongi’s eyes trail around, from the abundance of stainless steel appliances to the clean-cut marble floors, to the spotless countertops and finally to the figure hovering over something with his back turned to Yoongi.
Yoongi closes the door behind him, earning a yelp from Jimin, who turns around swiftly at the sudden noise. His eyes are wide with surprise, and Yoongi sees a speck of- is that icing on his nose?
“Hyung! You scared me! Why didn’t you call me when you arrived?” Jimin tries his best to cover the project that he’d been working on, and Yoongi’s eyes narrow at this.
“I did,” he replies, closing in on Jimin. “You didn’t seem to hear me, so I went to find you myself.” He’s inches away. “What are you hiding?”
Jimin’s eyes dart around, frantically trying to find an escape, but when he sees none, he sighs in defeat. He steps to the side, revealing… a cake?
It’s not too small, and not too big, a cake perfect for two. A strawberry shortcake, Yoongi muses, the only thing that he’s ever ordered at the café from the first time that the two had met. He doesn’t fail to notice the large side of whipped cream, nor the “HAPPY BIRTHDAY HYUNG” that Jimin had been in the process of writing. A faint smile plays on Yoongi’s lips as he turns to Jimin. “How do you know it’s my birthday today?”
Jimin looks sheepish as he runs a hand through his hair. “Facebook told me, and I decided to trust the information you entered.” He freezes then, as if a thought had just occurred to him. He opens his mouth, and nothing comes out, as if the words are refusing to budge in his throat. Yoongi waits, and eventually Jimin stutters his question nervously: “I-It is your birthday, right? Did I get it wrong?”
And although Yoongi’s birthday had actually passed the day before, he doesn’t have the heart to deny Jimin of it, not after all the effort he had put in to making Yoongi’s favourite treat, and especially not after the crestfallen expression decorating Jimin’s delicate features ignites a tightness in his chest.
So Yoongi says that it is, indeed, his birthday, and they exchange smiles and happy conversations, like they had so many times before. They sit at their usual table and share the cake, and Yoongi thinks that celebrating his birthday a day late isn’t any less special than it is when celebrating on the day of- besides the cake, the happy memories he’s shared with Jimin remain consistent in his life.
And Jimin thinks that Yoongi has never looked happier, and he being the cause of Yoongi’s happiness makes him smile too.
The night ends, sweet and not by any means short.
(Well, besides the shortcake and the short couple.)