❪⠀🪐. cappuccino⠀𓏔⠀lee know⠀❫
☆ customer!lee know x afab!reader ( i wanna be yours oneshots )⠀★⠀8.1k words
( i am extremely sorry for the delay of this one shot ♡ )
synopsys: after a bad run you are forced to look for a second job, and you end up covering the first shift at the campus café. every morning you find the same guy waiting for you to open, leaning on the wall, looking flawless, and it gets on your nerves. until one day you see him leaving the dance academy where you teach, getting on the same bus as you.
warnings: in this one she's the barista, guys. a part from that, we have mentions of reader not having enough money, lee know with his misterious aura but being a literal sunshine, also he's insecure :(( unusual hopeless romantic minho too, he's a softie (and whipped) reader's insecure too 😔 mentions of overworking and skipping meals. minho saves the day!! let me know if i missed something.
If life as a college student was hard, life as a broke college student in a country completely different from your own was pure hell. You had never let it get to you when you said your dream was to make it as a choreographer in Seoul and everyone laughed in your face, so you certainly weren't going to let anything stand in your way now that you had gotten a chance at Seoul's famous arts university, JYPU. The plane ride had been a challenge, because you kept wondering if you were really doing the right thing, but when you landed and saw you had messages of encouragement from your sister and the few friends you had left in your hometown, their words had filled you with determination.
A couple of years had passed since that moment, and perhaps the circumstances were still not the best, but you were still determined to achieve everything you set your mind to. The language barrier had not been a big problem, because you had learned some Korean while you were in high school, but it had only helped you to find that tiny room you were living in and get hired at the dance studio a couple of blocks away from the faculty. You were earning enough to pay for food, rent, and the materials you needed for class. But when understanding your classmates became a little more complicated, when the language used in the lectures became more technical, you had to pay a personal teacher to help you improve your Korean. And since you didn't have enough money, you were forced to fit a second job into your busy schedule, getting a little bit of extra money to live slightly more comfortably.
A friend of a friend from the Music Production department had recommended you to the owner of the most famous café on campus, and after hearing your story, he had hired you right away. This Chris guy had been very nice, and had taken an interest in your schedule to find the shifts that suited you best, even waiting for you after one of your classes to have lunch with you and talk about everything in peace and quiet. You had never met a boss so concerned about his employees, and he made it much easier to have to get up before dawn to be the one to open the café, because he always left you some candy hidden in your apron pockets or a note encouraging you to start the day with a smile.
However, the first time you had covered the morning shift, the 5.30 am shift, there was a guy waiting at the door. You had arrived, exhausted as you were every day, the laptop and your college books weighing like heavy bricks in the backpack on your shoulders, along with the sports clothes you wore for the afternoon classes. Chris had told you to be there at the normal time and he would show up to explain some of the details and give you the keys. After all, it was your first day. But instead there was a tall, slim guy leaning against the metal grille, his slightly long bangs covering his eyes, though that didn't stop him from scrolling lazily on his phone, headphones hanging around his neck, and looking flawlessly put together. Certainly not how someone should look on any given day at 5:30 in the morning.
You flashed a shy smile as you reached his level and he lifted his head to find out who you were, his sharp cat-like eyes sparkling from the reflection of the light on his phone screen, and you grabbed your own in a hurry to send a message to the cafe owner.
You 5.32am
Hi, Chris
I already arrived, where are you?
Chris 5.32am
Hi, sorry
Still in the subway
Like... 2 minutes away
You 5.33am
Yeah, no worries
It's just
There's this guy...
Chris 5.34am
OMG wait
Dark aura, looks like a cat and gave you a dirty look when you showed up?
You 5.35am
Yeah, quite accurate
Chris 5.35am
Oh, that's Minho
Don't mind him, he's inoffensive
Most of the time
He's there for his morning coffee
You 5.36am
Okay, then
See you!!
Chris 5.36am
👍🏼
And then he showed up, out of breath, in a hurry, around the street corner, phone still in his hand, unblocked. You smiled unconsciously, trying to ignore Minho's gaze weighing on you while Chris approached, flashing his dimples as he stopped in front of you to catch his breath, breathing some kind of greeting that you responded to with a nod. He pulled out a dinosaur-shaped keychain, a very adorable doodle version, and bent down to unlock the metal grille, pull it up ーgiving a little jump to get it all the way upー and unlatch the lock on the door. Minho hadn't bothered to greet him, you guessed it was a common thing between them, and he didn't look up from his phone screen either, a bored gesture plastered on his face. You followed Chris as he entered the café, leaving your backpack on the counter, and standing awkardly in the middle as he went to switch on the electrical panel.
"Get his coffee ready while I finish up in here," he instructed you, stepping into what you thought was the kitchen, "I'll be right out to help you."
You nodded, grabbing the apron from the rack that already had your name on it, and stood behind the counter, Minho having rested his forearms on the surface, again with the phone in his hands. If he was reading some article or playing some online game it must have been interesting, because except for the few furtive glances he had given you, his eyes had been glued to the screen the whole time. Clearing your throat, making just enough noise to get his attention, you flashed your best customer service smile, "What'll you have?"
"Cappuccino" he mumbled, sitting up and stretching absently, "grande, to go".
You made a small affirmative noise, turning on the coffee machine, and picked up the cup in the size he had asked for, with its respective lid.
"Chris, where's the milk?" you asked, walking into the kitchen, stifling a laugh when you caught him wrestling with the flour, staining his dark blue t-shirt white.
"'Storage room'" he muttered, his ears taking on a reddish hue, "If there isn't any under the counter, Jisung must have forgotten to restock it last night."
You hurried into the kitchen supply room, after grabbing a scoop of coffee powder and put it in the machine to make some espresso, and came out with two packs of milk, setting them down on the floor to place them as soon as Minho left, but grabbing one of the bottles to make the steamed milk and creamer.
It wasn't your first time working as a barista, and not in the hostelry industry either, so really the only thing you had to get used to was the café distribution. Luckily, Chris seemed like a pretty neat guy, so you didn't think it was going to be much of a problem. You set about pouring the milk into the necessary containers to heat it to your liking and get the effect you were looking for, as the coffee dripped into the cup you were using to measure the amount, the chestnut-colored liquid falling, first in drops and then in a small stream of caffeine, flooding the white porcelain.
You mixed it on the counter, in front of Minho, so he could see how you did it, although you hadn't seen him look up from his phone at any moment. Actually, he had been watching you. He always did 一observing his surroundings, that is一, but with you his eyes flashed with curiosity. Chris was known for rescuing stray souls in need of a job, a quality through which he had met most of his friends, and he wanted to find out why a girl like you would have caught his eye, or would need extra money. Usually JYP University students had wealthy parents, and if that wasn't the case, they had at least gotten a temporary job that allowed them to live comfortably. But you had arrived, with your worn converse and patched hoodie, your backpack full of safety pins and big dark shadows under your eyes, screaming to anyone who could see that you didn't quite belong there.
He had wanted to take care of you. It had crossed his mind for an instant to give you a friendly smile, to introduce himself, to ask you about you; he had felt the need to approach you and engage you in a conversation that would allow him to get to know you better. Because as soon as he laid his eyes on you, he knew that despite being two strangers, you were going to be the one who, only with the sweetness of your voice and the kindness of your gaze, would break through all that was and what was remaining of him once you left him, would turn his unleashed fire into a warm hearth. But he wasn't good with words, and you had rushed to grab your phone to busy yourself, watching his chance fade before he could even realize it. It had bothered him how comfortable you seemed to feel with Chris, even though he knew his friend had that effect on people, and how you'd smiled when you'd seen him show up, like he was saving you from someone 一from him.
But at the same time, he had struggled not to curl his lips as he realized how strange you felt in the situation you were in, standing at the entrance of the café, as if waiting for instructions. It wasn't that you were a contradiction, but that you caused him too many dilemmas. Like having to repress that electricity that ran through him the only time you looked into his eyes, when you looked up to check how much his coffee cost and he already had the money in his hand. He had tried not to brush his hand against yours, dropping the coins onto your palm at full speed and picking up his cup, leaving the place, with you still on his mind. He couldn't concentrate in class that day.
Unfortunately, you had no other choice but to focus. The scholarship you had been given depended on your grades, thanks to which you had obtained a place at the university. If you dropped below your grade point average, they would take it away from you, and that was something you couldn't allow. But some thoughts had slipped in your mind about the boy you had met that morning, remembering the shape of his eyes, sharp and rounded at the same time, and his slender figure. You had allowed yourself to smile at the memory of him, even as you hurried to stuff your backpack and boots into the locker at the academy where you worked, your jeans exchanged for a leotard and the most comfortable sweats you had, always arriving a couple of minutes earlier than required so you could get ready.
But even if you wanted to stop thinking about him you couldn't, because soon what you had considered an isolated event became a habit that every day was harder to break. The next morning, after barely five hours of sleep, you got up again, crawling as best you could to the outside of your cramped room, your body trying to feed on the freshness that the shower had left on your skin, your heavy backpack digging into your shoulders. And when you managed to reach the café, the keys tightly clutched in your fist, he was there, again, his long figure leaning against the grille, again, and his gaze fixed on his phone, again.
When he heard you, your stifled pants revealing your presence, he sought your eyes, separating himself from the wall so that you could open. You bent down, sitting back on your heels, to undo the lock on the grille, and accompanied it with your hand as you stood up again, mimicking the hop you'd seen Chris take the day before to get it all the way up. Unfortunately, it only got halfway up, and you felt your cheeks redden with embarrassment, fearing that Minho had seen it. Still you pretended nothing had happened, trying to straighten your shoulders under the weight of the backpack, unlocked the door, leaving it open behind you, and stepped inside.
You repeated the steps that Chris had indicated to you the previous morning, going directly to the electric panel to turn on the power, and then you entered the kitchen, crossing it until you reached the room reserved for the staff, leaving your backpack on one of the chairs, and taking the apron that had your name on it before leaving. You hung it around your neck as you undid your steps, and by the time you got behind the counter Minho was already pinning his catlike gaze on you.
"Grande cappuccino to go?" you asked, your fingers tapping on the surface like a piano in a nervous gesture that Minho found adorable.
He merely nodded, averting his gaze to his phone screen, as if he had somewhere more important or urgent to be and was checking the time to make sure he had enough minutes left to get there. It was a somewhat pretentious gesture on his part, without stopping to think whether it would make you feel better or worse, but he couldn't help it. He was torn between absorbing every detail you could offer him, and trying to delay the moment when you would reject him, when his feelings would be too obvious to be denied. And even if he had mentally chosen the second option, he let his gaze follow you as he performed a graceful dance with the sole purpose of making his coffee.
He had noticed a difference from when Chris made it to when you had made it. Minho didn't know if it was your expert hand or some ingredient you had used to make it, but it tasted slightly sweeter. And since he had tasted it he hadn't been able to stop thinking about what your lips would taste like, if he got to kiss them someday. Minho kept telling himself that it was a silly crush, that the butterflies he felt in his stomach when you handed him his glass were the effect of hunger, of thirst, of any excuse he could think of but the ghost of the feel of your skin on his. Or maybe you were a witch, and had used his cappuccino as a love potion.
However, it didn't matter anymore. If you had wanted to have him trapped in your web, he wasn't going to be the one crying out for help to be rescued. Not when he felt his heart falling off a cliff every time you looked at him, adrenaline racing his pulse, not knowing for sure when it would stop. At least until he handed you the money, turned around and walked out of the café, the bite of the cold winter air bringing him back to reality, leaving behind the pleasant warmth of the place, and also of your smile, which he could still feel in the palm of his hand thanks to the coffee you had made for him.
And meanwhile you watched him walk away, the coins still in your hand, until there was no trace of him left. Then you sighed, coming out of that strange daydream in which you were interacting ーif you could call what you were doing thatー and put the money away, leaving the apron on the counter and taking a chair. Your problem wasn't being short, it was not knowing how to jump high, you decided, as you leaned the chair against the street and looked up, more than willing to climb the grille to the same height Chris had left it the day before.
To your surprise, it was in place, even though you knew perfectly well that you had left it halfway up only five minutes earlier. You shrugged your shoulders and went back inside, leaving your chair in place and hurriedly putting on a black shirt before tying on your apron and starting your day.
The next morning, you went to work with your heart in a fist, expecting to see him leaning against the grille, letting out a small sigh of relief when you saw that he was. You hid the smile that struggled to appear on your lips, and frowned as you looked at him, refusing to let the mere presence of a stranger affect your mood that way.
This time, Minho greeted you with a quick glance and a small nod, a display that made you blush, hiding your reddish cheeks from him as you bent down to lift the grille. You figured that this routine between the two of you would be repeated quite often, since you weren't planning to quit your job and he was going to need his coffee every morning, so you decided to put all your effort into maintaining a cordial relationship with him.
You soon realized that he was the type of person who also got up early on weekends, since you still had to cover your shift and he was still at his usual 5:30 am spot. You had no idea what he was studying ーor even if his major that was the reason he was getting up so early. And it wasn't like you were going to ask Chris either, you didn't know him well enough to figure out if he would tell Minho or not.
In fact, he kept making stupid excuses for why he had to go to your unofficial morning appointments. He told himself you wouldn't have anyone to climb the grille for you. What if the lock on the door got stuck and you couldn't get in? His coffee addiction had nothing to do with it, although he would probably develop one just from drinking so much cappuccino, and if he didn't feel like getting up one day, just the thought of knowing that he would be able to see you before going to class made him wake up instantly.
And somehow he ended up going on the weekends as well. The first Saturday just to see if you were also working those mornings, stuttering his order when he saw that you had already opened and he hadn't been there, but after taking the first sip from his cup he had to sit for a long time on one of the benches in the nearest park, feeling sick at the fixation he had developed with you.
Could he consider it a crush when he tried to look for you with his eyes every time he leaned to wait for you, pretending to use his phone? When he walked through the corridors of his college and thought he recognized your beautiful hair in the crowd, only to end up being a random girl? When his heart stopped for a few moments as soon as he entered the café that morning just because he heard you laugh?
That Sunday he was on the verge of not going. But every minute that passed and it got closer to the time to open the café, his anxiety increased, so he dressed in the first shorts he could find and a shirt he had lying on his bed and decided to go for a run. He wasn't a big fan of doing sports, but he liked the feeling that flooded his body once he finished, exhausted, knowing that it had been worth it. He had jogged towards 5STAR, towards you, ready to drink his morning coffee.
Until that moment the only thing that kept him from murdering anyone who bothered him as soon as he woke up had been the caffeine shot, but he had lately been smiling only thanks to you for a week, and it was much healthier that caffeine. That Sunday you had looked at him, surprise on your face, probably because he had changed his normal outfit for a slightly more revealing one, and you had had to clear your throat before asking if he would have a cappuccino. He had smiled shyly and asked for a pastry to go with his coffee, since he wasn't willing to go running on an empty stomach, and had waited as long as it took while you put the first batch of croissants in the oven.
He had pretended not to notice, too, when you stole glances at him from the kitchen, blushing when he couldn't help himself anymore and made eye contact with you. After all those days he still wondered why you kept asking him if his order was still a cappuccino, when his answer had always been yes, but he would never dare to find out, because hearing your sweet voice was a hell of a lot better than all the alarms on his phone. What he didn't know was that you adored the look on his face, his lips curving slightly and nodding adorably, and that you weren't willing to give that up either.
The mornings went on, each and every one of them with the same repressed interaction, and the same warm feeling in your chest as you said goodbye to each other until the next day, neither of you making the first move. You had grown accustomed to his presence, almost inherent in your morning routine, and he had learned to soften his attitude in front of you, but never without exchanging more than three words in a row.
The first time you said something different, a few weeks later, was when you mustered the courage you needed to thank him for raising the grille for you every morning. At first he had done it slyly, taking advantage of you coming into the kitchen to make a little jump and push it up. Then he hadn't cared if you saw it or not, realizing that if he wanted you to notice him he would have to be a little more obvious. And now he was doing it without any kind of embarrassment, waiting for you to pull it up more or less to your height to take the leap, in front of you.
"Thanks for helping me with the grille" you had whispered, pouring the milk into the glass, while the coffee was being made behind your back.
He had made a nonchalant gesture, as if it wasn't that important, or if he had done it for anyone, and he had seen you smile, embarrassed, but his ears had turned red.
That same day, taking advantage of meeting up at Han's apartment with the group of friends, he followed Chris into the kitchen when he offered to go get more beers and tried to ask some sly question about you. Chris was no fool, evidently, but he let Minho get the information he wanted. It was most adorable to see his gaze light up at the mere mention of your name, or how he drank in the words Chris whispered hurriedly about you, fearful that any of the others would walk unannounced into the kitchen and interrupt them.
You, on the other hand, had begun one of the most difficult periods of the term: when your exams were combined with the recitals of the girls you were teaching, limiting your time even more and drowning you in due dates, subjects to study and two jobs you couldn't afford to loose. You couldn't complain about how lucky you had been to find jobs that matched your preferences, but you did say, without hesitation, that the one at the café was much better than the one at the dance academy. Not only in something as obvious as the salary, but the conditions were nicer with Chris as the boss than with that man who had assumed that because you were a woman and beautiful you would surely be better at teaching ballet and dealing with the little girls.
That was what you had confessed to Han, since his shift was the one after yours, while you took advantage of the brief ten minutes he managed to save for you, arriving earlier than he should have, and you spent by having a coffee. He had nodded, giving you to understand that he was listening to you, while he stored all that information to be able to communicate it later to Minho. All the co-workers you had dealt with had been very nice to you, but Han was your favorite. He compensated for your introversion with witty and funny comments on his part, which made you burst out laughing and the mood relaxed. He always paid attention to everything you said - even if he had hidden intentions to do so - and you had several hobbies in common.
Besides, he was the only one who would talk to you about Minho without having to ask, and even if you pretended to be disinterested, he could see the way you nodded at his words, and your lips tried to avoid curling up at the silly anecdotes in which you were utterly oblivious to this different version of the gentle Minho who said good morning to you. He would brighten up your breakfasts, at least until you realized what time it was and rushed off to avoid missing your morning classes.
Because the classes were also demanding enough. It may not have been as difficult as a science degree, but the exams on music history and dance, along with all the physical sessions and dances you had to prepare for the end of the semester not only tired you mentally, but you would arrive home at night totally exhausted, with just enough energy to take a shower and go to bed. You would also skip a meal or two due to lack of time, resulting in quick snacking whenever you had a second. More than once your belly had growled in the morning, in front of Minho, and you had formulated a quick apology, without even turning around, too embarrassed.
They weren't the best conditions for a healthy life, even less if you were a teenager trying to survive, but it was the only - and best - thing you had. At least you had your mornings at 5STAR, with the opportunity to see Minho every day without fail, and the hours at the academy with your girls, who were immensely fond of you. Seeing their excited faces when you proposed to change the typical play based on the Nutcracker or Swan Lake for an invented version with all the Disney princesses made the two nights you had spent almost without sleep planning the story and the choreography worthwhile. That way everyone would have a starring role, and not just the one who got the main role, which was something you had missed in your childhood, so you were happy too.
One morning, however, when Minho came to your not-date, the café was already open. It wasn't that the fact itself was strange ーyou had sometimes arrived early because you hadn't been able to sleepー but that the grille was all the way up, and you always left it halfway up no matter what time you arrived. When he entered, the door bell ringing behind him, the one who came out to greet him was Changbin, another of his friends, who flashed a mischievous grin at his confused face.
"Looking for your girl?"
"YN is not my girl" he protested, slipping his phone into the pocket of his jeans.
"Ah, but you took it for granted I was talking about her" the boy replied, winking at him, starting to make his coffee.
Minho missed your sleepy voice as you murmured good morning to him, and the graceful way you moved behind the counter, in and out of the kitchen, gathering all the ingredients and utensils you needed to prepare his breakfast, which although varied in pastries, always consisted of a cappuccino. He pulled out his wallet, preparing the coins he always counted out before handing you over, and the movement caught Changbin's attention.
"So you're not going to ask?" he said, rephrasing, still with his back turned.
"You seem to be eager to tell me," he replied, rolling his eyes, "so go ahead."
"Oh, you're no fun" Changbin complained, his face contracting into an adorable pout.
"I didn't mean to be" Minho said, cracking a sarcastic smile.
"You know what, I'm sure you wouldn't have responded to her like that" he muttered, pouring the milk into the cup. "Anyways, I'm sure Han will text you as soon as he finds out, but Chan hyung convinced her to ask for a couple of days off."
"Chan hyung?" Minho couldn't help but frown, not understanding.
"Apparently, YN has been pushing herself more all month" Changbin explained, picking up a cup-sized cap, finishing his friend's order, "and you know how Chan hyung is when he sees someone overworking."
"He gets all protective" summed up the dancer, paying for the drink.
"Exactly" he stated, crossing his arms once Minho had his coffee in his hand, "and she must have been having a really hard time. I guess Chan hyung asked her about her schedule to find out which days would be better for her to rest, and yesterday he asked me if I could cover her shift."
And it had been that way. Just the day Chan had decided to stop by to see how you were doing, he had found you passed out on the kitchen floor. You had made him promise not to tell anyone, and he had sworn to keep his lips sealed, only if you let him make sure you were okay. He had woken up one of the other employees, and then had taken you to his house. You had been somewhat shocked by the seriousness with which he had taken it all, but you had let him do it, rambling about everything you had to do and how little time you had, while he prepared a very nutritious breakfast for you.
"You should quit that job at the academy" he had advised you, his gaze fixed on the chicken frying in the pan.
"I can't" you had protested, whining, "there's less than a week until the Christmas performance. I couldn't let the girls down like that."
"Are you willing to quit after that, though?"
"If I find a better job," you had supposed, shrugging, trying to avoid yawning.
"What if I offer you a double shift at a higher salary?" he had proposed, filling the plates with food and setting them in front of you, reaching for a clean set of chopsticks, "I can even switch you to the afternoon, so you'll get more sleep."
"That's very kind of you, Chris," you had murmured, "but I don't know if it would be a good idea. Or legal, at this rate. You're already paying me more than my fair share."
"You could find a roommate, then" he had continued, not giving up, "I know a guy who..."
"Thank you, really," you had tried again, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at his effusiveness, "but I'd rather sort it out myself."
Chan had looked down, blushing as he realized he had gone too far anyway, and had apologized, leaving you to eat in peace. You couldn't thank him enough for how much it had meant to you that he had accepted you into his house and fed you, but he had more surprises up his sleeve. He had told you that he was going to give you two days off, and also that he knew someone in your class who could get you the notes of what you would be taking that week in the main subjects, so that you could spend the next few days resting. Before saying goodbye, you had given him a big hug, almost crying, and you had returned to your little room, more than ready to faint from exhaustion.
But Minho didn't know that. For him it was the first time you had been absent, and the first notice that you were really that unwell. Not that he hadn't noticed the dark circles under your eyes, but you had always looked so cheerful in front of him in the mornings, with that bright smile that lit up the café when you saw him, that he hadn't realized the real gravity of the situation. And he blamed himself for it, for his lack of attention to detail, for having been so absorbed in his feelings that he hadn't realized your own reality.
That's why the next day he didn't go: it didn't make sense, since he knew you weren't going to be there. And in any case, he wasn't in the mood to get up so early. He didn't go to class either, his mind too absent-minded to attend to three straight hours of long, monotonous explanations. But he didn't miss his daily appointment at the dance academy, one of the few places where he could let himself go, it's physical exertion and music taking him away from all the buzz he had in his head. He would go to practice the dances he had to present in his subjects, but also to memorize choreographies he found on the internet or create his own from scratch.
The mere fact of putting the bottle of water and the change of clothes in his sports bag for later made a slight curve form on his lips, wishing that the subway would move at the speed of light so he could arrive as soon as possible, and nodding as a greeting to one of the owners of the place, who was always sitting at the reception desk, heading straight to the studio he had booked.
That evening Yewon was not in her usual place, but running back and forth, somewhat stressed, having exchanged her usual low heels for ballet slippers.
"Hello, Minho!" she greeted him, waving some papers with a hurried gesture. "You have studio C10, as usual, but I will have to change it tomorrow!"
"What's all the fuss about?" he asked, securing the strap of his bag over his shoulder in a nervous gesture.
"Two of our teachers couldn't make it today, and it was unexpected," she explained, not bothering to use the comfortable office chair to type something quick on the computer. "Jisoo took maternity leave after a little scare with the baby, to be at home and rest. But Jinyoung has finally quit."
"The one who wanted to set up his own academy?"
"That same one," she replied, trying to stifle a complicit laugh. "I'm covering his ballet classes, but I'm short of someone to take over Jisoo's hip hop classes. You wouldn't be willing to volunteer, would you?"
"With kids?" Minho tried not to let his panicked face show too much.
"Yes, but only today," she replied, letting out a melodic laugh. "You can wipe off that scary face, don't worry. My sister is in Jeju, sorting out some family issues, and she'll be back tomorrow. She'll take care of it until Jisoo and her baby are healthy and the happy mom can continue working."
"Huh" he knew he couldn't refuse, not when Yewon had always been so nice to him, even if he was late on one of the months' payments, always greeting him with a smile. But children made him panic. Those little humans who judged you without a filter, always bursting his eardrums with the screams they made, and so wild that they deliberately ignored any orders they received. He realized it sounded like he was describing real demons, but in his experience, it was totally justified. "Right."
Yewon clapped her hands in excitement and led him to one of the studios reserved for afternoon classes. They always put the children in the larger rooms, so they could run around freely. And if you were able to teach ballet for whole afternoons to children, surely it couldn't be too bad for him. After all, he was pretty good at hip hop, and he had a couple of easy choreographies he could teach.
Luckily, the group was small ーfour boys and three girlsー more than willing to learn, half of them with dreams of becoming idols, and all of them with wide eyes watching him dance for the first time. It wasn't the first time people had complimented him, but the fact that eight-year-olds were looking at him with such admiration made him die of embarrassment, and also made it seem much more real than any empty words they could ever give him.
When the time came to an end, he had gotten as much exercise as any other day, had laughed a lot more, and had not been alone, like the vast majority of his afternoons, though unfortunately he had not found a solution to your problem. Yewon left the ballet studio, sweating but smiling, waving goodbye to his students, thanking him again and again after Minho high-fived all his children. It was only after a quick shower that he knew what he should do.
The break had been wonderful for you. You had dedicated yourself to sleeping and eating, without worrying about anything but going to your ballet classes on time, and you were afraid that getting used to it would be easier than breathing. You kept telling yourself that what you were experiencing was a temporary hiatus for a couple of days, something Chris had managed to do but it wouldn't last forever, and that you should be grateful. Although you should also try to figure out what was going to be your life after that, because going on as you were was not an option.
But you were tired of looking for a job and the options getting worse. If the pay was perfect, the schedule was bad for you. If it fit with your classes, it wasn't worth it because it was too far away or the salary wasn't enough. You were definitely going to keep the job at the café, but you also wanted to keep the job at the academy. You were totally lost. Maybe you could stay the same for a couple of months, asking for fewer hours and saving a little more at home. Cut back on showers to the academy bathroom, and try to ration your meals. It could work.
After the established time had passed, you came back. And you were looking forward to it. You got up energized, grabbing a couple of pieces of fruit while you packed your stuff in your backpack, and even noticed it less heavy on the way to the café. When you arrived, you didn't see Minho in his usual place, but since it wasn't the first time either you shrugged your shoulders and opened the grille, leaving it halfway and going in, following the routine that by now, you knew by heart. You busied yourself with the trays of croissants and brownies that some co-worker called Felix was leaving ready on his shift for the next day, waiting for Minho to arrive. You had the milk ready, the coffee powder already in the machine. All you needed was for him to show up to press the button and serve it to him.
Only he didn't show up.
It was the sound of the grille going up that made your heart race, and you left the staff room totally hopeful. But although you expected to see the young man with the mischievous smile and gentle gaze, you found a guy you didn't know at all, looking lost, and a little nervous tic in his hand. You took a big breath of air, forcing a smile, and stood behind the counter.
"Good morning," you murmured. "What will you have?"
"Oh, hi" he said to you, trying to avoid your glance. "I didn't know if it was open yet...".
"Yeah, yeah" you affirmed, the shy curve of your lips reassuring the boy, "don't worry. I usually have a friend of mine come over to help me with the grille, but he's not here yet."
"Then I was right to put it up, wasn't I?" he asked, his fingers still drumming on the surface of the counter.
"Yes, of course," you confirmed, your hands fiddling with the edge of the apron, trying not to let your disappointment at the boy's presence show too much, "thank you. What will you have?"
"A macchiato, please."
Similar to a cappuccino, you thought, unable to get Minho out of your mind. You didn't know why his absence was affecting you so much. You didn't even have that much of a relationship. Outside of your greetings, and small conversations here and there, you didn't interact much else. Even if after all this time you felt you had known him all your life, even if seeing him in the mornings made your day, even if you wished you could spend your whole life mixing espresso with milk if it meant Minho smiled the way he did.
Your shift took forever, each coffee making lasting longer than necessary, and perhaps too short, customers coming and going and none of them being who you expected. You understood that the shock must have been the same for him ーin case his feelings for you were remotely similarー on the days you had been absent, and you feared that he had grown tired. That so many shared mornings would have been for nothing, and yours would have been a relationship by proximity. It wasn't the first time you had maintained such a friendship with people, because you were forced to go to the same place together every day, and not because there was actually any bond.
Maybe he thought you were not coming back, and had decided to look for coffee somewhere else. Maybe you had misinterpreted everything you had experienced, and had taken cordiality for friendship. Maybe nothing of what you felt was reciprocated, and again you had been daydreaming.
Despite all your efforts, you couldn't concentrate on your classes that day. You took the lunch break you had promised Chris, pulling out of your backpack a container of a small salad you had made yourself in the morning and a piece of brownie Han had slipped in when he thought you weren't looking. After retiring to the library for a couple of hours to study you went to the academy, ready to go over the dance with your girls.
You wore your leotard under your jeans, so, as usual, you only had to put on your sweatpants and ballet slippers, locking yourself in the studio half an hour early to dance by yourself for a while, and at five o'clock, letting it fill up with energetic and joyful girls, ready to become their favorite Disney princess for a few hours. You always had a great time, and in your heart it made up for everything it meant in your private life.
After the shower, as you were coming out of the changing room with your hair still slightly damp but back in your normal clothes, your backpack slung over your shoulder, walking down the hallway towards the lobby, you stopped when you heard Minho's voice. You couldn't make out what he was saying, but you could hear the angry voice of your boss, and you peeked your head around the corner, trying to see without being seen, in time to see your boss hit the table lightly and Minho frown in an annoyed gesture, turning around.
You hurried out, ignoring the exclamations of your boss calling you, and followed Minho. He was carrying a cup of coffee that wasn't from 5STAR, and for a moment you feared it was over altogether. That he had found somewhere else to buy his cappuccino. That maybe your friendship had broken down without you realizing it. That it didn't mattered if you thought you didn't care if it never evolved into something more ーsomething you longed forー, you were content with whatever it was that you had. You noticed also the jacket he was wearing, the logo of a dance academy that wasn't yours drawn on his back, and tried to match his long steps to reach his pace.
He was heading in the direction of the bus stop where you usually caught the one that dropped you off near where you lived, and you got on after him, sitting down next to him, still frowning.
"YN?" he mumbled, taking off one of his earbuds so he could talk to you, turning his body slightly to try to face you.
"What were you doing talking to Mr. Kang?"
"Huh?" he asked, as if he hadn't understood anything you had said.
"I've never seen you outside the café before," you told him, propping your backpack between your feet, "and just the day you don't come in the morning I see you in the afternoon at my academy, when you don't even come here."
"Well... It has an explanation" he tried to defend himself, his ears turning red. "Han had said... Ehem, since you didn't come to work these days... I..."
"I was resting" you told him, leaning your back against the backrest, "I had been having some complicated days, and Chris has recommended me to change jobs, but I don't know..."
"I know" he interrupted you, "I know. That's why I was talking to your boss."
"What?"
"He told me that next week is the performance you've been working on for the past few months" he summarized, avoiding looking at you, not feeling ready to find out if he had taken too much of a risk or not. "I wanted him to make your work conditions better, and maybe I told him that the academy I go to they have an opening for a ballet teacher so he should watch out how he treats you. They pay like a normal job, not a part-time one, and the schedule is the same."
"Really?" you stifled a cry of excitement, covering your mouth with your hand, "Oh my God it's perfect! It's literally the miracle I was waiting for! I'm so happy I could..."
"You could...?" he repeated, urging you to finish the sentence.
But you couldn't finish it. You didn't know if you should. It would be crazy, in fact.
"Whatever," you solved, seeking to change the subject, "it doesn't even have to do with dancing."
"And what does it have to do with?"
You cleared your throat, mumbling an answer you knew he couldn't hear, too embarrassed to let it sink in, hoping he had heard it, and also hoping the opposite at the same time.
"With you" you repeated, this time louder, looking into his eyes when he asked you to say it again.
"With me?" he breathed, his heartbeat increasing its speed, roaming his gaze all over your features.
"Yeah" the worst thing it could happen was that he rejected you, and he never came againg to the café. And you already thought that was what had happened, so there was no point in not trying it. "I was going to say that I'm so happy I could kiss you right now".
"Kiss me?" unable to think straight, he was only repeating what you voiced, watching your lips moving and your cheeks slightly blushed.
You flashed a bright smile and caressed his cheekbone, the pad of your finger gentle and soft against his skin, and his breath got caught in his throat, swallowing hard, and confirming your crazy theory of him liking you back. He tried to touch you the same way, his hand twitching with anticipation, but it fell to his lap when you kissed him, his eyes closing down immediately to focus on the way your lips moved over his, lazy, slowly, enjoying every single second.
Minho knew that he had fell first, and harder, and then he had waited patiently for you to reciprocate his feelings. And when you did, you understood that his heart was so full of love and adoration you couldn’t stop yourself to love him in the same deep, absolute and fathomless intensity.
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