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ardentprose · 4 years

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Cold Brew - Chapter One

Thank you so so much for your incredible patience. I fought sentence by sentence through this writer’s block. My beta reader says she loves it so I hope you guys feel it was worth the wait as well!

Warnings: Language (if more, please let me know)

Prologue

November 5th

Yoongi’s Perspective

As late November creeps in and extracts life with it, a freezing wind arrives to battle manufactured warmth. Pedestrians in search of such heat are bundled up in hoodies, noses and mouths burrowed under scarves and eyes blinking against the harsh wind. Autumn’s bolstering reds, oranges and yellows turn to muted brown leaves crushed underfoot or are the few still hanging from branches that brush forlornly at the cafe’s display windows.

On the other side of the window, the clock ticks harmony to the melody of glass mugs clinking against wooden table tops. The barren atmosphere outside contrasts the cafe’s interior alive with patrons enjoying hot drinks and pastries. College students sit throughout the place, some lounging on couches, others chatting away at the bar, and the studious few hunch over textbooks.

“Alright I’m done. I can’t concentrate anymore. The Hangeul is starting to look like morse code and I’m pretty sure half of this is illegible.”

With something between a sigh and a grunt you close your handwriting book and rest your elbows on top of the cover. Yoongi finishes out his last English word, double-checking it with the textbook’s.

“Give it to me.”

He meets your eyes at your words, sending a wayward thought from his mind before it can distract him from your daily routine. Setting his English aside, Yoongi reaches for the coffee housed in a green ceramic mug, courtesy of the cafe’s commitment to a homey atmosphere. Slender fingers rest on the lip and slide it across to your awaiting gaze.

Ever since these coffee shop study sessions had been agreed upon, Yoongi had dedicated himself to enhancing your lackluster taste for coffee whenever the hours started to numb either one of your brains. It really wasn’t out of the blue, studying in a coffee shop and all, for him to discover you disliked coffee and ordered green tea with three spoons of sugar and two of honey on purpose. Not for the sake of your singing voice, but willingly.

He had started you off easy, sliding an iced mocha caramel latte to you on your second session. Confused at the gesture, you cautiously took the drink while Yoongi was adamant you would love it. It wasn’t bad, and you could admit that much to ease his blazing eyes boring into your expression, waiting for a positive reaction.

The second drink had been slightly less doctored up: an iced coffee with just caramel mixed in, no whip cream or chocolate syrup. At this one, you hummed and chose your words carefully.

“It’s good.” At this, Yoongi nodded and licked his lips. At which point you returned the drink to his all too eager eyes which lit up like a child on Christmas.

So forth and so on the drinks Yoongi ordered got less and less sweet. The creative mixes of spices and fine grounds of the bean - according to Yoongi - made all the difference. With these, he enticed you further down the caffeinated path.

This led Yoongi to right here, right now, in this moment. After months of coaxing you towards quality cups of joe, he was introducing perhaps the best combination of water and bean out there. His absolute favorite: a strong, ice cold brew.

He leans forward as your palms wrap around the cold mug and lift it to your lips. He licks his chapped ones, a smile already brightening his expression.

“Good, right?” He’s even speaking English, a habit that had just started to become second-nature.

You take a ginger sip. Your lips curl inwards and your nose twitches for an infinitesimal moment. But he catches the quick flash of disgust if only in the drop of his heart.

“It’s bitter.” You admit as if you were confessing a sin. Your eyes flicker over Yoongi and he can see the sympathetic regret in them. He bites his tongue, forcing his expression to remain neutral and reveal nothing of his disappointment.

“It’s an americano. They’re meant to be bitter.” He explains as if it will change your mind. But you are pushing the drink back to his side.

It shouldn’t matter, a simple cup of coffee, but it does more than Yoongi would like to admit.

He didn’t expect you to like coffee just because he treated it as serious a hobby as his mixtapes. All those nights browsing the internet in a side tab when the beats stopped flowing from his fingertips didn’t matter. Neither did the half-hour morning bus commute scrolling through Pinterest. Yoongi was never meant to make Pinterest boards designated to specified blends of coffee anyways. It was just a time-killer.

I do it because I’m bored. His fingers hook through the handle and pull the cup back in front of him. What did it say of him if he obsessed over coffee like the last measures of a rap verse? What did it say of his personality if the most bitter, blackest liquid tasted sweetest to him, but not to you? He wasn’t into those personality tests - like that one girl, in his economics class last semester, who tried to force him to take one. But was there something to be said of your coffee preferences? You only drink coffee when he offers the first sip of his own. Your usual tea is faithfully waiting by your elbow, ready to replace the hours of decision-making he spent the night before. Maybe he should give up. Stop trying to force you to like something you so obviously dislike. A part of him you dislike. So where does that leave himself?

“It’s just fucking coffee.” He mutters beneath his breath.

“Hmm?” Yoongi’s cheeks heat as your eyes flash with concern. He hates that you’re studying him as if waiting for him to break down and cry like a kid.

“You’re just weak.” He says instead, louder, and lifts the mug to his lips to take a big gulp. His brow furrows. Maybe the drink was off. His tongue runs over his teeth, collecting the aftertaste for assurance. Maybe it was brewed too strong. Or burnt. Yeah, americanos were bitter, but not this bitter. Right?

The connoisseur in him lashes out, knowing there was not a damn thing wrong with Yoongi’s coffee.

“Am not!” You huff. “You drink that, your taste buds dead.”

He snorts, setting the mug down on the table.

“And don’t you dare say another word in Korean, Yoongi. This is supposed to be English time.” You warn as he opens his mouth to do just that.

He presses his lips into a smirk and takes another sip of coffee, holding your gaze.

“Strong coffee. Weak woman.”

You scoff, but the smile playing under your attempted scowl betrays your amusement. His own statement backfires as his heart skips a beat seeing you try to hold back a laugh to spite him.

No, she’s not his type either. She drinks green tea and that leaf juice is definitely more bitter than coffee.

“Can I have a piece of gum at least? The taste is still in my mouth.” You swallow a few times, trying to clean your palette.

“Are you sure you can you handle it?” Yoongi replies in his native tongue just to earn another glare. He’s rewarded with another rebellious heart flip.

She thinks americanos are disgusting. We’re too different.

“Gum. Do you have it.” You reiterate drawing him back from a downward spiral of pity.

Yoongi sighs as if you’ve asked him to rearrange the stars in the sky. Which he would absolutely do. But search the chaos of his bag? That was the true exhausting task.

Slumping to his side, he tugs open his backpack and digs through its cavern before coming up with a crushed paper box.

Peeling back the lid, he discovers one measly piece left. Pathetic he might be, but he can’t help smiling as he plucks it out and holds it up between his forefinger and thumb.

“You have to earn this.” He says. Your eyes widen, lips parting. He thinks you’re about to compliment how well he’s pronounced his words but instead, you narrow your eyes at the last moment.

“Try me.”

Damn. Yoongi falters, eyes darting over the collage of books and worksheets spread between the two of you.

He drops the piece of gum on the table and reaches into your space to grab your Beginner’s Hangeul Handwriting book.

“If I can read one page of this, you can have it.”

“English, Yoongi.” You warn again as you nod to his proposition.

“I read. You fail. No gum.” He flips pass the individual character practice and splays his fingers over the most recent page. There’s a paragraph in Korean of what the words should look like. This he ignores in lieu of deciphering your handwriting scrawled over the provided lines below it.

After just five words he looks up at you again.

“Your English hand words more bad than mine.”

“Your verbal English sucks worse than mine.” You shoot back. Yoongi raises an eyebrow at your tone. You hold his gaze until his eyes drop back to the book.

His brow furrows, then he squints, holding the book further away and mumbling the words. He must admit, you have the scrawl of a kid, but it is legible. Eventually. Your characters are wide, unevenly spaced, and some lines are flying away from their pairs. It was as he said. Your English might as well have been the written form of an abstract painting.

Even if your handwriting was mediocre, a step between terrible and acceptable, Yoongi could not help himself when it came to pissing you off.

“You take my notes in English, okay? Mine better.” He teases. You roll your eyes for what must have been the fifth time. Yoongi was going for at least ten.

“Your notes are not wor-”

“Korean.” The word comes from his throat in a resonating base.

You stare at him so long he starts to think you may have gone catatonic.

“You’re n-notes not good for s-study. You wr-write three word a-all.” Your cheeks flush and even if Yoongi couldn’t already tell, the stutter shows your embarrassment. He corrects you quietly, in a softer tone, before responding.

This was the established custom between the two of you if the sentence strayed more than five words from the grammatical rules. Despite the petty argument, you’re mouthing the correction to your memory as Yoongi hands you the book back.

“My notes...are...small...mammalistic.” Your outburst of laughter gives him a heart attack. One, for it’s loud volume disrupting the peace of the cafe. Two, for how it electrifies every nerve in his body.

“Minimalistic?” You smirk and he hates how he loves it.

“Min...m-mal…” He rolls his eyes in defeat.

“My notes are minimalistic. I only write what’s needed.” Humming, you begin to pack up your things and Yoongi takes the cue to do the same.

“You only need ten words to remember the professor’s hour and a half lecture?” The jab is quickly returned with his own sharp wit.

“Genius.” Yoongi shrugs, winking when you meet his shit-eating grin.

“Gum. Now genius.” You hold your palm out, grinning almost as widely as he is.

Yoongi stands, sliding his packed bag over his shoulder.

“Careful. Mint is bitter.” He tosses the piece of gum at you and sprints to the bus stop before you can kick him in the shin. And he thinks as he comes huffing the short distance to the glass sheltered bench, if being so bitter brings about this much laughter between you two, perhaps it wasn’t so bad and maybe opposites can attract.

They must, the way you’re grinning as you approach him, despite the way he abandoned you in the cafe.

“You want one?” You uncurl your fingers and hold out a caramel candy to him. Yoongi’s fingertips brush over your palm as he accepts it and deftly unwraps the candy before popping it in his mouth.

“Why?” He lifts an eyebrow at your beaming expression. His jaw works overtime to break down the hard caramel, drawing a look of concentration over his features.

“In return for the gum.” You click your tongue at him, the flash of white wrapped around your pink tongue a contrast that does not go unnoticed.

An intrusive desire, among the many he gets around you, breaks through his resolve.

Does she taste like peppermint? What if I kiss her right now and take back that piece of gum?

Before he can contemplate the question any further, his teeth snap the caramel in half and a horrible sensation of sour blooms in his mouth.

“Fuck! Shit, what the fuck?” He spits the caramel candy on the pavement to the tune of your unabashed laughter. He spits twice and wipes his palm over his lips. The split caramel has a sickly yellow liquid leaking out of it’s center.

Yoongi glances up at you and if he wasn’t so horrified at what was just in his mouth, he would have time to admire your eyes shut tight, squished cheeks, and exposed teeth cracking up at his confusion.

“Why?!” He shouts, disregarding the older couple walking by. The older man glances between you and him with a frown.

“They-They’re from Halloween! My friend from my singing class gave me them.” You wipe your eyes, finally revealing them to Yoongi who barely has time to respond before you see his painful pout and burst into a new round of joy.

“What the hell are they?” The bitter after-taste sits on his tongue. It’s so strong he doesn’t even want to swallow. Is this how americano tasted to you?

Americanos taste like sweet nectar compared to this ungodly taste in my mouth right now.

Was Yoongi still bitter about the coffee? Yes. But now he’s even more frustrated at how you’re still giggling at him like the cat who swallowed the canary. And looking cute as fuck doing it.

“Hey.” He snatches your water bottle which just so happens to be dangling from your other hand and flicks the top open with his thumb.

“Yoongi!” You try to reach for your bottle, but he turns his shoulder, causing your palm to slide over his back instead. He shivers, hoping the wind picking up is enough of an excuse should you notice.

Swallowing an extra gulp than necessary, Yoongi pulls back with an exhale and licks his lips.

“You’re a bad girl.” He mutters.

“Y-Yoongi, chill. It’s just a joke.” You roll your eyes, accepting your water back with shaky fingers.

“Cold?” Yoongi asks as your fingers tremble accepting the water back.

“No. No, I’m fine. Here comes the bus anyways.” You say, hoisting your bag up and turning to the approaching bus. Yoongi studies the back of your head at this angle. He shoves his hands in his pockets. You’re oddly silent. Did he seriously offend you by taking the water bottle?

He tilts on to one foot, trying to catch the side of your face. Imperceptibly you turn further away.

Yoongi chews on his lip. I didn’t mean to seriously piss her off.

The bus rolls up, releasing a long, drawn out squeak of the breaks and hiss as the engine slows.

“Y-you’re not really bad girl.” Yoongi offers in hopes of earning your attention again.

“I know.” You send him a wink that steals any further response of his.

Silently, he gestures for you to get on first with an awkward nod of his head. You grace him with an even brighter smile, trudging past him.

With one last look at the auburn sky above, he almost debates walking back to campus. Surely the winter air is good for the heart. Moreso than your quick smiles and lavender shampoo enticing him to stay near your presence.

“Yoongi, c’mon! The backseat is open!” You exclaim hitting the top of the stairs. The look of pure joy on your face does him in completely.

“Grab it. Hurry.” He mutters, fighting the smile on his own lips, and races up the stairs behind you.

November 12th

You were the sweetest person Yoongi had ever encountered in America. Every day he regretted the way he had cast judgement on the students around him because they had done the same to him. If it weren’t for you, Yoongi might not have ever learned how to socialize with his classmates - which was essential for group projects with pass or fail grades. It was more than school work Yoongi exposed himself too, however. Agreeing to Hoseok’s pleas to attend spirit weeks and home games was the miracle Hoseok never thought he’d see. The first time Yoongi said yes to going to a party with Hoseok, the dancer nearly choked on his can of Sprite. Hoseok was so thankful the next day that he found you on campus and bought you lunch.

Ever since you had mercifully forgiven him for his unnecessary comments, you had only continued to show the cold-shouldered boy patience. In the beginning, your sessions were rough. Yoongi knew more than he could communicate and hated practicing any words aloud. But you coaxed him out of his educational shell by mispronouncing a dozen Korean words yourself.

Before he knew it, Yoongi was earnestly studying English any chance he could get in order to surprise you with his newfound knowledge. If it wasn’t your weekly Thursday study sessions on language, it was the conversations that took place beforehand. Not overwhelming him with rules and facts about your native land but gently guiding him when he got confused. Answering a dozen questions and nodding in agreement at the absurdities he found. Your laughter was a welcome sound to his ears, and your eyes were his reassurance when he was lost.

Those same eyes were hidden from him now as he watched you with the most lovestruck expression a boy like him could conjure.

You fell asleep. On your textbooks. In the cafe.

The patrons’ lively conversations around you had not been enough to keep you awake, nor the unspoken rule of taking naps in cafes. Not even the responsibility of being Yoongi’s tutor had kept your eyes open. After a measly ten minutes of chit chat you swore you were going to rest your eyes and promptly buried your face into the crook of your elbow. But Yoongi could study even when his English teacher fell asleep. He would rather you get your rest because heaven knows you escaped it each night.

Although he was no better, yawning as he turns the page in his journal. A glance outside told him there was about fifteen minutes left. Yoongi would give you more if he could, but it would be a long walk back to campus in the night if you two didn’t make the bus.

With a stretch that cracks a few inches of spine, Yoongi heaves a sigh and slams the textbook cover shut. He rolls his neck and clenches his fingers into fists. As he starts to put away his things and think about how he’s going to wake you up, his eyes catch the book you had used as a makeshift pillow.

Is that Intro to Music Theory? Yoongi scans your sleeping form. Your shoulders heave in a steady, deep rhythm and your hair has been sitting on your nose for the past minute but you remain fast asleep.

Judging the right way to go about this, Yoongi decides to do it the magician’s way. As gentle as the wind, he uses his left hand to ease your head up while his right snatches the book. Letting your head settle on the table, Yoongi holds his breath.

You shift, whining slightly but remain asleep. He sets the book on top of his and flicks open to the correct chapter. Picking up his pen, Yoongi sets up to do the entire assignment again. Every now and then his eyes flicker over your sleeping form, a smile lifting the edges of his lips.

“What time is it?” Your groggy voice scares him out of his wits.

“It’s 5:52.” He says, breathless, and drops his pen with finality.

You sit up slowly, eyes red, cheeks swollen and the indent of your sweater pressed into the left side of your face. Hair sticks to your chapped lips completing your picture of fatigue. But you couldn’t be any more adorable in Yoongi’s own weary eyes.

“Don’t worry. Bus is late.” Yoongi mutters, closing your book and sliding it back across to you. He tucks his hands under the table and massages the cramps out of his wrist. He finished in the nick of time, dotting the last period as you gave a huge yawn to signal the end of your nap.

“Oh.” You yawn for the third time, your eyes processing slowly the image in front of you.

Yoongi smirks, reaching over to flick your forehead. “Wake up.”

You wince under his fingertips wrinkling your nose at him.

“Stop.” You groan. “I am awake. You should have woken me up sooner.”

“Drink some coffee.” He says in lieu of an excuse. There was no way he would confess you likened to an angel while you slept, your face free of stress and forehead clear of tension. Even if you did snort once or twice, Yoongi found it endearing that you trusted him enough to fall asleep in public.

“Gross.” You roll your eyes with a sleepy smile and a few strands of hair fall between your eyes. You brush them away with the back of your hand and run your finger over the table in front of you.

Frowning you meet Yoongi’s eyes, “Why did you have my textbook?”

Yoongi shrugs, fighting an awkward smile and looking anywhere but at your face. “I was bored.”

“You did my homework?!” You raise your voice, causing Yoongi to glare and hush you with an index pressed to his pouting lips.

“I need the extra practice anyways,” Yoongi says, fighting his blush with a grimace - as if that made a difference in his pink cheeks, “since my tutor fell asleep.”

“It’s your fault for not waking me up. I told you ten mintues...not...an hour!” You mutter as you check the time on your phone. Releasing a sigh you lock the device and toss it on the table.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You say sincerity written in your expression. His blush deepens under your gaze.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is though. You have a ton of your own homework you should be doing. I don’t want you to fail a class because of me.” The look of worry on your face twinges his heart.

“I’m not gonna fail any classes. And even if I did, college doesn’t make or break you.”

You scoff, crossing your arms on the table and leaning over them.

“Oh really? Then why fly across the world to come to an American college in particular?”

Yoongi draws his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes skirting the table. You laugh, deep and raspy with sleep. The sound entices his heart to thud harder, sending a renewed blush to his cheeks.

“Even s-still!” He shoots back, fighting said blush on his face and the thought of earning another laugh from you. “Grades aren’t everything and if I fail I’ll find another way to become a producer.”

“How are your classes going, by the way?” You tilt your head, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Are you able to write a lot of music for your assignments?”

Sucking in through his teeth, Yoongi shakes his head. “Not really. But I write plenty on my own.”

“Do you have a soundcloud account where I could check it out?”

“You want to listen to my music?” The surprise is apparent in the English words earning him a look of offense.

“Of course I do, Yoongi!”

With a twinkle in his eye, Yoongi leans across the table to meet you halfway. He tosses his head to flick the blond streaks from his eyes and levels his gaze with yours.

“Hm. Let me listen to yours.”

“No way. You do not want to subject yourself to that.” You wince.

“Show me yours, I show you mine.” Yoongi points between you two while saying the English phrase.

Blushing, you shake your head vehemently.

“No. Never. My voice isn’t worth listening to.”

“What?” Yoongi blinks thinking he misheard your native tongue. “Are you kidding me?”

“You’re one of the top students in your Vocal Ensemble class. Every music student talks about your voice. And you had to audition to get into this school in the first place. There’s no way you’re working as hard as you are for your voice to be like anyone else's.”

“You understand what they’re saying?” You ask in a soft voice to the passion spilling from Yoongi’s lips.

“Yes, and they love your voice!” Yoongi exclaims.

“Someone’s improving in their English.” You mutter, cheeks heated, eyes lowered.

“I know your name.” Yoongi says waiting for your gaze to meet his.

When it does he hopes you only see sincerity in his eyes.

“C’mon. It’s time to go.” You whisper and all but shove your things into your bag. Yoongi follows behind you out the cafe just as the bus reaches its stop.

Climbing the stairs after you he follows blindly to the usual spot you two sit each day, third row from the back. You take the window seat and Yoongi claims the aisle spot, insisting that he needed the room for his legs but knowing full well he liked being the center of your attention.

As soon as Yoongi collapses into his seat, the fatigue of the day, as well as the extra strain of two English assignments weighs on him. Leaning forward with a guttural moan he rests his forehead against the seat in front of him.

“Are you alright?” Your hand slips onto his shoulder with concern. Imperceptibly, he shivers.

“M’tired.” He whispers.

“C’mere.” Turning to look at you through his bangs, Yoongi’s eyes widen to find you tilting your head towards yourself.

“Lay on my shoulder so you don’t get a crick in your neck.” Yoongi wanted to ask what a ‘crick’ was but he could assume you didn’t want him sleeping on his neck the wrong way and earning a cramp for it.

“Are you sure?” Still the thought of leaning on you was so intimate to him that he finds his fatigue melting away into nervousness.

“Of course, Yoongi, it’s not a big deal.” That’s all you have to say on the matter, pulling your headphones from your backpack and sliding out your phone. If Yoongi wasn’t as tired as he was, he would have fought the idea. But the greater side of him, the side that craved every ounce of contact you gave him, won.

Slowly and still waiting for you to cringe away or slap him, he slumps in his seat and rests his head on your shoulder. You lift your shoulder to meet his temple signaling him to rest his full weight on you. Still, Yoongi remains tense as he closes his eyes, working his jaw and wondering how in the world he would manage this bus ride.

After a minute of contemplation, sleep falls upon him like dusk into night, erasing any further doubt from his mind.

November 19th

Cafe closed. Go to this one?

Your texting might just be cuter than your mouth actually forming the words. With your voice echoing in his head, Yoongi taps the message bar and sends back an affirmation. Then he taps on the location you’ve sent which is a block in the opposite direction from the route you two usually take from campus.

Choosing to walk in the winter air rather than take the bus, he slips his coat on, coming back from the bedroom into the kitchen where he had been writing for his latest assignment. He grabs his textbook off the dining room table and slides it into his backpack.

The shower head turns off in the other room and accompanying the sound of wet, padding feet, Hoseok emerges in a towel barely doing it’s job, soaking head to toe. One hand is scrubbing a toothbrush around his mouth and the other is opening a cabinet for a snack. Which is a little paradoxical if you ask Yoongi.

“Wh’re y’ goi’g?” Hoseok mumbles.

Yoongi zips up his bag and stares at the trail of water Hoseok has left behind him. One of the first conversations he had with his roommate, Yoongi distinctly remembers, was Hoseok dictating the rules of cleanliness they would keep in their shared space. Now, only three months later, Hoseok hardly bothers with a towel as pools of water trace his way around the kitchen.

“Coffee shop. To study.” Yoongi offers a noncommittal wave and hikes the bag onto his shoulder. A thousand-watt smile lights up Hoseok’s face. He rips the toothbrush out and drops it on the counter.

“With Y/N? To study English? How’s that going by the way?”

“It’s going.” Yoongi answers, tugging on the heel of his sneaker. He turns away from Hoseok, hoping the exhortation of bending over counts enough for the heat on his cheeks.

“Ah,” Hoseok releases a guttural sigh, “I’m so glad you found someone y’know?”

What does he mean by ‘found someone’?

The sound of a chip bag ripping open and a groan of satisfaction gives Yoongi an excuse to change the topic.

“Are those my fuckin’ Cheetos?” Standing up straight, Yoongi narrows his eyes at his roommate who’s running his tongue over his lips, not an ounce of shame in his eyes.

“Oh?” A look of surprise crosses Hoseok’s face. He turns the bag around to face him.

“Fucking Cheetos? I don’t think so. These are just Cheetos.” Sparkling with amusement, Hoseok levels his gaze with Yoongi’s fiery eyes.

“Your ass is lucky I have to go, but you should sleep with one eye open tonight, Jung Hoseok.” Yoongi mutters, finger pointing at him threateningly.

Hoseok smacks his bare chest, leaving orange dust over his freshly washed skin. “Me? Sleep? I would never.”

Yoongi huffs, choosing to walk away before he’s late, throwing over his shoulder, “Whatever, Ho.”

“Stop calling me that!” Hoseok calls after him. Yoongi opens the door.

“Stop eating my shit!”

“I don’t eat your-” Yoongi slams the door shut, effectively ending the conversation with a smile on his face.

___

The moment Yoongi swings open the door of this new cafe, the pungent smell of pumpkin floods his nose. Like a punch in the face, the atmosphere is laden with heavy cinnamon and pumpkin spices provided by candles on high shelves and no doubt aided by the steady out pour of pumpkin spice lattes.

The decorations are just as hard a blow to his eyesight. Strings of paper pumpkins are strewn across the ceiling from wall to wall creating a garish, obnoxiously orange spider web. Little men and women dressed in black hats and cut from paper are splattered on the glass walls along with what Yoongi assumes are turkeys. Every table either has a small plastic cornucopia or one of those paper ovals cut to open like an accordion. The entire scene is likened to a kid’s birthday bash of oranges, reds and yellows in various objects.

Trying to conceal his gag reflex - the pumpkin is really strong - Yoongi shuffles in surveying the room for a spot to study. It’s fairly larger than his cafe and so is the late afternoon crowd filling out the space.

There’s one table among all the scenery blending into one another - a small circular piece that Yoongi can see from here is slanted. It’s shoved into the corner as if in punishment from the rest of the functioning tables. But, it’s the only one available, so he walks towards it and claims one chair with his backpack. Per usual, he is the first one to arrive.

After setting up his English materials he pulls out his journal to rest on top of the textbook and flips open to where he left off.

This cafe is fuckin’ loud. Yoongi notes with distaste. There’s a TV hooked in the corner of the room and a group of rowdy college football fans cheering in victory. Despite their clear disregard for social niceties, they are not the only main distraction and therefore no one is telling them to respect the peace.

A short distance behind where the group is gathered on couches are a crowding of tables and here sits a chattering group of women in their mid-to-late thirties having some kind of tea party that requires obnoxious laughter every five minutes.

Yoongi pauses the note he was carving into the paper, glancing across the room at the way one woman continues to slam her mug on the table in the most un-ladylike way. It’s not that he has a problem with women being loud, it’s just what he knew from tea parties...weren’t they supposed to be quiet?

His attention is drawn from the boisterous women and the rowdy fans to the third section, to his left, where most of the average patrons sit. Among the normal chatter and clinking of glassware, Yoongi catches one couple sharing enough kisses to qualify as a make-out session. Swallowing back his disgust he quickly drops his stare back to his page, his eyes scanning for where he left off.

It feels like ten more painful minutes drag on before you collapse into the seat across from him, panting with flushed cheeks. Yoongi is ready to scold you as he finishes off the last measure but as his eyes catch the beam on your face and the excited glimmer in your eyes, he finds his mouth hanging open in silence.

“Hey! Isn’t this place amazing!” You exclaim, those wide shimmering eyes of yours looking all around you at the decorations. Yoongi bites his first response into the bottom of his lip, not wanting to risk your wrath for immediately shooting you down.

“It’s...popular.” Are the words he finally settles with.

“Why are you late this time?”

“Oh sorry, I was helping Taehyung and Jimin - they’re from my Vocal Ensemble class - work on their upcoming solos.” You explain all this while setting up your things, tossing your book haphazardly onto the already unstable top. Yoongi grips its edges, hoping the weight of two textbooks won’t topple the entire thing over.

But if the table breaks, we can always go somewhere else to study… Yoongi reasons. The cafe is bustling at full capacity. There was no way you could find another table in time before one of the standing patrons snatched it away.

“Jimin was actually the one who recommended this place.” You say, finally settling down with a friendly smile shot his way. “I’m so glad he did! I love how they decorated for the season.”

So are you tutoring the entire Korean community now?

Yoongi pushes the spiteful thought away, knowing you were just a sweetheart who loved helping anyone, regardless of their English abilities. Then again, he also knew Taehyung and Jimin. They were the top singers in both their ranges and had done solos on repeated occasions. So there was no way your guidance to them should have taken over half an hour thereby cutting into his time with you.

“Ready to begin? Tell me what you see around you in English.” You say, moving on to the lesson without allowing him to respond.

Yoongi blinks, catching up in reality from his jealous thoughts and gazes around the cafe. The place had so many colors going on it was hard to pick out any one item. However the most eye-catching decoration was the birds on the windows which puzzled Yoongi.

“Birds.” He starts out, leaning back in his chair and gazing at one near his shoulder. You nod encouragingly.

“Turkeys, yes.”

“Tur-keys.” Yoongi tests out the word before frowning.

“Turkeys are birds for the season?”

“Hm? Yeah, for Thanksgiving.” You say while you scribble down notes.

“Why?”

“Why? I don’t know. It’s just what we eat on Thanksgiving.”

“Sanks-Than-ski-bing.” Yoong grits his teeth trying to focus on the words forming in his mouth correctly.

“Thanks.” You offer, nodding for him to repeat after you. “Give-ing. Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving. What is it?” Asking that question was the most native English Yoongi sounded.

“Wait...You don’t know what Thanksgiving is?” You question, your eyebrows raising in disbelief. Before Yoongi can answer the obvious you smack your forehead, taking him off guard.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t answer that! Of course you don’t know about Thanksgiving.” You say at the same time as Yoongi leans forward, almost touching your pink forehead before he catches himself.

“Thanksgiving is an American holiday where families come together and remember what we’re thankful for.” You explain as Yoongi nods.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning on his folded hands. “A holiday for thankfulness?” He asks.

“Mmhm. But you knew this already because we’re going on break next week.”

The resounding silence at your table rivals that of the cacophony around you.

“Yoongi...we’re going on break next week.” You say slowly. Yoongi breaths in through his nostrils, cracking his stony facade with a twitch of his eyebrow.

“We’re going on break.”

“Yes. We are.”

“Shit.” Yoongi groans, sliding his palms over his face.

“What? What’s the matter?” You ask, leaning over to grasp his forearm. Yoongi whips his head up, your fingers like fire dancing over his skin. He doesn’t move a muscle, hoping to keep your ginger touch there as long as possible.

“I’m in the middle of my project. Why do we have to take unnecessary breaks? Just to say thank you? Can’t we do that after school hours? I’m thankful I’m in college working my ass off. Why are they taking it away from me?” Yoongi gushes in a heated rush.

You frown processing the rushed Korean slower until you burst into giggles.

“Yoongi! Don’t be bitter.” You smack his arm lightly. He hides his blush against his hands and peers at you between his knuckles.

“Thanksgiving is important too. We have to learn to stop every now and then to rest. Plus, you have an excuse to eat like a pig.”

“Pig? Me?”

“No, not you, you! I mean everyone. Even me.” You say before rolling your eyes with a chuckle. “Especially me.”

Yoongi quirks his eyebrow at you. “You? No way.”

“Hey. Shut up.” You shake your head, but Yoongi follows your bashful smile with his own teasing one. “But no, you should come home with me to my family’s Thanksgiving. My mom makes insane mashed potatoes.”

“Hmm.” Yoongi pretends to debate it for the sake of not looking like the desperate fool he is, following you off a cliff if you asked him to.

“I’ll go. Show me your Thanksgiving.”

“Great! I’ll text my parents right now and let them know you’re coming. My mom and dad will be so excited to meet you.”

Mom? Dad? It wasn’t as if he was your boyfriend or anything but if Yoongi didn’t pass as just a friend, there was no chance in hell your father would ever let him be more.

Looks like I did agree to jump off that cliff.

Shit.

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