#140: The Story of Us

[sweetestjongin]

Title: The Story Of Us
Pairing: Jongin / Chanyeol (mentioned side ChenHun)
Rating: PG-13
Length: 10,814 words
Warning(s): age gap (Chanyeol is 7 years older), pining, and all the clichés
Summary: Coffee shop!au. Songwriter Chanyeol has a crush on the part-time barista who works in the cafe across the road from his apartment.
Author's Note: Much love and thanks to the Mods for their outstanding kindness! A shoutout to my sprint buddies for keeping me company during the writing of this fic. I could not have finished this without you! To the prompter, I think this may have turned out fluffier than you wanted but I hope you like it, anyway! The lyrics that appear in the final scene of the fic are “borrowed” from Amy Ray’s Lung of Love.





All around him, cherry blossoms are spiraling down in a slow, graceful dance. Chanyeol never tires of the sight, never tires of seeing pale blooms drift to the ground and litter the sidewalk with pink and white petals. This is why spring will forever be his favorite season of the year (even if April showers make him miserable). Taking one last whiff of the sakura-scented night air, he pushes the glass door open and steps inside.

The café is filled with the bittersweet aroma of coffee, and in the background, Chanyeol can hear cups clinking against saucers and snatches of conversation drifting by. The ambience of the place curls around him, keeping him blanketed from the chill of the streets outside.

Café Verona is one of his favorite places to be, but the cozy atmosphere is only a small part of why Chanyeol comes here for coffee at least five days a week. His eyes scan the surroundings for familiar whiskey brown hair and honey toned skin. Sometimes there’s someone else standing behind the counter because the two baristas on duty take turns to serve customers, but the little knot of yearning in Chanyeol’s belly untangles a little as his eyes fall on the person he’s looking for.

“Hi, Chanyeol!” The young man at the counter smiles and Chanyeol’s heart contracts and wheezes. Just a little bit. It always does when he’s confronted with that warm, lazy tilt of the lips. It’s been three months since he first met the handsome barista who works night shifts at Café Verona on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Three fricking months and he still gets floored by that smile. It’s ridiculous how weak Jongin’s smiles make him, and Chanyeol wishes he were immune to them.

“Hey, Jongin!” Chanyeol greets in return as his palm rests on the counter. He tries his hardest to sound breezy even though his cheeks are probably burning a bright red right now.

“What can I get you today?” Jongin’s smile widens. It's almost like he’s happy to see him, but Chanyeol reckons he probably gives the same welcoming smile to every customer he serves—especially the café regulars, and Chanyeol is most definitely a regular.

Don't get your stupid hopes up, Park Chanyeol. You're too old and uncool to appeal to someone as young and attractive as Kim Jongin.

“I’ll have the usual.”

Jongin gives him a look of mock dismay. “Are you sure I can't tempt you with a macchiato or a café breve?”

Chanyeol shakes his head and gives a self-deprecating laugh. “Um. . .I'm just a simple guy who likes his coffee black.”

“I don’t think you’re simple at all,” Jongin says cryptically. Then he continues talking before Chanyeol can ask him to explain the remark. “One day. One day, I'll get something other than Americano past those lips.” Jongin’s chuckle is a deep, rich sound that fills up the empty slivers of space in Chanyeol’s chest.

“I’m set in my ways, I guess,” Chanyeol admits apologetically.

“Right, then. One large Americano with one sugar. Do you want any dessert to go with that? We've got lemon and cranberry custard tarts tonight. And if you feel like cake, we've got tiramisu, red velvet, New York cheese and chocolate praline.”

Chanyeol wishes he had the balls to say, I’d rather have you. But he’s never had much in the way of balls. So instead of saying what he’s actually dying to say, he tries not to sound wistful as he tells Jongin he'll have a cranberry custard tart.

“That'll be eight dollars.”

Chanyeol hands him a ten dollar note from his wallet. As always, Jongin insists on returning the change no matter how hard Chanyeol tries to persuade him to keep it. Chanyeol wonders if Jongin turns down tips from every customer. He hopes he doesn’t. He really hopes he doesn’t.

“I wish you’d let me tip you once in a while.”

Jongin shakes his head with a firm nah. Then, with a lazy grin on his face, he informs Chanyeol that he'll send his order over when it’s ready.

Chanyeol wants to persuade him to accept the tip but he knows there’s no point holding up the queue. He knows just how stubborn the barista is about accepting tips from him. He should know because he’s been trying to convince him for three months now—with zero success. He gives Jongin a somewhat exasperated smile before heading to a table for two by the large window.

He dumps his shoulder bag on the table, then he rummages around for the spiral bound notebook where he writes down song lyrics. His best friend Jongdae had given him the A4 size cerulean blue notebook because the color blue apparently “promotes creativity”. Chanyeol could have told him that the color of the notebook he’s writing in does absolutely shit-all for the creative process when one’s mind is a complete blank. He could enlighten Jongdae but sometimes it’s just easier to let the man think he’s right (even when he’s blatantly not).

He flips the pages open to the piece he’s been toiling over for most of the week—a song about a jaded twentysomething drifting from one meaningless hookup to the next. It’s been commissioned by a popular indie rock singer, Wu Yifan. The genre is one that Chanyeol is comfortable with but the content is another thing altogether. He’s only had maybe two one-night stands in his life. Back in his college days. His limited experience is showing in the lyrics he’s written and crossed out, written and crossed out, as he struggles and struggles to find words that ring true.

Chanyeol stares at the messy scrawl and the dark lines scored through so many words and makes a mental note not to accept any future commissions involving songs about one-night stands and other things he hasn’t really experienced firsthand.

Seriously, Park. No more of this shit.

He’s not looking forward to jumping back into it but well, a deadline is a deadline. The song is due in a week and thank fuck he’s got the music done at least. He just needs to get the lyrics settled so he can move onto the next project. Sighing with dread, he peers into his bag and fishes out his gel pen, MP3 player and in-ear buds.

He plugs in the ear buds and places both device and cables carefully on the table. He never puts the music on until he’s got his coffee because he doesn’t want any interruptions once he gets started. Also, he doesn’t want to miss anything Jongin might say to him. He reads through what lyrics he’s written—the ones that have survived rounds and rounds of vicious culling anyway.

He decides to replace the final word of the opening line. His pen nib is on the verge of touching the lined paper of his notebook when he hears that rich as rum voice. “Large Americano, one sugar, and a cranberry custard tart.”

Chanyeol swallows and looks up. He wants to say something witty and charming, something that will make Jongin see him as something other than this unexciting, older dude who buys coffee from him a few times a week. He wants to. Desperately. But the most scintillating line his brain can come up with is, that tart looks good.

“Don’t forget to tell me if you like it,” Jongin says as he places an earthenware mug of Americano on the table, a couple inches away from his notebook.

“I will.”

“What song are you working on tonight?”

“The same one I was working on the other day.”

“The one about one-night stands then.” Jongin nods in understanding.

“Yeah, that one. It’s not coming together so well,” Chanyeol admits sheepishly.

“Ah. I hope everything falls into place eventually. You must let me listen to it one day—your song about one-night stands.”

Chanyeol cringed. “I’d rather you never listen to it. I don’t know the first thing about one-night stands. It’s a mess.”

“I don’t believe you—that it’s a mess, I mean. Not that you don’t know much about one-night stands.” Jongin gives him a considering look that makes Chanyeol feel all panicky.

“I really don’t! Know much about one-night stands!”

“I believe you, I promise! Anyway, I gotta get back to work now. Minseok’s giving me the evil eye for staying away from the counter. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure. And thanks for the coffee.”

“Good luck with the song, Chanyeol.”

“Thanks—” Chanyeol’s voice trails off as he watches Jongin's rapidly retreating back. He does a mental playback of their brief conversation and something inside him curls up and dies. Jongin must think he’s the most boring person alive.

Chanyeol knows he can be witty and charming. In fact, he’s often witty and charming in the company of others. It’s just that he seems to lose all his conversational skills when Jongin is around. It’s like his brain just leaks out his ears and everything that comes out of his mouth is the total opposite of intelligent and engaging. It’s enough to make Chanyeol despair.

Jongin is back behind the counter now, keying in an order from a middle-aged woman in a scarlet pea-coat. His whiskey brown hair falls softly over his forehead and he’s so beautiful Chanyeol has to struggle to tear his gaze away. Brown really suits him but Chanyeol can’t help thinking back to the time when they’d first met three months ago. Jongin’s hair had been a very different color then.







The air had been swirling with snowflakes that day, and Chanyeol wouldn’t normally have ventured out in weather this cold. Not if his life depended on it. Unfortunately, he’d managed to run out of instant coffee, which was pretty much a life or death situation. He’d been low on instant for days but he’d been so distracted by work that he’d forgotten to make a trip to the supermarket to get some.

And so he’d found himself trudging across the road, through the heavy snow and biting wind, to get his essential shot of caffeine. He was hopeless at making anything but instant coffee so he usually had coffee at Café Verona at least four to five times a week. Once inside, he was so busy dusting snow off his coat sleeves that he hadn’t spared a glance for whoever was on barista duty today.

The weather outside was so bad that there were only three customers aside from Chanyeol. They were currently ensconced at their respective tables, warming their hands on mugs of steaming beverage.

“Nice hair,” someone had said in a voice that was deep and tinged with amusement. Chanyeol’s hand went over the back of his head, flattening his hair in a self-conscious gesture. He hadn’t had time to do anything about his godawful hair since getting back from the reunion and now someone was laughing at it. He was going to throttle his best friend Baekhyun the first chance he got. Chanyeol didn’t like being the center of attention and he couldn’t help but attract stares with his current appearance. HE HATED IT.

“It’s. . .yeah,” Chanyeol said quietly as he kept his eyes on the shiny counter. He was too embarrassed to look up at whoever had made that remark. All he knew was that the voice wasn’t one he recognized. There was no way it belonged to Sehun or the manager, Minseok.

“I was gonna say, it’s exactly the same shade of pink as mine,” the man chuckled.

“WHAT,” Chanyeol spluttered, head whipping up in shock. The young man across the counter from him had pretty, ash pink hair and the warmest smile Chanyeol had ever seen. There were fine laugh lines around his eyes, like the young man laughed easily and often.

“Your hair,” he gestured at Chanyeol’s hair. “It’s a nice shade of pink. Hi, I’m Jongin. What can I get you today?”

To Chanyeol’s utter dismay, It had taken him the whole of six seconds to remember that he only ever ordered large Americanos when he came in here.

When Jongin brought his coffee over, he stayed to talk for a while, since no other customers had come in after Chanyeol’s arrival. He told Chanyeol that his best friend had had a pink-themed 21st birthday party. He’d made it mandatory for all his guests to come with pink hair.

“I could have gotten a wig, I guess? But they’re so uncomfortable and it’s not like I was ever going to use it again, so I went with getting my hair colored. What’s your story? I mean, if you’re okay with sharing it, because pink hair usually comes with a story.”

That last comment had made Chanyeol laugh and he began telling the new barista about how everything was Byun Baekhyun’s fault—

Two weeks earlier, Chanyeol had met up with his best friends for a quick lunch at the sushi bar near Jongdae’s studio.

Baekhyun had a slightly manic expression on his face as he brandished three square pink cards at the other two. “Do you know what these are?”

Chanyeol sighs. “Not a clue but I’m sure you’re about to enlighten us?”

“These are our invites for our 10 year class reunion.”

“But that’s great news!” Jongdae clapped his hands in delight. “I mean we aged okay and we’ve got decent jobs, like it should be fun to see how everyone else turned out. Y’know?”

“Yup,” Chanyeol agreed.

“Well, that part of the reunion is fine. My problem is the lame ass theme they picked! I mean ‘Pretty in Pink’? Are you kidding me? I abhor pink clothing. It’s so. . .80s. No way I’m doing it, man.”

“Where's your sense of fun, Byun Baekhyun?” Jongdae teased.

“I look like shit in pink. I'm not fucking paying for a pink shirt I'll wear only once. Just NO, Kim Jongdae.”

“But Baek, everyone will be wearing pink except you. A pink necktie should be relatively painless.”

“Even a tie is too much, Dae.” Baekhyun sounded adamant and looked mulish. Chanyeol groaned. It was too early in the day for drama.

“You can't hang out with me if you're not wearing at least a touch of pink,” Jongdae insisted—his eyes radiating pure mischief.

“Fine. Cave to peer pressure. Be boring and wear pink like everyone else at the venue. Imagine how unique you'd look in electric blue or fire engine red. And well, HOT. You’d totally look hot in electric blue or fire engine red.”

“We’d clash with everyone there,” Chanyeol pointed out. He wouldn't be caught dead in a pink shirt if he had any say over the matter, but at the same time, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Red and electric blue were not exactly inconspicuous. He had his own opinions about things and wasn’t afraid to voice them, but his best friends could be so fucking forceful. It was easier to just let them duke it out and let the tides take him to whichever beach the winner decided on.

Baekhyun scoffed, “You're both boring. No pink shirts for me. No pink suits. No pink socks. No pink ties. Just NO to pink.”

“BAEK.” Jongdae’s voice had a warning note in it.

“NO FUCKING WAY.”

“A pink sticker on your electric blue shirt and red pants then, geez,” Chanyeol suggested in compromise before things got out of hand.

“Wait! I have an idea. This is literally the only way I’ll agree to having even a lick of pink on me.” Baekhyun had that look. The one that had landed the three of them in trouble more times than Chanyeol cared to remember.

“I’m scared to fucking ask.” Jongdae’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Chanyeol watched Baekhyun suspiciously. “What idea?”

Baekhyun’s grin was triumphant as he announced, “Pink hair! We'll all dye our hair pink!”

“NO!” Both Jongdae and Chanyeol had protested loudly and violently. It didn't matter how much they resisted though. Chanyeol already knew, with a sinking sensation, that they would all be showing up for their 10-year high school class reunion with pink hair.

A few assholes had made snide remarks about how the three friends had been in the industry for so long that they were beginning to resemble the idols they wrote and produced songs for. But in the end, they’d made a fun night of it and they’d even managed to do it without deviating from the theme.

Now, all he had to do was get rid of the pink hair. Jongin’s pink hair looked so pretty on him though, and he seemed to like Chanyeol’s. Maybe. . .maybe he’d leave his hair pink for a while longer.

“So you’re in the music industry?” Jongin arched a curious eyebrow and Chanyeol braced himself for the inevitable flood of self-interested questions that would surely follow. Questions about whether Chanyeol had any “connections”, questions about whether Chanyeol could listen to his demo tape, etcetera. It was one of the main reasons why Chanyeol was generally suspicious of young, good looking men and women. He had no idea if Jongin was talented but he was definitely good looking.

“I write songs.”

“You only write songs? You don’t sing them?”

Chanyeol gave a self-conscious shrug. “I only sing when I’m writing. I’m not really into performing.”

“I see. Do you compose with the guitar or the piano?”

“I use both. Depends on the song and also which instrument happens to be nearby.” There’s a lurching sensation in Chanyeol’s tummy as he waits for Jongin to ask more questions about the industry.

“Must be nice, being able to play two instruments. I never went for music lessons. My mom couldn’t make me sit still in one spot long enough for anyone to teach me,” Jongin chuckled. “Now I’m studying to be an elementary school teacher and I’ve got another semester to figure out how to make little kids sit still long enough so I can teach them things.”

Relief washed over Chanyeol. Jongin didn’t seem to be a would-be artiste and he didn’t seem to want or need anything from him.

“So you’re not a full-time barista then?”

“Oh God, no. I took this job so I can save up to buy a car.”

Chanyeol couldn’t remember when he’d last had to save up to buy anything. He’d been done with college for six years now, and songwriting paid well so he could afford most of the things he needed (as well as those he didn’t).

He watched Jongin’s expressions as he told him about some of the courses he was taking this semester. The younger man seemed to have so much energy and passion for teaching. Was he ever that excited about anything when he was in his early twenties?

He loved music and creating music but he rarely got this excited about any of his projects. Something to think about. Or maybe he was just too old now, at twenty-eight, to feel that kind of passion for anything or anyone.







That had been in January. It’s April now. He looks down at the scribbles in his cerulean blue notebook and blinks. He just can’t focus. His gaze wanders and settles on Jongin as he pours steamed milk into a cup of espresso, no doubt making pretty patterns on the surface of the coffee. Chanyeol watches Jongin for a few seconds more and makes a decision—he’s had enough of one-night stands for today. It’s time he worked on a project of his own, one that isn’t commissioned by someone else, one that may or may not earn him any money.

Sighing, he takes a sip of the coffee Jongin had brought him. One sugar. He always asks for one sugar with his coffee but Jongin’s coffee always tastes just a little bit sweeter than Sehun and Minseok’s. Chanyeol can’t understand it but maybe he’ll figure it out one day. He won’t linger over his coffee today, though. He needs to get back to his apartment across the road so he can pluck out some experimental melodies on his guitar.

Passion. He needs to remember what that feels like.

Jongin walks past Chanyeol on his way to deliver coffee and cake to another customer. As Jongin gives him a quick hello smile, Chanyeol thinks he knows exactly where to start.







“Oh crap,” Sehun curses as a mug slips out of his hand. It shatters messily on impact, scattering the floor with shards of yellow ceramic. He gives Jongin a look of pure desperation, “My bus gets here in five minutes, Jongin and I’ve still got to finish stacking all the mugs. Boyfriend is out of town so no ride. You gotta help me!”

Jongin sighs. He detests cleaning up broken crockery but he does have twelve minutes before his bus gets here. It would be mean to say no to his best friend so he agrees.

“The next time someone spills latte or hot chocolate on the shop floor, it’s on you,” Jongin glares.

“I'll be on my knees wiping up the mess before you finish yelling Oh Sehun!”

“You're so melodramatic. Jesus.”

“You can call me anything you want, Jonginnie! Just help me with this mess. If I miss my bus it’s thirty-two minutes till the next one.”

“Go. Get lost,” Jongin waves him away, practically shoving Sehun out of the café. There’s nothing worse than getting stranded at a bus-stop this close to midnight.

“Thanks, Jonginnie! I owe you big time,” Sehun blows him a kiss, the breeze lifting his pink bangs off his forehead as he reverse walks out the front door. “I love you, man!”

Jongin throws him an ominous look. “The next puddle of latte or hot chocolate.”

“I promise,” Sehun yells gratefully and then he’s running across the road to get to the bus-stop.

Jongin stares at the mess on the floor and groans. It’s so quiet in the café now that it’s just him. As he reaches for the broom and pan, he tries his best not to feel grumpy that it’s past closing time and Chanyeol hadn’t dropped by all night. He knows he’s being ridiculous because there’s any number of cafés in the city where Chanyeol could be getting his large Americano, one sugar—especially on a Saturday night.

Chanyeol’s probably out for dinner and drinks with his friends Baekhyun and Jongdae. Or maybe, Jongin considers with a sick sensation in his gut, maybe he’s on a date with a petite woman who barely reaches his shoulders. Alternatively, he could be seeing a young man who can sing and play the piano or guitar—someone who can do all the musical things Jongin can’t do.

The idea of Chanyeol being out with anyone other than his friends is one that makes Jongin frown. They’ve never talked about whether Chanyeol dates, so it’s not like they’ve ever had any reason to discuss whom he may or may not be dating. Plus, Chanyeol always comes to the café on his own—even on Saturday nights. Everything seems to point to him being single.

Jongin’s caught him staring at him a few times over the months. Those few instances had planted tiny seeds of hope in Jongin's heart, but Chanyeol has never once suggested seeing Jongin outside of the café. Jongin would ask him out if he thought he had a chance. But what would an attractive, successful songwriter like Chanyeol want with a broke, college student like himself? It’s enough to make him despair.

So, yeah. It’s really none of his business whether Chanyeol drops by on a Saturday night or not. Jongin knows this but he still finds himself looking out the window and hoping Chanyeol is sober and safe.

Time to clean up that mess, he tells himself as he shakes off the web of melancholy that had settled around him.







“NO! Damnit, come back!” Jongin shouts into the night but the bus continues moving down the street. He’s so angry with himself.

If only he’d been paying more attention, he wouldn’t have knocked that carton of milk off the counter with his elbow. The impact had popped the carton and sprayed milk everywhere. It had taken ages to mop and wipe up the mess. By the time he locked the front door of the café, the bus was already halfway down the street.

“UGH!” He kicks the kerb in frustration. He can’t believe his shit arse luck. He’ll have to wait thirty-five minutes for the next bus. GODDAMNIT.

A killer shift. Two post-shift clean-ups. No Chanyeol. Can this night get any worse?

The sky lights up in answer and the rain starts coming down in hard, heavy drops, flattening Jongin’s hair to his skull and wetting his clothes.

“Thanks a lot,” Jongin grumbles at the weather as he runs towards the bus stop. He should just go back into the café but the three front locks are such a hassle. As soon as he’s seated at the bus-stop, the lightning and thunder get more intense and the rain starts pouring down in torrential sheets. He stares longingly at the café and tries not to think about how dry and warm it is inside its walls.

It’s just turning out to be the worst night of his life. Well. The worst night in months, anyway. There’s a sudden blast of breeze and he shivers, crossing his arms over his chest in a futile attempt to keep out the cold. His wet clothes are sticking to him uncomfortably but there’s no point running to the café now. He’ll only get more badly drenched. He bites his bottom lip in misery. He’ll just have to make do out here till his bus gets here.

He’s so caught up in self-pity that he almost misses the pair of rain-splattered shoes that stop just inches away from his own rain-splattered Chucks.

“Jongin, you okay?”

He knows that voice, that deep baritone. He’s been waiting to hear it all night.

“I missed my bus and it’s raining,” he explained in a quiet voice. Chanyeol’s holding a huge umbrella so the raindrops aren’t bouncing off the ground so much anymore. He’s wearing a pale gray sweater that looks real expensive. Probably cashmere. Chanyeol looks so soft and handsome in it. Jongin’s used to seeing Chanyeol in hoodies and parkas and faded jeans. He likes the way Chanyeol looks in casual wear but the way he looks tonight is just a little more special.

“When’s the next bus due?” Chanyeol’s still standing there, the hem of his jeans getting soaked, little by little.

“In about thirty minutes. It’s getting kinda cold.” Jongin gives him a weak smile.

“I’d take you home but I don’t actually have a car and it won’t be easy getting a cab in this weather.”

“No, no, that’s fine! I’ll just wait for the next bus,” Jongin says quickly.

“You can wait in my apartment. It’s cold and wet out here and I don’t want you to get sick. So come upstairs with me, okay?”

“But—”

“I’ll make you some cocoa and lend you some dry clothes. Come on.” Chanyeol offers his hand and Jongin hesitates for all of five seconds before taking it so Chanyeol can help him into standing position.

Smiling in gratitude, he says, “Cocoa and dry clothes sound really good.”

Chanyeol repositions the umbrella so they’re both sheltered from the rain. Chanyeol feels solid and warm and comforting beside him, and Jongin likes that he has to look up at him.

“Let’s go.” Chanyeol murmurs as he places his left hand on Jongin’s shoulder and they walk out into the night.







“Well, this is weird,” Jongin chuckles as Chanyeol hands him a mug. It’s one of his favorites—a white mug covered in red and black treble notes that his older sister Yura had given him two Easters ago.

Chanyeol gives him an odd look, “You mean the mug?”

“No, not the mug. I meant it just feels kinda weird that you’re bringing me a drink tonight when it’s usually the other way round.”

Chanyeol laughs. “I didn’t even think of that but yeah, you’re right.”

“It’s a nice change,” Jongin says as he takes a sip of cocoa and leans further back into the massive, midnight blue sofa that creates a boundary between Chanyeol’s sitting room and his home studio. He looks a bit like a cat as he curls up on the sofa with his bare feet tucked beneath him. The borrowed beige hoodie and track pants are way too big for him but he looks so small and cute in them that Chanyeol can’t breathe.

Jongin's saying something to him but the words get drowned out by the sudden crack of thunder.

Chanyeol sits on the two-seater sofa next to the one Jongin’s sitting on before asking Jongin what he'd said.

“I said my bus will be here in less than fifteen minutes so I need to get going soon.”

“The weather’s so bad you should just stay the night, Jongin.” And almost like the weather’s cheering him on, the rain gets worse and the wind rattles the windows dramatically. The weather is being very helpful indeed, he can’t help thinking as thunderclap threatens to tear the sky asunder.

“It’s okay, Chanyeol. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“It’s cold and wet outside and you’ll just get drenched again. There’s no point when I have a spare room you can use. It’s no trouble, I promise.” Chanyeol doesn’t want to think about what it will do to him if he says no.

“Are you sure. . .?” Jongin still sounds uncertain, but there's no mistaking the relief in his eyes at the possibility of not having to venture out into the storm.

“Please stay,” he pleads and to his relief, Jongin agrees.







“Did you ever finish that one-night stand song? The one you were working on two weeks ago?” Jongin’s still curled up on the big sofa, arms wrapped around one of the wine red scatter cushions.

“I probably decimated half a forest worth of paper in the process but yeah, I managed to finish it. I did a terrible job but the singer who commissioned it didn’t seem to think it was a total piece of unconvincing crap, thank God. I mean it’s just awful but hopefully it will take him at least a few years to come to that realization.”

“You’re totally exaggerating,” Jongin protests.

“I wish I were.” Chanyeol can’t help laughing at Jongin’s reaction. His face is scrunched up in a frown of utter disbelief. It’s an expression Chanyeol has never seen and he loves it, loves how cute Jongin looks when he’s frowning.

“For the record, I don’t believe you. Not even a little bit.” Jongin frowns at him again and Chanyeol’s heart falters. He can’t believe this. It’s not bad enough Fate has made him susceptible to Jongin’s smiles; apparently it wants to make his life even more miserable by making him equally weak to Jongin’s frowns. Fuck his life.

“Will you play something for me? One of your compositions?” Jongin’s looking right at him and it suddenly hits Chanyeol that it’s just the two of them here. No customers demanding Jongin’s attention. No Minseok giving him the evil eye for staying at Chanyeol’s table longer than he has to. No one here but them.

“I can’t play the one-night stand one. I’m not allowed to play that to anyone until the song has been released.”

“That's cool. I'm not really into one-night stands, anyway.”

“I’m glad you're not,” Chanyeol says thoughtfully.

“What about the one you’re writing now? What’s it about?”

“Unrequited love.” Chanyeol winces as he utters the words, and hopes Jongin doesn’t notice.

“Would the singer mind if you played me a few lines from the song?”

Jongin looks genuinely intrigued and technically, there’s nothing stopping Chanyeol from playing it for him. The song is finished but he just isn't ready to let anyone listen to it. He’s still raw from the process because there’s too much of himself in the song. What if Jongin recognizes traces of Chanyeol in the lyrics? What if Jongin feels sorry for him? It’s the last thing he wants.

“I can't.”

“A different song, then. One that’s been recorded. You’ve never told me which songs you’ve written and I’m curious. I um. . .have a confession to make. I’ve tried searching for your songs on the internet but I couldn’t find anything by Park Chanyeol and I was too embarrassed to ask you directly, so yeah—” Jongin watches him anxiously. “I hope you’re not creeped out. I just wanted to listen to your songs, y’know?

Chanyeol’s heart is beating so fast in his chest he has to remind himself to even out his breathing. Jongin searching for his songs. Jongin searching for his name. He knows Jongin is just curious about his music but God, what he’d do if it were about more than just the music.

“I guess I never got round to telling you my pseudonym.”

“Damnit. Why didn’t I just ask? I should have just asked but I didn’t want to come off like a stalker. And now I really do come off like one. Ahhh—” Jongin buries his face in the cushion and Chanyeol tells him it’s fine, he doesn’t think Jongin is a stalker at all. Jongin mumbles something that sounds like ’kay but he keeps his face out of sight for another ten seconds.

When he finally reemerges, his face isn’t quite as red as the cushion he’s been clinging to but it comes pretty close. It’s so very endearing and Chanyeol falls a little harder for the young barista.

“Promise me you won’t hold this against me?”

“I promise,” Chanyeol grins. “Do you want me to tell you? My pseudonym, I mean?”

“Yes,” Jongin whispers, his hand covering his eyes, clearly still dying from embarrassment.

“It’s PC Chan.”

“I’m sorry I’ve never heard that name before.”

“Good. That’s the whole point. I like being behind the scenes. I don’t want or need people to know that I wrote this or that song. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does,” Jongin nods and Chanyeol gets the feeling that he really does get it.

He reaches for the acoustic guitar that’s sitting quietly on the stand by the couch and rests it on his lap. “What kind of music do you like?”

“I like. . .I dunno. Pop and R&B, I guess? I’m not real picky but I’m not really a fan of anything loud. Play me one of your personal favorites.” Jongin’s hugging the cushion to his chest, his chin pillowed on top of it.

“I can do that—” Chanyeol picks up his guitar and starts strumming the melody for an R&B song he’d written about two years ago. A song about moving on after a breakup. It’s semi-autobiographical but he decides not to share that bit of information.

Jongin sits there, unmoving, as Chanyeol plays the guitar and sings the song softly. He looks like he’s listening to every word and Chanyeol’s so nervous his fingers trip over the strings more than once. He’s not used to having an audience and it’s usually only Baekhyun and Jongdae who get to hear him sing. And that only happens when he needs their opinion on whatever piece he happens to be struggling with at the time. Playing for Jongin is different. It’s nerve-wracking and exhilarating, all at the same time.

When the song comes to an end, Chanyeol holds on to the guitar because it’s easier than trying to figure out what to do with his hands. He gives Jongin a nervous smile before shrugging self-consciously. “It’s nothing much but it’s one of my favorites.”

“But I love it,” Jongin says and his eyes are glowing with what looks like sincerity. “It’s a song with sad in it but also a lot of strength and I like that it ends on a positive note.”

Chanyeol gives an awkward smile. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it, Jongin. I mean it’s okay if you like the song but it’s also okay if you don’t.”

“I know I don’t have to like the song but I do. It makes me feel things. And if your song about one-night stands is anything like this one, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“This is way more convincing than that dumb song.”

“Maybe that’s because you know more about breakups than you do about one-night stands. But know you made it work. Also, you’re not going to believe this but I’ve got your song on my playlist. I had it all this time and I didn’t know it was yours.”

Jongin scrolls through his phone, brow furrowed in concentration. The lines in his forehead disappear as he finds what he's looking for. Then he walks over to where Chanyeol is and sits down beside him. “Look,” he says as he points triumphantly at the screen and Chanyeol feels a prick of pride as he sees the words Cold Autumn in Jongin’s Favorites playlist.

“You don’t look like the type to listen to morbid breakup songs.” Chanyeol’s never been in such close proximity to Jongin before. Their shoulders connect and their thighs are almost touching. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears that Jongin can probably hear its frantic thumping.

“Well, I’m not usually the type but this song makes me feel things, like I said. It’s not morbid so much as empowering—because the guy becomes stronger at the end of it all. I listen to it when I’m feeling a little lost and I just need some direction, you know?”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“I like your version better though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I like your voice better and I like the way you sing it better. It makes me feel even more things than the one in my phone. No offence to Do Kyungsoo.”

“There's no way I can sing better than Do Kyungsoo. You're biased,” he chuckles. “You’re only saying that because I rescued you from the bus-stop and the rain.”

“Am not. Although I’m grateful for the rescue. Why were you even anywhere near the bus-stop in that weather?”

“I was out having dinner and coffee with my friends. It was Baekhyun’s turn to drop me off tonight. Baek and Jongdae take turns to pick me up and drop me off. No reason for me to get a car, do you see?” Chanyeol turns to look at Jongin and there’s such a small distance separating them now that he can smell the scent of his avocado soap on Jongin. It smells different on Jongin than it does on him, and Chanyeol knows which scent he prefers.

“Chanyeol?” There’s an expectant look in Jongin’s face. Like he’s waiting for Chanyeol to either kiss him or bolt. But why would someone like Jongin want to kiss someone as old and uncool as him? Chanyeol does the only thing he can do and pulls away so can create more space between them, so his senses aren’t completely overwhelmed by Jongin, so he can breathe again.

“Let me get you some more cocoa,” Chanyeol says as he stands up abruptly. Then he’s out of the room before Jongin can say anything else. He takes deep, long breaths in the kitchen and he’s more or less calm by the time he heads back to the sitting room. To his relief, Jongin has moved back to the midnight blue couch.

As Jongin and Chanyeol sip hot cocoa they talk about safe, neutral topics like how Chanyeol ended up in the music industry, how Jongin ended up doing a degree in elementary education, how Jongin is so busy with college and his part-time job that he hasn’t been on a date in almost a year. They talk about where they want to be ten years from now. They talk far into the night, making no move to leave for their respective rooms. It’s only natural that they end up half reclining on their respective sofas; just like it’s only natural that they end up falling asleep to the sound of each other’s voices.







The sunlight streaming into the sitting-room wakes Jongin up, but it's the aroma of eggs and bell peppers frying that gets him off of the couch. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he half stumbles, half walks as he follows the scent trail to the kitchen. He finds Chanyeol standing at the stove, one hand wrapped around the handle of a black, cast iron skillet while the other is sliding a spatula under a frittata of some kind.

“Morning,” he greets sleepily and Chanyeol turns around. He’s smiling and it’s that smile Jongin likes best, the one that makes the dimple in his left cheek come out of hiding. The cashmere sweater and jeans from last night have been replaced with a oversized hoodie and ripped jeans.

Hair still damp from the shower, Chanyeol looks ever so slightly sleepy. . .and beautiful. Chanyeol is so beautiful. But not in the way that Sehun and Jongin’s other friends are beautiful. His features are more mature—wider and more angular in the jaw, with just the faintest hint of stubble. A man’s face. He looks young but all traces of past boyishness are long gone.

Jongin wonders, not for the first time, what Chanyeol had looked like at twenty-one. Had he looked younger than Jongin? Older? Or more or less the same?

“Morning,” Chanyeol says as he transfers the frittata onto a dish. “I hope you like eggs. I wasn’t sure what you liked. We’ve never really talked about food much.”

“I don’t normally like eggs but you made this so I promise I’ll like it.” Jongin is proud of himself for scrunching his face only a little. He actually detests eggs but Chanyeol probably doesn’t have to know that. Besides, the way Jongin's feeling now, the mere fact that Chanyeol cooked the frittata for him is probably enough to convert him into an egg enthusiast. He can always tell him the whole sordid truth later. Ideally, after he convinces the older man to date him.

“That’s not how it works, Jongin!” Chanyeol gives him a look of mock disapproval as he puts a large, triangular slice of frittata on Jongin’s plate.

“No one’s ever cooked anything for me other than my family, so just let me have my moment here, ok,” Jongin grumbles as he cuts a bite-sized portion and brings the fork to his mouth.

There’s an anxious frown on Chanyeol’s face. “You don’t have to pretend to like it!”

Jongin closes his eyes as he opens his mouth and pushes the food inside. The egg is fluffy and the bell peppers are just crisp enough and the mushrooms are exquisite. It’s perfect. Of course, it’s perfect. Jongin had known somehow that Chanyeol would be as good at cooking as he was at making music. The frittata is honest to God delicious. He just wishes that frittatas didn’t have. . .eggs in them.

“This is really delicious,” Jongin says as sincerely as he can.

Chanyeol snorts. “You don’t even like eggs.”

“Well, everything is delicious except the eggy bits.” Jongin directs a sheepish smile in Chanyeol’s direction.

“At least you’re being honest.”

“You can cook something else for me next time. You might wanna skip the eggs, though,” Jongin suggests helpfully.

“I can only cook four dishes well. Two of those dishes contain eggs,” Chanyeol warns. “Everything else is substandard crap.”

“Well, everything I cook is substandard crap so you’re good. I promise I’ll love the next thing you cook for me.”

“Just eat your eggs for now,” Chanyeol grumbles and looks down at his plate. He looks like he could be blushing and Jongin’s tummy buzzes with a warmth that has nothing to do with the frittata he’s eating.







They spend the morning just lazing around the apartment. Talking about nothing mostly, with comfortable stretches of silence in between. They even spend some time sitting outside on the small balcony, soaking up gentle rays of late morning sunshine.

At eleven, Jongin suddenly yells, Shit! Is that the time?! In a rush, he tells Chanyeol he’s due at his mom’s place at 12.30 pm. “They live an hour away! I’m so screwed.” Earlier on, he had mentioned renting a room fifteen minutes’ bus ride from here. He'd explained that because his parents lived an hour away, he only went back for a visit every two weeks.

As he watches Jongin sprint to the bathroom to change into the clothes he’d had on last night, which he’d laundered and dried this morning, Chanyeol makes a frustrated noise. He’s never regretted not owning a car so much. He could easily have driven Jongin to his hometown in forty minutes.

“I have to go! My dad’s totally going to give me a lecture on Being Punctual but if I’m no more than fifteen minutes late, he might actually spare me the lecture on Being Inconsiderate.”

“Oh God. I’m sorry I kept you,” Chanyeol apologizes.

“I’m not. I had a good time.” Jongin’s grinning as he hands the borrowed hoodie and trackpants to Chanyeol. The fabric is still warm from Jongin’s body and Chanyeol wonders, with a tiny pang, if the clothes smell of Jongin.

“I’ll um. . .I’ll walk you to the bus-stop.”

“You don’t have to,” Jongin protests before adding, “I’d really like it though, if you did.”

“I—okay then.” And Chanyeol groans inwardly. I—okay then? Are you kidding me, Park? It’s a good thing Jongin doesn’t seem to care that he’s being awkward as fuck.

They get to the bus-stop just in time. Jongin grabs his arm and gives it a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Chanyeol! For everything.” And then, all too soon, he's striding towards the bus.

“It’s nothing.” Except, of course, Jongin agreeing to stay the night had been so much more than everything for Chanyeol.

“I have to go but I’ll see you on Tuesday night?”

“Tuesday night,” he nods as Jongin runs up the steps and disappears from view.

Chanyeol stands on the edge of the kerb as the bus pulls away, arms wrapped around his body even though the midday air has warm edges to it. Jongin’s waving to him through the glass and he waves back, feeling more than a little bereft.

“It’s nothing? Tuesday night? That’s the best you can do? Jongin might turn twenty-five before you have the balls to ask him out, Park Chanyeol,” he berates himself before covering his face with his hands in bitter frustration.

When Chanyeol had opened his eyes that morning, the first thing he'd seen was Jongin. Jongin sleeping on the midnight blue sofa, eight feet away. He'd looked so young as he lay there on the sofa, snuggled up in blankets and Chanyeol’s too-big clothes.

Too young, he sighs to himself and it’s a sad, sad sound.

It’s probably just as well it’ll take him years to gather the courage to ask Jongin out.

Why is it so much easier to write about feelings in a song than it is to just tell someone you like them? Why are feelings so hard? Why is real life so hard?

Chanyeol wishes he had all the answers.







“Large Americano, one sugar,” the familiar voice says as he places the tray on Chanyeol’s table.

“Thanks,” Chanyeol says, adding yet another item to his ever expanding list of Weak Ass Things To Say To Your Crush. Jongin is quietly devastating in his barista uniform of crisp, black, long-sleeved shirt folded up to the elbows, jeans and a hunter green apron tied at the waist.

Jongdae would argue with him that his boyfriend Sehun is the best-looking barista in Café Verona but Chanyeol knows which barista has his heart firmly in his grasp. Because pink-haired Sehun is Jongin’s best friend and Jongdae can’t keep any secrets from him, Chanyeol has never told Jongdae (or Baekhyun for that matter) that he’s been nursing a one-sided crush on Sehun’s young co-worker for the past three months. The fewer the people who know about his pathetic crush, the better, to be very fucking honest.

“I can feel hot lasers burning holes in my back so I’m guessing Minseok is glaring at me from the counter. I’m amazed he hasn’t outright banned me from delivering coffee to your table. I mean, considering the way he watches me like a hawk every time I do it. Anyway, enjoy your coffee.”

“I hope they don’t hurt too much,” he pipes up in a sudden burst of courage, as he tries his best to recapture some of the ease he’d shown when Jongin had been in his apartment. He still hasn’t worked out why he’d been less like a deer caught in the headlights the previous weekend. Home territory, maybe? And the fact that there had been no one else around?

It could have been any of those reasons, but all Chanyeol knows is that he wants to be more like himself around Jongin. He wants to be the person he’d been in his apartment on Saturday night and Sunday morning.

Jongin turns around, a curious expression on his face. “What?”

“The laser burns on your back. I hope they’re not hurting too much,” Chanyeol explains with a smile and Jongin laughs.

“I wouldn’t care if they hurt, you know. You're worth it.” Then he winks and walks back to the counter, leaving Chanyeol in a state of turmoil.

He reaches for his coffee in an attempt to calm the tempest in his head and heart, and catches sight of it: a slip of pink note paper anchored by the yellow ceramic mug. The staccato rhythm of his heartbeat is deafening as he lifts the mug and removes the pink paper.

There’s a phone number written on it.

Heat staining his cheeks, Chanyeol looks up. His eyes scan the café for the owner of the number and finds Jongin standing behind the cash register, taking an order from a man in a pinstriped suit.

Chanyeol’s thumb glides slowly over the neatly written numbers.

What am I supposed to do with this? What do you want me to do with it, Jongin?







Jongin rubs his arms vigorously. It’s cold and his feet ache from a long and brutal shift. He sits down at the bus-stop and turns to look at Chanyeol’s apartment building, his eyes scanning the façade until he locates the windows of Chanyeol’s apartment. They’re lit with a toasty golden glow and he has the ridiculous urge to hold his hands up and somehow warm them against the welcoming windows. But they’re too far away, of course. Jongin wishes he were sitting on a plush, midnight blue sofa instead of cold, hard, plastic but there’s nothing to be done about that.

He’d given Chanyeol his phone number three hours earlier and he hadn’t gotten a text message let alone a call.

He leans back against the perspex wall of the bus-stop and brings his knees up to his chest. Then he stares across the road at Café Verona. Resting his chin on his knee, he begins to count the green and white stripes of the awning that hangs over the front door of the café—over and over and over again, he counts the stripes and tries to numb the dull ache in his chest.







Chanyeol can see Jongin from his bedroom window. He’s left the lights off so he can peer through the blinds undetected. All he can see is Jongin’s silhouette as he waits for his bus. It’s too dark to make out anything more than that. The slip of pink paper is cradled in his palm. Its corners are poking his skin, like thorns that have embedded themselves so deep inside he can’t pull them out.

It’s too dark in the room to see the phone number but it doesn’t matter because Chanyeol had committed it to memory hours ago. It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t saved the number in his Contacts because he won’t be forgetting it anytime soon. He won’t allow himself to save the number though. If he did, it would be too easy to send Jongin a text message. It would be far too easy to say, come up for some hot cocoa, Jongin.

Chanyeol wants nothing more than to text him those words, wants nothing more than to go down to that bus-stop and ask Jongin to come upstairs. But what if Jongin says no? Or worse, what if he says yes? He can’t do this to Jongin. The kid should date someone his age—someone who’s still facing the same challenges and who’s into the same kind of things. Chanyeol has no idea what twenty-one year-olds are even into these days. He’s seven years too late.

He watches the silhouette till the bus arrives and Jongin steps into the glow of the street lamps. For a moment, he turns around and seems to be looking in the direction of Chanyeol’s apartment. Chanyeol’s heart crumples at the blurry glimpse of Jongin’s face. He wants so much to ask him to—

But Chanyeol doesn’t. And it hurts.







It’s Saturday night and the place is empty. Sehun had stepped out of the café two minutes ago so there’s no one left but Jongin—his only company the portable radio playing in the background. His bus won’t be here for another fifteen minutes, and there’s no point waiting outside in the cold. He sits by the window, legs stretched out so some of the fatigue can drain out of his muscles.

His phone informs him that seven new messages have arrived in the past half hour but not a single one of them is from Chanyeol. In fact, Jongin hasn’t seen or heard from the older man since Tuesday night. Jongin’s been getting steadily more anxious in the past few days. Is he sick or is he simply avoiding Jongin? Maybe he’ll drop by at Chanyeol’s apartment and find out where he stands with him, once and for all. The time he’d spent with Chanyeol last weekend had meant everything to him and he thought it had meant something to Chanyeol too. But then he’d pulled that vanishing act and Jongin isn’t sure if he’s worried or pissed off at this point. Either way, they need to talk so Jongin can figure out what to do next.

His thoughts are so busy spinning circles around themselves that he almost misses the haunting melody weaving its way through the quiet night. It’s a song he’s never heard and the mellow notes of the acoustic guitar pluck at his heartstrings. The melody is sad and he just knows the words that are about to come will be just as melancholy.

    I left a kiss in the dark
    So you’d know where I been
    I left a light in my heart
    So you could find your way in

The lyrics move Jongin, but it’s not the words that hit him the hardest. It’s the voice. He knows that voice. Of course, he knows that voice because he's heard it tell him anecdotes, heard it order another coffee and another and another as Chanyeol spends hours in the café drinking coffee, and scribbling words into his notebook with his headphones on.

He's heard that same voice sing words from songs he's never heard with a guitar strumming in the background. He's heard it because when his shift ends and the time is right, he sees the lights on in the apartment two floors up from his bus-stop. And sometimes, if he's especially lucky, Chanyeol leaves a window open and Jongin can hear strains of that rich, deep voice that makes his insides thrum and ache.

He'd heard that same voice seven days ago, as Chanyeol had sung him one of his favorite songs. Jongin wants to tell Chanyeol again how beautiful his voice is and how much he wants to hear it up close as they walk hand in hand anywhere that isn't the café.

Jongin’s been wanting to ask him out since the day he walked into Café Verona, all tall and self-conscious and shy with his beautiful, ash pink hair. Hell, he would have asked him out months ago if he’d thought Chanyeol would say yes. But why would someone as talented and successful as Chanyeol want someone like him? A college student, slash, part-time barista with no experience and no money. Jongin had nothing to offer. Nothing at all.

But here he is, listening to this song about a man who’s in love with someone who doesn’t love him back and there’s a line about how the coffee is always sweeter when that someone makes it for him. And Jongin is beginning to think that maybe Chanyeol might feel things for him too. He needs to see him. They need to talk about this.

His concentration is shot to shreds but he manages to focus long enough to catch the title of the song and the name of the artist. The DJ chirps energetically, “And that was Compass of the Heart by a new artiste called Americano.”

Jongin smiles at the name. Of course, Chanyeol would name himself after his favorite coffee. Anticipation is buzzing in his system as he downloads the track and puts it on replay. It’s a single and there’s no photograph of the singer. But Jongin had been expecting that, given everything Chanyeol had said about treasuring his anonymity. The fact that he’d even recorded this song when he didn’t like performing—it’s making Jongin’s chest hurt.

He needs to see Chanyeol, he thinks unhappily as he grabs his backpack and prepares to leave. He’s only halfway to the front door when he hears a few sharp raps. He peers out the window and his breath catches as he sees a familiar face. Chanyeol is pointing at the door, mouthing can I come in?

Standard procedure would be to tell the customer: we're closed, can you come back tomorrow? But this is Chanyeol and he hasn’t been just a customer to Jongin for the longest time. Feeling slightly dazed, Jongin unlatches the door before pulling it open so Chanyeol can step inside.

It's been four days since Jongin last saw Chanyeol and he drinks it all in—the sight of his long body and broad shoulders, the dimple in his left cheek. Jongin can't believe Chanyeol is finally in his orbit again.

     Gather me up in your arms
     Take me anywhere that don’t feel like losing

Jongin had been so distracted by Chanyeol's unexpected experience that he'd forgotten to switch off the music. The moment Chanyeol hears his song playing, he turns pale. His lips part and the word “oh” escapes.

“Is this song—” Jongin begins as he looks Chanyeol in the eye, “is this song the story of us?”

“I—”

“Please tell me it is, Chanyeol. I need your answer to be yes.”

“I—yes, Jongin. It is the story of us. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have written this or recorded it or let anyone else hear it but me.”

“I’m glad you wrote it and I’m glad I heard it.”

“You are?” There’s shock, disbelief and just a glimmer of hope in Chanyeol’s eyes.

“It’s a beautiful song. You didn't have to write how you feel in a song, Chanyeol. You could just have told me. We’ve wasted so much time.”

“Wasted time? I wouldn't call it wasted time. I still feel like I shouldn't even be here. I should stay far, far away from you.”

“You can try, but I won't let you.”

Chanyeol sighs. ”You might say that now, Jongin. But as time passes—”

“I'm not letting you go. I won't change my mind,” he insists and there's a stubborn set to his mouth.

“I know I have no right to say this, but I hope you won’t.”

“I won't. I promise,” Jongin. But why did you come here anyway? It’s after closing time,” Jongin asks.

Chanyeol takes a small, empty jar from the front pocket of his parka and there are still tiny, golden brown grains of raw sugar clinging to the glass. “I needed some sugar for my coffee. I was going to get some from the convenience store but I saw the light on in here and I thought I’d try my luck,” he says, looking a little sheepish.

“Sugar, huh?” Jongin smiles as he takes a step closer to Chanyeol.

“I can’t drink coffee without sugar,”

“I know. Large Americano, one sugar,” Jongin says the words just before he reaches up to kiss Chanyeol and it’s just as sweet as he’s always imagined. He closes his eyes as Chanyeol’s tongue slips inside his mouth, gentle and probing. Chanyeol's kiss makes him feel all warm inside and he wants it to go on and on.

“Is that the only reason you came here, Chanyeol? You wanted to borrow some sugar?”

“No. No, that’s not really. . .I’ve got a bag of sugar in the pantry,” Chanyeol confesses finally.

“So why did you really come here?”

“To see you. Because I haven’t seen you in four days and I miss you. I tried to stay away but I just. . .I couldn't.” There's a flash of pain in Chanyeol's eyes.

“I was going to knock on the door of your apartment after I locked up. You've been avoiding me and I wanted to know why. I was going to show up at your apartment after work, so we could talk.”

Chanyeol’s hands are warm and sure as they cup Jongin’s jaw. “Why?”

“Why?” Jongin asks, confused.

“Why me? I’m nothing much and I’m well, an old working dude who’s anything but cool.”

“You’re only seven years older than me, Chanyeol,” Jongin chuckles. “You make it sound like you’re sixty.” Then his fingers trace the outline of Chanyeol’s jaw. “Your skin is so smooth—nothing at all like an old dude’s skin.”

“But—”

“It’s doesn't matter to me. If you had wrinkles here,” he whispers as his fingertips skate over Chanyeol’s forehead, painting imaginary lines, “or here,” he says as he traces the faint laugh lines beside his eyes. “Even if your skin were all wrinkled and your hair all gray, I’d still want you.”

Then Jongin holds him close. So close he can feel Chanyeol’s heartbeat through the layers of their clothing.

“I don’t know what to say.” Chanyeol’s at a loss for words but his eyes are shining with what looks like joy and something else, something undefinable.

“You could start by saying you’ll make me some hot cocoa. I've been trying all week to get my cocoa to taste like yours but I just can’t get it right.”

It breaks the tension and Chanyeol gives a nervous chuckle. “Cocoa I can do.”

“Thank you,” Jongin says as he hugs Chanyeol. And it feels like the most natural thing to do, reaching up and kissing Chanyeol. It's even better the second time round as he takes time to savor the salty tinge of Chanyeol's tongue and the inside of his mouth. He loves the weight of Chanyeol’s hands on his waist and back, and the roughness of Chanyeol's stubble as it grazes his own smoother skin.

For three months, Jongin has wondered what it might be like to kiss his handsome customer, so it still feels like a dream. Touching him is like a dream, Jongin thinks as he nuzzles Chanyeol’s neck and breathes in the delicious scent of skin mixed with cologne.

“So are you going to make me some of that cocoa or what?” Jongin grins as his fingers slip between Chanyeol’s, and they walk hand-in-hand to somewhere that isn't the café.

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