The first time Jungkook enters the cafe, he’s running from the cops.

 

He’s had a lot of practice by this point, actually, so being hauled back to the station in cuffs isn’t that much of a concern. It’s like Officers Eunhyuk and Donghae have it out for him, which is just plain rude. Or maybe they think he needs the exercise.

 

And since when was it a crime to hang out at the mall for hours at a time, smoking and glaring at children? Loitering, my . Standing shouldn’t be a crime. And just because Jungkook happens to be outside a popular retail store when three watches are stolen doesn’t mean he’s guilty.

 

The running, though, that makes him look guilty. It’s a catch-22: stick around and get hassled by the cops who already assume he did it or lose them in the streets while pretty much confirming his guilt in their minds by running. He’ll take his chances running for it, thank you very much.

 

Jungkook trips into the café, bell jangling above his head, and zips toward the table furthest from the door. The rest of the patrons are staring at him, but he became immune to those judgmental stares a long time ago. It comes with the territory of spending more time on the streets than at home, hanging around street corners with a cigarette, and wearing snap-backs and earrings.

 

“I’ll have a caramel-y thing,” he calls out to a somewhat baffled barista on his way past the counter.

 

The chair slides with an ugly screech when Jungkook drops into it. He stuffs his hat in his pocket and wiggles out of his black hoodie, crunching it into a ball and tossing it onto the opposite chair. Hopefully he looks different enough that the cops will look right over him, if they even bother to come inside.

 

The barista is still staring at him instead of dutifully preparing his caramel-y beverage.

 

“A medium or something,” Jungkook clarifies, flapping a hand at the man. “Surprise me.”

 

He slumps back and tries to claw his hair into some semblance of respectable order, but it’s sweat-damp and not cooperating. It’s just his luck that Officer Donghae enthusiastically pursues the most minor criminals, a class to which Jungkook firmly belongs. It really is lucky that Officer Eunhyuk, his partner, is never far and runs slow as hell. The man needs to hit the gym or learn some breathing exercises or something.

 

Ah, speaking of. Jungkook rifles through his pockets for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Nothing like a smoke after a desperate sprint for freedom. His hands are cupped around the end of the cig when a shadow falls over his table.

 

Oh, hello. Biceps like that are not standard issue.

 

The built barista is looming over him, looking distinctly unhappy. He does have a coffee cup, though, so that’s something.

 

“Yeah?” Jungkook drawls, flicking his lighter with a practiced thumb.

 

“This is a non-smoking establishment,” the barista informs him, voice flat and patience dwindling. He gives the to-go cup in his hand a little shake. “And this’ll be $4.50.”

 

He’s not even gouging Jungkook on the price for being a . Huh. Slightly disgruntled, Jungkook pockets the lighter and tucks the unlit cig back into the pack. This is one of those days he actually has his wallet on him, which is helpful. He doesn’t need the barista calling the cops over an unpaid coffee.

 

“Alright,” he frowns up at the man’s name tag, “Jimin.” Digging through his wallet turns up receipts, an ice-cream punch card, one dollar, two, three…and that’s it.

 

Jimin’s glare is molten and he hasn’t set the cup on the table.

 

Perhaps the three dollars will appease him. Or if Jungkook throws them, Jimin will be distracted enough that he can make a clean getaway. Yeah, today .

 

“I got three, man,” he says, offering the crumpled dollars. It never hurts to try.

 

 Jimin’s mouth opens, probably to start yelling, when two familiar faces appear over his shoulder like a really depressing magic trick.

 

Jungkook jerks back, which slams his chair into the wall. Seeing the black uniforms automatically sends him into flight mode. Just the word “cop” makes him twitchy. It’s a disorder or something.

 

Eunhyuk plucks the coffee from Jimin’s hand and takes a long drink. “Mmm, a caramel macchiato. Good choice, Jungkook.”

 

Officer Donghae slips around the shocked barista, cutting off Jungkook’s escape route. “So, you had time to stop for a drink after making off with three watches, eh? All that running make you thirsty?” His arms are crossed and he’s got that law enforcement thousand-yard stare going on.

 

Ah, how Jungkook has missed this.

 

“Hey, guys,” he says, trying to smooth his face into innocent nonchalance. It shouldn’t be so hard to look innocent when he actually is, dammit. Well, he can at least fall back on his default punk-who-doesn’t-give-a- expression. He’s got a lot of practice with that one.

 

“C’mon, you know me,” Jungkook tries when neither the officers nor the judgmental Jimin look convinced. “Stealing watches, man, I’m not stupid like that.”

 

And here’s the real kicker: he’s telling the truth. Yeah, it happens once in a blue moon. You need a lookout while you get your graffiti on, sure, he’s your man. Wanna harass some uppity punks? Just call Jungkook. Need an extra set of fists or help chewing through a bike lock, hell, sign him up. Stealing traceable watches in the middle of the afternoon from a busy mall filled with surveillance cameras is just two extra levels of stupid that he’s not touching.

 

Jungkook may be a punk and a hoodlum, that guy that your parents warned you about, but he’s not stupid. At the moment, however, he’s cornered in a café by two officers and an angry barista without enough money to pay any of them off, so yeah, he’s probably a little stupid.

 

“After you, Mr. Jeon.” Officer Donghae motions for him to vacate the table. “Let’s have a little chat.”

 

Jimin’s off to the side, staring at them all like he can’t really believe what’s happening right in front of him. Eunhyuk takes another swig of the intercepted coffee looking way too pleased with himself.

 

Jungkook glares at Donghae and slowly shrugs into his hoodie (slowly so they don’t think he’s about to pull a gun and shoot him). With his snap-back twisted around backward, he stands, as ready as he’s ever going to be.

 

Donghae sweeps his arm out like a gentleman waiting for his date to go first. The rest of the patrons are not-so-subtly gawking at them.

 

Yeah, yeah, so shocking, those crazy kids these days. Jungkook glares at them, pleased when they quickly look away. He can practically smell their scorn. “That’s my coffee,” he grumbles at Eunhyuk as he walks by. He leaves the three dollars on the table, thoughtful guy that he is.

 

Eunhyuk smiles widely and a stray drop from the lid.

 

Jimin jabs a finger at the group of them. “You still owe me $1.50,” he protests.

 

He’s ignored as Jungkook is hustled from the café by the officers.

 

On his way out, Jungkook seeks out the café’s name: Dark & Wild Coffee. He’ll be back to get his friggin’ drink.

 

***

 

The second time Jungkook enters the café, he’s running from the cops.

 

He honestly intended to come back sooner, in a non-law-enforcement-evading context, but it didn’t work out. It’s probably really stupid to go back to the café when hiding out there totally failed last time, but something about the hanging flower bed and the carefully hand-painted name on the big front window calls to him like a beacon.

 

It’s already like habit to slip through the door, though he barely manages to avoid sending a grandma flying. He trips onto his tip-toes and turns to the side, practically collapsing past her, and beelines for the bathroom in the back.

 

Jimin, the upset barista, is behind the counter again, and how. He’s wearing a smudged black apron and a polo that hugs sculpted arms and what looks to be a similarly-muscled torso. Another little grandma is the lucky recipient of a beaming smile that kind of makes Jungkook want to pay that $1.50 he owes.

 

Jungkook weaves through the tables and catches the moment when Jimin sees him. The smile is wiped away in an instant, replaced by a suspicious frown. The scolding finger comes up a second later, but Jungkook’s already grinning and disappearing into the bathroom. He may not be able to make Jimin smile, but the ability to affect his mood that quickly is almost as satisfying.

 

The bathroom is small. There are two urinals and two stalls, but it’s bright enough thanks to a skinny, frosted window near the ceiling. He takes the smaller stall, locks the door, flips the toilet lid down, and arranges himself so that his legs are pulled up to his chest. He feels like a pill bug.

 

He’ll give it fifteen minutes or so. Officer Jiho isn’t as persistent as Donghae or Eunhyuk, that’s for sure, but the man can be a little rough when he gets ahold of you.

 

The minutes crawl by. There isn’t even any entertaining bathroom stall graffiti to help him pass the time. Jungkook searches his pocket for a pen to add some for the next guy, but he’s only got a lighter. He can’t even smoke.

 

The door rattles and swings open followed by slow footsteps. Jungkook holds his breath.

 

 The buzzing of the fluorescent lights is loud in the otherwise quiet room. Jungkook looks up at the ceiling, impatient for something to happen. This is easily one of the more ridiculous situations he’s gotten stuck in.

 

The feet stop in front of a urinal, followed by the sound of a zipper and man relieving himself. How many cups of coffee did he have? Jungkook wonders after thirty seconds. There are four holes in the foamy ceiling tile. There are eight tiles in each row.

 

Finally, finally, the man washes his hands and leaves.

 

It’s heaven to stretch his legs as far as the door and twist his back until it cracks. It’s a little surprising that Jimin hasn’t come back to kick him out of the bathroom, if not the entire café. The guy doesn’t exactly like him. Well, Jungkook’s not going to question any good fortune that comes in his direction. He’s about to coil back up on the toilet when the restroom door swings open.

 

He freezes, legs hovering above the bottom of the stall. These footsteps are quick and purposeful and god, Jungkook is so busted.

 

The steps stop in front of his stall. Jungkook tries to breathe shallowly and his legs begin to shake with strain. He hears a squeak as the non-slip shoes twist on the tile. The person outside is crouching down to look for feet in the stall. He won’t see feet, but Jungkook can’t do anything about his shadow. .

 

He wonders if it’s Jimin. If it is, there should be a lot more yelling, so maybe not. Non-slip shoes probably mean an employee, though. Jungkook can’t recall if he saw anyone else behind the counter during his mad dash to the bathroom.

 

His neck snaps up as he catches movement above the stall door. A hand flips over the top and smacks a sticky note to the inside, followed by footsteps and the sound of the door.

 

As soon as the bathroom door swings shut, Jungkook exhales all the air from his lungs in a rush. His legs are grateful when his feet drop to the floor. Standing, he snatches the note.

 

YOU OWE ME $1.50 JEON JUNGKOOK, it says.

 

Jungkook can’t help it. He bursts out laughing and drops back onto the toilet seat.

 

 Jimin might not have delivered the note, but he sure as heck wrote it.

 

He twiddles the note between his fingers and it takes him a second to realize that there’s tiny writing on the back.

 

 P.S. You’re making my bathroom smell like smoke, idiot.

 

“,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

 

There are actually two quarters wedged into the corner of his wallet. He pries them out and exits the stall. The sinks are probably the most visible spot. The fifty cents go on top of the soap dispenser and the sticky note gets placed on the wall right above it. So what if he’s paying off a cup of coffee in installments? He didn’t even get to drink it.

 

Sidling up to the door, Jungkook gently pushes it open, just enough to hear the murmur of voices and the clatter of machinery.

 

“What can I do for you, Officer?” Jimin’s voice rings clear through the small café. Jiho’s gravelly tones reply. .

 

Jungkook eases back and rests his head against the tile. The small window is bright. It’s beckoning.

 

No. Nope.

 

“I’ll just take a look around, if you don’t mind.” The officer’s words filter through the door.

 

He looks at the window.

 

Dammit.

 

***

 

The third time Jungkook enters the café, he’s not running from the cops.

 

Okay, that’s a lie. He totally is.

 

Clearly he’s losing his touch. Hanging out on the other side of town for a while is starting to sound really good; for the next year or two or ten.

 

Jungkook comes prepared, though. There’s been a one dollar bill in his wallet for the past month, just waiting. No matter how bad he needs smokes or how much money he owes Hoseok, this dollar has not budged. It’s an earmarked dollar, spoken for in advance.

 

It’s Jimin’s dollar.

 

This time the need to elude law enforcement isn’t even his fault. No, this is thanks to Hoseok and his uncontrollable compulsion to spray paint the out of any and every building he passes. Hoseok is smart enough to do his graffiti at night, at least. Jungkook isn’t even sure Dark & Wild is open at 9:00 at night, but sure enough, the lights are on and the open sign is hanging in the window.

 

Officer Donghae took off after Hoseok, who runs like a damned gazelle, while Jungkook thankfully got the slow-moving Eunhyuk. If he gets arrested because of Hoseok, he is going to puncture every one of his spray paint cans, and that’s a promise.

 

Jungkook stumbles to a stop in front of the café, bent over with his hands on his knees. The coughing isn’t surprising given how much he smokes, but it’s painful all the same.

 

“Why me?” he gasps.

 

Air ruffles his hair as the door swings open. “Because you can’t stay out of trouble for more than ten minutes? And you smoke like a chimney?”

 

It’s Jimin, of course.

 

“Come and sit down before you fall down,” the barista orders while propping the door open with his hip.

 

Jungkook regains his composure and falls into his usual slouch. His fingers are itching pull his hat off and run through his hair and straighten it, but he resists. He’s unaffected, unruffled. Jungkook the Punk doesn’t care what an uppity barista thinks of him.

 

Jimin ignores his defiant look and jerks his head toward the café’s interior. “I don’t have all day, man.”

 

Scowling, Jungkook skulks into the café. It’s completely empty of customers and if there’s another employee, they’re hiding out in the supply room. The room seems much bigger now that it’s not crowded with people.

 

“Sit, sit, sit,” Jimin orders, herding him toward the table in the back. Jungkook stares at him suspiciously, but doesn’t fight. When he’s is situated and doesn’t look like he’s about to take off, the barista disappears behind the counter.

 

Jungkook taps his fingers on the table, a little uncomfortable. He’s never actually come here to get a coffee like a normal person. Tonight isn’t really an exception, but it’s starting to feel that way. Maybe this is actually a ploy: Jimin’s keeping him here long enough for the cops to catch up. The thought makes his stomach feel heavy all of a sudden. It’s not really fair to Jimin that’s he’s unofficially claimed his café as his hiding spot, but that’s just how this has all turned out and now that they have a thing, the barista shouldn’t go around screwing it up.

 

“The cops know to check this place when they’re looking for me,” he finally calls out after a minute of deliberation. He can’t see Jimin, but the whirring of some sort of mix-y machine means he’s still around.

 

A second later, shaggy brown hair pops above the counter. Jimin throws him a little smile. “Good point.” He says it like it didn’t even occur to him before. Without a second’s hesitation, he marches over to the front window, flips the sign to CLOSED, and drops the blinds half way. He also turns off the first bank of lights, leaving the ones in the back on so Jungkook isn’t sitting in the dark.

 

“You gonna get in trouble for that?” Jungkook has to ask. Employees can’t just close the store whenever they want. He might not have worked retail, but he’s pretty sure that’s a thing.

 

Jimin just smiles again and grabs something from behind the counter. “I’m sure the owner won’t mind.” There’s a to-go cup in his hand now. Jungkook can see the steam rising from the little drink hole in the lid.

 

Jungkook looks at him, skeptical.

 

“It’s me. I’m the owner,” Jimin deadpans, rolling his eyes.

 

He deposits the cup in front of a shocked Jungkook, who just ends up gesturing helplessly at the coffee. “I still haven’t paid off the last one,” he objects, pushing it away with a finger.

 

Jimin slides it back. “I didn’t say you owed me anything for this one, now did I?” He has the guts to look all superior. It’s the kind of look that always goads Jungkook into arguing or punching someone in the face or stealing a bike.

 

“I’m not mooching,” Jungkook declares, pushing the cup back toward Jimin. “In fact,” he yanks his wallet from his pocket, pulls out the one dollar bill, and smacks it onto the table. “There’s the rest of what I owe. Now we’re even.”

 

The barista just kind of stares at the dollar for a second before turning that elusive blinding smile on Jungkook. He blinks at Jimin in shock, but his insides are feeling warm and he hasn’t even had any of the coffee. The dollar disappears into a pocket of Jimin’s apron. “Thanks,” he says, like it hasn’t taken over a month and a half to wrangle less than five dollars out of a troublemaking customer.

 

“Now drink the coffee.”

 

Jungkook slouches in the chair, arms crossed, and looks up at Jimin. “I don’t have any more cash on me.” He does have enough cigarettes to make an equal trade; then again, this isn’t prison and Jimin probably won’t take cigs as legal tender.

 

The sigh that the barista heaves is completely uncalled for, thank you very much. He plants one hand on his hip and jabs at Jungkook with the pointer finger of the other hand. “Did I say you owed me anything for this one? Hint: no, I didn’t. It’s on the house and I’m the owner, so I can do whatever the hell I want. Now drink it.” He’s staring Jungkook down, and while Jimin’s not all that tall, Jungkook is sitting so the` looming is pretty effective.

 

It’s not often that anyone out-stubborns Jungkook and today isn’t going to be the day. Does Jimin think he’s doing him a favor? If he takes it, will Jimin call the police and say he stole it or held him up at gunpoint to make a coffee? No matter the reason, Jungkook glances suspiciously at the looming man before pulling the cup closer. He’ll outwardly capitulate, but this isn’t over. Jungkook doesn’t take hand-outs.

 

Jimin’s eyes are boring into the side of his head as he lifts the cup and slowly takes a small sip. It’s hot like fire, but once his tongue is done being burned, the sweet caramel and bitter coffee flavors come through. It’s good. It’s really good. The next drink still burns his tongue, but he can only do so much damage, right?

 

A glance shows that Jimin is looking entirely too pleased with himself.

 

Damn Officer Eunhyuk for stealing his coffee last time. So much for an officer of the law: he didn’t even pay for it. Jungkook can’t help his questioning noise when Jimin turns around and leaves the table.

 

Jimin stops and rolls his eyes. “I have to clean up so I can close. Sit there and drink your damn coffee, Jeon Jungkook.”

 

Jungkook watches Jimin turn away again, sits in the chair, and drinks his damn coffee.

 

***

 

The next time Jungkook walks into Dark & Wild, his snap-back is gone and he’s smoothing down his hair with nervous hands. Hoseok’s sitting outside on the tiny patio with a fat notebook and art supplies, glaring at everyone. He’s not allowed to go into the café per Jungkook’s orders.

 

Jungkook is not being chased by the cops.

 

He steps through the door, bell jingling merrily behind him. Even though the café should be busy with people stopping by after work and students pretending to study, it’s empty.

 

“Should I be expecting Donghae, Eunhyuk, or Jiho?” Jimin asks, throwing a rag over his shoulder as he emerges from behind the counter. He’s clearly enjoying himself at Jungkook’s expense.

 

Jungkook’s face falls into a defensive scowl. His fingers itch for that half-finished cigarette he stubbed out on the sidewalk.

 

“And where’s your hat? I thought it was permanently attached to your head.” Jimin’s laughing at his own joke.

 

Instead of some kind of witty rejoinder, Jungkook ends up saying, “Make me coffee.”

 

Jimin just shakes his head. “Well, that is my job. Just let me know if I should expect Jiho to burst in here like he owns the place.” Then he catches sight of Hoseok out on the patio. “Let me help that guy first. Think about what you want.”

 

When the barista comes back in with Hoseok’s order (thankfully, it doesn’t seem like he told Jimin he’s here with Jungkook), he’s cradling something in one hand. “You still haven’t sat down?” he huffs when he catches sight of Jungkook hovering in front of the counter. “And…” Jimin comes a little closer and flicks the small object from his hand. The crumpled cigarette bounces off Jungkook’s chest and he barely manages to catch it. “Don’t smoke in front of my store,” the barista scolds, stepping behind the counter to wash his hands.

 

“At least I put it out before I came in,” Jungkook grumbles, sticking the in his pocket. He’s about to drop into his usual spot at the back when he catches sight of a small table and a single chair tucked behind the curve of the counter where a display of mugs used to be. It’s completely hidden from the front door and looks through a gap in the equipment at the space behind the counter and the door.

 

Jungkooks’s jaw kind of drops and he turns to find Jimin, who just happens to be hidden behind the counter.

 

 “So, what do you want to drink?” Jimin reappears to see Jungkook staring at the little table, dumbfounded. He looks a little flustered and kind of waves him over to the table before ducking behind the fancy coffee machines.

 

“A caramel-y thing?” Jimin hollers.

 

There’s just enough space for Jungkook to wiggle into the chair. He smooths a hand over the dinged wood surface of the table and can’t hide the grin that steals up on him. There’s a table and a chair just for him. It’s his table. Jimin specifically moved a display and got a table and a little chair (that don’t even match all the other tables) and put it in a corner for Jungkook. So he could sit there. And hide from the cops.

 

“Yeah,” he croaks back. He clears his throat and settles into his chair.  

 

“It’ll cost you $3.”

 

“I can afford it,” Jungkook reassures him, self-consciously pulling his wallet out and counting his cash again. Yup, he’s good for it. He’s even got enough to pay for that free coffee from the last time, but he’ll only use it if he can somehow pay Jimin without the man noticing.

 

Hoseok’s coffee is delivered (and Jungkook promised Hoseok he’d pay for it, so he’s gotta do that somehow) and Jungkook doesn’t have to wait long for his own drink. Jimin places it on the tiny table with a flourish. Jungkook waves his three dollars at him. They’re quickly stowed away in the apron.

 

It takes Jungkook a minute to realize that his coffee is the same size as it’s always been, but the price has magically dropped by $1.50.

 

“Hey,” he starts to say, but Jimin interrupts before the question can get out.

 

“It’s my Petty Criminal Discount.” Jimin’s definitely laughing at him. “Deal with it.”

 

Jungkook sits and drinks his coffee and deals with it.

 

His only regret is that there isn’t enough room at his table for Jimin to join him.

 

***

 

Jungkook stumbles into Jimin’s café at ten o’clock in the morning on a Sunday. There’s quite the crowd of respectable old people filling the tables, the church crowd. They stare at him, too well bred to point, and the whispers follow him like a hissing wave. He’s used to it, dammit. It doesn’t bother him that they’re all judging him and finding him wanting. Maybe one or two are calling the police, god, like that hasn’t happened enough times.

 

“,” he mutters, swiping at his forehead and cheeks. There’s a small trail of blood following him through the café. He finally makes it back to his hidden table and it’s almost like a physical blow to see someone else sitting there. It’s an old man with a newspaper and a large mug of tea. He doesn’t even notice Jungkook staggering to a stunned stop.

 

His eyes are burning and he doesn’t think it’s because of dirt that got thrown in his face outside of the warehouse.

 

It’s easy enough to shoulder his way into the tiny supply room. The single swinging door is hard to miss even though Jungkook has never been back there before. He collapses onto an upturned milk crate in the corner and leans against the sharp edges of a shelf. There’s a throbbing ache in his ribs that makes it hurt to breathe, a headache is pulsing right behind his eyes, and Jungkook’s probably covered in enough blood to look like a murderer. A fair amount, but not all of it, is his. He might be able to add broken nose and knife wound to his growing list.

 

Jungkook closes his eyes because the single bulb is still bright enough to make them smart. His hands automatically fumble through his jacket pockets for the comforting pack of cigarettes and a lighter. It takes a while to light up because his hands are shaking so badly, but the first drag mixes the taste of ash and blood in his mouth and it feels like relief.

 

“Jesus Christ!” The door is open, bringing a stream of fresh air. “Yoongi, look after the counter.”

 

The cigarette is snatched out of Jungkook’s mouth before he can even open his eyes. “You know you can’t smoke in here,” Jimin admonishes, but he doesn’t sound overly angry. He crouches down so when Jungkook finally gathers to energy to look, they’re at eye level. “What the hell happened to you?” the barista quietly demands.

 

Jungkook doesn’t want to answer in the least. It’s so stupid and he’s not a whiner. He doesn’t go crying to his mama when things don’t go his way. He can deal with this just fine by himself. Except somehow he ended up at Dark & Wild when he needed to get away and wasn’t sure where to go.

 

“Just tell me what happened.” Jimin’s pressing a napkin into Jungkook’s hand and gently wiping at his bloody forehead with another.

 

The corners of his eyes are wet and Jungkook isn’t sure why this is such a big deal, but he says, “There’s someone sitting at my table.” His hand flops like a landed fish when he tries to point. He sniffles a bit, but that just makes him choke on his own blood, not to mention the lighting zing of pain that zips up his nose and what feels like directly into his eyeballs.

 

“Okay,” Jimin says. He carefully avoids Jungkook’s swelling nose and instead goes for some of the blood on his chin. “I’ll make sure no one else sits at your table from now on. I did put it there just for you, after all.”

 

Jungkook chuckles. “I know. So I can hide from the cops.” The headache is getting worse, so he lets his head rest against the boxes and closes his eyes again.

 

“…not exactly, though the thought did cross my mind,” Jimin admits. “Quit distracting me. What happened to you? Somebody got you good.”

 

Jungkook thinks he might need to go to the hospital, or at least urgent care. He’s usually one to his own wounds, but the headache could actually be a concussion and that knife wound might need stitches. “My fr’nds, idiots Hoseok and T’hyung got caught…graffiti on some warehouse. Turns out t’be new gang t’rritory.”

 

Hello, concussion.

 

“We all split, but three of’em came aft’r me.”

 

“And you didn’t go to the hospital, why?” Jimin asks sternly. He’s using that you’re-an-idiot tone of voice, but his eyes are soft.

 

“I w’s here before I e’vn knew it,” Jungkook drawls, head feeling heavy. His stomach is roiling but Jimin probably wouldn’t appreciate puke in his back room, so he’ll try to hold on.

 

“You crazy bastard -” and suddenly the sound of Jimin’s voice is blurring together with the sound of his breathing and the man is saying something, practically yelling, but Jungkook can’t decipher the words. It feels like he’s falling even though he’s sitting down and then everything’s gone.

 

Later, Jimin tells Jungkook they pulled over two separate times on the way to the hospital so he could throw up on the curb. That was after a disgusted and disturbed Yoongi had to help Jimin half-drag, half-carry his sad carcass out the back and into Jimin’s car. Jungkook remembers none of this.

 

What he does remember is waking up in a small bed closed off from the rest of the noisy ER by a starched, white curtain. This is followed by squirming over to the side and heaving up the rest of his insides into a trash can that Jimin barely manages to grab in time.

 

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” the barista says, scooting the trash can away with his foot.

 

“Did I get hit in the head with a baseball bat? Jesus.” Jungkook wonders aloud, wincing when the pain in his nose comes back full force.

 

Jimin straightens in his chair. “You don’t remember?” he asks anxiously. The barista looks a little ridiculous in his polo shirt and black apron stained with blood, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce.

 

Jungkook flaps a hand at him. “No, I remember all right. If they think they’ve seen the last of me…”

 

Too bad the threat isn’t very effective when he’s laid up in a hospital bed, covered in bruises and still not quite tracking.

 

“Good to know there’s no more brain damage,” Jimin snorts, relaxing back into his chair. “Congratulations, though. You are now the proud owner of five stitches, a badly bruised, but not broken, nose, bruised ribs, and a low-grade concussion.”

 

Jungkook looked over at Jimin, confused. Jimin stared at him. “So you don’t remember getting put through a bunch of tests when we first got here? Or anything you said?”

 

He gets a shake of the head in reply.

 

“What am I going to do with you?” Jimin mumbles into his hands.

 

When Jungkook smiles, there’s still blood in his teeth. “Keep me.”

 

***

 

Dark & Wild is closed. The sign says so, as do the lowered blinds and the dim light that peeks through. The single umbrella over the patio table is wrapped up tight for the night.

 

Jungkook exhales a final lungful of smoke before dropping the and extinguishing it with the toe of his shoe. Scooping the squished up from the sidewalk and walking it over to the nearest trash can makes him feel silly, but it’s for a good reason.

 

That done, he strides up to the door and pulls it open, confident that it’s unlocked. The bell jingles merrily above his head. He doesn’t see Jimin so he’s probably in the small supply room or cleaning the bathroom. It makes him smile when he goes back to his table and he sees the usual paper tent that says RESERVED in all caps. There’s already a mug of coffee next to it, still steaming. He drags a chair over from the nearest table and wrestles it into the corner.

 

The coffee is warm and sweet and caramel-y, just how he likes it. He doesn’t sit down yet, though. Instead, he pulls three dollars from his back pocket and closes them in the door of the cupboard with all the extra lids. It’s become this thing that they do. Jungkook pays for his coffee, Petty Criminal Discount included, by hiding it around the coffee shop. Jimin never wants his money, so Jungkook had to get creative. The expression on Jimin’s face when he finds the cash, the mix of fondness and exasperation, makes the ridiculous amount of money he spends at this place worth it.

 

“Just give me a second!” Jimin calls from somewhere in the back. He jogs up to the table after a minute, not looking very looking surprised to see the second chair. He wedges himself into the corner without complaint. Their knees accidentally knock together under the table and a little bit of Jungkook’s coffee sloshes over the lip of the mug. Jimin just pulls a napkin from his apron and wipes it up.

 

“So,” Jungkook says. “Thanks for the coffee.”

 

“Of course,” Jimin says, grinning at him. “What would you do without your fix?”

 

“Have more money, be less jittery from caffeine overdose…” Jungkook mumbles good-naturedly.

 

Jimin takes a sip of his own mug of tea. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one who keeps insisting you pay. And don’t think I didn’t notice you paid me back for that first coffee on the house. I count my drawer, Jeon Jungkook. An extra $4.50 doesn’t go unnoticed.”

 

Jungkook smiles a little and doesn’t say anything.

 

“With you being such a good Samaritan, you might not qualify for the Petty Criminal Discount,” Jimin muses. “You haven’t even tried to light up in here since that last time when your brains were bounced off the inside of your skull like a basketball.”

 

A self-conscious hand goes to Jungkook’s nose. The swelling’s long gone, but it was ugly for a couple of weeks. Hoseok and Taehyung were both sympathetic and apologetic when they realized Jungkook didn’t make a clean getaway. They were nice enough to bring him home from the hospital thanks to a call from Jimin.

 

“Yeah, well.” Jungkook shrugs. Maybe he has been stealing fewer bikes and hanging out around the mall less often. Officers Donghae, Eunhyuk, and even Jiho haven’t been hassling him lately. Hell, Donghae even asked about his stitches a few days after he was released from the ER. Jungkook’s not gonna stop smoking, though, no matter how much Jimin complains about it.

 

“If I don’t get the Criminal Discount…” Jungkook starts, “how about a Boyfriend Discount?” The last part is mumbled into his mug and he refuses to meet Jimin’s eyes.

 

“A what discount?” Jimin asks, leaning in.

 

Jungkook looks up at the ceiling, stalling for time. Does he actually want to clarify? Or should he let it go, fake his way out of the confession?

 

“The what discount?” Jimin presses, planting his elbows on the tiny table and scooting forward. His smile is just a touch smug and Jungkook can’t let that stand.

 

With a gentle push, his coffee mug is safely out of the way. Jungkook eyes Jimin for a moment, then lunges forward and pecks Jimin on the cheek.

 

Not expecting the quick movement, Jimin yelps and jerks back.

 

Jungkook watches the barista with big, uncertain eyes.

 

They stare at each other for a good thirty seconds before Jimin crooks a finger at Jungkook.

 

They both lean forward again. Jimin comes closer and closer when they’re about an inch apart, Jimin whispers, “I’ll give you the Petty Criminal and the Boyfriend Discount, how about that?”

 

Jungkook puts heroic effort into not giggling when he’s close enough to count Jimin’s eyelashes. “Then how much does a caramel-y thing cost?”

 

“It’s free.”

 

And then Jimin kisses him.