...

“I’ll have an Americano, please.”

“Sir, if I may, I suggest you try our caramel macchiato or our delicious white mocha. Bitter coffee doesn’t cheer one’s spirits up, if you ask me.”

“Well, uh, Jongin,” The wide-eyed customer peeks at Jongin’s nametag, “I know what I want, and I certainly don’t need any ‘cheering up’ at the moment.” He sternly replies.

“But sir-”

“One large Americano, please.”

“Okay, then. Can I get your name, sir?”

“No.”, the boy quickly replies.

“Uhm, I mean for your order. We kinda need it to, you know, not get the orders mixed up.”

“O-oh. Sorry. Kyungsoo, then.”

“Okay, Kyungsoo-ssi. We’ll call you when your order’s ready.”

Kyungsoo pays for his coffee, waits patiently until his order awaits at the counter, then sits at his usual spot in the café. Jongin takes a look at him every now and then. Out of curiosity, that’s all, he would always think.

This regular customer of theirs has been going to the café for almost a month now, never failing to order his usual Americano, then proceeding to sit at the sofa chair by the window, taking out his laptop to write-whatever it is he writes- until closing time.

Yet what Jongin doesn’t get is the other’s forlorn expression every time he would turn to look outside in between typing. What he also doesn’t get is how fast his own heartbeat gets whenever the writer meets his eyes, even just for a few seconds.

He has known his name for a month now, thanks to his co-worker Sehun refusing to take on the cash register just when Kyungsoo arrives. He still asks for his name, though, with the way the smaller was acting earlier, he might misunderstand him for a stalker, after all.

And so, the barista has made it his mission to know why the mysterious black-haired boy, with deep black orbs, heart-shaped lips, and skin as fair as snow, would emit such melancholic expressions. Deep inside, he wanted-no, needed- to protect him from feeling such desolation anymore.

 ...

A week-of letting Kyungsoo get his way aka him ordering his daily bitter dose-later, Jongin decides to follow the writer after the café closes.

Nope, this is definitely not stalking, Jongin-ah, he sarcastically tells himself as he follows the writer, weaving his way through the lamp-lit streets.

He notices the moon shining unusually bright tonight, making it difficult to hide from the other’s sight. Kyungsoo walks on the pavement slowly, as if he was savoring every minute of the night, occasionally gazing at the stars, even stopping to close his eyes at one particular corner where he could appreciate the moon at its brightest.

Jongin swears that moment wasn’t real. The moonlight glow reflected on the handsome boy’s face didn’t stand comparison with his ethereal smile. A smile that held no reservations, a smile saying I’m free.

As they were strolling through the cold night, Jongin wondered how Kyungsoo didn’t manage to feel cold. He grips his coat, greatly tempted to make himself known just so he could wrap the other warmly with it. Mainly because of his focused determination on observing the writer, he hadn’t realized it was nearing sunrise, until the writer finally rests on one of the park benches. He quickly hides behind one of the lampposts. 

The sun’s rays begin to make their appearance in the horizon. Jongin holds his breath as Kyungsoo bends to pick up a stray flower stuck under the bench- a dandelion. Right as the sky awokens, the morning breeze flutters the dandelion’s pollens away, as if spots of white were painted on the red and orange hues of dawn. 

“You could’ve hid behind a bigger object, you know.” 

Jongin snaps out of his stupor as Kyungsoo turns to look at him, the sunrise as his background, leaving the taller breathless.

“I-", he clears his throat. “I just happened to walk by.”

“Well, Jongin-ssi, is that correct?-if that’s so, it’s good to know I’m not the only one who mindlessly walks throughout the night until it’s morning. Is it just a habit or,” He raises an eyebrow at him, “You don’t happen to experience insomnia sometimes too, do you?”

“I-you-I mean, I don’t. And yes, I’m Jongin. Kim Jongin.”, he smiles shyly. “I’m sorry for bothering you. I was… curious. ‘Cause you’ve ordered nothing but Americano for a month now and you look so sad every time you hang out at the café and I just wanted to know how to cheer you up and-”

He halts his rambling as he realizes Kyungsoo smiling. 

He was actually smiling at him.

Not at the moon or at the stray cat down one of the street alleys- at him, Kim Jongin who knew nothing better than to creepily follow him for hours.

“Calm down, Jongin-ah. I’m not mad.” Kyungsoo pats the space beside him. Jongin sits down beside him, invisible puppy ears drooping in embarrassment. He prepared himself for some sort of reprimand from the writer. 

“Thank you.”, he says instead.

“...What?”

“I said thanks. For accompanying me the whole night. And for looking out for me. For weeks now.” He chuckles as the barista only gapes at him then closes his mouth as he continues. 

“I’ve been writing all my life, you know. But recently I’ve had doubts if I could do it any longer. I needed… inspiration, I guess?” He looks at the sky, then peeks at him for a second. 

“The bitterness of coffee helped me concentrate most times-and I don’t believe sweet and coffee should even be used in one sentence. As for these nightly endeavours, one sleepless night led me to realize that the peace of solitude, of hearing silence instead of the busy life on the streets would be my comfort. But then, weeks of doing so turned out to make me feel lonelier. I’m quite weird, right?”

He stands up and finally looks at Jongin. 

“Tonight, though. Tonight was different.” 

Jongin held his breath, afraid that the unusual loud beating of his heart would make its way through the silence. 

Kyungsoo smiles, eyes crinkling as if he knew the other’s secret. He waves goodbye and goes his way. Jongin stares at the small of his back in awe. 

“Wait.”, he runs to where Kyungsoo is. He takes off his sweater then wraps it around the smaller. “You can keep it. Take it as my peace offering.”, Jongin says as he walks backward. He waves goodbye back, feeling accomplished as Kyungsoo’s figure rounds the corner.

Jongin was never so sure in anything before. 

But the spark he saw in those mesmerizing orbs, right at the exact moment they locked eyes when Kyungsoo looked back at him, was definitely not an illusion. 

…

The next morning, Jongin prepares the counter in a daze. The bell rings, signaling the arrival of their first customer. He looks up to greet them, only to have the words stuck at his throat.

“Good morning, Jongin.”

“G-good morning. Kyungsoo-ssi.”

“Kyungsoo's fine.” He smiles at the taller. Jongin stops the urge to rub his eyes to make sure he’s imagining the writer’s flushed cheeks. Heavens, is he being shy right now? What did I even do for him to smile at me again? 

“I’d like-"

“A large Americano, right?”

The smaller shakes his head, his dark bangs swishing (cute, Jongin thinks.)

“I’d like to try a caramel macchiato. Make that large.”

“Really?”

“Really, Jongin.”

“Okay, uhm, anything you’d like to add?”

“Well, uhm, can I ask for suggestions on this storyline I just thought of?”

“O-oh, I don’t know anything about writing, though.”, Jongin runs his hand through his hair. He looks at Kyungsoo- whose cheeks flush even more. 

What?

“No matter. I… I just wanted your opinion. See, it’s about a passionate barista who had the power to make people happy by making coffee- everyone loved him- and a mere customer who had been admiring him from afar, desperately wanting to be noticed, mostly to, well, make him happy, in return.”

Jongin convinces himself that it’s not what he thinks it is. And there goes my stupid heart, again.

 He ponders for a bit.

“Oh, a-alright.”

“Really?”

It’s Jongin’s turn to smile.

“Really, Kyungsoo.”

…

...

The radio announces how fast novelist Do Kyungsoo’s current work, Café Universe, was getting sold out from bookstores nationwide. “When asked where he got the idea,”, the broadcaster relays, “Mr. Do vaguely said, ‘from sweet coffee and warm nights. As well as a random beautiful dandelion springing into my life.’” 

Jongin gently pours the steamed milk into the cup of milk and espresso, tilting it just right to form intricate swirls. He gingerly joins them together with a toothpick, drawing parts of the foam to the sides, forming a flower. 

He smiles.

Just how he likes it.

The café door opens.