Title: Happy Panda
Lenght: one-shot
Characters: Jongin (centric); EXO; Amber; Taemin; Minho
Pairings: Jongin/Taemin; TaeminxMinho; hinted!ChanyeolxBaekhyun
AU: none
Rating: pg
Word count: 6.443
Genre: comedy
Summary: Working at a fast food restaurant isn't Jongin's dream job, but dance classes don't pay themselves. If only he could find one thing he isn't terrible at...



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Day 1


Jongin walks into the kitchen, the smell of grease clinging to the back of his throat. He looks around, trying to take in everything that’s being pointed out at him. 

“That’s the potato chipper. Those are the stoves, and those are the frying pans. Those are the fridges. The soda machine. That’s the vegetables island. Are you paying attention?”

Jongin quickly nods at the uniform-dressed woman before him. “Yes, noona.” 

She shakes his head, short spikes of dark hair bouncing with the movement. Her name tag reads Amber, followed by a drawing of a cartoon panda, and Jongin found out today that she’s the manager of the branch of the chain restaurant he applied to. It’s not his dream job, but dance classes don’t pay themselves.

“You are going to be helping your coworkers in whatever task they ask you to do within the limits of this kitchen. Kids? You got it?” Amber turns around, finger pointing at a lanky teenager with blonde hair sitting on a tall chair that’s slicing tomatoes with impressive indifference, and a serious-faced young man with a spatula on his hand. 

The one that looks the youngest, face uncommonly flat though  still perfectly symmetrical, barely bothers to look up for a second, raising one hand in a gesture ofgot it before going back to the pile of tomatoes next to him; whereas the other one, standing as short as he is next to the frying pan, speaks up in a full “Yes, noona.”

“Good.” She turns back around, handing Jongin a plastic bag with the logo of the company. “This is your Happy Panda uniform. You have to wear it everyday, no excuses. I’ll bring you a second one later, if this is your size. I think it will fit you just right.” Jongin nods again, hand moving up to brush his fringe off his face. “I’ll come in a little while to see how everything is going. Kyungsoo, notify me if anything happens.”

“Yes, noona,” repeats the so-called Kyungsoo, spatula never leaving his hand.

Hands on her hips, she leaves the kitchen, leaving Jongin alone with the strangers.

“Hi,” he greets with a shy smile and a wave. “I’m Jongin.”

The flat-faced guy doesn’t even look up this time. “Didn’t ask,” he voices for the first time, knife cutting restlessly into the vegetable. By the moment he reaches the end of the tomato and his eyes travel up to the new guy, Jongin is wearing a confused frown and half a pout. “I’m kidding,” he laughs. “I’m Sehun.” The boy points at him with his knife, and Jongin is suddenly glad he is at least smiling, or something close to it. “We didn’t know we’d have a new guy until ten minutes ago.”

“I didn’t find out much earlier.” Jongin was playing World of Warcraft in sweatpants and completely diregarding his absolutely urgent homework when he got the call.

“It’s a good thing,” the older looking one declares. “We aren’t lacking staff, but there are more waiters than cooks and at midday, we don’t seem to have enough hands.” He flips a bunch of burgers on the stove. “I’m Kyungsoo.”

“I know,” claims Jongin, effectively going, in their eyes, from weirdo to jerk, because –Jongin realizes too late– it was only for courtesy reasons that Kyungsoo repeated the obvious information. Jongin looks away from Kyungsoo’s glare and clears his throat. “So, what can I help you with?”

“For one, you can change into your uniform,” suggests Sehun, knife pointing towards a door Jongin hadn’t noticed before. “The bathroom is over there.”
 

Thirteen minutes and two bruises later (that was a really small bathroom), Jongin walks back into the kitchen in a collared shirt with Bamboo the Panda printed on the front, black and white apron hanging from his hips. 

“You done over there?” Kyungsoo’s voice calls from the opposite side of the room. “Come here. We’re about to open.” Jongin shuffles towards the round-eyed boy, stopping beside him and waiting for instructions. The cook pats a cork board that hangs on the wall. “The waiters are going to hang the orders on this board. You pick them up, check whether or not something else needs to be cooked, tell us if there is, and put the order together. Sehun is going to be helping you. Okay?”

“Okay,” nods Jongin, and Kyungsoo gives him a pat on the back before going to the stoves again.  

Sehun arrives next to him a moment later, bringing a pile of trays that, in Jongin’s eyes, shouldn’t sway like that. “The cups are over there,” he signals, hand raising lazily to point at Jongin’s left. “They get the straws at their table; same with the dressings.” Jongin is starting to feel like one of those little dogs people put  on cars, the ones with the bobbing head, from nodding so much. The boy hands him a handwritten list on a ripped notebook page. “I made you a list of things they could order. They go by names, but we use numbers here instead, because it’s quicker. You’ll come to learn them, hopefully.”

No one said anything about numbers. Jongin isn’t good with numbers. “Um… numbers?”

“Yeah, numbers. Get ready, here comes the first one.” Sehun lines a few trays in front of himself, and Jongin mimicks him quickly, though a little clumsily. 

A tall guy in a panda hat that doesn’t quite cover his ears strides into the room, looking way too happy for a waiter at a chain restaurant. “Morning, Kyungsoo! Sehun!” He looks at Jongin, standing awkwardly behind his table, and adds: “Morning, stranger!” With a smack, he sticks a bright pink sheet from a pad with a big 3 scribbled on it onto the board, followed by a green note that reads 1, before sprinting back out of the kitchen. 

Jongin picks up the notes and stares at them for a moment before remembering the list Sehun gave him. After a quick scan, he voices out: “A Bamboo Meal and a, uh… a Panda Burger? Do the different colors mean anything?”

Taking the sticky notes from him and sticking each onto a different tray, Sehun explains: “Pink means it includes side dish and beverage; otherwise it’s green.” His hands work quickly, distributing paper napkins and setting everything in place. “The burgers are over there, fries are over here, and you fill the cups over there. For the Bamboo Meal, burger and fries go in the box, along with one of the toys from here.” He points at a basket Jongin hadn’t noticed, placed beneath the table. Taking a breath, he says a silent pray, hoping he doesn’t forget everything he was just told, and gets down with business.
 

The first three or four orders are alright, because there’s a span of at least five minutes in between. By the seventh one, Jongin already wants to quit, and by the twenty-third, exactly at 13:25 am, he’s counting the seconds until he can go home and binge-watch an entire season of whatever anime he can find. He doesn’t know who invented this numbers system, but he wants to beat them down.

“We ran out of fries,” he informs Kyungsoo, an almost desperate expression on his face. He knows it’s not that big of a deal, but Minseok, the cute, small waiter that doesn’t complain and doesn’t push on Jongin, has come twice looking for the order already. 

“Then come make some,” instructs the cook. “Sehun can finish those orders.”

Trotting away from the table, Jongin reaches the potato chipper. “I just put these in here, right?”

“Yep,” confirms Kyungsoo. “Take them out before they get golden, or else they’ll taste burnt.”

Jongin does as asked, carefully drowning them in the boiling hot oil, before walking back to the table and layering tomatoes over meat. 

“Vegan Panda!” calls Sehun, and Kyungsoo nods as he walks towards the fridge.

Jongin watches him while topping burgers with the second piece of bread. “Don’t we keep any of those already made?”

“No, because you can’t reheat them or else they'll get really greasy, even for our standards,” replies Kyungsoo with a half smirk. 

“Two number four’s, one number one, three number seven’s, three number five’s and one number two. We’ve got a birthday!” the third waiter, Jongdae, calls, voice fading away as he trots back to the tables.

“Oh, .” Sehun sounds a lot less excited than Jongdae. “Zitao’s going to have a blast.” 

“Who’s Zitao?” asks Jongin, dropping burgers into panda-eared boxes. 

“Mascot,” states Kyungsoo. “Doesn’t really do much, but kids love him. You’ll meet him, I’m sure.” 

“Jongin, three large Cokes, four small Sprites and one water bottle.”

The boy rushes to the fridge, back with the drinks in what he thinks is a decent record. When he goes back to his table, Kyungsoo hands him a plate of chicken nuggets, and, honestly, that’s his mistake. Jongin really can’t help picking one and popping it into his mouth, even if it’s burning hot and even if he knows he probably won’t be able to feel his tongue for a week afterwards. 

That wouldn’t be such an issue if that wasn’t the exact moment Amber chooses to drop by the kitchen.

“Kim Jongin!” she calls, hands in fists at her hips, panda snapback slightly ruining her menacing glare. “You absolutely cannot eat during work hours unless it is your break!”

Mouth full, Jongin counters: “It’s only a chicken nugget!”

“It is not your chicken nugget to eat!” She frowns at Jongin’s hamster-like chewing. “Don’t do that again, or else I’ll have to report you.”

“Yes, noona!” he agrees, almost spitting half the chicken in the process. He swallows and tries again: “Yes, noona!”

Amber folds her arms, lightly sniffing the air. “What’s that smell?”

After a moment in which all four stare at each other, Jongin’s eyes widen, almost rivaling Kyungsoo’s. “The fries!” he exclaims, running to the chipper, only to take out a bunch of dark brown bits and putting them onto a plate, snickering. “I mean… they aren’t golden?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t say a word, and Jongin can see Sehun covering his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh too loud.
Amber takes out his notepad, scribbling something onto it. “I hope you enjoyed your time in the kitchen,” she says, “because you won’t be here tomorrow for sure.”

Given this turn of events, Jongin wishes he had at least stolen more of the nuggets. 






Day 2


“Hard day yesterday, huh?”

Jongdae hands Jongin a snapback, little black round ears poking out at either side of it. It’s only his second day at Happy Panda, and he is already sick of seeing pandas everywhere. 

“Terrible,” he replies, jamming on the hat. “I don’t know how they do that all day, everyday. They are my new heroes.”

“I heard Amber saw you eating a nugget.” His tone is friendly, but Jongin wonders how do news go around so quickly. 

“I might have,” he replies, left hand picking at the bracelet on his right wrist.

Jongdae laughs, but Jongin knows he isn’t mocking him. “Don’t worry too much,” he comforts him. “Everybody does that on their first day. Anyway!” The guy steps towards the kitchen, tapping on the cork board Jongin knows too well by now with his index finger. “You know what happens here. The orders you take, you stick them to the board and come back for them later. Now, for the tables.” He turns around, pointing at the empty hall. “The numeration starts over here and ends over there, from left to right and from up to down. That is, that’s table number one, that’s table number two, and so on in that direction, and then towards the back: number eight, number nine…” 

Jongin wishes there was a way to do this that didn’t involve numbers. He can already tell he’s going to this up as well. “How am I going to remember which order is for which table?”

“Fow now, you can write it down on the order note, but do it on the back, so that they don’t confuse it with the order number.”

“Okay.” Writing it down on the order note. That seems easy.

“Make sure you’re nice to customers. Their tips will make for half your salary.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” checks Jongdae.

“Yes, I think I got it.”

“Good, because here comes your first customer. You know your speech?”

“Uh huh.”

“Then go. Good luck!”

Jongdae is grinning as Jongin walks towards the trio that just walked in and sat on what he believes is table 11. Putting on a smile, he walks towards them, pen in hand and stacks of sticky notes in his pocket. “Welcome to Happy Panda! What can I bring you?”

One of the girls giggles when she looks up at him, and Jongin decides that no matter how many fries he burns, he likes the kitchen better. “I’d like, uhh… a chocolate milkshake?”

Nodding, Jongin scrawls a 21 and a little ch next to it on a green note, the way he saw Minseok do for the milkshake orders yesterday. “What about your friends?”

Looking over at them, he sees them jolt, and the one that looks the bravest affirms: “We want the same.”

Jongin copies the order onto two more notes and scribbles an 11 on the back of each one. “I’ll be back with your order shortly,” he informs, padding back to the kitchen and sticking the bright green pieces of paper onto the cork board. “Sehun,” he calls, “milkshakes.”

“Got it,” the younger says, bottle of milk already in his hands.

“Jongin!” Minseok pats his back, sticking his own order next to Jongin’s. “Trying out this side of the job? I’m sure you’ll do great!” That said, he leaves off for the next table.

Turning back to Sehun, Jongin grimaces. “There are numbers here, too. I’m going to cry.”

“Hey, at least you got admirers,” grins the blonde, pointing at the table number 11 with a spoon. 

“Shut up,” shoots Jongin. “They are, like, thirteen.”

“Still counts.” Sehun hands him the tray a tray with the three milkshakes. “Don’t spill them.”

“I’ll try.” Jongin walks back to the table, carefully, trying not to make a fool out of himself again so early. Successfully reaching the customers without dropping anything, he sets it before them, a proud smile on his face. “Enjoy your meal!” Ignoring the flirty giggles, he goes back to Jongdae. “I think that went fine.”

“Good!” the older congratulates him. “We’ll see how it goes later.” Winking, he moves to take an elderly coulple’s order. What can I treat the lovely lady with?

“Jongin!” calls Minseok, once again. “Table 4!”

But at the same time, Chanyeol’s unmistakeable voice asks “Waiter at table 12!” and Jongin knows this might be even worse than being in the kitchen.
 

“Did you bring the three Crispy Pandas to table 7?”

“Yep,” Jongin replies, piling empty trays onto his forearm the way he’s seen Chanyeol carry them. After the third try, he surrenders and settles for carrying them like the newbie he is.

“What about the Bamboo Meal for the kid at table 13?” checks Kyungsoo, while Sehun takes the trays from him.

“13? I thought that was for table 3!” Speed walking on long legs, Jongin reaches the thirteenth table and picks up the cardboard box under the glare of a woman in a tailored suit. Well, he thinks, that explains a lot. With an apologetic grin and a soft I’m sorry, I’m new here the woman doesn’t seem to mind, he trots to the opposite side of the restaurant, setting the box this time before the right person, a chubby child in an uncomfortable-looking onesie. “Enjoy your meal!” 

“Excuse me, coud I get a refill?” calls a gentle looking man a few tables to the right, and, with a polite nod, the boy picks up his cup and walks back towards the kitchen. In four and a half hours, Jongin has walked more than he has in his seventeen years of existence. 

“Customer at table 14!” Minseok informs, impossible amount of cups held firmly in his hands.

“Going!” replies Jongin, but Chanyeol’s arm stops him on the spot, nearly knocking him down. 

“Mine.” The guy fixes his cap, putting on a winner smile, and swaggers towards the boy that’s sitting cross-legged at the table, eyes scanning the menu on his hands, fingers long and slim. His hair is dark and smooth and his eyes are framed with heavy eyeliner, and the tiniest bit of a smirk embelishes his expression at the sight of the tall waiter. Jongdae, one tray on each hand, shakes his head at the flirty approach.

“Um, excuse me.” A hand with too many rings, bracelets jingling with the movement, taps on Jongin’s shoulder. “Are you going to stand there for a lot longer or can I tell you something?” The woman, Jongin thinks, is quite rude. 

“I’m done standing, thank you. What can I help you with?”

“This burger,” she complains, holding up the paper-wrapped bun, “is overcooked. My son can’t eat this. Are you going to fix it or do I have to call your manager and file a complaint?”

Trying to keep a straight face, Jongin takes the burger. “I’ll bring you a new one,” he promises.

“Make sure this one isn’t awful,” she demands, heels clacking annoyingly on the linoleum as she walks away. Who wears heels to a fast food restaurant?

Reaching the kitchen, he opens the door, seeking the cook. “Someone complained about their burger,” he informs. “They say it’s overcooked.”

Kyungsoo’s glare is nothing but offended. “Was it that fake blonde with the fur vest?”

“Um. Yeah?” Jongin moves aside to let Minseok in, Jongdae leaving the kitchen right after. Chanyeol is nowhere to be seen.
The cook lets out a scoff. “She comes here every week, yet she complains every single time. But she never stops coming!” he shouts, the murmur of the frying pans drowning his words. 

“Jongin, bring more straws to table 15, 21 and 6, will you?” instructs Jongdae’s voice as he passes by the kitchen. The boy leans down to pick some red plastic straws from the box, accidentally hitting the top with his head when getting back up. As he rubs his aching forehead, he can hear Kyungsoo mumble into the stove:

“Here goes your stupid burger, you, brat, and if you don’t want to eat this by yourself I have absolutely no qualms about stuffing it down your ungrateful little throat.”

Blinking, Jongin takes the wrapped bundle the guy is handing him, quick to go back outside and find the seemingly impossible-to-please lady, giving it to her and barely paying attention to her sneer. As soon as it leaves his hands, he remembers the straws, forgotten on the countertop; but  Minseok intercepts him just as he is running back in. “Here,” he says, dropping the bundle into Jongin’s arms.

By the moment he reaches the third table, he hears the jingling once again. “Excuse me.” Jongin does not excuse her. “This is too raw.” Without a word this time, and wishing to end it as quickly as posible, Jongin runs back into the kitchen, leaving the woman open-mouthed and ready to blow the place up. “It’s too raw,” he quotes to Kyungsoo, watching the older drop his spatula with explosive fury.

“I can’t work under these conditions!” he yells, startling even Sehun, probably used to his fits. “Does she think she’s the only customer in here!?”

“Can’t you call Amber and make her talk to her?” reasons the blonde, hands expertedly serving portions of fries.

“You know what she’ll say, Sehun.” Kyungsoo picks his spatula back up, moving to wash it on the sink. “Customer is always right.”

With a shrug, Sehun goes back to work, handing Jongin a tray with too many fries and not enough drinks for all that salt. 

“What table was this for again?” he asks; he wouldn’t need to, if he hadn’t been distracted from his task so many times in the course of the last ten minutes.

“Um,” frowns the younger. “I don’t know. Didn’t you write it down?”

Checking the order note, Jongin shuts his eyes. “Crap.” 

“Table 12,” saves Jongdae, and it’s truly a wonder to Jongin how he can retain so much irrelevant information.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, pacing back into the mass of tables and way-too-many people.

Placing the tray on the table with a soft thump and distibuting the fries among the group of teenagers, Jongin sees, sideways, Chanyeol leaning closer than the Panda Customer Code allows into the boy with the lined cat-like eyes, and, in the background, at the door, a grotesque real life version of the cartoon on Jongin’s name tag, black paws gesturing at the passer-by’s and curling into tight fists at the sides of a panda head too big for the figure’s body in what, Jongin supposes, is an attempt at a cute pose. 

His observations are cut off when a piece of bread hits him exactly on the nose, coming from the general direction of a family of six. Taking a breath, he turns around, going for the next order to deliver. 

He wishes he could have skipped that one, specifically. He wishes he didn’t have to carry five milkshakes and two donuts in one tray, with about three hundred kids (Jongin isn’t good with numbers) running around him; because when one of them goes past him at the speed of light, the inertia of the speed as his feet stop moving, as not to bump into him, makes him lose balance, and he falls, face first, onto the floor, tray flying acroos the place and landing on nothing less than the Jingling Lady. And Jongin has no doubt that she is going to file a complaint on this.

He stays like that for a while, because maybe if he ignores the situation for long enough it will all just disappear. Maybe it’s a bad dream. Maybe it’s a prank, or a hidden camera. Though, if it was one, it would all end before Amber opens the door of her office, notebook in hand and frown on her forehead, and a man in a suit peeking from behind her.

“Who’s this?” he asks, voice soft and curious, disregarding of the fact that there’s an employee laying flat on the floor with a number of edible items sprawled around him and all of the customers are staring at him, some looking annoyed or bored, some laughing harder than Jongin considers polite.

“The new guy I was talking about,” replies Amber, almost apologetic. “We haven’t found his place yet. Jongin,” she calls, mocking smirk across her face. “This is Kim Joonmyeon. He’s the owner of Happy Panda.”

Great.

The businessman gives a smile, funny and loopsided. “Are you okay over there?”

“Yeah,” replies Jongin, struggling not to slip on the wet and dirty floor as he prompts himself onto his elbow, right hand raising in a half-assed wave. “Just chillin’.”

***

“Did you at least get good tips?” Chanyeol’s fingers fidget with the piece of paper Mr. Eyeliner gave him along with a twenty-dollar bill before leaving, nine digits scribbled on it with careful of a purple pen. 

“Uh…” Jongin fishes into his pocket, and a quick recount tells him that he did even worse of a job than he had originally thought. “$5,25 and a phone number.”

Sehun looks over his shoulder, apron flying across the room and landing on top of his backpack. “Was she at least hot?”

Chuckling, Jongin covers his face. “She was, like, forty-seven or something,” he lets out, and Sehun’s laugh is even louder than his own.






Day 3


“I want to believe you can at least hold a broom.”

“Uhm,” replies Jongin, because he isn’t fond on lying. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Amber opens the door of a cabinet that contains more instruments and bottles of funky colored liquids than Jongin can count –or even recognize. “This should be simple. Kitchen, main area of the restaurant, and yes, bathrooms. No, don’t make that face. You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t absolutely at everything else.”

Jongin pouts, even if he knows it will do nothing for him. “Do you think I can eventually go back into the kitchen?”

“For something other than cleaning, you mean?” She pets his head. “Probably not. Now, we have an inspection today. Please, try your best. Everything you need is in here.” The girl pats the door, free hand on her waist. “Oh, I almost forgot.” Reaching into the cabinet, she hands him a knot of orange latex. “You’re gonna need these.” That said, she goes back into her office, leaving Jongin alone with the pair of gloves.
 

If there is one thing that Jongin has learnt with this job, it’s that people eat like pigs.

He can’t tell how many fries he’s picked up from the floor, the amount of spilled drinks he has wiped, or how many times someone ripped the packet of salt the wrong way and sprinkled it all over their table and the next. And each time, Jongin had to clean it.

If that was the only thing he had to do, it’d be the easiest task he’s done so far. But the problem is that he also has a thousand other things to do.

Washing the trays. (People really should be more careful with their dressings). Picking up the forgotten cups and crumbled wrappings. (There’s a reason why there is a trash bin every four tables: they should do it themselves). Wiping tables in between customers. (Would be a lot easier if they ate more carefully). 

That alone could keep him enternained the whole day, but Jongin also has to clean the bathrooms, clean the kitchen, and everything in between. When he’s sweeping the floor, he doesn’t get to finish one square meter before he has to drop the broom, run to clean up some kid’s mess and coming back, only to realize he doesn’t even remember what’s clean and what isn’t anymore. 

Two times, the guy in the panda costume bumps into him as he runs into the bathroom, struggling with a zipper that isn’t where it should be before banging the cubicle door with a loud thump. 

“Can we trade?” asks Jongin, toilet scrub in his hand and the most absolute of sorrows evident on his face. 

Relieved, Zitao walks back out of the cubicle, zipping the costume back into place. He looks at Jongin, stains of doubftul procedence on the front of his uniform, and jams his panda head back on. “No thanks,” he singsongs, trotting back towards the front door.
 

At one point, Jongin spends at least seven minutes sitting on the floor in front of the cabinet, an assortment of labeled plastic bottles laid out before him. They all look pretty much the same, except for the bright colorings, and the only difference between them seems to be their smell. 

“What are you doing, Jongin?” Ambers voice comes from behind him, and when he looks up at her, she looks a lot taller than he remembered. 

“Working,” he replies, legs spread proudly before him, random bottle in his hand. “Working hard.” 

She raises one eyebrow in a snicker. “Working hard or hardly working?”

“I don’t know.” Jongdae, oh, Jongdae, pops up out of nowhere, hand placed calmly on the manager’s shoulder. “He seems like he’s struggling pretty hard over there.”

“I don’t care–” she starts, but Minseok’s voice cuts her off.

“Yifan is here!” the small waiter calls, hands fixing his snapback over reddish blonde hair. Amber takes off, apparently forgetting Jongin’s ineptitude in favor of a more important duty. 

“Who’s Yifan?” asks Jongin, Jongdae fixing the collar of his shirt. “The inspector,” he says. “Now, if you don’t think you can come out without making something explode on his face, maybe you should stay here.” Jongin nods, because being under inspection isn’t his favorite thing, either. “Oh, and that isn’t the bottle.” He crouches down, picking up Jongin’s second option. “That’s the one you’re looking for.” 

Jongin is left alone again. Now he knows what’s the bottle. The question is: sponge, wipe, or that other thing, whatever it is?
 

Chanyeol pokes his head into the kitchen, and, judging by his face, he doesn’t have good news. “A kid vomited next to table 14.”

Oh, Christ. “But it’s my break,” tries Jongin even though he doesn’t even want those fries anymore. He’s seen so many in the past days, he’s afraid he might be sick of them for life. 

“Sorry,” mouths Chanyeol before disappearing back into the main room. 

Jongin goes out after him, holding various wipes and products he isn’t yet sure how he’s going to use with glove-covered hands. At least this is a chore he’s somewhat familiar with, because of that one time he made the mistake of holding a party at his house. 

Halfway done with it, the sound of a slightly choked laugh makes him look up from the now almost-clean floor, and what he sees leaves him in awe.

“What is it?” asks Minseok, setting cups into a table.

“I think I fell in love,” replies Jongin simply. 

Minseok’s looks in the direction Jongin’s eyes are fixated on, tongue clacking with recognition at the boy. Light blonde hair cascades framing both sides of his face, and the prettiest smile Jongin has ever seen… is directed towards someone. 

Someone other than Jongin. 

The other guy, probably as tall as Chanyeol and just as attractive, though probably half as clumsy, has shaggy dark hair and a prince-charming-like presence, and Jongin knows he could never compete with that.

It’s done, he thinks. It’s over.

“That’s Taemin,” Minseok informs, index finger tapping on the tray on his hand. “And that’s Minho, his boyfriend.”

Jongin is unable to look away from the blonde, but if he could, he would glare at the waiter. “Minseok, you just broke my heart.” 

“They come here every Wednesday,” continues the older blankly.

“I will never be able to find love again. I have seen the light.”

“What light?” laughs Minseok. “You don’t know him.”

“I do,” objects Jongin. “Right here.” He places a hand on his chest, where his heart should be, in a cheeky, dramatic gesture. Shaking his head, Minseok goes back to work, and Jongin does as well, quickly wiping the floor one last time and getting up again. 

He tries to look somewhere else than the love of his life, really; but you know how it is. His head doesn’t face forward the way his body does, and before he can tell, he’s bumping into the the doorframe of the kitchen and falling on his for the second time that week. More than half of his coworkers gather around him, and as he looks around, his wish of Amber not being one of them shatters at the sight of her hat making her way in between the growing crowd, perpetual notebook in her hands, and yet another man in a suit behind her. And, for Jongin’s misfortune, this one doesn’t look half as nice as Kim Joonmyeon did. 

Jongin turns around, as discreetly as his condition allows him, only to see his soulmate (and his soulmate’s soulmate) staring at him with great indifference.

“Jongin,” calls Kyungsoo, “are you bleeding?”







Day 4


“Chicken nuggets might be the only reason why I still believe in God.”

Jongin picks at his food, far too full to continue on eating enthusiastically, but far too reticent to let the nuggets go to waste. 

“I don’t understand why they haven’t fired you yet,” questions Yixing, sweat-drenched muscle-tee sticking to his chest. “I know I would.” The guy munches on a nugget, shoulder raising in an aloof shrug. 

Jongin makes a ball out of a greasy napkin, tossing it at his face and failing by very little.  “Because I need the money and my manager is nice. She gave me today off and said we would try different things I could do until we find something I don’t at.”

“Was it really that bad?” asks Luhan, coming back from the stereo and sitting down next to Jongin, hands fidgeting with his hair, putting the top of it into a little apple stub.

“Yes," he starts. “I burned the fries, ate a nugget I didn't have permission to eat, broke two plates, got seven orders and a half wrong…” he lists, counting with his fingers. Jongin is really, really bad with numbers. “I spilled five milkshakes on the most annoying customer Happy Panda has ever had, barely got any tips, got the cleaning products mixed, almost broke a toilet and our mascot’s costume, and finally, I bumped into a door and got a nosebleed in front of the most beautiful human being I have ever landed eyes on.”

Shrugging, Luhan pops a fry into his mouth. “I would say that one was his fault.”

“Whose? Taemin’s?”

“You know his name,” remarks Yixing, dipping a nugget into hot sauce. 

“Yeah, apparently he’s been to a couple dance clases with Sehun.” Jongin puts his empty plate aside. “No, not classes. Workshops. He’s a teacher, not a student.”

“You could invite them over sometime,” offers Luhan. “We could always use some extra dancers.”

Jongin frowns at him. “He’s a teacher, Luhan. As in, a choreographer. We’re not at his level.” He lets his upper body drop back, laying on the wooden floor. “I’m not at his level. He’s dating Prince Charming.”

Yixing points at Jongin, hair everything but in place and clothes sweaty and wrinkled. “Yeah, Luhan. He’s not at his level.”

“I will die alone.”

“You won’t die alone…” tries Luhan, but Jongin ignores him.

“I will die alone and he will never know I exist and he’ll live happily ever after with Prince Charming and I will only have my dogs.”

“He knows you exist,” points out Yixing. “He did see you hit your face against a wall after all.”

As Luhan muffles his laugh with his hand, Jongin rolls away, curling up in a corner of the dance studio. “Why am I even friends with you?”






Day 5


“Okay, this is the last thing we can try you on, unless Zitao magically quits his job today.” Jongin stands in front of the frozen yoghurt machine. It doesn’t look very terrifying. Then again, neither did the brooms cabinet. “Do you think you can make a swirl?”

“Uh,” starts Jongin. “I can make a pretty neat ballet spin. Does that count?” 

Amber glowers at him. “Probably not.” She points at what seems like a handle. “You pull on that, and the yoghurt comes out. You make it into a pretty swirl…” she demonstrates, “like so. Try it.”

Jongin would lie if he said he isn’t shaking the tiniest bit. Pull, swirl, like so. “I did it!” he beams. 

“That was not so bad.” It’s probably as close to a congratulation as he’s going to get from her. “Those are the syrups,” she says, gesturing at a bunch of bottles. “They are labeled, so you can’t get it wrong. The toppings are on those bowls. Can you handle it?”

“Yes, noona!” he assures, excited for the second time since he’s started working there. 
 

Surprisingly, Jongin hasn’t made anything explode all day. He’s made more sundaes than he could ever count (no need to say why), and he had to go to the kitchen for more waffer cones three times, but only two of them broke while he was filing them, and he hasn’t spilled anything yet. 

As he’s refilling the topping bowls, he hears footsteps approaching. Putting on a smile he doesn’t need to fake this time, he turns around. “Panda Cream, what can I serve–” The greeting dies on his lips, because before him, right in front of his eyes, there’s him.

The love of his life.

“You’re that guy,” starts Taemin. “The one that got the nosebleed yesterday?” Out of all of the things. Out of all of the things he could remember him for (his pretty face, his startling elegance, his dazzling personality), of course, of course it had to be something like a nosebleed. “Are you alright?”

“Uhhhh…” Speak. “Yes. Yes, I’m– I’m fine. Thanks” Jongin nods, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, but Taemin doesn’t seem scared. Or at least, not too much. Jongin tries not to grimace. “What can I serve you?”

“Good,” smiles the blonde, and oh god Jongin could die. “I’ll have a chocolate sundae.”

One chocolate sundae, thinks Jongin, doing his best for succeeding at the swirl. He’s alone. In fact, Prince Charming is nowhere to be seen. 

Jongin adds extra fudge.

Sticking the plastic spoon into the dessert, Jongin hands the cup to Taemin, stopping him, with a hand gesture, from taking out his wallet. “The house invites,” he says before he can funk. 

“Oh, you don’t have to,” chuckles the guy, and Jongin just wants to disappear. Way to be obvious. 

“I was told you come often,” he clarifies, not sure of whether that fixes it or makes it worse. “And it’s my first day here, so…” His words fade into a mumble.

“Well,” concedes Taemin, quickly gazing at his name tag. “Thanks, Jongin. That’s a pretty name, and this is a pretty swirl. See you later.” He lifts his cup a couple inches before smiling (and this one, Jongin can’t help but notice, is directed towards him), taking a spoonful of the yoghurt and swaggering away. 

As he watches him, Jongin leans onto the side of his booth; he doesn’t see Zitao padding in his direction, panda head under his arm and sweaty hair sticked onto his forehead. “If you invite me one, too,” he concurs, “I won’t tell Amber about what I just saw.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jongin grabs a new cup. “Deal,” he agrees, already swirling more yoghurt into the plastic vase.
 

As Jongin fills three cones for a pair of children and their mother, Zitao sits on a bench, head of the costume at his side and kids passing beside him with scandalized eyes.

“Bamboo!” reprimends Amber from inside.”Put your head back on! There are kids in sight!”

Pouting, the guy looks over at Jongin, hair drenched in sweat in the spring heat. Jongin doesn’t even want to know the state of his clothes. “Can we trade?” he asks with pleading eyes.

Jongin smiles. “No thanks,” he singsongs, before going back to work. 




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a/n: All of this happened because "Chicken nuggets might be the only reason why I still believe in God." Don't ever let me do anything like this again.
(Lies, I had a great time let's do it again soon.)
Hope you guys liked it, because I sure did!
p.s.: Sassy Jongin is my favorite.
Also, remember to head over to my LiveJournal if you'd like! <3 http://atomickitten03.livejournal.com/