you swore every night it would always be too soon when you smelt coffee beans again. hand ground, pungent, sharp. the scent was all over your clothes, in your hair, under your nails. the one reassurance about that earthy smell was that it reminded you of the blonde-haired boy who worked with you. 

 

working early mornings and late nights had been painful until he started working beside you last december, when the sun would set at four in the afternoon and the café became deserted. you’d be the only two there, save for an older woman in her forties, who, regardless of the weather or his obvious desire to be alone with you, would sit by the window, as though she were waiting for someone herself.

 

it had been almost a year since soonyoung had begun working in the café, and it always struck you how much he had changed from those frigid winter nights. a gangly, dark-haired, hyperactive teenager, now a slightly more built, hyperactive young man with platinum blonde hair that swung over his eyes when it was not pinned back.

 

on the other hand, you remained much the same; quiet and watchful, always dreaming, gazing out the windows when the first snow began to fall. it was silent, and still, and so beautiful. while the pavement became blanketed with crisp white snow, his figure radiated warmth beside you, red elbows leant against the smooth chestnut counters. 

 

the orange street lamps outside flickered to life just as your only customer let her mug clink against her saucer, a round sigh bubbling from past her lips. she slowly rose from that crimson armchair in which she always sat, gaze fixated on soonyoung, a knowing smile growing upon her sweet face. that confused you, her expression, the way it provoked a nervous chuckle out of soonyoung’s throat, but still you dreamt, letting reality slip away as easily as individual snowflakes did onto the roads, all the while ignoring the gentle tinkling bell signalling her departure. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

and when you speak, angels, sing from above

everyday words seem

to turn into love songs

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“it’s pretty, isn’t it?” he piped up after a while, tugging on a lock of blonde hair that hung over his eyes, his voice barely more than an awed whisper. in the year that you had known him, this was the first time you had truly been alone, save for the twenty minutes at the end of the night when you frantically cleaned up and locked doors. now, you had two hours to burn, with no other customers in sight.

 

“yeah…it’s like something from a movie.” was what you managed after a full silence that burst with curiosity and uncertainty. the hum from his body distracted your senses from the quiet snow, and your head swivelled to gaze at him now, lips turned up, so genial, eyes intense, so piercing. how could he be both mysterious and transparent to you? in the back, the radio played softly, some bittersweet song about a love once lost.

 

maybe it was the way that his head tilted a fraction as though he wanted to take you in from all angles, or perhaps his honest face unveiled a vulnerability in you, but when soonyoung reached forward with both hands, one cupping your waist, the other in your left hand, the natural reaction was not to recoil but step closer. 

 

“is this weird? do you want me to stop?” he asked, eyes burning against your own gaze, the corners of his lips suddenly falling tentatively. he looked so young just then, a boy about to make a confession to his first crush, rather than a young man with a girl who definitely felt the same.

“no. this…this is nice.” he grinned at that, bright as the sun and the stars and the moon all put together, one hand slipping around your back now, swaying gently in the confined space between coffee machines and countertops, your misplaced steps easily rectified by his own, carefully taken, thoughtful and kind. 

 

you thought back over the last year as he let his cheek rest upon your temple, how he always took the fall for your mistakes, how he’d remind you that you’d left your scarf in the cloakroom before you left each night. he never yelled, never snapped, always kissed your fingers better when they got caught in doors. 

 

in return you offered your ears and your hands to his restless body and mind, never dismissing his wild ramblings, always placing your hands upon his shoulders when he got too animated over the weekend past. you fit together as well as a cup to a saucer, or a delicate hand to a strong jaw, or a mouth to a mouth.

 

so when he looked down at you again, murmuring something about the best eleven months of his life, your vision became hazy, and rose-coloured, and all you could hear was the music playing behind him. you let him talk, burying your head into the crook of his neck, one ear pressed against the side of his throat, the humming of his voice reverberating against your skin. 

 

like that you both stayed for some time, rocking side to side on the spot, his voice and the music the only sounds you cared about, the cold snow silent and uncaring compared to soonyoung’s snug embrace, that warmed your skin to the core, your very veins and arteries sighing with joy at the heat of him. only now would you speak, ears pricking up at the way his voice tailed off softly, lips parted.

 

“anything else to add, chatterbox?” you mumbled into his neck, beaming as his body shook with laughter, and his fingers curled about your waist on one hand, the other still clutching your digits, which he now held flat before you, his mouth painting a kiss upon each finger.

 

“just one thing.”

 

“only one?”

 

“i promise.”

 

“go on, then.”

 

“can this be our song?”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

and the songbirds keep singing like they know the score

and i love you i love you i love you

like never before

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

you shook your head, and he blinked, trying to hide the blush that rose under his neck. 

 

“it’s too sad. i know a better one. i’ll tell you tomorrow.”

 

“okay. you promise?”

 

“i promise.”

 

“seal the deal then.”

 

with that, he leant down, smiling into your first kiss the way he would smile into every kiss after that, hot and loving, taking the corners of your lips before he asked for the rest, bursting with soft giggles or proclamations of your beauty. he never forgot to remind you how beautiful he thought you were, inside and out.

 

“tomorrow.” he finally breathed, gripping your hand tighter before he bruised your mouth once more.