It’s raining.

Hard.

Water is seeping into everything remotely open. By the time Youngjae reaches the door of Macchiato and gratefully stands under the red canopy he is absolutely drenched. His raincat deflected some of the rain from his clothes but he’s still frozen to the bone and his sneakers are sopping. He digs around in his jeans pocket for the single key, fumbling. When his fingers are done failing him he gets the key in the door and scuttles inside. The breath he releases when he’s finally shielded from the rain is one of relief. What once sounded like bullets pelting his eardrums is now a dull thumping, still vicious, but not as much. One long shiver runs from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

Youngjae freezes his way behind the counter and into the kitchen. He flips on the switch to reveal a neat, white space with splashes of color from cupcake and cookie stickers plastered to the wall. It looks like the aftermath of a preschool field trip. Regardless, it made for a fun end to a weekday. Youngjae hangs his coat in the closet next to the backdoor. After taking out the garbage and making sure the door is locked firmly he begins performing his daily duties.

He turns a big bag of flour, some salt, and a couple of eggs into an entire metal tray of dough, covers it with plastic wrap, and leaves it in the fridge to rise. He sanitizes the counters and tables in the kitchen despite them already being mostly clean. He also throws on an apron (forgot again) before following a couple recipes and sliding a few trays into the big oven. Warmth only just begins to fill some spaces of his body, melting his frozen joints and pushing him into a cleaning spree. Anything that will warm him up.

Even with the lights on the front of the cafe looks a little gloomy. It can’t be helped though. Youngjae grabs a broom from the utility closet in the short hall that leads to the restroom and swings back into the main space. He starts sweeping from one end of the cafe. He whistles some while he works. All in all, he’s warmer and his nice mood is returning to him. He even recites some French as he sweeps since he has an exam on Tuesday, and if there’s a class Youngjae wishes he didn’t have to pick up in university, it’s French, or any foreign language for that matter. The chances that he’ll visit another country any time soon are seriously low. But due to his sliding by in high school without any pressure to learn one, university requires it. It was French or Chinese, and since Yugyeom is taking French he could “borrow” any notes he needed. Yugyeom is a whiz in school. It’s a sweet gig even if it is frustrating at times.

He’s only halfway through the months in French when a groan sounds in the empty space. Or, at least he thought it was empty. Apparently not.

Youngjae cautiously sweeps up to the last table before the space divides. There’s a wooden divider that separates the back of the table from the front door and another divided on the opposite side that does the same for the other side. He stops at the table and looks. It doesn’t take long to find the source of the sound as a leg stretches from beneath the table. Youngjae gasps, stumbling back without any way of stopping himself. He trips onto his back and stares wide-eyed at the leg that retracts at the same pace it had came out.

“I’m calling the police!” Youngjae digs in the pocket of the apron for his phone, shaken. “You should leave right now before I have you arrested.”

Another groan, and the leg reappears.

“I’m not kidding.”

“Oh, .” He sounds young.

“Are you alright?” Youngjae gets to his knees and crawls forward a little, craning his neck to get a good glimpse of the intruder. His heart jumps when the man scoots forward until his head is clear of the tabletop.

He doesn’t look homeless. Just tired.

“I think so,” he says, rubbing his face. Then he looks directly at Youngjae. “Thanks.”

“Good.” Not good. Not good at all. He’s handsome; dark, thick eyebrows peek out from beneath raven fringe. Slim, attractive, dark eyes blink slowly at him. A straight nose leads into pink lips. They look soft, too.

Good Lord.

“Are you homeless?” Youngjae asks tentatively.

“Homeless? No.” The man laughs, eyes squinting pleasantly. “No. I’m not homeless. I just have ty friends who would rather leave me here to pass out instead of having to lug my back to my apartment. I don’t blame them though. I’m heavy.”

He doesn’t look that heavy.

“Do you need money?” As if Youngjae has any to give.

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though, uh…-”

“Youngjae,” he drops in, smiling a little.

The man returns his smile.

“Jaebum.”

“We should probably…” Youngjae stands.

“Yeah, right.” Jaebum tries standing but ends up knicking the side of his head on the table and plopping back down in pain. Youngjae kneels again in a hurry.

“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly.

“Fine, fine.” His teeth are clenched.

“Here, let me help.” Youngjae stands again. He sticks out his hand and the man grabs it, relying heavily on Youngjae as he gets to his feet. He lets go then.

“Sorry about this,” Jaebum says apologetically.

“No worries.” Youngjae shakes his head, smiling a little. “You’re just lucky it was me and not Khun who found you.”

Jaebum his head.

“He would’ve tied you in a knot,” Youngjae elaborates, a little cautious, a little sorry for having said it so explicitly. But it’s true. Kunpimook has been taking Judo and Karate ever since he was old enough to stand. Jaebum would’ve been done for.

“Well then I’m really thankful. And see you around?” Jaebum smiles hopefully.

Youngjae nods. “Sure.”

The cafe is always swinging on Saturday night. College students from the surrounding area are all packed into the medium-sized shop, filling up on caffeine to fuel their long nights of paper writing and studying for tests. Of course there is more than one university in the area and scraps do break out occasionally. Although, Khun is pretty famous among the community for being the nicest, most dangerous person there ever was. So long as he’s working that night there shouldn’t be anything serious happening, and he is, so there isn’t. The cafe is loud but relatively peaceful.

Youngjae squeezes from booth to booth, table to table, taking orders and slinging trays. He gets hit on by the usual and dishes out the same, stale response, not letting them mess with his work. Among the usuals is Park Jinyoung. He’s a Junior from Yeongam All Boys University, a university about a twenty-five minute drive away from Mokpo University, where Youngjae goes, and yet the younger always finds him here on Saturday night. How he gets here and why he always shows in the first place when there have to be a million cafes just seconds away from Yeongam U is beyond Youngjae.

“I could treat you so well, Jae.” Jinyoung pushes some of his papers away so he can put one elbow on the table and rest his cheek in his open palm, eye level with Youngjae as he’s unloading plates from his tray. “You wouldn’t have to work all the time. Or, if you wanted, I could get you a position in my dad’s company. A pretty face like yours wouldn’t have a hard time getting approved by the old man.”

“I’m not in the market for a sugar daddy at the moment,” Youngjae says, a hand on his hip and mouth fixed into a smirk. “I’ll call you if I change my mind though.”

“Yeah, do that.” Jinyoung takes a sip of his latte, raking his eyes all over Youngjae in a way that makes him shiver in disgust. Youngjae rolls his eyes after he turns around and heads back behind the counter, tipping his imaginary hat at Yugyeom who is drowning at the cash register.

The owner is never around when the building is nearly bursting at its seams. He can however be seen doddling about when the only customers they have are old people and rich, business executives stopping in for a quick snack.

The cooks and few employees they have are at their wits end, Youngjae included. This happens every Saturday. It’s nothing new. That doesn’t mean the headache is ever welcome though. No one needs to talk to him when he has Jinyoung in one ear pestering him for dumb like more napkins when a station is set up mere feet away from him with all of that stuff layed out. No one needs to see him scrambling around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to take orders while Khun is the only other waiter on duty. Absolutely no one of importance can witness this trainwreck.

It is either a sick coincidence or part of some evil scheme when the bell over the door dings and Youngjae takes a millisecond break to glare at the group walking in, as if he doesn’t have enough college students down his throat. In that group is a handsome face that is definitely unwelcome at the moment. Apparently having friendliness in his genes, Jaebum waves and smiles upon seeing Youngjae. The younger smiles back but can’t wave as he has armfuls of pastries on trays. He gestures toward them with a nod and Jaebum nods back in understanding.

Another booth piles up with Jaebum and his friends. Youngjae knows all of them by name. Even though Jaebum constantly refers to them as ‘those s’ the title is more than unbefitting. After their first meeting Youngjae had run into Jaebum one night at a convenience store that caters to all students as it’s smack dab in the middle of the campuses. He promised to visit in order to make up for his ‘frat-like’ behavior. Youngjae told him he didn’t have to, but Jaebum insisted. He came a few times. Once alone, and once with his friends who left him that night.

Jackson is handsome and nice. His laugh sounds like a bullhorn, too.

Mark is just as loud, if not moreso. He’s captain of the D&D club at Mokpo despite attending Yeongam because they don’t have one. So Youngjae has seen him around before. He has never talked to him before though, which is quite a shame because he’s actually really funny in a nerdy way that makes Youngjae want to protect him and shove him in a locker at the same time. If that makes sense.

And Namjoon is...Namjoon. Youngjae doesn’t really know much about him. Expect that he has nice dimples when he smiles and likes to play frisbee. Wonderful.

Youngjae accidently on purpose slides right by Jinyoung’s request for another fork (there are chopsticks in a cup right on the table, he’ll survive) and walks to the end booth where Jaebum and his friends have piled in.

“Hi, Youngjae,” Mark greets in impeccable French.

“Oh, hello, hyung.” Youngjae responds in his ugly, broken accent, before switching back to Korean as not to embarrass himself further. “What can I get you?”

“Are you on the menu perhaps?” Jaebum asks, unashamed and smiling. The shock of such a greasy line coming out of the other man’s mouth is diluted when paired with the giddiness Youngjae feels simultaneously. He would never indulge someone like Jinyoung when it came to flirting. One reason being that he doesn’t exactly know how, another one being that when it comes out of Jinyoung’s mouth it sounds particularly indecent. Jaebum must have been born smooth. He sounds both playful and coy.

“Depends how much you’re willing to tip the waiter.” Youngjae not only surprises himself by saying this. Jaebum starts as well, one eyebrow hitching just the slightest. But he doesn't take long to bounce back.

“Here’s a tip,” Jaebum says invitingly. “Wear a poncho and boots next time. I’m not really a fan of all the looks you’re getting.”

Youngjae takes a quick scan of the cafe. He only sees Jinyoung fixing Jaebum’s table a severe glare. He stills puts on a smile, though, and accents it with a nod.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He brings the pad higher and presses a pen into it, turning to the rest of them. “Now, anything I can get you that we actually sell here?”

Clean up is always nice.

Oh, excuse him, it’s usually nice.

They really close at 12am, catering to the late-nighters and all. But schools in this area have a curfew of 11pm to discourage any frat nuts from partying until they can’t hold their liquor anymore and stumbling back to their dorm. As far as Youngjae knows, Mokpo (and apparently Yeongam as well) doesn’t penalize students for missing curfew, but they’d have to find somewhere else to sleep for the night.

Jinyoung has the luxury of owning a car. He has a little time to spare, and, if he is really determined, he has an apartment (he never fails to remind Youngjae) so he can hang around until they close if he chooses to. Youngjae really hopes that won’t be the case.

The place is nearly deserted. There are a few more students lingering at the counter, drinking coffee and pushing out a final effort at finishing whatever schoolwork they probably have due the next morning.

“We’ll be closing soon,” Youngjae reminds them when he takes out a rag to wipe the counter. One girl looks up at him with desperation in her eyes, her blonde nest of hair seems to frizz automatically as stress burrows more deeply in it. Her gaze cools slightly when she registers the situation and nods. Youngjae takes out a strawberry sorbet that someone had ordered before taking off, forgetting all about it. It’s a little runny at this point, but it’s still fruity and cold. He sets it on the counter.

“On the house.” He gives her a smile and balls his fists, punching the air gingerly. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” She takes the cup and quietly stabs the plastic spoon Youngjae gives her into it. She takes a bite. The fact that she savors the sweetness blanketing her tongue is all over her face. “I really needed this.”

“No problem,” Youngjae says, and then nod at her open laptop. “Paper?”

“Presentation actually,” she corrects him with a tired grin. “For Astronomy. That class is hell. I have to take it though, or else I won’t be a candidate for this lab internship I’m applying for.”

“Oh, what field?” He’s wiping the same spot now.

“Biology,” she huffs. “Why I need to know about the Little and Big Dipper in order to dissect some pig fetuses is beyond me. My high school Chem teacher gave us this hippie-dippie speech about all of the fields being intertwined and the astronomical field being a glue that holds them all together. Turns out she was only half crazy.”

“It’s fun at least?” Youngjae offers, trying to be helpful.

“Sure.” She shrugs with a smirk. “When we don’t have anything due until the next week and I can play checkers on my phone during his lecture.”

Youngjae laughs. He empathizes with her struggle on a spiritual level.

“There’s another where that came from,” Youngjae nods at the sorbet, “if you decide to make it through the end of your presentation without giving up.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Youngjae is dunking the dry rag in a bucket full of soapy water and preparing to lug it to a booth at either end of the cafe, when Astronomy girl calls for his attention.

He looks up at her.

“What’s up?”

“Is that guy your boyfriend or something?” She points over her shoulder nervously, not looking back and keeping her eyes on Youngjae. The latter traces a line from from her finger to the booth where Jinyoung is sitting, staring at him in a way that is neither flattering nor pleasing. A shiver disturbs the warm flesh on his neck.

“Not even close,” he says, turning back to the girl, shaking his head.

“I heard about him I think.” She her head a little and sighs in mild contemplation. “Park Jinyoung, right?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“I heard he had a couple of partners, but none of them worked,” she dishes in a hushed voice.

“I’m not surprised,” Youngjae says honestly. “It must be hard for him to prioritize another person over his pampered ego.”

“Yikes.” She chuckles. “Not a fan?”

Youngjae shrugs. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“Can I take that second one to go?” The girl hops down from the stool and slides her laptop into a cover and then into the red messenger bag hung over her shoulder.

“Sure.” Youngjae goes into the kitchen to grab a sorbet from the freezer. He sticks a spoon in it when he gets back to the counter, handing it over.

“This is real cool of you. Thanks,” she says. “I’m Jinah.”

“Youngjae.”

The bell rings when Jinah leaves. Youngjae turns to Jinyoung and is met with a grin.

“I’m going to kick you out,” he warns.

“No need, sweetness.” Jinyoung gathers his things, picking each piece stray paper up with an aggravating daintiness and places them in respective folders. Youngjae is reduced to tapping his foot in impatience as Jinyoung dons his coat, scarf, and hat with a purposeful slowness.

“I’ll come again,” Jinyoung says when he’s at the door, one hand on the handle.

“Can’t wait,” Youngjae deadpans.

Turns out Jaebum is more of a frat boy than Youngjae originally took him for. He invites him to a house party the next Friday. According to the Facebook pages of some of the people he’s mutuals with it’s usually a good time for everyone.

Not that he’s cyber-stalking him.

Youngjae spends ten minutes restlessly checking the message and thinking hard about going.

“If you’re trying to burn a hole in your phone then just pour some of the soup Khun made on it. It’s probably radioactive,” Yugyeom says from his bed.

“He’d probably cry if he heard you say that,” Youngjae says.

“Which is why I’m saying it behind his back,” Yugyeom informs him poshly. “So, are you going to that party or not?”

Youngjae looks over at him. “How did you-”

“Namjoon sent an invite. Khun is picking out couple outfits right now. Smite me.”

“Well, if you guys are going…” Youngjae texts back Jaebum a precarious ‘alright, i’ll go.’

It can’t be that bad.

Correction: It can be that bad.

Youngjae doesn’t know what to wear. He lets Khun dress him because he doesn’t give a care how he looks when it’s going to be too dark for anyone to call out the fact that his ripped tee clashes with his ripped jeans. His life is mess and he believes his clothes are an ironic full body demonstration of this.

Youngjae drives Yugyeom’s car as his two friends are more than a little faded from pre-gaming.

The room already smells like drunken and regret when they arrive. Some English rap music he can’t recall is bumping raucously in the background. Yugyeom has one hand down Khun’s pants before they can get to the nearest couch. Youngjae heads straight for the counter attached to the open kitchen where an array of drinks are set. Nothing is labeled. It’s all a mystery. Red tastes a little sharper than he prefers and blue tastes like liquified sugar. He mixes them both to create a dark purple and the room grows that much fuzzier after a few minutes spent sipping it.

“You made it.” It’s Namjoon. His deep timbre is unmistakable despite the slur whatever he has in his own cup is giving him. He’s looking dapper in an outfit very similar to Youngjae's, except the clothes mold to his body like warm leather. If the room were a little fuzzier he’d have to fight his urges. But, he’s not that gone yet.

“Have you seen Jaebum-hyung?” Youngjae asks, moving closer in anticipation of a reply.

“Earlier, yeah,” Namjoon answers while leaning in. “Haven’t seen him for the last hour.”

Youngjae is dejected just the slightest bit. He lets out a quiet sigh and nods.

“He’s somewhere, though. He isn’t the type to hook up.” Namjoon gives Youngjae's shoulder a friendly pat. “If you start looking now he might even be in his right mind when or if you find him. Dude is an ugly drunk. Sleeps under tables and all.”

Youngjae laughs. “Thanks.”

His search for Jaebum turns into a small adventure. Dark, crowded spaces seem much larger when he has so much purple surging through his veins. Everyone looks and feels strange. He’s sure someone just d him but he can’t think farther than men who sleep under tables.

He evens runs into Jinyoung. Unfortunately.

The man is face with a pole near the audio system. Youngjae just wants to get past them so he can check the upstairs, but Jinyoung has other ideas. He pulls away quickly and looks around guiltily like he’s just committed a crime. He then looks at Youngjae with a gracefully drunk smile.

“Hey, sweets. I didn’t know you were coming,” he says, attempting to lean on the wall and ultimately stumbling. He must have had a lot of the green. That looked wild.

“Me neither,” Youngjae says dryly. He looks around.

“My offer is still up for grabs.” He slides directly in Youngjae’s line of sight, forcing him to blink and focus. “Be my sugar baby. We could become a power couple.”

Maybe it’s the green that’s talking, he just sounds like an even bigger than normal. It isn’t at all becoming.

“I’m fine.” Youngjae steps aside and keeps walking. He hears Jinyoung say something like ‘your loss’. When he turns back around the space they just occupied is empty before it fills up again by partygoers looking for some oxygen to breathe.

When he turns back around he spots Jaebum, finally. The man is entrapped by a throng of people, all fist pumping and nodding to the way his body commands the music to beat at his own pace, his own rhythm.

Youngjae spends the duration of the song staring.

When that song blends into an entirely new one he begins making his way over to the dispersing crowd. He stands at the edge, waiting for a spot to open. Out of the commotion he can vaguely recognize actual words amidst the choppy sentences and slurring. They’re deciding to do something. It sounds important and many people are chiming in agreement. Before Youngjae really knows what’s going on the crowd shifts to the floor, only a portion, though. Somehow, Youngjae is swept up in the retreating tide. His hits the floor.

He’s now in a lopsided circle. The kid next to Youngjae smells like weed and Play Doh. Yugyeom is nowhere to be found and Khun is nowhere to be found with him, probably. Jaebum is on the opposite side of the circle.

Apparently they’re going to play Spin The Bottle. The reason a bunch of college kids are interested in playing a middle school game like that flies right over his barely tipsy, bordering on freshly drunk mind. He’s scarcely paying attention.

Before he knows it the bottle is pointing at him and the circle is turning to him. Youngjae doesn’t have time to grasp the situation before he sees a large shadow and Jaebum is crouching in front of him. He smells like alcohol and excitement. A big smile is on his face. He may even be blushing.

“Can I kiss you?”

Youngjae takes a second to turn his cup over and watch a sad drip splash onto the floor. Empty. But, he’s still not drunk enough for this. That might be a good thing. The fact that Youngjae is still somewhat in his right mind and he’s willingly nodding says something.

Does love have a taste? It should. To Youngjae, love tastes like Jaebum’s soft, alcohol laced breath. It tastes like a drop of bitter fruit as he walks a thin between infatuation and he doesn’t even ing know what this is. Jaebum tastes like a warm, summer night under a gazebo somewhere in California. His hands feel like a childhood he has coveted from every wild teenage romcom where the main character ends up in a ditch somewhere on top of a banged up Chevy with the love of their life wrapped up in their bosom.

They kiss until the uncontrolled hooting dies down.

They kiss until Youngjae can no longer feel his toes.

This isn’t his first kiss. He gave that up to a girl he knew for fifteen minutes for the sake of his confused teenage uality.

It feels right, though. Feels nice.

It’s too cold when Youngjae wakes up. He can still taste the purple and green on his dry tongue when he rolls over on a hard surface. Everything aches. Is he dead?

“Excuse me.”

Youngjae twitches. His eyes open and he hisses quietly at the bright light and familiar ugly tile. And, there he is. An angel. He’s definitely dead.

“Are you homeless?” Jaebum asks with a smile.

“If I said yes, would you take me home?” Hungover and shameless, that's what he is.

Jaebum laughs.

“Because then yes.”