AURORA

“Seungyoon, who is this beauty and why is he paying for his drinks? It’s clearly on the house for him” Minho exclaims, outraged, staring right into a boy on the counter with his wallet off, handing money to the cashier. Seungyoon shrugs but has no time to answer to his boss because he is already in front of the customer, the brightest smile plastered on his face, just ready to embarrass himself and the whole staff of Osechill once again.

“But, dear!” he proclaims, showing dimples on his cheeks, “please, accept our appreciation token to you as a thanks for visiting us,” the man blinks at Minho, confused, all-round, almond eyes, filled with stars and sincerity, a warm shade coloring them with delicateness. He is caught up red-handed, trying to pay for his consumptions - the ones Minho is insisting that are for free – and he doesn’t know what to do, if the adamant man in front of him is serious or if it’s all a joke. Seunghoon, who is on the cash register waiting for the payment, is as disoriented as the client is, looking puzzled.

“But…,” he stutters, torn between glancing at Seunghoon, the coins on his hand, and Minho. But Minho takes the money out of his grip and back to his wallet. Then he takes his hand on his in a grand, flourished movement, his smile spreading.

“I’m Minho, the owner of the café,” he introduces himself, “I’m enchanté to meet you, my darling,” Minho continues, cutting off any possible interruption from the young, beautiful man in front of him who is too shocked to even respond. His hand, soft, feels perfect between his own, his fingers curling to fit on his hold. With a ridiculous bowing, he kisses gently his palm before letting him go. Minho loves being loud and theatrical, but Seungyoon often thinks of his boss as exaggerated and noisy with his pompous gestures and grandiloquent words - and his exasperated attempts to use French for the effect that it causes on incautious girls. Of course Seungyoon is aware that this is all fake, an exhibition, a courtesy to make clients feel welcomed and appreciated, but this time it hits differently - this time there is a sheen that isn’t usually on Minho’s eyes, a twinkle dancing on his eyes.

His laugh is as charming as his smile - and Minho feels disarmed contemplating it spread, conquering his whole face. His heart does a twist and the air of his lungs dissipates in the summer afternoon. He needs this smile in his life, he needs it for his own sake. He will do anything to preserve it, to keep it to himself, to be the cause of it, the words causing him to tremble in joy and delight.

“Then…,” his voice is just as soft as his eyes are, his hand still resting at the end of Minho’s fingers, lingering there, half-holding, half-escaping. “Thank you,” he continues, graciously, with his cheeks in full bloom. “I’m Jinwoo, nice to meet you all,” he adds, looking around, taking into account the rest of the staff members working at Osechill.

Even his name is lovely.

It only takes one glance for Seungyoon to know that Minho is properly whipped and ruined by this fine, polite man named Jinwoo. Hopefully, though, he will have enough sense to never come back again - because Minho is too much, usually, but has overdone himself trying to impress him and his expression was a cry to the sky for help, cringing at every new word escaping from Minho’s lips, trying too hard to keep it down even when Minho wanted to keep it up, to intrude inside his life with personal questions and constants comments about how lovely and beautiful he was. Annoying, intense, too much – and Seungyoon wonders how anyone could be so polite and amiable to Minho as Jinwoo is, laughing at all his lame jokes, answering to all of his inquiries even when he was about to leave a moment ago.

Much to Seungyoon’s dismay, Jinwoo returns the very next day.

“My dear Jinwoo!” Minho welcomes him in with his sun-shining, blinding, smile worth ten thousands of watts. “What can we serve you? We just cocooned a new beverage that we will be delighted to let you try, free of charges!” he explains just as Jinwoo sits down on a table at the corner of the room. Osechill is empty this early in the morning but Minho’s ego fills the room like a balloon.

Minho takes a whole ten minutes to explain to him the different offer they have available today - though they are on the menú that Jinwoo was reading, - and even without Jinwoo asking, he brings him a drink out of order that they have been working on recently. A bubble of nitrogen that will explode to chill the blended mixture of three parts coconut alcohol and two parts coffee. It feels cold but the massive bubble, that engulfs the whole goblet, explodes in a puff of iced smoke that leaves traces of tiny particles in the room.

Jinwoo giggles at the experience, clapping enthusiastically - more than needed, probably, Seungyoon thinks while cleaning. And Minho takes pride in explaining to him the secret mechanism of it, how they have created it and Jinwoo is all ears, listening to him attentively, nodding to all that Minho is telling him, totally captivated.

“We are trying to come out with a nice name. Maybe we can use yours?” he beams at Jinwoo, expectantly but Jinwoo shakes his head, colored cheeks, and sparkling eyes.

“It’s too good to be wasted on me,” he says, refusing politely. Seungyoon can only agree - they won’t name anything after Minho’s love interests, it’s peak stupidity even if Minho insists and persists that his name is precious and fits perfectly for the drink.

Behind the counter Seunghoon is laughing at his boss' weird actions. This is nothing new exactly, he has often used this same method on other conquers – though none of the consumptions they serve is named after a real person - this has escalated too far and too quickly - it’s been one day and Minho has only been remembering Jinwoo.

Minho is the type to easily fall in love. But as easy as he falls, he is out of it. Sometimes it lasts a day, sometimes it’s just a slight infatuation, usually, he is done and cursing romance after a week, when all the adrenaline and the trembling emotions have been surpassed. But it has been a month and the only thing Minho talks about is Kim Jinwoo, who has become a usual client at Osechill - probably because Minho is always forbidding him to pay and gifting him with undemanded drinks that he takes graciously with a smile and a soft thanks that leaves Minho daydreaming of gentle kisses on the beach, the sun coloring his skin, his hands dancing on his hips, holding him pressed against his chest, listening to his heart-beats. Not that Seungyoon wants to know any of it, not that Minho hasn’t spoiled his love for Jinwoo to all of his workers, obligating them to act extra nice to him.

Sometimes, watching the poor victim of Minho’s affections, Seungyoon wants to advise him to run away, that Minho is properly obsessed with him. But, then, Jinwoo laughs at all of Minho’s jokes so willingly, complimenting his café and his gastronomic offers so sincerely, it feels wrong, as if stepping into a blossoming garden to stop spring from coming, ruining the efforts of the flourishing flowers. Seunghoon has sided with Minho and, when he is not around, he sits with Jinwoo, keeping him company, talking with him as if friends - telling him about Song Minho, the person behind all the drama and performance at Osechill to please customers.

“So, this is like a stage,” he explains to him, “and Minho is the lead actor and owner. He does what he wishes, and he wishes to be extravagant and excessive, but it works out quite well, even when he is odd and random” and Jinwoo nods, taking in all of his rarities as if welcoming them to his core, taking one of the daisies from the little bucket decorating his table - the one that has perpetually his name on it, the one that Minho has assigned as his own. He swirls it between his fingers, lost in contemplating it.

“Minho is so very nice,” he murmurs mostly to himself, but Seunghoon takes notes to pass it to Minho and to gossip later on with Seungyoon, on their walk home. “Like this,” he says, pointing at the flowers laying on the surface, “I commented that my favorite flowers were daisies once and, the next day, all the coffee-shop was covered with them, and I always find them here, waiting on this same table.” He is so innocent, so blind, Seunghoon wants to cry for Minho and his ginormous endeavors wasted: flowers, investigating new concoctions, cooking his favorite snacks, and biscuits to accompany his floral teas, storing soju and beer that only Jinwoo drinks. He has gone totally out of his line to please Jinwoo, has put a titanic effort just to be labeled as “nice” - which Minho will take with his whole heart, been as happy about it as if Jinwoo has confessed an undying love that it’s only on Minho’s head. He has done so much that he deserves better – Seunghoon wants for him to be as loved as he loves Jinwoo, - but maybe Jinwoo is just blind and oblivious, not noticing the after-taste of all of Minho’s actions, his clear intentions that are only slightly veiled but that anyone could see.

Indeed, Minho is on cloud nine when Seunghoon reports what Jinwoo has said about him.

Next morning Minho has a new drink ready for Jinwoo to try. This time is a colorful, layered iced drink he has invested weeks of hard, diligent work. He has poured into it all that Jinwoo is: it tastes sweet and soft, it has the shades Minho paints his soul with - creams and lilacs and rosy. There is a hint of sour flavor representing his hard-to-get side that Minho so much adores (and that often gives him a headache after trying to over-analyze the meaning of it, if there is meaning after it at all). It has milky coffee and pressed flowers, served in a beautiful glass decorated with burnt sugar.

Jinwoo appreciates it wholeheartedly, drinks it kindly with a gleaming smile.

“It tastes refreshing and fruity,” he dissects the drink like a professional. He swirls it to fully allow the bucket to sink on his palatal before swallowing it in small sips. He does that with every drink that Minho offers, even the ones he is already familiar with - Seungyoon has witnessed him savoring tea this same way which made him wonder if Jinwoo is a real sommelier working somewhere.
 

“Minho is not whipped, this time he has properly fallen in love,” Seunghoon says, kissing Seungyoon’s curls, both snuggling on the sofa on their day off. Osechill closes on Monday but, even out of work, they still talk about Song Minho - because he is so helpless, so enamored of Jinwoo, they feel it’s their mission to give him a hand – at least Seunghoon feels this way, Seungyoon wants to laugh at him and all his failing attempts to capture Jinwoo’s heart.

“Maybe. But he is only getting more and more ridiculous on his confessions,” Seungyoon points out, curling himself around Seunghoon’s body, feeling the warmth that he irradiates, beating the coldness of autumn that is just beginning to wither them.

Minho’s last attempt proved Seungyoon’s words to be true. Other than owning a coffee, Minho is a renamed artist and he exposes his works at Osechill – he uses it as his private gallery. He changed all his paintings with new ones - he relocates them normally once every trimester. But, instead of bringing in the usual ones, - strange forms with a mix of surrealist colors- -, he located Jinwoo’s portraits hanging on the walls and layering on the floor, natural oil paintings of his face, a bust sized one detailed to the core. It was overwhelming for Seunghoon so it was only natural that the plan sunk, that Jinwoo was scared with the revelation that he had been painted, observed to the minimum detail, trapping his soul in a painting he wasn’t aware of.

“Can you, please, take them out for me? It’s a bit… too much for my taste. I feel contemplated by my own eyes,” he asked, gently, smiling shyly, with a side of a joke lingering at the end of his wording. Minho was disappointed when he came and the canvas was nowhere to be found. He was sad at Jinwoo’s words.

“But Jinwoo got the message, didn’t he?” Seunghoon’s faith in them is beyond Seungyoon’s comprehension.

The fact that Kim Jinwoo comes back daily to Osechill is also unbelievable, the only rational explanation for it to happen is that he is blind, naive and innocent, not seeing any of Minho’s signs of alarm - his predator behavior, how he is always eyeing Jinwoo as if to devour him with teeth and tongue. Seungyoon’s theory is that Jinwoo likes to be Minho’s personal sommelier - or that he likes to drink for free first thing early in the morning. He comes every day, sits and waits for Minho to greet him with a drink he hasn’t ask for that, nevertheless, he will taste and try, providing him with a review of his new beverages before they make it to the menu - that is crafted and tailored to fit Jinwoo’s taste and flavor.
 

Minho is, again, ignoring any other client that isn't Jinwoo. He has been talking with him for over an hour, putting colors to his fair skin, filling Osechill with the music that is his laugh, the glorious pleasure that is listening to his replies. He feels blessed with his company and he will favor him over his business - he can go bankrupt for Jinwoo, he will love to only have him as a client; he is so easy to please and so lovely to serve, he never complains and he is always ready to aid him with his new inventions.

“Is somewhere you would like to visit, hyung?” Minho asks, curious. Jinwoo smiles at him like a bliss from the sky above.

“I would really love to go to Iceland and see an aurora there,” he explains, beaming, bemusing Minho.

That night, back home, Minho checks up how much it would cost a trip there for two - it is so monumentally expensive that he should sell Osechill to afford it and the café is the only place where he can see Jinwoo, so it’s out of the discussion. For an hour he sulks and pouts, tormented by the fact that he can’t make Jinwoo’s wishes come true, that they won’t be able to see an aurora able to paint in mysterious shades Jinwoo’s eyes, with gleam and joy and delight. That’s all he wants: to be the reason of Jinwoo’s happiness, to be able to make him smile, to be the hand after all his dreams and expectations, to draw his fantasies into reality.

And then, suddenly, he knows what to do.

He stays up three nights in a row. He doesn’t come to the coffee shop - he lets Seunghoon and Seungyoon mind the store, trusting that they will continue his legacy of offering free drinks to Jinwoo.

His kitchen is in utter chaos. There are cups and glasses everywhere, splashes of joyous shades, a dash of color on the sink, over half the furniture. Bottles of alcohol, juices, fruit peels on the floor, orange and lime rinds everywhere around. And then the perfect creation. In a small glass, blend the most amazing cocktail. A perfect gradation of soft pink, sky green, and pale neon blue, all splashed with a constellation of granulated sugar. And it tastes like Jinwoo - like peaches and vanilla and holidays. It is beautiful. Minho keeps it safe and sleeps for 24 hours straight.
 

Jinwoo blinks at it, amazed when Minho presents it to him with a proud smile.

“It’s called Aurora,” he introduces the drink to Jinwoo, who stares at it fascinated.

“It’s like being there, oh, Minho, it’s wonderful!” he exclaims, teary eyes. “It is so precious I can’t even think of drinking it,” he exposes, stargazing inside the cocktail as if looking at the firmament on a freezing night in Iceland.

“I can make another one, don’t worry, just try it,” Minho is so encouraging, has done so much for him, his heart is fluttering like a flock of swans, his hands shake in anticipation and when his lips touch the drink it’s like floating between heaven and the ocean. It is fizzy with a side of soda and a slight touch of rum and vodka.

“Good Lord, I can’t even describe it!” he says, drops falling down his fair cheeks. Minho smiles softly, his fingers wiping salt away from his lips, to impede the mixture to happen and ruin the whole experience again.

“I made it for you. Because you wanted to see the aurora but I can not pay for the actual trip there,” he confesses, all honestly.

“But, you don’t have to do any of this!” he cries out, surprised. His cheeks are burning red and there are more tears sliding down his flesh.

“But I wanted to make you happy,” Minho’s voice is reassuring, tender, his hands lacing over Jinwoo’s, protectively. “I wanted you to smile for me”.

“I’m always smiling for you,” Jinwoo murmurs, still in disbelief. “You don’t have to do anything special for me, Minho,” he says, intertwining his fingers with Minho’s, holding his hand, drawing with his fingertips the palm of his hand.

“I only wanted you to be happy here, in our Osechill,” Minho is the one mumbling now, head down, dejected. “So you would come back and I would be able to have another glance of the beauty that you are, the kindest soul that touched mine since the first moment you stepped here,” he continues, rambling, lost in the torrent of worlds that he wants to deliver, the feelings and emotions that Jinwoo represents to him, the force and the courage and the love he has imbued him with. “I was nothing before meeting you, but you make me want to improve, to do better. I started confectioning new drinks to impress you and to enrich my abilities as a bartender and, please, don’t tell me that you won’t come over anymore because I’m head over feet in love with you and you find me creepy and annoying and disturbing and…”

Jinwoo drinks Minho’s last words, kills them with smooth lips that taste like heaven, like an aurora on the sky above his sight.

“You truly are annoying. I’ve been coming here with hopes that you would notice me. And then you did all these wonderful things just for me,” he says, cupping his small face, his mouth tempting, a breath away. Minho looks at the color of his hazelnut eyes, the shape of his soul peeking through his orbs - warm, sweet, gentle; Jinwoo is like hot chocolate on a winter day, cozy, melting away all the fears.

“I’ve noticed you from the start, you should have known,” Minho smirks, relishing on Jinwoo’s lips.

“Maybe I did but I said nothing so you would pamper me,” he laughs inside the kiss and the flavor is exactly as Minho has always dreamt.

“I will always pamper and spoil you, Kim Jinwoo,” and this is a promise, Jinwoo is sure, closing his eyes and leaning on Minho for support, foreheads touching, his nose bumping with Minho’s.

“Thank you, but you don’t have to,” he says gently against his skin, his voice blowing his hair.

“I have to, to keep you as my boyfriend,” he replies, smiling brighter than the sun.

“Boyfriend?” Jinwoo chuckles, tickling Minho’s core, “so are we dating, officially? I thought we already were and that you were trying hard just to get into my bed,” he jokes and Minho squishes his waist between his arms, holding him sitting on his lap, his hands caressing his nape, his voice everywhere.

“I didn’t work that out. I was too worried trying to get your heart,” he confesses, pressing the space between his blades where his pulse flows, the life that he owns.
 

“Do you think this is all real or a collective illusion?” Seunghoon asks, watching Jinwoo and Minho staring into each other with dopey smiles.

“I think that Aurora has too much alcohol and it has clouded Jinwoo’s mind,” Seungyoon smirks, glancing over the receipt for the new drink – 99% alcohol, 1% soda and 444% of Minho’s love and affection.