There are times when Youngjae likes to convince himself he’s past the pubescent stage of forming superficial, hormonal crushes based mostly on looks, that he’s a mature, decisive nineteen-year-old capable of making logical, sensible decisions regarding his love interests.

Then there are times like these when all that gladly goes flying out the nearest window in favour of accidentally forming previously mentioned irrational superficial hormonal crushes.

Times like these include the one afternoon when Youngjae’s working the register during his shift during a rather overcast late afternoon at the quaint café just a few streets away from the college dorms. It’s a cozy, quiet place frequented by the college students, run mostly rather reluctantly by the owner’s son Jaebum, a senior held in high admiration in Youngjae’s faculty who’d dragged him into the business once he heard Youngjae could make coffee, when his father fell sick and Jaebum had to take over the management. The pay’s decent, the company is good (though when Jackson’s sharing Youngjae’s shift he begs to differ) and making coffee’s fun, so Youngjae guesses he really can’t say anything in complaint.

Until today, that is.

The café’s rather empty in the late afternoon, even more so with thunderclouds above rumbling threateningly in the sky, and Youngjae’s rather happily accepting another quiet, easy afternoon he can spend catching up on his tutorial worksheets behind the counter when what he’s quite sure is an angel in a leather jacket and worn jeans pushes open the door, causing the bell hung above to tinkle merrily at his entrance, shaking stray droplets of rain from his vividly red hair that fall to the floor like crystals.

Youngjae almost ducks behind the cash register in shock- having someone stun him that badly with their looks is saying something, taking into account the already unearthly gorgeous humans he works with on a daily basis. There’s something in the stranger’s large, dark eyes, the porcelain paleness of his skin that looks like it’ll fracture and shatter with the slightest touch, the slenderness of the fingers that reach up to brush raindrops off the lapels of his jacket in vague annoyance. His presence seems to steal every last glimmer of light in the room, so in the hushed dimness of the atmosphere, the beautiful boy is practically glowing.

Youngjae can’t help but stare discreetly from behind the register as the gorgeous stranger hoists his black messenger bag a little higher over his shoulder, walking over to one of the smaller tables by the window and taking a seat, before rather carelessly draping his bag over the opposite chair.

He’s here alone? With a face like that, that’s hard to believe.

All thoughts are disrupted, however, when the door to the kitchens opens noisily, shattering the precious silence, and Youngjae almost jumps, turning with a glare to face an obnoxious grin on an equally obnoxiously handsome face.

“You dreaming on us or something, Youngjae-ah?” Youngjae whines when Jackson wraps a playful (but still very muscular) arm around his neck, bending him down several inches to rub a fist in his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a customer out here?”

“Because you’re supposed to be out here yourself already, hyung,” Youngjae pouts, glumly fixing his hair when Jackson lets go. Jackson isn’t listening anymore, though, and Youngjae doesn’t have to look to know he’s staring at the ethereal being casting empty glances out the window into the bleak street beyond.

“Whoa,” Jackson says, audibly but hopefully not audible enough to be heard over the soft ballads Jinyoung likes to play over the sound system on repeat in the background (but then again, when Jackson’s concerned, everyone hears him). “When did models start populating this dingy place? I thought only desperate college students came here for caffeine boosts.”

“He’s probably in college too,” Youngjae mutters at a significantly lower volume, nodding towards the messenger bag haphazardly tossed on the chair, notes stuffed into manila files peeking out from within. He wonders what course he’s taking, before realizing that it really shouldn’t matter to him, not when he’s probably never going to know, and he erases the thought easily.

“Alright, rephrase: when did models start attending college? Don’t they have actual lives?” Jackson squints, before whipping over to stare into the reflective surface of one of the straw dispensers, lifting his snapback and pushing his hair back. “Hey Jae, does my hair look good? This one’s gonna be special, I can feel it.”

“Hmm,” Youngjae says thoughtfully, before he lifts the cap again and tucks a lock of fringe back. “There. Now go make him swoon, hyung.”

“Right-oh,” Jackson salutes him silently, before sliding on his most charismatic grin, the one that’s the reason for the hordes of girls flocking in during lunchtime (Youngjae knows they’ve tracked all of Jackson’s shifts because he’s heard them giggling and swapping notes while he wipes down tables, gratefully unnoticed), and stalks confidently out from behind the counter.

Hyung will probably look good with him, Youngjae thinks mutely as he watches, slightly amused, as Jackson pops one of his cheesy, “what can I get you? This café’s first recommendation would be our white chocolate vanilla lattes, with a complimentary dose of the one and only Jackson Wang”, lines and the stranger gives him a look. It just fits, he thinks, someone short and built and loud as a foghorn with someone as demure and quiet and prim as that stranger, currently chuckling dryly, probably at one of Jackson’s deliberately lame jokes. He can see Jackson shelling ridiculous puns on their group dates out with friends, can see the stranger rolling his eyes and hitting his shoulder or pushing him over. They’ll fit. It’s a dynamic everyone can understand. They’ll look good together.

Better than with you, anyway.

Youngjae lets out a short, breathy laugh, dry and listless, at the thought. Yeah, true. He turns to the counter to find something to distract himself, and frowns at several dried droplets of coffee on the countertop, reaching back for a rag to wipe at them till they disappear. By the time he’s satisfied with the tabletop’s general state of hygiene, Jackson is returning, the notebook he uses to take his orders still open in his hand, a slightly miffed look on his face.

“I have never-…” Jackson’s slowly turning the colour of a tomato, and Youngjae’s suddenly trying not to laugh. “Met anyone so rude. He called me a poser. Me! I am the most original person he’ll probably ever meet. The one and only Jackson Wang. And what kind of a coffee order is this? I couldn’t spell half the things on this freaking grocery list, holy-…”

Youngjae’s already peering at the lengthy order in Jackson’s cramped scrawl on the rough paper, raising an eyebrow. “Wow. Raspberry and chocolate swirls with two hunks of caramel-…”

“Do we even have pumpkin spice?” Jackson gestures violently, almost knocking over the straw holder and several bottles of sugar syrup. “And why sixteen pieces of white chocolate chips? Why, is he gonna die of overexposure if we give him seventeen?”

“Chill, hyung,” Youngjae laughs, tugging the paper from the notebook. “I’ll handle it. I used to make coffee for my mom, she’d yell if I got one more grain of sugar in her coffee than what was predestined in her recipes.”

“Yeah, you handle this,” Jackson huffs, snapping the notebook shut. “I’m going to go yell at Yugyeom in the back for a bit to vent.”

“You gotta come back out after a while to give him the coffee!” Youngjae calls, and Jackson gives a noncommittal wave of his hand before disappearing behind once more.

Youngjae shrugs then, opening several cupboards and pulling out bottles of spices and ingredients he never thought he’d actually have to use here. The coffee is done in a little longer than usual (it’d taken a while to change the settings so the milk frothed at exactly 71.5 degrees Celcius) and Youngjae kicks the door as he sets the cup on a tray with a napkin to let Jackson know.

“You’re a wizard with this, you know that?” Jackson mutters, disgruntled, after he’s out, as he picks the tray up and starts off for the table, and Youngjae grins cheekily.

He can’t deny the fact that he’s watching nervously for the stranger’s reaction as Jackson sets the coffee down, exchanging a couple choice words with him, before heading back. The boy’s leaning back, face a picture of perfect indifference as he plucks the cup from the tray without even looking at it, and he takes a sip.

Youngjae swears his heart almost shoots straight up into his mouth when the boy frowns slightly, brow raised, after his sip, and he turns for the first time to look over to the register, and their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds. Then the stranger’s turning back, taking another sip, all expression sliding off his face once more in favour of what Youngjae’s starting to know as his usual uncaring listlessness.

The door to the counter opens, and Youngjae turns, dusting stray grains of sugar off his hands, to see Jackson giving him a knowing smirk.

“His name’s Mark, by the way,” Jackson says easily, and Youngjae gives him a weighted look, wondering if there’s actually a reason for this information.

“And you think I need to know that because…?” Youngjae asks, wondering what the ship name for the two of them would be (Markson sounds good, he thinks, satisfied with himself) as he turns around, pressing several buttons on the milk frother so the settings change back.

Jackson shrugs exaggeratedly, before heading back in (that jerk), and leaving Youngjae in rather bemused confusion.

*

That was two weeks ago, and by now Youngjae’s starting to get a little suspicious.

The stranger- Mark, he corrects himself, comes in every afternoon, sometimes earlier, sometimes later, always carrying his messenger bag and ordering the same thing with the same derisive expression, which quickly fades to indifference once Jackson, or whoever’s waiting on him, is gone. Only now, he places his bag on the floor, leaving the opposite chair empty, as if waiting for someone to sit with him.

To Youngjae’s surprise, no one ever comes.

Youngjae’s seriously starting to suspect at least a tiny crush that Mark may be harbouring for his obnoxious colleague, and watches their daily banter unfold with interest and amusement. It’s obvious that the two of them have a naturally stellar synergy- but on a certain Monday afternoon he changes his mind.

Youngjae doesn’t see Mark come in that day- he’s too busy whipping up white chocolate raspberry frappuccinos for the girls at table 4 on their daily Jackson fanclub visitations, so by the time he hands the tray off to Jackson, snickering at the exaggerated exhaustion on the other boy’s face (when everyone knows that Jackson secretly enjoys the attention more than anything else), Mark’s already in the café.

Yugyeom comes out from the staff kitchen, balancing a tray of delicate mouthwatering looking confectionaries, all painstakingly iced and decorated by hand, and Youngjae follows him with his eyes hopefully as he extracts a shot of espresso from the coffee machine.

Yugyeom, one of Youngjae’s longest childhood friends, still in his last year of high school, is the other reason for the clusters of tittering noonas that come straight from the office buildings during lunch hour, immaculately clad in their tight white Oxford dress shirts and slender pencil skirts and bold lipstick, pressing sophisticated words of praise for the pretty cakes and desserts onto the shy boy. Youngjae’s taken it upon himself to ensure their advances stay on that side of the counter, and though he protests it’s his responsibility to protect the café staff’s baby, Yugyeom always saves little cupcakes for him, with the marzipan flowers and soft icing, just as he knows Youngjae loves it.

“Yours is in the back, hyung,” Yugyeom says, rolling his eyes, as he starts to arrange the delicacies in the glass display and crystal tiered dishes, and Youngjae cheers.

“You’re gold, Gyeommie,” he grins, abandoning the espresso shot to poke his head into the back, picking the cake up like it’s a piece of treasure and heading back out.

It’s unfortunate, then, that just as he’s polishing off the dessert, making exaggerated embarrassing noises of pleasure to make Yugyeom laugh, that someone clears their throat behind the counter and Youngjae almost drops the cake.

“Can we make our orders here?”

Youngjae swallows his mouthful, face turning red as he grabs a serviette to wipe off his lips as Yugyeom sniggers behind him, heading back into the kitchen for another round of cakes, and Youngjae glares at him before he turns around and realises he’s face to face with Mark.

He really hates Yugyeom right now. And Jackson too.

It’s the first time Youngjae’s heard him speak up close, and he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but the deliciously rough edge to the baritone of his voice sort of catches Youngjae off guard, and he has to struggle to process a response.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Youngjae half shrugs, blinking, hoping there aren’t any smudges of cream on his face. “But um, actually, our waiter Jackson can just-…”

A loud round of feminine laughter shatters the atmosphere, and Youngjae almost rolls his eyes when he sees Jackson leaning over at the table, flicking the edge of his stupid cap back, grinning as the girls laugh at another one of his stupid jokes.

“…yeah,” Mark turns back, tone dry and unamused. “He’s kind of busy. So uh, about my order, could I have a double-shot Frappuccino with two-…”

“Your usual?” Youngjae says, amused, and Mark looks surprised.

“You memorised it?”

“Well, no one’s ever given me an order quite like yours,” Youngjae laughs, turning around to pluck a mug from where they’re neatly arranged on the draining rack. “You want anything to go with that?”

“Not really,” Mark says, already looking away nonchalantly, and Youngjae feels slightly put out by the lack of interest in his voice. Mark remains by the counter, though- so Youngjae turns around, slightly puzzled and amused.

“Um, I could uh, get Jackson to bring it over when I’m done? The girls have got to get tired of him eventually,” he chuckles, and Mark offers a breathy, short laugh, low and steady, which sort of imprints itself in the auditory recesses of Youngjae’s memory, rolling around in his head till he’s sure he’ll never quite forget the sound of it.

“Actually, uh…” Mark’s eyes land on the cakes, and he jabs a thumb in the direction of the glass displays. “Could you uh…tell me about the pastries?”

“The cakes?” Youngjae frowns slightly, then it hits him and oh.

Oh.

…Yugyeom?

“Ah,” Youngjae stutters slightly, trying to process the new information. It isn’t like he’s particularly opposed to the idea of Mark pursuing the younger boy, it’s just not possible… for other reasons. “Yeah, Yugyeom, our baker, his specialty’s the red velvet cakes actually, they’re really good. And my personal favourite would be the mini cupcakes, I’d eat them every day if I wasn’t worried about getting diabetes,” he gives a laugh he hopes doesn’t sound too forced.

“Ah, cool,” Mark nods, and by then, Youngjae’s almost done with the coffee, so he puts it on a tray with a serviette, quashing all unease at the pit of his stomach to beam up at Mark.

“Sorry about having to take it back yourself,” he laughs nervously, before raising his voice a little so he’s sure Jackson will hear. “Our waiter isn’t exactly very reliable.”

Jackson has the decency to turn around and give a sheepish grin from where he’s still at the table, probably signing the giggling girls’ files and caps with their lipstick, and Youngjae rolls his eyes, but by then Mark’s already gone, taking the coffee back to his table.

Maybe it’s fate, then, that that’s when the door’s pushed open loudly, so the bell above tinkles madly, and Bambam saunters in, designer tote swinging carelessly from a loosely curled hand, leopard print cap with cute matching ears painstakingly angled on his head so the styled pink locks of his bangs aren’t mussed.

“Hey hyung,” he sends a charming grin over the counter, flicking a rather insignificant crumb from the countertop in vague annoyance before he balances his bag on the supposedly sufficiently clean area, propping his elbows on the glassy surface as Youngjae waves a hello, trying not to laugh.

“Yugyeom’s inside, he’s coming out in a moment,” Youngjae chuckles derisively at the slightly affronted but still pleased expression that slides on Bambam’s face.

“You say that like I wouldn’t come here just to visit my friends,” he whines, twisting a soft lock of hair around his finger, and Youngjae rolls his eyes, used to the younger boy’s theatrics by now.

“Would you?” he raises an eyebrow, and Bambam pretends to gasp.

“That hurts,” he places a hand over his chest, a look of mock agony on his face, and Youngjae has to fight down gales of laughter. “Who wouldn’t want to come here just to see cute little Youngjae-ah?”

“I am your hyung,” Youngjae says defensively, and Bambam lets out a merry laugh that somehow still manages to sound harmlessly derogatory at the same time, before reaching over to pat Youngjae’s cheeks.

“Keep thinking that, hyung,” he says, grinning mischievously when Youngjae looks exasperated. “Now then, about my usual?”

“You are such a brat,” Youngjae huffs, turning around to pluck the tall, slender, iced coffee glasses from the shelf anyway. “I have no idea how Yugyeom manages you.”

“It’s a privilege, hyung, you don’t know what you’re missing out on,” Bambam says as he flicks open a compact mirror miraculously produced from the depths of his bag, before carefully inspecting his hair.

Youngjae rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t fall out of his head, but all exasperation is quickly reduced to confusion when he turns to grab the sugar syrup and his gaze happens to land on Mark, whose dark eyes are trained on Bambam, expression unreadable.

Come to think of it…

Bambam’s a frequent customer (no wondering why, when Yugyeom’s concerned), and more than a few of his visits had coincided with Mark’s. He’s a prominent figure, there’s no denying that, and Mark had definitely noticed him the last few times Bambam had come.

Could it be?

But then, just as Youngjae’s getting unnecessarily worried, the kitchen door swings open quietly just as Youngjae’s spraying excessive amounts of whipped cream atop the ice blended maccha java chip mochaccino, and Bambam brightens up, before quickly hiding the change in expression behind a mask of lazy indifference.

“Bambam!” Yugyeom beams, eyes crinkling into a smile that has Youngjae pretending to puke into the register, balancing yet another tray of gorgeous chocolate morsels. “You came!”

“Of course I came,” Bambam rolls his eyes, as though it’s a given. “And shut up, Youngjae-hyung, it’s not like you’re any different with-…”

And suddenly Jackson bursts out of seemingly nowhere, making giant obnoxious X signs with his arms and mouthing exaggerated NOs though Youngjae is right there and can obviously see him, and Bambam trails off, looking slightly disturbed.

“Hyung, what the he-…”

 “Wait, first of all,” Youngjae interrupts, momentarily forgetting the much feared repercussions of ever interrupting Bambam. “What’s this about me not being any different?”

Bambam glares at him with enough firepower to burn out an army of passive-aggressive middle aged househusbands. “I’m going to overlook the fact that you just cut into the middle of my sentence in favour of pitying your ignorance.”

Youngjae turns to look suspiciously at Jackson, who immediately does a wide about turn that makes him look like an overcooked noodle, before sidling into the staff kitchen.

“Ah, you’ll figure it out soon, hyung,” Yugyeom says reassuringly, before Youngjae can go into the kitchen and start an interrogation, and Youngjae turns to him, a betrayed look on his face.

“You’re in on this too, Gyeommie?” he says, and Yugyeom barely has a second to look guilty before Bambam’s cutting in.

“Yah, don’t disturb Yugyeom,” he snaps, straightening imperiously, once more automatically drawing all attention back to himself. “Like he said, this is something you need to figure out on your own. It’s a coming-of-age thing, or whatever.”

“But-…” Youngjae protests.

“Hush,” Bambam snaps his fingers, giving him a glare. “Mochaccino. Now. What kind of service is this? I’m so not tipping you this time.”

Youngjae mutters dissonance under his breath as he finishes up the extravagant drink, handing it over sourly, and Bambam flashes him a blinding smile, before promptly forgetting him as he turns to the staff’s maknae, still carefully arranging chocolate delicacies in the glass display case.

“Gyeommie-ahhh~”

Yugyeom looks up with an extremely halfhearted scowl, rolling his eyes slightly before setting the tray down on the counter and disappearing into the staff kitchen, reappearing a few seconds later carrying a gorgeously iced slice of chocolate fudge and cherry cake, and Bambam’s smile widens.

It’s a sort of ritual between the two of them, Youngjae’d realised some time ago, which can be reduced basically down to Bambam coming to the café and acting like a brat in front of his (younger, might Youngjae add) boyfriend until he caved in and gave him some prettily decorated sweet treat, and though Youngjae knows it’s Bambam’s rather twisted method of assuring himself of his control over the other boy, it’s kind of irritating when Jaebum comes to him at the end of the month with annoyed questions about how the café’s inventory keeps disappearing.

Youngjae watches in partial amusement, partial exasperation, as Bambam smiles sweetly at Yugyeom, leaning up to press a quick kiss on his lips, which causes a steady blush to bloom on the younger boy’s face. Something clicks at the back of his mind, and he turns so fast he almost cricks his neck, watching nervously for Mark’s reaction to the exchange.

To his surprise, there’s no resentment or disappointment- in fact, he can almost say Mark looks relieved, contented, even. But then the emotion disappears as usual, and he’s back to indifference, sipping his weird coffee, and Youngjae’s left even more confused than before.

*

After weeks of puzzling, though, finally, it starts to make sense, like solving a difficult math problem or scientific theory, and of course, why didn’t Youngjae see it before?

Youngjae watches curiously as Mark laughs for the fourth time that day at something Jinyoung’s said from behind the counter, absently adding chocolate flakes to the cocoa strawberry ice frappuccino due at table one. His laughter rolls around the room, low and husky and delicious, and Youngjae lets out an inaudible sigh. Maybe in another life, when he’s cooler and better looking and easier with words, he might let himself consider the idea of falling in love with someone that beautiful. It’s really too bad he isn’t, he thinks, because in the month or so that Mark’s been here, Youngjae’s come to the safe conclusion that Mark is absolutely gorgeous.

Not just in the way he looks, of course, because his face looks like it’s been painstakingly chiselled into place by the hand of some talented 18^th century sculptor intent on creating perfection, but because his entire person, his mind and his emotions and his heart, reminds Youngjae of a labyrinth, carved deep and intricate within him, worryingly easy to get lost in forever, especially when Youngjae finds himself yearning to do just so. In the snatches of conversation he’s had with the boy, he’s learned about the business and management courses Mark had been cornered into taking by his dad, despite the secret love he has for dance and tricking, about the complicated and rather amusing reasons for his odd coffee order (it’s justified, to say the least) and the irresistible sweet tooth he’d been born with which had lead to Youngjae cunningly introducing one of Yugyeom’s special chocolate desserts to him, knowing it’d result in Mark being addicted forever.

Jinyoung’s heading right back over to the counter now, looking even more motherly than usual in his cute superwoman apron, eyes crinkling into soft crescents as he reaches to pet Youngjae’s hair affectionately when he walks by.

“Yes, umma?” Youngjae asks sweetly, expecting the deft swat against his shoulder as Jinyoung rolls his eyes, reaching beneath the counter to take out the clipboard and finish his stock taking, which he’d been doing before having to bring Mark’s order over to the table. Mark had come in later today, at almost 6 in the afternoon, grumbling dissonance about horrid tests and how school was the bane of his existence as he made his order at the counter, and Youngjae’d wondered-…

Jinyoung, despite technically being the third youngest in terms of the staff, sort of co-runs the café with Jaebum (co-running isn’t the only thing he does with Jaebum in this place, Jackson would say in a noisy conspiratorial whisper during slow afternoons, and Jaebum would cuff him on the back of the head when walking by) and has proceeded to sort of adopt everyone in the staff, even Jackson. It’s comforting, Youngjae thinks, especially when they’re all so far from home, to have someone waiting up for you at the café after school, even if it entails lots of nagging about schoolwork and hygiene and eating well (especially when it’s nagging, Youngjae muses thoughtfully), and while Jaebum’s the one giving out commands and signing paychecks, Jinyoung’s the one working behind the scenes, meticulously picking through the stock taking and doing up promotions for new recipes, and it’s undeniable anyone would feel safe and happy around Jinyoung.

Even Mark, Youngjae decides.

But then the staff door swings open and Jaebum steps out, nudging Youngjae aside (whining and pouting predictably ensues at this) to pop open the cash register and do the usual counting of money at the end of a shift. Mark sees him and waves- and Youngjae remembers that he and Jaebum share some of their lectures together at the college, and walk over here together sometimes after school, causing his resolve to waver.

Jaebum’s talented, of course, Youngjae thinks. He’s running a café by himself, for crying out loud, on top of his studies, and he’s not just responsible, he’s reliable, stoic, steady, and it wouldn’t take much for anyone to fall in love with someone like that. Sure, he has pride issues Youngjae’s well acquainted with, (the countless vindictive forehead flicks arising from cheeky remarks on the younger’s part serve as good reminder) and a temper that can sour and flare dangerously within seconds, but what would people be without a little character, right?

Youngjae’s eyes flick from Jinyoung, to Mark, to Jaebum, then to Mark again, wondering who on earth it could be, before he sighs, giving in. Maybe someday he’ll figure it out. Someday, he thinks critically, Mark will saunter up to the counter, a different glint in his eyes, and whoever it is he likes will be there, about to leave. Then he’ll say something about how he’s been waiting here since forever for that person to notice him, and there’ll be blushing and some of Jackson’s famous lame coffee puns and they’ll skip off into the sunset. And though Youngjae knows it won’t be him, at least he’ll actually know who it is, so he can stop thinking about it so much and focus on other things, like how to get Yugyeom to give him some of those new ham and cheese quiches he’d started baking every day some time ago.

“You did good today,” Jaebum says without taking his eyes off the register, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the edge of his thin lips, and Youngjae beams, knowing it’s the closest thing to actual praise he’ll ever get from the older boy. “Why don’t you take it easy? Knock off a little earlier tonight. Jinyoung and I can manage, and Jackson’s still in the back too, bothering Yugyeom.”

“Really?” Youngjae asks, a little surprised at this generosity. “Wow, thanks hyung,” then he frowns a little, properly thinking over what Jaebum had said. “Also, wasn’t Jackson-hyung supposed to leave when Jinyoung-hyung got here?”

“He’s avoiding the fanclub stakeout outside the café,” Jaebum rolls his eyes. “Seriously, those girls bring us good business, I guess, but they’re scaring off customers. I think we need to take drastic measures.”

“Send me out,” Youngjae suggests. “I’ll scare them off with my ugly face.”

Jaebum laughs dryly, reaching back with one hand to push Youngjae in the direction of the kitchens. “Stop talking rubbish and just return the apron already. Don’t you have a test next week or something?”

Youngjae groans. “Ugh, don’t remind me,” he mutters, tugging the apron up over his head glumly. “I guess I’d better get back then.”

“Don’t get too stressed,” Jinyoung calls soothingly from where he’s mixing a vanilla milkshake, and Youngjae beams, making a grateful heart sign at his hyung, before trooping into the back kitchen.

Jackson very conspicuously stops whispering to Yugyeom once he gets in, and Youngjae narrows his eyes as Yugyeom turns red and pretends to return to wiping the trays down. Youngjae chooses to ignore them in favour of voicing his own hypothesis.

“I think it’s Jinyoung-hyung,” he announces as he’s hanging up his apron beside Jackson’s behind the staff door.

“Jinyoung-hyung what?” Jackson asks inquisitively, before leaning over the sink to splash cold water on his face. Yugyeom’s also looking over curiously from where he’s stacking the trays now, and Youngjae gives them both meaningful looks.

“As in, Jinyoung hyung’s the reason why Mark-hyung keeps coming back,” Youngjae says, turning to open the fridge and poking past boxes of icing to get at the cream peach tart Yugyeom had left for him.

“Mark-hyung?” Yugyeom asks, confused for a moment, then his eyes light up in understanding, while Jackson just rolls his eyes. “Oh, the anime main character guy who always comes in the afternoons because he-ow!”

He can’t finish whatever he wants to say because Jackson reaches behind him to cuff him on the back of the head, and Youngjae snorts at the wide-eyed, reproachful stare that Yugyeom proceeds to give Jackson.

“Uh, yeah,” Youngjae blinks, grinning a little at the description and how apt it is. “I think Mark-hyung likes him.”

“Why?” Yugyeom asks, still making rude faces at Jackson, who pointedly ignores all of them.

“I saw him looking at Jinyoungie-hyung when he was telling me the orders for table six today,” Youngjae says confidently. “I bet he thinks Jinyoung-hyung is pretty.”

“Who thinks Jinyoung-hyung is pretty?” the staff door swings open, and Jinyoung backs in, carrying a tray of used cups, and Youngjae tries his best not to look guilty.

“He thinks Mark likes you,” Jackson says in a rather exasperated voice, and Youngjae makes a face at him, because really, is the condescension really necessary? He’s just making a guess, for crying out loud.

“Oh, does he now?” Jinyoung says absently as he starts putting the cups in the sink, with the air of a mother listening to her son telling her about how UFOs came and landed on the playground during recess that day.

“I’m serious!” Youngjae insists, getting a little desperate. The fact that no one here seems to believe him is getting a little ridiculous. “Umma, you of all people have to believe me!”

“Alright then, what makes you think he likes me?” Jinyoung asks, with the slightest hint of amusement, and Youngjae’s about to answer when the staff door swings open again, and he’s interrupted.

“Who likes Jinyoung?” Another voice resonates through the tiny kitchen, low and with the slightest undertone of hostility that would be inaudible to anyone who didn’t know the person well enough, and Jaebum walks in, holding a clipboard with the list of inventory and stock for the day, leading Youngjae, Jackson and Yugyeom alike to “ooooh” quietly under their breaths, exchanging knowing smirks, while Jinyoung rolls his eyes.

“Jae here thinks Mark-hyung likes me,” Jinyoung says, giving Jaebum a look, and to Youngjae’s surprise, the tension works its way out of Jaebum’s shoulders immediately, and the expression on his face becomes suspiciously similar to the amused exasperation that had adorned Jackson’s face some time ago.

“Oh, that,” Jaebum sighs, eyes returning to the clipboard. “Anyway, Yugyeom, about the stock today, do you mind explaining how three cups of tiramisu cherry mousse-…”

“Ohhh, my mom’s calling, I gotta go now hyung, bye!” Yugyeom hoists his knapsack a little too quickly to be normal, waving with exaggerated cheeriness, before skidding out the back door, and Jaebum pinches the bridge of his nose, a pained look on his face.

“Really, if I didn’t think the standard of Yugyeom’s baking would plummet, I’d ban that colourful Thai kid from setting foot in this café,” Jaebum mutters, looking glumly down at their inventory list, and Jackson snorts, but Youngjae hasn’t quite been able to let go of the previous subject yet.

“Yah, why won’t any of you take me seriously about Mark?” Youngjae whines. “Why else would he be here?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Jackson finally says loudly, gesturing wildly, like he’s about to explode. “Ever thought that he might have a thing for you?”

There’s an extremely stretched silence after that, in which Jaebum looks at Jackson like a disappointed father and Jinyoung watches Youngjae with the slightest hint of worry, and Youngjae stares at Jackson like he’s grown an extra head.

Then the silence is broken when Youngjae breaks into gales of laughter, so hard he doubles over and has to grip onto the metal kitchen table for support. He’s confused why no one is laughing with him, why no one sees the very notion of Mark liking someone like him in as ridiculous a light as he does, and raises his head after a while, still giggling weakly, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

“That’s classic, really, hyung, that’s the best joke I’ve heard you make in a while,” he wheezes, and Jackson opens his mouth and closes it, looking extraordinarily like a rather confused fish.

“Why do you think it’s so funny?” Jinyoung asks, voice soft, and he’s turned around fully now, leaving the cups in the sink. Youngjae almost chokes over his words next, over the lump in his throat from all the feelings he’s repressed over the last few weeks welling up like magma, burning in his windpipe.

“Well, have you seen him?” Youngjae splutters, brushing away more tears from his face that he isn’t sure are from laughter anymore. “He’s perfect, isn’t he? He’s cool and works hard and can dance and makes cute faces when he wants to, and on top of all that he was born with a face that plastic surgeons would probably use as reference, and with you guys around, why would he ever think about something like me?”

To his surprise, they’re looking at him with expressions revolving around the same mild concern and uncertainty, and Jinyoung pipes up after a while.

“Jae, you’re not…not ugly, you know that, don’t you?” he asks, and Youngjae snorts.

“I might as well be, next to him,” he rolls his eyes, still smiling, tugging up the strap of his knapsack. “You’re so nice, umma. You shouldn’t be nice to people like me,” he checks his watch, groaning out loud when he sees it’s already seven, and he still has an essay on the history of local traditional music to power through later. “Augh, I guess I’d better be going now, if I want my stupid essay to get marked tomorrow.”

“Careful on your way back,” Jaebum says after a while, and Jinyoung nods, and the atmosphere sort of defuses then, dimmer and quieter.

“Wait up outside, I’ll walk back with you once I’m done getting all the coffee stains out my shirt,” Jackson mutters, and Jinyoung’s just starting on a tangent about how he should just stop trying to act cool and wear his stupid apron for once as Youngjae walks out to the counter, and the door swings shut behind him, muffling the sounds of nagging.

To his surprise, Mark is still there, at that table beside the window, empty cup and plate in front of him. Their eyes meet for a second when he looks over at the sound of the door opening, and Youngjae waves, wondering if he should go over and clear the used cutlery before he leaves. Jaebum did let him off early, after all.

He’s stopped short in his thoughts when instead of the careless, half-hearted wave that would usually follow his, paired with that selfsame, indifferent smile he’s grown to appreciate, Mark stands, picking up his bag, before heading for the counter, his stance, though bearing the usual listlessness, now punctuated with hints of reluctance Youngjae’s never quite seen in this magnitude before.

“Can I get you something else, hyung?” Youngjae asks curiously, before smiling and nodding towards the desserts’ display. “Our confectionaries are on late-night offer, if you’re interested.”

Mark doesn’t reply, instead watching him with large, dark eyes, his stare so intense that Youngjae feels he’s about to be burned, and Youngjae leans back slightly, wondering if he’s done something wrong.

“Or I could-…”

“Are you messing with me?” Mark asks then, voice clipped and short, and Youngjae takes a very subtle step back.

“Uhm,” Youngjae blinks. “No? Our cakes really are on offer-…”

“I’m not talking about the cakes, holy-…” Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a steadying breath, and Youngjae’s starting to get a little annoyed, because it’s not his fault he doesn’t have a clue what on earth Mark’s saying, so why’s he getting all worked up? “Listen, . Are you with someone?”

“With someone?” Youngjae drags the words out, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

“Are you single,” Mark rephrases bluntly, and Youngjae takes another step back, eyes widening.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“So are you just messing with me, or do you seriously not have a clue I like you?” Mark demands, wincing almost immediately, as though it’s taking a lot out of him to say the words. “Because if you’re not interested, the least you could do would be to tell me, or something, -…”

“Wait,” Youngjae blurts out, blinking, completely winded by what Mark’s just said. “Wait, what? You like me?”

Mark’s expression very gradually changes from one of bitter hurt to slow incredulity, and Youngjae would’ve said something about how insulted he was feeling then if the staff door hadn’t very audibly creaked open a little wider from behind.

“I know, right?” Jackson whispers loudly across the space to Mark, as though Youngjae’s not even there, an exasperated look on his face, and Youngjae’s about to go over and push the door into Jackson’s face when Mark catches his wrist, pulling him with a gentle insistence towards the older boy, and Youngjae makes the mistake of looking into his eyes, because it immediately feels like he’s caught in a breathtaking freefall forward straight into the endless depth of the boy’s intense gaze, and he’s plummeting and terrified and just so slightly thrilled because it feels fantastical, it feels dreamlike and ethereal and Youngjae wonders where the catch is, when he’s going to wake up and remember it isn’t true.

“Listen,” Mark says, completely ignoring Jackson, and solidarity of the resolve in his voice alone is enough to make Youngjae’s knees go weak, to keep him completely entranced. “I’ve been coming to this café for a month now though my apartment’s on the other side of town, forcing myself to strike up conversation, watching for weeks to see if you were already with anyone, and holy crap are you chummy with everyone that walks in here-…”

“In my defense, they’re my friends,” Youngjae says, surprised he’s able to say anything at all in his currently rather dazed state, and Mark waves him off impatiently.

“…-and trying to come up with things to talk about during your shifts, ordering the same coffee and asking for it to be made by just you, and this whole time I’m just wondering if you know how I feel and if you’re just playing with me, or whatever, because it isn’t possible you couldn’t have noticed.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jackson pipes up then, and Youngjae’s really about to go over and hit him with a whipped cream canister or something when he’s dragged back into the kitchen unwillingly with a yelp, amidst a flurry of threatening whispers, and the door swings shut.

“I just,” Youngjae turns back, wincing at the sound of the resignation, the worry, almost, at this point, underlying the exasperation in Mark’s voice. “Why do you find it so hard to accept the fact that I like you?”

“Well,” Youngjae replies in a small voice. “I just-…it didn’t make sense if it was me,” he lets out a chuckle, hoping it doesn’t sound too contrived. “Why would you like me…with the rest of them around?”

Mark’s eyes widen then, as if Youngjae’d asked why the sky was blue or why people got up in the day and slept at night.

“Do you seriously need me to-…” Mark inhales then, and exhales slowly, as if bracing himself for impact. “Listen,” he says slower this time, averting Youngjae’s eyes, voice lower, like he’s confessing a crime or telling a secret. “I just-…you know you’re the first person to ever get my coffee order right, let alone memorise it? And your eyes do this crazy cute crinkling thing when you open your mouth and laugh or when you give someone their cake or coffee. And it’s stupid but you know when you’re singing as you make coffee or clearing up tables, it’s like at that very moment, I don’t want to ever hear anything else for the rest of my life?”

“You listen to me sing?” Youngjae gapes, flushing slightly, and Mark blinks, looking slightly annoyed and embarrassed, as if that wasn’t something he’d meant to let slip.

“Whatever it is,” his words are shorter now, eyes darker, in an expression Youngjae’s come to recognise as unease. “If you don’t want to go out with me, I understand, it’s just, I had to know, you know?”

Youngjae blinks, because it feels like the words are right off his tongue and it’s like déjà vu, except it’s all topsy turvy because he’d expected it to be someone else, anyone but him, and unconsciously, his fingers wrap uncertainly around Mark’s slender hand, feeling blunt nails press gently into his palm, just solid enough to let Youngjae know it isn’t a dream, that he’s well and truly awake now to see this.

“I know what you mean,” he replies, softer, though he’s still regarding Mark, the perfect, perfect boy Youngjae had so valiantly attempted (and failed stupendously) not to fall in love with, with a slightly awed, a still slightly afraid gaze, afraid to believe and afraid to have his heart broken again. “I…I wanted to know too.”

Mark looks hesitant over the next few seconds, large eyes darting and nervous, until he finally lifts another uncertain hand to place it on Youngjae’s, enveloping the younger boy’s own in a cocoon of warmth that washes through him from the tips of his fingers to the very core of his heart, and it’s almost too much, too unreal for Youngjae, except he’s never hoped so much to the point all he can want is more.

“I’m sorry it turned out like this, but,” Mark grimaces, taking a deep breath, before returning his gaze to Youngjae’s eyes, and once more, it feels like a sledgehammer’s been sunken into his stomach at the sight of the intensity of his stare, both painful and breathtaking, and Youngjae wonders if it’ll always be like this.

(Youngjae concludes that he won’t mind if it will)

“Will you still go out with me?”

It sort of seals it in Youngjae’s mind, like the final confirmation he still needs to know Mark means it, he means every word he’s just said, that he isn’t dreaming or hallucinating or being lied to again.

“You’re…” Youngjae’s voice wavers, still uncertain, still hopeful. “You’re sure?”

Something clangs loudly behind the staff door then, followed by an I can’t take this anymore, I swear I’m about to explode and Jackson marches out, grabbing Youngjae by the shoulders and very firmly dragging him around the counter to the other side and pushing him towards Mark.

“Yes, he’s sure, now go out and date and stop creating a kdrama, holy shi-…” he can’t say anything more, because Jinyoung’s materialised and clamped a hand down over his mouth, and Jaebum’s dragging him back kicking and gesturing wildly into the kitchens, and Youngjae very awkwardly untangles himself from Mark, into whom Jackson had pushed him.

“So um-…”

“You free tomorrow after work?” Mark asks deftly, and Youngjae blinks.

“Yeah, it’s Friday after all, I guess-…” then he stops short, scrutinising Mark. “Wait, how did you know I have work tomorrow?”

Mark very guiltily shifts on his feet, subtly pushing a small black notebook poking out from a pocket in his bag deeper in, and Youngjae gives him a look.

“You did not-…”

“Movie sounds good, you?” Mark suggests quickly, flashing a disarming grin that has Youngjae reeling, infatuation flaring like fireworks before his eyes now that it’s finally existing uninhibited, and he has to struggle to form words.

“S-sure,” he stutters, a little annoyed he’s swayed so easily, but then Mark seems to brighten imperceptibly under that façade of indifference, evident only in the way something behind his dark eyes seems to spark like a lighter, the way the tension Youngjae’d never noticed before bleeds out of his posture like a sigh of relief.

“Six-thirty. Tomorrow. Then I’m taking you out for dinner someplace you don’t have to clean tables and make coffee.”

“Going a little fast, don’t you think?” Youngjae remarks, slightly light-headed, and Mark gives a grin that’s caught between sheepishness and cunning.

“I wouldn’t know about,” he leans a little closer, and Youngjae’s suddenly enlightened to the fact that Mark smells like coffee and chocolate, the fragrance as overpowering and exotic as the man himself. “In my head, you were mine since the day I first saw you.”

“That is actually,” Youngjae clears his throat, regaining his senses for a moment so he won’t seem like a complete pushover. “Rather creepy.”

“Because pairing me off with every single one of your colleagues is normal,” Mark deadpans without missing a beat, and Youngjae flushes a dark shade of red.

“Point taken.”

“So um, starting over sounds good, yeah?” Mark extends a hand, shooting him a charming smile. “I’m Mark Tuan, studying Business at Yonsei Uni. You on for tomorrow night?”

Youngjae’s eyes dart from the hand to Mark’s eyes, and slowly, he accepts it, like he’s signing a contract or sealing a deal, and calm seems to saturate him then, gradual and soothing.

“Choi Youngjae,” he replies hesitantly, reassured by the way Mark’s smile widens till it reaches his large eyes. “Contemporary Arts and Music, Yonsei Uni. And I’d love to.”