You guffawed at the sheer prospect of doing that. Of course, you could. But would you do that? Hell no. You liked to think that Jung Jaehyun was part of a time where nothing really mattered besides letter grades and grade-point averages.

High school in itself was a fleeting moment in time that you both cherished and kept at a distance, though he made himself an exception just by existing; you just didn’t know what to expect if you decided to open up that can of worms. He was perfect, really. A basketball point guard, top student in English, music, and most obviously, home economics, and kind, invigorating, and enigmatic all the same. You didn’t know him like you wanted to, nor did you really know him very much at all (unless you counted that one meaningful conversation you shared with him). To talk him again would be nice, to catch up over these past couple of years, to finally have a moment that lasted more than just a couple minutes in between classes. God, that would be a dream.

But that was all it was, wasn’t it? He probably doesn’t remember me like I remember him… You shook your head, hoping that was enough to will away the thoughts and the very faint memories prickling the back of your mind.

Ten deadpanned and met your gaze, “So, you’re going to spend your entire time back in town just staring at the love of your life through windows instead of actually pursuing him like you’ve been dreaming of for God-only-knows how long?”

“I don’t love him,” you retorted, rolling your eyes as you went back to stocking up the bookshelves. This time shifting the large cart between the two of you for easier access, and to create a barrier for whatever he was trying to insinuate. “I’m back to help out the shop, not stroll down memory lane with some guy I talked to like once in grade school.”

Naturally, it was a failed effort.

Just as he grabbed a book, gaze flickering over the title to put it into place, he said, “Perhaps letting you know that he stopped by the store a few times to ask about you wouldn’t mean very much then, huh?”

You paused. Your eyes narrowing from the silver font of the title to the silver-haired man beside you.

“Hm?”

“What?” he blinked his stupid, cat-like eyes in innocence. “Did you need me to repeat myself?”

“When did he—?” you paused for a second time, already knowing you fell right into Ten’s trap. “Stop messing with me! There’s no point in getting my hopes up when I know he has never thought of me like that.”

“So, you do care then?”

“I don’t,” you responded stiffly.

“Are you sure?”

You shook your head. Of course, you fucking did. You just didn’t want to give that little shit the satisfaction of being right, again.

“When have I ever led you astray when it comes to Baker Boy over there, Y/N? You were so sure he had no clue who you were back then, but can you remember what I told you and what happened after that?”

Your lips formed a small thin line, almost a pout but without the playful pretenses as you’ve always flashed at him.

Of fucking course you remembered. It was one thing to know Jaehyun knew your name, but it was another thing to actually talk to him about your writing and hear him read his favorite poem to you aloud. You didn’t know why or what possessed him to do this, but it was senior year. And it was all you could think about even now, returning for summer break, back to where you got to see him without the crowd and watchful eyes of peers.

“C’mon, Y/N. Was he really just some guy from high school?”

“Shut up,” you sighed, sideying him as you put a few more books up onto the shelves. “It was ages ago.”

“And somehow you’re still thinking about a what-if with him.” Another thwack punctuated the statement.

You didn’t like where this was headed. And you stated so with a grumble, “Or you’re pulling some wizarding bullshit on me just so I’ll do what you have planned in that evil, little brain of yours, demon.”

“Actually, I prefer being called Cupid.”

He laughed as soon as he turned back on his heel and met your perturbed expression. A part of him leaned on the entryway toward the reading room, where a few passerby congregated. Some of which appeared to be couples of different tiers—the old-timers, the honeymooners, and the just-beginners.

The feigned discomfort on your visage faded while one of longing took its place. You didn’t particularly care for relationships now, but you remembered wanting one so badly when you were younger. You remembered a time where you only dreamt of interacting with Jaehyun, somehow only seeing him at the far distance most people saw any idol of a sort, before that day in Miss Calinao’s classroom. You remembered talking to him and watching the crush fade into something else, a possibility that perhaps you weren’t a stupid kid secretly chasing (read: ogling) a guy after all. You knew now that you didn’t need a relationship, really, that if you were to engage in Jung Jaehyun, then it was simply to catch up and reminisce, nothing more.

But what if there is more? The voice asked, sounding more like Ten than what you would’ve preferred. He was off finishing the rounds for strays on the coffee table, returning some of the teacups to the kitchens for later washing. You had drifted from that area to break room after double checking your checklist and found nothing else needed to be done to your relief, though it left more room for your mind to drift than you preferred.

A small wave of a hand blocked your focus, while the bemused titter of your coworker snickered at you once more. Instead of saying what you heard in your head like part of you expected, Ten asked, “Did you hear me?”

You shook your head before letting a loud sigh loose. “What do you want now, demon?”

“You’re on your fifteen, right?”

You glanced at your watch and then nodded slowly. It hadn’t occurred to you until then. Perhaps you could wander around the street… maybe glance at the bakery on your way to ShareTea. You had no actual reason to walk inside anyway.

“Do me and Nana a favor—!”

You blinked, “Wha—” What’s he up to…?

“—and grab us something from across the street.”

Goddamn demon.

/

Your own heart trembled as you walked toward the cream- and sky blue-colored building.

The very path was familiar.

Each step taking you back to a simpler time, where daydreams were less about your future job and more about ways in which you could bridge the acquaintance gap with Jung Jaehyun and become something. It was purely innocent back then. Always a hope and a scenario that brought you two closer; after all, you were both workers to neighboring establishments. How cute would it have been if you two had gotten closer back then and gone to work together? Left for home together? Maybe he could’ve walked you home. He seems like the type—

You cracked a small smile at the thought and felt your cheeks burn as soon as you got to the sidewalk. There were hardly any people around, a result of the summer heat, that made the prospect of entering both frightening and actually quite relieving. There wouldn’t be any possible familiar faces trying to engage either of you in conversation, or, well, engage Jaehyun in conversation. You could see him at the cash register and a few others scurrying in and out of the kitchen, but the sight wasn’t what beckoned you forward. It was the smell.

Even from the entrance of the book shop, you could smell the vanilla extract wafting off the assortment of sponge cakes. Some of them came in small and stout, tall and long, and somewhere in-between, each in a vast variety of colors and designs that made your stomach ache for a taste of the familiar softness and warmth only they could elicit above all other desserts. The most popular and your favorite, hands down, was the strawberry shortcake.

It reminded you of him the most.

You knew he decorated that one the best. Each one a work of his, right down to the way the dollop of cream perfectly stood beside the carefully sliced strawberries to the carnation circle wrapped around the middle. The scent was like a blast from the past, taking you right back to the days when you stopped inside for a few treats for your coworkers at the bookstore and when Ten decided to push you inside in hopes of giving you the necessary push that you always needed when it came to your highschool crush. But what gets you was the scent, because that was very much Jaehyun as well.

His smile was exactly like the dessert he was best at—soft, sweet, with just the right amount of warmth. And the moment you met eyes with him after the chime of the doorside bell, you were greeted with that very smile.

Truthfully, he looked very much like his high school self. Still handsome as ever, with his features much more filled out and prominent. His head of chestnut locks fell atop his forehead in haphard array, cropped at the bottom so the top was the fullest; dark brown eyes still alight with interest and invitation; and, small dust of flour brushed across his nose and near his cheekbones.

He said your name with a greeting. You realized it was with a hint of surprise and an undeniable twinge of happiness that you have only ever been privy to once a few times before, but you couldn’t deny your own swell of happiness as you walked up to the counter with a smile of your own.

“Hey, Jaehyun.”

For once in a very long time, you were saying his name to him directly, and it felt like a flutter off your lips. Almost so casual it was unreal.

His smile matched his eyes as he asked, “How’ve you been? I take it you’re back for summer break as well?”

You nodded, “I’m helping back at the shop across the street. Like old times.”

“Old times,” he repeated, giving an appreciative nod. “Well, I’m glad. It’s nice to see such a familiar face these days.”

Glancing around, you could definitely see the lack of people. A part of you hoped that his statement meant more than just seeing anyone from high school, but the realistic part of you knew that that was a silly, high school-like desire.

“I see that. Seems like baked goods aren’t very popular in this heat huh?” You tilted your head at him, “you really haven’t seen anyone from high school?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve seen too many people from high school. The ones I don’t talk to as much, I mean.” An interesting look passed over his face, something akin to fondness you would say. But you didn’t think that meant anything. Even if he did say that not many people he talked to stopped by… all things considered, you should be in that category, really.

“Well, I hope I’m not part of that unfortunate high school bunch,” you laughed a little. Part of you already expected some change in his expression. Maybe something that would give away his true feelings, but he merely looked alarmed and shook his head quite fiercely.

“No, no. I promise you, you’re part of the best bunch. In fact, I was hoping to see you around.”

You blinked hard, wondering if you heard him correctly. He gulped immediately upon your lack of response.

“I—I—I mean, well, yeah. I stopped by the bookstore a few times—for books, of course—and to see if you were around. And I did see you a few times not too long ago, I’m sorry for not stopping by myself. I, truthfully, have been working some courage to do just that.”

“What? Really?” You couldn’t even stop to mask the astonishment, and your cheeks paid the price for it.

“Y-yeah,” he laughed nervously. “It’s just… I feel like we didn’t talk as much as I hoped we would in high school. I know we got to before graduation, but I wished it had been sooner. I’m not sure if you remember, but what you said about my recitation really meant a lot back then. Gave me quite a bit of courage to go off of these past few semesters.”

“I—um—I’m really glad to hear that. It’s a pretty big surprise for me, honestly. A wonderful one at that. I’d like to thank you for what you said about my work, too. It’s helped me with all these writing workshops I’ve had to do for class. I think back to that day and it keeps me going forward with everything, even when it feels like writing is the bane of my existence.”

“I’d like to hear about how those are going, maybe see what new things you’ve cooked up since you last shared your work with me… if you don’t mind, of course.” It was like him to be considerate. And, the soft velvet tone of his voice only accentuated this.

Even when your heart was trembling with nerves that it may actually fall out of your chest and onto the tan wooden floors, you told him you didn’t mind at all.

“Really?” His eyes lit up when he asked, and you nodded with a smile.

“Yeah, I’d love to catch up over lost time with you sometime. I’m free in a few hours actually… if that’s alright with you.”

He nodded, “It’s perfect. I’m done at four. Have you tried that one poke place on Anderson yet?”

You shook your head, “I’ve been meaning to, though!”

“Would you like to go there with me then?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” You paused, letting out a sheepish laugh before asking. “Today at four, right? I just need to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

He laughed as well, allowing some of the dust on his nose to fall just a little.

“At four,” he said to reassure you. “So, I totally side-tracked you from whatever made you come in here but anyway—what can I help you with?”

“The usual, if you can remember.” You added, “It’s alright if you don’t—”

“—Two strawberry shortcakes, a three cookies, and a mocha log, right?”

“O-oh, yeah. Wow,” you said, a little dumbfounded. “You remembered.”

“Of course, I remember all the orders of my favorite customers,” he said this so casually, yet you could see the hint of flush becoming prominent beneath the flour.

You snorted, hoping to mask your own bout of embarrassment. “Now I find that a little hard to believe. But that’s cute.”

“It’s true! I promise, it was a pleasurable pastime to have you come in for my strawberry shortcakes. Even before I was actually any good at them.”

You remembered that, though this “rough” period hardly lasted a few weeks before he got the hang of the inner-workings inside the bakery. You still loved them to this day. Probably would’ve loved them even if they were terrible anyway.

“They were… decent.”

“Well, I appreciate you for enjoying my decent shortcakes, and I hope they’ve gotten better with time.”

You handed him the cash as soon as he handed you the bag of goods, and received the necessary change before walking toward the door.

“Well, I’ll let you know at four.”

“I can’t wait.”

Both you and your inner high school self smiled to yourselves, Me neither.

/

(When you returned, you found Ten’s attention fully on you, with eyebrows raised and an awaiting smile. You knew what he was waiting for, but you simply shoved his mocha log his way before grumbling and short and sweet—

“Shut up, Cupid.”

“Don’t you mean dem—you know what, I accept this. You’re welcome, by the way. Thank me at your wedding, okay?”

/

I can’t sleep, you tell him.

Me neither, he replies. I want to see you.

You laugh, you have seen me.

You can imagine him shaking his head, maybe a pout forming on his lips you’ve etched so perfectly into your mind.

Pictures don’t count. I want to “see” see you…

I know, you sigh aloud. Me too.

Soon, he promises. I’ll get enough money to see you.

Yeah, one day.

/

It’s been like this for over a year now.

You can hear his voice, see his face, even talk to him on the phone or through video chat. It’s simple. It’s easy. But you’ve never seen him face to face, felt his caress on your cheek, or even went out on a proper date. When his mother says you’re miles away, that much is true, by approximately five thousand miles. He lives a literal ocean away, and yet something as simple as an airplane ride to go see you or vice versa feels virtually impossible in a world where money still plays as a huge deterrent for soulmates trying to meet one another for the very first fucking time.

You hate it. You hate wishing he was here. You hate that the barrier isn’t just distance, sometimes it’s even language. You hate that he feels like he needs to learn an entirely new language just for you. Even when he says he doesn’t mind, that working day and night while going to school just to see you is worth every paycheck, you can’t help but hate that the universe has let you find one another at the worst of times.

Just like him, you’re amidst school, burrowed beneath a thesis for a masters while still trying to stay afloat. Student loans are no joke. Neither are airline tickets. Not to mention rent and the cost-of-living itself. You envy everyone else who gets to see him, to hear him with their own ears, and to feel him through embraces without a second thought. They’re privy to these things, while you are, unfortunately, not. And you don’t know why the universe chose you for him and him for you. You don’t know why the universe decided that hearing his voice would be a match made from the heavens, literally forged there, would perfect for you, complete you like you’ve learned. You just don’t understand.

What’s wrong? He asks you this suddenly, alarmed by the sudden influx of thoughts that must be bombarding him at the back of his mind among his own artillery. But these ones are in your voice, signalling a silent call for help that you find hard to utter when you need it most.

You don’t speak, finding words harder to come by, because how is it possible to miss someone so badly without having ever met them in real life?

We’ll see each other soon, I promise. 

There’s no rush, you always tell him. This time is no different. You don’t like that he’s working so hard to see you, straining himself when he has to juggle midterms and finals like you are. You understand that this is a circumstance that you both must take your time with, because life is life. It doesn’t always play out the way you want it to.

But wouldn’t seeing each other on the twenty-second of June be a nice way to kick off summer? This is definitely a thought you’ve pondered and hoped for. You both officially started talking in summer, some time after coming to grips with the soulmate business in November, but it’s a dream… right? He doesn’t trail off like he usually does, and you don’t feel any hint of a lighthearted joke either.

You have to pause, immediately reaching for your phone to dial his number despite the 16-hour time difference. It’s 1:30 PM where you are, and 5:30 AM for him, while you’re simply ending your short day, he is beginning his longer one.

“You’re joking, right?” you ask as soon as the ringing stops. “You have to be joking. You had to help your mom with utility bills two weeks ago. Right?”  

“Good morning to you too,” he replies, punctuating the greeting with a chuckle. His voice is still rough from residual fatigue, but it brings a small, faint smile to your lips nonetheless. Your heart just hurts to think that you won’t hear that same voice face to face quite yet. You would playfully whine if only you weren’t feeling the faint traces of disappointment creeping up on you. If he is joking, then you think it would be best to get off the phone right now.

But he stops you.

“I’m not joking though. My mom actually paid me back, made my friends give me the money for the tickets, and well, I’m coming to see you on the 22nd of June for two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” you murmur under your breath. What he’s saying is still processing in your brain. The very reality becoming potent with every affirmation he supplements to you.

“Hang on, okay? I’ll be there in less than two months. Will you be able to take some time off work for that long? I know this is kind of last minute, but I really wanted to surprise you somehow because I—I know this has gotten rougher—”

“—i-it’s no problem. I can get the time off,” you reassure him with a smile you’re sure he’s trying to picture right now. “Thank you, Guk.”

“Of course, I lo—” He coughs before he can finish, and when you ask him if he’s alright, he replies, “I can’t wait until June.”

You laugh, agreeing and semi-knowing what he truly meant to say.

/

It’s June 22nd. At exactly 7 AM.

The small peak of canary is rising behind the floating white wisps of clouds, getting wider and bigger as minutes countdown to the half-hour mark. You don’t expect to see Jungkook for another hour, but he’s gone quiet on his end of your shared connection, probably asleep or even too groggy to say anything at all. A part of you has always wondered what would happen when you two would meet—for example, what would you two do when you first see each other, what would either of you say, and what the hell would happen to this connection of yours?

It suddenly strikes you that it might fade into existence now that you and Jungkook are finally meeting, and that makes you bittersweet for many reasons. Perhaps neither of you will ever be able to share those hidden moments again, the ones where you need him to calm you after a stressful day, where the thoughts and pressure of your current living situation are too much to bear, or the ones where he just needs to hear your reassurance that he’s doing the right thing in school or the telling him a joke when he’s been studying too hard. You suddenly remember the first time you both spoke to one another and opened up to this idea of sharing thoughts with another person. It felt so foreign and so alleviating to hear someone have struggles like yours, to know that you weren’t alone even when you knew you weren’t, it was just nice to have that reassurance without necessarily having to ask for it. And—!

“You think too much, you know that right?”

That voice brings you back to reality. The faint grogginess, the roughness etched within the amused question. You know his voice better than your own sometimes.

You look up to see him, to finally look into his warm, brown eyes, and feel the swell of happiness bloom within your chest.

When you say his name, he doesn’t say a word. He washes his gaze over you in your short and loose top form and stops right at your eyes. His suitcase and his dufflebag are left forgotten a couple of meters away as he steps forward and closes the small gap between you and him in the small waiting area. His arms wrap around you like he promised you once before, and they’re warm and secure around you. He smells like bergamot and fresh laundry, reminding you of a home you’ve been waiting for. You’re at one. You feel at peace.

“I didn’t get to tell you this on the phone because I wanted to say this right now,” he murmurs into your hair. You ask him what despite knowing, because you already felt it that night. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

(After that small exchange, you both decide to grab some brunch at one of the cafés in downtown, and you tell him if you had known he touched down already and got through check-in, you would’ve been waiting there by the gate.

He simply takes your hand in his in response.

“Seeing you and being able to do this is enough for me.”

You grin and breathe a laugh, “Well, at least do that for me when I come down in December, okay?”

“Okay… wait, what?”

“You’ll see in December.”

I can’t wait already, he tells you.

Jimin blinks, tilting his head to the side. It is the first he has heard of this sort of thing from Namjoon, but then again relationship talk just hasn’t been the hot topic between the two of them. Jimin knows that Namjoon isn’t keen on leaving his apartment unless it’s for coffee and his job, sometimes if he’s forced out by him or Jungkook (on the days that Jungkook isn’t tempted to sit in and tinker with film editing software, of course). It’s strange to consider though.

When Jimin really thinks about Kim Namjoon and his dating life, it hits him how nonexistent it is. He realizes the great deal of lacking that he never once considered, and a sympathetic look glosses over his cherub-like features before contorting in confusion.

“What do you mean you’ve never confessed to anyone before?”

It’s the dreaded question. One that Namjoon feels the anxiety prickle on his nerves as he glances back at the screen, taking mental notes of the successes and failures that have come with confessing to a crush. That is why. He has heard the horror stories, watched them unfold in adolescence, and dreaded suffering from the same fate.

He is no brave man, you know. Laying his heart out on the line is a hefty deed that makes his stomach queasy and his heart the exact replica of mush. Instead of going into any elaborate detail, not that there is a huge amount to talk about in the first place, he simply shakes his head.

“I just haven’t.”

“…Like not even once though?” Jimin tries once more, wanting to comprehend this statement. Surely, Namjoon had done this at least once.

“Really, I haven’t,” he repeats, looking a little more distraught. He is so new to the idea of romantic love that it’s actually kind of debilitating. And he knows he likes you a whole fuckton. When he thinks about going over to a café to work on your website with you, he can’t help but feel butterflies flutter in his stomach. When he hears about your day, he wants to keep hearing you talk. And god, when you ask him about his and about what he likes and dislikes, it’s… different. In the best way possible. “It never occurred to me that I should. At least until now.”

“You really like Y/N that much?” Jimin muses, eyes flickering to Namjoon’s second screen where your website is pulled up.

Namjoon nods, “A fuckton.”

“She’s supposed to double-check your code before it goes up right?”

Namjoon nods slowly, trying to comprehend. Of course, he’s quick to answer, “I mean she has another comp-sci friend to check it for her though.”

“But she’d still look it over too, right?”

“Yeah, she can be pretty anal about that stuff.”

Jimin giggles, earning a glare from Namjoon as he asks, “So, what are you getting at, pervert?”

“I’m not a pervert!” Jimin pouts, though Namjoon can tell he’s still trying to stop his quivering lip. “But why don’t you just confess to her in the code?”

Namjoon’s jaw drops, “You’re shitting me right? That’s so cheesy…”

“Well, do you have anything better? Can you go up to her and actually her to her face that you like her?”

“Well… no.”

“Then? What else do you have to lose?”

Namjoon considers Jimin’s words as carefully as problem sets from Professor Lim, knowing that despite all his certainties, some attempts are still a hit-or-miss. He knows that whatever happens, happens. He either takes that leap of faith or stays by the ledge, wondering what-if.

His gaze flickers up to the second monitor right then.

He sees your smile etched in between the little symbols, the memories of conversations spent just deciding on a color theme, and a hope that maybe you saw something in him through all that time too.

And with that, he comes to a decision.

“Might as well just leap. It might hurt less.”

/

“Check your code.”

You blink at Yoongi, almost alarmed at the sudden drawl of his voice. As soon as you got the green light from Namjoon, you had Yoongi come over to look it over for one more final look and you’re not sure how to feel about the blond’s curving lips. “What? Why?”

His brief amusement melts away as soon as he clicks his tongue at you.

“It’s a rule of thumb to always check your code, dipshit.”

“You say this like I was the one who created it. I hired someone to do it, y’know. And, I’m having you check it. For free. Like the good friend that you are.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, well, still. Check it.”

“Is there something I should know about?” you ask, wondering if somehow Namjoon made a mistake. Is that why he made you pay less than the estimated amount? You frown at the thought, wondering if maybe he was having an off day the last time you both finalized the code. Though if you’re being quite honest you do know you’re going to miss meeting up with him.

“Er… well, I’ll let you be the judge of that—it’s definitely something you needa check out though.”

You even receive a shake of the head, a deflection that doesn’t go unnoticed, earning your long-time friend a small glare before you change tabs from YouTube to your website’s url. It piques your interest knowing that maybe this might be another reason to see that adorable chestnut-haired man again.

“Alright, fine.”

You scroll to the lines where Yoongi instructs you in the Python program.

‘’’

Hi Y/N. I’m sure you won’t overlook this message, and I’ll understand completely if you decide to delete out or if you never talk to me again, but that last day we spent together I wanted to tell you a lot of things. I wanted to know more about you. Not just from your videos, but from you. The real behind-the-scenes. I think about it a lot. I think about you a lot. Um… God. This is my first time so have a little mercy, okay? I like you. A lot.I’d like to take you out for an espresso. Wait. You hate those. What about brunch at  flâneur? I hear it’s great. I honestly don’t how this works, really, so if this goes completely wrong, please put all blame on Park Jimin, a dance major at Seoul University. Anyway…. um, good luck! (God, please tell me if I just fucked up my first confession, ever, because I could take all the pointers I can get.)

‘’’

A smile curves on your lips when you look at Yoongi, who only snickers at you.

“I told you so, dipshit.”

/

A ding emits from his nightstand.

Namjoon has to hold his breath, wondering if maybe it was another message from Jimin asking if you talked him about what he left for you in the code. He admits it was pretty lame and stupid, but was there really another way? Could he really face you without being tongue-tied and pink in the cheeks? His visages contort in embarrassment at the thought, releasing a deep sigh before unlocking the phone without a second thought.

[11:34 AM] y/n <3: interesting final touches on the code. I have to say I accept. I think flâneur is perfect. how does today at 2 sound?

[11:34 AM] y/n <3: btw, no pointers or pointed fingers needed. it was pretty perfect already

He grins to himself, unable to contain his cries of joy or the flopping of his limbs. The sun is bright and the day is so fucking beautiful.

He tells you that it’s perfect and that he can’t wait.

The bashful greeting that hushes the occupants with awe as the daily performer sings another one of her songs. They’re always different, always of a varying mood that manages to touch your heart in a profound way.

(“Hi everyone, this song’s a little different but I dedicate it to a special someone. Ahh, I hope you like it!”)

This song is sweet and touching. The resonating tune has you turning away from the waiting area to face the front with awe like the rest of the onlookers. 

Of course, that is nothing new.

Since the arrival of the strawberry blonde, you’ve found yourself coming back to the quaint shop time and time again. At first, it was due to the cheap prices and the interesting way of entertaining customers (it’s the first time you’ve seen someone perform in a coffee shop, and you hoped it wasn’t the last). Each time afterwards became her doing—Chaeyoung was no longer an enigmatic singer-songwriter-guitarist. She introduced herself and encouraged your daily visits, and like someone bewitched, you could hardly say no (not that you wanted to).

Her music touched you in a way that you never imagined. There was soul in her voice and in her lyrics. Each one so carefully chosen and yet so effortlessly strung together, it felt like she had been doing this for decades upon decades. As if she was already a signed artist with no other interest in the industry, so she found her way here in this meager place for fun. You remembered the wide-set grin that curled across her face and the contagious laughter that filled the air of the empty couches by her stage, because you had to be pulling her leg (her words, not yours).

You remembered how she held a mug of coffee in hand, while yours held tea. Instead of singing, the words spilling out of her mouth as quickly as she emptied out her cup came in the form of stories and thoughts. She wears everything on her sleeve. All the things you heard on-stage and off were bits and pieces of her heart, and knowing those things she felt were akin to yours made this camaraderie all the more perfect.

Since talking to Chaeyoung, your mind can’t get enough of her. Like caffeine, you’ve become to addicted. Having your daily dose is only enough until you part ways and all your mind can do is think about the next time you’ll see her, hear her, and when you do, you find yourself more and more enamored with her softness.

Sometimes you wonder if it’s the feeling is mutual, if the connection you feel with her is as strong as you feel it. But you don’t have the guts to ask. As soon as she opens her mouth, you lose yourself in her voice.

“I’m falling in love, slowly but surely

You’re here in my heart

And I hope you know

This is for you”

Your gaze snaps away for the barest moment for your drink with questions pressing in your mind, Who could this be about? Me? Is there someone else?

(You don’t even notice Jennie’s knowing grin.)

Just as you’re about to walk over to your spot on the muted orange couch, you hear her shakily call your name between the set and meet your eyes from across the way. Her cheeks burn brightly and she tucks the stray hair that almost always gets in her face behind her ear as a shy grin widens across her visage.

It’s not like when his stomach lurched on your first outing with your driver’s license and you hard-stopped so quickly to avoid a reckless driver in downtown, truly saving his life as you often boasted. Nor is it like his nerves from the first time you ever watched him perform after all the begging to let you finally watch. Instead, this is the cliché kind—the one you and him have both ridiculed and shrugged off, because the whole butterflies, flushed cheeks, and erratic heartbeat is just a hoax, right?

Wrong. (God, so fucking wrong.)

Heat rises to his visage and thundering echoes within the confines of his chest when he’s near you. It gets even worse when you touch his arms or linger longer on your embraces. Your close proximity offers comfort and palpitations to his heart, and for reasons that have slowly become more and more apparent to him, he knows that there’s a you-shaped place in his heart, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

“Y/N, can I talk to you about something?” he asks timidly. It’s his first time confessing to someone since he tried once with Bora in elementary school. The entire thing was a disaster but you consoled him with one of your homemade smoothies, immediately soothing his adolescent broken heart. He didn’t understand what it was that really helped, but remembering you and the great effort that went into comforting him tells him that these feelings have been blooming since then.

“Yeah, sure,” you smile. “What’s up?”

“Well, I—”

Ding! Ding! Ding!

“Sorry, gimme a sec.” You look up at him apologetically, reaching over to silence the confounded thing.

However, him being him, he just nods you on. “Go for it, could be important.”

He immediately regrets it.

“Oh, it’s Minhyuk. I wonder what he wants.” You slide your finger across the screen.

But Hyunwoo already knows what your mutual friend wants.

The silver-haired man has recently started talking about how much he wants to ask you out. It’s almost like karma’s getting back at him for trying to confess to you knowing the younger man wants to go out with you, but Hyunwoo figured if he confessed now, whether you reject him and found happiness with Minhyuk (though truthfully the idea of you with Minhyuk only mildly burns his chest) or no one since he didn’t know what your stance on relationship was as of late, or accepted him, then it would make things easier.

“He wants to go to that one Thai food place we like,” you muse.

“Oh,” he hums.

Right as he asks if you’re going to say yes to the offer, you ask him, “Did you tell him that’s my favorite?”

He shakes his head, breaking his gaze to look at the untrimmed hedge of the Chae house. He doesn’t even see you set your phone to your back pocket, already catching on to his sudden shift in behavior.

If there’s something you can pride yourself in, then it’s knowing how your supposedly enigmatic best friend works. It’s almost like reading a book or breathing.

“You’re jealous,” you say with a feigned gasp.

That jolts him from his trance and he meets your knowing gaze with wide eyes. “What? How—”

“—Do all our sandbox days mean nothing to you, you punk?”

Heat rises on the back of his neck, burning more than the bright sun hanging high in the sky. He most underestimated you, even as you stare him down with slightly narrowed eyes, he sees something he never really noticed—the pinkened cheeks and luminescent hues imbuing him with warmth, comfort, and adoration, it becomes all the more apparent—you feel it too.

“No,” he begins grins goofily when he notices your empty hand. “But can I tell you what I was going to tell you now?”

You nod, matching his grin because it’s too contagious not to. “Sure, tell me you love me already.”

“I love you.”

He adds with very flushed cheeks, slowing his pace as he does, “And I’d like to take you out to our Thai place some time.”

You laugh with a nod, “How about Saturday?”

“Saturday’s good by me.” Any day is good by me.

(“Are you gonna reject Minhyuk now?”

You coo, “Jealous is cute on you, y’know.”

He doesn’t respond, though the red tips of his ears peek beneath the strands of his sable hair.

When he sees you grinning at him, he can’t help but gulp. He never realized he would ever make it this far, especially with you. All this time he could only conjure snappy remarks, hoping that these could amount to what you really did to his heart. He hoped that when his heart thundered inside his chest, it was merely because his brain was racing hard and fast to counter whatever you supplemented. God, he hoped so fucking badly that when he started daydreaming about more than just seeing you awestruck, that when he dreamt of you with a smile instead of a scowl, with jovial laughter instead of that derisive one, that maybe—just maybe—fate’s cruelty would have mercy on him.

But, instead, this giant “fuck you” came in the form of you and all the feelings have culminated since the moment you echoed his dolphin laugh with glee, because goddammit, you imitate it just right.

You do everything right.

Not just his laugh. You’re smart, funny, contagious, whether it’s laughing, smiling, or even making him want to do better. It’s off-putting and frustrating, because you fell first. You fell hard, you told him. He knew the moment you couldn’t stand to be around him, avoiding him until he cornered you and then suddenly, he was struck.

(“I like you, idiot!”

“What?”

“I’m not repeating myself,” you gulp. “I—I should go—”

“—No, wait.” He reached out then. A grin curling on the corner of his lips when you stop just before his outstretched forearm. “I like you too… idiot.”)

No one else can ignite a fire in the veins the way you can, nor can away make his heart resonate across his entire body. And for too many reasons, far too many to really count, he can’t seem to bring himself to do this simple task.

It’s been days. It certainly feels like weeks. Each and every time he sees your hand by its lonesome, unaccompanied by your textbooks or cellphones, he just knows it should be his hand there. Sometimes it’s like you leave it there just to tease him or beckon him forth, but when the back of his hand skims your soft flesh, he chokes and stuffs the appendages back into his pocket like a shield faced with the dragon of rejection. And still, the prospect of cutting the distance between your hands seems like a feat meant only for the bravest souls.

He decides to be brave today.

When he sees you by your locker talking to one of your mutual friends, some of which who expected this outcome between you two to come to fruition, they flash impish grins at you and poise nods in greeting. They come and go quickly. Perhaps they know what Chenle’s about do. Maybe it’s something they can read on his face.

He tenses as soon as he stands beside you. If everyone else can see what he wants to do, then can you?

“Hey!”

He jumps and instantly smiles as soon as you flash that stupidly cute smile his way. He exhales a laugh and replies, “Hey!”

“Did you finish the psych homework?”

Bumping his shoulder with your own, you guffaw, “Who do you think I am? Of course, I did. Did you, slacker?”

There’s an influx of people walking toward their classes, and it prompts you two to do the same. At a steady snail’s pace, he doesn’t even think when he feels your right hand brush against his left one.

This has to be on purpose, he thinks. It takes everything in him not to shy away, but when he turns a goofy grin on you before giving a look of feigned indignation, the insignificant anxieties dissipate to the back of his mind, getting smaller and smaller.

“Am not! I did it.”

Your nose scrunches when you laugh, skirting the dark thoughts even further away. “Did you actually finish it before two A.M.?”

He scratches the back of his head with his right hand. “Well…”

You roll your eyes at him, shaking your head and your hand brushes against his once more. Its warmth giving him the courage that he’s been seeking, and without a second thought, his hand chases after yours and entwines his fingers in yours.

It’s subtle, almost too right to think of its change, but it’s gentle and comforting all the same. In fact, it’s everything he hoped it would be.

And, it’s true.

Yoongi may (or may not) have forgotten the younger man’s birthday. But in his defense, Holly needed nursing from his neutering surgery that week, and he wasn’t about to let his poor, little buddy suffer all by his lonesome for some night out on the town as they’ve done almost every other weekend.

With a glower, he grumbles, “Fine, fine. Let’s go.” 

/

When Yoongi enters the building, he’s struck by how quaint it is. Although Year of Cats has around for several months now, there aren’t too many people crowding around the little felines lounging all around the vicinity. It’s actually quite nice and open without the worry of stepping on a paw or someone’s foot as he trails behind Jimin, who expertly (and excitedly) maneuvers to the front desk with an undeniable grin curled on his alabaster visage.

There’s a pretty girl standing at the desk, looking at little preoccupied with a Calico kitten. The little, spotted thing chases the tip of her pen and races across the desk without a blink of their amber hues. A tiny bell chimes as it waddles all about, and beside him, Jimin can’t help but relinquish a content sigh.

She’s cute, Yoongi notes. The inattention he pays his younger friend earns him a jab in the rib cage, however. In turn, this earns Jimin a glare of his own.

“And here I expected some quip about how much you’d rather be anywhere but here. Probably back home with Holly.”

Yoongi pointedly ignores the slight vehemence in Jimin’s words, merely stepping forward to the girl at the cash register, with his wallet in hand.

The incandescent light catches her nicely. Her hair is pulled into a lazy ponytail with loose tendrils framing her face, a grin to match curled on her lips as her eyes light up looking past him.

“Jimin!” she exclaims, giving the Calico a little stroke before making her way around to give the younger man a hug. “I feel like it’s been forever.”

He sighs, giving a small pout. “I know, I know. School’s a pain, but I brought a friend who could appreciate the feline-loving manifesto from you.”

Her eyebrows shoot upward and a glint of interest glitters in her eyes when she meets his gaze. “You’re Yoongi, I presume?”

He turns his attention to Jimin with narrowed eyes. “You’ve been shit-talking me?”

“Always,” the younger man grins wolfishly. “Who would I be if I didn’t shit talk a cat hater?”

Yoongi guffaws, “I don’t hate cats!”

“Okay, but you said Holly was the reigning king of your heart and no other animal could compare—!”

“Well, that doesn’t mean I hate cats!”

“C’mon, admit it—”

“—Admit what, you dipshit?”

The hushed bickering only dwindles to a halt when Y/N’s roar of laughter chimed across the air like bells. Yoongi has to pause, suddenly remembering that he’s out in public with his idiot of a friend, and not in the sanctity of his studio to do this shit. At the very least, he shouldn’t let Jimin’s words get to him, but truthfully, he feels the burn of embarrassment creeping up on him like vines across his cheekbones.

“Boys, boys,” she says with a clap of her hands. “No need to argue. I’m sure cat lovers, dog lovers,”—(he only mildly resents the scrunching of her nose)—“we can enjoy our day here, yeah?”

The two men grumble their affirmatives albeit elbow one another before Yoongi can go up to the counter to pay for their time in the Cat Room. His hand shakes ever-so-slightly as he hands her the debit card, only relaxing as he drums his fingertips atop the sticker-covered counter.

Although the transaction happens as quickly as he handed her the card, an impish grin curls on the corners of her lips as she leads them to the back room where the real fun is supposed to begin. She ushers Jimin in, but stops Yoongi with a forearm. He blinks, “What?”

“Jimin wasn’t kidding when I said I’d give you the cat-lovin’ manifesto, Yoongi. I’m Y/N, how about we take a walk and grab a coffee over there?”

He lets out a breathy laugh and feels his limbs twinge with nerves. Out of reflex, he asks half-jokingly, “Is this part of the package for first-timers or somethin’?”

She shakes her head, grinning even wider, “Nah, consider this a complimentary gift for being cute… even for a dog-lover.”

“Well, that’s not too bad, even for a cat-lover.”

She clicks her tongue at him and grabs a hold of his hand before he can make a snappy quip about it, leading the way to the opposite direction of the Cat Room.