#importantquestions

The difference that a good pair of sneakers make. She doesn’t have to bunch her toes up anymore. The arch support is much better. Her back hasn’t ached in weeks. It clears her foggy mind. Helps her to remember things. Notice things.

Like the blonde girl in the booth wearing a university sweatshirt, chapped lips pursed, tired eyes perusing the menu, counting the minutes before she can just get up and go without drawing attention and embarrassment.

The waitress follows her new shoes to the booth. “Hey,” she says warmly, “someone changed their order last minute.”

The blonde stares wide-eyed at the plate of pancakes sitting on the waitress’s open palm.

“Wanna take these off my hands?” the waitress asks.

“Yes!” the blonde exclaims. “Uh, and…” She looks down at the menu with renewed energy. “An orange juice, please?”

“Be right back,” the waitress says, with a wink.

One glass of orange juice stretches into three glasses.

The blonde looks around to see if anyone around her seems trustworthy enough.

Her eyes fall on a young boy sitting across from his grandmother. She’s patting his hand on the table as he swings his legs and sighs.

The blonde stands and walks over to them. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, but would you mind watching my bag for a moment? I just need to run to the restroom.”

“Sure, go ahead,” the grandmother replies, smiling.

The boys eyes are red from crying.

When the blonde returns and says a breathless, “Thanks!”, she eyes the most adorable flyers for a LOST KITTEN that she’s ever seen. Explains why the boy hasn’t downed his burger and milkshake.

The blonde places the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Where’d you lose him?” she asks.

The young boy doesn’t look up.

“Somewhere in the neighborhood, we’re sure,” the grandmother sighs.

“I have some time before my next class,” the blonde says. “Would you like me to take some flyers and post them as I walk back to campus?”

The grandmother looks over to her grandson. “Well?”

He sighs and just nods.

The grandmother looks up at the blonde and smiles. “Thank you. That’d be lovely.”

“You gonna keep bringing that up?” he grumbles, as his wife follows him from the kitchen to the living room.

“I’m just saying,” his wife goes on, “that if you don’t find a job soon, we’re really gonna be in trouble.”

Their son, still glum about his kitten, is lying on his stomach on the floor, watching TV. He doesn’t even hear them arguing anymore. It’s all just white noise at this point.

It’s also why he’s able to hear the three quick knocks on the door.

He isn’t exactly in a rush to get to his feet, but when he sees what’s waiting for him, he runs back into the living room, squealing.

At first, like any good parents would, they think he’s hurt. They can’t comprehend the gibberish that’s flowing out of him.

But when they see Mittens in their son’s arms, blinking up at them slowly, they forget what they were fighting about completely.

They join him on the floor in the living room, on top of pillows and blankets. When he falls asleep with Mittens next to him, they look at each other and share a kiss.

And they happen to catch an ad on TV.

“And this is your HR packet,” the secretary replies. “Has someone given you a tour yet?”

“Yes,” he replies, smiling. The tour was just that morning, but he’s already memorized where everything is. His parking spot. His desk. The restrooms. The break room. Which fridge sometimes shorts.

“We’ve been wanting to fill this patent clerk position for months,” the secretary replies. “What’s your degree in, again?”

“Physics,” he answers. “I was a professor, but I just hated working in academia so much. And no other job seemed…”

“Interesting enough?” the secretary guesses.

He chuckles. “Exactly.”

The secretary grins to herself. They’ve been wanting to fill this patent clerk position for months, but the same kind of person always ends up being the best fit for the job.

“The patent was just approved!” she calls out, turning around from her computer screen to the tiny group of four behind her.

They cheer excitedly.

“This is going to do amazing things for the design,” someone chirps. “The form factor alone. My god.”

Everyone exchanges excited glances with each other. There’s a buzz in the air.

“This could be it,” she says. “This could be what finally does it for us.”

You brighten considerably at the impeccably wrapped box on your desk.

“What’s this for?” you ask, looking fondly at your co-worker as you set your purse down in your chair.

“Don’t thank me,” she chuckles. She lifts her hand from her keyboard and points to an identical box on her desk. “We all got them.”

“End-of-quarter gifts,” another one of your co-workers calls over to you. He holds up a box of headphones. You don’t recognize the brand, but the design looks very appealing.

“Hmm,” you say, smiling to yourself.

Yoongi pretends that he can’t hear. But he can. He can hear everything. He can hear a note that he’ll need to pitch correct. He can hear how much better the second verse fits now that he’s adjusted the wording. He can hear the echo of a beat that he forgot to delete in the second track. But most of all, he can hear because the right side of his headphones is busted.

His manager storms over to him and unnecessarily pulls that right headphone off of his ear.

“I said, are you here to listen to music, or are you here to work?” his boss repeats, voice booming almost as loudly as the bass on Yoongi’s newest track.

“Both?” Yoongi says.

His manager glares at him while ripping the headphones off of him and tossing them in the trash.

“Hey!” Yoongi protests. “Those cost me a fortune!”

“I don’t care how much they cost,” his manager snarls. “Get your shit together and help the team out with this crowd, or go home!”

When the back door office slams, the assistant manager walks over to the display case with an apologetic smile.

“He’s a little on edge today,” the assistant manager replies.

“Still,” Yoongi says.

“Go take your break,” the assistant manager offers. “I know you haven’t had one since you clocked in this morning.”

The after-work crowd isn’t just maddening. It’s unreal. Yoongi initially took the job because this place was barely on anybody’s radar. It was a quiet place for him to think about his music while occasionally giving people something relatively similar to whatever they mumbled to him at the register. Now, Yoongi could get fired if he gives someone a regular instead of an extra-long straw.

“Thanks,” Yoongi says. “When I get back, take yours. And take twenty minutes instead of ten.”

The assistant manager nods and goes back to work with the rest of the team, as Yoongi pushes past the crowd at the entrance.

He sees you turning the corner as he leans against the wall.

He brightens when he sees you, and you do the same when you see him.

Your footsteps quicken as you hurry to meet each other.

“Hi,” he says, nervous.

“Hi,” you squeak, grinning.

You’ve got the hug down pat. You haven’t come to expect it, but the peck on your cheek is always extremely appreciated when it makes an appearance. You feel extra tingles down your legs when he gives you this one.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Wanted to swing by and see you,” you say.

The two of you are arguably past the point of playing coy, but that’s what Yoongi has always liked about you. You always say what you feel.

“And I have something for you,” you say, reaching into your purse.

You pull out the box of headphones and hand it over to him.

His jaw drops, and his eyes widen.

“What… I… This is…”

He smiles at you, eyes disappearing, face all cheeks, teeth, and gums.

“I’ve been trying to get a pair of these for months!”

“We got them as presents at work,” you admit sheepishly. “Thought you’d like them for a backup pair or something. I didn’t know the brand.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “They’re a new company, but they’re generating a lot of buzz.” His eyebrows knit together. “You sure you don’t want them??”

“I prefer open-backs,” you say, with a bit of a snobby nose crinkle.

It’s the sexiest thing Yoongi’s ever heard you say.

And the look he gives you is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen him do.

“I’ve had such a bad day,” Yoongi sighs. “This is so nice. Thank you.”

“A bad day?” you ask, sad on his behalf.

Yoongi bites his lip and nods. “Yeah.”

You smile. You’re so full of fondness for him. You just can’t help it. “Well, then, I have something else for you.”

“Are you kidding, this pair costs---”

When your lips meet his, his breath hitches, and he forgets about headphones completely.

You pull away, and he gazes at you with wide, happy eyes.

“We still on for later tonight?” you ask him, wiping your lipstick from his mouth.

He takes your wrist in his hand and nods as he moves in for another kiss.

“Is oat milk extra?” she asks.

Yoongi blinks at her. “Uh, yeah,” he says. He’s pretty sure it is, at least. He hasn’t been able to think straight since learning that all that separates him from another one of your kisses is about half an hour.

“OK, just regular milk, then,” she replies, handing Yoongi her card.

Yoongi smiles at her and rings her up.

A few minutes later, Yoongi calls out, “Chai latte!”

The girl gets up from her seat and leaves her friends to pick up her order.

“Thanks,” she replies.

When she tastes the latte, she notices a hint of oat.

She looks over at Yoongi, who simply meets her happy eyes with a thumbs-up before smiling back at the clock on the wall.