Chapter Text
Mornings used to be Minho’s favourite. He loved the quiet before morning rush hour, how the entire city was still paused, bracing itself for something. That’s why he never had a problem with his solo-opening shifts, why he had pushed back so hard when Chan insisted the cafe was getting too busy and that Minho should accept some help.
‘Just for the first couple of hours, Minho-yah,’ Chan had said gently. As if Minho had a choice.
Obviously, the pushback didn’t work. Which is why Minho now has to share his peaceful opening shifts with none other than—
“Good morning, Minho,” Jisung sings, bumping shoulders with Minho as he clocks in.
Minho breathes deeply through his nose.
—Han Jisung. Minho’s personal nightmare. Wearing a fluffy cardigan and glasses that Minho’s pretty sure are as fake as the smile on his face, he’s infuriating as ever.
It’s not like Minho hasn’t tried to like him. He used to, when they only knew each other through polite nods in the break room, when their shifts barely overlapped, when Jisung kept to himself.
But it turns out he’s not the well-mannered, shy barista Minho once thought he was. No, he’s an insufferable, cocky brat with an attitude. He forgets his manners, forgets personal space, forgets that his job is to serve coffee and not to push Minho’s buttons. And the worst part: it works. Frustratingly well.
Minho’s eye twitches. “I’m older than you, you know.”
“Age doesn’t matter here,” Jisung says, even though he knows damn well it does, like it matters everywhere. Minho turns his head very slowly, and finds Jisung grinning right in his face. “But I can call you hyung if you want,” he adds with an excited little gasp, “I’m so happy to finally have the privilege.”
With an annoyed grunt, Minho turns away, taking a cloth with him to start wiping down the glass on the pastry display. Jisung, for some reason, follows him out of the staff room.
“Did you even try to have a good day?” he asks, pouting. “It’s only nine, Minho-hyung.”
Minho sucks his teeth. “I was having a great day.”
“And now it’s even better?” Jisung smiles, framing his face with his hands. “Because I’m here to help?”
Minho stares at him. Blinks once, twice, until Jisung falters, just barely, the overly sweet smile slipping off his face.
“Why don’t you pull the chairs down,” Minho says slowly. “Or wipe the windows. Organize the syrups alphabetically, I don’t care. Just—do literally anything else.”
Jisung pouts again. He sighs dramatically, but walks off without another word.
Well, actually, he stomps, but his dumb little platform boots probably make it hard for him not to. Minho stares at them until they disappear behind the counter, and then he focuses on the display again.
So. Yeah. Mornings used to be Minho’s favourite. Now, he resents them.
More than that, he resents that it doesn’t stop at mornings. Even when he clocks out, when he’s on the subway home, when he finally closes his apartment door and feels the tension drain out of his shoulders—Jisung is still there. Constantly.
Minho can’t help himself from replaying the hours he worked with Jisung, pissing himself off again for no good reason.
He thumps his head back against the door and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Maybe he needs to talk to Chan again, demand his peaceful mornings back. After all, Minho’s a supervisor too, shouldn’t he have some say in the scheduling?
Nodding to himself, he unlocks his phone and navigates to his contacts list. And, just as his thumb reaches Chan’s name, he pauses. A notification banner swings down, telling him that he apparently has a new message from someone on a dating app he hasn’t opened in months.
Well, calling it a dating app is generous. It’s more of a… hookup app, if the faceless, nameless profiles are anything to go off of. But that’s good. Exactly what he needs right now. He doesn’t want dates and commitment and flowers and romance. He just needs to get rid of whatever energy is building up inside him and making him so pent up that he feels like punching walls. This notification feels like divine intervention, in a way.
It looks almost innocent. An unassuming message from a name he doesn’t recognize yet, Hannie, a short and sweet ‘hi :)’.
Minho’s thumb hovers over the notification unsurely. He thinks of the morning shift, of Jisung’s lilting voice, of his smug little face, of the way he leaned into Minho’s space for the entire five hours they worked together.
His head pulses. Even after the second, Jisung-less half of his shift, Jisung is still a pain in the ass. Or, well. A pain in the head.
Biting the inside of his cheek, he clicks the notification. He might as well see what this guy is offering, right? It’s better than his original plan to waste his free time complaining to Chan about Jisung.
“No more Jisung thoughts,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. He refuses to let the little brat eat up any more of his day.
The notification opens into the chat, Minho immediately clicking the profile instead. Hannie is 24, a bottom, and his bio is one of the shortest Minho has ever seen: be gentle with me~
Minho huffs in amusement. His eyes drift to the photo and he can’t help but smile at it. He’s so used to the half-naked mirror selfies that this feels endearing. Not that Minho is any better—his main profile picture is just his hand petting his cat. It felt a bit unethical to use that as a thirst trap, but he was pretty sure Soonie would support his journey, so he used it anyway.
Hannie’s photo, on the other hand, is taken from the back. He stands in the center of the frame, his fingers interlocked behind his head, resting on a mop of windswept blond hair. It’s sweet, almost innocent, except Minho’s eyes drift and—ah, the bare skin revealed by the cropped top is suggestive enough that it brings heat to his cheeks.
The curve of the man’s waist makes Minho’s fingers twitch, but the cherry on top is the small, barely noticeable patch of ink peeking out from the waistband of his jeans. A tramp stamp? He couldn’t be more appealing to Minho if he tried.
His eyes trace over Hannie’s frame again, the way his broadness tapers into something almost dainty. He pictures his hands around that waist, the tattoo. He can’t tell what it is yet, but knowing it exists is enough for him to imagine tracing his fingertips over it.
Okay. Yeah, this’ll definitely work.
Minho takes one last look and finally swipes back into the chat.
Minho:
hey
Hannie:
oh hi!!
you actually responded!!! lol
Minho:
yeah?
isn’t that the point of the app?
Hannie:
good point
Minho stares at the screen, waiting for him to add something else. He doesn’t. Minho snorts, tucks his phone into his pocket, and reminds himself that this is why he doesn’t use dating apps anymore. It’s like no one even wants to try having a conversation first.
He toes off his shoes and moves deeper into his apartment. Soonie’s little head pokes out from around the corner, ears twitching curiously. Minho coos and immediately crouches to scratch his little head, scooping him up and kissing him repeatedly as he walks to his bedroom.
The other two cats are sleeping on his bed, and Soonie wriggles out of his arms to go sniff them. Minho finishes greeting all his babies, then turns to change into something comfortable before heading to the bathroom.
As he watches the soap suds swirl down the drain, his eyes dart back to his phone on the bathroom counter. Why does he care so much anyway? No—he doesn’t care, he’d just hate to accidentally miss a message… or something.
He swipes his phone off the counter with a quiet groan.
When he unlocks it, their chat is still empty, the typing cursor blinking at him mockingly. He rereads their short conversation and winces at his own dry messages. Okay, fine, so maybe he didn’t give the guy much to work with.
Frustrated, he sighs and starts typing again, nearly tripping on Soonie’s paw on his way to the kitchen.
Minho:
i’m sorry, let me try that again
you’re very cute, so yes, I responded
Hannie:
(⸝⸝•⩊•⸝⸝)
you can’t even see my face
but thank you
Minho:
you can’t see mine either
but here you are
Hannie:
i mean
can’t sue a guy for liking hands.
and thighs. and arms.
Minho grins. Hyunjin had practically demanded he add the gym selfie as a secondary photo; it’s a classic thirst trap. Taken in the mirror, mask over the lower half of his face and his phone covering everything else, arms and thighs on display. Minho had refused at first, but Hyunjin insisted no one would click on a profile that only had a picture of someone’s hand (and a cat, excuse him).
After what he’s seen on this app, Minho would beg to differ, but the picture is clearly working if it caught Hannie’s eye.
Minho:
well then, can’t sue a guy for liking waists either.
Hannie:
guess we’re even~
so… you workout?
Minho:
is this your idea of dirty talk or are you gym-bro zoning me?
Hannie:
i’m making conversation! it’s a gym selfie!!
ack
sorry if it was a stupid question :c
Minho:
lol no it’s okay
i’m fucking with you
yes, i work out
Hannie:
see now THAT is dirty talk
Minho:
?
Hannie:
maybe i like
you know…
Minho:
like what?
Hannie:
like
ahhh idk (*/_＼)
i’m not really good at talking about stuff like this
Oh, okay—he’s adorably shy. Minho thumps his phone against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and chewing his lip so he doesn’t smile pathetically. He imagines Hannie squirming around as he tries typing something bold, then immediately realizing he can’t and backpedaling.
It only makes Minho want to push him harder. To get that boldness out of him. He hums, thumbs dancing over the keyboard as he decides how much he can push without scaring him away.
Minho:
oh? but you’re the one who brought it up
Hannie:
hhhh stop
i take it back
Minho:
do you now ;)
if you’re this shy, i can go first instead?
Hannie:
oh
yes. please
Minho:
hmmm
maybe i like
imagining my hands on your waist
maybe i like that you look easy to grab and move around
Hannie:
ohhfksjnfjkdns!!
The flustered, incoherent reaction is so predictable that Minho laughs out loud—he knows these types. Something hot settles in his stomach, Hannie’s little typing bubble appearing and disappearing in an adorable attempt at finding something else to say.
He chugs a glass of water and pushes himself off the counter, forcing himself into his room. Dinner can wait, probably. He can read where this is going and he doesn’t really want it to happen next to the stove.
Minho:
ahhh so that’s what does it for you?
you want me to put you exactly where i want you?
Hannie:
maybe. yes
and maybe that’s why i wanted to know if you work out…
Minho:
cute
what else do you like
Hannie:
i like
your thighs
Minho:
oh?
what about them?
Minho fluffs his pillow up against the headboard, finally settling on his bed, tapping against his thigh impatiently.
In the silence of his room, an image takes form in his head. The man from the picture on his lap, his slim thighs on either side of Minho’s thicker one, squeezing tightly around it. He imagines him needy and just as whiny as he is through text, embarrassed but still desperately chasing pleasure.
The tip of his thumb settles underneath his waistband as he watches the screen. Instead of waiting for a new message to come in, Minho goes back to the picture.
God, his body. Minho’s dick twitches in his sweats at the thought of getting his hands on him. How he could guide his movements, hold him up if he turned all weak and started trembling. He palms himself, biting his lip to stifle a grunt just as the next message comes in.
Hannie:
you know ><
Minho:
i think i do yeah
you wanna ride them don’t u baby
Hannie:
hhhyeah yesyesyes
is it okay if i’m.
like
getting off on this?
Minho’s breath rushes out in a shaky laugh. His hand is already halfway down his pants and this guy—this stranger—is politely asking for permission to do the same? Hard and leaking in his bed, but still waiting for Minho’s green light?
A jolt of pleasure runs down Minho’s spine at the control being so easily handed to him.
Minho:
fuck
you’re so polite about it lol
yeah baby you’re supposed to
Hannie:
are you??
also???
Minho:
am i what
Hannie:
getting off
Minho:
i am yeah
how could i not be
look at what you’re saying to me
Hannie:
hgfhghfhgh ok good
Minho shifts enough to slip his hand into his sweats, breathing shakily as he finally wraps his fingers around his cock. Every slow drag of his fist smears precum over his shaft, the slick sound of it obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet room.
He lets his mind wander, wonders what Hannie might sound like, what he might be doing. If he’s already touching himself, or if he’s drawing it out, trying to be patient.
He bites his lip so hard he tastes iron, vision swimming as he brings his phone closer with a shaky hand. Squinting at the bright glowing screen, he barely manages to see straight enough to type the question.
Minho:
tell me what you’re doing
Hannie:
ummm
fuck this is so embarrassing
i’m using
a pillow
Minho:
needy little thing
how are you using it?
Hannie:
looking at your pic
Minho:
and?
humping your pillow pretending it’s my thigh?
Hannie:
hhfhhfjdhfjdyes
“Fuck,” Minho gasps, eyes fluttering. A shudder wracks his body, thighs tensing against the mattress, fist tightening around his cock.
Minho:
it’s cute that you’re acting all shy about it
Hannie:
i AM shy about it !!
Minho:
right
shy but you’re making a mess all over your pillow and staring at my picture like a perv
does it feel good baby?
Hannie:
feels so good
thinking about what u said too
Minho’s lips twitch into a small, amused smirk. The hesitation in Hannie’s texts is unbearably cute, as if he’s waiting for permission to say what’s on his mind.
Minho:
what’d i say?
Hannie:
ur hands on my waist
moving me around
Minho:
yeah?
you’d like that wouldn’t you
me pushing you around a little?
deciding how much you can take?
Hannie:
please yes yes i’d like it so much
can i
ahhh
can i show you
Minho:
not so shy now huh
good boy
go ahead and show me how desperate you are
Almost immediately, Minho’s restraint runs thin, the lull in their conversation making him antsy. He sighs, tossing the phone onto the mattress beside him, and thumbs at the leaking head of his cock.
A low moan slips past his lips as he wonders what the video might look like. Is Hannie watching himself on the screen, embarrassed by his own desperation? Does he get off on knowing he’s being good for Minho?
The phone finally vibrates. Minho almost knocks it off the bed in his haste to pick it up.
There’s no message with the attachment—just the video, like Hannie was either too nervous to say anything or too eager to get back to what he was doing. When Minho taps to open it, his breath catches in his throat.
The phone is set up so that it cuts off at his collarbones, the dim light in his room casting a glow over his skin. He’s straddling the pillow, hands curled against his chest, trembling slightly. Minho smiles at the sight; he’s still shy, even now, recording himself like this for Minho.
He’s even prettier than Minho imagined. His toned stomach, his defined pecs, the slutty little waist Minho’s been fixated on since he first saw that picture.
After a deep, shaky breath, Minho presses play.
Hannie doesn’t even bother building up to it, clearly too needy to think about faking anything for the sake of the video. The sound of fabric rustling crackles out of the speaker with every frantic grind of his hips, hands dropping to grab the edges of the pillow like he’s trying not to float away.
The heavy breaths spilling from his mouth turn whiny, his movements stuttering as he folds over. Minho’s grip tightens on his phone, his cock throbbing as the video loops. He lifts his hips to shove his sweats off fully with his free hand, eyes still locked on the screen.
His relieved groan blends with Hannie’s next whimper. He strokes himself in time with the desperate rhythm, eyes fluttering as his head thumps back against the headboard. He should be there, under Hannie, letting him use his thigh instead of that stupid, flimsy pillow.
He barely manages to tear his gaze away from the video, thumb trembling as he swipes back into the chat. There’s a message waiting for him there, endearingly nervous and impatient.
Hannie:
(づ﹏ど)
do you like it
Minho:
yeah i do
of course i do
you’re so fucking hot
so pretty for me
Hannie:
hngh shut up
Minho:
god baby
just look at you
should i show you how much i like it?
Hannie:
please
please please please pleas e please please please
Minho plays the video again, setting the phone down in his line of sight so he doesn’t have to hold it up anymore. He spits into his palm before wrapping it around his length.
With his eyes trained on Hannie’s body against the pillow, it’s easier for Minho to picture it. Hannie isn’t humping his pillow anymore—no, he’s straddling Minho instead, rubbing his cock messily against Minho’s own. Would his movements be this frantic if he was riding Minho? Backwards, Minho imagines, so he could dig his thumbs into the mysterious little tramp stamp—would Hannie tremble like this then, too? Would he beg just like he did in his texts? ‘Please, hyung, fuck me harder’?
“Fuck,” he groans, twitching in his hand as that same broken sob echoes in his ears. He watches through blurry vision, the way Hannie’s stomach ripples with each movement, how his back arches, how his thighs squeeze around the pillow like they’re trying to slam shut.
He gives up on matching Hannie’s pace as the heat coils in his gut, precum slickening his frantic movements. He twists his wrist, thumbs over the head—he’s so delirious he can almost feel Hannie’s weight on his lap as he fucks into the tight heat of his fist.
His cock pulses with a warning throb, his whole body tensing as the first wave of his orgasm crashes over him. It’s overwhelming, blood rushing through his ears as he shudders. His cock twitches and then he’s spilling over his hand, painting his stomach. His strokes become rough, sloppy as he strokes himself through it until he’s jerking away from his own touch.
“Fuck,” he groans again, slumping back into his pillow, the tension melting out of his body. He lets out a weak, breathless laugh as he grabs his phone with his clean hand, chest heaving and sweaty.
The picture is half-assed, but he makes sure that everything is in frame—his cock still in hand, the mess on his torso, and a peek of his thighs because Hannie deserves the reward. He sends it immediately, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion.
Minho:
since u asked so nicely
[IMG_0914]
Hannie:
ohhhmygod
oh my god
i’m going to die
i
Minho:
hmm?
Hannie:
ursobig
omg
please
i just came my brains out
looking at that
Minho:
good
i like that you can get a little dumb for me <3
Hannie:
(,,>﹏<,,) shut up
Minho huffs a laugh, then immediately cringes as he registers the sticky feeling coating his body. He rolls out of bed carefully, taking a tissue off his bedside table to wipe off as much as he can before heading to the shower.
As he waits for the water to heat up, his phone lights up on the counter. He snatches it up way too fast and makes a face at himself in the mirror—the orgasm must’ve gotten to his head, making him act all silly for no reason.
Still, when he swipes the notification and the chat opens up, his chest twists with something dangerously soft, lips stretching into a small, fond smile. Even after sending a filthy video and giving Minho the orgasm of his life, Hannie was back, still adorably flustered and polite as ever.
Hannie:
is it like
weird if i say thank you now
Minho:
lmao
do you usually say thank you to guys on this app?
Hannie:
no…
that was crazier than usual i guess
Minho:
watch out
it might get to my head
Hannie:
it SHOULD!!!
i’m going to think about your dick 24/7 now
was it good for you too?
Minho:
yeah baby
you were perfect
and saying thank you isn’t weird at all
in fact, thank YOU very much
Hannie:
hdknfkdndjngdfn
(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
⋆☕︎ ˖⋆☕︎ ˖⋆☕︎ ˖
When Minho wakes up, he feels like he’s on top of the fucking world. He doesn’t want to give Hannie all the credit, but the guy definitely deserves some. Minho feels cleansed, rejuvenated even, like the orgasm last night exorcized Jisung’s bad energy out of him completely.
He hums to himself happily as he brushes his teeth, Doongie and Dori curling around his ankles and screaming insistently for food.
It’s a good morning. A great one. He even snags a seat on the subway, which feels like a premonition: Today, Minho is lucky. Today, Minho will have a great day.
Because today, Minho’s mornings are going back to normal.
He’s still humming when he turns into the back entrance of the cafe and sees Jisung leaning against the wall. His fluffy brown hair is tousled with sleep and falls into his eyes as he stares down at his phone, but he looks up when he hears Minho’s steps.
“Good morning,” Minho says lightly, reaching for the keypad to let them both in. Jisung is wearing a black hoodie that swallows him whole, which is definitely against the dress code, but Minho lets it slide. He’s so gracious today.
Jisung tucks his phone into his pocket and stretches his arms over his head with a dramatic yawn, interlocking his fingers behind his head as he smiles sweetly at Minho. “Morning, hyung.”
Minho stares at him. The pose is so familiar it makes his brain lag, and for the briefest second, the memory of Hannie’s picture flashes into his mind. No, he thinks immediately. Absolutely not.
“You have a good night?” he asks, opting for small talk instead of acknowledging the awful thought that just crossed his mind. He pushes the door open, holding it for Jisung to trail in behind him.
“Mhm,” he hums. He blinks slowly, sleepily, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Slept really well. You? You seem extra chipper today.”
Minho makes a vague noise of agreement and crouches down to grab the float out of the safe. See? Everything is great and normal, today is going to be great.
Beside him, Jisung flicks the lights on, then flicks them back off immediately. Minho looks at him from the corner of his eye and sees him smiling again—not the same sleepy smile from before; something very obviously provoking and smug has taken its place. He flicks the light switch again.
“Jisung,” Minho mumbles.
“Yeah, hyung?”
“Stop messing with the lights.”
“I’m not,” Jisung whines. Then, he gasps. “Do you think it’s a ghost?”
“Han Jisung,” Minho says, tone full of warning. “Stop messing with the lights and start doing your job.”
Jisung sighs heavily and flicks the lights back on, stomping to the espresso machines. “You’re so boring,” he grumbles. “I take back what I said earlier. You aren’t chipper at all.”
Minho doesn’t dignify that with a verbal response, but he allows himself an eyeroll.
After that, Jisung settles, falling—mostly—quiet as he goes through his opening tasks. There’s something different about him today, almost… softer, even though he’s clearly still fishing for a reaction, announcing every task he’s finished as he moves through the store. Napkins: Check!
Minho shakes his head and forces himself to stop watching. It’s none of his business why Jisung is acting weird. Especially not when he unlocks the doors, and the bell above the door jingles shortly after.
“Hi!” Jisung says brightly, beaming at the customer. “How are you doing today?"
“Latte, please,” she responds, typing furiously on her phone.
Jisung looks down to punch it into the system, then turns to hand Minho the order sticker with a scrunched up nose and a curled lip. Minho snorts quietly and takes it, turning to make the drink.
When he sets the cup down on the counter and calls out her order, she glances up. Then, she looks down and smiles, pointing at the heart in her latte foam. “Oh. Cute art.”
“Thank you.” Minho nods politely. “Have a nice day.”
“Thanks,” she grins, snapping a lid on her cup. Her eyes linger for a moment too long before she softly adds, “You too.”
As soon as she walks away, Jisung mutters, “Gag me.”
Minho chokes. “W-What?”
“Gag me,” he repeats, crossing his arms and pouting. “She was so rude to me, but for you she’s all like,” he pitches his voice up, “‘Oh, have a good day, sexy barista man!’”
“Oh?” Minho smirks. “Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“You seem jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Jisung scowls, still pouting. “She was just mean to me. Admit it.”
Minho shrugs, wiping the counter absently. “I dunno, she seemed pretty busy on her phone.”
“She was flirting with you,” Jisung scoffs. “I’m telling Channie-hyung that you’re flirting on the clock.”
Something in Minho’s stomach twists hotly, his irritation spiking. He tongues the inside of his cheek, crossing his arms and leaning back. Just as he opens his mouth to respond, to entertain Jisung’s little temper tantrum, the bell jingles again and they both straighten up.
Jisung bumps his shoulder with Minho’s on his way back to the register, scoffing lightly, but his lips twitch with a smile.
“Don’t worry, Jisung,” Minho lilts. “Someone will flirt with you soon, too.”
“This is highly inappropriate, leader-nim,” Jisung whispers, eyes darting to a customer browsing pastries. “I’ll tell Channie-hyung about this, too. Just you wait.”
Minho tilts his head, catching the pink creeping onto Jisung’s cheeks, and feels a sudden wave of glee. A smirk spreads across his lips. Huh—Jisung is better when he’s embarrassed. Not good, no, but... tolerable. Maybe.
“Sure, Jisung-ssi,” he whispers back. When Jisung looks over, Minho wipes the smirk off his face and jerks his chin at the register. “Get back to work.”
Jisung salutes and turns away, but freezes halfway through the movement. Danger, Minho thinks immediately. Like watching a mischievous cat nudge a glass to the edge of the counter, and knowing that there’s no way to stop it from falling.
“Wait,” he says, eyes going wide. “Someone will flirt with me?” He grins. “Aw, hyung. Does that mean you think I’m pretty?”
Minho scrunches his nose. Nope. Not tolerable at all.
~~~
It’s easier to ignore Jisung when the rush starts. Really, it’s only a singular hour where they actually see a consistent stream of customers—the whole reason why Jisung is here in the first place—but it keeps them entertained.
To Minho’s surprise, Jisung mostly keeps to himself and even reminds Minho to take his break just after one, when the crowd dwindles. Of course, Minho should’ve known that Jisung just needed time to recharge his annoying-meter.
When he steps out of the break room, Jisung is sitting on the counter, swinging his legs and typing on his phone.
“Jisung,” Minho immediately scolds. “You can’t—”
“You’re late,” Jisung interrupts, mirroring Minho’s scolding tone.
“What?”
“It’s 1:31.”
Minho blinks at him twice, then shakes his head. “What?”
“You took an extra minute,” Jisung says.
“That’s—” Minho starts, but he reroutes when Jisung starts kicking his feet again, like he’s having the time of his life. “Jisung, get off the counter, that is incredibly unsanitary.”
Jisung pouts, but he hops off the counter. Minho sees him quickly glance down at his phone and tap the screen.
“And get off your phone,” Minho adds. “You’re not even supposed to have it when you’re on the floor.”
Like a cosmic joke, Minho’s phone buzzes in his apron.
Jisung smirks. “You gonna check that?”
“No, I’m not gonna check that.” Minho narrows his eyes. “I forgot to put it back after my break.”
“Right, your extended break.” Jisung nods, smiling when Minho sighs through his nose. “Well, if you want to check it, I won’t tell,” he sings, skipping away to grab a rag so he can wipe the spot he was sitting on.
Minho takes a deep breath, watching him go. Then, he turns around and pulls his phone out of his pocket.
Hannie:
how’s your day going (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
sorry if i was too much last night
Minho:
hey
don’t worry about it, you weren’t
The green dot had already disappeared from Hannie’s profile, as if he sent the text and then threw his phone across the room. Minho smiles at the idea, even as his fingers hesitate over the screen unsurely.
Should he say something else? He honestly wasn’t expecting it to go past one night, and he doesn’t want to give Hannie the wrong idea.
But last night had been so good. Minho remembers his good mood from the morning, how refreshed he felt, almost euphoric. Small talk wouldn’t hurt. Right? Yeah. Just… one more text.
Minho:
my day is ok! working, you know how it is
how is yours?
Or two more.
“So?” Jisung asks. He pretends to peer over Minho’s shoulder with a cheeky grin on his face. “Who is it? Channie-hyung?”
“Uh, yeah,” Minho lies, feeling oddly protective over Hannie. “He was asking how the shift is going.”
Jisung blinks. He nods slowly. “Oh. Then you won’t mind if I just—“
He makes a half-hearted grab at Minho’s phone, and Minho jerks it away immediately. “No!”
“I’m kidding, hyung!” He bursts into laughter, loud and full-bellied. “God, you should’ve seen your face. That is definitely not hyung.”
Minho scoffs through a smile, heart racing and ears heating up. He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s work stuff, Jisung.”
“So? I work here too,” Jisung raises a challenging eyebrow.
“Managerial work stuff.”
Jisung’s smile stretches wider. “You’re flirting on company time again, aren’t you?”
“Highly inappropriate, Jisung-ssi,” Minho says dryly. Jisung giggles at his own words being echoed back at him, and mercifully leaves Minho alone.
~~~
It’s not that Minho is waiting for Hannie’s reply, he just happens to notice the lack of it when he checks the time on his phone. Which is no big deal, really, just—it would’ve been nice to have something else to think about all day.
“Can I clock out five minutes early?” Jisung yells from across the room. Minho stares at him with wide eyes. Jisung huffs. “Relax, hyung. It’s dead in here.”
“Whatever. Go.”
“You’re not going to miss me if I leave early?”
“No,” Minho says, rifling through the drawer under the register just to look busy.
“Hyung, can’t you tell I’m sensitive today?” Jisung pouts. “You should be gentle with me.”
Minho clenches his teeth so hard his jaw twitches. “Clock out before I change my mind, Jisung.”
“Mean,” he mutters quietly. “You just get grouchier throughout the day or what?”
“Yes,” Minho says. And he means it—today has felt like a post-orgasmic sugar crash. Minho glances at his phone again, like it’s becoming a nervous reflex, then shakes his head at his own melodrama.
So much for mornings being normal again.
Shortly after Jisung leaves—with a very dramatic goodbye, fake-sobbing and all—Jeongin arrives for the closing shift.
Jeongin is steady, professional, and fun. He’s easy to talk to, but he knows when to stop pushing. It’s perfect; he makes the rest of Minho’s shift fly by, all light jokes and small talk. Minho can practically feel his blood pressure dropping throughout the afternoon, and he thinks he’s at regular levels when Chan arrives to switch shifts.
By the time he gets home, a message is waiting for him. He clicks it a little too eagerly, but blames it on the stressful morning he had.
Hannie:
I was also working!!
thought about you all day today…
Minho:
yeah?
keeping true to your promise?
Hannie:
what promise?
Minho:
┃i’m going to think about your dick 24/7 now
↳ that one
Hannie:
oh that’s embarrassing
hhhhh
maybe…
Minho:
good ;)
Minho types out his reply, and then hesitates. If he mirrors Hannie’s words, how will it come off?
But he did think about him today. A lot. In fact, probably more than he should’ve. And honestly, Hannie deserves to know his impact. Minho huffs at himself and sends the damn text.
Minho:
i thought about you too
Hannie:
you did? ><
Minho:
yeah
you did leave quite an impression last night
Hannie:
you think so? hehe
sooo does that mean it’s happening again orrr
Minho:
i’d be down
Minho chews his lip. He and Hannie have been aligned on pretty much everything else so far, but he doesn’t really want to get himself into something messy. Just to be sure, he spells it out in big, bold letters.
Minho:
but
just to clarify, i’m not really looking for anything serious rn
There. Simple and sweet, no mess possible. Minho nods at his own screen confidently.
Hannie:
so casual fun?
just more of what happened last night?
Minho:
yeah, exactly
casual fun, anonymous, no strings attached
and we’ll see how it goes
is that okay?
Hannie:
ur speaking my language :3
i love a good casual fun sextuationship! lol
Minho sets his phone down with a shake of his head, laughing to himself.
Mornings won’t go back to normal, then. Jisung will stay annoying, Minho will stay aggravated—but at least he’ll have his perfect little distraction in his pocket at all times.
And then, because he can’t help himself: he picks his phone up again.
Minho:
should we make the sextuationship official? ;)
What? He had a rough day—he needs this.
⋆☕︎ ˖⋆☕︎ ˖⋆☕︎ ˖
“Are the espresso beans whispering jokes to you, Minho-hyung?”
Minho blinks, turning from the counter—and the espresso beans—to face Jisung. “What?”
“You’ve been smiling at them for like, ten minutes,” Jisung says, tone full of amusement. “It’s kind of creepy.”
“I’m— I’m just—“ Minho stammers. “Mind your business, Jisung.”
Jisung shrugs. “I’m going to use the bathroom,” he announces unnecessarily, untying his apron and rushing to the back room.
Minho shakes his head, turning back to the espresso beans.
Jisung is incredibly wrong—Minho isn’t amused by espresso beans. No, Minho is amused by the irresistible little flirt in his phone; probably the same flirt making his pocket buzz right now.
He waits a few seconds, long enough to make sure Jisung isn’t lingering, then pulls his phone out just enough to peek at the notification.
Han Jisung (Work):
just wanted to say hi
hiiii 😋😋☕️☕️☕️
“Jisung!” Minho hisses, shoving the break room door open and sticking his head in. “The bathroom is not for texting!”
“I’m not texting, hyung!” Jisung calls back through the bathroom door. “I’ll be out in a minute, I promise!”
Han Jisung (Work):
sorry, g2g, boss is too boring to let me have fun at work 🙄
“Han Jisung.”
“Hyung, stop talking to me while I’m in the bathroom,” Jisung says, barely concealed laughter making his voice shake. “I’m trying to focus.”
Minho throws his hands in the air and lets the break room door shut. Just as he’s tucking his phone back into his pocket, it buzzes again.
He sighs deeply, debating whether he should even look at it. Frankly, he’s getting too old to put up with Jisung’s antics.
Except, he looks anyway, because interacting with Jisung is like driving by a car crash—and then he sees the notification. It’s not a car crash like he expected. Instead, he’s driving past a beautiful, glimmering river. Hannie River.
As if someone poked his temper balloon with a needle, the tension leaves his body immediately, shoulders deflating.
Hannie:
hmm
how do you feel about sexting at work?
too unethical? :p
Minho:
yes. absolutely.
Hannie:
yes absolutely you want to do it…?
Minho:
it’s absolutely too unethical
Hannie:
even if we don’t get caught? (>ᴗ•)
Minho blinks at the message. It’s so absurd that it makes him laugh, even though his stomach gives a little twist at the mere suggestion of it.
Minho:
you’re very tempting
but still, no
Hannie:
but what if i’m reaaaally good?
Minho bites his lip, looking over his shoulder quickly. Jisung is in the back doing whatever the hell he’s doing, and the cafe is completely empty. What’s the harm in just a little bit of fun?
Minho:
hmmm
if you’re reaaaally good
then maybe i’ll give you a small reward
Hannie:
from what i saw last night it’s a BIG reward
Minho:
you little freak
you’re actually talking about my cock on company time?
Hannie:
>< ummm
no one’s gonna know!!
Minho:
well you’d have to earn it first
show me you deserve it
do you think you can do that, baby?
Hannie:
hngh
okay nope this feels way too real
i’m tapping out. you win
Minho:
oh?
but that was only the start
i had so much more to say
Hannie:
hfjskfksjdks please ㅠㅠ
i can’t do it
it’s working on me too well
Minho:
lol
thought so
The door swings open so abruptly that Minho jumps, shoving his phone into his pocket and spinning around like he got caught with his hand in the pastry display.
Jisung speedwalks to the register, head lowered and eyes glued to the floor. He doesn’t say anything snarky, doesn’t even acknowledge Minho. Minho has never seen him like this and he immediately hates everything about it.
“Um. Hello?” Minho says, half-confusion and half-concern. Jisung waves at him, but even that movement is subtle. Minho shifts, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and unsettled. “Damn, was it that intense in there?”
Jisung’s head snaps up, eyes wide, cheeks pink. His eyes dart away like he refuses to meet Minho’s gaze, swallowing as he watches his hands fidget with his apron string. “Um. What?”
“In the bathroom,” Minho points over his shoulder. “When you said you needed to focus I didn’t think you meant your shits were so—“
“Hyung!” Jisung squeaks, hands covering his mouth as he bursts into laughter. “I wasn’t—ew, seriously, what is wrong with you?”
Jisung walks away, shaking his head and giggling to himself. Something is still off about him, but Minho watches the tension leave his body right before he flicks the stack of napkins on the counter for no reason. One flutters to the floor, and Jisung walks away, leaving it there.
Annoying, Minho thinks. Good.
~~~
Minho sighs, pouring milk into the pitcher and drifting back to the counter to froth it, the metal warm against his palm. He’s at that point in his shift where he feels like he’s running on autopilot, but he’s happy about that. Routine, control; it’s when he’s most comfortable.
As he’s making little swirling shapes in the foam, Jisung slides up next to him and leans against the counter. He sighs loudly when Minho doesn’t acknowledge him.
“Hyung?” he murmurs, tracing his fingertip over the edge of the counter. Minho hums, wiping a drip from the rim and setting the cup down on the pickup counter. “I messed up an order.”
Minho snorts. “What did you do now?”
“It was an iced matcha,” Jisung continues quietly, pouting. “The customer was pissed, he said it was too clumpy.”
Minho sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and facing Jisung. “Jisung, how many times did we go over proper whisking techniques?”
“I know, okay?” Jisung snaps, but it comes out shaky, and his bottom lip wobbles. Minho feels his irritation dissolve like a sugar cube.
“Wait. Are you… actually upset about this?” he asks carefully. Jisung shrugs sadly. “What, did he yell at you or something?”
Jisung shrugs again, pouting more severely now. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What?” Minho looks around the cafe. “Is he still here?”
“No, he dumped the drink in the trash and stormed out.” Jisung sniffles, crossing his arms.
The irritation returns tenfold. This time it’s not aimed at Jisung—it’s aimed at the dickhead customer who was so rude he made the most upbeat, energetic guy in this building insecure for making a mistake.
What the hell? Who does this guy think he is? Why doesn’t he make his own matcha then, if it’s so easy?
Minho takes a deep, steadying breath.
“Hey, it’s—it’s not a big deal,” he says, voice softening without his permission. “Shit happens sometimes, it’s fine. Go grab the powder and stuff, we can remake it right now as practice, okay?”
Jisung nods. He looks up through his lashes, lips curling into a small smile. “Hyung, it almost sounds like…”
Minho straightens immediately, eyes narrowing. “What?”
“It almost sounds like you care about me,” he says, bumping his hip with Minho’s. Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I mean, asking if he’s still here? Were you gonna fight him in my honor?”
“I don’t like it when customers scold my employees. That’s my job,” Minho says bluntly, pinching his warming ear as he turns away. Jisung’s smile stretches wider. “Just—go grab the stuff, Jisung.”
Jisung giggles, skipping away. He brings the tin of matcha powder, the whisk, and a bowl, wobbling around as he walks like they might topple over any second.
“Okay, boss,” Jisung says, clearing his throat. “What first?”
Minho guides Jisung through the first steps even though they’re simple. Jisung’s tongue pokes out a little when he scoops the matcha with exaggerated care, and Minho has a brief moment where he thinks that’s cute.
But then Jisung turns to Minho and blows on the teaspoon, spattering his black uniform shirt with the leftover green powder, and immediately kills that thought.
“Okay, and then whisk,” Minho says, patting his shirt clean with a wet tissue as Jisung adds the water. “Quick back and forth, not circles.”
He watches as Jisung nods, following instructions very seriously. Minho smiles.
“Hold it like this.” He holds Jisung’s wrist still with the tips of his fingers and repositions the whisk. “Use your wrist. And don’t do it too hard.”
Jisung nods again. Softly, he asks, “Like this, hyung?”
“Yeah. Like that,” Minho responds, matching his tone. Jisung exhales a shaky breath and turns his head to look at Minho, and suddenly Minho realizes how close they are.
Jisung blinks slowly, holding Minho’s gaze. “And then?”
“Um.” Minho swallows. His eyes drift down to Jisung’s mouth before he can stop them. “Uh, a-and then…”
The bell above the door chimes. Minho jumps back and clears his throat loudly, and Jisung quickly scratches his nose with his free hand as he returns to whisking.
“Good, just—uh, keep doing that until it’s smooth and a little foamy,” Minho instructs, the words tumbling out of his mouth clumsily. “I’ll check it when I’m done with this customer.”
“Got it,” Jisung murmurs, nodding at the counter.
Minho’s quick about taking the order. He bags a croissant from the pastry display and slides it across the counter with an americano, glancing over his shoulder to check on Jisung.
He’s pouring the matcha over milk and ice now, still working with intense focus. Minho feels his chest tighten with something that feels proud and fond.
But—no, definitely not that. He’s just glad Jisung is finally doing his actual job.
Jisung spins around and holds the plastic cup in the air, grinning.
“Alright, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Minho says with a smirk. “Let’s see if you actually did it right.”
“Go ahead. I think I might be better at this than you are now,” he teases, hopping up on the counter.
Minho rolls his eyes, using a straw to mix the layers and then taking a sip. Smooth, not too sweet, and definitely not too clumpy. He hums and nods approvingly at Jisung. “Good. Much better.”
“Thanks,” Jisung says, shooting Minho a half-smile that looks like he’s trying to hold it back. He looks down at the cup. “Sooo... You gonna finish that?”
“All yours,” Minho snorts, handing him the cup. Jisung has been going through a matcha kick lately anyway. Or at least Minho thinks so, that’s what he uses his daily free drink on and he’s pretty sure it was on his Instagram story last week.
But who knows? He doesn’t pay attention to things like that.
Jisung hums happily, swinging his feet as he drinks. “Am I your best employee now?”
“Maybe you would be if you’d stop sitting on the counter.”
As if he’s seriously contemplating it, Jisung purses his lips. “Hmm. Not worth it.”
Minho shakes his head, leaving Jisung to put away the supplies they used. The sounds of the coffee machine whirring and the faint chatter of customers are all Minho has to focus on, which isn’t bad, it’s just—weird.
Weird, because Jisung isn’t being snarky. Weird, because Jisung isn’t trying to provoke Minho. It feels ominous, like the calm before a storm.
“Hey, Minho-hyung?” Jisung suddenly calls. Minho braces himself and hums back. “Does it make things weird between us if I thank you?”
Minho freezes with his hand halfway into the matcha cabinet. Alarm bells start going off in his head when Jisung’s words, even his cadence, feel oddly familiar. He’s heard this before.
An intrusive thought crosses his mind. A vulnerable text, a shy question. He feels his stomach drop to his feet, dread flooding him immediately.
No, he thinks. You’re projecting. Stop projecting.
That is a completely normal thing to say. He’s making connections that don’t exist because he’s been thinking about Hannie so much, or maybe because he and Jisung just had a weird moment, because Jisung is being temporarily sweet, but—no. No way.
They’re nothing alike. They can’t be.
“Hyung?” Jisung prompts quietly.
Minho exhales through his nose and rolls his neck, brushing off the coincidence. “Yes, it’s weird,” he says. “Insult me or do something annoying instead.”
Jisung giggles through his next sip, putting a hand over his mouth. “Okay, hyung,” he giggles again. “But really, thank you. For helping me.”
“It’s nothing, Jisung,” he says, waving it off. And then, because Jisung tilts his head and raises his eyebrows expectantly, he adds: “You’re welcome.”
Jisung grins. He nudges the straw wrapper off the counter, then jerks his chin at it when it lands by Minho’s shoe. “You should get that.”
Minho exhales in relief.
They could not be more different.