“Jungkook-ah!” Taehyung yelled, practically tripping over his own shoelaces as he ran around the marble counter and head-first into Jungkook’s chest. The younger took a step backwards, out of breath (Taehyung was kind of, maybe, definitely, choking the life out of him.)
“Hi, hyung,” he mumbled, trying to pry himself away from the clingy barista, noting that there was something that looked a lot like cocoa powder dusted over his mint-green apron. Fuck no, he didn’t want all that brown stuff on his last clean white shirt. “Get off, I can’t breathe. Don’t you have a shop to run?”
The blonde-haired boy finally let go, pink lips stretched tightly over his pristine white teeth. “There aren’t any customers. It hasn’t been that busy today. You want the usual?”
“‘Kay. Sit down, I’ll be right back, just gotta tell Jimin to take over my shift.”
“Yeah, sure.” Jungkook ran his lanky fingers through the locks of his hair, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. For the past few days, he had been sleeping as late as four am, sometimes with an uncapped highlighter still clutched tightly in his hand and a weird maroon stain oozing into his shirt sleeve (after careful observation the next morning, he finally concluded that no, it was not blood, but just ink from a red sharpie he had left open accidentally while writing notes.) He hadn’t visited House of Cards in a week, and Taehyung had screamed at him for abandoning him for about an hour over the phone the night before. Thus here he was, slipping into a booth near the end of the shop, hands interlaced on top of the wooden table and bags hanging loosely under his eyes.
“Jimin, be a pal and run the shop for me for a little while.”
“That pout isn’t gonna get anywhere, Tae.” Jungkook’s ears literally swiveled, interested at the new, almost harmonious voice that met his ears (one which wasn’t hoarse and deep and quite frankly annoying, like Taehyung’s.)
“Hyung. Jungkook’s here though. He hasn’t come in like two years.” Yeah, there was definitely a pout apparent in his tone. The younger boy curled his lips in disgust. “You know Jungkook, right?”
“I don’t care if it’s Jungkook or G-Dragon that came here to visit you, I’m not taking over your shift for the second time in three days, Taehyung.” A pause. “... but if it’s G-Dragon, can you ask him for an autograph for me?” A G-Dragon stan, interesting.
Now Jungkook was leaning off the edge of his seat, because who was this mysterious man with the voice of an angel who liked G-Dragon as much as Jungkook did? He caught a sight of pink (pink?!) hair, and then he lost his balance and practically fell out of the booth, catching himself before he hit his head against the table next to him. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
He looked up to see Taehyung staring at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, along with a guy-- cross that thought, a fucking god-- with yes, pink hair. And wow, beautiful, chocolate-brown orbs. And this guy was looking at him like he was some sort of drunkard begging for money to buy more booze or some shit.
“Ah, Jungkook,” Taehyung murmured, Jungkook’s caramel macchiato clutched tightly in his right palm. “H’lo.”
The man next to him raised a perfectly manicured hand-- what was his name again? Jongbin? Jimbo? A better question, who the hell would name their child Jimbo?
“Jimin.” His plump lips turned upwards into a smile-- well, a grimace. “Park Jimin, nice to meet you.”
“Jimbo-- I mean, er, Jungkook.” Taehyung looked like he was about to internally combust by now, cheeks red and a small snort threatening to escape through his nose.
Angel boy then patted the other man on the back, adjusting his apron (the lime green color looked oddly appealing on him, but then again, a trash can bag would look beautiful on a guy as pretty as him) and saying, “You go on ahead, I'll take over.”
He left, and okay, maybe Jungkook’s eyes trailed a little lower than how much they should have (come on, he was wearing leather pants, for fuck’s sake, it was only natural). “God,” he whispered under his breath, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “Praise all that’s holy. Goddamnit, fuck.” He’d fallen, and he’s only talked to Jimin for a whopping grand total of ten seconds. He would have come here more often, following Taehyung’s earnest advice, if only he knew that the male version of Aphrodite worked the cashier.
“Looks like someone’s making googly-eyes at the new employee.” The blonde-haired man raised an eyebrow, and made no effort into making sure his voice was lowered. Thankfully, a few customers had sauntered in, and Jimin seemed too busy to notice Jungkook’s burning ears. But still Jungkook glared at him, and if he was a vampire he would have flashed his canines at him.
“You never told me about him, what’s up with that? I thought I was your best friend,” he replied (okay, fine, whined), shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. Taehyung slipped into the seat opposite of him, the corners of his lips turned upwards into a smirk dripping with something along the lines of pure, ruthless mirth.
“He actually just started working a couple of days ago. He’s pretty cool and honestly really cute.” At Jungkook’s narrowed eyes, he chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna snatch him. I’m way out of his league. And you see, Jungkook, he’s way out of yours .”
“What’s that supposed to mean, eh?”
Taehyung leaned back, playing with Jungkook’s cup of macchiato, as if he hadn’t noticed that the younger boy’s heart had practically slipped down into his stomach. “Y’know. He’s sweet. You’re not.” He picked at the HOT CONTENTS label on the side of the plastic cup. “He’s hilarious. You’re not. And he’s straight, and, you see, you’re not .”
“He’s straight?” This was something Jungkook had failed to think about, and his face fell. What a fucking nightmare. He had plenty of different outcomes running through his head if he ever went and asked out Jimin-- he would throw a cream pie at his face, his boyfriend would come over and punch all of his lunch out of his stomach (along with his heart), Jimin would turn out to be the head of the biggest mafia in Seoul and Jungkook would be pulled into a series of constant, gruesome murder and sex (too many BigBang fanfics, you see)-- but this? Jimin not even being the right sexuality? The least likely thing he’d ever think would happen.
“Yeah. He told me he broke up with his girlfriend a couple of months ago. And I’ve seen him flirting with a couple of cute girls while asking for their orders.” With every word, Jungkook slipped lower into his seat, eyes widening with disbelief. “Sorry, Jungkookie, but you just have to accept that not every guy is gay, like you.”
But, you see, this has happened many times before; Jungkook’s had lots of different boyfriends, and some weren’t even into boys in the first place. It was probably his charm, or maybe his looks, or maybe even his undeniable charisma-- but whatever it was, Jungkook wanted Jimin. Real bad. Like, joining-a-mafia-and-doing-drugs-and-sex bad.
He would just have to turn Jimin gay.
“Gotta go,” Jungkook mumbled, getting up so quickly he practically flipped the table over. Taehyung’s mouth dropped open as the other boy grabbed his bag and stumbled out of the booth so fast that he tripped, but righted himself just in time (what was with him and falling?). “Jungkook… your caramel macchiato!” Taehyung started, but he was already halfway through the glass door, his orange satchel swinging nonchalantly by his side and his phone out in his hand.
“Hello,” Jungkook hissed into the speaker of his phone, clutching it with both hands. “Hello…? Oh, okay, you answered.
“Hyung, I need your help.”