Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

SYNOPSIS
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"You can call it bad luck but I think it as an opportunity to meet you"
- K.SJ -

"Maybe my bad luck is not always bad"
- K.NJ -

One rainy day. One soaking wet, hopelessly flustered guy. One impossibly charming café owner with a smile that could stop time. 

What starts as Namjoon's streak of bad luck might just turn into something unexpectedly... delightful.

And somehow, it all begins on the random rain in July.

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STARRING
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KIM NAMJOON  [ 28 ]
- Part Timer in Convience Store / Aspiring Author  -

Kim Seokjin [ 31 ]
- Owner of a Famous Cafe -

Min Yoongi [ 30 ]
- Hiphop Legend  -

Jung Hoseok [ 28 ]
- Well Known Designer -

Jeon Jungkook [ 16 ]
- Diligent Fan / Chaotic Schoolboy -

Kim Taehyung [ 18 ]
- Part Timer in Convience Store / Social Butterfly Schoolboy -

Park Jimin [ 18 ]
- Part Timer in Cafe / Sassy Schoolboy -

Chapter Text

Rain drenched the streets, almost like Seoul had decided to personally punish anyone who dared to step outside.

And naturally, Namjoon was at the very top of that list.

His shirt stuck to his back, hair plastered to his forehead in all the wrong directions, and shoes squelching with every miserable step. Honestly, he probably looked like a soaked little pup.

And, of course, he forgot his umbrella again.

Of course he did.

He was Namjoon after all, master of clumsy disasters and bad timing.

Namjoon was clumsy. And he knew it. He forgot things...a lot, and his friends never let him live it down. His mother had practically staged an intervention before he even moved out, muttering something about "responsibility" and "how to function like a normal human."

He really tried though like, like he really really tried to be responsible.

But apparently, trying wasn't enough. Not today, anyway. Today, he was drenched, sitting pathetically in front of a famous cafe near his workplace, and, of course, he hadn't even brought his phone. Great.

"I hate myself," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the rain.

"And how the heck is it raining in the middle of July?!" He kicked at a puddle, which only splashed back onto his jeans. "God, my luck really is trying to kill me. Why do I even—ugh!"

He sank onto the pavement outside a cafe that was famous or maybe infamous, depending on who you asked.

His eyes wandered to the chalkboard at the entrance, covered in cute little doodles and handwritten menus. Someone had clearly spent time making it welcoming, though Namjoon could barely appreciate it through the curtain of droplets of waters plastering his hair to his forehead.

Decor and aesthetics weren't really his strong suit, but even he could see through the fogged up windows that the cafe looked... perfect. Cozy. The kind of place people hit Instagram to make a story before they even sip their lattes.

And then there was a rumor.

Namjoon remembered it on the back of his brain. The owner and the barista, is...drop dead gorgeous?. Like effortlessly charming. Enough to make the average person trip over their own words.

Or that's what he'd always heard it countless times from convenience store customers during painfully long small talk, always against his will.

He groaned, hugging his knees to his chest, and remembered something else. His wallet thst of course he fogot too. Somewhere far away from the bottomless pit of his bag.

No cash, no hope, no way to order a warm drink. Because, he actually considered it, briefly, just sneaking inside to escape the rain. Just... a little. But the thought after that of muddying someone else's perfectly kept cafe made him hesitate.

"Haish... seriously, what's wrong with me? Can't I just catch a break for once?"

And then it happened. The door swung open and a wave of warmth from the inside hit him. 

Out stepped a man whose smile could stop traffic. Dark hair casually pushed back with some a small bangs in his forehead, a crisp apron over a perfectly tailored shirt, and eyes that, when they landed on Namjoon, somehow made him forget how to breathe.

The man tilted his head, one eyebrow raised, clearly amused and confused all at once. His hands had already flipped the "Closed" sign, but his body instinctively turned toward Namjoon.

"Oh..." the man said, his voice calm and careful. "You okay?"

Namjoon blinked at him, drenched and dazed. "Uh... sorry, I'm just... waiting?" The words tumbled out in a hopeless jumble, like his mouth had forgotten how to function (he definitely made a mental note to die of embarrassment later).

"Waiting for the rain to stop?"

"Yeah..." Namjoon mumbled, trying his best not look that pitful.

The man paused, turning slightly as if weighing something in his mind. He tilted his head up, watching the rain, and the dark stubborn clouds.

"Hhmm... looks like this rain isn't going anywhere anytime soon,". After a beat, he added, "Do you want to come in?"

Namjoon, painfully aware of his wallet and phone less state, blurted out before he could think. "Oh, it's okay, really. I'll just... wait out here. Besides, I saw you already closed. I don't want to bother you."

The man gave a small smile, shaking his head. "No, it's okay. I insist."

"But... I don't have any money, so I can't pay," Namjoon mumbled, cheeks heating up. In his head, he was already panicking.

Great, now I'm bothering this guy... and what if I say yes and then have to awkwardly explain later that I'm broke? Perfect, Namjoon, perfect.

The man just smiled. Easy and warm, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "No worries. It's on me."

Namjoon blinked. And blinked again. His chest skipped a beat, like someone had pressed a pause.

He definitely lost a tiny bit of breath just from that smile alone.

"You... you're serious?" he finally squeaked, words tumbling out clumsy.

And here he is now...somehow, Namjoon sit in one of the booth while waiting the stranger guy back to his bar to make some hot coffee for him.

Drenched and shivering, Namjoon earlier shuffled toward one of the empty booths, trying not to drip puddles across the polished floor. Of course, as he bent to slide into the seat, his soaked sleeve caught the edge, and he ended up wobbling, one leg halfway under the table, muttering a very quiet, "Why am I like this?" before finally collapsing into the seat with a dissapointed sigh to himself.

The stranger, whose name Namjoon still didn't know had asked earlier if he wanted anything. Namjoon, too panicked to think of options, had just mumbled something like "I'm fine with anything."

So, cappuccino it was. He watched, awkward and guilty, as the man moved behind the counter.

Namjoon tried to make himself small in the booth, shivering slightly as he awkwardly fumbled with his soggy bag, still accidentally kicking the leg of the chair a couple of times.

He shifted awkwardly, muttering a quiet, "Uh... sorry..." to nobody in particular.

The stranger behind the counter, whose name Namjoon didn't even know yet just chuckled softly.

Smooth, Namjoon. Very smooth.

The warmth of the cafe hit him, a comforting contrast to the cold rain still dripping from his hair and clothes. The smell of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries wrapped around him, and for a second, he allowed himself to just breathe. 'Okay... yeah. I see why this place is famous.'

Of course, reality quickly crashed back in after he thinking, "How was he supposed to pay the guy back?."

Just imagining the price of a single cappuccino made him wince—he could easily live off a week of instant noodles for that much.

Visiting a cafe like this usually belonged in his daydreams, not his actual life. That's why he just admired it from a distance usually during his way to work at the mini market in the corner of the street.

Being a struggling writer hadn't helped either. It never quite paid the bills, but it was his dream.

His novels weren't terrible. He'd even won a small, prestigious award under the pseudonym RM, which stood for "Reflections Mind." But after that initial success came the infamous writer's block.

Which is basically endless days staring at a blank screen, inspiration nowhere in sight, frustration piling up like the unread emails in his inbox.

And sadly, his bank account didn't care about all that artistic struggles.

So that's why he decided just to worked at that mini market, stocking shelves and pretending he wasn't secretly judging the customer who argued over a fifty cent difference.

Meanwhile, his life saver moved behind the counter with a kind of effortless grace, steaming milk, grinding beans, and working the espresso machine like it was second nature.

Namjoon stared, wide eyed, trying his absolute hardest not to look like a total creep.

After a few minutes, the man appeared at his table carrying a tray fulled with Namjoon's cappuccino, a steaming cup of tea that he assumed was for himself, and a few pastries. In his other hand, he held a neatly folded t-shirt and black pants.

"Here's your coffee," he said, setting the tray down carefully. "I brought some of our unsold pastries, and... I don't know what your size is, but I have some unused clothes here if you want to change."

Namjoon's hands fumbled as he awkwardly accepted the clothes, plastic bag and clean towel he put it earlier the man apron pocket, muttering a shaky, "Th-thank you...". The man while neatly putting all the drinks and foods in the table gave him a patient smile and pointed toward the restroom.

After what felt like an eternity shivering in his wet clothes, Namjoon emerged from the toilet in dry and clean clothes—thankfully, the shirt and pants were just one size slightly too small, but it was close enough for him to use.

He walked back toward the table, still a little self conscious, and froze when he noticed the man had already taken a seat across from his seat, sipping his tea calmly like he owned serenity itself.

And somehow... Namjoon found himself staring.

Again—of course, not in a creepy way...or, well, he hoped not. But yeah he just... stopped.

He thinking, 'How could someone look so perfectly put together?.' The warm glow of the cafe lights, the soft steam curling from the cups, and the effortless posture of the man in front of him made him seem almost....unreal.

Ethereal, maybe?

Namjoon blinked, cheeks flaming. He shook his head, and walked back to his seat while after that tried his best to focus on the cappuccino in front of him, than the guy in front of him now.

Sensing Namjoon's flustered state, the man let out a small, amused chuckle, clearly entertained by the clumsy way Namjoon tried to sit without spilling anything or making eye contact.

"Hhmm... thank you for the drink and the clothes. You definitely didn't need to do that," Namjoon mumbled, eyes flicking nervously around the cafe, noticing the wet trail he'd left behind. "...Also, sorry for... uh, dirtying your place."

The man just smile calmly. "It's okay. Besides, I was actually planning to clean up a bit anyway after this, so don't worry about it."

Namjoon continue took a cautious sip of the hot cappuccino, letting the warmth spread through him, and then froze.

Oh no. How could I forget the most basic thing? Introduce myself. Panic prickled in his chest. His mother would definitely have words about his manners if she knew.

He cleared his throat, voice a little too high and a little too shaky. "I... I'm sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Kim Namjoon. You can just call me Namjoon. I... work at the minimarket near the corner. Nice to meet you, and... uhm thank you, again."

"Ah... really?" The man leaned back slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Well, I'm Kim Seokjin. I'm the owner of this place. And...you're welcome."

Namjoon nodded, cheeks warming, trying not to openly stare at Seokjin's calm, effortless presence. Owner, huh... damn. 

He shoved down a nervous laugh and took another careful sip of his coffee, praying he didn't look like a complete mess.

"How long have you... uh... been sitting in front of my cafe?" Seokjin asked casually.

"Uhh... maybe... almost an hour?" Namjoon muttered, frowning as he tried to remember.

His wet hair still clung to his forehead, dripping faintly onto the table after he carelessly drying when he's changed from the towel he got earlier.

Seokjin let out a soft hum, as if considering the answer. "Ahh... that explains why you look like a drowned puppy."

Namjoon nearly choked on the pastry he was trying to eat, coughing into his sleeve. "W-wait, what?!" he sputtered, cheeks heating up like he'd just set himself on fire. He quickly set his fork down, trying to regain some dignity, though it was clearly lost somewhere on the floor back there.

Seokjin's smile widened, warm and teasing. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." A soft chuckle escaped him. "But seriously... you should've come in sooner. You look like you've survived a small apocalypse."

Namjoon's mind went blank for a second. Small apocalypse... thanks, that's very flattering.

He nodded stiffly, fumbling with his cup as if it could somehow save him from further embarrassment.

Seokjin still leaned in, hands folded casually. "Next time, just walk in," he said, tone light, teasing but patient.

Namjoon opened his mouth, then closed it, opened it again, and finally managed a small, awkward nod. Words had abandoned him completely. Instead, he focused on trying not to drip coffee on the pristine table or stare too much at Seokjin, whose calm, effortless presence seemed almost unfair.

A few moments passed in silence, filled only by the soft hum of the cafe.

Then, slowly, they started talking—small, simple things at first. About the rain, the pastries, how Namjoon somehow somehow managed to forget everything he needed, some anecdote of the chaos from his shift at the mini market, and a few of Seokjin's more... eccentric customers.

Most of the jokes between their small talk came from Seokjin, effortless and teasing, and Namjoon found himself laughing (definitely more than he had in days).

Every so often, Namjoon poked at the froth on his cappuccino whenever intrusive thoughts popped up, or accidentally sent a crumb of pastry tumbling onto the table. And each time, Seokjin's soft chuckle would ripple across the space between them.

Warm and unhurried, like sunlight spilling through the cafe windows.

It was simple. It was slow and...comfortable in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.

And for the first time all day, maybe even for a long while Namjoon felt a little less like the world was out to ruin him.

He just felt... warm. Really warm.

The antique clock behind Seokjin ticked steadily.

His eyes drifted to the ticking clock, and the moment he saw the time, it hit him like a bucket of cold water—he’d lingered far too long in the cafe. And just like that, a sudden, panicked thought hit at the back of his mind… something important, something he’d completely forgotten.

Fuck my shift, he thought, heart skipping a beat at the thought of Taehyung's inevitable wrath.

Contemplating, he awkwardly asked, "Uhh... I'm sorry, but... can I borrow your phone?" Noticing how weird the request sounded, he hurried to explain. "I need to update my coworker... that I'm late."

Seokjin reached into his apron pocket and handed him the phone. "Here."

Namjoon took it, muttering a quick thank you, and quickly dialed Taehyung—a high school senior who'd been covering shifts before Namjoon's arrival.

He's definitely going to be mad that I just disappeared like this, Namjoon thought, already bracing himself.

After a few rings, Taehyung picked up. 

And, yeah...of course after mentioned that yes this Namjoon calling, and definitely not some pishing call.

Taehyung immediately launched after that. "Where are you?! You're supposed to be here like hours ago!".

He put away just a bit of the phone from his ear, very aware how Taehyung gonna shout at him.

"I... uh... got stuck in the rain," Namjoon stammered, wincing at his own pathetic excuse.

And, after a short, tense conversation filled with repeated apologies, he promised he'd be there in a minute.

He let out a long, tired sigh. Great. Definitely not looking forward to facing Taehyung. And maybe... just maybe, to this little escape.

He looked down, letting a small frown tug at his lips, thinking about the warmth of the cafe (—and Seokjin) he need to leaving behind soon.

He handed the phone back. Seokjin took it, and then, to Namjoon's surprise, scrolled through to his contacts app and handed it back to him. "Give me your number," he said casually.

Namjoon froze. Wait... what? His brain short circuited. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like a broken clam.

"Uh... me... my number?" he stammered, cheeks heating up.

Seokjin's smile widened, warm and completely unbothered. "Yeah. Just in case... you know," he teased lightly.

Namjoon blinked, swallowed, and mumbled, "Oh... uh... okay..." His fingers fumbled clumsily over Seokjin's phone as he typed in his number, double checking it twice before handing the phone back.

Their fingers brushed for the briefest second, and he could feel how his ears betrayed him, flaming red under his damp hair. He was almost sure he could feel his heartbeat in his throat.

Seokjin, however, didn't seem to notice a thing.

The guy glanced down, typed something quickly, and then looked up with a small smile. "Done," he said simply. "Now we're officially... in contact."

Namjoon nodded so fast it almost looked like a bow. Cool. Normal. Totally fine.

He grabbed his bag after that, still damp and heavier than his own awkwardness. "I... uh... need to head to work," he mumbled, words tripping over themselves. Again.

Seokjin nodded at him. Understanding. So, he didn't stop him.

As Namjoon stepped toward the door, Seokjin's hand brushed gently against his shoulder. Then, with the most natural ease in the world, he reached for the umbrella rack by the door and handed one over to him.

"Use this. The rain's still heavy," he said, his voice casual but warm, like he didn't even notice how flustered Namjoon was.

Namjoon's face heated, a mix of gratitude and the faint shock of how close they are. Also, actually with how they hand brushed while Seokjin handed it to his hand.

"Th-thank you... again," he stammered, voice small and flustered (and yes, it was probably his thousandth thank you of the day, but he couldn't stop himself okay).

He gripped the umbrella like it was sacred, offered another awkward smile, and finally stepped into the rain.

The rains was relentless, puddles forming at the pavement.

But, somehow under Seokjin's umbrella, the rain's felt... softer. The storm seemed muted, like someone had turned down the chaos just for him.

Namjoon's steps felt a little lighter, though he couldn't say why. Maybe it was the umbrella, maybe the memory of Seokjin's calm smile, or maybe just the ridiculous relief of surviving the day.

Whatever it was, Namjoon felt a tiny, unexpected warmth blooming in his chest.

He told himself he'd think about it later. Right now, he had to face his shift and... Taehyung, who was probably waiting to scold him for being late.

Namjoon quickened his pace, umbrella in one hand, bag in his shoulders, trying to match a smile to the heavy rain he definitely didn't feel like smiling through.

Almost ten minutes later, he reached the minimarket. The rusty bell above the door announced his arrival with a familiar, tired jingle. He stepped inside, umbrella closed after shaking off some water from it, shoes squelching.

Taehyung stood by a shopping cart, stacked high with drinks that needed shelving. Arms crossed, brow furrowed, the tilt of his head made him look more like a disappointed parent than a coworker (which is ironic in his opinions, considering Namjoon was technically way more older than him).

"Finally!" Taehyung barked, pointing at him. "Do you know how many times I tried to call you?"

Namjoon winced, gripping the umbrella tighter. "Sorry... I forgot my phone," he muttered, sheepish.

Taehyung narrowed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Huft... seriously, hyung... Anyway, I need to go now. Exam tomorrow," he said, glancing at the stacked drinks. "Can you finish this? I need to get home."

Namjoon nodded, shoulders slumping in mild relief. "Okay, no worries. Thanks again, for covering my shift."

Taehyung waved a hand dismissively. "Hhhmm... ah, it's fine."

After the kid left, dragging his bag and muttering about exams, Namjoon shrugged it off mentally. At least... he told himself.

And then, he finally started his night shift.

The customers that night were exactly what he expected. The drunk regular guy who insisted on telling the same story three times, the girl with obvious insomnia who always wanted a snack at 2 am, the hungry delivery guy after finishing his work too tired to argue about prices. And, a few others whose faces blurred into the background of the quiet hum of the store.

Namjoon moved among them quietly, offering small nods and half smiles. Somehow, the repetition, the routine, even the odd requests felt calming.

The rhythm of restocking, scanning items, and listening to the soft beeps of the register lulled him into a mild, tired peace.

The world slowed down, and for a little while, he just existed in it, unbothered.

After many hours, the familiar creak of his apartment door finally welcomed him back like an old friend. He dumped his bag on the floor, his wet clothes from the plastic bag spilling out—almost, like they were plotting against him. Laundry could wait.

Tonight, that battle wasn't his concern.

He collapsed onto the sofa, the dim overhead light spilling softly over him. The weight of the day pressed down on his shoulders, and he let out a long, exhausted sigh. "Huft... finally."

After a while of just comfortably sprawl around in his sofa, his eyes drifted to the coffee table, where his laptop sat patiently, like it had been waiting for him all along.

He picked it up, fingers hovering over the keyboard, hesitating as if the keys themselves were daring him to try.

Finally, he pressed the power button, and the familiar hum filled the quiet room.

For a moment, he just stared at the dark screen starring at his tired heavy gaze, feeling the weight of the day pressing in.

Scrolling through his applications almost absentmindedly, he finally opened his draft. Empty. Mocking. Quietly reminding him of all the months spent deleting, erasing, rewriting, and erasing again.

Namjoon sank back into the sofa, letting the silence stretch between him and the soft drizzle outside. The rain tapped at the window like a quiet audience, patient, waiting.

He let himself stare at the blank page a little longer, heart slowly settling, and just for a second, he imagined the words might come if he stopped expecting perfection.

He take a deep breath and then, almost as if someone else had taken over, his fingers finally started moving.

At first, the words were clumsy, stuttering across the screen.

The first line appeared almost unconsciously:

Under the warmth of the rain...

It was simple, almost silly...but somehow it felt like a key that searching off all this time and finally turning in open the lock deep inside of him.

So after that, the words came faster and faster, paragraph after paragraph, sentences he hadn't dared to touch in months flowing through him.

Messy, imperfect, awkward—but alive.

His fingers didn't stop. Gaze sharp and focused.

He wrote through the dim light, the hum of the apartment, through all the leftover dishes, and the scattered papers.

He wrote like he was chasing the echoes of the day—the rain, the awkwardness, the wet clothes, the sweet drinks, the café, and the warmth of a smile that had somehow enchanted him without warning.

For the first time in months, the cursor moved faster than his doubts. The clumsy lines, awkward phrasing, and imperfect rhythm didn't matter.

Because, he just felt like finally breathing again, after holding it endlessly underwater for too long.

Hours slipped by unnoticed. The night deepened. And when Namjoon finally leaned back, the soft light of sunrise spilled through the small of his window.

His body was exhausted, but his chest felt light. He realized how he'd written more in a single night than he had in the past month.

A small, proud smile tugged at his lips.

He thinking, maybe it was time to challenge himself. A new genre for his next piece.

And maybe...just maybe, the rain, the moments, and the owner of the cafe had something to do with it.

The thought made him chuckle softly.

Namjoon let himself sinking further into the sofa, body and mind finally still. His eyes closed, the smile lingering, as thoughts of the cafe and the man drifted him into sleep, carrying him gently into dreams that felt lighter than the rain outside—almost, like lullabies.

Warm. Alive. Soft.

That's what his heart felt, cradled by something tender and unexpected, right before sleep took him completely.

Chapter Text

2 PM

Or at least that's what the clock kept blaring from his phone alarm, a sound that felt far too energetic for how miserable Namjoon body currently was.

He groaned, face smushed into the sofa cushion like it owed him money. One hand flopped blindly toward the coffee table, swiping across the surface. Nothing. He tried again—swipe, tap, pat.

Still nothing.

"Where the hell..." he muttered, dragging his arm further until his fingers brushed only air. Two minutes into his treasure hunt, his hand finally bumped against something under the table.

His phone. Of course.

Namjoon let out another groan, the kind that sounded like personally offended by his own existence. Because, he very aware how he always tossed his things around like he was some rich guy who could just buy new ones whenever. Then he acted all shocked when they weren't where they were supposed to be.

Which is definitely very stupid of him.

"Please, for god's sake, organize your things, Namjoon," he muttered, pitching his voice higher to mimic his sister. She never missed a chance to nag him about it. The dramatic tone made it extra irritating, which was perfect, because that's exactly how she sounded every time she nagged him.

Annoying as hell... though, maybe he hated it so much because she was right. He was a mess. Not that he needed anyone reminding him out loud. He was already painfully self aware, thank you very much.

But still, being neat, tidy, color coordinated, all that yada yada... that was for people with their lives together. People who didn't trip over their own shoes at least once a day. People with balance.

Namjoon was not those people. Not even close.

He sat up slowly, hair sticking out in odd directions, left hand fumbling as he finally turned off the alarm. His eyes cracked open halfway, only to instantly regret the light sneaking through the curtains. "Ugh... morning... no, afternoon... whatever," he muttered.

The clothes Seokjin had lent him still clung messily to his body, wrinkled in all the wrong places. Namjoon groaned, shifting on the sofa and all that annoying grogginess wrapped around him like a second blanket.

Heavy, warm, and absolutely unwelcome.

Feeling both thirsty and starving, Namjoon dragged himself to his tiny kitchen, phone dangling loosely in his hand. For someone who hadn't touched a drop of alcohol yesterday, he sure felt like he'd gone through three rounds with it.

God, please don't let this be a cold, he thought, rubbing at his face.

His body moved on autopilot, hand reaching straight for the fridge. Out came a bottle of water and a sad container of leftover jajangmyeon from... yeah, let's not even count the days. (Three. It's actually been three days by the way. He know. Definitely not healthy...at all.)

But who cares okay, like cooking from scratch is definitely out of the question. That required too much energy he did not have. So, he just dumped the noodles into a pan and turned on the stove. The faint hiss of heat filling the silence.

Namjoon leaned against the counter, zoning out completely as he stared at the pan. No thoughts, just a man and his questionable life choices.

After a good while, Namjoon finally turned off the stove and carried the pan and a single fork back to the end of the kitchen counter, shoving aside a pile of random packages and some dirty cups to make space. Slurping sounds echoed through his apartment, embarrassingly loud in the quiet. He ate like a man who hadn't seen food in years, and for a while, that was all he did.

Fork, noodles, slurp, repeat.

When he finally felt full enough to qualify as a functioning human again, he reached for his phone sitting beside his pan. Just a quick check. Not like he had a big social life or anything, but still...you never know.

First things first, notifications. Again, not that he expected much. So, he scrolled lazily.

And there's weather update, a picture from his mom showing off her eggplant plant (the one that she'd been babying like her fourth child, finally harvested), three messages from his boss announcing the store would be closed for three whole days because of some family thing (Namjoon quietly cheered inside for that), and a couple of emails from his editor that he pretended not to see.

Draft progress? Ha.

Scroll, scroll, scroll. Until, his eyes landed on one message and his thumb froze. There it is a name that made his stomach lurch faster than any alarm clock could ever dream of.

Seokjin.

Namjoon blinked at the screen, his drowsiness gone in an instant. His heart gave a nervous little kick.

"What... the hell?" he muttered under his breath, squinting at the glowing text as if maybe the words would rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.

He open the message hastily, confuse with why the guy message him.

Kim Seokjin & Kim Namjoon

Thursday 05:13 pm

Kim Seokjin: Hi!

...That was it. Just Hi! Simple. Friendly. Completely harmless.

And somehow, that single word had Namjoon spiraling.

He stared at it. Blinked once. Twice. His back slid clumsily against the wall of the kitchen until he was half sitting, half slouching on the floor like his legs had decided, nope, not our problem anymore

"...Hi?" he whispered back to the screen, testing the sound like an idiot, as if repeating it out loud would unlock some hidden meaning.

He reread the message again, slower this time. And that's when he noticed it—this wasn't even today's notification. The timestamp glared at him.

Yesterday.

"Wait...what?" he muttered, squinting at the tiny numbers like they'd somehow lie if he stared hard enough.

His brain scrambled through the memory, rewinding and replaying like a broken tape. Seokjin never touched his phone while they were together. Not once. Except...oh wait.

It's must been right after Namjoon had typed in his number. Right after he'd handed the phone back, ears burning like a furnace.

That's when.

"Oh, shit." Namjoon dragged a hand down his face, palm covering his eyes. The groan that left him was loud enough to scare the silence in his apartment.

Of course Seokjin had texted him right away, probably just to check if the number worked. And Namjoon—brilliant, responsible Namjoon? He hadn't even noticed. Not for a whole day.

"Great. Perfect. Amazing first impression." He flopped back more into the floor, smacking the back of his head against the wall for emphasis. "Who doesn't answer a Hi for almost twenty four hours?! Who does that?!"

The echo bounced around his tiny apartment, off the shelves stacked with books he never finished and the sink that definitely had dishes judging him.

Namjoon pointed a finger at his phone, scolding it like it was personally at fault. "You...you should've lit up. Buzzed louder. Something! This is on you."

The phone, of course, stayed silent.

With a groan, Namjoon dragged himself up and collapsed onto the sofa instead. Floor misery was one thing, but if he was going to suffer, he might as well suffer with cushions.

He unlocked his phone again, thumb hovering nervously. The message still sat there, so simple, so innocent. Hi!

He typed back:

Kim Namjoon: Hey.

He stared at it for three seconds—then immediately deleted it. Too bland.

Deleted it.

He tried again:

Kim Namjoon: Hi :)

Then panicked, erased it. Too friendly. Too much smiley face energy.

Typed again:

Kim Namjoon: Sorry, I just saw this.

He grimaced so hard his whole face cramped. Delete. Delete.

He groaned into his palms, muttering, "Why is this harder than writing my novel?"

Okay. Try again:

Kim Namjoon: Hi!

He added an exclamation mark. Then deleted it. Added it back. Then added another emoji. Then deleted everythingbecause suddenly the word "hi" looked alien, like he'd never seen it in his life.

Namjoon buried his face in his hands. "This is stupid. I'm stupid."

Finally, in an act of pure desperation, he typed:

Kim Namjoon: Hey, sorry I missed this. Yesterday was a bit chaotic in the store. How’s your day going?

He stared at it, thumb hovering. His heart pounded so loud it was borderline embarrassing, like—was this just texting or the same feeling he got when his editor threatened to "politely murder" him for missing another deadline? Hard to tell. Both made him spiral.

This was humiliating,

The irony was unbearable. He was someone who literally got paid to write. Words, writing, lines, whole chapters—that was his job. His thing. They were supposed to flow out of him, smooth and sharp, like it was second nature.

Not like this.

Namjoon groaned, dropping his forehead to the back of the sofa. "I can write four chapters about existential dread of my character at 3 am. But I can't reply to a single hi? Really?"

And after three deep breaths, two fake countdowns, and one dramatic flop against the sofa cushions... he pressed it.

Send.

The phone made the tiniest swoosh sound, and that was it.

Okay," he muttered into his palms. "That's it. Damage done. No going back

He dropped it on the couch like it had burned him. Then, of course, immediately snatched it back up, eyes glued to the screen as if Seokjin might reply in the next two seconds.

Which of course he didn't.

Namjoon threw the phone across the couch like it had betrayed him and dragged a pillow over his face with a strangled groan. "Yep. This is it. This is how I die."

Time slowed into some kind of cruel limbo. He tried not to think about it, tried to just exist. That lasted for about thirty seconds before he was pacing circles in his tiny apartment, rearranging random things on his shelves like he suddenly cared about feng shui.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

By fifteen, his nerves were shredded, and then—

Blink.

That little notification chime nearly knocked him out. He dove for the phone like it was a lifeline.

Kim Seokjin & Kim Namjoon

Friday 03:45 pm

Kim Seokjin: Hi!

Kim Namjoon: Hey, sorry I missed this. Yesterday was a bit hectic in the store. How’s your day going?

And then, finally—

Kim Seokjin: No worries😉 I figured you were busy.

Kim Seokjin: My day’s been good. I’m just at the café now. What about you? Still alive after yesterday’s downpour?

Namjoon's brain completely stopped circuited at the winking emoji.

Was that... flirting? Was that just Seokjin being friendly? Was it both? Was he supposed to know the difference?!

Then came the follow up:

Kim Seokjin: I mean, considering how much of a mess you looked yesterday.

Namjoon just... stared. His brain short circuited. His thumbs hovered helplessly, his heart still pounding like he'd just sprinted ten blocks instead of lying on his couch in wrinkled borrowed clothes.

"Say something clever. Play it cool. Don't embarrass yourself," his brain screamed.

So naturally, he typed the least cool thing imaginable:

Kim Namjoon: Oh wow, thank you. Exactly the confidence boost I needed.

The second he hit send he blinked at it in horror. Delete. Delete. DELETE. His thumb froze halfway to the button. Was it too late? Should he throw the phone out the window and pretend none of this ever happened?

Before he could act, Seokjin’s reply popped up almost immediately.

Kim Seokjin: Hahaha no worries. You cleaned up okay once you weren’t half drowning.

Kim Seokjin: I’m honestly surprised my clothes even fit you yesterday. I was sure they’d be too small.

Kim Seokjin: But hey, they looked good on you.

Namjoon froze. His back hit the sofa cushions with a soft thud. His ears went hot. His whole face, really.

The faint detergent smell from Seokjin's shirt still clung to him, wrapping around his chest like a taunt. Cruel. Unfair. Downright suffocating.

He typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted. At one point he had three half finished replies floating in his notes drafts:

• "Thanks, I'll return them washed. Promise.
• "Oh, I see hahaha... not sure if that's a compliment or a warning to give the clothes back faster.
• "Good to know your laundry does more for me than I do for myself lol."

All deleted. All way too much.

He groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch and tossing his phone to the other side. A full three seconds later, he scrambled after it like a man possessed, face pressed into the cushions as he clawed it back.

"Maybe I should just fake my death," he mumbled into the couch cushions. "Disappear. Change my name. Move to the mountains. Never text again. Peaceful, simple life."

But his thumbs were already start typing. His lungs felt like they'd stopped working. With one shaky exhale, he typed, stared at it like it was his own execution sentence, and hit send.

Kim Seokjin & Kim Namjoon

Friday 04:05 pm

Kim Namjoon: Well then, it’s good to know. I guess your clothes finally found their rightful owner hahaha

The moment it sent, Namjoon dropped the phone face down. He yanked a pillow over his head and muttered into the fabric, voice muffled and pitiful.

"God, please kill me now."

Chapter Text

The cafe buzzed with orders, the low hum of chatter mixing with the clatter of spoons against ceramic. Steam hissed from the espresso machine, filling the air with the comforting smell of coffee.

Seokjin was three espresso shots deep, already questioning his life choices, especially the one customer who insisted their oat milk be exactly 47 degrees.

He standing behind the pastry display, clipboard with the stocks report in his hand, trying to count the stock for the day while ignoring the fain headache brewing behind his eyes.

Jimin, his part timer, had just wiped down the counter for the twelfth time and was now leaning casually against the fridge, pretending to be busy.

Seokjin barely noticed. He was too busy muttering numbers under his breath, trying to balance cake costs with the never ending list of little fixes the cafe needed.

In his head, he was juggling receipts, sugar stock, and whether the coffee grinder was starting to sound weird again.… until his phone buzzed in his apron pocket.

He peeked at the screen.

Kim Seokjin & Kim Namjoon

Friday 03:40 pm

Kim Seokjin: Hi! 

Kim Namjoon: Hey, sorry I missed this. Yesterday was a bit hectic in the store. How’s your day going?

Seokjin blinked. Oh, it was Namjoon.

A smirk tugged at his lips before he could stop it. That boy. Cute, awkward, charming in a way that made Seokjin want to roll his eyes and tease him at the same time. He hadn’t even thought much about texting him yesterday—a casual “Hi” to make sure the number worked.

But seeing this message now… well, it was suddenly very entertaining.

Sliding the clipboard under his armpit, he typed a reply, keeping it light, casual, and just a little teasing.

Kim Seokjin: No worries😉 I figured you were busy.

Kim Seokjin: My day’s been good. I’m just at the cafe now. What about you? Still alive after yesterday’s downpour?

The smirk refused to leave his lips. Jimin, noticing it from the corner of his eye, frowned. But, as usual, he was glued to his own phone—too busy scrolling through his own chat group, snickering at something under his breath before tucking his phone away.

A second later, he was already moving on to the next customer like nothing had happened.

Seokjin wasn’t exactly a womanizer—or whatever the correct term would be when your target was a man, but he did enjoy a little playful back and forth.

He hadn’t done serious dating in years, and honestly, the idea of committing to anything beyond his cafe schedules, inventory reports, and a mountain of paperwork made him twitch.

But, he do enjoy teasing, flirting. You know, the occasional fling and casual “date” just for the fun of it.

So for him, this was basically another name on his list of… entertainments. Not that it was about scoring points or anything. It was just… fun.

The kind of fun that made a slow, rainy Friday afternoon feel a little brighter, a little lighter.

And Namjoon… well. He was a different kind of fun for him. Cute, awkward, and painfully self aware, with a tendency to overthink that made Seokjin chuckle without even trying.

The thing was, he was good at reading people, like really good—which made Namjoon even more interesting. For someone with looks and a good body in his opinions, he was surprisingly shy, careful with every word, every gesture.

It was… kind of cute.

Seokjin could already imagine him somewhere, probably panicking over the simplest reply. Maybe pacing around his apartment, muttering to himself about the “perfect thing to say.” Or maybe he was at work, stuck behind a counter, glancing nervously at his phone every thirty seconds, trying not to seem too obvious.

Who knew? But Seokjin could picture it all perfectly.

The thought made him grin, a little wickedly maybe more than he intended to it. He leaned against the counter, clipboard forgotten for the moment.

He let out a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head. “Yep,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Definitely fun.”

He typed out another quick message popped into his head. One that would definitely stir the pot a little.

Kim Seokjin: I mean, considering how much of a mess you looked yesterday…

He hit send and shoved his phone back into his apron pocket, the little winking emoji still making him smirk.

Again, he know he was being a little mean. But honestly… entertaining himself never felt so good.

The cafe still full with the low chatter mixing with the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Seokjin was back behind the counter, helping Jimin with the coffees while keeping one eye on the line of customers.

A regular called out for a flat white with extra cinnamon, and Seokjin slid it across the counter with a casual smile, all while half listening to Jimin ramble about his school day.

Jimin was a senior in high school, full of energy and attitude in equal measure. He could be sassy, teasing, and have just the right kind of cheeky to make work feel less like work. Seokjin had expected the age gap to be awkward at first, but somehow, it wasn’t.

Jimin always had a spark to him that made their shifts unexpectedly fun. Honestly, even as just a part timer, he was one of Seokjin’s favorite people to work with.

When Jimin first applied, Seokjin had almost turned him down—mostly because he was already in his senior year. Which, in Seokjin’s opinion, that was supposed to be the time for exams, late night cramming, and stressing over college applications, not wiping down café tables and pulling espresso shots.

During the interview, he’d asked the most obvious question. “So… you’ve worked in a coffee shop before?”

Jimin had shrugged casually, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“Not really, but I’ve watched my mom make coffee a thousand times, and I can handle a machine. People say I’m fast, and I don’t spill things… much.”

Seokjin had raised an eyebrow. “And school? You’re not worried about it getting in the way of your studies?”

That’s when Jimin had smirked, tapping the edge of the table with his finger like he’d already rehearsed the answer.

"Well, I'm top five in my class. My mom actually the one that tell me that I should get out more."

He’d leaned in slightly in the chair, lowering his voice a bit. “Besides, making money feels way more satisfying than memorizing equations I’ll probably never use. At least here, I’ll get free coffee. And honestly, for me that better motivation.”

He’d even thrown in a little grin after saying it, like he knew exactly how ridiculous he sounded but didn’t care. It was confident in a shameless kind of way—the kind of answer that should’ve made Seokjin roll his eyes and send him home.

Instead, Seokjin had found himself laughing.

That half joke, half confident answer had sealed it. Right then, Seokjin had hired him on the spot.

Something about the kid’s energy, his cheeky attitude, that little spark in his eyes—that made him… likable.

Too likable, honestly, and Seokjin couldn’t help but grin every time he thought about it.

Beside, this café wasn’t exactly a “business” in the strict sense for him. It was more like a hobby Seokjin accidentally turned into something real. He opened the doors when he felt like it, closed them when he didn’t.

So he didn’t need anyone with fancy skills or experience. A friendly smile and the ability to handle a coffee machine was more than enough. For now, Seokjin had three full timers and Jimin to keep things running on his relaxed schedule.

“You’re grinning again,” Jimin said out of nowhere, raising an eyebrow as he scribbled a note on an order slip.

Seokjin shrugged, the smirk still tugging at his lips. “Just… entertaining myself,” he said casually, pouring a latte with a practiced flick of his wrist.

“Uh…huh.” Jimin’s tone was flat, clearly unconvinced. He headed back toward the register, but not before throwing in a side comment that made Seokjin pause. “Are you… seeing another man again, hyung?”

Seokjin nearly laughed at how casually the kid asked it. He shook his head, chuckling low. “Well… maybe,” he muttered, just loud enough for himself. Not that he had plans to stop anytime soon.

Not when Namjoon was this fun.

He took a sip of his coffee that he put a side, savoring the warmth and the little spark of mischief still buzzing in his chest.

A sharp notification cut through the low hum of milk steamers and quiet chatter. Seokjin slipped his phone from his apron pocket, already grinning.

Kim Namjoon: Oh wow, thank you. Exactly the confidence boost I needed.

Seokjin’s eyebrows arched, his smirk deepening. Oh, this was too easy. His thumbs hovered over the screen, already itching to push just a little further.

Kim Seokjin: Hahaha no worries. You cleaned up okay once you weren’t half drowning.

Kim Seokjin: I’m honestly surprised my clothes even fit you yesterday. I was sure they’d be too small.

He paused, stared at it for a second. He should stop there. It was just playful, casual. Safe.

Instead, he typed one more.

Kim Seokjin: But hey, they looked good on you.

He leaned back again, staring at the last line like it might bite him. Okay, maybe he pushed it a little. Maybe he’d crossed the thin line between casual teasing and…something else.

“Hyung, are you laughing to yourself again?” Jimin’s voice drifted over from the register, suspicious.

“Just remembered something funny,” Seokjin said smoothly, flipping a rag over his shoulder like the picture of innocence.

By the time the clock ticked toward closing, the cafe had quieted down. Only one customer lingered, sipping slowly like they were trying to stretch the last ten minutes into an hour.

Seokjin busied himself with the end of shift routine—stacking cups, wiping down counters, straightening chairs. Jimin hummed some pop song under his breath while he restocked napkins, and the low sound of the espresso machine filled the silence.

That was when it came.

Ding.

The small buzz in his apron pocket, notify him. He pretended not to notice at first, finishing his wipe down of the counter, but his grin was already sneaking back in. Finally, when Jimin was distracted, he slipped the phone out and glanced at the screen.

Kim Seokjin & Kim Namjoon

Friday 04:05 pm

Kim Seokjin: I’m honestly surprised my clothes even fit you yesterday. I was sure they’d be too small. Kim Seokjin: But hey, they looked good on you.

Kim Namjoon: Well then, it’s good to know. I guess your clothes finally found their rightful owner hahaha

Seokjin blinked, then let out a low whistle.

“Oh wow,” he muttered, lips twitching. “Look at you, trying to flirt back.”

“Hyung, what?” Jimin glanced up from the pastry case, frowning.

“Nothing,” Seokjin said quickly, slipping his phone back into his pocket before his smirk gave too much away. Because if Namjoon was brave enough to start flirting back… then Seokjin definitely wasn’t going to let him stop.

And for some reason, that made the whole game feel even more interesting.

He glanced at Namjoon’s message again, rolling it over in his head. Rightful owner, huh? Cute. Unexpected.

Definitely an opening Seokjin couldn’t ignore.

He tapped back into the screen, grin spreading wider by the second, before he typed.

Kim Seokjin & Kim Namjoon

Friday 04:08 pm

Kim Namjoon: Well then, it’s good to know. I guess your clothes finally found their rightful owner hahaha

Kim Seokjin: Careful, Namjoon. If you keep talking like that, I might start charging you rent for borrowing them. 

Kim Seokjin: But since you do still have my shirt and my umbrella… maybe you should bring them back sometime.

Kim Seokjin: Maybe a coffee while you’re at it too😉. You can come by to the cafe this weekend if you free.

Seokjin read it back, lips pressed together like he could stop himself from laughing. Perfect. Light enough to pass as casual. Teasing enough to make Namjoon sweat. And buried in it, just enough of an invitation to see if the guy would bite.

Sarisfied, he hit send, slid the phone back into his apron, and went back to wiping down the counter like nothing happened. But inside, he was already picturing Namjoon’s face the second he read it.

But Seokjin didn’t care.

He chuckled under his breath, the coffee shop lights reflecting in the glass window as the last customer finally walked out.

His phone was quiet for now, but he knew.

He knew Namjoon must be staring at the screen somewhere, probably having a full blown internal crisis over how to respond.

Seokjin smirked, tossing the rag onto the counter.

Game on.

Chapter Text

Namjoon had been staring at the message for a full three minutes.

Three minutes, thirty four seconds, to be exact—because of course he checked the clock. His thumb just stopped over the keyboard like it had forgotten how to function.

Type a word.

Delete.

Type something else.

Delete again.

Rinse, repeat.

His notes app were full with disaster half finished sentences. Start from random “haha”s, and one that was basically just a line of dots like he’d fallen asleep mid thought. The short ones made him sound cold. The long ones made him sound like he was applying for a scholarship. One even read like he was defending a thesis on why coffee was a good idea.

Kim Seokjin & Kim Namjoon

Friday 04:08 pm

Kim Namjoon: Well then, it’s good to know. I guess your clothes finally found their rightful owner hahaha

Kim Seokjin: Careful, Namjoon. If you keep talking like that, I might start charging you rent for borrowing them.

Kim Seokjin: But since you do still have my shirt and my umbrella… maybe you should bring them back sometime.

Kim Seokjin: Maybe a coffee while you’re at it too😉. You can come by to the cafe this weekend if you free.

His ears were already burning. Rent? Clothes? Coffee?? A winking emoji???

The phone screen dimmed, forcing him to tap it awake again, only to be met with the same glowing words at the top of the chat.

The worst part wasn’t even the invitation—though that alone should’ve been enough to wreck him. No, what really got him was the emoji. (Well… that, and the fact that Seokjin tossed out flirty comments like it’s no big deal.) That stupid wink he’d dropped at the end of the text.

Technically, the invite to meet up was the real deals one. But Namjoon’s brain, in all its cowardly glory, decided it was safer to fixate on pixels than deal with the fact that Seokjin actually wanted to see him.

And that wink? Casual enough to play off as a joke. Bold enough to turn his stomach inside out. Easier to obsess over the curve of an emoji than admit the truth staring him in the face.

Seokjin was flirting, and Namjoon wasn’t ready for how much he wanted to say yes immidietly without look like a mess (which he’s for sure).

Of course Seokjin would send something like that. Smooth as butter, never breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, Namjoon’s brain was running in circles, drafting six different replies and trashing them all in under thirty seconds.

Too short? He’d sound disinterested.

Too long? He’d sound desperate.

Namjoon let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh. His whole face felt hot, ears included. “Why does he—ugh,” he muttered, tossing the phone onto the bed like it burned.

Namjoon buried his face into the sofa pillow, his voice coming out muffled and pathetic. “It’s casual. Totally casual. He’s joking. It’s just coffee. People drink coffee. People wink. People—ugh.”

He rolled onto his back with a dramatic flop, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers.

The words echoed in his head again: Maybe a coffee while you’re at it too 😉.

He repeated it out loud and immediately buried his face in a pillow. That wink emoji alone was seriously enough to make him want to dig a hole and live there forever.

His phone buzzed against the sheets. His heart jumped into his throat.

Not Seokjin.

Different name flashing across the screen.

Incoming Call: Hobi

Namjoon scrambled upright, nearly dropping the phone before pressing it to his ear. “Eh, hello?”

“Namjoon-ah!” Hoseok’s voice exploded through the line, warm and way too loud for someone who should’ve been asleep. “Guess where I am.”

Namjoon blinked, brain still stuck somewhere between Seokjin’s text’s and reality. “…Another designer studio?”

“Barcelona, baby,” Hoseok announced like he was unveiling a new world tour. “Meetings, workshops, making some deals. You know that kinda things.”

Namjoon slumped back against his pillow, torn between relief that Hoseok was pulling him out of his spiral and irritation that Seokjin’s texts were still flashing in his head like neon signs. “Barcelona, huh. Must be nice.”

“It is,” Hoseok replied, far too casually for someone who was halfway across the world. “Although I’d sell my soul for a bowl of kimchi jjigae right now. Tapas are great, but they don’t hug your insides like jjigae does.”

Namjoon snorted. “Didn’t you just call me from Paris last month?”

“Well, you know,” Hoseok replied easily, like international travel was the same as catching the bus, “new studios, new collections, new inspiration. Gotta keep moving before all my ideas get stale.”

Namjoon shook his head, smiling despite himself. Trust Hoseok to call him from halfway across the world just to complain about missing Korean food.

Namjoon hummed, eyes flicking to the blurry background behind Hoseok—tables, clinking glasses, people drifting by. Definitely a restaurant. “Right. Inspiration.”

“So how long are you staying there?” Namjoon asked, shifting against the couch.

“Ahhh, just a couple months,” Hoseok replied warmly, like months were the same as a quick weekend trip. “We’ll grab a drink when I’m back, yeah? Catch up properly. I’ve got so much to update you on.”

And that was the start. Hoseok launched into updates about hopping from city to city across Europe, meeting designers, sitting in on fancy dinners, brushing shoulders with executives for his brand.

Namjoon listened, half lost but smiling anyway, because even if half the names meant nothing to him, he just liked hearing the excitement in Hoseok’s voice.

It still amazed him sometimes. The same guy who once crashed on his couch wearing socks covered in cartoon dinosaurs was now one of the hottest names in Korea’s fashion scene. Technically, Hoseok was still at the start of his rise, but his bold style had already pulled plenty of eyes his way.

They’d been best friends since high school. Namjoon always found it a little ridiculous that the head of the dance club, all sunshine and endless energy, ended up paired with him—the quiet, awkward kid from the calligraphy club.

Their friendship started when they got stuck sitting next to each other in class, which at first felt like torture to Namjoon. Hoseok’s energy was… a lot. Sunshine at full volume. But slowly, in between doodles, boring class and exchanged music taste, they found common ground.

From then on, they just stuck together until now.

Namjoon had always assumed Hoseok would chase something in entertainment. Dance, music, maybe even the stage. He had the charm for it, the confidence, the natural spotlight magnetism. But when university ended and Hoseok suddenly announced he was going into fashion design, Namjoon remembered almost choking on his coffee.

“Fashion?” he’d asked, like maybe Hoseok had said it wrong.

“Yes, fashion,” Hoseok had replied, dead serious. “What? You think I wore neon hoodies for the drama of it?”

Namjoon did, in fact, think exactly that.

But in hindsight, it made sense. Hoseok always saw details no one else did. The way colors worked together, the way clothes carried people. He didn’t just design—he made people feel brighter in whatever he put them in.

And Namjoon, as always, was the quiet witness to Hoseok’s chaos slowly turning into magic.

“So, what about you? How’s your novel going?” Hoseok asked, casual but sharp. “Last time I remember, before I went away, you were stuck trying to start a new one, right?”

Namjoon hummed, tapping his knee like it might give him answers. The simple reply should’ve been, Yeah, you’re right… still stuck, but no—his mouth picked betrayal instead.

“Yeah, about that. Actually… I need your opinions.” He paused, wincing before he even finished. “And it may or may not be… kinda related to my whole ‘novel update progress’ thing.”

There was a pause, then Hoseok laughed knowingly. “...Oh no. That tone. What did you do this time?”

Namjoon let out a long groan, dragging his palm down his face. “Why do you sound exactly like my mom?”

“Because you only use that voice when you’re in some kind of mess,” Hoseok shot back, too amused. “So go on. Spill it.”

Namjoon flopped sideways onto the couch, staring at the ceiling like maybe it’d save him. His stomach twisted, heavy with the kind of dread that only came from oversharing.

How do you even start with this?

He went the long way around, updating Hoseok about how the novel was still going nowhere. How he’d ended up working at the convenience store near his apartment—half for money, half for the excuse to leave his apartment (though in his head, it was mostly to avoid actually writing).

The updates came slow, like he could still get away with keeping it surface level. But then the words started tumbling faster. The convenience store turned into mentioning the coffee shop nearby. Then the day when all of this's start. Then, because his brain had clearly given up on self preservation—he spilled about the rains, the owner, the coffee, the umbrella. All of it.

And finally, about the texts today that had somehow snowballed into… whatever this was supposed to be.

Hoseok listened quietly, then let out a sigh that sounded both fond and exasperated. “Namjoon-ah… only you. Only you would turn a random encounter into a full romcom plotline.”

Namjoon sat up halfway, bristling. “It’s not—! It’s not like that. I mean…maybe. I don’t know.” His ears burned. “You know how I am, right? It’s hard for me to… even like someone. Most people don’t even catch my attention.”

“But…?” Hoseok prodded, voice smug through the static.

“He’s just—he’s…” Namjoon groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, man.”

A beat. Then Hoseok’s smirk practically traveled through the phone. “So a crush, huh?”

“I don’t know, okay? He’s good looking, yeah, but I—ugh.” Namjoon’s voice cracked somewhere between frustration and embarrassment.

“Mmm.” Hoseok hummed knowingly. “You realize it’s been forever since you even talked about someone like this. Every time we chat, you dodge the subject. Last time you actually opened up, it was about your ex. And, wow, that was… rough.”

Namjoon winced. “…I know.”

And it was true. Namjoon guarded his peace like it was the last safe thing on earth. Relationships felt pointless to him most of the time. His only serious one had been back in university, with a senior. Distance and differences had pulled them apart, which he’d accepted as… fair. Expected, even.

Namjoon wasn’t one of those calm, steady people who handled feelings gracefully. He was on the opposite end entirely—feeling too much, thinking too much, and rarely turning any of it into action.

Overthinking wasn’t just a habit, it was his default setting.

And Hoseok, being his best friend, had always been the one to keep him grounded whenever he started spiraling.

“God, I hate feeling like this,” Namjoon muttered.

“Like what?” Hoseok asked.

“This. The rush. The anxiety. The…whatever this is supposed to be. And why am I, a grown man pushing thirty, suddenly acting like some high school kid with a crush?”

Hoseok snorted. “Hey, that’s fair. You always swore love wasn’t in your cards.”

“Exactly my point. This isn’t love, this is just… my brain turning a dumb crush into a anxiety attack.”

“Namjoon,” Hoseok said, softer now, “you’re allowed to feel it. Things don’t always go the way you think. Don’t overcomplicate it. And you know how the universe always loves making your life a comedy with this kinda thing.”

“...Hey.”

“Don’t argue, I’m right.” Hoseok grinned, then added, “But it doesn’t mean anything yet. Don’t rush it. Don’t build castles in your head before you’ve even laid down the first brick.”

Namjoon fell quiet, chewing on the thought. “Okay…”

“Exactly,” Hoseok said.

Leaning back against the headboard, Namjoon studied his best friend. Hoseok wasn’t wrong. He had a habit of running too far ahead in his own mind.

But still… the memory of Seokjin’s teasing smile, the way his voice lingered in Namjoon’s head—it was hard to ignore.

Just… don’t let your anxiety eat this alive, alright?.” Hoseok said, softer. “I know you. You cut things off before they even start. So breathe. Take it slow. You barely know the guy yet, so… maybe try knowing him first. Start with his invitation to meet you again.”

“I know,” Namjoon muttered. “I’ll take it slow. Promise.”

“Good.” Hoseok’s grin softened. “But also, don’t screw it up. You sound… happy. Even just talking about him. And I haven’t seen that in a while.”

Namjoon’s lips tugged into a reluctant smile. “Yeah… I’ll try.”

They chatted a little longer after that—Barcelona’s weather, Hoseok’s endless meetings, Namjoon’s convenience store customers (who, he admitted, had serious “future novel character” energy)—before finally saying their goodbyes.

When the screen went dark, quiet settled over Namjoon’s room again. Just him, his phone, and the little ghost of Seokjin’s last message still sitting in the back of his mind, waiting.

With a sigh, he opened their chat. His heart thumped too loud for something as stupid as typing a text. He wrote, deleted, rewrote, until the words felt… safe enough.

Kim Seokjin & Kim Namjoon

Friday 07:28 pm

Kim Namjoon: I can probably drop by Sunday evening, near closing time if it’s okay. That way I can return your stuff without interrupting your day.

Kim Namjoon: And of course, coffee’s on me.

He hit send before his brain could drag him into another spiral, then leaned back with a breath that felt way too dramatic for a text message.

His eyes drifted toward the corner of the room, where Seokjin’s umbrella leaned against his bookshelf. Bright yellow against the monochrome color of his apartment, a little worn, but sturdy.

Namjoon stared at it longer than he meant to, a smile tugging at his lips.

Sunday couldn’t come fast enough.