Work Text:
Jake really hates working here.
But it isn't like he has a choice—one huge row with his brother and here he is: in the backroom of Starbucks sitting on a bunch of cardboard boxes while he waits for the minutes to tick by. He shouldn't have let himself be engaged in that dangerous game with the older, far slyer, Sim brother. He's as old as a fossil, so it makes sense that he'd have more wiles and tricks up his sleeves to push Jake over the edge.
It started with the little pranks. Insignificant but annoying all the same. Misplacing socks, hats, Physics workbooks when he knows Jake has class. So Jake retaliated by turning on and off the lights while his brother is showering, messing with the heater, e.t.c.. They were moving like three-year-olds who found snails interesting—until things escalated and each move became more calculated and ruthless. His brother dunked his favorite blanket into the bathtub water right after Layla had been bathed, rendering it wet and cold with mudwater basically.
His brother had cackled for the next three hours while Jake furiously, desperately scrubbed all the dirt out, then rushed outside to let it dry. Only it was too late. The dryer was already running at that point, and sky outside was already gray and mottled and ugly.
He had to sleep without his safety blanket that night.
So Jake did the unthinkable—the next time his brother was holed up in his bedroom playing an intense match of Valorant, he pulled the plug on the Internet, and little did he know, that would be his undoing.
He's here now, head pressed into the wall smudged with fingerprints and what appears to be fecal stains. Human or animal, he wouldn't know, and he doesn't want to. Just then, Heeseung walks in and throws a look over his shoulder. "Your time's up."
Almost like his visiting hours in prison are over.
He stands up, every bone in his leg cracking, the soles of his feet sore. They're so swollen he actually feels like he needs to get shoes a size bigger to accommodate his permanently inflated balloon feet now.
"Come on, cheer up a little. Your regular will want to see your beautiful smile."
"Fuck you."
"I know you love him too. A guy walks in, claims he won't drink anything that isn't made by you—what is true love if not that?" Heeseung snickers and takes Jake's spot on the most concrete box they have, then complains about how warm it still is from 'Jake's flat ass'.
"He's just upset that I spilled his drink on the first day here. Making me make his shitty drink is probably part of his three-step-murder plan," Jake lingers at the doorway, a little unwilling to succumb to the humdrum of the rest of his shift. He can already hear the raucous laughter of teenage boys outside, no doubt blowing straw wrappers at one another that he's expected to sweep up later.
Two hands supporting his weight, Heeeseung lets himself slump against the wall. "Why three steps?"
"Haven't you heard of,"—Jake gestures wildly in the air as he rattles his brain from the name—"BTK? Bind, torture, and kill. He's got me in a bind, he's torturing me. And eventually, he'll probably kill me. It'll hit the headlines, front page and all: Starbuck employees found to be making drinks with murdered employee's blood. Murderer on the loose."
Heeseung's nose wrinkles at the notion. "That's fucking unsanitary, Jake. But I better be the one who finds the body."
"You will," Jake solemnly promises him. "No one else will even notice I'm gone."
Right before he parts the curtains that serve as the final partition that stands between the back rooms and the actual store, Jake takes in a deep inhale to fill his lungs with that familiar, putrid urine stink that just about clings to every surface within three feet of the employee toilets. They clean it every day, and whenever it's Jake's turn, he makes sure to be generous with the bleaching agent. He just doesn't get how it's so persistent.
Most people would zoom past this small stretch in the narrow hallway to escape the harrowing experience of pressing through piss fumes—but Jake isn't like other Starbucks employees.
Take this as his little show of rebellion, even if there isn't an audience present to acknowledge his display of courage. He'd rather choke on this than the delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee and batches of ground nuts.
Jake hesitates just a little, squares his shoulders, then takes merely a step forward before he feels a tight grip on his shoulder steering him towards the cash register.
"Jake, front counter," Sunghoon groans, applying more and more pressure onto Jake's back like the latter doesn't have limbs that work just fine. "Fast. He's looking for you."
"Who?"
"I don't have time for stupid questions."
"Heeseung hyung seems to always have time for yours," he quips back, which earns him a sharp sting on his ass. He gets one final push and Jake staggers reluctantly over to the counter, where a familiar, beaming face is already waiting.
The Mint Chocolate Advocate, he sneers internally while he fashions a quick smile from his unwilling lips. Jake will slap himself to make his face a little more pliant if he has to—the last time he was told he glowered at the customers more than he smiled, he'd been forced to sit through an hour's worth of lesson from Sunghoon on how to charm the pants off everyone.
Sunghoon is the furthest thing from charming. He only manages to sweep people off their feet so easily because he's blessed with a face everyone wants in their Instagram photos. Seriously. Jake's seen plenty of boys and girls come in to take selfies so ridiculously angled, you can tell they just want to keep the handsome barista within the frame to their backs. For keepsake, for memories—fuck if Jake would know.
He just wishes Mintcho guy would bother Sunghoon instead, like the rest of their regulars do.
"Hi, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you today?" Jake recites from memory, his mouth just moving on its own accord. His hand is already snaking towards the Grande-sized cups, though, cause the guy's order never changes. He just likes to pretend he's considering the other drinks on the menu.
"Uhm, do you have a recommendation?" The boy's sweeping his blond hair from his eyes, and Jake feels his stomach twist with envy at how long his eyelashes are. Untangled and perfectly taken care of, like he takes miniature comb to them every day...
New dialogue unlocked, Jake swallows the urge to say, just to be funny. He isn't funny. He'll give up on that dream soon.
"Anything that isn't mint chocolate. Those are always my favorites," he says lightly, hoping his tone is cordial enough.
But if he gets sacked, this guy won't get his daily fix done perfectly, so he's safe. He's safe.
"Oh, you have a thing against mintcho?" Sunoo's eyes are narrowed into judgemental slits, and Jake almost meets this with an exaggerated peal of laughter. Sunoo drinks toothpaste in a cup every day and Jake is the supposed subject of scrutiny here? Yeah, what a joke.
"At Starbucks we love all the drinks," Jake chirps. "After all, they're crafted and brewed with love and care." Live, laugh, love. Triple L's. L for loser.
Jake really despises this daily exchange. He wonders who takes Sunoo's order on Sundays—his one free day. He's suddenly struck with the realization that he actually 'meets up' with Sunoo more than he does with his actual friends and family. He gulps the bitter resentment and washes it down with the image of his paycheck, vivid in his mind.
"You don't sound too genuine, Jake."
"Sir—"
"Sir?"
"Sir," he stubbornly presses, "if you'd like a recommendation from me, I really do suggest trying out the green tea line. They're both the same color, but the taste is a huge step up."
Sunoo mirrors his fake enthusiasm, leans in with a sickly sweet smile, and says, "Sounds great! I'd like a Mint Chocolate Frappuccino. No toppings, please and thank you."
The barista's expression goes from relief to horror in the span of a second when he realizes he's just been fucked with. Jake's fingers tremble with restrained rage as they reach for the Grande cups. "And you'll want that in Grande?"
"Nope. I'm thinking Ventitoday."
He slams down the cup he'd gotten and switches over to the next stack, only for Sunoo to tuck his chin in and flash him a foreboding grin. "Actually, I changed my mind. I'll go for my usual."
"Perfect," Jake lies through his teeth with a picture-perfect smile to eschew favoring more violent means of ending this conversation. Sunoo pays and Jake gets through the rest of it wordlessly with practiced ease. Yerin smoothly takes his place at the counter as he swivels around to make Sunoo's drink. What's stopping him from pouring a lethal dose of poison into this thing? A murder charge, and that's it. The idea of a death penalty doesn't exactly suck away the sweet satisfaction of watching Sunoo choke on venom in his fantasy, though.
Receipt clutched tightly in a fist, Sunoo doesn't once take his eyes off of Jake. It's unnerving.
Jake is actually being hunted down by a mintcho maniac who hatecrimes the local gay barista. In pride month. This whole thing is pretty fucking homophobic. Jake wonders what gave it away—the fact that he wears berets sometimes instead of that forest green cap, or that he tucks in his shirt.
When it's done, he pops on the cover and slides it across the counter with more force than needed, dwelling in the satisfying aftermath when Sunoo scrambles to catch it before the drink topples over the edge.
"Have a great day, Sunoo-ssi."
"Do you have a problem with me?" Sunoo asks, and it's so genuine, the hurt evident in the inflections of his voice that it makes Jake feel like a colossal whale dick.
He can't soften. Not now.
"I don't know," Jake mumbles, aggressively grabbing at tissues and straws as he maintains eye contact like it's a silent game of chicken—seriously, aggressive tissue-stacking. "I just personally feel like people who like mint chocolate are weird and tasteless and need a new tongue."
Sunoo forces a smile and bites through gritted teeth, "Tasteless, huh. Explains why I come here every day for overpriced drinks just to see you." He snatches the drink from Jake's hand easily, the barista's fingers slack from the sudden revelation. "Yeah. So, suck on that, you green tea bitch."
It's the last thing Sunoo says before promptly leaving with his drink.
Resentment, anger, and shame (aptly abbreviated as RAS) is more of Jongseong's brand, but Jake's going to have to borrow it today.
"Are you... okay?" Heeseung reluctantly nudges him at the end of their shifts, because he's always careful with bringing home his coworkers' troubles from work. "You've been looking out of it the whole day. Did your mortal enemy finally threaten you with something more menacing than... a frappuccino order?"
They're both huddled over a messy table with rags in their hands, pretending they're doing more than they actually are. "I feel like I've been a complete asshole. To him."
Heeseung whistles and straightens his back, looking impressed for once. "Wow," he exhales, "I'm glad you're finally noticing."
"What do you mean 'finally'?" Jake demands defensively. "He literally comes in here once a day, every day, no skips, to specifically ask for me to make his drink. A drink I hate. The whole routine was starting to feel like an arrangement I don't remember agreeing to."
His friend shrugs, ducking down under the table to remove chewed-up pieces of gum. "Maybe he just really feels like no one does his favorite drink justice the way you do," Heeseung reasons without having to stop and think. "Have you ever considered that the poor boy might not even know you hate mint chocolate?"
"Don't call him 'that poor boy'. He's the furthest thing from poor if he can afford overpriced caffeine every day."
"No, you're the furthest thing from poor."
"I don't count—I'm literally here because I'm close to being disowned." Jake rubs at a stain that won't go away no matter how hard he tries. "Also, there's no way he doesn't know that I'm a hater."
"Hater is right..." Heeseung mutters under his breath.
"Hyung."
"Look, Jake, what exactly do you want this boy to do? He's just getting his drink from his favorite barista every day to keep him going. If anything, you're the one who's kinda bordering on obsessed with him."
"I bet that vile soul can also tell I don't like him. We argue. Every. Time."
"He probably thinks it's friendly banter!"
Yerin clears her throat pointedly, and Heeseung shoots her an apologetic look coupled with a deformed-looking "OK" sign with his hand. "So, what did he do today that forced you to reevaluate your shining behavior thus far?"
Jake fumbles with his words for a while, unable to decide if he wants to tell Heeseung what's really going on. But he's only good with speaking the truth, so he limits his reply to shrugging. Only that doesn't completely appease Heeseung, who keeps his dead fish stare leveled on Jake until the latter caves in.
"He told me he comes daily to see me."
"Oh." Heeseung stands up so quickly he nearly bashes his skull in with the side of the table. "Oh."
"Yeah, I feel really bad about it already. Don't rub it in."
"So you're telling me, this whole time you've been suspecting this guy of hatecriming you, he's actually here because he has a little crush? On you?"
"Is that last part really that hard to believe."
"Jake Sim, I don't care what you have to do—you better make it up to him eventually. To that poor kid—my poor kid."
Jake shrinks under Heeseung's damning tone, and meekly whispers, "How?"
"You're old enough to get disowned, you're old enough to sort out your own problems."
The next day, Jake keeps hovering over Yerin's shoulder as she rearranges the goods on display. It's a Tuesday, which means it's a relatively calm day of the week—most of their customers come from the high school nearby, and it seems the students usually have activities lined up till late evenings on Tuesdays, so that means peace.
For everyone on duty but Jake, because he hasn't be able to stop pacing since he clocked in this morning.
What if he doesn't come today—what if he's just going to never return because of me? Heeseung's sharp remarks and piercing, all-knowing glances don't help his nerves much. If anything, the ends Jake manages to untangle curl right back into a tight ball every time Heeseung nods at the door. He's quickly becoming their doorbell, signaling them with a loud sigh every time someone who wasn't Sunoo walked in.
"He's not going to come," Jake huffs, leaning against the cool glass, worrying his bottom lip, the tip of his tongue prodding flesh slightly tasting of copper. "He's not going to come and it's going to be my fault."
"Jake, can you give it a rest, please? You've been repeating that for the past few hours and you're not doing anything but scaring yourself, so..." Yerin punches the base of her spine violently, complaining about the aching spot as she moves on to the next display.
"What if he doesn't come?"
"Then he doesn't come—it's as simple as that."
"But I feel so bad..." he admits, and his stomach twists in agreement.
Yerin seems to have finally had enough, because she leans up and slaps Jake on the face—lightly so it doesn't smart but still. Jake cups his cheek in shock and Yerin lets the silence simmer for a few more minutes before she cuts straight to the point. "Why. Are you so affected by this?"
"Wha—? Because I've been unnecessarily me—"
"We all know that story, Sim," she interrupts coldly, her stance screaming no-nonsense. This is almost military. Jake feels like he might just about be asked to drop and give twenty for reparations. "Why are you actually so hung up on it? Misunderstandings happen every other day, so why is this one so different that you keep moping about it?"
"I—"
"Because," she answers on his behalf, too impatient to wait till the end of Jake's explanation, "because you've been looking forward to his daily visits too. Admit it. It's why you're so upset now, because you're afraid you won't be able to meet sweetcheeks for lunch six days a week anymore."
"D-does he actually come on Sundays?"
Yerin sighs, and releases her iron grip on Jake's right arm—he wasn't even aware she was grabbing him in the first place—and her features are all schooled into an expression of neutrality. "Get back to work, Jake. And if there isn't work to do here, then consider wiping down the tables again. Look, even Hee's making himself useful in the store for once..."
"Yerin noona, does he?"
Jake's tongue darts out at lightning speed to wet his bottom lip, falling back to an old habit out of nervousness. He's pretty sure friends are supposed to console you after you go through a distressing turning point in your life when you realize that you are not the Wattpad main character you think you are!!! (And it doesn't matter that Jake has hair like smooth black locks of raven feathers, or that it's long enough to be pulled into a messy, tiny ponytail now) Sometimes, you're the villain in someone else's story, and you should do well to repent before you end up dancing across hot coals till your feet are reduced to ash and bones, and maybe a puddle of flesh.
He's pretty certain Yerin qualifies as a friend, albeit not a particularly close one... Either way, consoling a friend in need of help does not seem to be her expertise, because Yerin just blocks him out by humming to Dance Monkey. It seems like the exigent demands of their minimum wage jobs at Starbucks can take a toll on you eventually, because Jake hasn't seen a single sane person still hooked on that song since the craze passed in 2020.
He turns away to walk to the front, but Yerin calls him back, her face betraying that it's solely out of guilt. Maybe partly from... second-hand embarrassment?
"Jake. He doesn't. He only shows up when you do, so he'll be back—don't worry."
It's Yerin he should run to when he's stuck in a predicament, because, as expected, her words ring true more than any of Heeseung's have. Jake is starting to think the latter just pulls shit out his ass so he doesn't have to deal with a silent room.
On Thursday, Heeseung doesn't sigh when the glass doors are pushed open again—this time he gives a barely audible gasp, a change so small yet so significant. Jake immediately understands what it means and briefly considers dropping onto his knees and start groveling. He quickly bustles over to the counter, nearly bumping into a disgruntled Sunghoon on the way there, but it's OK. Sunghoon will survive with a wet shirt drenched with coffee... his adoring fans might even thank Jake for it, for receiving more than what their drinks are worth.
The line is short, and Sunoo is at the end of it, but he's missing his curious, roaming eyes today. His gaze just keeps falling to the floor, inspecting every linoleum tile like there might be something interesting hidden within.
As an employee, Jake can assure you there isn't a scavenger hunt concealed and disguised in the flooring of your local store.
He continues receiving orders, and Sunghoon and Heeseung knowingly flash glances at him, Sunghoon's clicking teeth and wide eyes definitely much more overt than Heeseung's signals. Ah, Park Sunghoon, the embodiment of a fucking numpty with police sirens fixed in place for eyes—he can't do a single thing without informing everyone and everything in close vicinity. It's a miracle that it still doesn't manage to compel Sunoo to look up and see what's going on.
When it's finally Sunoo's turn, Jake finds that he hasn't really rehearsed this, and he probably should've. So like the charismatic, suave person he is, Jake says:
"Hi, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you instead?"
He regrets ever speaking the moment his mouth opened, but pretending nothing happened is out of the question, because Sunoo is already looking at him like that.
"Instead?"
Jake's cheeks burn with humiliation and he punches at the cash register listlessly, missing all the buttons so his nails get caught in the gaps between. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I meant to say today."
Sunoo's smile seems to grow an inch in confidence from the hitch in Jake's expression.
"I'll have... my usual order," Sunoo tells him, almost shyly, like it's blasphemy to speak it aloud.
Jake supposes he's to blame for all the mintcho hostility here, but then again, most of his arguments are plucked and "borrowed" from Reddit, so who's really at fault?
Nod. Take the money. Give him his change. His receipt. Smile. Nod. Leave.
Autonomy is a beautiful thing, but right now, he feels like a character in the Sims controlled by a player who turned it off. If his brain doesn't keep feeding his limbs instructions, he might just end up staring into space, lagging in his sad space of one tiny square. Heeseung pats his back and takes over the register so he can get to making Sunoo's order, and Jake swears, he can feel Sunoo's eyes on his back the whole time. It's okay, he soothes himself, back muscles can be riveting and you've been working out lately.
"Hi," he greets Sunoo anxiously when they meet again at the pick-up counter. This time, like the civil boy his parents raised, Jake hands it over carefully and Sunoo accepts with nothing more than the small smile he usually wears anyway. "I didn't see you yesterday."
Sunoo catches his bottom lip between his teeth, his body angled like he's dying to leave.
"Or the day before," Jake adds again, for good measure. I notice when you're absent! I'm sorry!!!
"Yeah, I guess."
"Betraying this branch?"
"Tried to." Sunoo shrugs like it isn't a big deal. "No one makes my drinks like you guys do, so..."
'You guys'. The barista narrows his eyes and attempts to tuck his hurt away, when he reality he wants to grab Sunoo by the shoulders and scream in his face, 'I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO MAKES YOUR FUCKING DEVIL'S DRINK'.
"I bet they didn't have cute baristas either," Jake says, trying to make it sound more easy-going than outright passive-aggressive. He's pretty sure that he's not supposed to be taking this much time out his shift to sweet-talk a customer, but he isn't violating company policy by trying to keep a regular around, is he? If anything, this is good for business.
"Yeah, I guess your coworkers are pretty cute." Sunoo cranes his neck to look over Jake's shoulder, then points at Sunghoon, who's currently commanding the attention of his personal fleet of mesmerized Sunghooners.
Jake forces the muscles around his lips to curve his mouth into a pretty convincing smile. "Oh, him? He's a fucking idiot," he quickly says, and he doesn't care if this technically makes him a pick me. At the end of the day, if this helps him get picked, he's really not the loser in this game. "He thinks he's the Song Joongki of fucking Starbucks."
"I mean, he sure looks the part. Also, can you please..." They both look down, and Jake realizes he still hasn't released his grip on the tissues he was moving across the counter slowly. His fingers won't obey, though, and it ends up ripping in the middle, which in turn, causes Sunoo to blow out an exasperated sigh.
"I'll get you another one."
But he grabs more than needed this time, and Jake whips out the pen that they all carry on their uniforms to scribble down a quick message he personally thinks is a touch of genius.
"Here!"
Rightfully apprehensive, Sunoo holds it up to his face. "'I'm not... a green tea bitch?' Um."
"I only get vanilla lattes. I'm not really big on green tea, you know."
Sunoo tucks it into his pocket and nods awkwardly, already turning to leave. "Thanks," he throws over his shoulder, and Jake watches with a full heart as the boy's figure slowly diminishes into a tiny black dot beyond the double doors. He's done some good today—he's made Sunoo's day!
Jake doesn't think is this heaven-worthy, but he also knows when to give himself credit when it's due.
(Or not. He's the fucking idiot)
He doesn't consider this stealing.
Jake really only took a box of napkins home so he can save some time on the in-person writing. And that's, like, one to two minutes! If anything, their company should be congratulating him for being so skilled at time management. He spends the entire dinnertime closed off in his bedroom penning small messages and notes on the stack so he can meet Sunoo every day well-prepared. If the boy thinks that today was the end of his apology, he's way off the mark, because right now...
Right now, Jake is concentrating on perfecting his little drawing of a sun sipping on mintcho.
When he's done, he leans back and revels at his collection of notes, one masterpiece after another. This is definitely going to balance out the karma somehow. He isn't sure how the system operates, and this sure as hell isn't a heaven-gates-opening-worthy gesture, but also, humankind is one step closer to accepting the existence of the mint chocolate lovers community.
Ah, world peace. Jake switches off the lights tonight with a genuine smile, knowing that Sunoo is lucky that his favorite barista is so... open-minded.
"Are you really sure you're never going to try anything new?" he asks as he produces a napkin from the Ziploc bag he carries around now.
"Very," Sunoo insists. You might call it a figment of Jake's imagination, but he thinks he spies a little bit of excitement in the way Sunoo's mouth is curved into a bright smile today. He drops it a second into his reading, though. "'Daily horoscope: you're going to have your day made today'? What kind of crappy prediction is this? Even a scam-artist on the roadside can do better."
"Oh, but tell me I'm wrong."
Sunoo purses his lips, clearly miffed. "You're wrong—besides, you don't even know my sign!"
"Now I know you're just lying. Look at this!" Jake leans over the counter, way too close, and points at the little caricature he'd drawn of Sunoo on the bottom left side. His thumb makes contact with Sunoo's fingers, and he feels his own pulse quicken. He retreats and slinks away like a fucking cowardly snake and inhales deeply. Mistake after mistake, because Sunoo smells like a whole field of lemongrass and it makes Jake immediately want to lean back in for another quick whiff. Which is just creepy, so he's not going to act on his whims... but it doesn't wane the intensity of his sudden craving at all. "It's, um, it's cute, huh?"
It's not. Jake is great at drawing diagram sketches for his Physics lab, not art.
He can't call Sunoo out on a lie, only to be dishonest in the next second himself. That's not how it works, but it's how it's working, right now.
All he has to do is keep his mouth running like a tireless machine so the distraction is effective.
"Also, you sound like a Cancer to me."
"Oh, do I?"
"Yeah," Jake chokes out. "It's the mint chocolate problem. All of you have it..."
"Sure..."
It's the worst way you can end a conversation. When someone says, "Sureeeeeeee" you can kiss your chances of hitting on them goodbye, especially if they have their eyebrows raised and they're backing off like you're a total weirdo who should be annihilated. Not that Jake is trying to hit on him (really), but it's also just overall embarrassing to be a weirdo in the eyes of a mundane mintcho menace.
Sunoo leaves the store physically but he stays running laps in Jake's mind for the rest of the day. At the end of his shift, Jake emerges from the breakroom in his own clothes again, only to find an unimpressed Sunghoon waiting for him outside.
An unsmiling Sunghoon with his mouth puckered into a butthole only presages all things unpleasant and bad, so Jake figures he should just ask what's wrong.
"Do something about your crush on mint chocolate boy or I will."
"Is that what this is about?" Jake barks out a laugh, but it sounds strangely clipped even to his own ears. "I do not have a crush on him."
"You can't keep flirting with him during work hours, only to make zero progress. Yerin noona is happy to turn a blind eye to... whatever strategy you have employed, but Heeseung hyung and I want to see the fruits of your efforts. You barely have the seeds sowed, even, and it's becoming increasingly painful to watch you turn into a blubbering mess when you talk to him."
"That's really gross, Sunghoon. I didn't know you were one for innuendos."
"Point stands."
Jake scowls and unlocks his locker to collect the rest of his things. "Since when were you in the business of dishing out love advice, for god's sake." Honestly, he's a little wounded that Park fucking Sunghoon, out of everyone in this cursed place, is here to offer Jake his two cents on something conjured in the deepest recesses of his imagination. A crush? On mintcho boy?
"There is no point. I don't like him at all—this is all just me atoning."
"I suppose you won't mind, then, when I hit him with my charming smile tomorrow?"
"Your smile is not charming, it's about three teaspoons idiocy and half cup of intolerable."
"People find it charming."
"'People' need new eyes. Stay away from Sunoo."
"Then make a move instead of that preteen shit you're doing right now!"
Jake makes sure to slam the door extra loud when he leaves seething. In pride month.
Bad news and more bad news. Everywhere he goes, Jake is just expected to sit there and take on the barrage of atrocities like a happy trooper.
He's been forced to come down for dinner today, and he doesn't know where to look because his brother is just right across from him. Family dinners are awkward enough when there's an unresolved fight still festering in the air, and now he has to stare at his brother's stupid face? And believe it or not, it gets worse when they tell him they'll be handing over his monthly allowances once more—and that he no longer has to work for cash to feed and clothe himself?
"It's hard to keep watching you work yourself so hard, Jake... This was never about punishing you. I hope you know that."
Jake shakes his head. "No, I'd like to continue working."
"College is about to start—you can't be serious about wanting to idle away instead of preparing for your future," their dad bristles, in that tone that indicates it's final, that whatever attempt made to convince him otherwise will be futile. "Jake, we're doing this so you don't sacrifice your time over some petty argument."
"It wasn't just about an—" Jake grips the edge of the table, the color bleeding out of his knuckles. "Dad, I like working there. If anything, this is preparing me better for college than study prep alone at home ever will."
"Jake... please. Hear your father out this once," their mother pleads, and that's the real conversation closer. He loves his family, but sometimes they fret and coo so much, Jake feels like he's never going to be able to detach himself from this suffocating nest. Even with all the thorny, prickly silence between them, he can tell that his brother is still looking at him with pity.
He tries not to stomp up the stairs like a spoilt kid when the table has been cleared and his dad's out on the balcony for his evening smoke.
But going up to his room... just intensifies the feeling of defeat because he's reminded of the bag of napkins lying sadly in a corner, dejected. He's never going to run out if he doesn't have all the days to give them to Sunoo one by one. He's going through his first Heartbreak Anniversary and it isn't even from an actual breakup. This is it. His very own Olivia Rodrigo moment.
He falls into bed and tries to push away the anxiety of having to resign, because that's not going to be pretty—he can already expect to endure twenty minutes of Yerin's nagging—and hello? He's going to have to tell Sunoo too. And a bunch of people he's going to miss. As sad as it sounds, he's probably made more "friends" working here than he has his whole life.
He'll deal with that later. Tonight, he'll try asphyxiating himself with a pillow first.
He ends up doing the exact opposite of what he'd promised himself for the next four workdays. So that's... Saturday, the following Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday.
Why? Because he's a fucking wuss. He feels a part of him shrivel up every time Sunoo draws near, the very specific shade of brown in his eyes reflecting natural light like sunlight on a pile of gold. He doesn't get where it went wrong. He wrote a script, and he's made the effort to memorize and recite it word-by-word every night before he sleeps. What's wrong? Nothing. Why can't he do it? Everything. The day is just too sunny and cheerful; too rainy and wet; the smell of the coffee isn't strong enough to knock some senses back into him...
Today, Jake's decided to introduce Sunoo to his favorite drink instead, just to switch things up. At the risk of being fired, but he's already told Yerin that he's resigning, so that isn't too big of a threat.
The possibility of pissing Sunoo off is even more glaring, but it's a chance he's willing to take.
"Oops, looks like I accidentally made you vanilla latte today instead," Jake announces way too gleefully, and Sunoo scrutinized his face with an unreadable expression.
"Oops, looks like I'm going to accidentally get you fired," Sunoo retorts playfully, and Jake lets his shoulders fall. He's in the clear.
"You wouldn't."
Sunoo accepts the new drink like it's alien to him, and murmurs, "Don't try me, you vanilla bitch." He scans Jake like he's searching for ulterior motives. "What if I were lactose intolerant?"
"Then you die."
"Nice."
"Enjoy your drink! Have a good day," he quickly says, eventhough Sunoo is puzzled by the lack of handwritten, personalized notes today. It's how crestfallen he appears to be, just from a fucking missing napkin, that rouses the sleeping Church Boy in him awake. He will deliver the truth today—no more lying, and no more lying about not lying. "Wait! Wait here, please, Sunoo."
He turns around, but Yerin and Heeseung are already watching, both aggressively waving for him to go!!!
Jake sends them an appreciative glance, but knows that he's going to have to make this quick either way. They might be happy to cover for him, but there's only so much two people can do when there's a line of angry customers who are demanding their caffeine fix and sugar shots and fast. He slips out from behind the counter and guides them both to a pretty secluded corner, and the whole time, Sunoo doesn't question a single thing. Jake cherishes the trust, but it also makes him feel a lot guiltier than if they were still the perfect strangers from a week ago.
"Okay. So."
"Can I say something first? It's been bothering me for a while—" Sunoo interrupts, cutting in without so much as blinking.
"Sure," Jake agrees—it's not like he's gotten his shit together yet anyway.
"If I'm missing next Thursday, it's because it's my birthday," the boy reveals, then tucks his chin into his turtleneck like it'd help conceal the violent blushing. It doesn't, because the heat extends all the way to the tips of his ears. "I don't... I probably won't be in town then." Jake internally combusts at how adorable Sunoo is sitting there, fidgeting like he's unsure with where to place his hands.
"Oh," is all he manages to muster, simply too distracted by Sunoo to bother with being coherent. Then it hits him—"That's June 24th, right?"
"Yeah...?
"Oh."
His last day is June 23rd. What kind of Stareo and Buckliet shit is this.
"I'm quitting, actually. I'll still be here next week, so I guess you still have about a week left with your favorite Starbucks employee, huh?"
Sunoo fiddles with the stopper on his drink, expression indecipherable once more. "Yeah. My favorite employee... what a loss."
Wednesday, June 23rd, rolls around so quickly Jake can hardly believe a week has gone by.
He's got a hat strapped to his head, the string pulling tightly at his chin, effectively choking him because Sunghoon, that idiot, got them in XS size. All for a stupid joke only he finds hilarious and can't stop repeating.
"XS for Extra Scary."
Jake was stupid enough to actually inquire, "What's scary?"
"DEEZ FUCKING NUTS!"
Now he's cackling and spilling water from his mouth in a cascade because he genuinely believes he's the funniest man to have walked the planet.
Yerin just pats his shoulder sympathetically, saying, "Just a few more hours, Jake, then it's all over. He'll be my problem and Heeseung's then... but it doesn't mean you can slack off today."
"No, it definitely doesn't," Heeseung chimes in, a little moody because he's expected to work extra hours to train the new addition to the team meant to replace Jake. Though, if they're all being honest, it looks like Heeseung and Riki are getting along great, because the young teenager is even more capricious than Heeseung is, and it's clear the latter guy respects anyone who can hold their ground. "Five minutes with your mintcho midget."
"Don't call him a midget when you look like a giant's toe."
Heeseung isn't affected, just throws his head back laughing because he knows he's struck a nerve. "You're all midgets to me. Let's talk when you finally grow another inch."
"I pity you," Jake whispers to Yerin when Heeseung's finally out of hearing range.
"I pity you," she echoes, vaguely gesturing to the general commotion of their workplace in the early morning. "You're going to be missing out on all the fun soon enough. You could always come back though, if you're free—you should always come back. We're going to really miss having you around."
"D'aww," he coos, only to receive a smack at the back of his head.
"Don't get all sappy on me, Sim. Or you're never going to survive long enough to meet your boy later."
Your boy, your boy, your boy... it's what his coworkers have taken to calling Sunoo, but Jake's not even sure if that's appropriate. Is he really my boy? He snorts at how far-fetched the idea is, but he couldn't unscrew his head and empty out the image if he tried.
His boy walks in exactly at two in the afternoon as he usually does, but today... Today, Jake swears by the bible that something is different.
Maybe it's the fucking light green hair he's sporting.
"Staring is rude, you know," Sunoo breaks the silence, tapping the counter fervently, an extra pep and zest to every tiny action. He's excited, Jake notes. Cute.
"Your h-hair," Jake splutters like the cool guy he is.
Sunoo pulls at a few strands lightly, then blows it out from his eyes. "Yeah, I... thought I might need a change."
"You're really pretty."
An eyebrow raise, pursed lips so tight they might turn blue. "What did you say?"
"I mean your hairstylist sure made your hair pretty," he scrambles to rectify.
"It's hair chalk. A temporary self-dye job."
"Wow, you sure did make your hair pretty." Sweating and skidding off the machine like nobody's business, Jake hastens his fingers to work, and fast. "That'll be 6,100 won." The romantic tension of accepting some dollar bills from your favorite regular sure is stifling, because Jake is gasping for air like a fish out of water.
He makes the drink, constantly sending furtive looks in Sunoo's direction the whole time. It's a miracle he doesn't mess up at all, but he's made so many cups of Mint Chocolate Frappuccino that he's entirely dependant on muscle memory by now. They meet at the pick-up counter. Again. And it's so weighted Jake doesn't trust himself to speak first.
Fortunately for him, his mouth doesn't require permission for anything.
"Birthdays. Big day, huh?"
"Mhm," Sunoo agrees. "I won't be seeing you after this?"
In response to that, Jake pulls a carefully, carefully folded napkin and offers it to Sunoo. "Here."
Sunoo abandons his drink to cradle the tissue with both hands like it's his firstborn, then reads aloud the written words, perturbed. "Did you really just call me an insipid mintcho aficionado on your last day here? By the way, you spelled it wrong." Jake knows that, because it was very much his intention to write afYcionado instead. There shouldn't be a problem with bending the rules of grammar and spelling sometimes to impress your crush.
"I, ahm, read the capitalized letters."
"I-M...-Y?"
"I'll miss you," Jake confirms, and blushes a deep red. "A lot."
Sunoo drops it in shock, then picks it up again, gripping so tightly Jake worries the more important message will be destroyed before it's discovered. Wrapping his fingers around Sunoo's hand, he gently pries the note from the boy's fist. Jake has always had cold hands, but the warmth from Sunoo's revives his fingers in the way that only the sun could. Though that could just be the adrenaline rush from holding Sunoo's hand in reality rather than in his imagination... (not that he thinks about it more than he has wants to).
"But. But—" It physically hurts to move away. He motions for Sunoo to unfold the napkin, and he complies, only to smile upon seeing the string of numbers left there. "I'll miss you, but I'm hoping I won't have to."
"You won't," Sunoo tells him, so out of breath already despite not having said much in the last few seconds.
"You'll call?" Just to be sure.
"Jake Sim!" Heeseung, that fucker, cannot take a hint. Or maybe he can't, and he's trying to shield the eyes of the public from PDA. "You're still working today!"
Sunoo holds the napkin to his heart like it's that valuable, and he smiles so hard his cheeks must hurt. Jake's smiling, too—and he can feel it. All the way down to his toes. Working here has taught him that it's actually difficult to put on a smile all the time, but when he's around Sunoo... it'd be harder not to.
"I will, promise."
"Okay," Jake giggles, too giddy to formulate a better response, and he's being pulled back to work by the ear, but it doesn't matter. This isn't the last he'll see of Sunoo, and two p.m. won't be the only time he gets to breathe right again.
He's really glad he got into that argument with his brother, because, fuck—
1. Working at Starbucks rocks.
2. His coworkers are some of the best people he's ever met.
3. With Sunoo's cotton-candy mint hair and his brown mop, they kinda look like mint chocolate. And when they look this good together, who is he to refute his newfound love for the best flavor in the universe?