Chapter Text
1.
"Sorry, I’m… straight."
This must be the worst rejection possible of receiving in the history of rejections. The tray in Gunwook’s hands quivers dangerously. Dohoon’s eyes dart up and widen, his hands moving towards Gunwook’s as if to help him steady it, after just breaking Gunwook’s heart into two clean pieces.
Of course, Dohoon probably doesn’t want his icy Americano with 2.5 shots to be spilled all over his papers and attractive outfit; after being confessed to by the creepy gay barista at his favourite coffee shop.
With a great effort, Gunwook manages not to drench Dohoon (though an accident might not have been that bad — at least Dohoon would look as humiliated as him). He slams the plastic cup on the table too roughly — not angry, just wanting to get away as fast as possible.
The last glimpse he catches of Dohoon’s face is a mixture of bewilderment and embarrassed apology. At the last minute, Dohoon opens his mouth, seeming about to say something, but Gunwook has already rushed away hugging the tray to his chest. His ears are burning.
It’s only when he bolts himself into the staff kitchen that he remembers today’s personalised cardboard sleeve is still right there, on Dohoon’s sweating cup.
There’s literally nothing else on the piece of cardboard except Dohoon’s name in Gunwook’s writing, and a hand-drawn emoji; but for some reason, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
Yujin clears his throat from where he’s standing at the dishwasher, and Gunwook realises he’s not alone. Yujin takes off his headphones and soapy gloves, wiping his hands on his apron. Gunwook rips off his own apron, and resumes hitting his head methodically with the tray he hasn’t let go of.
This makes Yujin approach him with concern.
"Hey hyung, what happened out there?"
"Yujin-ah,” Gunwook whimpers, crumpling his apron up, “Can Yujin please, please go out and take the rest of hyung's shift? I’ll handle all the dishes and cups, I promise."
At that moment, Ricky’s inimitable holler drifts into the kitchen from the front counter, laced with silky threat.
"Park Gunwook, you’re needed!"
Yujin shoots him a flustered, harassed look, but doesn’t refuse as he tidies his sweat-matted hair in the small mirror by the swinging door. Ricky’s face suddenly pops up in the window of the door, and Yujin almost jumps out of his skin.
"I’m all alone out here!” Ricky whisper-yells dramatically, pointing a menacing finger in at Gunwook. Yujin quickly bustles out, nudging Ricky away helpfully, murmuring some explanation to him.
Once alone, Gunwook slumps back against the whooshing dishwasher. His face is still warm when he covers it with both hands and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. Is Dohoon still out there, or has he left, uncomfortably? Gunwook wants to peep through the window, but doesn’t dare.
Nah — he probably won’t ever see his favourite customer again. Since Dohoon had started being a regular at their cafe, a month ago, he thought they were getting to know each other pretty well.
Apparently that had been all one-sided on his part.
The very first time he saw Kim Dohoon is still etched in Gunwook’s mind — how the lanky and built college student with oversized wire-rimmed glasses and a ream of English textbooks and poetry had stepped into their front door, and Gunwook was gone.
On that first afternoon, though he couldn’t stop shamelessly stealing glances while working; he hadn’t had the guts to make Dohoon look in his direction.
Until Ricky — who was sharing the shift with him that day — effortlessly struck up a conversation, in English no less, with the most gorgeous, tall, dark and handsome stranger Gunwook had ever seen. When Gunwook’s ears were blessed by how sexy the guy sounded speaking English — Ricky was a peasant compared to him — that officially sealed the deal.
He had a raging crush.
It didn’t matter that the boy stayed for two hours, seriously doing his homework — when he left, he still hadn’t noticed Gunwook a single time.
It felt like his heart was wilting when the guy — Kim Dohoon, Gunwook had heard from his eavesdropping on Ricky’s chat — stood up, toted his tray to the garbage bin, then slung his bag over his shoulder and left quietly.
He might’ve given up, then. But — the next day, his stomach leaped into his throat when a familiar face materialised in their doorway, walking into the cafe with a small smile lacing his lips.
This time, Ricky wasn’t around, and Gunwook was the only one minding the counter. He didn’t have anybody to hide behind, or ask to take the hottie’s order while he bolted to the back room.
The last words he had expected to hear first from the stranger were: “Working again today?"
"I saw you yesterday,” Dohoon had explained, when Gunwook was too dumbstruck to reply. He looked a bit embarrassed, and Gunwook quickly took his order on autopilot, stuttering.
He got the order wrong, his head a mess, but Dohoon didn’t seem to mind. Gunwook’s hands were sweaty as he wrote the name he’d been thinking of since yesterday on the cup holder, wanting to tag on a smiley face at the end but not daring to. Which was ridiculous because he usually added smiley faces for everybody.
Dohoon had laughed when he botched the order, like it was cute. He adamantly refused Gunwook’s offer to remake the drink, and settled into a corner table to spread out his essays and course books again. Gunwook noticed a pretty thick English novel sticking out of his backpack, and felt a kick in the gut at this for some reason.
After an hour, he had screwed up the immense courage needed to carefully walk up to Dohoon’s table, carrying a slice of the cafe’s most popular angel cake. He hovered by the edge, shyly, until Dohoon looked up, a questioning smile tugging at his lips, pushing up his nerdy glasses when he saw Gunwook.
"I, uh, sorry for the mistake with your order just now,” Gunwook stammered, practically dropping the plate on Dohoon’s table before whirling around and brisk-walking away. For the rest of the shift, he studiedly didn’t look in Dohoon’s direction, but another hour later it was impossible not to feel it acutely in all his senses that Dohoon was walking up.
"Thanks — the cake was really good, though you didn’t have to,” Dohoon said in the deep smooth drawl Gunwook was falling hard for, with the smile that reached his eyes.
Dohoon’s eyes moved down from his face to his chest, slowly, and his heart almost stopped. Could it be?
But Dohoon just tilted his head a little to read Gunwook’s name tag, then met his eyes again. “Gunwook,” he said, crinkle-eyed, and Gunwook died a little inside.
In the following weeks, Dohoon would make his wildest dreams come true by proceeding to faithfully visit the cafe at the same time every few days, on his way home from school. He would spend hours finishing up his homework, eyes narrowed with concentration behind his spectacles as Gunwook screwed up order after order just losing himself in dazes of admiration.
Ricky was threatening to fire him every few drinks, and Gyuvin, their coworker who was also Ricky's boyfriend, was shooting him dirty looks for being totally useless. Yujin was running back and forth from the kitchen quietly picking up the dirty cups Gunwook was supposed to help him carry in.
Gunwook was in heaven.
Part of the reason he was on Ricky’s shitlist now was that Dohoon kept ordering Americanos with 2.5 shots, a drink which didn’t exist in the menu; and Gunwook kept wasting a whole half shot — as Ricky ranted — and a ton of time getting the exclusive drink just right.
Ricky had chatted with Dohoon a few more times by then, but Gunwook didn’t care as long as he didn’t clue Dohoon in on what a train wreck Park Gunwook had become since Kim Dohoon sauntered into his workplace and his life, and how he’d become Gunwook’s special customer.
He’d gotten so deep in, so presumptuous and arrogant, all by himself, that he’d gone and confessed on impulse, this very afternoon while delivering Dohoon’s drink to his table.
"Do you have a girlfriend?” was how he’d blurted out the first disastrous words.
When Dohoon shook his head, looking bemused, then asked “Why?” the confession had just tumbled out of Gunwook’s mouth, unthinkingly.
"I like you."
A lifetime passed. Dohoon blinked up at him, as if he’d just spoken alien language. Gunwook was still holding the tray of melting Americano.
Then, contrition scrawled on his handsome features, Dohoon had spoken the earth-shattering words.
2.
"Sorry, I’m… straight."
The moment the few thoughtless words left his mouth on autopilot, Dohoon regretted.
He’d been confessed to a handful of times in his life thus far… but this is the first guy who’s been brave enough to say those gutsy words.
And… he’s one special boy.
Gunwook’s special.
Dohoon is straight. As far as he knows, he’s been straight for nineteen years.
But it’s an equally true fact that for the past month, he’s been returning to this nondescript cafe, again and again; just for one thing — to watch an adorable barista his age making the most endearing blunders; smiling as he loses himself in brewing coffee and designing drinks; his eyes disappearing with uncharacteristic shyness every time Dohoon makes a stupid joke just to hear his addictive laugh.
He’s been somewhat fascinated with the way Gunwook’s so transparent, jumping in a fluster every time Dohoon nears, trying to hide it, then directing the most puppy-like eyes Dohoon has ever seen towards him.
He’s not stupid — though he tried not to let on, for fear of making the other boy feel awkward, he could tell Gunwook likes him, for whatever reason. But every time he tried to extend the conversation, get to know the barista better, Gunwook would rush away in a nervous tizzy — which was cuter than it had any right to be.
All this — although he still can’t figure out the reason — had piqued Dohoon’s interest, enough for him to keep coming back doggedly every few days.
To be quite honest, he would prefer to show up every day, but upon thinking about it, Dohoon felt that would make him appear a bit pathetic.
So he tried to stay away for days on end, but always finds a gravitational force pulling him back to the same stopover on his way home.
He had not expected to hear these bold words from Gunwook’s mouth on a random, sleepy afternoon like this one. It came as a shock that the other boy had apparently wanted to be more than friends with him, this whole time.
So the answer that fell from his lips automatically ended up being the stock rejection he always thought he would use in the off-chance that he received a confession from the same sex.
It’s literally only as he says the words that he realises how completely artificial they are.
But Gunwook has already tossed his painstakingly made and hand-delivered Americano down, and disappeared into the back of the cafe, making frustration bubble up in Dohoon’s chest.