The door to the break room bangs open, and Jimin comes running in, squealing excitedly, “He’s here, he’s here!”
“Who’s here?” Taehyung asks, looking up from his game to do so because Jimin always manages to catch his attention.
Namjoon keeps looking down at his book, but he’s not reading anymore. A blush crawls up his neck onto his face. He already knows the answer. He’s regretted mentioning it ever since that he thought Cafe de Leche Guy (CDL, for short) was hot. Now Jimin fucking tortures him about it every week they’re on shift together.
“The guy,” Jimin hisses, grabbing Namjoon by the shoulder. “Get out there, hyung. I ran out just as he was coming up the counter. He probably thinks I’m rude. But just go, go!”
He makes a little shoving motion, and Namjoon startles forward, sliding up out of his chair before he realizes it. “Okay,” he grumbles. “Poor guy just wants his coffee.” So Namjoon clocks back in early, telling Jimin over his shoulder, “You owe me fifteen minutes later.”
In the front, he’s greeted with CDL standing there. He doesn’t look impatient, just a little bemused, maybe with a dash of distracted. Namjoon thinks it’s a good look on him, just as good as when he comes in with friends from the nearby campus and he’s all smiles, or when he’s hunched over his computer chewing on his lips.
“Hiya,” he says, then wants to brain himself. Who the fuck says ‘hiya?’ Namjoon does apparently. Fucking loser. “Um, what can I get you?”
The guy smiles at him, his heart-shaped mouth moving appealingly to do so. “Same thing as usual. Cafe de Leche, largest size you have. And maybe one of those apple turnovers today too; they look delicious.”
“They are,” Namjoon promises earnestly as he rings up the order. “Our baker, Jin, made them fresh like an hour ago. I may or may not have been his taste-tester.”
The guy’s eyes wrinkle behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “Well, great. Got the endorsement straight from the horse’s mouth then.” He hands over a card to pay today instead of the usual wad of cash.
As he’s swiping it, Namjoon takes a glance at the embossed name on it. Hoseok. His name is Hoseok. He mentally replaces CDL with that because it sounds way more suited to him.
“It’ll be up in a minute,” Namjoon tells him as he hands back Hoseok’s card. He hopes his voice isn’t as husky and overly fond as it sounds to his own ears.
Hoseok’s fine boned fingertips touch his as he takes his card back. He smiles again, slow and knowing. “Thanks, Namjoon.”