a/n: for the anon who wanted me to write a part two :D
but i’m so sorry this is so long. i was thinking about splitting part two into two parts but that would mean there are three parts ????
The next day, you part your curtains to watch a tree branch tap on your window against soft whispers of wind, snow dropping from the wood above to somewhere down below. You sink deeper into your pillows as you pull your blanket up to your chin to soak in more warmth when your phone vibrates across the nightstand.
Your best friend bombards every message with just your name screaming in text. She asks if the party can be moved to the day after Christmas because her family members are suddenly throwing in plans to celebrate the holiday. The group agreed with it before you were even asked, so you go along with them. It also means more time for you to lie down and trace the gray scenery splayed across your window.
Hey invite the cute barista to the christmas party
That gets you to sit up right away, wanting to throw your phone at the wall and through the window to bury itself in heaps of snow. That’s the last thing you want to do. You barely know the barista and inviting him to your apartment with your friends doesn’t sound right; plus, you don’t think he can survive meeting your friends.
You reply that you definitely won’t invite Mingyu over, but that doesn’t stop you from changing out of your pajamas and bundling yourself in a few more layers to survive the cold drive to a particular coffee shop. You wrap a scarf around your neck and lift your hood up before stepping out of your apartment and locking the door.
As usual, the line at the coffee shop is the only reason why it’s hard to make your way inside. You shed your thick coat off and let it rest over your arm as you wait, hoping that Mingyu is working today.
When you get to the front, Mingyu is looking down as he fixes something at the register, “Hi, sorry, what can I get for you today?” When he looks up, he lifts a corner of his lips with a glint of light in his eyes, “Oh, hey, y/n.”
You wonder where the light is even coming from because something like that can’t just happen in this dimly-lit coffee shop. “Just a short caffe mocha.”
He plucks a short cup from the stacks, “You buy a lot of expensive coffee for a college student.”
“It’s the only way I can talk to you,” you mumble and watch the marker in his hand slowly scribble something down on the cup. You want to slap yourself for saying that; you’re sure there are other ways to talk to him and you sound desperate to even stutter a vowel at his direction.
He’s scowling at the cup, eyes pinpointed but lips pinching together in adorable frustration, before slowly turning the cup to you. “Did I spell your name right?”
You read the name on the cup and find that your name is spelled wrong, but you’re not surprised. “You’re missing a letter,“ you giggle.
His eyes widen, lips part in a silent scream, as he stares at the cup. You can’t help but laugh and tell him that it’s nothing to worry about; your name gets messed up often. When he gets a new cup, you enunciate each letter in your name and he mouths the letters to himself at the end of your voice as he writes it down. When he finally gets it right, he shows your name on the cup with a proud smile. You catch him drawing a little heart next to your name and your own heart in your chest seems to beat faster.
You’re about to pay with card in hand and ready to give it to him, but he softly pushes your hand back and says that your drink is on the house. “College students shouldn’t be spending so much money on this coffee, like you.”
After you thank him and tell him again that it’s the only way you can talk to him, you stand off to where everyone else is waiting for their order, texting your best friend that you’re not inviting the barista over.
He calls your name and order a few minutes later and you can hear the smirk in his voice. His hand lingers on your order when you walk up to the counter and you’re about to tell him that he already knows your name when he says lightly, “I’m really glad that I can finally call you by your real name.”
“Thanks, Mingyu.” Despite telling your best friend that you won’t be inviting the “cute barista,” you inhale deeply, “Hey, are you busy the day after Christmas?”
He pauses, purses his lips in thought. His eyes flit from one spot to another before landing back on yours, “No, I think I have the day off. Why?”
“My friends are coming over to my place for a little Christmas party,” you spit, syllables kicked too close together that you’re worried he might have not understood what you said. You’re afraid of repeating it because why is this making you nervous?
He’s flustered red and you try to assure him that you’re just as anxious as he is and that it’s just a few friends over, chilling after finals. It’s only called a party because it’s shorter than saying hanging out.
He scratches the back of his head in apprehension. “But I have no gifts?”
“It’s fine,” you start sipping on your drink, “Wow, this is really good.” You catch Mingyu looking down with a bashful smile on his lips. “My friends and I don’t, either. Honestly, we just want to sit and eat. And why would you get gifts for strangers?”
“I baked you a cupcake before you even told me your name,” he reminds you with crossed arms and tilted head. You roll your eyes, shut up, that’s true, but he kills off the conversation. “Is it okay if you stay until the end of my shift so we can talk about it? I might get in trouble for talking for so long.”
“When does your shift end?”
“In less than an hour.”
With more customers coming in than walking out, you wander outside with your drink between gloved hands as you wait for his shift to be over. You pass by the snowscape of a park on your way, dismissing the idea of sitting down to wait for Mingyu when you see more snow than wood on a bench.
At the end of his shift, you’re still at the park, kicking some snow down your arbitrary path. He’s wrapped up in a thick jacket and a red beanie presses his bangs down. You want to look away from how cute he is, but you already caught his eyes. He hurries over to you at the other side of the street with a red box swinging from his fingers by a silver ribbon.
“I made another one,” he beams. When he sees you with your drink and phone in hand, “I’ll just hold it for you.” After a while of strolling in silence, crunches of ice doing nothing to alleviate the mute, he speaks up, “So what were we talking about earlier?”
“Coming over at my place. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. It’s-”
“No, I’ll go.” You don’t know if you should be excited or scared, so you smile into the rim of your drink. He bites his lower lip, “Can I get your number? You can text me your address.”
When you exchange numbers, the two of you stroll around the park and sometimes stop to watch children play in the snow.
Your phone dings at a new message minutes after stepping into your apartment.
You message him your address and he asks when should he be there. You tell him that around three would be fine, it might take you some time to get ready.
Mingyu: I’ll get there early to help you if you want
After saying yes, you take a warm shower and change into pajamas. You eat leftovers for dinner as your phone surges with what he should bring, when will your friends be there, what if they don’t like him. You open your second red box from him and a groan escapes your lips when you realize it’s a vanilla cupcake with red and green sprinkles scattered over white icing.
Pixel exchanges keep you awake far longer than you thought, snickering between your sheets whenever he sends a random video or picture. Instead of barging your phone with what if your friends think I’m annoying?, I should bring something at least, I feel awkward, his messages become you think it’s nice too?, we should try watching this movie, why aren’t you sleeping it’s past midnight??
Messages start to leave and enter your phone a lot slower than the start. You don’t even realize it when the phone slides on your face with your eyes fluttering shut.