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book people

Min Yoongi / Suga / Agust D | BTS 1.6k words | FLUFF / MEET-CUTE warnings for language (named OC)

you know, I’ve never written any bts member as gay but tbh I had a hard time not doing so for this one when taehyung and jimin were singing about how they are soulmates even tho there are more than just romantic soulmates but just let it go ok

written for @mikrksmos​ hope u like it boo boo I’m sorry I didn’t edit and revise it more lol

ps how do people search for gifs effectively

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck.”

Elise glances up at her coworker as she works on her book recommendation card. Every employee of the bookstore gets to write a short review of a book they’ve read every two months that will be displayed alongside its respective book in an effort to help the customers choose. It’s a part of Elise’s job she truly enjoys, though she doesn’t allow herself to write the cards in her off hours. Work is work, after all.

“Taehyung,” she says, her voice much more calm than her colleague’s. He sighs and looks at her. “Would you like to alert the media about whatever is the matter?”

He tuts and lowers his voice, sitting on the stool next to hers behind the help desk.

“You remember that cute guy I told you about? The one that flirted with me at Mozart’s?”

“You mean the one you lied to about drinking coffee, ordered a latte in front of, and had uncontrollable jitters for the rest of the day and well into the evening? The one you heard angels sing when you looked at him for the first time?”

Taehyung tuts again and gives Elise a little tap on her thigh. “Shut up. Jimin. Yes. Well, he’s here.”

Keep reading

Can you do a bookstore au for kokushibou also can you do an istp personality type for the reader.

Sure! And congrats on being the first to request! (つ≧▽≦)つ

𝙺𝚘𝚔𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚋𝚘𝚞 | 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

ᴘʟᴏᴛ : ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴀ ʙᴏᴏᴋꜱᴛᴏʀᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ-ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴊᴏʙ, ʙᴜᴛ Qᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ʙᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ.

ʙᴏᴏᴋꜱᴛᴏʀᴇ ᴀᴜ

|||||

" I am going to rot in here." 

Kokushibou gave you a tiny glance as he stock in another book into the fantasy-labeled shelf. It was quiet rare for you to express what you were thinking since you were usually so quiet. Perhaps because you've known him for a few months and hung out with him more often than other workers in the bookstore, that you became more opened up to him.

" Why did I even chose this work?" You continued, handing him another book to be put in.

" Then why did you?" He questioned, finished with the section and pushed the cart to the children section.

Trailing behind him while pushing another cart, you said, " Money, Kokushibou. It's also hard to find a part-time job, you know? I am also trying to keep up with college's work."

He didn't replied and that was the end of your conversation as you both continued to stock the books in the section. Boredom grew and grew inside you as time passed by. This work seemed dull to you, but at least you were paid. Once you have enough money and finished college, you quit immediately.

You glanced at Kokushibou. If it wasn't for him, you'd have quit long ago. He was quiet, perhaps even more than you being quiet, but skillful and fast in managing things. Your friendship with him started with him helping you adjusting to the work by the manager's order, only for a friendship to bloom between both of you. Being observant, not only you noticed how good he is in working, but also his attractiveness.

Kokushibou has a long, spiky black hair tied in a ponytail; dark eyes and pale skin. His name ' Kokushibou ' was a name when he was on a work shift. When he finished, he was called Mitchikatsu. You found out about this from his twin brother, Yoriichi, that often visiting the store to give a lunch box to his brother.

If you could rate his attractiveness, you'd give a 9/10. His sombre expression gave off an intimidating and scary vibes that sometimes scared away the customers. Probably the reason he wasn't in charge of the counter.

" Just how bored are you that you keep staring at me?"

You jumped, caught by the man. Looking away and trying to hide the little redness on your cheeks, you said nothing. Kokushibou stared at you for a few seconds before sighing.

" Let's...play a game."

" Huh?" You turned to him, eyes widened.

This man, who looked like he doesn't know the definition of fun, was inviting you to play a game?

Kokushibou put up a finger, " In an hour, both of our shift will be done and we are also in charge of closing the store for today. By one-hour, let's stock these books in the sections quickly. The one who finished first gets to be treated a meal by the one who loses."

How... interesting.

Despite taken back by how a bit weird he was acting, his offer was tempting. Instead of spending one-hour restocking the books in boring atmosphere, why not turned it into something more challenging and exciting?

You hummed, " A meal from a restaurant?"

" Includes a dessert."

" Deal."

And with that, both of you started the challenge just as quick as it started.

|||||

You've almost done, only one more book to be put in the adult section. But it seemed that Kokushibou was also heading to the same section. Unfortunately, he was more quicker than you in speed, as he easily ran passed you to the section.

Not wanting to lose, you reached out one hand and grabbed his apron holding him back.

The man looked over his shoulders, " That's cheating, (Y/N)."

" There's no condition set anyway!" You pulled the stings off so the apron would fall off to distract him.

While it certainly did, as Kokushibou stepped on the apron and slipping to the ground, he managed to grab your ankle to let you meet the same fate as his. Loud thump sound echoed in the store when both workers fell onto the floor. Kokushibou was the first to get up, already sprinting past you, but then noticed that you didn't move.

" (Y/N)?" He stopped. " (Y/N)." He called again but there was no response.

Panic starting to fill inside him as he dropped his book and went back to you, forcing himself to calm down and maintain the situation --

In the form action of sike, you grabbed his apron on the floor nearby and threw it to his face before going on your feet and dashed towards the section.

"(Y/N)!"

Oh, you knew you were so in trouble at the tone of his voice, but that still didn't stopped you from putting in the book in the shelf to claim your victory. Once you done, you turned around and faced your co-worker who had a visible irritation on his face.

" Are you mad that I used dirty tricks?" You gulped, taking a step back at how intimidating he was.

Kokushibou didn't answer. He grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to stay put as he used another hand to lift your chin and moved your head sideways. It then clicked inside you that he was checking for any injuries.

" I am okay," you said, blushing at how close and touchy he was, " I was just pretending. You know me, I like taking risks."

" Don't do that again." He warned.

" Don't tell me what to do."

"...." Sighing, he let you go and looked away. " I was...worried for a second back there."

Realizing that you really did scaring this man into thinking that you were injured, you immediately felt guilty.

" Look -- I am sorry, Kokushibou. I won't do anything that hurt myself."

He looked at you. " You can't promise that."

" But I can try."

There was a moment of silence as you both stared at each other. Kokushibou put a hand over his face and you were taken back once again at the sight of his shoulders moving as he let out a short chuckle.

" Well," a small smile was on his face, " you won, anyway. Congratulations. So, does 8 p.m. tonight good for me to take you to your meal reward?"

You smiled back, " Yeah. That's good."

As you both did final clean up in the store, something occured to you as you took off your apron.

"...Hey, Kokushibou..." You slowly began, "...correct me if I am wrong...but...the game and the meal as a reward...were you trying to ask me out or something?"

And without even turning around as he locked the back door, Kokushibo replied, " Will you reject me if I say yes?"

" No."

" Then, yes."

A/N : I hope I got the reader's ISTP personality right. Please tell me if I did any mistake with it. Also, sorry if Kokushibou is a bit ooc.

INTELLECTUAL CRUSH

ep. 2 | ep. 3 | ep. 4 |

a multi-part series centered around the anonymous exchanges of namjoon and a literature girl. a separate but related installment of the halley universe (see Cupid Operation)

Books Nine Lives Company

Eco-friendly and sustainable trade of old books. Where we repurpose the neglected.

Namjoon pushes his weight into the swinging door and the store sign rattles.

A bell rings overhead - a jaunty, youthful chirp - as he enters the familiar bookstore to be encased in the scent of aged leather, the subtle-sweet vanilla essence of lignin wood-based parchment and the musty scent of carpet that has endured soiled shoes, coffee spills and bladder accidents from the part of the resident senior dog sleeping by the shop window.

He takes a practiced sharp left down a thin hall lined with mahogany-variation shelves, all crammed with books, without a single cubic inch to spare. The walls seem to encroach in on him, the further he disappears into the shop. Hardcovers and paperbacks - some surprisingly intact in condition, others faded, sun-bleached, tearing at the spines - spill from the shelves, pour into unstable, uneven stacks on either side of his legs.

Over the terrain of an old tapestry carpet, his worn logger-lace-up boots part a sliver of shuffling space.

His eyes dart over the labels meant to trim the seams of unrelated sections. During some point in the lifetime of the store, it proved effective. Now there's impractical irony to it. The books spill over their borders, congregate into uncategorized mounds, beg assortment and the inquisitive human graze.

Non-fiction, Poetry, Modern Poetry, Classical Philosophy . . .

"Kant...Kant...Kant," he recites beneath his breath, whilst drawing the tip of his forefinger over the lined spines. The ribbed feel of it in conjunct with the continued drum of his touch reminds him of sliding a hand across piano keys. An unattended grand piano on the courtyard of a local mall, the sound inflating beneath his hands, swirling up and around, diffusing through empty space and through an idle mind.

"Ka-" his finger halts, and shortly after, so do his steps.

He shuffles back to trace down the spine.

Namjoon saunters towards the front desk, skimming the dorsal face of the book cover with a furrowed brow.

There's a golden - well, once-golden, now-rusted coppery bronze - call bell that he would have once rang and been met with silence. He would have questioned ringing it once more at the risk of irritation.

Now, he only sets the book by the register and folds down to greet the senior dog curled into a ball over its dented, worn pillow. Grey, melanin-deprived hairs shade the corners of its snout, and highlight its brows, the tips of his billowing ear-lobes.

"How are you today, Apollo?" he whispers.

The dog lifts its head groggily to sniff Namjoon's outstretched palm. It scrunches and wrinkles its cracked nose and slightly parts the drooping lids of its eyes. Murky white clouds greet Namjoon.

"You make twenty the new twelve."

At the beep of the scan gun, Namjoon starts to rise.

The shop owner, Ruki, has a near-psychic ability to sense the presence of a customer within the maze of shelves. The call bell is for formalities, as is the dainty one hanging off the entrance frame. Uses them as fail-proofs while he disappears into the storage closet towards the rear of the store and pastes barcodes onto the covers of new arrivals.

Namjoon fishes a hand into the internal pocket of his winter coat for his wallet.

Ruki, behind the desk, mirrors the grey, melanin-deprived complexion of the dog, who once had been golden. The old man drums his knuckles on the wood counter and stares out the shop window contemplatively. It looks like it might snow today.

"Stray dogs," he voices, puckering wrinkled lips into a slight frown. "Invincible little creatures, aren't they? At this rate, I fear the damn dog will outlive me."

Namjoon thumbs the lined green bills nestled into his brown wallet.

"2.50's the sum, kid."

Namjoon folds the cash onto the counter and slides it into the man's wrinkled, patchy, outstretched hand.

"Everything alright, Ruki? With you, your family?"

"Yeah, I suppose." He shrugs. "Cancer's back." In a swift and practiced motion, he slips the receipt between the book pages like a bookmark. "I guess I can't be too upset with this fate. I only ever wished to live 'til 85. 84's not bad. Not bad at all." He slides the book face-up toward Namjoon, lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. It doesn't quite reach the point of crinkling the lines strewn around his eyes.

Namjoon grabs the book, taps it on the edge of the counter, as if gathering a deck of cards or a pack of printer paper. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, kid," he slices right through the platitudes, having felt sorry for too long, having learned how much of a waste it is to live in regret and pity. "We all die at some point. It's nature. No use defying it."

"What about treatment? Technology, nowadays, is so advanced. I read a paper discussing the transplantation of a pig heart into a human recipient. Promising developments."

Ruki shakes his head markedly. "Can't go through that all over again. I won't spend whatever time's left - months, maybe a year, if I'm lucky - rotting because of chemo, not being able to tolerate my favorite foods, bleeding from my gums, in hospital rooms surrounded by people in the same death-bound state as me. I wanna be out here, where life is, all types of it. The pretty kind, sweet kind, the ugly, the morose, rude, and real kind. I wanna make memories with my daughter while there's still time."

Namjoon absent-mindedly frays the edges of the book with his thumb, liking the fluttering friction of the thin corners against the pads of his fingers. Tries to think of something better to say but realizes that sometimes silence holds more meaning. Ironically, his words fall short of any value, even amidst a bookstore overflowing with them.

Instead, he voices his unbridled curiosity. "What'll happen to Apollo?" He looks down at his left, at the dog. Very faint golden strikes up its flanks, transitioning into colorless white. "The store, too?"

"Ask myself that daily." He lifts his brows and lets them fall just as quickly, as if he's at a loss for a response himself. "I've been trying to persuade my daughter to assume my position. I even offered her the compromise of opening the shop only two days a week, so that she'll have the rest of the time to dedicate to her studies - wants to be a doctor, my little girl. I have no doubt she will be. Unfortunately, I likely won't be there to see it, to see her pledge her Hippocratic oath, get her white coat."

Namjoon sits at the bus stop, string earbuds in his ears, the book held splayed by the sturdy hold of his right hand over his crossed lap.

He draws the flame of his lighter to the cigarette balanced between his lips before slapping the case over the amber, extinguishing it swiftly.

Ashes descend onto his denim lap.

When the snow starts to glide through the sky, the grey nicotine ashes blend with the pale blanket by his feet. It is clean and fresh, yet untarnished by scruffy boots or bicycle tracks.

He'd read once, a statistic accusing nicotine as the leading cause of lung cancer. Quickly and half-mindedly brushed it off, like burdensome lint on a freshly-washed sweater. Plucked the doubts from his mind one by one before they could poison the rest of his thoughts.

It wasn't because he found it hard to believe. He was certain of its validity, the statistics were convincing, as was the logic, rather he didn't care. Cared more for taunting death a little, daring the universe to kill him the way he predicts. It's a little morbid but something deep inside him knows that life is rarely predictable or tamable.

He could do one action, and the opposite would unfold. It's not hypothetical. He'd tried to refute his hypothesis with trials; the amount of times it was supported soon became too burdensome to track.

Life isn't straight-forward. Good people get sick, die; the evil persist. The talented go unrecognized in the shadows, ghost writers; the connected thrive. It's all pointless to try and make since of any of it. It's all absurd, as Albert Camus would put it.

He tosses the butt of the cigarette to the ground as the bus pulls up, comes to a screeching halt before him, and squanders the faint amber with the sole of his boot pressed into the snow.

It fizzles a little through the worn-thin sole.

The bus shudders to a halt, and Namjoon shakes the slumber from his head, unfolds his lap, stuffs the book into his back pocket while he starts up, swaying clumsily, sleep-drugged. It was a routine practiced enough that he didn't need to count the stops, or read the street signs to know when to hop-off. There's some internal clock in his subconscious that starts ticking away at the minutes as soon as he climbs the steps up the bus before Nine Books.

The gates unfold and slide across the frame of the bus. It drives away with a long draw of its engine, and a squirt of inky smoke from its exhaust.

Replacing its sight, a vintage-style diner comes into view across the street.

Namjoon crosses the striped pedestrian markings towards it.

At the door, he tugs on the sign, hung around a snagged nail, twists it from displaying a scribbled "Closed. Come Again!" to a "Welcome!"

He strolls in, heavy boots echoing dully across the vacancy. Dispersing muddied snow on impact.

On the trajectory towards his quaint square office space towards the rear of the facility, he can't resist the nagging urge to flip the chairs resting on tabletops. He's got a chronic case of twitchy hands, likely a result of the incessant nicotine crave. Makes his mind race, his legs unsteady, unstill.

At first, he means only to flip one, and scratch the mental itch.

It persists.

After the second chair he starts circumferencing the table, figure eights in swift motion towards another table.

The chatter of the legs on tile is enough to fill the buzzing vacancy of his mind. Enough for his hands to clasp onto and anchor themselves.

But just as quickly, his focus starts to blur. Eyes skit over the distant counter in search of the next thing to occupy his time. His mind.

He's been down this road before. Has made it until noon stil in his winter coat, robust keychain clanking rhythmically against his belt clip. Goes hours without eating anything of substance. The gnawing of an empty stomach numbs before he circles back around to the first intention of the day: visiting his office.

"Office first," he reminds himself today. Inhales deep into his diaphragm and holds it lest it escape his dominion, like the rest of his thoughts and intentions.

He slips the jagged teeth of a golden key into the lock and twists the rusted knob. The door lets out a long groan as it swivels on tired hinges.

Nearing the disheveled surface of a wooden desk pressed against a wall, he plops down his latest read over an assortment of folded papers, receipts, stacked notebooks of moleskin and annotated promotional pamphlets. Try as he might to assign each item its designated square space, it never remains organized long enough. The universe tends towards entropy, he'd justify, it's just the law of nature.

Upon shrugging out of his winter coat, he drapes it over the backrest of his office chair.

His eyes habitually trail over a circular frame standing on the desk's edge. The textured frame accentuates a black-and-white image of his grandpa and grandma caught in a side-embrace, hands clasped over one another's at grandpa's breast.

Gingerly, his tremoring hands collect the frame. He draws his pointer finger over the smooth glass preserving the image, the single moment solidified in time.

He shakes his head clear of some dense sensation and places it back on its designated place, indicated by a square frame of gathered dust.

Shutting the creaking office door behind him, he fishes the carton of cigarettes from his back jean pocket. Plucks a single cylinder from its place and plants it between the groove where his ear adjoins his scalp.

He meanders into the vacant kitchen. Starts a pot of coffee. Nostrils flare as the acidic aroma starts to permeate the empty lot.

The brew drips and bubbles as he strolls to the dormant jukebox on the far end of the establishment. He bends down to plug its chord and starts up. Digs a spare coin out from his front pocket and slips it into the slit on the machine.

In response, it illuminates to life, flickers neon in a hypnotizing pattern.

Pressing a neon green button, he flips through the title slips. He's not registering any of them, though. Just lets his eyes become oversensitive by the mechanized motion of the slips. Defaults to inputting "1-2-4" on the selection panel.

Inside the glass, a wheel of two-hundred discs spins in search of the selection. It slows until it halts and a robotic arm upends a record disc from the rest, lays it out over a turntable.

In a synchronized choreography, as the record is laid over the turntable, a needle descends over its grooves and holds steady pressure.

The machine emanates a crackle that falls into a single voice: [The Song]

Namjoon shuts his eyes in that moment. Allows the familiar tune to send him back in time. An easier time, a more innocent one. Where his only worries consisted of finishing school assignments and coming home by the parent-designated curfew.

His grandparents would dance circles in the diner, hands clasped together, heads leaned to this very song. The customers would cheer, eyes sparkly. They'd submit petitions for the next songs by holding up a shimmery silver coin.

Namjoon would collect them, have them whisper the desired track into his ear. He'd skip back towards the illuminated machine and recite the corresponding track numbers until the current song would come to a cadence.

He sighs. Thinks, I should visit them while they are still there to visit.

It's not something he looks forward to, however. To come to terms with how much time has changed them. To accept that those fond moments are never coming back.

Circling around the kitchen, he procures a metal bowl from the cabinets. Tugs open a drawer and clasps a whisk, its metal cool to the touch.

Opening the fridge door, and bathed in its sterile light, he grabs a couple of eggs, skims the container counting the ones that remain. Provisions should arrive today.

While there, he grabs the tub of butter. Flings the door close with his boot and swivels to pour the ingredients over the counter space, next to the shimmering bowl.

He turns and leans over his head, grabs the flour and sugar from a high shelve. A bit of flour escapes a tiny hole on its bag and dusts his cheek.

Instinctually, he crinkles his eyes, coughs. Shakes his head.

As the batter inflates under the warm luminance of the oven, he grabs a broom propped against the wall inside a storage closet.

His boots clunk rhythmically over the tile floor when he makes his way towards the entrance. Props the door open with its embedded door stump. Starts to part a walkway through the compacted snow. Can't have customers slipping.

It's a cold day in January. The merciless kind of cold that can't be nullified by the festive spirit of the holidays. There's mutable wind changing directions immediately as it blows into him. Delivering the caress of winter and just as quickly withdrawing it.

The muscles of his back and shoulders tense in anticipation for the next gush of frigid wind. The hairs on his exposed forearms prickle.

He starts to envy the batter heating in the kitchen.

He thinks of burning the cigarette nestled over his ear. Imagines how the smoke would warm him up from the inside out. As though a steaming chimney lived inside him.

When he balances the cigarette between his chapped lips, he becomes aware of an approaching figure, strolling up the walkway. She's bundled in a coat, hunched in on her small figure. Raven black hair blowing in the wind.

Namjoon nods in her acknowledgement as he digs around his pocket for his lighter. It's clumsy and desperate and hurried, so the lighter slips his grasp on multiple occasions.

The incomer doesn't slow or detour.

"Morning, boss" the girl quips. Plucks the white cylinder from his lips.

He grimaces at the sensation that a part of his dry lips had been torn along with it. Cups his mouth to verify it isn't true.

"First time I actually get here before you light it."

"You owe me a pack."

"Yeah, well, you owe me the two years of extended lifetime I've gathered you."

"I don't think that's the actual math."

"I've saved you time. Can we just leave it at that."

Namjoon resumes brooming. Still cold. Still tense and prickled. Nicotine deprived.

She shrugs her shoulders out of the billowing coat to reveal at least three more layers of clothing beneath. Long sleeves tugged over her wrists to keep her fingers from tingling.

Norah's armored herself with a black apron, her name affixed to the collar with a pin. She pops out of the doorframe long enough to hand Namjoon a mug of steaming coffee, no sweetener, light milk, but not long enough to allow the wind to ripple a shiver through her.

Namjoon gratefully accepts. Holds the broom handle beneath his arm to allow himself to cup the mug with both hands and derive warmth from that. "Where's your partner in crime? Sleeping late, again?" He mumbles against the ceramic rim, steam billowing up his nostrils.

"En route," she responds over her shoulder. She rounds into the kitchen. Grabs the glass coffee pot and pours herself a black.

Namjoon chortles, accidentally inhaling a gulp of the hot drink. Dissolves into a coughing fit before he's finally composed enough to verbalize "From where? Mars?"

"Actually..." she sets down her drink on the counter. Loses her gaze out the front windows, ravaging her mind for recollection. "No. I think he mentioned it was from Saturn." She angles her head pensively. "Got caught in the current of those spinning rings or something like that."

Namjoon translates, "He's stuck in rush-hour traffic."

[thought of henry's place in addy larue while writing this so thank v.e. schawb for the imagery inspiration]

What Would You Recommend?

a vds one shot. you can find more on my ao3.

( @ apolloswords )

feel free to comment/message me any suggestions for one shot ideas!

The last place anyone would expect Jens to work at would be a bookstore. But when a new barista gets hired to work at the store's cafe, he figures that maybe he is in the right place after all.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes actually," The girl with the bright eyes answered. "Could you show me where to find some books on Greek Mythology?"

"Aisle four, the third shelf to your right should be filled specifically with Greek Mythology." Jens answered politely.

"Thank you!" She replied cheerfully before heading over to where he had directed.

He smiled back at her, before returning back to the boxes of books he had to unpack and place on the shelf. The whole thing was kind of ironic. Actually, it wasn't kind of ironic. It was ironic.

Jens wasn't the type to work at a bookstore. He wasn't really the type to read, ever. Unless he had to. The only books he could name off the top of his head were whatever books were assigned to his high school classes. And even then, he often jumbled up the titles and barely remembered the plot.

He did, however, flip through a cookbook once. That seemed pretty riveting, until he realized his mind was only processing the pictures of food and not the actual recipe.

But a job was a job. And if he wanted to keep up with funding his Vettige Vrijdag, skateboard accessories and anything else he could justify getting himself without extra commentary from his parents, well then working at a bookstore was going to have to suffice. It wasn't the worst job in the world anyway. Most times he kept to himself by organizing and unpacking books, occasionally interacted with the really nice customers and checking up online orders and inventory. It was pretty low maintenance and it didn't require too much of his attention. Most of his shifts were spent with his mind wandering. Daydreaming.

Daydreaming about the cute barista in the cafe and lounge area of the store.

He had arrived a few weeks after Jens had been hired. At first, Jens hadn't really taken much notice towards him. He did know there was a new barista when he ordered a coffee on his break, but the boy's back was turned against him so he didn't know what he looked like. But after a few more visits on his break, he had finally seen what he looked like. And he didn't know he would look so pretty.

Jens almost forgot about his cup of coffee when the boy turned around to pass it to him. And as his fingers hesitantly took the cup from this boy, he felt his fingers tingle when they brushed against his. Jens hoped he wasn't obviously staring at the boy, and hoped to death his jaw wasn't hanging open like an idiot.

Luckily, the boy didn't seem to take much notice. He simply handed Jens the coffee smiled politely and in his melodic voice, he told him "Have a nice day!". Jens did feel himself answer with a simple "Thank you", before letting his eyes dart towards the name tag on the boy's light brown apron.

Lucas .

And with a small smile, he knew his shifts at the bookstore were about to change. Gone were the days where he was counting down the hours, minutes and seconds of his shift. Now, he found himself getting excited for his shifts, even heading straight to the store after school in hopes to see him before he had to actually start his shift. Jens thought that maybe Lucas was going to be a new kid at his school, considering the school and the bookstore were in a close vicinity. But after searching the halls, which his friends had called him out for, there was no sign of Lucas. At all.

The more Jens had arrived to his shifts before schedule, the more he picked up more hours and the more he volunteered for random tasks, he realized the more he saw Lucas. It seemed like their shifts were beginning to align together, and sometimes, he would see Lucas wander over towards his side of the store. At first, he felt hopeful. Maybe he had wandered over to see Jens, like the way Jens began wandering over to the cafe on his every break. He liked coffee, but probably not enough to drink almost five cups a day and spend half of his shift's pay cheque.

But he noticed the way Lucas did wander over towards the books. He had one hand swinging on his side, tapping his fingers gently on his jeans while his other hand gently touched the rows of books, until his finger landed on one that seemed remotely interesting. Then he would pick it up, read the back of the cover and open it up. Jens watched as he read a few pages, before either nodding with approval or wrinkling his nose with grimace. But he always placed it back on the shelf, before wandering around towards another aisle. And before he knew it, Lucas would check the time on his phone and chewed the inside of his cheek before heading back towards the cafe and slipping his apron back on.

So Jens eventually realized that Lucas' little visits weren't for him. Each time he saw the curly brown hair tip back with the tilt of his head, the blue eyes searching and seeking, lips humming out a small tune and flushed cheekbones that made up this cute barista, he felt like he needed to break this cycle of just watching him. It probably came off as creepy with the off chance that Lucas did ever notice Jens.

The endless crushing and gazing from afar eventually caught up to him. He needed to make a move one way or another.

"Jens," His manager, Ralph, called out to him. "Can you come upstairs into my office for a second? I need to double check your work schedule before your exams."

"Sure." Placing down the box of books towards the side, he brushed his palms on his jeans and followed Ralph upstairs.

When they arrived in his little cozy office with the ambient lighting, Jens shifted on his feet as Ralph sat down in his chair and flipped through a big binder of planned out schedules.

"Your exams start when?" He asked while looking at a calendar.

"Middle of June." Jens replied. "About five weeks from now."

"Right right right," Ralph mumbled under his breath while making some 'tsk tsk' sounds. "You and Luc have the same schedule."

Jens didn't know if he heard that correctly. He also didn't know if he was supposed to even hear that in the first place considering Ralph had said it so low and quiet, that he had to just have been speaking for himself.

"Me and who?" He asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as shaky or cracked like he had thought.

"You and Lucas, the barista in the cafe." Ralph explained, setting the binder to the side. "You're both the only high schoolers we schedule on a regular basis, so I guess we would need more coverage during the weeks you need to study and take your exams."

"He's in high school?"

"Uhm, yes?" Ralph laughed, like he couldn't believe Jens didn't know that. "Do you not know who he is?"

"I think I've seen him." He lied.

"Well then you clearly know he can't me older than you. My friends and I used to say he looks like a fairy straight out of the gardens, so delicate in his nature."

"You're friends with him?" Jens asked surprisingly, and with a little more interest than someone who "supposedly" has seen him.

But Ralph didn't seem to show any indication towards his change in behaviour. "Well," He shrugged, "Yeah, we're friends. But he's also my roommate so there's that added bonus."

"Oh." He wanted to ask further, maybe figure out what high school Lucas went to. But he didn't know if that seemed invasive or not.

"Yeah but his schedule is a little different from yours." Ralph spoke again. It sounded like he was saying this to himself, but with the clearer annunciation and louder tone, it also seemed as though he was trying to tell Jens instead. "He's taking some online classes for now. Didn't finish his courses last year and is just trying to catch up so he can graduate with the rest of your year."

Asking why Lucas didn't finish his courses last year definitely seemed invasive so Jens knew better than to ask that.

"So he's in my year?" He asked instead.

"Yeah, yeah, well working to be in it again." Ralph smiled and checked the little clock on his desk. "Oh, well your break just started. Grab yourself a drink or snack from the cafe. It's on me, you've been working really hard."

"Thanks." He said with a small smile, before giving Ralph a small wave and heading out of the office.

As he jogged down the stairs, his mind wandered about Lucas. After this tidbit of information, his small crush on Lucas seemed to have grown a curiosity for the boy. Even though it was clear to him that he did have an interest, he didn't know Lucas as a person yet. But now it felt like he knew a little bit about him, even if it did raise some questions.

"Hi, can I take your order?"

Jens shook his head out of his daze and blinked, surprised to see Lucas in front of him. He was also just as confused to find himself standing in line, like his body had just brought him here out of habit, out of thought. At least there was nobody behind them so he didn't look so lost in front of a group of people.

Just the boy he had been crushing on for weeks now,

"Uhm," He blinked, finding his mouth go dry as he tried to rack his brain for an answer. "What do you recommend?"

Now it was Lucas' turn to blink and rack his brain for an answer.

"Uhm," He finally said. "I don't know."

Jens furrowed his brows. "Don't you work here?"

"I do." Lucas said quickly as he waved his hands in front of him. "I just, I just don't like coffee."

The answer, and his cute reaction, made Jens bite his lip as he tried not to show his amusement. But a small laugh escaped him anyway, and Lucas' cheeks blushed.

"You work in a coffee shop and you don't even like coffee?" He repeated. "Isn't that apart of the portfolio?"

"Well I guess that depends on the shop. Luckily the owner gave me a free pass on this." Lucas replied with a grin. "I could recommend you a tea latte though."

That would probably be a good change and break from all the copious amounts of coffee he had been drinking almost everyday now.

"Sure, that would be good." Jens smiled. "Surprise me and put it on Ralph's tab."

Lucas laughed and the sound rang through Jens' ears like the tinkling sounds of wind chimes in a soft breeze. "Okay, I'll make sure it comes out of Ralph's bank account. Your order will be right over there, see you Jens."

His heart skipped a beat as he waved at Lucas, who shyly waved back before continuing with the next person who must've fallen in line somewhere between their conversation. He noticed the way Lucas just barely let his eyes linger over him, before turning away. The pretty pink blush was still bright on his cheeks and if Jens squinted, he knew there was a smile on his equally pretty pink lips.

But Jens knew he had just the same reaction on his own face. He knew that right after Lucas had let his name roll off his tongue and past his lips, that he was equally guilty of having the fluttery feeling through his entire body. And when he picked up his cup of whatever tea latte was in it, after the first sip of the smooth and sweet drink, he knew the warmth radiating from his body wasn't only coming from the drink recommended by the cute tea-drinking barista.

It was coming from the cute tea-drinking barista.

Eventually Jens' break was over and he was back to his usual tasks. The next two hours passed by fairly quickly, but by the last hour, he was ready to leave. He could only stay in a bookstore for so long.

Just as he was just finishing up reorganizing a shelf of Thriller Mysteries, he felt someone approach the aisle.

"Hey." He heard a familiar voice say to him.

Smiling, Jens looked up from where he was kneeling. "Hi, can I help you?"

"Uhm," Lucas replied as he glanced at the aisles of books around him. "Do you have any recommendations?"

Jens had to laugh at the irony.

Getting up, he leaned cooly against the shelf, crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at Lucas.

"I would." He replied. "If I read."

Blinking and taking several seconds to let Jens' answer process in his brain, Lucas stared at him. Then he tilted his head and furrowed his brows at Jens.

"You work at a book store and you don't read? How does that even work?" Lucas asked with bewilderment.

Shrugging, Jens opened his palms up. "Beats me. I mean, I've gotten this far, haven't I?"

"Well what happens if people ask you for recommendations?"

"I've been lucky with that one." He chuckled. "Until you came around and ruined my good luck streak."

Lucas snorted before looking away with a small smile. "Sorry about that."

"No, no. no," Jens assured teasingly. "It's all good. Completely fine. But if you tell me what you like, I could direct you where to find it."

"Uhm." He replied, sounding even more shy and hesitant than earlier. "Tell you what I like?"

"Yes." Jens leaned in a bit, so he could lower his voice and be even more flirty with the smaller boy. "Tell me what you like."

"Uhm," He mumbled. "Tall."

Jens stared at hum, who's face was pink all over. "Tall?" He repeated. Sure, Jens may not read a lot of books but he was at least aware enough to know there wasn't such a book category labelled as "tall".

"Yeah, uhh, tall." Lucas said again, his voice barely audible at this point. "And dark hair, dark brown eyes, really cute and attractive, always focused on his work at a bookstore, comes in for at least five cups a coffee a day and always comes in with his skateboard and maroon hoodie, on or just hanging out of his backpack." He rambled on.

It took Jens at least a minute for these words to register in his brain. Mainly because Lucas had said them so softly and so quickly that it was impossible to figure out what exact words he had strung together. But Jens' subconscious seemed to acquire them for him, and as he let them replay in his mind, he felt a smile grow on his face.

"So you wanted to know what aisle that was in?" Jens replied cooly.

"Yes?" Lucas bit his tongue.

Looking up at the aisle sign above his head, Jens looked back down at Lucas with a grin.

"I think you managed to find that yourself."

This made Lucas grin, his face bright and so totally smitten by Jens. But this was when Jens let himself take a closer look at Lucas. His eyes sparkled like glitter under a bright light, the blue in his eyes almost seemed magical, like the colours of ball gowns in fairytales. The curls on his head looked sculpted to perfection, but even Jens knew that they would be the softest things his hands ever had the pleasure of touching. His features were delicate, just like Ralph had mentioned. Lucas really did look like fairy straight out from the gardens.

"Tell you what," Jens said. "How about we find some time where we're both not stuck here and go out. Ralph told me we pretty much have the same exam schedule and wee could study together if you wanted."

"Oh yeah that would be great!" His response was excited and eager, but he suddenly frowned. "But uhm, there's not really an easy way to say this but I'm not exactly in your grade. I missed a bunch of school last year because of shit and I failed the grade so I'm kind of doing a bunch of catching up right now and-"

"Hey, hey, hey," He said softly and assuringly, cutting Lucas' ramble off. Lucas took a breath, holding it like he was expecting the worst answer from him. But Jens only reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently in attempts to calm him down. "You don't need to explain yourself so much. It's all good I promise. I'm don't really care about that, I just care about if you want to do it and all that."

Smiling, Lucas exhaled a high of relief. "Okay, yeah, of course. Yes, I would like to do that. A lot."

"I'm glad." He smiled back at him. "I have some extra notes from last year I could bring along if you wanted."

"That would be great."

Both of them stayed there, smiling softly at each other, Jens' hand still on his shoulder. None of them said anything else, both of them feeling too much of a high.

"Jens!" Ralph's voice called out from a few aisles them, startling the both of them.

He turned around as Lucas looked over his shoulder to see Ralph emerging.

"Your shift is done." He told him, before noticing Lucas was there as well. Looking at him confusingly, Ralph nodded towards him. "Luc? What are you doing here? Your shift ended half an hour ago."

"Uhm." Was all Lucas could muster and Jens was equally as speechless.

Looking between the two, Ralph noticed the hand on Lucas' shoulder, their close proximately, both of their blushed cheeks and nervous smiles. Ralph took a few more seconds to asses the scene, until he finally clapped his hands and gasped.

"Fucking finally!" He exclaimed. "You guys took forever to finally ask each other put, I was beginning to think it wasn't ever going to happen."

"Ralph!" They both cried in unison.

"What!" Ralph said, in defence. "You both are hopeless. You think your shifts lining up was coincidence? No, that was my doing babes. I was starting to think you didn't even consider that to be a coincidence."

"We didn't." They both said again as Ralph just rolled his eyes.

"Ugh, seriously?" He said in disbelief. You guys aren't very subtle with your staring and trying to wander off during your breaks. Luc, you're my roommate. Every shift you had where Jens even made one visit had you coming home in the best mood, even on days you dealt with the worst customers. It made me want to schedule you more. And Jens, you have never came early or even on time for a shift until Lucas. That was a character change for you, but it did benefit your hours."

"Well thanks for that." Jens snorted and Lucas placed a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing.

"So when's the date?" Ralph asked excitedly.

Taking a look over at Lucas and smirking slightly, he quickly winked at him before turning around to face Ralph again.

"Well, it is a Saturday evening and me and Lucas are both off now so," Looking back at Lucas, he smiled. "How would you feel about going on a date right now?"

"Would you recommend me to say yes?" Lucas responded teasingly.

"Depends, do you actually like what you're about to get into?"

"This time? Yes." Lucas giggled before taking his turn to wink at Jens. "You're my cup of tea."