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“Absolutely not.”

Jimin is horrified, impending doom flashing before his eyes as Namjoon babbles on about how it was imperative for their local publication to discuss cultural art and include pockets of humanity. Jimin’s only heard this speech about four thousand, three hundred and ninety-seven times. But then again, he’s always been as stubborn as an ox.

“I am not writing about some coffee addict who thinks his stuff is better than Maxim’s white gold instant coffee!” Jimin protests. “Can’t I write about the Haesun Republican Party and their reserve funds that mysteriously disappeared? There are speculations the treasurer has been embezzling them.” 

Namjoon sighs deeply. “Jimin, I’ve already told you, that stuff is waaay over our heads.” 

The associate editor leans back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. Today is Mahogany Monday and Namjoon is dressed appropriately in a mahogany-coloured shirt and matching loafers. Jimin didn’t have anything mahogany – because who the hell actually did? – so he had thrown on a pair of dark brown socks in the spirit of participating. 

“Gyeonggibuk’s boarding school and the suspected cases of abuse,” Jimin says quickly. 

“You are not travelling to Uijeongbu,” Namjoon tells him incredulously. He inhales once more, pushing the bridge of his glasses up with his index finger. “We’re a small arts publication, Jimin. We focus on our local community; you knew this when you accepted the job.”

Taehyung is lying upside down on the sofa, his face turning red from the blood rushing down. “I don’t get what you have against human interest pieces,” he adds. He has a mahogany chiffon vest on, which Jimin isn’t surprised by. It is Taehyung. 

“Nowhere else was hiring,” Jimin mumbles. “But, that’s besides the point. As I’ve been saying since I got here, we could be doing so more,” Jimin says waspishly, ignoring Taehyung.

Namjoon sighs. “What I’m hearing is that you should be thankful that you have us, no?” he asks. His gaze slides down from Jimin’s eyes to his feet. “Also, those are brown and not mahogany.”

Jimin throws his hands up in the air and lets out a tiny scream of frustration. “Nobody cares!” he cries out.

“Even Jihoon found something mahogany to wear,” Taehyung says, finally wriggling himself into an upright position. He sways a little.

“It’s a wristwatch, that hardly counts!” 

“Do our themed days mean nothing to you? You brought a quesadilla to Taco Tuesday last week.” Taehyung’s strong brows are furrowed, as though what Jimin brought for lunch last Tuesday greatly offended him. 

Jimin gawps at him. “You’re mental.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to retaliate but Namjoon beats him to the punch.

“Can the both of you shut up for once?” He glowers at them and Jimin swallows. He hates seeing Namjoon mad.

“Listen, Jimin-ah, I know that you want to pursue investigative journalism. But you’ve written some amazing pieces about community and culture in the past two months you’ve been here. Pieces that really represent what The Rkive is. Pieces that our readers—our rice bowls—care about. This is a good project, and you should be thankful you’re being given this chance to continue the good work, don’t you think?” Namjoon asks, an eyebrow raised as though daring Jimin to answer any different.

“But I–” Jimin stops at the sight of Namjoon’s downturned mouth. “Yes,” he bites out reluctantly.

“Great. Come on, we’ve got articles to churn out.”

Jimin returns to his desk, scowling at his MacBook screen as he punches in “dial coffeeshop owner” on his keyboard. An office chair rolls up next to him and bumps into him ever so slightly.

“Fuck off, Tae,” Jimin mumbles but without any real fervour.

He and Taehyung have a bit of a funny relationship. Ever since Jimin had joined the publication two months ago, Taehyung has stuck himself to Jimin’s side and self-declared himself Jimin’s soulmate, just that Jimin didn’t know it yet. He was a bit like a hyperactive kitten, and Jimin couldn’t bring himself to shake him off. That being said, there were definitely days such as today where they’d butt heads. 

“You accepted your fate quickly,” Taehyung sings. He offers a half-eaten donut to Jimin, who begrudgingly takes a bite. 

Chewing fervently, he scrolls through the list of Google search results. “Just needed to hit my weekly quota of throwing a fit at not being in the investigative field,” Jimin answers. 

He huffs when he realises he can’t find a damn thing about the coffee shop's owner except his name.

“Jeon Jeongguk,” Taehyung reads off the screen. 

“Sounds like a pretentious prick,” Jimin mutters. He clicks on dial’s Instagram, mindlessly scrolling through their feed. 

It’s an organic mix of photos of the ingredients the coffee shop uses, the farmers that Jimin assumes harvest the coffee beans and close-up shots of the baristas. He’s still unable to tell which one is Jeongguk. There are a few videos of the staff getting up to shenanigans, which Taehyung laughs at. 

“Hey, see. They’re just like us.”

Jimin sighs to himself, clicking on his Google calendar to look at his schedule. He’s almost done with his piece on the music and arts fest held by Hongik University that was due for Friday’s publishing and then he had to submit his draft review on a local film to Jihoon.

Namjoon is clearly trying to push him, because this is his first time being assigned a human interest piece. It had mostly been events and reviews previously. Up until now, he hasn’t actually gotten an assignment that required him to thoroughly interview another person. 

This, he supposes, is a step in the right direction. 

Nevertheless… his hands ache to write something more serious—something that could save people or spread awareness or tell someone’s truth. All his life, he’s been told he was too chatty; too smart-mouthed; that some things shouldn’t be talked about. He remembers the time his sister-in-law had slapped her hand over his mouth during a family dinner because he couldn’t stop talking about modern day slavery in the fishing industry. This eventually led to him clamming up and turning to the next best outlet: writing about it.

It satisfied his ambitions for a while, but the market for that is quickly depleting, not to mention the drying up of funding in the industry as a whole, let alone something as niche and high risk as investigative journalism. He’s lucky enough that he landed his current job with Namjoon and the gang, although he knows he hardly shows it. 

Shoulders sagging, he admits defeat and books out his Thursday morning for dial: roastery & bar.

See, Jimin hardly frequents cafes. He’s an avid user of Yogiyo and coupangeats, and when he eats out, it’s usually at a family-owned restaurant or a corner stall; he likes supporting his local ahjummas. 

The last time he’d gone to a cafe was only because Taehyung had begged him to go. While it had been a moderately pleasant experience, Jimin didn’t feel the need to return. There is something excessively pretentious about these places, from the  fanciful drinks to the plated desserts and their unnecessary garnishes.

Strangely, when he arrives at dial: roastery & bar, he’s surprised.

From first glance, dial hardly resembles the coffee shops that Jimin avoids. It has a clean, homely vibe to it, yet its decor is modern, with the logo in mid-pastels of orange, blue and green. The furniture is mismatched, but not in a tacky manner. The bar is clean and simple. A retro-modern coffee machine sits atop the quartz counter, ceramicware lined neatly on top of it. Plenty of morning light streams in through the glass windows.  

Seeing how it’s a Thursday morning, the place is quite empty. There’s a group of cyclists chatting amicably, their bikes parked neatly outside the store. A couple sit in one corner of the cafe, studying, and a lean man occupies the couch, his laptop and papers spread over the large coffee table before him as he talks on the phone rapidly.

There aren’t that many staff either, just one man tending to the cashier and another arranging milk cartons into the chiller that sits behind the counter, though Jimin can hear whistling above the lo-fi beats that reverberate out of the speakers and can only assume there were more people in the kitchen, past the back door.

He makes his way to the counter. Staring at the menu, Jimin can hardly decipher what the words mean. 

FILTER

Sakura Drops, Ethiopia. Region: Gediyo, Yirgacheffe
Orange blossom, brown sugar

Engagi Obwokyi, Uganda. Region: Bwindi
Earl grey, apple

Rancabali, Indonesia. Region: West Java
Pear, agave

ESPRESSO-BASED

Guatemala
Watermelon, plum

Ecuador
Roasted nuts, nougat

BLACK

Espresso
Long Black

WHITE

4 oz
6 oz
8 oz

COLD BREW

White
Black

Extra Shot ₩1000
Ice ₩1000
Oat Milk/Soy Milk ₩1000

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. Why isn’t there just a fucking caramel macchiato on the menu or something? Why are there so many fruits? Isn’t this a coffee shop?

“Hey, morning! What can I get for ya today?” The man standing at the counter beams at Jimin, his sunshine smile quite blinding. 

“Um…”

“Is this your first time here?” the man asks empathetically, leaning forward.

“Y-yes, it is,” Jimin coughs out, squinting at the menu. “Uh, well, what would you recommend? What’s the best thing on the menu?”

The man pauses thoughtfully. “Hmm… that’s a very broad question. See, if you’re looking at pourover, I’d recommend the Sakura Drops. If you want something espresso-based, we have Guatemala and Ecuador for today! Our Guatemalan’s got notes of watermelon and plum, very fruity if you’re into that, but if you prefer nuttier, Ecuador is fantastic!”

Jimin blinks, the mechanics in his brain working hard to absorb the information that had just been spat out at him. “Don’t you just have, like, a caramel macchiato or something?” he asks desperately.

The guy blinks back at Jimin, completely bemused. “Huh, well. We don’t do caramel macchiatos… I mean, we do have macchiatos but it’s probably not what you think it is,” he answers carefully. “You know, I’ll just get you something safe. We’ll do a 6-ounce with Ecuador, yeah? Regular milk OK?”

Jimin sighs, shoulders sagging in relief. “Yes, let’s do that. And yes, regular milk is fine! Thank you…” he trails off, realising he doesn’t know the cashier’s name. He is wearing an apron, a fancy denim one with leather straps, but with no name tag.

“Seokmin!” the guy chimes. “And you are?”

“Jimin.”

“Perfect! We’ll bring it over to you, Jimin-nim!” 

Jimin finds a seat in the corner of a cafe – it’s a mustard yellow pouffe seat  with a small wooden coffee table before it. The seat is a little flat, the velour material quite worn, as though it’s been sat on many times. In hindsight, it definitely has. 

He settles down, leaning against the wall as he pulls his notebook and his favourite, trusty pen out. A Lamy safari fountain pen, it was perfect for effortless scribble. He loved the way the nib scratched across the ivory paper, the way the ink bled and dried.

He doodles absentmindedly, putting his reading glasses on, as he tries to think of a headline for his article.

Artisanal coffee shop serves drinks nobody really knows

Ever heard of watermelon coffee? Same neither have I

THE TRUTH BEHIND MACCHIATOS: THEY ARE NOT WHAT YOU THINK THEY ARE! 

“Woah… Can’t help but to feel a slight personal vendetta over here?”

Jimin jumps in his seat, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his gasp. Heated embarrassment flush across his cheeks when he realises Seokmin the cashier had been standing next to him, watching him write vaguely insulting headlines.

“It’s– um, it’s not what you think it is,” he says lamely, as Seokmin gently places the cup down on his table. 

“It’s OK,” Seokmin says, smiling understandingly. “It can be overwhelming for people who don’t drink coffee often. Curious, though, is this for a project of some sort?”

Jimin peers at the cup. The latte art is pretty, that much he knows. He turns to Seokmin sheepishly.

“I guess. I’m actually a, um,” Jimin coughs. “A journalist. I’ve been tasked to write about dial. More specifically, the guy who opened this place… Jeon Jeongguk-nim?” 

Seokmin brightens up considerably. “Oh! That’s so cool! Do you write for a newspaper or something?” he asks conversationally. Similarly to Taehyung, Jimin doesn’t have the heart to shake him off and tell him to fuck off. 

“An online publication, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it? It’s called The Rkive. Lots of F&B, arts, local festivities…”

Seokmin ponders for a while. “I think I read the piece you guys posted about accomplishments by young adults in today’s age.”

“Oh. Yeah, my boss, Namjoon-hyung wrote that one. He’s a brilliant writer, isn’t he?” 

“He sure is,” Seokmin agrees. “Anyway, if you’re hoping to catch Jeongguk, he’ll be in by noon!”

“By noon,” Jimin repeats. That’s in two fucking hours. Fuck. “OK, sure, I’ll wait.” 

Seokmin gestures to the coffee, backing away with a sheepish smile. “Please, enjoy your coffee!”

Jimin gives him an appreciative smile in thanks before turning to his drink. He recalls it being the Ecuador, the one that is supposed to taste like roasted nuts and nougat. It smells good. He takes a tentative sip, pen at the ready to jot down his thoughts. 

Well… it certainly takes like coffee. A little too milky, honestly. He drinks a little more, a frown beginning to play along his eyebrows. Roasted nuts? He takes another sip and tries really hard to focus, tries really hard to taste the coffee that glides over his tongue. 

He can’t taste the nougat or the roasted nuts the menu had boasted. It was definitely more in-depth than the coffee he’d had at the cafe Taehyung brought him to previously, that much he could tell. But fuck him in the face if he was supposed to identify bloody nougat in that drink.

Jimin taps his pen against his notebook repeatedly, staring at his messy handwriting on the ivory pages. His mind is drawing a blank. How on earth was he supposed to word vomit out at least a couple of hundred words about this place? 

Technically, he’s meant to write about Jeon Jeongguk, but he’s pretty sure he’ll have to write a few hefty sentences about the coffee this cafe served. After all, that’s why they’re even interested in Jeon Jeongguk in the first place.

His stomach grumbles. 

Jimin sighs and takes another sip of his coffee, eyeing the cafe. It looks like they serve food as well, seeing how there was a display case showcasing some pastries and there were a few plates on the cyclists’ table. 

He supposes a light bite won’t hurt. Plus, he’d have to wait for Jeongguk, and so he proceeds to quickly grab the menu once more to peruse it.

TOAST
with doenjang butter & honey
with kkwarigochu butter & lime

MORE

grilled cheese with kimchi, mozzarella & monterey jack (served with housemade tomato soup)
rosti with bacon & sour cream
pesto rigatoni & yuzu chicken

SWEETS

coffee jjinppang
chocolate banana pie
pancakes with housemade bokbunja jam & cream

Interesting… Jimin thinks to himself as he peruses the simple yet eccentric food menu from dial. It’s mostly modern food incorporated with their culture. He can’t help but to wonder at what sort of person Jeon Jeongguk was. 

Just how did he think of such items?

He definitely had a money-maker’s mindset. This was the sort of thing young adults were into these days, the sort of thing they’d splurge on so they could take photos to post on Instagram. 

A little part of Jimin dies when he goes to the counter once more, but this time to order the toast with the kkwarigochu butter. Another part of him dies when he taps his card to pay ₩8000 for some bread and butter. 

Seokmin chirping about his “great choice!” does little to placate him. 

But when his plate arrives, Jimin is strangely surprised and not in a bad way. The three thick slices of sourdough bread are toasted and browned perfectly, with two dollops of the butter sitting in a small side dish. The smell is actually delightful and when he spreads the butter, flecks of the peppers and lime zest paint over the toast like confetti. 

He is overcome with a strange urge to take a photo to post on his Instagram that he hardly used. His hand twitches for his phone but he resists. He couldn’t succumb to such a normal urge. 

The crust of the bread is crunchy, the centre just slightly under done so that it still had a chew to it. The butter is spiced with an enjoyable heat, the tangy lime cutting through the fattiness. Jimin chews slowly, rather in disbelief that he’s enjoying such food. Of course, it’s nothing like a steaming bowl of jjampong, but unlike the coffee, Jimin can appreciate this more. The plate is empty before he knows it.

He must be really hungry. 

Sighing, he checks the time on his phone. He still has another hour and a half to go till Jeon Jeongguk arrives. He pulls his laptop out, shifting his notebook to the side. 

Nothing like some research to kill his time.

“Jeongguk-ah!” 

Jimin tears his gaze away from his laptop screen. 

A man has just entered the cafe and Seokmin is greeting him enthusiastically. Jimin can only assume this is the owner of dial that he’s been waiting to meet.

Frankly, Jimin is stunned.

Jeon Jeongguk does not look at all like what he had envisioned. 

For some odd reason, Jimin has been thinking of someone in his mid 40s. Someone with a bad haircut, a worn-out look on his face and the general air of having given up on life. Opening a business in this current economy with rising costs could not be fun. 

On the contrary, Jeongguk is the opposite of all those things. 

He’s bright-eyed and tall. And, well, undeniably attractive. His posture is really good too. Straight back, broad shoulders. He’s probably around Jimin’s age, perhaps even a few years younger. 

He’s got nice hair, too. 

He tugs off his jacket to reveal inky tattoos that wrap around his toned forearms. He goes to hang his jacket while Seokmin flits by his side, whispering in his ear. Jimin isn’t prepared for when Jeongguk turns his head to look at him, and he doesn’t look away in time.

Cheeks flushing, he drops his head to stare at his notebook. 

Well, isn’t this just great? Not only does he have to interview someone for an article he doesn’t want to write, but said person is the kind of person that on another day, Jimin would like to bring home and have in his bed.

After a while, Jimin deems it safe to look back up. Jeongguk is now behind the bar, preparing some drinks.

Jimin watches the man twist his hand over the little mound of ground coffee in what he now knows is called a portafilter (he had Googled coffee terms during his two-hour wait). He supposes there’s something artful about Jeongguk’s tattooed skin and open palm moving in a way that’s so familiar to him. 

Now that he’s paying more attention, he has to admit; the scent of the espressos being pulled are quite delightful, even more so than his Maxim coffee powder. 

He notices Seokmin beckoning him to come over to the bar. Steeling himself, he gets up from his pouffe seat. He strides over, rolling his shoulders back.

“Hey, Jeongguk-ah. This is the guy I mentioned earlier, the one who’s interested in interviewing you!” Seokmin chirps, nodding toward Jimin. 

Jeongguk turns his focus to Jimin. 

Shit, he’s even more handsome up close. Jimin has never seen such captivating eyes – doe-like yet weary, like they’ve seen the world and still want more, but cautiously.

He figures it’s best he cuts to the chase. 

“Hi, Jeongguk-nim. I’m Park Jimin, I’m a journalist for The Rkive,” Jimin tells him, putting a bright and polite smile on his face.

“You’re a journalist?” Jeongguk sounds sceptical as he looks Jimin up and down. 

Jimin is taken aback by the response. “I am,” he answers warily, now a little on edge.

“Didn’t know they made journalists like this,” the owner mumbles. Seokmin chokes next to him. Face turning red, he excuses himself.

What the fuck?

“Like what?” Jimin snaps, the last threads of politeness fraying. 

The man shakes his head. “Never mind. So, how can I help you?”

Jimin glowers at him for a while. There’s some conflicting energy here; a strange mix of disgruntlement and attraction. Jeongguk’s jaw is set, slightly clenched, his pierced eyebrow raised slightly. Yet his gaze spends a little too long on the lower half of Jimin’s face for it to be casual.

“I’m writing a piece on your cafe. Or more so on you, the owner.” 

Jimin doesn’t mean to but his tone comes off slightly disdainful. He internally winces. On the other hand, Jeongguk’s being a bit of a judgmental prick to him, too. 

Jeongguk can clearly sense it because he folds his arms across his broad chest rather defensively. Jimin tries hard not to stare at the way his white shirt stretches across his pectorals. 

“What will you write about?” 

“You, your background, why you opened your cafe and why you think it’s become so popular, the reasons for your success, stuff like that,” Jimin says robotically. 

Jeongguk fixes him with a look. “Do you actually want to do this interview?” he asks, evidently torn between amusement and annoyance. 

No I fucking do not Jimin thinks to himself.

“Of course I do,” he answers. The tiniest bit of sarcasm slips through.

The barista gives a grim smile. “I’m sorry but I’m not really convinced by that. I’d hate to give an interview to someone who doesn’t want to understand coffee or myself.”

Jimin scoffs, finally dropping the pretence. If Jeon Jeongguk didn’t want to give him the interview, who was he to interfere? Namjoon couldn’t say he didn’t try, cos try he did.

“I’m just a cog in the machine, Jeongguk-nim. Not all of us can be our own boss. I was given a task and I’m here to complete it. But if you don’t want to give the interview, then that’s perfectly fine with me. Goodbye to you and your pretentious coffee,” Jimin says furiously.

He marches back to his table and packs his things up quickly. Before leaving, he throws one last contemptuous glare at Jeongguk, who watches him go with pursed lips. 

Jimin has just made it out of the door when he hears Seokmin.

“Hey, what did I miss?”

“Sooo… how’d the interview go?”  

Jimin is at his desk, body slumped over and cheek pressed to the tabletop. He had returned to the office, narrowly avoiding Namjoon, who had been chatting with Jihoon by the pantry. Taehyung occupies the seat next to him and mirrors his posture. 

It’s Tangerine Thursday, which Jimin has completely forgotten about. He’s got more pressing issues at hand. Taehyung is not only decked out in a bright orange pantsuit but is also holding a cup that Jimin could only assume contained tangerine soda. 

“It was a disaster,” Jimin groans. “There wasn’t even an interview. I stormed out.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen comically. “You– what?”

Jimin closes his eyes as he fully absorbs the situation. To be fair, he had kind of been egged on by Jeon Jeongguk as well. He wasn’t complaining at the same time that he was. He didn’t want to do the interview, but he needs to do it. 

How funny was the universe?

“He was pretty judgmental himself and he assumed I wouldn’t understand him or coffee,” Jimin says, scowling. Then, he sighs, dropping the scowl. “I guess I wasn’t that respectful either. I called him pretentious.”

“Namjoon is going to be so disappointed,” Taehyung whispers. “He was really thrilled to hear you went to dial today.”

Jimin’s eyes all but pop out of his head as he straightens up so fast a couple of his joints pop. “He knew I visited dial?!” Jimin asks in disbelief. 

Taehyung sits up together with him. There’s a red mark on his cheek from where he’d been pressed against the table, and Jimin knows his face looks the same, if not worse. He rubs at his cheek.

“Well, of course? He asked where you were this morning and I might’ve told him you’d gone to find Jeon Jeongguk,” Taehyung answers, sipping his soda. He doesn’t look remotely bashful.

“Ah, Taehyung-ah!” Jimin groans. “I’m doomed. I’ll just have to go and tell Namjoon that–”

“Tell me what?”

Jimin lets out a small shriek, tumbling backwards in his spinny chair. Heart racing, he collects himself and straightens up from where he’s sat on the floor. He looks up at the associate editor, trying to muster as much dignity as he can.

“Tell you how much I enjoyed my visit to dial,” Jimin lies straight through his teeth without thinking.

“Oh!” Namjoon says, looking pleasantly surprised. “That’s a relief to hear. Quite frankly, I was afraid you’d scare the owner away to get out of it.”

Jimin lets out a weak laugh while Taehyung coughs covertly. “Ha, oh, no, Namjoon-hyung, I wouldn’t dream of that,” he says. 

“Fantastic. We were looking at the end of the month special release, right? Taehyung’s on that too with the tattoo artist exhibition at Dongjin Museum! ”

Jimin has no choice but to nod, while Taehyung cheers enthusiastically (he clearly couldn’t read the room).

“Also, I brought some tangerine shortcake, it’s in the pantry refrigerator. Help yourselves, alright?” 

Namjoon smiles at them heartily before walking away. Once he’s disappeared from sight, Jimin collapses onto the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“I’m really fucked, aren’t I,” he sighs.

Taehyung’s face pops over his. His lips are stained with orange. “You’ll just have to grovel and beg Jeon Jeongguk. I know you can do it, Jiminnie,” he says encouragingly.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” Jimin answers, voice flat. “Come on, let’s eat some shortcake to forget the mess I’m in. Are you up for a round of Cluedo?”

“I call Miss Scarlett!”

It’s a rather chilly morning and Jimin hadn’t thought to wear a thicker sweater. He’s been waiting outside dial for half an hour already, hands stuffed into his pockets to keep them warm. He can’t believe he had actually listened to Taehyung. 

Then again, he had gone home to reflect over a bowl of kimchi jjigae. Maybe if he did this task well enough, Namjoon would think he was more capable of handling the type of stories he actually wanted to tell.

“Park Jimin gija-nim?”

Jimin spins around. 

Jeon Jeongguk stands before him, key clutched in his hand. Today, he’s dressed in a black turtleneck and black fitted pants that, well, fit him a little too well. A satchel is slung across his front. 

“Y-yes. Um.”

Fuck. How was he going to do this?

Jeongguk pauses and gives Jimin a weird look.

Jimin ignores that and takes a deep breath instead. “I apologise for how I acted yesterday, it was rude of me. I shouldn’t have insulted you.” 

He tries really hard not to sound listless– tries really hard at injecting empathy in his tone, a smidge of grovelling.

Jeongguk’s eyebrows rise so high, they are theatrically on the brink of disappearing into his hairline. 

“The thing is—I really need to write this article. I hope we can start afresh. If you forgive me, then… Could I please interview you? I’ll try my best to understand your point of view.”

The taller man stares him down. Jimin can see an internal war happening behind those wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Jimin can only stand still for so long. Fuck, should he have bowed? He should have, because he’s actually really fucked if he doesn’t get this interview and if he doesn’t submit his article on time to Namjoon. 

He leans forward, getting ready to bow and plead once more for forgiveness.

“Okay,” the barista says simply. His face has relaxed, although his eyebrows furrow together in confusion when he sees Jimin getting ready to bow. He is one expressive man.

“Were you going to bow?” he asks suspiciously.

Jimin straightens up, cheeks warming up in embarrassment. “No,” he denies. “I-I, well, thank you.”

Jeongguk’s lips press together contemplatively. He finally unlocks the door and gestures for Jimin to enter. It’s toasty and comfortable and Jimin welcomes it. 

Jeongguk goes about opening the cafe and setting up the bar and Jimin waits albeit a little awkwardly to one side. He eyes the mustard pouffe and considers sitting back there again. 

“I went home and read the articles from your publication.”

Jimin looks up at Jeongguk, who isn’t making eye contact with him. He’s focused on rinsing some rags in the sink. He hasn’t turned the lights on in the shop, but the morning light seems to be sufficient. It bathes him in this warmth.

“And?” Jimin finally says, after he realises he’s been staring a little too long in silence.

“I think the stuff you guys write has value. The articles are multidimensional and really well written. Honestly, I was surprised.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t want to give– well, actually, have never given an interview because I was worried my words would be twisted. I’m quite wary of journalists and news publications,” Jeongguk says after a while. “But after reading the other pieces, I thought maybe your company might be the one to bring justice to us.”

Jimin bites his lower lip. He’s unsure of the strange feeling that creeps up on him — was it guilt? How was Jeon Jeongguk trusting that he, Park Jimin, would bring justice to this cafe?

“Let’s work well together then,” Jimin chooses to say instead.

“Okay, let’s,” Jeongguk agrees. “Hmm, how are we going to do this? I’ve got a really busy day ahead of me; I have to roast beans, then I need to do cupping and pack some beans after. Plus, it’s a Friday.”

Jimin squints at the barista, completely dumbfounded by his vocabulary. “Yeah, okay,” he says, adding a “whatever that means” mentally. 

“Um, I could wait for you till you end to do a proper interview, or if you don’t mind me following you around for the day, that’d be cool, too. An inside look on your life at work?” Jimin suggests.

Jeongguk shifts around behind the bar. He finally looks up after he’s done with his task. He looks a little apprehensive as he studies Jimin’s face. Jimin can feel his cheeks starting to burn under the attention but he doesn’t break eye contact.

“I suppose we could do that. I’ll have time to spare while roasting anyway…”

The more Jimin thinks about it, the more he likes the idea.

“I think it’d be great. I’d be able to understand the processes better and it’ll be organic,” Jimin continues. “It won’t feel so manufactured and formal.”

Jeongguk nods slowly. It feels like he’s dipping his toes into the waters to test how cold it’d be. He finally gives Jimin a smile– his very first smile. It’s not a wide one, it’s a little reserved, but it’s genuine. Jimin inhales sharply, something fluttering in his stomach at the way Jeongguk’s eyes soften when he smiles.

 “Okay, then, gija-nim. Let’s begin.”

When Jeongguk first leads him to the back of the coffee shop, Jimin is surprised to find that it houses a large roaster and a few more dine-in tables. The roaster is separated by glass and behind it is a small kitchen. He hadn’t realised the space was so huge.

Jimin sees a tall, tanned man inside the kitchen kneading dough and shaping it into balls. The way his hands work are in a similar fashion to what Jimin had noticed of Jeongguk – so sure, so familiar. As though he’s done this a million times, which Jimin doesn’t doubt.

He finds that he appreciates there is nothing robotic or stiff about the movements.

“This is Mingyu. He cooks and bakes,” Jeongguk introduces. “This is Jimin-nim.”

Mingyu looks up and sends a toothy grin Jimin’s way. “I also lift all our sacks of beans and repair anything that needs to be fixed. Nice to meet you, Jimin-nim. Are you here for a trial shift or…?” he inquires. 

Jimin is mildly impressed at the way his hands continue to move and shape the dough, although he isn’t even looking at it.

“Oh, no. I’m a journalist, I’m here to interview Jeongguk-nim about dial,” Jimin answers.

Mingyu’s eyes widen. “Woah! Well, be sure to put in a good word for me in there. Handsome head baker should do it,” he says, winking. 

Jimin stifles a chuckle. 

“I’ll sneak in something,” Jimin tells him. Mingyu blows him a kiss.  

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at that. “Shut up, Gyu,” he mutters. 

He ushers Jimin toward the roaster and pulls a stool out for him. “You can sit here,” he says. “I’m going to grab some beans and set up, I’ll be right back. Oy, Gyu, help me out!”

Jimin settles down, prepping his notebook and pen, and his phone to record the conversation that will follow.

“Coming through!” 

Jimin looks up and immediately looks away, although he’s still watching through his peripheral vision. Both Jeongguk and Mingyu are carrying large tubs of coffee beans. They stop right next to the shelf behind the roaster and squat down, carefully placing the tubs on the floor. They do it with ease and Jimin can’t deny he’s trying hard not to stare at Jeongguk’s biceps straining against the sleeves of his fitting turtleneck.

There’s a floating thought in the back of his mind – don’t you wish you were a tub of coffee beans?

He quashes the thought. Taking a deep inhale, he faces Jeongguk. Mingyu is strolling back into the kitchen, looking back at the two of them with this rather knowing smirk on his face. 

“Are–” Jimin coughs, mildly embarrassed that his voice had been a little hoarse. He clears his throat. “Are you ready to start?”

“Let me get us some water first. Do you need any breakfast? A coffee?” Jeongguk asks as he plugs his laptop into the roaster. Jimin watches curiously.

“Water is fine, thank you.”

When Jeongguk returns, it’s with a tray of two glasses of water, a cup of coffee and a bowl.

“My breakfast,” Jeongguk explains when he sees Jimin glance at it.

“What’s for breakfast?” 

“Oatmeal with almond butter, fruits and some chocolate,” Jeongguk answers, showing him the bowl. It’s a mix of raspberries and oats, streaks of melted chocolate and almond butter running through the mixture, a handful of coconut flakes thrown in.

“Chocolate?” Jimin repeats. “At seven forty-five in the morning?”

Jeongguk looks at him weirdly. “Is there something wrong with that? It’s a single origin from Tumaco, Columbia. It goes really well with the almond butter.”

Jimin holds himself back from scoffing. God help him, if this is what he has to deal with as a journalist.  

“I noticed that you have single origins for your coffee, as well,” he chooses to say instead. “We can talk more about that later, but I suppose I’ll start off with the basic questions first.”

“It tastes amazing,” Jeongguk says defensively, his brows furrowed, as though he can hear Jimin’s thoughts. “Have you ever tried single origin chocolate or coffee?”

“No, I have not,” Jimin says grimly. “I’m a Maxim enthusiast, thank you very much.”

The barista looks horrified.

Jimin closes his eyes and counts to ten. Was this how it was going to be? And if so, would it be worth it? Literally what the hell was single origin chocolate or coffee? Who cares if Namjoon fired him for not delivering?

He opens his eyes again to find Jeongguk staring at him intensely, as he chews on his breakfast. “You probably eat soggy cereal for breakfast, too,” the barista mutters.

Jimin’s jaw drops. “Excuse me?” he sputters. 

Jeongguk immediately looks regretful, putting down his bowl. The tips of his ears are really red and he clasps his hands together. “Okay, that was out of line. I apologise.” 

“I think we need to lay down some ground rules,” Jimin announces. “We both clearly live very different lifestyles and we will probably disagree on many things. Let’s just refrain from judgmental comments. We’ll work to be more open-minded about each other, how about that?”

The other bows his head slightly. “Yes, let’s do that,” he says meekly. 

With his notebook splayed out in his lap, Jimin attempts to pull himself into a serious mode. He has a list of questions and an outline of how his story should go. Pen at the ready, he presses the record button on his phone.

“What do you love about coffee?”

Is his first question. 

As Jeongguk talks, he moves with a lot of animation. He is reserved at first, still a little ashamed from having insulted Jimin earlier, but as he begins his roasting, his chatter becomes unstoppable.

“Coffee can be really unexpecting. It’s versatile, it isn’t just bitter. It has thousands of flavour profiles that many people have yet to understand. It can be so much more, it’s not one dimensional– it can be floral, malty, berry-like, nutty, smokey and even savoury,” Jeongguk rambles. “Coffee is actually really complex, that’s what I like about it.”

“The beans are green,” Jimin says in surprise when Jeongguk removes the lid of the coffee bean tub.

“Yes, many people don’t know that. Here, smell them.” Jeongguk holds up a handful for Jimin to sniff at. “They’re quite grassy now.”

They do smell rather herbaceous. Jimin watches as Jeongguk lifts a tub and pours the beans from it into the top part of the roaster. The machine comes to life; there’s a quiet roar from the flames, a steady beat as the beans stream into the drum and begin to churn.

Jeongguk walks him through the process of roasting, trying to simplify it when he sees Jimin’s blank face at times. He explains the graphs on his laptop briefly – how the internal temperature of the beans are being measured as well as the internal temperature of the roaster.

“You don’t want the beans to burn. It’s good that we can monitor the temperatures through our laptops and applications, don’t you think technology is amazing?” Jeongguk says. He fiddles with his laptop, peeking in through the observation window every once in a while.

Quite frankly, Jimin is amazed that someone can enjoy the science of coffee this much. He didn’t think there could be so many complexities behind it. He has long given up on trying to write down what Jeongguk is telling him, solely relying on his phone recording.

“Yes, technology is amazing. The roasting is cool, too… but um, Jeongguk-nim, I think I want to start uncovering more about you,” Jimin says, as he skims through his notes. There really isn’t anything about Jeongguk himself, and this article is meant to be about him.

“When did you first start liking coffee?”

Jeongguk purses his lips. “Hmm, honestly, I was forced to like it. It’s a bit of a funny story, maybe we can sit down first? I’m gonna be done with my first round of roasting, I’ll get someone else to take over. Let’s head back out.”

“Alright, then.”

When he’s out in the main area, Jimin makes a beeline for the empty mustard pouffe seat. Almost nine in the morning, there’s a bit of a crowd in the cafe, all eager to get their cup before work starts.

“You’re back!”

Jimin looks up to see Seokmin beaming at him – he thinks that Seokmin and Taehyung would probably get along quite well.

“Yeah, I really need to churn the article out. My mission today is to understand coffee and uh, Jeon Jeongguk-nim,” Jimin tells him.

“And how is that going?” 

“We’ve only just covered roasting, actually. It’s going okay, it’s really interesting, although many of the terms being used are kinda just flying over my head,” Jimin admits.

Seokmin giggles. “And what about Jeonggukkie?” he prompts.

“Ah. Jeonggukkie is… he’s something,” Jimin says, pressing his lips together. 

The other giggles even harder. “He might seem really tough at first but once you’ve cracked him, he’s nothing but a soft, fluffy chiffon cake,” Seokmin whispers. “Good luck!” 

He scurries away when he sees Jeongguk walking over, busying himself with a customer that has just entered the shop.

“Seokmin-nim is really nice,” Jimin says when Jeongguk joins him at the table. He has brought over their drinks from earlier.

“Ah, yeah, he is. The customers love him.”

“And what about you? Do the customers love you?” Jimin asks.

Jeongguk ponders for a bit. “Hmm, I guess some do. But you know, it’s more important that they love what we do here.”

Jimin nods, penning that down. He quite likes that. 

“You were talking about being forced to like coffee?” the journalist prompts. 

Jeongguk leans back, a cup of coffee nestled in his hands. 

“I used to not even drink coffee. The only beverage I consumed was banana milk, would you believe that?” Jeongguk laughs sheepishly. His shoulders are a bit more relaxed now, his posture not as stiff.

“But then Mingyu and I started working at this other coffee shop after high school. We were only servers but this one day, it got so busy. The barista tossed me an apron and pulled me behind the counter. Next thing I knew, I was pulling shots for her. I didn’t know what I was doing, but thinking back, the coffee must’ve tasted so bad.”

Jimin notes the reminiscence in Jeongguk’s eyes. He looks younger this way, when he’s smiling. 

“And how did you get from there to here?”

They spend the next hour chatting. 

It goes relatively smooth, save for some moments where Jimin wants to roll his eyes. He discovers that Jeongguk is an extremely indulgent person. He enjoyed treating himself and never limited his rewards, something Jimin is unfortunately unfamiliar with. He talks about food and coffee in a way that Jimin can’t relate to, and it’s clear he finds joy in the smaller things in life. 

Like his bowl of oatmeal and the single origin chocolate it had contained. 

They reach a point where Jimin asks more trivial questions, like how old Jeongguk is and where he was born. There’s a small moment of unification when they both realise they’re both from Busan. Finally, once the crowd has died down, they move on to the bar. Here, Jeongguk demonstrates the pourover coffee they are well-known for, the coffee that had Jimin questioning so many things when he had first read the menu.

“What exactly is single origin coffee?” Jimin inquires. He holds his phone up to video record as Jeongguk drapes a piece of filter paper over what Jimin assumes is the coffee dripper.

“It means that all the coffee beans were harvested from that one particular farm. What you’re having now is from Ethiopia, specifically Gediyo in Yirgacheffe,” Jeongguk explains, measuring the ground coffee and spooning it carefully into the filter paper. “We keep in contact with our farmers, other suppliers, too, of course. It’s good to uplift one another.”

Maybe Jeongguk isn’t as pretentious as Jimin had thought him to be.

“The Ethiopian beans are both floral and fruity. Brewed correctly, you should taste hints of orange blossom and juicy blackcurrants.”

Steam rises from the coffee dripper as Jeongguk carefully pours boiling hot water from the kettle.

“Is there a certain technique to this?”

“Of course.”

As Jeongguk explains, Jimin’s eyes are trained on the circular motion that Jeongguk’s hands adapt as he pours the water. He pauses then continues pouring. 

Pause. 

And pour. 

Pause.

Pour.

It’s rather mesmerising. 

“Here you go,” Jeongguk announces, as he hands Jimin the cup he’d just brewed. There’s confidence in the way his chest puffs up, a proud grin on his face.

Jimin breathes in the scent of the coffee. It’s interesting and doesn’t quite smell like coffee. He takes a tentative sip, expectations stacked high.

Hmm.

“I can’t taste any of the things you mentioned,” Jimin admits. He takes another sip but it simply tastes like black coffee to him.

Jeongguk’s chest deflates. “Your palate is incredibly undeveloped,” he says flatly.

The journalist turns to face him, utter bemusement worrying the lines in his face. “And that was incredibly rude of you,” he says back waspishly. “Not all of us have magical tongues that can identify flowers harvested on the night of a waning crescent moon.”

Jeongguk glares at him. “In that case, I’ll do regular espresso with milk for you; maybe you can taste something there,” the barista says, determination set in those doe eyes. 

“I already had your espresso with milk,” Jimin counters. “The 6-ounce, it was way too milky.”

“You’re joking,” Jeongguk says in disbelief. “I thought we agreed to be cordial, by the way. Here you are insulting my coffee. You’re so wound up.”

“You started it by insulting my palate!” Jimin says, his voice getting higher, on the brink of turning hysteric. “Would you say this to an actual customer?”

It seems that Jimin has struck a nerve. Jeongguk’s shoulders sag and his furrowed brows soften. 

“OK, I’m sorry. You’re right, I wouldn’t say this to a customer. It’s just that you’re writing about us and it worries me if you aren’t able to taste what our coffee stands for. I just want to bring justice to our farmers and workers, you know?” he says softly. “I really love coffee and I’m just trying to make you appreciate it the way I do, too.”

Jimin sighs, looking down at his notebook to avoid eye contact.

“I get it. I apologise for insulting your craft. I agreed to be more open-minded, didn’t I? Let’s try this again.”

The conversation continues, although both parties are a little reserved now. Jeongguk serves what he says is a double-shot 6-ounce, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in slight worry. 

“Listen, all your coffee is fundamentally good. This one is nice–just a tad too strong for me,” Jimin says hesitantly. He isn’t sure why he is beginning to care whether or not Jeongguk’s feelings are affected. 

At his words, something clicks in Jeongguk’s expression. It’s as though a lightbulb has lit up above his head. 

“I got it,” he mutters. “Can’t believe it, but I think I know what will be up your alley.”

After a few minutes, Jeongguk finally serves him yet another cup of coffee. Jimin is starting to feel bad now. Sighing, he picks up the coffee and drinks it carefully.

Huh.

It’s sweet, intense but not overpoweringly so. Much more flavourful, it reminds him of smooth caramel. 

“That is actually really nice,” Jimin says honestly. “It tastes like caramel.”

Jeongguk’s doe eyes light up at that. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”

Jimin downs a big appreciative gulp. “I’m really not,” he insists. “What’s so different about this one?”

“It’s a double ristretto,” Jeongguk tells him, eyes wide. “It means the shot is restricted, and will therefore be more intense. It’s less bitter, too. On milk, it’s supposed to have so much more flavour. Some baristas don’t believe in it, because they don’t think the work is worth it.”

“Do you believe in it?” 

“Maybe now I do.”

Satisfied, there is a spring to Jeongguk’s movements. He tells Jimin to take a washroom break and have some water while he checks on the roasting. Jimin does as he is told, even squeezing in a conversation with Seokmin and another barista, Yoongi. Yoongi is a little more self-contained, a little more wary like Jeongguk had been initially.

“Please write well and honestly about us,” he says to Jimin. His tone is serious and there’s no winks or giggles from him.  

“Uh, I’ll do my best.”

When Jeongguk returns, he looks pleased. “Today’s roast turned out well, Yoongi-hyung did great. I can let you smell the beans later before I pack them. Do you have anything else you want to ask?”

Jimin contemplates, humming softly to himself as he skims over what he’s jotted down in the last few pages of his notebook. “Last one. Could you share with me one of your favourite things about coffee?”

Jeongguk tilts his head. “My favourite thing about coffee?” he repeats. “Huh. There’s too many.”

“Pick a good one for the article.”

Finally, Jeongguk seems to land on a decision. 

He allows Jimin to join him behind the bar. It’s a foreign view. Foreign but interesting. He moves out of the way and stands behind Jeongguk as the barista tamps the coffee and fixes it into the machine. He beckons at Jimin to come nearer. 

“This is one of my favourite parts. Look.”

There’s a tenderness in Jeongguk’s voice. A crack in his shield, a look into whatever is beyond his veil. A vulnerability in the way he’s honest, about something so trivial. Yet at the same time… so momentous. 

Jimin forces himself to focus on what Jeongguk is trying to show him. The extraction of the coffee begins to drip out of the portafilter. 

One drop.

Two drops.

Then, slowly, like a dam being broken, liquid gold rushes out. 

“It’s just so poetic, so luxurious, the way it flows,” Jeongguk murmurs. Jimin chances a glance at him.

Jeongguk has clearly seen this a thousand times. But it’s clear from his expression he has yet to tire from it. His eyes are round with awe, the corners of his mouth upturned in the slightest of smiles.

God, he’s handsome.

Jeongguk turns back to look at him, his face inches away. Jimin’s breath stills as he registers their close proximity. 

“I can see why it’s one of your favourite things,” Jimin says quietly. 

The barista’s smile widens even more, his eyes ever so shiny. “You can?” He sounds excited.

Jimin nods. He finally straightens up once the eye contact becomes a little too intense for him. He looks at his feet, trying to hide the gay panic in his face. He suddenly realises that they’re in a public space, surrounded by other people. 

It had felt like just the two of them for a while there.

But it isn’t. Yoongi is literally pouring cold brew into bottles at the tabletop next to them and Seokmin is tending to a customer at the cashier. 

“Thank you so much for the interview. I think I’ve got most of it covered and I’m feeling relatively inspired right now. I’ll just stay for a bit here to write what I can before I lose this feeling,” Jimin says.

“I’m really happy to hear that. Thank you too, gija-nim.”

After several hours of being glued to his seat with his fingers flying across his laptop keyboard, Jimin is beginning to understand why people did their work in cafes. There is something about the ambient background noise of quiet conversations and the hissing of the coffee steamer that makes Jimin feel less lonely, something about seeing movement in life that keeps him going.

He did love his spinny chair in the office, but this mustard pouffe seat is really starting to grow on him. 

He’d also gotten a hot chocolate, just to try out their other beverages. Jeongguk couldn’t resist letting him know it was made with single origin chocolate. It doesn’t taste like the regular chocolate Jimin is used to, that’s for sure. 

But at least it’s tastefully bittersweet and comforting.

Seokmin sneaks him a plate of grilled cheese, accompanied with the tomato soup. It’s hearty and delicious and he enjoys it, greasy fingers and all. 

“Hey, Seokmin-nim,” Jimin starts off, a strange thought occurring to him after he’s finished his food. He wipes the corners of his mouth and then his fingers with a wet wipe. 

“Why do you think I can appreciate the food but not so much the coffee? I mean, I’m not saying that the coffee is bad, it’s really good–I just can’t seem to identify what you guys want us to taste.”

Seokmin is sitting at the table next to him, stamping dial’s logo on their takeaway cups. He pauses and looks over at Jimin, his kind eyes softening. “I suppose many people grow up thinking coffee should only taste a certain way. Did Jeongguk mention ‘terroir’ when he told you about the single origin coffee?”

Jimin nods. He recalls the way Jeongguk had pronounced the word so delicately, the way it had rolled off his tongue.

“Terroir plays a huge part, as it would for wines and chocolate, and people simply don’t know that. But once they know and they think about it as they drink, they’ll understand better,” the other explains. “Who would expect coffee to taste like molasses or peaches? It’s not something you can learn overnight, you really have to taste and savour it.”

Jeongguk had said things of a similar vein. Jimin is beginning to see that many of them at dial share the same philosophy.

“Even food can sometimes taste different than what we expect it to be. Plus I think it’s easier to appreciate food because we eat every day, but not everyone drinks coffee every day,” Seokmin goes on zealously. 

In essence, Jimin can see how similar the people of dial are to the people at The Rkive. Everyone was passionate about something; Taehyung and fashion, Namjoon and poetry, Jeongguk and coffee… and then there’s himself and true crime mysteries. 

“Thank you,” Jimin says quietly, after absorbing Seokmin’s words. 

He wonders if he truly understands the people at dial, as he goes on to write a few more sentences. If he has really understood Jeongguk. How could he be, if he had still been scoffing and rolling his eyes just an hour ago? 

Has he let go of his prejudices against this expression of art? Of all expressions of art?

Was what he was writing genuine?

He thinks back to all the previous articles he had written, because they had been his job. Namjoon had always complimented his writing and said they were good. But were they genuine? That is what Jimin is beginning to ponder. 

He looks up to catch a glimpse of what Jeongguk is doing. The barista is currently pouring milk into a cup, eyes focused, hands strong and steady. In a moment of spontaneity, Jimin pulls his phone out and takes a photo of Jeongguk. 

He realises that Seokmin is watching him with a rather omniscient expression, and he can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks.

“Just wanted a cover photo or something,” he says lamely. Seokmin smiles understandingly.

“Do him justice, okay, Jimin-nim? He deserves it.”

For some reason, Jimin doesn’t struggle writing the article. 

He goes home that day after thanking the staff at dial for their warm hosting and Jeongguk for giving his time. He thinks he might not step foot back in there again, but he thinks about sweet Seokmin, the mustard pouffe seat, and that one particular double ristretto drink. He thinks about the homeliness and comfort he’d felt, the smell of the freshly baked coffee jjinppang Mingyu had brought out.

And well, he thinks of Jeon Jeongguk too. 

Then he thinks that maybe he might go back there again. 

But only after he’s written the article. 

Finally, on Wednesday afternoon, forty-seven minutes after their lunch break has ended, Jimin completes his first draft. He sends it straight to Namjoon without thinking twice and goes on to churn out his other works due for the week. He’d have to wait for Namjoon’s feedback before polishing and refining his article till it was ready for their end of the month special feature.

Then, at the end of the day, he goes over to where Taehyung and Jihoon are sitting at their desks. Taehyung is sketching a new design for the community column and Jihoon is editing. It’s a couple more minutes to 5pm, and Jimin could simply go home.

Instead, he asks Taehyung and Jihoon if they’d want to hang out.

“Do you guys want to go to dial?” he asks casually. “We can bring Cluedo with us.”

Taehyung gasps. “Yes! I’d love to go!” he says excitedly.

Jihoon shrugs. “Sure, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

Which is how an hour later finds them in Yeonnam-dong. In the evening, one can see dial’s lights glowing warmly through the glass. It’s mostly empty, as Jimin had suspected. 

Before he can change his mind, he pushes the door open and steps inside. 

“Damn, this is a cool place,” Taehyung says as he looks around and takes in the atmosphere and decor.

“Jimin-nim!” 

“Oh, hey, Seokmin-nim,” Jimin greets the barista, who surprisingly welcomes him with a hug. “These are my colleagues, Taehyung and Jihoon.”

Everyone makes their acquaintance and they finally settle down at the large coffee table. Jimin eyes the empty mustard pouffe seat and decides to drag it over. He plops himself down and puts the board game onto the table. 

“I’m still no coffee connoisseur so please pick your own poison,” Jimin tells the other two. He looks around the cafe and notices only Seokmin is around. Perhaps Jeongguk was in the back or something.

Taehyung reads through the menu as though he understands everything while Jihoon tilts his head in question here and there. They finally decide on their drinks and Jimin goes to the counter, which is being manned by Seokmin. 

“Could I get two hot chocolates and one iced 6-ounce?” 

“No double ristretto for you?” Seokmin teases, as he keys their order into the iPad.

Jimin turns red, fumbling for his wallet. “How do you know about that?”

“Jeongguk boasted to the whole team that he’d cracked you with that drink,” Seokmin laughs heartily. 

“Did he now?” Jimin muses. “Hm, maybe next time. It’s a little too late for coffee… but not for Taehyung, I suppose. Where is Jeongguk-nim, by the way?”

He tries to sound real casual.

Seokmin waves a hand. “He’s out, running some errands with Yoongi-hyung. Might be back later.”

Jimin nods in understanding, quelling the feeling of hope. “Cool, cool…. Hey, by the way, I know you’re on shift, but by any chance, would you be able to join us in a round of Cluedo?”

Seokmin’s puppy eyes light up. “I’d love to.”

The next hour is spent shouting and laughing raucously as the four of them accuse one another and attempt to solve the crime. They’ve all dropped the formalities. Taehyung is moving quickly around the board, Jimin’s sharp eyes trying to note any suspicious hints from the others, and Jihoon is passionate in his cries against Colonel Mustard aka Seokmin.

“What’s going on?”

In their boisterousness, they hadn’t noticed the door swinging open and Jeongguk entering the cafe. 

“Jeongguk-ah!” Seokmin calls. “Did you send Yoongi-hyung home?”

Jimin looks up. Jeongguk is wearing a turtleneck yet again, but this time in maroon. The colour suits him really well, Jimin thinks. He clears his throat, feeling a little warm when he and Jeongguk make eye contact.

“Hey, Jeongguk-nim.”

“Jimin-nim,” Jeongguk says, doe eyes wide in surprise. 

“Decided to hang out here with my colleagues, Taehyung and Jihoon. I hope you don’t mind that I pulled Seokmin in, it was pretty quiet.”

“All good… Cluedo, huh?” Jeongguk questions when he sees the board game spread over the coffee table. 

“Yup. It’s Jimin’s favourite. It’s the only way he can solve mysteries,” Taehyung whispers dramatically. Jihoon lets out a snicker.

Jimin’s cheeks heat up and he glares at the both of them, as he moves Mrs. Peacock into the conservatory.

Jeongguk looks puzzled. “What do you mean by that, Taehyung-sshi?” 

Jimin reaches out to slap a hand over Taehyung’s mouth but the other dances away, cackling in glee. 

“Jimin is obsessed with true crime and the likes. He wants to solve mysteries and write about it; political, domestic–you name it. But too bad, he’s stuck writing about culture and community with us.”

Jihoon pats Jimin’s back sympathetically. “You’re an excellent writer, if that’s any consolation,” he says. “True investigative work is dying down, anyway. You wouldn’t have any luck out there.”

The conversation focus is shifted on Taehyung and Jihoon, as Seokmin asks them about their interests and them back to him. Jeongguk grabs their empty cups to bring to the sink, and for some reason, Jimin gets up to follow him.

“I had the double ristretto once and you’re going around telling people all about it,” Jimin suddenly says.

The stacked cups and saucers almost drop from Jeongguk’s hands, as he turns his head sharply to look at Jimin. “I-I didn’t say anything. I just said that you liked the double ristretto best. Because your palate is… not as experienced as the rest of ours.”

Jimin rolls his eyes at Jeongguk’s attempt to soften the blow. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters.

He doesn’t know why he hovers around the bar, hands tucked into his pockets as he watches Jeongguk wash the cups and tidy up.

“So… true crime, huh? Is that why you weren’t so keen to interview me?”

Jimin bites his lip. “Yeah. I, uh, have never wanted to write about this sort of stuff but Namjoon always tells me it’s a blessing in disguise I landed the job with him and not another company. I just feel like a bit of a poser, because I’m not someone who exactly participates in art?”

The barista nods, unable to meet Jimin’s gaze. “I see.”

“There’s just a lot to be talked about that we aren’t talking about. Things are being swept under the rug, but nobody cares,” Jimin sulks.

“Life isn’t that serious, Jimin-nim. You need to slow down and chill out.”

“What do you mean I need to slow down?” Jimin asks, slightly miffed.

The barista looks at him, a small smile on his face. “Don’t you feel like you’re a very tense person? I think you need to let your hair down and just… take life slowly. Savour your food and drinks. Work on other things in your life.”

“I think I’m doing just fine,” Jimin sniffs.

Jeongguk raises his hands up in surrender. “Just saying. So, how is the article coming along?”

Ha, of course, he’d ask.

“It’s actually going great,” the journalist says, tossing his head back. “I sent a draft to Namjoon-hyung earlier this afternoon, and I came here to unwind after three days of non-stop writing. See, I know how to chill out.”

Jeongguk ignores his last sentence, only caring for the first. “You’ve already finished the article?” he repeats. 

“Mmhm. I know, pretty record-breaking for someone who’s never done a human interest piece.”

“I want to read it,” the barista says immediately. 

“No!” Jimin blurts out, partially embarrassed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything…“Not right now. You’ll have to wait till it’s published and read it together with everyone else.”

“What if you wrote a bunch of crappy things about the coffee, and what if you’d made me out to be some pretentious dick?” the taller man counters, taking a step nearer to Jimin. “Hmm?”

Jimin huffs. “Do you think Namjoon-hyung would let me do such a preposterous thing?” 

“How the hell would I know?” 

Jimin closes his eyes and counts to 10, like he had done during the interview. How was it that he and Jeongguk were so quick to jump down each other’s throats? When he opens his eyes, he finds Jeongguk still inches away from him, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

“You’ll just have to be patient,” Jimin tells him stubbornly.

He reaches forward to grab Jeongguk by the arms and push him back. He’s horrified to feel delightful, hard muscle under his grip. Caught off guard, Jeongguk stumbles back, almost bumping into the counter. He looks terribly confused.

Jimin, meanwhile, pretends he isn’t affected by how firm Jeongguk’s arms feel under his grip and retracts his hold. But he is. There’s a hot rush down his spine that is alerting him of a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time – attraction.

“End of the month special release. I’ll let you know when it’s out, okay? Yah, Tae, Jihoonie, let’s go! We need to get dinner!”

Jimin marches over to the coffee table. He sweeps all the contents of the board game back into the box and tucks the lid on. Confused, Jihoon and Taehyung rise up from their seats. 

“We’re going already?”

“Yes, we need to get dinner. OK, this has been so fun, bye, Jeongguk-nim, bye, Seokminnie!” Jimin gushes.

Without sparing a glance behind, he’s out the door and into the cold night air that calms his flushing red cheeks, leaving behind a very puzzled barista.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: First Draft

Jimin

I enjoyed your writing, particularly that anecdote about Jeon and his banana milk from the past. Though I have to say, I do feel like there is something missing. Mull over it a bit more and think about the suggestions I’ve popped in. Separate yourself from the article, but not too much. Your experience definitely plays a part, but don’t let it influence the readers.

Focus a little bit more on Jeon Jeongguk.

Submit your final draft by Friday, 6pm.

Anyway, I’m really glad you took on this challenge despite being unhappy about it in the first place. I thought about it and decided to help you out. As you know, The Rkive isn’t a place where we discuss matters of embezzlement or controversies. 

If you are still interested in writing articles of that vein, do reach out to an acquaintance of mine, Kim Seokjin, at [email protected]. I recently met him and mentioned your interest, and he says he wouldn’t mind letting you have a taste of that field. As much as I don’t want to lose a member of the team especially so quickly, I would want my staff to be happy and enjoy the work they do.

Perhaps Seokjin can help you attain your goals.

Do focus on your article first, though, I have high hopes. 

Regards
Namjoon
Associate Editor at The Rkive

ATTACHED_PJMSUBMISSION_DRAFTREVIEW.docx

Jimin schedules to meet Kim Seokjin a week before the end of the month special release. He doesn’t tell anyone about it, doesn’t even let Namjoon know he’s taken up the offer, because he’s scared of jinxing it.

In the meantime, Jimin continues to work on all his other articles. He bulldozes through it, words coming out easily. Namjoon has always said he’s had a knack for capturing the soul of art and expression in his words and that he didn’t understand why Jimin didn’t enjoy the work he did.

It’s a little funny because he’s starting to. Enjoy his work that is.

Not only that, but he’s started hanging out at dial more. He’d come in, order a double ristretto for himself, and sit in his little corner as he works and sometimes reads up on current affairs. Some days, he’s got his headphones on, a true crime podcast playing in the background. 

Jimin can’t believe he’s saying this but Jeon Jeongguk was right – he had definitely needed to slow down. He feels a bit better these days – less grumpy, less grim. 

And, well, speaking of Jeon Jeongguk… It seems that they too have dropped the formalities. 

Along the way, the arguments had begun to turn a little more playful and had become more banter-like. Jimin isn’t sure why he keeps getting serotonin boosts from messing with the barista, but he’s chosen not to question it. Just like how he’s chosen not to question his growing attraction for the man.

“Jiminnie, yah. Jiminnie. Stop ogling Jeongguk.”

Jimin snaps his gaze away from the bar to fix it on Seokmin, who’s grinning rather mischievously. “I was not ogling,” Jimin denies. He averts his gaze back to his laptop, pretending to be busy. 

Seokmin takes the seat next to him. “I’m serious, what’s going on with you two?” He wants to know.

Jimin looks affronted. “There is nothing going on between us,” he hisses.

Seokmin doesn’t say anything but his stare is suddenly elsewhere and that’s when Jimin realises Jeongguk is walking to their table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Alright, today we have Gasharu from Rwanda. This one’s amazing, it’s like a white grape tea,” Jeongguk says excitedly.

Seokmin cocks an eyebrow while Jimin turns red. 

“What’s going on?” Seokmin repeats. 

“I’m training Jimin’s palate,” Jeongguk answers. “I’m making him try something new every day. There’s no way I’m letting this reporter leave a bad review on dial.”

“Hey, I already told you, the article is done. I’ve submitted it to Namjoon-hyung. Nothing you say or do now will change what I’ve written!” Jimin exclaims.

Jeongguk ignores his statement and pushes the cup toward him. “Go on, have a taste,” he encourages. 

Jimin does what Jeongguk has been telling him to do – to smell the coffee and then slurp it, letting the liquid run over his tongue languidly. 

“Pleasant,” Jimin says after swallowing. “I don’t know, it’s quite fruity. I guess I can taste grapes. Or maybe I’m just gaslighting myself, who knows? There’s a hint of some red fruit in there, am I right?”

Jeongguk gasps. “Yes! Pomegranate!” 

Jimin hides a smile. His excitement is quite infectious.

Jeongguk pretends to wipe a fake tear away. “They grow up so fast,” he sighs. “Enjoy the rest of the cup, let me know if you’re down to taste anything else.”

Once he’s walked away from the table, Seokmin rounds on Jimin. “That. What was that all about?” he demands.

Jimin flushes. “I’m trying to keep an open mind and he’s helping me. That’s all.”

“Are you sure your mind is all he’s going to open?” Seokmin asks.

It takes a while for the connotation behind those words to settle in. Jimin hits Seokmin on the arm. “Seokmin!”

“What, I’m being serious. Have you seen the way you guys look at each other? God, there’s so much tension,” Seokmin says, shuddering. 

“You’re delusional,” Jimin says flatly, reaching for his cup to take another sip. 

“Three weeks ago, you were writing hateful article names for our cafe. Three weeks ago, you and Jeongguk were hurling insults at one another. What gives?”

“Hey, but we’re friends too, now!”

See, what gives is that Jimin has decided life is easier when he isn’t arguing with Jeon Jeongguk. What gives is that Jimin has decided he quite likes the way Jeongguk’s eyes light up and if he wants to enjoy that, then so what? What gives is that Jimin likes the way Jeongguk works, and the way he frowns when he’s eating something ever so delicious.

Plus, he’s a few days away from meeting Kim Seokjin and taking his first step into the true investigative world. He couldn’t help that that added a spring to his step, now, could he?

“Hey.”

The sudden sound of Jeongguk’s quiet voice startles Jimin. He jerks back from the table, looking up at the barista. He realises most of the lights in dial have been switched off and that the cafe is empty.

“No Cluedo tonight?” Jeongguk asks, a teasing lilt to his tone, a mischievous wink in his eyes.

Jimin tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. “No, uh, not tonight, the rest are busy. What’s up?”

Jeongguk clears his throat. “You didn’t realise that everyone had left?”

“Even Seokmin and Mingyu?” Jimin asks, stunned. He twists around Jeongguk to look around and even calls out for the other two. There’s no response.

“They didn’t even say bye,” Jimin sighs, as he begins to pack his things up, winding his MacBook charger up. “I’m so sorry to hold you up like this.”

Jeongguk gives him a smile. “All good. Are you headed home?” 

“Mhm, I guess so. God knows what’s for dinner,” Jimin groans when he realises he’s run out of groceries and instant ramen. 

“Do you wanna come back to mine? I could cook dinner for us,” Jeongguk suggests. The tips of his ears are red.

Jimin pauses. “Are you for real?”

The taller man clears his throat, shuffling his feet. “Yeah, I’m for real. I stay 15 minutes away, I’ve got a stocked refrigerator, we both haven’t had dinner. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Somehow, it does make sense. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the both of them having dinner together. But at the same time, there is something lingering in the end – a little bit of hmmm, a little bit of why, though? 

And the tiniest bit of where is this going to end?

Jeongguk’s apartment is indeed 15 minutes away, which Jimin comments must be really convenient. His place is much neater than Jimin’s, modestly decorated with houseplants and paintings of coffee on the wall. He already has Christmas lights hanging on his balcony.

“I’ve got goat’s cheese, prosciutto, chicken… Do you like asparagus?” Jeongguk calls from the kitchen.

Jimin has kicked off his shoes and gone to the balcony to see the view. The dusky sky together with Yeonnam-dong’s lit-up streets made for a beautiful sight.

“Yeah, I’m good!” he calls back. “Do you need help with anything?”

They spend a while preparing their dinner, Jimin doing the more menial tasks like peeling and slicing some potatoes, as well as washing the asparagus. Jeongguk works with the same style that he does at work; speedy and smooth, so self-assured. Jimin recalls him talking about his parents during the interview and how they’d made sure he always cleaned up after himself.

Even in the relaxed atmosphere of his own home, Jeongguk still looks ever so professional, with his sweater sleeves rolled up.

Jimin reaches out to touch the tattooed skeleton holding a cup on Jeongguk’s arm. Jeongguk’s arm jerks a little and he almost butchers the chicken thigh. 

“S-sorry,” Jimin stutters. “Is, um, is he holding a cup of coffee?”

The tips of Jeongguk’s ears are redder than ever. “Yes, he is,” Jeongguk answers, voice a little gruff. “Honestly, most of my tattoos are silly things. The only one with real meaning is the one I got of my grandmother’s name.”

Jimin smiles. “That’s sweet.”

Within the hour, their dinner is finally ready. Jeongguk has prepared goat’s cheese stuffed chicken wrapped in prosciutto, together with grilled asparagus and crispy potatoes. Jimin has no idea how he managed to cook the dish so quickly – he’d even plated it nicely. 

“Can I go to the bathroom first?” Jimin asks.

“Of course. It’s the second door to your left.”

When Jimin exits the bathroom, there’s two glasses of wine on the table with their food. Jeongguk has already tossed everything into the dishwasher and cleaned the counters down.

“You are amazingly fast,” Jimin breathes out as he takes a seat at the dining table.

“Practise over the years,” the barista says, shrugging. He joins Jimin at the table, gesturing to the wine. “I had some Meursault lying around, I thought it’d go well with the dish.”

Jimin snorts. “You can’t fool me. I saw your wine chiller.”

Playful laughter escapes Jeongguk, his head thrown back. “Alright, you got me. Coffee isn’t the only beverage I enjoy. See, wine is just as amazing and it’s also affected by the terroir–”

Jeongguk’s ramble goes on through dinner, as they cut through the chicken and potatoes and eat leisurely. Jimin isn’t used to this. It’s always been grab and go for him. A quick instant fix done in under ten minutes, if not, he’d run down to get some odeng and pajeon from the corner store.

But here and now, everything is slowed down. He tries his best to match Jeongguk’s pace of eating, languidly chewing and savouring. The smokiness of the paprika and the saltiness of the prosciutto cuts through the rich goat’s cheese, the potatoes an addictive crunch to have on the side. He washes it down with the wine and is surprised at how well it goes together.

“I’ve never had a dinner like this,” Jimin admits. 

Jeongguk pauses, swallowing his food before answering. “No way,” he says, astonished. He’s pushed back his hair and it reveals his forehead. Jimin likes that. “Every Saturday, my parents would make sure we have a fantastic dinner. I mean, every other day, but Saturdays were extravagant.”

“That’s nice… I lost my parents when I was 12, so I, uh, I don’t have many happy things to think back on,” Jimin tells Jeongguk. 

The younger boy looks shocked. “Jimin-hyung… I’m so sorry to hear that,” he says, reaching across the table to put a hand on top of Jimin’s.

Jimin gives him a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. It was a long time ago,” he says softly. The weight of Jeongguk’s hand on top of his is comforting.

They continue dinner in a sombre fashion until Jeongguk accidentally knocks over his glass of wine and they’re bursting into laughter. Once they’ve tidied up, they settle down on the couch with a pint of gelato.

“It’s from this local shop that specialises in botanical gelato,” Jeongguk tells Jimin excitedly. “The matcha ginseng is amazing. The owners are really lovely, too, a couple that just got married last year. They’re a few shops down from dial.”

Truth be told, Jimin is amazed at the creation of such things. He recalls Jeongguk having spoken about twisting local flavours and modern food to be different. How much of this indulgent culinary world is there that he has yet to discover?

There’s a part of him that wants to indulge more.

Somehow, from their arms brushing against one another, it’s then their thighs pressed against one another. 

Jeongguk’s whole body is facing Jimin, his arm thrown behind Jimin’s head casually. 

“You know that very first day we met…” he starts off. “When I first saw you, I had said “I didn’t know they made journalists like this”. Do you remember that?”

Jimin swallows, unable to ignore the weight of Jeongguk’s thigh against his. “Mmhm… That made me so mad, you know?” Jimin says, jabbing Jeongguk’s thigh.

“You misunderstand me, Jimin-hyung. What I had meant was, I didn’t know journalists could be this attractive.”

Silence falls, save for their quiet breathing. 

“You didn’t know…” Jimin’s voice is strangled. He finally turns to face Jeongguk, their faces inches away. Jeongguk’s doe eyes are glazed over with some kind of carnal desire.

“You drive me fucking insane, Jeon Jeongguk,” Jimin says, before his fingers twist into Jeongguk’s hair. 

Both their tongues are cold from the gelato, bittersweet, and the taste of the white wine lingers in the back. Jimin can’t help himself from being pulled into Jeongguk’s lap, the barista’s large hands gripping his waist as they kiss slowly. 

It’s clear that Jeongguk savours everything in life. He takes his time peeling Jimin’s clothes off and takes his time trailing kisses down Jimin’s chest that leaves him panting, that makes his hips stutter against nothing, that has him clenching and whining breathily. 

When Jeongguk removes his turtleneck, Jimin sucks in a deep breath. His body is sculpted and defined, a plethora of tattoos covering the expanse of his tan skin. Jimin reaches out to feel Jeongguk’s warm body, to trace over the tattoos and to graze over his pierced nipples. This is what’s been hiding under those turtleneck sweaters all this time, Jimin thinks to himself.

Then they’re in Jeongguk’s bed, satin sheets cooling against their warm skin. Jeongguk ruts against Jimin, face buried in the crook of Jimin’s neck as he groans at the feeling of their cocks sliding against one another. Jimin reaches between them to stroke Jeongguk’s cock, unable to keep himself from starting a fast and steady tempo. 

“Fuck, Jimin, god–” Jeongguk breathes out. 

Something snaps in Jeongguk when Jimin thumbs over the head of his cock. All leisure flies out the window, as he knocks over his bedside lamp to get to his bedside drawer. One lubed finger pushes into Jimin, working its way past the tight ring of muscles. 

Jimin lets out a gasp, looking up at Jeongguk, who is too busy staring at Jimin’s hole.

“Come on, open up for me, you’re so good,” Jeongguk says softly. “That’s it, baby.”

Jeongguk moves his fingers in and out of Jimin, the other hand stroking himself. Soon enough, Jimin’s a mess under him. 

“Are you gonna fuck me or not?” he bites. 

Jeongguk chokes out a laugh. “God, you’re so infuriating,” he hisses, pressing the head of his cock to Jimin’s hole. “But I fucking love that.”

He pushes into Jimin, his large hands gripping Jimin’s thighs and holding them apart to the point where it’s almost hurting. Jimin can only grip the sheets as Jeongguk begins to pump in and out of him at a rapid pace.

“Yeah, I’ll fuck you,” Jeongguk promises. “Is this good enough, baby?”

Jimin can feel heat flushing across his chest, knows his nipples must be erect in the cold air. He keens at the nickname, heels digging into Jeongguk’s back. 

“Harder,” he says harshly. 

Jeongguk’s eyes darken. His hips pick up the pace and his body falls forward, arms caging Jimin in. Jimin leans up to press their mouths together and to press their bodies even closer. The feel of Jeongguk’s fiery skin makes him feel so wanted, so needed.

“Close,” Jimin gasps out when Jeongguk’s cockhead presses against his prostate over and over. 

With Jeongguk’s hand coming between their bodies to stroke his cock, that’s when Jimin feels it. White hot down the back of his spine, toes curling, he comes with a drawn-out moan. 

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming–” he chants.

He clenches tight around Jeongguk, whose hips stutter. Eyes shut, Jeongguk’s face is a sight to behold when overcome with pleasure. Jimin stares at him through heavily-lidded eyes, Jeongguk’s cock spurting inside of him. 

“Fuck, so tight, so fucking good,” Jeongguk groans, his thrusts finally slowing down.

He finally collapses onto the bed, making sure not to crush Jimin. He pulls out gingerly, but doesn’t leave the bed immediately. Instead, he slides down and kisses his way around Jimin’s shoulders, up his neck and presses sweet, little pecks against his lips.

Jimin lets out a small laugh. “Shall we clean up?” he asks softly.

“In a bit.”

They finally take a shower, washing and scrubbing themselves clean. Jeongguk tosses him a spare toothbrush, as well as a pair of shorts and a large t-shirt to wear without saying anything. Jimin supposes he’s staying the night then. Bones heavy with exhaustion, the two of them fall into bed quickly. 

Jeongguk is only dressed in boxers, and Jimin finds comfort in pressing his face into Jeongguk’s broad chest, breathing in the scent of coffee that still lingers on him. 

“I’m glad you’re letting me teach you the slow pleasures in life,” Jeongguk mumbles. “Coffee and all that… I hope you’ll come to love it soon.”

Jeongguk’s eyes are already sliding shut, and he sighs contentedly when Jimin runs a hand through his damp hair, scratching at his scalp.

“Thank you for showing me how to enjoy life,” Jimin whispers. It feels oddly vulnerable but he leans forward to press a kiss to Jeongguk's forehead.

They fall asleep like that, skin to skin and legs entangled.

Kim Seokjin looks like he could be a model. 

He’s dressed in a dark green coat and slacks, shiny loafers with a black messenger bag. His eyes are serious, eyebrows sharp and angled. He looks like he’s seen it all.

“Park Jimin-nim,” he greets formally, holding a hand out.

Jimin shakes his hand, bowing his head respectfully. “Seokjin-nim,” he says back. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

Seokjin had told him to meet at this particular bus stop in Ahyeon-dong, a couple of stops away from his home by train. They’re in a residential area, one of the more poorly-managed ones. It’s a strange place to meet but Jimin doesn’t say anything as they sit at the bus stop to talk, even though the wind is getting stronger.

Seokjin comes off as focused and pragmatic. He looks like someone who doesn’t beat around the bush.

“Thank you for coming along. My colleague, Hoseok, was supposed to follow us today, but it seems that he’s not feeling well. Maybe you can tell me more about yourself and why you’re interested in this field, before I tell you what we are going to do today,” Seokjin says. He speaks very seriously and quite stoically.

Suddenly, Jimin is unsure of himself.

“Ah. Well, I wish to give these people a voice. To help them speak their truth or find their route to end whatever suffering they’re being put through. I hope to give them a platform,” he says, but with less conviction than he used to have. 

Seokjin catches on it immediately. “Namjoon said you’re very passionate about writing such stories. Have you ever written anything?”

“No,” Jimin answers embarrassedly. “Namjoon doesn’t allow me to, because it doesn’t fit the theme of The Rkive. I wasn’t a writer either, at my previous stint before this, so…”

“Hm,” Seokjin muses. His gaze is piercing and Jimin feels seen through.

“It’s not easy,” the man says to him. “It’s harder, much harder than talking to people about their passions, about writing reviews on cultural happenings, which I’m aware you dabble in.”

Jimin can’t do anything but nod. 

“It’s a grey area. You will feel like doing more, but you can’t. You must remember this: our job is to collect the facts and report it. And when you collect facts, you will discover things you wish you never knew. You will find out things against your own will. It’ll haunt you at first.”

Seokjin’s smile is grim.

“But you’ll get over it.”

They begin their climb up a steep slope, leading to the houses behind the bus stop. Seokjin fills him in on a family, whose nine-year old son had gone missing yesterday. There had been reports of a person lurking around the schools, and many parents were angered at the lack of action taken by the local police. Seokjin had said that Jimin was lucky to try his hand at a scope.

Jimin isn’t sure if he’d call it lucky.

“What-, what will we be doing?” Jimin hates that his voice is shaky. 

“We’re going to ring the doorbell and we’re going to tell them where we are from. We’ll ask if it’s alright for us to speak to the parents and that we will help them by reporting this in our paper,” Seokjin recites. “Don’t worry, I’ll do the talking.”

The neighbourhood is quiet, only a few souls braving the cold to get to the supermarket. The house that they approach has shoes strewn all over the front steps, a deflated soccer ball right by the door. 

Seokjin raps his knuckles against the door.

Several minutes pass.

Jimin waits anxiously but Seokjin doesn’t seem bothered. He knocks on the door, louder this time. 

Finally, the door creaks open slowly. A wary eye peeks out at them.

“What do you want?” The lady calls out harshly. 

“We’re here to help with your son,” Seokjin says. 

The door swings open fully. A middle-aged woman with greying hair stands before them, a stained apron thrown over her frail body. 

“What do you want?” she says again.

Jimin chances a glance past her and into the house. There are more children’s toys littered on the floor.

“We are from The Kyosu Paper. We’d like to ask some questions about your son, if you don’t mind,” Seokjin tells her.

Something dangerous in her eyes flashes. “If I don’t mind?” She repeats quietly. “If I don’t mind telling you that all I fucking found was my son’s clothes, torn and stained with blood in the playground? If I don’t mind telling you that they have no idea where the person who did this disappeared to?”

Her pitch goes higher with each word she utters, spittle flying from her mouth.

“How dare you turn up on my doorstep!” she screams, hands balled into fists. Jimin moves nearer to Seokjin, hand curling in his coat and ready to pull him away. 

Seokjin is relentless. 

“Yes, sungmo. Please let us help you. We can report it in the newspaper and it’ll be printed by tomorrow morning. People might know something,” he insists.

The lady’s chest rises and falls with her fury. Without another word, she disappears into the house. The door is still gaping wide open.

“Is… is that it?” Jimin whispers.

“She might be back, she hasn’t closed the door,” Seokjin says quietly.

When the lady returns, Jimin doesn’t expect her actions. She has a bucketful of what looks like dirty mop water and before he can register anything, she throws the water at them. Seokjin takes most of it, since Jimin is partially hiding behind him.

“LEAVE ME AND MY FAMILY ALONE!” she cries out before slamming the door shut.

Shell-shocked, Jimin is rooted to the ground. Seokjin turns around to face him, wiping at his face with his sleeve. 

“Thank goodness I brought a towel,” he says almost nonchalantly. “Come now.”

They make their way back to the train station, receiving strange looks from those that walk past them. After all, their clothes are drenched in dirty water and Seokjin’s hair is soaked. But Jimin doesn’t care. His mind is reeling at the shocking turn of events and he’s trying his best to comprehend it. 

In the washroom at the train station, they both wash their faces. Seokjin lends Jimin his towel to pat dry, and then he does the same too.

“Now, what?” Jimin asks. 

“We can go back to ask again later. Maybe someone else like her husband will answer the door,” Seokin says as he tries to scrub a particular dirty patch on his shirt. 

“You want to go back?” Jimin’s voice is strangled.

Seokjin fixes him with a stare. “Did you think it would end here? You need to collect whatever facts you can, you need to dig in places others won’t.”

“So we’ll look for the boy?” Jimin asks.

Seokjin blinks. “No, Jimin-nim. We will not look for the boy. We will look for people who might have something to tell us. We will go to the school and ask for records. We will go to the bank and get the family’s financial records. That is what we do. We search and we investigate and we collect the facts. Then, we report it.”

Jimin shakes his head. “Is there anything else we can do?” he asks desperately.

Seokjin’s hardness wavers for a moment. He sighs. “Jimin-nim. I think you’re in shock. I apologise for bringing you out to find the boy’s family today, but Namjoon wanted you to know what it would be like. It’s not easy. You turn jaded, you turn cynical.”

The both of them stare at their reflection in the mirror. Jimin’s blond hair is now greyish, despite him rinsing it with water already. He’ll have to scrub it out once he’s home. Fuck going into the office today.

“Namjoon says you’re great at what you do. That you’re a fantastic writer, and you act like you don’t understand art, but you actually do. Mull over what you really want. You can fight for others in a different way, too, it doesn’t always have to be like this. You speak for them too when you do these human interest pieces.”

Seokjin folds his towel and tucks it back into his messenger bag. 

“Go home, alright, Jimin-nim? Take some time to think about your future.”

The lights are still on in dial. 

Somehow, Jimin finds himself here. Night has fallen and he wasn't even sure if anyone would still be in. He takes a deep breath before rapping his knuckles lightly on the glass door. He watches as Jeongguk pauses before continuing his work. The music must be too loud. He knocks again, this time a little louder.

Jeongguk looks up. 

His hair is pushed back by a headband, his forehead exposed. Caught off guard, his doe eyes are wide, unexpecting. It takes him a few seconds to register that Jimin is standing outside and he rushes over to unlock the door from the inside.

“Jimin-hyung. What are you doing here?”

Jimin steps in, stamping his feet to get as much snow off as possible. Once the door shuts behind him, he feels an instant relief from the cold.

Jeongguk immediately puts a cup of warm water onto the counter and pulls a bar stool out for Jimin. “You must be freezing, hyung, why didn’t you wear thicker clothes?”

Jimin sighs. “I was just from home, it’s alright,” he says softly as he sits down. 

Ever since that night, Jeongguk and him had been dancing around each other in front of the others. Now that they’re alone, Jeongguk doesn’t seem to mind being a bit more open, a bit more vulnerable. 

“Are you okay?” Jeongguk asks carefully. He reaches for his phone to turn the music down.

Jimin takes a deep breath. A part of him says to hold back, another part says just let go.

“So… I met up with an acquaintance of Namjoon-hyung. Kim Seokjin. He does work in the investigative field and I followed him today for a scope. Um, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it but there’s a family in Ahyeon-dong whose son went missing,” Jimin clears his throat, blinking back the stinging feeling in his eyes.

Jeongguk shakes his head briefly, concern in his eyes. 

“The mum threw water at Seokjin. She screamed at us and cursed. She said how can you even come here and try to ask me things for your stupid interview when my son is missing.”

The other inhales sharply. He lays a hand on Jimin’s arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks softly. Jimin shrugs. 

“I didn’t expect that? I thought she would be grateful we are trying to get word out… But then again, Seokjin said all we were there to do was collect the facts and report it. I just… don’t agree with that? We should be doing more,” Jimin says passionately.

Jeongguk is silent for a while, before he speaks.

“But that’s not your job, is it?” 

Jimin looks up at him, confused. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

Jeongguk looks equally as confused. “Shouldn’t that be the police’s job? Seokjin-sshi is correct in saying that all you have to do is report the case, not actually solve it.”

The journalist frowns, looking down at his lap. His fingers begin to play rather agitatedly with the material of his sweater. “Everything must be so easy for you,” he mutters. “You just do whatever you want all the time.”

There’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere; Jeongguk’s hand falls off Jimin’s arm.

“What do you mean by that?” the barista asks quietly. 

“You know what I mean,” Jimin snaps, starting to feel annoyed. “You’re just in your own world, you don’t have to care about what happens on the outside.”

Jeongguk takes a step back. There's something morphing in the lines of his face, the worry and concert depleting.

Jimin's next words are the cherry on top.

"Your job isn't even critical. It's so easy-you have it so easy."

“God, you’re so – you’re so full of yourself,” Jeongguk bursts. His normally kind doe eyes are narrow with outrage, his eyebrows screwed up and marring his handsome features. It's reminiscent of the time they were still strangers.

Jimin scoffs derisively. “I’m full of myself? I’m not the one fucking pouring plain black coffee over a filter paper and overcharging it to hipsters!” 

“You act like you’re better than the rest of us, like what you do means more to this world than anything anyone else is doing. Did you ever stop to think that all careers are necessary—that they’re all fucking important?” the barista seethes. “Who the fuck would feed you if there weren’t chefs? What the hell would you do for leisure if there weren’t movies to watch, museums to visit?” 

“That’s not the point!”

“It is the point. Did you even learn anything from our conversations, from our time together?” Jeongguk asks, his voice cracking. “I thought we were beginning to understand each other. I thought I was teaching you, helping you–”

“I don’t need your help,” Jimin interrupts. 

Jeongguk scoffs at that. “I guess I was wrong, then; you’re just like all the other reporters out there, writing your soulless articles for clicks.”

The two of them stand there, glaring at each other. Jimin opens his mouth to retaliate but Jeongguk beats him to it.

“I think you should just go, gija-nim.”

The formality hits Jimin.

The barista walks past Jimin to go back behind the counter, busying himself once more without saying another word. There’s a burning feeling on the back of Jimin’s neck, and in the deafening silence of the cafe, the weight of their argument begins to settle, heavy in his heart.

Jimin grabs his bag and coat, but not without looking at Jeongguk for one last time. He thinks he should say something. But then Jeongguk doesn’t look up at all.

Jimin sees himself out of dial.

When he gets home, Jimin sits in the dark of his bedroom, replaying the day's events in his head. He fumes. He tosses and turns. He thinks of Jeongguk and dial and everything between them over the last couple of weeks.

At 4 in the morning, he gives up on sleep and stumbles to his desk. He plugs in his laptop and he begins to write.

Artisanal coffee a ‘way of life’ for Busan-born barista

2022.12.23 • 11:23PM

by Park Jimin

From Ecuador to West Java - Jeon Jeongguk, barista and owner of up and coming dial: roastery & bar may travel the world through bags of coffee, but he will never forget his roots: banana milk from the mart in the stomping ground of his youth, Mandeok-dong, Busan.

“We would sit on the dusty curb in our school uniforms. There was always a 1 1 deal–pretty much all we could afford. I’d get banana and my old classmate, Song Hyukjae, would always get strawberry,” Jeon, 28, recalled with a smile. “Coffee was way out of my world.”

It wasn’t until Jeon was in high school that he took his first sips of the drink that would later become his life’s passion. Jeon was 16 and new to Seoul when he landed a part-time job as a server at coffee chain Kustom Coffee.

“What they were making at Kustom was nothing like the mix coffee I saw my parents drink at home. I was in awe. The first thing that really hit me was the fragrance–I walked in on my first day and fell in love.”

But what lead Jeon to coffee?

“It was an accident, really. At first, it was just something I did to help my mother with the bills and pass some time. The pay was good and it was near school, so off I went,” Jeon shared. "It's funny because I wasn't even supposed to be a barista. I was just a server till one day, it got so busy, the barista at that point yanked me behind the counter and in no time, I was pulling shots for her."

“I was never good with school and things on paper. That much, I knew from early on. What I didn’t realise was how much I loved working with my hands. As I got more involved at Kustom, I started to take pride in my work, and I wanted to know—can I do more? I have a lot of respect and love for the people there. They do great work. But I was young and fearless. Maybe a little arrogant,” Jeon recounted with a sheepish laugh. “So I decided to brave it on my own.”

Jeon and his friends-turned-business partners put in bitter work to get dial to where it is today. Long hours, international phone calls, and a crash course in business accounting are just some of the many steps the young entrepreneurs have taken thus far.

“It’s because we want to do as much as we can in-house,” baker Kim Mingyu, 28, explained. “There is so much that goes into sourcing ingredients. Our goal is not just to create quality food and drinks. We want to uplift our fellow producers.”

It was at Kustom Coffee where Jeon got to know his high school classmate and fellow part-timer, Kim, and started their more than a decade-long friendship.

Jeon’s philosophy has remained firm since dial’s inception: quality over quantity. This is clear from dial’s concise menu, which highlights the origin of the beans used to brew each drink. Jeon maintains a close relationship with his suppliers, whom he continues to speak to on a weekly basis to keep abreast of the products supplied to the coffee shop.

The credit for this, Jeon insisted, goes to his parents. “It was never just ‘the vegetable seller’ or ‘the butcher’ to my parents—they were our friends and the pillars of our community.”

Despite the brevity of dial’s menu, however, there is no shortage of intricate flavours and unique blends up for offer at dial. A journey across the world and back from drip coffee to espresso awaits customers, who are encouraged to step out of their comfort zone and try new things during each new visit.

“I hope people who visit feel like they’re getting more than just a drink. For us, it’s about sharing our love and respect for the ingredients we use and the things we create,” Jeon shared when asked about his vision for the shop.

Indeed, Jeon has created a space where all are welcome to the drinks he has so painstakingly created. Coffee shops that profess to serve ‘artisan’ items can sometimes be intimidating, with the jargon and culture creating distance between customer and cup. dial, on the other hand, is a place where Jeon’s blends can become accessible to everyone, from the once-clueless journalist writing this article to the middle schooler on the curb with his carton of banana milk. Beyond words on a board, dial is taking action. Jeon and his team work tirelessly to ensure that the opportunity to learn about the coffee being served and the process behind it is available for patrons who want it.

A lover for all things simple and beautiful in life, one of Jeon's favourite things about coffee is watching the espresso drip. It may seem minute, an every day happening to every other barista, but to Jeon, watching the liquid gold drip into a cup is poetic, a moment to pause and appreciate. The barista's love for coffee is unequivocal. 

“Conscious consumption,” Jeon said firmly, when asked to describe his ethos in his own words. “I think that’s the way towards more sustainable practices and more opportunities for people to pursue their passions, the way I was lucky enough to.”

It is easy to get lost in the alleyways of Yeonnam-dong, which constantly renew themselves with Instagrammable spots and unique but short-lived trends. dial: roastery & bar, however, is not just another one for the monthly round-ups that appear in many lifestyle publications, ours included. It is a man’s love letter to his suppliers and a testament to the value of honing one’s craft and living out one’s beliefs.

dial: roastery & bar

Park Jimin ([email protected])

The Rkive staff paid in full for all items purchased at dial: roastery & bar. This article is not a paid partnership.

Read more:

• Top 10 Hidden Gems in Insa-dong
• Natural Wines: An Introduction by Young Sommelier of the Year Lee Dongmin

It’s supposed to be a celebratory day.

Christmas Eve has finally arrived and the day is rightfully themed Feliz Navidad Friday. Taehyung had turned up as Santa Claus, Jihoon had put on a star-topped headband and Namjoon had a snowflake-patterned shirt, completed with a gingerbread men tie. Jimin pulled on candycane socks-that would more than suffice.

Their special feature has finally been released after a month of hard work. Taehyung’s article about the museum exhibition had been beautiful, the artists’ feelings and essence rightfully captured in the sombre tone he always writes in. The photographs he captured were astounding.

There are many other stories about the lives of the people around them in this special edition, many of which Jimin hadn't had the time to read. He’d spoken to Namjoon about what had transpired the day he met Seokjin, even what had happened when he’d gone to find Jeongguk at dial.

Sad to say, it had left him in shock for a week after, before he finally pulled himself out of it.

He didn’t have to make any decisions now, Namjoon had told him. He had all the time in the world to decide what to do with his life, with his career path. He didn’t have to decide now.

“But what you should fix right now… is this thing with Jeongguk. It sounds like he taught you a great deal,” Namjoon had said. 

It’s Christmas Eve and for some reason, Jimin is still in the office. Everyone had left since noon, all excited to go home to celebrate with their families. Taehyung had tried to get Jimin to follow him to his family dinner, but Jimin had declined.

Now he sits at his desk, staring at the post-it on stuck to his MacBook screen. It was a scribble of a drawing of a cat playing the guitar by Taehyung.

“Hey.”

Jimin lets out a shriek, falling over in his spinny chair. Chest heaving, he opens his eyes to find Jeongguk by his side, eyes wide with horror.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says panickedly.

Jimin closes his eyes and breathes through his nose deeply. “It’s okay,” he says weakly. “Just taken by surprise, is all.”

After he’s finally calmed his heart, he sits up with Jeongguk’s help. The both of them stare at each other. Jimin recalls the very first time he’d ever seen Jeongguk. Even now, with dark circles and worry in those doe eyes, he’s still so handsome.

"Cute socks," Jeongguk says, glancing at Jimin's feet. The journalist gives him a small smile.

"It was only fitting."

There's silence, neither of them able to say what's really on their minds. The words are stuck in Jimin's throat.

Finally, the barista speaks first.

"I read the article. You wrote so fucking well, I can't even begin to thank you enough-like, you really have a way with words and I’m sorry, I am so sorry,” he rushes to say. “I was a jerk, I should’ve comforted you instead of making you feel worse. You must’ve been so shocked and traumatised, I’m just– I’m so fucking sorry.”

Jimin’s eyes well up and he blinks the tears away. “No, no, don’t say sorry. I was a jerk, too. You’re right, it’s like I didn’t learn anything after all you’d taught me,” he whispers, afraid he might cry if he looks at Jeongguk any longer. 

“Fuck that, okay, fuck the life lessons and living life slowly. You wanted to do something good for this world. I should’ve supported you with that,” Jeongguk says fiercely. "It was always about understanding what I did, I never took the time to understand what you wanted."

Jimin wipes his tears and nose with his sleeve. “It's just that, it's just that I didn’t realise that this whole time, I was giving you a voice as well. I needed to get off my high horse, you were right, I was so full of myself.”

Jeongguk shushes him, tucking Jimin’s head under his chin comfortingly. “We’re both sorry. That’s just the nature of us, isn’t it? We fight, we make up, we fight, we make up. It’s alright. We’re trying to understand each other and that’s more than anyone can ask for, don’t you think?”

Jimin nods. It’s silent in the office but the soft chiming of bells and singing of carols from outside can be heard. It takes a while, it takes a couple more deep breaths and counting to ten but Jimin finally feels okay.

“Hey. Want to get some coffee?” Jeongguk suddenly asks. “I know a place.”

It’s silent, and then a wide grin is splitting across Jimin’s face. Jeongguk is smiling, too, doe eyes pretty and shining.

“Yes,” Jimin answers. “I’d love to.”

the end