meow @namsuobsessed - Tumblr Blog

Jul 17, 2025

twenty-four seven

namgyu x f!barista!reader

synopsis: working at a coffee shop on an overnight shift never attracted the normal crowd. well, you weren't normal either.

warnings: yearning! fluff! one mention of drugs.

a neon sign, 'sunset brew cafe' glows above with orange and purple neon lights as you push open the heavy glass door to your job.

the familiar chime of the bell above signals the start of another overnight shift. the air inside is tinged with the rich, earthy scent of freshly ground coffee beans. its nice, and the faint sweetness of pastries baking in the back of course.

it’s 9:50 pm, ten minutes before your shift officially begins, but you’re already getting into the rhythm for the overnight.

sipping on your needed three shots of espresso with oat milk and lavender splashed in, your café hums with a quiet energy. the dim amber lights cast soft shadows across the worn wooden floors and matched wooden tables.

outside, the city glows with streetlights and the distant noise of nightlife clubs that are blocks away.

in here, it’s calm that thrives when most of the city sleeps or parties.

you love the overnight shift.

it’s not for everyone since most of your coworkers dread the late hours. some of your coworkers who come into work at the time when you get off wonder how you can do it.

the upside-down schedule that has you sleeping through daylight and waking as the sun dips below the horizon. for you, it’s perfect. there’s something about the stillness of the night, the way the world feels softer, quieter, that suits you.

you don’t mind the solitude of sleeping while others are at work, or the way your internal clock has shifted so dinner feels like breakfast and midnight is your noon.

the overnight shift at sunset brew is a sanctuary that get paid to be in.

the café itself is a cozy space, open 24/7 to cater to the city’s nocturnal creatures. its walls are lined with mismatched art like vintage 1960s posters, local paintings, and a chalkboard menu that hasn’t been updated in weeks but still gets the job done. the counter is a long stretch of polished wood, scratched and scuffed from years of use, with three gleaming espresso machines at one end and a glass case of pastries at the other, the ovens behind.

your schedule is steady: monday, tuesday, thursday, and friday, 10 pm to 7 am. nine hours of pouring drinks, wiping counters, and making small talk with the night owls who pass through.

the overnight crowd is a predictable mix.

nurses and doctors, their scrubs wrinkled from long shifts, come in for quick espresso shots or iced lattes to keep them going. police officers, bleary-eyed from patrolling the city’s darker corners, order black coffee and maybe a donut if they’re feeling indulgent.

then there are the partygoers, spilling in from the club district a few blocks away, their laughter loud and their outfits glittering under the café’s soft lights.

they’re usually tipsy, sometimes messy, but they tip well and keep the night interesting.

then there’s namgyu.

he’s a regular, one of the few constants on your overnight shifts.

you see him four times a week, like clockwork, usually just before midnight. he slips through the door quietly , his long hair falling in soft waves around his face, and orders the same thing every time.

a 15ounce iced cold brew with one packet of raw sugar.

you remember the first time he ordered it, months ago now.

you’d suggested liquid sugar, explaining how raw sugar tends to sink to the bottom of iced drinks, undissolved and gritty.

namgyu, calm, had just shrugged and said, “raw sugar’s fine.”

the guy's voice was smooth, like he wasn’t in a hurry to explain himself.

you’d nodded, a little flustered by his nonchalance, and made the drink exactly as he asked.

since then, it’s been the same routine.

he comes in, orders his cold brew, sometimes adds a pastry...a pumpkin loaf slice if he just needs to force himself to eat, or a lemon pesto sandwich when he’s feeling hungry and leaves with a quiet nod.

namgyu doesn’t linger, doesn’t chat like some of the other regulars who lean on the counter and tell you about their shifts or their nights out.

there’s something about him that draws your eye every time he’s in the café.

maybe it’s the way he moves, or how he wears black all of the time, or the sharp angles of his face that somehow manage to look soft, like a painting you can’t stop staring at.

namgyu's features are pretty. high cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes that seem to look soft.

you’ve always thought he looks like an expensive cat, sleek and graceful.

namgyu's hair is another thing you’ve noticed.

when you first saw him, it was just past his ears, dark and slightly tousled.

over the months, it’s grown longer, now brushing his shoulders, and it suits him so well you can’t imagine him without it.

you’ve caught yourself watching him as he waits for his order, standing by the window or scrolling on his phone at one of the tables.

you’re careful not to stare too long, or so you thought.

your glances felt subtle, quick darts of your eyes when you thought he wasn’t looking.

last night, when you called out sickroom work because of a fever, something happened.

you’re in the back break room now, tying the strings of your black apron around your waist, the familiar routine grounding you as you prepare for another shift.

the room is small, cluttered with a fridge stuffed with oat milk and nonfat creamer, a rickety table, and a couple of chairs that have seen better days. the fluorescent light overhead buzzes faintly, but you’ve learned to tune it out.

you’re just finishing the knot when dev, your coworker and self-proclaimed gossip queen, saunters in.

he’s tall, lanky, with a mop of curly hair and a grin that screams messy. you two bonded early on over your shared love of dissecting pop star drama and rating the attractiveness of the café’s male customers, a game that’s kept you both entertained during slow shifts.

“soooo, guess what happened last night?” dev says, his voice pitching up in that teasing, singsong way he uses when he’s got something juicy.

he leans against the fridge, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

you roll your eyes, already expecting some workplace drama.

“jennifer and eun-ju got into a fight on the floor again?” you scoff, picturing the two baristas who can’t stand each other but have a history that’s way too complicated for coworkers.

those two and their arguments are legendary, usually fueled by petty grudges and what you’re pretty sure are unresolved hookups.

“nooo,” dev draws out, his grin widening.

“do you know namgyu? the regular that comes in?”

your heart does a little flip, though you try to keep your face neutral.

“i do,” you say, keeping your tone casual even as your curiosity spikes, “what happened?”

dev’s eyes gleam with mischief, “don’t be scared, but i think he likes you.”

your eyebrows shoot up, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

“shut the fuck up.”

“no, i’m not kidding,” dev insists, practically bouncing with excitement, “he came in last night and was, like, looking around the café, all confused. i took his order, and made his drink aka an iced cold brew, one raw sugar... you know the drill... and when i handed it to him, he asked where you were. i told him you were sick, and he just nodded and left but, like, he was looking for you.”

you laugh again, but it’s nervous this time, your cheeks warming despite yourself.

“you’re overanalyzing it,” you say, trying to brush it off, but your smile betrays you.

it’s wide, uncontrollable, and dev clocks it immediately.

“oh my god, you’re cheesing!” he squeals, clapping his hands together, “no, i’m telling you, your crush has a crush on you and...get this... he works at club pentagon, you know, that spot where thanos hangs out?”

you pause, processing this new piece of information.

club pentagon is one of the biggest clubs in the club district, a sleek, purple neon-lit venue where the city’s nightlife elite like rappers, influencers, and the occasional celebrity... go to party or get high.

you’ve never been, but you’ve heard stories from coworkers who’ve ventured there on their nights off.

“thanos, the rapper?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, “namgyu knows him?”

“yep,” dev says, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis.

“i’ve been there with matt and ji-ho, and i’ve seen them talking. they’re, like, acquaintances or something.”

you smirk, seizing the chance to turn the tables.

“so you’ve been hanging out with ji-ho again, huh?”

dev’s face flushes, and he waves a hand dismissively.

“don’t change the topic. you know namgyu is coming in tonight to get a booster before his shift, and you’re going to talk to him.”

“no, i will not,” you say, shaking your head as you finish tying your black apron, “i’m such a puss, dev.”

“come onnn,” he protests, following you as you grab the broom and head out to the bar floor, “it’s clear he’s attracted to you.”

“i’ll think about it,” you mutter, more to shut him up than anything else.

you start sweeping the floor, the rhythmic motion calming your nerves even as your mind races.

namgyu, asking about you?

it’s probably nothing, just polite curiosity.

the thought of him noticing your absence, maybe even missing you, sends a thrill through you that you can’t quite shake.

when you step onto the floor,a small sound of music from the cafe speaker plays. tyler the creator's 'boredom' plays.

you settle in and sweep behind the counter, the bristles of the broom scraping softly against the floor.

the espresso machine grinds the coffee that dev is making for a mobile order.

you glance at the analog clock on the wall...10:02 pm.

your shift has officially begun.

the first hour passes in a blur of small tasks with restocking cups, refilling the sugar caddy, wiping down the counter.

a couple of nurses come in, their voices tired but friendly as they order their usuals.

you make their drinks with practiced ease, chatting about their shifts at the university hospital down the street. right before the nurses leave, a group of partygoers stumbles in, their laughter loud and their eyes glassy from a night of dancing.

they order a round of iced mochas and tip you generously, leaving a trail of glitter on the counter that you’ll have to clean up later.

whatever.

all the while, you’re hyper-aware of the door, your eyes flicking toward it every time the bell chimes.

you’re waiting for him, even if you won’t admit it to yourself.

namgyu usually comes in around 11:30, maybe 11:45 if he’s running late.

you wonder what he does at club pentagon.

is he a bartender? a bouncer?

maybe a DJ, spinning tracks for the crowd while thanos raps on stage.

you try to picture him in that world, surrounded by flashing lights and pulsing music, but it’s hard to reconcile with the quiet, reserved guy who orders his cold brew and leaves without a fuss.

at 11:20, the bell chimes, and your heart skips a beat.

you glance up, expecting to see him, but it’s just a cop, his uniform crisp as he orders a black coffee and a blueberry scone.

you force a smile, hiding your disappointment, and get to work.

get it together, y/n.

the minutes tick by, and you start to wonder if maybe he’s not coming tonight.

maybe he’s off, or maybe he’s at the club, caught up in whatever it is he does there.

at 23:37, the door swings open, and there he is.

namgyu steps into the café, still quiet but casual.

he’s wearing a black hoodie tonight, the hood up, and his long hair spills out from under it, framing his face.

the man's eyes scan the room briefly before landing on you, and for a split second, you swear you see a flicker of something...relief, maybe? before his expression settles back into its usual calm neutrality.

he approaches the counter, hands in his pockets, and you feel your pulse quicken.

“hey,” you say, your voice a little too bright.

you cringe internally, hoping he doesn’t notice.

“the usual?”

he nods, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

“yeah. iced cold brew, one raw sugar.”

you turn to start his order, your hands moving on autopilot as you scoop ice into a cup and pour the cold brew from the pitcher. you rip open a packet of raw sugar, the grains glittering as they fall into the dark liquid.

you give it a quick stir, knowing full well it won’t dissolve completely, but it’s what he wants.

namgyu leans lightly against the counter, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black hoodie, watching you when you turned to grab the pitcher of cold brew from the fridge behind the register.

your movements are practiced, but there’s a quiet grace in the way you navigate the small space, the hem of your apron swaying slightly around your hips as you reach up.

a glow from the café’s amber lights catches the curve of your cheeks, and he notices the way a loose strand of your hair sways, brushing against your cheek.

namgyu's fingers twitch, like a fleeting impulse to reach out and tuck it behind your ear, to see if your eyes would flicker to his with that half-shy, half-playful look you sometimes give when you think he’s not paying attention.

you’re focused, unaware of his gaze, pouring the cold brew over ice with a steady hand, the liquid dark and shimmering in the plastic cup.

namgyu’s eyes linger on the small details.

the way your lips press together in concentration, the faint smudge of coffee grounds on your wrist, the effortless way you move like this late-night world belongs to you.

he’s always noticed it, the way you seem to glow in the nighttime. this is what he likes to see.

the cold brew isn't the booster before his shifts as a club promotor, its you.

he shifts his weight, the faintest smile threatening to pull at his lips, but he stays silent and straight faced, letting the moment stretch, his thoughts caught on the idea of saying something more than his usual order.

you come back and slide the cup across the counter, the ice clinking softly.

“anything else tonight?” you ask, hoping your tone sounds casual.

he hesitates, his eyes flicking to the pastry case.

“uh, yeah. can i get a pumpkin loaf slice?”

“good choice,” you say, grabbing a pair of tongs to retrieve the slice. you plate it neatly on a small white plate and slide it over to him, “that’s 10 thousand won.”

he hands you the money, a bigger bill, but you make change.

your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment as you hand him the coins. namgyu's skin is warm, and you pull your hand back quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice the way you gave the tiniest smile.

“thank you,” he says, his voice soft.

he takes his drink and pastry and moves to a table by the window, his usual spot.

you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you wipe down the counter, trying to focus on the task and not on the way you like his black hoodie on him or the way his hair catches the light.

dev appears at your side, nudging you with his elbow.

“talk to him,” he whispers, his voice low.

“shut up,” you hiss, swatting him away.

your eyes drift back to namgyu, who’s sitting quietly, sipping his drink and scrolling on his phone.

you wonder what he’s looking at.

maybe texts from thanos, or a playlist for the club.

maybe he’s just doomscrolling like everyone else, like you do before work shifts.

you want to ask, want to say something...anything...to break the silence between you. however, the words stick in your throat and you turn back to the counter, grabbing a rag to wipe down the espresso machine.

you serve a few more customers...a doctor grabbing a cup of four shots of espresso, a group of club kids giggling over their iced chais. you noticed how one of the kids, a guy, dapped up namgyu and asked if he was 'going to be around tonight'.

namgyu is pulling your attention, and you notice his pastry half-eaten.

you wonder what it would be like to sit across from him, to ask him about his night, his job, his life.

you wonder if he’d even answer, or if he’d just give you that calm, unreadable look and change the subject.

you’re restocking the sugar caddy when dev sidles up again, his grin infuriatingly smug.

“you’re staring,” he says, keeping his voice low.

“i’m not,” you lie, shoving a handful of sugar packets into the caddy with more force than necessary.

“you so are,” he says, leaning closer, “just go talk to him. say, like, ‘hey, heard you were looking for me last night.’ see what he does.”

“i’m not doing that,” you say, but the idea plants itself in your mind, taking root.

what if you did say something? what if you took the risk, stepped out of your comfort zone?

you glance at namgyu again, and this time, he looks up, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment.

your heart stutters, and you look away, busying yourself with the sugar packets.

nine minutes later the bell above the door chimes as namgyu slips out of the cafe, his iced cold brew in one hand.

you watch him go, your heart sinking a little as the opportunity to say something or anything slips through your fingers again. you wipe the counter for the third time in ten minutes, the rag moving in slow, useless circles.

dev’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the café, exasperated.

“ugh, you’re such a pussy!” he says, tossing his sharpie in a cup as he leans against the espresso machine.

“i told you that!” you shoot back, your voice light but laced with frustration.

inside, regret coils in your stomach like a tight spring.

you wanted to talk to namgyu, to ask him about his night or maybe even mention that you heard he was looking for you last night. unfortunately your throat clamped shut, the words trapped somewhere between your chest and your lips.

now he’s gone, melting into the neon-lit night outside.

you sigh, turning to restock the pastry case, trying to push the feeling away.

it lingers, heavy.

the hours between 2 and 6 am are quiet.

you and dev pass the time with half-hearted banter, debating whether a latest pop star scandal is worth caring about or ranking the best pastries in the case (you’re team mozzarella and chicken sandwich and he’s ride-or-die for the vanilla scone).

however namgyu’s quiet presence, his sharp features and soft hair, keeps flickering in your mind, like a song stuck on repeat.

you wonder what he’s doing now, if he’s spinning tracks at club pentagon or leaning against the bar.

by 6 am, the café is a ghost town.

the only sounds are the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of cups as you stack them for the morning crew.

your morning-coworkers for the day shift start trickling in, their energy a big contrast to your end-of-shift fatigue.

jennifer and eun-ju bicker over who gets to run the espresso machine first, their voices sharp but familiar, and you can’t help but smile.

you’re supposed to stay until 7, but the café’s under control, and the pull of your bed is stronger than the need to linger.

you untie your apron, the black fabric creased from a night of work, and shove it into your cow-print tote bag, already stuffed with your water bottle, a half-read book, and a crumpled pack of gum.

“i’m out,” you call to dev and the others, waving as you head for the door.

dev winks, teasing "see you at 10pm(22:00)!!" he cheers as you push through the glass door into the early morning chill.

outside, the sky is a deep indigo with the first hints of dawn smudging the horizon.

its warm outside thankfully, and the black shirt you wear clings to your skin. there is a train station is just down the street, your usual one that’ll carry you home to your apartment, where you’ll crash until mid-afternoon.

as you start walking, your thoughts drift back to namgyu, to dev’s teasing, to the club district he’s part of.

club pentagon is in the opposite direction of your usual station, closer to another stop that’s still on your line.

you hesitate, your sneakers scuffing against the pavement.

maybe you’ll just walk by, not go in, just… feel the energy of the place he’s tied to.

it’s not like you’re stalking him.

you’re just curious.

seven minutes later, you’re in the heart of the club district, and the vibe is a contrast to the quiet street where sunset brew sits.

neon signs pulse in every direction, their pinks and blues and greens casting a surreal glow over the crowded sidewalks. music spills from open club doors, a thumping bass that vibrates in your chest.

food vendors line the street, their carts steaming with the savory smell of korean corn dogs and tteokbokki, vendors barking at passersby to try their wares.

people are drunk and high, some dance for tiktok, others laugh with friends.

your tote bag bumps against your hip as you weave through the crowd, your blue jeans hugging your curves, your black nonslip shoes silent against the pavement.

you keep your pace casual, your eyes scanning, until you spot the sleek black facade of club pentagon, its purple neon logo flickering like a beacon.

you don’t stop, don’t stare, just keep walking like it’s no big deal.

when you see namgyu, standing just outside the club’s entrance, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, your heart races.

he’s with another guy, someone you don’t recognize, who’s lighting the cigarette for him.

namgyu’s long hair is loose, catching the neon glow, and his sharp features look softer in the hazy light.

he inhales, the tip of the cigarette flaring red, and then his eyes flick up, catching you mid-stride.

you almost freeze but you force yourself to keep moving, eyes forward, pretending you didn’t see him.

you can feel his gaze, though, tracking you....the way your black shirt hugs your frame, the curve of your jeans, the cow-print tote swinging at your side.

you’re almost at the escalator down to the train station when namgyu's friend speaks, luckily you didn't hear anything at this distance.

“she’s hot,” the guy says.

namgyu’s response is sharp, almost protective.

“don’t perceive her,” he says, hitting the guys chest once and quick.

gyeong-su, confused from the strange action from namgyu, speaks.

“you know her?”

namgyu doesn’t answer, as he watches you keep walking.

you step onto the escalator, your hand gripping the railing as you descend into the station, the neon glow of the club district fading behind you.

fourteen hours later you push through the glass door of your job at 9:48 pm, the familiar chime of the bell greeting you as you step into the warm air.

you’re wearing a black shirt again, tucked into dark-wash jeans that hug your frame a little closer than last night’s pair, the deep indigo fabric looking nice on your skin.

your cow-print tote bag swings at your side, stuffed with your apron and the usual odds and ends. the café is quiet, save for the soft hum of the espresso machine and the faint indie playlist drifting from the speakers.

you head to the back, where dev is sprawled in a chair, scrolling on his phone, his curly hair falling into his eyes.

“how’s your day been?” you ask, tossing your bag onto the rickety table and pulling out your apron.

dev looks up while grinning, “slept four hours, then got dragged to my niece’s birthday party. there was cake and glitter everywhere, i’m still recovering.”

you laugh, teasing, “aw, uncle dev.”

he rolls his eyes, "auntie dev, actually."

you laugh as dev leans forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially, “what’s ‘awww’ is how you’re gonna talk to namgyu tonight.”

you groan, tying your apron with a little more force than necessary, the strings pulling tight against your waist.

“i want to, okay?” you say, your voice quieter now, laced with the ache of longing you’ve been carrying since last night.

dev’s grin softens, and he sets his phone down.

“i’m telling you, he was looking at you last night. like, kept glancing over while you were grabbing his drink. it was so obvious he wanted to say something.” your heart skips, and you pause, hands still on the apron strings.

“really?” you ask, hating how hopeful you sound.

dev nods, emphatic, “yes, really!”

your shift starts slow, the usual trickle of nurses and clubgoers keeping you busy enough to distract from the nervous flutter in your chest. you wipe counters, restock sugar packets, and trade banter with dev, but your mind is on namgyu.

you keep replaying last night with his eyes catching yours outside club pentagon.

you wonder what he’s doing now, if he’s at the club, surrounded by neon and music, or if he’s thinking about you the way you’re thinking about him.

the clock ticks past midnight, and you start to worry he won’t show.

he’s usually here by 11:45, but it’s 12:11 now, and the bell hasn’t chimed.

your heart sinks, the yearning twisting tighter.

at 12:12 the door swings open, and there he is.

namgyu steps into the café, and your breath catches.

he’s wearing a white button-up with thin black stripes, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, paired with loose black jeans that make him look effortlessly cool.

most guys can’t even dress, but namgyu can. the guy's long hair is tucked behind one ear, and his eyes find yours almost immediately, sending a jolt through you.

you force a smile, stepping up to the register.

“hey, the usual?” you ask, your voice steadier than you feel.

he sighs, a small, hesitant sound, and you can see something shifting in his expression, like he’s steeling himself.

“what do you usually drink?” he asks, his voice low, catching you off guard.

you blink, surprised, then recover.

“well… i just get three shots of espresso with oat milk and lavender,” you say, wondering if he’s actually curious or just making conversation.

namgyu's eyes flicker with interest, and he leans forward slightly, hands in his pockets.

“can i try that?” he asks.

your smile widens, a warmth blooming in your chest.

“sure!” you say, turning to the espresso machine, your heart racing with possibility.

as you pull the espresso shots, the machine hissing and steaming, you feel his gaze on you. you glance over the espresso machine and sure enough, he’s watching, his eyes tracing the way your hands move, the way your dark jeans hug your hips, the way your black shirt shifts as you reach for the oat milk.

there’s a quiet intensity in his stare, not predatory but yearning, like he’s trying to memorize the way you exist in this moment.

you flush, but you don’t look away this time, letting the moment stretch between you.

“how do you do it?” he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the hum of the machine, “work these overnight shifts, i mean.”

you laugh softly, steaming the oat milk with a practiced swirl.

“i could ask you the same thing,” you say, glancing at him.

“i don’t know, i just… like the night. it’s quieter, feels like the world’s more real or something.” he nods, moving his hands together in nervousness.

“yeah, the world’s better at night.” you say.

you continue, “oh yeah-- i saw you last night, by the way,” you say, your heart pounding as you take the leap, “on my way home.”

namgyu’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t flinch.

“i saw you too,” he says, his voice soft but steady, like he’s been waiting to admit it.

you pause, stirring the lavender syrup into his drink, and take a breath.

“you go to club pentagon a lot?” you ask, even though dev already spilled that he works there.

you want to hear it from namgyu.

he nods, leaning against the counter, his striped shirt catching the light.

“i’m a promoter there,” he says, and you can hear a hint of pride in his voice, “I-- um-- I just keep the place fun, get the right people in.”

“oh, okay,” you say, your mind piecing together the image of him charming crowds, and rubbing shoulders with people like that rapper thanos.

you finish his drink, the espresso rich, and slide it across the counter.

“here you go. if you don’t like it, i’ll make your usual for free.”

he takes the cup, his fingers brushing yours for a second, and sips it, then sips again.

you watch his face, the way his brows lift slightly, like he’s tasting something new.

“it’s different,” he says, pausing, “but i like it.”

namgyu's eyes meet yours, and there’s a warmth there that makes your pulse race.

“wanna try a new sandwich too?” you ask, feeling bold.

he glances up at the chalkboard menu behind you, his eyes scanning the options.

“is the chicken and mozzarella one good?” he asks.

you beam, nodding, “my favorite.”

namgyu nods, “then i’ll get that.”

you ring it up, sliding it into the oven microwave to warm, and notice the total comes to just five thousand won.

you’d applied a discount, a small gesture you hope he notices.

he does.

“oh, come on you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice gentle, but you wave it off.

“it’s fine,” you say, your cheeks warm as you hand him his change.

you plate the sandwich, the bread golden and the cheese melty, and slide it over to him. he lingers at the counter, his drink in one hand, the plate in the other, and you can tell he’s hesitating, like there’s something else he wants to say.

you tilt your head, your heart in your throat.

“you alright?” you ask. he nods, but his eyes flicker with something nervous, something vulnerable.

“what time do you get off work?” he asks, the words coming out in a rush. you blink, surprised, then answer, “6:30.”

he shifts his weight, his fingers tightening around the cup.

“the club closes at 6. you, uh, wanna grab breakfast with me after?”

in his head, namgyu’s spiraling.

he doesn’t do breakfast.

most mornings, he’s too smoked out from the night, the hype of the club, and whatever drugs he’s taken to keep up with it dulling his appetite.

for you, he’s already promising himself he’ll stay sober tonight, hold it together to show up clear-headed, to give you the version of him you deserve.

the thought of sitting across from you in some diner, watching you laugh over pancakes or coffee, makes his chest ache with a longing he’s not used to feeling.

he wants this, wants you, more than he’s wanted anything in a long time.

you smile, your heart soaring, and nod.

“i’d love that,” you say, your voice soft but sure.

namgyu’s face lights up,and he gives you a thumbs-up, a little awkward but so endearing it makes your stomach flip.

“great, i’ll see you then,” he says, turning to leave.

the bell chimes as he steps out, and you’re still smiling when you hear dev’s voice from the back, high-pitched and giddy.

“i was doing dishes and heard all of that, ahhhh!” he squeals, rushing out to wrap you in a hug, jumping like you’ve just won the lottery.

you laugh, shoving him playfully, but your mind’s already on breakfast, on namgyu, on the hours ahead.

all you can think about is 6:30, and you’re silently begging the clock to move faster.

masterlist

author's note: to say that I loved writing this one would be an understatement