love potion (no.1) — l. jn
— summary: even though kunhang knows he’s not supposed to work on any kind of potions, he takes a shot and attempts to make a love brew for one of his closest friends. you, on the receiving end, can do nothing but hope his skills are at least somewhat decent, as you’ve grown tired of simply pining after wong’s apothecary’s newest waiter.
— pairing: lee jeno x reader.
— genre: fluff, comedy (i hope), a bit of angst (if you squint); magic café, wizard!reader, human!jeno, a bunch of nct cameos i hope everyone enjoys.
— word count: 8k words (8,031).
— warnings: the word “kink” is used once, though nothing sexual is ever depicted, mentioned or described.
— a/n: here it is, finally! my (very) belated piece for @nct-writers’ cafe resonance event. thank you so much to the love of my life @svtxsoju for helping me plot this, reminding me this is a jeno (and not a hendery) fic, and building this amazing universe with me!
Wong Kunhang can’t, for the life of him, count just how many times he’s screwed a potion up.
He tries to keep calm, going through the ingredient list in his head as he wipes his hands with a towel. The bright orange from the potion he just made leaves a slight tinge on his fingertips, and it’s a very telling one, considering the bubbling liquid should have ended up a nice, bright pink. The brew, which he has just placed into a small ceramic cup, smells strongly of lemons, and he’s not sure just how he’s gonna be able to mask the scent and turn it into the soft cinnamon infusion it should be.
In his defense, he’s not even supposed to be making potions. A clueless wizard, he’s usually just manning the human drinks (he’s gotten surprisingly good at latte art), leaving everything magical to Lily, who actually knows how to brew a successful potion without burning the kitchen down in the process. But alas, Lily is out running errands, and Kunhang has been stuck with helping a friend out: you, who had walked into the coffee shop a few minutes earlier and practically begged him to prepare you the café’s most famous concoction.
Love potion no.1 (or, as Kunhang calls it, headache #14), has been Wong’s Apothecary’s prime product ever since it was introduced to the menu. It can be added to almost any drink or pastry available, since the soft vanilla and cinnamon notes that linger on can compliment every sweet, and, unlike other love brews, it doesn’t need to be administered to the object of a person’s desire. Love potion no.1 is drunk by the person in love, and given a few minutes, they can be perceived by their crush as the person of their dreams for a few days.
He’s never quite liked it, but again, he’s never seen the point of it. He’d never say it out loud, not even now, when he’s sure the potion won’t work, because he’s still fascinated by everything a little romance could entail. And, hey, everything to help a friend out.
“Hey, uh,” he mutters, moving so he can peep through the small window next to the kitchen door. The café, just like every other Friday afternoon, is packed full. “Jeno! The love latte is almost ready!”
He pours a shot of coffee over the shimmering potion, followed by steamed milk and a soft, velvety-looking layer of foam. Some of the glitter of the brew rises up to the foam, making it shine under the artificial lights, and Kunhang draws a quick rose on top before topping it with some ground cinnamon. He bites his lip, looking at the finished product while his heart beats against his chest, and tries to reassure himself with the thought that there’s no way you could know the potion has gone wrong.
From a distance, it doesn’t look that different from the lattes Lily serves. From a very big distance. If you squint. If you haven’t seen Lily’s lattes. It will all be okay, right?
“Love latte?” Jeno asks as soon as he reaches the kitchen. He peers in through the window, encountering a messy kitchen and a panicked Kunhang. He keeps his voice low, trying his best to go unheard by Johnny, the friendly demon Kunhang had once summoned (by accident!) and now works as the café’s manager. “We weren’t supposed to sell magical drinks today, were we? Lily isn’t here!”
“It’s a favor for a friend,” Kunhang says, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he mutters the words. He places the cup on the little bar on the window, beginning to take his apron off as he keeps trying to get the orange out of his fingers. What is this, Cheeto dust? “Here, get them the cup, okay? Table nine! And if Johnny asks, I took the day off! I fled the country, actually!”
Jeno nods, taking the cup and trying his best not to notice Kunhang’s hands. He’s not a wizard himself, and as a human, he’s not sure he understands enough about magic yet to be able to question his friend’s odd behavior. And, even then, it’s not unlike his friend to act strange sometimes.
“I heard you!” Johnny says from the door, and even though he probably heard everything about their exchange, he simply smiles as he changes the sign on the door to read Magical Treats Unavailable. If he knows Kunhang prepared a potion (which he probably does), he won’t tell. He enjoys annoying Lily enough.
Much like Johnny, Jeno doesn’t say anything about the potion in his hand. He trusts his friend, no matter how much he knows he shouldn’t sometimes, so he starts walking. Table seven, table eight, table nine… table nine?
Table nine is yours.
Normally, he’d be more than happy to wait for you. Actually, Jeno would probably say that you being a regular is part of the reason why he enjoys his job at Wong’s Apothecary so much. Magic aside, of course. But today, table nine is yours, and Kunhang had just asked him to deliver a love latte to you. The person he’s sure he’s in love with, or as close to love as he could feel for someone that isn’t quite his yet.
Jeno can’t deny that throughout the months he’s known you, he’s gardened enough hope to believe you could, someday, return his feelings. That you could look at him and feel like your stomach was almost bursting from the thousand butterflies that threatened to set flight. It had been a feeble thought on the back of his mind, something to make him smile after a long day. Something that, no matter how uncertain, still presented itself as a shining lighthouse at the end of the way.
Something that threatened to be shattered by a simple café order. Something that brought a shiver down his spine.
“Uh, love latte?” He asks as he reaches you, voice trembling ever so slightly. He hopes you don’t notice, and carefully places the cup right in front of you. It smells like cinnamon, but it’s surprisingly soft, because he’s not quite sure the scent is there, or if he’s just imagining it.
You look up from the book you had been reading, quickly sticking a napkin as a makeshift bookmark before you close it. Your hands shake a bit at hearing his voice, but you hope the movement distracts him from it. You’re not even sure he’d notice, but the thought of him doing it made your throat go dry. Didn’t Kunhang say he’d bring the potion to you?
“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. You’d never had any trouble talking to him, and you’d even go as far as to say the two of you are friends, but your choice of drink today didn’t fail to make you nervous. Just how embarrassed could you be? “Thanks, Jeno.”
“No problem,” he answers, and he does his best to smile. You return the gesture, and Jeno opens his mouth in an effort to say something, but no words come out.
What could he have said, anyways? Thoughts run wild inside his head, and he scratches the back of his neck at all the words that ended up unspoken. Maybe he would have wanted to tell you just how cute you looked, with the light that fell from the window bathing your skin, but he would have never dared. Maybe he would have wanted to say the book you were reading looked interesting, but he wouldn’t have known how to follow it up. Maybe he would have wanted to ask just who you were drinking the love potion for, but he would have never been able to bear it if the answer wasn’t him.
“Tell me if you want anything else,” he says, giving you a last nod before he walks away.
He doesn’t see you take the first sip of your drink, disappearing behind the wooden door that leads into the kitchen. The room, still a mess, smells strongly like lemons.
It’s a slow day, and Jeno just can’t stop looking at you.
The thought of you drinking the potion still lingers on the back of his mind, like a thick, dark cloud threatening to put a damper on an otherwise sunny day. He tries to ignore it, focusing on Kunhang’s hand-painted Today’s Specials sign, which looks like a crossover between a modern art background and old school lettering drawn somewhat carelessly. He can’t, for the life of him, figure out just what the sign is supposed to say.
“No, listen, I don’t think it’s accidental anymore!”
You’re sitting with your friend Mark at one of the tables Jeno usually waits for, and he can’t help but hang somewhere nearby while he’s not working. He tries his best to make it look as non-obvious as he can, although without much success; wiping down a visibly clean table, messing up the books in one of the bookshelves and then putting them in their correct order again and carefully watering the set of plants that grow in a small shelf next to the window (yeah, the ones with a sign that reads: ‘magical species, they don’t need to be watered!’).
“I don’t think it ever was accidental,” you say, teasing. You try to keep your tone strong, looking at Mark over a steaming cup of tea. Peppermint. “Mark, all this time…”
He catches onto your teasing, rolling his eyes before taking a sip from his own drink. Lemon tea, cold.
“Oh, I’m serious!” The boy says, voice cracking with laughter. He moves his hands around, jumping on his seat slightly as he speaks. “This is actually a really important issue! Jaemin keeps buying cartons upon cartons of milk and he never actually drinks it, there’s entire boxes laying all over the apartment! I think he’s trying to send a message, but I’m not exactly sure what it is yet.”
“I think, quite frankly, that your roommate is weird, Mr. Sherlock,” you laugh once you catch a sight of Mark’s preoccupied expression, clearly trying to recount any important details left out of the milk carton dilemma explanation. “Doesn’t he have this, uh, thing with milk?”
“Nah,” Mark shakes his head. “The only thing he has with milk is this weird kink of having Renjun yell at him for buying too much of it.”
The laugh that leaves your lips is loud, and out of the corner of your eye you can see Jeno turning to look at you from his seat next to the plants.
“All of you guys enjoy having Renjun yell at you too much,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. It’s still too hot, burning your lips as the liquid comes to touch them. “Are you kink shaming your own kink? Wow!”
Mark’s cheeks heat up a slight shade of red, throwing his head back as he laughs. “Oh God, shut up!”
It’s been almost a week since you drank the potion. You don’t feel different, and if it wasn’t for the soft lemony taste or the glittery foam that had stuck upon your lips, it hadn’t tasted any different from a normal drink.
“I’m just saying!”
“Well, don’t say anything!”
Wednesdays at Wong’s Apothecary feel so much different from Fridays, and it’s part of the reason you had always preferred to come at a time different than the frantic rush hours. Sitting next to the window, there’s magic all around, and you can feel it with every passing second.
“Hey, uh,” Mark says, voice low. He looks around as he speaks, and you wonder if it’s part of his effort of growing unperceived. It’s strikingly obvious, but you don’t tell him. Let Mark’s fantasy of being a Sherlock Holmes kind of detective live another day. “How’s that going?”
He signals your cup with his eyes, and you frown. How’s… what going? As much as he wishes he was one, Mark wouldn’t make a very convincing detective.
“My tea?” You ask, confused. “It’s good? Do you want a sip?”
“No, I don’t want a sip,” he answers. His face contorts into an exasperated expression, and it’s only when Jeno begins to walk away that he actually begins to talk. “I’m talking about the potion.”
“Oh,” you place your palms on the table, and you barely notice your fingers have started to shake. “Well, I don’t feel any different, actually? Maybe I should go ask Kunhang what’s up with that.”
“Wait,” Mark mutters, hand stretched out. “What do you mean Kunhang?”
“Wong Kunhang, Mark,” you roll your eyes. “Tall, pink hair… dangerously obsessed with learning TikTok dances?”
“That’s not what I mean,” he answers, copying your gesture. “Why would you ask him about the potion? Ask Lily!”
“Well, he made it.”
“Oh, that explains it,” Mark lets out a laugh. “In school, just how many times did he brew a successful potion? You could’ve just made it yourself!”
“Mark, I’m hopeless when it comes to potions,” you say, taking a sip of your tea. “You know that! Remember that time I turned your hair red while trying to make a levitating potion?”
“I still don’t know how you convinced me to drink that, I had that hair for a month!” He laughs. “That’s what I mean, though! Kunhang is just as bad as you!”
“Oh come on,” you wave your hand as you speak. “Maybe he’s gotten better!”
“Well, I hope so,” Mark says as he takes a sip from his tea. “For your love life’s sake, you know.”
You look up at Jeno, who has met Johnny next to the pastry stand. He’s not looking at you, laughing at something his friend said, arms crossed over his chest. You try to pinpoint the exact moment you had fallen in love with him, but even when you know it’s only been a bit over a year since you met him, you can’t quite remember how life was before him. The thought brings a small smile to your lips.
He turns, his eyes meeting yours, and for the first time in your life, you find yourself agreeing with Mark. You also hope Kunhang has gotten better at potions.
There are perks that come with befriending a coffee shop owner, and sometimes, asking favors from Kunhang is no different.
You’re (almost) completely sure Lily knows he’s been messing with the potions by now, but even then, you promise you’re keeping his secret when he asks you to, swearing upon “a lifetime of silence”, as he had said. Truth is, you’re sure Lily wouldn’t ask, and you wouldn’t tell, but Kunhang’s oath had fulfilled every bit of the grandiose drama he had wanted to accomplish. He had even conjured a small puff of pink-tinted smoke to glaze over his feet as he walked away, and you wondered just what it was that he had wanted to do with it. Some big exit scene? Back in school, he had failed the apparition course.
In return for keeping his practices a secret, he had lent you the keys to the shop and a (somewhat understandable, completely imaginative) explanation on how to work the coffee machine, leaving you and your computer to yourselves for the entire night, finally able to work on your history paper completely undisturbed. Or so you had thought.
Night has fallen down, and the café feels like a completely different place.
The entire place is lit by a set of chandeliers made of tinted glass, light breaking upon the material and reflecting everywhere in what looks like a thousand tiny rainbows. There’s candles resting upon every shelf, though unlit, and you can just imagine how beautiful they must all look when they’re all lit up. There’s a vague linen scent that clings up to every book in the room, and it dances softly with the thousand different perfumes that bloom from every plant, every flower. It only makes sense for it to be full of magic, because there’s no way another place could make your heart tingle as much as the café does.
“Hey, uh,” a voice speaks from the kitchen. Soft. “We’re closed.”
You freeze in your seat, eyes wandering around the room until they land on him.
He looks tired after a long day; hair disheveled and held together by a small, black hairband, with a pair of gold wireframe glasses resting on the tip of his nose. He’s wearing a gray sweatshirt with the logo of the café printed over his right pec in a deep purple, all tied together with a pair of light-wash jeans.
“Kunhang gave me the key,” you say, waving the small silver item so he can see it. “I think he told Lily? He might have thought she was closing today.”
“She was, but she had to help Johnny with something,” he answers, smiling. He fidgets a little with his fingers before he sticks his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, looking at you over his lenses. “Are you staying for long?”
“I can close if you want,” you mutter quickly, even when your words don’t quite answer his question. “I’m just finishing an assignment. My apartment gets a bit too loud sometimes.”
He nods. “Do you still live with that one fairy? The one that likes strawberry pie? I forgot what his name was.”
“Yuta,” you say. “Yeah, he’s my roommate. Him and Taeil. I don’t know if you’ve met him yet. He’s trying to teach Yuta how to cook but he’s still almost setting the apartment on fire every time he tries to make a quesadilla.”
“I don’t think I have.”
He’s walked almost all the way up to you by now, and he rests his hands on the table once he reaches you. He sits down just as you drink the very last sips of the coffee from the bottom of your mug.
“What are you working on?”
“It’s an assignment for my literature class,” you say, shrugging. “It’s about this book I read, Persuasion? Love despite family. Love despite society. Love despite either of those, I guess, when they become a reflection of each other… and how it’s portrayed within a thousand different metaphors, too.”
Jeno nods. He doesn’t try to pretend he understands, but he wants to show that he listens. Love fascinates him, it always has, and it does even more when he gets to hear about it from your perspective. From your lips.
“It’s a bit cheesy, I know,” you smile. “I can’t help but love everything about it, though.”
“You’ll have to lend me that book sometime,” Jeno says, smiling. “Now that I know what it’s about, it might be nice to read while I’m trying to ignore Kunhang’s TikTok dances.”
“Oh, yeah, like that will help you tune him out,” you laugh, and he joins you. “I think you’d need sound canceling earphones AND the book.”
“Yeah… he even got a bluetooth speaker,” Jeno lets out between jolts of laughter. “It’s good though, I might use it now that I have to clean the kitchen to close.”
“You have to clean everything yourself?”
“Yeah, usually Johnny and Lucas do it but they’re not here,” he shrugs. “I think Lucas might be on a date.”
“Isn’t he always sort of on a date? When he’s not decorating his cupcakes, I mean, I’ve seen him,” You ask, giggling. “I’ll help you clean, make up for the dates and the errands, and all that.”
“Oh, don’t start about the cupcakes,” Jeno laughs, getting up from his seat. He doesn’t want to leave, not now that you’ve started a conversation. “And don’t worry about it, really! It’s mostly just dishes.”
“I already distracted you long enough,” you say, shaking your head. You close your laptop as you rise from your chair, placing your copy of Persuasion neatly on top of it. “Let me at least keep you company.”
Inside the kitchen, and practically speaking, the passing of time is measured in quick, soft ticks from the clock on the wall. It’s shaped like the smiling face of a cat, and it’s a mix of pastel purple and neon green. Two small paws constitute the hands of the clock, and when they move, they let out a soft rhythm of tick, tock, tick, tock, that, truthfully, you’re only able to actually hear if standing close to it.
To you and Jeno, the passing of time is measured by the changing of songs coming out of Kunhang’s duck-shaped speaker. He’d told you he listens to “a little bit of everything” when he had asked, and now, listening to a Cher song after having heard a couple Britney Spears songs, you’re enthralled by Jeno’s varied music taste. He dances along to the beat at times, sometimes even mumbling the lyrics, and you can’t help but look at him with as much adoration in your eyes as you can muster.
The laptop and book lay long-forgotten in the small green table in the center of the room, and your elbow softly grazes Jeno’s every time you scrub a bowl in the sink. You let yourself get lost in the music as your fingers play with the small purple bubbles from the dish soap, (not so) gracefully accompanying Jeno’s singing with an enthusiastic yet completely out of tune rendition.
If it wasn’t for the song repertoire you’re not even sure you’d notice it’s been about an hour since you’d entered the kitchen, the conversation with Jeno flowing at such a fluid, rapid pace there hadn’t been a single pause that felt uncomfortable. Even in the spaces silence had reigned, comfort had enveloped the two of you like a blanket, bringing a smile to both of your faces.
You’re enthralled by every single little detail that encompasses the current scene: the colorful and shimmering remnants left on the used cauldrons, a symphony of scents reaching your nose with every single bowl you take into your hands. Plants grow all around you, some hanging from the ceiling, with their colorful leaves spilling from the vases, and some of them growing steadily atop the many shelves. The night passes peacefully in front of you, and moonlight just but barely manages to seep in through the small window on the edge of the wall.
It’s almost like magic, the way the moonlight seems to set fire on every single thing it touches, the glass lamps hanging from the ceiling igniting into a fiery rainbow that reflects upon every surface. It’s almost like magic, the way you and Jeno seem to lose both shy and nervousness, feeling so at ease with each other that you don’t notice the exact moment his arm begins to graze against yours.
“Did you drink it for Mark?” He asks, voice low. He looks up from the dishes, and turns to look at you. “The love potion?”
It’s almost like magic, the way your entire surroundings seem to dissolve right in front of your eyes as everything turns into something that begins and end with the man standing in front of you. You’re not really sure about the exact time the music stopped, and whether it did because Jeno had paused it or if his playlist had simply run out. All you can hear is your own breath hitching up in your throat, quickly drowning out the sound of your heartbeat. It’s quick, rapid and fierce, thumping loudly against your ears.
It’s almost like magic, the way Jeno seems to close up the entire space between the two of you. He consumes it all with his touch, pulling you into a sort of loose embrace; not quite a hug, and yet, something awfully close to it. You’re standing flush against him, facing him, and you’re not sure if it’s the closeness between your bodies, or the heat that he lets out against you, but there’s a sort of restlessness coursing through your veins that makes you feel like you’re flying.
“No,” you answer. Jeno looks at you, straight in the eye, and you let out a soft sigh as his hands come to rest on your arms. “It wasn’t for him.”
It’s almost like magic, the way in which Jeno’s touch seems to soothe your skin with a graze of his fingertips. The way his hands run up and down your arms like an explorer’s fingers over a map, tracing routes in the search of a treasure. The way his breath crashes against your cheek, almost burning at the touch. The way his hair falls down against your forehead. The way his skin seems to know yours, his body quickly accommodates into your shape as he poses a careful hand on your chin, soft. Loving.
And it’s almost like magic, because even when you can’t really see the stars shining up above, Jeno’s lips touch yours and suddenly, a thousand different galaxies explode like supernovas right inside your mind.
As you walk down the street, there’s a light spring in your step that almost makes you look like you’re dancing. You don’t care, setting your mind on the feeling of the sun against your skin, the sound of birds chirping in the trees, the scent of pollen and sun that always came with summer.
It all courses through your veins as you make your way to the café, vague sounds of chatter increasing in volume the closer you get, and no matter how much you’d try to deny it, the hopes of seeing Jeno grow in the back of your mind when you catch a glimpse of the red neon sign. The promise of exchanged glances and a simple greeting make your heart flutter like a butterfly catching flight, so much you don’t even notice your feet picking up on the speed of your steps.
You don’t see Jeno through the window, rather catching sight of Lucas’ tall frame waiting on the tables with a purple apron tied around his waist. The café is surprisingly empty for a Saturday morning, with only a couple of tables in use, and Johnny flicking through a magazine with his elbows resting on one of the counters.
“Oh, hey!” Lucas greets you when you walk in, quickly moving to hand you a menu as you move towards your usual table. “I made a fresh batch of peach tarts earlier, in case you want to try them! Johnny said they’re really good.”
The tall demon smiles up at you from the magazine, and Lily quickly comes to stand next to him, a palm on his shoulder and she waves at you with her free hand.
“Are you playing with recipes again?” You ask, sitting down. He smiles, nodding, and you only pretend to quickly look through your menu before you turn to him again. “Bring me one of those and an iced coffee, please!”
“On it, beautiful!” He smiles, and you let out a laugh at his compliment.
Lucas, a young sex demon, had been accidentally summoned by Kunhang when trying to perform a big apparition spell. Ever since then, and just like Johnny, he’s been working in the café and living in Kunhang’s apartment, whipping up new treats with his newfound love for baking. He’s always been loud, friendly and flirty (the last one more a product of his nature than any concrete, personal attraction), and it didn’t take long for you to start getting used to being around him.
Minutes pass quickly as you stare outside the window, people coming and going, not sharing anything between them but that; the state of their steps, the progress of their journey, the being nowhere and everywhere at the exact same time. You think of them, and you think of yourself, and you wonder if maybe you’re in a similar situation, even when your feet don’t move. It’s a fleeting thought, uncertainty brewing in the back of your mind and quickly dying down as you remember the night before. Your lips still tingle from the ghost of a kiss, and as you think of Jeno, remembering his touch, you understand the colorful bits and pieces of Wong’s Apothecary have always held a piece of home.
“Here you go,” Lucas says as he comes back to your table with a plate and a set of cutlery in hand. He places it in front of you, a soft and shiny fruit tart placed carefully in the middle, with a big dollop of whipped cream standing proud in the center of the treat. “Oh, and extra cream, completely on the house.”
“That’s so generous of you,” you reply as Lucas sits down in front of you, probably having forgotten about the coffee Johnny was finishing up in the kitchen. “Aren’t you gonna get in trouble with Lily?”
“No, don’t sweat it,” he answers, waving a hand as a form of dismissal. “There’s almost no one here. Plus, I really want to hear your opinion on the tart.”
“Why is it so important?” You ask, grabbing a fork. “You already got Johnny’s approval.”
“Yeah, Johnny will approve of anything as long as Lily says she likes it too.”
Cutting down on the tart is as easy as cutting down on butter, the layer of fruit tender and juicy, and the dough is soft and crumbly, breaking at the touch of the fork. Before meeting Lucas, you never would have guessed a demon could be the one to give the neighboring bakery a run for their money. As soon as you bite into the tart, the sweet taste of the peaches invades your senses, complimented by the smooth flavor of the freshly whipped cream.
“Lucas!” You let out, accidentally slamming your fork down against the table. He smiles, shifting in his seat as he awaits your verdict. “This is the best peach tart I’ve ever had! Seriously, this is so good!”
“I told you! I have good taste, you know?” Johnny speaks up from the kitchen, and it’s when you turn to look at him that you notice Jeno has walked into the café.
Standing right next to the door, Jeno looks like a deer in the headlights. He’s staring at you and Lucas, lips apart and mouth slightly open, his bag in his hand as he scratches the back of his neck to break out of the daze. He looks at you one last time before Johnny calls his name, making a beeline to the kitchen while not acknowledging the wave you send in his direction. Is it because of the kiss?
“I thought he wasn’t gonna come in today,” Lucas says, dipping his finger into the mountain of whipped cream on top of your tart and popping it into his mouth. “Johnny made me cover and I had to take time from brainstorming this mango pie recipe I want to make to show Violet, once and for all, who’s the better baker around here.”
“Violet? From the bake shop down the street?” You ask, trying to take your mind off Jeno’s lack of reaction towards you. “Huh, are you guys mortal enemies or something? I thought you were friends.”
“Nah, I just think she’s cute,” he says, smiling. He laughs, letting out a breathy sigh, and from the corner of your eye, you can see Jeno walking out of the kitchen with a purple apron of his own. “She always ignores me when I say hi in the mornings, though. I left her a batch of duckcakes the other day and she only said they had way too much lemon zest… I think I might be in love.”
You lose sight of Jeno for a moment, and you can’t help but wonder just how obvious you might look to an onlooker, hoping, like it’d be one thing anchoring down to earth, that Jeno can spare you a look. A greeting. Something.
You hear Johnny talking and Jeno producing an answer, but their words muffle over in your head and you’re simply left with the sound of their voices.
“And you decide to flirt in the weirdest way po-”
“You forgot this,” Jeno says, walking towards your table. He carefully hands you the iced coffee Lucas had forgotten to bring, and you can’t help but notice he’s trying his best to not meet your eyes. You open your mouth to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat the moment he starts talking. “Oh, Lucas, thanks for covering me, but I got this. You can go back to whatever it is you need to do.”
He doesn’t acknowledge any of you further, walking back inside the kitchen without looking back. Lucas stays seated in his place and takes the fork from your hand, apparently deciding taking small bites of your tart is his needed task, beginning an exciting tale about Kunhang’s failed attempts at learning some new viral TikTok trend. As per Lucas tradition, he doesn’t miss the excitement in his voice or a couple booming jolts of laughter, but you don’t really catch any of it.
Your mind is on Jeno’s attitude, completely different from the night before, and you wonder just what could have happened in the last few hours to make his treatment towards you change so drastically. He had asked you about the potion, but had he expected the answer to be Mark? If he had been upset about your answer, why had he kissed you, anyways?
Had Kunhang messed up the potion? Just how much would he miss his duck speaker if he had?
“I’ll be right back,” you say. The words leave your lips faster than you can register, standing up from your seat as Lucas takes another bite of the treat. “You can finish that if you want.”
He doesn’t respond, or maybe you don’t hear him, but your focus is not on him. Your focus is not on the atmosphere in the room, not even with the sounds of chatter flowing through the space, or the mix of coffee, sugar and cinnamon scents filling the air. There’s usually so much in the environment that catches your attention inside the café, but as your feet move over the faux ceramic tiles, Jeno avoiding your eyes is still the only thing in your mind.
You walk past Johnny, who merely looks over his shoulder as you enter the kitchen, and you don’t really know what you’re expecting because you can’t help but freeze the moment you walk in. You had known Jeno was there, but still, the sight of him takes you by surprise. It’s not the black t-shirt he’s wearing, or the hairband that props his hair up and away from his face, or the book he’s holding as he sits on a stool next to the fridge (it’s Persuasion, and, okay, maybe it does surprise you a little bit). It’s the way he’s trying his best to pretend like he hasn’t noticed you’re there.
There, in front of him, looking completely lost as you look for any sign — any indication that the thoughts running through your head are wrong, but the disappointment is painted all across his face. You wonder if yours is, too.
“Jeno?” You say, softly, trying to capture his attention.
Lily, who’s scrunched over her work station (probably working on some new potion she’s trying to perfect), looks up from her work, and shares a quick look with Johnny before going back to her work. Jeno, though, barely takes his eyes off his book to acknowledge your greeting.
“Is someone calling?” He asks. When you shake your head, he lowers his eyes again, and he begins to scan over the page. His hands are shaking slightly, and though you notice, you pretend that you don’t.
“Can I talk to you?”
You try your best to keep the nerves at bay, but your words betray you as soon as they leave your mouth.
“Uh,” he hesitates for a bit. He stops reading, and his hands still shake, but he doesn’t look up. “Sorry, I’m working.”
“You’re reading,” Lily pipes up from the counter where she’s working, and even though you can’t really see her face, you can tell she’s smiling. “And hiding, might I add.”
“I’m not h-,” he begins, but he lets out a sigh as he closes the book. He stands up from the stool, the apron scrunched and wrinkled as he straightens up. His eyes meet yours, only for a moment, before he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “We can talk in the back.”
“Johnny’s not moved the trash yet,” Lily perks up, turning to look at Johnny. The demon turns around, looking at her, a smile plastered on his face. “Keeps telling me he’s too busy with reading that stupid magazine to do it.”
“It’s a dog magazine!” Johnny whines, still smiling.
“Johnny, you don’t have a dog!”
Meanwhile, you follow Jeno’s steps. He leaves the book on top of the stool, the page where he had left off dog-eared, and you notice he’s only starting. He guides you through a small door on the back of the kitchen, opening into a small alley behind the café. The walls, completely plastered in bright posters, capture your attention briefly, but Jeno quickly rests his back against one of them, and your focus is back on him.
“Uh,” you try to speak. You’re not really sure what to ask, questions are going as quickly as they come, and you worry none of them will actually leave your lips at all.
He does it for you.
“Did you sleep well?” He asks.
His voice is different than it was back in the shop. He sounds a little more relaxed, a little more comfortable now that it’s only the two of you, and it’s even more confusing because that difference had never even been there before.
“Yeah,” you answer. “Did you? It was pretty late when we left.”
Jeno nods. He opens his mouth and closes it again, and you can tell he’s just as unsure as to what to say, because for a long time, neither of you say anything.
“About last night,” you begin. Your voice doesn’t shake, and neither do your hands, and you decide to make use of this courageous moment when, at least on the outside, it might look like you have everything under control. “Can we talk about it? I just — I feel different. I want to feel different, but I’m not exactly sure on where you stand in this whole situa-”
“You can forget about it if you want,” Jeno says. His voice is soft, small under the city noises, but you hear him perfectly. “The kiss, I mean. If you want, we pretend it never happened. I wouldn’t want it to stand in the way of your feelings or anything else.”
“My feelings?” You ask.
“I shouldn’t have pried about the potion,” Jeno answers. “Whoever you took it for, that was your business. I just — I don’t want to stand between you and Lucas, okay? So you can forget it happened. Forget I kissed you.”
Time stops. Time stops, and it’s just you and Jeno. You and Jeno, and the words that just left his mouth, and the way your heart clenches when you hear them. His words, and the way they knock the wind out of you, taking you completely by surprise. His words, and just how little you understand them, their meaning a complete mystery to you as you try to decipher just what it is that he could have meant with them.
“Me and Lucas?” You’re confused, and your voice reflects it. “Jeno, that’s not what I meant by what I said, I’m just —”
“It’s okay,” he says. He tries his best to smile at you, to pretend everything will be alright and that his disappointment is nothing but a simple confusion. “It’s okay if you drank it for him. And it’s okay if you — what I mean is, this doesn’t have to change anything between us. We’re friends, right?”
You don’t want to be friends. You want to hold his hand, and kiss his cheek, and run your fingers through his hair. You want for him to think of you just as much as you think of him, an enamoured sigh leaving his lips at the thought of you. You want to set free a thousand butterflies in his stomach at the sight of you, because it happens to you at the sight of him.
Because you like him, you like him in a way you’ve never liked anyone before. Because his kiss had given you hope that he might like you too, and you’re not sure why it is that he’s trying to take it away from you.
“We’re friends,” Jeno whispers, more to himself than to you. He keeps his eyes set on the wall in front of him, as if trying to distract his attention from the conversation with you. “We’re just friends, and I hope that what happened last night won’t change that. I wouldn’t want to lose you because of it.”
And it dawns upon you. The way he mutters the words, and the look in his eyes when he does. The way he had stopped in his step when catching sight of you and Lucas, and the way he had tensed up when he heard a piece of what you had been talking about. Because he likes you, he likes you the way you like him, and he thinks that you don’t. Because he thinks you like someone else, someone that isn’t him, and the mere thought is tearing him apart. Because you want to fix it.
“Jeno, stop,” you say. You try to get his attention without raising your voice, and you search for his eyes in the hopes that they will lock with yours. “Lucas and I are friends. Just like Johnny and I are friends. I wouldn’t drink a potion for Johnny, and I also wouldn’t drink a potion for Lucas. And yes, Jeno, we are friends. But I don’t want to be.”
“You don’t?”
“No,” you shake your head. If he’s starting to catch what you’re trying to say, he doesn’t show it, because he still doesn’t turn to look at you. “I don’t want to be friends because I want to be something more. Jeno, I drank that stupid potion because of you. I wanted you to like me.”
For a while, he doesn’t move. Minutes tick by in your head as you search for a clue, something that can tell you your suspicions were right. Something that can tell you that you did not just screw everything up. You look at him, trying to even your breathing and calm your thoughts, but his face doesn’t change. His eyes don’t meet yours, and his stance is still the way it was before.
“You’re the one I risked having Kunhang turn me into a duck for,” you say, laughing. He smiles, softly, and although it’s not directed at you, you hope you’re the cause of it. “Better a duck than a spoon, or something of the sort, though.”
“You let him brew you a potion?” He asks, amused. He visibly relaxes, and, for the first time this morning, turns to look at you. “Wong Kunhang, the guy that has somehow managed to summon two demons via failed spells? I think being turned into a duck would have meant you had luck on your side.”
“Hey, I had no choice!”
Jeno smiles and straightens up, moving closer to you. The alley is small, but when he walks up to hold your hand, it feels even smaller. It feels the width of you and Jeno, together, and there’s nothing else around. There’s no one else around, or even close, because his skin touches yours and you’re in a completely different dimension: one that starts and ends with the two of you, together.
“You know, I was also gonna ask Lily for a potion that day,” Jeno smiles, tightening the grip on your hand. His free hand comes to rest upon your cheek, thumb running up and down the skin in a caress.
“Yeah? What happened?” Your hands snake around his waist, and even when you don’t pull, he moves closer to you in your grip. The fabric of his t-shirt is soft against your fingertips.
“Then I saw it was Kunhang in the kitchen,” he says, and he leans down a little bit with every word he speaks. By the time he’s finished the phrase, his forehead is touching yours. His hair falls over your face. It’s soft, and it smells like green apple shampoo. “You kinda beat me to risk becoming a duck.”
“My apologies,” you whisper, and you feel the warmth of his lips against the corner of your mouth. “It’s never too late for a Kunhang spell, though.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he answers. His breath is hot against your face, and it smells like sugar. “You didn’t have to risk it, though. You’ve always been what dreams are made of to me.”
You smile, closing your eyes as your fingers grab at his shirt. His chest, flushed against yours, molds easily into your figure.
“Nice reference, Paolo,” he kisses the corner of your mouth once more, and you almost melt into his embrace. You can feel his smile growing against your mouth, hear his heartbeat mixing in with yours, smell the traces of his cinnamon and musk cologne. “Now kiss me.”
And he does. He kisses you, lips molding together with yours like matching pieces of the same puzzle, and you’re completely sure you’ve found your home in them. You’ve found your home in everything that he is and everything that he’s not, and as he pulls you in closer to his chest, you’re so goddamned thankful Kunhang didn’t actually turn you into a duck.
Inside the café’s kitchen, Lily and Johnny watch the two of you through the small window on the top of the wall. Johnny, finally deciding against clapping as Jeno grabs your hand (after a very animated scolding from Lily), opts for a set of air kisses that are, to Lily’s dismay, inaudible to you and Jeno, but very much loud against her waiting ear.
“God, Johnny, shut up!” She hisses. “Did he say potion? I’ve never made a potion for either of th — oh no, has Kunhang been messing around with them? Hey, do you know anything about that?”
“Baby, look! They’re almost kissing! Oh, how fast do they grow!” Johnny says, ignoring Lily’s words and pretending to wipe a tear from his cheek.
“Don’t call me b- where is Kunhang?”
“I don’t know, upstairs in his room?”
“Jesus,” she huffs, climbing down off her stool. Johnny, next to her, is only standing on the tips of his toe. She starts walking towards the stairs in the corner of the kitchen (and in the direction of Kunhang’s room), turning back to point straight at Johnny. “Don’t do anything weird!”
As soon as Lily reaches his room, Kunhang learns three things: 1.) Lily’s voice is not as soft as he remembers when she starts detailing the exact reasons why Kunhang isn’t allowed to mess with potions (with a complete dramatization of the day Lucas appeared in a big cloud of pink dust). 2.) Johnny’s clapping is also, surprisingly loud, and a very effective method to get Lily even more mad (which isn’t particularly good for Kunhang right now, considering he had been oh so close to mastering today’s TikTok dance).
And finally, Wong’s Apothecary’s most carefully guarded secret (and the only thing that saved him after having brewed a potion that did absolutely nothing): 3.) Love potion no.1 had never actually been a love potion. Lily, the café’s potion master and a hopeless romantic, had always believed in a good old-fashioned falling in love. In the five years it has been on the menu, Love potion no.1 has been, merely, a confidence brew.
The heart has always done all the work.
