Your Vanilla Scent (Junhao)

Jun

Death by Coffee. What a fitting name. Maybe Jun would find a bullet waiting for him in the small brick building. Not that he'd really expect his brother's men to be waiting to ambush him in a place like this. Still, he couldn't count it out entirely. Expecting the unexpected might be the only way to stay alive.

He hasn't found you, he scolded himself, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, annoyed at his own thoughts. Stop being so paranoid.

Jun pulled the beater he'd bought outside the Denver International Airport to a rolling stop halfway down the block from the café he'd spotted. He'd been in Hyde Park for weeks and hadn't explored any more than the seven-hundred-ish square feet of his apartment. Theoretically, that was because he was lying low—no matter how unlikely it was that he'd been tracked to the little mountain town already—but in reality he just couldn't be bothered. What was even the point of getting out of bed these days? There was nothing and nobody waiting for him. He could sleep twenty-four hours of every day and not a soul would be bothered.

That sounded pretty nice, actually.

But he'd woken up at four that morning and hadn't been able to go back to sleep this time, so after two hours of staring at the same amoeba-like water stain on his bedroom wall, he'd decided to get out of his apartment and go somewhere. Anywhere. And not much else was open, so why not start with coffee?

Jun opened his car door and began the painful process of unfolding himself from the front seat. The little compact, clearly not designed for someone of his height in mind, was light-years away from the town cars he'd been used to all his life, the comfort of which he allowed himself to briefly miss before knocking the spoiled sentiment out of his head.

He debated grabbing his coat, but despite the snow on the ground, the chill was nothing compared to what he'd left behind in New York. His gray cashmere would do just fine.

Jun's desire for a six a.m. coffee didn't seem to be a popular one that morning. The large front windows of the little café showed it to be mostly empty, its small wooden tables and cozy atmosphere shared only by an older couple reading their respective papers in the corner.

Jun made his way inside, grimacing in annoyance at the jangling bell announcing his arrival.

"Hello!"

Jun tapped his boots on the mat at the door, looking to the source of the greeting. There was a little guy at the counter, dressed in a truly hideous sweatshirt, and he was waving at Jun with surprising gusto. Jun was so distracted by the strange enthusiasm of the greeting (not to mention that eyesore of an outfit), that he was all the way to the counter before his brain processed the fact that the guy beneath the clothes could only be described as...adorable.

Distractingly so.

The barista couldn't have been any taller than five feet ten, with dainty features and a mess of dark hair, the oversize, electric-blue sweatshirt with the kittens on it so large on him he'd had to roll it over about a dozen times to get it above his elbows.

Jun had the momentary, completely bizarre thought that he wanted to steal him. To put the stranger in his pocket and take him back to his apartment, stash him there for the foreseeable future. Just...keep him.

Because apparently Jun's recent hermitage had melted his fucking brain.

"I'm Seo Myungho," the guy chirped, oblivious to Jun's disturbing new impulses, still waving enthusiastically even though Jun was now directly in front of him. "But you can call me Myungho. Welcome in. You've really chosen very well." His eyes—a soothing slate gray—were positively shining. "Our coffee's delicious. The best in town. Although, I wouldn't actually know. It's the only coffee I've ever had."