Read My Lips || Yoonmin || {COMPLETED}

1

Yoongi's hands are shaking uncontrollably from the cold Seoul weather on his way home from work. Today wasn't as great as it could have been, he thinks, since he only received a few tips and a half eaten banana in his bucket. He tries to look on the bright side, but it's getting harder and harder to do that with each passing week. He peeks into his dingy little tin and tells himself it isn't much, but any money is good money.

He scrapes by on the bare minimum during these hard times, only eating one or two meals some days. Various broken items are scattered around his apartment, awaiting fixing that will probably never be accomplished until Yoongi decides to stop being a lazy ass. Every now and then, he "forgets" to pay bills for air conditioning or electricity. But through all the pain and suffering, he still holds on to the sliver of hope that one day he'll get his big break locked away in the back of his mind. Someday. Someday, he repeats the mantra in his head.

His teeth are chattering now, and he's so cold that he feels the beads of sweat dripping down his fluffy pink hair freezing into little balls of ice. He wraps his plaid scarf tighter around his neck and hugs himself, desperate for his own body heat. The leaves susurrate in the wind, flying this way and that and one lands and gets tangled in his hair. He's surprised he hasn't died yet. Although after tonight, he'll probably die of mental exhaustion.

Coffee.

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. The word is stuck on a loop in Yoongi's brain. Now, the only way to make it shut up is to give it what it wants. Similar to a girlfriend, he thinks. Or a boyfriend. He's not picky.

He needs the drink. It'll warm him up, and also force him to stay up tonight. Not that he needs any sleep. He gets sleep - enough sleep he might add - during the day so he can work at night. Unless he has a day gig, then he's fucked for the rest of the day. But day gigs pay better.

He composes during the night anyway. The best melodies come to him at that time. He hasn't composed many songs recently, though, because more gigs means less time to compose. Plus he hasn't had any inspiration. It's a lame excuse, he knows. If he could talk to them, Haydn, Schubert, and Mozart would tell him something along the lines of "Inspiration is everywhere, you just have to look for it!" or "Let the music flow out from your soul!" He treats the legendary composers like imaginary friends when he has no one else. But these are modern times. Dead guys can't tell him what to do.

Yoongi's body has subconsciously walked itself to a coffee shop. He mentally pats himself on the back and stares inside the frosty window. The clock on the cream painted wall reads 9:48 p.m. There's no line and it's empty, but there's still a person working the cash register. He assumes the shop is still open, so he makes his way to the door.

Coffee for the Seoul, the sign on the door reads. He smirks. Clever. He takes his pale hands out of his coat pockets, not quite remembering when they made their way in there. He opens the door, which causes a bell to ring nearby. The shop smells like sweet, fresh coffee. Duh, he thinks, but it smells fragrant and nice and he can't help but to take another whiff. He approaches the register and the employee greets him bubbily.

"Hello sir! What would you like to drink?"

Yoongi opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He realizes he hasn't decided on anything yet, so he looks at the employee dumbly.

Park Jimin, the nametag reads.

Jimin looks to be a little younger than him, although he could be a lot younger due to the baby face he's sporting. They're around the same height, but Jimin's overall demeanor makes him seem small and humble. The younger man's smile is like a blinding light, straight white teeth on display for the world to see. It reaches his eyes, causing the pair of dark orbs to transform into thin crescents.

"Sir? Are you ready to order?" Jimin asks, dragging Yoongi out of his thoughts. His eyes flicker down at his shaky hands and wonders how they've ever played a piano.

"Uh, yeah. Macchiato please," he mutters. "To go."

The color drains from Jimin's face and his smile falters. "S-sorry, what was that, sir?" he asks meekly.

Yoongi's getting annoyed now. He's so jittery and his whole body is trembling and he just needs to consume the drink or he's gonna die. Call him addicted, he doesn't care, but coffee has probably saved his life more than once. He just wants his coffee. Is that too much to ask?

"I said I wanted a fucking macchiato," he says lowly, turning around in exasperation, "Or did you not hear me the first time?"

The employee tentatively takes his money and starts making the drink without asking for a name. Yoongi reminds himself to take a breath and sits down at one of many empty tables. He's wills himself to stay awake but finds himself falling in and out of consciousness at one point.

When Jimin announces that his drink is ready, Yoongi hastily swipes it from his grasp without thanking the boy and takes long, determined strides out of the store.