Chickadee - A Yoonmin Fanfiction

Part 8

•Yoongi•

The Claire de Lune cafe is always busy in the mornings. I know that because I spend most of my time here, working on school assignments.

Today, most of the regulars who say hello to me have come through before 9 am, so I am barely paying attention to the stream of customers going in and out of the shop. I frown down at my laptop, trying to choose between two pictures of Jimin. The first one is by far the best if it's drama I am looking for, but the dancer's face is contorted in concentration, and I can tell that he won't like it.

Shaking my head a little, I wonder why I am being so conscious of Jimin's opinion. Maybe it's because I blame myself for his collapse. A good photographer would always pay attention to the needs of his model, but I didn't do that. I let Jimin work himself down to the bone, and he never, ever complained. I can't forgive myself for that.

Flipping back to the second picture, I copy it into my editing program. It usually takes thirty minutes to do touch ups on an image, but I find myself obsessing over every minute detail. When I am finally happy with it, I realize that almost an hour has passed.

I take a sip of my espresso. The barista knows to refill it every couple of hours, so it never gets too cold. Whenever I am not working, I like to watch people coming in and out of the store. I am so familiar with this place that the owner has threatened to hang a plaque with my name on it over the place where I customarily sit. A few weeks ago, I dared him to do it, but he hasn't gotten back to me about that.

A tiny bell at the top of the door rings, alerting me to a new visitor. Looking up, I notice a young man standing timidly in front of the counter. He scans the room, and it's only when his face turns towards me that I realize who he is.

I could almost swear we made eye contact, but Jimin turns quickly back to the barista. What the heck is he doing here?

I watch him fiddling with his phone, glancing distractedly at the handmade menus. He looks nervous, and at one point, I think he is about to leave. I want him to turn around. I want him to see me, but his posture remains rooted towards the counter.

Finally, after a long discussion with the server, Jimin is handed something that looks like a byproduct of unicorn slaughter. Colourful drink in hand, he turns back to the body of the cafe. I mess with the flurry of papers spread across my table, clearing a spot for him, but when I look up, the young dancer is gone. Scanning the crowd in the shop, I locate Jimin about six seats to my left. I can see his profile perfectly, but he seems completely engrossed in his phone, his tiny fingers flipping between web pages.

I wonder if he is texting Ji.

Flustered, I try to go back to my work. I am sure Jimin saw me. If he doesn't want to say hello, he doesn't need to, especially after the way I have treated him over the past two days, but still, there is a part of me that wonders if he will come over.

The minutes tick by.

...To hell with all of it. I can't focus on anything but Jimin. Sometimes, I think I can sense him glancing my way, but when I look in his direction, he is once again staring at his phone. Shit. If this keeps going, I am not getting any work done for the rest of the day.

I catch a slight movement out of the corner of my eye, turning my head sharply. This time, I manage to catch Jimin's gaze. His reaction isn't exactly what I expected. The young man claps his hands over his face, turning away from me as if to hide. Dear god, this kid is ridiculous. "I can see you." I call, annoyed and a little amused with him at the same time. I stand up now, emboldened by his shy reaction.

"Hi." I say, coming to stand in front of him.

"Hi." Jimin responds, his eyes skirting my face.

I draw up a chair in front of him. "So, were you avoiding me there? Or are you going to tell me that you really didn't see me?"

"I saw you." The dancer admits reluctantly. "I just...I didn't want to bother you."

I roll my eyes. "You wouldn't have bothered me by coming to say hello."

"Really?" Jimin asks. "Oh, I...I wasn't sure."

We sit in silence for a moment. "Listen." I say. "I left my laptop on that table, but you should come sit. Maybe you could tell me what you think of the first picture."

Jimin's face brightens, but I can still sense his trepidation. "Are you sure?"

I stand up in response, waving him over to my table. The Claire de Lune is designed with a single padded bench running all the way along the front window, a half dozen tables positioned at intervals in front of it. I pat the seat beside me, pulling up my editing program on the computer. "What do you think of this?"

Jimin sits down tentatively at my side, leaving a huge gap between us. He cranes his neck to see the picture.

"Oh for god's sake," I say, scooting beside him so that our legs are practically touching, "I won't bite."

I pull the laptop in front of us, gesturing towards the edited image. "That's the first one."

Jimin leans close to the computer screen, examining the image carefully. "You did a very good job on this." He finally says.

"Thanks." I respond, pleased at the compliment.

The young dancer takes sip out of his drink, getting rainbow spotted whipped cream all over his mouth and nose.

"How did you even order that?"
I ask. "It's like there was a massacre in the sprinkles factory."

"I like the way they crunch." Jimin explains, dabbing his face with a napkin. I don't tell him this, but he has missed a tiny pink star sticking to the tip of his nose.

Turning towards the computer, I open the file from our photoshoot. "Maybe you can help me shortlist these." I say. Normally, I don't like having people involved in my projects, but these are Jimin's pictures too, and I think he should be allowed to have his say.

We scroll down through hundreds of shots. I keep a pen and paper at my side, writing down the number codes for every picture Jimin likes. Although he tries to be enthusiastic about everything, his final selections consist of barely a dozen pictures.

I have to admit, he has an eye for this sort of thing. There isn't a single image he has liked that I wouldn't choose from a technical standpoint. I add his favourites to a separate album, selecting the first one to edit.

"...Are you okay if I watch you work?" Jimin asks, observing as I fiddle with the contrast.

I glance over at him in consideration. I can always tell him to leave if he is being annoying, and it might be a good idea to have him nearby, just in case I need a second opinion. "Sure. If you're distracting though, I'll have to kick you out."

"Okay." Jimin says, catching his breath slightly. "I'll try my best to be quiet."

The whipping cream in Jimin's cup droops more with every passing hour, but he doesn't reach for it again. I edit photo after photo, finding myself explaining the technique behind every subtle adjustment. Jimin is a surprisingly good listener. He doesn't talk or distract me from my work, and I find myself beginning to relax in his company.

We eat a light lunch, not really saying anything to each other. I start to wonder what he normally does on weekends. Does he have a lot of friends?

Checking the time on his phone, Jimin's face falls. "I have to go Yoongi."

"What?" I say, masking my disappointment.

"I have the studio for a couple of hours before supper." He explains. "The faculty director wants me to have a sample of my dance ready, so that they can start planning for the production, but I need to run over my choreography."

I realize that I don't know anything about Jimin's performance. I should ask him for more details, but he is obviously in a rush to leave. "Well, thanks for your help." I say, fingers extended in a clumsy wave.

Jimin takes up his unfinished drink. "I really liked watching you today," he says, reaching behind his head to ruffle the hair at his crown. "Thanks for letting me stay."

"No problem, you didn't bother me at all." I say.

And I mean it.