𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐭 | 𝐦.𝐲𝐠 ✓

Chapter 14:

You've seen the way he looks when he steps into work 4 hours late. And he's not happy, satisfied, or even just tired, as he's falsely rectifying here. There's a very specific sadness in those bloodshot eyes. You suspect that that sadness is also the culprit for his eating disarray, but that's another conversation.

You decide not to press him any further. If he's not ready to give you the harsh reality, then he's not ready. And you respect that. You wouldn't want a simple chat to ruin a perfect and lovely night. Right now he's protecting you both from that by not disclosing anymore.

"Happy birthday by the way," he finally chimes in his beautifully monotoned verbalization.

After a smile and nod of your head, you slide forward in your seat so that your stomach is in contact with the edge of the table. You hold out an open hand, glowering into him with playful scrutiny.

"I haven't forgotten." You raise an eyebrow. "My bracelet. Give it." Your fingers scrunch to your palm, then back out.

This emerges a very smug grin at the corner of his mouth. He collides his back with the back of the chair and teethes his lip, examining his chained wrist in the process.

"You know what," he pipes, admiring the shiny bracelet as he twirls it around the circumference of his wrist with two fingers, "it's kinda growing on me. I think I'll keep it."

"That's not fair!" you whine, fighting a laugh. Indisputably though, you have to agree with him. This man can make even the cheapest things look overpriced.

"Oh but it is. It's my birthday and you gave it to me. That's that. And there's witnesses to prove."

You roll your eyes. "It's my birthday too, remember." His parents most definitely paid for dinner as you never saw him take out his wallet.

"Yes, and I bought you coffee."

"Yoongi, I've bought you coffee everyday for the past one hundred and twenty four days."

You'd expected the stubborn man to glare at you with shocked, black eyes. Instead, that sly grimace only intensifies, and his voice becomes even more laid back.

"You've been keeping track," he says firmly, seemingly impressed as he flicks up an eyebrow.

Of course you've been keeping track. They're the best and worst part of your mornings.

The part of your mornings that lead you to him.

That bitter cup of coffee, that inevitably turns cold by the time he receives it, is one of your favorite things about your job. That, and your intense admiration to the guy with mint hair.

Though your job is simple, it's so fulfilling. If only your passion was somehow implicated.

You wouldn't trade it all for anything.

"How's the writing going?" He interrupts your staring off at a succulent in the distance.

"What?"

"You said you wanted to be a writer. Don't you write?"

Taking a sip, you tilt your head side to side, eyes meeting the ceiling. "More less. I have nothing to write about," you laugh.