𓆉𓆉𓆉

The guy hovering before the cash register is cute.

He runs a hand through his honey streaked hair, chin flitting ever so slightly as he appears to be playing with his lip piercing.

The man is around your age, with a jawline sharper than your freaking grades. Forcing your eyes away, you mentally wack yourself for gaping at the man like one of those lovesick school girls.

Get a damn grip, Y/N.

He's out of your freaking league.

Besides—considering how you look at the moment—you have absolutely no interest in making a move. So ignoring him, you flounder uncomfortably in line, feeling the presence of a bulky figure shifting impatiently behind.

Blink, and his broad shoulders bump your sides roughly, making your petite figure stumble to the side.

The hell?

You snap your gaze to the man in front, feeling a surge of anger seep through your veins once he shamelessly starts to recite his order. His voice is cold as a furnace, edging with a certain tone of superiority that irks you.

But you have to admit, his back profile is damn distracting.

His ebony hair reflects a mellow hint from the gold lights of the shop, making him seem like he's under a spotlight. Well, actually, he kind of is.

A ginger-haired girl beside you is drooling over him, her strawberry smoothie dripping on the floors between her small hands. Somehow, all the attention this arrogant jerk is receiving makes your blood boil.

You have the urge to punch him, but knowing he's muscular with the way his muscles stretched to bursting capacity under his matte black jacket, you don't dare to mess with him. Hell, he's double the size of you. Maybe even more. And you aren't even that short.

Still, the impulse to trip him is pretty tempting. Your eyes slip down to his coal-black timberlands tied with a bow that loosely dangles down the sides.

But when he turns after ordering, the idea slips away from your system almost immediately.

Because he's just so freaking... big.

The guy's rapid strides make it nearly impossible for you to sneak even a fleeting glance at his face. With a crooked neck, your eyes followed the man's figure approaching a seat by several (hot) men in suits.

"Hey cutie," comes a voice, making you snap your attention to the front, stunned at the cashier's choice of words.

And woah... he's even good looking up close.

Before you can reply, your eyes catch a fancy tattoo playing over the porcelain skin of his neck. It's a little hummingbird, you concluded, curiosity flaring with the motive of the tattoo.

The man tilts his head to the side, eyebrows raising into a questionable arc. Whatchu lookin' at silly girl?

You tear your eyes away. For God's sake, Y/N.

"Hey," you finally reply, voice sluggish. Still, he flings you a genial smile that sends his eyes to curl marginally. "I'm Jimin," he chirps, "what can I getcha?"

You wrack your brain to recall several drinks, but you can't think once his fingertips drum impatiently against the screen of the tablet. And with his ethereal features on display, you feel a shard of insecurity creep in.

"A cup of latte," you blurt, and he nods, his fingers now typing over the tablet fluently—almost too gracefully to be true.

A moment later he returns your card, his fingertips grazing yours and you look up to find him winking at you. You gulp dryly.

"Thanks," you mutter, feeling your heart beat wildly in your chest.

"My pleasure," he sweetly calls after you peer away from his glory to walk away hastily.

You don't dare to look back, keeping your gaze fixed on the honey-golden tiles as you pace towards a seat by the window.

It's only a moment before you finally find yourself relaxing with the coffee you held with both hands, relishing the warmth that seeps its way into your skin. Although the scenery outside is slightly gloomy, you enjoyed the mild breeze that grazes through your skin in the softest ways.

Currently, you didn't have too much in your mind except for an interview starting roughly in half an hour. Not like you're desperate for money, but since you recently graduated from MED school, you decided it'll be beneficial to do a part-time job while you're on break. The job will (hopefully) substitute in for all the time you'd spend binge-watching dramas and eating the life out of your fridge—Not literally, of course.

Quickly, you blow into your cup, sipping your coffee while evading the liquid from burning your tongue. Regardless of how tempting it is to stay with all the sweet pastry tones lingering in the bakery, you manage to grab the file with your resume from the table before sitting up to leave.

You pace towards the exit, dodging a couple on your way before sending a tightlipped smile towards the cashier who yet again sends you his classic wink. Then, in an absolute finale of chaos, you crash with impact into a rock-hard chest, treading speedily towards the back exit of the bakery.

Oh please, not him again.

Your figure springs back, the file from your hands landing on the floor with a splat. There's a flurry of papers—his, not yours—whirling in the air like white flocks of doves before they land all over the butterscotch tiles with a swirl.

Before your butt could hit the floor with a painful thump, the man's arm sneaks around your waist, his fingers digging under the belt straps of your jeans to steady your posture.

Something runs down your body—something you couldn't grasp in that exact moment. It was like a strange wave of electricity stimulating through some nonexistent wires in your body. The feeling was so sudden—so new, that you forget to breath for a moment.

What the fucking hell just happened?

You fling your body away from the man like he was on fire. Then bowing slightly in apology, you look up to find him glaring at you with such venom that makes your breath hitch.

"Watch it," he hisses through gritted teeth before kneeling to gather the sheets flung all over the floor.

Way to go, Y/N, you officially messed with the arrogant I-am-mister-perfect son of a prick.

Tugging several strands of hair behind your ears, you kneel with the timberland guy to gather the sheets flung all over the floor. A train of curses leaves his mouth to no one in particular, and you gnaw on your lower lip, preventing your fingers from trembling as you peel each sheet of paper off the floor hastily.

After straightening the bundle of sheets you held, you extend it towards the man, pausing to let your obscure vision adjust onto his face.

And this time, when you look at him—like really look at him, you stop breathing.

He's insanely gorgeous.

Truly, like really.

With his coal-black eyes holding you a prisoner, and his damp black hair and flawless contrasting porcelain skin, it's almost impossible to look away from him. But your mind isn't cooperating at the moment, and though your vision is clear, you can't seem to focus.

Because you know him.

His face, in a way, seems soft, almost like a bunny that's on the borderline of youth. But the place where you think you've seen him doesn't scream soft even in the slightest way.

For a moment, there's no bell ringing—not even a twinge of memory creeping in when you force your brain to ponder where in the past you've seen his face or perhaps even heard of him. But you know for a fact that he's bad news.

Very bad news.

So lost in your little daze of speculation, you hadn't realized you've been holding his stack of papers deadly tight so he couldn't claim them. Annoyed by your nature, he finally turns to look—no, scowl at you.

Jeez, what crawled up his ass?

His sparkling black eyes are piercing into yours murderously that it simply earns a shiver to run down your body. Quickly, you loosen your grip, making him snatch the papers from your hands.

Well damn.

You stand up with him then, grabbing your file with your resume on your way up. "Sorry," you manage to speak, clutching your file to stop the jitters. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Do you ever?" he grunts, and before you could wrack your brain for a comeback, he bumps his brawny shoulders against your sides as he briskly walks away.

"Asshole," you mutter under your breath.

Within a blink of an eye, he's in front of you once more. "What did you just say?"

Your heart starts racing again, the sound unpleasantly loud, you're afraid he'd hear it. And while his black-clad figure hovers before you menacingly, you fight the urge to not back away from his intimidating features on display.

"I said you're an asshole," you say flatly. "Are you perhaps deaf?"

His jaw clenches, the glacial in his eyes splintering from the rage within his pupils. His cheek twitches and it takes you a moment to realize he's gritting his teeth... hard.

Holy crap. Maybe you shouldn't have snapped.

Slowly—almost melodramatically, he leans in, his doe black eyes tapering into slits while you manage to not move from his breath grazing the baby hairs on your upper forehead.

There's a gust of a pleasant honeydew scent filling your nostrils, sending goosebumps to coat your skin from the ticklish sensation of his breath against your skin.

"Look Red," he snarls, and it takes you a second to realize he's referring to the color of your face. "Better shut that smart little mouth of yours and get out of my freaking sight before I make you."

As much as you craved to fire back, you didn't want to be late for your dear interview. "Gladly," you huff out.

Still, you manage to dart him one of your bitchy glares before swiftly turning on your heels so your hair billows and slaps against his face.

A low grunt leaves his pretty mouth, and you smirk as you push your way through the doors of the bakery, purposely swaying your hips with exaggeration just to trigger him.

~~~~~

A/N: Unedited. Ayee this is going to be one bumpy ride lol

Nevertheless, thank you for stopping by and giving this a book read! It's my first fanfiction here and I'm pretty thrilled to see how it goes. Hopefully, you'll ride this roller coaster with me until the end. Don't worry, the tickets on me ;)

©bubbletaeu 2020