[ as this is an x reader, i'll be writing in the second person tense. "Y/N" stands for "your name", so anytime to you see it, just insert your own name in your mind as you're reading! ]

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all of them dreams- tom rosenthal

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You set down your coffee as the bell at the top of the shop's front door rang, indicating that a new customer had arrived. You plastered on your best customer service kind of smile, ready to greet the guest that had walked in before offering them samples of the cinnamon twists you had just put on display. The business had been slow so far that morning, and there wasn't a single other person in the store.

"Hi, welcome to Youth and Impulse Café. How may I help you today?" You began your typical spiel, removing your eyes from the morning newspaper to make eye contact with the customer. Eye contact was the key to positive business interactions, your late father had once told you. It was practically the gold rule of the family business and something you had never let yourself forget.

"Yeah, I'm, uh, looking for Stevens?" the young man seemed unsure, presenting his words as more of a question, rather than a definitive statement. You looked him up and down, taking notice of how he lacked an umbrella on a stormy day such as this, and how he was dripping water from his clothes onto the wood floor.

He looked like somewhat of a typical hipster, and you braced for impact. Given that the business was so elegantly named "Youth & Impulse Café", you had served plenty of "typical hipsters" over the years. Your experiences with them were generally unpleasant. They were the types of people to come in, order a latte with a pretty steamed milk design on top, snap an aesthetically pleasing picture for their blog, and then leave. It was a rare occasion that those people ever even took a single sip of the coffee they had ordered, and something about that always irritated you.

Despite your negative preconceived notions about the man, you maintained a polite composure.

"Stevens is out on a supply run. We ran out of cinnamon," you smiled sheepishly, glancing over at the abundant amount of cinnamon twists you had insisted on baking, simply because they tasted so good.

"Oh," the young man replied, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. His uneasy and generally uncomfortable demeanor made you feel the need to ask why he was looking for your uncle, Stevens, the owner of the café.

"May I ask what you're meeting him for?"

"I'm Min Yoongi. I'm supposed to be meeting with him for an audition to play piano here on Tuesday and Thursday nights?"

"Oh!" You were instantly relieved to hear that he didn't just want a cool artsy latte to post a picture of, "We've been looking for somebody to fill that position for months now." You said enthusiastically, eliciting a hint of an embarrassed smile from the boy. "He should be back soon, so do you mind waiting?"

"Um, I don't mind," he replied, his eyes drifting around the store. He seemed unsure of what to do next.

"Why don't you hang your jacket up over there," you pointed toward the coat rack by the front door, "so it'll be dry by the time you leave.

He nodded in agreement, sliding the rain-soaked jacket off to reveal his pale arms. You weren't sure why, but for some reason you expected him to be covered in tattoos. Perhaps it was because he appeared as a hipster, someone too cool to even use an umbrella when it was raining outside.

But, you had to acknowledge his demeanor was rather reserved and non-aggressive. You felt a pang of guilt for judging him so soon.

You stepped out from behind the counter, making your way to a supply closet in the back, bringing out a small hand towel. When you appeared back out in the front of the store, Yoongi was quietly looking around. You watched as his eyes landed on the baby grand piano in the left-hand back corner of the store. It was only for a split-second, but you could've sworn you saw a hint of a smile creeping across his face.

"Nice, isn't it?" You asked as you approached him.

"Very. I've never played a grand before."

"It was my Dad's. Been a long time since it's been shown any love. I would really like for someone to be able to put it to good use...Here," you said, holding the towel out to him, "For your hair."

He turned, accepting the towel without meeting your eyes. "Thanks."

"So, Yoongi, what kind of coffee do you drink?" you walked back around behind the counter.

"I'm not picky," he began towel-drying his hair.

"I don't buy it. Everyone has a favorite coffee. Or perhaps, you're a tea person?"

"I know it may seem kind of mainstream," he started, removing the towel from his blonde hair that appeared to be much drier than it had before. "But I like lattes."

"You're kidding," you tried to contain the fit of laughter that you felt coming on. The irony was almost too much to handle.

"Not kidding. Vanilla lattes are the best." You took the towel back from him.

"Alright, one vanilla latte coming up then."

"How much?" he asked, reaching for his wallet.

"Don't worry about it. It's on the house."

He sat down at the table by the front window. The rain was persisting, and it seemed to be growing continually gloomier outside. There were questions you itched to ask him as the silence beckoned at the both of you. Basic questions; where was he from? How old was he? Why was he so careless with his health, walking through the rain like that without an umbrella?

You set the latte down in front of Yoongi and he smiled, "Thank you." He took a sip, causing you to have to suppress another few giggles as the foam coated his upper lip. He reached for the napkin dispenser that resided in the middle of the table, blushing.

"This is really good," he smiled again, and you felt a small glimmer of hope. You hadn't exactly been lonely lately. It had just been a long time since you attempted to meet new people. Bogged down with University classes and work, your free time and mental capacity for new relationships felt practically nonexistent. But, you'd been thinking for a while that someone new at work or school may allow for things to be different. Better.

Maybe Min Yoongi wouldn't be bad at playing the piano like the last several job contenders. Maybe he'd stick around.

Before the conversation had a chance to progress any further, the front doorbell rang once again, revealing Stevens who was carrying a few grocery bags. You went over to take the bags from him as he fumbled with his umbrella, trying to close it.

"Stevens, this is Yoongi, the piano player who's auditioning for us today."

You had never once called Stevens "Uncle Stevens." He was an informal kind of guy in every way possible and had always refused labels and titles. He was practically a hipster himself, minus the annoying latte picture-taking tendency.

"Ah, Yoongi! Nice to meet you," Stevens greeted him warmly as Yoongi quickly stood from his seat, reaching out to shake Stevens' hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sir. Thanks for getting back to me about the job so quickly."

"Sure. We want to engage the older community in our business, and I've been trying to get a Senior Tea and Piano night off the ground for a while. Hence the reason we're so desperate for a pianist. So, kid, show me what you got," Stevens explained, gesturing toward the piano. "And Y/N, what are you just standing there for? Go put the groceries up," he chuckled as you realized you had been awkwardly standing there holding the bags as their conversation unfolded.

"Right," you mumbled, going to the kitchen as Yoongi and Stevens made their way to the piano.

It wasn't long until you heard a soft melody ringing out, flowing through the entire cafe. It was a peaceful tune, one that made you feel at ease. As the piece progressed, it seemingly grew more intricate and complicated. You peeked out from over the counter, viewing Yoongi's profile as his face scrunched up in concentration as his fingers moved delicately across the keys of the piano. His talent was clear and blatant, and you wondered why he could only get a job working at a cafe. His skill warranted something much more important than a measly coffee shop job, and your curiosity was peaked once again.

Once the song ended, both you and Stevens were thoroughly impressed.

"Yoongi, that was great! I just have a few questions before I can offer you the job."

"Sure," Yoongi replied, his face still red: from nervousness or embarrassment, you couldn't tell.

"You're carrying around a lot of talent. Why do you want to work here?" Stevens asked and you continued eavesdropping.

"I need the money and the experience. There are things I'd like to do with my music, but no one is going to take me seriously until I have some legitimate working experience. I figured if I need to start somewhere, it might as well be here," he explained.

"I see. What's your availability like?" Stevens asked, and you found yourself silently praying that he would give Yoongi the job. Not only were you curious about him, but the poor kid was so talented, and you didn't want him to be out on the streets.

"I work part-time at a convenience store, but my evenings are always free. I'm taking a break from University right now, so I don't have any commitments there either."

You continued to watch their exchange, taking note that he must've been around your age, not even realizing that a customer had entered and was waiting in front of the counter. The customer cleared their throat, but your eyes were still trained on Yoongi and Stevens' ongoing interview.

"Great. Can you be here at 6 on Thursday night?" Stevens asked, and you beamed.

"Excuse me," the customer said politely, and you awkwardly jumped as you were pulled out of your daze.

"I'm sorry!" You apologized quickly, standing in front of the cash register to take the customer's order.

You smiled as you wrote down the order, accepted the money, and the sent the customer off happy, with a hot coffee and a paper bag of cinnamon twists in hand.

"Thank you so much for the opportunity, Sir," Yoongi said as you glanced back at them, "I'll see you on Thursday."