You were working the late shift at the café. It was quiet as you wiped down the tables for the fifth time, cursing under your breath while the espresso machine hissed like it had a personal vendetta against you.

“Another latte?” a familiar voice asked, smooth but faintly amused.

You looked up. Of course. He was here again. Jungkook, in a black button-down dress shirt, hair messy but somehow perfect, eyes tracking your every move like he owned the place or maybe even you.

“Yeah…right..the usual,” you said.

He leaned on the counter, elbows resting like he belonged there. “You know,” he said, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips, “if you keep making coffee this good, people might start thinking you’re some kind of wizard.”

“Wizard?” you raised an eyebrow. “I’m more of a caffeine slave.”

He chuckled softly, that mischievous glint in his eyes making your heart skip. “You’ve got attitude… I like that.”

You rang him up, handed over the drink, and he walked out like usual. But when you finally checked the tip jar, your jaw dropped. A $1,000 bill. And a note in neat handwriting:

“If money’s a pain, I can help. In exchange for your company and time. Call me. – JK”