+TYPED OUT-

+BUBBLING-

"Kenㅡ."

He turned away and left Monday, who Ben joined, "ah, I see you're cozying up to Mr. Mosley."

"You're out of your mind. I was asking about this tuna sandwich thing he said earlier."

They both stared in Kenneth's direction. People huddled around him to listen to him speak as if he were Saint Patrick.

"I can't believe he makes a living just by speaking," Monday said and turned away.

"Oh, he does more than that," Ben said, posing his empty glass on the counter, "he has his own publishing house. It's affiliated with Schuster. And he also does conferences in companies."

"Good for him."

"Ben," said a tall bald man who approached them.

"Hi."

"Monday, this is Lennon Pritchard."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Daye."

Monday preferred to go by her pen name when she met new people. She had changed her pen name twice, Dai La-Yen and Lana Day created confusion. Some people were shocked to discover she was neither white nor Asian as her first book's protagonists were never black. Her face-reveal was only two years old.

The most disappointed readers were from Asian countries. Though she always expressed no affiliation to the culture, many believed she had some Asian roots when they read the stories set in South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, or China.

The author's protagonist came to life as she walked the streets of Seoul. Her love for Asian TV series pushed her to travel to the locations. Scenes sketched themselves in Namsan Tower and inspired Monday to write.

Monday never chose her protagonists' origins. They imposed themselves in her stories. And in the last few years, the stories wished to involve East, South East Asians, and black women. Monday wrote accordingly.

Lately, Monday found herself preoccupied with the development of her male protagonists. She liked flirting with the idea of telling things from their standpoint within the female protagonists' perspective in her stories. Monday loved to explore the depths of characters' emotions. The third-person omniscient gave her this power which she used to the best of her ability. She hated the exacerbated feminity attributed to gay men. It was a trait not all gay men had, just like the overbaked macho man stance given to men to portray their dominant personality.

Dominant men were more subtle in their approach, a little bit likeㅡ.

"Oh, we've lost her," Lennon said.

Ben nudged her, "Monday?"

"Huh, what?"

"You were having a moment," Lennon said with a smile, "I bet you were either writing a chapter or sketching a character. It's a writer's thing."

Lennon couldn't be more accurate. The woman did begin to foresee the outline of a male character. What was yet to define was whether he was a protagonist or an antagonist.

Mondays' eyes shifted in Kenneths' direction; the balance seemed to tilt on the villains' side.

"Lennon and I are leaving, Monday."

"Sorry, you were saying?" The woman asked. Mondays' habit of phasing out on conversation was one of the reasons her social and romantic life died. Only people working in the same environment understood her state of mind.

"I said we're leaving."

"Yes, eh, I should go as well. Where's Tim?" Monday said while her eyes looked around the room.

"He's mingling and having the time of his life. I doubt he'll notice."

"Oh, I prefer to tell him we're going."

"Alright, see you tomorrow," Ben said.

From the looks of things, Monday would be the only person to sleep as she found Tim drowning in the gaze of his interlocutor, who gave an in-depth explanation of her steampunk novel.

"Tim, I'm leaving."

"Yes, see you tomorrow," the man replied without turning to see Monday off.

The woman walked to the door, followed by Kenneths' stare.

Daye Yeni.

Nor fate or coincidence was at play. Kenneth provoked her, and he got the exact reaction he expected.

Humans were curious by nature; his comment got the attention he wanted. Used to captivating audiences, Kenneth disliked how the woman snubbed his conference and left. He hoped to convert Monday the following day at his Schedule Love conference.

While Kenneth conspired to transform Monday into a fangirl, the woman proceeded with her plans for the evening. She showered and sat in front of her computer to write the ideas that came to mind. The days' scenes replayed, and the images zoomed on Kenneth every time.

Monday deplored her behavior. Why was she desperate to figure out what the comment meant?

She didn't care, yet she gave the impression Kenneths' opinion mattered. Also, why did she detail his appearance as though she screened his application for a boyfriend position when she fully knew there was no chemistry?

Still, Kenneth's face was the last thing Monday's mind projected as she closed her eyes to sleep.

Back at the bar, Kenneth harbored his most interrogative expression as he listened for the twentieth time that evening to someone explaining their theories on what happiness was in 2021. Of course, the person complimented Kenneth but estimated some of his theories were biased.

Kenneth hated hearing people say, "your speech was good, butㅡ."

But what? The man wished to yell.

He glanced in Merediths' direction. The orator had enough for the night. Meredith approached, understanding it was time for her to intervene. She interrupted Kenneths' interlocutor with a question. Kenneth grasped the moment to eclipse himself. He lowered his head and made his way to the door, hoping no one would stop him before. His bladder was on the verge of leaking the beer he drank, and there was no way he would pee in the dirty urinal of the bar.

If his agenda depended on his liking, he would avoid all these gatherings. People tired him as much as he loved them. It was the play he detested having the impression that all portrayed characters. Jesters, fans, and anti-fans, Kenneth loved when the mascarade stopped.

"Ahh," Kenneth sighed as he freed the liters he witheld all night in his hotel rooms' toilet.

He washed his hands and noticed a dark line within one of his nails. He got a nail clip and trimmed it before using the file's tip to clean the onychodermal band between his nail and skin. It was hard to take out. The man almost ended up making his nail bleed.

Being a perfectionist was a gift and a curse. The man detested seeing things swerve out of his control, whether a discussion or gunk in his nail.

Kenneth fell back on his bed, exhausted and for a unclassified reason he wondered whether Monday would attend his talk or not.