Cold Coffee | 𝐉. 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨 ✓

6

6

[Lee Saeyan]
23rd Mar 2023

           I absolutely despised the waiting part. It was hard. All those days I'd only think of you, conjecture the basics: what were you doing? Where were you? Why aren't you in love with me? Yes, the basics. I also questioned why I liked you so much. Why did I want to seek out the truth veiled in your smile? Was your smile even genuine at all? The basics.

          Wooyoung took a day off today. I didn't feel his absence, but I felt the exhaustion from working and trying to fill in his place. I should hire one more person. Maybe I should, really. If I had thought about it earlier, I wouldn't have been complaining now.

         You entered the cafe with three of your work friends; an hour before the closing time, you promenaded inside with your friends following you behind. I knew one of them from before, the slightly taller with slanted eyes and really defined cheekbones who accompanied you on your first night here. Other two were strangers to me: one had his hair dyed red, and other, a pretty shade of chestnut. But none could compare to you, with your peach coloured hair—almost like a wispy blush of a teenage girl who found her crush reciprocated her feelings.

       Tentatively, I think I was morphing into a teenage girl as well. Always jittery when I saw you, always adoring a crimson fluster on my cheeks, and my mind filled with scenarios where you and I were always together. It'd be too stereotypical if I had a secret diary to write about you. Typical and cliche.

       I came by your booth, once the red-haired guy waved me down. A notepad was ready in my hand to note your order. Profusely, you gazed at me and smiled, giving me a giddy curve of your lips while your eyes remained half-lidded. I grew concerned. Were you drunk? I wouldn't know. And judging by the state of your friends, I didn't think you were. Yet, you hiccuped and burped softly; as the polite man you are, you apologised to me.

       "He's a little drunk," a friend of yours said, the one with fox-like features. "Don't mind him."

        The red haired added on, "I think a simple soda ought to sober him up."

        "No-no! I will have a cup of coffee." You giggled, and I bit down my own.

        "Sure," the red haired rolled his eyes, slapping your back. He sat next to you, keeping his alertness on you. "If you throw up in my car, I swear I'll make you clean it with your tongue."

       I coughed out a laugh this time. So, you were drunk. That explains it. But why were you drunk? I think I would've never known if your friends hadn't spoken on.

     "He's wasted. So much for being lightheaded." The chestnut-haired guy piped in; I stared at him for a minute longer, realising how alike you two looked. "But get the birthday boy what he needs."

      It was your birthday.

     "And for the rest of you?"

     "A latte for me," the red haired said, I caught up on his name later on: Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong. He was your superior, the owner of the publishing company you wrote for.

    "I'll have a decaf, thank you." San. Choi San. I knew him. But it didn't click in my head right away. He's an author just like you. He wrote mysteries and thrillers, however. A big name in the town.

      The man sharing features similar to you turned out to be your younger brother, half-brother. "Can I get a lemon soda, please?" he said politely, and I could find your glimpses in him. Choi Jongho, I didn't know much about him because you never spoke about him. And I know you would refuse talking about him.

     When I brought all of your orders to the booth, I noticed how dazed you were, how beautiful you looked with the silver moonshine falling on you. I didn't let it distract me from what I had intended on doing. I placed the drinks first, then I placed a plate containing a single chocolate cupcake on the table. It had a little candle in the centre, waiting to be lit up.

      Your brows drew themselves together on your face and you pouted at it. I leaned over to light the candle, and your friends cheered you on.

      "Make a wish," I whispered to you, but you kept staring at me. I noticed your eyes were glazed with tears, and knew you were trying your hardest to hold them in.

        You did not utter a word and blew out the candle. Your friends chorused a loud and hearty 'happy birthday' while you were fixated on the cupcake in front of you. When you were done, I excused myself and returned back to the counter; I watched you from the distance then. You fell silent after that. But your friends didn't seem to notice it. I did, however. Observed you with an open heart, wondered what weighed your own this time.

         It almost brought me to tears. Thinking about how ignorant your friends were—or did they really not have a clue about your woes? I thought about it, when they'd actually acknowledge your solitude. But they didn't. Not for the night when you were sitting in that booth, saying nothing to them. Because they would realise it by the time your coffee had gone cold.