They're Made of Glass | SEVENTEEN

18 | second thoughts

— ☆ —

The airport was bustling with activity. People were rushing to catch flights, eating crappy airport food in a hurry, waiting anxiously for loved ones...

Or in my case, standing in the longest line ever just so I could order a stupid cup of coffee from Starbucks.

Okay I take that back. I was standing in the longest line ever so I could order a ridiculously overpriced cup of coffee. But screw it, I was not jumping out of line. Despite the fact that this line was longer than the freaking Nile River, this airport was freezing and the only place here serving hot drinks was Starbucks. It was colder in here than it was outside, and there was still ice on the roads.

But as I got closer to the front of the line, I realized that there was only one employee behind the counter, a pimple-faced boy only a little older than me who looked like he seriously was about to faint. A noise from the front of the line catches my attention plus the attention of basically everyone in the whole goddamn airport. It's a noise that could be either an outraged shriek or a cat being strangled. Looking over, I see a lady at the counter shouting unnecessarily loud for five in the afternoon over a toasted sandwich.

Pimple boy was bowing his head and probably apologizing profusely, but the tiger lady kept squawking on. She probably thought her outburst was justified, she is the customer after all, but all she's doing is slowing down the process and making a fool of herself. Better not say that to the customer's face. Remember what happened the last time you were too honest with a customer?

For a moment, Seungcheol's face pops into my head along with his gross overgrown mop of black hair that was constantly falling into his wide, owl-like eyes. I could picture it now, that annoying look he'd give me like I was some butter-fingered sister of his. Well, his wasn't that far off with the butter fingers thing. I was always dropping things and breaking things and occasionally spilling things - maybe onto customers - which almost always resulted in him groaning and shaking his head and...Jesus, I just missed him so much.

"I'm sorry about that..." Pimple boy said when I got to the counter. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Uh, so what can I get for you today?"

"No problem, it's fine. Right, um, so can I get a grande café misto?"

He paused his scribbling, sharpie poised over a cardboard cup. "For the both of you?" He asked.

Both of us? A hand clamped down on my shoulder and a familiar voice as deep and rich as coffee said, "No, uh, I'll get a, um, a salted caramel hot chocolate."

When I glance past the hand, I freeze. Jeon Wonwoo is standing by my side. His presence is a strange, warm shock.

"Size?" The barista asked while moving on to another cup. Putting aside my disbelief, I scrambled to fish out a couple extra bills to pay for his drink. Wonwoo scratched his chin thoughtfully as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. He glanced at me and I shot him a frazzled look back.

"Uh medium, I guess?" He said, causing several loud groans to echo from the people behind us. He looked embarrassed.

The barista scribbles down Wonwoo's order with an eye roll. I glance over at Wonwoo again to make sure he's not just some triply hallucination my conscious brewed up. He's dressed for the cold, unlike me. While I'm wearing sweats, Wonwoo's dressed in jeans and a thick flannel with a winter coat slug under one arm and a beanie wrapped snug over his ears. Hesitantly, I reached over with my finger and poked his arm.