3:45pm. The waiters and waitresses have slowed down, their expressions losing the pinched lines of stress as they enjoy the post-lunch lull. Wafts of fresh coffee and toasted croissants infused the sunshine that rolled through the gleaming windows. A low murmur settled over the cups of tea and plates of pastries, like the frosting on a cake. The chairs and tables look like they've come straight out of a catalogue for the European aristocracy, tall and high-backed and patterned like a mosaic of rainbows. A single carnation adorned each table, erect in a simple vase behind the menus. A few workers are dotted around; wiping, dusting and clearing up everything until they shine again.

A patter of steps sound behind me and Minho sits down in the seat opposite, twin tails of stream curling from a cup in each hand. Accepting my latte, I bring it up to my face and inhale deeply.

"Don't worry, I didn't poison it this time."

Keeping my eyes on my drink I smirk slightly and start to sip slowly.

"If you poisoned it, I would know. Just let me appreciate the coffee in silence, will you?"

"I don't think a couple of high school grads would be silent like this."

A burst of giggles breaks out behind me, and Minho raises his gaze to something over my left shoulder. The titters increase in frequency and volume and I can almost see Minho restraining himself from winking. Instead he sits back and folds his arms, playing the casual Casanova. He lifts the drink to his lips and takes a long, deliberate swallow, even biting his lower lip a little after he finishes. As always, it's a struggle not to roll my eyes at him.

"Be careful; if you burn your tongue it would be a tragic loss to our cause."

"Hey, this is called blending in, remember? And besides, I couldn't just give them the cold shoulder, could I?"

"You're making us obvious to people. Blending in also involves a certain degree of subtlety."

"Oh yeah? You're the one who's making us obvious by not responding at all. Any other regular, hormonal teenage guy would have checked them out by now."

A valid point, although do I see some double standards here? So it is acceptable for a boy to wink and smile at a girl, but I am not allowed to get close to a man? Minho's behaviour baffles me sometimes. Last night was the first time I had ever seen Minho so enraged when I suggested seduction as a method to get closer to the target. So now for reasons unknown to me, we are sitting in a cafe as two male high school graduates, enjoying life and taking advantage of all of its opportunities. Picking up a few girls along the way is considered normal behaviour I suppose. The lively whispers are now escalating and are teetering on the edge of wild gossip.

"You might as well give into their desires. I never knew girls could be so curious; they might as well take a picture."

I turn slightly, so that now I'm sitting sideways in my chair and the group of waitresses are visible from the corner of my left eye. I balance one elbow on the table and use my fingertips to gently tease the ends of my fringe. Luckily I've spent sufficient time in Korea to make sense of the slang words included in our description. The tiny smirk is still there on Minho's face and for all the world he appears to be the very definition of the word 'carefree'. However, the miniscule crease in the centre of his forehead tells me otherwise, and I know that he's listening just as hard to make out the rushed streams of Korean. At least it's all fairly innocent. Eventually, one of the waitresses dares to come up to our table, armed with an empty tray and a candid smile.

"Are you two finished? Could I get you -" her eyes flit to Minho's chest "- anything else?"

"No, we're good, thanks," replies Minho in fluent Korean.

This time she directs the full force of her gaze on him whilst tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her next words are interrupted by a tinkling bell as the door of the cafe opens. The waitress, startled into action, hurriedly begins to gather up the empty cups on our table. However her gaze is attracted to the three men that have just entered and her hold on the fragile cup saucers slipped.

The clatter of china on wood draws the attention of the trio at the door. The clumsy waitress hastily retreats from us behind feverish apologies, the fluttering eyelashes and coy glances now a distant memory. Minho raises an inquisitive eyebrow at my nonchalant expression.

"Normal teenage boys don't have reflexes of point-zero-eight seconds. I was just blending in."

Apparently satisfied with my reply, Minho switches his attention to the three young men at the counter giving their orders. Up close, the target appears to be like any other university student, as do the two others behind him. Their attire is much like ours, casual in zip-up hoodies and skinny jeans. However, it's difficult not to notice the brand names and logos on their shoes and satchels as they go to take a window seat a few tables down from us, on the other side of the entrance. At this point I turn my eyes away, before my gaze becomes something more than polite interest. Leaning back into his chair Minho begins to speak, but his lazy posture is betrayed by the anticipation in his question.

"So, do we make our move now, or later?"

 

08.04.12