I leave the house feeling like the grumpiest man alive. My hand grazes the doorknob and I pause. Turning to glance at my shoe cabinet, more specifically at the picture frames that sit atop it, a part of my initial annoyance withers away. I twist the bronze doorknob and swing open the door with a little more zest. Today will be better, I think to myself as I step into the elevator. The lift stops at floor seven, two floors down from my own, and the door opens with an obnoxious ding. Whatever enthusiasm and positive energy I had two seconds ago dissolves at the sight of Oh Sehun, my annoying seventeen year old neighbour. He’s dressed in his school uniform, nametag gleaming under the mellow light of the elevator.

That’s how I got to know the name of the most annoying person alive, second to me, of course, I am the most annoying person alive, but only I can call myself that. He greets me with a tight-lipped grin, which I assume to be a cocky smirk in disguise. He definitely knows how much I hate him, and he loves it. He steps into the elevator and I scoot over to the side to make way. I press myself against the wall, wanting to stay as far away from him as possible, in fear that he would away the happiness my younger brother sent to me just a while ago.

We split up at the main road with no words exchanged, I turn left and head to the bus stop, while he turns right and goes off somewhere, maybe to kick puppies and steal candy from babies, I don’t know and I don’t care. As long as he stops smashing those drums at eleven at night, I’m fine. I’m pretty sure the whole building hates the kid, he can’t play the drums to save his own life and he plays it when everyone else is trying to sleep. I wonder what his parents are doing when he starts drumming, do they not feel like throwing their own son off a cliff? Along with his devil-sent drum set?

I realize I’m scowling, and that’s not what I had in mind for myself today. Just for today, I would try to be a little different. A little more helpful, more cheerful and basically a more pleasant Do Kyungsoo. I hop onto the bus that would take me to my workplace. It’s crowded, because it’s the morning rush hour. I think someone high up there is testing me—it’s hard to adopt a more positive mindset when you have a thousand year old armpit shoved in your face. I struggle not to gag.

“You’ve got to be ing kidding me,” I grumble quietly to myself and try my best to distance my face from that abomination. I quickly squeeze my way through the thick crowd of commuters when my stop nears, I shove some people out of my way with more force than necessary in order not to have the bus drive off with me still in it. I stumble onto the pavement and take in a breath of fresh air. Before walking in the direction of my workplace, I turn and throw an icy glare at Smelly Armpit until the bus drives off and I wonder who is his next victim.

After walking two minutes, I push open the glass doors to Guardian Angel Café. The name is a tad bit too happy and cheerful, not to mention cheesy, for someone with such a grumpy personality like myself. The place is still dark, but the aroma of freshly baked chocolate croissants and other pastries send a warm tingle down my spine.

“Oh hey, you’re early,” my boss, Junmyeon, greets me from the kitchen door. He has his white apron on and white hat—that strangely looks like a nurse’s—to match. If the café was brighter, I could almost see the smear of flour across his cheeks.

“I am?” my eyebrows pull down in puzzlement as I look at the angel-shaped clock hanging on the wall behind the counter which reads 7:27am. I usually arrive at ten minutes to eight, or a little later.

“Earlier than Baekhyun.” Junmyeon smiles and ducks into the kitchen probably to retrieve the next batch of pastries before they burn. Feeling proud of myself, I go to the staffroom to clock in. The staffroom is just a small room with undecorated white walls and a peach coloured wooden table separating the couch and mini-tv. Just recently, Junmyeon brought in a small fridge and stocked it up with drinks for us to consume during our breaks. Baekhyun and I rarely see him as a boss, but rather a cool and easy-going big brother who sometimes tries too hard to be ‘hip’ and ‘cool’.

I toss my bag onto the black love seat before changing into my uniform made up of simply a dark blue polo shirt with the café’s name sewn on the right pocket in gold, and whatever bottoms I came wearing. I pin on my nametag just above the pocket. The only complain I have is that instead of the nametag simply reading ‘Do Kyungsoo’, there were two more words carved above my name reading ‘Angel’. I can’t help but cringe every time I put my nametag on.

When I first noticed that, which was my first day of work, I went about checking the other two nametags and found that Baekhyun’s nametag also had ‘Angel’ above his name while Junmyeon’s had ‘Guardian’. I immediately put two and two together and figured it was because of the café’s name and a representation of our ‘ranks’. But that was three years ago, and I already got over my initial embarrassment, albeit given a choice I would prefer to do away with it.

Sighing at my reflection, I leave the staffroom and begin mopping the floor. After completing that, I flip the chairs over from their overturned state on the table and gently set them on the floor. I was the barista here and Baekhyun was in charge of prepping up the café while I was still on my way, but since I'm early for once, I decide to do it for him. Baekhyun comes in seconds after I’m done with his usual broad smile plastered on his face. Sometimes I envy how naturally positive and enthusiastic he is.

“Kyungsoo!” he greets a little too loudly, his cheerful tone mixed with a little surprise that I arrived before him.

“Hurry clock in before you’re late, hyung.” I smile and jab my thumb back in the direction of the staffroom. I was the youngest out of the three of us here, Baekhyun was a year older and Junmyeon two. Sometimes, I feel like it’s the opposite with how immature those two could be. But perhaps that was just my easily annoyed and grumpy nature taking over.

I go behind the counter and help Junmyeon load the cakes and pastries into the display case while Baekhyun flips the sign from open to close. I ease myself onto the black leather high stool and wait for the morning crowd to start streaming in. Our customers this early into the day are usually office workers and occasional students who drop by to pick up their morning coffee and bagel. While I busied myself making drinks, Junmyeon would work the register until there was a need to bake again, and Baekhyun served the tables. When there aren’t many customers, I double as the cashier on top of being the barista so Junmyeon can go about doing his complicated Manager stuff.

The rush hour soon begins and the morning passes by in a blur. The three of us have already gotten used to working together, we should have, because it’s been three years. The built up chemistry allows us to smoothly sail through the rush hours without a problem. At about 11, customer flow is stagnant. Junmyeon is busy baking more pastries for the afternoon while Baekhyun wipes the tables. I sit on my high stool behind the counter, waiting for our lunch hour to start at 12.

We only had about five people come in to order during that hour, and Baekhyun promptly puts up the ‘Closed for Lunch’ sign. While the older two members of the café discuss what kind of takeout to order at one of the tables, I slip into the staffroom and get drinks for them, remembering the promise to myself to be a more helpful and pleasant Do Kyungsoo.

“The maknae has something up his sleeve today,” Baekhyun jokingly points out as he receives his canned ice lemon tea from me.

“First he comes early,” Junmyeon mutters, unscrewing the cap to his bottled coke.

“Now he gets us drinks,” Baekhyun comments as he opens the canned drink with a pop. I roll my eyes with a slightly embarrassed smile and turn to go back to the staffroom to check up on my cellphone.

“Hey we’re ordering Chinese today. Black bean or seafood noodles?” Baekhyun calls out.

“Seafood, extra spicy,” I reply before slipping into the staffroom. I get a drink for myself and sink down onto the love seat. Ever since I received that life changing call three years ago, I noticed that I’ve been paying more attention to my phone, always wondering if I had missed an important call. Before I can get it out to check for missed calls or text messages like I planned to, my phone rings. I quickly set down my canned drink, heart hammering against my ribs, and rummage through my bag for the ringing phone.

My forehead creases when I notice it’s an unknown number. “Hello?”

“Are you Kim Jongin’s father?” a male voice demands over the phone. Immediately, I feel my irritation level spike up a notch.

“Excuse me?” I squint.

“I said, are you Kim Jongin’s father?” the man raises his voice at me, and I barely stop myself from telling him off.

“Is there a problem?”

“Your son has been caught for stealing from my bookstore!” the deep baritone voice bellows into my ear. “I suggest you come down before I call the police!”

My body turns rigid as a flash of images run through my mind. Hot tears sting the back of my eyelids at the memories as my nails harshly dig into the skin of palms.

“Where are you located?” I ask hoarsely. The tears blur my vision but I quickly and angrily blink them away.

“Seonggo-dong, Park’s Bookstore across JeongSung High School.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour. Don’t scare the kid.” I end the call and strip out of my polo tee into my own grey button up I wore here. I grab my bag and cellphone and rush out.

“Kyungsoo, where are you going?” Junmyeon asks, concern decorating his gentle features.

“I… Uh, something cropped up. It’s urgent, I have to go. I promise I’ll be back before lunch ends.”

“Hurry back,” he says. I mutter a quick thanks and rush out of the café. Whatever positive energy has long been diminished and trampled into nothing. I am thoroughly agitated and cranky. I don’t know why. How can this be so much of a coincidence? Kim Jongin? Who is this kid? Why am I on my way to save a stranger?

I soon arrive at Park’s Bookstore after taking note of the high school located just across the road. The automatic glass doors slide open for me as I take a step inside.

“I wonder how your parents raised you! What a disgrace!” I recognize the voice to belong to the caller. I grind my teeth with newfound anger.

“Hey!” I snarl and march right between the man and the supposed Kim Jongin. I protectively take the kid behind my back and glare up at the man. He was a good head taller than I am, but I couldn’t be bothered. “He’s just a kid. I’m here now, talk to me, not him.”

“Who the hell are you? Are you his father? You look like a fifteen year old girl,” the man sneers.

“I’m his older brother and I’m twenty one, I believe I’m old enough to protect him from the likes of you.” I narrow my eyes menacingly at the man while the kid trembles against my back.

“Your brother stole from me,” the man crosses his arms and literally looks down at me. “Either you pay up or I’m calling the police.”

My eyes flicker to the two books on the counter. “I’ll pay.”

How much could two books cost anyways?

“That’ll be $120 inclusive of damage charges, pay up, adult.”

“What kind of damage has he caused?!” I shout incredulously.

“He disrupted my business!”

My jaw drops a little in disbelief and the man smirks, mistaking it for defeat.

“Fine,” I hiss and grab my wallet from my bag. I throw the crumpled bills at his face and grab the books before storming out of the wretched bookstore with the kid in tow. I drag him by the wrist a good distance away from the bookstore before promptly letting go. I whirl around and glare at the boy. Sun-kissed skin, double eyelids, thick lips and fluffy black hair that gleamed under the sunlight. The uncanny resemblance has me swallowing a lump down my throat.

“Hey kid,” I mutter, “How’d you get my number?”

The boy doesn’t lift his head as he says, “I- I didn’t. I just made it up.”

My breath hitches.

Is this heaven playing a trick on me? How in the world can there be such a coincidence?

“This is crazy. You are crazy for stealing! How old are you, do you want to be thrown in jail?” the boy opens his mouth to speak but I promptly cut him off. “No, I am crazy for rushing to your aid. What if it was a plan to kidnap me? Oh god, what is wrong—”

“Thank you,” the boy whispers and I stop my rant. I sigh, dropping my shoulders.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Why aren’t you in school?” I furrow my eyebrows.

The boy lowers his head even more. “I skipped.”

“Why?” the boy doesn’t answer. “If I saved you I think I deserve to know what’s going on.”

“My parents are overseas with my older brother. I live here with my aunt.”

“And?”

“I’ve always felt they liked my brother more. They always neglected me. I stole so I could have some attention, even if it was negative. I was about to give them my aunt’s number, until I remembered she was seven months pregnant.”

“Someone help this kid,” I groan and slap a palm over my face.

Kyungjun-ah, he’s just like you.

“Hey!” a foreign voice catches both our attention. At the bottom of the sloped pavement Jongin and I walked up just now, I can make out a curly haired male rushing over to us. I faintly recognize him from the bookstore and quickly throw my arm over Jongin’s shoulders.

“What do you want now?” I snap, “I already paid you everything.”

“I know,” the male says, panting. He’s just as tall as the unreasonable man from the bookstore, if not taller. He has a nametag pinned onto his shirt too, Park Chanyeol, it reads.

“So why are you here?”

“To return you the extra money,” Chanyeol flashes a toothy grin and holds up two $50 bills. “My dad… He can be a bit much sometimes.”

“Not just sometimes,” I grumble and snatch the money back. Chanyeol gives me a tired but apologetic smile before looking at Jongin.

“I’m sorry if my dad scared you back there, kid, but you really shouldn’t steal anymore, okay?”

Jongin nods under my arm. Chanyeol smiles again and runs back down the gently sloped road.

“Here,” I hand the teen his books. “You stole ‘em, might as well read it.”

“Thanks,” Jongin murmurs and takes the books, “Hyung.”

I sigh and subtly shake my head before walking away. I glance at my wristwatch, there’s half an hour until break ends, I can make it back in time.

“Hyung, why did you save me? You don’t even know me.” I stop in my tracks.

“You hit close to home, kid, I didn’t do it for you. No need to feel grateful. And stop calling me hyung, I’m not your hyung.”

There’s silence on the other side and I continue walking. My forehead creases when I hear soft footsteps behind me.

“Kid, why are you following me?”

“I don’t feel like going home, hyung,” Jongin says, hugging his books.

“Don’t follow me. I’m not a good person,” I say in a low voice, almost whispering, and turn around again. The footsteps continue, and I halt. This time I don’t turn around. “I said stop following me. You’re just a kid, go home, your aunt is worried.”

“I think the only person who is anywhere near worried about someone like me, is you, hyung.”

Jongin’s words tug at my heart. Nobody apart from Kyungjun has ever called me hyung. I don’t think I deserve to be called hyung, not after I drove my own brother to suicide.

Jongin is still following me, but this time I don’t tell him to go away. He’s a kid, after all, and I’m the only person who’s remotely concerned about him.

There's still one more chapter!