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One: OF HEARTBREAK

I've heard tales of girls trying to take revenge on the boys who broke their hearts. The boys were players, heartbreakers. They were callous, flirtatious and irresponsible. They were the guys my mother had always warned me about.

The girls were always seeking some form of revenge. Maybe it was on behalf of all the other girls whom those boys had hurt before. Maybe they're doing it for the greater good. Maybe they were seeking some form of justice. Or maybe, they just like fighting fire with fire. 

And because of these girls were strong-minded and determined, they could move mountains. They could move something bigger than mountains - they could move the hearts of the boys. And they could move something bigger than the hearts of the boys - they could move their own hearts. 

I've heard stories of how good girls feel for the notorious heartbreaker, how she hoped she could change him. She was wrong, because a leopard never changes its spot. Maybe it happened in fiction and maybe they could live a happily every after. But in reality, she was going to find a boy with another girl some years down the road. In reality, she was bound to get burnt.

Few people consider that there is always an alternate ending - that the boy could be the one left heartbroken, left to salvage the remaining pieces of his heart.

The thing about boys - players, especially - is that they'd do anything to keep their heart safe. But when they fall, they fall hard. Bruno Mars sang a song about catching a grenade for a girl. Call me optimist, a hopeless romantic, but I believe that was true. If a boy loved a girl enough, he would do anything for her. 

And that was when love is unreciprocated, when hsi heart is ripped out and stopped all over and then discared by the girl, it's difficult to pick himself back up. He sinks, deeped and deeper into the abyss, into the ruins of his failed relationship. 

He is not a player, He is not a heartbreaker. He is merely a shell of what he used to be. He is just a boy.

And that's the boy I met that day. 

Morning shifts at YG cafe was mostly the same - filled with the hustle and bustle of activity, coffee orders and impatient workers trying to beat the morning rush hour. On weekends however, it was a different matter altogether. The usual crowd was there, just less demanding, more relaxed. And at seven - thirty in the morning, all I had was just regulars - old people who woke up early and ordered the same breakfast sets every morning.

I was manning the cafe alone that day when Jiyong walked into the cafe. Kyungsoo, the chef, was in the kitchen. I was leaning against the long counter, sipping my first cup of hot chocolate for the day.

Having worked at the cafe for a year and a half , I practically knew the place inside out and the owner of the place, Jaejoong - who was YG's grandson, since the cafe was handed from generation to generation - trusted me enough to let me take charge of all the orders. Besides, Kyungsoo was there to make sure I didn't get into trouble.

Just as I was about to head back into the kitchen to get more hot chocolate, the bell attached to the main door jingled, the light tinkling sound made me look up. Two guys stumbled in. One of them, a boy with unruly mop of light brown curls had his arms wrapped around the waist of the other, and both seemed equally exhausted.

It was unusual to have guys about my age at the cafe so early in the morning, and I couldn't help but to stare at them. The one with brown curls and big ears was attractive in a boyish sort of way, but the other one made my heart stutter. 

His hair was the color of honey, they fell into his eyes in limp locks. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, he looked scruffy and worn out and he clearly needed a shave, but there was no doubt about it. He was gorgeous in a lethal sort of way, the kind of boy you got infatuated with a first sight. 

I watched in amusement as the boys made their way slowly towards the counter, and the curly - haired boy pushed the other onto the stool before leaning against the counter to speak to me. 

"I need tea, or coffee, either one would do. Make it lukewarm if possible." he reached into his stylish leather jacket and brought out a packet of cigarettes along with a lighter. He was about to light a stick when I stopped him.

"No smoking in here." 

Hastily, he set his cigarette down. "Sorry", he sounded rather sheepish. "I quit a while back, but I had to stay all night and needed something to keep me awake." 

I raised an eyebrow and surveyed his friend critically. His friend was slumped over the counter, his head buried in his arms. I saw the slow rise and fall os his shoulder - it was difficult to tell if he was sleeping or drunk. I picked the latter.

"He's pissed, huh?" 

"Completely hammered," the curly-haired boy said, slanting an annoyed scowl at his friend. "Kris here just went through a break up. He thought it'd be wise to pull an all-nighter drink and getting himself -faced."

I smirked, "That's clever."

The boy called Kris raised his head from his arms to glare at his friend, "Don't publicise the affairs of my love