Monday blues are the worst.

Low-spirited, easily irritated, depressingly tired. Taemin felt it all that morning when he first opened his eyes. He didn’t leave the bed save for the unavoidable toilet visits that he’d been taking occasionally throughout the night after coming back from what he called the illest banter he’d ever had in life. Other than that, he remain glued to the mattress, stunned, holding his breath, eyes on the ceiling.

The ringer of his laptop was the only thing that stopped Taemin from teleporting to a whole new dimension. Every lingering sound reminded him of the existing responsibility that he carried as an employed adult: work was in, which signified—not suggested—that no matter how difficult it felt to get his bum off the sheets, he had to do it. It was only a matter of time for him to get into action since these tasks weren’t going to get themselves done on their own anyway. So Taemin got up, showered, dressed up and packed his laptop bag before heading down to the café. Maybe moving about could energise himself for a bit.

And some coffee, of course.

“Fine,” Taemin announced while flipping the laptop open. His single-seater table was in the furthest corner of the dining area; the spot he personally requested due to the potential privacy that it could provide him despite being in public. The glass wall on his right was stretched right from the top to the bottom. It enabled him to look out and watch people amble around the lobby if he ever felt the slightest bit stressed; of which was a certainty. “We will work diligently today.”

They say time flies slower when you appreciate those three moving needles and be productive. Taemin was on the fence with that. It felt neither at that moment, partially because he wanted it to end quickly but needed it to be long enough for him to finish all of the workloads without having to postpone any tasks for the next day. It only became apparent to him when his order wasn’t fulfilled. Yet.

He requested his coffee to be served two hours after he entered the café—taking it as a reward for working hard and not complaining about it—so he somehow expected the drink to arrive faster. Must be the instant burnout that evoked the thirst, now tripled with the growing impatience in the hollow space of his heart. Complaints were accumulated on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back and continued working again. Calmly this time.

“Sir, your coffee.”

“Oh,” Taemin pulled his laptop slightly, making room for his tiny mug on the coaster. Pretty dramatic to shove all of his things to one side of the table, but he knew better than to make it hard for the waiter. “Thank you so much. I’ve been waiting. It has been two hours now, I assume?”

“Yes, Sir,” he answered cordially, then stepped back.

“Brilliant. Thank you again.”

But just as he took a sip of the coffee, eyes already returned to the screen, another plate arrived. Taemin looked at the cake slice in confusion.

“Wait! Wait, hey,” the same guy turned to look at Taemin, his movement stopped abruptly. There was something peculiar about his facial expression that made the former man frown. Was he expecting him to call? “I… I didn’t order this. I only asked for coffee. I had the receipt.”

“Oh, yes. It wasn’t on your order.”

“Exactly. It’s not mine, so this plate is not supposed to be here,” Taemin replied before looking around. “Maybe you messed up the order deets. Perhaps it’s the young lady’s? She seems to be waiting.”

“No, but it’s yours,” the waiter insisted.

“Huh?”

Now that got complicated. He just said it wasn’t on Taemin’s order, which means he should be having the qualms of receiving it in the first place. Could it be coupon-based? Crazy hours? Was that the reason why they were giving the lucky customer some free pastries and desserts? All these questions pooled in his mind but no answers came to light. Taemin sighed in exasperation, “Look, I don’t want to be rude or anything but I have work to do. Why don’t you finish the puzzle and tell me the final image instead? Is it mine or is it not mine?”

The waiter temporised for a moment, clamped his lips, then pointed out the glass wall hesitatingly. He didn’t say a word, so Taemin followed his line of sight and widened his eyes upon catching a glimpse of the man in a three-piece suit. That man again.

“Mr Minho ordered it for you,” he continued quietly. “But don’t tell him I told you that. He didn’t want you to know.”

Taemin made a face in distaste to conceal the clear embarrassment though he could feel the tips of his ears reddening brightly. “What made you think I was going to talk to him, like at all?” He paused, words connected in a shy mumble as he swallowed. “And can I just kindly decline this? I can’t—”

“No! No, just accept it. I need to retrieve someone else’s orders. Please enjoy it!”

Quickly, the waiter raced to the back of the café and never came out again to clear out orders. Ever. That poor dude must’ve wanted to avoid the constant demands and refusals, he thought. Left alone again, rejuvenated by the black coffee and one tiny, selfish cut of the cake, Taemin resumed his work. At times, he found himself stealing glances at the front desk in the lobby where the same three people were talking professionally, or better yet, discussing business together.

‘So his name is Minho,’ Taemin’s brain deduced as he ran through the file, an eyebrow raised in bemusement at his team leader’s message before typing back a reply. ‘Choi Minho. That doesn’t sound so bad, actually.’ Taemin had spent a good amount of time in the bathtub trying to come up with a name that would suit his face but nothing made sense. Not all names were meant to be coupled with that surname. Choi Minho, indeed, had the best ring to it.

Never mind that it wasn’t a priority. Taemin’s question was still a mystery. Why did Minho get him the cake? Didn’t they fight yesterday? Taemin stepped on his foot, even. Why was he being nice? Everything felt fishy and he shivered at the thought, attempting to culminate the hatred again when their eyes met unconsciously through the glass wall. Minho’s g