Donghae is nursing the worst hangover of his life when he sees him.

A somehow familiar profile in the busy coffee shop, blinking at the chocolate eclairs in the glass display cabinet. Slim, in a neatly-fitted pinstripe suit, briefcase tucked under his arm and dainty silver-framed glasses slipping down his nose, he is hardly the type of person that Donghae usually associates with.

But there is something about him that is definitely familiar.

The man smiles, shy and a bit awkward as he points out his order to the girl at the counter, and Donghae could have sworn he knew that voice as well. Soft yet clear, Donghae has definitely heard it before.

But where?

Donghae can’t ing remember.

If Donghae is honest with himself, there are quite a few nights over the last month where he can’t remember much. An old school friend had been in town, wedding imminent, eager for a few wild nights out before he settled down. Donghae had lost count of the bars, restaurants, hotels and parties he’d found himself at.

The wedding had been the previous day, which was why Donghae was so hungover now; headachy, a bit nauseous, and on the edge of a really bad mood. He’d stopped in at the coffee shop for something strong, black and caffeinated enough to get him through until lunchtime because he’d tried to call in sick but his boss wasn’t having any of it.

‘Be here at 7am,’ he’d told Donghae, knowing full well that Donghae was drunk and not ill.

Donghae’s inability to handle his liquor is unfortunately well known amongst his coworkers and friends. Although, thanks to the last few weeks, he thinks his tolerance has gotten better.

Maybe.

It’s already ten minutes past seven.

A space at the counter becomes available and Donghae steps up to make his order just as the slim man with the familiar face is pulling out his wallet to pay for his own.

‘Sorry,’ the man mumbles automatically, barely glancing in Donghae’s direction, shifting a little to give him room.

Then he freezes.

He looks back at Donghae and his almond-shaped eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

‘Hi-’ Donghae begins, and that is as far as he gets because without warning he is suddenly freezing cold. Icy slurry is dripping down his neck, he’s got whipped cream in his eyes, and the café goes completely silent apart from the splatter of liquid hitting the tiles.

It takes Donghae a good five seconds gasping to work out that the other man has thrown his drink at him.

‘What?’ Donghae splutters. He can barely see from all the milk which is still running down his face, sweet and sticky and pink as it pools around him.

The other man then throws the plastic cup too as an afterthought, and it bounces off Donghae’s chest and over the floor as the man shoulders past him.

‘What?’ Donghae manages again, hunched and helpless as strawberry milk trickles down into his shirt.

The shop doorbell rings as the door slams behind the man, and the spell is broken. The other customers murmur curiously amongst themselves as they stare, and Donghae is given a handful of paper towels to wipe uselessly at his face and clothes. There’s already a staff member hurrying with a mop, and Donghae’s espresso is pushed over the counter at him.

‘That’ll be ₩9.5,’ the woman at the cash register i