For Jeno, it became so easy to slip into a routine. It was even easier for Jaemin to become a part of that routine, become a usual part of Jeno's daily life. 

He tried so, so hard to keep his distance. Pretending to call him sir or Mr. Na on purpose, to avoid the personal, to look away from his dazzling grin and at his little notepad, dutifully writing down his orders even though he knew he couldn't forget them. 

It was silly, really. Jeno knew that this whole flirtation they had was no big deal, that it had only gone on a week, that Jaemin was probably just a sad closeted boy who did this with any of the new waiters that would let him, just for a little bit of relief from his sad, closeted life. He willed himself to remember his probably pretty, probably sweet wife. Maybe, Jaemin loved her, and didn't even realize what he was doing. 

But... Jeno hurt. It was so silly and yet it hurt, that Jaemin seemingly didn't even notice or openly rejected Jeno's distance, putting himself up close and personal with Jeno. Something about Jaemin was electrifying to his soul; there was something there, and part of Jeno wished he could never see Jaemin again so he could forget about it all. 

But part of Jeno knew that wasn't possible. That Jaemin wasn't the kind of person he could forget. 

God this was SILLY! They didn't even know each other. Jeno laughed at himself, a little bit of sadness in his eyes, as he returned back to Jaemin's table with his old-fashioned. 

"Thank you Jeno," Jaemin spoke softly, taking a sip and setting it down in the upper left-hand corner of his table setting. Jeno noticed the way he would spread his napkin across his lap as soon as he sat, folded perfectly in half. He always cut his food perfectly, never tearing it with his utensils. And the utensils...it had taken a week for Jeno to learn which fork went to which kind of food, and how they needed to be arranged perfectly, but somehow, Jaemin always knew exactly which one to use. It seemed natural, coming from him, but it was clearly taught. That alone, not even thinking about the suits and the job and the handshakes and the fact that Jaemin could afford to eat here every single night practically screamed money. 

"What can I get for you tonight?" Jeno asked, giving a polite smile. 

"Hmm..." Jaemin perused the menu, peeking up at Jeno. "It seems like you're here every night. Do you ever get time off?" 

"Well, we're closed Sundays," Jeno explained. 

"That's only a day though." 

"Management said I'll get Mondays off too once I'm done with my training."

Jaemin sort of pouted up at him. "Still..." He went back to looking over the menu. 

"I mean..." Jeno was starting, oh no, he couldn't stop himself, god, it felt so good to just talk to Jaemin that he really, truly, couldn't help himself. "I don't live to work. I don't really let myself. I always work to live. Like, I like working at night. I've always liked working at night because I can...have the day, you know what I mean?" 

Slowly, Jaemin put the menu down, all eyes on Jeno. Jeno played with his fingers, his collar seemingly getting tighter and tighter around his neck. 

"I like being able to wake up in the morning and just breathe, you know? Waking up and knowing that the morning is mine, that the whole day, the time when it's light out, is all mine. Getting up and breathing in the fresh morning air, going on a bike ride or just sitting in the park in the daytime. Just, not being stuck in some building with canned air when the sun's out, and stuff. You know, like, people always ask me, you know, Jeno, why didn't you go to college? Why don't you get a grown up job? It's that...I don't want to have my day taken from me. I like the sun, I like being outside, I like the day. I want it to stay mine, and it can working this kind of job. You know?" 

Jaemin was quiet, and Jeno flushed and turned his head away. "I-I'm sorry for rambling." 

"Don't be sorry Jeno. I know. I do know." 

They were quiet again when Jeno quickly cleared his throat. "Anyways, what would you like to eat tonight?" 

"I'll have the hamburger. And please, Jeno, don't be sorry. I understand you. I really, really do." And Jaemin looked up at Jeno with those eyes, something in them that Jeno couldn't quite explain. It made him flush. Was it admiration? Jealousy? Desire? Jeno had never been the best at reading people; he couldn't be sure. 

"Alright. Hamburger. Coming...right up." Jeno tripped on his professional words; he didn't care, and he stumbled into the kitchen as quick as his legs would take him. His mind tossed and turned hard enough to draw a blank. Oh god, what else was he to do?

~~~~~~~~~~

The...incident, as Jeno had decided to call it, had faded out of his memory a bit in the few days since it had happened. The memory sort of overwhelmed him, so he didn't like to dwell. But in ignoring it, it had lost some of its weight. Plus, a day off had given him some distance from Jaemin, and the whole thing. 

It was a little bit of constant pressure in the back of Jeno's mind, but what could Jeno do about it? Nothing. So he tried to distract himself, riding his bike for miles until his clothes were soaked and he couldn't catch his breath, catching up on the shows he'd missed, playing video games and hiking and willing for the whole thing to go away.

It went away a little, but not all the way, so after work one Monday night Jeno reached his last resort: calling his mom. Her nagging would be distraction enough. 

"What have you been eating?" she asked. 

"We get a staff meal at work," Jeno answered. He didn't explain that his other two daily meals mostly consisted of ramen and take out. 

"Do they include vegetables?" 

"Sometimes..." 

"Jeno, you need to get your veggies! You need to eat vegetables every day! Now that you're a grown adult living on your own, you need to have a good diet. And what about the mail?" 

Jeno laughed. "The mail?" 

"How often do check your mail?" 

"I think I checked it when I moved in..." 

"That was three months ago!" She cried. "What about your bills?" 

"I do my bills online!" 

"No. Jeno, once we hang up, you are going to check your mailbox, and you are going to send me a text telling me you checked your mailbox. Okay?" 

Jeno sighed and laughed to himself. "Okay." Frankly, he'd completely forgotten the mail was a thing. Amazon usually just dropped his order in the lobby of his apartment building. 

So they talked for a while longer, about home and his siblings and everything he'd missed, and he was thoroughly distracted for a time. But it was super late for her, and Jeno was getting tired too, so he had to hang up and remember. 

The mail!

Jeno rolled his eyes and went downstairs to his mailbox. It was probably just going to be a bunch of junk in there. Who even did things by mail anymore? But he texted his mom a picture of the mailbox, inserted his worn key in, and unlocked. 

There was a lot of junk in there. Groaning, Jeno managed to fit it all in his arms and drag it back up to his apartment. He tossed the glossy political ads and grocery store coupons on the bed, grabbing his trash can and shuffling through. Tossing, tossing, tossing, but his fingers could feel when something different came into his grasp. He tugged it out and held it up, eyes squinting. 

It was a letter. Well, it looked like a letter, and not one of those envelopes that looked like they were hand written but were actually a printed font. It was definitely written by someone, to him, his full name and actual address. The stamp had a cappuccino on it, and some of the edges lifted up under his fingers. The left hand corner was empty, though. No return address. 

This was even more strange than he'd suspected. But he tossed it aside for the moment, figuring it was probably just another well disguised ad, and finished going through the rest of his mail. Who would even write to him anyways? 

When his bed was clear, he finally reached for the mysterious letter, unceremoniously tearing open the envelope, leaving little scraps of paper on his duvet. 

Inside was a piece of paper folded horizontally into thirds. It was a letter. An actual, handwritten letter, scrawled with an overly wet pen on blank, xerox paper, like you'd find in an office. The writing was hurried and messy; Jeno wasn't sure if it was out of some sort of fear or rushedness or just being lazy. 

Jeno sighed. He should just read what this letter actually said, even if a strange part of him was a bit nervous. 

Dear Jeno, 

I don't want to be presumptuous, I really don't. I promise I'm not a stalker or a creep; I didn't follow you around to find your address or anything. I got it from just a quick google search. Please don't think less of me. 

I know this is a bit unusual, but there is something about you that made me think you deserved better than me sliding into your DMs. Maybe it's a little silly, but, here it goes. 

I think you're special, Jeno. I think you're really special. I know part of your job is to be kind and genial with the customers, but I got the feeling there was something more. I'm drawn to you- outside of how wonderful I think you are; it's almost a separate thing. My head, admiring you, and my heart, dragging me to you no matter what. What I mean to say is, I like you. I like-like you, in the childhood crush way, and I couldn't stop myself from holding the thought back any longer. And that same, probably foolish feeling in my heart, is telling me that you might feel the same.

I don't know how much you know about me, how little or how much you've heard from your coworkers, but I hope you can accept this either way. Again, I know this is all part of your job, but something tells me there's something more between us. I hope I haven't misread things and made you uncomfortable. If I have, at the drop of a hat I'll do whatever you need: stop coming in, or stop asking for you. Making you uncomfortable is the last thing I want to do. 

Just, let me know, either way. From this moment on, I'll follow your lead. 

Sincerely, 

Jaemin