Taeyeon is standing in line at Starbucks.

               She’s not really doing anything, she’s just standing. Taking up space. Breathing herself to her impending death.

As usual.

               Taeyeon doesn’t have any friends to stand with, despite being a daily patron at Starbucks. In fact, she doesn’t have any friends in general. Not a single one. Okay, that’s not true, she does occasionally write to Jessica, her cousin who lives in America, but even she seems to be fed up with Taeyeon’s, skepticism, hopelessness, and lack of personality.

               She sniffs at the thought, because she finds sarcasm and cynicism to be very charming qualities in a person, but she guesses that it’s just her.

               Taeyeon doesn’t attend college, either (not that she’s eligible). She’s only twenty-three, so there’s still time for her, but that’s the worst part.

Time is just an obstacle to Taeyeon.

She wants to get life over with as quickly and painlessly as possible, but unfortunately, she still has profuse time left, with bitter solitude, depression, and insomnia to share it with.

               Taeyeon wonders what she’s going to do on Christmas, because her family clearly doesn’t want her home. She knows this because they haven’t contacted her once since she moved out.

Four years ago.

Taeyeon was always disregarded, anyways, so she figures it’s a relief. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself.

               Her boss refuses to let her work on Christmas, which she finds unfair since work at the warehouse is never complete.  

Taeyeon works at a McDonald’s warehouse. She always stacks and organizes crates of raw beef patties and other such frozen processed monstrosities for at least twelve hours a day, in temperatures that range from negative ten degrees Fahrenheit, to positive five, if she’s lucky.

               She also gets paid South Korean minimum wage, which roughly equates to four dollars an hour, which means she makes forty-eight dollars per day.

The rent for her apartment, which is a studio with no bathroom, is eight-hundred-fifty dollars, and her neighborhood isn’t exactly harmless, either. Subtracting the cost of her bills, she’s left with a hundred dollars a month for food and clothes, but thankfully, Taeyeon doesn’t grow anymore (though she could afford another foot or so). Unfortunately, she can’t cook, so her remaining money goes to her daily Starbucks coffee-and-muffin meal, which also happens to be her only meal of the day.

               If possible, Taeyeon would love to sleep in all of Christmas Day. Alas, she’s always accompanied by the benefits of insomnia –such as being physically exhausted yet being mentally stimulated and unable to actually sleep.

               So instead, Taeyeon goes to Starbucks.

There’s still a few weeks until Christmas, anyways.
 

************

               Taeyeon frowns.

               Starbucks is closed due to ‘hazardous weather conditions’.

Taeyeon doesn’t understand the problem, since it only took her thirty minutes to kick her way to the entrance, and it’s only ten degrees, but nonetheless, the place is abandoned. She’s no barista, so she shuffles away forlornly, stomach growling viciously and alertness fading rapidly.

Taeyeon finds herself wandering around the streets, since she knows sleep is not an option and nearly all the restaurants (that are affordable, anyways) are closed.

It’s soon that Taeyeon realizes she’s in a completely different district of Seoul that she hardly recognizes. She sighs despondently. Now she’s lost, hungry, and half-conscious.

Give me a little faith, would you? Taeyeon prays sullenly, trying to mask the absolute beseeching that saturates her being.

She notices that she’s an hour late for work, and is somewhat unsure whether she actually cares or not, and whether anyone at work cares or not. Then Taeyeon’s stomach growls, and the excruciating burn reminds her that she does care, so she breaks into a sprint, or at least, as close to one as she can get with her lack of functioning motor skills.

Some of Taeyeon’s non-existent faith is restored when she comes upon a diminutive, family-owned coffee shop. The name and the inscription on the menu are in English, which is greatly discouraging, but upon the imploring of her stomach, she enters the store.

Immediately, she’s blown away by an overpowering sentiment of warmth that radiates hospitality, and for once, Taeyeon doesn’t feel empty inside. An enticing aroma of pumpkin spice, coffee beans, and gingerbread fills the rather compact place; shining hardwood floors framed by earthy stone and clear glass walls welcome Taeyeon, and unlike her studio, it’s tidy. Homely.

Taeyeon feels at home.

Her tattered boots crunch faintly against the hardwood floor as she takes her first tentative steps forward, and she realizes there’s still snow on her shoes. She hastily rushes back to wipe her feet on the doormat, which reads, Welcome Home. Involuntarily, a smile seizes Taeyeon’s lips at the sight, and she’s filled with unfamiliar warmth, but it rapidly fades into an expression of diffidence as she spots the backside of a barista –a rather charming (intimidating) barista (or so she appears from behind).

Taeyeon backs up, attempting to make a silent escape, but her boots, still damp from the snow, slip on the hardwood floor, and she trips backwards into the menu propped at the entrance. The crash causes the barista to whirl around, and Taeyeon winces, closing her eyes and waiting for the imminent scolding.

The barista cries something in a foreign language –English, Taeyeon presumes, but she isn’t really listening. Her eyes are screwed shut and she’s clenching her fists, which are trembling violently; she’s frozen numb, unable to feel the agony she must be in, and just wants to get this over with.

When Taeyeon doesn’t respond, the barista repeats, in Korean this time (though with a strange accent), “Are you okay?”

Taeyeon’s eyes fly open in shock. She hesitates, eyeing the barista wearily, as if waiting for her to retract her statement and admonish her instead. But when the barista remains unmoving, eyes wide with concern, Taeyeon blushes.

She doesn’t know why.

But it’s the first time somebody’s ever cared about her.

“Sorry,” Taeyeon mumbles through frozen lips, scrambling to her feet and bowing a full ninety-degrees. To her surprise, the barista laughs –a husky, musical sound that resonates through the elfin store. She glances up slowly to be met with a stunning eye-smile.

“It’s okay! Don’t worry about it. Can I help you?” the barista inquires, still smiling.

Taeyeon gulps, her stomach churning with uncharacteristic anxiety. She’s not sure why she’s so apprehensive, but she nods –a simple jerk of her chin, and waddles forward to the counter. From this vicinity, the barista is even more alluring than she expected, and her gaze immediately drops to the tip jar.

Taeyeon is inclined to believe the barista can sense her unease because when she steals a glance at her again, the barista is smiling comfortingly. She’s wearing her brunette hair in a ponytail, which reveals her soft facial features and smooth, milky skin. This is only accentuated by the effect of her eyes; her eyes are ebony, almond-shaped, and sparkle much like a puppy’s, if not more enthrallingly and mesmerizingly. They’re framed by a thick fringe of dark eyelashes, which pull in together with her gentle smile, and Taeyeon begins to feel light-headed.

“I… can’t understand the menu,” Taeyeon finally admits sheepishly, to which the barista waves her hand dismissively.

“No worries! Just tell me your favorite and I’ll make it for you,” she replies.

Taeyeon blinks, uncertainly, but something about the kindness of the barista gets to her, because she lowers her gaze again.

“Can I have a caramel macchiato?” Taeyeon asks shyly, tracing the top of the tip jar without meeting the barista’s eyes.

The barista chuckles warmly.

“Sure. One caramel macchiato coming up. Is there anything else I can get you?” she asks as she walks away to begin preparing Taeyeon’s drink.

 Taeyeon’s eyes travel across the display of pastries, watering increasingly the farther her eyes travel, until they eventually reach a gingerbread-man cookie. It’s simple, really, wearing a dreadfully pink smile, but the color coordination of the blue-and-pink buttons appeal to her for some reason. Then she catches sight of the price, and her heart sinks.

“No, that’s it,” Taeyeon mutters in a low voice. The barista raises an eyebrow skeptically at her from behind the coffee machine.

“Are you sure? You seemed to be staring longingly at the gingerbread-man.”

Taeyeon nods, before murmuring something unintelligibly.

“What was that?” the barista calls.

Taeyeon blushes and repeats herself, but she only receives a blank look in response.

“I don’t have enough money,” she finally confesses in a barely audible tone.

 The barista blinks.

“Oh…” It’s frighteningly silent, except for the whirring sound of the coffee machine grinding beans, until the barista finally decides to break the silence. “Why don’t you go sit down? I’ll bring your order right to you.”

All hope of arriving to work moderately on time is gone, so Taeyeon complies. She takes a seat at a wooden table near the window, admiring the simplicity of the furniture that seems so strangely inviting. A comfortable silence, filled only by the rhythmic buzz of the machines, settles over the shop, and Taeyeon feels so at peace that she jumps violently when the barista places a small cup of caramel macchiato on the table.

Taeyeon marvels at the smoothness of her facial features from this close proximity, but is even further astounded when she notices the pink-and-blue buttoned gingerbread-man on a plate next to her drink.

“B-but I can’t pay for this,” Taeyeon stammers as the barista begins to walk away.

She turns around with another one of her dazzling smiles, and Taeyeon is content to fall silent.

“It’s on the house. My treat,” the barista grins.

It’s just a small gesture, but to Taeyeon, it means the world. She’s so overwhelmed by the infectious benevolence of the barista that she’s on her feet in an instant.

“THANK YOU, BARISTA!” she bellows out of pure astonishment. Embarrassed, she quickly adds, “What’s your name?”

The barista seems taken aback by the question but answers nonetheless, to Taeyeon’s bewilderment. In fact, Taeyeon’s embarrassed grin slides off her face and she blinks at the foreign response, nonplussed.

“S…. Seu… Sutep…”

After Taeyeon struggles for several seconds with her futile pronunciation, the barista hastily adds, “Just call me Tiffany.”

 “Ti…pa…ni?” Taeyeon strives to get the unfamiliar word out. She scowls. “Why can’t you just tell me your Korean name?!” she cries in frustration.

“Well, I don’t know your name,” Tiffany points out.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” Taeyeon shoots back.

Tiffany shakes her head with a smile.

“Nope. I won’t tell you. Besides, I’m probably not going to see you again, so what’s the point?” Tiffany inquires, and the mere thought sends a wave of grief through Taeyeon, for some reason.

Then, the shorter girl is seized by a surge of determination.

“Fine! I’ll keep coming back every day until you tell me your name, then!” Taeyeon declares stubbornly, and Tiffany rolls her eyes in amusement as she walks away.

 Taeyeon simply grins.    

************

As promised, Taeyeon continues to return to the shop every day after that.

“Can you tell me your name now?” Taeyeon constantly asks. Nope, not today, silly, is always the reply, and Taeyeon pouts before announcing, “Then I’ll be back tomorrow!”

Every encounter is like this, and Taeyeon begins to notice that she’s more and more excited to wake up every day (since she actually falls asleep, sometimes, nowadays). Tiffany continues to become strangely prettier and prettier every time she sees her, and in fact, Taeyeon sometimes catches herself smiling at the thought of seeing Tiffany the next day.

Taeyeon also notices that Tiffany’s behavior towards her is beginning to change.

At first, Tiffany was skeptical and teasing, unconvinced of Taeyeon’s determination, but with every visit, Tiffany seems to become meeker and meeker, and soon, Taeyeon finds that she’s the more confident of the two. She always fears that Tiffany’s beginning to grow weary of her, and this is her way of showing it, but that concern seems to be non-existent when Tiffany’s smiling sweetly at Taeyeon like she’s the one being pursued.

Taeyeon freezes. She drops the stack of boxes she’s carrying abruptly at the thought. She’s not pursuing Tiffany, is she?

She doesn’t know.

The question comes up again, a few days later, when she’s at the shop and Tiffany has her silky hair down for once and looks so beautiful that Taeyeon can’t breathe. Taeyeon doesn’t understand why she has butterflies in her stomach when she sees Tiffany, but she doesn’t question it, like she doesn’t question a lot of other things.

She doesn’t question it when Tiffany is holding her hand one day, playing with her fingers on the counter as they wait together for the coffee to finish brewing. She doesn’t know why Tiffany’s holding her hand, but it’s warm, so she doesn’t complain. Not that she has the will to, either.

“Every day, huh?” Tiffany inquires in a tentative voice, and Taeyeon glances at her. Tiffany doesn’t meet Taeyeon’s eyes, simply tracing the lines on her palm, so she nods.

“Every day,” Taeyeon confirms. “I’ll come every day until you tell me a name I can actually pronounce. I’ll even come on Christmas.”

There’s a slight pause, filled with a sort of heavy suspense, then–

“We’re not open on Christmas,” Tiffany says quietly.

The news is crushing to Taeyeon, and she glances down, filled with an irrepressible and inexplicable melancholy. It’s quiet, and Tiffany watches Taeyeon, judging her expression before she squeezes her hand.

“To tell you the truth…” Tiffany begins before she hesitates, and Taeyeon is burning with curiosity, but she remains silent. “I haven’t told you my name yet because I wanted to keep seeing you,” Tiffany finally confesses softly, and Taeyeon’s mind goes blank.

She’s stunned, so she replies without thinking. “Why?”

“It’s more complicated than you think,” Tiffany answers without meeting her eyes, and Taeyeon’s mind goes wild. She wonders if, for a moment –just for a moment –if Tiffany feels the same way, but she doesn’t even know what she feels, anyway, so she just asks another mindless question.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?” Taeyeon inquires.

“I don’t even know your name,” Tiffany points out.

 “Well…” Taeyeon hesitates. “Like I said, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” The coffee machine stops grinding, and Tiffany lets go of Taeyeon’s hand to go make her drink. “I’ll still come on Christmas, anyways. Even if you’re closed,” Taeyeon calls after her.

Tiffany doesn’t respond.

************

Taeyeon’s devastated when she arrives at the coffee shop a few days later on Christmas.

It’s closed.

Of course.

She doesn’t really know what she expected, since Tiffany even told her it was going to be closed, but she guesses that it was anything but this. Crushing grief fills every fiber in Taeyeon’s body, and the weight of her heart is unbearable.

She loiters around the shop for a little while, as if waiting for something –anything –to make the inevitable disappointment disappear, but that doesn’t happen. Taeyeon feels even lonelier than before, even more hopeless, and that another letter to Jessica coming on soon.

She turns on her heel and begins to walk away.

 Something squishes under Taeyeon’s boot with a resounding squelch. Whatever it is, it’s soaked, and Taeyeon recoils.

To her relief, it’s not a dead animal, rather, an unsightly scrap of paper with her muddy shoe print on it. Taeyeon bends down and stares as at it, contemplating whether to throw it away and risk getting her gloves dirty and wet or leave it where it is, but she notices familiar handwriting and her heart lurches.

Fumbling desperately, her gloved, damp hands slipping against the snow, she manages to grab the scrap of paper without tearing it. Taeyeon tries to maintain her pessimistic views and keep her expectations down when she reads it, but there’s just something about Tiffany that gives her hope, and that hope is rising through her now and inspiring her every move.

She unfolds the piece of paper, and as she reads it, she feels an absolute ecstasy ading her heart. In spite of the dampness and griminess that makes the note mostly illegible, Taeyeon manages to make out:

It’s Hwang Miyoung, by the way. Merry Christmas, Taeyeon! I’ll be open tomorrow. xoxo

Taeyeon grins victoriously, filled from her fingertips to her toes in warmth. It feels like her heart is swelling so much that she’s afraid it’s going to burst.

Then, abruptly, she’s hit with a jolting realization.

Taeyeon frowns.

She never told Tiffany her name.