Group: EXO
Members: Chen, Xiumin
Genre: Angst, romance
: None

A/N: Again, this is another one shot I wrote previously. If you see it around AFF, don't worry, it's mine. ♥

        Everyone knows that you can find at least one writer in a coffee shop.  The free wireless internet and alerting cup of overpriced coffee is a seemingly soothing setting.  Perfect for flowing inspiration. The perfect setting had managed to draw in a particular writer. One who had managed to catch my attention quite quickly. His name was Kim Minseok.

        This coffee shop was my regular stop just before heading to work. At first he was just a customer, like myself, but he was different. The way he would slump his head onto his arm and the way his forehead creased, showing how much he was concentrating, amused me. Most of the time, he would tap at the keys and occasionally scribble something down on a sheet of paper nearby.

        I used to only go to the coffee shop every other day when I had time, but my scheduling changed. I was no longer late for work because of waking up late. In fact, I began waking up early. The reason for that was the writer. Not only was I coming in for coffee before work, I started hurrying there for my lunch break too. Just so I could catch a few more minutes of him before returning to my job. Some days I would end up being late for work because I had been preoccupied with my writer-watching.

        Eventually the baristas learned my name and schedule.  Every time I came in to get a cup of my regular Americano, it would be hot and ready. I picked up the steaming coffee from the counter. "Hello, Jongdae. How is work today?" The barista asked.

        "Fine. Just came to get my cup of coffee before lunch ended." I took the beverage and sat at my usual table.  The table was a perfect spot to sit. From this position I was able to casually glance at the man writing.  Today, however, he wasn't paying any attention to is laptop. It sat, closed, in front of him.  A cooling cup of untouched coffee sat beside it.  His hands were folded and were holding up his chin. As if he just remembered something, he shot up, knocking his chair over in the process and started for the door. He earned a few concerned gazes, but none were as focused as mine. His hand reached up to pull the door open, but it was never able to grasp the handle. He suddenly collapsed. I immediately jumped out of my chair and was at his side in an instant.

        "Someone! Call for an ambulance!" I desperately yelled as I tried shaking the unconscious man.  He didn't respond. "Someone! Please help! Call for help! Now!" I felt a hand on my shoulder and the barista who had handed me my coffee earlier was leaning down to talk to me.  "The paramedics are on their way. They will be here in a few moments."

        I barely heard her.  For the next five minutes I just sat by his side. The paramedics eventually arrived and lifted him onto a gurney. They checked his vitals, which were frighteningly low.  I had asked to go with them into the ambulance, but they shooed me away because I was just another customer.  My heart dropped when I realized I didn't even know the writer's name.  I just knew he spent most-if not all- of his time here, in the coffee shop, writing.

        I watched as they climbed into the medical vehicle, their sirens, and sped out of the parking lot.  I turned back inside the coffee shop, feeling as if I had just been slapped. What was I supposed to do? My heart ached and I was fighting off the tears. Why was I feeling as if my world suddenly ended? No one else seemed to be as upset as I was. Of course they wouldn't be, they didn't know him. Neither did I. Not in the way I wanted to.

        I was about to drag my feet to my usual seat when I took a wishful glance -hoping he would still be sitting there- in the direction of the place the writer was usually sitting.  My eyes widened with surprise as they fell on the writer's laptop.  I quickly made my way over and sat in his usual chair.  I debated on whether or not to open the device, but my curiosity took over and I opened the laptop.  The blackened screen as the laptop opened, showing an open writing document.

        I skimmed the first paragraph and then I began to actually read it. It appeared to be a story about a man who could never confess his feelings. Ironic. The man had to face the daily struggles of seeing the other man and not having enough courage to speak out and reveal his deep love.

        I sat there for a few hours and was nearing the end when my breath caught in my throat. I fought the urge to fall into a fit of coughing. I didn't even know the writer had known who I was, but the story was clear that he did. Up until the end none of the character's names were revealed. The story had been about a tragic love story between two men, with one of them dying.  The last few sentences tore at my heart.

        "Hello, my name is Kim Minseok. He may not know it, but I am in love with Kim Jongdae. I don't have much time left in the world. But I know for sure that I want to spend my last moments with him."

        My head shot up and I looked around for one person in particular. Finally, I spotted her cleaning up one of the tables. I called to the barista who had called the ambulance. "Excuse me! The man who collapsed, what was his name?"

        I dreaded the answer. I didn't want to hear it in case all of my suspicions were true. I felt that if I knew the answer, my heart would completely shatter. The barista shot me a confused look but to my dismay answered, "Kim Minseok."