"order number thirty seven."

the words left hongjoong's mouth with ease, the kind of monotony that clung to him like the scent of coffee beans. he slid the cup across the counter and quickly wiped down his station, already moving on to the next order, muscle memory guiding each motion.

"joong, one cappuccino with almond milk and one croissant, please," yeosang, the cashier and a college student, called out politely.

without a word, hongjoong got to work.

"joong, here's the almond milk,
i'll grab the croissant," wooyoung said, handing over the carton. he was another barista, another college student, another small constant in the blur of hongjoong's mornings.

"thanks," hongjoong muttered, not looking up.

every day unfolded the same way for hongjoong. wake up at 3:30 a.m., gather his things, catch the subway from the south bronx to soho and open the store at 5 a.m. the train ride was long, but he needed it. the hum of the tracks, the silence between stops, the time to pretend he was going somewhere else. it kept him sane, or at least as sane as he could be.

soho was like a dream he wished to belong in. too polished, too rich, too far removed from the life he lived. but being there, even as a barista, let him pretend for a little while. pretend that the life around him was his. so, though mundane, he continued to come back to the bakery.

he finished the cappuccino just as the line began to shrink. with a sigh, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, grateful for the peaceful moment.

"hongjoong, got any weekend plans?" wooyoung asked, sliding up beside him.

"besides being here? nothing," hongjoong replied flatly.

"you always say that," yeosang chimed in, stepping away from the register.

"i know. not much really happens for me."

"you should come out with us sometime. you don't work on sunday's, we usually go out on saturday night!" wooyoung offered with a grin. it earned half a smile from hongjoong.

"maybe. i'm up so early on saturday's that by the time i get home, i'm too tired to do anything," he said, the reply being part truth, part excuse.

the reality was, he did not like going out. he did not like pretending to be fine in the company of others. nighttime brought thoughts he could not silence, and he preferred to face them alone.

"bummer! i was going to ask if you were interested in coming with yeosang and i to boxers in the flatiron district on saturday," wooyoung sighed, referring to one of manhattan's most popular gay night clubs.

"yeah... clubs aren't really my thing. but maybe another time," hongjoong replied, voice distant.

"my mission is to find yeosang a boyfriend," wooyoung teased, nudging his friend.

yeosang rolled his eyes. "no, you're trying to line up your next hookup. don't act like this is about me."

"hey, men find me irresistible. i can't help that," wooyoung said with a smug shrug.

a customer stepped up to the counter, pulling yeosang back to the register.

"one cortado," he called out.

hongjoong nodded, already reaching for the portafilter. same motions, same rhythm, same ache in his bones as he counted down the hours until closing.

——

as evening settled in, hongjoong closed up shop. he hated when the closer called out, forcing him into a full twelve-hour shift. the extra pay barely made up for the exhaustion that clung to him, but times like this left him with no other option.

with just enough energy to function, he made his way to the subway, putting on his headphones to drown out the chaos of rush hour. the ride from soho to the bronx was long, but familiar. he used the time to shut his eyes for a while, letting the rhythm of the train rock him into something close to peace.

he was glad when he finally approached his stop. the walk to his rundown apartment building was quiet, and the five flights of stairs felt steeper than usual. eventually, he reached his studio apartment. it was small and worn, but it was his.

the space did not offer much, but it was enough. his twin bed was halfway inside his compact kitchen that was littered with appliances purchased from garage sales. the lopsided couch he dragged in off the sidewalk was facing his only window in the apartment. there was no tv, partially because there was no room for it, but mainly because he could not afford one. instead, he used his old high school laptop to stream whatever he could find on netflix.

600 square feet for under $2,000 a month was a miracle in new york, so he made it work.

he reheated last night's leftovers and settled onto the couch. the tv show he played in the background barely registered. nothing really did. his thoughts were already spiraling, shadows creeping in before the sun had fully set.

when the noise inside his head got too loud, he slammed the laptop shut, afraid the flickering images were waking something he could not handle tonight.

he reached for music instead, putting his headphones back on and searching for comfort in the familiar.

"mum" by luke hemmings began to play.

"mum, i'm sorry, i stopped calling
don't know what the hell i was caught in
can't stop dreaming of chandeliers
and your voice is all i hear"

the tears came fast, uninvited. they always did with this song. something about the lyrics mirrored too much of him; his distance, his guilt, his regret.

the dreams that no longer felt like his own.

"trying to find the way it was
trying to find the way
trying to find the way it was
i see you in everything"

as the track faded into its final notes, hongjoong curled into himself on the couch, just like every other night. regrets swirled in his chest, heavy and endless, but there was nothing left to do except lie there and let them pass through him.

the song played again. and again. until sleep finally took him, the melody still whispering through his headphones.

okay i hope everyone listens to the songs i include in the chapters, it'll happen more than once.

-vic