Café

Summary:

People move on.

We, as humans, continue to move forward in our lives even if something that was important to you dies away. Whether it was a dog that ran away, losing your favorite piece of jewelry, or having a loved one pass away, people still keep going. They continue their lives, believing that their heart will heal someday. They believe that they can endure life without them. People do that.

I don't seem to be one of them.

A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm so sorry for disappearing for so long. Life's been busy and sadly, I have to work hard to keep it going. Anyway, I'd like to explain some things while I was away. Ever since the school year started, I stopped writing. Sad to say. Two reasons: one, the laptop that I always wrote my stories in broke. (Don't worry; I managed to save everything into a USB) Two, school. (Obviously)

Anyway, I had been writing two stories before my laptop broke. For all my readers who've stuck with me for so long, you guys know that the next story I was supposed to come out with was G-Dragon's. It's not going very well. I just can't stick with one storyline for this dude. Like seriously. But don't fret, my dears. I have a few plot bunnies that I really wanna catch (;

So, I can safely say that Café is something else; something completely different. It may be cliché or may be something fresh. You decide. One thing's for sure-if you looked at the characters listed-our main man is Key from SHINee. I know, I know. I went out of my plan and skipped straight to SHINee after Big Bang. Whatevs. Can't do anything about it now, right? Now, I usually don't post the story until after I've already written the climax, but I'm just way too excited for everyone to read this and give me feedback that you guys will hopefully give. And so, without further ado, please look forward to this story!

I hope you enjoy! (:

Chapter 1: Pick Up

Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat.

The steady sound of my footsteps running over the wet pavement echoes throughout my empty neighborhood. I survey the area, looking at the pattern the houses made, their lights either turned on or off. I cough into my soaked sleeve. Ugh. I should have brought an umbrella with me before I went out. I squint down at my clothes, the heavy rain making it hard to see clearly.

Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat.

Suddenly, the noise of my feet annoys me. I lightly touch my forehead. I feel a headache coming. Forcing myself to run faster, I get to my small home sitting right on the curb of my neighborhood. My eyes cautiously land on a tiny figure sitting right in front of my door. I narrow my eyes, examining the person crouched into a ball. I tightly clench my house keys in my pocket, feeling my keychain pierce my palm. Ignoring the minimal pain, I approach the slim figure. I hear the person repeatedly sniff.

Lightly, I touch the person's shoulder. They jump, back on their feet. A woman. I cock my head to the side as she avoids my gaze. "May I help you with something?" I ask loudly, the hefty rain making it hard to hear.

Her lips move, hardly. I furrow my eyebrows. I lean in closer to hear. Almost scared, she takes a step back, her soaked back hitting the brick wall. I move back to my original position, not wanting to frighten her. Peering up at the roof above our heads, the rain pours. Loud. It almost sounds like bullets colliding against my poor, worn-out roof.

Turning my gaze back to the woman, I see her shivering. With a sigh, I turn and unlock my door. Behind me, I hear her gasp. I wonder why. I enter my dark house and make a gesture for her to enter. Finally, she meets my eyes. Red and swollen, it looks like she's been crying. I feel my attitude soften.

"Come inside. We'll both get sick if we stay out here." I murmur, knowing that she can hear me. She simply stands there, looking between my face and the darkness behind me. I sigh, my hand out towards her. "I'm not going to do anything dangerous to you. I just figured you wanted to warm up."

Hesitantly, she takes my hand, the tips of her fingers gently brushing my palm. I stifle a gasp. I tightly grasp her hand and pull her inside, locking the door. I walk in front of her and turn on my kitchen lights. I hear her take nervous steps as she moves away from the front door. "Please, sit. Would you like a blanket?" I ask her gently.

She looks up at me, her eyes wide. She shakes her head. I simply shrug, going back into the kitchen to make coffee. "Would you like some coffee?" I ask her once more, trying to accommodate her. I keep my back towards her, wanting to hear her voice.

I hear her clear her throat. "Yes, please." She croaks out. I feel my eyebrows scrunch up. Her voice was weak, tight. It was as if someone rubbed sandpaper against it for hours. I only nod, not trusting my voice at the moment. I hear her shift around the couch. Then I hear the steady slosh of water hitting against my wooden floors. Mentally, I cringe. I should have made her take off her shoes. With a pause, I look down from my shoes.

Soaked and battered. These were expensive, too. I continue my work, concentrating on making coffee. As I wait for the pot to heat up, I turn around, leaning against the counter. Wordlessly, I watch the woman walk around my living room, no doubt eyeing the artwork all over the table and walls. She catches my eyes before she looks away, going back to her seat as if I caught her doing something terrible. She didn't notice the way I turned stiff from the sight of her eyes.

I never noticed that they were a dark shade of green. Almost discreetly, she peers down at my artwork sprawled all over the coffee table. I study her profile intently.

Click!

I jump at the sound and turn back around to put finishing touches to our coffee. "How would you like your coffee?" I call out to her, keeping my back turned.

She takes a moment to reply. "Whatever is fine." She mumbles out. In a few minutes, I come to the living room, two cups of hot coffee in my rough hands. I push some papers away with my elbow and carefully place the coffee in front of her. "Thank you." She grumbles, her voice still stiff.

I sit back on my own chair, taking a sip from my cup as she does the same. "So, what brings you here in front of my house?" I straightforwardly ask her. I might as well get to the point.

She freezes, the rim of the cup against her chapped lips. She only stares at the inside of the coffee. Patiently, I wait for her to answer. Setting down her cup gently, she responds, "How long have you lived in this house?"

My eyebrows raise, clearly surprised. "Excuse me?" She only looks at me expectantly, knowing I fully heard her question. "Uh, I've been here for seven years already."

"Seven years?" She squeaks. I raise an eyebrow, questioning. She hangs her head low, biting her lip. "Um, I'm sorry. I was just surprised." The corners of her lips turn upwards awkwardly.

I flex my fingers, having the sudden urge to sketch her profile. I eye a blank piece of paper on the coffee table. "Why so?" I ask her, ignoring the strong urge.

She lifts up her shoulders, shrugging.

"You're not much of a talker, aren't you?"

This time she lets out a soft chuckle. "You don't seem to be one, either. Artists are usually the shy, reserved type, am I right?" She meets my eyes, her eyes dark green and alluring.

"Not all artists are like that." I dismiss, slightly disoriented by the sight of her eyes. I flex my fingers again, cracking some of my knuckles.

"Of course not," she finally cracks a smile at me, barely showing her teeth. "You have a little twist."

"Excuse me?" I grunt in shock. She keeps her smile in place, gazing at me up and down. Her green eyes follow my every feature on my face, my arms, and my neck. Suddenly, something hits me. I squint, analyzing her actions. Somehow, someway, she reminds me of something. For now, I couldn't tell what, but I now know that this woman isn't all as fragile as I perceived her to be. Without thinking, I smirk. "Speak for yourself, ma'am."

She only smiles, looking almost like a grimace.