leaf & bean.
@namube
the ambient music playing through out-of-sight speakers, the gentle (and sometimes no so gentle) sounds of steaming water and grinding beans, the ever present scent of a fresh brew lingering in the air. the romanticizations of cafes and coffee shops is something that yejun can admit to indulging in. it's especially sweet in a familiar place during a slow period, long after the morning rush has calmed and the only other patrons are retirees with an excuse to go out or stay-at-home moms just looking for a brief respite from the demands of their hectic home lives. both parties are hardly more than a distant murmur in the cafe atmosphere, adding to an ambiance that yejun already adores.
however, one would never be able to tell his contentedness from his current posture. he looks like the perfect portrait of a miserable college student; one lukewarm, half-finished drink to his left, an open macroeconomics textbook directly in front of him, and yejun's eyes painted with dark circles and heavy bags. as if the weight of his eyelids has finally become too much for him to bear, his whole upper body slowly, yet intentionally, buckles in half. he lays his head down on the open book, facedown, and lets out one of the top ten biggest sighs of his life.
"god, if you were merciful, you would just kill me now," he pretends to pray, though the few sunday school lessons he went to as a kid are far from usual practice for him these days. it's only a few moments of letting himself wallow in misery before he turns, his cheek now pressed against the book, and finds the face of his old friend and companion of the moment, park namu. "you were smart to drop out," he sighs again, though that twinge of jealousy can't help but rear it's head, despite how yejun tries to bury it down. "i'll pay you to finish reading this chapter for me. i never want to think about aggregate demand ever again. this is awful."
