high flying love ¦ lee jeno

ch ; 13

·⁀ ༄.°✈ ₊⭒˚｡⋆ 13 ·⁀ ༄.°✈ ₊⭒˚｡⋆
Chain On Your Neck

A relentless pounding throbbed behind Jeno's eyes, a rhythmic counterpoint to the dull ache spreading through his limbs. He cracked open an eye, wincing at the assault of sunlight filtering through the blinds. Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position, the thin white sheet slithering down his bare torso.

His gaze swept around the room, taking in the remnants of the previous night's revelry. The once-impeccable order of his condo, characterized by sleek grey walls and a minimalist aesthetic in black and white furniture, had been thoroughly disrupted. Empty bottles and crumpled beer cans littered the coffee table, a testament to their boisterous reunion. Clothes, shed in the throes of drunken merriment, lay scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers.

Jeno knew the drill. Every few months, his pilot buddies – a ragtag bunch of personalities united by their love for flying and questionable life choices – would descend upon his place. These reunions were legendary for their rambunctious nature, leaving behind a trail of chaos and a healthy dose of regret in their wake.

He reached for his phone, squinting at the screen. 3 pm. Great. He must have slept like a log after finally managing to clear the mess and shove his friends into cabs the night before. A pang of guilt stabbed at him. He'd promised his landlord he'd keep the noise down. Hopefully, the neighbors hadn't filed a noise complaint.

With a sigh, Jeno swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. His head throbbed in protest at the sudden movement, and he braced himself against the dresser for a moment. This was going to be a long day. First, a gallon of water and a fistful of painkillers. Then, a herculean effort to clean up the battlefield and appease the potential wrath of his landlord. Maybe there would be enough energy left for some actual food after all that.

-

Fueled by sheer willpower, a bowl of lukewarm porridge delivered by a kind soul via a food delivery app, several glasses of water, and a fistful of painkillers, Jeno finally managed to restore some semblance of order to his apartment.

Empty bottles and cans were deposited in the recycling bin, clothes were folded and placed in their rightful drawers, and the remnants of spilled popcorn (courtesy of Jisung, a college student friend of their's legendary snacking habits) were vacuumed up.

He collapsed onto his couch, the soft cushions offering a welcome respite. Reaching for his phone, he scrolled through social media mindlessly, the mindless act a salve to his throbbing head. Images of friends' adventures and funny memes blurred together on the screen.

Then, a memory flickered in his mind. A wave of warmth washed over him, momentarily chasing away the lingering ache. He found himself reaching for the Instagram app, a name forming in his mind.

Leo's Hearth. He typed it in, expecting to be greeted by a warm, inviting feed filled with mouthwatering pastries and expertly crafted coffees. Instead, a curated gallery of delectable treats and artistic latte art stared back at him. No sign of Yura.

He frowned, scrolling through countless pictures of cinnamon rolls, flaky croissants, and glistening parfaits. A hint of disappointment welled up within him. He had hoped to learn more about her, to see a glimpse of her life outside the cafe walls. But it seemed Yura preferred to keep her personal life separate from her business.

With a sigh, Jeno closed the app, a strange mix of curiosity and a newfound respect for Yura's privacy lingering in his mind. Maybe, he thought, getting to know her again wouldn't be as easy as ordering a cup of coffee.

-

Continued.