guilt ;
If there could be one word that could define Chanyeol, clumsy would perhaps be the closest thing to it. He remembers some from that night -- the pain from the chafing of his palms against granite, the agony of his stomach protesting and threatening to hurl its contents out. He also remembers the face of someone familiar, and the vile stench of his own regurgitation right before he passed out.
Never will I ever trust myself again.
Which was the sole reason as of why he would be standing in the middle of an almost empty cafe at one minute past 7 in the morning, looking every bit as repentant as he felt inside.
“Good morning...sir,” he scratched the back of his elfish ear out of anxiety. “I know we haven’t really spoken...I’m Park Chanyeol. I come here almost every morning for a cup of coffee!” He added, hoping that it would jolt the other’s memory -- good memories of him, at least. “And I’m...really sorry for my careless actions a few days ago!” He had half yelled his apology, at the same time bending at the waist at a ninety-degree angle in hopes to show the sincerity of his apology.
“I know a simple apology probably won’t help or anything, but...I’m a broke college student and I have to pay bills and rent and I don’t have much money to replace your clothes right now...” He continued to ramble off mindlessly. “But if you don’t mind, I would gladly help out at the cafe! That is...to repay you for all the trouble and damages...”
@krxmarktuan