Seonghwa's POV

Friday night was always busy at the restaurant. Never an open table, a line of hungry customers waiting to be seated outside the open door, and new plates being tossed to us waiters and waitresses every five seconds. Walking briskly and balancing four plates on my arms, I arrived at a table seating a family at the back of the establishment

"Alright." I said, managing to set one of the plates in front of a small child. He grinned excitedly and grabbed his spoon. "One order of mac and cheese. One order of grilled salmon, one order of house tomato soup and cheese toasts." I set down two more platters for the parents and finally a plate of chicken tenders. "And one order of chicken tenders for you." The tiny child clapped her hands in anticipation, the children were very hungry. 

"Can I get you folks anything else?" I asked, the common restaurant courtesy so practiced I never forgot to ask anymore.

"No." The woman replied with a note of snark in her voice. Continuing to fake smiling, praying my face didn't screw up in disgust, I nodded and made my way back to the kitchens.

"The hell?" I muttered indignantly. "So rude and for what?" 

Taking another stack of dishes into my arms, I sighed, exhausted. I absolutely hated my job, never finding how anyone could possibly enjoy serving plate after plate of food to generally obnoxious, ungrateful costumers. For no reason, I was treated like shit by customers who I was trying to serve as quickly as possible unlike some of my coworkers who hung out in the back room, skipping work to gossip about the day's crowd.

And of course, my annoyance inflamed my sickness. No, it's no a side effect but yes, the bristling vexation induced by my occupation oftentimes made me want to vomit and cry. That's when the breathing issues kicked in. 

Padding confidently across the marble tiled floor, I served a couple swiftly, setting down the dishes before they could find a reason to raise hell with me. 

"And can I get you two anything else?" I repeated in a fake cheery voice, the personal, playful comments I used to make with customers took to much effort for me to do anymore. 

"Ummm...." The man hummed unsatisfied. "Well I asked for no tomatoes." He stated matter-o-factly, pointing a tanned finger at his burger. 

"Oh, we are so sorry sir." I immediately jumped on the situation, my voice seeping apologetically. "If you would allow us, we can fix that in a jiffy." 

"No no, it's fine." He waved his hand absentmindedly, voice higher than before. "Just kiss your good yelp reviews goodbye."

Licking my lips in order to keep my sarcastic remark inside of me, I responded again, this time with a little more personality. "Really sir, I personally don't care about the reviews but of course, I don't want to jeopardize my only source of income. Tough boss." I laughed, kicking myself inside for trying to appeal to the snotty brat. "Like I said before, your meal can be fixed easily if you'd allow us to-"

"What's your name?" The man interrupted me, pulling out his phone. "I just wanna....write it down so I can let the world know how horrendous the service has been."

Tapping my foot impatiently and laughing sardonically at the bafoon's behavior, I gesture to my name tag which simply reads 'Seonghwa.' 

"What the hell kind of a name is 'Seonghwae?' Is it Chinese?" The man babbles rudely, pronouncing it incorrectly and adding an extremely uneducated and unfunny quip at the end. Even when no one laughed, he still seemed proud of himself.

Great. I thought, digging my nails into the palm of my other hand to relieve my pent up aggravation. He's not only a moron, he's also racist. 

"Sir, for one thing it's a Korean name and two, I'm sure it's not too difficult to remember for your petty little review." As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Though my mock smile did not falter, I felt my heart skip a beat in pure panic that the man would make a scene. "And three," I added quickly, glossing over my snarky (but truthful) remark. "I will explain just once more that we can redo your meal very quickly and-"

"How the hell do you spell such a long name?" The man questioned his date who had buried her face in her hands in pure embarrassment. I guess I felt a bit bad for her who was having to endure being out with this nuisance in the first place. But then again, she wasn't pleading him to stop being a son of a bitch either so.....

Before I could stop myself, I tossed my polite smile and tone out the window, exasperation taking over me. "It's right on my damn chest, it's not that difficult." 

"I'm not looking at your nips!" He sneered loudly, the table next to us turning a few heads, and my headache increasing immensely. "I'm not gay. You probably are." 

"Sir," I began, my blood pulsing through me with murderous thoughts. This was by far the worst customer I'd had in a while. I wasn't about to go on a rant about his homophobic, racist comments but god did I want to. "It's not a difficult name to remember, I'm sure the four facebook friends who read your Yelp review will be delighted to know you can't even spell a freaking name. But please, let me get you another burger."

"Melanie, do you see this man?" He gestured to his partner who was practically reduced to tears, muttering softly into her hands. "Rudest waiter I've ever met. Teens these days...."

Loosing my cool, sarcasm got the best of me once more. "I'm sure people have wanted to lash out at you before. You're not too pleasant yourself." 

"Where's your manager?" The man finally insisted, slamming his phone down on the table furiously. "You have been nothing but rude to me the minute you served me the wrong order."

I rolled my dark eye lined eyes, irked by the bad mannered bully of a customer. "I'll get him. One moment please." I growled through gritted teeth over Melanie's soft sobs. 

Stalking back to an empty table, impatiently, I stole a glance over my shoulder at the insolent son of a bitch, angrily clearing the soiled plates and crumpled napkins away, continuing my  work as usual and  ignoring the man's snotty request.

Turning around quickly on my heel, I started towards the back sink room, pushing open the swinging double doors with my back.. All seemed well until suddenly the familiar burning sensation engulfed my lungs and coated my throat with the imaginary flames. Suddenly I couldn't breath.

Choking on the flames and gasping for sweet oxygen, the plates balanced precariously on my shaking arm. Throat stinging with the urge to couch, salty tears streaming down my pale cheeks, I whipped around in a panic to find a surface, any surface to put the dirty plates on. 

"Ugh.." I huffed, unable to take a steady breath. It's as if someone wrapped zip ties around my lungs and were slowly, mercilessly pulling them tighter. I wheezed and coughed, whole body practically convulsing in panicked pain, and to my absolute horror, the six dishes balanced on my shivering arm slid off and fell to the floor with a heart stopping clattering and a smash. 

The shocking sound yanked my out of the convulsions, leaving me with a tear soaked face of runny makeup and my raspy voice gulping breaths of fresh air. 

Frantically, I dropped to my knees, pawing at the shards of broken chinaware. I heard the pounding of heavy footsteps heading my way, knowing very well I was in deep trouble. Lowering my head in defeat, I sucked in another breath and stood up on unstable legs. I fought the urge to fall back down on the tiled floor and curl up in a tight ball.

"SEONGHWA!" My manager roared, bursting through the navy double doors which proceeded to swing wildly on their hinges. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!"

Wiping away the tears and messy foundation, I took a deep breath in (thank god I could breath again) and struggled to explain. "My...well I have a health condition and I-"

"And you dropped one two three-six of my expensive china plates?! How the hell does that relate to your stupid 'health condition?'" Holding up a finger to explain, I opened my mouth but he cut me off immediately. "You know what, first a customer complains about your attitude and now this? I-" Fuming, he turned to me and jerked a finger at the doors. "You're-." 

The word meant nothing to me at the moment. The gravity of the situation, my only source of income collapsing hadn't yet hit me. I wasn't letting this jerk, like so many others bully me anymore.

"No!" I exclaimed, sarcasm lacing my usually soft and kind voice, the pain in my lungs ceasing at my refusal. Ripping the stupid, itchy apron off over my head, I crumpled it up into a ball and shoved open the double doors. Almost every face in the restaurant turned to me. I felt the heat of many pairs of eyes on my back as I turned to my red faced manager.

"I'm done with this hellhole of an establishment! You've treated me like shit for years but I've stayed because of my stupid rent. But I can't take it anymore! I quit!" I threw the apron at his feet, a collective gasp that should have been silent going up in the restaurant. 

"You can't do that, I already fired you!" My manager argued wrongly, not wanting to be made a fool of in his own establishment by me, his unruly little waiter. Guess what, you can't threaten me with unemployment anymore sir. I can say what I like.

"That's a lie, and we all know it!" I fired back, halfway to the front door, stopping to yell at him. He still stood by the back room. "If you had dismissed me, you would have wanted everyone to see. Your ego wouldn't allow you to do it in private. You have to show everyone how well you can deal with disobedient employees, like myself." I added in a mocking voice. Jaws dropped in the restaurant. 

"You-"

"I'm done!" I cut the man off before he could get another word in edgewise. "Good luck finding another waiter who's patient enough to put up with your shit for three years."

With that, I stormed through the front door, confidently, euphoria swelling inside me as I left the customers and my ex-boss speechless by my very uncharacteristic outburst. Normally, the thought of even speaking in front of a crowd in such a manner would have made me cower in the corner but not tonight. 

No, tonight, I had finally snapped. 

If I only had about a month left to live, I wasn't going to spend it listening to other peoples' bs. I was going to enjoy myself. Do things. See things. But most importantly, I was going to stay with Ateez. With Hongjoong. 

Back at my apartment after a looooong walk around the city to cool off, I kicked off my boots and shut the door softly behind me, taking the late time (11 pm) into consideration. 

Throwing down my keys and phone on the kitchen counter, I huffed and poured myself a glass of wine, heading over to my curtained window, pulling them back, and perching on the cushy windowsill I had adorned with pillows. 

Looking down at the city streets, I sighed sadly. Though confidence had run through my veins but a few hours ago, depression had once again set in and reality's hand was still wrapped around my long neck. I took a sip of my wine and set my notebook on my knees.

Grabbing my pencil, I began to write, using the full moon's light as a lamp and my crimson beverage to keep me awake. I was exhausted, I was crashing, but I would not be sleeping tonight. I needed to write as much of the letter as I possibly could, saving the draft to be finished a later time.

Nearly half an hour later, I noticed. My writing had become sloppy and slanted, my eyes were drooping, my glass slipping from my hand. I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I remember was my boyfriend frantically shaking me awake.