Due to Cecil's demanding work schedule, every day is different. This means he doesn't have a persistent routine. The only persistent thing left standing was his coffee that Donald brought him from a cafe not too far from the Pentagon. So, when his usual dark brew suddenly changed into a caramel cold foam with red sprinkles, he was annoyed.

Today marks the fifth day in a row he had received the wrong order. Fed up, Cecil decided to go to the cafe himself this time. Walking in an agitated expression and wrong order in hand, Cecil marches up to the man working the cash register, setting the cup on the counter.

"This is the fifth time this week I've received the wrong damn order,"

he grunts. A woman peeks over the man's shoulder, a small pout forming on her lips. Cecil's lips part catching himself. You were attractive, younger than him but attractive, none the less. Cecil looked down at your name tag, your penship familiar to the little messages written on his cups of coffee. You were the barista that was messing up his order.