Chapter 7: Déjà vu? (2)
EL'S CUBICLE - A FEW MINUTES LATER
El sank into his chair and stared at his computer screen.
Monday.
It was Monday again.
He'd lived through this day already.
He was sure of it.
As El sat there contemplating what was happening-this might be an impossible time loop, this return to Monday, this nightmare that made no sense-he found himself blankly staring at his computer screen.
The spreadsheet glowed back at him, innocent and ordinary.
Columns and rows.
Numbers and formulas.
The kind of thing that usually brought him comfort with its predictable patterns.
Today, it meant nothing.
His mind was elsewhere.
Spinning.
Grasping.
Drowning in questions he couldn't answer.
Why Monday?
Why again?
What happened to Tuesday?
What happened to Kaye?
What happened to-
"Yo, Earth to El."
Demi's voice cut through the chaos like a wrecking ball.
El blinked but didn't turn.
His eyes remained fixed on the spreadsheet, though he wasn't seeing any of it.
"What's the queen of ice do to you?"
Demi asked humorously, his head appearing over the cubicle wall.
"You're staring at your computer like it personally offended you. Did Mira give you the death glare?
Did she freeze your soul with those arctic eyes? Should I call a paramedic?"
El slowly turned his head.
Demi was grinning-that was the same annoying, familiar, normal grin that meant he had no idea anything was wrong.
No idea about the time loop.
No idea about Kaye.
No idea about any of it.
For some reason, that made El feel both relieved and incredibly alone.
"Nothing,"
El said flatly.
"She didn't do anything."
"Then why the thousand-yard stare? You look like a soldier coming home from war, except the war was a spreadsheet and the enemy was cell merging."
El's eyebrow twitched-the closest he came to acknowledging Demi's nonsense.
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous activity. Highly recommend against it."
Demi hopped over the cubicle wall instead of using the entrance, landing with his usual lack of grace.
He stumbled slightly, caught himself on El's desk, and knocked over a pen in the process-a pen that El would later carefully realign without comment.
"What are you thinking about?"
Demi asked, tilting his head with theatrical curiosity.
Then his eyes lit up with sudden revelation.
"Oh, I get it! You miss your favorite house drip coffee, right?"
El blinked.
"What?"
"Don't try to deny it!"
Demi pointed at him accusingly, his voice rising with dramatic conviction.
"I see right through you, El Ignacio! You're sitting there, staring at your spreadsheet like it betrayed you, but really?
Really, you're thinking about that sad, burnt, beautiful cup of liquid disappointment from Whimsy."
"That's not-"
"Don't!"
Demi held up a hand, cutting him off.
"Don't you dare sit there and pretend you're not longing for that bitter, overpriced, soul-crushing house drip.
I know you, El. I've known you for six years. I've watched you drink that P356.22 tragedy every single day without complaint. That's not loyalty-that's love."
El stared at him.
Demi continued, completely unstoppable.
"And now you're sitting there, blankly staring at your computer, and I can see it in your eyes.
You're thinking about it, aren't you? That first sip. That burnt aftertaste.
The way it sits on the burner for exactly 45 minutes, never fresh but never quite dead.
It's your coffee, El. Your terrible, wonderful, awful coffee."
"It's really not-"
"But here's the thing!"
Demi leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing classified information.
"You can't let go. I get it. Moving on is hard. Finding a new coffee place?
Terrifying. What if the new coffee is worse?
What if it's better and you have to admit you've been wasting years on that burnt tire juice? That's a lot of emotional weight, my friend."
El's eyebrow twitched.
"Are you finished?"
"I haven't even started! I'm just warming up!"
Demi gestured wildly.
"Don't try to deny it and think about sipping another type of coffee at some fancy café with actual baristas who know your name.
I know you can't let go of the taste of that bitter house drip. It's part of your identity now.
You are what you drink, El. And you, my friend, are burnt and bitter with a hint of existential despair."
El opened his mouth to respond, but Demi steamrolled forward.
"But maybe-just maybe-this is a sign! A sign from the universe that it's time to branch out! Time to try something new! Time to-"
He gasped dramatically.
"-order something different at Whimsy!"
"That's still the same place."
"BUT A DIFFERENT DRINK! Progress, El! PROGRESS!"
El let out a slow breath-a quiet, controlled exhale that conveyed exactly 40% exasperation, 30% resignation, and 30% hidden amusement.
"I was thinking about work," he said flatly.
Demi's face fell.
"Work? That's it? You were having an existential crisis over work?"
"I wasn't having an existential crisis."
"You were STARING at a SPREADSHEET. That's crisis behavior. I've seen it before.
Janet from Accounting does it every time the coffee machine breaks."
El turned back to his computer.
"I'm fine."
"You're never fine. That's your whole brand."
Demi patted his shoulder sympathetically.
"But fine. Keep your coffee-related emotional turmoil to yourself.
I'll be here when you're ready to admit you're addicted to burnt disappointment."
He vaulted back over the cubicle wall, disappearing in a flurry of uncoordinated limbs.
El stared at his spreadsheet.
House drip.
Burnt disappointment.
P356.22 of liquid regret.
Demi had no idea how small those problems really were.
If only coffee was all he had to worry about.
---
EL'S CUBICLE - 2:55 PM
It was 2:55 PM.
Five more minutes before their afternoon break, El was halfway finished with his spreadsheet.
The numbers had been a comfort-predictable, orderly, exactly as they should be.
For a few hours, he'd almost forgotten about the time loop.
Almost forgotten about Kaye.
Almost convinced himself that Monday was just Monday and nothing was wrong.
But the questions never really left.
They just... waited.
And now, exhaustion was catching up with him.
El's eyes grew heavy.
The spreadsheet blurred slightly at the edges.
Just a short rest, he thought.
Just a few minutes.
But first-his desk.
He couldn't sleep with his desk in disarray.
That would be unthinkable.
With practiced precision, El arranged his pens.
Stacked his papers.
Adjusted his monitor to its perfect 18-inch distance.
His succulent caught his eye, and he gave it a small nod of acknowledgement.
Perfect.
He glanced to his right.
Demi was still hunched over his own desk, typing furiously, occasionally muttering things like "why does this exist" and "I should have been a professional nap-taker."
He was busy. Distracted.
Thankful, El thought.
Very thankful.
Demi's megaphone mouth was finally resting.
El's ears could have a break.
He put his arms on the desk, crossed them, and lowered his head onto the pillow they created.
His eyes fluttered closed.
Thirty-five minutes, he told himself.
The afternoon break was thirty minutes, but it was five minutes before 3 PM, and he was ahead of his work.
He was just... advancing his break.
That was allowed.
Probably.
And Demi would wake him at 3:30.
Demi always did.
Sleep pulled him under like a gentle tide.
El was pulled from the depths of sleep by a voice.
Not Demi's voice-not loud and chaotic and demanding.
This was something else entirely.
Something soft.
Something warm.
Something that wrapped around his consciousness like silk and gently tugged him toward the surface.
Velvet.
That was the only word for it.
Velvet with a hidden warmth underneath.
"Hey, El."
The voice was close now, intimate, like a secret shared in the dark.
"Don't you have something to say to me?"
El's eyes fluttered open.
And there she was.
She was leaning over him, her face inches from his own, her dark hair creating a curtain that blocked out everything else.
The garden surrounded them-a beautiful, impossible place with a golden-fruited tree and a fountain that sparkled like liquid starlight-but all El could see was her.
Her eyes.
Those deep, warm eyes that held galaxies and secrets and something that looked terrifyingly like hope.
She was looking at him like he was the only person in existence.
Like she'd been waiting for him forever.
Like this moment-this exact moment-was the one she'd been dreaming of.
Her lips curved into a smile-soft, teasing, inviting.
Her eyelashes fluttered once, deliberately, the kind of movement that was absolutely intentional and absolutely devastating.
"So?"
She tilted her head, a stray lock of dark hair falling across her face.
"Don't keep me waiting forever."
El's heart slammed against his ribs.
His mouth opened, but no words came out.
The girl's smile widened.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief and warmth and something deeper-something that made his chest ache.
"I'm waiting, El."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, soft as petals, warm as sunlight.
El swallowed.
His throat felt dry, even in this dream where everything should feel perfect.
Meanwhile, it's exactly 3PM for their afternoon break and Demi went to El cubicle.
He was about to invite El to grab some coffee at the break room.
But he saw him sleeping on his desk so he just left him be, for he thought that he was tired from his nagging.
He gave El a time for quiet and baggie from him because later on when he wakes up, he'll nag him again.
That's what Demi thought.
Back to the dream.
"Can you be my forever?" El finally asked.
"Took you long enough to say it,"
Kaye replied.
Her voice was a soft velvet, laced with a bashful sweetness that made my heart stutter.
"Of course it's a yes, you silly boy!"
The world around us seemed to lose its edges, blurring into a warm, golden haze.
A surge of disbelief washed over me, followed immediately by a heat so radiant it felt like I'd swallowed a piece of the sun.
My chest tightened-not with pain, but with a soaring, weightless joy that made the very air feel lighter.
I wanted to catch my breath, but my lungs were too busy expanding with the sheer, ridiculous triumph of it.
"Seriously?"
I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of a grin that felt wide enough to break my face.
For a moment, I wasn't just happy; I was invincible.
"Yep, I said yes! Don't believe me? Fine, maybe I'll take it back then, hmpf!"
She let out a playful, airy huff, crossing her arms over her chest in a mock pout that only made her eyes sparkle more.
There was no malice in her voice-only a teasing, melodic lilt that made my heart do a slow, dizzying roll.
She stepped closer, the faint scent of jasmine and something impossibly sweet swirling around her like a soft cloud.
As she tilted her head, a stray lock of hair fell across her face, and she tucked it behind her ear with a grace that felt choreographed.
Her smile was soft, yet it had the power of a physical tug, pulling me deeper into a world where everything finally made sense.
She looked at me with an intensity that felt like being seen for the very first time, her laughter bubbling up like a gentle spring-warm, inviting, and completely, dangerously addictive.
"No, no! Don't you dare!"
I laughed, the sound echoing with a clarity that felt more real than life itself. My chest felt light, as if the gravity of Landsburge had finally let go of my bones.
I reached out, my fingers grazing the warmth of her sleeve, anchored by a joy so sharp it almost hurt.
"I'm just... I've never been this happy."
My voice trailed off into a breathy exhale, a soft confession that felt like a prayer answered.
"Good. Now, go change your bio: 12/09/30 💕🔐🔐"
She chirped the numbers with a playful, commanding brightness, her eyes dancing with a mischievous glint.
There was a strange, rhythmic precision to the way she spoke the date-as if she were reciting a line from a script I hadn't read yet.