|вυттerмιlĸ мonday|
|Louis|

|Chapter One|
4:28am

"More coffee, Sugar?"

I watched from across the table as Tommy lifted his head from the crease of his arm, dark black rings surrounding his gray eyes, a red splotch on his cheek in the shape of a hand.

It was a frigid morning as I pulled awkwardly at the ends of my sweater, the thick knitted fleece tearing at my skin, itchy and uncomfortable, and never reaching the length of my arms.

It was one of those things you were only comfortable wearing at four A.M after being forced to drive forty minutes out of town to pick up your drunken friend from some guys couch in the middle of the city.

My friend of four years let out a low groan as he swatted at my hand, a sly smile finding its way across my pale lips as I lifted my gaze towards the waitress.

"Sorry Tommy, but I don't speak roadkill, gonna' guess that's a no on the caffeine?" I teased, shifting my eyes back and watching him painfully open his bloodshot stare.

"Lou ..." He muttered under his breath, "I will destroy you ..."

"I'll take that as a yes".

The short woman smiled through her crooked teeth, coffee stained as she held a purple pen in hand, "One pot comin' right up," she strutted away, nodding politely as the door chimed painfully and another customer strolled in.

"Sooo ..." I sang, lifting my brows in Tommy's direction, "Rough night?"

"She broke up with me..." the fool mumbled, letting his head roll off of his forearm and smacking against the chipped tables, "Again..."

"Who? Lisa?".

"No. Amy".

"Amy?" I questioned, scratching my head of matted charcoal hair as I formed a picture in my mind of the mess of girls Tom had dated that past month.

All I saw was blonde hair and a declining amount of self-respect.

"Amy who?"

"Andrews ... No, Anderson, I think".

I let a low chuckle pass over my lips, "That was Lisa's last name".

"Same difference".

Tommy Rossi had been one of my closest friends since junior year, and since the day I had met him he'd always had a problem with... Well, with everything.

He wasn't smart, wasn't funny, didn't have much charm, and had no unique talents whatsoever, but for some strange reason, he firmly believed that he was for all intensive purposes, the greatest.

He was Irish blood through and through, everything from the translucent ivory skin that turned neon pink at the slightest inch of exterior light and the blinding head of red hair. But, he didn't like to admit it.

His pop's was one-quarter Italian, and Tommy always liked to embrace that part instead of his Northern roots.

To this day I don't know why we were friends.

He was the type of guy you saw walking down the street and you began to wonder what went through his head each morning. Maybe we chose each other because Tom needed a friend nice enough to introduce him to women, yet awkward enough he wouldn't steal them away.

That was me.

I was Louis Kaede, the guy with a reserved parking space at Casa Friend-Zone and a bachelors in being the shoulder to cry on.

And maybe, just maybe, pointing out that my best friend was the ginger kid in the sleek leather jacket with a head of horizontal orange hair was a good icebreaker for starting my non-romantic relationships.

The woman poured our cups, slamming the glass pot against the table and slipping me a wink as Tom wept in protest, the ringing echoing throughout the empty gig, laughing to herself as she set off tending to the empty booths.

"So, what happened?" I questioned, mixing my stark black coffee with a plastic spoon as he shot me a warning stare.

"Alright, alright," I defended, "You don't have to share if you don't wanna'. Did you call her the wrong name again? Sleep with her best friend? Watch the new episode of PLL without her?".

"Can we please stop talking about my love life ..." He growled, swiping his cup from the table and angrily pouring packet after packet of sugar into the stained ceramic.

"It's nearly five, Tommy Boy. You have to be at work in an hour and I should still be in bed dreaming about sleep, what else are we suppose to talk about?"

The red-haired boy sat up in his chair, blinking against the florescent lights.

"Maybe we can talk about why you didn't come out tonight," He narrowed his gray gaze, "I need a fratello, a bro, it's tough out there for single guys".

I rolled my thin pressed eyes as I held back a laugh, "Well, for starters you're not Sicilian, so stop it. And secondly, you weren't single till'  two hours ago".

"Amelia and I weren't exclusive".

"Her name's Lisa, what is wrong with you?".

The fool slammed both his hands down on the red table, fingers immediately flying to his scalp as the ring broke across the room and his hangover got the best of him.

"You need to get a life, Lou".

I looked deep into my steaming mug of coffee, praying, pleading that the answers would be lurking beyond the foul coppery substance.

"Not this talk again, please Tom," I pouted, setting my mouth in an overly dramatized frown as the red head slurped his coffee.

"Live a little! Go outside, go on an adventure, meet a gal', kiss her in the rain and then hope the relationship doesn't go to crap after you accidentally slap her mom's ass thinking that the booty behind those Lulu's is the one you've grown to love".

The foul gunk nearly came flying out of my nose as the haunting image embedded itself in my brain.

"As much as I'd love to experience that..." I gulped, choking on the ironlike liquid "I've been busy".

"Cazzate, you're just chicken," he hummed messaging the red blotch on his cheek as he pressed the hot pot to the side of his face.

"Am not ..."

"Are too!".

Muttering a few profanities under my breath.

"Prove it then," He grinned, his freckled face lighting up as his Joker-like smile reached up to his gray eyes, "Prove you've still got a little dignity left".

I set my cup down on the table, looking around the room to only find two other people, the waitress, and a young girl seated at the booth sipping a cup of tea.

"What would I have to do ..." I narrowed my gaze, peering up at him suspiciously as I slumped back in my seat, yanking at the threads of my abnormally uncomfortable sweater.

As much as I wanted to take the damned thing off there was a pang of guilt residing shallowly inside of me. One, seeming as it was the holidays and what rainy December day is complete without an awful sweater from your great aunt that which, after three spins in the washer, still smells like cat hair and week old prunes. And two, for nearly eighty years old she had a pretty good sense of humor.

With what seemed to be a ball of barbwire and some half digested hay the sweater was a brilliant image of Santa's blushing round face and the words, wonderfully etched, "Where my Ho's at," just below Saint Nick's sparkling beard.

Tommy drummed his pale fingers across his flush cheeks, a sinister smile slithering its way to his lips.

"Write your number in the girls washroom".

My pale green eyes went wide.

"Wha-Why?!" I nearly shouted.

Tommy simply gave a shrug of his shoulders.

"You need a girlfriend, and this is a pretty classy joint. Who knows, maybe you'll meet "the one", in there".

"Yeah," I pondered, "Or maybe I'll get caught, they'll call the police and every time I move to a new neighbor I'll have to go door to door announcing that I'm a sex offender!".

Red shrugged once more, plucking up his freckled cheeks and squawking like a chicken.

"Shut up!" I waved, looking around the room cautiously, "How is being a perv' suppose to restore my dignity anyway?".

"If I knew the answer to that, then we'd both be wrong".

A frown took over my fair features as I watched him guzzle down his cup and smack his lips together as he placed it back down.

Chicken, I thought to myself, Tommy spends his free time messing up his life, and everyone else's around him and he's saying I'm too chicken to live mine ... He's right, of course, but still ...

I reached into my backpack, fishing around for a Sharpie and coming up with a dying old pen, spitting ink all over my hands.

Tommy's eyes opened wide as his jaw hung slack.

"No..." He laughed, throwing his head back and sinking into the booth, "You're not actually gonna do it, are ya'?".

I pushed myself from my chair and began the journey across the diner, pen stuffed under my sleeve as my identity confused friend sat alone, dying of laughter.

Chapter number one posted and not as bad as I thought it would be.

So what did you guys think?

And how do you feel about loveless Louis Kaede? In part this book is as much of a spoof of some of the stories on wattpad as it is genuine. So, beyond this point you will be faced with many glorious pancake puns and an adorably frustrating silent romance...

You're been warned.

-Love, your personal professional pancake peddler