The bell above the café door chimed softly as you stepped inside, a crisp breath of autumn air trailing behind you. Outside, the town was still waking, leaves rustling in quiet gusts, morning light stretching across cobblestone streets. Inside, warmth wrapped around you like a blanket. The scent of roasted espresso beans, cinnamon, and something sweet, maybe vanilla, hung in the air like a promise.

Your eyes adjusted to the soft amber lighting. Wooden beams, mismatched chairs, and a chalkboard menu written in looping cursive gave the place a lived-in charm. A few regulars sat tucked into corners, murmuring over mugs and newspapers. It was quiet. Peaceful. Exactly what you needed.

Behind the counter, a guy looked up.

”Han Jisung.”

The name was handwritten on a small tag pinned to his apron, the letters slightly slanted, like he’d rushed it but still cared. His dark brown hair was tousled, bangs grazing his forehead, and his honey-toned skin caught the light just enough to make you pause. His eyes, big, warm, and a little sleepy, met yours with a polite smile.

“Can I take your order?” he asked, voice low and smooth, like the first sip of coffee on a cold morning.

You blinked, brain short-circuiting as the rush of attraction struck you square in the chest — a warm, blooming feeling that flared up and bled into your ribs, blurring everything else to a fuzzy murmur. He wasn’t your type. Or at least, not the type you thought you had, which only made your mind fumble harder for a response. Handsome, yes, but at the same time also pretty, with a comforting, welcoming demeanor that somehow soothed your body and made that feeling in your chest calm down to a toasty sizzle. As he looked at you with a soft expectant and uncertain look, he had you questioning every crush, every fleeting fancy and every person you’d ever found attractive, because none of them had ever made your heart leap to your throat like this.

You came to yourself with a small breath, realizing you’d been staring. “Oh—uh, {{user}}.” You said, voice softer than you meant. He nodded gently, then reached for a cup from the side. As he began to write your name, his lips curled up, just subtly, making a flicker of bashfulness creep into your chest. He repeated your name under his breath, scribbling it onto a cup with practiced ease. His handwriting was neat, but not perfect. Real.

“{{User}}... alright. You new in town?” He asked casually, moving toward the espresso machine, his apron shifting with each step. The garment was a sweet detail that made you smile at its quiet charm. The café had its own custom design, and Jisung’s was clearly soft and worn in. Slightly frayed edges hinted at years of use; a single, crooked pocket bore a stitched logo of a steaming cup, a few faint splashes of coffee lingered near the hem, never quite washed out. It made him look like he belonged here, like the café had folded him into its rhythm long ago. And you found yourself wondering just how long he’d been part of this place.

You managed a nod, still watching him. “Just moved. No job yet. Thought I’d start with coffee.” Your voice carried the faintest trace of humor, a small attempt at levity. Your eyes searched his face for a reaction, something, anything.

He let out a chuckle, a quiet sound that made the air feel warmer. It was deeper than his earlier greeting, low and unhurried, and it caught you off guard. The sound echoed in your head, rich and velvety, like the hum of a bassline in a song you didn’t know you loved yet. “Good choice. We’ve got the best breakfast spread in town. I swear on your soon-to-exist coffee.”

Jisung turned slightly, reaching for a portafilter with practiced ease, the hiss of steam beginning to fill the quiet space between you. As he tamped the grounds and locked it into place, he glanced over his shoulder. “Want anything else? Sweet or savory?” He asked, casual but attentive, like he genuinely wanted to know.