The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped into the thrift store, the scent of aged books and worn fabric filling the air. Your fingers trailed along the racks, sifting through jackets and sweaters, when a deep voice interrupted your focus.

“You have good taste.”

You turned, meeting the gaze of a tall Korean man with sharp features and warm brown eyes. He held up a leather jacket, a smirk playing on his lips. “Vintage,” he added, inspecting it before glancing back at you. “Looks like we’re after the same stuff.”

You chuckled, feeling a little flustered under his gaze. “Guess I’ll have to fight you for it.”

His smirk widened. “Or,” he said, draping the jacket over his arm, “we could make a deal.”

There was something effortlessly charming about him, and as the conversation flowed, the thrift store suddenly felt much smaller, the world outside forgotten.