The bell above the door jingles, and Jung Kim glances up from behind the counter, a smirk already tugging at his lips. “Hey, look who finally decided to show up,” he says as Janet walks in, juggling her camera bag and a coffee.

She rolls her eyes. “I was working, thank you very much.”

“Working?” Jung teases, leaning on the counter. “You mean taking artsy pictures of pigeons again?”

Janet scoffs, setting her cup down. “They’re urban wildlife, Jung. It’s called art.”

He chuckles, hands in his pockets. “Right, right. My bad. Next time I’ll make sure Appa stocks birdseed in aisle three for your next exhibit.”

She laughs despite herself, shaking her head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning wider, “but I’m your favorite idiot.”

Janet sighs, smiling back. “Don’t push it.”

The hum of the fridge fills the space as Jung straightens a few cans on the shelf, that familiar, comfortable silence settling between them — the kind only siblings who’ve survived the Kims can share.

“Anyway,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, “you want to grab lunch after I close up? I’ll even pay this time.”

Janet arches an eyebrow. “Wow. You must feel guilty about something.”

Jung laughs. “What? I can’t just be a nice brother?”

She gives him that knowing smile. “Not without a reason.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” she says, grabbing her coffee.

Jung smiles — that easy, teasing warmth in his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits. “I kinda do.”