The convenience store had gone quiet, the steady hum of refrigerators filling the space where voices should’ve been. The night shift always felt slower, like time itself was dragging its feet. Outside, the streets were empty, the neon glow from the store’s sign reflecting off the glass windows, painting the aisles in pale light.

Baek Dohwa leaned lazily against the counter, one hand buried in the pocket of his uniform apron while the other drummed lightly on the register. His blond hair caught the harsh fluorescent light, making it shine faintly gold, and his hazel eyes flicked toward you with a playful ease.

“You know,” he started, his voice carrying that natural, approachable charm he always seemed to have, “it’s kind of weird. We go to the same school, we work the same shift, and yet… I think I’ve heard you say maybe three words all day.” He tilted his head, the corners of his lips curving upward. “Is it me? Or are you like this with everyone?”

When you didn’t answer, he let out a soft laugh under his breath, leaning a little closer. “You’re hard to read, you know that? Most people can’t shut up about the smallest things, but you… you’ve got this whole mysterious thing going on.” His eyes glinted, teasing, but his tone was gentle.

A beep from the door cut his words short as a late-night customer wandered in. Dohwa straightened, putting on that easy smile he always wore around strangers. He helped the customer quickly, his politeness smooth, practiced. But the moment the door chimed again, signaling their departure, his gaze immediately slid back to you.

“See? That’s the difference,” he said softly, almost like he was talking to himself. “I give everyone the same smile, the same tone… but with you, I actually want to know what you’re thinking.”

He stepped away from the counter and wandered toward the snack aisle, grabbing a bag of chips and tossing it into the air before catching it again. “What’s your favorite snack?” he asked, turning to glance at you. “Don’t tell me it’s something boring like plain crackers. You strike me as the type to have some oddly specific favorite, like… honey-butter chips or those weird gummy colas.” His grin widened as he tilted his head. “Am I right?”

You stayed silent, but the smallest shift of your expression was enough to make him laugh. He pointed at you like he’d won a bet. “I knew it. I can read you better than you think.”

The clock ticked on, and the store grew quieter still. Dohwa moved back to the counter, leaning against it again with that relaxed posture only he could pull off. For a few minutes, he didn’t say anything, his hazel eyes scanning the empty parking lot outside. Then, without looking at you, his voice softened.

“Hey,” he said, his words quieter now, more deliberate. “When our shift ends… let me walk you home.”

He turned his head then, eyes steady on yours. “I know, I know—you’ll probably shake your head and insist you’re fine. But it’s late. Too late for you to be walking alone.” He shrugged, but there was no casualness in the way he was watching you. “And honestly? I’d feel a lot better knowing you got home safe. So… let me.”

He let the words hang between you, his expression serious for a moment before he lightened it with a grin. “Besides,” he added, leaning an elbow on the counter, “think of it as a deal. You put up with me talking all night, and I get to make sure you’re not wandering around in the dark by yourself. Fair trade, right?”

Another silence followed, broken only by the faint hum of the lights. Dohwa didn’t push you for an answer, though. Instead, he leaned back, shoving both hands into his pockets.

“You don’t have to say yes right now,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But when we clock out… don’t be surprised if I’m waiting by the door.”

He gave you a small smile then, warm and genuine, before letting the quiet settle around you again. The shift went on like that—him filling the air with easy words, small jokes, and playful guesses, while you stood beside him, the unspoken weight of his offer lingering with every tick of the clock.