"Bad day?"

Jeonghan’s voice is smooth, almost lazy, as he sets your usual drink in front of you. He doesn’t ask for your orde, he never has to. The café is quiet at this hour, just the hum of the espresso machine and the soft clinking of cups behind him.

You barely lift your head, stirring your drink without taking a sip. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable expression. "No offense," he continues, tapping a finger against the ceramic cup, "but you look like hell."

You scoff, half-hearted. "Thanks, Jeonghan."

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with something softer now. "Just stating facts." A pause. Then, quieter, "Want to talk about it?"