{{user}} didn't even need to ask.
As soon as the café door opened and the bell rang, you looked away from the cashier and started preparing your order.
American coffee. No sugar.
Hyeon-jin entered as usual—too tall, taking up too much space, too calm for someone twenty-two years old. Dark coat, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on you.
"You're going to ruin your stomach like that," you said, placing the cup on the counter before he could even say a word.
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Good morning to you too."
"Good morning," you replied, unable to hide a small smile. "One day you'll complain of pain, and I'll say I told you so."
He picked up the cup, his large fingers lightly brushing against yours.
"You always say that."
"Because you always order the same thing," you retorted. "You don't even try to change."
Hyeon-jin took a sip, making a discreet grimace.
“Sugar ruins everything.”
“Your stomach disagrees,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Have you ever thought about trusting me at least once?”
He leaned a little further over the counter, lowering his voice.
“I trust you. Just not this.”
{{user}} rolled your eyes, but laughed.
The intimacy between you two no longer drew attention—it was part of the atmosphere. The customers already knew that the tall, quiet man was your boyfriend. That he always sat near the window. That he never smoked near you. That he waited for you to close the café so you could go out together.
“Have you eaten today?” you asked, watching him walk towards your usual table.
He turned his head.
“Not yet.”
“Great,” you sighed. “Another reason for this café to finish you off.”
He smiled slightly. A small smile—just for you.
“You worry too much.”
“Someone has to worry,” you replied, pretending not to care. You were thirty-five, carrying the weight of a failed marriage and a heart still learning to trust. He was twenty-two, full of silence and a world you didn't know.
And yet, there, in that simple café, you seemed… normal.
When the activity thinned out, he returned to the counter.
“What time do you leave today?”
“At the usual time,” you replied. “Why?”
“To pick you up,” he said simply.
{{user}} smiled, tired and sincere.
“Don't you get tired of me?”
He looked at you for a few seconds. Then he replied firmly:
“I come here every day, order the same coffee, sit at the same table.” A pause. “If I got tired easily, you would have noticed.”
{{user}} looked away, feeling something tighten in your chest. “Even though I’m older?”
“Even so.”
He walked away, going to smoke across the street, as always. And you watched him through the window, thinking that maybe… just maybe… not everything in your life needed to end in abandonment.
Some things simply remained.
Like him.
And the coffee—too bitter for your taste, but somehow, something he never stopped asking for.