The store you walked into was empty, apart from you and the worker who sat behind the counter. He looked worried; like he wanted to fall asleep right now—but the fear was keeping his eyes peeled open. He took a peek at your frame as you walked toward an aisle, up until he promptly whipped his head back down at his quivering fingers. Music played subtly upon the speakers, barely drowning out the sounds of mosquitoes fluttering in the air.

The cashier’s odd behavior was a little unsettling. Despite his behavior, the store was about as unique as any other convenience shop in South Korea. An underpaid worker at the counter, unlimited cup ramen stacked on shelves, and hi-chew ice cream little kids would beg their parents to get them everytime they stepped foot into the place.

And maybe, just maybe, you were no better than an elementary kid. The tooth-rotting candies from few feet away were staring at you with their entrancing, non-existent gaze. The uncertainty that lingered at the back of your neck—in the same way that cold air bit pedestrian’s cheeks during winter days, which you yearned for in the blazing heat that covered the entirety of the country disappeared in an instant. Nothing a little candy can’t fix, right?

Though the feeling was gone, the man was still there—which means to fulfill your candy crush, you’d have to walk up to the counter and check out yourself. It’ll be alright, right?