BREWING SOMETHING LIKE LOVE — park sunghoon
synopsis, a sunshine hearted new barista slowly melts the walls of her grumpy coworker… one shift, one smile, and one cup of coffee at a time
setting, cozy local café
genre, strangers to lovers, slow burn, grumpy x sunshine, fluff
content warning, mild language, emotional vulnerability, soft romantic tension
perm taglist, send an ask to be added
The first thing you noticed about the boy behind the counter was that he didn't smile.
Not when customers complimented his latte art. Not when an elderly regular gave him a handwritten thank you card. Not even when a gold retriever puppy peeked through the glass doors and wagged its tail. He just worked in silence, his movements precise, expression unreadable.
“This is Y/N,” your new manager had said brightly. “She’ll be training here starting today.”
The boy didn’t even look at you. “You’re cheerful,” he muttered, his voice flat, and you couldn’t help but grin.
“You’re not,” you replied, your smile warm and genuine, even though his words barely registered as an insult.
That got a glance. It was the barest flicker of an expression, just a quick glance before he went back to wiping down the counter, but it felt like progress.
You learned his name the next day: Park Sunghoon. It was written in sharp black ink on the staff schedule.
He wasn’t mean. Just quiet. Guarded. Efficient in a way that didn’t leave room for small talk. You’d try, of course. Commenting on the weather, the playlist, the new pastries. He’d respond with a nod or a hum, then go right back to steaming milk or scribbling names on cups with annoyingly perfect penmanship.
But you didn’t give up.
You told him about your failed attempts at latte art, the way you once accidentally served someone an iced espresso with salt instead of sugar, and how your favorite part of the job was the smell of ground coffee beans in the morning.
Sometimes he’d blink slowly, like your energy short-circuited his brain. Other times, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. You counted that as a win. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was something.
Like how he only drank black coffee. How he always wore headphones before opening shifts, but the music was soft, classical, completely unlike his aloof attitude. How he always made an extra matcha latte on Thursdays and left it behind the counter for the regular who never ordered but always showed up tired. It was the kind of thoughtful gesture he never talked about, and you wondered if he even realised how much it mattered.
You started bringing him snacks. Little things like chocolate covered almonds, rice crackers, a tiny blueberry muffin with a post it that said “You look like someone who forgets breakfast.”
He never thanked you. But he always ate them. His face remained unreadable, but you noticed that his shoulders would sometimes relax, just a little, when you handed him the treats.
You came in drenched, dripping from your bangs to your sneakers, and slipped on the floor the moment you stepped inside.
Sunghoon caught you by the elbow before you hit the tiles.
“Careful,” he said, voice flat, but his hand lingered for half a second too long.
Your heart stuttered. “Thanks.”
He let go, like he’d caught you out of instinct. “Don’t drip on the espresso machine.”
That was the first time he made you coffee without asking. It came in your favorite mug, with a foamed heart on top. You didn’t even have to say anything, because his small gestures spoke louder than words ever could.
The following weeks were a mix of routine and subtle changes. You worked morning shifts together, the café quiet except for the occasional order and the soft hum of the espresso machine. You found yourself in the back room often, taking the opportunity to chat with him about the weather, your favorite books, or just random little things that filled the silence.
Sunghoon still wasn’t talkative, but he stopped giving you one word answers. He’d respond more thoughtfully, sometimes even offering his own opinions. The first time he laughed… really laughed, was when you told him about the time you accidentally made a macchiato with a shot of soy sauce instead of caramel syrup. It wasn’t loud, just a soft chuckle, but it felt like a small victory.
You started closing shifts together. Sometimes in silence, sometimes with music playing low in the background. Always something soft, like he’d chosen it for you.
Two months into your job, the little interactions became a bit more frequent.
One evening, after everyone else had left, Sunghoon stood by the counter, watching the light rain outside the window.
“You look pensive,” you said, wiping down the counter nearby.
“I’m not,” he replied, but his tone was softer than usual.
“You always look like you’re thinking about something.”
He glanced at you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Like you’re always somewhere else in your head.”
He didn’t answer, just took a sip from his cup and turned back to the window. You continued with your work, but you noticed the way his shoulders seemed to relax when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he leaned against the counter with an unfamiliar ease. Maybe it wasn’t much, but you felt like you were starting to get to him. Just a little.
A few more weeks passed, and you started noticing even more details about him.
Like how he always tucked a pen behind his ear when he worked. Like how he hated it when people were late, but was never overtly rude… just more quiet. Like how, on slow days, he’d doodle little sketches on the back of order tickets when he thought no one was watching. It was like his way of quietly letting out the tension he didn’t know how to express.
But one of the most surprising things you learned was how fiercely he took care of the café. He had this way of arranging everything just so, always checking the supplies, making sure nothing was out of place. You started to realize that, just like you, this place was one of the few things he allowed to matter.
One night, after a particularly busy evening shift, you were both left to close up. The lights were dimmed, the buzz of the espresso machine had died down, and only the sound of you wiping down the counter filled the space.
“You’ve been looking at me a lot lately,” Sunghoon said, voice low but steady.
You raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You know, whenever I’m near, you always seem to be looking at me.”
Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t think of anything to say, so you just shrugged. “Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out.”
He stayed silent for a moment before answering. “What do you think?”
You took a deep breath. “I think you’re not as indifferent as you try to act.”
He shifted, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
“You care. You care about this place, about the people here. And maybe… you care more than you realize.”
His gaze softened. “I don’t know how to care.”
“Well,” you said, walking closer, “sometimes it’s okay to not know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t try.”
You paused for a moment, taking a chance you hadn’t dared before.
“Can I ask you something?”
He nodded, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.
“Why do you always do that? Try to keep things to yourself.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set down the rag he’d been holding and looked at you with a seriousness that made your chest tighten.
“It’s easier that way,” he said simply.
He hesitated. “I don’t know.” He sounded a little unsure, a little vulnerable, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth in your chest.
A few days later, you both ended up working the closing shift again. The café was nearly empty, the last few customers having left, leaving behind a quiet that only the two of you shared.
You were both cleaning up when he spoke again. “I think you’ve changed the way I see things.”
You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “What do you mean?”
He looked at you for a long moment before replying. “I think… I’m starting to care a little too much. And it’s not just about the café.”
Your heart did that thing again, an unexpected skip. “What do you mean?” you whispered, a little afraid of what he might say.
He took a breath, stepping closer. “I think… I’m starting to like you.”
You smiled softly. “I think I’ve known for a while.”
He blinked, surprised by your response. “Really?”
“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy,” you said. “Nothing’s easy.”
He reached for your hand, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It doesn’t have to be.”
The days that followed were a quiet rush of small moments. You both tiptoed around the tension that had bloomed between you… careful, uncertain, but undeniably there.
There was the moment when he passed you a fresh cup of coffee, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest instant, and neither of you spoke. Just the soft flutter of that touch lingered in the air.
There was the evening when you both stayed late to clean up, and he surprised you by ordering takeout for both of you. His way of offering something, even though he didn’t know exactly how to do it.
Then there was the night when he looked at you, not with his usual distant expression, but with something softer, something warm. “I think I’m getting better at this,” he said quietly.
“At caring,” he replied, voice so low it was almost a whisper.
You smiled, not needing to say anything else. Because in that moment, you both knew. Something slow and quiet had built between you. Something real.
The night was quiet when the café closed. The lights were dimmed, and the soft hum of the espresso machine was the only sound, almost like the calm after a storm. The air smelled faintly of coffee and cinnamon, comforting in a way only a café could be.
Sunghoon was wiping down the counter, his movements slow and deliberate. You stood beside him, gathering your things, the soft silence between you feeling… different now. The shift was subtle, but it was there. Something had changed.
You couldn’t help yourself.
You turned to him. “Sunghoon.”
He looked up from the counter, his eyes locking with yours. There was no more hesitation in his gaze, no more distance. Just something warm, something patient.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly.
You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his words. “What?”
He gave a small, almost shy smile, and for the first time, you saw him open up, just a little. “I’m glad you’re here. I think… I think I’ve needed this.”
Your heart swelled at his admission. You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t need to. You stepped closer, your fingers brushing against his in a quiet, meaningful touch.
“I think I needed this, too,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.
And in that moment, standing in the soft glow of the café, you realised something. It wasn’t just about coffee. It wasn’t about the late nights or the small gestures.
It was about something more.
Like a cup of coffee left to brew, slowly and carefully, the warmth that had been building between you over the weeks was finally ready. It had taken time. It had taken patience. But now it was something that could no longer be ignored.
Sunghoon tilted his head, eyes searching yours for something you both knew deep down, but had never quite dared to say. “I think… we’re brewing something.”
Your heart skipped a beat, the meaning behind his words sinking in slowly. “Something like love?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
He nodded, his smile a little crooked, but softer than before. “Yeah. Something like love.”
You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Something so quiet, so gentle, had been growing between you. No grand gestures. No explosive confessions. Just slow, steady, and real.
And maybe that’s how love was supposed to be. Something brewed over time, warm and comforting, a little messy at first, but finally perfect in its own way.
“You’re not wrong,” you said softly, your fingers brushing his once more.
And as the café’s lights flickered off, the two of you stood there, together, knowing that the quiet, patient love you’d been brewing for so long had finally come to life.
Something like love. Quietly brewing.
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