xi

→ prologue → chapter 1

y/n pov 𓂃🖊

I have been working at a café for a good two years now. Many people in my life—weirdly enough, even regular, fairly old customers—ask me when I plan to leave this place.

Frankly, I get their sentiment. Sometimes, I think about how I should put my college degree to use and find a better, more stable job, instead of wasting my years making other people's coffee. My parents nag me about quitting, too.

But after contemplating it—and having brief crises from time to time whenever they remind me—I always reach the same conclusion... I actually like what I'm doing. Like a Papa's game, running this place in real life is just as addictive, and that's just based on my personal preference.

I like that I'm scheduled during the afternoons. I enjoy making other people's coffee. I like knowing what type of brew they prefer, the milk-to-espresso ratio that they enjoy, how sweet one person likes it, and how bitter the other wants theirs.

But I've been rethinking that mindset lately. It started two weeks ago, and it's all because of one guy... That guy who is sitting by the window right now.

I know him as Seungmin—well, because that's the name he tells me to put on his cup. He's kind of tall, about 5'10", and always wears that polo-over-white-shirt-and-jorts combo. His face has those masculine yet soft features that any grandma would brag about to every girl she meets in hopes that they would marry her grandson.

Honestly, his looks alone already check off a lot on my type checklist. I totally would consider him my eye candy, and I'm pretty lucky since, two weeks ago, he became our regular... Right?

Unfortunately, I would think so if I didn't find the situation weird. Because instead of me being the one staring at him from time to time while he sips the coffee I made, he's the one who can't take his eyes off of me. And today marks the end of the second week since he's done it. And I would think I'm lucky because of this circumstance, but it's reached a point where it's affecting my routine.

I try to brush it off, but when I take another quick glance at his seat, he is staring straight at me yet again. Only this time, our eyes actually meet. I almost choked on my own saliva. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

I look down quickly, pretending the espresso machine needs my attention, hoping that he will somehow become conscious from the brief encounter too and stop staring. But I can still feel it even from this distance—that heavy, unblinking weight of his gaze, unfazed by what happened.

As another customer arrives at the counter, I look up slowly from my frozen state, greeting the person with a practiced smile. I reach for a marker to prep the next cup, but my hand is less steady than it was five minutes ago. When I finally risk another glance, he isn't looking at the window anymore. He’s standing. And he’s walking straight toward the counter.

Shit, shit, oh fuck.

I try composing myself again, deciding not to overthink it anymore. Instead, I just smiled as I greeted another customer lined up. Thankfully, I wasn't the only staff member clocked in at this hour. My coworker goes in my stead to ask him what he needs.

I take a quick glance at them talking. Seungmin is leaning over the counter, arms crossed, presenting that sweet smile that took my breath away when I first saw it. But the customers take turns one by one nonstop, leaving me no time to actually eavesdrop on their conversation. I sighed, turning my attention back to my front, the LED interface, and my marker in hand, ready to write whoever's name the cup was for.

Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder, snapping me from my zone. My coworker leans to whisper by my ear, "He's asking for you..." They say with a knowing smirk, lightly nudging my side with their elbow, urging me to go approach the man.

My eyes go wide, looking at my coworker with shock. "You...!" I curse them in my mind, pursing my lips and furrowing my brows as I gulp hard. I composed myself, though. What could this customer need from me that he felt the need to ask for me specifically?

"Hello! You called for me, Sir Seungmin?" I ask as soon as I reach the other side of the counter where he is. Keeping it professional, I intentionally add the honorific while maintaining the smile I usually show the customers. But instead of getting a vocal response, he stays silent.

I can't help but raise my brow. He called for me, and now I'm here. Is he not going to say anything? But because I can't just leave a customer hanging, I stood there awkwardly as well, instinctively scratching my nape.

Without another second, he slides a piece of paper onto the counter, lying flat and folded at least once or twice. I stare at the paper for a while, dumbfounded as to what I'm supposed to do with it. But as I looked up at him, he was already walking away abruptly, even before I could ask what it was for.

"Ah—" I try calling for him, but the bell rings, indicating someone has left the premises. I looked at the paper on the counter again, feeling a little conflicted. But nonetheless, I think it's a little important. If that customer had specifically asked for me, just to give me a message—maybe—in this form... Then it must have taken a lot of courage for him to make this move.

"Well? What does it say?" My coworker asks me from behind, taking a little peek at the piece of paper in my hand, which I quickly hide in my pocket. I push him away, groaning softly. "Nothing! Let's just go back to work."

And we indeed go back to work. Customers continued to flock to the café… but just as quickly as they arrived, others left the moment they were finished. It was a never-ending cycle, but it was a cycle I was used to and enjoyed.

The clock struck six, and only a few customers were left since the five-thirty cut-off earlier. Now, we are just finishing up cleaning everything behind the counter before we move to the tables and chairs after the remaining customers leave. Like clockwork, we finish wrapping up the café as efficiently as ever.

"See you tomorrow!" My coworker waves at me outside the café as they head the opposite way. I returned the wave before watching them walk away. I sigh, the weight of the afternoon shift sliding off my shoulders.

I can't lie, this job does get tiring at times. But that's a small price to pay for doing something I genuinely enjoy. I massage my shoulders as I turn the other way to start walking to my apartment nearby. I reach my building, not wasting a moment more to take the elevator up to my floor.

Not long after, I face the door to my unit. Reaching into my back pocket for my phone to use its light to find my keys in my purse, I hear a faint sound—something hitting the floor.

"Huh?" I turn to see what it is, eyes squinting at the floor. It's the paper. I contemplate for a second whether to leave it be or to still pick it up. In the end, I pick it up and take it inside with me.

Throwing myself onto the couch, I let out a groan of relief as I feel the soft cushions swallow my body whole beneath me. I look at my hand with the paper again, my mind filling up with intense curiosity now.

"Just what is this..." I flip it, trying to find a secret code on the outer layer somehow before finally unfolding it open to see the content.

"E-eh?"

My finger traces over the inkwork and the creases the paper has taken from being trapped inside my pocket for so long. Filling up almost the entire paper is a butchered-up sketch of me... I think?

"Is this me...?" I let out a soft, quiet chuckle.

My eyes continue to scan lower. Written underneath is a string of numbers, his phone number, probably, and a note that reads, "I really like you. :) Please accept this."

What the heck... That's so fucking cute.

I shouldn't find it cute, really. I've spent the last two weeks thinking he was weird, after all. But fuck... I can't help but find myself covering my mouth, grinning from ear to ear as a flush of pink spreads across my cheeks.

I didn't notice it earlier because I was feeling weirdly nervous about opening the note, but there's also a whiff of perfume emanating from the paper. It's a gentle aroma of lavender and lemon mixed—surprisingly pleasing and much easier to take in than the heavy colognes most men typically wear.

Anyhow, I still find myself reaching for my phone. Ignoring my former judgment, my thumb hovers above the Contacts app before tapping to create a new contact.

My fingers move swiftly on the digital keyboard, typing his number, double-checking the digits against his messy handwriting before pressing save. I then move to the messaging app, staring at the blinking cursor as I try to compose a message, thinking of what to type and send without sounding awkward at all. But after second-guessing myself about it, it's impossible after all... I delete everything, tossing my phone to the other side of the couch.

I stand up instead, stretching my arms up high, hearing my joints pop satisfyingly. I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of the situation before walking to the bathroom to get ready for the night.

"Alright... See you tomorrow, handsome guy from work."