Chapter Text
I’ve always liked the kind of mornings that start before the rest of the world is awake. Maybe that’s why it’s never bothered me to be up before sunrise, hands already dusted in flour. The street is hushed when I unlock the door, the kind of quiet that belongs only to early hours and people who have already learned how to be alone. I switch on the lights one by one, watching the room come back to life as the shadows pull away from the tables.
“RUN” hums low through my AirPods while I move behind the counter, the familiar opening settling into my head as easily as muscle memory. I slide trays of pastries into the display case, careful with placement even though no one is here yet to see it. I do it the same way every morning. Croissants angled just so. Tarts spaced evenly. The smell of sugar and butter and yeast fills the air, thick enough to cling to my clothes. The song keeps playing, the lyrics lining up a little too neatly with where my head is at.
I let out a sigh because it feels embarrassing to relate to a song this much at this point in my life. Seven years is a long time to be alone without meaning to be. It sneaks up on you when you stop counting. I haven’t tried dating since culinary school, and even then, the word dating would be generous. My only friend from back then still checks in on me from time to time. He moved back to Busan around the same time I packed up my life and came to Seoul. It’s been three years since I started my new life. One year since opening my very own café.
I know what people think when they look at me. I’ve known for a long time. My face is sharp, my mouth stays set unless I make a point of softening it, and I am quiet in a way people don’t trust. Being an alpha doesn’t help. It gives them a script before I ever speak, one that fills in the blanks for them. That I think I’m better than them, that I’m cold, that I’m used to people falling at my feet. The last one almost makes me laugh when I think about it for too long.
I had tried dating in culinary school, being myself and hoping it would be enough, only to watch every relationship fall apart anyway. Some thought I was overbearing, others thought I was distant, and there never seemed to be any middle ground. I learned it was easier to let things end than to keep explaining myself. So I made myself smaller by pulling inward, because being alone was easier than being misunderstood.
If I wanted company for a night, I could find it. That’s never been the problem. It never lasts, and I never ask it to. One-night stands don’t require explanations. It usually just comes down to what I can give them in bed, and they’re gone before morning can complicate anything.
The only person who has managed to slip into my life recently is Jeongin. He showed up after I posted that I was hiring, shoulders drawn tight and hands tucked into the sleeves of his sweater like he was bracing himself for impact. He’s shy for an alpha, all nervous energy and careful movements, his scent light and warm with toast and pecans, never pushing outward the way most alphas do. A few people had come in before him too. They took one look at me and decided the job wasn’t the right “fit”. A few even flinched under my gaze, which still bothers me. I had tried calling some of them back after, because they seemed capable, but none of them returned the calls.
Jeongin, however, was different.
He held eye contact even while he was clearly terrified. When I offered him the job, his smile was so bright that it startled me. No one had smiled at me like that in years, like I had done something kind instead of merely practical. It made something flutter, quick and unwelcome, and I buried it under professionalism.
He learned fast. He followed me around the café with a focus that bordered on devotion, asking questions and listening to the answers instead of shrinking away when I keep them short. He didn’t take my silence personally. Over the past two months, we’ve settled into something comfortable. We go out for drinks after work sometimes. Conversation drifts easily between us, touching on a show he’s been watching or whatever ridiculous thing one of my cats did most recently. He makes me feel a little more like a person and less like a fixture behind the counter.
The bell over the door chimes, and I pull one AirPod out, the music dropping to a dull echo in my head. Jeongin slips inside, already tying his apron, greeting me with a soft good morning that still manages to sound earnest. I nod back and offer him a small smile, and put the other AirPod away to get ready for the morning rush.
San from the shelter shows up not long after, hauling in carriers and signage for the Sunday adoption event. The cats will be everywhere soon, and the regulars will complain about fur in the air even though they know exactly what day it is. The flow of the day settles into place quickly. Orders called. Cups steamed. Pastries sold. The repetition keeps my mind occupied in a way I appreciate.
Right before lunch, the bell over the door rings, cutting through the quiet of a café that’s slowed to a lull.
The scent hits me first. Floral and lemon, sharp against the sugar already in the air, unmistakably belonging to an omega. There’s something underneath it too, sweet in a way that doesn’t belong to my café, another omega's scent, heavier and richer. It smells like a dessert, and my brain automatically starts pulling it apart. I should be able to name it without thinking. I usually can, given my profession. The fact that I can’t nags at me enough that I finally look up, irritation creeping in behind the curiosity.
A man with long blonde hair steps inside, freckles scattered across his face and a smile that knows exactly how charming it is. His arm is looped through the arm of the man beside him, and I forget how to breathe for a second.
Beautiful doesn’t feel like a strong enough word to describe him. Dark hair that falls just a little messily, like he’s run his hands through it and forgotten. Warm skin that catches the light, soft where it curves at his cheeks, giving him a gentleness that doesn’t match how tense he’s holding himself. His mouth is soft and expressive even when he isn’t speaking, like it was made for smiling. Big, round eyes catch the light when he moves, boba-like and undeniably pretty, and for a second it feels like I could get lost in them. He looks nervous, like a squirrel, ready to bolt at the first loud noise.
My stomach drops when the blonde leans in close to him, the kind of closeness that reads as intimate even from across the room.
Of course he has a partner. Someone like him wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. Anyone would be an idiot not to see how lovely he is and snatch him up the moment they had the chance.
Omega and omega relationships are rare, but they happen. It’s none of my business. Not that it would matter. Even if he were interested in alphas, it wouldn’t make a difference. People never stay long enough to actually get to know me.
I hear Jeongin greet them, voice shaky but polite. The blonde responds with amusement, clearly enjoying the reaction he gets. I look up again in time to see him eyeing Jeongin in a way that leaves little room for interpretation. I glare before I can stop myself. Flirting with someone else in front of your partner isn’t charming.
It’s downright fucking rude.
Before I realize what I am doing, I’ve grabbed a pastry and moved around the counter. The beautiful man tenses as I approach, shoulders pulling in like he is bracing for something. That is when I notice his eyes are unfocused, tracking sound instead of faces. I force my scent down, locking it away with effort. I don't want him to smell my anger in it and think it's directed towards him. Flirting openly while your partner stands there is bad enough. Doing it when your partner can’t even see it is worse.
I decide I hate the blonde immediately and permanently.
I stop in front of the other man and lower my voice. “You breathing?”
“Y-yeah,” he says, stuttering slightly. “J-just… a-adjusting.”
I hum quietly because his voice is warm, and that is not something I am prepared to deal with right now. I can’t stop myself from reaching out. I touch his hand carefully and place the pastry there, my fingers brushing his skin. “Try it.”
He brings it to his mouth and takes a bite. The change is instant. His shoulders ease. He lets out a breath like he has been holding it for too long.
“I—uh,” he says softly. “I’m Jisung.”
Jisung.
It’s a perfect name for a perfect man.
I have to remind myself to respond. “Minho.” It comes out shorter than I mean it to, but safer that way.
His scent blooms again, sweet enough that it makes my head tilt despite myself. Brown sugar, I think, but there is something else I cannot quite catch. I inhale again, more carefully this time. “Cheesecake.”
He blushes, visible even with how tense he still looks. “Y-yeah. It… it spikes sometimes.”
“It suits you.”
It really does suit him. Cheesecake is soft without being plain, rich but familiar, something comforting you keep going back to. Brown sugar is warmth and depth, the kind that lingers instead of hitting all at once. Put together, it’s indulgent without trying to be impressive, sweet without being cloying. If I were plating a dessert and wanted it to feel like him, that’s exactly where I would start.
A cat yowls somewhere behind us, followed by the sound of something being knocked to the floor. Jisung flinches hard, breath hitching. I glare at the cat on instinct, which would be ridiculous in any other situation because I love cats. I let a hint of my scent slip out, barely there, and watch him relax. I want to hold him and tell him it’s fine, but that is not something you do to someone you just met. Especially not someone who came in with a partner.
The blonde finally turns his attention back and nudges Jisung lightly. “You want anything to drink?”
Jisung hesitates, shoulders pulling in. “I—um—an iced Americano, please.”
I file it away automatically, pleased to have something new to remember about him, like my brain is eager to collect every small detail.
“Yeah,” the blonde says, amused. “I should’ve expected you’d want your usual.”
Jisung goes pink at that, then clears his throat. “Actually—uh—can I get a splash of caramel in it too?”
The blonde studies him for a second before a slow smirk spreads across his face. “Sure.”
My heart flutters, and I hate myself a little for wondering if the caramel has anything to do with me. I don’t let myself follow the thought any further. Stepping away and returning to the counter feels like the responsible thing to do when hope isn’t an option.
I still look over, watching them settle into a table. The blonde talks with his hands and leans too close, always in Jisung’s space. My attention keeps sliding back to Jisung anyway, memorizing the way he tilts his head when he listens.
If anyone asks if I’m looking at him, I will deny it without hesitation.
When they get up to leave, the blonde’s scent turns playful and bright again. I decide I will no longer make anything with lemon in it for my café. He announces they will be back, that he plans to become a regular. If he never came back, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. In fact, I might even sleep better if I never saw him again.
Unless he’s bringing Jisung with him of course.
Then he could fuck off to wherever he wanted, and I could take care of Jisung the way he deserves.
The blonde leans in to whisper something, and Jisung blushes. It annoys me more than it should, the easy assumption that whatever he said was meant to be intimate.
Then he shifts, turning away from the blonde before facing slightly in my direction. “B-bye.” His voice is soft, hesitant.
It takes me a second to realize it’s meant for me.
“Bye, Jisung,” I say.
Inside, something bright and ridiculous lifts, the quiet thrill of knowing he went out of his way to say it to me.
The blonde squeezes his arm and leads him outside. I watch through the window as Jisung unfolds his cane, the blonde guiding him away. My gaze lingers long after they disappear down the street.
Jeongin approaches, cheeks still flushed. “Why are you smiling?”
I blink, caught off guard, then school my expression back into place. “I’m not smiling. You’re seeing things. You should get your eyes checked.”
He snorts softly and moves away, and I turn back to my work, hands busying themselves with trays and tongs. I tell myself not to linger on the interaction, that letting it sit will only lead to heartache. So I do what I always do and shove my feelings down deep within me.
I’m not going to think about Jisung.
Jisung is all I can think about.
My thoughts kept looping back to him throughout the rest of the day. Even after closing last night, even after locking the doors and turning off the lights downstairs, he followed me up here. I caught myself replaying small moments while brushing my teeth. The sound of his voice. The way he hesitated before speaking, like he was choosing his words carefully every time. The softness in his face when he smiled around a mouthful of pastry. I tried to redirect, tried to focus on practical things, but my thoughts kept circling back like they were pulled by something stubborn and unreasonable.
Somewhere between feeding them and pacing the apartment, I ended up telling my cats about him.
That alone should have embarrassed me enough to stop, but it didn’t.
Soonie had been draped across the back of the couch, pretending not to care while watching me through half-lidded eyes. Doongie followed me into the kitchen, winding around my ankles with the kind of persistence that suggests I might forget to feed him if he doesn’t physically interfere. Dori sat on the counter, tail flicking in slow irritation as I opened a can of food. They are all different kinds of demanding, all different kinds of opinionated, and I love them more than anything.
“This guy came into the café today,” I said, setting the bowls down and already wishing I had kept my mouth shut.
Soonie yawned.
“He was nice,” I added, quieter. “Really shy.” I hesitated, then sighed. “And… he was so pretty.”
Doongie chirped, which I chose to interpret as encouragement.
“And his partner was awful,” I muttered, opening the fridge and pretending I wasn’t still talking. “Completely insufferable.”
Dori let out a sharp, annoyed meow at that, ears flattening like he personally agreed with my assessment.
“See,” I told him, pointing with a fork. “You get it.”
I went to bed telling myself that was the end of it. That once the day was over, he’d blur into the long line of customers I half‑remember and eventually forget. That’s how it usually goes.
But it didn’t.
I wake up already glaring at the ceiling, jaw tight, because Jisung is the first thing in my head. The quiet barely lasts before he’s there, uninvited, taking up space my mornings usually keep clear. Even when I force myself up and start moving through the apartment, he doesn’t let go.
Downstairs, the café is still quiet. I flick on the lights, tie my apron, and put some music on low. My hands go to the dough, falling into familiar motions while the rest of me slowly catches up.
I tell myself to focus.
I fail miserably.
At some point, I ask Jeongin if he wants to grab a drink after work. The words come out a little sharper than intended, like I'm trying to outrun my own thoughts. He looks surprised but nods immediately. I tell myself this is a good idea. Distraction is practical. Distraction works.
The smell of sugar and cream hangs in the air as I work, warm and sweet, clinging to everything. Suddenly, I’m back to how good Jisung’s brown sugar and cheesecake scent smelled.
No.
Stop it.
Stop thinking about him.
The day gets busier, thankfully. Orders stack up as regulars linger longer than usual, filling the space with noise and movement. The rhythm of the café pulls me back into the work in front of me, and for long stretches of time, that’s enough to keep me focused.
By the time we close, my feet ache and my shoulders feel tight, but my head is quieter. I count that as a win.
Jeongin helps me lock up, and we head out together, the street already alive with evening noise. Our usual tented stall thankfully isn’t crowded tonight. We order fried chicken and beer and squeeze onto plastic stools that wobble just enough to be annoying.
Jeongin pulls out his phone almost immediately, excitement bubbling over. “Hyunjin finished another piece,” he says, already scrolling. “And there’s this competition coming up. He’s been working nonstop.”
He turns the screen toward me.
I don’t know much about his roommate beyond a few surface things. He’s an omega, his scent is roses and wine, and he laughs loudly whenever he stops by the café. That’s about it. Even so, the artwork is impressive at a glance.
“He’s good,” I say honestly.
Jeongin beams.
We eat in companionable silence for a bit before he clears his throat, suddenly shy again. “So, what did you think about Felix?”
My mind goes blank.
I search for context and come up empty.
The only image that surfaces is Jisung. His pretty, sparkling eyes catching the light when he turned his head.
I push it away with effort.
“Who?” I ask.
Jeongin blinks. “The pretty blonde from yesterday.”
I lift my beer to my mouth, raising an eyebrow as I take a sip.
Jeongin hesitates, then adds, “He was with the, um… not to sound rude, the blind guy.”
The beer goes down the wrong pipe immediately.
Jeongin panics, slapping my back and shoving napkins at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, waving him off once I can breathe again. My heart is beating way too fast. “What about him?”
So that’s the name of my arch nemesis.
Felix.
“He seemed nice,” Jeongin says slowly. “And he was kind of… interested, I think.”
I stare at him.
“Clearly,” I say flatly. “He was flirting with you.”
Jeongin’s cheeks go red. His scent shifts, warmth blooming around us. “You think?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “It was obvious.”
Jeongin worries at the edge of his napkin. “Usually, it’s alphas who do that. Omegas don’t really…” He trails off. “They don’t usually think I’m alpha enough.”
I don’t say anything.
I know why he’s hesitant, and it’s not something he likes to talk about.
“Well,” I say after a moment, “he was definitely interested.”
Jeongin smiles, bright and hopeful.
Unfortunately, I have to ruin it for him.
“Don’t get involved with him,” I add.
The smile falters. “What? Why?”
“He's with Jisung,” I say.
Jeongin frowns. “Who?”
I open my mouth without thinking. “The pret—” I stop myself, jaw tightening. “The guy who was with Felix yesterday. They’re partners.”
Jeongin’s eyes widen. “Wait. They were together?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize,” he says quietly.
“Well, now you know,” I reply. “If he comes back, stay professional. Don’t fall for his charms.”
Jeongin hums, unease creeping into his scent. He finishes his beer quickly and stands. “I think I’m going to head home.”
I feel bad, but not enough to take it back. I won’t sit by and watch someone else fall for Felix’s silver tongue.
We part ways shortly after. I walk home alone, irritation simmering under my skin, hands curling at my sides like I might punch something if it gave me an excuse. My scent keeps trying to edge out, sharp and burnt, and I have to rein it in with slow breaths as Felix’s voice and smile replay in my mind.
By the time I reach my apartment, my cats are already crowding the door, acting like I’ve been gone for weeks. I greet them absently, toe off my shoes, and head straight for the bathroom. The shower is quick and too hot, just enough to wash the day off without giving me time to think. When I finally collapse onto the bed, exhaustion hits all at once. I lie there staring at the ceiling, caught between hoping I never have to see Felix again and wishing I could catch even a glimpse of Jisung one more time.
It’s almost closing time when everything goes to hell.
I’m behind the counter, finishing up a payment, already thinking about the list of things I still need to do before locking up. Wiping down surfaces. Counting the till. The quiet routine that comes at the end of the day, when the café starts to feel like mine again instead of a place everyone else passes through. I’m halfway through handing a receipt back when the door flies open hard enough that the bell above it rings louder than usual.
“Jeongin! I’m back!”
The voice is unmistakable. Loud and bright in a way that grates immediately, already pleased with itself.
Felix barrels in with a grin that makes my teeth ache, dragging Jisung along with him like a forgotten accessory. Jisung stumbles a step, clearly not prepared for the sudden change in direction, and my jaw tightens before I can stop it. Of course he does this. Of course he pulls him along without thinking. The sight of it irritates me more than it should, a hot, immediate reaction that I shove down out of habit.
Before I can fully process that Jisung is actually here, another figure appears in the doorway, eyes going wide.
“Oh my god. Wait. Wait.” The man freezes just inside the café, pointing back and forth between Felix and the bar counter. “Felix. You were talking about Jeongin? My Jeongin? My roommate and friend since forever Jeongin?”
Is that… Hyunjin?
I stare at Jeongin, who stares back at me in horror, his face already flushing red as Felix and Hyunjin erupt into overlapping voices. Something about how this never came up. Something about betrayal. Something about how small the world suddenly is. It’s loud and chaotic and unnecessary, and I can already tell Jeongin is one comment away from melting into the floor.
He really needs to rethink his taste in people.
My attention snaps back to Jisung before I can stop myself.
He’s standing a little off to the side, hands folded in front of him, shoulders drawn in as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. He’s clearly listening, clearly aware of the noise, but there’s a stiffness to the way he’s holding himself that tells me he doesn’t know what to do with it. Felix has already forgotten about him entirely, too busy causing a scene.
Scumbag.
I move before I overthink it, stepping out from behind the counter and making sure my footsteps are audible as I approach. I don’t want to startle him. I don’t want to add to the discomfort that’s already written all over his posture. His head shifts slightly in my direction, a subtle acknowledgment that tells me he knows someone’s coming.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Want help finding a seat? I can take your order too.”
Jisung’s cheeks go pink immediately. He nods, fingers twisting together.
“Y-yep,” he says. “Th-that’d be… nice.”
It takes real effort not to smile.
“Can I guide you?” I ask.
He goes even redder, if that’s possible, then nods again. “U-uhm… th-that’s okay.”
Carefully, I reach out and rest my hand around his arm, light enough that he can pull away if he wants. He doesn’t. His arm is warm under my fingers, solid and real in a way my brain doesn’t quite know what to do with. Up close, I smell his brown sugar and cheesecake scent again. It's addictive enough that I have to swallow and keep myself in check.
“Bar counter okay?” I ask. “It’s quieter there.”
“O-okay.”
I guide him over slowly, matching my pace to his, aware of every small adjustment he makes. When we reach the stool, I pause and let him find it with his hand first before he sits. He settles in carefully, and something in my chest loosens just a fraction.
I move back behind the counter, forcing myself to act normal.
“You want the same as last time?” I ask. “Or trying something new?”
I tell myself not to hope he adds the splash of caramel. I tell myself not to read into anything if he does.
I hope for it anyway.
Jisung’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Vanilla latte,” he says. “With a splash of caramel.”
HELL YEAH!
“Good choice,” I say evenly, even though internally I'm celebrating.
Instead of turning away immediately, I let myself linger, just for a second.
“So… Jisung, right?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Have you been here before,” I ask, “or was that your first time?”
I already know the answer. I would have remembered him.
Still, I want to hear his voice.
“First time,” he says. “Felix dragged me. He usually does.”
I bite back a comment and settle for, “Well, I’m glad you came back.”
It’s the truth. I’d put up with Felix being a regular if it meant seeing Jisung again.
A gasp pulls my attention away.
Felix and Hyunjin are suddenly right there, sliding onto the stools on either side of Jisung. Both of them look at me with something suspiciously like amusement, and I feel my shoulders tense.
I step away to make the drink, telling myself to keep it professional.
A squeak pulls me out of what I’m doing a moment later. I glance up to see Jisung blushing furiously while Felix stares me down with a wicked grin.
So that’s what that was. He wants me to understand exactly who Jisung belongs to. Territorial bastard. Jisung is his own person. He doesn't belong to anyone.
I finish the latte and set it in front of Jisung. “Here you go.”
“Th-thank you,” he says, smiling softly.
I turn and walk away before I say something to Felix that I can’t take back, not that I'd want to take it back.
Hyunjin and Felix are still watching me, clearly enjoying themselves, and the sight of them together makes my skin crawl. I busy myself wiping down the other end of the counter just to give my disgust somewhere to go. When the three of them finally stand to leave, there’s already a hollow feeling in my chest, like I’m losing Jisung before he’s even gone.
Felix peels off toward Jeongin, cooing about lattes and how he can’t wait to see him again. I drift a step closer, just enough to catch the faint sweetness of Jisung’s scent one last time.
“Take care, Jisung,” I say.
He turns toward me, smiling wider than before. “Y-you too.”
My heart feels like it’s going to combust from how absolutely adorable he is.
They leave with Felix and Hyunjin talking over each other the whole way out, Jisung caught between them until the door finally closes. I drift over to Jeongin, my eyes lingering on the space Jisung just vacated.
I glance over at Jeongin and immediately clock how red and flustered he looks. I let out a quiet sigh, knowing it’s because of Felix.
The sound makes him startle. “S-sorry,” he blurts out. “I’m really trying not to fall for it.”
A huff of a laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, more tired than amused.
Funny how we’re both losing the same fight.
Wanting someone we shouldn’t.
I don’t know why I’m staring back at Felix right now.
He’s sitting across the counter from me with his elbows planted like he belongs there, chin propped in his hands, wearing a grin that feels too pleased with itself. The café is slow in that stretched-out lull before closing, when the air feels thinner and every sound carries a little farther than it should. Jeongin is busy near the espresso machine, focused on wiping things down, and that means Felix is looking at me instead of him.
That alone puts me on edge, because it’s been a week since the last time Jisung came in.
A full week of glancing at the door more than I need to, of pretending brown sugar and cheesecake don’t ruin my concentration every time I smell it in my own kitchen. I’ve told myself it was nothing. A coincidence. A passing interest that would fade if I ignored it long enough.
And now Felix is here. Alone.
No Jisung hovering quietly nearby. No soft voice brushing the space between us. No careful movements that make me slow down without realizing I’m doing it.
Just Felix, smiling like he knows something I don’t.
I hate the way he blinks, slow and deliberate, like he enjoys being watched. I hate how his hair falls perfectly into place without effort, like it’s never had a bad day in its life. I hate how comfortable he looks sitting at my counter, like my café is just another stop on his route. None of it is actually offensive, which somehow makes it worse.
“What can I help you with?” I ask, keeping my voice level and professional.
Felix’s grin widens.
“Oh, this isn’t work-related.”
Of course it isn’t.
“Well, as you can see, I’m working,” I reply. “So if you’re not ordering—”
“Do you have a partner?”
I don’t bother hiding the glare I send his way. First Jisung, then Jeongin, and now he’s turning that attention on me too. The thought makes my stomach twist. This man really is insatiable. Hate doesn't even begin to describe how I feel towards him.
“I’m not interested,” I say flatly.
Felix just smiles wider. “I wasn’t asking for myself.”
That’s when it hits me.
This is how he does it. This is where he tells me, sweet and smiling, that Jisung is his. That whatever I thought I saw between us was nothing more than me reading into things that were never meant for me in the first place. I grip the edge of the counter and look down, focusing on keeping my tone neutral instead of saying something I’d regret.
“I have a roommate,” Felix continues, casual as ever. “He’s showing interest in someone new for the first time in… well. A really long time.”
My head snaps up.
“And,” Felix adds, eyes flicking to my face, “I’m pretty sure the interest is mutual.”
I blink at him. “Why are you telling me about your roommate?”
Felix’s expression changes. The grin softens, losing whatever sharpness I thought was there, and I realize I’d been bracing for something that was never coming. If anything, the look he gives me is warm.
“Because it’s Jisung. We’ve been best friends since we were kids and decided to get an apartment together.”
The shift is instant and violent.
Did I say hate?
I meant love.
Felix is an angel. A gift to this earth. Sunshine incarnate. I will never say another bad thing about him for as long as I live. He can have free pastries and coffee forever. I will personally make him anything he wants, anytime he asks.
“We’re having a potluck this Saturday,” Felix says. “At our place. I thought it might make Jisung happy if you came.”
My mouth opens before my brain catches up. “What time?”
Felix lights up. “Four, if that works. I know the café’s open, so you can absolutely come later. Honestly, whatever’s convenient for you. If you do come, just bring whatever you feel like for the potluck.”
“I’ll be there,” I say quickly. “I’ll close a little early. It’s not a big deal.”
Felix laughs, delighted. “Jeongin’s coming too. He already has the address, so you can get it from him.”
He stands, winks at me, then blows a kiss in Jeongin’s direction. Jeongin turns bright red, waves awkwardly, then drops his hand and shoots me an apologetic look as Felix heads for the door.
The moment it closes, my knees give out.
I crouch behind the counter and press my hands to my face.
Jisung is single.
Single.
Jeongin is beside me almost immediately. “Minho?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
“I fucked up,” I mutter.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re roommates,” I say. “Best friends. Not together. My stupid brain made all of it up in my head.”
Jeongin stares at me, trying to process. “So… they’re not—”
“No.”
Color creeps into his cheeks. He hesitates, then starts to speak. “So does that mean—”
I nod, groaning.
“I’ve been interested in Jisung,” I admit, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “Since the first day he walked in here. I didn’t even know his name yet and I was already gone.”
Jeongin blinks. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’ve got it bad. We barely know each other, and I know it makes no sense, but there’s just… something about him. I haven’t been able to shake it.”
I let out a slow breath. “That’s why I was so pissed about Felix flirting with you. I didn’t want you getting hurt, but I also thought he was being disloyal to Jisung. Right in front of him.”
Jeongin hums. He hesitates for a second before asking, “So what are you going to do now? Are you going to try and ask him out?”
I shake my head slightly, resting my forehead against my knees.
“What if I scare him away?” I say quietly. “Or disappoint him? Like I do with everyone else.”
Jeongin’s hand settles on my shoulder. “You haven’t,” he says. “And you won’t.”
He pauses. “I’ve noticed something.”
I glance up.
“Every time Jisung comes in here, he looks like he’s ready to bolt,” Jeongin continues. “Until you go over and talk to him. He visibly relaxes when you're near him. Like he feels safe around you.”
Heat creeps into my ears.
“I'm closing the café Saturday,” I say abruptly. “Come over around noon. Help me make something for the potluck.”
Jeongin’s eyes widen. “You’re going?”
I nod. "Yeah, Felix just invited me."
“Okay,” he says, smiling. “We’ll bake something, get ready, and head over together.”
I straighten, forcing myself back to my feet, and give him a small smile in return.
I have no idea how I’m supposed to finish the night pretending everything is normal.
Jisung is single.
And interested.
And I’m already in deeper than I ever meant to be.
My fridge has never looked like this before.
It’s packed, every shelf and drawer crammed full, ingredients stacked with no real system beyond the fact that I panicked and grabbed anything that even vaguely resembled something I might need. I stand there with the fridge door open longer than necessary, staring like the right answer might appear if I give it enough time.
I don’t usually overthink like this. At least not about food.
But this isn’t just food, and I don’t want to mess it up. I shut the fridge harder than I mean to and drag a hand through my hair, letting out a slow breath through my nose.
Get it together.
It’s a potluck, not an exam. No one's grading you.
A knock at the door pulls me out of it.
I’m moving before my brain catches up, crossing the apartment and opening it to find Jeongin standing there with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a bottle of soju in his hand. He smiles, a little sheepish, a little amused.
“Hey,” he says. “I hope you don't mind, but I brought a little help with me.”
I step aside to let him in, eyes dropping to the bottle and then back up to him. One eyebrow lifts without me meaning it to.
Jeongin chuckles. “Thought we could take a shot before we go. You know, liquid courage.”
A huff of a laugh slips out of me. “Probably a good idea.”
I take the bottle from him and tuck it into the fridge, because at least that’s something I know how to handle. Jeongin drops his bag on the couch and follows me into the kitchen, glancing around.
“So,” he says carefully. “What are we making?”
I turn to him, panic breaking through before I can stop it. “I don’t know. Please help.”
He laughs, loud and genuine, and it eases something tight in my shoulders. “Okay, okay. I asked Hyunjin what I should bring when he invited me.”
I freeze. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Jeongin says. “I figured it couldn’t hurt. But now that I think about it…” He trails off, glancing around my kitchen. “You’re literally a pastry chef. Why don’t we make desserts instead? It's kind of your thing.”
The tension drains out of me all at once. “That’s actually a great idea.”
Jeongin smiles, pleased with himself. “You’re welcome.”
Decision made, everything clicks into place. I start pulling ingredients out, already planning. We settle on a few things that won’t take all day but still feel thoughtful. Mini strawberry shortcakes. A tray of yakgwa I can finish baking while Jeongin handles the syrup. A batch of small financiers, simple but rich.
I move without thinking, nudging Jeongin toward the counter and telling him what to grab while I start prepping. This is where I’m comfortable. Baking has always been my first love. I show him how to portion batter evenly, when to check the oven, and how to tell when something’s ready before the timer ever goes off. He follows along easily, asking questions, watching closely.
We fall into something steady without really trying. I work, he assists, handing things over before I ask, learning the rhythm as we go. By the time we’re finished, the counter is full, desserts cooling neatly, everything ready to be packed.
I load them carefully into the transport containers I use for café events, stacking them with more care than necessary. Only once the lids are snapped shut do I remember the soju sitting forgotten in the fridge. I grab it from the fridge along with two shot glasses and set them on the counter.
Jeongin pours my shot first, and I follow by filling his glass.
“To not embarrassing ourselves,” he says as he raises his glass.
“Speak for yourself,” I reply, then clink the glass anyway.
The burn is familiar and grounding.
Jeongin watches me over the rim of his glass.
“You nervous?” he asks.
I laugh, shaking my head. “You have no idea. Though,” I add, “I can smell your nerves from here.”
His cheeks flush instantly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say. “It’s fine. Kind of nice knowing it’s not just me.”
We talk for a bit longer after that, nothing heavy. Just enough to kill time. Eventually, Jeongin grabs his bag and heads to the bathroom to change. I shower quickly after, scrubbing a little harder than usual, like it might wash off the tension. When I’m dressed, I fuss with my hair more than I care to admit.
It doesn't matter that Jisung won’t actually be able to see me.
I want to know I look good. Not only for him, but for his friends as well. I want to make a good impression. Jisung deserves more than me showing up looking unkempt.
When it's time to leave, I decide to drive since it’s easier than trying to carry the containers all the way there. The route is short, but my grip on the steering wheel tightens anyway.
“What if he doesn’t want me there?” I say finally. “What if Felix is wrong?”
Jeongin glances at me. “What if Jisung’s thrilled you’re there? What if Felix’s right?”
Heat creeps into my ears. I click my tongue.
Jeongin laughs, knowing he's won.
I park and stay there for a moment, hands still on the wheel.A deep breath in, then a long exhale to brace myself before I finally open the door and step out, then circle around to the back seat to grab the containers of desserts.
We head inside together, quiet as we walk down the hallway. Then we stop in front of a door marked with an eight, and Jeongin lifts his hand to knock, straightening his shoulders like he’s trying to look composed. A second later, I realize I’ve done the exact same thing.
Footsteps rush toward the door, quick and light, and then it swings open.
“Jeongin! Minho!” Felix chirps, bright as ever, his happy scent spilling into the hallway as he beams at Jeongin before turning that same warmth on me. “You made it!”
He takes the containers from my hands without hesitation and steps aside, making room for both of us. That’s when I see him.
Jisung stands a little further back, posture stiff, like he’s bracing himself. He’s wearing an oversized green hoodie that hangs off him just enough to be unfair, paired with tight jeans that should probably be illegal.
I'm gonna die.
I step closer first, slow enough not to startle him, closing the distance before my brain can talk me out of it. Only then do I notice the small details on Jisung.
Gold flecks of glitter dusted near his eyes, the eyeliner somehow making them look even prettier than they already are, darker and deeper when he turns his head. The gloss on his lips catches the light and makes them look softer too, like they weren’t already distracting enough on their own.
Yep. I'm definitely gonna die.
Or maybe I already did and this is what heaven looks like.
“H-hey,” he says softly.
My brain shorts out for half a second.
Cute. Cute. Cute. Cute. Cute.
“Hey, Jisung,” I manage.
He blushes, and his pleased scent seeps out around us.
It takes a second to register that the happiness in his scent is because of me. Because I showed up. I let it wash over me until every anxious thought I had leading up to this moment disappears.