A drink for the living.

"We are still open." The words lingered between them, and the warm air drifted along with the scent of something sweet, maybe some bread from the bakery. Yoon Se-rin didn't realize how cold she was until the warm air hit her and touched her skin. Up close the man was even larger, but his eyes were what held her still. They looked sharp, quiet, and observant. Not the curious look of someone recognizing a celebrity and not that awkward look of a fan. It was just calm, like she was just another tired person standing in front of the door of the cafe, and somehow that felt nice. She nodded awkwardly and said, "Okay." The man instantly stepped aside and held the door to let her enter. As soon as she entered, a bell chimed, indicating someone just walked in. She looked up and wondered how the bell chimed if the door was held open and it looked like an electric bell. The man saw that and said, "It's a sensor; it will chime if it senses a person walking under it. It was developed by an employee of mine."

With a nod, she went inside. The cafe was small, with only seven wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and a few stools near the counter, like some bars have. Books were arranged on the shelves, and photos were hanging on the other walls. The interior of the place appeared to have been lived in, with small plant pots on the bookshelves and a variety of potted plants set aside in every corner. The floorboards were also wooden and appeared worn from the outside. Modern coffee makers were located on the counter, which was also made of wood. It wasn't social media-perfect or trendy. It looked like someone stayed there for too long with their friends and family; they all laughed there, cried there, and just had a normal fun time forgetting about everything. It didn't feel like a store that is selling food or drinks. It looks like home, where everyone meets and just has an enjoyable time. 

As she moved forward, she saw there was a man behind the counter; he was making drinks and wiping cups, and he had sleepy eyes and messy hair. He glanced up and saw her and gave a small nod and said, "Welcome." It was low, casual, and not like the customer service voice other cafe employees have. That was it; there was no staring, no whispering, and no question asking, "Aren't you that actress?" Strangely, she relaxed. The tall man from the front door walked from behind her and now appeared in front of her, and it was so silent, she didn't even notice when anything happened. "The menu's up here," he said simply and went back to doing his thing behind the counter. She followed his gaze and found "chalkboard" and "drinks" written there. They were simple drinks. "Americano, latte, mocha, tea," and that's when she noticed right at the bottom it was written, "Tell us how you want to feel; we will make that type of drink." She blinked and went into her thoughts, "How do I want to feel... what kind of menu is that?" She moved closer; there was no register, no ordering screen. Before she could say anything, he appeared in front of her again so silently she startled and her heart jumped. 

"Decided?" He asked; his voice was low, steady, and almost gentle. She stared at his words again and thought to herself, "How do I answer that? How do I explain to a stranger the emptiness inside my chest?" How do I put exhaustion into a drink order? How do I tell him how I want to feel when even I don't know that? She tightened her fingers around the hem of her sleeves, and then, before she could stop herself, like her mouth or her heart betrayed her, she spoke, "I want to feel alive again." The words slipped out; she felt embarrassed; she thought that was too honest, too dramatic. She expected him to look confused, amused, or even uncomfortable, but to her surprise, he just nodded and said, "Okay, please have a seat; I will bring the drink to you soon." She hesitated, and out of habit, she removed her credit card and asked how she could pay. "Don't worry about it; pay at the end, and pay whatever you want to; there are no set prices." She blinked and asked, "Whatever I want?" He nodded and said, "Whatever you can afford." He said it casually, like it was obvious, like the money didn't matter there. Looking at her confused, he smiled; it was small but barely there. It caught her off guard; she said, "Ok...okay!" She chose the seat, the bar stool, and sat near the counter. 

She wanted to watch him make the drink that was going to make her feel alive again, apparently. She wasn't sure why she did that; maybe she was just curious, or maybe she didn't want to be alone at the table. He washed his hands quietly and started working; beans in the grinder, the sharp crackling sound filled the air. The smell hit her immediately; it was rich, deep, and comforting. Hot water hissed, and steam started to rise. His movements were swift and efficient, like many people asked for this drink. Something about it was calming, like watching rain. Then he moved his sleeves up, and that's when she noticed his skin was rough and calloused, there were faint scars across the knuckles, and there was a longer scar near the base of his thumb. It looked like an old injury, but they were the ones that you don't get from cooking. Her gaze moved up to his forearms that flexed slightly as he lifted the kettle. His muscles were defined under warm lights, and the veins were faintly visible. He was strong but not the gym strong that she knew, like someone who was used to carrying heavy things or fighting. For some reason her chest tightened. She quickly looked away and thought, "Why am I staring at his arms?" Suddenly, next to him, the sleepy-eyed man appeared and asked, "Need help, hyung?" He said, "No, I am fine." She thought they were close, not coworkers but like family. 

The milk began to steam, soft white clouds rising, and the scent in the air changed; it smelled sweet, and she could feel the warmth. She thought, "Was it honey?" What did he put inside? He poured slowly and carefully and then placed the mug in front of her and said, "Careful, it's hot." Their fingers almost brushed, and her heart skipped unexpectedly. She wrapped both hands around the mug; it was warm, so warm. The heat seeped into her cold fingers, and her thoughts were in a mess. Will I be able to feel alive? What will it be? How will I really feel if I don't feel alive? Do I tell him? And she took a sip. As soon as the sip hit her throat, all the thoughts stopped. It felt like time itself stopped. The flavor was coffee; it was soft and sweet but not sugary like honey, maybe cinnamon and something deeper she couldn't name. The warmth slid down her throat, then through her chest, her arms, and her legs, the blood finally flowing properly again. 

The exhaustion from running. Gone, the heaviness in her heart. Gone. The tightness in her lungs. Gone. Her eyes widened slightly. "What is this?" she asked. He leaned slightly against the counter. "Too strong?" She shook her head quickly. "No, it's..." Her lips curved without permission. A real smile, a small one, but the smile felt alive, not the fake one she was used to. "It's really good." He nodded once like he already knew. The cafe was silent again. With the clock ticking, soft humming, and warm light around them, she didn't feel like an actress, she didn't feel watched, and she didn't feel like she had to fake a smile. She just felt here, alive, breathing, but across from her, Kang Do-Hyun watched quietly; he wasn't staring, wasn't prying, just making sure she was okay, like that alone was enough. 

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