Chapter Text
Chapter 1
The bell above the coffee shop door gave a soft ding just as you finished washing out a blender. The Monday evening post-work crowds had thinned, the steady Seoul foot traffic outside providing you with something to watch when you had some free time. A few evening regulars sat inside with their drinks and cakes, the shop filled with a pleasant hum of conversation.
You adjusted the strap of your apron and glanced at the clock. Just one more hour before closing, then a bus back to your cosy apartment. Teaching English at a local international school paid the bills, but these evening shifts kept your ‘fun money’ flowing, and gave you a front-row seat to the city’s rhythm and culture.
Your mind absently wandered over tomorrow’s lesson plans – verb tenses for your mid-aged students; vocabulary games for your little ones who were too young to study properly; and some more complex fluency and pronunciation exercises for your older students – and the hopefully-dry laundry hanging on the airer back home.
It might not be a glamorous life, but it was yours, and you were incredibly happy with it… Even if your parents constantly asked you when you were moving back home. The truth was, you didn’t think you’d ever leave Seoul, though you obviously hadn’t told them that.
The door swung open again, letting in a whoosh of night air. A young woman stepped inside, respectfully lowering her hoodie as she brushed her feet on the mat.
Her gaze found you almost immediately, and she smiled politely.
As you always did with customers, you took the initiative, bowing your head as per Korean culture. “Good evening, Miss. What can I get for you?” you asked in perfect Korean.
When you straightened up, you saw surprise flash across her face – after all, you were clearly not Korean – but she recovered smoothly.
“Hello,” she greeted, voice low and almost musical. “Can I get a medium flat white, with an extra shot?”
You nodded, repeating the order back – as you always did, to reassure customers that you had understood correctly – as you tapped the order into your screen.
“A large matcha latte.”
You repeated again, punching in the drink.
“And a peppermint tea, please.”
“Anything else for you?”
“No, thank you.”
You smiled with a final nod, getting to work on the drinks. “I love your hair!” you complimented, gesturing to her thick purple braid tucked into the back of her hoodie.
She touched it, almost nervously, glancing around the shop. “Thank you…” She scrutinised you closely. “Where are you from?”
“The UK,” you replied, setting the espresso machine off. You never bothered telling people exactly where you were from; not many Koreans knew British geography outside of London.
Her eyebrows raised. “Your Korean’s fantastic.”
“Thank you very much,” you inclined your head as you put the tea bag in a cup, pouring the boiling water over it.
“How long have you been here?”
“I started teaching English at a school last year, but I’ve been learning back home since high-school.”
She considered your answer. “What made you choose to learn? Korean family?”
You shook your head, shrugging playfully as you started pouring the frothed milk. “Why not? Everyone in the UK learns French or Spanish – which I do know, too – but I wanted to pick something different. Something a bit more challenging for an English speaker.”
She nodded. “That’s brave.”
“Thank you,” you smiled again. Something about her just put you at ease.
You finished making the drinks and taking her payment in a comfortable silence, both of you content to listen to the music playing softly in the background.
“Here you go,” you put her drinks in a carrier, sliding it gently across the counter.
Picking it up carefully, she nodded back. “Thank you,” she said, voice warm again. “See you around.”
You offered your standard goodbye, but it came out softer than usual.
She pulled her hood back up and stepped into the evening air. The bell chimed once, twice, and she was gone, swallowed by the slick neon night.
For a long moment you stared at the door, oddly wishing she had stayed longer.
The coffee shop smelled of the lemon muffins the Tuesday morning shift had made fresh that day. Outside, the evening drizzle had turned to a steady rain that slicked the sidewalks and muffled the city’s usual buzz.
You were restocking lids and cups for the morning shift when the door opened. The bell dinged and a woman stepped in, shaking droplets off a black umbrella outside the door. Closing the door behind her, she rested the umbrella in the stand by the door.
She was tall, with a dancer’s grace and long tan coat that looked too elegant for the damp evening. Her hair – a fiery magenta that beautifully reflected the neon lights outside – fell in a sleek curtain behind her back under a plain black cap.
She approached the counter with the grace of someone who never rushes. “Hi,” she greeted in Korean, voice low and smooth. She looked at you for a second, obviously unsure of your language ability.
You gave her your usual Korean greeting, once again visibly surprising her. It was always a highlight of your day every time you shocked a native speaker with your ability.
“Three drinks, please,” she said. “A caramel latte; a green tea; and a decaf cold brew with hazelnut.”
You repeated back the order, watching as her shoulders and face relaxed when she realised you’d gotten it all correct as you tapped it into the computer.
“To go?” you asked.
She offered a polite smile, her angular face softening slightly. “Yes, please.”
“Busy night?” you made conversation, filling the silence as you started the drinks.
“Always,” she responded neutrally.
As the espresso machine hummed, you snuck glances at her. Up close, her eyes were a beautiful brown, ringed with a faint hazel that caught in the overhead lights. When she noticed your look, she tilted her head, amused.
“You’re not Korean,” she stated, gentle but certain.
“No, British,” you admitted. “I teach English at an international school. I just work here three evenings to earn a bit of extra money.”
She nodded. “Been here long? Your pronunciation’s great.”
Her honest compliment made your belly flutter. “Uh, lived here just over a year, but I was studying Korean a few years before that too.”
“Any specific reason?”
“Just something different, really,” you shrugged.
“So, you’re not, like, obsessed with K-Pop like some Westerners?”
You didn’t take offence, laughing softly. “No, no. I like K-Pop, but I’m not obsessed with it.”
You poured the shots and steamed the milk, the rhythm familiar enough to hide the small tremor in your hands. As you set the cups in a carrier, a soft chime sounded from her pocket. She pulled her phone out, her eyes flicking over a message, expression warming – an almost imperceptible lift of her eyebrows, a dimple appearing and vanishing a second later as she schooled her expression. Whoever was on the other end of that text mattered.
“Here you go,” you said after a pause, sliding the carrier forward. “Latte; tea; cold brew.”
She accepted it with a graceful nod. “Perfect. Thanks.”
Outside, the rain drummed steadily. She lingered a moment, eyes scanning the café like she was memorising it, or assessing your place within it.
She turned toward the door. “Thank you,” she said again. “See you around.” The words felt weighted, as though they carried more than simple politeness.
She opened the door and picked up her umbrella, opening it outside before she smoothly stepped out. Through the window you watched her: she didn’t hurry, even as the rain kept pouring. She moved with that same measured grace, until the city swallowed her.
The rain finally stopped the next day, leaving the city washed clean and glimmering under the streetlights. Through the café windows, the pavement gleamed. A quiet night for you, just the low hiss of the espresso machine and a playlist of mellow tracks. You’d settled into the rhythm: wipe the counters; clean the tables; check and date the pastry case; watch the hum of Wednesday evening Seoul outside the shop window; think about lesson plans.
A young woman came through the door, the bell giving its familiar ting.
Her face was cute and round, freckles dotted under her eyes; she moved with a bubbliness that made the whole room feel brighter. A fluffy jacket hung open over a graphic tee, and her black hair stuck out from under her bucket hat in two low buns.
You greeted her with your respectful, fluent Korean, and she grinned widely.
“Hi,” she slid up to the counter. “Can I get three drinks, please? Two large lattes with extra shots, and a caramel cappuccino.”
“Of course. To go?”
“Yes, please.” She drummed her fingers on the counter in an easy rhythm.
You rang it up, and got to work. While the espresso machine roared to life, her eyes roamed the café like she was cataloguing every detail: the cracked tile near the pastry case, the glow of the neon sign outside, the chalkboard doodles above your head. There was an alertness beneath her relaxed posture.
“You’re not from Seoul, are you?” she questioned, switching smoothly to perfect, American-accented English.
You glanced up, startled. “Is it that obvious?” you teased in your native language.
“Something about you gave it away,” she joked. “Your accent’s great, though; how long you been here?”
“Just over a year,” you answered, tamping grounds. “I teach English at an international school. This is just a side hustle for extra spending money.”
“Good side hustle. Smells amazing in here.” She tilted her head, inhaling the roasted aroma. “Bet you never get tired of it.”
“I do dream of coffee sometimes,” you admitted with a grin, setting off the milk to steam. “What about you? Where’s that accent from?”
“California. I grew up there,” she smiled. “You’re English?”
You chatted easily in English whilst you worked; you got the impression she was happy to have someone to talk to in the language, and – to be honest – so were you. Speaking Korean all day, every day, often left your brain drained and slow. Some days when you called your family, you would forget which language you were speaking, leading to them interrupting you countless times to tell you that you were actually speaking Korean, and your brain was too tired to switch back to English so you would just listen to them talk as you ate your dinner.
The machine hissed, filling the odd moment of quiet. You poured the caramel cappuccino first, topping it with some cocoa powder. She watched you with her chin on her hand, clearly entertained, like the simple act of making coffee was a performance.
When you handed over the drink carrier, she accepted it with a practiced ease. “Perfect,” she grinned. “Thanks.” She paused, almost bouncing on the spot as she looked down at the three cups. “I’m Zoey.”
You smiled. “Y/N.”
Her grin widened, her eyes brightening. “Nice to meet you!” She almost bounced out the door, an undeniable spring in her step.
You watched the sweet girl go, hoping she’d come back soon.
Not far from the coffee shop, Zoey practically ran out of the elevator when it reached the penthouse. Her eyes scanned the living space, brightening at the sight of her two girlfriends naked on the couch together.
“Guys!”
“Jesus, Zoey,” cried the girl with pink hair, startled by her sudden entrance, her hands holding onto the other girl’s purple braid.
The girl lifted her head away from her girlfriend’s pussy, wiping her mouth. “What is it, Zo? What’s happened?”
“I know her name!”