Han Jisung.

Appearance: 24 years old, 172 cm tall. His body is fragile yet toned—he's a dancer—with strong legs and a slender waist. Freckles are scattered across his cheeks, nose, and shoulders. His eyes are a warm, hazel-green that turn amber in the light. His face is round and soft, with full lips and dimples. His voice is his main weapon: low, velvety, vibrant. When he whispers, it sounds like a touch. When he laughs, it rolls across his chest, making Jisung blush. His ash-blond hair is soft and fluffy, and he keeps his hair tousled at home. He wears a baggy hoodie, wide pants, and sneakers. At the cafe, he wears a simple white apron over a black T-shirt. His scent is coffee, vanilla, and warm soap.

Personality: A hard core in a soft shell. Seems sunny and carefree, but inside is steel. He moved from Australia, endured ridicule and attempts to break him, but he didn't break. He was looking for a place where he would be accepted, but then he met Jisung and stopped searching. Tired of being a "sweet boy," that's why his voice is so low—a way of saying, "I'm not a toy, you can't break me." Sensitive, he hides it behind humor. When Jisung comes home with bruises, he jokes, "Did you scratch yourself on the door again?" and then stays up all night checking his pulse.

When he makes coffee, he's almost meditative, his movements smooth and precise. When he's nervous, he plays with his fingers; Jisung calls it "playing the piano." He speaks Korean with a slight Australian accent—Jisung loves it. He abhors the clan's activities as a matter of principle; the cafe is his "safe zone." He's the only person who can say "no" to Jisung without getting shot.

Weaknesses: He's afraid of thunder—after a cyclone as a child, he'd shudder at the rumble. On those nights, he'd crawl under the covers, and Jisung would hug him from behind, silently. He cries in silence, never in front of Jisung—only in the kitchen, when he leaves for dangerous meetings. He doesn't stop him, doesn't ask him to stay—he just waits and trusts. He hates being called "little," because inside, he's big. He holds a whole world, where there's room for...

Appearance: 28 years old, 178 cm tall. A lean, wiry body with no excess fat—the muscles are dense, like a fighter's. His movements are sharp, economical, without unnecessary gestures. His face is sharp, with high cheekbones and a strong chin. His eyes are dark brown, almost black—they are always icy, except when he looks at Felix. There is a thin knife scar on his left cheekbone. His black hair is always slicked back, not a strand in his face. His clothes are perfect suits in black, dark blue, or gray. No flashy details, just the quality of the fabric. His scent is expensive tobacco, woody perfume, and metallic.

Personality: Iron self-control, to the point of absolute. Never raises his voice—he speaks quietly, and that makes him even more terrifying. On the outside, he's a perfect mask, but on the inside, he's tired and lonely. He's never been a child: he's been in this world since he was eight, after his father died. He doesn't know how to ask, he doesn't know how to say "I'm not feeling well." Instead, he just sits next to Felix and waits for him to figure it out. Felix always figures it out.

A cynical realist, he's used to expecting betrayal. But Felix has broken that pattern—he doesn't want money, power, or protection; he wants Jisung to eat breakfast, sleep, and stop lying about not snoring. He eats quickly and carefully—a habit from childhood, when food could be taken away. He never sits with his back to the door. When he's nervous, he touches his wrist, where an old scar lies under his cuff.

Weaknesses: He's afraid of the dark and usually sleeps with a nightlight. Felix turned it off the first night and said, "I'm here," and Jisung fell asleep without it. He's insanely jealous, hiding it behind an icy calm, but Felix can see his jaw clench if someone looks at his husband for too long. He's become more gentle in their marriage, but still handles things with people. He sends short texts: "Have you eaten?" or "Home at 10"—meaning "I'm thinking of you."

The Quiet Morning café had just opened. Felix was working alone—the owner was sick, it was a temporary job. He was wiping cups and playing chess on his tablet when four men in black walked in.

They sat down in the corners. And then he came in.

Han Jisung. Felix didn't know his name, but he knew the look in his eyes—the kind you see on people who aren't used to losing. He sat in the center, not even glancing at the menu. One of the guards approached the counter.

Guard: The master would like black tea. Quickly.

Felix slowly raised his head. He'd seen this technique—vocal intimidation. But Felix's was a low, vibrant voice that sounded like a warning in itself.

Felix: There is tea. But I'm a barista. I make coffee. If you want tea, go across the street.

He didn't even glance back at the guard, who was reaching into his pocket. Felix was looking straight at Jisung—and saw him raise an eyebrow slightly.

Jisung stood up and walked over to the counter. There were 30 centimeters of countertop space between them.

Jisung: I don't drink coffee.

Felix: So you've never had a good one. Come sit at the counter. I'll make a filter. If you don't like it, I'll pay you for ruining your morning.

Jisung froze. His men froze. You could hear a pin drop in the cafe.

And then the head of the mafia sat down on a high chair opposite Felix.

---

Felix silently ground the beans. Ethiopian, washed—he could feel the grain in his fingers. Jisung looked at his hands: long fingers, careful movements, an old silver chain.

Four minutes later, the cup was in front of Jisung.

Felix: Drink it while it's hot.

Jisung took a sip. And froze.

Jisung: What is this?

Felix: Ethiopia. You have a sensitive tongue. Or were you just waiting to be surprised?

Jisung finished his cup. He never finished his drinks. He placed 50,000 won on the counter.

Jisung: The change is yours. I'll be there at the same time tomorrow.

Felix: Come on over. But I work until one. If you're late, I won't get a tip. I don't like waiting.

He said this to the clan leader. And saw him hide his smile. For the first time that day.