Chapter Text
The alarm rang at 5:30 AM, birdsong and spring-like chimes spilling into the dim bedroom. Felix groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow. Beside him, Jisung’s arm flailed out from under the blankets, slapping the snooze button with practised precision.
“Five more minutes,” Jisung mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Felix sighed. Those five minutes would inevitably turn into twenty if he didn’t intervene. “Hannie, we have to open the café in an hour.”
“Don’t care. The croissants can wait.” Jisung yanked the blanket over his head, curling into a stubborn ball.
Felix rolled his eyes but smiled. This was their routine—Jisung, the perpetually sleep-deprived night owl, and Felix, the one who could at least pretend to be functional before coffee.
He stretched, letting his feet touch the cool wooden floor of their tiny flat above Sunshine Café . The space was small but warm, cluttered with evidence of their shared life—mismatched mugs piled in the sink, Jisung’s half-finished lyric notebooks strewn across the coffee table, Felix’s growing collection of baking magazines stacked haphazardly on the shelf. Soft cream walls were decorated with Polaroids of them laughing over failed baking experiments and late-night movie marathons.
Rain pattered gently against the window, the kind of drowsy morning that made people crave warm drinks and cinnamon. Felix padded into the kitchenette—barely big enough for two people to stand in without bumping elbows—and flicked on the coffee machine. The rich, bitter aroma filled the air, mingling with the lingering scent of yesterday’s vanilla cupcakes.
“If you get up now,” Felix called over his shoulder, “I’ll make you an iced americano with extra espresso.”
A pause. Then, from under the blanket: “…Double shot?”
“Triple.”
Jisung emerged like a dishevelled gremlin, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes still half-closed. He shuffled toward Felix, collapsing dramatically against the counter. “You’re a saint, Lix.”
Felix laughed, handing him the coffee. “And don’t forget, we’ve got that big wedding cake tasting today.”
Jisung took a long sip, shuddering as the caffeine hit. “Ugh, why do people get married so early in the day?”
“Because not everyone operates on nocturnal raccoon time like you.”
Jisung stuck out his tongue, but Felix noticed the way his eyes lingered on his hands—chipped baby-blue nail polish, dry from constant disinfecting, a small burn from yesterday’s oven mishap.
“You okay?” Felix asked, flexing his fingers self-consciously.
Jisung shrugged. “Just thinking. Your nails look like you lost a fight with a blender.”
Felix huffed, examining them. The polish was peeling, edges uneven from endless hand-washing between baking and serving. “I know. I wanted to redo them, but…” He gestured vaguely at the kitchen, the café downstairs, the never-ending to-do list.
Jisung studied him, then said, “Yeah. I know.”
That was more conversation than usual for them pre-caffeine, so they lapsed into comfortable silence, finishing their drinks and preparing for the day.
Downstairs, Sunshine Café hummed to life. The sign still read Closed , but the heavy rock music syncing with oven timers and clattering barista equipment signalled opening time was near. Felix handled the bakery prep while Jisung readied the coffee station and dining area.
At 6:30 on the dot, Felix flipped the sign to Open . The rain had stopped, and between the buildings, the first rays of sun glinted off the holographic window stickers. The café was warm and inviting—burgundy and beige walls, walnut wood tables, a vinyl record player in the corner. Posters and metallic decorations added charm, while one wall showcased children’s drawings, an idea of Felix’s.
Before the first customer entered, Jisung switched the playlist to Shop is Opening —a mix of lo-fi, jazz, and acoustic songs meant to ease patrons into the day. He flicked on the fairy lights draped over the counter and filled the display case with golden croissants, apple turnovers, and fruit tarts.
Their first customer was Miss Kwon, a retired teacher who’d become a regular after adopting her morning dog-walk ritual. She’d tried nearly every drink and pastry but had settled on the lavender latte and almond cake as her staples. “You boys look exhausted,” she remarked, peering over her glasses.
“Han didn’t want to wake up,” Felix said cheerfully, sliding her order across the counter.
“Lies,” Jisung muttered, but he grinned as he brushed past Felix, their shoulders bumping.
The morning blurred into steaming milk, scribbled orders, and Felix darting to the kitchen to check on the wedding cake samples. By noon, sunlight streamed through the windows, scattering prismatic shapes across the floor. Jisung—on his fourth (or fifth) coffee—switched the playlist to Late Summer is Shining , another mood-specific curation. They took music seriously, tailoring it to the season, weather, and café’s energy.
Felix wiped flour off his apron, watching Jisung laugh with a customer. His nails were still a wreck, but for now, he pushed the thought aside. There were cakes to frost, coffee to brew, and a best friend to tease.
The afternoon vanished—the wedding cake samples drained Felix, while Seoulites flocked in for pre-park coffees. When Jisung finally flipped the sign to Closed , they sighed in unison, exhausted but pleased with the day’s turnout.
They swapped roles: Felix tidied the dining area while Jisung cleaned the kitchen, bagging leftover pastries for the fridge and a few to-go parcels.
Their café day might’ve ended, but their evening hadn’t. Through the back door, they walked to the youth shelter they knew all too well. After a short trek, they knocked and headed straight to the kitchen, offering the leftover treats with polite smiles.
“You know you don’t owe us anything, right?” one of the cooks said.
They did know. They’d stayed here years ago, and when they’d moved out, the staff had insisted no repayment was needed.
“We know, hyungnim,” Jisung said. “Just happy to give back a little.”
“It can change someone’s day,” Felix added.
They lingered, chatting with the people who’d once been their lifeline, before heading home.
Exhausted but content, they collapsed into bed, an alarm set for 8:00 AM. Sunday meant a later opening— technically a chance to sleep in—but Jisung still needed to hunt down caramel and vanilla syrups before their supplier restocked on Tuesday.