The cold tea left a bitter aftertaste. Minjun took the last sip and looked down at the empty cup. It had already cooled, yet faint warmth still lingered against his palms - as if refusing to fade away.
He rose, knees slightly buckling from fatigue, and paused by the store's glass window. A young man with dark hair and a backpack stared back at him. His face seemed calm, but his eyes betrayed confusion. Minjun quickly averted his gaze, as though afraid of seeing his own vulnerability.
Questions tumbled in his mind one after another: Where will I sleep? What do I do now? How do I begin the independence I longed for so much?
No answer came. And that silence pressed so heavily on his chest it made breathing difficult.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
***
Warm light greeted him gently, wrapping around his shoulders. After the chill of the street, the space felt almost like home. The air was filled with the scent of fresh bread and the sweet hint of cookies. Somewhere in the back, a refrigerator hummed steadily - like the quiet breathing of a sleeping house. Shelves were neatly arranged, boxes and jars lined in perfect order. That order itself was comforting, as if the world here followed different rules.
"Good evening," came a calm voice.
Minjun looked up. Hyuk stood behind the counter - tall, confident, yet not imposing. His gaze was warm, free of unnecessary curiosity.
"Would you like another cup of tea?" he asked. "Or something to eat?"
The words were simple, but held no pity, no pressure. Just an offer. A choice.
Minjun nodded faintly.
"…Yes. Thank you," he whispered.
Hyuk went to the kettle and poured fresh tea. His movements were steady, unhurried, as if he was doing it not for a random customer but for someone he was used to caring for. He placed a ceramic mug in front of Minjun. Steam rose, brushing his face.
Minjun carefully wrapped both hands around it, pressing the heat to himself. The ceramic burned his fingers, but the sting was welcome. The tightness in his shoulders eased a little.
"Rough day?" Hyuk asked, sitting across from him.
The question held no trace of interrogation, only concern. His gaze was attentive but not demanding.
Minjun drew in a deep breath and lowered his eyes to the tea.
"I… was kicked out of my house," he admitted in almost a whisper. "They said if I want independence, I should manage on my own. But I… I don't know where to begin."
The words spilled out on their own. He had meant to stay silent, but the warm scent of tea and the calm presence of the alpha dissolved his defenses.
Hyuk didn't interrupt. He leaned forward slightly, listening. His silence was steady, supportive.
"I understand," he said quietly. "You don't have to handle everything at once. Sometimes it's enough to just catch your breath first, and think after."
Minjun lifted his eyes. Hyuk's gaze was steady, calm. And with those simple words, the weight in his chest eased.
He took a small sip. The hot liquid spread through his body, like strength returning drop by drop.
***
"If you want, you can stay here tonight," Hyuk said after a short pause, his voice low and even. "There's a spare room upstairs. Tomorrow we'll figure out what to do about housing."
Minjun froze. His heart skipped a beat. His first instinct was to refuse, to say he'd manage on his own, that he'd find a place. But Hyuk's steady gaze caught him, and the words never left his throat.
Inside, pride clashed with the desperate wish to feel safe for just one night.
"…Thank you," he whispered at last.
Hyuk's smile was faint, almost unnoticeable, yet it warmed more than the tea. He gestured toward the stairs.
***
The wooden steps creaked beneath their feet, but the sound was soft, homely. The air on the second floor was different - carrying the scent of clean linen and warm wood.
Hyuk opened the door and let Minjun step inside.
The room was small, but cozy. A neatly made bed, a lamp with a warm light on the nightstand, a few books on the shelf, a green plant in the corner. Simple, but every detail spoke of care.
Minjun stepped over the threshold, slowly taking it all in. After the cold indifference of his parents' home, this plain little room felt almost like a miracle. There - luxury without warmth. Here - modesty, but real.
He set his backpack on the floor and began unpacking. A small pile of clothes, notebooks, a few books. It all looked pitifully little, but once his things found their place, he felt a trace of calm.
Hyuk helped silently - sliding a chair closer, smoothing the edge of the blanket - but never intruded. He simply watched as Minjun settled in, and that quiet presence felt stronger than words.
***
"Hungry?" Hyuk asked after a while, pulling out a box of cookies. "The tea's still warm, but something sweet might help you relax."
Minjun nodded. He took a cookie, sipped his tea. The simple combination - the warmth, the taste, Hyuk's quiet company - melted away his unease.
He looked around the room. The soft glow of the lamp cast golden shadows on the walls. Books on the shelf carried the warm scent of paper. Fresh linen blended with the fragrance of wood. The world here was small, but real.
A strange feeling swelled in his chest: a mix of exhaustion, relief, and cautious hope.
Why is he helping me?
Why?
But Hyuk didn't ask questions. He didn't ask who Minjun used to be, or why he ended up on the street. He simply sat nearby, offering cookies, easing another's anxiety without a word.
For the first time in a long while, Minjun allowed himself to relax.
***
"Tomorrow we'll deal with housing," Hyuk said softly, as if reading his thoughts. "Tonight, just rest."
Minjun nodded. His fingers still clung tightly to the mug, as though afraid to lose its warmth. Yet the emptiness inside wasn't the same as before.
He sat on the bed, pulled his knees to his chest. He listened to cars outside, the faint crackle of wood in the walls. Everything felt strangely alive.
Memories of home returned - his father's cold words, his mother's trembling voice. But compared to the glow of the lamp, the warmth of this room, and the steady presence of the man beside him, those memories seemed to fade.
The anxiety remained, but above it rose something new. Fragile, cautious, but real. The feeling that maybe the world hadn't entirely turned away from him.
He pressed his cheek to his knees and allowed himself a small smile. Tiny, barely there.
For the first time all day, he felt he could close his eyes.
***
Hyuk stood by the door, watching him. His gaze was soft, yet attentive. He saw how the boy tried to hold himself together, how pride kept him from asking for help - yet his body still searched for warmth.