The bell above the diner's door jingled softly as Kim stepped inside, shaking the light drizzle off his dark hair, which fell in loose waves just above his sharp, well-defined cheekbones. His skin was smooth, with a warm, olive tone that caught the soft glow of the diner's overhead lights. Kim's eyes—a deep, expressive brown—sparkled with a mischievous light as he scanned the room.
There was an easy confidence in the way he moved: relaxed yet deliberate, with a cheeky charm that made him seem approachable and respectful all at once.
His slim build was clad in a casual navy jacket over a simple white tee, giving him a look that was effortlessly cool without trying too hard. As he approached the counter, his grin flashed—a perfect mix of playful and polite—revealing dimples that softened his youthful face.
Lisa, the diner's waitress and unofficial queen of the place, caught sight of him behind the counter, wiping down a glass with a rag that had seen better days.
"Well, if it isn't Kim again!" she called out with a playful smirk. "You really do love our coffee, don't you?"
Kim returned the smirk with a cheeky grin, brushing back a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "You know me, Lisa. Only the best to keep me going. I'm loyal like that."
Lisa rolled her eyes but poured the black coffee with practiced ease, sliding the cup across to him. "One black coffee, no sugar, no cream. You're a tough customer!"
Kim caught the cup and gave a small nod of thanks, his eyes flicking across the diner and landing on a solitary figure by the window. She was hunched over the table, shoulders drawn in, eyes fixed on the rain tracing random paths down the glass. Her posture was tense, almost wary.
Intrigued, Kim set down his coffee and made his way toward her booth, walking with a casual confidence that wasn't arrogance but quiet assurance. He eased into the seat opposite her without asking, a friendly smile playing on his lips.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, his tone light but polite.
She startled slightly, her gaze snapping up to meet his for a brief second before darting away again. After a moment, she gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Sure.." she muttered, her voice clipped and cautious.
Kim studied her quietly for a moment—his eyes warm but alert, catching the tension in her posture. Her eyes were tired but sharp, her jaw clenched like she was holding back a storm. Her hands rested on the table, fingers curled slightly, as if gripping onto something unseen.
"What're you watching out the window?" he asked, nodding toward the rain.
"Nothing." she said curtly, refusing to meet his eyes again.
Kim chuckled softly, the sound warm and unforced.
"You know, when it rains like this, it's like the world takes a deep breath—washes away all the mess, just for a little while. Maybe that's why some people find it kind of peaceful."
She glanced at him again, the briefest flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—crossing her face. Then it vanished as quickly as it came. She turned back to the window, lips pressed tight.
"I'm Kim, by the way." he said, offering his hand across the table.
Reluctantly, she accepted it with a faint nod. "I'm Harper."
Their fingers brushed, light and fleeting. Kim could sense the walls she'd built, but there was something else—a quiet strength underneath that guarded exterior.
Kim shifted slightly, catching the waitress's eye as Lisa refilled his coffee and gave him a wink. He smiled back, feeling a little more at ease.
"So, Harper.." he said, voice lowering just enough to feel like a shared secret. "What brings you here on a rainy night? Besides the obvious—escaping the storm, I mean."
Harper's eyes flicked back to him briefly, then down to the muddy smudges on her sleeves. She said nothing for a moment, then finally spoke, voice soft but steady.
"I just-..needed to get out for a bit."
Kim nodded, not pushing. Sometimes silence said more than questions. "Well, if you ever want company, I'm usually here. Not much for eating alone either."
He was used to reading people—years of moving between two cultures, Korea and here, had made him sharp, attentive, always aware of the small signs others missed.
Growing up nearby, he'd spent countless afternoons in this diner, not just for the food but for the small community it offered—a place where stories were exchanged over coffee and the hum of conversation never really stopped. That grounded him.
Despite his playful, cheeky exterior, Kim was thoughtful and deeply respectful. He had learned early on how important boundaries were, especially when it came to people who carried unseen burdens. His charm wasn't about flashy lines or trying too hard—it was quiet, genuine, and patient.
He smiled gently. "I'm not just some stranger who likes coffee and hanging out here. I grew up around here. This place, these people... it's home. And sometimes, when the world gets a bit too heavy, I come here to feel like I belong."
Harper looked at him then, really looked, and something softened behind her guarded eyes.
"Well.." Kim said, with a shrug and a teasing grin. "If you ever need a friend who knows the best booth and the strongest coffee, I'm your guy. And I promise—I'm not the sort to talk your ear off unless you want me to."
Kim's gaze shifted subtly from Harper's tired eyes down to her hands resting on the worn diner table. The fingers were smeared with dirt and mud, the grime clinging beneath her nails like a stubborn stain.
A faint sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead and temples, evidence of how hard she'd been running.
The exhaustion was written clearly across her face, her shoulders slumped slightly as if carrying invisible weight.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled packet of wet wipes. "Here." he said softly, holding it out to her with a gentle smile.
"For your hands."
Harper blinked, momentarily confused. "Thanks.. but, I don't—"
Kim didn't let her finish. He leaned forward slightly, noting the faint tremor in her fingers — a slight, involuntary shaking he recognized immediately. It was subtle but unmistakable.
"May I?" he asked, voice calm and steady, indicating her hands.
Harper hesitated, her eyes flickering down to her palms where the rough skin showed scars—faint but visible lines, telling stories she wasn't ready to share. For a moment, her jaw tightened, and her fingers curled protectively inward.
Kim caught the hesitation but didn't press. Instead, he carefully took one of her hands in his, steadying it with a respectful lightness.
He peeled back the wipe and gently began to clean the dirt away, slow and deliberate, giving her time to adjust.
"In my family, we say clean hands, clean heart. It's this whole belief that what's outside reflects what's inside. My mom used to line us up after playing outside like she was inspecting soldiers. Dirt under your nails? You were spiritually unwell." He winked.
Harper looked down at her hands, now half-cleaned and glistening a little from the wipes. The scars on her palms were still there — faint, but undeniable. She turned them over and stared quietly, her brow creased.
"They're both not clean." she said finally. "Not really."
Kim didn't pull away. Instead, he gently folded her fingers closed, pressing her hands back together with a steadying warmth.
He smiled warmly. "Sounds like I have a bit of scrubbing left to do then. I figured I'd offer you a little dignity. And a wet wipe."
She stared at him, something unreadable flickering in her expression. Not quite trust, but not resistance either.