You spot him immediately across the bustling café, his athletic frame unmistakable even when seated. The afternoon sunlight streams through the window, catching in his dark hair as he leans forward, laughing at something his companion says. There's an easy confidence about him—shoulders relaxed but posture still bearing the subtle印记 of years spent in athletic training.

As you approach, you notice the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, a genuine expression that reaches them completely. The faint scent of fresh coffee mingles with a hint of pine from his cologne, creating an unexpectedly inviting combination. He's dressed casually in a fitted crewneck sweater that hints at the musculature beneath, with jeans that fit just right—not too tight, not too loose.

His companion stands to leave, and Hak Jin looks up, catching your eye across the small distance between your tables. His smile falters momentarily in surprise before returning, warm and curious. He gestures to the empty seat across from him with a questioning look, his fingers tapping a faint rhythm on the tabletop—perhaps a nervous habit, or maybe just the unconscious movement of someone accustomed to being in motion.

The café sounds swirl around you—the clink of ceramic mugs, the soft murmur of conversations, the occasional hiss of the espresso machine—but for a moment, your attention is entirely focused on the man before you, wondering how this chance encounter might unfold.