Doeun Has Social Anxiety (1)

Seven in the morning.

The door of Cafe Fluffy opened with a slow, unhurried creak.

Somehow, today felt like it would be a peaceful one.

"...Nice."

I murmured it to myself as I brewed the morning's first coffee.

Ever since the owners had moved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down to the countryside, the past few days had been pure chaos. I'd had to teach Harin the job from top to bottom, and whole days had vanished into the hunt for a new part-timer. But once things settled one by one, the cafe's familiar rhythm came creeping back—no different from before.

Ding-a-ling~

"Morning!"

"You're not late today."

"Ahem~!"

Harin stuck her chest out for absolutely no reason.

"I came in a whole fifty minutes early today, you know?"

"...That's what's supposed to be normal."

"How do you never give me a single compliment?"

The rascal pushed out her lips, then looped her apron over her head.

"Fufu. But I'm pretty good at this now, aren't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I?"

"...Have you no shame?"

"What?"

"Nothing at all, Boss."

"Hmph."

Honestly, she was doing better than I'd expected. But I knew exactly how high that head of hers would swell if I said so, so I kept it to myself.

With a dismissive little snort, she took a lap around the shop—and then, in a slightly more serious voice:

"Before, it just felt like I was helping out with my parents' business."

She stopped there for a beat.

Then she smiled, quietly.

"Now it actually feels like it's mine."

"Good for you."

"Yeah."

She gazed around the shop a moment longer, and then she was right back to her usual self.

"...You're still handling the till count, though."

"Why?"

"'Cause learning it's a booore..."

...

People really don't change.

The fool was me, for hoping.

And just as we were bickering over nothing in particular—

Ding-a-ling~

The door eased open, slow and careful.

"...Hello."

The new part-timer I'd hired only yesterday.

Ha Doeun.

Her black hair tied back neatly, she'd arrived a full twenty minutes before her shift even started.

"You're here early?"

"It's my first day... I was afraid I might be late..."

Diligent, at least.

Harin waved with a big, easy smile.

"Glad to have you starting today!"

"...Yes. Thank you for having me."

"First, let's get you a change of clothes."

I fished a uniform out of the locker in the corner of the storeroom and handed it over—a white shirt, and a black apron with the cafe logo stitched on.

"The changing room's back there."

"...Okay."

Doeun bowed her head slightly and slipped inside.

A short while later, she reappeared—her street clothes traded for the uniform.

"...Wow."

The admiration slipped out before I could catch it.

Hair tied up clean and tidy, both hands clasped in front of her as though she didn't quite know where to put them. I'd thought she carried herself with a certain quiet grace to begin with, but in the uniform that air came through all the more—she looked as natural as if she'd been working here for years.

Had she taken my reaction the wrong way? Doeun spoke up, careful and quiet.

"...Um, do I look... strange?"

Oh no.

That hadn't been what I meant at all.

Just as I opened my mouth to explain, Harin beat me to it.

"Wow...! It really suits you!"

"...Thank you."

"No, I mean it!"

Harin circled her once, head to toe.

"You look like you've worked here your whole life!"

"...That's... a bit much."

"Han Doyoon, you think so too, right?"

"...Yes. It really does suit you."

Doeun dipped her head in a small bow.

"Thank you..."

The tips of her ears looked just the slightest bit red.

...Was that my imagination?

And so the morning shift began.

Doeun did far better than I'd anticipated. Maybe it was the cafe experience showing—drinks, espresso pulls, you name it, one demonstration was all she needed to match it.

"Hey, Han Doyoon..."

"Hm?"

"Didn't we basically hit the lottery?"

"Yeah. Definitely better than you."

"...Hey!"

"Kidding."

"Not funny!"

Grumbling, Harin stomped off to scrub the restroom, pausing at the door to wave.

"Doeun! If this guy works you into the ground, you tell me right away!"

"...Ah. Yes."

Harin hadn't been wrong—when it came to the work itself, Doeun really was good.

But.

Setting that aside, one thing kept catching in my mind.

In all the hours she'd worked so far, the words that left her mouth had been, almost without exception: "Yes." "Understood." "I'm sorry."

That was about the whole of it.

Come break time, I walked over to where she sat filling a notebook with dense, meticulous notes.

"Doeun, doesn't it wear you out, writing down every little thing like that?"

And at that—

"...Oh. Then... I won't write anything down."

"...No, that's not what I—"

"I'm sorry..."

...

That wasn't it, either.

There's something in a cafe every bit as important as drink-making skill: communication. When the staff can't talk to each other, paths cross and tangle, mistakes happen, and in the worst case it spirals into an actual accident—a burn, say. Which is exactly why the smaller the shop, the more it mattered.

And the place that problem showed itself most starkly of all was customer service.

"Do you have decaf, by any chance?"

At the customer's question, Doeun couldn't produce a single word. She just stood there with her hands clasped tight, eyes fixed on the floor.

"...Excuse me?"

"...Ah! I'm sorry. Um..."

"We do have a decaf americano. Shall I get that started for you?"

Even after the customer had come and gone, Doeun kept ducking her head, apologizing over and over.

"...I'm sorry."

In the end, I took over the register from that point on.

...Keep this up, and an accident's only a matter of time.

I was mulling that over, sorting the day's deliveries in the storeroom, when—

CRASH—!!

The sound of shattering glass tore through the cafe.

...!

I bolted for the counter.

A glass cup lay in pieces across the floor, ice and americano soaking into the tiles—and standing frozen in front of it all was Doeun, face drained white.

"...I'm sorry."

A small, trembling voice.

Before the words had even finished falling—

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

She was apologizing over and over, tears already brimming, and reaching for the broken shards with her bare hands.

"Wait!"

I caught her wrist just in time.

But Doeun, deep in full-blown panic now, wrenched against my grip and reached for the glass again anyway.

"...Ha Doeun!"

Her name was out of my mouth before I knew it, my hold firming around her wrist.

Only then did she flinch and look up at me.

"...You'll hurt your hands, clearing it like that."

"I'm... sorry..."

Her fingertips were still shaking, plain to see.

I let out a quiet breath and went to fetch the broom and dustpan.

"I'll take care of this."

"But—"

"It's all right."

"...I'm sor—"

"Doeun."

She went still.

"...Yes?"

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"...Huh?"

"Your hands."

Only then did she look down at them, her expression blank and far away.

"...I'm... fine."

"That's a relief."

I swept the shards into the dustpan, unhurried, and for a little while neither of us said anything. Doeun kept her head bowed, teeth pressed into her lip.

"...I'm sorry."

There it was again. I'd honestly lost count by now.

For a moment, an old memory surfaced.

A laugh slipped out of me before I knew it.

"One broken cup doesn't call for this many apologies."

"...But..."

"A broken cup is just a cup. We buy another one."

I held her gaze for a beat, then added:

"Good thing you weren't hurt."

And with that, I shrugged like it was nothing at all.

The instant those words landed, Doeun went rigid—only barely, but she did.

Then she stared blankly into space for a long, long moment, ducked her head in a hurry, and darted off, mumbling something about fetching a dishcloth.

I tilted my head, watching her go.

...Maybe going that informal, out of nowhere, was a bit much.

Not long after, Harin came scrambling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in, having heard the ruckus mid-chore.

"Doeun!? Is Doeun okay!?"

"...She's fine."

"...Phew. And you're okay too?"

"Yeah."

Harin heaved a sigh of relief—then snapped right back to her usual self.

"Hehe. Guess we're buying new glassware, then?"

...Unbelievable.

Three seconds of worrying about a human being, and she's thinking about cups.

"Hehehe. Perfect excuse to swap in something prettier, too."

"Boss."

"Hm?"

"You're not planning to put those on the cafe's account, are you?"

......

"...Hey."

"...Just a couple."

"Not a single one."

"...Hmph."

Glancing at Doeun, who still looked rather deflated, I realized the pointless bickering had been on purpose—just something to loosen the mood. Sure enough, her frozen expression seemed to thaw, if only a little.

And so we finished the rest of the cleanup and got through the afternoon service without a hitch.

As we readied the shop for closing, I leaned against the counter and turned the day over in my mind.

Doeun's work was solid—no question about it. Quick with the drinks, quick to pick up anything she was taught. But the moment she stood in front of a customer, the nerves swallowed her whole, and over the smallest slip she'd apologize as though she'd committed some terrible crime.

...What happened to her?

The string of short stints on her résumé came back to me. At first I'd taken her for someone who simply couldn't hold down a job. But that clearly wasn't the whole story.

I should sit down and talk with her.

When closing time drew near, I pulled off my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠apron and spoke up.

"Hey."

"Hm?"

"I've got a few things to go over with Doeun, so head out early tonight."

"...Hey. You're not firing her, are you?"

Hah.

Did I really look that petty to her?

"It's nothing like that, so get going."

"...You promise?"

"Yeah."

Harin's eyes flicked back and forth between Doeun and me.

"...Go easy on her."

Ding.

With those parting words, she clocked out earlier than usual.

The door swung shut behind her, and the shop fell quiet—leaving just the two of us, Doeun and me, alone inside.