A Backstage Love I Han Jisung x Reader

One Iced Americano, Please

I ordered my usual, an iced americano, trying to keep my voice steady. The barista gave me a polite smile, oblivious to the turmoil beneath my calm exterior.

I chose a seat by the window, the glass offering a distorted reflection of the street outside. My hands wrapped around the cold cup, and I took a slow sip, forcing myself to act natural.

Every time the door opened, the bell's cheerful chime felt like a gunshot. My eyes darted toward the entrance with each newcomer, my breath catching until I saw it was just another patron—a student, a couple, an elderly man.

This is part of the plan, I reminded myself. Stay calm. Act normal.

Watching the tiny drops of rain slide down the window panes, I repeated the mantra in my head like a lifeline, but my body didn't listen. My fingers trembled slightly, and my heart raced with every shadow that flickered across the street outside.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. I finished my coffee, the melted ice watering down the last sip, and set the cup aside. The plan was working—I could feel it in the air, a tension that coiled tighter with every passing moment.

And then, the bell jingled again.

I froze, my gaze snapping to the door. A figure stepped inside, their presence unsettlingly familiar. They wore a baseball cap pulled low over their face and a mask that obscured their features. Their clothes were plain, nondescript, and overly baggy.

I didn't react outwardly, but my grip on the table tightened. My instincts screamed at me to move, to run, but I stayed rooted in place. This was it.

The figure lingered near the counter, pretending to browse the menu. But their body language betrayed them. There was something deliberate in the way they moved, something too practiced.

I glanced at the reflection in the window, catching a glimpse of Han. He was watching from his position, his posture tense but composed. His eyes locked with mine for a fleeting second, a silent reassurance.

I focused on the stranger again, my breath shallow. They reached into their pocket, fumbling with something.

Then, it happened.

A small object slipped from their hand, tumbling to the floor with a soft clink. It bounced once before settling near my feet.

My heart stopped as I recognized it instantly.

It was my keychain.

The same one that had gone missing from my apartment. The one I'd convinced myself I'd misplaced.

My blood turned to ice. This wasn't just a coincidence.

"Excuse me," Han's voice broke through the tension, calm but cutting. He stepped forward, his presence commanding. "You dropped something."

The figure froze, their body stiffening. Slowly, they crouched to pick up the keychain, their movements rushed and almost clumsy.

"That keychain looks familiar," Han continued, his tone deceptively casual. "Mind telling us where you got it?"

The stranger didn't answer. Their hesitation spoke louder than words.

And then, like a cornered animal, they bolted, shoving past the barista and out the door.

"Stay here," Han barked at me, already moving.

"Han—!" I tried to protest, but he was gone, chasing after the figure into the night.

My hands trembled as I stared at the door, the keychain etched into my mind like a brand. This wasn't over. Not yet.

I didn't wait for Han to come back. The second he disappeared through the café doors, I was on my feet, my instincts screaming at me to move.

The barista called after me, their voice a distant hum against the pounding of my heartbeat. My legs carried me out into the cold night air before I had time to second-guess myself.

I followed the faint sound of footsteps echoing down the empty streets, the rhythmic slap of shoes on pavement guiding me toward the chase. Shadows swallowed the corners of the alleyways ahead, and my breath puffed out in shaky clouds as I pushed myself to keep going.

"Han!" I called out, my voice sharp against the stillness, but there was no reply—just the sound of a struggle somewhere up ahead.