The man went inside the coffee house, just like he does every single day, at seven in the morning. He recited his order of Americano, double shot, and paid with a card that read KIM MINSEOK. After taking his order from the bar, the man left the shop without another word and proceeded to the building across the street. He scanned his ID, nodded slightly at a man standing guard, and boarded the waiting elevator. It stopped when the screen flashed 47 – the highest floor in the tower – and the man with the coffee cup stepped into a floor that has way too many tarpaulins of varying designs. He flashes a white card at a small black box and the glass door opened to let him in.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim,” he was greeted by a young girl behind a nameplate that read RECEPTION. He nodded a lot less than before. After a couple more greetings by the people who were in the hall he passed by, the man finally entered a room. He threw his now empty cup, grabbed the newspaper sitting in the middle of his table, and set his briefcase on the table, beside a nameplate that read

KIM MINSEOK

JUNIOR EXECUTIVE, ASIA AND PACIFIC ACCOUNTS

Of course Lu Han knew who he was. Way before he gave his credit card for payment at that coffee shop. No. He had known him longer than that. Lu Han doesn’t remember exactly where and when he’d known him, but he’s pretty sure it was around the first time he ran away to humanity.