Hell's Princes, Earth's Kings - ATEEZ Reader Inserts

The King of Fire - San

Closing on Saturday nights always served as a nagging reminder that I had nowhere better to be. It used to be the most dreadful part of my work week, offering nothing but eerie silence and an empty cafe. In all my years of working here, no one ever came in this late...until San became a regular.

He'd always show up at the tail end of the evening rush, order something different than he did the day before, and settle in the corner near the fireplace. No matter how warm it was outside, he'd order something hot. He never spoke to the other customers and never brought a book or phone or laptop along with him. He'd just sit. His hands would stay wrapped around his drink of the day, clutching it like someone was going to take it away as he gazed into the flames.

The pattering of rain was gentle against the storefront window, but other than that, tonight was no different than the countless others that came before it. Midnight rolled around, and that officially meant closing time. As always, San was still at his table. It's usually up to me to snap him out of whatever daydream he'd fallen into.

"Hey, San," I started softly, "I'm going to lock the door now. But you can stay until I leave."

Without saying a word, he glanced over at me, smiled, and went straight back to staring at the flames.

From the first time San came into the cafe, there was something intrinsically different about him. I used to think it was nothing but a side effect of my superficial crush on him. But that crush developed into an obsession with his withdrawn demeanor. The more I watched him, the more I gained my own theories as to why a man like him would spend hours on end staring at a kitschy fireplace in a mediocre cafe. Was he a grief-stricken, young widower? An ex-special operations soldier coping with the atrocities of some underground war? What caused the heart-shattering brokenness in his eyes?

My coworkers all had their own working theories as to why San is the way he is. Some think he's a pyromaniac just trying to keep himself from burning down an entire building. Some think he's some other kind of crazy that keeps him from thinking anything at all. And some think he's just too stupid to read a book or scroll on a phone while he's here. They're convinced I've been blinded by my attraction to him.

I do find him alluring, but it has nothing to do with why I'm reluctant to assume he's a lunatic. And even if he is a little on the crazy side, that doesn't make him a bad person. He's sweet when he speaks and he's soft when he smiles. If anything, I find his oddities irresistible.

His ravishing beauty is undeniable. His pitch-black hair falls into sharp tufts over his eyes, and it wasn't uncommon for those piercing eyes to be decorated with dark black pigments. His broad shoulders were always draped in a magnificent coat, and aside from a few red accents, he was always dressed in black from head to toe. He's reminiscent of a villainous character design, one intended to frighten, but his mannerisms are what destroy the intimidating elements of his being.

I finished cleaning up, probably taking longer than necessary so that San could stay tucked away in his corner for a few extra minutes. As much as I hated kicking him out, at least I'd get to have his attention.

"Can I take your cup?" I asked him in the most chipper tone I could manage.

The rings adorning his fingers with red gemstones twinkled by the light of the fire. The darkness about him is an odd contradiction to the completely innocent nature he exudes. He sips drinks like a child, always holding his cup with both hands and smiling when the warmth touches his lips. Anytime I'm blessed with his attention, his adorable, borderline goofy, smile takes over his face. Part of what's made my little crush on him more exhilarating is the mystery that surrounds him. He smiled and handed the cup over with both hands. I never understood how it managed to retain its heat when he spent so long just sitting.