San never used an alarm.
Every morning at four forty-five, he woke up on his own. This morning was no different. San cracked his eyes open, squinting against the pitch-black darkness of his room. Reaching over to his nightstand, he blindly felt for his cell phone to confirm that yep, it was indeed four forty-five in the morning. This morning ritual wasn't fun, by any means. But he was up. He was alive.
Another day, another dollar.
San went through the robotic process of getting ready for his workday. He brushed his teeth, staring blankly at himself in the mirror. He patted his hair down, giving up on the one hair in the back that wouldn't stay down. He rolled on his deodorant, and then he slathered on scent blocker.
By the time San trudged down the stairs that connected his studio to his business, the usual smell of bacon, sausage, eggs, and coffee teased San's sensitive nose. He pushed through the door to the kitchen, growling stomach needing filled and sleepy eyes needing caffeinated.
"Good morning, boss!" Seonghwa, San's cook, chirped from the flattop stove.
San only grunted in response. He tried to make it a cheery grunt, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. Seonghwa didn't falter either way, just kept his focus on the food he was making for San and the rest of the staff, who would be trickling in before long. San continued shuffling through the small kitchen, skirting around the gigantic island in the middle of the room to push through the swinging door and into his diner.
After turning on the lights, their fluorescent glow making his eyes squint in retaliation, San unlocked the front door and clicked on the OPEN sign. The Dynamite Diner was San's pride and joy. Open from five in the morning until three in the afternoon; serving a wide array of breakfast foods, brunch delicacies, and lunch dishes; a warm, inviting space with free wifi and friendly staff.
The small business wasn't booming by any means, but it was perfectly enough. The first few years had been tough as hell, but San pushed through. With the help of excellent staff and loyal customers, Dynamite was all that San needed to stay comfortable.
He was proud.
Knowing customers likely wouldn't show until at least five-thirty, San took his time pouring a cup of coffee for himself. He drank it black, trying not to grimace after the first sip. It wasn't that it was bad coffee, it just wasn't good coffee.
San was kind of picky, for good reason.
Although his blockers were keeping it at bay now, San's alpha smelled of deep, dark roast coffee. It was rich and full, freshly ground and robust. He had yet to find a blend that came even close to the way he imagined coffee should taste. It was kind of frustrating, but his customers never complained.
So, San swallowed another mouthful, letting the caffeine do its thing and lazily walked back into the kitchen.
Seonghwa was still at the stove, but it looked like everything was done cooking. So, San grabbed a plate and snatched a few pieces of bacon straight off the stove. After quickly dropping them onto his plate and sucking his stinging fingertips, he reached for the nearest bottle of syrup and drenched the strips of meat with it.
San caught the grimace Seonghwa tried to hide.
Then he chuckled and shoved his drenched, sticky bacon into his mouth with a grin.
When San had first hired Seonghwa, the older man had been appalled by San's breakfast preferences. He'd offered to make San pancakes, waffles, French toast – literally anything that would make more sense than meat and syrup. But San always politely refused, and Seonghwa always looked on with disdain.
