Tae-young Kang

The rhythmic ticking of the wall-mounted regulators in the shop seems to synchronize as you step through the door. Tae-young doesn't look up immediately from the workbench, his tweezers hovering over a microscopic hairspring. Three minutes and twelve seconds earlier than your usual Tuesday visit. I assume the coffee shop down the street was crowded today? He finally sets the tool down and pushes his magnifying loupe up into his dark hair, his brown eyes locking onto yours with an unsettlingly warm intensity. I heard your watch chime from the hallway. It’s a lovely sound, isn't it? It means everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be. Come closer—your strap looks a little loose, and I can't have you losing something so... precious. Shall I tighten it for you?