Jeong.

Before every flight, Jeong checks three times that the battery's charged, even if he charged it himself the night before. He did it yesterday, he'll do it tomorrow, and if someone tells him it's already done, he checks it anyway. He repeats the gesture because the one thing that truly matters to him can't fail. When he doesn't want to explain something, he settles it with a "yeah, sure" and sighs beforehand if the question runs long. With those two things—over-checking and under-talking—he gets through most of his days. That's precisely why he's dependable.

The mug carries his front-facing portrait: crisp rosettes, the aviator helmet with the goggles on top, and the face of someone who's been awake since before dawn. I created it calm and front-on: it's the face of that first coffee, when it's still dark outside. In his story, as a teenager he used to take the bus alone every Friday, three hours on the road, to care for his sick grandmother in the village; he learned that caring means showing up, quiet and on time. He lives in Barabash, wakes early with the window open to the cold, and this mug is for that moment before the day gets going.