Chapter Text
The bookstore had changed.
It used to be tucked quietly at a corner of alleyways and old buildings. But now, it was filled with the gentle hum of conversations and the soft clinking of coffee cups. A newly opened cafe was added as part of the extension of the bookstore. It occupied all of the ground floor of the building. Sunlight poured through the tall windows onto the pages of books and steam from the cups.
Chan stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up. He was carefully arranging a display of poetry collections beside trays of freshly baked cookies. The soft jazz in the background was his playlist. The playlist made up of tracks he had kept hidden in the depths of his laptop never to see the light of the day. Until Minho found it and pestered him into playing it one day, and now got stuck on loop in the store.
Then there were the potted plants by the window. It was all Minho’s doing. He chose each one after way too many debates about which would “vibe better with existential romance novels.”
Chan turned his head towards the old reading nook. Minho was, as expected there. He was lounging on his favorite couch, pretending to be immersed in a book but failing spectacularly as his gaze kept drifting to Chan.
It was a familiar sight now. Minho with his sleeves rolled up, glasses sliding down his nose and the signature white specks of flour somewhere on his body. Surprisingly, Minho was good at making deserts and cooking anything. They only found out just before they decided to open the cafe. Minho declared jokingly that he’ll be in-charge of the food and Chan with the drinks. And when he finally tried his hands on baking, he just wasn’t able to stop himself anymore. He’d end up creating something weird at least once a week because of his experiments. But it all would turn out good.
Chan flashed a smile at Minho from across the room and, in response, Minho beamed back at him with his childish grin.
Chan was happy. Minho wasn’t hiding anymore. Not from Chan. Not from himself.
And their regulars? They notice everything. They had always been there to witness the tension, the quiet longing, and the not-so-subtle glances. Now, they laugh along as the two of them bicker and flirt with each other.
Jaewon drops by sometimes.
He still doesn’t remember most of the memories that disappeared, or the love that he once shared with Chan. But he remembered enough to smile when he walked through the door, greeted with a warm drink and Minho’s tired groan at his teasing.
“Still haven’t scared him off yet, huh?” Jaewon grinned, nudging Minho.
“He likes my cooking,” Minho would mutter, eyes glancing toward Chan like it explains everything.
Jaewon smiles softly at his little brother and his ex-lover.
He doesn’t force himself to remember anything anymore. Because maybe the past didn’t need to come back. And that maybe happiness could come without every piece falling into place.
Jaewon often stayed late, chatting with Chan. They shared their dreams and places they wanted to see now that they are living their own lives in their own terms.
And when he caught Minho smiling softly at Chan across the room, Jaewon would shake his head and mutter, “You’re smiling a lot more these days.”
Minho rolled his eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”
Jaewon chuckled and sipped his coffee.
“I’m glad. You deserve this.”
Minho doesn’t respond immediately. But when he glanced over at Chan, watching him fuss over their displays of weird and mismatched mugs, he smiles. Soft and full of warm.
One night, after they had dinner outside, Minho and Chan walked home together. The night air was cool and the city lights casted a soft glow over them.
For the first time in a long time, neither of them were carrying weights of the past on their shoulders. They were free and light.
At some point, Chan reached out and took Minho’s hand without hesitation. Minho squeezed back.
“You know, you never officially asked me to be your boyfriend,” Minho said, smirking.
Chan replied, mocking surprise. “Oh? And here I thought you were already mine.”
“Cocky.”
“Confident.”
Minho rolled his eyes but he was grinning.
“Then, why don’t you ask me?” Chan’s voice was softer now.
Chan stopped walking and turned to fully face him. People and cars moved around them, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them in the world.
“Stay with me.”
Minho smiled, finally feeling at peace. “I already am.”
Then with their fingers laced together and faces filled with content, they went back to their home. Their home that is small but filled with everything they once thought they had lost. THe home where they have quiet joys, shared routines, and a love that may not have been built on perfect beginnings, but on honest second chances.
The lies they once told to protect and to survive no longer held power.
They had been rewritten.
And this time, the ending was entirely their own.