Chapter Text
It began by chance.
By chance, he wandered into a quiet little café one slow afternoon.
By chance, he was craving for a strawberry cheesecake and the banana frappuccino he had seen for the first time in the menu — and by chance, he heard the soft, surprised gasp from the person standing behind him in line.
He thought little of it, until he caught the faint reflection in the window — a young man, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock, as if the drink order alone had shaken his entire worldview.
JL found himself smiling.
Cute , he thought, watching the way the stranger blinked rapidly and looked away like he’d been caught doing something scandalous.
But coming back the next day — that wasn't a chance.
It was a choice. His choice
Curiosity, perhaps. Maybe something more.
Approaching the young man who sat in the same spot, sipping the same drink, with that same wide-eyed wonder… that was JL’s doing. Entirely his .
It wasn’t really like him, to approach strangers so boldly. He preferred quiet company. Familiar places. Controlled conversations.
But this? This felt different .
It was as if an invisible thread had tugged gently at his chest — and led him straight to that boy.
He wanted to ask him everything.
What he liked to eat, what books he stayed up reading, what kind of music made him sway his head without realizing, what made his eyes shimmer like that — like the world had never once been cruel to him.
Instead, what came out of his mouth was: "Have you had your fill?"
The moment he said it, JL winced inwardly. That came out a bit too forward than he expected.
But then the boy — no, Juwon — looked up with those round, startled eyes, lips parting into a small gasp, ears turning the softest shade of pink.
And JL thought, again:
Cute.
This boy was dangerous in the most harmless way. He made JL want to tease him, just to see how many shades of red his face could turn.
"I wasn't talking about your drink," JL added, voice smooth like he’d meant it all along.
"I meant you were staring at me yesterday. Have you had your fill now?"
Juwon blushed harder, flustered beyond repair.
"I—I’m sorry," he stammered. "I didn’t mean to stare—"
"I don’t mind," JL said, easily, and slid into the seat across from him like it had been waiting for him all along. Like this was always meant to happen.
The pout that formed on Juwon’s lips almost made JL laugh. He bit it back, resisting his lips to completely curve into a smirk.
"Name’s JL, by the way. What’s yours?"
"Ju—Juwon."
Juwon.
The name settled in his chest strangely, like a song he’d once memorized. Familiar in a way that couldn’t be explained.
"Cute," JL said — and this time, the word slipped out before he could stop it.
He leaned in, chin resting on his palm, eyes curious.
"So," he asked softly, "why are you here again today?"
"I—I always come here," Juwon replied, a little too fast.
"Mm?" JL smiled knowingly. "Then… are you copying my order too?"
Juwon gasped, affronted, like JL had accused him of a great betrayal.
"Excuse me?! I’ve always ordered this!"
And just like that, he launched into a flustered, passionate explanation about how everyone made fun of his favorite drink, how he never cared, and how this café was the only place that got it right .
JL listened, throwing in the occasional teasing remark, watching the way Juwon lit up when he talked about the smallest things.
The way his hands moved when he got excited.
The way his dimples deepened whenever he smiled
The way his shoulders relaxed when he laughed.
It was supposed to be a chance meeting.
But somehow, it felt like he had always meant to be here.
Right by Juwon’s side.
If he could help it, JL thought, he wouldn’t let this conversation end with the café’s closing hours.
Not this time.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Maybe twice. Or just an occasional stop for something sweet after class.
But somehow, JL found himself walking into the café every single day.
It wasn’t for the coffee — though the drinks were strange enough to be memorable. It wasn’t for the desserts either — too sugary for his taste. And the peace and quiet? That used to be the reason he came, but not anymore.
He was there for Juwon.
For his chatter.
His laughter.
For the way his eyes lit up when he talked about the smallest, silliest things — like banana-flavored milk or his new sweet dessert obsessions.
Juwon had a way of making the world feel softer. If sunshine could take human form, JL was pretty sure it would look like him. On days when JL thought he would suffocate from the pressure of thesis deadlines and never-ending group meetings, Juwon was the one thing that felt like he could breathe again.
He was his rest.
Lately, JL had started arriving earlier than usual — just so he could be there first. There was something about watching the café door swing open and seeing Juwon light up the moment their eyes met. That smile — wide and real, like JL was the best part of his day — became something he quietly waited for.
But today, things didn’t go as planned.
The meeting with his thesis group ran long — far longer than expected — and JL had offered to take on more than his share of the work just to wrap it up in time. Even so, by the time he rushed to the café, the sun was already beginning to set.
He was breathless as he pushed open the door, ready to offer the smile Juwon always gave him. But the moment he spotted him, sitting quietly at their usual corner table, something felt… wrong.
Juwon didn’t look up.
His hands were tightly clasped together in his lap, knuckles white. And his eyes — usually bright and full of life — were downcast, heavy with something JL couldn’t name yet.
“Hey,” JL said gently, concern knitting his brows together. “What’s wrong?”
Juwon didn’t answer. Instead, tears welled in his eyes without warning, and he dropped his gaze, trying to hide them.
JL didn’t hesitate. He reached for the tissue dispenser and leaned in, carefully dabbing at Juwon’s face before the tears could fall.
“Care to tell me why you’re being like this?” he asked, voice soft and deliberate — as if afraid a single wrong word would make Juwon shatter.
Juwon opened his mouth, but no sound came.
Just the shake of his shoulders, the silent tension of holding too much in for too long. And then, finally, the words spilled out — small and trembling.
“I just… I just miss you,” Juwon whispered, voice barely hanging onto itself.
JL stilled.
It didn’t make sense.
They had seen each other every day since the moment they met — even just yesterday. Their bond was still young, not yet defined by time or depth. By all logical measures, there was nothing there yet to miss.
Anyone else, and JL might have laughed gently, brushed it off with a playful comment, maybe teased them for being too dramatic.
But this was Juwon.
Juwon, who wore his heart so openly it almost hurt to witness.
Juwon, whose every word carried the weight of something deeper, something raw and unfiltered.
Sincerity clung to him like a second skin.
JL didn’t understand the full meaning behind those words — not yet.
But he could feel the heaviness in them, how carefully they’d been carried, how fragile they became once released. He knew that if he dismissed it now, even softly, Juwon might break.
So he didn’t question it.
Didn’t ask for clarity.
Didn’t reach for logic.
Instead, he met Juwon’s eyes and said, quietly, “I see.”
No questions. No pressure. Just silence — the kind that doesn’t feel empty, but safe.
He stayed like that, close but not pressing, until Juwon’s breathing slowed and the tears dried on their own.
When Juwon finally wiped his eyes and whispered a quiet, “I’m sorry,” JL leaned in and smiled softly.
“Don’t be,” he murmured. “You can cry as much as you want in front of me.”
The words came too naturally.
Too easy, like they had already lived somewhere inside him for a long time.
And as they settled into the quiet again, JL felt a strange pressure build in his chest — a tightness that had no name, but felt achingly familiar.
Like he had said those same words before, in another place, under another sky, to someone who had cried just like this.
Their meetings became a rhythm, almost like a silent promise neither of them ever spoke aloud. Every day, without fail, they found each other at the same table in the quiet café, as if the universe had carved out a small corner of peace just for them.
JL got used to Juwon’s endless chatter — the way his words spilled out like sunlight. He noticed the little things: how he loved to pout when he was not talking, how his voice would crack a little when he got a little too excited, how his whole being lit up when he laughed.
But today, JL had asked for quiet. Thesis deadlines loomed, papers piled up, and he needed a clear head.
Juwon, to his credit, stayed silent. But even in silence, JL found it hard to concentrate.
Because Juwon was still there.
Still watching him with that open, curious gaze. Still stealing glances like he couldn’t help himself.
“You keep staring at me,” JL murmured, not looking up from his notes. His tone was light, teasing. “Is there something on my face?”
Juwon blinked, then tilted his head. “JL… why do you keep coming back to this café?”
The question caught JL off guard.
He should’ve known better than to tease Juwon — his curiosity always came back twice as strong. JL paused, mid-sip, mind scrambling for a half-decent excuse. He could’ve said anything.
The drinks.
The quiet.
Maybe saying it was out of habit could also be a good excuse.
But none of it would’ve been true.
He set his cup down. Met Juwon’s eyes.
“Because you’re here,” he said softly.
There.
It was out.
Words he had been carrying in his chest for far too long, like a secret treasure only now being shown to the light.
And then — like a pebble thrown into still water — Juwon whispered, “You’re such a player.”
The words were soft, awkward, said without malice...
But they landed sharper than JL expected.
His smile faltered. A frown tugged at his lips as he looked away, suddenly unsure. He had thought — no, hoped — that Juwon would know him better than that. That he would feel the sincerity in those words.
“Do I come off as a player?” JL asked quietly, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer. Then he followed, the truth slipping before he could hold it in, “I didn’t mean to—”
Juwon looked startled.
His voice trailed off as he turned back to his drink.
Silence filled the space between them.
JL didn’t break it. A small part of him didn’t want to — a childish protest, maybe, to show he was hurt. But mostly, he was afraid of what else might spill out if he opened his mouth.
Then, just as suddenly, Juwon spoke again.
“Are you free tonight?”
JL’s heart leapt. That voice — that simple question — pulled him right out of the fog of doubt.
“Yes!” he answered too quickly, too eagerly, it almost unveiled every emotion he’d tried so hard to keep hidden. Then he remembered to keep his composure and cleared his throat, “Why?”
“I’m meeting up with my crew. Wanna come?”
There was a brief pause. Juwon’s voice wavered slightly, and when he spoke again, it came out like a soft attempt at persuasion — as if he was offering JL an easy way in, without pressure.
“Dance crew. We just mess around at the park sometimes… You don’t have to join or anything. I just thought… it might be fun?"
JL laughed nervously. “I'm not good at dancing though. I might look stupid.”
He suddenly wished he hadn’t brushed aside his curiosity for dancing back then — choosing textbooks over the things that made his heart feel light.
“It's okay,” Juwon said, smiling softly. “You can just watch and enjoy.”
And truly, with a smile like that, JL didn’t stand a chance.
He’d follow, always — no rhythm needed. Just him.
Later, under a sky streaked in soft pinks and golds, they arrived at the park. Juwon slipped easily into his world — surrounded by laughter, music, and movement. JL lingered at the edge at first, unsure, but it didn’t take long before he found himself clapping and cheering louder than anyone.
Juwon danced like he belonged to the music. Each movement was smooth, effortless — like breathing.
JL couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
When the music paused, Juwon jogged over, cheeks flushed, eyes shining.
“How was it?”
“You were amazing,” JL said without hesitation, grinning from ear to ear and giving him a thumbs up. He meant every word.
Juwon tilted his head, mischief dancing in his smile. “Wanna dance with me for the next one?”
JL panicked. “I told you—I can’t dance!”
“You don’t have to,” Juwon chuckled. “Just move with me.”
Again. Who could even resist that smile? Not JL.
He took Juwon’s hand immediately the moment Juwon reached out to drag him to the center. Like he was under a spell.
They stumbled into the center of the park, laughing like children, tripping over the beat, not caring who watched. JL couldn’t stop smiling. His sides ached from laughing, his grip never loosening from Juwon’s.
They didn’t notice when the fountain display began — not until the first spray of cool water caught them off guard. Streams danced around them in shimmering arcs, soaking their clothes, their hair clinging wetly to their faces.
Still, they danced.
They danced without a single worry, flailing their arms and stomping their feet, not caring wherever they might take them. Until the world disappeared, and it was just the two of them in their own little universe.
By the time the music faded and the crew packed up, the night air had grown cold.
JL shivered, teeth nearly chattering. Without a word, Juwon pulled off his hoodie and gently placed it over JL’s shoulders.
JL looked up, eyes wide and dazed beneath the streetlights.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
They didn’t go home right away. Instead, they wandered — aimlessly, shoulder to shoulder — through empty streets that felt like they belonged only to them. No one said a word but both of them understood how they didn’t want this moment to end.
Eventually, they stopped beneath the trees at the far end of the park. Quiet surrounded them.
JL turned to face Juwon.
He said nothing — only watched him in silence — yet somehow, it felt like Juwon already understood. As if their thoughts were speaking in the space between them.
Slowly, Juwon took a step closer.
He lifted a hand, brushing damp hair away from JL’s forehead. JL closed his eyes at the touch. The tenderness in it nearly undid him.
And when Juwon leaned in, JL didn’t hesitate.
Their lips met — gentle at first, unsure — then deepened into something real. JL’s hands found Juwon’s waist, holding him close, grounding them both in that moment.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was every glance, every almost, every unspoken word finally given form.
When they pulled away, breathing unsteadily, Juwon rested his forehead against JL’s and whispered, “This feels like a dream.”
JL’s heart swelled. He wrapped his arms tighter around him and whispered back, “You’re not dreaming.”
And for the first time, JL didn’t feel like he was either.
The days that followed felt like something lifted out of a dream — light laughter that lingered in the air like music, glances that spoke more than words ever could, kisses exchanged like shared secrets in quiet corners of the world.
And JL?
He found himself falling — not just into love, but into something deeper. Into a rhythm. A quiet belonging. Into a life that, somehow, had always been waiting for Juwon to step into it.
Loving Juwon felt so easy...
Like it had never been a choice, only a remembering.
Their days weren’t bound by coincidence anymore. Not limited to café chairs and chance smiles. Now, they found each other everywhere — in parks, in street corners, in the slow stretch of afternoons spent doing nothing at all.
Juwon had become woven into JL’s days so seamlessly that the thought of not seeing him, not hearing his voice, felt unthinkable. Impossible.
One night, they decided to drink — just a little, just for fun.
It started with lighthearted toasts and clinking glasses, Juwon’s laughter bubbling up with every sip, his cheeks turning rosy far too quickly.
JL, who had the stronger tolerance, watched in quiet amusement as Juwon leaned further into him with each glass, words slurring softly until they were more like whispers than sentences.
“You okay?” JL asked, grinning.
Juwon hummed, eyes fluttering half-closed. “M’fine… just sleepy…”
He barely made it through the next few minutes.
They ended up curled on JL’s couch, the lights dimmed, a quiet song humming from a nearby speaker. Juwon’s head found JL’s shoulder, and not long after, he drifted off — warm, breathing softly, his lashes brushing against his flushed cheeks.
JL didn’t move. He didn’t dare.
He simply sat there, holding Juwon gently, eyes tracing the peaceful rise and fall of his chest.
How did I get here? He wondered.
Not out of doubt — but awe.
There was something about the way Juwon slept, so unguarded and close, that made JL’s heart ache in the quietest, sweetest way. He looked down at him — this boy who laughed like sunlight and cried like rain — and felt something click into place in his chest.
He had loved people before, but never like this. Never with this kind of calm certainty.
As if loving Juwon wasn’t something he was doing, but something he had always been meant for.
JL brushed a piece of hair from Juwon’s face, careful not to wake him. Then, with a whisper soft enough to be mistaken for breath, he said,
“You feel like home.”
And for once, he didn’t feel the need to say it louder. Because even if Juwon didn’t hear him now, JL knew — somehow, some part of him already did.
Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, painting the room in quiet gold. JL stirred awake, the warmth beside him grounding him before he even opened his eyes.
Juwon.
He was curled up beside him, still fast asleep, his breaths slow and even, lips slightly parted in that peaceful way only sleep could bring.
JL smiled.
Waking up like this — with Juwon beside him, bathed in morning light — it felt unreal. Like something borrowed from a better life. He could get used to this, he thought. Waking up every day with this pretty view.
He let his eyes roam gently over Juwon’s face, memorizing every soft line, every small detail. Then he saw it again — the beauty mark just beneath Juwon’s eye.
JL’s smile deepened.
He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over it, careful not to wake him. But as he touched it, he felt the faint wetness clinging to Juwon’s lashes.
A tear.
Surprised, JL gently wiped it away and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the crease of Juwon’s furrowed brow, trying to smooth out whatever dream had caused it.
“Jay—” Juwon murmured, voice barely audible.
JL froze.
His hand lingered where it had touched Juwon’s cheek, a soft frown pulling at his lips.
Jay? Was Juwon dreaming of someone else? Or… had he meant to say my name?
JL puffed his cheeks in mock offense, then leaned down and gave Juwon’s nose a gentle pinch.
“You little traitor,” he whispered with a playful pout, “You’ve got some explaining to do when you wake up.”
Still smiling to himself, he quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him. There was something grounding about mornings like this. Something whole.
As JL padded softly into the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of them, he found his heart full — not just with love, but with a strange kind of longing, like he was remembering something he didn’t know he’d forgotten.
And still, he smiled.
JL had just finished setting the breakfast table when he heard a muffled sound from the bedroom, too soft to be speech.
He paused, listening. Then came another — unmistakable this time.
Sobs.
He moved without thinking.
“Why are you crying again?” JL asked gently, standing by the doorway.
Juwon looked up through blurred lashes, his eyes swimming with tears. And the moment he saw JL — really saw him — he rushed into his arms without a word.
JL staggered slightly at the sudden weight, but caught him easily, holding him close. Juwon clung to him like a drowning man to driftwood, burying his wet face against JL’s chest, trembling in his grasp.
It was the same kind of crying JL remembered from the café — but deeper now, heavier. There was something more fragile in it. Something breaking.
JL didn’t ask questions. Didn’t urge him to speak.
He just held him, one hand stroking slowly up and down Juwon’s back, the other gently cradling the back of his head, as if he might fall apart if JL let go.
“Shh... I’m right here,” JL murmured, voice low and steady. Even if he didn’t know why Juwon was crying, he knew that he needed to be still, to be soft.
To be safe. For Juwon.
Eventually, the sobs slowed — tapering into quiet hiccups and uneven breaths. Juwon pulled away just enough to look up at him, his face flushed and wet, his lips trembling with unsaid words.
“JL… can I tell you a story?” he asked, voice fragile and raw.
JL nodded once. No questions. Just a quiet assurance that he was always ready to listen. Always had been.
So Juwon told him — piece by piece, in halting breaths and broken syllables.
About his dreams.
About Won and Jay.
About a love so fierce and bright it defied death — only to end in blood and heartbreak.
He spoke of promises whispered under starlight, of laughter shared between stolen kisses, of a devotion so fierce it defied even death. And he spoke of the end — the betrayal, the sacrifice, the weight of goodbye never spoken aloud.
How it haunted him still.
And all the while, JL listened.
He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t speak.
He only wiped Juwon’s tears with the soft pads of his fingers and held him like he was something sacred. Every word felt oddly familiar — like someone was telling him a story he’d once known but long forgotten.
When the silence finally settled, JL exhaled a soft, breathy laugh.
It wasn’t joy.
It was recognition.
“No wonder I couldn’t take my eyes off you the first time I saw you at the café,” he murmured, his voice thick with something he couldn’t quite name.
The memories didn’t come to him the way they had for Juwon — not clearly. But something inside him stirred with every word Juwon had spoken. And now… every heartbeat felt fuller. More real.
As if Jay, wherever he had gone, had left behind this single message tucked deep in JL’s soul: Love him. Protect him. Never let his tears fall again.
“I thought you were just cute back then,” JL continued softly, smiling through the haze in his chest. “Sneaking glances at me like you weren’t being obvious at all. I had to try so hard not to laugh.”
He reached out and brushed his thumb gently over the beauty mark beneath Juwon’s eye — reverent, like it was something holy. “So we’re meant for each other, huh,” he whispered, half teasing, half wonderstruck.
Juwon huffed, cheeks reddening. “That’s not the point.”
But his voice lacked conviction, and his eyes softened even as he tried to scold him.
JL chuckled, warm and unbothered. He leaned in slightly, close enough to catch Juwon’s breath on his own skin.
“It is for me,” he said quietly. “You stopped crying, didn’t you?”
JL didn’t remember being Jay. He didn’t need to. The past had already been written. This moment — this life — was his to choose now. And if he could help it, Juwon would never have to cry like that again. Not if he could be the one to catch every falling tear.
Juwon tried to pout, but JL only smiled deeper.
Then his expression shifted — the light teasing giving way to something softer, heavier.
“There’s just one thing I regret,” JL said, voice quieter now.
Juwon looked up, eyes steady. “What is it?”
JL reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind Juwon’s ear, his fingers lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of his skin.
“Jay never got to say ‘I love you’ to Won,” he murmured, letting the sentence trail off — unfinished, like it still ached somewhere inside him.
Maybe he didn’t carry Jay’s memories. But he carried his lesson.
Before Juwon could speak, JL leaned in. He kissed the beauty mark beneath his eye — not playfully this time, but with tenderness, reverence.
And in a voice that was all his — soft and sure and present — he whispered, “I love you, Juwon.”
Juwon froze for a heartbeat. Then, slowly, he cupped JL’s face in both hands. His voice trembled, but the truth in it was steady.
“I love you too, JL.”
JL smiled — the kind of smile that came from deep inside the chest, the kind that felt like sunlight after a long storm. He pressed his forehead to Juwon’s, their breaths mingling in the stillness, and for a moment, the past and the present beat as one.
They had lived a hundred lives to find each other again.
And now — finally — they were home.