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Hongjoong pushes open the cafe door, smiling as the aroma of coffee and pastries fills the air. He’d woken up early for a change, telling himself he’d have a sugary drink in exchange for the early hour, hoping to get some work done without holing himself up in his home studio. He has a deadline coming up in the next week, and the caffeine will surely help with crunch time.
So he orders a large coffee and a gingerbread cookie, taking a seat at an empty table for two. As per the season, the cafe is decorated with tinsel and fairy lights in red, green, and gold, reflecting off the ornaments tastefully hung in each window. Even the tables have mini tree centerpieces on them, and Hongjoong scoots his own out of the way after digging his laptop out of his bag.
He settles down after retrieving his order, slipping on his headphones and taking a cursory glance around. The cafe is busy this time of day, people bustling in and out in a hurry, but only few have chosen to make a home at a table for an hour or two. It’s one such customer that catches his eye, totally engrossed in a book with a steaming drink at his side.
It’s not the stranger himself that makes Hongjoong pause (he can only see his back, after all), but the sweater he’s wearing. It reminds him so much of the one he’d made for his ex last Christmas, the one he’d lovingly knit out of the highest quality wool he could afford; the one with the—
Hongjoong gasps as the stranger lifts his right hand to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, revealing a unique red heart on the cuff of his sleeve.
What? Is that really...?
He waits with bated breath as the stranger continues reading, because if he could just see the other sleeve, he’d know for certain.
Hongjoong is aware that he’s being a total creep staring a hole into this stranger’s back, but he can’t find it in himself to care when this guy could only be wearing his ex’s knitted sweater for two possible reasons.
The first is that Kwangsun sold or regifted it after the breakup, a thought that makes Hongjoong’s gut simmer unpleasantly with indignation he doesn’t know he has a right to be feeling. While it’s true that it was a gift, and Kwangsun’s to do with as he pleased, it was Hongjoong’s hard work that went into every stitch, and Hongjoong’s love and sleepless nights that went into finishing it.
The second possibility is that the stranger is, in some way, close enough with his ex to raid his closet, which is a whole other can of worms that Hongjoong doesn’t really want to deal with.
But when the stranger puts his book down for a second, turning to rummage through his bag, Hongjoong sees it: the black heart knit onto the cuff of his left sleeve that lends itself to being the final nail in the coffin of Hongjoong’s ex’s sweater.
His laptop had long since gone to sleep in the span of his crisis, and Hongjoong decides that he’s certainly not getting any work done in a situation this bizarre, so he packs up everything but his drink and tries to think of something to say.
Hey, I recognize that sweater! No, too forward.
Do you know who’s sweater that is? Definitely not, it sounds more accusatory than anything.
Hey, I just wanna talk, as bros, as pals— he should probably stop overthinking, and just go say something. So he stands, picking up his bag and his coffee, squaring his shoulders and taking a breath. Whatever happens, happens.
When he reaches the table, Hongjoong taps the stranger lightly on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, your sweater is really cute, where did you get it?” He smiles, faltering when the man looks up in surprise.
He’s gorgeous, all the hard angles of his cheeks, nose, and jaw softened by ruffled silver hair and wide-rimmed glasses, perched in front of beautiful wide doe eyes. And when he smiles back at Hongjoong, a tentative, nervous little one, his heartbeat quickens without permission.
“Ah, this?” The stranger asks somewhat redundantly, thinking of what to say. “I’m not sure,” he says after a beat, sounding regretful. “There’s no tag or anything in it, I’d tell you if I knew,” he says earnestly, and Hongjoong nods understandingly.
There’s an awkward silence for a few beats, the man looking as though he wants to say something more. Hongjoong shifts his weight, wondering if it would be too forward to ask to sit down when the stranger saves him from his worrying.
“Would you like to sit?” He asks hesitantly, peering up at Hongjoong with curious eyes.
He graciously accepts, and extends a hand across the table once he’s situated.
“I’m Hongjoong.”
“Seonghwa,” his new tablemate responds, grasping his hand lightly. Seonghwa. A beautiful name for a beautiful… guy who might be dating his ex, get it together Hongjoong!
Seonghwa sticks a bookmark in his current page and closes his book, seeming intent on giving Hongjoong his full attention. He bites his lip, eyeing the pride pins on Hongjoong’s bag, before speaking again.
“Just between you and me,” Seonghwa says conspiratorially, leaning in toward Hongjoong, “I stole this sweater from my ex.”
Hongjoong laughs, just this side of too sharp and too loud for the cafe atmosphere, but Seonghwa seems pleased.
His ex! Wonderful, it seems they have a mutual enemy. He didn’t split on the best terms with Kwangsun, and he’s willing to bet that Seonghwa didn’t either.
“He always said he hated this ugly thing,” Seonghwa tells him sadly, and humiliation flashes, sharp as a knife, through Hongjoong’s gut. “But I like it… it’s not ugly, it’s cute; the quality is really nice, and even though it’s a little big, I think it suits me,” he finishes proudly, and just like that, his anger fades to give way to a bubbling fondness.
“It does suit you,” Hongjoong agrees breathlessly, and it isn’t until the words are out of his mouth that he realizes how true they are. But suit him as it may, there are still traces of Kwangsun all over it, from the larger sizing to the black heart knit onto the cuff, made to represent his ex with his favorite color.
“I’m sensing a ‘but,’ there, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says playfully, already picking up on his mannerisms in the way he speaks much better than his ex ever did.
“No, well, it’s just,” Hongjoong trails off, unsure how to breach the topic that they have an ex in common, and that he’s wearing Hongjoong’s lovingly knit sweater.
“Does your ex’s name,” he begins, hoping Seonghwa won’t take this badly. “Happen to be Kwangsun?”
To his dismay, Seonghwa frowns, leaning back to put more distance between them.
“Yeah, how did you know?” He asks warily, all traces of humor gone from his face. Hongjoong’s heart pangs in sympathy, knowing exactly why Seonghwa might be cautious of someone who hangs around his (their?) ex.
“Since there’s no other way to put this, the reason I guessed is because I am also,” he mumbles, “Kwangsun’s ex.”
Seonghwa’s eyes widen, looking a little less guarded now, but sort of like he’s having a hard time believing Hongjoong. Which, fair.
“And uh, I knit that sweater for him,” he finishes on a nervous laugh, feeling an involuntary flush spread across his face. Seonghwa’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead, looking down at the sweater as if it held all the answers.
“But earlier, you asked…” he trails off, frowning.
“I wanted an excuse to talk to you,” Hongjoong admits. “How often do you see your own labor of love in public, on an ex of your ex, no less?”
Seonghwa flushes a pretty pink at that, tugging at his sleeve.
“You knit this? Really?” He asks, face caught somewhere between disbelief, bashfulness, and unbridled awe.
“Do you see the red heart on your sleeve?” Hongjoong asks, nodding toward it. When Seonghwa brings the cuff of his sleeve closer to his face, he continues. “The stitching is a little awkward around one of the edges, isn’t it? I miscounted a stitch or two on it,” he admits into his drink.
Seonghwa gives an awed confirmation, lightly running a finger over the wonky stitches.
“Well now I feel a little weird wearing it, to be honest,” he laughs, “I don’t deserve to be wearing your love, we’ve only just met,” he jokes, and Hongjoong chomps down on his cheek before he says something stupid like “then, by all means, take it off”.
“No, don’t worry about it,” Hongjoong flushes, barely avoiding stumbling over the words. “Like you said, it suits you, and...” he says, hesitating on his next statement. “It’s a relief to know the sweater went to someone a little kinder, in the end.”
Seonghwa lets his admission hang in the space between them for so long that Hongjoong fears he’d offended him somehow, but when he finally meets Seonghwa’s eyes again, he panics for an entirely different reason.
Seonghwa’s lip is wobbling, earnest eyes shining with unshed tears before he shuts his eyes tightly and lets them fall.
“This is so embarrassing,” he laughs through the tears, removing his glasses to press his sweater paws into his eyes. “It’s just that— I’m sure you already know— with Kwangsun, he— he didn’t make me feel like a very good person.” Seonghwa barely gets the words out through his stuttering breaths, voice thick with emotion. Hongjoong’s heart breaks, because he does know; Kwangsun had a habit of blaming and pointing fingers, of lying and dodging and playing the victim.
And neither of them deserved that. Hongjoong has had a while to rebuild himself after the relationship, to spend time with his friends and reinforce himself, growing more confident as time passed. But it seems Seonghwa hasn’t been awarded the time apart yet, and it makes Hongjoong want to wrap around him like a shield. He’s not usually one to offer affection or comfort with skinship, but something about Seonghwa makes him want to make an exception.
Hongjoong places a hand palm up on the table.
“Yeah, I do know,” he mutters, watching as Seonghwa aggressively swipes at his eyes. “I’m glad you left his sorry ass,” he says, smiling a little when Seonghwa gives a watery laugh. He seems to notice Hongjoong’s hand on the table, then, and slides his own into it, the sweater’s red heart over their linked hands.
“He’s the one that dumped my sorry ass,” Seonghwa says with a little self-deprecating chuckle, drying the last of his tears. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”
“Don’t you apologize, Seonghwa,” he bursts, pouring every inch of conviction he can manage into his voice. “You’re too good for someone like him, and if he’s the same asshole I knew from a year ago, he doesn’t deserve your tears.”
“Your words are very reassuring, but you don’t even know me,” he sniffles, the barest hint of mirth in his voice.
“Yes, and even I can see that you’re better off without him. We both are,” Hongjoong tells him with a confident smile. Seonghwa returns it bashfully. “And thank you for taking my sweater with you.”
Seonghwa well and truly beams at that, a broad smile that looks somewhat pained taking up residence on his face. Hongjoong’s heart balloons in his chest. Even his teeth are pretty.
“It’s the least I could do,” Seonghwa tells him, as if he’d actually stolen it with intention, and they burst into giggles.
“Well, I can’t say I expected my peaceful Saturday to go this way,” Seonghwa says after a long pause, residual sniffles tapering off.
“Me neither,” Hongjoong laughs, squeezing Seonghwa’s hand a final time before they both let go.
“Sorry again for crying like that, too, I— I know I’m a crybaby,” Seonghwa tells him, fanning his face sheepishly.
“There’s nothing wrong with that, no matter how much he probably tried to make you believe otherwise,” Hongjoong insists.
Seonghwa sniffs, tearing up again.
“I’m sorry! Sorry,” he laughs, bright smile looking so at home on his face despite the new tears burning their way down his cheeks.
Hongjoong returns with a smile of his own. “Take your time,” he assures, dangerously endeared by this sweet man. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
After Seonghwa chokes out a confirmation, Hongjoong goes back up to the counter to order them a few more things while Seonghwa collects himself. This morning has been unexpected, strange… but not bad. Seonghwa is such a genuine person, kind and easy to talk to, and though he didn’t necessarily need the reminder of his ex today, he got something much better out of it in return.
“Here.” Hongjoong sets down a plate of lemon tarts, one of coffee cake, and a steaming black tea.
Seonghwa looks across at him with those wide doe eyes of his, and is silent for so long that Hongjoong thinks he’s about to tell him he can’t stand sweets.
“For me?” He finally asks like he really can’t believe it, and,
“For us,” Hongjoong returns, smiling hopefully.
“Thank you, I… thank you.” Seonghwa’s eyes are sparkling so beautifully with the reflection of the cafe Christmas lights, and he’s looking at Hongjoong like he’s the only thing that matters. It’s a lot for his fragile heart, and Hongjoong’s eyes dart down to his coffee.
He looks up again when Seonghwa picks up a lemon tart, and smiles, pleased.
“So, Seonghwa, what do you do?”
Seonghwa raises his eyebrows, chewing, and Hongjoong giggles. “I’ll wait, sorry.”
“I’m a teacher,” he says once he’s put the tart back down. “I teach young kids through elementary school.”
Hongjoong smiles. “It suits you,” he says. “I bet you’re really good with kids.” It slips out, and he bites his tongue to keep more compliments from spilling forth.
But Seonghwa only smiles bashfully. “I really love them. It’s a privilege to be a part of their formative years, you know…” He opens his mouth to speak again, closes it. Hongjoong doesn’t press.
“It sounds like they’re lucky to have you,” he offers instead, and means it.
“Oh, but enough about me,” Seonghwa starts, face dusted a light pink. “What do you do, Hongjoong?”
Hongjoong smiles, the atmosphere easy and calm, and speaks.
~~~~~
Three Years Later
Hongjoong wakes slowly, warm and comfortable, burying his nose into his pillow. He hears a low chuckle from just beside him, and he smiles in turn, because it sounds like home.
“Goodmorning, sleepyhead,” Seonghwa murmurs, voice scratchy with sleep, and Hongjoong blindly scoots toward him until there isn’t an inch of space between them, his nose pressed into Seonghwa’s shoulder. He sighs happily.
Before he can drift back off to sleep, there are warm lips on his forehead, chapped from the cold weather they’ve been having recently, pressing gently before pulling away.
“We have to get up, love,” he coos, likely loving Hongjoong in his current pliant state. It’s the only time he’ll let Seonghwa dote on him however he likes, when he’s too tired to care.
“F’vmfrmhnm,” Hongjoong bargains, throwing an arm around Seonghwa’s middle.
Then there’s a soft hand coaxing his chin up, those lips he loves so much pressing into his own, and Hongjoong is so happy he’s delirious with it, emotion bubbling and swirling and bursting, far too big for his body.
“Love you,” he mumbles when he gets his lips working, cracking his eyes open to Seonghwa’s smiling face, his messy bedhead, his sleep shirt askew from shifting around.
“I love you too,” Seonghwa whispers. “So much.”
They laze around in bed for a few more minutes, trading sleepy kisses until Seonghwa eventually bribes Hongjoong with breakfast, and up they go, shivering until the warmth of the heater kicks in.
“Babe!” Seonghwa calls from the kitchen, the delicious aroma of egg and green onion filling their apartment. “Will you grab me a sweater? I’m still cold,” and Hongjoong hears the pout in his voice, knows that Seonghwa tends to run a little cold, so he calls an affirmative and heads back to their room.
He shifts through the heavy winter coats, pausing on one of his own. He slides his fingers across the front of it and down, until they land on a small velvet box tucked safely in the inside pocket. He grips it for a second, then lets it go.
Someday.
They’re not ready right now, but someday.
He continues through the few blazers and suit jackets they have, starting his search through cozy sweaters and cardigans (most of which are Seonghwa’s). His eyes land on one, and he smiles.
“Seonggie!” he sings, padding out into the kitchen.
Seonghwa’s eyes meet his for a brief, warm second, then flit down to the sweater he’s holding.
“Oh, you sap,” he teases, opening his arms to receive Hongjoong and a kiss on the cheek.
Hongjoong will never tire of seeing Seonghwa in this sweater, because it reminds him of just how far they’ve come. His eyes catch on the pink heart stitched into the left cuff when Seonghwa lifts his hand, remembering the year he had painstakingly removed every stitch of the black heart and carefully replaced them with pink. It was worth it to see the way Seonghwa lit up at the realization that it’s theirs, and for the way he treasures it so fondly, even more than he did before.
(“Are you sure you like it? I was worried it might come off as slapping a new bow on an old gift, or—”
“Yes, Hongjoong, I love it. I loved it before, because it was soft and cozy, and more when I found out it was made by your hands, and even more now that it’s made of our love.”)
And standing in their kitchen, resting his temple on Seonghwa’s warm shoulder, listening passively as his love hums a sweet tune, he doesn’t want for anything else.