Chapter Text
When Vincenzo first left Seoul, he was Park Joo Hyeong.
Park, for a father he had never met, and Joo Hyeong, for a mother who had abandoned him.
The wind blew him in whichever direction it chose, and he followed, for purpose sake.
Despite purpose being a thing he did not have, there were many times in his short life that he thought he had come close.
The first, was when he met Hong Cha Young. She was bright, exuberant, like a crashing wave: uncontrollable, and unpredictable.
At the time, he found that he liked that. It brought some shrouding of mystery, and spontaneity to his otherwise boring life. They meshed like complimentary colours, their daily lives melding together into something beautifully monotonous.
They clashed all the same.
She gave him his first heartbreak, and a lingering, sour taste on his tongue.
The second, was when he met Jang Han Seok. A student returning from the American exchange, who was in the same boat as him, but treading far different waters. Far more dangerous waters.
Han Seok was charming, and manipulative. They became fast friends, and even faster enemies.
Eventually, they settled into something in between, and Joo Hyeong was left with a violent itch at the back of his throat.
He was seventeen when Fabio Cassano made a tour around Korea, and the rage simmering beneath his skin caught the man’s eye. He brought him to Italy, where he would either sink, or swim.
When he survived the night, of knives thrown and blood on every surface, Fabio named him Vincenzo.
Vincenzo, found purpose in survival. Vincenzo, found a family in the Italian countryside. Park Joo Hyeong fizzled out.
But there was a niggling, ache in his chest. At the sight of hands holding another, gentle presses of lips, tiny feet followed by larger ones, his tongue turned sour, and he wondered, where did he belong?
As he walked the stage to grab his diploma, Fabio’s hand ruffling his hair, he found an inkling, but bitterness took root in his newfound happiness.
Just a small crack, was enough for him to wonder.
Where was he now?
Staring listlessly into a dwindling flame, wax dripped in less than vibrant colours into the melting remains of vanilla icing.
Beaten, whipped into shape, and stained red; the resemblance was uncanny.
Vincenzo cracked a smile. The years blended together into something different now, though the tenth seemed hard pressed to pass by in peace. Nostalgia dug its stubborn claws in the forefront of his mind, and he found himself looking through a tiny box.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had searched for it. Sometime half a decade ago, when he thought he could find his mother.
She wound up dead, and he shoved the thing in the back of his closet to collect dust.
He sipped his wine. The seven had melted into an ‘A’. Vincenzo plucked the candles off the cake, uncaring of the heat stripping his fingers.
If he didn’t snuff them out he would burn every picture in the box. Grind them into ash and toss them in the sea, in hopes he could pretend Park Joo Hyeong never existed.
If he ever really did.
The box was small. A tiny wooden thing worn around the edges; he’d packed his life into it the evening Fabio came for him.
Vincenzo sifted through it with one hand, glass held in the other.
A stack of photos, an old camera and some film. An errant piece of gum, one mitten and an old cellphone.
“What a dinosaur.” He chuckled, flipping the screen up and down.
He remembered when it was brand new. Not that it had been brand new when he chucked it into that box.
His face reflected back at him in the tiny screen. His eyes were treacherously morose, and longing.
Briefly, Vincenzo wondered if he could charge it. In the drunken haze of his mind he plugged it in without a second thought, his sunken eyes disappearing in a flash of white.
The flash only drew attention to the shiny contours of their smiling faces, dented by the pressure of his thumb. The picture lay scattered on the table with the others.
The wait, between the device intermittently flashing white, and going blank again almost had Vincenzo throwing the thing back in the box and locking it away.
It was said that some things were better left buried- he’d spent the past ten years doing just that.
Burying. He wasn’t quite sure why he was digging it up again. This was torture of a new kind.
Vincenzo was a quarter way through his second bottle of wine, by the time the device roared to life. Half asleep, lain over the tufted arm of his chair, he was startled to attention by the incessant pinging.
One after another- his fingers grasped for it hesitantly, squinting at the harsh light, his inbox multiplied.
Vincenzo’s brows furrowed. He waited until it slowed to a stop, and the last ping came in before he opened it.
Hey, Joo Hyeong, where are you? It’s been a couple of days, and the other kids are worried. Msg me back when you get the chance,
Cho.
Sent October 25th, 2012, 4:13 p.m.
So you got picked up, huh? Thanks for the goodbye you fucking asshole. Nevermind about that message, I don’t want to hear it.
Hope you have fun with your new rich family.
Go fuck yourself,
Cho.
Sent November 2nd, 2012, 12:02 a.m.
Light beamed up at the ceiling. The phone laid some steps away, just beyond his feet, scuffed up but not broken. Vincenzo curled in on himself.
He had expected that. His exit wasn’t the most graceful, or kind. He’d picked up in the middle of the night, like the coward he’d always been.
Cho was always outspoken, perhaps from the teenage bravity, or the fearlessness of a young man protecting his siblings. Whatever it was, he was never afraid of overstepping.
Vincenzo had hurt them, he admitted to himself.
He crawled drunkenly on the floor, to reach out again, and hoped that the solitude of his quiet room would make his yearning less shameful.
His finger shook, as he tapped the next one.
Mi-ri was adopted yesterday.
Sent February 16th, 2013, 6:12 p.m.
Mr. Tak is sick again. It’s starting to scare the crap out of me.
On a good note, Youngho just learned the alphabet. His numbers are shit though.
Sent January 30th, 2014, 1:10 p.m.
Mi-ri is back. She’s not talking. I’m not good at this shit, Joo Hyeong.
Sent June 6th, 2015, 3:46 p.m.
Hey Joo Hyeong, we moved out. I’ve been there for way too long anyway, and Ahn finally turned 19. We got our own place, next to the laundromat. Hee Soo wanted us to stay close.
You could always answer me, you know.
Sent July 14th, 2016, 2:45 p.m.
I didn’t mean what I said about not messaging me.
Sent April 5th, 2017, 2:06 a.m.
I got a better job. We bought a house- these kids are getting way too big. You could always visit if you want.
Sent April 5th, 2018, 3:00 p.m.
Hee Soo finally told me you moved to ITALY, the old bat. No fucking wonder you haven’t been answering. I wouldn’t either.
Hope you’re alive and well, my friend.
Sent March 10th, 2019, 4:02 p.m.
Hey, Joo Hyeong.
This may seem sudden, but there’s a reunion happening-
A reunion, Vincenzo exhaled shakily. His eyes shifted to the highlighted ‘sent ’ tag below the message, October 19th, 2022.
That was yesterday.
His thumbs moved on their own accord, though they paused after every letter.
I’ll be there, if you have a place for me to stay.
He flopped back against the cushions, throwing an arm over his eyes.
Read 10:26 p.m.
—-
The air was sweet, if air ever could be sweet, with the scent of both his joy, and anticipation.
Vincenzo had told his family he would be gone for three weeks, a month at most, and their tears, as sadistic as it may sound, made his heart grow fonder.
His bags were packed the same night, and the next morning he was sent on a flight to Seoul.
Fabio patted him on the back, with a smile that said he knew he would return, and then Vincenzo was gone.
Korea was hot in the summer months, though not as hot as Tuscany, and never as hot as Rome. Years in the countryside made his nose wrinkle when he met the smog in the air, darkening the sky in clouds.
He hadn’t had the opportunity to pick up his bag from the luggage claim before he was tackled into a hug.
“Joo Hyeong!”
His bag rolled off somewhere down the line. He hugged him back, despite the thudding in his heart for a name he hadn’t used in a decade.
“Vincenzo.” He corrected, calmly, fondly, before breaking into a grin.
Cho was taller now. Different from the lanky kid that stood just under his ear.
He tweaked the glasses perched on his nose, “So you finally admitted that you’re blind, huh?”
His old friend scoffed, “I’m an old man now, Joo-“ he paused, lip tilting upwards, “ Vincenzo.”
The thudding rolled to a stop at the easy atmosphere. The two chatted between the airport and the car, cutting through the park in front of Cho’s home and the entryway of his three bedroom house.
Cho accepted his name easily, throwing it into conversation casually as if a Park Joo Hyeong had never existed.
“So, does Vincenzo have a last name?” He had smirked, “Or is it a mononym?”
His bags went in a small bedroom, just off the hallway, with a big window and a desk facing the old corner store down the street.
“Cassano.” He’d answered breezily.
His bags were left abandoned, in some corner of the room by the time they were set against the floor.
Cho had dragged him into the living room before the dust could settle, plopping them both down against the couch.
Vincenzo wheezed at the creaking in his knees, and Cho snickered.
The younger man smiled, slapping his leg in succession. The move brought his glasses down his nose, almost tipping off his face in his excitement.
“So?“ He questioned, gesturing around him, “How do you like the place?”
“It’s nice.” Vincenzo laughed, batting away the aggressive hands, “Definitely nicer than the room we had back at Geumga.”
Cho tipped his head back, a fond chuckle leaving him in a wheeze,“Hee Soo tried, but a dump is a dump.”
The late afternoon strolled in with orange rays cast on white walls. As the night grew cooler, Cho stood abruptly in the middle of their conversation.
Vincenzo watched him from his seat in the couch, as his friend stared emptily at the kitchen.
“You’re probably hungry, huh?” Cho blinked.
Vincenzo puffed out a laugh, “Maybe.”
The younger man clapped his hands, rubbing the two together as he paced between the two rooms. Distantly, Vincenzo heard the fridge open and close, and a soft curse.
Cho crossed the threshold easily, mumbling to himself before catching Vincenzo’s curious gaze in surprise- as if he’d forgotten the man was sitting right there.
Vincenzo held back another laugh. His old friend was just as scattered as he remembered.
“I have to go grocery shopping, I completely forgot- oh,” Cho frowned, “Traditional is fine, right?”
The younger man waved his hand, nodding to himself before he was off somewhere again. Passing by Vincenzo with a soft mumble, he probably missed it.
He did miss it, Vincenzo thought reluctantly, silently craved for it on birthdays and quiet evenings in the dead of the summer.
Cho left soon after, calling back to make himself at home, before the door slammed deftly behind him.
The air seemed to still, now that Vincenzo was alone.
It was a nice place, he nodded to himself. The walls were littered with photos, pictures of Cho, some familiar, others he’d never met, and the other Geumga children.
He watched them grow taller, as Hee Soo grew shorter, and Mr. Tak disappeared entirely.
There were some pictures of Cho, and a woman with a kind face, and a gummy smile.
They suited each other, Vincenzo thought, despite the ache in his chest.
The mood takes him outside. Feet walking surely down the narrow path, farther until the house was a dot behind him.
Vincenzo was no stranger to these streets. They wound around him, familiar, but new as he passed by the liquor store, his old elementary school, the arcade. The movie theatre was still there, though he didn’t recognize it.
But his eyes lingered on a space. He wondered briefly if he missed it with the darkness brought by the sinking sun. He recounted the steps, numbering the roofs above him; he missed nothing.
Vincenzo frowned, and diverted from his path. There, tucked between the old arcade, and the laundromat, was something new, where Hee Soo’s snack shop should have been.
He supposed he wasn’t the only one who had picked up and left.
Morbidly curious, he grasped the door handle, pulling it open to step into a light breeze. The summer heat cooled on his skin, as the humming of a single fan dragged his eyes across the store.
It was cozy, and tasteful, the least it could have been to replace Hee Soo of all people.
There were a few tables, scattered across the room, yet close enough he was sure his shoulders could touch the person beside him- if there was one.
Bookshelves lined the walls, casting long shadows over the floor, as the sun clung to every groove and book edge her fingers could reach.
The bell jingled just above as the door shut behind him. The smell of ground coffee beans enclosed around him.
In the back of the room, there was a muted yelp, surely much louder than it sounded from where he stood, and a bang followed suit.
Vincenzo was almost tempted to ask if they were alright, before he heard gentle laughter, and a voice called out, “Give me one second please!”
It was a solid baritone, almost musical. A jaunty whistle carried over the small corridor, growing louder and more cheerful as the footsteps neared.
The first thing Vincenzo’s sees is a pale green apron, tied loosely around a thin waist. He couldn’t help but think the man was a shock to his system.
Eyes like warm cocoa, partially hidden behind a round pair of glasses. Occasionally, they would disappear in a flash white as the light shifted, and then fade back into focus again.
His hair was dark brown, like espresso, perhaps smeltered in by the ground coffee sticking to the collar of his shirt.
The man smiled, gummy, and gestured towards the front of the store, “Sorry, about that. I can help you at the counter.”
Vincenzo bit his tongue, falling some steps behind him.
Vaguely, he registered the man asking for his order. At his silence, the air was filled without hesitation, pointing at the first option on the menu, and launching into a lengthy description.
Hee Soo was gone. Clearly it was long enough that the dust had settled between the cracks in old books, and a shelf just a bit too high for the young man in front of him to reach. There was no hint of the snack shop he spent his days in after school.
No rickety cart, to squeak across the tiled floors- tiles that had been replaced with a deep wood. No kids, far too loud to attract any more business.
None, except for the one in front of him. He was still full throttle, explaining the differences between a latte and a cappuccino-, he wouldn’t have known that Vincenzo had just come from Italy, but his pronunciation nearly made him crack a smile.
Despite how foreign it seemed, the space was enough to uncoil the knots in his shoulders.
“How long…” The young man startled at his voice. Vincenzo pursed his lips, “Where is Hee Soo’s snack shop?”
The young man blinked, “You haven’t been here in a long time, have you?”
Vincenzo bristled, and the other man puffed out a laugh. He moved to settle behind the counter. It was only then that Vincenzo noticed how the man moved. It was natural, casually gliding across the space with familiarity.
“Han Seo.” The man jutted his hand out, leaning against the open counter.
Vincenzo took it, shaking it loosely. Han Seo smiled.
“Hee Soo retired 5 years ago, after her husband passed away.” The younger’s lips pursed, “Her son is only in elementary school, so she wanted to spend more time with him.”
Vincenzo nodded, the news of Mr. Tak’s death sitting heavily in his stomach.
“She rents the place out to me, but she still sells snacks here on Tuesdays.” Han Seo said, his smile lifting slightly, almost encouraging.
The silence settled between them again, not uncomfortably before Vincenzo flung a finger out in a random direction. His eyes landed on some obscure drink he wasn’t sure he’d even read, before ordering.
A café affogato, it turned out. Too sweet, initially, it left a bitter taste on the back of his tongue when the bell jingled behind him.
But sweet brown butter, cinnamon and the dense summer air left the warmth to bloom in his chest. Vincenzo spent the entire walk home thinking about a slight brush of worn fingers against his own.
—-
His own blood pounding in his ears woke him before the sun had the chance to rise.
Vincenzo ran a hand down the length of his face, weary eyes blinking at the sun only just thinking of peeking over the horizon.
Despite the darkened hour, he heard the quiet markings of life, in sock covered feet shuffling down the hall and slippers scoffing kitchen tile.
The footsteps calmed his racing heart, though his eyes still darted to every corner, and he resisted the urge to lay his hand flat against his unassuming thigh.
This is not Italy. He reminded himself, the air still pushing harshly through his nose in measured exhales.
This is not Italy.
The voice grew louder as he padded down the stairs. He heard quiet giggles, muffled as if they were buried in fabric. Vincenzo rounded the corner to a see one, instead of two.
The new face, Seo-ri (like Han Seo his brain supplied uselessly), he remembered, turned to face him with a jubilant smile.
It should have been illegal to look so bright before the sun was up, though Vincenzo was no late riser himself.
She shooed him off to sit at the kitchen table, wordless but insistent before they went back to the comfortable silence, only interrupted by a wooden spatula against the pan. Vincenzo folded himself against the small kitchen table.
A smile escaped him. It was hard to believe Cho, his brusque and angry younger brother had gone and found himself a girlfriend.
A wife, Vincenzo thought to himself, thinking back to the box squeezed gently between Cho’s nervous hands, she was soon to be a wife if fate would chance it.
Checkered place mats, three, laid out in front of him- Cho. A small flower in a vase, with a teddy bear shaped coffee mixer supporting it- Seo-ri. A pair of glasses were left abandoned on the table, the two lenses were held together by a thin cord of blue patterned tape.
The house was littered with evidence of the two of them, separated, mixed, or influenced by the other.
Vincenzo couldn’t tell if this feeling was happiness, bitter loneliness, or maybe even both.
“Did you sleep alright?” Seo-ri’s voice tinkled like bells, alongside the scraping of her chair as she plopped down in front of him.
He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even realized she set food on the table until she was pushing a pair of chopsticks towards him.
Vincenzo nodded, muttering a raspy hum before they both dug in.
“Cho is in the bathroom.” She spoke up again, “He has to drop something off at work for 7:00 a.m.”
The man raised a brow, “At the shop?”
Seo-ri laughed quietly. Vincenzo felt like he was left out of some city wide inside joke.
“He’s in real estate.” She supplied, “Works with this big lawyer to protect low income housing.”
Pride swelled in his chest at how far his brother had gone. If someone had to pick up arms to protect their town, it would be Cho.
His smile must have shown, because Seo-ri smiled too and then their content chewing filled the silence.
Cho came down for breakfast in a whirlwind that was a bit more familiar. He was in the kitchen, pressing a kiss to Seo-ri’s forehead (and his too, though it earned him a nasty glare) and out the door before they’d even had the chance to wish him goodbye.
The only two witnesses dissolved into laughter, all too fond, as the comfort grew between them.
True to his word, when Cho returns in the late morning, Vincenzo is still cradling the coffee in his hands.
His friend raced upstairs, nearling bowling his girlfriend over in his haste to press another kiss to her forehead.
Seo-ri called after him, berating him for skipping steps. Then she was up again, cleaning up their plates - no matter his insistence, and Vincenzo sat comfortably in his chair.
“So, what are your plans, now that you’re here?” She exclaimed, bubbles clinging to the edge of her sleeve, “Any grand ideas?”
Vincenzo hummed. The coffee still warming his palm, he watched the creamer disappear in swirls.
“I came here for a high school reunion.” He said.
His potential musings were interrupted by a loud groan, as the younger woman turned with a grimace on her face.
“I hate those, don't you?”
Vincenzo puffed out a laugh, “I’m not exactly thrilled.” He admitted.
“I hope you’re not talking about my hosting, Cassano.”
Cho slid between Seo-ri and the sink, as if gravity was pulling them together. He leaned in close, their noses nearly brushing as he whispered something too low for his friend to hear.
Vincenzo sipped his coffee. It was bitter.
—-
If there was one thing he always hated, it was the smell of melting asphalt.
The familiar pull of his shoes sticking to the ground under the unrelenting sun.
Centre town was busy, as it always was, though not nearly as bustling as the urban streets of Seoul, or the shopping districts in Milan.
Vincenzo hadn’t missed either one.
“Hee Soo’s snack shop closed down.” He mentioned casually.
Their feet digging into the softened sidewalk concrete was the only sound for a moment, before he heard a low snort.
Cho turned his head, trekking along just ahead of him, “You really haven’t been here in a long time, huh?”
Vincenzo stripped his teeth, and Cho laughed in earnest this time.
“It’s been 5 years.” The younger man sighed, slowing his step until they were walking side by side. “It’s sad, but Han Seo does a really good job of looking after the place.”
He did, from what Vincenzo had seen. The atmosphere was different, it had to be, but the chill that clung stubbornly to his chest seemed to thaw in its presence regardless.
“It is Tuesday, actually.” Cho mumbled, sparing a glance at his watch, before looking at him expectantly. “Do you want to go?”
It was a useless question, Cho was already leading him in that direction anyway.
Vincenzo’s sides were damp by the end of their journey, and he welcomed the cool blast of air that followed the tinkling bells.
That is, until a solid body nearly knocks him off his feet. His arms were closing around it before his thoughts could catch up, the familiar scent of mulberry perfume too much a comfort to forget.
“Joo Hyeong!” Hee Soo exclaimed, her palms cradling his cheeks. “It’s been too long, Hyeong-ah.”
His heart thudded emptily at the name, and Cho approached from their side. His friend pursed his lips, “How come I don’t get this treatment, but Vincenzo does?”
His name evoked a pause, but Hee Soo was speedy in her snapping back, “Because you haven’t been gone for ten years. Vincenzo has a decade of coddling to catch up on.”
She looked at him as if he’d never left, though Vincenzo knew as well as anyone that he looked nothing like the boy who had left ten years ago.
“Ah-, Han Seo! Have you met Vincenzo?”
The owner padded out front, books snug under his arm. Warm chocolate brown settled over him, and a smile followed suit.
“I have.” He replied, directing a knowing glance his way, “Coffee?”
Vincenzo nodded, and Han Seo left the book piled neatly on an empty stool to sweep behind the counter.
Cho scoffed, throwing himself back into one of the chairs just in front of it. His chin filled his palm.
“Again, where was this treatment for me?”
Han Seo spared him an amused glance, his chuckle drowned out by the loud buzz of the espresso machine. The smell of heated milk filled the small space.
“Han Seo-yah,” Hee Soo called, her voice a few degrees warmer, “make Cho a coffee, would you?”
The man smiled, pointing towards a lone paper cup on the countertop, “I saw him coming up the street. Wasn’t sure if he was going to stick around.”
Vincenzo stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the room as Cho bounced over, ruffling the younger man’s hair halfway over the machine.
Han Seo sputtered, ducking away from the touch, only for Cho to come around the counter to continue his affectionate attack.
“He’s such a good kid.” Hee Soo sighed wistfully. “If only you boys were cut from the same tree”
She patted him on the back, shoving him forward to start walking just as the coffee machine rumbled to a stop.
Han Seo looked up, wrenching himself from Cho again, to place his cup delicately in front of him. It was noticeably less portable.
The corner of his lips quirked upwards. Vincenzo reached for his wallet, and Han Seo waved a hand.
“I make too much here to take money from an old friend of Cho’s. ” The younger man slid the cup towards him, “It’s on the house.”
Vincenzo chuckled, making a show of taking a long drawn sip of his drink. The laughter that followed warmed him from his chest to his palms, and he attempted to cling to it.
The coffee ebbed a distant anxiety, growing larger in his periphery, as he desperately tried to pay it no mind.
He hoped a familiar smile would feel the same way.