Chapter Text
Jiwoong
The rain whispered secrets against the windows of the little Onomichi bookstore, and Jiwoong wondered, not for the first time, if the universe had a habit of leaving stories half-finished.
Inside the narrow bookshop, golden lamplight pooled over weathered spines and dust-speckled covers. Jiwoong stood by the window, his fingers tracing the edge of the novel he was reading as he watched the world outside blur into watercolor. The rain painted the glass in delicate streaks, distorting the world just enough to make it feel like a dream.
Then, almost shyly, the sun broke through. Jiwoong exhaled, watching his breath fogging the cool glass for just a moment before fading.
Jiwoong smiled, brushing his dark bangs out from his face and turned to walk between the shelves. He ended up in front of the spot where an empty slot was, slipping the book he had previously read in.
Working in a bookstore in the quiet corners of the city of Onomichi had its perks. The little shop tucked away from the heart of Japan had little attention to tourists.
He walked along the shelves slowly, taking in all the spines and dragging his finger across them. Various books ranged from ancient translated texts into Japanese to modern-day romance tropes. He recalled all the books he had read and the notes left in them.
He paused, his gaze landing on If Cats Disappeared from the World by Genki Kawamura. He still remembered the note he wrote.
‘I think it’s a good thing that life is fleeting. If it lasted forever, I think we would eventually lose our appreciation for it.’
He glanced over to Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi before pulling it out of its place on the shelf to find his notes.
‘Though the past can never be relived, there’s always something comforting about looking ahead. Moving forward, just like the first sip of coffee, feels like a quiet promise that the best is yet to come.’
He slipped the novel back into place before walking to the counter to grab a few books the person last shift hadn’t finished organizing yet.
Just then, the bell above the door chimed softly. Jiwoong didn’t look up at first, just another local seeking shelter from the storm, he thought. But then the air shifted, carrying with it the scent of damp wool and something sharper.
Dark roasted coffee.
His eyes still focused on sorting the books and mentally noting which shelf they should return to. When the footsteps began entering the store, Jiwoong slowly lifted his gaze.
The man had rainwater dripping from the hem of his long black coat onto the worn wooden floorboards. His baseball cap shadowed his eyes, but Jiwoong could make out the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw. He was tall–taller than Jiwoong had realized at first glance–with broad shoulders that filled out his tailored trench coat.
"You’re staring."
The voice was deeper than Jiwoong expected, smooth like aged wine. It sent an unexpected shiver down his spine.
Jiwoong realized with a start that the man was looking directly at him now, one dark eyebrow arched in amusement.
His tongue felt too thick in his mouth and a spur of the moment thought came out: "Only at suspicious customers."
Shit.
The man stared, amused. "Maybe I’ll stop by more often then."
“No- I mean, that’s not what I meant. . .”
Heat flooded Jiwoong's cheeks. He busied himself with his stack of books. When he dared to glance up again, the stranger had moved deeper into the shop, his long fingers trailing along the spines of books with a reverence that bordered on intimate.
Jiwoong found himself watching (more like stalking but that’s too strong of a word right now) at the way the man moved.
There was a quiet confidence to him as his boots made soft sounds against the floorboards.
At one point, the stranger paused before a shelf of photography books, his posture shifting subtly. Jiwoong saw his shoulders tense, then relax as he pulled out a copy of The Decisive Moment by Cartier-Bresson.
"You're a photographer," Jiwoong said before he could stop himself.
The man’s eyes flickered up to meet Jiwoong’s through the gaps in the shelves. "Sometimes." His thumb brushed over the book's cover. "When the subject is worth capturing."
As if sensing Jiwoong's curiosity, the man turned slightly, just enough for the light from the window to catch the silver on his earring.
“How much?” the man asked, holding Bresson’s book in his hands.
“Let me check,” Jiwoong said as the man approached the counter and dropped it on the counter. Jiwoong knew this was no big deal, it was just a stranger purchasing a photography book but something about the stranger made him feel curious.
The stranger lingered by the counter, his fingers tapping idly against the cover of the book. Jiwoong busied himself with the transaction, checking it was a yellow sticker and going to type in the value on the register.
"You work here often?" the man asked, his voice low, breaking the silence.
Jiwoong glanced up, caught off guard by the question. "Often enough.”
The man hummed, tilting his head slightly. His cap still shadowed his eyes, but Jiwoong could see the faint curve of his lips. "Lucky you. Surrounded by books all day."
"Lucky?" Jiwoong echoed, raising an eyebrow. "More like dangerous. My wallet suffers every time a new shipment comes in."
That earned him a quiet chuckle, deep and warm. The sound pleasantly caused yellow butterflies to flutter around in his stomach.
"So, mister sometimes-a-photographer," Jiwoong ventured, nodding toward the book. "What do you do the rest of the time?"
The man shrugged, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. "Travel. Take photos when something catches my eye. Nothing too exciting."
Jiwoong doubted that. There was something deliberate about the way he moved, the way he spoke that made him seem more interesting than what meets the eye. "And what does catch your eye?"
The man’s gaze flicked up, holding Jiwoong’s for a beat too long. "Things that don’t last. Things worth remembering."
Jiwoong blinked. "That’s. . .oddly poetic."
"Just honest." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few notes, sliding them across the counter. "Keep the change."
Jiwoong hesitated before taking the money, slightly perplexed. "You–you don’t even know if there is change.”
The man smirked. "Then consider it a tip for the conversation."
Jiwoong huffed a laugh. "You’re weird."
"And you’re staring again."
Jiwoong’s face warmed. "I’m not–" He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "You’re just. . . hard to read."
The man tilted his head. Isn’t reading your job? Or maybe you’re just not asking the right questions."
Jiwoong leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the counter. "Alright then. What’s your name?"
The man paused, as if weighing whether to answer. Then, after a moment, he said, "Ricky."
"Ricky," Jiwoong repeated. "Not a very Japanese name."
Ricky’s lips quirked. "I get that a lot."
Jiwoong wanted to ask more.
Where are you from?
Why are you here?
Why are you buying a photography book in the middle of the pouring rain?
Before he could, Ricky straightened, tucked the book under his arm and slowly stepped away from the counter towards the door.
"I should go," he said, though he didn’t sound in a hurry.
Jiwoong bit back the urge to ask any more questions. Instead, he smiled and threw a reply before he left. "Well. If you ever need another book that catches your eye, you know where to find me."
Ricky studied him for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, with a small nod, he turned toward the door.
However, just before he stepped out, he glanced back with a soft grin. "I might just take you up on that."
The bell chimed softly as the door closed behind him, leaving Jiwoong standing there, the weight of the encounter lingering in the air.
Outside, the rain had eased into a drizzle, the sun breaking through the clouds in hesitant streaks. Jiwoong exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“Only when it’s worth capturing, huh?” he mumbled, leaning against the wall and staring out the window.
Somehow, Jiwoong had a feeling Ricky would be back.
Ricky
The rain had softened to a mist by the time Ricky stepped onto the bus, the kind that made the world seem like a half-developed photograph. He took a seat near the back, the kind with a view of the entire carriage, and pulled the book from beneath his coat.
The Decisive Moment .
He had heard about great reviews from online and discovered a highly suggested local bookstore from his friend who lived a floor below him.
The cover was well-kept with no stains or tears. He ran his thumb over the title, feeling the embossed letters beneath his skin. The bus shuddered to life, vibrating through the floor as the lights of Onomichi blurred past the fogged-up windows.
Ricky opened the book, expecting to be met with Bresson’s writing but instead found a beige sticky note, tucked between the pages like a secret. The handwriting was neat but hurried:
‘They say a photograph steals a soul, but I think it’s the opposite–
it’s the moment that steals you. You can try to capture it, but really, it’s already captured you.
P.S. The best ones always do~’
Ricky stared at it, his eyebrows quirked up into a bit of surprise.
Then, slowly, he traced the edge of the note with his fingertip. Outside, the bus turned a corner, and the glow of a passing streetlamp washed over the page, illuminating the faintest smudge of ink near the end of the note.
A small, involuntary breath escaped him.
He hadn’t expected that.
The note wasn’t signed, but he knew. He had a suspicion who wrote that. Perhaps it was the same one that had watched him a little too long in the bookstore. The same one who asked him for his name with those dark brown eyes glimmering with curiosity.
The bus slowed to a stop. Ricky closed the book carefully, but not before slipping the note into his coat pocket. He stood up and exited the bus back into the city and towards his apartment where a feeling of hurry kindled in within.
The strong urge to finish the book as soon as possible.