Chapter Text
The bell above the door rang with a tired little jingle, the kind that sounded like it had lived too many winters.
Jung Sungchan didn't look up.
He was sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor behind the counter, surrounded by stacks of books that needed to be sorted. The place smelled like old paper, rain-soaked coats, and the faintest trace of vanilla from the candle Anton insisted on lighting every morning. Outside, Seoul moved at its usual restless pace—cars, neon lights, chatter, delivery bikes slicing through traffic—but inside the bookstore, time had slowed to something softer, quieter.
Sungchan pressed a yellow post-it onto the inside cover of a novel and scribbled in neat handwriting:
"3,000 won. Good condition."
He stuck it on the shelf with the others, his movements careful, almost ritualistic.
Two years.
Two years since the last time he'd spoken out loud.
Two years since the hospital room, the smell of disinfectant, the rhythmic beep of machines, and his father's tired smile.
Take care of the shop, Chan-ah.
That had been the last thing he'd heard.
Since then, words felt... wrong. Heavy. Like they didn't belong in his mouth anymore.
So he stopped using them.
Instead, the bookstore spoke for him. The squeak of the old floorboards. The gentle rustle of turning pages. The small notes he left everywhere—on books, on the counter, on the fridge in the back room.
Anton had learned to read his expressions like a second language.
"Hyung," Anton's voice called from the back. "Did we run out of instant ramen again?"
Sungchan reached for a pink post-it, wrote quickly, and slid it across the counter toward the back room.
"You ate the last one at 2 a.m."
A second later, Anton peeked out, holding the note, looking deeply offended.
"I was emotionally hungry."
Sungchan raised an eyebrow.
Anton sighed. "Fine. I'll go buy more. Try not to sell the store while I'm gone."
Sungchan rolled his eyes and waved him off.
The door opened again, the bell jingling.
This time, Sungchan did look up.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
Because the person standing in the doorway did not look like someone who belonged in this quiet, dusty bookstore.
He looked like trouble.
The boy was wearing a black cap pulled low over his eyes, a loose hoodie, ripped jeans, and expensive sneakers that probably cost more than the store's monthly electricity bill. A faint cloud of sweet vapor followed him in as he slipped a sleek vape back into his pocket.
He looked around like he'd walked into the wrong universe.
"Uh," he said, voice soft but a little unsure. "Is this place... open?"
Sungchan blinked.
Then he grabbed a blue post-it, scribbled quickly, and held it up.
"Yes."
The boy frowned slightly.
"Oh," he said. "You... don't talk?"
Sungchan simply shook his head.
The boy looked embarrassed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to— I mean, it's none of my business."
Sungchan shrugged. He was used to that reaction. Pity, awkwardness, curiosity.
But this boy didn't look pitying.
He looked... interested.
He stepped further inside, eyes scanning the shelves. "Wow. This place is like... a secret level in a video game."
Sungchan tilted his head.
The boy smiled, sheepish. "You know. The kind you only find if you take a weird turn down an alley and suddenly you're in a place that feels like it doesn't exist anywhere else."
Sungchan hesitated, then wrote another note.
"Not many people come here."
The boy read it and nodded. "That's probably why it's nice."
He wandered between the shelves, fingers trailing across book spines. He stopped in front of a small section labeled Poetry and pulled one out.
"Do people still buy these?" he asked.
Sungchan wrote again.
"Lonely people."
The boy chuckled softly. "Then I guess that explains why I like them."
Something in his tone made Sungchan glance up.
There was a strange contradiction about him. He had the face of someone who smiled easily, someone confident, maybe even cocky—but his eyes... they looked tired. Like he hadn't slept properly in weeks.
"What's your name?" the boy asked.
Sungchan froze for a moment.
Names felt personal. Intimate.
But he reached for a note anyway.
"Sungchan."
The boy's lips curved into a warm smile.
"I'm Donghyuck," he said. "Architecture student."
He said it casually, like it didn't matter. Like he wasn't someone who had cameras pointed at him every day, like his face wasn't on billboards and screens across the country.
Sungchan didn't recognize him.
And for the first time in weeks, Donghyuck felt something in his chest loosen.
No whispers.
No staring.
No phones pulled out.
Just... quiet.
"Do you recommend anything?" Donghyuck asked, holding up the poetry book.
Sungchan walked over, gently took it from his hands, and replaced it with another.
Donghyuck read the cover. "Love Is a Dog from Hell."
He laughed. "That sounds... aggressive."
Sungchan shrugged.
Donghyuck flipped it open. "Is it good?"
Sungchan nodded.
Donghyuck studied him for a second. "You look like someone who reads sad things on purpose."
Sungchan blinked, slightly offended.
He grabbed a note and wrote quickly.
"You look like someone who breaks hearts on purpose."
Donghyuck's eyes widened.
Then he burst out laughing.
"Wow," he said. "Silent, but brutal."
Sungchan allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile.
Donghyuck pulled out his wallet. "I'll take it."
As Sungchan rang up the purchase, Donghyuck leaned on the counter.
"So... you really don't talk at all?"
Sungchan hesitated, then wrote:
"Not for two years."
Donghyuck's smile faded slightly. "Oh."
He didn't ask why.
And that alone made Sungchan look at him again.
Most people asked.
They asked what happened.
They asked if it was trauma.
They asked if he was seeing a therapist.
They asked questions that felt like fingers poking at an open wound.
But Donghyuck just nodded.
"Okay," he said softly. "Then I'll just talk enough for both of us."
Sungchan blinked, surprised.
Donghyuck grinned. "Don't worry. I'm very good at talking."
He tapped the book against the counter. "I'll come back and tell you if I cry."
Sungchan handed him the bag.
Donghyuck took it, their fingers brushing for a brief second.
The contact was quick, accidental.
But it lingered.
Donghyuck cleared his throat. "Well... see you, Sungchan."
Sungchan nodded.
The bell jingled as he left.
Silence returned to the bookstore, wrapping around the shelves like a familiar blanket.
A few minutes later, Anton came back in, holding two plastic bags.
"I bought ramen, chips, and something called 'cheese-flavored shrimp sticks.' I don't know what they are, but they looked like a bad decision."
He stopped when he noticed Sungchan staring at the door.
"Customer?"
Sungchan nodded.
Anton grinned. "Cute?"
Sungchan glared at him.
Anton's grin widened. "Oh, he was cute."
Sungchan grabbed a note.
"Annoying."
Anton snorted. "That means yes."
Sungchan tried to look annoyed, but his mind drifted back to the boy in the cap.
Donghyuck.
﹒ ⌣⏜ ⟡ ⏜⌣ ﹒
Somewhere across the city, inside a sleek black van, Donghyuck leaned back against the seat.
Mark was sitting next to him, scrolling through his phone.
"You disappeared again," Mark said. "Manager hyung was looking for you."
"I just went for a walk," Donghyuck muttered.
Mark glanced at him. "You smell like strawberry vape and old paper."
Donghyuck smirked. "Found a bookstore."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "You? In a bookstore? Did hell freeze over?"
Donghyuck ignored him, staring out the window.
There was something about that place. About the quiet boy who spoke through sticky notes and looked at him like he was just... a person.
Not Lee Haechan.
Not the idol.
Not the flirt.
Not the "playboy" image everyone believed.
Just... Donghyuck.
"Hyung," he said suddenly.
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever met someone and felt like..." He hesitated. "Like they don't see the version of you everyone else sees?"
Mark blinked. "That sounds deep for someone who vapes cotton-candy flavored air."
Donghyuck scoffed. "It's strawberry."
Mark smirked. "And yeah. I guess. Why?"
Donghyuck shrugged. "No reason."
But his mind was already back in the bookstore.
Back to the quiet shelves.
Back to the boy with the gentle eyes and sharp notes.
Back to Sungchan.
And for the first time in a long while, Donghyuck found himself thinking:
I want to go back.