Chapter Text
Late afternoon in the small cafe had a texture all its own. It was a quiet space, tucked away on a side street off campus where the noise of cars seemed unable to enter. The constant smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the aroma of old wood and vanilla beans, creating a cozy bubble that sheltered few people at a time.
And, of course, the cats.
There were three in total, all rescued from the street by the owner himself. The oldest, a feline with mixed fur who answered to Pancake, slept peacefully on a cushion on the window sill, taking advantage of the day's last beam of sunlight.
Behind the counter, Chan maintained his usual calm rhythm. His movements were precise and gentle as he cleaned the steamer of the espresso machine. To anyone looking from the outside, he was the exact definition of someone at peace: the gentle smile on his face, the slow and welcoming speech, the infinite patience with each customer asking for menu recommendations. Chan liked taking care of others. Making people feel at home was almost a natural reflex, something he did effortlessly.
What almost no one noticed, or perhaps no one bothered to notice, was the subtle distance he kept in his eyes.
There was an old tiredness kept there. A quiet melancholy that no longer hurt like in the beginning, but that remained there, like a dark room in the back of his mind. The end of his last relationship, years ago, had left deep marks; it had taught Chan that opening his heart completely was too high a risk. He wanted to love again, deep down in his chest, he really wanted to find someone to share his life with, but the fear of falling apart again always kept him one step back.
His only escape valve hung on the cafe's exposed brick walls.
They were three large paintings, all painted by him on nights when insomnia and memories wouldn't let him sleep. None of the canvases had a signature. They were compositions of cool tones, deep blues, purplish grays and torn whites, capturing abstract landscapes: rainy nights, foggy windows, blurred figures that seemed to wait for something that never arrived. People praised the beauty of the pieces, but most saw them merely as beautiful decoration.
Except for one person.
The door chime rang, issuing a soft chime that made the cat at the window merely twitch its ears.
— Smell of cinnamon — the loud and relaxed voice echoed in the space even before the door closed completely. — Tell me there's still one of those rolls left, Chan. If you tell me it's over, my day officially ends here.
Chan didn't need to look to know who it was. A sincere smile, a little lighter than usual, appeared on his lips as he picked up a ceramic saucer.
— Luckily for you, there's exactly one left — Chan replied, his voice soft. He raised his eyes to meet the light haired young man walking to the counter. — But only because I kept it in the display case before the architecture group took everything.
Jeongin placed his heavy college backpack on one of the stools and leaned over the counter with a dramatic sigh of relief. He wore a coat slightly larger than the ideal size and brought his hair slightly messy from the street wind, showing off that vibrant energy of someone who seemed to fill any space he stepped into.
— You're an angel, I swear to God — Jeongin said, resting his chin on his hand and following Chan pouring the syrup over the sweet. — If this cafe goes broke one day, I'll drop out of college because I won't have a reason to keep coming to this side of town.
— The cafe won't go broke, Jeongin — Chan laughed softly, shaking his head and handing the plate to him. — And you only come here because of the sweets and Pancake.
— Your invention. I come for your pleasant company and the silence — Jeongin shot back, although he was clearly stretching his free hand to stroke the back of the cat that had just climbed onto the counter.
Chan just watched the scene as he prepared the young man's usual drink, a coffee with plenty of milk and sugar, far from the bitter taste he himself preferred. There was something very comforting about Jeongin's presence. He was expansive, spoke loudly and was not afraid to take up space, but he had a curious sensitivity that appeared in the most unexpected moments.
Like now.
Instead of taking his plate and sitting at one of the tables, Jeongin took the plate, walked a few steps to the side and stopped right in front of the main canvas on the wall. It was the largest painting, painted about three months ago.
In it, amid soft brushstrokes in shades of gray and night blue, two male figures danced together in the twilight. There was no set scenery, just the two intertwined bodies. One of the men had his back turned, with the contours of his face lost in the shadow, while the other stood out in the center of the canvas. He was a man of almost angelic beauty, his delicate and perfect features illuminated by a pale light. But what really caught the eye was not his beauty; it was the contrast of his gesture with his expression. He held his partner as if he wanted to lose himself in that embrace, but his eyes, half closed, carried a deep and silent sadness. It was the portrait of someone who, even in the arms of another, seemed terribly alone.
Jeongin remained silent for long seconds. The contrast of his restless nature with the stillness he adopted in front of that painting always impressed Chan.
— You know... — Jeongin began, his voice dropping to a lower, almost intimate tone. He took a sip of his coffee before continuing, without taking his eyes off the canvas. — Every time I look at this painting, I keep thinking about the artist.
Chan stopped what he was doing. He held the dish towel with a little more force, feeling a subtle pang in his chest.
— What about him? — Chan asked, trying to keep the neutral and curious tone of someone just chatting with a customer.
— He managed to paint the saddest beauty I've ever seen — Jeongin commented, tilting his head slightly, fascinated by the details of the face on the canvas. — This guy in the picture... he's beautiful, he's in a moment that should be romantic, but it feels like his heart is stuck somewhere else. It makes you really want to pull him out of that cold dance and teach him how to really smile.
Jeongin's sentence hung in the air, dense and soft like the steam rising from the cups.
Chan locked his hands for a second on the wooden counter, his fingers pressing the edge with a little more force than necessary. His chest gave that familiar squeeze, not a squeeze of pain, but the strange and overwhelming feeling of having someone walking inside him without asking permission, pointing precisely at the wound he spent his days trying to disguise with kindness.
Pull him out of that cold dance...
Jeongin had no idea how much that observation hit the mark. He didn't know that that man of angelic beauty and sad look on the canvas was the exact reflection of Chan himself, captured on a night when the memory of his former relationship weighed so much that the only way out was to pour the pain onto the fabric of the canvas. The ex boyfriend had never really seen him; he had merely shaped him, demanding from him a perfection and a dedication that ended up emptying him out. At that time, even affection felt like a lonely dance.
— You speak as if you know the story behind it — Chan finally said, his voice coming out a little lower and smoother than usual. He forced himself to keep cleaning the counter so he would have somewhere to look. — It's just a painting, Jeongin. The artist may have created this purely for aesthetics. The contrast between the beautiful and the sad usually sells well.
— Oh, come on — Jeongin let out a faint laugh, without any tone of mockery, just a light denial while taking another bite of the cinnamon roll. He turned his back to the painting and leaned against the wall, facing Chan. — You can even try to convince me that you know about coffee and business, Chan, but about art I know you really understand. You put that painting in the center of the cafe for a reason.
— It's the wall with the best lighting in the late afternoon — Chan countered, the corners of his lips rising in a contained, defensive smile.
— Lies — Jeongin teased sweetly, pointing the rest of the sweet towards him before eating it. — You know that painting has a soul. Every time I sit there at that table and study, I look at it and think: "man, the person who made this urgently needs a cup of hot chocolate, a blanket and someone who won't let go of their hand".
Chan let out a puff of laughter through his nose, shaking his head. The way Jeongin managed to disarm any heavy atmosphere with that mix of deep observation and genuine silliness was almost unfair.
— I'll remember to give you a discount coupon for your excess empathy with art — Chan joked, taking the cup of coffee with plenty of milk he had prepared for Jeongin and sliding it across the counter. — Here, your order. Before it gets cold and you start philosophizing about the milk temperature too.
Jeongin gave a broad smile, one of those that made his eyes close slightly at the corners. He pulled the cup to himself, taking a long sip and letting out a satisfied sigh.
— Perfect as always. You are a treasure, you know?
Before Chan could invent any witty response, the mixed feline, Pancake, decided that the conversation was too interesting to be ignored. The cat walked slowly on the counter, let out a raspy meow and rubbed against Jeongin's arm, claiming affection.
— See? — Jeongin said, his voice rising an octave as he began to scratch behind the animal's ears. — Pancake agrees with me. He knows I'm the house's favorite customer.
— He only knows you drop sweet crumbs on the floor when you eat too fast — Chan shot back, resting his elbows on the counter and resting his chin in his hands, watching the scene.
The sun was already beginning to set for good outside, painting the cold street in shades of pink and violet. Inside the cafe, the yellowish light from the ceiling chandeliers created a warm bubble. Chan looked at Jeongin, at his light hair a little messy, at his large hands petting the cat with almost exaggerated care, at the way he seemed so comfortable there, in no hurry to leave.
For a brief second, the melancholy in Chan's chest gave way to something different. A warm and calm feeling, like the first cup of tea on a winter day. He didn't know where that daily togetherness would lead, but, for the first time in a long time, facing the future didn't seem like something scary.
— Are you staying until closing today? — Chan asked softly, his serene gaze fixed on the young man.
— If you don't kick me out... — Jeongin blinked, with that playful glint in his eyes. — I have a lot of boring material to read and this is the only place in town where my head doesn't get tied in knots.
— Alright — Chan smiled, rising again to put away the last cups. — You can stay, I'll let you know when it's time to turn off the lights.