Six Years Later
The cafe was quiet this time of day, the golden hour sunlight spilling through the windows and casting long shadows across the polished wooden floors. The warm aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread lingered in the air, curling around the worn corners of the cozy space. It was a peaceful little place on the edge of the city — tucked away from the noise, just the way Soobin liked it.
Yeonjun sat by the window, his fingers curled around a warm mug of cinnamon coffee. His hair was shorter now, tinged with silver at the temples, and the bags beneath his eyes hadn't faded over the years — they'd simply become part of him. He stared out through the glass, watching passersby blur by in gentle streaks.
He didn't come here for the coffee.
He came because the silence here felt less lonely.
And because this was the only place where the past didn't drown him... just gently whispered to him instead.
Beomgyu.
Even after six years, the name still held weight. Still lingered in the corners of his mind, in the spaces of songs he once played, in every birthday that passed.
Not a single message.
Not a single sign.
Yeonjun often wondered if Beomgyu was happy now — if he had new friends, new memories, someone else to love. He hoped so. But selfishly, a part of him ached for one last chance. Just one.
A soft clink of ceramic and a chair sliding across the floor broke his thoughts.
Soobin sat across from him, wearing a beige apron lightly dusted with flour and powdered sugar. He placed his own drink down and leaned back with a sigh.
"You always come at this hour," Soobin said gently. "Almost like clockwork."
Yeonjun didn't look away from the window. "It's quiet."
Soobin studied him for a moment. "Or maybe it's because this place is the only one left that still connects you to him."
Yeonjun let out a slow exhale. "Am I that obvious?"
"Only to those who know you," Soobin said, his voice soft. "And unfortunately, that includes me."
Yeonjun gave a weak smile, finally turning to meet his eyes. "I still think about him."
"I know," Soobin replied. "I think we all do."
Across the cafe, Huening Kai was serving drinks to a young couple in the corner, his smile easy and bright, like the years had never stolen any of his light. He caught Soobin's eye and gave a small wave before returning to work.
"You built something beautiful here," Yeonjun said, glancing around the cafe. "You and Kai… it suits you both."
Soobin smiled faintly. "It wasn't easy. But it was worth it. After losing everything, I needed something to believe in again."
A quiet moment passed.
Yeonjun swirled the coffee in his cup absently. "Do you think… if I'd made a different choice that day… I would've still lost him?"
Soobin leaned forward slightly, his expression kind but firm. "I think you lost him the moment you chose fear over love. Not because he stopped loving you… but because he realized you loved something else more."
Yeonjun didn't speak. The weight of those words settled in his chest like a stone.
Soobin added, more gently this time, "We all made mistakes, Yeonjun. But guilt won't change the past. You're still here. That means you still have time to make something of it."
"Even if he's gone?" Yeonjun asked, barely above a whisper.
Soobin looked at him for a long time, then nodded.
"Especially then."
The bell above the café door then chimed.
Soobin looked up absently from his coffee, expecting another regular. Yeonjun didn't glance up at all — until he felt something shift in the air. A weight. A presence. Something long-missing, unmistakable.
The door clicked shut behind the new arrival.
Soobin froze, eyes fixed on the figure just inside the entrance.
Yeonjun turned slowly.
And there he was.
Beomgyu.
Six years older, taller, his features sharper, more mature. He wore a dark coat, a messenger bag slung across his shoulder, and in his hand — a small wrapped box. His eyes scanned the café briefly, almost like he was unsure he should be here at all.
Then they landed on Yeonjun.
Time stopped.
Yeonjun's breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he didn't trust what he was seeing. His heart thundered — not with joy, but panic. With disbelief. With everything he never got to say rising all at once and jamming in his throat.
Beomgyu didn't smile.
He just looked at him, unreadable.
And then, finally, he walked forward.
The sound of his footsteps was somehow louder than anything Yeonjun had ever heard. Soobin stood quietly to the side, watching it unfold, eyes flicking between them.
Beomgyu stopped in front of the table.
The box in his hand thudded lightly on the wood as he set it down.
"It's for Kai," he said simply, his voice deeper now but still carrying that familiar gentleness. "A little something from abroad. Is he around?"
Yeonjun blinked. "You're… you're really here."
Beomgyu met his eyes for the first time.
"I just landed this morning."
Silence stretched between them like glass.
Then Beomgyu added, "I figured I'd stop by before heading home."
Yeonjun stood slowly. He looked like he wanted to say a hundred things — to apologize, to explain, to beg. But all that came out was:
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
Beomgyu's gaze faltered. "Neither did I."
Soobin cleared his throat quietly, then gave Beomgyu a soft pat on the arm. "Kai's in the back. He'll be happy to see you."
Beomgyu nodded without looking away from Yeonjun. "Thanks."
He hesitated, then took a step past Yeonjun — but paused beside him.
"You look different," Yeonjun said, voice raw.
Beomgyu didn't smile, but there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes.
"So do you."
And just like that, he continued toward the back room, leaving Yeonjun standing there — shaken, breathless, and suddenly, terribly aware that the moment he had begged the universe for…
…had finally arrived.
But Beomgyu was no longer the same boy who loved him.
He had come back. But whether that meant he was staying — Yeonjun didn't know yet.
+×+
The door creaked open slowly.
Huening Kai stood with his back turned, focused on restocking syrup bottles. "Soobin, can you grab more cups from—"
He paused mid-sentence when he turned around.
His hands went still.
The bottle slipped from his fingers and clattered softly against the shelf.
"…Beomgyu?" Kai breathed, as if the name itself was a ghost.
Beomgyu stood in the doorway, his mouth twitching into the smallest, uncertain smile. "Hey."
For a second, Kai didn't move.
Then, with a soft gasp, he rushed forward and threw his arms around him.
Beomgyu staggered slightly from the force of the hug but returned it, holding Kai tightly, his eyes stinging. Neither of them said anything for a while. There was too much to say. Too much that words couldn't hold.
"You idiot," Kai whispered against his shoulder. "You were just gone."
"I know," Beomgyu murmured. "I'm sorry."
Kai pulled back slightly, eyes glassy. "We didn't even get to say goodbye. I was so mad. I thought— I thought we lost you for good."
Beomgyu looked down. "I thought so too."
Footsteps approached the door behind them.
"Is that really him?" came a quiet voice.
Taehyun stepped inside, stopping just a foot away. His face was unreadable, serious as always — but his eyes… his eyes were full of emotion. Slowly, he approached.
Beomgyu took a breath. "Hey, Tae."
Taehyun looked at him for a beat longer, then pulled him into a short, tight hug.
"You look like crap," he said dryly, his voice cracking just a little.
Beomgyu chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, well. You still talk like one."
Taehyun snorted.
Kai let out a choked laugh and rubbed at his face. "We missed you so much, Gyu. You really just… disappeared."
"I didn't want to," Beomgyu said softly, eyes lowering. "But I didn't have a choice back then."
Kai nodded, understanding. "We know. We figured out what really happened later."
They all stood there for a moment — the three of them — together again. Older, weathered by time and pain, but whole. Something about the space around them felt warmer now.
"So," Kai said with a crooked smile, trying to wipe his eyes, "are you staying?"
Beomgyu hesitated.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I haven't decided yet."
Taehyun gave him a look. "That better be a yes. You still owe me snacks, remember?"
Beomgyu managed a real smile this time. "I do. And I don't forget debts."
From outside, the low murmur of voices drifted through the café.
Beomgyu turned slightly, eyes drifting toward the door again.
"Yeonjun's here too," Kai said quietly, catching the glance.
"I know," Beomgyu murmured. "I saw him."
Taehyun exchanged a look with Kai but didn't press.
Beomgyu looked back at them — his friends. His family. The ones who'd stayed even when they were scattered.
"I missed you guys," he said, his voice thick.
Kai stepped forward again, hugging him once more. "We missed you more."
+×+
The coffee in Yeonjun's cup had long gone cold.
He sat near the window, eyes half-lidded, hands clasped tightly around the mug as if it could still give him warmth. But it was another sound that held him frozen: voices. Familiar voices. Ones he hadn't heard together in years.
It had started with a soft gasp from Huening Kai.
Then—
"…Beomgyu?"
His head shot up.
He didn't move, but his body leaned ever so slightly toward the hallway behind the counter where the backroom door was cracked open just enough to let sound leak through.
"You idiot. You were just gone."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Beomgyu's voice.
It felt like something slammed into Yeonjun's chest.
Every instinct told him to stand, to run back there, to say something. Anything.
But he didn't. He stayed rooted in place, listening like a coward.
"We didn't even get to say goodbye," Kai said, and Yeonjun felt the guilt twist tighter in his stomach.
He could picture it so clearly — Beomgyu, older now, maybe taller, probably thinner, probably still wearing those stupid oversized hoodies. And Taehyun too, stoic and dry, already giving Beomgyu a hard time like no time had passed.
"You look like crap."
"Yeah, well. You still talk like one."
The banter made Yeonjun's chest ache. He remembered those days, the teasing, the laughter. The way Beomgyu used to call him "Junie" when no one else was around. The way Kai clung to Beomgyu like a shadow. The way Taehyun rolled his eyes, always pretending he didn't care, even when he cared too much.
Now, Yeonjun was on the outside.
Not even a shadow in that room. Just a bystander in a life he broke.
"I missed you guys," Beomgyu's voice cracked.
Yeonjun swallowed hard.
His fingers tightened around his cup.
It should've been me, he thought. I should've been there. I was there.
And I threw it all away.
Soobin emerged from the kitchen quietly, drying his hands on a towel. He spotted Yeonjun still seated by the window, paused for a beat, then walked over.
"You heard them," he said softly.
Yeonjun didn't look up. "Yeah."
"They needed this."
"I know," Yeonjun replied. "So did I."
Soobin sat down across from him, the same seat he'd taken earlier. "You could still talk to him. He didn't come all the way back for nothing."
Yeonjun exhaled, slow and shaky. "He came back… but not for me."
"Maybe not," Soobin admitted. "But maybe that's something you can change."
Yeonjun's gaze shifted toward the hallway again — where laughter and muffled tears lingered just beyond his reach.
"I don't even know if I deserve the chance."
Soobin gave him a sad smile. "You probably don't. But maybe that's why you need it more."