The laughter from the backroom faded into quieter conversation, and eventually, the door creaked open.
Yeonjun didn't turn around, but he could feel the shift in the air.
The sound of familiar footsteps. A voice he'd replayed in his head for six long years, now just a few feet behind him.
"…I'll be back," Beomgyu said softly to Kai and Taehyun. "I just want to get some air."
Yeonjun tensed.
Soobin, across from him, caught it instantly. But he didn't say a word. Just watched with a knowing look as Beomgyu passed behind them, not even glancing Yeonjun's way.
The bell over the door chimed gently as Beomgyu stepped out into the street.
Yeonjun stared down at his cold coffee. His heart beat against his ribs like it was trying to fight its way out.
"Go," Soobin said quietly.
Yeonjun hesitated. "I can't."
"You can," Soobin replied. "You're just afraid."
He was. Terrified.
Of what Beomgyu might say. Of what he might not say.
Of the apology not being enough.
Of it being far, far too late.
Soobin stood, brushing crumbs from his apron. "Then wait. Let it eat at you a little longer. Maybe that's the only way you'll stop running."
Yeonjun didn't respond. He just kept his gaze fixed on the door.
Outside, Beomgyu stood alone on the sidewalk, head tilted up to the sky. The morning sunlight caught in his lashes, the breeze playing at the ends of his hair. He looked older now. Tired. Sad. A little like a ghost of someone Yeonjun used to love.
No—still loved.
Still loved.
But Beomgyu didn't look back.
And Yeonjun didn't move.
+×+
The moment the door closed behind him, Beomgyu exhaled like he hadn't been breathing properly since he arrived.
The breeze carried the soft hum of the street — a far cry from the colder, more rigid city he had lived in these past six years. Everything here looked the same. And yet… everything felt different.
He stood still, eyes on the cracks in the pavement beneath his feet.
The same street where he used to walk to school.
It was all still here. And yet… he wasn't.
Not really.
His mind was loud, spiraling.
Memories pressed down like heavy fog.
Yeonjun's hand in his hair.
His love that turned into betrayal.
The sharp sting of his father's hand.
The ruthless actions of his mother.
The look in Kai's eyes when he turned away from him.
The suffocating silence of the cold U.S. apartment he was thrown into after being ripped from everything.
They all existed at once — overlapping and crashing like waves inside him.
He'd built a life in another country, but it was one made from silence and survival.
He finished school, went to college, wore the polished smile his parents demanded.
Every birthday passed with candles lit in front of a framed photo of his grandmother.
No one ever remembered.
No one ever knew.
He remembered nights crying into his pillow, wondering if Yeonjun ever thought of him.
If Taehyun ever tried to reach out but was blocked.
If Kai ever regretted turning his back.
And now… now he was standing outside a café they used to dream about. Owned by the very people who once held his world together.
And Yeonjun was inside.
He didn't even have to look. He knew.
He felt it — that strange pull in the air. That ache in his chest that hadn't changed no matter how many years or miles passed.
Six years.
And yet it all rushed back like no time had passed at all.
Beomgyu clenched his fists inside the sleeves of his sweater.
Was it forgiveness he wanted?
Closure?
Or just to be seen again… really seen… not as someone who ran away, but as someone who survived.
The ache built in his throat. His eyes burned.
"I'm still here," he whispered to the wind. "I'm still here…"
+×+
Beomgyu leaned against the brick wall just beside the café entrance, arms crossed and gaze cast downward. His chest rose and fell slowly as he breathed in the crisp air, trying to ground himself. Everything — the voices inside, the lights, the smells — brought back memories he wasn't ready to process all at once.
He didn't notice the soft steps approaching until a familiar voice said, gently, "Beomgyu…"
His head turned.
Yeonjun stood just a few feet away, looking uncertain — hesitant but determined. His expression was tight, like he'd been wrestling with himself all afternoon. Their eyes locked, and for a breathless moment, the past six years felt like a weight about to collapse between them.
Beomgyu didn't say anything.
Not yet.
Yeonjun opened his mouth, trying to form the words he'd been rehearsing since that morning — maybe even since the day Beomgyu left.
"I—"
"Hey."
The interruption came light and casual — but it sliced straight through the moment like a knife.
Taehyun had stepped out through the door, blinking against the late sunlight. He stopped short when he noticed Yeonjun, then glanced between the two with a faint surprise, not fully grasping the charged atmosphere he'd just walked into.
"Oh," he said quickly, "I didn't mean to interrupt."
Yeonjun's throat tightened. His heart, which had been pounding in his ears just seconds ago, now sank low in his chest.
Beomgyu turned his gaze away first, looking at Taehyun with a weary kind of smile. "It's fine. Just catching some air."
Taehyun nodded, still glancing at Yeonjun, then walked over to Beomgyu's side, the way someone does when they sense you might need grounding.
Yeonjun hesitated — one step forward, then one back.
This wasn't the moment anymore.
He could feel it slipping through his fingers.
Whatever courage he'd gathered, it crumbled fast.
"Maybe later," he muttered under his breath, almost inaudible, before quietly turning and walking back toward the front of the café.
Beomgyu, still watching Taehyun now, didn't see him go.
+×+
The breeze tugged softly at Beomgyu's sleeves as he stood in silence beside Taehyun, his gaze fixed on the sidewalk cracks. People passed on the far side of the street, some laughing, some rushing — all moving like the world hadn't shifted beneath his feet six years ago.
"You okay?" Taehyun asked quietly, keeping his voice calm, unintrusive.
Beomgyu took a moment to answer, his fingers curling slightly around the hem of his sleeve. "Yeah," he said, but it didn't sound convincing — not even to himself.
Taehyun didn't push. Instead, he stood beside him, arms folded loosely across his chest, glancing at the horizon. "It's a lot, isn't it?"
Beomgyu let out a breath. "More than I thought it would be."
He paused. "Everything's changed... and yet some things still hurt the same."
Taehyun glanced at him. "You mean Yeonjun?"
Beomgyu didn't reply immediately. His throat felt tight. He gave a tiny nod instead.
"I saw the way he looked at you," Taehyun said. "He wanted to talk. You know that, right?"
Beomgyu finally met his eyes. "Yeah. I felt it too."
A small silence followed. Beomgyu leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closing for a brief second. "But I don't know if I'm ready, Tae."
"You don't have to be," Taehyun said simply. "Not yet. Not until you are. He waited this long… he can wait a little more."
Beomgyu smiled faintly, though his eyes shimmered with emotion. "You always know the right things to say."
Taehyun smiled back. "Someone has to."
They stood in silence for a moment longer before Taehyun gave a gentle nudge to Beomgyu's shoulder. "Come on. Kai's probably pacing back and forth inside."
Beomgyu let out a soft laugh, brushing his fingers beneath his eyes. "Okay. Let's go."
And together, they stepped back into the café — the warm lights spilling around them, and the weight of unspoken things still hanging in the air.
+×+
The bell above the door jingled softly as Beomgyu stepped back inside, Taehyun close behind him. The familiar scent of warm pastries and roasted coffee beans drifted around them. Everything felt the same — yet everything felt different.
Beomgyu's eyes briefly scanned the room. Customers talked over their drinks, the mellow jazz in the background humming steadily. At the far side of the café, near the window, sat Yeonjun — his back straight, knuckles pale against the edge of his cup, gaze unwavering on Beomgyu the moment he walked in.
Their eyes met.
Yeonjun's heart kicked in his chest. The sight of Beomgyu — not in memory, not in a dream, but there, alive, right in front of him — brought back every ache, every mistake, every wish he never stopped making. He'd practiced a thousand ways to approach him. What he'd say. How he'd start.
But none of it mattered now.
He stood up.
Beomgyu took one more step forward, unsure, his throat tightening.
Yeonjun inhaled, gathering himself.
This is it. Now.
But just as he moved, Taehyun leaned toward Beomgyu, murmuring something, placing a comforting hand on his arm — an unconscious gesture of protection and closeness. Beomgyu turned to him with a nod, listening carefully.
Yeonjun froze.
His momentum faltered. That familiar doubt crept in — maybe now wasn't the right time. Maybe Beomgyu wasn't ready. Maybe he'd only make things worse.
So he slowly sat back down, the chair beneath him creaking with the weight of his hesitation. His hands curled around his coffee again, lips pressed tight.
From across the room, Beomgyu looked back once more — as if he sensed something — but then Kai called out from behind the counter, and he turned to answer, his attention pulled away.
Yeonjun stared down at his reflection in the dark surface of his drink.
The moment had slipped away — again.
And this time, he didn't know if he'd get it back.