On his way home from work, the stout brunette accidentally got off at the wrong stop. It was an old habit, getting off the subway here, at station 7. It wasn’t that the man couldn’t get home easily, more that he didn’t want to pass all of the shops and restaurants that he had loved. But the train waits for no man, not even one as attractive as this one.

The man sighs resignedly. He checks his watch, the delicate silver arrows telling him that it was nearly 8 o’clock at night. He gives himself over to the long walk back to his apartment. His black leather coat flows behind him as the mild wind picks up, howling through the gaps between the buildings. The man barely manages to take two steps before the rain starts.

The sky pours out its anger, pelting those unlucky enough to be out in the open with little droplets containing more force than anyone would suspect from the tiny globs of water. Great, thought the man, just what I need. He pulls his coat tighter around his body, attempting to protect his expensive suit from the furious wind and its tiny wet accomplices. He shivers in the cold, quickly discovering that it is useless to fight the wrath of Mother Nature, ducking into the nearest shop.

Turns out that the shop the man escaped into was a small café. There’s a wide variety of brightly-coloured chairs, cushions, and bean bags scattered throughout the café. The walls that aren’t giant windows are detailed with hand-painted flowers and swirling patterns that match the neon colours of the seats. He didn’t pay much attention to the nagging familiarity of the place, brushing it off as anxiety brought on by the weird weather. He shrugs out of his coat, sitting at a random table near one of the many windows surrounding the place.

A kind-faced man with wire-rimmed glasses and short chestnut hair appeared at his table, offering to take his order.
“Hello, welcome to Un Peu d’Amour. May I get you anything? We have coffee, tea, smoothies, pastries of all kinds, and even some sandwiches.”

The man looks up, unsure of what to order since he’d only really entered the restaurant to escape the pouring rain. “Uh…I’ll just have regular coffee, black, with cream and sugar on the side.”

“I’ll get that for you right away, sir.” The waiter bows and smiles, walking to the counter at the back of the shop to get the coffee. What a strange dude…thinks the man, eyes following the waiter as he returns to the kitchen. He shakes his head to clear it, and that’s when he remembers. Un Peu d’Amour. It’s our place. We used to meet here every Sunday afternoon, because it was the only time we were both free.

Flashes of suppressed memories flood to the surface of the man’s mind as he desperately tries to force them down. He resists with all his might but there’s no stopping the memories as they rush into the forefront of his mind like a tidal wave, filling all of the crevices, nooks, and niches.

He sees the brilliant smile, the one he’s missed so much for so long, and he feels his heart shattering all over again. He remembers the soft lips, a perfect cupid’s bow, and the exact shade of red they’d turn after a long night of kissing. He gets lost in the chocolate orbs that reflect the silvery stars.

Distantly, he hears the pattering of the rain, and it brings him back to the present. He gazes through the clear glass, eyes following the long path of a lonely raindrop, winding its way down the window pane. The drop’s nearly to the bottom of the window, the end of its solitary journey, when it merges with another drop of water. The man rejoices, glad that the raindrop is no longer alone and he realizes that he is like the raindrop. Except the raindrop found a mate, and the man’s already lost his.

A single shining tear escapes from the corner of the man’s left eye, leaving a streak of pink skin, irritated by the salty water. The man holds a finger up to his cheek, catching the drop in the middle of its slide, staring at the beauty of its reflective surface for a few seconds before he flings the blob away. He shakes his head again, even though he knows that all the walls he’s built up are useless now, tired and worn down. He’s given up on forgetting. But that doesn’t lessen the pain in his chest.

“Stop thinking about it. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. It’s over, and that’s final, don’t be such a sentimental baby.” The man voices his thoughts aloud, not fully realizing that he’s done so.

“Excuse me…Sir? I have your coffee…” Oh, it’s that odd waiter again. Wonder how much he heard…, this is awkward. The man gives the waiter a smile that feels fake, even to himself, and nods his head in thanks, taking the hot cup from him. The man turns back to the window, becoming lost in his thoughts again.

“Er, I don’t mean to pry, but you’re him, aren’t you?” A curious voice inquires.

The man is startled out of his reverie once more, surprised that the waiter hadn’t left his table yet. “Him who?”

“You’re the one he waits for. A guy around your age, perhaps a year or two younger, always hangs out at this table. He comes once a week, always at the same time and he always sits in that seat.” The waiter smiles and gestures towards where the man is sitting. The man is momentarily stunned into silence, regaining his voice after a minute or two.

“When?”

“Every Sunday, at two o’clock in the afternoon. He comes in, sits down in that seat, orders his soy latte, and waits. He just sits there, staring out of the window, much like you were a few moments ago.”

“How long?”

“Oh, he stays for an hour or so usually.”

The man shakes his head emphatically. “No, I meant, how long has he been coming in and sitting here?”

The waiter tilts his head sideways, pondering the question for a minute before answering. “Hm…I think it’s been about three years…yes, this week will be the third year.”

We broke up a little over three years ago…the man has a nagging suspicion that it’s him but he refuses to listen to the voice in the back of his mind. “Three years…?” The man unconsciously voices his musings. The waiter nods.

“Yep! I remember ‘cause he started coming just after I bought the place. My name’s Lee Jinki, by the way. Nice to meet you.” The owner, Jinki, smiles brightly, holding his hand out to the man, who was in shock that the goofy looking man actually owns the café. Still a bit confused, the man shakes Jinki’s hand carefully, and adds for good measure:
“I’m Kim Jonghyun. Nice to meet you, too. I don’t mean to be pushy, but could you tell me what the guy who comes here looks like?”

“Sure! He’s about my height, skinny as a post, blonde hair that’s usually dyed various colours of the rainbow.” Jonghyun feels his safe bubble of forgetfulness pop with a bang that resonates in his mind, reverberating resolutely, forcing him to face the facts. This boy is either him or his identical twin who just so happens to order the same drink at the same coffee shop and dyes his hair the exact same way as him. Then it hits him.

“Wait! Every Sunday? …tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“Mhmm.” Jinki nods happily. “If you’re the one he waits for like I think you are, be here tomorrow afternoon at two.” With a vague wave the owner wanders off, strolling casually back to the kitchen behind the counter.

Jonghyun is left befuddled, a puzzled expression on his face, resembling a lost puppy. He ponders this new information. He mulls it over, ripping it apart and mushing it back together again, rearranging it however he can. He knows it’s just a façade of making a decision though, because the second he realized it was him he’d already made his choice.