Prompt: “They Meet at a Bookshop”

Pairing: Kris/Suho

Words: ~2800

Joonmyun has always loved bookshops, or, rather, the various things that he found in them. Joonmyun liked to read, to learn, to discover new worlds and new ideas, to forge his own concepts with the help of yellow darkened pages. There was something mysterious about bookshops that Joonmyun adored. The covers waiting to be open, the faint smell of moth balls that worn lounge chairs seemed to excrete into the air. Bookshops were quiet, and, more often then not, Joonmyun’s own kind of safe haven.

There was one specific bookshop Joonmyun frequented the most. It sat back from the road, behind a small parking lot and a wall of dumpsters. The walls, in stark contrast to its surroundings, were a light brown, with creeper vines running up the sides. Ornamented chairs sat out the front of it, though they were mostly left unused, and you could see the paint peeling off its legs. If you weren’t looking for this bookshop, you would surely never find it.

Joonmyun frequented this bookshop because it was slightly different from the rest. Instead of the typical drib and drab that could be found in popular fiction, this bookshop was the home of used or second-hand books that were a far throw from their mainstream counterparts.

As Joonmyun liked to remark to his closest friend Kyungsoo, this bookshop held books of substance; books that could not only shape but also completely change how you felt about a topic. Although many of the titles that lined the shelves were in English, if Joonmyun was lucky, he would find a loose translation of the text written by other avid readers within the margins. He enjoyed these books the most, for not only did they give him pages of text to decipher, they also gave him the opinions of others, of one other in particular.

Joonmyun finds the opinions of this individual to be interesting indeed.

Joonmyun marches up the old wooden steps, carefully wiping his shoes on a small doormat before sliding them off, pressing them up against the brickwork, and stepping in. He calls out a soft greeting before busying himself immediately in the shelves, finding himself standing exactly where he had left off. Joonmyun has always been systematic. The books are lined in a loose alphabetical order, and thus far Joonmyun has made it halfway through section ‘K’.

His father jokes to him occasionally that it will take many lifetimes to read and understand every book in the world; the books in Joonmyun’s favourite bookshop are not the only books out there. Joonmyun loves to disagree. The books of his bookshop are the only books worth reading.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” A deep voice rings out.

Joonmyun jumps, the peacefulness of the bookshop immediately broken. He ducks his head around shelves, a blush flushing across his cheeks as he almost runs into whom he assumes to be the owner of that voice. He takes a step back and bows in apology, receiving a gentle chuckle from the much, much taller teen. The teen holds a hand out, and Joonmyun gently takes it in his, shaking it. The taller teen opens his mouth, but before words can escape his lips, a familiar face peers around the shelf, and Joonmyun breathes a gentle sigh.

“Ah, Joonmyun, back again? Yifan, it seems you have found our most persistent and my personal favourite patron.”

The voice belongs to a gentle old man, with rings of black hair that have become bleached white with age. This is the owner of Joonmyun’s favourite bookshop, and often the pair would spend a lazy afternoon perched in the lounge chairs by the fireplace, discussing books, politics, and even music, with a teapot and strainer sitting on the table in front of them. The old man lives above the bookshop, and every now and then Joonmyun is allowed to venture up the creaky stairs and into the living space above. Even in the midst of cooking utensils and kitchen appliances, Joonmyun would still find books or at least pages torn from books.

To Joonmyun, the old man is an important friend. Joonmyun has come to know his small mannerisms, from the way his small finger tilts gently upwards as the edge of a teacup reaches his lips, to the way his eyes twinkle and his lips turn upwards as he is about to recount one of his favourite stories. Joonmyun has been told countless times of the old man’s travels. He is from China, but war and ideology has brought him to South Korea. It is gentler, he says, and the snow is much more white. The old man’s tales make Joonmyun want to explore the world for himself.

“This is my grandson, Yifan,” the old man says, giving Joonmyun a wink.

“He’s been living in Canada with his mother, but for at least the next few weeks he’s staying with me until he figures out what he wants to do with his future. If you’re up to it, Joonmyun, I would like it if you showed him around the area. He’s quite introverted and has difficulty making new friends…”

Joonmyun gives the old man a smile and nods, and this is seemingly enough to satisfy him. As he makes his way slowly back up the stairs to his living area, Joonmyun returns his gaze to the taller teen, whom he now knows as Yifan, and gives him a gentle smile.

“Do you read much?” Joonmyun asks. The taller teen shrugs.

“I used to read a lot more than I do now. I feel like time is slipping away from me now, and all my hours seem to go towards other things.”

Joonmyun nods at the response. Yifan’s Korean is clipped and formal. He shuffles from foot to foot as Joonmyun nods gently, gaze returning to the shelves. Joonmyun picks up five or six titles, passing them to Yifan, before reaching over to new shelves, piling the books up in Yifan’s arms as the taller lets out a breath in surprise. This is far more than Joonmyun has ever bought at once, but still, Joonmyun refuses to let up on filling Yifan’s arms with yellowed pages.

“You can’t be taking all of these at once?” Yifan asks. Joonmyun simply nods silently, walking across to the counter.

He watches as Yifan places the books in Joonmyun’s book bag, his palms obviously slippery from nervous sweat, fingers fumbling around much longer than Joonmyun expected. Yifan hands the books across to Joonmyun and Joonmyun dutifully flicks a few notes across the counter, a small smile gracing his lips. He leaves Yifan, stunned, as he exits the shop. He quickly fumbles with his shoelaces and runs down the street towards home.

The blush never leaves his cheeks.

Joonmyun cannot remember having ever read so many books in such a short time. When his body is tired and has all but shut down from exhaustion, he finds his room’s light switched off yet he holds a small torch beneath his sheets. His eyes droop yet he still turns page after page, until he is ready to press the covers shut. When he finishes the last book, it is already the early hours of the morning, and he lazily pushes the books back into his book bag before shutting his eyes in exhaustion.

Maybe he just wants to look good in front of Yifan? No. Joonmyun shakes his head, disbelieving. He is the grandson of the owner of his favourite bookshop, nothing more.

“How can you read so many books all at once?”

It is a question that Yifan repeats to him, often. He has a habit of following him around, even on days when Joonmyun must rush to university by bus and then train. Yifan tries to greet him at his front gate, but when he doesn’t and is busy helping his grandfather, he stands by the end of the parking lot in front of the bookshop and waves Joonmyun off for the day. Yifan joins Joonmyun on many occasions out to the city, in through large shopping districts and tiny bubble-tea shops. He doesn’t say much, but Joonmyun knows that he is appreciative; he can see the smile in Yifan’s dark eyes.

Kyungsoo likes to joke that Joonmyun has found himself a lost puppy.

Joonmyun partly agrees.

“What are you planning on doing in the future?” Joonmyun asks, feet curled up on a worn lounge chair as Yifan’s grandfather recounts his favourite trip abroad, perhaps fifteen years prior, to America. Yifan occupies the carpet in front of him, sitting cross-legged; listening as intently to the old man as being in such close proximity to Joonmyun can muster. Yifan’s tuft of wild, bleached blonde hair tickles at Joonmyun’s toes.

“I think I’ll stay here, actually,” Yifan concedes, giving Joonmyun a grin.

“Grandfather is old, after all, and he doesn’t get many customers… you are one of only a few regulars, after all. If I am able to find a part time job, we should be fine to pay the rent at least for the next few years. I’m not much of a cook, but I should definitely look after him in his old age.”

Joonmyun gives Yifan a nod, eyes tracing his features. Joonmyun cannot remember how Yifan ever became such a seemingly permanent component of his life. It was as if Yifan leaving would never be an option. He has become as familiar to Joonmyun as the print in the pages he so often reads. Joonmyun has come to know the slight scent of green tea mixed with cologne that Yifan exudes. Joonmyun has memorized the way Yifan’s eyes, much in a familiar way to his grandfather’s, twinkle when Joonmyun recommends he read a book or two from the shop front, dropping it down into Yifan’s open arms.

“South Korea has so many things to see,” Yifan continues, a playful flicker in his eyes.

“I’d much rather stay here. I feel like I belong here.”

The old man finishes his tale but notices that neither of the teenagers are paying him any attention, their hushed whispers spurting their own stories far too softly for him to hear. He lets out a knowing sigh, picking up his teapot before hobbling across to the stairs, leaving the pair to their own devices. He knows very well the feeling that Yifan and Joonmyun must be experiencing. After all, he was young once, a very long time ago. He climbs the stairs with a small smile on his face, glad that his grandson has finally found something, or rather, someone, that made him feel at home.

--

“Have you read this one before?” Joonmyun asks, tilting his head to the side as Yifan takes the green covered book from him, holding it in his long fingers. Joonmyun points up at the shelves and Yifan dutifully picks another from a higher shelf that Joonmyun cannot reach and taps him lightly on the forehead with it.

“I’ll only read it if you think it is a good one to read,” Yifan explains gently, glancing across at twin piles sitting on the counter. Joonmyun laughs lightly as the pair cross the worn carpet to another shelf, the process repeating several times until they are both far too winded to speak much more. Yifan’s grandfather marches down the staircase, smiling at the two as Yifan once more loads Joonmyun’s pile into his book bag, waving Joonmyun’s notes away as he passes them across the counter to him.

“You shouldn’t bother paying anymore, Joonmyun. You bring them back and swap them for others almost three times a week. I’m just happy knowing that someone still enjoys to read in such a world as today.” Joonmyun shakes his head, leaving the notes on the counter. He works part time, after all, and he doesn’t mind spending a small portion of his earnings on something he loves to do.

“Are you taking this pile as well?” the old man asks, never missing Joonmyun’s generosity. He places a hand on the top of Yifan’s pile, tapping at the top cover gently.

“Oh, no,” Joonmyun says gently, glancing across at Yifan.

“This is my pile to read, grandfather,” Yifan explains, picking them up for himself.

“But you’ve already read them all before!” the old man calls. Joonmyun furrows his brows in confusion; head tilting gently as Yifan quickly scrambles up the staircase, cheeks reddened. The old man lets out a light chuckle as Yifan disappears from Joonmyun’s sight, his elbows resting across the counter. Joonmyun turns to the old man for an explanation, and the old man chuckles once again.

“My grandson sure does like you,” he says with a laugh. “He has read many of the books in this shop. Although, you’re probably already aware of that…”

Joonmyun shakes his head in disbelief.

“I’m not too sure of that,” he says gently. The old man pets him gently on the shoulder, chuckling once again as Joonmyun flinches slightly at the touch. He holds Joonmyun’s shoulder tightly and shakes it.

“All the books with writing in the margins, they are his. Or, they were his. They’ve been in and out of these doors, of course. But those are the books that he enjoyed reading enough to want to translate parts for those who couldn’t understand.”

Joonmyun blushes, picking up his book bag and running to the door. Joonmyun knows his face is flushed more than it has been in a long while. His heart hammers in his chest as he quickly tugs his shoes on and runs home, not stopping until he has crossed his room and leapt into his sheets, throwing his reddened face into his pillow. He holds a hand on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath; and he tries to settle himself, he holds his breath and counts the books that line his own shelf, the ones that he had bought but had enjoyed too much to take back.

Of all the books he has ever read, none has been able to explain this feeling.

“Do you like me?” Joonmyun asks.

His breath sends small puffs of white smoke into the cool room. It is winter now, and the snow has piled up in front of the bookshop, the cool somehow breaching the walls and sending chills throughout the whole of the bookshop. Yifan’s face pales and he glances gently as Joonmyun walks around him a few seconds more, finally picking up the courage to face him directly. He sees the shock still in Yifan’s expressive orbs.

“You do like me, don’t you?” Joonmyun repeats, watching as Yifan watches him. A silence presses between them, and Yifan opens his mouth slightly, leaning down until he is eye level with Joonmyun.

“I do,” Yifan whispers.

Two, simple words, yet they send Joonmyun’s nerves on edge, his head hammering and his heart beating erratically. He lets out a surprised ‘oh’ as Yifan draws closer, his long fingers brushing against Joonmyun’s reddened cheeks. Joonmyun almost shuts his eyes completely as Yifan’s warm breath presses against Joonmyun’s skin.

“I like you very much.”

“Do you really mean it?” Joonmyun asks.

“Yes,” Yifan responds gently.

Joonmyun is stunned. He stands, unsure how to react, as two long arms drape themselves over his shoulders and snake their way down his back, pressing gently at his sides. Joonmyun finally manages a nod, as Yifan’s chin rests on his head.

“I like you too,” Joonmyun finally manages to stutter out.

The height difference for the first time surprises Joonmyun, yet it is a feeling of comfortable surprise. He feels as if he simply fits within Yifan’s arms; the stretch of Yifan’s forearm balled tightly at the small of his back, his head pressed tightly into the crevices of Yifan’s chest. They stand there, embracing each other, for the longest of times. Joonmyun does not want to open his eyes and he does not want Yifan to pull apart for even a second because he is warm and Joonmyun feels so complete within his embrace. However, inevitably, Yifan must pull away. A pile of books sits on the counter, quite forgotten by the pair.

“Can I kiss you?”

As soon as the words pass through his lips, Joonmyun finds himself pressed against the bookshelves, his hands resting gently on Yifan’s hips as his lips brush ever so gently against his. He can feel the pounding of Yifan’s heart against his chest and he imagines the taller teen must be just as nervous as he is, and somehow Joonmyun finds this reassuring. He lets Yifan’s tongue brush against his, and soon Joonmyun finds the air between the bookshelves is much warmer than it had been before.

Joonmyun pushes Yifan away, as his breath shortens, and leads him to his favourite lounge chair by the fire. Yifan sits himself down and Joonmyun happily clambers on top of him, snuggling into Yifan’s warmth as they both watch the burning embers rise and fall, casting a warm glow across the room. Joonmyun shuts his eyes as he feels Yifan’s lips pressed against his temple, content in himself to just sit and soak in this feeling that none of his books could ever give him.

Slowly, Joonmyun drifts off into a peaceful slumber, Yifan’s arms still wrapped protectively around his middle. It doesn’t take long for Yifan to let himself drift off as well.