Kempt and tidy, albeit showing signs of gray. Your glasses sit elegantly on your face, making the wrinkles look softer and more welcome than they should. You draw your attention away from the image of you in the window and back to the pretty waiter girl walking towards you.
“Ready to order, sir?” Seeing you nod, she swipes her pencil from her ear and spins it before touching its graphite to the paper. She smiles a familiar smile, one you can't seem to forgive yourself for placing.
“A mocha, please.”
“Size?”
“Medium.”
“We say ‘venti’ for that.”
“Whatever.”
“Hot or iced?”
“How old do you think I am?”
“Hah, alright. It'll be five minutes, sir.”
She walks away, heading for the counter. For some reason, your nerves are quiet—no alarms blaring, no warning lights flashing. If anything, you're hopeful that it's over and that you could finally leave the past behind you.
And then you see her. She emerges from some back room, exchanging a few words with the pretty waiter girl. They share a giggle before she turns and spots you. Her jaw drops like she's seen a ghost before shooing away the waiter to the kitchen.
She takes careful steps, looking around like there's something to find. She's inconspicuous—she hides it well—and slips into the booth opposite you.
Kempt and tidy, albeit showing signs of gray. Her glasses sit elegantly on her face, making the wrinkles look softer and more welcome than they should. She stares at you, wanting to say a million things yet having none come out.
Do the heavy lifting for her, again: “Hi.”
“I—welcome. You…?”
“Congrats on the whole thing.” You look around: potted plants hang from the ceiling, bright windows let light into the cozy space just like next door. Jazz plays softly in the background like a cliché that fits so damn well.
“Thank you. You look good.” She smiles, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. She looks you up and down, and you feel yourself doing the same.
“Yuri,” you whisper, feeling the syllables roll off your tongue and past your lips. It feels forbidden to say, forbidden to hear, yet those laws were lifted so long ago.
She laughs a beautiful laugh, like old times. “How did you find me?”
“I'm sorry I took so long… But I'm here now.”
“You say that like I didn't wait.”
She holds your cheek again, feeling the wrinkles where there used to be residue of war. It's a different feeling, a strange one, but nothing unwelcome.
You grasp the hand on your cheek, “Is she…?” before watching her give a solemn nod.
The pretty waiter girl appears beside your booth promptly, setting down your mocha and an americano for your old friend. Yuri shoots a tender yet knowing look at her, but she's only puzzled so far.
“Mom, do you know him?” She glares at you, wondering why her mother has her hand on your cheek. The cogs on her head turn slowly, but they turn nonetheless. “Oh my God…”
“And you must be Mihyun,” you tease, taking a sip of your coffee. It's sweet, bitter, and comforting, much like the end of a long journey where you're all but one more dirt path from home. “Mm, good for a ‘venti.’ But I wanted it iced, though.”
She chuckles in disbelief, but the moment you scoot to make space, she tears up. She sobs lightly as you put your arm around her, and Yuri joins on her other side to wrap her in a tight hug.
“It's very nice to meet you, sweetheart,” you whisper, kissing her hair. “And you too, my love.” Find her once again, eyeing you with that signature mischievous smile as if saying how dare you make my daughter cry.
“What did you tell her that she isn't kicking me out of here right away?” you laugh, and Yuri laughs back.
“I told her her dad is a wonderful man, and that he always put me first. For a little while, she couldn't understand why I never took a boyfriend. She liked one of the regulars from a long time ago, the handsome one that looked soft and homey, but I said I knew better and she was nice enough to leave it at that.”
“Sounds like I have quite the shoes to fill.”
“Better start now…?”
“Sangja.” You turn red in the face saying it, and just as expected, Yuri snorts.
“Fuck you. All this time, Agent Box?”
“As if you were any better, Agent Glass.”
11 likes from nekkonii, undercoverstork, DJNayeon, AlittlebitNN, kryphtot, badsnowman, SadMango, ghosterchim, juren, and dandlndan.