Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I was never supposed to meet Beomseok. He was the kind of boy who seemed to belong anywhere but here. Used to the rapid pace of Seoul, he carried himself like he didn’t care about anyone. But anyone who stopped to observe would notice how his eyes lingered on quiet, beautiful things: The golden light shining down on the trees during the sunset, the small cats that would come and sit by the dock during the early hours of the cold morning, the way the viridescent leaves would waver and flutter slowly to the ground in the afternoon breeze. Mundane moments most people overlooked, he always noticed.

The first time I met him wasn’t anything miraculous.

I was rushing out of the small town grocery store, the air inside thick with the scent of tangerines and fresh seafood. My arms were full of paper bags stuffed with baking ingredients, threatening to spill, when I nearly collided into him. He looked like any tourist who would come to Jeju: Dark cargo shorts, a white tank beneath a hoodie, his face covered by a mask. Then I noticed the stares, the quiet whispers from the grade schoolers who wouldn’t stop watching him.

A week later, I finally realized why he had chosen such an isolated place.

He was on hiatus. He had to disappear from the flashing cameras, the suffocating crowds, the constant weight of the public eye. That’s why he wandered throughout the town every day, to become a quiet stranger and fade into the background of the Jeju summer.

Except he didn’t fade away. Not to me, anyway.

One morning, I found him by the dock, awkwardly trying to help an old Haenyeo haul in a bucket full of abalone. The salty stench of seawater clung to him, soaking into his now-damp olive green cardigan and jeans. Another warm afternoon, I found him squatting in front of my gate, patting Dubu as if he’d known my white maltese for years, tufts of fur clinging to his plaid jacket. As the weeks crawled by, I watched him slowly slip into my life, becoming a part of it that I could no longer ignore.

Chapter Text

I wake up to the sound of someone banging against the metal gate of my house. I know who it is. As always, Beomseok has decided to bring me breakfast every morning in exchange for free drinks at the cafe. The knocking is rapid and loud, followed by his vibrant voice cutting through the sound of the whooshing air. “If you’re pretending to be asleep again, I’m coming back with less food.”

I sigh and roll out of bed, my feet hitting the icy wooden floor. Winter in Jeju always finds a way to seep through your bones, no matter how close or far you live from the sea. I pull on a cardigan and shuffle to the gate, Dubu following me closely as if he knows there’s food coming.

The gate creaks as I unlock it. When it finally swings open, Beomseok stands on the other side, hair slightly damp from his daily morning jog. He’s bundled up in an expensive-looking sweater that gives away the fact that he isn’t from here, holding two paper bags in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

“Took you long enough,” he says, smiling. He slips past me easily, as if this isn’t someone else’s home, as if he hasn’t made it a habit of showing up here every morning for the past three months. He kneels down without hesitation to pat Dubu, who has been waiting patiently by my side. The maltese leans into his touch immediately, his tail wagging eagerly. Beomseok giggles softly, hauling Dubu up and walking into my home.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter as I follow Beomseok. “I raised him for years and this is how he repays me.”

He smiles at me, setting down the coffee and food onto my dining table. “I just have that effect. He loves me.”

I take a sip of the coffee, the warmth seeping into my numb fingers, and take a small sip. It’s exactly how I like it—no sugar, no cream. Definitely too bitter for his taste. He remembered without ever asking.

“What did you bring today?” I ask.

He lifts one of the paper bags enthusiastically. “Just egg sandwiches from the bakery. Your favorite.”

We end up eating inside of my bedroom, the only place in the house with a heater. Somewhere down the road, roosters crow loudly and the familiar scent of the sea seeps in through the open windows. Beomseok eats quietly, occasionally tearing off tiny pieces of bread to give to Dubu.

“You’re spoiling him,” I say.

“He deserves it,” he replies easily. Then, after a pause, he slips a chocolate into my hand. “So do you.”

I sigh in annoyance, but my ears burn anyway.

When we’re done, I throw the empty wrappers and cups into the trash, and he gets up to leave. Or at least, pretends to.

He walks slowly, like he’s stalling, lingering by the doorway while Dubu circles his ankles. Outside, Jeju is fully awake now; the distant cawing of birds, the low rumble of fishing boats heading out, the wind pushing salt through the air.

“You’re opening early today, right?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know my schedule better than I do.

“Same as always,” I reply. “Seven-thirty.”

He nods, slipping his mask out of his pocket but not putting it on yet. His hair is still damp and there’s a faint flush on his cheeks from the run. For a second, I wonder if people in Seoul ever get to see him like this. Quiet, sincere, just a boy standing in my doorway with a soft smile and sea air clinging to his sweater, not an idol.

“I’ll stop by later,” he says. “Don’t give my drink away to anyone else.”

“As if I’d ever do that,” I reply dryly.

He grins, satisfied, and finally opens the door, cold air rushing in. Then he’s gone, the gate clanging shut, his footsteps fading down the street.

Chapter Text

By the time I open the cafe, the sky is pale and dim, the sun nowhere to be seen. I flip on the lights, the familiar hum of the espresso machine filling the quiet space. The smell of coffee grounds and baked bread slowly replaces the scent of the sea that follows me everywhere as I prepare the pastries and equipment for opening.

The café is small. Only four tables, a long counter, and windows that look out toward the dock in the distance. I like it this way, it’s manageable enough for one person to handle.
Business is slow in winter. A couple of locals stop by for their usual orders, scarves pulled tight around their necks. Haenyeo who stop by to eat breakfast complain about their knees. A fisherman asks if the wind will calm down by evening. Life continues in its monotonous rhythm.

At exactly nine-thirty, the doorbell rings as the heavy wooden door swings open. I don’t have to look anymore, I know it’s Beomseok coming for his free drink.

“Good morning,” he says lightly as he approaches the counter, as if he hasn’t already been a part of my morning just a few hours ago.

I glance up from wiping the counter and find that he’s now wearing a long, brown coat that nearly swallows his frame. There’s a small bouquet of flowers in his hand, something I have no idea how he finds in this cold winter, and a guitar case slung over his shoulder. He catches me staring and hands the flowers over happily.

“Something to decorate the counter. Thought it would be pretty.”

I take the bouquet and turn toward the espresso machine, already reaching for his designated mug. “Same drink?”

He hums thoughtfully, leaning against the counter, then gives me a bright smile. “Your choice today.”

My hands falter just slightly before I continue. I end up making him a warm hot chocolate, something much sweeter than his usual latte. When I place the mug on the counter, his eyes brighten as he eagerly takes a sip.

“Oh, this is good.” He pauses, then looks at me, his eyes crinkling in a way that you can tell that he’s truly happy. “You never make anything that tastes bad, do you?”

I smile softly, then he moves to his usual table by the window, the one with the best view of the dock and the sea. He sets the guitar case carefully beside the chair and for a while, he just sits there, watching the harsh water as steam curls from his cup on the table.

The cafe fills and empties as hours pass by. I take orders, wipe tables, and restock pastries with ease. Beomseok stays until lunchtime, as he always does. Sometimes he scrolls through his phone, sometimes he writes lyrics in the now-worn notebook I gave him as a gift when he first arrived from Seoul. Today, he pulls the guitar onto his lap and strums chords experimentally.

Around noon, the snow eases down, falling slowly and lightly now. Beomseok notices and presses closer to the window, staring up at the sky.

“You act as if you haven’t seen snow before,” I point out.

“No, it’s different here in Jeju,” he says. “It’s almost…prettier.”

I stand beside him without even thinking, as we watch the small boats by the dock bob up and down, covered in a sheen of white snow.

“Do you ever miss it?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He doesn’t have to ask what I mean.

“Sometimes, I miss my fans the most,” he says. “But I like not being watched all the time.”

I nod. I understand the weight of such a burden, even if mine comes from a different place.

The bell rings as another customer slips in, and the moment ends as I walk back to the counter. When I turn back, Beomseok is already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to–” I start.
“I know,” he says. “But I want to.”

He leaves a bill on the counter, much more than the drink costs, then leaves quickly. I know that look on his face, he’s come up with yet another idea for a song and wants to get to his lodgings before he forgets it.

I watch him leave with a smile on my face, but the cafe feels a little emptier once he’s gone.