Sebastian adjusted his lapel, his eyes shifting from the 'clumsy' man to the table by the window, when his gaze landed on Seol-Hwi.
As their eyes met, the cool, diplomatic mask he had worn for decades didn't just flicker—it cracked.
For a split second, Sebastian's heart skipped. He hadn't expected to see those crystalline eyes in Paris.
In the months since he'd left Seoul, he had found himself staring at his morning coffee, wondering why it tasted bitter, or looking at a car door and waiting for a shadow to step through it.
He had missed his translator. He had missed the way Seol-Hwi's voice made the harsh edges of business sound soft. He had refused to acknowledge it, burying the feeling under 'efficiency,' but seeing him now made the denial impossible.
"Seol-Hwi?" Sebastian's voice was lower than usual, stripped of its icy professional sheen.
Luc froze. He looked at the blonde man, then at Seol-Hwi, his messy hair falling over his tired eyes.
Luc wasn't stupid; he knew exactly who this was. He looked at Sebastian's towering, polished perfection and then down at his own wrinkled sleeves and trembling, jet-lagged hands.
He looked like a man who had lost before the race even started.
"Sebastian," Seol-Hwi whispered, standing up.
"I... I didn't know you were in the city," Sebastian said, taking a step toward the table, completely ignoring the disheveled Luc. He looked at Seol-Hwi with a desperate sort of intensity. "I've thought about our time in Seoul. Quite often, actually. I realized I may have been... abrupt at the airport."
It was the closest Sebastian could get to an apology. For him, it was a monumental confession.
Luc's shoulders slumped. He looked at the floor, his broad grin gone, his 'universal charm' extinguished by the sheer presence of Seol-Hwi's first love.
He looked like he wanted to turn around and walk right back to the airport but his feet stayed rooted to the floor.
"You're here," Sebastian continued, his voice regaining some of its confidence as he saw Seol-Hwi's stunned expression. "Perhaps this is fate. I have dinner tonight with the Ministry. I was just thinking I needed someone I could trust by my side. Someone who understands me."
He reached out, his hand moving with that familiar, graceful etiquette toward Seol-Hwi's arm.
Seol-Hwi watched the hand. It was perfect. It was the hand that had held doors and checked fevers. It was the 'Original Text' he had spent years trying to memorize. But then again, he looked at Luc.
Luc looked like a mess. He was panting, he smelled like a long-haul flight, and he looked terrified. Terrified that he might've been a step too late. But he had no idea what Seol-Hwi was thinking.
To him, Luc was the one who knew the temperature of his coffee. Luc was the one who had flown halfway across the world because of a single "Hi."
Seol-Hwi realized that Sebastian didn't miss him; Sebastian missed the comfort Seol-Hwi provided. Sebastian wanted a translator. But Luc... he wanted a partner.
Just as Sebastian's fingers were about to touch his sleeve, Seol-Hwi stepped back. He didn't look at Sebastian. He walked right past him and grabbed Luc's trembling hand, lacing their fingers together.
"You're late," Seol-Hwi said to Luc, his voice thick with emotion.
Luc blinked, his eyes wide and searching. "The... The flight... There was a delay in Dubai. I tried to fix my hair in the taxi, but—"
"It's a mess," Seol-Hwi interrupted, reaching up to finally brush a stray lock of hair away from Luc's forehead. It wasn't a polite gesture. It was a possessive one. "You look terrible."
"Seol-Hwi?" Sebastian's voice was sharp now, tinged with a confusion he hadn't felt in years. "Who is this?"
Seol-Hwi finally turned to Sebastian. He didn't feel the old ache. He didn't feel the need to translate his heart into something Sebastian could invoice.
"This is the man who didn't ask 'Pourquoi,'" Seol-Hwi said clearly, in Korean first, and then in French.
He leaned into Luc, feeling the heat of the man's exhaustion, the solid, vibrating reality of him. Luc's grip on his hand tightened, his strength returning in an instant. The 'universal' charm was gone, replaced by a narrow, focused devotion that was meant only for the man standing in front of him.
"We were just leaving, Sebastian," Seol-Hwi said, picking up his coat. "He needs to sleep. And I... I'm done with the Embassy. So get yourself a new translator."
As they headed for the door, Seol-Hwi didn't look back at the blonde man standing frozen in the middle of the café. For the first time, he didn't need to wonder if he was getting the translation right.
He was finally speaking for himself.