Sebastian took a step forward. It wasn't the sharp, decisive movement of a businessman, but something hesitant, as if he were finally realizing the ground beneath him was shifting.
"Seol-Hwi, wait," he said. The old authority in his voice was gone, replaced by a tremor he couldn't quite hide. "You aren't being rational. This man... he's a mess. You would pick him over me?"
Seol-Hwi narrowed his eyes, his brows knitting together.
"Yes, I would pick him over you," Seol-Hwi said, and Sebastian wanted to come close.
"You can't be serious,"
Luc quickly took his chance to act.
Even with his eyes bloodshot from the flight and his clothes wrinkled, he moved to stand directly between them. He knew Sebastian.
He had seen him in the Embassy halls, and he had heard enough from Seol-Hwi to know exactly how much damage those 'polite' gestures had caused.
Right now, he felt even more mighty than this businessman, and that was because Seol-Hwi chose him.
"Step back, Sebastian," Luc said. His voice was flat, devoid of his usual playful lilt.
Sebastian looked over Luc's shoulder, trying to catch Seol-Hwi's gaze. "This is a private matter. I only want what's best for my translator."
"He isn't your translator anymore," Luc countered. He didn't raise his voice, but the way he steadied himself made Sebastian stop in his tracks. "And he isn't an 'asset' you can just pick up because you realized you missed the convenience of him. You had your chance at the airport, but you chose your project and everything else over him. Now, back off."
Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but he looked at Seol-Hwi and saw something he hadn't seen in all the months they worked together: total indifference.
Seol-Hwi wasn't looking for a sign or waiting for a translation. He was already adjusting his scarf, ready to leave.
"Let's go, Luc. Talking to this man... Is a waste of our time."
The bell above the door gave a final, tiny ring as they stepped out, leaving Sebastian behind in the quiet of the café.
The Paris air was sharp, and for a second, neither of them spoke.
Luc's grip on Seol-Hwi's hand was almost painfully tight, like he was afraid that if he let go, the jet lag would finally win and he'd just float away. He stumbled over a crack in the pavement, his legs clearly giving out, but Seol-Hwi held him.
"God, I'm a mess," Luc croaked.
He stopped walking and leaned his back against a stone wall, pulling Seol-Hwi with him. He looked like he'd aged ten years on that flight.
"I saw him, Seol. I saw the way he looked at you. And I looked at my own reflection in the window and thought, 'What am I doing? He's a prince, and I'm a disaster.'"
Seol-Hwi stood between Luc's legs, looking up at him. He reached out and smoothed down a particularly stubborn tuft of Luc's hair.
"He isn't a prince. He's a statue. There's a difference."
Luc let out a scoffing laughter.
"I didn't even pack a bag," he admitted, a tired, lopsided grin pulling at his mouth. "I left my car at the airport. I think I left the lights on. I just... I saw your message, and I couldn't breathe. I thought if I didn't get here, you'd find a way to talk yourself out of us again."
"I almost did," Seol-Hwi confessed. "I was sitting there thinking about how much easier it is to be alone than to try and understand someone else... Someone like you. Someone who winks at everyone and smiles at the world."
Luc's expression shifted, the playful mask dropping away completely. He reached up, his rough thumb grazing Seol-Hwi's jaw.
"I wink because it's easy. I smile because it's polite. But I flew across the world because you're the only one I want to actually talk to. Do you get that? The others... they're just background noise. You're the only one I'm actually trying to say something to. You... Are my everything, Seol-Hwi."
Seol-Hwi leaned his forehead against Luc's chest, listening to the frantic, uneven thud of his heart. It was the heartbeat of a man who was terrified, and exhausted, and desperately in love.
"I get it now," Seol-Hwi whispered. "I was so busy looking for the right words that I didn't realize the meaning was right in front of me."
Luc wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Seol-Hwi's neck. "So... are we okay? Or am I going to have to fight another diplomat?"
"We're okay. But you're going to sleep for fourteen hours before we do anything else."
"Make it twenty," Luc mumbled, already sounding like he was half-asleep. "I really... Love you, Seol-Hwi. And I'm going to make you understand it, with or without a translation,"
Seol-Hwi smiled and kissed his lips softly before pulling back.
"We'll see about that," he said and then stepped back, dragging Luc along, their fingers locked. "Let's go now, let's... Walk towards our future."
As they started walking again, Seol-Hwi felt a weight lift that he'd been carrying for five years.
He'd spent so much time trying to treat love like a textbook—something with rules and perfect translations. He thought that if he mastered the manners and the etiquette, the love would follow.
But love wasn't something you could translate from a guide. It wasn't in the way Sebastian held a door or checked a fever; those were just motions.
The real thing was this—the mess, the panic, the car lights left on at an airport, and the effort of a man who didn't care how he looked as long as he got to the right person.
He looked at Luc, who was finally leaning into him, nearly falling asleep on his feet as they walked.
Seol-Hwi smiled. A genuine, warm smile that reached his heart. He didn't need a translator anymore.
For the first time, he was simply starting to learn the alphabet of love.