Chapter Text
Shanghai, present...
Evenings after work had never been anything special for Junjun. To him, they were simply a quiet break between a long busy day and a long silent night. Everyday, he’d return to an apartment that barely showed a trace of anyone but himself. He wasn't the kind of person who enjoyed nightlife. Occasionally, he'd go out for dinner or drink with friends or colleagues, but only because they had invited him. Otherwise, he stuck to his routine: having dinner alone, then going to bed. It was no wonder he usually didn’t mind working late.
This routine was a stark contrast to his vacations. When he was on holiday, his phone would be off, and he would not answer any calls—not even if his office caught fire. When Junjun took time off, he vanished completely. Everyone at the office knew it. Which was why that afternoon it surprised everyone, especially Yuning, his senior and direct supervisor, to see Junjun wrapping up early.
"Got a special appointment with someone?" Yuning leaned casually against Junjun's cubicle. His white shirt was half untucked from his waistband after a long day at his desk. His gaze studied Junjun, a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
Junjun smiled faintly. "What do you mean, ge? I'm just getting ready to go home like everyone else."
Yuning arched a brow and paused for a moment, searching his junior’s face for a hint of truth. But after a second, he gave up with a shrug. "Alright," he muttered, sounding a little resigned. "I guess I'd better get ready to go home, too."
Junjun let out a small laugh, not because anything was funny, but because it was easier than trying to explain something he didn't even understand himself. As soon as the clock struck seven, he grabbed his briefcase and left.
His destination was a small wonton noodle restaurant located at an intersection not far from his office. The pavement radiated the day’s leftover heat, mingled with the aromas of street stalls along the way. People milled along the sidewalk, most still in formal clothes, makeup faded, faces weary but strangely lighter. They were workers from nearby buildings, just like him, looking for dinner or a chance to shop after work.
The wonton noodle restaurant was bustling when he arrived. The savory scent of broth, garlic, and pepper filled the air. The sound of chopsticks clinking against ceramic bowls and the hum of overlapping conversations immediately greeted him. Junjun scanned the room. Almost every table was occupied. Luckily, a few customers were leaving. He slipped quickly into their table, which was still cluttered with leftover bowls and glasses. He paid it little mind, as his attention was already drawn to a waiter who hurried over with a clean rag in hand.
“You’re back again. Welcome,” the waiter greeted with a warm voice and even a warmer smile that seemed to make Junjun's world momentarily quiet. The fatigue from his long workday seemed to simply melt away.
Junjun nodded faintly. “Your wonton noodles are good.”
“Of course, we are the best.”
Junjun gave a polite smile. His gaze followed the waiter's hand as he moved swiftly, gathering bowls and chopsticks, clearing the table. The cloth swept across the surface with skillful ease. Junjun couldn't understand how watching someone clean a table could be so pleasing. For a moment, everything around him faded. In his vision, there was only the waiter, moving through the thin smoke and the dim restaurant lamplight. A shimmer of light fell on his hair, creating a faint glow. Junjun thought it was beautiful.
It's been so long since I've seen you. Was it really just a year ago, Hanhan?
"Same order as usual?" The voice snapped Junjun out of his thoughts. He blinked. The waiter chuckled. "Looking at me like that again," he continued. "Am I reminding you of someone?"
"Oh, sorry," Junjun said, feeling a blush creep up his ears. He instinctively pulled his head back slightly as the waiter bent down and brought his face closer.
"Do I really look that much like him?" The waiter asked again with a playful tone but curious eyes.
Junjun swallowed, feeling something fluttering in his chest. "Y-yes... very similar."
There was a pause, just a breath in some seconds. Their faces were only inches apart, and Junjun's gaze was locked on those pitch-black eyes. A flash of memory rushed through his mind, and a sudden, overwhelming longing pressed against his chest. It had been so long.
"Wonton noodles, not too spicy with extra meat and a glass of hot tea." The clear voice sounded again. The waiter straightened his back and grinned broadly. "Right?"
Junjun didn't know how to react, so he just laughed lightly and nodded. “You remembered.”
“Of course.” The waiter smirked, as if he was amused by something only he understood. “It’s my job to remember what customers like.”
The words were casual, but Junjun caught a faint pause before his smile faded. He wanted to ask, ‘Do you really not remember me?’ but the question lodged in his throat as he saw the waiter had done his job with the table.
"Coming right up, Sir." The waiter continued with a wink before leaving with a stack of plates and glasses in his hand. Junjun felt a wave of warmth sweep through his heart again as the waiter disappeared into the kitchen.
Is it really possible for two people to look that much alike in this world, Hanhan?
**********
Italy, a year ago, 1st fragment….
Junjun always loved travelling. Every year, he meticulously prepared his own travel guidelines and itineraries—from picking destinations, booking tickets and accommodation, to exhaustive research. He had tried using a tour agency once, but the experience felt too rushed and impersonal. Since then, he preferred the freedom of wandering solo, exploring places at his own pace, guided by a thoughtfully curated itinerary. In the past he had explored some local destinations and neighbouring countries like Japan, South Korea, and Thailand, and then France.
This year, he picked Italy. The country had always intrigued him—its food, architecture, and language held an old-world charm that stirred something inside him. Rome was his starting point. After checking into a small guesthouse tucked near the Campo de’ Fiori, he started his journey. Ancient Rome was first on his schedule. The Colosseum, Roman Forum, and Altare Della Patria gave him a deep impression and lots of photos. A nice lady who became the landlord of his guest house told him to visit the piazza near the guest house in the evening too. She said it would be something that he would never forget before he continued his tour to local Rome and other places. So here he was.
Golden hour cast a honeyed glow over the cobbled piazza where the evening air was alive with music and laughter. The outdoor bars and cafes under rows of string light spilled with locals and tourists. The smell of grilled meat and cheese blended with the chatter, blending with the rhythmic pulse of street performers. Junjun stood at the edge of the crowd, camera slung over his shoulder, quietly soaking in the scene he'd been told about—a place that was warm, wild, and oddly magical. The lady hadn’t lied. The place was truly enjoyable. The people, the food, and the street performers, it was everything she’d promised. He was too busy clicking away, eager to capture the atmosphere—until he saw him.
A young man, maybe around his age. Fair skin, black hair, a lean frame, and eyes bright with playful energy. Junjun was almost certain he wasn't a local, yet he blended with the crowd as if born to this place. A black apron covered his shirt, sleeves rolled up neatly to the elbows; a tray of crystal glasses was in his hand, marking him as a waiter. But he didn’t just walk. He glided gracefully between the tables, pausing to spin and dance a little near the accordionist before returning to his router without spilling a drop. Junjun blinked. The man looked like he’d stepped out of a film.
So effortless.
So… real.
Applause rippled through the crowd when the waiter gave a playful bow. His genuine smile grew wider as he continued his duty. Clearly the waiter was popular among the guests. Junjun found himself captivated. His camera hung forgotten at his side. The music shifted into a slower folk rhythm as twilight deepened, washing the piazza in violet light. Junjun chose a seat, deciding to stay longer.
“Table for one?” a voice asked in accented English.
He turned, surprised to see the same energetic waiter standing there with a relaxed smile. An empty tray was tucked under his arm and sweat-damp hair stuck slightly at his temples.
“Yes, please,” Junjun replied, startled by how soft his voice sounded.
Now he could see the face clearly as the waiter was standing right in front of him. East Asian features, just like him. Some part of his black shoulder-length hair was tied loosely into a small pony tail, a little messy but effortlessly attractive. A sharp nose, lips curved in a way that made his smile feel disarmingly genuine. Definitely handsome, Junjun admitted. But what caught Junjun's attention most were his jet black eyes—bright, playful, and entirely too warm for a stranger. He had never been so immersed in someone's gaze before.
“This way.”
The waiter led him to a cozy table with a perfect view of the piazza. He handed Junjun the menu but didn’t immediately leave.
“First time in Rome?” he asked, tilting his head.
Junjun nodded. “Yes.”
“Alone?”
Junjun hesitated, then smiled. “Yeah. I guess I’m collecting solo stories.”
The waiter leaned casually against a nearby chair, the posture relaxed but intentional. “Then you picked the right piazza. This place is basically chaos and charm on tap.”
“I can see that,” Junjun said, glancing at the dancing crowd before meeting those black eyes again. He could feel his heart skip a beat as their gazes locked. “You’re part of the charm, I think.”
The waiter laughed, short and bright. “Careful. Flattery might get you an extra drink.”
“Then I’d like to get that.”
Eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. “Clever,” He grinned playfully. Junjun smiled back shyly. “So what do you want to order?”
“Any recommendations?”
“Wait here. I’ve got something for you. Promise it’ll feel like heaven.”
“I trust you.”
“I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Junjun chuckled softly hearing the words, wondering how it was even possible on such a busy night. But as soon as the waiter disappeared inside, he felt a little bit colder. He tried to look around. The street performers still played their show. A beautiful lady and a man sang a duet with romantic vibes. Some locals and guests danced in pairs slowly. Lifting his camera, he decided to catch the scene, busying himself until a hand slid a glass of homemade beer and a plate of light, delicious dishes in front of him. The playful smile was back. Junjun felt his heart lighten up.
“Buon appetito.”
“That’s more than five minutes.” Junjun teased.
“Did you miss me already?”
Caught off guard by the playful counter, Junjun smiled and shook his head faintly, though the warmth creeping to his ears betrayed him. He covered it by taking a sip of the homemade beer which was surprisingly smooth, with a hint of citrus.
“You like it?” the waiter asked with anticipation.
“It’s really good.” Junjun admitted, taking another sip.
The waiter nodded, eyes gleaming with a spark of mischief and satisfaction. “Told the boss to add orange peel to the brew last month. He said no. I did it anyway.” He leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “He still doesn’t know.”
Junjun laughed under his breath. "So you’re the rebel behind the flavor."
The waiter grinned. "Don't tell anyone. But I figured someone with good taste would notice."
Their eyes met again, and this time, the surrounding noise of the piazza seemed to fade, as if the world was holding its breath just for them. A shout from another waiter across the square broke the moment.
“Ah, duty calls.” The waiter said apologetically.
Junjun nodded, trying not to look too disappointed.
“But—” The waiter stepped closer, lowering his voice just a bit. “Tomorrow’s my day off. Weekend miracle. If you’re still around, I’ll show you another spot. Quieter, still charming. Not in the guidebooks.”
Junjun raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “Do you charm all tourists like this?”
“Only the ones who blush when they smile.”
Before Junjun could respond, the waiter was already walking away, blending back into the warm chaos.
"Wait!" Junjun called out, a bit louder than he intended. The waiter turned. "Your name? I'm Gong Jun!"
"Call me Hanhan. See you tomorrow, here, after breakfast." He flashed a wide smile and a quick V-salute before vanishing into the bar again, leaving Junjun with a lingering smile and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this trip was about to become truly unforgettable.
The next morning arrived warm and bright, with the kind of golden sunlight that made everything feel like it belonged in a postcard. Junjun had waited in the same piazza while having his light breakfast. A small backpack on his back and a camera slung over his shoulder. He wore his casual outfit with an extra farmer hat and sun glasses. Rome in summer was definitely so bright.
Hanhan was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe he just hadn’t arrived yet, or maybe…
A small knot of nerves twisted in his chest. He hadn’t known what to expect. Maybe Hanhan was just being polite, maybe it was just a passing moment. Still, he stayed, waiting until his cup was empty. Then he saw him, hands in his pockets, casual clothes, same hair style, eyes crinkled from the sun and something like excitement, beautiful and handsome at the same time.
“Look, no tray and apron today,” Hanhan announced with a mock sigh, spinning dramatically in the middle of the square when he caught Junjun’s gaze. “I’m free.”
Junjun smiled. “Do you always celebrate your day off with a performance?”
“Only when it’s a good one,” Hanhan said and stepped closer. Junjun did not say anything fpor a moment.
“I thought you wouldn’t come.” Junjun admitted slowly. Hanhan raised his eyebrows, grinning.
“I’m not a liar. I’m a good man, don’t worry.” Junjun smiled wider and nodded. Hanhan patted his shoulder lightly. “Come on. I volunteered to be your personal guide today for compensation. Later I’ll show you that hidden gem I promised.”
“Deal. I’ll entrust my trip to you.”
“Deal,” Hanhan said with a playful nod. “Let’s go!”