Chapter Text
Receiving a letter from Hongjoong at the end of what must have been the hottest summer Yunho had ever experienced definitely hadn't been on Yunho's bingo card for the year. Getting a letter at all was a strange enough occurrence in this day and age – although finding out Hongjoong was the sender had rid Yunho of any possible concerns as to whether he should be worried (he couldn't remember having any secrets of note that could be used for blackmail by a money-hungry scammer eager to make an extra buck off some ignorant blue blood, but there were a few too many nights deleted from Yunho's memory via the alcoholic concoctions that had made their way into his bloodstream, so you could never be sure).
Hongjoong, ever private and mildly paranoid, had never quite made it into the 21 st century despite being born right on the cusp. He owned a 2004 Motorola Razr flip phone that Yunho was surprised could even still run anymore, and had denied anyone – even his friends – the honor of having the number. As far as Yunho was aware, only three people knew how to contact Hongjoong through anything other than letters and the landline of his apartment in Venice – Hongjoong's mother, brother, and a personal confidante Yunho never had been able to learn the name of. Yunho was surprised Hongjoong even had friends outside of himself, so he didn't want to push the subject and risk reducing the number of people Hongjoong could trust in his life.
Meanwhile, Hongjoong himself never called anyone. His landline was mainly for work-related communication, and Yunho had long ago learned that trying to track down the man was more often than not a fool's errand. If he wasn't away for god knows how long on a seemingly impossible case – one that would inevitably turn out to be another simple puzzle for the great detective – he was hiding from everyone and everything, trying to find peace in a world he had once described as “overwhelmingly and painfully loud.”
And Yunho, learned in the art of giving his childhood friend space, never indulged himself in contacting Hongjoong. Instead, he patiently waited until the detective decided he was ready to find him. Or, well, waited might be a strong word – Yunho went about his life normally until the day Hongjoong once again made his next grand appearance. Yunho wasn't one to ever stay in one place for very long – despite his noble title, his spirit was one for wanderlust and grand adventures. However, no matter where he was, Hongjoong always seemed able to track him down as if he'd been keeping track of Yunho's whereabouts. It would have been a bit creepy if Yunho didn't know Hongjoong so well.
He was in Romania when he received Hongjoong's letter. On the third day of his travels sightseeing in Bucharest, the concierge called his room to notify him of a postal delivery. As it often did in these situations, his brain quickly played through all of the things he had done over the last few days to make sure there wasn't anything blackmailable on his resume. When everything seemed reasonably clean, he decided to simply go down to the front desk and see who, exactly, had written to him.
The woman finished checking a guest in before smiling at him, handing over a thick cream envelope with a raised eyebrow. He wondered how often she had had to deliver letters to guests during her time working for the hotel. He took the letter back up to his room, opening it slowly as if something would slip between the folds and bite him. Inside was a small notecard that smelled like black currant and jasmine with the words Manneken Pis, Sept. 14 at 11:34 written in a familiar sloped scrawl.
Yunho smiled as he flopped back onto his bed. It seemed that his trip would be ending a little earlier than he'd planned.
🔎
He found Hongjoong standing across the street from the Manneken Pis, his back turned to the infamous statue that was already surrounded by tourists snapping photos of it like there was only a short window of time for them to do so. As if the bronze statue of a young boy relieving himself would suddenly pull on nonexistent pants, tuck himself away, and run in the other direction before they took a Facebook-worthy photo. Yunho stopped for a moment himself, turning his back to the crowd so that he could take a selfie with the statue peeking over his shoulder. He grinned as he uploaded it to his Instragram story, the caption “Take the time to let it all out” just corny enough to make him chuckle.
When he drew closer to Hongjoong, he watched as the other man peered into the windows of a chocolate shop, his finger poking the air just short of the glass as if cataloging all of the desserts within.
Yunho didn't even have time to clear his throat once he stepped up next to Hongjoong before the detective was speaking. “Gaufre or Belgian waffles?”
Yunho raised an eyebrow, glancing between Hongjoong and the shop that seemed to have his undivided attention. “Aren't they basically the same thing?”
“Oh, my dear friend,” Hongjoong said, turning to Yunho with a sad look in his eyes as if Yunho has just told him his dog had recently been eaten by a crocodile. “What must it be like inside your head?”
Yunho would have been offended if he hadn't learned better by now. If he got upset each time Hongjoong established his superior intelligence, Yunho might spend his whole life with a chip on his shoulder. Better to let some things slide – Hongjoong rarely meant to sound as condescending as he sometimes came across.
“Please enlighten me on the difference then,” Yunho said, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the window. His eyes roamed across the crowd snapping photos of the statue, gaze hidden behind the dark frames of his sunglasses. “Or would you rather just tell me why exactly you called me out after 8 months of radio silence to stare at a pantsless statue that's been here since the 1600s?”
Hongjoong clicked his tongue and turned away from the chocolate shop's window. “Patience, friend, we'll get there – for now, let's find something to eat. Be a little touristy. Enjoy the nice day.”
Yunho shot his friend a look over the top of his glasses. “It's ass degrees and I have sweat dripping down my spine, I don't know if I would consider this a nice day .”
A laugh slipped past Hongjoong's lips as he gave the chocolate shop one last wistful glance. “You've obviously never been to Okinawa in the middle of July then. Come on, I know a nice little restaurant a few streets away.”
Looking over his shoulder a final time at the famous landmark and its horde of diligent photographers, Yunho followed behind Hongjoong as he made his way between the pedestrians meandering down the street. He thought for a moment about testing Hongjoong's knowledge and bringing up the Jeanneke Pis to see whether the detective was aware of the more hidden female counterpart to the statue they'd just left, but he pressed his lips together into a thin line and held the words back behind the barrier of his teeth.
He was sure Hongjoong already knew.
They walked for what felt like hours but was rationally only a few blocks – Yunho had not expected summer heat to suddenly make a reappearance in the middle of September, especially since Belgian weather was usually much cooler by now, and had thus not dressed accordingly. His dark blue crew neck sweater, even while thin enough to still be moderately breathable, was clinging to his skin uncomfortably.
They reached the restaurant soon enough, and though the patio seating was nice, Yunho was glad that it didn't seem to be all that busy inside so that they could enjoy a table underneath the fans and fairy lights. Yunho wasn't surprised to find that the staff of Vertigo seemed to already know who Hongjoong was, ignoring the way his friend familiarly conversed with the pretty young woman bringing them water in order to glance over the menu.
Hongjoong ordered a Kashmir chai and the la bolognese n'existe pas – one of the few dishes that did not seem to contain any obvious vegetables – without even glancing at the paper in front of him. After a few moments of staring at the assortment of drinks and dishes, Yunho decided on an artisanal lemonade made of something or the other and the teriyaki salmon. The lemonade sounded like a refreshing way to cut the heat still crawling beneath his skin, even if he didn't really understand the point of adding elderflower to a drink.
When the woman left with the water jug and their order, Hongjoong turned back to smile at him. “So, how have you been? Gallivanting across Europe for – what is it now, the fifth time?”
Yunho grinned, shrugging his shoulders slowly as he settled back into his seat. Now that the fans were blowing semi-cool air onto him and they were no longer wandering through crowded streets, he felt his muscles relaxing. “There are fifty countries in Europe and I am only 27 – I'd say I have at least a few more gallivants in me before I can feel satisfied.”
The woman returned with their drink orders, and Hongjoong smiled pleasantly and thanked her before she left again. Yunho watched as Hongjoong brought the warm tea to his lips, blowing soft puffs of air that mixed with the steam rolling over the lip of the cup. He took a sip of his own drink, noting that he still wasn't sure he understood what exactly elderflower was meant to taste like.
“And what of your uncle?” Hongjoong asked, glancing at Yunho as he set his teacup gently back in the floral saucer. His finger stroked the ridged side of the cup as he spoke. “How does he feel that the heir to his lordly title and the future ass taking his seat in the House of Lords hasn't so much as called home in months?”
Yunho rolled his eyes. “Uncle gave up on me years ago, you know that. He'd rather burn the Jeong legacy down himself than hand it over to a ' good-for-nothing vagabond ' like me. His fault for being too much of a self-obsessed bastard, hell-bent on telling me and Mom all the ways we've failed the family, to remember to find himself a nice wife and pop out a baseball team of asshat kids just like him that could take over the mantel. Plus, you know he never really was a fan of my… dalliances , as he would call them.”
Hongjoong nodded and Yunho wondered why he bothered asking questions he already knew the answer to. If he had the wherewithal to track Yunho's escapades across Europe, than he was also well within his abilities to know that Yunho's uncle had cut him off right before he'd started his most recent “gallivant.” Luckily for him and his proclivity for wandering across continents, his mother had been paying him a generous allowance from her own portion of the Jeong estate – willed to her after the death of his father – simply because she wanted her son to be happy .
What a novel idea.
The server returned to their table for the third time with their plates, asked if they needed anything else, and left without any more comments. Yunho glanced at Hongjoong as he began to methodically twirl his pasta around his fork, careful to create a balanced bite with all of the ingredients intact. He even went so far as to use a spoon to cleanly spin the noodles around the tines – something Yunho had ever only done at family dinners, where the distraction of cautious and mess-free twirling allowed him to tune out the sounds of his uncle and mother shouting at each other. Hongjoong closed his eyes as he took a careful bite, not opening them again until he heard a small, muffled buzzing from the other side of the table.
“You should get that,” he said as Yunho fumbled around in his pockets looking for his phone. His tone and the tilt of his smile made it seem like he had somehow been expecting Yunho's phone to go off, but Yunho didn't have time to consider why that could be before he was glancing at the screen.
Choi San, a friend from boarding school who Yunho hadn't spoken to (other than the odd message here and there) in at least 4 years, was calling him. Yunho looked up at Hongjoong, lifting his phone to show Hongjoong the name on the screen. Hongjoong's eyebrow quirked up the smallest bit in what Yunho assumed was surprise before he waved a hand in the air, gesturing for Yunho to take the call.
Yunho turned to the side, facing away from Hongjoong as he lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Yunho! Why didn't you tell me you were in Belgium?”
Yunho furrowed his eyebrows, frowning as he tried to understand how the other man could possibly know that. “It was a last-minute surprise trip to come meet a friend of mine, but how did you –”
“Just saw it on your Instagram! I like to check in on your stories when I see they've popped up – so many fun adventures, I'm a bit jealous I have to say. Ever since I took over the publishing company, it really has just been one bullshit social event and business meeting after another. I've barely even left the house, let alone the country, for anything other than work in months . Anyway, on the topic of bullshit social events, since you're in Brussels, you should find your way over to Bruges tomorrow night. Duke Park – you remember him, don't you? Grumpy old bastard. And I'm sure you remember his son, Seonghwa? A fine man, very calm and polite – well, the Duke is turning 60 tomorrow and is throwing a big party to celebrate, and all the local bluebloods, kids of somebody-or-another, and celebrities will be there. You should come and bring your friend, too! The more the merrier, I always say.”
Yunho laughed, caught in the whirlwind of San's overwhelming energy and never-ending words. When they were growing up, San never was much of a talker – he was kind and athletic, making him well-liked by most, but kept to himself and only had a few friends (though he always seemed to like Yunho the best). Although sometimes Yunho would catch him messaging a friend back home, someone he'd grown up with but seemed to want to keep as only his. Yunho never pried – who was he to question others for having secret side friendships when he spent every summer for most of his childhood playing cops and robbers with a much younger, less reclusive Hongjoong? Now, San seemed to be much livelier. Maybe running his family's company had changed him.
“I don't think you've ever said that, Sannie,” Yunho said, unconsciously reverting back to old nicknames. “But let me talk to my friend and see what he thinks. Send me the details and I'll let you know.”
The two men said their goodbyes so Yunho could return to his meal before his salmon got cold, and Yunho had barely turned back to Hongjoong, mouth already moving as he prepared himself to explain the situation, before Hongjoong was waving a hand in the air to dismiss him.
“Eat your food,” he instructed, pointing to the dish sitting untouched on the table in front of Yunho. “I still want to go back for those waffles and then it seems that we'll need to go buy new suits.” He grinned, something Yunho seemed to rarely see anymore but which always reminded him of simpler times. “We have a party to attend.”