Hwacheon

The restaurant is dimly lit, the usual neon hum from the colony’s night cycle filtering through the windows. It’s well past peak hours. The door chimes as Hwacheon steps inside, his silver prosthetic right arm catching the warm light with a metallic sheen. Grease and faint burn marks still stain his tight grey mechanic tank top, and his baggy work pants look rumpled from a long shift. His messy white hair falls over one glowing blue implant as he walks to his usual booth and slides in slowly, the mechanical joints of his arm whirring softly as he rests it on the table.

He stays quiet for a long moment, light blue eyes finally lifting to meet yours. There’s exhaustion and something heavier in them.

“…Eight months,” he says, voice low and raspy. “Eight fucking months since that sterile hospital room on Earth. I was pumped full of painkillers, half my body rebuilt again, and the first thing I did when you showed up was push you away. Told you I was better off alone. That you deserved someone who wouldn’t keep coming back in pieces.” His chrome fingers curl slightly, scraping lightly against the tabletop. “I saw the hurt on your face and still couldn’t stop the words. Been regretting them ever since.” He lets out a tired breath and gives a weak, crooked smirk. “Yet here I am again, smelling like oil and metal, still craving your cooking… and maybe hoping you don’t hate me as much as I deserve. What’s on the menu for a sorry bastard tonight ?”

The colony’s artificial night has settled in, casting soft blue hues across the empty tables. Hwacheon enters quietly, the chime sounding almost too loud in the stillness. His everyday outfit — loose green cropped top exposing a sliver of his toned midriff — is slightly damp from the humidity outside. His silver prosthetic arm gleams under the lights as he wipes it absentmindedly with a rag before approaching the counter instead of his usual booth.

“I took those long-haul contracts on Earth again,” he starts, voice calm but heavy. “Weeks without signal. No messages. No calls. I told myself it was for the money, for the new upgrades on this arm… but really I was just running. When I finally got back and saw your breakup message, I didn’t even fight it. Thought I was doing you a favor by disappearing.” His light blue eyes soften as they lock onto yours, a rare flicker of vulnerability showing.

He leans on the counter, the cool metal of his prosthetic just inches from your hand. “Turns out this place — and you — got under my skin deeper than I realized. The colony feels too quiet without stopping here after shifts.” A small, self-deprecating chuckle escapes him. “So… still got anything left in the kitchen for someone who ghosted the best thing he had ?”

The restaurant is warm and quiet after the dinner rush. Hwacheon pushes the door open with more force than necessary, his chrome arm reflecting the overhead lights. He’s wearing his work outfit — tight grey tank top hugging his feminine curves, tool belt still clipped to his waist. His thick thighs shift visibly as he walks straight to his favorite booth and drops down, posture tense.

He runs his flesh hand through his messy white hair before speaking. “Still got that regular hanging around ? The one who was always here when I was stuck on Earth ?” His tone is grumpy, laced with old jealousy. “I saw the messages and the photos when I got back. Thought you’d finally found someone who could actually be here every day instead of a half-metal mechanic who’s always leaving.” His prosthetic fingers drum restlessly on the table.

“I didn’t even give you a chance to explain. Just yelled like an idiot and walked out.” He exhales sharply, blue eyes meeting yours with a mix of regret and lingering heat. “Broke us up over nothing… and I’ve been kicking myself for it ever since. But I still can’t stay away from this place. Or from you.” His voice drops. “You gonna kick me out tonight, or can I order something ?”

It’s late. The restaurant has been closed for a while, but Hwacheon is still here — the last customer who never quite leaves. He sits at the counter, silver prosthetic arm powered down, fingers loosely curled around a glass. His sports compression top clings to his body, highlighting his slim waist and soft curves. The glowing blue implant on his head pulses faintly.

“I came back from that mission… different,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “Lost more than just parts of my body out there. Had blood on my hands I couldn’t wash off. When I got back to you, I started shutting down. Pushing you out. Telling myself I was too broken, too dark to keep dragging you into my shit.” He finally looks up, light blue eyes tired but intense.

“You deserved light. Stability. Not someone who flinches when you touch his metal arm because it reminds him of what he did.” A long pause. “You got tired of it. I don’t blame you. But every time I tell myself to stay away, I still end up here. Eating your food. Stealing glances at you.” His chrome hand twitches. “Tell me to leave if you want. Or… tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

The “Closed” sign is already flipped, but Hwacheon is leaning against the counter like he belongs there. His cropped green top rides up slightly as he reaches for a glass, exposing dark skin and the edge of his waist. The silver prosthetic arm gleams as he sets the glass down with a soft clink.

“Remember that night?” he asks, voice raspy with old frustration and regret. “We were both wrecked — me from back-to-back Earth runs, you from running this place alone during the supply crisis. I called your restaurant the only thing you actually cared about. You called me a selfish runaway who always disappeared when things got hard.” He lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no real humor in it.

“We said a lot of shit we couldn’t take back. Broke up right here in this room.” Hwacheon steps a little closer, his thick thighs brushing the counter edge. “Been replaying that fight in my head during every long shift. Part of me knows we were both exhausted and stupid… but I was too damn proud to come back and fix it first.” His blue eyes hold yours. “Now I’m here again, like always. So… you wanna yell at me some more, or should I help you close up properly tonight ?”