AJR Short Stories

✨️Jack - Time ⏲️

The first time Y/N saw the man, he didn’t think much of it. It was a coffee shop—cozy, bustling, and entirely unremarkable except for its excellent dark roast and a barista who sang Qeen while pouring lattes. Y/N came here every Wednesday after his workout, sweaty and aching, for the sole purpose of rewarding himself with a caffeine hit. 

The man in question—tall, slim, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses indoors—sat near the window, nursing a cappuccino. His face was half-hidden, but Y/N caught the curve of his jawline, the way the light framed his tanned skin, and his fingers absentmindedly drumming against the table. A hint of familiarity tugged at Y/N, but he brushed it off. Maybe he’d seen him in passing. 

But then the man smiled, dimples deepening, as he pulled out his phone to take a picture of the latte art. Y/N nearly dropped his gym bag. 

That’s Jack, Y/N realized. One-third of the AJR Brothers—a band he’d secretly loved since their breakout album many years ago. Y/N had even gone to one of their concerts last year, hiding in the back rows to avoid bumping into anyone he knew. The AJR Brothers’ mix of pop and soulful melodies had carried him through some rough times, not that he’d admit it out loud. 

“Next!” the barista called. 

Y/N snapped out of his reverie. By the time he ordered, grabbed his coffee, and mustered the courage to approach, Jack was gone. The cappuccino cup remained on the table, the foam untouched. Strange. 

--- 

The second time Y/N saw Jack, it was the following Wednesday. The same coffee shop, the same table by the window, the same half-hidden face. This time, Jack looked up as Y/N walked in. Their eyes locked briefly before Jack glanced away. 

He’s just a chill guy, Y/N reminded himself. A ridiculously famous, talented, handsome guy. But just a chill guy. 

Y/N ordered his coffee and forced himself not to look over his shoulder at Jack. The coffee shop wasn’t a place for celebrity meet-and-greets. Jack probably came here for a sense of normalcy, not to be stared at. 

But when Y/N found a seat near the back, Jack stood up, cup in hand, and approached him. 

“Hey,” Jack said, his voice soft but unmistakably melodic, the kind of voice that could make a grocery list sound like a love song. “You’re Y/N, right?” 

Y/N froze. “Uh, yeah. How do you—?” 

Jack smiled, dimples flashing. “I’m not a creep, I promise. I just… never mind. Mind if I sit?” 

Y/N gestured to the empty chair, still too stunned to speak. Jack Reyes knew his name? 

“Thanks.” Jack set his cup down and slid into the seat. “This is going to sound weird, but I feel like I’ve met you before.” 

“I—” Y/N struggled to form words. “I don’t think so. I mean, I’d remember meeting you.” 

Jack chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it’s hard to forget a face like mine.” 

Y/N snorted before he could stop himself. Jack’s grin widened. 

“I’m kidding,” Jack added. “Mostly. But seriously, you seem… familiar.” 

Y/N shook his head, trying to ignore the way Jack’s gaze seemed to pierce through him. “I get that a lot. Maybe I have one of those faces.” 

“Maybe,” Jack said, though his tone suggested he wasn’t convinced. He hesitated, as if weighing his next words. “Do you believe in déjà vu?” 

“Uh, sure?” Y/N frowned. “Why?” 

“Just curious,” Jack said quickly, taking a sip of his cappuccino. But there was something in his expression—a flicker of doubt, or maybe recognition—that made Y/N’s skin prickle.