avi

It wasn’t his ruin, not then. It was yours. And perhaps that was what made it worse—the hushed way your world cracked, the trust in your eyes shattering like glass beneath careless hands.

A joke—a cruel performance staged for the sick satisfaction of a restless classroom. A boy, one named Kim Doyun, with a heart far less tender than yours—claimed you as his soulmate. He wove his words carefully, painfully cunningly, each one a thread tightening around you—a noose disguised as fate.

At first, you hesitated. The bond was sacred, wasn’t it? A tether between souls, something that cannot be broken or erased. And yet, he convinced you otherwise. He told you the flowers had not taken root in him because you had both acknowledged the bond early. He said the universe had granted you mercy, sparing you—and him—from suffering. And when you questioned the absence of the soulmate mark on your skin, he smiled, easy and assured, and told you it would bloom in time—petal by petal, slow and gentle, just like your love.

And you—young, hopeful, desperate to believe—fell into the lie. You had seen love, real love, in the way your parents looked at each other. A love grand enough to house a family, to turn walls and windows into a home filled with warmth, laughter, and unwavering devotion. You had grown up in its glow, in the certainty that love could be both gentle and fierce, a force that built rather than destroyed. So how could you not yearn for the same? Was it wrong to long for something so beautiful? To want a love that could stand against the world and remain unshaken? 

For a week, you lived in a dream spun of hollow promises. You thought you were chosen. Loved. But reality came crashing down in the form of laughter, cruel and cutting, echoing through the classroom when he revealed the truth.

It had been a joke all along.

You could only stand there, frozen, as they jeered. And Doyun grinned like he had done something clever. It was everywhere, filling the space, pressing against your skin, echoing in your skull. Your heart clenched tight in your chest, something inside you withering like petals left too long in the cold. The air tasted different, heavy with humiliation, with betrayal.

It wasn’t just him—it was all of them. Their satisfaction at your expense, their voices blending into the shadowy monsters that one sees during nightmares. You wanted to move, to run, to disappear, but your body refused. Instead, you stood there, crumbling in real time, splintering under the force of their laughter.

Till this day, Soobin regretted it—because the day the cruel joke came to light, he hadn’t been at school. And so you, his best friend, were left to stand alone in the wreckage.

He only came to know of it when you showed up at his doorstep, eyes puffy, sobs so raw they shook through your whole frame. You clutched onto him as if he were the last solid thing in a world that had betrayed you. And Soobin—helpless, furious, burning with something too vast to contain—held you back just as tightly.

The very next day, to everyone’s shock—including yours—Soobin, the soft-spoken, kindhearted boy who never even raised his voice, left Doyun with a broken arm.

You weren’t there to see it happen, only heard the shocked whispers afterward—how Soobin had slammed his knuckles into the boy’s face until he could barely feel them anymore. How the sickening crack of bone cut through the air, screams raw and sharp. How he didn’t stop until the teachers had to drag him away. They sent Soobin home with a week’s suspension, but Doyun—the one who had turned the concept of sacred bond into mockery—was expelled. A fitting punishment, they all said.

You couldn’t bear the burden of knowing that your pain had become Soobin’s. When you visited him at his home, battered and still recovering from the injuries, you asked him, your voice trembling, why he had done it. His response was quiet. “I still think a broken arm is far less of a punishment for what he did to you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and the sting behind your eyes burned hotter. You moved closer carefully, as if afraid that even the slightest touch might hurt him. But as you hugged him, you held him as though trying to pour all your feelings into that one moment—an overwhelming mix of gratitude, guilt, and sorrow.

From that day on, you swore to never speak of soulmates again. You refused to search for the tattoo you were meant to bear. You convinced yourself that love, in all its destined cruelty, was nothing more than a well-dressed illusion. Gone was the soft-spoken warmth, the quiet trust, the belief that the universe would never be so cruel. In its place, something sharper took root.

And just like always Soobin saw it before anyone else. Saw it in the way your smiles never quite reached your eyes anymore, in the way you deflected kindness like it was something dangerous. He watched as you built walls where there had once been open doors. He watched as your heart, guarded by time and pain, resisted the touch of love, while his struggled to contain the overwhelming flood of it, spilling over for you. And though it broke something in him, he understood, because the universe chose you to be the punchline of its cruel joke. 

If someone asked him when he started loving you, Soobin wouldn’t have a clear and proper answer. It was quite simple, and at the same time, it was not. His love for you formed gradually over the years; it was a paradox: a source of profound joy and deep anguish. 

His heart swelled with happiness at your every smile, yet ached with the fear of unrequited affection. Loving you was both his greatest blessing and his most harrowing curse, intertwining elation with despair in a dance as old as time. Harrowing curse, because if you were to become soulbounded to him, Soobin would grapple with the knowledge that you’d have to carry the burden of loving him when your past wounds were still tender. Yet at the same time—he selfishly wished you were his. 

But wishes had no place in reality.

Soobin swallowed another sip of his drink, the bitter aftertaste coating his throat. The golden glow of overhead lights of the restaurant reflected off half-empty glasses. A long dinner table sat in the center, plates pushed aside as the night stretched on, the warmth of alcohol loosening tongues and drawing out old stories. Across the table, bathed in the same golden light, you leaned back in your chair, smiling at the right moments, laughing when the time called for it.

One moment, the conversation revolved around careers and future plans. The next, it veered into something suffocating, dragging with it the unwelcome choke of soulmate stories.

“Man, I thought I was gonna gag to death the first time it bloomed,” someone said, shaking their head. “Daisies right in my throat. I swear, I almost never confessed because of it.”

Another laughed. “At least you had a happy ending. I had to watch mine wither.”

More stories followed—tales of aching chests and blooming petals, of whispered confessions and love that came too late. Some spoke with fond smiles, recounting the moment their floral marks appeared, the way their hearts had raced with hope. Others shared quieter stories, voices dipped in accepted melancholy, remembering the pain of unrequited love, the suffocating grip of petals that would never fall away. Every word carried the weight of a fate decided long before they had any say in it, a thread spun by the universe without their permission.

Soobin glanced at you the moment the topic changed. You didn’t react right away, swirling your drink as if the discussion barely registered. But he knew you. He saw the way your fingers curled just a little tighter around your glass, the way your gaze flickered away before you took a quick small sip—like the liquor might wash down the bitterness rising in your throat.

The warmth of alcohol no longer felt as comforting, its haze unable to soften the sharp edge of the conversation. Words had touched a wound too deep. Then, someone turned to you.

"What about you? Have you found yours yet?"

You blinked, then let out an airy, dismissive laugh, setting your glass down a little too roughly. "Eh. I don’t really care about all that." A shrug. "Doesn’t matter to me."

The words came easily, well-rehearsed over the years. A script you had perfected.

Around you, protest and teasing erupted, lighthearted jeers from friends who didn’t know better. They nudged at you, pushing for a confession, insisting you were just too shy to share. And you, you only shook your head, lips curling into a carefully constructed smile, the kind that concealed rather than revealed. 

The conversation continued, the voices blending together again like an orchestra that had shifted tempo, but it felt distant, distant enough that you were now barely part of it. You could hear the chatter, but you were no longer really listening. Your mind wandered, the words still echoing in the back of your head, while the bitter aftertaste of that one question lingered in your mouth.

You found yourself drinking more than you intended. One glass became two, then three, until the burn of alcohol dulled the edges of everything, the world blurring around you. But even as the alcohol worked its way through your veins, it couldn’t wash away the suffocation, the discomfort of that moment—the reminder that you were still, after all these years, broken in ways others could never see.

The moment your fifth glass met the table, Soobin was already reaching for it, his grip was firm as he slid it away. “That’s enough,” he murmured, a quiet finality in his tone.

You blinked at him, sluggish from the alcohol. “Soobin, I’m fine—”

“I know,” he said softly. “But let’s go.”

He was already easing you to your feet. The room swayed, lights blurring into a hazy glow, and Soobin steadied you with a hand at your back. He draped your coat over your shoulders, his warmth seeping through the fabric.

“I’m taking her home,” he told everyone. The others threw out goodbyes as he walked you out, brushing off questions with a polite smile.

Outside, the night air curled around you, crisp and biting against your flushed skin, yet it did little to clear the fog in your mind. Your steps faltered, the pavement uneven beneath you, and Soobin sighed before guiding you toward a nearby bench by the bus stop.

“Sit,” he said, his voice softer now.

You obeyed, letting your body sink into the worn wooden slats as he knelt before you. The glow of the streetlamp cast long shadows over his face, the muscles of his face soft as his fingers moved to undo the straps of your shoe. A sigh of relief left your lips as he slid them off, the dull ache in your feet subduing. You watched him, gaze heavy with the weight of intoxication and fatigue that seeped deep into your bones.

“You’re too good to me,” you murmured, your words thrown casually. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His fingers stilled against your ankle, breath catching for half a second before he masked it with a quiet exhale. He looked up at you then, his heart lurching at the sight—your face tilted toward the sky, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, utterly unaware of the storm unraveling in his chest.

Soobin only smiled, a wave of melancholy flickering in his expression. Then he scoffed lightly, trying to lift the mood. “Crash and burn, probably.”

You pouted, nudging his shoulder with your socked foot. “Mean.”

He grinned, then shrugged. "I don’t really have a choice, do I? You’ve been shoved in my face since birth."

Your brows furrowed as you processed his words, then, in your drunken indignation, you lifted your foot to kick at him. He dodged easily, laughing, hands raised in mock surrender.

"You—" you began, but the bus arrived before you could retaliate.

It pulled up with a hiss, and Soobin helped you up, guiding you inside. The moment you sat down, exhaustion finally won. You leaned against him, head tucked into the curve of his shoulder, breath evening out as the sway of the ride lulled you into sleep.

Soobin stayed still, adjusting slightly to make sure you were comfortable. The world outside blurred past in streaks of neon, but he didn’t look at any of it.

He looked at you.

The gnawing fear returned, creeping into his chest like an old, familiar ghost. It settled deep in his ribs, twisting tight, whispering the questions that had haunted him for so long. What if you really were his soulmate? And, What if you were meant for someone else? What if the universe had already decided, and he was simply a spectator, standing at the edge of something he could never have?

Soobin swallowed hard. He didn’t have answers. He didn’t have solutions for any of the scenarios playing in his mind. But one thing was certain—he was a coward. Because his love for you couldn't be conveyed in phrasal combinations; it either screamed out loud or stayed painfully silent, trapped in the spaces between words. It beat louder than anything he could ever say.

His fingers found yours, hesitating only for a second before curling around them. His eyes softened when your hand fit perfectly in his large one. The softness of your skin against his sent another wave of longing crashing through him.

“I don't ever want to hold you back from where you’re trying to get to,” he whispered, his voice nearly lost in the quiet hum of the bus. His thumb traced a light, barely-there stroke over your knuckles. “I’m sorry I never tell you what I really mean.”

And when he was sure you wouldn’t stir, he allowed himself one selfish moment. He risked a small kiss on your head, a quiet surrender to the wave of affection that threatened to overwhelm him. His small, only liberty.

You woke up feeling like absolute shit.

Your skull pounded as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, your mouth dry and bitter, and your entire body ached like it had been trampled by a herd of elephants. As you shifted, a groan escaped your lips, muffled by the pillow you tried to suffocate yourself with. The light coming through the blinds felt like daggers against your eyelids.

God, never again.

The sound of your apartment door unlocking barely registered in your haze. However, the obnoxious thudding of footsteps on the wood floor knocked the rest of your brain into place.

“You look awful.”

You pried one eye open just enough to shoot Soobin a glare, but it was hard to look intimidating when your head felt like it might split in half at any moment. He stood at the foot of your bed, arms crossed and way too amused for this time of the morning.

“You look awful,” you grumbled, your voice a hoarse rasp that you barely recognized as your own.

Soobin snorted. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one drinking like I went through my third divorce last night.”

You grunted, pushing your face further into the pillow. “Shut up.”

He was still talking—probably about how you needed water or food or some kind of life-saving intervention—but it was not until your gaze drifted lazily to the clock on your bedside table that your entire soul nearly left your body.

You were late. Shit.

You bolted upright so fast that your brain rattled against your skull. “Oh my god—” You clutched your head, vision swimming. “I’m late. I’m fucking late.”

You flung the covers off, nearly tripping over your own feet as you scrambled toward the bathroom.

“Late for what?” Soobin called after you.

“My TA duties, Soobin, what else?!” you shouted, shoving toothpaste into your mouth in a blind panic.

Five minutes later, you were half-dressed, hopping on one foot while desperately shoving your shoe on while simultaneously stuffing papers into your bag. Your cardigan was barely on, your hair was still a mess, and Soobin—incredibly unhelpful Soobin—was leaning against your doorway, watching the disaster unfold with a mouthful of cookies he stole from your kitchen.

“I can still make it,” you panted, grabbing your phone and whipping around to face him. “Please drive me there.”

He lifted a brow, pointing a finger at you with a scrutinizing look. “I know it’s a foreign concept to you, but usually TAs are dressed very professionally and—”

“Soobin.”

“Alright, alright,” he squeaked, hands raised in surrender. “Get in the car.”

You practically threw yourself into the passenger seat. The moment he pulled out onto the road, you glanced at your reflection in the side mirror, quickly rifling through your makeup bag, attempting to force some semblance of order onto your chaotic appearance and tried to mentally will yourself into looking more put-together by the time you arrived.

As you busied yourself with your mascara, Soobin reached back into the backseat, the faint sound of fabric rustled before he dropped a tiffin bag onto your lap with a soft thud. You blinked at it, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden arrival of... breakfast? Inside was a tupperware box with sliced bananas and oatmeals, a spoon neatly wrapped in tissue, a bottle of water, and a small strip of pills inside. It took you a second to register it. Of course, Soobin had packed this. Before even coming to check on you. Because he knew you’d be useless this morning.

“Eat up,” Soobin said simply, keeping his eyes on the road, though his lips curved slightly as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “And take the pills. It’ll help with the headache.”

You stared at the food for a beat. Soobin’s thoughtfulness was so Soobin. Though you were sure he got his sister to help him arrange this because he, for the life of him, couldn’t cook. 

"Soobin!" You cried out dramatically, holding up the box and bottle like they were some kind of sacred offering. Your voice dripped with mock reverence. “I am forever indebted to you!”

His eyes flicked to you for a second, and you could feel the eye-roll before he even did it. A deep sigh escaped him, but his lips were still twitching as he turned his attention back to the road. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice unusually soft. “Just eat.”

The gentleness in his tone made your heart squeeze a little, a pang of affection you were too tired to process fully. Instead, you grabbed the tupperware, carefully peeling back the lid. The warmth of the oatmeal was a small comfort in your otherwise frazzled state. You shot Soobin a sideways glance, noticing the subtle way his fingers tapped on the wheel. His presence brought you the comfort you never once had to search for in this vast universe. And as you basked in the combined warmth of his presence and the oatmeal, the campus loomed ahead.

The car pulled to a stop at the edge of campus. You gulped down the last of the water, fumbling with the lid before reaching for your bag.

“Alright, alright, get out.” Soobin’s voice was laced with playful annoyance, nudging his finger on the side of your shoulder. 

You swatted his hand away with a huff. With a quick goodbye, you reached over and gave his perfectly styled hair a ruffle. The reaction was instantaneous.

A strangled gasp tore from his throat, his whole body jerking back as if you had just mortally wounded him. “No—!!”

You were already halfway out of the car when he grabbed his sun visor, flipping it down in a frantic panic to check the damage. “Oh my God. You did not just—” His fingers flew to his hair, patting it down like it had just been violently attacked. A choked-off groan left him when he saw the carnage in the mirror. “Do you know how long it took me to style this?! You—you absolute menace—!! I swear, you just live to ruin me.”

You, of course, were cackling. “See you later!” you called, already grabbing your things and practically launching yourself out of the car before he could say anything else. You dashed through the halls, skipping a few steps on the stairs as your heart pounded from the adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you’d made it. You’d actually made it.

You knocked gently before pushing the door open. Sunlight poured through the large window behind Professor Park Minhye’s desk, giving the office a vibrant look. She barely looked up at first, glasses perched on her nose as she scanned a stack of papers. Then, noticing you, a warm smile broke the stern lines of her face.

"Ah, there you are. Morning. How are you feeling today?"

You managed a small, sheepish smile. The oatmeal and painkillers had helped, but exhaustion still sat at the edges of your body like a lingering weight.

"Morning, Professor. I'm alright, just a little under the weather."

She raised an eyebrow, the kind that saw right through excuses but chose not to call them out directly. "Hmm. You didn’t have to come in if you weren’t feeling well, you know."

You shook your head as you set your bag down, already reaching for the lecture notes. "It’s my duty. I didn’t want to skip."

Professor Park studied you for a moment, her sharp gaze softening just slightly. "You remind me of myself at your age," she mused, before leaning back in her chair. "Too stubborn for your own good."

A flicker of warmth curled in your chest. It wasn’t disapproval in her voice—if anything, there was something like quiet pride laced within it.

"I’ll be more careful," you promised, meaning it.

She nodded, satisfied, before turning her attention back to the papers. "Good. Now, let’s focus on today’s lecture. I was thinking we should add more interactive elements—wake these students up before they start drooling on their desks."

A small chuckle escaped you. "You mean like last week?"

"Exactly," she said, exasperated but amused. "We’re not letting that happen again."

You settled in, organizing the materials by the sunlit desk. You found yourself being quietly grateful—not just for the sunlight, but for the presence of someone who cared enough to notice when you weren’t quite at your best.

Professor Park handed you a file, her wrist briefly turning as she reached forward. It wasn’t the first time you had seen it—the delicate purple ink of an iris flower tattooed just above the bone. The file stayed in your hands, unopened, as you stared. An iris soulmate tattoo. Proof of a bond that ran deeper than flesh, deeper than choice. There was a bittersweet melancholy in your chest, creeping up like an old memory, like something you weren’t sure you wanted to feel right now.

"You think it's pretty, right?"

Her voice was gentle, pulling you sharply out of your thoughts. You startled, fingers gripping the file tighter as you met her eyes.

"Pardon?"

She smiled knowingly and turned her wrist, letting the ink catch the light. "My tattoo," she clarified, the corner of her lips tugging up just slightly. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Heat crawled up your neck. You hadn’t meant to be so rude and obvious, and now you probably looked and sounded nosy. "I—I didn’t mean to—" But before you could offer a rushed apology, she hummed, tilting her head as if recalling something distant yet cherished.

"I was about your age when I met him," she mused. "It was spring, and I was stubborn—too focused on school, too determined to ignore all that soulmate nonsense." A quiet chuckle escaped her. "And then one day, all he did was hand me a book."

You listened, words caught somewhere in your throat. You knew the look of love. 

"He was so full of life," Professor Park continued, her eyes soft with memory. "He made everything feel lighter, even when things were hard. I used to think soulmates were a cage, something that defined you before you even had a choice." Her fingers traced absent patterns over the tattoo. "But with him, it was never about being destined. It was about choosing each other. Over and over again." A small pause. Then, she added, "He’s my husband now, that silly man."

The past tense you thought you’d heard in her voice had tricked you—her partner wasn’t a memory, wasn’t someone lost to time. They had chosen each other and continued choosing each other, even now. There was something so steady about the way she spoke, something warm enough to reach beneath the guarded parts of you. You should have looked away, should have ignored the way her words made something unfamiliar settle in your chest. Instead, you found yourself holding onto them.

Choosing each other.

A faint warmth stirred in your chest. But just as quickly, a familiar chill crept in to smother it. You remembered the laughter that wasn’t kind. The way their voices lilted with amusement as they told you it had all been a joke. That you had been foolish to believe—even for a moment—that someone had been meant for you.

The past never truly faded.

Yet as you watched the way she spoke of it, gazed at it so lovingly, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling a little hopeful too. Not a revelation, not a surrender, but the faintest crack in the walls you had built.

Acceptance was a distant shore, but for the first time in years, the tide of possibility brushed against your feet.

After a long day of juggling work and classes, you finally stepped out in the courtyard. The cool night air kissed your skin as you walked into the parking lot, the scattered glow of lamplight pooling in uneven patches on the asphalt. A handful of cars dotted the space, but your eyes instinctively landed on Soobin, his tall frame leaning slightly against his car, bathed in the dim luminescence of his phone screen.

His brows were drawn together in concentration, the faint glow casting sharp angles on his face, making the usually soft contours appear more rigid. His lips were pressed into a firm line, and for a moment, he looked unapproachable—which made you chuckle quietly because he was anything but that.

You jogged up to him, waving. His expression softened the moment his gaze met yours. The crease between his brows smoothed out, and the corners of his mouth tugged up. You smiled back at the sight instantly. 

“Guess who didn’t die today from working like a dog?” you chirped, pushing the fatigue from your voice as you reached him.

His lips parted, a quiet exhale escaping—part sigh, part laugh. But before he could respond, you did what you always do: you looped your arm through his, the movement ingrained in muscle memory.

Soobin simply adjusted, shifting his weight, before opening the door for you.

“You saved yourself from having your TA position revoked, all thanks to me,” he quipped, casting a sideways glance.

“So kind! Won’t even let me have a moment for myself!” 

“A moment of embarrassment?”

“Fuck you.”

His only response was a low huff as he shut the door behind you both with a soft, muted thud, sealing you in the quiet cocoon of the vehicle. The scent of his cologne lingered inside—one that you've gifted him on his birthday last year. It wasn't a woody or a spicy scent, something more mellow but crisp, like he had spent a moment too long beneath the night sky. You thought it suited him. The dashboard lights flickered on as he turned the key, the engine purring to life.

You leaned back, exhaling as you checked your phone. “Tomorrow’s gonna be awful.”

Soobin raised a brow, adjusting the rearview mirror. “How so?”

“The weather. Says it’s gonna rain.”

“Hmm.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, thoughtful. “You like the rain.”

“I do. Just not when I have to be outside.”

Your love-hate relationship with the rain leaned more toward love—because who doesn’t love the rain? But only when you weren’t working your ass off or getting stranded outside without an umbrella.

At a red light, Soobin flicked his phone open, scanning the map for a quicker route home. Meanwhile, you busied yourself with the glove box—not for any real reason, just feeding a faint curiosity. Your fingers brushed against something small and wooden, its texture rough beneath your touch. You frowned, lifting it into the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“Jesus, Soobin—” you muttered, cradling the tiny figure in your palm. A handcrafted wooden bunny, worn at the edges, slightly uneven, the imperfections unmistakable. You had given this to him when you were kids.

“Why do you still have this?”

Soobin flicked his gaze toward the object, then back to the road, his lips curling upwards. You knew he was getting ready to throw some mocking words at you even before he said anything.

“Ah, that one.” His voice held the air of someone recalling an inside joke. “It’s so ugly I couldn’t bear to throw it away. Some unfortunate trash bin would have to take it in.”

The incredulous look on your face was enough to send him into a cackling frenzy, shoulders shaking in what you called his ‘dry ass humour’. You wanted to reach out, smack the back of his head for that one—but he was driving, and you cared about your expensive life. So instead, you resorted to cursing under your breath, grumbling.

Your fingers clipped against the wooden surface, a ghost of a smile playing at your lips as you reminisced about the moment you gave him that. The memory drifted back like a slow breeze, warm and golden, carrying with it the scent of sun-heated grass and the distant hum of cicadas.

It was summer. The sweltering heat hung around your bodies like a thick embrace, and the glaring sunlight streamed through the leafy canopy, casting dappled patterns onto the wooden floor of your living room. Both of you lay sprawled across it, limbs aching from the aftermath of your previous game of catch. The effort of moving even an inch felt unbearable, so you remained there, pathetic starfishes sinking into the cool embrace of the polished floorboards.

Then the front door creaked open. Footsteps echoed through the house before your father’s voice cut through the haze of exhaustion.

“Kids, come with me. Let me show you something.”

Curiosity flickered between you and Soobin, the kind that burned bright in young minds. With newfound energy, you both scrambled to your feet and followed him outside to the lawn. The grass prickled against your legs as you knelt beside him, watching intently as he pulled out a collection of small wooden figurines from his bag. Tiny animals, each one meticulously carved and smoothed down, painted with gentle strokes of color that brought them to life.

“These are so adorable!” you gushed, grabbing two figures in your hands before shoving them toward Soobin. “Aren’t they?”

Soobin, equally awestruck, turned them over in his palms, his eyes wide with wonder. Your father looked pleased at your reactions before emptying the rest of his bag onto the grass, revealing a set of carving tools and unfinished pieces of wood.

“All right, who wants to learn how to make them?”

The two of you practically shouted ‘Me!’ in unison.

What followed was an afternoon of sawdust and determination, of fingers slipping over tools too big for your small hands, of giggles bubbling up every time a carving went wrong. You were awful at it, absolutely horrendous. But you didn’t give up. Soobin, on the other hand, sighed in exasperation halfway through, pouting as he set his unfinished piece aside. “I can’t do it,” he muttered, defeated.

That was all it took for you to push forward even harder. If he couldn’t do it, then you would. And when you finally managed to carve out something resembling a bunny—albeit lopsided and rough around the edges—you knew exactly who you wanted to give it to. Because, somehow, you’d always thought bunnies suited him.

That was years ago. Yet, here he was, holding onto something so worn out as if it still felt relevant.

“Hey, don’t even think about taking it away,” he warned, his large hand swiftly snatching the figure back before you could get another look. “I still have unfinished business with it.”

You gave him a nasty look. “That sounds so weird. You should’ve thrown it away ages ago. It’s not even that good,” you sighed, sinking back into your seat. “I can make you a better one now. Something polished. You could actually use it as decoration.”

“I appreciate it,” he said, slipping the figure into his pocket. “But like I said, I’ve got unfinished business with this little guy.”

You snorted, shaking your head. You made a mental note to yourself that you will make a new, better figure for him.  The silence dawned upon you lulled you into comfort, the kind that only came with years of knowing someone inside out. You watched the soft glow of the dashboard reflect against his skin, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the steady rise and fall of his breaths. 

You couldn't shake away the thought that had already taken root in your mind. A slow, nagging pull that refused to leave. Your mind went back to the iris tattoo of your professor. You have always wondered, but never dared to word it for some reason, why didn't Soobin search for his soulmate?

You turned toward him again, more specifically looking at his hands—the same hands that had held onto a worn-out wooden bunny for years. You imagined a small, floral tattoo on it. But the imagination couldn’t develop any further, breaking and shattering by your will when your heart lurched at the thought. He was sentimental, in ways he didn’t often admit. Maybe that was why the question itched at the back of your mind.

Would he still hold onto you that way, too? Ah, what a selfish thought. 

You didn’t mean to ask it. But the silence coaxed the words from your lips before you could stop them.

“Soobin… don’t you want to find your soulmate?”

For a moment, nothing changed. Then his grip on the wheel tightened, just slightly, but you caught it. His mind went blank, your words rattling around in his head without quite sinking in. The car hummed softly beneath you, but his foot eased off the gas, the vehicle slowing as though mirroring the sudden change in the air. Without a word, he pulled over near the sidewalk, shifted into park, and exhaled—slowly.

Your brows furrowed. “Whoa—what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He turned to you, and you were struck by the sheer intensity in his gaze. His eyes searched yours like they were looking for something. Like they were desperate to understand.

“Did someone say something to you?” you were taken aback by the tone of his voice. “Did anyone try to mess with you again? About—about soulmates?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? No! No, I swear, nothing happened.” You waved your hands for emphasis, but his shoulders remained taut, tension rolling off him in waves. You noticed how he exhaled through his nose, a little too controlled. How he ran a hand through his hair—an old habit, a telltale sign of unease.

“Then… where did that come from?” he asked, still watching you closely.

You hesitated, albeit only for a second. Then you shrugged. “I mean… it’s been so long, and you haven’t found yours yet.” You glanced at him, lips twitching. “Granted, you aren’t the most talkative or extroverted person I know, so your chances are slim, but—”

“Hey.”

“Did I lie, though?”

He huffed a laugh, the corners of his lips curled upward into that charming boyish grin of his. Your best friend was handsome, undeniably so. Which is also why you wondered how come he still hadn't found his soulmate yet.

You exhaled, letting your head fall back against the seat, gaze tracing the blurred city lights streaking past the window. “I just mean… don’t you wanna find your soulmate?”

Soobin’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly, knuckles no longer as taut. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the gear shift, started the car again, and pulled back onto the road. The silence stretched between you, thick with thoughts you weren’t sure you wanted to voice.

Because the truth was—you had thought about it. Many times. More than you cared to admit.

You had imagined the day Soobin would finally meet his soulmate. How it would happen, where he’d be. Maybe it would be something mundane, like Professor Park—his hand brushing against theirs as he reached for a book, or eyes meeting across a crowded sidewalk. Maybe it would be grand, something cinematic, fate conspiring to bring them together in a moment so perfect it would seem almost scripted.

And when that day came, you would smile for him. You would support him, cheer him on, celebrate the happiness he had always deserved. Because that’s what you were supposed to do. That’s what any best friend would do.

But deep down, beneath the surface of rationality and selflessness, there was a part of you that recoiled at the thought. A part that curled in on itself, heavy and aching. Because when Soobin found his soulmate, it would mean the inevitable—something you had always tried to ignore. It would mean that he would no longer belong here, in this in-between space with you. That the quiet moments, the inside jokes, the way he always understood you without you needing to say a word—all of it would fade, replaced by a force greater, something predestined.

And you? You would be left standing at the threshold of his happiness, unable to step through with him.

You blinked, shaking yourself free from the thought. It wasn’t fair to feel this way. But even so, you couldn’t shake the heaviness that lingered in your chest, an ache so profoundly baffling that refused to be silenced. Which only seemed to tenfold by his next words.

“You know that I refuse to find happiness without you.”

He had seen the way you guarded yourself over the years, the way you locked your heart away from the possibility of love. He had been there through all of it—the worst of it. And because of that, because he refused to leave you behind, he let himself be held back, too. The realization, albeit knowing already, still left you unsettled and deeply guilty.

Your fingers curled slightly in your lap. “Soobin…”

He glanced at you, just briefly, before turning his gaze back to the road. You sometimes wished you could see what was going on in that head of his.

You swallowed. “Just because my world stopped in its tracks doesn’t mean everyone else’s has, too. That includes yours, Soobin. You should allow yourself to move forward.”

His grip tightened again. But who was going to tell you? Who was going to tell you that you were his world?

And if you stopped, he’d stop for you. Every single time.

Just then, your phone vibrated in your lap. A message lit up the screen, and when you read it, you almost cried out in happiness.

[University Announcement: Due to the incoming storm, all classes are cancelled tomorrow.]

“Oh my god,” you breathed, a grin spreading across your face. “Soobin, you have to come over tomorrow. If I’m stuck inside all day by myself, I’ll go insane.”

The sudden shift of the mood and conversation made him let out a subtle shaky breath, one that you failed to notice. But he was glad for the turn, that you were busy with an entirely new topic now. Soobin chuckled, shaking his head. “You act like you don’t have a million things to do at home.”

“I don’t,” you insisted. “I’ll die of boredom, Soobin. I mean it.”

He sighed, feigning reluctance. “Fine. I’ll come over.”

By then, he was nearing your apartment complex, pulling into the familiar underground garage. As he eased into the parking spot, your question from earlier still haunted his mind, refusing to fade. But you didn’t move to get out. Instead, you stayed where you were, staring ahead at the dashboard, as if trying to gather your thoughts.

“You should really focus on finding your own happiness, Soobin,” you murmured at last. Your voice was soft, despite the hollowness pressing against your ribs. “I’m not dying. It won’t be the end of the world if I never find my soulmate. I’ll be okay.”

You turned to him then, flashing him a small, reassuring smile. It was the same one you always gave him when you wanted to convince him you were fine. The same one that never reached your eyes. Soobin clenched his jaw, knowing full well you were lying. And if you were a liar, he was a coward. So he had no right to call you out.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, then leaned in toward you. It wasn’t a dramatic movement, nothing inherently alarming. But it was enough for your thoughts to screech to a halt, for something in your chest to lurch violently. You froze, pulse skipping in confusion, in something dangerously close to unease.

Soobin reached past you, fingers grazing the handle of your door. Then, with a quiet click, he unlocked it. It was a simple act, one he had done before. One that, in any other moment, would have meant nothing. And yet, the proximity, his presence, the insistence of his movement—it unsettled you. It felt… intimate. Too intimate.

He had always been close to you. You had always been in each other’s space. But this—this somehow felt different. And you hated that you didn’t know why. You felt sick to your stomach suddenly for even thinking of such a thing. 

His voice was quiet, steady. “Go home. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t trust yourself to. You hastily muttered a goodbye, shoving the door open and slipping out before you could think better of it.

Soobin watched you go. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned back against the headrest, eyes falling shut. He hadn’t meant to make things weird. But somehow, he felt like he just did.

And he thought—if he were braver, if he were more honest, he would say it. He would say it, so he would know it, and you would know it, and he could never take it back. But he wasn’t that brave or that honest.

So instead, he stole one last glance at you, letting you slip away from the reach of his hands.

The clock struck 11 a.m., and Soobin was already at your doorstep, looking far too disgruntled for someone who had just been invited over. Dressed in a white polo and faded jeans, he looked casual, soft even—but the scowl of disdain slowly creeping onto his face ruined the effect as he took in the sight before him.

Stacks of papers. Attendance files. Your laptop was open to what he assumed was a grade sheet. Your living room had been turned into a mini office space, the big coffee table at its center, surrounded by neatly arranged papers. You held out a stack toward him, your expression far too innocent to be trusted.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked flatly.

“You’re helping me grade them. You do half, I’ll do the other half.”

Soobin blinked at you, then at the papers, then back at you. “Are you serious?”

You merely grinned, shaking the stack at him until he had no choice but to take it. He flipped through the pages, his scowl deepening. “Oh my god. What the hell is this handwriting?” He squinted. “Are these written by university students or kindergarten children?”

You let out a laugh as you walked into the kitchen, retrieving two mugs and filling the electric kettle with water. “Does coffee sound good as payment for your patronage?”

“Barely,” he muttered, still staring at the indecipherable scribbles in front of him. He plopped onto the floor with an exaggerated sigh, resting his back against the couch as he picked up a pen. “I can’t believe I came all the way here just to be scammed.”

“Oh, please.” You shot him a look from over your shoulder. “You would’ve just stayed in bed all day otherwise.”

“And that would’ve been preferable to this.”

“Lazy asshole.”

“Bitchass scammer.” 

You rolled your eyes, setting down the two mugs before settling across from him. Soobin had already started grading, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he focused. The weather outside remained gloomy, the soft gray clouds blanketing the sky, promising rain.

For a while, the two of you worked in a comfortable silence, save for the occasional sigh of frustration or the scratching of pens against paper. Then, Soobin suddenly let out a strangled noise.

You looked up. “What?”

He slowly turned the paper toward you. “‘The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the solar system.’” He met your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Are you seeing this? Are you actually seeing this?”

You clamped a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking as you tried—and failed—to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god—please give that person a zero.”

“Oh, hell yeah, I will.” He clicked his pen with finality and scribbled a huge zero on the page, a menacing laughter escaping his lips that could make children cry.

You slid his coffee toward him as a peace offering. “You’re doing great, TA Soobin.”

He took a slow sip, eyes narrowing at you over the rim of the mug. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You were right, he didn't. 

The rain started gradually, a soft patter against the window. You barely noticed at first, too focused on the papers in front of you, until the rhythm grew steadier, filling the quiet space. Your attention shifted, eyes flickering toward the glass where droplets slid down in thin, winding trails.

Without a second thought, you set your pen down and stood up. Your steps were quiet against the floor as you walked toward the balcony door, sliding it open. The cool air rushed in immediately, carrying the crisp scent of rain. It brushed against your skin, the damp breeze slipping through the fabric of your sleeves. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, relishing in the sensation, in the way the world outside blurred behind the silver curtain of falling water.

From where he sat, Soobin could only watch the way you stood at the threshold, your silhouette framed by the spring rain. The glow of the sun peeking behind the grey clouds cast a soft halo around you, turning the raindrops into tiny shimmering stars clinging to your skin. He couldn’t see your expression, but he didn’t need to. He knew how the rain looked through your eyes, how it danced in your eyes like a silver meteor shower.

Behind you, his voice was soft. “It’s raining. You’ll get soaked.”

You turned to him, mischief tugging at your lips. “So?” 

Your voice, light and carefree, drifted back to him. He felt a tug in his chest—a twisted pull, one he had never been able to escape. He tried to warn you, tell you that it’s too much, that you’ll ruin your clothes, that you had papers to grade with him, but the words felt empty. You had dragged him into the downpour with a breathless laugh, twirling under the weight of the storm, arms outstretched as if you could catch the sky itself. The rain greeted you like an old friend, cool and insistent, clinging to your skin and threading through your hair. It slicked the world in a watercolor blur, every sharp edge softened to nothingness.

Soobin stood there for a moment, watching. His breath hitched as his glasses fogged up, blurring everything but you—your figure bathed in the dim glow, your rain-drenched lashes, the ghost of a smile on your lips. Slowly, almost reverently, he reached up and slid them off, as if removing them might somehow let him see you more clearly. And maybe it did. Because in that moment, you were all he could see.

“Dance with me,” you called, your voice bright against the muted sky.

His chest ached. If you asked him to stay in this moment forever, he would. If you asked him to drown in you, he would sink without hesitation.

Soobin had spent years concealing, building walls that matched yours, forcing his love for you into something unobtrusive, something that wouldn’t show and hurt you. But right now, in the rain, with you looking at him like that—his love felt too vast to contain. It cracked at the edges, spilling into every breath, every heartbeat. And he let it.

Because if love was ruin, then he would gladly be destroyed by you.

Slowly, he let you pull him into motion. Your fingers curled around his, tugging at him as you guided his steps. There was no music, just a symphony of the rain and your laughter, a soft tune that winded between you. Your smile was infectious, your laughter intoxicating as Soobin hardly managed to conceal his. He felt like a child again with you, dancing under the weeping sky, free from the shackles of reality and the hidden truth.

You were his doom, he always knew that. 

So when it happened, Soobin was all but shocked.

It started small, a bloom unfurling deep within his chest. A warmth, soft and almost timid, spreading like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Soon the warmth sharpened, edges curling inward, soft petals pressing against his lungs. The world seemed to still, the rain fading into background noise as his pulse pounded in his ears. He’d known it was coming, but knowing didn't soften the ache.

His worst nightmare. His deepest, most forbidden dream. The fear of a lifetime, wrapped in something that should have been beautiful. The bond had awakened, and it was you—of course it’s you.

Dread clawed its way up his throat, but beneath it, beneath the fear of losing you, was something just as terrifying. If not, then more. Relief.

Because at least now, he knew. At least now, there was no more pretending. No more wishing. As much as the truth was excruciatingly painful, Soobin’s senses were clouded by the strong waves of solace. You were destined to him.

You turned to him mid-spin, your eyes sparkling with joy. Soobin’s gaze softened as the petals took root within him. He watched you, his smile warm, yet his eyes wavered with a sadness rooted in love too profound to express.

You didn’t see the way his chest rose and fell, uneven, as the flowers inside him stole his breath. He let you laugh, let you hold his hands, let you live in the moment, even as it broke him.

Because how could he tell you? How could he burden you with something you’ve spent so long running from?

That night, long after you had fallen asleep, long after you had waved him goodbye with that sweet smile of yours, Soobin stood in front of his bathroom mirror. The storm had passed, but its remnants lingered—the air was cold, seeping through the cracks of his window, rattling the glass with each gust of wind.

Hands gripping on the edge of the basin, his eyes bore into his reflection. His hair was still wet, slick strands stuck against his forehead, though he wasn't sure if it was the rain or the sweat that now clad his body in a thin sheen. The discomfort bloomed like a sledgehammer to his chest. A pressure so insidious and cloying—crept up his throat. It coiled tight, as if unseen roots had wound themselves around his windpipe, burrowing deeper, deeper, deeper. His breath came unevenly, a shuddering inhale that barely made it past his lips before something inside him cinched tight, forcing his body into rebellion.

The first cough punched through him like a force of nature. Then another. His chest burned with every heave, his throat raw as he gripped the edges of the sink, knuckles white. His body lurched forward, stomach twisting painfully until—

—A lone yellow petal slipped from his lips.

It drifted down, fragile and weightless, landing against the porcelain with a silence that felt deafening.

A daffodil.

You made daffodils bloom in him. The flower that symbolizes new beginnings and rebirth. 

But as Soobin stared at the petal, trembling in the aftermath of what it meant—he thought, perhaps, destiny was not so cruel after all. Perhaps, just as flowers withered only to bloom again in the warmth of spring, your heart, too, was meant to be reborn. And if fate allowed it, if you let him, he would wait for that day—when love no longer felt like a wound, but something you could finally hold without fear.

When you had woken up the next morning, you felt sore—there was a massive clog of pain biting down on your entire shoulders and nape, eerily similar to the dull, stubborn pain of a post-vaccine shot. You moved out of bed, wobbly, needing to use your wall as a crutch as you staggered toward the bathroom. Your head was throbbing and turning on the bathroom light only made it worse.

You wanted to mumble something to yourself, a quiet reassurance maybe, but your body wouldn’t let you. The piercing headache drowned out every coherent thought, leaving you grasping at your temples, willing the pain to stop. Fever? Your skin burned with heat, yet a violent shiver ran down your spine.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. With trembling hands, you turned the faucet, cupping cold water and pressing it against your face. The biting chill stung your skin, washing away the sweat, the nausea—but not the unease clawing at your chest.

What the hell was happening? Was this the result of yesterday’s antics? You had never gotten sick from the rain this badly before. So why did it feel like your body was crashing all at once? And then, a different thought hit you.

Soobin.

How was he? Was he sick too? The idea left a sour taste in your mouth, gnawing at you worse than the fever. You needed to check on him, but even looking for your phone felt like an impossible task. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the sink, trying to collect yourself. You had responsibilities—your TA duties, the students relying on you, the work piling up—but none of it seemed to matter at this moment. None of it could override the singular thought threading through the haze of your fevered mind.

You needed to know if Soobin was okay.

Your legs moved on instinct, carrying you back to your room as you fumbled beneath your pillows.

"Where’s my phone…?" you muttered under your breath, voice scratchy. You twisted around, spotting it on the bedside table just as your elbow knocked over a ceramic cup. It hit the floor with a hollow thud, but you barely noticed. With slightly unsteady fingers, you dialed his number.

One ring. Two. Three.

Then the line clicked.

"Hello?"

His voice was low, frayed at the edges; exhaustion, clinging to each syllable, weighing them down until they barely reached you. Your stomach twisted. 

"Did you catch a cold? Shit, Soobin—I'm so sorry." You pinched the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as another wave of pain pulsed behind your skull. "It was a bad idea."

A soft chuckle echoed on the other end. "This is nothing. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine."

But something in his tone made you frown. It wasn’t just hoarseness—it was hesitation. Like even he wasn’t convinced by his own words. There was a pause, before you heard him speak, sounding a little too cautious. 

"Are you alright?" he asked.

You parted your lips, but nothing came out. How were you supposed to explain this? The way your body felt like it had been wrung dry, like every muscle ached with an exhaustion that ran deeper than any fever. But you took note of how your pounding headache had faded to a faint throb by now, and your joints no longer felt rusted. You didn't know what was going on.

You swallowed. "I’m okay."

A long pause stretched between you, filled only by the sound of your breaths. You thought he might call you out, might say something to shake the dishonesty from your voice—but he didn’t. Instead, there was a sigh, barely audible, as if he had already known what you would say before you said it.

"Take the day off today. I’ll stop by your place later, alright?"

As soon as the call ended, you quickly typed out a message to Professor Park, apologizing for missing morning TA duties due to your sudden sickness and promising to stop by in the afternoon. The guilt nagged at you—leaving work unfinished, leaving tasks hanging—but even if you forced yourself through the motions, you wouldn’t be of much help to anyone like this.

You exhaled, dragging a hand down your face before forcing yourself into the shower, letting the warmth ease the last remnants of tension from your body.

By the time you stepped into the kitchen, towel wrapped loosely around your head, the hunger hadn’t quite returned. But you still made breakfast—because at the very least, you needed energy. Because no matter what was happening to you, life would go on, and you had no choice but to keep up.

Next, you checked your pantry, scanning for ingredients to make soup. You weren’t particularly fond of cooking, but ever since living on your own, it had become a skill you’d polished. Gathering everything you needed, you wasted no time getting to work.

When you finished prepping and packing, the lingering soreness in your shoulders had faded. Only a dull ache remained at the nape of your neck—a sharp, stinging sensation that you ignored. It was bearable. A couple of painkillers would take care of it, you reasoned.

You changed quickly, grabbed the packed meal, and stepped outside, the cool air pressing against your skin. It was only a ten-minute walk to Soobin’s apartment, yet every step felt heavier than it should have. The fresh spring air did little to soothe the worry settling in your chest. You could only hope he had actually listened to you and stayed home to rest.

You exhaled, willing the tension in your chest to loosen. You had no reason to feel this unsettled. And yet, when you finally reached his door, standing in front of it with your knuckles poised to knock, you hesitated. What were you doing? You rang the bell before you could overthink it any further. The door swung open and your doubts subsided.

Soobin stood before you—disheveled, a little pale, dark circles shadowing his eyes, lips cracked and dry. He was hunched slightly, as if just standing upright took more effort than it should. But despite the fatigue etched into his face, despite the way he barely had the energy to greet you, the moment your eyes met his, something in you soothed. Unbeknown to you, for Soobin, having you close to him again finally made the roots loosen their grip on his lungs, allowing him to breathe in the much needed oxygen he was forbidden from these past hours. 

You opened your mouth to say something but faltered, lips pressing together instead. Seeing you struggle with words almost made Soobin cage you in his arms, run a soothing hand through your hair and whisper reassurances to you. But he restrained himself by stepping away from the door.

The guilt climbed up your throat as you stepped inside. You really should've thought before you acted yesterday, pulling him into the rain with you seemed like an innocent and fun act until it wasn't anymore. The comforting and familiar ambience of his apartment did not help you as the sight of him slumped over made everything feel just a little off.

You set the bag of food on the table. “Eat it while it’s hot. You’ll feel better.”

Soobin didn’t respond. Instead, he flopped onto the couch, burying his face into the cushions. A muffled groan was the only indication he had heard you.

You lingered for a moment, watching his unmoving form. Then, glancing at the time, you exhaled quietly. You should’ve left by now.

"I’m heading to campus. If you need anything, let me know, alright?"

A lazy thumbs-up peeked from the couch. Another muffled groan.

You should’ve left. Should’ve turned on your heel and walked out the door without another thought. But something inside you hesitated.An odd, intrusive urge crept up your spine—the sudden, dizzying need to close the distance, to reach out and thread your fingers through his  hair, to feel the warmth of him against your skin. It struck you so unexpectedly, so viscerally, that you jolted back, as if burned.

What the hell?

Clicking your tongue, you pressed your fingers against your temple as another dull wave of pain thrummed inside your skull. "Bye," you muttered, a little too briskly, before slipping out the door.

The moment the apartment door clicked shut, Soobin let out the coughing fit he had been holding back. His body lurched forward, shoulders shaking as he clutched his chest. The bond reacted whenever you were near—he felt it too, the same overwhelming pull, the same aching urge to close the distance and pull you into his arms.

The soulmate bond had its own cruel mechanics. Proximity dulled the pain, soothed the discomfort, but never erased it. It was like a fire burning low instead of blazing—it still smoldered beneath his ribs, simmering just enough to remind him of its presence. Worse still, the bond had a will of its own. It nudged, coaxed, demanded. It made him crave touch, made him reckless, made him want to close the gap between you and ease the ache in both of you, even if just for a moment. And yet, no matter how deeply he longed, no matter how much his hands itched to reach for you, it did not count as acceptance. It was just an impulse, one of the many effects. 

He groaned as he sat up. Dragging a hand over his face, he exhaled slowly, his breath heavy in the silence of the apartment. "This is going to be harder than I expected," he muttered to himself.

His gaze landed on the bag sitting on the table. His chest tightened again—but this time, not from pain. You had gone out of your way to make him soup. Warmth bloomed in his heart, momentarily overthrowing the ache. It was such a simple thing, yet the love he felt in that moment was staggering. He wasted no time, pulling the container out and prying off the lid. 

The aroma curled into the air, rich and homely, and the first spoonful melted on his tongue, warmth spreading through his body in a way that made his eyes flutter shut. It was good—really good. The kind of homemade warmth that settled deep inside, easing everything in its wake.

Reaching back into the bag, he found the toast you had packed alongside the soup. Lightly golden, crisp at the edges, soft in the center. He huffed out a small laugh. You really had thought through it. Tearing off a piece, he dipped it into the broth, watching as it soaked up the warmth before bringing it to his lips. He sighed, pressing his palm to his chest as if that would do anything to calm the lingering discomfort.

Then, an odd thought crossed his mind. Are the daffodils getting drenched in soup too, or does it go through a completely different canal?

The mental image of flower petals swimming in broth was ridiculous enough that a breath of laughter escaped him. Whatever the case, the soup was working—soothing his throat, the tightness in his chest, momentarily distracting him from the reality of what was happening to him.

You stopped by the cafe near your campus for a quick coffee. The late morning crowd had the typical scenario—students hunched over laptops, business professionals sipping their drinks with absentminded focus, a couple near the window speaking in hushed voices over half-eaten pastries—soulmates, you deduced. 

You waited for your order, feeling the exhaustion settling into your limbs. Though the worst of the morning’s sickness had passed, a vague tiredness clung to you, like a heavy mist that refused to lift. Just as you let your eyes flutter shut for a brief moment, a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the most beautiful person in this café.”

You huffed out a laugh before even turning around. “Yeonjun.”

Leaning casually against the counter, Yeonjun flashed you his foxy grin. His presence was impossible to miss, exuding that cocky charm he carried wherever he went. Dressed in a dark sweater layered under his club jacket, he looked both put-together and relaxed, like he had just come from practice but somehow still managed to look better than half the people in the café.

His gaze flickered around the café before settling back on you. “Weird not seeing Soobin with you. You two are usually attached at the hip.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “Not today. He’s sick.”

“Sick?” he inquired with a raised brow.

“It’s my fault actually. We were out in the rain yesterday for some fun,” you said, sighing. 

That caught Yeonjun’s attention. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he leaned forward resting his chin on his propped hand over the counter. “You two were out in the rain?” he drawled. “That is so romantic.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "Yeonjun, you should be worried about him instead."

He chuckled, standing to his full height. "Oh, I am. Just saying, though.” He gave you a small smile before adding, “Guess I’ll have to check in on him.”

You let out a quiet huff of amusement, shaking your head as the barista set your drink down with a quiet call of your name. You picked up your cup as you turned to face him again. “I left him with some food. If you stop by his place, check if he ate, alright?”

Yeonjun straightened. “Aye, aye, captain.”

You snorted, waving him off dismissively as your gaze flickered outside the café. The rain had picked up again, albeit light, dotting the pavement with dark speckles. The extra jacket you had brought would come in handy now.

Digging into your bag, you fished it out and turned to Yeonjun. “Hold this.” You shoved your cup into his hand before pulling your hair into a loose ponytail, fingers working quickly. The jacket slipped over your shoulders. “Thanks,” you chirped once he handed your drink back.

Yeonjun’s expression shifted, brows pinching ever so slightly, lips parting like he was about to say something but stopped himself. His eyes lingered—on your neck, your hair, something. It was subtle, but you caught it.

You raised a brow. “What? Is there something on my face?”

He hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he quickly masked it with an easy grin. “Nah. Just… did you get a haircut?”

“You creep.” You blinked. “That’s what you were staring at?”

Yeonjun barely dodged the playful kick you sent to his shin, letting out an exaggerated gasp of offense. “Excuse you. I was appreciating art, my darling.”

You nearly gagged, holding a hand up to stop him from saying anything else. He only laughed, though there was something off about it—too light, too quick to cover up whatever had momentarily distracted him.

Pushing open the café door, he held it for you as you stepped out into the cool drizzle. You pulled the jacket tighter around you. “I’m gonna go now. Already running late for my TA duties.” Then, shooting him a pointed look, you added, “Please, if you’re done early today, check on Soobin.”

He gave a lazy salute. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Yeonjun watched until your figure couldn't be deciphered among the crowd ahead, his playful demeanor fading as his lips pressed together. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. Was that… a soulmate tattoo?

He wasn’t entirely sure. It had only been a glimpse—a faint outline, a floral shape against your skin when you tied your hair back. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light, a shadow cast in passing. But it gnawed at him.

Yeonjun’s classes had ended earlier than expected. After wrapping up his club duties and delegating tasks, he decided to call it a day. As he slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the building, your words from earlier echoed in his mind. He knew how busy you were with your TA responsibilities, meaning you wouldn’t be able to check in on Soobin until much later. And if there was one thing Yeonjun understood about Soobin, it was his frustrating tendency to downplay when he was sick.

With a resigned sigh, he changed course, making a quick stop at a convenience store to pick up food and drinks before heading toward Soobin’s apartment. When he arrived, he knocked on the door, expecting to hear the telltale shuffle of Soobin dragging himself out of bed to answer. But there was nothing. He knocked again, harder this time, his knuckles rapping sharply against the wood. Still no response.

Frowning, he pressed the doorbell, foot tapping impatiently as he listened for any signs of movement inside. “Come on, dude…” Silence stretched out, gnawing uncomfortably in his chest. Something wasn’t right. Soobin wasn’t the type to ignore people, especially not when he was sick—if anything, he should be dramatically lamenting his misery by now, groaning about his sore throat or asking for sympathy points.

Unease curled in Yeonjun’s stomach as he reached for the doorknob. It twisted open with no resistance. His breath hitched, heart stuttering as his brain lurched toward the worst possibilities. Unlocked door? An intruder? Has Soobin passed out somewhere? His grip tightened around the plastic bag as his gaze darted around the dimly lit apartment. Nothing looked out of place, but the silence felt too terrifying. The hum of the fridge was the only sound filling the still air.

Then, a sound reached Yeonjun's ears, causing the hair on his arms to stand. A deep, heaving cough, followed by the unmistakable retching noise of someone struggling against their own body. His pulse pounded, a mixture of alarm and determination flooding his system as he scanned the room for anything he could use as a weapon. His eyes landed on a lamp perched on a nearby shelf. Without thinking, he grabbed it, wielding it like some absurd, makeshift club. Every instinct screamed at him to be ready for the worst as he crept forward, following the source of the noise with careful steps. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and through the narrow gap, he could hear another hoarse gag.

Shit. Is someone choking him?

Every muscle in his body tensed. If there was someone else in there, they weren’t walking out unscathed. With a surge of adrenaline, he pushed the door open with a sharp burst of energy, yelling out a battle cry, lamp raised high in a ridiculous but entirely committed fight stance.

What he saw instead made him freeze.

Soobin was hunched over the sink, a trembling hand clamped over his mouth. His complexion was ghastly—pale, exhausted, his shoulders rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. But what made Yeonjun’s mouth fall wasn’t the sight of Soobin sick and miserable—it was the delicate yellow petals stuck to his fingers, some drifting in slow motion as they slipped from his grasp and fluttered to the tiled floor.

For a long moment, Yeonjun simply stared, brain struggling to catch up with what he was seeing. The gears in his head turned sluggishly, thoughts colliding in slow-motion confusion. Then, finally, with all the brilliance of someone facing an unimaginable scenario, he blurted out, "Have you been eating someone’s flowers? What the fuck?"

Soobin made a strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a cough, before another violent heave wracked his body. He barely had time to turn back toward the sink before he was coughing again, his breath coming out in wheezing gasps.

Yeonjun dropped the lamp onto the bed and was at his side in an instant, gripping his shoulders. “Hey, hey—breathe, dude. Easy there.” He started rubbing firm circles over Soobin’s back, his own pulse thundering. “Oh my god,” Yeonjun breathed, the realization seeping into his bones like ice water. “No way. No fucking way—”

Soobin, still gasping for air, groaned weakly. “Shut up, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun ignored him, his own face paling as his gaze dropped to the basin. Yellow daffodil petals clung to the porcelain, some floating in the water, their edges curling inward. That means—earlier that day, did he really see a soulmate tattoo on your nape? His stomach twisted as the dots started connecting, a pattern emerging before his eyes, clearer than day.

Was that a lie you told him about Soobin catching a cold? Or worse—did you not even know?

The mechanical clogs in his mind started turning. He didn’t know which possibility was worse: that you had lied to protect Soobin, or that you had been completely unaware of the suffering he had been enduring in silence. But if you were lying, then you wouldn't really ask him to check up on Soobin knowing the possibilities of him discovering the truth. And, how could someone not know about the awakening of their own soulmate bond? Fuck, the more Yeonjun tried to seek answers, the more questions he was facing.

With careful hands, Yeonjun guided Soobin down onto the closed toilet seat. The younger boy slumped forward, elbows resting on his knees, his entire body trembling from the aftermath of the coughing fit. His skin was damp with a sheen of sweat, lips cracked, his usually neat hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands. He looked utterly spent—like he had been carrying this burden far longer than anyone had realized.

And then, Soobin looked up. His eyes, exhaustion glazed, pinned Yeonjun with desperation. His voice, hoarse but firm, cut through the thick silence between them. “Not a single word about this, you hear me?”

“What?” Yeonjun scoffed, frustration bubbling up. “Are you fucking serious? You were just coughing up petals, Soobin. That’s not something you can just keep under wraps like some minor inconvenience.”

Soobin flinched, his fingers clenching into his sweatpants. He looked like he wanted to argue, but no words came. His gaze dropped to the floor, his breath unsteady.

Yeonjun exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face before his rational side finally took over. With a calmer voice, he asked, “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Soobin’s lips parted as if to speak, but still, silence stretched between them. His fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his sweatpants—gripping onto something, anything, as if to ground himself. And that was all the confirmation Yeonjun needed.

His confusion only deepened. If you were Soobin’s soulmate, why was he going through this hell instead of just accepting the bond with you? You guys were best friends. Did you really not know the bond had awakened? As if sensing Yeonjun’s endless spiral of questions, Soobin finally spoke.

“She has trauma regarding soulmates,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. “Back in middle school… a boy lied to her about being her soulmate. He made her believe it—lied to her about the bond being accepted between them, played along for a week, only to reveal in front of the whole class that it was a prank.”

Yeonjun’s mouth fell slightly ajar at the story. So, that’s what was going on. Yeonjun’s stomach twisted, feeling sick. There was no way someone could be this cruel to play with something so, so sacred. He felt terrible about it, about you.

“She still has fresh wounds from it,” Soobin continued, his voice trembling. “She’s terrified of opening her heart, of trusting in fate. That’s why… that’s why I can’t tell her.”

Yeonjun stared at him. “You do realize she’s gonna find out sooner or later, right?” he said after a beat, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

Soobin let out a shaky breath. “I’ll hold on till then.”

There was something bone-deep in his tone—something that sounded like both a promise and a plea. Yeonjun could only sigh, tilting his head back against the cabinets.

“Listen, man. This isn’t my place to say anything, but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Do you really think she’ll feel less hurt knowing you never told her until she finds out herself? That you kept her in the dark? You, of all people—who’s supposed to be her everything?”

At that, Soobin’s ears flushed pink, and Yeonjun almost rolled his eyes.

Anyone with eyes could see how deeply this idiot was in love with you. It was only a matter of time before the soulmate bond manifested, as if the universe itself had merely been waiting for you both to catch up. But your connection had never been dictated by fate alone—your bond was stronger than fate itself. As if, in another life, in every life, you would have found each other anyway. As if you had reached for one another, bending destiny’s rules before destiny had the chance to decide.

“I’m not her everything,” Soobin mumbled.

Yeonjun scoffed again, shooting him a deadpan look. “Right. I’m the one soulbounded to you.”

That earned him a weak glare. He inhaled shakily, his voice trembling when he spoke again. “You don’t understand, Yeonjun.” He dug his fingers into his hair, his frustration laced with something far more fragile. “I can’t do this to her. Not when she’s still hurting. Not when the past still haunts her. I don’t want to be the reason for her relapse.”

Yeonjun stayed quiet, letting him vent.

“I don’t think anyone will ever understand what I really feel for her,” Soobin choked out. He swallowed, blinking rapidly as if that would push back the tears that threatened to spill. “How I feel knowing fate tangled our souls together.”

Yeonjun’s chest ached at the rawness in his voice. “And how do you really feel?”

Silence stretched between them. Soobin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Then, with a voice that sounded like it had been clawed from the depths of his soul, he answered, “Like I’ll never recover. Like I’ll never draw another breath without half of it being a wish for her to be mine.”

Yeonjun’s lips parted slightly, as if something inside him had been struck. He let the words settle in the quiet, allowing them to soak into the bones of the moment. “You know,” he murmured, slowly leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees. “the way I see it… love is cruel sometimes.”

Water dripping from the faucet filled the silence, the petals swirling gently in the basin as if they, too, understood the depth of Soobin’s suffering. Yeonjun continued, “It gives you something beautiful, something so overwhelming, but it makes you fight for it. Makes you bleed for it.” He sighed. “And it’s terrifying, I get it. But you’re bleeding either way, Soobin.”

“I just want to protect her,” Soobin’s voice broke.

“You think you’re protecting her by staying silent,” Yeonjun said, meeting his gaze firmly. “but you’re not. You’re just delaying the inevitable. And in the end… isn’t it crueler to let her figure it out on her own?” His gaze flickered to the basin of wilted daffodil petals before meeting Soobin’s eyes again. “How much of yourself are you willing to lose in the process?”

Soobin swallowed thickly but didn’t answer. His grip tightened on his own arms, as if bracing himself against the thoughts threatening to consume him whole.

Yeonjun sighed, pushing himself up from the floor. He dusted off his jeans, then glanced down at Soobin. “You think she doesn’t deserve to carry this burden, but Soobin, you’re carrying it alone. And trust me when I say, it will break you before you even realize it.” He frowned. “You love her, don’t you?”

Soobin squeezed his eyes shut as if that would stop the emotions from rising to the surface, but his silence spoke louder than any confession could.

Yeonjun’s gaze softened. “Then don’t let that love turn into a curse. Don’t let it be something that eats away at you from the inside out.” He let the words settle for a moment, watching as Soobin’s fingers slowly loosened from their death grip on his arms. He reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “And I can’t tell you what the right thing to do is. But I do know this—you can’t keep tearing yourself apart like this. One day, you’ll have to stop running. And she’ll need to as well.”

Despite the fear curling inside him, despite the uncertainty that still gnawed at his ribs, Yeonjun’s words felt like a lifeline. He didn’t know if he had the strength to make the right choice, but the pressure felt a little less unbearable knowing he had someone for support.

Yeonjun clapped a hand on his back, then pulled him fully to his feet. “Come on. Get up. Go wash your face.” He was pushing the younger male towards the sink. "And tomorrow morning, I’m taking you to the doctor."

"What?" Soobin's eyes widened. "Why? There's no need for tha—"

Yeonjun arched his brow. “Because I know you. You’re gonna choose to keep suffering alone despite everything I just said. So if you're gonna keep quiet about it anyway, better know the risks of avoiding the bond. What to do when the pain gets too much and all that.” He pressed his lips in a thin line as he watched Soobin struggle to form words. "Besides, after all, you won't be the only one affected from avoiding the bond, right?"

Soobin could only stare at him, throat tight. Right, how could he forget about that? You'd feel the pain as much as he would. In fact, you were probably feeling it right now. His chest hurt at the thought, eyes stinging with tears.

For your sake, and his too, in the end, Soobin agreed to visit the doctor.

Darkness loomed over you like a vulture waiting for its prey to take its dying breath.

It was the kind that bled into your lungs, pressing into every crevice of your being. It did not matter whether your eyes were open or closed—sight had no meaning in a world where only the weight of phantom hands dictated your reality. You gasped, but no air came. Your body thrashed, heels scraping against nothing, fingers clawing at revenant wrists that would not yield, their grip only tightening against the fragile column of your neck. Panic seized your limbs, tears blurred your vision, desperation blooming in your chest like a withering flower.

A chorus of cruel, ringing laughter echoed, bouncing from unseen walls around you, filling the void with the taunt of memory. You blinked, and a cheshire grin emerged from the darkness, wide and gleaming, the only feature granted to the faceless specter above you.

"It was all a prank."

Your body lurched upright, lungs heaving as if they'd been starved of breath for hours. The room was silent, bathed in the pale silver glow of a moon that seemed distant, too far away to anchor you back to the present. Cold sweat clung to your skin, a sheen of ice trailing down the nape of your neck, settling deep into the marrow of your bones.

Your fingers trembled against the sheets, curling, uncurling—seeking something to hold onto, to remind you that the hands around your throat had never been real. But real and unreal blurred at times like this, when nightmares did not fade upon waking but instead latched onto your ribs, tightening with every shallow breath.

The nightmares never stopped haunting you. The past was a corpse long buried, but its roots never loosened their hold. They twisted around your lungs, curling tighter with every restless night. For you, it had never been the roots of flowers constricting your lungs. It was the fear from the past, one that only grew, refusing to let go.

You dragged a hand over your face, fingers trembling, the dampness on your forehead matching the dampness behind your eyes. You tried to breathe through it, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Not when the shadows clung to the corners of your room like remnants of that nightmare.

What you needed wasn’t silence. It was light. And the only light that had ever pierced through your worst nights had always been him.

With hands that shook, you reached for your phone. Your thumb hovered above his name, that familiar form of letters more sacred than any prayer. You pressed, blinking at the time glowing back at you. 2:57 a.m. You hesitated for the briefest second, wondering if he’d be asleep. If this was selfish. The line clicked on the first ring.

"Soobin," you breathed. His name fell from your lips like a cry swallowed by the wind, fragile and cracked. But that single syllable was all he needed.

Fifteen minutes later, he was at your doorstep.

He was breathless, evidently so, as he ran all the way to you. But before a word could leave your lips, you were in his arms—swept into a haven carved from comfort and homeliness. His hold was strong, a harbor you had always known. Your cheek pressed against his chest, making your senses focus in the wild rhythm of his heart instead of the lingering hollowness of your nightmare.

The moment his body met yours, the ache that had been floating inside you dissipated. A sense of calm, inexplicable and consuming, bloomed through your veins. Above you, Soobin let out a shuddering exhale, his shoulders falling the slightest bit. Though you didn’t see it, he, too, felt the reprieve—the choking roots retreating from his lungs. It was like your souls, stretched too thin by distance and silence, had finally returned to their rightful place.

One hand rose to your hair, fingers combing through the strands in a motion so gentle it unraveled the remaining tight knots in your chest, and your mind. “Another nightmare?” he whispered.

You gave a faint nod against him, not trusting your voice just yet.

He pulled back slightly, enough to cradle your face in his hands and coax your gaze up to meet his. The touch was so familiar, done a thousand times before—a gesture stitched into the fabric of your friendship—but tonight, it made your breath catch. Tonight, you looked at him like you were seeing him again for the first time.

In the hush between heartbeats, you stared, wide eyes tracing his features like an artist committing them to memory. The slope of his nose, the soft furrow in his brows, the tremble of concern behind his dark eyes. Instead of snapping out of your thoughts, you indulged in them.

Why does this feel so…

Soobin blinked down at you, unaware of the mess blooming in your chest. “Do you want to eat something? Or just talk?”

You stared at him for a beat, then deadpanned, “Dumbass, you can’t cook. I’d have to do all the work.”

He spluttered, eyes momentarily shutting, the tips of his ears reddening. Trying to feign a cough to save his reputation, he said, “I—I meant like instant ramen or something!”

You shook your head with a faint laugh, one hand brushing your hair back. “Let’s just talk.”

So you both padded over to the living room. The cushions dipped beneath your weight as you curled up on opposite ends of the couch. You watched him move in the quiet as though afraid to disturb the fragile stillness that clung to the room. He reached for his phone, tapping a few times, and soon enough, the soft chords of your favorite CAS song spilled into the air like a lullaby. Your gaze lowered to your hands in your lap. A warmth bloomed in your chest, but it was quickly eclipsed by a sharp sting.

How long could this go on?

You chewed the inside of your cheek, guilt curling like smoke in your lungs. Nights like this—when the nightmares were persistent and your thoughts frayed at the seams—had begun to blend into a pattern. And Soobin was always there, arriving like your one and only light in the suffocating dark.

But that wasn’t fair to him, was it?

One day, he would find someone—someone stitched to him by floral vines and the ink of fate, leading him somewhere you couldn’t follow. Someone else would be his sanctuary. Someone who wasn’t you. And when that day came, when the ache in your chest couldn’t be soothed by the sound of his voice anymore, you’d have no one but silence.

The thought slashed through your ribs, leaving a hollowness behind. You couldn't keep leaning on him like this, asking him to piece you back together each time the ghosts clawed their way back into your sleep. He had a life beyond your hurt, beyond your late-night calls. 

Your voice cracked through the lull of music and night, barely audible. "I’m sorry."

Soobin turned slowly, concern etching itself into the slope of his brows as he made his way beside you, his presence a balm even before he spoke. He sat close, not touching, but near enough to feel the tremble in your breath.

You kept your eyes fixed on the floor, nails digging into your palms. “I’m sorry for being like this,” you whispered. “For needing you this much. For calling you at 3 a.m. For making you run every time I fall apart.”

You finally looked at him, and the sorrow in your gaze made his chest cave in. “I’m being selfish, aren’t I?” you said, voice cracking. "I just—I know you can’t stay forever. And I have to learn how to survive without you.” Your fingers trembled in your lap. “This has to stop. You have your own life to live. You don’t owe me anything, Soobin. You’re not supposed to be the one picking up my broken pieces all the time.”

Soobin’s eyes softened, a small smile drew its way on his lips. If only you could see what he saw every time your eyes met his—how the flowers in his lungs bloomed and withered all at once when you were near.  And even if the stars decided to pull you both in opposite directions, Soobin would have defied every last one of them. Because where you ended, he began. Because you had long ago taken root in his soul, and nothing—not time, not fate, not the arrival of another—could ever change that. The overwhelming urge to tell you that you were already his, and he was yours almost consumed him whole. 

“You’re not selfish,” he said. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You searched his face as if it would offer a reason, a rationale, a loophole to all the guilt clawing its way through your chest. But all you saw was him—Soobin, sitting beside you like he always did. Like he always would.

“I don’t know how long I’ll take to get better, Soobin. It’s been years, and I still can’t sleep through the night without reliving it. Still can’t breathe without choking on air that doesn’t want to stay in my lungs.” Your words spilled between stifled sobs. “And the worst part is—I don’t even know if I want to heal. Because sometimes…” you swallowed hard, “sometimes the pain is the last thing I have. The last link to what I lost. If I let that go, what do I even have left?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to word it out. The love you’d once held onto so tightly it had cut your hands. The hope that someone, somewhere, was out there for you—probably still is, waiting. But your fear held you back from reaching your hand out.

Soobin laced his fingers through that hand of yours, giving a gentle squeeze. And then, he let out a small, breathless laugh. Not from amusement, but from the ache of irony. Here you were, mourning the love you thought you'd never receive, and he—your soulmate—was sitting right in front of you, heart and soul offered without condition.

“You think you lost yourself when you lost your hope,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “But you didn’t. You’re still here. Maybe a little bruised, but you are healing. You’re here, and I see you.”

His thumb moved across your knuckles, slow and gentle. His words embraced you so gently, you felt your eyes moisten again, needing to pull your bottom lip between your lips. Soobin smiled faintly at that. “You didn’t lose your heart the day it shattered. It’s still yours. Still beating. Still capable of love. And just because it broke doesn’t mean you’re lost. I promise you, you’re not.”

The words had tangled somewhere deep in your chest, caught between the weight in your heart and the rawness in his gaze. Soobin didn’t know how he’d managed to stay afloat until now—until this moment, where the dam of his own emotions had threatened to burst, wave after wave rising beneath his ribs. But he meant every word. He had spoken them before, during your darkest hours, and he would speak them again for as long as you needed him.

Soobin stood and quietly extended his hand toward you. “I’ll stay the night with you,” he said.

You looked at his outstretched hand, calloused fingers you’d clung to before. Fingers that had gathered your broken pieces time and again—and a thought, selfish and startling in its intensity, bloomed inside you like a flare in the dark when you slipped your hand into his.

You didn’t want to let him go. Not now, not ever.

That night, you fell asleep in the circle of his warmth. He held you close—close enough that the daffodils rooted in his lungs could feel the nearness of you, and it brought him a calm he hadn’t known in the past nights. If you thought yourself selfish for leaning on him, then Soobin was just as selfish for wanting you near.

His hand moved in slow circles on your back, a quiet lullaby echoing the rhythm of your heartbeat. He pressed his lips to your temple, breath warm against your skin, and whispered promises to guard your dreams. Promises he had every intention of keeping.

You dreamt of yellow.

Of sunlight painting the horizon in gold. Of yellow daffodils swaying in a field that stretched beyond the edges of your pain. You dreamt of laughter that didn’t echo with grief. And in the middle of that bright, blooming world stood Soobin—arms open wide, eyes crinkled with the kind of joy that made your soul ache. The kind of joy you didn’t think you’d ever feel again.

He looked like something you knew by heart—your home.

When your eyes fluttered open the next morning, the sheets beside you were cold.

Soobin was gone.

“Are you nervous?” Yeonjun nudged the taller male sitting beside him in the quiet waiting room. It was barely 8 a.m. He hadn’t woken you when he left. Instead, he’d pulled the blanket over your shoulder, let his fingers hover for a moment above your brow, then retreated like the coward he felt he was. Now, he sat beside Yeonjun, phone screen dimming in his hand as he stared at the last message he sent.

[Had to run some errands. See you at campus.]

You hadn’t read it. The tiny gray checkmark was a silent reassurance—you were still asleep.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed quietly. What if today changed everything? What if it didn’t change anything at all? The questions spiraled, each one heavier than the last. Would confronting the truth bring relief, or only more hesitations? Forcing the bond on you, forcing love from you—he couldn’t do it. 

Soobin’s thumb brushed against the edge of his phone, then curled around the device, grip tightening. His head fell back against the wall with a muted thud. He closed his eyes, throat bobbing with the force of his swallow. “I’m scared, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun eyed the younger, lips pressing in a thin line. At that moment all he could provide was a comforting hand on his shoulder. They sat in silence until Soobin's name was called.

Inside the chamber, flowers filled the space—not just real ones in vases, but inked into canvas frames, stitched into cushions, even printed along the soft border of the curtains. A comforting illusion, as though beauty could soften the sting of truth.

The doctor was an older man with kind eyes and a voice like worn velvet. “Have a seat, son.”

Soobin nodded and did as told. They exchanged a few words, standard questions and details spoken like ritual. Finally, the doctor asked what brought him in. Soobin, however, deflected it with his own, straightforward question.

“How long can you go without accepting the bond?”

There was silence. The clock ticked on, every second scraping along his nerves. The doctor didn’t answer right away, and Soobin couldn’t meet his gaze. His fists curled on his knees, nails pressing against the flesh of his palms. Maybe it was a bad idea to come here.

"Rejecting the bond doesn’t kill you, son," he began, words practiced, yet not unkind. "It never has. That’s a myth people like to romanticize. Drama makes for good stories, not truths."

Soobin nodded slowly.

"The rejection of a soulmate bond isn’t new. People have been doing it for centuries. Some out of grief, some out of love that wasn’t returned. Others simply fall for someone who isn't their destined match. The reasons don’t change the outcome." The doctor leaned back in his chair, fingers lacing over his stomach. "When the bond awakens, one carries the flower and the other, the mark. A perfect mirror of souls meant to align. It only settles when both recognize the love for what it is. When they accept it—mutually, honestly—the flowers begin to wither, and the mark, once faint, blooms in full colour for both, even the one who bore the blooms. That’s when the bond settles."

Soobin knew that much. He was aware of the mechanics. If you accepted the bond with him, he too, would get a matching tattoo of a daffodil—one that is currently residing somewhere on your body.

"Until then, it’s the most difficult part," the doctor said. "Touch helps. So does presence. It soothes the ache, but it doesn’t cure it. The bond starts to pull you toward each other, urges your bodies and minds to close the gap. Fighting that… well, it creates friction. Pain. For both, but especially the one bearing the bloom." The older man removed his glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief, tone turning solemn. "You might feel fatigue, spells of dizziness, even blackouts. The more you resist—especially if your counterpart is unaware or distant—the harder it gets. The bond feeds on proximity, on shared moments. Prolonged avoidance can cause the flowers to decay."

Soobin’s throat tightened. He could feel the burn behind his ribs. "And when that happens?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"It depends," he let out a breath, not quite a sigh, not quite a chuckle. "Some people slip into comas. Others just… lose the feeling. Walk away with scars you can’t see. No one reacts the same way, but there is one constant." He met Soobin’s gaze directly now. "You don’t get a second bond. Once it breaks, it doesn’t come back. It’s one soul, one tether."

If Soobin made the decision to break the bond... will you be finally free, then?

He paused, then added with a dry chuckle, "Some call it a kind of freedom. Earning the right to defy destiny. But whether that’s a blessing or a curse—that’s not for me to say."

Soobin sat motionless. But his head was loud, too loud.

The doctor scribbled something on a notepad and tore the page out, sliding it toward him. "These will help manage the pain if it gets unbearable," he said. "It might help you sleep. Might keep the coughing at bay."

Soobin reached for it with a quiet thank you, his hands a little shaky. As he stood, the doctor offered him a nod, eyes soft once again.

"Whatever you choose, do it with your whole heart, son. That’s all I can tell you."

Soobin managed a small bow before turning to the door, prescription clutched in his hand. The flowers in the doctor’s chamber swayed faintly in the morning light, as if encouraging him to quickly make the hardest decision.

“You’re not planning to break the bond, are you?”

Yeonjun’s voice broke through the silence as he chewed on his bottom lip, brows furrowed in concern. He watched Soobin slump onto the bench near the Arts building, the morning sun casting long, dappled shadows through the trees.

It was strange—Yeonjun used to think he knew Soobin like the back of his hand. Now, that certainty felt like a lie.

“Relax, Yeonjun. I can’t and won’t make the decision for her,” Soobin muttered, exhaling a long breath as he rubbed his temple. His entire being felt frayed, like he was barely stitched together. His chest ached, his mind was loud and cluttered, and a pounding headache throbbed behind his eyes. He glanced down at his phone, checking the time. You should be on campus by now.

Yeonjun took the spot beside him. "Hiding it from her is already bad enough," he said, voice low as he fixed Soobin with a look that said more than his words. "You do remember everything I said, right?"

Soobin gave a tired hum. It felt like his soul was dragging. Maybe this was the bond’s way of punishing him. The roots shifted again—sharp, stabbing pain erupting through his chest. He winced, folding forward with a hand clutched tightly over his heart. A rasping cough followed, one he barely managed to muffle with his other hand as his eyes squeezed shut, bracing against the wave of discomfort.

Yeonjun’s hand was on his back instantly, drawing firm circles, but it wasn’t enough. Soobin needed you. Your touch, your presence—his body screamed for it, every nerve ending crying out your name.

Destiny decided to be a little gentle with Soobin, as if it had grown soft with pity. Because the next moment, a familiar voice reached his ears, breaching past the fog of his mind.

“There you are, asshole.”

His eyes flew open, head tilting up, and there you were—standing in front of him, arms crossed, looking down at him with a frown. But to him, it felt like sunlight finally breaching through stormclouds.

“Damn, why do you look like that?” You crouched, concern drawing lines on your forehead. “Are you okay?”

Shit. Panic flared in Soobin’s chest. He scrambled for something to say, anything that would mask the truth—that wouldn't make you suspicious. But Yeonjun beat him to it.

“He swallowed a bug!” Yeonjun blurted.

The two of you turned to face Yeonjun with varying expressions of ‘what the fuck did you just say’. The awkward silence that followed caused Yeonjun to give a nervous laugh, patting Soobin’s back a little too enthusiastically. “Silly guy, right?”

You blinked, facing Soobin. “You eat bugs now?”

“Do you believe this idiot?” Soobin deadpanned.

“No.” You shook your head. “Forgot he’s an idiot.”

“I’m glad we both agree on that.”

“I’m literally right here,” Yeonjun muttered, offended. “Can you not talk shit about me in front of me?”

But neither of you spared him a glance. You studied Soobin’s face more closely now. Something tugged at your attention—a smudge on his glasses. Without a word, you reached out and gently slid them off his face.

He froze but every fiber of his being begged him to lean into your touch, to collapse into the comfort you offered so freely. But he held still as you wiped the lenses clean with the hem of your sleeve and perched them back on his nose. You tilted your head, smiling fondly. “Much better.”

Soobin’s heart stuttered. A blush crawled up his neck, painting his ears red. “Thanks,” he mumbled, fingers fumbling to adjust his glasses. Gosh, you'd be the death of him.

You stood, reaching into your bag. “You look dehydrated, Soob. Did you not drink enough water this morning?” You handed him the bottle of lemonade you’d packed for yourself. “Keep this with you for the day.”

“Oh!” Soobin straightened quickly, accepting it with both hands. He inspected the drink with a scrunched nose. “Did you put enough sugar in it? Is it edible?”

“Try it for yourself.” You rolled your eyes.

There were these mundane moments between you two that made Soobin forget the storm churning beneath the surface, forget the bond entirely, forget that you two were on the risky edge of a cliff. And he wasn’t the only one to feel this way, Yeonjun did too.

He watched in silence, watching the way your gazes held, how the space around you seemed to draw inward, cutting off the world beyond the two of you. He’d spent enough time around Soobin to understand the depth of his feelings. But watching you now, Yeonjun saw it too. You cared for Soobin in a way that ran deeper than friendship, deeper than even you realized. But because you hadn’t acknowledged it—hadn’t given yourself permission to see it for what it truly was—the bond remained waiting.

“I gotta run. Professor Park’s other TA ditched me today,” you said with an exasperated sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I need to collect reports from three sections and drop them off at her office.”

“I’ll help,” Soobin said, almost instantly. “Let’s go.”

You blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Really? Woah, so my training that day worked!” Soobin knew exactly what day you meant—the rainy morning when you danced with him under the weeping sky, the day the flowers took root in his chest, chanting your name. You grinned, your eyes crinkling with light, and reached up to ruffle his hair. “Pleased to be working with you, TA Soobin!”

He narrowed his eyes fondly, a small chuckle escaping him. How could he say aloud that soon, you might come to hate him for the truth he’d kept hidden? Every second you stood beside him, every laugh you shared, made that thought feel more unbearable.

Yeonjun cleared his throat from behind, reminding you both of his existence. “I’ll see you guys later then. Have fun doing TA stuff, nerds.”

You flipped him off without turning around. “Love you too, Jun.”

He laughed as he walked away, only to glance back a few seconds later. You and Soobin had already fallen into step beside each other, your voices rising and falling in half-bantered words, like always. Yeonjun’s smile lingered, soft and wistful. If there was anyone who deserved happiness, it was the two of you. Soulmates or not—he knew, with a certainty that didn’t need flowers or fate to prove it—you were meant for each other. And nothing, no one, could ever take that away.

Soobin and you had successfully collected all the reports, now divided into two teetering stacks between your arms as you made your way toward Professor Park’s office. When the elevator arrived with a soft chime, you both stepped in. You leaned against the cool metal wall, breathing out a sigh. The weight of the stack was beginning to bite into your fingers with dull ache, but you could care less about it. What plagued your mind instead was last night’s conversation, Soobin selflessly offering to stay the night, and the lingering ache on your shoulders.

"Thank you for last night," you mumbled, voice barely rising above the hum of the elevator. You didn’t meet his eyes, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.

"Weirdo." Soobin huffed out a short laugh. "You don’t need to thank me for that. I’ve always done that for you."

The elevator chimed again, doors gliding open onto the quiet hallway of faculty offices. You stepped out first, boots soft against the floor. You glanced at him, brows gently pulling together. "Soobin—"

"Shh." He shifted the reports to one arm, lifting his free hand and pressing a finger lightly against your lips. The touch seared through your body, startling your mind and settling against your nape, and you swore you could've imagined it—but the ache that was gripping on your shoulders almost immediately lifted. “We’ve already talked about this, haven’t we? I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt yourself going numb, eyes widening, mind slipping out of your grasp. Your lips parted slightly, and the pad of his finger nearly touched the warm, tender pink of tongue and teeth. You saw the flicker in his eyes too—that blink of surprise, as if even he hadn’t meant to reach that far. But he didn't pull away, both of you standing motionless in front of the office room.

No. You shouldn't be feeling this. Not for your best friend—he wasn't your soulmate. You couldn't do this to him.

Your thoughts couldn't spiral further. The door to the office opened, a soft creak that made both of you jolt and spring apart like children caught sneaking out. Professor Park stood in the doorway with a kind smile. Her eyes went first to you, then to Soobin, pausing there just a little too long. His smile looked a little forced before he bowed down. You caught the faint red on the tip of his ears which soon got covered by the strands of his hair.

"I’ll put them on your desk!" you said quickly, brushing past her with your stack, needing the space more than ever. The room gave you a reprieve, however temporary. You placed the reports down, but your hands were trembling, and you had to hold the desk to keep your balance. You must've been out of your mind.

Soobin lingered by the door, awkward now. His glasses had slipped down slightly, and he pushed them up as he tried to reassemble himself under Professor Park’s gaze. "You’re the boy who’s always with her. Choi Soobin, I suppose?"

He nodded, unsure what to do with his hands, still clutching his half of the papers. But her words filled him with an odd sense of pride.

She studied him a moment before stepping forward. "Let me take those."

He handed them over with careful precision, retreating a half-step. The moment he did, he felt the cough building in his throat again—the pulling ache of distance. He turned away and buried it in his sleeve, barely suppressing the noise. When he looked back, Professor Park was still watching him. Not harshly, but rather with sharpness. Soobin managed a small smile, but deep down, he had a feeling she was already figuring things out.

“I’ll be needing her for the rest of the day. Is that okay with you, Mr. Choi?” she raised a brow, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

Soobin blinked at her words, caught slightly off guard by how pointed they sounded. The question was innocent on the surface—but layered beneath was an insinuation. It made him afraid. He couldn’t make anything obvious.

Professor Park was a cunning and smart woman. She always had a motherly instinct when it came to you—more watchful than most, always attentive, protective in a way that reminded Soobin of someone guarding a fragile but sharp blade. She might’ve smiled kindly, but he knew better than to take it lightly. He straightened and lowered his gaze in a modest bow. “Of course, Professor. I have no right to interfere in your TA’s duties.”

There was a pause—a beat of stillness where he could feel her eyes analyzing him again. Then she nodded once, turning into the office. He risked a glance into the room. You were already seated at your desk, focused on the reports.

Soobin turned away from the door, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked down the hall. His chest tightened, the bond pulling taut again, almost resentful of the growing distance. He coughed quietly into his fist, already missing you. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep doing this—lying to you, to himself. Every day he delayed, the roots grew deeper, tighter. Things were unraveling slowly, and he feared the day it would all come crashing down.

The nightmares didn’t return the next few nights, but neither did sleep.

Insomnia had always lingered at the edge of your life—an occasional visitor that made itself at home during finals week or after caffeine-fueled late-night study sessions. But this felt different. It wasn’t the sharp exhaustion of an all-nighter or the foggy disorientation from too much screen time. This was deeper, as if something inside you was quietly being siphoned away. A depletion not of sleep, but of something more vital.

You had brushed it off at first. Everyone was tired. Everyone had aches. But by midday, the way your body moved felt foreign, like a clockwork machine beginning to wind down.

The desk creaked faintly as you leaned back, typing in the final number on the marksheet. You stretched your arms high above your head, a groan slipping out as your muscles protested. Across from you, Yujin was still hunched over her stack of reports, scribbling comments with concentrated diligence. Her water bottle sat empty beside her elbow.

"I’ll fill this up for you," you offered, your voice rougher than usual.

Yujin looked up and smiled, grateful. You managed one back, grabbing the bottle and pushing to your feet. The ache in your shoulders pulsed with a dull insistence, like someone had lodged a weight between your blades and left it to fester. You rolled your shoulders once, then again, trying to loosen whatever tension had locked itself into your bones as you crossed the room toward the water dispenser.

You placed the bottle under it, pressed the lever. Your gaze followed the line of rising bubbles, but your thoughts began to drift, fogging over like breath on glass. A strange lightness stirred in your chest. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the room tilted.

You kept blinking. The edges of your vision smeared, like ink bleeding through wet paper. You reached out instinctively, hand bracing against the cabinet near the dispenser. The cold metal felt far away. Your fingers twitched, but your grip faltered. The bottle slipped from your grasp, clattering onto the floor with a muted thud.

A sudden rush of sound came from behind—shoes against linoleum, someone calling your name. The voices stretched and warped, muffled as if underwater. You tried to turn, to say something, but your mouth didn’t respond. Your knees buckled and before your body could hit the floor, hands caught you—Yujin’s voice rising, sharp with panic.

"Hey—! Hey, are you okay? Stay with me!"

She helped lower you gently to the floor, guiding you to sit back against the cabinet. Her hand hovered near your forehead before she began fanning you with the stack of papers she'd been grading just moments before. You blinked, disoriented, her face a blur of movement and worry, your surroundings tilting with every breath you took. A door opened somewhere, footsteps quick against linoleum.

“Move,” came a voice, worried but laced with command—Professor Park.

Cool fingers touched your wrist, then your cheek. The air conditioning hummed louder; someone must’ve lowered the temperature. Another hand placed a cup of water to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You tried, but your throat was too tight.

“You’re overheated,” Professor Park murmured. “Yujin, the sofa.”

They got you up with careful hands, guiding you to the couch that had always sat in the corner of her office. You collapsed into it with little resistance. The cushions welcomed you, but the pain on your nape didn’t ebb—it flared, the ache radiating outward like ripples on still water. It made your head spin. Your eyes fluttered, catching glimpses—the fluorescent lights overhead, Yujin pacing nearby, Professor Park pressing something cool against your temple.

“Bring Choi Soobin.” Her voice echoed faintly in your ears, as though it traveled through water. Your eyes slipped shut, the dimness behind your lids somehow more bearable than the stark light of the room. You stayed like that for a while—adrift in the hum of voices, the rustle of paper, the whisper of shoes against tile. Feeling the older woman's hand slip into yours, you held on. You didn’t know how long it lasted. Time felt both distant and immediate. But slowly, the world began to piece itself back together. The blurriness began to lift.

“Professor Park,” you rasped.

She leaned in without hesitation, tissue in hand, gently wiping your damp forehead. The lines around her eyes were tight with concern. “Why didn’t you tell me you were unwell?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you whispered. “I thought it would pass.”

You sat up, not quickly, but with effort, like pushing through water. The ache at the base of your skull pulsed in time with your heartbeat. “I think it’s just the semester catching up to me. Sleep’s been… hard. It’s not just the work. I don’t know. There’s this pain in my shoulder. It keeps spreading. Sometimes it grips my neck like it’s caught something.” Then, almost reflexively, you added, “I’m sorry if I sounded like I was complaining. I know I have my TA duties—”

She stopped you with a shake of her head. “You don’t have to apologize. My student’s health is my top priority. Always.” She handed you the water again. This time, you drank it. Not all of it, but enough for it to wet your tongue, cool your throat.

You didn’t catch the shift in Professor Park’s eyes—the way they narrowed slightly before scanning over your skin almost imperceptibly, sweeping over the curve of your collarbone, your wrists, your posture. She opened her mouth, hesitated, as if pondering. Then, almost cautiously, she asked, “Dear, have you by any chance—”

The door burst open, rattling the stillness of the room. Soobin stumbled inside, breath ragged, shirt half-tucked, his hair windswept like he’d raced through the hallways without a thought for anything but the destination. Yujin trailed just behind, breathless herself, but he was already scanning the room with a wild urgency. His eyes landed on you, and the panic cracked wide across his face.

You startled upright, your heart stumbling over itself. Heat surged into your cheeks before you could stop it. Professor Park was still beside you, your gaze darted to her, guilt prickling at your skin. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice small, breath hitching. “He must’ve been worried. I didn’t mean to cause a scene—”

But she didn’t scold. She didn’t even frown. Her eyes remained calm, voice even softer than before. “Don’t apologize. I was the one who sent for him.”

He was across the room in moments, knees hitting the floor in front of you with a dull thud. He didn’t touch you. His hands hovered, uncertain, before one of them dropped to the cushion beside your thigh, fingers splayed against the worn fabric.

“Are you okay?” His voice cracked around the edges. “They said you collapsed. I didn’t know what—”

You nodded quickly, leaning forward, voice a soft rush. “I’m okay now. Really. I just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just bowed his head, breath shaking through his chest. His fingers curled against the couch, shoulders taut like he hadn’t let himself breathe until now.

You reached out and touched his shoulder, your palm light against the fabric of his shirt. “You look like you aged ten years,” you said, trying for a smile that was only half-formed. “You can’t keep worrying like this, you’ll go bald.”

It came out shaky, but it earned a faint huff of air from him, the sound catching somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. You didn’t know how he did it—but with him here, you felt as if you’d already recovered, like the worst had passed the moment he arrived.

Neither of you caught the shift in the older woman’s eyes, too engrossed in your own little world. Her lips slowly curved, and for a moment, she seemed to be somewhere else entirely, tracing a line of thought she had no intention of saying aloud. A faint shake of her head followed, barely there, almost to herself. Just a thought—perhaps it has happened.

“Soobin,” she said, her voice warm, “take her home.” Then she looked at you. “And you’re taking a few days off from your TA work. Come back when you’re well.”

You couldn't bring yourself to politely turn her order down. At that moment, a break truly sounded like the escape you needed to clear your mind, rest and give yourself some time. You even made a mental note to visit the orthopedics next weekend as you two walked to Soobin’s car. 

He held your hand the entire way, going as far as to make sure you were seated comfortably in the passenger seat before getting in himself. Inside the car, he reached into the console and pulled out a half-full bottle of water. He placed it in the cup holder without a word, eyes flicking to your face as if to check for protest.

You raised an eyebrow at him, lips curving faintly. “I’m not dying, you know. You’re worrying too much!”

Soobin shook his head. The keys turned on the ignition, letting the low hum of the engine fill the silence. “I know,” he said eventually. “You’ll be fine now. Get some sleep. I’ll take you home safely.”

You liked the idea of sleeping. The seat was warm, and the sunlight spilling through the windshield turned the world outside into blurred strokes of gold and shadow. But just as you were about to let your eyes slip shut, your gaze caught something bright by the gear stick, lodged in between the corners. Two or three yellow petals had gathered there, you could've almost missed it had they not been yellow, bright against the dark trim. Curious, you reached forward and picked one up, holding it between your fingers. It caught the afternoon light like glass, the veins translucent, glowing.

Your brows drew together slightly as you turned the petal in your hand. “Is this… a daffodil?”

Soobin’s blood ran cold. A ghastly and crippling fear travelled through his limbs, eating away his entire being until it settled heavily at the pit of his stomach.  You didn’t need to look directly at him to notice the stillness that overtook him. 

“Why do you have daffodils in your car?” you asked, glancing at him now, a teasing edge in your voice, though your eyes narrowed with the faintest suspicion. “Did you get yourself some flowers? Or, rather for someone else?” 

In the driver’s seat, Soobin’s thoughts spiraled. He hadn’t meant to leave them there. He was sure he’d brushed the petals off before you arrived—had even checked the console twice. He remembered how careful he’d been. Too careful. But somehow his anxiousness won over his diligentness, and now that mistake sat blooming quietly in your hand. He scrambled for an answer, anything to redirect the truth.

“Oh—uh,” he stammered, trying to sound breezy, “they’re Yeonjun’s. He got flowers for someone. Must’ve fallen out of the bouquet.”

The lie tasted wrong the moment it left his mouth.

You hummed, still turning the petal between your fingers, watching how it caught the light. There was something wistful in your expression—your lips parting slightly, eyes far away. “Yeonjun must’ve spent a fortune,” you said softly. “Getting daffodils this time of the year…”

It was Spring, almost reaching Summer. Daffodils are best grown in Autumn. But you seemed to have bought the lie, so Soobin nodded, his breath shallow. “Yeah,” he muttered, and followed it with a brittle laugh that faded too fast.

He glanced sideways when you didn’t respond. You were staring out the window now, and though the petal still rested gently in your hand, your focus had drifted.

“I saw them in a dream once.”

His heart gave a quiet lurch. Was it another one of the bond’s effects? 

“There was a whole field of daffodils,” you continued, lashes lowered. “And you were standing in the middle of it.”

“Oh really?” he raised a brow, a crooked smile finding its way to his lips, his dimples charmingly full on display that barely masked the swell in his chest. You’d seen him in your dream? With those very flowers—the ones that were slowly consuming but at the same time held proof of his raw love for you? “You’re seeing me in your dreams now?” he asked, almost teasing. But he could barely hear himself over the thrum in his ears.

You scoffed, turning to him with a playful look. “Being best friends since diapers isn’t enough for you, is it? Now you’re haunting my dreams too.”

The corners of his mouth tugged higher, but he didn’t say anything. One of his hands reached up to fix his glasses. 

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and your hand fell back into your lap, the yellow petal still caught between your fingers. “We might as well be soulmates at this point.”

The smile slipped from his face like dusk settling over a sunlit room. The silence that followed was too still—it pulled at you before you even registered why. Your gaze darted to him, apology already tumbling from your lips. “Wait—I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t thinking—”

“What if you are?” he said, cutting in before he could stop himself. “What if you end up being mine?”

He didn’t know where the question came from. Maybe it was the petal still resting in your palm, the way you were holding it as if you were accepting everything it had to offer. Maybe it was the way you’d sounded when you mentioned that dream, like it hadn’t hurt to imagine him there with you. But the moment the words left his mouth, dread sank in low and hard.

What had he just done?

His heart beat a little too loudly. He wished he could snatch the question back, laugh it off, pretend it hadn’t slipped through the cracks in his restraint. But you were already looking at him, not startled, not confused—just unreadable. He wasn’t ready for any of the possible answers you could give him.

Your fingers played with the petal’s edges, the yellow catching light like a fragile flame. You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth, taking in a shaky breath. “It wouldn’t be so bad,” you said after a long pause. Your voice was soft. “We’ve been in each other’s lives for so long, I think destiny’s probably just gonna throw you at me for the rest of eternity anyway.”

You tried to joke, punctuating your sentence with a humorous laugh. The words were for yourself more than for him, as if you were trying to convince yourself only. But they didn’t feel wrong, and didn't taste bitter on your tongue. If anything, they felt only right.

Your answer blurred at the edges in his mind, static roaring in his ears. He couldn’t look at you. He couldn’t find a single sentence to say in return. All of them felt like they’d come out wrong.

“I said it before, didn’t I?” you continued. “You’re everywhere. Tangled into my days, tucked into the corners of my life. You touch me, and I suddenly feel a little less war-torn.” You gave a quiet laugh, barely a sound. “I don’t really know what peace is supposed to feel like after everything. But if I had to guess… I think it might feel a lot like you.”

Still, you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Because if you looked at him, you didn’t know what would happen. Because in your heart, a truth coiled quietly where he couldn’t see. If he really was your soulmate, it would’ve happened by now. That mark, that flowery grip, that cosmic moment—none of it had come. And because of that, you refused to let yourself reach too far for what you couldn’t hold. You convinced yourself it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be—not if the universe had stayed silent for so long. Were you strong enough to defy fate?

Here you were, ironically untouched by fate’s confirmation, sitting in his passenger seat like you always had. Always his best friend. Always almost. But this is what you had wanted, no? Closing your heart to love and soulmates? Your heart shouldn't be beating and longing for him now, right?

Sometimes you could find peace with the thought of Soobin leaving with his soulmate, accepting that it wasn't meant for you. Other nights you would be bargaining with God asking what you had to do or give up for Him to make Soobin stay forever.

Soobin was trying to squash that terrible feeling in his chest. What awfully felt like hope. 

He wanted to say it then—tell you how the petals weren’t Yeonjun’s, that he'd picked them out with trembling hands days ago, thinking only of you. But he didn’t. You’d had a long day. He wouldn’t lay such an important truth on your shoulders when you needed rest instead. So he breathed in, pushing down the swell rising in his chest, and leaned into the curve of a smile that barely held its shape. He reached out to pat your head with a soft, teasing coo, “Don’t get emotional on me now.”

You groaned at the gesture and caught his wrist mid-air, fingers curling around his hand to stop him—but you didn’t let go. And neither did he. His fingers shifted slowly until they slipped between yours, your palms pressing together like two puzzle pieces that had always known how to fit. A surge of warmth passed between you both, Soobin exhaling in relief as the bond’s effect took action.

“By the way,” Soobin said then, nudging the silence aside, “are you still going to that thing on Saturday? The gathering hosted by Beomgyu?”

“Right… I almost forgot about that.” You tutted, shaking your head.

“You still up for it?”

“Might be good,” you said, letting his hand go at last. “Break starts soon and that should be a good way to unwind, don’t you think?”

“Great. I’ll pick you up.”

The rest of the drive passed in a haze of shared jokes and soft complaints about crowds and snack quality. You both agreed to find a corner and hide there together like you always did—on the outskirts, but never alone.

When he pulled up in front of your apartment, you lingered a moment before opening the door, hand brushing his over the gear stick. “Now that I’m laid off from my job—” 

“You weren’t laid off—”

“Bitch, let me finish.” You flicked his forehead, earning a startled yelp from the boy. “You better watch your back on campus, Choi. I put in a very good word for you with Professor Park while you were helping me out.”

Soobin’s eyes narrowed instantly, the color draining from his face. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” you said with a self-satisfied grin. “Told her you were the most promising assistant she could ever have. You might even replace me.”

With that, you were gone—climbing the steps, fading into the night with that same soft laugh still dancing from your lips. And Soobin could only watch, a dumb smile on his face like the lovestruck idiot he is. Then he leaned back against the seat, chest rising and falling with swelling giddiness. His hand reached for his phone, fingers shaking with the building adrenaline coursing through his body, he tapped Yeonjun’s name.

Were things finally going to be okay? Would he be able to reach for you without fearing breaking you? It almost felt too good to be true. Your words felt way too good to be true. A grin broke across his face, too wide to hide when the line clicked. 

“I think I’m going to tell her.”

You pushed through the final stretch of hell week with the kind of tunnel vision that only caffeine, stress, and pure willpower could summon. Somehow, you made it out the other side. Semester break welcomed you like the first breath after surfacing from deep water. Surprisingly, you were feeling better, more refreshed. The heaviness in your chest no longer clawed to get out. Even your exams had passed without draining every last bit of life from you.

With your TA duties suspended for the time being, you managed to focus on your own coursework for once. Professor Park had let you know beforehand she’d be taking a short vacation once her lectures wrapped up for the semester. She asked if you’d be alright coming in on the weekends during the second week of break to help grade finals. You’d agreed without hesitation. By then, you figured, you’d be rested enough to feel human again.

Saturday came faster than expected. You stood before the vanity as the evening light spilled in, fading gold stretching across the floor. A dark navy dress clung to your frame, snug at the waist and flaring slightly just below the hips. It was the one Soobin's mother gifted you for your birthday last year. You remembered her warm smile and the teasing glint in her eyes when she told you who had chosen it. Soobin had flushed red, muttering denials that didn’t fool anyone, while his mother waved him off and told you that he’d sent her screenshots of dresses two months in advance.

The memory coaxed a smile from you.

Your phone buzzed on the table.

[Arriving in five minutes. Don’t keep me waiting, brat.]

You gave yourself one last look-over, brushing a hand down the dress and checking the subtle sheen of gloss on your lips. The necklace lay on the vanity, waiting.

True to his words, he rang your bell five minutes later. You swung open the door, ready with a sarcastic quip—but your voice tangled mid-thought. Soobin stood there, black shirt crisp against his frame, tucked into tailored pants that only emphasized his height. A charcoal coat draped over his shoulders, the collar crisp and clean. His hair was styled in a messy slick back way, a few strands falling across his forehead, and his glasses framed his eyes just right. He looked... too good. Unreasonably good. That made your heart drop somewhere to your stomach and detonate into fluttering fragments.

Your breath snagged for a moment as his gaze roamed. He wasn’t subtle about it either—his chest had tightened the moment you opened the door. The daffodils blooming deep within him stirred restlessly, agreeing with how devastatingly stunning you looked. He had known that dress would suit you when he picked it out last year, even though he’d vehemently denied it back then.

“I had a feeling you’d wear that,” he said as he stepped inside.

You shut the door behind him, shaking your head. “Didn’t really have an occasion to, so I figured why not now? I love this dress.”

“It suits you,” he said. Then, a beat later, “I knew it would.”

You didn’t comment on that. He followed you into your room as you gestured him in, glancing once in the mirror before grabbing the necklace from your dressing table.

“Give me two minutes. Just need to put this on, and we’ll leave.”

“Take your time,” he mumbled, already sitting on your bed, scrolling through his phone.

The clasp was being stubborn. You tried once, twice, but the hook refused to cooperate. Huffing, you looked over your shoulder.

“Soobin?”

He looked up, already pushing off the bed. “Yeah?”

“Can you—help?”

You watched him approach through the mirror’s reflection. When your hands brushed as you passed him the necklace, you felt your breath catch again. Holding your hair up with one hand, you stayed still while he worked.

Soobin’s eyes trailed up your back, then his hands stilled—because that’s when he saw it. Just below your hairline, resting against your nape, was the small daffodil tattoo.

His chest pulled taut. Of course you hadn’t figured it out yet. You never wore your hair up. All those days he spent wondering—fearing—when you’d confront him, when you’d say something before he ever got the chance to say anything first—this explained everything. You didn’t know yet because of where the tattoo had taken root. 

A smile curled at his lips, bittersweet and fond. For a fleeting second, he wanted to press a finger against the ink, to feel the warmth of it—or better yet, press his lips against the softness of your skin. Instead, he clasped the necklace curtly and let his hands rest on your shoulders, eyes finding yours through the mirror. You were already watching him.

“You look beautiful,” he said, voice soft and air against the shell of your ear. His fingers gave the lightest of squeezes. “Let’s get going.”

And then he stepped back. You stood frozen, knees untrustworthy and cheeks burning. Holy shit. You shouldn’t be thinking about his hands or his voice or the way he looked at you. You stood still for a second longer than necessary, blinking yourself back into motion. You called after him as you grabbed your purse, doing a last check before locking the door and following him out.

The drive was peaceful for the most part—until it wasn’t. Sometime between your shared playlist and petty arguments about music choices, the lingering tension finally fizzled and before long, the back-and-forth banter returned.

When you arrived, Beomgyu didn’t waste a second before throwing his arms around you pulling you into a hug that lifted you briefly off your feet.

“You actually came. You guys made my night,” he said.

“We wouldn't have missed it,” you replied, grinning.

Beomgyu pulled Soobin in for a casual shoulder bump of a hug, laughter low in his throat as you both chimed in with your congratulations. The occasion—his job offer—had given just enough excuse to gather the people closest to him, and the group that filled the small venue reflected that.

It was a modest turnout: a mix of familiar faces from your department and a handful of Beomgyu’s friends from school. He led you through the warm buzz of voices and soft music to a table he’d reserved. There, Yeonjun lounged with a drink in hand, tipping his head up as you approached. He raised an eyebrow, then did a theatrical double take.

“Okay, wow.” He stood, tone laced with exaggerated awe. “Prettiest girl in the room just walked in.”

You scoffed and laughed, brushing off his teasing as he gave a dramatic bow. “Still running your mouth, I see.”

“Only when the truth demands it.”

Then his gaze flicked to Soobin, brows lifting in recognition. The silent look between them said enough—Yeonjun hadn’t forgotten that last phone call.

As all of you settled in your seats, you recognized many, and even those you didn’t were kind, open, easy to be around. You didn’t feel drained or anxious. If anything, this was the most relaxed you’d felt in weeks. And Soobin, as always, stayed by your side.

Between laughter and conversation, you barely realized how fast time was moving. At one point, Soobin leaned toward you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“You okay?” he murmured. “If you’re tired, I can take you home.”

Your heart curled at the care threaded into those words. You turned to him with a small frown that softened into a smile. Then, reaching up, you pinched his cheek gently. “I’m fine. Stop being so soft.”

His grin twitched. Yeonjun cut in next, announcing he’d be spending the break with his grandparents, and the conversation spiraled off—travel plans, internship woes, stories from the semester. Plates emptied, drinks refilled. Somewhere between a retelling of a disastrous group project and someone’s impersonation of a professor, your eyes occasionally sweep across the room, catching small moments, little details.

That is until you felt your blood run cold.

You were laughing just moments ago. But that was before—before your eyes caught on a silhouette through the crowd. Before every fiber in your body locked into place as though it recognized a threat before your mind could comprehend it. There was no way you were seeing it right. It must've been an illusion, someone else perhaps, some who just simply looked like him. You felt the noises around you fade, a sick dizziness washing over you.

To your utter horror, there was no mistake. Laughter. His, echoing faintly across the room like a whip across skin. His face tilted up, caught in motion and frozen in time all at once.

It was Kim Doyun.

The name roared through your bloodstream like fire.

The room lost color. Sound dulled into a low drone that no longer made sense. Even the warmth of the bodies around you couldn’t reach the numb frost crawling beneath your skin. He was just across the room, completely unaware of the wreckage he had left behind years ago.

Soobin's voice broke through—muffled, distant. You felt his presence shift, but you couldn’t focus. Your fingers twitched once before going limp in your lap. Your breath snagged in your throat.

Then you blinked, and his eyes were on you.

Doyun saw you.

"Soobin," you choked, his name barely formed.

Your eyes didn’t leave Doyun’s face as if daring it to vanish, to prove itself a hallucination, but he remained.

Soobin followed your stare. You felt his body lock beside you, the sharp draw of breath through his teeth. He didn’t speak. He reached for you with the steadiness of someone trying to stop an avalanche with their bare hands. His palm touched your jaw, tilting your head toward him.

To anyone watching, it would’ve looked tender. But there was no tenderness in the way your lungs refused to inflate, in the way your pulse raced like a deer through brush. No sweetness in the white-hot panic crashing down like floodwaters. Soobin’s hand cupped your cheek like he was trying to keep you afloat.

“Hey, hey—look at me,” he murmured, his voice a thread trying to tether you to the present. But it barely pierced through the noise. “I’m here. It’s alright. Do you hear me? Do you want to leave?”

You shook beneath his touch, barely aware of your surroundings. Yeonjun sat up straight, catching on Soobin’s sudden shift in tone. But Soobin shook his head once, and the older male caught on fast. He turned back to the table, pulling attention toward himself, giving you the illusion of privacy.

Your fingers clutched the fabric of your dress until your knuckles paled. Soobin leaned closer, voice trembling with restraint.

“Tell me what you need,” he urged.

Through the fog, through the tears threatening to spill over, you looked at him. His face—the home you’d found after a storm. And in a voice thin and cracking at the edges, you said,

"Take me away from here."

Soobin held your arm with careful strength as he guided you around the corner of the rooftop cafe—secluded enough for no one to see, dimly lit by the muted golden glow of a wall sconce that flickered under the wind’s touch. Your heels scraped against the concrete tiles, breath coming out with forced efforts, your vision tunneling with every echoing thud of your pulse. Your knees buckled, but Soobin caught you just in time.

You collapsed against him as though your bones had given up the pretense of holding you together. His arms wrapped around you with a desperation that trembled at the seams, rocking you as you curled into his chest, your fists clutching the fabric of his coat as you struggled to steady your breathing.

The sobs tore through you—violent, unrestrained, deep from the gut where grief had festered too long in silence. They didn’t fall like gentle rain but came crashing like a storm, howling out of your body in a rhythm too erratic to follow. Soobin’s breath stuttered against your crown as he held on. You wept like the past had come to drag you back under.

"Why would he be here?" you gasped out between cries, each word ripped raw from your throat. "Soobin—he saw me. He looked right at me."

He didn't speak. Just pulled you closer as your shoulders shook harder.

"I thought I was okay," your voice cracked, high and small. "I thought—I thought I was healing. I was trying. Why now? Why here? Why is fate so cruel to me? Why does it keep throwing me back into him? Answer me, Soobin. Please—please tell me."

Each plea gutted him. The daffodils in his chest clawed like wildfire, each petal curling inwards, burning into his ribs. The pain was vicious now—no longer a dull ache, but a searing collapse. And then he realized. It wasn't just your panic that trembled through you.

It was the bond.

You couldn’t tell the difference in that state—how could you? The way your shoulders clenched, the way your nape throbbed—it must’ve felt like the panic itself, not the sacred thread between you both beginning to reject its place inside you. But Soobin felt the split begin at the roots, the bond fighting to hold on while your trauma pushed it out.

You weren’t ready.

And seeing you like this—shattered and gasping for control of yourself—it shattered him too. All his plans, all the words he thought he’d finally say tonight… they evaporated into the night air. In hope’s place, his past fears began to take root.

He pulled away just enough to see your face, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks, though his hands were shaking. "I’m sorry," he whispered, hoarse. His own eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Your eyes searched his through a haze of tears, confusion flickering somewhere beneath the anguish.

"I’m sorry," he repeated, softer this time, like it was all he had left. He couldn’t give you peace, couldn’t give you safety, couldn’t give you freedom—not when his presence was laced with something that caused you more pain than comfort. "You didn’t deserve this. Any of it."

You leaned into his touch again, letting the silence between you breathe for a moment as the sobs dulled to broken exhales. When your body finally allowed air to return in full, when your chest began to rise and fall without catching, you gave him a nod.

“Let’s go home,” you murmured.

He stood first, offering you a hand that you took without looking, and together, you walked across the roof tiles, step after step under the pale light of the moon.

To anyone else, your footsteps might have sounded like you were going home together, when in reality, with each step Soobin was preparing to walk away.

He would give you what you deserved—freedom. Even if it meant breaking a bond that tied every breath of him to you.

The apartment was lit only by the faint amber glow of the lamp on your bedside table. Soobin had been careful—gentle hands wiping the remnants of ruined makeup from your cheeks, brushing the strands of hair from your damp forehead. You’d fallen asleep at last, exhaustion overtaking even the panic that had wrecked your body. He’d stayed until your breathing evened out, until your grip on the blanket loosened.

He stood by the door for a long time, staring at the outline of your resting figure, memorizing the rise and fall of your chest. He should’ve walked away long before the ache in his chest had turned into something unbearable. But how could he, when the thought of leaving you—even for your sake—felt like choosing to suffocate?

It was supposed to be a calm night. A soft end to a long day, a crazy semester. But instead, you had shattered. And he had watched it happen. Watched the exact moment you cracked open, the past dragging its claws through your present.

He didn’t go home. He headed back to the venue. Yeonjun was already waiting when he arrived—called out of worry, out of desperation. He took one look at Soobin and froze, wincing at the way the younger looked as if he had visibly shrunk in the past hour.

“Soobin—what the hell—are you okay? Is she okay?” he asked in a rush, stepping closer. “What happened?”

Soobin’s eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with tears that hadn’t quite dried. His shoulders were rigid, but his expression was hollow. “She’s not ready.” The words fell like stones. “She’s not ready and I was stupid enough to hope.”

Yeonjun’s throat tightened. “What do you mean? What happened back there?”

“She saw him.” Soobin’s voice cracked. “Doyun. He was there. And she... she broke, Yeonjun. Right in front of me. I’ve never—” he blinked rapidly, breath hitching, “—never seen her like that since middle school. Since that day.”

Yeonjun’s heart dropped, hands shooting forward to help Soobin sit down on one of the bar tools near the railing. His gaze darted around quickly, making sure there were no prying eyes around.

“She was sobbing in my arms, asking me why fate keeps doing this to her,” Soobin continued, voice straining against the weight. “And all I could think about was how much worse it would be if she found out about the bond. If she ever knew and hated me for it.”

“Soobin,” Yeonjun tried, “you don’t know that. She might not hate you. This isn’t just about you—this is fate, the bond is not in your hands—”

“No.” Soobin’s voice turned steely. “It’s in my hands. It’s been in my hands since the beginning. I can’t let her go through that again. I won’t. I’m going to break it.”

Yeonjun reeled back, mouth falling open. “Are you insane? You heard what the doctor said. The pain—one of you could fall into a coma. You’ll never get another soulmate. Neither of you will.”

“So what?” Soobin spat, but the tremble in his voice betrayed him. “What does any of that matter if she ends up suffering? If I’m the reason she relives that hell again?”

A sharp stab exploded in his chest, so sudden and vicious it nearly stole the air from his lungs. Soobin’s eyes widened. A choking noise escaped him before a violent, gut-wrenching cough tore from his body. He doubled over, one hand flying to his mouth as his spine arched with the force of it, the yellow petals spilling out with every cough.

Soobin's eyes flew open when he heard Yeonjun take a sharp breath followed by a curse under his breath. To their horror, the petals weren’t just soft and golden—they were stained red this time, ruined by the dark, wet blotches that soaked through like spilled ink.

Yeonjun’s heart nearly stopped. “Shit—Soobin!” he exclaimed, lunging forward. He dropped to his knees beside him, hands hovering helplessly as Soobin doubled over, his fingers trembling and slick with crimson. The petals scattered across the rooftop floor like ruined confessions.

Soobin’s breath came in ragged gasps, blood dribbling down his chin. The metallic tang filled his mouth, the floral aftertaste bitter and overwhelming. Pain flared white-hot behind his eyes. His vision blurred.

Yeonjun felt the sharp pang of panic shoot through his chest. It had never been like this before. Not with blood. Not with this much agony. Not with Soobin looking like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Yeonjun muttered, grabbing Soobin’s shoulders and steadying him, his voice tight with desperation. “You’re killing yourself.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Soobin croaked, tears slipping down his cheeks, mingling with the blood on his chin. He looked up suddenly, eyes raw, swollen with pain and something far worse—resolve. Then, with sudden force, he reached out and gripped Yeonjun’s arm. There was a subtle ferocity in the gesture, a finality that made Yeonjun’s skin crawl.

“I need a place to stay.”

Yeonjun blinked. “What...?”

“I can’t be near her. Not if I’m going to go through with this. Please.”

Yeonjun stared at him, caught in the cruel space between horror and heartbreak. He didn’t want to be a part of this. Didn’t want to watch his friend lose himself thread by thread. He couldn't imagine the look on your face when you’d find the truth. But staring at Soobin, who was like a brother to him—the shattering, the absolute devastation—it told him that Soobin had already made his decision.

After a long silence, Yeonjun sighed harshly, before speaking, “You can come with me to my grandparent's house.”

Soobin’s breath left him in a shaky rush. “Thank you.”

“What if she asks for you?” One last time, Yeonjun asked, as if to make sure this is truly what Soobin wanted. 

Soobin looked up at the stars, tears clinging to his lashes. “Then I hope she lives free. That’s the least I can do for her.”

The memory of your tear-streaked face haunted his mind. The sound of your cries, echoing like a wound that wouldn’t close. It reminded him of the day you ran to him back in middle school, shattered by Doyun’s cruelty, sobbing so hard you couldn’t breathe. He had held you then, just like he did tonight.

If he let himself stay—if he gave in to the bond—it would destroy you. At least that’s what he believed. And Yeonjun, no matter how much it hurt, couldn’t bring himself to argue anymore.

You'd been awake for a while. Watching the sun rise, your room was washed in soft morning light. Your eyes were heavy from the night before, the memories returning in slow waves. But they didn’t sweep you under this time. Instead of anguish, you felt anger. And beneath that—pity. For yourself. For giving someone like Doyun that much power over your life.

You exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle. It was time to tear through the veil of the past, wasn't it? To love without fear. To feel without bracing for pain. 

You were strong. You could take your life back, right?

The morning moved at its own pace. You showered, hoping the warm water might ease the aches gnawing at your body. When it didn’t you settled with some painkillers. It somehow got even worse overnight. Maybe it was time to restart your orthopedics plan.

You weren’t surprised when Soobin showed up. The two of you stood in your kitchen, the kettle humming between you. It felt domestic—normalcy woven into your very existence. It always did, with him. You promised yourself not to take this comfort for granted.

“I’m visiting a relative tomorrow,” he said, eyes finally meeting yours. “I’ll be gone for a while.”

You blinked. The words hit without warning, slipping into the room like a chill. “Is it serious?” you asked. “Everything okay with your family?”

He offered a soft smile. "Yeah. My mom hasn’t seen her side of the family in years. Distant folks—I barely know them." A smooth lie. 

You tilted your head, feigning sadness. “I was planning to spend the break with you, you know. But no, go ahead, leave me all alone.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Hope your relative’s more fun than I am.”

A breath of laughter escaped him, but he didn’t respond. The silence hung around you like mist. Then, he stepped away from the counter, his arms parting for you.

Your eyes trembled, shoulders slumped as you stepped into him, letting your forehead rest against his chest with a quiet thud. Soobin’s arms engulfed you, almost hiding your frame into him, resting his chin on the top of your head. You stayed like that for a while. 

Closing your eyes, you drew in his scent—there was a faint floral note. Did he change his cologne? Or his soap? But either way, underneath all that was Soobin that you knew like second nature—like the warmth of a late summer afternoon, like the pages of a well-loved book, like home.

“You’re the bravest person I know,” he murmured into your hair. “You’ve been through hell and still chose to get back up. That’s not easy. But you’re doing it. And I know you’ll make it through.”

You sniffled. The knot in your throat was too tight. With him here, it felt possible—like maybe the world wasn’t as cruel as it had felt yesterday.

“Be back soon,” you whispered.

For a moment, he didn’t speak or move. When he finally pulled back, just enough to see your face, his gaze locked onto yours. You couldn't name what you saw there. And that unsettled you more than anything else. Because there was no promise in his silence. No reassurance. Just the numb feeling of something slipping through your fingers before you even realized you were holding onto it.

You felt the hollowness the moment he was gone.

The next few days passed in a daze. Your friends dragged you out—cafés, arcades, walks through the city under cloudy skies—but it all slipped by like smoke through your fingers. Their voices rose and fell like static, laughter bursting like fireworks you couldn’t see. You gave smiles on cue, nodded in all the right places, but there was a gap between your body and your mind. It was as if you stood behind a pane of glass, watching it all unfold without reaching through.

Communication with Soobin was scarce. You told yourself he was somewhere far, where the signal was weak. When you messaged him, he replied right away. Sometimes with words, sometimes with photos—a table set for one with warm, homemade dishes; a wind-blown field under a peach-colored sky; his shadow stretched long along a country road. You stared at those pictures longer than you meant to, your eyes stinging as you tried to make sense of the pressure tightening in your chest.

You weren’t sure what ached more: the flare of your chronic pain, which returned with a vengeance, or the way time had begun to move strangely without him. You finally booked an appointment with your orthopedist, fingers trembling as you keyed in the date. The apartment felt too quiet. You missed the sound of his voice, the way he'd fill your kitchen with his humming, his rambling thoughts. You felt lonely.

By the time the semester break began to wane, you’d returned to your duties like how you promised Professor Park.

"Dear! Come on in!" Professor Park beamed the moment your head peaked in. The lady shuffled around her desk, hand outstretched as she rushed toward you before engulfing you in a hug. It felt good to be back in your space, you missed the affection and comfort the older lady gave you. She reminded you of your own mother. 

“I brought gifts from Singapore! For you and Yujin both!” She bustled back to her desk, retrieving a delicate box wrapped in soft gold tissue. With excitement twinkling in her eyes, she handed it to you. “Go on, open it!”

You peeled the paper with care, revealing a carved hairclip so intricate it stole your breath. Floral vines curled around its base, and tiny gemstones shimmered like dew.

"Professor, you didn’t have to!" you exclaimed, though your fingers curled around the gift instinctively. You held it close, heart fluttering.

She waved you off and moved behind you, already reaching for it. "Let me help you wear it, dear." Her fingers were nimble, parting your hair with delicate care. Your protests meekly faltered as her fingers threaded gently through your strands. Embarrassment bloomed under your skin, but you stayed still, feeling a little self-conscious that someone was putting such close attention on you.

“There,” she said brightly, stepping back to admire her work. "Aha! I knew you'd look lov—"

You heard her voice stop mid-sentence. Slowly, you turned to look at her. Her expression had shifted completely. The smile drained from her face, brows furrowed deeply, mouth parted with a question not yet formed.

“…Professor?” Your voice came small. “Is something wrong?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze remained fixed on you—or rather, behind you. Her eyes dropped to your nape. And then, she spoke, voice low with confusion. "Dear… how come your bond is still colourless?"

“My… what?” You blurted out. Your hand shot up to the back of your neck. “What bond?”

Professor Park’s expression shifted again—paler now, tinged with something akin to disbelief. "What bond—?" she echoed, then cut herself off. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, as if realizing too much at once. She took a sharp breath, stepping closer. "Where’s Soobin?"

You didn’t get to answer. The pain returned and it struck fast—sharp, burning—piercing through the base of your neck as if a needle had sunk through bone. Your breath staggered, eyes widening as your heart plummeted into your gut. And yet, that wasn’t what terrified you. It was the slow, merciless dawn of realization that scraped and tore as it surfaced.

“Professor Park…” you whispered, voice barely holding shape. “I don’t have a soulmate. There shouldn’t be any bond.”

But the words felt hollow in your mouth, like a script you’d read too many times, hoping it might stay that way forever. You weren’t telling her—you were begging yourself.

Professor Park took a moment before speaking again. Her movements gentler now, as she reached for her phone. "Would you like to see it? The tattoo, I mean. I can take a photo and show you, if that’s alright."

You hesitated, a hand still half-covering your nape, but you gave a slow nod. The air felt cooler against your skin this time, every second stretching. You heard the shutter of her phone camera, and then she walked back around, holding the screen out. The photo glowed between you, and in it bloomed the cruelest revelation you’d ever seen.

Your breath didn’t hitch—it collapsed. It wasn’t just any flower. It was the one whose petals you’d picked out of Soobin’s car days ago, believing those were from a bouquet. That’s what he told you, anyway—that they were Yeonjun’s. You hadn’t questioned it. Why would you have? You never questioned anything when it came to him.

But now, the same flower was etched into your skin, waiting to be filled with colour. And it had been blooming for a while, hadn’t it? The aches—the persistent pain at the base of your neck you chalked up to a chronic condition. You had appointments booked, ice packs pressed against it, painkillers tucked into every bag. None of it worked, because it wasn’t chronic. You get it now.

What if you end up being mine?

It was Soobin.

You saw it now—all of it. That night you dreamed of him standing in the middle of a field of daffodils, golden light slanting over his shoulders, petals swaying around him like a living tide. He stood there as if waiting, as if hoping, and you woke up with your heart aching for him, not knowing why.

He’d carried it alone. Carried the pain, the bloom, the bond—let it grow in silence while you lived on, blind and blissfully unaware. He never asked for your love. Never demanded your attention. He stayed beside you as a friend—as your best friend, shielding you all the time. You choked out a disbelieving laugh. Not from shock—no, this was grief. Pure, raw grief, spiraling into guilt that made your stomach lurch. You’d laughed with him, cried beside him, built a home of trust around his silences and never saw it. You’d looked into his eyes and missed the storm behind them.

And you had a terrible feeling you knew why he never told you.

The thought cracked open your chest. Tears clung to your lashes, hot and stinging. You weren’t even sure if you deserved to cry.

“Dear,” when Professor Park reached for you sitting down, it was with that same maternal gentleness she’d always carried—like the embrace of a warm shawl draped over shaking shoulders. “You’ve been hurting. Is there anything you wish to share with me?”

And that was the part you couldn’t say aloud. The words sat like glass in your throat. So instead, you turned away and stared at the carpeted floor, your voice turning inward. But when her cold and soft hands covered your trembling ones, her eyes shone with nothing but gentle encouragement, you broke.

How you’d spent days giddy after a boy claimed to be your soulmate in middle school, kept up the lie for a full week, weaving a story so convincingly. How you—young, naive, desperate to believe—had clung to his words like a lifeline. How, at the end of the week, he had laughed in your face in front of an audience—the humiliation and the heartbreak that followed, hardening in your chest like stone.

“I was so stupid,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I didn’t even know how the bond worked back then. I thought—I thought maybe he was right. Maybe if you accept it early, the symptoms don’t show up as much. I was just a kid. It was so easy for him to trick me.”

When you finally turned your head, Professor Park’s eyes were glossy and red. She reached for you, arms open, and pulled you in without hesitation. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, sniffling. You felt the press of her cheek against your hair. “You weren’t stupid. You were just a child and wanted to believe in something beautiful.”

Over the years you built your peace on denial. You tucked your hope away, convinced yourself it was safer not to believe in fate at all. And maybe it was. Maybe that lie gave you stability. But it also robbed you of the truth.

“After that it was my ignorance controlling me,” you confessed, voice rough. “All these years, I chose not to see. Because if I believed in it, I’d have to admit that I was still afraid, still hurting. I told myself I kept everything measured, nothing could hurt me. And that’s why I never let myself see him.”

You winced, burying your face in your hands as you could only imagine what Soobin had been through all these days. He had daffodils constricting his airways, and yet everytime you met him, he smiled at you and held you close. You've been making a grave mistake.

Professor Park took your hand in hers again, thumb rubbed gently against your knuckles. “You were protecting yourself. That’s not a sin.”

“But I hurt him,” you whispered. “He never said it, but I know I did.”

“He made a choice too,” she said. “To keep it from you. Maybe to give you space, maybe to shield you. It doesn’t make your love less real.”

You looked up slowly, vision blurred, throat thick. “I love him.”

It was the first time you said it out loud. The words didn’t tremble—they were waiting to leave your heart.

“I love Soobin,” you said again, never being so sure of anything before. “Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. Because of everything he is. Because he listens. Because he remembers the little things. Because he always made space for me, even when I didn’t ask.”

“Then go to him,” she said softly, her hand giving your shoulder a squeeze. “There’s still time to make things right.” 

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, breath shuddering as you straightened. A part of you still felt raw, exposed—but another part surged with clarity like the last lock falling open. You promised yourself that you'd take back control of your life, didn’t you?

“I won’t tell you to stop being afraid overnight,” Professor Park said, continuing with a firm nod. “But don’t let one person’s cruelty steal your chance at something real. The bond doesn’t make you lovable or unlovable. You were always worthy of love, with or without it.”

You’d been wrong—blind to what mattered the most. But now that you truly saw it, you were going to make things right. You owed it to him, and to yourself.

“Come on, pick up.”

Your voice was breathless, almost a plea as you stood outside the courtyard. Each ring felt like a heartbeat lost. The line crackled and cut, again and again—busy, disconnected, unreachable. You stared at the screen, frustration curling in your chest as you tried one more time. Your fingers moved on instinct, pressing Soobin’s mother’s number. You let out a breath of relief when she picked up.

“Darling! It’s been so long since you called! How have you been?” Her cheery voice filled your ear like sunlight through fog.

You managed a breath. “I’m okay, just... I wanted to ask if Soobin’s around you?”

“Oh? No, no, he’s not here. He’s staying with a friend, I think? Some kind of trip to their hometown—don’t tell me he didn’t mention it?”

Your heart sank and you felt the dread like a tide you’d been bracing for. You weren’t really surprised. You figured out by now that he was up to something terrible. Distancing himself from you was probably his main goal, and it definitely had something to do with the bond.

“Oh—he did,” you lied with a short laugh. “Sorry, I’ve just been all over the place with exams.”

“Ah, those exams,” she sighed, “you poor thing. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“I will. Thank you.” You ended the call, your voice didn’t crack.

She hung up with another gentle laugh, and you were left staring at your phone, your reflection warped across the screen. Your thumb scrolled up on your last conversation with Soobin. A handful of photos—rolling green hills, a horizon stretched golden with sun, a few wind-swept trees—but no town signs, no buildings, nothing that told you where he’d gone. You tapped each photo, zooming in and scanning the edges, eyes darting like a hawk’s.

Desperation clawed through your chest. You opened Google Lens, dropped the images in, prayed for anything useful. The search pulled up tourist blogs, vague suggestions, countryside guesses. You closed the app and exhaled hard through your nose, biting the edge of your thumb. There was one more person who could tell you about his whereabouts. 

You had barely found the name in your contact list when you felt a brush across your shoulder. Your heart leapt into your throat. You turned, almost stumbling back.

“Oh—sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

You blinked hard, heart still galloping. “Ari.”

She looked apologetic, shoulders tensed beneath her canvas tote strap. Her hair was a little windswept, cheeks slightly flushed like she’d hurried over. Ari had been your friend since middle school—one of the only ones who didn’t drift away. You were in the same university now, in different departments, but the history between you had never faded.

She cast a glance over her shoulder before stepping closer. "Do you have a minute?"

Your nerves were already worn thin, but you nodded. "What’s up?"

Her eyes darted once more, then settled on yours. “Doyun reached out to me.”

“What?” you asked, voice barely managing to come out. The name alone still made your stomach turn.

“Through socials,” she continued. “He asked if I could get him in touch with you.”

You stared, mouth falling open and closing like a gaping fish. 

“I told him no,” she said quickly. “Told him to back off. That he had no right. But he kept begging. Said he just wanted to meet you once. He wanted to apologize.”

You blinked, head spinning. A scoff almost tore from your throat. Ari, without another word, pulled out her phone and showed you their conversation. 

“I still hate him for what he did to you,” she said, slipping the device back into her coat. “I never forgave him. I never will. But I figured... I should tell you. Just in case he tries other ways to reach out.”

Your grip on your phone tightened. He had been gone for years and now, when everything inside you already felt like it was collapsing, he came crawling out from the past to apologize? Your gut twisted with indecision, the instinct to run curling in your bones like a deeply ingrained reflex. You had spent years putting this behind you, burying it under layers of apathy. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe you had spent too long running. Every step you’d taken away from the pain had only kept you shackled to it. 

You were in control now. Not Doyun. He wanted to talk? Fine. He could talk.

You hadn’t slept.

The night stretched on, hollow and endless, devouring every second until the hours blurred into something unrecognizable. Your eyes stung from exhaustion, but sleep had never come. It never even teased you with the possibility.

By dawn, your insides were already roiling. You barely made it to the bathroom before you were retching into the sink, body convulsing from the storm coiled deep in your gut. When it passed, there was no relief. Just the bitter taste in your mouth and the chill that soaked into your bones. The mirror offered no comfort either. Your reflection stared back like a stranger—eyes rimmed with shadows, cheeks hollow, strands of hair clinging to damp skin. You reached up, fingertips brushing the back of your neck. The pain was so bad that it almost became numb to you, forcing yourself to move around like a ragdoll.

You tried to sleep again, tossing and turning in your bed until the light shifted across the ceiling as the sun climbed high and painted everything in tired gold. You took a quick shower, and as you dried your hair, your phone buzzed, cutting through the haze.

You turned toward it with the slow caution of someone expecting bad news. But it wasn’t dread that bloomed when you saw the sender—just a strange hollowness that settled in your chest like ash. It didn’t make your pulse spike. It didn’t twist your stomach into knots. You were rather awfully calm, calm enough to willingly soothe out whatever nerves that tried climbing you. 

You just stared at his name, one that used to have so much power over you just a few days ago. Because it was your conditions that dictated the meeting. You chose the place. You chose the time. He had no say. He was just answering to what you had already set in motion. And he would follow your terms.

This time, he would follow you.

Doyun sat across from you, his hands shaking as he gripped the ceramic cup in front of him, but he wasn’t drinking. He hadn’t taken a single sip. His eyes—ones that once carried nothing but arrogance—were now swollen, red-rimmed, heavy with something you didn’t know if you could call remorse.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he offered, a brittle chuckle escaping like it had been caught in his throat too long.

Your eyes, devoid of any emotion, pinned him on his seat. You were surprised how just a few years ago even hearing his name used to carve open panic in your chest, left you gasping through old nightmares—and how just a few days, seeing him made you fall apart exactly like how you did back then. Now you’re sitting in front of him feeling like an empty shell. You nodded in acknowledgement, bringing your cup of coffee to your lips.

His mouth opened again, as if he had planned to ramble, to fill the space with anything that wasn’t silence. “How have you—”

“That point, Doyun. Make it.”

Your tone cut like a blade. His words trailed off, severed mid-sentence. He stared at the table for a beat too long before sucking in a breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, cracking under the weight of his own guilt.

“I… I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he started, exhaling shakily. “I just—I needed to say it. I needed to tell you I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders stayed still, but inside, your chest had gone taut. For years, you had curated your rage like a collection. Kept it locked away in the attic of your mind, dusted it off whenever the pain clawed back in. You didn’t know who you were without it.

He shifted forward slightly, the movement awkward, uncertain. “I met my soulmate.”

Your eyes widened just a fraction, as if to show your bewilderment. He probably noticed it because he continued. “She—she loved me so much,” he whispered, voice trembling. “She carried the flowers in her. I've watched her suffer so much. But she still loved me through it all.” He let out a bitter laugh, one that carried the weight of years of regret. “And I bore the mark,” he said, holding his hand out. On top of his index finger, there sat a pretty periwinkle tattoo. Its colour vibrant against his pale skin. The colour meant they had accepted the bond.

Your grip on your cup tightened.

“When she was going through it,” his voice grew uneven, dragged down by memory, “I understood—the pain, the longing of your soulmate to accept the bond back. It’s suffocating. I—” his voice cracked, his fingers shaking, “—I couldn’t let her feel the pain any longer.”

The realization hit you slowly, creeping up on you before you could brace yourself for impact. Doyun had never known the weight of a soulmate bond until it was bestowed upon him. And in the end, he had been swallowed by the very thing he mocked.

He looked up to you then, eyes glossy, jaw clenched as if it physically pained him to look at you. “I regretted everything, especially what I did to you. When I found my own happiness, and when I felt how truly beautiful and cruel the bond can be, all I could think about was you. I didn’t think—” he exhaled shakily, shaking his head, “—I was young and stupid and cruel. I didn’t think about how it would affect you. But… I messed up badly, didn't I?"

You didn’t answer. Not because you wanted to give him the comfort of being heard. But because something in you needed this, too. Not closure—maybe acknowledgment. A name for the pain. 

“I know I'm late. I’m really late but I couldn't let myself die in this lifetime without apologizing. I had to at least try to make things right.” His eyes shone with raw guilt. “I am sorry. Truly sorry. From the bottom of my heart.”

You sat there, absorbing his words. You had spent so long thinking he’d never feel an ounce of regret for what he did, that he’d walk through life untouched by the ruin he left behind. But he hadn’t. The bond had come for him too and it tested him, made him kneel. Maybe that was justice at its best form.

You let out a breath, long and quiet. The anger hadn’t disappeared, but it no longer burned as fiercely. This cycle of hurt—the inherited silence, the cruelty born from fear, the grief passed hand to hand like heirlooms—had worn on for too long. And for what? To prove that pain could be recycled endlessly? That if one person bled, everyone else had to as well?

Doyun had done something unforgivable, yes. But he had also been forced to face the truth he once mocked. He had come to understand what he took from you only when it was nearly too late. Through his own suffering, he came to respect the bond he once ridiculed. And in that, perhaps, there was a strange mercy.

If he could find love, if he can do it—then maybe you could too. You must allow yourself too.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said, voice steady but quiet. “Not yet.”

Doyun’s lips parted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected anything but either absolution or rejection, like he wanted to say he understood—but you beat him to it.

“But I appreciate your honesty,” you continued. “It takes courage to own up to what you did, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t mean something. But forgiveness… that’s going to take time.”

His shoulders sagged, but there was a smile. “I understand,” he murmured.

The number you are trying to connect is busy now...

The line cut out again with a hollow beep, and you were left staring at your screen, the call log mocking you with its repeated attempts. Your phone sat loosely in your palm as your gaze drifted beyond it, past the blur of scattered students in the campus courtyard. Some were lounging on the grass, their laughter carried by the evening breeze. Others sat close on benches, fingers interlaced or heads resting on shoulders. You could tell, even without looking too closely, who had found their soulmate. There was something different in how they looked at each other—tethered by something deeper than affection.

The sun had dipped low enough to stain the sky in shades of bruised lavender and dusk rose. You let out a shaky breath, and rested your forehead against your folded arms. The metal bench had grown cool beneath you, the night air slipping under your sleeves and settling against your skin.

You wished—God, you wished Soobin were here.

With one storm passed and behind you, you were now met with another: the question of where to go from here. You had no plan, no trail to follow. You had been sitting on that bench longer than you meant to, your limbs sluggish with exhaustion, your heart weighted with dread. The pain didn’t help either—the dull throb at the base of your neck had sharpened into something more vicious. You winced as it burned again, your hand flying up to touch the back of your neck. The bond flared with a heat that made your stomach twist, nausea rolling in waves. You couldn’t breathe.

Because if you were in this much pain… Soobin—he must be suffocating.

You buried your face in your hands, elbows propped against your knees as the tears pressed hot behind your eyes. Panic clawed its way up your throat, waves of regret beginning to drown you. How long had he been suffering like this? Why hadn’t you seen it sooner? Why did things have to go like this?

A shadow broke across your shoes. You blinked past the blur of tears to see a pair of sneakers come to a stop in front of you. You slowly looked up. It was Beomgyu. His brows were faintly drawn, eyes scanning your face with concern that he didn’t bother to hide.

You forced a small smile, blinking hastily, and straightened up. "Hey," you said hoarsely. "Sorry I left so abruptly that night without saying goodbye."

He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes. "It’s fine. Really." He gestured to the space beside you. "Can I sit?"

You nodded, scooting slightly to make room.

Beomgyu didn’t waste time. He settled in with a deep breath and turned toward you, his voice low. "I won’t dance around it. That night, I overheard Soobin talking to Yeonjun. I, uh—may have heard a little too much."

Your spine went rigid. Soobin went back to the venue after dropping you off? 

He hesitated, watching your expression carefully. "Soobin is planning to break the bond."

The words struck like a slap. Your pulse dropped. The blood in your veins felt like it had frozen solid. "What—"

"He is ready to sacrifice himself," Beomgyu continued. "I don’t think he ever meant for you to be unhappy. He just wanted you to be free. Even if it meant losing himself to make it happen."

Your breath stuttered out of you. Your head dropped with a resigned sigh, face buried back into your palms. "Choi Soobin, how can you be so—so reckless," you whispered, voice trembling with the effort to stay composed. The fury bubbled up fast, raw and cutting. You had suspected, yes, but hearing it aloud? It was unbearable.

Beomgyu placed a hand on your shoulder—not intrusive, just present—and offered a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You know, I believe things happen for a reason. Everything leading you here—what you’ve gone through—it shaped you. You’re not the same person you were before. And maybe you had to lose yourself to find the version of you that’s ready for this."

"Beomgyu," you choked out. Your vision blurred again, and this time, the tears fell. "I don’t know what to do. I can’t find him. I don’t know where he is, and I think—I think I’m losing him. If I’m too late... if I’ve already lost him—"

"Hey." Beomgyu turned to face you fully now, his tone suddenly sharp, resolute. "Don’t talk like that. If two people truly love each other, nothing—not time, not distance, not even fate—can tear them apart. You and Soobin? That’s not the kind of love that breaks easily and believe me, I have been seeing you two. You may have been late, yeah. But you finally found yourself, haven't you?  Now you just have to go get him. You won't lose him." 

Your eyes drifted downward, catching sight of his wrist where the edge of his sleeve had ridden up slightly. There, nestled against the skin was his soulmate tattoo.

Rain lily.

You remembered his story, the one he'd once shared with a heart that had waited too long. How he'd waited and waited, only to find her when he least expected. How he fought, tooth and nail, against all odds—against time and fate and fear—just to be near her. Just to love her.

Your lips parted in a tearful, breathy laugh, trembling as a small smile broke through the ache. Beomgyu noticed your gaze lingering and glanced down at the tattoo. Slowly, his fingers lifted and brushed over the inked bloom, a touch so gentle it was almost reverent. His voice, when it came, sounded almost as if he was talking to himself. "Bonds that are willed by the people themselves are not easy to break."

“But I don’t know where to begin,” you breathed out, feeling the tears threaten to spill again. “I can’t get a hold of him.” 

“And that’s where I come in!” Beomgyu smiled a little too enthusiastically, then finally, he said, "He’s at Yeonjun’s grandparents’ place."

You sat up straight. "What?"

"I heard it that night," he said, nodding. "Yeonjun didn’t want to agree at first but he gave in when..." He didn’t have to finish. You already understood. 

Your mouth opened in shock. So close. So unbearably close, and yet you hadn’t even thought of it. How could you forget about Yeonjun? You were even supposed to try contacting him! He was the one person who would’ve known where Soobin went. You’d been too lost in the chaos to realize.

Beomgyu sighed, dramatically this time, leaning back with an exaggerated groan. "God, I sound like a morally grey character right now. Eavesdropping, betraying my friend’s privacy—but hey, I didn’t want to witness my friends suffer. So you better name your firstborn after me or something."

You laughed—really laughed—for the first time in days. It bubbled up shaky and uneven, but it was genuine. 

He smiled wider. "Texted you the location. Go get him, okay? Save him. Save yourself. And when this is over, I better be getting a front-row seat at your wedding. With extra cake."

You looked at him with so much gratitude you couldn’t speak. Maybe everything did happen for a reason. Beomgyu’s appearance felt like a light at the end of a tunnel. You nodded, whispered a breathless thank-you, and stood up. You were running.

As your figure disappeared around the path, Beomgyu remained seated. He tilted his head back to stare up at the sky, stars blinking into view, one by one. The night had fallen fully now, and there was peace in the hush that followed.

"One of the greatest tragedies in life," he murmured to no one in particular, "is that you’ll always be loved more than you’ll ever know."

He gazed at the spot where you’d stood, the smile soft on his face.

You had wasted enough time.

You nearly stumbled through your front door, fingers trembling as they fought to unlock your phone. The screen flared to life, and with frantic, clumsy taps, you pulled up the booking site. It didn’t matter what it was—bus, train, flight. You didn’t care about the price. Didn’t care how long it would take. You just needed the next available ticket.

Your breath stuttered when you found one. The first available flight left in an hour and a half. You booked it without hesitation.

The next few minutes blurred into a frenzied scramble. You tore open your closet, yanked clothes from hangers, flung them into a bag with the kind of wild urgency usually reserved for disasters. Your hands shook so badly you could barely zip the bag. You tried to focus, tried to remember the essentials—wallet, charger, ID—but your mind kept short-circuiting, short-circuiting with his name. Soobin. Soobin. Soobin.

You hailed a cab and climbed in without registering the driver's face. The second the car moved, you felt time turn traitor, every red light and traffic jam a personal attack. Your legs bounced, your nails dug into your palms, and your eyes wouldn’t stop darting to the rearview mirror like you were being chased. The city rushed past you in fractured pieces—neon signs bleeding into the pavement, taillights pulsing like fevered heartbeats.

When the airport finally came into view, your heart kicked up like it had been shocked back to life. You threw cash at the driver and ran. The terminal lights were too bright, the air too cold, the noise a dull roar in your ears. You shouldered your bag and moved with single-minded desperation, feet pounding against tile, breath ragged as you navigated toward your gate.

The departure board flickered, every new update slicing through you. Every passing minute another stone tied to your ankle.

What if you were too late?

No. No. You couldn’t think like that.

You made it to the gate. The boarding call echoed through the speakers. Your chest twisted as you stepped onto the plane, every motion feeling too big and too small at once. Sitting down, you fumbled with the seatbelt, blinked hard against the burning in your eyes.

This wasn’t just about seeing him again. This wasn’t just about apologies, or closure, or trying to fix what was on the verge of being lost.

This was about everything you had refused to let yourself feel. Everything you had buried beneath fear and anger and grief. Every moment you had wasted pretending it didn’t matter—pretending he didn’t matter. You had spent so long telling yourself you didn’t believe in soulmates, in bonds, in love. But Soobin had always been there. Through every version of you. Quietly and steadily. Loving you in the spaces where you didn’t think you needed to be loved.

The engines hummed, then roared. The plane began to roll forward, faster, faster, until the earth slipped out from beneath you and the sky caught you in its arms. You stared out the window, your reflection faint in the glass, city lights winking below like dying stars.

You pressed your clasped hands to your chest, exhaling and feeling the tremor in your soul.

Please be okay.

Please don’t be scared anymore.

Because I’m coming.

“Just hold on a little longer.”

The lake stretched before them, its surface unnaturally still, a perfect mirror capturing the bruised gold of the sky. The breeze carried no sound, only the oppressive quiet of dusk. Yeonjun sat on the porch steps, arms resting on his knees, eyes drawn to the lone figure near the water.

Soobin was kneeling at the edge, his fingers curled into the damp earth like he was trying to anchor himself to it. His shoulders drooped, head bowed, the slope of his spine carved by exhaustion. There was something about the way he sat that unsettled Yeonjun—a kind of surrender that didn’t belong to someone like Soobin. His skin looked almost translucent under the dying light, lips chapped, breath ragged. The coughing hadn’t stopped since he’d left you behind. It had only grown worse, brutal and bone-deep, each fit wracking his fragile frame. Yeonjun had taken to force-feeding him the prescribed medicine, watching him weaken with every dose that didn’t seem to work fast enough.

“Do you want to eat something?” Yeonjun muttered, toeing a pebble near his boot. He tried to sound nonchalant, but even he could hear the strain in his voice.

“I’m fine,” Soobin said, voice brittle, barely audible over the soft lapping of the lake.

Yeonjun’s jaw tightened. He hated all of this—hated the part he’d played in it. Agreeing to Soobin’s plan had felt noble at first. Necessary, even. But watching his friend unravel like this made him question every decision he thought was right.

The distance was supposed to cut the tether cleanly, giving you both room to breathe. But instead of severing the bond, it had only left Soobin hollow. The connection had thinned, yes—but his love hadn’t. It clung to him, stubborn and raw, carving out pieces of him each day like grief given form. And love like that, Yeonjun realized, could destroy just as deeply as it could heal.

He rubbed his temples, a sigh dragging out of him. “I’m heading into town. Grandma needs a few things.”

Soobin didn’t answer. Just stared at the water like it might swallow him whole.

Yeonjun stood, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked away, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. The town greeted him with the same dull familiarity. He moved through it all like a ghost, ticking items off a list, exchanging crumpled bills, nodding at friendly faces without really seeing them. But his mind was elsewhere. Tangled in the mess that had become your story.

Would he have done the same if it had been his soulmate? Would he have left, convinced it was the only way to protect her? He thought of you—your broken past, the way you dimmed at the mention of soulmates, the wall you had built to protect your heart. And maybe, just maybe, he would’ve done the same. If the one he loved had looked at him the way you looked at the world—with fear braided into your ribs, with loss etched into your memory—then maybe he would’ve made the same impossible choice.

The sun had begun to dip behind the hills by the time he turned down the familiar dirt road, grocery bags rustling against his legs. The house stood quiet at the end, warm light glowing faintly from the porch. But he stopped short.

There was someone standing in front of the house.

His breath caught, fingers loosening around the handles. For a second, he couldn’t believe it. But then you turned—and the sight of you knocked the wind from his chest.

You were a mess of movement and emotion, your eyes scanning the trees, the porch, the path beyond. Your clothes were wrinkled from travel, your hair tousled, face flushed and shining with sweat. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days. But it was your eyes that struck him the hardest.

They blazed with a wildness that threatened to tear the sky apart.

Yeonjun barely had time to react before you spotted him. The moment your gaze locked onto his, something inside you snapped. You marched forward, fists clenched, and before he could say a single word, you grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down to your level with a force that startled even him.

“Where is he?” you hissed.

Yeonjun didn’t fight it. He didn’t back away. If anything, he deserved your anger. You had every right to be furious. You had come all this way. Which meant—you knew.

Yeonjun swallowed. “You—”

“Please,” your voice cracked this time. “Tell me where he is.”

Yeonjun realized it was time to step back. He had played his part unwillingly, and he regretted the choices he made he thought was right to help his friend. But now, standing in front of you—seeing the ruin of what they’d tried to fix—it was clear that love didn’t survive in isolation. It had to be met halfway.

He looked down, voice rough. “By the lake,” he said. “He’s by the lake.” Then softer, “Go save that idiot.”

The way your face crumpled nearly undid him.

You didn’t wait for another word. You turned and ran, feet slamming against the dirt path, heart pounding louder than your footsteps. The only thing that mattered was that he was close. That Soobin was finally near and still breathing.

You had crossed miles to reach him. Now all that stood between you and him were a few desperate seconds and a truth that refused to be buried any longer.

At first, you couldn’t believe your eyes.

Soobin sat on the bench beneath the towering oak, shoulders slumped forward, as if he could shrink small enough to disappear into the cracks of the earth beneath him. The breeze picked at the hem of his shirt, teased strands of his hair into motion—longer now than you remembered, more unruly. And for a moment, you stood frozen, but in the sliver of stillness that followed, the ache on the back of your neck burst into flame, the soulmate tattoo searing through skin and nerve like it had sensed him first. It pulsed through your spine, a visceral call, a scream beneath the surface of your skin.

"Soobin."

His name tore from your throat like glass shattering inside your chest. It sliced through the wind, through the impossible space that had stretched between you for far too long.

Every muscle in Soobin’s body recoiled as if the sound had struck him like lightning. His head jerked, hesitant, like he feared what he might see. But he turned and when his eyes met yours, the daffodil rooted in his chest clawed upward like it had tasted light for the first time. The stems twisted, coiling tighter around his ribs, merciless and cruel. It should have hurt more. It should have dropped him to his knees, but he couldn’t focus on any of it.

You found him.

Your eyes—puffy, rimmed with exhaustion and raw emotion—held him captive in a way nothing else ever had. He didn’t need to ask. He knew that you knew.

His lips parted, your name escaping in a sound closer to prayer than a word. He forced himself upright, each movement dragged through syrup, each muscle betraying him in its hesitation. His legs trembled beneath his weight, but they carried him forward. He moved as if caught in a current, pulled not by will but by a force that was telling him to close the distance.

You looked as if the world had crumbled beneath you. Like the cracks had spiderwebbed through your composure and you were standing in the ruins.

Soobin took a step. Then another. His knees buckled slightly from the effort. Still, you didn’t move, only stared at him with that same gut-wrenching look, like you didn’t know whether to scream at him or collapse into him.

His hand twitched at his side, fingers aching to touch you, to reach for your face, to wipe away the tears you hadn’t yet shed. But just as the space between you thinned, fear surged in his gut, reminding him why he got away from you in the first place. And so, instead of reaching out, he pivoted—tried to brush past, voice hoarse and broken. "Yeonjun—"

"Don’t walk past me like a stranger." Your voice cracked against the quiet, a whip of sound that brought him to a standstill.

Soobin flinched, eyes widening as your fingers clamped around his arm. Your grip was desperate, nails digging into his skin as if anchoring yourself to reality, to him.

"Don’t you dare." Your voice trembled at the end, searing. "Don’t you dare run from me again."

He tried to speak, mouth opening and closing like he was drowning. But you weren’t finished.

"You tried to stay away. You thought distance would save me from the pain. You thought leaving was the answer." You let out a sharp, breathless laugh, a sound that was anything but amusement. "But you were wrong, Soobin. You were so fucking wrong."

Your grip didn’t ease. Your words came faster, tumbling over the emotion in your chest.

"How am I supposed to live without you when I started living because of you?"

His knees nearly gave out. The breath he dragged into his lungs felt fractured, broken along the edges. Your words curled around him, sank their claws in deep at the sheer desperation laced within them.

"You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to rip yourself away and expect me to be fine. You don’t get to—" Your voice cracked, and you exhaled shakily, eyes brimming with everything you had held back. "You showed me what it meant to be seen, to be understood. You made me feel safe. You made me—" Your breath tremored. "And then you took it all away."

Soobin didn’t realize he was crying until the wind kissed the trails on his cheeks. The pain in his chest surged, brutal and consuming, but he swallowed it down. He forced sound into his throat.

"I didn’t want you to accept the bond when you were still hurting from your past," he said, voice splintering with every syllable. "I was scared that you’d turn me away because you weren’t ready. I never wanted to be the reason for your pain... but I guess I became one anyway."

You stared at him, brows drawn together in disbelief and heartbreak.

Soobin swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he clenched them at his sides. "You don’t have to accept this bond."

Your world tipped sideways. It staggered and reeled like you’d been struck across the face. Your lips parted in disbelief. "Soobin, don’t—" The word barely made it out.

Soobin continued, blinking against the haze of pain clouding his vision. "I don’t want to ever wonder if you were forced to love me under the pretext of this soulmate bond." He grit his teeth, his body shuddering as the flowers turned razor-sharp inside him. "I want to choose you. And for you to choose me. I need you to know—I would choose you even if we weren’t soulbound."

The breath left your lungs in a violent rush. A choked gasp scraped past your lips as your knees hit the ground, hard and graceless, catching Soobin’s collapsing form just in time. He crumpled into you, a storm of muscle and trembling breath, and you caught him—arms wound tight around his body like he might vanish again if you dared loosen your grip.

He shuddered beneath your hands. His skin burned cold, like frost seeping through flesh. His frame trembled violently, wracked by more than just pain—it was the toll of weeks spent shouldering agony alone. But still, he looked at you. Still, even on his knees, he found the strength to meet your gaze.

"You have no true obligation to anyone but yourself," he whispered. "I don’t ever want you to feel a single regret... I want you to have the freedom of choice."

He had imagined this moment a thousand different ways—each one cruel, each one ending in devastation—but never like this. Never with your hands trembling as they cradled him close, never with your eyes overflowing, tears sliding down your cheeks unchecked, heavy and gleaming in the fading light. The sight cleaved through him sharper than any thorn that had ever embedded itself in his lungs.

"You say you want me to have the freedom of choice," you choked out, full of grief and fury, "yet you pull a shit like this and get away from me." Your hand rose to cup his face, thumb brushed the curve of his cheek, and he flinched at the warmth, at the way your touch thawed the frozen hollows of him. Your whole body quaked, each breath a war against everything you’d buried, everything you’d never allowed yourself to say. "You foolish, foolish man."

You reached down and caught his hand—his cold, trembling hand—and brought it to your neck, placing it over the mark that burned like fire beneath your skin. His fingers hovered, twitching against you like they didn’t believe they were allowed to stay. But you held him there. Then your other hand pressed against his chest, right where the daffodils coiled tight and cruel. As if you could pull them free with your palm alone. As if your touch could will the pain out of him.

“I love you.”

The words crashed into the space between you like lightning splitting the sky. Three words. Small, but colossal. They surged through the air, breaking every last chain he’d wrapped around his heart. A bridge spanning across lifetimes, a key unlocking every door he had once slammed shut to keep himself from hoping. Soobin’s face crumbled, weeping relentlessly. 

“Say it again,” he rasped. “Please—say it again.”

“I love you,” you said again, voice trembling, but loud. “And I have always loved you.” The confession fell from your lips like a flood, fierce and unrelenting, rich with regret and aching with truth. “I was a coward. I never recognized it. I never let myself recognize it. And for that, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry, Soobin.”

He sobbed, eyes pooling with tears. The disbelief in them was stark and fragile—like he was witnessing a dream too precious to survive daylight.

“It has always been you.”

You pulled him closer, your arms a vice around him now. The desperation in your grip was undeniable—you needed him to feel this, needed him to know, needed him to feel what words could never fully encapsulate. “I don’t care about fate or destiny or whether this is some divine intervention. Even if we weren’t soulmates, even if I had never woken up with your name written in my bones, I would still choose you.” Your voice cracked at the edges. “I would choose you in this life, in the next, in every existence beyond that. I would knit the thread of fate myself and spell your name into it.”

A sharp breath tore from Soobin’s lips, his entire frame trembling beneath the weight of your words, beneath the sheer force of your love. His eyes flickered an ounce of relief within, and before either of you could think, before he could drown in hesitation, he closed the distance between you and kissed you.

It was not soft nor was it hesitant. It was years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds of yearning poured into the space where your lips met his. It was an apology, a plea, a declaration all at once. It was his heart, bare and vulnerable, placed into your hands to do with as you pleased. And you—oh, you matched him. With shaking fingers buried in his hair and lips pressed back to his with a kind of desperation that bordered on fury, you answered him. You answered with all the love you had locked away. With every second you had spent convincing yourself you didn’t want him. With every dream that had curled around the shape of his name.

Soobin gasped against your mouth the moment he felt it—the recoil of pain, the slackening of those roots that had burrowed deep within his ribs for far too long. The agony that had once clawed at his lungs, that had stolen the air from his chest and made every breath a battle, began to unravel. He could breathe. He could truly breathe.

And in that moment, as the roots recoiled and faded, a matching daffodil tattoo emerged on his nape. The two daffodils then bloomed with the vibrant shade of yellow, the sign of the bond being accepted between two soulmates.

His hands trembled as they held you, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were here, that this moment wasn’t some cruel dream his mind had conjured in desperation.

When you finally pulled away, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, the first thing he saw was you. Not the blur of your form or the shine of tears, but you—eyes alight with something that hollowed him out and filled him in the same breath.

"You—" His voice caught on the jagged edge of emotion. "The bond—you saved me."

Your throat closed around the sadness that rose, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you turned your palm into his, your thumb brushing along the ridges of his knuckles.

“No,” you murmured. “We saved each other.”

A beat passed between you. His breath came uneven, his fingers flexing slightly against yours. Then he reached up with a hand that trembled like a leaf in the wind, cupping your cheek. His touch was barely there—not because he didn’t want to touch you, but because he still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. If he was worthy of this mercy.

"Oh, God," he breathed, the syllables cracked with remorse. "I’m sorry for everything. I love you so much."

You lifted your hand to cover his, turning into the warmth of his palm, grounding him to you. And then he pulled you close, arms folding around your frame, crushing you to him like he meant to hold onto this moment and never let go. His heartbeat thundered against yours, two hearts beating in sync like they were supposed to.

"Let’s try again," you murmured, voice unsteady but whole. "This time, together."

His answer wasn’t immediate. He breathed you in. He memorized the cadence of your voice, the rhythm of your pulse, the surety in your eyes all over again and again and again.

Nodding, his grip tightened. "Together?"

You gave him your answer not just in words but in the way your hand found the back of his neck, the way your forehead leaned into his.

"Together."

He let his forehead drop against yours, eyes slipping shut. Everything was going to be okay. It was like walking into the sun being with you. It was like walking into the sun for the first time after a terribly long winter. 

And somewhere in the distance, spring folded itself into summer. The season no longer took its dying breath; instead, it shared its warmth, its vibrancy, its life. And in that moment, Soobin learned what it meant to be alive—really, truly alive.

THE END.

because jake sim was—

well.

he wasn’t just your boss. he was a vision.

he stood near the window, the morning light catching the sharp lines of his profile, one hand tucked casually into his pocket like he’d been waiting for you without a single ounce of impatience. his suit was immaculate, the fabric draping over his shoulders in a way that made it clear it cost more than your rent. his hair was styled just so, not a strand out of place, and when he turned to look at you, his lips curled into a charming smile that showcased his quiet confidence.

your felt like you had been submerged into thick viscous honey, your brain too muddled to function.

“ah,” he said in an unfairly smooth and deep voice. “you must be the new hire.”

your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

this wasn’t happening. you were a professional. you’d practised this. you’d literally rehearsed in the mirror last night.

so why were your palms sweating? why was your pulse hammering in your throat like you’d just sprinted up a flight of stairs?

“nice to—nice, sir. i mean. meet. you.”

the second the words left your mouth, you wanted to claw them back. your voice had pitched up, cracking like you were fifteen and going through puberty all over again. your face burned, your ears hot with humiliation, and in a desperate attempt to play it off, you let out a laugh—or at least, the mangled, high pitched attempt at one.

it echoed in the silence.

ms. cho coughed politely. jake’s eyebrow lifted, slow and deliberate, his smirk deepening like he’d just discovered something fascinating.

you were going to die.

in your panic, you took a step back—only for your heel to catch on the edge of a decorative potted plant. your arms pinwheeled, your balance teetering dangerously, and for one horrifying second, you were certain you were about to crash directly into the very expensive looking side table beside you.

somehow, you didn’t. but the damage was done.

jake’s gaze flickered from your flailing limbs back to your face, his expression shifting into something dangerously close to amusement. like you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.

oh god.

you wanted to vanish. you wanted to teleport directly into the nearest trash chute. you wanted to go back in time and never apply for this job.

you see, you had a problem.

a big, humiliating, soul crushing problem that no amount of deep breathing or positive affirmations could fix. it wasn't that you were incompetent—far from it. you'd graduated top of your class, aced every interview, and somehow landed this prestigious position through sheer skill and determination as your first job. no, your problem was far more specific, far more devastating in its simplicity:

you malfunctioned around attractive people.

and not just the casual, oh-they're-nice-looking kind of attractive. no, you short circuited around the kind of devastatingly gorgeous humans who moved through the world like they'd never once doubted their place in it. the kind who could reduce you to a stuttering, blushing mess with nothing more than a glance.

and jake sim?

jake sim was the human embodiment of your downfall.

when hr informed you that you'd been reassigned as his junior assistant, your first reaction had been to laugh—a high, slightly hysterical sound that made the hr manager eye you with concern. 

"this is a great opportunity for you to learn," she'd said, her tone suggesting she didn't understand why you looked like you were about to pass out.

you'd nodded mechanically, your mind already racing through every possible disaster scenario. daily interactions. emails that required actual coherence. eye contact. 

how were you supposed to maintain eye contact when looking at him for too long made your palms sweat and your thoughts scatter like startled birds?

the first week was a special kind of torture.

you arrived early every morning, rehearsing conversations in your head like an actor preparing for a role. you studied his schedule like it was a sacred text, memorising every meeting, every deadline, every detail that might give you even the slightest edge in appearing competent. you told yourself you could do this. you were a professional. you'd worked too hard to let something as trivial as a pretty face unravel you.

but then he'd walk into the room, all sharp suits and effortless confidence, and your carefully constructed composure would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.

like today.

you'd been reviewing project updates at your desk, your notes meticulously organised, your thoughts clear and focused. you were prepared. you were ready. and then—

"did you get those figures from marketing?"

his voice, smooth and deep, came from directly behind you, closer than you'd expected. you could smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne—something warm and subtly spicy that made your stomach do a slow, treacherous flip. your fingers froze over the keyboard.

you'd meant to say, "i'll get you those files right away." but what came out was:

"i'll get you anything."

the second the words left your mouth, time seemed to slow. your brain, in its panic, replayed the sentence on a loop, each repetition more horrifying than the last. your pulse pounded in your ears, a frantic drumbeat of oh god oh god oh god.

you tried to laugh it off, but the sound that escaped was less a laugh and more a strangled wheeze, the kind of noise that made people edge away slowly. the silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

jake didn't move. when you finally dared to glance up, his expression was unreadable—just the slight tilt of his head, the faintest arch of one eyebrow. then, slowly, his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"that's a dangerous thing to offer," he said, his voice low and far too amused.

before you could even attempt to salvage the wreckage of your dignity, he was walking away, leaving you sitting there with your face burning, your hands clenched into fists in your lap.

you wanted to disappear. you wanted to rewind the last thirty seconds and try again. you wanted to march into hr and demand a transfer to a department where you'd never have to speak to another human being again—preferably one located in a remote, soundproof bunker.

but instead, you took a shaky breath, straightened your shoulders, and opened the marketing files with exaggerated focus. you could do this. you would do this.

even if it killed you.

the office whispers started innocently enough. a stifled chuckle when you dropped your pen for the third time during the monday meeting. knowing glances exchanged over cubicle walls when you developed a sudden, intense interest in your shoes every time jake entered a room. at first you thought nothing of it—until you overheard lisa from accounting whisper "someone's got a crush" loud enough for half the floor to hear.

today had been particularly catastrophic.

early in the morning, jake had leaned over your desk to point out a formula error, his crisp white sleeve brushing against your forearm. 

"the pivot table in this spreadsheet needs adjusting," he'd said, his voice dipping into that low, measured tone that did something inexplicable to your breathing patterns. 

and then—god help you—you'd giggled. not a polite professional chuckle, but a high- pitched, borderline hysterical sound that seemed to startle both of you. jake had frozen mid sentence, his pen hovering over the document like he wasn't sure whether to correct the numbers or call hr.

"i—sorry, sorry," you'd stammered, your face burning as you desperately tried to salvage the moment, "it's just—pivot tables are so—they're just really—" 

you'd waved your hands vaguely, as if this explained anything. jake had simply blinked, slow and deliberate like a cat observing particularly baffling prey, before continuing his explanation as if nothing had happened. which was somehow worse.

later, you'd been printing reports when jake appeared beside you—silently, like some sort of corporate vampire—reaching across you to grab a stack of documents. his forearm brushed against yours, warm and solid through the fabric of his dress shirt, and your entire nervous system short-circuited. your breath hitched audibly, your fingers spasmed on the copier lid, and for one dizzying moment you were certain you were going to either pass out or vomit directly onto the machine's control panel. 

from the way your coworkers suddenly found reasons to walk past the copier area, you weren't as subtle as you'd hoped.

"you know," maria from marketing had said later in the break room, stirring her coffee with exaggerated casualness, "if you wanted his attention, you're doing great." the grin she shot you was equal parts amused and merciless.

"that's not—i'm not—" you'd sputtered, your coffee cup trembling in your hands. "i have this thing where i just—when people are really—i mean my brain just—" your words dissolved into incoherence, which only made her smirk widen.

the worst, most embarrassing thing was the email disaster which happened at 3:17 pm on tuesday. you remembered the exact time because you'd stared at the timestamp in mute horror for a full minute after hitting send. 

you'd meant to type "i need you to look at it" regarding the quarterly report draft. what you'd actually sent to jake's inbox read: "i need you to look at me."

your blood turned to ice. for thirty full seconds, you simply sat there, fingers hovering over the keyboard like you could somehow un-send the message through sheer force of will. your first instinct was to feign a sudden illness and flee the country. your second was to claim you'd been hacked. 

in the end, you'd settled for sending a follow-up email with the subject line "CORRECTION" in all caps and the body simply reading "THE REPORT. I NEED YOU TO LOOK AT THE REPORT." you didn't explain further. you couldn't.

the afternoon meeting was where everything came to a head. you'd been doing remarkably well—keeping your gaze firmly on your notes, responding in complete sentences, even managing to contribute to the discussion without sounding like you'd suffered a recent head injury. then, as you reached for your water glass, your traitorous hand trembled just enough to send the glass tipping. water cascaded across the conference table in a shimmering wave, soaking documents, laptops, and—most horrifyingly—the front of jake's perfectly tailored trousers.

the room fell silent. your pulse roared in your ears. the water droplet sliding slowly down jake's thigh was the most obscene thing you'd ever witnessed.

"i—oh god—i'm so—" you shot to your feet, knocking your chair over in your haste. napkins appeared as if by magic from various coworkers, though none of them made a move to help, this was clearly too entertaining to interrupt. 

"i'll just—bathroom and paper towels—" you managed to choke out before fleeing the scene, your heels clicking a frantic staccato against the polished floors.

as you rounded the corner, you could have sworn you heard jake murmur something under his breath. later, you'd learn from multiple "helpful" coworkers that what he'd actually said was "she's something else," in a tone that could have been exasperated or amused or—most terrifyingly—intrigued. 

the office gossip mill had already spun this into at least three different romantic subplots by the time you returned with a wad of paper towels and the shattered remains of your dignity.

the worst part was that this was only tuesday. you had three more days of this to survive. as you sat at your desk later, staring blankly at your computer screen, you made a mental note to research whether it was possible to die from secondhand embarrassment—specifically, embarrassment generated by your own inability to function like a normal human being around your unfairly attractive boss.

things escalated in the worst possible way when jake started hovering more.

it began subtly—a coffee cup appearing on your desk when you hadn’t asked for one, the rich, bitter scent wafting up as you stared at it like it might be a trap. you’d glanced around, searching for the culprit, only to find jake already walking away, hands tucked into his pockets like he hadn’t just disrupted your entire morning with an act of kindness you weren’t equipped to handle.

then came the project updates. suddenly, he was asking for your input on things that weren’t even under your purview, leaning against the edge of your desk while you fumbled through explanations, your throat dry under the weight of his attention. 

and then things somehow got worse when he started leaning down towards you. not enough to be inappropriate, but enough that you could smell the faint, expensive cedar of his cologne, enough that his voice dropped into a low, private timbre that sent your pulse skittering. it felt deliberate. it felt like a test you were failing spectacularly.

like today.

you’d been caught staring. again. 

this time during a department meeting, your gaze drifting helplessly toward where jake sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled under his chin, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the too-bright conference room lights. you hadn’t meant to look. or maybe you had. maybe you were a glutton for punishment, for the way your stomach swooped when his eyes flicked up and caught you, his eyebrow lifting just slightly.

"you good?" his voice was quiet, just for you, the words curling around you like smoke.

your brain short circuited. you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, your fingers tightening around your pen like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. play it cool, you begged yourself. just say something normal.

"low blood sugar," you mumbled, the lie tumbling out before you could stop it. you weren’t even sure what that meant in this context—were you implying you were dizzy? hungry? medically compromised?—but jake didn’t call you on it. he just smirked, slow and knowing, like he could see right through you.

you should’ve known then that you’d made a mistake.

because after that, snacks from him started appearing. protein bars tucked into your desk drawer. a banana left beside your keyboard with no explanation. once, horrifyingly, a lollipop—bright red and obscenely shiny—placed directly on top of your morning report. you’d stared at it for a full minute, your face burning, before stuffing it into your bag like contraband. 

you swore he watched you eat them. not obviously, not in a way you could call him out on, but in those fleeting moments when you glanced up from unwrapping a granola bar to find his gaze already on you, dark and unreadable.

it all came to a head when you thought he was out of the office.

you’d been ranting to yuna in the break room, your voice a hushed, frantic whisper as you paced in front of the microwave. 

"he keeps looking at me like i’m trying to seduce him," you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "i’m not. i just—i don’t know how to behave around him, it’s like i’m socially defective."

yuna had opened her mouth to respond—probably to laugh at you, the traitor—when a cough cut through the room.

your blood turned to ice.

jake stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his expression perfectly neutral. how long had he been there? how much had he heard? your stomach dropped straight through the floor as your brain replayed your own words in brutal, high definition clarity. socially defective. oh god.

for one endless second, no one moved. then jake tilted his head—just slightly, like he was considering something—and walked away without a word.

you died a thousand deaths in that moment.

you expected things to be awkward after that. unbearable, even. but the next day, jake was... different. he smiled more—slow, deliberate smiles that made your palms sweat. he stared longer, his gaze lingering even when you ducked your head, even when you pretended not to notice. and then, over lunch—a lunch he had invited you to, a lunch you’d agreed to out of some masochistic impulse.

he leaned back in his chair and asked, casual as anything, "what kind of guy do you like?"

you choked on your drink.

your mind raced through a dozen possible responses—professional, respectful, not my boss—before settling on the dumbest possible answer. "alive," you croaked.

jake snorted, his lips quirking in a way that made your chest ache. "good start," he said, and something in his voice that sounded warm and interested, sent your heart into freefall.

the office that night was too quiet, the silence pressing on your ears and making them ring. 

you'd stayed late to finish some work, the blue light of your computer screen the only thing cutting through the dark. outside, the city hummed—car horns, distant sirens, the occasional burst of laughter from people who still had lives at this hour. your coffee had gone cold hours ago, but you kept sipping it anyway, the bitter taste matching your mood.

when the door creaked open, you didn't even look up. probably just the cleaning crew. but then you caught that scent—something expensive and faintly spicy, cutting through the stale office air. your fingers froze over the keyboard.

"still here?"

jake's voice was rougher than usual, tired around the edges. when you finally turned, he was leaning against your desk, two fresh coffees in hand. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing those stupidly perfect forearms. his tie hung loose around his neck like he'd been yanking at it all day. he looked rumpled in a way that made your stomach do something complicated.

"uh. yeah." you swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your throat was. "report."

he set one of the coffees down in front of you. the good stuff, from that place around the corner that charged way too much. "drink that before you pass out."

you wanted to say something clever. instead, your fingers fumbled with the lid, the plastic making an embarrassingly loud crack in the quiet office. 

jake didn't leave. just sank into the chair across from you with a quiet groan, stretching his long legs out until his shoe bumped yours. you jerked back like you'd been shocked.

for a while, the only sounds were your typing and the occasional sip of coffee. except you couldn't focus, not with him sitting there watching you. your fingers kept slipping, typing "jaje" instead of "jake" before you could stop yourself. you deleted it so fast your mouse clicked echoed.

"you're staring," he said suddenly.

you choked on your coffee. "i wasn't—"

"you were." he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "at my mouth, specifically."

your face burned. you had been. just for a second. because his lips were chapped from the cold outside, and he kept worrying at the bottom one with his teeth, and—

"am i distracting you?" his voice dropped, taking on that low, teasing quality that made your pulse jump.

"no," you lied, your voice cracking.

a beat passed and then a tiny, pathetic noise escaped you—something between a whimper and a hiccup. you wanted to die(again). 

jake's eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. he leaned in closer, close enough that you could see the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, close enough that his knee pressed against yours under the desk and stayed there.

"if i didn't know better," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek, "i'd say you like me, sweetheart."

your brain paused all activities and all you could manage was a strangled "jake—" that sounded more like a plea than a protest.

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his grin all sharp edges. "i'm kidding."

but the way his fingers brushed yours as he took your empty coffee cup said he absolutely wasn't.

over the past few days, something subtle had shifted between you and jake without either of you acknowledging it. the nervous stuttering that used to plague your conversations had faded into something smoother, something more natural. 

the late night coffee incident had been weeks ago, but its ghost lingered in every interaction since. you'd noticed the shift—how your pulse no longer raced quite so violently when jake entered a room, how your hands remained steady when passing him files. you still noticed the way his dress shirts stretched across his shoulders when he reached for files, still caught yourself staring at his hands when he typed, but the panic those observations used to trigger had mellowed into a warm flutter low in your stomach. you could even hold his gaze for entire sentences now without feeling like your skin might catch fire. progress, you'd thought. until today.

the copy machine hummed its familiar tune as you leaned against it, listening to the new marketing associate—ethan? evan?—recount his disastrous first client meeting. 

his animated storytelling had you laughing, the sound louder than intended in the quiet office. when his hand brushed your arm in emphasis, you didn't stiffen like you would have weeks ago. which made jake's sudden appearance and grip on your elbow all the more startling.

"conference room. now." his voice carried that particular edge you'd come to recognise—the one that brooked no argument.

you barely had time to mutter an apology to not-ethan before jake was steering you down the hall, his fingers burning through your blazer sleeve. the break room door clicked shut behind you with finality. 

jake paced like a caged animal, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair until it stood in disarray.

"you and the new guy looked awfully friendly." the words came out clipped, his back turned as he pretended sudden fascination with the microwave's keypad.

you blinked. "we were just talking."

"talking." he scoffed, finally turning. the fluorescent lights caught the tension in his jaw. "is that what they're calling it now?"

the realisation dawned slowly, then all at once—the way jake's coffee deliveries always seemed to coincide with your conversations with others, how he'd suddenly taken interest in your lunch plans, the barely concealed irritation whenever someone lingered too long at your desk. your stomach swooped.

"wait." you stepped closer, watching his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "are you... jealous?"

jake's laugh was humourless. "don't flatter yourself."

but his eyes, dark and stormy, betrayed him. you saw it then: the insecurity beneath the polished exterior, the fear that your newfound ease around him wasn't comfort earned through shared late nights and inside jokes, but because your attention had wandered.

the elevator ride down that evening was thick with tension. jake stood unnaturally still, his reflection in the metal doors betraying clenched fists and a ticking jaw. you watched the floor numbers descend, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

"you think i'm playing some game," you said quietly, not quite a question.

jake's reflection met yours. "aren't you?"

the doors opened on the empty lobby. neither of you moved.

"all those blushes and stammers," he continued, voice rough. "the way you'd trip over yourself whenever i got too close. and now?" his hand shot out to stop the doors from closing. "nothing. like i've become... ordinary."

the raw vulnerability in his words stole your breath. you turned, really looking at him—the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his tie hung slightly crooked. the man beneath the polished veneer.

"jake," you breathed, stepping closer. "you could never be ordinary."

something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "prove it."

the first kiss was all collision—lips bruising, teeth clashing. you gasped as jake backed you into the wall, his hands finding your hips with a possessiveness that set your nerves alight.

"fuck," he growled against your mouth when your fingers tangled in his hair. "you have no idea how long i've—"

you cut him off with another kiss, revelling in the way his body shuddered against yours. his palms slid under your blouse, calloused fingers mapping your skin like he was committing you to memory.

"still think i was seducing you?" you managed between kisses, arching into his touch.

jake nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a whimper you'd deny later. "sweetheart," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "you've been wrecking me since day one."

some distant part of your brain registered the security cameras, the professionalism you were shattering, the inevitable hr disaster. it was drowned out by the way jake's hands trembled as they traced your ribs, by the broken sound he made when you scraped your nails down his back.

when you finally broke apart—lips swollen, breathing ragged—jake rested his forehead against yours. his thumb traced your cheekbone with unexpected tenderness.

"we're going to get fired," you whispered, even as your fingers toyed with his belt loop.

jake's grin was all sinful promise as he stole one more kiss. "best damn termination notice i'll ever receive." (don't do this guys)

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

and so it begins.

it’s not much of a coincidence that you and taehyun happened to gravitate towards the same flower.

in your hands laid a string of beautiful blue orchids. in his, nothing, “oh, i’m sorry, you can have it.” he smiles.

you quickly extend your hand out to him, “no, it’s okay, it’s all yours!” he tries to stop himself from laughing at the way you’re treating this incident as if he were a king you just stole his crown.

“it’s okay.” he picks up another orchid lying on the shelves, “they’re all the same.”

you look down at your orchids. they did look exactly the same to you. you didn’t notice yours had more flowers. of course you didn’t, why would you count that, anyways?

“who are those for?”

there isn’t really an answer for that. you just saw some pretty flowers on your way home, and impulsively decided to buy some. “just me.”

“ah, i see. orchids are a good choice.”

“you know what they mean?”

“no, but they’re pretty. do you know what they mean?”

“let me search it up,” you offer, pulling out your phone. the answer is rather flustering. you quickly turn your phone, and clear your throat. he looks at you expectedly and you’re forced to answer a quick, “haha, it signifies a rare beauty. what a cute meaning.”

“cute, indeed.”

it may be nothing more than a seed at first, but it will surely grow into something beautiful.

“and he was so pretty i almost fainted! i should’ve asked for his number.” you spoke, stuffing your mouth with a pastry. all your friends heard from you since that day was your encounter with ‘the handsome man at the flower shop.’

whether you were boasting or complaining remained a mystery to them, “i think you should’ve married him on the spot if you like him so much.”

and at that moment, your handsome man from the flower shop walks into the café. your jaw hangs open as your friends turn to look at what, or who you’re looking at. they might not have got it at first, but they understand your obsession now.

he was too pretty. they wouldn’t have believed he was real if they didn’t see him themselves, “nevermind i take that back. can i have his hand in marriage?”

you grab the nearest napkin, wiping your mouth down. unsure if you should wave at him, or wait for him to notice you, you just stare at his figure walking up to the cashier. he talks so delicately, his tongue must be carrying pure sugar. you can’t hear him from where you are, but you’re sure his voice sounds as sweet as it did when you met him the other day.

the way he smiles, even if it’s not directed at you, has you absolutely weak on your knees. he’s cute, he’s cute for sure.

what if he didn’t remember you? that would be embarrassing.

“hey, you’re that person from the flower shop, right?” he walks up to you before you even notice.

“that’s me.”

“how are your orchids doing? mine have been blossoming well.”

“they’re good. they’ve just started growing, but i’ve been making sure to take good care of them.”

“you should keep me updated on how it’s going. do you want my number?”

you’re grateful he made the stupid excuse to get your number, you’re not sure you would’ve had the courage to do it yourself. so without further hesitation, you gladly exchange phone numbers, and polite smiles. you go home with that same smile stretching your face that night. what a happy coincidence.

the way you bloom in me.

you water your orchids that rest just outside. an orchid technically has two petals that make it up. you were always taught that the best things come in pairs.

taehyun pulls in the driveway before greeting you. “i got us reservations for the art exhibit tomorrow! they’re vip. do you want to go with me?”

of course, the answer to taehyun is always yes. that day, you walk shoulder-to-shoulder with him. he points out all the artworks he likes, making comments about how they remind him of pretty things in his life. you’re a common topic, it seems.

“do you remember when we went to that cool bakery together? it kind of reminds me of that.” he says, examining the piece.

there’s throwaway comments about his childhood home, or his favorite movie. but at the center of his thoughts, you’re the one circulating in his mind.

“this has such a comforting vibe. like that night we saw a drive-in movie together. that was so much fun, we should really do something like that again.”

he looked so excited to reminisce over your memories together. you remember all of them. he makes you feel noticed. he remembers you, like nobody has remembered you before. he sees you.

“wow.” is all you can say when you reach the end of the exhibition. hanging on a giant wall, a painting of blue orchids bursting from a heart. the explosion of color contrasts the darker background. it’s one of the most gorgeous paintings you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

“do you like it?” taehyun asks curiously.

when you go home that night, you have an extra weight on you. it’s his hands that are now able to freely hold yours. he smiles, walking you home with the lovesick gaze in his eyes.

you’ve got the most beautiful boyfriend in existence, it almost feels surreal.

like every petal, i can’t stop admiring you.

isn’t it funny how you don’t even have to say anything when you’re with him? all you need is to be there, and for him to be there too, at the same moment as you. that’s all it takes because you’re okay with doing nothing but admiring him.

you know he feels the same way about you by the way he’s just spent the last two minutes staring at you. when he’s away at work, he stares at his phone. it lights up delightfully with a notification of you. on the bright screen, the first thing he sees is his wallpaper. of you.

he loves you, and your orchids are blooming gorgeously.

everything that lives must die.

you pick at its flimsy petals, “i don’t understand what i did wrong. it was doing so well. why did it suddenly just die? did i mess up?”

you question yourself like that, wondering if you’re the one making all the mistakes here. were you the one giving the flower pain? did it die because of you? did you not treat it the way you should have? you desperately search for ways to save the dying plant, yet, nothing.

“i’m sorry, honey. i don’t think i can make it today. can we reschedule?”

you try desperately to keep it alive, but it’s dying. and now, there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

you can do nothing but wonder if you’re the one that messed everything up. if you’re the one that ruined the relationship– no, the flower. you wonder if you’re the problem.

“sorry, baby. i’ll be there next time for sure.”

“i promise i’ll make it up, honey.”

“wait a little longer, yeah? i’ll finish up quickly.”

you wilted away from my life, just like the pretty flower i once gave so much love to.

taehyun was good to you while it lasted. he bloomed gracefully, leaving a strong scent behind him. one you’re still cursed with noticing. your furniture reminsicines your memories with him in his absence. why does he linger when he’s dead to you?

you know the answer all too well. you loved him.

sometimes, even the most nurturing gardens fail to keep some flowers alive.

neither of you are at fault; this is just how life plays out sometimes. you were disappointed at the outcome of your many months of hard work, but you had to learn how to let go, and bury your once blossoming orchid.

you pick up the plant, ready to abandon it, but the sad look of the plant almost makes you feel guilty. while you’re too busy contemplating, the pot falls through your fingers, shattering on the ground. you sigh to yourself, picking up the pieces.

“honey, is everything okay?” taehyun says, walking in, “i’m not too late, am i?” he asks, helping you pick up the broken pieces before placing the orchids in a new pot.

but if you add a little water…