BadbitchesgotBDE

CHARACTER PROFILES

Kim Namjoon

Kim Seokjin

Min Yoongi

Jung Hoseok

Park Jimin

Kim Taehyung

Jeon Jungkook

Kim Byeonho

Naomi Castello de Navarro-Achol

Joséphina Marié Castello de Navarro-Achol

CHAPTERS

PREFACE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

1ST PERSON

NOV 19, 2019

NAOMI

We stood side by side at the gate, Jo's hand in mine, my finger hovering above the doorbell. I hesitated for a second, contemplated just cancelling and going home to down a bottle of wine and eat a cheesecake to myself, and then I hit the button. I didn't think, just pressed, listened for the chirp to let me know my ring had gone through, and then proceeded to wait the excruciatingly long couple of seconds it took for someone to respond.

A voice I did not recognize came on over the intercom, calling out a greeting in Korean, followed by a instruction to wait, so we did. Josie swung our hands back and forth, hummed along to music in their head while I steeled my nerves, struggling to identify an emotion settled in my stomach; Low and roiling, easily differentiated from the anxiety that had found its home there as well. It held so many familiar indicators from emotions I was more versed in, but was distinct from all of them, its own mysterious flavor of feelings I was almost 100% sure I'd never experienced.

The feeling only grew the longer we stood there, building to some distant climax I was neither prepared for nor aware of. It slowly over took the anxiousness I'd been feeling, the nervousness, the fear, even the hints of excitement and anticipation that lay hidden under the knots of my more dominate emotions. This feeling spread its way through every inch of my body, from the very tips of my toes to the ends of my hair, warm and tingling, like all my organs had been replaced by pop rocks. I'd only began to even process what the feeling could be when I heard the door to the house close, foot steps treading along a walkway before stopping in front of the gate. It felt strongest then, the gates opening inward to reveal a man I did not know, with a face I'd felt I'd known my entire life. He smiled, revealing his dimples, one deeper than the other, both equally perfect.I knew I was gone.

"Naomi, I assume." He reached his hand out to me, and that familiar feeling to connect pulled my hand from the warmth and comfort of Joséphina's grasp out towards him, and despite my decades long aversion to shaking hands, I found myself—for the second time this week—unable to stop myself from letting my hand fall into his; Big, a little clammy, harbinger of light and warmth and the sound of his erratic heartbeat drumming in my ears. "I'm Kim Namjoon."

I stared at this man, pretty in a way that was entirely masculine, but so far from macho. Soft in the ways it counted—His bright pink hair, his gorgeous smile, the white t-shirt that hid nothing and to whom I was disgustingly grateful.

Maybe because I'd already experienced it before, maybe because I knew it was happening this time, or maybe the process felt different between different people; Whatever the reason, I hadn't felt like tearing my flesh from my bones this time around. I was able to actually enjoy the gentle lapping waves of my soul connecting to his and millions of years of well placed paths finding completion in this single moment. It was cosmic; It was divine; It was entirely human and undeniably perfect. I felt alive, like my entire life I'd only been a walking corpse and only now had blood been brought to my veins, air to my lungs, life to my limbs. This was God, him and me, radiant and all consuming, infallible, flawless in design, a part of his soul forever mine.

He let go of my hand like it physically pained him to do so, clearing his throat as the knowledge that we weren't alone finally registered for him. "Joséphina, hello again."

"Good to see you," they waved, stood there like they'd been caught somewhere they shouldn't be.

We'd gone over this a million times, and they'd constantly assured me that they were fine with meeting my soulmate, but I couldn't help but feel guilty for bringing them. I knew the possibility of more than one of these men being my soulmates, as did they, but theory is so often far from reality, and there was a distinct difference between being okay with my having soulmate(s) and having to witness it in real time.

"Uh," he stepped to the side, opening up enough space for us to walk past into the courtyard, "please, come in." He gripped onto the door like it was an anchor, the muscles in his hands and arms flexing, veins that were already pretty prominent bulging out from under his skin.

I slid past him into the yard, the smell of dirt, and tea leaves, and something woody hitting my nose with an oppressive air. It was a nice smell, matched him in a way I couldn't put to words, overriding the more nauseating scents of the city and bringing a sense of comfort I seldom felt in the presence of a stranger.

The yard itself was pretty—if not very minimal—visible by the lamps lining the walk way and the fairy-lights weaved through the branches of one of the larger trees. It was decently sized—a small pond to the left, the tree to the right, stone paths cutting through the short grass to the house and various landmarks. They had a bench swing by the pond with floral print cushions tied to the back and the seat, and a water fountain shaped like a fish pouring into. There was a small rock garden, concentric circle of varying sizes wrapping around the base of the tree and traveling along the fence line, and they even had a small flower garden along the front of the house—though the exact nature of the plants wasn't very observable—but what stuck out to me most was the red and yellow plastic bucket in the grass, and the equally bright colored toddler push car laying on its side.

Namjoon shut the gate behind us, locking it before leading the way up to the house. It was a modern building with a few distinct details borrowed from the more traditional Korean architecture I'd seen during my short stay. It was three stories, with large windows and balconys, and a mix of wood, and stone, and siding. The upper story windows were dark, save one, but the bottom floor was light up in a soft orange-ish hue. The front door was tempered glass, and when Namjoon moved to open it, it rotated on a center axis, leaving two smaller openings for us to wander in through.

The house was warm, both in temperature and atmosphere. It smelt of food, sounded of laughter and conversation, carried a general air that just screamed 'home'. Several pairs of discarded shoes greeted us as we walked in, some more well placed than others, each showcasing very distinct personalities of their own, all different in style, but equally well end—Balenciaga Jet Sneakers in lime green, perfectly lined with one another and set off towards the wall; black Tom Ford Ankle Boots, slightly askew, both otherwise neatly placed and set out of the way; Gucci slides, one leaned on the other, like they were just kicked off as soon as the person walked through the door; Burberry Urchin Clogs in suede, the heels pointed in towards one another, like the person had used the shoes themselves to take them off; Air Jordan 1 Retro Highs in mocha, both on their side, but also moved out to way, and still in very good condition; Off white Adidas Gazelle Indoor shoes, carefully placed in the center of the floor; Marni Suede Sabots, one setting up right, the other completely upside down.

"We, uh." Jo and I began taking our shoes off while Namjoon disappeared into a door, tucked into a small alcove of other doors "We brought cakes and wine," Josie called to him as he briefly disappeared into the room.

He came back with two pairs of slippers and offered them to the both of us wordlessly. They weren't anything special, probably something they kept around for guest, but they were warm and offered a much needed reprieve to my feet, still sore after a day of wearing heels.

"I can take those," he offered, holding his hand out for Joséphina to transfer the insulated bags onto him.

The slippers were wide on my feet and would try to fly off while I walked. They were too long on Josie, who experienced a similar issue as they got caught on nothing, tripping forward slightly and had to retrieve the slipper that had slid from their foot.

The foyer was spacious, looking out into the rest of the house, the ceiling high and open to all three floors, a wall of windows that made the space feel even larger. To the left was the alcove of doors, a small, dark hallway with three doors, one of which I assume lead to the garage, the other two unknown. Directly to the right of the foyer was a living-room, currently unoccupied, by still light up to reveal a very modest set up—two large couches facing one another, a gray area rug, and a coffee table—and the dinning room even further back with a table large enough to house a small army. Namjoon gestured farther into the house, urging the two of us to venture in and take in the space.

I moved with a quiet conviction, pulled into the home by an invisibly force. It was like a low hum, a purr, a gently buzz beneath my skin. It propelled me forward, following a path I did not see, but, I assumed, leading me towards something—or rather, someone—I had a pretty good guess for.

The stairs were free floating in the center of the house, broken up and bent into a square shape as they rose up the floors, and behind them, just barely visible from our vantage point, was a large chefs kitchen with silver appliances and dark wood cabinetry. It had a large blocky island with a two basin sink, a rack of pots and pans hanging over head, and a wall of counter-tops with two stoves, a large silver range-hood, and one of the largest refrigerators I'd ever seen. To the right of stairs was a room that separated the dining-room from the family-room. The additional living space was slightly lower than the rest of the house, two small steps leading down to a large U-shaped sectional that gave the space the illusion of a conversation pit. On the wall—where the room separated the dining-room from the family-room—was a large flat screen currently playing low volume music on surround sound speakers while a video of a fireplace played on loop. Four men sat on the couch, close together despite the generous amount of room the sectional provided—one with his legs thrown over anothers lap and his head in Taehyung's, the last with his arms wrapped around Taehyung's shoulders—all laughing at something one of them had said.

Maybe he'd felt that same energetic pull, maybe it called to him too, because as soon as I was in view of the family-room, Taehyung's eyes were already on me. He smiled—albeit hesitantly—with all the happiness of a person seeing someone that brought them immeasurable joy. I couldn't deny that seeing him also set me alight, but smiling was never a very natural reaction of mine, so all he got in return was a small twitch of my facial muscles. Even still, I just instinctively knew he could feel my own contentment at seeing him.

It was weird, feeling so at ease in the presence of a stranger, much less craving his company. I hadn't realized it before—or I simply chose to ignore it—but being within the same space as him again really spelled out how much I'd missed him; This man, who I'd known for a little more than 24 hours, with whom I'd talked to less than an hour. It was jarring, and while the parts of my brain that loved to learn bristled at the knowledge, keen to know more about the affects of the soul bond, and filed the information away for later, the other parts of my brain that craved control and normalcy fumed at the otherwise strange reaction.

I resented the fact that my emotions didn't feel like my own, that the soul bond took away my autonomy. If he'd been any other person, this whole situation would have made me feel on edge, slightly uncomfortable, wound up and ready to pounce at any moment. But, because he was my soulmate, I wasn't able to feel anything for him except deep longing. Even Namjoon, who my first contact had gone over significantly easier with, pissed me off for the simple fact that he existed and I was not weary of him. I also resented the fact that I resented the fact, that even though every part of my mind, body, and soul felt more comfortable then it probably ever had my entire life, I couldn't enjoy it without not feeling like myself. But, then I looked at his eyes—I never look at anyone's eyes—and all of that just fizzled away.

"Naomi," he called out, his voice loaded with genuine excitement and joy. He looked like he wanted to get up and greet me, but whether it was the fact he was currently being weighed down by two adult men, or the fact that he simply thought better of it, Taehyung sat firmly planted to his spot."Hi."

"Taehyung." I hated how I'd said his name, all wistful, slightly breathless. Like a prayer. Like a plea. Like home.

"Everyone, this is Joséphina and Naomi." Namjoon's voice cut through, not like a knife, but something decidedly softer. It was hard to pull my gaze away from the model knowing that breathtaking smile was for me, but it was equally as hard not to turn and look at Namjoon when he'd spoken up. "Joséphina, Naomi, this is Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi. You already know Taehyung."

Jimin was the one laid across two of their laps, looking up at us with soft brown eyes, his blonde hair fanned around him like a halo, enviable lips still captured in a smile from his previous laughter. He was soft, pale, doing nothing and yet still managing to look like a creature not of this world. His flowy creme colored blouse was sparsely buttoned, showing off the gentle musculature of his upper chest and the smooth expanses of his lower abdomen, paired with black leather pants that hugged the contours of his thighs with the embrace of a lover. Jimin walked a masterful line between feminine and masculine, a command of androgyny most others could only dream of, and looking as they did in that moment, drew on a small novel of illicit thoughts I both had no idea from whence they came, and desperately hoped no one else could see.

With their arms around Taehyung was Hoseok, a head of fluffy, wavy hair falling over smiling eyes and high cheek bones. He'd had a smile directed towards the other three men, a soft, adoring grin that didn't completely overtake his face, but still carried with it a love so deep it felt impolite to have witnessed it. He rubbed his hand against Taehyung's chest, fingers so pretty they almost dared to make me self conscious of my own, accompanied by a single ring on each hand and a watch that screamed money. His yellow sweater complimented his complexion in a way very few could claim, the bright top matched to a pair of flared jeans with small embroidered designs and cute blue socks with rubber duckies. His was a beauty that didn't scream for attention, not like Jimin, but drew you in and demanded deep reverie, like a watercolor; The more you stared at him, the more beauty he relinquished onto you.

The last of the men, Yoongi, was the most analytically—much like Taehyung had been our first meeting—looking over the both of us with calculating eyes. They didn't feel hostile, if maybe a little intrusive, but where Taehyung had been trying to peel me apart, layer by layer, Yoongi seemed to just be absorbing the information I readily gave. His eyes were like obsidian pools, swimming with undisclosed thoughts I desperately wanted to know. His soft features seemed in direct contrast with the more hard look his face portrayed, neither angry or aggressive, simply passive, his dark hair stark against his pale skin, both clinging to his neck and face while wisping out at the ends like small sprouts. He wore a large corduroy button down and blue jeans with a Cuban link peaking out from behind his collar. Besides Namjoon in his white tee and black jeans, Yoongi was the most casually dressed of the group, and yet he wore it so well, it might as well have been couture.

That calling I'd felt was stronger now. Stronger than it had been with Namjoon, stronger than it had been with Taehyung, almost like a drumming, rather than a hum. I suppressed the urge to connect, because I knew myself well enough to know that, even though everything had gone over smoothly with Namjoon, any more first contacts at this moment in time would send me crashing in a way I could not recover from—breaking down in front of one of them was bad enough.

"I'm gonna go get Jungkook and Seokjin,"Namjoon pointed in the direction of the kitchen, lifting the bags with the drinks and the desserts, "and put these in the fridge. Feel free to sit down."

Jo grabbed my hand and pulled us down into the family-room as Namjoon walked off towards the kitchen. I tried to make it so they'd act as a barrier between me and the rest of the couch, but Josie pushed me into the sectional before I could even think to do so, right next to Hoseok, who looked genuinely amused by my spouses manhandling. I, on the other hand, was not, for multiple reasons, including, but not limited to, the fact that I was currently holding our hand bags and did not have a proper free hand to catch myself. I landed partially on my side, setting the bags in the space between Hoseok and I so I could push myself up—and to act as the buffer my wife had not.

It burned, sitting next to him, not anything painful—not yet—just uncomfortable, a low heat that sent chemical messages to my brain and made my hand twitch. I grabbed Joséphina's hand as soon as they sat down, threading my fingers through theirs the best I could with our many accumulated rings. They happily accepted, a comfort I think the both of us need in that moment.

The four of them untangled themselves from one another; Jimin sat up between Taehyung and Yoongi, Hoseok dropped his arms from around Taehyung's shoulders, and they all moved apart half and inch or so. Hoseok crossed one leg over the other, his left hand firmly on his knee, his right arm thrown over the back of the couch, fingers drumming against the cushion. Taehyung threw his left ankle over his knee, both hands holding onto the joint as he wagged his foot back and forth while Jimin planted one foot onto the couch and crossed the other underneath, turning slightly onto his side so his body was facing in my direction. Yoongi also crossed his legs, leaning forward with his elbow on his thigh, his head in his hand, eyes down cast at the sofa where he rubbed his palm against the soft leather.

"Naomi," Hoseok started, "you work at SLA?" The arm he'd tossed over the back of the sofa was dangerously close to my shoulder, bringing with it little sparks like static electricity.

I nodded, turning so I was facing him and the rest of the couch better, and my body was just slightly further from his reach. "Mhm. I'm a stylist with the exchange," I explained, painfully aware of the way he'd leaned in slightly, all his attention zeroed in on me. "What do you do?"

"Write," was his simple answer, though he looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words to do so. He looked over at Yoongi, who'd still been focused in on the cushion below him, but looked up the second Hoseok had looked at him.

"He write poetry, and small- small stories." Like much of Yoongi, his voice did not completely match how he looked. It was deeper, more gravelly. The only part that made sense to me at that moment was the softness with which he spoke.

"And what about you?" Jo cut in, drawing the razor sharp focus of all eight eyes away from me and towards themselves. I hadn't realized it at the time, but the second they were no longer locked in on me, I pulled in a lung-full of air to my tightening chest.

"Uh, I.. make houses, draw them. Like this," he gestured to the house around us. "And furniture. I put furniture in."

"Ah, architecture and interior design." They mused, interest piqued, and a million-and-one questions I knew were just swimming around in that brain of theirs. Mention anything remotely art related and you'd never get them quiet.

Yoongi made a face, the corner of his lip quirking upward, his brows furrowing. "I don't know that word."

Josie looked at me, hoping I might be able to translate, but I just shrugged. They made a face in turn, their lips pouted. "Hand me my phone."

I grabbed their bag from beside me, lifting the latch to pull their phone out and hand it to them. Conversation stalled as they looked for a translation, typing their answer into the device, then letting the automated voice read out the translation for the group to hear.

"Architecture and interior design."

He nodded. "Yes."

"And you made this house?" I asked, to which he nodded again.

"Yes."

"It's beautiful, you did a very good job."

His lip twitched into a half smile and he looked back down at the couch. "Thank you."

His shyness was cute, it was endearing, it made my head fuzzy and my heart swoon. I loved extroverted personalities, I loved people who were loud, confident, who could lead a conversation with no problem and fill in the silence when I couldn't, but there was something about shy personalities, about making people feel shy, that gave me such a power trip, that egged on a more sadistic side of me that just wanted to see how flustered I could get the other person. It was like a trigger, and once it'd been flipped, it was very hard to shut down, but with how easily that desire to fluster people turned flirty, I tried and stomped that feeling out as quickly as it popped up.

Bad Naomi, bad.

"And you Jimin, what do you do?" I turned my attention away from the dark haired man, hoping the change in persons would help my impulse control. It did, a little, but my threshold for control was significantly impaired by the ever growing desire to complete the soul bond. It burned brighter, hotter, every second with these men testing my composure.

"Hair," he mimed at his hair, words ringing out on a voice as fae-like as he. "Face," he waved at his face.

"Do you also work at SLA?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, a salon. A friend opened it up a few years after school and asked me to come work there."

I didn't get the chance to respond before Namjoon walked back over to the room, two other men accompanying his this time. I felt them, long before I ever saw or heard them, turning around to face the new arrivals and being—unsurprisingly—floored by their attractiveness. The first had shorter hair, swept back to reveal the entirety of his face, and God was it a beautiful face. Full eyebrows, round, pouty lips, kind eyes that poorly hid a timidness that set my skin ablaze. His face was slightly flushed, I imagine from working in the kitchen, his skin kind of dewy from the warmth. A classically handsome man, someone you couldn't just walk past on the street without cursing God and praising them in the same breath. He looked like the kind of man you'd find in a romance novel, a white apron over a dark blue-gray button down and black slacks, the sleeves to his shirt rolled up to reveal forearms that betrayed a very active use of those particular muscles.

The second man looked slightly younger, large doe-like eyes, longer hair pulled back into a hair-tie. He had a boyishness to him that came off as cute, but clearly spelled trouble, and despite the very obvious sleeve of tattoos and the facial piercings, an air or innocence I all but knew was a lie. It was the eyes, wide and Bambi-ish, throwing you off and disguising a mischievous spirit he undoubtedly released when you'd least expect it. His Calvin Klein polo and light blue jeans, a preppy look I probably would have hated on someone else, but couldn't deny he pulled off seamlessly. He smiled, something polite and slightly apprehensive, and it tore right through me like a blade.

I couldn't decide, in that moment, if the universe loved or hated me, nor whether I loved or hated it. One obscenely handsome man, fine, okay, maybe our relationship is platonic, maybe it becomes romantic, either way, I'd eventually get over myself enough to accept the fact that he was just part of my life now. Two obscenely handsome men, you're pushing your luck, testing my patience, but I will figure it out. But seven?

It had gone from a hum, to a drum, to a horn, a small burn to a scorching inferno, a slight itch in the back of my skull to a desperate need. Hearing the call of five soul bonds all at once was deafening and debilitating, and despite how much I did not want to complete so many first contacts in such a short amount of time, it appeared I would no longer have a choice in the matter. It was no longer just a slight discomfort, now taking on the shape of a most distressing pain. I usually could deal with pain, but this was on a whole different level. It was like being burned out from the inside, and had I not been the one currently undergoing the experience, I would have found the phenomena fascinating.

Looking to alleviate the torture I'd unwittingly subjected myself to, I reached forward to brush my hand against Hoseok, hoping even just one complete bond would be enough to lessen the symptoms, and it was.

The painful, burning warmth was replaced by a much less intense heat, like basking in the glow of the sun on a nice, breezy day. The glow that spilled forth from our connection was almost brighter than the other two and seemed to have been coming from him, rather than just blanketing him. He was golden, Helios incarnate, and I could, in that moment, understand why someone would believe in the existence of Gods, because it almost felt blasphemous to assume someone like him, and something like this, was just an accident of nature.

The bonding was short lived, but the effects lingered—the sound of his calmly beating heart, the smell of sunshine and paper, the luminance of his skin—and the pain subsided long enough for me to hear my own thoughts again. I hadn't realized just how tightly I'd been clutching onto Josie's hand until I loosened my grip and the muscles cramped, and my finger stung from where their and my rings had dug into them.

"Sorry," I whispered, bringing their hand up to my lips in apology.

Jo took their unoccupied hand and patted the top of mine to reassure me all was well. They smiled, but there was a glimmer of gloom behind it that told me no, everything was not well.

"Naomi, Joséphina—Seokjin, Jungkook." I'd looked back up as Namjoon introduced the two new men, putting names to the face of the YA love interest and the assumed troublemaker.

"Nice to meet you," Seokjin greeted, bowing politely and extended his hand out for a shake. Namjoon, stood beside him, pushed the proffered appendage down before either of us could move to clasp our hands together, quickly rushing out a whispered sentence to the man I could not hear from where I sat. Seokjin nodded to whatever the other man had said, offering a simple, "Sorry," in response.

Jungkook also bowed, forgoing the attempt at a handshake. "Nice to meet you."

I nodded to them both, unsure where to put my eyes between the three of them. Namjoon, his arms folded over his chest, jaw flexed as he looked to be seeing through this world into another; Seokjin, hands shoved in his pockets, looking from me to the four men on the couch; Jungkook, one hand on his hip, the other laying limp by his side as he stared at the floor.

Namjoon took in a sharp breath, suddenly brought back to the moment. "Dinner's ready." He dropped his arms, repeated what he said in Korean, then waited as everyone else began getting up and filtering out of the room.

Josie pulled me up with them, following after the group of men as they made their way to the dining room. Seokjin and Jungkook broke off to the kitchen, presumably to bring the food, while everyone else effortlessly fell into place around the table. It was an orange hue of wood, long, with thin round legs and matching chairs. The table housed enough room for a party of 12, low, curved chairs with deep blue-green cushions on the seat and a circular area rug underfoot in a similar shade. They had a large glass pendent light hanging over head, funnily shaped, like dripping glass—amber, neon orange, and maroon. There were windows over almost the entirety of two walls, the third with three abstract paintings. A large leafy plant—a Kentia Palm—sat in a pot the color of oxidized copper, tucked into the corner of the two windowed walls, the only other decorative item in the room.

I sat in the center seat, facing the windows, Taehyung to my left, Jo to my right, Namjoon and Hoseok to the right of them. On the opposite side of the table sat Yoongi and Jimin, two empty seats to Yoongi's right, one to Jimin's left. The table had been set, ceramic dishware with caramel brown and cobalt blue marbling, copper tinged silverware with small spherical grips, dark wooden chopsticks, cloth napkins acting as place mats. Wine glasses with blue stems, water glasses with blue bases, everything set up like you'd find in a high end restaurant, perfectly placed, all without flaw. I briefly wondered if they'd brought all this out for tonight, or if their table usually looked like this. I don't know which would have been better.

"I love these plates," Joséphina gushed, picking theirs up, twisting and turning it under the light. "Are they hand made ?" They asked.

"They are. They were a gift from one of Jin's old chefs after he opened his restaurant," Namjoon explained.

"Do you know where they got them from?"

"I can't remember, I'll have to ask Jin."

Jo set the plate down. "Honestly, this whole place setting is gorgeous. Very visually appealing. Same with this dining room," they looked up and pointed, "I love that light."

"Thank you."

We slipped into a silence, nothing to oppressive, but teeming with a million unasked and unsaid things. It was, thankfully, short lived, as Seokjin and Jungkook came around the corner carrying bowls and plates of food. Jimin and Hoseok, the closest to the two of them, jumped up from their seats to help place the dishes down before disappearing with them to get the rest of the food. The smells were mouth watering, called upon a hunger neglected under the excitement. Baked salmon, topped with lemon and basil and dill, grilled asparagus, stake drizzled in a sweet, tangy marinade, dark, flavorful smelling lamb chops, a tea colored broth with bean spouts and onions, a large pot of rice, spinach and cheese stuffed mushrooms, a bowl of kimchi, marinated eggs and spicy bok choy. They'd brought out several different wines and a pitcher of cold water. I waited, impatiently, for the set up to be finished and the four of them to take their seats, watching for the first person to start loading up their plate before picking my way through the spread. I was a little paralyzed with choice, not sure where I wanted to start and what to pair with what.

"Do this one first," Taehyung suggested, pointing to the tower of lamb chops. "Seokjinnie specialty."

I took his advise, pulling the most easily accessible piece of meat onto my plate, earning a smile in response. He then took it upon himself to point out what side dishes I should try first as well, and even poured one of the wines in my glass for me. It was aromatic, fruity, a little spicy in smell, tasted like plums and something woody. The lamb was robust, hints of garlic and rosemary, perfectly seared and crispy while still moist and soft to chew. It was one of the best lamb chops I'd ever had—second, only to my mothers—a masterful execution of one of my favorite foods. The noises I made were borderline sexual, though I sincerely doubt anyone who'd had the lamb could fault me my excitement.

Beside me, Taehyung laughed. "Good?"

I sighed. "So fucking good." I looked to Seokjin across from me to repeat the sentiment. "So good."

He smiled shyly, pink lips pulled back to reveal a row of white teeth as he bowed his head. "Thank you."

Conversation around the table flowed easily at this point, food and drink loosening the group up and offering the perfect platform for natural comfortability to form. Taehyung and I had formed our own little bubble, him suggesting what to eat, what to eat it with, me responding in a fashion not unlike that one ridiculous anime. Josie had found comradery with Namjoon and Jimin, discussing the latter's work as a cosmetologist, raving about art and poetry with the former. Hoseok and Jungkook laughed and joked across the table with Seokjin and Yoongi, things I was not privy to, but nonetheless enjoyable to watch unfold amongst them.

I was getting to witness, in real time, what a life with these men in it could look like. It might not have been the full picture—I had yet to see how they responded to conflict, I couldn't predict how our families or friends would interact, and I was still unaware of what they expected of our relationship—but it was enough to quell some of my more present concerns. I knew, at the very least, that Jo could get along with them, and that mattered the most.

"How did you guys meet?" Namjoon asked. His voice cut through the multitude of overlapping conversations, pulling the attention of everyone in the room onto a singular topic of interest.

I could feel Jo physically light up beside me. "We met in elementary school, at a park." They spoke with a soft enthusiasm, looking over at me as they started off the story.

"I was swinging by myself. Jo thought I looked lonely and they came over to play with me," I added, calling on the memory with a fondness not even I could keep off my face.

Little 7 year old me, perfectly content in my own little world, kicking my legs through the air as I pushed myself higher and higher. Joséphina, 9 years old, chasing another kid around the play structure, the biggest grin on their tan, freckled face. They'd looked over, seen this gangly limbed little girl swinging by herself and thought 'they look like they could use a friend'. I did, though I'd never admit it, and Jo got on the swing next to me and introduced themselves.

"We kept meeting at the park and were fast friends. We started having play dates, first at her house, then at mine. We went to different schools, but in middle school, Naomi got a scholarship and was transferred to the same school as me," Josie continued, laughing to themselves as they were reminded of the more intricate details.

I'd been so excited when I got that scholarship. I called Josie right away, twirling the cord to the landline as I patiently waited for the call to be picked up, politely asking the receiver on the other end if they could put Joséphina on. I was so excited I could barely get the words out, and they'd squealed so loud when I told them the news I thought my ear drum would burst.

"It was a private catholic school," I elaborated, "my parents couldn't have afforded it on their own, but my scholarship covered most of the tuition. Joséphina's family are basically New York royalty, so they could afford it no problem."

"It was an all girls middle and high school, so of course, it was a perfect nightmare for a closest lesbian," They added, a teasing glimmer in their eyes, the shadow of a smirk on their lips. "And then it was a candy store."

Rachel Townsend, Olivia Yarrow, Tanisha Jones, and Sarah Forester. The prettiest girls in Jo's grade, the first in a long line of sexual conquest they had no qualms relaying to me. I would listen to those stories with apt attention and enough jealousy to turn anyone else green. It didn't take me long to realize I was in love with Josie, but I kept those feelings squarely locked away in fear of ruining the only actual friendship I had.

I rolled my eyes. "Josie was a slut in high school. I was very much not and hadn't dated anyone till Jo."

"We got together her senior year. Naomi had come out to her parents her freshman year and I had come out a year or so later. My mom was so pissed when I came out to her. Said it was because of Naomi, that she'd poisoned me, and tried to forbid me from talking to her."

My parents had been accepting in the way confused African parents were. They loved me, and I was their daughter, but they still quietly—and sometimes, not so quietly—hoped my bisexuality would lead me to a good, christian man. And, because my mom was who she was, my coming out had the made the gossip circuit in no time at all. I had aunties and cousins coming to me with questions, advice, the occasional prayer for my soul. People we thought were our friends turned on us, shunned us for fear my gay would some how rub off on them or their children. Xiomara De Navarro had been one of those people. She hadn't been as outright as others, still pretended to tolerate me for my friendship to Jo and general appearances, but when Joséphina came out—first as a lesbian, then as non-binary—all bets were off.

She'd tried, at one point, to get me kicked out of the school, but was quickly rebutted when Sister Mary Margaret reminded her that only one of us had previously been caught with their hands down a fellow classmates, and it hadn't been me. We got a good laugh out of that, me and Josie.

"Obviously, that didn't work. We started dating, were together for 4 years when they proposed, and got married the following year."

Josie was a classic romantic. They re-watched The Notebook at least once a year and kept their literature pretty strictly to the cheesy novella genre. When they'd proposed, it'd started out with a vacation to Mykonos, a little bit of site seeing, a boat ride at sunset, then a pavilion dinner on the beach. They'd kept me occupied with good food and better wine, buttered me up with baklava and ice cream, and then while we danced to a four string rendition of Sade's 'No Ordinary Love', they'd pulled out a a single band ring with a princess cut diamond and asked me to marry them. I, not a classic romantic, glared at them from behind a wall of tears and told them they were stupid and cheesy and had ruined my own plan to propose to them as I took the ring and slid it on my finger. My plan—in hindsight—paled in comparison to Joséphina's, but I was still salty to have had it undermined.

Namjoon translated the story for the rest of the table, stopping to let us talk before repeating it all in Korean. They all followed the story along with rapt attention, smiling at some parts, nodding along empathetically at others. It wasn't a long, or particularly interesting story, but it was ours, and I wouldn't trade it for all the glitz and glamour in the world. Joséphina was my heart.

"You guys aren't soulmates?" Taehyung asked at the end of the anecdote. He looked at us with genuine amazement, the idea that two people who weren't predetermined to be together could love and care for each other as deeply as we had.

I shook my head. "Nope. Just two lifelong friends who fell in love." Jo patted my leg under the table and I threaded my finger back through theirs. "None of that really matters to me, anyway. They might not be my soulmate in the traditional sense, but they are in all the ways that matter."

That earned me a smile. Not the one they put on for company, or the kind they got when talking about their interest, but a heart stopping, full faced, love oozing kind of smile that they reserved only for me. I was glad to have seen it—especially with my concerns regarding their comfortability in this particular setting. It took over every inch of their perfect face, and had it not been for the public setting and the new acquaintances, I would have leaned in to kiss them. I still thought about doing it anyway. But PDA for me started and ended with hand holding and hugs, and the thought of kissing my spouse in front of my soulmates made my stomach turn. I wouldn't look too deep into that.

When I looked way from Jo, the table around us sported an array of expressions. Some were soft, the kind you have watching a rom-com or seeing an old couple out in public. Others were more reserved, like they weren't sure what the appropriate reactions was, or they simply didn't care. I couldn't see how Hoseok or Namjoon had reacted, but I could feel it. Behind the more forward awe and general disinterest, they and Taehyung also carried with them the withering bite of jealousy. Hoseok felt shame for that jealousy and tried hard to bury it underneath his more front facing emotions, but our recently formed bond did not let anything go unnoticed. Namjoon wasn't entirely aware of the emotion, or he was comfortable enough in his own feelings to acknowledge it and not be bothered. But Taehyung was less in control than the other two, and his jealousy tacked on to resentment and rejection.

I couldn't decide whether that jealousy was fair. If it had been me in their shoes, watching my soulmate fawn over some unattached person, I'm not sure how I'd have felt either. I figured it was just more of the woo-woo soulmate stuff and my general apprehension to the emotions of it all, but I did feel kind of bad for them. Because, here I was, so open and willing to love on a person to whom my path crossed by chance and coincidence alone, meanwhile, my soulmates were literally inches away and I had no apparent interest in feeling for them the way I felt for my spouse.

"How did you all meet?" I blurted out, hoping to pull focus from Jo and my's relationship.

"That is, uh," Namjoon laughed, "a very long story." He repeated the question in Korean for the men who couldn't understand, taking a beat to allow the answers to start forming around the table.

"I met Taehyung first—we lived in same city," Yoongi started. "We bumped into each other while we were out with friends. He'd just turned 18 and was celebrating—I was coming back from a record store. One of the records broke when we hit each other, he was very sorry, bought me a new one," His voice was even, borderline uninterested, but his eyes betrayed his adoration for his soulmate. He looked across the table to Taehyung, whose own affection I could feel pouring out of him like sweet, golden honey.

"Around that same time I also met Taehyung. We met on the first day of university." Jimin looked over at Taehyung with a lovely smile, then back at Jo and me. "He looked so excited to be there, and I thought he was just the cutest. I went up to talk to him and ask for his number and when we were passing our phones to one another, our hands touched. We met Hoseok a few weeks later when a few of our mutual friends invited us out for Karaoke. I already knew, just looking at him, that he was my soulmate. Tae and I tried getting his attention all night, but he was ignoring us."

"I wasn't ignoring you, you know that!" Hoseok cut in. "I was there with my girlfriend at the time," he started explaining, "and I thought I just thought they were cute. I also hadn't told anyone there that I was into guys, so I was trying not to stare or be near them because I didn't want anyone to know."

"That's literally what ignoring someone means!" Jimin laughed. It was a sweet laugh, full bodied, rang like the clearest bells. He threw his head back and clutched his chest, his face full of amusement and glee. "We made plans to go to one of the guys apartments to drink, and Hoseok's girlfriend and some of her friends decided to leave then," he continued. "Hobi can't drink very well, he gets real quiet and sort of zones out. I thought something was wrong and went over to check on him, and when I touched his shoulder we bonded."

"The three of us left together, to talk, and I bonded with Hobi." Taehyung added in.

"I met Yoongi in an elective class. I wasn't as open to the idea of him being my soulmate as he was being mine. I didn't know that's what he was at the time, just that I felt weird about him, so I avoided him for weeks," Namjoon began, his voice taking on a more sullen tone as he recalled their first meeting. "We got assigned to work together on an assignment in class, he asked to borrow a pencil and we bonded." I could tell there was more to that story, just from the way Yoongi looked in his direction, from the tone of his voice and the heaviness he felt. I didn't press the issue, and I wasn't going to, mostly because I had a pretty good idea of where that story went.

"Me and Seokjinnie met while he was working at as a waiter near our university." Hoseok pulled my attention away from the more somber mood of Namjoon's tale, his upbeat voice cutting through the melancholy before it had a chance to settle in the room. "I introduced him to Jimin and Tae. It wasn't until almost year later we met Namjoon and Yoongi at one of Yoongi's basket ball games."

"I met Jungkook while he was touring the campus. He's the youngest, so we were all already attending university and pretty close to one another when he showed up. I had been late to a class because I'd forgotten to plug my phone in the night before and my alarm didn't go off, so I was running across campus and not paying attention. Almost knocked him over." Seokjin finished the tale with a laugh, a completely unique and charming sound that made the startlingly beautiful man seem less untouchable and more human. I liked his laugh.

"Did you guys starting dating right away?" Josie asked. They'd cleared their plate during the retelling of events, and clearly not interested in eating anymore, they'd elected to drawing shapes with their chopsticks in the leftover sauce from the steak.

"No." I could see Namjoon shake his head from over top Joséphina's. "Jimin and Hoseok started dating first, almost as soon as they met, then Yoongi after they met him. Seokjin and Taehyung got together and then they all got together less than a year later. Me and Jungkook were last. I didn't officially start dating them until, about, three years ago? And our relationship with Jungkook turned romantic around a year ago."

Everyone had more or less finished eating around this point. Seokjin declared that it was time for dessert, so Josie hopped up to help with their cakes. Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok charged themselves with clearing the table, the three of them working quickly and diligently to clean up while Yoongi suggested the rest of us head back to the family room. It was at this point that that burning need to finish incomplete bonds had fired back up, and I followed after the three of them in silent contemplation. If Namjoon and Taehyung had noticed—which I'm sure they had—neither seemed in any hurry to mention it.

"How are you enjoying your stay in Korea?" Taehyung asked, falling onto the sofa in a manner that looked too elegant fro the fashion in which he threw himself, grabbing a tossed aside pillow and holding it over his lap.

I understood enough to respond back with a simple, "It's good," but when none of the men on the couch seemed impressed with my answer, I followed it up. "I haven't had a lot of time to explore. When I got here, I only had a few days before I started work and spent all of them sleeping and unpacking. Yesterday I went from work to home and spent the night in with JoJo. Today is the first day I've properly left the house."

They all sat with my answer for a minute, Yoongi and Namjoon nodding along attentively, Taehyung waiting for one of them to translate it to him in full.

"Maybe this weekend we can go out and do something together." Taehyung looked at me with reserved excitement, unsure whether I would accept his offer, but desperately hoping I would.

I think it shocked the both of us when I replied with a simple, "Sure."

"How long is your contract here?"

I turned toward Yoongi—we were sitting beside each other, with me closest to the stairs, Taehyung beside him, and Namjoon the furthest back. "Three months. Afterwards, all the international employees fly back home and we instruct our corresponding branches with what we learned, see if we can't implement it into how we already work or use it to make future collaborations more seamless."

It got quiet. My answer sat heavy in the air. The finality of this arrangement had not yet occurred to some, and speaking it out loud made me feel ill. That absurdity I felt at my attachment to these men, so soon into meeting them, returned ten-fold. Three months was plenty of time to get to know someone and a perfectly reasonable time frame in which to hurry my ass back home, but it suddenly felt too little for what we needed. And what we needed was a life time.

"There's a lot we can do while you are here," Yoongi spoke up as he attempted to cut through the heavy stench of doom permeating the room.

"It's too cold for a lot of the popular tourist stuff, but we can go skating, or skiing. We're going to a resort in Busan over New Years. You could come with us," Namjoon jumped in, leaning forward to meet my eye as he offered the invitation. "You and Joséphina," he added.

Yoongi acted the translator for Taehyung this time, the model getting visibly excited at the suggestion for the resort. "Yes!" He agreed, nodding enthusiastically. "We're renting a condo. You guys can stay with us."

"I'll… ask Jo." I wanted to say yes right there, but that felt neither wise nor fair.

"Ask me what?"

Jo looked light hearted and joyous, the residual effects of laughter spilling forth from their face. With them, Hoseok and Jimin looked equally as amused, the two of them talking to each other in hushed tones with Jungkook and Seokjin taking up the rear, a more concealed mirth on their faces. The five of them had come back with dessert, Jungkook carrying both the cakes, Seokjin and Hoseok carrying plates, glasses and silverware, and Jimin and Jo each carrying a bottle of wine. They all wandered down into the family room, setting the coffee table before finding their place on the couch.

With the seven of them all there now, the seating resembled much of how it had looked when just the four men were sitting together earlier—tangled limbs, clasped hands, a general closeness and comfort among them all. It wasn't as touchy-feely as it had been earlier, but there was a definite shift in comfortability. The food and conversation we'd shared had helped break down some of the barriers between friends and strangers, allowing the seven of them to feel at ease enough to showcase intimacy and physical affection with me and Josie in the room. Jungkook clung onto Hoseok like a koala bear, arms around his shoulders, knees pressed up against his thighs, his head leaned up against Hoseok's. Jimin had his leg thrown over Taehyung's, and his hand planted firmly on Yoongi's thigh. Taehyung had his arm around Jimin's waist, and Yoongi was playing with Jimin's hair. The most tame in their affections were Namjoon in Jin, sitting so close the latter was almost in the former's lap, their fingers interlocked, and their hands resting against Seokjin's thigh.

"Uh, they were just inviting us to spend the New Years with them, at a resort," I explained, letting my hand slip into Jo's, despite the little bit of jealousy the small gesture stirred up in the room. "I was saying I needed to check in with you, before I could agree to anything."

Jungkook dislodged himself from around Hoseok, dropping to floor so he could reach the table and prepare himself a plate of cake and pour a glass of wine.

Josie hummed. "Well, I uh, I don't see why not. It's not like we have anything else planned right now."

"It's still a few months out." Namjoon followed Jungkook's lead, leaning forward to get himself a slice. "You don't have to agree to anything right now."

"No," Joséphina interjected, shaking their head. "It's a good idea for you guys to spend as much time together while we're still here."

Continuing the role as interpreter, Yoongi repeated what Josie had said, hesitating slowly over, while we're still here, as he braced for the distress that would follow as we were reminded, once more, of the temporariness of our situation. In just three short months, I'll be back in New York, and they'll be here, with oceans and great amounts of time between us. Even without the transparency of the bond to declare what they were feeling with startling clarity, I could see the revelation had affected the rest of my not-yet bonded soulmates. That fact hung heavy in the room for the rest of the night, always there, inadvertently directing the course of the evening.

The conversations were more communal, the topics more wide spread and probing—When's your birthday? Where were you born? What's your favorite color? Have you seen this movie? Do you know this artist? You should go here! We should go here! Have you ever been here? The evening stretched on, and on, and on, and before any of us even knew what had happened, it was 1 am. Seokjin had cussed and run up the stairs, only for Yoongi to explain he had work at five and should have been to bed hours ago. Everyone else began following suit, me and Jo collecting our belongings as we said our goodbyes and made for the door. Namjoon and Yoongi, both the most sober and in need of the least sleep, followed the two of us out to the car.

Be it the alcohol, or the soulmate bond, or a strange mix of both, I found myself hugging the two men in farewell. Namjoon was big, and warm, only an inch or two shorter than me in my heels, and when I hugged him, that same scent of dirt and tea clung to my clothes and my skin. He was polite, kept his hands to my upper back, didn't let the entirety of his body press against my own, but even still, he melted into the embrace. When we let go, an emptiness crept in, like a chill that refused to go away. I quickly counteracted by hugging Yoongi who was surprised by the sudden affection, his arms laying limp at his side before slowly coming up to return the hug. He wasn't as big as Namjoon, or as warm, his touch was feather-light and barely there, but I would probably count it as one of the best hugs I ever had.

My eyes were closed, but I could still see the faint traces of light that silhouetted our bodies. It was like the shape of him had been burned into the back of eyelids. Where Namjoon had been gentle lapping waves, Yoongi was a still ocean at night, the silvery visage of the moon reflecting off the calm surface in a incandescence that cut through the dark. Where Hoseok was brilliant gold, he was noble silver, soft and steadfast. He smelt sweet, like cedar, with undertones of leather and paper and ink. It pooled up from his pours and stained his skin, his hair, his clothes.

There was a contentment I felt in his arms, a safety and comfort that dispelled any notion of tears that might have dared dislodge themselves in his presence. More than just the calm sea, he was the light house up on the rocks, warning sailors away from peril. I felt as if there wasn't a thing I had to worry about, so long as he was there to chase away the dark.

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note: This took so much longer than I thought it would. I was pretty sure I was gonna be able to get it done on the 25th but then it went on much, much longer. The chapters following are gonna be closer to this length, so be prepared for that, I guess. Also, this has not been edited or reviewed very much, so mistakes will be made.