ara

thinking about reverse cowgirl with heeseung has gotta hit. swears on his life there’s no better sight than when you’re riding him like your own fucktoy. he also loves this position because it means you get to work for it whilst he gets to be lazy and enjoy the view. his head falls back and eyes rolled as your cunt squeezes around his throbbing cock every time you sink down to the hilt. he's so pussydrunk on you. your ass flushed against him as the squelch of your pussy has the tips of his ears flushed red and lips bitten raw. sounds like music to his ears. a creamy ring forms at the base of his cock and no matter how much his eyes are fluttering at the tight pleasure, heeseung still focuses on the way the fat of your ass jiggles with each bounce, groping a handful as he smacks it, making you cry out each time. he's obsessed with your fucked out state. and when you start to slow down and slump forward, heeseung doesn’t hesitate to fuck up back into your sloppy cunt, one hand now reaching for your hair to tangle in as he ruts up into you. pulling your hair back so he can groan the most nastiest filth into your ears as he kisses and bites all around your neck, a sheen of sweat covering you both as he fucks into you at a relentless pace. tells you how pretty you look, cooing at you, making fun of your breathless whines because you literally cannot breathe with the way this man is bullying your pussy thorough. vision blurring as his cock scrapes against your gummy walls so good. your moans coming out in choked sobs as his hands roam all over your tits, ass, waist, everything and anywhere he can reach. squeezing and slapping the supple skin before pinning you down seated on his thick length to cum thick white ropes deep into your cunt 𖹭

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The office wasn’t extraordinarily big but it was an undeniable upgrade from the dingy grey cubicle you’d been calling your home for the past 2 years. You remember exactly what it felt like to move into that cubicle, especially because you’re having the exact same feeling as you stare at your empty office. You’d gotten an internship at Hybe Corporation under BigHit about two years ago. Through many changes, firings, and quittings, you’d been promoted due to necessity — but now, you’d been promoted because of your own merit.

The pen you’d used to sign under Belift Lab as a public relations manager for their model: EVAN. You’d learnt, while doing your research for the presentation, that his real name was Lee Heeseung and he’d been contracted under Belift Lab in 2020 for modeling alongside six others. 

You walked past the boxes you’d yet to unpack and pulled out your laptop. Opening the messages you wrote out a text to Heeseung, informing him of the change.

You: Good morning, Mr. Lee Heeseung. My name is L/N Y/N and I’ll be your new PR Manager starting today. I’ll be contacting brands today in order to schedule gigs for you by the end of the week. If you have any questions or would like to meet to discuss anything, please let me know.

The message was strictly professional and maybe that's what pulled you into a bird’s eye state of consciousness. This was uncanny — both foreign and familiar — drafting a professional message to send to a client, yet this time you weren’t drafting it with someone else’s name attached. Your heart beat rapidly as you hit the send button, waiting to make sure it went through, before leaving your desk and opening one of the many filled boxes. 

The sunset behind the clouds somewhere between setting up a personal printer and desperately searching for your laptop charger. The day having been spent setting up your new office and sending exactly one message, a message which was finally being answered only eight hours later. 

Lee Heeseung: Good evening, sorry for the late reply. I’d like to meet with you if it’s possible? 

Your brows furrowed slightly. You’d worked with plenty of models before, you’d contacted a handful too, none of them came across with the gentleness that Heeseung did. Nowhere was the demanding quality that texts were typically sent in. But of course, this was only the first text, things could change.

You: Of course. Let’s meet at 12:00 o’clock at Daydream Cafe. Does this work?

It was a silly question, you had Heeseung’s schedule — it was full of empty boxes.

Lee Heeseung: Yes, perfect. Thank you.

You: I’ll see you there Mr. Lee.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Working under BigHit, you’d seen many pretty faces. Worked quite close to some of them too, but time seemed to slow down like it was treading through a vat of honey. The pictures didn’t quite do him justice, the cameras couldn’t quite capture his dimension. It should’ve embarrassed you at how hard you were staring — and it did, when you ran it over in your head before falling asleep that night — but in the moment, all you could think about was how beautiful Lee Heeseung was. The way the afternoon sun piercing through the glass windows cast a halo around his silhouette, how his simple outfit seemed to only highlight the natural beauty of his face, and how his eyes looked so wide, and so lost, and so breathtaking as he looked around the cafe.

And it dawned on you: he doesn’t know what you look like.

“Uh,” The legs of your chair scraped obnoxiously on the floor, “Mr. Lee! Hi, I’m sorry I hadn’t realized you don’t know what I look like.” 

His gentle eyes bore into yours; it drew a nervous laugh like water from a well and it painted blush on your cheeks in Alazarin Crimson.

“Oh, hi.” It was embarrassing, how his smile made your heart stutter off beat. 

You noted the fresh makeup resting on his face. 

“Were you at a shoot?”

“Huh?” His eyes shone with innocent confusion. “Uh, well, I made an Instagram account and I needed something to post so… I scheduled something last week.”

You gestured for Heeseung to take a seat across from you. 

“What do you mean? Shouldn’t your PR manager have done the scheduling for you?”

Those eyes which had held yours the whole time suddenly dropped, unable to look in your direction. His jaw was defined in the way a man’s only does when he’s holding back his influx of emotion. You heard the air shift as he breathed deeply.

“I haven’t had one… for a while.”

“What do you mean you ‘haven’t had one for a while’? Who’s been managing you?”

The constant chatter of the cafe hadn’t diminished, hadn’t silenced, hadn’t increased, and yet it felt entirely too quiet with Heeseung’s lack of response. 

“Uh hey,” His voice, though soft, demanded your audience, “Let me grab a drink quickly and then I want to ask you about something.”

You pulled out your fresh, shiny, new company card and handed it over to him without hesitation. “I’d love to say it’s on me, but it’s actually on Lee Jaesang. Go crazy.”

Your smug smile was returned with an impressed one — and any tension you felt earlier dissipated in the exchange of a credit card. 

Talking with Heeseung came much more naturally than you’d expected. Maybe that was because he wore his heart on his sleeve or because your friendly nature had dropped his guard. Whatever the case, as soon as you told him that you’d like to manage his career with consideration of his goals for himself, his eyes held you in the same awe as if you had hung the stars just for him. 

“So, to get this straight,” Your favorite pen — Black Pilot G-2 0.7 — smoothly glided across your small notebook, “You’ve been managing your own social media accounts for the past two weeks because your contract changed?”

His throat worked around a swallow, “Yeah, yeah that’s right.” He nodded. 

“Right.” You flipped your notebook back a page, “I have notes from your previous manager. He had a detailed plan for you, including partnerships with major brands! I greenlighted them yesterday since your schedule seemed to be empty.”

Engrossed in your notes, you failed to recognize the slight tremor in his hand when he set his iced americano down.

“Partnerships?” 

“Yeah! A lot of brands and magazines want to work with you, Mr. Lee.” 

“Uh, Heeseung. Heeseung is fine.”

You turned your head up to see his shy face in all its world-renowned glory. 

“Alright then, Heeseung,” You corrected, “I have a plane ticket to Shanghai for you for a gig.”

“Oh okay.” He fidgeted with his hands. 

“Yes, I lined you up with a brand deal for SimCare who loved your prior work with Joocyee. You’ll be a brand ambassador for them.” 

Heeseung smiled softly in an apprehensive kind of way. Which confused you more than you’d like to admit. Because Lee Heeseung doesn’t fit into the category you’d initially placed him in. 

Sure, you’d never worked under Belift Lab before but you’d worked with models. Ones just as popular, successful, and handsome as Heeseung is. They all carried an energy characterized in confidence that bordered on arrogance and a directness that bordered on inconsideration. And you’d seen Heeseung’s work, he was confident and rightfully so. He was impeccable at his job and entirely multifaceted — so maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that he was able to present himself as humble too. 

Perhaps you were too cynical for your own good but you didn’t want to believe that to be true. That Heeseung was different from the other models you’d spent assisting the management of. No you couldn’t believe it, not yet. Instead you just made a mental note to ask him about an acting career in the future. 

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The company car pulled up to the front of Heeseung’s apartment building at exactly 11:15, where the man of the hour had been waiting patiently. After throwing his luggage in the trunk, he opened the door and flinched back in surprise. 

“Oh… holy— you scared me.” He stuttered with a hand on his heart.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” You apologized, almost nonchalantly. 

“What are you doing here?” The door shut softly as he climbed in next to you.

“I’m headed to Shanghai as well. I have a couple PR teams that I wanted to meet with.”

“SimCare?” He asked, peeping over at your laptop which proudly displayed your Gmail account with the brightness all the way up.

It took you a second before you responded, your mind being too preoccupied with reading emails of nothingness.

“No, no. I won’t be at your shoot, I’ll be discussing things with other potential business partners.”

Heeseung nodded at your words, his fingers flexing against the knees of his black sweats. The car ride to the airport mainly consisted of the smooth jazz radio being harmonized by the clicking of your fingers against the laptop. It was only broken a couple of times, all by Heeseung himself. Like when he asked where your luggage was and you pointed to the small duffel bag at your feet. Judging by the look on his face, he was horrified at how little you’d packed. 

“It’s only a two hour flight.” You had explained; it did nothing to alleviate his concern.

He’d also asked who you’d be meeting with in Shanghai and where you’d be. You responded that that was confidential information. You let him simmer in the disappointment of unanswered questions before telling him:

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, Heeseung.”

The airport was crowded with fans, as usual, screaming Heeseung’s name at the top of their lungs and holding out letters as far as their arms could reach. This was the part of management that you never had to deal with. As an assistant, you got to sit behind a screen and answer emails or try not to roll your eyes every time you picked up the phone. Now, you walked alongside Heeseung’s body guards with heightened adrenaline — knowing all too well that the fans couldn’t care less about you if only you would walk out of the frame of their fancams.

You only released a breath of relief after sitting in the aisle seat of row 17 economy. As if TSA and departure times weren’t stressful enough, you had to worry about people following you — well, Heeseung.

Lee Heeseung: Hey where are you?

You read his message with the last bit of Wi-Fi the airport had to offer.

You: Row 17 aisle. Don’t worry, I’ll take you to your shoot when we arrive in Shanghai.

Your eyes fell closed as you listened to the whirring of the air conditioner overhead. Your mind raced with all the PR representatives that you’d be meeting with for the next several hours after the plane landed. A faint throbbing rose in the back of your head and your phone felt hot in your hand. You silently prayed that your boss wouldn’t send you another email before tomorrow; for both his and your own sanity. The flight was short and you’d never be able to fall asleep but closing your eyes was enough. Who knew management would be so stressful.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Shanghai was absolutely breathtaking. Seeing the city in person, standing beneath the buildings that reached toward the heavens, driving next to the water which glimmered in the afternoon sun —- it proved that pictures did not do her justice. The car dropped the two of you off at the hotel. Heeseung stood behind you, generously holding your duffel bag, as you checked into the hotel and handed him his keycard.

“I’ll be gone for a couple hours but if you need me, please text me or call me.” You hit floors seven and five. 

“We’re not on the same floor?” He asked.

“No, I’m on five.” You took the opportunity to take your duffel back from his hands, “Thank you for holding my bag, Heeseung.”

“No problem.” He cleared his throat softly.

“Oh also,” You glanced into his deep brown eyes, forcing yourself not to turn away from their gentleness, “Feel free to do whatever you want today but your shoot will start tomorrow at 9:00.” The elevator stopped and held itself in limbo before the doors opened. “Like I said, I’ll be there to drop you off at the site but I won’t stay. I’ll be in a meeting.”

“Right.” He nodded continuously, like he expected another topic to come up. Or maybe, that he wanted one to. “So then, will you be there to pick me up?”

“Uh…” The doors beeped angrily due to their inability to close with your body in the way. “If I’m not in a meeting then sure, I can come get you.”

“Okay, great.” He smiled softly. “Then I guess, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you at 8:00 in the lobby.”

His curled lips didn’t drop even as the doors closed between you. It took you just a moment to make the journey to your hotel room, with your brows furrowed and head trying to figure out the 181cm enigma that had been cast under your care. 

After three years of working with models — first as an intern, then as PR representative, then as a managing assistant — you thought it would have prepared you. You thought it had prepared you to manage a model on your own. Logistically, it had. You knew how to secure brand deals, negotiate contracts, schedule events, book travel and accommodations, hire security, and dodge questions that weren’t meant for certain ears. Logistically, you knew how to manage Lee Heeseung. 

But he wasn’t like the models you’d worked with before — at least outside of the studio. Albeit, you’ve never seen him in the studio, but where you used to tell models their flight details only to receive complaints or questions about their accommodations or comfort, Heeseung asked where you were, what you’d be doing, if you had time to pick him up. Why? 

You were his manager. All models need to care about is whether their manager is failing them or not; you weren’t wholly confident in your abilities to manage Heeseung but you knew for a fact you hadn’t failed in under 36 hours. Which is why his interest in your job left you confused and mildly irritated. Like you were being watched; like he was waiting to see if you failed.

And maybe that gentle smile you’d held with such fondness was more sinister than you initially thought.

Your phone rang as soon as you tossed your duffel onto your hotel bed. Fishing it out of your pocket, you checked the caller I.D. and smiled.

“Hi, babe.” You walked over to the balcony and stood in the breeze.

“Hey, baby, how’s Shanghai?” His voice told that he was smiling brightly on the other end.

“Good so far!”

“Oh, so you don’t need me to hop on a plane and come translate?”

You let out a breathy laugh, “No, Nicho, I don’t need you to come translate for me.”

“Oh, when did you learn Mandarin?”

“I hired a translator, babe, they have those.”

“You hired a translator that's not me?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, despite knowing he wouldn’t see, “I didn’t know you’d cancel your shoot just to follow me around all day.” 

“And get paid for it? C’mon baby… you know that’s my dream.”

You deadpanned to no one but the glorious skyline in front of you. 

“Speaking of dreams, how was the shoot?”

“Incredible, actually. The team I’m working with are incredible dancers — it’s insane.”

This time he could hear your smile, “That’s amazing, Nicho, I’m so happy for you.”

“Yeah,” He was blushing on the other end, you could tell, “Hey I just wanted to check in on you. I’ll see you when you get back, have fun.”

“Thanks Nicho,” You spoke softly while rubbing the combinations of numbers on your arm, “How lucky are we to have found each other?”

“Not lucky at all babe,” He let out a pitchy laugh that tugged at your heartstrings, “It’s fate.”

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

You watched Heeseung trudge through the lobby at 8:00 as if he hadn’t used his legs in 15 years. He rubbed his eyes and mumbled a good morning as he spotted you. Or at least, you thought it was a good morning — his raspy morning voice and lack of annunciation made it hard to tell.

“Good morning to you too, Heeseung,” You greeted, holding back a giggle, “Would you like to stop for coffee before we arrive at the studio?”

He nodded his head with his eyes sewn shut and had to force them open again. You shook your head fondly before leading the two of you toward the car which was waiting for you. The early morning Shanghai air bit at your skin as you opened the door for Heeseung to climb in.

“Do you have a specific coffee shop that you frequent in Shanghai?” As soon as your seatbelt clicked, the car started to drive toward the main road.

“No, no,” He denied, “Just go to the closest one.”

You smiled softly at his droopy state and informed the driver to take you to the nearest coffee shop — praying that it was a good one. 

Even as you watched Heeseung sleepily walk through the doors into the studio, you hadn’t sipped your coffee. Instead you rattled off the address you were headed to and reviewed your negotiation strategies. Pretending like you were terrified of messing up on the first big contract negotiation for Heeseung, even though the condensation dripping from the sides of the cup was a visual representation of your nerves.

The car rolled in front of a tall sleek building which was even more sleek and expensive on the inside. The walls were white and seemed to glow with the intensity of the lights. The walls were bare and the furniture was minimalist which gave the feeling that more expense was given than less. That was all you realized under the constant pressure against your head to not fail. 

It was all that reverberated inside your skull, even as you pulled the chair out at the conference table. Don’t fail. You can’t fail. You have to negotiate a good deal. You have to make EVAN a success. You have to re-establish his brand. You can’t let him down. You can’t fail him.

“Good morning, Miss L/N.” The man in front of you greeted as he sat down in front of you. 

“Good morning, Mr. Liu.” You smiled and folded your shaking hands in your lap, “I could have met you at your headquarters in Hangzhou. It would have been no problem.”

“No worries,” The translator spoke a beat after Mr. Liu finished his reply, “I was already in Shanghai for other business.” 

You nodded your head and smiled, carrying on a bit of small talk before you committed to talking in terms of business and revenue. For his intimidating appearance, Mr. Liu was quite friendly — more than you expected. 

“I noticed that Proya Cosmetics have been attempting to secure a brand deal with Lee Heeseung for quite some time. Apologies for the wait, there were recent shifts in management but we’d be happy to accept and negotiate a deal that benefits all parties adequately.” 

You brushed your finger over the mark on your arm, the rhythmic motions calming your breathing down as you waited in the limbo of translation. Proya Cosmetics would be a perfect brand deal for Heeseung. He has experience working with Joocyee and now SimCare, he worked with Qrsessed in the past and a potential deal with said company would be in the works, if all went well. You’re sure it would. And you’re sure Proya would accept him due to Heeseung’s popularity in China. You just had to discuss a deal that would properly benefit all parties: Heeseung, Proya, Belift Lab, and the consumer base. 

No biggie.

“We’d love to accept Evan to advertise our new products: a cushion foundation and sunscreen.” The translator spoke to your right but you looked and nodded along to the man who owned those words, “For Proya, our ideal deal for Evan is to welcome him as a brand ambassador and run an immediate ad campaign and look into future campaigns later on.”

“Right, of course,” You nodded at the interest in long-term partnership, assuming it was due to his status among the customer base, “Belift Lab is interested in an ambassadorship as well, however Evan is not available to be Proya’s ambassador exclusively.”

“Of course not!” Mr. Liu laughed, “Oh I can name about five brands in China alone that want Evan to be their ambassador. He’s quite popular everywhere though, isn’t he?”

You laughed along though something tugged at your brows. Questions began to nag in the back of your brain, distracting you from the task at hand. Pressing your thumb deep into the mark, you grounded yourself and forced your attention to the negotiations.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The sun was setting behind the clouds by the time you lazily pulled the door to the car open. You had spent the morning negotiating and approving plans with Proya Cosmetics; then once the afternoon rolled around, you talked your tongue dry over the phone with PR representatives from Qrsessed at an outdoor table adjacent to a coffee shop. After finalizing the paperwork and responding to emails, you called the car to pick you up. 

You jumped back in surprise as the door opened fully.

“Heeseung?!” You sighed in relief, letting your shoulders drop, “You scared the everliving daylights out of me.”

His laugh echoed endlessly in the backseat, “Now you know how it feels.”

The sound of the door shutting cut off the rest of his giggle fit. 

“Yes, yes I do.” You snapped your seatbelt in place, “I thought I was picking you up, not the other way around?”

“Well,” He scratched at his right knee absentmindedly, “My shoot ended hours ago.” He turned to you with a crease in his forehead, “Do meetings typically take all day?”

You laughed humorlessly, “Depends on the meeting.”

“Mm,” He nodded.

“The meetings involve your future, Heeseung. I can’t take them lightly.” You confessed, turning to look at the passing buildings from the window. “I had to make sure that you got the best deal they had. And typically those deals are hidden under the table.”

The whirring of the air conditioner was the only sound filtering between the two of you. It was nice. The quiet of it all. It was indescribably serene after the day you had of constant talking and constant strategizing. You had no thoughts going through your head now. Well, not until:

“Wait,” You turned to the driver, “Where are we going?”

“Ah,” Heeseung cleared his throat, “There’s this restaurant I’ve been wanting to try. So, I got us a reservation.”

Perhaps you picked up on these things easier since you’d worked with so many models before but Heeseung had garnered a slight blush as he spoke. Not on his face — no his blushy cheeks were hidden beneath perfectly curated makeup, but his chest and ears were not. Again, it could’ve been the models you’d always worked with but no model you’d ever met had blushed at you. Perhaps he’s just nervous.

“Oh, that’s great!” The phantom pressure of deciding where to go and reserving a seat dissipated from your shoulders, “Thank you, Heeseung.”

“Of course, Manager L/N.”

The foreignness of the words ripped a laugh from your chest, “Please,” You waved him off, “Please, just call me Y/N.” 

He smiled brightly — some would say fondly — at your reaction. A smile which didn’t drop from his face; it stayed plastered on his lips like a bandaid. 

Like proof that something was healing.

The walls were dark and the dim lights seemed to make them impossibly darker — like black holes that would inevitably suck you in. Heeseung spoke to the finely dressed waitress through the thin material of his black face mask. She smiled professionally before leading him toward a table that was secluded from windows and obscured from prying eyes.

Heeseung pulled a chair out from under the table and gestured for you to take a seat, the sight stopped you in your tracks, causing you to stare for just a moment too long. 

“Uh, thank you,” You scurried into the seat after realizing.

“No problem.” He took his seat across from you and picked up the menu.

You glanced through the menu, noting the English translations under the Mandarin. The combination of languages had you glancing down to the mark on your left arm and then your thoughts traveled to the person who shared the same mark.

“This place is known for their xiaolongbao,” Heeseung suddenly spoke, ripping you from your thoughts, “So, we should probably get two orders of those.”

“Pardon?” You furrowed your brows at him.

“Oh well, I mean, I don’t know how many you plan to eat but I could go through an entire order by myself.”

You nodded your head slowly, “Right….”

Sensing your confusion, Heeseung thought for a minute about why that was. 

“This is a family style type of restaurant,” He clarified, “You order a dish and its for the whole table.”

“Oh,” You dragged the word out, “That makes more sense now.”

His lips curled upwards and the lights reflected as stars in his eyes, “Yeah, so I think we should get two orders of xiaolongbao. Do you like pork, crab, chicken, or beef?” 

You contemplated for a moment, “We should get one pork and one chicken.”

“That’s what I was thinking!” He laughed softly before turning back to the menu. 

The two of you deliberated over what dishes to get: the peppered beef sirloin was a no-brainer, the garlic green beans had good reviews, the noodles were a must for Heeseung, and the refreshing cucumber salad sounded like the perfect side dish. 

“Oh!” You turned to the waitress and pointed at something on the menu, “One of these too, please.”

She nodded and left your table just as speedily as she’d arrived.

“What was that?” He picked up his glass of water.

“A surprise.” You dodged, mirroring his actions.

“Right,” A breathy chuckle fell from his lips. At the sound, an unconscious smile rose to your lips. 

“So, how was the shoot?”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes turned up to the ceiling in thought. “It was okay. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

You nodded, “How did SimCare treat you?”

This time, he furrowed his brows at you, “What do you mean?”

“Like, were they patient with you? Did they demand things from you unnecessarily? Did they treat you with respect?”

“Oh um, yeah I think so.”

“What do you mean ‘you think so’?” Your brows creased.

“Well, I mean, it was just a normal shoot. Why do you wanna know anyway?”

You frowned slightly, “Because I’m your manager, Heeseung. I want to know how you’re being treated, especially by a business partner that I helped form for you.”

He stared at you blankly — completely unreadable — those dark brown eyes full of thought but pouring none of it out to you. 

“It went fine.” He smiled softly, “How were your meetings? Were they… successful?”

You mulled over the question, “I think so.” Your fingers lightly tapped against the side of your glass as the waitress set down a bottle of red wine, “I negotiated the best deal for you that I could.”

He nodded understandingly then moved to open the bottle.

“The companies always take a majority of the revenue from these deals but you’ll be taking home a large sum, don’t worry. I made sure of it.”

You laughed softly in that tired way where it's mostly just air coming out of your nose. You watched the red liquid slosh into the glass and heard it scrape against the table as he pushed it toward you. 

“Oh, thank you.”

He only smiled easily in return. That’s what it felt like with Heeseung. It felt easy. As if he didn’t have any expectations for you; as if when he looked at you, he saw a person instead of a machine. 

You’d never been to dinner with a client before, certainly not with an established model, but you’re certain that if it had been anyone else sitting across from you, it wouldn’t feel the same. Your hands wouldn’t be clammy and your heart wouldn’t be beating out of your chest — certainly.

No if this were any other model: you’d force yourself to look at him when speaks, not choose to because his eyes are so entracing. You’d force yourself to say filler response words as he rambled about his day, not listen intently like he was a friend you’d always known but hadn’t seen in a while. You’d tune out his laugh not search for it underneath the echoes of other patrons enjoying their meals. 

You ate contentedly, sharing each other’s days as much as you did the food. He wasn’t expecting a fantastical story about the logistic side of his job but he listened to it as if he was genuinely curious to know what a manager did day-to-day. He spoke easy, casually, confidently, like you’d been the only manager he’d even known. 

“Actually Heeseung,” You remembered something you’d learnt about him earlier, “You told me that you had been without a manager for a couple weeks. Why was that? I didn’t see anything in your file?”

You watched his eyes blur out of focus before shifting to look down at the noodles in front of him.

“It just… happened that way.” His voice could barely be categorized as a whisper. 

“Alright,” You kept your voice light, noticing that the topic must be sore, “Well if you can, knowing more about—”

“And here is your final order!” The waitress spoke happily, placing another steamed basket in front of you and Heeseung. 

“Uh, more dumplings?” He asked inquisitively. 

“Oh, actually they’re—”

The loud ringing of your phone cut you off. You turned to your bag to find it, a blush settling on your cheeks the longer it rang. 

“They’re a different type of dumpling,” The information did not seem to quell his confusion. You checked the caller identification and immediately stood. “Uh, sorry, Heeseung, I will be right back.”

“Is everything okay?” His voice dripped in concern.

“Yeah! Yeah everything's fine, please enjoy the dessert.” You rushed toward an exit before finishing your sentence completely.

“Hey, what’s going on?” 

“Y/N? Y/N? Y/N! Y/N.” 

Your brows furrowed in a deep worry, “Yes, yes, I’m here what’s wrong, baby?”

“What do I— What do I do if I get caught doing something I shouldn’t?”

“What do you mean, Nicho?”

“No I mean, I was just at the club, you know? Yeah I was just there and there was this huge dance circle— you should’ve seen it.” His voice betrayed him, he was intoxicated. It was impossible to miss with his intonation and lazy speech.

“Nicho what happened? What did you do?” Your voice was raised as if it was trying to compete with the loud beating of your heart.

“Well, you see I was in the dance circle, yeah? And in the dance circle I wanted to dance, yeah?”

You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back a frustrated and impatient sigh. The cool air was hitting you in waves and you could’ve sworn a droplet landed on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, and then what?”

“Well, it was so fresh in my mind with all the filming and stuff and, you know I really think it’s cool, I remember telling you that.” Your eyes widened in realization, “And I think I might be a little intoxicated because I just started doing the dance off of memory and everyone was cheering and celebrating and oh, it was awesome.”

“Nicho, did you do the dance for the music video you just shot?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“No, no you didn’t.” You pushed a hand through your hair, “But there’s no proof right?”

“Well, that’s the thing…”

“Nicho how many people have that video?”

“Uh I don't know, everyone was filming.”

“Well, can you make sure none of them post it?”

“That’s not gonna help.”

“Why?”

“It’s already on Twitter.” 

You screwed your eyes shut. Words failing to rise on your tongue until they came all at once. 

“Nicho, I told you to pace yourself on your drinking.”

“Yeah, and I have! This was a one-time thing.”

“It’s not a one-time thing. You’ve done this before.”

“No, I haven’t? I never reveal top secret choreo!”

“I’m not talking about the choreo, Nicho. I’m talking about the drinking and the clubbing. Listen, I don’t care that that’s what you’re into as long as it doesn’t affect your professional life or our personal life together. You’re under a contract with Hybe Japan, you can’t just do whatever you want. You need to be more careful about where you’re seen in public—”

“I’m already going through a lot right now, Y/N. I called because I need your help, not because I wanted to be reprimanded.”

“How am I supposed to help you, Nicho?” You nearly yelled into the receiver of your phone, hands subtly rubbing your chilly skin. 

The chill seeping into your skin made it all the easier to feel the warmth radiating behind you. You whipped your head around to see Heeseung removing the denim jacket he’d been wearing. Held within his hands along with a takeout bag from the restaurant and the purse you’d left inside, he offered you the jacket along with a look characterized by care.

“I don’t know, Y/N. You’re a higher up in Belift Lab now. You’ve worked in BigHit for years. You can probably suggest them to let me off the hook, you know?”

You broke your contact with Heeseung’s gaze.

“What, like if they take you to court? For leaking the choreo? You know that would put my job in jeopardy, right?”

You kept your eyes away from the sight of the 181cm model in front of you, causing you to miss the concern plastered all over his face. You swallowed thickly and suppressed the shiver that threatened to overtake you.

“And what about my career?” Nicho scoffed, “I’m really in a tough spot right now and you’re the only one who can help me.”

“I don’t know how to help you.” As soon as you were about to rub your forehead, the heavy denim jacket found its way onto your shoulders via Heeseung’s hands. The same hands which held your purse and leftovers while hailing the sleek black car you’d been riding in all day. 

Your hands tugged the jacket closer, you pretended that the strong cologne lingering on the fabric didn’t offer you an inexplicable sense of comfort.

“Shouldn’t you know, though?” Your boyfriend asked as Heeseung opened the door for you, “Isn’t it your job to represent client relationships to the public?”

A bitter laugh was contained only by how hard you were biting your lips, “Your employer — my employer — isn’t the public, Nicho. When they find out that you leaked the choreo, there’s nothing I can do to persuade them not to take legal action.”

“Would you do it for one of your models?”

“What?”

“Nevermind, thanks for nothing, babe.” 

The next thing to flood your ears were the three disappointing beeps of an ended call. You pulled your phone from your ear and stared at the blank screen. Dazed, jarred, and guiltily disappointed.

“Who was that?” Heeseung’s soft and sweet voice filtered over to your ears.

The answer should’ve been easy. Nicholas. Wang Yixiang. Your boyfriend. Your soulmate. 

Instead you answered “no one” and scratched harshly at the mark on your arm. As if it had offended you — as if you could rid yourself of it.

You only said two other things that night. Nothing in the car, nothing in the elevator, nothing until the two of you made it to the door of your hotel room. You paused, taking off his coat and handing it to him with a sad but grateful smile. He traded the jacket for your purse and the leftovers. 

“What time is the plane ride tomorrow?” He asked quietly.

“11 but we have to be there at 10. Be ready by 9:20.”

“Of course.” He agreed, deep browns holding yours so gently, so reverently, as if he couldn’t — wouldn’t — look away. It took you too long to realize, you shouldn’t.

“Goodnight, Heeseung. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you.”

“Of course, yeah,” He watched you step deeper into the room, “See you at 9:20.”

And that was a promise he kept. 9:20, there he was in the lobby. 10:00, there he was walking through the fan raided airport. 11:00, there he was boarding the plane 20 minutes earlier than you with the rest of first class. 14:30, there he was loading the car with your bags. 15:17, there he was saying goodbye to you at the company building — watching you walk off to a side of the building he never traversed. 

And somehow as you walked off, it seemed like colors fell flat, notes didn’t harmonize, and flowers didn’t bloom.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Maybe Nicho was right. You were a higher-up in a Hybe subsidiary now. If anything comes up, you might be able to persuade them to consider the situation from a different view point. Nicho was drunk, it was an accident. Nicho is only one person, the music video features nine dancers — he didn’t spoil much. Nicho is an incredible dancer, one of the four people who founded the dance team. Have some grace.

All of your defense — budding in when it’s not your business — could put your very new position, and the career you’ve spent the past three years cultivating, in jeopardy. You mulled over that possibility a thousand and one times — but this is Nicho. Your soulmate. The man you are universally bound to by the string of numbers written on your arm.

You remember perfectly when they first appeared. They always appear once puberty hits, faint at first, as if there’s something hiding beneath the first few layers of skin. You’d searched for those faint marks all over your body, smiling when you saw them peaking through. Everyday, you checked to see if they got darker, more legible — and they did. 

As a young teenage girl, of course you became obsessed with finding your soulmate. You looked at every piece of visible skin a person showed, you cultivated questions that would prod them into telling you their number, you would go on websites where people would post their numbers and hope their soulmate happened to be online too. 

For years, you ignored the proverb that your soulmate would find you when you least expected it. Or that Fate would draw the two of you together when the time was right. But like most people who weren’t lucky enough to have found their soulmate before university, you grew out of looking for that number in every place you went. You focused on yourself: your education, your career, your aspirations. With the occasional peak at any model’s soulmate mark if given the opportunity. You never expected your soulmate to actually be a model — and that’s partially true, Nicho isn’t a model but he’s quite close to being one. 

You don’t have to imagine just how surprised you were meeting your soulmate on possibly the worst day of your life. Waking up the fire alarm going off in your apartment building, getting cleared to go back inside 30 minutes before you had to be at work, having to get gas in the that same morning, showing up late and running to the office, bumping into someone in the middle of the hallway and being too distracted to even apologize, your boss telling you that being late made you look irresponsible, getting told to help the mean manager of the Hybe Japan dance team, the air conditioner in the Hybe building breaking, getting ordered around by superiors that were not your own — it was an awful day.

Until you pulled up your sleeves to alleviate the heat, only to find that your soulmate mark had gone from a pitch black to a bright red. You’d met your soulmate. You looked up to the sweet face of the boy you had just introduced yourself to. He ripped his gaze from that red mark and into your wide eyes — not knowing that his eyes had also widened in pure shock. Pulling his sleeve up, you recognized the pattern of numbers. And the worst day ever became the best day ever.

So maybe Nicho was right about your newfound power but he was also wrong about something else. You wouldn’t jeopardize your career or future for one of your clients, one of the models under your care — Heeseung — yeah, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t jeopardize your career for Heeseung but you would do it for your soulmate in a heartbeat.

You’d do it for Nicho.

So you wait with your body tense and your breath held. Kept your ears open for any whispers of Nicho’s name, Twitter, or the dance team. You listened and waited, you did not speak or search. Instead you booked Heeseung a hair appointment. Texted him when to be there and when to expect the car to show up. You forwarded him the information of his finalized deals with Proya Cosmetics — told him to expect flight details soon. All from the safety of your office on the 15th floor of the Hybe building, trying to pretend like the anxiety wasn’t chewing at you faster than you could chew at your nails.

Lee Heeseung: Will you be going to Hangzhou too?

You: No, you’ll be going alone.

The text was snappy and it permeated a chilly cold through the digital screen. You noticed it for a millisecond before you packed your things in a rush to escape the dark walls of this retched building. 

But even as you stepped into your quaint apartment, its light walls and warm lights did not embrace you in comfort. They looked almost just as confining. You flung your bag onto your couch and walked to your kitchen. Barely ten steps away from each other but your lazy footsteps doubled the distance. You didn’t have a particular appetite, especially not for anything in your fridge, but you rested your hand on it nonetheless.

Your phone rang before you could pull the handle.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this L/N Y/N? Manager of Evan under Belift Lab?”

“Hi, yes. That is I.” You felt your knees go weak.

“Right. Well, I’m calling as a representative of Hybe Japan and I have you cited here as someone who can vouch for the integrity of Wang Yixiang. Is this true?”

You threw your head back as your heart fell to the floor. 

“Yes,” You bit the words out, hating how bitter they tasted in your mouth, “I know Yixiang personally.”

“Great,” The woman on the other line sounded like what a blank blackboard looked like. You could see the remnants of the writing that had been there before, but it was all indecipherable. You had no idea what to expect, no idea what she would ask. So you took it one word at a time:

Do you know the contract that Mr. Wang signed with Hybe Japan? Yes.

He cited that you had been the one to inform him of his rights as well as his restrictions upon signing said contract. Is that true? Yes. 

Were you with Mr. Wang the night that the videos were taken? No, I was in Shanghai.

Do you know whether Mr. Wang was intoxicated at the time the video was filmed? Yes, he was.

Has Mr. Wang had a history of clubbing and excessive drinking? …I would not say ‘excessive’. 

Ms. L/N, you are aware that Hybe Corp is within full legal rights to submit a lawsuit for the leaking of classified information including choreography, yes? 

You bit your lip hard, “Yes. Yes, I am aware.” You took a deep breath, “I would hope that Hybe Corp would consider pursuing other routes before taking it up with the law. Though that is well within your prerogative to do so. If you want my honest analysis of Yixiang’s character…” 

You sighed, tiredly. But not a tired that goes away with sleep; not a tired that comes from an isolated incident. A deep tired that accumulates until no amount of excess sleep could repair the strain that had stretched you too far. 

“My honest opinion? Yixiang is human. He makes mistakes but they’re never done in malice or with bad intentions. He has a heart to chase what he wants and he’s willing to go the extra mile to achieve them. I think he’s an asset in this company, I think he has a bright future, I think it’d be too rash to involve the legal system before pursuing other routes on a singular mistake.”

“One final question, Ms. L/N?”

“Of course.”

“Are you and Mr. Wang in a romantic relationship of any kind.”

The silence pierced your ears. Your eyes fell to the empty counter in front of you. You sat in limbo between the truth and the option which would be the most advantageous. And in that moment, you understood why managers lie.

“No. We are not.” “Thank you, Ms. L/N. I’ll call you if I have any further questions. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Your hand immediately reached for the fridge, gaining an appetite suddenly for something specific. As soon as you pulled the fridge doors open, the smell hit you. Rotten, moldy, sour.

Your eyes landed on it immediately, you pulled it out of the fridge and unwrapped it from its plastic bag. Popping open the lid, just to make sure, you saw six round mochi chocolate dumplings resting in the box. And the sight brought tears to your eyes. 

He saved all six. 

You left him in the middle of the restaurant, told him to enjoy them. You’re sure he would have since he loved the other dumplings. And he waited – for you. He had them packaged, held onto them with your bag, gave them to you at the hotel, and let you have the opportunity to enjoy them. 

And for all his kindness, you let them rot in your fridge.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

In any good story, the writer uses nature to symbolize the internal emotions of their protagonist. As you walked through the parking lot under the proud sun that was pre-gaming the summertime at the end of April, it dawned on you that you must not be the main character. 

Thankfully the air conditioner was working when you stepped through the doors. Unlike other bad days that you’d had. This was a kind of mundane day — not good, not particularly bad. You did all your office work, called a couple companies, checked Heeseung’s brand reputation, answered emails, looked at potential partnerships, all the normal things. 

Lee Heeseung: Proya asked if I could stay an extra day to finish the shoot. They had an issue with one of the sets.

You: Why are you telling me this? It's Proya’s job to contact me about scheduling changes.

Lee Heeseung: Oh

Lee Heeseung: I’m sorry

Lee Heeseung: I guess expect them to contact you soon then

You dropped your head onto the surface of your desk. You hadn’t meant to make him feel dejected or scolded. You’d been doing that too much lately. Speaking without thinking. Speculating without rationalizing.

You: It’s no worries, Heeseung. I’ll have your flight rescheduled and the information sent to you shortly. Don’t worry about moving hotel rooms, I’ll extend your stay as well. 

Lee Heeseung: Ok thx

Your hands flew across your laptop keyboard: rescheduling the flight, extending his stay, informing the security and the driver, responding to Proya’s request, anything. Anything to keep your mind off how you hurt him. 

And maybe by “him” didn’t mean the model who had completely changed your life in the matter of minutes after meeting him. Maybe it meant the dancer who was fatefully bound to you through a string of numbers plastered on your arm. The one you denied being in relation with despite the universe plainly telling you that you were each other’s future forever. 

And that guilt gnawed at you harder that night as you drank straight from the lip of the peach soju bottle from your fridge.

It gnawed at you before you took the first sip: you denied that you were in a romantic relationship with the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with.

It gnawed after the next two: Might as well have said you didn’t love him.

Then after 120 milliliters: But you don’t love him do you? 

And then 240 milliliters: You’re supposed to but you don’t — loving him feels like a chore. You’re a pathetic excuse for a soulmate. 

But the bottom of the bottle revealed just how monstrous you truly were: Heeseung never made you feel like that. Like it was hard to love him. No, no, loving him was so easy. He flashed you a smile, spoke to you in that soft sultry voice, treated you like a princess, like he cared. 

Cared? A model that cared? For you? 

Heeseung loved you like you loved Nicho? Falsely. Because you were supposed to; because you got something out of it; because it was in your best interests.

But you loved Heeseung like you’d never loved any other man. And it was so stupid — so childish — that he won your heart over with a look that conveyed that he cared about you and a box of mochi dumplings he saved for God knows what reason.

You’d been on dates with Nicho, you’d kissed Nicho, you’d planned marriage with Nicho and you still didn’t think of him with the same fondness you did Heeseung. A man who you’d  barely had conversations with — certainly not personal ones. 

You chased the peach soju with the big, salty, guilty tears that cascaded on your cheeks.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

You: Your schedule will be busy when you get back so please be prepared. I’ve continued your brand deal with Qrsessed and you’ll have a photoshoot and video shoot to promote their contact lenses. ELLE Korea is also picking up the shoot and is printing it in their magazine. You will be on the cover. I have all of the logistics including the times for everything in the link below.

You: https://calandar.com

Lee Heeseung: Wait, can we reschedule the fitting to the day before or after?

You: I can try to, yes. Why?

Lee Heeseung: I’m just busy that day

You: What on Earth could you possibly be doing for the entirety of Tuesday?

“Y/N.” Your old boss from BigHit called your name.

“What?” You snapped unintentionally?

The look they gave you would’ve turned you to salt with all the fire it had behind it.

“You know,” He spoke in his default passive aggressive tone, “Dressing in a suit with your hair curled and your makeup done doesn’t make you a professional. It doesn’t make people respect you.”

You bit the inside of your cheeks and kept your eyes from his.

“Lose the attitude, put on a smile, and pretend like you have everything under control even if you don’t.” You swallowed thickly as he reached the conference door, “You’re a public relations manager Y/N, lying is in the subscript of your job description.”

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The last thing you wanted to see when you opened your apartment door was your boyfriend. Your soulmate. But there he was with a stupidly happy grin etched on his face as he jumped up from your couch.

“Baby! Baby, you’re never gonna guess what happened!” He all but squealed in excitement. You left no reply, just expected him to continue. “Hybe Japan let me off with a warning that if it ever happened again, they would take legal action, but for now I’m good.”

“Huh,” You mumbled, “Did they say why?”

“Uh, well I think they said they reviewed the benefits of taking legal action against me and the benefits of keeping me on as a performer. They said someone pointed out that the second option is a much more fruitful investment long term than the first. Isn’t that great?”

“Yes, Nicho. That’s great.” Your bag landed on the arm of your couch before slipping onto the floor.

“And look! Nothing bad happened to your job either. You were worried for nothing.”

“Excuse me?” You whipped your head toward him, his words weren’t even malicious, they weren’t even all that wrong, but they flipped a switch that wouldn’t flip back down, “Nicho, who do you think vouched for you? Who do you think told them that keeping you as an asset was better than suing you for money you don’t have?”

The grin on his face fell along with the temperature. You shouldn’t have brought up the money when you know he hates that you make more than him.

“Yes. Nothing happened to my job but you don’t want to know what I did to make sure that it didn’t. To make sure that you got off scot free and that I didn’t tarnish the reputation I have been building for three years.” Your voice was so grave, so deep, you almost sounded like a different person.

You shoved the suit coat of your body.

“What do you mean? What did you do?”

“I finally have a position that means something in this company.” You ignored his question, words spilling out like WhiteOut, hoping the more there are the more you can cover the words you accidentally spoke; but it would never erase them. “A lot of it is by sheer luck, you know? With management always filtering out, I got promoted through necessity. And finally, I had a chance to prove myself and my value and I did. And I got the opportunity of a lifetime!” You laughed humorlessly, throwing your hands up to gesture the magnitude of your words, “I get to manage one of the most successful models in Hybe and you put that in jeopardy!”

“Can you stop saying that?” He asked, anger framing his tone, “You didn’t have to vouch for me but you did. Don’t blame that on me.”

“What because I had a choice? My soulmate or my job? I love my job Nicho, I love it dearly, but you are my soulmate, so…”

“‘So’ what?” He folded his sleeved arms, “You love your job but you love me more? Yelling at me is a funny way of expressing that.”

“I’m not confessing my love for you Nicho, I’m saying the choice isn’t fair.”

“So, you’re saying that you don’t love me.”

You stared at him wide-eyed, “Wha— What are you talking about?!” Your voice came out pitchy. 

“Yeah, that's it.” He spoke as if he had revealed the world's greatest mystery which he knew all along, smug and over-confident, “You don’t love me. That’s what this is about. You love your job more than your own soulmate.”

You only stared at him like he was trashing everything you’d built. And in a way, maybe that’s exactly what it was. Compromising the foundation of your career; blurring the future you’d mapped within your head; disproving your undying devotion for him.

“Let me ask you a question, Y/N. If I wasn’t your soulmate would you have vouched for me? Or would you have left me to deal with this all by myself? Do you not even love me enough as a human to help me?”

Your answer died on your tongue as your phone began to ring. You rolled your eyes, wishing — praying — that people would stop calling you after work hours. That was until you saw the ID. You accepted the call immediately, paying no mind to the walking steam train in front of you.

“Hello? Heeseung are you alright?” You spoke quickly due to the adrenaline still coursing through you.

“Heeseung?” Your boyfriend mumbled, an irritated grimace pulling at his features.

“Hey, Y/N,” Heesueng spoke softly, “Listen uh, the plane I was on… We were sitting on the runway for like two hours and they just announced that there’s a light on the dashboard. They can’t fly this plane tonight and they won’t have any flights until the morning so… I need another night in the hotel. I know this is last minute but…”

“No, no, no. Don’t worry about it Heeseung, I’ll get on that right away.”

“Why do you talk to him like that?” Nicho asked bitterly. You only sent him an unimpressed look.

“Who was that?” Heeseung’s voice had an edge to it.

“It’s nobody, Heeseung. Listen I’ll—”

“Nobody?” Nicho laughed humorlessly and loudly too, “Tell that pretty boy that you love so much that this ‘nobody’ is your soulmate. How about you do that? Or are you too embarrassed?”

“Y/N…”

“Nicho, this is not the time. Heeseung do you have—”

“Heeseung, Heeseung, Heeseung. Is that what this is about?” He moved closer to you, “Is this why you love your job so much? Is this why you love it more than me? Because of him?” His voice got dangerously low. His steps pursuing you toward the kitchen.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“How much have you two done together?” Nicho asked the question as if it pained him, “Was that business trip to Shanghai even real?”

“Yes, of course it was real, Nicho. Don’t talk to me like you know what my job entails. You can’t even do your own properly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means, Nicho. And don’t act like you would still have a job right now if it weren’t for me.”

“What did you do then? What did you do that I wouldn’t wanna know?” He recalled your words from earlier, making your heart drop and your fingers itch to end the call. Heeseung couldn’t know. He couldn't find out. He couldn’t find out how awful of a person you were.

“Drop it, Nicho.”

“No, what did you do? Did you sleep with my boss? Like you slept with Heeseung? Is that the ‘luck’ you were talking about earlier?”

Both your vision and your cheeks filled with a flaming red. 

“What is wrong with you?!” You nearly screeched, dropping your phone to your side.

“That’s it isn’t it? You’ve been sleeping around to get what you want and you’re embarrassed. Did Heeseung know? Or did he and I both find out you’re a slut together on the same night.”

“I didn’t sleep with anyone, Nicho.” Your voice crackled with pent up emotions forcing their way out, “I haven’t slept with anyone because I was waiting for my soulmate. You wanna know what I did? The thing you wouldn’t like? I denied our relationship so that whatever I said about your character would be taken seriously.”

Suddenly, after his accusations, what you did didn’t seem all that bad.

“I lied for you. I told them you didn’t have a drinking problem, I told them you were a good asset, I told them that we weren’t together.”

“Did you tell them you didn’t love me too? Did you tell them that you’re so small hearted you can’t even love the only person you were ever meant to?”

You bit your lip and prayed the water in your eyes would go away if you just took a deep breath.

“Have you told Heeseung that? You’re embarrassed of your own soulmate? What does that say about you? You’d go seeking the comfort of another man while knowing exactly who your heart is supposed to belong to? Or was he under the impression that you were single too?”

“Just get out of my apartment, Nicho. I have work to do.”

“So that’s it? Just like that? You’re choosing him over me?” He laughed pitchy and it scratched at your ears, “Man…” He breathed out, disbelievingly as he walked to the door of your apartment. “I hope the sex is good.” 

The door slammed, ending his sentence and ending the hold you had on your emotions. You dropped to your knees and let the tears spill out of your eyes. You shakily held your phone, fumbling through the buttons. 

Just find the Hotels.com app. 

“Y/N are you alright?” Heeseung’s voice emitted gently from the speaker. It ripped an embarrassing cry from your throat. This was embarrassing. You are an embarrassment.

“Um, I’ll have your hotel booked.” Gone was your manager voice; gone was your pride in your puddle of humiliation on the floor of your unswept apartment.

“Y/N, I don’t care about the hotel. I care about whether you're okay or not.” His voice was stern but it was eons away from being mean.

“I’m sorry,” You strained your voice, begging and pleading yourself not to cry, “That was really unprofessional. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

“Oh, Y/N…” You could envision the face he was making; his eyebrows upturned and those dark brown eyes carrying all the sorrow you feel in your heart, “I’m sorry. No one should talk to you like that. No one, at all. Let alone your own soulmate.”

You pressed purchase on the hotel and exported the receipt to Heeseung.

“It’s okay, Heeseung.” You sniffled, “Your hotel information is on the receipt. I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you have a ride? Do I need to book that? I can call you an Uber?”

“Y/N,” His voice anchored you in the midst of the rocky waves, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay…” You swallowed, hoping to alleviate the frailty of your voice, “Goodnight, Heeseung.”

“Goodnight,” His voice cut off as if he was about to say something else. Goodnight, Y/N? Goodnight, Manager? Goodnight….

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

You vaguely registered the dryness of your eyes as you checked the clock on the bottom right of your laptop screen. He should be here by now. You’re not sure if he’d walk into the building. He doesn’t need to be here today. He has no reason to be here. So, it’d be fine. He wouldn’t see you. 

And after an hour of waiting in bated breath, you were right. He didn’t come see you. And you lied to yourself — saying you were wholly and completely relieved — but there was a part of you that wasn’t. A part of you that longed to see his gentle brown eyes, his soft tan skin, his chiseled jawline, his prominently defined Adam’s apple, and his plump pillowy lips. The features he got paid millions of dollars a year for. 

Even more than his indescribable beauty, you longed to hear that angelic voice of his. The voice that comforted you in the darkness of your apartment and the laugh that made the air feel lighter. That was the voice your heart lurched to hear.

Your mind would replay the softness in the way he said your name — how it sounded as if it were precious to him, like if you said it too loudly or too harshly it would break and fall apart. That sweet, sweet voice followed you all day until you walked to the lobby and it suddenly wasn’t in your head anymore.

“Thanks man,” He laughed lightly and clapped another man on the back, “I owe you big time.”

“Nah, don’t sweat it, bro.” The other man shook his head.

It was the first time you were seeing him with his new hair. It was bleached platinum blond and he left it messily unstyled — somehow he still looked perfect. All in a graphic hoodie and shorts with a green cap snapped around one of the belt loops. He was effortlessly attractive and it enthralled you completely. You debated whether or not to call out to him and ask him what he was doing here until you hesitated for too long and forfeited the choice. 

Heeseung’s soft brown eyes caught sight of you as he casually turned in your direction. It was jarring the way your mind became existentially aware of how the scene looked to others. Model Heeseung in his casual outfit that cost well over the monthly rent you paid for your quaint apartment, Marketing Agent You in your newly purchased suit that looked much more expensive and intimidating than it actually was. 

A model who knew way too much about his agent and an agent who knew way too little about her model.

“Y/N! Hey…” He turned to his friend and bid him adieu before jogging over to where you stood, clutching your work bag like a lifeline, “How are you?”

His voice was exactly as you remembered: soft, gentle, and caring. 

“Um,” You stammered, “Fine. No, I’m fine.” You nodded as if it would make your words any more convincing. It was obvious, as his eyebrows pinched slightly together, that you were only embarrassing yourself further, “What are you still doing here?”

All at once, concern turned into sheepishness, a dead giveaway being the way he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I uh, I was working on a project.” He nodded though he kept his eyes away from yours.

It took you a moment to consider his words, “Project? You don’t have a project today? I kept your schedule clear today.”

“Not a modelling project…” There was a gleam in his eye that you’d never seen before. A gleam that conveyed a child-like wonder that only comes from a lifelong passion.

“Okay…” You dragged the sound out before raising a brow and looking intensely into those sparkling browns, “Well, are you gonna tell me or…?”

“You wanna know?” He perked up immediately, a bright smile on the verge of breaking through.

“Of course, I do.”

And that smile came in full force as he grabbed your bag from you and circled your wrist in his large hand. He led you down the elevators buzzing with excitement barely contained as you dropped down two floors. He led you through a hallway of rooms until he pushed open the door to a vacant music studio. His hands guided you into the producer’s chair and handed you a headset — all before you could register the room you were in.

“Are you ready?” He bit his lip to control his smile but his happiness was so evident it might as well have been tangible. 

You let out a small giggle, “Of course but what am I getting ready for?”

“Oh!” His lips formed a perfect circle, “I… I think it’s better if you just listen.” 

And with that you placed the headset over your ears and watched his middle finger tap on the space bar of his laptop.

Immediately, an onslaught of tracks filled your ears. A musical mix of rock of dubstep and various elements of other genres flowed together in a unique blend that had the touch of a natural born genius.

Then you heard it. The voice which you loved so dearly filtering through the speakers of the headset, dropping your jaw and paralyzing every crevice of your mind in shock. And it stayed agape even after it ended and you turned to look at him like a deer in headlights. 

“The lyrics are a work in progress…” He laughed bashfully, “But the ‘ride or die’ part is there to stay.”

He looked at you expectantly and not in the way you’d think he would. He didn’t look like he expected you to shower him in compliments and tell him that he’s created a true masterpiece; he looked at you as if he expected you to tell him to put the mic down and focus on his reflection in the mirror.

“Heeseung, this is insane! Like insanely incredible! Do you want to be an artist?”

“Uh… yeah. I do.” His ears, chest, and cheeks flushed a pretty rouge.

“Why did you become a model then?”

He looked down at his feet before answering.

“I tried to get a music contract with Belift but they thought I’d be better as a model so I kinda just… gave up.”

“But you picked it back up again?”

“I never stopped learning to produce. I never could.” His eyes poured into yours, “I loved it too much.”

You smiled brightly — proudly — and stood up, grabbing his shoulders.

  “Send me your demo,” You spoke in a gravely serious tone, “And any other demos you have. I have a meeting next Tuesday and I will get you that music contract Heeseung. Trust me.”

The look he gave you was unlike any other. As if you were an angel sent from Heaven just for him.

“Really?” His voice small, like the flame of a candle before it burns out but his eyes… his eyes were full. Full of hope, full of joy, full of adoration.

“Yes.” You kept your hands on his broad, strong shoulders, pushing the thought of circling them around his neck from your mind. A thought that persisted even as you pulled your hands away.

“I have to go,” You grabbed your bag from the table, “But we’re gonna make this happen, Heeseung.” You stopped at the door and turned to him. “Tell me that you want this and I will fight with everything I have to achieve it for you.”

He leaned against the table, everything he felt in his heart was translated through the look in his eyes, “I want this more than anything.”

You nodded and offered him a smile that felt more like a promise.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

It ran through your head in circles for the next half-week. Between reviewing the edited photo options for Proya, captions for Heeseung’s social media, plans to open up more platforms for him, emails for photoshoots schedules, root touch-up appointments, plans for future events, you somehow managed to hop on Canva and make a pitch.

The presentation was relatively simple, leaving room for Heeseung’s musical genius to contend for itself. Clipped parts of his demos were pasted onto the presentation — only 15 seconds each and only the parts that gathered the full essence of the song. You spent hours picking the right parts, listening to the songs over and over, being diligent and considerate in your choices. 

For Ride or Die it was easy to choose the right part — the chorus was addictive. For Overflow, there were so many parts that stuck like glue in your mind which made it harder to choose the best section to clip. Dial Tragedy was short but there was still a lot to work with, a lot to decide within the nearly minute and a half ringtone. There was one demo you hadn’t even looked at yet.

You fell on your couch and took a breath, eyes closed and ears full of the soft blow of the air conditioner. The surface of your laptop was cold when you picked it up and placed it in your lap, opening the Google Drive and clicking on the demos. You finally moved onto the last one — its name cut off by your minimized tab – reading Highway 10….

The melody of the guitar and the silky vocals came almost at the same moment. The lyrics were characterized by a love that was wholly and completely consuming. A love that disregarded the woes of life and resided in the space cultivated by their devotion for one another. It was a song that resonated and echoed in the chambers of your heart.

An echo of admiration.

An echo of fondness.

An echo of longing.

An echo of sadness.

The song was beautiful but it was clearly dedicated to someone specific. And that shouldn’t have been surprising to you. That Heeseung had a soulmate. Of course he had a soulmate. He was remarkable in both body and spirit. He had a soul pure enough to cleanse those who caught even a glimpse of it. He was nothing like anyone you’d ever met and he was everything you’ve ever dreamt of.

He had a face that would have brought Aphrodite to her knees.

He had a way with words that would have compelled Shakespeare to set down his pen.

He had a voice that would have drawn every siren to his side like moths to flames.

Like how you were drawn to his side. 

The spiraling thoughts welled tears on your eyes and drew the music blank in your ears. Why did this happen?

You’d never cared about models — this was just your job. Not with Yeonjun, not with Soobin, not with Beomhyu, nor Taehyun, nor Kai. 

You’d never cared about looks, or big brown eyes, or shiny smiles, or voices, or words, or actions, or denim jackets, or mochi chocolate dumplings, or midnight phone calls. You’d only cared about marks. Only about the numbers that rose onto your skin at 13. You only cared about Fate and the man who’d share the same set of numbers until your death.

The ones which bloomed red after you met Nicho.

The ones you desperately tried to scrub off of your arm after you’d drunk just a bit too much to think clearly.

The ones you used to caress gently and not scratch violently.

The ones that used to bring you comfort and whisper promises of a future but now fill you with dread and remind you of the prison you should get comfortable in — be it with Nicho or without him.

One thing was certain about your future, you’d be on Hangang Avenue driving yourself to work and Heeseung would be holding his soulmate on Highway 1009.

Every ounce of breath depleted from your lungs in an instant. 

It was embarrassing how your heart filled with an inflated hope and your hands shook as they moved to the sleeve on your arm. Tugging on the thin fabric, the bright red numbers appeared in succession.

9 — the curves you’d seen for years seemed to look like a novelty.

0 — the quantity of the amount of breaths you’d taken since you touched your sleeve.

0 — your fingers shook violently as you reached the precipice of the final number.

1 — thousands of questions filled your mind like the breaking of a dam. 

How is this possible? What does this mean? Why would he write a love song with the same number as your soulmate mark? Does he have the same one? Do you have the same mark? Are you soulmate? But Nicho has the same one too? Is it possible to have two? Is there a highway called 1009? Are you overthinking this? Will this hope fall away like autumn leaves?

Your hands flew across your laptop, typing in the Twitter website, and searching ‘EVAN’ and searching through the photos tab. You searched every inch of his body futility — you knew better than most that a model desired by so many would not be allowed to show a mark that would confirm their exclusivity. You searched nonetheless; through photoshoots, Instagram posts, and fan photos until your eyes grew sandpaper-y.

Without thought, your fingers moved across the keyboard, typing as if they moved on their own.

The Google search bar held the question you were terrified to find the answer of: “Is it possible for multiple people to have the same soulmate number sequence?” No. There are no recorded instances of there being more than two living individuals with the same soulmate sequence of numbers.

Again you frantically typed out: “Highway 1009”

There is no highway 1009. Did you mean Gyeongbu Expressway?

So that was it then. Nicho was your soulmate and Heeseung coincidentally wrote a love song with the same number. It must represent something else. It must be a real highway somewhere. It must be a quantity. It must be a date. It must be a coincidence. 

Coincidence. That’s what it was.

It had to be.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

“From the moment he got contracted under Belift Lab in 2020, Lee Heeseung has been an irreplaceable asset. He, alongside the other six contracted models, have established Belift Lab as a respectable and renowned company within South Korea, Mainland China, Japan, and Globally. Although Belift predominantly manages models and scouts for new talent, the company has the resources to explore other routes for talent. Especially considering the in-house producers and composers at Hybe Corps disposal.”

You’d found yourself in a similar position just a few weeks ago. With a dozen pairs of cold eyes staring more into your soul than at the powerpoint you’d spent hours putting together. 

“Expanding into other areas of entertainment is a venture that Belift Lab has yet to do, however I believe having Lee Heeseung as the prospect for this endeavor would produce many fruitful results, including both revenue and reputation. I hav—”

“Pause.” You’d recognize that tone anywhere. The one that demands attention and leaves no room for negotiation. “Are you suggesting that Lee Heeseung change his contract from a model to a soloist?”

“‘Change’?” You repeated, “I’m not sure a full transition is necessary? I believe it’s possible to work both into his schedul—”

“We’ve already considered this path with Heeseung himself.” Kim Taeho, the CEO of Belift Lab, informed, “Did he persuade you to pitch the idea to me again? Quite frankly, I don’t care whose mouth it comes from — I don’t like the ramifications of the idea.”

The room was silent as you took a breath but your mind was anything but silent, “No sir, Heeseung did not persuade me to pitch this idea to you. As I only became his manager a month ago, I was unaware that he had brought this idea to you. I decided of my own accord to bring it to the board’s attention because I believe that Heeseung’s interest in pursuing this field could bring much fruit to this company. It’s one I hope you’d be willing to consider now or in the future.”

With the intensity in which your heart was beating, you were nervous that you’d be unable to hear his response. 

Luckily, that fear was irrational.

You’d found that most of your fears were and yet, you still found yourself breathing shallowly when that song repeated in your head for the millionth time. 

You: Heeseung, are you busy right now?

Lee Heeseung: ?

Lee Heeseung: You’re the one with my schedule lol

Lee Heeseung: Don’t tell me you forgot ://

You rolled your eyes playfully at his banter.

You: I know you don’t have anything scheduled but you have your hobbies, you know?

Lee Heeseung: True… I’m near the building. I can be in your office in 10 minutes.

You: Great, I’ll see you in 10

Your phone buzzed as soon as you put it down.

Lee Heeseung: Right…

Lee Heeseung: Remind me where your office is?

The time seemed to stretch beyond its capacity before he knocked on your office door. A smile was already plastered across his face before the door was even fully ajar. You gestured for him to take a seat in front of you and as he did, you recognized the dynamic. From the height of your office chair and the distance between your big wooden desk, it was more obvious than it had ever been. 

Lee Heeseung was your employee; you were his boss.

The thought sobered your mind to the point where you stared directly into those sparkling eyes and didn’t see the numbers 1009 behind them.

You looked away from them anyway; those dark browns and their expectations, their hope, their adoration. Emotions too close to the four letter word you were trying so desperately to ignore.

“Right,” You breathed out, “I just got out of meeting with the Belift Lab board of directors.”

Heeseung flexed his fingers over his knees where his hands rested. 

“I pitched the idea of a soloist contract to them, but Heeseung I have a question.”

A shadow of fear passed over his face, “What?”

“You didn’t tell me you had already tried to advocate for a contract. Why?”

His eyes shifted away from your figure entirely. You could almost visibly see the walls building up around him.

“I um… Well, I failed so…” 

“Failed is not the term I would use.” 

“What would you call it then?” He asked defeatedly.

“According to Kim Taeho, you pitched the idea relentlessly and you were given approval for the contract to be drawn. But, this is the part I’m confused about,” You admitted, “Your manager quit the very next day? Which is why the contract was never officially drawn?”

Heeseung drew a breath and released it heavily, “He said that he wasn’t interested in non-model exclusive contracts. He said that getting my foot in as a successful soloist would be a grueling job and would come with scrutiny that he didn’t care to manage.”

The wound to his heart was nearly visible — there might as well have been blood spilling out onto his shirt.

“Right. So, he was too lazy to manage a solo career for you and quit the next day?” You sighed and rolled your eyes, “Had he heard any of your music? Does he know how large your fanbase is?”

He shrugged his shoulders with his face downcast.

“Heeseung,” He lifted his eyes to your own, “I told you that I’d do everything in my power to get this contract for you. I didn’t plan to stop there.” You crossed your legs, “Do you know Choi Yeonjun from BigHit?”

He nodded, “We knew each other when we were younger.”

“You know he’s a model and a soloist, right? I assisted his manager for a year and a half before I took the position as your manager. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” 

He fought back a sheepish smile; you returned it with a comforting one.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing in the studio, tell me what help you need, and I will make sure the world hears your music. Don’t worry about that part.”

He nodded and Van Gogh’s Starry Night didn’t sparkle like his eyes did in that moment. 

“Thank you,” He whispered softly. Getting up out of his chair, causing you to watch as he hesitated with every step toward your office door. 

“Oh, Heeseung?” You called out to him, watching as he turned around with anticipation swimming in his gaze, “When did your manager quit?” 

He sighed frustratedly, “March 10th.”

You rolled your eyes at that fateful Tuesday, “Gosh, okay great. I guess everyone had a horrible March 10th then.”

He laughed and looked expectedly at you, “What happened to you?” An amused smile played on his plump lips.

You leaned against your desk and crossed your arms, “Some tenant in my apartment building decided to make popcorn at five in the morning. And then burnt it. So I woke up to the fire alarm, not my actual alarm.”

You smiled at his silly laugh.

“And then by the time I left, got gas, and arrived at the building, I was beyond late. My boss chewed me out for it which was extremely embarrassing.” You rubbed your forehead as he continued to laugh at your story, “I even bumped into someone in the hallway? Which was just the cherry on top.”

You considered that for a moment, too lost in thought to notice the sudden lack of noise. 

“You know? I guess it wasn’t such a bad day.” You shrugged and tuned to feel his heavy gaze, “I got sent to help the new Hybe Japan dance team get their headshots and profile photos taken for the company website. That’s where I met my soulmate — Nicho.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows suddenly creased confusedly, “You mean, again?”

You mirrored his look with your own confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Heeseung shifted awkwardly where he stood, “Because you guys broke up, right? And now you’re back together?”

You sat in confusion for a millisecond, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You recalled the phone call you had with Heeseung that night Nicho stormed out of your apartment, “Nicho and I fight but we’ve never broken up. And that call that we had,” You swallowed thickly, “The things that Nicho said about me, they aren’t true. I’ve never—”

“I know.” He crossed his arms, his face suddenly steeling, “Wait so, you’re telling me that you and Nicho met on March 10th?”

“Yeah,” You confirmed, “I was talking to him and, if you remember that was the day the A/C was broken, so I pulled up my sleeve and my mark was red.” You recalled the moment clearly, “Then Nicho pulled his sleeve up and had the same mark.”

Heeseung’s eyes held wells of concern within the depths of his eyes, “Y/N,” He licked his lips as if the words were too hard to say.

“What is it?” You straightened your posture as if it could guard you from whatever he was about to say, “You’re scaring me…”

“When I was still being scouted, I heard a lot about the Hybe Japan incoming talent from my friend EJ,” He spoke slowly, as if it would lessen the blow, “Of course, that means I heard a lot about Nicho.”

Your breath caught in your lungs; a grey cloud already began to form above your head.

“Y/N, Nicho’s soulmate cheated on him before I even became a model…” Heeseung stammered over his next words, “I assumed since you called him your soulmate that you guys had fixed your relationship and it honestly wasn’t any of my business so I tried not to think about it too much. But if you’re telling me that your soulmate mark turned red the day you met Nicho on March 10th, then either Nicho lied about his ex-girlfriend being his soulmate or…” 

The words fell dead on his lips and rose to life on yours.

“Or he lied to me about being my soulmate.”

Heeseung released a breath of air, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You clenched your jaw, desperately trying to recall how many times you’d seen Nicho’s soulmate mark — he always wore long sleeves. You pushed a hand through your hair before grabbing your work bag and walking toward the door. Heeseung’s strong arms stopped you from walking past him.

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Heeseung,” You spoke with your eyes closed, a visible sign that you were holding back emotions that had reached a dangerous peak, “Please. Please let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, kept his mouth agape as if he had more he wanted to say, but he dropped his hands nonetheless. 

He watched you walk out of your office like watching a car drive off on a highway.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The banging echoed through the entire apartment until it went quiet again. As soon as the echoes dissipated, they returned. Again and again until the door swung open. His dark eyes held a warmth that could only be replicated by a refrigerator. 

“Have you finally decided that your boytoy isn’t enough for you?”

The words held so much more meaning behind them knowing what his ex-girlfriend did. You felt bad for him, you understood him. But that wasn’t what you were worried about right now.

“Nicho, show me your mark.”

“What?”

“Show me your soulmate mark.”

“Why? You’ve seen it before.”

“Once. And I don’t remember what it looks like.”

He laughed sharply, “And you can’t look at your own arm to get the idea?”

You grabbed his arm, roughly, angrily, wrongly. But you weren’t thinking kindly in your desperation. “Show me.”

There’s only one thing you particularly remember about Nicho’s mark: it was horizontal. If you were to stick your arm out in front of you, the numbers run in tandem with the direction of your arm. Its why you can pull your sleeve up and see the numbers appear in succession: 9, then 0, then 0, then 1; which reads 1009 from left to right. 

Nicho’s isn't like that. His is horizontal, meaning that when he pulls his sleeve up, the bottom of all the numbers are there. The small line of the 1 and the round bottoms of the 009. You should’ve paid more attention the first time. Maybe it was your excitement that caused you to not notice that he hid the top of the numbers from view. You realized it this time as he pulled his sleeve until it almost revealed the full numbers. 

“See? We’re matching, baby.”

Before he could turn his gaze away from you, you pulled the last part of his sleeve to uncover the full number: 7009.

Bile in its purest acidic form rose to your throat, along with tears in your eyes. You stumbled back and tried to suck the air back into your lungs. You could barely hear him. Barely hear the desperate pleas that fell from his lips as you stumbled away from his apartment door. 

Y/N, please.

Just hear me out.

Listen to me, you don’t even know what happened?

After all the time we spent together, you’re just going to walk away?

Come back, please.

Please, please, come back to me.

As you drove away, his last words echoed faintly in your mind. And a part of you wondered if they were even meant for you.

You don’t know what you were thinking. It was beyond unprofessional — if HR ever found out you’d not only be fired but likely prevented from getting other job opportunities in the future. Somehow, none of that broke through the devastation hardening within your mind causing you to think irrationally. To act irrationally.

Because what sane person drives to the apartment of their client? 

What sane person punches the elevator button to his floor with tears flowing down their cheeks in steady streams?

What sane person knocks on his door, drunk on the thought of his strong arms wrapped around them?

The sight of him in a plain t-shirt and black basketball shorts and the most beautiful confused face you’ve ever seen sobered that thought from your head and drew a gasp from your mouth.

“Oh my— I’m so sorry— I didn’t—” You gestured stupidly with your hands, “I wasn’t thinking clearly. This is wildly unprofessional, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have come. Please forgive me—” 

It was warm — he was warm — as his big hands moved to hold you. One finding its way behind your head and the other over your arm and around your middle, pulling you into his chest and nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

“Please, don’t apologize Y/N.” He nearly whispers, his voice like sweet honey to your ears, “I’m so sorry.”

You held your breath, hoping it would stop the cries that were clawing within your chest. It shouldn’t hurt this much. You hadn’t wasted that much of your life. You’d only known Nicho for a little over a month. You’d only known him since that awful Tuesday in March. The day when everything went wrong. 

You wondered what would happen now. You used to look down at those four little numbers and see a promise, then when you were with Nicho they felt like a cage, what would they be like now? Would that bright red ink mock you for everything you’d lost. 

March 10th: the day you’d met and lost your soulmate.

“Y/N,” Heeseung whispered so gently, you wondered if he even wanted you to hear him. You pulled back to look into his eyes. Your faces inches apart — too close, too far. He looked at you with the same reverence he always had, “The day I met my soulmate, I never caught her name. She was gone before I could even catch a glimpse of what she looked like.” His hands slid up to your face, as if losing contact with you would kill him, “I looked for her everywhere. In every hallway, in every room, on every floor.”

“Did you ever find her?”

“I thought I did,” He let out a ghost of a laugh, “But she had allegedly found her soulmate already.” He watched your lips turn downward, “And I thought that was it. She had sped past me like a sports car on a highway.”

He looked down at his feet for a moment, just as yours filled with empathy.

“I dreamt of that metaphorical highway every night. One where I’d find her again and pick her up, and hold her, and never let go.” The look in his eyes was so intense it felt magnetic. Like it was drawing you in deeper. “But then, you know that, don’t you? You heard my song?”

The melody played somewhere in the back of your mind and you hated how its mere tune flooded your heart with hope. 

“Of course…”

“Then tell me, Y/N.” His voice held an indescribable desperation, “Tell me, I’m wrong. Tell me your body isn’t marked with the same numbers I look for in every place. Tell me that demo means nothing to you and you didn’t feel this crazy connection like we were being pulled together by strings of Fate.”

You didn’t tell him anything. You just tugged at your sleeve. Watching his desperation increase with each number: 9… 0… 0… 1… until he was face to face with the number he’d become all too familiar with. 

His fingers grabbed the hem of his black shorts and pulled them up. In vibrant red ink, just above the knee, four numbers you’d never seen on anyone’s body but your own. You stared at them like they’d vanish if you blinked. Or worse, that the one would change into a seven or the nine would flip upside down.

His warm hands found their way back to your cheeks.

“It’s real,” He informed, as if he had read the transcript of your mind, “You’re real.” He said as if it was hard to believe. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks and somehow you managed to pull even closer together. 

“Tell me if it's too much, all at once, and I won’t kiss you.”

Your lips didn’t move but your eyes did, dragging down to his lips and locking them there. Of course, he knew exactly what that meant. 

His breath fanned against your lips, his nose brushed against your own. Then finally, they pressed against yours like a promise fulfilled. 

Like the colors gained their hue, every melody was joined by its harmony, and flowers were solely acquainted with blooming.

And as your lips parted from one another, they instantly found each other again. 

And maybe Heeseung was right about Highway 1009. 

He’d pick you up, hold you, and he'd never let you go.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Heeseung flopped onto the sofa, placing his freshly washed hair straight in your lap, all with a dramatic groan. Without hesitation, you tousled his hair and brushed your nails gently through it. 

“I just reviewed your answers for that W Korea interview.”

“Mm,” He mumbled sleepily, “What do you think?”

“Mm,” You’d picked up on his habit, “I liked the part where you said that the producers called you crazy for challenging all the traditional conventions in composing.”

Heeseung’s eyes flew open and he held the most deadpan look they could muster. It wasn’t his fault that he adored you too much to even pretend to look mad at you.

“So, you’re just going to ignore the part where I said I wrote Highway 1009 for you?”

“Hm,” You hummed, “I’m pretty sure you said ‘your soulmate’.”

Heeseung sat up and pushed his face inches before yours, “Oh I’m sorry, did you want me to call HR and tell them that EVAN and his manager are in a secret relationship?” He grew a wicked smile that only made him look more irresistible, “C’mon, Manager. You of all people should know how the public would take that.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, “You’re lucky you're cute, Evan.”

He smiled slyly and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Oh, I know I’m lucky.”

His kisses always felt breathtaking and magnetic, it didn’t matter if it was your first or your 1009th.