#junhui x reader

✩ nsfw section ✩

❥ ot13 individual sections

❥ the seven deadly sins hyung line - @pochaccoups

❥ how svt prefer to get you off - @rubyreduji

❥ how svt spend valentine's day with their partner - @husbandhoshi

❥ seventeen and their favourite positions - @chimivx

❥ multiple svt members x reader

❥ double fucked (vernon & dino) - @rubyreduji

❥ leaderz line polycule (seungcheol, hoshi & jihoon) - @sluttywonwoo

❥ vernon fucking you while woozi watches (vernon & jihoon) - @rubyreduji

❥ melt an igloo (seungcheol & jihoon) - @woozivrsefactry

❥ siblings or dating (jeonghan & joshua)- @bitchlessdino

❥ brat (jeonghan & joshua) - @sunflowergyeomie

❥ untitled (seungcheol & jeonghan) - @mejaemin

❥ while he's gone (hoshi & vernon) - @100vern

❥ threesome with gyucheol (seungcheol & mingyu)- @svtswhorehouse

❥ rec (seungcheol & mingyu) - @hongcherry

❥ splashed (jeonghan & joshua) - @smileysuh

❥ gym rat!svt x reader

❥ gym crush! jihoon - @svtswhorehouse

❥ heavy lifting (mingyu) - @sknyuz

❥ Gym Rat Roommate!Seungcheol - @hoshifighting

JUNHUI ALWAYS SAYS YOU'RE A GOOD WIFE, BUT YOU KNOW YOU'RE NOT. Junhui excuses a lot of your behavior though, because he is a good husband. He is everything a good husband ought to be - hard working, intelligent, kind, strong, and doting. Better even, is that he's not exactly a traditional husband, which might make the neighbors think he isn't a very good one. He doesn't ask questions, he doesn't chastise you when you keep unexplainably strange hours and business travels, and he doesn't get mad at you.

Ever.

You know you're not a good wife. You're a decent cook and you cook meals as often as you can. You always send holiday cards to his coworkers. You make sure to pack him lunches. You kiss him when he goes to work. You sit through tutoring sessions with him, letting him think he's teaching you Mandarin. You show up for all of the neighbors party's on his arm, and you leave him to his hobbies without pestering him to clean up the house or do chores.

But you're a liar and good wives don't lie to their husbands.

Outside, the city that never sleeps is wide awake. The cab rattles up Fifth Avenue, the horn blaring as a Model T Ford roars past, the chrome reflecting under the glow of the streetlamps. Overhead, the skyline is filled with shadowy outlines of the buildings, the Woolworth Building tallest among them, watching over the city. Your eyes snag on a billboard for Lucky Strikes, bright and bold against the night sky.

Glancing at the slim watch on your wrist, you realize you're late again. Your business meeting had run long, and though Junhui thinks you were off in Brooklyn selling medical equipment, it's a far cry from your real job spent tangled in coded messages and back-alley assassinations for Clockwork.

Your agency demands perfection. Your husband does not, thank the Lord. He had agreed to meet you at the Harringtons' holiday party in their Upper East Side townhouse - probably because he expected you to be late - and he was probably fending off back-handed compliments and inquiries about where is your slippery wife?

Junhui wouldn't mind. He never did.

That was because he was the perfect husband. Your perfect husband that you lived with in your perfect home, a graceful brownstone on East 77th Street. It was a late-Victorian building made of warm brown sandstone, flanked by wrought-iron gates and a manicured front stoop. It was the perfect home inside and out, with parquet floors and walls paneled in dark walnut and decorated with the perfect art.

It was a perfect home for a perfect couple. You'd chosen it together three years ago, shortly after your wedding when Junhui's investments in radio stocks and automobile companies began paying well. He traveled nearly as often as you did - Chicago, China, Paris, London - but the house waited in its perfect little shadow.

Pretending to be perfect was a requirement. Junui didn't have to play the part, though. You did.

The taxi pulls up to the curb and you pay the driver with a crisp bill. The air has a chill bite to it when you step out, the faint scent of coal smoke drifting from nearby chimneys. Your heels click on the pavement as you hurry up the steps, the fur stole around your shoulders scratching against the silk of your dress as you go.

You briefly touch the necklace at your throat to ensure it's there - a gift from your husband when he had visited his parents in Shenzhen. You'd changed in a hurry at an agency safe house downtown, but you made sure to look every bit the part of a dutiful wife to a successful financier, including wearing the beautiful and often thoughtful gifts he showered you in.

As you reach the door, it opens. You startle when you see Junhui smiling at you, as though he had been waiting by the window for your arrival to time welcoming you just right. Which he had been. You'd seen his familiar silhouette on the second floor, but you hadn't expected him to beat you.

"There you are," he says softly, smiling.

He's dressed in a tailored black dinner jacket that pulls tight across his broad shoulders, a crisp white shirt with a wing collar underneath. The silk bow knotted at his throat is knotted with precision, but you reach up to tweak it anyway, just because you can.

Junhui's hair is slicked back, the lamps in the hallway turning his skin gold. Your heart skips a little as he escorts you inside, a strand of dark hair escaping his slick back to brush endearingly over his brows. You can't help but stare a little at his face - handsome and expressive, and a large part of the reason you'd noticed him at a gala five years ago.

A little flare of possessiveness goes through you. You wonder if he has any idea how all the wives of his friends wish they were married to him instead, the handsome and mysterious businessman from overseas.

As always, he doesn't ask where you've been. He never does. Instead, he reaches for your hand and leans forward, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. "You look stunning, tiānshǐ. The Harringtons will be envious. Mrs. Harrington was asking about you - said she missed your deviled eggs at the bridge club."

You force a smile, the guilt twisting like a knife. "I'm sorry I'm late. The client in Brooklyn was particular."

He waves it off, helping you out of your stole before hanging it in the hall closet. "No need to say sorry, my love. I finished up early at the office today. Seungcheol was in a mood about the margin calls, but nothing a good lunch at Delmonico's couldn't smooth over."

Your heart squeezes when he chuckles and shuts the closet door. If your husband had any idea how often your business dealings brushed against the very financial world he navigated, he'd be dizzy and confused for days.

Junhui is intelligent, which makes your role as his wife more challenging than most people of your profession were willing to take on. He dissected market trends, turning modest inheritances through calculated risks in utilities and aviation stocks. He's the kind of husband who notices things but doesn't say anything, and you love him for it.

You shouldn't love him. You do anyway.

It's hard not to. He's unwaveringly kind, always tipping waiters generously, remembering birthdays for neighbors and secretaries, volunteering on the weekends to tutor kids in English and Mandarin alike. And doting - flowers delivered just because, notes tucked into your pockets, evenings spent rousing you from the couch to move you to bed.

And he is stuck with you for a wife. He calls you a good wife, but good wives don't lie. Spies do, though.

The Harringtons' part waits, full of jazz and bootleg champagne. Another evening of playing the perfect couple. Another evening of secrets.

Inside the Harringtons' home glows bright against the December night. The air is thick with the scent of pine from the massive Christmas tree in the corner, cigar smoke, and sweet perfume. A jazz trio plays in the corner of the parlor where Junhui escorts you, his hand steady and warm at the small of your back.

The moment you step into the room, heads turn. Not dramatically, but you feel every eye flicker to you - you're trained to know that kind of thing - every gaze appraising.

"There she is!" Charles Harrington’s voice booms from across the room. "The elusive Mrs. Wen at last. We were beginning to think you'd been kidnapped!"

The small circle around him chuckles quietly. You smile but he has no idea that you have been kidnapped. Thrice, in fact, when you were younger and less experienced with the agency. Once recently on purpose as part of an interrogation.

"What a ridiculous notion, Charles," you laugh back, approaching with Junhui. "Only delayed by a very stubborn client. I'm afraid Brooklyn doesn't keep the same hours as Manhattan."

"Brooklyn," Caroline Harrington scoffs. She glides toward her husband in a gown of silver lamé that catches the light. "You're so terribly modern, darling. Most of us wouldn't be caught dead on that side of the bridge at night."

Junhui laughs that low, easy sound of his, dispelling tension before it can gather. "She's braver than most."

You think your husband would make a good spy. He works the room without even trying, nodding here and shaking hands there, dipping to compliment women appropriately and warmly. People like him because he makes them feel seen without ever making them feel studied, which is important in crowds like this.

You accept a teacup from a passing tray and sniff lightly. It's bootleg gin with a twist of lemon and when you take a sip, you wince. It's not very good gin, but with the laws around alcohol, who really can get good gin? You sip while Junhui drifts toward a knot of brokers near the fireplace,

Caroline tucks her arm through yours, steering you toward the buffet. "Come, let me show you what everyone's been raving about. The oysters came in this morning straight from the Sound. By the way, your deviled eggs were the talk at bridge club last week - which you missed. You'll have to give me the recipe."

"It's nothing special. Just a little paprika and too much mustard."

"Nonsense." Caroline flutters her fingers at you. They're covered in rings, a mix of antique and new. "Everything you touch turns gold, it seems. Junhui is a lucky man. And so patient, too! Most husbands would be positively feral if their wives were running around Brooklyn."

You feel the comment for what it is - a gentle probe. You're used to the women trying to ferret out your secrets, all of them more eager than the last to unwrap the mystery that is Junhui's wife. You meet her smile like you always do, unwavering as you sip your gin.

"He's very understanding," you reply. "I'm the lucky one."

She hums, agreeing but not liking your dodging of her question. She won't press until she's had more cocktails, at least. Caroline is not the boldest woman in the circle of people you tentatively call friends, but after a few drinks, she'll be demanding answers you won't give.

Across the room, Junhui catches your gaze. He tilts his head slightly, a silent question - are you alright? You nod once and he gives you a small, private smile. You smile back, heart still racing a little.

Stupid, traitorous heart.

The music shifts and turns the energy in the room, couples dancing. One of Junhui's friends - Chan, as you recall his name - offers you a dance. Junhui winks at you and you sigh, letting the younger man pull you into a dance.

You don't like dancing, but the muscle memory kicks in. Clockwork had you trained in all manner of skills, including dancing. It was a useful skill when you were at galas and parties, using it to move about the room as another form of surveillance.

You can't help but do it now, scanning the room over Chan's shoulder to take everything in. There's a banker who had been too friendly with a certain German attaché last month, a woman who touches her pearl choker like a nervous tick, a man in the corner who hasn't smiled a single time because his wife is giggling with a group of finance men, and there's Junhui, watching you watch the room.

When the song ends, your partner bows to you and you thank him for the dance, drifting toward your husband as he turns to you with another cup of gin. You step close to him and he leans down, breath fanning your ear as he murmurs, "Why is it you always look ready to start a coup?"

"It was only a small one."

He smiles and kisses your temple. "And this is why I don't play bridge with you."

"You don't know how to play bridge, Jun."

"I'd learn for you."

There he goes again. You don't know what to do with him. This song and dance is both familiar and strange. You'd married Junhui because you could and because it was allowed within your line of work. Marriages made people of your skill set seem normal. Harmless. And Junhui had been vetted and cleared, as normal as they could get.

You hadn't intended to marry him because you liked him, but you certainly did. Which is why you felt rotten guilt every time you thought too much about it, how he had no idea that his wife had an entire double life eliminating people that a secret agency deemed too dangerous to continue living.

Because that's mostly what Clockwork was about. World advancement and keeping humanity in a forward propulsion was Clockwork's main goal, which meant that the agency had its fingers in all manner of realms: political, financial, corporation, social, casual, cultural, environmental. There is no shortage of influences across the globe that your agency doesn't have, and you are only one of its thousands of agents.

You sip your gin, letting the burn ground you. The party swirls on, louder and looser now. Someone has opened the French doors to the terrace and cold air rushes in, carrying the scent of snow and distant coal smoke. A few brave souls venture into the cold to smoke, the acrid smell of cigarettes drifting in with their laughter.

Junhui eventually sets his cup on a side table, turning to face you with a soft grin.

"What?" You ask, laughing as he pries the cup from your hand to set it down.

"Dance with me?"

It's not really a question but you nod anyway as he takes your hand to draw you into the slow sway of the next song. His palm is warm at your waist, his other hand cradling yours, fingers rough. You always thought it was strange that he had such rough hands for a financier. You ignore it, resting your cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the bay rum and the faint trace of cigar smoke.

"You're quiet tonight," he notes softly, switching to his native tongue. You smile. It feels like you get a part of him no one else does. "Are you alright?"

"Long day."

It was. You'd killed a man today, but you can't tell him that. So you settle for this, swaying against him with the steady beat of his heart pumping underneath your cheek. He doesn't push you - he never does.

You look up at him - really look. The soft glow of the chandelier turns his eyes warm and dark, the single escaped strand of hair still brushing his brow. For a single, reckless second, you want to tell him everything. You want to tell him how you'd been recruited right after you turned eighteen to an agency more secret and elusive than the CIA. You want to tell him sometimes your weeks on trips are spent overseas hunting people down. Extracting information. That even when you're halfway around the world, you hope your gentle husband is reading a book in his study.

You don't tell him. You can't.

Resting your head against his chest again, you think how nice it is to have the perfect husband and how sad it is that he has a rotten wife.

-

The clock strikes midnight as Junhui stands in the alley behind the speakeasy on Mulberry Street, a siren wailing in the distance. The air smells like the rotted garbage coming from the flowing bins and the metallic tang of the rusted fire escapes above him.

His gloved hands are steady, keeping his hands dry from the warm blood that flows from the neck of the man in his clutches. The Clockwork agent gurgles, wet and desperate before he sags forward. Junhui lets him crumple against the cold brick wall, blood spattering as he goes. The body hits the ground soundlessly - no noise, just how Junhui prefers it.

Silence is Protocol's highest priority, and tonight, he is very much that.

He wipes the blade methodically on the man's coat, noting that it's a nice make from Paris. He only knows fashion because you like fashion, and he thinks that maybe the next time he's in Paris he should grab one himself. You'd like that, he's sure.

Junhui tucks the weapon back into the hidden sheath at his ankle and stands. His pulse is even and his breathing is controlled despite the adrenaline rushing in his veins. He scans the hallway, but the only witness to the murder is a stray cat prowling near the dumpster with luminous eyes.

As usual, it was too easy. Clockwork operatives are often arrogant, too reliant on their skills and their agency's aura of inevitability. They always were. Junhui stares down at the man with a flicker of irritation. The self-righteous architects at Clockwork think they're better than everyone, molding the future and the world to their vision of engineered perfection.

Sighing, Junhui straightens his tight, the silk smooth under his fingers. You'd bought him this tie for Christmas a few weeks ago. He makes sure to wear it often and to make sure you see that he's wearing it. He likes when you buy him things, even though he certainly deserves nothing for you. You're the perfect wife buying her seemingly perfect husband gifts, but if you had half the idea of the rot inside of him, you might not spoil him so much.

He steps out into the alley, merging into the foot traffic on Mulberry, the chill January wind whipping at his overcoat. Horns blare from taxis on Canal Street and the faint sizzle of chestnuts from a vendor's cart reaches him as he walks, hands shoved in his pockets to keep the cold out.

The walk to the subway is brisk. Businessmen stagger from speakeasies, ties askew, breath fogging in the cold. Junhui pauses to buy a newspaper from a newsboy, tucking it under his arm as he goes. Blending in is as important as possible. No one knows there's blood on his gloves and a murder weapon hidden at his ankle.

Protocol had trained him well. They'd recruited him early at university as an economics theory major, his mind and intelligence surgical - exactly the type of agents they like. His background in martial arts through his childhood proved lethal as well, making him the perfect blend of already dangerous and easy to teach.

He'd risen quickly, specializing in clean hits that required little glamour or grandeur. Being unnoticed was his preference, and he was good at it.

Except when it came to you. You had noticed him at that art gala five years ago, wandering over to him and asking him what he thought of the art. He'd recited something rote from his flashcards he had looked at in case someone had asked him his thoughts, but he hadn't expected to need them. You surprised him like that all the time, and he surprised himself by wanting to see more of you after that night.

Surprised himself even more when he asked you to marry him.

Junhui's life isn't exactly fit for marriage, but it works. You're busy as a medical supplies seller, traveling around the boroughs and often other cities. It's a strange job for a woman to have, but he doesn't care. It keeps you happy and out of the house when he's gone, which is really all that matters.

He boards the uptown train, finding a seat in a half-empty car that rocks northward as it takes off. The lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows on the faces around him. He takes it all in with a single sweep, a habit that he will never let go. No one here pays attention to him - there's a pair of young lovers murmuring in the corner and a single hotel worker asleep, his head against the window.

Junhui leans back against the vibrating window, the cold glass pressing through his coat to his shoulder. There's no one here who can give him any trouble, so he shuts his eyes for a bit and lets his mind wander back to you.

You're probably asleep by now, curled under the heavy quilt in the brownstone you share together. The image brings a faint smile to his face. You're a good wife, despite the whispers from the neighbors about your erratic schedule and why you have a job at all. Women don't need jobs.

But your job makes you happy, and Junhui is in the business of keeping you happy.

On more than one occasion Charles Harrington has told Junhui he should be asking more questions about a woman who travels around Brooklyn at night. Junhui doesn't ask questions, though. He never does. You don't ask questions about why a financier needs to come home after midnight from meeting with a private client, so shouldn't he return the favor?

Sometimes he wonders if you have affairs. He can't help it. He wouldn't blame you if you did. You say and do all the right things - and yet Junhui isn't around nearly as much as he should be. Plus, you're not very intimate. Junhui's guilt doesn't let himself touch you often, too afraid to kiss you the way he wants and breathe you in like he desires, knowing that it's the ultimate betrayal to do so while lying to you.

Husbands shouldn't be liars.

But no, Junhui dismisses the idea of you stepping out on him. It's not in your character. You're loyal and steadfast, and you like to pack notes in his lunches. You send holiday cards to his invented coworkers, let him delve into hobbies without a word of complaint, even if it's piano sessions that stretch into the night. You never complain about the lack of intimacy, never push for more.

You're just you. Perfect.

The train jolts to a stop at 77th Street, the doors opening with a hiss. He exits into the quieter residential part of the city, the wind carrying the promise of snow and the gas lamps lighting the way. Your home waits at the end of the block, the windows dark save for a single gold glow of the hall lamp you always leave on for him.

He smiles. It's a small thing, but it tugs at his heartstrings as he ascends the stairs. Coming home to you is far too easy when his marriage to you is mostly supposed to be a cover up. It makes him look normal in a world full of couples - that's what he told Protocol, anyway. It wasn't out of some silly attempt to make a normal life or anything beyond that except… he does like you.

Inside the house is dark. His shoes click on the parquet floors and he can smell lavender that you'd probably been burning again. He hands his overcoat in the closet and shuts it as silently as he can before he moves upstairs like a shadow.

The bedroom door is ajar, a sliver of moonlight spilling through. He pushes it open gently and sees you asleep on your side, one arm draped over his empty pillow, the quilt pulled to your chin against the winter chill. You look ethereal, your lips parted faintly, the tiniest snore leaving you.

Fondness surges through him. He has no idea how he ended up with someone like you, how he, with hands forever marked with violence, ended up with someone as kind and patient as you are. He creeps over to you and gives you a brief kiss on the brow, unable to help himself. It rouses you from sleep immediately but he hushes you.

"Y'okay?" You mumble.

"I'm fine, I'm sorry I'm home late. I'm going to shower."

"Okay."

He smiles at you. "Go to sleep, my love."

"Mhmm."

You thud back against the pillow and he smiles before heading over to the adjoining bathroom. He waits to turn on the light until he has the door shut behind him, unwilling to wake you again. He avoids looking in the mirror - he knows what he'll see: young, handsome, incredibly manicured. The perfect man who seems unassuming. It's all an act, the sins hidden beneath the curated surface.

Junhui strips methodically: jacket over the hamper, shirt unbuttoned to reveal the faint scar from a botched hit a few years ago. Thankfully it had happened before you, and he was able to use the excuse of surgery when you asked about the scar.

Steam billows when he turns the shower on as hot as he can get it. He feels like it's important to burn away the sin of the kill when he comes home to you, too afraid to get into bed like you'll smell the blood on his skin or sense the darkness in his shadow.

As he lathers soap, he thinks about the Clockwork agent briefly - the surprise in his face, the bubbling sound he'd made when the knife went in. Another life ended, another contract closed.

Protocol owns him. They have since they recruited him. Junhui never expected it to matter, but as the lies pile up, he feels worse and worse about it. You're as safe as can be with him, but sometimes he wonders if it would be a better life to give you over to someone who can be there for you more often.

When the shower is over, the silence is deafening. He rushes to pull his pajamas on, itching to be in the bed that smells like you and near your warmth. He exits the bathroom, letting his eyes adjust to the dark bedroom, smiling when he sees you're still sleeping.

He gets into the bed and you murmur incoherently in your sleep, shifting closer to him. He wraps an arm around you without thinking and your warmth seeps into him, chasing the alley's chill away.

For a fleeting moment, he lets himself forget the blade and the alley, pretends the kill didn't happen. Here in this bed with you, he's just Mr. Wen and you're Mrs. Wen. He's your husband, the financier, nothing shady, nothing nefarious.

It won't last long. Tomorrow morning he has to find an excuse to tell you he has to leave for Paris in two days. The assignment had come before he'd even completed his hit tonight, a terse telegram in one of the many safe houses assigned to him.

CONTRACTOR JW0610. 01.29.1922. 10:00:00. DISTANCE REQUIRED. 48.8530°N, 2.3499°E. CHERCHEZ LA FLUER.

Two days to prepare for a hit isn't much, but he's used to it. It isn't a lot to go off of either, which meant it is a high profile hit. They hadn't even given him a name or affiliation, and he isn't sure what look for the flower meant. Junhui is smart though, and he has a feeling he'll know what it means when he sees it.

Tomorrow, he'll tell you over breakfast. Apologies, love. It's off to Paris. You'll nod and kiss him easily and pack his lunch without question. The cycle will repeat.

Junhui closes his eyes and pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You sigh and melt into him, and for now, it's enough. But tomorrow, the lies resume like clockwork.

He smirks at the joke before finally giving into sleep.

-

Junhui perches on the narrow roof of a building overlooking the Île de la Cité, directly across from the Notre-Dame. The sacred dome of the church looms over him like a giant while the Seine slithers below, its twin towers clawing at the sky.

The wind coming off the river is sharper than he expected, the damp chill of water and the faint rot of algae wafting to him. Below, Rue du Cloître is a churning river of people. Parisians in heavy coats hurry past the cathedral's facade while tourists cluster together and snap photos with box cameras.

It's hard to hear anything up here with the wind, but the clatter of hooves on cobblestones and the shrill honk of a black car trying to navigate the narrow bridge echoes to him as he finishes his set up, adrenaline pumping already.

He's set up on the flat roof of an old ecclesiastical residence, the kind of old and rotted place no one looks at. He wishes he had an overcoat, the thin shirt doing very little to keep him warm. Warm is a luxury he can't afford today, dressed in grey to blend in with his surroundings with a compression scarf pulled up to cover his lower face.

A rifle rests steady on its bipod, a sleek prototype from Protocol with a silencer and a modified Berthier with a German-made telescopic sight that lets him count the threads in a jacket on his victim if he needs to. It's obscene in its precision, and it required him several forged and real documents to get it through security and onto the private plane he took to get here.

Junhui watches below, shivering in the early morning. He's been here since first light, watching the cathedral steps, the parvis, the bridge. The crowd thickens as the morning wears on, and he watches a priest in a black cassock moving with purpose toward the side door.

No flower though. He's not sure what exactly it means, other than he'll know when he sees it. Not even the women here are dressed in floral, but the fleur de lis is everywhere. Somehow, he thinks that's not what the message meant, though. So he waits, mind straying errantly to you on occasion.

He'd felt his usual stab of guilt when he told you he was going to Paris. You'd simply smiled and told him to bring you back something pretty. The perfect wife, letting him disappear like always. He doesn't deserve you. He thinks he never has.

Sighing, he moves the scope, strafing right and then left. A flash of gold flints in the sun, small but unmistakable. He thinks nothing of it first, adjusting the scope to fix the focus. He's got the scope on a woman's throat, the delicate chain of her necklace glinting in the light. The lotus pendant on the thin chain shifts as she walks and Junhui's blood turns cold.

The pendant looks exactly like the one he'd purchased you in Shenzhen. For my wife, he'd told the jeweler, smiling because you remind him of a lotus - pure and resilient. He adjusts the scope again, heart pounding as he zooms out.

And sees you.

His stomach drops. The rifle trembles for the first time in years and he readjusts, hoping his proximity to the church lends him a miracle as he prays that it's a trick of the light, that a stranger is wearing the same necklace. But the profile sharpens and he sees the line of your jaw, the way you tilt your head, the small scar on your chin you'd told him was from a childhood fall.

You're here. In Paris. At the exact coordinates that Protocol had given him, at the exact time. With a flower he gave you.

You stop in the middle of the parvis, suddenly still. The crowd flows around you like water around a rock, a vendor bumping into your shoulder. You don't react, though. Your head turns, sweeping the crowd like you sense danger. Junhui's heart is hammering, his hands shaking as he watches you through the scope until you suddenly lift your eyes, sweeping the rooftops.

Your gaze lands impossibly on his position. He knows you can't see him - there's no way. He's three stories up with the sun at his back, and his in shadow. But he recognizes the look on your face, a predator suddenly aware there is something bigger and scarier than them hunting. Your shoulders go stiff and he tracks the way your hand twitches toward your coat pocket.

Panic slams into him. Not you. Not the woman who kisses him goodnight, who leaves notes in his lunch, who makes the brownstone feel like home instead of a safe house. The rifle is suddenly too heavy in his hands. How can you be the target? And why are you here? Only a single answer makes sense, and he cannot even think the words, lest they come true.

Suddenly, you bolt. It makes Junhui lurch, jerking the scope to track your movements but you immediately blend into the crowd. He curses and tears the rifle away, shaking as he breaks the weapon down and shoves the pieces into its satchel with frantic speed.

Gravel scrapes under his boots as he bolts for the stairwell, heart hammering. The stairs are dark and narrow but he takes two at a time, bursting onto the street level and startling a flock of doves. The crowd is thick, bodies pressing close. He weaves through them, shouldering the satchel as he scans for you.

Terror grips him. What if you disappear? What if Protocol has a backup for you? What if you're here to kill him?

He cuts through a narrow passage off Rue du Cloître. He spots you up ahead, your coat flashing as you turn into a shadowed courtyard entry. He accelerates, boots splashing in shallow puddles, his hand slipping into his pocket for the concealed gun on instinct.

He steps into the courtyard mouth just as you whirl, a gun in hand pointed directly at him. His heart squeezes painfully, both of you freezing. A thousand emotions flit across your face in that second, the gun trembling in your hand as you stare at him, open mouthed. You look as terrified as he feels.

"Junhui?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, voice cracking.

A patch of sun hits you between roofs. You don't squint in the light, trained to stare at him. The light catches on your necklace, the lotus looking right back at him. Find the flower. He sure has, he just hadn't expected it to be his wife.

"Hi, love."

- You circle the parvis of Notre-Dame slowly, the cobblestones uneven beneath your low heels. The cathedral looms above, its twin towers dark against the pale sky. Gargoyles leer down at you, watching you as though they know what you're here to do. Perhaps they do. You're not particularly religious, but the marvel of Notre-Dame inspires a healthy respect for religion as you eye the stone facades.

The air is sharp with the smell of the Seine, the damp stone and river mud serving as a faint undercurrent to the coal smoke from barges sliding past on the water. Tourists cluster together near the main facade, collars turned up against the wind. You duck your head as you walk, your necklace swinging with every step.

Clockwork's instructions had been simple, delivered through the encrypted telegram in your hotel room: enter the cathedral, eliminate the woman in the blue coat near the altar, no witnesses, vanish.

Bone-deep anxiety has clung to you since you docked in La Havre. Junhui had mentioned his business trip was in Paris as well, though you know he's off doing finance deals or something in the Bourse. He's somewhere buried in tickers and ledges and here you are walking toward a holy place to will a stranger.

Still, the feeling won't leave you.

The anxiety gets worse, turning to a sharp prickle at the back of your neck, the same instinct that has saved you in back alleys and safe houses over the years. It's the instinct that tells you someone is watching you.

You pause near a vendor cart selling postcards of the rose window, pretending to browse. Your eyes sweep the crowd, but there's no one obvious or lingering too long. You move again, circling as the wind picks up, carrying the scent of chestnuts.

The prickle sharpens.

You stop in the middle of the parvis, the crowd flowing around you. A vendor bumps into your shoulder and murmurs a quick apology in French, but you don't listen to him. You tilt your head, eyes lifting slowly as you scan the rooftops across the way. There's a bunch of old ecclesiastical buildings, their grey roofs slick with frost and chimneys.

Sunlight catches something - metal bright and brief. Your heart lurches when you realize it's the unmistakable flash of a rifle scope glinting from a high vantage point.

A gunman. Your stomach drops. Clockwork hadn't mentioned backup, which means this is opposition. Protocol, most likely. Their agents have been trying to kill you for years, but the paid thugs aren't nearly as refined as they think they are.

Without thinking twice, you bolt.

You weave through the tourists, shoulder clipping a man, apologies lost in your flight. The parvis gives way to a narrow street and you fash down it, your breath coming out in short gasps as you run, coat flapping. You hear nothing but your own pulse as you turn right and then left, ducking under an archway and past shuttered shops with faded signs.

What you need is a dead end, somewhere to wait and eliminate whoever follows. The gun in your pocket is loaded with two shots - enough to get the job done.

The alley narrows further, the walls high and mossy, sunlight barely reaching you. You spot a courtyard up ahead, a small and forgotten space behind an old residence, the iron gate half opened with ivy crawling over it. Perfect. You slip inside, drawing your gun and turning, ready.

Footsteps echo, fast and deliberate. You ready yourself, widening your stance as a shadow appears at the gate and -

Your husband stands there in a gray shirt, compression scarf pulled down around his neck, pistol in hand but low. His hair is mused from the wind, strands falling in his eyes that widen when they see you - shock, followed immediately by something raw and pain.

You freeze.

"Junhui?" The word comes out cracked, a million thoughts racing through your mind.

He doesn't move closer, gun still raised. "Hi, love."

The courtyard feels too small, the walls pressing in. The damp air is thick in your throat, and the lotus necklace burns against your skin like a brand. You stare at him - your husband - the man who kisses your forehead, who plays piano in the parlor, who never asks where you've been. Here. In Paris. With a rifle bag on his shoulder.

The pieces crash together.

"You were on the roof." Your voice was shaking. "That was you."

He nods. "Assignment."

The word turns your stomach to acid. Assignment. Not finance, not stocks. Assignment.

"Protocol?"

He swallows, gun lowering a little as he nods. "Clockwork?"

Understanding hits you like a physical blow. His agency has hated yours and vice versa for years. Clockwork's vision of controlled progress doesn't quite match with Protocol's military pragmatism, and somehow despite both agencies vetting, the two of you have married enemies.

Or have you? Has he known all along? You're not sure, but the horror on his face is either well practiced or genuine. You don't lower the gun just in case, despite the fact that he sags, defeated.

"You're here to kill me," you tell him. It isn't a question.

"I didn't know it was you. Until I saw the necklace. The flower." You don't move. "I'm not going to kill you."

"How do I know that?"

"I guess you don't." He puts his gun in his coat pocket and holds both of his hands up, a white flag. "Kill me if you wish."

His words hit like a slap. You recoil physically, your arm dropping as you lower the weapon. He seems a little relieved, but you're horror stricken. Kill him? You don't think you could, even if your life was on the line. Which it is, the two of you facing each other, breath misting the air.

"What about you?" He asks, drawing you from your whirlwind thoughts. "Why are you here?"

"Assigned to some woman. I obviously didn't complete it." You tuck your gun away carefully, eyeing him carefully. "I saw the flash on your scope."

He frowns. "The sun was behind me." You lift a shoulder. You're unsure what reflected off his scope, but perhaps it had been divine intervention after all. "We have to get moving. They're expecting confirmation. If we don't, they'll send someone else."

"We?"

He nods, checking a watch. "You're my wife."

"I'm… I'm Clockwork. You're Protocol."

He lowers his wrist and looks at you - really looks at you. You study him, your heart hammering, a dull ache in your chest blooming. He's still Junhui - at least he looks like it. He's your husband with warm brown eyes, who speaks softly and loves to kiss you on the forehead, who is patient and kind and steady.

And apparently he's a contract killer. But he didn't kill you. You hope it means something.

"You're my wife," he says again, softer this time.

Junhui extends his hand, slow and careful. He's wearing gloves but you take a few tentative steps toward him, placing your hand in his. His fingers close around yours, and even through the leather, they're warm. You step closer and he pulls you through the gate and into the alley, keeping you close.

"We're going to need to run," he murmurs looking down at you. "Just trust me enough to get us somewhere. Then we can talk. Can you do that?"

You think about it. Your training is telling you to kill him and run, to save yourself. But every instinct you have that is not the rained spy is looking at him - the man you married, the man who has rubbed your back when you were sick and warmed your hands in his pocket - is looking at you with nothing but honesty.

It's stupid. You know it is. Protocol isn't known for their spies as much as they are for their hitmen - Junhui would have been taught to blend in and run, but they're not an intelligence agency the way Clockwork is. They aren't taught to manipulate to the degree you are.

So you nod. You see the relief pass on his face as he tugs you gently, both of you breaking out into a run.

The city presses in, the narrow passageways smelling like damp stone and yesterday's rain. Your breath syncs with his, footsteps matching, the panic there but shared now. Not once does he let go of your hand, tugging you out of the way of a passing bike and into the safety of his arms for a brief moment.

Junhui leads you to a small doorway behind a boulangerie, the scent of fresh bread wafting out. He pulls out a compact telegraph key from his pocket, and for a second you think he's going to notify Protocol he has you in his hands. Your heart starts to slam in your ribcage, realizing that the love you have for him - that you're not supposed to - has been your undoing. Still, you don't reach for your weapon, unwilling to kill him even if-

He catches your panic. "I'm telling them you're dead," he notes, voice dry.

"Oh."

You do the same, tapping out a coded message to your operatives at Clockwork. It'll only buy you hours - maybe a single day. You're not sure.

"We need to get out of Paris," he says. "Home will be dangerous, but if we're going to survive we need to go there first." You hate that you agree. "Le Bourget? Private flight?"

"Yes."

Junhui hails a taxi near the river, the water dark and choppy under the bridges as an afternoon storm rolls in. You sit close to Junhui as the driver navigates the city, but not touching, the space between you heavy. Your mind spins - the brownstone waiting back home, its walnut panels, the piano - a life of mutual lies catching like tinder and burning down around you.

-

Le Bourget airfield is bustling with activity in the afternoon gloom, hangars looming like metal beasts under the gray sky. The smell of fuel hangs heavy in the air and the hum of propellers whirring buzzes in your ears as you cross the wet tarmac.

Junhui's hand hovers at your elbow as you walk, not quite touching. You feel the loss of his touch acutely, a small ache at the sudden distance between you. You don't know where you stand now, the man you've known for the last five years suddenly a complete stranger.

Somehow, you feel it only serves you right.

Junhui leads you to a waiting plane, the engines warming with a low rumble that vibrates through you. The plane is small, the cabin cramped with leather seats worn from use, the air inside tinged with tobacco. You climb aboard, settling into a seat by the window, rain streaking the glass like tears. Junhui sits across from you, the space between your knees too close in the small plane, knocking awkwardly.

Tension threads your shoulders as the plane readies for takeoff. You feel exposed and out of control - it was Junhui who arranged the flight, assuring you that he could do it discreetly and safely. Still, there was no guarantee there were Clockwork or Protocol agents already working on knocking your plane out of the sky and into the Atlantic.

The thought unsettles you as the plane taxis and takes off, your ears popping as the city falls away below Paris, a patchwork of stone and river. You watch it shrink, the Eiffel Tower a distant spike on the horizon.

Your mind whirls like the propellers, skipping between the flash of his scope and your agencies turning you against the other. But mostly your thoughts are on the man across the way from you. Your husband. The man you thought was perfect, who called you tiānshǐ and kissed your forehead. The man who is Protocol, a killer like you, but from the opposite side.

You weren't supposed to, but you'd fallen for him along the way. You wonder now if that was on purpose, if he had lured you into his arms to act as a shield of normalcy. Your intention had been to seem normal and married, but you'd fallen for the way he smiled at your broken Mandarin, the way he kept the notes in his lunches, the quiet evenings where he'd play piano.

But now? Doubt creeps in, cold and insidious. Was any of it real for him?

The plane levels out, the rumble steady now. You turn from the window and look at him. He's watching you already, expression unreadable.

"How'd you charter this without Protocol?" You ask. "Sounds difficult."

He hesitates, then nods. "Someone in Interpol owed me a favor. From a job a few years back. Clean flight, no records."

Interpol. It shouldn't surprise you - he's Protocol after all, with connections in shadows you never imagined. It's another small layer peeled back, revealing the man you didn't realize was your husband all this time.

The cabin is silent for a long moment, just the hum of the plane and the rain on the fuselage. Finally alone, the questions he seems to be holding bubble to the surface.

"Can we talk?" He switches languages, watching you dubiously.

"Of course we can. You first."

His lip twitches. "So you do speak it fluently." You flush, caught. "You learned way too fast. I'm a good teacher but your accent was always good."

"I speak seven languages."

"I speak eight."

"Show off."

He leans back, the smile fading as he looks you up and down. "It started in college," he tells you. "I did study economics at Columbia. I was good at it. Money was tight with my family in Shenzhen and me in school. Protocol approached my senior year and said I had potential. Offered training, pay, and a way to send money home." He pauses, fingers drumming. "Martial arts from childhood helped. I specialized in going unnoticed."

You listen, heart aching. The man he describes is the one you married - intelligent, steady. But now this one is darker. Something else.

"And me?" You ask. "At the gala?

"I was there for a job," he admits. "You approached me and asked about the art and I recited flashcards but… I didn't anticipate you. You were smart and funny, and I liked you. After I checked that you were safe - which was wrong, I should add - the agency realized marrying you made me look normal. Protocol approved."

The words land like a punch even though you saw it coming. Cover. Normal. Not love. Not the way you'd fallen for him, piece by piece. You'd thought maybe it was real - that despite your lies, he loved you. But for him, it was a necessity. Fondness? Sure. But you were a tool to appear harmless.

It serves you right, you suppose, but sadness swells. You've been in love with him for years - or were, before this. The man who called you angel, who never pressed for intimacy despite your guilt keeping you from touching him most nights. And here you are expecting him to love you when he did the very thing you were supposed to do.

He's succeeded where you have failed.

It breaks something in you and you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly needing it like armor. If he notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Your turn," he urges.

You swallow, nodding as you start, your throat tight. "Clockwork recruited me when I turned eighteen. Right after high school. Saw potential in my test scores or whatever. Trained me in everything - codes, killing, covers." You pause and look at the wedding ring on your hand. "The gala was a surveillance job. You stood out - handsome, different. I approached on impulse, which was rare for me. Didn't intend to keep seeing you until I did, and Clockwork thought a husband would help me blend in."

He nods, absorbing it. The plane dips slightly, turbulence rattling the cabin. You grip the armrest, mind still spinning. Three years of marriage, built on agency approvals. Lies on lies. And now, exposed.

Neither of you speak for a while. You watch out the window at the clouds, the grey Atlantic stretching below. Your stomach is in knots, the truth between you doing nothing to seal the gap. It only pushes you further apart.

Finally, Junhui breaks the silence. "I don't want to kill you."

"I don't want to kill you either."

"The agencies won't stop. We're loose ends now."

You nod, the reality settling like lead. They'll hunt. Aggressively. No mercy for traitors.

"I fear we're at a deadlock."

He nods. "We have to escape their reach."

"How?"

The urge to reach for him is strong. You don't, though. Not now that you know it's not the same, that this isn't the same for him as it is for you.

"Collect what we need. Cash, papers. Then go our separate ways. Safer that way and harder to track."

The words slice through you. Separate ways. It breaks your heart, a sharp, quiet pain that steals your breath. You'd imagined - stupidly, perhaps - a life together, even now. Running away as one. But he's right. And perhaps it's better for him to be fond and not in love so it makes this easier, to be at a deadlock in which no progress can be made.

"Agreed," you nod.

He looks at you, something unreadable in his eyes, but you turn to the window, watching the clouds. You reserve the part of you that wants to beg him to stay, knowing you don't deserve it and he doesn't want to.

The flight drags, hours of tension and unspoken words. You land in New York under cover of night, sleet slashing the tarmac. When you step out of the plane and he hails a cab, you know nothing will ever be the same.

-

The plane touches down with a jolt. Junhui looks at you but you're staring out of the window, face turned away. The cabin feels too small, air thick with the tension of unspoken words and the faint scent of fuel seeping in from outside.

Junhui stands first, offering a hand to help you up. You stand up on your own, movements reserved, eyes not quite meeting his. It makes his heart squeeze, knowing now that everything was a lie.

He'd fallen in love with you slowly and unintentionally. He'd thought maybe it was mutual - always felt guilty for it - but now? Doubt poisons everything. You're Clockwork - were Clockwork. The marriage was a cover. He was convenient. Safe. Normal.

The sadness twists in him like a blade, even though he was supposed to be doing the same thing to you. But for him it had turned real. Foolish, really. But he's glad there's enough fondness in you to let him live, to part ways.

He'd suggested separate ways not because he wanted it, but to save what little pride he had left. If you didn't love him, better to let you go without begging. Without admitting how much that it hurt.

The pilot nods as you exit, no questions, just like Junhui had paid for. Outside, the sleet stings Junhui's face, wind whipping through his coat as you both rush through customs and back out into the wind to hail a cab. The driver is an older man that complains about the weather, but he takes the cash as you both slide into the back.

Despite the small space in the back of the car, there's a chasm between you. He wants to bridge it - wish he could. He wants to reach for your hand and pull you close, to tell you that it was real for him. That he had been lying, but not really. Not all the time. But he doesn't. You're reserved now, words sparse, gazed fixed outside of the window.

The silence stretches, broken only by the slosh of tires on wet roads and the driver's occasional cough. Junhui's mind races, replaying every moment over the last five years with you - the gala where you'd approached him, your smile bright and charming. The proposal he'd made because he couldn't imagine life without you. He night's he'd held back from you, guilt over his lies making him afraid to take more than you offered.

He'd thought you were content, that what you'd had was enough. But it was all a facade for you. Cover. The word echoes, bitter. He loves you - fiercely, achingly - but it was never real for you. And he doesn't blame you one bit. He cannot hold you to trial for a crime he was also committing.

Sadness swells, a silent grief that makes his chest tight. He will miss you more than you know. It's the right call, despite the fact it makes him want to fall to his knees.

The brownstone appears like a ghost in the sleet. He helps you out of the cab and you let him this time, though you step away from him the moment you're outside. The stoop creaks under you both as you hurry inside, the key turning into the lock with a familiar click.

You head upstairs without a word, movements quick. Junhui follows, heart heavy, watching you rush into the bedroom to start packing. He stands in the doorway for a moment, the reality hitting him. This was his home, a perfect life that he'd clung to, even if it was built on lies. Now it's ending and you're eager to go.

He moves to his side of the closet, packing his own things - cash from a hidden safe, false papers tucked into a book spine, weapons from certain shoes. His fingers linger on the tie you'd given him for Christmas, silk smooth, a reminder of you. He keeps it, wanting to hold on even when you're gone.

In the middle of folding one of his shirts, something prickles at the back of his neck. It's the same instinct he's had before ducking before being shot at. The house is too quiet, the sleet outside rhythmic. He glances up, drawn to the window where your back is turned as you pack, the curtain half-drawn. A red dot appears on your bag, small and steady.

His blood turns cold.

"Get down!" He yells, lunging across the room.

You startle, but he tackles you to the floor just as the window shatters, glass exploding inward. Bullets spray through the bedroom, thudding into the walls, splintering wood. Junhui's body covers yours, shards of glass raining down on you both. Pain blooms in his shoulder - glass or a bullet graze, he doesn't know - but adrenaline surges.

"They know," he gasps, rolling off of you. He pulls a pistol from the nightstand.

You nod, gun drawn as you both turn. Another spray of bullets rips through, punching holes in the wallpaper, the chandelier downstairs crashing. The house shakes with the assault, sleet cutting in through the broken windows, cold and stinging.

Junhui crawls to the edge of the bed and looks over to see shadows moving outside. There are three figures in black downstairs advancing on the stoop, rifles up. He fires twice through the window, the suppressed pops lost in the chaos.

"Back stairs," You tell him, already moving.

A bullet whines past your head, embedding in the walnut paneling. Junhui's heart lurches but you don't flinch as you return fire, turning into a woman he doesn't know at all. He follows, shoulder burning still, pistol steady as he shoots at a figure bursting through the front door below. The man jerks and falls, but more come in, footsteps thundering.

The back stairs are narrow and dark, the air thick with fust. You descend first, sweeping the landing as you clear it while Junhui covers you, exchanging fire. A shadow appears at the bottom but you fire once, the man crumpling. Junhui is suddenly thankful that you're trained and lethal.

The kitchen explodes into view. Bullets shatter the window over the sink as Junhui grabs a knife from the block, hurling it at an assailant charging through the door. The blade hits the man in the throat, blood spraying in a crimson fan as he falls. You snatch a revolver from a hidden drawer - Junhui realizes it's his - and fire at another in the hall.

"How did you know that was there?" He asked, stupefied.

"I thought you were just trying to protect the house," you admit. "I assumed you didn't know how to use it. It was sweet."

He doesn't have time to be offended as the kitchen erupts into chaos, men pouring in through the door from the garage. They're dressed in tactical gear like the rest, faces masked, rifles swinging to take aim.

You're too close for guns. Junhui shoves you around the island cojunter top as the first gunman shoots at you, the bullet pinging off the fridge. You squeeze the trigger of the revolver as you duck, feeling the click of the rotating chamber as you unload the full round into the first man, his vest catching them before you catch him in the throat, red spraying.

Chamber empty, you grab the cast iron skillet off the stove as another man charges Junhui. Your husband doesn't hesitate, ducking under the barrel of the rifle as twisting as he drives his elbow up into the assailant's ribs. You hear bones crack but Junhui doesn't stop, slipping behind the man and kicking out with a foot directly in his back, sending him forward.

The third man comes for you, dropping his rifle in the closed space to grab your arm. You swing the skillet hard, catching him across the temple. He goes stumbling, blood trickling from a gash. He recovers quickly, tackling you against the cabinets.

Pain flares in your back as things shatter, the drawers rattling behind you. You knee him in the groin, buying a second to scramble for a knife from the butchers block. His hand snaps out, iron clad on your wrist as he tries to keep you from the weapon. You snarl and throw your head forward, pain exploding behind your eyes as you use your head to crunch his nose.

Across the room, Junhui has turned into a weapon. His strikes are blindly fast, driving his palm up into his opponents nose before bring the knife down across the chest, the arms, the neck. He drops down and spins, sweeping the man's feet from under him as he goes down in a wet gurgle, vanishing on the other side of the island.

The man grappling you pins you to the counter and you scream, reaching for the knife, fingers slipping as his grip locks around your throat, squeezing tighter than anything you've ever felt. Panic flickers in your chest, air cutting off, vision spotting. You stomp on his instep and elbow him hard in the gut but he ignores it, dragging you across the counter and toward the garage door.

Then he's gone, thrown to the side as Junhui yanks him, chest heaving with rage. The violence in his face is raw as you choke down gasps of air, mouth wet with spit as you suck in breaths.

"Do not," Junhui growls, slinking forward. "Touch my fucking wife."

He collides with your attacker, sending them both into the wall. Plaster cracks under their weight as Junhui lands a series of strikes to the mans face, middle, ribs. The man gasps and Junhui grabs his head in both hands and twists violently, a loud crack echoing before the man goes limp to the floor.

Panting, Junhui turns to you, his shoulder wound seeping through his shirt, glass shards glittering in his hair. His eyes scan you frantically, rage morphing into panic. He storms over to you, cupping your face gently, turning your head side to side. "Are you hurt?"

"No," you rasp, voice hoarse from the choking. "Thank you."

He lingers a moment longer, something flaring in his face before he nods, hands dropping reluctantly. "Let's go."

You both plunge into the garage and you bolt for the motorcycle that Junhui never uses. It's a sleek, black Indian Scout. You'd never asked to ride it and he never really bothered with it, only using it on the summer nights when you were out of town. He assumed you didn't like motorcycles, but now you don't hesitate.

"Come on."

"Are you serious?"

"Get on," you demand, moving toward it.

You reach the bike first, swinging a leg over the seat without pause. The engine is cold, but the key is in the ignition. You twist it, thumb the starter, and the bike roars to life.

"You can ride?" He asks, as you kick the stand up and rev the throttle. "Since when?"

"Since I was twenty, get on."

Junhui swings on behind you, arms coming around your waist automatically. His grip is tight and he feels your hammering heart as he presses his chest to your back. You drop the clutch and twist the throttle, the scout lunging forward.

The acceleration is brutal, the front wheel lifting a bit before you muscle it down. He lets out a startled breath against your neck as you peel out onto the street, the bike fishtailing. You learn into it and the bike straightens, rocketing down the block as gunfire pops behind you.

Sleet and wind sting his eyes. Neither of you are dressed for this but he clings to you as you flick the bike through the street, taking the first corner harder, nearly laying it down. He lets out a shriek and a curse as you straighten out, gunning it.

"Where the hell did you learn to drive like this?"

"Clockwork," you yell. "Some of us learned more than guns!"

He laughs, the sound vibrating through him. He doesn't know what to think as the wind screams in his ears, biking roaring under him.

You weave through the late night traffic on Fifth, dodging Model T's and taxes, the bike's headlight cutting a white blade through the sleet. He turns to see a sedan following you and he curses. You steal the breath from his lungs again when you cut left onto a side street, narrow and barely wide enough. You downshift and fishtail as you come out of the side street and onto the road, swerving around a car.

Junui's arms flex around you, one hand sliding up to brace against your shoulder. "You're insane!"

You don't respond, but the admiration sings in his veins, nearly warm enough to fight off the bitter cold as you drive through back roads. He gives you directions as you drive, the two of you shivering as you lose your pursuers, cutting through the city.

His hands stay firm on you. He feels you shiver and he pulls you tighter, trying to keep you warm. At least, that's what he tells himself. He knows he's doing it to keep you a little longer, anchoring himself to you like he can keep you. He wonders if you feel the same fracture he does.

He wonders if it matters.

Dawn is grey and cold when you finally slow, the Scout's engine ticking as it cools. You're both shivering as you kill the engine and pull up in front of a farmhouse with a sagging porch and oaks surrounding it.

Junhui slides off first, offering a hand. You take it, shivering and shaking. You look up at the house, tears frozen on your face, lips swollen with cold. "What is this place?"

"Friend of mine. Not Protocol. From college. He's in Milan."

Minghao's place is cold as you step in. Junhui bolts for the fireplace, knowing it's dire to get it going. You stand in the threshold of the living room, trembling and freezing as he manages to get the dry wood lit. He turns and gestures you over. You come wordlessly, nearly collapsing as the orange flames lick over the logs.

Both of you hold your hands to the fire, trembling. It almost hurts to feel heat again, both of you shivering in silence as the fire roars to life. Slowly, you both sit, unwilling to move from the flames.

"We're safe," Junhui murmurs, tired, switching languages on instinct. "We rest first. Then plan."

You nod, slowly getting up to move to a chair, the distance between you vast.

-

You step out of the shower, steam curling around you. You dry off quickly and change into pajamas Junhui has given you - they're not exactly your size, but they work. Everything in this house belongs to Minghao who hadn't been preparing for you to stay, but Junhui swears he won't mind anyway.

Reentering the bedroom, you stop short. Junhui is standing in front of the small dresser mirror, shirtless. He's turned around, trying to look at the injury on his shoulder, the lamplight carving shadows across the muscles of his back, the narrow taper of his waist. He prods at the graze, wincing as he looks at it.

He sees you reflected and straightens, hand dropping. "Sorry, it's the only mirror in the house."

"Let me help," you say, setting your things down and rushing to him.

He nods as you riffle through the bathroom for medical supplies. Minghao thankfully has a simple one and you make Junhui sit on the edge of the bed as you wet cotton with antiseptic. He smells clean like the shower he took immediately before you, his skin warm as you near him, heart hammering.

Suddenly, it feels too intimate. You shake off the feeling - he's your husband. So you kneel on the bed, mattress dipping under your weight. Up close, the graze looks a little worse thank you though, jagged and angry. You feel a pang in your chest. He didn't complain once during the ride, didn't mention the pain. Just held on to you on the bike, arms tight around your waist.

Carefully, you start to dab at the wound. He doesn't hiss or make a sound, but his muscles twitch under your fingers. He turns his head to watch you, dark eyes intense. You swallow, feeling the tension crackle to life as you watch. You're close enough that you can feel his breath on your face, your fingers nimble and careful as you clean the cut.

"When did you get this?" You ask, voice quiet.

"The glass."

You realize what he means. A piece of jagged must have caught him while he was shielding you - protecting you - from the spray of glass and bullets that moment he saw the sniper before you did. It makes you feel guilty immediately. How stupid of you to turn your back to the window, even for a moment. You're lucky he was there - lucky he still cares.

The heat of him radiates toward you and you fight a shiver as he watches, eyes half-lidded. You could count every single one of his lashes this close, but instead you put down the pink-tinged cotton and exchange it for a needle and thread.

"It's not deep," you murmur. "But I think it needs stitches."

Carefully, you pierce the skin and pull the thread through. He doesn't react. Instead, he says, "You're pretty good at this. How many times have you done it?"

"Oh? Are we exchanging work stories?"

His mouth curves. "Indulge me."

It makes your stomach flip when he says it. You pause as you think about all of the times you've stitched someone or yourself. It feels weird to think of a story to tell him, the barriers between you suddenly gone.

"I've done it a lot," you admit. "Sometimes on myself, but mostly on other people. One time in Vienna a partner I was working with was shot in the leg during an extraction. I had to stitch him up in an awful basement with almost no light. He lived but Joshua literally never forgave me for the scar."

"Well Joshua should mind his tongue when speaking to you."

Your mouth twitches as you pull another stitch through. "What about you?"

"Botched hit in Berlin. The one on my chest."

You pause, narrowing your eyes. "You told me you got that in surgery."

"I'm a bit of a liar, love."

Your heart races from the nearness of him, his knee brushing your arm as you shift to tie off another stitch. You've been this close before, but never like this, vulnerable and exposed, everything tripped away.

"I had to patch myself for the first time in Shanghai," you continue. "It was in an opium den. Could barely figure out where the hell I was from the contact high."

"I've been there." You give him a look. "Protocol sends me to a lot of places, angel."

The nickname makes your heart trip over itself. He's called you that since the early days of your relationship when you were pretending not to speak Mandarin and letting him teach you, the warmth and fondness for him just as strong as it is now, despite the lies.

"I'm sure you had lots of pretty girls to stitch you up." You don't know why you say it, but it's out before you can stop it.

"None as pretty as you."

You don't know how to respond, your fingers shaking. You tie the last stitch, snipping the thread, your hand lingering for a second too long, craving the warmth. He's quiet, watching you with an expression that you can't read.

"There," you whisper. "Done."

He flexes the shoulder, looking away from you to the injury. You use the break in tension to shift away from him, sucking in air, wishing you felt cooler than you did.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

You stand, suddenly too aware of the charged tension. "I'm going to start dinner."

Junhui nods, but his eyes follow you as you head out the door, clicking the bedroom shut behind you.

In the hall, you lean against the door, heart pounding. The closeness - the heat of his skin, the shared stories - it's too much. You love him, but you know that your marriage wasn't built on love. It was built on deceit and versions of yourself you never really let the other have, and now you don't know what to do with it.

The kitchen is sparse, but the cupboards are filled with canned goods and a variety of spices. You light the stove, flames flickering to life as you rummage for potatoes, onions, and spices. Stew is the only answer for dinner tonight, and you're thankful there's at least chicken stock in the pantry.

Your hands move automatically, chopping, stirring, but your mind is on him. The graze, his quiet admission of jobs, the way he let you help without protest. Footsteps creak and you flinch, turning with the knife raised. It's Junhui, shirt on and hands up.

"Sorry," he notes and you drop the knife, sighing. He watches you for a moment before walking toward you. "Let me help."

You nod, handing him the knife for the onions. He stands too close, his arm brushing yours as he chops. The space is small, the stove's heat warming the room as you work together. It feels normal, almost, the two of you working in perfect tandem that you've built over the years. You stir the pot, making room for him as he leans for salt, arm brushing yours.

Junhui is different now - quieter, more intense - but he's still him. His mouth curves when his eyes flicker to you, something fond and understanding. It makes you nervous, the desire and sadness gnawing at you. You itch to touch him but you're unsure you can.

When the food is done, you eat at the small table, stew steaming in bowls. The fire crackling from the living room is the only sound as you both eat quickly, avoiding his gaze that keeps finding your face from across the table.

After, you clear the plates, doing anything to put space between you, thoughts spinning and full of him. You don't know what happens now - where to go or how to leave him. You watch him as he grabs blankets from the hall closet, intending to sleep on the couch - away from you, away from everything you've built.

You feel the fracture in your heart widen, the separation between you looming and wider than ever. The question falls from your lips before you can think twice, unable to stop yourself from asking any longer.

"Did you ever love me?" The words hang there, Junhui freezing. "Or was it just a cover all the time? I assume the latter, since we were fond but never very intimate, I guess. But I just - did you ever?"

Junhui freezes, the folded blanket clutched in his hands. The firelight paints him in flickering orange and gold, catching the way his composure cracks. He sets the blanket down slowly, moving toward you as he shakes his head."

"I loved you from the start," he murmurs. "Before I even married you. Marrying you was convenient, but I fell in love with you at that stupid gala. You asked me about that painting and I panicked and recited an entire catalogue of notes memorized the night before and you laughed - not at me, in delight. Like you found something unexpected and wonderful. And I remember thinking that I was the worst thing that could happen to you."

He laughs once, a small, broken sound as your heart hammers in your chest, breaths coming fast.

"You made it worse by being you," he admits, softening as he takes another step toward you. "You did small things for me, made my life perfect in ways that mattered. You never asked anything of me, you just… were there for me. I thought if I stayed gentle, if I stayed careful, if I never asked too many questions, maybe you’d never realize what kind of monster was sleeping beside you. I thought the guilt would be less if I never took more than you offered. So I kissed your forehead and pretended that was enough.”

Junui's palm is warm when he cups your face and turns you to look up at him. His thumb swipes across your cheek and you realize you're crying. His face is pained as he looks down at you, freehand snaking around your waist to pull you chest to chest with him, warm. His heart beats in time with yours as he looks down at you, gaze searching.

"It was never enough," he admits. "I love you so much it makes me sick with it. Every time you came home late I wanted to pull you into my arms and ask where you’d been. Every time you smiled at me across a crowded room at one of those awful parties I wanted to drag you into a coat closet and kiss you until neither of us could breathe. I didn’t. Because I thought it would make me evil to take what I wanted and lie to you at the same time."

You hiccup a sob. "I thought you didn't want me. You said you wanted to go our separate ways on the plane."

"I suggested it because I thought it was what you wanted. Because I thought letting you go was the kindest thing I could do for the woman I love."

"You absolute idiot!" Junhui blinks as you hug him, pressing your face to his chest. He laughs, a little confused as you squeeze him. "I took the forehead kisses and the gentle hands and the soft words and tried to convince myself it was enough, because I thought that was all you wanted from me and all I thought I deserved!”

"Really?"

"Yes, you oaf! I was so guilty for lying to you that I accepted what love you offered and felt grateful for it. Asked no questions. Thought I was awful."

He laughs squeezing you tighter, arms warm and secure and home. The arms of your husband, the Junhui you've always known.

You pull away from him a little, looking up at him. "When you said separate ways on that plane, I thought my heart was going to cave in. I agreed because I thought that’s what you needed. Because I thought you didn’t love me the way I loved you. And I was going to let you go. I was going to let you walk away because I thought it was the kindest thing I could do for the man I love.”

He cradles your face again, eyes dark as he looks down at you. Tears cling to your lashes and you sniff unceremoniously. He smiles, fond - in love - fingers pressed to your cheeks.

"What do you want, tiānshǐ?"

You reach up slowly, fingers trembling as you brush the hair from his face, his eyes shining.

"I want my husband," you tell him, heart racing. "All of him. The man who tutors neighborhood kids on weekends. The man who remembers birthdays and tips too generously. And the man who comes home with blood on his hands. The man who shielded me from bullets tonight. The man who’s been carrying the same guilt I have for years.”

For a single heartbeat, the world narrows to just the space between you. Then he moves, pulling you in - not gently or careful like you're used to - but desperate, with half a decade of starvation. He kisses you like he's starved, his mouth warm and wet and tasting of the salt from your tears.

You kiss him back, fisting his shirt in your hands, the years of things you've held back crashing through you - guilt, longing, terror, the stupid, vicious love you have for him. He makes a sound in the back of his throat and pulls you in closer, desperate for you.

When you finally break apart, his mouth doesn't go far, his lips ghosting across yours as he murmurs, "Wǒ de Tiānshǐ."

"Lǎo xiàng hǎo."

He stares down at you, snorting, unbelieving. "We really need to talk about how you pretended not to speak Mandarin."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, but right now I have other things on my mind."

You raise your brows, heart skipping a beat. "Like what?"

His lips curve into a slow, predatory smile, one you rarely see. It's possessive and hungry, your stomach knotting as he knocks his nose against yours. "Making love to my wife."

The words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. Before you can respond, he scoops you in one fluid motion, his arms strong and sure beneath you. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, your hands clutching his shoulders as he carries you toward the bedroom.

He moves effortlessly, body honed from years of training, muscles shifting under your touch. He kicks the door open with his foot, the wood creaking in protest, as he enters and throws you on the bed. You laugh, the breath escaping your lungs as he smiles at you while pressing you backward into the mattress, leaning over you.

Junhui shrugs his shirt off in a swift pull, revealing the scars you now know the stories to - the stitches on his shoulder fresh and delicate. There's no pain on his face now, just unrestrained hunger as he presses his waist to yours, leaning to kiss you again.

"You have no idea how often I've wanted this," he murmurs. His hands find your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you arch toward him. "To claim you all the time. Often."

You reach for him, sliding your fingers through his hair as he kisses you again, teeth clashing. His weight on you is comforting, the mattress dipping under you both. He braces one knee between your thighs, breaking the kiss to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawn and down your throat. He nips the skin there, soothing the sting with his tongue. It makes you whimper and he groans in response, the flat of his tongue sweeping up your neck.

"Jun," you whisper, shivering.

He pulls away just enough to strip away your top, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of you bare. "So beautiful," he growls. "My wife. Mine."

Junhui's hands roam, calloused palms skating over your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arch into the touch, heat pooling low in your belly as he lowers his head to catch a nipple in his mouth. The sensation makes you writhe, his tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through you. You gasp, hips bucking instinctively, making him chuckle.

"Patience, my love," he teases.

His free hand slides down your stomach, hooking into the waistband of your pajama bottoms and panties, tugging them off in one rough motion. The cool air hits your exposed skin, but it does nothing to cool the fire inside of you. He tosses them aside, gaze fixed between your legs where you're wet and aching for him.

"Look at you," he breathes. "Have you been waiting for this too? Waiting for me to take you apart like you deserve?"

"Yes." His fingers trace the inside of your thigh, teasing higher but not quite touching where you need him most. "God, yes."

He hums in approval, shifting down the bed until he's kneeling between your legs, his broad shoulders forcing your knees apart. You feel exposed, breaths coming in quicker as he looks up at you, pupils blown and fucked out when he hasn't even touched you.

"I want to taste you first," he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your knee. He kisses your inner thigh, your muscles twitching. "Want to make you come on my tongue. Can, I love? Will you let your husband devour you?"

"Please," you laugh, breathless and desperate. "Please, Jun."

He doesn't need more than that. His hands grip your thighs, holding them open as he leans in, his tongue flattening against you in one long, slow lick from entrance to clit. The sensation scrambles your brain, his tongue hot and wet. Your back arches off the bed as you suck in a harsh breath, his mouth closing against you as he groans. The vibration goes through you, making you squirm. He holds you harder, tongue diving in deeper before circling your clit lazily.

"Shit," you gasp, the curse leaving your lips before you can stop it.

Junhui laughs as you twist your fingers in the sheet, his mouth lethal against you. He switches between broad strokes and pointed pressure, sucking your clit into his mouth gently before releasing it with a pop that makes your toes curl. You feel the way you melt in his mouth, arousal and spit dripping from your cunt to the curve of your ass. He chases it, tongue hungry and greedy and you let out a broken sound.

He's relentless, possessive in a way he has never been with you all this time, tongue fucking you in shallow thrusts that have you grinding against him. One of his hands leaves your thighs, drifting to slide two fingers into your heat, curling upward to press against your front wall. Stars burst behind your eyes, one of your hands going to his head, fingers twisting in his hair.

"So tight," he murmurs, words muffled against you. "So perfect."

He suctions his mouth on your clit, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers. Pleasure curls in your stomach and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, squirming in his hold.

"I'm - shit I'm gonna-"

"Come for me," he pants. "Let me taste you."

His fingers thrust harder, tongue circling your clit until you shatter. Your orgasm crashes over you, body convulsing, thighs clamping around his head as you ride it out. He doesn't stop, licking you through it, drawing out over sound until you're shaking and oversensitive. Only then does he pull back, lips and chin glistening with your release, grinning.

"You taste like heaven," he rasps, leaning up to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself in his mouth. You moan into it, nails dragging down his back.

Junhui's fingers drift back between your legs, pressing in again. You whine and he hushes you with a kiss, stretching your cunt around three of his fingers, thrusts gentle.

"You can take it," he whispers. "Want you ready for me, yeah? You can do it, my love."

You nod as he pumps them slowly at first, scissoring to open you up. It feels so good, the edges of your vision blurring while his thumb circles your swollen clit in lazy strokes. The overstimulation borders on pain, but it melts into pleasure, your body singing.

"You've been holding back too, hm?" He asks. "All those nights I could have had you like this writhing for me."

"Yes," you pant. "Wanted you so badly but didn't know how."

Cur curls his fingers again, hitting that sweet spot over and over again. Sweat beads on your skin and it feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest, slamming in your ribcage as you arch, head pressing backward into the mattress.

Junhui attaches his mouth to your throat, sucking the tender spot underneath your ear as he works you toward another orgasm. The slide of his chest against yours, the way he groans - it all makes you come again, squeezes his fingers hard as you flood his hand, making him curse.

"That's it," he praises. "Just like that, love."

He withdraws his fingers with a wet slide, bringing them up to this mouth, sucking them clean with a hum of satisfaction. You look at him, dazed as he grins and kisses your forehead. You press your hands to his shoulders, anchoring your knees to his hips and he only has a second of warning with your grin as you roll, flipping him under you.

Junhui looks up at you with stars in his eyes as you lean up on your knees, panting. His hands automatically go to your hips, squeezing as you catch your breath, looking down at him. His mouth is swollen and covered in spit and slick but you don't care - he's the most beautiful creature you've ever seen.

With shaking hands, you help him out of his pants, only making room so he can kick them down before you have him pinned under you again, letting you grind against his leaking cock. He groans and you grin, watching as his eyes squeeze shut as you tease him, the heat of your cunt nearly unbearable.

You reach between you, grabbing his hard cock, pumping a little before you line him up at your entrance, the thick head pressed tight against you. He hisses, watching as you sink down slowly, taking him inch by thick inch. It's a lot and you feel the air punch from your lungs until you're ass it flush to his thighs, stretched so tight you can barely breath.

"Fuck," he bites out. "You are fucking perfect. I love you."

You grin. "I love you, even though you were going to leave me."

"I'm an idiot."

"Yes," you agree, gasping as you start to move. "You are."

It's slow at first, your hips rolling in languid circles. The friction feels so good, his cock dragging against your walls, hitting deep. His hands roam, squeezing your ass, thumbs digging into your hipbones to urge you a little faster.

"That's it," he rasps. "Use me."

Emboldened, you pick up the pace, bouncing now. Every thrust feels like it knocks the sense out of you, sweat slicking down your body as you try to catch your breath, thighs trembling. His hips thrust up to meet you, driving deeper, and you lean forward, nails raking down his chest.

"Mine," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your back to hold you to him. "No more holding back." You whimper and he thrusts up harder, gasping. "You're going to come on my cock, aren't you?"

You nod, unable to find the words, the angle letting him hit that spot inside of you that renders you useless. He takes over, banding you to his chest as he thrusts up hard and fast. It's too much, making you clench around him as you come with a scream, body sliding against his.

In one smooth motion, he rolls you, pressing you into the mattress. He's buried deep till, the weight of him pressing into you makes you delirious. He uses a hand to pin yours above your head, his hips grinding into yours, public bone pressing your clit as you whimper his name.

"One more," he begs, his thrusts turning deeper and slower. You nod as his free hand slides between you, gently circling your clit. "One more for me, love. My perfect fucking wife."

The overstimulation is torture, your body on fire, every nerve singing as he pulls you toward another high. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, hands squirming in his grasp as he pins you.

"That's it," he whispers, pace faltering as he starts to fall apart.

You come together, vision whiting out as you squeeze around him. He lets out a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt, spilling inside of you as he twitches. You can barely breathe, both of you tangled together, hearts pounding in sync.

He presses gentle kisses to your shoulder, murmuring in Mandarin, all the things he's always wanted to say - everything you needed to hear. You hold him close, never wanting to let go, uncaring that you were never the perfect wife and he was never the perfect husband. You're perfect for each other, two congruent pieces of a puzzle.

"I love you," he says again, voice rough. "From the moment I meant you."

"I love you," you whisper. "Before I even approached you."

-

The sun hangs low over the Aegean, painting the whitewashed walls of the stone house in gold. Naxos is beautiful this time of year, the sun painting the small kitchen with cracked blue tiles in the perfect light.

It's a simple thing - two bedrooms with a terrace overlooking olive groves that slope down to the sea. Junhui stands on the terrace now, sleeves rolled to his elbows, nursing a cup of coffee from the beans you'd found in Chora. You watch him from the doorway, arms crossed loosely, still wearing the faded linen dress you'd thrown on after your morning swim.

He glances over his shoulder and catches you staring. A smile curves his mouth, the same one he used to give you at flashy New York City parties.

"What are you staring at?" He asks.

"My very beautiful husband." You step closer, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, cheek pressed to the warm plane between his shoulder blades. "You know the ladies in Chora love you?"

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through you. "Do the ladies in Chora know I am desperately in love with my wife? And also that she could kill them without a second thought if she got jealous?"

Junhui turns in your arms, careful not to spill the coffee on you as he sets it down on the railing. He cups your face with both of his hands, warm from the mug. The callouses on his hands are the same calllouses you've always known, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

"I'm retired," you tell him, squeezing him tighter. "No more killing for me." You pause. "Unless they keep staring at you, then perhaps."

He kisses you, tasting like salt and coffee.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he blurted. “Not like that. I was…tired. And scared. And then you hung up and…”

“You hung up first,” you said, but there was no venom in it. Just the fact of it.

His mouth twisted. “Right. I did. I panicked. I hate when you’re not here.”

“I turned my location off because I needed a minute,” you said. “Not because I was disappearing.”

He nodded too fast. “I know. I know now. I just…God, I spiralled. I kept thinking you were out there upset, and I put you there and…”

A stagehand waved from the wings, two minutes.

You put your palm flat on his chest. Felt his heart kick. “Cheol.”

He stilled.

“We’re not perfect,” you said. “But I’m here. I came.”

He swallowed. “Can we talk after? Really talk? Not…across a battlefield.”

“Yes,” you said. “After. No phones. No dramatic exits.”

A breath of a laugh broke out of him, surprised and grateful. “Deal.”

Another wave, one minute.

He leaned in, forehead touching yours. “I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter, like the apology belonged right between you and nowhere else.

“I know,” you repeated, and this time you let your hand find his jaw, thumb warm against the edge of his in-ear wire. “I’m mad, and I love you. Both can be true.”

His eyes softened. “I love you. I never doubt that part. I just…sometimes I don’t know how to hold it without squeezing too hard.”

“Then don’t squeeze,” you said. “Just hold.”

He let out a breath. The noise of the crowd swelled, a wave rolling toward shore.

“Go,” you said, giving his chest a gentle push. “Go do what you do. I’ll be right here when you come off.”

2️⃣ Jeonghan:

Ah, yes, petty fights if you’ve ever seen one. Not the door-slamming, plate-shattering kind with this one. Worse. The kind where he goes quiet. He doesn’t raise his voice, he just withdraws, face smooth as glass, and starves you of words until your own start curdling in your throat. And the worst part? He’s not blameless. He knows it. You know it. You’d spent the afternoon chasing him from room to room like a shadow begging its owner to turn around. Five hours ago, you finally gave up, snatched your keys, and walked out before you said something you couldn’t unsay.

Now, backstage, Jeonghan realizes he may have engineered his own undoing.

He’s a man of ritual and superstition. Every show, the same three things, exactly three sips of warm water; shoulder rolls, two forward, four back, and a text from you that reads, without fail, “I love you, you are the best.” Four years of concerts, and not one has started without that message.

Tonight, the cup is there. The shoulders roll. But his phone stays silent.

“Jeonghan, I’m telling you again,” his manager says, palm flat to his chest, stopping him mid-step. “You can’t go off now. You’re on in five.”

“Please,” Jeonghan says, trying to keep his voice even and failing. “I know she’s here. Just two minutes. I need to find her.”

“She’s not,” the manager replies, already glancing at the clock. “I checked the guest list twice. She didn’t check in. Shoes on. Now.”

Jeonghan exhales, the sound short and sharp. He swallows his third sip of water like it’s a dare, shoves his feet into his shoes, and snatches a mic from a staff member with a muttered “Thanks.”

On the lift, lights humming underneath, the arena thundering above like weather, he stares at the metal grate as if it might blink first.

“Stage face.” Joshua says lightly, squeezing the space between Jeonghan’s shoulder blades. “Whatever it is, park it for three hours.”

“I am really not in the mood for motivational speeches, man…,” Jeonghan mutters, not looking up.

The lift rises. The roar swells. The first note hits, and habit takes the wheel. Jeonghan smiles on cue, sings on pitch, moves cleanly through the choreography, but he’s moving through fog. The crowd is a blur of lightsticks and glittered signs. He hits mark after mark like the floor is telling him where to go.

Three songs in, “Rock with You” crackles in his ear, and the left catwalk calls him like it always does. He goes, feet finding the rhythm his heart can’t. He makes himself look, really look, into the crowd, scanning faces and posters and hands.

And there you are.

You’re pressed against the barrier with your best friend clinging to your elbow, hair a little messy like you ran here, eyes bright and stubborn. You’re jumping to be seen, a poster rattling in your grip. The letters are crooked, the marker is too light in places as if the ink gave up halfway through, and the message is ridiculous and perfect: “I love you, you are the best.”

His mouth opens on a silent laugh. His shoulders, rigid for hours, loosen like a knot finally working free. He stops dead on the catwalk, and for a split second, the world funnels down to you and a sign that was clearly made ten minutes ago on a piece of poster board stolen from someone’s convenience store.

Your eyes catch his, and the annoyance you’ve been feeding all evening dies without ceremony. He doesn’t need the text. He’s reading it twelve feet away.

He mouths, slow enough for you to catch it, ‘I love you more.’

3️⃣ Joshua:

Joshua wasn’t the kind of guy who yelled. Even when you were wrong, and he knew you knew it, he didn’t raise his voice. He just… left. Not with his feet. With his eyes. The room would still hold his body, but he’d be gone, somewhere colder, somewhere you couldn’t reach. That was the worst part of fighting with Joshua, the way his quiet could make you feel like the smallest person on the planet. And he knew it.

Two days since the stupid argument, two days of clipped texts and swallowed words, and the scene kept looping in his head as he sat under the bright bulbs of the makeup mirror. The artist dabbed eyeshadow along his lids, he barely blinked.

“With or without?” someone asked behind him.

“Huh?” Joshua snapped back to the room, blinking at his reflection.

“With or without the glasses,” Hoshi said louder, pointing at the sunglasses perched on Joshua’s head like a second thought.

“It’s pitch black outside,” Joshua muttered, twisting in his chair. “Why on earth would I wear sunglasses?”

“Goddamn, you still got your panties in a bunch?” Cheol drawled from the next chair, eyes never leaving his own mirror. He adjusted his in-ear monitors like they’d personally offended him.

“I’m fine,” Joshua said, too quickly.

“Mhm.” Cheol went back to smoothing a flyaway strand, the unimpressed kind of “mhm” that meant he didn’t believe a word.

The room kept moving without Joshua. Stylists darted past with lint rollers and garment bags, a stagehand counted down minutes in a steady, rising voice. Someone laughed too loud by the door. He tried to care about the set list, the timing, the blocking, but his mind kept snagging on the last thing he’d said to you, and the way your face had fallen right before you shut the door.

Forty minutes later, the real countdown started echoing through the hallways. Joshua stood, suddenly all fingers and panic. His shirt, for reasons known only to the shirt, refused to cooperate.

“I swear to God, if this…” He yanked the hem, careful and not careful all at once. The collar snagged his mic wire. “…stupid shirt…”

He wrestled it over his head and felt his carefully shellacked hairstyle protest. A warm hand landed lightly on his bicep.

“Stop,” you said.

He froze. When he lowered the shirt, you were right there. No mascara tracks, no storm left in your eyes, just a soft focus he hadn’t earned yet. You didn’t meet his gaze. You adjusted the mic pack, unfastened the top button with steady fingers, then slid the shirt over his shoulders so it didn’t disturb a single gelled strand.

“There,” you murmured, smoothing the fabric over his chest with a tight-lipped smile “, See you after the show.”

You turned on your heel, already leaving, already taking air with you. Two days of radio silence clawed at Joshua’s throat. He moved before his brain could talk him out of it, slipping into step beside you as staff scrambled around, calling cues and carrying headsets like life preservers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breath catching as someone clipped his transmitter in place.

You didn’t slow. “I’m sorry too.”

“I was dumb.” Hands swept over him, powder here, tape there, and still he kept his eyes on you. “I hate it when I get like that. I know I… leave.”

“You don’t leave,” you said, finally glancing at him. “You vanish while standing right in front of me. It hurts.”

“I know.” He swallowed.

A stage manager hustled by, counting down, “Three minutes! Three!”, and then someone tugged at Joshua’s waistband to hide a wire. He caught your hand before it fell back to your side and held it, quick and secret.

He exhaled, the closest thing to relief he’d felt in forty-eight hours. “I love you,” he whispered, the words almost lost under the thud of bass through the floor.

“I love you too.” You gave him a tiny, conspiratorial wink, as if it were a shared joke that love could be this loud and this delicate at once.

“Final checks!” someone called. A makeup artist floated in with a sponge, reaching for his mouth.

“Wait,” Joshua said, catching the artist’s wrist with a gentle apology in his eyes. He turned back to you, cupped your face like he could anchor himself to something softer than adrenaline, and kissed you. Not a timid hallway peck, something sure and grounding.

He let you go, just far enough. He nodded to the makeup artist. “Okay. Now I’m ready.”

4️⃣ Jun:

“I need to take your phone, Jun.” His manager’s hand was already outstretched, steady and impatient, waiting for him to drop it before stepping onto the stage.

Jun stared at the screen a second longer than he should have. Letting go felt harder than it usually did, harder than it ever had, especially when he still hadn’t heard from you. In a few seconds, he’d be logged off from the world for over four hours, cut off completely, and the silence scared him more than the crowd ever could.

You were usually backstage by now. A quick kiss for luck, a quiet smile just for him, a few painfully unfunny jokes shared with the others. Familiar things. Comforting things. But tonight, you weren’t there. And worse, he didn’t even know when he’d see you next, not with the way the coming weeks were packed.

He knew how this looked. He knew he messed up.

It wasn’t intentional, not really. He’d landed hours earlier than planned and thought, stupidly, that he could surprise you. One good moment carved out of a chaotic schedule. But idol life didn’t leave room for nice plans. What was supposed to be an early return to Seoul for a last-minute podcast recording turned into you discovering, through the internet, of all things, that your boyfriend had lied about when he was coming home.

That was the part that hurt the most. Not the lie itself, but the way you found out. And Jun knew better than anyone how much you hated that.

“I am so screwed,” he muttered as the stage elevator doors slid shut behind them.

“Could’ve been worse,” Minghao replied calmly.

Jun let out a helpless breath and leaned back against the metal rail. “She’s not even gonna talk to me after this,” he said. “It’s so fucking stupid.” His eyes fell shut like that might make it disappear.

“All you’re doing right now is making it worse,” Minghao said, eyes still on the script in his hands. “Your mood isn’t gonna magically fix itself like this. And you’ve still got a whole concert to get through.”

“I know, but it feels like I made her think I don’t care,” Jun said quietly, fingers fidgeting with the mic. “Do you know how much it hurt when I called her after filming and it went straight to voicemail?” His voice wavered despite himself. “Or when I got here and the driver told me she refused the pickup and told them to leave without her?”

For the first time, Minghao glanced up at him. “Apologize later,” he said simply. “Focus now.”

The elevator jolted, began its ascent, and suddenly the arena exploded, screams, light, sound crashing over him all at once. The world demanded everything from him, whether he was ready or not.

Time stretched painfully thin. Each song dragged, each transition felt heavier than the last. It was like the universe knew exactly what he was waiting for and decided to be cruel about it.

When the concert finally ended, Jun had never moved faster in his life.

He grabbed his phone the second he was allowed to, heart pounding as he unlocked it. Part of him expected the notification bar to be empty, just like when he’d left it hours ago. No messages. No calls. Nothing.

The other part of him, stupidly hopeful, prayed for anything.

His breath caught when he saw it.

A video. From you.

It was a short clip of him onstage earlier, lights blazing behind him, a small pink heart added in the corner. His chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. He didn’t think, he just called you immediately.

It rang twice.

“Hello?” Your voice cut through the backstage noise, soft and familiar, and it nearly broke him.

“I’m so sorry,” Jun rushed out. “Y/n, I swear I’m the stupidest person on the planet, I’m so sorry, I can’t even…”

“Hey. Hey,” you interrupted gently, firm in that way you always were. “Breathe. You’re tripping over your own words.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” he said, resting his forehead against the cold, damp wall. “I thought I could surprise you, pick you up after filming. Everything ran over schedule, and I couldn’t get to you. I should’ve told you.”

“It was stupid,” you said quietly.

The silence that followed pressed down on him, heavy and unmistakable.

“I know,” he whispered, fingers tightening around his phone. “I’m really sorry. I wish I’d told you. Thank you for coming. I really wanted to see you.”

“I left early,” you said. He could hear the TV murmuring in the background. “Didn’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

“I really thought you wouldn’t,” he admitted.

There was a pause, then your voice softened.

“Come home, Jun.”

The tension in his chest finally loosened, warmth flooding in like relief he hadn’t dared to expect.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said with a deep, shaky sigh.

5️⃣ Hoshi:

“If it’s so freaking stupid, then why did you even come?” Hoshi’s voice slices through the waiting room, sharp enough to make the air stand still.

You’re sitting on one of those stiff wooden chairs, laptop open on your knees, the click-clack of backstage chaos muted now that the room has gone quiet. Hoshi stands by the door, already half in his sound-check outfit, hand gripping the handle like he’s holding himself back from saying more.

“Babe…” you whisper, pushing yourself up from the chair.

“No. Don’t ‘babe’ me.” His jaw tightens as he pulls the thin door halfway open. “I have a concert to finish. This is my job, Y/N.”

“I know,” you say, softer than intended, but he’s already put three long strides and a wall between you.

“No, you clearly don’t.” He lets out a dry laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing my head in about how annoying it is that you have to sit in ‘stupid random rooms’ while I’m freezing my ass off on stage.”

He doesn’t wait for your reply. He slips out, letting the door close behind him, taking every bit of warmth with him.

You blink, and suddenly the argument feels like it had exploded out of nowhere. Twenty minutes ago you were just venting, complaining about how your degree is eating every spare second and how you’re stuck studying anywhere you can. You weren’t attacking him. You were tired and overwhelmed, and he was the one person you thought you could unload on.

But you hadn’t read the room. You knew he was stressed today, that’s why you’d come early, laptop and textbooks in tow. What you didn’t account for was how sensitive Soonyoung becomes when he’s anxious about a performance. One stray spark, and everything went up in flames.

Three hours pass before you admit he isn’t coming back. Not between rehearsals. Not between sets. Not even just to peek in. So you gather your things and slip out quietly to find a better spot before the concert starts.

Meanwhile, thirty minutes later, Hoshi finally comes back to his senses. He returns expecting you there, hunched over your laptop, hair falling in your face, looking up at him with that soft smile you always give him, even when you’re exhausted.

Instead, he finds an empty room. An empty chair. An empty space where you should be.

His stomach drops straight to the floor.

He realizes, fully and painfully, that he snapped at you for nothing. The epiphany had already hit halfway through sound check, but now the guilt settles in like ice. And if performing a four-hour show is hard while stressed, try doing it with a knot of shame sitting permanently in your throat.

Hoshi scans the crowd at least fifteen times during the concert. He double-checks the VIP box so often the cameras probably think he’s doing a bit. Each time he doesn’t find even the tiniest glimpse of you, another crack forms in his chest.

By the time the final encore ends and he steps off the backstage elevator, he’s running on autopilot. Sweat clings to him, clothes sticking to chilled skin. His heart is hammering, not from the choreography, but from dread.

The moment he pushes through the rolling door into the main hallway, his thoughts are racing at a hundred kilometers per hour, until his eyes land on you.

You’re standing there with his mother, laughing over something on your phone, face lit up with the kind of smile he’d convinced himself he’d ruined for the night.

“Thank God,” he breathes, barely audible, before he breaks into a full jog.

You don’t even have time to look up. Suddenly, you’re wrapped in a tight, sweaty embrace, pulled flush against him as he buries his face on top of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, voice cracking, kissing your hair again and again, quick, frantic, apologetic. “I was so rude. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Babe, we’re okay,” you mumble into his chest, voice muffled by his damp shirt.

“Where were you?” he asks, loosening the hug just enough to see you but not enough to actually let go.

“I was in the box with your parents.” You cup his freezing cheeks with your warm hands. “God, Soonyoung, you’re ice cold.”

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” he says dramatically, lower lip jutting out. “I thought I’d died of a broken heart.”

“Actually,” you start, reaching for your phone, “my resident doctor said that’s…”

“Just shut up, idiot,” he laughs, lifting your chin with one cold hand and kissing you before you can finish.

6️⃣ Wonwoo:

You and Wonwoo had always fought the same way, your temper flaring fast and loud, his patience trying to match your pace, always half a step behind. It usually ended with you going quiet, a self-imposed silence you stretched for as long as you could manage. You knew it was childish. You knew it bordered on unfair. Sometimes it even left you wondering if you asked too much of his patience, if taking up that much emotional space made you difficult to love.

But this time, this time, it really was his fault. And you were allowed to be mad.

It was 7 p.m., halfway through their Seoul concert, and you were seated in the VIP box with family members and a few partners of the other members. The bass thumped through the stadium, the cheers rising and falling like waves, but you barely registered any of it. You stayed rooted to your chair, jaw tight, tongue pressing firmly into the inside of your cheek as if holding everything back physically might keep you from unravelling emotionally.

Two hours earlier, Wonwoo had said it, that he found it a bit pathetic that you still got so nervous. After all these years together, after countless shared meals and backstage hellos with the other girlfriends, you still hovered near him, still needed his presence as an anchor. You knew his words hadn’t come from malice. His intentions were clumsy, not cruel. But stress turned him blunt to the point of carelessness, and you had taken the full impact of that, again.

Across the stadium, Wonwoo stood under blinding lights, smiling wide as he moved in sync with the rest of the members. To anyone watching, he looked carefree, electric, fully in his element. But even as he laughed into the mic, he knew what waited for him once the music stopped. An apology. One he owed you badly.

“Why are you looking like that?” Cheol murmured through a smile, leaning in close enough that the audience wouldn’t notice.

“Not the moment,” Wonwoo muttered back, careful with his lips. He was painfully aware of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of eyes on them.

“Then stop acting like something’s wrong,” Cheol replied, patting his back before dancing off to the other side of the stage like nothing had happened.

By the time they reached their final goodbye, you weren’t in the VIP box anymore. You were backstage now, standing beside his dad and brother, bouquet in hand as tradition dictated. Your chest felt tight, like anticipation and frustration were tangled together somewhere beneath your ribs.

Less than five minutes later, he appeared.

Sweat clung to him, his hair falling messily onto his forehead, glasses slightly fogged from the sudden shift in temperature. He looked exactly like he always did after a show, exhausted, glowing, adrenaline still humming under his skin.

You expected the routine. A hug for his dad. Mingyu bursting in with a loud joke. A long, solid embrace with his brother. And then you, a quick kiss, familiar and grounding.

But he changed direction at the last second.

Before you could even process it, his arms were around your torso, still moving forward, making you stumble back a step or two with him. He looked down at you, eyes soft, almost apologetic, the kind of look you knew too well.

“I was rude,” he said quietly.

You scoffed under your breath. “Oh. So now you’re self-aware?”

“Stress got the best of me,” he replied, calm, steady. No defensiveness this time.

“Not an excuse,” you shot back, arms still hanging stiffly at your sides.

“I know.” His voice softened further. “But you know I love having you around. I call you when I’m at the grocery store, even when you’re literally waiting for me in bed.” He laughed shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Y/N. That was really dumb of me to say.”

He reached up, gently brushing your bangs behind your ear, his touch tentative, as if he was giving you room to pull away.

“I’ll have to think about it,” you said, even as you felt the walls you’d built starting to crumble, piece by piece.

“Come on,” he murmured, dipping his head slightly until his nose brushed yours. “I missed you.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, a lazy smile betraying you as his breath warmed your lips. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Mmm,” was all he answered before his lips finally met yours, slow, apologetic, and familiar. You tasted salt from his sweat, warmth from his skin, and the last traces of the pettiness that had filled the space between you just hours ago, dissolving completely.

7️⃣ Woozi:

Two stubborn people with matching egos and a tendency to misfire in communication are a recipe for unnecessary tension. Anyone who’s seen you and Woozi argue would say the same: it starts small, escalates fast, and somehow lasts way longer than it ever needed to.

Woozi has always been the type who can feel an argument brewing before you even open your mouth, someone who already knows the solution before the problem fully forms. He loves you with a kind of quiet certainty that threads through every part of his life.

But the past two weeks had stretched both of you thin. Him on tour across three time zones, you flying out for a conference, barely catching each other awake. Silence settled where the comfort used to be. And then that Dispatch article, him at dinner with a female co-star, which he had mentioned in passing, but you hadn’t truly heard because you were both exhausted. You blocked him in a moment of pride and irritation, and by the time he tried reaching out, he didn’t have the energy to push harder. Not then. Not while performing, traveling, barely sleeping.

Now it was the night of their encore show in Seoul. He knew you’d flown home last night, he saw the ring camera notification light up, and it gnawed at him that you still hadn’t unblocked him. He’d tried twice today to stop by your apartment, but both times, you weren’t home. The not knowing was eating him alive.

“If it makes you feel better…” Dino says around a mouthful of egg sandwich, “my girlfriend tried calling her too. Went straight to voicemail.”

“Yeah, she turned her phone off,” Woozi mutters, exhaling hard as he scrolls through Instagram without really seeing anything.

“I think this is the longest I’ve seen you two go without talking,” Joshua adds, sliding behind him and squeezing his shoulders in sympathy.

“Petty ass fight,” Woozi mumbles, eyes glued to his screen as if he stared long enough, you’d appear.

“Petty ass fight?”

Your voice cuts clean through the room. The whole group freezes, and Jihoon’s head snaps around so fast it looks painful.

There you stand, cold from the outside, warmer from anger, looking directly at him. And he can’t decide if he wants to run to you or brace for an explosion.

“That’s what you tell them?” you continue, stepping inside the threshold of the dressing room. “That we’re fighting because of some petty argument? Not because you went to dinner with another woman while I was out of town?”

Silence folds over the room like a blanket no one asked for.

Jihoon swallows. Hard. “Let’s not do this here,” he says quietly, quiet but firm, and heads toward the hallway. You follow, footsteps sharp against the concrete.

The makeshift corridor beneath the stage is freezing, and every breath you take comes out visible. Jihoon stands a few feet away, hands balled in his pockets, eyes never leaving you.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“Why did you stop by my place?” Your voice wavers, but your stare doesn’t. “My neighbours saw you there. Twice.”

“You’re my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake, Y/N.” He lets out a humourless laugh. “You blocked me like we’re in high school.”

“You went out to dinner with another woman, and I had to learn about it through Dispatch.” You step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest once, sharp, accusing. “That makes me feel like you’re treating us like some high school fling.”

Jihoon inhales, eyes flicking down for a moment. He knows this is the worst possible moment, right before a concert, right after weeks apart. He also knows he loves you more than he loves being right.

So he does the one thing guaranteed to break the spiral.

“You’re embarrassing yourself right now,” he murmurs, not cruel, just honest, and he gently removes his hands from his pockets, reaching for your wrists. One by one, he lifts your hands and places them around his waist, holding them there. Holding you there.

The closeness steals the fight right out of the air. His eyes roam your face like he’s relearning it, and suddenly you feel both exposed and wrapped up in something warm.

“You know I’m in love with you,” he says, forehead dipping toward yours, voice barely more than breath. “So don’t second-guess it again.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your cold lips, lingering.

YOON JEONGHAN ; 윤정한

sweetie, your nickname ; but on special occasions : feather

truly, i think he likes shortening your name or even using your nickname when he finds out about it. he also like to use sweetie because of how it is so common on his tongue now, you can hear the whine in his voice when he calls you sweetie. but feather? jeonghan definitely calls you feather when you two are laying down on the grass to cloud watch while holding hands. a soft and gentle feeling.

"that cloud looks so much like you, feather. it's kind of pretty."

JOSHUA HONG ; 홍지수

dear, honey ; but on special occasions : gem

his voice is soo soft whenever he calls you dear, it's as if it's in your middle name and he just prefers it while talking, and wrapping his arms around you. honey is when he is the most playful and also uses it whenever he apologizes for being too teasing. that’s not the only thing, joshua calls you gem whenever you two are alone, kissing each other on the lips while whispersing loving words to each other.

"just a little moment with you, my beautiful gem, i just want you."

WEN JUNHUI ; 文俊辉

your nickname, dear ; but on special occasions : star

your nickname is one of his favorite parts about your name, whenever he’s out with you or sees things that remind him of the two of you. he absolutely becomes shy when he calls you dear, loves the way he could hold you close leaving kisses on your cheek as he says it. in times where he becomes just so mesmerized by you, junhui calls you star, always shining and full of sparks.

"little star, have i told you that you look awesome tonight?"

KWON SOONYOUNG ; 권순영

honey, sweetie ; but on special occasions : blossom

ever since his honey baby song, all i have been thinking about is how he would totally call you honey when he is feeling all lovey-dovey with you. sweetie is definitely on more romantic occasions where he doesn’t cling around but instead becomes super sweet, especially forehead kisses! soonyoung loves calling you blossom in every moment simply because he loves how much you still surprise him.

"hi my beautiful and pretty blossom! want me to hold your hand? i kind of want to."

JEON WONWOO ; 전원우

dear, sweetie ; but on special occasions : night

dear or dearest, to him, he is forever someone he finds he wants to adore. sweetie, however is his definitely more playful side, you can tell with the slight grin and the kiss on the corner of your lips as he calls you cute for being embarrassed. night is meaningful. to wonwoo, when the sun finally set and you see the moon, you are become what his night needs, dusk and its beautiful moon.

"i think…i could look at you for as long as i can, my night."

LEE JIHOON ; 이지훈

love, darling ; but on special occasions : forever

he uses endearments sparingly, but he definitely prefers to use romantic endearments like love; it is super certain and doesn't need any kind of explanation. darling is more inviting; it seems more open to conversations and cuddles. but one that jihoon uses even in the crowd where you couldn't hear anything, even his quiet voice, tells you that you are his, forever.

"finally found you, let's go back? i really miss you, my forever..."

XU MINGHAO ; 徐明浩

honey, dear ; but on special occasions : masterpiece

i like to believe he is into endearments, honey shows off how much he cares about you outwardly, hand holding, and romantic kisses. dear just shows more of a gentle attitude, hushed as he talks to you about anything that is on his mind, or even whatever is on your mind. but masterpiece makes minghap feel confident, like a sculptor, looking at the most beautiful work of art.

"my beautiful masterpiece is looking as good as ever! love that look you've got going."

KIM MINGYU ; 김민규

babe, your nickname ; but on special occasions : daylight

babe is so cheeky of him to use whenever he is teasing you, especially when he is on the upper hand, the pet name just becomes suuper infuriating. your nickname is something he likes to use when he is feeling like a lovesick pup who wants to kiss you. there are moments where mingyu becomes a romantic, daylight he calls you as the both you watch the sun rise, its rays peeking through even behind the clouds.

"do you like the sun? i adore it, even if it’s you, daylight."

LEE SEOKMIN ; 이석민

your nickname, baby ; but on special occasions : divine

he loves to call you your nickname with just how familiar he already is with it, everyone knows what he means when he says your nickname, it’s just so you! his contact name for you, however is baby, it’s just too cute for him to not say it, he definitely prefers to call you something soft. but when seokmin sees everything of you, you become divine to him, someone that glows and is majestic.

"my divine, do you think you could give me a kiss? i think it would make my day."

BOO SEUNGKWAN ; 부승관

darling, baby ; but on special occasions : dream

i like to think that he calls you darling as if you two had been married to each other for a very long time, as much as you two may bicker. when he’s demanding or wants you all by himself, he would call you baby just to see how you would react as he rarely uses it. there is one endearment that seungkwan sticks to, dream. as if to tell you you are pre-destined, and a wish he knew would come true.

"oh dream, sometimes i think about how lucky i am to have you."

CHWE HANSOL ; 최한솔

babe, love ; but on special occasions : pearl

he doesn’t tell you he definitely loves calling you babe more than anything else; it becomes less romantic to him, but it also becomes a familiar routine. the way he says love, on the other hand, feels a little quieter in the silent morning. hansol not good with words, but pearl tells you everything you need to know about how he sees you, a beautiful and precious stone that he could never take his eyes off.

"yo, just bought some souvenirs, we should display ‘em pearl."

LEE CHAN ; 이찬

love, babe ; but on special occasions : bird

i totally imagine that he would scream love if he ever finds you in a crowd, running to immediately give you a big embrace. calls you babe in more intimate moments if you ever have a chance to spend more time together. but in moments where he really gets to see you shine and fly up, chan calls you bird, vibrant and just how free you were. he always seems to power up even being near you.

"hey bird, need some of your energy, you’re surging right now."

NOTES : endearments make me go crazy/cringe, it really depends lmao, does anyone like endearments tho? who knows!

YOON JEONGHAN — 윤정한

HONG JISOO — 홍지수

WEN JUNHUI — 文俊辉

KWON SOONYOUNG — 권순영

JEON WONWOO — 전원우

LEE JIHOON — 이지훈

seungcheol : man would be a little flustered when you told him he texted you while he was drunk. tons of thoughts went through his mind—what did i say? how did i say it? how did you feel when i texted you? and his embarrassment gets even worse once you show him the text.

jeonghan : i feel like he'd be embarrassed at first but once he saw the texts he's like, oh well it's not that bad. so it's chill for him🤷‍♀️ he's a little grateful he didn't say anything weird to you once you actually picked him up with joshua sitting next to him that night.

joshua : he'd first say sorry for bothering you and asking you to pick him up when it was his own fault that he got so drunk.. then he would die from embarrassment the moment you told him he texted you. no, he doesn't want to know what he said. yes, he cleared the chat right away so he'd forget about it.

junhui : "i don't know what you're talking about," he says. but his ears are as red as tomatoes. jun is aware of how he gets whenever he's drunk—that's why he always keeps his phone away from him whenever he starts to drink—because he doesn't want to accidentally text someone while drunk. now that it happened between you and him, he wishes you'd forget about it.

soonyoung : a little embarrassed but mostly doesn't care cs he gets to make out with you in the car, lol. 10/10 experience, he said, would try it again. he says that it feels great to have someone take care of him when he's drunk. "i would definitely get sooo drunk that you'd have to pick me up again." he says with a stupid grin on his face.

wonwoo : was he even drunk? well, he was a little tipsy, to say the least. wonwoo was never one to drink alcohol much anyway. he knows his limits when it comes to them—but he didn't expect you'd be the one getting drunk instead. he sighs a lot—not expecting he'd take care of eleven drunk men+his own partner that night.

jihoon : he's traumatized. jihoon doesn't drink much—nor at all, honestly. and it's because he's not great at handling them. he gets red-faced easily, and that's why he brings his own drink of choice to these kinds of gatherings. he didn't expect he'd accidentally drank from soonyoung's glass, however—which resulted in his face immediately turning red. ah, who's idea was it to even put his coke right next to soonyoung's beer?! oh, right. it was his. and now he has twelve men+his own partner laughing about it in his face (affectionately).

jeonghan —; beg

everyone knows yoon jeonghan likes having people at his mercy. he gets a little unhinged when he has power over someone—so imagine what he gets like when you’re writhing on his cock, gasping his name so sweetly, your eyes glimmering with tears as he fucks you hard.

“what is it, pretty?” he asks, and like the devil he is, he slows the movement of hips, pulling out of you until his tip barely kisses your also weeping hole. it’s torture for him too, to leave the hot, tight haven that is your cunt, but to him it’s worthwhile.

“wanna cum, hannie,” you whimper.

“hm… i don’t know if i should let you yet,” he says, dipping back inside just an inch. years of him being yours means you don’t miss the tiny strain in his voice that betrays his perfectly collected demeanour.

“please, hannie, please, please, please, let me cum. i’ve been so good,” you sob, squeezing your thighs where they rest on his hips.

you watch as a switch flips in his eyes within a millisecond. a grin lights up his face and he shudders, and he’s sliding back inside you, fucking in and out of you harder and faster than before. safe to say it doesn’t take long for either of you to cum after that.

joshua —; make eye contact

his pretty doe eyes make staring into them your favourite thing in the world, and if you asked him his favourite pastime, he’d tell you that it was gazing into your irises.

it’s also his biggest weakness. from the way you’ve got your mouth wrapped around his dick, throat gagging even though you’re only halfway down it, joshua feels his sanity slipping away. his fingers curl into the bedsheets below as he watches you work him, revels in the warmth of your tongue sliding up and down his shaft.

when your eyes flick up to meet his he doesn’t stand a chance. not with how glimmering they are, brimming softly with tears, yet swimming with adoration. with worship.

heat washes over his whole body, he’s gasping, and the salty warmth of his release pools on your tongue.

jun —; put his fingers in your mouth

when junhui gets inside you he has a one-track mind. he becomes rapt with pleasure, drunk from the warm squeeze of your pussy around him, focused on nothing but the sensation of you, the sight of you under him, the sound of you in his ears.

the effect you have on him is dangerous, because you’re equally obsessed with him as he is with you, and you’re not afraid to show him.

and you love his hands, he knows you do—knows how you love his slender fingers and their soft touches all over you, inside you. your brain is cloudy, fogged by lust when you take him by his wrist and bring his fingers to your mouth. your eyes sparkle as your lips wrap around his index finger, your soft tongue swirling around it.

jun’s mouth parts with awe, his eyes growing round. a second later, he stills inside you with a gasp of your name, like he’s praying to you, all the while you’re sucking on his finger like a devil.

hoshi —; scratch him

he’s a little bit of a freak, and a masochist too.

when he’s got you folded in half, hitting all the right spots inside you, you cling to him in every way you can—fingers grabbing at his biceps, his shoulders. one particular stroke of his hips has you squealing.

your nails sink into his skin, crying out his name as you rake them down the toned planes of his back. the second you do, soonyoung is grunting, hips stilling, cock twitching as a sticky warmth suddenly floods your cervix.

the worst part about it is how he always has the stupidest, most shit-eating smug grin on his face when he examines your damage in the bathroom after, and you know that if he could, he would post the selfies he takes in the mirror all over instagram. what’s even worse though? seeing your marks makes him hard again.

wonwoo —; cry

you’re such a sensitive little thing and wonwoo adores you. one orgasm on his fingers and you’re already overstimulated—“but baby, i haven’t even put my cock in you yet,” he’ll coo.

like it’s your fault you have a boyfriend with skilled fingers and a skilled tongue and who knows you inside and out like the back of his hand, who knows where to touch you and how hard and what pace makes you writhe the most.

by the time he does get inside you, you’re gasping and whining and clawing at him, tears springing to your eyes because he’s so big and so deep, but the stretch is so addictive that it’s dizzying. his voice is low and husky as he mutters to you a mixture of teases and praise, calls you his pretty girl and then laughs at sensitive you are, pretends he’s not on the verge of coming from the sound of your choked gasps.

your belly starts to pulse with that familiar heat and by then you’re keening for him, whimpering a mixture of his name and endless pleas as it starts to become too much. your sobs go straight to his cock, and it’s only a matter of time before he reaches his climax, and his gasps of pleasure harmonise with your own cries.

woozi —; pull his hair

he’s been growing his hair out. after all your begging, he finally listened. in a way, though, it’s backfired a little on you, because the longer it gets the more insane you become. and the thing is you never expected him to let it get to his shoulders—and still he doesn’t plan on cutting it. well, good. you would kill him if he did.

when his face is between your legs you’re nothing short of a feral animal—your hips bucking wild against his mouth, your legs trembling on his shoulders, your fingers, of course, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. he makes you whine when he pulls away from your needy, sticky cunt to tsk at you, tells you to cut it out and keep your hands to yourself. (it’s because he’s about to cream his pants).

when he bends you in half beneath him, ruts into you hard and fast and relentless, you need leverage. your hands land on the back of his neck, fingertips grazing at his roots, then one slam of his hips into yours has his cock bumping against the most sensitive spot inside you and your grasping at his hair and crying his name so desperately. no longer can he hold back, strained groans slipping past his lips as he lets go inside you.

dokyeom —; hold his hand

a sentimental sweetheart, seokmin is an utter romantic who thinks that being inside of you, whether in your mouth or your pussy, is intimacy in its purest form. now imagine showing him just how much more intimate things can get.

he’s losing his mind at the feeling of your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, the way you swallow his length down making him see stars. he can’t bare to look at you—he needs to focus on taking deep breaths so that he doesn’t cum straight down your throat. then he feels you grabbing at one of his hands, lacing your fingers together, and no amount of deep breathing can stop him from releasing.

and when he fucks you it’s no different—it’s him in near tears, whimpering your name between incoherent words over and over, and as soon as you take his hand in yours and your fingers wrap around his, there’s nothing else he can do but succumb to his own pleasure.

mingyu —; take control

he’s big and strong; strong enough to put you into whatever position he wants, to make you cum at his command, to do just as he pleases with you.

but that’s exactly why he likes it when you slap him around a little.

you can’t exactly bend him into doggy or use your weight to keep him pinned to the mattress, but you can sit yourself pretty on his cock and ride him teasingly slow. you can tell him he’s not allowed to touch you or you’ll stop moving. you can tell him to kiss you, to go slower, to go harder.

you can sit up and put a hand around his throat, still your hips, and tell him he can fuck you himself if he wants to cum. and he’ll do just that—and as soon as you utter the words, he’s gone, whining out curses as he fills you up in white, warm spurts.

minghao —; whisper in his ear

minghao often tells you how he adores your voice. when you talk to him he’s entranced, and he’s always been more of a listener than a talker, and it’s perfect because you always have so much to say, and minghao will listen to every last word of yours.

your voice—minghao’s kryptonite, his achilles’ heel, his undoing and, oh, the way you moan for him when he’s got you on his cock is enough to make his heart stop beating. the perverted part of him wishes he could record you, hide the file away on his phone and listen to you when he’s overseas and he can’t call you. maybe he’ll ask you about that, if he can find the courage.

the final blow is when you’re getting close. you lean in, right next to his ear, so close that your breath sends shivers along his skin. “please, hao, i’m so close,” you whisper, yet you still sound so desperate and depraved. “you are too, right? cum for me, please. i’ll cum for you too.”

so he does just that—minghao gives in and lets his orgasm wash over him, fingertips drawing circles on your clit until mere moments later he hears the sound of your own cresting pleasure and he feels himself getting hard again.

seungkwan —; wrap your legs around him

it’s a fact that seungkwan loves to be close to you. if he could, he would crawl inside of your skin and live in your heart. but since he can’t, constant physical touch is the next best thing.

he likes to think he has relatively good self-control…most of the time. like when he’s buried to the hilt inside you, he’s incredible at keeping in rhythm, fucking into you at the most perfect pace for both you and him, hitting the spot that makes your back arch off the bed.

somehow he never sees it coming—when your arms are snaked around his neck and you’re holding onto him for dear life as he takes you to heaven, and your legs wrap around his waist so that you can pull him in impossibly deep. then you bring his face to yours, and you have the most irresistible little pout on your face when you make your request. “cum inside me, seungkwannie?”

and it’s not like he has much choice with the way you’ve trapped him inside of you, but that’s the very reason why the next second he’s pumping you full, because when it’s you, how is he supposed to have any self-control?

vernon —; touch yourself

it’s not like vernon can last long in general. he thinks you’re the hottest thing alive and he’s so enamoured with you that it’s too much for him sometimes, but you best believe he’ll put his all into holding out just for you.

there are times, however, where he’s just a man. and what’s a man to do when he has a goddess riding his dick? when your tits look so pretty, bouncing in his face, when you have that fucked out look in your eyes, when you feel like heaven and hell all at once?

and what the fuck is a man to do when your hand drifts down between your legs, to your aching clit, and your fingers start to rub it in circles, or when your other hand grasps one of your tits and tugs at one of your own nipples? and your sweet pussy clenches around him so tight when you do, clamps down on him in an hot, wet embrace, so what else can he do but cum?

dino —; say ‘i love you’

another sweet, sentimental boy. lee chan is head over heels for you, enamoured, obsessed, smitten, infatuated with you… the list of things he is around you is endless.

it shows in the way he fucks you—always takes his time with you, never rushes taking you apart. every touch of his is intentional, meant to set you both ablaze. when he eats you out to prep you for his cock, he has to try not to cum in his pants from how pretty you are.

where he really doesn’t stand a chance however is when he’s bottomed out inside you, as close as he can possibly be with you—so close you’re practically one. the sweetest sounds fall from your lips, spurring on his expert thrusts.

THE SWEET LINGERING OF 2014

When Jun turned eighteen, he celebrated it in the practice room surrounded by his twelve brothers who were undoubtedly more excited than he was. Being the fourth oldest in the group, it was almost like there was a routine now when their members were about to have their soulmark coming of age. He doesn’t quite remember how they established the tradition but it was probably something that Seungcheol, Soonyoung and Jihoon had done – as the overall leaders.

He remembered when Seungcheol had turned eighteen and Jun felt overwhelmed for him; it wasn’t the easiest being the oldest of the group and being the person that everyone looked up to. Turning eighteen was sort of a milestone for them, to know what to expect when they too turned eighteen someday. 

He remembered how Seungcheol had blown out the candles on top of the cake set out for him by the staff and looked around as twelve pairs of eyes stared at him.

“Do you feel anything, hyung?” He remembered Seungkwan, who was normally scared of the older boy asking, making Seungcheol shake his head before he paused mid-shake.

Seungcheol's brows furrowed as he let out a groan, holding his head in his hands as the members scrambled around him, asking him what was wrong. “I just got a sudden headache.” Seungcheol managed to mutter out before Jun saw the staff noting it down onto their tablet.

That was the start of the routine: with Seungcheol getting the Pain Soulmark, Jeonghan celebrating next and getting a number written on his wrist and Joshua who thought he was markless, had shrieked in the toilet finding a faint silhouette of a handprint on his chest. 

Jun fiddled with his fingers as they wrapped up practice in the green room, looking at the cake that the staff had prepared as the rest of the members were buzzing with anticipation, more specifically Soonyoung.

“Jun!” Soonyoung exclaimed, making the former jump in surprise as the energetic boy grabbed both his shoulders. “Are you excited?”

Jun opened his mouth to respond but Soonyoung had already breezed past. “I can’t believe you’re getting your mark today and I’ll be getting mine in 5 days time!”

Jun blinked as Soonyoung continued to ramble on and on about how excited he was for the mark and how he couldn’t wait to meet his other half. He managed to tune the boy out as he glanced towards Chan and Minghao at the side who were staring at the older boy with amusement and unamusement respectively. The latter glanced at Jun, raising an eyebrow, silently asking if the older boy was okay. Jun let out a tentative smile and nod, not wanting to alert the younger boy of his nerves.

Jun watched as Minghao’s eyebrows furrow, seemingly not believing him but lets the topic drop as the staff gathered the boys, placing the cake in front of Jun. Jun glanced at the cake, nerves pricking the edges of his skin before he felt someone brush up against his side. He turned to see Minghao sitting to his right, placing a hand on his with a reassuring smile, stopping the unconscious fiddling of fingers that Jun was doing.

“Don’t be nervous.” Minghao whispered to him in their native tongue. “You’ve been waiting for this day for ages.”

He was right.

To say that Jun was excited to get his mark, would be an understatement. Ironic, he thinks, even as he grew up in a slightly broken home where his parents had gotten divorced when he was two years old. His father and mother got married knowing that they weren’t soulmates, almost as if they were trying to game the system. His mother told him that they were happily married for a while before his father had found his actual soulmate and that was the end of their marriage. He remembered her comparing it to a ticking timebomb. They loved each other but they didn't complete each others' souls.

He remembered how much pain she was holding even as she decided to raise him on her own, challenging every social norm as a single mother before fate finally brought her soulmate to her. Bumping into each other at a supermarket that was actually out of the way from where his mother normally goes, a true meet cute if you asked him.

Fast forward many years later, they’re happily married and Jun has never felt more loved.

He snapped out of his thoughts as the members began to sing happy birthday, making him give a small smile as he made a wish and blew out the candles right as the clock struck twelve.

“Do you feel anything?” Soonyoung burst out before yelping as Jihoon smacked the back of his head, hissing at him to calm down. Jun began to search his limbs for marks, words or anything that would be an indication that he has a soulmate. Coming back blank made his heart sink. He couldn’t be markless, could he?

He felt Minghao press more into his right side, a hug it seems as he watched the members quieten down upon seeing his reaction.

He takes a sharp inhale. “I don’t feel anything.” he softly said as he fiddled with his fingers, silently cursing himself.

He wanted to be strong for his younger members, especially because he knew that the thought of being markless scared the maknaes more than they’d like to admit, especially Chan. 

He plastered on a fake smile, swallowing his emotions before taking the plastic knife and cutting into the cake in front of him. “It’s fine,” he muttered out. “It might be something that can’t be seen or felt… I think I just need to be patient.”

The tension in the room was palpable. The members glanced at each other as Jun pretended not to notice, his heart wrenching slightly as he wished that he could cut the tension with the knife in his hand.

Jun felt himself going on autopilot, continuing to cut the cake as his head swirled with doubts. Why didn’t he get a soulmark? Was he just not fated to have a soulmate? Was there something wrong with him?

He felt his spiral halt when he felt arms drape around his shoulders, as someone leaned on him. He peered up to see Seungkwan hanging off him, almost nonchalantly. Seungkwan raised an eyebrow at Jun’s staring before nudging him, urging him to continue to cut the cake.

Before he could, the knife was plucked out of his hand making Jun peer up to see Seungcheol, who nudged Jun out of the way to sit in front of the cake.

“Move.” Seungcheol said, nudging Jun away again as he continued cutting from where Jun left off. 

Jun blinked at the older boy before a plate was shoved into his hands. “Eat your birthday cake Jun!” Jeonghan singsonged, sticking a fork into the cake. “You know it’s bad luck if the birthday boy doesn’t eat his own cake first?”

Jun managed a weak smile at the older boy before he noticed words appear on Jeonghan’s arm: a sign from his soulmate. Jeonghan glanced at it, a small smile on his lips before placing his arm behind his back, away from prying eyes.

“Oops, made the missus mad.”

“You shouldn’t even be lying so much in the first place.” Minghao muttered, bringing a piece of the cake to his mouth. “The poor girl probably has so many numbers and words staining her skin everyday.” Jeonghan flicked his forehead, making the younger boy yelp before turning back to Jun.

“Better eat up, otherwise the lie would be for nothing.” Jeonghan said pointedly, but Jun could hear the faint fondness in his tone that could've been missed if they hadn’t spent the past two years training with each other.

Jeonghan took a plate before skipping towards the other end of the room, no doubt to tease (read, infuriate) his soulmate by lying so that he can talk to her. Jun peered at the cake in his hands before looking around the room to where all his members sat.

Seungcheol, who was cutting the cake while talking to Joshua, who was helping him to plate them whilst nodding, invested in their conversation as he passed the plate to Jihoon without even looking at him. Jihoon then passed it to Mingyu and Chan, who were sitting in the corner eating the cake with Vernon and Soonyoung. Mingyu, Chan and Soonyoung were talking animatedly while Vernon watched them, smiling at their comments.

He peered to the other corner of the room where Jeonghan, Wonwoo and Seokmin were, cracking jokes before his eyes ended up at Minghao who was leaning against him and Seungkwan who was hanging off of him. He watched as Minghao fed Seungkwan a piece of cake before feeding himself some and Jun smiled fondly as his thoughts calmed down.

Maybe he wasn't destined to have a soulmate but fate was kind enough to send him something else, something better. It sent him twelve brothers who really knew him in their heart and they really knew his soul. He felt the lingering of something on his tongue, some sweet thing that he couldn't name as he felt his heart swell at the information that he had just digested which made his smile grow even wider and softer.

Minghao nudged him. "Are you okay?" he asked softly in their native tongue as Seungkwan turned towards him as well. Jun nodded, using his fork to cut through the cake and placed it into his mouth tasting the sweet cream of the cake before turning to the two younger boys and giving them a smile.

"Never better."

However, even as the taste of the cake faded, Jun remained oblivious to the sweet taste on the tip of his tongue.

THE ACCOSTED MALA TASTEBUDS OF 2016

The moment the clock struck midnight on your eighteenth birthday, you swore your soulmate hated his tastebuds.

To your parents, turning eighteen was on par or even more important than turning twenty-one. Soulmates was all your parents ever talked about, how they were friends turned lovers when they both had turned eighteen. Their only wish was that you and your siblings could experience the same. So, when you were on the cusp of turning eighteen, they pulled out all the stops.

“Mum,” you started, staring at the wall of decorations and table filled with presents that looked like it was one more present away from collapsing on the floor. “I think you might have gone a tad bit o–” Your older brother immediately covered your mouth before you could finish your sentence. “—outdone! She meant outdone mum! It looks amazing!” Your brother finished for you, giving you a side-eye that said ‘proceed with caution’ which made you roll your eyes at the older boy.

Your mum breezed at your brother's comment. “Thank you dear! Just trying to make sure your sister gets the same party that we did for you last year!” She exclaimed as she made her way to the storeroom to possibly get more streamers.

You silently mourned all the lost trees before turning to your brother, crossing your arms. “You didn’t need to step in Chris.”

“And let you ruin mum and dad’s best day ever?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at you. “Yeah right.”

“You do know it’s my birthday right?”

“Yeah but you don’t care as much about this as them, so let them have it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Unlike your parents, eighteen really didn’t mean that much to you, you were going to be bound to a stranger for the rest of your life which meant that the next few years of your life would be going on dates, questioning if this was the right person or if the soulmarks match up and if they didn’t, it was inevitable that there's either no second date, or a break-up.

You practically didn’t really believe in soulmates either. Why did the universe have to decide who was the best person for you to match with? Why couldn’t you make the decision yourself?

“Besides,” Chris continued, taking a seat on the streamer draped couch. “You are their one shot right now at proving their stories are true.”

“You’re talking as if you aren’t turning nineteen and that Hannah and Lucas are not going to have the same celebration when they turn eighteen.”

“But,” Chris pointed at you to emphasize his point. “You’re their only shot right now.”

You narrowed your eyes at your brother. "And whose fault is that huh?"

Chris feigned an offended look and exasperatedly gasped as you plopped down onto the couch next to him. “What?!”

You smacked his shoulder as he let out a yelp. “Don’t ‘what’ me,” you said, continuing to hit him despite his protests. “If you didn’t decide to join the label, you’d probably have found your soulmate by now!”

Your older brother Chris was also known as Bang Chan to the rest of the world. Having been musically talented since young, it was almost inevitable that he would end up becoming an idol in Korea. That meant crushing your parents' dream of him finding his soulmate early as he was still a trainee and that meant that dating was a huge no-no.

You were happy for him, you truly were. Being his younger sister, you had first dibs on listening to all his garage or attic produced music and you couldn’t be more proud of what your brother has achieved, especially with his upcoming debut.

What you weren’t happy with was the fact that while your parents were struggling with the news, Chris had the awesome idea to throw you under the bus in his stead. He stated that it was the reason you were born a year after him, making you the perfect candidate to live out their stories which turned their attention onto you.

You felt like throwing him under an actual bus as soon as he had suggested that.

“I’m sor- ow - sorry, can we plea– OW, stop assaulting me with the pillow!” Chris yelped out as you kept hitting him with the pillow. “I should be using things other than pillows for the pressure you put me under, its too much!” You spat out, hitting him a few more times before he caught the pillow and ripped it out of your grasp.

“Okay! Okay! I get it.” Chris said, dodging your movement of getting the pillow back. “I’m sorry for putting you under this much pressure but,” He shot you a look. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious as to what your soulmark is.”

“You know about my thoughts on soulmates Chris.” You said softly, sinking back into the couch as you eyed the decorations sprinkled across the family living room. “I just hate that my life feels like it's predetermined just because of this person that I am supposed to spend the rest of my life with.”

You couldn’t bear to look at your brother although you could already feel his eyes on you as silence enveloped the living room. “Maybe you aren’t scared of the person,” Chris started slowly, making you raise your head to meet his eyes, “but more of the uncertainity that comes with it.”

His tone was soft but his words were firm and hit harder than you thought it would. He had a point, he always did. “Don’t be scared, the universe decided them for you, whoever it is, they are meant to be half of your own soul. I was scared when I got my soulmark too.” Chris said softly, his fingers tracing the half tattoo on his forearm. “But they will love you for who you are, and what you will become. You’re amazing and they will definitely see all those trademarks too.”

Your nerves dissipated little by little as your brother's words sunk in. “Thank you Channie.” you breathe out as you give your brother a side hug. He gave you a side smile, hugging you back as he used his other hand to ruffle your hair.

“Can’t wait to see who will actually match this gremlin energy of yours.” He joked which made you let out a scoff, playfully giving him a small smack on his side as he continued to laugh before he abruptly quietened.

You peered up at him and your heart sank a little as you watched him stare at the half tattoo, his eyes filled with hope and longing. You felt a little guilty for chastising your brother so much, unlike you, he didn’t have a choice of taking steps to finding his soulmate unless he meets her at the label or through shoots. He would need to actually wait for fate to take the reign and bring her to him.

You reached out and grasped his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “You know,” you started slowly, giving him the time to lock eyes with you. “I read somewhere that if you trace the soulmark, your soulmate can feel that you're thinking about them.”

Chris stared at you, his eyes widening slightly. “Did you just quote a soulmate myth?”

You felt your cheeks heat up slightly as you attempted to glare at your brother. “Don’t push it.”

His face broke out into a mischievous grin. “Look at you, Miss I-Don’t-Believe-In-Soulmates.”

You groaned at his words as you gave him a shove. “Shut up!”

He chuckled a little more before looking straight at you, his grin softening into a soft smile. “You really think she can feel it?”

You mirrored his soft smile. “I’m sure she can Channie. I’m sure you’ll feel it when she does it too.”

Chris gives you a smile back before bumping your shoulder. "So, tell me about the internship!"

Your grin got wider at that, making you sit up straighter, fully facing your older brother.

Ever since you could remember, food had been a big part of your life, almost like how music was apart of your big brothers. Like how producing and music came easy to him, baking came easy to you.

Baking had been your safe space for as long as you could remember. When you were younger, your mother had been trying to bake a red velvet cake for Chris's seventh birthday. Being six and looking up to your mother, you wanted to try it as well. Your mother relented after you had begged her multiple times and was shocked when you were a whiz in the kitchen.

You could crack eggs, take measurements as if it was written in your blood and mix with the hands of a master baker. You were a natural and that was where you fell in love with it.

From that experience, was where you earned the nickname, Red. Part of it was because you were a whiz in the kitchen, but the main reason was because your parents had caught you, dead in the night, the day after your brother's birthday, stuffing your face with the remaining cake. With all the frosting all over your mouth and having eaten almost half of the remainder, it was endearing to say the least.

As you grew older, you opened a food blog, upon Chris's request as a way for him to keep tabs on your food journey even when he was in Korea doing his music. You learned how to take proper pictures, what were the right words to use for describing the food you were making, how to hook people to the blog as well as how to put a touch of yourself in all the baked crafts that you created.

Which lead you to this exact moment.

Two months ago, Gourmet Traveler posted that they were looking for an intern for the summer break that was willing to learn all that they had to offer. Being a huge fan since you were young, you spent many late nights perfecting your CV, perfecting every blog post that you had as well as preparing a video to state why you were the perfect fit for the role.

You spent the better half of your exam period, checking your emails for a response and upon seeing the ad receive almost over 2000 applicants, you were almost sure that you didn't get it. You were a bit upset at first, it was definitely your dream to get in but Chris called you, gave you a pep talk about how they didn't know what they were missing and it made you feel a lot better.

However, when you were lazing around on call with Chris, animatedly talking about the plans you guys had when he came back for your birthday, a 'ping' was heard from your laptop. You lazily walked over to it, clicking as you hummed, listening to Chris talk about how you guys should go get frozen yogurt when he was back. You giggled and was about to agree until your eyes landed on the new email that just came in titled 'Congratulations' which was from the magazine company in-charge of Gourmet Traveler.

Your eyes widened as you open the email, screening through the email before letting out a squeal, startling your brother who dropped the phone on his face with a 'thud'. You heard him let out a muffled curse as he was about to start scolding you, but you immediately turned the camera around to the acceptance letter making his own eyes widen as you both started shouting together.

Which lead you to this moment.

"It's so fun!" You squealed out to your brother, squeezing his hand tighter. "They brought me along to interview one of the new home bakers the other day and let me put in some of the questions that I thought we should ask!" You say, recalling the look on your managers face when he had approved the ideas. "I also got to write my own mini-section for the article coming out this weekend!"

Your brothers eyes widen at that. "Red!" He shouts out, "That's amazing!" He nudges you with his shoulder. "I guess we know what we're doing this weekend!" His eyes sparkle, full of pride, as he pulls his hand away from yours, starting to count.

"We need one for each of us as a keepsake, we also need to buy one extra for us to keep in a frame." He rambles, listing it off on his fingers. "OH! I'm sure Dad, Mum, Hannah and Lucas would also like a copy! And the guys! They were so happy when you got the internship so that's," His eyes widen, "Fourteen copies!"

You laugh, choking slightly on your own saliva from laughing so hard as you shove your brother.

"You're such a dumbass!"

Chris lets out an exasperated gasp. "How can you say that?!" He shoves you back, "Is it wrong for me to be proud of my baby sister?"

You roll your eyes, the smile never leaving your face as he grabs your hand again with a sincere smile on his face.

"Seriously though," He starts, looking at you, his eyes shining with pride, "I'm really proud of you Red."

Your heart swells, squeezing your joint hands before the lights turn off making you jump with a small yelp. You turn towards the kitchen to see your parents bring out a cake with the candles already lit, slowly singing happy birthday. A smile made its way onto your way as you glanced at the clock.

23:58pm

You took a deep breath as your parents put the cake in front of you, your brother's hand anchoring you as he gave it yet another squeeze before letting go for you to have your moment. Your heart thundered in your chest as you looked at the beautiful homemade red velvet cake in front of you that makes a smile appear on your face.

“Make a wish darling!” Your mum exclaimed, snapping you out of your thoughts as she clapped her hands together. 

You glanced at Chris who had a reassuring smile on his face before glancing back at the cake and closing your eyes, briefly making a wish before you opened them and blew out the candle right as your house was filled with a ding.

Your parents looked at you expectantly, eyes wide as you shifted nervously under their intense gazes.

“Do you feel anything Red?” Your dad asked, shifting excitedly on his feet. You nervously checked the underside of your arms before moving to your legs and shaking your head.

“I don’t–”

As soon as you said that, your face started burning up as a sharp burning numbing sensation hit your tongue making you gasp out. You immediately shot out of your seat as the sensation took over your tongue, making tears start to well up in your eyes. Chris was out of his seat, eyeing you, his face filled with shock.

“Red?! Are you alright?”

You wanted to scream at him, saying that of course you weren’t alright but sarcasm was definitely not the right approach while you were midway dying from the burning sensation.

“Water!” You managed to choke out, urgently gesturing to the water jar sitting on the family table. Chris immediately grabbed a glass, pouring like his life dependent on it, turning around to pass it to you. You grabbed it out of his hand and inhaled the water, feeling the burning sensation start to subside with each gulp you took.

Chris had given you a few more glasses before the spice fully subsided as you collapsed back on the couch, your eyes slightly rimmed with tears and slightly red. You watched your parents nervously glance at each other as Chris passed you a tissue paper to wipe the stray tears from your eyes.

Your tongue felt numb from the spice that had overtaken all your senses as a sourish aftertaste soon followed making you smack your lips as your face scrunched up slightly in disgust of the aftertaste. Swirling more water in your mouth in hopes to get rid of the taste, you turned to your parents.

“What was that?” you croaked out to them as they were shifting slightly uncomfortably from where they’re standing.

Your mum cleared her throat. “Well, sweetheart,” she started, as you watched her brain slowly piece the words together, “it seems like you have a taste soul mark.”

You froze, your hand stopping from dabbing at your eyes, looking between your parents for confirmation as to whether either of them were joking. When all you were met with was seriousness, you felt a heavy sigh flow up from your throat as you frowned.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me–”

“LANGUAGE!”

THE RED OF RED VELVET OF 2016

Jun felt himself collapse on the floor as soon as the video stopped recording. Catching his breath, he jumped slightly, hearing a soft 'thud' beside him before chuckling to himself at the view of his starfished team leader.

Minghao walked over to the two and sits down opposite Jun, an unamused expression on his face as he shakes his head at Soonyoung's antics.

"One of these days," Minghao muttered out, "You're going to hurt yourself really bad by collapsing like that." Soonyoung, who was still starfished on the floor, lets out a grunt in acknowledgment at Minghao's words but makes no further comment.

Chan who was the only one left standing after the intense practice, ran a hand through his hair as he kept slowly rehearsing the moves, slowly correcting himself, little by little. Jun watched in adoration, as their maknae continued to nail the choreography with ease.

Being in the performance unit was definitely something he was meant for but it didn't make the extra dance practices or intense choreography easier to get the hang off. Sometimes he was envious of the other two units, the hiphop unit just needed to look like they were having fun on stage and the vocal unit just needed to look ethereal. Them, on the other hand, needed their choreography to look flawless which meant extra practices and extra dances to remember.

Chan continued to hum the beat of 'Highlight' before walking over to his three hyungs, plopping down in between Jun and Minghao. "I think we're almost ready for the music video recording." Chan chirped up making Jun smile, despite still catching his breath. He was always envious at how much energy their maknae had, even after all those extra steps, Chan looked like he wasn't even panting.

Soonyoung sat up slowly. "Yeah and then tomorrow we need to figure out how to do the 13 member version for the concerts."

Minghao lets out a low groan. "You couldn't wait to drop that news tomorrow or something?" Minghao chastises lightly. "Couldn't just let us have the peace for the night?"

Soonyoung clicks his tongue. "As performance leader," he gives Minghao a cheeky grin, "I cannot."

Minghao rolls his eyes at the older boys antics. "Can't believe you're older than me." He muttered. Soonyoung lets out a scoff, about to retort when Minghao notices Soonyoung's eyes sparkle a little before changing, the dark brown slowly turning to a maroon red.

"Your eyes changed colour again." Minghao nonchalantly points out, gesturing towards his eyes making Soonyoung's eyes widen, any remarks dying, as he whips out his phone to document the change.

"Are you any closer to figuring out what it means?" Chan asked Soonyoung, who was still typing ferociously onto his phone. Soonyoung absentmindedly shook his head.

"No," He muttered out, still engrossed as he scrolled through his notes. "It's driving me insane! Like I can't believe I have a soulmate and I can't even communicate with them like Minghao can, all I have is the darned colour changes. Its almost as if the universe just doesn't want me to find—"

Minghao slaps the back of Soonyoung's head before he has the chance to continue making the older boy yelp in pain. Soonyoung shoots glares at Minghao, "What the hell was that for—"

Minghao raises a finger, silencing the boy before gesturing to Jun who was sitting there, quietly with his legs crossed. Soonyoung's eyes widen in understanding, gnawing on his bottom lip. "Sorry Jun." he mutters out making Jun glance up and shake his head slowly, a weak smile on his face.

"It's alright." Jun said softly, shrugging a little, "I'm used to it."

Even after two years, Jun was still the only one unsure if he had a soulmate or not, everyone else had gotten something on their 18th birthday except Chan whose birthday hasn't passed yet and was just a few months away. With every new soul mark that the group celebrated, Jun's hopes dimmed more and more.

After being told to not give up two years ago, Jun had done everything in his power to figure out what soul mark he had. He went onto his ipad in between practice sessions, just to read up on published articles of late blooming soul marks. He picked up some books in the library about the different types of soul marks that have been documented so far, each more unique than the last. Hell, he even tried to force the soul mark to happen by pinching himself after seeing Seungcheol's soul mark or even doodling on himself after seeing Seungkwan's but drew blanks everytime.

Maybe he was really unlucky and he really was going to be the only one without a soulmate.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice the three younger boys share a glance, a silent conversation between them before shooting to their feet, shocking him.

"I think we're done with practice today." Soonyoung states, stretching a little before holding out a hand for Jun to grab. Jun stares at the hand, side glancing to the two other younger boys before looking at Soonyoung, his eyebrows furrowing. "Don't we have another hour of practice today?"

It was true, the staff had booked the the practice room for eight hours today and left them around two hours ago, trusting that they would practice till the time was up. Soonyoung was normally the one in charge of the timings, being the performance leader and never let the group end earlier for any circumstance even with Chan's constant whines of wanting to end.

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. "Well," he clicked his tongue, "I was being nice and offering but if you're that concerned," his eyes twinkled with a mischievous sparkle, "You can stay and practice by yourself."

Soonyoung starts to slowly pull his hand back, making Jun's eyes widen, grabbing onto it and pulling himself up. "No thanks." Jun chirped out making Soonyoung roll his eyes, a small smirk making it's way onto his face.

"C'mon." Soonyoung said, putting an arm around Jun's shoulder before glancing at his other two members, a smile on his face. "Let's go to get some food."

The four of them walked out of the practice room, up the stairs and onto the street which was buzzing with ambient noises. They talked about everything under the sun, random little tidbits and inside jokes filled the moments until they stopped at a familiar neon signage.

Jun blinked, not even realizing they had ended up outside his favourite Chinese restaurant. His eyebrows furrow before looking towards the other three boys, one eyebrow raising in question. "I thought you guys wanted to try the new Korean jeon place that was having that one for one deal?"

Soonyoung simply shrugged. "We changed our mind." Jun stared at him in disbelief, clearly not believing his answer but was pushed through the doors of the restaurant by the tiger boy before he could press even further.

"Good evening— Oh! It's you four!" The owner of the restaurant greets them, with a warm smile on her face as the four boys bowed, mirroring her expression. "Where are the other noisy nine that are normally with you all?" She teased, as the boys took their seats at one of the tables near the window of the store.

"Are the four of us not enough aunty?" Soonyoung whines out, making the old lady laugh as Minghao and Chan roll their eyes at their older hyung while Jun just shakes his head, a little embarrassed at their leader's antics. She pat Soonyoung's head. "Enough, enough," She says, soothing the boy. "It's just livelier when all thirteen of you are around."

Mrs Yang, as she told the boys to call her, was a lady in her sixties who had opened this restaurant after she moved from China twenty-odd years ago. Mrs Yang had opened the restaurant with her husband after they had been unable to find jobs in the corporate world and opted for their restaurants to be a 24/7 shop for those who just needed the comfort of a hot bowl of food.

The boys has stumbled across the restaurant before their debut, looking for food at the weird hours of the morning. She had welcomed them with open arms and for Jun, this place was like home far away from home.

Jun enjoyed the food so much that he found himself coming back to the restaurant whenever he felt down or just needed a hot meal that wasn't out of his budget. When Mrs Yang had learned about their debut, she purposely made a special menu for them that cost less than what other patrons paid.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan tried to argue with her about it but she was stubborn to say the least as she threatened them with the idea of lowering the prices for the thirteen of them even more.

She rounded the table to Jun and Minghao's side. "How are my two favourite boys?" She asked, in their native tongue making the two look at each other, a knowing smile on their faces.

"We're good." Minghao replied in Chinese before gesturing towards Jun, "Jun here really wanted to eat your food today."

Mrs Yang looks right at Jun, meeting his gaze before analyzing him.

"Thinking about her?"

Jun gave her a weak smile before looking back at the menu, analyzing it as if he didn't already know what he wanted. The night of his eighteenth Birthday, Jun sneaked out of the shared dormitories, needing to clear his head from the day. Having had practice the whole day, Jun didn't really have time to dwell on the fact of his soulmate and threw himself into the practice, making sure his moves were perfect and didn't really rest the whole day.

The other boys were worried, for sure. He saw the small glances that they gave each other when he was the first back on his feet after the breaks, they saw how he sweat a little harder than the rest of them and how he was unusually quiet, not a single mischievous comment coming out from his mouth.

Minghao and Seungkwan didn't leave his side for majority of the day and when Minghao had appeared in their shared room in his sleepwear with Chan no where to be seen, he knew that the members had a small meeting about him.

That's how he found himself back at the restaurant, drinking a hearty bowl of beef noodle soup, sitting opposite Mrs Yang. The restaurant was always quiet in the dead of the night. Mr Yang working hard to prepare the next set of ingredients needed for the wave of 5am customers who typically worked the night shift while Mrs Yang minced chili for their special chili oil, cut spring onions for garnish or plucked the heads off of bean sprouts.

Tonight she was doing the latter, slowly making her way through mountain in the left while she disposed the headless ones on her right, the heads throwing them into the plastic bag beside her.

She hummed along to an old Chinese song that flowed through the speakers of the restaurant that Jun recognized. It was one of his grandmother's favourite songs that used to play in the house when he was younger. It was at times like this that he missed his home in China and the food only amplified it more. He swallowed his emotions as he downed the last bit of his noodles, placing the bowl on the table with a soft 'thud' alerting Mrs Yang.

She gave him an easy smile, peering into the bowl, "Wahh," She said, the smile on her face growing bigger, "I guess we don't need to run the bowl through the dishwasher with how clean your bowl is."

Jun let out a weak laugh at the joke, sparing her a glance before going back to stare outside the window as he watched one or two cars whizz by.

Mrs Yang's eyes soften watching the forlorn boy who looked like he was close to breaking. She looked towards the kitchen where Mr Yang was standing, glancing between the two of them with a curious look twinkling in his eyes before gesturing towards her making her nod.

Jun was brought out of his thoughts when Mr Yang placed a small serving of a dessert that Jun wasn't expecting to see was placed in-front of him. His eyes widened, before looking between the older couple, his jaw dropping, "Nian Gao?" Jun sputtered out, making the older couple's eyes twinkle with delight.

"Happy birthday my dear boy." Mrs Yang said softly as Mr Yang placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Didn't think we would forget your birthday did you?" Mr Yang asked, his eyebrow raising, "We're old but not that old." Jun immediately shook his head, panicking slightly making Mr Yang let out a hearty laugh as Mrs Yang tsked at her husband, hitting his hand lightly.

"Don't disturb the poor boy like this on his birthday." She chastised her husband but there was no malice in her tone making Mr Yang laugh harder. Jun stared at the couple, longing in his veins, smiling a little sadly at the sight before looking down at the sticky cake in front of him.

The couple shared another glance at Jun's silence before Mrs Yang reached over the table and grabbed his hand that was resting there. "Want to talk about it?" She asked softly.

Jun swallowed. "I don't think I have a soulmate." He lowly admitted, his heart clenching slightly. The older couple were quiet for a beat at the confession before Mrs Yang's eyes hardened slightly on the boy. "That's nonsense."

Jun blinked at her stern words, "Everyone has a soulmate boy." She said, sternly locking eyes with Jun, "The minute you stop believing in that is when your soul doesn't long for them anymore or it feels complete without them next to you."

She raised an eyebrow at the young boy, "Do you truly feel like that?"

The question knocks the wind out of Jun's lung as he finds himself staring at her, his mouth open and closing like a fish before he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He really thought about it, her words striking him hard.

"I don't," He manages to answer making Mrs Yang nod her head. "Then she's still out there, longing for you as well."

It's crazy how those few simple words made Jun's doubts all disappear but she was right. If he didn't have a soulmate, he wouldn't feel this upset about not having something he didn't have in the first place. He wouldn't feel like something is missing from his life.

Mrs Yang gave Jun's hand a small squeeze. "Blow your candle already my dear boy." She said, pulling her hand back, "Make a good wish."

Jun smiled at the older couple who stared at him, their eyes filled with adoration and pride before he made a wish. He wished upon every single star in the sky that he would find her.

That's how they ended up here, the Yangs' had been helping Jun out by giving him hope and also checking with all their soulmate doctors that they knew. They always had something new to give Jun but with the search getting harder and harder each day, they were coming up short during his last recent visits.

"I always am." He answered, a reply to Mrs Yang's question, "I don't think she ever leaves my mind."

Mrs Yang gives the boy a sympathetic smile, reaching down and giving his hand a squeeze, "Good, as long as you don't give up on her." She says, her words a little fierce before turning to the younger Chinese boy.

"And you?" Mrs Yang asked. "Has she communicated with you?"

Minghao gave her a small smile. "We're trying," He mutters back softly, tugging at his sleeves to show the dark words of his soulmates thoughts on his arm, "Hard with the time difference and the language barrier but Shua hyung and Vernon have been helping me."

Mrs Yang gives the boy a toothy smile at that. "Good boys." She says, her smile widening at the thought of Joshua and Vernon. "I'll pack some extra food later for you to bring to them." The two boys give her an appreciative smile and thank her in Chinese before Mrs Yang clapped her hands.

"Right!" She said in Korean, getting the rest of the boys attentions, "I got a treat for you boys tonight." She gave them a wink with a promise to be right back before disappearing behind into the kitchen where she talked in fast Cantonese with her husband.

The four boys glance at each other before laughing to themselves as the couple loudly talked to each other. Not even twenty minutes later, the table was filled with various different dishes that the older couple whipped up making the four boys salivate.

"Dig in!" Mrs Yang said, clapping her hands as the boys eagerly began to dig in. "Woah!" Soonyoung gasped out after taking a spoonful of soup, "This is so good." Mrs Yang nods, her smile filled with pride, "It's Mala Tang," She said proudly, "Mr Yang and I thought it would be good for us to add it to the menu since Minghao and Jun mentioned liking it."

Jun took a sip of the soup and let out a sigh of contentment. "Really tastes like home Mrs Yang."

"I'm glad." She says, giving him a huge smile and patting his head gently.

They share stories with Mrs Yang about their recent practice and their upcoming concerts, Soonyoung sometimes getting out of his seat to dance the dance for her making Minghao shake his head at his antics as Jun and Chan laughed at their leader.

She clapped her hands as Soonyoung finished his one man show of 'Highlight'. "Bravo!" She cheered as Soonyoung took an exaggerated bow making Chan laugh as Minghao sighed and Jun smiled in between bites.

He quietly listened to Soonyoung animatedly tell Mrs Yang about his ideas for the thirteen member version of the song, placing more chili oil in his mala tang spoon as the clock struck 10pm. He took a sip of the soup, loving the spice and numbness on his tongue before it totally dulled in record speed, replaced by the strong taste of water.

Jun jumped in surprise, confusion flooding his features as he stared at the spoon as if it had offended him, which it did. "What in the world?" Jun wondered aloud before placing more chili oil into the soup before taking another spoonful of the soup and put it into his mouth.

Minghao who heard his murmurs, glanced at him, his eyebrow raised. Jun felt the numbness and the spice hit his tongue again before it was once again doused with taste of water.

"Not spicy enough for you?" Minghao asks teasingly as Jun frowned at the bowl getting the attention of the other three people at the table.

"No," Jun started, confusion still etched into his features, "I keep tasting water for some reason after drinking the soup."

Minghao's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?" He asked. Jun shrugged, "The mala taste of numbness and spice is there for like a second but then it gets overwhelmed by a really strong water taste." Jun said, taking another sip of the soup. He scrunches his nose in confusion as he tasted more water, the more he clicked his tongue.

Soonyoung at the other end of the table made a face before his eyes widened in realization as he turned to Mrs Yang who smiled as the gears turned in her head at Jun's words.

"Look's like your soulmate has finally found you." Mrs Yang said, making Jun tilt his head in confusion before it hit him. Chan and Minghao let out gasps as it hit them as well. Jun felt his heart thunder in his ribcage as his eyes widened.

Soonyoung rushed out of his seat, rounded the table and hugged the boy, squeezing him tightly as Minghao reached over to grab Jun's hand, "I told you so." Minghao said, in their native tongue, squeezing the boys hand.

Jun felt tears swarm his vision as his taste buds came to life, tasting the sweet taste of cream cheese frosting and chocolate cake on his tongue.

Red Velvet Cake.

He had finally found you.

10 YEARS LATER

"Fuck." You curse under your breath, running through the city in your heels was surely not the way you wanted to start your morning. It wasn't like you meant to sleep through all three of your alarms, you had stayed up to the early hours of the morning, working on your newest article for the magazine.

After you had graduated from high school, your old manager during your internship had called and offered you a position with the magazine after loving your work so much. Hence, you were known as the culinary and food expert at the Gourmet Magazine.

"Hey Mina," You greet as you brisk walked through the company glass doors. Mina, the receptionist looks up from her computer before giving you a bright smile, greeting you with your name as you gave her your card to scan you in.

"Long night?" She asks, glancing at the time on her computer making you give her a weak smile as you shrug, "You know how it is when we're wrapping up articles." You answered tiredly, making her nod her head sympathetically.

Mina had been the receptionist at the company since you started working full-time here. She was always around and she somehow always had the brightest smile on her face. She was also one of your closer friends in the company, always having an extra coffee for you whenever you were working late and always brought you donuts or other forms or sweet treats. She was quite literally your life saver.

"I hope the article goes well," She says softly, passing you back your card as you give her a warm smile, thanking her before she open the gantries for you. Your heels click on the marble floor as you press the button for the elevator, taking it up to the fifth floor.

You briskly walked in, dumping your stuff on top of the table of your cubicle before sinking into your chair, letting out a sigh of relief as you check the clock. Five minutes to spare, you roll your shoulders, finally catching your breath before a head peaked over your cubicle divider.

"There you are," Nari teased making you roll your eyes, a smile on your face as you came face to face with your cubicle sharer. "Was wondering if you were going to make it for the special meeting today or not."

You huff out a scoff, "And risk getting my ass handed to me by Minho?" You mutter back, shaking your head, "He would kill me if I missed the meeting."

Nari rolled her eyes at that, "As if." She scoffed, "You're literally his favourite journalist in the field. I think he would rather choke on his own guts before chewing yours out." You scrunched your nose at the image, "Gross." You said making Nari laugh.

Nari had joined the same time as you as a fellow intern for the food magazine. The two of you had solid portfolios and because management couldn't choose, they decided to offer both of you the spots. You and Nari became friends pretty quickly even though she was a year older than you were and the two of you chatted about everything under the sun. After the internship was over and the two of you finished high school, you were both on boarded together and have been working as cubicle besties since then.

Your phone buzzed making you glance at it before fishing through your bag for your laptop and the hard copy of your article and column for the week. "C'mon, you menace." You called to Nari, "Let's go see what Park wants before he hands us something bad for being late."

Nari appears beside you in record speed with her own laptop and hard copies in her hand, "He loves us too much to actually do that." She says, a mischievous grin on her face making you roll your eyes. "Well, let's not actually give him a reason then."

The two of you continue to chat as you made your way into the meeting room, where your magazine manager, Park Minho already stood. Beside him, sat his personal assistant, Lina who had a frown on her face as she was typing up a storm on her laptop in front of her, her fingers flying across the keyboard at record speed.

As you and Nari pushed open the glass door, Minho looked up before grinning at the sight of you two, "There are my two favourite food journalists!" He announced, doing an exaggerated arm opening movement making both you and Nari roll your eyes at his antics.

"Don't let Terry hear you say that," Nari teased, as she took a seat at his other side. You flashed Lina a grin who flashes you one back, tiredness etched into it before she went back to typing on her computer.

"Well, if Terry's articles and food columns actually hit 1500 views over the weekend," Minho began, eyeing the two of you with an easy grin on his face, "He shall get that spot then."

Your eyes widened as you looked at Nari who had a similar look on her face before looking back at your manager, "We hit 1.5k views?" You asked in disbelief making Minho nod as he flashed you both grins of pride, "Yep! Just over the weekend!"

You and Nari high-five each other, the smiles on your faces not dimming, "Was this what this meeting is for?" Nari asked, her eyes still sparkling making Minho shake his head, "Firstly," He pointed towards the papers on yours and Nari's computers, "I need to collect your columns and articles for this week."

The two of you share a look before passing them to him, he flipped through them briefly before passing them to Lina who tucks them into her file beside her. "Secondly," He starts before gesturing towards the projector screen, "The higher ups have been super impressed with the work that you both have been putting in and they recently wanted to offer you an assignment that is specially catered to the two of you."

You and Nari glanced at each other before looking back at the screen as Minho changed it to the next slide. Upon reading the words etched onto the slide, you felt your blood run cold.

"Food for the Soul: A Soulmate Assignment?" Nari asked, her tone ecstatic as you just stared at it with your mouth open. Minho nodded his head eagerly, seeming not to notice both your expressions as he continued, "Since both of you have a soul mark related to food cravings or taste, the higher ups thought that they wanted to create a series where you look for your soulmates through the foods and see if you can find them."

He flips to the next slide, "Of course, the trip is also fully-paid, you just need to inform Lina and I of the location you think your soulmate is in and we will get you the accommodations as well as give you money for you to spend to write the series."

Minho finally turns to you and Nari who have different expressions etched onto your faces as you just stared blankly at the projection screens, "Of course, we have to work out a timeline, what your series will actually entail but this is the basics of the assignment." Minho finishes, with a satisfied grin on his face as he takes a seat back into the rolling chair of the meeting room.

"Any questions?" He asks making Nari shake her head with a huge smile on her face before he turned to look at you who still stared at the board, a million thoughts running through your head. You felt faint.

After the incident of your eighteenth birthday, you held a huge dislike for your soulmate and his taste buds. You were aware that you and your soulmate definitely didn't live in the same country with the amount of times you would wake up with the taste of Americano on your taste buds before you even had your first cup of coffee and the amount of times you would eat your late dinner with the taste of toothpaste on your tongue.

At the start of your journalism journey, it was difficult to say the least. For every single assignment, you had to work around the times when your soul mate was having his meals so as to not have it clash with the food that you were writing your reviews for.

You had learned that the hard way when you were tasting the cakes of the newest rising bakery in town, only to almost spit out the delicious creamy cakes when you taste the sour and spicy taste of some fish dish that your soul mate was having. Safe to say, you worked your absolute hardest to give the bakery the best review it could ever get and business was still booming to this day.

You had tried to make a schedule for when your soul mate eats his meals and he was consistent for a while but within a month or so, that schedule will change sporadically throughout the month leaving you to just shred the schedule and go "fuck it", to try to find other workarounds. Which of course, there weren't.

This lead to your certain distaste for him and his taste buds as he never really had anything sweet and opted for every single spicy or sour food he could find his hands on. However, as much as you didn't like him or the idea of him, he was… sweet sometimes.

He must've gotten a schedule down for you, because unlike his outrageously sporadic schedule, you kept your meal times to a certain range in the day and it only strayed sometimes when you were in the middle of assignments or on work trips.

Because for the week during your periods, he ate milder stuff and kept to a proper schedule like it was clockwork. More sweet stuff than spicy or sour and sometimes he would sneak a chocolate during the middle of your day which made you smile as you taste the creaminess on your tongue.

You would be nice as well and eat something spicy during the week after, during one of your meals as a quiet 'thank you' to which he always replied with either another sweet chocolate or something sweeter. Still, that didn't mean you were okay with having a soul mate, he was normally a blip in your imagination until your tongue tastes something unfamiliar which makes you frown and curse him out even more.

Now you were expected to make a series to force yourself to find him? The biggest assignment of your career where you get to travel for 3 to 4 months and it was all to find someone that you didn't want in the first place.

You gnawed on your bottom lip before feeling Nari nudge you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You eyed her before realizing that all three of the people in the room were staring at you. You cleared your throat before straightening up, flashing Minho a weak smile.

"Sorry, spaced out there for a moment." you say, looking between him and Lina, "What did I miss?"

Minho gives you a curious look before clearing his throat as he gestures back to the presentation, "Well, I was just saying that you and Nari have a week, you can brainstorm with each other or separately and decide what your game plan is and where you think your soulmate is."

He peers at his watch before tapping it with his fingers, "Right, Lina and I need to run for a meeting with the Chief." He said, standing before pushing his chair and shooting the two of you a bright white smile, buttoning his suit jacket. "If you two have any questions, just shoot them into my inbox!" He says cheerily as Lina stood by his side, her signature frown still on her face as she gripped her laptop and files like they were her lifeline, which they probably were.

With that, he gives the two of you a wave before stepping out of the room. Nari turns to you as soon, her excitement radiating off of her. "I can't believe this!" She all but squeals as she grips your hands in hers, her eyes twinkling.

"A paid assignment to go find our soulmate!" She said, her tone dreamy as her eyes glazed over a little, "It's almost like a dream come through!"

You manage to give her a weak smile. "Yeah." You mutter out, your eyes moving downwards to stare at the scratch marks on the wooden table as the faint taste of kimchi fills your tastebuds.

"A dream come true, alright…"

You stare at blinking cursor on your screen, the blank document reflecting the opposite of every single thought in your brain before you groan out in frustration. You push your laptop off of your lap and onto your bed as you sink further into the pillows.

It had been almost a week since you had your meeting with Minho and you were nowhere close to drafting up that working plan for him about finding your soulmate. You felt like a zombie the past few days, sure you were present in the meetings, there for your discussion sessions with Nari but it felt as if you were on autopilot for all of them.

You half-heatedly listened to Nari as she explained to you her idea. Nari, like you, had a food related soul mark but for her, it was related to what her soul mate was craving at different times. They didn't taste each others food, but whatever her soul mate was craving, Nari found herself craving the same thing. It didn't matter who craved it first, the two of them ended up having the same meals anyway.

If you had gotten that soulmark instead, you felt that it wouldn't make a difference because he would've craved an immense amount of spicy and sour food and you weren't sure that your tastebuds could handle more than one meal of spice or sour foods a day. It just wasn't in your system to have it.

As she animatedly told you her plan, how she thought that her soulmate was situated in Italy, he always had a certain craving for different Italian foods such as pizzas and pastas and how he seemed to also crave a certain Italian wine.

You envied her a little bit, she had a plan and she wanted to meet the man that was part of her soul. You on the other hand, felt a pit in your stomach whenever you felt someone ask you about your soulmate.

You had been on a few dates here and there, with people who hadn't found their soulmate yet either but nothing ever truly stuck. You were committed to your work and you definitely didn't stand in the other persons way when the date eventually went eastward when they found their respective one.

"Don't worry," They used to assure you as they paid for your drink. "I'm sure he's out there looking for you as well."

You weren't sure about that. As much as you haven't been trying to find your mysterious man, he also wasn't making it easy to pinpoint where he was on the map. Your parents had given you a journal for your birthday, something cheesy with stars on it and titled it 'Your Soulmate Journal' for you to document everything related to your soulmate for you to find them. They had also given one to your brother for him to document the certain feelings he felt when he touched the mark or whether it glowed brighter and in which direction.

You used it to document the food he ate instead. Sometimes if you wanted to wing the assignments, you used the food journal of his tastes to get ahead, to get the variety that you normally wouldn't eat yourself. It worked for a while but at the end of the day, you felt guilty for your soulmate. You didn't want anything to do with him but you were using him to get ahead, so you stopped and just documented what he ate, trying to find a pattern, just to satisfy your parents every time you saw them for Sunday dinners, just to say you were trying.

You glance at the journal on your desk and sighed, getting up to take it before flipping through it.

18/9/2017 Loser boy ate the spicy numbing food again. Been talking to Minho and Nari about what the foods were to try and get more info. Admittedly, maybe he has taken the hint from the amount of water I keep dousing my tongue in after he eats the food, but he's been getting a milder one. Either that or I'm getting better at eating his god-awful spicy food.

25/12/2018 Found out what the hell that spicy food is. Nari came into work and brought an extra portion of lunch for me today. It smelled good but as soon as I tasted it, it felt like my tastebuds were tasting him. She told me its something called Mala tang, something she had discovered in the city and it was to die for. I agree with her on that considering I nearly died from it during my birthday but I didn't mention that to her. I thanked her as my stomach did flip flops as I ate quietly. The food wasn't bad but considering my low spice tolerance, I definitely can't eat this everyday. My question to my loser boy, why the hell do you?

You grimace as you recalled the last memory before flipping a few more pages.

10/6/2019 Is today his birthday? It could be a coincidence but he had cake just now. Not that he hasn't had cake before. But it's always on this specific day. I flipped through the last three years of entries and I think it is. He had three different kinds today… Chocolate, Vanilla and Strawberry, all filled with cream. It felt like he ate a lot more sweet stuff today than normal. Maybe he was trying to communicate with me?

18/10/2021 I fucking hate him. I thought I had his schedule down, but I somehow woke up at 4am in the goddamn morning, because he decided to eat Mala Tang again. He put extra spice this time though. Is he doing it on purpose? I would normally only taste mint now but I'm tasting so much food, its annoying. I've tasted Mala Tang, some kind of sweet and sour pork and some kind of black pepper beef. I fucking hate him. I hate that he made me hungry at 4am in the morning.

29/6/2022 God, hes been eating at weird timings again. The last time it was like this, it lasted for a few months where I'd wake up with different food tastes in my mouth. What does he work as? A food taster? Some moonlighter? Why does his food schedule go haywire every few months? The only conclusion I can come up with is that he travels a lot. There's no other explanation. Unless he hates me which I can't blame him because I hate his tastebuds.

You flipped through it more until you came to the most recent one which was a tally.

Tallied results: Korean food - 6890 times Chinese food - 3568 times

You internally groan, just looking at the first two. You weren't stupid. He was definitely in Korea from the amount of times he had eaten Korean food over the last few years that you had documented. But he seemed to take a liking to Chinese food, considering that he eats Mala at least twice a week from your count.

You glance towards the framed polaroid on your desk and frown a little more. The picture of you and your older brother Chris, stares back at you making you sigh. You had an inkling for years that your soulmate was in Korea, which was why you never really traveled there with a fear of running into him on the street, breaking this little bubble that you were keen to keep.

You knew that Chris was disappointed. Your parents traveled there to visit him as least once every quarter with your siblings but you never went. It started with small excuses at first, like you can't take leave from work, you needed to finish the article, you were traveling for a work trip, et cetera.

Chris also hummed in understanding but you could see the look in his eyes that he knew you were lying to him and that you were keeping something from him. He just didn't press you enough to figure out what you were hiding from him.

You stared at the polaroid for a beat longer before sighing and pulling out your phone. Checking the time and doing the mental math, you went into facetime and hovered over the call button on his contact. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth before deciding 'fuck it' and hitting the button.

His ringtone rang once. Twice. Thrice.

As you started to second guess yourself and hovered over the disconnect button, the ringing stopped and changed to 'connecting'.

Your eyes widened but before you could calm your nerves, Chris appeared on your screen with makeup on with a concerned expression on his face.

"Hi-" You managed to say before Chris interrupted you.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, urgently making you stop and frown, "What—"

"Is something the matter?" He asked again, before rattling even more. "Did something happen with mum and dad? Wait- no then you would've called an ambulance first. Is it Hannah? Or Lucas?"

"Chris—"

His eyes widened, "Oh my god! Did you just get fired?? Is that why you look so worried?? Do you need money??"

"Chris." You called, getting a little more frustrated but he payed you no mind as he continues on rambling.

"Well, we didn't plan for this but we can go to Plan Contingency B! Where you move to Korea with me and then we can figure out the rest of the stuff. Let me call my manager and then we can have you situated her—"

"Christopher Chahn Bahng!" You exclaimed, making him pause at the mention of his full government name, looking at you as his face pales even more.

"Oh god! Is it worst than that?" You wanted to slam your head into the wall at your brothers expression.

Before he could launch into another spiral of rants, you spit out, "Chris, I need to talk to you about my soulmate."

At that, he freezes, his jaw dropping open.

You never talk about your soulmate willingly since your eighteenth birthday. Your parents or siblings always had to pull it out of you whenever you met up with them for dinners or on calls. You never brought it up first, considering it to just be a small blip in your life, much to your parent's disdain.

You stayed silent, letting the initial shock sink in as well as letting his brain process.

"Chris?" You call out softly after counting to hundred in your head, "Can I continue?"

Chris closes his mouth, taking a swallow before nodding, "Er, yeah." He clears his throat as he sat up straighter, "Sorry, I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither did I when you started your full rant about contingency plans." You quipped back making a small flush appear on his cheeks, "When you call me in the middle of the night after my concert —which you normally never do, a brother can worry."

Your eyes widen at that, "Oh shit!" You mutter out. He shakes his head and holds up his free hand before you could even begin to apologize, "You can apologize by telling me what's got you awake at 1am in the morning when you have work tomorrow."

You took a deep breath before you told him about everything, the assignment, how you thought your soulmate was in Korea and how conflicted you were about everything. Chris just listened, never interrupting you as he shuffled around his hotel room, dressing down for the night after the concert. The only times he spoke was to ask a few questions here and there, just to clarify and piece the story together better.

"So," You breathe out, finally catching him up on everything, "What do you think?"

Chris was quiet for a moment, his makeup now fully removed as he sunk lower into his bed, "Is that why you haven't wanted to visit me the last few years?" He asks, softly. Your heart drops at the question before you give a small nod, "I knew the chances of me bumping into him were small but," You shook your head, "I just didn't know if I wanted to meet him yet." You hesitate a little before admitting, "Or if I was even ready to meet him."

Silence enveloped the room as the two of you digested everything that you had talked about before Chris sighs over the phone and runs a hand through his hair.

"I understand." He finally says, giving you a small smile and a shrug, "It was your anti-soulmate defense system talking," he says, a slight tease in his tone before it drops, "But this might be a good thing you know?" He says gently, "You were going to have to face him eventually and meeting him might give you a better piece of mind Red. You need to give him a chance."

You nod, rubbing your eyes, "I know," you mutter out, "I just didn't think it was going to happen so soon."

Chris nodded, empathetically, "I know Red," he whispers out, "But running away from him isn't going to work forever. I think this might be the universes way of telling you to face your fears."

You heave out a sigh before rolling over onto your back, your hand reaching out to grab your pillow before cuddling it, "I didn't think that my biggest assignment of my career was going to revolve around him Channie." You softly admit making him frown as he stared at you through the phone.

"I'm sorry Red."

You shake your head as you feign a brave smile, "It's okay." Your voice wavering slightly as you try to reassure him (and yourself). "I need to finish typing up my game plan."

Chris visibly hesitates and opens his mouth to say something but rethinks it and just nods.

You bid him goodnight and was about to hang up when he calls out to you.

"Red?"

You raise an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

He chews his bottom lip, "Would you like to stay with me when you come?" Your eyebrows furrow at the suggestion, "Is that even allowed?" You ask making him shrug, "I probably need to talk to my manager about it but Jeong-in probably won't mind if you bunk with me plus…" He trails off, hesitating slightly making you raise an eyebrow, "Plus?"

"It'll be nice to live in the same house again, that's all." Chris softly says making your heart clench slightly at the tone of his voice making you relent, "Alright." You relent, giving him a small smile. "Check with your manager and we can plan from there."

Saying that the next few weeks felt like a fever dream would be the understatement of the century.

If you weren't at home, you were at work pulling different all-nighters to wrap up the remaining projects, interviews and articles you were assigned to write before this assignment. If you weren't at work, you were at your parents house having family dinner where they would ask you countless amount of questions about your proposal which you always answered halfheartedly or with an awkward edge in your tone.

If you weren't at your parents house, you were at home, writing and rewriting your soulmate assignment proposal as if it was the last thing you will ever work on— which it might be if Minho kept asking you to rearrange or add more things to give your assignment a little more pizzaz.

As if it wasn't bad enough, the icing on the cake was that your soulmate's eating schedule had changed for the umpteenth time, which caused you to have zero appetite to eat upon tasting whatever spicy or sour poison your soulmate had chosen to have right before you woke up.

You know you shouldn't be blaming your soulmate who was none the wiser about the situation that you found yourself in but you couldn't help it. Not when suddenly, your whole life just revolved around him.

Your work, your family dinners, hell, even your sleep schedule dependent on him. So, by some act of pettiness (and sleep deprivation), you decided to fight back with an ample amount of sweet things whenever the first drop of spice or sourness hit your tastebuds.

You retaliated with that for a few days until it seemed that he picked up that you were angry with him which he answered by eating cleaner food, food that didn't linger in your mouth which made your heart clench slightly, feeling guilty that you had taken your angst and frustration out on him.

So when Nari's jaw drops open upon seeing what you were eating during a normal Tuesday lunch, a week before you fly off, you sort of feel the urge to crawl into a hole and rethink your lunch option.

"Are you eating Mala?" Nari asks, her eyes fixated on the instant noodles you were about to shove into your mouth. You stare at her, your mouth agape, the food about to enter as you peer down at your lunch option before looking back up at her and shrug, using the chopsticks to put the food into your mouth.

"Wanted to see what the hype was about." You state as nonchalantly as you could even though you could feel your cheeks burn, as if you were caught doing something forbidden. "Plus, he was nice during hell week for me."

Nari stares at you as if you had grown a second head, "Did your period come early?" She finally asks, making you choke on your food as you stare at her, absolutely flabbergasted by her comment.

"No—" You choke out, taking a few sips of water to calm yourself down before continuing, "You can't ask me that in the middle of work! What the hell Nari?"

"Well!" Nari sputters out dropping her lunch on the table as she takes her seat opposite you, "I have the right to question if you're acting strange!"

You roll your eyes at her dramatics, picking up one of the ingredients with your chopsticks, "You're crazy." You mutter out, eating the ingredient making her narrow her eyes at you. Knowing that she heard you, you return it with a teasing smile making her scoff at your antics.

"Are you ready for next week?" Nari asks, opening up her lunch, a stir-friend special from the Chinese place down the road. You swallow your food before nodding as you take a sip of your water, "Yeah, just wrapping up the article on 'Milan's Bistro' and the special column on my take of 'Charles Boyle's Pizza Ratings' for the Writer's Takes, which should be published this Friday if Minho gives me the green light." You say making Nari chuckle slightly at your column for the 'Writer's Take'.

"Did you start rating some pizza places out of twelve then?" She asks making you give her a mischievous smile, "Of course," You exaggerate, "What kind of connoisseur would I be if I didn't use his famous metric system as a fellow food enthusiast?"

Nari laughs at your words making you laugh along with her before the two of you converse about her columns and articles she has left.

"Did Minho finally agree with your proposal?" She asks you towards the end of your meal. You hummed out a 'yes' making her let out a sigh of relief, "I thought he would never accept it." She states, recycling her takeout container as you let out a tense exhale.

"I didn't think he would either." You mutter out, turning to the water cooler to refill your bottle. "Can't blame him though, this proposal was definitely the worst one I've written by far for all the assignments that I've done."

Nari frowns at your words, "Don't say that." She sternly says making you shrug, unapologetic, "It's fine Nari, really." You assure her as you plaster on a small smile, locking eyes with her concerned gaze, "My heart just isn't into this assignment as much as it should be and he knows that, which is why he was pushing me to give it my all."

"Still," She argues, her frown deepening making you shake your head, "It's something to not want to find your soulmate but being forced to find them for the sake of your job." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry that you have to go through that."

You felt guilt sink in a little at her words.

You had shared your experience with Nari around your fourth brainstorm session when she was concerned about why your document was still semi-blank. You had hesitated to share with her but after taking a glance at her concerned face, you told her everything.

Still, after everything that had been going on, you realized that you weren't as against meeting your soulmate as you thought you would be. How he was thoughtful when he shouldn't be. How he always knows when you were heading to bed by eating a little sweet treat before you brushed your teeth to give you just that little burst of serotonin. How he always knew when you were having a hard day by the amount of coffee that you drank and would pop a mint before you did because he noticed that you did that everytime you had finished your coffee, not liking the lingering taste in your mouth.

It almost felt like he was apologizing for all the times he knew you were pissed off at him because of his irregular eating schedule. However, you were still a woman of your word and having to dedicate your life to someone who was written for you in the stars, just didn't sit right with you.

So you just gave Nari a shrug. "It's alright." You mutter out, grabbing your water bottle before walking with her out of the break room. "Who knows," You start, a joking tone in your words as you try to break the tension, "Maybe he's right and I will believe in soulmates after this."

As soon as Chris whips the door open for you, you collapse into his open arms, not caring whether it came off as clingy as you breath in your brothers comforting scent.

He jumped at first but slowly relaxed into your arms as you feel him let out a chuckle as he wraps his arms around you. "Long flight?" Chris asks lowly making you nod into his chest.

"Forgot how long it takes to get to Seoul from Brisbane."

He chuckles at that as you pull away, making him step aside to let you step into his shared apartment. You walk in and sigh, feeling the days weight lift off your shoulders as your brother carries your luggage in, before shutting the door close with a soft thud.

You take in your surroundings noticing how homely the apartment felt despite not having a lot of memorabilia around the living room area.

"Nice place." You call out as Chris made his way back into the shared area, right after dropping off your luggage in his room.

He shrugs, almost nonchalantly before he walks into the kitchen. "We try," He says simply as he whips the fridge open. "Want something to eat?" He asks, looking straight at you making you nod.

He pulls some stuff out of the fridge as you slide into a chair at their kitchen island.

"Where's Jeong-in?" You ask, noticing that his door was open and his lights were off.

"He's at the recording studio tonight." Chris says, ripping a packet of ramyeon open. "He wanted to get a bit of recording done for the new album."

You let out a hum of acknowledgment before you unlock your phone, answering a few messages from your parents as well as Nari and Minho who asked if you had landed. You continue to scroll, opting to answer a few work emails that were not as pressing, leaving the pressing ones for tomorrow instead.

"Checking your new article statistics?" Chris asks as he places a bowl of freshly made raymeon in-front of you making your stomach growl. Your mouth waters slightly as you nod, taking the chopsticks from him after placing your phone facedown on the counter.

"The article has 859 views concurrently and counting." You chirp happily, taking a bite of the noodles and humming contentedly. Chris watches you with slight amusement on his face as he leans against the counter. "Wouldn't have expected anything less from you Red." He says, his voice full of pride making you give him a sweet smile before continuing to scarf down your food.

The two of you indulge in small talk as you finish your food, him talking a little about his new album and giving you a few sneak peeks.

Him asking how the flight was, while you complain about the amount of non-direct flights from Brisbane to Seoul.

"It's a little insane." You say, placing your chopsticks on the rim of the bowl before pushing it to the side. "You would think that there would be more direct flights."

He chuckles, picking up your dish to rinse it off before placing it into the dishwasher. "Now you know how I feel." He teases lightly, wiping his hands on the cloth next to the sink. "You can't tease me anymore for how dead I look after every flight when I come visit now."

You roll your eyes at his words. "Fine fine." You relent, slipping out of the chair as you grimace slightly, feeling icky from the amount of traveling you had done. "I really need a shower."

Chris nods. "Your towel is on the blow up mattress in the room." He starts as he gestures to your room for the next few months. "After you shower, we can discuss about your plans for the week and how to get there."

You give him a quick hum in acknowledgement before skipping towards his room to wash the airport smell off of you. Twenty minutes later, you hum one of his songs under your breath before drying your hair as Chris scrolls through the places you had listed for your soulmate assignment.

You shut the hair dryer off before collapsing on his bed as he continues to analyze your itinerary. "So," You begin, stretching a little, "How's the itinerary?"

Chris nods, giving you a smile. "It's good but that's a lot of places to get through this week." He gives you a small look. "Are you sure you're going to be able to get through all that food tomorrow?"

You let out a sigh, trying to collapse further into the pillows. "I'm only allowed to be here for three to four months Chris." You shake your head. "I just want to narrow the places first so that I will have an easier time with the article."

"But this looks like a food suicide mission Red." Chris lets out, pointing towards the places that was listed on your spreadsheet. "You wrote that you have to get through nine restaurants tomorrow and it's definitely not cheap."

"This coming from the ever loving leader of Stray Kids, a premier fourth-generation Kpop phenomenon." You mutter out making your brother scoff as he pushes the laptop off of his lap. "I'm serious Red, don't you want to space it out a little more or remove some of the items on your list at least?"

You shake your head. "Again, I can't do that Chris." You say, feeling a little more frustrated by the second, "The timeline is already unbelievably short. Not to mention I need to write an article that means something to my soulmate. Which means I need to find the guy, and go, 'Hey, I don't quite want a soulmate but for the sake of my job, I need you to spend the day with me so that you can tell me about your favourite food and then we can go our separate ways.'" You rant as your brother watches you with an unreadable look on his face.

"How am I meant to do all that in four months if I take my time?"

Chris watches you for a beat, analyzing you as you go through your spiral before sighing and pulling you into his embrace. "Sorry." He mutters out as he wraps you slightly tighter in his arms. "Forgot how much pressure you're under to do this."

You let yourself breath a little, feeling his words hit home as you relax into his embrace. "It's okay." You finally let yourself say, slightly muffled due to his clothes, "I'll figure it out."

"You always do." Chris mutters out as you nod into his chest. "Wanna watch a movie?" He asks softly making you nod.

"Breakfast Club?" You ask, pulling your head away from his chest as he frowns.

"Again?" He groans out, as you give him a small frown in return. "What's wrong with the breakfast club?" You whine out as he shakes his head.

"I swear we've watched that movie at least once whenever we see each other." Chris quips back. "Are you not sick of the movie?"

"It's a classic."

"Deadpools a classic, but you don't see me asking to watch it whenever you bring up movie night."

You snort. "As if! I've seen you watch that at least twice whenever you're back home with us." You wave your hand a little animatedly, "Plus how is Deadpool a classic? It's a superhero movie."

"Superhero movies can be considered a classic."

"It's not old enough to be considered a classic you buffoon, although you could be from how old you are."

"How dare you?! I'm only a year older than you."

"A year closer to death you mean."

"I'll show you death."

THE BEEF NOODLES OF FATE - Week 1 out of 16

When Chris suggested that you should have a driver with you today, you had refused and told him that you wanted to explore Seoul independently and away from the spotlight which might be hard if you went in a JYP issued car.

The two times you had come with your family to see your brother's concerts, you realized how many of them knew when you would be arriving due to the cars that were sent to pick you up from the hotel. It gave you the shock of your life, seeing the amount of people waiting for you outside your hotel, wanting to get a glimspe of your brother.

Due to the fact that you were working on an assignment that caused you more migraines than any other ones, you knew that you needed a quiet day.

Now, however, you were regretting not taking up his offer.

You had forgotten to charge your phone when you had arrived home yesterday and left the apartment with low battery, only realizing after you had gotten onto the train which had been a hard walk already.

You tried to minimize your use of your phone as much as you could but by the 7th location, your phone had inevitably died.

Which leads you to where you are now.

You let out a small groan as you continue to walk down the street, looking for any signs or indicators that could get you out of your predicament. Chris mentioned that he was going to be working late at JYP and wouldn't be home till the early hours of the morning.

You had asked the lady at the restaurant for directions but unfortunately, due to your minimal sense of direction, you had gotten lost somewhere.

Judging from the clock at the 7th place you went to, you would guess that it was roughly around 10pm. Meaning that if Chris were to save you, he would only be able to in three to four hours depending on what time he gets home and realizes that you aren't there.

You hope that it was the former rather than the latter.

"At least it can't get worst than this." You mutter out to yourself before feeling something prick the edge of your skin making you look up to see that it is starting to drizzle. You let out a huff as you felt the rain pelt against your hoodie, dampening it. "Just my luck." You sarcastically mumble to yourself before you sprint down the street.

It starts to rain heavier as you try to look for a restaurant or shop that's open this late at night before you spot one in the distance. The neon sign of the restaurant acting like a beacon as you run towards it, feeling the rain soak you a little more.

A bell chimes as you enter the shop, a gust of warm air hitting you making you shiver slightly as the glass door shuts with a soft clang behind you.

You huff out a sigh as you take in your appearance, seeing the rain had drenched you from top to bottom. You were glad that you had decided to wear darker colours today before you left Chris and Jeong-In's dormitory. The smell of delicious Chinese food fills your nose as you look around the restaurant, your eyes widening at how cozy the interior looks despite it looking slightly run down.

"Oh hello!" A voice chirps out beside you making you turn to see an elderly Chinese lady with a warm smile on her face. You give her a sheepish smile as you watch her take in your appearance as a frown overtakes the smile on her face.

"Goodness!" She yells out, looking at you with wide eyes. "You're drenched dear."

You feel a small flush rise to your cheeks, opening your mouth to speak but are interrupted by her dragging you deeper into the restaurant. She makes you sit at one of the tables before disappearing behind the counter and speaking some fast Mandarin— or was it Cantonese, to the person in the kitchen before returning with a set of fresh clothes and a towel.

Your eyes widen as you stand up, sticking your arms up to try to stop her when she shoots you a stern look. "Don't argue with me on this." She says with a hard look making you shudder before taking the clothes from her with a soft 'thank you'.

She waves her hand as if it wasn't a big deal before pointing towards the kitchen doors. "There's a small bathroom just through there and up the stairs." She says, her warm smile back on her face. "If you get lost, just call for Mr Yang."

You give her a curt nod before awkwardly walking towards the kitchen through the hanging curtain. You see an older man, sitting on the stool there who shoots you a warm smile and points you towards the way you need to go making you bow before sprinting towards the tiny bathroom.

You change and dry your hair in a couple of minutes, looking at the fresh set of clothes which appear to be a K-pop groups merch, noticing the logo as you inspected it before putting it on. They must be real big fans of Seventeen to be having a hoodie and sweatpants of the group.

You walk out of the kitchen to see Mrs Yang already seated at the table you were at, a bowl of steaming hot soup in front of her. She notices you and gives you a warm smile. "Sit." She simply says. "A hot bowl of soup would be good for you, to make sure that you don't fall sick."

You feel your cheeks heat up slightly in embarrassment as you awkwardly take the seat opposite her as she takes the clothes from your hands. "I'll put these in the dryer for you so that you can rewear them before you leave dear." She says and was off behind the kitchen curtain before you could even protest.

You stare at the delicious food before tentatively digging in. Through your experience with your soulmate, Chinese food was a big staple of what you tasted almost weekly so this food should give that familiar taste.

You blew on the soup before taking a sip making your eyes widen at how amazing it was, feeling yourself get almost hungrier from just that sip. You immediately dig into the food, feeling the amazing flavours hit your tongue as you began to scoop more noodles and beef slices into your spoon.

You think you finish the food in record time as Mrs Yang appears again, a proud satisfied smile on her face as she looks at the clean bowl.

"Wow!" She exclaims as you place the bowl down with a small thud. "You remind me of a boy I know, he really loves our beef noodle soup as well!"

You give her a warm smile, feeling the soup nourish and warm you up. "I can see why, it's really good." You say softly. "Please let me know how much it is later."

She shakes her head and gives you a small wave of her hand before she takes a seat opposite you. "There's no need." She says, her warm smile never fading. "We just wanted to warm you up because you were absolutely drenched by the rain. Plus, seeing the way you enjoyed eating our food is enough payment for us."

You blush a little at her words before you take in more of the restaurant, the soft accompaniment of the raindrops hitting the pavement and the soft melody of the old Mandarin song accompanying your little analysis.

Mrs Yang abruptly stands up, startling you slightly as you watch her waddle her way over to the front door. She flips the sign to 'close' making your eyes widen as you scramble to stand up. You pause when you hear her let out a really hearty laugh, turning to fix her with a face of confusion.

"Where are you running off to dear?" She asks, a teasing smile on her face as you feel your cheeks slightly warm at that. "Erm," You point towards the sign, "Aren't you closing?"

She laughs again, waving her arms as she gestures for you to sit. "The dryer hasn't finished it cycle yet." She points out. "Are you planning to leave without your clothes?"

Your eyes widen in realization, your jaw dropping slightly as your brain races for an excuse, an explanation, particularly anything at this point. However, before you could embarrass yourself even further in-front of the old lady, she speaks again.

"Plus, Mr Yang and I don't get many customers when it rains." She says softly, reaching you to push you gently back into your chair. "We used to get these four rowdy boys coming in whenever it rains but they're too busy with their music or whatever."

You smile a little at her nostalgic tone. "Do they live in the neighbourhood?" You ask making her smile larger, her eyes wrinkling with the smile crinkles as she nods. "Something like that."

You glance at the corner of the room where the digital clock was and deflate slightly. It was only 11:45pm, which meant that Chris would probably only be home in an hour or two before realizing that you aren't there and would only roughly pick you up in three hours.

"Why the face dear?" You hear Mrs Yang asking as you meet her gaze, a frown on her face. "Well…" You trail off slightly, contemplating how to put your predicament into words without embarrassing yourself even more as you glance towards your dead phone on the table.

Mrs Yang notices your glance and makes a sound of understanding. "Ah!" She exclaims making your gaze land on the older woman. "Do you need to charge your phone dear?" She asks making you hesitate slightly before nodding slowly.

She waddles over to you with her arm stretched making you tentatively put the phone into her wrinkly hands. She calls for her husband in Mandarin making the man peer his head out through the kitchen curtain with his head tilted.

She says a few words to him in Cantonese making him gives her a firm nod, an easy smile on his face before disappearing through the curtain again. In less than five minutes, he reappears with a tea pot and two tea cups that he places on your table. The smell of the tea makes you feel slightly warmer inside as you watch Mr Yang pluck the phone from his wife's hands and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before taking your phone to the cashier counter to charge it.

You smile a little to yourself at the fond interaction as Mrs Yang takes her seat opposite you again. Mrs Yang pulls the teacups in front of the two of you before pouring the tea slowly. She places one in-front of you making you thank her quietly as you take a sip, the warm liquid filling you up as you feel warmth spread throughout your chest.

The Mandarin song changes to a slower one that has Mrs Yang humming along to it, sipping the tea with absolute delight on her face as the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. You let your eyes flit across the room once more, seeing all the different types of memorabilia dotting the walls making a small smile appear on your face.

"I really love the interior of the place." You note out simply. "Feels very much like home."

Her grin widens even more at your words as she eyes the place that she and Mr Yang built up.

"When Mr Yang and I came here thirty years ago, we felt a little homesick while looking for a job." She says, her eyes slightly glazing over as she eyes a picture behind you of a younger version of the two of them, standing in-front of the restaurant on opening day.

"After we had given up, we decided to open this restaurant instead." Her expression morphs into a wistful as she retells her story. "So when we were constructing this place, we took inspiration from our old house back in Chengdu. A few of the pieces on the walls are some of the items we brought along with us."

She points to a beautiful cyan bamboo weaved hat that was hung near the entrance of the restaurant, that looks slightly vintage but had multiple beautiful roses on them. A bunch at the side was blue, the opposite side was red while there was one giant one painted in multiple shades of purple.

"That was the first craft that Mr Yang and I made together." She says, her smile wide as she recounts the memory. Your mouth drops open slightly as you stare at the work, slightly in awe. "It's really beautiful," You say, admiring the line work of the art a little more. "I really love the roses."

If possible, her smile widens even more at your words as she nods with a slight bit of pride on her features. "Mr Yang and I spent hours hand-painting them after our wedding. He wanted the two of us to work on something together that represents the two of us."

She pulls up her long sleeves. turning her arm closer to you for you to see. You lean in closer, squinting slightly before your eyes widen in realization as you stare at the rose tattoo etched onto her arm.

The rose was almost a splitting image of the ones painted on the bamboo craft, the only difference being that it was a singular rose and the rose was split into half, one half a crimson maroon whereas the other side was a vibrant blue. You let your eyes trail along the line work of the ink, noticing that the colours diverged seamlessly together almost as if it was intentional, leaving in its trail a beautiful shade of purple.

You meet Mrs Yang's gaze, a little more starstruck as she gives you a prideful smile.

"It's beautiful." You whisper out, taking one last glance at the tattoo before leaning back against your chair. Mrs Yang stares at the tattoo for another beat before rolling her sleeves down and looking back at the bamboo craft on the wall.

"It was one of the only things we brought along with us from our house in Chengdu." Mrs Yang says, her tone full of nostalgia. "We brought a lot of other stuff as well but," She shakes her head slowly, "It's one of the only things that represent the both of us as soulmates."

You quiet down at her words, your heart clenching slightly as you digest her words. She turns to you, her expression morphing into one of curiosity. "How about you my dear?" She asks softly, her eyes glinting a little. "Do you have a soulmate?"

You feel your heart rate pick up slightly at the question, unsure of how much you wanted to share with this lady that you just met. However, upon looking at the steaming cup of tea in front of you as well as the empty bowl beside it, you realize that a little truth never hurt anyone.

"I haven't met him yet." You say softly, after swallowing your nerves and wiping your sweaty palms against the borrowed sweatpants. Her features soften at your confession as she reaches out to tug your hand into hers, giving it a firm squeeze, shocking you slightly.

"I'm sure he's out there, yearning and longing for you as well my dear." She says softly.

Her words make your mouth go try and your heart thud faster against your chest making you give her a nervous laugh. "I don't know." You say, slightly awkward as you glance towards your joint hands. "I think we're a bit too different for each other to be each others halves."

You feel Mrs Yang stiffen slightly at your words making you glance up to meet her eyes, an unreadable expression on her face as she takes you in, her eyes scanning your facial features. You feel slightly uncomfortable at her calculating gaze but as soon as you want to mention it, her expression drops to something softer as she gives your hand a squeeze again.

"Soulmates aren't meant to be similar to you dear." She says softly. "They are meant to be the one that completes your soul, fill in the gaps so that the two of you feel complete when you are together. Independently, you both will survive without each other but being together," She pauses, glancing towards the bamboo craft hanging near the door making her smile, "makes everything feel as if it was meant to be, as if it was written in the stars."

You feel your breath hitch at her words as she stares softly at you, her wistful smile never wavering as you feel your heart beat slightly harder in your chest. She pauses, as if she was waiting for your response making you swallow hard as you open your mouth to try and sputter a response together.

Before you could, Mr Yang's footsteps interrupt you and his wife making the two of you turn towards the older man who has your phone in his hand. He reaches your table in two big strides, a small smile on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, glancing towards your joint hands making your cheeks heat up slightly as you gently pull your hand away from his wife's grasps. He clears his throat before sliding your phone across the table, speaking as you pick it up to turn it on.

"You were getting a call from someone named Chris a couple of minutes ago." He says, resting a hand on his wife's shoulder as your eyes widen before glancing towards the time on your device, noticing that only an hour had passed.

You open your phone quickly to see a bunch of missed calls and text messages from your older brother as well as a few from his roommate making you let out a sigh, knowing you were going to get an earful from the older one as soon as you got home.

As if Chris could read your thoughts, your phone immediately rings, a picture of you and him appearing on the lock screen. You hesitate for a beat before sliding your thumb across the screen and putting the phone to your ear.

"Hell—"

"WHERE ARE YOU?!"

You flinch slightly at his sudden outburst, pulling the phone away from your ear as his voice booms out through the phone as if you had him on speaker. You glance in disdain at your phone as he continues his rant about safety and how he was about to lose his mind before you give Mr and Mrs Yang a sheepish smile.

"Sorry." You mumble out making Mrs Yang lets out a small laugh, waving her hand. "It's no problem dear." She says, glancing at the phone as your brothers voice continues to flow through it. "Family member?"

"Older brother." You say, a slight bit of disdain in your voice as Chris continues to rant, not knowing that you were only picking up on every fifth word of every sentence he was spouting.

You give them one more smile, gesturing for a second before standing and walking towards the door of the restaurant. You compose yourself a little before putting your phone back to your ear.

"— and I can't believe you didn't even think to bring the powerbank that I got for you for your birthday! Do those presents mean nothing to you, I swear to GOD—"

"CHRIS!" You yell into the phone, making him pause mid-rant as you inhale slowly. "I'm sorry for not picking up the phone or bringing that brick of a power bank that you got for me for my birthday." You apologize, gnawing on your bottom lip.

"I'm safe and would really love a pickup please." You say slightly softer this time. Chris was silent for a moment before a loud groan fills your ears. "I'm five minutes away Red." He says, his tone still slightly tense.

You blink at that. "What?" You say, a little taken aback by his statement. He scoffs and you imagine him rolling his eyes as he mutters something to himself.

"You forget that I have your location on my phone huh?" He says as you hear the buzzing of the car in the background, not knowing how you didn't notice it before. "I checked your location when I was in the office, realized that you weren't home so I left early to come get you after I couldn't reach you."

You felt guilt creep into your veins as you process his words and let out a small sigh, knowing how much you worried him. "I'm sorry." You say again, softly and more sincere this time. Chris lets out a sigh on the other end. "You're safe." He says, repeating your words from earlier, "I'll be there in three minutes, just wait outside for me."

The two of you hang up after you agree before you turn back to the elderly couple. Mr and Mrs Yang stand near you with your bag and another in their hands making you blink as Mr Yang passes you your bag while Mrs Yang passes you a large paper one.

You take it from her slightly tentative as you peer inside to see your clothes plus a couple of takeaway boxes making your eyes widen. You whip your head up to meet their gazes, your jaw dropped open as you try to sputter for a way to say that you didn't need this much food.

Mrs Yang halts you by raising her hand and giving you a stern look.

"Don't worry about it dear," She says, "We made too much food and from your phone call with your hyung, it seems like he might be hungry as well, so share the food with him."

"But the clothes—"

She waves you off again. "Please keep them!" She says before muttering a little lower, "Lord knows we have too many." She has a small knowing smile on her face as she glances up at her husband who laughs, sharing an inside joke from what you could tell.

"Are you two big fans of Seventeen?" You ask, not being able to help yourself as you glance between the two of them. The elderly couple let out another laugh at your confusion before Mrs Yang waves her hand. "Something like that." She says, a similar tone used when she said those same words just an hour before.

A horn outside the shop breaks the warm atmosphere making you look outside to see Chris's car. You turn back to the elderly couple.

"Thank you so much for everything." You thank making the couple give you a warm look as Mrs Yang steps forward to grab your hands into hers.

"I hope you come back soon dear." She says, her eyes glinting with sincerity as she gives your hands a squeeze. "We would love to feed you again and learn more about you."

You feel your chest warm slightly at her words before giving her a small nod as a smile crosses your face. "I will." You whisper out, giving her a small nod before she lets your hands go. You walk out of the restaurant and head to Chris's car but not before giving the elderly couple another wave.

Chris's cologne immediately fills your nose as soon as you shut the door before turning to your older brother who looked slightly more disheveled compared to when you left this morning.

Before he could open his mouth to chastise or fuss over you, you beat him to it.

"Thank you for picking me up and I'm sorry, I should listen to you next time and take the car and I will bring out the pink energy brick out with me tomorrow as well."

Chris blinks at your apology before a huff escapes him, he shakes his head and places his hands on the wheel again.

"You're so lucky that I'm more relieved than mad." He says, his tone still slightly tense with an undertone of tiredness. You give him a small smile before turning to place your bags in the backseat.

"We should come back to this restaurant sometime." You say as Chris puts the car into drive and slowly pulls away from the restaurant. "I think you would like their beef noodle soup."

You see Chris sneak a glance at you, a glint of confusion in them. "I thought you didn't like Chinese food?"

You shrug, looking out the window as the streets whizzed past. "Maybe I was too quick to judge." The double meaning in your sentence wasn't lost on you. Mrs Yang's words lingering in your thoughts as they play over and again.

Were you really too quick to dismiss this person who is meant to be your other half?

In the midst of her cleaning, Mrs Yang's eyebrows furrow as she hears the bell chime again, signaling that a customer has just arrived. She glances towards the door, her expression never changing until she spots the four that she has been feeding religiously for the last ten years.

"Aigooo." She coos out as soon as the tallest of them comes closer to her, dressed in a black hoodie with a luggage behind him. "I thought you all were only going to be back the day after tomorrow?"

Jun lets out a laugh as the elderly woman pulls him into a hug, accepting it by wrapping his arms around her tightly and giving her a shining smile. "Our schedule ended early." He cheekily says, his grin never wavering. "We were craving some food that tastes like home so we asked the driver to bring us here instead of back to our homes."

Soonyoung, Chan and Minghao stand behind him, with matching grins on their faces as Mrs Yang pulls each of them into a hug. Mr Yang, hearing the commotion steps out of the kitchen, his eyes and smile widening as he sees the four familiar boys.

"Wow!" He exclaims, bringing each of them in for a hug. "You boys look like the airport didn't even affect the four of you."

The four give him a sheepish smile before the elderly couple shoos them into the center table, eager to feed them.

"What can I get for you boys today?" Mrs Yang asks, her eyes glinting as she looks between the four boys. Soonyoung, Chan and Minghao share a teasing glance, before Chan turns to Mrs Yang.

"Mrs Yang," he singsongs out, "I hope you have your amazing beef noodle soup today!" He ends his sentence with a glance towards Jun, a smug grin on his face as the other shrinks slightly, a little flushed.

Mrs Yang glances between the two of them before turning her gaze to the tallest one.

"Did you miss our food so much that you brought the three boys along with you again?" She questions, a teasing smile on her face.

Jun flushes slightly at the accusation, lifting up both his hands to wave them as he lets out a sheepish laugh. "No no." He says, trying to defend himself through his laughs.

The other three collectively roll their eyes before Soonyoung turns to Mrs Yang, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Jun's soulmate was actually the ones who brought us here."

Mrs Yang's eyes widen as her hand flies to cover her open mouth before she turns to Jun. "Oh my gosh!" She exclaims. "You met her already?"

Jun shakes his head, scratching his nape as he fixes her with a semi lovesick grin. "She was having some Chinese food earlier." He says, his grin turning more lovesick by the second. "I tasted it when she was eating and it felt like she was enjoying it. It tasted almost like your beef noodle soup."

Mrs Yang freezes at that, but Jun doesn't notice as he keeps rambling on. "So, I thought that she was trying to tell me that maybe she was thinking about me or something." He says, the tips of his ears turning pink. "I thought maybe if I have it here, we would end up having the same dinner so that she knows that I'm thinking about her as well."

Jun locks eyes with the older lady who immediately composes herself, a small grin appearing on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well." She starts, clearing her throat as she glances at the four of them. "You've come right on time! Mr Yang just made a new batch of beef soup with amazing tender slices."

She claps her hands. "I'll bring them out for you four!"

With that, she scurries into the kitchen, her heart racing as she runs through the words that Jun has just relayed to her.

It could just be a coincidence right?

She leans against the metal counter, processing the information when her husband glances over at her. He frowns, noticing her spacey look.

"Lo-po?" He asks, the endearing name rolling off of his tongue as he steps closer to his wife, intertwining their hands together. "Are you alright?"

Mrs Yang looks up and gazes into her husbands eyes, hesitating slightly before nodding slowly.

She feigns a small smile. "I'm alright lo-gong." He analyzes her face, frowning slightly.

"Are you sure?" He asks, bringing his wife closer. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Mrs Yang nods her head as she squeezes his hands in reassurance. "I'm fine dear." She glances through the kitchen curtain, looking at the tall boy who was laughing at something his members said, his grin bigger than it had been in months.

"I just hope that fate brings the two of them together."

THE SCALLION NOODLE MEETING - Week 3 out of 16

Two weeks later, you find yourself back in front of the glowing neon sign. You didn't know how or why but you felt a pull to this place that you couldn't explain.

You had tried to keep yourself busy the past two weeks. You visited almost all the different places on your list, eating tons of delicious food that tasted vaguely familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Most of the time, you went by yourself during the non-peak hours, favouring the smaller crowds so that you could have some time to yourself and be able to document the flavour profiles correctly. Other times at night, you went with Chris who was determined to stick by your side as much as possible.

Today, however, you ended up cancelling all the restaurants on your agenda and you just unconsciously made your way here.

For two weeks, her words had been playing on repeat in your head. You found yourself thinking about the person who she meant, the person who was connected to your very soul. Somehow, you had started to yearn for him as well but you were stubborn, you wouldn't allow yourself to.

You continue to stare at the neon sign, unsure of whether you should go in when a voice interrupts your inner monologue.

"Are you going to stand there the whole day?"

You jump at the sound of the man's voice, whipping around to see a guy in a black hoodie, wearing a mask that obscures his face, the only thing visible being his eyes.

"God." You mutter out, glaring slightly at the man. "Do you normally sneak up on strangers and scare the daylights out of them?"

The man blinks at you before letting out a small laugh.

"Only when they're standing in-front of a Chinese restaurant, contemplating every single life choice they've ever made."

His sarcasm makes you roll your eyes. "Gee, thanks."

He gives you a shrug, his eyes glinting playfully. "You're welcome." If you could see under his mask, you were sure that he would be smirking at you. "So," The man says, glancing between the neon sign of the restaurant and you. "Why are you standing outside the restaurant as if you're contemplating life choices?"

You let out a huff, crossing your arms. "And why would I tell you, a complete stranger that?"

He shrugs. "Maybe you need someone to work through those life choices with."

You let out a huff, about to retort when the bell on the door rings and a bunch of different conversations flow out of the restaurant. You turn to see Mrs Yang, wide eyed as she stares at the two of you. You feel your face flush slightly, as if you've been caught red-handed but you hadn't done anything wrong.

"Why are the two of you standing outside and arguing?" She asks, apprehension in her voice making you give her a sheepish smile as the guy scratches his nape.

"We weren't arguing Mrs Yang." The man says, glancing in your direction before looking back at her. "We were just… talking."

He glances at you, hoping that you would catch on. You turn to Mrs Yang, nodding with an awkward smile on your face. "Yeah, just talking."

Mrs Yang glances between the two of you, entirely not believing a single word the two of you says but she nods anyway.

"Well, come in." She says, sternly as she opens the glass door wider, ushering the two of you in. "It's way too cold to be talking outside."

You and the man scurry into the restaurant, which was packed like sardines. "I'm sorry but it seems like we only have one table left." She says, apologetically as she gathers the menus for you and the man. "Mr Lim and his family are having a gathering today at the further side of the restaurant which means that we had to close off a certain section."

She glances between the two of you, clutching the menus in her hand. "Would the two of you be okay with sharing a table?"

You visibly freeze at the suggestion, eyes wide as you blink at the woman. She wants you to share a table with the insufferable man who made fun of you, five minutes ago? You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the suggestion.

"I'm okay with it as long as she is." The man says, eyes locking with yours making your heart nearly bounce into your throat. You want to protest, to say anything against this suggestion but as you lock eyes with Mrs Yang again, the words die on your tongue.

You analyze her for a beat, taking in her dark rings under her eyes, how frazzled her hair looks compared to the first time you met her and felt a pit of guilt at the bottom of your stomach. You internally sigh, composing yourself and hoping that you will not kill this man with your chopsticks as you share a table with him before giving her a nod and the best smile that you can muster.

"Sure." You breathe out, glancing at the man again with a few daggers in your eyes as you give him a sickly sweet smile. "Let's share a table."

That's how you find yourself in a secluded corner of the restaurant, awkwardly sitting across the man, a menu in hand as you try your hardest to not accidentally kick the stranger in his legs. When you came the first time, you didn't notice how small the table was until this lanky man sits across from you.

You drag your eyes down the menu, contemplating what to order as you try to ignore the burning sensation at the left side of your head. The stranger had been staring at you since Mrs Yang had shown both of you the table before leaving, slightly frazzled as she went to attend to the Lim's gathering.

When you couldn't take it anymore, you let your eyes whip towards the stranger who jumps slightly as you abruptly lock eyes with him, a fiery intensity in them. "Why are you staring at me?" You hiss out making the stranger blink as he leans back against his chair.

"Trying to see if you made your decision yet." He says, fiddling with his mask. "It's going to be rush hour soon so we would have to wait a lot longer if you haven't."

You feel your eye twitch slightly at the admission. "Well, I'm sorry." You mutter out, eyes turning back to the menu, "it's only my second time here so I'm a little unsure of what to get."

You feel the man tug your menu down from your face, making you lock eyes with him again. "Want a suggestion?" He offers, making your eyes flit from one of his to the other, trying to gauge if he was joking. When it's clear that he isn't, you sigh, a little tired from the interaction before nodding.

"Sure." You say, placing the menu on the table and crossing your arms. "What could go wrong?"

A lot actually.

You find yourself thinking as Mrs Yang places a bowl of fried chicken in front of you seasoned with more red peppers than you have ever seen in your life. You feel your hands start to clam up and become sweaty as you inhale the spices through your nose.

"Dear." Mrs Yang tentatively says, seeing your face. "Is everything alright?"

You try to compose yourself as you wipe your hands on your jeans before locking eyes with her and giving her a weak smile.

"Yeah," You mumble out as you quick glance at the food again, "I'm alright."

If Mrs Yang weren't convinced, she doesn't say anything and just leaves you to stare at your food as your tablemate analyzes your reaction.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He bluntly states making you whip your head up to lock eyes with him.

"The food looks spicy."

"I would hope so, it's spicy chicken."

You frown at that and stare at the amount of peppers on your food again, wondering if you could will them to disappear the longer you stare at them.

"You can't handle spice." He states, the cogs in his brain turning as he watches you gnaw on your bottom lip, looking at the food apprehensively. "You should've told me that you can't handle spice."

"Well, I didn't expect to be accosted by your recommendation." You bite back, giving him a small glare even though you know it's not his fault. The stranger however, doesn't take it to heart as his eye lines crinkle at your words, a sign that he's smiling under his mask.

"Are you too scared to try it?"

You frown at his words, feeling your eye twitch as he eggs you on, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"It's hard to take you seriously when you're still wearing your mask." You say, hoping to change the topic as you cross your arms. "Why are you even wearing that anyway? Are you a celebrity or something."

He hums at your question before tugging his hood downwards, covering a little bit more of his forehead. "Something like that." He says making you stare at him, quizzically.

"What does that even mean?"

He sighs before locking eyes with you. "How about we make a deal."

You squint at him. "You're just trying to change the topic."

"You did that too a moment ago."

He got you there.

You sigh, unfolding your arms as you lean against the table. "I'm listening."

"I'll order us something different and pay for our meal if you promise to not tell anyone that you saw me here."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "What's stopping me from ordering what I want anyway and letting you starve because you refuse to take off your mask?"

He's silent for a beat as he blinks at you.

"You have a point."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the stranger, who leans back in his chair.

"But," He starts, crossing his arms, "I think you're smart enough to not pass up a free meal."

You contemplate his words for a second. You know he's egging you on, he's done nothing but be playful and egg you on since the moment he scared you outside the restaurant. By right, you should refuse, let the insufferable stranger suffer while you eat the Yangs' tasty food in front of him.

Which is why, it surprises you and him when the words that follow after was, "Fine, I'll bite."

His eye lines crinkle again before he waves Mrs Yang over and says something to her in Chinese. The elderly lady looks between the two of you, an unreadable glint in her eyes before she nods at the lanky stranger and takes the two plates of spicy chicken away.

"You speak Chinese?" You can't help but ask, making him nod.

"I'm Chinese." He says simply reaching to the side to get the jug of water that Mrs Yang brought earlier.

"Oh." You mutter out, feeling slightly embarrassed as he pours the water into your empty glasses. "I couldn't tell."

He waves you off. "It's alright, you can't really see my face and I gave you no indication whatsoever so," he shrugs, "it's not a big deal."

You feel slightly better, relaxing a little as you watch him tug his hood down again.

He cautiously looks around making a frown appear on your face. "You don't have to tell me who you are if you're uncomfortable by the way." You say making the stranger lock eyes with you as you feel a small pit in your stomach at the way his eyes keep glancing around. "I could always request for another table if you're uncomfortable."

He hesitates for a second before shaking his head. "No, a deal is a deal."

You open your mouth to retort but he moves before you can, looking downwards before bringing his fingers to his ears and plucking off the mask as if it was second nature.

When he looks up, your eyes widen as you immediately register who he was.

"You're Jun from Seventeen." You state, looking at his features as he gives you a sheepish smile.

"Surprise?" He mutters, a weak laugh escaping his lips. You stare at him for a little longer, watching his confident facade shatter slowly as he looks at you with a little more apprehension after he realizes that you knew who he was.

"It all makes sense now." You say as everything clicks in your head.

The man in-front of you frowns in confusion. "What?"

"I came here two weeks ago, drenched in the rain and Mrs Yang gave me a hoodie and sweatpants from your group to change into." You say, as your eyes flit around his face, taking in his features. "I thought they were big fans of your group but you probably gave it to them."

He stares at you for a minute. "Are you a detective or something?"

You let out a snort, as you try to keep your growing smile off of your face. "I'm just observant."

"A little too observant."

"Well, sue me then."

You roll your eyes as Jun gives you a mischievous grin.

Mrs Yang appears at the corner of your eye making you turn towards the elderly lady as she places two new bowls in-front of you two. She eyes the two of you, noticing the lack of Jun's mask before a knowing smile creeps onto her face.

Your eyebrow raises at her expression but before you can ask, she bids the two of you a good meal before rushing back to the Lim gathering.

You look down at the bowl, noticing the lack of any red peppers or flakes making you smile as you notice the bowl only had what looks like tossed noodles with a sauce, topped off with spring onions and a fried egg. The smell of the spring onions floods your nose making your mouth water slightly.

"Scallion oil noodles." Jun says as he passes you a chopstick from the side box. "Mr Yang cooks them really authentically, it's one of my favourite dishes from here."

"And here I was thinking that you like to put your own taste buds through hell for fun." You mutter out making Jun roll his eyes. You use your chopsticks to place the food into your mouth as you take tentative bites.

The immediate flavour explosion in your mouth makes your eyes widen as you taste every single ingredient on your taste buds. You stare at the noodles, a little shell shock before you shove a few more bites into your mouth.

You can't fathom how you've never eaten anything like this in your few years of being a food journalist. You've definitely tasted this flavour profile before, no doubt from your soulmate but eating it and tasting it is definitely two different things

Jun who has also eaten the noodles, gives you a smile as he chews, watching as you happily slurp up the noodles, satisfaction written all over his face.

"So," He starts, taking a sip of his water, "Since you know who I am, I think it's only fair that I know your name right?"

You give him a side-glance, in between your bites before your eyes narrow slightly as you swallow your food. "I think there's a certain irony to your statement with you being a very famous idol."

Jun gives you a small pout. "C'mon." He says, the pout deepening. "I'm already paying for your meal, the least you could do is give me your name."

You want to retort that the meal was the expense of keeping his secret but as you watch his pout deepen a little more, you internally curse before giving him your name.

He repeats your name with ease as you feel your heart skip a beat upon him pronouncing your name. You furrow your eyebrows at the pinch in your chest before shrugging it off as just a weird prickle, maybe from the amount of oil in the noodles.

"Do you like the noodles?" Jun asks, gesturing to your bowl that is already half empty.

You nod, taking a few more bites of the springy noodles, humming contently. "I don't really like Chinese food but this is really good."

The idol freezes at your words, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth as he looks at you, his eyes wide, noodles forgotten. "You don't like Chinese food?" He asks, a little baffled as he just continues to stare at you as if you just said something really incriminating.

You shrug, swallowing the noodles before taking a sip of your water. "Just had some bad experiences with Chinese food." All because of your soulmate but you left that part out, not wanting to divulge in that with a complete stranger, even if he was famous and known for being kind-hearted and a good person.

Jun eyes you for another second, a gentle curiosity swirling in his eyes. "Then why did you come here? They only serve Chinese food here."

You hesitate a little at his question. You knew it was coming but you couldn't tell the idol that you came here because of an unexplainable pull, you would sound a little strange and kind of crazy. So, you settle for half of the truth.

"I wanted to come back and repay Mr and Mrs Yang for their kindness. I was going to actually pay them the money for the meal that they gave me last week."

Jun fixes you with a look of amusement and a slight smirk before shaking his head.

"You clearly haven't seen Mrs Yang's stubborn side if you think you can just repay her back."

You frown at his statement. "What makes you think she won't accept the money?"

Jun fixes you a look as his eyebrows raise. "Did you offer her money two weeks ago after she fed you?"

"Yeah but—"

"Did she accept the payment or did she fix you with one of her motherly stares that got you to shut up?"

Your silence answers him, making him laugh as he shakes his head. "Trust me." He says, using his chopsticks to cut the fried egg into smaller pieces. "Pigs will fly before she accepts your money."

You roll your eyes at his words, a small smile on your lips as you shake your head before continuing to eat your food. The two of you eat in silence, occasionally making small talk about the food as Jun shares with you a few small anecdotes about how Mrs Yang and her husband was a few years ago. The stories make you laugh as he recounts them with an exaggerated passion, his hands moving around animatedly here and there.

"So what do you do?" He asks, polishing off his food as he grabs a tissue paper from the container at the side. "Other than stand outside Chinese restaurants and contemplate your life decisions."

You scoff before taking a sip of your water to cleanse your palette. "I'm a food journalist."

His eyes widen. "Wow! That's really cool!"

Your brows furrow. "Says the guy who is apart of one of the biggest boygroups on the planet." You say, animatedly moving your arms. "Plus, aren't you also an actor?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "I mean it, you must be a really good food journalist if you got sent here for an assignment."

Your eyebrows furrow even more as you stare at the man, shock running through your veins. "What? How did you know that?"

He gestures to your handbag. "You still have the tag from the airport hanging off the third zipper."

You turn and internally curse as you see the white string and tag from the airport. You feel your cheeks heat up as you rush to rip it off, crumple it and place it into your bag to try to save yourself from a little embarrassment. You clear your throat before looking back at the idol who was trying very hard not to laugh, even with his hand over his mouth.

You send him a narrow glare (or at least try to) as you point at him. "Don't laugh."

"I'm not! You can't even see my mouth!"

"Your eye lines tell me otherwise!"

That makes the idol crack up, his eye lines crinkling more which makes you freeze, realizing just how pretty he is.

You weren't blind by any means, the minute he took off his mask, you could tell that he was good-looking even without the full-face of makeup. With your brother in the industry, you had watched every MAMAs award show that he had been apart of and with Seventeen up there as one of the bigger boy groups, you've definitely thought that they were good-looking, especially Jun who always looked like he belonged on the stage.

The idol finally calms down, his smile not leaving his face as you shake yourself out of your thoughts. "So, what's your assignment about?"

You freeze at the question, gnawing lightly on your lip as you give him a once over, wondering if you should be honest or not. He notices the look on your face, his eyes softening. "If it's too personal, you don't need to tell me." He says, his voice reassuring as he gives you a soft smile. "I just think it's really cool that you get to travel and just eat food, I think one of my bandmates would kill to do that."

You feel a small smile creep onto your lips as you relax slightly, hearing the awe in his words. "Let me guess, DK?"

He laughs, nodding. "Or maybe Hoshi." He says, leaning his elbows on the table, his posture relaxing as he realizes that you were more comfortable now as you let out a laugh.

"Sounds like him."

His smile widens "So, I assume you're somewhat familiar with my group then, if you're able to make associations like that."

You feel a bit of warmth on your cheeks as you clear your throat. "Well, my brother's involved in the industry as well, so after a while, you kind of have to know who is who after watching all the different concerts and award shows."

His head tilts at that, a look of curiosity flashing across his face. "Oh!" He says with a slight understanding, "Is your brother an idol too?"

You nod, a small sense of pride settling in your chest as you pick up your phone before turning it to face him, a picture of you and Chris as your lock screen.

His eyes widen in realization. "You're Bang Chan's sister?" He asks, gawking a little as you nod.

"Wow, I've only ever heard about your younger sister, Hannah." He says, his smile widening a little more. "What a small world, Vernon, Mingyu and Minghao always talk about how cool your brother is."

You smile a little more, thinking about your brother who was probably working his ass off in the studio right now and having the best time. "Yeah, he's the coolest."

His smile widens, grabbing the water jug to refill his empty cup, leaving you with your thoughts. You think back to his previous question, wondering if you should answer it or not. Jun has been nothing but honest with you since the start of your meal, even honouring his side of the deal even if he didn't need to. You would've stuck by your words if he had decided to not shown you and asked Mrs Yang for another table instead.

Your mouth made the decision for you before you could even comprehend it.

"I'm doing a soulmark assignment."

Jun freezes mid-pour as he turns to you, his eyes wide. "Oh, that's pretty cool." He says, nodding slightly. "Have you already met him?"

You shake your head, using your chopsticks to move your food around, letting it sop up the scallion oil. "The assignment was about to write about the places that we think our soulmate has been to based on the soulmark we're given."

His eyebrows furrow. "That's pretty vague."

You let out a snort. "You're telling me."

"Is the goal for you to find them at the end of it?"

You shrug. "All I know is that I'm here for four months, a tight schedule for sure to figure out which restaurant means the most to my soulmate." You say, the tone of your voice turning slightly bitter towards the end as you say 'soulmate'.

Jun notices, fixing you with a small curious grin. "I take it you're not the biggest fan of your soulmate?"

You slouch slightly, letting out a sigh. "Let's just say that our flavour preferences make us very very different people."

"You have something against his food preferences?"

"I have something against the fact that he's trying to kill my tastebuds in the process."

"Is he the reason why you have a grudge against Chinese food?"

You lift up your hand in mock defense. "Hey, I don't have a grudge against Chinese food." You point out, making Jun's expression morph into one of amusement. "I just have a grudge against my soulmate who puts chili oil on almost everything, as if the food needs that extra bit of spice."

Jun lets out a laugh before shrugging. "Can't say I fault him for it, chili oil is definitely one of the best things ever."

You snort, placing your last bit of noodles into your mouth, chewing then swallowing as you polish off your food. "I'm sure the two of you would get along great." You sarcastically remark making Jun laugh again.

"So, what are you a fan of?"

You ponder for a moment. "I'm a big fan of sweet stuff like cake, ice-cream, macaroons. Oh! Affogato as well." You watch Jun make a face as a shudder goes through his body making you raise an eyebrow at the man. "Not the biggest fan of sweet stuff?"

Jun immediately shakes his head. "Can't say that I am. Sugar makes me feel really ill sometimes, especially if there's too much of it. My soulmate is the biggest cake fan though, she really loves eating it."

You smile at that. "Sounds like we would get along great as well."

Jun laughs, smiling at the implication of the two of you meeting each others' soulmate when his phone rings. He glances at it before his face pales and his eyes widen.

"Shit." He mutters, staring at his phone for another beat before wiping his mouth quickly and slipping his mask on in record speed. The actions make you jolt as you blink at the idol who was moving at the speed of light, shoving his wallet and phone into his pockets.

"What?" You ask, finding your voice as he reverts himself to his pre-meal mode. He looks at you, his eyes softening a little from the panic that was in them moments ago as he pulls down his mask.

"I forgot I have practice in half an hour, so I need to get going now." A small frown appears on his face as he finishes his sentence, looking a little crestfallen that your time together was coming to an end. You blink at him, before glancing at the time, your eyes widening as well as you realize that you and Jun had been eating and talking for almost two hours.

"That makes two of us then." You say, a laugh bubbling in your throat as you pack up your stuff. "I forgot that I got an interview with the owner of a restaurant for my assignment in half an hour as well."

Jun lets out a laugh at the realization as he stands, towering over you slightly as he fixes you with a cheery smile. "Guess we aren't so different after all."

You roll your eyes as he pulls his mask back up before gesturing for you to move first. "After you."

You give him a polite 'thank you' before the two of you head to the front counter where the cash register was. Mrs Yang's eyes flit between the two of you, the same knowing smile on her face.

"How was the food my dears?" Jun's eye lines crinkle again. "Amazing as always Mrs Yang." He says before gesturing to you. "I think our food journalist will definitely be putting it in her article."

You let out a small scoff, giving him a quick side-eye before looking at Mrs Yang, your expression changing to one of adoration. "The food was lovely Mrs Yang. Please help me thank Mr Yang for the food as well."

She waves you off, a wide smile on her face despite how tired she looked from the chaos of the rush hour. "It was our pleasure to feed you." Her eyes flit between the two of you again. "Both of you."

You think back to your words to Jun a while ago and take out your purse from the depths of your handbag. "Before I forget, please take this Mrs Yang." You say, producing a few bills. The older woman fixes you with a stern look as she shakes her head.

"Dear, I already insisted the last time that you don't need to pay me." You open your mouth to protest but she holds up her hand again, her eyes narrowing slightly as her

Your mouth snaps shut at that as you slowly put the bills back into your wallet making Mrs Yang's stern expression instantly drop, replacing it with a prideful one, knowing that she has successfully won the argument again.

Mrs Yang - 2, You - 0

You glance at Jun who fixes you with a look, his eyes glinting as if to tell you 'I told you so' making you roll your eyes as Jun passes a few bills to Mrs Yang, paying for your meal and his. Mrs Yang hands him the receipt before reaching to the counter behind her and taking the plastic bag that was seated on it.

"Before I forget," She starts, giving the big white plastic bag to Jun, "I packed a few things for you and the boys to enjoy."

Jun's eyes widen as he takes the bag from her with zero protest, almost as if Mrs Yang trained him to just accept everything she gives to him — which she probably did, considering how long they've known each other.

"Thank you so much!" Jun says as he peers into the bag, his eyes flitting from one box to another. "You really didn't have to."

Mrs Yang waves him off. "Nonsense." She states. "If I don't feed you guys, God knows that you all will starve by how much dancing you all do."

Her comments make you let out a laugh which you try to cover up as a cough as Jun gives you a side-glance. He looks back at her, his eyes softening more. "Thank you."

She gives him a smile of adoration before turning to the back counter once more and producing a smaller white plastic bag which she holds out for you. Your eyes widen, about to protest again but falter as soon as you see the expression on her face.

You sheepishly take the bag from her, peering inside to see a few food containers filled with some scallion oil noodles, a few servings of spring rolls, a meat dish as well as a box of stir-fried vegetables.

"For you and your brother."

Your heart squeezes at her words, feeling warmth spread through your chest as you try to swallow your emotions. You look up, giving her a soft smile. "Thank you so much."

She mirrors your smile. "It's no problem at all my dear, I hope we see you again soon."

You nod, your grin growing wider. "I'll bring my brother with me next time." You reassure her. "He was raving about how good the beef noodles were, made a lot of his friends jealous."

She laughs as you recount the video Jeong-In had sent to you when your brother brought Mrs Yang's beef noodles to work and was just making a show out of it in-front of his members. They looked like they were seconds away from chasing your brother down the hallways of JYP if he made a single new sound and talked about how good it was and that he wasn't sharing.

"I guess I'll see the two of you soon then." Mrs Yang says as she walks to open the door for the two of you. "I hope you two enjoyed each others companies."

You and Jun glance at each other before you turn back to Mrs Yang. "It was definitely an experience."

Jun narrows his eyes at your words. "But I was an angel."

You scoff. "And I'm a multi-billionaire." You say, the sarcasm just rolling off your tongue making Jun shake his head and walk through the door.

The two of you bid Mrs Yang goodbye once more before she closes the restaurant door behind her. You turn to Jun, a little awkwardly as you shuffle your handbag onto your shoulder.

"Well, it was nice meeting you." You say, giving him a smile. "I hope you don't sneak up on me the next time we cross paths again."

Jun laughs, shaking his head a little before locking eyes with you and giving you a wink. "It'll only happen if you contemplate life outside a Chinese restaurant again."

You roll your eyes, not bothering to keep your smile off your face this time as you give him a wave before making your way to the right of the restaurant. You scroll to your itinerary when Jun calls out your name, making you turn to face him.

Your eyebrow raises as he looks at you, blinking as if he didn't realize that he called out your name, until it rolled off of his tongue. Before you could question further, Jun jogs over to you and hands you his phone. You take it before your eyes widen at the 'new contact' page staring right at you.

You blink before looking up at him, your eyes still wide as saucers as you fix him with a look of confusion. "What?" You ask as you stare at him, completely dumbfounded by his actions.

He shrugs, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I had a lot of fun talking to you today and," he hesitates slightly, "I want to try to change your mind about Chinese food before you meet your soulmate."

You narrow your eyes at him. "What's the catch?"

His eyes widen as he lifts both arms in surrender, the big plastic bag rustling as he does so. "No strings attached, I promise." He says, absolute assurance in his voice. "I just know what it's like to be on the receiving end of the taste mark and my soulmate has been quite pleasant with their food preferences so…" He shrugs. "Let me at least try to convince you that your soulmate isn't all that bad."

You blink at him again, slowly digesting his words before looking down to peer at the cursor, pulsing as it awaits an input.

"You don't need to!" Jun suddenly exclaims, his free hand starting to wave animatedly as he starts to ramble. "I just thought that I should introduce you to better Chinese foods that will give you a better impression of the person before you meet them and brush them off completely. I mean, as someone with a taste mark as well, I also know that food sometimes doesn't taste as it seems and—"

You interrupt him, mid-ramble by grabbing his free hand and placing his phone back into it. Jun blinks before looking at his phone to see that you sent a message to yourself after inputting your contact into it.

He turns back to you as you give him a small smile. "I'm in if it's more free food."

He blinks before huffing out a laugh, shaking his head. "Don't think that was part of the deal." He ends the sentence with a teasing chastise tone of your name making you shrug.

"Too bad, it was." You cheekily reply before adding. "Also call me Red."

Jun tilts his head to the side. "Red?" He repeats, the word rolling nicely off of his tongue. "Why Red?"

"I'll tell you when we meet the next time but, I figure it easier to call me that than my actual name, lesser syllables."

Jun eye lines crinkle, a sigh that he's smiling under his mask before nodding. He glances towards his phone before taking a few steps backwards. "I guess I'll see you soon Red."

You nod, flashing him a smile. "See you soon Jun."

PART TWO (26k)

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