Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something in his shopping basket is bothering him but he cannot put his finger on it. Which is stupid considering there are only five items. Jake names them slowly in his head, hoping to identify the imposter.

Rice wine vinegar, two bottles of apple soju, hand soap refill, pyeonyuk—Ah.

With a stiff sigh, he steps out of line, only one customer away from the front, and heads to the refrigerated section to return it. He does not eat pyeonyuk but it was second nature to snag a box for, well. No one, now. When he rejoins the checkout line, it has somehow doubled in length, and he clenches his jaw in irritation. Maybe he should have bought the pyeonyuk and handed it off to a friend, if only to get home quicker.

A tall university student, which Jake assumes from his clothing more than anything, joins the line behind him and Jake wonders briefly if he has finished growing. All his younger friends ended up taller than him and it has become a sore spot in his pride. He is distracted from his thoughts when the kid abruptly stumbles into him. Jake sways forward but manages to brace himself inches away from crashing into the ahjumma in front of him.

“Sorry,” The young man rasps under his breath for just the two of them to hear, “Kid behind me.”

Jake shrugs it off. “It’s fine. No harm done.”

The only thing in the young man’s hand is a bag of chips and a long rope of jelly. Jake turns to the front, reminiscing on those days of his youth when he would eat three packs of ramyeon at 4 am and had absolutely no fear for his health.

He rolls up his sleeves, starting to warm with the close crush of bodies. It takes nearly ten minutes to get to the counter. The ahjumma in front of him required a crash course on how to pay with her phone. But the cashier bags him up quickly and Jake glances to the side to see the kid hand over his two items.

I used to like those jellies, Jake thinks as he turns to head out. He is not old enough to be thinking in ‘latte is horse’ terms yet. This weekend, he should call Jay and see if he wants to do something, anything to make him feel young and blissfully unaware again.

“Hey! Excuse me, um, ahjussi?”

The call catches his attention, but Jake keeps walking.

“In the blue shirt!”

Blue, huh. He is wearing a blue shirt. Jake stops and swivels around. He was flagged down by the young man from the line.

“Did you just call me ahjussi?”

The kid clears his throat nervously. “…No?”

Whatever. Jake should probably start getting used to that. The more interesting question is, “How did you leave so fast?” It could not have been more than a minute since Jake paid and collected his bag.

“I paid with cash and told them to keep the change and receipt.”

“Ah.”

The guy nods and then tightens his mouth into a squirmy line, clearly anxious.

“You need something?” Jake asks, offering him a starting point.

He nods, then clears his throat and says in a rush, “You have my mark.”

For a moment, it does not register. Those words might as well have been in Russian for all that he understood them. You have my mark. He thinks the incomprehension shows on his face because the kid pulls at the sleeve of his hoodie, shoving it up his forearm.

There it is. That indistinctly specific marring of skin. Jake would recognize it in a heartbeat. He glances down and realizes his is already bared, had been bared since he rolled his sleeves up in the line. That was how he figured it out. Must have seen it when Jake was checking out, his forearm tilting into the light as he handed over his credit card.

“Alright,” he says, working on autopilot, “Follow me.” He nods his head towards his car, parked in one of the outer spots. “We’re in the way right now.”

“Right, yeah. Sure.”

The young man trails two steps behind him, hands stuffed into the oversized pocket of his hoodie alongside his chips and jelly.

Jake unlocks his car and sets the plastic bag down on the passenger seat, before closing the door and facing his… his soulmate. Even thinking it sends a full body wave of distress down his spine.

“I’ll be blunt,” Jake says, pausing to give the other time to nod in acceptance. “You should just forget about me.”

Okay. Not really what Riki thought his soulmate would say to him upon discovering him. But he can work with this. He recovers quickly, he’s resilient like that. “Why? Do you not believe in marks? I’m not the biggest believer either.”

“You’re not?” His soulmate looks at him with surprise, and then his features seem to melt in relief.

“Wait, so you do?” Riki frowns. Whatever he has against Riki doesn’t seem to be due to anti-mark views. It was kind of unlikely anyway since he seemed older, and those views are mostly popular with people Riki’s age or younger. “Hold on, I don’t even know your name.”

His soulmate blinks a few times. Riki had noticed this in line, from the barest glimpse of his face when he’d stumbled into him and then his side profile while he was checking out, but his soulmate is handsome. Pretty. Strong features, full lips, a stylish mini-mullet. He doesn’t put much stock into this whole mark thing because it is never a guarantee, just a suggestion, but he thinks destiny or fate or whatever designed his inner wrist chose well for him.

“Jake,” His soulmate answers after a beat.

“Riki. Nishimura Riki, my friends call me Niki. And, uh, I’m twenty-one.”

“Not a teenager,” Jake says.

“No. Haven’t been for a while.”

“Doesn’t really matter. I’m twenty-nine, you’re young either way.”

“I have a job,” Riki says defensively.

“That’s good,” and his bland tone takes the wind out of his sails. What is a job he’s had for barely a year in comparison to someone who has eight years on him and probably that many more years of work experience? That many more years of life experience?

“You said you’re not the biggest believer in soulmates,” Jake returns to their previous conversation, “Does that mean you think soulmates don’t need to end up together?

“I have to say this is a really creative way of rejecting me. What is it? My age?”

Jake makes a face, shaking his head. “No. I mean yes, that too. But it’s not because of you.”

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Riki jokes.

But Jake looks at him seriously. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Oh. Riki pauses. The explanations for this seem limited. Jake probably does believe in marks if his earlier surprise was anything to go by. So then…

“Is there another guy?” Riki asks carefully.

Jake hesitates, hands shoved deep in his front pockets. He is discomfited, that much is obvious, but he answers regardless. “There was,” he says, halting in the middle of the sentence so that the momentum dies awkwardly on the upturn of his voice. His expression flickers. After a moment, he repeats himself, fully this time, “There was another guy.”

Probably an ex-boyfriend or fiancé, Riki thinks to himself. He can’t be surprised, not when Jake is eight years older than him and too attractive to be single all this time.

“I’m sorry,” and Jake does look genuinely apologetic, “I don’t see how… I think you…” He sighs to himself, glancing to the side as he collects his words. His weight shifts between his feet.

When he looks up again, his eyes are shuttered. “You’d be better off without me,” he says firmly but gently, “I’ve got too much baggage.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Jake counters, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

Riki shrugs. “It’s my choice to wait, though.” But he sees the skittish look in Jake’s eyes and relents. “At least give me your number. Soulmates don’t grow on trees, I don’t want to lose the one I have.”

Jake blinks once, stunned, before he starts laughing. It’s not a happy sound, but he catches himself with a hand on the roof of his car. “Fuck,” he sighs in the aftermath, and it sounds miserable, tired. His features have tightened with a pain Riki has no access to but clearly put there.

“I didn’t—I’m sorry,” Riki mumbles, his stomach twisting. He misstepped in some way. 

“No, God, don’t,” Jake shakes his head hard, “Don’t apologize. You’re right, fair enough. Here.” He pulls his phone out from his back pocket and opens up an empty contact page. He hands it over.

Riki fills it out. First name: Riki. Last name: Soulmate. For the number he has to pull out his own phone to double check. He texts himself from Jake’s phone and Jake lets him without even a twitch of protest. He spares Jake a glance when he swipes up to the home screen and wonders.

His thumb pulls down on the screen and the search bar pops up. He searches for KaKao Talk. Jake watches him silently, head tilted to see the screen, one hand tucked in his pocket. It’s a very big liberty he’s taking with a stranger, prying through their phone like this, soulmate or not, but his gut had told him Jake would allow it and he does.

“There,” Riki says, replying to the KaTalk message he’d sent himself through Jake’s phone. “We have a chat now. Don’t ignore me.”

Jake takes his phone back with a sliver of a smile, his eyes narrowed in wry amusement. “Don’t text me.”

“If you don’t reply, I’ll spam you until you block me. And if you block me, you’ll have to live with ruining my life,” Riki lays it out for him.

“And how could I live with that,” Jake agrees in good humor, but it’s strange how he says it. His eyes have become vacant, his benign tone a façade, an act. He isn’t here with Riki any longer. He misstepped again. 

He backs up, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Well, I’ll… I’ll see you around, I guess?”

Jake blinks twice. His gaze clears slightly, half-way present. “No offense,” and even the way he speaks has become vague and distant, as if Riki is hearing it from a mile away, “but I hope not.”

Charming. He tells himself not to take it to heart. Anyone can see that Jake is going through something.

“It was nice meeting you,” Riki almost finishes on a safe note but then says fuck it and tacks on, “soulmate.”

Jake nods once. His jaw works, his throat bobs when he swallows. In the end, “It was.”

And that’s the last Riki hears of him for three weeks.

The drive home is a blank spot in his memory, he recalls none of it. Jake calls in sick for work the next day. He drinks both bottles of soju on an empty stomach even though he was saving them for dinner on Friday with Heeseung and Jay, then throws up in the hallway and has a panic attack about it.

Needing to be grounded or at least to hear a voice that does not live in his head, he dials Jay after he cleans up his mess. After a second’s thought, he adds Heeseung to the call.

Heeseung picks up first which is shocking. “Yeah.” 

“Hyung.” It comes out raspy and slurred.

“Jaeyun?” Even now, still a little drunk but already feeling hungover after sicking up, he can pick out the subtle alarm in Heeseung’s tone.

“It’s me, hyung.”

“Why’d you do a group call,” Jay interrupts with his crackly audio as he finally connects, “Change of plans for Friday or something?”

Jake forces himself to sound sober. “No, um. No, I have news.”

“Are you drunk?” Jay asks with suspicion. He can call it from a mile away with Jake, he shouldn’t have even bothered pretending. “It’s Tuesday ni—”

Heeseung starts speaking at the same time, too. “He definitely is, when he pic—”

Jake cuts through them with four words. 

“I found my soulmate.”

The call falls silent like a flatline. There is the muffled sound of a laptop whirring from Heeseung’s side and the dull rush of outside traffic from Jay. Otherwise, nothing. They do not seem to know what to say, where to even begin.

“What do you mean?” Heeseung asks eventually. It is the most logical question he can follow up with.

“At the store today,” Jake tells them, staring at his mark, “This teenager—No, not a teenager. Twenty one years old. Nishimura Riki, Niki. Chased me down, said I had his mark. I do. I’m his soulmate.”

“Oh,” Heeseung says.

“Shit,” Jay concludes.

Riki has to needle Jake for two weeks through text before he agrees to a second meeting. In total, it takes five weeks for Riki to see him in person again.

When he had recapped their first meeting to Jungwon, his roommate and best friend, he’d agreed with Riki’s assessment that Jake was likely hung up on an ex. He didn’t, however, initially approve of his plan to pursue Jake anyway, but perhaps Riki going on and on about him for three weeks was enough to change his mind.

Riki-san

im already here

Jake (soulmate)

Congratulations.

Riki-san

🙄

hurry up

we’re on reserved time

Despite how unwilling and avoidant Jake has been, Riki has discovered that he can get away with just about anything. As if Jake doesn’t really have it in his heart to scold him but can only try and rebuff Riki for as long as possible. He’s prickly and closed off but Riki can text him like he would a same age friend and receive no reprimand. Even Jungwon is more particular about his use of casual speech and he’s only a year older, not eight.

From his constant badgering and Jake’s reluctant responses, he’d gathered that Jake was extremely fond of dogs, so he’d suggested they meet at a dog café for lunch on Sunday. The idea of puppies had been enough to entice Jake into saying yes. 

The server guides him over to a low table by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He smiles at the two small dogs that scramble past him, chasing each other. A little Pomeranian wanders over to him after he takes a seat on the cushion, and Riki coos at it until it accepts his pets. A minute later, the Pomeranian has crawled into his lap, and his phone lights up with a text.

Jake (soulmate)

Parked. Coming.

Riki-san

slowpoke

He sets his phone down in the hollow of his legs. Jake’s use of periods is such an old person thing to do, and it makes Riki smile. He watches the entrance for Jake and their eyes lock through the glass door. His hair has grown out a little more since Riki saw him or it’s just styled loosely, because the longer ends dust his shoulders and the front pieces curl against his cheek. He’s awfully pretty in his brown suede jacket and light pink sweater. Awfully classy, too, his black slacks pressed neatly, as opposed to Riki’s street-style bomber jacket and tank top.

Jake offers him something that could be considered a smile if he squinted and looked at it in a passing glance. A server stops him once he’s inside until he nods over at Riki, indicating him. He waves when the staff looks his way, and she lets Jake go. 

“You look nice,” Riki says, watching Jake fold himself onto the cushion. Jake’s gaze is stuck on the Pomeranian he’s petting, and his smile has grown tangible.

“Thank you,” he says absently, giving Riki a cursory once over, “You look good.”

“You don’t have to just say that.”

“No, you do,” Jake insists, sparing him another appraisal, “You’ve got good style. I didn’t figure out how to dress myself until my—” He stutters and retraces his footsteps, “Until I was twenty-five.”

My ex, Riki fills in for him. “I’m really into fashion,” he explains, “but this is far from my best look. I haven’t done laundry in a while.”

Jake huffs through his nose, amused. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I remember those days.”

“Okay, you’re not that old.”

“When I was in university, you were in middle school,” Jake says dryly, “I think I am that old.”

“When is your birthday?”

“November fifteenth, ninety-four.”

“So, you’re turning thirty this year.” Jake nods. “Mine is December ninth, two-thousand and two. I’m turning twenty-two this year.”

Jake stares at him. Riki swallows, unsure if he managed to put his foot in his mouth already. He hasn’t even had the chance to really say anything.

“Of course you are,” Jake speaks abruptly and Riki’s shoulders rise, though Jake had looked aside, over at one of the big dogs sleeping in the middle of the café, when he spoke, those words mostly for himself. “December ninth,” He lets out a hollow laugh and mumbles, “Why not.”

“Um,” Riki changes tracks, sliding the coaster with a QR code printed on it over to him, “Do you want to order?”

Jake follows the switch smoothly. “What looks good?”

“Haven’t checked yet.”

“Why is everything digital now,” Jake grumbles good-naturedly, reaching into his slacks for his phone, “I don’t care if this makes me a boomer, but what happened to physical menus? What if I don’t want to pull my phone out to eat?”

“If that’s a boomer complaint, then I’m a boomer too, ‘cause I hate it.”

“Right?” Jake says in exasperation, trying to hand his phone over to Riki with the menu loading.

“Oh, I can just—” 

Jake sets it down in front of him. “And disturb the puppy? I don’t think so.” Riki glances down at the dog flopped across his lap, obstructing his access to his phone. Good point. “You can order for me.”

“Is there anything I should avoid?”

Jake bites at his bottom lip. “I’m not big on sweets in general.”

Riki’s heart sinks and he sighs at Jake, upset. “Then why did you say yes? We can go somewhere else.”

“No, I want you to eat,” Jake says firmly. He does that a lot—if Riki can even call it ‘a lot’ when this is their second time speaking. It comes through in his texts, too, though. He says things firmly and his tone brooks no arguments. Is that what being an adult is like? Saying things and having the confidence to back it up, knowing you will be taken seriously. “You were excited about the café.”

“What about you though?”

“Riki,” Jake holds his gaze, his expression stern, “I’m fine. Stop arguing and order something. This is a reserved slot, not a walk-in.”

There it is. The authority from their age difference has finally come into play. Is it weird to say he likes it? How Jake extends endless lenience to him not because he can’t reel him in but because he apparently doesn’t want to. Not until now, at least.

Riki simmers down and peruses the menu. “What do you want to drink?”

“Do they have a vanilla latte?”

“Yeah. Hey, they have affogatos here.”

“Oh, I’ll take that instead,” Jake says, his tone brightening. When Riki peeks at him, his delighted smile strips years from him, sweetly youthful in appearance. Riki ducks his head, biting the inside of his cheek. He’s beautiful. No way someone that beautiful is marked for him.

“Hello,” Jake baby talks suddenly, “Oh, hello.” He drags the words out, leaning to the side to lower himself as a fluffy brown dog sniffs at his extended hand. “Hey, little guy. C’mere.” He pets down its neck and the dog stumbles forward drunkenly, following the scratches. Jake lifts it into his lap, sneakily glancing under its belly as he does and shooting Riki a sly glance when he muffles a laugh.

“What a good girl,” Jake praises in English, which Riki had kind of already assumed he spoke adeptly due to his name, presumptive as that might have been. His voice is deep and full of a pleasant rasp, thick from his Australian accent, “Oh, you want a nap? Are you comfortable? You’re chewing my finger, okay, that’s fine.”

Riki adds two affogatos to the cart along with a crepe. He passes the phone to Jake, then tries to grab it back when he realizes that means Jake will be footing the bill.

“Ah-ah,” Jake shakes his head, snatching the phone and holding it out of reach, “I know that look. I’m paying.” He leans away from the table, quickly checking out and using Apple Pay to hasten the process. 

Riki slumps forward on the table. “Come on, hyung,” he groans, “Why? I can pay.”

“It’s my duty as the older one.”

“You’re not even interested in the menu.”

“So what.”

“Whatever,” Riki gives up, “But I get to pay next time.”

“Next time,” Jake echoes. Riki can’t tell if it’s in agreement or judgment. He privately hopes for a next time. Jake isn’t particularly stellar company, but the more Riki considers this soulmate thing and the potential he can see in him, the more attractive this whole ordeal seems. Or he’s just losing his mind and ignoring all the red flags.

But as the date progresses, he sees a chance in those crystalline glimpses of him. The person Jake is under all the calcified layers of pain.

The shine in his eyes when they somehow stumble upon the topic of relativity and Riki sheepishly admits to not understanding what that’s all about before giving Jake the floor to break down Einstein’s theory for him. The expressive corners of his lips, that twitch and curl and tighten, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip to control his smile. The absent-minded tapping of his fingers, the chewed up straw, his baby voice when he addresses the dogs, his refusal to call them anything other than puppies, even the clearly elderly ones.

The magic is all there. The way Jake drops his head back and covers his mouth with a hand when he laughs at Riki’s jokes. His attentive gaze as Riki rambles on about his dance workshops, trailing from story to story, and how it doesn’t budge once from his face. How he remembers every insignificant detail Riki has told him, even from those KaTalk messages he seemed uninterested in.

It’s there. Riki swears it. It’s there when their two hours are up and Riki suggests they stop at a convenience store for ramyeon.

“Ramyeon… I don’t know. At my age, these things start adding up.”

“You can say that after you’re thirty. Let’s go, hyung. You can drive.”

“Oh, I can, huh?”

Right there, when Jake ushers him to sit at one of the tables as he prepares the food for them. When he lays out what might as well be a full spread in front of Riki and comments with a little grin, “It’s been a while since I ate like this. It’s fun.”

Riki could probably reach over and put his finger on it, pin down the spark between them. So, it kills him when every time he metaphorically edges closer, Jake pulls that much more back. 

They were avoiding it all along, but the elephant has to be acknowledged at some point; the conversation circles around to soulmates. Jake suggests Riki give up on him, but that’s practically routine at this point. No, there is something else that is bothering him.

“I’m not really sure I get your reason. You believe in soulmates, don’t you?”

Jake drops his gaze to the table, mentally retreating from him, and Riki has to bite back his frustration and guilt because he deserves a proper explanation for being pushed away. “I do,” he answers honestly.

“Then why are you so unwilling to give me a chance?” He asks, desperation creeping into his tone. He doesn’t appreciate feeling like he’s talking to a brick wall. Maybe Jake owes him nothing, but they’re soulmates for fuck’s sake. And this is coming from the guy who isn’t entirely sold on the inevitability of marks.

“You said there was another guy, but you also implied that you think soulmates should end up together. And I have your mark, but you’re driving me away. So, I—I’m confused. Do you really believe in soulmates or are you just jerking me around?”

“I do,” Jake repeats, barely audible. His expression is blank and Riki is left with his hardened shell, the tender, vulnerable pieces of him he caught sight of earlier squirreled away inside. Jake takes a mustering breath and flicks his eyes up to him, which he appreciates even if his gaze is dull with a thousand yard stare.

“I do because I met mine when I was fourteen and I married him when I was twenty-one and now he’s—now he’s—” Jake chokes on the words, taking a quiet, panicked breath that physically hurts to hear, his eyes tight at the corners like he’s suffocating, “dead. He’s dead. My soulmate is dead.”

He should be commended for the brave front he puts on while he parts ways with Riki. He clings to it until Riki’s back has disappeared from sight and he is safely hidden in his car. 

Inside, he hunches forward and slams his forehead against the steering wheel, narrowly missing the horn.

Dead.

Dead dead dead.

Deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead.

Jake clutches his head, hands clamping over his ears like that will shut up the droning voice in his mind.

You never said goodbye. 

You found him cold.

He died all a—

Jake thuds his forehead against the wheel once more, a controlled strike to jar his senses. He fumbles to turn the car on, forcing himself to name the periodic table out loud, recalling the atomic weight too when his thoughts threaten to overshadow his voice.

It takes what seems like ages for his phone to connect to the car through Bluetooth, and he hits play on the first playlist he can find. The heavy bass of a The Weeknd song rattles through the car and he cranks the volume up. He continues to name the elements and that in junction with the obscenely loud music allows little other thought. 

Jake leans back in his seat with a sigh, tipping his head against the headrest. His hands are shaking, and he tucks them between his thighs. Tears cloud his eyes, and he swallows, falling silent. Cadmium and its roughly one-hundred and twelve atomic weight dies on his tongue. His throat starts to hurt, a hard lump forming, and a stinging sensation spreads up the bridge of his nose.

The problem is his chest is too tight and too small, and his grief is too big, and some days Jake wishes he would just burst. Wishes he would rupture if only it meant he would never have to reckon with these emotions again. A tear drips down his cheek and Jake clears his throat, swiping it away with the back of his hand. He has become intimately familiar with tears over these last few years, but it still annoys him how much he cries now. If the punchline were not so morbid, Sunoo would tease him endlessly about the change.

Why didn’t you—

No, stop. 

He told himself, and he even promised Jay, that he would never travel the dark alleys of his mind again, that he was done with those thoughts. But the rawness of the emotions dragged out of him today caught him while his guard was down, and he cannot resist where they lead his mind. And so, when the anguish snags on the guilt buried at the back and drags it into the spotlight, he is helpless.

Why didn’t you take me with you?

Honey, why did you leave without me?

A muffled sound catches behind his tight-lipped grimace. He sucks in a wet gasp, his chest shuddering on the exhale.

He’s gone. Let him go.

Jake covers his face with his hands and grants himself another minute to breathe shakily into his palms. 

It happened, it’s over, he’s never coming back. Move on.

But it is so hard. He even says it out loud, unconsciously, a thin, mourning plea to the universe: “It’s so hard without you. How can I—” He chokes on the rest.

He needs to get it together. Jake slaps his hands against his cheeks, allows himself one final broken sigh, and then buckles in. Turns the volume down on the music because his ears are sore and takes five deep breaths to shake it off. He has dinner at Jay’s house tonight, he needs to go home first and shower to truly wash away the turmoil before he heads over.

It’s so hard without you. How can I do this without you?

“What’s up with you?” Jungwon frowns at him, watching him toe his shoes off in the entryway. “Why do you look like that?”

Riki shakes his head wordlessly, bending to slide the shoes into their correct shelf. He peels his jacket off next and hangs it in the coat closet and that is when Jungwon’s expression shifts from concerned to perturbed. Riki’s jackets make themselves at home on the back of the couch or the dining chairs, not the designated closet.

“Are you dying?”

Riki laughs without any humor, shuffling to the kitchen to grab a beer can. Jungwon stares silently as he cracks the top open and downs half of it in one go.

“Niki, you’re freaking me out. Please don’t tell me you’re terminally ill.”

He catches his breath, lightheaded and uncomfortable from the carbonation, and then downs the rest. A moment later, two hands grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake. “What are you doing?”

Riki ducks his head and covers his face with his arm, belching with a grimace. Jungwon sighs and slaps the middle of his back so hard Riki chokes on his spit instead. And then he panics trying to get Riki a glass of water while he coughs and wheezes for air, clutching at his throat.

“Who needs to be terminally ill when you’re around,” Riki croaks after gulping down the cool water to soothe his throat. His stomach is full of mostly liquid and it’s an unpleasant sensation, because he can feel it all sloshing around inside of him.

Finding out his competition was his soulmate’s dead soulmate had felt similar to this. Nauseating, the guilt and dread a whirlpool in the pit of his stomach. How the fuck do you compete with your soulmate’s dead soulmate without being the worst person on Planet Earth?

“It’s not an ex.”

Jungwon leans back to look at his face. “Huh.”

“Jake’s mysterious baggage.” He pulls his sleeve back. The mark waits, a Rorschach test of everything Riki had convinced himself he didn’t want and probably can no longer have.

“It’s not an ex?” Jungwon echoes back, eyebrows furrowing as he mentally casts around for an alternative, “A situationship, then? But isn’t he too old for that?”

“Not a situationship.”

“I’m out of guesses,” Jungwon admits.

“It’s his husband,” Riki says and Jungwon’s mouth parts in surprise, his eyes widening, “His dead husband, who was his soulmate.”

Jungwon’s jaw hangs open, catching flies. Riki huffs, darkly amused, and moves to throw his beer can away. 

It takes a minute, but Jungwon finally unfreezes himself. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah,” Riki sighs, bending forward and leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter, burying his hands in his hair, “Shit.”

“Multiple soulmates,” Jungwon says slowly, “They’re not uncommon.”

“They’re not common,” Riki opposes.

Jungwon runs a hand through his hair in disbelief. “What are the chances? And you said he passed away?”

Riki clutches at his roots, nodding.

“Oh man, poor Jake-ssi,” Jungwon sucks in air through his teeth, “God, that’s fucking awful. I feel so bad for him.”

For a while, they don’t say anything else. Riki migrates to the living room and slumps sideways on the couch, watching the TV screen mindlessly. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking at, only that Jungwon had been watching it before he arrived home. Jungwon sits next to his head and cards his fingers through his hair soothingly.

Jungwon peers down at him when the episode ends. “What happened after you found out?”

“Same as last time,” Riki mutters, “I should forget him, he’s got too much baggage, he might never be ready. New addition, he said getting to know each other was a waste of our time and we should go no contact.”

“Is that exactly what he said?”

“It’s what he meant,” Riki grumbles. He rolls over and buries his face against Jungwon’s thigh. “…I might have upset him into saying it.”

“What did you do,” Jungwon tilts his head in exasperation.

“I might have made a declaration.”

“Niki!”

“Being continuously rejected by your soulmate is surprisingly hurtful, okay! I wasn’t really thinking, I just said it.”

Jungwon shoves him upright, pressing him back into the couch cushions. He hovers over him, nearly straddling his lap, his expression very serious. “What did you say exactly?”

“It was a basic acknowledgement, honestly. ‘I’m your soulmate and you are mine. I recognize this and I hope you will, too.’ Textbook shit.”

Jungwon hangs his head and drops back onto the couch. “Really, dude?”

“A declaration leading to an attachment is a myth,” Riki reminds him with a small scoff. Jungwon rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “That’s the kind of crap our parents believe. Even Jake didn’t actually think it would do anything, he just didn’t appreciate the sentiment.”

“Well, no shit,” Jungwon shoves him hard by the shoulder and he sways dangerously, “He doesn’t even want a soulmate and you’re busy trying to get yourself a case of separation pain.”

“I can’t control that,” Riki says defensively, “If my mind or soul or whatever the fuck decides I’m attached to this man, then I’m attached. I’m gonna be feeling that pain no matter what.”

“Okay but declaring that you see him as your soulmate doesn’t help,” Jungwon hisses, “Folktales are folktales for a reason.”

“Look it’s not up to me anymore,” Riki says, splaying his hands out with a small shrug, “And getting attached to your soulmate, you know, the person who is supposedly shaped for you, isn’t a crime. I don’t think it’ll happen anyway. We’ve only met twice and neither experience was very romantic.”

Jungwon sighs at his careless attitude, but nods after a second. “That’s fair. The average period for attachment is like, what, four dates?”

“Or seven hours in each other’s company. We’re only halfway there. Listen, hyung, can we not think about this anymore and get absolutely hammered tonight? And before you say anything, my workshop starts at six tomorrow evening, I can sweat out a hangover by then.”

Jungwon looks doubtful. Riki nudges him with a little whine, hoping his dongsaeng charm will get him his way. “You’re unemployed, what do you have to worry about?”

“Convenient way of ignoring that I’m a graduate student,” Jungwon snorts, “I’m busier than you are. But fine, I don’t have anything important on Monday anyway.”

“Do we still have soju? Or is it all shitty beer.”

“I think,” Jungwon scratches the back of his neck, eyebrows dipping, “peach soju?”

Riki fakes gagging, flopping over. “Blegh. That’s the worst one.”

“You don’t have to drink it,” Jungwon says dryly.

“Nah, it’ll fuck me up and that’s what’s important. If I drown it in enough Yakult, I won’t even taste it.”

“Historically, that has never worked out for you, but sure,” Jungwon follows him into the kitchen, “If you say it enough times, it has to work at least once, right?”

His life has to be a joke.

“Yo,” Jay greets, tossing him a quick, sideways smile over his shoulder. Jake droops into one of the barstools, resting the side of his face against the cool countertop. Heeseung laughs and prods at his cheek.

“Bad date?”

“It was fine.”

“Beginning to feel like I’m in college again,” Jay sighs, shaking his head once. His shoulders flex through the thin cotton of his shirt as he cooks. “Date. I haven’t heard that word in so long.”

“You’re going to die a virgin at this rate,” Heeseung replies. Perhaps therapy is working because Jake no longer feels bowled over and fragile whenever he hears those types of jokes. He told his friends not to shy away from making them, so regardless he has to live with the consequences.

“What? I’ve had sex. You know I’ve had sex.”

“Sorry. I meant, you’re going to die single and lone–loveless.” Or maybe not. Heeseung glances at him out of the corner of his eye, trying not to be obviously concerned. Jake counts the first thirty digits past the decimal of pi. He is fine. He is doing better. He is—

“His birthday is December ninth. My soulmate’s.”

Jay’s arm stops in its stirring. Heeseung holds his breath.

“December ninth, two-thousand and two.”

Jake looks at Heeseung first. Heeseung stares back, his eyes big and his mouth small. He turns to Jay next. His head is bent. He slowly starts stirring again.

“I see,” he says, “That’s…”

“Fate’s idea of a sick joke?” Jake finishes for him, “Yeah.”

Heeseung wraps an arm around his shoulders. Jake leans into his side, reaching for the collar of his sweater. He fingers the chain hanging underneath.

“I must have been someone truly awful in my past life,” Jake laughs to himself. No one else shares in his humor. “Because the universe clearly hates me.”

Riki wakes up with every muscle in his body on fire. It’s like the body aches from the flu only a hundred times worse. The hangover headache is practically pleasant in comparison. He can barely bring himself to roll over on the bed and free his phone from under his arm. He mistypes his password twice and it’s almost enough to make him give up and accept his fate.

Fucking soulmates. Fucking separation pain. Fuck his life. Getting attached to a man who will probably never reciprocate, what a joke.

But his phone unlocks and of course the last thing he left on his screen was his chat with Jake. He’s responsible for this anyway. Fuck it. There is a message he can’t make sense of drafted in the message box, some failed attempt from his drunken self last night. With shaky fingers he deletes it and types.

Riki-san

it hrutss

yhnks lto

He closes the chat and calls Jungwon.

It takes him ten rings to pick up, which is five more rings than usual. “Yeah, Niki.” His voice is shot to hell, rough with sleep and whatever abuse they put it through last night.

“Nghh.” His tongue refuses to cooperate. He hopes his pathetic groans are enough to alert Jungwon to his state.

“Niki?”

He produces a short sequence of sounds that roughly translates to ‘hyung, apa’ and Jungwon is silent for a moment before he curses under his breath. “Don’t tell me—You didn’t—Oh my god, fuck. Give me a second.”

The call cuts but the walls of their apartment are thin enough that Riki can hear the thud as Jungwon stumbles out of bed and then the thump of his heavy footsteps as he disappears into their bathroom for their medicine cabinet. He nearly jumps out of his skin when his phone starts ringing right next to his ear. He answers it blindly, wondering why Jungwon doesn’t just yell instead. Headache probably.

“Where are you?”

Huh? Riki slowly cranes his head back to peer at his phone, squinting to focus his vision. ‘Jake’ is plastered on the screen. Oh, shit. That’s not Jungwon.

“Riki, where are you?” 

He technically doesn’t even need to turn on the speaker to hear him with how loudly he’s talking, but he fumbles to jab the button. “Wuh?” Is his unintelligible reply. Sue him, words are hard right now. His tongue hurts. He didn’t even know tongues could hurt like that.

“You can’t talk, can you? Goddamn it, Riki,” Jake’s voice shakes with an emotion he can’t quite identify, “Are you at home? Is your roommate home?”

Riki hums a positive. At the same time, Jungwon enters his room. “Who’s that?” he asks.

Jake must pick up on his presence because he demands even louder than Jungwon somehow, “Who is that, your roommate? Can he hear me? Can you get him to take the phone?”

Jungwon strides over to the bed and scoops up his phone. “I’m his roommate, yeah. You’re… Jake? Why are you calling him?”

“Because I received a text from him telling me he’s hurting,” Jake explains quickly, irritated and impatient, “Send me your address.”

“I don’t know if he wants that,” Jungwon says and Riki nods slightly. In his hand, he has a small blue and white pill bottle. Bond blockers; they come with every first aid kit.

“He has separation pain, and I have his mark,” It’s clear that the restraint in Jake’s tone is costing him a lot, “I don’t think his opinion matters, just send me the location.”

“A soulmate that doesn’t want him,” Jungwon clarifies, “I’m giving him a bond blocker, you really don’t need to come. No point in exposing him to you more if you’re—”

“Exactly! I’m his soulmate, what more do you need!” Jake interrupts and despite the pounding in his head and the fire in his muscles, it warms Riki’s heart to hear him acknowledge it for the first time. “You’re killing me here, kid, just send the fucking location!” He’s only a few decibels away from a shout by the end, and Riki hears a thud like Jake slammed his fist against something. It’s probably the delirium speaking, but it sounded like a steering wheel.

Jungwon’s jaw clenches as he balances the bottle in one hand and the phone in the other, irked by the way Jake spoke to him.

“Hyung,” Riki moans, most of the syllables slurred and his voice thin with how much it hurts. It was meant for Jungwon—because he’d really like that pill now—but over the phone Jake makes a tortured noise in response, a heartbreaking whine like a wounded animal, so awful to listen to Riki cringes into himself. 

Dead soulmate, he remembers with a wave of nausea, Fuck, I’m the world’s greatest idiot. And maybe Jungwon recollects this with him too, because he says quietly, “I’ll send. Hold on.”

The line is silent aside from background static. Jungwon’s head is bent diligently over his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. “Sent. I’ll leave the front door unlocked when you’re close. Hurry.”

Jake’s only response is a wordless snarl of frustration before he ends the call.

Jungwon says nothing in the aftermath. He has Riki swallow a bond blocker and wash it down with one of the half-empty water bottles in his room. Then he takes his temperature, orders them some hangover soup, and cracks the front door open once Jake texts a curt ‘Five minutes.’

They don’t talk. Even as the bond blockers kick in and his jaw and tongue no longer ache, they don’t try. Jungwon leans over him and pets his sweat-damp hair, his eyes for once unreadable.  

He hears it when Jake arrives. The entire apartment building, too, probably. The front door slams open, the handle crashing into the wall, and then there is the sound of his thick-soled shoes on wood flooring because he doesn’t even bother to take them off.

Jake finds them before Jungwon can even signal where they are, swinging into the open doorway with a hand curled around the wood frame. Jungwon opens his mouth, closes it, and then slinks back to become one with the wall. 

Jake looks haunted. That’s the best word Riki can use. He stands frozen there in the doorway, staring at Riki like he’s a ghost. When he starts forward, his body must be working on muscle memory alone because Riki doubts he’s conscious of its actions.

Jungwon hovers in the background for a moment and then slips out of the room with a sympathetic grimace aimed at Riki.

“You…”

Riki refocuses on Jake at the sound of his voice. His face is screwed up, an array of emotions warring for dominance.

Jake falls to his knees at the side of his bed. Riki stares at him, taken aback, and holds himself incredibly still as Jake leans over him. His eyes are red and irritated, like he was crying. Like Riki had made him cry. 

Jake sets two fingers against the side of his neck, pressing down hard near his windpipe. Riki can feel his trapped pulse beating against his fingers, the slow, rhythmic throb of it. And then suddenly his hand moves up and hovers over his mouth, index finger resting under his nose, and Riki inhales, startled. “Breathe,” Jake begs, when he forgets to exhale, “Just breathe.”

So, he does, no matter how odd it is to feel the warmth of his breath hitting Jake’s hand. As he does, Jake watches his chest rise and fall. His lower lip trembles and his eyebrows pinch together. Eventually, Jake gasps like he was holding his breath too long and pulls away from Riki, hunching over on himself with his hands covering his face.

He’s mostly soundless but his shoulders jerk and he sucks in these hitching half-sobs every once in a while. Though his muscles groan in protest, Riki leans over and rests the side of his head on top of Jake’s, cradling whatever he can reach of his face with both hands.

“You stupid brat.” Jake’s voice might be muffled but the remnants of his fear, that unidentifiable emotion Riki had heard earlier in their call, and his relief are palpable. “You stupid, useless brat.”

“Yeah,” Riki sighs, too exhausted to feel the full weight of the guilt, but aware he really fucked it up. Really fucked Jake up. “Yeah, I know. You can yell at me for a whole year. I give you license.”

“I’ll yell at you all I want, I don’t need your permission,” Jake drops his hands and shoves him back. He kneels up and starts arranging Riki properly in bed, tucking him in like his mom would when he was sick and shivering. His cheeks are wet and splotchy, and he spares a moment to scrub his face with his sleeve, before brushing Riki’s bangs back and feeling his forehead.

“It was just muscle pain,” Riki promises.

Jake huffs, sliding his hand down to cup his cheek. He tilts Riki’s head so their eyes lock. “Refusing to give me the address… If you ever pull that shit with me again, I’ll kill you. If you’re in pain, I need to be there.”

“When we met, you said to forget you,” Riki points out.

“Shut up,” Jake snaps, taking his hand back, and Riki already misses the touch, what the hell is he doing trying to push Jake away now, “Shut up, it’s not a fucking game of pride. You were in pain, and I could hear you in pain and at that point, it was just down right cruel to—” Jake cuts himself off when his voice cracks. He closes his eyes, sighing shakily through his mouth.

“It was cruel,” he repeats, forcefully calm this time, “Don’t do it again.”

“Yes sir.”

Tension unwinds from Jake’s stiff shoulders, and he slumps against the side of the bed, reaching out to stroke his cheek with his thumb. He lets out a heavy breath, like it was his first real one since he received Riki’s text.

“You scared me,” Jake whispers, “I couldn’t stop remembering—” He doesn’t finish his thought, but Riki can guess. Dead soulmate fills in the gap pretty well.

“I’m really sorry,” Riki mumbles, “I wasn’t thinking, it was—it hurt a lot,” he explains lamely.

“I know,” Jake says, his lips twitching half-heartedly in a small smile, “I know it does.”

“‘Cause of your…”

“Yeah,” Jake rests his thumb against his throat, near his artery, “Been there, done that.”

Riki draws his legs in so his feet are flat on the bed with a groan. He needs to move as much as he can to speed up his recovery but damn that burns. “If soulmates are supposed to be the universe’s greatest gift, why do they cause so much pain?”

Jake rests his chin on the mattress, tilting his head as he considers his question. His thumb is tracing circles against Riki’s throat now and it feels so intimate Riki would blush if he had the energy to. Somewhat fatalistically, Jake offers, “How can you appreciate what you have if you don’t know how much it hurts to lose it?”

Riki narrows his eyes at Jake, weighing the merit of that perspective. “Nah,” he decides, shifting his gaze to the ceiling, “I call bullshit. I don’t need to be on death’s doorsteps to appreciate that the universe sent me a gift.”

“You were not on death’s doorsteps,” Jake rolls his eyes, pinching his ear in admonishment, “I know how much it hurts.”

“And who are you to diminish my pain,” Riki grumbles, glancing at him. He finally takes note of what he’s wearing, the neatly pressed, pale blue button-up hastily rolled up to the elbows and unbuttoned to his stomach, showing off the white undershirt. “Were you on your way to work?”

“I was,” Jake glances down at his expensive watch, no seriously, is that a fucking Rolex? “I need to call in for mark sickness.”

“You could still go…” Riki trails off at the sharp glare Jake aims at him, “or not.”

“You have separation pain. You really think I’m going to leave you alone when I already ruined my reputation with your roommate trying to get here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Riki huffs out a laugh, “Jungwon hyung did not like being yelled at.”

“Bunch of brats,” Jake mutters under his breath but he also sighs and climbs to his feet. “I’ll be right back. I should apologize and introduce myself.”

Riki presses his lips together, watching him from the corner of his eye. Jake hesitates, a confused smile tugging at his mouth. His eyebrows wrinkle and he bends, setting a hand to Riki’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”

His undershirt dips along with him and Riki gets a view right down to his stomach, so actually nothing is wrong. Life is wonderful. Jake follows his line of sight and scoffs when he notices, pressing a hand to his sternum to cover up. “Alright, pervert.”

Riki turns his head aside, closing his eyes to preserve the image of his chest against the back of his eyelids. “Be quick about it.”

“Aigoo,” Jake drawls with a thick, sarcastic rasp, “Aigoo, Riki-san, will you miss me? Will you miss me for the five minutes I’m gone?” He pinches his cheek and Riki bats it away, his sore bicep flaring in protest.

“I’m not a kid.”

“That’s up for debate.”

Riki grabs his wrist before he can step away and Jake peers down at him with an eyebrow raised.

“You know I’ve had sex, right?” 

Jake inhales sharply, though he doesn’t attempt to escape, which Riki respects.

“I’ve had sex, I’ve dated. I think you’re hot and I want to kiss you and do much worse things to you, if you’d allow it. You don’t have to return my interest, but don’t treat me like a kid. It’s just gonna make this awkward when it doesn’t need to be.”

Jake removes himself from his grip and adjusts his watch to sit upright. Riki had twisted it when snagging his wrist. “Understood and acknowledged.”

Riki makes a face at the ceiling once Jake leaves. He speaks in such clear and concise terms most of the time, cutting through the noise to address the heart of the matter. Riki feels like a blathering idiot in comparison, his youth shining through.

It turns out, in fact, that Jake returns within five minutes, pausing in the entrance with a hand braced on the door jamb to glance backwards, a strange expression on his face. His feet are shoeless this time and he takes a seat on the edge of Riki’s bed.

“What was that look for?”

Jake swipes his tongue over his lower lip. His eyes flicker from the doorway to Riki and then back. “I think your friend… Maybe I shouldn’t say this.”

“You definitely have to now,” Riki rolls onto his side, and props his head up on his palm. For effect, solely, because every muscle in his upper arm and chest has started screaming. “Can’t blue ball me like that.”

Jake laughs through his nose, turning to fully face Riki, drawing one bent leg onto the bed. He bites his bottom lip, humming as he debates with himself. “The thing is, I could be wrong.”

“I doubt it. Jungwon hyung is easy to read.”

“Well,” Jake says slowly, carefully, “I think your friend finds me attractive?”

Riki snorts. “Duh. Of course he does, he’s not blind.”

Jake casts a quelling look but his lips quirk, pleased by the indirect compliment. “I suppose he didn’t see me fully when I first arrived, but he forgot what he wanted to say when he finally looked at me. And he wouldn’t meet my eyes.”

Riki snickers, collapsing onto his front.

“And he forgave me before I even finished saying sorry,” Jake tacks on with an amused smile, watching him cackle.

“All it takes is a pretty face,” Riki wheezes.

“He did deliver a good threat on your behalf,” Jake says. Then he twists his lips and adds, “Though his gaze never left the lamp behind me, so maybe he wasn’t addressing me to begin with.”

“I’ve never seen a pretty face vanquish him that easily.” Vanquish? Where did he even pull that word from? Jake’s presence is putting his brain into overdrive, making it work hard to impress him.

“Do you see a lot of pretty faces?” Jake asks, and it sounds sincere, like he really wants to know. He gets this thoughtful look on his face, “You’re in the creative field and everyone knows that’s where all the beauty tends to be. That makes sense.”

“But you’re the prettiest I’ve ever seen,” Riki says coyly, “I think you’ve single-handedly won STEM the beauty pageant.”

Jake waves a hand, flattered into a small laugh. “Come off it,” he says, like he thinks Riki is joking. Like Riki doesn’t mean it with every mark-sick inch of him.

“I was being extremely serious.”

Jake’s eyes widen. His hand lowers to the bed.

“You are…” Riki fumbles for a word that can even begin to encapsulate what he feels, “maddeningly beautiful. You’re so hot it takes real effort not to act stupid in front of you.”

“Oh,” Jake says in surprise.

“I—mmh, yeah,” Riki bites his lip to keep his cool, not wanting to make a fool of himself, “I look at you and I can’t believe the universe gave me a soulmate this gorgeous.”

“I know people find me handsome,” Jake says, haltingly, blinking a few times fast, “but—Thank you, really. It’s nice to hear that, especially from someone as good-looking as you.”

Riki shakes his head, “You don’t need to say it back ‘cause I complimented you.”

“I’m not. Look you’re young, and that throws me off, but you are objectively very attractive. If I was your age again and single, I probably wouldn’t know how to act.”

It takes a second to really sink in because he hadn’t been expecting such a confession from Jake of all people, but Riki smirks in response. Jake groans at his expression and turns away in exasperation. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Can’t take it back. That is now seared in my memory, thank you. ‘Wouldn’t know how to act,’” Riki shakes his head in amazement, “You really know how to make a man feel good, hyung.”

Jake had been looking up at the ceiling like he was searching for strength, but at that last part his gaze suddenly fell to Riki and something sensual clouds his features, sharp and alluring. “Oh, I do,” he promises, his voice like velvet, “In more ways than you can dream of.”

Riki’s jaw drops open slightly.

Jake’s eyes are wicked, and he purrs, “I’ve got eight more years of experience after all.” 

There is only TV static in Riki’s mind. He stares at him in disbelief. Did that really just happen? Did Jake just imply what he thinks he did, all seductive like that?

Jake smiles at him like he knows he broke his brain, then leans over and kisses the corner of his open mouth. It’s warm and affectionate, a total change from his previous allure, and he ruffles Riki’s hair when he straightens up.

“I need to call in for work, so I’m going to step outside for a second.”

Jake is gone by the time Riki gathers himself together enough to even say, “Sounds good.”

Ah, fuck. He flops onto his back, wheezing when his torso lights up in pain because he momentarily forgot his mark-sickness. Jake’s dark eyes are projected onto the IMAX screen of his mind, and he can’t seem to change which memory plays no matter what mental hypnosis he tries. 

Oh, wait. Hold on, something is happening. The memory is shifting, he’s escap—Damn it. Never mind. In the grand theater of his mind, his stolen glimpse of Jake’s chest is plastered all over the screen.

Yeah, whatever. He’s fucked. 

Somehow Riki finagles his way into proceeding with his dance workshop by the time evening rolls around. He still has no idea how that conversation escaped him. Jake is not used to losing arguments and he is not altogether sure he even did this time around either, but Riki had simply not cared. Try as he might to convince him otherwise, Riki had left his apartment with a consoling, “Hyung, it’s alright,” and a grin, stealing a kiss from the corner of Jake’s mouth.

Jake stares at the closed door for a moment before turning to look at Jungwon curled up with an iPad on the couch. “I was mad at him,” he checks, gesturing vaguely at Riki’s exit.

“Sure were,” Jungwon agrees, his eyes on the journal paper he is reading. 

“I was laying out my rationale. Scolding him, even, for not taking mark-sickness seriously, because I’ve had it before and I know how awful it can be.”

“Sounds about right,” he nods.

“But he just smiled at me like I was being cute before leaving.”

Jungwon finally looks up. “And the universe thinks he’s your perfect match,” he says, “Congratulations. Or condolences.”

Jake sighs, touching his forehead with his fingertips. He mutters a curse under his breath and then asks, “Do you know where his workshop is being held?”

“I should,” Jungwon says. His hand slides over his iPad screen, “It should be in our texts.” Briefly, he glances at Jake, “Are you going to wait for him?”

“Do I have a choice?” Jake asks.

“You really do,” Jungwon’s fingers pause, and he looks at Jake firmly, “You can leave right now and stick to your words that you’ve got too much baggage for him. He’ll have to take bond blockers, and it’ll suck, but separation pain usually only lasts four weeks. He’ll be free of you, and you’ll be free of him.”

Jake swallows. He should do that. He only came here to make sure the kid was okay, and Riki is. He should go home now and keep his distance. Put an end to this growing bridge when he is not sure he can sustain it from his end. His therapist was a fantastic woman but some hurts only time can heal, and right now a few of his wounds are still too raw to even look at. Riki deserves better.

“Or,” Jungwon says, shrugging casually like it means nothing much to him either way, “you give in to what your heart wants, not your brain, and try and do your best by him. I don’t think anyone expects a widower to be perfectly well-adjusted, let alone Riki. He might be young, but he’s not stupid. He knows what he’s seeking out with you won’t be easy—trust me, I heard every angle of this debate with himself yesterday, but that’s his choice. Besides, you’re a lot more functional than I think you give yourself credit for.”

Jake feels like a glass pane covered in a spider-web of hairline fractures most days, waiting for the one little tap that will shatter him. And he could swear he was transparent in feeling that way. Anyone who looks at him must see each and every pitiful fault line in his psyche, a tragic marring on his soul where the other half of him was torn away in one brutal stroke.

“If he makes you happy, or if you think he could… After what you’ve been through, don’t you deserve that?” Jungwon gazes at him sympathetically, “Don’t you deserve to choose what makes you happy?”

“But can I make him happy?” Jake poses. 

“Riki thinks so,” is Jungwon’s uncomplicated response.

Jake blows out a breath, taking a seat on the beat-up armchair tucked away like an afterthought in the far corner of the living room. He rests his head on the back of it, legs kicked out. Riki could make him happy; these last nine hours in his company have only confirmed what he already felt to be true. 

But that scares him. He is scared to wake up tomorrow morning with the bruising ache of separation pain. He is scared to open up and make space in his heart for another fragile life. He is scared out of his fucking mind to put himself in a position where he could lose his soulmate for a second time. 

Mostly, Jake is terrified because he is certain—unshakably, morbidly certain—that he will not survive such a loss the second time around. He is not sure his body can bear the strain of that kind of grief once more without splitting apart at the seams.

He sets a hand over his eyes with a labored sigh and hears the ding of a text a moment later.

Riki-san

dont be mad

Jake (soulmate)

Oh

Acting cute?

Riki-san

is it working

Jake (soulmate)

Not really.

Riki-san

eyyy

liar

He disappears for a moment before:

Riki-san

i knew it

you think im cute

Jake (soulmate)

You’re saying that with a lot of unfounded confidence.

Riki-san

i asked jungwon and he said youre smiling at your phone

Jake (soulmate)

I was laughing at you.

Riki-san

not even you believe that

Jake (soulmate)

Good luck with your workshop.

Riki-san

changing the subject ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Jake (soulmate)

If you feel even slightly off, text me.

Riki-san

yes mom 🫡

Jake (soulmate)

God please don’t.

When Jake looks up, Jungwon is waiting expectantly. “What’s the address?” he asks and Jungwon grins in approval.

“I knew you’d come around.”

“Did you? Because I certainly didn’t.”

Jungwon nods in concession, then shrugs and comments, “If you saw in the mirror what your face does every time Riki laughs, I think you would’ve known too.”

“Oh man,” Jake rests his hands on his stomach, watching him wryly, “Do I want to know?”

“I’ll spare your pride today,” Jungwon says with a slight smile. He tips his head towards the kitchen which faces north, gesturing generally in that direction, “The studio is a fifteen minute drive from here, near the outlet mall. If you want to hang out somewhere more interesting while you wait…” He trails off meaningfully.

“Are you kicking me out?” Jake says in amusement.

“Nah. You’re quiet. But I’m not going to be entertaining company, I need to read,” Jungwon taps his tablet screen with a knuckle, “so if you get bored.”

“I won’t,” Jake assures him. He stays true to his word for twenty minutes. The clock ticks five minutes past six and a slight pulse starts up in his sternum. Jake stills, mid-text with Jay. Surely not? But it fades after a moment and Jake cautiously continues arguing with Jay about the amount of salt one reasonably needs while boiling water for pasta. The answer: Not that fucking much, Jay, be serious.

Twenty minutes later it returns, with a vengeance.

The thing about separation pain is that not everyone experiences it the same way. For him, it feels like a pounding headache, only it beats in every inch of his body. His late husband experienced a burning sensation, like an overworked muscle being stretched too hard. Bright and fiery.

The first place Jake felt it all those years ago was in his sternum. He thought it was anxiety back then, the reasonable side-effect of a new environment and new faces, of meeting his soulmate. Then he collapsed next to his desk in the middle of class, trying to make his way to the bathroom to throw up. The school nurse had been the one to put a name to it for him.

Jake sucks in a sharp breath and it catches Jungwon’s attention. “What happened?” He arches an eyebrow in question but does not look at him even if his face tilts towards him. His eyes are glued to the notes he is scribbling in the margin of his journal paper.

Jake feels the pulsing in his temples, the column of his throat, and beneath his ears, and swallows roughly when nausea spikes through him. Jungwon eventually looks at him and his face tightens in concern at his appearance. Jake has his head ducked, fingers digging hard into his forehead and skull as a counterpoint to the pounding.

“Are you okay?”

“Think… Mark sick…” Even getting those words out nearly threatened to upset his stomach.

“What?” Jungwon sounds wildly confused and Jake commiserates. He might have resigned himself to waking up tomorrow morning in pain, but that was tomorrow morning. He did not for a second think he was so far along in his attachment that forty minutes without Riki would cripple him this much.

“Since when did you have mark sickness?” Jungwon leaps from the couch, his iPad falling with a flat thump on the cushions. He braces his hand on Jake’s shoulder, crouching to see his face. “What was your attachment time when you first got it, was it this severe?”

“One hour exposure,” Jake utters, barely voicing the words, “Thirteen minute separation.”

Jungwon’s hand goes slack on his shoulder, nearly falling off. His head draws back, and he blinks rapidly. “Oh. That’s—” He shakes his head, sounding awed when he continues, “Wow, that’s insanely fast.”

His attachment time with his late husband is one of those relationship ideals romance movies are packed full of. Jake cannot count how many times someone told them how romantic it was; how sweet, how wonderful. ‘Some people really are born for each other.’ He heard those words, in one iteration or the other, more times than he cares to admit.

And it is astonishing, he is well aware of that. To know your soulmate for only an hour and be unable to separate from them for even fifteen minutes sounds like something out of a fairytale when you consider that the usual pattern is roughly seven hours of exposure followed by twelve hours of separation before the pain hits. Jake, too, believed that they were something special. Maybe it was egotistical of his younger self to think this way—and maybe he paid for it—but while everyone is born with a soulmate, he believed that perhaps fate shined a little brighter on him and his.

“Let me tell Riki to come home,” Jungwon pats at his pockets before glancing over his shoulder at the couch. Jake grabs his arm before he can leave.

“Don’t.”

“Bond blocker then?”

Jake shakes his head slowly. “Fading.”

“Oh… Does it come in waves for you?”

It does. The pain increases with each interval. His late husband was not so lucky, for him it was all at once and constant.

“I’ll go to him,” Jake says, “I can drive.”

“In this state?” Jungwon says incredulously, “No, I’ll get you a taxi. I don’t even trust you on public transportation.”

“The pain is fading,” Jake straightens his back as if to prove it, “and it’s only pain. I’ve driven through worse, it just caught me by surprise.”

Jungwon groans, “Okay, you don’t need to prove yourself. You’re the man, I get it.”

“I’m not,” Jake squeezes his shoulder and stands, “I know I can do this. I have another twenty minutes or so before the next wave. I can be at his studio before it comes.”

“If you get into a car crash or something,” Jungwon starts, still glancing at his phone like he might text Riki anyway.

“I won’t,” Jake touches his arm gently, turning his attention towards him, “I wouldn’t do that to him. If I thought I was a danger to myself, I wouldn’t go.”

Jungwon pauses. “…Right,” he realizes, “You wouldn’t.” You of all people, is the unsaid part.

“I wouldn’t,” Jake repeats with a nod, “I’ll get going now. Before it comes back.”

“Sure, yeah.” Jungwon watches him gather his things with haste and slide his shoes on. He stands in the center of the living room, his phone in hand now. He shifts his weight between his feet, antsy. “Just—Just be really careful, okay, hyung?”

Jake smiles at him kindly, hand on the door knob to close it behind himself. “I’ll be extra careful. I’ll text you once I’m there, how about that?”

“Super careful,” Jungwon insists, waving at Jake to leave like he might change his mind about permitting him if he hovers too long.

He starts the car, and a message banner pops up at the top of his Naver Maps screen. 

Riki-san

ur coming?

Jake (soulmate)

Jungwon told you I’m assuming?

Riki-san

u really got sep pain

Jake (soulmate)

Yes.

I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

Riki-san

wow

ok

drive safe

Jake (soulmate)

👍

Riki-san

?

wait u use emojis?

Jake (soulmate)

…

It’s just a thumbs up.

Riki-san

what???

im genuinely surprised

u use like perfect punctuation and shit

reminds me of my parnets ngl

[14 minutes ago]

Jake (soulmate)

Shut up Riki.

[5 minutes ago]

Riki-san

yessir 🫡

The workshop is a bunch of teenagers and people in their early twenties so when Riki explains that he’s getting distracted by his phone because his soulmate is driving to the studio to relieve his separation pain, the only thing they find a problem with is, “What the fuck? Since when did you have a soulmate?” and, “No way, have you been hiding him from us?”

He manages to focus until his phone buzzes again and he sees the ‘Here’ on the screen.

“Give me five,” Riki says.

Seoyeon takes charge quickly, surveying the crowd to see if they want to start from the top with the music or break into groups to try and nail the new sequence he showed them.

Riki uses his hip to budge the door to the waiting room open, slipping in. Jake is in the center of the room, watching the dancers through the one-way window, hands in his pockets. He turns when he hears him, wearing a tentative smile.

Riki crosses the room in three strides and snatches up a hand, sandwiching it between both of his. Tension he hadn’t noticed drains out of Jake and he sways slightly on his feet, letting out a sigh. The pain must be pretty intolerable because he drops his forehead to Riki’s shoulder, leaning his weight on him. Riki snakes an arm around him, cupping the back of his neck to get more skin contact.

“Sucks, huh,” Riki says. Jake huffs through his nose, nodding minutely. “Feels like you’re on death’s doorstep, one might even say.”

Jake laughs, lifting his head to peer at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re not going to let that go, are you.”

Riki stares at him. His eyes are slightly hooded like he’s gone syrupy with relief, or pleasure, and his lips are quirked at the corner, an inviting shade of red. He won’t, obviously, but the urge to kiss Jake seizes him fiercely by the throat.

Lazily, Jake arches an eyebrow in question. “What?”

Riki takes a step back, putting a good foot between them. Jake raises the other eyebrow. Riki clears his throat, his arms held out awkwardly across the distance to continue the contact. The teasing smile he gets in response sets his blood on fire and he has to look aside.

“Shy?”

Riki shakes his head. “Just, don’t want to take any liberties.”

“Oh to be twenty and so easily turned on,” Jake muses lightly, holding his forearm in return with his free hand.

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off at Jake’s sharp, amused glance.

“As if you’ve ever cared what liberties you take with me.”

“But you like that I don’t,” Riki accuses. Jake only shrugs with a vague expression.

“Two more minutes,” he decides, “and then I’ll be good to go. I’ll wait for you to finish.”

Riki hums and they drift back together without his conscious approval, so close that Jake’s body heat warms him and his content exhale skitters across his neck. His hand shifts to the side of Jake’s neck, feeling the faint flutter of his pulse. “Can I come home with you?”

Jake looks at him for a moment, unreadable, then his lips twitch and he says in a low murmur, “You know, that was the plan, because I have no interest in separating or staying over at your place, no offense, those sheets do not look recently washed. But the way you said that…” He draws his bottom lip between his teeth, the skin bleeding white under the pressure, and Riki has to stare at the wall over his shoulder for a moment to shake free any inappropriate thoughts. “I didn’t like your tone.”

“Hey, my intentions were innocent. I can’t help what you read into it.”

“Bullshit,” Jake dismisses. His collarbones are very prominent. Not that that’s important right now. But it’s just something Riki notices. “You can go back now.”

Riki tears his eyes away, looking at him blankly. “Oh,” He shakes his head, “Right. It’ll be another… two hours?” He estimates.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” Jake promises, pulling away from his hands to take a seat across from the one-way window, “I’ll watch.”

“Now I’m nervous.”

“Why?” Jake crosses his legs, lacing his hands together over his knee, and it’s such an unexpectedly dainty motion that Riki has to bite back a silly grin, “You could be terrible, and I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“That’s an awful way of cheering me on,” he says, backing towards the door.

“Probably because I wasn’t trying to,” Jake smiles at him sweetly, tilting his head to the side like a puppy, “Have fun.”

Riki grumbles, finding the door handle. Before he ducks out, he leans forward and replies, “Thanks, mom,” smirking at Jake’s immediate groan. 

There is a slight buzz in the back of his head, an ever-constant reminder that Jake is watching, but for the most part Riki is able to focus on the work at hand, teaching and joking and improvising with a bunch of talents his age who seem to find his choreography worth learning. It’s still such a mind-boggling honor to do this, to walk into a studio full of accomplished dancers and have them turn to him for guidance, to see them crouch on the sidelines and scream their support, to have their admiration and respect but also their friendliness and affection.

He feels high every time he finishes a workshop, flying on the euphoria of connecting to music and his fellow dancers with his body at an instinctual level. He’s the last one out like usual, locking the door behind him. Seoyeon and Hwiyoung raise a hand to bid him goodbye and don’t stick around like they normally would to walk with him, their gazes bouncing from Jake, still in the chair, to him with knowing looks. He waves them on, feeling shy, like a high schooler getting teased by their friends when their very first boyfriend picks them up at the school gates.

Jake stands slowly, eyeing him. He crosses his arms. “You won’t take offense if I refuse to touch you, right?” Sweat drips down his sternum and Riki shakes his head, ducking it to peer at him from under his fringe with a grin, using the bottom of his shirt to pat his chin and neck dry. Jake stares at his abdomen then raises an eyebrow at him, impressed. 

“Like what you see?” Riki drops the hem and shoulders his gym bag strap further up.

“It is quite pleasing to look at,” Jake grants, lowering one hand to touch his own stomach, “I miss the days when I had a nice body.”

Riki frowns, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’ve seen your stomach, you have abs.” He’s pretty damn lucky; a pretty face, a toned body, and a sharp mind.

“Barely. Definitely not like that,” Jake says, reaching out for Riki’s bag, an attempt he swiftly fends off.

“I can carry it,” he insists when Jake tries again, “Let’s go, hyung. I’ll even put a towel down on your car seat so I don’t get sweat all over it.”

“Even if you don’t, I’ll just have the car cleaned.”

“How rich are you?” He shivers when he steps out into the cool night air, and Jake glances at him in momentary concern.

“Rich enough.”

“What exactly is it that you do? You only told me you’re a project manager, ‘kind of’. I don’t know how you can kind of be a project manager.”

“I work for an aerospace technology start-up that manufactures small satellites.” Jake’s hand hovers behind his back when he nearly trips stepping off the sidewalk onto the parking lot asphalt, his muscles starting to feel like jelly.

“Would I know the name?” Riki asks.

“Most likely not,” Jake answers honestly, “It was founded six years ago.”

“And how long have you worked there?”

“Six years.” Jake fishes the car key out and the parking spot five down beeps and lights up.

“Wait, so,” Riki turns to look at him, “did you help start it up or what?”

Jake nods a little, “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Oh my god,” Riki says, wide-eyed, stopping mid-step. Jake drags him forward by the wrist, “And is it doing well?”

“It made something like eight billion won in revenue last year. We recently launched a satellite, first one of its kind, which got us a pretty hefty follow-up round of investment. Does series B funding mean anything to you?”

“No,” Riki says, “Not at all.”

Jake laughs. They’re standing behind the car, and his hand is gentle around Riki’s wrist, thumb rubbing back and forth over the thin inner skin and his mark. “It’s doing well. My official title is Director of Satellite Development Department.”

“Holy shit. And you’re only twenty-nine. What am I doing with my life?” 

“You’re doing what you want with it,” Jake says, squeezing his wrist, “Which is what matters. You’re an amazing dancer, by the way. And I know what talented dancers look like.”

“You said you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” Riki gripes.

“I was lying,” Jake says, “A friend of mine is a professional dancer.” He tilts his head. “You might even know him. Does Hwang Hyunjin ring a bell?”

Riki gapes at him. “Do I know Hwang Hyunjin? Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

Jake snorts. “Get in the car,” he says, pushing him towards the passenger side. Riki tosses his gym bag in the back and scrambles to lay the towel down.

“How the hell do you know him? I feel like space start-ups and professional dancers are two different ends of a spectrum.”

“Through my close friend. Lee Heeseung, my hyung, I’ve known him since I was in high school. He went into the entertainment field, he’s a producer now, you’ve probably heard his songs on the radio. He became friends with Hyunjin hyung and we met through him.”

“What the fuck,” Riki gazes pensively out of the windshield as Jake reverses, “Your life is so cool. So, what songs would I know from your producer friend? Maybe I’ve danced to some of them.”

“Hm. Have you heard Bite Me? It was everywhere last year.”

Riki stares at the side of Jake’s face until he glances at him in confusion, lowering a hand from the steering wheel to his lap. “Do you not know it? It was popular, I thought.”

“Hyung…” Riki speaks slowly, “I choreographed Bite Me.”

Jake’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth rounds into a small ‘o’. “And you say my life is cool. Imagine doing that at twenty.”

“I choreographed a dance. You launched a satellite.”

“Don’t dismiss your accomplishments. They’re a popular group so they probably had a lot of options to pick from, and they chose you. That’s something to be proud of. I really liked the Bite Me performance, it was my favorite from last year. Heeseung hyung made fun of how excited I was when it won awards at the year-end shows.”

“You don’t have to say that…” Riki mumbles.

“I’m very serious,” Jake spares him a glance, sincere, “I could probably find the texts I sent him.”

Riki processes this with a thoughtful frown. “You know the theories of proximity and common fate or whatever?”

Jake nods a few times, bringing his hand up to the wheel as he switches lanes. “Basically states that the sooner you find your soulmate the closer they will be and the more connections you’ll have to them.”

“Right. Most soulmates are born within four years of each other, but that’s not the case with us. So, if we take my age as the baseline, then we met pretty fast. The average age is now twenty-six, I think.”

It’s also a pretty reliable fact that most people don’t meet their soulmate until they’re twenty-two, especially if they live in a ‘developed country’, which scientists ascribe to the growing trend of moving away from home for university or other reasons. The marks had grown alongside societal development, and no longer is it like in the sixteen-hundreds, where you might find your soulmate by five or ten.

Your soulmate finds you once you figure out who you’re supposed to be, or at least that’s the common wisdom. Jungwon had prattled on about some dude named Erikson and the identity versus role confusion stage of development last night, but Riki had been drunk and barely listening.

“Twenty-seven,” Jake corrects, “As of now, it grows a year every five years. I wonder if it’ll plateau once the migratory patterns of globalization have reached their maximum. And I’m only two years past the average.”

“Right, so,” Riki is going to pretend like he knew or understood that middle part, “Doesn’t that mean we’ll have a lot of connections?”

“Do you believe in the theory?” Jake responds.

“Well, do you? You’ve had previous experience.”

Jake laughs under his breath, absently touching his sternum. “I met him when I was fourteen. Everything about us was connected and after that I built my life around him. I’d consider us an outlier.”

“But do you believe in it?”

Jake is silent for a while. He finally looks at Riki when they stop at a light, awash in a crisp red. “I think I do.”

“Me too,” Riki holds his gaze. “I don’t necessarily believe that soulmates have to be endgame or even romantic, but I’d like to think that there’s a logic to these marks. They’re a suggestion but they’re a suggestion with good reasoning.”

“Backed up by evidence,” Jake offers with an amused quirk of his lips.

“Exactly. A very good case for why you might want to spend your life with this person.”

“Mmh. Has the universe made a good case for me, then?” Jake breaks eye contact once Riki is swathed in a green glow, stepping on the gas. 

“Not even a little. You’re pretty awful.”

“Yet you got attached in four hours.”

“Man,” Riki sets his elbow on the armrest and looks out the window with his chin in his palm, “Don’t remind me. Most embarrassing moment of my life.”

“Ouch. That’s hurtful.”

Riki lifts his chin, pitching his voice up and injecting a small lisp to mimic Jake. “‘I’ll be blunt. You should just forget about me.’”

“I do not sound like that,” Jake says, affronted.

“That is exactly what you sound like. You were so mean about it, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake shrugs and notes dryly, “Now you’re stuck with a thirty-year-old who has a dead soulmate and a ton of trauma, so I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

With nothing to say to that, Riki reaches for Jake’s phone in the center console, “I’m gonna play some music.”

“And how are you planning on unlocking my phone?”

“Uh, password please?”

Jake snorts at his barely polite request but rattles off his password for him. It’s probably a date, but Riki doesn’t think about it too hard. It feels intrusive. The phone connects to the car automatically as the last paired device, so Riki turns to him expectantly, “Any song requests?”

“None,” Jake briefly lifts his fingers from the steering wheel in a noncommittal motion, “You can play whatever you want. I use Spotify more than other services, though.”

“Let me see…” Riki flicks down on the home screen and searches for the Spotify app, scrolling through Jake’s library until he stumbles upon the On Repeat playlist which seems like the best way to learn what Jake is into. He hits play before he even bothers to explore the playlist.

The piano that starts off the song and the humming that harmonizes with it a few seconds in are beautiful, and Riki’s eyes unfocus on the phone screen as he switches his full attention to what he’s hearing. He’s caught off guard when the singer barely manages to get out the first few words, a soft ‘Yelling at the sky,’ before Jake jabs the console screen, skipping it.

He’s about to complain he was told he could play whatever he wanted when he notices Jake’s distraught expression.

“Not that one,” Jake says quietly, “Sorry. Not that one.”

A SZA song is playing now, Snooze, and Riki lets it continue. He checks the playlist though and it’s not on shuffle which must mean the first song is what he just skipped, and, ah. 

Dancing With Your Ghost.

Riki can probably guess what that one is about. He decides to pretend like nothing happened. “You have a lot of The Weeknd, Post Malone, um…Doja Cat, and SZA on here. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Doja Cat listener.”

Jake makes a face like fair enough. “I like R&B and Rap.”

“Hip-hop?”

“Hip-hop too, but I’m definitely more into R&B, Rap, Pop. That’s where my taste falls. But I’ll listen to anything honestly. I’ve recently gotten into One Ok Rock because of my best friend, Jay.”

“Oh, no way?” Riki says excitedly, scrolling down to find a few songs from One Ok Rock on the playlist, “I love them. What’s your favorite song so far?”

“Probably… Living Dolls.”

Riki’s fingers pause. “That’s my favorite song of theirs. My most streamed, too.” In the brief silence that follows he can only think of all the red strings that tie them together, of the theories that they’re proving to be true.

“How do you know it’s your most streamed?” It’s not what he expected Jake to break the lull with, but he blinks and reorients himself. “Is it that,” Jake removes a hand from the wheel to gesture in the air, searching for the name, “Stats FM? That’s the name, right? Jay was trying to make me download it, but I don’t see the point. Why do I want to know how many times I’ve listened to a song or an artist?”

“Hyung…” Riki looks at him with pity after queuing Living Dolls, “You sound so old right now.”

“Alright,” Jake says, annoyed, “Let’s just enjoy the music.”

They make it through three and a half One Ok Rock songs before Jake is parking in the garage of his apartment complex. He leads Riki into the basement lobby, tapping his key for the tenth floor. “You should shower first, I’ll get dinner ready.”

“Do you cook?”

“When I have time,” Jake lifts one shoulder half-heartedly, “It won’t be anything fancy. I have leftovers from dinner with friends last night and I could probably make bokkeumbap if that’s not enough. I have leftover rice.”

The elevator reaches the floor, and the doors open with a small chime. “I’ve been known to fuck up a kimchi bokkeumbap,” Riki informs him, “I’m easy to please, honestly.”

“I can do kimchi bokkeumbap then.” Jake guides him down to the left. There are only two apartments on each floor it looks like. He unlocks the door and ushers Riki in first, fishing out slippers for him to wear.

Jake sizes him up as he directs him into the master bedroom. “I should have clothes that fit you, I’ll leave them on the bed.”

“Oh, am I—Am I showering in your bathroom? Didn’t we pass the guest room?”

“There’s no soap or anything in that bathroom, but you’re free to take a shower there if you want,” Jake splays a hand out towards the doorway with an amused look, “And you’ll probably want to sleep here tonight because I haven’t cleaned that room in ages. Unless you’re fine with the dust.”

Riki shows his palm, “I was just checking.”

Jake smiles, heading to his closet. “Let me get what you need and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

He’s a small whirl storm through the room, shoving a bath towel into Riki’s hands, setting out clothes for him to wear, putting the laundry from his gym bag in the hamper, and finding him a toothbrush set. “You can use anything in the bathroom, skincare included. Put your clothes in the laundry basket after you’re done. There’s a hair dryer under the sink if you need it.”

“Thanks, hyung.” 

Jake nods as if to say, ‘Don’t mention it,’ and tries to move past him in the bathroom doorway, but Riki holds him still by the shoulder, bending slightly to kiss his cheek. Jake is frozen under his lips, but when Riki straightens, he breathes in audibly, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck and squeezing. He sidles past Riki without a word, but his touch lingers until the last second, trailing across his throat and over his shoulder. 

Riki attempts to drown himself in the shower, the water chilly to kill any attempts his body makes at physical arousal. He’s not going to be embarrassed about finding an attractive man attractive, especially when Jake only seems to be amused by it, but this really isn’t the time to act on it in any way.

The clothes fit him for the most part. The hem of the sleep pants falls a little above his ankles, but the shirt is suitably broad, and Riki wonders if these are Jake’s clothes or if they maybe… used to belong to someone else. He’s not sure how he feels about potentially wearing a dead man’s clothes. A dead man that used to be his soulmate’s soulmate.

It’s not a hot topic with the general public, death in relation to marks that is, because it’s an unhappy thought to entertain, but there are two main arguments about this among academics. 

The first is that death is an unfortunate happenstance of life, and your soulmate is unrelated to those tragedies. In another universe, in another timeline, that death never occurred, and your soulmate is still your soulmate. In that theory, even if Jake’s husband never died, Riki would have been born with this exact same ink blot and would have two soulmates to share his heart with.

The second school of thought is that death is written into your marks. Death in your life shapes who you are, and your soulmate is only your soulmate because of the tragedies you’ve faced. So, in another timeline, if Jake’s husband never died, Riki would never have been born with this mark. 

Riki isn’t sure which side he takes in this debate. All he knows is that his relationship with Jake is haunted. He blow dries his hair until it’s mostly dry, then pads out into the living room. It flows into the kitchen, and the smell of food that wafts through makes his stomach growl.

“Oh. I timed it right,” Jake says when he hears him, his back to Riki. “I’m nearly done with the bokkeumbap. The rest of the food is on the table, if you want to get started.”

“I’ll wait.” He hovers by the dining table. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I have a couple of different drinks in the fridge. Take whatever you want and grab me a beer.”

Riki pops the fridge door open. He recoils when he sees the beer brand stashed in the door. “Cass? Really, hyung?”

“No one’s asking you to drink it.”

Riki gives his back a judgmental side-eye, plucking up one can of Cass and a half-full bottle of sikhye, since he hasn’t had the latter in a while.

His suspicions are answered when Jake finishes his cooking and carries the pot over, finally looking up at Riki once he sets it down on a trivet. His smile falters, taking him in properly. He’s still wearing the same work clothes from this morning but his button-up is completely undone and the shirt is not so neatly tucked in. 

Riki reaches out, hooking the chain hidden beneath his undershirt with a finger. Jake holds still as Riki pulls it out.

“I was distracted by your chest when you bent over earlier,” Jake rolls his eyes at his phrasing, “but I thought I saw this. It’s your wedding ring, isn’t it?”

A small nod. Riki steps in closer, lifting the chain up to inspect it. It’s a simple, beautiful design. A band of diamonds runs along the center of the ring, each one gleaming like it was bought yesterday.

“His had the stones along the sides,” Jake tells him quietly, pointing with his nail at the empty space either side of the band of diamonds, “so that they were a matched pair. We matched most of our jewelry,” Jake confesses, glancing down at his hands which he splays open between them, his rings glinting, “and I still wear most of them.”

“But not this one,” Riki lowers the chain and tucks it back under his shirt for him. 

“No,” Jake says with a weak smile, “Not that one. I couldn’t bear being reminded that my husband was gone every time I saw it on my hand.”

Riki doesn’t know what he can reply to that, so he brings Jake’s left hand up and kisses the center of his palm. Jake looks at him with grateful eyes, cupping his cheek after.

“These are his clothes,” Riki states.

Jake nods. His chest hitches with his breath, Riki sees the sharp movement under the thin fabric. “You’re a little taller than him,” Jake whispers, his voice faint like if he says it any louder, he might break, “but your style reminds me of his from when we were your age. It’s not the same, though,” he continues, his fingers touching below Riki’s eyes, “you’re not him. I know that. Trust me.”

“What is his name?” Riki asks. He hadn’t dared to probe before but storing him as a nameless entity in his mind is starting to feel disrespectful.

Jake swallows. Once, twice. His jaw works but nothing comes out. He pulls a ring on his right hand off and passes it to Riki. When he checks, sure enough there’s an inscription on the inside. The engraving is simple. It reads:

Forever, Jaeyun & Sunghoon.

“Sunghoon.” He shapes the name tenderly in his mouth. Jake closes his eyes, so overcome with emotion he rests his forehead on Riki’s sternum. “Sunghoon,” he murmurs once more and a shudder rips through Jake.

Riki smooths a hand over his hair, cradling the back of his head. They stay like that until Jake pulls away. “Let’s eat,” Riki urges. He places Jake’s ring back on his finger for him. He touches the shape of his wedding band through his shirt before stepping away.

When they take their seats across from each other, Jake motions him to eat first, breaking custom. 

“Is that ojingeo bokkeum?” 

Jake slides the container over to him. “Tell me how you like it. I’ll let Jay know.”

Riki thinks for a second. “Your best friend?” Jake nods in appreciation of his memory.

Riki is a pretty big fan of anything with squid, so he finds a sizable piece, vibrantly red so he knows it will be delicious, and chews it thoughtfully. He covers his mouth with the side of his hand and shows Jake a thumbs up.

“So good,” he says, his mouth half-full, “I bet it tastes even better fresh.”

“Jay is a great cook. At one point, I thought he would go to culinary school, but he ended up working alongside his father.”

“Doing what?”

“Travel agency.”

Riki frowns contemplatively. “Is he rich?”

“Very. But that’s good for me because I get to freeload.”

“You’re rich.”

“But I still like to freeload,” Jake says, taking a bite of some agujjim.

Riki shrugs. Good point. Dinner passes in peaceful silence, occasionally broken by murmured words and quiet requests. They eat until the dishes are wiped clean. Riki shovels down the bokkeumbap, perfectly tangy, spicy, and fatty from the bacon Jake added to it. Jake smiles as he watches him, already full.

“I don’t normally eat a lot,” Riki feels the need to confess, “But after dance workshops, my appetite is big.”

“I’m glad you’re eating a lot,” is Jake’s only response as he collects the dishes, “You should eat more, you’re too tall to be dieting. There’s not enough meat on your bones.”

“I don’t diet,” Riki mumbles, helping him carry them over to the sink.

“Eat well. This is the time to eat as much as you want. Once you’re older, even if you want to eat a lot or eat junk, your body will hate you.”

Riki stares at the side of his face in amusement, leaning his hip against the sink counter. “You sound like my mom.”

“Then you should listen because your mom is right.” Jake piles the dishes carefully in the sink after scraping any food into the trash, pulling the faucet head out to pour water over them so the food doesn’t crust onto them. “This is tomorrow’s problem, I’m ready to go to bed.”

Riki glances at the microwave. It’s past ten. “What time do you normally sleep?” He follows Jake to the bedroom, boldly snatching up his hand to hold. Jake shoots him an indulgent smile, allowing it when he laces their fingers together.

“I don’t have a set time really. I just try to sleep before midnight.”

“Does work keep you up?”

“It does. Especially when our projected—” He glances at Riki and visibly rephrases what he was about to say into something he can understand, “Especially when our deadlines are closer.” Jake drops his hand once they’re in and Riki feels a pang at the loss of contact. “I’ll shower quickly, you can…” From the bathroom doorway, he looks out at the room and gestures vaguely, “Do whatever you want. Just don’t break anything.”

“What even is there to break?” Riki looks around properly this time. The bedroom is rather bare, utilitarian. Jake huffs through his nose, closing the door behind him.

Riki fucks around on his phone while he waits, calling Jungwon for a few minutes to assure him that he is perfectly fine sleeping over with his soulmate. His brief ‘staying at Jake’s place’ text was apparently not convincing enough.

Jake reappears and that’s when Riki realizes he hadn’t taken a change of clothes with him. He has a towel wrapped around his waist, showing off the vee of his hips, and water droplets course down his toned chest. Riki flops backward with a groan, covering his face.

“Hyung,” he complains, rolling onto his front, “Why would you do this to me? You’re half-naked.”

“My torso cannot be that distracting.”

“Do you even understand how hot you are?”

Jake speaks with the verbal equivalent of an eye roll in his voice, “Okay, keep it in your pants now.”

“I am,” Riki whines, “but you made fun of me for being easily turned on and now you’re seducing me.”

“Seducing,” Jake repeats incredulously. He hears the ruffle of him slipping into his clothes.

“How do you get pecs like that anyway,” Riki asks, daring to take his hands away from his face. It’s a shame that he already has his pajamas on by then. Jake stops by his dresser, leaving his rings on the fancy jewelry tray. He looks at Riki in confusion through the mirror.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, they look so…” Riki tries to think of the right word, “Full. Firm.”

Jake blinks a few times, dabbing face cream onto his cheeks. “Excuse me?”

“Like you fill out a shirt nicely, you know. Your chest is big.”

Jake stares at him, rubbing the cream in distractedly. “You are aware of how that sounds, right.”

“You know what I mean,” Riki sighs, but his face heats up in embarrassment.

“I don’t know how. I’ve been following the same workout for the last six years.” Jake smears his lips in a shiny balm and spreads lotion over his hands. He takes good care of himself, Riki has noticed.

“You’re pretty disciplined,” he comments.

Jake stills, looking down at the wood top of the dresser. He turns around, crossing the room to the bed to plug his phone into charging on the nightstand. “I never used to be when I was younger.”

Riki hears what he doesn’t say directly. “So, your husband…”

“Very disciplined. It rubbed off on me. He was a child athlete, figure skating. Medaled at the Olympics, but he sustained an injury when he was twenty-three. Switched to coaching instead.”

“He was an Olympian?” Riki’s mouth drops open, eyes wide. He feels like he should have known this. Come to think of it, he has heard about a Sunghoon in the figure skating world and there’s a good chance he’s seen a clip of him skating because his friend, Sunoo, is a big fan of the sport, but he was never personally that interested.

“Silver medalist.” Jake bends, opening the bottom drawer of his night stand. Inside, he pulls out a small magnetic box, snapping the top up to reveal a Sochi 2014 silver medal. 

“Wow, that’s a pretty medal,” Riki says, taken by the detail.

“I know right,” Jake removes it from the box and hands it over to him, “The summer Olympic ones are never as good. Or I’m just biased.”

Riki cradles it carefully, worried that he might damage it by breathing too hard, even if that is an irrational fear.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t remember what the proper term for it is, but do you believe that death shapes your mark?”

He hands the medal back and Jake carefully situates it in the velvet cushioning, closing the lid and storing it back inside the drawer.

“Are you asking if I think Sunghoon was your soulmate too?”

He cuts to the core of it. Riki should have expected that. He nods, holding his breath because this answer will mean something. Jake lingers by the side of the bed, staring at the orchid on his nightstand which Riki finally realizes is made of fairly realistic Legos. Huh, interesting. Eventually, he looks away, “I don’t think it matters.”

Riki cocks his head, somehow surprised by this response. “It doesn’t?”

“Are you not the one who believes that soulmates aren’t a given?”

“Yes, but, you do.”

“He would have loved you,” Jake tells him quietly, something sad and longing in his voice, something mournful, “Soulmates or not, romantic or not, he would have loved you. You would’ve gotten on his nerves, but he would’ve indulged you more than I dare to. You would’ve had more in common with him than you do with me. I think you would’ve really liked him.”

“Probably more than you,” Riki teases lightly and Jake smiles. When he blinks, a small tear trickles out of the inner corner of his eye, and he dabs it away with a knuckle. Riki pretends not to notice, tucking under the blanket and punching the pillow to make the appropriate divot for his head.

He whips the other side of the blanket back and pats the space somewhat sleazily, grinning up at Jake. “Join me,” he says.

Jake looks from the empty spot to him, his expression unimpressed. “Thank you for inviting me into my own bed. That I bought with my own money.”

Riki just pats the bed once more to see him roll his eyes as he climbs in. “Also, just so you know, I’m a hugger.”

“Sure,” Jake says, dubious. Riki is turned towards him, but he stays on his back, glancing at Riki from the corner of his eye.

“I swear I’m telling the truth. You know that giant pillow on my bed? I bought it to have something to hug so I can fall asleep.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes, which makes him look especially exasperated given that he’s horizontal. “I have big pillows you can use, which are in the guest bedroom, but I’m assuming those are magically not going to work even if I offer them.”

“Correct,” Riki says shamelessly, “I prefer to hug people.”

“Whatever,” Jake shuffles onto his side, making himself comfortable. Riki waits for his permission. “Well? Get on with it.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

Jake is shorter than him, he already knew that, but the difference in their size is glaring now that Riki is engulfing him like this. His head rests higher on the pillow and his legs reach farther down the bed. Jake fits the curve of his body like he was shaped for it.

Riki tilts his head up so he’s not breathing directly into Jake’s hair. “Good night,” he whispers.

Jake bends his legs so Riki copies him, fitting his knees into the hollow. There’s a pat on his arm, followed by a soft, “Sleep well.”

He’s worn out from an eventful day, so it feels as though only ten seconds later he’s out like a light.

His husband visits him that night.

The first year after he died, Jake would see him nearly every night. His sleeping habits became atrocious, either sleeping very little to escape the torture or sleeping too much to stay in the false comfort.

The most devastating part of these nights is that sometimes Jake is not aware that he is only dreaming. For a blissful stretch of dream time, his husband is alive and they are together, and when he turns to find his familiar smile, he is not broken anew by the empty space. Everything about the dream is real. He can feel the calluses on his palms, the thick hair between his fingers, the warm glow of joy radiating through his veins. 

The setting is usually mundane, and tonight is no different. He is with his husband in bed. His dimples and fangs are showing as he lounges beneath the duvet, because Jake is rambling, and his husband finds it entertaining. His eyes crinkle sweetly at Jake’s pout. He leans up and kisses Jake silent, but it only lasts for a minute because Jake never backs down from making his point.

As he continues talking, Jake lays down next to him, using the bicep of his outstretched arm as a pillow. His husband rolls onto his side, careful not to dislodge him, setting a hand on his waist and watching him earnestly. He is a devoted listener. Jake is the luckiest man in the world.

“…your sister…”

Minju should replace the flowers.

Huh?

The world ripples at the edges. There is a weight on his back. Then it smooths out, and his husband is waiting for him to go on with an easy smile.

“…we need to…adoption agency…”

It’s time to throw the papers away.

In his peripheral vision, the room crumbles away. The details of his husband’s face smear into a paint streak. Reality barely stitches itself back together.

“…I’m scared that she’ll…”

Scared Jake.

Sorry.

The illusion shatters. He is torn brutally from dream and jolted into memory. 

His husband is naturally pale. A vampire, Jake used to quip; a cold-blooded, heartless creature. Laying there so forlornly, he is deathly pale, cold to the touch, and without heartbeat. What a brilliant punchline. Tear tracks have dried on his handsome face. His wedding ring glints in the sunlight. His expression is frozen in lonely resignation. He will never smile again. 

Jake does not understand how he can feel this much heartbreak and horror without his heart failing. He gasps himself awake, coughing on his tears.

He stumbles blindly out of bed, suffocating in the scene of the crime even if it is not, it cannot be, Jake has not stepped foot in the house he shared with his husband in two years. His vision is too cloudy with tears, and he does not trust himself not to bang into some furniture or the other and wake the other body in his bed. Wait. The other body in his bed?

Riki.

He remembers now. Riki is sleeping in his bed. Jake holds his breath and muffles his crying, straining his ears to hear. There it is. That slight airy sound of an exhale, of someone asleep. There is only one dead body to keep him awake.

He sinks to his knees at the end of his bed, his legs giving out on him, and buries his head in his arms. How can such violence be survivable? How can his heart cause this much agony and still dare to beat? How can he be expected to live on when he will never hear his husband’s beautiful laugh again?

There are no tears for him to shed any longer, only full-bodied shivering, like death’s chill has caught ahold of him and he has half a mind to welcome it. His teeth clack and he falls forward on his palms, trying to ground himself through the shaking. His body rebels against him and his lungs close up—he grows light-headed. When warmth wraps around his waist, he wonders if in his delirium his husband’s specter has come to haunt him in waking, too.

“Hyung, breathe with me.”

Riki presses his chest to his back, large enough to envelop him. He exaggerates his breathing and Jake mindlessly follows, clutching at his forearms. Riki brackets him with his legs, pulling Jake into him. They sit in silence, breathing together in slow, rhythmic patterns. Jake nearly falls asleep in the cradle of his body, only snapping to awareness when Riki shifts behind him with a small groan he fails to hide.

Jake rocks forward, climbing to his feet, then holds a hand out for him to grab.

“I’ll pull you down,” Riki whispers.

Jake shakes his head, insisting, “I’m stronger than I look.”

Riki furrows his eyebrows in doubt but takes the proffered hand. Jake sinks into his heels and pulls him up, and Riki stumbles since he underestimated how much strength Jake could exert.

“Woah.” He catches himself with Jake’s waist, keeping them from colliding.

“Told you.” 

He disappears into the bathroom to blow his nose and wash his face with warm water. Riki is in bed by then, turned towards the center. He fell asleep clinging to Jake’s back, which was the weight he felt in his dream.

“Do you still need to hug something?” Jake asks.

“Of course.” His voice is thick with lethargy, sleep coming to claim him now that the excitement is over.

Jake slides under the covers and tucks them up to his chin, wriggling back until Riki’s arms close around him. Riki pats his stomach and murmurs into his hair, “If you wake up from a bad dream again, don’t leave. Stay here, I’ll hold you.”

The words glide over his sore heart like a balm. The grief begins to feel bearable, shared with another soul. Jake turns towards him halfway and Riki nuzzles tiredly into his neck, his breathing evening out into slow, steady expirations.

He is asleep before Jake can thank him.