A Little Thing Called Happiness (1/2)
Title: A Little Thing Called Happiness
Pairing(s): QMi, KangTeuk, HanChul, side!KryBer
Genre(s): Romance, soul mate AU
Length: ~17k
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which the name of one’s true love is written on a person’s wrist.
Inspiration(s): I got the idea from the TV show My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, believe it or not. When ponies realize their talents, they get something called a Cutie Mark, which is a symbol on a pony’s flank. Those who do not have Cutie Marks are called Blank Flanks. The jumpiness of the narrative is from Love Actually, which just cuts from scene to scene. Beta'ed by jojibear - thank you so much!
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Jungsu and Heechul met in sixth grade and had been best of friends ever since. To this day they still do not know how it happened, but nobody ever asked how they met so it was never brought up.
(They met on a playground. Heechul pushed Jungsu off the swings and Jungsu punched Heechul in the face. They were given detention for a week and bonded during that time over their shared hatred for their homeroom teacher.)
They shared a flat just on the outskirts of the city, and lived comfortably and harmoniously save for the few times Heechul forgot to turn off the shower and flooded the bathroom. They always insisted that they shared their flat completely, and that no matter what anybody said, there were no boundaries between them.
(In reality, the flat was divided across the middle of the living room. The side littered with stray clothing and half-empty hair products belonged to Heechul. The side that looked like it came straight out of the Minimalist section from a Home & Living magazine belonged to Jungsu. It was an unwritten rule that they did not step across the border unless absolutely necessary.)
It was a simple arrangement, and it worked very well between them. On weekdays, they only saw each other in the evenings since they both had day jobs. On Saturdays, they went grocery shopping. On Sundays, they slept in until the late afternoon and woke up to sprawl on the couch and watched reruns of Friends.
(And when they were tired of watching Ross make an idiot of himself, they took out their copy of Mean Girls and complained about how Lindsay Lohan should get her life back together.)
Despite being the closest of friends, they never showed each other their Soul Marks nor mentioned the names carved into their skin. This was common practice: the revealing of one’s Soul Mark was highly discouraged in general as they were highly personal and were meant to be reserved solely for the eyes of one’s own soul mate. Only family members and certain doctors had the rare privilege of seeing them and reading their names.
(Heechul’s Soul Mark, Han Geng, was smoke grey, soft, and comforting. Jungsu’s, Kim Youngwoon, was dark blue and heavy.)
Heechul claimed no interest in his search for this mysterious Han Geng whose name was engraved on his wrist. He adopted the it’ll happen when it happens mentality, and did not care for the romance as much as the others. He dated sparingly whenever his interest piqued, mostly for experience as well as to pass the time.
(Deep down, he was a romantic who daydreamed about Han Geng and blushed at the prospect of true love, but nobody needed to know that.)
Jungsu, on the other hand, was completely devoted to his Soul Mark. Nearly everything he did was in hopes of becoming a better person for Youngwoon. He studied for the highest grades, volunteered at hospitals, learned the piano, and even took several philosophy courses in hopes of sounding more intellectual and worldly.
(“Universal perspective and coherent sense of objective truth will be lost as a result of God’s death,” Jungsu read aloud from his textbook, eyebrows knitted together. “Do you understand any of that, Heechul?”
The redhead scoffed. “Nope. Sounds smart, though.”
“Okay, good.”)
Whenever Kyuhyun had time on his hands, he made lists in his little black notebook. He carried that damn notebook around everywhere he went, as it was small enough to fit in the back pocket of his loose jeans. He made lists about nearly everything: grocery lists, book lists, to-do lists, wish lists, gift idea lists-
Making lists just helped him calm down and made him feel more in control of his life.
When his sister finally phoned home to announce her engagement to the man who bore her Soul Mark, Kyuhyun was forced to listen to his parents gush happily about a big wedding with a catered reception and prattle on about domestic life and grandchildren. It got him thinking about his own future, which was-for lack of a better description-terrifying and vomit-inducing.
Amidst the excitement in the Cho household, Kyuhyun stole away to his room where he took out a pen and flipped his note book open to the next blank page.
Things I Know About Zhou Mi
- left wrist = male
- Soul Mark present before birth = born before February 3rd, 1988
- Chinese characters = either is Chinese or his first language is Chinese
- yellow writing = happy? easy-going? cheerful?
- short kanji strokes = thinks quickly? nervous?
- smooth kanji strokes = confident? self-assured? honest?
He placed his pen on his desk and looked at his list, heart sinking at the realization that it was much too short. How in the world was he ever going to find this guy?
He flipped to the next page.
Ways To Find Zhou Mi
- Google
- harass the phone book
- book a plane to China
- Craigslist: Random Encounters
- friend every Zhou Mi on Facebook
- yell his name out the window and hope he hears
- ask around
- become famous and wait until he finds you
- wait
Kyuhyun thought for a moment and circled his best options: Google and wait. He then opened his laptop, logged on, and proceeded to read everything that Google had to say about Zhou Mi until he felt his eyes shrivel up.
Youngwoon was born with a Soul Mark. Park Jungsu, it read in gentle feather-white hangul, engraved onto the skin of his wrist like an inerasable tattoo. People say that those born with their Soul Marks were lucky, that they did not have to worry about being blank-wristed, that their birth had made somebody out there cry out with joy.
Youngwoon never felt lucky to have his Soul Mark, not when it was written on the inside of his left wrist-a male soul mate. He remembered hardly-concealed whispers behind his back, little pieces of faggot and poofter and bad genes that floated around. He remembered having his mother wash him in the bathtub, feeling her scrub extra hard at his left wrist as if she could somehow scrub off that name and have a new one appear on his right wrist. He remembered his father’s cold gaze, the way his eyes would bleed disappointment each time he caught a glimpse of his son’s Soul Mark.
("It's on the wrong wrist," he would hear his father grumble. "That must be it. It's on the wrong wrist.")
The boy never wore anything that was not long-sleeved, not even when the temperature rose to scalding degrees. Youngwoon developed the habit of pulling his sleeves past his wrist, over his hands, as if it could help him pretend that his Soul Mark was not there-that it was not real. It made him feel horrible, and yet it made him feel safer.
Dinner time was always tense in the family despite his mother’s efforts at talking about the latest news and fashion products to lighten the mood. Youngwoon sometimes indulged her, pretending to be interested in how the economy was doing or how red wine could give the skin a better shine or how those poor starving kids in Africa made her grateful for everything she had. His father never uttered a word, never once did he utter a single word, not even when asked a direct question.
Youngwoon endured it and kept his expressionless face, hands curling into fists.
Seventeen was a rebellious age: graphic t-shirts, loud heavy metal music, and bad grades galore. Youngwoon was getting tired of how his mother politely avoided the topic of his Soul Mark and how his father always glanced at his right wrist with frustration. He was sick of going into the shower and seeing his dishonor written on his skin. Youngwoon was seventeen when he arrived at the dinner table wearing a t-shirt. It was the first time since his toddlerhood that he wore something short-sleeved in the house.
His mother cried. His father slapped him straight across the face.
Dear Kim Heechul,
My best friend told me that one of the quickest ways to combat loneliness is to write a letter to my soul mate that I haven’t met yet. So hello Heechul, my name is Han Geng, but you probably know that from your Soul Mark already. I wonder what your Mark looks like. Mine is bright red, like a third-degree burn branded on my wrist. I think it is beautiful.
I grew up in Heilongjiang in Northeast China. Both my parents were teachers. I live in Beijing now, though. I moved here when I was sixteen after my father died in a car accident and my mother died from breast cancer. It’s tough living alone, but Zhou Mi (the aforementioned best friend) comes to visit a lot. He’s a happy fellow, you would like him (and I’m only saying this because, essentially, everybody likes him).
Zhou Mi has a Korean name on his wrist, too. We actually met in this Korean language seminar in university, where almost everybody in the class claimed to have a Korean name on their wrist. Zhou Mi is the idealistic type. He is all but ready to jump on a plane to Korea and fall into the arms of the man he’s destined to be with. The only reason why he isn’t in Korea right now is because he doesn’t want to leave me alone. I should feel guilty, shouldn’t I?
The truth is, I really want to meet you, Heechul. I’m tired of coming home to an empty apartment that is exactly as I left it. The only thing keeping me going right now is your name on my wrist. Every morning I wake up, and the reason why I get out of bed is the promise that someday I’ll meet you. I was born with my Mark, so I honestly have no idea how old you are. You could be eighty years old for all I know. I’m twenty-three now. Hell, now that I think about it, I hardly know anything about you. I only know that you’re older than me, you’re male, and you’re Korean. From the hangul, I’m assuming that you’re a fiery person, but that’s just a guess.
I hope that you like me, if when we meet. I have no doubt in my mind that I will like you.
Yours truly,
Han Geng
Kyuhyun was sitting on the bus on the way to the university when he realized something: he could meet Zhou Mi any minute now. Statistics showed that the average male met their soul mates before they turned thirty (god, he loved statistical data!). He was twenty-two-he had less than eight years to prep for it.
He shifted in his seat, muttering an apology to the old lady beside him, and fished out his notebook from his pocket and flipped it open.
Things I Should Do Before Meeting Zhou Mi
- get a haircut
- go to the gym and work on abs and get abs
- read the whole bibliography of Charles Dickens
- pay off student loans
- buy better-fitting clothes
- increase self-esteem (i.e. go to the gym)
- burn my copy of Legally Blonde (but only after mastering the Bend & Snap)
- burn all baby pictures and that ugly high school graduation photo
- retake driver’s license photo until it doesn’t look like the mug shot of a serial killer
- learn to parallel park
- burn all Spice Girls CDs
- buy all the studio albums of AC/DC
- buy a pair of shades to look cool
- move out of my parents’ house
Kyuhyun paused as the terrifying truth dawned upon him: oh good Lord, he hadn’t moved out of his parents’ house yet. He had planned on applying for a dorm room when he went to college, but he had last priority after all the international students and dorm rooms were so overpriced that even the T.A. position Kyuhyun held for a lower-level Mathematics course could barely pay for it.
The graduate student grit his teeth and circled move out of my parents’ house, also underlining it twice for good measure. He was determined to make a good impression on his soul mate, and living with one’s parents definitely did not do the trick after the age of twenty.
He had to get his game together, dammit.
As far as Youngwoon was concerned, Park Jungsu was dead. He hated the man, he hated how his left wrist was cursed to bear his name. He wanted nothing more than to pretend his soul mate was not real in hopes that one day, his Soul Mark would disappear.
Every day, he wore a thick golden watch that covered his left wrist that he only took off in the shower, and he told people that he had been seventeen when his Soul Mark-on his right wrist, thank you very much-disappeared. There were always looks of sympathy thrown his way, and whenever he was in a bad mood people left him alone or gave him a reassuring pat on the back.
Blank-wristed girls willing to date him were hard to come by, but Youngwoon had become very adept at finding them. Usually they were born blank-wristed and were not meant to have a soul mate in their lifetime.
The relationships with them never lasted more than three months at a time.
His previously blank-wristed ex-girlfriend woke up one morning to find a name on her skin, and she broke the news over dinner at a five-star restaurant and cleanly ended their relationship in the best sympathetic voice she could muster. She didn’t fool Youngwoon, though. He saw the happy glow of her skin and how her eyes fondly trailed down to her right wrist (a woman, then) every once in a while.
He pursed his lips and coldly wished her well, and they finished the rest of their meal in silence before heading their separate ways.
However, their breakup could not have occurred at a worse time. Youngwoon’s mother’s birthday was coming up, which meant he was obligated to visit and have dinner with them. His parents loved nothing more than to see a pretty girl on his arm whenever he went to visit them, and they never bothered to hide the sore disappointment on their faces whenever he showed up alone.
Youngwoon sighed, and entered the nearest flower shop he came by. The florist looked up and gave him a sweet dimpled smile. “Hello, do you need any help finding something?”
“A birthday present for my mother,” Youngwoon replied, involuntarily smiling back. “And before you ask, no, I have no idea what my mother’s favorite flower is.”
The man laughed good-naturedly and stared sifting through the assorted bouquets and pots and vases. “Well, there are a bunch of choices. Roses never go wrong, for instance. Begonias are very popular around here if your mother is an avid gardener. Hydrangeas are a personal favorite, but they are often used as wedding bouquets; I really love the little snowball shape they make. Or, if you do not have a certain flower type in mind, we have our assorted bouquets.”
Youngwoon quietly chuckled at the florist’s enthusiasm. “I’ll take the Begonias.”
“Lovely choice! These flowers look good pretty much anywhere. Would you like them gift-wrapped?”
“Yes, that’d be great.”
Another dimpled smile flashed across his face as he reached for the wrapping paper. “Will that be all?”
“Yes. Thank you for your help, sir.”
“Please,” the florist giggled in his high voice, soft brown eyes crinkling in amusement, “My name is Park Jungsu, but call me Jungsu. ‘Sir’ makes me feel like an old man.”
Time stopped, and Youngwoon felt his palms start to sweat. He mustered a polite smile and nodded curtly. “Alright, then. Thank you, Jungsu.” And after he paid for his purchase, he strode out of the flower shop as fast as he could without seeming suspicious.
Youngwoon arrived at his parents’ place in a daze. He barely registered kissing his mother on the cheek and presenting her with the fresh bouquet, and he paid no heed to his father’s frown when he explained that his girlfriend broke the relationship off. Dinner was tense, as per usual, but Youngwoon’s mind was elsewhere, thinking back to that florist with the sweet smile and soft eyes and high tenor voice.
Park Jungsu, Park Jungsu, Park Jungsu.
Heechul wiped the counter of the cafe with an old dishcloth that had definitely seen some better days, cursing softly under his breath as he bumped his elbow against a pack of straws and spilled behind the counter. There weren’t that many customers after the morning rush hours, though, so he placed the straws back on the counter and hoped to god that there was no health inspector around to fire him from every other job in the food industry.
At exactly two o’clock, a very scrawny young man walked in, the doorframe squeaking softly as he entered and unwrapped the shawl from his neck. He immediately pulled a chair and sat himself in front of the counter, burying his face into the crease of his elbow in mock melodrama. “Heechul,” he whined, voice slightly muffled into his sleeve, “The world is a big ball of toxic gas.”
“Hello to you, too, Kyuhyun,” Heechul greeted in mock cheerfulness. “Failing your math students again?”
“None of them are getting above a 70% so far,” Kyuhyun grumbled, pulling at his messy curls in frustration. “Honestly, how hard could Taylor polynomials be?”
Heechul rolled his eyes and started making a soy latte, Kyuhyun’s usual order. “So, I’m assuming that you’re having a bad day and need to vent. Why don’t you make a damn list? You love making lists.”
“I’ve made four so far,” the graduate student muttered. “All of them lead to the same problem.”
“Which is?”
“I have no way of knowing who my soul mate is.”
“Oh, so you’re concerned about your Soul Mark, I see.” Heechul handed his friend his order. Soy lattes were a favorite of Kyuhyun’s, second only to chai lattes and big fat oily cheeseburgers. “What about it?”
“My sister is getting married,” Kyuhyun explained sadly. “She found her soul mate in the middle of Australia while on exchange, and he proposed the minute they compared Marks. For god’s sake, they just met. Shouldn’t they at least get to know each other before making such a huge decision?”
Heechul snickered. “They’re romantics. Besides, who’s to argue with the hand of Destiny? If you’re soul mates, you’re soul mates. If you can’t make it work with your soul mate, you can’t make it work with anyone.”
“Well, that’s depressing, how you only get one chance.”
“Take it or leave it, princess. But there have been cases of people having more than one soul mate in one lifetime.”
Kyuhyun groaned. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if I meet the man of my dreams and he just walks away in the other direction? What if he’s disappointed?”
“And pray tell, why would he be disappointed?”
“Because I’m boring!” he cried, his sudden outburst attracting the attention of some of the nearby coffee-drinking customers. “I am doing my graduate degree on cell biology, I still live with my parents, I grade math exams for money, my favorite thing to do on the Internet is to look up statistical graphs, and I make lists in my spare time. I’ve even tried to make a list of Things That Are Interesting About Me and I came up with absolutely nothing.”
Heechul did not even bother to hide his snicker as he checked the cash register.
“It’s not funny!” Kyuhyun scowled at his soy latte like it was the most offensive thing he had ever seen. “There was a recent study I read the other day. About 10% of the whole population claimed to have been rejected by their soul mates at first sight. 7% were homeless and 2% were physically or mentally disabled.”
“And the remaining 1%?”
“It was listed as Other. But Other includes boring people, I’m almost certain of it.”
Heechul snickered some more. “Well, if you’re so worried about being boring, you should do something about it. Maybe backpack through Europe, or go scuba diving with the whales. Or take up pole dancing.”
“Shut up, Heechul.”
Kyuhyun left at precisely three o’clock. The boy always did things right on the dot. Heechul would not have been surprised if he found out that Kyuhyun was half-human half-Swiss watch. Chuckling, the coffee shop attendant took the next customer’s order and affectionately snuck a glance at his own wrist. He could not fathom rejecting his soul mate, the man who he knew was meant for him.
My dear Heechul,
Working for an insurance company is a taxing job, pun intended. It’s an awful lot of paperwork, and more often than not you get angry phone calls that could test the patience of a saint. I am definitely not a saint, so sometimes I just cover the microphone with my hand, sing three nursery rhymes in my head, and uncover my hand just in time to say my sincerest apologies, sir/madam, we shall do our best to ameliorate your experiences in the future in hopes that it will calm the caller down. (Granted, this approach hardly ever works but I digress).
I sincerely hope that you have a more interesting occupation. I would not subject my worst enemy to the eyesore that is insurance paperwork. I wonder what you do for a living. You’re a passionate person, from what I can guess. Perhaps you are an artist of some sort? I myself am very fond of the arts, especially music and dance. I studied dance back when I was still in school and was almost serious about becoming a world-class dancer. But then work and medical bills came along and eventually dancing became more of a hobby than anything. I do not regret choosing financial stability over my dream, though I do regret never giving my dream a chance. Not to sound arrogant, but I was a pretty adept dancer even considering my special circumstances. I think, given the right chance, I could have made my dream come true.
I think I should stop here for now. My hand is sore from writing and I still have three stacks of papers to sign and look over.
Much love,
Han Geng
Youngwoon knew exactly what he should have done. He should have pretended that it never happened, and (unless it was completely necessary, which it wasn't) he should have never again gone within a five-mile radius of that flower shop. Better yet, he should have packed his things and moved to the other side of the world.
But he found that no matter how many times he tried convincing himself that it was for the best, he just could not do it. Therefore, against all of his better judgment, Youngwoon returned to the flower shop within two weeks of his first visit. Jungsu was still there, all smiley and friendly and perfect.
“Hello!” he greeted as Youngwoon came through the door. “Do you need any help looking for something?”
Youngwoon licked his dry lips in nervousness. “I came here about two weeks ago to buy my mother flowers.”
“Oh, right, you decided on Begonias!” Jungsu brightened when he remembered. “You bought them for her birthday, correct?”
“Yes,” Youngwoon replied, strangely touched that the florist remembered him at all. “I just wanted to let you know that she loved them. So thank you for helping me pick them out.”
A strange expression appeared on Jungsu’s face and a faint blush spread across his dimpled cheeks. “Wow,” he breathed out. “Thanks for telling me that. I’m glad to have been helpful. I mean, I’m really touched. It’s not every day you get a customer who comes back and thanks you like that.”
Youngwoon ran his hand through his hair in pleased embarrassment. “Then they’re missing out,” he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “You seem like a great guy.”
Jungsu blinked owlishly and then held out his hand. “I’m Jungsu. Park Jungsu. I don’t think I got your name last time.”
“It’s Kangin,” Youngwoon replied after a moment’s thought.
They shook hands, and for the first time in Youngwoon’s life he believed in a little thing called happiness.
Zhou Mi made it his personal mission to fund his trip to Korea all by himself. He declined all help from his family and accepted nothing from his friends-he was going to do this all on his own if it half-killed him. He owed it to his soul mate, after all.
This was probably why he endured the long work hours and minimum wage and the uncomfortable pseudo-tuxedo uniforms and the snotty customers that treated him less like a waiter and more like a servant.
The restaurant he worked out was posh and upper-class, but sometimes Zhou Mi found it hard to believe it when all of the people who visited were either loud googly-eyed tourists, or rude obnoxious bastards who inherited their parents’ money. Zhou Mi would have thought that those with money and power would have the common sense to treat people with some variant of respect.
(“Hello, welcome to Sapphire Blue, my name is Zhou Mi and I will be your waiter today,” Zhou Mi recited the restaurant mantra while pasting on his best fake smile. “Shall I start you off with some drinks and appetizers?”
“Get me some red wine,” the customer ordered gruffly without even acknowledging Zhou Mi’s presence. “Two glasses for now. Have another one ready when I finish.”
“Right away, sir.” A simple please would have been nice. It took all of his willpower not to spit in their glasses.)
Granted, not all rich kids were assholes. One regular customer was this lovely girl named Krystal, who always remembered her pleases and thank yous no matter where she went. She met her soul mate Amber in Sapphire Blue when Amber was still slaving as a waitress, and since their destined meeting they visited every other week for their date nights.
“Zhou Mi!” Krystal greeted brightly when the waiter was in earshot.
“How are you ladies today?” Zhou Mi winked playfully at the two girls who were definitely playing footsie under the table.
“We’re ecstatic,” Amber stated, her smile lightening up her whole face. “It’s our six-month anniversary.”
Zhou Mi let out a very unmanly squeal and clapped his hands together. “This is a cause for celebration!” he cried. “A bottle of champagne for the happy couple! On the house!”
Krystal shot an unimpressed look at the Chinese man. “And by on the house you mean out of your paycheck. Sorry, Zhou Mi, as kind as your intentions are, you need to get your butt to Korea and find your soul mate. I will not have you paying for my champagne when you have a greater purpose in mind.”
Zhou Mi sighed heavily, turning to a very amused Amber. “Is she always like this?”
“She still insists on paying for everything,” Amber shrugged, earning a playful slap from her soul mate. “I’ve learned to just go with it.”
The waiter left to get their order, and when he strode into the kitchen, he snuck a glance at the happy couple and felt his heart clench.
Krystal was chatting excitedly in her chair, making hand gestures wherever applicable with her ponytail swishing around. Amber was relaxed, leaning back in her seat, probably only half-listening as she just stared with so much love and attention that it was almost tangible.
Zhou Mi sighed and grabbed the nearest champagne bottle. He would have done anything to have somebody look at him like that. He took a quick peak at his Soul Mark-Cho Kyuhyun, it read in brown angular Korean-and got back to work, spirits lifted.
My dear Heechul,
Ever since I was younger, I have believed that I was meant to be alone. It was in my nature. Everywhere I went, people avoided me. When I was a child, the other children were scared of me. My mom told me that it was because I was special, but I knew it was because I was different-and not in the good way.
I am ugly, Heechul. I have been ugly my whole life. There was something wrong with me even before I was born. In school, I always got sneers behind my back or frightened whispers. The worst were the sympathetic ones who were always extra nice and extra careful around me. They always reassured me that I was perfect the way I was and that my soul mate was glad to have me. What they didn’t realize was that I knew their reassurances were false. Ugly as I am, I’m not stupid.
Of course, that was until Zhou Mi came into the picture. He was always open-honestly, he wears his feelings on his sleeve most days-and while he definitely was sympathetic at first, he learned to realize that I was just another human being. I am blessed to have a friend like him.
The only thing that kept me alive was the fact that you were out there somewhere, waiting for me, maybe even looking for me. That’s what most people do, right? Look for their soul mates? I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t looking for me, though. I would be disappointed, that’s for sure, but I wouldn’t blame you. It’s selfish to ask that of you. I am already content with the knowledge that I have a name on my wrist. To ask for more would be borderline sinful.
I can’t help but feel pity for those who never have a name on their wrist. Usually a blank wrist is indicative of a psychopath or sociopath, but on rare occasions that is not the case: what about that beautiful person who faces the world every morning with the knowledge that there is nobody out there waiting? I wonder how they manage to deal with the stark cruel fact that out of the eight billion people in the world, not one of them is their soul mate.
I wonder how soul mates are chosen. Before she died, my mother told me that soul mates aren’t chosen-they just are. I had never understood that. Who assigns our soul mates? Some higher being up above who somehow knows all? Forgive my cynicism, but I hardly find that possible. People grow and develop as life progresses-we ourselves change as we grow older. I am not the same person that I was five years ago, I assure you. But what if I had met you five years ago? Would that mean that we met before we were supposed to? Or is there some Holy Grail algorithm that would make it possible?
God, I hope so. I hope that we meet and I hope that it’s the right time and right place under the right circumstances. I am more than ready to settle down, but I am also willing to wait if you aren’t. I would do anything for your happiness, because you have been everything to me since I was sixteen. If your name disappeared from my wrist right this instance, I would literally have nothing else to live for. It’s a scary thought.
With all my love,
Han Geng
Heechul was about to die of boredom, and it was all Jungsu’s fault. One day, his roommate was reading philosophy notes and self-improvement books, and the next day, it was all prattle about Kangin this and Kangin that. Honestly, could he talk about something else?
“Honestly, could you talk about something else?” Heechul echoed his brain, finally reaching breaking point. “Go back and read Nietzsche or something.”
Jungsu was undeterred. “You know who doesn’t like Nietzsche? Kangin. Apparently he had to take this political philosophy course back in university and his teacher failed everybody.” The memory startled a giggle out of him.
Heechul groaned. “You’ve been talking about that guy all week. What’s so special about him?”
“There’s nothing special!” Jungsu denied airily. “I just happen to really relate to him. We have the same taste in music and movies, and just yesterday we spent three hours talking about our shared frustration with Jar Jar Binks.”
“Mother of god.”
“Kangin is wonderful, I don’t think I have ever connected so well with another person before. To top it all off, he is also handsome. His soul mate is lucky to have him.”
“You like him.”
“No!” the blond cried a little bit too forcefully. A faint blush colored his cheeks from the outburst. “Well, of course I like him, and of course I think he is very attractive, but we’re only friends and there can never be anything between us because-you know.”
Heechul rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t change the fact that you want something to happen between you.”
“We’re just friends.”
“And yet here you are, gushing over him like a little schoolboy.”
Jungsu turned beet red and started twiddling his thumbs. “It’s just that-he’s so perfect. He’s kind to me, he laughs at all my bad jokes, he helps me lift the heavier plants whenever he visits the shop, he always tells me that I work too hard-”
“You do.”
“-he listens to me whenever I am talking even if I know that I sound boring, he didn’t laugh at me when I told him about how I read philosophy books in order to impress my soul mate-”
“Jungsu, I get it!” Heechul interjected quickly. His roommate could have gone an hour listing all the great things about this Kangin guy. “Kangin is great, he’s awesome, he’s amazing, I get it. Why don’t you ask him out or something?”
Jungsu’s expression saddened. “He’s not my soul mate.”
“Doesn’t mean that you can’t date just for the experience.”
“I don’t do casual relationships.”
“How do you know? You’ve never done a relationship, period.”
Jungsu huffed. “Unlike you, Heechul, I’m actually serious about my soul mate! Your poor soul mate must have a heart of steel if he is okay with the fact that you haven’t been thinking about him all these years! How in the world do you even live with yourself?” Fuming, Jungsu stalked into his room and slammed the door shut.
Heechul blinked and opened up his laptop. Han Geng, it read in the Google search bar.
(Jungsu apologized three hours later. Heechul pretended not to hear him.)
Kyuhyun took a look around the room with his untrained near-sighted eyes and bit his lip in apprehension. So far, all of the flats he checked out looked pretty much the same. Drowning out the voice of his realtor who only talked about all the financial benefits and taxes and sales and rent prices, he pulled out his notebook and glanced at his latest list.
Attributes Of A Good Flat
- big enough not to feel claustrophobic
- small enough not to feel agoraphobic
- clean
- no cockroaches
- no bedbugs
- no fleas
- no unwanted bugs in general
- has windows
- has curtains
- has air conditioning
- has heating
- carpet preferable because hard wood floors are cold in the mornings
- thick enough walls to drown out anything the neighbors do at night
- has a kitchen fridge and microwave
- closet preferable but wardrobe is satisfactory
- big enough to fit an upright piano
- cheap enough on a student paycheck
Kyuhyun grimaced at the last one. Nothing was cheap enough on a student paycheck unless he found a flat mate. He looked around one last time and blew his bangs out of his eyes, deciding to hell with it, I’ll take it. “To hell with it, I’ll take it,” he echoed his brain and interrupted his realtor’s endless prattle.
“Excellent choice, Mr. Cho!” Immediately a stack of papers was thrust into Kyuhyun’s skinny arms. “Sign here and here and here-”
Kyuhyun sighed and took out his pen. He was going to have to find a flat mate, and fast.
Youngwoon hated it.
He hated how everywhere he looked, it reminded him of Jungsu-sweet, kind Jungsu who made him laugh and could brighten his whole day with a mere glance. He hated how no matter how hard he tried not to, he always found himself visiting that damned flower shop every day on his way to work. He hated how he actually woke up an hour early in hopes that he could spend more time with the florist.
It was not supposed to happen that way. Youngwoon had spent his whole life blaming all of his qualms on his blasted soul mate, but now that he finally met Jungsu in person, he had a hard time remembering why.
In his youth, Youngwoon had imagined Jungsu as being the Devil incarnate, with an ugly troll face and devil horns and a sinister laugh. That was how his father had explained it to him, anyhow. Queers are the product of the Devil, Old Man Kim had said, voice dangerously low with warning. It was like a mantra to young Younwoon, and eventually it became a way of living. His soul mate was queer, but he himself wasn’t. That meant that his soul mate was the one at fault. It all made sense.
But then they met, and Youngwoon was horrified to find that Jungsu was absolutely wonderful. Youngwoon had a hard time believing that he had long thought the florist was the Devil’s creation.
What did that mean? What did that mean?!
After fighting with himself for a good five minutes, Youngwoon finally got out of his car and entered the flower shop, as had become routine approximately three weeks ago. The florist looked up from a flock of petunias and grinned. “Hey Kangin!”
A warm feeling churned in Youngwoon’s chest, but he forced it down. “Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” Jungsu asked, immediately sensing the coldness in his demeanor. “You okay?”
“I’m alright,” Youngwoon lied, wincing when he felt the sharp defensive edge in his voice.
Jungsu put down his work and sidled up to his friend. “No, you’re not. Talk to me.”
“No, it’s alright. I don’t want to burden you.”
“Hey, you’re a dear friend of mine now. I care about you.” Jungsu had averted his eyes, but his statement was clearly sincere.
Youngwoon stared at the florist in muted awe. Just when he thought the guy could not get any more perfect, he had to drop a bomb like that. He sighed in defeat. “Jungsu, do you ever think about what you would do if you ever met your soul mate?”
A fond look crossed Jungsu’s face and Youngwoon tried hard not to think about how beautiful the man looked with flushed cheeks. “All the time,” the florist confessed shyly. “Pretty much everything I do, I do with my soul mate in mind. Psychology books, for instance. Hate them like the plague, but I still read them because they might come in handy for our first conversation together.”
Youngwoon chuckled, thinking about the irony of it all.
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t want to meet my soul mate.”
Jungsu almost recoiled, but steadied himself at the last minute. “Why not?” he asked in a soft neutral voice, but Youngwoon heard a slight waver in his voice that was not there before.
“If I meet my soul mate, I’m terrified that I’ll change, and that everything that I’ve ever known would change.” Youngwoon ran his hand through his cropped black hair. “It’s just that, I had always thought that I would go through my whole life and never meet my soul mate, and that everything would be fine. My parents hated that my Soul Mark was on my left wrist and not on my right one like the normal boys. My father used to tell me that my soul mate would only drag me down, and that my life would be utter hell if I ever met him.”
“He’s wrong, Kangin.” Jungsu’s voice was soft, sympathetic, careful. “Surely you know that now.”
Youngwoon nodded. “I used to blame everything that went wrong on my soul mate because of that. The fights my parents had with each other, the broken dishes crashing against my bedroom wall, the teasing I got at school, everything. I hated my soul mate, Jungsu. It sounds terrible, I know, but I did. I hated everything about him. I used to shower and scrub at my wrist so hard until skin peeled off, just hoping that somehow my Soul Mark would go away.”
Jungsu shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.
“I regret it now,” Youngwoon continued, voice broken and cracked. “I know now that my soul mate is probably the most perfect human being on the face of the planet and that he could do no wrong to me. But then that just made me realize that I had nobody else to blame for my shitty childhood but myself, because if it wasn’t my soul mate’s fault that my parents were unhappy, then whose fault was it?”
“It was nobody’s fault, Kangin,” the blond soothed with a sad, almost angelic voice. “I’m so sorry that you had to go through that, but you weren’t the reason why your parents fought all the time. I know you; you wouldn’t have made them fight on purpose.”
Youngwoon choked out a laugh. “I resented my soul mate for as long as I remember.”
“No, Kangin!” Jungsu asserted, grabbing the man’s hand in his own. “You’re a great person, one of the greatest people I have ever met. You were the first and only person to take the time to acknowledge me and my flower shop. You listen to me prattle on about Aristotle even though you hate philosophy. You never make fun of my obsession with different sorts of flowers.” Jungsu bit his lip and locked their gazes. “Kangin, I think you’re absolutely amazing. And I think that despite your past, your soul mate is lucky to have you.”
Before he had a chance to think better of it, Youngwoon found himself with an armful of Jungsu, kissing him breathless.
Heechul knew that it was unprofessional to check his email while on the job, but he ran his own coffee shop and he did what he wanted, dammit. So when an email from a very old friend of his sat in his inbox, he did not hesitate to read it.
Subject: Hello from Beijing!
From: Zhou Mi
To: Kim Heechul
Hey Heechul!
It’s been a while! How are you doing? Still running that coffee shop? I hope that the customers are treating you well! ;)
Exciting news! I’m planning on visiting Korea again soon! In fact, I’m seriously thinking of moving there permanently! We should meet up and have dinner and do some shopping if you have time! I’m dying to see how much has changed since my last trip there! I still have that collared shirt you bought for me on our last shopping spree :)
Email me back as soon as you can! I’ve missed you! :D
Zhou Mi
Heechul snorted. Zhou Mi had always been this smiley person-even his emails were littered with smiley faces and happy emoticons. He immediately pressed the reply button.
Subject: RE: Hello from Beijing!
From: Kim Heechul
To: Zhou Mi
Seasoning!
It really has been too long! You’re always welcome at my place, but if you’re moving to Korea permanently, you need to find a flat of your own because I refuse to share my closet with you. I assume you’ll be bringing at least sixteen suitcases? We’ll work it out later, though. Just tell me when you’re planning on coming by and I’ll pick you up at the airport.
Heechul
The minute he pressed the send button, the shop door flung open and Kyuhyun entered, a stricken expression on his face. Well, speak of the devil, Heechul thought to himself amusedly as he turned on the machines and started making a soy latte.
“Heechul, I’m doomed,” Kyuhyun deadpanned, practically falling into his usual spot in front of the counter.
“What happened this time, my young friend?”
“I sold my soul to the devil.”
“Who’s the devil?”
“My realtor.”
Heechul snickered. “Can’t help you there, buddy. What happened? Did he talk you into buying a Playboy mansion or something?”
“Something like that,” Kyuhyun admitted. “I think I bought a flat that would run me bankrupt within two months. Seriously, I grade math tests-how much money do you think I make? I’m so doomed!”
“Didn’t you make a list of what not to do when looking for flats?”
Kyuhyun grumbled. “No.”
Heechul laughed. “Well, luckily for you, I think I have what you need.”
“And what’s that?”
“A flat mate.”
“Seriously?”
“Yah. A friend of mine from China is looking for a place to stay in Korea. You up for it?”
Kyuhyun scoffed. “At this point, I would be willing to cohabit with a serial killer if he paid half the rent and took off all this debt I’m in.”
“Then it’s settled,” Heechul grinned, passing his regular customer an extra-large soy latte with a flair that only he could pull off. “I’ll let him know that you’re interested.”
Subject: RE: Hello from Beijing!
From: Kim Heechul
Sent: 9:45 P.M.
To: Zhou Mi
Hey Seasoning, I have good news for you. A friend of mine needs a flat mate. His name’s Kyuhyun, and from what I know of him, he’s easy enough to live with. When are you planning on getting here? I’ll bring him along to dinner so you guys can meet each other.
Five minutes after Heechul pressed SEND, Zhou Mi had already replied.
Subject: RE: Hello from Beijing!
From: Zhou Mi
Sent: 9:51 P.M.
To: Kim Heechul
Kyuhyun? Cho Kyuhyun?
Heechul frowned. Huh, no smiley face on this email.
Subject: RE: Hello from Beijing!
From: Kim Heechul
Sent: 9:53 P.M.
To: Zhou Mi
Yah, that’s right. Do you know him already?
There was no reply, so Heechul started getting ready for bed and was fast asleep within the next half hour. Four hours later, at around three in the morning, Heechul’s cellphone started to ring. Heechul groaned and felt for his phone. Ignoring Jungsu’s orders from the other room to turn that damn thing off, I’m trying to sleep!, Heechul entered his passcode to take the call. “Hello?” he answered groggily.
Heechul, it’s me, Zhou Mi! I’m so sorry that it’s so late, but I couldn’t wait another minute! I’m at the airport right now! Can you pick me up? Please?
Continue to Part 2
Pairing(s): QMi, KangTeuk, HanChul, side!KryBer
Genre(s): Romance, soul mate AU
Length: ~17k
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which the name of one’s true love is written on a person’s wrist.
Inspiration(s): I got the idea from the TV show My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, believe it or not. When ponies realize their talents, they get something called a Cutie Mark, which is a symbol on a pony’s flank. Those who do not have Cutie Marks are called Blank Flanks. The jumpiness of the narrative is from Love Actually, which just cuts from scene to scene. Beta'ed by jojibear - thank you so much!
```
Jungsu and Heechul met in sixth grade and had been best of friends ever since. To this day they still do not know how it happened, but nobody ever asked how they met so it was never brought up.
(They met on a playground. Heechul pushed Jungsu off the swings and Jungsu punched Heechul in the face. They were given detention for a week and bonded during that time over their shared hatred for their homeroom teacher.)
They shared a flat just on the outskirts of the city, and lived comfortably and harmoniously save for the few times Heechul forgot to turn off the shower and flooded the bathroom. They always insisted that they shared their flat completely, and that no matter what anybody said, there were no boundaries between them.
(In reality, the flat was divided across the middle of the living room. The side littered with stray clothing and half-empty hair products belonged to Heechul. The side that looked like it came straight out of the Minimalist section from a Home & Living magazine belonged to Jungsu. It was an unwritten rule that they did not step across the border unless absolutely necessary.)
It was a simple arrangement, and it worked very well between them. On weekdays, they only saw each other in the evenings since they both had day jobs. On Saturdays, they went grocery shopping. On Sundays, they slept in until the late afternoon and woke up to sprawl on the couch and watched reruns of Friends.
(And when they were tired of watching Ross make an idiot of himself, they took out their copy of Mean Girls and complained about how Lindsay Lohan should get her life back together.)
Despite being the closest of friends, they never showed each other their Soul Marks nor mentioned the names carved into their skin. This was common practice: the revealing of one’s Soul Mark was highly discouraged in general as they were highly personal and were meant to be reserved solely for the eyes of one’s own soul mate. Only family members and certain doctors had the rare privilege of seeing them and reading their names.
(Heechul’s Soul Mark, Han Geng, was smoke grey, soft, and comforting. Jungsu’s, Kim Youngwoon, was dark blue and heavy.)
Heechul claimed no interest in his search for this mysterious Han Geng whose name was engraved on his wrist. He adopted the it’ll happen when it happens mentality, and did not care for the romance as much as the others. He dated sparingly whenever his interest piqued, mostly for experience as well as to pass the time.
(Deep down, he was a romantic who daydreamed about Han Geng and blushed at the prospect of true love, but nobody needed to know that.)
Jungsu, on the other hand, was completely devoted to his Soul Mark. Nearly everything he did was in hopes of becoming a better person for Youngwoon. He studied for the highest grades, volunteered at hospitals, learned the piano, and even took several philosophy courses in hopes of sounding more intellectual and worldly.
(“Universal perspective and coherent sense of objective truth will be lost as a result of God’s death,” Jungsu read aloud from his textbook, eyebrows knitted together. “Do you understand any of that, Heechul?”
The redhead scoffed. “Nope. Sounds smart, though.”
“Okay, good.”)
Whenever Kyuhyun had time on his hands, he made lists in his little black notebook. He carried that damn notebook around everywhere he went, as it was small enough to fit in the back pocket of his loose jeans. He made lists about nearly everything: grocery lists, book lists, to-do lists, wish lists, gift idea lists-
Making lists just helped him calm down and made him feel more in control of his life.
When his sister finally phoned home to announce her engagement to the man who bore her Soul Mark, Kyuhyun was forced to listen to his parents gush happily about a big wedding with a catered reception and prattle on about domestic life and grandchildren. It got him thinking about his own future, which was-for lack of a better description-terrifying and vomit-inducing.
Amidst the excitement in the Cho household, Kyuhyun stole away to his room where he took out a pen and flipped his note book open to the next blank page.
Things I Know About Zhou Mi
- left wrist = male
- Soul Mark present before birth = born before February 3rd, 1988
- Chinese characters = either is Chinese or his first language is Chinese
- yellow writing = happy? easy-going? cheerful?
- short kanji strokes = thinks quickly? nervous?
- smooth kanji strokes = confident? self-assured? honest?
He placed his pen on his desk and looked at his list, heart sinking at the realization that it was much too short. How in the world was he ever going to find this guy?
He flipped to the next page.
Ways To Find Zhou Mi
- harass the phone book
- book a plane to China
- Craigslist: Random Encounters
- friend every Zhou Mi on Facebook
- yell his name out the window and hope he hears
- ask around
- become famous and wait until he finds you
- wait
Kyuhyun thought for a moment and circled his best options: Google and wait. He then opened his laptop, logged on, and proceeded to read everything that Google had to say about Zhou Mi until he felt his eyes shrivel up.
Youngwoon was born with a Soul Mark. Park Jungsu, it read in gentle feather-white hangul, engraved onto the skin of his wrist like an inerasable tattoo. People say that those born with their Soul Marks were lucky, that they did not have to worry about being blank-wristed, that their birth had made somebody out there cry out with joy.
Youngwoon never felt lucky to have his Soul Mark, not when it was written on the inside of his left wrist-a male soul mate. He remembered hardly-concealed whispers behind his back, little pieces of faggot and poofter and bad genes that floated around. He remembered having his mother wash him in the bathtub, feeling her scrub extra hard at his left wrist as if she could somehow scrub off that name and have a new one appear on his right wrist. He remembered his father’s cold gaze, the way his eyes would bleed disappointment each time he caught a glimpse of his son’s Soul Mark.
("It's on the wrong wrist," he would hear his father grumble. "That must be it. It's on the wrong wrist.")
The boy never wore anything that was not long-sleeved, not even when the temperature rose to scalding degrees. Youngwoon developed the habit of pulling his sleeves past his wrist, over his hands, as if it could help him pretend that his Soul Mark was not there-that it was not real. It made him feel horrible, and yet it made him feel safer.
Dinner time was always tense in the family despite his mother’s efforts at talking about the latest news and fashion products to lighten the mood. Youngwoon sometimes indulged her, pretending to be interested in how the economy was doing or how red wine could give the skin a better shine or how those poor starving kids in Africa made her grateful for everything she had. His father never uttered a word, never once did he utter a single word, not even when asked a direct question.
Youngwoon endured it and kept his expressionless face, hands curling into fists.
Seventeen was a rebellious age: graphic t-shirts, loud heavy metal music, and bad grades galore. Youngwoon was getting tired of how his mother politely avoided the topic of his Soul Mark and how his father always glanced at his right wrist with frustration. He was sick of going into the shower and seeing his dishonor written on his skin. Youngwoon was seventeen when he arrived at the dinner table wearing a t-shirt. It was the first time since his toddlerhood that he wore something short-sleeved in the house.
His mother cried. His father slapped him straight across the face.
Dear Kim Heechul,
My best friend told me that one of the quickest ways to combat loneliness is to write a letter to my soul mate that I haven’t met yet. So hello Heechul, my name is Han Geng, but you probably know that from your Soul Mark already. I wonder what your Mark looks like. Mine is bright red, like a third-degree burn branded on my wrist. I think it is beautiful.
I grew up in Heilongjiang in Northeast China. Both my parents were teachers. I live in Beijing now, though. I moved here when I was sixteen after my father died in a car accident and my mother died from breast cancer. It’s tough living alone, but Zhou Mi (the aforementioned best friend) comes to visit a lot. He’s a happy fellow, you would like him (and I’m only saying this because, essentially, everybody likes him).
Zhou Mi has a Korean name on his wrist, too. We actually met in this Korean language seminar in university, where almost everybody in the class claimed to have a Korean name on their wrist. Zhou Mi is the idealistic type. He is all but ready to jump on a plane to Korea and fall into the arms of the man he’s destined to be with. The only reason why he isn’t in Korea right now is because he doesn’t want to leave me alone. I should feel guilty, shouldn’t I?
The truth is, I really want to meet you, Heechul. I’m tired of coming home to an empty apartment that is exactly as I left it. The only thing keeping me going right now is your name on my wrist. Every morning I wake up, and the reason why I get out of bed is the promise that someday I’ll meet you. I was born with my Mark, so I honestly have no idea how old you are. You could be eighty years old for all I know. I’m twenty-three now. Hell, now that I think about it, I hardly know anything about you. I only know that you’re older than me, you’re male, and you’re Korean. From the hangul, I’m assuming that you’re a fiery person, but that’s just a guess.
I hope that you like me, if when we meet. I have no doubt in my mind that I will like you.
Yours truly,
Han Geng
Kyuhyun was sitting on the bus on the way to the university when he realized something: he could meet Zhou Mi any minute now. Statistics showed that the average male met their soul mates before they turned thirty (god, he loved statistical data!). He was twenty-two-he had less than eight years to prep for it.
He shifted in his seat, muttering an apology to the old lady beside him, and fished out his notebook from his pocket and flipped it open.
Things I Should Do Before Meeting Zhou Mi
- get a haircut
- go to the gym and work on abs and get abs
- read the whole bibliography of Charles Dickens
- pay off student loans
- buy better-fitting clothes
- increase self-esteem (i.e. go to the gym)
- burn my copy of Legally Blonde (but only after mastering the Bend & Snap)
- burn all baby pictures and that ugly high school graduation photo
- retake driver’s license photo until it doesn’t look like the mug shot of a serial killer
- learn to parallel park
- burn all Spice Girls CDs
- buy all the studio albums of AC/DC
- buy a pair of shades to look cool
- move out of my parents’ house
Kyuhyun paused as the terrifying truth dawned upon him: oh good Lord, he hadn’t moved out of his parents’ house yet. He had planned on applying for a dorm room when he went to college, but he had last priority after all the international students and dorm rooms were so overpriced that even the T.A. position Kyuhyun held for a lower-level Mathematics course could barely pay for it.
The graduate student grit his teeth and circled move out of my parents’ house, also underlining it twice for good measure. He was determined to make a good impression on his soul mate, and living with one’s parents definitely did not do the trick after the age of twenty.
He had to get his game together, dammit.
As far as Youngwoon was concerned, Park Jungsu was dead. He hated the man, he hated how his left wrist was cursed to bear his name. He wanted nothing more than to pretend his soul mate was not real in hopes that one day, his Soul Mark would disappear.
Every day, he wore a thick golden watch that covered his left wrist that he only took off in the shower, and he told people that he had been seventeen when his Soul Mark-on his right wrist, thank you very much-disappeared. There were always looks of sympathy thrown his way, and whenever he was in a bad mood people left him alone or gave him a reassuring pat on the back.
Blank-wristed girls willing to date him were hard to come by, but Youngwoon had become very adept at finding them. Usually they were born blank-wristed and were not meant to have a soul mate in their lifetime.
The relationships with them never lasted more than three months at a time.
His previously blank-wristed ex-girlfriend woke up one morning to find a name on her skin, and she broke the news over dinner at a five-star restaurant and cleanly ended their relationship in the best sympathetic voice she could muster. She didn’t fool Youngwoon, though. He saw the happy glow of her skin and how her eyes fondly trailed down to her right wrist (a woman, then) every once in a while.
He pursed his lips and coldly wished her well, and they finished the rest of their meal in silence before heading their separate ways.
However, their breakup could not have occurred at a worse time. Youngwoon’s mother’s birthday was coming up, which meant he was obligated to visit and have dinner with them. His parents loved nothing more than to see a pretty girl on his arm whenever he went to visit them, and they never bothered to hide the sore disappointment on their faces whenever he showed up alone.
Youngwoon sighed, and entered the nearest flower shop he came by. The florist looked up and gave him a sweet dimpled smile. “Hello, do you need any help finding something?”
“A birthday present for my mother,” Youngwoon replied, involuntarily smiling back. “And before you ask, no, I have no idea what my mother’s favorite flower is.”
The man laughed good-naturedly and stared sifting through the assorted bouquets and pots and vases. “Well, there are a bunch of choices. Roses never go wrong, for instance. Begonias are very popular around here if your mother is an avid gardener. Hydrangeas are a personal favorite, but they are often used as wedding bouquets; I really love the little snowball shape they make. Or, if you do not have a certain flower type in mind, we have our assorted bouquets.”
Youngwoon quietly chuckled at the florist’s enthusiasm. “I’ll take the Begonias.”
“Lovely choice! These flowers look good pretty much anywhere. Would you like them gift-wrapped?”
“Yes, that’d be great.”
Another dimpled smile flashed across his face as he reached for the wrapping paper. “Will that be all?”
“Yes. Thank you for your help, sir.”
“Please,” the florist giggled in his high voice, soft brown eyes crinkling in amusement, “My name is Park Jungsu, but call me Jungsu. ‘Sir’ makes me feel like an old man.”
Time stopped, and Youngwoon felt his palms start to sweat. He mustered a polite smile and nodded curtly. “Alright, then. Thank you, Jungsu.” And after he paid for his purchase, he strode out of the flower shop as fast as he could without seeming suspicious.
Youngwoon arrived at his parents’ place in a daze. He barely registered kissing his mother on the cheek and presenting her with the fresh bouquet, and he paid no heed to his father’s frown when he explained that his girlfriend broke the relationship off. Dinner was tense, as per usual, but Youngwoon’s mind was elsewhere, thinking back to that florist with the sweet smile and soft eyes and high tenor voice.
Park Jungsu, Park Jungsu, Park Jungsu.
Heechul wiped the counter of the cafe with an old dishcloth that had definitely seen some better days, cursing softly under his breath as he bumped his elbow against a pack of straws and spilled behind the counter. There weren’t that many customers after the morning rush hours, though, so he placed the straws back on the counter and hoped to god that there was no health inspector around to fire him from every other job in the food industry.
At exactly two o’clock, a very scrawny young man walked in, the doorframe squeaking softly as he entered and unwrapped the shawl from his neck. He immediately pulled a chair and sat himself in front of the counter, burying his face into the crease of his elbow in mock melodrama. “Heechul,” he whined, voice slightly muffled into his sleeve, “The world is a big ball of toxic gas.”
“Hello to you, too, Kyuhyun,” Heechul greeted in mock cheerfulness. “Failing your math students again?”
“None of them are getting above a 70% so far,” Kyuhyun grumbled, pulling at his messy curls in frustration. “Honestly, how hard could Taylor polynomials be?”
Heechul rolled his eyes and started making a soy latte, Kyuhyun’s usual order. “So, I’m assuming that you’re having a bad day and need to vent. Why don’t you make a damn list? You love making lists.”
“I’ve made four so far,” the graduate student muttered. “All of them lead to the same problem.”
“Which is?”
“I have no way of knowing who my soul mate is.”
“Oh, so you’re concerned about your Soul Mark, I see.” Heechul handed his friend his order. Soy lattes were a favorite of Kyuhyun’s, second only to chai lattes and big fat oily cheeseburgers. “What about it?”
“My sister is getting married,” Kyuhyun explained sadly. “She found her soul mate in the middle of Australia while on exchange, and he proposed the minute they compared Marks. For god’s sake, they just met. Shouldn’t they at least get to know each other before making such a huge decision?”
Heechul snickered. “They’re romantics. Besides, who’s to argue with the hand of Destiny? If you’re soul mates, you’re soul mates. If you can’t make it work with your soul mate, you can’t make it work with anyone.”
“Well, that’s depressing, how you only get one chance.”
“Take it or leave it, princess. But there have been cases of people having more than one soul mate in one lifetime.”
Kyuhyun groaned. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if I meet the man of my dreams and he just walks away in the other direction? What if he’s disappointed?”
“And pray tell, why would he be disappointed?”
“Because I’m boring!” he cried, his sudden outburst attracting the attention of some of the nearby coffee-drinking customers. “I am doing my graduate degree on cell biology, I still live with my parents, I grade math exams for money, my favorite thing to do on the Internet is to look up statistical graphs, and I make lists in my spare time. I’ve even tried to make a list of Things That Are Interesting About Me and I came up with absolutely nothing.”
Heechul did not even bother to hide his snicker as he checked the cash register.
“It’s not funny!” Kyuhyun scowled at his soy latte like it was the most offensive thing he had ever seen. “There was a recent study I read the other day. About 10% of the whole population claimed to have been rejected by their soul mates at first sight. 7% were homeless and 2% were physically or mentally disabled.”
“And the remaining 1%?”
“It was listed as Other. But Other includes boring people, I’m almost certain of it.”
Heechul snickered some more. “Well, if you’re so worried about being boring, you should do something about it. Maybe backpack through Europe, or go scuba diving with the whales. Or take up pole dancing.”
“Shut up, Heechul.”
Kyuhyun left at precisely three o’clock. The boy always did things right on the dot. Heechul would not have been surprised if he found out that Kyuhyun was half-human half-Swiss watch. Chuckling, the coffee shop attendant took the next customer’s order and affectionately snuck a glance at his own wrist. He could not fathom rejecting his soul mate, the man who he knew was meant for him.
My dear Heechul,
Working for an insurance company is a taxing job, pun intended. It’s an awful lot of paperwork, and more often than not you get angry phone calls that could test the patience of a saint. I am definitely not a saint, so sometimes I just cover the microphone with my hand, sing three nursery rhymes in my head, and uncover my hand just in time to say my sincerest apologies, sir/madam, we shall do our best to ameliorate your experiences in the future in hopes that it will calm the caller down. (Granted, this approach hardly ever works but I digress).
I sincerely hope that you have a more interesting occupation. I would not subject my worst enemy to the eyesore that is insurance paperwork. I wonder what you do for a living. You’re a passionate person, from what I can guess. Perhaps you are an artist of some sort? I myself am very fond of the arts, especially music and dance. I studied dance back when I was still in school and was almost serious about becoming a world-class dancer. But then work and medical bills came along and eventually dancing became more of a hobby than anything. I do not regret choosing financial stability over my dream, though I do regret never giving my dream a chance. Not to sound arrogant, but I was a pretty adept dancer even considering my special circumstances. I think, given the right chance, I could have made my dream come true.
I think I should stop here for now. My hand is sore from writing and I still have three stacks of papers to sign and look over.
Much love,
Han Geng
Youngwoon knew exactly what he should have done. He should have pretended that it never happened, and (unless it was completely necessary, which it wasn't) he should have never again gone within a five-mile radius of that flower shop. Better yet, he should have packed his things and moved to the other side of the world.
But he found that no matter how many times he tried convincing himself that it was for the best, he just could not do it. Therefore, against all of his better judgment, Youngwoon returned to the flower shop within two weeks of his first visit. Jungsu was still there, all smiley and friendly and perfect.
“Hello!” he greeted as Youngwoon came through the door. “Do you need any help looking for something?”
Youngwoon licked his dry lips in nervousness. “I came here about two weeks ago to buy my mother flowers.”
“Oh, right, you decided on Begonias!” Jungsu brightened when he remembered. “You bought them for her birthday, correct?”
“Yes,” Youngwoon replied, strangely touched that the florist remembered him at all. “I just wanted to let you know that she loved them. So thank you for helping me pick them out.”
A strange expression appeared on Jungsu’s face and a faint blush spread across his dimpled cheeks. “Wow,” he breathed out. “Thanks for telling me that. I’m glad to have been helpful. I mean, I’m really touched. It’s not every day you get a customer who comes back and thanks you like that.”
Youngwoon ran his hand through his hair in pleased embarrassment. “Then they’re missing out,” he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “You seem like a great guy.”
Jungsu blinked owlishly and then held out his hand. “I’m Jungsu. Park Jungsu. I don’t think I got your name last time.”
“It’s Kangin,” Youngwoon replied after a moment’s thought.
They shook hands, and for the first time in Youngwoon’s life he believed in a little thing called happiness.
Zhou Mi made it his personal mission to fund his trip to Korea all by himself. He declined all help from his family and accepted nothing from his friends-he was going to do this all on his own if it half-killed him. He owed it to his soul mate, after all.
This was probably why he endured the long work hours and minimum wage and the uncomfortable pseudo-tuxedo uniforms and the snotty customers that treated him less like a waiter and more like a servant.
The restaurant he worked out was posh and upper-class, but sometimes Zhou Mi found it hard to believe it when all of the people who visited were either loud googly-eyed tourists, or rude obnoxious bastards who inherited their parents’ money. Zhou Mi would have thought that those with money and power would have the common sense to treat people with some variant of respect.
(“Hello, welcome to Sapphire Blue, my name is Zhou Mi and I will be your waiter today,” Zhou Mi recited the restaurant mantra while pasting on his best fake smile. “Shall I start you off with some drinks and appetizers?”
“Get me some red wine,” the customer ordered gruffly without even acknowledging Zhou Mi’s presence. “Two glasses for now. Have another one ready when I finish.”
“Right away, sir.” A simple please would have been nice. It took all of his willpower not to spit in their glasses.)
Granted, not all rich kids were assholes. One regular customer was this lovely girl named Krystal, who always remembered her pleases and thank yous no matter where she went. She met her soul mate Amber in Sapphire Blue when Amber was still slaving as a waitress, and since their destined meeting they visited every other week for their date nights.
“Zhou Mi!” Krystal greeted brightly when the waiter was in earshot.
“How are you ladies today?” Zhou Mi winked playfully at the two girls who were definitely playing footsie under the table.
“We’re ecstatic,” Amber stated, her smile lightening up her whole face. “It’s our six-month anniversary.”
Zhou Mi let out a very unmanly squeal and clapped his hands together. “This is a cause for celebration!” he cried. “A bottle of champagne for the happy couple! On the house!”
Krystal shot an unimpressed look at the Chinese man. “And by on the house you mean out of your paycheck. Sorry, Zhou Mi, as kind as your intentions are, you need to get your butt to Korea and find your soul mate. I will not have you paying for my champagne when you have a greater purpose in mind.”
Zhou Mi sighed heavily, turning to a very amused Amber. “Is she always like this?”
“She still insists on paying for everything,” Amber shrugged, earning a playful slap from her soul mate. “I’ve learned to just go with it.”
The waiter left to get their order, and when he strode into the kitchen, he snuck a glance at the happy couple and felt his heart clench.
Krystal was chatting excitedly in her chair, making hand gestures wherever applicable with her ponytail swishing around. Amber was relaxed, leaning back in her seat, probably only half-listening as she just stared with so much love and attention that it was almost tangible.
Zhou Mi sighed and grabbed the nearest champagne bottle. He would have done anything to have somebody look at him like that. He took a quick peak at his Soul Mark-Cho Kyuhyun, it read in brown angular Korean-and got back to work, spirits lifted.
My dear Heechul,
Ever since I was younger, I have believed that I was meant to be alone. It was in my nature. Everywhere I went, people avoided me. When I was a child, the other children were scared of me. My mom told me that it was because I was special, but I knew it was because I was different-and not in the good way.
I am ugly, Heechul. I have been ugly my whole life. There was something wrong with me even before I was born. In school, I always got sneers behind my back or frightened whispers. The worst were the sympathetic ones who were always extra nice and extra careful around me. They always reassured me that I was perfect the way I was and that my soul mate was glad to have me. What they didn’t realize was that I knew their reassurances were false. Ugly as I am, I’m not stupid.
Of course, that was until Zhou Mi came into the picture. He was always open-honestly, he wears his feelings on his sleeve most days-and while he definitely was sympathetic at first, he learned to realize that I was just another human being. I am blessed to have a friend like him.
The only thing that kept me alive was the fact that you were out there somewhere, waiting for me, maybe even looking for me. That’s what most people do, right? Look for their soul mates? I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t looking for me, though. I would be disappointed, that’s for sure, but I wouldn’t blame you. It’s selfish to ask that of you. I am already content with the knowledge that I have a name on my wrist. To ask for more would be borderline sinful.
I can’t help but feel pity for those who never have a name on their wrist. Usually a blank wrist is indicative of a psychopath or sociopath, but on rare occasions that is not the case: what about that beautiful person who faces the world every morning with the knowledge that there is nobody out there waiting? I wonder how they manage to deal with the stark cruel fact that out of the eight billion people in the world, not one of them is their soul mate.
I wonder how soul mates are chosen. Before she died, my mother told me that soul mates aren’t chosen-they just are. I had never understood that. Who assigns our soul mates? Some higher being up above who somehow knows all? Forgive my cynicism, but I hardly find that possible. People grow and develop as life progresses-we ourselves change as we grow older. I am not the same person that I was five years ago, I assure you. But what if I had met you five years ago? Would that mean that we met before we were supposed to? Or is there some Holy Grail algorithm that would make it possible?
God, I hope so. I hope that we meet and I hope that it’s the right time and right place under the right circumstances. I am more than ready to settle down, but I am also willing to wait if you aren’t. I would do anything for your happiness, because you have been everything to me since I was sixteen. If your name disappeared from my wrist right this instance, I would literally have nothing else to live for. It’s a scary thought.
With all my love,
Han Geng
Heechul was about to die of boredom, and it was all Jungsu’s fault. One day, his roommate was reading philosophy notes and self-improvement books, and the next day, it was all prattle about Kangin this and Kangin that. Honestly, could he talk about something else?
“Honestly, could you talk about something else?” Heechul echoed his brain, finally reaching breaking point. “Go back and read Nietzsche or something.”
Jungsu was undeterred. “You know who doesn’t like Nietzsche? Kangin. Apparently he had to take this political philosophy course back in university and his teacher failed everybody.” The memory startled a giggle out of him.
Heechul groaned. “You’ve been talking about that guy all week. What’s so special about him?”
“There’s nothing special!” Jungsu denied airily. “I just happen to really relate to him. We have the same taste in music and movies, and just yesterday we spent three hours talking about our shared frustration with Jar Jar Binks.”
“Mother of god.”
“Kangin is wonderful, I don’t think I have ever connected so well with another person before. To top it all off, he is also handsome. His soul mate is lucky to have him.”
“You like him.”
“No!” the blond cried a little bit too forcefully. A faint blush colored his cheeks from the outburst. “Well, of course I like him, and of course I think he is very attractive, but we’re only friends and there can never be anything between us because-you know.”
Heechul rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t change the fact that you want something to happen between you.”
“We’re just friends.”
“And yet here you are, gushing over him like a little schoolboy.”
Jungsu turned beet red and started twiddling his thumbs. “It’s just that-he’s so perfect. He’s kind to me, he laughs at all my bad jokes, he helps me lift the heavier plants whenever he visits the shop, he always tells me that I work too hard-”
“You do.”
“-he listens to me whenever I am talking even if I know that I sound boring, he didn’t laugh at me when I told him about how I read philosophy books in order to impress my soul mate-”
“Jungsu, I get it!” Heechul interjected quickly. His roommate could have gone an hour listing all the great things about this Kangin guy. “Kangin is great, he’s awesome, he’s amazing, I get it. Why don’t you ask him out or something?”
Jungsu’s expression saddened. “He’s not my soul mate.”
“Doesn’t mean that you can’t date just for the experience.”
“I don’t do casual relationships.”
“How do you know? You’ve never done a relationship, period.”
Jungsu huffed. “Unlike you, Heechul, I’m actually serious about my soul mate! Your poor soul mate must have a heart of steel if he is okay with the fact that you haven’t been thinking about him all these years! How in the world do you even live with yourself?” Fuming, Jungsu stalked into his room and slammed the door shut.
Heechul blinked and opened up his laptop. Han Geng, it read in the Google search bar.
(Jungsu apologized three hours later. Heechul pretended not to hear him.)
Kyuhyun took a look around the room with his untrained near-sighted eyes and bit his lip in apprehension. So far, all of the flats he checked out looked pretty much the same. Drowning out the voice of his realtor who only talked about all the financial benefits and taxes and sales and rent prices, he pulled out his notebook and glanced at his latest list.
Attributes Of A Good Flat
- big enough not to feel claustrophobic
- small enough not to feel agoraphobic
- clean
- no cockroaches
- no bedbugs
- no fleas
- no unwanted bugs in general
- has windows
- has curtains
- has air conditioning
- has heating
- carpet preferable because hard wood floors are cold in the mornings
- thick enough walls to drown out anything the neighbors do at night
- has a kitchen fridge and microwave
- closet preferable but wardrobe is satisfactory
- big enough to fit an upright piano
- cheap enough on a student paycheck
Kyuhyun grimaced at the last one. Nothing was cheap enough on a student paycheck unless he found a flat mate. He looked around one last time and blew his bangs out of his eyes, deciding to hell with it, I’ll take it. “To hell with it, I’ll take it,” he echoed his brain and interrupted his realtor’s endless prattle.
“Excellent choice, Mr. Cho!” Immediately a stack of papers was thrust into Kyuhyun’s skinny arms. “Sign here and here and here-”
Kyuhyun sighed and took out his pen. He was going to have to find a flat mate, and fast.
Youngwoon hated it.
He hated how everywhere he looked, it reminded him of Jungsu-sweet, kind Jungsu who made him laugh and could brighten his whole day with a mere glance. He hated how no matter how hard he tried not to, he always found himself visiting that damned flower shop every day on his way to work. He hated how he actually woke up an hour early in hopes that he could spend more time with the florist.
It was not supposed to happen that way. Youngwoon had spent his whole life blaming all of his qualms on his blasted soul mate, but now that he finally met Jungsu in person, he had a hard time remembering why.
In his youth, Youngwoon had imagined Jungsu as being the Devil incarnate, with an ugly troll face and devil horns and a sinister laugh. That was how his father had explained it to him, anyhow. Queers are the product of the Devil, Old Man Kim had said, voice dangerously low with warning. It was like a mantra to young Younwoon, and eventually it became a way of living. His soul mate was queer, but he himself wasn’t. That meant that his soul mate was the one at fault. It all made sense.
But then they met, and Youngwoon was horrified to find that Jungsu was absolutely wonderful. Youngwoon had a hard time believing that he had long thought the florist was the Devil’s creation.
What did that mean? What did that mean?!
After fighting with himself for a good five minutes, Youngwoon finally got out of his car and entered the flower shop, as had become routine approximately three weeks ago. The florist looked up from a flock of petunias and grinned. “Hey Kangin!”
A warm feeling churned in Youngwoon’s chest, but he forced it down. “Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” Jungsu asked, immediately sensing the coldness in his demeanor. “You okay?”
“I’m alright,” Youngwoon lied, wincing when he felt the sharp defensive edge in his voice.
Jungsu put down his work and sidled up to his friend. “No, you’re not. Talk to me.”
“No, it’s alright. I don’t want to burden you.”
“Hey, you’re a dear friend of mine now. I care about you.” Jungsu had averted his eyes, but his statement was clearly sincere.
Youngwoon stared at the florist in muted awe. Just when he thought the guy could not get any more perfect, he had to drop a bomb like that. He sighed in defeat. “Jungsu, do you ever think about what you would do if you ever met your soul mate?”
A fond look crossed Jungsu’s face and Youngwoon tried hard not to think about how beautiful the man looked with flushed cheeks. “All the time,” the florist confessed shyly. “Pretty much everything I do, I do with my soul mate in mind. Psychology books, for instance. Hate them like the plague, but I still read them because they might come in handy for our first conversation together.”
Youngwoon chuckled, thinking about the irony of it all.
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t want to meet my soul mate.”
Jungsu almost recoiled, but steadied himself at the last minute. “Why not?” he asked in a soft neutral voice, but Youngwoon heard a slight waver in his voice that was not there before.
“If I meet my soul mate, I’m terrified that I’ll change, and that everything that I’ve ever known would change.” Youngwoon ran his hand through his cropped black hair. “It’s just that, I had always thought that I would go through my whole life and never meet my soul mate, and that everything would be fine. My parents hated that my Soul Mark was on my left wrist and not on my right one like the normal boys. My father used to tell me that my soul mate would only drag me down, and that my life would be utter hell if I ever met him.”
“He’s wrong, Kangin.” Jungsu’s voice was soft, sympathetic, careful. “Surely you know that now.”
Youngwoon nodded. “I used to blame everything that went wrong on my soul mate because of that. The fights my parents had with each other, the broken dishes crashing against my bedroom wall, the teasing I got at school, everything. I hated my soul mate, Jungsu. It sounds terrible, I know, but I did. I hated everything about him. I used to shower and scrub at my wrist so hard until skin peeled off, just hoping that somehow my Soul Mark would go away.”
Jungsu shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.
“I regret it now,” Youngwoon continued, voice broken and cracked. “I know now that my soul mate is probably the most perfect human being on the face of the planet and that he could do no wrong to me. But then that just made me realize that I had nobody else to blame for my shitty childhood but myself, because if it wasn’t my soul mate’s fault that my parents were unhappy, then whose fault was it?”
“It was nobody’s fault, Kangin,” the blond soothed with a sad, almost angelic voice. “I’m so sorry that you had to go through that, but you weren’t the reason why your parents fought all the time. I know you; you wouldn’t have made them fight on purpose.”
Youngwoon choked out a laugh. “I resented my soul mate for as long as I remember.”
“No, Kangin!” Jungsu asserted, grabbing the man’s hand in his own. “You’re a great person, one of the greatest people I have ever met. You were the first and only person to take the time to acknowledge me and my flower shop. You listen to me prattle on about Aristotle even though you hate philosophy. You never make fun of my obsession with different sorts of flowers.” Jungsu bit his lip and locked their gazes. “Kangin, I think you’re absolutely amazing. And I think that despite your past, your soul mate is lucky to have you.”
Before he had a chance to think better of it, Youngwoon found himself with an armful of Jungsu, kissing him breathless.
Heechul knew that it was unprofessional to check his email while on the job, but he ran his own coffee shop and he did what he wanted, dammit. So when an email from a very old friend of his sat in his inbox, he did not hesitate to read it.
Subject: Hello from Beijing!
From: Zhou Mi
To: Kim Heechul
Hey Heechul!
It’s been a while! How are you doing? Still running that coffee shop? I hope that the customers are treating you well! ;)
Exciting news! I’m planning on visiting Korea again soon! In fact, I’m seriously thinking of moving there permanently! We should meet up and have dinner and do some shopping if you have time! I’m dying to see how much has changed since my last trip there! I still have that collared shirt you bought for me on our last shopping spree :)
Email me back as soon as you can! I’ve missed you! :D
Zhou Mi
Heechul snorted. Zhou Mi had always been this smiley person-even his emails were littered with smiley faces and happy emoticons. He immediately pressed the reply button.
Subject: RE: Hello from Beijing!
From: Kim Heechul
To: Zhou Mi
Seasoning!
It really has been too long! You’re always welcome at my place, but if you’re moving to Korea permanently, you need to find a flat of your own because I refuse to share my closet with you. I assume you’ll be bringing at least sixteen suitcases? We’ll work it out later, though. Just tell me when you’re planning on coming by and I’ll pick you up at the airport.
Heechul
The minute he pressed the send button, the shop door flung open and Kyuhyun entered, a stricken expression on his face. Well, speak of the devil, Heechul thought to himself amusedly as he turned on the machines and started making a soy latte.
“Heechul, I’m doomed,” Kyuhyun deadpanned, practically falling into his usual spot in front of the counter.
“What happened this time, my young friend?”
“I sold my soul to the devil.”
“Who’s the devil?”
“My realtor.”
Heechul snickered. “Can’t help you there, buddy. What happened? Did he talk you into buying a Playboy mansion or something?”
“Something like that,” Kyuhyun admitted. “I think I bought a flat that would run me bankrupt within two months. Seriously, I grade math tests-how much money do you think I make? I’m so doomed!”
“Didn’t you make a list of what not to do when looking for flats?”
Kyuhyun grumbled. “No.”
Heechul laughed. “Well, luckily for you, I think I have what you need.”
“And what’s that?”
“A flat mate.”
“Seriously?”
“Yah. A friend of mine from China is looking for a place to stay in Korea. You up for it?”
Kyuhyun scoffed. “At this point, I would be willing to cohabit with a serial killer if he paid half the rent and took off all this debt I’m in.”
“Then it’s settled,” Heechul grinned, passing his regular customer an extra-large soy latte with a flair that only he could pull off. “I’ll let him know that you’re interested.”
Subject: RE: Hello from Beijing!
From: Kim Heechul
Sent: 9:45 P.M.
To: Zhou Mi
Hey Seasoning, I have good news for you. A friend of mine needs a flat mate. His name’s Kyuhyun, and from what I know of him, he’s easy enough to live with. When are you planning on getting here? I’ll bring him along to dinner so you guys can meet each other.
Five minutes after Heechul pressed SEND, Zhou Mi had already replied.
Subject: RE: Hello from Beijing!
From: Zhou Mi
Sent: 9:51 P.M.
To: Kim Heechul
Kyuhyun? Cho Kyuhyun?
Heechul frowned. Huh, no smiley face on this email.
Subject: RE: Hello from Beijing!
From: Kim Heechul
Sent: 9:53 P.M.
To: Zhou Mi
Yah, that’s right. Do you know him already?
There was no reply, so Heechul started getting ready for bed and was fast asleep within the next half hour. Four hours later, at around three in the morning, Heechul’s cellphone started to ring. Heechul groaned and felt for his phone. Ignoring Jungsu’s orders from the other room to turn that damn thing off, I’m trying to sleep!, Heechul entered his passcode to take the call. “Hello?” he answered groggily.
Heechul, it’s me, Zhou Mi! I’m so sorry that it’s so late, but I couldn’t wait another minute! I’m at the airport right now! Can you pick me up? Please?
Continue to Part 2