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joonbug22 · 6 years

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The Assistant: Chapter One

Pairing: You x Cha Cha

Word Count: 3.8k

Genre: Fluff

Coming out to Seoul, South Korea, you'd never expect to be working for the Cha Cha Malone, You had originally come to AOMG to learn the ins and outs of the music industry, hoping to become a producer, yourself, in the future. After frequenting the building on numerous occasions, in hopes of securing a position within the company. So when you received a phone call, one night after a long day of job searching, you couldn't help but do your happy dance in your pajamas and bunny slippers. You were told about an opening at AOMG, thankful you wouldn't have to resort to working fast food to pay the bills.

The next morning, you made sure to wake up and hour earlier than usual. Getting out the shower and picking your outfit, you decided on a pair of olive green slacks and a cream-colored button-up, matching the latter with your cream pumps with the gold detailing. You slicked your curly hair into a low ponytail with a deep side part, making sure to fleek the baby hairs on the perimeter of your hairline perfectly. You kept your makeup simple, but bold, by wearing a BB cream, a pair of false lashes, and a vivid, cranberry liquid lipstick. Not to mention, your eyebrows were also done to perfection.

Grabbing your keys, cell phone, and purse, you headed out the door and into the brisk autumn air, quickly hopping into your car and starting it. Your car’s Bluetooth automatically connected to your phone and you began to scroll through your music, deciding to play Jay Park’s Everything You Wanted album on your commute. You bopped you head to Me Like Yuh as you wove through the morning Seoul traffic, lightly drumming on the steering wheel. Pulling into the AOMG parking lot, your favorite song on the album started: Feature ft. Cha Cha Malone. Looking at the clock on your dashboard, you were still fifteen minutes early and decided that you had enough time to ‘jam out to this bop real quick.’

“Wanna grab you by ya booty, ya booty,” you sang out, grooving in the driver’s seat until you happened to make eye contact with someone coming out of their car, and immediately froze, almost turning a bright red while you scrambled through the passenger seat for your phone, turning the music off. You looked back up at them slowly, finding them still staring at you through your car window. You smiled awkwardly and gave a small wave toward the spectator and they quickly proceeded to the building’s entrance. “Great,” you sighed to yourself, gathering your belongings and turning off your car, exiting briefly. “The foreigner made a fool out of herself on the first day.” You walked towards the main entrance, ensuring not to add to your embarrassment by tripping and falling on your face as well. “At least I’m early,” you said pushing open the giant glass door. You proceeded to walk up to the front desk to check in.

“First and last name?” the receptionist inquired with a welcoming smile. You tell her your name while pulling out your ID to hand to her as well. After typing something into the computer, she hands you a badge with your name printed on it as well as the AOMG logo. “This is yours, and you can go ahead and have a seat over there. Mr. Malone will be with you shortly,” she pointed to a waiting area with a coffee table, clad with numerous magazines.

“Okay tha-” you started to bow before fully comprehending her words. “Sorry, maybe I didn't hear you clearly. Did you just say Malone as in-?”

“Cha Cha Malone,” a deep voice cut you off from behind you. You spun around to see Cha Cha, in the flesh, looking fine as hell in a navy blue suit and a blinding white smile. You picked your jaw off the floor before bowing and sticking your hand out to shake his simultaneously, not knowing which to do first.

“My name is-”

“I know who you are,” Cha Cha smiled even brighter, taking your hand to shake it. “With a resume like that, how could I not know who you are?”

A small “oh,” was all you could manage, as your eyes fell to your still-connected hands and you face began to heat up at the contact. Cha Cha nonchalantly dropped your hand and guided you towards the elevator, looking over his shoulder to see if you were still following. You shyly smile back at his cuteness.

“You don't seem very excited for your first day,” he playfully frowned, pushing the button to call the elevator to the first floor.

“Well, of course, I'm excited,” you frowned back, shrugging your shoulders. “But there are probably tons of other candidates applying for the same position, so I don't want to get my hopes up too high, in case I don't get picked.” You were lying; your hopes were sky-high and you were already doing backflips in your head.

“You already have it,” Cha Cha said simply as the elevator dang, indicating that it had arrived, and he boarded. “The position is yours.”

“What?” You blinked, feet froze in place. The elevator doors almost closed on you before he stopped them, motioning for you to also board. “I-I-...” you tried to form a sentence. “But, how?” was all you could come up with.

“Well,” he began, placing a long, tanned finger on his chiseled chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Let me put it this way: If someone was sending in their resume every week, for say-How long have you been in Seoul?” he interrupted himself.

“Two months,” you squeaked out.

“For the past two months,” he continued, “a very impressive resume by the way, wouldn't you want to hire them off of pure dedication alone?”

“ I guess,” you said to the gold buckles on your shoes, finding it harder to make eye contact with him after such flattery.

“ I thought Minji explained this to you over the phone.” He punched the button for the 7th floor, after what felt like an eternity of being in a still elevator.

“She probably did.” you finally looked up, still not meeting his eyes, instead, choosing to speak to his full lips. “You see, my Korean is still a little rusty, so some of what she said kind of went right over my head.” Cha Cha only chuckled in response, petting the top of your head and exiting the elevator as soon as the doors opened. You followed close behind, filing out of the elevator into a long hallway. At the end of the hallway was a door marked Studio A with a small glass window at the top. Cha Cha punched in the code and opened the door.

“And this,” he gestured for you to enter first, “is where the magic happens.” You found yourself picking your jaw up off of the ground for a second time that morning as your eyes explored the room, trying to take in every detail before you woke up from this oh-so-realistic dream you were in.

“I'm just kidding,” Chacha plopped into a big leather desk chair, behind the soundboard. “We don't do actual magic in here, just some really dope music, and sometimes we just play around.” He looked at you to say something.

Silence

“What? You never been in a recording studio before?”

“Never,” You released a breath you didn't know you were holding in.

“ Then how'd you make all those dope ass mixes?” He sat up in his chair.

“GarageBand,” you admitted. Did he listen to your music?

“Well then you're really in for a treat today,” he chuckled, pulling his wallet out of his blazer pocket and sliding out a black credit card reaching out to give it to you. “Go to that coffee shop down the street and get two hot americanos and whatever you want of course.” You give him a puzzled look as you take the card into your digits, like some sacred ancient document that shouldn't be held with bare hands. “Did you forget you were my assistant?” he questioned sternly.

“No,” you lied. “Sorry sir,” you mutter in Korean, bowing politely. “Thank you, sir,” bowing once more.

“ Cha Cha is fine,” the man laughed out loud. “And English is also fine.” --- “Stupid, stupid stupid,” you lightly smacked your forehead in the driver’s seat of your car. “Sorry, sir” “thank you, sir,” you mocked yourself before pulling out of the driveway, heading to the coffee shop. You hoped that your first and most simple task wouldn't be disrupted by your apparent incompetence today. ---

On the way back from picking up the coffee, your frustration slowly dissolved, a wide grin appearing on your face as your recalled being complimented by Cha Cha-freaking-Malone, one of the most infamous producers in the Korean hip-hop game right now.

The gleeful moment did not last long, however, as you were reminded once more that today was indeed one filled with unfortunate events. You pursed your lips, fixing your face into a scowl as you glared at the giant black SUV that took your previous parking spot. “How lucky am I today? You began circling the parking lot.

---

“Hey sorry I took so long, you use your back to push open the door to Studio A, walking backwards into the room. “Some idiot in a black Escalade took my spot, so I had to circle the block like 100 times to finally find parking. I hope your drinks aren’t col-” you spun around, expecting only one body, but finding two.

“I wanted to introduce you to Mr. Lee Seong-Hwa,” Cha Cha spoke “a.k.a. the idiot who took your parking spot a.k.a.-”

“Gray,” you finished with a blank stare, unsure if you were more starstruck or mortified at this moment.

More silence

“She’s cute and feisty. Can we keep her?” Gray pouted at Cha Cha, hopping off of his seat atop the counter to cross the room to you. The artist was wearing a white knit long sleeve that hung off his body like it was made specifically for him. The low neckline of the top revealed his collarbones in a way that made you lick your lips and the exposed skin. The gold chain necklace he wore dangled right above his clavicle, and a pair of distressed denim jeans clung to his lengthy legs as he stalked towards you. You couldn't help but stare wide-eyed at the sight before you. “And you are?’ he made such intense, overwhelming eye contact as he lifted the drinks from your hands, causing the words to get stuck in your throat.

“She’s my new assistant,” Cha Cha answered for you, causing Gray’s head to snap behind himself, attention shifting back to Cha Cha for a moment.

“I’m his new assistant,” you repeated, Gray’s eyes shifting back to yours once more and you can feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks.

“Since we’ve had our introductions,” the producer claps his hands together, “let’s get started with this session, yeah?”

“Of course, boss,” Gray plopped the coffees into Cha Cha’s lap, blowing you a kiss once he stepped inside the booth.

---

The recording session went so smoothly and effortlessly. The two men switched off between recording and engineering so flawlessly that you would've thought it was rehearsed, had you not known better. The best you could do was scribble some notes in your journal and try not to blink in an effort of not missing anything. You wanted to be able to absorb as much knowledge (and wishfully, talent) as you possibly could for one session.

Gray's voice was deep, almost robotic when he rhymed, rapping formulaically and to a beat that seemed to sync with the one in your chest. Cha Cha, on the other hand, approached the mic in a more passionate way. His singing came from somewhere deep and it sounded different than anything else the producer had written before.

---

“So what did you think?” Gray asked, resting one arm on your shoulder while you sat on the lounge couch that was to the right of the door, facing the entirety of the studio. You shrunk a bit under his touch, unexpecting of it. “I really enjoyed the track actually. The contrast of your guys’ voices really gives the song character. Not to mention the piano in the background. That was you, wasn’t it Gray?” he nodded. “I love when contemporary artists put actual instruments into their music instead of just everything coming off an eclectic soundboard. It gave the song such a classical flare.” you grinned, looking up at the man, and he smiled cheekily back down at you.

Cha Cha was currently putting some final touches on another track whilst the two of you chatted.

“Since y'all are already taking a break, why don’t you get us some lunch?” Cha Cha said, not turning his chair, nor his head around to face anyone.

“It's ok,” you reassured the men, “you guys probably have a lot to work on still. I can go alone, what do you want to eat?” You grabbed your pen to jot down the men's requests.

“Nah its cool,” Gray insisted. “I have a really complicated order. I’ll come with you… and I’ll pay.”

“Oh okay” was all you could muster before Gray had already pulled you out the studio and down the hallway. “You can let go of my wrist now before you disconnect it from the rest of my body.” He dropped the limb as soon as you two entered the elevator, apologizing repeatedly. “It's alright,” you reassured him, massaging your sore arm socket. You pressed the button to the lobby floor.

“Let's take my car,” he led you out of the lobby, towards your stollen parking space, this time more gently, opting to grab your hand, rather than your wrist. You smiled to yourself at the thought of your hand being held by a famous person, and such a good looking one at that.

“Okay,” you agreed, “only so we don't have to walk all the way to where I'm parked. Also, I’m driving.”

“What?” Gray objected. “Why would I let Cha Cha’s assistant drive my car?”

“Because,” you let go of his hand and walked towards the driver’s side of the SUV. “If you drive anything like you walk, I’m not getting in this death trap with you.”

“Point,” he held up his index finger.

“Keys, please” you held out both hands and the singer reached into his back pocket, tossing them to you. Unlocking the doors, you took a big step up, reaching up to hold on to the handles, in an attempt to enter such a huge vehicle. You felt two large, warm hands on either side of your waist and turned your head to see Gray helping push you up into the driver’s seat. Once settled, you felt cold where his hands once were. You started the car and turned on the heater.

“You're so damn short,” he laughed, still standing on the driver's side, holding the door wide open, preventing you from closing it. “Do your feet even touch the pedals?” he teased, grabbing at your ankle.

“I'll have you know,” you kicked his hand away, “that I am the average height of women in the U.S.”

“Wow did you look that up all by yourself?”

“Look,” you rolled your eyes playfully. “Either you get in this car, or ill leave you right here. It makes no difference to me.” you smiled as you watched him jog over to the passenger door. You were finally able to fully shut yours and feel the full effect of the car’s heater. He quickly hopped into the warmth of the vehicle. You both fastened your seatbelts and you pulled out onto the road. “So what did y'all want to eat? Do you have Cha Cha’s number?”

“I’ll ask him what he's in the mood for,” the man quickly typed up a message and hit ‘send.’ Not even ten seconds later, his phone vibrated with a reply text. “He wants pizza,” Gray announced, placing his phone back in his pocket and folding his hands behind his head.

“Seriously?” you scoffed. “Pizza? We could've just stayed back at the studio and gotten that delivered.”

“The guy wants what he wants. Plus, if we hadn't left, I wouldn't have been able to show you this,” Gray uncrossed his hands, sat up, and pressed a button on the car’s dashboard.

“Show me what- oh warm.” you hummed, pleased with the car’s built-in seat heaters. Gray sat back in his seat, satisfied with your reaction.

“Make a left up here,” he pointed out. “There’s a good spot right up here.”

---

“So what toppings do you like?” Gray asked when you two finally found parking on the crowded streets.

“Hm,” you placed a finger on your chin. “I’m good with the usual pepperoni. What about you? What did you have in mind.”

“Pepperoni's good. What about corn?” Gray began to exit the car.

“Corn on pizza?” your eyes were probably bugging out of your head at the moment, not to mention the wind had hit you the exact moment you opened your door, probably causing you to make an even uglier face. To your misfortune, Gray had seen all of it.

“You really hate corn that much?” he chuckled, jogging around the car to your side to help you jump down.

“No,” you threw your arms around yourself as soon as your feet touched the ground. “It's freezing.”

“Ahh, you're cold,” he held his hand out. “Keys please.” You tossed them back to him. Probably as fast as you've ever seen someone, he had popped the trunk, went through the back, pulled out a jacket and had it draped over your shoulders in a matter of seconds. “I don't know why you didn't bring a jacket.”

“In my defense,” you pulled your arms through the sleeves. “Fall in California is way different. I wouldn't even need to wear pants most of the time.” Gray arched an eyebrow at your wording and you became a stuttering mess. “Y-you know w-what I mean,” you playfully smacked his side with the loose end of your sleeve that your arm didn't reach. “Shorts, skirts, dress, summer clothes, you pervert.” You two began walking towards the entrance of the pizza shop.

“Do you miss it?”

“Well,” you hesitated. “Yeah… eternal summers, the beach with my friends”

“Don't look so sad,” Gray wrapped his arm around both of your shoulders, pulling you into the storefront. “We’re here.”

“This feels expensive,” you flailed your arms in small circles in front of yourself as you walked.

“It is.”

“Oh,” you halted all movement. The smell of pizza dough being baked and cheese being melted surrounded the two of you and you couldn't help but inhale deeply through your nose.

“Smell’s good huh?” Gray’s arm was still wrapped around you, adding to the warmth of his coat and the heat from the shop. You nodded your head excitedly, feeling your stomach grumble from not having anything to eat all day. As you began to come down from your pizza shop high, you started to notice other people in the room… and the fact that they were all staring. An uneasiness began to settle at the pit of your stomach. You weren't one for big crowds or audiences for that matter, especially when all you wanted to do was stuff your face with some pizza.

“Uh… Gray,” you poked at his side, gaining his attention from the menu. “Huh?” his eyes met your concerned ones.

“People are staring at us,” you whispered, pointing to the audience the two of you acquired from simply standing there. “Hard, they're staring hard Gray.”

“Well,” he barely glanced at the crowd, causing a couple of the woman to gasp. “Let me put it this way. You're foreign and I'm famous. People are going to stare. Just try and ignore them.”

“I-I can't.” you stammer. “There's like, a lot of people in here.” You could feel the heat building up inside of gray’s jacket. What offered you comfort only a moment ago had soon become almost suffocating.

“Try picturing us in our underwear then. I hear that helps.”

“That’s not how it works, you idiot.”

“You wanna wait in the car?” He dangled his keys in front of your face and you snatched them as quick as possible, jogging through the front door and back into the cold of the autumn, feeling the air prick at your cheeks. You breathed a sigh of relief once you were back inside the comfort of the car. You chose to take the passenger seat instead of driving. Your hands were probably too shaky from the adrenaline to drive right now. You took your phone out to check some emails, scroll through Facebook to see what folks back home were up to, and play a few games of Candy Crush. Before you knew it, you had dozed off in the car. ---

You awoke to be patted gently on the shoulder.

“Come on let’s go,” you opened your eyes to a dangerously close Gray. “Good morning sleeping beauty.” the man beamed.

“I-Uh,” your sleepy brain unable to form sentences just yet.

“Help me carry the pizzas upstairs, yeah?” You nodded your head, taking a steaming box of hot pizza from the back seat and following the man into the building.

When you two reentered the studio, you could see Cha Cha, suit jacket long removed, hunched over the soundboard, with a pair of Beats on. He nodded to whatever was blasting through the speakers. He didn't even notice your entrance until the unmistakable cheesy, greasy scent invaded his nostrils. He spun around in his chair, another blindingly bright smile assaulted your eyes. You almost held up your hand as if you were looking directly at the sun. you smiled back as you boss removed his headphones.

“We brought pizza!” you cheered sleepily holding out the hot box in your hands towards him until he took it from you.

“I can see y’all got kinda comfy huh?” Cha Cha nodded towards the men’s jacket that you definitely were not wearing when you left the building.

“Yeah,” Gray chimed in. “Actually-”

“No!” you found your mouth moving before you could stop it. “Absolutely not,” you laughed nervously whilst removing the borrowed jacket from your body and placing it on the sofa. “Um, let's eat you guys. I bet you're starving after recording for so long.” Another awkward laugh found its way out.

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yeetdam · 5 years

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stars after the rain ☾ yedam

genre – romance, soulmate au

synopsis – set in a universe where everyone is born with two names tattooed on their skin. one name stands for their soulmate, the other for their potential killer. no one knows which person inked on them is their other half and which is their downfall, but that has never been an issue to you. after all, you were born with just one name. and, well, there’s only one way to interpret that.

wc – 8.3k

a/n – this is a completely self-indulgent fic pls forgive me this mess contains everything i dream of: best friend doyoung antics, slow burn-ish vibes and a cheesy rendition of the slow dance scene on the rooftop from high school musical 3 :’) either way, i hope you’ll enjoy this and pls lmk if there are any mistakes or if u have some feedback uwu

It’s bound to end in a tragedy when Doyoung barges into your room without any warning and sees it for the first time.

“That’s a cool place to have a tattoo,” he admits and points at the back of his neck when you turn to him with an irritated expression. The realization crashes onto you like an atomic bomb the moment you subconsciously mimic his movement and slide your hand up the back of your neck.

“Oh.”

In the blink of an eye, you frantically rummage through your drawers for your foundation. Lately, there’s been many things clouding your mind, be it the many exams you can’t afford to fail or the abnormal number of complaints Hyunsuk has sent you in a span of three hours. It’s not the first time for you to drown in all kinds of duties, but it seems like the pressure has got into your head worse than usual. You never fail to cover the ink on the back of your neck with either turtlenecks or foundation, so it just fuels your frustration when Doyoung sheds light on it.

“Hey, relax! We can join the party a little later, so take your time,” he says and puts a firm hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you. “Uh, do you want me to help? It must be hard blending that in every day.”

You snort. “First of all, I am relaxed. Second of all, I don’t do this every day, but I manage perfectly on my own.”

“Jesus Christ,” Doyoung sighs and retreats his hand, “I was just trying to be the empathetic best friend. But jokes aside, it really is a cool place to have your tattoo. My thigh can’t relate.”

“As much as I love being your best friend and am willing to listen to your problems anytime–” you successfully find the bottle and squirt a generous amount of foundation on the beauty blender, “–even that is too much information for me. What should I know next? Your other tattoo is on your butt?”

There is nothing wrong with covering up the tattoos you are born with. It’s not socially frowned upon if someone doesn’t make any efforts to hide the ink. In the end, it all boils down to your personal preference. You know a handful of people who waltz around with both of their names on display, and you are relatively sure that Doyoung would be one of them if his tattoos were on an appropriate part of his body.

“Haha. Funny,” Doyoung deadpans before he whips out his phone. “I meant what I said, take your time. Plus, I realized I still gotta call someone.”

“Give me five.” You hum and apply the liquid on your skin. He exits your room and makes sure that the door falls softly in its lock to give you a moment of peace. A frown paves its way onto your face as you build up the coverage until there is no trace of black on your neck.

Showing the inked names on your skin and just talking about the concept of soulmates in general isn’t a social taboo. However, there are quite a few people who rather avoid the topic at hand, including you. Truth be told, every cell in your body knows that Doyoung is dying to discuss this topic with you and there are too many moments you recall where he looks as if he’s about to explode if he doesn’t bring up his soulmate. However, he never did that. Doyoung wears his heart on his sleeve and so do you, but here’s the thing: Doyoung is better at swallowing them down.

So as his best friend, the least you can do is go with him to that one goddamn party even though there are other things you’d rather do at this late hour of the day.

(A prime example of what you’d rather do is giving Hyunsuk a piece of your mind because receiving fifty-seven emails about not understanding biology, whining about the new TA and his harsh grading and inquiries about what to get Seunghun for his birthday in the span of three hours is not okay.)

Whenever you go out in public, you are usually seen with a turtleneck or a scarf. Covering up your tattoo with a foundation is your plan c) when desperate times call for desperate measures. Also, there is a reason why you barely go to parties.

Parties fall under desperate times.

Although there isn’t anything in Yeji’s house that is illegal to consume, the living room is sweltering hot, the music obnoxiously loud, and the entire scenario is equivalent to a frat party minus the alcohol, drugs, and making out.

Instead, a dozen bottles of pretty much every soft drink you can find from the convenience store just three blocks away and a broad selection of chips and chocolate and cake are found on the tables.

“Wanna bet that you could never finish cola with salt in one go?” Jaehyuk suggestively raises a brow at Doyoung and holds up the red cup in his hand.

“If I win, you owe me bubble tea for an entire month. Wherever and whenever I want.” You fight the urge to smack yourself as you see the sneaky grin etched on Doyoung’s lips. For a moment, you debate whether to stand up your comfortable position on the couch and knock some sense into him. But then again, you remind yourself why you’re even here in the first place. Though you know most of the people here, you don’t really talk to them. Doyoung was your only friend present.

You’re only here for Doyoung’s sake. You’re going to let him have fun and let him regret his life decisions in the aftermath.

“Aren’t you feeling lonely here?” you divert your eyes from Doyoung to the guy who drops himself on the couch beside you. He’s a new face, you figure, dressed in an unbuttoned, red flannel shirt, a black graphic tee underneath and ripped skinny jeans. Strands of jet black hair fall into his face, but they fail to hide the genuine twinkle in his eyes as the corners of his lips subtly tug upwards.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you mumble and are very glad that you’re no longer focused on Doyoung if you consider the gagging sounds he’s emitting, “I’m not a huge fan of these kinds of occasions.”

“Let me guess,” he muses and takes a sip out of his cup, “That guy forced you here?”

A chuckle escapes your lips when he points at Jaehyuk who’s laughing maliciously at a kneeling Doyoung.

“Actually, it’s the guy who looks like he needs life support, but close enough.” you lift a brow at the flannel guy. “Is there a reason why you’re staring at me like that?”

He shrugs in response. “I’m just happy that I managed to lift up your spirits a little bit.”

There it is again, the glimmer in his eyes. You can’t lay a finger on what exactly it is, whether it’s playfulness or an underlying risk. All you know is that it's a gamble. You either take the leap or you keep it safe. It’s not the first time that you end up in such a situation, but this time, it’s a little but different. The only thing that is stopping you is the uncertainty of reading him.

But maybe, maybe it’s not that bad.

“You know,” you start and fiddle with your fingers, “I’m fairly sure that you’re the only one who can enlighten me here.”

Your hunch is proven right. It is not that bad. Not bad at all, actually.

For the next hour, you two stay seated on the couch and talk about all kinds of things. Sometimes, when you bother to care, you laugh at some mishaps that occur right in front of your eyes, like Chaeryeong tripping over her own feet before she crashes into Mashiho and makes him fall flat on his face.

“Wanna grab something to drink?” he asks after a while and swirls the last few ounces of liquid in his cup. “Besides, I think I need a refill.”

“Sure,” you reply and you both enter the kitchen. The room is empty apart from the two of you, and though you can still hear the music blasting through the closed door, your ears don’t ache as much anymore.

While you grab ahold of one of the opened bottles of cherry cola and pour it into an unused red cup, you watch him roll up the sleeves of his flannel from the corner of your eye. He has pretty hands, you figure, and maybe it would’ve been better if you didn’t stare at them for so long. It’s only a subtle flick of his wrist as he fixes his sleeves, but you don’t fail to notice fine black lines on his left wrist.

Before you ponder longer about it, he asks you, “Hey, can you pass me the cherry cola?”

You nod wordlessly and hand him the bottle and don’t leave his hand movements out of your sight. Once in a while, your eyes flit to the fridge behind him, to the few strands of jet black hair that sick out messily or to his eyes. Curiosity has never been a trait that really defines you, but sometimes, you can’t help but try to decode the name on his wrist.

Still oblivious to your underlying intentions, he continues rambling about his favorite music producers. “Cha Cha Malone has this really distinctive tone in his productions…” he places the edge of his cup on his lips with his left hand and suddenly, your blood runs cold.

Though there is the slight possibility that you are suffering from hallucinations, you are pretty damn sure it is not an illusion. The kitchen sheds enough light to see everything clearly, from the slight bags under his eyes to the coffee stains on the table. The lights aren’t blinding, but they’re enough to decipher the fine black lines inked on his left wrist.

Your name.

“... and I feel that– hey, you look like you saw a ghost. Is everything alright?” he furrows his brows in concern, but when he follows the trail where you’re looking at, he gets the gist. You notice him tense up and are pretty sure it’s not a trick of the light when he pales, something akin to guilt paints his face.

“Come to think of it,” you mumble and avert your eyes from his wrist. “I didn't catch your name. Who are you?”

He hesitates, chews on his bottom lips first before he answers. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights and it just fuels your thought that the worst case scenario has become a reality. You hope it isn’t what you think it is.

“I’m Bang Yedam.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to force any coherent words past your lips. A shiver runs down your spine, and though there is less to be scared of because your name is inked on his wrist too, you're still wary. Obviously, the one who is destined to end your life won't have your name tattooed on them.

But with your circumstances, you can't help but include that possibility.

Yedam doesn't hide his panic anymore as he tries to justify himself. "Look, I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself earlier, (y/n). Doyoung told me not to–"

"Doyoung? What does Doyoung have to do with this?"

When all you're met with is silence, you ask again with something akin to fury laced in your tone. "I said, what does Doyoung have to do with this?"

He diverts his gaze to the counter behind you with pursed lips. Knowing that he won't spill the truth, you try to find the remaining puzzle pieces to complete the mystery by yourself. Your efforts are in vain though, because there is nothing you remember that could serve as a link to what Yedam said–

("I realized I still gotta call someone.")

"I need to go," you say when it dawns on you and you set the cup on the table. A jumble of emotions rages in you, be it the anger that flows through your veins or the whirlwind of irritation and disappointment and despair flooding your senses. You don't stop when Yedam calls after you and tries to make you stay.

You rush into the living room to grab your belongings, completely ignoring Doyoung who is still oblivious to your discovery. It's when he takes a closer look at your trembling hands and pessimistic face that the joy falls from his face.

"Hey, why are you leaving already?" he asks, concern laced in his voice as he tries to touch you, but you swat his hand away.

You huff. "Mind your own business, I really don't appreciate your stunt."

"What?" he furrows his brows and tries to figure out the meaning of your words. "I don't understand–"

"(y/n), please don't go– oh God." Yedam slows down to a halt at the sight of you and Doyoung. The boy beside you widens his eyes when he sees Yedam and then, the realization strikes him like lightning.

"O-oh, that was what you're talking about. Look, I can explain–"

You don't stay a while longer to hear his reasoning.

There is a reason why Doyoung has been your best friend for so long. It isn't the first time for you to fight and if you're being honest, your ego isn't that big to not forgive him. Doyoung can be awfully nosy and loves to stick his nose into someone else's business. Therefore, it doesn't surprise you that you invite him over on an afternoon after he left fifty voice messages and over a hundred text messages in your inbox.

"Please don't start your explanation with 'I was trying to do you a favor'." you sigh in distress.

"I was trying to do you a favor," he bluntly says and it costs you your willpower to not invite him out of your place. Doyoung sends you a crooked grin before he turns serious. "Okay, real talk now. I was just... surprised when I saw Yedam's name on your neck. And since I already knew that one of Yedam's tattoos is your name, I thought it'd be a good idea to make you two meet. Turns out to be that I was a fool."

"You're always a fool, please," you deadpan and snicker when he shoots you a death glare.

"Hey! I was trying to be an empathetic best friend here! I just breathed and here you are, clowning me. That is disrespectful!"

He attempts to throw you off your chair by aiming a pillow at you. Instead, he almost knocks down the succulent on your desk. The next few minutes, you bicker for a while and start an impromptu tickle fight to lighten up the mood. It's when you both lie on the carpeted floor and your heartbeats have fallen back into a steady rhythm that he addresses the problem at hand.

"Why don't you want to give him a chance?"

"My gut says it won't end well," you reply slowly.

Doyoung shuffles to the side to get a good glimpse of your face. "You know, the chance is high that Yedam's your soulmate. He's got your name too, after all. And he's willing to give it a shot, y'know? One meeting doesn't sound bad and won't be the end of the world."

You hesitate, considering the implied proposal with a frown. "It's complicated."

"So you're willing to let the glorious chance pass by?"

"Yes."

Taken aback by your rapid answer, Doyoung adds in a quieter tone, "Not many people manage to find even one of the two people. Even less find the one who wears their names too. You should definitely consider it, (y/n)."

"I get where you're coming from, but..." your voice trails off.

Doyoung watches you with expectant eyes. "But?" he drawls.

But you don't understand.

"You're not gonna stop bugging me until I say yes, are you?" you say instead. Although you'd trust your life to him, you don't want to burden him with your tattoo dilemma. He may not let it show too much, but you know he has his worries and he doesn't need to break his head about the meaning of your only tattoo too.

"Do you want the truth or a fabrication of lies?" he asks with a suggestively raised brow, making you roll his eyes at his silliness.

"Fine, I'll meet up with him one time. He shouldn't get his hopes up, though."

For some reason, you find yourself walking into the café fifteen minutes earlier. You blame it on the fact that there surprisingly was no traffic jam, although it's rush hour. As it turns out, you're not the only one to arrive earlier than expected, because Yedam enters the coffee shop five minutes after you.

He notices you right away, seated in between red and black cushions at the far back of the room, but doesn't steer towards you instantly. Instead, he stands in line and orders two drinks before he approaches you. An uncertain, shy smile adorns his face and contrary to the first time you met him, he's different. His hands shake so much that he spills one cup a little bit when he sets them down and he can't bring it over himself to look you in the eye. Yedam's treading lightly, abnormally careful about his own actions.

"I got you hot chocolate. I hope you don't mind," he mumbles and slides the cup towards you.

There's the need to tell him not to worry and loosen up. However, you don't manage to do so. What you do manage is a quiet "thanks" before you take a sip of it.

Well, at least Doyoung wasn't lying when he said that the café served delicious beverages.

Awkward, heavy and pressuring don't even come remotely close to describe the silence hovering above you. Even an innocent bystander can tell that neither of you is exactly comfortable in your shoes.

"So." Yedam's ears perk up when you clear your throat. "You wanted to meet me."

"Yeah…" his voice trails off as he taps his fingers on his paper cup. This time, he's wearing a blue wool sweater with sleeves so long they cover up his palms. You fight the urge to ask him if you could see his left wrist.

"Uh, give me a second to mentally prepare myself." he stammers before he starts anew. "I'm going to be honest here. I was happy when Doyoung called me and said he knew someone who wore my name. I had a great time that night and I, um, guess that things wouldn't have ended like that if you figured it out in a different manner."

"I'm going to be honest too," you confess. "I had a lot of fun that night, well, before it started to go downhill. It's just, I don't think I'll be able to cope with this." You gesture on your own wrist.

Something that hits very close to desperation is written on his face. For the first time, he looks at you directly and tries to read you. "Listen, I'm not trying to force anything on you. I know not everyone cares about the marks and that's fine. I just..."

He hesitates, tries to find the right words. Judging by the tone of his voice and the quiet sigh that escapes his lips, you know he doesn't belong to the group of people who don't care, unlike you – and he is very well aware of that too.

"You just?" you probe. Though you are quite sure what words will follow next, you need to hear them come out of his own mouth.

Yedam glances at you unsurely, wariness audible in his voice when he speaks up. "I was just hoping to, uh, get to know you. It doesn't have to be something long lasting, I swear. If you feel uncomfortable, we can break it off at any time. I was hoping that we could at least try."

There are many, many red lights blinking in your mind. This suggestion is nothing more than a very, very bad idea. In your case, the journey doesn't even matter. It doesn't matter if you end up being more than friends. What matters is the result. And, well, the result is inevitable.

Amongst the many, many stop signs that practically scream DON'T DO IT, there is one brain cell that begs to differ. Yedam looks at you expectantly, pleadingly even. His desperation is visible in his eyes as if they held stardust which reflects his every emotion.

You inhale deeply through your nose in an attempt to steady your frantic heartbeat. It's bound to end in a tragedy and you should care more, but you don’t have the heart to reject him.

Hopefully, you don't sound so unconvinced and scared when you respond.

"Trying sounds good."

Yedam is careful. He's so careful it genuinely surprises you. He doesn't push you to anything, works his way to more personal questions (though so far, the most personal question he's asked you was how long you've been friends with Doyoung) and tries his best to cater everything to your needs. It's by the fifth time you meet up in person when he finds the courage to ask for your number. Truth be told, you can practically see him pondering five minutes about each text he writes before sending it to you. The absence of emojis in his messages just confirm how nervous he still is.

It's still awkward when you talk and most of the time, it's Yedam who asks questions. Yet he's quick to pick up certain likes and dislikes, like your favorite ice cream flavor or your least favorite type of music.

It goes without saying that Doyoung practically demands regular updates. He was over the moon when you told him how your first date ended and even paid you bubble tea. That was how happy he was for you.

"He's not as bad as expected," you say as you nonchalantly look for good Netflix movies to watch.

Doyoung snorts in response. "Of course I knew that already. I've known Yedam for a good while now and seriously, all he does is sing the High School Musical soundtrack and swoon about music producers."

"He sings?"

You practically feel Doyoung rolling his eyes as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. "Duh. That guy's a singing god. But you have my word, (y/n), I'll end him and twist out his intestines if he hurts you. You really don't have anything to worry about."

"The only thing I worry about is you becoming a potential murderer," you say in a monotonous voice. (In a way, it’s ironic, given how there is bound to be someone who wears Doyoung’s name with the negative connotation.)

That causes your best friend to laugh in an exaggerated manner. "Very funny. In all seriousness though–" he grabs a handful of chips and stuffs it in his mouth, "–how do you not know that he sings? Even though you know he produces his own songs? I thought you talk lots."

"The thing is–" you shuffle to the side and hope he won't spit any crumbs on you, "–he's the one who talks. I just listen and answer his questions."

Doyoung sends you an unbelievable look that's equivalent to 'Are you serious?' "Then ask some questions back, you fool!"

"I don't know what to ask though!"

"What? You truly are unbelievable." he groans and throws his head back. "I guess I have to step up my game and help out a poor soul, huh?"

You throw him an offended look. "I am not an imbecile!"

"I never said that, dumbass," he tuts. "But back to the point. Yedam likes music, just recommend him some songs and he's gonna love you. Or have a High School Musical marathon with him. For all I know, attend a concert with him or just let him show you his own songs– the possibilities are endless! You always meet up at that café and although it's nice and cozy there, it's getting boring. If you only knew how panicky Yedam gets when I bring you up in our conversations: pitiful! That's what it is!"

"I don't know if that'd be a good idea–"

"Listen, I have no idea why you are so against getting close to him and since we already had this talk, I'm not gonna bring it up again. But for the love of God, if you already agree on trying, then put in some effort yourself!" he exclaims and with every word, his hand gestures become bigger. It even reaches the point where you're certain that he's going to hit you in the face.

Nonetheless, he’s right. You desperately need to step up your game.

Yedam is confused when you send him a link while he’s talking about something you don’t bother listening to. His irritation is visible in his scrunched brows, in the way his gaze switches from you, then back to his phone, and in the little hitch in his voice.

“They say your music taste tells a lot by yourself.” you shrug and try to sound as casual as possible. “And, uh, perhaps I heard that you like listening to new songs.”

The confusion morphs into a small yet genuine smile once he sees that it’s a link to a Spotify playlist. “You’re not wrong about that. While we’re at it, here.”

Your phone vibrates, signifying a new text message. Just like him, you fail to hide your amusement when you see the link to his own Spotify playlist, followed by a SoundCloud profile.

“Let me guess, the SoundCloud one is where you post your own music?” you joke lightly but when you look up and meet Yedam’s bewildered expression, you gulp. “Did I say something insensitive?”

Yedam hastily shakes his head. “No, not at all! I’m just surprised that you remembered that I produce some songs too.”

“I mean, it’s hard not to forget that when Doyoung gushed about that for a good hour and you like to swoon about how much of an idol Cha Cha Malone is to you.”

He looks at you with a stunned expression. “Do I really talk that often about him?”

“No. I just remembered that, that’s all.” you smile lightly. Regardless of whether or not Yedam buys it, the apples of his cheeks are dusted red and he looks down as if he hopes for the floor to swallow him whole.

Quickly realizing that the atmosphere might turn into an embarrassingly long and awkward silence, you scroll through the Spotify playlist and chuckle when you recognize songs you haven’t heard in a while yet.

“Do you have something against my music taste?” Yedam asks, partly wary, partly sounding as if he was ready to brawl.

“No, of course not!” you explain once you calm down. “It’s just, it’s been a while since I heard the Jonas Brothers. Also, uh, I’ve never seen High School Musical and you have a lot of songs in it.”

Yedam looks like he's about to jump out of the window and his eyeballs might have fallen out of its sockets after your confession.

"What did you even do in your childhood?" He acts as if it was an unforgivable crime and then adds with conviction, "First of all, the entire soundtrack is on the playlist. Second of all, what are you waiting for? We need to catch up with things you should've done when you were a child!"

“What are you–” Before you get to finish your thoughts, he grabs ahold of your hand and leads you out of the café. “Where are we going?”

“My place,” he replies without looking back at you as he picks up his pace. “You need to watch all movies. I refuse to leave you uncultured.”

Your attempts of not having to watch any of the films prove themselves futile. That, and the other, unexpectedly childlike side of him make you stay. Even if you planned on running away, you couldn’t anyway. With the way your hands are intertwined, it’s hard to do so. Though by now you’re practically rushing down streets and occasionally bump into a pedestrian or two, the incredulous look on their faces when they see you hand in hand is something you don’t miss.

You don’t know whether the feeling bubbling in your gut should feel warm.

When Doyoung said that Yedam knew every single song from High School Musical, he meant every single song.

You tried, you really tried to pay attention to the storyline. However, it’s not that easy when five minutes into the movie, the first song comes up and Yedam belts out every single note in a theatrical way. You find yourself anticipating the next song so he’ll sing more rather than the actual plot progression.

When Doyoung said that Yedam could sing, he meant he could sing. It would’ve been nice of him if he had warned you beforehand how angelic Yedam’s voice was because your jaw dropped to the floor the moment he started to sing. You didn’t know what you expected, but you certainly did not expect to be swept off the ground in a span of 0.08998 seconds.

“Did I just ruin your fun?” Yedam asks carefully, a bashful smile plastered on his face once the first song came to an end.

The question startles you and you blink at him in awe before you feel the heat creep up your cheeks. “What? No! I mean, no. I was just surprised that your voice is that nice,” you manage to choke out.

His smile widens, and your face flushes a deep red.

“So you don’t mind me singing along?”

“I prefer your voice over that guy right there…” you pause. “Wait, what? Forget what I said.”

“Me? Forgetting that? You wish,” he beams and erupts in laughter when you cover your face with your hands. “But if that’s what you want, I’ll sing along.”

You find yourself listening to Yedam singing anything your heart desires many times after.

While you still have no idea what exactly the plot of High School Musical is up until now, you indulge in the heavenly voice of your human jukebox even more with every passing day.

Depending on his mood, you discover the many facets of his personality. On days where he’s tired and you happen to stop by just because you’re casually in the neighborhood, he shows you his self composed songs. Although the bags under his eyes are impossible to miss, he keeps his head held up high and urges you to comment on all of his songs despite rather wanting to hide under the covers.

On days where you’re tired and happen to be lounging on his couch, he loves to lull you to sleep. His voice is soft and gentle, just like his hands playing with your hair as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Then there are days where it seems as if stole the sun’s job or had drunk too many energy drinks and jumps around like a lunatic while belting out the melody of My Heart Will Go On.

Today seems like a day where he’s just emitting happiness.

Truth be told, you don’t know when exactly you’ve let down your guard. The current scenario is too sickeningly domestic for your liking – with you leaning your head on his shoulder while his arm is lazily draped around you. The third installment of High School Musical running on screen doesn’t quite suit your taste either, yet you don’t make any amends to put some distance between you.

“Do you know how to dance?” Yedam asks casually, eyes glued on the screen. Currently, Troy and Gabriella are at the school rooftop and it seems as if the next song is going to start soon.

Your eyes narrow at him. “What are you planning?”

“I’ll take it as a no. But that’s fine too.”

“Yedam, seriously, what are you planning?”

There’s a gleeful twinkle in his eyes when he faces you. Before you can ask again, he stands up and pulls you up with him.

“Just trust me on this. It’ll be fun,” he interrupts you in the middle of your doubts. That shuts you up for good, yet it doesn’t hinder you from sending him warning glares.

You stay blissfully unaware of his ulterior motives until he firmly grabs one hand and puts your other on his shoulder, followed by planting his free hand on your waist. He shoots you a fond and reassuring smile to soothe your panicked self. Then slowly and surely, the first guitar strums come out of the speakers before Gabriella starts singing in the background.

A quick glance behind Yedam to the screen, where the lovestruck couple is also in the same position as you, is enough to let you know in which direction this is heading to.

“No. No. No. I can’t dance, much less slow dance–”

“I’ll guide you. Just keep your eyes on me,” he muses and tilts your chin so you lock eyes.

There are so many cells in you that are screaming at you to look away, but you’re unable to do so. There’s something behind the fragments of fondness in his eyes that you can’t quite decipher, but either way, you get lost in his eyes and your breath hitches.

“Let me guide you,” he repeats in a tone that makes you melt in a matter of seconds. You’re pretty sure your legs would’ve given up at this point if it weren’t for him who takes a step back and tugs you with him.

It goes without saying that you feel like a newborn baby deer that’s still clumsy on its legs. In the first few tries, you’re uncoordinated, stiff as a board and step on his toes a few times, and you’re not able to look away from him. He winces when you misplace your foot and you shoot him an apologetic look in return, but after some time, you get the hang out of it. Midway through the song, your legs no longer feel as if they’re going to mutate into jelly as you sway through the expanse of his living room.

“Look, you’re doing just fine,” Yedam reassures warmly before a grin etches across his lips; as if he just came up with a brilliant masterplan. “Wanna try a spin?”

“No,” you shoot out like a bullet and cause him to giggle. “This is enough for today.”

“Fine then, maybe next time.”

The rest of the song is spent in comfortable silence, warm smiles and occasionally knocking over a book or two when you happen to bump against the shelf. When the song comes to a slow end, you find yourself coming to a standstill. It’s just then when you realized how dangerously close Yedam really is. His breath hits your lips and you pick up the slight scent of spearmint.

You’re not the only one who notices. Yedam’s gaze switches from your eyes to your lips. Confliction is prominent in his face. Even though you’ve grown more comfortable around him, a feeling similar to home even, he’s aware he can’t cross all your limits yet. He doesn’t dare to prod further, lean a little bit closer and you know he’s wordlessly giving you the shots.

At this point, your heart practically hammers against your chest and you wouldn’t put it past him to hear it too. Perhaps, you’re in too deep and for a moment, you slowly move closer until it’s just a matter of a few millimeters separating you.

That is until you’re aware of the fact that you’re clinging onto his hand as if he were your lifeline. The realization causes a knot in your stomach. Suddenly, the doubts flash your mind; the fear that initially overcame you when you first met him at the party, when you found out who Yedam was.

There’s nothing wrong with Yedam. He’s nice and talented and genuinely cares. Yet at the same time, you’re not certain if there’s nothing wrong with him. You can’t be fully certain of him and that realization strikes you like lightning once more.

You try to ignore the sadness that washes over him for a short moment when you pull away.

“I’m sorry. It’s just a little complicated to explain,” you mumble apologetically.

“It’s fine,” he replies in the same manner.

There’s no doubt that you can see the genuineness in his eyes, but you can’t tell whether he was really telling the truth or was trying to manipulate himself into thinking that it truly is fine for him.

Surprisingly, as well as to your luck, he doesn’t bring up the episode again. In fact, he acts as if it never happened and honestly, you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. You’ve become a little more cautious ever since, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t want him performing a little bit of skinship on you. He still sings for you, proudly shows you his latest songs and becomes cozy around you whenever you watch a movie.

Just like any other day you’re at his place, you’re sitting on the couch and currently scrolling mindlessly through your inbox while Yedam is on the other end of the couch.

“I really like you.”

You hope you misheard what he said. Yes, you definitely misheard it, you’re positive of that. The intensity of his gaze when your eyes meet begs to differ though.

Honestly, the day was bound to come sooner or later. After all, you’re not that oblivious. Yedam is similar to you, you like to think – he wears his heart on his sleeve. But whereas you let your bad sides show, he puts all the good in him on display.

“How are you so sure that we’re soulmates? Do you have any other reason besides the fact that I wear your name too?” you ask after a moment of silence. It costs you your entire willpower to not lash out on him and say once more that you’re not interested in something more than what you already have, but he wouldn’t believe that.

And frankly, you’re not sure if you would believe yourself either.

“I do,” he responds, voice full of conviction. “I say it so easily because I found the other person already, and I know that he’s not my soulmate.”

“Again, what makes you so certain about that?”

Yedam purses his lips and hesitates before he sits directly next to you. He opens his mouth several times, but no words come out.

Then suddenly, without any verbal warning whatsoever, he turns to you completely and tugs on the collar of his sweater, pulling it so far down until he exposes a strip of skin underneath his left collarbone.

You gape at the sight, hope you’re hallucinating. You really hope this is just a trick of the light. It must be one.

The pitch black ink contrasts with his skin, and though the letters are fine lines and easy to miss if you don’t pay attention, the name leaves a burning image in your head and a foul taste in your mouth.

Kim Doyoung.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to kill me if he really wants to. And trust me, he’ll definitely have a reason to do so.” Yedam chuckles dryly as he covers the tattoo.

Although you already know the answer, you ask flabbergasted. “Does he know?”

“That I wear his name? Unless he wears mine, which I highly doubt, no. He would’ve confronted me about this by now if he knew.”

It explains a lot. No, it explains everything. It explains why Yedam oozed confidence and was sure that you were bound to last a lifetime. It explains why he looks at you as if you were the center of his world without a doubt. It explains why he’s not afraid of you. He’s only been treading lightly because of you.

You sneak another glance at him and the sight causes something in you to break. Yedam is sitting right beside you, watching you carefully and pleadingly even. The specks of glimmer he holds in his eyes, the ones that reveal his feelings, aren’t even specks anymore. They’ve dissolved and you’re looking right through him. He wears his emotions on full display now, the desperation is prominent more than ever.

He’s treading lightly yet is needy for an answer and slowly reaches out for your hand. Before it can get so far, you turn away from him and croak out a weak “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t trust me?” you wince at the hurt laced in the undertone of his voice.

“It has nothing to do with me trusting you. It’s me, okay? It’s just–”

“–complicated, I get it,” he spits out the words as if they were acid and suddenly, the couch feels much lighter.

“Yedam, I didn’t mean it like that!” you stand up and grab the hem of his sweater in an attempt to bring him to a standstill. “I’m sorry.”

Yedam stands still, but he doesn’t turn around to meet you. He takes in a deep breath and sighs audibly, but you don’t miss the hitch in his breath as if he’s trying to contain something else.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–” he pauses, stabilizes his shaky pitch before he reaches back and detaches your grip, “Nevermind.”

He leaves you alone in his living room and it costs you your entire energy to not break down onto the floor.

He doesn’t text you anymore and as much as you itch to contact him, you don’t muster up the courage to actually do it.

Doyoung also noticed the shift in your relationship. Fortunately, he doesn’t pry further and never brings up Yedam in your conversations. You’ve never told him any details but you’re relatively sure that Yedam said some things to him.

Either way, Doyoung remains a great friend. He tries his best to lift up your spirits – even bought you a gallon of your favorite ice cream flavor along with a lifetime supply of candy of all sorts. Once he realized that his wallet was suffering, he resorted to cooking your favorite food, even if that almost resulted in him burning down the kitchen.

However, as much as Doyoung might distract you from your pity party, he’s not a permanent fix. You know it and he knows it. Therefore, it really doesn’t faze you when he brings up the last person you’d want on your mind (to your dismay, he’s the only person on your mind).

“He’s also miserable right now, you know?”

When you don’t respond, he sighs and drops on the seat next to you, seeing it as his cue to continue. “He’s waiting for your call. I don’t know what went down between the two of you, but you better sort it out. Not only am I running out of ideas to get you out of your house, but I’m also pretty sure you two will end up as living corpses if you don’t fix it soon.”

You lift up your head and purse your lips. “It’s not going to end well.”

“You always say that.” he rolls his eyes, sounding more fed up this time. “Yedam didn’t tell me a lot and I know you get turn hyperventilated whenever it comes to your tattoos, so I’m not going ask about that. I never did and never will, get it? All I know is that Yedam dished out his soulmate situation from start to finish. You should trust him too, wholeheartedly.”

“I would’ve done that if I could a long time ago!”

“If I could,” he mimics, two octaves higher than your actual tone, “You can! I don’t want to guilt trip you or anything, but it’s only fair if he knows too. He’s poured his heart out to you, why can’t you do the same? Just think like this: say we live in a world where soulmate tattoos don’t exist, would you like him?”

“I…” your voice trails off.

Seemingly satisfied with your reaction, Doyoung sighs and stands up.

“I think you know the answer too. Talk to him, please.”

Come to think of it, you’ve never invited Yedam over to your place. That’s about to change when you send him your address and find him at your doorstep later in the evening. The sun is long gone and in its place shines the moon along with the stars. Their light is enough to taint your living room in a soft glow and it’s enough to notice every single one of his features.

He’s tired, looks like he hasn’t slept well in days, yet frankly, there’s something oddly comforting about his presence.

“You called?” he asks to break the ice.

Truth be told, you’ve rehearsed what you wanted to say many times a few hours ago. You could’ve also practiced weeks before but you doubt you’d ever get rid of the uncertainty laced in your shaky voice when you start to talk about that topic.

You fiddle with the hem of your sleeves. “I realized something. You never asked to see my tattoo.” It’s not what you rehearsed, but as long as it leads to the point, it’s alright.

“I didn’t want to pressure you,” he responds.

You observe his expression, narrow your eyes in a brief moment of contemplation before you slowly undo the scarf you’re wearing. Yedam is quick to guess where this is heading to and quickly stammers, “Wait, you don’t have to justify yourself in front of me!”

“No, I want to,” you say with conviction and turn around so he can see the black ink at the back of your neck. Although the room is just dimly lit, you know that he can see it clearly. For a moment, you get goosebumps as his fingers ghost over the ink, but you let him bask in his fascination.

“The truth is, this is the only tattoo I was born with,” you confess after a moment of silence.

He gulps. “What?”

“I only wear your name, Yedam. You’re smart, I’m sure you understand the weight of that.” You turn around but don’t find the courage nor the energy to look him in the eye. The silence is heavy, unbearable, and literally nothing about it lifts the pressure off your shoulders. You don’t need to see him to know how the revelation shatters his view on everything in millions of shards.

“Look at me, please,” he pleads instead, and when you shake your head in response, he gently cups your face. You have no other choice but to do as and are startled when all you see is not pure horror, but soft, pure and wholehearted adoration in him.

“God, (y/n), I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you. Believe me when I say you mean so much to me. You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to have you voluntarily open up to me. and now that I see the situation from your view, I get why you were so unwilling at first. But trust me when I say I only want the best for you and would never put you in danger.” The raw vulnerability in his voice makes you believe him for a while and keeps you from breaking out in tears.

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do know that. Did you already forget? Doyoung is my potential killer,” he says matter-of-factly and sends you a broken smile, “So before I kill you, I’ll make sure that he ends me first.”

“Great, and then my best friend ends up in jail.”

This time, he genuinely laughs. You, on the other hand, can’t bite down the small smile that paves its way on your lips from that weak joke.

“You’re right, I can’t guarantee your safety from me,” Yedam admits once he’s calmed down and tucks a strand of your hair in place before he goes on, “But I can guarantee that I’ll do anything in my power to make you happy. Have you even looked at my SoundCloud profile? Ever since I met you the majority of my releases are love songs!”

“So you admit that the songs are all about me?” you playfully raise a brow at him.

“Of course they’re all about you.” he breathes out as if the weight on his shoulders was lifted off of him. Yedam still looks like he could need some sleep, but there is no longer a sign of restlessness. He is at ease, and it shows the most when he adds fondly, “It doesn’t have to last forever. We can break it off if you feel unsafe. I hope we can at least try.”

The course of this conversation is oddly reminiscent to your first date in the café, you think. Back then, you were more than convinced that the only way this would end was as a tragedy. Back then, you just said your answer out of pity, one might say. But that was back then, and this time, you’re more than serious and more than convinced when you respond with a smile.

“Trying sounds good.”

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