Chapter Text
Yoongi leaned towards the mirror’s reflection. He brushed over his eyebrows, tapped his cheeks lightly, and combed his fringe back into place. Satisfied that he looked less pale and harried, he took a step away from the mirror. He untucked his shirt only to tuck it back into his jeans. Shrugged his jacket off only to place it back onto his shoulders. Taehyung was quick to pick up on the way clothes fell over someone’s frame. He would notice if a shirt were accidentally tucked in unevenly, or if seams didn’t fit the shape of someone’s shoulders.
“I think this is a mistake.”
He took a deep breath in response. He imagined Namjoon hadn’t moved off from their living room’s chaise lounge. On most days, Yoongi could almost convince himself that they no longer lived together. As the years had passed, the size of their apartments had increased at the rate of their careers. They had reached successes they could not have foreseen, and fittingly he now often lost track and sight of Namjoon’s wellbeing and whereabouts.
On the flip side, Namjoon knew the exact volume at which to speak to make sure his words would reach Yoongi. Not that Yoongi hadn’t heard the same words a handful of times since he had arrived back from the studio.
He stepped out from the washroom, unsurprised to find Namjoon in the same position. His posture seemed relaxed. His arms were crossed behind his head, his left foot rested over his right knee. His facial expression was tenser.
With a quick look to his phone, he decided he could spend at most fifteen minutes on reassuring Namjoon.
“Because?” he prompted quietly as he took a seat on the sofa facing Namjoon.
“It just feels like you’re the most you you’ve ever been. And I like you that way.” He licked his lips. He sat up fully to fix Yoongi with a serious stare. “Don’t you agree? Since you’ve met Taehyung, you… The music you write is more you. The way you dress is more you. Even the way you speak is more you."
Yoongi remained silent, attempting to mull the words over. There wasn’t much to mull over. Taehyung loved his music so openly, it was easy for the melodies to blossom day after day. Taehyung expressed himself through fashion for a living, and showered Yoongi with designer gifts that simply ‘reminded’ him of Yoongi. It was easy to dress with purpose. Taehyung often relied on him to unfurl the meaning of his words, or to help him put his thoughts into words. It was easy to gain more confidence in the way he spoke.
Instead, Yoongi chooses to say: “Well, yeah. He’s my soulmate. His soul literally complements mine. Of course I’m the most ‘me’ when I’m with Taehyung.”
Yoongi’s lips curved upwards with the thought of just how unexpected that had been. They had met over a year ago, on a day that could have been described either as late spring or early summer. Finding a soulmate had neither been a priority nor a fear. Yoongi knew soulmates were meant to be the easiest part of life.
A soulmate was someone you’d meet, and would not be able to miss. Even individuals who lived in darkness were said to see their soulmate’s bright aura. Any kind of relationship could exist between soulmates. But, two constants remained; once soulmates met they were in each other’s lives until the end, and they would have an innate understanding and reciprocity of the bond they shared. Sometimes, an individual had more than one soulmate. Sometimes, an individual had none. Most predominantly, a person would have one soulmate, and they’d end up being the great love of their life.
Neither Taehyung nor Yoongi’s close friends had met their soulmates yet. At the time, the thought of one day meeting his soulmate had almost been foreign to Yoongi. He had lived his life as he wished, prioritising both his musical work and his friendships. He had no expectations with which to burden a future soulmate.
And as he had left his home on that Saturday — either late spring or early summer — he had not sought out his soulmate at all. He had sought out inspiration, or peace of mind. He'd recently been unable to compose or tweak any of his tracks, unusually paralysed with a deep certitude that what he would make would not be quite what he wanted to make. In hindsight, he wondered if his soul had been unrestful and trembling with the anticipation of meeting Taehyung.
He had randomly taken the subway. He hadn’t even bothered to bring along a pair of headphones or earphones. He had relied on the busy chatter of the city to invigorate his mind. He had stepped off at Dongdaemun Station almost randomly as well. He had disembarked with thoughts of the Garden of Light, the ocean of LED roses that stretched out across the plaza.
At the time, he had never seen them in person. He had vaguely recalled the image from a drama Hoseok and Namjoon had pored over the last time the former had had some time off touring. And more distinctively, he remembered one of Namjoon’s manuscripts, which Yoongi had compared to Murakami’s After Dark, where a character had suffered a moment of distress amidst the delicately luminescent flowers. At the forefront of his mind had been the recent news that the exhibit had reopened to the public after a lengthy period of maintenance, and the fact that the sun had been sinking low in the sky when he had left home. It had seemed like an unexplainable, yet perfect opportunity.
Maybe at a different time of the day, or maybe at a time that wasn’t so close to the reopening, he would not have fared well in locating the area. However, following the throngs of locals and tourists alike had been second nature. He never made it to the stairs leading directly to the garden. Well, he did the following day when Taehyung had taken him to see the flowers up-close. On that Saturday however, he did not go any further than a ledge overseeing the garden.
He had hesitantly come to a stop, not understanding why no one else had interrupted their pace. He had stared in confusion at the light that had caught his eye. He was expecting a faint, pure glow of white. The light he had seen had been vivid. It was a rich and thick golden, a shade he would maybe associate to the light of the sun. He had approached, thinking maybe the moon had hidden itself behind the man perched atop the ledge. He had leaned right and left, but it had seemed as if the source of the light chose to remain behind the figure.
He had stepped back in surprise when he had caught sight of the crescent in the sky, which emitted no such golden or bright light. He had gulped anxiously, berating himself for expecting the shape of an overly large and overly glowing moon.
He had thought, perhaps, the man before him was holding onto the source of the light. Paying closer attention to the man, he had noted the several fabric rolls peaking out of the bag slung over his shoulder. He guessed distantly that he had purchased the fabric rolls at the nearby fabric market. Squinting against the unusual light, he had made out that the man had unrolled one fabric specifically and was holding it to his face. He had seemed lost to the world around him, or even the ocean of flowers stretched out before him. Mostly, Yoongi had taken note of the fact that he had had no free hands to hold up a lantern, or any such source of light.
“Excuse me!”
His words had been almost shouted, and they had rung out as erratic as his accelerating heartbeat.
The noises of the crowds had faded out as soon as the stranger had glanced over his shoulder with large and surprised eyes. He had hopped back down from the ledge, clutching the fabric — something of a royal purple with a pattern that disappeared under certain lights, but shone with a same golden as the man’s aura — to his chest, and readjusting the strap of his storage bag.
The long leather coat and the black bandana that pushed the man’s hair away from intimidating eyebrows gave an impression of stylish coolness. Yet, below the coat, he wore something that seemed like a high collar jumpsuit. Something that was a definite pastel pink. With a glance down to what might have been mistaken for a pair of slippers, Yoongi exhaled loudly.
He couldn’t have begun to understand what kind of person would wear that kind of outfit. But with all his vulnerabilities exposed in the lilt of his voice, he had asked the only question on his mind.
“Are we soulmates?”
It had immediately seemed like the right thing to say as the man — Taehyung — had broken into a bright smile that had been reflected in his aura’s sudden flare-up.
Namjoon’s voice pulled him back before he could further reminisce.
“You know the only outcome here is you’ll spend less time with Taehyung, right? What’s even the point in dating — ” His voice cut off there, for only a moment of shameful hesitation. “When you’re in love with Taehyung.”
Yoongi’s face felt heated in response. No matter how much time he’d had to become familiar with the idea, hearing his friends state it so plainly time after time never became easier, never became less embarrassing.
“The point is for me to feel less like a predator.” Yoongi gave an annoyed sigh as he checked the time, took care in preempting any and all of Namjoon’s interjections. “You know that Taehyung doesn’t feel the same way. In his eyes, I’m like his big brother. It’s creepy for me to feel this sort of way for him.”
A stilted silence followed, during which Yoongi occupied himself by toying with the edges of his phone case. He never expected any different, but it always hurt that no one argued he had a chance with Taehyung. Everyone knew that Taehyung never spoke of Yoongi as his significant other, and never sought out physical intimacy.
At first, when his own feelings had just been taking root, Yoongi had counted on the way that Taehyung’s radiant aura became all the more brighter and effervescent when they were together. That belief had progressively faded away as Yoongi often noticed the phenomenon when he wasn’t anywhere near Taehyung. Yoongi would notice the spike in his aura, even when Taehyung spoke to his building’s receptionist, waiting for Yoongi to pick him up for lunch. The same would happen as Yoongi would return from the restaurant washroom, to find Taehyung chatting with the waiter. The aura would be just as bright when they’d part ways and Taehyung would embark into the elevator alongside colleagues.
Yoongi always observed these spikes from a distance, desolate and lonesome with the knowledge that yes, he brought happiness to Taehyung, but that it couldn’t be considered anything special. Taehyung was just the sort of person who appreciated every person around him.
“And what about soulmate therapy?” Namjoon eventually proposed.
“That’s just for people who need help reading their soulmate’s aura. That’s not the issue here. Do you know how terrible it was? That I had to look up having unrequited feelings for my soulmate and — yeah, you guessed it — there was nothing written about that anywhere. No personal testimonies. No academic research. No fantasy novel about it. Screwing up your soulmate relationship is pretty much made to be impossible. And yet, here I am. Pining after and daydreaming about Kim Taehyung.”
Already embarrassed by his outburst, Yoongi sprung back up to his feet. He patted down the pockets of his jacket, making sure he had his wallet, phone, and keys.
Namjoon seemed contemplative now, arms crossed, and expression rigid.
“Don’t you think that maybe he’s just not the sort of person who can have romantic feelings?”
Yoongi didn’t give much of a response. Of course he had thought of that. It didn’t really influence his conundrum.
“Even if that’s the case, I’d still be creepy.” Yoongi sighed out longly, letting his expression falter for just a moment. He couldn’t be too indulgent, or else he was certain his face would be a constant state of frowns and sad eyes. “I’m going to tell Tae I’m going to start dating. That way, he knows I’m not putting dumb expectations on him. He’ll know I’m moving on, and with some luck I actually do.”
No further words were exchanged before Yoongi’s departure. He did make a mental note to check in on Namjoon once back home, to make sure his friend was doing well. He didn’t particularly like it when the focus shifted solely to his own personal problems.
He marched off at a brisk pace, wanting to make sure Taehyung wouldn’t wait for him at the restaurant. His mind, however, wandered to the only time he’d kissed Taehyung.
He’d been invited to the company’s biggest artist’s mansion, for a soiree to celebrate the launch of her newest album. Taehyung had been good, as he always was, at monitoring when Yoongi’s social exhaustion bordered on just too much.
Taehyung had grabbed his hand and brought him out to the gardens, away from the chatter and clinking of glasses. The autumnal cold had been almost biting in their simple suits, but Taehyung’s hand in his was a fair distraction.
Eventually, they had stopped by a bush of roses. Taehyung had immediately identified the breed as Peace Roses.
“And how did you know that?” Yoongi had asked, though he had willingly crouched next to Taehyung to run a curious finger over the delicate texture of the petals.
Taehyung had smirked. “Well, they’re probably the most well known roses in the world. But aside from that, one of my favourite textiles has this colouring. You know, the creamy peach colour with the flushed edges of sunset pink.”
Yoongi offered him a private smile before setting his eyes back on the roses. “Sometimes, your aura has these exact same colours.”
That night, Taehyung’s aura had been a quiet adagio of fluorite purple and malachite green.
“You, too,” Taehyung murmured.
Yoongi had been caught by surprise by the intimate tone, and had turned to observe his soulmate. He was just as surprised to see the look in Taehyung’s eyes. Yoongi only ever managed to interpret the look as amazement, but never understood why it ever crossed Taehyung’s face when looking at Yoongi.
Taehyung had been even quieter when he had whispered, “don’t roses remind you of the day we met?”
When Yoongi had cradled Taehyung’s face and kissed his lips, he had had no expectations. It felt natural to kiss Taehyung in that moment. Maybe it had been the shades of the roses, and the evening dew that had already gathered, that had prompted him to do so.
But when he had pulled back, he had resolved it would be their last kiss. Taehyung smiled at him as brightly as he had the day they had met. And of course, Taehyung had kissed him back with a great outpour of love.
Yoongi had felt ashamed. He’d felt it. Taehyung had kissed him the way a child kissed their mother. With unconditional love, but with no romantic feeling whatsoever.
⚘
Taehyung was dreaming. He knew because Yoongi’s aura was missing, as it always was when he dreamt. He also knew because he couldn’t see much past their table, and the air smelled like his laundry detergent rather than the restaurant’s cooking. What’s more, the restaurant the dream was set in was the one he’d need to head to once his alarm woke him up from his mid-evening nap.
He’d stayed at the workshop until the late hours of morning the day before. He didn’t have the heart to bring up his heavy workload with Yoongi, so he’d opted to head home earlier than necessary to catch up on a few hours of rest.
He smiled easily. The best dreams were the ones that starred his soulmate.
Yoongi had interlaced all twenty of their fingers together over the table; yet another indicator that Taehyung was dreaming.
Yoongi tilted his head, then pronounced Taehyung’s name. This, however, emulated reality perfectly. Taehyung could feel himself perk up. He’d never fully appreciated his name until he had met Yoongi. He liked the way Yoongi dragged out the syllables, as if he loved the name as much as he loved Taehyung himself.
“I’m leaving soon.” Taehyung tried to catch sight of the door or exit, but he still couldn’t see past the dreamy mist surrounding them. Yoongi continued, with a squeeze of Taehyung’s hands. “Listen, I’m leaving somewhere far away. Where you can’t come.”
The pain of the statement was immediate, and Taehyung could barely hang on to the hope of hearing his alarm. The feeling was drawing him further into the dream, his ribcage feeling too tight around his lungs. Yet, the pain was quickly attenuated by a sudden and complete acceptance of Yoongi’s words.
“Me, too,” he whispered in understanding. The memory that this was a dream was present at the back of Taehyung’s mind, where he acknowledged that ‘me too’ was his usual go-to when his emotional response was too great to express.
“I know.”
“But, I don’t want to go.”
Taehyung couldn’t tell how long he insisted that he didn’t want to leave, or how many times he had formed the words, but eventually he woke up. A great sadness weighed down on his shoulders as he verified the time. His alarm had been minutes away from ringing.
He pushed his sweaty bangs away from his forehead. He sighed sadly, taking note that he had sweated through his clothes with the intensity of his dream — or had it been a nightmare?
He felt sluggish, or maybe as if his soul wasn’t quite anchored to his body right, as he went through the process of showering and picking out a new outfit. He didn’t want Yoongi to worry. He didn’t want Yoongi to know he had dreamt such a thing… Not that he understood it. But, he understood that he missed Yoongi. That his soul might feel better once he could pick apart the soft colours of Yoongi’s aura today.
On his way to the building’s elevator, he hesitated before his neighbour’s door. Jungkook was one of his two closest friends. He had moved in over three years ago, and Taehyung had persisted in greeting and speaking to him often enough that they had grown unexplainably close. Had he had time, he would have stopped by, talked about his dream at length to gain some reassurance before facing Yoongi. The restaurant was in Yoongi’s neighbourhood though, and he had to take the subway.
It felt as if his trance state only broke once Yoongi rested his hand over his shoulder in greeting.
“Taehyung,” he pronounced in the same way his dream version had. “This restaurant has great crab miso soup.”
Yoongi’s aura looked like crumpled crimson taffeta. Taehyung swallowed down his feelings. He’d only mentioned a craving for the particular soup in passing a few days ago.
“Then that’s exactly what I’ll get! You know me so well.”
He wondered if his enthusiasm seemed dulled by the lingering dream. It must have. He’d meant the words, Yoongi knew him so well. Yoongi knew him without ever trying. He wondered if Yoongi secretly communed with Taehyung’s aura when he was asleep. That reminded him that Yoongi hadn’t stayed the night in a while. He hesitated to invite him over, knowing he was thinking of heading back to the workshop before going back home.
His mood passed as the dishes were served. Spending time, no matter how, with Yoongi always lifted his spirits and healed any unease that haunted his heart and mind. Things had always seemed very natural between the two of them, despite their friends’ insistence that they were quite different from one another. When together, they laughed easily, spoke easily, smiled easily. So it came as a surprise when Yoongi’s words midway through supper rung mechanical and rehearsed.
“Tae, you remember when we first met?”
Yoongi cleared his throat twice to get the sentence out, which perplexed Taehyung. But he thought back to that special day all the same.
As he used to do before meeting Yoongi, he’d dedicated his whole weekend to his own designs. He was happy as a stylist, but he knew he could be happier if he could design as his living. On that particular day, he hadn’t slept in more than thirty hours. He’d been so exhausted, he’d buried his face into the fabric he was planning on working on for the rest of the night.
And when he’d emerged from that state of tiredness, he had been rewarded with the most amazing soulmate. Yoongi’s aura had been a blush pink, undulating like crepe back satin.
“Of course. I knew right away you were my soulmate, but you were confused.”
“Yeah. I think I’m pretty good at being confused.” Yoongi’s voice was low enough that Taehyung was polite enough to ignore the comment, but not polite enough to miss the reddening of his aura. “You know, back then, I was sure we’d be the sort of soulmates who ended up dating each other.”
Taehyung nodded, almost transfixed. His mother’s soulmate had been her sister. His father’s had been his childhood friend, who’d died tragically long before Taehyung had been born. He hadn’t been raised with a predominantly romantic notion of soulmates, but he had always secretly described his first meeting with Yoongi as a coup de foudre; as love at first sight.
Yoongi’s voice was awkward when he spoke next.
“It’s pretty obvious by now that we don’t have that sort of relationship.”
Taehyung blinked. Looked down at the table. Put his chopsticks down altogether. Had he misheard Yoongi? He fought to find words, but settled on staring down the table. His forehead was starting to feel sweaty again. He attempted to smile in response. As weak a smile he could muster, he knew his aura wouldn’t do as good a job masking his reaction, which could be summed up as what the hell?
“I’m sorry for bringing it up. I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to start dating.”
Yoongi’s tone sounded determined, and almost as if he thought of the statement as a reason for Taehyung to perk up. Taehyung looked back up with some difficulty. The humiliation stung too blindingly for him to ask for clarifications.
“Oh. Well, that’s good?”
“Don’t worry, you’re still my most important person. If there’s anyone you don’t want me dating, I’ll listen to you. No questions asked.”
“That’s good,” Taehyung tried again.
Yoongi must have sensed Taehyung’s feelings, as he smoothly steered the conversation back to the meals before them. But, for the first time since they’d met, Taehyung suspected Yoongi must not have understood his feelings at all.
His appetite was unrecoverable, and Yoongi seemed worried when Taehyung refused the invitation to drop by a dessert bar before parting ways.
Yoongi walked him to the subway station. When the train arrived into the station, Taehyung hugged him tightly. His tongue felt numb from digging his teeth into it. He refused to do anything like cry in front of his soulmate. The person who’d rejected him… In such a bizarre manner.
He numbly decided to stay away from his workplace for the night. It wasn’t until the elevator doors slid open to reveal his floor that it struck him. Yoongi had honestly believed they weren’t dating. He didn’t think they had that sort of relationship. Taehyung felt ill.
Instead of returning home, he knocked at Jungkook’s door. He crossed his arms over his chest as he waited. The protective stance did nothing to up his confidence, and he still hadn’t found words to speak by the time Jungkook opened the door, toothbrush in hand.
“Oh, hey! How was your hyung?”
Taehyung blinked. Of course, he’d already told Jungkook he was having dinner with Yoongi.
“He, well… Could I come in?”
Jungkook nodded, quick to flutter around his apartment to ensure its tidiness. Jungkook’s home was an exact replica of Taehyung’s own studio apartment, but he was always surprised by how orderly Jungkook’s seemed in comparison. He’d seen dirty dishes on his visits only once. It had been a bowl and a spoon, left in the sink. Jungkook had apologised at least thrice for their presence.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to bed yet. It’s just that my personal trainer told me not to eat past eight, so I brush my teeth early as extra incentive.”
Taehyung nodded dumbly, struggling to concentrate on Jungkook. Jungkook was impressively active that way. His work studio was situated far across the city. He was the company’s youngest cinematographer, working on nationally broadcasted shows. Yet, he found time to have just about every hobby under the sun.
He took a shaky breath.
“Yoongi-hyung said that when we first met he thought we’d date.”
Jungkook stopped moving around the apartment, returning with his familiar wide-eyed expression, nodding as if to encourage Taehyung to share more.
“But that, obviously, we’re not going to date. And that he’s going to start to date!”
He was aware of his voice climbing into the hysterics he only reserved for big breakdowns.
“And it was weird for you to hear him talk about dating you?” Jungkook guessed.
Jungkook’s guess at Taehyung’s troubled expression was that he’d been uncomfortable even discussing the prospect of dating Yoongi. Taehyung took a seat on one of two kitchen stools. Jungkook’s guess must have made sense, because Yoongi had swerved away from the topic afterwards, as if wanting to avoid bothering Taehyung with the line of thought.
Taehyung couldn’t help but to burst into frustrated tears as he spoke next.
“No, it was weird because I thought we were dating. I thought we were dating, this whole time!” He cried loudly.
Jungkook’s eyes had gone wider than ever before.
“What? You thought you were dating Yoongi-hyung?”
Taehyung nodded insistently, not attempting to wipe away his tears.
“But, I, uh… I’ve never seen you, uhm… You thought you were dating?” Jungkook asked again. The disbelief was the final blow to his heart as Taehyung put his head down into his arms, collapsed over the kitchen island. “Oh shit, ok. Alright. I think we need Jimin, what time is it for him?”
Taehyung sniffed pathetically, but still answered “like, eleven in the morning.”
“He has shows tonight?”
“Not this week. He’s going to be in rehearsals. Don’t bother him.”
Taehyung put his head back up to watch Jungkook. Anyone close to him became close to Jimin, it was a rule of thumb. Even after Jimin had left to join a ballet company in London. He was always proud of Jungkook and Jimin’s close friendship, feeling responsible for its fruition. But, he watched sadly as Jungkook organised the call with Jimin. He would agree that Jimin would be his best bet on comfort, but he didn’t want to impose in the middle of his day.
“Hyung, it’s fine. I’m sure he can take five minutes to do the Skype thing with us.”
Years ago, he’d found out the KakaoTalk Video Chat wasn’t the best to communicate overseas, and Jimin had walked him through Skype with some help from fellow dancers. Taehyung had been the one to do the same for Jungkook later on.
Eventually, after a lot of grumbling from Jungkook, switching back and forth from his phone to his laptop, Jungkook returned holding up his computer.
Taehyung tried to sniff loudly enough to miss Jungkook’s quiet explanations. 'He thought he was dating Yoongi-hyung! He’s really upset, I don’t know what to do?'
“Taehyung?”
He smiled through his tears, putting a hand up in greeting. Jimin’s hair was back to black, Taehyung heard that it was always a hassle to get the artistic director to agree to Jimin dying it lighter. A sheen of sweat covered his face and exposed shoulders, the computer’s audio offered a muffled piano tune. Taehyung would guess that he had stepped out of the studio when the buzzing from his phone had become too much to ignore.
“Are you having class?” Taehyung asked softly, trying to straighten his posture.
“Yeah, don’t worry, Tae. We were at grand allegro, I’ll skip out on the last bit of it.”
Unexpectedly, Taehyung’s crying picked up again.
“You sound just like hyung… And grand allegro is your favourite!”
He wiped at his tears, thinking of the way Yoongi would compare his aura to an adagio, and on other days an allegro, and even on some as vivace.
Jungkook squeezed his shoulder in solidarity.
“Hey, it’s alright. Now tell me what’s going on. You thought you were dating?” At Taehyung’s muted nod, he continued. “I’m sorry to say this, Taehyung, but Jungkook and I? We had no idea. We would never have even thought of that.” An awkward pause. “Did you ever even kiss?”
Taehyung felt embarrassed now, the same humiliation that had struck him at the restaurant overwhelming him. “He kissed me once.”
The knees of his pants had been wet when he’d stood back up from the garden floor. The full moon had basked the gardens in lovely moonlight. The moonbeams, however, meant nothing when compared to the fiery reds of Yoongi’s aura.
“How long ago,” Jungkook asked curiously.
“Over half a year ago.”
Jimin sighed, pushing his hair back. “Well, that’s not great. You know that, right? You know you probably weren’t dating if you kissed once in the whole year you’ve known each other?”
Taehyung had trouble swallowing, let alone supplying an answer to Jimin’s remark.
“Hey, easy. He hasn’t even known he’s gay for that long. I think he can be forgiven for having trouble with this stuff.”
“Yeah, of course, that’s not what I meant,” Jimin amended quickly.
More words followed, but Taehyung tuned them out. He was feeling babied, now. Even though Jungkook hadn’t been wrong. It had been over a year ago that he had seen the Facebook post of two men in Jimin’s company getting engaged. He’d made a profile to follow Jimin’s career, who’d told him his ballet company was very active online. He’d had tremendous difficulty understanding the English in the comments, but had felt irrationally envious when he’d noticed even the couple’s parents were excited by the news.
He’d brought up his jealousy with Jungkook and, eventually, had asked Jungkook 'do you think I might be gay too?' When Jungkook had told Jimin, he’d called him, and had reassured him for at least an hour that his family wouldn’t love him any less.
Taehyung hadn’t been so sure. But, if same-sex couples didn’t have universal support, it seemed the world at least tolerated same-sex soulmates. Who could be blamed for wanting to spend their life with the person that understood them the most intimately? It had seemed a godsend, a mere week later, when Yoongi had found him.
Jimin and Jungkook were still bickering about what it meant to date someone, when Taehyung spoke up.
“But, his aura is always in hues of reds and pinks when he’s with me. I just, I just thought that meant he was in love with me, too.”
Both Jungkook and Jimin gave him pitying looks.
Taehyung knew. He knew that interpreting and reading a soulmate’s aura was a unique experience for each individual. That was why he was always comparing Yoongi’s to textures, and Yoongi comparing his to tempos. He knew that that interpretation and understanding was something inherent to each person. And he knew his friends were watching him as if he hadn’t managed to understand Yoongi’s aura. Yet, he found himself silently agreeing with his friends.