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For many years Hakyeon’s mind has been plagued, terrorized, by a mere question. A bone-deep rooted insecurity, a constant prickling that had kept him awake at nights during his teen years, an inflexible stubborn belief.
“Am I unworthy of love?” he asked his mother at blossoming vernal age, soon after he found out the red thread from his left pinky suddenly got broken. Chopped off.
The old woman hugged him tightly and murmured “You’re loved, you’ll be loved” in his ear many, many times like desperate enchants or fervid prayers. It soothed him a little, but at the same time was juxtaposed with the realization he’d never have a soulmate tattoo, similar to the little plum blossom he stared at in his mother’s neck.
There are different types of love, he learnt as he grew up. Eight, according to the Greeks—Eros, Pragma, Ludus, Agape, Philia, Philautia, Storge, and Mania. And he was going to have most of them, he decided one night, after a girl sniggered at him.
No matter how. If not the one, he was going to have everything else—admiration, passion, self-love, family, money.
Everything. No matter how.
Then, he met Hongbin.
He met Hongbin during a few runs of evidence gathering and became enraptured by his ravishing chiseled face and his shy of naysayer, anti-establishment logic. "The soulmate thingy is just a concept, hyung. An imposition from our monogamous cultural system. A way to keep us controlled. Not by fear, but by hope. Nothing assures you that that one person is the one. They make you believe they’ll be. So we become expectants and only for it. We don’t look at other possibilities and we don’t critique them. It's like… a suggestion. Do we really love that 'soulmate' or do we convince ourselves we love them?"
“Are you saying hope is the most powerful weapon?”
Hongbin sneered. “I don’t know. You tell me, mister lawyer. I’m just an IT guy.”
Almost without thinking it through, Hakyeon did a stank face and a movement akin to a neck chop. They were out, in an obnoxiously fancy café Hakyeon took him to under the pretense of needing information he was well aware google or naver would give him just fine. Being called old and snickered at by a deep warm voice was quite charming, apparently.
They were getting along too well, too fast. It wasn’t unsettling, but it seemed like it. Exhilarating, maybe.
“So we all are conditioned to do nothing and just wait for that soulmate?” Hakyeon asked after sipping his jasmine tea. His accompaniment gulped down his black coffee and nodded.
“Yep. To let people just pass by our lives. What if the true thing is right in front of my eyes and not at the end of some rainbow-y red thread?”
Before he could grab a hold of himself, Hakyeon gasped and halted his breathing. He forced himself not to look away, to stare upfront until Hongbin gave in and let his gaze wander around the table, around the space and materials acting like a barrier between them. Hakyeon definitely didn’t miss the blush sprawling through the pale skin of his cheeks. Neither did he disregard the warmth creeping up his own neck.
Hongbin was… something else. Cynic in the surface, yet quite sensible and sensitive underneath—noticeable only when Hakyeon’d stretch the talk out from mere minutes to long hours. To hide this fact, he tended to become snarkier than usual and do taunting remarks, bordering on rude. Although, he was never really rude. His manners weren’t as princely as his face, yet neither were ill.
And, maybe, Hakyeon just needed to stop trying to analyze his attraction for the other man to convince himself he knew what he was getting into. To convince himself he still had some kind of upper hand in it.
Falling, falling, falling. Hakyeon was falling fast for a man whose skin was a blank canvas and whose smirk was infuriatingly attractive.
For a man that had embraced and kissed a broken, drawn and rotten being.
More than once Hongbin said he didn't care that Hakyeon had become the type of shark lawyer that would fight and bite for the highest bidder. When he found out that one of Hakyeon’s most assiduous client was the biggest and shadiest company in South Korea, his only reaction was to scoff a “And I’m the one called merchant of doom? Idioms should be revised and updated.”
Not even raised his eyebrows in another way than teasing when Hakyeon acknowledged he paid his way through college scamming soul-widows.
"It was really about our intrinsic connection. And being a smart, double majoring in dancing pretty boy kind of helped me."
“Don’t you think too high of yourself?” Hongbin snorted. “For fuck’s sake, why didn’t I think of something like that instead of part-timing in retail like normal broke college students?”
“You also need great people skills like mine,” Hakyeon pointed out. The other man scoffed and rolled his eyes, yet relaxed his expression when Hakyeon caressed every single of his features. First with his fingertips, then with his lips. “You could be an outstanding scammer,” Hakyeon murmured against his lips before kissing him, hard.
Before sending a silent pray for the pricking question, the loud insecurity, to shut up. For not speaking it into reality.
The way that Hongbin barely reacted, shocked, when Hakyeon showed him the gun he kept in a holster and the small daggers he always carried around was kind of disquieting. The waves of fascination that followed were rather arousing and slightly suspicious.
Yet, the tight hug Hongbin gave him when, at a moment of weakness and bliss, Hakyeon confessed the reason of getting his manicure done every week was because he still saw dried blood under his nails—that was different.
It gave Hakyeon hope.
A year down the line, Hakyeon breathed out, relief washing him over. The inner lip of Hongbin started to tremble the moment he saw the starkly new tattoo Hakyeon had—delicate and shadowy ivy vine cascading down his shoulders and left arm, girdling around his body and clinging to the small plum blossoms he already had tattooed like inked remembrance.
Hongbin didn’t know about that. He was only aware of what was common knowledge.
"Found your soulmate?"
For a fraction of a second, Hakyeon was decided to say yes. He had been tempted to do it before—gauge down the situation, lie effortlessly, strike first, coolly leave. Replicate his attack method as a defence mechanism.
Lessen if not avoid heartbreak.
Because he was becoming wide aware of that, as he needed more and more to hold Hongbin in his arms and tuck him in bed with him. Heartbreak was inevitable, just a matter of when.
Hakyeon shook his head. "Probably died."
Hongbin sighed. Then he sprawled down the velvet-y beige sofa he usually teased Hakyeon about, suddenly relaxed and quiet. He was analysing himself, Hakyeon noticed. Work habits were hard to drop even at home; he mused as he sat on Hongbin’s lap and straddled him.
“That’s why you are so… fearless?” Hongbin murmured as he licked the foliage near his neck. It stung and it could probably get infected, but Hakyeon couldn’t help but let him. “I mean, the conning, the ruthless persona you put up at trials and meetings, budding with the police while carrying a gun and all the shit you do. It’s because you think no one will mourn you?”
Fairly stunned, Hakyeon shrugged. “I guess so? I think my reasoning was more on the side of if I’m not going to be loved, at least I’d have all the rest. I would not slip into oblivion.”
Hongbin pulled back to look at him, yet the spot where his lips had been still burned. A frown was etched on his handsome face, so out of place and so weirdly endearing.
“But aren’t you anyways? History books never mention lawyers. Plus, the government can erase every single of your online footprints. You are going to fade into the million other workers whose best feat is traveling abroad in your vacations.”
Hakyeon gauged him for a long second.
“Lee Hongbin, is this your way of telling me you love me?” Hongbin spluttered and choked on his spit, as some rogue tinted his cheeks. Along the tousled hair and swollen lips, he looked like out of a wild fantasy. “Because I do.”
Hongbin opened his eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights, trembling and dilated pupils becoming shiny. It actually took him a few breaths to be able to articulate his voice—and yet, he didn’t mention the L-word.
“Want to get a couple tattoo?”
Hakyeon was delighted nevertheless.
By the time Kim Wonsik’s birthday party rolled around, Hakyeon and Hongbin were both sporting a matching string tattoo around their right pinkies. Both a joke and a promise. Hongbin came up with the idea and Hakyeon said yes immediately. Secretly, he adored it and everything it implied.
Dizzy and maybe a little bit drunk, Hakyeon exaggerated his hand gestures to make the tattoo be seen. Barely containing his giggling, Hongbin faked exasperation at his antics, even when was actually getting uneasy at the growing amount of drunk police officers—more three quarters of the attendees, considering that their friend was an officer.
“How on earth are you so calm?” he murmured in his ear. “Please tell me you left your gun at your house. I don’t know how to bail you out of prison.”
“Our house,” Hakyeon replied. “You’re there more than half the time. And relax. I can bail me… wait, no. I’m fucking amazing, I won’t get caught. Besides, you think anyone here wants to stop having fun to actually work? For that pitiful salary they have?”
Begrudgingly, Hongbin nodded. An almost perpetual grimace stayed in his face as they were introduced to Wonsik’s other friends and co-workers. Hakyeon entwined their fingers to calm him, their tattoos touching and creating the illusion the strings were tangled together.
Hakyeon looked at his new tattoo, too perfect and too immobile. Steady. He liked to imagine it was his real red thread attached to Hongbin’s, unlike the thing hanging from his left pinky.
Lint loose and eerie like bloodied gossamer.
Park Hyejin, a doctor who doubled as a philanthropist and ran multiple NGOs and was a friend of Hakyeon’s main client, was found dead. Hysteria had broken loose at the company headquarters and, thus, at Hakyeon’s firm.
Briefcase in hand, he walked into the crime scene to gather useful evidence for his client’s alibi. If he was lucky, Wonsik’s division would be in charge of conducting the investigation. But then he saw Dr. Xiu bending over the body, so he wouldn’t have it as easy. Even if they got along well, the forensic tended to become unresponsive whenever Chief Kim from Violent Crimes Department was leading and, lately, their teams had been working together a lot.
So Hakyeon braced himself for an unfruitful day on the field. Most of his questions were going to remain unanswered and he was going to be pushed out of the crime scene. At least, from what he could see from afar, there was a possibility that his client could be incriminated for it. Bent hands and shattered phalanges? Yeah, sure. But if Hakyeon hadn’t heard wrong, the victim’s blood had been drained out and that kind of modus operandi spoke more about spite, premeditation and overall devilry than a business discussion gone awry.
“Mr. Cha?” A soft yet deep voice called him from the entrance. Hakyeon had inadvertently stepped closer to the body, its pungent smell like garbage and rotten meat prickling his senses and making him dizzy. It probably was a miracle he didn’t threw up. “Please come over, Mr. Cha. I can’t let you be here.”
Outside the building, Hakyeon took a deep breath, finally. The officer stared at him attentively, probably looking out for him in case Hakyeon got sick, at the same time he palped his pockets insistently. His features seemed familiar. Strong yet gentle, slightly more alluring than handsome and rather cute when he pouted when he found his pack of cigarettes, but no lighter. Even when he was wearing the full police uniform as aesthetically dreadful as it was, down to the white gloves and blue hat.
The officer’s gaze brightened up the moment Hakyeon lent him his lighter, so in return he offered him a white stick. When he refused, claiming he didn’t smoke, the man giggled. “Then why do you have a lighter on you?”
“We met at Wonsik’s party, didn’t we?” Hakyeon asked, instead, as an icebreaker. It had been late into the night and Hakyeon had been clinging to Hongbin and to his wine glass, but not enough to ignore his surroundings.
“Officer Kim Jongin, at your service,” the other man introduced himself with a soft smile. He took another drag of his cigarette and then: “The man with you that night… he is not your soulmate, is he?”
Hakyeon’s whole body tensed, but he did nothing more than staring back at Jongin. Maybe his gaze was too intense or he clenched his jaw too hard, because soon the other man was trying to calm him down.
"Who told you?"
Jongin shook his head. "You looked at him with strange eyes. As if you were ready to set the world on fire to keep him by your side." Hakyeon laughed in response, a telling off for suggesting pyromania, but inside his heart shuddered at the possibility. "Yeah, you're right. You're too controlling for that."
Hakyeon clenched his jaw again. This was extending longer than necessary, but he wasn’t able to move yet. His own mind’s fault for considering the implications of Jongin’s words.
"This is not how you do small talk during smoke breaks, officer."
Jongin blinked, stunned at the edge on his tone, and bowed down in a rush while apologizing for his rashness. Seemed like he was the type of dreamy, pensive person rather than reckless, devil-may-care laggards Hakyeon usually had to treat with, so he was going to let it slide.
Before he could leave, Jongin changed the subject: “You are a dancer, right?"
Hakyeon raised an eyebrow. “Were. I have no time lately.”
“I knew it!” Jongin murmured. For a moment, he looked more like a child than a policeman flicking his cigarette butt into the nearest trash bin. "I’m one myself. Five years of ballet, then seven of jazz. It's easy for me to spot other dancers, not mentioning people who aren’t.”
“What you mean?”
Jongin ran his hand through his hair. “You may have figured out yourself. Us, dancers, are used to give our all, but in a very controlled way. We become perfectionists. We have to be one step ahead of everyone to show what we want them to see. So we have to analyse each of our emotions in order to be able to mask them. Deliberately, we get really close just to be farther. Thus, it became easy to notice masked folk. It translates well to the job, doesn’t it? Helped me to get into the Extraordinary Violent Crimes department, at least. I assume it happens the same for a lawyer.”
Assenting was futile at this point. Jongin definitely was more thoughtful than he pictured. Instead, Hakyeon asked: "What prompted the change of career path, officer?"
“Chief Kim is going to nag me. I’ve should gone back earlier,” Jongin said and bowed down. Then, in lieu of an actual reply: “I’ll tell you next time, Mr. Cha.”
Hakyeon didn’t count on it.
Sometimes the way Hongbin spoke to him sounded cruel. He wasn’t one to care about embellishments or loquacity. As an IT specialist, he was more concerned about the process of sending the message right. His constant and deadpanned I don’t care about what hyung does were more meaningful than mean.
It was a different art of talking and Hakyeon appreciated it a lot. Used to loopholes and to bending words to one’s own benefit, to get an unequivocal clean message –even when it was concealed by plain sarcasm— was a breath of fresh air.
Hongbin had never whispered an "I'll be with hyung forever" no matter how much Hakyeon would have wanted to hear it. Instead, he murmured an "I'll follow hyung anywhere" against Hakyeon’s back, as he leaded him to bed.
Hakyeon found himself content, satisfied. Promises are a powerful binding contract, he had learnt.
"Anywhere? Would you follow me to paradise?"
The scoff that followed had been expected and it warmed Hakyeon’s chest.
"Anywhere,” Hongbin reiterated. “Even if I think it’s wrong, I’ll always follow you. Actual physical places are preferred, tho."
Smiling against the pale skin of his boyfriend’s hand, Hakyeon kissed every single finger, from the tip to the knuckle, putting special effort in the red string tattoo. Then, he froze. Struck by his own egocentrism.
Nothing new under the sun, maybe, but a prickling sensation in his mind. He loved Hongbin, that was a given, and was capable of setting the world on fire just to keep him by his side. And was about to ask Hongbin to abandon everything just to love him.
It was a Hakyeon-gets-all situation. No matter how.
“Come to Thailand with me for the next Songkran. Beaches, summer cocktails, us by the blue sea, and that water war. Think about it.”
“A free trip and the chance to shoot you water? I’m in.”
“Brat.”
Hongbin looked beautiful. At the beach, on the streets, in his arms. When he smiled, when he sipped iced tea, when he bit on his lips. With the soaked translucent white shirt or the ugly fish slippers.
Hongbin looked beautiful at any moment and Hakyeon’s love for him was bottomless.
But if it was real love, shouldn’t he let Hongbin be free to choose whatever he wanted? Shouldn’t he act like a soulmate would—not destroying everything, but building chances for Hongbin to grow? To decide on his own. To love him on his own.
Soon, it was like dried blood under his fingernails.
It was getting under his skin and occupying, plaguing, his mind. Leave first, get heartbroken, stay together. There weren’t a lot of outcomes, thus weren’t a lot of ways to be prepared, to choose wisely the best for him.
“Hyung? Everything’s okay?”
Hakyeon lifted the corners of his lips and nodded, his emotions perfectly controlled.
He had to be a step ahead of the imminent to be one step further when it came.
Around the time the gritty, cold city started to be dressed in pinkish cherry blossoms, Hakyeon received a text asking him to meet in a garden café in Ansan. It was from an unknown number, but the location sent was close to the site that’d been on the news the night before, so his curiosity was spiked. When asked who it was, the reply came hours later. Sorry, Wonsik gave me your number.
By the Ansan Canal at sunset and surrounded by petite dancing petals in the breeze, Jongin looked kind and dashing. Drained too. He was wearing some pieces of his uniform still, like the raincoat and the gloves, because “Exhaustion makes me feel like these are snow.”
"Congressman Kang is dead," he said, no prior introduction, after he sipped a latte that was more sugar and milk than coffee.
“Media beat you already,” Hakyeon replied. Then he straightened his back, the none of my clients were involved at the tip of his tongue. “They’ve said it was done by… the one with the dramatic biblical tittle. They’ve even said there’s a witness this time. Finally.”
The other man grimaced and whispered something that sounded like Fallen Angel. To Hakyeon, it seemed like the police was finally stepping out of the murky darkness they had been tumbling in when it came to this ghost-like killer. They must have been extremely frustrated with a starkly weird MO and not a single trace left behind, not a single thread to pull from.
"I have to ask you a favour," Jongin said, almost successfully concealing the wavering in his voice. Hakyeon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “The witness is going to give his statement tomorrow to Officer Do, the one in charge of this case. And the law says…”
“Their lawyer can be present. If the witness doesn’t have one, they have the right to ask for one and the government will concede. I know the law, officer,” he retorted, not as annoyed as he might had sounded. Jongin got flustered and muttered a bland excuse under his breath. “What is this favour about?”
Jongin collected himself and squared his shoulders. “I need no random dull lawyer in that interrogation room.”
“You think the witness could end up being incriminated?”
He shook his head. “I trust Officer Do to be really righteous.” Jongin’s ever present soft smile came back to his lips and something gleamed in his eyes. Something akin to admiration or concern—it was hard to discern as the sunlight dimmed. “I need to know what goes down in that room. His testimony could be transcendental to the case. It’d be a shame if something goes missing or gets twisted if the lawyer can’t help the witness out in that kind of stressful situation.”
Idly playing with his lukewarm cup of jasmine tea, Hakyeon considered the situation. His gaze was unwavering fixed on the officer, who looked for something in his worn designer backpack. After a few seconds of cursing his careless nature under his breath, he pulled out a file named Cho Taejin.
“Sorry if it’s a bit crumpled. It’s honestly a miracle it’s not torn. I usually lose or break everything I touch.”
PTSD—that the first thing Hakyeon read, highlighted in nasty yellow. The man had spoken very little and cried whenever he saw someone smiling.
“I know it’s not your usual type of clientele…” Jongin started, voice soft and persuasive.
"What do I get in return?"
Jongin pouted. "Huh, I'll owe you one?"
Satisfied, Hakyeon nodded and gathered all the papers from the file. There was a few gory pictures from the crime scene and disturbing descriptions, yet he felt nothing. It wasn’t in his hands, after all.
As they were about to stand up to leave, a thought popped up in Hakyeon’s mind. “This is next time.”
Stopping dead in his tracks, Jongin blinked for a few seconds.
“Oh, right. The reason why I dropped dancing to become a police, right?” Jongin asked. Stalled. He even took his time to sip his cold latte and put it aside almost immediately, a grimace in his face. The topic must be sensitive. "My boyfriend disappeared."
Hakyeon pursed his lips. "You lost your soulmate?"
"Kind of? But I'm responsible for that,” Jongin said and scratched his head, an awkward giggle following his words. “Sehun wasn't my soulmate, but he dealt with me. When I was with him I really believed I’d done no wrong. I think I was my best me.”
"Care to explain?"
The smile in Jongin’s lips froze for a fleeting instant. Then, it became notoriously sardonic.
"Yes, I do,” he stated. Afterwards, he sighed and leaned back against the back of his chair. “I was a troublesome kid. I gave my parents many problems and many reasons to fight. I must had given them hell during elementary school. It was… dark times. So one day I thought: no one should go through that for me. No love for the wicked,” he sang the last sentence, sadness infused in his tone. Then, he shrugged. “So I cut my red thread.”
“That’s impossible,” Hakyeon blurted. “The red thread can stretch and get tangled, but never be cut.”
“Blood-sucking beings should be impossible, and yet,” Jongin replied, calm demeanour and not even an ounce of astonishment. “Well, long story short: Sehun convinced me to join his dance class so I could canalize all my energy in art or something like that. You know, artist can be criticized by their art’s moral, but not punished because at the end of the day is just that: art. Little rascal dropped out the following semester, but I’d already found my passion by then and my parents were happy. And Sehunie went to every single showcase,” he added, his tone shifting from gloomy retelling into a warmer, nostalgic tone.
“You are talking too much and telling me almost nothing, officer.”
“Think so? I’m sorry,” he said and bowed down, apologetic. “Words are an art I haven’t mastered yet. But, well, Sehunie disappeared one day without a trace and I couldn’t stand not doing anything. You know: pain makes the artist greater or breaks them thoroughly. Or both?"
A short silence stretched between them, where commiseration and awkwardness got mixed together. Hakyeon noticed his idle gaze, wandering around the table and the papers in Hakyeon’s hand, lost in tender times.
“I’m assuming you haven’t found this Sehun again, am I wrong?” As an answer, Jongin shook his head. Slowly, almost defeated. Hakyeon felt uneasy for him. “So how did you cut your red thread?”
That brought a smile back in the policeman’s face. “Why? So you can copy me?”
For the first time in years, Hakyeon found himself choking his tears back. His once serene and clear-headed mind, the same it had taken him lots of hard-work to achieve, was slipping back into the cloudy prickling mess that would keep him awake at night.
One moment he was breathing fine, the next he was clinging to Hongbin for dear life. He was drowning, drowning, drowning —in thoughts, in possibilities, in feelings he couldn’t even comprehend.
Why was he caring so much? He was decided to have it all. If not the one, everything else—admiration, passion, self-love, family, money. And he did enjoy most types of love next to Hongbin.
Also, Hongbin didn’t care. He said it himself; he’d follow Hakyeon anywhere, even if he were wrong.
Hongbin loved Hakyeon.
Feeling calmer and composed, Hakyeon circled his arms around Hongbin’s small waist. It was the perfect size for him to hug, to hold and to hold onto. Just like the large shoulders Hakyeon liked so much to lean on and to nuzzle slowly, perceiving the small reactions he caused in his boyfriend—the goosebumps, the quivering, the rapid heated skin. He blew a raspberry out of the blue and rejoiced in the way Hongbin gasped.
“Aren’t you tired, hyung?”
Hakyeon shook his head. The drowsy, deep voice was arousing him, actually.
When he slipped a finger under his boyfriend’s shirt, a hand came to stop his immediately. “I’m not in the mood today.”
“Humour me a little, Binnie, please. Hyung had a long day at the police station.”
Hongbin opened his eyes wide. “Police station? Something happened?”
Delighted by the worry in his voice, Hakyeon softly caressed his boyfriend’s hair with his fingertips as he shook his head once again. “Just some ad honorem job. I represented the witness from the Fallen Angel case.”
“That’s big. And mediatic,” Hongbin said. “Good publicity for you.”
Humming, Hakyeon sprinkled little kisses all over his boyfriend’s jawline, creating a trail that went upwards to his lips. He basked in the whimsy enchant of Hongbin’s shiny hooded eyes, accompanied by low, sensual moans. Hakyeon could have gotten lost in the moment, drifted away by exquisite sensations and the candence of their breathing, if Hongbin didn’t pulled away claiming he needed to rest.
They fell asleep snuggled—a different kind of bliss.
Then, Hongbin met fate.
Hongbin met his fated one and decided to sneak on Hakyeon while he was trying to cook dinner, while he was settling into a life that resembled an old reverie, while he was singing lovely bright tunes about love under his breath.
There was something akin to hurt and distress and maybe concern in Hongbin's eyes, but it was the emptiness behind his smile what scarred Hakyeon. Hongbin was standing in front of him, empty.
Apprehension ran through his veins like rapid-fire and left behind a trail of resignation. Hakyeon switched off the stove and walked over to cup his face—to inspect him, to feel him, to know if Hongbin was still there, with him.
“You look at me with strange eyes, Hongbin," he said. His boyfriend flinched slightly and looked away, past him, for less than a second. Enough for Hakyeon to realize that his gaze wasn’t the same as before and starkly different to the way Hakyeon regarded him. "You look at me as if you'll leave me soon."
Expecting a sarcastic jab in return, praying for an endearing giggle, Hakyeon was betrayed by blunt silence.
He felt Hongbin leaning against his touch and doing something else, something maybe out of pity or remorse, but he couldn’t stand it. He slipped away and took one step back. One step further, further, further. He needed to create distance, to hold himself, to not get shattered and burnt at the same time.
He had known this was going to happen. It was fate, it was inevitable, just a matter of when.
His chest still felt on flames.
“How long?” his voice cracked a bit, and Hakyeon loathed it.
The answer came after a long deep breath: “Two weeks.”
Two weeks. For two week Hakyeon had been in the dark, playing lover on his own. Where was the trust they put in each other? For two weeks they had been kissing, hugging, eating together, engaging in gossips and cynical talks, sharing the same bed and—nothing more.
A sardonic smile appeared in his lips when he realized Hongbin had been always tired by a couple of weeks then. "Why didn't you tell me earlier, Hongbin?"
"Because I wasn't sure. Because I believed nobody could come in between us, even if that somebody was supposed to be my destined,” he answered, voice softer than usual and lips trembling. Then, he puffed up his chest and blew it out. “I trusted that a soulmate was simply a concept, and that we would still be us," he added, voice firmer and with an edge that Hakyeon couldn’t pinpoint exactly.
Was it disappointment or dishearten—Hakyeon will never be sure. Yet, the intensity in his gaze told him he was honest. Hakyeon couldn’t look at it be true.
"What changed, then?"
"I can't help the way I feel,” Hongbin replied. As if he couldn’t help hurt Hakyeon either. He must had seen or understand something, because he rushed to explain: “As if somebody is asking me to breathe in water, and I'm drowning. I didn't want this to happen, hyung, and I didn't want to leave."
There. A confirmation.
"That's past tense," he pointed out, an awry smile gracing his lips.
Like a deer in the headlights, Hongbin halted his breathing. Then he nodded slowly, trembling and dilated pupils becoming shiny.
"At first, I thought I could work it out. That this wouldn't affect anything," Hongbin explained while idly stroking his chest, right below the sixth rib, "but I kept meeting him in the most unexpected places. And we began talking. It's very different, hyung. I hated him in the beginning, but I'm starting to think he isn't so bad."
Hakyeon wanted to crackle out loud—be it in guffaws or cries.
Isn’t so bad? Hakyeon was bad. Hakyeon was a shark, ruthless in court and in everyday meetings. The smell of blood sickened him, but also whispered him about opportunities. Hakyeon worked for the highest bidder, not fucking charity NGOs.
He clenched his hands into fists so tight his knuckles were beginning to turn white and his perfect manicured nails started to cut his skin.
"I'm not sure I want to know about him, Hongbin."
Hongbin shuddered and mumbled an apology. Then he lowered his head, chiselled jaw touching his sharp collarbones, in sadness and defeat. Hongbin had given up—to fate, on Hakyeon, on his own belief and words.
Hakyeon finally let out a chuckle, the sound sharp and wretched. "Are you sorry you didn't tell me earlier or are you sorry because this is goodbye after all these years?"
"I'm sorry this is happening at all," he said in a hushed tone and he hugged himself, awkwardly.
He looked weak, honest and dismayed, and Hakyeon had been loving that man for too many years not to let it get to him. Not to feel like his heart was ripping apart to tiny shatters at the sight. Not to soften up.
"This isn't your fault. Both of us knew what we were getting into, and we also knew the consequences of not being soulmates," he said, resuming out loud all the prickling thoughts he carried along with him since they started dating. "We still took a risk, didn't we?"
"I don't regret it."
Hakyeon got stunned by Hongbin's words. Not at the way he blurted them out, but at the intensity he put in them. At all the emotions.
At the way Hongbin still was blushing.
Hakyeon wanted nothing more but to reach out and pull him into a tight embrace. And kiss him, too.
He let his hands remain limp.
"I don't, either," Hakyeon admitted. "I'm not going to deny this break up isn't going to be painful, but I'm never going to regret loving you."
A gasp for air, and then: "I loved you, too, hyung. I truly did."
Hakyeon fluttered his eyelids closed and took a deep breath himself. His whole body was shaken to the core, warm and shattered.
After all, Hongbin was the master of clear unequivocal messages.
Hongbin asked him one last date. One last ride to a fancy café, one last walk by the riverside, one last time holding hands. For closure, apparently.
"I don't want the very last page of this relationship to be of sadness, hyung. I want to make you forget everything one last time."
A noble, kind-hearted intention. A utopian wish.
And a bit selfish too, Hakyeon discovered when he came back to an empty home, solo.
“Am I unworthy of love?” Hakyeon whispered to an empty bed.
Common knowledge said you can’t escape from fate. You would meet your fated one, you would click and you two would slide into a life filled with happiness. You could resist, get tangled or hide, but it was futile—it was impossible to avoid. It was imminent.
So, common knowledge pretty much told him: hell, yes.
He would had set the world on fire just to keep Hongbin by his side.
And, at the end, he was the one going down in flames.
Life went on.
Hakyeon kept going to his law firm, then the court, then a café or a restaurant, then maybe a bar, then went back to the firm. He didn’t skip his appointment at the manicure salon nor backed away from any social gathering.
When Wonsik invited him to a dance showcase, he thought about Jongin instead. About Jongin and the many times he almost asked him to pay what was due through running a background check. Especially now that his IT person was involved. It’s something you can easily google instead of bothering people, hyung. The words hurt him, not then but now.
So Hakyeon did. He couldn’t stand being left in the dark. Once the initial stage of pain and denial passed, he needed to know. Not everything—he wouldn’t obsess over this, he decided. Not if he just wanted to lessen his own heartbreak. And to check if Hongbin was okay without him, that his soulmate wasn’t so bad. For closure.
Stalking social media, he found out Jung Taekwoon. A kindergarten teacher, tall and owner of a unique beauty and charm, cat lover and, on top of all, a good cook.
A fucking kindergarten teacher was Hongbin’s soulmate.
How could Hakyeon compete with that?
When Wonsik called him over at the dance showcase, he met Hongbin instead. Deer eyes, caught under the LED lights of the sign and unfairly handsome. Hakyeon forgot for a moment that Wonsik had become friends with his boyfriend too. Ex-boyfriend. It was getting hard to break away from this habit of considering Hongbin his.
Against his better judgment, he walked over. Hongbin’s bangs were a little longer, slightly hiding his eyes, and his chiseled jawline was slack as Hakyeon got nearer. His lips parted immediately, a greeting sliding out in a rush. There was no fated one around—at this, Hakyeon didn’t know if should be glad or worried.
Glad, he decided when Hongbin stammered a simple sentence. And then worried, when the other man blushed furiously and tried to hide it by throwing as many sarcastic jabs as he could. It was as weirdly charming as always have been. Disarming.
And then: infuriated. Rage started to bubble in his core at rapid-fire speed and to consume him whole the moment he caught sight of a gleam in Hongbin’s right ring finger.
“Isn’t a bit too soon for that?” he asked with an awry smile.
Hongbin’s eyes became even wider and rounder, if possible. Maybe it was instinct, but he even tried to hide it behind his back, away from Hakyeon’s inquiring gaze. If anything, that single action spiked Hakyeon’s ire. He stepped closer and reached his left arm out to grab Hongbin’s hand.
“No! This is not what you think, hyung. It’s just a promise ring.”
A silver band with small cheap jewels encrusted. Honbing wasn’t a fan of jewelry. He used to say he would rather have the money spent on travelling or new equipment than shallow aesthetical gewgaws.
“Promises aren’t your forte, Hongbin.”
Maybe it was due to the harshness in Hakyeon’s voice or a sudden wave of embarrassment that Hongbin flinched back. Pain was written all over his face, but Hakyeon couldn’t care less at that moment. His whole body was burning and his chest was swollen, about to implode.
The moment Hongbin shifted his gaze down to the hard grip Hakyeon had on his hand, Hakyeon remembered they were in a public place. There was a crowd around them and Wonsik, his friend but also a police officer, was in it. Besides, Hakyeon had been appearing in media lately.
He released Hongbin and stepped back, trying to regain his composure.
But then: “Did you get a new ivy tattoo?”
“It’s been barely a month,” Hakyeon said through gritted teeth. “Already forgetting my tattoos?”
Hakyeon washed his hands again and again and again, but nothing. The dried blood under his fingernails was still there, just like the chopped red thread in his left pinky and the tattooed one in his right finger. Inked remembrance.
He screamed into his wet hands.
They had a connection! They had a fucking strong connection!
Hakyeon screamed again and again until his throat ached and the tears dropping from his eyes were only due to rage and exhaustion.
He should have known better. He definitely should have known better.
A handsome face, artsy words, a made-up connection, a soul-widowed.
Hakyeon felt fucking scammed.
The city was no longer dressed in dancing pinkish petals and, to Hakyeon, it had returned to its gritty nature, even when the sun had shone bright the whole day and the park by the Han River was lush and vibrant. Walking alone had never bothered him as much as then.
Afternoon strolls were a good way to cool himself down and think with a clear mind. But also gave him too much time with himself and his messy, plagued mind.
Fortunately, he caught sight of a familiar silhouette a few meters ahead.
"Officer Kim!" Even without the uniform, his model figure and gentle profile were easy to spot. Jongin turned around, the boredom quickly fading from his face when he spotted him.
“Mr. Cha?” Instead of waiting for Hakyeon to catch up, he walked at a slower pace to meet him halfway. Long, lazy strides and a relaxed smile—it must have been his day off at work given his summer attire and the bubble tea he sipped casually. “So nice to bump into you like this! I was afraid of being bored to death today. I think I’m becoming a workaholic.”
“This place is unexpected, because I feel we’ve seen each other a lot lately. It must be our workaholic nature’s fault—“
Hakyeon shut his mouth, so abruptly that Jongin blinked, bewildered.
Lint loose and eerie like bloodied gossamer.
Hakyeon was seeing a chopped off red thread, its lint loose and eerie floating in the late spring breeze. Hanging from the other man’s left pinky.
It was the first time he saw another red thread of fate, besides his own.
A deep, throaty and bitter laugh escaped from his mouth and echoed in the back of his mind. He took a few steps forward, his hand slipping to the place his holster usually was almost automatically.
“No love for the wicked, right?” Hakyeon murmured and pulled out his small dagger, instead.
Jongin didn’t even flinch. “We are in a public space, Mr. Cha. Please, calm down.”
“How long have you known?”
The anger cracked into his voice, mixing rage with steel and sorrow. He shifted the position of his dagger to be almost imperceptible to the stranger eye, though.
Braving his rage, the ever-present soft smile in Jongin’s full lips expanded.
“You could had realized it if you just payed attention instead of clinging to boytoy and to your glass of wine,” he said in lieu of an actual explanation.
In a swift movement, he grabbed Hakyeon’s arm and pulled him closer, the edge of the dagger grazing the skin of his Adam’s apple. Both threads swung between them, their lint interlacing in messy connections.
“Isn’t it crazy that we’re born with something that says we have a perfect other for us out there and another appears to indicate us we found it, and yet we choose to totally disregard them? Human behaviour is nothing short of interesting, isn’t it? We have the path to happiness signalized in front of our eyes and we actively choose to take the uneven rugged one, filled with bad decisions. And ivy,” he commented and lifted the thin fabric of his long-sleeved.
There, starkly dark, was a small ivy inked. A mirror of one of Hakyeon’s.
Hakyeon stared at it for a few long seconds, a stream of light breaking through his cloudy mind. Again, he wanted to laugh, yet laughter got stuck in his throat, alongside the knot of emotions that threatened to choke him to death.
In the surface, he concealed a cracked mask. "Why did you do it?"
Jongin remained silent—stunned by Hakyeon's reaction, maybe. Or reluctant.
“I honestly thought I was doing good,” Jongin whispered. There was an inflection in his voice, an almost imperceptible waving that came from the vulnerability of being open. "Listen, I was a child. I did regret it once or twice. But it was for your sake."
Hakyeon clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his dagger. "That's bullshit. You made me unlovable."
The other man opened his eyes wide and slowly shook his head. With summum care, he pushed Hakyeon’s arm away from him. For some reason, Jongin seemed even scandalized.
"Even before meeting you, I thought you deserved lots of love. And it was awful that you were going to be stuck with someone as troublesome as me. The most self-less act of love I could do for you was me getting lost."
"Fucking unfortunate then,” Hakyeon snorted, “it just ruined me."
"You think so? To me, it made you grow and take risks. Find a passion. Find an honest, unlinked love. That’s where happiness lies to me: forming a bond on your own. Trial and error. Not just let your life pass by while you’re waiting for something to come to you and be the one,” Jongin said, a cynic hiss hidden in his voice. “That what boytoy is for you, isn't it? A real one."
Hakyeon choked a laugh. “So you didn’t want me to suffer.”
“I imagined it’ll hurt. With me in or out of your life… it was pain either way. I just wanted to lessen it.”
Heartbreak was unavoidable.
His real soulmate claimed to stay away to secure him happiness while the one he thought was real love left him to pursue his own happiness. Used him for years and then disposed him.
Was he really unworthy of love? Was he doomed to be alone forever? Was it the real fate of bad people?
Was it always going to be like this—a constant prickling that would terrorize him? Dried blood under his fingernails?
“Can I ask my favour?” Hakyeon voiced, suddenly serene. Blatant contrast of the chaos reigning inside him. “Do you have a next victim?”
Jongin furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head in askance.
“Officer, please. Don’t insult me. My dancing background translated well too. I even teach people how to put on a mask, so I didn’t fail to notice: yours is exceptional. No wonder Officer Do and the rest of the department are so clueless.” Hakyeon put his dagger back in the holster and gestured the other man to walk with him. “What you think about a kindergarten teacher?”
In response, he got a composed smile—a mirror of Hakyeon’s.
No love for the wicked.