Chapter Text
Mingi was never alone.
It didn't always come out as an evidence. Only one toothbrush sat on the sink of his 30-square-foot bathroom and the spare key of his flat remained hidden away in a drawer, without anyone to claim it. To say the truth, waking up every morning to an empty side of the bed — one way-too-big he had spent a questionable amount of money on, purely out of yearn — made him doubt the truth in those words every morning without fail. That is, until a warmth that didn't come from his barely functional heater settled over him like skin-to-skin touch, and Mingi was himself reminded of it. He was never alone, not quite.
See, one thing about witches like Mingi, though he has to be one terrible example, is that lonesomeness was never meant to find them. Magics blossomed when they came together, even while being the antipodes of each other. A stronger power emerged of the mix, making people wonder if it wasn't how magic was supposed to be yielded — and maybe it was, after all.
Witches were never alone, and therefore Mingi wasn't.
There was quite a number of ways to describe the feeling of being tied to another soul, and finding peace in a heartbeat that wasn't his but still etched onto the walls of his mind – a lullaby for the most restless of nights. Still, a single word sufficed : soulmates.
Despite his capacities as a witch being questionable, at best, soulmates were the one thing that made his identity undeniable.
Every witch had at the very least one soulmate, and every witch was born to fulfill the purpose of finding the stray parts of themselves ; of bringing them together. Mingi found hard to believe that some people out there existed in interdependence to him, however. Fate found its way, and fate manifested itself into the form of imprints embedded deep into his skin as a constant reminder of what was unbashingly his.
Encircling his left wrist, contrasting with his otherwise fawn skin tone, were seven colorful marks. He had them memorized by now, could draw them in his sleep probably, and even then, he would fail to show how much they meant to him.
They were many things to say, most of them he'd keep to himself until the end of time : how he had picked up the guitar because of one of his marks, the way he could pinpoint the exact shade of yellow coloring another one. Sometimes, he wondered if the feelings and dedication were reciprocal, if his soulmates ever gazed at his mark and felt their heart soar by that action alone. Lovesickness was a real disease, and some part of him hoped he wasn't its only victim.
Although, it wasn't only about the soulmarks.
The reason Mingi was never alone, despite his empty contact list and lack of social interactions, was awfully complicated to put into words. He never had to, not only because he hadn't held a conversation with another person than his boss in a long time, but also because witches were all around. And simply stuck together.
What he could say, however, might somewhat resemble a rough explanation. Magic, between soulmates, it mingles. Nothing new about this. Be as it may, it made everything different. A thousand mile or oceans wouldn't change the fact that Mingi could feel the magic of seven other people coursing in his veins, and it conveyed so much. Feelings, blurry messages ; Mingi knew what color were their souls before he'd seen their faces, he had had all traces of solitude burnt by some fiery magic – leaving only unspoken words of love for him to cling to.
Seven links. Seven colors, seven scents, seven magics blending themselves into everyday life, almost succeeding in making him forget about the distance between them. They had already found each other, he could tell by the way their magics intertwined, by how it bloomed every night, echoing the feeling of contentment in their bond.
Once again, Mingi wasn't alone. Just a bit lonely, waiting endlessly for Fate to answer his calls.
"Has anyone seen my perfume ? I remember packing it."
San's voice came from the interior balcony upstairs, right where a questionable amount of cardboard boxes were strewn all over the floor, making it hard to go from one room to another without stumbling on something. Yeosang himself had been particularly adamant about being on kitchen duty, far from the mess that currently was the second floor.
"Check Yunho's room. Pretty sure he put some before leaving."
Someone answered. It could be anyone, to be honest Yeosang was too focused on balancing both Hongjoong's funky mugs and a pile of plates in his hands. The task was more tedious than expected. Sure, Yunho and his spatial magic would've been more suited for this task, but whatever advantage he had, Yeosang made up for it with sheer willpower.
He didn't remember moving in being so difficult, but then again he had never moved in along with six other people, most of whom were concernedly materialistic. Hell, there had been more boxes than the moving van could fit. Despite it being the biggest one they could find !
Nonetheless, complains didn't change the fact that getting a new home for his coven filled him with great joy. His magic had been darting over the house, jumping from wall to wall just to familiarize itself with all of this new space. The walls were still bare – but freshly painted in a beige color Wooyoung insisted would be perfect for their living room. Yeosang thought it did match the forest-green couch Yunho installed using his usual tricks, even if he'd never say it out-loud unprompted.
At this point, if you ignored the second floor all together, most of the work was done. Furniture assembled, electrical appliances installed both in the kitchen and living room. Yeosang had even set up his small divination room already, hoping to get back to work swiftly. It wasn't perfect yet, however as he emptied his last crockery box, Yeosang couldn't help but think it could be, with time.
"Where are you going, baby ?"
Seonghwa appeared downstairs right when Yeosang finished zipping his coat. The kitchen was pristine clear after he had tidied up and gotten rid of all the empty cardboard boxes ; but despite having spent his morning moving around, he still felt restless. A walk outside could only benefit him, that was the conclusion he came up with.
His oldest soulmate, however, seemingly didn't fancy that idea very much and neither did his magic. It reached Yeosang before Seonghwa himself did, a velvety tug pulling him forward, further from the front door but right where he could easily fall into Seonghwa's arms, their magics closing in on them as if forbidding the two to stay apart any longer.
"Just getting some coffee," he explained as he breathed in the rose scent so awfully cliché – but also so awfully Seonghwa.
"It's cold outside though…"
Quick steps coming from the stairs echoed through house, and in the same hasty, offhand fashion, a red twirl of magic shot from where a smug Wooyoung stood, tickling Yeosang sides.
"You could just say you're off looking for our princess !"
Blush crept up to his cheeks as soon as the words were out, though he didn't deny the not-so-baseless accusation his soulmates was throwing his way.
This house, carefully picked by all of them, had eight bedrooms. Not more, and certainly not less, despite seven being the number of witches currently in their coven. The truth being, they were all waiting for — or looking for, arguably — a special someone who had a pinkish magic bursting with fanciful soap bubbles, the seventh share of their heart.
Yeosang felt Seonghwa's thumb hover over the diadem-shaped mark resting on his wrist right beside six others, sending a swirl of fondness and whispered love-confessions to everyone in their bond. They hadn't found them yet, their missing soulmate. Yet being the key word, especially since Yeosang's divination magic had led them all here, in an unknown city. As much as he trusted Fate, his mind was urging him to take the matter in his own hand, hoping it would quieten down the need to get to his last fated.
"Is this what this is about ?" Seonghwa wondered as Wooyoung was fastly approaching, greeting them both with a tender kiss. He'd even playfully bite Yeosang's lower lip – just to have a glimpse of his flustered face as he leaned back.
"It is," Wooyoung confirmed. "Princess's magic has been smelling like coffee lately. I have to say, I'm quite surprised Jongho still hasn't ransacked every coffee shop in this city just to find them."
The nickname rolled off his tongue easily, the one they had agreed on.
"I heard that !" their youngest yelled from across the house, but Wooyoung didn't so much as blink.
He was, despite the teasing, correct. Not about the ransacking, though that part was only slightly exaggerated, but rather about the scent of coffee being strong, especially on mornings. It was so thick in the air that Yeosang initially thought San had spilled some of it on his sheets – again. Turned out, once he had shaken off his sleepy daze, that the scent was laced with his seventh soulmate's magic. Ever since, it has been only fair to assume that they had picked up a job at a coffee shop, or something.
"I guess I shouldn't hold you back then, Yeosang," decided Seonghwa, stepping away only for a moment. He returned after a second holding a pink scarf that was gifted to him by Yunho's grandma last Christmas. Not only had it been knitted with lots of love, but Yeosang could tell the mohair yarn had been woven with a subtle thread of her magic, effectively keeping him warm against every possible hardship.
"Don't forget my order. Iced latte, two pumps of caramel, low ice. Also- It has to be almond milk. Got it ?" Wooyoung chimed in.
"I don't know if I can remember all of that Youngie…" he answered in a soft voice that was just a bit to high to be genuine. Of course Yeosang knew Wooyoung's order, the latter made sure everyone in this house never forgot it. If he could get away with a little bit of teasing, however, he'd never miss his chance. Seonghwa seemed to enjoy this as well, smirking as he tucked a strand of Yeosang's hair behind his ear.
"Pretty please ? Last time Jongho messed up my order, I felt my world crumble. Seriously Yeosang. You can't just let your lovely boyfriend die of thirst !" At that, Yeosang held a hand up.
"You pay and I'll consider it."
A sigh — no bargaining or even a whine of complaint. Wooyoung simply complied and took out a card from his back pocket.
"Here," he offered. Yeosang took it without hesitation. If he'd known it was so easy, he'd have abused his power sooner.
"Isn't that Hongjoong's card ?" Seonghwa's intervention made him take a closer look at it, and indeed, their coven leader's name was carved at the front.
He wasn't even surprised. Wooyoung's ploys were a daily occurrence, one you had to get used to if you wanted to last here. Still, he hesitated only a second before shrugging.
"Fine by me."
"This is why I love you," were Wooyoung's last word before slipping away toward the staircase, probably going back to sorting out his pile of clothes.
Yeosang, not before a roll-of-eyes, tucked the credit card into his own pocket and reached for the door handle.
"Wait," Seonghwa stopped him in his tracks, placing himself right in front of the exit.
Eyebrows just ever-so-slightly knitted, jaw tensed — but somehow, eyes sparkling. Yeosang could recognize his lover's concerned expression everywhere, had seen it enough time to know it wasn't necessarily justified, but always well-intentioned. How could it not ? Seonghwa would look at them with pure adoration seeping out of him, his concern always rooted deep in his love for them.
He worried, loved, breathed ; all with the same effortlessness that was hard to think about.
Because he worried, loved, breathed for them.
And Yeosang was scared his world would shatter if he ever made sense of the tangled emotions lodged in his throat.
"What's up ?" he managed out despite the raging fire in his heart.
"I'm saying this just in case, but if you ever feel like it's your job to find them just because it's your magic that led us there – don't," Seonghwa said, trapping him under his gaze "I know it's been…hard. Lately. And that some of us are on edge because we've been waiting for a long time. But that's the exact reason why you can't put yourself under more unwanted stress, okay ?"
"I-" he tried, but cut himself off as words wouldn't suffice.
Hard, was a way to put it.
The distance was fine. Yeosang could manage the yearning, the pull, whatever hell his magic was putting him through as a form of revenge — because apparently he stayed away willingly.
It was different, when his soulmate carried an underlying anxiousness more often that not. Rosy ribbons of their magic curled themselves around Yeosang's pinkies for comfort, and what he felt wasn't a matter of instinctual needs at all. It was protectiveness. It was love. It was years of knowing each other through a bond, of learning to care for the person he shared it with.
Nights when all eight of their magic would fall together as best they could, despite the miles separating them, used to be enough. His coven mates and himself would cleanse the very last hint of sadness by replacing it with something softer, something that made pink turn more vibrant.
Now, even their best attempt were unsuccessful. Their soulmate's magic smelt of coffee but also of tiredness so deep it became potent in the air. Yeosang, or any of his partners, really, could only wait.
An excruciating wait, filled with frustration and pent-up want.
"Thank you," was what he settled one, hoping Seonghwa knew he said those words with an honesty coming from his very core.
And, he did. There was nothing more obvious, as he leaned in one final time to kiss Yeosang lovingly. One of his hand settled on his nape, pulling him closer — all sign of uneasiness died down in that process.
It took him twenty minutes to get to the nearest coffee shop — though he could've probably made it in ten if he had done less wandering.
Moving to a new city with a set goal in mind, like the coven had done, was different from moving for better quality of life. Hence the fact they hadn't looked past affordability and safety in the neighborhood, and obviously didn't visit it beforehand. Yeosang wouldn't call that carelessness, exactly. It was merely doing what was necessary to fulfill a bigger wish, without things such as aesthetics or entertainment playing a role in the equation.
Having said that, it certainly didn't mean Yeosang couldn't appreciate how ice stalactites hung on the eavesdrip of every house he came across, or that he hadn't made a stop near the town hall to check on the public bookcase he found there. In fact, the things he had seen in that twenty minute span were nice — and Yeosang would learn to appreciate them further once he had found what he desperately looked for in every street corner.
The shop was crowded in a way that made him thank the stars he wasn't planning on staying. The lo-fi music playing — one Hongjoong would've bobbed his head to had he been there — wasn't the problem, neither was the mix of half-whispered conversations and untroubled magic. This felt nice actually, like community.
He felt a bit sorry after placing his seven drinks order to an obviously overworked barista and he told them as much, but they immediately waved him off, assuring if that order would be ready in less than fifteen minutes. What was more surprising was, they kept true to those words. Probably. Yeosang didn't actually keep count, too absorbed in a debate the witches sitting near the storefront were holding about heliomancy. But, after what seemed like a short time, he was heading toward the exit, drinks in hand.
His eyes caught the falling wallet belonging to the person in front of him, and he didn't hesitate before retrieving it.
"Excuse me you dropped something," he called out, and the stranger stopped in his tracks, turning to look at him.
Oh, how Fate always managed to turn doubts into remorse for ever letting them poison the mind. He would laugh right here and there, if it weren't for tears welling in his eyes — pink-colored tears filled with glitter and the vehement feeling of belonging.
Unfinished poems and an eighth chair sitting at the table. His bleeding heart and the endless search for its missing piece. What was that, doom ? A shattered soul, by the wrath of gods ?
As he stood in that overcrowded cafe and looked at the witch in front of him, Yeosang couldn't help but think.
Oh, this is mercy.
"You're-" the missing piece. He failed to say it out loud.
Tanned skin, sharp jawline. His hair was bleached but unkept. Given how his muscles were tense and his eyes frantic, he was in a rush.
Yeosang carved those information somewhere deep within himself, while starving for more. He wanted to speak up again, yell even, if it got him to hear his voice in return. Would it be low ? Would it lull him in a way that made sense, would it calm the hunger gnawing his stomach ?
He'd yell — for it.
He really would.
"Your wallet." those weren't yells, they were murmurs "You dropped it."
Casual words were all his mind would supply, even as a swirl of rose and violet surged where their two magic met. It was absurd — how every broken part of himself mended easily, as if Yeosang hadn't cut and bled while holding them before. That man would look at him, would let their magic fuse for what seemed to be the first time but wasn't, and he was whole. At last.
"Ah," his voice was hoarse, Yeosang felt like he knew that already "Thank you."
The taller man — he was Yunho's height, or nearly — took back his wallet and Yeosang thanked the gods their fingers didn't brush ; if they had, the desire for more would've followed him into death.
"What's… What's your name ?" stutters, and rosy cheeks — maybe Yeosang would combust to death after all.
"Yeosang," shyness was rolling out of his tongue even easier than the words were, for they came out as a whisper.
They must look ridiculous, the two of them. Flustered idiots, dancing around an invisible line, one none dared to cross. They sticked to futile manners without knowing how comic that was — because their magics, devoid of the same awkwardness they both radiated, basically threw every attempt at being casual out of the window.
"What's yours ?" he asked, and his eagerness was making things worse.
"Mingi."
It fit. Yeosang thought so as he scrutinized the man's face and figure, and saw someone he already knew better than anyone.
Or maybe this was more.
More than just a fluffy magic that sparkled when the sun shone. More than the princess Wooyoung often imagined, wearing the same diadem you could find on their wrist.
This was Mingi — six foot, hair tangled and a subtle lisp. This was Yeosang's lost part of himself, returning back to him.
And he couldn't have been more perfect.
"I'm in a rush right now," Mingi spoke again before Yeosang could answer "But maybe I could pass you my number ? If you'd be okay with that ?"
A nod came easier than words, and immediately after, Yeosang was handing out his phone.
How could they be explained, those few seconds ? It was as if he had been entrusted with an important mission, one that required turning on his auto-pilot mod. A phone number, and hurtful goodbyes whose importance Yeosang couldn't yet grasp.
Did it matter ? All of this, soon enough, they'll be vague memories and deep regrets.
He came back to himself only once Mingi was gone, and not long after, Yeosang followed, starting the journey back home as if– as if what? This was a chance encounter, merely disruption to his day? No. No — Yeosang had dreamt of this. He had dreamt, he had cried, and when his cries turned into prayers, he had let the gods collect his tears.
Birthday candles. Shooting stars. This day, this moment, it had always been the wish that threaded itself through the fabric of his life. Now that it had finally became true, he dared to walk his way out of it ? How could he let that happen ? He felt sick, body shaking with barely contained unease, and still, his legs betrayed him, carrying him forward.
Soon enough, his phone ended up in his hand and even if he didn't remember taking it out, Yeosang wasted no time calling the first contact that showed up. The line clicked, and words came back to him like the tide.
"San," he called out desperately, and it wasn't long before his lover's voice responded.
"Yeosang ? We've been waiting for your call baby, are you okay?" Relief washed over him for a second, before he noticed the edge in his tone. God, of course — San was worried. Yeosang's magic had been going haywire for who-knows-how long, and now he noticed how harsh it felt against his skin. His coven must be freaking out about it, they always did. Yeosang just kept messing things up.
"I'm sorry, really, " he wanted to explain further, but stopped himself. There was some more pressing matter, had he already forgotten ? "I found him, San. But- But I let him go."
San mumbled through the phone, something Yeosang couldn't quite make out because he had stopped paying attention. He realized it, now. Saying those words out loud confronted him to a truth he'd have rather buried.
He let him go.
Seeing Mingi out the door, making his way home with only a series of numbers in his pocket— He'd done that. In fact, he didn't even hesitate.
"Oh my god," he breathed out. Did his voice sound as shaky as it felt? "I really let him go."
"Pass me the phone. Please." Yeosang did recognize Jongho's voice. It was firm, more tangible than everything he came across those past minutes, and it made any remaining numbness fade out in the background. Eventually, Yeosang could feel his hand warming against his overheating phone. The streets were no longer blurry images his mind was struggling to process. "Yeosang ? Are you there ?"
"Yeah," he answered after a beat of silence "Jongie, I messed up."
"We can figure that out later, sweetheart." he used a name of endearment, and it outshined his need to fix whatever mistake he'd made. Jongho never calls him sweetheart. Not only that — because soon enough came the honey scent of his soulmate's magic, wafting through the air in an attempt to soothe his nerves, and it worked wonderfully. "For now, it'd be nice if you could tell me where you are."
Yeosang could do that. He looked around, taking in his surroundings.
Ungritted roads where concrete glistened with frost even as it neared noon, dark blue covering the roofs of ridiculously large houses — he had definitely made it to his neighborhood without noticing it. His home should be somewhere, and if Yeosang managed to reroute the wires of his brain, it would make things so much easier.
"I'm on my way home," was all he said.
"Do you want me to pick you up ?"
"No. No- I can find my way back." And, he could. Once he'd pull himself together, and stopped being so whiny.
"I know you can Yeosang, but it doesn't mean you should. Say the word, I'll come and get you. You don't have to walk home all alone," he said those words and as Yeosang made sense of them, he found that the winter air didn't carry its usual sharp cold, the one he had felt pricking at his skin just a second ago.
He hesitated, terrified of bothering again until he remembered — this was Jongho at the end of the line. Sweet, reliable Jongho that had silenced his sobs and kissed his tears away so many times it was no use keeping count; if there was one person he shouldn't hide from, it was him. Jongho had seen everything, and embraced him anyway.
"Okay. I'd like that. Hum, you walking home with me ?" it came out in stutters, sounding too much like a question but also too much like his mind was betraying him. "I'll send you my location."
"I'll be there before you know it. I'm passing the phone to San, okay ?"
Yeosang must've managed out a sound a agreement because soon enough, it was San's voice filling up the silence.
They'd often complain — all of them, sometimes jokingly but not always — about how talkative Wooyoung and San could get at times. The world would end before they ran out of things to say, and though Yeosang often hoped for an eternity with them, he did get overwhelmed by their rants a lot.
However, in this exact moment, Yeosang was so fucking glad for it. San spent the next ten minutes telling him about things, each more trivial than the last: how his perfume had been half-emptied by Yunho, how he had run out of hangers for his button-ups and had to steal some from Seonghwa. He was glad, because at no point did his partner expect an answer. A simple nod, or a nudge of his magic, seemed enough to satisfy San. And, in the process, Yeosang’s remaining tension died down, soothed by his absurd stories.
Jongho was different. So inherently different, it was even surprising the seven of them worked like a well-oiled machine.
He got to Yeosang in record time and once they had hung up the phone, he didn't try to fill the silence that followed San's chatter. He simply took the drinks in one hand, Yeosang's own hand in the other, before heading home.
And, if Yeosang had been grateful to San for taking his mind off his problems, then he was just as grateful to Jongho for guiding him back home.
"Is he okay ?" Yeosang would've recognized Hongjoong's voice, coming from downstairs, even if his magic hadn't slipped through the cracks of the door, entering the room like a fury and not settling down until it met Yeosang's purple one.
His coven leader and Yunho had left earlier that morning to go knick-knack hunting, eager to add color to this house until it became home — and somehow, they had even gotten Hongjoong to swear he wouldn't get another questionable-looking mug. As much as Yeosang wished to shoo all traces of guilt away, he also did remember the worried texts his two soulmates sent a bit earlier. They had hurried home, there was no doubt about it.
It wasn't long before Hongjoong entered the room, Yunho following right behind. Any anxiousness previously radiating off of them disappeared when they saw what kind of precarious situation Yeosang was in, amusement taking its place.
"Looks like San picked his new victim," Yunho said, leaning on the doorframe as Hongjoong chose to get closer instead. Yeosang sighed, and that was the only answer you could get out of him.
Once he had gotten home, San had wasted no time carrying him to his bed with a mandatory cuddle session. As for Wooyoung and Seonghwa, their concern was painfully obvious. Despite that, they were more than aware that San was already a lot to handle and decided to give them some space after making sure he was physically unharmed.
Neither of them asked question. They hadn't during the call, and they didn't now either — Yeosang wasn't sure how to feel about it. Some part of him, still frustrated, wished they had. But he knew, rationally that he needed to unwind if he really wanted to keep his panic at bay.
So now, there he was : very much trapped under San's sheets. His attempt at standing up and greet the two newcomers properly went as badly as you'd expect it to, with the human-sized teddy bear clinging tighter and stopping him from fidgeting. Had he mentioned that the teddy bear also had suspicious strength ?
"I'm inaugurating this new room, can't you see ?"
"Oh we can see it very clearly." The eldest sat on the side of bed, taking Yeosang's hand in his "I wouldn't have bet on you to be the first one finishing setting your room up though… Good job Sannie."
"I know, I know. Aren't I good ?" he hummed in happiness, bringing the witch in his arms impossibly closer to himself.
When Yeosang turned towards Hongjoong, the older was already looking at him — carrying an expression that spoke for itself. This was how he communicated half of the time, through coded messages, hidden in the crease of his skin and the depth of his eyes. Yeosang had learnt to read him, or maybe he had always been able to. Which ever it was, didn't matter. By a single glance, he understood Hongjoong was coaxing him into telling what had happen ; something none of his other coven mate had dared doing.
"I'm okay," he started off by saying.
Everyone knew Yeosang… got a bit into his head sometimes. The smallest thing could make him spiral, he often found himself in a panic out of the blue — and the culpability he was left with once his scenes were over, made everything so much worse. Despite that, despite the embarrassment lingering in one corner of his brain, his coven stayed. They asked if he was okay, and when the answer was negative, they'd hold him. (In San's case, he'd do that whatever his answer was. In those times, Yeosang felt like he'd won, in life.)
"That's good," Hongjoong answered, leaning down just to press a peck on his lips.
"I want one !" San piped up, eyes surely glowing with interest by now. Turning around and making sure of it was out of question for Yeosang, not that it was necessary. The blue magic — or should he say, periwinkle, as its owner often insisted — which was worming its way between them, was telltale enough.
"Last time you asked for a kiss, you didn't let go for fifteen minutes. And that was this morning. " Their coven leader reminded, raising an eyebrow.
"Your point is ? I'm obviously trying to pick up where we left off," San's voice was muffled from where he was hiding in Yeosang's nape, and the other man could feel the pout on his skin.
"Just ask Yunho."
At the sound of his name, the witch that was until now, watching his partners fondly, perked up.
"Oh look at the time ! I really should go help with lunch downstairs," he stated before looking down at the non-existent watch on his wrist.
"Come on, you don't need four people to make lunch !" he yelled after him, but Yunho was already halfway through the door, laughter trailing behind him.
Genuine affront laced San's voice, however there was no doubt that apologies would later take the shape of enough kisses to sate a man for eternity — as long as he isn't San, of course. Yunho wouldn't dare turn San down more than once, anyways.
As for Hongjoong, he didn't even try shushing his lover's dramatic cries, choosing instead to settle right next to Yeosang where he fit just right.
"You're not getting out of here anytime soon," stated their divination witch and right on cue, he felt an arm — San's, needless to say — curling around whichever part of him was accessible. He wasted no time before interlocking their fingers ; a kiss ban didn't include hand holding, that would be cruel, even for Hongjoong.
"It's fine," he said in a low voice, his previous worry giving away to aftermath of another sleepless night. "Just tell me about him already."
There it was — that question.
It had always been a matter of time before it was asked. In fact, Yeosang was given more than enough of it : time to ponder, to replay those mere seconds and fashion a description that would encompass the whirlwind their soulmate had been.
And, since he still hadn't succeeded in that, then it surely meant Mingi wasn't meant to be contained at all.
He was more of an experience, one that came and struck faster than his brain could supply words, that shouldn't be turned into a sequence of them, for it was unceremonious and muddled. For other tsurrendero truly understand, Yeosang would have to his heart, where Mingi lived, and that was not something he was willing to give away — so he simply started with :
"His name is Mingi."