Chapter Text
fate is kind
she brings to those who love
the sweet fulfilment of their secret longing
- when you wish upon a star, from disney's 'pinocchio'
yoongi is five when he first hears the term 'soulmate'.
"hyuuuung!" hoseok whines, tugging on the back of yoongi's shirt. "there's a girl in my sandbox!"
yoongi heaves a long-suffering sigh and, like the big boy he is, explains patiently, "hoseokie, that isn't your sandbox."
"but i play in it everyday!" hoseok protests stubbornly. "i can't build sandcastles when there's someone else in it!"
"haven't you ever heard of sharing, you brat?" yoongi retorts, struggling to escape hoseok's grip.
"yeah, eomma always says that noona has to share her snacks with me, but after eomma leaves noona hides all her snacks anyway." hoseok pauses for a moment, then adds, "and don't call people brats, that's rude."
"you're rude," yoongi mutters venomously, then yelps as hoseok begins dragging him towards the other side of the playground. he stares forlornly at the abandoned basketball court, wishing desperately for a ball in his hands and hoseok's departure. preferably from his life.
"hyung, tell her to go away," hoseok demands, stabbing his finger in the direction of a thin-faced girl kneeling in the sandbox, armed with a bucket, a spade and a pout to rival the one hoseok is currently sporting.
yoongi sighs again (his mother says that sighing so much makes him seem like an old grump, but then again, she doesn't know what being jung hoseok's best friend is like), but trudges over reluctantly.
"my friend wants you to go away," he tells her, trying to convey with his eyes how helpless he is in this situation, but is met with a scowl. hoseok peers at her from over yoongi's shoulder, and pipes up, "yeah, this is my sandbox, you can't play in it."
the girl crosses her arms defiantly, rolling her eyes. "i don't see your name written on it, stupidhead."
hoseok gasps, clearly offended at the use of such a disrespectful jibe, but yoongi furrows his brow, his mind working furiously. those words sound wholly familiar, and he chases down a memory of them written somewhere...
"hoseokie," he says slowly, and the said four-year-old turns to him. "aren't those the words on your arm?"
"huh? oh, yeah, they are," hoseok confirms, squinting down at the hangul tattooed on his wrist. yoongi turns to check, and sure enough, the sentence is marked word-for-word on his friend's skin, right down to the insulting name at the end.
"what he said is on mine, too," the girl announces, looking at her own wrist before glowering at hoseok. "does that mean you're my soulmate? gross."
"what's a soulmate-" yoongi starts to ask, but is cut off when hoseok cuts in with a glare. "you're gross. girls are icky. i don't wanna be your soulmate, whatever that is."
the girl looks like she has half a mind to stick her spade in their eyes, and yoongi is mentally preparing to make their getaway when two of his teachers come up to them, hoping to stop a fight before it breaks out. "woah, what's going on here?"
"mr song-ssem, he called me gross!" the girl complains, pointing an accusing finger at hoseok, and mrs lee hastily placates her with a look.
"well, she said she didn't want me to be her "soulmate"! what does that even mean?!" hoseok retorts, looking scandalized.
mr song and mrs lee exchange interested glances. what seemed to be an ordinary playground scrap is turning out to be something more.
"chaerin-ah, are you saying you think he's your soulmate?" mrs lee asks, squatting in front of the little girl.
"his words are on my wrist and mine are on his," chaerin mutters. "my eomma said that the person whose words match mine would be my soulmate."
"ah, so that's the case," mr song says, a smile spreading across his face. "could you bring them to the office and have someone call their parents to inform them?"
mrs lee nods and takes chaerin and hoseok by the hand, leading them back to the school building. mr song watches them go, mumbling something about how "some people have it so easy".
"um, ssunsaeng-nim?" yoongi taps his art teacher on the arm. "what's a soulmate? what does that mean about hoseokie and that girl?"
"oh, yoongi-yah, your parents haven't explained it to you yet? well, your soulmate is the person you're meant to be with forever. it doesn't have to be romantic, but most of the time it is. the words on your wrist make up the first sentence they say to you, so that you know when you meet your soulmate. they're your other half, you know. they complete you. do you get it?" yoongi listens attentively, and even though he doesn't understand how somebody could possibly "complete" him or the wistful tone of his teacher's voice, he nods anyway.
"you'll learn more about it in first grade, buddy. you can go play now." mr song pats him on the head, and he, knowing a dismissal when he hears one, scurries back to the bustling playground. his mind is full of questions, but then, seokjin invites him to the swings and he forgets about it until he sees hoseok and chaerin sitting on the curb after school, sharing animal crackers as their parents chat nearby.
yoongi is five when he first learns about soulmates.
and he is ten when he loses all faith in his.
-
oddly enough, his dreams always contain sound.
his memories of his life before he was ten are foggy, and those he can remember are just birthday parties in his backyard and summer holidays and trips overseas, so the sounds of off-key pop songs and his friends' rambuctious laughter and his parents' fond voices populate his dreams. his elementary school days are long forgotten, and he cannot for his life remember a single memory from kindergarten.
except for one.
it was the day hoseok found chaerin, so he supposes it is a pretty memorable occasion. what he clearly remembers, however, is not hoseok finding out the girl who pissed him off and declared the discovery of their matching soulmate tattoos "gross" is, in fact, his eventual girlfriend, but mr song's explanation of soulmates.
he doesn't know why, but tonight, of all nights, his subconscious drags up the memory of mr song's low voice.
"they're your other half, you know. they complete you."
he understands his teacher's wistful tone, now.
the memory fades into nothing, and when he wakes up the next morning, he has no recollection of dreaming about it at all.
yoongi yawns, sleep still swimming in his half-lidded eyes, and his mother shakes his shoulder for the third time. he groans, the sound vibrating in his throat, but blinks the grogginess away. his room comes into focus, his mother's impatient face front and center in his field of vision.
get up, you're gonna be late, she tells him, and he wants to question her, ask her why she woke him at such an ungodly hour (honestly, who wakes up at 7 a.m. on a saturday?), before the memory of his promise to accompany his friends on their trip to the music festival slams into him like a ten-ton truck and he almost groans out loud again.
but he doesn't. he knows his mother would never push him to do anything he's uncomfortable with, but a promise is a promise, so he plasters a fake smile on his face and replies with, i'm up, thanks eomma.
i made pancakes, you can bring some to the rest, she says with a small smile. she loves yoongi's friends like they're her own children, and never ceases to spoil them. yoongi nods his thanks, and she leaves so he can get dressed.
breakfast is a speedy affair, and it's not long until his mother shoves a container of food into his hands and informs him that his friends are here to pick him up.
yoongi doesn't bring much, just the bare essentials and his notebook, but his friends look like they dumped an entire house full of crap into seokjin's van.
are we moving or going to a music festival? he says sarcastically by way of greeting, and hoseok just laughs, tugging him into the van. he wonders if his best friend's laugh sounds the same as it did when they were kids, but shakes the thought off as chaerin greets him with a quick hug. namjoon says hello from the front seat as taehyung launches into a complicated story involving elephants and wild hand gestures, making it hard to follow along. he can see jin smiling at him from the rearview mirror, but the older boy keeps his hands on the steering wheel and eyes on the road, so yoongi doesn't bother him, instead indulging taehyung and trying to understand his story.
one hour and several random stories later, they arrive at the festival venue, and yoongi's nerves hit him full force again. he swallows the uneasy feeling down as he steps out of the van, hoseok and chaerin spilling out behind him. the air is charged with adrenaline and passion; the colourful banners are so loud he can almost hear them; and the people milling around are sporting instruments, food and huge grins. his kind of people, then, if he even has a kind, and he feels his lips twitch upwards almost involuntarily. though he would never admit it, he's missed this. the feeling of an event so lively and free, just full of people wanting to have a good time and sharing what they love, is an unforgettable one.
seokjin, with his hands finally free, asks yoongi, you still okay? concern creases the corners of his eyes, and he chews on his bottom lip worriedly.
why wouldn't i be? yoongi answers, trying to seem confident, when really his insides are collapsing in on themselves. he can tell his hands are shaking slightly as he replies, and he knows that seokjin doesn't miss that fact, either.
you know why. jin's gaze is steady on his, piercing, as if he can see every single doubt coiling around yoongi's throat and choking him. and yes. yes, of course he knows why.
it's kind of hard to forget that he lost his hearing and voice in an accident on the way home from a music festival, after all.
ironic, isn't it? music, which he so dearly loved and still does, which his ears were so attuned to, which he devoted his six of his ten years on earth to, only for it to steal away the one thing he needed for his passion to continue and grow: his hearing and vocal chords.
take away a musician's instrument, and he will hum a tune, tap out a rhythm, whistle and sing. take away a composer's pen and paper, and he will write their lyrics and notes in their own blood. but take away a musician plus composer's ears and vocals, and you have stripped him of everything he ever needed to do what he loves.
so what does the said musician plus composer do? shut himself off, away from music, away from people, so taking what he loves away from him all over again will never happen again. it hurts, of course, whenever he sees his old piano collecting dust in an abandoned corner, whenever he catches his friends sending fond, loving glances towards their soulmates, but it hurts more when he wakes up after a night of noisy dreams only to hear static.
that accident didn't just rob yoongi of his hearing and voice, it took his faith, too. he doesn't believe in his own soulmate anymore. why would he, when fate has been nothing but cruel to him, fanning the flames of his love for music with countless awards and certificates of accomplishments and the promise of a bright future in the musical industry, only to snatch it all away in the form of one drunk driver, a slippery road and more blood than he could ever comprehend.
it's easier, he's decided, just not to hope. he will never hear his soulmate's first words, anyway, and they will never hear his.
yoongi doesn't tell seokjin any of this. no dictionary in the world has the words for what he's feeling, so he just musters up a smile, and signs back, i'm fine, don't worry about me.
seokjin's eyes are still filled with reluctance, but then namjoon wraps an arm around his waist, whispers something in his ear with a grin, and yoongi doesn't miss the way seokjin glances adoringly at his boyfriend before turning back to his dongsaeng. the rest have already run off to catch the performances. wanna come?
yoongi wants to tell him that he wouldn't be able to hear the music, anyway, but he can picture the way seokjin's face will crumble and apologies will tumble out of his fingers at whirlwind speed, and the agonising stab of guilt isn't worth venting his nerves through rude remarks, so he just shrugs and follows.
trailing a little way behind the couple, without the hubbub of the crowd to distract him, he notices every subtle look, every casual touch, every exchange of affection, and it cuts deeper than he thought it would.
namjoon and seokjin, in yoongi's opinion, met in the most cliché, most chickflick-like manner any two people possibly could. seokjin, being the awkward, clumsy idiot he is, had tripped over a crack in the pavement and dropped his books all over the sidewalk. during what taehyung had defined as "that one moment in romcoms when the music swells and the two main leads' eyes meet and they both simultaneously think, shit, they're hot", he had looked up as a shadow fell over him, and his gaze had met crescent-shaped eyes as a boy with bleached-blond hair and dimples deeper than swimming pools handed him one of his files.
"oh my god, thank you so much, i'm too clumsy for my own good," seokjin had said, and namjoon had frozen in shock for a second, before a huge grin unfurled on his face, and he replied, "well, good thing we can tell the kids you literally fell for me."
seokjin had just stared at him in disbelief, the words printed on his wrist running through his mind, and according to his own retelling, had thought, well, i just embarrassed myself big time in front of my soulmate, so fuck it, and straight up kissed a total stranger.
so maybe yoongi had pretended to gag the first time seokjin introduced him to namjoon and retold that story, and maybe yoongi had beared witness to all the times hoseok and chaerin were shoved together simply because they're soulmates, and the tension and fights that inevitably caused. but he's also seen first-hand how seokjin almost seemed to gravitate towards namjoon even when they were in a crowded room. he had been the one to play host to hoseok for the night when chaerin kissed him on his fifteenth birthday and he needed somebody to talk to, his cheeks flushed with giddiness, elated that after nursing a six month-long crush on the pretty girl with the matching soulmate tattoo, the inevitable had come.
and yes, taehyung hasn't found his soulmate either. but kim taehyung is his own person, who seems perfectly happy being on his own and drunkenly kissing strangers at friday-night parties, no strings attached, until someone stumbles into his lap with the words, "sorry, the stage lights blinded me for a moment" rolling off their tongue and binding the both of them for life.
but yoongi? no. yoongi might act tough and rough and scary, but there's a part of him who is still six years old, watching hoseok and chaerin play together in the sandbox, watching his parents cuddle on the couch, watching every pair of soulmates interact with fondness and affection, who still believes in the tooth fairy and wishing upon a shooting star and the words scrawled across his skin. it's just that there's another part of him, ten years old and waking up in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by white walls and the sharp tang of disinfectant, crying because for the first time he can't hear his mother's voice or the music from the radio, crying because it's not the last time he will wake up disoriented only to hear dead silence echoing. that part of him is bigger, scarier and more aggressive, so yoongi listens to it, has become that fragment of himself.
it's easier not to hope, it says, and so he doesn't.
seokjin tugs on his arm, and yoongi speeds up his pace, holding on to the older boy's sleeve like a lifeline as they wade through a crowd. he can't see where they're heading, due to his short stature, so he blindly follows.
the crowd breaks up, and suddenly they're in front of a stage. the lights are too bright, and there's coloured smoke spewing from a pipe. he doesn't know what music is playing, but judging by the way everyone has their ears covered, it's too loud.
he doesn't notice any of this, however, not even when seokjin yanks him in the direction of their dongsaengs, not when hoseok flaps an impatient hand in front of his face. he's mesmerized by the performer.
it's a boy, skin slick with sweat and dyed hair drenched in gel, donning the simple attire of a muscle tank and basketball shorts. compared to the rest of the performers, decked out in tie-dye and light-up sneakers, he looks plain, like he's going to the gym instead of a festival. but he's dancing, and suddenly nothing matters.
yoongi's always been good with words. composing is his forte, and lyrics are almost too easy a job for him to tackle. but when he tries to put the emotion and passion with which the boy is dancing on paper, his mind draws a blank. he can only think of one way to describe it: his dancing alone plays the music for yoongi to hear.
hoseok pokes yoongi in the cheek, finally catching his hyung's attention when he tears his eyes away from the performance. hoseok has a huge, shit-eating grin on his face as he signs, see something you like? and wiggles his eyebrows. yoongi shoves him, scowling, but he stumbles away, giggling at his expense.
the performance has ended, and the dancer is nowhere to be found. the stage has been taken over by another dancer, movements fluid and skilled, and yoongi can tell by taehyung's starstruck expression that this one has caught his fancy.
seokjin and namjoon have disappeared (probably found a dark corner to make out, chaerin signs cheekily when yoongi asks her about their whereabouts) and taehyung clearly isn't going anywhere, so yoongi declines hoseok's invitation to join him and chaerin on a hunt for junk food - he would rather not see his two oldest friends swap spit while eating, thank you very much - and settles down on a nearby bench.
he takes out his notebook and a pen, hoping to continue writing the rest of the lyrics for this song he has been working on recently. without actual musical notes and scores to work with, he's spent his teenage years writing lyrics instead, and in this skill he's found solace. he pours his thoughts and feelings into words, twists and bends each phrase under his will, spins each line and weaves it into song. it's his heart, soul and mind, translated into lyrics.
yoongi, for once, is at a loss. he could write about the festivity around him, but this ambiance is hard to capture and harder to fit in a couple of measley verses. when seeking inspiration, an image of the mesmerizing dancer comes to mind, but he pushes the thought away, trying not to think about the way his shirt, soaked with sweat, hugged the boy's lean frame and showed off unfairly toned muscles, or the enchanting flow of his dancing, as though he was born specifically for this one purpose.
lost in thought, he traces his soulmate tattoo with his thumb, an absentminded habit inculcated since young. it comforts him, in the way a childhood toy or a baby blanket comforts grown-ups: a thing of the past that still brings a shred of home and hope into the confusing reality of adulthood. he can't remember how many times he's gone over the words with his finger, late at night, when he can't sleep, when he secretly indulges himself in hoping for a soulmate, even though once dawn breaks he doesn't dare even thinking about it, as though under the blanket of darkness he is safe and sound. over and over again, 2 a.m. wishes racing through his mind, the words as familiar as the back of his own hand.
i'm so sorry, are you okay?
the words are apologetic, yet sincere, and yoongi sometimes wonders what his soulmate will do to him that makes them apologise when they first meet. mostly he wonders if he will ever hear the apology at all.
it's easier not to hope.
he snaps the notebook shut, frustrated at his lack of creativity, frustrated at his superficial infatuation with a guy who wouldn't look his way twice, frustrated with himself. he's always frustrated with himself, really, but he's left in a sour mood, casting his eyes downwards as he kicks a stone away in irritation, and-
yoongi collides with something that feels distinctly animate and warm, and, upon looking up, instantly regrets it. if he could swear out loud he would have unleashed a long train of profanities, but he settles for screaming internally.
the captivating dancer is, impossibly, even more attractive up close.
perhaps he's slightly chubby-cheeked, but his full lips are turned up in a pouty, apologetic smile, and he is undeniably cute. yoongi can hardly place such a innocent face together with his fire engine red hair and muscles, but somehow it fits him, softens the angles and planes of his body.
shit, he really shouldn't be waxing poetic about a stranger's body.
the dancer seems to be saying something, and usually yoongi can read lips pretty well, but he's speaking too fast and there seems to be an accent twisting his words, so yoongi doesn't catch a single phrase that leaves his lips. the daegu boy grimaces, dreading the inevitable look of surprise and pity, and taps his ears before shaking his head in the universal sign of i'm deaf.
the dancer blinks, and yoongi feels unwarranted disappointment pool in the pit of his stomach, sucking the energy out of him. meeting new people sucks for this exact reason: their failure to comprehend his disability.
but then the red-haired dancer perks up with a smile and, with shocking accuracy and fluidity, signs, i'm so sorry, are you okay?
i'm so sorry, are you okay?
it's easier not to hope.
i'm so sorry, are you okay?
easier, easier, easier.
i'm so sorry, are you okay?
hope.
yoongi moves on autopilot, his brain still struggling to fully catch up to the turn of events, signing the first thing that comes to mind. how do you know sign language?
the dancer's jaw slackens slightly, then the mega-watt beam is back in full force, and he signs back excitedly, my soulmate told me to.
the small spark of hope burning in yoongi's chest flickers out like an extinguished flame, because of course. of course this beautiful, beautiful boy has already found his soulmate. of course yoongi is still irreparable, still alone, still half of a never-complete whole.
then the dancer holds up his wrist, and there, clear as day, are engraved the words, 'how do you know sign language?'
stars explode in yoongi's ribcage, and, for the first time in what feels like forever, he allows himself to be engulfed in a wave of happiness as the dancer pulls him into a tight hug. he's found them. he's found his soulmate. he's complete.
i thought i would never hear my soulmate's first words, yoongi signs once they break apart, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and the dancer just smiles mysteriously. fate knows no barriers, you know.
so maybe yoongi still doesn't fully trust fate, not yet. maybe he still thinks he's broken. maybe he still wonders whether he will ever be fixed. rome wasn't built in a day, after all. wounds take time and patience to heal, some more than others. but, in this moment, with this pretty dancer's hand in his and an unbroken promise of forever written on his wrist, he's willing to take a chance.
he's willing to believe again.