Chapter Text
It was a nice sunny day when Mok meets Dean for the first time.
He'd settled on a suit after trying on five different outfits, paid extra attention to his hair and had put on the most expensive perfume he'd owned. He'd then hailed a cab to go the Matching.
As he gets on the cab, the driver greets him with a smile, and Mok sees a yellow flower float next to his head- transparent, and only visible to him.
The doctors had diagnosed him with synaesthesia when he was ten. And Mok, despite lacking the ability to feel emotions extensively, just like everyone who was unmatched, had always seen the world in color. At some point, when patterns begun to show, Mok begins to draw associations.
Before you met your match- your emotions were not non existent per se- but rather, it felt as if something was out of reach. When Mok had seen his parents cry, he had felt something shift in his chest, an ache that was hollow- but the tears never came. He sees the color blue, but it never quite made sense to him.
He looks outside the window as the car zoomed past the streets. It was a quiet day, and the people out and about were few, but they too, seemed happy- due to the abundance of yellow based on his pattern recognition. And red.
Red.
Mok had first seen red when his parents interacted with each other, a floating mini heart that seemed to swirl around their heads- sometimes a lighter shade, sometimes rich, but always present. He sees it when his parents look at him- a pinker hue that never wavers in color. He sees a bold red when his older cousin finally brings home his match.
And when the mark appeared on his wrist when he was eighteen, Mok begins to wait for the day that he too, would meet his match.
People had a multitude of reasons why they would want to meet their match. Mostly because it was frowned upon to be alone. But for Mok, he wanted to understand what it meant to feel fully- but most importantly, he wanted to feel red.
He wanted to feel what love was. How it could be.
And today was the day.
Finally.
Mok walks into the building, and is ushered into one of the waiting rooms, and his match is there- waiting for him already.
Dean was, by all accounts, a very handsome man. He was dressed in a simple button down and slacks, and when he looks at Mok, the corners of his lips lift up into a small smile.
Mok feels a shift in his chest- and he takes the hand that Dean puts out and shakes it.
Finally, he'd met his person. Finally, he would know how red actually felt. As the two of them sign the paperwork that would make things official, Mok spares a glance at Dean- searching for something that was characteristic of everyone else he'd met.
But there was nothing. No color, no shape- none of the sparks that his friends told him about when they'd gotten matched. There was a sort of nothingness that was almost strange- but Mok swallows it up.
He'd just met Dean. They needed time to get to know each other.
"What are you doing after this?" He asks to get it started- because he'd waited three years for this- to meet this man who-
"I have to go to work," Dean tells him, looking at his watch. "You can move in tomorrow. It's the weekend, so I can help."
Oh.
Mok felt a pang in his chest- and this was not the positive kind. But he quickly pushes the thought away.
Dean had just met him, and they had their whole life ahead of them to spend time with each other.
He nods and smiles at Dean, who nods back, albeit awkwardly. "I'll see you then. Bye."
Mok waves at him, pushing away the thoughts that were creeping onto him yet again. Dean worked in a high paying job, and was probably a very busy person.
That was all it was.
But was it?
Mok moves in the following day, and Dean, true to his word, helps him. Once they arrive at his house- a luxurious penthouse, Dean shows him around and then leads him to a room.
"This will be yours," He says, moving Mok's suitcases inside. Mok frowns. "I'll be getting a separate room?"
Dean rubs his neck awkwardly. "Well, yeah. I work long hours and I come home late. I don't want to disturb you."
Mok's mom always waited for his father no matter how late the man had come home, and he'd never seen them not sleep on the same bed. But for some reason, Mok doesn't press and simply nods, feeling another pang in his chest.
"Well, I'll leave you to unpack and rewind. I'll be off cause I have work today," Dean says. Mok opens his mouth to protest, but Dean speaks up before he could utter a word. "I work for an important project, so for a few months I'll be working weekends. Take rest okay? If you need anything, let me know."
With that, Dean was gone, not giving Mok a chance to reply.
Mok stands in the same spot for a minute, something about the situation strange. He knew Dean was his match- because they did have the same markings on their wrist, and the program was never wrong.
Maybe, they just needed some time.
After Dean had gone to work, Mok unpacks his things, and then gets to the kitchen, familiarising himself with the house that he was going to be living in for a long time.
He checks the fridge, and frowns when he noticed it was empty. Did Dean not eat at home?
Mok takes out his phone to message the man, but then decides against it.
It would do good for him to explore the area anyway, and he could start with shopping for groceries.
Mok gets outside the house, and walks around, basking in the sun, which brightened his mood immediately. He looks around him- at the plethora of colors and shapes that he was used to now, but sometimes, it did amaze him.
Now that he had finally met Dean, his soulmate, it meant that he could finally experience those colors in its fullest form.
The marks had appeared many years ago, and was believed to be a sort of virus initially. But as time went on, people had figured out what it was, and that meeting someone with a similar mark would alter one's brain chemistry, and they would finally feel again.
Mok strangely, didn't feel that much different.
The thought resonates in a quiet corner of his mind as he shops for basic items. He glances at the corner when he sees red- a couple buying groceries, and having a playful argument about which cereal they wanted to pick.
And another thought, small, yet a little painful crosses his mind.
I wish Dean was with me now.
Even as he leaves the store with two heavy bags in his hands, the thought stays.
Once home, he goes into the kitchen and works on preparing dinner to take his mind off things. Maybe, when Dean came back, they could eat together? Since Dean worked so hard, surely, he would like to have a home cooked meal after a long day.
The thought fuels him to look up recipies, and he carefully picks out a couple of simple dishes. He knew Dean wasn't allergic to anything, because they were given information about each other prior to meeting, and he also knew Dean liked pasta.
He cooks pasta and some chicken, and smiles proudly at his work.
Right on cue, the sound of the door opening could be heard, and Mok quickly checks his reflection on the large mirror in the hallway, making sure he looked nice. He greets Dean with a smile, because he was excited to finally spend time with-
"Hey," Dean says, swirls of blue surrounding him, and he spares Mok but a glance. "Hope you've settled in."
Mok takes a second to respond, and nods slowly. "Yeah. I noticed you didn't have groceries. I got some, hope you don't mind."
"Cool," Dean replies, walking past Mok to his room. Nothing else. No smile, not even a glance.
"I- I've made us dinner," Mok says, hating how his voice was shaking. Dean stops in his tracks. "Oh."
"Do you.. do you wanna eat together?" Mok asks hopefully. Dean turns around to look at him- his gaze apologetic. "I'm sorry. I've eaten already."
The pang in his chest was back again, and he couldn't help the way his expression crumbles upon hearing Dean's words. "Oh."
"Sorry. I don't eat at home," Dean explains. Mok perks up and tries to do something to cut through the awkwardness settling in, but fails miserably. "Oh. I see."
Dean simply nods, "Yeah. I'm gonna go to bed now. Goodnight."
With that, Dean was gone.
Leaving Mok alone again.
Mok watches the empty space where Dean was standing, the ache in his pulsing now. He places a hand over it, and closes his eyes when he feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes.
He walks back to the kitchen, dejected, and eats the food he'd taken a lot of time and effort to prepare. He puts the leftovers- Dean's portions into a box and leaves it inside the fridge.
When he settles under the covers of the bed, the same finally breaks.
The tears that had threatened to fall flow like a dam. He clutches his chest and curls into himself, trying to be quiet as sobs racked through his chest.
It was the first time he'd felt sadness as deep as this. He never understood why people cried before- infact, before the matching, people rarely cried unless they were in extensive pain. But Mok had never felt pain in his chest this much, or this constantly.
Mok wonders how he could feel like he was the only one in the whole world, despite having Dean a door away.
The following days are a blur to Mok, who was drowning in the deep sadness that seemed to have taken hold of him since that night.
He goes back to work, and answers his colleagues teasing questions with a fake smile. He talks to his parents, who were thrilled to hear he was finally matched, and even when Mok wanted to say no, this wasn't exactly what he had expected, he doesn't say anything- once again convincing himself that they needed more time.
After a week, he decides to try again, because he didn't want one bad day to be the final decider of how their relationship was going to be forever.
"There's this restaurant I've been meaning to try," Mok says one morning- the only time he saw Dean. The man takes his cup of coffee that Mok had prepared and nods. Mok takes it as a sign to continue. "Shall I book a reservation?"
"Sure," Dean says, "Text me the details."
For the first time in a while, Mok starts to feel hopeful again.
After reserving a table, he picks out a suit that he knew would compliment his body, and takes extra care to his appearance. He wanted to look good for Dean.
Mok messages Dean the information of the place, and arrives ten minutes earlier, feeling extra excited and nervous. Finally, his relationship was going to change. He can finally experience what red was like.
He orders some wine to keep his anxiety- something that was also new to him- at bay. He checks his watch every five minutes- till ten turns into twenty, and twenty into thirty, and the waitress starts to give him empathetic glances.
Mok messages Dean again- but doesn't get a reply. Maybe he was busy?
He tries to call- but it goes to voicemail.
His chest sinks as a pattern- that he had not yet fully established was a pattern starts to show. He tries again, not letting himself think of the worst so quickly, but after thirty more minutes, Mok gives up.
Mok pays for the wine and explains awkwardly that something had come up, and he had to leave, even though he was aware his hands were shaking with more than just sadness.
He goes home, and changes into comfortable clothes, taking a seat on the couch, where he waits and waits for Dean to come home so that he could maybe confront the man as to what was going on.
Dean shows up after midnight, a stagger to his steps that suggested he was a little tipsy. He looks at Mok, and nods in acknowledgement. "Why are you up?"
The insides of Mok's chest burned at the question.
"We had a dinner reservation today. Did you forget?" He asks, his voice raising without meaning to. Dean freezes in his spot. "Oh."
"Dean, what's going on-" Mok tries to get close, but Dean puts a hand to stop him. "Nothing. Sorry, okay? I didn't mean to forget. It's just. It's a busy period at work, and there's a lot going on for me."
Mok wanted to argue, wanted to tell Dean that the excuse was sounding just like it- and excuse, and an obvious lack of effort, but a part of him felt sympathetic. Dean did look tired.
"I promise I'll make it up to you. I just need some time," Dean says, and Mok, despite feeling too many things, his vision swimming with blue and orange, decides to let it go.
Maybe, he was being too impatient.
What they needed, was some time.
Mok finds himself repeating the same thing to himself over and over again in the following months.
Dean, despite living with Mok, was akin to a ghost.
He was rarely home, and rarely acknowledged Mok's existence. In fact, Mok felt like a ghost that had someone found its way inside Dean's house, rather than a partner.
It wasn't like he was trying.
God, Mok was trying.
Mok tries his best to get the attention of the man who was supposed to his soulmate in many different ways.
He cooks food that never gets eaten, plans dates that Dean always misses somehow, leaving Mok to return home with that same pang in his chest that had become characteristic of him- growing in size, and intensity, leaving him feel even more hollow than he'd ever felt in his life before Dean.
After a few months, Dean, who came home late everyday, stops coming home altogether for many days. The glances that he'd spared at Mok stop, and he doesn't even look at Mok- treating him, yet again, like a ghost.
All his life, Mok had wanted to know what the color red meant. He'd wanted to know what it was like to feel love.
Matched with Dean, he did gain the ability to feel- and instead of the red he'd expected to see in the mirror, he sees blue.
Maybe, this was what it had always meant.
The colors he'd seen around people- maybe, it wasn't accurate.
Maybe, being in love meant feeling a deep sense of sadness and longing all the time, an ache that never quite went away no matter what he tried.
Perhaps, love was meant to hurt.
And maybe, love wasn't meant to be red at all.
Maybe, love had been blue all along.
As three months turn into six, Mok simply begins to accept that this- whatever he and Dean had, was how it was going to be his whole life.
At some point, Mok had stopped feeling sad. He'd stopped crying himself to sleep, and instead, the sadness turned into something akin to the void.
His world, which was once so colorful, starts losing its color.
However, Mok had more to deal with- namely his family and colleagues, who wouldn't stop asking him questions.
Usually, matched pairs got married very quickly, and at the very least, get engaged.
Mok didn't know how to tell people that Dean never talked to him for more than a minute. He didn't know how to tell people that after so many months of living together, they were yet to have a meal together, and that they slept in separate rooms.
And so, he lies. He lies to everyone that he was happy, and that Dean was simply busy to get married. That they were waiting for the right time- knowing very well the time wasn't coming.
However, when his parents invite them both for dinner, Mok knew that he couldn't lie any longer.
He hadn't seen Dean in a week, and had no idea where he was or had been. Dean never read his messages, let alone pick up his calls.
Mok tries to lie to his parents, tries to mask the heaviness in his voice that was getting harder and harder as they kept bombarding him with questions.
When he finally hears movement near the door, he ends the call, and musters up everything in him to talk to Dean. Surely, Dean must be going through the same thing as he was. If he didn't understand anything, he would understand this.
Mok gathers the last thread of hope remaining in his chest, hoping that this time, Dean would understand and not let him down again.
"Dean?" He calls for the man, hating how hesitant he sounded. Dean hums in acknowledgement, and after what felt like decades, looks up at him. Mok gulps, suddenly nervous, unable to speak after being treated like a ghost all this time.
"Are you going to say something or not?" Dean questions, and it had the edge that felt like a scratch. Mok looks down at his feet. "I- my parents want us to meet them for dinner."
"No." Dean replies immediately, his tone leaving no room for argument.
At some point, Dean had stopped apologizing. He'd stopped trying to be careful- which, looking back, was the only reason Mok had been careful too.
Something surges in him, something he'd tried to contain for months, that had been simmering quietly under his skin. "Why not?"
Dean clicks his tongue in irritation. "Because I don't want to."
He tries to walk away, but Mok grabs his arm, effectively stopping him. "What is your problem?!"
Dean rolls his eyes. "Isn't it obvious?!"
"I'm your soulmate. We were matched together, Dean. I've been waiting for months. Literal months for you to do something, to say something. I don't understand- did I do something wrong? Why- why are you treating me this way?!" The words flow out of Mok's mouth before he could stop them, and it felt like ripping a bandaid off a wound that hadn't fully healed. His vision blurs with tears. "Do you.. do you not love me anymore?"
Dean looks away, his expression turning cold- and his words felt like a stab to the heart. "Love?"
He roughly shoves Mok's hand off him. "This whole program is stupid. Do you think just because I was matched with you, I'll fall in love? Here's the thing, Mok. I have never loved you. I never will."
Six months, waiting for the man- countless days where his effort had gone unnoticed and unappreciated.
Mok had always thought that Dean just needed time.
What a fool he'd been.
But his parents, his colleagues, what would he say to them? How could he face them?!
"I just went along with it because I had no choice, but you never got the hint, didn't you?" Dean continues, cruel, driving stakes into Mok's heart that was already bleeding. "Did you think-"
"Enough-" Mok cuts him off, aware that tears were flowing down his face. He runs out of the house, unable to stand inside for a moment longer.
Dean doesn't chase after him, of course.
So Mok runs and runs till his feet gives out- finding himself in a park that was mostly empty. It was raining, and he didn't have a proper jacket and was in pajamas and house slippers.
In the rain, which could hide the tears, Mok stands, letting the dam break like the first night he'd spent at Dean's house.
The words resonate in his head again and again.
I have never loved you.
I never will.
Mok cries till he couldn't anymore, till the rain had soaked his bones, and it was so cold that he couldn't feel the tips of his fingers.
All his life, he'd waited to experience red. What a naive fool he'd been.
At some point- the sadness takes form of something else- because Mok, despite what everyone would say, knew he couldn't keep going in the same way he'd been any longer.
He goes back home, which was empty. For the first time, he felt grateful.
Mok goes to his room and pulls out a sheet of paper he'd kept hidden in one of the compartments- something he'd come across when he was out buying groceries, and had picked up on a whim.
Surgery to remove the soulmate mark.
Mok reads through it again and again. He was aware that there were people who called it quits, but it was relatively a very low percentage of the population. Mainly because the consequences that would follow were not worth it.
But Mok knew he couldn't take it anymore.
He opens up the matching website, and scrolls till he finds the very thing he never thought he would do buried underneath all the flashy UI.
The severance.
His hands shake as he fills up the details, and he he submits it begore he could second guess himself.
He begins to pack his things- his life of six months with a man who had never loved him, driven by anguish that slowly turns into the very blankness that he'd always felt before he'd met the man.
Mok writes a letter to Dean and leaves it on the counter, knowing it was of no use to wait for a response.
Once outside, he hails a cab.
About five hours later, his wrist freshly bandaged, Mok books himself into a hotel, the loss of emotions jarring.
He showers, and gets into bed, curling into himself, careful not to touch his wound. He tries to cry, but the tears don't come. He checks his reflection, and sees no blue.
In a way, Mok felt peaceful- but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel like a part of him was missing.
Days go by, and Mok waits till he gets the message that Dean had finalised the severance. It was quiet, and there were no messages from Dean. Nothing.
There had always been nothing.
It takes Mok a few more days to muster up the courage to tell his parents the truth. He expects the worst- but to his surprise, his parents are sympathetic.
"Oh sweetie," His mother says, her voice gentle as ever. "Don't be alone there. Come back home."
"I'll be fine," Mok says, but his mother's insistence pushes him to book the tickets to the smaller town where his parents lived.
They embrace him when they see him, and Mok could see what he recognised as sympathy in their eyes.
"It'll be okay," They tell him.
Mok nods, despite knowing he was far from believing anymore.
I don't think it will be.
A few years pass in that fashion.
Mok moves into his parents house, and gets a remote job so that he wouldn't have to meet people as much.
At some point, he stops seeing the very colors that had been characteristic of his very existence.
They would pop up now and then, but never as frequent as they'd been before. It was like Dean had taken the color from his life too.
Mok celebrates his twenty fifth birthday, his chest feeling more and more like a chasm as the years were added to his life. Yet, he fakes a smile for his family, despite forgetting how it felt to be truly happy.
Till one day- it all changes unexpectedly.
Mok had been working in the garage, helping his father, when the ladder wobbled, causing him to fall down, and scrape his arm pretty badly on a nail.
He was rushed to the hospital, and Mok waits, the pain the first strong feeling he'd had in years, when his doctor walks in.
It was as if the world had slowed down.
But most importantly- his doctor- no, Rome, the name tag read, had a glowing amber around him.
The man stops in his steps after seeing Mok, and his stare was so intense that Mok had to look away, his cheeks burning, and his heart skipping a beat.
He didn't understand what was happening.
"Hello," Rome says, extending a hand. "I'm Rome. I'll be your doctor."
"Mok," Mok says simply, taking the man's hand, which was warm, and he was gentle as he shook Mok's hand. His smile was soft, and he looked at Mok in a way no one had ever looked at him before.
"Mok," He says, his smile widening slightly. "It's nice to meet you."