Chapter Text
you know that it’s you
the reason that i come alive
come alive
it lives in your eyes
- hold on, flor
*
Taehyung holds his wrist against the blank canvas of his ceiling and stares at it. Sometimes, he lets his eyes unfocus, lets them drift to the crack in the plaster high above his head that drips every time it rains. It turns his wrist into this blurry, undefinable blob—makes his mark perfectly and completely illegible. And then he waits, his quilt heavy over his legs and the light from his bedside lamp warm and dim, the sweet temptation of sleep dragging at his eyelids.
He lets himself breath, lets his heart calm down just so it can wind itself back up, tight and anxious and thrumming, anticipation for the moment when he looks at his wrist again. Every time, every single time, he’s sure the mark will be different—that it will be gone completely, that the writing will have changed, that maybe he suddenly won’t be able to read or understand it. That he will look at his mark and it will say his real soulmate’s name and not the name he’s tricked himself to seeing, the one he wants it to say more than anything in the world.
But it never happens. Under the snug warmth of his quilt, his bed solid beneath him and the walls around him familiar and comforting, the neat, careful writing is a deep burgundy, and it says the same thing (the same name) every time he makes himself reread it.
Kim Seokjin.
It isn’t a trick. It isn’t a hallucination. It isn’t a dream.
Somehow, some way, Taehyung’s soulmate is Kim Seokjin.
It’s… Well, it’s too good to be true, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s not really surprising that his sleepy, just-after-4am self can’t quite believe it. In what universe is Kim Seokjin his soulmate? Perfect, beautiful, unreachable Kim Seokjin.
The answer to Taehyung’s question stares back at him in bright slashes against his wrist. In this universe, they say, and Taehyung is going to have to take their word for it. After all, the mark doesn’t fade, doesn’t wash away in his morning shower, doesn’t get smudged or rubbed away when he gets dressed. It’s there, it’s permanent, and Taehyung almost trips down the stairs heading down to the bakery because he just can’t stop looking at it.
Kim Seokjin, Kim Seokjin, Kim Seokjin.
God, even his handwriting is beyond perfect.
Taehyung keeps stopping to admire it—as he turns on the ovens, as he switches on the mixers, as he measures flour and sugar and cinnamon. At every turn, his wrist still says Kim Seokjin, and as the clock ticks later, as the sky outside his windows starts to lighten into the pale grey of pre-dawn, Taehyung becomes more aware, more awake, more certain, elation slowly starting to inflate like a balloon in his chest. Because his soulmate is Kim Seokjin.
His soulmate is Kim Seokjin.
The Kim Seokjin, the same one who comes in every morning just before 7:30, in his perfectly tailored suit with his perfectly styled hair and the kind of smile that makes Taehyung burn a perfectly good batch of apple crumble muffins (not that it’s happened before, or anything). He gets a small sized americano, always over ice even when there’s snow on the ground, and a cheese danish.
Which had been unfortunate, at first. The cheese danishes aren’t Taehyung’s best work, but once he was certain that Seokjin would order nothing else (no matter how much he pestered Hoseok to offer him something else, please, anything else), Taehyung had started to pay them a little more attention in his morning bake. After all, if it was the only thing of Taehyung’s that Seokjin was ever going to eat, Taehyung was going to make sure it was going to be the best damn cheese danish of his life.
Hoseok has teased him constantly about his—according to him—very obvious crush (if it was so obvious, wouldn’t Seokjin have noticed by now?). But mostly, Hoseok has always loudly wondered why Taehyung always insisted on hiding in the kitchen when Seokjin came in every morning, choosing to watch him through the small kitchen door window rather than interacting with him like a normal, socially-adjusted person.
“Maybe I’m not a normal, socially-adjusted person,” Taehyung had countered, the back of his neck hot, and Hoseok had flicked him in the forehead and fondly called him stupid.
“Maybe it’s because I have a soulmate, Hobi-hyung,” Taehyung had muttered morosely as he prepped the cinnamon roll dough for the next morning, hoping that his palpable sadness didn’t ruin the flavor somehow. The entire kitchen had smelled like sugar and shortbread and Taehyung’s bleeding heart. “But, more importantly, so does he.”
And, knowing Taehyung’s luck, Seokjin had probably already found his.
“Everyone has a soulmate, Tae-Tae,” Hoseok had proclaimed like he was some expert on soulmates just because he had his. “You don’t have one yet, you know, and hey—it might even be him.”
Taehyung had glared at him. It had felt like such a cruel joke at the time, but now—well. Maybe Hoseok was some sort of expert on soulmates. Maybe he even has some sort of soulmate-finding ability. Not that Taehyung would ever tell him that—it would just go to his head, after all.
Time must pass quickly, because suddenly the side-door is being unlocked and Hoseok himself is walking into the kitchen, cheeks pink from the morning cold. “Good morning, Tae-Tae,” he greets, voice still a little on the sleepy side, his movements dragging just a bit as he goes to turn on all the lights that Taehyung always seems to forget about.
“Good morning, Hobi-hyung,” Taehyung chirps back, hands busy folding puff pastry. He stills for half a second, his eyes falling to his now-flour-covered mark, and he grins.
Hoseok makes a thoughtful sound, making Taehyung look up.
“Someone’s in a good mood this morning,” Hoseok comments, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Taehyung bites his bottom lip, unable to keep himself from smiling.
“Is it you?” Taehyung jokes, averting his eyes. For a brief shock of a moment, he suddenly regrets not wearing one of his banded bracelets or a sleeve with longer shits—never mind that they would just get in the way while he baked. He shakes away the thought, wondering where it could have come from.
“It’s too early for you to be so jovial,” Hoseok points out. “Not even I’m this cheery this early,” he continues, as if he is the benchmark for what is considered normal amounts of happiness. Then again, Taehyung can see his point—if he’s in a better mood than Hoseok, then clearly something is going right in his life.
He ducks his head and smiles again.
“…wow, something really good must’ve happened, huh?” Hoseok sounds intrigued, but mostly awed, and Taehyung can only imagine what he looks like right now—what kind of stupid, lovesick idiot Hoseok happened to find in his place this morning. “Do your cheeks hurt, smiling that big?”
“Oh, shut up, hyung,” Taehyung bites without venom, shaking his head. “Like you’re one to talk.” Hoseok walks around with a near-permanent smile etched on his face, and Taehyung has always wondered how he doesn’t have to spend at least an hour messaging his face every night.
Still, Taehyung reaches up and touches his cheek—no doubt smudging dough against his jaw in the process. He is definitely smiling, doesn’t need to feel his face to know that, but it’s certainly… Bigger than he had realized. Wider. How long has that been going on? Has he been smiling like this all morning?
His cheeks do kind of hurt, actually.
“Seriously,” Hoseok presses, and Taehyung’s hand snaps away from his face. “Did you win the lottery or something?” Hoseok asks, wiggling his eyebrows, and Taehyung can’t help but laugh, doing his best to keep a conscious control of the force of his grin.
“Or something,” he responds demurely, shimmying his shoulders, and Hoseok scoffs.
“You’re not gong to tell me?” Hoseok huffs with a pout. “Your hyung?” He wiggles his fingers in Taehyung’s direction, but Taehyung simply turns around, rinsing his hands so that he can stick them in oven mitts. It feels safer, having the fabric over his mark, but mostly he has to get ready to pull muffins out of the oven in about twenty seconds.
“Fine.” Hoseok’s voice tips up—an act of aloof, uncaring nonchalance that Taehyung doesn’t believe for a second. “Keep your secrets, , I don’t care, but don’t come crying to me, Taehyungie—” the side door slams open, effectively cutting off the rest of Hoseok’s completely empty threat while also announcing Soonmin’s arrival. She shuffles through the door, looking far more tired than usual, and pushes past Hoseok into the lobby.
“We’re not done talking about this,” Hoseok insists, and Taehyung waves his oven-mitt clad hand in appeasement. He’s sure Hoseok would pester him until the sun went down if it meant he could find out what Taehyung wasn’t telling him, but the lobby has to be prepped to open in an hour and a half and there’s a lot to do.
Plus, Soonmin isn’t afraid to yell at Hoseok if he isn’t pulling his weight.
The kitchen door to the lobby has almost swung completely shut when Taehyung impulsively calls out a, “hey, hyung?”
There’s a brief moment of pause, and then Hoseok is pushing back through the door, looking at Taehyung with raised eyebrows.
“Would you, um—would you let me know when Seokjin-ah comes in?” He asks, timidly, and even though she’s in the other room, even though she’s mid-yawn, Soonmin somehow manages to coo at him.
All Hoseok does is roll his eyes.
Taehyung can’t completely fault him—after a year, he’d be pretty tired of himself, too.
“He comes in every morning at 7:25, Taehyungie. You know that. Don’t pretend like you don’t.” Hoseok gives him a stern stare, but Taehyung must give him a more convincing one, because he gives up almost immediately, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine, sure.” Hoseok’s eyes are wide and incredulous, and he can hear Soonmin’s muttered adorable from somewhere in the lobby.
The kitchen door swings shut and Taehyung is turning back to his oven when Hoseok reappears.
“You have dough on your face, by the way.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes and ignores him. When does he not have dough on his face?
*
“Hobi-hyung?” Taehyung cracks the door open, a frown pulling at his mouth. It’s past 7:25, the morning rush has calmed to a steady trickle, and Kim Seokjin is still nowhere to be seen. It makes Taehyung’s heart ache—not in the usual way it does when he thinks of Kim Seokjin, but in a completely new, unfamiliar way that kind of makes him uneasy.
“Not yet, Taehyungie,” Hoseok tells him, face pulled with sympathy. It’s kind of funny that Hoseok is still so sympathetic even without knowing why exactly Taehyung has to see Seokjin today. “Maybe he’s sick?” He suggests helpfully, and Taehyung drops his eyes, staring at where the tile of the kitchen gives to the warm wood of the storefront.
Sick. It’s certainly a possibility. Taehyung swallows, and hates the sudden feeling of pressure behind his eyes.
He doesn’t want to cry, he really doesn’t want to cry, but disappointment swells like a wave in his chest, flooding his lungs and up into his throat. Why isn’t he here? Why didn’t he come? Kim Seokjin is his soulmate… Right? Taehyung wants to glance at his wrist to be sure, wants to poke his nail into the lines of the writing to make sure they’re there, that they’re real, that they say what he’s so certain he knows they say.
But he’s still hiding his mark from Hoseok, still feels strangely protective of it. He’s going to tell Hoseok eventually, of course he is, but not when Seokjin doesn’t come in for the first time in at least six months, not when Taehyung had been so happy this morning.
Maybe… Maybe it’s a different Kim Seokjin. Maybe fate is simply that cruel.
“Taehyungie?” Hoseok’s hand lands gently on his shoulder, and Taehyung starts. “Do you want me to… Call the police or something?” And that, at least, makes a smile crack across Taehyung’s face. He forces it into something bigger, something brighter, something completely and entirely artificial but that should at least serve its purpose until he can scramble back into his kitchen and hide there for the rest of the day.
Or his life.
At this point, both options are highly appealing.
“Don’t be silly, you’re right.” Taehyung’s voice sounds robotic in his own ears, but Hoseok looks at least slightly relieved. “He’s probably just sick. I’m sure I’ll see him tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
As much as Taehyung longs to see Seokjin approximately three hours ago, there’s no rule that says you have to meet up with your soulmate within the first twenty four hours. It’s not like their bond will be any weaker, any less real, if they wait an extra day. Maybe Seokjin really is sick, and what kind of soulmate would Taehyung be to pity himself in that situation?
There is always tomorrow. After all, Seokjin has been in every morning for over a year—he’ll be in tomorrow, even if he wasn’t in today. And if not tomorrow, then the next day, or maybe even the next! Taehyung can be patient. He’s waited this long already.
He gives Hoseok another smile, although this one is a bit more genuine, and then disappears back through the door. Once it has fully settled shut, he lifts his wrist, staring at the still blood-red marks carved into his skin.
Kim Seokjin’s name stares right back at him.
There’s still the possibility that he has the wrong Kim Seokjin, but, well, if his doesn’t have Taehyung’s name on him then it’ll just be a silly misunderstand. A silly, horrible, heart-breaking misunderstanding.
Even if there is another Kim Seokjin out there destined to be with Taehyung, he still has to make sure that it definitely isn’t the man he’s imagined marrying for at least three months.
He owes himself at least that much, especially if fate is really malignant enough to have him paired to another Kim Seokjin.
*
It isn’t until well after 8 that Hoseok suddenly bursts back into the kitchen, face frantic.
“Taehyungie!” He calls, darting around the cart of back-stocked pastries that Taehyung has dutifully been filling. Taehyung looks up slowly from where he’s filling the centers of macarons, a rainbow of different frostings up the inside of his arm, and only just stops Hoseok before he topples an entire container of brown sugar.
“Hoseok, how many times—”
“Seokjin-ah came in,” Hoseok says in a wheeze, trying to speak as he catches his breath, like he ran across the entirety of Seoul and not the short distance between the front counter and Taehyung’s work station.
Taehyung’s stills, his limbs going so slack that it’s only years of practice that keep him from dropping the piping bag of salted caramel filling all over the floor. Seokjin—he wasn’t sick after all, he was here, he was right outside, all Taehyung has to do is—move.
He has to move.
He stutters into movement, taking a step forward and completely not caring about the flour in his hair, the sugary art piece up his arms, the splotches of milk and butter on his apron. His heart sings in his chest and Taehyung has to see him, he has to know—
“Wait, Taehyungie, he’s gone now, but—”
“He’s gone?” Taehyung cries in alarm, turning to look at Hoseok in alarm as his heart throbs in his chest. “Hyung, you were supposed to get me when he came in!”
“I know, I’m sorry, I forgot, honestly!” Hoseok holds up his hands as if they’re adequate defense against Taehyung’s glare. “But Tae, he—” Hoseok’s face suddenly drops, and Taehyung’s entire body goes cold. Oh god. He wasn’t sick, but maybe… Maybe something else had made him late this morning? Had there been some kind of accident? Was he hurt? Was someone he loved ill? Did he decide that Taehyung’s pastries tasted like garbage and proclaimed that he didn’t want such a subpar baker and pastry chef as his soulmate?
(Okay, that one is a little particular, but Taehyung has had hours to think about how insanely wrong this could all go).
“He found his soulmate,” Hoseok finally says, and he looks like he wants to cry. “He found his soulmate, Tae,” he repeats, when Taehyung doesn’t immediately react the way he’s expecting. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry! I kept encouraging you to talk to him, and you did so well yesterday when you helped him out front, and I thought—”
“Hobi-hyung.” Taehyung grips Hoseok by the shoulders, no doubt thumbing powdered sugar onto his shirt in the process. Taehyung is having a hard enough morning as it is, he doesn’t need Hoseok to join him down the rabbit hole. “It’s okay.”
Hoseok draws back as if he’s been slapped.
“It’s okay?” He sneers.
“Yeah.” Taehyung’s chest is a cage of butterflies, and he can’t imagine that the Kim Seokjin on his wrist could be anyone else. Not when even thinking about him turns Taehyung into mindless putty. “It’s okay,” he repeats, his smile soft.
“How is it okay? Are you even listening to yourself right now? Of course it’s not okay, Tae-Tae, because—”
“I’m his soulmate, hyung.”
Hoseok’s mouth is already open, but i falls even further. He blinks, points at Taehyung, points at the door behind him, and then points at Taehyung again.
“What?” The word is hardly more than a whisper. “What do you mean Seokjin-ah is your soulmate?”
Taehyung rubs at the frosting caked over his mark until he’s crusted most of it away, and holds up his wrist for Hoseok to see.
It still feels as weird as it did earlier, and immediately Taehyung feels the urge to cover it—wants to pull it close to his chest and protect it, especially as Hoseok tentatively reaches out as if to touch it. He’s seen people’s marks before, but for some reason, having someone see his, especially when it’s brand new, feels almost violating.
“Holy shit,” Hoseok mutters. “Kim Seokjin is your soulmate.” He meets Taehyung’s eyes. “Our Kim Seokjin? That Kim Seokjin?”
Taehyung cracks a smile, can’t help it, and presses his wrist over his heart.
“I mean—I hope so? I don’t know for sure, but…” Taehyung flushes and averts his eyes. Until Taehyung sees his own name on Seokjin’s wrist, there is no way to know for sure if they’re a matched pair or not. It’s the only foolproof way, the only way that works one hundred percent of the time, and yet…
Taehyung keeps thinking about yesterday. It’s hard to imagine that he’ll ever forget that singular moment they shared—Kim Seokjin and him. The morning rush had been a little too much for Hoseok and Soonmin to handle on their own, and Taehyung had swapped his aprons, and joined them on the floor. Maybe after nearly a year of two soulmates dancing unknowingly around each other, fate had finally decided to force their hand. It must have been because somehow, without any interference from Hoseok or Soonmin as far as he could tell, Taehyung had been the one to help Seokjin.
He’d carefully fixed Seokjin’s americano (maybe a little too carefully, but he’s a baker, not a barista, and he wasn’t 100% sure of what he was doing), and he’d been the one to toast his cheese danish—which was such a shame, really, because danishes are better freshly warm from the oven, and oh how Taehyung longed for the day where he could pull them right from the oven and feed one to Seokjin right from his fingertips, piece-by-piece.
Since that wasn’t particularly an option for him (at least, it hadn’t been at the time), Taehyung always made sure that Seokjin got the best of his morning batch. He always set it aside specifically for him, and when he reached over the counter to finally hand the pastry bag over, he wondered if Seokjin knew that.
He wondered if Seokjin had any inkling of all the little things Taehyung did to ensure that Seokjin always had a reason to smile when he was here.
He’d been nervous, and his hands had been shaking when he finally held the pastry bag over the counter, and Taehyung remembers—he remembers Seokjin’s dark eyes meeting his, remembers the way their fingertips caught and skimmed against each other, remembers the soft, gentle way Seokjin had smiled at him. Just him. He remembers the way time felt like it had stopped, like every sound but the thundering of Taehyung’s own heart had disappeared in that single breath of time.
And then—the noise flooded back in, and Seokjin had disappeared into the crowd, taking Taehyung’s heart along with him..
“Oh my god.” Hoseok stares at the mark, his entire face flooding with guilt. “He’s your soulmate and I… I just let him leave.” Hoseok’s eyes widen and he smacks himself in the forehead. “I just let him leave, oh my god, oh my—hold on, Taehyungie! Hold on! I can—I can still fix this! Maybe I can still catch him!” And before Taehyung can utter another word, Hoseok is throwing his apron on one of the countertops and darting out the side-door.
Taehyung watches the door slam shut behind him with wide eyes, and a giggle bubbles up out of his throat, drawing a smile to his face. It probably would have been a good idea to tell Hoseok about his mark, about Seokjin—no doubt the second Seokjin had walked in the store, Hoseok would have found a way to keep him there for Taehyung. Even if it meant manhandling him back into the kitchen.
He wonders how long it’s been since Seokjin walked out the front door, and how fast Hoseok can run.
But it’s… Strange. Seokjin had come in, but he hadn’t stayed? Hadn’t asked about Taehyung? Okay, sure, so they’ve never properly met, but this is Taehyung’s bakery and Seokjin has been coming in for over a year. The first time he’d actually seen Taehyung may have just been yesterday (even though Taehyung has been mooning after him from behind the safety of his kitchen doors for months), but surely he knew who he was…
Right?
It occurs to Taehyung that as much as he might know exactly who Seokjin is, there’s a very real possibility that Seokjin woke up this morning and… And didn’t recognize the name that appeared on his wrist.
That he has no idea who Kim Taehyung is. Who he is.
(If it was, in fact, Taehyung’s name. He still doesn’t want to get his hopes up too much.)
“Taehyung-ah?” Soonmin peeks her head into the kitchen, a frown on her face. “Where’s Hoseokie? I need his help.”
“He, uh…” Taehyung’s eyes dart to the door. “I sent him on an errand. I can help you?” He offers instead, watching as Soonmin’s eyes track him from head-to-toe disapprovingly. Taehyung doesn’t know how to bake without getting ingredients everywhere—especially on himself—and he knows Soonmin isn’t exactly pleased with his pastry-splattered apron and frosting smeared arms.
But she also needs help, and beggers can’t be choosers.
(Besides, it’s Taehyung’s bakery, and he can be covered in flour if he wants to be.)
“Fine,” she finally relents, and then gives a jerk with her head before letting the door swing closed. Taehyung is grateful for the distraction as he walks towards the door, grabbing a dollop of frosting and smearing it over his mark to keep it from prying eyes.
Maybe Seokjin doesn’t know who he is, and maybe Hoseok will be able to catch him and bring him back and they can figure it out. But if he doesn’t… Well, Taehyung isn’t going to worry about it too much.
He’ll come in tomorrow (he always comes in), and when he does, Taehyung will be waiting for him.
*
In an unsurprising turn of events, Hoseok doesn’t catch him, and he drags himself through the front door like a dog with its tail between its legs. He apologizes profusely to both Soonmin (for abandoning her) and to Taehyung (for letting him down).
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hoseok hisses as Taehyung helps him replace empty croissant trays with plates overflowing with fresh cookies. “If you’d told me this morning, I could have—I don’t know. Handcuffed him to the register.”
“With what?” Taehyung says on a laugh, shaking his hair out of his eyes.
“I would have figured out something,” he responds, evasively, and Taehyung doesn’t doubt it. Hoseok is one of the craftiest people he knows, when the mood strikes him. “But seriously.” Hoseok straightens a plate of lemon poppy shortbread. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Taehyung twists away, distracting himself with how the macarons are cascading.
“I don’t know, hyung, I just…” He pauses, wrapping his fingers around his marked wrist. “It didn’t feel like something I wanted to share.” Past the idea that Hoseok might tease him, Taehyung didn’t have any real reason to not tell him. After Jimin, Hoseok is one of his oldest friends. They’ve worked together for years, and Taehyung trusts him implicitly.
But it hadn’t felt right to tell him about his mark, to show it to him, but that’s all Taehyung can chalk it up to in the end—a feeling.
“Hmm…” Hoseok sighs, shaking his head, and shoos Taehyung’s hands away from the case before he fusses with the pastries too much. “I guess I can understand that.” He shuts the bakecase door and gives Taehyung a small smile. “I remember a similar feeling when I first got my mark.”
“You didn’t tell me for three days,” Taehyung reminds him, and Hoseok pushes his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, and you used it to guilt trip me for years. So let’s just call it even, okay?”
Taehyung laughs.
“Sure, hyung.” He grins at him, easily, and Hoseok’s face softens.
“We’ll get him tomorrow, all right?” Hoseok holds his fists up in a fighting stance, and Taehyung just shakes his head. “He won’t know what hit him.”
“Hopefully not you, calm down.”
*
It turns out that maybe fate never intended to let him wait until tomorrow.
The sun is setting and Taehyung is still in his kitchen. The bakery isn’t open much longer, and he finished prepping all the dough for tomorrow hours ago. Around him, the kitchen is nearly spotless, a blank slate ready for him to cover it in chocolate chips and powdered sugar and molasses all over again tomorrow.
But he’s still in his apron, still has frosting caked under his nails and flour smeared on his neck, and is still baking—only, he’s baking for himself.
Long before he ever got the idea to bake for other people, Taehyung had used pastries to help him deal with… Well, everything. Stress, sadness, anger. Even happiness, when it was too much for him to hold in. And after the day he’s had, he could use a little stress baking.
He’s just turned on his mixer when Minseo darts into the kitchen, looking harried and waving her hands around to get his attention. She’s saying something, but he can’t hear her over the whir whir of the machine as the butter blends into the sugar. He flips it off curiously, and her voice is almost a yell as it cuts across the kitchen.
“—aehyung-ah! Oh.” She goes still, arms falling limply to her sides, and then presses a hand to her heart as if to steady herself. He wonders why she looks so panicked, and dearly hopes that those boys from the local high school aren’t harassing her again. How many times does he have to kick them out?
“What’s wrong?” He moves around his work table, frown on his face. “Is everything okay?” She starts to she shake her head furiously—stops—and then nods.
“It’s—no, everything is fine, there’s just—a man here? Asking to speak with you?” Her eyes dart nervously to the door behind her. “I’ve never seen him before, but he was… Um. Very insistent.”
Taehyung’s heart swells, becoming a lump in his throat.
“Minseo-yah,” Taehyung mutters, staring at the door over her shoulder. “This man, is he…” Taehyung’s lips quirk in a smile. “Handsome beyond reason?”
“Ah—” she flushes, glancing away almost awkwardly, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. “Yes?”
All of the air escapes Taehyung on a single exhale, but his hands don’t shake, and his voice is surprisingly steady when he says, “Give me two minutes and then send him back here, okay?”
Minseo’s eyes widen, and she darts another glance towards the storefront.
“S-send him back here? Are you… Are you sure?”
It’s a fair question. Taehyung is very protective of his kitchen, after all, and he doesn’t let just anyone step foot inside. But he only has so many options available to him—does he really want to meet his soulmate in the busy lobby of his bakery, or on a sidewalk? And he can’t exactly drag Seokjin upstairs to his tiny (dirty) apartment. No, his kitchen will have to do.
Besides, he imagines Seokjin will be in his kitchen much more frequently after today.
“I’m sure.” He assures her, and she gives a little nod. “Two minutes, okay?” She gives another nod, turning back towards the door. “Oh, Minseo-yah,” Taehyung starts as she lays her hand against the door. She glances back at him, face open and curious. “Anything he wants, it’s his—no charge.”
She blinks rapidly, dipping her head in acknowledgement, and then pauses right before she pushes out into the lobby.
“Taehyung-ah, is he…” She flushes again, eyes darting away. “Is he your boyfriend?”
The laugh cracks out of him, surprising them both, and he slaps a hand over his mouth. Taehyung’s boyfriend—yes, he supposes, in a way, that’s comparable. She grins at him, as if that’s enough of an answer, and he smiles back, shooing her out of the kitchen.
“Two minutes,” he reminds her, holding up two fingers. She mimics him.
“Two minutes.” And then she’s gone, her ponytail disappearing past the window in the swinging door and leaving Taehyung with two minutes to collect himself.
God, why had he only asked for two minutes?
It passes too quickly, probably because two minutes is hardly any time at all, and certainly not enough time for Taehyung to clean up his baking mess, or to run upstairs and change, or to grab a spare baking sheet to use as a makeshift mirror. Why didn’t he think to ask Minseo if he had anything in his hair or on his face? Why didn’t he ask for five minutes, or ten?
Maybe because he spends the whole two minutes with his worktable digging into his lower back and his lip between his teeth, as he stares nervously at the door. The door that, at any moment, Kim Seokjin is going to walk through.
Probably.
(Belatedly, Taehyung realizes that just because he finds Seokjin’s subtle, quiet beauty breathtaking doesn’t mean that everyone else in the world necessarily does. Maybe Minseo has no taste in men?)
He closes his eyes, giving up on the idea of even attempting to calm himself down. His palms are a little sweaty and his cheeks are already flushed, and his heart is running a marathon inside his chest.
What happens after two soulmates meet? He’s seen the happily ever afters with his own two eyes, but how do they start? How do two people get there?
Will this be the start of his?
Taehyung exhales, and the kitchen door is tentatively and slowly pushed open—
“Excuse—”
Taehyung opens his eyes, and Kim Seokjin is right there. Standing in his kitchen, the swinging door slowing to a close behind him.
“—me,” Seokjin finishes, eyes wide as they find Taehyung. He’s not in a perfectly tailored suit, and his hair is frankly in a state of disarray, like he’s run his fingers through it one too many times. His cheeks are flushed, and Taehyung can see sweat shimmering on his neck, his shoulders heaving like he can’t quite get enough air. He looks… Seconds away from collapsing, actually.
He’s the most stunning person Taehyung has ever seen.
Seokjin sways slightly, and Taehyung’s moved before he’s even thought about it, catching Seokjin by his elbows just as he stumbles forward a step. Something shocks up his arm as they touch, and they both inhale sharply at the exact same moment.
“A-are you okay?” Taehyung asks, and Seokjin raises his head, looking straight into his eyes. Taehyung feels a chill run the entire course of his body, and he squeezes his hands around where he’s holding onto Seokjin to stop himself from doing something crazy like—like pulling him closer, or-or-or kissing him. “Did you…” Taehyung’s eyes shift away, taking in Seokjin’s disheveled, winded appearance, and his eyes widen. “Did you run here?”
“Are you Kim Taehyung?” Seokjin asks, and Taehyung can’t help the way his eyes flutter at hearing Seokjin’s voice wrap around his name. He doesn’t even think it’s a soulmate thing, but more of a product of him having been in love with Seokjin for so long, from so far away.
“I am,” he whispers, lips turning up in a soft smile, and he feels something in Seokjin’s body give—some tension that snaps and releases, that makes it a little easier for him to breathe. His hands close around Taehyung’s arms, just below his elbows, and there’s this wonderful, buzzing, warm feeling beneath Taehyung’s skin that seems to spread from every place they’re touching. Taehyung licks his lips and wonders what it would feel like, skin-to-skin.
“I’m—”
“Kim Seokjin,” Taehyung finishes, and they lock eyes again. Soulmates can’t read your mind, can’t see through your eyes and understand everything you’re feeling, but Taehyung feels like right in that moment that’s exactly what Seokjin is doing to him. “I know.”
Seokjin stares at him in wonder.
“I looked for you all morning,” he explains, words tumbling out of his mouth as his eyes dart across Taehyung’s face like he’s just now taking the chance to really look at him in. His fingers twitch where they’re curled into the sleeve of Taehyung’s shirt, and there’s a faint flicker of recognition in his gaze. “I… I was here, and I didn’t… You were here.” Seokjin squeezes his eyes together. “You’ve been here this whole time, and I didn’t even know—”
Taehyung’s heart clenches in his chest. What must it be like, to wake up and not know your soulmate? To know that you’d gotten close enough to touch them, but didn’t know who they were? He’d been so heartbroken when Seokjin hadn’t come in this morning, but at least he knew who Seokjin was. At least he had the comfort that Seokjin would come back, that they would have the chance to find one another eventually.
Maybe his soulmate hadn’t come bursting through the door like a knight in shining armor like he’d kind of always imagined, but Taehyung knew he would be back. Knew that he’d come in and order his americano and his cheese danish and Taehyung would hand them over and greet him by name, and would finally, properly, introduce himself.
But things hadn’t gone that way.
In fact, Seokjin kind of had burst through his door like a knight—a knight at the end of a very long, trying journey.
“I—” Seokjin blinks. “I saw you yesterday.”
“You did.”
“You gave me my breakfast.” Seokjin’s eyes widen.
“I did.” Taehyung laughs, and is surprised at how wet it sounds.
“And we—”
“—touched fingers, yes,” Taehyung finishes, watching Seokjin’s face as he finally recalls their first meeting.
“They—they said you’re the owner, but I’d never seen you until yesterday.” Seokjin’s eyes dance across Taehyung’s face. “I would have remembered seeing you,” he whispers fiercely, more to himself than to Taehyung, and Taehyung bites his lip.
“I am the owner,” Taehyung confirms. “But I’m also the baker, so I’m—I’m almost always back here, out of sight.”
“Except yesterday.”
Taehyung pushes his lips together as he smiles.
“Except yesterday.”
Seokjin huffs a laugh and mutters something to himself that sounds surprisingly like fate, and then turns back to stare into Taehyung’s eyes again.
“Well, Kim Taehyung…” Seokjin shuffles around, regaining his equilibrium as best as he can as he tries to get his feet beneath him to properly stand up. He’s shaking, and Taehyung doesn’t dare let go of him, but he gives him the room to pull back the paw of his sweater sleeve and hold up his wrist, revealing Taehyung’s name where it sits as a vibrant slash of red against his skin. “I… Believe I’m your soulmate.”
Taehyung ducks his head, and then holds up his own wrist in reciprocation. There are still traces of frosting on his skin, but the mark is clear, and he watches Seokjin’s face as he carefully reads the characters, like he doesn’t quite believe that they’re there either.
He doesn’t look the slightest bit disappointed.
“And I believe I’m yours, Kim Seokjin.”
Seokjin’s eyes darken just a bit, and then he’s smiling that beautiful, wonderful smile that first made Taehyung fall in love with him.
“You have frosting behind your ear, Taehyung-ah.”
Taehyung mirrors his smile.
“You get used to it,” he confides like a secret, and Seokjin reaches for him and winds their fingers together.
They exhale.
“I look forward to it.”