Archive of Our Own

San wakes up from his night with a bittersweet taste behind his gums. Like every night these days, he keeps having dreams. He can feel in his gut that these aren’t normal dreams. He grew up his entire childhood with his parents telling him tales of true love found in the comfort of one’s dreams, them describing how they found each other within the solace of their nights.

He kept watching these movies as a teen of people finding their true mates and achieving complete happiness. He can’t say he never believed in them, it would be lying. He kept rewatching his favorite movies, wondering what his soulmate looked like.

As an adult, San’s seen some of his friends find their perfect match. Of course, things aren’t always ideal, they’re humans, but San can’t deny the link they share. He can see it in the way they interact, the way they look at each other, how they talk about each other whenever the other’s not here. Sometimes, even rarer, more than two people match. San remembers one of his classmates in university being confused because she kept seeing two radically different cities in her dreams.

So San dreams.

San’s never seen his soulmate’s face. He only sees Paris at night. He’s been wondering for months if his soulmate’s French. He’s taking lessons, just in case, but he’s more cautious than when he was growing up. He’s learnt to find joy by himself, to be independent. Some people spend their lives looking for their soulmate only to never find them. San aches, but he’s not deluded. If he wants to find true love, he needs to work for it.

He works an office job, going through the motions, having drinks with his colleagues, meeting up with Mingi and Hongjoong, calling his parents, doomscrolling tickets from Seoul to Paris and guides of the city.

It’s never the right time: too much work, not enough money, but if San has to be honest, he’s scared. What if he never meets his soulmate? What if he goes to Paris and doesn’t find who he's looking for?

But the dreams… San doesn’t know how to describe them. These days, he can almost taste them, on the tip of his tongue, like they’re becoming more potent, more pressing. He remembers the faces he sees, manages to understand some of what they’re saying with his broken French, smells the scent of rôtisserie chicken on the markets. These dreams leave him with the feeling that it’s almost time.

One night, San wakes up at three in the morning with the bustling Parisian life still playing in his mind, and he books tickets to Paris.

Work isn’t too busy at this time of the year, so his boss lets him take some time off. Legally, San is allowed three weeks to find his soulmate, and he intends on using them. He has booked his tickets for a week, hoping it’ll be enough. 

From there, everything happens in a whirlwind, San makes sure his passport is okay, he applies for an accelerated visa accreditation, listens to podcasts in French and understands a tenth of what they’re blabbering about. He spends more time deciding which outfits to take with him rather than worrying about the trip in itself. He books an airbnb in a residential area and hopes for the best.

San isn’t a big spender. He keeps his money saved for emergencies and, well, this is one. If he has to trust his guts, he has to believe now is finally the time to make his move.

So, a couple weeks later, San’s waiting way too early in a queue at the airport. Check-in takes ages, security even more, and then the waiting. He’s taken his favorite book with him and he distractedly reads the first few pages while waiting for boarding. It’s a story about a city man moving to the countryside and falling in love there. It’s not about soulmates, per se, but it could be. Even though it’s romance, the kind of book a man like him wouldn’t be seen reading in a normal setting, he has to admit he likes the genre.

San has always wanted to find love, in some way or another. He’s a liar, he says he’s not that attached to finding his soulmate, but he spent hours and hours reading soulmate novels growing up, reading them so much the books ended up falling apart. He spent his early adulthood looking for signs, anything, that would show his luck was coming. So, him flying to Paris on a gut feeling feels like fate. If it isn’t, it will only have been foolishness, but San can’t live regretting something he could’ve tried, a love he could’ve had.

San is a man of action, so he boards the plane and accepts the orange juice the stewardess offers him. He looks at the tarmac disappearing as the plane takes off and thinks This is it, now or never .

The flight is long, and San keeps drifting in and out of sleep, flashes of Paris to the forefront of his mind. He can almost touch it. He knows, deep down, that he’s doing the right thing. Haphazardly, he eats the meal that is offered to him, drinks the coffee he’s being given. The lady next to him is watching a drama San vaguely recognizes, but he’s too jittery to watch anything, too busy wondering what’s awaiting him in the city of love.

He looks outside, the clouds parting to show the cerulean blue of the sky, the sun shining bright. He hopes, foolishly, that his time has come. As comfortable as he can get in his seat, he reads his book and tries calming his nerves for a few hours.

When the plane finally lands, San is cramped, aching and tired, and the day has just begun in France. It takes forever for the plane to empty, another eternity to go through security, and then he waits for his luggage. He waits, and waits, and waits, and, finally, his luggage comes.

San is brimming with nerves, hands shaking. He’s finally in Paris, after all these years. All he can think about is to book into his room and start exploring the city.

He rushes towards the exit and hails a cab, giving his address, praying for the driver not to scam him. 

San’s in Paris.

San doesn’t see the man observing him from across the baggage claim.

The driver fortunately takes the fastest route to his airbnb and San thanks him, getting out of the car. 

Late Spring is tender on San’s skin, warm sun on his face, green trees throwing gentle shades on him. The check-in goes smoothly, the lady speaking terrible English, San not faring much better, but they manage to communicate through Google Translate, Papago and sheer enthusiasm.

She’s elated to know his soulmate is in Paris, she tells him she met her husband by the canal Saint-Martin and that it’s a popular hang-out for young adults, that he should try there. He tells her about the places he’s thinking of going to, and she nods gravely, telling him to stray away a little from popular places because most Parisians stick to their own places rather than touristy ones.

San wouldn’t know where to begin from that so he figures he’ll start from the touristy spots and wander into the streets. Hell, fate is supposed to bring his soulmate to him, he’s already doing most of the work, maybe it should work this way? He doesn’t know. He won’t know until he tries.

So he starts with the first place on his list: the Louvre. He buys a transportation card for the week and takes the subway. He’s read terrible things about the subway but, actually, once he gets on line 1, everything is clean, the AC is running, he has some space to sit. Maybe the subway isn’t so bad.

The Louvre is crowded but beautiful, stone arches leading to a wide plaza, an old building running around a glass pyramid; San is entranced. He doesn’t know where to begin, looking around, faces in the crowd, anything that would tell him that’s your soulmate right here . 

He’s booked a ticket in advance and gets into the museum. It looks infinite so he goes for the first thing he sees, the collection of statues. It’s beautiful, Roman and Greek statues alike, the attention to details leaving him breathless. He can only admire the sculptures’ musculature, the movement of their bodies, the sheen of a cloth on some of them. He admires, but he can’t help looking around, hoping. 

Two hours later, he’s tired, hungry, and his feet hurt. He leaves the museum. Following his host’s advice, he loses himself in the streets surrounding the museum. As he walks through a crossroad, his nape tingles, and he feels alert, looking around, as if someone had called him. He looks, searches for, but he sees nothing.

Hell, he needs to eat.

He finds a café and buys something he’s heard of, a ham and cheese sandwich. He’s read that it was a go-to meal for French people, but he’s never had anything like this, French cheese, good ham, thick butter spread on half a baguette. San likes it. It quiets his hunger.

But San’s exhausted, the jet lag is getting to him. He realizes he won’t get much more done today and decides to call it a day. On the subway, he listens to a man playing the accordion. It’s not exactly in tune, but San finds it charming. Most of the Parisians have their earbuds in or ignore the man. 

When he finally steps foot into his home, the exhaustion of the trip catches up to him and he falls clothed on his bed. He manages to take his clothes off and to worm himself under the duvet but the shower will have to wait until morning.

That night, he dreams of Notre-Dame and the lock bridge. San walks through the narrow streets and feels he’s close to what he’s looking for. He wakes up feverish, his sheets damp with sweat.

He knows where he’s going the next morning. The shower makes him feel rejuvenated, and a good night’s sleep helped with the jet lag. He makes a detour by a boulangerie on his way to the subway and buys a croissant and a pain au chocolat. They’re infinitely better than any other he’s ever tasted.

He starts with the Pont des Arts, looking at the locks fastened into it, and wonders if he’ll come back to put his own on someday. Still, no one’s around, aside from a few couples, no one that could be his soulmate. So he walks. Notre-Dame isn’t far, and he can see the scaffolding from afar.

When he gets to the front of the building, San can only gape at its beauty, a centuries old church that has moved millions of people. San wonders what the cathedral looks like to Parisians. If his soulmate is French, they’re probably used to it. No sign of his them though. San decides to pick a trendy restaurant and hopes to cross paths with the person he’s been looking for.

He tries a pork based dish and looks at passersby. The food is so good, San is floored with the quality of his meals so far. He eats and orders a glass of wine, fumbling a little when the waiter asks for more details. Whatever the waiter’s chosen for him, it’s good, a little dry on the tongue. He likes it.

San wonders what his soulmate is doing. Maybe they’re working, maybe they’re on vacation as well. Once he leaves the restaurant, he weaves through the crowd, walking around l’Île Saint Louis, admiring the old building, buying an ice cream from Berthillon. He remembered reading an article about them and decides to go for it. It’s delicious.

There are so many tourists around, San has no idea how he’ll find his soulmate in such a crowd. Still, he needs to believe. So he keeps on walking, losing himself in the narrow streets, getting distracted by shops and street vendors.

By the time he gets home, he’s bone-tired and still without a soulmate.

The next day, he goes to Pompidou. He explores the modern artworks, distracted by the people visiting alongside him. He walks in the neighborhood, tries a ramen place he heard of, and, unsurprisingly, it tastes divine. He wanders into the streets, looks at the thrift shops, the cafés brimming with people, the art galleries. Still, he doesn’t see anyone that makes his heart waver.

On the fourth day, he goes to the Eiffel Tower. He didn’t book in advance so he can’t actually go on top, but he walks on the Champ de Mars, walks to the Concorde and admires the Eiffel Tower from afar. His nape tingles. He looks around but can’t find who he’s looking for.

San realizes he might need more than a week.He’s frustrated, tiredness making his head ache. He needs to believe in himself, in a stroke of luck. He knows it can take time, and that it’s worth the struggle, but he wishes he could meet the one he’s fated to. If he wants to stay longer, he needs to apply for another visa. San sighs. He notices a photobooth by the subway station and goes there. The cabin is brightly white, very clinical, and San gets his ID pictures taken.

When he reaches for his pictures, he finds that someone forgot to take theirs. Curiously, he looks at them, and the tingling in his spine ripples throughout his entire body, leaving him shaking. In the picture, two men are smiling, wearing Mickey headbands. The most obvious one is the guy with vibrant green hair, but San can’t look away from the other man. He’s lithe, wearing shades low on the bridge of his nose, and he looks mischievous, like he’s trying to trick the machine taking their picture. 

San knows it, he can feel it echoing through his entire body: that’s his soulmate.

His heart is hammering in his chest, and he’s feeling lightheaded. He has trouble believing it, but underneath the layer of disbelief, he knows this is him. He’s shaking like a leaf, endorphins kicking in.San’s freaking out, he wants to run laps around the plaza, scream a little. He’s going to find his soulmate. 

San keeps sitting for a while though, processing things, eyes glued to the picture, staring at his soulmate with bated breath. He’s so handsome, long dark hair framing his face, the cutest smile, eyes creasing in happiness. San wonders if he’s looking for him too. He hopes so.

He goes back to his airbnb distracted, rubbing his thumb over his soulmate’s face. His heart won’t stop racing, he aches to find him, to know him.

His search is halted the next day as he goes to renew his visa. The waiting is very long, San reads a good portion of his book in line, but the process itself goes seamlessly. Within four hours, his visa is renewed for another week.

San goes to Saint-Michel that afternoon, wandering into used bookshops, having coffee at Shakespeare and Company, walking near the Seine. It’s nice. Even though he hasn’t found his soulmate, he’s glad for the time off, for all the places he gets to explore.

His dreams keep getting more and more potent. He dreams of the Japanese streets and the Luxembourg garden, so he goes there the next day.

Rue Sainte Anne is filled with Japanese restaurants, and San finds a Korean caterer he buys food from and eats it in a small park. Once he’s back in the streets, he feels a pull towards a direction, so San follows it until he gets to a boba shop. He orders brown sugar tea and asks the employee if she’s seen the man in the picture. She frowns for a second and then says in broken English that he and his friends were there ten minutes ago.

San feels distraught about having missed him by so little. The boba tea appeases his wounded spirits. At least he’s eating well.

He goes to the Luxembourg garden the next day and watches children play with toy boats over a fountain, he walks throughout the garden and tries spotting his soulmate. Hell, his friend is a walking neon light, it shouldn’t be this hard to spot him.

When he gets home that night, he falls asleep fully clothed. He dreams of the Quartier Latin and wakes up aching, almost heaving. He’s so close, he knows it deep inside of him.

Still, he’s starting to feel discouraged, walking around the Panthéon and the neighborhood. He can’t find his soulmate and he’s getting tired. At the end of the day, he allows himself a pity party, going to a students’ bar. The beer is cheap and the conversations are lively. San drinks his beer and yearns for a man he’s never seen.

Suddenly, he feels tremors in his fingers, electricity coursing through his veins until it reaches his nape and San gasps. It has never felt so strong before. He looks around and sees him: bright green hair, and next to him, his soulmate. They’re having cocktails at the bar, animatedly talking to each other.

His soulmate is even more handsome in reality. San admires the slope of his nose, the apparent softness of his cheeks, his pierced earrings, the way he tucked a few loose hair strands behind his ear.

San’s waited all of his life for this, but he has no clue how to proceed about it now that he’s faced with his him.

As if called, the man rubs at his nape and looks around, locking gazes with San’s. He looks shocked for a few seconds, and San softly smiles at him. The man’s face blooms with a beautiful grin. He says a word to his friend and his friend goes up to pay before leaving.

The man carefully approaches San, like he’s a creature to tame, and maybe San is, given the way his body is currently failing him: unable to move or speak. His soulmate takes the chair in front of San and sits with a shy smile.

“You’re not French..?” he asks in English, and San laughs.

“Nope, neither are you?” San replies and the man shakes his head.

It makes them laugh.

“Where are you from?” The man asks him and San nods.

“I’m from Seoul,” he says, and the man smiles brightly.

“Me too!” He replies in Korean, and the both of them laugh in relief. “You’d think we could’ve met at the local bookstore.”

San laughs, “Well, maybe this is more romantic.”

The man offers him a lopsided smile, “So you’re a romantic man.”

San shrugs, but he can’t help the blush on his face. “I’m San,” he replies and the man grins.

“Wooyoung.”

The moment floats between them, the both of them appraising each other. They look around the same age, and San can’t help but think Wooyoung’s the most handsome man he’s ever seen. He has this impish look that titillates San’s curiosity.

But as much as he’s been immersed in soulmate culture, he doesn’t know how to begin this story. He doesn’t know a thing about the man who’s supposed to be his partner for life. He doesn’t know what it takes for him to become that man for him.

“So,” he tries, clearing his throat, “you’d think I’d have a million questions to ask you, but I’m actually speechless,” San tells him, and the man snorts.

He snorts and then he laughs for real, San laughing as well.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to start with,” Wooyoung replies. He hums. “Guess there’s no wrong question… Let’s start with something simple: what's your favorite Sanrio character?”

San barks out a laugh. Still, he thinks about it.

“Chococat,” he replies with a small smile, “he looks a little like you.”

Wooyoung laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. “Cute, mine’s Kuromi.”

San nods gravely, “A solid choice. What have you liked the most ever since you got here?”

Wooyoung plays with the straw of his cocktail, thinking, “I’d say l’Ile Saint-Louis, the architecture is lovely. You?”

“I love the cafés’ atmosphere, even though I get tachycardia after a couple espressos.”

Wooyoung smiles, dimple showing, and San gets the urge to reach out and touch it. He doesn’t, he’s a civil man. He feels overwhelmed, heaving a big sigh, tension from the past days seeping out of him, only for the nervousness of meeting Wooyoung keying him up. He laughs, short and airy.

“It’s insane,” he says, “I’ve been wondering all my life what I would tell my soulmate if I ever met them, and now you’re in front of me.”

“Feeling at loss for words?” Wooyoung asks, and San nods. “I get it, it’s a lot.” Wooyoung reaches out for him with his fingers and retracts them at the last second. “I never really thought I would meet you, I took this trip with some foolish hope.”

San laughs, feeling choked up, “I feel you.”

Wooyoung drinks from his cocktail and San watches the way his pretty lips wrap around the straw. He finds it hard to believe someone this otherworldly man is meant to be his.

“You know what?” San sits up straighter, “if we’re meant to share a lifetime together, might as well say the embarrassing stuff upfront.”

Wooyoung snorts, “what?” He grins, eyes lidded with mischief.

“You were right with your initial assessment. I’m terribly sappy, horribly romantic, I’ve read every single novel that came out under The Bond publishers.”

“The soulmate novels?” Wooyoung asks and San nods, feeling a little too warm, a whole lot embarrassed. His soulmate tucks his head to the side with a lopsided smile, “That’s cute, what’s your favorite novel from them?”

San thinks for a second. “Maybe Midnight Calling , it’s about a clerk who meets her soulmate at the convenience store she works at, she teaches her sign language. It’s very sweet, almost mundane, simple. Made me long for something this potent.”

“No brave knights?” Wooyoung teases, and San offers him a lopsided smile.

“I’m afraid not, I prefer stories that are a little less conventional.”

Wooyoung grins, “is meeting in the Quartier Latin unconventional enough for you?”

“Well,” San starts, biting his bottom lip, “I was actually throwing myself a pity party before I spotted you. I thought I’d missed my chance. I missed you by a hairbreadth the other day.”

“I saw you at the airport,” Wooyoung confides in him, “but you bolted into a cab so fast I didn’t have the chance to reach out for you.”

San gapes at him, “I was so bent on finding you I rushed out.”

They laugh, and, somehow, they feel less like strangers. San feels budding hope in his chest.

“Tell me more about you,” he asks, and Wooyoung hums.

“I, uh,” he bites on his bottom lip, “I’m a dancer. I love it. Doesn’t pay much but it’s worth it. My best friend, Yeosang, is part of the crew I’m in as well. We’re pretty much attached by the hip.”

“The neon-hair guy?” San asks, and Wooyoung nods.

“Most of my free time is spent sprawled in bed watching Netflix while drinking iced coffee. I’m a very simple man,” he smiles a bit hesitantly. “I try volunteering at the local queer shelter whenever I can. It’s rewarding to be able to help younger people that haven’t been as lucky as I have. And I have a cat.”

San perks up at that. “Don’t mind me, I’ll circle back to everything but I need to know the cat’s name.”

“Butternut,” Wooyoung grins, opening his phone to show San a picture. She looks adorable, San tries and fails not to coo.

“You sound amazing,” San finally settles on. “Makes me feel intimidated.”

Wooyoung stares at him, lip caught between his teeth, “well, go on, tell me about yourself.”

San laughs, “I’m a project manager for an NGO. We work on helping women who’ve suffered abuse to bounce back and reintegrate society through therapy and workshops. Most of the time I’m sending emails and coordinating the teams, I’m not actually doing the hands-on work. Not as exciting as dancing, I’m afraid.”

Wooyoung stays silent for a second, and then a slow smile blooms on his face, “I could ask you to marry me right now,” he says, and San barks out a laugh in surprise.

“Because I know how to use Powerpoint?”

Wooyoung tuts at him, “because you make a difference. It’s amazing.”

San blushes, feeling his ears burn.

“I— thanks. Aside from work, I like to work out, I suppose.”

Wooyoung offers him a quirked smile, staring at his form. “I can see that,” is what he replies.

It doesn’t help San’s flush. “And, as stated before, I like to read.”

“Romance,” Wooyoung fills in.

“Yeah,” San breathes out.

“Cute.”

San isn’t used to being referred to as cute, but he likes it. It makes him grin.

Wooyoung doesn’t feel quite like a stranger anymore.

“So, the man here with you, is that Yeosang?”

Wooyoung nods, grinning, “we’ve been friends since we were kids. I’d sell a kidney for him.”

“Good thing you’ve got two of them,” San replies, and Wooyoung barks out a laugh, high pitched and charming.

“Speaking of the devil, he just sent me a text to tell me he was feeling under the weather , suggesting I take you to Montmartre tomorrow instead of him,” Wooyoung tells him, staring at him from under his lashes with a secretive smile.

San grins, “Please tell him to rest well, I’ll make sure you don’t go to Montmartre alone, that’d be a shame,” they both fully know it’s only a pretense.

“It would,” Wooyoung replies with a conspiratorial smile

San doesn’t know Yeosang yet, but he likes him already.

“By any chance,” San begins, feeling a little bashful, “I know it’s getting late, and I’m still mostly a stranger, but would you like coming to my place? The soccer fans are starting to make my head ring and I kind of want to listen to the music you like.”

Wooyoung smiles at him, tongue caught between his teeth.

“How chivalrous,” he replies, “how am I supposed to turn down such a charming invitation?”

San silently laughs, dropping his head a little, staring at Wooyoung from under his lashes. “I take it as a yes?”

Wooyoung’s smile gets impossibly wider, “It’s a yes,” he affirms.

San goes to pay at the counter, and soon enough they’re walking down the stairs to the subway, shoulders brushing, San’s heart racing.

It’s only when they’re sitting on the subway that San laughs, bumping his shoulder to Wooyoung’s. “I’m so nervous, it’s ridiculous.”

“I think it’s charming,” Wooyoung replies, “men usually are a bit more pushy with me. I like the change.”

San turns his head to look at Wooyoung; they’re close, he could count his eyelashes if he wanted to.

“We haven’t waited twenty-something years to meet each other for me not to court you.”

Wooyoung bites the grin off of his face, carefully placing a hand on San’s thigh.

“I like it,” he replies, “a lot.”

San nods, licking his lips. “Okay, great. Cool.”

“So, music is your go-to-pick to get to know me?” Wooyoung asks, and San shrugs.

“I feel like the music we hold close to our hearts tells us a lot about ourselves.”

“What’s your Melon account?”

San gives him his username and Wooyoung looks at his profile.

“How many playlists do you even have?” He asks with incredulity.

“Well…” San scratches his nape, embarrassed, “I make playlist by seasons and by moods because I feel like the music you listen to in summer isn’t the same as what you listen to in winter, and during these time frames, you have various mood variations and…I’m rambling, sorry.” San looks up from Wooyoung’s phone to find Wooyoung staring at him with a small smile. “Was that too much?”

Wooyoung’s smile grows larger, beautiful and sunny.

“That was perfect,” he says. “Do you have soulmate playlists?”

San looks away, growing red.

“I knew it!” Wooyoung squeezes his knee, “you really are a romantic through and through! Show me.”

San groans and unlocks his phone, going to his Melon app, opening his private playlists.

“Tell me what they’re meant to represent.” Wooyoung asks, and he hooks his chin over San’s shoulder. It feels natural, comfortable, like he’s always meant to be there.

“So…” San scratches his throat, “this one was when I was sad about not having met you, this one is my fantasy date playlist, this one is, well, another playlist I would’ve wanted to share with my…well, you, and this one is…” San sighs, “this is embarrassing.”

“Is it a sex playlist?” Wooyoung asks, the grin showing in his voice.

San deflates, “it is a sex playlist.”

“Oh god, you’re perfect.” Wooyoung inches closer, the hand over his knee pressing a little more, the ghost of his breath against San’s neck.

“Not too corny?” San asks, and Wooyoung pushes his nose into San’s shoulder.

“Absolutely corny but I am completely enamored. Can I hope you’ll make more playlists about me? For me?”

San turns his head and his eyes cross from how close they are. His heart is hammering in his chest. He knows it makes sense his soulmate would actually indulge his passion for music, but it’s another thing to have it encouraged.

“I’ll make you as many as you want.”

They almost miss their station, but Wooyoung grabs San by the hand and they hop off the train just in time.

“Lead the way, gentleman,” Wooyoung says, and San brings them to the correct exit, still holding his hand.

Wooyoung doesn’t let go of his hand until they’re in front of San’s building, and, event then, he does it reluctantly.

“My humble abode,” San says, showing his airbnb and Wooyoung tours the place like it’s San’s and not just a rental for the week.

“Looks nice,” he replies.

“It does,” San affirms.

“So, music?” Wooyoung asks, and San retrieves his speaker from his bag.

“You can connect your phone,” San tells him, “I really wanna listen to what you like.”

Wooyoung starts playing his music and flops on San’s bed.

“Exhausted from your day?” San asks, and Wooyoung groans.

“I think I took something like 16,000 steps today.”

San lies down next to him, heads touching.

“Do you want to sleep over? I have an extra towel and I’m a rock when I sleep, I promise. I don’t snore, I don’t move.”

Wooyoung gently hits his chest, laughing.

“This isn’t an interview, I’d sleep with you even if you pushed me out of the bed.”

“That wouldn’t be very nice,” San objects, and Wooyoung laughs harder.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t fight back.” 

San hums, “Should I be scared?” He asks.

“For sure, I bite.”

San laughs, the sound rich and low in his chest. 

“I like that,” he replies.

“Enjoying the pain?” Wooyoung teases him, and San flushes.

“A little pain has never hurt anybody.”

Wooyoung snorts, “That sounds fake but, okay.”

San enjoys Wooyoung’s music, it’s moody, sometimes a little sad, yearning at times, some other more energetic. He gets the vibe that Wooyoung is someone who has a lot of energy and a calmer side to himself. He likes that.

“Since you showed me your sex playlist, I’ll give you a bone to chew on,” Wooyoung starts, and San stops listening to his music. “I do like the pain. Heightens the experience.”

“Oh so we’re talking about sex now? What happened to courting you?” San teases, and Wooyoung hits his arm.

“I’m sorry, do you have a timetable for when it’s appropriate to talk about sex?”

“Well, my alarm clock is saying twelve more hours and thirty six minutes.”

Wooyoung groans and rolls onto his stomach, staring at San.

“You’re infuriating,” he states, and San’s grin widens.

“And yet you’re smiling.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“But you like pain,” San gets back on track, and now that Wooyoung’s above him, he can see the flush on his cheeks. Lovely.

“Yeah, not always, but sometimes it’s nice.”

“I’m fully committed to having my partners enjoy themselves to the fullest so it’s definitely on the table if that’s something you enjoy.”

Wooyoung stares at him with a dark gaze, considering.

“I truly think you’re my soulmate,” he says, and San laughs, a bit breathless.

“Because I try to be decent in bed?”

“No, well, that too, but because you open your mouth and all I want to do is kiss you.”

San flushes, cheeks burning, “Oh,” he dumbly replies.

“I should text Sangie I’m staying over tonight,” Wooyoung conversationally says, like he hasn’t rocked San’s world with a simple sentence.

San stares at Wooyoung as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and discusses it with his best friend. Wooyoung truly is the most handsome man he’s ever seen in his life. As much as they were strangers a couple hours ago, he has to be honest with himself, he’s never felt this comfortable this fast with anyone else in his full albeit short life.

There’s something about Wooyoung, the way he simply says things as they are, his gentle teasing, the yearning wistfulness of some of the songs he likes. San knows too that Wooyoung’s the one meant for him.

Carefully, San reaches for Wooyoung’s waist, letting himself enjoy this point of contact, the warmth under his fingers. Wooyoung’s wearing a loose dress shirt, the fabric still crisp under San’s fingers.

“We’re all good,” Wooyoung says, lightly throwing his phone away, and San uses the momentum to use the hand on his waist to push him onto his back and hover over him.

“You’ve been thinking of kissing me,” he states, and Wooyoung’s breathing through his mouth, shallow and surprised.

“Most of the evening, yeah, but I still listened to you,” he’s softly smiling, extending his arms above his head, like he’s allowing San to do whatever he pleases. It makes a shiver run down San’s spine.

“How do you know the soulmate concept isn’t just a fluke?” San asks, arms caging Wooyoung’s head.

“Says the man with a PhD in romance,” Wooyoung replies.

“You barely know me,” San presses. He can’t kiss Wooyoung until he’s sure.

“Don’t you feel it?” Wooyoung asks, but it’s not a question, it feels more rhetorical than anything. “The way our bodies call for each other, how right it feels?”

San nods, feeling foolish, of course Wooyoung feels it too.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to untangle myself from you if I touch you,” San professes, lowering his head, hovering close to Wooyoung’s neck.

“We could become one,” Wooyoung promises, and San lets out a shuddery breath.

“We could become more,” San replies, lips grazing at Wooyoung’s jaw.

San doesn’t know the song playing, but it strikes a chord in him, slow and yearning, a thrumming intensity in the background, and he realizes it is fate bringing them to this very moment, the instant before the fall, what he’s longed for for all these years.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” San warns Wooyoung.

“Please,” he replies.

The song moves to the chorus and San looks into Woooyoung’s eyes. There’s nothing but earnestness in them, fondness hinted over his smile. San leans forward and carefully presses his lips to Wooyoung’s.

San’s read about this exact moment more times than he could possibly remember, but nothing amounts to the feeling of Wooyoung’s sigh against his lips, the way his fingers wrap around his waist and press him closer until San gets the message and climbs over his lap.

Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of Wooyoung’s hand over his nape, warm and comforting, the way their lips move in tandem, a rhythm he has always known, ingrained into his soul.

There’s nothing but proof when San presses closer and they breathe into each other’s mouths, overwhelmed, nothing but perfection when San slides his tongue over his bottom lip and Wooyoung lets a breathy sigh tumble from his lips.

It all makes sense.

The feeling blooms in his chest, overwhelming. They found each other.

San kisses deeper and Wooyoung licks into his mouth, and nothing has ever felt as perfect as this moment.

He loses track of time, lost in the feeling of Wooyoung’s mouth against his, the way Wooyoung’s hands travel up and down his back, stopping at the hollow of his waist, holding onto his shoulder blades, sliding down his ribcage. San’s fingers have crept under Wooyoung’s shirt, drunk on the feeling of his warm and tender skin under his fingertips.

Wooyoung feels right against him. He feels like he’s always known him, always was meant to.

It’s only when Wooyoung breaks the kiss to stifle a yawn that San sees they’ve been kissing for an absurdly long time.

“We should shower and sleep,” San gently says, and Wooyoung whines.

“Why sleep when I finally found my soulmate?”

It makes San grin.

“I’ll be here in the morning, and all the mornings you want.”

Disgruntledly, Wooyoung sits back up, accepting the towel San offers him. Though San suspects he only did because he kissed his cheek at the same time.

San is left with his thoughts when Wooyoung goes to shower. He hasn’t told anyone yet, not that he doesn’t believe what’s happening is true, but because he wants to treasure it a little longer. It feels so surreal, after all these years of yearning, to have finally found his person. There’s giddiness in his chest. He’s at loss for words. 

Wooyoung feels right, like he’s always been meant to be by San’s side and San at his. He can’t wait to know more about his life, to become part of it, their existences slotting into place naturally. 

He doesn’t think there’ll never be hardships but, hell, it’s been a few hours, he can allow himself to bask in the feeling.

Wooyoung comes out from the bathroom shirtless. It leaves San shell shocked, to be allowed to unabashedly admire him. He can feel his face burning, and sees the way Wooyoung smirks at him. If he was waiting for a reaction from San, there he has it.

“I’m gonna—” San tries croaking out, “gonna shower.”

On his way to the bathroom, though, he reaches for Wooyoung’s waist, pulling him close.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” He asks, and Wooyoung offers him the sweetest smile.

“Then everything’s going really well.”

San closes the distance between them, a hand splayed between his shoulder blades as he kisses him slow and languid.

“I’m showering and then we’re sleeping .” San tells Wooyoung, and the other has the audacity to pout.

With a sigh, he concedes, “you’re right.”

Reluctant to pull away from each other, they keep grinning and softly giggling, pressing kisses to each other’s mouths.

“I really need to shower,” San says, but he kisses Wooyoung’s temple, his cheekbone, Wooyoung kissing his neck.

“Should I tell you you reek?” Wooyoung asks, and San frowns.

“Do I?” He asks, and Wooyoung laughs gently.

“No, I like how you smell. It’s comforting.”

“Hm.” San takes Wooyoung’s hand in his and carefully kisses his palm. “I still should shower.”

“Only if you’re the big spoon afterwards,” Wooyoung demands, and San offers him a lopsided smile.

“Then we have a deal.”

His shower is meditative, mind blank, body warm and sated. He feels at peace, like he was meant to be there at that moment. He lets the water wash over him as he scrubs at his skin.

He does slip into bed shirtless too, partly because he’s running hot, mostly because he wants to feel Wooyoung’s skin against his. The feeling is overwhelming. He feels at home. Wooyoung snuggles closer to him, hands tucked to his chest, and San wraps an arm around his middle.

“G’night,” he says softly, and Wooyoung hums, already drifting away.

It’s early morning when San wakes up, one of Wooyoung’s legs thrown over his, a hand cradled against his waist, San’s face buried in Wooyoung’s hair. His heart swells with happiness. 

He indulges in the moment, breathing in Wooyoung’s scent, how potent he is, here, in his bed. He carefully traces his ribcage with his fingers, marveling at his beauty, feeling immensely grateful and joyful.

Slowly, he disentangles himself from Wooyoung, careful not to wake him up. Silently, he puts on a shirt and shoes, grabs his wallet and exits the flat. There’s a bakery down the street. San doesn’t know what he likes so he takes a little bit of everything: croissants, pains au chocolat, pains suisse, these little things with raisins in them, and a palmier. There’s got to be something he likes in these.

He walks back to his building, gets into the elevator, unlocks his door, and Wooyoung’s still sleeping, now hugging San’s pillow. It makes his heart swell in his chest. Wooyoung’s lovely.

San prepares coffee, puts the pâtisseries on plates and gets back into bed. It’s a decent hour in the morning, decent enough San can let himself wake Wooyoung up by kissing his face. He starts with his forehead, Wooyoung hums, he goes to his cheekbones, and Wooyoung stirs, he presses a gentle kiss to Wooyoung’s lips and Wooyoung sleepily grins.

“I could get used to this,” is the first thing he says and San smiles into their next kiss.

“Good,” he replies and he kisses Wooyoung’s neck, reveling in the soft gasp he lets out. “I hope you’re hungry,” he goes on, and Wooyoung hums.

Wooyoung looks behind San, sees the breakfast, and his smile grows impossibly fonder.

“Did you buy the whole bakery?” He asks, laughing softly.

“I had to cover my bases, didn’t know what you like.”

Wooyoung sits up, a cowlick standing at the back of his head, and San feels so much , the pull he feels towards Wooyoung is infinitely strong.

“I like them all, we should share.”

So they do, they have breakfast at the small table of the flat, San’s feet caressing Wooyoung’s calves, Wooyoung cutting the pâtisseries in half. Wooyoung tells him about a dream he had during the night where soulmates had the same tattoo.

“We should do that, one day,” is what San replies without thinking twice about it. He doesn’t even have it in himself to second-guess his statement because Wooyoung feels right.

“Then we’ll do that,” Wooyoung concludes, and he must feel what San feels: how attuned to each other they already are, like they’ve known each other in past lives.

“So, you’re taking me to Montmartre,” San says once their breakfast is finished.

“Yeah! If that’s okay with you, Sangie would like to join us for lunch.”

“Sure, I don’t want you to ditch your best friend because of me,” San is quick to reply.

San gives Wooyoung a shirt and a fresh pair of underwear, “So you feel more comfortable today,” is what he tells him and Wooyoung grins.

“Already wearing my soulmate’s clothes…” He teases, but it’s not a joke to San, not when it takes his breath away to see him wearing his shirt. He gets the urge to touch him, fingers wrapping around his waist, burrowing his nose into the small of Wooyoung’s neck.

“I could get used to it,” he replies, and Wooyoung’s laughter is breathless.

“Stop teasing me or else we’ll never step foot outside from this flat,” he warns, and San laughter comes out small, tempted.

They’re not far away from Montmartre, taking a bus there, watching the city while holding hands.

“Did you know they filmed some of John Wick here?” Wooyoung asks as they wait for the funicular.

“No? I haven’t seen the latest one.”

Wooyoung grins, leading San into the funicular, pressed together with the amount of tourists with them.

“It looks really cool, I could show it to you,” Wooyoung continues and San kisses his temple.

“I’d love that.”

The Sacré-Coeur is breathtaking, both from the outside and the inside. The glasswork leaves San breathless, hypnotized by how the colors shine into the church. Wooyoung’s looking around, just as mesmerized, their hands linked together as they visit the place. There isn’t a sound in the church, everyone admiring the architecture with bated breath. It’s only when they step outside and see Paris laid out before them that they regain the ability to speak.

“Holy shit,” Wooyoung laughs,

“That’s amazing,” San replies.

They can see the entire city laid out before them.

“You know, “ Wooyoung starts, “I read Montmartre used to be an independent faction from Paris until later. Then it became part of it, and the neighborhood became a staple for fabric merchants.”

San smiles at Wooyoung who’s staring at the panoramic view.

“You really informed yourself,” he says, and Wooyoung grins, flushing a little.

“I thought that if my soulmate was going to be Parisian, I should at least know a little about their city.”

San hums, “Not too disappointed I don’t own a beret and curse at tourists?”

Wooyoung presses closer, kissing San’s shoulder, “No, I prefer it that way, the commute will be quicker to see each other.”

They walk down the streets, indeed stumbling on fabric merchants. They walk into a shop and admire the meters and meters of fabric piling around them. They walk by tourist traps, San also spots a thief trying to get into Wooyoung’s pocket; he gets between them and tells him to get the fuck away in broken French. Wooyoung stares at him with a smile, almost unbelieving, before he presses a soft kiss to his lips.

On their way down, they stumble onto a small plaza, trees throwing gentle shadows over benches, and they go sit on one of them, gazing at people walking by.

“There was a book too,” Wooyoung says, “from this guy named Zola. He’s like a big French author from the 19th century, and he would try to write as scientifically as possible about people. The approach was skewed but it was a whole movement.. Anyway, he wrote this book called, Le ventre de Paris , about a guy who arrives in Paris and it’s how he acclimates himself to the city.”

San stares at him, enraptured, listening to him.

“Please stop me if this is boring,” Wooyoung says with a small smile, and San shakes his head.

“No, I wanna know more,” he replies.

“Well, most of the book happens in Châtelet, but the main character has one of his friends living in Montmartre and I always found the place lovely, given how it was written. I know it’s an old book, but I'm getting this feeling he wrote about, the sensation of a small village cradled into Paris.”

San stares at him, admiring him. “I get that, you make me want to read the book.”

Wooyoung grins, a little bashful. “Just like you read about romance, I read about Paris, in hopes of feeling closer to you.”

San shallowly breathes in, overwhelmed. Woooyoung has been aching for him just like he has. “Tell me about your favorite Parisian book.”

Wooyoung closes his eyes, smiling to himself.

“I think it might be Giovanni’s Room . You follow this man who’s engaged to a woman who told him they’d live apart for a year and marry when she’d come back from her travels. So he moves into Paris and falls in love with this bartender, but homosexuality was still punishable by law by then. It’s a very bittersweet story, but it’s achingly beautiful and so beautifully written.”

“Will you lend it to me?” San asks, and Wooyoung’s face morphs into the softest expression.

“I’d love to.”

“So, where to next?”

Wooyoung tucks his head to the side, thinking, “Shall we have lunch in a café?”

They leisurely walk down the hill, holding hands, until they see a cute café, all painted in teal, with wooden chairs, and they fall in love with the place. They choose from the menu, something local and simple, and enjoy their wine as they keep on talking, on getting to know each other.

“When I was a kid,” Wooyoung says, “I dreamt of becoming a ballet dancer and making it to the Opéra in Paris. I am a good dancer, but there were too many sacrifices to become a petit rat , too much to lose for a fame I wasn’t sure I’d get. So I chose a simpler life, but also a way to make sure my body wouldn’t be breaking when I’d be reaching my thirties.”

“Was it hard to make that choice?” San asks, and Wooyoung shrugs.

“A little, but I did see broken bodies from a very young age and it helped in sobering up my dreams. My fate was to come here, as I am today, and I wouldn’t have it in any other way.”

San mulls over his words for a moment.

“You think it’s fate that molded you into who you are?” He earnestly asks, and Wooyoung licks his lips, thinking about it.

“I don’t think so, I think I made my life the way it is, and that my choices are my own, but that they also aligned with yours. Maybe a mix between fate and my decisions intertwined together.”

“Makes sense…” San replies, finishing his meal. He drinks from his wine, feeling warm and sated. “As much as I wanted to believe in fate, I’ve seen adults who never met their soulmates, so I was both enamored with the idea of finding mine and the profound conviction that fate wasn’t an end in itself.”

“How do you feel now that you found me?” Wooyoung asks from under his lashes while drinking from his wine.

“I feel like it’s up to us to make our story one of love, not destiny.” San says with assurance.

Wooyoung privately smiles, and San brushes his calf with his foot.

“I want to choose to be with you because of who you are and not because the universe wants me to.” San goes on.

“I like this idea,” Wooyoung replies, fingers closing around San’s wrist, “and I like the fact that you are my soulmate.”

San carefully smiles, turning his hand around to take Wooyoung’s fingers in his, “me too,” he softly says. “Do you wanna call Yeosang and have him join us?” He asks, and Wooyoung grins.

“That would be lovely,” he replies, using his free hand to call his best friend. They talk for a couple minutes and then Wooyoung sends him their location.

“I hope he’ll like me,” San confides in Wooyoung who simply grins back at him.

“I don’t worry about that in the slightest.”

“So, what else do you know about Paris? I feel like we should’ve met earlier into our trip so you could’ve told me everything you know about the city.”

Wooyoung bashfully smiles, tucking a hair strand behind his ear. “Guess we’ll have to come back, then, for an anniversary.”

San nods, biting a smile from his face.

“There’s this neighborhood with Japanese and Korean places, and it’s filled with covered alleys,” Wooyoung starts.

“Yeah, I’ve seen them,” San replies.

“Well, they’ve been there for a long while, people used to live on top of the shops, I don’t know if they still do because it actually looks very small to live in.”

“Where did you learn that?” San asks, and Wooyoung laughs, short and sweet.

“Another book,” he answers.

“You’ll need to lend me some,” San tells him, and Wooyoung grins wide and sunny.

“Then we’ll do exchanges.”

Wooyoung keeps on telling him anecdotes about Paris, little things he’s gathered along the years, until San spots Yeosang, slightly out of breath.

“Did you really have to have me meet on a hill ?” He asks, and Wooyoung snickers.

“At least you enjoyed the scenery.”

Yeosang sighs, but there’s a small smile on his face.

“The location could’ve been shabbier,” he replies, sitting next to Wooyoung. “So,” he stares at San intensely, “you’re the soulmate.”

San blushes, trying not to feel too nervous. This is important to him. “I am.”

“Before I get to know you I’m compelled to give you a shovel talk,” he says, and Wooyoung whines.

“Not the shovel talk,” he tries, but Yeosang bites down a smile, pointing at San.

“If you break his heart, I’ll break your knees.”

San barks out a laugh, nodding. 

“As you should,” he replies, “you have my blessing to bust my kneecaps if I ever hurt him. Not that I intend to, but it’s important to be honest with each other.”

Yeosang stares at him, chin tucked up, appraising him.

“Covering the bases,” he tells him.

“I get it,” San says, “it’s good Wooyoung’s well surrounded.”

“Now that it’s out of the way,” Yeosang’s shoulders sag a little, face softening, “it’s nice meeting you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Wooyoung was very nervous,” Yeosang goes on, and Wooyoung hits his shoulder.

“No need to expose me!” He complains, but Yeosang simply winks at him.

“Oh, believe me, I was too. I should’ve brought a friend as well, maybe it would’ve diffused my nerves a little.”

“It wasn’t too hard to roam the city alone?” Yeosang asks, and San deflates, a part of him allowing himself to acknowledge how exhausting emotionally the past week has been.

“Kind of, it was hard to follow my dreams without really knowing if I was going in the right direction. All I had was hints of places but I didn’t know more than that. I almost ran into you one day and I thought I’d missed my chance. That was kind of hard on my hopes.”

Yeosang’s features soften, amicable, “I can imagine,” he says, “it must’ve been hard to be alone.”

San nods. The waiter comes by and Yeosang orders a glass of wine and a meal, and the two others accompany him with another glass of wine.

“I wasn’t worried about Wooyoungie,” Yeosang says again once the waiter is gone, “once he’s set his eyes on something, he does everything in his power to get it.”

It makes San smile, to know how dedicated and passionate Wooyoung is.

“I still can’t believe we met when we were both taking a break from looking for each other,” Wooyoung grins, and San’s smile blooms on his face.

“That’s when fate comes in.”

“So you do believe in it?” Yeosang asks, and Wooyoung leans into his friend.

“He’s a romantic,” he conspiratorially says, and Yeosang barks out a laugh.

“Wooyoungie’s gonna eat you alive,” he tells San, and San can’t help the grin on his face.

“I’ll let him.”

Yeonsang stares at his friend: “You already have him under your thumb?” He asks, and San laughs, joyous.

“Well, I was done for as soon as our eyes met,” he replies.

“You’re whipped beyond measure,” Yeosang states, and San nods.

“I’m afraid the feature comes in my package.”

“He’s perfect for you,” Yeosang stares at Wooyoung who’s staring at San with a lopsided smile.

“I know,” he replies, gaze not looking away from San’s.

“He’s gonna have you wrapped around his finger,” Yeosang warns San, but San doesn’t stop looking at Wooyoung.

“That’s good,” he replies.

He sees Yeosang sighing from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m sleeping alone again tonight aren’t I?” He asks, and, at that, San says “I don’t want to keep you away from each other,” at the same time Wooyoung says “I’ll make it up to you.”

They both stare at each other, San feeling the blush rising on his cheeks, overwhelmed by Wooyoung’s amused smile, the tease laced in his gaze.

“I have to deal with him every single day of the year,” Yeosang tells San, “I can share him a little.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, “Well he would like to sleep with his soulmate again.”

San bites the smile off of his face.

“How long have you two known each other?” He asks, and Yeosang hums.

“We were in the same class when we were twelve, that’s how it all started. I’ve been suffering his company for fifteen years.”

Wooyoung laughs, wrapping his arms around Yeosang.

“And you love it every single day.”

San sees the flush on Yeosang’s cheeks, the way he tries fighting a smile.

“He’s not too bad,” he tells San.

“I’m glad you two have each other.”

He thinks about Mingi back home, the flurry of text messages awaiting him after he sent him an update while waiting at the bakery.

“My best friend likes to tell our friends I was his first soulmate,” San tells them, “but that it was platonic.”

Wooyoung hums, “it’s kind of like that with Yeosangie too.”

Yeosang rolls his eyes, his fingers closing around Wooyoung’s with care.

“It has to, I don’t know how I would’ve put up with your antics otherwise.”

Wooyoung cackles, kissing Yeosang’s cheek, Yeosang who tries and fails to evade him.

“We were talking about the potency of fate earlier,” San starts, “and I truly believe we’re meant to meet more than a single person in our lives that will make a difference. As much of a romantic as I am, I wholeheartedly believe we build our own families, the ones that mean the world to us. I think that’s what you have.”

Yeosang stares at Wooyoung. “He’s not put off by our proximity,” he says.

“Why would I be?” San asks at the same time Wooyoung replies “Well, he is my soulmate.”

Yeosang offers him a grin, shaking Wooyoung off of him.

“Wooyoung’s dates tend to be…annoyed at our proximity.”

San frowns.

“I think it’s beautiful,” he replies, and Yeosang’s eyes crease with happiness.

“You might want to go back on your words when we team up on you.”

San laughs, and he longs for this to become his normalcy.

“But,” Yeosang speaks up again, “Wooyoung’s had trouble in the past because of it. Jealousy mostly.”

San shrugs.

“Love comes in all shapes and forms, I just want Wooyoung to be happy.”

Yeosang turns to Wooyoung and whispers, “Have you fucked him yet?” and Wooyoung flushes, looking San’s way, San who’s beet red.

“No!” Wooyoung whispers back, even though San hears them perfectly.

“Well, then, get to work!” Yeosang hisses, and San barks out laughing, embarrassed and happy.

“I’d love to say we’re not always like this,” Wooyoung starts, “but I would be lying.”

“I like it,” San reassures him and the waiter brings them their wine and Yeosang’s meal.

Now that they’re feeling more comfortable around each other, Yeosang asks him questions about his life: his job, his friends, his family. San replies and Yeosang tells him more about himself. He’s a part-time librarian when he’s not dancing. He met his soulmate when he checked out a book about soulmate astrology, and he’s Wooyoung’s cat’s godfather. 

Yeosang tells him about his life with his soulmate, the both of them more introverted than Wooyoung, Yeosang reading while Seonghwa builds lego sets, the both of them cooking together. 

“It took two whole weeks for Seonghwa to show his face at the library again. He left me a note with his number in the book and then proceeded to infodump me about his latest passion. I was entranced immediately.”

San feels warmed by his story, comfortably lulled by the wine.

“Anyway,” Yeosang tells him once he’s finished his meal, “not that I don’t like you, but I have to swing by PopMart to buy blind boxes for Seonghwa. I’ll see you soon?” He asks, and San grins.

“As soon as you’ll want me.”

Yeosang nods and pats his shoulder.

“You’re in my good books,” he settles on saying, and San beams.

Once he’s left, San appraises Wooyoung with a soft smile.

“He likes me,” he says, and Wooyoung grins.

“He does, if he didn’t, trust me, you’d know it.”

“How is your English?” San asks, and Wooyoung frowns at the sudden question.

“Good? Better than my French.”

“Okay,” San replies, “there’s a place I wanna show you, I stumbled upon it earlier this week.”

They pay and Wooyoung follows San to the nearest subway.

“Where are you taking me?” He asks, wrapping a hand around San’s arm.

“Somewhere you’ll like,” San answers, stopping in the middle of the stairs to kiss him.

The subway soothes them into comfortable silence, moving around the lines until they reach Saint-Michel.

“I know this place!” Wooyoung beams, looking around for clues.

San guides them through the students and tourists, until they reach a bookstore.

“It’s an English bookstore,” San explains, “I thought you could find something you like in here.” He shuffles on his feet, a little self-conscious. “That we could buy something together and read it and it would be one of our first memories together.” He bites on his bottom lip, knowing he’s flushed.

Wooyoung tucks his finger under his chin and lifts his head until they’re face to face.

“You’re so cute,” Wooyoung replies, and closes the distance to kiss him, slow and purposeful. “I love it,” he settles on saying.

And the bet is worth it when San sees the way he appraises books, how he reads their summaries, looking around, trying to find the perfect book. He’s passionate, and San loves it.

In the end, he settles on an English-translated French book about soulmates finding solace in Paris.

“Romance?” San asks, and Wooyoung offers him a sheepish smile.

“I gotta make sure you like it,” he replies.

They buy a couple of copies and San’s heart is bursting with love. It’s innocuous, but the fact that Wooyoung took his tastes into account makes him feel fuzzy around the corners, and so very happy.

San stares at Wooyoung whose blush is devastating, and San wants nothing more than to kiss him. So he does. He brings Wooyoung closer by the waist and kisses him sweet at first, and then Wooyoung parts his lips and San deepens the kiss. He tries conveying all of the affection overpouring from him, hoping Wooyoung can feel the intensity he’s feeling.

“I really,” San breathes against his lips, “really wanna take you home and show you how glad I am that you care for me.”

Wooyoung laughs, breathless and airy.

“For a book?” He asks, and San grins, kissing Wooyoung’s neck in the middle of the street.

“The book, and the stolen touches,” he kisses the shell of his ear, “having you wear my clothes, and, well, I do have a playlist in need of testing.”

Wooyoung barks out a laugh, hitting San’s shoulder, and San loves the glimmer in his eyes, how joyous he looks because of him.

Wooyoung takes his hand and starts walking backwards.

“Do you mean you’ve succumbed to my charms?” He asks with a demure expression and San brings him back close to him, hand tucked against his back.

“I’m afraid my fate was sealed when you first smiled at me.”

Wooyoung laughs again, eyes creasing with happiness.

“That was roughly a minute in!”

San hums, walking side by side, hand still on Wooyoung’s lower back, a little sweet, a little possessive.

“Do you not want me to ache for you?”

“ Ache ? Oh darling, it doesn’t even begin to cover the things I wanna make you feel,” Wooyoung replies, and San has to bite on his bottom lip to stay put.

They make their way to the subway. The ride is long.

“I’ve wanted you—everything you’d give me, almost immediately.” San professes and Wooyoung’s hand is splayed on his thigh, staring at the beeping lights indicating how many more stops they have until San’s.

“I would’ve…well,” Wooyoung looks away from the map display and meets San’s gaze. San had never stopped watching him. “If I hadn’t been so tired last night…”

“I know,” San replies, burrowing his face into Wooyoung’s neck, public decency be damned. He kisses the column of his neck, his jaw, lips ghosting over his ear, “I’ll make it up to you,” he softly says, and Wooyoung lets out a sigh.

After what feels like eternity, they finally make it to San’s stop, stumbling out of the train, breathlessly giggling. San’s hand finds Wooyoung’s and he keeps their fingers intertwined until they reach his building.

San moves to type the code in, but Wooyoung’s already draped over his back, pressing him to type it faster. It’s not San’s fault he’s too nervous to correctly push the right buttons.

In the elevator, there’s a floating moment where they stare at each other, San’s hands soothing Wooyoung sides, Wooyoung fingers cradling San’s jaw.

Wooyoung’s back with his arms around his waist as he unlocks the door, caging him against it once they’re inside.

San kisses him, purposefully, and Wooyoung whines into his mouth.

“Your playlist,” Wooyoung breathes out, “I wanna hear it.”

San blushes, moving around to turn his speaker on, opening a playlist he has honed over time, a playlist he’s crafted with yearning in his heart. The first notes play and San turns around, offering Wooyoung a crooked smile.

Wooyoung stares at him from the entry, taking his shoes off, San’s kicked off in a corner, and San crosses the few meters between them. Wooyoung stands back up, gaze fleeting from San’s eyes to San’s lips, and, well, San likes to provide, so he backs him up against the door. Hands wrapping around his waist, San brushes their cheeks together, taking Wooyoung’s warm scent, the way he sighs against him.

“To think we’re together,” he softly says into Wooyoung’s neck, and Wooyoung bares his throat, offering better access. San kisses the presented skin, lightly biting under his ear, reveling in Wooyoung’s short gasp.

“I’m never letting you go,” Wooyoung breathes out, hands splayed against San’s back, pressing him closer.

San’s lips graze at Wooyoung’s cheek, hovering close to his lips.

“I’m not leaving,” he replies.

Wooyoung’s the first to fold, closing the distance between them. He kisses him like they’ve been underwater, catching their breaths in between, deep and purposeful, and San answers, just as hungry.

The song morphs into another one and San’s fingers worm under Wooyoung’s shirt, fingers digging into his soft flesh. He sucks on Wooyoung’s bottom lip and Wooyoung whines, small and surprised.

“Your bed,” he asks, lips grazing San’s.

San has waited for this all of his life, he’s pictured this exact moment, but nothing compares to the sound of glee that comes out from Wooyoung when he picks him up and carries him the few strides to his bed. Nothing could’ve prepared him for Wooyoung being splayed in his bed, his hair disheveled, his shirt riding up, his dark gaze tampered down by his wonderful grin. 

San climbs over him, hands running up his chest, cradling his jaw between his fingers, tipping his chin up so he can bite at the intimate skin over his Adam’s apple.

Wooyoung moves his hands over his head, offering himself, and San can’t help it, he moves forward to catch his wrists in his hand, kissing Wooyoung, licking into his mouth, tongues grazing. San’s mesmerized, hips minutely moving against Wooyoung’s, loving the way Wooyoung makes a punched out sound, body arching into San’s touch.

“How do you want me?” San asks, voice lower, and Wooyoung’s eyes are lidded, gaze already unfocused.

“Want you all over me,” he replies, voice thin, “want you in me,” he says, and San forgets how to breathe for a second.

They have all the time in the world, so San keeps on grinding against him, the fabric of his pants chafing just enough that it feels good, guided by Wooyoung’s small mewls, hips moving against his like they’ve done it a thousand times.

The song blends into another, and then another, San sucking bruises into Wooyoung’s neck, drawing pleasured hums from him, licking at the shell of his ears and feeling him shiver against him.

“You’re a tease,” Wooyoung complains, but he’s not fighting San’s restraint, and he still meets San’s languid rhythm. San can feel he’s hard too, blissfully tight against him.

“Darling,” San says with a smile, kissing Wooyoung. He uses his free hand to unbutton Wooyoung’s pants, sliding the zipper down and pressing the heel of his hand against Wooyoung’s clothed cock. Wooyoung whimpers, fingers tightening around San’s.

San lets go of his hands, taking his shirt off, helping Wooyoung out of his. He takes the time to admire him, the definition of his muscles, the softness of his stomach, his pert nipples. San’s enamored, filled with wonder and desire.

He moves lower, taking Wooyoung’s pants off, slowly taking off his. 

“You’re so handsome,” Wooyoung breathes out, and San is exposed. San is about to get entirely naked in front of someone he met the day before, but it feels so right. It has never felt like this, like he was meant to be right here, exposing himself to Wooyoung. So San sheds the last of his clothing, kneeling naked on his bed, and Wooyoung looks down, licking his lips. San can’t suppress a shiver.

He doesn’t have the time to say anything before Wooyoung takes his underwear off, and San can only admire him. He counts the moles freckled over his skin, touches his thighs, hands wrapping around the flesh, and takes the time to take in his cock.

It’s pretty, just like the rest of him, and San can’t help it, he leans forward to kiss its head. Wooyoung gasps, fingers carding into San’s hair. He licks along his shaft, likes the way he tastes, a little tangy, a whole lot comforting. Under the flat of his tongue, Wooyoung shudders, he guides him over his cock and San takes him into his mouth.

He wants to pleasure him, wants to make him feel good. He hollows his cheeks, bobbing his head in a rhythm that has Wooyoung whining high in his throat, almost airy.

San’s lost count of the songs.

San can feel Wooyoung trembling. He’s half-sitting to card his fingers through San’s hair, abs flexing and it must be tiring to keep this position, so San pushes him onto his back, keeping a hand splayed over his heart as he keeps on sucking him, faster and sloppier.

With his free hand, he teases Wooyoung’s hole, lightly circling his rim, entranced with Wooyoung’s moan. San’s cock is leaking between his legs, heavy and untouched.

San loses himself in the feeling of Wooyoung’s cock in his mouth, in the saltiness of his precum on his tongue, on the breathy moans tumbling from Wooyoung’s pretty lips. He bobs his head, tries his best to pleasure him. 

“I’m close,” Wooyoung warns, and that’s what San wants , to bring him to completion.

San keeps on sucking him, the flat of his tongue against his slit, sliding around him and hollowing his cheeks as he goes up. He teases and teases and teases until Wooyoung gasps, back arching, filling San’s mouth.

San drinks him in, licks him clean, keeps him in his mouth, teasing a little, oversensitive, until Wooyoung’s tugging at his arm.

“Wanna kiss you,” he says, and San can’t turn down such an offer.

San slides over him, licking along his navel, kissing his ribs, toying a nipple with his tongue.

“San-ah,” Wooyoung calls, and San can’t keep him waiting any longer.

He kisses him gently, tender, reveling in the moment. They breathe into each other, softly, Wooyoung still catching his breath. San wonders if he can taste himself on San’s tongue. The thought electrifies him, feeling now more than ever how untouched he’s been. He’s not complaining at all, he could only be pleasuring Wooyoung and he’d be happy. 

He wants nothing more than to see Wooyoung’s eyes fill up with tears of pleasure, and to know he’s the reason for them.

Wooyoung’s lying down on his bed, arms still raised above his head, and he’s pouting.

“What is it, darling?” San asks, and Wooyoung furrows his eyebrows.

“I wanna touch you,” he says, “want to have you in my mouth too.”

And who is San to refuse him?

“How do you want me?” he asks, and Wooyoung moves, kneeling to the edge of the bed.

“Closer,” he replies with a smile, and San huffs.

San stands over Wooyoung. He’s flushed, hair sticking out, slightly disheveled, lips bitten pink. He’s staring at San from under his eyelashes, a small lopsided smile forming. Wooyoung traces the lines of his quadriceps, slowly traveling up his legs, blunt nails raking up his stomach before he presses his palms over his hips.

“You’re gonna be good to me, aren’t you?” Wooyoung asks him, but his tone is more rhetorical than anything.

Still, San breathes out a “Yeah,” almost silent.

Wooyoung presses his face against his groin, scenting him in, and the intimacy of the gesture makes San dizzy. He kisses at the trimmed hair close to his cock, down until his lips graze at his cock.

“You’re gonna fuck my mouth, okay?” Wooyoung asks, and San nods.

Anything for him.

San hisses when Wooyoung licks at his balls, toying with him, sucking one of them into his mouth. San jerks forward and Wooyoung hums around him. His fingers ghost over his perineum, pressing into the sensitive skin, and San moans small and low. When Wooyoung finally licks up San’s shaft, he can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. As much as he’d happily take care of Wooyoung and not receive anything in return, he can’t lie about the fact that it feels divine to have him touching him.

Wooyoung makes a show out of it, licking its side, following a vein up, gaze locked to San’s. When he finally takes him into his mouth, San whimpers, high and desperate, hand carding through Wooyoung’s silky hair. He takes him slowly, pumping him with a hand, mouth shallowly working over him. San feels like a livewire, exposed, desperate.

Slowly, Wooyoung goes farther, taking more of him, until he gags for it and moans at the feeling. San tries backing away to give him space, but Wooyoung’s hand on his hips keeps him where he is. Wooyoung breathes through his nose and starts working over his dick again, more relaxed.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” San breathes out and Wooyoung hums around him. San can feel his drool rolling down his shaft. He’s going insane.

He starts moving, hand holding Wooyoung’s hair, not too tight to hurt, but firm enough to guide him. It makes Wooyoung moan, and, rippling, San moans in return, short and low. San builds up a rhythm, pleasure dripping down his spine, feeling warm all over, bucking into Wooyoung’s mouth.

At this point, Wooyoung has stopped moving and he’s taking. He’s pliant, offering himself to San, and the potency of this thought almost makes San come.

“Nothing…” San starts with a grunt, “could’ve prepared me for you,” he tells him. He feels possessive. He has Wooyoung now, he never wants to lose sight of him again.

His rhythm is faltering, and he can feel his orgasm building, pressing against his throat, when a long moan comes out as he spurts into Wooyoung’s mouth, shuddering against him.

Wooyoung pulls back, keeping his mouth open and San jerks off the last spurts over his exposed tongue before bending forward to kiss him, tasting himself over Wooyoung’s lips.

“Get on your stomach darling,” San gently says, moving to retrieve the packaged lube in his suitcase. Better safe than sorry, he’d thought, back in Seoul, and he’s never been more glad for coming prepared.

Wooyoung is so handsome, San can’t help but run his hands up his back, massaging him a little, thumbs digging into his trapezoids, Wooyoung letting out a small moan.

“I’m gonna prep you now,” San professes into Wooyoung’s skin, kissing between his shoulder blades.

“Please,” Wooyoung begs.

This is a dance San knows the moves of, slicked fingers circling against his rim as he kisses his spine, digits breaching him slow and purposeful, curling just enough to have Wooyoung whine. Distantly, San hears his playlist and he commits the moment to memory, the feeling of being draped over Wooyoung, slowly fucking him open.

“You drive me crazy,” San professes, fucking his finger in and out. He’s known him for a day, but he knows he’d bring down an army for him.

A finger turns into two and Wooyoung’s whines are sweeter to hear than any playlist in the world. San bites his shoulder blade, sucking a bruise in, and Wooyoung’s moans come out muffled.

“Gonna fuck you so well,” San goes on, and Wooyoung cries out when he curls his fingers just right, exactly where Wooyoung needs him, “gonna be the best for you.”

“Just for me,” Wooyoung echoes.

The moment stretches, Wooyoung rutting against the covers as San opens him up.

Two fingers turn into three and Wooyoung’s crying into the sheets, frotting his cock against the duvet. Three fingers and San can almost taste it, the infinite pleasure of fucking Wooyoung. He’s hard again, throbbing for him.

“Come on,” Wooyoung pleads, “I’m ready,” he tries, and San can only fold.

He manhandles Wooyoung on his knees and Wooyoung stretches his arms to the back, commanding San to take his wrists into his hand, to hold him and fuck him into the mattress. San feels like floating, the brunt of his cock slowly breaching Wooyoung. He gazes at the way Wooyoung takes him, mesmerized by the vision, taken with a surge of possessivity. Wooyoung is his soulmate. No one else’s.

He pushes into him with a whimper, Wooyoung echoing him with a punched out moan. San feels high, tugging Wooyoung’s arm back, the back of Wooyoung arched as he fucks into him with a controlled pace. The sound of his hips snapping against Wooyoung’s skin fills the flat, Wooyoung and San’s moans intertwining.

“Harder,” Wooyoung commands, and San obeys, hips slapping against him. Wooyoung’s crying out and San’s losing the last of his sanity.

“You’re so perfect,” he babbles, “so perfect for me.”

San’s chasing after his pleasure, grunting.

“I’m gonna—” Wooyoung starts, “fuck, don’t stop.”

San tugs harder onto Wooyoung’s arms and the other lifts his head, staccato moans as he shudders, clenching around San who comes at the feeling, Wooyoung filled with his cum.

“D’you come?” San asks and Wooyoung laughs.

“Fucking untouched,” Wooyoung grins, and San pulls out, moving to rub soothing circles into Wooyoung’s arms, his shoulder blades.

“You were so good to me,” San tells him, kissing the back of his head and Wooyoung hums.

“The feeling is mutual,” he replies, voice deep with exhaustion.

San keeps on massaging him, babbling praise, lips pressing soft kisses to Wooyoung’s cheek, his nose, his temple.

“Are you gonna sleep like that?” San laughs, soothing Wooyoung’s sides.

“The shower can wait for the morning, I’m feeling way too relaxed to move.”

“You’ll feel crusty if you do that,” he teases, and Wooyoung disapprovingly hums.

“I hate that you’re right,” he groans, flopping onto his back, one of his arms splayed over his head. “T’s not my fault you fucked me out,” he tries, and San grins, kissing his sternum, his soiled stomach.

“Come on, I’ll wash you,” San goads him.

“Hmm,” Wooyoung cracks an eye open, “that’s tempting.”

In the end, Wooyoung slips out of bed, but he washes most of himself with tired moves, letting San wash his hair. San can’t help grinning the whole time at Wooyoung’s disgruntled tired face.

“You look like a kitten,” he tells him, and Wooyoung smiles, eyes closing with exhaustion and warmth.

“You did say I look like Chococat,” he replies.

“And I stand by my words.”

Wooyoung snorts, letting San rinse off his hair. Amused, he says, “You’re a man of your word.”

“Very important,” San replies, “especially on such crucial matters.”

Woyoung can’t help but laugh, appraising San as he finishes washing himself. San likes the way he takes him in, unabashed, like he’s worthy of admiration, like he’s to be treasured.

“My flight’s the day after tomorrow,” San tells Wooyoung and the other nods.

“You’ll be leaving before I do,” he replies.

“Are you worried it won’t be as nice once we meet again in a normal setting?” San asks, because he has to, because soulmates mean something, but they do not mean everything . They have to put in the work and turn a twist of fate into something purposeful.

“I’m not,” Wooyoung replies conversationally, rinsing some soap off of San’s shoulder he’d missed, “I mean, this is an idyllic town to meet you in, but it’s you I’m interested about, not the setting. I can’t wait to have you home, to explore Seoul together, to have a life with you.”

San shyly smiles, arms looping around Wooyoung’s waist.

“I really wanna meet your cat,” San says, and Wooyoung grins. He looks tired and happy as he turns off the water and San hands him a towel.

“You’ll meet her, she’s very curious. I’m sure she’ll love you.”

“I’m not worried about some enchantment fading,” San goes on, “I don’t know. I feel like we’ve been very honest and upfront about ourselves. I’m excited to get to know you more, and to build something with you.”

Wooyoung reappears from under his towel, hair disheveled, grinning.

“Good, I’m not leaving anytime soon,” he replies, and San offers him a lopsided smile, enchanted and soft.

“What would you like to do for my last day in Paris?” He asks, and Wooyoung hums.

“I wanna see the Eiffel Tower at night with you,” is his answer, and San can’t help the grin on his face.

“Let’s do it.” he says, “Do you have another historical place you’d like to show me?”

“Actually, I do,” Wooyoung laughs, and San finishes drying himself, going to brush his teeth, Wooyoung using the one he got in the plane on his way there.

Once they slide into bed, San covers Wooyoung with his body, cuddling into him, still marveling at the idea that he really met him, that they’re reunited.

“You’re like a big cat,” Wooyoung says, and San hums, burrowing his nose into Wooyoung’s hair.

“Is that good?” He asks, the sound muffled. Wooyoung laughs.

“Very much so.”

San falls asleep with his hand splayed over Wooyoung’s heart.

He wakes up to Wooyoung having made coffee, wearing San’s shirt, and his heart swells with joy.

“I didn’t have the keys so I don’t have any pastries for you,” Wooyoung tells him and San sleepily smiles at him, reaching out with his hand, bringing Wooyoung closer to him.

Wooyoung brings him coffee and climbs over him, peppering his chest and neck with kisses, softly kissing his lips.

“Hi,” San finally says, “I don’t care about the pastries, we can get some on our way out.”

Wooyoung hums, stealing coffee from San’s mug, “I’m taking you out for lunch,” he tells him, “no need for pastries.”

So San follows Wooyoung once they’re dressed and ready for the day. They keep holding each other’s hands on the subway, whispering small comments about the stations, commenting on a little mouse they see running down the gutter at Bonne Nouvelle, until they reach Wooyoung’s restaurant.

“Le Bouillon Chartier?” San says, butchering its name, and Wooyoung grins.

“It’s a staple, been here since the 19th century. Workers used to eat here since it was cheap and good. It’s still relatively cheap and positively very casual French in what their menu offers.”

The place is sumptuous. It looks like it was taken out from a movie and San was walking on set. 

“If you wanna feel like a 19th century French man, this is the place to do so,” Wooyoung jokes, and San grins.

“I love it,” he replies.

He loves the checkered tablecloth, the wooden shelves that used to be there for regulars to shelve their napkins, the simple choices the menu offers. Everything is good, the atmosphere is casual with a hint of reverence, and, well, Wooyoung’s grinning, and that’s all that matters in the end.

“Have you read books where it was mentioned?” He asks, and Wooyoung blushes, looking away.

“I have,” he says, and San prods a little further.

“Just how many books about Paris have you read?” He asks, and Wooyoung becomes beet red.

“A concerning amount,” he replies.

“You’re so charming,” San tells him, “as much of a romantic as I am.”

Wooyoung offers him a lopsided smile.

“Maybe I am,” he concedes, and San can’t help the force of his grin, blinding and so very happy.

After lunch, San brings Wooyoung to a bubble tea that serves flower boba, it’s nooked in a covered alleyway, just like in Wooyoung’s books, and they drink it upstairs, watching passersby under them. Not too far away from the Eiffel Tower, there’s an aquarium, so San brings Wooyoung there and they visit it, handholding, commenting silly remarks, giving the fish names, kissing in front of the ray pool.

The sun is setting when they come out, buying waffles from a street vendor and walking to the plaza of the Palais de Chaillot, sitting on the stairs. Wooyoung’s telling him about his childhood Parisian dreams, and San replies with his. They joke around the fact that they should be more fluent in French given the fact that they could’ve been Parisian soulmates.

And then it’s night and the clock hits 9PM, the Eiffel Tower lighting up so prettily.

“Wow,” Wooyoung says with bated breath, and San’s in awe as well, unable to look away from the soft lights on Wooyoung’s face, the way he’s illuminated with golden hues.

In his heart, there’s no doubt he won’t spend his life alongside him.

Wooyoung looks his way and laughs, swatting his arm, “you’ll have your entire life to stare at me, enjoy the show!” So San complies. No one will have to know his gaze flitted back to Wooyoung a concerning amount of times.

“You know I actually need your number,” San grins once the Eiffel Tower stops sparkling, and Wooyoung looks his way with a wide smile.

They exchange their Kakaotalks and San coos over Butternut being Wooyoung’s profile picture, Wooyoung zooming in on San's silly picture he took at the amusement park with Yunho. Wooyoung sends him a flurry of cute stickers and San feels so warm, so good. He feels happy with him.

Yeosang comes to have a drink with them afterwards, enjoying themselves close to the Place de la Concorde. He tells them about his day, his exploration of the Marais, the Centre Pompidou. It sounds lovely. Once again, he tells Wooyoung to sleep at San’s given the fact that he’s leaving the next day, and Yeosang actually goes to hug San, curtly, as they say goodbye.

“We’ll see each other back home,” he promises him, and San grins.

Back at the flat, San can’t keep his hands off of Wooyoung. They messily kiss in San’s entryway, clumsily taking each other’s clothes while giggling, touching each other under the shower.

The moment is dizzying, San and Wooyoung’s hands covering their flushed cocks, touching each other under the burning stream of the showerhead. San pants into Wooyoung’s mouth, and Wooyoung sucks on his bottom lip, moaning.

They don’t do much more, collapsing into bed, Wooyoung curling around San’s torso like a happy cat, fingers tracing the lines of his stomach.

“I can’t wait to see you at home,” he says, and San’s hand travels up and down his back.

“The beginning of a beautiful story,” San replies, and Wooyoung hums.

“Just ours,” he echoes.

San wakes up to Wooyoung covering him, starfished over his body. He tries not waking him up with his laughter, feeling infinitely amused and tender. He manages to grab his phone and take a picture to show him later. San kisses his temple, hands soothing into his hair, until Wooyoung makes a small noise of contentment, fingers curling over San’s arms.

“What time is it?” He mumbles, and San kisses his head.

“It’s 10AM, I should finish packing,” he says, and Wooyoung makes a pouting noise.

But, still, he rolls onto his back and lets San up. While San packs, Wooyoung goes to buy them breakfast. Once San makes sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, he leaves the keys on the coffee table, sends his host a message and leaves with Wooyoung. He insists on accompanying him even though the airport is almost two hours away. He stays by his side until San can check himself and drop his luggage, doesn’t stop holding his hand until San has to go through security.

“I’ll miss you,” San says, and Wooyoung kisses him.

“I’m flying back in three days,” he replies, “and I’ll miss you more.”

San playfully bites at his jaw, and Wooyoung yelps.

“Keep me updated, okay?”

Wooyoung nods, hugging San tight, San holding on tighter.

“To our love story in Seoul,” San says, and Wooyoung pulls back, grinning.

“To our love story in Seoul.”

Still, San’s eyes well up with tears, he can’t fight it, rubbing the tears away.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he asks him, and Wooyoung kisses the trail of his tears.

“Not anymore,” he promises, and San laughs, small and emotional.

“See you home,” San finally says, and Wooyoung kisses him, short but deep.

“See you soon.”

Parting with Wooyoung, even for a few days, is harrowing. He feels like the distance between them is breaking his heart. He knows it’s only for a few days but there’s so much he wants to ask, so much he wants to discover. Waiting for the plane to take off, his eyes well up with tears again, and he internalizes the fact that he really met his soulmate.

All these years of aching and yearning, and reading and hoping, and it all became true. San met Wooyoung, and he won’t leave his life anytime soon. San thinks about all these years of feeling bittersweet, not really believing he’d meet his person, even by booking this trip. It was more of a hopeless quest to him, and yet, he met his other half, he’s about to build something new, something unique, something theirs with him.

The plane takes off and San thinks about his friends waiting for him, his family, he has so much to tell them, so much to make them catch up with: stories, pictures, adventures, hopes. Still, he doesn’t buy the wi-fi option. He wants to sit with this feeling for a little longer, to keep it to himself, his soft treasure. The stewardess comes up with coffee, San thanks her and thinks about Wooyoung and Yeosang enjoying their last days in Paris. He can’t wait to meet the rest of Wooyoung’s friends, his family, to get to know him more and to share his own life with him.

This is the beginning of something beautiful.

San picks up the book Wooyoung got him and starts reading.