Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Soulmates. Over the years, Soobin has thought about them a lot. Of the existence of them. Of the absence of them. There's a lot to consider, and he's had ample time to do it.

The concept of soulmates is something he's very familiar with. Everyone is. It's ingrained deeply into societal expectations, impossible to avoid or ignore. It's a bond stronger than anything else. Who else could know you better than the person who can feel your every feeling, read your every thought? To be seen like that… It's intimate. Deeply so.

He's even more familiar with the concept of how soulmates and idol life… don't exactly mesh well. In the beginning, they'd been given lectures on it in great detail. If any of them were ever to find their soulmate, they wouldn't be able to say anything about it. Nothing would ruin a fan's fantasy more than knowing their idol has a fated partner who isn't them.

Soobin sometimes thinks it's a little cruel to give them hope like that. He knows as well as anyone else in the industry that companies capitalize off of that kind of thing. The idea that an idol could be any one fan's soulmate—it's a real selling point, but it's also not permitted. Nevermind the fact that most soulbonds manifest at age twenty anyway, which is as good a sign as any that an idol being a fan's soulmate is… improbable, at best. But it feels cruel. He knows a little bit about that, too. Cruelty. He thinks the universe must have handfuls of it tucked away just to give out whenever it feels like it.

The point is this: Soobin thinks a lot about soulmates. He used to do it less, but it's all he does now. There's a lot to consider, after all.

It's rare to have multiple soulmates, and practically unheard of for a soulbond to manifest between multiple members of the same idol boy group one after another. So it makes sense, Soobin thinks, that it would be downright impossible for that soulbond to include everyone. It makes sense that in such an extraordinary miracle, someone would have to be left out.

Sometimes, he's glad it's him. He's glad to see that everyone else has someone, that they have each other. That they know each other's every want and need and desire without needing to say a thing out loud. He's glad.

It's just… hard.

To watch them together and know he has no place with them that isn't just in a professional or friendly capacity is isolating sometimes. It's lonely.

He's surrounded on all ends, because it's part of the job. But even then, Soobin is still alone.

They don't do it on purpose. He knows that. Every act of exclusion is unintentional. Soobin can't expect them to share everything with him. He can't expect them to narrate every waking thought out loud for him to hear, or to tell him every single feeling they've ever felt. It's just not realistic.

But with a four-way bond between them, they don't need to do or say those things out loud for each other. They just… know. They know when Beomgyu has stayed up too late without needing to look at the dark circles under his eyes. They know when Yeonjun is working himself to the bone without needing to watch him stumble like he's about to collapse. When Kai is feeling self-conscious without needing to pry it out of him in a verbal confession. When Taehyun needs extra attention or even when he needs to be left alone, all without needing to be told. All of this; intrinsic knowledge shared between them.

Soobin doesn't intend to intervene or get in the way of any of this. But the fact that they know, and he doesn't, stings. It also means that he needs to work just that extra bit harder to see and know these things himself. He tells himself it's just being a good leader. He knows it could never be good enough.

“Soobin-ah,” Yeonjun says beside him. Soobin looks up from his phone. “Gonna go to the bathroom. Will you save my seat?”

Yeonjun does this thing sometimes. Flutters his eyelashes all pretty at Soobin in a way he knows doesn't mean anything but still gets his heart jumping into his throat every time. It isn't anything new, and he does it with everyone. Has since before debut, flirty and affectionate at the best and worst of times.

There used to be a time where Soobin would lean into it. He doesn't have that privilege now, so he takes it for what it is: Yeonjun being Yeonjun.

“Sure,” he says, and lifts his legs up from the floor to fill Yeonjun's spot as he rises from the waiting room couch. As thanks, Yeonjun gives his knee a friendly pat. Soobin tries not to think about it too much: the way that if he were anyone else, Yeonjun wouldn't need to ask at all.

He does anyway.

He sits there stewing in his own thoughts for a little while, legs stretched out across the couch, until someone comes along and plops down right on top of them with a quiet oof. This time, Soobin doesn't look up. He knows who it is. That's why he puts all his focus into staring blankly at his phone. If you give Beomgyu an inch, he'll steal a mile right from under your nose.

“Soobin,” that petulant drawl starts up, and Soobin struggles to keep up the facade. Something about Beomgyu makes it very hard to pretend that he doesn't want to trail his eyes all over him and bend to his every whim. He'd do it for all of them, of course, and regularly does. But he has to be subtle about it now, for obvious reasons. Reasons made clear when Beomgyu pokes at his thigh and says, “Hey. Where'd my soulmate go?”

They used to do that a lot. Call each other that without hesitation, before the bond solidified and left Soobin outside its bounds, and even for a little while after until it all became too much. What used to be sweet tastes bitter now. It's hard to ignore it, but he tries nonetheless.

“Yeonjun-hyung?” He asks, purposefully obtuse in the way he pretends not to know what Beomgyu means. He doesn't look up from his phone. “He went to the bathroom.”

From on top of his legs, Beomgyu huffs exasperatedly. For a short moment, Soobin can vividly imagine the way he must be rolling his eyes.

“No, not hyung,” Beomgyu says. Soobin knows what comes next, but he still kids himself by hoping Beomgyu just won't say it. “You, you idiot.”

Like every time since Kai's twentieth birthday, it stings viciously. Bites at Soobin's skin like a creature with sharp, untamed teeth, makes him tense up beneath the warm weight of Beomgyu on his legs. He shouldn't say it. He shouldn't. But—

“I'm not your soulmate.”

He's helpless to the way the words fall out of his mouth. There's no real reason to say it. Neither of them has forgotten.

Beomgyu goes stiff and quiet. Finally, Soobin lifts his eyes from his phone. If they were soulmates, he wouldn't need to. He'd know every silent thought and feeling Beomgyu is having without needing to take in the tight clench of his jaw and the stiff set of his shoulders.

“I know that,” Beomgyu grits out. Belatedly, Soobin realizes that this should probably wait. It looks like–well, it looks like Beomgyu is gearing up for an argument, and anyone outside of their tense little bubble could witness it. It's about soulmates, of all things. They should keep it private. “You don't need to say it.”

They should.

“Then you should stop calling me that,” he murmurs, eyes drifting back to his phone. If they keep it quiet, maybe it'll just look like any other conversation. “Someone might get the wrong idea.”

Their relationship evolved as the years went by. Friendship strengthened by the soulbond turned into something more tender. More affectionate. He knows what they get up to behind closed doors, and when they think he isn't looking, and tries not to let it hurt that they feel the need to hide it from him the same way he tries not to let it hurt that he just isn't a part of it. The change happened without him. They probably didn't even need to talk about it.

“You didn't used to care so much,” Beomgyu says tersely, hunching in on himself. “Even—you even used to say it yourself, so what's the problem?”

Back then, Soobin still had hope.

“Does there need to be a problem?” He asks quietly. “I'm asking you not to. That's all.”

My soulmate, my partner. Yeah, right. Some bonds develop late, but not this late.

“Fine,” Beomgyu bites out, and gets up to storm off to the other end of the waiting room in a huff.

At around the same time, Yeonjun comes back from the bathroom. It's one of those times, Soobin thinks. A handful of cruelty sprinkled over his head when Yeonjun glances between the retreating form of his soulmate—upset, clearly distressed—and Soobin, and hesitates. Although he doesn't expect Yeonjun to pick him, Soobin still draws his legs up to make room on the couch. Yeonjun doesn't sit down.

“Are you okay?” He asks instead, and Soobin's gut churns and twists with nausea.

How is it fair? Every time anyone asks him a simple question like that, it's just a slap in the face. He'd needed to say it outright for Beomgyu to treat it like a reminder, but all any of them need to do is ask Soobin a question out loud for him to remember: not soulmates. Over and over again, on repeat.

Are you okay? He wants so badly for them to not have to ask. They do.

“Fine,” he mumbles, peeking over his phone between Yeonjun's concerned face and the huddled form of Beomgyu pressed somewhere close to Kai across the room. Maybe that's why Yeonjun hasn't left yet. He doesn't need to go after Beomgyu to talk to him, after all. “Um, I'll talk to him later to clear it up after he's cooled down. Don't worry.”

He pushes away the urge to ask if Beomgyu is okay. Yeonjun would know, but it feels invasive to ask them things like that, so Soobin tries to avoid it unless absolutely necessary. It's private. He can't expect them to tell him everything they happen to hear over the soulbond.

“Okay,” Yeonjun says, lips jutting out, slightly pouty, a concerned furrow between his brows. “But are you—I asked about you, Soobin-ah.”

Well. Soobin appreciates that he tries to be objective, at least. Even though he doesn't have to. It's probably much easier to want to defend the person whose angry, hurting thoughts are reverberating around your head. If that's how it works, anyway. Soobin wouldn't know.

“I'm fine,” he repeats. “Are you gonna sit down?”

This time, Yeonjun does sit down, albeit hesitantly. Soobin goes back to his mindless scrolling. He thinks he only digests about a quarter of the content he sees, if that. They sit in silence, or at least Soobin does. He wonders if it's ever really quiet with someone else's thoughts inside your head. He doesn't ask.

There was a time when he thought his soulmate might be one of them. Any of them. It could have been any of them. That's how deep their connection went. So close that it could only be fate's influence, surely.

Just as easily as it could have been Yeonjun, with their magnetic push and pull, or Beomgyu, best friends and roommates, it could have been Kai, who Soobin couldn't resist sticking to and vice versa, or Taehyun, his confidante and trusted right-hand man. It could have been any of them, but it ended up being none.

When Soobin turned twenty and heard nothing, he was only a little disappointed. Soulbonds don't fully manifest until both parties are twenty, so maybe it was just one of the younger members. And he had been a little sad to not share something like that with Yeonjun, who also heard nothing on his twentieth birthday, but at least the two of them could relate to each other on that front, and it only ended up bringing them closer.

They leaned on each other, supported each other. Maybe if neither of them heard anyone ever, it could have been them together.

Then, Beomgyu. And after that, everything else.

He doesn't mean to wait so long. Only the day seems to drag on and on before they're finally piled into a car to finally go home, and then there's the matter of showers, of skincare routines. By the time Soobin actually manages to sit down on the living room couch, the others have made themselves scarce in their rooms, and he thinks he knows what to say.

“Hey,” he says impulsively, when he recognizes the click of Beomgyu's bedroom door shutting behind him as he emerges from inside. His figure is slumped, and Soobin doesn't need to be a mind reader or his soulmate to understand that he's still upset. Miserable, even. “Come here. We should talk.”

The dark cloud of misery follows Beomgyu all the way towards the couch. When he sits down, he leaves a gaping space between them. Soobin closes his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he says, trying to be professional even though he kind of wants to cry. The distance there is his own fault, but it's also not. It's been a slow-building thing since the moment Yeonjun and Beomgyu heard each other, but not him. And then Taehyun. And then Kai. But not him. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

But he knew it would. Honestly, the subject is a touchy one, and not just for him. It's just that their reasons are different. Soobin can't pretend to know why Beomgyu gets so miffed about it, but he's not stupid enough to think it has nothing to do with how everything has changed. Beomgyu even said it himself.

“I just don't understand,” he says, slumping into himself further. “You were fine with it before.”

Soobin thinks about how to explain it. They never really discussed what it meant, although they really should have. They never talked about what it meant for four of them to be soulmates. They never talked about what it meant for Soobin to not be. They didn't talk about it when their relationship changed and evolved and grew without him in it. Hell, they still haven't officially told him all that it entails. The things Soobin knows, he only knows from observing.

He knows they love each other. He knows it's not the same kind of love as before. And he's on the outside of it, always. The things Soobin knows about them have only been learned through peering through a frosted pane of glass like some kind of hopeful voyeur.

That hope is gone now, so when he explains it to Beomgyu, he decides he'll be truthful. As much as he can without baring too much of himself, without exposing the raw hurt that stings him so often.

“Sometimes it feels like you're making fun of me.”

The way Beomgyu's face drops makes him regret ever opening his mouth.

“I know you're not,” he adds hurriedly. “Logically. I know you wouldn't. You're too good for that.”

Beomgyu looks at him with wounded eyes.

“But?”

“But I can't help it,” Soobin says. “Beomgyu. It's been four years, and I still don't have a soulmate. You do." Three of them, even. "Even though I know you're not doing it on purpose, it just feels like… You're rubbing it in.”

Beomgyu looks devastated. Sighing, Soobin reaches over to give his hand a squeeze.

“I know that's not it,” he says. “But I can't help the way it makes me feel.”

It's not everything. Soobin leaves out the biggest reason that it feels so personal. Because he doesn't want a soulmate if it's not them, it makes it worse. He wants them and can't have them. At this point, hoping for a bond to manifest between them is ludicrous. If Soobin has a soulmate, it's likely to be someone he hasn't met yet. He's leaning strongly towards the idea that he just doesn't have one at all.

Maybe it's unwise, but he says this too.

“Sometimes… I think I'll never get one.”

More often than not. It's the most he's said about anything relating to soulmates in a long while.

Beomgyu's eyes go wide, and then his face crumples.

“Don't say that,” he says, anguished.

Soobin shrugs like it'll make it hurt less. Or like it'll convince Beomgyu that it doesn't hurt at all. Some people don't have soulmates. It's not unheard of, although it's rare.

“It is what it is,” he mumbles. “It's just lonely sometimes, that's all.”

Maybe there are two anomalies sharing space here. A group of four soulmates and someone who will never have one, just to balance things out.

“I won't say it anymore,” Beomgyu whispers. “If that's what you want. I'm sorry.”

Soobin shakes his head and gives a weary smile. What he wants? What he wants is to be part of them for real. He doesn't want to feel like a piece that doesn't fit. He doesn't want to feel like an observer, like a witness. He wants to experience everything with them. Every thought and feeling. He wants to share the bond the universe gave them.

“Don't apologize,” he says. “It's okay. We're okay. Yeah?”

Beomgyu says hoarsely, “Yeah.”

He looks like he might be sick as he does. Soobin holds back the urge to apologize again. If he did, he'd have to explain the reason he's sorry to begin with. It just comes down to regret. There are so many things Soobin regrets but can't change. Unfair, the way he feels the need to apologize for something he'll never be able to fix. He pulls Beomgyu into a hug instead, and the fight is officially over. Things will go back to normal.

Beomgyu will be his best friend and teammate, and Soobin will watch from a distance that feels far without being it. He'll watch them be soulmates. He won't say a word about any of it.

He's not sure when it became an unspoken rule for the bond to go unmentioned. It's there, but they rarely speak about it in his presence. It definitely used to happen more, especially in the beginning, but over time it just… Petered out. Long before his disagreement with Beomgyu, even.

It should be a blessing, but it isn't. An obsessive curiosity festers inside Soobin–a want to know all about it. It nurtures the ache in Soobin's chest to grow into something fiercer.

Sometimes it feels like he knows so little about them now. There are parts of them he'll never get to see, except in the mere scraps he's able to collect from intuition. He doesn't know what they're like with each other when he's not there, and it's devastating. When he is there, the unspoken rule settles over everything.

They don't ice him out. There's nothing like that. It's the opposite. They try so hard to be inclusive, to keep things unbiased. It should be nice, and Soobin is grateful for their good intentions, but all it serves to do is draw attention to the line drawn in the sand at their feet.

Four of them on one side. Soobin on the other.

It's a line that's present even when some of them are absent. Even now, when Taehyun and Beomgyu are tucked away in their rooms and Soobin is squeezed onto the couch alongside Kai and Yeonjun fulfilling an earlier promise to catch up on some drama or another.

Soobin doesn't know which one. It's hard to remember the plot or even the names of the characters when he's so focused on pretending he doesn't know what they're doing. Soobin, and then Yeonjun and Kai pressed together on the couch with a blanket strewn over them. It rustles. Soobin's ears pick up the sound no matter how hard he tries to tune it out.

Someone gasps quietly. A barely-there hitch in Kai's breathing. Out of the corner of his eye, Soobin can see Yeonjun's face turned to press against Kai's neck, the corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk.

It's not fair. Though he mourns the fact that this is hidden from him most of the time, Soobin quickly realizes that it's worse when it's not. Curiosity kills him a hundred times over in just a few seconds. Worse is the fact that Kai and Yeonjun probably think they're being subtle, that Soobin won't suspect a thing, but he's so attuned to everything they do now that he can't help but notice.

The line is there, between the couch cushions, cutting Soobin off from them even though they're right there. And he resents it. It's an awful, gut-wrenching feeling. He attempts to keep his eyes on the screen and sees nothing in it other than static. The female lead's mouth moves, silent. Soobin hears nothing other than a quiet, slick sound. Yeonjun's mouth detaching from Kai's earlobe, maybe, and Soobin has enough.

He's quiet too when he stands from the couch.

“Hyung?” Kai asks. His voice is airy, a breathless quality to it, eyes slightly glazed over as they settle on Soobin. “Where are you going?”

It bothers him. Maybe it shouldn't. He's the one who wished they wouldn't hide so much. Now it's in plain sight, a wish come true, and Soobin gets to have none of it. So close. Out of reach still. The TV casts an ethereal glow over their bodies glued together on the couch. He knows what they look like, but he'll never have them.

“I'm tired,” Soobin says, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and he is tired. Exhausted. He agreed to this only because they asked it of him. He should have said no. “I can't pay attention, so I think I'm gonna call it a night.”

Yeonjun's head pops up from Kai's shoulder.

“You're going to bed?” He asks. An incredulous look crosses his face. God, they really do think he's oblivious, don't they? “But it was just getting good.”

For him, maybe. Soobin's hobbies don't consist of overhearing intimate moments he isn't allowed to be a part of, so to him it's more comparable to torture. They asked him to be here, but it's hard to leave it feeling anything but unwanted. His throat squeezes tight like it's trying to suffocate him when he swallows.

“I'm falling asleep sitting up,” Soobin lies. He forces a smile when they give him twin lost looks, entirely in sync. Soobin wonders what they're thinking. Do their thoughts echo each other? He wonders if they think he has them figured out. Probably not. “Like I said, I can't pay attention. You can keep watching. I'll catch up on my own when I can.”

He leaves without waiting for them to reply. Without giving a second glance to the way Yeonjun's mouth is sure to sink into a pout, the way Kai will frown even with his cheeks flushed and his hands still twisted in the blanket.

And he wonders why they'd asked at all. He doesn't need to be pitied; he doesn't mind giving them needed space. It'll hurt whether they try to include him or not. Inclusion is still exclusion like this, because even while he's next to them, Soobin is alone.

Alone is something he finds easiest to deal with when he's tucked away inside his room, if only because he doesn't have to pretend anymore. He can be alone and feel it too, without trying to make sure no one can see it. In front of the cameras and in front of the members, he has to act a certain way. He has to pretend nothing has changed at all.

But Soobin is tired. When he curls up beneath his covers to at least try to get some sleep, he's tired and aching all over. The hard ball of emotion lodged in his throat softens, the beginnings of a sob forcing its way up. Soobin manages to keep it down, but the tears are harder to fight. At least they're silent as they burn wet tracks down his cheeks.

In the early days, he cried so much about the whole thing that he isn't even sure how to be loud about it now. He doesn't know if he could even if he tried. Practice makes perfect, and Soobin had so many nights to practice, back when he and Beomgyu shared a room still. He kept himself quiet then, and he does it now too, curling himself into a ball beneath his blankets and holding his breaths so they won't turn into sobs.

Every time he thinks he's done, more tears well up and spill over. Soobin scrubs his hands over his face, palms shoving into his eyes. Stupid. Maybe Yeonjun and Kai should have kept it private, but it's nothing to cry about. They had no way of knowing Soobin would be tortured rather than disgusted if he found them out.

But he just wants it so much. He wants them all. He's wanted them for years, cursed to only watch from afar as they share everything with each other. As the friendship they shared turned into something different only with each other, Soobin left behind in the dust.

He's been lying in bed silently crying for maybe thirty minutes before the unthinkable happens. The door opens.

“Hyung?”

Soobin stiffens and holds his breath, trying to blink away the last of his tears as fast as he can.

“Soobin-hyung. Are you sleeping?”

It's lucky. Soobin is lucky that it's dark, that Taehyun won't be able to tell that his voice is hoarse from crying and not because he's just woken up.

“Taehyun-ah,” he croaks, rolling over to face him. “Hey. You need something?”

There's this itch inside him on even the best of days, this gnawing urge to know everything about them without having to ask. It's impossible to have it, though. And Taehyun is there by the edge of his bed, fingers toying with the corner of Soobin's covers. Even in the dark, there's something… unsure, about the way he's standing. Hesitant.

“What's wrong?” Soobin asks, immediately jumping to the worst conclusions, one after another.

“Nothing,” Taehyun says hurriedly. “I'm sorry for waking you up. I just…”

Maybe it's wrong, but Soobin doesn't correct him. He lets Taehyun believe it. It's better than the alternative.

“Hyung, could I sleep here with you? Just for tonight?”

They don't… do that anymore. Part of it is just that they grew up. They aren't kids anymore, clingy and hanging off of each other at every chance. When they were all piled into one room right around debut, it wasn't uncommon for Soobin to wake up with someone else squished into his bed with him. Sometimes multiples, waking him to the pleasant feeling of being crushed on all sides as they squeezed in beside him.

But the other part is something Soobin struggles to swallow. They don't do this anymore because they're sharing each other's beds instead. It's appropriate and acceptable for them to do so even now that they're older, all because of the bond.

And here Taehyun is asking him to share his bed in the dark. To sleep here with him in a way they haven't done in years. Soobin wants, and it's selfish. It's selfish to use Taehyun's fragile state as a way to feed his own desires. But he still does it.

“Of course,” he says. “Come here.”

Taehyun lets out a quiet breath, almost like he'd been afraid Soobin would say no. The bed dips as he crawls atop it, lifting the covers to slip beneath, and that cold, empty space in the bed is filled with Taehyun instead.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Soobin says, because he knows something is. Taehyun sighs again. “Taehyun-ah. What is it?”

“Just…” It's unlike him to beat around the bush. “Hyung. Do you ever feel like the universe might make mistakes?”

Soobin's heart stutters in his chest.

The most widely accepted explanation for soulbonds is the universe. There are those who theorize that soulbonds are just a way for all those atoms that separated in a cosmic bang to come back together. But whether atoms from billions of years ago or designed by a god to be meant for each other, it doesn't really matter when some people have nothing. No one.

Soobin doesn't know what to believe, or if there's any use believing anything at all. Who's to say it's science or religion that decides who gets a soulmate? Maybe some things just can't be explained. Karmic retribution feels like a faulty belief as well. If Soobin suffers alone enough in this life, will he end up with a soulmate in the next one? He doesn't think he wants to, if that's the case.

“No,” is what he ends up saying. “I don't think it does.”

Because if the universe really is the cause, that would still mean it brought them together. It brought Taehyun and Yeonjun and Beomgyu and Kai together, made them for each other, and Soobin has seen up close and personal just how perfectly they fit with one another. If the universe makes mistakes, would that mean they weren't meant to be? That seems impossible.

Soobin doesn't know what to believe in, but he believes in them.

“Why?” He asks, trying to get a glimpse of Taehyun's face in the dark. To read him better. “Why are you asking? Did you fight with someone?”

Maybe that's why Taehyun is here, instead of with Beomgyu while Kai and Yeonjun are otherwise occupied. Or maybe that's why he didn't join them. If they're fighting, they're more likely to work through it on their own than Soobin is to be able to fix it, but he still wants to try. Desperately, he wants to insert himself into the middle of them somehow. To be a part of them even if it's only as a mediator.

“No,” Taehyun says. “No, we didn't. I just… sometimes I wonder. If this is really how it's meant to be.”

Taehyun is always so certain. He's always so strong, always reliable. But sometimes it hits Soobin all over again how small Taehyun is next to him. In the dark, with this quiet fear spoken in his gentle voice, he appears even smaller.

“I think it is,” Soobin whispers. “I think—you're perfect for each other, Taehyunnie. The universe knew what it was doing, pairing you up.”

“Is that really what you think about it?” Taehyun asks, rolling onto his side to face Soobin. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course I do. You… You all deserve each other.”

Soobin can't make out Taehyun's expression in the dark, but he gets the awful feeling that it isn't good.

“You deserve someone too, hyung,” Taehyun says quietly. “Someone just for you.”

Soobin doesn't want to cry again, so he laughs instead. He laughs it off softly because he can't say that someone doesn't exist.

“Thank you, Taehyun-ah,” he murmurs. “Try to get some sleep now, okay?”

Taehyun doesn't reply right away, but he scoots closer until they're practically cuddling. Soobin is too weak to deny him—he just relaxes into it and lets Taehyun leach off of his body heat.

“Goodnight, Soobin-hyung,” Taehyun says.

Soobin closes his eyes.

“Goodnight.”

A low whistle rouses Soobin from his slumber. He's warm and quite possibly the most comfortable he's been in years, and he doesn't want to move. But that whistle. It's familiar. He cracks his eyelids open to see Beomgyu at the end of the bed, eyebrows raised, a grin on his face.

“You look cozy,” he says. “Sleeping in this morning?”

Confused and sleepy, Soobin wrinkles his nose. He rubs at his eyes with one hand, because the other is trapped beneath something. Something weighted over his arm, pinning it to the mattress, something pressed against him, keeping him warm. Taehyun. Taehyun?

Soobin jolts as memories of last night wash over him. Taehyun climbing into his bed. Taehyun asking him questions about the universe. Taehyun cuddled up to him until they're all tangled up beneath the blankets.

Face hot with shame at being caught like this, Soobin jerks away from him, wriggling until he can get his arm out from under Taehyun's back. He moves back so urgently that his quickness almost has him falling off the bed.

“...Hyung?” Taehyun mumbles.

Soobin looks between his soft, sleepy face and Beomgyu's, and decides he should leave. If they fought, they should make up. It's his room, but he doesn't mind if they use it to talk. He just wants to get out. Get away from this.

“I should go,” he blurts. “Did you wake the others?”

He starts scrambling to stand, grabbing a change of clothes, already dreading the thought of having to see Yeonjun and Kai in any kind of compromising situation.

“They're already up,” Beomgyu says. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

Relief floods Soobin, starting from his chest and radiating outward.

“Shower,” he replies. “Talk later?”

He makes his escape while Beomgyu is too stunned to do anything to stop him. Once inside the bathroom, he leans back heavily against the door. His side still feels warm where Taehyun curled against it. The dull, ever-present ache in his chest throbs something awful, threatening to crack it open.

He doesn't get to have this. It's not his, and it's dishonest to take it under the guise of wanting nothing more. All he does is want. All he does is ache.

He'd cried himself hoarse last night before Taehyun came to him. It should have been enough, but somehow, it's not.

Soobin can remember the day his hope began to run out like it was yesterday, instead of it being two years ago. The sinking feeling of giving up.

When Beomgyu and Yeonjun ended up bound together, it was alright. There was this feeling of missed opportunity, of questioning what could have been, but it was alright. And Soobin wondered for a while, almost a little excited–who would it be? Taehyun? Kai? Which member would he be tied to, grow closer to, whose thoughts and feelings would he know like they were his own?

Soulmates—they aren't always romantic. Soobin knew even back then that some soulmates never cross the line into that territory. The bond brings them undoubtedly close, though, every time. It's impossible not to feel close to someone you know like the back of your own hand.

Even without the promise of romance, he'd been excited for that closeness. He'd stay up late questioning Beomgyu about what it was like to be able to feel and hear Yeonjun all the time, and he'd use the anecdotes Beomgyu told him to fuel his own giddy, hopeful fantasies to pass the time it took until he would have that.

Then Taehyun turned twenty, and Soobin didn't hear him. In an absurd turn of events, Beomgyu and Yeonjun and Taehyun all heard each other. There was a little bit of floundering then. No one really knew what to do about it or how to move forward. Though not unheard of, it was definitely… unexpected.

But even through the mild struggle it was to adjust, Soobin grew only more eager. Because didn't this mean he knew who it was? It was all but confirmed at that point—his soulmate had to be Kai. Who else could it be but the person he orbited around most? A recurring pattern ever since Soobin saw Kai as a scrawny trainee and decided he'd scoop him right up, take him everywhere Soobin went.

In the months between Taehyun's birthday and Kai's, they only managed to grow closer. As though everyone knew it had to be them—even Soobin and Kai themselves. Soobin became someone Kai stuck to more and more often, assured by the idea that there was someone meant for him, that it was Soobin and Kai all along. Through thick and thin, together, while everyone else sorted themselves out alongside them.

The hope was so large and swelling inside of Soobin's chest that some days he thought he'd be unable to contain it. That it might burst open in bright colors for everyone to see–and it made every day of waiting so worth it. It was worth it to know that Kai was waiting for him too, on the other end of the line.

When that day finally came, and still Soobin heard nothing, all those bright colors began to seep out of him. And it was nothing like the swelling, bursting feeling he'd expected–just a small leak for everything to drain out of. Slowly.

Kai heard Beomgyu. He heard Yeonjun. He heard Taehyun. They heard him back, and that was it.

The universe, or God, or karma—whatever it was had decided Soobin simply wasn't meant to have any of them. He was too shell-shocked by the revelation to know how to feel about it. That maybe he wasn't meant to have anyone at all. Because if not them, then who? There was no one else Soobin had ever considered.

Kai, on the other hand, was distraught. It was so horrible, because he really should have been happy—Soobin wanted him to be happy. It was Kai's special day, but there he was crying in Soobin's arms instead of celebrating.

“Hueningie,” Soobin tried to soothe, petting Kai's back softly, ignoring the dull ache in his chest. Ignoring the silence inside his head that felt somehow impossibly loud. “Congratulations. Hyung is so happy for you.”

And he was. It was complicated, but he was. They were all important to him, so he was glad they had each other. In a way, maybe this was how it was always meant to be. Maybe Soobin was just here to guide them forward professionally. Maybe the harmony of how they all fit together didn't mean anything after all, or maybe Soobin just never fit half as well as he thought.

“But hyung,” Kai choked out, still clinging to him tightly. He hadn't let go since they figured it out–waiting on Kai's bed together for the clock to strike twelve. “Soobinie-hyung, what about you?”

Soobin's heart might have broken a little. He'd become a presence for Kai to rely on over the years, especially this one. Maybe Kai thought that because they weren't soulmates, all of that would go away. Especially because their closeness this year was under the assumption that they would be. But it didn't matter. Soobin was determined to make him know it didn't matter.

“Hyung will still be here,” he said. “I'll always be here. I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

It didn't help. Kai wept in his arms and Soobin shoved any of his feelings on the matter away to make room for it. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be feeling anyway. He could feel it later, whatever it was.

Softly, he said, “Happy birthday, Kai-yah.”

Kai's answering hiccup echoed in his ears even for hours after.

It wasn't until later—much, much later, when the actual day had gone by and Soobin had gotten to watch how everyone adjusted to hearing each other, making room for Kai like they'd made room for each other—that Soobin was able to really sit with himself and understand.

It could have been any of them—that's what he'd spent years telling himself. He'd been relying on it. That they all fit so well together, there was no way it wouldn't be at least one of them. But it wasn't. They all had each other, and Soobin… Soobin had no one.

Two years had gone by without a soulbond manifesting for him. He'd been so blinded by hope that he missed the cue that maybe it never would.

That night, he waited until he was sure Beomgyu was sleeping. Then Soobin cried, and cried, and cried. Over all that lost time he'd never get back. Over the strange, hollow emptiness that had taken up the space full of hope before. He cried until he thought he might never be able to cry again, until he had no tears left.

Then, because no one else would do it for him, Soobin picked himself back up and put himself together before the sun rose.

If that was how it was meant to be, then… then he'd just keep going. Keep a smile on his face to convince Kai that he really was happy for all of them. He'd be there for all of them in every way that he could—even if he'd never share the bond. Even if it could never be enough.

Two more years went by, and still, Soobin heard nothing. His hope ran clean out somewhere along the line.

Without intending to, Soobin thinks that maybe he broke his promise. It's true that he hasn't gone anywhere. He's stayed put right at their sides, holding a torch to light the way even when it gets heavy. But that undeniable closeness he'd shared with Kai has faded slightly. In some ways, it's Soobin's fault. He pulled back without meaning to, only ever intending to make the adjustment less difficult. It was already hard enough without him in the middle complicating things.

So despite Soobin's desperate desire to be a part of them, which grew only stronger over time as they changed and became more intertwined, the obvious solution seemed to be the opposite. He's still there. He's still their shoulder to lean on, and he's still looking out for them. But he's had to make certain sacrifices.

It's not appropriate for him to be all over them anymore—especially not now, when their relationship has grown to be almost certainly romantic. Almost certainly, because even two years down the line from the real start of it all, no one has broken the news to him. He only found out by accident.

Soobin tries not to care about it so much. He tries to just be there in the ways that he can, to stretch himself out further and bend into ridiculous shapes to be there even in ways they have each other for. It's like this that he develops a habit of reading them without knowing their thoughts. He knows when Yeonjun is working too hard and neglecting himself before he starts looking too haggard—from observing him so closely, Soobin thinks he'd notice even the most miniscule change in breathing. He's on his feet during a break in practice to get close to Yeonjun and press a water bottle into his palm before anyone else can get there. When Yeonjun thanks him, blinking up at him from where he's slumped on the floor, Soobin just nods.

He knows when Beomgyu is feeling unwell in an interview and when to tell him without words to go, go. To leave it to them. Leave it to him, Soobin will handle it.

He knows Taehyun's offer of a listening ear is because he feels like Soobin takes on too much, that he often feels helpless about all of it. Someone has to shoulder the burden, to lift the world over their heads so that it doesn't crush down on them, and Soobin would rather it be him. But Taehyun is so desperate to carry the little pieces of it that Soobin will give him. If it helps him, Soobin will let it happen. He takes up Taehyun's offer and leans on him just enough that the relief on Taehyun's face is palpable every time.

He should be able to do these things, at least, so he does.

It's catered individually to every member. He knows their basic needs, and he knows the pattern well enough to know when they'll need them. That also means he knows when not to disturb them. When a closed door means more than just quiet time. When they're all wrapped up in each other in pairs or threes, or sometimes all together.

He tries to be respectful. So, pulling back. He allows them space to spend with each other. If there really is some magnetic force drawing all the atoms that were close at the beginning of the universe back together, it seems reasonable that Soobin should be able to step back to let it.

But sometimes they make it hard. Sometimes, it's like they don't want to let him. There's Beomgyu and his resistance when asked to stop calling Soobin something he's not, and the others have their moments too–but the clearest example of all of them is Kai.

Arguably, the clingiest between them has always been Soobin. He's tried to pretend otherwise, especially after Kai's twentieth birthday, but he's certain no one has ever been fooled. But now it seems like Kai might be fighting for that title all on his own with the way he finds reason after reason, excuse after excuse not to leave Soobin alone.

It was Kai who invited him to watch that drama with him and Yeonjun. It's Kai who asks Soobin to come to the gym with him when Taehyun is both available and finds it more enjoyable. Perhaps because of that promise two years ago, Soobin finds that he can't turn Kai down. Or maybe it's the hollow ache in his chest, the desperate craving to belong, that urges him to say yes. Either way, he caves.

So they end up here, in the company gym, together. Red-faced and sweaty, breathing uneven and muscles already making him feel the regret that comes with powering through his limits, Soobin leans toward the mirror to see more clearly as he fixes his disheveled hair.

Kai's figure is there too, beside him, although Soobin tries not to look so much. He tries not to pay attention to just how broad Kai has gotten over the years, how tall. How he's filled out in just the best, most eye-catching ways, how his chest heaves with every ragged breath. Instead, swallowing thickly, Soobin tousles his bangs one last time before giving up.

“I think that's as good as it gets,” he says, and Kai laughs. Soobin groans, dragging his hands down his face. “It's your fault. I look like a wreck.”

“I'm not the one who pushed you to keep going!” Kai protests, still giggling. “You did that yourself. You're going to be all noodly tomorrow, aren't you?”

Soobin's face twists in distaste.

“Don't remind me,” he says, turning to face Kai finally. "I should have—"

The view, as predicted, sucks the breath right out of his lungs, and Soobin falters, all words wiping from his brain.

It's so easy to make the leap from seeing Kai like this–hair damp with sweat and sticking to his temples, shirt clinging to his chest, cheeks flushed all pretty—to other ways, aided by the all-too-recent memory of his eyes glazed over on the couch. He catches Soobin staring and smiles, and Soobin frantically tries to break out of his daydreams before they become obvious.

He feels so guilty for thinking of Kai like that in the first place. For thinking of any of them like that, when they're happily together without any room left over for him to squeeze himself in among them.

"Should have what?"

Soobin's mouth moves. It must, but he doesn't succeed in saying what he wants to, because he can't remember what it is.

“Hyungie,” Kai murmurs, and suddenly he's closer than before. Soobin blinks rapidly to clear his head. “You're staring.”

“Sorry.” Soobin shakes his head, flinging droplets of sweat away. “Out of it.”

Kai looks at him curiously and takes another step closer. Frozen, Soobin goes right back to staring at him, his brain buffering as Kai takes another step. Then another, until he's so close that one more step would have their chests touching.

Soobin is scrambling to compute all this, but he just can't keep up. There's some kind of heavy tension descending over the room—he takes a quick glance over Kai's shoulder to make sure they're alone for a reason he can't really understand. It would be best if they weren't, because the energy crackling between and around them suddenly makes Soobin feel stupid, impulsive, like he'll do something he shouldn't unless he can find a real reason not to. But they are alone, shockingly, and he feels betrayed and abandoned by the emptiness of the gym as Kai takes one last step toward him.

“What are you doing?” Soobin whispers. He doesn't know what else he's supposed to say. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do when Kai leans in, pressing their mouths together in a kiss.

Somehow, he ends up doing the worst thing he possibly could. Instead of pulling away like he should, Soobin is still for a matter of seconds before he melts and leans into it. He kisses back.

And he shouldn't, and he knows that, but it's everything he wants—and he's so, so weak. He crumbles and for a moment everything is just perfect. He can forget that this doesn't belong to him, that he's not supposed to have it. When Kai kisses him, everything else in the world fades away. Soobin isn't this thing that doesn't belong. He's just here, soft and breathing, like the universe hasn't decided his future for him. And Kai is here too, with him. His hands warm on Soobin's hips, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss, and—and Soobin lets him. For all of five seconds, he lets Kai do what he wants before reality slams into him like a train.

Then he's jolting back, hands coming up to push at Kai's chest to separate them. Kai goes easily, detaching from his mouth while Soobin just stands there, staring at him and trying to catch his breath.

“Hyung?” Kai asks, his eyes big and round. Soobin's chest heaves. His stomach twists. All at once he remembers that none of this is his. The real reason he needed should have just been that.

He takes a step back, then another, until he's pressing against the mirror. Anything to put some space between them, so he won't be tempted to grab Kai and pull him back in for another kiss, another.

“Why—why did you do that?” Soobin chokes out. Dizzy. This is going to ruin everything. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth and finds it still tingling with the last remnants of the kiss. It makes him want to panic, but he forces himself to keep calm. Kai looks scared—like maybe he hadn't meant to do it. Like he doesn't know what to do now. So Soobin softens his voice when he says, “Kai-yah. You—you shouldn't kiss other people when you're in a relationship.”

He wants to add that Kai really shouldn't kiss people without asking, either, but that puts too much of the blame on him. Soobin is just as bad for giving in to it. It hurts to look at Kai's frightened, lost face for too long, so Soobin averts his gaze to the floor instead.

“You need to tell them about this,” he says, even though Kai doesn't need to tell them anything. They probably already know. Could feel it, and can hear exactly what Kai is thinking about it. “You should—just be honest about it. Talk through it, I'm sure you can work it out, and I should really go—”

“Hyung,” Kai interrupts, pleading. “You said nothing would change.”

Soobin stops short.

“It won't.” He's trying so hard not to let it. “I'm still right here, I just need… I need some space to think.” He licks his lips to wet them, nods, still refusing to make eye contact. “Nothing will change.”

Kai will talk it out with everyone. And because they work so well together, they'll understand it was a mistake, and they'll work through it, and everything will go back to normal. But Soobin isn't sure how it will change things for him. Will they look at him the same, knowing he had an equal part in it? That he kissed Kai back? Is this where everything falls apart?

“Hyung, look at me.” Soobin doesn't. “Please?”

“I can't.” Soobin's voice breaks pathetically. “I just. I need—Hueningie, I really need some space. We can talk later, but I really—”

He can't understand. His head is spinning trying to wrap around why Kai kissed him in the first place. It had to be a mistake, but why? Maybe Soobin should have pulled back more over the years. He covers his mouth again with the back of his hand, knuckles grazing over where Kai's lips touched. The chasm in his chest cracks open wider.

“I should really go,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but Kai. “We shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't…”

“Do you promise you'll come back?” Kai asks, and there's a desperate note to his voice that has Soobin nodding straight away. “Okay. Okay—if you promise. Hyung. I'm sorry.”

Soobin wants to cry. He shakes his head.

“Me too,” he whispers. And because Kai will let him now, he slips away.

He learned a long time ago that wishing on stars is pointless—but for the first time in years, he finds himself wishing it wasn't. He wants to wish for a miracle to keep all this from blowing up in his face, or maybe for the ability to turn back time.

Maybe then he could stop himself from ruining everything for everyone else. But it's been a long time coming. Fate took four years to give Soobin a taste of the thing he wants most in the world just to rip it all away again.

After Soobin lost hope, there was—