𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶
ೃ⁀➷ 𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚡 𝚏!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛
Seungmin x f!reader in which the world you live in reveals your soulmate through a red thread connecting two people, yet you seem determined not to find the one chosen by the universe. You keep yourself occupied with work, hobbies, and friends as much as possible—but how long can these distractions last? No one can fight fate, not even someone who doesn’t believe in soulmates.
wc: 2,7k
angst, philophobia, fluff, romance, stranger to lovers trope, slowburn, inaccurate depictions of jobs, generally sweet and romantic but really slow since reader is scared, alcohol consumtion, other skz members mentioned
a/n: this is my first fic ever! Please bare with me when it comes to how I write. If you see any mistakes, please comment! <3
next.
God damn it, why does he always have to come to the metro at the last possible minute?
Seungmin sprinted down the stairs as fast as he could, shouting apologies to everyone he bumped into along the way, his half-empty americano clutched tightly in his hand. His heart pounded wildly in his chest when he noticed the subway beginning to slow down, the doors sliding open just as he reached the platform. He quickened his pace, knowing he couldn’t be late for the interview of his dreams, and finally slipped inside, trying to catch his breath as he grabbed onto the cool steel railing to steady himself.
The doors closed almost immediately and the train took off, the city blurring past the window as his gaze followed the movement outside. It was rush hour, meaning bodies pressed tightly together, everyone trying to get to school or work, leaving him pinned against the door with barely any space to move, though he couldn’t really complain—after all, that was part of the charm of living in Seoul, wasn’t it? As the train emerged from underground, he blinked a few times, adjusting to the sudden brightness, until his eyes caught sight of another train passing by on the neighboring track.
Almost absentmindedly, he glanced inside—and froze.
There, standing in the other carriage, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, her wide eyes meeting his in a way that made his breath hitch as if time itself had stilled between them. His heart stuttered at the unfamiliar feeling, something he had never experienced before, not like this, not with someone he didn’t even know. She looked elegant, composed, dressed as if she too was on her way to something important, maybe even an interview just like him, a thought that barely had time to settle before something else caught his attention.
A red string.
It stretched between them, swaying slightly with the motion of the trains, connecting his hand to hers as if it had always been there. Slowly, she lifted her hand, revealing the string wrapped delicately around her pinky, and almost instinctively, his gaze dropped to his own hand, where the same thread circled his middle finger. His breath caught again as he looked back up, but this time the other train was already gone, disappearing from his sight as quickly as it had appeared, taking her with it.
You were gone.
After what happened on the subway, you tried not to think about it, pushing the memory somewhere to the back of your mind where inconvenient things were easier to ignore. Maybe you ignored it more than you should have. The red string was still wrapped around your finger, only now it had faded, so pale it was almost translucent if you looked closely, as if it were already starting to disappear. You wished it would.
You never really cared about this whole “soulmate” idea, not when you had spent your life watching it fall apart in front of you. You remembered high school, how everyone searched for their so-called other half as if they were guaranteed to find them waiting at the end of the hallway, as if love was something certain and gentle instead of something that could just as easily break you. You had learned early that even soulmates, people who were meant to love each other for a lifetime, who were supposed to stay, still leave. In your family, it almost felt inevitable, like a quiet pattern no one talked about but everyone understood. Your father left your mother for someone else, choosing a life that didn’t include the person he was bound to, and your older sister lost hers entirely, death taking him away without warning, without reason.
They leave one way or another, no matter what.
You tried to fight it anyway. You tried everything you could think of, from cutting at the thread to pulling at it until your finger ached, until your skin turned red and raw, but it never moved, not even slightly. It stayed wrapped around your pinky as if it were a part of you, unbreakable and permanent, like it was quietly reminding you that no matter how much you resisted, you were still tied to someone out there. You couldn’t go through that, so you chose distance instead, putting space between yourself and anything that even resembled love. In high school, you buried yourself in studying, spending hours writing assignments and working on projects until your hand cramped and your vision blurred, chasing perfect grades because at least they were something you could control. After that came university, a business major that led you nowhere in particular, but you followed it anyway because you never really had a dream, just a need to keep moving forward until there was nothing left to do.
It’s not like you don’t believe in soulmates at all. You see them everywhere, in the way people look at each other when they think no one is paying attention, in the quiet certainty of relationships that seem effortless from the outside. Minho and Jisung, two of your closest friends, are like an old married couple, constantly bickering and yet inseparable, and somehow you’ve become the extra piece in their dynamic, the one they care for as if you belong there just as much as they do. Your boss, Mr. Bahng, and his wife are no different, the kind of people who make it all look easy, like love is something steady and safe instead of something that can be taken away without warning. Sometimes you find yourself envying them, not just for what they have, but for the way they allow themselves to have it, for the way they trust it won’t be ripped away from them.
You don’t allow yourself that.
Blinking a few times, you force yourself back to reality, the dull glow of your computer screen pulling your attention back to the present as it reminds you of all the work you haven’t even started yet. Your job as a receptionist at a law firm isn’t difficult, just repetitive enough to keep your mind occupied without requiring too much of you, answering calls, replying to emails from clients who need to schedule appointments, moving through each task without thinking too much about it. You reach for your coffee without looking, taking a small sip before setting it down again, only vaguely registering that it’s gone lukewarm. The clock in the corner of your monitor reads 10:46 AM, another reminder that time keeps moving whether you pay attention to it or not.
You scroll through your emails, skimming each one until you find something that requires an actual response, your fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced ease, muscle memory taking over as you type. You’re so focused on the screen that you don’t notice when someone walks in.
“Excuse me, I’m supposed to have an interview with Mr. Bahng.”
The voice pulls you out of it immediately. You look up, blinking once or twice before slipping into your usual professional smile, the kind that never quite reaches your eyes but works well enough that no one questions it. At least, no one ever has before.
The moment you see him, something inside you falters.
It’s the man from the subway.
You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and then, almost immediately, you feel it, a sharp pull that makes your stomach twist. Your gaze drops to your hand, and the sight makes something in you sink. The thread is no longer faded. It’s bright, an intense, unmistakable red, stretched between you and him as if it had been waiting for this exact moment, as if it had always known you would end up here. It wraps around his finger just as tightly, binding the two of you together in a way that suddenly feels impossible to ignore.
When you look back at him, he’s staring at you the same way, like he understands it too, like he feels it just as strongly. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite place, something that looks almost like hope, and it makes your chest feel heavier than before.
Because all you can think about is how this ends.
A cold shiver runs down your spine as the realization settles in, slow and suffocating, leaving no room for denial or escape. Your soulmate is standing right in front of you, exactly where he was always meant to be, and instead of relief, instead of happiness, all you feel is the quiet certainty that, sooner or later, he’s going to leave too.
“Right, Kim Seungmin. Is that correct?”
You asked, surprised that your voice didn’t waver as you glanced back at the computer, avoiding his gaze for just a second too long before even seeing him nod. Without thinking, you sent a notification to Mr. Bahng, knowing he had most likely forgotten about the interview—just like you had. It gave you something to focus on, something to keep your hands steady.
But you couldn’t avoid him forever.
When you finally looked back at him, your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fall away. His dark brown gaze held yours too intently, like he was trying to understand something, or maybe confirm it. It made your chest feel tight, like the air had suddenly become too heavy to breathe properly.
“Please take the elevator to the sixth floor,” you said, your voice quieter now, more controlled than before. “Someone should be there waiting for you.”
You stood up as you spoke, pointing in the direction of the elevators, but your hand lingered in the air for a second too long. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because you could still feel it—that pull, sharp and undeniable, stretching between the two of you like it refused to be ignored.
Seungmin nodded, but it wasn’t a simple gesture. It was stiff, restrained, like he was holding himself back from saying something—or doing something—he wasn’t sure he should. His eyes flickered down for the briefest moment, and you didn’t need to follow his gaze to know where he was looking. Your hand. The thread.
You both felt it.
You forced yourself not to react, not to acknowledge it, even as your fingers curled slightly at your side. You weren’t going to be the one to break first.
“Thank you,” he said, and there was something off in his voice—too careful, too measured, like every word had to pass through a filter before it reached you.
You only nodded in response, afraid that if you said anything more, your voice might betray you.
The sound of his footsteps echoed softly as he walked away, each step somehow louder than it should have been, as if your attention was unwilling to let him go just yet. You watched him longer than you meant to, your gaze following him until he reached the elevator.
For a brief moment, just before the doors closed, his eyes found yours again.
And then he was gone.
Seungmin isn’t reckless. Not with anything. He is structured, everything carefully planned out exactly the way he wants it. Meeting his soulmate on the subway and then seeing you at the place he had always dreamed of working—this wasn’t something he had planned. No one could possibly plan something like that.
He leaned back against the elevator wall, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. It wasn’t like he never wanted to meet you—of course he did. You were his soulmate, after all. And yet, seeing you so afraid, so uncertain, made his heart sink. He could practically feel the anxiety radiating off you, and it left him confused more than anything else.
Maybe something happened to you.
He is observant—everyone knows that about him. No one can hide much from his puppy-like eyes. He notices the way people speak, the way they move when they’re hiding something, the flicker in their eyes when they lie. Nothing really slips past him. Maybe that’s why his past relationships never worked out—because he noticed too much. Or maybe his dry jokes just didn’t land well with his ex-girlfriends.
Either way, that’s all in the past now.
At least he’s close to getting his dream job, even if it’s only as a paralegal.
His heart pounds in his chest as he stares at the elevator doors, waiting to reach the sixth floor. His face doesn’t show even a hint of the nerves building inside him. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, and just then, the soft ding of the elevator breaks the silence.
The doors slide open.
When he steps out, someone is already waiting for him.
Let’s see if he gets the job.
“Kitty, who was that, and why were you staring at him like he was some kind of god and a demon at the same time?”
You heard his voice before you saw him. Minho stepped out from around the corner with his usual confidence, a smirk playing on his lips as he held his iced americano in his hand. He leaned against your desk far too comfortably for your liking, like he owned the space just as much as the office itself, but you didn’t even bother commenting on it. No one really told Minho what to do, and you had learned that a long time ago.
You simply shook your head, turning your attention back to your computer as if nothing had happened, your fingers moving across the keyboard while you replied to emails, pretending that your focus hadn’t just been completely thrown off moments earlier.
“He was here for an interview with Mr. Bahng.”
The explanation came out simple, almost rehearsed, because it was easier than admitting the truth—that Seungmin was your soulmate. Even thinking it felt wrong, too heavy to say out loud, like giving the words shape would make everything more real than you were ready for.
You could feel Minho’s gaze on you without even looking at him. It lingered, sharp and observant, the kind of look that made it impossible to relax under it. He wasn’t the type to miss details, and you knew that much. He had definitely noticed the way you had been staring, the way you hadn’t looked away when you should have.
A quiet sigh escaped you before you finally lifted your head, meeting his eyes. The smirk was still there, but there was something else behind it now—curiosity, maybe even suspicion.
“He… he’s just someone I know, alright? It’s no big deal, oppa.”
Your voice came out softer this time, lacking the confidence you had tried to hold onto just seconds ago. You hated that he could do this to you so easily, make you feel like you were being read without even trying.
Minho hummed, clearly not convinced, but he didn’t push any further. That almost made it worse. If anything, it only confirmed that he had already picked up on more than you wanted him to. He just chose not to say it out loud—at least not yet.
You turned back to your screen, forcing yourself to focus, even though your thoughts refused to settle. Of course you weren’t going to tell him. Not now, maybe not ever. You hadn’t even fully accepted it yourself, and the idea of saying it out loud felt like crossing a line you couldn’t uncross. Keeping your distance from Seungmin still felt like the safest option, like the only way to stay in control of something that was already slipping out of your hands.
Maybe it wouldn’t matter anyway.
Maybe he wouldn’t get the job.
The thought came to you so easily it almost felt like relief, like an easy way out you didn’t have to fight for. If he wasn’t here, if he didn’t stay, then maybe you wouldn’t have to face any of this.
Your screen lit up before you could dwell on it any longer.
Your brows furrowed slightly as you moved your mouse, clicking on the new message that had just appeared. At first, you didn’t think much of it, your eyes scanning the text automatically, but then you froze.
“Please prepare a new entry card for the new paralegal, Kim Seungmin.”
— Mr. Bahng
For a second, you just stared at the screen, your grip on the mouse tightening slightly as the words settled in.
Of course he got the job.
A quiet breath left your lips, somewhere between disbelief and something heavier you didn’t want to name.
…damn it.
devider cred: @saradika-graphics
© 2minnieverse