iKon’s Bobby: The Second Chance
Fic Piece Written by: Admin Grandma of @springday-aus
Moodboard Link: Created By Admin Grandpa
Character Pairing: Y/N [gn] and iKON’s Kim Ji Won (Bobby)
Other Characters: Twice [Momo and Jeongyeon] and ex-soulmate!Jisoo [Blackpink]
Genre: romance, little angst (if you squint hard enough), soulmate!au with Bobby (timer + words of the first exchange)
Type: one-shot writing piece
Word Count: approx. 4k
Plot Summary: everyone has a destined soulmate, which can be found through a timer and the words of their first exchange. It was created by the gods to help the humans, in leading a less-chaotic life. Ironically enough, this whole soulmate fiasco is unneeded chaos you would rather live without.
⤷ Alternatively: who the hell says “oh, shit” to their soulmate when they first meet?
Warnings: long-ass intro/set-up before Bobby is introduced; mentions of polytheism; profanity
You stare down at the personal time bomb that’s permanently tattooed along your arm. No matter how hard you increasingly stare at it, the time continues to go down—second by second. You already seem to have begrudgingly admitted your fate as you lay your head in between your history textbook.
You’re doomed. Today’s the day. You’re going to meet your soulmate and it doesn’t seem like the gods were willing to push it back any further.
In another world, you would’ve chosen a life without a soulmate bond. You’re happy with the way you’re life is going now. Things are just settling. You’ve finally gotten your own apartment; you have a stable paycheck and you’re actually able to study what interests you. You might be research soulmates, but you weren’t supposed to worry about meeting your new soulmate for another five years. So, why did no one out of nowhere have to invade your life now?
Too preoccupied with your misery, you don’t notice the little chime from the library’s cafe door. Momo enters, looking past the bookshelves and tables for you—her ankle boots quickly clack on the polished wooden floors as she makes her way through.
She spots you in the corner and walks over, dropping her books on the table. “There you are,” she says. “Sit up, you look like you’re dying.” She takes the seat in front of you, taking in the depression cloud that hovers over your head. “You know, you’re in a public space. You could at least have a nervous breakdown at home, like a normal person.”
You groan. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
“Okay, try me. What happened?”
You simply lay out your arm out, displaying the little numbers counting down.
“You’re meeting your soulmate today? That’s great! I thought you had, like, what? Four—or was it five? Five years, right?”
You finally look at her. “It was five years. But, for some odd reason, the time jumped when I made the decision to meet you and Jeongyeon.”
Momo grins at you. “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that anymore. I think the anxiety would have killed me.”
“Let’s just move on. Did you order anything yet?”
“No, not yet. I’ll go now, since I know you’re not actually dying.” Momo flashes another smile at you, before leaving the table to head towards the counter.
Meanwhile, you sit yourself up and clear the table of your previous set-up. It’s fine—everything’s fine. You’ll just focus on what you’re here for in the first place. You pull out your phone for the recording, as well as a notebook and several colored pens. Once Jeongyeon arrives at noon, you can officially start the interview process. Your research is more centered on abnormal soulmate bonds, but you still need normal couples to compare to—Momo and Jeongyeon are the most normal of couples you happen to know.
You take the last sip of your tea and glance around. The library cafe is supposed to be another study area for university students, but it seems like it’s been overtaken by couples. The open windows allow a bizarre amount of sunlight to pour onto the lovey-dovey atmosphere. Empty cups and plates rest on the occupied tables, and everyone’s eyes sparkle as they look into their sweetheart’s eyes, clearly too invested in whatever the hell they’re talking about. Love: what a gross concept.
Momo comes back, with two coffees in hand and Jeongyeon right behind her. They both settle themselves in the seats facing you, setting down their bags and taking off their jackets.
“Geez, (Y/N),” Jeongyeon says. “Try not to look too disgusted.”
“I can’t help what I feel.”
“Go easy on her,” Momo says. “She’s a bit moodier than usual.”
“Oh?” Jeongyeon turns to you with wide eyes. “Why’s that?”
You visibly grimace, practically retreating back into your shell. Momo chuckles, before answering for you. “(Y/N)’s soulmate meeting is happening today.”
“That’s exciting!”
You let out a laugh, but it’s one of disbelief and slight dread. “No, Jeongyeon. It’s not.”
“Why are you even studying soulmates if you hate them so much?”
“To prove my point.”
“Which is?”
“That love is absolute bullshit,” you say. “Even with the gods involved. You know that divorce rates haven’t entirely diminished, right? My research proves that at least three percent of soulmate bonds don’t actually work out. Seventy percent of soulmates may have succeeded, but ten percent have the possibility of getting reassigned.”
“Yup,” Momo says. “That’s our lil’ ray of sunshine.” Her eyebrows furrow, realizing something. “Isn’t this, like, a conflict of interest? You know, since you and Jisoo ended up splitting—”
“Nope.” You cut her off, refusing to let her bring up that painful memory. “Nope, none at all.”
Momo gives her a pointed look.
“Drink your coffee,” you say to her. You focus your attention elsewhere. You clear your throat, in hopes of moving away from the topic of your first-soulmate rejection. Luckily, the Jisoo incident happened before Jeongyeon joined your little friend group as Momo’s soulmate, but it doesn’t hurt any less because you don’t bring it up often.
You try not to think about Jisoo often, especially since you were basically kids when you’d first met. You don’t think about how you felt when you first saw her on the kickball field in the fourth grade, or how the wind danced with her hair and the light sparkled against her skin. You don’t remember how bright Jisoo’s smile was when you first looked at each other. You don’t think about you practically spent your entire childhood together—up until sophomore year.
You don’t think about how much pain you felt when someone—who you were supposed to be with for the rest of your life—suddenly left you because the gods decided you were no longer meant to be together. You don’t think about how shocked you were when Jisoo dropped their relationship so quickly once her timer reset. You don’t think about how angry you still are whenever you see those stupid teenage soulmate bondings in front of your face, as if the gods are rubbing salt into your wounds.
You don’t think about how Jisoo and stupid Junmyeon got together a bit too quickly, especially when you two had only broken up a week ago. You don’t think about how they were practically showcasing their relationship all throughout the rest of high school. You don’t think about how they’re probably married now, living in some generic neighborhood with their stupid kids and stupid minivan.
Nope, you don’t think about it at all.
Your fists clench, nearly snapping the pen in your hand. Momo sips on her coffee.
Jeongyeon glances between you two before speaking up. “So, why are we here? I think our soulmate bonding went just fine.”
You try to refocus, racking your brain for the right words. “From what I remember, you didn’t have some corny Nicholas Sparks designed meeting. Plus, I’ve known Momo since middle school, so I can ask whatever I want to get the data I need.”
Jeongyeon hums in agreement. Then, she leans towards you with a particular look in her eyes. “You know, there’s conspiracy theories that the government is behind all of this. They all probably drugged our water and all of this is an illusion.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The theories. There’s one that says pollution is to blame. All those harmful chemicals that are up in the air, went into our water, and it’s causing us to hallucinate. The government is using this to cover it up.”
Momo rolls her eyes. “Yeonnie, you think the government’s involved with everything.”
Jeongyeon turns her body towards Momo. “We’re in the presence of an expert—”
“Grad student.”
“—we might as well confirm it.”
“First of all,” you say. “That’s not how this works.” You pause, placing a hand under your chin and the other to twirl your pen. “You two experienced it first-hand, shouldn’t you understand how this works better than I do?”
“Our first exchange was rather generic,” Momo says. “Someone else introduced us. The first words Jeongyeon said to me was literally ‘what up my guy.’”
To prove her point further, she shows the words inscribed on her wrist—written in perfect little cursive, alongside a blank timer that’s clean of numbers in line.
“We met in high school,” Jeongyeon says. “You should’ve known there was gonna be a stupid line on there. It’s not like yours was any better. Do you think I enjoyed having the words ‘I’m sorry, what?” on my wrist?”
“I needed you to repeat the words! I didn’t actually think you’d be my soulmate.”
“Didn’t you hear the chimes, bells—whatever you call them—when I said it? Or the little tingle from your arm?”
“Well, I did. But I needed to confirm it. At least, that’s what I was thinking at the time.”
“You know,” you say. “The whole point of the chimes and the timer tingle, as you called it, is for you to know that that person is your soulmate. The research time assumes the gods made that modification, after the fraud crimes started to go up around the first generation of the soulmate bonds.”
“That was a thing?” Jeongyeon asks.
You nod. “That—that was actually a thing.”
“Wait, (Y/N),” Momo says. “You got a new phrase! What does yours say now?”
The couple stare at you, but you move your arms underneath the table and turn away. In hopes that they wouldn’t be able to hear you, you mutter under your breath. “It says, ‘oh shit.’”
Unfortunately for you, Jeongyeon picks up on it. “Oh shit?”
You nod slowly, feeling yourself sink into your seat, and reconfirming her words. “It says ‘oh shit.’”
“Oh,” Momo says. “Shit.”
You sigh.
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems,” Jeongyeon says.
“Yeah,” Momo says. “Maybe the gods have something special planned for you, especially since they kind of screwed you over the first time.”
You lean back against your chair, your arms wrapping themselves around you tighter. “Let’s just focus back on you two. After this, I just need to go home and stay home. If I’m lucky, nothing will happen and the time will change back to five years.”
Your plans to hole yourself in at home are officially ruined.
After the official interview session, Momo and Jeongyeon were planning on going to the farmers market. However, Jeongyeon had forgotten she’d already made plans with an old friend of hers—something about an engagement and party planning—which is how Momo successfully ropes you into coming with her instead.
“Come on, (Y/N),” Momo says. “They probably have some of those fruits that you like. You don’t even need to worry about meeting your soulmate yet. You have time.”
So, here you are at the farmers market in front of a grape stand. Momo stands over each bundle, inspecting each bunch carefully. Meanwhile, you’re just there, next to her, smiling awkwardly at the lady on the other side of the time from time to time.
For a while, you stand there in silence, but then you finally ask her. “Do I really need to be here?”
“Yes, I’m not like you,” Momo says. “I can’t be alone for a long period of time.”
“You were probably going to be here for a couple of hours max.”
“Still. I don’t like being out alone. You should know this by now.”
“Gods bless for Jeongyeon.”
“Speaking of which,” Momo says, trying to be cautious with her words. “I don’t think you have to worry about your new soulmate.”
“Momo, I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“I know you don’t. But, this could be good for you. You haven’t been the same since Jisoo left and I know you’re still hurt, but it happened in sophomore year. You need to move on...maybe that’s why you’re meeting your new soulmate today.”
“That can still change.”
“I don’t think you should get your hopes up. It’s been years since Jisoo. Face the facts: this is happening today.”
You sigh, knowing Momo isn’t going to let go of the subject. “Well, I still think this whole scheme is bullshit.” You pick at the stems of some of grapes in arm’s reach. “The gods should have left me alone after deciding to pair off Jisoo and Junmyeon together.”
“They’re able to find their happiness. You have the right to find yours too.” Momo stands back up, facing you. “All of this.” She gestures towards your face. “Is more of a reason to push it.”
“But, why?”
“Well, you know what they say.”
“No, I don’t.”
“‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.’”
Momo’s car rolls up in front of your apartment complex. After putting it into park and turning on her blinkers, she looks at you, but you’re already unbuckling yourself from the car seat.
“Have a fun night in with Coconut.”
“Oh, I plan to. And, please let Jeongyeon know I said thanks again for today.”
“Of course.”
With that said, you get out of the car and slam the door shut, ready to wrap yourself in a soft blanket and cuddle with your cat. You’re able to head into the building, only to hear Momo shout from her car window. “Hey! Wait!”
You turn around. “What?”
“Keep me updated on the soulmate thing! Let me know how it goes.”
“Alright, bye.”
“Bye!”
With a wave, you watch Momo’s care drive off. You take notice of a familiar car that rolls up to the building. Gods, it’s your neighbor from across the hall. He has never personally disturbed you, but it wouldn’t hurt anyone if he learned how to properly park his car, play his music at a more appropriate volume, or have less house parties on weeknights. You understand that he’s a more social person, at least more social than you, but still.
What’s his name again? It starts with a B... Brian? Billy? Bob? It’s Bobby! You vaguely remember seeing it on his mailbox. You really should make an effort to know your neighbors better. Someone could be a serial killer and you wouldn’t even know it. You shake your head, taking yourself out of your thoughts.
You enter the building swiftly, in hopes of avoiding Bobby. You walk through the lobby and into the elevator, pressing the button for the sixth floor. As the doors start to close, a hand comes between the doors and you have to suppress a groan.
Bobby’s face pops in with an apologetic smile, but it doesn’t stop you from giving him a couple of choice words in your head. You look away from him, trying not to make eye contact.
Despite being neighbors, you don’t talk to one another. Granted, it’s normal since it’s only been a couple of months since you’ve officially moved in. But, you can’t seem to recall if you’ve actually spoken to him. There’s been the polite smiles, nods, and the occasional waves (and some secret glares you give him from previously mentioned disturbances), but never an actual greeting.
Although, you have heard things. It’s not that you mean to eavesdrop—it just happens. The rooms are close enough and the walls are fairly thin; eavesdropping was bound to occur. One night, you were organizing your data from the previous week, you had overheard one of Bobby’s friends (Junhoe, maybe?) laughing his ass off from across the hall. Long story short, whenever he meets his soulmate, they won’t be thrilled to meet him.
You couldn’t help yourself from glancing down at his arm. It’s fully covered by his shirt’s sleeve, yet the wrist exposes his partner’s oh-so special words: you need to get the fuck off of me. You almost laugh aloud just thinking about it, but you suppress it by biting on your lower lip and focus on the elevator’s floor.
Yeah, he could play his music a bit quieter and learn how to wear less cologne, but you can’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy. You can only imagine what would happen for those words to be uttered.
The elevator stops at the sixth floor and the both of you get off—footsteps matching one another’s. You remain silent as you both make your way to the end of the hall. With another polite smile exchanged to one another, you unlock your door and step into your respective home.
Once you shut the front door, you’re greeted by Coconut. You can’t help but coo at the little ball of white fur that walks between your legs, rubbing his head on your ankles with a soft purr.
“Hi baby, did you miss me?” You pick him up, hugging him against your chest. “It’s just you and me tonight.”
You bounce him a bit in your arms, lost in your own world and that’s when you hear it—a strong bass beat plays in the background. Your face contorts—gods, you’re really praying for his soulmate.
The bright light of the TV shines against the darkness of your living room—well, at least you and your couch. You sit cross-legged with Coconut lying comfortably on your lap, a blanket on your shoulders, and the remote in hand. You go through the movie selection your Netflix account, before debating whether or not if you should watch something else or just bury yourself underneath your sheets to avoid your up-incoming doom.
You could binge-watch a random show for the time to go by quicker, or you could take one of your fifty milligram sleeping pills—which Jeongyeon gave you a while back. One of those suckers is enough to knock you out for the next twelve hours.
If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t really feel the need to do anything too drastic. You’re prepared to stay in for quite a few days. You’re well-stocked on food and you don’t need to go to the lab until the next week. Also, Coconut doesn’t need to go out, so that means you don’t have to go out. Had you gotten that cute Pomeranian from the shelter instead, you might’ve had to meet your soulmate sooner rather than later.
You find yourself grimacing once more at the thought of having to meet your new soulmate. If the first one didn’t work out, what’s to stop the second one from doing just the same? Granted, you’ve interviewed a lot of couples and most worked out on the second try. Key term: most.
There was that one lady who divorced, at least, three of her soulmates. The gods must have given up after the third try, because she ended up dying alone. You should’ve been left along, just like that lady.
Jisoo is certainly thriving with her new soulmate—you can say whatever you want, but nothing’s stopping you from seeing all the godsforsaken photos on Facebook or Instagram.
Nope. Nope, you’re not dealing with this. You’ve already covered up the timer with some bandage wrap (who knew that the first aid kit would come in handy) to prevent yourself from looking at it all night. Maybe if you sleep now, the would just reset back to five years. That sounds reasonable...right?
No one has ever successfully avoided their soulmate. All throughout history, it shows that timers would just reset. You aren’t trying to avoid your soulmate forever—you’re just trying to avoid whoever your soulmate is now. You were fine with waiting for five years, or even ten. What are the gods thinking? You’re not ready for this. You should’ve been given a warning or something: all of this is just giving you a migraine.
You shut off the TV and move yourself off the couch, despite Coconut’s protesting meows. You move towards the door and the windows, making sure they are securely locked. You might not trying to find your soulmate, but that doesn’t stop the gods from making them coming to you. Shame that there’s nothing you can do about the fire escape; that’s a lost cause.
As you look out the window, you can easily spot out Bobby once again. What is it about today that you’re seeing him all over the place? He’s dressed in more casual war—compared to when you saw him in the elevator. He’s yelling and laughing with some of his friends in plain sight.
“I’m meeting my soulmate today!” He yells. “Whatever happens, happens!”
All of them start to chant like frat boys. “Bar hop! Bar hop! Bar hop!”
Oh dear gods.
You move yourself away from the window and go over your mental checklist again. After securing the locks one more time, you walk over to your bedroom and crawl into the full-sized bed, quickly making yourself familiar with your sheets. Coconut follows shortly after, jumping onto the bed and nuzzling his nose towards you.
Reaching out, you pet him and scratch his chin, then you speak with a soft whisper. “Good night, Coco.”
Someone’s in the living room.
You’re trying to ignore it.
There’s a crash, followed by a couple of swear words, which is followed by another crash.
Coconut has woken up, meowing at the closed door that separates you from possibly experiencing life or death. You bury your head further into the pillow. This—this cannot be happening right now.
You should’ve taken the sleeping pill.
There’s another crash, followed by heavy footsteps, which are now right outside your bedroom door.
That’s when you realize: you didn’t lock the bedroom door. That’s it. You’re going to die.
You swiftly grab your phone from your nightstand and turn it on silent mode, before retreating back underneath the sheets. You can easily call the police if they actually come in, but what if it’s too late?
You don’t bother poking your head out. Instead you cling onto the comforter and try to quiet down your breathing. Is it a burglar? A thief? Or worse? Could it be…?
Meanwhile, Coconut moves himself off the bed and towards the corner, already losing interest in the odd noises. You should’ve gotten the dog.
Your door opens and the footsteps get closer, eventually stopping at the edge of your bed. Your heart drops. What’s this person going to do?
You grunt from the sudden weight being thrown on top of you. Because for some reason, this fool—this complete stranger—has laid himself on top of you. Well, technically, next to you, but his body is spread out—an arm and a leg lays on top of you.
The familiar smell of alcohol hits your nose. That’s definitely vodka.
This idiot is drunk.
Your curiosity gets the best of you and you end up tugging the comforter down, taking a peek at the intruder. You’re met with the view of Bobby. His bangs dangle down, brushing softly against your forehead. Your eyebrows furrow: this can’t be right.
He’s slightly sweaty. His skin looks like he’s shimmering. His eyelashes have an almost perfect curl to them. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is slightly opened, his natural pink lips are parted to let out his breath. Your heart pounds in your chest, flustered from the close proximity.
You nudge him once.
He doesn’t wake up.
You push him, nearly shoving him off your bed. He finally awakes, cracking an eye at you, only to shut it again with embarrassment written on his face.
“Oh, shit,” he says. He laughs at himself. “I’m in the wrong apartment, aren’t I?”
Your heart stops, feeling the tingle from your arm and the little chimes in your head. Your head spins and you rack your brain, trying to find the words to respond to him. Ironically enough, you can only think of the one phrase you should have been avoiding. “You need to get the fuck off of me.”
