noun // a lingering scent a person leaves behind, the impression in space after something or someone has passed by
Genre: fluff? but it’s going to be a wild ride tbh
Pairing: Mingyu x Reader
Summary: A Soulmate!AU where soulmates find each other through scent
Words: 3,728
A/N: Again, I’m sorry I’m not putting a read more (because the “Keep Reading” option never shows up on my phone and I can’t be the only one…). Shoutout to @wonnhao for agreeing to be my beta (again) ♡
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | epilogue
“Ah,” Jiwoo says sleepily, but complies anyway. “His name’s Jeon Wonwoo. Hmm, let’s see…he’s pretty tall, nice eyes, a really deep voice. He’s generally pretty quiet, but if you get close enough you’ll find he cracks really stupid jokes and he’s just an awkward guy, I think, but it’s cute. I’m sure you’ll get along great.”
“You think so?” You hate to sound so desperate, especially after giving her your speech about not needing pity and ‘not everyone finds love.’ But now that you’re finally close, there’s a strange sensation in your chest and it’s freeing, because it means that you’re not destined to be alone forever after all.
Five minutes later, you find yourself drifting off to sleep with thoughts of a tall, dark-haired boy with golden skin and a smile like the sun.
Getting the covers yanked off you is one of the worst ways to wake up, and so you groan and try to reach for the blanket as Jiwoo does just that the following morning. “It’s too early for this,” you complain, voice cracking.
“It’s three in the afternoon,” she replies, much too energetic for your liking. “We have to get you ready for your date.”
“Date? What? When?” You sit up, raking a hand through your tangle-ridden hair.
Jiwoo snickers. “Get it together, Y/N. Date with Jeon Wonwoo, your soulmate.” She rummages in her closet. “I called Jihoon this morning, and he said he’d arrange something at five. Now get up, we have things to do!”
“How did I sleep until three?” This has to be a new record. You shake your head as you go into the bathroom to make yourself semi-presentable, and when you return to Jiwoo’s room, she has changed and is in the process of putting on makeup. “I’ll be done in five minutes,” she says, meeting your eyes through her mirror. “Gather your things and grab something from the kitchen if you’re hungry, and then we’ll go over to your house to actually get you ready.”
You carry all your bags over to the front door, before making yourself a bowl of cereal. Five minutes later, as promised, Jiwoo appears, keys and bag in hand. “Let’s go, let’s go, time’s running out!” she calls as she heads outside.
You grab your things and run outside after her, making yourself comfortable in her car as she locks the door. “I can’t believe you actually found him,” Jiwoo exclaims as she makes a turn that is much too wide, earning her a honk from an oncoming car.
“Yeah, well,” you mumble, suddenly nervous, “I can’t either.”
Jiwoo pulls into a parking spot and you practically run into the house. For some reason you’re so anxious and sitting still seems impossible right now. At a leisurely pace, Jiwoo follows you into the apartment and closes the door behind her as you put your bags down in your room. “What are you going to wear?” she asks as she enters the room to find you staring intensely into your closet.
“I don’t know yet. Do you think I should go for a dress, or a tee and skirt? Or is that too much? Would wearing jeans be too casual though?”
“You are not wearing jeans on your first date,” Jiwoo replies sternly, and that settles it. She reaches inside your closet and tugs at a black floral cotton dress. “This is cute; wear this. Or, actually,” she says as she finds a pale pink dress, “this is nice too.” Jiwoo pulls out both and holds them up. “You choose.”
“I think I like the black one better. More casual, but still cute, you know?”
Jiwoo grins in response. She holds it out to you and you take it, heading to the bathroom to change and plug in your hair straightener. When you emerge fifteen minutes later, changed and hair straightened, Jiwoo looks at you from her position on your bed. “Cute!” she comments, and stands up. “Sit down. I’ll do your makeup.”
“Just keep it natural,” you say as you sit on the bed. You close your eyes as Jiwoo makes your skin look smooth and cheekbones sharper, dusts eyeshadow and draws liner onto your eyes. The brush is soft against your skin, and you’re almost lulled to sleep before Jiwoo speaks up.
“Alright, go look,” Jiwoo says once she finishes. You do, and you have to admit that Jiwoo did a phenomenal job.
“Thanks, Jiwoo,” you smile at her.
Her only response is to grin and check her watch. “We have an hour left. Knowing Jihoon, he’s going to get there early, and I’m assuming that he’s dragging Wonwoo—sorry, driving him to meet us—so we should probably head out.”
You grab a white bag and fill it with your essential items, then follow her out the door. Once in Jiwoo’s car, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” you admit.
Jiwoo reaches over and pats your knee. “It’s fine. That’s normal. Just breathe and pretend he’s just any other friend. You’ll be fine, I promise.”
You can’t help yourself from voicing your doubts. “I guess, for some strange reason, I’m scared that it was a mistake and he’s not the one after all. I mean, what if we get there, and Wonwoo and I both realize this was a mistake?”
She shoots you a glance so meaningful that you know she doesn’t believe that would be possible. Instead as she pulls into a parking spot at a nearby restaurant, she only says, “Then you make a new friend and enjoy some good food. Deal?”
You take a deep breath. “Deal.”
Jiwoo leads the way inside, where you find Jihoon sitting alone at a table near the back. Jiwoo’s face brightens up instantly, and she waves at him, making her way across the small restaurant. Watching her, you can’t help but feel envious—not of her, necessarily, but of her happiness, of her self-assuredness and sense of belonging. You follow her and stand awkwardly at the table where Jiwoo has already seated herself across from Jihoon.
“Hey, Y/N,” Jihoon greets you with a smile. “I’m glad you found him. Though I can’t believe it’s Wonwoo, of all people—ow!” He stops abrupty and rubs at his knee, where presumably Jiwoo has kicked him. “Anyway, he went into the restroom. He should be out soon, though. Your table is over there,” Jihoon says, indicating the table behind them.
“Have fun, you two,” Jiwoo practically sings, as though she isn’t going to be sitting right behind you.
As you take your seat, you finally place the sense of dread in your stomach: you can’t smell anything, even though Wonwoo is in the restroom about twenty feet away from where you’re sitting.
Five minutes later, when Wonwoo emerges, he sits across from you. “Hi, I’m Wonwoo,” he says, introducing himself with his hand extended, but he shoots you a sad smile.
“I’m Y/N,” you respond, shaking his hand and returning his smile. You both know now that you had been mistaken, and you’re sure your cheeks are flaming.
Wonwoo, however, is polite enough not to point it out. He seems about as determined as you to ignore the awkwardness. Like Jiwoo said, you might as well use this opportunity to make a new friend, right? Right.
You browse the menu and try your best to make small talk. You learn that Wonwoo is actually quite nice. He’s around your age—two years older—and goes to the same university as you. He works at a bookstore not too far from campus, something he seems quite proud of. One hour later, you and Wonwoo share a banana split, and you are full and happier than you have been in a while.
You set your spoon down, shaking your head. “I’m done. I’m too full.”
Wonwoo shrugs and pulls the bowl toward himself. It will never cease to amaze you how much boys can eat. “So anyway,” he says around a mouthful of ice cream, something you would have found disgusting with anyone else, “since we have the same free hours between classes, we should hang out more.”
“Yeah,” you reply, unlocking your phone and handing it to him. “Here, let’s exchange numbers.”
He takes it and gives you his in response. After punching in your number and returning it to him, you watch as he does the same and scoops another spoonful of ice cream. “Do you normally eat this much?” you ask, amazed.
“No,” he responds, lips quirking up in a smile. “But since we’re eating out I might as well eat as much good food as I can, right?”
“I’m not sure that mentality is the healthiest,” you respond, laughing.
“Oh, it definitely isn’t. But when you don’t have time to eat properly most days…” He trails off, looking out the window for a while before happily continuing to eat.
Your heart goes out to the boy; he must have it as hard as you. Wonwoo finally sits back with a contented sigh as he finishes.
“Are you two done?” Jiwoo asks, amusement apparent in her voice. You jump slightly; you hadn’t even noticed her and Jihoon getting up to stand by your table.
“Yeah,” you answer. “You can go on out first. I’m just going to go pay and I’ll be right there.”
Wonwoo stands up the moment you do, and his long legs carry him to the register too fast for you to follow. You reach the counter as he hands the cashier his card, and you can only stare at him, aghast. “Wait, did you already pay?”
“For both of us?” you ask, voice squeaking.
“Yeah,” he answers nonchalantly as he puts his card back into his wallet.
“Jeon Wonwoo!” You’re flattered and secretly, guiltily, relieved. But mostly you’re just shocked and indignant—you had just met for the first time today, and you weren’t even actually soulmates. And you and Wonwoo had spent a good deal of time complaining about working and studying, and how hard it was to save any money. Guilt crushes you, and it must have been apparent on your face, because Wonwoo gives you a gentle smile and puts his hands on your shoulders, leading you out of the restaurant.
“It wasn’t actually that much,” he says, letting go of you when you near the door. “Besides, if you’re really feeling guilty, you can pay the next time we go eat. And next time, we’re going to some famous five-star restaurant with five-hundred-dollar steak.”
You roll your eyes, but smile at him. “Anyway, thanks, Wonwoo.”
He returns the smile. “You’re welcome. Anyway, it looks like Jihoon is waiting, so I’m going to go. It was nice meeting you, Y/N. See you around!”
“Just text me when you’re free or something to hang out,” you say, waving and starting to leave.
“Wait,” Wonwoo says suddenly. You give him a questioning look as you turn back around. “I hope you find your soulmate soon.”
It’s almost like getting a bucket of cold water thrown in your face, and your smile turns wistful. “Thanks. I hope you do too.”
Wonwoo gives one last wave before heading to Jihoon’s silver car in the opposite end of the parking lot as Jiwoo’s. You watch him get into the car before turning around and going to Jiwoo’s car.
“So?” Jiwoo asks the moment you open the car door.
“Well, he’s not the one,” you answer as you shut the door, and Jiwoo looks incredulous. “But he’s a nice guy, and I’m hoping we can be friends anyway.”
“Huh,” Jiwoo says as she pulls out of the parking lot. “That’s so strange. You’re sure you smelled someone yesterday, right?”
“Don’t worry. At least we’re getting closer to finding him. He was near my house yesterday night, so you can just visit, like, every night until we find out who’s coming and going in my neighbors’ houses—”
You laugh. Jiwoo is taking this more seriously than you are, and it’s your soulmate. “Jiwoo, it’s fine. I’m not going to creep on your neighbors.”
“But we have to find him somehow.”
“I’m sure I’ll run into him sometime under normal circumstances.”
“We have to speed things up, though! Jihoon and I were going to throw a party tonight; you should come. There’s a good chance that he’ll be there.”
“Party?” you repeat. “It’s Sunday. You do realize most people have classes tomorrow, right?”
“We’re kicking everyone out at midnight.”
You roll your eyes. “Fine, I’ll stop by tonight.”
“Great!” Jiwoo stops by the curb in front of your house. “The party starts at nine. See you then!”
“See you,” you mutter as you close the door and head into your apartment. You kick off your shoes and go straight into your room, flopping onto your bed. A look at the clock tells you that it’s currently six, so you have a few hours before Jiwoo’s party starts—but then again, you never arrive at parties on time, if at all.
You wonder, suddenly, if Wonwoo is planning to go. Jiwoo is your friend, and you’re sure there are several other of your friends that are going, but it’s nice to have someone who won’t be preoccupied with others. You grab your phone and type out a message, thumb hovering over the send button. This wouldn’t sound creepy, would it? Well, he knows that considering he’s not your soulmate, you wouldn’t be trying to make a move on him. You shrug, close your eyes, and hit send.
A minute later, your phone alerts you to a new message. It’s Wonwoo, who says that he’ll go, but he will most likely be a little late.
Relieved, you decide to get some homework done. Since you’re going to be heading out later, showering seems like a rather pointless option; you’re going to come back reeking anyway. Even if you don’t drink a drop of alcohol, the smell of the parties somehow always manages to cling to your clothes long after they’re over.
You manage to finish an essay before you rub your eyes and look at the clock: five minutes before nine. You head into the bathroom to wash your face before grabbing your bag and keys. By the time you find a parking spot and knock on Jiwoo’s door, you can already hear the bass pounding from outside the house. Jihoon answers and greets you with a smile so wide you can tell he’s already had a cup or two. “Hey, Y/N, come on in.”
You walk in and close the door behind you, waiting a few moments to adjust to the music blasting from the living room. The apartment is already packed, and you spot a few friends dancing in the crowd. You decide to head into the kitchen, hoping it will be less crowded there.
Apparently, Wonwoo had the same thought, because you find him sitting there alone, on his phone. “Hey, Wonwoo.”
He looks up and smiles when he sees you. “Oh, hi.”
“I thought you were going to be late,” you say, sitting on the counter next to him.
“I thought so too, but my boss let me out early, so here I am.”
“I’m actually not too fond of parties,” you admit.
He sighs. “Neither am I. I guess that’s why we’re both hiding out in here, huh?”
You laugh. “I guess so. Do you want anything to drink?”
Wonwoo shakes his head. “No thanks. I have to drive myself home, and I’d rather not die on the way.”
“Me too,” you agree. “I meant water, juice, you know, other non-alcoholic things Jiwoo has in her fridge.”
You find two bottles of water from the fridge and hand him one. “Thanks,” he says, taking it as you climb back onto the counter.
The two of you sit in companionable silence, both on your phones. That is, until the now-familiar smell hits you again, stronger than ever before—so strong that you’re sure, positive, that he’s here in this apartment right now, somewhere out there among the mass of people.
You slide off the counter, earning a curious look from Wonwoo. “Are you okay?” he asks, frowning slightly. “You’re kind of…pale.”
“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine, I’ll be right back—” You leave before he can respond, almost running into a couple making out against the wall right outside the kitchen. “Sorry,” you mutter, but they’re so engrossed in each other you’re sure they can’t hear you.
The sheer amount of people in the compact space is overwhelming, so you try to look around before you join the throng of bodies. No one seems to be as confused or searching like you are, though, so you have no choice but to try to find him in the crowd.
After what seems like an hour later, with too many gropes and nearly spilled drinks for your liking, you give up and decide to go back to the kitchen. Wonwoo is gone, though, and the kitchen is empty except for Jiwoo and Jihoon, who have their heads bent toward each other and are whispering together. Deciding to give them their privacy, you stand outside the kitchen, holding a cup that someone shoved in your hands that you have no intention of drinking from.
It’s frustrating, though, because you can still smell him—you know he’s here somewhere, but even after that adventure searching through most of the partiers, the smell didn’t get any stronger, no indication at all that you were getting closer to him. All it earned you were several suggestive eyebrow raises and guys too close for your comfort.
“Why are you just standing here?” a voice asks beside you, and you turn around. It’s Jiwoo.
“Since when do I do anything other than stand there at parties?” you fire back, but there’s no malice behind your statement, just tired resignation.
Jiwoo shrugs, sipping from her cup. “You could dance.”
You decide to ignore this. “I didn’t know you could even fit this many people into your apartment.”
“I didn’t either,” Jiwoo admits, “but people somehow all manage to squeeze in at parties. It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it?”
“Either way, I’m not looking forward to cleaning up this mess,” Jiwoo says with a pout.
“Then why did you even decide to throw a party?” you ask, amused.
Jiwoo shrugs again and looks behind her. “Anyway, try to have some fun. I’m going to go find Jihoon.” She pats your shoulder and heads into the packed living room.
Seeing how you’re not going to drink from the cup anyway, it would probably be a better idea to pour it out before someone bumps into you and spills it on you instead. With a sigh, you turn around and enter the kitchen, pouring the contents of the cup into the sink.
“That’s quite a waste,” a voice says from the entrance to the kitchen, and you close your eyes. It’s him. “You know, if you weren’t going to drink it, you could have given it to me.” The voice had steadily come closer to you until you could almost feel him—as well as smell him—behind you.
“You should have come sooner, then,” you answer, turning around and opening your eyes, and you almost take a step back.
He’s tall—so tall that you have to crane your head upwards to look at his face. He has golden skin and mop of messy, side-swept black hair. His dark eyes bore into yours as your gaze travels to his crooked smile. “I’ve been looking for you,” he whispers, and you shiver.
“So have I,” you whisper back, and he pulls you in for a hug. Your first response is to want to pull away or push him off you, since after all, you had never even seen him before. But then you remember who he is, and the reality hits you as you let him be. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt tucked into black leather pants so tight you can only describe it as sinful, and he’s hugging you so tightly you’re pressed up completely against him. It feels good, and right, but somehow it strikes you that something is off and very strange about this entire situation. You breathe him in and hug him back, tightly, and that’s when you realize: even if the lemon-mint scent is infinitely stronger—more citrusy today, more tangy and sharp—it’s muted by the stench of booze and cigarettes.
Never in any of Jiwoo’s accounts, has Jihoon’s signature springy smell been muted by any other scent, even when he was drunk or sick. The smell that soulmates pick up on represent each other’s true personalities, their essence, who or what they were at the very core.
Which is why it makes no sense that in his presence—especially pressed this close to him—you can smell anything other than the sweet-tangy scent of lemon-mint you learned to associate him with.
“You—” You let go of him abruptly, stepping back away from him but the only thing that’s behind you is the sink, so it digs painfully into your back as you look up at him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, hurt in his eyes, voice low. His hands reach for your shoulders, but you brush them away impatiently.
“I think there’s a mistake,” you whisper, staring at the ground.
His hand reaches for your chin and he lifts your head so that you’re forced to look straight into his eyes. “What do you mean there’s a mistake?” He leans in, so close that his next words tickle your ear. “I smell you, and I know you smell me, too. You want to know what you smell like?”
“What?” you ask, despite yourself. At this point, your heart is pounding so fast, so hard, there’s no way he can’t feel it given how close he is to you.
“You smell like the ocean breeze,” he answers, wrapping his arms around you again, and rests his head against your shoulder.
“That’s it? That’s all you smell?” Because you still think he reeks of alcohol and cigarettes underneath the citrus.
“Is there something more I should be smelling?” he asks against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.
“I guess not,” you say. Because there isn’t. Yet there’s something wrong, obviously. He’s drunk, maybe high. You smell it. Maybe he won’t even remember finding you, saying all these things, come morning and he’s sober. And even though you know you should push him away, leave and try to figure out this mess, find out what’s going on, every inch of your body is screaming at you to stay put, to hug him. And because you have no inclination to move, to act as logic dictates, you stay wrapped in his arms.
“My name is Kim Mingyu,” he says after a while, voice slightly slurred, straightening up to his full height to look into your eyes. “And I’ve found you.”
