part of love notes— an exo ot9 valentine’s day special
⋆˙⟡♡ summary: the artist takes you out for some hotpot.
⋆˙⟡♡ word count: 1k words
⋆˙⟡♡ content: minseok x gn!reader | fluff | no warnings
Hello,
I hope this letter finds you! I have to be really honest: ever since last week I can’t stop thinking about you. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to take you out for Valentine’s Day. Think of it as a repayment for the repayment, haha. Here’s my number so you can text me, but no worries if I don’t hear back from you. I hope you have a good Valentine’s Day regardless!
Minseok
“Have you ever been to this place before?” Minseok asks, holding the door open for you. The warmth of the restaurant immediately sets your frigid bones at ease, the smell of spices enticing you to move further into the building.
“No, but I’ve always wanted to try it,” you say. “I’m surprised you could get a reservation so close to Valentine’s Day.”
“Really? Hotpot isn’t what I’d think of first when I think of Valentine’s.” His eyes widen suddenly. “Oh God, I hope this is okay with you! I didn’t even consider if you wanted something more traditional for the holiday.”
“It’s okay,” you laugh, shaking your head. “This is perfect.”
Despite Minseok’s feelings about whether or not hotpot is a romantic dinner spot, the place is packed. Luckily, the two of you are seated in a quiet corner where the hustle and bustle of the dining room isn’t too invasive. You put in your order for your broth, plus some meats and vegetables for the both of you to share.
“Hopefully I don’t spill everything all over you this time,” you joke once the waiter leaves.
Minseok makes a tsk sound and waves a hand as if to say, don’t worry about it. “It’s my fault. I should have been watching where I was going. I had been waiting on an important email and I got it while I was walking. I really should have stopped to read it but I was so excited that I kept moving.”
“Still, I should have had a tighter grip on my drink.” You grimace, remembering the way that your beloved iced coffee splattered all over the front of Minseok’s hoodie, dripping onto the concrete of the sidewalk below. “At least it was iced?”
“Yeah, I have a couple questions about why you’re drinking iced coffee in the middle of February, but I digress. I’m really thankful that you stopped to help me get a new shirt, even if we had to duck into the closest shop.”
You laugh, scooting over so that the waiter can put the pot of broth onto the burner in front of you. “What was the email about?”
“Oh!” Minseok’s eyes light up. “I’m an artist, and I finally got the details for my exhibition. It’s my first one since I moved here so it’s kind of a big deal for me.” He pulls out his phone and turns his screen towards you, scrolling through a couple of photos of paintings. “These are some of the works that I’ll be displaying.”
“Wow, you painted these?” You examine an intricately detailed close-up painting of a plumeria flower. “That’s incredible.”
“Thanks.” Minseok puts his phone away and starts to throw some vegetables into his pot. “I did a couple of exhibitions in the past but I’m not too familiar with the art scene here, so it’s pretty intimidating.”
“Well, I’d love to go if that’s okay with you. When is it?”
Minseok perks up. “Next Saturday. You don’t have to feel pressured to come if you’re busy.”
“I want to. Besides,” you say, starting to pile food into your boiling pot, “I think that seeing a familiar face will calm your nerves.”
Conversation begins to flow easily as the dinner goes on and you learn more about each other. He’s different from the artists that you’ve met in the past as in he doesn’t take himself or anything much too seriously. He pokes fun at himself while still being confident in his work, while also asking you all about your life. You don’t realize just how much you’ve been caught up in the comforting rhythm of eating and talking until you notice that your soup is running dangerously low and you’re actually getting quite full.
“Did you like the food?” Minseok asks.
“Oh, it was delicious.” You point with your chopsticks at Minseok’s broth, which is a dark red color compared to your pale brown one. “Which broth did you get again?”
“The house spicy. It’s my favorite. Why?” He lifts an eyebrow, eye glinting in challenge. “Curious?”
“A little.”
“Well, be careful. My spice tolerance is pretty high.”
You scoff at his words. “Mine isn’t so bad myself, you know.”
“I don’t know…” he hums. “Why don’t you take a big spoonful then?”
You reach over and scoop some broth out of his pot and blow to cool it down. Minseok’s eyes glimmer with glee as your spoon gets closer and closer to your mouth. Your lips close around the spoon and…
You cough.
Hard.
“Whoa,” you manage to say in between the sputters.
Minseok’s expression immediately shifts from triumphant to panicked. He hands you his water cup and quickly stands. “I’ll be right back,” he says, voice tight. He’s gone for less than a minute before he returns with a small cup of ice cream and a plastic spoon.
You laugh, in spite of everything. “Thank you.” You take a big bite, immediately soothing your burning tongue. When you see the absolute concern on Minseok’s face, you laugh again.
“It’s okay, the soup didn’t kill me,” you say.
“I know,” he frowns. “But I shouldn’t have teased you so far. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize, really.” Now that the fire in your mouth has been extinguished, you’re able to taste the delicious flavor of the ice cream. “Hey, this is really good.” You hold out a spoonful across the table for Minseok to try.
Carefully, he takes a small bite from your outstretched spoon. “Mm,” he hums.
“You know, you can always just make it up to me by taking me out again,” you say.
He laughs, the apples of his cheek flushing pink. “We can’t just keep treating dates as our way of paying back the other.”
“Okay then,” you say softly. “Why not just take me out because I want you to?”
Minseok nods, grinning. “I like the sound of that.”
⋆˙⟡♡ summary: nine love letters mysteriously appear at your door. nine confessions, nine requests for a valentine's date. who will you decide to spend your time with? choose your own adventure!
⋆˙⟡♡ wc (intro/m-list): 489 words
⋆˙⟡♡ content: exo x f! reader | this entire work is sfw | other content warnings will be posted with each individual part
⋆˙⟡♡ a/n: happy valentine's season my dears! i wanted to do something special for our boys. this is just a fun, fluffy, sfw thing so it will be a significant departure from my usual works (smut just didn't fit in with the vision of this project, but dw! there may be some festive filth in the works). this part functions as both a part 1/introduction and a masterlist, soooo keep reading!
"You're popular today."
You look up from your laptop and peer at the stack of letters in your roommate's hands. She waves the multicolored pieces of paper in front of your face with a sly grin. "Feels like I'm in kindergarten all over again and the popular kid got all the Valentine's."
"What are you talking about?" you sigh, holding your hand out impatiently. "Nothing exciting about getting a bunch of bills."
"Bills?!" She flops down next to you on the couch and spreads out the pink and red envelopes. "Do these look like bills to you?"
You take the envelopes and flip through them quickly. Sure enough, your name is plastered on the front of each one, each with different handwriting and writing styles. There's no return address, or even any indication of the sender's identity.
"Kinda creepy," you mutter.
"I think it's cute! Who's doing this anymore, huh? I'd much rather get one of these then get another 'you up' message from Hinge." She shudders. "Well, aren't you going to open them?"
You sit there and go through each letter one by one, your face burning embarrassingly hot with each word read out loud between the two of you. They're… love notes. Confessions of feelings ranging from silly and light-hearted to deeply sincere. With each note, you realize the identity of each letter writer: nine distinct men that you’ve had contact with recently. Some of whom you’ve known for years, but some that you barely knew their names.
Each letter ends similarly: a request to take you on a proper first date.
“It seems like I had better find some plans for Valentine’s Day,” your roommate whistles.
“I don’t even know what to do,” you moan, putting your head in your hands. “Nine dates to choose from?”
“Oh no, my steak is too juicy, my lobster is too buttered.” She pries your head out of your grasp and squeezes your hands reassuringly. “Hey, you know all these guys, right? It’s not like they’re creeps. You really can’t make a wrong choice here. And hey, who said you can’t go on all these dates?”
You roll your eyes, but she nods vigorously. “Seriously! If you really can’t choose… then don’t!”
You look at the scattered letters around you and think carefully. Of course, one date (or nine) couldn’t hurt. The question was: who should you reply to first?
⋆˙⟡♡ the artist you accidentally bumped into on the street last week?
⋆˙⟡♡ the man you’ve started talking to on the commute home from work?
⋆˙⟡♡ the pianist who’s always playing in your apartment lobby?
⋆˙⟡♡ your next-door neighbor who’s always trying to borrow some sugar?
⋆˙⟡♡ the barista at your favorite cafe?
⋆˙⟡♡ the guy you met at the record store?
⋆˙⟡♡ your old college friend you recently reconnected with?
⋆˙⟡♡ the dancer that’s always in the gym at the same time as you?
I'm sorry that I haven't been more active with messages, but life has been lifey. Meanwhile, eat, drink, and enjoy a fairy tale Prince Minseok.
Somewhere, I cannot tell you exactly where, but certainly in vast Russia, there lived an exceedingly powerful witch.
While she wasn’t a very nice witch, she wasn’t necessarily a bad witch. She was merely…
A witch.
This witch lived in the heart of the black woods, in a little cobbled cottage.
Or a high stone tower with no doors.
Or a cold iron keep.
It was hard to say, really, as she never appeared the same to any two people. No, this witch was a mystery, with both herself and her domain reflecting the hearts of any who beheld her.
Did she steal starving babes? Well…yes. Did she seek to eat the hearts of beautiful young girls? Yes. Did she lure away wandering children in the forest? Yes. Did she limn great and terrible curses that lasted for centuries, that felled glorious kingdoms…?
Yes.
She did.
But were there also tales of babes given to childless families? Yes. Tales of sickly maidens gifted hearts of pure ruby that would never fail, never falter? Yes. Tales of children reunited with those who had mourned them for lost? Yes.
Tales, and tales, and tales…
Some of them were even true.
Now, this witch--this young witch, this old witch, this most powerful witch--had an enemy. A rumpled, crumpled, wizened old man, hair hiding half of his face, bent and twisted both inside as well as out.
Or was he even a man?
Was he something older? Something sideways, something underhill, something that couldn’t cross the iron on her doorstep? Something jealous of the waxing power of a mere Daughter of Eve’s over the ancient waning of his?
Perhaps.
But this was once upon a time, so we’ll never know.
This little man, this unseemly man who had been called down on her by another, weaker, enemy, tried everything he knew to catch her and climb on her back, wrap his hands around her neck, but was never a match for her, oh no, he could never be a match for her.
But he was older. Oh, yes, far, far, far older. And though she was clever, he was cunning.
And patient.
He couldn’t approach her territory, for it always moved whenever she sensed his approach. He couldn’t send anyone after her, for she always smelled his scent on whomever he touched. His wet, clinging scent of swamp, and musk, and rotting leaves. But…he knew how to wait. And he could plan.
So, he waited, and he watched, until one day, the time came for him to disguise himself as an old man sitting by the banks of a stream, where he was stumbled upon by a poor farmer’s seventh son, as the youth foraged in the woods. The youth--because he was a good lad--asked why the grandfather stared into the stream so longingly.
“Because I have lost my ball, child,” said the wicked old thing. “I have lost my precious porcelain ball, given to me by my father’s father’s father, and I am too old, and too weak to search for it in the current.”
“That’s no trouble,” the lad said, striding into the rushing waters and searching until he found it. “Is this your ball?”
“Why, yes it is,” the old man said, his voice quavering.
“Well, then, have it back.” And with that, the youth nimbly tossed it back to the old man.
“Many thanks to you, lad,” said he. “And for your service, I’ll do you a good turn. Tell me, boy. What do you want most in this world?” With this, he threw off a little of his glamour, just enough to let the boy see that he was not as he had previously appeared.
The youth froze. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve heard of your kind. I’ll have none of your faulty promises.”
“Nothing like that, lad,” the old man rasped. “As done for me, shall I do for you.”
“And why should I believe you?”
The old man thought for a moment. He thought about his past, and he thought about his future. He thought about possibilities, and risks. But then he thought of that maddening grey witch, whose very existence plagued his thoughts, his waking, and his sleeping. Finally, he smiled, a sharp-toothed, crooked, rueful smile, and held out his hand. “I’ll give you my name.”
“And that’s the end of it? I’m no more beholden to you?”
The old thing that looked like a man held up a long, bony finger. “There is just…one more thing.”
“I knew it, I-”
“A story.”
The youth subsided. “A what?”
The thing that looked like an old man smiled. “You merely have to tell the right one a story.”
“What story? And who is the right one?” He was almost swayed now. Seduced by the promise of a prosperous life, come by so easily.
“Seven times seven times seven,” was the rasped answer. “You’ll know. When the time is right. As for what story, bend your ear and listen carefully…”
So the boy took the rumpled man’s name, and with it, a promise.
And the lad in stature grew, and in prosperity grew, and everything he touched grew. And when, in the natural way of things, he found a wife, she too grew. And grew, and grew, and grew, and grew, and grew.
And grew.
But when the time came for her youngest sapling to take root, he sailed instead, and everything he touched multiplied, and he was raised in stature, and importance, until he was an admiral of his majesty's royal fleet!
And on one of his many expeditions, he found a treasure, a fruitful treasure that he brought home to his land, and visited between every expedition. And through a little luck (and no little effort on his part), this treasure multiplied. Again, and again, and again, and again.
And again.
And the youth who had saved a porcelain ball from the river for an old man was now an old man himself. He could no longer farm, no longer walk, could only lie in bed, and look out into the great wide world that he once roamed, and think. And he thought, and he dreamed, until one day, in his old clabbered brain, something clicked. And so he called for his seventh son who came to him, and sat by his side. “My son,” he said, “The time is not long for me to go rest with my fathers. But before I do, I want you to bend the ear, listen close...”
And he told his son a story.
And he patted his hand.
And he died.
His son - the seventh son of a seventh son - bereft at the loss of his father, took comfort in his household. For a time, he stopped sailing the seven seas, staying home to watch over his precious family. One night, as he lay in the comfort of his wife’s arms, he told her a story, a story that had been told to him years before as his father lay dying.
That night, they conceived their seventh son.
The man soon returned to sea, leaving his family to get on as best they could in his absence and, longing for her husband, missing his presence, his wife began to tell her youngest son stories. First of his father's exploits, then of his father’s family, and finally…
A curious story.
And she told it over, and over, embellishing it as he grew, to continue to enthrall and entice him, until, by the time he was a strapping lad, his head had been filled with stories.
Stories of a girl.
A young girl who lived in the heart of the black woods, in a little cobbled cottage.
Or a high stone tower with no doors.
Or a cold iron keep.
A girl who was as kind as she was beautiful, as generous as she was clever, as pure as she was gentle. These stories bewitched the young man who, in his heart, began to think of them, not as stories, but as truth.
And so, one day, when he was full in the flower of his youth, the lad took his due, and struck out to seek his fortune, in the guise of a forest-dwelling girl.
It took many years, and many adventures, but as he was clever, strong, and handsome, his purse, like his courage, never failed. Until one day…
One day…
Deep in the heart of the black forest, he came across a maiden in a tree. One look at her sloe-eyed beauty, and he was struck.
Unfortunately, cursed with the ability to see into his heart, into that bright, shining, golden purity, so was she.
And so, they wed, and settled in town, where he became a merchant. And they loved each other very much. In fact, they loved each other so much that one day a little seed took root, and began to grow.
Unbeknownst to her husband, in preparation for her little blossom, the woman created a beautiful doll -- made and tied with neither needle nor blade, so as not to poke her child’s fate. Upon finishing the poppet, in the quiet, and in the dark, she brought its faceless head close to her mouth, and whispered.
One cold winter’s day, the time had come for the couple’s love to flower. The man, worried for his young wife, sent for the wisest of the midwives. Unfortunately, she was met on the way. Met by something very old, something that had the way of seeming.
Something crooked.
Some time later, the young father himself rushed to answer a sharp rap, brushing past servants in his haste. Through the opened door, a piercing wind blew, causing all who felt it to fall into the deepest slumber.
The old woman slowly mounted the stairs, screams and howls echoing off the dark walls of the stairwell. She stepped into the room. “Oh, lovey!” she crooned, hurrying over to support the back of the harshly panting mother. “Don’t you worry now. I’m here...”
The labour was long, longer than it should have been, but before the cock’s crow, the deed was done, and a beautiful, squalling baby girl, with eyes, and hair as dark as her mother’s, was held aloft in softly wrinkled hands. “Oh, isn’t she a dove,” the old woman said, before fixing her gaze on the failing woman lying on a bed of crimson. “Dearie, dearie me. Look at you, half worn out. Quick, give me her name, and you can rest.”
On a whisper it was given, and then the woman fell back.
“Dearie…dearie me…” The midwife took a step closer, the old woman’s skin melting off to reveal an unseemly bent and tattered form. The flesh slithered through the door, and down the stairs. “You’ve grown complacent, witch. Once upon a time, you would have known the very moment I stepped foot in the village.”
The woman on the bed sighed. “Did you kill him?”
The twisted old thing slowly shook his head, sidling closer to the foot of her bed, and wrapping a wizened old hand around one of the posts, leaning against the carved wood in a failed parody of charm. “No.”
“And the old woman?” Her voice was weaker now.
He waved a dismissive hand. “She’ll be fine. In time. I’m sure. Unless some beastie gets to her before her skin does.
The failing witch could only whisper. “And…my child…?”
Instead of answering, he just sighed, a dry, rustling sound like leaves in autumn. “How the mighty have fallen. Look at you…leaving them…all alone. And now that I have your daughter’s name…well…you just don’t know what I’ll do…”
The witch’s eyes fixed on the great walnut tree by the back door, and she sighed again. It was a long, drawn out sigh, sharp as the sound of a sword leaving its scabbard.
Then she was gone.
The old man looked down on his fallen foe. He felt no joy. Just a queer sense of dissatisfaction. The babe in his arm cooed, and he looked down at her. “Now, now,” he singsonged, brushing rumpled fingertips over her throat.
“None of that.”
***
The merchant awoke with a start. Standing before him was a man. Or what looked like a man. Or what looked like the skin of a man stretched over the bones and muscle of something decidedly more angular, and far more crooked. In his hands he held a child.
The merchant staggered to his feet, realizing that the too-quiet babe in the crumpled old man’s arms was none other than his own. He opened his mouth, took a stop forward, but before he could utter a word, the rumpled old thing held up a hand, and with that gesture, the man fell back into a chair as a wave of tiredness washed over him. “Listen well, son of Adam, for I will only say this once. Your wife is dead, your child’s name is mine, and with it I cast this curse. If ever she speaks…she belongs to me.”
The merchant was heartbroken, but despite his grief, he remembered something his wife had taught him long ago. “Grandfather Likho, you came into my house uninvited, and are therefore bound by the law of hosts to grant a boon. I thereby ask you, is there any way to break this curse?”
Thus identified, the old spirit -- constrained by the invocation of his title, if not his true name -- eyed the merchant in distinct dissatisfaction. But he was bound. “It can be broken…” he began slowly, reluctantly, “if a prince of the realm, knowing nothing of the curse, and without prompting, gives her back her name.”
With that, the old thing pushed the babe into her father’s arms, and was gone. As the servants began to stir, the young man buried his face in his daughter’s blankets, and cried.
***
“Chernislava!”
You sighed. Habit had awoken you from the loveliest dream, but at least it had been quiet as you readied for the day. But now, the lovely pre-dawn silence had been broken by the raucous voice of your eldest stepsister, Duschenka. Sighing again, you placed a mug of foamy kvass onto a wooden tray already laden with small bowls of porridge, and kutiya, a plate of eggs, pierogi, and cheese, and a little pot of honey. Lifting the tray, you quickly trotted upstairs to her room.
Duschenka said nothing as you gently placed the tray on her bedside table, merely waved you away as she reached for the frosty copper tankard without even looking.
“Chernislava!”
And there goes the other one, you thought, as the voice of your other older stepsister, Anastasia, jangled your already belaboured nerves. Quickly, you ran down to the kitchen to grab her tray and deliver it before her shrill yelling awoke--
A clear, clarion clang rang throughout the halls. Closing your eyes, you wearily hung your head.
Your stepmother.
Ever cold, she never raised her voice, never called for you like “some common fishwife”, though she allowed her daughters to do so. No, for her, it was always the bell. That silver bell. That eternal, infernal bell. And while most of the time, the demand on the other end of that bell was simple enough, sometimes, it was simply impossible.
***
You could no longer remember the name by which your father had called you. Before he married your stepmother. Before he was taken by the sea.
Upon your father’s death, you had been immediately relegated to the attic, allowed to take nothing from your old room, but the simple pillow that had been yours since the cradle. Apparently, it was ratty enough to satisfy your stepmother that you deserved it.
Driven almost mad from his death, unable to voice your pain, you had flung the pillow across the attic, and upon impact, the old, threadbare cover had torn, causing the pillow to dissolve into a puff of goose down.
And something that had thumped rather solidly as it hit the ground.
Curious, you had looked over to find a little doll with no face. As you picked it up, from under its skirt had fallen a little piece of rolled cloth. Unrolling the fabric, you found a note penned in a beautiful hand, and signed with three drops of blood. “My child, take this doll as my blessing. Always keep it with you, and never show it to anybody. If anything bad happens to you, give the doll food and ask her for guidance.”
Soon after your father’s death, your stepmother, jealous of your beauty, began giving you heavy outdoor work to do, so you would grow thin and your face would turn ugly in the wind and the sun. Despite this, you became more beautiful every day, for each day you gave your doll food and asked for advice, and after eating, she would sigh and say, "If your mother knew of this, it would break her heart, but fear not!" before helping with the tasks - even bringing herbs to prevent sunburn.
As the years passed, you grew ever more beautiful, and your stepmother's hatred of you intensified.
***
Cold enveloped your body as you passed into the deep, cloying shadow of your stepmother’s room, standing still by the door, casting your eyes about unseeingly.
“Chernislava.” Her voice was like the hollow bong of a graveyard bell. She enjoyed this, you knew. The moment of uncertainty, of blindness as you waited for your eyes to adjust to the dark. “Come closer…Let me look at you, child…”
Obediently, you walked forward, laying her tray on her bedside table, and standing beside her. Her round, almost cherubic face, surrounded by two fat braids as golden as summer wheat tilted upward to look at you. Her eyes were the clear, cold blue of the sky in deepest winter. “Well,” she murmured. “Don’t you just grow lovelier every day?”
It didn’t sound like a compliment.
“What a pity you’re a mute halfwit.”
You lowered your eyes, seething inwardly.
Languidly, she waved a hand. “That is all. You may return to your…duties.”
You could feel her gaze burning with an icy fire between your shoulder blades as you exited the room. Heading toward the laundry to begin boiling water for the wash, you wondered what fresh hardship she was devising for you.
You weren’t curious for long. That night, as darkness fell across the land, your stepmother crept around the house and extinguished all the candles. As the last candle failed, she said in a loud voice, "It's impossible to finish our work in the darkness. Somebody must go to the witch of the wood to ask for a light.”
"I'm not going," said Duschenka, who was stitching lace. "I can see my needle."
"And I'm not going," said Anastasia, who was knitting stockings, "I can see my needle."
Even before her daughter’s pronouncements, you felt your stepmother’s cold eyes trained on your figure, huddled in the leftover warmth of the hearth as you dipped a crust of stale bread into a cup of fresh milk. “Well, Chernislava,” she said, her voice almost pleasant. “Since I hear no protests, I suppose it will just have to be you.”
Silent as always, you hung your head, stood, and walked past her to slowly mount the stairs to your attic room.
Your stepmother’s cold, silken voice floated up the narrow stone stairwell as you continued to climb.“Pack your things…”
What she said next was so low you almost didn’t hear it, but when the meaning of her words registered, you shivered.
“Not like she’ll be coming back…”
In the attic, you looked around, realizing that there was next to nothing to take. Feeling petty, you opened the side of your pillow, and allowed the goosedown to fly around the room before filling the pillowcase with a threadbare shawl, a pair of ragged gloves, a patched pair of stockings, your thin blanket, and your mother’s note. That done, fear finally had a chance to set in properly, and you fell down onto the rough, lumpen mattress, holding your head in despair. Just then, a thought occurred, and, reaching into your pocket, you pulled out the rest of the crust of bread that you had been eating downstairs, fed it to your doll.
The doll sighed. "If your mother knew of this, it would break her heart, but fear not. Take the cloth with your mother’s three drops of blood, go to her grave beneath the walnut tree, and cry into the kerchief. Take whatever falls from the tree, and go wherever you are led.”
So you did as you were bade, and from the branches of the tree fell three fat walnuts, one of silver, one of gold, and one of diamond. You were placing them in your bag when golden motes of light dancing about your head suddenly caught your attention. Turning to investigate, you saw that fine particles of luminescent gold had created a path through the woods - leading in the opposite direction from the witch of the wood. Taking a deep breath, you placed the doll in the pocket of your apron, and followed the path in the night.
***
Now the tsarstvo in which you had been raised was unlike any other, in that royals of yore had brokered peace between their land and the southern border nation of Goryeo by way of a curious practice, and the way of it was this. In every generation, the kingdoms exchanged crown princes. Now, it was not an unusual practice for a nation to exchange royal wards, both as a gesture of goodwill, as well as for use as hostages, should peace be broken. However, the difference between that practice and this was that the exchanged (ceremonially switched as soon as one of them reached the age of 12) became crown princes of their new kingdoms, to live, grow, marry, beget, and rule where they were planted.
You, however, having lived on the northern outskirts of the tsarstvo, knew nothing of this.
As you walked throughout the night, you soon realized that every step you made took you twenty steps forward. This lasted until the threatening dawn found you at the gates of a vast city. Since no one demanded you halt, you cautiously walked through the gates, following the golden trail until it brought you to a vast fortress surrounding a beautiful palace. While wandering around the keep, your ears were suddenly assailed by the raucous sound of barking. Turning, you saw what looked like a pack of bears approaching, and you spun back around to flee, to escape, only to quickly be run over.
“Bolik! Buyan! Chernysh! Come back here!” A reedy, querulous voice demanded.
The beasts ignored it, choosing instead to lick whatever bits of your exposed skin they could find.
“Sobaka! Come!” said another voice, this one much smoother, and far more pleasant.
Almost instantaneously, the dogs - for dogs they were, great, energetic caucasians, already giants though they were still puppies - left you to gambol around the figure of a young, handsome man, dressed in finery the likes of which you had never seen.
You lingered on the ground, stunned by his beauty. The blackness of his hair, like a raven’s wing, the smooth gold of his skin, the deep, almost shocking warmth of his large, brown eyes, eyes that curved gracefully upward, reminding you of the Siberian cat your father had given you a few days after you were born. It stayed by your side, a constant and loyal companion, until your father married your stepmother, who, claiming that the cat “ruined her complexion”, gave him away to a traveling tinker in exchange for a hair ribbon.
“You there - rag girl! How dare you recline in the presence of your prince!” said the thin man with the reedy voice.
“Stand down, Sergei,” said the prince. “Can’t you see the poor thing’s overwhelmed?” Crouching, he reached out a hand, and helped you to your feet. “Come now, there’s a good girl. Are you alright?”
You nodded, with a shy, uncertain curtsey.
“The insolence! Your prince is speaking to you, girl. How dare you remain silent?! Answer his highness, Prince Minseok at once!”
Helplessly you looked from one man to the other before bringing your hand to your throat and shaking your head.
“Eh?” Sergei said. “The sluzhanka must be feebleminded. Well then, off with you!” he exclaimed, waving a dismissive hand.
“A moment!” said the prince, looking deeply into your eyes, his expression captivated. “I don’t think that she’s feebleminded at all, are you?” he asked, shaking his head slowly.
You mirrored him, shaking your head, the reflected gesture oddly intimate.
“You cannot speak.”
Relieved, you smiled, nodding vigorously.
The prince returned the smile, his eyes growing momentarily wistful and far away before once more fixing on you. “You have some business in the palace?”
Thinking for a moment, you mimed various chores.
“Ah,” said the prince. “You’ve come for a placement?”
Uncertain, but deciding to forge ahead when the doll in your pocket didn’t move, you nodded.
The prince glanced at his servant. “Surely, there’s something she can do.” Though he spoke to his servant, he seemingly couldn’t take his eyes off of you, looking at you with considerable warmth.
The servant glared down his long nose at you before sniffing affectedly. “Well, she will do for the kitchen, I suppose; she can sweep up the ashes, and do things of that sort.”
“Then, lead her there. I’ll be fine walking these beasts by myself.”
Sergei bowed before gesturing for you to follow him. “Come along girl, don’t dawdle.” After walking around the perimeter of the palace for what felt like ages, the servant led you through an abundant garden to a door that led to the palace kitchens. He then showed you a little corner under the staircase, where no light of day ever peeped in, and said, “Tomorrow, little rag girl, you must clean the yard, sweep the kitchen, help Cook with the meals, and wash the linen. Then you must go to the corn bin and separate seed by seed the mildewed corn from the good corn. And mind that you remove all the black bits. If you don't complete these tasks by nightfall, then I will see to it that you are thrown outside the palace, and left to beg in the city streets.”
Unsurprised by his demanding demeanour, having grown up with a stepmother who was as unreasonable as she was capricious, you merely nodded.
“Well now,” he said, looking down at you as if you were a country mouse. “You may lie and sleep there.”
As soon as he left, you took your doll out of your pocket, and gave it a crust of bread.
After eating, the doll sighed and said, "If your mother knew of this, it would break her heart, but fear not. Reach into your pocket, eat the supper you find, and go to bed. Everything looks better in the morning."
Obediently, you reached into your pocket and, to your surprise, found a whole roast chicken, which you downed, snickety-snak, and went to bed.
Upon awakening the next morning, you went to the corn bin and found the doll picking out the last black bits. The other tasks were also fulfilled.
The doll said, "All you have to do now is help with the day’s meals, and after that you can rest."
You thanked the doll and went to find the cook.
That night, the servant Sergei returned to find you. "Have you done as I directed?" he asked. Sneering at your nod, he investigated, but found the tasks were all completed. Returning, he glared down at you, unsatisfied. "Tomorrow you must do the same tasks and then you must go to the store room and sort out the dirt from the poppy seeds."
With the help of your doll, you managed to finish the tasks, and still have time for a small nap, a luxury hitherto not experienced since the death of your father.
In the evening the old servant returned and checked everything. Upon seeing that it was all done, he turned to you, this time with an appraising eye. “Well done,” he admitted, awkwardly, before turning around and leaving without another word.
And that is how you were sent into the kitchen, and made to fetch wood and water, to blow the fire, pluck the poultry, pick the herbs, sift the ashes, and do all the dirty work.
One morning, while you were in the garden picking herbs for that night’s dinner, a shadow fell over your basket, and you looked up to see the prince looking curiously down at you. He crouched, and, feeling a frisson of surprise to see him so close, you scrambled to your feet to make a graceful curtsey.
Grinning, he stood. “Pretty manners for a servant.”
Your face heated.
The prince smiled momentarily, before his expression grew earnest. “Back in my home country, I had a little sister like you. She never could speak, from the moment she was born, so I devised a system whereby we could talk with our hands.” His expression when he looked at you was almost shy. “I could…teach it to you, if you’d like.”
Without thinking, you reached out to grasp his hand and clasp it ardently, nodding enthusiastically.
Smiling almost shyly, he mirrored your nod, looking down. “Well then…” Looking around, he plucked a nearby flower and playfully slid it into one of your braids. Making a sign with his hand, he said, “flower”. He did it again. “Flower.”
You repeated the gesture and he nodded, smiling. Lightly touching your hair, he made another sign and said, “braid.” You quickly imitated it, and his smile grew wide.
Then his fingertips brushed your cheek. “Yeppeo…” he murmured.
Confused, you frowned. You didn’t know that word.
Grinning, he shook his head. “You don’t need to know.” He quickly sat on the ground, before reaching up to pull you down beside him. “Let’s start with the alphabet.”
***
So time passed, as time does, and to Prince Minseok’s delight, you were an apt and intelligent pupil.
And, in the way of things, you quickly fell in love. How could you not? The prince was handsome, intelligent, kind, playful at times, and though he always exuded nobility, he was polite, and considerate of all, often saying, “Manners maketh man.”
Despite the new tenderness of your heart, however, very soon it was said that the prince must marry, and that his betrothed was soon to arrive. You tried to comfort yourself with the knowledge that, as a servant, at least you would always be able to look upon him, to gaze at his beauty, listen to his words, and remember how sweetly he had always spoken to you. To have this… That would be enough.
But it was not enough. It would never be enough, could never be enough.
Having a rare moment to yourself, you were spending it lounging in one of the trees when a trumpeting fanfare caught your attention. Lifting your head, you peered down the winding road, only for your blood to run cold.
A carriage approached the palace, and in it - oh curse your far seeing eyes - in it sat one of the last people you wished to ever see.
Your stepsister, Duschenka.
But, how? Your family was neither a noble one, nor one that lived close to the palace. Then again, your stepmother was a scheming, conniving woman, and you could certainly believe that, had there been a way to manipulate her daughter’s way to the throne, she would have found it. Shivering, you pulled your shawl closer about your shoulders. Even something as loathsome as striking a deal with the witch of the wood…
Now that the carriage was closer, you could see your stepmother riding opposite her daughter, looking as cold and lovely as ever, dressed in aristocratic finery, the only jarring note…a black leather glove that covered her left hand.
Shaken at seeing her, you climbed down from the tree and ran to your alcove under the stairs, weeping piteously.
“Why are you crying?”
Shocked to find yourself not alone, as everyone else had leapt at the chance to run outside to see the prince’s prospective bride, you looked up to find Sergei curiously looking down at you. Though he had initially been cold and aloof, in the months that you had worked at the palace, he had begun to give you a grudging respect, even learning some simple signs so that he could more effectively communicate with you.
Shaking your head, you huddled further into your nook, turning away, and sighing piteously.
After a moment, he spoke again, his voice a bit gentler. "If you will not tell me, then write your woes, and place them in the iron oven," he said, and walked away.
Taking a piece of paper from Cook’s book of receipts, you crept into the large iron oven, and began to weep and to lament, at last opening your heart and writing down what you had suffered at the hands of your wicked stepmother, and evil stepsisters.
Too soon, the sound of returning servant’s chatter about the next night’s feast preparations caught your attention, and you hurriedly climbed out of the stove, leaving behind your tale to be burned as so much kindling for the night’s dinner.
Now, unbeknownst to you, the old servant had stood outside the oven-door listening to your cries, and he crept in behind you, snatching up your tale, and reading it with increasing anger. Carefully folding the paper, he put it in his pocket, vowing to help you in any way he could.
That night, in your alcove, you fed your doll a bit of meat, and after she had eaten, she sighed and said, "If your mother knew of this, it would break her heart, but fear not. Tomorrow night, as soon as the feast is well underway, indicate to the cook that you would like to go up a little while and see what is going on.”
So the next night, you did as the doll had bade, and the cook said, “Yes, you may go, but be back again in half an hour’s time, to rake out the ashes.”
So you took your little lamp, and snuck into the deserted laundry room, where you washed the soot from your face and hands so that your beauty shone forth like the sun from behind clouds. As your doll had instructed, you opened your shimmering nutshell, and pulled out a glimmering dress that shone like the stars. The dress fit perfectly, and as soon as you were in it, your doll dressed your hair faster than you could even blink. Thanking her, you then put her in your pocket as she had instructed, for she was to sit in your pocket, and speak aloud your thoughts throughout the adventure, lest your muteness alert the prince as to your identity.
After mounting the stairs, you took a deep breath before entering the ballroom, closing your eyes to gather your courage. Exhaling slowly, you opened the door, and walked inside. Though everyone made way for you (for nobody knew you, and they thought you could be no less than a king’s daughter), Prince Minseok came to you as if drawn, held out his hand, and invited you to dance. When the song was at an end you curtsied, but fled the moment Prince Minseok looked away.
When he looked round, you were gone, no one knew wither. The guards that stood at the castle gate were called, but they had seen no one.
Heart light, you ran back to the laundry room, pulled off your dress, folded it neatly back into the walnut, dirtied your face and hands, and were once more just a little maid. After returning to the kitchen to continue your work, you began to rake the ashes, but the cook said, “Let that alone till the morning, and go to bed. I need you well rested for tomorrow’s feast.”
So you curled up as small as a mousekin in your little alcove, clutching your memories close, the recollection of the warmth and strength of Prince Minseok’s hands - as he lifted yours aloft, as he gently held you by the waist to to spin and whirl you about the dance floor - warming you better than any night’s fire.
The next night, there was another feast, and you once more asked the cook to let you go and see it as before. “Yes,” said she, “but return before the soup course, to prepare that soup the prince likes so much.”
After running once more to the laundry room, you quickly washed yourself, and from the pale, shining walnut pulled a dress bright as the silvery moon.
When you entered the ballroom, looking once more like a king’s daughter, Prince Minseok yet again abandoned his betrothed without a single backward glance, his expression alit with joy as he approached you, his gaze locked onto your own.
When the music commenced, you once more danced together, but upon the conclusion of that dance, the prince began another. In fact, Prince Minseok continued to dance with you, and only you, for half the night. But when one of the courtiers approached him to ask a question, you took the opportunity to slip out so slyly that the prince once more did not see where you had gone.
In the laundry room, you again made yourself into the poor little maid, before skipping to the kitchen to cook the soup. As you stirred, you sighed, your heart full of love for the man who had held you close all night. Thinking of how he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire time you had been in his arms, you were overcome and wept with joy, the tears from your eyes falling into the pot.
When the dish was brought to the prince, he ate, and it pleased him as well as before, so he sent for the cook, who confessed that it was you who had prepared it. At that he looked thoughtful, wistful.
Upon seeing his expression, Duschenka leaned over, dipping her little golden spoon into the prince’s bowl to taste the soup for herself. As soon as the liquid hit her tongue, she made an awful face. “Ugh,” said she, “it is bitter!”
Taken aback by her lack of manners, Prince Minseok gently laid down his spoon, and waved his hand for a servant to take away the soup. In truth, he did not like his betrothed. Though she was pretty enough, she was loud and brash, opinionated - which should have been good - but her opinions were always backed by nothing more structured than her feelings, which seemed to be as capricious as an ill wind. She was haughty, petty, vindictive, simple, small-minded, and jealous, and the thought of spending his life with her was truly horrid.
He thought of you, of your sweet face, and open, soft expression. He had been captivated by the beauty with whom he had danced the past two nights, true, but only because she looked ever so much like you. He wished…he wished somehow that she could be you. Your dark eyes, so warm, so inviting, so comforting, and so lovely, staring up at him as he danced with you in his arms.
At his side, Duschenka held out her goblet for more wine. Since she had arrived, he had watched her drink far more than she ate, yet she never seemed drunk, just truculent.
Sighing, he lifted longsuffering eyes to his parents, who returned his gaze with sympathy. In truth, none of them could figure out how this genuinely unpleasant woman had come to be his betrothed, but every time he thought about it too deeply, his thoughts would begin to wander…
Prince Minseok blinked with a start. The musicians had begun another song, this one lovely, wistful. It stirred his soul, and he felt a tear slip unbidding from his eye. Surreptitiously, he brushed it away, unsure of why he suddenly felt so melancholy. Catching the eye of the lead musician, he gestured for them to change to something more lively.
He couldn’t imagine why he had felt so mournful…
***
The next night was the final feast, after which the betrothal would be officially announced. You begged your leave of the cook a third time, and she agreed. After locking yourself in the laundry room, you chose the gilded walnut, and from it pulled a dress that shone as golden as the morning sun.
Sweeping into the ballroom, you searched for the prince, and within moments, your eyes locked. Striding forward, Prince Minseok bowed, and held out his hand, gracefully accepting yours before dancing with you again, only this time throughout the night and into the dawn. When the festivities finally came to an end, he would have held you fast, but you slipped away, springing so quickly through the crowd that he lost sight of you.
Not everyone lost sight of you, however.
Sergei had been observing you since the first night, watching, considering, and pondering who you could possibly be. Though Sergei could be a bit high-handed, Sergei was clever, and by the second night, he had been positive that he knew exactly who you were. Following you, he saw you rush into the laundry room only for the mute kitchen maid to emerge some moments later.
He wasn’t perfect, but Sergei was a good servant, who loved his master. He wanted to see him happy, and more importantly, he wanted to see the realm in good hands.
He wasn’t sure what this…Duschenka had over his masters, but he saw her clear and plain, and if there was anything that he could do to both make his prince happy, as well as thwart this horrid woman in her attempt to graft herself into the royal line - not to mention fulfill his vow to support you - then he was willing to do it.
Rushing to his prince’s side, he whispered low, “Your Highness, do you wish to know the identity of the mysterious girl with whom you have been dancing every night?”
The Prince looked at him in surprise. “More than anything,” he answered, putting a hand on his servant’s shoulder, and guiding him to a private nook where he could speak freely.
“Then come with me, and stay silent, lest we alert her to our presence before you are ready.” With that, he moved forward, cutting silently and easily through the crowd as the prince followed in his wake.
Opening the secret door that you had taken, he led the prince down the stairs, to the kitchen where you were just about to settle into your alcove, your face once more covered in ashes and soot.
Before you could react, Sergei had strode forward, and reached into your apron, pulling out the three magical walnuts. A slip of gold peeked out from the golden shell, and Sergei tugged on it, only for the shell to spring open, disgorging the shining contents at your feet.
Prince Minseok looked at the dress lying at your feet, glittering in the banked light of the oven, then back at you, his expression bewildered. “Chernislava, was it you? Is it true? Are you she? The one who has danced with me, and stolen my heart every night? But I don’t understand...”
At that, Sergei pulled out your crumpled piece of paper, handing it to the prince, and bidding him to read. Horrified, you reached for it, intending to throw it into the fire, but a shifting in your pocket told you to hold your peace.
Within moments, the prince looked back up at you, his eyes searching. “Ah… So you have been through all of this. I am sorry for it.” His jaw tightened, his expression darkening as he looked off into the distance. “So this is the kind of woman my betrothed is. Now, I know all…” He turned to his servant, the light of determination in his eyes. “Sergei, we must have another feast tomorrow. Return to the great hall, and announce that I have declared it. Then, go to my mother’s dressmakers and have them make a dress for my little one that rivals the morning dawn. By this time tomorrow, I will put all to right.”
So Sergei did as his master bid. Meanwhile you were taken to the noble’s quarters, bathed, scrubbed, pampered, and scented. The maids who attended to you were warm and friendly, and freely chattered about your lovely skin, your thick, lustrous hair, and great, dark eyes.
By the time the final feast was underway and you had entered the great hall, even your step sister did not recognize you, so dazzling were you in your new finery.
With a great fanfare, Prince Minseok entered the room, and crossed to his false bride. Lifting her hand, he called for attention as he plucked a goblet from a waiting servant. “My bride,” he began smoothly, “everyone here is dazzled by your beauty, but they have yet to know the true depth of your wisdom. And so, I put a question to you. Your answer will decide a woman’s fate.”
Inflated by the prince’s words, Duschenka preened under the eyes of the assembly. “Of course, my prince. It is as you say. Please, continue.”
He kissed the back of her hand, but you didn’t miss the cold intensity of his dark eyes as he regarded her.
Then the prince gave Duschenka a question to answer, as to what such an one deserved who had deceived her betters in such and such a manner, teling the whole story with enough changes so as not to cause her to recognize the tale, and ending by asking, "Now, what doom does such an one deserve?"
"No better than this," answered the wicked stepsister, "that a pair of shoes, sharp as knives, be fashioned, and that she should be made to wear them and dance at the wedding of the prince, and his true beloved."
“Very well,” said the prince. "Thus you have spoken, and thus it shall be done." With that, he motioned for his guards, who dragged away the evil stepsister, shrieking and howling, to the dungeons.
Then, gently pulling you close, Prince Minseok looked deeply into your eyes, an enchanted smile lifting the corners of his beautiful mouth. “This is my true bride. My life’s companion. Masha; my Beloved.”
You gasped at the sound of your true name, even as a sharp, piercing wind blew through the hall. Wonderingly, you took Prince Minseok’s hand in your own. Looking up at him with tears in your eyes, you smiled. “You…have freed me. ”
Tears sprang to his eyes at the sound of your soft voice, and he bowed his head, held you close.
And somewhere, a crooked someone howled so loudly, and stamped so viciously, that he broke his own legs.
But this isn’t his story, and no one cares about him.
congrats on 200 followers!! 🥳 thank you for doing this little drabble game! I’d like to request minseok + “is that a drawing of me?” 💖
hi rose!! thank u sm💞💞💞thank u for sending in a request!! i do hope you enjoy bb!!💓💓💓
12) “is that a drawing of me?”
genre: non-famous college au! fluff!!!!
wordcount: 905
warnings: one swear
author’s note: this gif is literally him in this fic BYEEEEEEEEEEEEE😭😭😭
also im gonna tag my fav elsa @his-mochi-cheeks bc ur mans is making me emotional and bias wrecking me HARD
You knew you were going to be brought right back as soon as your pencil hit the blank page of your sketchbook.
Ever since your middle school days, you were quite notorious for drawing your new crushes at least once in your little sketchbook. Even if the older drawings were a tad lackluster, you still managed to capture their looks in your own unique style. Even if none of those drawings would ever see the light of day.
As soon as Minseok sat in the seat next to you, you knew you were a complete goner. Throughout class, you had to resist the itching urge to abandon your note taking and take out your sketchbook. You had to suppress the need to capture Minseok’s spectacle-clad face looking down at his notes in concentration as your professor lectured on and on about the wonderous world of ancient Egypt.
Which is why you waited until class was over.
The magnolia tree atop the large hill overlooking your college campus was your favorite spot to draw. It provided the perfect amount of shade for you as you sat underneath, either drawing the scenery before you or something else for your art classes and/or free time.
After putting your headphones in and blasting your favorite artist in your ears, you began to look through Minseok’s social media feed for inspiration for your drawing. It didn’t take long, as his most recent picture provided a perfect pose and outfit for you to capture.
‘Score.’ You thought to yourself as you set your phone onto the grass.
His brown hair parted perfectly in the middle, providing the perfect contrast to his fair skin and white, rounded glasses. Crinkled eyes coupled with a heart-shaped, gummy smile was enough to make you blush and grin to yourself.
Minseok pushed his glasses up his nose as he made his way up the hill to sit at his favorite spot under the magnolia tree. He, like you, enjoyed the view and the serenity that the spot provided for him. As he got closer to the spot, he stopped in his tracks.
He recognized you: the pretty, daydreaming girl he always sat next to in class but never had the nerve to speak to. Swallowing his nerves, he finished the trek up the hill and sat down next to you. He went to take his books out of his bag when he looked over your shoulder, setting his eyes on your drawing.
Eyes widening, Minseok studied the way your pencil moved across the paper, capturing every single detail of his face. He felt as he was looking in a mirror with the innate precision you put into every single shape of the sketch. He watched your pencil in pure, blossoming awe.
You stopped drawing for a moment to scratch at an itch on the right side of your face. What you did not expect was to accidentally elbow somebody in the face. You let out a yelp as you dropped your pencil and sketchbook, putting your arm down immediately.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize somebody came up here-” Your eyes widened when you made eye contact with Minseok. “Oh! Minseok, right? Are you okay?” You reached behind and tried to close your sketchbook, pushing it toward your bag before cupping his cheek and looking at his eye.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” Minseok said, adjusting his glasses.
“Are you sure? I’m so sorry I hit you, really.”
“It’s okay, please don’t worry,” You nodded, moving your hand away from his face. You went to pick up your “closed” sketchbook to put into your bag before freezing in your spot at Minseok’s words. “Is that a drawing of me?”
You looked down at the book, swearing loudly when you saw Minseok’s sketched eyes staring down at you. In an instant, you slammed the book shut and put it into your bag. “Um... I...”
“No no, don’t put it away, please. Do you mind if I take a look?” You gave him a short nod, opening the sketchbook and shoving it in his direction.
Oodles and oodles of doubts and anxieties swirled around your mind. What if he thought you were creepy for drawing him? What if he hated it? What if he laughed in your face and ripped it up?
“Holy shit,” You nervously turned around, seeing Minseok staring at the page in amazement. “This... this is incredible. I watched you draw it for a bit before, but now that I’m getting a proper look? It looks so much like me. You’ve got a gift.”
“You don’t think I’m weird for drawing you?” you asked, looking down at your hands.
“Honestly, I was a little shocked at first. But considering how amazing your style is and how cute you are, it’s all good.” You sputtered in shock, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.
“Are you sure?” Minseok inched closer to you, placing a hand on your cheek and smiling.
“I’m positive,” He leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. You felt your smile grow wider and your face grow redder at the soft contact. He pulled away, scratching his nape and quickly adjusting his glasses. “Um, would you like to get dinner with me tonight? It can just be at the dining hall or something-” You cut him off with a kiss on his lips.
[4:49 PM] The rain hits you as you walk back towards your house. The wet droplets from the sky soaks you and your clothes. You walk carefully and try not to slip on the sidewalk and you hear a car slowly pull up behind you. You turn around, but is unable to identify the driver because of the heavy rain and the dark clouds. The car slowly drives towards you and the window rolls down.
“Y/n! Get in the car you’re going to get sick!” You look inside the car and see your best friend Minseok driving the car. You gladly open the car door and place yourself on the passenger side. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve driven you home!” he scolds you.
“My phone died after my class ended and I didn’t know it was going to rain,” you answer him honestly. “Thanks for the ride though Minseok. I appreciate it,” you smile at him. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you walked home in the rain,” he says and continues driving.
Pale winter light streamed into the bedroom, awakening you. Groaning, you rolled over and stretched out your arms to find--
Nothing.
The bed was cold.
Grumbling, you curled back in on yourself, taking your husband’s pillow and pulling it lengthwise against your chest before burying your face into the fluffiness, inhaling the fresh scents of basil, mandarin and limes, spiked with his own clean smell. Gradually, other scents started to waft past your nose--scents of warm mocha bread, fresh red bean buns, spicy curry croquettes, smoked sausage bread, ham and cheese pastries, and egg tarts. Curling up even further, you pulled the covers over your head to block out the tempting smells.
“Ohhh…” A soft voice came from the door.
You ignored it.
“Somebody’s awake…”
“No, I’m not,” you pouted.
The bed depressed as your husband sat on the edge. “Oh? No? Not awake? Well, then, I guess that you don’t want any breakfast.”
“No,” you said pettishly.
After a moment, quiet chewing sounds reached your ear, and you peered out from the covers to see Minseok happily munching on a fluffy, golden, mocha roll, the dark brown swirls curving temptingly over the shining surface. Rising, you sidled up next to him, leaning against his side, and opening your mouth. With a chuckle, he pulled off a generous piece and popped it into your mouth, patting your cheek. “My contrary baby,” he teased, taking the last bite and brushing off his hands before unceremoniously slipping them under you and lifting you out of bed--blanket and all. “Come on,” he said, walking you toward the kitchen, “time for breakfast. Unless you want my brothers to eat it all.”
Thinking about the three hoovers Kim Jongdae, Kim Jongin, and Kim Junmyeon, you kicked your legs a little to urge him on. “Hurry! I want a croquette and sausage bread. And an egg tart.”
Setting you down on the counter, and adjusting the blanket around your head and shoulders, he pulled what you asked from the Paris Baguette bag. “Don’t worry, I bought plenty. I’m not about to let my pretty little wife go hungry.” Handing them to you, he moved in between your legs, leaning close to give you a chaste kiss. “Do you want some coffee?”
Wrinkling your nose, you gave him a sideways look. “You keep trying…”
“It’s delicious.”
“Hot chocolate, please,” you said primly.
With a knowing smirk, Minseok handed you a to-go cup.
Taking a small sip, you smiled, before relaxing back against the cabinets. “Mint choco--my favourite.”
Nodding, he began to take the rest of the food out of the bags and arrange it on the dining room table. “I know, I know. If I know nothing else, I know my wife.”
Smiling at him over your cup, you took another sip. “So, how are we going to do today?”
“The boys and I are going to go hang the lights at Oemma and Appa’s house, do a little Christmas shopping, and then pick a tree and bring it back. After that, I figured that we could all watch some holiday movies while we decorate here.”
“Sounds like a plan. Pizza for dinner?”
“That’s not very festive,” he pouted.
“I know, yeobo, but let me go just this once, hm? Work has been so busy...I’m tired…” Pouting up at him, you batted your eyelashes, already knowing that you had won before you even finished your sentence.
He leaned in for another kiss, but paused as the sound of your door code being input rang through the apartment. Giving you an arch look, he grinned. “Save that for later.”
Grinning back, you sank your teeth into the croquette, groaning at the spicy flavour.
“Yag, save some for us!” Junmyeon called, crowding into the kitchen with Jongdae and Nini, who started to root through the Paris Baguette bag.
“Yah,” Minseok yelled, “The food’s on the table!”
“Yes, but I know that you always keep back the choux cream bread for yourself,” Nini grinned, pulling out a bun, and biting into it, before grabbing a couple of smoked sausage buns, and going to flop on the couch. “Thanks, Hyung!”
“Egg tarts!” Jongdae crowed, piling several on a saucer with a ham and cheese pastry. “My wife hasn’t let anything made with eggs into the house since she got pregnant.”
“How is she?” you asked, silently pointing to the mocha bun in Junmyeon’s hand, and giving him big eyes until he sighed and handed it to you before grabbing another.
“Great. She’s spending the weekend with her family, planning the baby shower.”
“That sounds nice,” you sighed, leaning back, and patting your full belly. “Ah, I feel like I can live again!”
“Noona, what are you going to do while we’re gone?” Nini asked, swiping an egg tart off of Jongdae’s plate as soon as he sat down beside his younger brother.
“Well, I have to create and add the data visuals to a paper before sending it to the TAs for the next step.”
“Sounds...boring,” Jongdae sympathized.
“It is, but,” you started, pulling Minseok to your side, and rubbing your hand up and down his arm, “I have to keep my trophy husband in the style to which he has become accustomed.”
Grinning, Minseok covered his mouth in mock coquetry. “I always wanted to be a kept man.”
Rubbing his flat stomach, Junmyeon peered into the fridge. “Do you guys have any doenjang jjigae?”
“I told you,” Minseok muttered in your ear. “Hoovers.”
***
MINSEOK POV
The late afternoon air in the snow covered forest smelled crisp and fresh. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, throwing out my arms, never missing a moment to be grateful to be alive.
“Hyung!” Nini whined. “So embarrassing!”
“You never truly appreciate breathing until you can’t do it anymore!” I said, hefting the axe that we rented at the entrance to the Cut Your Own Tree Park, and walking deeper into the “woods”...
“So, what are we looking for?” Junmyeon asked, pulling on his gloves.
“I want the tallest, fullest one that we can find!” Looking around, I didn’t see too many candidates, but we had a couple of hours of light left.
“I bought coffee, japchae hotteok, and bungeoppang!” Jongdae called as he trailed us from the entrance.
“Great, “I’m freezing!” Nini said, accepting the food. When Jongdae held out a cup, he just looked at it, then looked up at Jongdae, who rolled his eyes.
“It’s cocoa, you little baby!”
“Coffee isn't delicious!” Nini whined, accepting the cocoa, and sipping it with a pleased little smile.
“My wife is the same way,” I said, accepting my own food from Jongdae, as I stop in front of a candidate. “She refuses to even touch a cup of coffee darker than milk.” Waving at the tree in question, I ask. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Junmyeon mused. “It’s full, but it’s a bit short, isn’t it? You guys have pretty high ceilings--you should take advantage of them.”
“You’re right.” Moving on, I take a bite of steaming hotteok, savouring the warm, comforting, familiar flavour of savoury soy sauce, unctuous sesame, rich beef, and sweet onions and carrots. Even though I’ve been “back” for years now, I still remember what it was like not to be able to feel anything, taste anything. Food is delicious! And my wife smells so good! Feels even better.
“I think I found one,” Nini said from several yards away.
Trudging in the knee-deep snow to where he stood, I eyed his choice. Good height, but…”It’s a little spindly, isn’t it?”
Taking a step back, he closed first one eye, then the other, tilting his head this way, and that. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,’ he nodded, before taking a huge bite of bungeoppang.
“So, Nini,” I started as we let Jongdae take the lead. “How are things at school?”
“School’s fine,” he shrugged.
Junmyeon caught my eye, and we smirked. Slinging an arm over Nini’s shoulder, I patted his cheek. “Nini...you know when hyung asks about school…”
His eyes widened. “You’re not really asking about school!”
“There you go!” Junmyeon laughed.
Nini’s face turned bright red, and I couldn’t help but slap him on the back. “Who is she?”
“Yah, Hyung, she’s just a friend,” he mumbled.
“Oh, really?” Jongdae had snuck back around, and Nini jumped when Jongdae popped up from behind. “Tell us about this ‘friend’.”
“She’s...an exchange student.”
“Ohhh!” Nini started a little as I poked him in the side. “Our little brother has become an international man of mystery!”
“Hyung!” he whined.
“Alright, alright,” Junmyeon said, holding up his hands, before pulling Nini away from where Jongdae and I were trying to tickle him through his thick parka. “He’s not going to want to tell us anything if you keep teasing him,” he grumbled.
“But he squeaks,” Jongdae quipped.
“...You do squeak,” Junmyeon admitted, tilting his head toward our little brother.
Fighting from his hold, arms waving, Nini pulled away. “Ah, I don’t know, I don’t know--alright! She’s from Mexico, and she wants to become a makeup artist, and she’s really pretty and nice and talented, and she helps me with my English homework, and she is so smart, like really smart, and she has these big warm brown eyes that just--” he clasped his hands to his heart and sighed, “and her hair is nice--it’s this really pretty choco colour, and it’s wavy like a fairy, and she’s soft, and she smells nice, and I like her…” This last part was directed at his shoes.
“Wow.” Feeling a bit chagrined, I give him a pat on the shoulder. “She sounds nice. Does she know?”
“No,” he mumbled morosely.
“Do you think that she likes you back?”
“I don’t know,” he answered in the same morose tone.
“What have you done other than letting her help you with your English homework?”
“I don’t know. I know that she likes banana milk, so I always give her one at the start of class. I asked her to do my makeup for the dance showcase. We eat dinner together every weekday, and lunch on most days. She lets me carry her backpack.” He grinned at that. “One time, she called me over when there was a spider in the corner of her room.”
“And what did you do?” Jongdae asked.
“I went over and I killed the spider. She couldn’t have reached it--it was really high.”
Jongdae and I shared a look over Nini’s bowed head, but I had to look away to keep from laughing. It was just so cute!
“She keeps asking me questions about the military. Most girls don’t want to hear about it, you know, but she always wants me to tell her stories about what happened when I was in.”
“Oh, wow,” Jongdae laughed, “if she’s asking to hear your military stories, then she really must like you!”
“Right?” Nini asked, lifting his head and flashing a bright smile.
“I think that you should be straightforward and ask her on a date.” I saw the moment that Nini started to close in on himself. “Think about it. Life is just too short to be unsure, and you don’t want some other guy to ask her out while you’re still trying to gather the courage. You know how some guys can be about foreigners--” Nini straightened, eyes flashing, and I held up my hands, “--so you want to try to get in there before some jerk preys on any possible cultural naivete.”
“But…” he deflated again, “what if she doesn’t like me back?”
“Then…” Jongdae paused. “Then...you take it like a man. You be her friend. Maybe one day she’ll change her mind, but meanwhile, you keep living your life. Date pretty girls. Eat delicious food. Don’t push her away just because she might not be into you. Sometimes girls change their minds, and sometimes they don’t--but if she’s as nice as you say, then she sounds like she’d still make a really good friend.”
“Yeah. You’re right, Jondae hyung.”
“Yah--I was the one who told you to go for it,” I protested.
“But Jongdae hyung bought me hotteok.”
“I bought you breakfast!”
“But it wasn’t Korean,” Nini sniffed. He ran as I reached for his neck, before stopping and pointing behind me, “Minseok hyung--what about that one?!”
Twisting, I looked in the direction where he had pointed, but didn’t see any possibilities. “Where?”
Turning back just in time to see him waving his tongue at me, before running away, I had to sigh.
“That’s the oldest trick in the book,” Jongdae reproved.
“Hyung, how could you fall for that?” Junmyeon added.
“He falls for it every time,” Nini called from several yards away.
“I let you trick me!” It felt good to see him happy, so I pouted just to see him crow in delight.
“Awww, Hyung, don’t be mad,” he said, darting in to give me a hug, before darting away “before I can grab him”. Lifting his hands to his head he made a heart. “I love you!”
Shuddering, I looked away. “Stop it, you’re giving me the shivers.”
“I love you!” Junmyeon started in, turning, and shooting me finger hearts.
“Quit it!”
“I love you,” Jongdae added, doing an apple heart with his hands.
“I hate you all.”
Laughing, they pushed and pulled me around until I let them have one tiny grin. “Alright, alright, enough about Nini’s love life.” Cutting my eyes to Junmyeon, I waggled my finger. “How about yours?”
Blushing, he ran a hand over his hair, grinning, his eyes getting that squinty look that he makes when he’s feeling shy. “Well, you know…”
“No, we don’t know, Hyung,” that’s why we asked,” Nini deadpanned.
Faking a punch, Junmyeon turned slightly and indicated the tree behind him. After we all took a glance and looked at each other, we had to agree, shaking our heads and moving on. “Well...the new psych doctor and I have been getting closer…”
“Is that the one on exchange from that hospital in America?” Jongdae asked.
Junmyeon nodded, blushing even harder.
“Yah...as expected, the Kim family charms are worldwide,” I said, swinging my axe and swaggering.
“It’s not that serious,” Junmyeon answered quickly. Too quickly.
“Dates?” Jongdae asked.
“A couple,” Junmyeon admitted.
“How many is a couple?” I asked. I know my brother, and I am suspicious.
“Th...ree?” he answered hesitatingly.
“Three is not a couple--that’s a few!”
“A couple, a few--what’s the difference?”
“Three dates are pretty serious, hyung,” Nini said, his face uncharacteristically sober. “When are you going to define the relationship?”
‘I don’t know--it’s so hard to tell what she’s thinking, and I always worry that she’s analyzing me. Whenever she looks at me, her eyes just look so blue, and you can see right to the pupil, and they’re always so huge, like she’s reading my mind, or analyzing me, and I just get nervous, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to mess it up.”
“Have you kissed?”
“Jongdae!” Reaching out to pluck his forehead, I waved at Junmyeon. “Don’t mind him. His wife is pregnant, so all he can think about is romance.”
“It’s incredible...” Jongdae said, his face moony.
“Thank you for your blessing,” Jongdae said, bowing. “Now back to Hyungsu seongsangnim…”
“It’s not that serious,” Junmyeon protested, though the smile on his face told us all we needed to know.
“What do you like about her?” Jongdae asked.
“Well, when she first came, she had all of this long blonde hair down her back, but after a few weeks she cut it to her chin, and sometimes, after I’ve pulled an all nighter, she’ll stand in the doorway to my office, and she’ll be backlit by the rising sun, and her hair looks like dandelion fluff, and I just want to take her cheeks and squish them--she’s so cute I can’t stand it! But even though she looks so adorable, she’s so smart and sarcastic that it’s scary. I’ve seen her rip grown men to shreds for not treating her patients properly, and I’ve never been so simultaneously attracted, yet terrified.”
Silence fell for a moment, and then--
“So, she really showed you another side of yourself, huh?” Jongdae asked, smirking.
“After your wife gives birth, I’m going to sneak into your house and poke holes in all of your condoms,” Junmyeon said, glaring.
Jongdae shrugged. “Go ahead. My wife looks gorgeous pregnant, we can afford it, and she already said that she wants at least four.”
“Yah, you really lucked out, Hyung,” Jongin said, serious for once.
Jongdae chuckled quietly, his mischievous grin softening at the thought of his wife. “Yeah, I did. Minseok hyung did, too.”
For a moment, my face hurt, and then I realized that it was because I was smiling so hard. “I did. I really did. Kyaaa, it’s so nice to be alive!”
“We’re glad that you’re alive, too, Hyung,” Nini said quietly.
Suddenly feeling emotional, I cringed, and brushed it off. “Alright, that’s enough feelings, let’s go find something big, chop it down, and drag it home, call?”
My brothers looked at each other and nodded, before looking back at me. “Call.”
Despite our best efforts, we weren’t able to find a satisfactory tree. Actually, there were several that I really liked, but my brothers found fault with every single one, picking each tree apart until we had to give up and agree to return tomorrow. On the way back to the car, Junmyeon’s phone rang, and as soon as he looked down, his face lit up.
“Ohhhhoohoo,” Jongdae teased, “It must be Hyungsu seonsangnim.”
“Shut up!” Junmyeon growled, raising a threatening fist, before answering the phone.
“Yeoboseyo? Mm. Mmmm. Oh, really? Yes. Yes... Yes, that should be fine. Alright. Don’t worry about it--this sort of thing is nothing. Alright. See you in a bit.”
Catching his eye in the rearview mirror, I raised a brow.
“Her little sister is in town, and she was hoping that I could accompany them to a night market. She, uh…” he puffed out his chest, “she would feel safer if I were to uh, you know… accompany her…”
“Night markets are really safe, though?” Jongdae deadpanned.
Junmyeon cut him a glare.
“Ohhh, she’s trying to show you off to the family.” Turning on my signal, I looked both ways before carefully easing out onto the street. “I think that it’s safe to say that she likes you.”
“Yes, well…” Grinning, Junmyeon looked down at his phone before looking up at me with a serious expression. “I’m sorry, Hyung--I know that you wanted to hang out tonight, but…”
“It’s fine. Christmas comes every year.”
“Thanks for understanding,” Junmyeon said, looking out the window--a hopeful smile on his face.
We were just turning onto my street when Nini’s phone buzzed with a text.
Junmyeon almost broke his back trying to peek over our little brother’s shoulder to read it--Nini had to curl up practically into the fetal position to get away. Still--it did no good. “Looks like Agasshi is asking our Nini out on a date!”
“What?!” Jongdae crowed, turning around to give Junmyeon a high five. “As expected--with the Kim charm, you didn’t even have to lift a finger! The ladies come to you like cherry blossoms falling in springtime!”
“Hyung,” Nini whined, “that is so cheesy!”
“Where are you going?” Junmyeon asked.
“It’s no big deal,” our youngest muttered. “She just asked me to join her for coffee.”
“It is...” Jongdae twisted back to look at his phone, before turning back toward our little brother, “Six o’clock in December. She doesn’t need coffee. It’s a date.”
All of the blood drained from Nini’s face. “What should I do?”
Parking the car, I turned around. “Go, you idiot!”
“But...the movies...and the hot chocolate…” he trailed off.
“If I can spare one brother, I can spare two.”
“Thanks, Hyung,” he grinned, before opening the door, and leaping out of the car. “Uh, I guess that I’m going first. Bye!” he waved, and then he was gone.
“So eager,” I muttered.
“Didn’t you propose to Hyungsu three times?” Jongdae asked, cutting his eyes at me.
“Yes, well…” Glaring, I got out of the car and slammed the door. “Bring the bags, would you?” Walking off, I ignored my brother’s laughter.
I was almost at the door when Jongdae caught up with me. “Here, take these,” he said, hoisting the bags into my arms. “There are only a couple more--I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” I said, inputting the door code. It had been a nice day, but it was even nicer to be back home.
***
You jumped as the sound of the door code rang through the apartment. Scrambling to stand in front of the door, you smiled as your husband opened it, and smiled back at you, before the rest of the apartment caught his attention.
“What…”
“Surprise!” you yelled, holding out your hands and waving them like a demented showgirl. You had given his brothers strict instructions not to let him actually choose a tree so that you could surprise him by decorating everything yourself. Well, you...and your mother in law. And your mom. And Chanyeol oppa--he was the only one tall enough to put the star on the top of the tree. In fact, you had literally just pushed them all out of the door mere minutes before Minseok returned.
“What’s all this?” he laughed, setting down the bags and coming to give you a kiss on the cheek.
“Merry Christmas!” you giggled, throwing your arms around his neck, and goofily rocking him back and forth. “Do you like it?”
“I love it!” he said, pulling back to look at everything, eyes sparkling. “It’s beautiful! But, why…?”
“I just wanted to surprise you. This is part of your Christmas gift!”
“It’s amazing! Everything looks incredible. Wait--if this is part of my Christmas gift, then what’s the other part?”
Grinning, you undid your robe and opened it to show a large red velvet bow wrapped around your waist.
Throwing back his head, Minseok laughed before coming closer, his arms sliding around you. “Ah, really? Are you my gift?”
“Not...quite.” Smiling up at him, you silently willed him to get it.
He looked down, confused, before a light came into his eyes, and his mouth curved up in a shy, tremulous grin. “Is it...what I...are you…?”
“You have to say Merry Christmas to both of us!” you whispered, feeling tears prick your eyes at his wondering expression.
“Appa?” he murmured, his voice breaking. His eyes shone. “I’m going to be Appa?”
Nodding, you slid your arms around the back of his neck and pulled him close. “Yes, you are. Merry Christmas, Appa.”
A/N: I’ve had this in my drafts for over a month now but I still haven’t finished writing it yet so I decided to cut it in half instead of posting it in one go. 😅 I didn’t even proofread it because it made me anxious for whatever reason. Now please excuse me while I hide after I post this. 🙈 I hope you enjoy this...
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
When you were younger, you’ve always dreamed of being married to your soulmate. Your parents were soulmates and having seen how they deeply loved each other growing up, it made you want to have the same thing they did.
You recall coming home from school one time with a skip on your steps. When your parents asked you how your day went, you gave them a toothy smile and exclaimed, “I learned about fractions today! My teacher said that if you divide something into equal parts, each part is a fraction of the whole.”
Your mother smiled at your enthusiasm. At that moment, as she heard you explain what you learned, she knew you were going to grow up to be a wise lady.
“Mom, Dad, do you know fractions?” You ask cheekily, back then you thought they didn’t know it because you’ve never heard them mention the word.
“Of course, darling,” your father scrunches his nose at you, a hint of smile in his lips.
“Can you give me an example, Daddy?”
He pauses, thinking deeply. He turns his head away from you and looks at your mother’s eyes, “Your mom and I, we’re two halves of one soul.”
You watched as they looked at each other with sparkling eyes and warm smiles.
“Why are you smiling? Did I miss something? Was it a joke? I don’t understand,” you whine. “I don’t think you’re talking about fractions, Daddy.”
“You’ll understand when you’re older, darling.”
And he was right. When you grew up, you understood what he meant, theoretically, at least. He was talking about soulmates.
You found out about it from your best friend Jess. You were still young back then, maybe around twelve years old. Her parents told her that they were soulmates when she saw that her mother’s skin on her arm was glowing. Her mother preferred wearing t-shirts and long sleeved blouses rather than sleeveless clothes which was why Jess hadn’t noticed it before. Her parents explained that when you meet your soulmate a part of your skin lights up in daylight and glows even brighter in the dark.
When you got home that day, you remember immediately walking up to your parents to ask them if they were soulmates. They were startled by your question at first, but gave you a gentle smile. “Yes we are, darling,” your mother confirms.
That night you learned that the patch of skin that shines when you meet your soulmate is called the soulmate mark. But most people initially called it an “invisible tattoo” because it was the easiest way to describe it. It was like a tattoo in a sense, because it was a permanent kind of body art, except that you were born with it instead of having a tattoo artist injecting ink on your skin.
Each soulmate has distinct patterns on their skin and they have it at the exactly the same location. Your parents’ tattoo was like a very intricate design of leaves located just a few inches above their hips. When your mother showed you her glowing tattoo, you couldn’t help but gawk at it as you gently ran your fingers over it.
It was then that you realized why your parents were perfect for each other. Whatever your father lacks, your mother makes up for it. They complemented each other. They told you that was how soulmates work, that everything falls into place as you meet them. They were two halves of one soul.
That was how you got really excited about weddings, not just normal weddings, weddings of soulmates to be exact. It was the reason why you were close to tears right now as you heard the priest say, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”
Your breath hitched and you placed your hands over your heart. You were so overwhelmed with happiness. You couldn’t close your eyes, if you did, tears would start to fall and you didn’t want that. You didn’t want to ruin your makeup.
You watch as Jess smiles adoringly at Chanyeol before they both leaned in for a kiss. You were extremely happy for Jess. Chanyeol is a nice man, and a romantic one at that. When you first met him, you knew he was Jess’s ideal man and when you introduced them to each other you were shocked to know that they were actually soulmates.
You couldn’t imagine how Jess must be feeling. This was Jess’s dream too, to marry her soulmate. You wonder how she managed not to cry while you were barely holding your tears.
You look over the other guests. Their reactions were similar to yours which made your heart swell. You were glad the couple were surrounded with people who love and care for them.
Your eyes meet with your friend, Yixing, and you both smile at each other and wave. You and Yixing became friends when you were in high school. He’s heard you daydream about meeting your soulmate a million times already so he knew that you were also feeling a bit sad deep down, despite your joy for Jess. You knew too that he felt the same. You were both in your 30s and you both haven’t met your soulmates yet after all.
When the wedding and the reception was over, you bid Jess goodbye and congratulated her once again. You wished Chanyeol and her to live a happy life together. Jess pulled you into a hug and whispered, “You’ll find him too. Don’t worry,” as if knowing what’s plaguing your mind.
You smiled and nodded, although you weren’t sure if what she said was true. It was uncommon for people to meet their soulmates beyond 30 years old after all. What’s more uncommon is if one doesn’t have a soulmate. Just the thought of not having a soulmate made your heart ache terribly.
Yixing, oh sweet Yixing, suggested one time that if you both haven’t met your soulmates by the age of 35, you should just get married with each other. You agreed instantly, you didn’t want to end up being alone for the rest of your life. At least, you had Yixing who you knew would treat you right if you did get married with each other.
But fate was cruel. On his 34th birthday party which you planned, he met his soulmate, Diane. She was Jongin’s cousin who worked in China. She flew home to Korea to visit her family after years of working overseas.
How timely it was that Jongin brought her to Yixing’s party claiming that she needs to expand her social circle.
When Jongin introduced her to Yixing, you saw how they both froze. You wondered if it was true that you’d feel a slight buzz in your body once you find your soulmate. Out of nowhere, Diane and Yixing’s left elbows shined. You watched with amazement and slight sadness as four seemingly interconnected circles appeared glowing on their skin.
You had to admit, despite the bitterness on the tip of your tongue, it was truly breathtaking to watch the invisible tattoo come to life. It was magical to watch your skin shimmer and take form into something beautiful — all because of love. Maybe this was why the expression “You’re glowing” is said when you meet someone who treats you right.
With Yixing finding his soulmate, you felt lonely. Among your friends, you were the only one left without a soulmate. But Yixing finding his other half at such an age did give you a small flame of hope. That small flame was enough to make you happy, so when you got to talk to Yixing again, you congratulated him sincerely. But you could sense his worry as soon as the words left your mouth. He didn’t have to voice his thoughts, you knew well enough what he wanted to say.
You smiled at him. He truly is the sweetest person. “I’m fine Yixing, I really am. It rarely happens that you meet your soulmate when you’re more than 30 years old, but it happened to you. I have a feeling it’s gonna happen to me too.”
Yixing knows you’re a pessimist so he naturally gets worried about you, but today, he knew you weren’t lying when you said those words. He was glad you were being optimistic for once. “I know it’ll happen soon, darling. I have a good feeling about it too.”
That was enough for you. Yixing doesn’t lie and the fact that he believes you’ll find your soulmate flares up the hope you were feeling.
As much as you wanted to spend your time finding your soulmate, you have to work too. The previous company that you worked at unfortunately closed down. So you didn’t have a choice but to go look for a new job.
The company you’ve always dreamt to work at was EXO Pharmaceutical Company but it was a highly competitive company and when you applied back then, you lacked the credentials. You’ve been building up your resume and your credibility with seminars and training from your previous work, so this time you were really hoping to get the job. You just have to impress everyone there.
When you got a call from Jongdae, the HR personnel, saying you got the job, you were beyond ecstatic. You couldn’t help but jump around and scream as soon as the call ended. You called your parents informing them of your good news. You were close to tears as you heard them say that they were proud of you and the woman you became.
Just before you ended the call you father whispered, “We’re three parts of a whole.”
This made your heart melt. To you what he said was loud and clear: You don’t need another man to make you feel whole because you have us – your family. With that, your worries on whether or not you find your soulmate is gone.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
It was your first day of work at EXO and you were really nervous. Junmyeon was assigned to help you familiarize yourself with the workplace and to guide you on what to do. When he first introduced himself to you, your breath hitched and your heart started thumping faster. Was he your soulmate? But then you notice that he had a glowing tattoo on his wrist when he offered his hand to shake and yours didn’t.
You felt embarrassed. This has happened a lot of times to you. You often mistake people as your soulmate. People had different descriptions on what they felt when they first met their soulmates so sometimes when you find someone overly attractive that it makes you nervous, just like Junmyeon, you get confused if that person was your soulmate or not.
You quickly push your momentary attraction aside because it felt wrong. Sure you were free to think some men are good looking but somehow you felt like you were cheating on your soulmate if you think of other men that way. What a hopeless romantic.
You clear your throat and greet Junmyeon warmly. He then guides you to your workplace. He points and names which equipment you’ll be handling. He teaches you how to handle the machinery and equipment. You were a fast learner and have handled almost the same equipment before so by lunch time, you were able to do things by yourself.
“Thank you for your help, Junmyeon.”
“No problem! Come on, let’s grab some lunch with the others,” he smiles at you. “The CEO wants to meet you later, by the way.”
This made you freeze. The CEO of the previous company you worked at never once visited you or asked to meet you. You’ve only ever seen him when there was a company event. So this was something that you weren’t familiar with. What if he sees something in you that he dislikes or asks something that you don’t know the answer to? Sure you just got the job, but he can fire you on the spot, no? You pale.
Junmyeon notices your panicked state and immediately says, “Hey, don’t worry. Mr. Kim is really nice. Although he does have an intimidating aura but that's just the CEO vibes,” he shrugs. “It’s customary for him to greet his new employees. I’m sure you’ll be fine as long as you’re polite.”
Junmyeon has a warm smile and a soothing voice, it did help a little in alleviating your nerves but you still couldn’t help but think of the worst. With a sigh you just nodded your head then plastered a smile.
Lunch with your coworkers was fun. You may have forgotten about meeting the CEO as soon as they graced you with their presence. Baekhyun, Sehun, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon were all fun to be with. Mostly it was Junmyeon and Baekhyun who talked a lot while the rest of you listened and laughed. It was nice to have people welcome you so warmly.
You weren’t used to talking a lot and you mostly kept to yourself when you’re in a new environment so this was quite different than what you’re used to. Different in a good way.
By the end of lunch, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief that you successfully made friends just on your first day at work.
As you were walking back towards your workplace, Baekhyun assured you that you didn’t need to worry about meeting Mr. Kim — the CEO. If Junmyeon liked you, then Mr. Kim would too. Apparently they were cousins.
You don’t really know if Baekhyun was lying, it was after all the first day you’ve known him. But his face was wiped off of mischief and the tone he used was comforting, so you found yourself believing him.
You were in high spirits when Mr. Kim’s secretary came to call you. But even when you weren’t as nervous as before and definitely less worried, your palms were sweating.
The secretary, Ms. Moon noticed you kept fidgeting, although, you swear to god you were trying to be subtle. She gives you a smile and says, “You don’t have to worry.”
You cringe internally. You’ve been awfully bad at hiding your nervousness today.
“Mr. Kim is really nice. Just be polite and professional.”
You nod your head and compose yourself.
“You ready?” She asks.
“Yes Ma’am.” You say as you rub your palms over your pants for the last time. You immediately put on a smile.
She knocks on the door, “Mr. Kim, Ms. Y/L/N is here.”
“Let her in.”
You entered the office with a smile on your face. Mr. Kim was still busy signing papers so he hasn’t looked up to you yet.
You stood in front of his desk, not really knowing what to do. Your heart was pounding so fast, you wanted to make a good first impression so badly.
It didn’t take too long though, after a second he has plastered a smile even before he looks up. When he finally turned his face to you, everything felt like they were moving in slow motion. You couldn’t even hear the clock ticking anymore. You freeze.
Mr. Kim is gorgeous. If Junmyeon made your breath hitch, Mr. Kim took your breath away. It was impossible, but you felt like your heart was pounding ten times faster than before.
Mr. Kim didn’t move. The smile on his face falters a little. You wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t staring at him.
It felt like you were both staring at each other's eyes for an hour when in reality it was just one hot minute.
Mr. Kim was the first to break off from the trance. He clears his throat and smiles wider, “You must be Ms. Y/L/N. I’m Kim Minseok, CEO of EXO Pharmaceutical Company.” He offers his right hand to shake.
You return a smile and look over to his hand and shake it. As you raised your hand, your eyes focused on the back of his hand that was glowing. From the tip of his ring finger to his wrist lay a pattern of flowers. The pattern seemed to have surrounded his wrist too. It was beautiful and you were mesmerized. You unconsciously stopped moving to stare at it in awe.
Unbeknownst to you, Mr. Kim was observing you too. But when it took you a tad bit long to reach for his hand, he tears his gaze away from your face reluctantly. His eyes trail to his right hand which you were looking at. His eyes widened at the sight. He was quite sure the soulmate mark wasn’t there before. Which only meant one thing…
You. You were his soulmate. He was yours.
You realize that you were staring and so you straighten your back and reach for his hand. “I-I’m sorry—” but you stop in the middle of your sentence when your hand finally touches his.
There was a tingling sensation when it happened. You knew you weren’t imagining it because you felt Mr. Kim jolted slightly.
After the initial shock, Mr. Kim tightens his hold on your hand as he shakes it. You firmly shake his hand in return.
You clear your throat, “I’m sorry… for... zoning out, Mr. Kim,” you face down. You felt all your blood rush to your face in embarrassment.
Mr. Kim doesn’t respond. When you looked up, you noticed he was staring at your hands. He was still holding your hand and you didn’t know if you wanted to retract it at all. His hands were warm and soft.
But then you suddenly remembered that he was the CEO, he was your boss. So you carefully removed your hand from his grip.
That’s when you saw it. The back of your hand was glowing, exactly the same pattern and position as Mr. Kim’s. You almost gasped.
You closed your eyes really quickly and tried to compose yourself. Internally, you were screaming and jumping, but you have to suppress your emotions. It was highly unprofessional.
