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hongjoongspoetry · 15 days ago

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Pretend You Love Me | Choi Jongho

🥂 Summary: Jongho, heir to Choi Clothes, and you are soulmates marked by each other’s names on your wrists since birth. Instead of a fairy-tale romance, you’re stuck in a fake dating contract to restore Jongho’s tarnished image created by scandals. As you navigate public events and play the part of a cute couple, the lines between fake and real blur together. Despite your undeniable chemistry, you refuse to take him seriously due to his reckless past. As the arrangement nears its end, you must confront the truth about your feelings and whether you can move beyond the contract.

🥂 Pairing(s): Badboy!Jongho x Student!Reader

🥂 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, fake dating AU, fluff, humour

🥂 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), the MC goes by the lastname Jeong, Jongho is a rich kid, the MC not so, Jongho smokes and rides a motorcycle, light alcohol consumption, a lot of teasing, pet names (pretty girl, soulmate, sweetheart & Jjong), probably incorrect portrayal of CEOs and charity events (bare with me, i'm just a girl), some kissing, adult language

🥂 Wordcount: 9.0K

🥂 Author's Note: Click the image for a higher resolution (Tumblr, I hate you). This is my first time ever writing for Jongho and also the fastest I’ve finished a fic — just 4 days, to be exact! It was a lot of fun playing around with the soulmate idea and turning Jongho into a bad-boy-ish character. I hope you all enjoy the second fic of the Cherry Blossom March Event and feel brave enough to share your thoughts with me! I'm really curious to hear what you think and have to say :3

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of matures themes and adult language. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Event taglist

To go out with people widely. It could mean all sorts of things. A person whose presence spreads widely. Someone who possesses the ability to form broad connections and reach far with their impact, whether it be through influence, relationships or personal qualities. To go out with people widely was the meaning behind the chosen hanja of the name Choi Jongho. The same name that was imprinted on your wrist since birth in black and reminded you daily of your other half. Everyone was born with a name on their wrist that assigned them to a soulmate the moment they entered the world. All you had to go by was the names on your wrists and hope it would be someone sane. Everyone didn’t have to worry about that though as some faced a fate worse than death — their soulmate mark written in white. It symbolized the death of their significant other. One would think the word would change into red, like anger and blood, but no. You liked to think the white represented innocence, cleanliness and new beginnings, almost like an angel.

Your soulmate mark was the same since you were welcomed to the world. Wailing loudly and alerting everyone of your arrival. It hadn’t changed over the course of your twenty-five years long life, for better or for worse. Ever since you could remember, you loved listening to the stories of how people met their soulmates. At family gatherings, you would sit on the knee of your relatives and ask them kindly to retell the moment they met their husbands or wives, but your favorite story was always your parents'.

It was a few days before New Years and both of your parents just recently turned eighteen. The biggest snowfall of the year graced Seoul, like a late Christmas miracle, and the streets were swarmed with people enjoying the freezing weather, young and old alike. Your parents hadn’t known each other by then. They lived in the same neighbourhood, but weren’t aware of just how close they were to their soulmates. Your mother, young and happy, gazed up at the snowflakes being pulled by gravity when something cold and hard struck her, followed by horrified gasps. She crouched down, cradling her head, gently pressing against the side where the snowball had hit. A few seconds later, a young man approached her, apologizing and bowing so deeply that he nearly toppled over. It was your father who had launched the snowball at his friend, misaiming and hitting your mother instead.

Little you hoped to experience a romantic encounter with your soulmate as your parents did. You would stay up way past your bedtime and fantasize of meeting your soulmate, coming up with various scenarios that changed every night, but nothing could prepare you for the surge of emotions when your eyes locked. It was your first day of high school and all of the first year students were gathered in the gymnasium, patiently waiting for the principal to call out their names and their respective classes. You sat in the fifth row on the seventh seat, hands clutching the hem of your blue plaid skirt. It was nerve wracking — starting high school, meeting new people and creating friends. Then there was the possibility of finding the one. The principal cleared his throat, probably getting dried from pronouncing all the names right after each other. You pitied him, but that sentiment flew out the window as he moved onto your class. Out of all the three hundred first years and out of your thirty classmates, one of them was named—

“Choi Jongho!” You burst into his office, letting the door bounce off the wall.

The secretary, frantically chasing after you with desperate pleas not to disturb the designated successor of Choi Clothes, stood in the doorway, her face twisted in a mix of fear and nervousness as she failed at her job. Successor, my ass. That man didn’t know anything beyond smoking a pack of Marlboros a day, dodging his responsibilities, and defying his parents. The man in question was currently sitting behind his desk, one ankle propped on his knee, fully decked out in Valentino — a black suit that was probably bespoke, tailored to his fitting. His hair, a natural shade of dark cocoa, was parted down the middle and showcased his forehead while his hands were decorated with various pieces of jewelry, starting with big fat rings on his fingers, a golden watch and a matching bracelet. Jongho didn’t look the least phased by your appearance nor by the loud entrance. In fact, he looked as monotone as ever, but you saw the brief twitch of his fingers. While he was at the company, he wasn’t allowed to take a smoke until lunch or after work and it sure was getting to him.

“Miss Jeong,” came the annoying voice of his secretary as she began reciting the script drilled into her mind from her first day on the clock. “Mr. Choi’s schedule is fully booked this afternoon and he does not have the time to discuss–”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out as you zeroed in on Jongho and raised a brow, silently challenging him to do something. On cue, the stone cold expression morphed into sunlight seeping through an array of thunderous clouds as he broke out in a charming smile and averted his attention to the woman behind you still going on about rules and policies. Gentle as a breeze and with a faux sweetness to his words, he cut her off.

“It’s alright, Eunij. I called her over to plan our date for the evening. We won’t be long, I promise.”

To really secure the win, Jongho flashed her his significant gummy smile that looked sweeter than sugar itself. Jongho knew he was good looking, you knew he was good looking, everyone knew he was good looking, but what they didn’t know was that he used it to his advantage for years. He would flash them a smile warm enough to melt through ice and cheesing eyes that portrayed the sweetest chocolate in the world, but his mouth wasn’t just good for a handsome distraction. More often than not, Jongho would sweet talk his way out of situations. It worked nine out of ten times. The one time it didn’t work was on you.

As expected, Eunji blushed beneath his attentive gaze and your insides turned on fire. The swirls of his name on your skin burned hotter than a blowtorch and no ice bath would save you from the stinging pain. She threw you one last look before closing the door with a gentle click that could barely be heard in the silent room. Being left alone in the solitude of his office and away from the prying eyes of his father’s employees, Jongho allowed the sugary facade to slip like cotton candy dissolving at a brief contact with water. The round eyes of a teddy didn’t find you, but rather a pair belonging to a hungry bear who’s just had his territory disturbed.

Jongho clasped his fingers together and leaned on the mahogany desk, putting his whole weight on it. “I take it you didn’t come here to give me chocolates for White Day?”

Hadn’t you known Jongho for a decade or so, you’d be confused at the teasing remark coming from a man looking anything but in the mood for playing around. You ignored the butterflies fluttering against your stomach and got straight to the point, hoping it would calm the beautiful creatures pushing you to the brink of puking.

“Why did you agree to attend the charity event on my behalf?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend?”

“Fake-girlfriend,” you corrected him and crossed your arms. “I can’t just change my life to accommodate yours, Jongho, this wasn’t the deal. The contract explicitly said we would be under a fake guise until your name was cleared of rumours and scandals.”

“And how do you think that would happen if we don’t play the part of a happy couple? I can’t go on my own, that tells them I’m more available than ever before, especially when we recently went public with the relationship.”

You yielded under his intense gaze and changed the direction of your attention on the shelf to your left displaying various brands of alcohol ranging from pricey Japanese whiskey to Italian wine. The inside of your cheek was caught between your teeth as you contemplated your answer. He had a point, but you didn’t want to boost his already hugemongous ego. Darting your tongue out to lick at your dry lips, you turned back and found his eyes still staring into the depths of your soul as if searching for the red string that tied you together.

“Just… Just ask me next time before you make a decision on your own, okay? That’s all I want.”

The need to defy everyone and everything danced through his veins, yet the rewarding feeling of succeeding to annoy the other party wasn’t as satisfying when you were on the receiving end this time. He flexed his jaw and the hand that slipped beneath the table to rest on his thigh clenched into a tight fist.

“Fine…”

“Thank you.”

That marked the end of your conversation and you took it as your cue to leave. Jongho’s voice calling out your name brought you to a stop. You didn’t let go of your hold on the doorknob, just turned slightly to show him you were listening.

“We’ll pick you up at six PM on Friday and I’ll have Eunji send you the clothes before then.” As if having the ability to read your mind, he quickly added what felt like the most obvious thing in the world. “And yes, the dress is long sleeved.”

That was probably the sole good thing with the contract, besides the paycheck that sold you in the first place. You weren’t picky with the arrangement and went along with everything stated in the agreement — going on a few dates for publicity, holding hands, kissing, posting each other on social media, attending events and galas. Wearing clothes created by Choi Clothes came with the duty of fake-dating the heir of said agency, however you did make it clear you’d only sign the papers if all the clothes were long sleeved, reaching well over your wrist as not to disclose the soulmate mark. The easy money you once thought you’d earn by fake-dating the successor of Choi Clothes turned into a full-time job with no room for slacking off. Just a few more months, you thought and walked out of Choi Enterprises.

It was still hard to wrap your head around everything. You recalled the day they came knocking on your door. A woman and man dressed in expensive clothes that seemed to cost more than the will your parents set aside for you. They introduced themselves as the managers of Mr. and Mrs. Choi, the owners of Choi Clothes. The ice tea you poured in the prettiest set of china you owned were left untouched as the managers — the names you have long since forgotten — explained their unexpected visit. The Chois selected you as the perfect candidate for their little stunt to ensure their son wouldn’t put the entire family line at shame and burn the whole establishment to the ground before he could even acquire the title as CEO.

Your task was, more or less, to be the candy glued to Jongho’s side and together play the part of a couple head over heels for each other. The pair was patient as you bombarded them with questions, meanwhile they only had three — Do you have a soulmate, have you met your soulmate and how is your criminal record? The quiet voice in the back of your mind pointed out how they probably already had the answers, but didn’t want to seem totally uninterested in you.

At first, you didn’t want to do it. Not only were you going to play pretend for a good few months, but you weren’t even allowed to know who you were going to fake-date as they didn’t want you to decline the offer and run your mouth to a newspaper publisher. The fountain pen with gold swirling engravings on its sides looked scary as it lay abandoned beside the pristine contract. That quickly changed when you saw the never ending zeroes slothed after the word ‘total salary’. Your morning shift at the closest seven-eleven that was about to start in thirty minutes flashed before your eyes and you never signed something as fast as you did that contract.

Perhaps you would’ve said no if you knew the heir was going to be none else than your soulmate. The universe worked in miraculous ways and somehow always made sure to lead you back to him. A magnetic pull that steered you in every direction until you would stand before him again.

The weekend came around and so did the event taking place that Saturday afternoon. It would be marked as your second public outing as a couple feeding into the eager eyes and cameras of South Korea. Mr. Oh, Jongho’s designated driver, pulled up in a squeaky clean limousine that looked more out of place than a kitten raised by a group of squirrel monkeys in the Amazon rainforest. Mr. Oh was a kind older man inching closer and closer to his retirement, always wearing a smile and never speaking without referring to others by their titles. In the few and brief encounters you had with the man, he would always greet you with a ‘Hello, Ms. Jeong’ while opening the rear door for you despite being told to just call you by your name. The backseat was already occupied by Jongho sitting in yet another expensive suit.

The suit jacket was black with white tiger-like stripes erupting from his shoulders and reaching all the way down to his midsection. It had six silver buttons, two for practical use while the rest were there for embellishment. Jongho — never one keen on showing too much — chose to keep the jacket buttoned and you wondered how he could endure it, considering he wore a white turtleneck beneath. The pattern wasn’t what caught the eye of the beholder, rather it was the millions of bedazzles covering the whole piece, making it reflect beneath any form of light, identical to the ones on your dress. His hair was styled in a middle part and unveiled his forehead, a sight you had seen a dozen times before, but were still left breathless. It was already established that Jongho was a handsome man, however the suits created by his parents certainly brought out the best of him — accentuating his confidence, breathtaking features and magnetic presence in a way that left everyone in awe.

Jongho brought you back to reality as he did a rundown of the charity event, what questions to expect and what answers to give, the names of some important people you would definitely speak — or at least greet — with tonight and who would exit the limousine first. You definitely missed the way his eyes ran over your figure, seemingly appreciating you in a beautiful dress from the latest spring collection of his parents. The Chois apparently had a knack for chic attires because your dress wasn’t anything over the top either, but would definitely unscrew some jaws. It was strapless and started from your bosom with a straight neckline allowing your collarbones to be captured by the crazy shuttering cameras. The dress was tight around your torso, giving a perfect picture of your figure beneath, but grew loose from your hips and down. The material didn’t stop until it grazed the ground you walked on, despite wearing a pair of black stiletto heels that were made for your feet and clicked with each step you took, announcing your arrival to everyone in a close vicinity.

Speaking of your lower body — your left leg was exposed as a long slit protruded from your upper thigh. Both of your arms were covered in black detachable sleeves reaching up to your mid bicep and cuffing around the cushion of your hand. You almost threw a fit when you took out the dress from its gigantic box and noticed the lack of sleeves on it. You were one phone call away from canceling the whole agreement hadn’t you seen the remaining parts of the attire. To top it off, the Chois gifted you a set of golden jewelry and a black clutch handbag spacious enough to fit your phone, lipstick and wallet. The matching set of earrings, rings and necklace were nothing too outstanding, but enough to take on the elegance of a model.

“We’ll be there for an hour or two and then Mr. Oh will take you home.”

You ignored the part where it was stated Mr. Oh was taking you home and focused on his subtle slip-in of defying his parents’ rules yet again. Your brows furrowed together and Jongho suppressed the need to even out the skin between them. “No, Mr. and Mrs. Choi explicitly said we had to be there until the very end of the event.”

Jongho leaned into his seat and spread his legs further apart until one of his knees touched your thigh. A chuckle void of amusement filled the passenger compartment and he sighed as if you said the joke of the century.

“I think you should relax a little, sweetheart. My parents should be grateful I’m attending in the first place.”

You pursed your lips to keep yourself from giving your input where it clearly wasn’t wished for. Jongho looked out of the window while you admired his side profile. Jongho was the epitome of a whiplash — you never knew when he’d shake you off like a poisonous insect or help you fly as if you were an injured ladybug. His nonchalance left a bitter tang on your tongue, the similar taste after downing a beer you knew you’d puke back up in a few hours, and the imaginary Jongho was crushed in the world you created in your brain.

The karma of thinking such thoughts was instantaneous as the skin beneath your soulmate mark flared to life. You wondered if Jongho experienced repercussions whenever he was treating you badly. The rest of the drive was done in silence safe for the newest global hits playing through the speakers. Four songs later and the limousine temporarily came to a stop before the entrance of a big building looking like something straight out of a movie. A red carpet was rolled out from the doors to the street where everyone’s ride was instructed to stop and let the guests out. Mr. Oh exited first and walked around the oblong vehicle as Jongho simultaneously fixed his suit although it was free of any imperfections.

“It’s showtime, baby.”

The door opened and Jongho stepped out, an array of flashes went off accompanied by the calls of his name — the photographers begging for a crumb of his attention. Jongho straightened his jacket, offered everyone a smile and quick wave before holding out his hand to face the dark heavens. That was your cue. No one really knew who you were outside of being Jongho’s girlfriend and even after you became public, they could find little to no information about you online. Thus, you didn’t expect the clicking of cameras and flashes to multiply in your presence. You grabbed Jongho’s hand per your agreement and stepped out with your exposed leg first then, when you fully exited the limousine — an upgrade from Jongho’s death trap of a motorcycle — you smoothly looped your arm through his and firecrackers erupted on your skin at the contact. You stood tall and got a couple of inches on him thanks to the heels, but he didn’t seem bothered by it and neither was the company otherwise you doubt they would’ve sent it in the first place.

Standing in the centre of attention wasn’t as nauseating as you originally thought it would be and whether you want to admit it or not, it was partially because of Jongho being there to anchor you. It wasn’t his forthe to whisper sweet words of encouragement, but he portrayed his support in other ways such as leading you through the overwhelming photographers, sneaking his arm around your waist and respectfully resting his palm above the curve of your hip. It helped that you rehearsed the events of the night from start to finish with Jongho and wouldn’t be in for a surprise. Taking advice from your favorite childhood movie, you put on the brightest smile of your career and moved along. The audience didn’t need to know you were finding comfort in the famous line from Madagascar.

The inside of the venue was prettier than any other interior you had ever laid eyes on. To be frank, it wasn’t anything exceptional, but the simplicity made it appear so. The main colors of the theme were creme white and beige, and were integrated into everything. The seats were plush chairs made out of velvet material in an ashy shade of beige while the tables were round with white marble tops. There was a path leading straight down the area and separating the room into two occupied with seats on both sides. On the other end of the pathway was a slightly elevated scene where the hosts of the event and guests would give their speeches, and use the smartboard to their liking. The ceiling was the most alluring sight though. Oblong light bulbs hung from the ceiling as sheer garment circled the light in waves. It gave a sense of elegance as well as coziness.

A waiter dressed in a simple black suit offered you champagne on a platter and while you didn’t wish to become drunk, you still needed some alcohol to get through the night, especially when you were going to meet some of Choi Clothes’ most trusted business partners. You both took a glass each and mingled around with Jongho’s arm still glued to you as if it belonged right above the swell of your hip. Not many words, if any at all, were exchanged as you mainly drank in the design of the place while simultaneously ignoring the stares and whispers of the remaining guests, all eyes glued to your forms fitting perfectly with one another like two lost pieces of a puzzle. They were all curious about the pretty lady beneath Jongho’s arm and how the reckless Choi managed to find a girl that would look past his bad habits and disrespectful personality. If only they knew.

Jongho’s situation wasn’t entirely a secret. Everyone knew he was somewhat of a problematic guy with another style of living that wasn’t fit to his parents’ standard. They didn’t feel all too proud waking up to multiple articles of Dispatch flaunting pictures taken of Jongho leaving clubs early in the morning surrounded by boys and girls of all kinds, certainly not the kind to be invited to exclusive fashion events and charities. Jongho hadn’t changed much over the years, if you recalled correctly. He would rarely be present during lectures. He was physically there, but his mind had transcended off to dreamland long before the lesson started. The one interest he had was soccer and even that ended shortly into his second year as he got with the wrong crowd. If someone needed him, he could be found smoking on the roof or behind the back of the school with a handful of students who also had successful parents.

It was sheer luck Jongho was an only child and that his parents were in need of a successor, otherwise he would’ve been kicked to the curb a long time ago. Apparently, the Chois grew sick of his careless behaviour and gave him an ultimatum — clean up his mess or not be signed as an heir to the company. Jongho defied them like always, until his credit card ran empty and he realized his parents wouldn’t relent. He came crawling back with his tail between his legs and agreed to their proposition. You never understood him or why he acted the way he did. He had everything, practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth and it amazed you that the universe decided to tie your souls to each other. Jongho certainly wasn’t the soulmate you expected and your meeting wasn’t anywhere near the romantic encounter your parents experienced.

“Let’s take a seat before the aunties swammer us,” he whispered in your ear and led you to a table with a gentle nudge to the small of your back.

The touch sent plausible tingles of electricity up your spine and the intensity never wavered even when he withdrew his hand to pull out your chair for you — a great play to showcase his inner gentleman. He took his righteous place on your right side, but immediately regretted it. His ploy of escaping the aunties proved to be futile as Mrs. Kang, a good business partner of Jongho’s paternal grandparents, butted into your table and plopped down on the vacant seat beside you despite her name not being on the list and began shooting invasive questions. The older lady wanted to know everything about you — your age, name, workplace, how you knew Jongho, who your soulmate was, if you and Jongho were soulmates. She pulled on the imaginary rubber band attached to Jongho’s wrist until it snapped and rebounded against his skin.

“Mrs. Kang, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

The chatter around the table quieted down at Jongho’s sharp reply and you acted quickly to ease the tension. You placed your hand over his and gave it a firm squeeze. The motion averted his attention from Mrs. Kang to your stern gaze. A silent conversation ensued between you.

“Stop.”

“She’s the one who started it.”

“I don’t care. It won’t look good for you or your parents.”

Jongho eventually gave in and leaned back in his chair. The sudden cold shoulder on his part was him telling you he wasn’t pleased with the outcome. Not like you cared. Yes, your part of the deal was to be his fake-girlfriend, but you couldn’t just let him do as he wished to the people around him as it would reflect a bad light on you too.

“Welcome everyone to the Fashion For Aid charity event aimed at assisting children in group homes! I want to express my sincere gratitude to everyone for attending on this fine evening…”

The host was a man in his late sixties with a head full of hair and face clean of any. You weren’t paying much attention to what he was saying as you weren’t well versed into the fashion world, but you did your best to at least look immersed in his speech. The man to your right wasn’t looking any more interested than you did and actually managed to sit through the first five minutes of the opening ceremony, until he got bored. After that, he played a game of what-could-Jongho-do-to-annoy-his-soulmate-in-the-fastest-way-possible? He did everything to get on your nerves — drumming his fingers against the edge of the table, staring at you then looking away when you met his gaze, loudly cracking his neck and fingers, and frequently checked his phone. The moment the host finished his lengthy speech and encouraged everyone to visit the table full of sweets and drinks placed on both sides of the room, Jongho jumped from his seat, hand already reaching into the inner pocket of his suit.

“If you’ll excuse me, a man’s gotta use the bathroom.”

“Jongho!” You hissed after him, but he either didn’t hear you or blatantly ignored you. As you moved to follow him, an inkling feeling telling you the bathroom was the last place he was headed for, a wrinkly hand landed on your thigh and successfully stopped you from going after him.

“Oh, honey, it is not worth stressing over him. Youngsters like that boy don’t change and he won’t do it even with a beautiful lady by his side.”

A bucket of water spilled over you and froze all forty-three muscles in your face. You somehow managed to force the corners of your mouth up and fake a smile, but the sincerity was not evident in your eyes.

“I, uhm, don’t want him to change. Really.” You added in the end as Mrs. Kang raised a brow in non-belief. “I like Jongho as he is and I don’t think he needs to change to fit in other people's crowded boxes.”

“If you say so, dear, but… if you’re interested, I have a nephew your age who would suit you much better than Mr. Choi.” She turned in her seat and scanned the crowd for said nephew. A fire lit beneath your chair as she began waving him over.

“Oh, Mrs. Kang, that's not necessary.” The reassuring words fell on deaf ears — literally — and although you weren’t too keen on lying, you already had one rich kid to look after. “I think I heard Jongho calling for me, I’ll be right back!”

Jongho was in fact not calling you over. Jongho was gone, disappeared into thin air and abandoned you in a room full of strangers. It would be a miracle if he hadn’t asked Mr. Oh to drive him someplace, leaving you to figure out your own ride home.

“Fucking hell, Jongho,” you muttered and weaved through the crowd of successful people and nepotism babies.

The venue was so packed with people you couldn’t even try searching for the bathrooms and opted to go back out again. The outside wasn’t void of people either, as some foreign faces stood socializing with each other, drinks in one hand and fat cigars squeezed between the pointer- and middle finger of their other hand. Not searching for more aunties or uncles to flag you down, you walked away from the people to a place that seemed vacant. Who would’ve known the universe was pulling on your red string and leading you in the direction of your soulmate. Turning the corner of the building, you stumbled over the view of Jongho crouched down behind a couple of taller bushes. Much like the other gentlemen, he too had a slim cigarette placed between his lips, dragging the poisonous smoke right into his lungs. You understood why out of all the places, he chose to smoke on the other side of the building. It was less prone to attract the paparazzi searching for something juicy to spread on social media.

Jongho didn’t kill the glowing stick as you appeared in his peripheral vision nor did he show a sign of acknowledging your sudden appearance. You didn’t go out of your way to chastise him for smoking in a public setting either, instead you took a stance beside him while he inhaled the last of the cancer-stick and looked straight ahead. It was already stuffy just standing there in silence, you didn’t need to stare at him with questions swimming in your eyes.

The warm sun of March was replaced by the round and bright moon, allowing a certain frost to the early spring breeze. You crossed your arms over your chest and caressed the exposed skin of your bicep with your thumb in a poor attempt at subduing the coldness. The dress was beautiful, but it certainly wasn’t made for such weather and you were questioning their professionalism as they didn’t give you a coat or any other outerwear. On the other hand, Jongho had been admiring you for the last couple of seconds since you took the place beside him and the sharp goosebumps littered on your body didn’t go unnoticed by him. He balanced the cigarette between his lips and slipped the suit jacket off himself. The rustle of clothes caught your attention and before you could realize what was happening, a newfound warmth wrapped around you followed by a mild fragrance of charcoal, pine needles and espresso.

“You don’t have to–”

“I’m not letting my date freeze her ass off.”

You tried ignoring the harsh squeeze of your heart and a pang of heat blossoming from the center of your chest, sprouting out to the rest of your body. This was just Jongho being kind, nothing more, nothing less. Yet your heart and soulmate mark thought otherwise. The stinging smell of his cigarette was a perfect distraction and your nose scrunched at the awful burn. Jongho needed all of three seconds to take one last drag of the stick, blow it away from your face and throw it to the ground, his expensive boot coming down to turn it to speckles of ash.

“I’m going back inside,” you announced after another minute of silence. “It won’t look good if both of us are missing.”

“Who cares what they think? They’ll always have something to say about me in the end so it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to prove them right, you know?”

You didn’t get another answer after that and decided to take your leave. A warm hand circled around your wrist, their thumb grazing the covered soulmate mark and stopping you in your steps. You turned around, Jongho’s hand still on you but his eyes avoiding yours at all cost.

“...Wanna get out of here?” He eventually asked.

Another beat passed and you pressed your lips together. “We really shouldn’t, Jongho, besides it’s against the contract.”

A genuine laugh escaped him and he moved toward the opposite side of the event, rounding the corner you didn't appear from. “Screw the contract.”

You quickly followed his lead, intrigued and worried at where he was headed. Perhaps you got worked up for nothing as a bunch of expensive cars as well as limousines were parked in neat rows, the moonlight reflecting off their polished hoods and trunks.

“Where are you going?” You hissed and bunched one end of your dress to not accidentally step on it and twist your ankle.

“Why don’t you find out?”

How you managed to find yourself in this situation was beyond you. Not once was it stated in the contract that you would need to use Jongho’s death trap as a form of transportation, yet there you were sitting on the back of his motorcycle as he zoomed through the street. It was a miracle he successfully managed to sneak it into the parking lot without having any of the guards or chaperons turning him down. Then again, it was Choi Jongho they were dealing with. What Jongho wanted, Jongho got.

Your arms were tightly wrapped around his midsection and your eyes squeezed shut, almost believing the danger of the situation would disappear if you couldn’t see the blur of scenery whiz past you. Jongho smirked at the feel of you squeezing him to death and he purposefully revved the bike to go faster just to hear your squeaks of fear slip beneath your helmet. He wasn’t even going half the speed he was used to, but he felt just a twinge of remorse for you. The motorcycle slowed down and eventually stopped before a red light.

“You can open your eyes now,” he spoke into the built-in bluetooth in his helmet and placed his hand on your intertwined ones, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in a soothing motion. The whipping wind was quickly drying your hands and he was cursing himself for the pair of gloves he forgot on the edge of his bed.

You did as told, albeit opening one eye at a time just to make sure he wasn’t sugarcoating the situation. For once, you were happy about being wrong.

“How much more?” You asked, your throat dry and beginning for a sip of water.

“We’re almost there.” The traffic light switched to yellow. “Hold on tight now.”

It took an eternity — twenty minutes — until Jongho put the motorcycle in neutral and turned off the throttle as well as the ignition switch, and allowed the weight of the vehicle to lean on the kickstand. He took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the gelled strands in the process and placed the helmet on the surface of the fuel tank. You slightly released your grip on him, but were still reluctant to move as you were afraid of somehow falling off the motorcycle or tipping the whole thing over and thus let your fingers hover over his sides. Jongho’s feet were planted on the ground for extra security and comfort, and threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see you sit stiff as a board. He turned away and brought his shoulders up to his ears as he quietly chuckled to himself. The helmet was still on your head and your cheeks mushed by the pillowy cushion inside, making you look like a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts.

“I thought you hated her?” He asked through his giggles.

“Huh?”

“The motorcycle. I thought you hated the motorcycle, besides can you let go off me now? Unless you like touching me–”

You didn’t need to hear more to fling your hands in the air. The abrupt motion almost caused you to fall back, hadn't you grabbed Jongho’s shoulders again. It was sheer luck that he was sturdy enough not to lean back from your harsh grip. He laughed again, a chuckle that brought his gummy smile into the moonlight. It was a sound you came to like and wouldn't mind hearing for the rest of your life. The admission caused your ears to burn with embarrassment and you were grateful that the soulmate connection was limited to the scribbled name on your wrist, not giving your other half the ability to feel your emotions or hear your thoughts.

“Okay, go like this. Place this foot,” he patted the side of your left thigh, “on the ground and swing your other leg over the bike, then carefully step off. Hold onto me until you’re completely off so you don’t fall.”

His instructions were easy to follow and you managed to get off without hurting yourself, him, or damaging his prized possession. The sound of water softly washing up against the sand reached your ears and it was only when you dismounted the motorcycle that you took in your surroundings. The view was nothing short of exceptional. You stood on the sidewalk with stairs leading straight down to the riverside area, giving you a perfect view of the river. It was slightly blurry and you couldn't quite figure out why. As your hand subconsciously reached up to rub your eyes, you accidentally brushed against the visor. Unsure how to remove the helmet without discomfort, you decided to simply slide the visor up instead.

The Mapo Bridge was even prettier at night, with its blue and purple lights twinkling beneath the dark sky. At least a hundred cars drove across the bridge in the few minutes since you arrived and the sound of their tires and whirring motors added a sense of tranquility to the setting. The prettiest of it all were the cherry blossoms slipping off the branches of the Prunus serrulata trees. The ground was covered in pink and white petals, and some even landed in your hair. It was magical.

It dawned on you just where Jongho had brought you — Yeouido Hangang Park. While you were busy taking in every little detail of the scenery, Jongho retrieved his keys from the ignition and stopped beside you. He buried them in the pockets of his pants to prevent you from noticing he was fidgeting with the keys, thus keeping his dignity intact. He couldn’t have you going around thinking you were the reason behind the butterflies fluttering in his stomach and whether that was true or not would stay with Jongho, and Jongho only.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out.

Jongho hummed in agreement, yet his eyes didn’t budge from your form. It didn’t matter that you wore stiletto heels with a designer dress, a suit jacket multiple sizes too big for you and a sports helmet on your head — you looked as beautiful as the first day he met you, all those years ago in high school. He cleared his throat and stepped in front of you, the pads of his fingers gently grazing the skin beneath your chin as he unclasped the straps of your helmet. The little click snapped your attention to his eyes full of focus that shifted from your chin up to your lips, and lastly your eyes. As if stuck in a trance unable to look away, you drowned in the warmest hue of brown molded out of the richest cacao beans in the world. Jongho slowly took hold of your helmet and began pushing it upwards, but with a gentleness you hadn’t witnessed before. He was so careful and the imagination of having your head ripped off your body didn’t come to life.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he successfully removed the gear.

“No worries… I’m sure my mom would have my head if I let a lady walk around in designer clothes with a cheap helmet on.”

Although his intentions weren’t to tickle your belly, the sound of your laughter spread a fervor through his body and shone light on the darkest parts in him. It was contagious and he found his own lips curling up, eyes cheesing and that angelic voice of his handing out gleeful melodies to the few people taking a late-night stroll in the park.

“Come on, let’s take a walk.” He held out his hand for you to take and you did without a second thought. “I meant your heels, but lucky for you I have two hands.”

You began withdrawing your hand, but Jongho had already laced your fingers together and refused to let go.

“You're unbelievable,” you muttered, pretending the heat of embarrassment wasn't attacking your cheeks.

“I can live with that.”

Jongho pulled you along toward the flight of stairs and patiently walked with you. It didn’t matter that it took five minutes to reach the bottom because he was with you every step of the way and if you said anything otherwise, Jongho would’ve argued the night was still young and that the five minutes were worth it as he got to spend them with you. He was lucky his parents chose a candidate who wasn’t insecure of themselves to the point they apologized for every minor inconvenience, because Jongho wasn’t sure how the sweet words would fit his unruly persona. The first three steps on the sand made you change your mind and you quickly removed the heels, flexing your stiff feet and releasing a breath of relief. The expensive pair of footwear were handed to Jongho who hooked his pointer- and middle finger in the heel counter while his other set of fingers were still braided with yours.

“It’s nice here,” you admitted and looked out on the river. The other side was covered with a bunch of buildings, much like the ones behind you, and looked like a scene straight out of a movie. Where the lights of the apartments, universities and hospitals took on the looks of the stars above.

“Mmmmm, it’s quiet and empty.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Jongho pondered for a moment. “Sometimes… I can think easier when there aren’t a bunch of people breathing down my neck, plus the ride here helps me clear my head.”

“It’s overwhelming, right? I mean being in the spotlight constantly and having your every move watched from an early age, no?”

He shrugged. “It was at first, but… I stopped caring after a while and people stopped expecting things from me.”

You hummed in understanding and let the gentle waves wash over the conversation. The curiosity you once carried with you concerning Jongho’s defying personality simmered down to nothing and you realized it wasn’t a topic you should venture in on just yet. Instead, you changed it to something less serious.

“You know, I didn’t think we’d see each other after high school, but look at us now. Holding hands beneath the stars… Are you perhaps starting to like me, Jjong?”

One end of Jongho's lips curled into a shit-eating grin and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and you couldn't tell if it was from the nickname or from bringing up old high school memories. Jongho’s walking slowed down until both feet were planted on the sand, not bugging despite you being half a step ahead of him. You looked over your shoulder to see what was the reason for stopping.

“I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered by the fact that you think I’m just now starting to like you.”

He shortened the distance between you, leaving barely any room for air to squeeze past your bodies. His thumb traced a never-ending circle across the back of your hand and your heels had long since dropped onto the sand, giving him the freedom to cradle the side of your face. Your breath hitched in your throat and your heart seemed to sprout a pair of angel wings, soaring in your chest at the contact of his skin on yours.

"To answer your question, soulmate, I’ve liked you since the day I saw you in that gymnasium." Jongho's eyes traveled over your face, giving each feature and detail equal attention, as if he wanted to memorize your beauty as though it were a cheat sheet for an exam. "You were dressed in that cute school uniform, your hair braided and kept out of your face, and you looked absolutely sick to your stomach. That’s when I knew our souls were made for each other. I didn’t even need to know your name or look at your wrist. I just knew."

The world went silent around you. The sloshing of water, the chorus of cute laughter and the moving vehicles were muffled sounds that didn’t reach your ears. A furious heat crawled up your back and neck, nipping at your cheeks until you were on the brink of burning up like a firework, but the rest of your body — your fingers, toes, nose and ears — were freezing cold. A massive star nearing the end of its life cycle suddenly exploded and your hearing came back. The air that had caught in your throat was let out as Jongho’s words settled in your mind.

“Jongho,” you lamely whispered in return.

The secret you had carried for years turned out not to be much of a secret after all, and the hundreds, thousands, of people you thought you were fooling day in and day out weren’t deserving of that title. Because the biggest fool out of them all was you.

“You knew all along?”

Jongho shrugged and tore his eyes from your dumbfounded expression down to your wrist. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.” His thumb slid up beneath your detachable sleeves, exposing the name you kept hidden for years. “I mean, it isn’t everyday I hear about a pretty girl with my name tattooed on her wrist and hers on mine.”

You didn’t know what to focus on first. The fact that he called you a pretty girl, his thumb caressing your soulmate mark or him knowing you were destined together since high school. Your tongue darted out to lick at your bottom lip and his eyes were quick to follow the brief movement. He swallowed thickly and forced them up again.

“I take it you knew too?”

You nodded in return. “When they called out your name in the assembly and I caught the side of your face.”

“I’m happy you didn’t approach me then,” he suddenly admitted and chuckled as your brows pinched together. “Fate brought us together in the end.”

“But we aren’t together-together.”

“Last time I checked, you pretty much signed a contract to date me.”

“Fake-date you.”

The tongue poking the inside of his cheek looked ten times more attractive beneath the moonlight, and you wanted nothing more than to run your hand through his hair and kiss that darned smirk off his face. Perhaps the soulmate bond went further than a name scribbled on the outer layer of your skin, because your wish wasn’t too far from Jongho’s. He, too, wanted to get a taste of your lips. To have some remnants of your lipstick smudge against his and guess the flavor of it — maybe strawberry or cherry, though he always took you for a coconut girl.

He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Okay, fake-date then… Better?”

Not in the least.

“Much better.”

“It’s not for me,” he quickly added.

“Why?”

Jongho inhaled a sharp intake of air and waited, playing the scene out in his mind and weighing out his options before puking his thoughts and feelings out in an almost vacant park. “Because… I want to do stuff with you. To hold your hand, take you out on dates, kiss you, hug you and just be with you like a real couple. I want to know that the look you have when you’re with me is real, that it isn’t just a job for you. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.”

“I have always wanted you,” you confessed shakily. “Before I even knew you, Jongho. There was nothing more I wanted than to find my soulmate and that hasn’t changed. Even when I did find you and lost you at the same time, that desire still lived within me. It still does… And when I found out you were the rich kid who needed a fake-girlfriend, it felt like the world was laughing in my face, but I realized it was giving me a second chance. Us a second chance.”

Now it was Jongho’s turn to look dumbfounded. You took his silence as a sign to continue.

“And all you had to do, Jjong, was ask. Even now. Just ask for what you want.”

The man stared at you as if heaven were beneath your fingertips, as if a single touch of your finger would bring him eternal peace and serenity. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and no one else could compete with your beauty — even if they were sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Jongho was never a listener — always defying and doing as he pleased. Yet this one time, the one time, he would be darned if he didn’t.

“May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

The stars aligned as his lips gently pressed against yours. Jongho was right, you tasted like coconut and it had him craving for more, yet the fear of pushing you away was greater than his need. The fingers of your free hand tangled into the side of his shirt to steady your swirling mind, but did little for your erratically beating heart. Jongho wasn’t rough nor eager to ravage your mouth with his tongue, rather on the contrary. It was a soft and lingering kiss that tested the waters. You parted to inhale air before diving in for another kiss, this one a little more urgent and daring than the first, but equally sweet. Jongho’s tongue swiped at your bottom lip and you tilted your head sideways while allowing him access. Even now with his tongue exploring your mouth, the kiss didn’t change from intimate to hungry. A fire was set in your lungs that ached for oxygen and you were left with no choice but to break apart. Jongho rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing and heavy gasps for air fanning your faces.

“You drive me crazy,” he said between breaths.

“I’m not… doing anything.” You had to fight the smile threatening to dance across your lips. This was a whole new side to Jongho, a side you had never seen before but wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Precisely and you still make me lose my mind.”

The stubborn smile eventually broke through and Jongho huffed out a chuckle at the gleeful expression. I’m-not-doing-anything his ass. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek once and twice, but froze in motion as you asked him a question.

“Did you really mean everything you said earlier? About the contract, I mean.”

“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat. “If I could, I would terminate the contract, but keep this. Keep us.”

A beat passed and then another. Your thoughts were flying wild, narrowly avoiding each other and the explosion that would ensue.

“Let’s do it then,” you eventually said. That was the second bravest thing you had done in your life. The first would be signing the contract while running on four hours of sleep. “Let’s do it for real.”

Jongho gauged your expression, searching for any sign of uncertainty or regret. When he couldn’t find even a hint of either, he pressed his lips against yours. Affection, joy and excitement poured into the kiss, and Jongho hoped you would feel at least half of it.

Unbeknownst to the new couple, two people stood by Jongho’s motorcycle. The man wore a fancy black suit, while the woman’s dress elegantly hugged her curves as she stood effortlessly in her heels. A set of black sunglasses obscured their eyes, despite the fact that the sun had long since exchanged places with the moon. The pair seemed out of place in Yeouido Hangang Park surrounded by people dressed in casual clothing. Passersby noticed it too, shooting them strange looks, but neither of them cared. Their attention was fixed on the couple brought together by destiny.

“I knew she was the one for him,” the man proudly admitted and puffed out his chest.

The woman beside him scoffed. “Please, I was the one who found her Linkedin and recognized her name from Mr. Choi’s wrist.”

The pair gave you one last look before turning around and clambering back into the limousine, which drove them straight to the charity event. They had left the party in a hurry the moment they noticed the absence of the successor of Choi Clothes and his fake girlfriend — or should they say, his real girlfriend?

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