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vanaera · 5 years ago

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Daffodil Rings

Synopsis | In a world where the red-string-of-fate tale has been proven true by science, each scientific journal has been up to date with every new-found “soulmate system,” and everyone out there has been in their never-ending search for their soulmates, there stands one bug in the system: You. You don’t believe in the absoluteness of the soulmate phenomenon, nor the too-perfect-to-work-out soulmate systems, arguing each and every bit of them are for everyone but you. With 17 years of defiance against such natural occurrence, you did not expect you will be literally swept off your feet by your soulmate on some ordinary Thursday into the wildest night of your life. Everything only goes downhill when you learn that “soulmate” of yours happens to be Park Jimin, the singer from the worldwide famous boy group BTS, you have embarrassingly crushed on for six years.

Characters | idol!Jimin x law student, part-time florist!you (soulmate au proven by science; strangers to lovers trope)

Genres | Fluff, angst, implied smut

Wordcount | 22.3k (I’m sorry)

Playlist | I was Made for Loving You by Tori Kelly ft. Ed Sheeran

Cross posted on | AO3

A/N | Hi everyone! Friendly reminder that everything in this story is fictional and has no intended connection with actual individuals and groups involved in this story. I just felt the need to remind you all ;)

You always loved arguing. Whether it be about politics, philosophy, human rights issues, science advances, or if pineapples really do belong in pizza (which you agree with) – the topic doesn’t matter because you found it always necessary to go against the current. For check and balance, you insist. You don’t want to admit that “hobby” of yours was almost pathological.

You tell people it started from a time you were five and went around your neighborhood. Your mother told you to get outside your introverted shell and talk with the kids of your age. However, instead of striking friendships, you started arguments, arguing person after person on the littlest of things–from the notion that ocean sunfishes are the stupidest animals to exist, to the fallacy behind ‘blood is thicker than water’. Unlike your mother’s expectations, you earned angry snarls and glares to the point she was almost bothered by the stinging stares of anyone who will pass by your house. “Almost” is the keyword, because as soon as local debates were announced in your community centers, you became the most sought-out consultant of every single contestant. Times now seemed short of instances people can prove what they’re ideas are worth. Anyway, your mother forbade you to enter the contest because you were too young to join at that time (“Goodness, you’re just five!”). And because Mrs. Thornbow, your third grade English teacher and adviser, was not impressed of your carefree negligence of school rules, especially regarding proper attires. You guessed your teacher warned your mother of letting you participate in debates in your notorious black slacks, the one you always wear in school instead of your red plaid skirt, in case you get too “out of hand” again in school.

Unlike the story you told everyone, the real origin of your almost-sick hobby has to do with the red string of fate. The invisible, indestructible string created by fate which ties two people together, two soulmates, for the rest of their lives. Generations upon generations were expecting to be paired with a person made by the heavens just for them. Even more, most relationships, marriages, and families are the fruits of this system. Thus, it will be unnatural for anyone to go against such destiny.

The soulmate phenomenon was an inexplicable truth and people explained such phenomenon through the myth of these red strings, until 1986 when Professor Vandikes and Doctor Weber discovered biological evidences of the soulmate phenomenon. The two found extraneous neural interconnections of two “soulmates” through neuroimaging. Vandikes and Weber discovered that thoughts can be transmitted back and forth between the soulmates because of their identically coordinated neural activities. Even more, the soulmates simultaneously produced similar accurate results even when they’re living in two different countries.

As soon as Vandikes and Weber’s study hit the news, everyone was automatically convinced in this soulmate science. It even prompted researchers to investigate every single existing soulmate systems. No wonder everyone accepted the soulmate phenomenon as an unarguable truth, an unbreakable tradition, and even as absurd as a purpose in life. Of course, everyone except you.

You didn’t believe in fate dictating who you should love when you already have enough of the society telling you who you should be. Science has proven fate is capable of planning someone to be awfully compatible with you but, it does not ensure it will always work. Your existence was enough of a proof.

You do not have any existing soulmate system countl. There is no “soulname” on your wrist, a permanent, inborn tattoo of the name of your soulmate, the very soulmate system your mother and father has. You do not feel any kind of “soulbond,” the emotional transparency system between two soulmates, nor do you see any “soul-art” decorating your body, a system of identical, dull tattoos, which only turn vibrant at the touch of a soulmate. You already see the world in color since you were born, unlike your playmate Jung Seolhee. She said she has “soul-vision” as her soulmate system that’s why she sees the world in black and white until her soulmate comes and enters her field of vision. And, you most definitely do not have any thoughts, other than yours, rambling in your mind as you grow up unlike what Vandikes and Weber claim in the rare soulmate system, “soul connection”.

In short, the soulmate phenomenon did not include you into their equation. Hence, at sixteen, you’re adamant about your disagreement with this red-string-of-fate bullshit–a sentiment you nurtured since you’re five–when everyone of your age has already set out to travel the world to find their soulmates. You decided you won’t base your life on what fate has dictated. You will create your own path, your own life, and your own destiny. Cures for numerous illnesses have been discovered yet their effectivity for every single person are not identically applicable. The soulmate phenomenon excluded you and it most probably happened so because it’s not for you.

You love arguing, most especially when it comes to the soulmate phenomenon. Your 17-year-defiance is enough of a solid proof and such experience warranted you enough skills not only to graduate college as the top of the class, but also to pursue law school. You just didn’t imagine your longest duration of arguing will not be against a competent lawyer inside the court, but against a stranger you met in a hole-in-the-wall bar, who unknowingly becomes your greatest misfortune of your night.

It all started at ten o’clock, fifth of September 2019, in Marti’s Hub, a small bar you always frequent when you’re in need of intoxicating liquids. You never thought anything aberrant will happen as two hours prior, you were just mourning over the disappointing results of your Law 114 essay with some drinks with your bestfriend Lucy.

“C’mon, Y/N, let’s dance! Stop being such a party pooper!” you feel Lucy’s insistent pull on the sleeve of your jacket and you glared at her before putting your drink down on the table.

Actually, two hours prior to that dreadful ten o’clock, you were mulling over your Law 114 essay while Lucy is mulling about the probability of her soulmate appearing in the bar. And as much as you totally love arguing, there is only one exception to your uncontrollable hobby: you hate doing it with your bestfriend.

Lucy Kim has been with you since you’re an intolerable ten-year-old in elementary and for the longest time your friendship lasted, it isn’t hard to tell the girl was a sensitive bunch. You remember her fat ugly tears in senior high when Peter Lee, the local asshole, told her her braids look dumb. Like every other friends, you’ve had fights here and there. Everytime you argued with her, you hated yourself a bit for making her feel bad and you feel much worse when you have to apologize and see her tear-streaked face. It’s ironic how you’re this soft for Lucy when you didn’t bat a damn eyelash at your mother whenever she complains you’re the frequent source of her headaches. In your defense, Lucy understood your anomalous hobby as your second nature far better than your mother could.

However for tonight, you’re gonna cross the line and disregard the exception you reserved for your bestfriend.

“Lucy, I told you I came here to drink. Not dance.” You picked the lime on the plate and took a bite. Your fingers enclose firmly on your glass before your friend could attempt to take you away again. “Plus, I just agreed to tag you along because you told me you want to cry over your fruitless job hunt. I did not agree to accompany you to hunt for your soulmate tonight, which is what you’re doing right now.” You look pointedly at her.

“Well,” Lucy drawls, rubbing her arm, “you can’t blame me. I’ve already searched our entire neighborhood, my hometown, and even my old university and still I can barely see any Michael Hudson coming my way.” Your eyes caught how she grazes her fingers on the soulname marked on her right wrist. You tried to sympathize with her but still-

“That does not justify why you’re asking me to accompany you to the dance floor.”

Your remark is returned with a scathing look from your friend. “Are you not listening to me? I told you I already searched the entire city! And you’ve always accompanied me in every single soulmate hunt! Plus, you didn’t have any qualms yesterday when you and I started to search in nightclubs. It won’t hurt for another try tonight.” You turn away, silent in the truth of what she said. Lucy huffs, “Also, a Michael Hudson sounds someone that usually goes to nightclubs.”

“It does not,” you mutter, taking another swig from your drink.

“Uh yeah?” Lucy’s frown deepens, eyes turning into slits as she glares at you like you’re an imbecile. Hypothetically, you are one based on your non-impressive streak in your law essays but that’s beside the incredulity of the things your bestfriend is spouting. Whether she understood the disinterest painted in your whole face or not, she continues on, “I already met lots of Michael’s yesterday and I just met two ‘bout 20 minutes ago. My Michael Hudson may actually be here.”

You placed down your drink on the bar to stare at your friend. “Lucy, your argument is a false causation. Look,” you sigh, “a bar is not an ideal place to find true love. In this generation, it is more likely you’ll meet an asshole Michael in here instead of your prince charming Michael.” You grimace but you continue on, “Your Michael Hudson may be having some coffee right now in a sophisticated café while some ‘Michael’ here turns out to be a jerk who just wants to get into your pants. Why don’t we just go home, yeah? I’m already finished with my drink and I don’t want to drag your drunk ass back to your home again.”

“Y/N, you don’t understand,” Lucy groans. “I feel he’s here right now. I can’t just go up and leave without trying. My guts are telling me to stay. It’s a soulmate thing!” You scrunch your face in a disgusted cringe. Lucy narrows her eyes. “See? You’re just saying these stuff because of your prejudice against the soulmate phenomenon.”

“It’s not a prejudice. What I believe is true–”

“Doesn’t matter. Look,” Lucy sighs, “If you want to go home, you can go. I’ll stay here and take my chances.” She doesn’t wait for your reply and turns around to head for the dance floor.

A heavy rock settles on your chest. You don’t like arguing with your bestfriend especially when it comes to this soulmate thing where your views are in absolute disagreement with hers. You don’t like to come off as a bitter, unsupportive friend who ruins everyone’s mood with their cynicism. But sometimes, you can’t help but say a thing or two to wake Lucy up from her fantasies. After toxic relationships with already three Michael Hudsons in your university, you figured Lucy is annoyingly naïve for outright jumping in a relationship with anyone who has the same name as the words inked on her wrist. You’ve already picked up broken piece after broken piece of herself from relationships after relationships, helping her stand on her feet again and again. You’ve always been by her side to not let her stay far too up in the clouds, balancing her happy-go-lucky spirit with your boring seriousness to help her grounded to reality. That’s why you can’t ignore the thorns pricking your chest when she dismisses your advice so easily as if she never learned anything from her hopeless romance just a week ago.

�� You bite your lip and decide to have some soda. You’re not yet leaving but you most definitely won’t wait for her to go home with you. You just have to soften the heavy walls building on your chest so you won’t sleep tonight crying. You hate doing that.

Another glass of soda and a plate of lime later, ten minutes have passed with just you indulging on a combo you know will be frowned upon by other bar patrons. Ten minutes of doing just that is also enough for you to notice the man in a navy button-down by your left was now a little too close to you. You saw him seated on the far left of the bar, about three feet from you prior to your argument with Lucy. He was ducked on the table, shoulders hunched, which guaranteed you no opportunity to assess his face before. Now, he’s by your side, elbow brushing against your jacket and back straightened enough to see a cringe-worthy smile he’s sending your way. You don’t manage to make out his whole face though because his disheveled brown locks were covering about half of his face. You take your focus back on your plate. Your grasp on your glass tightens. There’s no need to panic. Maybe the stranger transferred seats because your spot has closer proximity to the shelves where the bartender is situated. Maybe he’s sober and you’re just making this whole situation blow out of proportion in your head. Maybe–

“Hi, doll. You seem tense. Wanna come over to my place to loosen up?” His breath against the shell of your ear makes the hair on your neck rise. Your shoulders stiffen and you gulp. You could feel a ghost of a hand looming on the exposed skin from your ripped jeans. Warning bells wail in your head.

“I’m not interested,” you mutter between gritted teeth. You don’t look his way as you swat his hand away that was about to rest on your knee. You don’t want to make a scene when you’re about to finish your drink and leave this hole of a bar. You’ve had enough drama for the night already.

However, the man seems to turn deaf because he smiles at you again. “Oh, don’t play hard to get now, doll. I know you want it. You’ve been staring at me earlier.” His alcohol-stained breath fans against your face and despite what you said earlier, he places his hand on your knee, grazes your clothed skin, and then gropes the swell of your thigh.

Motherfucking hell–

“Hey, man, can you please take your hands off my girl.”

A voice from another stranger blares behind you and you freeze in your spot. What the fuck, now you have another gross man to deal with?! You grunt in annoyance and whipped your head to the side to finally yell the fuck out to these creeps. Social conventions be damned. You’re gonna make a scene. However, the man behind you holds you on the curve of your shoulders, not too tight to hurt yet not loose enough for you to turn in your seat. You furrow your brows, bewildered. You lean away slightly to get a glimpse of this man’s face but it didn’t do much because his bleached blonde fringe is almost covering his eyes and a midnight black mask was pulled over the lower half of his face. Now you’re just terribly confused. Is he a wanted criminal to cover up almost majority of his face or is he severely ill with something much worse than the common cold? You don’t know whether to trust this man or be wary of him.

“I don’t know man,” the drunk creep slurs, hand still poised too comfortably on your thigh. You wriggle in your seat but the man keeps his hold on you firm. The stranger smirks at you, then to the stranger behind you. “From what I know, this girl is my chic. Go find your own, dickhead.”

What the absolute fucking shit–You found your rage already growing the best of you and you swat his hand repeatedly but the man grips your thigh even tighter. You open your mouth to scream at the the drunk out of mixed pain, anger, and frustration–but the guy behind your back beats you to it again.

“Look, man. Take your fucking hands off my girl before I call the cops. She’s my soulmate.”

At the mention of ‘soulmate,’ the drunk man lets go of your thigh as if his hands were burned. He raises both arms to show he’s not touching any part of you anymore and before you could say something back at him–to redeem yourself and at least roast him into his next life–the guy behind you has already grabbed you by your shoulders, taking you in tow as he walks in fast, short steps towards the exit of the bar.

The chilling wind of September slaps you in the face and even if you’re still shaken up from the whole deal earlier, you still have your brain on your head to make out the dark interior of the semi-vacant parking lot of the bar. Another set of warning bells blare inside your mind and you thrash your arms around, never caring who you’ll hit or if you’ll be hit, just to break free from the hold of the stranger. You’re not going to get kidnapped after being just indecently hitted on! The man instantly lets you go but it doesn’t put him in any good light for you not to turn around and raise an accusatory finger at him.

“YOU! Just who do you think you are to hold and take me out here?! Who–”

The man pulls down his black mask and immediately, words die in your throat. It’s his drooped eyelids and warm brown eyes that hits you first, then it’s the small slope of his nose and the soft curves of his full, pink lips. Your eyes fleet toward the side of his face and goddamn, the long silver earrings dangling on his pierced ears were the same ones you were ogling at an online article you were reading yesterday.

Your eyes widen and your jaw falls open in shock. “You-you-you’re–”

Some random stranger was grabbing you by the shoulders earlier and now in front of you is fucking Park Jimin. Park Jimin, vocalist and dancer of BTS, the biggest boy band in the world who sang tracks upon tracks that earned the greatest number of music show awards in history. Park Jimin, member of BTS who performs in sold-out concerts in countless stadiums around the world. Park Jimin, the famed contemporary dancer from Busan, the beautiful man whose full lips and gentle eyes you’ve continuously written about in countless fanfictions since you started stanning BTS. Park Jimin, the person who may or maybe not have been your ultimate celebrity crush and the object of your both innocent and not-so-innocent fantasies for six years now. Goddamn, is he Park Jimin, the boy you straightaway took a liking to ever since you saw him in his cringe-worthy snapback and No More Dream black jersey ensemble in BTS’ 2013 debut music video.

Your jaw twitches. “Oh my–Oh my God. You-you–”

“Wait, don’t panic!” Jimin reaches for your trembling fingers and then you feel it–the explosion. Blinding silvery fireworks seem to go off behind your eyes as hot white combustions fill your chest for a millisecond before their aftereffects register in a series of numbing kaleidoscope of feelings running hot and wild. Your body is tingling, your chest is burning, and searing pain is engraving its way down your arm from where the man touched you. You immediately pull up the sleeves of your jacket and there you see it–tens, no, hundreds of vibrant, yellow daffodils growing an inked garden in astounding speed from a bloom that has looped around your left ring finger. The blooms spread towards your elbow, creeping even further up to your chest where you can see a bud already peeking out on the skin exposed from your low-cut white tee. Your mouth remains open in shock. You clasp your right hand on your newly-tattooed left arm only for you to mumble a faint “oh my god” when you see your right hand–and right arm–also inked with the same yellow flowers.

Still hunched over, your eyes fleet towards the stranger–towards Park Jimin, and it was only then you manage to let out audible words again. “You’re-you’re–”

“–your soulmate.”

“–Park, Jimin.”

Jimin smiles, “Oh, you know me already. This wasn’t so hard as I thought.”

You don’t register what he said, still caught up on the instant sleeves you are now sporting and the outlandish word the man in front of you spouted. “My soulmate,” you trail off, voice softening into a little above a whisper, “my–my soulmate. Oh my god.”

Unaware of the war going on in your mind, Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, I’m your soulmate. I already know. You don’t have to repeat it again and again. It’s true–”

“Out of all people, why you?!”

Jimin’s face falls. “Why? What’s wrong with me?”

“I–you–ugh!” you throw your hands up and cover your face in hopeless dismay.

Jimin is more confused than he has ever been in his whole life. “Hey, what do you mean? What’s wrong with me?”

Your eyes peek out from your hands and you see the distance Jimin has closed between the two of you as now his beautiful, perfect face is practically shoved in front of you. A gunfire inside your head resounds and you blow up. “You! What’s wrong is that you’re Park Jimin! Manggae of BTS who sing in sold out concerts in every goddamn country and the youngest recipients of the Order of the Cultural Merit from South Korea and are now the biggest boyvband in the world!” You huff out, breathless. And then you pale. Oh my god, did you just word-vomited–

“I didn’t know you know me that well,” Jimin giggles. “That’s great! We’re off to a good start!”

Confusion flickers in your eyes for only a second before it turns into aggravation. “Why is this not bothering you?! You’re an idol!”

Jimin nods, “Yeah, I’m an idol. And I’m also your soulmate.” He takes a step toward you and you take one back. Seeing the apprehension in your tensed form, he doesn’t push further and instead opts to place his hands in the pockets of his ink black leather jacket. “Don’t you know why I came just in time before that drunk jerk even tried to further push his sick plan?”

You don’t answer him, still shaken up from everything that’s suddenly happening.

Jimin just smiles. “I felt you’re near and you’re distressed and anxious. Soulbond, as people say. I went with my gut feeling and I proved it true when I saw you at the bar with that man. It’s a soulmate thing. And oh, I also have this.” Jimin pulls up his sleeve and raises his left hand, flashing you his ring finger inked with a daffodil looped around it just as yours. His tattoo didn’t spread into a sleeve, hinted by the clear skin peeking from the seams of his leather jacket toward the rest of his hand. But still, his inked ring is undeniably a daffodil bloom just like yours. Jimin smirks, “I told you, I’m your soulmate.

You could hear your heart pulsing loud against your ears and you could still feel your veins thrumming with the aftershocks of the explosions of stuff you don’t want to label anything that is already connected to the grinning boy in front of you. You open your mouth only for you to close it again. You cannot deny his statement when two full sleeves of tattooed flowers bloomed right in front both of your eyes. He’s your soulmate and that’s undeniable. However, a different chaos brews in your mind again when you remember that this man in front of you was very much the celebrity you have fawned over for the entire latter six years of your life. You must have weirded him out already when you blurted out the achievements of his group earlier. You cannot let yourself further creep him out by telling him you’ve always raved about him, dare even adored him way, way back then before this very night. Sure, you’ve never believed in this soulmate thing for 17 years of your life but it doesn’t mean you didn’t know about love nor experienced it. Your three ex-crushes under your belt and your six-long stable years of intense crushing on this boy in front of you (that even prompted you to write cheesy romance and dirty filth about him in your still-very-alive tumblr writing account) are enough to color your single-as-fuck-since-you-were-born life with enough joy and pain. But anyway, you can’t let him know everything about this. It’s too embarrassing. It will definitely make him run for the hills just like your three ex-crushes.

You wouldn’t have to do all of this hassle in the first fucking place if Park Jimin is not your fucking soulmate. Goddamn it, you didn’t even imagine in your whole life you will actually fucking say that ridiculous “s” word.

Frowning again, you storm off.

Jimin laughs and joins you in your furious steps outside the parking lot.

***

Unlike your initial plan of running away, you didn’t know you will actually stay with Jimin into the night as he rambles about future date plans.

Half past ten, the two of you are seated in Aunt Marie’s, a 24/7 retro-themed diner you frequent every finals week for late night dinners. Massive cheeseburgers are on your plates and Jimin is seated across you, sporting the mask you have seen on him earlier.

You drop your utensils and sigh. “See? This won’t work. How the hell will we date if your face is always covered with that?”

“I didn’t know you’re already thinking about dating me.” Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he sets his elbow on the table, cupping his face. “I’m liking this fast pace so far.”

You didn’t know this man can easily evade your question by getting sidetracked like a pesky toddler. You purse your lips, unamused. “I’m not thinking about dating you. I’m just laying out a general probability for anyone who will date you. Don’t get ahead so fast, you don’t even know me.”

“You know me.” Jimin shrugs. “At least that’s a headstart.” You glare at him and he laughs. Jimin continues, “We have lots of time to know each other. That’s why we’re here.”

“Correction, we’re here because you told me you’re starving and this is the only near place I know that serves good food this late in the night.”

“Which means we get to know each other,” Jimin repeats, smile turning into a grin. “I could have brought us to a place I know but you insisted going here, hence I learn tonight that you like eating at Aunt Marie’s. Therefore, we are here to eat and also learn about each other. It is inevitable.” You sigh in defeat and Jimin smirks at his victory. “Also, I can eat, look.” He slices his burger, pulls down his mask and shoves a piece in his mouth, and then pulls up his mask on again. You can’t see his teasing smile but you could tell he’s already giggling because his cheeks grow rounder, making his eyes turn into crescent moons. Slicing another piece, Jimin says, “So, can I know more about you, Y/N?”

Your mouth opens again like a blubbering fish. “Wait, how did you know my name? I haven’t told you my name yet.”

For a second, you see his eyes widen but it passes like a blur when you find yourself starting to like the mischievous glint shining in his warm eyes. Jimin shrugs and answers, “It’s a soulmate thing.”

You cringe and Jimin chortles. Okay, you take it back. You don’t like the mischievous glint if he does that while saying that ridiculous “s” word. When his snickers die down, Jimin repeats his question, “So, can I now know more about you, Y/N?”

You dab your napkin on your lips and sigh for the nth time. “Well, everything about me is as plain as plain Jane can be. Name’s Y/N L/N, only child from a middle-class family. I had a quite nice childhood, playing here and there, making many…friends.” You can’t help but cringe at the word, quite unsure if you could ever tell your neighbors who consulted you during community debates were your friends. You want to make a good impression even if you weren’t still sold into this soulmate phenomenon. Unlike back then, you weren’t too fond of people seeing you less of what you are now. You pushed on, “Until middle school came and I learned how friendships work only if everyone gets to free-ride on projects and you carry the whole group.”

Jimin snorts, “Who hurt you, Y/N?”

“That asshole’s name is Kim Yeonjun. I still remember the cookie he stole from my lunchbox. Never gonna forgive him.” Your serious front breaks out into snickers and Jimin follows suit. “Anyway, I didn’t know my life will get more boring until high school came and our teachers taught us in detail about Vandikes and Weber’s soulmate science–”

“Wait, this soulmate thing has a science behind it?” Jimin looks at you, eyes round.

“Well, yeah,” you reply, brows scrunched. “Your teachers didn’t tell you about them? It was like the only thing any kid will actually remember from studying next to reading and writing.”

“I don’t remember anything about such science. I studied in a performing arts school in Busan.”

You look at him incredulous, “Impossible! It’s more likely you’ll know about the soulmate science before you even learn how to read. Parents already start the red string of fate bullshit as soon as their kid starts to speak gibberish. It’s impossible to leave out anyone from the soulmate science since everyone was raving about it–teens, adults, and even kids.”

“Do you rave about it?”

The furrows on your forehead deepen. “What? No!”

“Well, that’s not everyone,” Jimin leans on his seat. “So, people like me who’ve never heard of such science are justified.”

“Touché” you agree, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get away without learning at least a two or thing about it because teachers start to teach soulmate science in basic sciences at the end of middle school.” You lean forward, eyes challenging his. “And everyone studies basic sciences in middle school. Heck, you even mentioned soulbond earlier. You’re just probably asleep when your teacher taught it in class.”

“Okay, I surrender my fight,” Jimin mutters and you laugh.

“So long story short, Vandikes and Weber first discovered the biological proof of the soulmate phenomenon. They show how neural interconnections of two soulmates transmit info to each other at the same time even when they’re in two different countries. Which then means the soul connection and all other soulmate systems are scientifically accepted as a truth now than just some folklore.”

“Wait, what’s the soul connection?”

“It’s the soulmate system where two soulmates get to read or hear each other’s thoughts. It’s the phenomenon Vandikes and Weber witnessed while formulating their biological proof. Also, it’s rare. Only five couples were recorded to have that system. One of them was the participants of Vandikes and Weber’s study.”

Jimin hums and you continue with your story, “Anyway, I was surrounded by screaming teenagers desperately looking for their soulmates and all that cringey stuff while I busy myself with studies because that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

“And you’re busy loving pre-debut BTS.”

You choke on your burger, eyes wide before you glare at him. How did he know? The guilt on your face must be evident because Jimin starts breaks into a laughing fit that other people (a couple of nightowl teens and couples) look at your way. In your defense, 2013 you didn’t know any better and just spent hours googling BTS and buying posters with each members’ faces on them (with always an extra poster of Jimin’s solo picture everytime you buy a bundle) instead of getting a social life. At least 2013 you were smart enough to realize you’re broke and you can’t afford to buy albums yet when you’re already struggling just to get your hands on required textbooks your teachers assign. You maintain your pointed look at him, refusing to admit to his very much true statement. You don’t want him to know even when the proof is right in your home–the posters you collected for three years, rolled up and still tucked in the corner of your closet. You never found it in yourself to dispose them even after every annual promise to throw them away.

Jimin sniggers before he cues for you to continue on. “Sorry, it wasn’t funny.”

“Anyway,” you stuff your face with the last piece of your burger and swallowed it, “I got high honors and got into my dream college. I realized next to studying, I was good at arguing–

“–so true–”

“–so I decided to go into law school.” You send Jimin another glare for his (very true) remark and he smiles. “So here I am now into my first year in law school, flunking every essay, and currently worth minimum wage.”

Jimin nods in interest, “Where do you work?”

“Oh gee, I didn’t know you’re into asking occupations of your date like every other cliche dates.”

You see Jimin’s eyes spark in interest and you regret what you just blurted out. “Oh, so you do see this as a date.”

“Nooo,” you groan, heat already creeping up on your cheeks, almost like a wildfire. What the hell is happening to you? You always know how to control your word vomit; you’re never impulsive when it comes to speaking out. You’re a law student for Christ’s sake!

“Don’t worry, I also see this as a date.” You could feel Jimin’s stare linger on your warm cheeks. You snug deeper into your jacket, wishing for the ground to break open and eat you up. Instead of further teasing you, Jimin repeats his question. “So, where do you work?”

“At Petal Hill,” you mumble. “It’s a flowershop two blocks away from my flat.”

“Oh, a flowershop. Then, you must probably be knowledgeable of a lot of flowers.”

“Yeah” you answer, a smile instantly tugging on your lips. “I get to recommend the best bouquets and sets to my customers, not to mention I have great grasp on the flower language to help them pick flowers they want to convey their messages through.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I mean, I get to understand your confusing I Need You and Run music videos just with the two flowers used alone,” you blurt, thinking fondly of your Tumblr text-post, the only one that got you over 300 notes, where you wrote flower theories about BTS’ music videos. However, the moment you see Jimin gawking at what you said, it’s too late to undo what’s already let out in the open air.

“Really? Oh my god, I never even knew the meaning behind those flowers. The directors just tell us to sit here, hold this or that, and do sad-emo-boi hours.”

You stifle a giggle but it comes out unsuccessful when you break out into a huge grin, “You– what?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jimin laughs, “We actually knew the plot of the music videos and internalized the characters assigned to us. But really, I never knew the flowers alone are a huge hint to the whole story.”

“Well, my time to shine has finally arrived,” you grin, finding the need to stretch out your arms comically like how Tom does when he’s smug about catching Jerry. “The most iconic flower you guys used again and again is the white lily. Although the flower means rebirth, royalty, and purity with its delicate yet grand petals, they are often associated with funerals. White lilies symbolize the restored innocence the departed soul receives after death. That’s why the moment the music video flashes Seokjin’s character spreading six lily petals on the floor, I already knew either all your six characters or Seokjin’s, will die, before the video even reached to your guys’…sad-emo-boi hours.” Jimin nods in interest and you continue, “The Japanese version of the music video for I Need You was a large give-away since the large masses of flowers surrounding Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s characters resemble like the clump of flowers thrown at a coffin being buried.” You gulp, “Anyway, going to the lighter side because I don’t want to dwell on such grim topics, the second flower you guys used that caught my eye was the blue rose.”

“Oh yeah, that one!” Jimin eyes glimmer in recognition. “It was the only flower we used in the Run music video. What’s its meaning?”

“Impossible love.” You said, lips forming a thin line. “Blue roses don’t occur in nature because roses do not have the specific gene to produce such color. Instead, they are made by placing blue dye into the bark of the roses’ roots. Since it’s impossible to produce blue roses naturally without artificial means, these roses mean impossible love. So when the video flashes the blue rose in the background of Yoongi and Jungkook’s characters fighting, it can be said their familial love for each other, as they were depicted like brothers in the videos, will be unable to mend the wreckage of their characters.”

“Wow, I didn’t know it’s possible to reach to such accurate perception with the flowers alone.”

“Then are my theories true?” You lean forward.

“Yeah, on Jungkook and Yoongi’s characters being brothers and their strained familial bond. Also with the connotation of the lilies, although,” Jimin leans forward, too, smirking, “I wouldn’t reveal to you who really died or didn’t in the music videos.”

You scoff. “Wow, such torture. You’ve been keeping the fans in the shadows about the story far too long.”

“Not my choice, blame Big Hit. The concept team just tells us anyway the plot when we have to shoot them so you can say I’m also in the dark” Jimin shrugs. “Also, I want to keep you on your toes, making theories and analyses. They interest me. How did you easily connect the dots?”

“I’m a part-time florist. And, I took English literature as my undergraduate study. The plot analyses and the story critiques we did really grew in me.”

“Oh wow,” Jimin gasps, leaning back. “My god, I didn’t know you were so out of my league!”

“What?” Out of his league? Is he fucking crazy? He’s the one across you who’s got millions of followers, followed everywhere by the media, known and loved in every country, not to mention, worth of millions of dollars. And you’re here, who’s got millions of bills to pay, followed by countless work and university deadlines, barely spared a glance from the people in your university and work, and you hate to mention again, worth minimum wage. Hell, you could tell Jimin’s face is glowingly beautiful even with his mask pulled on while you’re here, probably sporting a full oily face look. By all blatant circumstances, he’s the one who’s out of your league.

At the sight of your frown, Jimin’s hands wave in front of you, trying to dismiss any misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just–I didn’t know you’re such an intellectual. You read lots of books and do analyses and you’re so damn good in arguing. You always get me convinced. I haven’t done anything yet in our date but gawk and say ‘wow’ like a kid. I don’t…want to look stupid in front of you.”

“You’re not.”

“Huh?”

You clear your throat. “You’re not stupid. And no, you didn’t just ‘gawk and say wow’ at me. You did a good job arguing with me earlier…about the ‘date.’ And that takes a lot because it looks like you’re having fun doing this friendly debate with me when people curse me for being so adamant in arguments.”

“Why would they curse you? There’s nothing wrong in fighting for what you think is right.”

You shrug, “They got nothing substantial to say so they resort to shaming you for what you know. Sick way of lifting yourself above others. Anyway, why don’t you fire me some flower questions you have in mind? I’m in the mood to go all out in my flower-nerdiness today.”

“Okay, so…what do you think is the best flower to give for your friends?”

“Pink tulips are automatic to-gos. They mean ‘I care for you’ and also ‘good wishes’ so they’re also perfect for joyful gatherings. Pear blossoms also do the trick as they mean lasting friendship.” You glance upwards and hum before you return your eyes to Jimin, excitement thrumming in your nerves, “Oh, and Arborvitaes may not be popular but they’re the perfect flowers to give to a friend if you want to have ‘everlasting friendship.’”

“Hmm, then what about the best one to give to your parents?”

“Flowers of gratefulness are the top candidates. Campanulas, azaleas, and dark pink roses all mean gratitude and thankfulness.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that next time I buy flowers for my mom,” Jimin smiles. “I always go for red roses every damn single time.”

“It’s the classic. Can’t blame you though, it has the most generic message applicable to many kinds of relationships.”

“Yeah, really?”

“Yeah, they mean true love–True love for your friend, true love for your parent, or true love for your significant other. People usually use the connotation of “true love” for romantic relations when it’s actually applicable to familial bonds and friendships. After all, all of these relationships require truthfulness and love at the same time.”

Jimin’s mouth forms an o-shape. “Oh, I never really thought of that.”

“Well now you know,” you grin.

“Inked and stamped now, ma’am,” Jimin slaps his palm on his head and you giggle. At your laugh, Jimin smile grows bigger. “Okay, here’s another one: what flower is the best one to give to your mortal enemy?”

“Are you insane? Who gives flowers to their mortal enemy?”

Jimin shrugs. “Why not?”

“Disregarding the money and time you’re wasting picking these flowers for such person,” you squint your eyes at him and Jimin laughs, “you should definitely go for foxgloves and orange lilies. They literally mean ‘Fuck you’ to the hardest core.”

“‘Fuck you’ in what sense?” Jimin teases.

You easily go along with it, mischief easily brewing inside your head. “They mean ‘fuck you’ as a curse, but if you mean the suggestive ‘fuck you’ then go for balsams. Though they may not be that arousing because they have these large, curving petals that look worn and limp, and you DON’T want to imply you’re like that flower.”

Jimin guffaws, “Then why do they mean ‘fuck you’ if they’re not the least bit attractive?”

“I don’t know, blame the Victorians who invented this floriography. Preferences change over time anyway so we can’t blame them for thinking balsams back then are ahhhsm.”

You’re co-workers always found that joke dry and lame and yet in front of you, Jimin laughs as he holds his stomach, even finding the need for his other hand to slap the table again and again. At this rate, he’s toning his abs from how hard he tries to keep his laughter not loud enough to disturb other customers. Despite the forming grin on your face, you found the need to say, “Okay, sorry that came out really, really suggestive.”

“No, it’s okay,” Jimin assures. “I was the one who insinuated the suggestive themes anyway. I don’t mind at all.”

“Me too,” you gulp. “It’s cool that we get to sit and chat like this without worrying about anything sexual.”

“…Yeah, I agree,” Jimin tugs his shirt and clears his throat. “Anyway, what flower is the best one to give to your significant other? The most romantic one, the one that will instantly make your heart flutter?”

“Well,” your fidget in your seat, “that depends on what the significant other likes. Flowers may hold different meanings but the preference for them still largely relies on the recipient.”

“What do you like to receive?”

You look at him, gaze questioning any ulterior intentions, any flirtatious comebacks he wants to blurt after possibly faking interest about such important topic. But when he tilts his head, waiting for your answer, you can’t help but blindly disregard your doubts and just answer his question. “I think pansies would be enough for me.”

“Pansies?”

“Yeah… They have these delicate, round petals and they’re resilient whether the sun beats too harsh on them or the winter almost freezes them to their roots. Whatever weather, whatever place they live in, they’ll always, always live. I guess that’s why they mean ‘You’re always in my mind.’ There’s nothing more infectious, more resilient, than any disease but a constant thought. That’s why I think being always in someone’s mind is a lot. To have a significant other that gets to see you, feel you, hear you, smell you, even taste you without them being aware of it is already akin to…love. You can’t control what passes through your mind, much less on what or who stays in it. But it doesn’t matter,” you laugh awkwardly, throat hurting in the process. “I’m not into receiving flowers. They’re over-the-top and they wilt and I just have to throw them away when they served all their worth.”

“But what would you do if someone is willing to give you those pansies everyday, help you clean them away when they wilt, and assure you a new batch will make its way to you again?”

“Then…I will accept it. Gifts are free and my labor will be lessened.”

Jimin leans back, eyes shining. “I will make sure then to drop by in your shop and buy you a bouquet of those to make up for my lack of gifts for our date today.”

You scoff at him. “You’re buying flowers right from my workplace to give to me? That’s not romantic.”

“Wanna see me come over with a suit and tie, then?”

“Oh my god, why are you like this?” you wail, palms covering your face. You’ve always adored Jimin’s unwavering determination in their reality shows, however, having him here in front of you showing you this stubbornness is something else. You don’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. Wait, what–

“How about this then?” you feel Jimin’s fingers part your hands away from your face and a breath gets stuck in your throat. He has leant forward, mask pulled down to his jaw, and his eyes trained straight towards yours. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away, too absorbed in Jimin’s intense stare. The thought that his vision is probably just filled with you and nothing else just like how your eyes only frame his entire face makes you queasy in your seat. You’ve never had someone look at you this, sincere and so open before that your long-time indignation to real-life romance and the whole soulmate thing has rendered you incapable of thinking what you should do–or if you should actually do anything than just get lost in another person’s eyes. You see Jimin’s lips pull into a soft curve of a smile. “Is this romantic enough?”

Before you could choke on your own spit and indulge in awkward silence you know you’ll probably won’t get out of, a foreign voice by your side breaks your little bubble with Jimin. You glance to your left and a tall waiter bows. “Sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, sir, but would you like to order some dessert?”

You look down at your plates to find everything in miniscule bits and crumbs, your meals completely finished. You sneak a peek at your wristwatch. It’s only 10:51, just mere twenty minutes have passed since you stepped onto the diner’s black and white tiles. You never imagined time could run so fast with another person invading your space than just your comfort zone.

You see Jimin turn to the waiter. “Oh, no we’re finished. Can we ask for the bill?”

Wait, you’re already finished? So soon? Your scrunched forehead must have gave out everything you’re thinking because Jimin turns to you and says, “I want to show you to some place. My turn to let you learn more about me.”

Indifferent to the exchange between you two, the waiter hands Jimin the receipt. “Here it is, sir.”

“Okay,” Jimin hands the payment on the waiter’s awaiting hands and you gape as you flounder for your own wallet. Jimin dismisses you. “I got this. You can pay me later.” He turns back to the waiter, “Thank you for the service.”

“Thank you, too, sir.” The waiter returns and when you see him smile at Jimin again, his voice trails off and his eyes squint at the man across you. “Say, sir…you really look like Park Jimin from BTS.”

“No.” Jimin’s smile drops into a frown and he quickly pulls up his mask.

“No, really! I’ve been staring at you earlier and I can’t deny the similarities!” the waiter insists and you see his eyes spark in recognition. “You have the similar droopy eyes and familiar voice. Oh yeah, Jimin’s blonde hair on yesterday’s Music Bank is the same as yours–wait, don’t tell me,” The waiter pauses and raises his index finger to Jimin, “you’re the Park Jimin himself?” Jimin glances at you in panic and the waiter catches the small movement of denial. “Oh my god, you are Park Jimin! Damn, man, can I get an autograph? My sister loves you so much!”

Neither you nor Jimin were able to say a thing after that, nor did you get a chance. The customers that didn’t care about your presence twenty minutes ago are now looking at your way with full, intent stares.

“Jimin? Park Jimin? That singer from BTS?”

“Jimin is here?!”

“Oh my god, it is him! It’s Jimin! It’s the same hair color and jacket and earrings he wore in tonight’s V Live!”

In the next second, everyone is screaming and rushing out of their tables to approach you.

You’re frozen in your seat, chills rising in succession in your feet, arms, and spine. Crowds of faces were shoved right against your face, bunches of arms reaching and grabbing and thrashing around, and the screams and hollers were so loud they turn into garbled white noise. It’s like the zombie apocalypse except the creatures grabbing at you are still real, living people.

“Jimin! Jimin!”

“Oh my god, Jimin’s with a girl!”

“Hey, Jimin, look here!”

“Jimin, please sign this!”

“Wait, is that Jimin’s girlfriend?”

“Jimin, can I take a picture with you?”

“Jimin, who’s that girl?!”

“Jimin, I love you!”

The next moments are a blur. A second ago, jumpy teens and young adults were crowding your table, screaming and thrashing around. In the next second, Jimin has his hand clasped around yours, pulling you fast out of your table and out of the door. And now you’re here, running on the city street, your steps pounding on the cold pavement in heavy beats as a thunderous stampede follows close behind your tail.

You’re finding it hard to take in all that is happening that the sudden pull on your arm toward your right has you dizzy and almost nauseous.

“What’s ha-happening?”

Jimin sneaks a glance at you and then back on the street. “Our fans are chasing us. Keep running. We don’t want them to ruin our date.”

You purse your lips and will your legs to keep up with his pace. You’re about to chide him for what he said but you decide against it and just kept your mouth shut. You can’t bite back a witty comeback when you’re running out of breath.

Huffing, he pulls down his mask to take a breath. “C’mon, let’s run faster!”

The city whizzes by you, multicolored houses meshing into straight lines and warped shapes in a fast-forwarded reel. The streetlights overhead promise another corner to turn to and the pavement below your feet remains constant in its grayness and never-ending stretch. You and Jimin run and turn to corner after corner and it wasn’t until you’re stepping on the fifth street from your run do you realize your hand is still clasped in his.

It feels weird to have another hand next to yours, much less a hand with fingers that oddly perfectly fill each gap between yours. What’s more odd is that you are comfortable, running to god knows where, hand in hand with a stranger. Well, Jimin’s not technically a stranger, given that you’ve known about him onscreen for six years, but still, everything feels too new and strange especially when he’s your…soulmate.

The sleeve of your jacket has ridden upward your arm and your eyes immediately caught your inked daffodils. You’ve let your eyes miss their beauty in your shock earlier. But now, you can’t help but stare at awe when the flowers’ yellow petals rival the golden daylight as if the moonlight above has reflected every bit of the sun’s shine onto the art inked on your arms. You’ve never heard of this kind of soulmate system before, nor its strange incongruity with Jimin’s soulmate system. What is truly strange, is you’re already finding yourself dismissing any doubts about them. It’s horrifying that you can’t seem to care about anything anymore because all you could feel is…joy. Everything feels too perfect like a dream. Maybe it is true that you’re actually dreaming because as far as you’re concerned, the soulmate systems have ousted you since you were born. Everything about this daffodil sleeves and Jimin are probably just conjured by your unconscious, trying to make you feel better to ease the guilt of ruining Lucy’s night. You’ll wake up to your alarm to another shitty day in law school and then –

“JIMIIIIIIN!”

Unlike your expectations, it is a blaring scream that wakes you up to your senses.

“Where’s Jimin?!”

“There, there! I can see his blonde hair AHHH!!!!”

“Jimin! Don’t run away from us!”

And then, you’re running fast again, lungs squeezing in short breaths as Jimin pulls you to corner after corner, maneuvering you in and out of street after street. Your legs are starting to numb from exhaustion but before you could start to whine at Jimin for a short break to rest, he has already pulled you into a dark, narrow alleyway crammed between two clothing retail stores. Only a few seconds later, a mass of shouting teens runs past the street. You turned your face away, holding your breath in until the last one behind them misses your hiding spot, only finding it permissible to breathe again when the fans’ loud voices dissipate in the next corner.

When you turn your head back to your front, you’re met with Jimin’s own flustered face. Only mere inches separate your lips from brushing against each other. Words are caught in your throat as you let your eyes take in his flushed state: his fringes matted on his forehead, his pink lips parted as he huffs, his ears reddened from the cold, and his warm brown eyes that reflect your own blushing face. If everything that has happened tonight really turns out to be a dream, you hope your sleep could be long enough to let you drag this night for as long as you could.

“What are you staring at?”

You’re suddenly brought back to where you are, pressed uncomfortably against the cold walls of the alley. Your eyes instantly moved down to your feet and with the motion, you caught a glowing thing sitting right atop on your left ring finger. It takes you a second to realize that the yellow glow is coming from the inked daffodil on your ring finger. Your daffodil ring is glowing like a fucking firefly. Your eyes widen and they fleet upward to meet Jimin’s eyes, your mouth gaping. “I–uh-uh–um–”

Jimin raises his eyebrows, lips curving upwards. “Can’t get enough of my beautiful face?”

“What? No!” You turn away and scowl, hoping the night could cool down the heat forming on your cheeks. You frantically pull the sleeves of your oversized jacket to hide your glowing tattoo.

“Don’t need to be defensive. You can stare as long as you want, Y/N. After all,” Jimin raises his index finger and gestures to his face and down to his body, “you own all of these.”

Your eyes twitch and your lips form an unamused frown. Jimin laughs.

Jimin was the first one to squeeze out from the narrow space and you follow next. Despite your reaction earlier, you find it necessary to keep the frown on your face. You try to not let it show how much his words are making your heart pound loud and proud against your ears.

You clear your throat. “You’ve got some serious fans out there.”

Sighing, Jimin takes off the mask pulled under his jaw and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. “Ah, yeah. We always get that occasional…warm greeting whenever we land at airports. I guess we’re already used to that.”

“Warm?! It’s borderline harassment!”

“They’re just…excited to see me, that’s all. I can’t complain because I signed up for this when I decided to pursue this career.”

“But still! That doesn’t mean they get to shove their faces to you and scream and demand you to take pictures with them or sign this or that. You still have your personal space and people should respect that. You’re still a human being, Chim.”

Jimin stares at you before he breaks into a chuckling fit. “I didn’t know we’re on the stage to be making petnames for each other now, Y/Nie.”

You gulp as you feel your cheeks heat up again. “I’m serious!”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just joking to laugh off the heartbeats I hear pounding loud in my chest. You look at him, brows furrowed. Jimin shrugs. “I can’t help it. You make me feel like this.”

You clear your throat again, diverting the conversation to where you are before he got sidetracked. “Anyway, can’t you get like a restraining order on them or something?”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just pissed off.” He looks at you smirking, and before he can come up with another cheesy line, you spoke out, “For you! Pissed off for you, yeah. Any person shouldn’t go through such trauma.” Jimin nods and you ramble on, “I only saw you guys’ airport fiascos on fancams. I never knew a toned down version of those like this will be already this bad. Heck, I’m already trembling with just a couple of fans hot on our toes, what more for you guys who get pushed and shoved and grabbed here and there by a flock of them. It’s goddamn scary and infuriating. If I were in your shoes I would have dropped down and screamed and cried. I’m glad I didn’t push my stupid 17-year-old dream of becoming an idol. I can’t do that stuff.”

“I’m glad too you didn’t pursue that dream. I don’t want other men freely ogling my girl with no lawful repercussions.”

“’…Ew. Don’t say that again.”

“What?”

You blanch despite the heat gathering on your cheeks. “The ‘my girl.’ It’s cringey.”

“Oh hell no am I never gonna say that again if you’re blushing and being cute like this because of it. Oh my, Y/N, you can just say you like it! I can say it again if you want to–”

“Oh please, no–”

“My girl.”

“Shut up!”

“Ahh, you’re blushing more!”

***

The skyline has long deepened in an inky indigo blanket yet you can’t feel your eyes fluttering close any minute now. It’s true because about eleven thirty, you’re still busy chirping away flower meanings to Jimin who was attentive to every word down to every flower color, to notice you two have already reached the business area of the city. There were no more residential areas or any run-down bars. Skyscrapers stood tall and brooding on strict two sides of the road while cut-straight gravel streets measure a meter or two to separate establishments. Unlike the streets from the bar to the diner, which were colored in various hues of maroon, beige, blue, and occasional flickers of yellow, the buildings in front of you followed a narrow color palette of light gray to black. However, the gloomy vicinity did nothing to dim the colorful trivia-dump you’re doing with Jimin.

“Did you know, most yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, like the marigold. Despite being a vibrant flower, it actually means envy and jealousy. And oh, don’t get me started with carnations. I always find myself inquiring young men who came into the shop picking yellow carnations if the flowers were for a first date.”

“Why is that?” Jimin raises his brows.

“It’s a horrible choice for a first date! Yellow carnations mean disdain and you DON’T want to jinx a starting relationship with such a negative connotation.”

“What flower should I pick then for a first date?”

“Roses are safe. Red, pink, or white are definitely the charmers. White carnations also do the trick for you as they mean sweet love. Although I mentioned yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings, there’s one flower I know that stands out, the most perfect one I think for a first date.”

“What is it?”

“Sunflowers,” you grin. “Despite all their beauty and all that mechanism where they turn towards the sun’s direction, they are quite tedious to grow. They’re needy of nutrients. They drain the soil from its nutrients, hogging them that no other kind of plant should be placed near them as they will easily die. That’s why they carry the meaning of draining love. But you know what? Even if they’re draining, they hold one of the most delicate and romantic message”

“What is it?”

“Everlasting love,” you smile. “They may be quite draining but their beauty is worth every effort. See? Wouldn’t be that the perfect flower for a first date?”

Jimin nods. “Yeah, they are.” He looks at you, smiling and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling too wide.

When you turned to another street, Jimin asks, “Do you know another flower that holds such a…bittersweet message?”

“Yeah, spiderlilies. But you know, I think that flower has the saddest story to tell.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s the flower of parting. It–” You suddenly trail off and Jimin stops in his step the minute you pull his arm into a stop. “Wait, where are we? Why are we in the business part of the town?”

Jimin tilts his head, “I told you I’m gonna show you a place.”

“A place? In here?”

“Just trust me,” Jimin chuckles and he grabs your hand before you can utter another word.

After a couple of minutes weaving down two streets and turning two corners to the left, the two of you stand in front of a humongous gravel gray tower. It would have looked uptight and intimidating if it weren’t for its darkening edges, from the soot or age, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that Jimin is already pushing through the large glass double doors with you in tow.

“W-wait, what are you doing? This is trespassing and if you don’t know what it is, it’s illegal!”

“We’re not trespassing. Trust me.”

The furrows on your forehead deepen, anxiety grappling at the edges of your nerves, but you couldn’t do anything but follow him. You don’t want to admit your feet were walking on their own so you’re gonna blame Jimin for holding your hand too firmly.

The ground floor of the tower wasn’t that much. All it has was clean white walls and cream-tiled floors. Its reception desk wasn’t too grand with just a gold bell, a couple of stacked news articles cased to the side, and a fake Picasso painting hung behind it. You can tell it’s Picasso because it was the same painting you always stare at in the guidance counselor’s room, with a small black label printed “Picasso” underneath it. And you know it’s fake because the guidance counselor told you the original piece of that painting now resides in the residence of an old Italian antique collector. The two of you wound a corridor and passed two hallways before you stop in front of metal double-doors, the ones used for fire exits in hospitals. It has a built-in lock and by the way Jimin pushes the door without any advances, you know it’s locked. Jimin fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans and produces his wallet, taking a silver key tucked in its small flaps.

You gawk. “You have a key for this?”

Jimin doesn’t answer but smiles, inserting the key. When you hear the doors unlock, he pushes one open and gestures for you to come inside. You didn’t have any qualms and just followed him. You figured that if Jimin has the key, then what you’re doing is not trespassing, and you find yourself relaxing eventhough you’re boggled as to why Jimin possesses such key when his entertainment company is in another twenty-six storey building on the opposite side of town.

Jimin leads you down a wide hallway past the metal double-doors, now colored in gray walls and darker gray tiles instead of the standard white and cream of the rest of the ground floor. There were a couple of doors lining on the sides, each designated with a position of an authority you didn’t catch to read. At the end of the hallway, a set of stairs lead downwards and you find yourself yet again, waiting in front of another set of metal double doors as Jimin inserts another silver key into the built-in lock. He pushes the doors open and as you stepped inside, you feel your jaw drop to the floor.

In front of you was a skating rink, surrounded by glass partitions that measure about a meter. Black benches surround the rink like the ones you see in the hockey games inserted in films. However, unlike the ones you watched, the benches weren’t many enough to hold spectators of a game, and the rink was too small to hold a proper hockey game. It’s probably ideal only for recreational skating like the ones you went to with your mother whenever she feels like taking you out in winter.

You turn to Jimin. “What is this skating rink? I thought we were inside a business building.”

Jimin leans on one of the benches. “Me and my group always go here to let out stress. When we were stressing for our debut, when we need a breather for comebacks or, when the cameras and media were too much–we always go here. It’s a secret hangout place, tucked underneath this large corporate building.About 50 years ago, this building was like a winter sports complex. It has this large skating rink where monthly local competitions for hockey and curling are held. Sometimes, it’s lucky enough to hold regional competitions as this part of town was far from the business center back then. Aside from contests and trainings being held, anyone–kids, teens, adults–gets to arrange who uses the spare time from the fixed schedule of the complex for recreational hockey, curling, or just…skating round and round.” Jimin laughs. “Sometimes, the complex frees it schedule to invite anyone to come and skate for a downgraded price. You know, like how your local authorities turn the frozen lakes into a public skating area when winter comes.”

Jimin’s lips form a straight line, “However, business turned sour in the long run because another sports complex was built near the area, equipped with more supplies and employees. So the owner of the complex and the land had to sell their whole business because of that, and also because her family is going to migrate to the States. This skating rink was supposed to be taken down but the first owner of the land run back to this town and made an agreement with the buyer. Pleaded nothing will change from the negotiation except she’ll pay anything just for the buyer to keep the rink. She went all out with her money then. Even sold her house and her ancestor’s villa in Taiwan.”

“She…spent all her money for this?”

“Well, yeah. She did go almost bankrupt but at least she got to keep her skating rink before she died.” Jimin glances at you, waiting for a reply but when you just return a stare, he tilts his head in inquiry.

You pull on your sleeves. “I didn’t say she did bad choices…it’s just that–it’s a lot of risk. I don’t think anyone could do that but her.”

“Anyone can do that, it just depends what they’re willing to risk. Because–well, some things are just worth risking everything for.”

You stay silent, staring at him. Jimin chuckles and grabs your hand to lead you towards the locker room. He proceeds with his story, “The buyer built a commercial building but fulfilled his end of the agreement by keeping the rink. And when the buyer eventually handed over the building to his son, the skating rink was then cut into half as the 3rd owner got the building renovated and sold half of the land to another millionaire. The other section of the rink was turned into another building but this one remained because the owner’s son loved to skate whenever his dad brings him for bring-your-child-to-work day. Now the son, the current owner, kept this skating rink and even opened it to the public because unlike the previous owner, his dad, he’s fun and wants to let kids come into this concrete jungle just to play and hang out.”

“How do you know all of these?”

“I’m friends with the current owner. His name is Henry Kim, a friend from preschool, and I swear I never knew how filthy rich he was back then. We became friends because I got enticed by his story of the first land owner meeting her soulmate, her husband, in a local skating rink which inspired her to build the sports complex and even had the succeeding owners keep the rink. Henry even got me some articles about it to read. So now, I and the boys get to have alone time in here whenever we want, away from all the cameras and the media and the pizzaz. It’s a privilege, I know, given our…status, but I’d like to think it more as out of our friendship.” He turns back to smile at you. “It makes me warm.”

You didn’t know how to reply to his last statement so you just returned his smile and let his hand guide you to the locker rooms where you can strap on your skating shoes. It didn’t take you too long to lace up your skating shoes and waddle onto the rink because within just a couple of minutes, you’re already giggling, waltzing on the ice. It’s been a while since you let yourself enjoy like a child like this–free from societal pressure, success strife stress, and family expectations; to laugh aloud and feel nothing akin but being on top of the world just because of simple things like this–skating round and round.

“So you told me, it’s your turn to let me learn more about you,” you skid in front of Jimin, grinning. “When is that gonna happen? You’ve been rambling about on and on about a lot of other people.”

“Well, there isn’t much,” Jimin skates in time with you towards the east end of the rink. “I practically showed and revealed everything already on TVs and magazines.”

“Not true. You’re more than what the cameras show what you seem to be.”

“You’re a fan though. You practically already know everything about me.”

“Also not true. No one is capable of fully knowing everything about everyone. All you have is your perception of others and others’ perception of you, but they will never be enough to be everything about you nor others. People are like mirrors, you know. They see each other based on the images they envision them in so, they’re just staring at what their thoughts collectively created about another person. In the end, the only one who truly knows themselves are no one but themselves.” You sigh, turning to him and taking his hand as you let centripetal force control your balance and skate you backward. “How about this: you tell me things you’ve never told anyone before.”

“Okay,” Jimin agrees and he pulls you back to his side, hands still connected. “Do you know I used to dream of becoming a fisherman?”

“A fisherman? Do you even know how to fish?”

“Well…no. But you know how preschool assigns you this homework where you have to draw your dream?” You nod. “Well,” Jimin continues, “I don’t really have a dream for me back then and I can’t draw for the life of me. And then, I figured a fisherman is easy to draw because you just have to get the trapezoidal boat, the swirling waves, the stickman, and the two lines of a fishing rod right. You can add puffy clouds and the ‘m’ birds for background. After that, I convinced myself all I ever wanted is to be a fisherman and when I told that to my mother, she almost fainted.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle, “you just made up a dream for yourself out of a drawing?”

“Yeah, and it wasn’t the only scenario,” Jimin laughs. “By 3rd grade, I learned how to draw a motorcycle from sticks and circles so when the draw-your-dream assignment came up again, I upgraded my drawing skills and changed my dream: I now want to be a pizza delivery guy. Of course, I told my mom about it again and this time, she also upgraded: she chased me around with a slipper.”

“I understand your mom though,” you manage to chortle in between snickers. “Being a fisherman and a pizza delivery guy are honorable but they weren’t the greatest permanent jobs in this down-slope economy.”

“True,” Jimin agrees and this time, he lets himself skate backward, keeping his hold on your hand, firm. “Anyway, the rest is history. The media already wrote about how I got into a contemporary arts school and from there I learned to love dance and eventually dreamed of becoming a performer.”

“What did I tell you about not being only what the people see you to be?”

“Okay, okay. Umm,” Jimin trails off, eyes wandering as if the things he wanted to say can be easily picked up in the skating rink. But just a second later, he’s suddenly looking straight into your eyes, his own ones glimmering. “Oh, I got one! I was a hell of a headache when I was a kid. I was always so jumpy, running around, loudy as hell–the type of kids you cannot contain in one place?”

You nod, smiling. “A lot of kids were like that.”

“Well,” he chuckles, “the difference is that I cannot still be contained in one place even I’m way past a kid. Anyway, the me back then was a whole different level. I like going to town after town, wandering around, always hoping for some adventure. I once got on top of a delivery van, parked near my neighbor’s house, so near that it was easy for me to jump on it from their balcony. Their balcony wasn’t that tall anyway because their house was some kind of a Spanish-inspired bungalow. We were playing hide and seek at that time. I was so competitive I thought if I got on top of the van and lied down very flat, I will be unnoticed. It turned out to be a good idea because ten minutes later, the kids are now calling out for my name, yelling for me to show up so we can start another game. When the van suddenly rumbled, I quickly realized what I did was a terrible idea. The van picked up its pace and now we’re really moving from the front of my neighbor’s house. You know what I did?”

You shook your head, giggling.

“I cried. Real loud. Snot, sweat, and tears mixing, I look like a dumb, reckless kid who always gets complaints from the neighbors.” Jimin laughed. “So after crying for like good two minutes, that I thought was an hour back then, I started choking on my own spit. With the wailing turned down, I heard my father running behind and screaming for the van to stop. I was lucky that the driver immediately stopped after hearing my father’s cries. But after that, I wasn’t lucky anymore. My mom felt the need to keep me away from vans and my neighbor’s balcony. God, it was so embarrassing.”

“At least your ‘hobby’ got corrected,” you quip.

“You think jumping on vans was my hobby?” Jimin scoffs then smirks. “Don’t underestimate me. I can do much more than jumping on vans. I even did bungee jumping. Remember that episode on Run BTS!, our TV show?”

“Of course I remember. You screamed like a screeching pterodactyl.”

“No, I did not. That was Taehyung.”

“Okay, okay, touché. I was just trying to make you laugh.”

Jimin grins. “You don’t have to try though. You can always effortlessly do that.”

You tilt your head. “Are you telling me my existence is funny?”

Jimin pulls you towards him and you almost tumble forward but his firm grip on your hand keeps you balanced on your skates. However, you could feel every bit of warmth coming from his body as his arms are now wound around yours, keeping you as close to him as possible. Close enough for you to feel his breath fan against yours, close enough for you to trace every constellation marking up his face, and close enough for you to see the reflection of your face in his eyes…again. Jimin breaks into a grin. “I’m trying to tell you that you can easily make me happy without even trying.”

You feel scorching heat immediately spread on your chest and to the rest of your body. You lightly push Jimin away, scoffing. Jimin puts his hands into his pockets. You sputter out,“W-what? As if I can do that. I’m really really intolerable and insufferable, you know?”

Jimin chuckles, “It’s okay. I can handle that.”

Before you can mumble out another disagreement, Jimin grabs your hand again, leading the two of you to the other side of the rink, this time, skating side by side.

“Continuing from what I left on, you know what good came out from my reckless days?”

You don’t answer him but glance his way.

Jimin continues on, “I managed to get lots of friends. I got a bunch of them in preschool, then in elementary. When I got into high school, my group of friends got so large that almost everyone in the school, not just our batch but the lower grade levels as well, practically knew me before I even knew their name. Man, it was crazy. I get to hang out with different people per week and I get to learn their stories. It’s so fun.”

“You must be quite of a people-person even back then.”

“Ah, yeah,” Jimin nods. “People said I thrive off people surrounding me. Said I like being complimented and that I grow more when I’m surrounded by them. Something about collective growth.”

“But, who wouldn’t like compliments?”

“True. Everyone likes them. It’s just…I think they are right, but sometimes…I beg to differ.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like it’s the people who thrive on me, not the other way around.”

You look at him, curious. “How come?”

Jimin breathes out, tugging the collar of his leather jacket closer to his neck with his free hand. “I thought why people liked me back then was because I was fun. You know that type of kid, who gets the crowd’s attention easily and entices everyone to join them in in whatever they do? That type of kid who’s easy-going and can effortlessly make boring things look cool? The people around me told me I was like that and at times, I do feel it’s the reason why I got so many friends. But as I grow up, I feel people liked me because I really love listening to their stories. I love it too much that it was even quite…abnormal.”

“Abnormal?”

“Yeah…abnormal. You see, back on the days, I used to latch on to person after person telling them, no, begging them to tell me their stories–the place they were born in, where they grew up in, their secrets and interests, anything. I learned how to clean vinyl records from an old unmarried man in our neighborhood. I got to travel to Geneva from a rich girl who told me her summer vacation at the playground. I even unknowingly caught up with the local gossip of a married man and his mistress three blocks from our neighborhood. I don’t know why exactly I did it. It just felt nice. It seems our generation’s now short of anyone willing to listen to what they have to say. So when people heard of my abnormal…hobby, they searched for me and spilled everything. They get someone to listen to them, and I get myself new stories. It’s a win-win situation.”

Jimin steps to the side, creating a wider gap between your bodies as you skate but still kept your hands interlocked. “They treated me like a pond they could throw rocks into, entertaining them with my fascination and curiosity and assuring them I will not tell another soul about what they said. Just repeating what they said, nodding when they ask questions, and taking everything they told me inside when they bid their temporary farewells. They always come back for another listening session and everything will repeat. Some people I listened to talked too excitedly as if a day will never be enough to tell their story. A few talked in spurts that it’s hard to determine the beginning and the end of their stories. There were the factual lessons, rambles of nonsense, litanies of achievements, and some tear-jerkers.” Jimin sighs. “But the most amazing one I ever got to listen to was how my mom and dad met.”

You purse your lips. “U-uh, who told you that story?”

“My mom,” Jimin grins. “She told me the story of how they met as soon as I can understand anything. Of course, they told me the red string of fate story, but what interested me the most was their soulbond. Their soulmate system lets them know what each other is feeling even without talking about it. It’s amazing.”

“How did they meet then?”

“Well, my dad had a crush on my mom before he even knew she was his soulmate. My mom is my dad’s childhood friend. She became his friend in his very first day in school after she defended him from a group of kids bullying him for being too short. After that, all he ever did was admire her. He wasn’t too adamant about the soulmate system before then because all he could ever feel from his system was annoyance and irritation. My mom lived next to dad’s house and belonged to the same group of friends he has so it was easy for him to always see her. However, talking to her was a difficult feat because my dad is one hell of an introvert and he always gets frozen feet just at the sight of her. So when my mom finally had enough of my father’s tiptoeing around her, she demanded for him to just tell her whatever issue he has with her so she can stop feeling awkward with his coldness.” Jimin giggles, “Of course my father is bad at confrontations so he just hiccupped and ran away in embarrassment. However, my mother’s words sunk in so he pulled out a recorded track he made about a month ago–a song he made just about my mother, and edited it, ending with a shy ‘I-I know you probably have many suitors by now…but can you please, please, please take a chance on me? Okay, that was too forward, shit, I’m sorry, how do I turn this off?’”

Your jaw hangs open in disbelief. “You memorized it word per word?”

“Of course,” Jimin chortles. “It’s too funny to let go!”

“So after my mom heard about the record my dad left on her doorstep, she immediately asked him to dinner that night. And during their date, that’s when dad felt his soulbond feeling at peace and in love. It didn’t take them to put two-on-two together to tell they were each other’s soulmate. I swear, their soulmate system is wonderful. Dad can easily tell when mom is upset and he easily convinces her to talk it out with him. I always think communication is a strong foundation of every relationship, and to have such a soulmate system to let you feel easily what the other is feeling, it must be heaven! Imagine not having to guess or tiptoe around one another when conflicts arise. Feelings assure you the truth because no one can control what they want to feel, not to mention that soulmate system betters you to become a more empathic person.” Jimin turns and locks his eyes with yours. “Don’t you think it’s amazing to have such phenomenon? To have a significant other crafted by the universe just for you?

You glance away. “…Yeah.”

Jimin diverts his eyes back on the ice. “Unlike the me back then, I wasn’t that much into stories now.”

“Why?”

“These days, it’s hard for me to reach out and listen to people who have anything but hate or illusioned righteousness fueling their systems. The only things people tell me now were how great I was, how much I make from this job, how handsome I got. Sometimes I get to listen to bitter people who feel the need to question my career choices, making me feel bad to uplift themselves. And then majority of the time, I get people who idolize me so much, put me on the pedestal, and make me out as someone that wasn’t really me. I know some of them mean well, but sometimes…you’re just not comfortable anymore.”

You look up at him, “Because you know you’re more than that?”

“Well, yeah,” Jimin glances at you. “You put it really well into words. I’m impressed.”

A question was on the tip of your tongue and you purse your lips, debating whether to ask him or not. But then, this might be your only chance you could ask him this, so you made up your mind and tugged his jacket. “Tell me, sometimes…do you ever wish you didn’t get this humongous fame at all?”

Jimin stares at you and a couple of seconds passed before he decided to answer. “Yes, sometimes. I hate how people follow me everywhere, invade my privacy, and treat me more as a commodity than a human being. I hate how I have to hide my family and childhood friends from the limelight just so they don’t get dragged in any scandals people are so obsessed in making up. I hate having to wake up and unconsciously worry about my looks, my angles, and my weight more than anything else because I know more important matters in the society are more worth thinking and talking about–but I–I don’t know, I just can’t help it. I can’t help how the media changed me. Of course, there’re good and bad changes it brought to my life but I hated the bad ones to the very core. But you know, when I look back and trace my steps to where I was before, I realize that fame made me happy before,” he looks at you, “and how it still does now. With this fame I was able to bring joy to lots of people and give them love they were unable to receive from those around them. With this fame I was able to give my parents a home they used to only dream about. With this fame, I was able to meet my bandmates who loved me like a family…and, I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t become the Jimin now.”

“H-how so?”

“You wouldn’t have taken a chance on this date, on this soulmate thing for one whole night with me, if I wasn’t who I was today.”

Your forehead furrows, your chest constricting in pain. “N-not true. Why are you telling me that –okay, maybe I gave you that impression of an obsessive fangirl because I blurted everything on my tongue when I first saw you, but honestly I wanted to know you more as a person and not as–”

“No, no,” Jimin waves his hand, chuckling. “I’m sorry I implied it that way. What I mean is: You wouldn’t have trusted me enough to stay with me tonight and try this soulmate thing if I wasn’t able to love myself first before I met you. I didn’t know what love was back then. I just imagine myself being unconditionally admired and taken care of my soulmate. And, I guess I wasn’t my best during that time. I complain a lot, demand too much, and bottle my feelings inside until they suffocate me. When things go wrong, I find it easy to blame someone else. I regarded too highly of myself that I’ve become selfish and insensitive to the people around me. So when I slowly started to outgrow my horrible past-self, I then learned it’s impossible to trust someone about love and relationships if they are still unable to love themselves. Sure, people will argue that they can figure that out together. But still, I think it’s better if we learn how to be comfortable in our own skins before we demand others to love us. It’s not fair for them to tolerate their significant others who can’t love them right. How can we love others when we don’t know even know how love is supposed to be and feel like? That’s why…I’m glad I met you now, because I think I’m ready to love–” Jimin bites his lip, “Okay sorry, I got too sidetracked and went off the loop again , but do you get what I mean?”

“Yeah, it’s just,” you close your eyes, shaking your head, “everything about this soulmate thing still shocks me and I’m still trying to get a hang of it so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You keep your glance down, apologetic, waiting for Jimin’s reply. But all you got is, “Why do you like flowers so much?”

You look up and Jimin looks at you, eyes warm, smile wide. You didn’t have to stare for long to know he’s trying to change the topic. Trying to make you comfortable again. Actually, he never failed to make you comfortable throughout the whole night. He has never pushed you to tell everything about yourself–never demanded for you to tell him about your family like how he openly talked about his, never forced you to reveal your weaknesses and insecurities when he let you in on his vulnerability. And even though you’re starting to think whether to talk about each one of them or not now, he still gives you the choice to come back to your safe zone whenever you want. All of these are enough of a reason to grip his hand tighter in yours and pull him to the center of the rink, facing each other.

“Wait, whoa!”

“Okay, why don’t we dance?”

Jimin’s eyes almost bulge out “Dance?”

“Yeah, dance! You know what, I’ll take the lead.” You pulled him closer to you, looping your arms around his frame in a gentle hug. Jimin’s shocked and tensed for a bit, but it wasn’t long before you can feel him giggling behind your ear and returning the hug.

“I didn’t know you were this…aggressive.”

“Shut up,” you laugh. “Can you just indulge in my free offer and not say another cheesy pick-up line?”

Jimin chuckles. “Okay, will do.”

You didn’t move much. Just, swaying and turning in small motions with your arms wound around each other. You can’t exactly point out why you’re suddenly doing this when an hour ago, you’re too adamant showing him you’re not affected by him at all. All you know is you can no longer disagree that everything with him felt right. Even if you’re still afraid and unsure, everything you did with him made you feel good. Everything you did with him made you feel something akin to happiness.

And this time, you feel the urge to take the risk and dive in. Just for this night, you’re going to do yourself a favor. Only for one night.

“I… like flowers so much because words can sometimes be never be enough. Flowers are the only ones that can materialize them. They’re ephemeral and they wilt, like how words evaporate into thin air once you let them out in the open. But, you know that they once lived to fill a moment because you saw their beauty and their ugliness in such a short period of time. They did exist and you know it. And I guess,” you murmur, snuggling deeper into Jimin’s hug, “it’s only through those flowers I get to be true to myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Out of all the things I said tonight, the truest of them all are only the flowers. I’m not a great…arguer at all. I’m a pathological liar. I lied to myself about my distrust in this soulmate system. My cynicism to it was never solely because I wanted to make my own destiny. It was because I saw my mother and father’s relationship go down the drain even when they’re already made for each other. They knew each other so well that it’s easy for them where to hurt each other each time one of them fucks up. They divorced and I have to live in a broken family, torn between the two of them, afloat and in limbo as to where I should stand when they’ve easily marked my days as to what kind of daughter I should portray whenever I have to visit them. And for me to live without any soulmate system at all, it felt I was further kicked down to the curb by life. Because as much as important love is, sometimes what only matter the most is the assurance that somehow, someone will love me. Because that thought is enough of an emergency kit for my mind whenever I feel too cut off from the world. And having no soulmate system as any kind of assurance….I pitied myself, thinking I can never find out what love truly feels.”

You hiccup. “I lied to myself for years that my mother’s disappointment in me didn’t bother me. I always knew I’m difficult and for her to see me grow as a woman that she did not expect me to be is hard. I was never into law. I’m into gardening. My mom knows that because I was the one who always tended to our plants and made our garden grow as much as it could even if we’re just in a single bedroom condo unit. I just decided to take law because I know I can’t make a living out of gardening yet. It’s sad, I know, but I have to push through so when the time comes I get to save enough, I can open my own garden shop. And,” you trail off, grasping Jimin tighter in your arms, “I lied to myself I hated every bit of this night with you when tonight’s probably the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

Jimin didn’t say anything. He just hugged you tighter when your shoulders quiver, stroked your back when he felt stray tears wet the skin of his neck. He didn’t push you to say more. He lulled you back to comfort in his swaying, singing you a tender melody by your ear to help you feel at ease again. He is just there, unobtrusive, just patiently waiting for you to do anything.

When he felt you loosen a bit in his hold, he lets out his voice. “Would you mind to continue the story of the spider lily? You left me quite hanging there.”

You don’t know why he’s diverting the topic again, but you didn’t mind, having the chance to relieve yourself from years-worth of heaviness you just have mindlessly let out in the empty ice rink. After all, he’s a stranger and telling him everything in your mind wouldn’t hurt because they all leave unobtrusive marks in your life which they easily erase once it’s time for them to go. However, it pains you to type in Jimin as just a stranger in your life.

You clear your throat. “The-the spider lily is the flower of parting. Their flowers only bloom when the leaves die. They were believed to be lovers who aren’t destined to be together at all.”

“That’s…terrible.”

You nod. “…Yeah.”

“I’ll make sure our story does not go like that.”

You draw back to look at his face. “What?”

Jimin smiles. “I’ll make sure our story does not turn out like the spiderlily’s. I know you’re still probably against this soulmate phenomenon. But…I want you to know that you don’t have to feel alone and unloved anymore. I’m already here. And I’m serious about you. Soulmate or not, what we have now isn’t just a one-night thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you.”

Jimin stares at you and it only takes a second before he suddenly rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I-I know it’s too soon and you don’t have to say it back but I can’t control what I feel and–”

You lean forward and shut him up with a kiss. Jimin freezes in your hold for a second, and then he instantly melts in your arms and returns your kiss. You don’t know why you’re doing these–embracing him tighter, angling your head, deepening the kiss to taste more of him, letting him pull you closer so that you can now compare the matching rhythm of your heartbeats. You don’t know why you’re exactly doing these things with a man you just met, no, your soulmate you just found tonight, when hours ago you’re expressing your disdain on the existence of the soulmate phenomenon. The only thought unwaveringly running in your mind now is you don’t want this to stop.

You don’t want to stop staring at Jimin, even when you struggled getting in the cab he hailed, too busy getting lost in his eyes. You don’t want to stop enjoying the warmth from the small kisses he places against your nape, even if you had difficulty pulling your house keys from your tight jeans pocket as you giggle and moan in his warmth. You don’t want to stop feeling hot and high, even when the coldness of your home starts to seep into your toes as Jimin sheds the clothes on your body, piece by slow aching piece. You don’t want to stop holding his hand, even when you had to strain one arm pulling off his black shirt as he laughs against your neck. But most of all, you don’t want to stop kissing his lips, even when you have to part from him for a second as you lose your breath when his hips bucked into you when he laid you down on your bed.

Jimin hovers above you, kissing you with such passion as if it will be the last time he would be able to hold you. And, you tried to return the same intensity, to balance the heat he radiates on your burning skin, to pave every expanse of his skin you could reach as he ventures every curve and ridge he could touch. With your bodies bared and stripped naked to each other, you can no longer hide the plethora of feelings that has welled on your chest just from such dream-like night you had shared with him. When Jimin parts away to cup your face in his hands, thumbs slowly caressing your cheeks, you see nothing in his eyes but the image of you–breathless, flustered, happy. You almost wanted to cry.

“Can you be my first and last, Y/N?” Jimin asks, voice almost quivering.

You can only manage a whisper through parted lips. “I can, Jimin. A-and I want you to be mine too.”

After that, you were a goner. No words are further exchanged as Jimin starts to leave a trail of kisses from the sunken juncture of your jaw, to the ridge of your collarbones and onto the valleys of your tender breasts. He travels the gentle swells of your stomach, onto the curve of your hips until he’s down to the banks of your hot core, aching and willing and waiting for him. No words are slipped past each other as he dives in and savors every inch of you, nipping, and licking, and kissing your sopping heat until you’re a moaning mess on your sheets. And when he finally brings you to your high, no words are enough for you to express the euphoria thrumming in your nerves, settling on your chest, filling your head. No words are needed when your eyes and his convey them for you as you plead for more, more, and more and Jimin willingly gives all of him to you.

Every touch of his hand on your quivering hips has you groaning and pleading. Every caress on your waist and shoulders has you sighing and moaning. Every brush of his hard chest against the soft buds of your breasts has you moaning and wailing. And every graze of his lips against yours, you can’t help but melt and let your body speak your thoughts for you. You pull him desperately, cupping his face as you roll your hips against his that has him choking out a moan.

“Jimin,” you breathe into him and he smiles.

“W-What?”

“Please.”

You don’t need to say anything in words for your dazed and glimmering eyes are enough to convey them all. Jimin smiles and gives in. He captures your lips into another kiss, murmuring your name between interlocked mouths. You feel him shift in his position above you and when he deepens the kiss again, you finally feel him burying himself deep in you. Jimin gives himself to you in slow and deep strokes that have your back arching off the bed, fingernails digging into his skin. You sputter his name again and again and despite how far gone he is losing in your heat, his gaze on your eyes never wavers, nor loses trace of every bit of him he has exposed to you, making you lose yourself into him even more.

Everything compounds into each other in such miniscule timeframe–from the moment Jimin intertwines his tongue with yours, to the second you clutch his head closer underneath your chin to continue his featherlight kisses on your jaw. When he angles his cock deeper into you, you can only think about nothing but him, him, and only him. As he holds your hand tight in his hold, with his lips on yours as he mutters “I love you, I love you, I love you,” in between every thrust, you finally feel what it’s like to be on top of the world.

Like the explosion you felt when he first touched your hand, it only takes one second for Jimin to let you fall apart in his arms. Euphoria living alive in every inch of your nerves, you clutch desperately on his arms and Jimin draws you closer to him as your walls clamp onto him and coaxes him to also let go in your arms. The fullness and torrid heat of him spreads inside you and Jimin kisses you once more with everything he’s got–sloppy but passionate, messy but powerful–a beautiful mosaic of the feelings you had in the most wonderful night of your entire life.

You’re dazed and shaken, wondering if it is possible for everything to be a dream. But when Jimin collapses next to you and pulls the blanket over your bodies, all thoughts cease in a staggering halt as he whispers, “I’m happy I get to know you.”

You smile in his embrace, “Me too.” Sensations always hit first before thought and without thinking twice, you find yourself breathing out, “Promise me you’ll be by my side ‘til tomorrow morning.”

Jimin kisses your left hand, the one with the daffodil ring, and as he says “I promise,” you fall into a peaceful slumber. His words are enough of an assurance for you.

***

When tomorrow comes, you wake up on a cold bed. Jimin is nowhere to be found. You didn’t need to feel more of his side of the bed to know his clothes and shoes and every trace of him in your home is now gone. But still, he promised.

You slip into your shirt discarded on the floor and drag your worn body to the living room. Your couch and your coffee table stood untouched. When you turn to your right, you find your kitchen and dining table empty. No smell of cooked food lingered in the air. You dashed to your shower even when you hear no sound of water splashing on the tiles. The door swings open and your shower stands empty, polished tiles dry, no trace of use on the faucet. With pounding steps, you run back to the living room, straight down to your door. Fingers skimming down on your bolts, your hand trembles when you find the knob and grasp it. When you twist it, your door clicks open as it unlocks.

You refuse to acknowledge the obvious possibility looming on your head since you woke up. But now, it only takes one more second of you standing by your unlocked door before your thoughts crash down, choking out a broken sob from you. Jimin left the minute after what happened last night. He didn’t go outside to just buy something before coming back to your home. He didn’t even stay long enough to wash up and clean himself. He just got up, locked your door close, and went out, leaving you behind.

You hunch over your doorstep, grunting, pain hammering on your chest as your body falls to the ground. Uneasiness, frustration, and desperation muddles into a heavy iron ball that sinks on your chest, sinking deeper and deeper until its heaviness constricts your lungs of any air.

Jimin left and he didn’t even bother to leave a note. He doesn’t have your keys, nor your number. He isn’t planning to come back.

You stiffle a broken scream on your clenched hands.

***

Three taps on your desk grow louder by the second, each one nipping on your nerves.

“Hey, Miss, my roses?”

“O-oh, right,” you stir, eyes fluttering wide, taking in the bouquet of roses you were wrapping. The flower shop is brightly illuminated by the overhead lights and the morning daylight, yet everything looks so hazy, the frantic movements of your hands sticking out so aberrant from your perspective.

“Here’s your bouquet, sir. Thank you for coming to Petal Hill.” The man waves off and your smile falls the second the glass door swings close in his exit.

Everything went back to normal. You went to university in the morning, started your shift in the flower shop in the afternoon. You didn’t miss a day and you eat and sleep the same way. Routines are done the same way they are until they blur day after day, just how you live your days with sleep marking the end and beginning of every tomorrow. But, they are still not enough to fill the gaping hole in your chest. Whatever you do, they’re not enough to let you forget of that night. Even if you tried to convince yourself that you felt okay after Lucy made up with you, your false defense just crumbles whenever you so much glance at the inked flowers on your arms, the ones Jimin ignited to bloom that night. More so when now the flowers have dulled in their yellowness after he left.

Even if you know it’s futile, you still did everything you can. You changed your sheets and cleaned your home. You refused to look into any online article pertaining to him. You busied yourself until you break down tired. You screamed and have already cried for so many nights. And you did something you abhorred: wait–wait for someone to come back without any assurance they have actually plans of coming back.

You wait for Jimin to show up at your door, explain and apologize and fulfill his end of the promise. Because even if you abhorred the sight of your mother endlessly waiting for your father to come back and how you did the same for the both of them, Jimin is different. He is your soulmate and that night you met him, he convinced you it won’t hurt to give this soulmate phenomenon a chance. So each day after that dream-like night, you waited and waited until all seconds, hours, and days add into an excruciating week.

For one week, Jimin didn’t show up and when a gray Sunday afternoon comes, eight days past the night, you’re starting to wonder if you should still keep your unrealistic hope alive.

The glass door swings, ten footsteps echo in the silent shop, five pansies are laid down on your table–and then you stop. Your thoughts halt in a frozen limbo, your body stills in staggering shock.

It’s the same bleached blonde hair, the same black leather jacket, the same silver earrings, the same drooped eyelids and warm, brown eyes – it’s Jimin, Park Jimin, who stands in front of you, waiting for you to wrap the pansies on your desk. It’s him, the soulmate you’ve been waiting to come back to you for so many days and nights and all you can do is–

Your eyes immediately dart down to your desk as your fingers scramble to wrap the flowers. “If you just came here to make sure I won’t tell anybody what happened, don’t worry, I already plan not to. Your reputation will remain clean and you’ll still have millions of fans. You can leave after I wrap this.”

“W-what? No, I’m not gonna do that, Y/N. Never...I came here to talk.”

“Oh, so now you wanna talk. After a week of silence, you now decided you want to talk.”

“Y/N–”

“So now that you wanna talk, what are we gonna talk about? How everything that happened was a mistake?” you spit out. You’ve already thought about this but hearing them loud from your own lips starts to make your eyes sting with tears. You immediately look down again at the flowers you’re wrapping. You can’t cry in front of him again, let him see you this weak again. You can’t have him to kick you down to the curb again.

“No, Y/N. I’m sorry. Please–please look at me.” Jimin says, a sob escaping his lips. Receiving no response, he places his palms on your desk and pulls down his mask as he leans forward to meet your downcasted eyes. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side that morning. But believe me, I didn’t want to break my promise, I just have to do something–”

“What do you have to do?” you cut him as you raise your hand to wipe away the tear that has made its way down your cheeks. “What do you have to do that is so fucking important for you to just leave me as if nothing happened between us? Why do you have to disappear for a week without any word? Why do you have to just show up now? Why, Jimin, why?”

You face Jimin, letting your eyes meet his for the first time and really look at him. His lips are chapped, his complexion pale, the bags under his eyes dark. He looks just as bad as you but you don’t want to dwell on it, afraid your resolve will crumble down when you should be keeping a strong front.

“Y/N, I–I'm sorry,” Jimin says again as a tear escapes down his cheek. “What I did is unforgivable and I know you have every right to hate me right now. But I-I have actually planned to stay and make you breakfast and tell you–”

“I don’t need to hear what you could have done because it did not happen,” you look at him and Jimin freezes. “You didn’t stay like you promised, Jimin.”

“Y/N, please–”

“Just tell me why you left me. Why do you have to appear now?”

“I,” Jimin starts and he sighs. “Namjoon called me around four, demanded where the hell I am. Apparently...the media has already published pictures of us getting in a cab together that night. Namjoon asked me to come back to the dorm right that instant before the media can do a massive stakeout in front of your building and barrage us with their cameras. So I didn’t come back the morning after to not raise any more suspicion. I waited a week to pass for the paparazzi to calm down and drive away their cars before I can go back to you.” He raises his hand to wipe a stray tear on his cheek but it’s not enough to prevent the small wet drop from landing on the pansies. “I-I can’t let the media invade your privacy and create horrendous articles about you. They can do that to me, but not to you. Never to you. You don’t deserve that.”

You’ve imagined this confrontation scene again and again in your head for the last couple of days. You’ve planned what you’re going to say and how you would end this goddamn connection with Jimin once and for all. And yet...you couldn’t remember the words you’ve planned for so long to say right now. They just died immediately at the tip of your tongue as if they were never there in the first place. And you hate it. For once, you thought you could finally have some control over the effect of this man has on you. You feel ashamed. You feel as if you’ve betrayed yourself.

Biting your lip, you bring your eyes back to the pansies. “I guess that’s better than having you figure out I’m just a simple nobody you can fuck over for one night of fun and throw away when you’re done and satisfied. Because that’s what I thought when you left me.”

“No, Y/N, I’ll never do that to you–” Jimin scrambles to reach for your hands but you take a step back away from him. You could see pain brim in his eyes and hurt pangs in your chest. You thought if you could deliver the same pain he brought to you, you would feel better. But no, you only felt worse. Worse for thinking hurting back the person you love is the right thing to do. Just like what your mom and dad did to each other. Tears sting your eyes at the thought. You swore never to become like them and you’re doing the very mistake they did. You hate this. You hate feeling so weak. You hate how you’re even thinking about Jimin and what he must be feeling when your own chest feels so heavy with the pain he caused.

You tear your eyes away from him and dart them to your clenched hands. “I already heard your apology, Jimin. You don’t have to repeat it again to convince me. I’ll just finish these pansies so you can go.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand. Can you please–please just look at me?”

“What for, Jimin? I already heard you out, what more do you want?” You wipe away the tears that have streamed down your face, “Do you want me to hear now how sorry you are because you didn’t mean everything you said? Because if you do–”

“I meant every single thing I said,” Jimin breathes out. “I love you, Y/N. So much that I want to do everything I can just for you to be happy. I waited for so long to finally meet you and I’m so, so, so sorry I broke my promise and fucked everything up. But I swear, Y/N, I want nothing but you and I meant everything I said especially when I told you I love you.”

You raise your head to finally look at him and you almost wanted to regret your decision. Jimin stands in front of you, sobbing, eyes wrecked. He looks so vulnerable, cut wide open for you to see. You know he must be saying the truth but you still can’t ignore the doubt clouding in your head. You’ve already believed him once. You don’t want to repeat your mistake again. “I would be lying if I told you I don’t want to believe what you said,” you choke out a sob, “But Jimin, I can’t just take you back and pretend what happened did not hurt me.”

Jimin freezes. “N-no, Y/N, please–”

“Jimin, I want you to prove you mean everything you said. I’m sorry, but I...I just can’t forgive someone so easily with mere words. I’ve seen hundreds of relationships go down because of that.” Your voice cracks, “Hell, I’ve seen my own mother and father destroy each other with repetitive apologies and forgiveness. I need to respect myself, Jimin, I–” you let out a shaky breath and hand over the wrapped pansies, “I’m sorry I can’t accept your apology now.”

Jimin looks down and nods, “I understand, Y/N.” He doesn’t take the flowers and turns away, walking to the door. Each step he takes is synonymous to another crack making its way down your heart but you know you have to do this for yourself–for you to have enough reasons not to regret the decision you already made up in your mind about his and your future. You have to do this for yourself so you can finally deal with your fears and doubts about the soulmate phenomenon. So if Jimin can’t do what you request for, then you’ll let him go. You can’t let him and yourself experience the inevitable tragedy brought forth by the intense intimacy and transparency the soulmate phenomenon brings. You can’t take it if the both of you will face the same horrible ending your parents had.

Jimin stops by the door and you look up to see his retreating frame.

“Keep the pansies. They’re for you. I-It was nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

After that, he’s gone.

***

You didn’t expect anything from him after your meeting in the flower shop. However, you know better than to anticipate nothing from Jimin but an effective counter-argument. You know your judgment is right when you found the proof first on your doorstep in the morning after of your talk, September 15. Five pansies stood in a small vase placed on the right of your door, next to your umbrella stand. Underneath it was a pink note, which said, “I’m sorry.”

That evening, you stayed up late into the night. Your clock ticks ten thirty and then you hear it: a click of a button, a faint clink of glass, and Jimin’s soft voice.

“Hi Y/N. I…I’m sorry for what I did. And I hope you know I won’t give up making it up to you for you to know I’m really serious about you. I–I’ve brought you pansies. I remember every single thing we talked about that night and after that night, the only thought that always comes to my mind ever since is you.”

The morning after, you see the same vase and a fresh set of flowers, the wilted blooms probably cleaned up and taken out. However, instead of the note, a record lies next to the vase. When you slid it into your beat-up player, a relic you kept from your mother’s home, it plays his short message last night.

The routine falls into place the following days.

“Hi Y/N. Our schedule today wasn’t full so I had the time to go to a library and read about flo-flo-floriography? My tongue always gets twisted when I say that so please don’t judge me. I’ll pronounce it better soon. So back to the book–I read that sweet peas mean ‘Thank you for the lovely time’ and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you that right after our date. After all, it was the happiest night of my life. Anyway, I got you some sweet peas now with the pansies. I hope you like them.”

“Hi Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late. We got dance practice until ten and I rushed here right after our choreographer called it a night. I wish I can show our dance to you now, but yeah…I guess you wouldn’t want to. You’ll probably throw the flowers I have now to my face. Okay, I’m kidding. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just want to make you laugh. I miss hearing you laugh.”

“Hi Y/N. I stopped by Petal Hill this afternoon but I didn’t see you there. Someone filling in for you told me you skipped your shift to study for your tests. I wish I could help you like how guys in cheesy romance movies do but I guess I won’t be able to do that because I’m not that smart. I’ll leave early today so you can study. Eventhough I know you’ll slay it, I’ll still wish you good luck. I hope these gardenias with the pansies will give you additional good fortune.”

“Hi Y/N. We did songwriting today and I wrote my first solo song. Guess who’s my ispiration. Surprise, Surprise, it’s you! Namjoon told us to just write out anything we’ve been thinking a lot lately and all I could think about is you. I can’t show it to you yet because it’s still messy but I promise, as soon as I made it perfect as it should be, you’ll be the first one to hear it!”

“Hi Y/N. I read a book about flowers again! This time, I got curious about azaleas, the small, pretty pink blooms on the front shelf of Petal Hill? The flower book I read says they look like azaleas. Anyway, I learned that they require quite an effort to grow because they prefer a little sun and a little shade. I guess that’s why they mean ‘fragile’ in the older books of floriography. However, I read that even if they’re fragile, they can last for several weeks. Thus, they also mean ‘take care’ in modern floriography books. Isn’t that amazing? I brought azaleas today so they can last long and remind you to always take care of yourself.”

Every morning you collect the records he leaves and every night you can’t help but forgive him bit by bit. His flowers and records make your mornings worthwhile; his soft voice and songs, a lullaby that you start to anticipate in the night. Jimin does his routine religiously night after night and it wasn’t long before you find your heart softening to him again, opening up for him so easily even when you didn’t want to. There’s no use to deny the fluttering of your heart anymore because as nights go by, you already find yourself gathering up your courage to open the door and finally let him back in.

For twelve nights, Jimin’s routine doesn’t fail. In the latter six nights, you’re by the door, practicing what to say. You plan to just throw open the door once you finally sorted out everything you want to say. However, that plan immediately goes down the drain because of one Monday night, the 14th night of Jimin’s supposed routine.

“Hi Y/N. I know it’s late but….I have to say something important. I…I won’t be able to stop by for the next few days. We’re having our comeback tomorrow and soon after, promotions will require us to go overseas. I just came because I hope you’ll open the door by now and at least show me your face. Doesn’t matter if you throw the door close to my face the second after you show your face. I just want to see you real bad. It would be long before I can see you again and I…I miss you. I miss you so much, Y/N. So can you please open the door? Because…I know you’ve already forgiven me.”

Your body freezes and before you know it, your feet are pounding hard on your floor towards your door. The millisecond you tear open your door, you barely whisper, “Ho-How did you know that?!”

Jimin stands in front of you, eyes wide. His hair is still bleached blonde like the last time you saw him, his gentle eyes still the same. He looked better than the last time you saw him, healthier. But unlike your expectations, there’s no vase and record this time. It’s just him and his flowers–a bouquet of pansies and sunflowers in his hands. Tears well up in your eyes and your lips tremble. But before you can say anything, he answers your question. “I–I can hear your thoughts.”

“W-what?” Your jaw falls open. Oh my God.

Jimin opens his mouth. “Oh my God.”

Your forehead furrows. What the fuck, is he copying me?

Jimin shrugs. “What the fuck, is he copying me?”

What the hell –“H-how did you know what I’m thinking? Wha-what–”

“It’s my soulmate system,” Jimin looks into your eyes and your body goes rigid in shock. Jimin bites his lip. “I lied about soulbond being my soulmate system because…I don’t want to scare you that night that I practically already knew everything about you before I even met you. That I purposely went to Marti’s Hub just to get a glimpse of you when I knew you’re going to that bar to cry over your Law 114 essay and I just happened to be near that area. And that how I came to your rescue was not perfectly a coincidence, but intentional because I heard your…mental cries of help.”

“The-then what about the-the daffodil ring?” You point to his left hand and Jimin breathes shakily.

“This ring wasn’t because of your soulmate system…or mine,” he admits. “Remember that time when you’re fifteen and you thought about how romantic it will be to have a daffodil bloom inked around your ring finger instead of a wedding ring? I thought about that a lot until I can’t think about anything else. All I knew is that I have to own a permanent mark of you on my body because it felt wrong not to be tied to you in some way when you already own every part of me. I have a daffodil inked on my ring finger because,” he trails off and looks into your eyes. “What’s the meaning of the yellow daffodils?”

You’re the only one.

“You’re the only one,” Jimin breathes out. You felt your tears trailing down your cheeks and Jimin’s thumb wipes them away. He keeps his hand on your cheek and you look up into his eyes, into his eyes that reflect nothing but you. One second is all it takes for your defense to crumble down and fall. Fall into Jimin’s arms, fall into him again, letting him hold everything that you are–your strengths, burdens, weaknesses–everything.

“B-but what about y-your parents?” you choke, “The-the soulbond–”

“They’re true,” Jimin says, firm. “Excluding my soulbond soulmate system, everything I told you that night is true. My parents, my stories, my wishes, my intentions, my ‘I love you’–they’re true. All of them.”

You tremble in his arms and Jimin holds you tighter. It is right then you decide to finally deal with your fears. “H-how can you be so sure, Jimin? How can we make this work? I-I’ve only known about you in one night.”

“That’s not quite true,” Jimin chuckles. “You’ve known about me since 2013. I know I caught your eye the instant I showed up in the screen with the cringey snapback, trying hard to swag with cheap gold chains on my neck.”

“But what about me? You only knew me i-in one night…”

“Not true too.” Jimin cups your face in his hands. “I told you, I can hear your thoughts. I’ve been hearing them since you were born–all that you did, all the things you liked, all the people you disliked–I’ve already known you since I started hearing you. Hearing the minutest details of your thoughts for over so many years is enough for me to know about you.” He breathes out, smiling. “Enough for me to know my soulmate already loved me before she even meet me. And I want her to know I already felt the same before I even saw her.”

Before you can say anything else, Jimin leans over and presses his soft lips against yours. It’s gentle, intimate–a delicate touch that conveys nothing but love. You make a noise of surprise but you already know you’ll be melting in his touch within mere seconds. You know because your cheeks feel warm and your chest flutters in joy. You know because everything about the night suddenly feels right. You know because even if you haven’t said it aloud, Jimin knows what he said is true.

When you part, you’re greeted with his soft smile and gentle eyes that you love so much. And right then, you know that even if it scares you, you’ll have to say everything in your heart aloud. What’s let out in the open air cannot be undone anymore and you have no plans of taking back the words you will utter.

“I love you, Jimin.”

Jimin smiles and beams back, warm and bright. “And I won’t get tired telling you I love you, too, Y/N.”

Standing there on your doorstep, as the world slowly turns around you, you think it’s finally time that you accept the tale of the red string of fate is more than just a fairytale for everyone else but you. Because right in front of you, is your own happy ending. And, you’re sure, even in another universe, you will relive that night you met Jimin again and again if it will grant you what you have now in your arms: love.

You don’t need to glance at your glowing daffodil ring to prove that you’re right.

Epilogue

As you touch your red-stained lips with one final dab, your voicemail beeps. Your free hand presses your telephone to hear the call you missed since you’ve been out of your house the whole day.

“Hi Y/N. It’s mom. I…I wanted to tell you this in person but it would be a while before my bus reaches your place. I just…I just want to say that your father met up with me two weeks ago and…yesterday, we decided to give us another chance. I’m sorry I’m only telling you this when I always felt I should have said this way back before: the soulmate phenomenon works and I’m so sorry we caused you to distrust it and lose hope in love. I know we’re not the best parents out there, but Y/N, I want you to know that you are loved and someone out there made by the heavens and destined by fate will love you more and make you happier than we ever could. This soulmate thing–it works as long as you give it a chance and work hard too to make it work. We will be there at your place tomorrow with your father…We missed a lot about you these recent two weeks…especially your father, and I hope we can catch up. Always take care, Y/N. Mom and dad loves you.”

“You ready, Y/N?”

You turn to your boyfriend, smiling. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m done.” You grab your purse and take Jimin’s open hand, giggling when he presses a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

Smirking, you said, “You really know now how to kiss me without smearing my lipstick.”

Jimin looks at you, grinning, “Of course, I won’t ruin your perfect makeup. You made yourself pretty for our date tonight.” He leans to the crook of your ear and whispers, “Unless…you want me to do now what I have in mind for us later in the night.”

You cringe at him but Jimin probably already knows his words have affected you because you already feel your cheeks starting to heat up. “Ah, you’re so cute. I love teasing you,” Jimin chuckles as he interlocks your hand with his. When you step out of your home, you glance back to your telephone and then to your daffodil ring, glowing faintly. Smiling, you close your door.

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Thank you for reading this 2nd long-ass oneshot I made after Translucent Fireworks! The inspiration from this fic came from one of the requests in my Songs to Read Playlist:

3 minutes of listening to I was Made for Loving You and one eureka moment are all it took for me to plot this story in detail from start to finish.Thus, I decided then to make this a full oneshot, and now, I am drained and tired after finishing this. This has sucked the lifeblood out of me as this kept me busy for one whole f*cking month and next week is all I have left of my summer break before uni starts hell again. But hey, at least I made up my lack of activity to you hons with lots of wordcount! Thank you for appreciating my works and I hope you all stick with me longer as I have a lot of upcoming works in store for you!

#kwritersworldnet #btsguild #bangtan bookclub #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #jimin scenarios #bts scenarios #bts smut #jimin smut #bts fluff #jimin fluff #park jimin #jimin x you #bts x you #IT'S FINALLY HERE #YESSS #NOW I AM OFFICIALLY DECEASED #I'll rest for a while and then will write again!

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neuxue · 8 years ago

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 13

Gawyn is, as usual, frustrating, but does actually make a decision. Also there are Aragorn gifs and a few random tangents.

Chapter 13: An Offer and a Departure

‘Departure’ in the title of a Gawyn chapter seems at least moderately promising. Maybe he’ll finally get his shit together and get out of this godforsaken town.

…I have higher hopes for the latter than the former.

Two sparring opponents? You’re going to have to step it up, Gawyn; I hear the Dragon Reborn can take on five.

Could, anyway. Might be a bit more challenging singlehanded.

Though he can also take on a good-sized army, if he’s carrying the right not-a-sword, so there’s that.

Hattori had been quite pleased when her Warder had finally arrived at Dorlan; she’d lost him at Dumai’s Wells, and his story was the sort gleemen and bards sang about. Sleete had lain wounded for hours before deliriously managing to grab his horse’s reins and pull himself into the saddle. It had loyally carried him, near unconsious, for hours before arriving at a nearby village.

So…

The rest of his story fully embraces the cliché – and by ‘embraces’ I mean ‘makes sloppy but passionate love to’ – because I think all the Warders have a secret competition going to out-do Lan’s story. This, of course, is the real reason Lan decided to ride for Tarwin’s Gap.

It was the marrow of stories and legends – at least, among regular, lesser men. For a Warder, Sleete’s story was almost commonplace. Men like him attracted legends as ordinary men attracted fleas. […] Surviving against the odds, riding in delirium over miles of rough terrain, cutting down an entire band of thieves with wounds not fully healed –

Gaining a name amongst the Aiel, riding to avenge or resurrect a fallen nation…

–these were just the sorts of things you did when you were a Warder.

And then there’s Birgitte. Also Rand, technically speaking.

While Aes Sedai manipulated the world and monsters like al’Thor got the glory, men like Sleete quietly did the work of heroes, each and every day. Without glory or recognition.

Well, except that al’Thor the monster is giving everything he has and tearing himself apart to save a world that hates and fears him. So I would say that qualifies, in its own way, as ‘without recognition’. Of course, Gawyn doesn’t recognise this, which makes the whole thing spectacularly ironic.

And ‘glory’? You saw Rand at Dumai’s Wells, Gawyn. You saw him tortured. Did that look like glory?

It’s not surprising, though, that this idea of unrecognised heroics is what Gawyn’s thoughts are drawn to. After all, he was raised in the shadow of a golden older brother and a sister destined for a crown, and taught that his life is merely a shield for hers. He was meant to be the unsung hero – and now even that seems lost to him.

So I think he idolises the Warders in part because he sees in them what he has always felt he is supposed to be.

Except he sees an idealised version, and holding yourself to impossible standards always ends well. Especially if it coincides with the world falling apart.

The actual swordfighting scene is less enthralling than some. It’s probably a combination of the fact that it’s a relatively low-stakes spar, and also it involves characters I’m not all that invested in.

Gawyn wins. Sleet and Marlesh are surprised. I halfheartedly applaud, once. In my head.

Sleete carried a heron-mark blade and was near-legendary in the White Tower for his prowess. He was said to have bested even Lan Mandragoran twice out of seven bouts

One: I love how Lan is used by pretty much everyone as the standard of excellence. Kind of like how it was mentioned a while back that everyone says their city was even more beautiful than Tar Valon, thus cementing Tar Valon’s actual superiority in that regard.

And two: if you’re trying to convince me that Gawyn is now a better swordsman than Lan Mandragoran, I call bullshit.

back when Mandragoran had been known to spar with other Warders.

This is perfect.

Really, I’m sitting here laughing at just…everything about that phrase, including the way it’s tossed in almost as an afterthought. Back when Lan used to spar with mere enhanced badass mortals. Beautiful.

So there are two possible ways this came about. Either the other Warders decided to stop inviting him to practice – because there’s sparring against a more skilled opponent in order to improve, and then there’s sparring against Lan Mandragoran for the sole purpose of destroying your own ego – or Lan himself decided that there was just no point. Probably the latter, but some of the other Warders were probably relieved.

Meanwhile Lan’s riding off to the Blight to finally find himself a challenge. I mean, really. What does a guy have to do around here to get a proper workout?

(Though he did spar with Narishma. And Rand, obviously. So maybe he makes an exception for sad boys who came into too much power far too quickly and without enough certainty).

Anyway, I’m still laughing at everything about this.

All Gawyn had ever wanted was to protect Elayne. He wanted to defend Andor. Maybe learn to be a little more like Galad.

Why couldn’t life be as simple as a sword match? Opponents clear and arranged before you. The prize obvious: survival.

Well, there’s Gawyn for you.

This really does make up the core of a lot of his problems, though. He was raised with a strong but fairly simple mandate: protect Elayne, and protect Andor. But then what do you do when Elayne is missing, or when Andor’s queen is missing presumed dead? (If you’re Galad, you start a war to help Elayne and then go kill the Lord Captain Commander of the Whitecloaks to avenge the queen, but that’s somewhat beside the point).

Added to that is Gawyn’s constant feeling of not being quite good enough. So when everything goes to shit and there isn’t a clear path that involves ‘protect Elayne’ or ‘defend Andor’, he..wants or even needs to act, but almost doesn’t trust himself to know what to do. And then it’s not as simple as he thought it would be, or wants it to be, and he really doesn’t know what to do, because this is not how his story was supposed to go. And then he ends up caught in these situations where he’s tangled up in greater powers, in over his head, competent in his assigned role but not quite confident enough to leave it.

Also perhaps the ‘opponents clear and arranged before you’ is part of why he can’t look at Rand as anything but his enemy. He wants these certainties, wants things to be simple and clear-cut, and so he subconsciously could end up focusing on and believing the negative things he hears about the Dragon Reborn, because that is far simpler and easier to wrap his mind around than the alternative.

But in general, this is not a good time for wanting things to be simple and clear-cut and nicely laid out like a storybook hero’s plot. Sorry, Gawyn. You’re shit out of luck there.

Having just said that…it’s as if he wants his life to be – or thinks his life to be – something like Sleete’s story from a few pages ago. He idolises and idealises that, and when it isn’t like that for him, he thinks he’s failed somehow, and also doesn’t really know how to deal with everything when it doesn’t follow that kind of familiar pattern.

“You are remarkable, Gawyn Trakand. Like a creature of light, colour and shadow when you move. I feel like a babe holding a stick when I face you.”

I did try not to roll my eyes.

Okay, I confess, I didn’t try very hard.

I think that, weirdly, I almost have less patience for Gawyn when he’s being presented as a badass than when he’s trying to be one because he’s expected to be. Which is odd, because that is not how it normally works for me.

Or maybe it’s just that my patience for Gawyn has worn a bit thin recently in general; I still find him an interesting character in terms of how his arc has been constructed, but he’s been stuck in the same place for a while now. He also, by virtue of no longer being just in the prologues and maybe the occasional chapter, is narratively surrounded by characters who are getting a lot more done, literally and figuratively, so that also may have something to do with it.

I still can’t stand the word ‘Younglings’. I blame Star Wars, maybe.

Except no, I definitely disliked it even before that. You know how some people feel about the word ‘moist’? That’s how I feel about ‘younglings’. It’s a thing, and it bothers me every single time. I vote Gawyn kills them all.

It’s like when an otherwise really cool character just has the worst name and it detracts from their coolness even if you don’t want it to. I genuinely think this is a major part of the reason I never liked The Hobbit as much as I probably should have. Bilbo. I just can’t. I know, I know, it’s the stupidest thing to get hung up on, but there you have it. (Of course, when I was younger I went the exact opposite direction, and gave all my fictional characters the most ridiculously overwrought names, thinking they were awesome and beautiful when in fact they were incredibly cringeworthy. So what can you do).

Anyway, back to Gawyn.

Marlesh thinks he should be a blademaster, Gawyn’s like ‘oh no I couldn’t possiby’, and Marlesh confirms that by killing his teacher, Gawyn does in fact get to claim that title. So, you know, perks.

Gawyn had rarely seen an Aes Sedai and Warder with as casual a relationship as those two.

This strikes me as odd. I guess it depends what is meant by ‘casual’ here, but they come across as having a kind of lighthearted friends/siblings sort of relationship, which doesn’t seem like it should be that far from ordinary. It does sometimes seem as if there’s a slight discrepancy between how Aes Sedai-Warder relationships or dynamics are described in a general sense, and how they’re shown in a specific sense. But maybe that’s simply a result of the specific characters we’re following.

“Those two remind me of nothing so much as a brother and sister at times.”

Okay, yeah, I really don’t see why that should come across as uncommon. If romantic relationships between an Aes Sedai and Warder are uncommon – as is said to be the case – then surely a sibling or close friend dynamic would be well within the norm.

As Sanderson’s characters would say, bah.

“Hattori only has one Warder,” [Sleete] said in his gravelly, soft voice. Gawyn nodded. “That’s not unheard-of for a Green.”

“It isn’t because she isn’t open to having more,” Sleete said. “Years ago, when she bonded me, she said that she would only take another if I judged him worthy. She asked me to search. She doesn’t think much on these kinds of things. Too busy with other matters.”

All right, Gawyn thought, wondering why he was being told this.

Gawyn. Come on. Really? You have to be quicker on the uptake than this.

Sleete turned, meeting Gawyn’s eyes. “It’s been over ten years, but I’ve found someone worthy. She will bond you this hour, if you wish it.”

Huh. So…okay. That’s a thing.

It’s high praise, certainly. I like Sleete; he seems very no-nonsense and unobtrusively skilled, and this comes across as an offer given not because of who Gawyn is or who he is related to, but because Sleete thinks he’s genuinely worthy of it. Not just for his prowess with a sword, but because he does clearly have a sense of honour and duty, even if he doesn’t always know the best way to put that to use.

All in all, becoming Warder to a side-character Aes Sedai, while it’s never going to happen, would probably not be a bad thing for Gawyn. It would give him focus and purpose and direction, and being bonded by an Aes Sedai who already has a Warder would give him a mentor figure, which is something he rather desperately needs right now, I think. I wonder if Sleete has seen that in him, too. Ah well, doesn’t much matter, because there’s only one answer Gawyn’s giving to that.

(After all, when has Gawyn ever chosen to do something that might actually be good for him?)

“I’m honoured, Sleete,” Gawyn said. “But I came to the White Tower to study because of Andoran traditions, not because I was going to be a Warder. My place is beside my sister.” And if anyone is going to bond me, it will be Egwene.

…no cognitive dissonance there, of course. It’s going to be rather difficult to be beside your sister and also bonded by Egwene. It would actually make some sort of sense for Gawyn to be bonded by Elayne, but honestly that’s a bond-tangle he really does not need to be a part of, and Elayne is doing none too poorly for Warders as is.

Also, Gawyn, take a look around and notice how you are neither beside your sister nor bonded by Elayne, and then please take a moment to consider why that is, and then get the fuck out of here already.

“You came for those reasons,” Sleete said, “but those reasons have passed.”

That’s…a very good point, especially in a broader sense. What Gawyn thought he was supposed to do, and the way he thought things were going to be, is…not how things have turned out. And that’s something Gawyn hasn’t been able to accept or understand. He had one path he was focused on, and then it blew up and he’s been sort of left wandering the other paths with no roadmap and a broken compass.

“What do you think of what happened in the Tower, Sleete?”

He’s looking for answers, and trying to figure things out; he knows he’s lost and uncertain and caught in a place he doesn’t really want to be. It’s just that there are no good answers, really. It’s good that he’s asking, but eventually it is going to come down to the same thing it did before: he’s going to have to make his own choice.

As Lan said, “You can never know everything, and part of what you know is always wrong. Perhaps even the most important part. A portion of wisdom lies in knowing that. A portion of courage lies in going on anyway.”

Gawyn is actually not bad at the second part. His problem is with the first part; he’s working with incomplete information, and most likely he always will be, and some of what he ‘knows’ is wrong. And he…sort of knows that but also doesn’t always understand it, or take it into account when he acts.

“Just keep your head down,” Sleete said. “There are hot tempers in the Tower, but there are wise minds as well. They’ll do the right thing.”

Hm. Not completely sure that’s the best advice or attitude there, actually. I mean…on the one hand sure, don’t make it worse, and trust in those who are working to solve it. But also…maybe try to help them? Rather than just standing aside and letting other people do the hard work, and just expecting that someone will? And that you don’t have to do anything yourself, and it’ll all just be fine?

There’s a time and a place for neutrality, sure, and if your interest is in staying alive and getting on with the smaller things, then…okay. But this is a point when people actually need to do something. Egwene can only do so much of it by herself. And this isn’t something that the ‘neutral’ Aes Sedai can actually claim isn’t their problem. It is, because it affects all of them. They can’t just ignore that the Tower is broken, and trying to claim the moral high ground for not taking part in the conflict – by ignoring it and trying to pretend it doesn’t exist, but never making the difficult choice – is absurd. Sleete’s not quite doing that, but still.

Then again, it really isn’t Gawyn’s conflict to get involved in, so maybe Sleete has a point there. Gawyn needs to get out of the whole thing, because he can’t have it both ways: he told Sleete he just came to the Tower for Andoran tradition, but now he’s embroiled in the Tower’s division. Choose, Gawyn.

“Hattori got out,” Sleete continued softly. “Went on this mission to al’Thor, never knowing the depth of what it was about. She just didn’t want to be in the Tower. Wise woman.”

Except…wise? Really? She didn’t know what she was getting herself into, but she went anyway because she wanted to be away from the Tower – and so now she can wash her hands of it and also of what they did to Rand? That’s…not how responsibility works.

I’m all for taking the pragmatic approach, but own up to it.

“Hammar was a good man.”

“He was,” Gawyn said, feeling a twist in his stomach.

“But he would have killed you,” Sleete said. “Killed you cleanly and quickly. He was the one on the offensive, not you. He understood why you did what you did. Nobody made any good decisions that day. There weren’t any good decisions to be made.”

Well that last bit is certainly true, at any rate.

Still, there’s something about Sleete’s tendency to absolve everyone of responsibility that doesn’t quite work for me. I see where he’s going with it here, and I don’t entirely disagree, but…enh. That said, it is pretty much exactly what Gawyn needs to hear, and he beats himself up over enough already, so there’s that.

“She needed to get news to the Greens of what had happened at Dumai’s Wells, of what the Amyrlin’s true orders with al’Thor had entailed. I needed to survive. We did our duty. But once that message had been sent, if she hadn’t felt me approaching on my own, she would have come for me. No matter what. And we both know it.”

Some pointed parting words there, though of course Gawyn doesn’t quite get it. Leave, Gawyn.

The offer had been tempting for a heartbeat, but only as a way of escaping his problems.

Points for self awareness.

(He has so many problems)

Why couldn’t Egwene see that the man she’d grown up with had turned into a monster, twisted by the One Power?

Actually, Gawyn, Egwene was thinking just last chapter about how there was little left of the boy she grew up with. How she and Rand – or rather, the Dragon Reborn – had both changed to the point where they feel they don’t really know each other anymore.

But he’s not a monster, and that much I think she still knows, however else she may think of him. There is that much left of ‘Rand’ in her thoughts. And that’s going to be key in whatever is to come; another Amyrlin may well agree with Gawyn. Egwene, though, might have enough lingering love and trust for Rand to let him do what needs to be done, and to perhaps relinquish an attempt at controlling him.

He didn’t trust Aes Sedai. His mother had, and look where that had gotten her.

How does trusting Aes Sedai have anything to do with where Morgase ended up? Her problem was more with trusting one of the Forsaken, and it wasn’t like she was given a whole lot of choice in that matter.

Gawyn decides it’s a good idea to just walk into a meeting of Aes Sedai. Because yeah, that’s definitely going to work well, and get you access to all the information you could possibly want, Gawyn. Sure. You just go right ahead.

He shouldn’t have to eavesdrop.

The problem is, Gawyn, sometimes the way things should be isn’t the way they are, and sometimes you just have to…accept that. And find a way to work with it. And pick your battles.

So Gawyn gets sent away. What a surprise. Really, colour me shocked.

Aes Sedai. Sensible men stayed away from them when possible, and obeyed them with alacrity when staying away was impossible. Gawyn had trouble doing either; his bloodline prevented staying away, his pride interfered with obeying them.

Again, points for self-awareness. Though Gawyn has always been more or less cognizant of his problems. It’s in doing something to actually solve them, and making the hard choices, that he sometimes gets into trouble. He sees himself as being caught in an impossible tangle – and in fairness, he is in a mess of a situation that in many ways is over his head – but doesn’t believe that he can free himself from it. Because he sees all his options as distasteful or impossible in some way, and so he always comes close to a decision point but then turns back, and accepts the status quo. Even as he hates it.

No, he’d supported [Elaida] because he’d disliked Siuan’s treatment of his sister and Egwene.

But would Elaida have treated the girls any better? Would any of them have? Gawyn had made his decision in a moment of passion; it hadn’t been the coolheaded act of loyalty that his men assumed.

Where was his loyalty, then?

It’s not the first time he’s asked himself this – he’s been struggling with it pretty much since the schism itself. Because he doesn’t have all the information, and he doesn’t know the answers, and he’s trying to do the right thing but in the moment and even after, it’s hard to know what that is, especially when it’s so hard to find out what’s really happening, and what really happened.

But he needs to keep asking himself, and he needs to decide. Loyalty, law, a bond to the Tower…they’re all excuses at this point, more than anything else. And I think he knows it. He just…doesn’t know what to do instead. Or is afraid to think of it, because that’s not an easy question or an easy choice, and he’s perhaps even more afraid now of making the wrong one.

Oh for FUCK’S SAKE.

Of COURSE Gawyn overhears the Aes Sedai talking about how the rebels have set up their own Amyrlin. I’m sure he’ll get the full story with all the context and up-to-date information on what Egwene’s role actually turned out to be and—

Yeah, no, I can’t even say that with a straight face.

Also Katerine knows Travelling. Yay. Wonderful.

“But at least she was captured,” Narenwin noted, pausing at the doorway as Covarla passed through.

Katerine laughed sharply. “Captured and made to howl half the day. I wouldn’t want to be that al’Vere girl right now. Of course, it’s no less than she deserves for letting them put the Amyrlin’s shawl on her shoulders.”

Someone please cover Gawyn’s ears, because there’s absolutely no way he’s going to do anything but misinterpret this. Or rather, interpret it exactly as Katerine delivers it, without context or a healthy dose of skepticism.

He’d heard rumours that the rebels had their own Hall and Amyrlin…but Egwene? It was ridiculous! She was only Accepted!

But who better to set up for a potential fall? Perhaps none of the sisters had been willing to put their necks on the line by taking the title. A younger woman like Egwene would have made a perfect pawn.

So much faith you have in her, Gawyn.

But to be fair, that is exactly what they intended, when they raised her. It’s the logical conclusion, and it’s a part of why Egwene was able to take power in the first place; they simply didn’t see it coming, and didn’t think to put much effort into preventing it, and by the time they realised the truth, she had already run rings around them.

So of course Gawyn is going to do exactly what Mat did upon finding out, and immediately assume that he has to go rescue her. Sigh.

Egwene was in trouble. He blinked deliberately, standing in the square, cattle calling distantly, water bubbling in the canal beside him.

Egwene would be executed.

Where is your loyalty, Gawyn Trakand?

I just…can’t work up much enthusiasm for what appears to be an actual turning point and a decision, finally. Because the impetus for it is so…meh. He’s supposed to be a hero, so he has to go play white knight to a damsel in distress, right?

I don’t think my irritation – or apathy, more accurately – is aimed at the way this is written; it’s more an issue with Gawyn himself. That he takes what Katerine says on face value, because it plays into his… idea of how things work, or should work, or whatever. Egwene’s in trouble, so of course Egwene is in trouble, and of course he can rescue her, but she can’t rescue herself. Blah.

So it is nice to see Gawyn finally decide. He’s been moving towards this for a while but hasn’t been able to take that last step, and he has felt this conflict of loyalties, and uncertainty, and now he is finally choosing.

The way he’s making that decision irks me somwhat, though. Ah well. Can’t deny it’s in character.

Well, he’s made a decision and he’s certainly not wavering on it now. Bags packed and straight to his horse within minutes. Almost makes up for what – months? – of uncertainty and hesitation. Almost makes up for the fact that he hasn’t really taken time to think about what Katerine said, and her motivations for saying it, and whether or not it’s the whole truth, and…ah, whatever. He’s finally getting out of this clusterfuck – even if he is very likely headed right into another one – and I can definitely support that, at least. Maybe along the way he will learn some things. He tries, and his heart is in the right place. He just has some…annoying notions.

Sleete continued to watch from the shadow of a massive pine as Gawyn put the saddle on Challenge’s back. The Warder knew. Gawyn’s act had fooled everyone else, but he could sense that it wouldn’t work on this man. Light! Was he going to have to kill another man he respected?

You’re assuming you could kill him, Gawyn. As Lan so aptly demonstrated in New Spring, winning in sparring does not necessarily mean winning in a real fight. But Sleete isn’t here to fight Gawyn. He practically told him to leave, after all. To go do what he needed to do.

Burn you, Elaida! Burn you, Siuan Sanche, and your entire Tower! Stop using people. Stop using me!

Ah, Gawyn. He has been caught for so long between forces far larger than himself, caught up by events that threw him around before he could really get his bearings. Sure, some of it is on him, but some of it is just…he was young and sheltered and thought he knew his task, and then everything exploded and he couldn’t figure out who or what or why, and he’s been trying, but this…isn’t his story. He’s caught in the swirl of a far larger story, used and pushed and pulled.

“Then why let me go?” Gawyn said, rounding the gelding and taking the reins. He met those shadowed eyes and thought he caught the faintest hint of a smile on the lips beneath them.

“Perhaps I just like to see men care,” Sleete said. “Perhaps I hope you’ll find a way to help end this. Perhaps I am feeling lazy and sore with a bruised spirit from so many defeats. May you find what you seek, young Trakand.”

Okay, I do like him. Those are good parting words.

There was only one place he could think to go for help in rescuing Egwene.

OH. IS HE—IS HE GOING TO GARETH BRYNE? PLEASE TELL ME HE IS GOING TO GARETH BRYNE. For one, that way Bryne can sit him down for A Talk. And also can maybe help him. Because honestly, Gawyn needs a mentor. And a friend. And maybe someone to just…actually tell him things, for once, and see that he’s angry and sad and lost, and help him.

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