They weren’t childhood friends, high school sweethearts or anything like that.   

“I wish I met you sooner.” he’d say, prompting a walk down memory lane of the first time they met –her favourite story out of the infinite they shared.

It was the July that fell on her last semester of college, a night that was never supposed to be but of thesis revisions and brain wrecking flash cards for finals that were just around the corner.  

“Oh have a bit of fun!” her friends disapproving her safe choice of plans, practically dragging her out through the dorm’s hallways in a midst of hushed giggles and careful footsteps.

She liked to think that she was socially acceptable for pretentious-frat-boy hosted parties and they weren’t all that bad if she managed to keep up with her group of friends, with the aid of a cup of cheap beer, or two. However, it wasn’t what she had in mind when they pulled over a beach house, already crowded by muddy four wheelers and huge SUVs parked by the vast perimeter of the property.

Her curiosity, spluttered out as a series of worried questions were dodged away by, “He’s our senior, remember? Of course you don’t. We’re all invited, now stop worrying will you please.”

It seemed fancy, too fancy for her likings that she suddenly became self conscious over her attire that held minimal effort, finding her hands securing the summery, light fabric of her skirt over the back of her thighs as she jogged up the fleet of glass stairs into the house. Simultaneously keeping her eyes to the faded converses on her feet, staring a little too hard as if the tatty things would magically turn into a pair of decent footwear just like the ones that adorned the catwalk worthy legs of girls that mingled the entire place.  

The only familiar thing she could register was Eureka by Zico pumping through the sound system, silently praising whoever it was for good music and the crowd seemed to agree. She squeezed through the sea of bodies, grinding, swinging to anything but empty air, gripping onto the hand that lead the way through a transparent sliding door. The humid, chlorine induced air smacking her face once she stepped out onto a spacious wooden deck that loomed above an over-occupied pool.

Reflection of white and sparkling blue shimmered against her skin as people splashed around the water, her eyes roaming for faces she recognized. To her surprise there were a handful of people she noticed, mostly those that took the same classes, popping in between new ones she’d never seen before.

A nudge too eager by her side snapped her from her thoughts; something that sounded like “Loosen up a little!” while her friends discarded their clothes to match the bikini clad girls parading down below.

She gaped, feeling slightly left behind for not getting the memo yet glad that she had a reason to pass a night dip that was all too uncomfortable. Already cringing at the unnecessary touching she foresaw, not too fond of the loud mischief of half boys sprinting along the water edge, showering a circle of giggling girls from their purposely planned, reckless diving.

It didn’t take long for them to disperse, her in search of refreshments before insisting that it’s fine, that she’ll check out the bonfire that looked just as entertaining. If it weren’t for the girl that took a liking to sit next to her during the thesis briefings they had, she wouldn’t have braved herself to approach the crowd surrounding the fire that danced with the summer night.

She probably shouldn’t have, not when it dawned on her that they were up to some sort of ice-breaking game.

“First person I see?” he questioned with his eyes closed, the fiery glow shadowing long lashes against his high cheeks and she blinked, once, and a few times as she boldly sink in how gorgeous this person was. His voice deep in half excitement and half nervousness, and a faint smile stretched the peculiar shape of his lips, small with a natural pout, when the lanky, scruffy haired friend next to him voiced out a yes, already resting his gaze on her yet she was too occupied in blatantly staring.

There was no one in his line of sight when he opened his eyes, it wasn’t that hard when she stood right across him, taking her a little while to realize that she was the first person he saw. Panic flooded her when a dozen pair of eyes mimicked his and scruffy haired friend came to the rescue, letting out a breathy laugh as he hopped up to take her hand and ushered her next to the thick-browed male.

“What–” She stammered, heat from something other than the crinkling flames rising in her cheeks. 

“Chubby Bunny Challenge.” He looked at her expectantly through brown curls that brushed over his eyes, plump lips grinning wide as he cut her off short.

“I’m sorry?”

“You do know what that is right?”

“Yes–”

“Great! Our Minho-ssi holds an astounding record of twenty –twenty marshmallows. Think you can beat that?”

He’d pressed on the number almost proudly, his tone fit for a talk show and as impressive as he sounds, her eyes reverted back to the person who now had a name.

“Seungyoon-ah…” Minho muttered the embarrassment under his breath, a quiet something that sounded like you little followed after as he looked away, rolling his tongue inside his lower lip.  

“And if I don’t?” She asked sounding a tad bit excited than she intended, blaming the anticipating silence of the small crowd for igniting her competitive flair.

He eyed the two of them, a suspiciously cunning smile tugging the corner of his lips when his eyes lit up at a realization.

“You two look like you need a good dunking, so loser gets–”

“Yah!” Minho bellowed, swiftly whacking his hand to Seungyoon’s head playfully and she grinned, these two were made for entertainment.

“I didn’t exactly sign up for this?” She joked but it was true, she was only out here to feed her curiosity on what the fuss was about. Her remark drew out a spur of vocal disappointment from their friends.

Feigning her protest, she sighed, looking away too quick when she caught Minho staring longer than she was comfortable with.   

“Fine.” She shrugged, failing to hide the biggest smile when Seungyoon hollered out a cheer and Minho couldn’t help but be infected.

It was supposed to be innocent. She figured that the light flutter in her chest was just temporary, convinced that anyone within his radius would feel just as affected. She flopped down onto the sand, crossing her legs ready to take up the challenge only to blush moments after, when Minho draped his windbreaker over her thighs exposed by the hitch of her skirt. It was this simple act that earned him her attention more than he already had.

The packet of leftover marshmallows sat in between them, and she was careful not to come in contact with his hands as they took turns in stuffing their mouths with one piece at a time. But when she did, she remembered it being rough as she imagined it to be and the touch sent his hand flying out like he’d been caught stealing. Funny how he looked somewhat daunting, a gaze that pierced right through her yet he was almost shy, dorky, despite first impressions.

Fifteen marshmallows later, he was close to resembling a hamster hiding a stash of baby carrots in an apocalypse. Laughter crawled up and he was just as amused, eyes disappearing into smiley crescents as they both fought back the hilarity. Almost choking at her twelfth marshmallow, she wondered how she looked to him; probably just as ridiculously silly as he does to her right then.

He never made it past fifteen, tears pricking the corner of his eyes in the brink of bursting out fits of hysteria at the bewilderment in her face, who barely just squeezed in her sixteenth confection. With that, Seungyoon’s hands swatted the space between them to signal her unexpected victory. He wasted no time in hauling his friend towards the swimming pool, Minho’s groans muffled by the wild chanting from their group of friends who were more than thrilled at the petty punishment.

She wasn’t as safe as she thought, just how his intentions weren’t as pure as he played it out to be. Minho casually grabbed her arm a split second before he was dumped into the water, sending her to plunge in with him and she had no time to screech out her surprise. She couldn’t be mad when her eyes flew open underwater to see him smiling brilliantly, the rush of the water swaying his dark hair softly over his forehead and from that angle, she caught his childlike innocence. She breathed out her laughter, bubbles bursting out from her nose and her toes slipped against ceramic tiles of the pool as she pushed off her weight to heave for air.

It wasn’t until the rest of his friends decided to join in, causing an eruption of water bombs splashing in all directions and all she could think of was swim to the edge, only to latch onto Minho’s shoulders instead. He had his hands firmly wrapped around her waist, , as her blouse floated up her torso against the flow of water, and he pulled her instinctively close to his chest, away from the abrupt chaos. Surrounded, they stayed that way, her chin inches from his shoulders as she took in the sound of water lapping in between them, her pulse quickening at their proximity. She took note of the speck of moles, scattered sparsely across his sun kissed skin and the tattoos that lay visible through his soaked t-shirt. There was so much of him that she didn’t see and probably endless more that he has yet to tell, and for some reason she couldn’t wait.

To this day she never knew if he really lost or he’d let her win, always teasing her that it was his way around her and that the evident need to win she’d expressed scared him. She laughed then, mocking him for being terrified of everything, realizing a little too late that she’d touched a subject the both of them avoided like a plague.

Truth be told, it scared her too. The fact that there was a cruel possibility that Minho wasn’t her soulmate, and she wasn’t his. But everything felt right with him, like it belonged, and she wasn’t going to let the words on her skin call the damn shots. She refused to tell him what it was and she didn’t want to know what it was written on his skin either.

There were a few close calls like the one night she felt the tip of his finger tracing the nape of her neck, the act startling her awake. She turned to face him, eyes wide almost accusingly at his strangely calm and collected gaze.

“It’s there isn’t it?” He barely whispered.

“How did you know?” She ran her own fingers along the place he just touched as if it burned, uneasiness hidden in her voice.

“I don’t.” He rasped a low chuckle, blinking lazily at her with a small smile etched on his face.

She frowned, slightly annoyed that he managed to get a confirmation out of her.

“That’s one hell of a lucky guess.”

“Hm, I suppose.” Minho rubbed a thumb to soften the scowl on her forehead, “Would it matter if mine was written there too?”

His words left her in a dizzy state of bewilderment. They say that having it written on the same place increases the probability, she hated how they make it sound like it’s some sort of game. Yet she knew of stories from old couples, spending their lifetime together under the security that their last words are inked on the same part of their bodies, that this was prove enough of how they were made for each other.  Only to hear nothing that sounds like the words they’ve come to memorize since birth, uttered by their supposed soulmate before they leave.

She didn’t know if she could handle hearing him say the words that aren’t on her skin but those on someone else’s.

And it was the same for Minho, how merciless the universe would be to decide that she wasn’t meant for him. Sure she has her own set of rules, a little uptight sometimes, always one to play it safe and was excellent in keeping things to herself. Yet these were parts of her that explained how she could pick out the little things about him no one ever really noticed, how he could never really lie to her because she just knew. They were different in a lot of ways. How he had his heart pinned to his sleeve, how rash he was, acting on his feelings recklessly which was how they got together in the first place –the only reckless thing he’d ever done that he’d gladly do a thousand times and over.  She understood him better than he did himself, believed in him even he didn’t, and when it was her that greeted him to new mornings, he realized then that there was so much more to life just by the bliss of a smile that kissed his sleepy skin.

He laughed harder at her jokes instead of his own and this was a serious issue considering how Minho finds himself pretty damn funny.  He loved how she insists that she finds him funny, funnier than anyone she’d ever met. It was probably something to shut him up but he would take anything if it’s from her.

“Are you a pokemon?” He’d texted her one night out of boredom, completely disregarding the time difference that separated them. Her response came soon after, a bubble that popped up in synchronized pace with the smile on his face.

“Whatever this is, it’s 3 am in the morning. I hope your is in bed not out there throwing Poké Balls.”

Minho snorted out a laugh as he typed back a reply, dismissing her seemingly grumpy tone.  

“Because I’d like to peek-at-chu.”

The reply flashed before his eyes and he could almost see the disapproval on her face, one that he never minded because he’d always found it adorable.

“Goodnight, weirdo.”

She was a tease which was definitely not problem if she was at an arm’s reach, not thousands of miles away with an entire ocean in the goddamn way. Sending him shameless snaps of herself that had his jaw clenching, and all kinds of frustrated.

 “This is absolutely inappropriate.” He tapped whilst reading his thoughts out loud, his impatient knees bouncing as he waited for her reply, shooting an awkward smile at Jinwoo who passed through the studio.  

 “.” He warned weakly.

The bubble blooped up onto his screen at her reply, his brows furrowed in frustration at what his eyes tried to register.

 “IM26CY4U”

 “what is this” He had no time for games, exhaustion hitting him like a truck and he was certainly not in his right mind to decode a damn text message.

“your idea of ting” She replied, and he squeezed his eyes shut, laughing silently into his palms.

A string of text bubbles from his part swished within a few minutes, floating idly as she left it unanswered once more. The wait drove him mad, his imagination wild at the sorts of scenarios that she was likely up to off her phone.

“IM AT WORK”

“I still don’t get it.”

It certainly took him a while until he realized what it was: I’m too y for you. Chuckling to himself, partly impressed at her witty ways.

“HAHAHA OK.”

“Nice.”

“W0W”

He tried, he really did. But her response said otherwise.

“No.”

Some days, they were the same in more ways than one, clashing in stubborn opinions that resulted in bitter fights, words that tasted venomous spat back and forth across the room. And almost every time, it would end with the one and only card they both despised.

“I wish I never met you.” Her voice cracked and it was enough to weaken his previously angry heart.

“Don’t say that –you don’t mean that.” Desperation rang with every word he whispered out, hurt darkening his eyes as he strode towards her, his trembling hands cupping her face.

“What’s the point, Minho? We might not even be–”

“Don’t.”

“There’s someone out there for you, more fitting, more deserving–”

The more she spoke, the more bruised the situation was. And he was pained at how hopeless she seemed to be. Yes, no one knows who they’re meant to be with, who it’s supposed to be until one of them ing dies and that’s just the sick truth to how it works. Minho wished that she’d see this, wished that she’d bite back words that she didn’t mean.

He found no other way to comfort her.

“ it.” He breathed, gripping her arms stronger than he meant to, her eyes stunned at his frank move.

“ the ing system.” His hand found its way to the back of her neck, pulling her close to him, his words muffled into her hair yet she caught every syllable like a prayer.

“I don’t care what they say. In every lifetime, I am yours and you are mine. You got that?” He didn’t need an answer when her arms tightened around him, feeling her nod ever so lightly into his chest.  

The day he received that call, he didn’t cry. He didn’t cry driving his way to the ER, he didn’t cry when they told him the news. Minho felt numb to the very bone, convinced that he had dissipated as nothing, as one into the air that suffocated him.

It was when he opened the door to the place he shared with her, the silence that filled every inch and every crook meant something else and it was almost deafening. It was when he was surrounded with the ghostly remnants of her, like the fresh laundry piled neatly at her end of the couch or the cup of tea, half filled when she left for work that morning or her coat hanging next to his by the door. It was when he looked over through the glass windows to the evening sky, the traffic lights blinking from green to yellow to red, and the pedestrian waiting for their turn and she was gone.

She was gone and she was right. Her last words weren’t on his skin and that there was someone out there for him but not her.

It didn’t matter, it never did when all that mattered to him was her. Maybe in another time, another life, she was his and in a way, she was the soul that his own needed in this one he lived in. She was just the kind that stayed for a moment, fueled the fire in him in such a way that he’d stay ignited, bright enough for her to take a piece of him with her when she left.

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