Jeonghan has always loved the idea of soulmates: it seemed like a painless way to find your perfect match. His parents had warned him that it wasn’t all fun and games, but that if he made it through those challenges, he and his soulmate would stay together forever. He had been excited to meet his soulmate since the day he turned eighteen. Was his soulmate a boy or a girl? Were they tall? Short? Pretty? Strong? Caring? Kind? Sassy? He didn’t really know who would complete him, who his ideal really was: he left everything in the hands of his soulmate.

He was a little worried when he couldn’t find his soulmate in college. It seemed like the perfect place to meet him: a place where no one cared where you came from, a place where lots of people came from all over the country and all over the world. Jeonghan kept his eye out for his soulmate, eagerly shaking everyone’s hand in the hopes that he or she was the one. That didn’t mean he neglected the close friendships he had formed, but with every passing year with no sign of his soulmate, he couldn’t help but feel disheartened.

Then, one day, during class, an overwhelming feeling of dread and pain overtook Jeonghan and he collapsed. He could vaguely hear the panicked sounds of his classmates and the professor over the burning pain that was eating him up inside.

Suddenly, he felt someone turn over his wrist and gasp. The words that followed echoed crystal clear in his mind. “His soulmate’s dying.”

Dying?

That couldn’t be.

They were supposed to meet and fall in love and grow old together!

Why would the universe pair him up with someone whose life was going to end before they could even meet?

Jeonghan wakes up in his apartment. How did he get here? The last thing he remembers is--

.

He jerks upright, panicked, and hastily glances down at his wrist. What he sees tears physically into his heart.

Underneath his heart, in soft, loping handwriting, are the words Hong Jisoo--9580 kilometres, Los Angeles.

His soulmate is dying.

His soulmate is dying.

Unable to stop it, he bursts into tears, folding in on himself in an attempt to comfort himself.

The door slams open, and he hears a soft, “Oh, Jeonghan,” before arms are around him.

“My soulmate’s dying, Seungcheol,” he sobs into his shoulder. “Jisoo’s dying.”

“I know, Jeonghannie, I know,” his best friend coos, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “I know it hurts. Let it out, okay? You’ll be okay.”

Distantly, he knows that. He’ll be okay. Eventually, he’ll move on, and maybe he’ll find someone, maybe he won’t, but he’ll be okay.

His soulmate won’t, though, and that’s what kills him.

“I love him, o-or h-her, or th-them,” he croaks. “I love Jisoo so much already, but the-they’re going to die, and I can’t stop it.”

Seungcheol doesn’t have anything to say after that.

That night, Jeonghan makes plans to go to LA. He informs his professors of the situation, makes a teary phone call to his parents, and tries his best to memorize English phrases he’d long forgotten from high school.

Seungcheol and the rest of their friends give him money and other things, despite Jeonghan’s protests. He knows he might need it. He doesn’t know how much longer Jisoo has. It could be days, or it could be months, he doesn’t know. Regardless, Jeonghan books a flight, and heads to the US.

Los Angeles seems fake.

He’s not saying that it is, but... it just seems too good to be real. Beautiful skies, tall palm trees, warm weather, it’s just like the movies. It automatically makes him not trust it. He quickly checks into his hotel and checks his wrist again.

His wrist now says, Hong Jisoo--800 metres, and then the name of a hospital in English that he won’t ever be able to pronounce. He can feel the pull of his heart in a particular direction, but he’s in a different country, and if he tried to just follow the pull, he would get lost in a city where he doesn’t really speak the language, so he has to find his way like he doesn’t feel the urgent pull. He doesn’t want to show anyone his heart to ask for directions because he doesn’t want the pity, so he carefully types the location name in and searches for walking directions. Once he gets them, he leaves his hotel and begins making the trek. As he walks, he hears cheerful conversations and sees families walking by. It makes his heart ache more, but he can’t bring himself to be upset. They don’t deserve his misplaced sadness.

When he finally reaches the hospital, he checks his wrist again. 20 metres. Hesitantly, he approaches the front desk. “I... want... see Hong Jisoo.” He winces internally: his pronunciation is still as terrible as it was when he was learning English.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Why is he apologizing? What did he say? Repeat... does he need to say it again?

“I want... to see Hong Jisoo.”

The receptionist types something into the computer, makes a few clicks, before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, there’s no Hong Jisoo in our system.”

What? No Hong Jisoo? He glances down at his wrist. It still says Hong Jisoo--20 metres, and the hospital name. Suddenly, the handwriting... shimmers? And Jeonghan watches in disbelief as it changes in front of his eyes. Joshua Jisoo Hong, 20 metres, room 173

Strangely enough, Jihoon’s voice speaks up. Americans use given names first, then surnames. Right!

He asks again, “Sorry. I... from Korea. His... name, is,” he glances down at his wrist again, “Joshua Jisoo Hong. He in room... one seven three, yes?”

The receptionist give him a skeptical look but types into the computer once more, and makes a few more clicks. He frowns at whatever he sees on the screen, then glances at Jeonghan, and then back at the screen. “Yes, there’s a Joshua Hong in room 173. How did you know?”

Sheepishly, Jeonghan reveals his wrist.

The receptionist’s expression clears into something more sympathetic and understanding. “Well, he’s on the first floor, so take the elevators on your left and follow the signs.”

Jeonghan backs up a bit and bows. “Thank you,” he says before heading for the elevators.

The way to room 173 is long and convoluted, though Jeonghan thinks it might have been easier if he knew more English. When he finally reaches it though, he stops. He almost doesn’t want to go in. It’s absurd. If someone had told Jeonghan he won’t want to meet his soulmate, he would have told that person that he or she was crazy. But this might be the only chance for him to meet his soulmate, so he swallows the fear and steps inside the room.

The room is small, but that might only be because it’s full of equipment. He hears constant beeping and the whirl of machines working, but he pays them no mind, choosing to focus on the guy in the bed.

He looks like he’s being swallowed by the bed, he’s so frail. His shoulders seem so narrow and the arms resting on his bed seem so thin and his face looks gaunt, and sunken.

He’s beautiful. He has soft brown hair framing his forehead, and catlike brown eyes that seem intelligent and alluring. His features are so dainty, so soft, that he looks like he could be a painting instead of a supposedly imperfect human. He looks ethereally beautiful, like he doesn’t belong in this world.

Maybe that’s why the world’s taking him away.

“... Hello?” Even his voice is soft.

Jeonghan takes a moment to find his voice. “Hello. My name is Yo-um, Jeonghan Yoon.” It’s weird to say his name backwards, but he doesn’t mind. Anything for his soulmate.

Jisoo’s eyes widen, and he glances down at his wrist. His eyes widen even more. “You’re my soulmate.”

He doesn’t actually know the last word, but he can tell what it means. Soulmate sounds as beautiful in English as it does in Korean.

Jeonghan approaches Jisoo slowly, as if he’s a wounded animal. There’s a seat next to the bed that he takes. “Yes, I am your souleu-mateu.” The word sounds foreign on his tongue, but he pushes through anyway.

Recognition flares in Jisoo’s eyes. “I can speak in Korean if you want,” he says in quiet, slightly accented and awkward Korean.

He sighs in relief. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m not good at English. Explaining to the person at the front desk that I was looking for you was too hard.”

Jisoo laughs tiredly. “I can imagine. Was it... hard, when you realized I was...”

Jeonghan gives his own weak laugh. “Yeah. I couldn’t wait to meet you. At least I can, now.”

“But not much else,” Jisoo finishes somberly.

“It’s enough.” It will have to be enough. Jeonghan can’t be selfish, not when his soulmate’s dying.

“We have about a week to get to know each other,” Jisoo reveals, and Jeonghan’s heart stops. “It will never be enough time.”

Jeonghan reaches out and grasps Jisoo’s hand. There’s a muted, mild shock, as if their soulmate bond is trying its best to give them some sense of normalcy, but they know better.

“We’ll make it enough.”

Jeonghan asks about Jisoo’s parents the next day.

“I told them to go to work,” Jisoo tells Jeonghan. “I... don’t want them to have to stress about work when I still have some more time left.”

“They just want to spend more time with you,” Jeonghan says quietly. “You can’t blame them.”

Jisoo falls silent for a few moments, and then he replies, “It’s stifling, having them around all the time. They remind me too much that I’m going to die. When I’m alone, I can pretend that my parents aren’t worried about me because I’m not going to die, I’m going to get better.”

Put that way, it makes sense (it’s actually very harsh and selfish of Jisoo, but he can’t blame him,) but, “What is it like when I’m with you?”

“It’s the same way,” Jisoo says. “It doesn’t feel as final. It feels like I’m going to get better, and then we’ll go back to our apartment, where you’ll spoil me until I get completely better.”

Jeonghan gives him a warm smile. It aches, hearing Jisoo talk about a scenario that they both know will never happen. It hurts just as much to know that Jisoo doesn’t know Jeonghan well enough to know what’s going on under that smile.

Jeonghan decides that Jisoo’s parents are wonderful when he meets them on day three.

At first they’re suspicious (who is this random man in our son’s hospital room?) and then they’re elated (oh, our son’s soulmate is so handsome and such a gentleman!) and then they’re somber (I’m sorry you had to find Jisoo this way.)

Jeonghan can see why Jisoo wants his parents out of the hospital room so much. They don’t seem to think of anything but Jisoo’s impending death, and he can physically feel the air in the room drop ten degrees. He decides to distract all of them by asking them about Jisoo as a child, which sparks a long discussion that ends with Jeonghan laughing so hard he can’t breathe and Jisoo turning so red that Jeonghan’s briefly concerned that something’s wrong. It definitely eases the tension in the room, and when his parents have to return to work at the end of their lunch break, Jeonghan sees a genuinely happy smile on Jisoo’s face.

It’s breathtaking.

Day four comes with their first fight.

It’s not over something so serious, but Jeonghan gets caught up in the moment. It’s the first time he’s seen Jisoo eat--or, well, refuse to eat.

“Why won’t you eat?” Jeonghan demands.

“Not hungry,” he shrugs, too focused on the TV show both of them are watching.

“You need to eat,” he says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jisoo replies. “Most of it isn’t even solid.”

“Doesn’t matter, you need to eat,” Jeonghan mocks.

It escalates from there, their voices getting louder and their words becoming harsher until they’re nearly screaming. It’s only when Jisoo brings up the fact that they’ve only known each other for three days, and “what gave him the right to take control over the few days he had left” that Jeonghan had stormed out, too furious to stay in the room.

He finds himself on the roof, crying loudly where no one can hear him. All the pent up emotions he’d been holding back all this time burst forth like a dam, overwhelming him to the point that he’s not even sure he’s in control of his own body.

It takes him an hour to calm down, and then another hour to work up the courage to head downstairs and face Jisoo.

Fortunately, both he and Jisoo came to the same conclusion, because when Jeonghan reenters the room, Jisoo looks as torn apart as he did. “I’m sorry,” he croaks hoarsely. “For everything. It’s not fair that I keep asking everyone to pretend like I’m not dying but keep throwing the fact that I will back in their faces. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting everyone, and I’m sorry. I’ll stop, I promise.”

Jeonghan collapses in his chair next to his soulmate, and lays his head in the space between Jisoo’s arm and his chest, letting Jisoo run his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry too. I’ll stop nagging. It just hurts to see you accepting death so easily.”

“I know,” Jisoo whispers. “I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”

For their first fight, it ended pretty quickly.

On day five is their first kiss.

Jisoo has taken it upon himself to teach Jeonghan English, and so he spends most of the day slowly teaching him new words. In return, Jeonghan teaches Jisoo Korean slang that he’d never learned from speaking with his parents.

It takes a few frustrating hours, but soon Jeonghan and Jisoo are joking with each other in both Korean and English (somewhat broken Korean and English, but it’s still comprehensible, so they both pass) and leaning close enough to each other to bury their heads in each other’s shoulders.

After one particularly large laughing fit, Jeonghan pulls back at the same moment Jisoo turns to look at him, and their close proximity freezes them in place. They’re staring into each other’s eyes with a strange sense of unfamiliarity that somehow still feels comfortable. They’re so close that Jeonghan can feel the warmth of Jisoo’s body, and all his senses are full of Jisoo, Jisoo, Jisoo.

The next moment, they’re kissing.

It’s a soft, chaste kiss, one that tests the waters. They both know that they barely know each other, soulmate mark or not, and they both know this isn’t really the most ideal place for a kiss, with anyone being able to walk in at any moment. In that moment, though, it doesn’t matter: it was their moment, and no one else’s.

Jeonghan leans back, breaking the kiss to search through Jisoo’s eyes. He’s looking back with so much trust and affection and (dare he say it?) love in his eyes. There’s a small but overjoyed smile on his lips, and a really beautiful blush on his cheeks. “Hi,” Jeonghan whispers.

Jisoo’s giggles, still reaching up to cover his mouth with his hand, despite the close proximity. “Hi,” he replies. “That was nice, wasn’t it?”

He nods. “I’m glad you’re my soulmate,” Jeonghan says honestly. Jisoo’s face grows somber, but the older pushes through, continuing, “I know our time here is limited, but what we have will always be enough. Even when... when you’re gone and I’m an elderly man and can’t even take care of myself, I’ll always remember these days with you. Because you’re so strong, Jisoo. You’re strong and stubborn and playful and kind and sweet and warm and funny and I can’t have imagined a better other half than you, Joshua Jisoo Hong.”

Jisoo has a watery smile on his lips as he raises a hand to Jeonghan’s face. “I couldn’t have imagined a better soulmate for me either. I love you so much, Jeonghan.”

It normally takes a lot to make Jeonghan cry: he’s a strong person who never gets emotional enough to break down and cry. But when it comes to Jisoo, the tears come naturally. He leans down to kiss Jisoo deeply, cradling his head in his hands like it’s the most precious thing in the world (but not like it’ll shatter in his hands--Jisoo would never.) He pulls back just enough to mumble, “I love you too, Jisoo. I love you so much,” against Jisoo’s lips before diving back in.

Their tearful kiss ends with Jeonghan and Jisoo curled together, Jeonghan locking Jisoo in a gentle embrace, carefully avoiding all the IVs and other equipment that Jisoo’s hooked up to.

It’s the best day of Jeonghan’s life.

Jisoo dies on day 7.

It’s both sudden and expected. When Jeonghan arrives at the hospital, he’s informed that Jisoo had complications and the doctors are performing an emergency operation on him. He’s directed to a waiting room, where he finds Jisoo’s parents, looking barely put-together and huddled together. They willingly open up to wrap Jeonghan in their embrace and they sit together, praying that Jisoo would come out of it alive. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Hong do.

Jeonghan’s heart is already turning gray.

When Jeonghan had first gotten his heart, he had loved it. It was a beautiful bark design, with ivy vines climbing up it. No one’s heart had such realism in their soulmate hearts: theirs were all swirls and dots and abstract art. Jeonghan’s was real.

Jeonghan’s is dying.

He isn’t ready and he knows it. He knew that he only has a week with Jisoo. He had tried to keep it out of his mind, but it was always there in the background. A part of him wanted to believe that Jisoo could maybe last enough for his disease to start going into remission or for an experimental cure to give him his life back, but another part of him started preparing for the worst. And now it’s happening.

After what could have been a few minutes or a whole day, the doctor comes out and solemnly announces that Jisoo passed. He says he passed peacefully and painlessly, and that they tried everything, but they couldn’t save him.

Jeonghan’s body goes numb. He can see the doctor talking, can hear the sobs of Mr. and Mrs. Hong, can feel the pain of his heart changing on his wrist, but none of it registers.

Jisoo is dead.

Jeonghan is lost and alone in the wake of Jisoo’s death.

It’s a testament to the little time he’s spent with Jisoo that no one, save for Mr. and Mrs. Hong who are always surrounded by family and close friends, knows who Jeonghan even is. He just stands around at the viewing, unaccustomed to the American tradition and watches as everyone around them converse in rapid English. He can still see the open coffin and Jisoo’s body no matter how many times he avoids looking in that general direction.

Jisoo had looked so peaceful, like he had just fallen asleep. At first, Jeonghan had thought Jisoo was like Sleeping Beauty, but now he thinks he’s more like Snow White, asleep in a glass case with no intention of being touched ever again. But this isn't a fairy tale, and Jeonghan can’t wake Jisoo up with true love’s kiss.

He’s been standing around for almost a half hour when two girls walk up to him and introduce themselves. Their names are Kyla and Shannon, and they grew up with Jisoo and were basically his little sisters. They both speak Korean, so they swap stories about Jisoo and learn more about each other. It’s beautiful in the way they celebrate Jisoo’s life, poetic in the way Jisoo’s passing has brought the two of them together, and melancholy in the way that it doesn’t change the fact that the three of them all lost someone dear to them.

The funeral is much more somber than the viewing. Kyla and Shannon invite him to sit with them at the funeral, and whisper translations into his ears. He can understand bits and pieces of the English, but it’s still not enough for him to understand. He just sits there and listens to the Korean the girls whisper to him and thinks of the seven days he had spent with Jisoo.

“Jeonghan?” Jisoo murmurs the day after their first kiss. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he replies easily, carefully tucking Jisoo even more into his shoulder. They’re cuddling on Jisoo’s bed, talking quietly and sharing in each other’s comfort. It’s quite easily becoming Jeonghan’s favorite pastime in the world. “What is it?”

“I know I promised not to say anything about it, but when I pass... can you promise me you will try to find happiness in your life again?” Jisoo is hesitant, methodical in his choice of words and his gentle tone.

“What do you mean by happiness?”

“I won’t expect you--or ask of you--to find someone else to love,” Jisoo says. “I know that’s selfish and I don’t want to force you to find someone if you can’t move on. That would hurt you and your partner more and I don’t want that. But I don’t want you to mope around in misery because of me either. When you feel ready, go hang out with your friends and find a job you love and do whatever you want without regrets... well, the healthy things, of course. I want you to live a long, happy, healthy life, Jeonghan. Don’t hold back because I didn’t have all of that.”

“Okay,” Jeonghan murmurs. “I will. I’ll live a life good enough for the both of us.”

“Good. That’s all I ask from you. That and loving me.”

“That I can do.”

If Kyla and Shannon notice the silent tears streaming down Jeonghan’s face, they don’t say anything.

Jeonghan’s invited to Jisoo’s burial, but he refuses. He doesn’t think he’s strong enough, and it feels improper still: he’s not quite family, even though he and Jisoo were soulmates. He stays with Kyla and Shannon at the reception, and is introduced to many of Jisoo’s relatives and friends. Everytime he reveals himself as Jisoo’s soulmate, there’s always a brief hug and condolences, and it doesn’t make him feel any better. They do tell lots of stories about Jisoo in response, and Jeonghan enjoys being able to have another piece of his soulmate with him. With their help, his perception of Jisoo becomes more fleshed out instead of a small chain of memories, unlinked and almost independent of his entire life.

During the reception he finds Mrs. Hong. She asks him how he is, if he’s okay with all these people, and when he’s going back. He gives her tentative, not-quite confident answers, but she accepts them all the same.

There’s a stilted pause before Mrs. Hong sighs and says, “I’m so happy you were able to meet Jisoo before he passed. We weren’t sure if Jisoo would live long enough for you to come for him, but he held on for you, and for that, we’re thankful.”

Something feels off. “What do you mean?” He asks. “Jisoo told me he had a week.”

She blinks. “Did he?” He nods. “I guess he didn’t want you to worry. No, the doctors told us months ago he would have passed by the time you met him.”

There’s a dark swooping sensation in his stomach and he could feel his heartbeat speed up. He had almost been too late. He had almost missed knowing who Jisoo was. “But... I came as fast as I could. My heart only changed two days before I left for LA. Why would the universe...?” He suddenly can’t breathe and his mind is spinning so fast he might be dizzy. He could have never met Jisoo. He could have never fallen in love with Jisoo.

“Maybe it knew that Jisoo would hold on for you,” Mrs. Hong says gently, carefully grasping both sides of Jeonghan’s face to get him to focus on her. “Don’t waste time thinking about the what ifs. You got here in time, you got to spend a week with Jisoo. That should be enough, right?”

At her words, Jeonghan feels like crying again, but he holds himself back. “That’s enough,” he nods. “It will always be enough.”

Jeonghan goes to Jisoo’s grave after the reception. He has a bouquet of flowers in his hand, which he lays on the grave before stepping back. He keeps a respectful silence for a few moments before breaking it with a soft chuckle. “Yah, you punk,” he jokes. “Telling me you had a week left when you were actually on borrowed time. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I guess you didn’t want me to obsess over you dying,” he continues. “You still wanted things to flow in a somewhat natural order, and if I knew you could die at any moment I would force things. You’re a cunning one, aren’t you, Hong Jisoo?”

He can almost hear Jisoo laugh with the soft wind blowing through the cemetery. It’s comforting, even if it’s not quite real.

“I don’t think I can get over you quite yet.” He snorts. “Get over you. What a stupid choice of words, Jeonghan. What I mean to say is that I don’t think I can be happy just yet. I’ll still be sad for a little while, and I’ll probably obsess over every memory I have of you and every story your friends and relatives have told me--you’ve done a lot more embarrassing things than I thought you would--but eventually I’ll come to terms with it and I’ll start working on being happy for the both of us.”

He reaches out to touch the cold gravestone. “People always called me the angel, but I think, between the two of us, you’re the angel. I wish you could be here, alive, with me, but I guess you can be my guardian angel instead.”

Somewhere, far away, Jisoo is smiling. Jeonghan knows it.

And for now, that’s enough.