Four

Donghae learns that Hyukjae turned thirty years old last April, which makes him about seven months older than him. He also learns that his parents live in a quiet neighborhood in the center of Seoul, in an apartment he bought them himself—the proud glint he sees in his eyes almost made him coo out loud—, while his older sister moved to the United States two years ago for a job opportunity. She usually comes back home for holidays, like Christmas or the Korean Thanksgiving Day, but he still wishes he could see her more often than just that. Hyukjae has a dog whose name is Choco; she lives with his parents and, according to him, isn’t even the slightest photogenic. He’s allergic to seafood, but doesn’t like it anyway. He always wears a thin black ring on the middle finger of his left hand, which he says to be very important to him—although he doesn’t tell him the reason why. He’s been an obstetrician not for very long, but started medicine quite early. Hyukjae also tends to see the world through a rather scientific mindset, which Donghae thinks is a little funny, because he doesn’t understand half of the words he says—he probably wouldn’t even be able to repeat them. Though that’s perfectly okay, he thinks every time, because the excited, precious gleam that never fails to brighten up his whole face is entirely worth his confusion. But then, Hyukjae would always smile at him and explain it again with simpler words, and Donghae would think, great God, he’s so sweet, I’m so lucky.

And then, Hyukjae would look up and blink, blush, startled, and mumble, “You know I can actually hear you, right?”

“Isn’t it awesome, though?” Donghae says a while later, a good hour after the coffee shop closed for the night and Ryeowook left. Grinning, he watches his soulmate eat happily the piece of cake he’d be eyeing ever since they walked in and drinks a bit of his own hot tea. When Hyukjae looks at him with curious eyes, he elaborates, “You know, that we actually got to meet each other? I mean, there’re over seven billion people on earth but we still did.”

In front of him, with the bright fairy lights flickering in the background, Hyukjae grimaces a little and puts his fork down. “Well, actually,” he starts slowly. “It’s—…” Pausing, he gives him a careful look.

When Donghae smiles at him encouragingly, he continues, “Actually, it’s not really as ‘awesome’ as it really seems. I mean, it is, but on a different level than you probably envision it. There are a lot of theories and studies which prove that Matching and Bonding are not only based on compatibility rates between two persons, but also on geographic data and on likelihood of encounter.”

Donghae frowns, opens his mouth, and then closes it again. “I—… what?” he mumbles, confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I completely understand what you were saying.”

Chuckling under his breath, but not out of mockery, Hyukjae straightens up and thinks for a moment.

“Basically,” he starts speaking again, and Donghae gets momentarily distracted by the way his pretty hands move around to illustrate his explanation. “If you were to pretend that each person on earth had a score based on how compatible they are with you, the highest one is your match, while the best average of all your matches is your soulmate. But like I said, this score isn’t only based on compatibility.

“See that woman outside? The one who’s trying to open her umbrella?” Hyukjae asks as he points to a lady outside who looks like she’s in her late forties already. “On a strictly compatibility level, since she’s probably fifteen years older than I am, she’s way lower in my score ranking than your coworker surely is. But she’s still higher-ranked than, like, Daniel Craig or something; that’s because we live in the same geographic zone and that we have higher chances of meeting up. On the other hand, I’ve never been to the United Kingdom, don’t really plan to, and I’m ready to bet you everything that I’m more likely to meet Jang Donggeun than Daniel ing Craig.”

Laughing, Donghae leans back into his chair and contemplates what his soulmate just said. Oh, God—… he hears then, which prompts him to look up in surprise. I hope I didn’t—… Please, don’t be mad at me, I—soulmate. Donghae.

“I’m not mad,” he reassures him without thinking. Cringing at how it must sound without context, he adds, “I mean… why would I be?”

Hyukjae fidgets a little on his chair and stares hard at his nearly empty plate. “Well, you… look like you’re really into, you know, romance and stuff. I don’t want to be the person who tells you Santa Claus doesn’t exist.”

“Well, first of all,” Donghae rolls his eyes at him, though not unkindly. “If it’s the truth, there’s no reason for me to be upset, and especially at you, right? I’m just surprised, that’s all. No-one told me about this.” It’s okay, he repeats firmly. I’m not mad, Hyukjae. There’s no reason for me to be.

And then, with a fake seriousness, he states, “And secondly, Santa Claus does exist, okay.”

Significantly less tense, Hyukjae laughs and finishes the last crumbles of his cake. Cake, he murmurs happily. No cake—anymore… it was yummy though. “You’ll have to explain to me why I’ve had to buy my own presents for so many years, then.”

He some sweet frosting off his fingers and shrugs dismissively, “I don’t really blame you for it. Not a lot of people are aware of it. That, or they don’t really understand what it actually means, I suppose.”

A brief yet comfortable silence then settles between them, broken and uneven thoughts shared back and forth. They stare at the rain that has started to fall outside, small droplets of wet coldness hammering against the windows of the coffee shop. It’s probably around ten o’clock in the evening already, but it doesn’t seem like neither of them is willing to go back home just yet.

“You still have to admit it’d be really cool to make a connection wi