Kibum stood in front of his full-length mirror, meticulously adjusting his pale rose colored bangs across his forehead. He stepped back slightly to recheck his outfit, black skinny jeans, a thin mint colored top covered by a light jean jacket. His arms were adorned with bracelets and he wore a few tasteful earrings. He’d contemplated an eyebrow piercing, but decided his family letting him live at home a while longer was probably more important than more body modifications. Making himself look his best was an everyday routine for him, something he genuinely enjoyed, or rather, would probably enjoy more if it weren’t for his best friend constantly jabbering at him from his bed. If Minho wasn’t talking constantly, he was messing with something, and Kibum wasn’t one to have HIS things touched. Today it was both habits, Minho lay on Kibum’s bed staring at the ceiling, while simultaneously tossing and catching Kibum’s favorite stuffed poodle.

“Minho! WHY are you here?”

His sudden outburst caused Minho to pause and look over at him. Kibum scrutinized Minho’s appearance in the reflection of his mirror. Minho’s own dark hair was a mess, ruffled and splayed across his face and the bedspread under him. His clothes were a simple white t-shirt and jeans. Minho was handsome and he knew it. He liked that people thought he was handsome and though he could easily take advantage of that, he was also very kind. Still, kindness doesn’t make up for all his other… characteristics.

Kibum turned his body to face him full on. He rested his hand on his hip and pursed his lips slightly… “Minho… Why are you here, Minho?”

Minho furrowed his brow. “Because we’re friends…”

Kibum shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “And why are we friends, Minho?”

Minho rolled his eyes as he sighed and looked back to the ceiling. Exasperated, he said “Because we’ve lived next door to each other our entire lives, Kibum.” He resumed tossing the stuffed dog.

Kibum walked over to the edge of the bed, his eyes following the movement of the toy as it travelled up and down. After a few moments of this, he looked down and met eyes with Minho.

“Can I finish what I was saying?” Something about the seriousness of Minho’s eyes, or maybe it was his tone, made Kibum give in. He turned his back to the bed and fell backwards onto it, settling down beside Minho. He snatched the plush animal out of the air just before it touched his friend’s fingertips, and replaced it with a small throw pillow. Minho resumed tossing and catching.

The pink haired boy pulled his other stuffed poodle from the neatly stacked pillows at the head of the bed and snuggled both toys to his chest, inhaling their comforting smell. His voice was muffled against them when he spoke again. “Were you talking about your clock again?”

“Yes.” The answer was short. Minho was obviously miffed that he had been ignored.

Kibum pulled the stuffed animals closer into his face, and spoke quietly. “Are you worried?”

There was a pause in the pillow tossing. “No!... Yes… I don’t know…” Now it was Minho’s turn to hug the pillow tight to his chest. “I just…. I don’t know what to expect… and I don’t really like that.”

“What are you so worried about?” Kibum sat straight up and looked down at the other boy. “You turn 18, the countdown shows up, and you wait. That’s what happens. It’s what happened to me. It’s not as big a deal as people make it out to be.”

Minho reached up and shoved the older boy back down by the shoulder. “Shut up. I know that. But… what if that’s not what happens. Some people’s countdowns don’t say anything. What if…”

“Look here, Ho,” he paused to enjoy the annoyed grumble next to him about the nickname. “Yeah, that does happen. But YOU will be fine. Just don’t worry too much. It’s not something you can control.”

A quiet, muffled whisper came from beside him. “What’s your count down to?” He turned his head and gazed at the other boy. He knew what Minho was really asking. He lifted his left arm and touched the flesh-colored arm wrap he had specifically made to cover his countdown. He didn’t like to look that the numbers. He didn’t like that they counted down. He didn’t like that he had no control over this whatsoever. So he covered them, all the time. Tentatively, he pushed the wrap aside and in a sharp breath. Minho quickly turned and looked, too. “7 days, 6 hours, 38 minutes, 15 seconds.” Kibum didn’t like to look at the numbers, but when he saw them, he couldn’t look away. They terrified him. He couldn’t help it. Suddenly, the bed shifted slightly and a tan hand appeared in his eye-line, pushing the cover back over the numbers. His arm dropped back to the bed and he squeezed his eyes shut to try to put his emotions back under his own control.

The room was quiet for a while. Minutes passed and neither boy said anything. Finally, Minho broke the silence. “That soon.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s almost over for you, and mine hasn’t even started.”

Kibum’s hand searched the bedspread until it found Minho’s. He linked their fingers and squeezed comfortingly. Soul mates seemed like a lot more trouble than they were probably worth.