10 thousand years later... sorry for the wait. Hopefully this chapter is worth it :) Sorry for any spelling errors. 

--------

Xiumin (Tues.): Yo I know you were busy yesterday but wanna hang today? We can grab something to eat. There’s a really tasty burger place by the gallery.

Xiumin (Tues.): duuuuuuude it’s way past lunchtime now and my break is over why didn’t you respond???

Xiumin (Tues.): We could still get dinner?

Xiumin (Tues.): okay not dinner.

Xiumin (Tues.): talk to you tomorrow?

Xiumin (Wed.): GOOOOOOD MORNNNNINGGGGG

Xiumin (Wed.): wow no reply. Rude.

Xiumin (Thurs.): okay seriously what is going on? Why aren’t you talking to me?

Xiumin (Fri.): dude. Park.

Xiumin (Fri.): what the .

Chanyeol frowned down at his conversation with Xiumin, guilt stabbing at his insides as he reread the series of texts for the twelfth time. He hadn’t meant to ghost Xiumin. Honest. But Kris. Chanyeol shivered at the thought of Kris’ eyes boring into him, hard and dark and sharp as flint. He couldn’t bring himself to text Xiumin back, not when he could still picture the disappointment on Kris’ face so clearly in his mind.

Besides, Chanyeol didn’t deserve Xiumin, not if what Kris had said about his soulmate Minseok was true. Had Minseok really lost his job? Really gotten sick? Really almost died? And was it really his fault? The screen of his laptop glinted ominously from where he’d left it in, the search still open: Is soulmate rejection really dangerous? The results were plain enough.

Yes. The post was from someone on Yahoo Answers. My friend almost died when her soulmate rejected her. She got really weak and dizzy and couldn’t eat, and then had to live in the hospital. Eventually it got so bad she had to be put into a coma to survive. It didn’t get better until her soulmate started coming to the hospital every day, after he realized he was actually in love with her.

No. A doctor on Fox News. There is no scientific evidence for a physical link between soulmates that could cause someone to be harmed by rejection. The people claiming that soulmate rejection has caused them to get sick are merely tricking themselves into it. The mind is a powerful thing.

Yes. A doctor on BBC. There may not be scientific evidence, but I’ve seen enough cases to believe it. Soulmate rejection is dangerous.

Yes. A thread on Reddit: r/soulmatesgonebad. My brother started getting really dizzy after his soulmate rejected him. One day he was rock climbing outdoors and fell and hit his head and died. Another post: my best friend was rejected by her soulmate because her soulmate said she wasn’t a lesbian. A year later my friend was so dizzy and nauseas and tired all the time that she couldn’t hold down a job or anything and didn’t have any health insurance, so she couldn’t afford the hospital. She ended up committing suicide. One more: my mom was rejected by her soulmate. She got really sick, until one day she decided that if he was going to reject her she was going to reject him too. She cut her soul mark with a knife (it was on her thigh, so she didn’t bleed out or anything) and apparently that really helped. She got a lot better and now she’s married to my dad and they’re really happy.

Chanyeol didn’t want to believe it. If something had happened to Minseok—no, something had happened to Minseok—but if something worse had happened to Minseok, Chanyeol didn’t know if he could forgive himself. As it was, he could hardly sleep, he felt so guilty.

And Xiumin’s relentless texting wasn’t helping, especially not since Chanyeol actually liked Xiumin. Xiumin was smart, funny, friendly. They kind of guy who would call a cab for a drunk stranger, not because he had to, but because he was a legitimately nice guy. Someone who kept texting, even if he was being ignored, because he saw the best in people. Chanyeol collapsed against the pillows of his bed with a groan, his arm covering his eyes. God, he was an . His phone buzzed again.

Xiumin (6:19 pm): hey I don’t know what’s going on but I hope you had a good day. I’ll see you at the exhibit tomorrow :)

Chanyeol stared at the message for longer than was strictly necessary, battling the sudden feeling of nausea that surged in his stomach. Eventually he typed back, the swooping noise of a sent message echoing in the pitch black silence of his room.

PhotoGod Park (6:32 pm): Sorry I haven’t replied in so long. I’ve been super busy prepping for the exhibit.

A few minutes later he sent another.

PhotoGod Park (6:38 pm): see you tomorrow.

Minseok was pissed.

Okay maybe pissed was the wrong word, but he was certainly annoyed. He stared down at his phone, where the most recent messages from C.Y. Park were displayed in in shameless grey like he hadn’t ignored Minseok for the past week just to finally text back now with some half-assed excuse about prepping for the exhibit.

Park hadn’t been in the gallery since Monday. And now it was Saturday. Minseok knew this because A. he was Yifan’s assistant, and B. Yifan had returned from setting up the exhibit on Monday absolutely fuming and swearing that Park would not be setting another foot in the gallery until the exhibit. So Minseok knew, regardless of what Park tried to tell him, that there was no way the artist was too busy to talk to him because he was prepping for his exhibit. Hell, the exhibit was already set up. Yifan had told Minseok about it last night, right after forbidding him to look at it before the exhibit happened. Minseok was still a bit bitter about that one. All that to say, Minseok knew that C.Y. Park was lying to him. And it ticked him off.

Something had obviously happened on Monday between the artist and Yifan. Something big. Something that had Park ghosting him like a timid schoolboy and Yifan skulking around the apartment like he’d committed a crime.

Not that it mattered. Yifan refused to say anything about it to Minseok, no matter how often he asked. He wouldn’t even say anything when Minseok got him drunk, and while Minseok could appreciate his fortitude, it was beginning to annoy him, damnit. He couldn’t fix whatever had gone wrong between the two if he didn’t know what had happened, and it was starting to look like Park wouldn’t be talking to him again until after whatever it was that had happened had been resolved. Minseok was almost curious what his excuse would be after the exhibit was over and he went back to LA. Would it be, sorry Min, I just don’t have the time to visit right now, then? It’d better ing not be. Hell, if Park kept ghosting him, would Minseok even ever actually meet the artist?

They would meet, especially if Minseok had any say. He had already been snubbed once in love, by his bastard of a soulmate. He refused to let it happen again. He’d go down fighting this time. And unlike Park Chanyeol, who disappeared from Minseok’s life without leaving so much as a phone number behind, C.Y. Park would be at his exhibit tomorrow, and Minseok was sure as hell planning to be there too. Park would have to talk to him even if it killed him.

He picked up his phone again, staring at the txt he’d received from Chanyeol. After a few minutes of thought he typed back a response.

Xiumin (7:12 pm): can’t wait :)

Chanyeol adjusted his suit in the mirror, still unconvinced that it was worth it to be so uncomfortable just to look good for a few hours. It was like there were knives in his armpits. He tugged down on his sleeves, trying to relieve some of the pressure. It didn’t really help, but he could at least fool himself into thinking it made it better. The zzzzt zzzzt of his phone drew his attention away from the suit for a second.

“Hey Joon, check that for me?”

Junmyeon responded with a grunt and leaned over from where he been sitting against the headboard of the bed, playing some type of matching game while he waited for Chanyeol to get ready. His forehead wrinkled into a frown and Chanyeol automatically knew who the text was from. Xiumin.

“He says good luck.”

Chanyeol watched his friend settle back against the headboard, still frowning. He was silent for a few minutes, and Chanyeol returned to tugging on his suit. He wished the jacket was just a little bit looser—fashion be damned he just wanted to be able to bend his arms. His phone buzzed again.

“Chanyeol,” Junmyeon sounded weary.

“Yeah?” the artist turned away from the mirror to look at Junmyeon. He was staring at him, his face twisted in an expression that would be more appropriate to viewing dead fish than his best friend. “What?” Chanyeol asked.

“Fix this,” Junmyeon said, holding out Chanyeol’s phone. “You’re stringing this guy along. I don’t know what’s bugging you so bad, but you can’t just start ignoring Xiumin out of the blue. Either text him back or tell him you’re done. Stop acting like you’re still in college and communicate for ’s sake.” Chanyeol stared blankly, searching for a response he couldn’t seem to find. Junmyeon huffed, looking down at Chanyeol’s phone again. “He says he’s looking forward to seeing you by the way.” Chanyeol felt his throat go dry. Junmyeon shot him an unimpressed look, his mouth tweaking downward. “As I said Chan, fix it.” He tossed the phone to the foot of the bed.

If only it were that easy, Chanyeol mused to himself, swiping his phone from the bed and tugging on his sleeves out of habit instead of really any attempt at comfort. Junmyeon held eye contact long whenever he felt strongly about something, and as the seconds ticked by and his friend’s glare only became heavier, Chanyeol found himself realizing that for some reason, this was something Junmyeon cared a lot about. He coughed and turned away, side-eyeing Junmyeon’s reflection in the mirror until his friend stopped watching and returned to his game. Chanyeol swallowed. Sweat made the phone feel slick in his hand. He opened his messages, selecting his conversation with Xiumin. One unread message.

Xiumin (3:42 pm): dude Kris is going crazy over here. I’ve never seen the gallery look this nice. Your exhibit is going to be dooooooope.

Chanyeol’s head tilted. First to the left, then the right. It was, well, a rather unassuming text message. Generic, non-threatening, nothing about missing him or being upset or confused or anything vaguely feelingsy. He snuck a glance at Junmyeon, who still seemed content playing games. From the sound effects, Chanyeol would bet money the game was Candy Crush. He typed back a quick reply.

PhotoGod Park (3:45 pm):  haha it totally will be.

The response came only a moment later.

Xiumin (3:46 pm): it will. See you soon!

Minseok scoffed down at his phone, lip curling. Park continued to be unforthcoming for reasons unknown, and Minseok was over it. He glanced at Yifan, fussing with the wine bottles over by temporary bar, before reaching up to adjust his tie and running his hands down the lapels of his suit jacket, reveling in the feel of the smooth fabric beneath his fingertips. 4:32 pm. Park would be here soon, along with his stern-faced agent Junmyeon. They were set to arrive 15 minutes prior to the exhibit opening, give them time to figure things out before everything got crazy. Minseok was buzzing. He was finally going to meet Park, and he couldn’t wait. Minseok glanced back at Yifan, who seemed to have decided on a display he liked, finally leaving the wine bottles alone.

His friend had been sending Minseok concerned looks all week, ever since whatever had gone wrong with Park. He hadn’t told him anything though, leaving Minseok to stew in curiosity. Part of Minseok was bitter about it. The other part of him couldn’t really hold it against Yifan. The taller man held things close to his chest, had been that way ever since Minseok first met him.

Minseok’s lips twitched up, a fond smile on his face as the memory of their first meeting came back to mind. He’d been a freshman then, desperate to be liked and simultaneously terrified of every upper-classmen he’d met. Until he’d fallen in with Minho and Kibum—roommates. Minho was in business, much like Minseok, and Kibum—called Key by most—studied graphic design. Minseok had barreled into their room one night, covered in snow and dripping on their carpet, wide-eyed and punch-drunk, only to come to a screeching halt when he realized that there were three people in the room—Minho, Kibum, and a glaring tall guy. Granted, Minseok would later figure out that the glare was just Yifan’s face, but at the time he’d been so mortified he’d pissed himself. He didn’t remember much else from that night, just waking up in Minho’s bed—he’d slept with Kibum for the night—feeling vaguely embarrassed and in a pair of pink flannel pants. Minho made it worse when he decided to tease Minseok about making a good first impression.

Minseok chuckled. Honestly, things should have ended there. He never should have seen Yifan again. But a few weeks later he’d pulled a similar trick, showing up on Kibum and Minho’s doorstep in a generally drunken fashion, expecting one of his friends to let him in. Instead the door had been opened by Yifan, who snorted when he saw Minseok, and asked, leaning casually against the door, “do I need to find you some newspapers to stand on, or are you going to be okay this time?” They’d been fast friends since.

“What’s so funny?”

Minseok jumped a bit, surprised to find Yifan at his elbow, instead of across the room by the food table where he’d been last time Minseok had checked. Yifan raised an eyebrow. “You know,” he said, “you technically don’t have to hang out for this part. You really only have to be here for the reception, not the speeches or anything.”

“Pfft.” Minseok scoffed. “You think I’m going to miss this? I’ve been wanting to meet Park for a month now, why would I wait until the reception? He’s gonna be swarmed by people then.”

Something flashed across Yifan’s face that Minseok didn’t take the tie to decipher, writing it off as leftovers of whatever problem the two had had a week ago. “Minseok,” Yifan began, tone careful. Minseok felt himself automatically set on the defensive. Yifan was using his “you’re about to make a really bad decision and I’m trying to talk you out of it” voice. Minseok usually only heard that voice when he was drunk and trying to do something legitimately stupid. Like the time he’d decided to build a treehouse in his apartment for Jongdae’s birthday. And hell, Yifan’s sure hadn’t been able to stop him then.

“Whatever you’re about to say Fan, don’t start. We both know I’m not going to listen to you anyway.”

Yifan’s face twisted into a frown as he stared at his friend. His eyes weighed on Minseok, the disappointment clear. “Look Min, I’m not trying to stop you. Just, people aren’t always what you expect, you know? I just really don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Guilt twanged in Minseok’s stomach. Yifan was a good friend. One of his best friends really, lately. He didn’t deserve Minseok’s , especially not after the past few months. Minseok sighed, his shoulders relaxing. “Look Yifan, I’m sorry. You want what’s best for me, I get that. I’ll be careful okay? I’m not going to go running into Park’s arms all right? It’s just kind of nice to actually have a shot with someone again—you know—after Chanyeol. But I’ll be careful. I promise.” He held out a pinky, offering up a slight half-smile. Yifan smiled back, linking his own pinky around Minseok’s.

“You swear?”

“Pinky swear,” Minseok grinned back. “I’ll even seal it,” he added, pressing his thumb against Yifan’s.

“Perfect,” Yifan shot back. “Now do me a favor.”

“Yeah?”

“I left a bottle of wine upstairs. A huckleberry white. Not exactly the classiest thing, but good for the people that don’t like the drier stuff. Can you grab it for me?”

“Yeah,” Minseok replied, already turning to make his way up to Yifan’s apartment. He yelled over his shoulder, “cabinet by the fridge, right?”

“You got it,” Yifan yelled back, voice muffled. Already half-way up the stairs, Minseok didn’t hear the gallery door open.

Chanyeol got out of the car, tugging at his sleeves. The car ride had only served to make him more nervous, Kris’ disapproving glare becoming more and more severe in his memory as they drew closer to the gallery. His leather bracelet sat strapped firmly around his wrist this time, obscuring his tattoo from view. He’d ignored the concerned look Junmyeon shot him when his friend had noticed the bracelet, opting instead to get in the car as quickly as possible. Now he regretted not stalling for more time, staring at the gallery in front of him. Through the window he could Kris talking to a shorter, dark-haired man. Xiumin maybe? Chanyeol perked in excitement despite himself. There was maybe one benefit that could come out of this awkward interaction with Kris. He craned his neck, trying for a better view, but the man walked away, disappearing down a hallway. Junmyeon snorted, opening the door.

“You coming?” he asked, gesturing to the threshold.

Chanyeol jolted out of his stupor. “Yeah. Sorry. Just got distracted.”

“Right,” Junmyeon shot back, face deadpan. “I’m sure that’s what it was. Come on.”

“Mr. Park, Junmyeon,” Kris greeted with a nod, walking up to the two in a devastating suit. Chanyeol suddenly found himself glad Junmyeon hadn’t let him wear a t-shirt under his own suit coat like he’d wanted to. “Glad to see you made it. Are you familiar with what will be happening today?”

They stood there for a few seconds, long enough for Chanyeol to wonder why Junmyeon wasn’t talking. He glanced at his friend. Junmyeon stared back.

“What?” Chanyeol asked.

“He’s talking to you,” Junmyeon replied. “It doesn’t matter if I know what’s going on. You’re the one who really matters here.” Chanyeol shot an uneasy glance at Kris, who was frowning. Chanyeol grimaced.

“Um uh, I’m sorry.” He scratched the back of his head. “Would you mind giving me a refresher?”

Kris sniffed. “I can do that. It’s not difficult. Doors open at five. You need to be ready to speak at five-fifteen. That lasts until about five-thirty, including questions, if that’s what you choose to do. Make sure that you mention the Lia Gallery. Five-thirty to seven is reception and art viewing—you need to be there for that. After that you’re free to leave. Sound good?”

“So basically, be ready to talk at five-fifteen and don’t leave till af—”

Chanyeol was cut off by the sound of glass shattering and a whispered, “what the .” Kris paled, eyes going wide and worried. Chanyeol spun to face the new presence, expression mirroring Kris’ as soon as he made eye contact.

“Min-Minseok?”

The dark-haired man from before—Minseok, it had to be, Chanyeol had never managed to forget those eyes—stood in a pile of broken glass, huckleberry white wine staining the floor around him. Chanyeol’s mouth dried, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as he watched his soulmate brush past him, barely sparing him a glance as he rounded on Kris.

“Is this what you were talking about earlier? The reason I should be careful?” His face flushed with anger, eyes shining. “It didn’t occur to you that maybe I would want a warning if my ing soulmate was going to come waltzing in here as your contracted artist? Christ.” He was up in Kris’ face now, a concentrated bundle of white hot fury. Chanyeol couldn’t help staring, mind running a mile a minute. Why was Minseok here? And where was Xiu—oooooooooooooooh. Oh . “I don’t ask for a lot Yifan, and I get that you want me to be happy, especially after that -show with Yixing and Jongdae, but this isn’t the kind of secret you can keep. Is this why you’ve been so weird for the past week? Is that when you found out?”

The words flew out like poison, Minseok barely stopping to breathe. Chanyeol found himself wondering how he ever thought this man was uninteresting, utterly bewitched. Minseok was a creature of fire, anger so hot he burned.

“I’m sorry about the wine,” Chanyeol heard Minseok say, “I’ll go get more.” And then he was gone, turning tail in his perfect suit and disappearing out the door. 4:52 pm.

“,” Kris whispered, looking lost. Chanyeol turned back to the gallery owner.

“I’ll go after him,” he offered, too caught up in the idea of Minseok who was his soulmate who was Xiumin who was perfect to see Kris blanch all over again, reaching out his hand with a “no, don’t do that. Please Chanyeol, leave him alone.”

“I’ll be back by five-fifteen,” Chanyeol yelled over his shoulder, running out the door. “I promise.”

“,” Kris whispered again, staring at the door as it slammed shut. He buried his head in his hands. “Oh .”

Junmyeon stepped out of a nearby room. He’d been looking at the installation one final time and missed all the drama. He took in the scene, a broken bottle on the floor, wine everywhere, Kris standing alone looking lost. “I’ll grab a mop,” he said, disappearing to the back.

Chanyeol heaved, hands on his knees as he stood, confused, at an intersection. Left or right? Where would he go to buy wine? Chanyeol’s lips curled, a grin threatening despite himself. Minseok was Xiumin. Chanyeol liked Xiumin. So Chanyeol liked Minseok. Chanyeol liked his soulmate. His soulmate. Xiumin was his soulmate. Chanyeol smiled wider, his lips threatening to crack. To the people driving by he probably looked crazy but it was fine. Chanyeol straightened, unclasping the leather bracelet around his wrist.

He didn’t have to hid anymore.

Across the street, he saw a man walking, carrying a bottle of wine. Dark-haired. In a suit.

“Minseok!” Chanyeol called, waving his arms. “Minseok, hold up!”

Minseok froze, something Chanyeol took as a good sign as he ran to the light, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet as he waited for the light to change. The timer counted down—8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and then nothing, just an orange hand. Chanyeol held his breath, watching the light change from green to yellow, then to red. Then the walk sign flashed and Chanyeol was running across the street towards his still soulmate.

“You’re my soulmate!” he exclaimed when he finally reached Minseok, bending over with his hands on his knees, his armpits sweating uncomfortably through his suitcoat. “And you’re Xiumin. Wow, this is great,” Chanyeol grinned, straightening up. “You remember me right? Chanyeol! I’m your soulmate!”

“I know who you are.” The reply came terse and cold. Minseok watched him with dead eyes. “What do you want Park?”

Chanyeol visibly flinched. This wasn’t what he’d expected. “What do you mean Min? I’m your soulmate. Shouldn’t it be obvious what I want?”

“It isn’t.”

Oh. Chanyeol gulped, suddenly wondering where all the heat of Minseok’s earlier anger had gone. Now he’d be better compared to a block of ice, unrelenting and uncompromising. “I, um, but I’m your soulmate.”

Minseok’s lips tightened, leaving Chanyeol with the uneasy feeling that he’d just irreparably ed up. “Chanyeol, you of all people should know that just because someone is your soulmate it does not mean you have to accept them.”

Chanyeol gaped, not quite tracking Minseok’s train of thought. “Look Min, I’m really sorry. I didn’t—I was an . Really. And I’m sorry. Give me a chance. Please?”

Minseok took a deep breath, his knuckles whitening where the gripped the neck of the wine bottle. “Chanyeol, I accept your apology.”

“That’s grea—”

Minseok silenced him with a hand, a dash of black—was that a black bar where Chanyeol’s name should be?—peeking out from under his sleeve.

“I accept your apology, but, I’m not interested in being your soulmate. Please,” he lowered his hand, “leave me alone.”

A few feet away, the crosswalk counted down—5, 4, 3, 2, 1. The light changed from green to yellow. Then to red. Minseok turned his back on Chanyeol and when the walk sign lit up white, he stepped into the street. It was 5:03. He had twelve minutes before he had to be back in the gallery, and for the first time since meeting Minseok, Chanyeol cried for what he’d lost.  

----

and there you go. Come yell at me in the comments. And don't be too mad at Yifan. He's trying okay. He just want everyone to be happy :)

hope you enjoyed, and have a good rest of your day :)

also special shoutout to lunch_box, who is honestly the reason why I actually finished this chapter this week, instead of waiting until I finished the semester. If you want to know how to politely ask about updates, that's who you should talk to. None of this "please update author-nim" . My name is Jay, not author-nim. 

<3 Jay