No one really remembers when it first happened or exactly why.

Of course there were theories.

Maybe it was because the world had grown jaded and materialistic, numerous petty wars depleting the population, the human race thisclose to extinction through their own stupidities and failings.

Maybe it was simply evolution, a survival of the fittest. Humans themselves couldn’t be trusted to pick their own mates, so obsessed with the tilt of the eye or how narrow one’s waist was that even the poorest would sell their souls for surgical intervention.

Perhaps it was a higher power or even some cosmic joke, your chosen god or gods saying “see, you really aren’t as independent as you thought, are you?”

Who knows?

What they did know was the day that the first baby was born with a series of numbers imprinted onto her tiny wrist, the flashing digits a steady cadence that matched the beat of her heart. Twenty two years, six months, twelve days, seven minutes, and 14 seconds from her first breath she was destined to meet her soulmate, her second half. He came in the form of a young man born three months after her, his timer matching the same date and digits glowing that same soothing blue only moments before they met. It was soon discovered that every child born after Baby A bore the same span of numbers against his or her wrist, each attuned to the moment in that person’s life when they were destined to meet the one who was perfect for them.

It took several years after the first two met before people realized what had happened, and even longer before the subtle nuances of the timers became even more clear. If you were born before your soulmate your timer chimed the moment he or she was born. And if by some terrible twist of fate your soulmate died before you had a chance to meet then your timer froze at that exact moment, as if a reminder of what would never be. Those with frozen timers lived the rest of their lives feeling as if they would never be complete, an aching gap where that other half would have been. They were often met with looks of pity and shakes of the head for ‘what had been lost.’ While not rejected completely by society the Frozen often drifted away from others, isolating themselves in one way or another until they were outcasts in reality as well as symbolically.

It seemed that the color of the digits on one’s wrist also held meaning. Just as every relationship was different so was a soulmating. The color of the numbers didn’t shift from white until a few moments before you met the one you were destined for. Yellow numbers were the most common, signifying a soulmate who was to be your companion throughout life. The relationship could develop into something much deeper, much stronger, but it wasn’t guaranteed and no one was held at fault if the two chosen partners just remained friends.

Red numbers suggested that the future held lust and a relationship that burned brightly with passion. Novels were written about star-crossed lovers with digits that ‘burned red with desire.’ However in real life those relationships were like a fire - while bright and intense at first, tended to flicker later on. It was not unheard of for Red matches to drift away from each other after a span of time. Members of a red pairing that had drifted apart often sought the solace of others of their kind, repeating the process over and over again - except this time not with the connection of the original bond. It was common agreement that most people wanted Yellow and not Red for the security and steadiness that companionship could bring.

The third color - and the one displayed on the first Match - was the rarest of all and what every girl and boy dreamed of when they were tucked in at night and told tales of True Love and perfect matches. Blue - soothing, calming, resonant Blue. Blue was the True Match, the true Soulmate. This was for those who were destined for true, lasting love, a partnership between equals. Theirs was a relationship of give and take - a genuine sharing of souls. There was no lack of passion either - but unlike Red, Blue’s passion didn’t flicker and die. If anything it grew as the love deepened.

Those at Seoul University knew how unlikely it was that they would match blue. In fact there were only a handful of blue matches in the past few years and only one on campus at that very moment - and that was a pairing between exchange students, something that rankled a few of the stiff-backed xenophobes at the University. Anyone who saw the looks exchanged between Yixing and Zitao, or saw the way Zitao’s much larger hand curled protectively around his soulmate’s….well, how could anyone NOT be jealous of that?

The way the two had met was becoming something of legend in and of itself. Yixing had been at the University for a year on exchange already, his dance skill, dimpled smile, and gentle nature earning him his share of friends and admirers. This did NOT include Huang Zitao, a new exchange student on campus who was tired of hearing, in his own words to his new friend Baekhyun, “Zhang Yixing this and Zhang Yixing that...you make him sound perfect! No one is perfect…He probably had those dimples added in. You know what plastic surgery can do nowadays.”

And then the same Huang Zitao - whose numbers had just glowed a vivid cerulean right after he said that - stormed down the hall, not paying attention to where he was going and plowed right into another student, causing both to crash to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs and papers in disarray. Zitao had looked up to offer his apologies (after all he knew he was at fault this time) -

- and met the eyes of the aforementioned Zhang Yixing. A Zhang Yixing who, in a not so uncommon moment of spaciness didn’t notice that his own wrist now bore blue numbers that flashed 0:00:00.

“Oh my…” Those were the words echoed from two pairs of lips, one much larger hand covering another, touching for the first time (and by no means the last).

How could Zitao have thought those dimples weren’t perfect?

That was three months ago.

And now those two figures were cuddling in the cafeteria, the fact that they were perfectly matched all the more evident by how each seemed an extension of the other - where Zitao ended Yixing began and vice versa. It wasn’t as obvious as the way Kris and Kyungsoo were, the red-numbered couple liberally making out not far from them (and leading Sehun to complain about losing his appetite for the third time that day and it was only noon ) but the connection was even stronger than that (and Baekhyun could attest that his roommate and Yixing didn’t lack in the passion department, no sirree. There were plenty of nights he crashed at Chanyeol’s when he saw the necktie tied on the door handle to their dorm room.). They argued, even fought, but both knew that at the end of the day all would be well and that there was no one else for them. Both were looking forward to the next semester, when Zitao could move into an apartment with his Xingxing...

“Say, anyone see Jongdae?” Baekhyun asked, casually stealing a french fry from Chanyeol’s plate. Their yellow-bond was definitely one of friendship and both were very comfortable with that. If more happened so be it but having a best friend for forever was a pretty sweet deal too.

A glance around the table brought a collection of shaking heads. Baekhyun sighed. “I wanted to tell him about the new kid in my linguistics class today. I hear he’s got History the same time as Jongdae does. There’s something about him – kind of reminds me of Jongdae…”

Chanyeol shrugged. “You really think it would matter? Jongdae isn’t really the most outgoing of sorts, you know.”

His partner sighed again. “I know but maybe this time it will be different.”

Maybe - but everyone around the table doubted it.

A tiny figure wove his way down the esteemed halls of the University, his petite frame jostled none too gently by those much bigger and much brasher than he was. He kept his eyes downcast, trying his best not to bring attention to himself.

It wasn’t that anyone hated Kim Jongdae. It’s just that outside of the small social circle who considered themselves his friends they didn’t really notice him. He’d been around since forever, nose buried in a book and grades at the top of his class. He was as polite as could be and didn’t make waves, choosing to keep to the shadows instead of basking in attention like Chanyeol did. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive. On the contrary Kim Jongdae was beautiful in his own quiet way. His cheekbones were sharp as glass - the envy of many a girl in his class - and his lips curled at the edges like a kitten when he offered one of his all too rare smiles.

No, Kim Jongdae was attractive and smart and should have been catching the attention of someone - anyone. As he was jostled the sleeve of his shirt shifted and a flash of bare skin was seen. Panic crossed the delicate man’s face and he frantically tugged it back.

His wrist bore the 0:00:00 - but there was no color, no flashing, no chime….just a stillness. There were a couple of times as he was growing up when he felt a tingle run across his skin, as if someone was there, then it vanished as quickly as it came, the stillness returning. He couldn’t even say he was Frozen. He was simply nothing.

And because he felt that way about himself, others picked up on it and reflected it back on him. How could someone love somebody like him? He was blank, after all - he wasn’t meant for anyone. Jongdae tried not to dwell on such thoughts but they ate away at him bit by bit, especially as each year crept by. His already rare smiles became even more so. The few friends he had felt helpless as Jongdae distanced himself even further. Books became his solace, a way of hiding away from those tendrils of despair that threatened to encircle and strangle his oh-so-fragile heart. His grades soared even as his spirits sank.

Now, what could he do for his history report?

Lost in thought, Jongdae didn’t notice where he was doing until it was too late.

“Look out!”

Something – or rather, someone - warm and solid crashed into him, Jongdae’s smaller frame no match for the other or for the insistent pull of gravity that dragged him to the floor once he lost his balance. It wasn’t long before Newton’s law caused that warm and solid body to fall on top of him, long limbs askew.

Time seemed to pause, the world narrowed to Jongdae and the boy sprawled above him, the only sound the slightly off kilter rhythm of their harsh gasps as both he and the other each fought to catch his breath.

No, that wasn’t true – somehow Jongdae could hear the rapid thumpthump of the other boy’s heart, a cadence that pulled at him like nothing before. He was almost caught up in the somehow hypnotic rhythm but managed to escape, shaking his head as if the action itself would dislodge that steady sound. The weight of the other eased as the boy sat up, rubbing at the back of his neck with a groan.

Jongdae tugged at his sleeve, pulling it down over a wrist that suddenly wouldn’t stop itching. It was as if he had a mosquito that kept landing and biting and then once it had its fill coming back for dessert. The smaller boy scowled, his kittenish lips curling down at the corners.

Suddenly a deep voice interrupted his thoughts, the sound as rich as chocolate syrup, coy and clinging and Jongdae would never admit that he liked it.

“You look better with a smile, you know.”

Syrupy-sweet Chanyeol-strength schmoopiness, like what the other read in one of those romance novels he hid behind his manly man manhwa.

This wasn’t a romance novel, though. This was real life and he didn’t have a soulmate and he never would. The scowl deepened and Jongdae pushed away the hand offered to him, ignoring the tingle he felt when their fingertips touched.

“Watch where you are going,” he muttered, scrambling to his feet and gathering the books that had scattered with the fall – only to have the other boy beat him to the punch, a smile on his handsome face as he held one out to Jongdae. And he was handsome, tanned and sloe-eyed, dark hair falling carelessly over one eye. Jongdae muttered a reluctant thanks as he extended his hand for the book, only to have it pulled away, just out of arm’s reach.

“A book for a name… I’m Jongin, by the way.”

Jongdae rolled his eyes, grudgingly giving up his own name and reaching for the book again – only to have it held back once more.

“You know, I like to think of life as being brief moments in time joined together,” Jongin mused, still holding the book as Jongdae stood, walking casually as if it had been planned this way – as if the two were friends who had known each other for years. Jongdae had no choice but to follow (it was an important book, after all. It had nothing to do with the tingling that was beginning to creep up and down his arm.)

“Each moment is as important as the next and you can’t dwell on one too long,” the strange boy continued, making no comment when Jongdae continued to rub at the sleeve that so carefully covered his numbered wrist. It itched.

“I used to think that everyone was destined to meet their perfect match right away….but then my timer stopped.” Jongdae froze at the other’s words, head snapping up to stare at a handsome face that no longer looked at him but instead stared straight ahead. “I thought that meant that my soulmate died…but then something weird happened – it flickered on again, then stopped. This happened several times over the next few years, like they vanished then reappeared again. Then I figured that it wasn’t that he died but that maybe he just wasn’t ready to be found.”

Jongdae shook his head in confusion. “But that doesn’t make any sense at all. Why wouldn’t he want to be found?” he asked, giving no thought to the idea that it could be a girl and Jongin didn’t correct him.

“Well, I have a theory on that too. Maybe he doesn’t want to be found yet because he hasn’t learned to love himself. He’s spent so much time worrying about finding a soulmate that he’s lost part of his own soul. Maybe he has lost himself in books and forgot that it isn’t one moment in time that’s important, but all of them together. Maybe he hasn’t looked past his sleeve to see what’s underneath.” At that last Jongin’s voice lowered and gentled, reaching down to lift the sleeve of his own shirt, and pulling it back to reveal what Jongdae had dreamed of but never expected for himself.

“Jongdae, look at your wrist.”

With trembling fingers Kim Jongdae pulled back the sleeve that covered skin that itched and itched ever since he ran into Jongin. He was afraid to look.

“Look, Jongdae. Grasp this moment and add it to the rest.”

Finally he opened eyes that he hadn’t realized had been squeezed tightly shut, looking down past Jongin’s smiling face and to the wrist that had been hidden for so long.

Blue.

(“So blue pairings seem to involve crashing into each other,” Sehun was heard to say a few weeks later as he sat in the cafeteria, surrounded by couples. Those couples now included Jongdae perched on Jongin’s lap as the other fed him a French fry, his smile bright and sweet and matching his soulmate’s.

“Where do I sign up?”)