What if love is made and nothing else?
asked Narcissus, leaning over the green iris of water.

Nothing else,
cried Echo from the green cochlea of the woods.

And they were both right.
And they were both lonely.

—Kapka Kassabova

≡ ≡ ≡

under the warm light of the chandeliers, behind a bar cornered against the back wall of the ballroom, jeongguk feels small. he often does at these events, or when faced with any group of people who holds so much power over him; he considers himself headstrong, righteous, bordering on an enemy to the very men who are putting on this event, but like this, jeongguk still feels small. in the end, they always succeed in making him feel small.

the ballroom is magnificently large and set up for a celebration; round tables holding eight chairs each dot the dance floor, a small stage set up at the front for speeches while servers mill about with food and drink. the dinner has long since ended, the main portion of the celebration behind them, but the most crucial part of jeongguk's job has begun—he's manning the bar, set near the back of the room so it can afford him a view of the men and women clad in their best dress as they mingle, talk about important things, and stop by for a drink they can't demand out of one of the wandering servers.

it's not the most expensive event he's been to, but after years, they all bleed together anyway. it's another government event, as they all are. some official is being celebrated tonight, perhaps for life-long achievements or a promotion or a retirement. jeongguk purposely tunes out the speeches and idle chatter of attendees, figuring the less he knows about these people's lives, the better. it all makes him seethe in the end, anyway—looking at the diamonds that drip from their wrists and necks, hearing the praise the government affords their most valued elite, knowing these people live such lavish and comfortable lifestyles.

in a way, this job constantly dangles before him a life he will never live, forcing him to literally cater to the every need of the very people who make him kneel, put their foot on his head and force him back into the dirt. it's cruel. but jeongguk can't do anything about it.

instead—"table sixteen wants a round of gin shots, jeongguk," says his mother when she sweeps by the bar, looking as worn down as ever, yet somehow graceful under the pressure. "twelve of them, in case of spillage. and would it kill you to smile a little?"

jeongguk gives her a deadpan stare before forcing his lips back into a manic smile meant to mock the request. it's not to mock her—he loves her dearly, along with his father, who have raised him well and provided him with everything he needed to the best of their ability, working with what they're given, with the little they have to begin with—but she knows as well as he what he feels about these events. but it's his parents' company that is catering the event, as they cater so many, and they're all used to this: the elegance of the venues, the ridiculousness of the menus, the beauty and grace of the attendees.

the sour taste they get in their mouths when they go home to a house no bigger than the bathroom here, the heating broken again, barely enough food to get them through the week. she's used to the resentment just simmering below the surface of jeongguk's skin and how each government-run event they cater is a challenge to keep himself from bleeding his hatred all over the goddamn floor.

his mother cocks her eyebrow. "a few more hours," she tells him. "and please remember that these people are the reason—"

"we have a home and a job and a life at all," jeongguk parrots. it sounds weak to his own ears. "i know, mom. sorry. i'll be nice." she pats his cheek in either comfort or admonishment and then is gone, off to manage some other part of this operation that will ultimately lead them nowhere. he knows his parents are just as angry as he is, born with that anger clutched in their tiny fists. it grows with them. but jeongguk is still young, only twenty-two, and he still has fight within him. some part of him still believes he can change this somehow, and it will take years before it wears him down enough to accept it lying down. he cannot fault his parents for trying to do the best with what they have been given.

he simply wishes this isn't what they had been given.

jeongguk wants to be an artist. but his family has been in the service industry for generations, and his parents own a restaurant that caters exclusively to the wealthy and powerful—the government and whoever they have deemed worthy of a life of lavish. while jeongguk and his parents serve the government, the government gives them barely enough to survive in exchange; they live in poverty, as does the majority of the country, merely because the government decided they would.

their pay comes from the government, but it's little. their housing comes from the government, but it's lacking. despite being young and talented and determined, jeongguk knows he will be stuck here for the rest of his life because this is the hand he has been dealt and the government rules with an oppressive and iron fist. if he had been born into a family favoured by the government, things would be different. but here he is, working to please the very people who do their best to keep people like jeongguk stuck in their inequality.

it's not a great life by any means. no one is happy here, jeongguk is sure. when he was younger, he and his friends would speak of a free future, where they could be whoever they wanted to be. but then they grew up, and years of poverty, hardship, and being controlled by a group of people who have named themselves king took its toll. these days, jeongguk doesn't even see those friends anymore. they're too busy slaving away for the government in exchange for meagre crumbs, going home to a desolate life lived in dreamless sleep.

there's no point in dreaming anymore. without hope, there's no reason to.

it's laughable, really, that he should spend his entire life trying to make government officials and their families happy, when they don't even spare him the time of day otherwise. they allow jeongguk and his family and families like his to go home in despair, stuck forever in the clockwork of slaving for nothing until they die. there has to be more.

and there could be, perhaps, because of the existence of soulmates—

"whiskey, please," comes a low and vaguely exasperated voice from jeongguk's right. "neat." when he looks, a man has pulled up a chair at the end of the bar, leaning his elbows on the marble and running a hand through his hair. jeongguk considers the fact that no one stays at the bar during an event like this; they're meant to get their drinks and return to their friends or colleagues. but this man looks like he's going to have more than one drink, perhaps in rapid succession.

jeongguk pours him the whiskey and sets it down in front of him. when the man takes the glass and knocks half of the drink back at once, jeongguk takes the opportunity to examine the stranger. he looks to be only a few years older than jeongguk, hair a chestnut brown that looks vaguely golden where the light from the chandeliers overhead glances off of it. it's clear that he belongs here—he's wearing a black blazer that fits perfectly around his shoulders, only slightly straining against his bicep when he brings the glass to his lips. the white shirt, the quality of which jeongguk can practically smell from here, has the top button undone, and when the man shifts, jeongguk sees a sliver of his collarbone. he has three earrings in the ear jeongguk can see, rings adorning his fingers. there's a casual sort of power about it all.

everything about him screams something that jeongguk will never be or have. all because jeongguk was born into this family, and this man was born into that one.

and yet, when he puts down his glass and jeongguk's eyes skirt away, he lets out a sigh and slumps forward. it's the look and sound of what jeongguk has been wanting to do for twenty-two fucking years. "long night?" jeongguk asks, taking his chances. he rarely interacts with the people he serves, his resentment too great. the feeling is mutual; those working for the government or allowed the freedom to live lavish lives turn up their noses at the common people, at the help. jeongguk has been verbally abused more times than he cares to remember while doing this job.

but all of them exist in a certain way, cookie cutter dolls of each other. he's never seen someone look like they want to be here less than this man. so—

"what?" the man asks, blinking up at jeongguk. he seems surprised that jeongguk is even talking to him, and is it because they're so different, from different worlds, is it because he looks down on jeongguk for being fucking poor—"ah, yeah," he adds with a laugh. "honestly, i hate these fucking events. everyone's kissing each other's asses and pretending to like everyone when just yesterday, they were stabbing each other in the back in the staff lounge at work."

jeongguk blinks.

"sorry," the man adds, sipping his whiskey. "i'm sure you can tell i'm not really keen on being here."

"neither am i," admits jeongguk. the man eyes him carefully before a slow and easy grin spreads across his lips, all honey. "couldn't you go home, though?"

"this party is for my boss," says the man. "i don't fancy getting fired for deciding to go home and nap."

"you'd enjoy napping more, though."

"i always enjoy napping more."

jeongguk grins to himself, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and passing it over to the man. "then you might need more of this," he says. "you can have my share since i unfortunately need to stay sober for the entirety of this event. at least you can do something to lessen the pain."

it's probably not a good idea to show displeasure for the event in front of someone who has infinitely more power than jeongguk. he has no idea who this man is, what his position is, and how he could possibly make jeongguk's life a living hell for not immediately dropping to his knees to worship the government at every instance. but he started it. and anyway, the man snorts, pouring himself another drink and raising his glass in a cheers to jeongguk. jeongguk's eyes catch on the glint of an expensive watch on the man's wrist, probably worth more than jeongguk's family could hope to make in a year. how strange to find even a point of common ground with this man, despite being on opposite ends of the spectrum.

"good food, though," says the man after a beat. "you're, uh—their son, right? the couple who does the catering."

"jeon jeongguk," he bows slightly. "i'm glad to hear everything is to your liking."

"send my compliments to your parents." the man offers him a winning smile, and then adds, "min yoongi." he sips at his drink. "so what is it you would rather be doing than this, jeon jeongguk? i'd be napping, you'd be..."

jeongguk thinks of what little pleasure his life affords. the truth is, when he's not working, he's trying not to stew in his anger over the conditions of his life—by reading government-approved books, listening to government-approved music. it's been a long time since he's had friends close enough to enjoy the company of, choosing instead to spend most of his time alone. but the question isn't what would he be doing, but what would he rather be doing. so he says, "painting." it's hard to find good quality supplies for it these days, but he makes do. "i like to paint. to be honest, i'd rather paint all the time than have to do catering."

it's a testament to how different their lives are that yoongi just asks, "then why don't you?"

jeongguk snorts. "seriously?"

yoongi stares. oh, jeongguk thinks. he—along with the other wealthy and powerful people lucky enough to be in the government's inner circle of protection and favour—are so disconnected from the outside world that they don't even know the truth of the lives jeongguk's people lead.

this is neither the time nor place for that harrowing conversation, but yoongi is two whiskeys deep already and there's no line at the bar demanding his attention, so jeongguk says, "the way our compensation works at the restaurant, as it does with any service, is not by hours worked or number of customers. it's by opinion. because we cater to government employees first and foremost, their opinions are valued most by those who pay us. at the end of a meal or an event, the attendees are asked to rate their enjoyment of their experience, and those ratings are converted into our salaries. but as i'm sure you know, min yoongi, your kind are extraordinarily hard to please."

jeongguk almost laughs to himself, grabbing the whiskey bottle and pouring more into yoongi's glass for himself, even though he can't drink. "my parents are wonderful at what they do," he says. "but see, it doesn't matter. the wealthy and the powerful don't realize just how powerful they are when it comes to allowing people like me to simply live. everything could be perfect, but you didn't like the colour of the tablecloths? you had a bad day? you simply felt like being petty? then we get a bad rating. the exchange rate of rating to won is horrifically low to begin with, but if we get enough less than par ratings in a week or a month and they'll slash the exchange rate in half. the more people we serve, then, the more likely we are to be given less for the work we do."

he grabs another glass, setting it next to yoongi's before pouring whiskey into that one, too. "that aside, then, comes other pressing matters," he says. "the government controls how much we make, but they also control how much we have to spend. food is expensive. clothes are expensive. other basic needs are expensive. they've given us housing that barely does the job of keeping us warm at night, and if we want to fix that, we have to spend our precious money and then we can't eat. there's no hope of finding other housing, not with how expensive it is. there's no hope of finding another job that might pay more, because the government would know and simply decide not to pay us at all. punishment and reward, it is. the government has decided i will work here, so i do. they have decided i will be poor, so i am." he grabs the second glass, bringing it only to his chin before tapping it against his lip.

"we are given little and come out the other end with nothing to show for it if we want to eat or have heating or cover medical costs and bills and other things that always seem to pile up for no reason, loaded onto us by unnecessary fees and expenses merely to keep us down," says jeongguk. "if necessities are expensive enough to leave us broke, imagine how much more expensive non-necessities are—such as paints and brushes and canvas. given the choice between having something to eat and something to pass the time with, it's not hard to guess what i go with every time. and say i do choose the paint—i work nearly twelve hours a day to help my parents with their restaurant, and that's only so we can hope to stay afloat with the positive reviews. if i take even a single day off to lose myself in the fantasy of painting after using what little money we have on supplies rather than necessities, the damage it could do to our ratings would mean we're given even less. i could try to sell my art, but no one would choose to buy a painting over bread. and your kind would think it dirty. there's nowhere to go, see. nowhere the eyes of your little friends over there wouldn't follow me and make me pay dearly for it."

jeongguk cocks his head. "so, min yoongi, the answer to your question is simple," he says. "why don't i paint? because painting makes me happy. but i can't eat happiness."

he downs the whiskey in one go, despite what rules it might break. he needs it—because he tries so hard to ignore the parameters of his existence. there's no point in dwelling on them when dwelling will inspire desire to change and desire to change is dangerous in this society. oh, he's known people who have wanted more and have tried for it and have died because of it. and jeongguk would die for it, too, if he wasn't so afraid of what it would mean for his parents. for them, at least, he can be complacent—for now.

yoongi is staring at him when he puts the glass down. surely now he regrets the conversation, but then he says, "i didn't realize the conditions you're forced to live in. and here i am complaining about the side effects of the lifestyle i lead."

"i'm used to it," says jeongguk. "how can you possibly know when you live in your glass castles? i think if you were to dwell too hard on what my life is like, it would ruin your enjoyment of yours. and by all means, i want you to enjoy your fancy watches and silk shirts and dinner parties. someone should."

jeongguk has never been so bold as to speak like this to someone in the government's inner circle. but he's tired. he's so goddamn tired. and yoongi doesn't seem offended or angry by his words, anyway, rather a little pensive as he sips at his drink and considers his next words. "it's strange," he finally says. "the government gives you everything, but your everything is sorely lacking. and the government gives me everything, too, except my everything is... well. everything."

"and what makes you so different from me, anyway, min yoongi? i was born into this life. i had no choice. i could have your job, had i been given the right opportunities. why should you get your life and i get mine?"

"i was born into this, too," says yoongi. "my parents met because they worked in the same department in the government. i was given the best education, upbringing, connections merely because of who i was born to." jeongguk doesn't want to resent yoongi for it—it's not exactly his fault. it's the system, the society, the oppressive reign of the government that they're both privy to. but yoongi benefits greatly from it while jeongguk is barely keeping his head above water, the pendulum swing of total control.

jeongguk has spent his entire life wondering about fairness.

"what do you do, anyway?" asks jeongguk. "unsurprisingly, i paid attention to none of the speeches about your boss."

"neither did i," says yoongi, and jeongguk hates how it makes him grin. he hates that he likes talking to yoongi, despite the bitterness the conversation is stirring up inside of him. it's just—yoongi is pretty and has an easy nonchalance to him and he doesn't want to be here either. "but i'm an inventor, more or less. our department deals mostly with creating and testing new technologies that helps..." he licks his lips, flipping his hand back and forth as he searches for the best words—"find people."

jeongguk knows immediately what he's talking about, bristling slightly at the realization. of all the people he could start a conversation with—"you mean soulmates," he deadpans. "you invent technologies to help the government track down soulmates."

yoongi is nonchalant in the way he shrugs and says, "they use our stuff to find other people, too. wanted criminals, for example."

"to the government, soulmates are wanted criminals, aren't they?"

"hey, you said it, not me," yoongi scoffs.

beneath the bar, jeongguk's hands curl into loose fists. finding soulmates isn't the issue, really. it's what the government does with soulmates once they're found. but it's evident that yoongi finds no fault with it, considering how casually he speaks about it—and considering the fact he has that job at all. anyone with a true moral compass wouldn't dream of assisting the government in their fight against people merely trying to live their lives.

but he wants to know for sure. "and you're... okay with that?" asks jeongguk. "you're okay with the government systematically murdering bonded soulmates even if they pose no real threat to anyone?"

"first of all, keep your voice down," says yoongi, glancing over his shoulder before he hunches a little closer. "second of all, all soulmates pose a threat to someone, jeongguk, namely the government itself. they're dangerous—"

"a married soulmate couple trying to live in peace on the outskirts of daegu, running a bookshop that provides important stories and programs to misfortunate children, in love and trying to be happy—those kinds of people are dangerous?"

yoongi's stare is harsh. "that married couple can light an entire city on fire and freeze an ocean in the blink of an eye precisely because they're soulmates and in love, so yes. they are dangerous. and they need to be dealt with."

"how can you so casually condone murder like that?"

"how can you so casually support the potential for disaster much worse than killing soulmate pairs here and there? i don't support murder, jeongguk," says yoongi. "what i support is the protection of our entire nation and society and the system that has kept us all safe for centuries now. think of the decimation that could come to all of us should bonded soulmate pairs be allowed to roam the streets freely. not to mention the rebels—"

"the only reason there are rebels to begin with is because of the oppression of the government against soulmates and the common people!" jeongguk snaps, keeping his voice to a harsh whisper. "if you didn't treat us the way you do, they wouldn't need to fight back."

"and you support the rebels. lovely. i don't know why i thought you might be different."

"i have lived in agony and poverty for my entire life," says jeongguk. "and the only people who have ever shown concern and been willing to do something about it are the rebels. why wouldn't i support them? why wouldn't i want something better for myself and all of us and them—the ones lucky enough to find their true soulmate? why can't you just leave them the fuck alone?"

"why can't you know your goddamn place an—"

"min!" the new voice that cuts through the haze of their argument has jeongguk snapping upright, not having realized until that moment that he was leaning so far over the bar, only a few inches from yoongi's own angry face, which is now open and soft in its surprise. for a heavy beat, they continue to stare at each other, pulled now from their debate as yoongi finally turns over his shoulder to address the women waving at him from one of the tables in the ballroom. "we need your input on park's design modifications on the new tracer."

at another reminder of the work yoongi does, jeongguk finally straightens, unballing his fists and ignoring the way his knuckles ache with it. "go on. have fun killing people," he mutters, and he knows it's uncalled for, but he can't help it. now knowing what yoongi believes, now knowing that they really are all the same—the wealthy, the powerful, the ones who make up this government working so hard to keep jeongguk and his people under their thumb.

yoongi sends him a scathing look, and then just as quickly, the creases in his forehead smooth. he blinks and the darkness in his eyes clears, that confident smirk returning to his lips. "have fun painting," he says as he slides off of the chair. he takes a step and then pauses, not even bothering to turn around when he adds, "oh, wait... my bad."

jeongguk's hands clamp down on the edge of the bar, knuckles turning white with the effort not to vault over and do something about it—about the way yoongi makes him feel so small in that moment. but he's used to it, isn't he? used to being looked down upon this way, used to never having anywhere to go, nothing to dream of. he shouldn't be surprised, just because he liked yoongi.

when he gets tired of watching yoongi's retreating back, and then yoongi and his colleagues laughing and discussing their work and living a life of carefree money and power that jeongguk will never even be close enough to dream of having, he turns and grabs yoongi's forgotten whiskey, downing the rest of it himself. he cares little about breaking the rules tonight. there's not much that could make him feel worse, anyway.

≡ ≡ ≡

soulmates have existed for as long, at least, as history has been recorded. two halves of one whole, two souls meant to join together as one in perfect harmony—whether romantic or platonic. centuries ago, soulmates identified each other with matching or complimentary soulmarks. as history passed, the marks evolved into more, designs and colours appearing on the body that could lead them to their true soulmate.

now, those soulmarks appear almost identical to tattoos—or, more likely, tattoos were developed out of soulmarks in the first place. when a person turns sixteen, their soulmark begins to appear, taking nearly two full years until it is complete—the mark that matches their soulmate's, the only way to know without doubt which soul theirs is meant to be with, to belong to.

but the marks aren't the only thing that evolved. jeongguk remembers his history classes from high school, definitely biased by what the government wanted children to learn—and remembers, too, the legends he was told by the elders in his neighbourhood instead, the ones who almost remember an easier time. centuries ago, finding and bonding with their soulmate meant a person became better: lived longer, lived happier. perhaps this was merely a benefit of loving and being loved in return, finding the person who fit with them best.

but then that better began to change. at first, the greatest side effect of bonding with a soulmate was simple: sometimes a person was physically stronger. sometimes they could run faster. then, slowly, over time, those heightened abilities began to tip into the supernatural realm: the ability to influence others' thinking without tricks, moving objects without touching them. then, before long, these abilities blew forth into what they are now: true superhuman abilities that are activated only once a person bonds with their soulmate. these abilities lie dormant in a person, waiting for the fusion with their soulmate's ability that will allow both of them to be brought to the light.

soulmates have complimentary abilities meant, in a way, to allow them to bond in a deeper way—soulmates with the ability to create fire and ice, to tell perfect lies and detect dishonesty, healing pairs, those who can cause immeasurable damage with the snap of their fingers. without finding their soulmate, a person is merely normal. but the moment they fall in love and know they are loved in return, the transformation occurs, catapulting soulmate pairs to the forefront of human innovation and success. together, soulmates are stronger, more powerful, better. together, they can do anything.

and that's the problem, isn't it?

only within the last one hundred years has the government ruled the way they do—with an iron fist, pushing the less fortunate into the dirt only to raise themselves high above. systems of poverty and oppression keep the common folk down down down with no hope of leading normal lives. the elite one percent hold all of the wealth and power in the country, and the government has no interest in letting it change.

but it's the common people who find their soulmates. it's the common people who bond with their soulmates and thus activate superhuman abilities within themselves. at first, no one thought to use these abilities other than for their own good, but someone had to become the first rebel. one soulmate pair had to become the first rebels.

for nearly one hundred years, then, soulmates have waged a war against the government, using their abilities to fight the oppression and violence of the government against their own people. bonded soulmate pairs form rebel groups to fight in an attempt to overthrow the government, or at least weaken it, to gain even an inch for a brighter future. all they want, in the end, is for the common people to be allowed to live how they wish, for the government to loosen the chokehold they have over the entire nation. the government, of course, doesn't take it lying down. they fight back, sometimes violently, sometimes only in intelligence as they try to squash the uprisings caused by the rebels.

but fighting on the front lines isn't the only way the government learned to fight at all. see, only bonded soulmates have a chance of winning against the government thanks to their superhuman abilities. so the government does what it must, to ensure their own safety and to protect their own power—they kill soulmates in droves, nipping the revolution in the bud before soulmates can even think to join a rebel organization.

they kill the rebels as best as they can, fighting on the front lines and infiltrating their base camps. but that isn't enough. so they kill bonded soulmates who aren't part of the rebels, too. it doesn't matter anymore—if someone has found their soulmate, they've written their own death sentence. the government extinguishes the flame before it even has a chance to warm the air around it, tracking down and murdering bonded soulmate pairs even if they have no interest in fighting the government. because soulmates are no longer human, and the government will take no chances.

as a result, the very idea of soulmates has shifted from a beautiful and life-changing idea to something dirty and wrong. out of pure fear of the government, people spend their entire lives avoiding finding their soulmate. they cover their marks, some even going so far as to tattoo over them in hopes of never accidentally finding their soulmate. and if they do find their soulmate, they spend their lives avoiding that very person, never in contact despite knowing this is the person they are meant to be with. soulmates, once together, are prone to falling in love, after all. and when they fall in love, they bond, even against their will. and once bonded, the government can know—the government can find them. the government can, and will, kill them.

it's easier this way. that's what everyone says, anyway. they cower from the murderous intent of the government, destined to live lonely lives or marry and have children with a person they're not truly meant to be with, because finding that one person almost guarantees death—or at least a life of hiding, always running from the police and agents of the government, looking over their shoulders at every turn.

and yet—there are still those who take the risk. still rebels who bravely stand in for those too afraid to even live their truth, trying to fight for a world where people are allowed to be with the people they are destined to be with. and then there are those who don't want to fight but refuse to take what the government wants to give them—who find their soulmates and choose to be together despite the dangers and risks, choosing to hide and make do with what they can in order to protect the love they have been given.

it's easy for the government to maintain their power this way—to leave the people cowering in fear, refusing to associate with their soulmate should they find them. to track down innocent soulmate pairs and kill them before they can get an idea of how to exploit their own abilities to better the world. to control the wealth of the people, to reward those who do their bidding—the ones working in the government, furthering their power.

this is why jeongguk hates this life. hates this event, where he has to sit behind a bar and watch as people who are not only so far above him in every aspect of life but also believe they belong there laugh and joke and drink. each of them believes that the government deserves to lord their power over the common people. and hand in hand with that belief is the core belief that separates jeongguk from yoongi now: the belief that soulmates are dangerous and deserve to be eradicated.

jeongguk has always loved the idea of soulmates, of what it could mean to find the one person he is meant to be with. he loves the idea of having a superhuman ability, too, but it's secondary to the love and life that would blossom out of finding his soulmate. as he's grown older, he's grown disillusioned with the life he's lived—and his support for the rebels has grown stronger. he's considered more than once joining a rebel organization to help behind the scenes even without an ability of his own, but he's always pulled back by his loyalty to his parents.

and yet he has nothing to lose. he's stuck in this thankless life, always destined for poverty and reaching for something he'll never be allowed to grasp at. the rebels seem to be his only hope for a better future, hoping that they can finally make any progress in a hundred years' war that has been at a standstill for decades.

but more than that—jeongguk just wants to be happy. if he finds his soulmate, he just wants to be with them, wants to be allowed to be with them without worrying about the government trying to kill him. it's so easy to see the government has some other entity, an enemy that wants innocent soulmates dead and everyone else to live so far below the poverty line that they might as well be dead, anyway. but then he comes here, and he sees the faces that make up each individual part of that government, realizes that this isn't some enemy to fight. it's thousands of people who do this every day, and who believe they are right, and who won't change their minds.

then he comes here and he meets min yoongi, who is funny and pretty and seems almost normal and then he admits the truth of it all: that every day he goes to work and invents technology to track down bonded soulmate pairs so someone can kill them. that every day he wakes up and believes what he's doing is right, believes that his position of wealth and power should stay just as it is while people like jeongguk suffer for it.

so, when the party finally winds down and jeongguk is busy cleaning up the bar as his parents and the wait staff clean up the rest of the ballroom, he's both surprised and oddly relieved when he turns around to find min yoongi sitting in the spot he was hours earlier, before he stormed off.

there's a flash of irritation, particularly at remembering the scathing words that yoongi parted with. his initial attraction to yoongi has been muddled by the knowledge of what yoongi does for a living and what he believes, so fundamentally different from jeongguk. but jeongguk is tired. he's been so angry tonight that he doesn't want to be angry anymore, not when yoongi is probably just another government employee anyway. just another man who believes the worst. just another person who jeongguk will never see again, just another reminder of the aching chasm between the common people and the elite.

he's not sure what to expect, but then yoongi says, "sorry about the painting comment earlier. that was uncalled for."

jeongguk finishes wiping the glass in his hand and shrugs. it's not the worst he's heard from someone like yoongi.

then yoongi adds, "do you want to get a drink with me?"

it's a terrible idea. jeongguk knows this. but he considers it anyway.

the truth is, jeongguk loves his parents. he loves what they do for him in an attempt to give him everything he needs. he has learned to appreciate the little he has to keep from drowning in his own bitterness. he refuses to hate himself the way the government wants him to; he refuses to lose hope for a better future, refuses to become nothing but another cog in the machine of their power like so many his age.

and yet—what he wouldn't give to separate himself from that life even for one night, to put it behind him, to pretend it doesn't exist. to pretend he belongs here instead, wearing the suit that was given to him by the government for work because it's worth more than everything else he owns combined. to pretend he can wake up tomorrow with no worries, a job he loves, a life he loves. to not fear that he'll accidentally run into his soulmate and learn they're too afraid to even be friends, to have hope that is stolen from him the moment it's born, to realize this is all he's ever going to have.

yoongi has the money and power to take them to any bar he wants, not just the shitty back alley ones that the common people are allowed to have—not the underground ones that have no rules and sell too many illegal drugs in an attempt to fly under the radar of the government. yoongi has the money and power to take them anywhere, to get them anything. and jeongguk has always hated that kind of power and wealth, has always resented people like yoongi who don't even understand their own privilege. the idea of accepting a handout from someone like yoongi makes him sick to his stomach. the idea of taking advantage of that for his own pleasure while his parents will have to go back home and suffer as they always do—it makes jeongguk angry at himself.

but god. god. he's so tired. he's so tired of being angry. he's so tired of being bitter.

so he says, "yeah. why not?"

and yoongi grins at him, all white teeth and glinting rings and privilege. jeongguk will regret this. but he's going to fucking enjoy it first.

≡ ≡ ≡

in a bar that yoongi called indie and lowkey but is probably one of the most expensive places jeongguk has set foot in his life, they resolutely avoid the conversation topics that led to their argument back at dinner. no talk of soulmates or yoongi's job or the government—and these things make up their entire lives, more or less, but it's easy. jeongguk realizes that talking to yoongi is easy, especially when he has a few drinks in him.

instead, they talk about hobbies and embarrassing childhood stories and debate simpler things, like sports teams and fruit. jeongguk can't tell if it's the alcohol or how good yoongi looks under the dim bar lights, that glimpse of his collarbone becoming more and more interesting as time goes on, but he begins to forget his bitterness at all. and that was the point; he wants to lose himself in this enough to forget that he's angry at all. he lets himself lean toward yoongi a little more than necessary, laugh a little louder than he needs to.

because yoongi is pretty, and those expensive clothes do look good on him. and they might come from entirely different worlds and have entirely different beliefs but there is one language they both speak fluently and that's flirtation. like this, jeongguk can almost believe he belongs here.

when they're both pleasantly drunk, leaning so close that they can feel each other's breath, and jeongguk has been sure yoongi is going to kiss him for ten minutes already—yoongi finally leans in a little closer, hand splayed over jeongguk's thigh, lips brushing against his ear, and asks, "d'you wanna get out of here? we can head back to my place."

jeongguk closes his eyes for a second, thinking of—the apartment he shares with his parents. the tattered blankets. the window in jeongguk's bedroom that has been broken for three years and won't close, meaning he can never keep warm at night. he thinks of his pride. he thinks of the hundreds of soulmates who wanted to be happy and are instead dead because of the things yoongi has invented for the government.

and then he says yes.

≡ ≡ ≡

jeongguk doesn't realize he's stopped walking until he hears yoongi, feet ahead of him with his hand on the doorknob, ask, "are you coming?"

he blinks over at yoongi and then up at the house again, which he was struck by upon seeing it come into full view; he'd known, simply from knowing who yoongi is, what kind of house he would live in. he'd known, from the clothes he's wearing and the car someone else drove them here in (his driver) and the neighbourhood they're standing in. but this house must be the size of jeongguk's entire apartment building, sleek and modern in its design with dark colours and massive windows giving just a glimpse inside.

there's no time to admire the landscaping before yoongi is beckoning him inside. maybe he's just a little drunk. maybe he's just never been in a house like this before, only dreamed of something like it, but when he follows yoongi inside and absently tows off his shoes, jeongguk gets that feeling again—the same feeling he had in the ballroom, with its chandeliers and powerful men. he feels small.

climbing the few stairs out of the foyer, jeongguk is faced with the immensity of yoongi's home. the left side opens in the living room, floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the lawn with a large television hung on one wall and artwork on the wall opposite, probably someone's masterpiece. the room blends seamlessly into the dining room and then into the kitchen, each appliance meticulously clean and perfectly chosen to match the colour scheme of the house as a whole. stairs off the living room must lead to yoongi's bedroom, perhaps a home office, whatever else these rich folk can afford to have in their homes.

yoongi goes on ahead, disappearing into the kitchen in search of more alcohol, as he makes comments that jeongguk isn't listening to. he's too busy slowly making his way through each room, fingertips always just hovering above the furniture and wall furnishings and knick knacks placed on the shelves, like he's afraid to touch it. like he'll dirty it if he touches it; he doesn't fit in here. his clothes are too old and worn, his hair not styled nicely enough.

there's nothing particularly flashy about the house, is the thing. there are no chandeliers or signed portraits of celebrities wishing yoongi well. it's not the largest house on the block, nor the one with the most eye-catching detail. but that's the problem. it's just... so casual in its luxury, so unassuming in the fact that this house and everything in it represents the difference between jeongguk and yoongi.

this is simply how yoongi lives. jeongguk's entire apartment could fit in the living room alone. the sofa looks more comfortable than his bed. he's never owned a television, although he does have a radio. that artwork—jeongguk stops in front of it, staring at the canvas that takes up much of the wall. it's an abstract painting, blacks and greys and whites blending together in circular shapes that twist and curl and come alive before his very eyes. how much did yoongi pay for this? how much could yoongi pay for jeongguk to paint him something like this? enough to feed his family for a year? enough to move them out of their apartment?

but, of course—that's not allowed. people like jeongguk are not allowed to exist in these spaces, the ones occupied and reserved for people like yoongi.

he's disgusted by this house, by this lifestyle that yoongi lives. and yet, despite that, to his own disgust—jeongguk wishes this were his.

"because, like i said before, we—jeongguk?" yoongi's voice draws him away, turning his attention to yoongi, who is padding back into the living room with two tumblers in his hands. he's taken off the blazer, sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows. he belongs here. he doesn't walk like he's worried about damaging the floorboards, isn't constantly searching for a way to exist here without disturbing anything. yoongi is by far the most expensive thing in this house.

jeongguk doesn't know what he's doing here.

"is something wrong?" asks yoongi, approaching him with the tumbler held out. "is it too warm, too cold? i have an automatic system that scans the body temperature of whoever is in the house and adjusts accordingly, but sometimes it gets confused when there's more than one person here."

jeongguk just—starts laughing. it's so ridiculous. it's so fucking ridiculous how jeongguk and millions of other people in this country, the vast majority of koreans, live in such desolate conditions that one of jeongguk's neighbours as a kid froze to death in her own home, and here yoongi is, with his house that is finetuned to the very internal needs of its inhabitants. and the way yoongi says it—he's not bragging. he's not trying to impress jeongguk. this is merely his life, and perhaps he can't fathom that someone could live in such a different world that it doesn't even occur to him what kind of luxury he lives in.

"what?" asks yoongi.

"nothing," says jeongguk as he calms down, taking the drink from yoongi. "don't you think this is just... a little much? what do you need such a big house for? what do you need any of this for?"

"i like it," says yoongi, not quite defensive.

"so you just buy something if you like it. you see something you want and you just get it?"

"yeah," says yoongi, like it's obvious.

jeongguk laughs again, shaking his head before sipping at his drink; it's whiskey again, what they started with. if he knew the difference, he'd probably say it's a very expensive brand. jeongguk is just drinking money at this point. "i'll try not to ruin your house with my poor-ness," he says belatedly, stepping around yoongi to head into the dining room. "but don't worry. i took a shower today, so there shouldn't be too much dirt under my nails."

"i don't view you as lesser than me because you're poor, jeongguk," says yoongi evenly, following him.

"oh, don't you? all of you do. why else would you keep us poor?"

"you say that as though i have a personal say in how much money you make or the systems put into place to keep you from moving out of your current situation."

jeongguk sets his drink down and then hops onto the kitchen table, leaning back on his hands as he regards yoongi. that sort of thing must be uncouth—but as much as jeongguk feels like he's not allowed to touch, he's also well aware that this will probably be the only opportunity he ever has to be inside a house like this. he might as well mess it up, a little. "you work for the government," says jeongguk. "which means you support the government, and the government is responsible for how sad my life is. you don't get to make yourself feel better about the state of this country simply because those systems you talk about benefit you."

those are words that could spark another argument like back at the dinner event—but both of them have drunk enough that their emotions are subdued, and after a few hours of entertaining conversation, jeongguk thinks they've come to a point where they don't need to argue. it's clear that they're equals in plenty of ways beyond wealth or power; they've been verbally sparring with wit and flirtation for hours. if they're going to talk about any of this, it'll be a lively debate. and jeongguk is very interested in hearing what yoongi has to say.

"to be fair, it's not like i'm aware of how bad things truly are for you," says yoongi as he joins jeongguk, standing just in front of his knees. "they don't have documentaries about the poverty of the common people showing at our theatres."

"i'm the first of the common people you've had a real conversation with," says jeongguk with a laugh.

"we don't exactly inhabit the same social spaces," muses yoongi.

"you make killing machines for a living, min yoongi," sighs jeongguk. "you must be well aware of how the government's initiatives to track down and murder soulmate pairs are in place to keep the rest of us from rising against the government's tyranny. otherwise you wouldn't have that job."

this time, yoongi shrugs, nonchalant. "like i said, soulmates are dangerous. and, mind you, they're the ones who started it."

they're not going to agree on this, but jeongguk can't help it either way; he lets his legs fall open, a clear invitation as he asks, "what would you do, then? if you found your soulmate."

yoongi take a sip of his drink, savouring it as he studies jeongguk's vaguely smug expression. jeongguk has long wondered about it—what people like yoongi do in that case. if there are secret soulmate pairs working for the government, too, trying to take them down from the inside. if the government keeps the most useful soulmate pairs alive to use as their weapons, too.

finally, yoongi steps between jeongguk's open legs, setting his glass down and his hands on the table on either side of jeongguk's hips. "one of my colleagues found her soulmate a few years ago," he says in lieu of answering. he's so close that his breath ghosts over jeongguk's chin, smelling of alcohol. "he was a friend from her childhood, but they fell out of contact before their soulmarks appeared so there was no way to know. when they were younger, they had been nearly inseparable. when they reconnected, it was by accident, but she saw the soulmark that was an exact match of hers." yoongi leans in in in, lips brushing over jeongguk's jaw on the way to his ear, and jeongguk shivers, trying not to clench his legs around yoongi's hips. when yoongi speaks next, it's in a whisper against jeongguk's ear: "so she killed him."

his eyes snap open, jolting back. "what the fuck?" asks jeongguk. "did she at least go to prison?"

"the government purposely exterminates soulmates," says yoongi as he leans back. "do you think there isn't a law protecting people who claim they killed their soulmate to protect themselves?"

"so you'd kill yours?"

"i don't hate soulmates nearly as much as she does, so no. but i'd deal with it if the problem ever arose. if they had the same mindset as me, it wouldn't be a problem in the first place. if they didn't—and it would be unlikely for me to meet them, anyway, for almost everyone who clings to the silly notion that soulmates should find each other aren't part of the elite like myself—i could probably just pay them off. who wouldn't take that deal?"

jeongguk hates it. he hates it because yoongi is right; if his soulmate was already in the government's clutches, they would likely have no interest in bonding with yoongi in the first place because of their own disgust with the idea of soulmates. and if they were someone like jeongguk, the temptation of finally having enough money to simply live a life without so much hardship would be enough to send them far, far away.

"i'm not sure anyone would want to be your soulmate to begin with," jeongguk says, a slight smirk on his face. "you're a total bore and your entire personality is based about your wealth. i'm having a remarkably hard time just talking to you right now."

yoongi practically growls at him, and jeongguk wraps his legs around yoongi's waist to pull him in, keep him in. "alright, so no soulmates for you," jeongguk says. "but don't you ever wonder what your ability would be if you did find your soulmate? superhuman strength or telepathy or the ability to control the weather... surely you dreamed of it. even as a child."

"i could guess," admits yoongi. "soulmarks are signs of the abilities hidden within, aren't they?"

"you haven't covered yours up?" asks jeongguk. "i thought everyone who didn't want to find their soulmate did so."

"only the fearful do something like that. i care little about who sees my mark. besides, it's not in an area i can see myself, so it's not like i have to stare at it."

jeongguk hums. "i'd want something cool," he says. "like... powers of seduction."

"hm, you do need help with that."

"i haven't been trying!" snaps jeongguk, swatting yoongi's chest. but yoongi just cocks his head, gesturing to their current positions with their hips practically pressed together and jeongguk's clear desire to keep it that way. anyway—"don't you worry about them, though? your soulmate. it's the one person meant for you, who would make you happier than anyone else in the world. how can you marry and have a family with someone else knowing they're not the one the universe has deigned you to be with?"

"i am the master of my own fate," says yoongi. "the universe has no right messing with my affairs. and if you want to romanticize it, aren't i protecting my soulmate by not finding them? if we found each other, we could die. this way, we both get to live and make our own happiness."

"i know that's not how you see it."

"no, but i know you want to sleep at night. and this entire night will bother you for so long, jeongguk—seeing the way people like me live, seeing our houses, our casual luxury. hearing my thoughts on soulmates... it'll keep you up. it always does."

jeongguk straightens up, lifting his hands to play with the collar of yoongi's shirt. it feels as expensive as it looks, like jeongguk can see the poverty he's leaving behind on the silk. "doesn't it bother you?" he asks quietly. "that you're not as free as you think you are?"

"what do you mean?"

"you talk like you're so different from me. and on the surface, you are—you have money and a house and fancy cars and expensive clothes. you have a prestigious job and connections. you can go anywhere you want, do anything you want. you can be anything you want, virtue of your birth and your status as one of the elite." jeongguk smooths down the collar, fingers trailing over yoongi's broad shoulders. "but you are not the master of your own fate, min yoongi. because beneath the façade of your freedom is the one thing that truly connects us: we are both being controlled."

yoongi catches his wrists, but he doesn't pull jeongguk's hands away. when he doesn't say anything, jeongguk continues. "i live like i do because the government decided i would. but you live the way you do because the government decided you would, too. you only have this house and these clothes and this life because the government lets you. we are all pawns in their game—it just so happens that i got the short end of the stick while you're allowed to pretend you're free of their control."

"that's not true," yoongi murmurs.

"isn't it? did you earn any of this? weren't you born into it? what do your parents do?"

"well, they both work for the government—"

"and how did you get your job?"

"through recommendation from my parents."

"and why do you have this house?"

"it came with my promotion from trainee to full employee, but that doesn't amount to me being controlled."

"why does your job exist at all, yoongi?" asks jeongguk. "why haven't you ever really spoken to someone like me? why don't you know the true misfortune that my people are in while you live in such luxury? why don't you care? why do you hate soulmates so much, to the point that you willingly help the government murder them and keep people like me stuck in their poverty?"

yoongi's gaze is heavy. jeongguk leans forward, until their noses are nearly touching, and whispers, "because they said so. everything in your life is because they said so, just as everything in my life is because they said so. you pretend that you're so different from me, but god, yoongi—god. they have you by your balls and you don't even notice. and isn't that the worst part of it all? you don't even know. you don't want to know, because if you ever confronted the truth of it, you would be forced to acknowledge that it's not fair, and that people like me don't deserve the treatment we are given, and that soulmates don't deserve to be murdered merely for existing and wanting to be happy. and you would be forced out of your luxurious comfort zone, compelled by your own morals to do something about it. and then you would lose this house. this stupid shirt. you would lose everything. and then you would be just like me, and that scares you."

he's breathing heavily by the time he finishes, fingers digging into yoongi's shoulders through his shirt just as yoongi's fingers are digging into his wrists. quietly, he adds, "doesn't it?"

they breathe into each other's space, and yoongi looks like he hasn't heard a word jeongguk has said. he's too busy staring at jeongguk's lips, and jeongguk finds himself conscious of it—of everywhere their bodies are touching, of how heavy yoongi's gaze has been on him all night. terrible timing.

"you're really hot when you get worked up," yoongi murmurs. jeongguk's heart pounds in his ears at his own frustration with their differing lives. and—he is angry. he wants nothing more than to make yoongi see the privilege he has, to make yoongi do something about it. but yoongi is... here. and yoongi is clearly asking for something and they've been flirting all night and jeongguk is still a little drunk.

(and he is so, so tired.)

"that's all you got from that?" jeongguk whispers.

"i'll let you rant about my privilege all you want, baby," says yoongi, "as long as you do it in my bed."

it's a terrible idea, as much of this night has been, but the truth is that jeongguk didn't come here to have a conversation about privilege and fairness. and when yoongi drops his hands to jeongguk's waist, palms warm through his shirt, big enough to practically circle it entirely, jeongguk knows he's lost. yoongi doesn't want to have this conversation. maybe it won't change anything anyway—so jeongguk lets himself fall into it, burying the anger beneath lust instead.

when they meet in the middle, mouths hungry and harsh against each other, he knows there's no point in having that conversation anyway. and at least this way—he knows he and yoongi finally want the same thing.

≡ ≡ ≡

jeongguk wakes before yoongi, to soft morning light barely breaking through the curtains over the massive windows in yoongi's bedroom, and to a crick in his neck. for some time, when he opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, he forgets where he is. but then he remembers—ripping the buttons on yoongi's shirt out of spite, and yoongi laughing through a groaned fuck the rich, right? and the conscious, albeit it tipsy and post-orgasmic decision to stay because he wanted to sleep in a bed that wouldn't ruin his fucking back for once.

he sits up, rubbing at his eyes as he peers at the alarm clock on yoongi's bedside table. just past eight; his parents have to cater another event tonight, and they'll be worried about him anyhow, so he should go home. of course, he doesn't have a vehicle to get him across the city and certainly not enough money for public transportation, but yoongi wouldn't notice if jeongguk dipped into his wallet for a few bills, right? he'd probably find it funny, anyway, considering their conversation last night.

speaking of—jeongguk glances over at yoongi, who is sleeping curled toward him, and has to swallow down his own feelings. he's loath to admit how much he enjoyed last night—even the arguing—and how much he wouldn't mind seeing yoongi again. but of course it can't happen. they're too different, are too stubborn considering their opposite views. it could never work, although the sex was more than worth it.

he allows himself to admire yoongi's sleeping form for another few moments before he pushes the covers off of himself, ignoring the dark marks sucked into the inside of his thighs, and slips out of bed. jeongguk gathers his clothing as it's been scattered around the room, pulling everything on until he's decent enough to do the worst walk of shame in the history of this divide between the rich and poor, and then pauses when he spots yoongi's watch sitting on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

he considers it, but—what's one more terrible idea? it's not like yoongi can't afford another one or doesn't already have a whole collection of much more expensive watches, and besides, jeongguk needs the money he would get from pawning it.

so jeongguk pads around to the other side of the bed, yoongi's back to him now, and reaches down for the watch. as he does, he glances at yoongi's sleeping form and then—stops. his fingers hover inches from the watch, but his eyes are wide and glued to yoongi's naked back, unable to will himself to move.

he didn't see yoongi's back last night, whether because of darkness or the fact that he was never facing that way or because he wasn't looking. either way, the light coming through the curtains is enough to give jeongguk a clear image of what's on yoongi's back—at the base of his neck, stretching just into either shoulder, is a tattoo. his soulmark.

it's an eye, realistically rendered, but instead of a pupil and iris, the eye contains a clock face with the numbers swirling inward like a whirlpool. rather than numbers, however, at each point of the clock is a dice face, all of them showing one. beyond being a soulmark, it's extremely beautiful and striking, and could have any number of interpretations for what it means for yoongi's dormant superhuman ability.

it's not the beauty of it that makes jeongguk stop though.

jeongguk has seen that soulmark before. he's seen it on himself.

carefully, still frozen half hunched over, jeongguk considers his options. he thinks of every night he's lain awake and wondered about his future, about the future of his people, about the soulmates who have lost their lives fighting for more and the ones who lost their lives simply because they fell in love. he thinks of the yearning deep within him for something more, the half of his soul that has been searching for this long for its counterpart.

he thinks of yoongi leaning into him last night, lips against his ear, and whispering, "so she killed him."

and then he leans down, giving yoongi's shoulder a gentle shake. "hyung," he whispers, and when yoongi doesn't wake, a little louder: "hyung." he's trembling as he does so, aware of the dangers of it, of what yoongi might do or say considering his own views. but he knows that mark. he knows its mirror image, the dice face displaying the number six over and over again instead of one. he knows what it means, what it could mean.

jeongguk has been afraid his whole life. he's been made to be afraid, backed into a corner by those who have decided to put him there simply because they wanted him to be. and for the first time, jeongguk is choosing something different. he is choosing not to be afraid. he is choosing what the universe has chosen for him, despite yoongi's insistence that he is the master of his own fate. for so long, jeongguk has been controlled by outside forces that want to dictate every moment of his life. but as yoongi finally wakes up, rolling over to blink up at him with a groggy, "jeongguk?" he knows—this time, it's jeongguk's turn.

this time, it's jeongguk's choice.

"your soulmark," says jeongguk evenly, watching as yoongi's hand rises to rub against the back of his neck. jeongguk swallows tightly, ignoring the wild rabbit beat of his heart, and then turns around to show yoongi the soulmark on the back of his own neck, the complimentary image of yoongi's own. he gives yoongi a moment to look at it, to understand what it means.

and then, with some awe and fear, knowing there's no turning back now, jeongguk whispers, "yoongi, we're soulmates."