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Kyungsoo has been 18 for a while and he’s used to it, but he’s still not used to hangovers. He wakes up with his head feeling like it was bashed on concrete, his throat feeling like he ran sandpaper over it, and his breath stinking like he downed soju bombs while chewing grilled pork belly. Which was probably part of dinner last night during his birthday. He groans on his bed and rolls over to look at the calendar by his bedside table.
He sees yesterday’s encircled date—January 12, 2016—and thinks, it’s his fifth year being 18. He sits up slowly, swinging his leg to stand and head for the bathroom. He looks at the mirror, analyzing if he looks older than yesterday, but he doesn’t notice anything apart from his unsightly hungover look.
Five years of being 18. Five years of not finding his soulmate. Five years of being single.
With his crusty squinted eyes and soju-and-pork-belly breath, it’s a small mercy that he hasn’t met his soulmate. He doesn’t understand the idea of staying 18 until he meets his soulmate, but it’s not like he’ll start aging even if he meets “the one” until they’ve kissed.
Kyungsoo hasn’t kissed a lot of girls since he first turned 18 in 2011. He also hasn’t kissed a lot of guys since he first realized he might be gay. He frowns at his reflection before he opens the mirror-slash-medicine cabinet and swallows a paracetamol for his hangover.
He washes his face and brushes his teeth before decidedly going back to bed. It’s too early to think about unending youth and one true loves when he’s still feeling the effects of alcohol and dehydration. He shuffles back to bed, intent on sleeping for another three hours at least when—“Ow, shit!”
Kyungsoo grunts as he falls on what he thought as a duvet mound on his bed while the lump reveals himself under the sheets, glaring at him.
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
Kyungsoo thinks he should have taken more than one pill for his hangover, because the shirtless boy in front of him is making his headache worse. He stares at the boy as he scans the room with a frown, and he feels oddly vindicated as he sees the growing confusion in his eyes.
“This is my room. In my apartment. And you are a stranger on my bed.”
The boy—who honestly cannot be more than 18—turns to face him before looking down at his naked chest and tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Did we have sex? Did you kiss me? Are we soulmates?”
That’s another thing Kyungsoo’s not used to—he doesn’t remember what happens when he gets drunk. He only remembers that the process of confirming whether he’s aged or not is physical, which he cannot confirm in just one night after… “Are you even 18?” he asks instead.
The boy pales. “I gotta go,” he mumbles as the raises himself off the bed, grabbing a piece of clothing—hey, that’s his shirt!—and hightailing out of his room. Distinctly, he hears the automatic lock of his front door shifting in place with a resounding ‘beep’.
Well. He’s not awake enough for this.
He shifts down to bed, pulls the duvet up to his shoulders, and closes his eyes.
. . .
When Kyungsoo wakes up again, it’s with a pressing need to pee.
His headache has receded to a dull throb at the back of his skull, and while his breath still stinks at least it’s morning breath and not last night’s soju and pork belly.
He relieves himself quickly and stands in front of his mirror, scratching his nose. Nothing feels different, he still looks 18. He splashes cold water over his face and pats himself dry with a towel. He pauses as the towel drags over his chin.
He drops the towel to touch his jaw and chin, and he feels like it’s an out-of-body experience as he sees his reflection on the mirror—eyes widening with alarm and jaw dropping with disbelief.
This can’t be real, he thinks to himself as he scratches his chin. But the feel of growing facial hair is something he’s never experienced in his five years of being 18.
“Oh fuck.”
He’s found his soulmate.