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Minho was annoyed.
Not for the usual reasons, not because Seungmin and Jeongin had teamed up to bully him again, and not because reporters had nearly trampled them at the airport.
No, he was annoyed because he was now twenty-five, basically the maximum age where someone could still manifest their soul‑song, that strange, intimate phenomenon where you began hearing your soulmate whenever they sang.
And not in a crazy way, or like self-thoughts, no, the singing was your soulmate. It wasn’t a hallucination, but a voice threading directly into your mind, a private frequency shared between two people who were supposed to be destined.
Most people heard their first soul‑song sometime between thirteen and twenty‑five. Late bloomers existed, but they were rare, the kind of thing people whispered about on forums or in documentaries about improbable love stories. And Minho… well, Minho had never been lucky enough to be the exception to anything.
Some people probably got annoyed if they started hearing singing when they were 13, unable to properly go into the world and search for them, plus imagine being thirteen and suddenly hearing someone belt show tunes in your skull while you were trying to take a math test.
But now, standing at the far end of the age range, Minho argued that if it happened when you were older it was far worse.
Because the longer you went without hearing someone serenade you, someone who was meant for you, the worse it felt. And it felt worse especially when you reached the age of 25, nearing the limit of when most people heard anything.
He’s practically resigned to the fact that his soulmate was either: dead which would probably cause him to spiral if it was ever confirmed, or worse, not born yet.
He didn’t particularly like either case, but either explanation, any explanation could serve to make him feel better.
To make matters worse, idols had it harder than anyone. They were constantly surrounded by music in the form of rehearsals, recordings, concerts, humming backstage, warm‑ups in hotel rooms. It made it nearly impossible to tell the difference between real sound and the internal echo of a soulmate’s voice.
It was why so many idols remained “unmatched” for years, even after their soul‑songs began, like all of his band-mates.
It was why Minho and Jisung, twenty‑five and twenty‑three, were both still considered unmatched.
Jisung didn’t talk about it much, but Minho knew it bothered him that he had yet to hear anything.
He didn’t want to ruin the mood, hell, they were on a world tour, after all, but the weight of twenty‑five pressed against his ribs as he stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft breathing of the members around him, and wondered if this was it. If this was all he’d ever get.
Silence.
No voice. No song. No soulmate.
Just Minho, twenty‑five, unmatched, and annoyed.
He was ripped out of his thoughts when Felix suddenly sat bolt upright, eyes huge. “OH—OH MY GOD—WAIT—”
Everyone froze, turning to him with wide eyes.
Chan blinked at him, quirking his eyebrows. “What now.”
Felix slapped a hand over his mouth, vibrating. “They’re singing. They’re singing againnnn.”
The room perked up, Felix’s soulmate singing wasn’t new, they sang practically as much as the band, but his reactions always were.
Hyunjin rolled onto his side. “Okay, but why do you sound like you’re about to explode, they sing like every 5 minutes.”
Felix pointed at the ceiling like the universe had personally blessed him. “They’re singing OUR song.”
That got everyone’s attention.
“Which one?” Jeongin asked, already grinning as he put his phone down.
Felix squeaked, the widest grin on his face. “The bridge from ‘Hellevator.’ They’ve NEVER sung one of our songs before. It’s always musicals or OSTs or weird indie stuff but THIS—this is—this is HISTORY.”
Seungmin snorted. “Your soulmate clearly has taste.”
Felix clutched his chest dramatically. “They’re singing my part. MY PART. I think I’m gonna ascend.”
Minho forced a smile, even though something in his chest twisted. “Congrats, Lix. You’re officially living the dream.”
Felix flopped onto Minho’s lap. “I’m in love.”
“Clearly.” He pursed his lips, fighting the urge to shove him off.
Felix pouted, closing his eyes as if to listen closer to the serenade.”I do wish I could meet them though, I’m starting to get annoyed.”
Minho snorted, because at least Felix could HEAR someone. “Well, I’m twenty‑five now, so I guess I’m officially aging out of the soulmate window. At least you know they exist.”
The room stilled. He had meant it more jokingly, but clearly the mood dropped drastically.
Jisung’s head snapped up, hiding the sad frown on his face immediately, pulling his hood further over his face.
Felix sat up, frowning. “Minho, don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” Minho said lightly, stretching his legs out. “If I haven’t heard anything by now, I probably never will.”
Chan nudged him with his foot. “You never know. Maybe your soulmate’s just shy.”
“Or busy,” Hyunjin mumbled from the floor.
“Or tone‑deaf,” Jeongin added.
Jisung swallowed hard, looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
Minho shrugged. “Or dead, or not born yet, or living in a cave with no music.”
Felix smacked him. “Stop being depressing!”
Minho smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just being realistic.”
Jisung still stared at the carpet, jaw tight, hoodie sleeves clenched in his fists.
He hated hearing Minho talk like that, hated the idea of Minho, or him, never hearing anyone.
Felix suddenly gasped again, bringing the topic back around. “OH—they switched to the chorus—guys, they’re excited—”
The room erupted back into chaos around him, but Jisung stayed quiet, tucked into the corner of the couch, heart aching in a way he couldn’t explain.
The lounging didn’t last long, the schedules never allowed it. Within the hour, staff were knocking on doors, reminding them they had to head out for soundcheck. The suite dissolved into a pre‑show scramble: shoes being hunted for, water bottles being claimed, Hyunjin yelling about someone stealing his lip balm.
Minho moved through it all on autopilot.
He wasn’t sulking per say, or wallowing. He was just… thinking, maybe too much.
Felix was still glowing from his soulmate singing Hellevator for the first time. Jisung was quiet again, hoodie up, eyes flicking toward Minho every few minutes like he was checking for cracks.
Minho ignored it all as they piled into the van, the city blurring past the windows as they headed toward the venue. He sat beside Chan who was reviewing the setlist while Jeongin was already half-asleep on his shoulder.
Minho just stared out the window, jaw tight as he refused to let himself spiral. Not when they had a show to do.
When they finally arrived, the arena was already buzzing, with staff shouting cues, lights testing in sharp white flashes, speakers humming with low static. The familiar pre-show energy usually grounded Minho, but today, it felt like an inescapable pressure behind his eyes.
He chalked it up to exhaustion or dehydration, or probably Felix’s soulmate joy rubbing salt in a wound he didn’t want to acknowledge.
But regardless, they had a job to do, so they dropped their bags backstage, grabbed in-ears, and headed toward the stage.
The moment Minho stepped onto the stage, the arena echoed around him, a cavern of sound waiting to be filled. He rolled his shoulders, shook out his hands, took his place as the VIP crowd screamed.
Chan gave the cue as the track started.
And— Minho’s head pounded.
Not like a normal headache, more like the music was suddenly pounding inside his skull instead of outside it.
The bass thudded too deep, the harmonies rang too sharp, and the reverb felt like it was vibrating behind his eyes.
He blinked hard, trying to clear it, glancing around — no one else reacted. Felix was bouncing and Hyunjin adjusted his mic after his verse. Jisung was focused, lips moving silently as he counted beats.
The next verse hit, and the sensation intensified, like someone had turned the volume up in his brain but not in the room.
He pressed a hand to his temple as he tried to shake it off, tried to focus on the choreography, on the lyrics, on anything except the strange, amplified echo rattling through his skull.
But when Jisung’s part came in, they beautiful flowing rap, the sound sharpened and cut through everything else like a blade of light.
Minho froze for half a beat, trying to shake the feeling before it was his turn to sing. He forced himself to keep moving, keep singing, keep breathing, but the confusion crawled up his spine.
He refused to let his mind go anywhere else as they danced, but the pounding didn’t stop.
—-
Soundcheck ended without disaster.
Minho forced himself through the motions, ignoring the strange pressure behind his eyes. He downed an Advil, chugged half a bottle of water after, and told himself it was just dehydration.
Anything not soulmate‑related, he refused to even think of the word.
Backstage, the staff buzzed around them, adjusting mics, checking in‑ears, handing out towels with the usual pre‑show chaos.
He kept his expression neutral, kept his breathing steady, kept his thoughts locked down tight, because he wasn’t spiraling.
He wasn’t.
—-
The lights dimmed as the crowd roared.
The opening VCR rolled, and Minho took his place on the rising platform, heart steady, mind focused.
He could do this, he’d done this a thousand times.
The music hit, the base booming around the stadium, mixing with the screams of their fans. He smiled, thanking the lord that the advil and water had done their job.
The bass vibrated behind his eyes when the song started, the group breaking out immediately into their sweat-inducing choreography. He got through his first verse without a hitch, smiling to himself when he hit every mark.
But then a sound slammed into him like someone had plugged speakers directly into his brain.
The melody rang too sharp, the harmonies felt like they were echoing inside his bones.
He stumbled half a step out of formation, hopefully not enough for the audience to notice. But enough for Jisung to glance over sharply.
Jisung’s voice didn’t falter as he finished his own verse, but his eyes kept flicking toward Minho again, worry tightening the corners.
Minho forced himself back into formation, jaw tight.
It was fine, he was fine, he could push through whatever this was again. Minho looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the choreography.
But the pounding didn’t stop. Every so often, the sound flared again, and Minho’s stomach dropped.
Something was happening that he didn’t understand.
Something he maybe didn’t want to understand.
He pressed a hand to his in‑ear between moves, pretending to adjust it, pretending nothing was wrong.
But Jisung wasn’t fooled, he kept glancing over with small, quick looks between lines, between breaths, between steps, each one tightening the twist in his chest.
Minho avoided his eyes every time, because out of everyone, he couldn’t let Jisung see the panic creeping in.
He couldn’t let anyone see it. Not when the idea of hope felt more dangerous than the pain echoing through his head.
—-
The moment they cleared the stage, the noise of the crowd faded into the muffled hum of backstage with staff shouting cues, the thud of equipment being moved, the hiss of fog machines winding down. The members stumbled into the greenroom in a wave of sweat, adrenaline, and laughter.
He slipped into the room last, towel around his neck, expression carefully neutral. His head was still buzzing, and not in the good, post‑concert way, but in that sharp, too‑bright, headachy way that made his stomach twist with slight nausea.
Felix was bouncing on his toes, still high off the performance while Changbin was complaining about his hair sticking to his face. Chan was praising everyone, voice warm and proud.
But Jisung was quiet too, hovering near the wall, eyes flicking toward Minho every few seconds like he was tracking a glitch in the system.
Minho pretended not to notice once again as he dropped like a rock onto the couch. He didn’t join the bubbling conversation, didn’t trust his voice not to betray how off he felt, so he just sat there, towel over his head, breathing slowly.
Of course, that meant he was a target.
Seungmin plopped down beside him with the energy of someone who had not just danced for two hours straight.
“Hyung,” he said, poking Minho’s arm. “You looked weird today.”
Minho didn’t move, but responded in a flat tone. “Thanks.”
“No, like… weirder than usual.”
Minho lifted the towel just enough to glare at him. “Say that again.”
Seungmin grinned, unbothered. “You were off‑beat during the second chorus.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were,” Seungmin repeated, leaning back smugly. “I have eyes.”
Minho groaned and let the towel fall back over his face. “I’m ignoring you.”
“Good. That means you heard me.”
Minho reached out blindly and smacked Seungmin’s thigh. Seungmin yelped, then laughed, leaning away just out of reach.
Across the room, Jisung’s gaze lingered on Minho still and the towel over his head, the tension in his shoulders, the way he wasn’t joining in the usual post‑show teasing.
Minho stayed quiet when Seungmin finally let him be, letting the group’s chatter wash over him.
He tried to let the noise settle his anxiety, but something was clearly happening.
And Minho had no idea what it meant.
—-
By the time they got back to the hotel, Minho was running on fumes.
He showered on autopilot, dried his hair without thinking then collapsed into bed with the lights still on.
His head was still alive and awake from the show, but exhaustion dragged him under almost instantly.
For a few blissful hours, there was nothing.
No pounding, no static, no overamplified vocals rattling behind his eyes.
Just blissful sleep….until
3:07 AM
Minho shot upright, because something was blasting in his skull again.
Not outside, or from the hallway or from his phone’s speaker.
Inside.
Baby Shark Du Du Du Du Du Du
Baby Shark Du Du—
A horrible, cursed, aggressively cheerful children’s song was tunneling through his brain like a drill made of sunshine and malice.
He slapped his hands over his ears, but it obviously didn’t help, because the sound wasn’t in the room.
—Du Du Du Du Du Du
It was in him.
His heart lurched at the same time his stomach dropped. This wasn’t external or a dream or a hallucination.
This was a voice, a real voice.
It was singing in his head.
His soulmate was singing that.
Minho could only stare at the ceiling in horror.
Of all the songs in the universe, all the ballads, all the rock songs, all the romantic classics, his soulmate had chosen this as the first melody he would hear bouncing through his brain.
AND AT 3 IN THE MORNING..
He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw himself out the window.
The song kept going, and going, and going.
Baby Shark Du Du Du Du Du Du
Minho turned over and groaned into his pillow. “Please stop. Please, for the love of everything, stop.”
It didn’t, but rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the sheets, trying to smother the sound.
Nothing helped, because the voice wasn’t in the room, it was in his mind.
He never thought he would be begging his soulmate to stop singing after 25 years of yearning for that very sound.
But his soulmate was awake at 3AM, and apparently tone‑deaf to the concept of mercy.
Minho didn’t sleep after that, not even a minute.
He lay there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as the song finally faded out sometime that seemed like hours later, but was probably only minutes.
His heart was still racing, because his entire world had tilted sideways.
His throat tightened, and he didn’t mean to cry, didn’t even feel it coming.
One moment he was staring at the ceiling, numb and overwhelmed and terrified to hope, and the next, a single tear slipped down the side of his face.
Then another, and another, until they were streaming down his face, quiet tears sliding into his hairline, soaking into the pillow, falling because he couldn’t stop them and didn’t have the energy to try.
He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, as if someone might hear him even though the room was silent.
He had a soulmate.
He had a soulmate.
After twenty‑five years of nothing, after convincing himself he’d aged out, after telling everyone he didn’t care, after pretending it didn’t hurt every single day his mind was blank.
He had a soulmate.
The relief hurt almost as much as the fear as he curled slightly onto his side, eyes still open, tears still slipping down without a sound.
He didn’t sleep that night, he couldn’t. He just lay there in the dim hotel room, heart aching, mind buzzing, the weight of everything pressing down on him until he felt hollow and full all at once.
Hours later, when the sun had started peaking through the blinds, somewhere down the hall, a door shut.
Someone laughed, and life kept moving.
But Minho stayed frozen in that moment from hours earlier, caught between hope and dread, between exhaustion and adrenaline, between the life he’d resigned himself to and the one that had just cracked open beneath him.
Regardless, his soulmate had the worst taste in music he had ever encountered.
—-
Minho ‘woke up’ feeling like he hadn’t slept in a decade, because technically, he hadn’t slept at all.
His eyes burned and head throbbed from all the crying, and overthinking, then crying again.
Thankfully, the group had ordered breakfast in: bagels, fruit, coffee, the usual hotel spread. The table looked bright and cheerful, which only made Minho feel worse.
He sat down, picked up a bagel, and immediately regretted it. His stomach only rolled at the sight. He wasn’t sure if he didn’t like bagels or if his body was simply rejecting the concept of food after a night spent being mentally assaulted by the world’s most cursed children’s song.
Felix took one look at him and gasped. “Hyung, you look—”
“Don’t,” Minho muttered.
“—like you—.”
Minho glared weakly, interrupting him again. “I said don’t.”
Felix just pouted at him, taking a sip of his coffee.
Chan slid an unclaimed coffee toward him. “Drink. You look like you need it.”
Minho did, ignoring the second jab at his appearance. Unfortunately, the coffee did nothing to help his exhaustion.
Across the table, Jisung watched him quietly, chewing his bagel slowly, eyes soft with concern he didn’t voice.
Every time Minho blinked too long or rubbed at his temple, Jisung’s chest tightened in a strange, instinctive way he didn’t understand.
He wanted to ask if Minho was okay, but he didn’t trust his voice not to sound too worried.
Chan clapped his hands once, pulling both of them out of their thoughts. “Alright, we’ve got a free afternoon. Let’s go out and walk around. Get some sun.”
Jeongin and Seungmin were immediately started arguing about which café they should visit.
Minho just dragged himself upright because he didn’t want to ruin the mood. He didn’t want to be the reason they stayed in and asked questions he couldn’t answer.
So he forced himself to stand, forced himself to put on sunglasses, and forced himself to pretend he wasn’t dying inside with this newfound knowledge.
He wasn’t even sure why he wasn’t dying to tell everyone, this should be the single most exciting this that happened to him.
But he felt like he had to keep it to himself, just for now.
Eventually, the group filed out of the hotel, buzzing with energy.
Minho followed several steps behind, shoulders heavy, feet dragging, the world slightly too bright and too loud.
This was going to be another long day.
Minho didn’t even remember getting into bed.
He barely remembered brushing his teeth, barely remembered changing into something soft, barely remembered collapsing face‑first into the hotel pillows. His body gave out the moment it touched the mattress — exhaustion dragging him under so fast it felt like falling through water.
For the first time all day, his mind went quiet.
Just sleep, deep, heavy, merciful sleep.
3:04 AM. The world detonated inside his skull.
Minho jerked awake with a strangled gasp, hands flying to his ears even though it did nothing, because once again, the sound wasn’t in the room.
That same horrible, cursed, aggressively cheerful children’s song blasted through his head like someone had strapped speakers to his brainstem.
BABY SHARK DU DU DU DU DU DU
He slapped a pillow over his face then shoved another pillow on top of it.
Still didn’t help.
He screamed into the fabric with a muffled, frustrated, exhausted sound that barely made it past the cotton.
“WHY,” he hissed into the pillow. “WHY ARE YOU AWAKE AGAIN. WHY THIS SONG. WHY ME.”
As the song kept going, Minho kicked his legs like a dying bug, rolled onto his stomach, buried his entire face into the mattress, and screamed again, louder this time, the kind of scream that came from the soul.
His soulmate was doing this on purpose, they had to be. No one sang this song twice by accident and especially at this hour.
He lay there shaking with silent rage and sleep deprivation, until something inside him snapped.
Fine. If they wanted war, he could do war.
He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, and sand in the most annoying voice possible:
“Oh, I'm a gummy bear. Yes, I'm a gummy bear
Oh, I'm a yummy, tummy, funny, lucky gummy bear”
He repeated it. Again. And again. And again.
He put his whole chest into it and imagined weaponizing the song with the full force of his pettiness.
And then, silence.
The Baby Shark stopped almost instantly.
Minho froze and waited for one second
One second, then two, then three.
Still nothing.
A slow, victorious smile crept across his face. “Yeah,” he whispered into the pillow. “That’s what I thought.”
He flopped onto his back, chest heaving, eyes burning, the room spinning slightly from adrenaline and exhaustion.
It was a victory, a stupid, petty, 3AM victory, but a victory nonetheless.
He let out a shaky breath, staring at the ceiling, the faintest hint of triumph warming the edges of his exhaustion.
He had heard his soulmate and his soulmate had heard him.
His soulmate had responded, and had thankfully shut up.
Minho closed his eyes, letting the silence settle around him like a blanket, because for the first time in two nights, he felt the tiniest flicker of control over the situation, despite the fact that both songs were now just stuck in his head.
Just when he finally had settled down for a moment of peace, a door slammed from across the suite. He suddenly heard Jisung’s voice calling out with disjointed sentences that he only heard snippets of.
“Felix–oh my god–singing—I can’t–”
He sighed with relief when he heard Felix usher Jisung in, closing the door much quieter than the other boy.
He briefly wondered why the hell they were still up, but he didn't have any strength left to wonder, falling into a blissful sleep that he sincerely hoped would not be interrupted.
—
Morning hit Minho like a truck. Although he had finally slept, consistently waking up at 3 AM did nothing to actually help him feel rested
He didn’t remember getting out of bed or putting on socks, or remember shuffling down the hall toward the hotel’s little kitchenette in their suite.
He just knew he needed coffee, desperately.
He managed to get the machine running, barely, and then sat down as he waited for it to brew, leaning forward, bracing his hands on the counter as the smell of caffeine filled the room.
He slumped forward and didn’t even bother to get up when the coffee machine dinged signaling it was ready. He had honestly probably fallen back asleep by the time he heard footsteps padding in, followed by Chan’s concerned voice:
“Uh Minho?”
Felix’s voice chimed in next, a hint of amusement under the concern in his tone, “Are you…alive?”
Minho just groaned into the countertop before responding, still not raising his head from where it rested on his arms, “Define alive.
CHan just poked his shoulder, “You look awful.”
“Like…a zombie.” Felix said, giving his other shoulder a sharp poke too.
Minho still didn’t move. “Yes, everyone has been telling me that. I’m very aware.” He couldn’t even find it in him to put any snide into it. It just sounded as tired as he felt.
In the silence, he almost imagined the look he knew Chan was giving Felix, one brow raised before he nudged him again, this time grabbing his cup of coffee from the machine and placing it near his hands.
“Seriously, what’s going on? And please drink your coffee so we can have an actual conversation.”
Minho sighed, long and tired and defeated, and finally lifted his head. He knew that Felix didn’t mean anything bad by the way he bit his bottom lip, amusement crossing his features as he took in his appearance. His hair was a mess, his eyes half-closed, and he felt and probably looked like he’d aged ten years over the last two nights.
But he figured he just needed to let it out, there was no use keeping it to himself. He just hoped Jinsung wouldn’t be sad that he was the only one left when he eventually found out.
“Ive…I’ve been hearing singing recently.” He said with a shrug, pulling the mug towards him as he sat up straighter, kind of glad he had told them.
But both of them gasped so loudly that Minho practically flinched as he took a sip of the hot coffee.
“Your soulmate?!” Chan whisper-shouted, his mouth dropping open in shock.
“Yeah I guess so.” He shrugged nonchalantly, despite his heart racing in his chest.
He was happy about it, really, but god right now he was just fucking tired.
Felix frowned at him, still chewing on his lower lip but this time with a look of confusion dawning across his face. “Why do you sound…disappointed? I know you felt a bit resigned the other day since you’d turned 25 but…” He just trailed off, seeing Minho’s face scrunch up.
“Because,” Minho muttered, rubbing his face. “Whoever they are, I’m already feeling like strangling them.”
Felix gasped again, while Chan’s eyebrows rose even farther, if that was possible.
“What?” Why?” Felix finally found words, his own eyebrows scrunched in utter confusion.
“WHY?” Minho’s voice rose as he let out a small snort of a laugh, “because they keep singing BABY SHARK at THREE IN THE MORNING. I literally cannot sleep.”
Chan burst out laughing, but Felix just went silent, his face almost draining of color. Chan was still bent over laughing when Felix swallowed nervously and finally spoke up. “So um…did you…sing anything back then?”
“Um obviously,” Minho said, taking another shaky sip of his coffee. “If they annoy me, I’m gonna annoy them back.”
Chan finally sobered up, humming in agreement, “Hmmm…circle of life type shit.”
Felix’s gave Chan a look, but then nervously smiled at him, “So um…what did you sing back then.”
Minho took another long gulp of coffee, trying to warm his throat up as much as possible for this. He cleared his throat, and too tired to care if he was embarrassing himself, sang quietly in the stillness of the kitchen:
Oh, I’m a gummy bear, yes I’m a gummy bear. Oh I’m a gummy bear.” He continued in a mocking voice for a couple more lines as he watched Felix’s face drain of color, meanwhile Chan had doubled over in laughter again.
“Um Minho I think maybe we should tal–” Felix started, but another bedroom door slammed open, and Jisung stumbled in, his hair equally a mess, hoodie half-zipped like he’d barely thrown it on before he burst out of the bedroom.
His eyes were wide with panic as he spoke, “Felix! He’s singing that bear song again–”
He stopped when he noticed them all staring at him, Felix’s face a look of anxious anticipation as he froze between them like a deer in headlights.
Chan’s mouth hung open, glancing between the two of them, “Wait—”
Minho just stared at Jisung, trying to make sense of all of the potentials laid out in front of him.
For a heartbeat, the kitchen didn’t feel like a real place.
Jisung stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling too fast, hair sticking up in every direction, one hand still gripping the doorframe like he’d sprinted down the hall.
Minho stood by the counter, coffee halfway to his mouth, eyes wide, exhaustion carved into every line of his face.
Felix was still between them, frozen mid‑gesture, looking like he wanted to evaporate.
And then, it was just, silence and not the comfortable kind Minho often loved.
The awkward kind that feels like the air has been sucked out of the room by a huge vacuum.
Minho’s breath caught in his throat as Jisung’s lips parted, but no further sound came out.
They just stared at each other as Minho’s mind went blank, completely blank, like someone had unplugged him and then stomped on the cord for good measure.
He suddenly wasn’t thinking about Baby Shark or about the stupid gummy bear retaliation. He wasn’t thinking about the sleepless nights or the pounding in his skull or the way he’d cried into his pillow with relief that he could hear a song, and frustration at the horrible choice of said song.
No, he was only thinking,
Jisung.
Jisung.
Jisung.
Jisung, who had been quiet all week, staring at him in concern.
Jisung, who always watched him during the shows between his parts, a smile on his face.
Jisung, whose voice he now knew had been the one that spiked in his head.
Jisung, who had just burst into the kitchen complaining about the exact song Minho had sung in retaliation.
And Jisung, who was staring at him like he’d just been hit by lightning.
Minho felt his pulse beat frantically in his fingertips. Jisung felt something twist so sharply in his chest he almost doubled over.
Neither of them moved, or breathed really.
Felix finally whispered, “Oh my god,” but it sounded far away, like it was coming from underwater.
Minho’s coffee cup trembled in his hand as Jisung’s fingers curled slowly at his sides.
It was quiet, terrifyingly quiet. Minho swallowed hard, throat tight.
Oh. Oh… shit.
Jisung’s eyes flicked down, then back up, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to look at Minho anymore.
They were both clearly in shock, where your body forgets how to move because your entire world has just rearranged itself.
Minho set his coffee down very slowly, like any sudden movement might break the already fragile moment.
Jisung didn’t step forward, and didn’t step back. They just stared at eachother. Felix whispered something to Chan, dragging him away from his spot at the counter, leaving the two people who had known each other for years alone.
Two people who had lived together, worked together, fought together, laughed together. Two people who had never once considered this as a possibility.
And now they couldn’t un‑know it.
So Minho mentally slapped himself awake and did the thing he knew best, he started to sing under his breath.
“Baby Shark Du Du Du Du Du Du Baby Shark Du Du Du Du Du Du.”
Jisung’s eyes lifted to Minho’s face widened in surprise. Minho almost thought he saw a tear falling slowly from the corner of one of his eyes.
He slowly rose to his feet, Jisung still a frozen statue as he switched the song. “Oh I’m a gummy bear, Yes I’m a gummy bear…”
He trailed off as he took one step forward, towards the still stunned Jisung, then another when Jisung’s eyes didn’t flash with panic, but softened with a look Minho had never seen on his face before.
Minho’s breath stuttered, because they were close now,
enough that Minho could see the way Jisung’s lashes trembled, the way his chest rose too fast, the way his fingers curled at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.
The kitchen was dead silent, the only sound was Minho’s pulse roaring in his ears.
Jisung’s lips parted just barely, like he was trying to speak but his brain hadn’t caught up yet.
Minho whispered, voice shaking, “Jisung…?”
Jisung blinked hard, another tear slipping free, then he managed to breathe out a sentence, a tiny, cracked, disbelieving sentence,
“Sing again, hyung. Please.”
Minho let out a strangled laugh, but he obliged, because how could he not.
They stared at each other as he started quietly, almost under his breath, starting with the first verse of a song that was near and dear to both of them,
“문득 너를 사랑하게 돼서 (하게 돼서)
I think it's so sweet, my baby
아무 일도 손에 안 잡혔어
Oh, why??”
Jisung sucked in a deep breath, as if the song resonating from in front of him and inside of him were affecting his very soul.
And as he sang, he felt a single tear fall from the corner of his eye, just as they began to fall in quick succession from Jisung’s.
But then Jisung started singing too, his voice cracking in the middle,
“It's a pretty big issue, why, 내 머릿속 수많은
생각들이 매일 잠을 설치게 해
With you everyday, sugar ride, 꽃밭이 잔뜩, my heart
나도 몰래 들어온 봄에 가슴 설레게 얼었다”
And Minho felt himself sucking in a breath too, because the beautiful words rebounded around his skull, and he thought that nothing could compare to that wonderful serenade.
As Jisung trailed off, Minho sucked in a breath like he’d been underwater and could finally breath.
He didn’t even realize he’d stepped forward until he was closer, close enough to see the way Jisung’s lips shook, close enough to see the flush blooming across his cheeks.
Jisung froze and Minho froze in response. They were inches apart, and Jisung’s eyes were huge, wet, and frantic.
Minho wasn’t calm either, not even close.
His heart was slamming against his ribs like it was trying to escape. His hands were shaking and his brain was a mess of static and WHAT and NO WAY and THIS CAN’T BE REAL.
He whispered, voice cracking, “Jisung… what— what —you—”
Jisung shook his head once, fast, like he couldn’t handle words yet, so Minho took another tiny step forward, and Jisung didn’t back away.
He just stood there, breathing too fast, cheeks flushed, eyes darting between Minho’s mouth and his eyes like he didn’t know where to look.
The kitchen was silent, but they were locked in place
two people who had known each other for years,who were now standing close enough to feel each other’s breath.
Minho swallowed hard when Jisung’s voice finally broke the silence in a small, frantic, trembling voice:
“Minho… I— I didn’t know it was you.”
Minho’s breath stuttered. “I didn’t— I didn’t know either. I didn’t— I — I’m not—Jesus Christ. ”
Jisung let out a shaky laugh that sounded like he might cry again. “Yeah.”
They stared at each other, and Minho let out a laugh as well, the absurdity of the situation crashing over him.
“Minho…” he whispered, voice cracking. “Can I— can I hug you?”
Minho’s brain short‑circuited, because Jisung had never had to ask him before, he always just did.
He didn’t nod, just made a tiny, broken sound in his throat that definitely meant yes.
Jisung stepped forward first, and Minho met him halfway.
The hug hit them high impact, arms wrapping tight, desperate, clinging. Jisung buried his face in Minho’s shoulder while Minho’s hands fisted in the back of Jisung’s hoodie like he was afraid Jisung might disappear if he let go.
And the moment they touched, they both broke, letting out soft, shaking breaths and tears falling fast, soaking into each other’s clothes.
Jisung let out a tiny, choked sob, causing Minho’s breath to hitch so hard he almost folded.
They sank to the floor together, knees giving out at the same time, sliding down in a tangled, trembling heap on the cold kitchen tile.
Minho pressed his forehead to Jisung’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping out faster than he could stop them.
Jisung’s fingers curled into Minho’s shirt, holding on like he’d drown if he let go.
The connection, their long-standing friendship, the singing, the sleepless nights, the panic, the shock, their future all of it crashed over them at once, too much to process alone.
So they held each other instead, because both of them realized, maybe they didn’t have to process it alone.
Minho’s voice finally broke the silence, barely audible, trembling: “Jisung… I’m not— I don’t— I don’t know what to do.”
Jisung shook his head against Minho’s shoulder, crying harder. “Me neither,” he whispered. “I don’t know…this is insane.”
Minho let out a shaky laugh that dissolved into another breathless sob as Jisung tightened his arms around him.
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped around each other on the cold kitchen tile, breaths shaky, tears drying unevenly on their cheeks. Neither of them had the strength to pull away yet, or the desire to.
Jisung sniffed once, quietly, his forehead still pressed to Minho’s shoulder while Minho’s hand was fisted in the back of Jisung’s hoodie, knuckles white.
Eventually, Jisung pulled back a few inches, cheeks flushed, eyes red, still holding onto Minho’s arms like he needed the contact to stay upright.
He swallowed hard, looking like he wanted to say something, biting his lips.
“What is it?” Minho prompted him to speak, knowing whatever it was wouldn’t come out unless prompted.
“Minho… I— I know that soulmates don’t…” He trailed off, another look of panic flitting across his face.
Minho scrunched his brows, confused about where he was going with this.
“I mean…I know some people who…I mean they don’t always have to be romantic if you don’t want so I just—”
Minho’s head snapped up, his brows furrowing further. His mouth tightened as his whole body went tense in Jisung’s arms.
“What are you saying? You don’t…” He trailed off, swallowing the lump that had started to form in his throat. Jisung didn’t want him, Jisung didn’t want him like he did, he wanted them to be platonic soulmates.
Jisung blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone. “I just meant— I don’t know if you even like men, so if you just want to change nothing I—”
“So? I like you, Jisung.”
It came out too fast out of his mouth before he could stop it. The truth of the situation bleeding out into their collapsed pile of the floor.
Jisung froze, then just uttered a simple, “Oh.”
Then when Minho didn’t say anything further, Jisung’s face went bright red, like a full‑body blush, his ears, cheeks, neck, everything. He made a tiny squeaking noise he absolutely did not mean to make.
Minho’s eyes widened a fraction, realizing what he’d just said, but it was too late to take it back.
Jisung’s fingers curled tighter in Minho’s sleeves. “You… like me?” he whispered, voice cracking.
Minho swallowed, throat tight for what he was about to lay bare to the man clinging to him. “I— yeah. Obviously. I mean— I didn’t know it was you, but— I’ve always— I just—”
He broke off, overwhelmed with trying to figure out what to say. Jisung let out a breath that sounded like his relief and panic at the situation tangled together.
He leaned in again, forehead bumping Minho’s, noses almost brushing, their arms still wrapped around each other like neither of them knew how to let go.
Minho’s heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. Jisung’s voice was barely audible.
“Minho…can we— maybe we can stay like this a little longer?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, we can.”
Minho’s hand moved almost without him thinking, up, gently, into Jisung’s hair in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, something he’d done a hundred times before in passing.
But this time, Jisung’s breath hitched with something other than panic.
Minho froze, his hand still in Jisung’s dark locks. Their foreheads were still close, their arms still around each other, their chests brushing with every shaky inhale.
Minho swallowed, suddenly hyper‑aware of everything,
the warmth of Jisung’s cheek, the tremble in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled tighter in Minho’s shirt as his breath came out faster.
Slowly, carefully, they drew back just enough to see each other’s faces.
Jisung’s cheeks were flushed and Minho’s heart was pounding. Their eyes met, and the air between them felt charged with something not completely new, but now acknowledged.
Minho’s voice came out low, unsteady, honest in a way he knew he couldn’t take back.
“Jisung, I don’t want to be platonic.”
Jisung’s breath caught, but he was able to let out a shaky, “Good.”
It was soft, relieved, like he’d been holding that word in his chest for years.
Minho’s chest fluttered when Jisung’s eyes flicked to his mouth for half a second, with barely a glance.
But it was enough to have him leaning forward, and thankfully, Jisung met him halfway.
Their lips brushed with a soft, trembling, barely there
kiss wasn't about passion, but about relief and dissolved fear and the overwhelming truth of finally finding each other.
When they pulled back, they were both blushing, both breathless, both staring at each other like the world had just rearranged itself again.
Jisung whispered just his name, voice shaking, “Minho…”
Minho whispered back, “I know.”
And they leaned their foreheads together, still holding on, still trembling, still them, but now something more.
“Jisung?” Minho whispered in the quiet of the kitchen, staring intently into his eyes.
“Yeah?” Jisung whispered back, equally as quiet.
“If you ever sing baby shark at 3am again, I’m gonna actually murder you.”
He bit his lip, trying not to laugh at Minho’s very serious expression. “Got it. No 3AM baby shark.”
“No baby shark at all.” He pressed, narrowing his eyes at him.
Jisung finally let out a laugh, and his smile seemed to brighten the whole room. He leaned in again, pressing another soft kiss to Minho’s lips that he wished lasted longer than it did.
“Fine, no baby shark, only for you, my soulmate.”