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Baekjin hated sharing.
He had shared his mother’s affection with the lowest kind of man—his stepfather. How his mother was ever convinced that the man would make a good father figure for Baekjin still escaped him. He had shared his victories with people who didn’t deserve them. That was why, when Fate decided to bestow him a soulmate, he promised himself he’d never let him go or share him with anyone else.
When Yeon Sieun began pulling his hand back, ready to do whatever plan he had, Baekjin panicked. And when Baekjin panicked, he acted without thinking things through. His tattoos and piercings were living testimonies to how impulsive he could be, sometimes, despite the level-headedness and careful planning he often showed.
He grabbed Sieun’s wrist instead and struck the back of his neck with an open palm. The smaller boy fell forward, limp and silent, right into his arms. The nurses froze, gaping. Someone gasped. Baekjin barely noticed. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he told himself.
He carried Sieun out of Yeouido Hospital, steps steady like someone walking with his own heartbeat instead of two, ignoring the startled looks and pointing fingers that followed him. Outside, Seokhyeon was waiting in the car. Baekjin opened the door with one hand, adjusting Sieun higher in his arms—head slumped against his shoulder, light as paper. So light. He needs to eat more.
“Did you just kidnap a kid, Na Baekjin?” Seokhyeon demanded, snapping Baekjin out of his haze of quiet admiration for the unconscious boy in his arms.
Sliding Sieun’s limp body into the backseat carefully and putting up the child lock, Baekjin’s red eyes caught the rear-view mirror, sharp and burning, as he raised his marked wrist. “Look carefully, Seokhyeon.” The White Mamba had already climbed past his elbow, pale scales gleaming faintly under the light. “He’s my soulmate,” Baekjin said evenly. “It’s within my right to claim him. Drive.”
Seokhyeon muttered something about needing therapy and obeyed.
That night, Baekjin began clearing out the seventh floor of Union’s main office building. He had the entire space rebuilt—walls repainted, bulletproof windows tinted, soundproof panels added, private lifts installed—until it became a private suite above the city. A place no one could reach without his say. And if he happened to add a little sedative to his soulmate’s IV, it was no one’s business but his own.
***
When Sieun woke up, it took a few seconds for the ceiling above him to stop spinning. The air smelled faintly of smoke and fresh paint, the kind used in offices or hotel rooms. The bed under him was too soft to be his—or hospital’s.
He turned his head slowly with a soft groan. The walls were beige, the curtains drawn, the air conditioner humming a steady rhythm that almost disguised the silence. On the nightstand, a glass of water and two unopened bottles of vitamins sat neatly.
And then, he saw Na Baekjin.
The taller boy leaned forward on a single couch, close to his bed; elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor. His coat hung over the back of the chair, sleeves rolled up, the white mark on his wrist glowing faintly in the low light—curled white scales, fangs half-bared, alive under his skin. It had grown up to his shoulder now.
When Baekjin looked up, Sieun saw the exhaustion written in the hollows under his eyes. He looked neither triumphant nor regretful—just tired.
“You’re awake,” Baekjin said, voice low and rough. “Sorry about the—” he motioned weakly toward Sieun’s neck, “—way I handled it.”
Sitting up, Sieun rubbed the still sore spot where Baekjin had struck him, cricking his neck to bring back circulation. “You think?”
“I panicked,” Baekjin said after a pause. “You were going to leave.” His tone was calm, too calm—the kind that meant he’d do it again if he had to.
Sieun sighed and pulled the blanket around his waist, shielding himself a bit from Baekjin’s burning stare. “I had a reason.”
“I know.” Baekjin’s gaze flicked briefly to Sieun’s wrist, where the faint shimmer of the white lion hid under his sleeve. “So did I.”
The silence stretched thin between them. The hum of the vent filled the space. Sieun finally had time to really study the room—spacious yet bare, too clean, like no one lived here. The only hint of life was Baekjin himself, a single figure in the middle of all that stillness, and a faint scent of lilies from outside the bedroom door.
Baekjin raked a hand through his hair, exhaling softly. “I didn’t plan this,” he said. “But I couldn’t just watch you walk out.”
Sieun studied him for a while. “You really don’t know how to ask for things normally, do you?”
Baekjin gave a small shake of his head. “No. I was never taught how.”
That made Sieun hesitate. He loosened his grip on the blanket. “Your parents?” he asked quietly.
Baekjin’s eyes dropped and shrugged. “My mother was sick most of my life. The kind of sick that made you afraid to touch her. She loved me, I think. But I grew up learning how to take care of myself instead.”
He stared down at his hands, tracing the veins that ran under the skin, then the mark—his fate, glowing faintly like a freshly made scar. “No one ever comforted me before. Not like this. Not like…” He trailed off.
Sieun frowned, nose scrunching. “You say that like I did something meaningful to you.”
“You stayed. Or tried to stay,” Baekjin said simply. Turning a blind eye to the locked fortress he had built within a day, like a king who built thousands of statues for his intended overnight—the ones he had read about in Indonesian folklore—and the contingency plans in case Sieun ever thought of running away. How the Eunjang boys would pay with their lives if his soulmate ever disappeared from his world.
But he could give this. He could show Sieun this softer side of himself, to convince the silver-haired boy that all Baekjin needed was a gentle hand to save him. He had read the report from his informants—how Sieun had a savior complex under all that nonchalance. He was counting on that.
The quiet after that was heavy but no longer sharp. Ignoring the suspicion that lingered, Sieun knew he should’ve demanded, Where am I right now? What’s Baekjin going to do to me now we’re soulpair?
But something in Baekjin’s voice—honest, almost unsure—dulled the edge of Sieun’s irritation. The hope in his tone was painfully certain, and Sieun didn’t know how to respond. The tension between them wasn’t sharp anymore, just heavy, making it harder for Sieun to stay distant.
Without thinking too much, Sieun reached forward and brushed his fingers through Baekjin’s hair. The strands were coarse, bangs uneven where the sides had been trimmed, still damp near the temples. But there was no trace of hair dye. It’s his true coloring. Red eyes, platinum blond hair, long straight nose, and a defined jawline. At least Fate had given him a handsome soulmate—handsome enough to overcome his unhinged, controlling personality.
And didn’t that just make Sieun as crazy as Baekjin—for agreeing to this. For accepting it without a fuss.
Baekjin froze, eyes fluttering shut like he didn’t trust himself to move, as if afraid to wake from this vivid dream—as if the warmth itself could burn him. His breath came out shaky as he chased Sieun’s caress with his face. “You shouldn’t…”
“Just stay still,” Sieun said quietly. “You look like you’re about to fall apart.”
Baekjin didn’t answer. He just stayed there, breathing slow, letting Sieun’s quiet touch work through the tension in his neck and down to his shoulders. It wasn’t the kind of comfort either of them knew how to give—it was clumsy, unfamiliar—but it was something.
After a moment, Sieun guided Baekjin’s head down until it rested against his thigh. The motion felt natural, unplanned. Baekjin hesitated for half a second before giving in, the fight leaving his body like a long breath. He was now fully resting on the bed, half of his weight on Sieun’s amazing, comfortable lap.
“You’re heavier than you look,” Sieun muttered, calm magenta eyes studying Baekjin’s sharp side profile, half a dozen piercings and a hammered ear cuff adorning one ear.
Baekjin smiled faintly against the fabric of Sieun’s jeans. The warmth bled into his cheek through the fabric of Sieun’s jeans. “You can push me off.”
“It’s not worth the effort.”
Sieun’s fingers moved again through his hair, alternating between petting and slow caresses this time. The silence settled around them, softer now. Two people learning, awkwardly, that it was possible to exist this close without fists and blood flying around.
Baekjin spoke after a while, voice half-asleep. “I thought I wanted to claim you,” he said quietly. “Keep you close. But now… I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m still searching for what I really want from this.”
Sieun didn’t stop the motion of his hand. “At least you’re honest about it.”
Baekjin gave a small, dry laugh. “I used to think knowing everything was how you stayed safe—or how you remained victorious.”
“Then maybe it’s time you stop living like you’re about to lose something,” Sieun said.
That silenced him. Baekjin stared at the space between them—the faint glow of Sieun’s wrist, the warmth seeping into his cheek through denim.
When Baekjin finally lifted his head, their faces were close enough that Sieun could feel his breath. Neither of them moved at first. It wasn’t planned—just a moment that felt too fragile to ruin with words.
Baekjin leaned forward, slow and uncertain. Sieun didn’t stop him. And only the shorter boy could close the gap between them from above. Baekjin had left it for Sieun to decide how their story unfolded. And when their lips met softly—more a touch than a kiss—Baekjin sat up on his haunches to deepen it.
The position was now reversed. Sieun was back to lying on his back on the bed with Baekjin turned around, looming over him, and their lips met once again. Baekjin’s lips were surprisingly soft and warm, and Sieun breathed a sigh when they parted softly, allowing his tongue to slip inside.
Sieun rolled his tongue, mapping Baekjin’s mouth with reverence, and their soft appendages met—tasting of nicotine and sweet chocolate aftertaste. The odd combination, along with the soft tickle of Baekjin’s breath under his nose, drove Sieun wild. Small, soft fingers carded through platinum-blond hair as they breathed each other in.
Those same small hands came back to pet Baekjin’s hair, offering comfort to each other—Sieun with something to hold onto, and Baekjin with something to live for.
And when Baekjin pulled back, as gentle fingers stroked the back of his neck, caressing the small patch of hair there, his eyes were unreadable, his mouth slightly parted, and he was out of breath like no fight had ever left him before.
Sieun whimpered, and a thin string of saliva connected their swollen red lips. When Sieun opened his eyes, his heart was still beating fast, racing inside his ribs. Neither said anything. The air felt lighter now—not just from comfort, but from understanding.
Minutes later, after they calmed down, Baekjin leaned back against the wall again, still close enough that their knees brushed. “I’ll try to do better,” he said simply.
Sieun looked at him, then nodded once. “Start by not knocking me out next time.”
A faint smile ghosted across Baekjin’s mouth. “Deal.”
And for the first time that night, the silence between them didn’t feel awkward. They still had much to talk about—the Union, the fight between Union and Eunjang—but in the space between the couch and the bed, there was room for them. The space they made. A space to live in, no matter how small, unfamiliar, and under Fate’s control.
"And where's the bathroom? I need to take a bath."