you and i (your sun, my moon)

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/35072812.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: NCT (Band)
Relationship: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Character: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Suh Youngho | Johnny
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols,
Alternate Universe - College/University, Getting Together, Mutual
Pining, Soulmates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Soulmate-Identifying Marks,
sun and moon, mentions of death and rebirth
Language: English
Collections: Neo Sense 2021
Stats: Published: 2021-11-20 Words: 8200

you and i (your sun, my moon)

by pollutedrain

Summary

Doyoung spends countless lives chasing a second moon when, really, he should be looking
for the sun.

Notes

written for neo sense fest, inspired by nct 127's sun & moon. writing this has been a wild
ride, so if you happen to stumble across this, i hope you enjoy my silly little soulmate au.

a HUGE thank you to mod fish, both for the fest in general & her infinite patience in
granting me extra time to get this out, and massive thanks to everyone else who kept me
sane while i was writing it ♡

See the end of the work for more notes

The first thing Doyoung notices about Johnny Suh is that he’s hopelessly attractive.

Well, actually, attractive would be an understatement— an insult, almost. With his high
cheekbones and sculpted jaw, Johnny reminds Doyoung of the statues he’s spent endless lifetimes
studying, the kind that are lovingly and painstakingly carved from marble to live out the rest of
their lives on display where they can be admired by millions as they deserve. Johnny’s hair is just
long enough that he keeps having to brush it out of the way, a gesture that makes Doyoung’s heart
skip a beat and, not for the first time, he finds himself wishing he could see colour, if only so he
could properly lose himself in the other man’s eyes, smouldering warm even if Doyoung only sees
them as grey.

(He wonders if Johnny sees him in the same way, or if he’s lucky enough to have escaped the
colourless world Doyoung and countless others live in. There’s a part of him that selfishly hopes
for the former to be true.)

Johnny is one year older than him, one year above him at the same university Doyoung attends
and, within five minutes of them meeting, drags Doyoung into a discussion on the supremacy of
classic literature— a discussion that leaves Doyoung biting his tongue for the majority of it, given
his vague disdain for anything written prior to the 1960s. Out of the corner of his eye, he can just
about see Ten hovering nearby, his expression one of barely suppressed mirth. Doyoung scowls,
silently resolving to make his roommate pay for this later, since he’s the whole reason they’re
currently not sat at home eating takeout and watching Gossip Girl reruns.

“To say this isn’t your first life, you don’t seem to know how to actually live,” Ten had chided him
earlier that evening, having rudely barged into Doyoung’s room to sprawl on his bed. “Come on,
let’s go out and have fun.”

Ten must have a wildly different definition of what fun actually is, as student night at one of the
local bars is the last place Doyoung would have wanted to spend his evening. It’s overly-crowded
and far too hot for his liking, the relatively thin material of his flannel shirt already feeling
suffocatingly warm against his skin and, he notes with a grimace, his shoes stick to the floor with
every step.

Johnny laughs at him, though not unkindly.

“Not a bar kind of person?” He asks, taking a swing from the beer bottle in his hand. He’s already
on his third, somehow, while Doyoung has barely managed more than a few sips from the one Ten
had shoved insistently in his hand just after they arrived. He forces himself to take another drink,
trying not to wrinkle his nose at the sour taste.

“I’m... not really a night out person in general, if I’m being honest.” Doyoung admits sheepishly.

“Then—” Johnny leans in a little closer, enough so that Doyoung can count the faint freckles
dotting his skin. If he finds himself holding his breath, that’s his business and his alone. “What
kind of person are you, Kim Doyoung?”

Johnny, annoyingly, turns out to be a people person. The kind that can keep conversation going as
if it’s nothing, who always knows the right things to say, the right questions to ask to keep things
lively. Doyoung finds it entirely too easy to talk to him, to tell him how he enjoys filling his days
with trips to the galleries and museums dotted about the city, how he can’t properly focus on
studying unless he has a hot drink beside him at all times, how he dreams of being a published
academic one day. He tells Johnny all of this and it feels like Johnny really listens, nodding along
as Doyoung talks, mostly silent except for a quick comment here and there.

Doyoung is not as good as getting people to open up, but thankfully Johnny takes the lead easily.

Doyoung learns he has a little brother back home, “His name is Mark, he’s a pretty good kid,”
Johnny smiles, his affection obvious. Johnny majors in classics, but also takes classes in literature
and art history, which explains their earlier discussion. He drives an old sedan he got as a birthday
present a couple years ago, and tries to visit his family back home as much as possible.
“I want to live by the ocean one day,” He tells Doyoung, his voice a low rumble, something
terribly intimate. “Wake up and drink coffee as I watch the water out my kitchen window, take a
walk on the beach at sunset, midnight, whatever.”

It couldn’t have been more than two hours at most since they’d first met, but Doyoung feels as
though he’s known this man forever. A thought which shouldn’t be all that terrifying, but anxiety
doesn’t hesitate to take root deep inside him.

As the night wears on, they move their conversation outside so Johnny can smoke. Earlier, the late
September air had been warm enough that Doyoung was confident in his decision to forgo bringing
a jacket with him. Now the sun has set, however, he shivers when the cool night breeze ghosts over
his skin. Johnny must notice as, before Doyoung even has a chance to blink, he’s shrugging off his
own button up to drape it over the younger man’s shoulders.

“It’s fine,” He easily waves Doyoung’s protests away. “Really, I’m good, and you look like you
need it more.”

Doyoung pouts, but he can’t help but gratefully tug the shirt tighter around himself. He’s
immediately met with the scent of sandalwood and bergamot and he discreetly turns his head to
inhale as much of it as possible, refusing to meet Johnny’s eyes when he realises the other man is
watching him.

“What?” He mumbles after a few moments pass by, and Johnny’s gaze doesn’t leave him.

“Nothing,” Johnny replies, his grin obvious even if Doyoung can’t see it. “You just look so cute,
all bundled up like that.”

Doyoung huffs, but whatever snappy retort he’d come up with rapidly dies on his tongue when he
glances up to see Johnny’s button-up had been hiding a tight-fitting black tank top and biceps
straight out of Doyoung’s dreams. He lets out a quiet strangled noise, quick to disguise it as a
cough when Johnny glances at him out of concern.

“You good?”

“Never better.” Doyoung lies, hoping it’s dark enough that, on the off-chance that Johnny can see
colour, his flushed cheeks remain a secret.

Johnny’s expression betrays that it’s obvious he doesn’t believe him, but he thankfully doesn’t
press the matter further. Doyoung sags against the brick wall behind them in quiet relief, his lips
pursed as he combs over the exposed skin of the other man’s arms. He finds a couple tattoos along
the way — a sunflower on his forearm, a leopard hidden away amongst some leaves on his
shoulder, but it’s a tiny mark on his wrist that sends Doyoung’s pulse racing.

“What’s that?” He dares ask, before he can chicken out.

“Hmm?” Johnny follows his eyes, a smile blooming on his face when he realises what Doyoung is
staring at. “Oh, this? It’s my soulmate mark— want to see?”

Despite every instinct screaming at him to do otherwise, Doyoung nods, holding his breath as
Johnny brings his wrist up until it’s bathed in the yellow glow of the streetlight. A tiny sun greets
him, each of its delicately curved rays another stab wound in Doyoung’s heart.

“Oh.” He breathes.

He knows he sounds just as forlorn as he feels, and Johnny frowns, gently nudging him with his
elbow. His touch almost burns.

“Are you alright? You look— you look kind of down, all of a sudden.”

Doyoung feels everything but alright, but he forces himself to nod all the same.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”

They say that everyone has a soulmate, someone meant for them, and them alone. Doyoung lives
in fear that he is the sole exception to this rule.

In a world so big and vast, even fate has difficulty trying to put together every match within the
relatively brief life span humans are doomed to adhere to. As such, anyone who fails to find their
soulmate the first time around is granted as many chances as needed, leaving them to be reborn an
infinite number of times until they finally get lucky.

Doyoung is on his seventh life at this point, and the strain is beginning to take its toll on him.

Seven lifetimes of searching, of yearning, of seeing in nothing but black and white, as everyone
knows you don’t see colour until you kiss your soulmate for the first time. It’s not for a lack of
trying— quite the opposite, in fact. Doyoung, while the definition of practical and rational, is also
very much a romantic at heart, and it quickly becomes an overarching goal of his to find his
missing other half and settle down with them. However, it appears that fate has other plans for
him.

Doyoung’s mark finds its home on his wrist — a pretty little crescent moon, right on his pulse
point. They say your soulmate’s mark will match your own in some way, whether in placement or
design, and Doyoung likes to think he is searching for another moon, the twin to his own. He has
no evidence to back this assumption up, other than that he thinks it awfully romantic, and that the
universe owes him an easier time of it after all he’s been through.

(The thought of a tiny sun flickers through his memory suddenly, and it takes longer than it should
to dismiss it entirely.)

“Doyoung!”

Doyoung freezes when he hears a familiar voice call out his name across the packed coffee shop.
For a brief moment, he wonders if it would be totally unforgivable of him to pretend he heard
nothing and just carry on with his day, but he finds the temptation to look is too much to ignore.

Johnny beams at him from a table (Doyoung’s favourite table, actually — the one tucked right into
the corner with the best view of campus outside), his laptop and several textbooks set up in front of
him. Doyoung takes a deep breath to steady himself, gripping the strap of his tote bag for support
as he approaches.

“Hey,” Johnny’s voice is warm, gentle. “No class today?”

“Not for the rest of the day, no,” Doyoung replies, shuffling his feet. “I have seminars from nine
until twelve but I feel like I get nothing done if I go home straight away.” He frowns, glancing
around them at the heaving coffee shop. “I figured I’d come here and work on an essay, but—”
“But it looks like everyone on campus had the same idea?” Johnny grins, and Doyoung can’t help
but laugh.

“Exactly,” He smiles, before hoisting his bag further up his shoulder, hopefully a clear signal that
he’s about to depart. “I can probably snag a seat somewhere in the library if I’m quick enough,
though— I’ll see you around?”

“Hey, Doyoung, wait—”

Doyoung, having turned to leave, finds himself with no choice but to wait, given that Johnny
reaches out to carefully catch hold of his wrist. The other man’s thumb brushes over the moon on
Doyoung’s skin, and he finds electricity immediately sparks through his veins.

“W-What?”

“Well—” Johnny looks a little sheepish, embarrassed almost, and he drops Doyoung’s arm almost
as quickly as he’d grabbed it. “There’s plenty of room for you here, if you want to stay.”

Doyoung would be lying if he said his heart didn’t suddenly skip a beat.

“Are— Are you sure?” He mumbles.

“More than sure— in fact, you came at the perfect time,” Johnny answers, standing up to tower
over Doyoung before he gets a chance to protest further. “I’ve been wanting a refill for a while
now but was worried someone would swipe my table while I was gone, but you being here takes
care of that. What’s your usual order?”

“Uh, a hot chocolate? But wait, Johnny, you don’t have to—”

“It’s no problem!” Johnny calls over his shoulder, already heading for the back of the line snaking
towards the coffee bar. “Won’t be long, feel free to move my stuff around if you need more room!”

Flustered, Doyoung reluctantly watches him go, before he collapses into the empty seat opposite
Johnny’s with no further delay.

“Just one drink,” He tells himself, tugging his laptop and notebook free of his bag. There’s more
than enough room on his side of the table, but he gives one of Johnny’s textbooks a tiny push, just
to make a point. “One drink, you buy him one in return as a thank you, then you make your
escape.”

A great plan, though it doesn’t change the fact that he’ll be sat opposite Johnny for at least an hour,
if not more.

what do i do?? He texts Ten desperately, filling him in on the situation, knowing all too well that
his roommate will be bored enough in his lecture to reply almost immediately.

Sure enough, he only has to wait for a few, agonisingly slow seconds before his phone vibrates
with a reply.

you’re joking, right? talk to him? like a normal human being would?

“Not helpful.” Doyoung scowls, letting Ten know he thinks as much. He tucks his phone away
before any reply can come through, realising he’s only putting off his essay the longer he sits there,
distracted.
He’s not even five pages into a research article when a shadow crosses the table. Doyoung glances
up in time to see Johnny place a mug of hot chocolate down in front of him, before he sits down
with his own cup of what looks to be black coffee.

“You didn’t specify what size you wanted, so I just got you a large,” He explains, carefully
arranging his legs beneath the table so they both have room to stretch out. “Sorry if I got it wrong.”

“N-No, it’s fine, really,” Doyoung takes a sip of his drink, as though that’ll back him up. Johnny
looks satisfied, so maybe he’s right. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes.

“They’re giving away drinks for free, now?”

“Only if you’re this good looking.” Johnny grins, sending a wink Doyoung’s way.

Doyoung scoffs, but he knows from the sudden heat that rises to his cheeks that he’s blushing. He
stares at the text on the screen in front of him, hoping the dreary report he has to comb through will
distract him, but he’s unsuccessful. The fact that he can feel Johnny’s attention focused solely on
him does little to help.

“Do you actually have work to do, or are you just planning on sitting there staring at me all
afternoon?" He eventually blurts out, a little harsher than he’d intended, but Johnny doesn’t look
put off in the slightest.

“I could happily watch you all day, Doyoung,” He replies breezily. “But, I’ll admit I was lost in
thought more than anything else.”

Doyoung squints at him suspiciously.

“…Dare I ask?”

“Is your phone broken?”

Johnny’s question catches him off-guard, and it takes a few seconds for Doyoung’s brain to catch
up.

“N-No? Why do you ask?”

Johnny hums.

“I was just wondering if there was a particular reason for why you hadn’t texted me yet.”

His tone is casual, easy, completely free of even the slightest bit of accusation, but Doyoung’s heart
immediately sinks.

Johnny had slipped him his number just before Doyoung and Ten had left the bar that night, telling
him he’d love to hang out again sometime soon.

“Maybe we could catch a movie, or go look at one of the galleries together? Whatever you’re
into.” He’d suggested, Doyoung nodding along absently all the while.

And, to give himself credit, he’d intended to text Johnny once he got over the little slump he’d
found himself in after that evening. But, as the days wore on, it became increasingly harder for him
to find the right words to say. Not that he needed to come up with anything particularly spectacular,
he acknowledges, but every variation of hey, it’s doyoung, that guy you smoked with from the bar
he tried just sounded painfully awkward to him. Which unfortunately led to him eventually
abandoning any further attempts— a shitty resolution to a very minor problem, he knows now, but
it’s what he’d settled for.

Confronted with his actions now, he bites his lip, trying to force himself to look Johnny in the eye.
Thankfully, the other man looks amused more than anything else.

“I’m— I’m sorry.” Doyoung mumbles.

“You don’t have to be,” Johnny soothes. “If anything, I’ve been thinking about whether I should
apologise to you. You did look rather forlorn that evening, I was wondering if I’d crossed some sort
of boundary you have.”

“No, you didn’t, I promise that much,” Doyoung shakes his head. While he can’t exactly tell
Johnny the full story— that some part of him had been praying Johnny was his soulmate barely
hours after they’d met, only for the illusion to be quickly shattered upon spotting the other man’s
mark, he can at least try to explain himself a little. “I think— that’s the problem, really. I overthink
too much.”

“Oh? Johnny tilts his head, studying Doyoung’s face until the younger man raises an eyebrow at
him. “You don’t have to overthink when dealing with me, Doyoung. I’m as easy-going as they
come.”

Doyoung snorts. Somehow, he can believe that.

In the end, Doyoung stays an extra two hours, long enough for another round of drinks (that he
insists on buying) and a slice of cake they split between them (Johnny’s idea). They leave just as
the sun is beginning to set and Johnny tries to insist on walking Doyoung home, but he refuses to
budge on the matter (“You live in the complete opposite direction from me, you wouldn’t get
home until, like, midnight.”)

“This was fun,” Johnny comments, just before they part. He smiles at Doyoung, the very picture of
comfort in his oversized sweater. “I hope we get to do it again sometime soon, at least so I can hear
more of your thoughts on assemblage theory.”

Doyoung would have to be deaf to not hear the air of tentativeness in the other man’s words, and
he finds it makes him ache, just a little.

“I hope so too.” He replies, hoping it’s enough of a reassurance.

However, later on, just as he’s about to set his phone to do not disturb for the night, he pulls up
Johnny’s number.

[23:58] thank you for today, i had fun

oh, this is doyoung, by the way

He doesn’t expect anything in return but, after his alarm wakes him the next morning, he finds a
reply already waiting for him.

[00:03] i’m glad to hear that, doyoung :)

—
Texting Johnny quickly becomes part of his daily routine.

They don’t run into each other on campus all that much— despite the fact that their departments
are pretty close together, their schedules are just a little too different to allow it. Still, Johnny
makes up for it by entertaining Doyoung with stupid jokes and memes he finds in some far flung
corner of the internet. He sends Doyoung papers he thinks he’ll find interesting and, once he finds
out the younger man’s love for cooking, he painstakingly types up some of his grandmother’s most
beloved recipes for Doyoung to try his hand at. Doyoung appreciates that the most, forever
promising that, one day, he’ll find the time to cook for Johnny as a thank you.

Sometimes Johnny is the last person he speaks to on an evening, and the first person he messages
the following morning. Doyoung tries not to think about how often he finds himself watching his
phone screen out of the corner of his eye, hoping it’ll soon light up with yet another reply.

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” Ten prods him one evening, having caught him laughing at the
most recent stupid video Johnny had sent his way.

“N-Nothing.” Doyoung had replied immediately, tucking his phone away before his friend could
grab it. He changed his password frequently enough that he’s probably safe either way, but he’s
learnt over the years that Ten will stop at nothing to get what he wants.

Thankfully, his roommate simply shrugs, though there’s an annoying knowing gleam in his eye.

“Whatever you say, Doie.”

Doyoung would argue that he is no stranger to romance, but he’ll admit he has fallen in love only
once before.

His name was Jaehyun. He was a year younger than Doyoung, the kind of handsome that made
everyone fall for him, and he owned the bakery across the town square from Doyoung’s bookshop.
From the very first moment they met, it seemed as though Jaehyun was the definition of smitten
with him. Barely a day would pass without him finding some excuse to stop by and visit, even if
either of them had little time for more than a brief conversation.

Doyoung, already on his fourth life at that point, and well on his way to being exhausted by this
whole constant cycle of rebirth thing, took little interest in him at first, even if Jaehyun’s smile
could steal the very breath from his lungs like it was nothing.

That is, until that fateful summer’s day, where he called into the bakery to buy a loaf of bread.
Jaehyun greeted him as always, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and, like there was nothing else
in the room— in the universe, even, Doyoung’s eyes immediately fell on the tiny crescent moon
curved around his wrist. The perfect mirror image of his own.

And, suddenly, Doyoung felt as if everything finally made sense.

Delighted by this turn of events, Jaehyun quickly became caught up in courting him. Doyoung
insisted it was unnecessary — after all, his parents were long dead from an illness he’d been lucky
to escape himself, there was no need for such a show, but Jaehyun insisted he deserved it. Even
now, several lifetimes later, Doyoung remembers it all.

The roses that would be delivered to his door, dozens of the finest the local florist had to offer. The
late night walks they would take together, arm in arm, hand in hand, long after they’d both closed
up for the evening. The picnic Jaehyun put together one Sunday afternoon before he dropped down
onto one knee to propose, the joyous gleam in his eye just as bright as the ring that found a new
home on Doyoung’s finger.

Doyoung remembers dressing himself in a suit that didn’t quite fit, but it was all he could afford on
his meagre salary. He remembers standing opposite Jaehyun by the altar of their local church, the
crumbling statues of various long-dead and martyred saints the only witnesses to their whispered
vows. He remembers closing his eyes as they leant in for their very first kiss, his pulse roaring in
his ears, loud like the distant ocean.

Doyoung remembers blinking his eyes open once again, expecting to finally be welcomed into a
world bathed in colour, only to be met by painfully familiar black and white.

Doyoung’s long dreamt-of fairytale ending wasn’t as perfect as he’d hoped.

Jaehyun wasn’t his soulmate.

As they would later find out, that title belonged to a man named Sicheng, whom Jaehyun met at
the local tavern several miserable years after his and Doyoung’s wedding. Despite how much it
hurt in the moment, Doyoung didn’t blame Jaehyun for leaving him then and he still doesn’t now
— in fact, had their roles been reversed, he probably would have done the same. Jaehyun deserved
more than the miserable husk of a man Doyoung had become, and the fact that he got it was a
small comfort to Doyoung on the night he finally drank himself to death, ready to begin his next
life anew.

(There’s still time for fate to be kind to him, he keeps telling himself. Even if, on most days, he
feels as though it’s a lie.)

Like Johnny, Ten is also a people person. And, as Doyoung is quick to learn, people people have
the uncanny ability of seeking each other out, like they all exist on the exact same wavelength. As
such, he probably shouldn’t be as surprised as he is to stumble across Johnny parked on one of the
couches scattered around their student union building, a bag that Doyoung knows belongs to his
roommate dumped on the seat next to him.

“Oh, hey.” He tugs one of his earbuds out, awkwardly coming to a stop by the other man’s feet.

“Hey,” Johnny echoes, giving him a little wave, something that shouldn’t endear Doyoung as
much as it does. “Heading home?”

“My last lecture for the day just finished, so yes,” Doyoung gives his bag a jostle, as if for
emphasis. “What about you— didn’t you say you usually have a class until seven?”

“My professor switched our timetable around, which I won’t complain about,” Johnny gives a
noncommittal shrug. “I ran into your friend— Ten, is it? in the library, and he apparently
recognised me from bar night and insisted we hang out together, so I guess we’re going to do that?”

“Oh. That’s… nice?”

To Doyoung’s surprise, a wave of jealousy suddenly surges through him, so violent it’s a struggle
for him to not let it bleed into his words.

Which is ridiculous, really— Johnny is nothing more than a friend, maybe even just a friendly
acquaintance to him and, besides that, Ten is completely committed to pining after some guy in his
finance class. There’s no reason for him to feel this way, and yet he can’t help but feel a little sick
at the thought of them being alone together.

“It is, I’m always down to hang out with new people,” Call Doyoung crazy, but he’s sure Johnny
sends a loaded glance his way, before he offers him what looks to be a hopeful smile. “What about
you? Any plans for the evening?”

“Not really,” Doyoung admits. “I—”

“Yes he does,” A familiar voice cuts him off, Ten practically materialising from nowhere to throw
an arm around Doyoung’s shoulders. “We’re all going for dinner.”

Doyoung frowns, pulling away so he can look his best friend in the eye.

“We— since when?”

“Since, well— right now,” Ten replies, as if that much were obvious. “What? Don’t look at me
like that, Doie, I know the most exciting thing you had planned tonight was rewatching old
dramas.”

“And what if it was?” Doyoung can’t help but feel offended on some level. “What’s so wrong with
that?”

Ten rolls his eyes dramatically before he leans in, only stopping once he’s close enough that he can
whisper conspiratorially into Doyoung’s ear.

“Doie. My dearest Doie. I’ve told you this before, and I’ll tell you it again,” He murmurs, only just
loud enough for Doyoung, and Doyoung alone, to hear him. “Live a little, especially when it
comes to men who can’t stop talking about you.”

Doyoung blinks, his mouth twisting in confusion. Ten glances obviously in Johnny’s direction
before he steps away, raising his voice back to its normal volume.

“Last one outside has to foot the bill, and I haven’t eaten since lunch, so it won’t be pretty.”

“What? That’s hardly fair,” Doyoung retorts, irritation flooding through him. “You’ve been home
all day, there was nothing stopping you from cooking—”

“Can’t hear you!” Ten calls over his shoulder, a look of pure glee on his face as he heads for the
double doors on the other side of the room. “My stomach is grumbling too loud already!”

“Fucking unbelievable.” Doyoung mutters under his breath.

He jumps as something brushes past him— something that turns out to be the fringes of Johnny’s
scarf, the soft wool having caught on the sleeve of Doyoung’s coat as the other man stood up.
Johnny simply grins down at him, his eyes alight with amusement.

“After you, then,” He gestures towards the door. “We don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Doyoung can only sigh.

Friday night becomes their night to hang out.

Sometimes Doyoung gets a text halfway through the day telling him they’ll be meeting up
somewhere in the city later that evening. Sometimes he hears nothing and he goes home to find
Johnny and Ten already set up in the living room, poring over a carpet of takeout menus while they
bicker over where to order from. And then, sometimes Johnny will meet him outside his lecture
hall so they can walk to the closest grocery store together to pick out something that Doyoung can
cook for dinner, and Johnny refuses to let him carry any of the bags home.

It’s… nice. Doyoung can think of no better word for it, really. He’s known Ten for a few years
now, ever since they met back in high school, but he finds that Johnny fits perfectly into his life, as
though some part of him had been waiting for the other man, somehow.

The first time Ten pulls out, texting their groupchat with the news that he’ll be forgoing their usual
plans for a date, Doyoung assumes he won’t see Johnny until the following week. That is, until his
phone buzzes with an invite to check out some new temporary exhibition in one of the smaller
museums across the city.

Doyoung tries not to think about how he barely hesitates before he accepts. Johnny insists on
buying dinner after they leave the exhibition and, after dinner, he insists on walking Doyoung all
the way home, since it’s so late at that point that the subway has stopped running for the night. In
turn, Doyoung practically orders him to stay over, and threatens to hit him with his spatula the next
morning when Johnny tries to help him make breakfast.

“You’re a guest, go sit down before I make you regret ever talking to me in the first place.”

(The sound of eggs sizzling away on his stove is almost too loud, but he’s sure he hears Johnny
murmur, “I could never regret meeting you, Doie.”)

Ten’s date goes well enough that he arranges a second, then a third, a fourth, and finally a fifth,
before he comes home one day to declare that he’s officially off the market.

“You found your soulmate?” Doyoung sits up where he’d been sprawled on the couch, his laptop
propped open on the coffee table in front of him.

“What? No,” Ten snorts, shrugging his leather jacket off to toss it onto one of the hooks beside
their front door. His cheeks look flushed, his lips kiss-swollen, and Doyoung feels that familiar
wave of envy wash over him. “Why would I waste my life moping after someone who might not
even show up when I could be having some fun?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes in the moment, but his friend’s question haunts him for the rest of the night,
leaving him wide awake and staring at the ceiling as the minutes drag by. Ten makes the whole
soulmate thing seem like it’s nowhere near as big a deal as it’s made out to be — so why can’t
Doyoung himself feel that nonchalant?

Ten easily picks up on his sour mood the next morning.

“You know, you could always just download grindr. I’ll even make your profile for you!”

Doyoung knows for a fact that eternity alone is a better option than that.

Johnny, Ten and Doyoung Fridays quickly become Johnny and Doyoung Fridays. Doyoung
wonders if they’ll run out of things to do in the city, especially now the days are shorter and the
nights are colder, but they simply stay in more often. Johnny has a seemingly endless list of movies
and shows he’s entirely too happy to let Doyoung scrutinise, and they fall asleep bundled up
together on the couch too many times to count.

On the occasion that Ten lays claim to the apartment for the evening so he can invite his boyfriend
over (upon meeting Qian Kun, Doyoung suddenly understands why Ten acts the way that he does),
Johnny simply suggests they move things to his apartment instead. Doyoung takes the subway to
the other side of town and Johnny meets him at the station with a hot chocolate in hand, carefully
prodding Doyoung into telling him about his day as they walk. He meets Johnny’s roommate Yuta
and the three of them play card games together and, on occasion, he even speaks with Johnny’s
brother Mark over video call.

The first time he wakes up in Johnny’s bed with him, the pair of them having dozed off while
watching old Unresolved Mysteries reruns, he wonders if he’s letting things get a little out of hand.
Johnny’s arm is wrapped around his waist, skin against bare skin where Doyoung’s borrowed t-
shirt has slid up a little while he was asleep, and his chest is pressed flush to Doyoung’s back. His
other arm stretches out across the mattress, his wrist upturned, leaving his soulmark mark on show
and, much to his mortification, Doyoung suddenly finds himself seized with the urge to lean over
and press his lips against it.

He gasps at the thought, freezing when Johnny stirs behind him.

“You okay?” The other man rasps, voice low and gravelly with sleep. Doyoung forces himself to
not shiver.

“N-Never better.”

“Good— oh, shit—” Johnny shifts suddenly, apparently having noticed their position. “I move
about in my sleep a lot, sorry Doie, let me just—”

He goes to pull his arm away, cold air immediately ghosting over Doyoung’s exposed skin and,
before Doyoung’s brain can catch up, he’s grabbing Johnny’s arm to pull it back down.

“No—” He pauses, trying to ignore how desperate he sounds. Hopefully Johnny can’t hear it too.
“You— Stay.”

Johnny falls silent for a few moments, and Doyoung finds he holds his breath while he waits for a
reply.

“Doie… You’re sure?”

Doyoung doesn’t let himself hesitate before he answers.

“I am.”

Another beat passes, before Johnny tightens his grip on him, tugging him closer back against his
chest. He trails his hand lightly across Doyoung’s stomach, letting his hand rest against his waist,
thumb tracing gentle circles over his skin.

“If you’re sure, then.”

For as long as he can remember, Doyoung has dreamt of his soulmate.

Well, perhaps it would be more correct to say he’s dreamt of the concept of it all. His soulmate has
no name, no face— he’s just there, his arms wrapped around Doyoung’s body to pull him close,
his cheek pressed against the soft strands of Doyoung’s inky dark hair. And, for the longest time,
the occasional reminder that Doyoung would hopefully one day have someone to hold him tight,
just like this, was enough for him.
Except, something has changed as of late.

Now, his dreams are clouded by the smell of sandalwood and bergamot. He traces a delicate
sunflower inked onto one of the arms cradling him safely against a firm chest, and it’s a familiar
voice that murmurs loving words into his ear as Johnny joins Doyoung in looking out across the
ocean, the waves gently lapping at their feet.

Quite frankly, it’s one of the more embarrassing things to have ever happened to him, and it means
it’s a struggle for Doyoung to look his friend in the eye some mornings, much to Johnny’s
bemusement. Every night, he prays that the previous dream was the absolute last of them all, and
he’ll be free of them.

(However, an increasingly bigger part of him prays that he never will be.)

After that morning, Doyoung notices that Johnny seems to go out of his way to touch him as much
as he possibly can without arousing too much suspicion.

Said touches start off small, innocuous— a brush of Johnny’s fingers against his own as they walk
through the produce aisle; Johnny’s hand lingering on his shoulder as he makes sure Doyoung is
clear of the subway doors before they close behind them. If it weren’t for the fact that Doyoung
suddenly finds himself so wholly attuned to every single move the other man makes, this new
development would probably go unnoticed.

Things only escalate as Johnny’s confidence grows, seemingly emboldened by the fact that
Doyoung has yet to protest any of these random little touches. Suddenly, Netflix marathons on
Fridays basically become an excuse for them to spend the evening cuddling, Doyoung’s head
pillowed against the built expanse of Johnny’s chest. They hold hands across the table while out at
dinner, fingers carefully intertwined, and Johnny tucks him into his side as they walk home
afterwards. He kisses the top of Doyoung’s head from time to time, a move that always earns him a
strangled squawk, but that only seems to egg him on.

As such, Doyoung probably shouldn’t be all that surprised when Johnny finally sits him down one
evening to actually ask him out, but there’s still a part of him that can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Me?” He squeaks, staring at this friend in shock.

“Yes, you, Doie,” Johnny smiles, though the tense way in which he holds his jaw rather ruins the
effect of it. “You’re the only one in here, unless you’ve hidden Ten away under the table for moral
support.”

The corner of Doyoung’s mouth twitches with the urge to laugh, but he presses his lips together to
suppress it. There’s a dull ache in his chest, right where his heart beats away mournfully, and it
only grows more painful the longer Johnny watches him with that dejected look in his eye.

“John—”

“I— I’m not asking for you to marry me right this second,” Johnny cuts him off gently. “I’m not
even asking for you to give me a concrete answer, if you can’t bring yourself to do that. But, Doie
— all I ask is that you give me a chance. I’m sorry if I misread things, but I… I like you, Doyoung,
I really do, and some part of me assumed that you might like me in return. But, if I’m completely
wrong about that, one word from you and I’ll back off forever, I promise you—”

“John,” Doyoung repeats, a little firmer this time, a little too loud for the relative quiet of the
apartment. Johnny obediently falls silent, and Doyoung sighs, trying to make sense of the mess his
thoughts are in. “You’re— You’re not wrong in the slightest, I can tell you that much. I like you
too— I really like you.”

“…But?” Johnny mumbles after a few seconds pass, and Doyoung fails to continue. “I feel like
there’s a ‘but’ on the end of that sentence, somewhere.”

He’s not wrong, Doyoung can think of a good few reasons why getting together could be fatal for
the pair of them (himself especially). But, instead of voicing them, he forces himself to put his
actual feelings into words.

“I’m— I’m scared, Johnny.”

Instantly, the desperate glint in Johnny’s eyes melts away. He reaches over to take hold of
Doyoung’s hand where it lies in his lap, carefully tangling their fingers together before he presses
his lips against his knuckles. Doyoung draws a trembling breath.

“Scared of what, Doie?” He murmurs, squeezing Doyoung’s hand lightly, reassuringly. “What’s
holding you back? Tell me.”

“I—”

Mortifyingly, Doyoung feels what could be the start of tears stinging at his eyes. He tries to will
them away, desperate, but, against his best efforts, one quickly escapes down his cheek before he
can stop it.

“I’m scared that y-you’re not actually meant to be mine,” He whispers, his voice catching on a sob.
“T-That one day you’ll leave me, and I know how much it’ll hurt to have to l-let you go.”

“Doie.”

Doyoung barely has a chance to blink before he’s swept out of his seat and into Johnny’s arms,
warmth immediately enveloping his body. He buries his face against Johnny’s chest without
shame, his fingers gripping the soft material of his sweatshirt until the force of his grip causes them
to ache. If he hurts Johnny in any way, the other man says nothing, simply cradling Doyoung as if
he were the most precious thing in the world.

“Doyoung,” He murmurs, after Doyoung has mostly run out of tears to cry. He looks up at Johnny
through tear-drenched lashes, and a hand comes to gently cradle his cheek. “My Doyoung.”

My Doyoung. Doyoung’s poor heart clenches.

Johnny leans down, closer and closer, until their foreheads are pressed together, and Doyoung can
lose himself in the endless emotion shining in his eyes.

“I know you’re scared,” Johnny’s lips hover barely more than a few inches away from Doyoung’s
own. “But are you really going to let yourself live in fear for all eternity? What happened to my
little romantic?”

Doyoung sniffs, ducking his head.

“He’s equally obsessed with the idea of being in love and being loved in return, but also afraid it’ll
all end in tears.”

“It’s already beginning with tears, you idiot.” Johnny dries Doyoung’s face with his sleeve for
emphasis, the familiar smell of his favourite fabric softener a soothing balm over Doyoung’s frail
nerves.

Doyoung does let himself laugh at that. When Johnny returns to cradling his cheek, he reaches up,
covering the other man’s hand with his own.

“You mean it?” He whispers. “What you said— everything?”

“I do,” Johnny replies without hesitation. “I want to be with you, Doie. Plain and simple.”

There’s still some part of Doyoung that is reluctant about all of this, an ugly little voice in the back
of his head that insists he’s only setting them both up for failure, and he’ll come to regret this years
down the line.

“And— what if we’re not soulmates?” He dares ask. “What then?”

“Then we cross that bridge when we come to it. No need to overthink it.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s wrong— both options are equally possible, Doyoung rather thinks.
But Johnny seems convinced, and that should be enough for Doyoung to trust him. So he does.

“Okay.” He whispers.

Johnny beams at him— bright, radiant, just like the sun peeking out from the sleeve of his
sweatshirt. Doyoung slides his hand down from where it had still been covering Johnny’s own,
instead wrapping his fingers around the other man’s wrist, his thumb pressing over his mark.
Johnny’s heart seems to beat in tandem with his own, steady and strong, reassuring.

Maybe Doyoung is wrong, and things will all work out in the end, after all. All he can do is hope.

Dating Johnny comes easily, like fate had always had this planned for them.

Of course, it helps that they were already the living definition of domestic. Barely anything
changes, except for the fact that they spend most nights together now, and Johnny affectionately
refers to him as his boyfriend when calling his family back home. Doyoung feels like he’s
constantly dreaming, everything seems so perfect.

Well, that is, except for one small issue.

He’s too terrified to let Johnny kiss him.

At first, his boyfriend seems all too happy to push the matter aside. He makes do with kissing
every inch of Doyoung’s face except for his lips— brushing over Doyoung’s forehead, his eyelids,
his cheeks, visibly thrilled to leave flushed skin in his wake. He kisses Doyoung’s hands, his
shoulders, the bare skin of his back when they’re tangled together in bed after an evening focused
solely on each other. And, for a while, it seems to be enough for the both of them.

But, of course, it doesn’t last.

“Doyoung?”

Doyoung glances up from where he’d been reading an article on Johnny’s laptop. They’re at his
apartment for the evening, Yuta having made plans to spend the night elsewhere, and they’d
jumped at the chance to have the space to themselves.
“What’s up?”

Johnny doesn’t reply for a moment, apparently too focused on drying his hair. Doyoung takes the
chance to admire his boyfriend unashamedly, wetting his lips as he watches a water droplet escape
its way down Johnny’s bare torso.

He’s so engrossed in his task that he almost misses Johnny’s next question (and, once the words
sink in, he wishes he had).

“When are you going to let me kiss you?”

Doyoung breathes in sharply.

“W-What"?” He stammers out.

Johnny tosses his towel aside in favour of crossing the room, joining Doyoung on the bed. He
reaches out to carefully close his laptop, moving it so Doyoung has no choice but to focus wholly
on him.

“You heard me,” He replies. “I want to kiss you, Doyoung, but you won’t let me. What’s holding
you back?”

Doyoung blinks at him a few times, briefly lost for words.

“I— Nothing? Maybe I’m just not ready?”

“Really?” Johnny raises an eyebrow at him, and Doyoung suddenly feels the familiar prickle of
embarrassment creeping over him. “You’re not ready for me to kiss you, but you literally begged
me to skip my last lecture yesterday so I could come home and fuck you in the shower?”

“Don’t.” Doyoung keens, shoving at his boyfriend’s chest in the hopes that it’ll wipe the satisfied
smirk off of his face.

Naturally, it doesn’t — Johnny is far too quick for him, grabbing Doyoung’s hands in his own to
force him down against the mattress. They wrestle for a bit, Doyoung’s indignant squawking
quickly giving way to laughter as Johnny easily finds all his weak spots, tickling him until he
finally cries out in defeat.

They lie together in a heap for a moment, chests heaving, before Johnny tugs him closer.

“Talk to me, Doie,” He whispers against Doyoung’s shoulder. “Let me in.”

Doyoung closes his eyes, distracting himself by playing with the strings of his borrowed hoodie.
He lets himself revel in the steady sound of Johnny’s breathing, drawing comfort from it until he
can find the courage to speak.

“What if you kiss me and it turns out we’re not soulmates?” He says, more to the wall than Johnny
himself. It’s easier that way. “What if it ruins everything we have?”

For a brief moment, he’s only met with silence, before Johnny is gently pulling at his hip. Doyoung
sighs, obediently rolling over until he faces his boyfriend, Johnny’s expression carefully schooled
into one of pure composure.

“What if it doesn’t?” He asks in turn. “What if we trust ourselves to move on, no matter the
outcome?”
 Doyoung has no idea how the look on his face must come across, but it’s obviously not convincing
enough, as Johnny shakes his head in fond exasperation.

“You and your overthinking, you’ll be the death of me one day, Kim Doyoung,” He reaches out to
trail the backs of his fingers down Doyoung’s cheek. “Doie, baby, I’m not dating you solely in the
hopes that you turn out to be my soulmate. While that would be perfect, ridiculously so, I’m not
going to leave you if it isn’t the case. I want you for you, Doyoung, even if fate tells us we should
both be looking elsewhere. Isn’t that enough?”

Aren’t I enough? Doyoung hears the obvious pain in Johnny’s unspoken question, and he surges
forward to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

“You are enough,” He promises fiercely. “You’ll always be more than enough for me, Johnny.”

“Then trust me,” Johnny urges him. “Trust me to love you no matter what, Doyoung. Trust us.”

Doyoung nods, finding himself unable to speak, because he does trust Johnny— with their
relationship, with his barely-healed heart, with his life really.

When, after a few moments, Johnny inches forward, his gaze fully focused on the curve of
Doyoung’s lips, he forces himself to not flinch away. His eyes flutter shut as his boyfriend pauses
barely a few centimetres away from his mouth, his breath ghosting over Doyoung’s skin when he
whispers, “Okay?”

“Okay.” Doyoung echoes, trembling in anticipation of what destiny might have waiting for them.

Johnny carefully cups his cheek, briefly brushing his thumb over soft skin before he closes that last
little bit of distance between them. Their first kiss is sweet, chaste, but Doyoung wouldn’t have
ever wanted it any other way. He kisses Johnny back just as carefully, his hands trembling where
he rests them against his boyfriend’s chest. He almost forgets how to breathe when Johnny pulls
away, leaving another kiss against the tip of his nose.

When Doyoung finally dares blink his eyes open, he’s met with the warmest shade of brown.

“Well?” Johnny breathes, his smile beyond radiant. The sun to Doyoung’s moon, his missing half
that he had been chasing for so long.

Doyoung laughs, tears already threatening to spill over once more, but this time, they’re happy
ones.

“Kiss me again.” He implores, and Johnny leans in, only too happy to oblige.

End Notes

thank you for reading ♡

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