Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The YS Corporation tower rose like a steel monument against the Seoul skyline, its surface a seamless mirror reflecting the cobalt sky. Inside, behind layers of sleek glass and stone, the rhythm of commerce pulsed quietly—measured footsteps, soft conversations, the occasional chime of an elevator.

For Evaira Hale, this was not unfamiliar ground. She had walked corridors like this before, corridors that smelled of ambition and responsibility, where time was currency and every breath had to serve a purpose. But this morning, standing before the wide glass doors of YS Corporation’s Seoul branch, she even took a single, deep breath before moving.

Another day, another fortress of glass and ambition. Let's see what challenges await.

She adjusted her black-framed glasses—sharp, minimal—and stepped forward, her heels clicking softly on the polished entryway. Grey tailored blazer, white silk blouse tucked cleanly, a structured handbag over one shoulder. Efficient. Neutral. Controlled.

The reception lobby was a cathedral of glass and steel. A vertical garden stretched high behind the central desk, its green foliage vibrant against matte black walls. Every surface gleamed. Everything smelled faintly of lemon oil and prestige.

A young man behind the counter looked up from his screen. “Good morning. Miss… Hale?”

“That’s right.” Her voice was smooth, calm. “I’m here to report in as Senior Secretary to the Executive Board.”

“Yes, ma’am. You’re expected. Please take Elevator A to the nineteenth floor. Your assistant, Ms. Sohyun, will meet you there.”

“Thank you.”

The elevator ride was silent except for the low hum of motion and the subtle shifting of her weight as she prepared herself—not just physically but mentally. This was the start of a three-month assignment. She was not here to make friends. She was here to keep a corporation functioning through a leadership vacuum. A temporary CEO in all but title.

Three months. Just three months. Keep everything running smoothly, and then move on. No attachments.

When the doors opened, a young woman nearly tripped over herself rushing to greet her.

“Miss Eva!” the woman called cheerfully, her ponytail bouncing with enthusiasm. “Welcome! I’m Sohyun. I’m your assigned assistant.”

Sohyun’s voice was bright, her smile even brighter, and the contrast between them was immediate: Sohyun was sunshine and sparkles; Eva was cloud cover and precision. But Eva returned the greeting with a nod and an extended hand.

“Thank you for your welcome. Let’s begin.”

Enthusiastic. Possibly inexperienced. But enthusiasm can be molded into competence.

Sohyun led her through a corridor lined with frosted-glass offices and minimalist workstations. As they passed, employees glanced up from their desks. Whispers followed.

“That’s the secretary from headquarters…”

“She’s the one who restructured the Shanghai division…”

“She looks… intense.”

Eva caught them all and ignored them all. Whispers were air; they meant nothing unless they interfered with work.

Let them talk. Results speak louder than rumors.

“This is your office,” Sohyun chirped, opening a sleek door into a compact yet efficient space. A wide desk with dual monitors faced a panoramic window overlooking the city. A polished black sideboard held a tea set and organizer trays. Everything had a place. Nothing was wasted.

“Impressive,” Eva said simply, stepping inside. “Sohyun, please bring me the executive board’s weekly meeting logs, department schedule breakdowns, and the current inter-branch correspondence summaries.”

“Yes, right away!” Sohyun spun on her heel and nearly knocked over a pen holder.

Clumsy. But eager. Better than apathetic.

Once alone, Eva took a moment. She placed her handbag on the floor with gentle precision, removed her blazer, and folded it over the chair. Then she opened her planner, clicked her pen, and began filling in the next three months of her life.

Week 1: Structural assessment, HR reports, CEO vacancy documentation.

Week 2: External project audit. Potential product launch.

Week 3: Finalize partnership tours. Begin CEO onboarding analysis.

Week 4: Overseas communication strategy.

There was comfort in the structure. Order. The illusion of control.

Structure is safety. Chaos is vulnerability.

By 9:15 AM, she was reading summaries and scribbling quiet corrections in the margins. By 9:30, she had rewritten a logistics outline for the branch coordinator without being asked. By 10:00, she was in a small conference room presenting that very outline to a board director who hadn’t expected her to be that prepared.
And that was how her day continued.

Efficiency was not a virtue. It was her standard.

At lunch, she sat with Sohyun at a corner table in the company café, eating a light salad while reviewing shipment timelines.

“You don’t eat much, Miss Eva,” Sohyun said, nibbling on her kimbap. “Don’t you get hungry with so much work?”

“I eat enough to function,” Eva replied, eyes still on her document.

“But don’t you ever… I don’t know, relax?”

Eva looked up at her assistant then, and for a moment, her lips curled—not quite into a smile, but something close.

“I rest when the work is done. And there’s always work.”

That answer seemed to satisfy Sohyun, who returned to eating. But Eva wasn’t cruel. She added, after a beat, “Thank you for asking.”

She's genuine. A rare trait in corporate environments.

By the time the sun began to set beyond the city skyline, most of the office had cleared out. Sohyun had left an hour ago with a cheerful wave and a “Don’t stay too late, Miss Eva!”

Eva was still at her desk, adjusting numbers in a projection sheet. Only when the clock neared 8 PM did she finally log off, stack her papers, and breathe.

She stood, smoothed her skirt, and said aloud to no one, “Day one—complete.”

One day down. Many more to go.

~~~~
The city outside never truly slept, but Eva’s apartment was a sanctuary from its noise. Once the playlist shifted to a quiet cello piece, she padded to the corner kitchen and opened a cabinet above the fridge, reaching for the secret snack stash she’d promised herself she wouldn’t touch until at least Friday.

A single choco pie sat smugly in the corner of the box. She stared it down.

“I’ve earned you,” she muttered, snatching the treat and closing the cabinet like it hadn’t just betrayed her dietary resolve. “This is for survival.”

Returning to the couch, she tore open the wrapper with more aggression than necessary. The first bite melted on her tongue and she closed her eyes, letting the sugar settle into her system like a reward.

Sitting there, with crumbs on her pajama pants and her legs tucked beneath her, she no longer looked like the cold, composed woman from the office. She looked like a tired 27-year-old who just wanted the world to leave her alone for one night.

The moment was so peaceful she let out a small laugh, snorting at herself when a crumb landed inside her shirt.

“Oh for—” she grumbled, standing and shaking her shirt out over the sink. “Dignity? Never heard of her.”

With her mouth full of chocolate and dignity nowhere to be found, she wandered over to her Bluetooth speaker and switched from cello to something upbeat—Tchaikovsky, ironically. Her feet shuffled along the kitchen tile as she started rinsing her plate, then one hand raised like a ballerina’s while she spun once with her dish towel.

“Madame Hale, CEO of Dishwashing,” she intoned dramatically. “Cleaning by moonlight, conducting by day.”

She curtsied to her mop in the corner.

Fifteen minutes later, she was brushing her teeth. With foam in her mouth and hair sticking up from its loose bun, she gave herself a pep talk in the mirror like a well-rehearsed ritual.

“Tomorrow, no choco pies before bed. Be less weird in front of Sohyun. Also… maybe don’t correct the Director before he finishes his sentence?”

She rinsed, then pointed at her reflection. “You’re doing fine. Just keep the professional mask on. Nobody needs to know you danced with a mop last night.”
Indeed, there was a mop—still drying.

Later, wrapped in an oversized T-shirt and pale grey pajama pants, she climbed into bed, grabbing her favorite novel from the stack beside her. Its pages were worn, dog-eared in too many places. She hugged it close before flipping to where she’d left off.

“Just one chapter,” she lied.

At the end of chapter four, she paused only to sigh dramatically.

“They deserved better,” she muttered at the characters, before flipping to chapter five.

Somewhere between heartbreak and poetic resolution, her phone buzzed. She blinked. No new messages, just a reminder she’d set earlier that day.

[Submit asset report draft before 9:00 AM.]

“Past-me is annoying,” she mumbled, reaching for her phone. She opened her notes app, typed a draft email in shorthand, then sighed. “But at least she’s responsible.”

With the reminder silenced, Eva leaned back against the headboard, watching the gentle sway of shadows from the streetlamps outside. The music she’d left on quietly was playing a piano ballad she didn’t recognize.

“Did I add this? Sounds like a drama soundtrack…”

She sat up and turned off the playlist. The silence returned, enveloping the room like a weighted blanket.

Her gaze drifted to the far wall, to the small mirror where the hem of her shirt had risen slightly. Just enough for her to glimpse the faint soulmark peeking near her lower back—barely there, dark and unchanging.

It had been the same since her 18th birthday.

A mark of possibility.

A mark of uncertainty.

She pulled the blanket up over her lap.

“It’s just a tattoo,” she told herself. “A mark. It doesn’t mean love. It doesn’t guarantee forever.”

She’d seen it too many times—people celebrating early only to find they weren’t compatible, that connection wasn’t automatic. Her best friend in university had thought her soulmate was the one, until they had a falling out so intense they’d burned the bond themselves.

The silence wasn’t comforting now. It was heavy.

“Maybe I’m meant to be alone,” she whispered. “That’s fine. I’m fine.”

But even she could hear the small crack in her voice.

She exhaled and slid back under the covers, clutching her pillow close and curling slightly. From under the blanket, she added:

“...I just wish someone would hold me. Even if I don’t ask.”

But no one did. There was only the soft whir of the air purifier and the ticking of her old clock.

She stayed like that for a while, not crying, not overthinking—just resting in the hush of it all. Her body was tired, but her heart wouldn’t stop turning things over.
Eventually, sleep crept in—not gently, but steadily—pulling her down, down, into the quiet.

~~~~~~~
The chill of the Seoul evening curled softly against Eva’s cheeks as she walked down Garosu-gil, the scent of roasted chestnuts and distant exhaust mingling in the air. She had stayed late again—more spreadsheet revisions, a half-hour rescheduling fiasco, and a brief silent war with the office coffee machine that refused to make anything other than burnt espresso.

Now, the day had emptied from her bones, leaving only the gentle hum of the city and her own footsteps on the quiet sidewalk.

Garosu-gil was calmer at this hour. Shop Front lights spilled onto the pavement in squares of gold, and conversations from nearby cafés flickered like background music. It was the kind of neighborhood where the air felt wide enough to breathe in, where a woman walking alone wasn’t remarkable.

She wasn’t looking for anything. She hadn’t planned to stop. But the windows of the LINE Friends Store glowed with a soft, nostalgic warmth. Eva paused, arms folded over her chest, eyeing the enormous plush Brown the Bear on display.

He slouched against the wall like he’d had a long day himself. His ears were slightly lopsided, and his stitched frown somehow made him look deeply apologetic.
She stared. For too long.

“Don’t do it,” she whispered to herself. “You don’t need it. You don’t even have space.”

Eva tilted her head.

“You’re not useful,” she whispered. “You don’t serve a purpose.”

Brown didn’t disagree.

She stared a moment longer. Then: "Ugh, fine."

The bell above the store door jingled as she stepped inside, met by cheerful music and a rush of brightly colored merch. For someone who lived in neutral-toned decor and minimalist routines, she had a surprisingly large soft spot for plush things.

Ten minutes later, she stood at the register with Brown cradled awkwardly in her arms. She was awkwardly carrying a half-her-body-size Brown plush in both arms like a prize from a carnival. The employee tried to tag-scan the bear, failing repeatedly.

“Want a bag?” they asked, already giving up.

Eva blinked at the sheer absurdity of the idea. “He’d suffocate.”

The cashier gave her a slow nod. “Respect.”

Back outside, she juggled Brown’s considerable bulk in both arms like an overgrown toddler. He flopped sideways, nose-first into her shoulder, and she grunted.

“I have made poor decisions,” she muttered, her hair caught in Brown’s ear. She tried to shift the doll under one arm, adjusting her grip and sighing. “This is why adults aren’t allowed to shop unsupervised.”

The bear’s head flopped dramatically to one side, nearly smacking a passerby.

“Sorry—!” she squeaked, twisting sideways, almost losing her balance.

Brown’s giant plush paw slipped from her elbow.

And that’s when it happened.

A hand—steady, gloved in light fabric—reached out from behind her and caught the plush before it hit the ground. Their fingers brushed.

Warm.

Startlingly warm.

Eva turned, startled.

The man who’d helped her was tall and silent. Dressed entirely in black: hoodie drawn tight, a dark mask covering the lower half of his face, and a baseball cap pulled low. Only his eyes were visible—calm, soft, strangely familiar.

She blinked.

“Ah—thank you,” she said, adjusting the bear. “He’s heavier than he looks. Clearly I’ve overestimated my upper body strength.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t speak.

He nodded. A slight gesture. Almost shy. Then gave her a simple thumbs-up, as if to say, You’ve got it from here.

Before she could offer more thanks—or foolishly offer to buy him a coffee—he stepped past her and disappeared into the soft trickle of pedestrian traffic. No words, no name, no hesitation.

Eva turned, watching his retreating figure. There was something strangely graceful about him. The way he walked. The way he hadn’t stared at her too long.

Kind of familiar… maybe I’ve seen him before?

Ah well. Just a nice stranger. Seoul’s full of them.

She bundled Brown into the passenger seat of her car, buckling the bear in with gentle muttering.

“You better be worth it,” she told him, patting his paw.

That night, as she brushed her teeth, the moment flickered across her mind again.

Nice eyes.

Kind. Strange…

But she forgot it soon enough.

What she didn’t know—what she couldn’t possibly know—was that under the layers of her cozy sleep shirt, on the lower part of her back, her once-dark soulmark had pulsed once—faintly—softly.

A whisper of color.

Then it faded.

Chapter Text

The first thing Jin did when he returned home that night was toss his hoodie into the laundry basket and collapse face-first into the couch.

Helping a stranger carry a stuffed bear twice her size hadn’t exactly been on his schedule. But the memory of her stayed with him: the way she’d mumbled thanks, the awkward shuffle of her feet, the quiet confidence behind the embarrassment in her voice. She wasn’t dramatic or flustered—just... tired. The kind of tired he understood.

He stretched an arm over his face and sighed. Maybe he should’ve asked her name. But what was he going to say?

“Hi, what's your name? Also, here’s your bear.”

Nope. Definitely not cool.

He dragged himself to the bathroom. As he peeled off his shirt and reached for a towel, his eyes caught a flash in the mirror.

He froze.

His soulmark.

The one on his side, near his ribs—it looked… different.

Jin leaned closer. A faint tint—barely there—threaded through one segment of the mark.

Not black. Not empty. But softly shimmering with color. Gold, maybe?

“Wait… what…”

A chill ran up his spine. He grabbed his phone, snapped a quick photo, and stared. He hadn’t imagined it. It wasn’t a lighting trick.

The mark had changed.

“GUYS!” he shouted down the hallway.

The dorm’s quiet shattered. Within moments, Jungkook arrived with one earbud still dangling, Taehyung stumbled in wrapped in his full blanket like a sleepy burrito, and Yoongi appeared—only one eye open.

“What now?” Namjoon asked, rubbing his temples.

Jin held up his phone. “My mark. Changed.”

The room fell silent.

“What?” Hobi said, blinking. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not!” Jin turned the phone toward them. “Look here. This part—was solid black yesterday.”

They crowded in.

Jimin gasped. “It’s colored.”

Jungkook leaned closer. “Did you touch someone?”

“I mean…” Jin hesitated. “I helped a girl carry a giant stuffed bear earlier tonight. Our hands brushed.”

“That’s weirdly romantic,” Jimin said, half-laughing.

“She barely looked at me. Just said thank you.”

“Was she pretty?” Taehyung asked, sleepily.

“I didn’t stare,” Jin muttered. “She seemed tired. And she had good manners.”

Namjoon sat down and pulled out his notes app. “Alright. Let’s break it down. Describe her.”

“She was short. Like… really short. Maybe 4'9" or so. Long dark wavy hair—reaching her back. Tied up, I think. Minimalist clothes. Looked like she’d just gotten off work. Very... composed.”

“Brown the bear?” Jimin repeated.

“Yes. Huge. Like she’d stolen it from a carnival.”

Taehyung looked up from under his blanket. “Was it love at first plush?”

“Please don’t,” Jin groaned.

Yoongi, still half-asleep, muttered, “So what now? You just let her vanish?”

“She walked away. What was I supposed to do? Tackle her?”

“I mean…” Jungkook began, and Yoongi cut him off with a look.

Namjoon furrowed his brow. “If your mark changed after touching her, and ours haven’t… this could be the one.”

Everyone glanced at their own marks. Each had one blank shape left—except for Jin.

It was suddenly very, very quiet.

“Then who is she?” Jungkook finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Jin admitted. “I didn’t ask.”

Taehyung raised a hand. “Should we make a sketch?”

“No!” Jin said instantly. “We are not turning this into a K-drama police board.”

Too late. Hobi was already grabbing a pen and pad.

“Tiny woman, holding big bear,” he narrated as he drew a stick figure. “Strong arms. Serious eyes. Soft energy. Definitely a soulmate aura.”

“That looks like an angry potato,” Jimin said, peeking over his shoulder.

“It’s abstract,” Hobi said proudly.

Jin groaned and collapsed back on the couch. “I’ve ruined it. I met her and didn’t even ask her name.”

Namjoon tapped his chin. “Where did you meet her exactly?”

“Near the LINE store, Garosu-gil. Late evening.”

“That narrows it down,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Barely,” Namjoon replied, already planning something. “Tomorrow, we check social media, CCTV near the area if needed. We’ll look for any mention of a woman buying a big plush bear. Maybe the store staff remember her.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “Should we go in disguise?”

Jin covered his face with his hands. “I’m never going outside again.”

“Hyung,” Jimin said softly, “don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know.”

“I know,” Jin said. “But something about her... I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He stared at the picture of his mark again. Faint gold. Warm.

“She didn’t even look surprised when I helped. Just... calm. Like she expects people to walk away.”

There was a pause.

“Then maybe,” Namjoon said slowly, “she’s been let down before.”

They all looked at him.

Jin felt his chest tighten.

She deserves more than being let down again.

If she’s our last piece… I want her to know she matters.

~~~

Monday arrived with a vengeance.

Eva’s alarm played a mellow cello piece. Supposedly calming. In reality, it felt like a polite ghost shaking her out of the void. She opened one eye and groaned at the sunlight spilling through her curtain like an intrusive coworker.

“No. Just... no,” she mumbled into her pillow.

After a dramatic roll out of bed worthy of an independent film award, she shuffled barefoot to the bathroom. Her reflection stared back with a kind of tired that no serum or coffee could cure.

“You look like a tax return came to life,” she muttered, tying her hair into a quick bun.

Fifteen minutes later, she stood in front of her closet, holding two nearly identical suits. One was soft gray. The other, slightly darker.

She squinted. “The illusion of choice.”

She picked the lighter one—her small act of rebellion. Crisp lines, neat blazer, long tailored pants. Comfortably efficient.

By 8:30 AM, Eva Hale was striding through the halls of YS Corporation, the embodiment of quiet command. Her bag tucked neatly under her arm, tablet balanced in one hand, steps purposeful. A few employees greeted her politely, and she returned it with a nod. There was always a hushed awe around her, like people weren’t sure whether to respect her or fear her.

Eva didn’t mind either option. She just didn’t have the energy to be everyone’s friend.

She paused by the staff coffee machine and tapped out her regular order: long Americano, no sugar, no cream. She took the first sip like medicine—because it was.

“Morning, Miss Hale,” one of the younger interns whispered, walking by like he was passing a headmistress.

She turned slightly. “Morning.”

The poor boy nearly dropped his folder trying to bow and walk at the same time.

Do I really seem that unapproachable? she wondered.

Maybe she did. But being approachable wasn’t part of her job. Competence was. Precision. Balance.

She sat at her desk and began reviewing the mountain of emails that had sprouted over the weekend. Her eyes were halfway through a vendor contract when—

“Miss Hale!”

Sohyun’s voice rang through the office like a wind chime.

Eva glanced up as her assistant approached at full speed, tablet clutched like a shield. As always, Sohyun looked like she lived in a fashion magazine’s “intern chic” spread—bright blazer, bouncing ponytail, eyes sparkling like it was her birthday.

“Good morning,” Eva said, folding her hands.

“Your updated schedule,” Sohyun chirped, passing the tablet. “Also, I did something wild—I added a ten-minute lunch break.”

Eva raised a brow. “Ten whole minutes? Bold.” She allowed a smirk form on her face, "What a rebel."

Sohyun beamed like she’d won an award. Sohyun gave her a wink. “You’re welcome.”

As they walked toward the elevator for a meeting on the top floor, Sohyun leaned closer.

“Oh! HYBE replied.”

Eva glanced over. “That was fast.”

“They liked the proposal,” Sohyun said. “They want a meeting this week.”

Eva nodded. “And they’re offering BTS for the campaign?”

Sohyun clasped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! I nearly cried. I didn’t, but I was emotionally trembling.”

Eva sighed through her nose. “You’re a professional.”

“I am a professional fan, ma’am.”

The elevator doors opened. They stepped inside.

“You’re not going to faint if you meet them, are you?” Eva asked.

Sohyun looked thoughtful. “Only if it’s Jungkook. Or Jimin. Or really any of them.”

Eva blinked. “You’d better not cry during the pitch.”

“I promise to only leak tears aesthetically.”

They stepped out on the executive floor. As they made their way to the boardroom, Eva glanced at her assistant.

“Do you… actually think they’re that impressive?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Sohyun paused. “They’re not just good-looking. They work hard. Really hard. They’re artists and performers and public figures all at once. They give a lot. You can feel it.”

Eva hummed, thoughtful.

Maybe that’s why so many people liked them. It wasn’t just fame—it was connection.

The meeting flew by. Eva led with practiced clarity, correcting a few misaligned budgets and suggesting subtle campaign angles for international markets. Sohyun took notes diligently, and at one point, Eva caught her doodling tiny hearts in the margins.

Afterward, as they passed the marketing floor, Sohyun tugged Eva’s sleeve.

“They also mentioned BTS’s schedule might be tight,” she said. “If we want a partnership this quarter, we need to act soon.”

Eva nodded. “Then set the meeting. Thursday morning. I’ll make the time.”

Sohyun beamed. “Can I come?”

“You’re the assistant secretary. It would be rude not to bring you.”

“I won’t cry.”

“You say that now.”

Back at her desk, Eva resumed her work—replying to proposals, adjusting rollout timelines, forwarding one particularly messy expense report to HR. Her fingers danced across the keys while her mind sorted through calendar slots.

But somewhere, faint and uninvited, her thoughts returned to the stranger from the LINE store.

Just a few seconds of eye contact. A warm hand helping hers. No words. No names. Just presence.

It’s been a long time since someone helped without asking why.

She shook the thought away.

Strangers didn’t matter. Work did.

The brief quiet broke when her chair creaked and she leaned back. Her blouse shifted slightly, and a faint tug near her lower back made her pause.

Her soulmark.

She hadn't looked at it in years. It was small, easy to forget. And she had always told herself it didn’t matter unless it felt like something.

No reason to check it. No reason to hope.

She stood, smoothed her blazer, and marched toward her next meeting—pushing every rogue thought neatly into the drawer labeled “Later.”

Another meeting. Another contract. Another carefully controlled day.

And somewhere in that rhythm, something was starting to stir.

~~~

Eva had been to many corporate headquarters, but HYBE was… different.

From the moment she stepped out of the taxi, she could feel it—the tension in the air, the subtle hum beneath the surface. The building rose sleek and modern, glass and steel catching the afternoon light in sharp angles. Everything about it was polished, futuristic, alive with purpose.

Sohyun stood beside her practically vibrating with excitement. Eva had allowed her to come, not just because it was technically her job, but because Eva was half afraid the woman would quit on the spot if she said no.

“You’ll behave,” Eva warned before they stepped through the revolving door.

Sohyun nodded quickly. “Absolutely. Silent. Stone-faced. Stoic.”

Eva raised an eyebrow.

“…unless they say hello, then I might short-circuit.”

“Professional,” Eva reminded, holding back a smile.

“I swear.”

They entered the building and were immediately greeted by a front-desk receptionist. The environment was quiet but not cold—designed to impress without being overwhelming. A few staff in casual designer wear walked past, tablets in hand. There was music playing somewhere faintly through the intercom. Instrumental, jazzy.

A representative from HYBE’s marketing team came to meet them. They exchanged polite introductions, and Eva offered her card with a smooth motion born from years of practice. Sohyun bowed so quickly it nearly knocked her own lanyard off.

They were ushered into a bright, glass-walled meeting room on the third floor. As Eva sat down, she caught a glimpse of the open courtyard outside—modern stone paths and minimalist trees swaying lightly in the spring breeze.

The meeting itself was smooth.

Eva had anticipated pushback. Instead, they were aligned. The campaign strategy was solid, and the collaboration held potential for international visibility.

As the HYBE team laid out preliminary schedules, Eva’s gaze drifted subtly to the hallway outside. It wasn’t her habit to get distracted—but something caught her attention. A faint rhythm. A low murmur that rose and dipped like waves lapping against a distant shore.

Was someone singing?

She blinked. Then leaned ever so slightly toward the glass wall.

There it was again—a voice. Male. Soft and strong at once. The kind that didn't just sing but held a note like a promise.

Eva’s breath caught for a second. Goosebumps trailed across her arms without warning.

She didn’t recognize the melody. She didn’t know the words. But something about it felt… unsettling. In a way that wasn’t bad. In a way that felt like someone had reached inside and plucked a string she didn’t know existed.

“Miss Hale?” one of the HYBE reps prompted.

Eva snapped her attention back, eyes alert. “Apologies. Please, continue.”

They resumed the scheduling. She made notes, asked questions, signed one preliminary consent to initiate joint planning. All routine.

But the voice lingered.

When the meeting wrapped, she stood and bowed politely, thanking the team. As they exited the room, Sohyun—trying her best to stay composed—whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “Did you hear that singing?”

Eva nodded.

“It was…” Sohyun didn’t finish the sentence. Just exhaled dreamily.

They walked the hall. As they rounded a corner, Eva slowed.

Through a frosted glass door, just barely, she caught a glimpse—a silhouette.

A figure standing near a mic stand. Broad shoulders. Head bowed slightly as if focused. The light hit just right, enough to form an outline, not a face.

The same voice from earlier poured faintly through the sealed room.

She paused.

Only for a moment.

Her hand tingled, and she didn’t know why.

It’s nothing. You’re imagining it.

She walked on.

From inside the room, Jungkook looked up just in time to see a blur of long hair and cream-colored fabric passing by. A feeling curled in his chest. Not recognition exactly—more like the echo of something he hadn’t remembered missing.

He stepped closer to the door.

Gone.

He stared through the frosted panel, as if the hallway might rewind.

Behind him, the music stopped playing.

In the elevator, Eva stayed quiet.

Sohyun looked like she wanted to say something—probably about the music, or maybe the decor, or how the man at the reception desk might be the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

Instead, she glanced sideways. “You okay?”

Eva nodded. “Just… a long day.”

She didn’t mention the strange goosebumps. The way her soulmark had tingled briefly like it was waking up.

She didn’t even remember it until later that night—when she reached behind her back while changing clothes and froze. Her fingers hovered where the mark lay, just above her hip.

Still faint. Still black.

She wasn’t sure why she expected it to feel hot.

Stop being ridiculous, she told herself.

It was just a voice.

And maybe it was.

Maybe it was just a moment.

Or maybe, like a song played in the background of a life, it was the first note of something far more complex.

~~~

The studio was unusually quiet for a late afternoon. Soft music buzzed from a Bluetooth speaker, Yoongi was half-dozing in his desk chair, and Hobi was stretching beside a pile of tangled cords and water bottles.

Jungkook stood by the door, still holding his water bottle mid-sip, brows slightly furrowed.

“Hyung.”

No one heard him over the mellow beat.

“Hyung,” he repeated, louder this time.

Jin looked up from his phone. “Hmm?”

Jungkook’s voice came out steadier than he felt. “I think I saw her.”

The room froze.

Taehyung, mid-hugging a decorative throw pillow, looked up with a slow blink. Namjoon paused with his laptop halfway closed. Jimin perked up from his seat, eyes suddenly wide.

Jin sat upright. “You what?”

“I didn’t see her face,” Jungkook said quickly. “But… I saw a woman outside the studio door while I was singing. Just her silhouette.”

Yoongi’s left eye opened. “And?”

Jungkook pressed the cold bottle against his neck, heart pounding. “It wasn’t just her silhouette. It was a feeling. Like something clicked. Familiar, but… not. My soulmark—it warmed up.”

A beat of silence.

Jimin stood up. “Wait. What do you mean ‘warmed up’?”

“Like... when you touch someone with gloves on, but you can still tell it’s them?” Jungkook looked around. “I didn’t see her. But my body recognized her.”

Jin’s mouth parted slightly, as if a thousand quiet thoughts suddenly made sense.

“I felt the same,” he murmured. “The girl from the LINE store.”

Everyone turned to him.

“You’re sure?” Namjoon asked.

“I helped her carry a Brown bear plush. We brushed hands. Nothing big, just casual. But when I thought about it afterward, I realized—my soulmark warmed up. I felt something trying to get my attention.”

Jimin gasped. “You didn’t tell us?!”

“I wasn’t sure!” Jin defended. “I thought maybe it was some background contact—accidental.”

Yoongi deadpanned. “You think an accidental road encounter just so happens to spark your soulmate mark? There’s no such thing as coincidence.”

“Okay, yeah. It sounds dumb now.”

Namjoon pulled out his phone and tapped quickly. “When did this happen, Jungkook?”

“This morning. Around eleven. She passed the recording room while I was laying down vocals.”

Namjoon checked the HYBE guest schedule. “No internal meetings today. So, she probably wasn’t staff.”

“She could’ve been a guest,” Hobi added.

“She was,” Jin said. “She told me she was on her way to her car. She wore a suit. Looked professional.”

“I didn’t see what she was wearing,” Jungkook said, “but she was small. Petite. Dark hair pulled back. She moved fast—like she had somewhere to be. But graceful.”

They exchanged glances.

Taehyung raised both hands slowly. “Okay, but are we just… linking every mysterious girl in Seoul to our soulmate now? We can’t even know if the woman Jin saw is the same one Jungkook saw.”

“I didn’t see a single person today who made me feel like that,” Jungkook said firmly. “Not even when fans scream my name. This... it was different.”

Yoongi leaned back. “Then we narrow it down. HYBE logs visitors. We cross-check time slots, look at security cam stills.”

“You think they’ll let us?” Hobi asked.

Namjoon shrugged. “Not if it’s ‘personal.’ But if we say it’s for a collaboration contact…”

“…Then it’s professional curiosity,” Jin finished.

“Exactly.”

Jimin clapped. “We’re going full detective mode?”

“I was born for this,” Taehyung announced, pulling out a small notebook.

“What is that?” Jungkook blinked.

“My investigation log.”

“You’ve never investigated anything.”

“Correction. I investigated the missing strawberry yogurt last week. And solved it.”

“That was Jin’s.”

“I interrogated him.”

“It had his name on it.”

“I rest my case.”

Jin sighed and turned to Namjoon. “So what now?”

“We wait for HYBE to send the visitor report. If we get a list, we cross-check names, companies, departments.”

Yoongi added, “And anyone who touched any of us this week.”

Everyone stared.

Yoongi blinked. “What? We’re tracking soulmarks, aren’t we?”

“I’m not making a list of everyone who’s touched me,” Jimin said.

“Coward,” Taehyung muttered.

Jungkook slowly sat down, hand covering his soulmark through his shirt. It still felt warm. Not hot. Not glowing. Just… aware.

He couldn’t explain it, but it felt like someone had knocked gently on a door inside him—and hadn’t quite stepped through.

“I didn’t even speak to her,” he murmured. “I was singing. That’s all.”

“She might’ve heard you,” Jin said.

Namjoon folded his arms. “That’s how it begins.”

The room fell quiet.

“Are we being weird?” Jungkook asked.

“Yes,” Yoongi said flatly.

“Is it justified?”

“Yes,” Jin agreed.

Taehyung, pen poised in his notebook, raised a hand. “Okay. Important question.”

Everyone groaned.

“If she turns out to be Jungkook’s last soulmate too… does that mean she’s the soulmate to all of us?”

“Possibly,” Namjoon said carefully.

Taehyung lit up. “The last of our group soulmate.”

“We’ve always had similar marks,” Jimin said. “Same shapes. Same layout. Just one black space left—for all of us. She could be the one.”

“What if she doesn’t want us?” Hobi asked softly. “What if she doesn’t accept group soulmates—or even the soulmate idea at all?”

A pause. Heavy. Real.

“That’s too sad,” Jin muttered.

“I’d accept it,” Jungkook said. “Even if she didn’t choose me. As long as she’s happy with one of us.”

All eyes turned to him.

He blinked. “What?”

Yoongi smirked. “Someone’s already soft.”

“I’m not soft. I’m respectful.”

“Soft,” Jimin whispered.

“Romantic,” Hobi added.

“Hopeless,” Yoongi concluded.

Jungkook rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

His fingers brushed his soulmark again.

It was quiet now—like it had whispered something important, then gone still.

She’s close.

He just had to be brave enough to wait.

Chapter Text

The morning air drifting through the slightly cracked window was cool and a little damp, carrying the faint scent of early rain on concrete. Somewhere in the building, someone’s alarm buzzed softly. A distant microwave beeped. Eva lay curled beneath her comforter, her breathing steady, her eyes still shut despite her consciousness returning minutes ago.

She didn't want to move just yet.

This wasn’t laziness, not exactly. It was more like… resistance. A quiet protest against the world outside her walls, against the responsibilities and expectations that would swallow her whole the moment her feet touched the floor.

Her apartment, minimalist and silent, offered her a small comfort in that final moment between sleep and responsibility. She stretched slightly under the blanket, her toes curling under the sheets.

Then the alarm on her phone chimed once—a soft piano tone she’d programmed for mornings that required gentle discipline. Not enough to jolt, but firm enough to prod.

She sat up, slowly, carefully brushing her hair back with her fingers. Her body felt heavy, not from fatigue, but from something she couldn’t name.

Her dreams were blank. No vivid images, no colors, no sudden jarring wakes. Just a thick, foggy sleep that made her feel like she had missed something important.

Padding barefoot into the kitchen, Eva moved on instinct: boil water, grind beans, measure perfectly. The scent of dark roast filled the space quickly. It grounded her better than any cold shower ever could.

She poured her usual cup of black coffee—no cream, no sugar—and leaned on the counter, eyes staring into the horizon of her white kitchen tiles.

“You’re just tired,” she said aloud, as if the sound of her voice might make it more believable.

But there was something more than tiredness. A sense of… imbalance. Like her world had tilted ever so slightly on its axis. She wasn’t dizzy. She was aware—too aware.

She shook it off.

At least, she tried.

She made her way to the bathroom, running her fingers over her face. The reflection that met her gaze was familiar, but more worn today. Slightly puffy eyes. A faint crease between her brows. Her lips were a little dry.

She splashed water on her face and dried it with the precision of someone who had been forced to be composed since she was a teenager. Efficiency was her armor.

Eva didn’t linger when dressing. Her work attire was uniform at this point: a tailored blouse, high-waisted pants, low block heels, minimal jewelry. Today, a cream-colored blouse and soft gray slacks.

As she dressed, her fingers brushed her lower back. A faint tingle zipped through her skin.

She paused.

It wasn't the first time she’d felt that warmth—not burning, not painful, just… present.

Frowning slightly, she reached for her phone, turned on the front camera, and took a picture of the area just above her right hip. Her fingers trembled slightly as she angled the phone.

It took her a second to register what she was looking at.

There it was.

Her soulmark.

The usually solid black pattern was unchanged in shape—an intricate blooming swirl—but this time, near the center, a line had shifted. A faint wash of color, hardly noticeable unless you stared.

She zoomed in. It wasn’t bright. Just faint. But unmistakably not black.

A breath caught in her throat.

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the picture on her phone.

It felt like a moment of silence that demanded reverence. Her mind wanted to race, but her body refused to move.

“When?” she whispered aloud.

She hadn’t checked it in months. Maybe over a year. What would be the point? Soulmarks changed only through skin contact—and even then, only if the person was your soulmate. And even then, only if both souls resonated.

Her life didn’t involve random soul-stirring encounters. She shook hands with dozens of people for business. She brushed against shoulders and elbows in crowded elevators. She handed files to colleagues, occasionally bumped into strangers on the street.

It could have been anyone.

That’s what she told herself.

Yet something inside her tugged against that logic.

That tingle. That warmth. She remembered it now—after she’d left HYBE. It had trailed under her skin all the way home like a whisper she didn’t know how to translate.

She took another photo of the mark. Same. Not brighter, not more obvious, but still undeniably changed.

She closed her eyes for a moment.

“Maybe it’s a fluke,” she said softly.

Eva wasn’t someone who hated the idea of soulmates. She simply didn’t trust it. The world was full of people who mistook chemistry for fate, who fell into toxic patterns under the excuse of destiny. Her own friends had bonded and broken over mismatched soulmarks. She’d seen what happened when people expected soulmates to fix them.

She refused to believe that a tattoo had more power than effort, than empathy.

And yet… here it was. Color.

She got up slowly and returned to the bathroom mirror, this time not to hide from herself, but to look clearly.

She studied her own eyes.

“It’s fine,” she told herself. “You’re fine.”

But a new question had entered her bloodstream: Who?
And worse, what now?

She grabbed her blazer and her bag. As she passed through the door, she turned and looked at the small apartment one more time.

For a second, she wished she could just stay home.

To lie back down. Make a hot drink. Pretend her life hadn’t shifted without her permission.

“You don’t need a soulmate,” she muttered again.

But even she didn’t sound convinced.

The drive to work was a blur. Traffic in Gangnam was always unpredictable, but today she hardly noticed the lights or the sounds. She didn’t turn on music like usual.

The silence suited her too well.

At the office, she smiled at people like always. She gave nods, short greetings, small exchanges of respect and leadership. She didn’t falter in her role.

But beneath her blouse, the color at her side still hummed faintly. And though she didn’t touch it again… she couldn’t stop feeling it.

She dropped her things in her office, booted her computer, and reviewed the pending documents.

But even in the depths of contracts and approval forms… her mind kept drifting.

Back to the hallway outside the studio.

To the faint music through the walls.

To the voice she couldn’t forget.

A voice that made her soul pause.

~~~

The meeting room at HYBE wasn’t one they used often — too formal, too echoey, too corporate — but today, it was exactly what they needed.

Seven chairs were filled by seven equally restless men, each armed with their own laptop, tablet, or printed packet of notes. The usual playful banter had quieted to a hum of determination. Today, they weren’t performers. They weren’t planning a stage or rehearsing a choreography. They were investigators, fueled by curiosity and instinct.

Namjoon stood at the head of the table, tapping a stylus against the edge of his tablet as the spreadsheet loaded onto the large screen on the wall.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is the timestamp closest to when Jungkook was recording—around 1:07 p.m., Wednesday.”

“She must’ve come earlier than that,” Yoongi said from his end of the table, arms folded and eyes narrowed. “If Jungkook saw her walking past during vocals, then we’re looking for anyone who entered and was still in the building before and around that time.”

Jimin leaned forward, scanning the printed version of the guest log. “Here. Two names, back-to-back, both from YS Corporation—Evaira Hale and Sohyun Kim. Checked in at 12:15.”

Taehyung leaned over, reading upside-down. “Both women. Same company. Same appointment window.”

“Evaira,” Jin repeated softly, like he was tasting the word. “That’s... not a name you hear every day.”

“You think she’s the one?” Hobi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Jin admitted. “But it feels like it. That name stuck.”

“You didn’t even see her face,” Jimin reminded him.

“I know. But when I helped her with that plush bear… when our hands touched—” he tapped his chest lightly, over his soulmark. “—something shifted. I didn’t realize it at the time, but later… it was obvious.”

Namjoon highlighted both names with a quick swipe of the stylus. “There’s no position listed. No department. No title. All we know is that they had a delivery for PR and an appointment with someone from the executive office.”

“Probably Bang PD or his assistant,” Yoongi added. “Especially if it was a direct campaign pitch.”

Jungkook, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up. “I didn’t see her face either. Just her silhouette through the studio window. But when she walked by, I felt…”

He trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Familiar?” Namjoon offered.

“No,” Jungkook said slowly. “Recognized. Like my body knew her, even if I didn’t.”

“Sounds like soul-reactivity,” Yoongi said.

“Wait,” Taehyung cut in. “What if they’re both our soulmates?”

A beat of silence.

Then Jin shook his head. “No. My mark changed once. One color. One segment.”

“and,” Jungkook added. “Only one space was left to be filled.”

“Jungkook is right. They can’t both be the one,” Namjoon said. “but let’s not jump ahead.”

“We don’t even know which one is which,” Hobi said. “Evaira Hale or Sohyun Kim. Could go either way.”

Jimin tilted his head. “Let’s think. If the one we’re looking for is the more composed, calm one — the one Jungkook described — she sounds like a leader. The question is which one of them is the leader?”

“That’s profiling,” Taehyung whispered, scribbling notes in a tiny leather notebook labeled “Operation Soul Search.”

“But he’s not wrong,” Yoongi admitted. “From Jin's description, she’s someone who used wear suit and formalities. So she must be the leader. Though there's a possibility an assistant with high attention to suits.”

Namjoon shrugged. “It’s all speculation for now. We have no pictures, no titles, and no contact info.”

“So… we just wait?” Jimin groaned.

“We observe,” Namjoon corrected. “If this campaign moves forward, and everything points to that, we’ll see them again.”

“Can’t we just ask Bang PD to tell us who’s leading it?” Jungkook asked.

“Nope,” Yoongi said. “Too suspicious. We’re not trying to tip anyone off.”

“We can casually request a pre-meeting name drop,” Namjoon said. “In the name of prep.”

“That’s basically the same thing,” Jimin muttered.

Taehyung doodled a detective magnifying glass on his notepad.

Jin sat up straighter. “I keep thinking about that moment at the LINE store. She was so composed. She didn’t even look me in the eye. But when we brushed hands… I’m telling you, something happened.”

“She probably doesn’t know her mark changed,” Yoongi said. “Not everyone checks their soulmark every day, especially if it is located on a place where it can't be seen easily by their own eyes, like their back or neck.”

“She didn’t react,” Jin admitted. “That makes sense.”

Namjoon sighed, turning off the display. “So we wait. Next meeting, we pay attention. Watch them. Subtly.”

Taehyung grinned. “Like spies.”

Hobi chuckled. “Like creeps.”

Jungkook, fingers tapping his soulmark through his shirt, whispered, “Evaira Hale.”

He didn’t know her voice. He hadn’t seen her eyes. But something inside him had awakened.

Next time, he would be ready.

~~~

The click of her heels against the marble floor echoed faintly in the near-empty hallway of YS Corporation’s 22nd floor. It was early, even for her — barely past seven — but the stillness before the day’s chaos was worth the lost sleep.

Evaira Hale moved with her usual quiet precision: coffee in hand, hair tied neatly back, her slate-gray blazer already buttoned. A folder pressed under one arm, she gave a slight nod to the two security staff on her way to the executive wing. They stood straighter as she passed, not out of fear, but out of instinct — as if her very presence reminded them they should be.

She didn’t consider herself intimidating. She was simply efficient.

The elevator dinged softly behind her. She didn’t look back.

Don’t lose momentum. Keep forward.

Her office greeted her with familiar minimalism: a clean desk, three pending folders from last night, and her tablet blinking quietly with today’s agenda. She set down her coffee, took a deep breath, and let the silence settle over her like a shawl.

She loved this part of the morning. No noise. No phones ringing. Just the world suspended in soft pre-work stillness.

She allowed herself exactly five minutes to sip her coffee and stare at the skyline. The clouds were low today, brushing against the top floors of the high-rises. A mild fog curled between the buildings like breath on glass.

Then the knock came — not sharp, not timid. That was Sohyun’s knock. Three soft taps followed by a beat of hesitation.

“Come in,” Eva called, already standing to receive her files.

Sohyun peeked in, her usual cheerful self carefully reined in behind a slightly more formal expression.

“I brought the follow-up notes from yesterday’s meetings. Also…” she paused, shifting her weight from foot to foot, “we just got a reply from HYBE.”

Eva raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

“Yep!” Sohyun stepped forward, laying the manila folder on her desk like it was sacred. “They’ve agreed to move forward with the collaboration. They sent over preliminary dates, and—uh—they asked if you’d like to discuss key visuals in person.”

Eva blinked. That was fast.

“And they were… unusually agreeable,” Sohyun added, her smile threatening to split into full-blown glee. “No delays. No over-negotiation. They offered to match our proposed budget points, even the conservative ones.”

Eva frowned slightly, but not in a displeased way — just thoughtful.

“Maybe they’re eager to associate with a growing luxury brand,” she murmured. “Or maybe they’re just being smart.”

Sohyun said nothing, but her eyes sparkled suspiciously.

Eva ignored it for now. She flipped through the printed email summary.

Key visuals. Face of the campaign. Presentation scheduling.

It was all moving rather smoothly.

A little too smoothly.

Not that she was complaining. But a small voice in the back of her mind — the one that always warned her to double-check locked doors — whispered, Stay sharp.
She glanced up at Sohyun. “Please confirm the proposed schedule. Tentative approval. And ask them if the creative directors will join the next meeting.”

“Of course!” Sohyun paused, biting her lip. “And… uh… one more thing. Do you want to meet them again at HYBE or invite them here?”

Eva stared at her for a beat. “There’s no need to move location unless necessary.”

Sohyun grinned. “So… HYBE it is?”

“Is this about work or about proximity to your idols?”

“Why not both?” Sohyun laughed and backed out of the office. “I’ll forward the schedule once I get confirmation!”

The door shut behind her.

Eva sighed and set the folder down.

She wasn’t one to overthink positive developments, but something about the ease of this campaign felt… unusual.

She had backup plans, of course — a smaller agency, two mid-tier influencers, even a whole different direction for the launch if needed. She wasn’t the type to bet everything on a single partnership, no matter how big the name.

Still, she couldn’t deny the part of her that was quietly pleased things were progressing.

The campaign concept was strong. The product was promising. And BTS — despite her complete lack of fangirl tendencies — brought undeniable impact.

She settled at her desk and opened her inbox.

Fifty-three new emails. Three urgent. She clicked through each one, her eyes darting between spreadsheets, timelines, contract clauses. Her fingers danced over the keyboard, her thoughts already reorganizing her day.

Focus. Execute. Stay on track.

But her mind tugged — once again — back to the hallway in HYBE.

That voice. That song. That warmth.

She didn’t know what she felt. But it wasn’t normal.

And the soulmark.

She hadn’t looked again since yesterday morning. She didn’t want to.

It could’ve been anyone.

It means nothing without proof.

You’re not seventeen anymore, dreaming of fate.

Still, she sat for a moment longer than necessary. The tip of her finger brushed her lower back, as if hoping for a sign.

Nothing.

Just warmth. Just memory.

She shook herself free of the thought and stood.

There were presentations to prepare. Meetings to schedule. Deadlines to meet.

No time for ghosts of song or strangers with plush bears.

Still…

Her eyes drifted to the schedule screen again.

Face-to-face meeting. Soon.

Eva didn’t consider herself superstitious.

But for the first time in years, she wondered what it would feel like to meet someone and just know.

She didn’t believe in destiny.

But if it knocked again…

Maybe, just maybe…

She might open the door.

~~~

The second-floor Executive side in HYBE was rarely used unless something major was on the horizon.

The conference room buzzed with an unusual energy. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, casting a pale glow over the modern steel-and-wood table. An ambient citrus scent—clean and faintly sweet—lingered in the air. It smelled like opportunity. Or nerves.

With its high glass windows and angled skylights, the space felt like a blend between a think tank and a war room. A sleek presentation screen dominated one wall, and soft ambient lighting glowed over a table large enough for a dozen seats.

All seven BTS members were seated, dressed in coordinated but not matching suits, the kind that screamed expensive professionalism without effort. Each of them looked presentable, sleek, composed.

But under the table? Legs bounced. Fingers tapped. Eyes darted from the door to the clock.

They weren’t nervous.

Not officially.

“What’s this really about?” Yoongi whispered with mild suspicion.

“No one calls an emergency internal with PD-nim unless a contract’s changing,” Taehyung added, his voice soft but tinged with anticipation.

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately, fingers steepled in thought.

“I feel like I’m waiting for judgment,” Jimin whispered, adjusting his cufflinks for the third time.

“We’re not on trial,” Namjoon muttered, skimming a document on his tablet.

“Feels like it,” Hobi added, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why is it so quiet?”

“Because we’re pretending to be professionals,” Yoongi replied from his corner, eyes closed like he was meditating through the tension.

Taehyung glanced up from the leather notebook he was doodling in. “Should we rehearse what we’ll say?”

Namjoon didn’t look up. “We’re not giving a concert. We’re entering an internal meeting.”

Jin cleared his throat. “A possibly meeting about her.”

Silence.

That was the real reason the air felt so charged.

Before anyone could respond, the door opened. In came Bang PD, dressed as always in a black tee and long coat, flanked by two HYBE marketing directors and their group manager. A few staff followed with tablets in hand.

“Good morning,” Bang PD said casually, settling into the head of the table. “Thanks for coming early. We’ve got a campaign partnership to go over.”

“Another product launch?” Jin asked, folding his arms.

“Not just any product,” one of the marketing reps cut in. “YS Corporation. You’ve probably seen their name trending recently.”

“Luxury skincare,” Jimin said, nodding. “They’re expanding aggressively this year.”

“Exactly. And their Korean branch is finalizing a long-term campaign. They reached out to us a week ago requesting BTS as brand models for their newest line.”
Bang PD gestured, and the projector screen came to life.

On it flashed a minimalist mock-up: clean lines, modern fonts, and a logo BTS recognized from high-end beauty counters.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “We’re going with this?”

“We’re seriously considering it,” Bang PD replied. “They’re offering creative control on the concept, a flexible shoot schedule, and a premium tier branding license for your names.”

Yoongi whistled low. “That’s rare.”

“They’re taking this seriously,” the manager confirmed. “And their senior project lead flew in personally from their China headquarters to manage this from the Korean office.”

Taehyung leaned forward. “Who is she?”

The marketing lead flipped to a slide that showed two names:

Evaira Hale – Senior Secretary, HQ (Acting Korean Branch Lead)
Sohyun Kim – Assistant Secretary, Korean Branch

“Evaira Hale?” Jungkook echoed.

Jin sat straighter. “She’s from the guest list. That’s her.”

“Exactly. So you’ll probably recognize them.” Bang PD gave them a look that said, I’m not blind, but I’m choosing to say nothing.

The seven idols sat a little straighter.

Namjoon nodded once, hiding his spark of recognition. “So she’s not just admin support. She’s running the Korean branch.”

“For now,” the marketing lead confirmed. “YS is restructuring. While they finalize the new CEO, she’s holding everything together.”

“She’s high-level,” Yoongi murmured, tapping his pen on the table. “And she visited HYBE?”

“Yes,” the staff member replied. “She and her assistant met with our PR division last week. Dropped off documents and requested formal meetings. Very efficient. Very direct.”

Bang PD agreed. “She’s handled a few international campaigns already. Direct. Sharp. Extremely efficient. This campaign is important to them—they’ve flown in their senior secretary from the HQ in China to oversee it personally. She’s currently acting as interim CEO while they restructure. Or she might be a permanent CEO.”

“And that name,” Jimin muttered under his breath, stealing a glance at Jungkook.

It was hard not to react. The name had floated through their conversations like a ghost—Evaira Hale. And now here it was, on a screen, under a company seal, tied to a real project.

“So the campaign’s moving forward?” Hobi asked, though his voice sounded slightly distracted.

“We’re in the green-light stage,” Bang PD confirmed. “You’ll receive initial outlines, then a pitch deck by next week. You’ll have input.”

“What’s their goal with us?” Jin asked.

The second marketing director answered this time. “Emotional authenticity. They want BTS as a ‘global symbol of sincerity and confidence.’ Basically, they want to merge your narrative with theirs—genuine beauty, personal resilience, strength through vulnerability.”

“Sounds poetic,” Taehyung mumbled.

Namjoon frowned thoughtfully. “And the assistant?”

“Sohyun Kim,” said the staffer. “Handles scheduling and logistical communication. Very bubbly, from what I hear.”

Bang PD folded his hands. “You’ll have a formal introduction in the next week or so. Don’t be surprised if the project lead wants to discuss more than just logistics. She’s known to ask insightful questions and prefers direct involvement.”

Yoongi lifted an eyebrow. “You sound impressed.”

Bang PD gave a tiny smirk. “I am. She managed three partnerships in under six months across markets. Never late. Never off-message.”

“She sounds scary,” Jimin said.

“She sounds efficient,” Jungkook murmured.

“She’s highly capable.” Yoongi added.

Namjoon glanced at them, quietly observant.

The room sat in a beat of quiet.

Then Taehyung broke it with a dramatic exhale. “So what’s the plan? We wait, or we prepare?”

“We study,” Namjoon said simply. “We learn the product, the brand, and—”

“Her,” Jin finished.

Bang PD eyed them over his steepled fingers. “Whatever personal curiosity you have, keep it in check. This is a high-profile campaign. Don’t embarrass me.”

His assistant added. “Try to stay professional.”

“Always,” Jin said with a dazzling smile.

Bang PD narrowed his eyes. “Subtle, Seokjin. I mean it.”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused, too in sync to be sincere.

They left alone with barely disguised smirks.

But as the projector dimmed and the meeting moved into technical discussion, no one missed the subtle tension that lingered.

As soon as the door clicked shut, chaos broke loose in whispers.

“She’s going to be here,” Jimin hissed.

“She’s the leader,” Hobi added.

“Is everyone else’s heart racing?” Jungkook muttered. “Or just mine?”

“No, mine too,” Jimin admitted.

Yoongi finally opened one eye. “Breathe, all of you. Don’t spook her.”

Jungkook sat silently, fingers ghosting over the edge of his soulmark beneath his sleeve.

They hadn’t seen her yet.

But the countdown had begun.

Chapter Text

YS Corporation’s Seoul branch office was already alive by the time dawn broke. The building, sleek and glassy, reflected the pale morning sky as employees streamed in with fresh coffee and tightly gripped tote bags. Everything smelled like polish, productivity, and fluorescent ambition.

Evaira Hale was already at her desk by 6:55 a.m.

She sat straight-backed, hair neatly tied, eyes scanning the last updates on the HYBE partnership documents. She wore a soft navy blazer over a tailored beige blouse, and slim, slate-gray pants—formal, efficient, unreadable. Her signature low-heeled shoes clicked once as she adjusted her seat and crossed her ankles beneath her desk.

She hadn’t slept well. Not terribly, but not deeply either. She’d spent part of the night reading through the contract drafts, part watching the moon from her bedroom window, and the last part staring at the ceiling thinking about… nothing.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

The campaign was important. She was used to big meetings, high-stakes presentations, and sitting across from CEOs who rarely looked women in the eye.

And yet today… her fingers were cold. A fine hum ran through her chest like the whisper of an oncoming storm.

She wasn’t used to nerves. She wasn’t used to wondering.

It irritated her.

The door slammed open.

“Eva—Eva, you need to help me pick an outfit!” Sohyun wailed, entering like a gust of wind with shoes too fast for polished floors. She held up two blouses in each hand, as if they were swords.

Eva blinked once. “You’re wearing the left one. It wrinkles less.”

“Are you sure?”

Eva returned to her laptop. “Yes.”

“But what if I see them and it’s too stiff?”

“They’re not evaluating your outfit.”

“They’re evaluating everything! Their eyes are like—like—emotional scanners!”

Eva gave her a look. “It’s a business meeting, not a soul-read.”

Sohyun gasped. “You don’t know that!”

With a groan, she threw herself onto the visitor chair across from Eva’s desk, holding the blouse up like it had personally betrayed her. “I didn’t sleep a wink.”

Eva didn’t comment.

Sohyun glanced over. “You look calm.”

“I am calm.”

“You’ve checked your watch four times.”

Eva’s eye twitched. “That’s called punctuality.”

Sohyun leaned forward, stage-whispering. “Are you nervous?”

Eva flipped a page. “No.”

“You’re totally nervous.”

“I’m prepared.”

“You’re nervous.”

Eva exhaled, then leaned back slightly, her expression neutral. “Sohyun. If I were nervous, I’d be doing breathing exercises and panic-browsing tea sets on my phone. I am not doing that.”

Sohyun squinted suspiciously. “You do like tea sets.”

Eva ignored her.

Truth be told, she was nervous. But not for the reasons Sohyun thought. It wasn’t about BTS. Not directly. She’d met celebrities before. She’d coordinated schedules with tech magnates and handled executives with tempers that belonged in operas.

But lately—very lately—she had begun to feel something she couldn’t name.

A shift.

The soulmark on her lower back had changed in shade—barely. A subtle hue. She wouldn’t have noticed if her towel hadn’t slipped awkwardly after a shower two nights ago. It wasn’t fully colored, not like the documentaries described, but it wasn’t entirely black either. More… bruised. Faintly glowing.

It made her uneasy.

She’d always figured if her soulmate existed, she’d meet them someday, in some practical way, and make a calm, informed decision.

But now?

Now, something was happening. Slowly. Quietly. Unprovoked.

And she hated not knowing what.

“Eva.”

Sohyun had leaned in again, looking unusually serious.

“I’ll be good today, I promise. No screaming. No weeping. No trying to high-five Jungkook.”

Eva raised an eyebrow. “You tried to high-five him?”

“I considered it,” she muttered. “But you stopped me with your ‘Please maintain dignity’ face.”

“That face has served me well.”

“I’m just saying,” Sohyun said, twirling a pen between her fingers. “They’re not just celebrities to me. I mean… they helped me through bad times. So meeting them? It feels personal.”

Eva nodded. “That’s understandable.”

Sohyun blinked. “Wait, are you… being supportive?”

“I’m always supportive,” Eva said, opening her drawer to retrieve a spare stapler.

“You usually support me by telling me to calm down and do my job.”

“Exactly. That’s good support.”

Sohyun grinned. “You’re soft today.”

“I’m focused.”

“You’re soft.”

Eva pretended to staple something. “Shall we review the pitch?”

“Yes, boss!”

The next half-hour passed in relative calm. They went over slides, touched on data points, reviewed projected engagement. Eva took the lead in rehearsal, guiding Sohyun through what topics to handle and which ones to defer.

As the clock ticked past 7:30, Sohyun gathered her things with nervous fingers. Eva stood smoothly, straightening her blazer and checking her bag one last time.

At the mirror near her office door, she paused. Adjusted her collar. Checked her teeth. Tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Then stared at herself for a long moment.

“You good?” Sohyun asked gently.

Eva nodded. “Always.”

She pulled her professional mask fully into place and exhaled one last breath before it had the chance to betray her.

Whatever her soulmark had to say, it could wait.

She had a job to do.

And today, she would do it perfectly.

~~~

HYBE’s executive conference room was a monument to modern design. Floor-to-ceiling glass on one side overlooked a skyline just beginning to glitter in the morning light. Minimalist art adorned the far wall, and a sleek glass table ran the length of the space, surrounded by ergonomic black chairs that whispered status.

Inside, the air was cool and the tension warm.

BTS arrived first, flanked by their manager and a few key staff. Despite their casual outward demeanor, there was a quiet alertness in each of them. Phones were glanced at, documents opened—but their conversations were brief, clipped.

“She’s coming,” Jungkook murmured.

“How do you know?” Jimin asked.

“I just… feel it.”

Bang PD entered moments later and nodded to the staff to get ready. “Let’s stay sharp. The YS Corp rep is no joke.”

As if summoned by fate itself, the doors opened a minute later.

Evaira Hale entered without hesitation.

She was polished. Structured. Graceful without extravagance. Her heels made no sound against the carpet, but her presence announced itself like gravity.

Sohyun trailed one step behind her, trying to mirror the poise but visibly battling the urge to skip into the room. Her hands clutched the folder a bit too tightly. Her shoes squeaked once when she stopped too fast, making her wince.

“Good morning,” Eva said, bowing slightly. “We appreciate your time today.”

Bang PD rose to greet her. “We’re looking forward to working with YS.”

“Likewise,” Eva replied. “We’ve prepared our formal pitch presentation and welcome any feedback following this session.”

Jungkook watched her with quiet intensity. She didn’t glance at them—not even once. Her gaze remained fixed on Bang PD, then the marketing heads, never wavering, never straying.

She hadn’t seen him. Or maybe she had—and was pretending otherwise.

Eva took her seat. She sat with her back straight, her folder aligned perfectly with her notepad. Her fingers were relaxed, but there was a sense of tightly coiled energy beneath her composed surface.

Calm, she told herself. Clear. Lead the room.

As the meeting began, she introduced the campaign: a multi-platform strategy tying together BTS’s evolution and YS Corporation’s narrative of personal transformation and resilience.

Across the table, Jin observed the way she moved her hands only when necessary—never fidgeting, never overstating. Her voice was medium-low, with just enough cadence to keep attention without sounding theatrical.

Yoongi, from two seats down, was already taking mental notes—not on the campaign, but on her. The disconnect between what his gut was telling him and her apparent detachment was throwing him off balance.

Namjoon asked the first thoughtful question. “How do you envision our tone fitting within your product themes?”

Eva nodded once. “Your recent campaigns have trended toward sincerity, especially regarding growth and self-care. We want to amplify that. Not invent something new. We’d like BTS to represent strength not through perfection, but through transparency.”

Namjoon leaned back, impressed.

Jimin smiled a little. “I like that.”

“Your feedback will be essential,” Eva said. “Authenticity is not something we can impose from the outside.”

Then it happened.

As Eva was handing out printed summaries, Sohyun, in a moment of overwhelmed nerves, bowed slightly too low to Jimin and whispered just a beat too loud, “You look even better in person…”

There was a pause.

A few HYBE staff raised their brows. Jimin blinked.

Sohyun’s eyes widened. Her hand flew to her mouth.

Eva didn’t say a word—but she turned, very slightly, and gave Sohyun a look. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold. But it was enough to make Sohyun straighten up instantly like she’d been hit with a voltage of professionalism.

“Apologies,” Sohyun mumbled, now beet red.

Eva continued without pause, but the small crease between her brows said enough.

Across the table, Taehyung bit his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Hoseok Smirked.

Still, the meeting continued like clockwork. Eva’s control over the room never broke again.

Jungkook’s eyes never left her. Every time she passed him in her gaze, he felt the thrum in his mark pulse a little stronger. Did she not feel it? Or was she hiding it that well?

Every so often, Eva’s gaze would pass over the group of them. But it wasn’t searching. It wasn’t seeing.

It was focused. Professional.

That unsettled them more than they expected.

Why doesn’t she react?
Can’t she feel it?
Can’t she sense us?

Eva, meanwhile, was calculating everything. Who was engaged. Who was distracted. Which feedback would likely result in approval. She avoided looking directly at the members unless they spoke. She didn’t trust herself to.

Her soulmark had burned—burned—briefly when she first entered.

She’d ignored it.

She had to.

This was business.

Don’t look. Don’t wonder. Don’t ask. Do not touch your back.

When they opened the floor for questions, it was Jungkook who spoke.

“This message of ‘transparency through growth’... Will it include personal stories?”

“If you’re willing,” Eva said. “We would never request anything that crosses comfort zones. The idea is to humanize, not expose.”

Jungkook nodded.

She met his eyes briefly.

His heart jumped.

But she looked away again, almost too fast.

By the end of the meeting, they’d covered all technical points. The campaign’s early stages were now green-lit. A timeline was drafted. Next steps outlined.

Eva closed her folder with the softest click.

“We’ll refine the draft copy and coordinate with your media team on the shoot schedule.”

Bang PD smiled. “You’ve given us a lot to think about.”

“We look forward to the collaboration,” Eva replied with a slight bow.

She rose. Sohyun followed, still holding her breath.

“Thank you for your time,” Eva said again, and then—without delay—she and Sohyun exited.

The door shut softly behind them.

~~~~~~

The corridor outside the HYBE executive conference room was wide, quiet, and gleaming with pale light. Eva walked with composed strides, her heels tapping softly against the polished floors. Sohyun followed just behind, her pace slightly quicker as if trying to catch up with Eva’s calm.

They said nothing at first.

The door had only just closed behind them. The tension that hung like static in that room still clung to Eva’s shoulders, though she refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she kept her eyes forward, walking steadily toward the elevator.

But inside—inside her chest, there was chaos.

Her soulmark still tingled. That unmistakable hum had returned the moment she stepped into the room. She had managed to compartmentalize it, to keep it pushed deep beneath her focus. But now that she was outside again, with no one watching, it crept up her spine like a whisper.

She felt watched. Not in a threatening way. In a way that made her skin too aware of its own surface.

That gaze—Jungkook’s, she was fairly sure—had lingered too long.

And there had been a moment—just a second—when her eyes met his and the world tipped slightly.

She’d looked away before it could tip further.

Next to her, Sohyun suddenly exhaled in a rush. “I’m so sorry.”

Eva stopped mid-step. “For what?”

“You know what.”

Eva turned slowly. Sohyun’s face was still flushed, her lips pursed guiltily.

“I didn’t mean to fangirl. I know I was supposed to stay professional but Jimin was right there and he smiled at me, and I just—my brain left my body.”

Eva stared at her for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled faintly.

“I expected something like that.”

“You did?”

“You almost tripped getting out of the cab this morning. And you whispered ‘please let me survive this’ before the meeting started.”

Sohyun groaned, burying her face in her folder. “I was trying to be cool.”

“You managed,” Eva said. “Until the whisper.”

“I knew it.”

Eva pressed the elevator button. “But you recovered quickly. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Sohyun peeked at her. “You’re not mad?”

“No. Slightly secondhand embarrassed, but not mad.”

The elevator dinged and they stepped inside.

As the doors closed, Eva leaned back against the wall and finally let herself exhale. Not the composed, shallow exhale she used to transition between tasks. A real one.
The kind that said: I made it. Barely.

“You were amazing in there,” Sohyun said. “Seriously. You didn’t even flinch. I was sweating buckets and you were just… handling everything.”

Eva tilted her head back. “That’s the job.”

“No, that’s talent,” Sohyun insisted. “Even Bang PD looked impressed.”

“Bang PD is polite.”

Sohyun hesitated. “Did you… feel weird in there?”

Eva opened one eye. “Define ‘weird.’”

“I mean, like… different. Like the air felt thick? I don’t know. Maybe I was just overwhelmed.”

Eva didn’t respond right away. She looked at her reflection in the mirrored panel. Her eyes were calm again. Her mouth neutral.

But beneath that mask—yes. She had felt something.

Something wrong.

Or maybe not wrong. Just… unsettling.

The mark on her back had tingled the entire time. She could still feel it even now, like a distant vibration, as if her skin were trying to whisper something she refused to hear.

“I think we were just tired,” she said instead.

“Right,” Sohyun nodded. “Tired. And starstruck. And—did I mention I forgot to breathe for like half the meeting?”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Do I have to?”

Eva gave her a look.

Sohyun huffed. “Fine. I’ll be chill. So chill. Ice.”

Eva turned her gaze back to the elevator panel. They were already descending to the garage floor.

“Do you think they liked the pitch?” Sohyun asked.

“They agreed to move forward. That’s what matters.”

“But… they kept looking at you.”

Eva frowned. “Because I was talking.”

“No, like… looking. Especially Jungkook. And Jin. And Namjoon. Actually, all of them.”

“They were being attentive.”

“They were being weirdly attentive.”

Eva was quiet for a moment.

Then she said, “It doesn’t matter.”

Sohyun’s eyes widened. “Wait—did you notice it too?”

Eva stepped out of the elevator. “Don’t read into things that haven’t been confirmed.”

Sohyun followed her. “Oh my god, you totally noticed it.”

“I’m not entertaining this conversation.”

“But what if one of them is your soulmate?”

Eva stopped walking.

Sohyun nearly ran into her. “Sorry!”

Eva turned slowly, her face unreadable. “Even if they were… I have a job to do.”

“Right,” Sohyun nodded quickly. “Totally. Work first. Professional boundaries. Got it.”

They walked toward the car in silence.

But Eva’s mind wasn’t quiet.

She remembered how her mark had felt. Not just warm. Alive. As if someone had touched her there—directly—even though no one had come near.

She remembered the way Jin’s gaze softened when he wasn’t smiling.

The way Jungkook’s eyes almost pleaded.

Or the way Jimin's eyes trying to get her attention.

Or Namjoon's questions that trying to make her keep looking at them, to notice them.

The strange, electric stillness that settled over the room whenever she spoke.

Was it all in her head?

Could it be real?

Was she losing her mind?

Eva sighed and unlocked the car. “We’ll debrief tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Sohyun slid into the passenger seat. “You too.”

Eva nodded, but said nothing more.

As she drove them back, city lights flickering through the windshield, the silence stretched. She welcomed it.

It was easier than asking the questions that had no answers.

Easier than wondering if her soul had already made a choice…

…and whether she’d be brave enough to follow it.

~~~~~

The conference room door clicked shut behind Eva and Sohyun, the final sound punctuating the tension that had lingered in the space.

For a few moments, silence filled the room like fog.

No one moved.

Bang PD adjusted his cufflinks with a satisfied nod, flipping closed his meeting folder. “That went well. Strong team. Sharp leadership. I’m optimistic.”

Namjoon nodded, though his eyes remained fixed on the now-empty doorway.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “She’s something.”

“She’s terrifying,” Hobi said, voice hushed but amazed.

“She’s brilliant,” Namjoon corrected.

“Professional,” Jin added, though his tone was softer than usual—almost introspective.

“Yeah, Terrifying,” Jimin muttered, though his grin betrayed fascination rather than fear.

“She didn’t even glance at us twice,” Taehyung said, sounding half-impressed and half-affronted. “I smiled so politely.”

“You were chewing your pen,” Hobi pointed out.

“I was thinking!”

Bang PD glanced between them, amused. “You’ll be working closely with them, so I expect full cooperation.”

“Of course,” Jungkook replied, voice lower than usual.

Bang PD paused, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Everything okay?”

Jungkook blinked. “Yes. Just… processing.”

“Same here,” Namjoon said, setting his folder down. “We’ll review everything and get back to you with notes.”

Bang PD nodded, clearly satisfied. “Good. I’ll leave the follow-up to your team. Let me know if anything changes.”

With that, the executive rose and exited, exchanging a few final words with HYBE’s marketing staff before the room emptied.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the calm shattered.

Taehyung spun in his chair to face the others. “Okay—what the hell was that?”

“That,” Jin said, exhaling, “was her.”

“She didn’t look at me even once,” Taehyung complained.

“Same,” Jimin added. “I tried to hold eye contact. I even did that soft-blink thing.”

“She wasn’t ignoring you,” Yoongi replied. “She was focused.”

“Too focused,” Jungkook muttered.

Namjoon leaned forward, fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. “Did anyone else feel… off?”

“Define off,” Hobi said.

“Like the air shifted. Not in a bad way. Just… intense. Like we were performing something we didn’t rehearse.”

“Her presence was strong,” Jungkook added quietly. “Like she filled the whole room without trying.”

“She didn’t even react to us,” Jimin said. “It was like we were background noise. Not once. Not even when Jungkook stared at her for twenty minutes.”

“I did not—” Jungkook began.

“You did,” Taehyung confirmed.

“She felt it,” Jin murmured. “She had to. Her posture was too careful.”

Yoongi nodded.

“She did,” Yoongi said. “Subtly. When Namjoon complimented her campaign structure, she blinked slower. When Jungkook asked about interactivity, she paused for half a second. She’s avoiding it.”

Everyone stared.

Yoongi shrugged. “I watch people.”

“She was composed,” Namjoon agreed. “But hyper-aware. That’s someone used to steering the room without being seen steering it.”

“But why?” Jungkook asked.

They had no answer.

Only the growing suspicion that their last soulmate was playing a very different game—one where the rules were not yet visible to them.

Taehyung leaned in. “But why did it feel like I knew her?”

“You don’t,” Jin said gently. “Not yet.”

“But it felt like—”

“Your soul know her and you want to know her,” Jin said. “There’s a difference.”

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair. “When she walked in… my mark started humming.”

“So it’s not just me,” Jin exhaled. “Thank God.”

“It felt like electricity,” Jimin whispered. “And now I can’t unsee her.”

Namjoon tapped his pen. “Let’s regroup. We still don’t know if it’s her or her assistant.”

“Assistant?” Jimin said. “The one who whispered about me being hotter in person?”

Yoongi smirked. “I knew I heard something.”

“I did too,” Taehyung added.

“She slipped,” Hobi said. “But she covered fast.”

“So maybe it’s her,” Jimin speculated.

“No.” Jungkook shook his head. “It’s not.”

Everyone looked at him.

“I don’t know how I know,” he said. “But I know. It’s Eva.”

Jin rubbed the back of his neck. “Same. When I helped her at the LINE store… when we brushed hands, my mark changed. Something woke up.”

Taehyung nodded. “Mine just feels warm. Weird.”

“Same,” Namjoon added.

Jimin rolled up his sleeve. “Still boring. I want mine to hurry up and complete.”

“Then maybe we need to find a way to touch her,” Hobi mused, rubbing his chin.

“Except me,” Jin reminded them, gesturing to himself.

Namjoon stood, pacing now. “We need to be careful. If Eva really is our last soulmate, we can’t overwhelm her.”

“She didn’t seem spooked,” Yoongi said.

“She seemed determined not to notice us,” Jungkook said. “Like she couldn’t afford to.”

“That’s… kind of heartbreaking,” Hobi murmured.

“She’s a leader,” Jin said. “Probably not used to being allowed to feel things in public.”

“Or ever,” Namjoon added.

“So what now?” Jimin asked. “We can’t just stalk her.”

“We don’t have to,” Yoongi said. “We’re working with her now. She’ll be back.”

Jungkook’s fingers tapped restlessly on the table. “Next time… I want to be ready.”

“Ready how?” Namjoon asked.

“I don’t know. Just not… fumbling.”

“We’re all fumbling,” Taehyung said. “Except Yoongi. I think he was born emotionally regulated.”

Yoongi sipped his iced Americano. “Correct.”

Namjoon leaned forward, voice low. “Alright. Here’s what we know.”

He clicked open his notes on his tablet.

Evaira Hale – Lead strategist. Clear communicator. No-nonsense demeanor. Possibly one of the most emotionally locked-down people we’ve met.’

Jin smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Namjoon returned the look. “It’s not. But it means she won’t respond to anything over-the-top.”

“So no flirting,” Jimin sighed.

“No obvious flirting,” Namjoon clarified. “Subtle. Respectful. Observant. Maybe a little manipulation.”

“We engage with the work,” Hobi said. “Let her see us at our best.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “And maybe… maybe she’ll feel it too.”

Silence fell.

Then Jin spoke, voice quieter than before. “She already does. She just doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Namjoon gave a firm nod. “Then we give her time. And space. And respect.”

Yoongi closed his laptop. “And if she’s the one?”

Jungkook looked at him, eyes unwavering. “Then she’ll come back.”

And across their skin, faint and waiting, their soulmarks stirred—quiet reminders that the story was just beginning.

Chapter Text

The world felt unusually heavy when Eva opened her eyes that morning.

She blinked against the dim sunlight filtering through her curtains, her vision oddly slow to adjust. Her limbs felt like damp sandbags, her skin clammy despite the cool sheets. She swallowed, and her throat burned faintly—a scratchy warning she chose to ignore.

Just tired, she told herself. Just... overworked.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to sit up. The motion made her head spin, but she anchored herself with a firm grip on the bedpost. She wouldn't let a little vertigo slow her down—not on her rare day off.

After dragging herself through a hot shower and standing far too long beneath the stream like a weary statue, she shuffled into the bedroom again. Instead of her usual structured outfit, she pulled open her weekend drawer—the one that held soft pastels and flowy cardigans she rarely wore in public.

Her fingers hovered for a moment. Then, with a quiet breath, she selected a cream-colored blouse with small embroidered flowers near the collar, pairing it with a muted lavender skirt that brushed past her knees. She paused in front of the mirror, blinking at her own reflection.

It felt odd. Not wrong—just... distant. Like she was playing a younger version of herself.

To complete the look, she tied her hair up with a soft ribbon and tucked a mask into her bag. She’d wear it once outside. Seoul was always busy, and she didn’t want to be recognized by anyone from YS or HYBE—not today.

The moment she stepped outside her apartment, the chill air kissed her feverish skin like ice. She sucked in a breath, willing her head to stay clear. Her plan for the day was simple: the central library, a quick window-shopping session in the nearby plaza, maybe stop for something sweet.

She had even circled a small café in her phone the night before, one known for their matcha mille crepe cake and classic music ambiance. She had wanted to go for months. Today felt like the right day.

Except her feet were heavier than expected. Her stride was slow and deliberate as she crossed the wide boulevard near her building. The world around her had a surreal sheen to it—too bright, too loud, like she was watching it through a half-fogged lens.

By the time she reached the grand staircase of the city’s public library, her soulmark began to ache.

She paused.

The mark—black and usually silent—throbbed faintly on her lower back. A pressure built in her skin, not painful yet, but insistent. Like a breath held too long.

Eva rubbed the bridge of her nose and whispered under her breath, “Not now.”

Inside the library, the hush was comforting. Rows upon rows of tall bookcases stretched out in all directions. The smell of paper and polished wood settled into her bones like a lullaby.

She wandered slowly, gliding her fingers over spines—sections of fiction, fantasy, philosophy, psychology. Her eyes scanned without focus until she found herself standing before a small display titled:

“Fate or Fantasy? Exploring the Science Behind Soulmates.”

"The Seven Phases of Soulbonding"

Her stomach tightened.

One book in particular caught her eye: Soulmark and The Sign. She hesitated, then reached for it. The moment her fingers touched the spine, her soulmark seared again.

A sharp, white-hot sensation erupted along her back.

Her breath hitched.

The book tumbled from her hand and landed with a quiet thud on the carpet. She swayed, staggering one step sideways before catching herself against a shelf.

Her mask clung to her face, damp with sweat. Her heart was racing. Her hands shook. The lights above seemed too harsh, the floor too far away.

The pain in her soulmark flared again, like it was crying out.

Someone’s near.

She grit her teeth and leaned heavily against the shelf. “Not now,” she whispered again, this time trembling.

She didn’t want to collapse here. Not in a public place. Not surrounded by strangers. Not while wearing a soft blouse and a skirt that unlike her public self. Her constructed self.

A bead of sweat rolled down her temple.

Then—two voices. Low. Familiar.

“Eva?”

The voice was gentle, unsure. Her head jerked toward the sound. She couldn’t fully focus, her eyes blurry with heat and exhaustion. But two shapes—tall, dark, warm—approached from the far end of the aisle.

One called her name again, closer this time. She blinked slowly. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Their silhouettes shifted closer.

Her knees buckled slightly, but she clung to the shelf with all her strength. Her body screamed for relief.

And then—

A hand brushed her arm.

The last thing she registered before everything turned black was warmth. Not from the fever. Not from the pain. But from the touch.

It was like a puzzle piece had finally found its place.

And then…

~~~~

The Seoul Public Library always offered an escape—a place where even the air whispered in lowercase.

Namjoon found himself craving silence more and more these days, the real kind—not the staged silence of hotel rooms between schedules or the muffled quiet of soundproof recording booths. He wanted the rustle of turning pages, the solemn shuffle of librarians, the sacred stillness of thought.

Yoongi didn’t speak on the car ride over, which was typical, and Namjoon didn’t press him. They’d both needed a break from the studio, from planning meetings and promotions and… from the internal noise. Especially the one with a name now: Eva.

Namjoon kept his thoughts to himself as they entered the library’s wide, arching entrance, but the moment they stepped through the glass doors, he stopped.

Yoongi stopped too, a breath caught in his throat.

There was a tingle—warm and strange—beneath Namjoon’s ribs, where the last of his soulmark curved. The unfinished swirl pulsed faintly, like it had stirred in its sleep.

“She’s here,” Namjoon said.

Yoongi’s fingers pressed to his own mark, a grim confirmation. “Yeah.”

Neither said Eva’s name again. It would’ve felt like shouting in a church.

They split up naturally, each drifting down separate aisles with the smooth coordination that only came from years of touring together. Namjoon veered into the non-fiction and poetry stacks. Yoongi disappeared toward the philosophy and cultural theory wing.

Namjoon walked slowly. His footsteps echoed a little too loud, his chest tight with anticipation. Was it really her? What were the odds? Was the universe handing them a coincidence or pulling strings?

He passed a display titled Emotions and Memory in Musical Structure and paused.

Maybe this is a sign. They’d come looking for creative inspiration—and walked straight into a soulmate reaction.

His fingers brushed a cover but didn’t lift it. His heart wasn’t in music right now.

He needed to find her.

A buzz from his phone. A text from Yoongi.

“Aisle B7. Back corner.”

Namjoon’s pulse spiked.

He moved fast but not enough to draw attention—shoulders squared, pace steady, like someone who just remembered the exact book he wanted.

A few readers passed by him, their heads bent. A librarian nearby was arranging new returns on a cart. The far corner was dimmer, quieter—near the old theory books no one read for fun.

And there she was.

Eva.

At first, Namjoon didn't recognize her. She wasn’t in a blazer. No heels, no tight bun or sharp stride. Today, she looked soft.

Her blouse was cream, patterned with delicate embroidered leaves. Her lavender skirt brushed her calves gently as she shifted—barely—on unsteady feet. A tote bag hung loosely on her shoulder. Her mask was a simple white, damp at the edges from sweat.

She looked… small. Folded into herself. Like someone forgetting how to carry their own weight.

Yoongi stood a few feet away, visibly tense.

“Eva?” he asked, voice quiet but urgent.

She turned, slowly.

Even with the mask, even in soft pastels that didn’t match the strict, commanding presence they’d seen in the boardroom—there was no question. It was her.

Namjoon stepped up beside Yoongi. “Eva, it’s us,” he said, gentler this time. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused.

Her gaze flicked between them like she knew them but couldn’t place them. Like reality wasn’t holding still.

Namjoon’s heart dropped.

She swayed—barely—but it was enough to send panic through him.

Then Yoongi’s eyes darted down.

Her left hand still held a book, the pages slightly crumpled where her fingers had curled too tightly.

He leaned forward, careful not to startle her, and gently touched her hand to ease the book from her grip.

“Soulmark and The Sign,” he read under his breath. A soulmate theory manual—thick, annotated, slightly outdated.

“She’s burning up,” Yoongi muttered next, voice clipped now. “Look at her neck.”

Namjoon saw it too—the flushed skin above her collarbone, glistening with sweat. Her ears, usually pale, were dark pink.

His body moved before his mind could.

“Eva,” he said again, stepping closer. “Can I touch you?”

Her lips parted. She didn’t answer—but she didn’t pull back.

He reached out, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. His hand touched her shoulder—

—and she collapsed.

Namjoon caught her instantly. Her body was terrifyingly limp, heat radiating through his sleeves.

“Shit,” he cursed softly, cradling her against him. Her mask slipped sideways. Her breath came shallow and weak.

Yoongi didn’t waste time. “Calling Sejin.”

Namjoon barely heard the call go out. All he could feel was the burning weight of Eva in his arms—and the way his soulmark had suddenly come alive.

Not just warm. Blazing.

Not painful—but loud. Loud in a way that sang through every bone.

He immediately knew that their mark connected. Like a flame, it started to color bit by bit.

“I think she didn’t tell anyone,” Namjoon muttered as Yoongi ended the call. “She came out alone.”

“She probably thought it was nothing.” Yoongi looked grim. “You know the type.”

Namjoon did. Too well.

Eva was the type who would fight through illness, smile while collapsing, and hide every crack behind her composed exterior.

“She’s so light,” Namjoon whispered, adjusting his grip. “But why does my heart feel so heavy?”

Yoongi gave him a look.

“Because she carries everything,” he said.

They didn’t speak after that. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was reverent.

Yoongi gathered Eva’s bag. Namjoon checked her pulse twice. She stirred faintly at one point, murmuring something incoherent.

Then Sejin arrived at the front entrance with their discreet transport driver. They slipped out without drawing attention, a practiced routine of quick movement and lowered heads.

Namjoon stayed in the back seat with her.

Her head rested against his shoulder, her breath warming his chest.

He looked down at her again.

She looked younger now. Softer. And infinitely more fragile.

Yoongi sat in the front, quiet and unreadable.

“Soulmate theory,” he said at last, holding up the book. “She was looking for answers.”

Namjoon’s voice was a whisper. “And now she’s one of ours.”

Yoongi glanced at the rearview mirror, eyes unreadable.

“I think she always was.”

~~~

The hospital room was quiet—unnaturally so, even for a private ward.

Yoongi sat in the low guest chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, his fingers loosely intertwined. His gaze hadn’t left Eva since the nurse left thirty minutes ago.
She lay still, the blanket pulled to her collarbone, her hair slightly disheveled from the collapse. A cool patch rested gently on her forehead, placed there by Namjoon with quiet care. She’d stirred once during the transfer from the car but hadn’t woken since.

It unnerved him.

She was always so still even when awake, but this… This stillness was different. It wasn’t grace. It wasn't because of her strict discipline. It was burnout.

Namjoon stood by the window, arms folded, watching the city outside. His reflection layered over the skyline like a ghost.

Yoongi’s eyes dropped to her hand.

Slim, pale fingers rested atop the blanket. The same hand that had once explained her presentation with grace, the strong hand with purpose. That moment—brief, forgettable to anyone else—had sparked something in him. Awe. Attraction. And since then, it hadn’t stopped glowing.

His soulmark pulsed quietly now, no longer searing like it had in the library, but still… warm.

Eva wasn’t just someone he admired from across a meeting table anymore.

She was his soulmate.

No more guessing.

No more cautious theorizing.

He knew.

And maybe, just maybe… she knew too.

He sighed and leaned back slightly, voice low. “She’s running herself into the ground.”

Namjoon turned, walking to the foot of the bed. “She’s not the type to ask for help.”

“She’s not the type to accept it either,” Yoongi murmured.

The words lingered between them.

“She’s… holding a lot,” Namjoon said after a pause. “You saw how composed she was during the meeting.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who could shut the world out like that,” Yoongi said. “Like she built walls so thick she forgot what it’s like to feel safe.”

Namjoon pulled the chair from the wall and sat beside him. “You’re thinking about telling her.”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t need to.

“She deserves to know,” he said finally, his voice low. “But not as some romantic fantasy. Not like some fairytale fix. She needs to face it.”

Namjoon nodded slowly. “So why now?”

Yoongi looked at Eva again. “Because if we don’t tell her soon, she’ll keep in denials and trying to survive alone. And I’m scared one day she won’t make it.”

There it was. The raw truth.

Yoongi didn’t speak often, but when he did—it cut clean.

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain. “We don’t even know if she wants a soulmate.”

“She holding a soulmate theory book,” Yoongi said. “That means she’s at least thinking about it.”

“She could just be curious.”

“Then let her say no with all the facts.”

Silence returned, tense this time.

Outside the room, a monitor beeped in a steady rhythm.

Inside, something else beat louder: the ache of truths unspoken.

Then, as if summoned by the weight of his thoughts, Eva stirred.

Her lashes fluttered.

Yoongi sat forward slightly, careful not to crowd her.

She blinked slowly, disoriented. Her lips parted, dry and cracked.

Namjoon poured a glass of water and handed it to her with a quiet, “Here.”

She sipped it slowly, eyes darting between them.

Then she froze.

Recognition clicked in her gaze.

Namjoon offered a faint, reassuring smile. “You fainted. We brought you here.”

She shifted upright, flinching as she moved too fast.

Yoongi caught the edge of the tray table before it rattled. “Easy.”

Her brows furrowed. “Why… are you here?”

“You collapsed in front of us,” Namjoon said gently. “What were we supposed to do? Walk away?”

Eva looked down at her blanket. Her fingers curled in the fabric, tightening.

She was embarrassed.

Yoongi knew that look. That stubborn grip. That silent panic hiding behind still eyes.

She took a breath, composed her voice, and said softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

Yoongi leaned forward, arms on his knees, gaze steady. “Eva.”

her head snapped up and looked at him warily.

He paused—just for a beat—and said:

“I think you’re our soulmate.”

The words dropped like stones in water.

She didn’t react immediately. She didn’t flinch or panic. She didn’t speak.

But her hand tightened on the blanket.

Tighter.

Her nails dug into the threads like they were anchoring her to reality.

Her face remained still—almost too still. But her throat moved in a dry swallow. Her soulmark, beneath layers of clothing and secrecy, likely throbbed just as theirs did.

Namjoon didn’t speak. He simply bowed his head, letting her sit with the truth.

Yoongi’s voice was softer now. “You don’t have to believe me. Or do anything. But we had to say it. You deserve to know.”

Still, she said nothing.

Minutes passed. The room filled with silence once more—but it was no longer empty.

Finally, Namjoon stood. “I put my number on your phone. We’ll give you space. And time.”

Yoongi rose too, his eyes never leaving hers.

She didn’t look at them as they left.

But she didn’t ask them to stop, either.

When the door closed behind them, the only sound left was the quiet tick of the clock.

And her quiet breath as she finally let herself feel something.

~~~~

The door shut behind them with a soft but certain click.

It echoed through the quiet room like a closing chapter—or the start of one she hadn’t agreed to open.

Eva sat still in the hospital bed, upright and cold despite the warm light seeping in from the window. Her hands, clenched into the thin hospital blanket, ached from the pressure. The fabric dug into her palms, sharp creases folding beneath her grip like she could will herself to stay grounded through pain alone.

She couldn’t move.

She didn’t want to.

She was afraid of what would spill out if she did.

Across from her, the water glass sat untouched. She’d sipped only once when Namjoon handed it to her with calm, gentle hands—hands she now realized had trembled, ever so slightly.

She’d thought it was only fever. Exhaustion, like usual.

She’d thought everything today had been a blur only because of it. She just needs to go home, eat her medicine, and sleep.

But now…

Now she wasn’t so sure.

I think you’re our soulmate.

Yoongi’s words replayed in her mind like a dropped needle on vinyl—scratchy, too loud, and impossible to ignore. She had thought it would sound absurd if someone ever said that to her. Like a bad drama script. Something theatrical. Magical. Unreal.

But he hadn’t said it like that.

He had said it plainly. Calm. As if he’d already accepted it. As if he had carried the truth in his chest longer than she knew.

No pressure. No promise. Just… knowing.

She had wanted to laugh.

Or cry.

Or say something—anything—but the words had frozen in her throat like ice. And so she sat, unmoving, her pride clutched in one hand and panic crumpled in the other.

Her heart thudded against her ribs, dull and steady, like a warning drum.

Because this was not how things were supposed to go.

Not like this.

Not so soon.

Not so… real.

Eva exhaled slowly, carefully, like she could control even her breath if she tried hard enough. She stared at her hands. Pale fingers. Too slim. Too tired. Too soft for someone who spent her life gripping reality by the throat just to keep it from slipping away.

She looked up at the clock on the wall. Only minutes had passed. Maybe twenty. Maybe less.

It felt like hours.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t even tremble.

But inside?

Inside, everything was unraveling.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them.

That was the worst part.

She did.

She did believe them.

She had felt it too. She was feeling it—the strange thrum in her soulmark that had started as a whisper and now pulsed like a heartbeat out of sync with her own. The burn—it kept going and going, then suddenly her mark had colored without her even aware of who she touched that day.

She hadn’t checked it in weeks. Not since the faint ache began. Not since the first strange wave of awareness hit her during the campaign meeting and she chalked it up to caffeine or adrenaline or—God, she didn’t even know anymore.

And then there was the book. Soulmark and The Sign. She had pulled it from the shelf without thinking. It felt like instinct. Like gravity. She needs to know. Deep down, she needs to know if this is real or just her imagination, out of desperation and loneliness.

She hadn’t even had time to read it.

Just one glance.

One thought: What if…?

And now here she was. Sitting in a hospital bed, having fainted in a public library in front of two of the most famous men on the planet—who also happened to be… connected to her.

Not just by work. Or by fate. But by the most intimate thread of all: soulmark.

She let go of the blanket, slowly. Her palms were red. Indented. Her fingers curled loosely into her lap now, empty and cold.

It wasn’t like she’d never thought about soulmates. She had.

Everyone had.

She remembered when her mark first appeared at eighteen, the way it bloomed like ink in water—dark and delicate, coiling low across her back in a place she could barely see without a mirror.

She remembered her friends squealing, exchanging shapes and comparing lines, mapping out locations and guessing how many people their marks might match.

Eva hadn’t felt that same joy.

She’d touched the skin at her back and felt nothing but a strange sort of emptiness. A gap. A question without an answer.

It didn’t scare her. Not then.

She simply… didn’t hope.

And now?

Now she didn’t know what she felt.

Do you even want this?

That was the real question, wasn’t it?

Did she?

Did she want to belong to anyone? To be responsible for more people? To show her vulnerable side?

To left her inside open to lies, pain, and betrayals?

To people who could change everything about her carefully built world?

She had built her life on control.

Schedules. Boundaries. Roles. Responsibility.

She had to.

She’d always been the reliable one. The eldest daughter. The stand-in parent. The quiet achiever. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. Couldn’t afford to need. She took care of everyone else.

And love?

Love felt dangerous. Messy. Undefined.

Love had betrayed her before—in friendships, in crushes, in the hollow promises of halfhearted boys who only liked the idea of her discipline, the idea to make her submit to them, not the woman herself.

And now?

She was being asked to open herself to something uncontrollable. Something primal. Something inevitable.

Even if she denied it, her body was responding. Her soulmark was stirring. Her instincts had reacted to their voices before she even consciously recognized them.

Yoongi.

Namjoon.

Maybe more.

She even remembered Jungkook’s voice during the campaign meeting. It had sounded like music in the background—too smooth. Too warm. Like a balm she hadn’t asked for but felt anyway.

Her head dropped into her hands.

“I’m not ready for this,” she whispered to no one.

And yet…

And yet part of her wanted it.

Ached for it.

Not the soulmate title.

Not the bond.

But the kindness. The certainty. The safety.

The way Namjoon had handed her water without a word. The way Yoongi had watched her—not with hunger or expectation, but with care. Worry.

The way they had carried her.

Literally.

And emotionally.

They hadn’t demanded anything.

They had just been there.

And that…

That did something dangerous to her.

It made her hope.

The worst part of being strong wasn’t carrying everything.

It was not knowing what to do when someone tried to carry you.

And now?

Now she had to decide if she could even let herself be carried.

By people who might be her soulmates.

Eva drew a breath and reached for the book in her bag. Her hands still shook slightly. She pulled it into her lap.

Soulmark and The Sign.

She opened the front cover with a trembling hand.

Underneath the dedication was the first line:

“The soul knows long before the mind catches up.”

Her eyes stung.

And for the first time in years…

She cried.

Not loud.

Not messy.

Just quiet, full, and them—then—

Chapter Text

The apartment door clicked shut behind her, muffled by the weight of silence inside.

Eva stood motionless in the entryway, hand still resting on the doorknob. It was barely past 9 a.m., the city outside already buzzing with life, but here—home—the world was still. Still and too quiet, like it was holding its breath with her.

She exhaled shakily, forehead lowering against the cool metal of the door. Just for a second. Just to stay upright.

The hospital discharge had come with simple instructions: rest, hydrate, avoid stress.

She almost laughed at that last part.

She turned, removed her shoes, and moved deeper inside like a ghost in her own skin. The place hadn’t changed. It was still her little haven—minimalist, clean, soft grays and creams. But stepping into it now felt like walking into a museum of herself.

She didn’t belong in it. Not entirely.

Not anymore.

The plastic hospital folder and prescription bag dangled from her hand, forgotten as she set them gently on the kitchen counter. She should eat. Drink. Sit down.

Instead, she walked straight to the bathroom.

The mirror greeted her like a stranger.

Eva stared at her reflection for a long moment. Her face was pale, skin still slightly flushed from the aftershocks of her fever. Her hair was in a low, loose bun. A few strands had escaped and framed her face, softening the lines of exhaustion beneath her eyes.

She looked composed.

Almost.

But her heart was drumming a different truth.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the hem of her hoodie. Pulled it up, then slowly turned.

She didn’t need a mirror for this. But she looked anyway.

There, coiled like ink across the small of her back, her soulmark shimmered faintly.

And this time—this time—it wasn’t just black.

Three distinct hues had bloomed where once there had been only silence.

Storm-gray. Dusty red. Deep gold.

She stared.

Not blinking. Not breathing.

Her knees gave out before she realized she was falling. She hit the tiled floor hard but didn't feel it. Just sat there, half-twisted, eyes still locked on the mirror and the mark that no longer let her pretend.

Three. Not one. Not even two.

Three.

Yoongi. Namjoon. And one more.

She didn’t know who.

But her body did.

A sound left her lips. Not quite a sob. Not quite a laugh.

It was... something in between.

Her arms curled around her knees as she let her head drop forward, forehead resting on her thighs. The bathroom light buzzed faintly above her, casting shadows across the pristine counter, the folded towels, the unshaken bottle of lotion by the sink.

This can’t be real.

She wanted to say that. Wanted to believe it. But the truth was staring at her like an accusation across her own skin.

They were her soulmates.

Not theoretically.

Not maybe.

Now. Here. Real.

And she'd been touched. connected.

Three simple touches.

Three colors.

She pressed her hands against her mouth, trying to hold in the sound of her own unraveling.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in soulmates. Not really.

She had never been the romantic type, but she hadn’t scorned the idea either. Soulmarks were biological, some said. Just hormones and quantum resonance. Others said it was fate. Magic.

She hadn’t cared.

Because she’d seen what it did to people.

She’d seen her college friend break down because her soulmate was already married.

She’d seen two coworkers become soulmates only to tear each other apart six months later because love wasn’t enough when personalities clashed.

Soulmates didn’t mean happy endings.

Sometimes, it meant obligation. Disruption. Chaos.

She didn’t want that.

Not for herself. Not for them.

She was fine. Whole. Alone, yes, but balanced. She had built her life with careful precision—plans, boundaries, purpose.

This wasn’t part of it.

Her fingers touched the soulmark. Lightly. Like it might vanish if she wasn’t gentle.

It pulsed beneath her skin.

Not painfully.

Not cruelly.

Just… present.

She dropped her hand.

Enough.

She stood, slowly, and yanked her hoodie back down over her hips. She didn’t look in the mirror again.

The rest of the morning passed like a shadow.

She moved on instinct. Showered, dressed in her usual work-at-home clothes—comfortable but structured. Cream blouse, soft slacks. Hair combed back into a low ponytail. She even applied lip balm, out of habit.

Normalcy. Order. Control.

She made coffee, poured it into her favorite mug—the one with the tiny rabbit on it—and opened her laptop.

There were thirty-seven unread emails.

Reports from the PR department.

Photo session briefs.

A finalized schedule from HYBE’s team.

One message from Sohyun, timestamped 7 a.m.:

[Sohyun]
Unnie!!! I hope you’re okay now! 😢 Don’t worry about anything. I finalized the collaboration doc and sent it to their PR rep! It’s all approved. Also… they were so kind!! I think they were really worried about you. Should I pass on their message? Also—THEY’RE EVEN MORE HANDSOME IN PERSON I CAN’T BREATHE 😭😭😭

Eva stared at the message.

Then calmly clicked it closed.

Her phone buzzed once. She didn’t check it.

The moment she gave in—even a glance, even a reply—the dam would break.

Instead, she opened the campaign feedback folder.

Read.

Replied.

Edited a document.

Replied again.

Sent a reminder email to HQ.

Checked the file layout.

Drank coffee.

Refilled it.

Kept going.

Hours passed in silence, broken only by the tap of keys and the occasional hum of her laptop fan.

She didn’t look at her soulmark again.

She didn’t have to.

It was there. Beneath the surface. A pressure. A warmth. A reminder.

And she would ignore it.

Not forever.

But for today.

Because if she let herself feel now—really feel—it would drown her.

She had work.

She had responsibilities.

She had walls she didn’t know how to lower without crumbling.

And maybe… just maybe… they would understand.

Maybe they'd wait.

Maybe not.

But she couldn’t chase them. Not when she didn’t even know if she could trust herself to stand still.

So she whispered, to no one, to the air, to the silence:

“I just need time.”

And let herself believe it.

Even if only for a little while.

The dorm’s living room was quiet, save for the gentle hiss of a kettle boiling in the kitchen and the muted hum of a nearby air purifier.

Yoongi sat on the couch, legs crossed, one hand cradling a half-full mug. Namjoon stood by the window, arms folded, watching the city skyline beyond the glass. The rest of the members were gathered loosely—Taehyung sprawled on the floor with a cushion against his chest, Jimin perched on the edge of the coffee table, Jungkook and Jin beside Yoongi on the couch, and Hoseok leaning back on an armchair with one leg tucked under him.

No one was speaking. Not yet.

They were waiting.

Yoongi broke the silence first.

“She passed out,” he said, voice low and even. “Right there in the library aisle. Namjoon caught her. She was burning up.”

The room tensed.

“She didn’t say anything?” Jin asked. “No warning?”

“I think she tried to hide it,” Namjoon said, finally turning. “Typical of her. She probably knew she was sick before she even left home.”

Jimin’s brows furrowed. “Why was she even out? Shouldn’t she be resting?”

“She wasn’t planning to bump into us,” Yoongi said. “That’s obvious.”

“Maybe she was running,” Jungkook muttered, head bowed, fingers fidgeting. “From us.”

“I think she didn’t even know who we are until we touched her,” Namjoon added.

Yoongi nodded. “And then she collapsed.”

Taehyung sat up a little straighter. “But she’s okay now, right? I mean—you got her to the hospital?”

“She’s home,” Yoongi said. “Stable. Her fever broke the next morning. The doctor said it was a mix of stress and exhaustion.”

“And soulmark activation,” Namjoon added quietly.

Everyone went still.

Jin exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to rest over his own mark. “So it’s confirmed?”

Yoongi looked down into his mug. “Three colors. I saw the mark. And from the way she reacted—she knows.”

“But she didn’t say anything?” Hoseok asked.

“She didn’t have to,” Yoongi said. “Her silence was enough.”

Jimin made a quiet sound of disbelief, leaning back on his hands. “I can’t believe we’re already here. She knows. We know. And we still can’t do anything.”

“We can’t pressure her,” Namjoon said. “You saw her, didn’t you? She looked like she was holding herself together with pins.”

“Yeah, but doing nothing is harder,” Jimin muttered.

“She needs space,” Yoongi said firmly. “And she deserves to choose. We don’t chase her. Not yet.”

Taehyung flopped back on the floor again, groaning into his pillow. “This is torture.”

“I agree,” Jin said, rubbing his temples. “I feel like I’m fifteen again, waiting for someone to text me back.”

“Worse,” Hoseok added. “At fifteen, you didn’t share a glowing tattoo with them.”

“She didn’t even respond to the package Namjoon sent,” Jungkook said softly. “Do you think she threw it away?”

“She wouldn’t,” Namjoon said. “She’s not cruel. Just… scared. Or she didn't even touch it.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Yoongi asked. “Imagine waking up and realizing three strangers hold part of your fate.”

“She knows we’re not strangers,” Jimin said. “We’ve worked together. Talked.”

“Barely,” Namjoon corrected. “Not the way that matters.”

“So what do we do?” Jungkook asked, looking up finally. “Just sit here? Wait forever?”

Yoongi set his mug down. “We wait for a while. Then we try again. But carefully. One at a time.”

Jin nodded. “She won’t respond well to being overwhelmed.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon said. “We take our time. Let her come to us.”

“Or,” Taehyung said, sitting up again, eyes gleaming with mischief, “we infiltrate her apartment building, become her neighbors, and casually run into her every morning like fate.”

Everyone stared at him.

“I’m joking,” he said quickly.

“Are you?” Jin asked dryly.

“Mostly.”

Yoongi shook his head. “Let’s not freak her out. We’ve already brushed the line too close.”

Namjoon pulled out his phone. “I’ll message Sohyun. Ask if Eva’s handling the campaign follow-ups. If she replies, that’s something.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Jungkook asked.

Yoongi’s eyes darkened slightly.

“Then I’ll find another way.”

The dorm was quiet. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, striping the hardwood floor in soft gold. Yoongi sat at the kitchen table, a cup of black tea slowly cooling at his elbow, phone in hand but untouched. Across from him, Namjoon was thumbing through the latest campaign draft—though his eyes hadn’t moved on the screen in over five minutes.

Neither of them had spoken since they returned from the studio.

The silence was mutual. Heavy. Not uncomfortable, just full. The kind that hummed with unspoken thoughts, dense with consideration.

Yoongi’s phone buzzed once. Just a notification. Nothing important.

He didn’t check it.

“I got her number,” Namjoon said quietly.

Yoongi looked up. “From Sohyun?”

Namjoon nodded. “I asked about campaign updates. She offered it. Said Eva left her business card at the meeting.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and slid the card across the table like it was some ancient relic.

Yoongi stared at the name:
>Evaira Hale
International Operations – Executive Secretary | YS Corporation

A printed phone number. Two, actually—one labeled [Main Line], the other simply [Private Contact].

Yoongi’s eyes settled on the latter.

He didn’t reach for the card.

“You sure about this?” Namjoon asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

“No,” Yoongi said flatly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

He stood, walked into the living room, and dropped onto the couch. His phone still rested cold in his hand.

Behind him, he heard Namjoon follow. The leather creaked as the younger man sat beside him, elbows on his knees, back slightly hunched like he was bracing for a storm.

“How are you planning to start it?” Namjoon asked.

“I don’t know.” Yoongi opened his messages, tapped the contact bar, and slowly keyed in the number.

The screen blinked, waiting.

He stared at it.

Just a message.

One message.

But to her, it would mean everything. Or nothing.

“She’s scared,” Yoongi murmured. “You saw her face.”

Namjoon nodded. “Yeah.”

“She’s already trying to forget this happened.”

“Yeah.”

Yoongi’s fingers hovered over the screen. “Then we can’t let her.”

Namjoon didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

Yoongi’s thumb typed slowly.

Then deleted.

Then typed again.

[Yoongi]

Hey. It’s Yoongi. I hope you’re resting well. I just wanted to say — I’m sorry you collapsed. And I’m glad you’re okay.

He stared at it. Too formal. Too sterile. It sounded like something you’d send to a coworker after a food poisoning incident.

He deleted it all.

Namjoon watched him out of the corner of his eye. “Want help?”

“No.” Pause. “Yes. No.”

Namjoon smirked. “We’re not writing a love confession. Just a start.”

“It is a start,” Yoongi muttered. “The first message always matters.”

Namjoon tapped his chin. “Then we need it to sound like us. Not overbearing. Not romantic. Just… familiar.”

Yoongi tried again.

[Yoongi]

Hey. You probably don’t want to hear from me right now. But I wanted to check in. You scared the hell out of us.

He paused. “Too aggressive?”

“No,” Namjoon said. “But change ‘hell’ to ‘crap.’ Less intense.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes but edited it.

Then added:

You’re not alone in this. Not unless you want to be.

Another pause.

Take your time. Just let us know you’re okay.

He hesitated before hitting send.

The message flew into the digital void.

Yoongi set his phone down on the coffee table.

They both stared at it.

Namjoon exhaled. “So now we wait?”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away.

He leaned back on the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling, eyes closed.

“She’s smart,” he said after a long silence. “If we push too hard, she’ll push back.”

“I know.”

“But if we wait too long, she’ll bury it.”

“I know.”

“Then we keep balance,” Yoongi murmured. “Soft enough to slip past her walls. Loud enough she can’t ignore us.”

Namjoon smirked faintly. “You always were the quiet manipulator.”

“I don’t want to manipulate her,” Yoongi said, voice sharper than before. “I want to understand her.”

“Sometimes,” Namjoon said gently, “those look the same at first.”

That night, Yoongi didn’t sleep much.

He lay in bed, phone face-down on the pillow beside him.

No reply.

Not even a read receipt.

But he didn’t delete the message.

Didn’t double-text.

Didn’t give in to the itch in his fingers.

Instead, he whispered once to the ceiling:

“Please answer.”

And let that be enough.

For now.

The apartment was quiet—too quiet.

Not the soft, restful quiet that she usually welcomed at the end of a long day, but something heavier. Restless. Stale.

Eva sat on the corner of her neatly made bed, her phone forgotten beside her on the nightstand. The window was open, letting in a faint breeze, but even the wind felt cautious today. Like it, too, didn’t want to disrupt the fragile stillness hanging in the air.

It had been nearly twelve hours since she got home from the hospital.

Her body was recovering. She’d slept most of the day, eaten some egg drop soup Sohyun had brought over in a thermos, and even answered a few polite texts from the team at YS HQ checking in on her health.

It was normal.

Routine.

Safe.

And yet—her hands still trembled slightly when she reached for her phone.

She hadn’t looked at it in hours.

Not really.

Just glances. Flickers of attention. Little half-checks that she’d never admit were driven by the expectation of something... specific.

Now, the device buzzed once on the nightstand.

She froze.

A message.

Her eyes locked on the screen.

Unknown number.

No name. No preview.

The pit in her stomach dropped straight through the floor.

She knew.

She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.

This wasn’t a client. Or a courier. Or someone from work.

It was one of them.

Eva picked up the phone like it might explode.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a long, long moment.

Then she tapped.

Unknown Number:

Hey. You probably don’t want to hear from me right now. But I wanted to check in. You scared the crap out of us.
You’re not alone in this. Not unless you want to be.
Take your time. Just let us know you’re okay.

She read it twice.

Then again.

Her thumb slid instinctively to the message bubble—then stopped. Just a whisper of skin over glass.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

It was him. Or one of them. She didn’t know which, but she could feel it. The message was too… personal. Too careful.

Too soft.

The tone was measured. Unapologetic but not aggressive. A hint of warmth, a slice of guilt, and a silent request woven underneath.

She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry.

This wasn’t like the others. Not like all those empty, polite emails that had been trickling in from BTS’s team — the “thank you for your leadership” types. The corporate smiles.

This was real.

And she didn’t know what to do with it.

The first instinct was to delete it.

Clean cut. No hesitation. No mess.

But her thumb never moved.

The second instinct was to reply.

Just something quick. Short. Safe. A one-line confirmation that she was fine, thank you, goodbye.

But she didn’t do that either.

Instead, she stared at the screen until the words began to blur.

And beneath the blur, the question returned:

Why did this feel like a threat?

Not a dangerous threat—not like violence. But a threat to everything she had been carefully holding together.

To her control.

Her balance.

Her distance.

Three colors.

That thought rose again, unbidden. Like a whisper against her ribs.

She could still feel the soulmark, warm beneath the layers of fabric. Not hot. Not painful. But present. Like a weight on the back of her consciousness.

Three.

She had spent years pretending that soulmarks were… decorative. Curious. Symbolic, maybe. Something that mattered to others, but not her.

Now they were hers.

Three of them.

Or maybe more.

And one of them—perhaps the quiet one, perhaps the leader, perhaps the man who’d carried her weight like it meant something—had just reached across the silence and said: We’re still here.

Eva set the phone down slowly. Face-down.

Then stood and walked to the kitchen like it might help.

She opened the fridge. Stared blankly. Closed it again.

She walked to the sink. Ran cold water. Splashed her face.

Nothing helped.

Her reflection in the stainless-steel faucet looked like a stranger—composed on the surface, but hollow underneath.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

She wasn’t scared of them.

Not exactly.

She was scared of herself—of what she might become around them. What might unravel if she let her guard down.

She didn’t know how to be someone’s soulmate.

She didn’t know how to belong.

She had lived her whole life building walls—not because she hated love, but because she knew what it felt like to be left, to be betrayed, to be forgotten. She had learned that emotional safety was a myth. That it was better to be alone than to be seen and left anyway.

And now someone—one of them—was telling her: You don’t have to be alone.

Eva pressed a hand to her chest.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered.

No one answered.

Back in her bedroom, she sat down on the edge of the bed again.

The phone still sat there.

Still silent.

Still face-down.

She reached for it—slowly—and opened the message one more time.

No new texts. No follow-up.

Whoever he was, he meant what he said. He wasn’t pushing.

That made it worse, somehow.

She hovered over the reply box again.

Typed: I’m okay. Thank you for checking.

Then deleted it.

Typed again: I don’t know what to say.

Deleted that too.

Finally, she locked the screen.

Set the phone back down.

And whispered into the air:

“I’m sorry.”

Then turned off the light.

And let herself lie in the dark, just listening to the thrum of her soulmark against her spine like the heartbeat of a story she wasn’t ready to read.

Not yet.