#and the extra block print is BEAUTIFUL

[starlightkun]

➥ word count: 28.9k ➥ warnings: cursing, side character makes one (1) kms joke (“walk into traffic”), probable overuse of the word skeeze for a couple scenes ➥ genre: angst heavy at the beginning then fluff, science fantasy au, soulmate au (red string), speculative fiction, star crossed lovers, a little mystery-ish, artist sungchan ➥ author’s note: omg i’m sooo excited for this one! had a lot of fun with the worldbuilding and such, and as always, with characterizing sungchan. unfortunately due to tumblr’s 1000 block limit (which was created to hurt me personally), i had to do some modifications to this in order to make it fit (i was like 150 blocks over and really didn’t want to split it into two parts for no reason). if you want the authentic, unadulterated experience with original formatting and one extra scene, i highly, highly recommend reading it on ao3

To your horror, the string completed itself, connecting seamlessly to the pinky of the stranger in front of you. The young man looked at you with wonderment, a wide smile coming to his features, brightness and recognition in them. He opened his mouth, presumably to say hello, or whatever soulmates did when they met, but before he could utter anything, you dropped the book and took off at a run.

Humming along to your music, you watched the city pass by, felt the bus start and stop, and were vaguely aware of the same passengers as always getting on and off. You took the same bus every day, Monday through Friday, as you had for the past two years, since you’d been promoted and moved to better accommodations that you could afford with your new pay.

There were regulars on your commute, such as the elderly couple who got on one stop after you on the first Monday every month, and got off at the stop that you knew was closest to the art museum. They sat in the row behind you, and explained to you once that they had been passholders at the museum for years, and that was when new exhibits were rotated in. Or in the front of the bus, a pair of sisters that you had inadvertently seen grow up over the years, who got on some time before your stop, and got off two stops before you in the morning, close to a nearby private school. You could sometimes hear the older one helping the younger with homework, or making last-minute fixes to her hair or uniform.

There were of course lots of office workers as well, who all rushed on and off the bus with promptness at their stops. You recalled fondly the primary school teacher who used to sit next to you, young and always dressed in fun, colorful prints. She had blurted out one morning that she was pregnant, and you were the first person she was telling, even before her husband. She didn’t know how to tell him yet, but was so excited and had to share the news with somebody, even a stranger that she only knew for a few minutes a day on the bus. You’d watched over the months as she started to show, then told you one morning she was just going on a short maternity leave to have her baby boy but would be back sooner than you’d know. She never got back on again. You hoped her son was beautiful and healthy, and still thought of them every so often when you’d look up and pass by her stop.

And then there was you. You sometimes wondered what they thought of you, if any of them did. It would be strange if they didn’t have at least a passing opinion of you. Not because you yourself did anything remarkable on your daily commute. You got on, took the same seat every day, listened to your music with your headphones in, and got off at the same stop. But no matter how normal your routine was, how quaint your occasional conversations with your fellow commuters were, there was something that set you apart.

As signified by the strawberry red jumpsuit you donned five days a week, you worked at The Soulmate Factory. It was technically called the Bureau of Interpersonal Affairs, but everyone just called it The Soulmate Factory, even the employees. Not the most popular place to work, but the work that was done there had to be done nevertheless. All Factory employees were ineligible for matching, in order to maintain the integrity of the Bureau’s image. Your family could never understand why you’d accept a position there; never getting a soulmate of your own, never getting the one person destined for you. But you didn’t see it like that. It’s not like you could never fall in love, find a partner to spend your life with, or be fulfilled in any millions of other ways.

The bus jerked to a stop again, and the doors swung open. You stood up and hurried off. You were the only passenger to depart here, as usual. A building loomed in the distance, all flashing windows and pink marble. Following in a few other coworkers in matching red jumpsuits, you hurried up the stairs, catching up to a familiar head of hair on the way up.

“Morning, Jaemin!” You chirped, nudging his arm with yours as you fell into step with him.

“Oh, hey, Y/N! Morning!” He offered you a bright smile, stepping off at the same floor as you and walking over to your neighboring desks.

“Hey, did you ever read that book I leant you?” You asked, dropping your backpack off at your desk before heading for the breakroom together. There was always a quiet buzz in the morning that you liked, when everybody was still mellow from waking up, but excited to start the day.

He hissed regretfully, a sheepish smile already coming to his face, telling you everything you needed to know, “Well...”

“You haven’t touched it since the day I gave it to you.”

“I’m going to! Promise!”

“It’s coming up on my re-read list,” you warned him, starting a fresh pot of coffee. “I only have like four books ahead of it. That gives you like, four weeks max.”

“You need to rot your brain with some TV or something.” He shook his head teasingly, reaching up into a cabinet and pulling down a box of cereal.

“Hey, isn’t that—”

“Na Jaemin, if you value your life, you’ll put that box down now.” The stern voice of Huang Renjun cracked through the air.

Jaemin turned around, hiding the box behind his back as he offered your other coworker a sickly sweet smile. “What box?”

“Come here, you son of a—”

“Hey, let’s not commit homicide before the weekly agenda meeting, maybe?” You suggested loudly over their squabbling, as Renjun had just grabbed Jaemin by the collar. “Because I’m pretty sure if you kill Jaemin, they’ll just reassign you his work, Renjun. Might want to see what your workload is like first.”

Renjun yanked the box of cereal out of Jaemin’s hand then, holding it to his chest protectively and scowling. “Fine. You better hope that you’re on data synthesis, Jaemin.”

He walked out still clutching the box to his chest.

“He’s just going to eat it dry by the fistful, isn’t he?” You sighed, starting to pour yourself a cup of coffee.

“Definitely,” Jaemin confirmed. “And I’m suddenly really wanting to do some data synthesis this week.”

After getting dismissed from the weekly agenda meeting—during which Jaemin was assigned data synthesis, and Renjun got profile compiling—you headed back to your desks. You weren’t assigned anything because your job was the same every day. You were on a very specific career trajectory at The Soulmate Factory after showing promise in the typical six months of entry-level training for new employees. Following those six months, your fellow trainees went on to start their jobs, while you went through an additional two and a half years of specialized training for your position: matchmaking.

You didn’t sit down at your computer when you got back to your desk, simply placing your nearly empty coffee cup on it before taking off down the hall to the room in which you actually did most of your work.

Swiping your badge at the access panel, the door clicked to unlock, and you pushed it open. There were a couple of other matchmakers already in there, who didn’t offer you a single glance or any indication that they were even aware of your presence. Sitting at your station, you were face-to-face with a quaintly archaic-looking computer. Compared to the newest monitors at every desk in the main bullpen, which could display images in a resolution so crisp it was hard to tell the difference between that and real life, the small, square glass and pixelated text that was in front of you seemed so out of place. But this was the system. Pressing the Enter button on your keyboard, your screen came to life, already giving you your first match.

N!#83LPd5D4ZR$PYQ^KLT6WnY##4GYVm74v^f@96#q#hheeRYgLLf3Ft9KQw

‘Matchmaker’ was a misnomer, really. You didn’t set people up to be soulmates whatsoever. The computer gave you the results, all you did was read them. Take the seemingly random string of letters, numbers, and characters, and parse out the meaning. Your training consisted of watching other matchmakers work, then trying your hand at doing some on your own, being told that you were wrong or right, with no explanation as to why either way—until you stopped getting them wrong. And whenever it would be your turn to train a matchmaker, that would be exactly how you’d train them. Because there was no way to tell them what exactly you were seeing, or how to do it. They just had to do. The longest part was looking up the profile numbers in the program, selecting them, and sending off the match results. As soon as you submitted that one, your next match came up.

jkD%NVSC3%JCacN%vWS5#k!Z4GqGW#ZfMyqGUfc@wQT5L5vK2uWU5N*5Lg&6

Your body moved as if by itself, in understanding with the machine, the program. The matchmakers often talked about entering a sort of trance when working, becoming one mind with the computer, completely unaware of their surroundings, time, or bodily needs. Only the next match. That’s why all of your screens had to be simultaneously forced into a shut-off at lunchtime, or else none of you would take a lunch break, then again at the end of the workday.

Blinking a few times to readjust from the hours spent interfacing with the program, you looked around you at the other matchmakers slowly getting up from their seats as well. With a sigh, you stood up and shuffled out after them. Jaemin was still at his desk when you got back to yours, fervently clacking away at his keyboard. You grabbed your coffee mug, went to wash it out in the breakroom and set it up to dry, then returned to your desk. Swallowing in an attempt to wet your dry throat, you asked him, “So how was your thrilling day of data synthesis?”

“Not over yet,” he groaned, scrolling down in his spreadsheet. “Hey, wait up a minute, would you?”

Checking the time on your watch, you nodded. “My bus doesn’t come for another twenty-five. They let us out early again.”

“Yeah, I heard the Director on the phone to somebody a while ago. He sounded pissed. Apparently, there’s some concerns over the Factory’s energy usage. They must be cutting you guys a few minutes early every day to try to help since you still use old hardware, right?”

“Mm,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, could be.”

“You’d think we’d be the one agency that wouldn’t be hit with budget cuts,” he scoffed, clicking a few things before his monitor displayed the login screen again. He spun around in his chair, giving you a wide smile. “Alright, ready?”

“Sure.” You grabbed your backpack from your seat. Jaemin and you headed down the stairs, awash in pinks and oranges from the sunset streaming in from outside.

“So, I already know what the answer is going to be, but I have to be able to say that I asked, alright?” Your coworker began, making you scrunch up your face in confusion. “My sister wanted me to ask if you’ve done hers yet? Na Minhee?”

You sighed, “Jaemin, you know I don’t know any of that—” “I know—” “—it’s all just… stuff. And you’ve compiled profiles, those are completely anonymous.”

“I know, I know,” he reassured you. “I just needed to be able to tell her that I asked, and that’s what you said. She wouldn’t take my word for it.”

“She’d know if hers has already been done, anyway.” You held up your hand, wiggling your pinky finger. “Why ask you?”

“Because she’s impatient.”

“Well, I can’t help her.” You shrugged. “It’ll happen when it happens.”

“I’ll tell her that. Thanks!”

“Yeah, no problem, dude.”

“When does your bus come?”

You checked the time again. “Fifteen minutes or so.”

“You want me to wait with you?” He offered, looking around the empty bus stop. “Kind of dark.”

“I’m alright, thanks. Go break your sister’s heart, champ.” You gave him a mock punch on the shoulder.

On your own again, you took your phone and headphones out, popping one earbud in your ear as you went to choose your playlist. As you scrolled, tapped, and swiped through your phone to try to pick the perfect song, some fuzz fell from your jumpsuit onto your right pinky finger, and you absentmindedly shook it off as your focus stayed on your music library. But it was stubborn, and the red fleck didn’t budge. You wiped the digit on your pants, eyes on where you had finally gotten the perfect choice, the song starting up as you lifted your now-clean hand back up.

Except it was still there. You looked at your hand for the first time, really looked at it, and felt your stomach drop. A thin, bright red string, the same color as your jumpsuit, was tied around your right pinky finger, just above the juncture where the finger met your hand. The string hung off in the air, becoming transparent and disappearing altogether less than a finger’s length away. You turned your hand over, palm to back to palm to back, and the string moved with it, the end fluttering with each of your movements. Stupidly, you tried to grab it, as if to pull it off, but when you took hold of the silken thread and gave it a yank, it didn’t budge. For a split second, amputation came to mind, but you quickly pushed those thoughts away. There were stories of people losing fingers or entire limbs and their strings reappearing on the other hand, or in new places altogether if they had no hands at all.

You looked around for any of your coworkers. Nobody else except the two people on either end of the string could see it, but you still didn’t want anybody to be observing your behavior, and then have to try to explain said behavior right now. It was easy to explain why you were doing what you were doing—you just got a red string; but not how—you weren’t supposed to get one. Ever. The area around you was empty, the majority of your coworkers driving, taking the subway, or not having left work yet. You looked over your shoulder, at the pink marble building looming in the distance.

The squeal of brakes and hiss of compressed air as the doors of a bus were flung open made you turn around. Rushing up the steps onto the bus, you then plopped into your usual seat, keeping your backpack on your lap and instinctively tucking your right hand between the bag and your body to keep the string hidden. You didn’t know who could possibly be your soulmate now, you had to be vigilant. You didn’t relax until you were safely tucked away in your apartment, door locked behind you, no plans to see any other humans for the rest of the day.

The next morning, you kept your right hand hidden away as much as possible on your commute, in your pockets, behind your bag, under your thigh. You didn’t feel remotely safe until you were in the matchmaking room, at your station. Even then, it took you longer than normal to stop from looking at your pinky and actually focus on the first match up on your screen. Once you had, everything else faded away like usual, and you could only think about reading the matches.

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At lunch, you typically would’ve taken your packed lunch to a nearby public park to eat, but that was too risky. So you took it to the breakroom, sitting at the small table and taking out one of your books from your bag. A few other coworkers came in and out to use the microwave or retrieve their own lunch from the fridge, but nobody bothered you as you read. You finished your food rather quick, and found yourself a bit too distracted to focus on your book. The red string on your finger was back in the forefront of your mind. Checking the time, you saw that you still had over half of your break left. With a sigh, you shut your book and walked back over to your desk next to Jaemin’s.

The floor was pretty empty, only a couple of your coworkers left who either took early or later lunches. You turned on the desktop computer, waiting for it to start up before quickly signing on. Opening up the program where profiles were compiled to be fed into the matchmaking system, you chewed on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully, clicking around on the controls. During the basic training you’d received over five years ago, you’d been shown how to compile and enter a profile into the database, and you obviously searched them up from your matchmaking station. But these were all profiles that hadn’t been matched yet, that didn’t have red strings. You needed to get into wherever the profiles that had been successfully matched were. If they were kept somewhere at all.

After poking around some more in the application, you determined that either you didn’t have the technical know-how to access that information, the administrative access to do so, or that information wasn’t stored in the first place. Exiting out of the program with a sigh, you dropped your chin into your palm, scrunching your eyes and nose up as you continued thinking. It felt like it was right there, right on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t grab it for some reason. The weekly agenda meeting, something about the weekly agenda meeting—Jaemin was assigned data synthesis. They compiled information on all kinds of stuff regarding matched soulmates: average time to meet after the strings appear, get married, have kids, how many kids, length of time they’re together prior to death, the list goes on. That couldn’t come from nowhere. They had to keep track of soulmates somehow, right?

You quickly opened the Internet browser, going to the Bureau’s website and finding the ‘Studies and Statistics’ page. All of the things you were thinking about were there, complete with fancy little graphics. It didn’t tell you anything about where this stuff was stored internally, but this meant that it had to be, somehow, somewhere. Which meant that your match had to be somewhere, and if you could just find it, then you could—

What? Undo it somehow? It had to be possible. But first you had to find out how it happened in the first place, which meant laying eyes on the match itself, at least. You needed some kind of starting point, and that felt like as good as any.

At the end of the day, the matchmakers were let out early again, and you waited up at your desk as Jaemin was still working. He looked over his shoulder at you curiously. “You need something, Y/N? I don’t have your book, sorry.”

“No, I have a question. But you can finish your work first.”

He made an interested noise, and turned back to his screen. After entering a few more things into his spreadsheet, he pressed save, then exited out with a satisfied groan. He shut down his computer and leaned back, audibly cracking his back. “Fucking finally! If I ever have to look at another number again, I’ll walk into traffic.”

You chuckled as the two of you set off. “Data synthesis that bad?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed one of his eyes. “Anyway, what’d you want to ask me?”

“It was actually about data synthesis…”

“No!” He whined, shaking his head fervently.

“One question! One question!” You begged.

“Fine…”

“The data that you use, how do you get that? Like, where do you get it from?”

He looked at you, squinting with confusion. “From soulmates that have already been matched?”

“Then the Factory keeps records of matches after the strings have been triggered.”

“Yeah, we do.”

“Where? Is it a separate database from the one that you enter new profiles into? Or is it part of the matchmaking program?”

“I mean, it’s probably its own thing? I don’t know, I get the numbers in my data synthesis project assignments. If I need more, or something different, I tell the project manager and he gets it for me.”

“Huh.” You kept the disappointment off your face, as well as curiosity. While he didn’t know a lot, what he didn’t know actually was helpful to you. “Okay, thanks.”

“That was more than one question.”

“Right, sorry.”

“What’s going on? Why the interest in data synthesis all of a sudden?”

“Just curious, since you guys seem to hate it so much.”

“It’s… mind-numbing, to say the least.”

“Here’s hoping next week you’re on profile compiling.”

“Fingers crossed,” he sighed. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

The next few days passed without incident. Your intervals of snooping around on your desktop computer during your lunch breaks were fruitless in finding wherever completed matches were stored, and soon it was Friday evening, and the work week was over. Not even a crisis like this could make you work late on a Friday. You realized when you got home that you were out of groceries, and ordered delivery to your apartment. Can’t risk someone at the restaurant being your soulmate.

Saturday morning you woke up and left early to go grocery shopping, hopefully before most anybody would be out and about. Well, before one person in particular would be awake—your soulmate. Only problem was, you didn’t know who that was, so you had to avoid pretty much everybody. As you walked through the streets keeping your hands crossed and tucked under your arms, you kept your head down, eyes focused only on your feet. If you couldn’t see anybody’s hands and couldn’t possibly see a red string, hopefully they wouldn’t see yours.

Except as you rushed through the streets, you passed by your favorite small bookstore, with its doors wide open, and a sign out front on the sidewalk advertising a huge sale, 70% off a table of books right by the doorway. You couldn’t help but stop—just for a second—to check it out, spotting a title by one of your favorite authors that you’d been meaning to read but hadn’t yet. Picking up the book to look at the price and turning it over in your hands to skim the blurb on the back, you were barely aware of the sounds of some young men playing with a Frisbee at the park across the street, their yells fading into the din of the waking city.

That was, until the purple, plastic disc came skittering across the pavement to a stop right at your feet, and a tall man jogged up after it, still calling to his friend over his shoulder, “Nice aim, Anton! You almost took this poor woman’s head off!”

You missed what his friend said in response as you were already looking up from the Frisbee with the intent to tell him that you were quite alright, then your eyes got caught on a thin red loop around his pinky finger. Snapping your gaze down to your own hand, which was still holding the book, then back to his as he stood now right in front of you, your eyes widened with alarm.

To your horror, the string completed itself, connecting seamlessly to the pinky of the stranger in front of you. The young man looked at you with wonderment, a wide smile coming to his features, brightness and recognition in them. He opened his mouth, presumably to say hello, or whatever soulmates did when they met, but before he could utter anything, you dropped the book and took off at a run. You sprinted away, turning down streets at random, until your legs were burning and you had a stitch in your side. Ducking around another shop, you hid behind the building to catch your breath, sure that you had lost him. Your heartbeat was thudding loudly in your ears, and you habitually tried to shake off that stupid, pesky red string again.

“Look—” A voice suddenly registering right over your shoulder made you jump and scramble back. The man had found you, holding his hands out in front of him like he was trying to calm a wild animal or a spooked horse. His chest was heaving as he was as out of breath as you were (presumably from running after you). There was a bewildered, confused look in his wide eyes as he kept himself between you and the only way out of the alley you had unintentionally backed yourself into. “I don’t normally chase women through the streets, sorry.”

You stayed silent as you looked between him and the exit. The red string hung between you, painfully obvious.

“I just… wanted to talk, you know,” he continued, gesturing to said string. “I’m Sungchan.”

You shook your head, clenching your jaw tightly to avoid making any kind of sound.

“What?” He tilted his head. “You… won’t tell me your name?”

You stared at him, unmoving.

“You know what, we got off on a bad foot, and clearly this is not a good time for you.” Sungchan stepped away from the alley entrance entirely. “Bye for now.”

Taking hesitant, shuffling steps, uncertain that he was actually going to let you leave, you kept your eyes laser focused on him until you were out of the alley, at which point you promptly booked it down the road again. You didn’t stop until you could no longer breathe, your legs shook and threatened to give out any second, and you had tears streaming down your face from the wind blowing into them.

That day you looked up how to get rid of a red string. You knew it was stupid, impossible to do at home. You literally worked at The Soulmate Factory, you were a matchmaker, for fuck’s sake, you were the one giving them out in the first place.

None of it worked, of course. Not meditating, praying, attempting to light it on fire, soaking your finger in a mixture of various oils and herbs from your spice cabinet, scrubbing really hard with the coarse side of a sponge, or crying for thirty minutes straight (that last one was just you being frustrated, no Internet listicle or sketchy guru suggested that). It was still there after everything, as pristine as when it appeared less than a week ago. Less than a week ago. Much faster than average, according to the statistics that you had just looked up the other day. The average time from getting the red string to meeting was seven months and eighteen days, with some taking several years. And yours just had to be within five days. You felt like you could cry again, if you didn’t already have a throbbing headache from how much you had done that earlier.

Now, you were sitting under the spray of your shower, holding your knees to your chest, trying not to look at it. You couldn’t look at your finger, at the red string, but if you closed your eyes, you just saw his face—Sungchan.

On Monday, you continued your investigation with renewed vigor. When you swiped into the matchmaking room, you didn’t go to your station, instead you headed for the back, where there was a short flight of stairs up to an office. Knocking on the door, you waited for the familiar voice inside to beckon you in.

“Come in.”

Pushing your way in, you nodded politely to your supervisor, “Good morning, Ms. Kwon.”

“Good morning, Y/N.” She brought her hands down from where they had been poised over her keyboard to rest in her lap. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” you lied. “How are you?”

“Fine. What brings you to my office this morning?”

“I… have sort of a weird question, if that’s alright.”

She gestured to the two chairs opposite her. “Of course.”

You sat in one, making a conscious effort to keep your knee from bouncing nervously.

“What is your question?” She prompted you.

“There’s never any mistakes, right?”

“Mistakes? No, you’re all trained right.” Ms. Kwon arched an eyebrow. “Do you think you’ve made a mistake, Y/N?”

“No, not the matchmakers. I mean… the computer does whatever it does with the information it’s given, right? That we collect?” You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you were about to say. “What if… it gets the wrong information? Wouldn’t it all be wrong if it’s given the wrong stuff in the first place?”

“The profiles we compile are extremely rudimentary, and that isn’t all the information it uses. The computer does more than we can ever know.”

“But what if… there’s an extra profile in there that was never supposed to be in there?”

“Like a person that doesn’t exist? How would a fake person even get created in the first place?”

“No I mean like—You know how Factory employees are taken out of the program? What if somehow, someone got missed? Like, their match happened right before their first day or something crazy. So they got matched up when they weren’t supposed to.”

“I’ve never heard of that happening.” She shook her head, leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs at the knee. “As soon as we receive someone’s application, their profile is removed from the program. If they’re not hired, their profile is put back in. If they are hired, the data is permanently destroyed.”

“Where’s it stored when it’s temporarily removed during the application process, then?”

She didn’t answer your question, her face turning concerned instead of simply confused as before. “Y/N, what’s going on? Do you know of a Factory employee who’s been matched up?”

You shook your head, trying not to deny it too quickly or with too much fervor. “No, I just—Got a brain itch about it, I don’t know. Seems too… uncertain.”

“I can assure you, no Factory employee has ever been matched up. Accidentally or otherwise,” she replied smoothly, a reassuring smile coming to her features. “You can rest easy; no mistakes are made here.”

“Can you just… answer my question? Please?” You pleaded, picking at your nails to avoid messing with your pinky. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“Alright, to soothe your brain itch,” she agreed, sounding amused. “It’s another list in the profiles database that we import into your matchmaking program, except only personnel with a certain clearance can view, add, and remove profiles from the list. Once a round of interviews has been completed, the applicants on the list are either marked as hired or not. If they’re marked as hired, their profile information is permanently destroyed upon their first day of training. If they’re marked as not, it’s returned to the main database that everyone has access to.”

“One more thing?”

“Sure.”

“Once a match is made, where does that information go? Like, the reports, the profiles, is it stored anywhere?”

“We maintain all of those records in another program. Those with higher clearance have access to it, for security purposes, since profiles are de-anonymized in it. Data synthesis uses them for reports frequently.”

“Okay, thanks.” You offered her a feigned, relieved smile, then tacked on a quick fib, “Just wanted a little refresh, in case we got any new hires anytime soon.”

“Already looking to train, Y/N?”

“Oh, maybe…” You laughed nervously, as if shy about being caught with your eye on a promotion already and not anxious from having to discretely interrogate your supervisor.

“You always were ambitious. And wanting to learn more about the program and the Bureau… I like it.” Ms. Kwon nodded her approval. “Feel free to ask about any other brain itches you get, okay?”

“Right, thanks.” You stood up, giving her a polite bow. “I should get to my station. Thank you again, ma’am.”

As you hurried down to your matchmaking station, you easily came to the realization of what you’d need to do next. There was no way you’d be able to just wait until you were promoted to a position with high enough security clearance for the post-matched program, that sounded like it would be people of Ms. Kwon’s position and above. You’d have to get into the program using one of their access points. Somehow. But you didn’t have time to brainstorm a plan for that at the moment, you had matches to read. You sank down into the comfortable, posture-saving chair, and let your mind mesh with the computer as the first one loaded up on the screen.

The next day, you waited at your bus stop, leaning against the shelter and eating your apple one-handed. Pedestrians would occasionally pass by, but your area was mainly young families, so most residents drove their children to daycare or school, then either returned home, or went to work themselves. There was the occasional parent who would jog by with a stroller, or pulling a stroller hitched to the back of a bicycle, but for the most part it was just you and your apple, which you were nearly done with. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a lone jogger approaching, and took a step back to allow him to pass, eyes still down on your phone and apple as your bus hadn’t arrived yet. Except this jogger slowed to a stop in front of you. You followed the red string from the hand that held your apple core up to a somewhat familiar face, looking down at you in mild confusion.

He was admittedly sweatier now, pieces of hair curling and sticking to the skin at his hairline, and his t-shirt sported a damp spot starting at his collar going down the middle of his chest. But this was definitely Sungchan, as signified by the red string connecting your right pinky to his left. He lifted the hem of his shirt to quickly pat drops of sweat away from his face and took one of his earbuds out as he offered you an easygoing smile.

“Hi. Feeling better?” He asked, his tone light and teasing.

“Why are you here?” You practically snapped. You thought you’d be safe at your bus stop of all places, which you were at every day. You knew your neighborhood, the people on your bus, but he still somehow showed up. “I-I take the same bus every day, at the same time, and I’ve never seen you jogging in the morning!”

“Oh, yeah, I stayed at my sister’s place last night, she lives around here.” Sungchan casually gestured over his shoulder at the general vicinity. “So I had to take a different route than normal for my morning run. You live in this area?”

You stared at him, jaw clenched.

“Sorry, probably sounded a little weird asking you that, huh?” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uhm, it’s just that you said you’re at this same bus stop every day at the same time, so I figured you, uhm… never mind. I’m Jung Sungchan, I realized I didn’t properly introduce myself last time. I’d offer my hand or hug you or something but I’m a bit sweaty…”

Taking a deep breath, you tried to think of how to politely phrase the everything you had to tell him, but he just kept talking.

“I’d like to uh, you know, know your name, too. Since we’re uhm, you know… soulmates? And uh—”

“Sungchan!” You cut him off, and he immediately shut his mouth. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know my name.”

“What? What are you talking about? But we’re—”

“I’m not supposed to have a soulmate!” You gestured wildly to your uniform. “This was a mistake! An error! I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have ever happened. I’ll get it fixed, okay? I’ll figure out how to undo it, and make sure you get put back in.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “I thought the Factory didn’t make mistakes.”

“The computer doesn’t. But somehow, somebody must have put a paper in the wrong stack, or not deleted something when they should’ve, I don’t know! But I’ll fix it.”

The bus finally arrived then with its usual screech of brakes and hiss of the pneumatic doors, and you stepped away from Sungchan towards it.

“I have to go.” You told him with finality, tossing your apple core in a nearby trashcan and boarding the bus without waiting to hear if he had something else to say.

Without having to avoid the entire world now, you actually took your lunch today. But as soon as you stepped outside of the building and turned from the front doors, you spotted a familiar tall figure standing awkwardly off to the side, no longer in sweaty running gear. You made a beeline for Sungchan, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him to the most secluded corner of the open space as you could, away from all your coworkers who were heading off to take their own break.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You hissed at him, constantly glancing around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear you two.

His face did look genuinely regretful, though exasperated at the same time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know how else to find you.”

“Why are you trying to find me?”

He held up his left pinky. You pushed it back down. “I’m working on it!”

“No, I—” He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his face. “Can we like… I don’t know, talk, or something?”

“Why?”

“Don’t you think I should get a say in you undoing this?”

You inhaled sharply. “You’re right, Sungchan. I’m sorry. We should talk.”

“Finally, thank you.”

Checking the time for a moment, you then offered, “I have fifty-five minutes left of my lunch break. Do you want to join me?”

“Sure, sure.”

You led him away from The Soulmate Factory, along a familiar path. There was a riverside public park nearby, and on days when you packed your lunch, and it was nice out, you would eat outside.

Sungchan broke the silence, “Will you ever tell me your name?”

“Y/N. Y/L/N Y/N,” you informed him flatly. “Happy?”

“Y/N,” he repeated, as if savoring your name. “Okay, thanks.”

The park was only a couple minutes’ walk, and you had a very specific destination in mind once you two got there.

“I packed a lunch today, sorry,” you said quietly, sitting down on the wall overlooking the river, your feet swinging in the air.

Sungchan sat down next to you. “That’s fine. I can grab something later.”

Opening your lunch bag, you grabbed your sandwich and held out half to him. He accepted it gingerly. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t figured out how to undo it yet, but I can enter a profile into the program easy, so once I do undo it, don’t worry about me putting you back in. You’ll be all set,” you reassured him, taking a bite.

“You’re still talking like this is a done deal. Undoing it.”

“I’d be fixing someone’s mistake, Sungchan. That’s what you do at work. When you see a piece of paper is misfiled, or a decimal is in the wrong place, or a typo on a presentation, you fix it, even if you didn’t do it.”

“It’s just… human error?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all that’s happened here, you think?”

“Whoever was supposed to take my profile out didn’t for some reason, and the computer got it when it wasn’t supposed to,” you confirmed emphatically.

“How does it work, the program? And the profiles, and the computer? All of it?” He questioned.

You gave him as simplified of a version as you could, “Profiles and a bunch of other data points get put into the program, which imports them into the computer. The computer spits out the resulting matches, I—we, matchmakers read them and submit the match reports, triggering the red strings.”

“So it wasn’t given any incorrect information about you or me? Nobody tampered with the system to force it to match us, or falsified a match?”

“No, you can’t do that. It’s impossible.”

“The only hiccup, in your opinion, was that it was given your data at all.”

“Yes, Factory employees aren’t allowed to—”

“Whose rule is that?”

“The Bureau—”

“So, it’s literally just bureaucracy?”

“I like my job,” you huffed, frustrated that he wasn’t seeing the blatantly obvious mistake that had happened. “It’s a rule for a reason. Factory employees are taken out of the program so the public doesn’t think employees are rigging their matches.”

“Can’t rig your soulmate if you don’t get one,” he scoffed.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You say that like having one would be the worst thing in the world!” Sungchan replied incredulously.

“It is for me! Because do you know what would happen if people at the Bureau found out this happened?” You looked at him with wide, pointed eyes. “Just losing my job would probably be the best outcome. And who knows what would happen to you!”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, Sungchan. I’m sure you had imagined all of this, your red string, and the person at the other end of it, going a lot different. And I’m sure it will, when I fix everything.” You stood up, cutting your conversation and lunch short. “Don’t come to my work again, okay? For both our sakes.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry,” he muttered, looking out at the water.

Back at the Factory, you finished eating your lunch at your desk, then shuffled back to the matchmaking room. After swiping in, you realized that you were pretty early, the first one back. Curious, you peered up at Ms. Kwon’s office. She was in there, of course. No way would you be able to attempt to use her computer to access the higher-clearance data. You sank into the chair at your station with a deep sigh. Drumming your fingers along the desktop, you let your eyes flutter shut. You’d have to wait for the others to get back from lunch for the power to be returned to the screens. In the meantime, you could just ruminate.

“Y/N?” Ms. Kwon’s voice came from the direction of her office. “Back so soon?”

You opened your eyes back up, turning to look at her. You nodded sheepishly. “Quick eater…”

“I feel like I’ve seen you in the breakroom with a book before. Nothing today?”

“Forgot it at home.”

“Alright, well… have fun, I suppose.” She turned to go back into her office.

“There’s no way to undo a match, is there?” You blurted out, stopping her in her tracks. She turned back around to look at you curiously as you continued, “Once we press submit on the computer, that’s it?”

Ms. Kwon cocked her head, leaning against the railing at the top of the stairs. “You should’ve been told this in training… No, there isn’t a way to ‘undo’ a match. We aren’t even matching them, just reporting on what the computer says. All the reports do is trigger the strings. The two people are soulmates regardless of the computer. We just intervene so they can find each other.”

You gulped and nodded. “Of course. I knew that… I… I don’t know. Thank you, Ms. Kwon.”

“Another brain itch?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you forced out a couple of chuckles to cover up the dread you felt on the inside.

“Alright. Remember, ‘The Soulmate Factory’ isn’t very accurate. We don’t make soulmates here, they’re already out there.”

“Right, yeah. Terrible nickname, huh?”

She shrugged. “It’s cute. Good for branding. I’ve got a few things to work on, unless you have any other burning questions for me?”

“No, Ms. Kwon, that’s it. Thank you, again.”

“No problem, Y/N.” And with that, she retreated into her office once more.

Dragging your feet back out to your desk at the end of the workday, you chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating pretending to have extra work so you could stay late and try to sneak onto Ms. Kwon’s computer to access the matched profiles. But her office was behind a door with swipe access, it would log that you swiped in after hours. A digital breadcrumb trail.

“Hey,” Jaemin got your attention as you sat in your chair and stared at your screen. You spun your chair around to look at him, lifting your eyebrows in a silent question. “Who was that guy?”

Your blood turned cold. “Huh? Who? When? What guy?”

“Oh now that wasn’t suspicious,” he snorted. “The guy that was waiting for you at lunch whose ass you looked like you were about to kick.”

Oh God. Jaemin saw Sungchan. Who else saw him? You had to assume everybody. You stood up from your chair hastily, fully intent on running away. “Just—Nobody, it doesn’t matter.”

Jaemin gasped, then dropped his voice, “Y/N, you didn’t...”

“Didn’t what?” You squeaked, now ready to stick around. You had to know what he knew, which was obviously the truth.

“You totally did.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Never a good idea, getting involved with people who are destined, even if they don’t have their string yet. Because one day they will.”

Of course. He thought, perfectly reasonably, that you had dated, slept with, done something with somebody who was going to get their red string someday, while you would remain without it forever. You swallowed down your sigh of relief, and instead crossed your arms over your chest, quickly switching trains of thought to follow this new cover story.

“And that’s what I told him, Jaemin, I swear,” you whispered insistently.

Your friend finished up and switched off his desktop then, giving you a frank look. “How many times, Y/N?”

“I told him like a hundred times—”

“No. You know what I mean.”

You hurried down the stairs, Jaemin right with you, rolling your eyes as you tried to think of a number that wasn’t excessive, but messy enough to possibly warrant a guy turning up at your work. “I don’t know... a few! A girl’s got needs, Jaemin!”

He chuckled and shook his head again, pushing the front door open for you. He turned suddenly, grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning you around to face the building with him, then gestured grandly up and down the entirety of The Soulmate Factory. “A whole ten floors to pick from, Y/N. No messy red strings to worry about after.”

“Yeah, just awkward encounters at work,” you scoffed.

“I heard Park Jisung on the second floor thinks you’re cute.”

“What is this? Middle school?” You elbowed him to get him off of you, ducking out from under his arm and taking off towards your bus stop at a speed walk.

He easily kept pace with you. “I’m just looking out for you. Rule Number 1 of dating with no soulmate: Stay away from people with one.”

“Uh-huh, noted,” you replied shortly. “You done?”

“Are you?”

“Yes! God!”

“Alright.” He was still grinning, clearly finding the whole scenario amusing overall. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Bye, Jaemin.”

A couple nights later found you rooting through the frozen section of a corner store. You’d gotten home from work after yet another day of getting nowhere with this stupid red string and had wanted nothing more than to wallow in misery with a pint of ice cream. Except you had none in your freezer, and your usual corner store was out of your favorite flavor, so you had to go to one several blocks over.

After paying for the ice cream and grabbing a plastic spoon from the available utensils, you hurried out of the shop. Turning sharply onto a side street to take a shortcut back to your apartment, you nearly tripped over somebody sitting on the sidewalk curb, their feet in the street. They were wearing a hoodie with the hood up, and you jumped back as you went to apologize. Then they looked at you over their shoulder, and you stopped your apologies, flabbergasted and a little pissed off at the universe at this point.

“Oh my god, again?” You stared at Sungchan, eyes bugging out of your head.

“Okay, ouch,” he retorted. He had his own pint of ice cream and plastic spoon in hand, about two-thirds of the way done.

“Sorry, I was just… I wanted to drown my sorrowsin ice cream alone.”

He turned away from you, resting his arms on his knees as he went back to looking down at the pavement. “Well, I’ve got dibs on this street corner for sadly eating ice cream.”

You winced. “Sungchan… I’m…”

Sorry? Was that it? Not for wanting to undo the string. Sorry that this all happened to him in the first place, and that he was now sadly eating ice cream by himself on a street corner? Absolutely. Even though you wanted to remove your red string that connected you two as soulmates, you still felt for the guy as a person, and you felt bad just leaving him here. In a different set of circumstances, you could see the two of you being friends. Against your better judgment, you sat down next to him on the curb, opening your pint of ice cream. He looked at you suspiciously out of the corner of his eye, and you caught a glimpse of his damp, bloodshot eyes in the light of the streetlamp above you two before he focused them back down on his own ice cream.

He shoveled a spoonful into his mouth before speaking again. “We’re going to keep running into each other, don’t you get that?”

“Yeah, I know, the string always gets tighter again. But I didn’t think our string would be like a fucking rubber band.” You shook your head, licking the lid of your container clean. “Honestly, this is kind of ridiculous.”

There was a moment of awkward silence as he ate another bite of ice cream.

“The computer doesn’t make mistakes.” He stated bluntly. “That’s what you said the second time we met. Do you actually think that? That what goes on in there is making soulmates? Finding them? Whatever.”

“I-I mean, yeah.” You carefully carved out your first spoonful from the pristine surface. “We do analytics and data gathering post-matching and… yeah, it works.”

He was quiet as you took your bite of ice cream into your mouth.

“Then we’re soulmates.”

You couldn’t swallow quickly enough, mind reeling at you tried to think of anything to say. “But my profile—”

“Whatever may have happened before the computer got our data doesn’t fucking matter, it still did all the same stuff that it does when giving you all the matches that you read,” Sungchan cut you off, and you saw a fresh tear catch the light as it rolled down his cheek. “And it figured that we were soulmates. But suddenly you’re doubting it? Suddenly it’s not right? What’s so fucking special about you?”

“I…”

“Has somebody’s profile even been through the computer twice? Ever? And you want to just stick me back in there. What if it rejects me because it already processed me once? What if I don’t get another match? What if it breaks the whole damn program? The whole fucking Factory?” He wasn’t yelling, but his voice was strong and hoarse at the same time, and you froze up as you felt the anger and hurt in him.

You didn’t have an answer for him. You always had an answer. You always knew, at work, when reading the matches, you just always knew, but you didn’t now. You had nothing, it was all blank, empty in your mind. You swallowed thickly, staring at him as he looked over at you furiously. White hot shame and guilt made your skin prickle.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

Sungchan put his pint down on the pavement, then covered your hands with his. Even as you held onto your ice cream, you could feel that his skin was colder than yours. “I’m trying to understand you, Y/N, but this isn’t making any sense to me.”

“I thought I’d have a choice,” you told him shakily, slowly pulling your hands away. “I thought I’d be able to choose…”

He blinked, and his face twisted up with pain as he took his hands back. He grabbed his nearly empty carton, standing up and blotting out the lamp light as he towered over you.

“Trust me, you’ve got a choice. A big one.” He sighed bitterly, tossing his container in a nearby trash can. “I’ve said my piece. Goodnight.”

“Where are you going?” You called after him as he started down the sidewalk.

“Somewhere. When you’re ready, you know how to find me.” He lifted his left arm up and waved his hand, his end of the red string fluttering back and forth in the air with the movement.

You watched him continue to walk down the street, not slowing down or looking over his shoulder once. It was only when you could no longer see him that scalding tears welled up in your vision and stung your eyes. You didn’t bother wiping them away as they streamed down your face and fell onto your shirt, leaving dark patches in their wake. Despite the ice cream being your original intent for coming out, you suddenly didn’t have an appetite, burying your face in your arms to cry alone on the curb.

What’s so fucking special about you?

Sungchan’s words were still in the squeal of the bus brakes in the morning, and the hum of strangers’ conversations, and the shuffle of leaves as the wind shook tree branches. You stared at the grooves of the hardwood floor in the breakroom, hearing his voice in the gurgle of the coffee machine as it ran on the counter behind you. You didn’t even need your usual morning cup, still wide awake, as you had been all night. Fingers snapped in front of your eyes, and you lazily dragged your gaze up to the owner of the hand, Renjun.

“You look like shit,” he deadpanned.

You took a long, deep sigh, not even having enough in you to react to the comment as you usually would. “Do you ever think about your soulmate, Renjun?”

“Uh… no?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Because I don’t have one? Remember?”

“I know, Factory employees get taken out of the program. But doesn’t that mean that the computer is really working with incomplete data or whatever? Since it doesn’t actually have every single person in there?”

He crossed his arms over his chest as he seemed to think about this for a moment. “I guess.”

“If we were all in there, we’d get matched up with somebody. Our soulmate. We’re not all in there, but whoever we would be matched with still is. So they just… get their second-best match?”

“What is it that matchmaking lady always says? ‘The computer does more than we’ll ever know?’”

“Ms. Kwon?”

“Yeah, her.” He nodded, turning around to get his cereal down from the cabinet. He answered your question over his shoulder, “No, I’ve never thought about this, Y/N. But you have clearly been doing a lot of thinking about it.”

“Too much,” you groaned. “My head hurts.”

Your coworker’s voice was a bit softer as he offered, “You, me, and Jaemin—Drinks after work?”

After work you ended up on a rooftop bar with Jaemin and Renjun, nursing your second beer of the night as you stared out at the lights of the city. The two of them were chatting about some movie that was coming out this weekend that they were interested in, and all three of you had your feet kicked up on the ledge of the rooftop.

In a lull in their conversation, a finger poked your head from the left. “What’s wrong?” Jaemin asked.

You sighed. “It’s… ugh.”

Another finger poked the right side of your head. “Come on,” Renjun insisted. “You’ve been weird all week.”

You took a swig of your drink, then let out another deep sigh. “Why did you guys start working at the Factory?”

“What?” Renjun scoffed lightly, as if he couldn’t imagine why you’d even ask that.

“Why did you start working at the Factory?” You repeated. “I mean, accepting a life without a soulmate.”

“My parents met at the Factory, actually,” Jaemin said.

“Wait, really?” You turned to him curiously. You knew that Factory employees dating each other wasn’t off-limits, and theoretically that meant they could settle down and have lives sort of like soulmates, but you’d never heard much about it actually happening.

“Yeah, they weren’t soulmates. So it was one of those things where, I don’t know, I got to grow up knowing that there was another way to live.” Jaemin shrugged casually. “I didn’t even really think about the no-soulmate thing when I applied, they just always talked about how much they loved their jobs, it sounded like a cool place to work.”

“I applied at a bunch of different places, this is the first one that called me back,” Renjun gave his own answer.

“Why did you start working here?” Jaemin turned your question back on you.

You tapped your fingernail against the side of your bottle. “Pay’s not bad… And I didn’t… hate the idea of having a say in my love life, you know? Instead of this string showing up one day and telling me who I’m supposed to be with forever. Getting to choose on my own.”

“Sounds like you don’t think the computer knows what it’s doing,” Renjun snorted.

“No, it does! It does! I just… didn’t mind the idea of never knowing.”

Jaemin furrowed his brow curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Like… I can wake up tomorrow and have cereal, or eggs, or buy breakfast on my way into work. There could be someone new on my bus in the morning. I can get a haircut, or dye my hair. It could rain tomorrow, or be sunny, or overcast. Life is always in flux, always changing, new, different.”

“Knowing who your soulmate is, would be too… certain?”

“Some people like having that constant in their life,” Renjun pointed out. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“I don’t know, like what if you get your soulmate and they kind of suck? Then you kind of have to ask yourself what did you do to deserve someone who kind of sucks? Because that’s literally the best you can do,” you ranted, gesturing around to the night sky with your bottle. “At least without a string, there’s always a chance that there’s someone better out there.”

“Ah, you’ve got the Boy Scout mindset,” Jaemin said knowingly. “Just in case. Just in case it rains, I’ll bring an umbrella. Just in case whoever you’re seeing now kind of sucks, you can always try again.”

You crossed your arms defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, since you don’t have a string.”

“Very polite way to say she has commitment issues, Jaemin,” Renjun snickered.

“Rude!” You smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

He wasn’t dissuaded by your minor battery, however. Bringing his two feet back down to the ground, he leaned his elbows forward on his knees and looked over at you, “Sounds like to me, you want infinite second chances. Just in case.”

“There’s only so many of us at the Factory, really,” Jaemin pointed out. “Wouldn’t a soulmate actually be infinite second chances? Since you know you’re destined to be with them, you can kind of mess up as often as you want?”

You frowned, thinking of Sungchan walking away from you. “You really think so? I mean, they’re still a person. Wouldn’t they stop putting up with you after so long? Even if they were your soulmate, I’m sure being alone would be better than having a shit soulmate.”

“Well, then you have to ask: What is a soulmate? Just the best you can do? Or someone who’s going to make you better? Is there such a thing as a shit soulmate?”

“There has to be, right? There’s bad people, and those people have soulmates.”

“Are they bad forever? Are they bad people to their soulmates? Or do they also have shit people for soulmates? So, relative to each other, they don’t even realize that they have a shit soulmate?”

“My head hurts again…” You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples.

A long silence passed as you three each finished off your beers. Renjun shrugged and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grunt. “Thank God we’ll never know, huh?”

Your Saturday was spent walking. Walking all over town, from your apartment to your bus stop, to the park where Sungchan had been playing Frisbee before, to the corner store where you’d last seen him, and everywhere in between. You kept your head on a swivel, straining for any sign of his tall head over the crowd. But you couldn’t see him anywhere.

When you finally gave up mid-afternoon and went back to your apartment for a late lunch, you knew that you were actually relieved that you hadn’t found him today. If you had ran into him, you didn’t even know what you’d say, where to start, where to end, what to say in the middle. Your head was a jumbled mess, simultaneously too full and too empty. There was no way you’d be able to articulate a single comprehensible word when you yourself didn’t know a shred about anything that you were thinking or feeling.

Sunday you were kept busy with Sungchan’s lingering question. What’s so special about you?

In the moment, it felt like he was asking why you thought you were special enough to be exempt from something that everyone else experienced: getting a red string and finding their soulmate. But as you went about mindless chores in your apartment, doing the dishes, folding laundry, you thought about him.

What’s so special about Sungchan? What would make him your soulmate? And you wondered if he was asking himself the same questions about you.

Monday morning you almost missed your bus. You’d been so distracted going about your morning routine that you ran straight from your apartment building onto the bus, the doors closing right after you. The elderly couple was on today, and you plopped into your seat in front of them, offering them a breathless smile and greeting.

“Tough morning, dear?” The woman asked you knowingly.

“Oh, a bit,” you laughed. “Tough couple of weeks, honestly. But I’ll make it. What’s the new exhibit for this month?”

“It’s a contemporary artist who does large-scale mixed media collages,” the husband explained.

“That sounds so cool! Is there a particular theme for the collection on display or it more eclectic?”

“Oh, we don’t read up much before,” she said with a shake of her head. “We like to go in blind, no presuppositions or expectations, good or bad.”

You continued chatting about the museum with them until their stop to get off, and watched fondly as the man helped his wife up, the both of them bidding you farewell before departing. As the bus peeled away, you were able to glimpse them starting arm-in-arm down the sidewalk together.

After dropping your backpack in your chair, you headed towards the breakroom, where you found Jaemin hunched over something at a counter, his back to the door.

“Renjun’s cereal?” You surmised immediately.

He jumped in place, turning around clutching his chest. “Fuck! You scared the shit out of me, Y/N! Don’t sneak up on a guy like that!” He did in fact have a familiar box in his hand, clearly having been pouring some into a cup.

“I wasn’t sneaking. You just flipped out because you know you’re being a little cereal thief right now.”

He quickly closed up the box and put it away. “There. Like it never happened.”

“Why don’t you just bring your own box of cereal?”

“It just tastes better if it’s free.”

“Stolen.”

“Synonyms.” He grinned slyly, shooting you a wink as he walked out.

As you were milling about, trying to gather everything to start the first pot of coffee, Renjun entered, heading straight for where his cereal was stored. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he grabbed it, froze midair, and tested the weight of it in his hand.

“Na Jaemin…” He hissed, slamming the container onto the counter.

“Suggestion—” You announced, turning around to look at him with your arms crossed over your chest. “Keep the cereal at your desk instead of leaving it here unattended where he steals it all the time.”

“I never keep food at my desk. What if it attracts ants?”

“Padlock.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You may be onto something there…”

Renjun wandered out of the room, still musing over this with the cereal box tucked under his arm. You realized you didn’t really want a cup of coffee and put the empty coffee mug away.

The weekly agenda meeting was short and sweet, and you were slow to follow the other matchmakers down the hall after. You were the very last one to swipe in, and to take your seat at your station. Everyone else was already reading their matches, but you just stared at your blank screen, not even turning it on yet. At some point, two weeks ago, someone in this room, one of your coworkers—or maybe even you—had read a match result, looked up a bunch of numbers, and submitted a match report that had changed your life forever. You listened to them clacking away at their keyboards, dozens more strangers’ lives being irreparably altered like yours was.

“Y/N?” Your name was called from across the room, and you whipped your head around to look over at Ms. Kwon, standing in the doorway of her office. She gestured for you to come over. “A moment?”

“Oh, of course, ma’am.” You rushed to stand, hurrying up the stairs and following her into her office.

She closed the door behind you, sitting back down behind her desk, and offering the chairs across from her for you. You nervously took the one closest to the door.

“Is everything alright with you?” Your supervisor asked gently. “You’ve been sitting at your station for the past fifteen minutes and haven’t turned the screen on…”

“Sorry…” You winced, self-conscious as you pictured Ms. Kwon watching you stare at a blank screen for fifteen minutes. “I’m uhm… I…”

“Have something on your mind?”

“It’s worth it, right? Giving up your soulmate to work here?”

Ms. Kwon took your question in stride, folding her hands together over her desk as she answered, “It’s good work that we do here, Y/N, don’t get me wrong. Necessary. But choosing to live without a soulmate, that’s not a noble sacrifice on our part. We’re not any better than anybody else because we choose to work here and they don’t. I don’t know a single executive here who would talk about it like that.”

You could feel all façades slip off your face, your eyes widening slightly and your mouth parting, though no sound came out.

At your apparent speechlessness, Ms. Kwon continued, “We’re not... monks or nuns taking some holy vow, Y/N. It’s morally neutral. Neither good nor bad. It just is.”

A split-second of rage burst inside you. “Then why would any of you choose it? Why would anybody go without a soulmate?”

“Why did you?” She asked you calmly.

“I... was afraid to know,” you admitted quietly.

“Everyone here is sort of like that. They have some other reason. It’s usually not a good one, but they never have to confront it. Ever.”

“So the Factory... is the easy way out?”

“Y/N, listen to the words I’m telling you: It is neither good nor bad to choose to work here. It just is.”

“Is it good to have your soulmate, then?”

“I am not the arbiter of good or bad in your life. I’m just your boss,” she replied, sounding a bit tired now. “Look, you’re very smart. That’s why you were chosen for matchmaking. But I’m urging you to stop this line of thinking here. This is how you end up—”

“I’m resigning,” you declared, and suddenly all of the noise in your mind was quiet.

“That is what I was afraid of,” she sighed. “May I ask why?”

“I… have a soulmate.”

“Of course you do.” Ms. Kwon smiled placidly. “All of us at the Factory do. But quitting now will not put your profile back in to get matched with them.”

“No, I—I was matched. Somehow, I don’t know how, but… I have a red string, Ms. Kwon.” You held up your right hand, pointing to your pinky, even though you knew she couldn’t see it. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden lightness of your shoulders. “I have a soulmate, and… this is just a job. It’s a good job, and I love it. But there’s other jobs. I don’t have another soulmate.”

She was quiet for a moment, simply looking at you intensely. After a moment, she reached out to hover her hands over her keyboard. “Would you mind if I took just a moment to confirm? It’ll take less than a minute.”

“Sure, go for it.”

Ms. Kwon quickly typed away and clicked a few things on her mouse as you quite literally twiddled your thumbs over your lap. Just a few seconds later, she took her glasses off, rubbing between her brows as she let out a deep sigh. “So it seems you have been…” She sat back in her chair. “Have you… found them?”

“Uhm, yes, ma’am,” you nodded awkwardly.

“This is why you were so interested in undoing matches as of late, I presume.”

“Yes… but not anymore.”

She sat there for a few more moments, eyes closed, before putting her glasses back on and sitting up straight again. “I accept your resignation, Y/N. With a heavy heart, might I add.”

“That means a lot, Ms. Kwon.”

“There will need to be an investigation.”

“I figured.”

“I expect full cooperation from both you and your soulmate.”

“Oh, uh, sure, sure.”

Ms. Kwon looked at you oddly. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“We’re not… exactly… friendly… right now…” You admitted quietly. “And it’s completely my fault…”

She let out a few soft, wistful chuckles. “He didn’t take too kindly to you attempting to ‘undo’ your string, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.” You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek regretfully.

“The string will tighten again, Y/N,” she reassured you, her voice kind. “The computer doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Right. Thank you, Ms. Kwon.”

She cleared her throat, becoming formal and businesslike again. “Provided the investigation turns up exactly what I think it will, I’ll also write an excellent reference letter for you, if you would like.”

“What do you think the investigation will turn up?”

“A mistake. Something was misfiled. A paper was put in the wrong stack. A name left off an email. I don’t think you tampered with the program somehow to put yourself back in. Did you?”

“No, ma’am, not at all.”

“There we go.” She shrugged. “Do you have anything else for me?”

“I get my severance pay and all that, right?”

“Of course.”

You stood up, set your key card on the desk, and shook her hand before leaving her office, walking right out of the matchmaking room as the others kept at it at their stations. Making a beeline for your desk, you could see several heads of your coworkers popping up to peer at you curiously before looking back down at their computers. One remained up and focused intently on you from further down your row, Renjun.

As you stopped next to Jaemin and opened your backpack at your desk, he took his headphones off to turn to you. “Uh hey…?”

“Hi,” you replied cheerily, beginning to grab personal possessions off your desk and load them into your bag.

“What are you doing?”

At this point, Renjun had stood up from his desk and stalked over to you two, eyes wide as he took in what you were doing. “What’s going on?”

“I quit!” You informed them, not being particularly quiet about it.

“What?!” “Seriously?!”

“Seriously,” you confirmed, unplugging the receiver for your personal wireless mouse, and putting it back inside said mouse, before chucking the whole thing into your bag. “Resigned. Quit. Handed in my zero day notice.”

“Why? I thought you loved this job!” Renjun sputtered out, his hands on his hips.

“Yeah! Like, I thought you were going to be Director one day!” Jaemin nodded. “What happened?”

You looked around the wide-open bullpen, still having enough tact to not want to blab about your string in front of everybody. Zipping up your backpack and throwing one strap over your shoulder, you asked your friends innocently, “Walk me out?”

They practically dragged you down the stairs, flanking you on either side, none of you saying a word until you were outside.

“What’s going on?” Renjun demanded as soon as the front doors closed behind you. “Is it something we need to know about? Should we be looking for other jobs?”

“Did you ask for a raise or something and they wouldn’t give it to you?” Jaemin asked. “Or a promotion? Or—”

“No, it’s nothing like that. You guys are fine,” you promised them, lacing your two hands together in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you admitted, “I have a red string, and I found my soulmate.”

Their jaws dropped, and they looked at each other, flabbergasted, then at you, then each other again, then stared at you. Renjun was the first to shake himself out of his stupefied state, “How did that even—”

“I don’t know, and I don’t know how much I can even say until the Factory finishes their investigation, so…” You trailed off. “Yeah, that’s why I quit. And Ms. Kwon didn’t ask me to stay.”

Jaemin’s eyes widened comically as he pointed at you accusatorily. “The guy at lunch, was he your—”

“Yeah, that was him.” You rubbed the back of your neck nervously. “Anyway, you guys can’t say anything to anybody else at the Factory, okay? Just let management handle this however they want to. Keep your noses out of it.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Renjun asked.

“Uh… try to find him? Again?” You said sheepishly.

“You lost him?” Jaemin asked in disbelief. “Like, in a well or something? How? What?”

“We kind of had a fight… Let’s just say the ball’s in my court, and I don’t know how to play.”

He patted you on the back. “You’ve got this, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” you nodded to him gratefully. “I should let you two get back to work now. Thank you both, again, for being the best work buddies a girl could ask for.”

“Hey, don’t talk like you’re going off and dying,” Renjun scoffed, poking the right side of your head.

“Yeah, we’re your real buddies, too.” Jaemin poked the left side of your head. “I still owe you your book.”

“You two have got to make sure you don’t kill each other over cereal in the mornings on your own now. I won’t be there to referee,” you warned as you took a step back, facing them.

“As long as Jaemin keeps his grubby mitts to himself, no problem.” Renjun nodded.

Jaemin grinned. “No promises.”

You laughed, going in to give each of them a hug. “Bye, guys. I’ll see you around.”

And you proceeded to walk. From the riverside park near the Factory, to the curb where you’d eaten ice cream together, to your favorite bookstore. You walked until your feet ached and your stomach growled, and even after that. You found new parts of the city that you’d never seen, never had any reason to go to before. As you came up to a street of small shops, you peered into each window carefully as you passed by. Your feet skidded to a stop all on their own and your heart leapt to your throat as you inadvertently made eye contact with a patron right on the other side of the glass of one store. The exact person you’d been looking for.

While Sungchan froze in place, you ran for the entrance to the shop, throwing open the door and ducking around shelves and displays to find him still glued to the same spot, staring out the window at the pavement where you used to be. You grabbed his left hand with your right, watching the string complete itself, and pulled him around to face you.

“Sungchan!” You said his name breathlessly, a relieved smile on your face. “Found you!”

“Y/N…” His voice was guarded, uncertain, gaze trailing over your red jumpsuit that you were still in. “Are you… on your lunch break?”

“No, I uh, I resigned this morning,” you told him, not an ounce of remorse in your tone.

His eyes widened, and his demeanor immediately changed as he looked down at you with concern. “What? You didn’t have to—Y/N, what happened? Oh my god, what are you going to do?”

A throat was very conspicuously cleared from nearby, and you snapped your head over in the direction of it, spotting a group of several guys leaning against shelves further down the store, a few trying to look busy and not like they had just been listening to your conversation. One stood at the front of them, looking directly at Sungchan.

“Oh, sorry, guys,” Sungchan waved them off. “Go on without me, okay?”

And with that, he set down the merchandise he had been browsing—which you were now seeing was a stack of old magazines; it looked as though you were in a thrift store of some kind—and pulled you out the door by the hand. Just a little ways down the street was a bench overlooking the river, and the two of you stopped there.

“I wouldn’t have been able to keep working there with a red string, Sungchan,” you explained. “If I didn’t resign, I would’ve been fired whenever they found out. I wanted to tell them myself.”

He frowned. “When I said you had a choice…”

“I chose to keep the string, and stop looking for a way to undo it. I know that’s what you were asking me.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask…” he sighed. “What made you change your mind?”

“A lot of different things, but… I think realizing that I’m not that special.”

“Y/N, I—”

“No, I mean, I kind of had this complex about working at the Factory. Thinking that it was some sacrifice for the greater good, me giving up my soulmate so I could help other people find theirs. But like… it was just a job.” You laughed at how ridiculous that sounded now, even just a few hours after resigning.

Sungchan smiled a little at that, but still looked pensive. “So what are you going to do for work now?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, but couldn’t keep the giddy grin off your face. “That’s really scary… but it’s kind of exciting, in a weird way, right? I’ve had the same job since I got out of school, and now I can do anything.”

“We’ll find you a job. That’s like, Priority One, okay?” He reassured you. “We’ll do some brainstorming, find some job listings, we’ll figure something out.”

“We?”

“Yeah?” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not leaving you out to dry after all this.”

“Thanks, Sungchan.” You fidgeted with your fingers, eyes gracing over the finished red string again. “And uh, if that’s Priority One, then Priority Two is probably going to have to be the investigation.”

“The what?”

“The Bureau has to investigate how this even happened, our match. Me resigning was just the beginning, not the end. They’re expecting our full cooperation.”

“What are we going to have to cooperate with, exactly?” He crossed his arms.

“They’ll probably just want to ask us some questions. Me more than you, since I’m the one who actually worked there. Ms. Kwon—my old boss—made it sound like it’d be more a formality than anything else. I’m sure they’re already auditing all my match reports for the past two years, and looking through my key card log, and going through my computer as we speak.”

“Alright, yeah. Fine.”

With his agreement, the two of you were quiet for a moment, and you felt an air of uncertainty. You’d found each other, you were soulmates, you weren’t trying to undo your string anymore, and yet you were still practically strangers. Where did you go from here?

“So… what’s your favorite color?” You asked.

“What?” He blinked, seeming confused at the sudden change in topic.

“I don’t know anything about you…” You said quietly, feeling your skin get warm with embarrassment. “I don’t know, that’s just the first thing that came to mind. Forget it, it was stupid.”

He chuckled and answered anyway, “Purple. My favorite color is purple.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“What’s yours?”

“Pink. Uh, cotton candy pink, specifically.”

“That’s good. That’s really good.” He was still laughing, more than your awkward question warranted.

“Okay, what’s so funny? Other than me being stupid.”

“No, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just…” He reassured you, trailing off as he seemed to be trying to put his thoughts together. “There’re all these books, and magazine articles and stuff, you know. 15 Things to Not Do When You Meet Your Soulmate. 10 Best Opening Lines for Meeting the One. I Met My Soulmate and It’s Awkward: Now What? How to Get Over First Meeting Flutters. And you’re nothing like that. You’ve probably never even read anything of that sort of stuff, have you?”

“No…” You shook your head, then squinted at him suspiciously. “Have you?”

He held his hands up defensively. “Well, call it morbid curiosity—”

You couldn’t help but giggle, attempting to cover it with your hand, having the perfect image of him lying on his bed on his stomach, legs kicking up behind him as he scrolled on his phone late at night reading cheesy internet columns about love.

“And that’s funny, yeah, okay. I didn’t fool you with the… yeah.” Sungchan laughed again, this time at himself, and you were quickly starting to think that it might be your favorite sound.

“It’s cute, it’s cute!” You promised. “I’m uhm, sure me running away really threw a wrench in whatever great opening line you had planned.”

“Yes and no.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You were really pretty, and when I looked at you, I suddenly forgot every word I knew. And then you ran away, and I was just confused at how I had messed it up before opening my mouth.”

Your body burned on the inside and outside twofold from him simultaneously saying you were so pretty it made him speechless, and also the shame at how stupendously you had fucked up your first meeting. You squeezed your eyes shut, covered your face with both hands, and shook your head as you groaned out an apology, “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, really— Helped snap me out of it, you know?” He chuckled, and you were glad he could at least see some humor in it now. “Looking back now, completely understandable for you to do that. Sorry again for chasing you through the streets, I’m sure that didn’t help.”

“Also understandable on your part,” you said. Before you could scramble for another thing to ask Sungchan, your stomach rumbled loudly, and you cringed, knowing full well that he had definitely been able to hear that. “Sorry…”

“I was supposed to grab food with the guys anyway.” Sungchan stood up. “Let’s get you something to eat, hm?”

You followed him to a small café a couple streets away, and after grabbing your food, you two sat at a table outside. “So what do you do? For work? Or are you a student? You know quite a bit about my old job, but…”

“Oh, I’m an artist.”

“What kind? Like, what medium? Is that the right way to ask that? I guess I’m asking what kind of stuff you make?”

“Don’t worry, those were all good questions. Different questions, but good.” He smiled warmly, taking a sip of his drink before answering. “I mostly focus on making mixed media collages. Sometimes I source my materials from other places, but sometimes I make it myself. Take my own pictures, paint it myself, put the clay on myself. Just depends. So I work with a lot of different materials and mediums, too.”

“Oh!” You immediately thought of the couple you talked to on the bus that morning. “You should totally check out the art museum on 2nd this month! I heard they have an exhibit showcasing mixed media collages. I haven’t been, but there’s this couple on my bus in the mornings who goes every month, they told me about it today.”

“Did they say the artist?” He asked mildly, picking at his food with his utensil.

“No, they don’t do any research before, they like to go in blind.”

“Yeah, uhm, that’s my exhibit,” he practically whispered the last two words behind a napkin as he wiped his mouth with it, looking down at his plate. His ears were bright red, and he grabbed his drink to take another long sip.

Your eyes widened. “Wait really?”

“I understand if you think I’m lying, it’s on the exhibit webpage on the museum website, but yeah…”

“Sungchan, that’s so cool!” You exclaimed, even as you brought out your phone to bring up the website. Not because you didn’t believe him, but just because reading the headline of how the museum was proud to feature ‘New Local Artist Jung Sungchan’ in an exclusive exhibit was practically surreal. He, however, still couldn’t seem to meet your eyes. “Why do you look like you want to die?”

“I didn’t want to use my real name, but my… manager thought it would be a good idea. And obviously I had to tell you.” He rubbed a hand over his face, making everything from his forehead to his neck pink. “I just hate people looking at my art and thinking they know me. They can look at my art all I want, project onto it, feel from it, call it stupid, say they could have done better, I don’t care, I just don’t want them to know it’s mine and think they know me because of it.”

“Who’s your manager that made you use your real name? Don’t artists use pseudonyms sometimes?”

“My sister’s husband. He’s good at his job, and he’s done a lot for me. I’m really thankful for him, honestly. It was more like when I was first starting out, he thought that using a pseudonym would make me seem sort of pretentious. People would like a regular guy a lot more.” Sungchan sighed. “I agreed, and have regretted that decision with every art show I’ve attended since.”

You nodded slowly, tapping your fingers on the tabletop in a rhythm as you thought. “So… why do you think you make art, then?”

“I have to,” he shrugged. “Not making art would be worse. People connecting with my art… I like that. But I don’t like when they try to assume things about me because of my art. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does,” you assured him. “Death of the collagist.”

His face cracked into a grin. “Exactly.”

“Would you mind if I went to your exhibit sometime?” You asked. “You totally don’t have to come, I’m sure that’d be weird for you. But I’d like to go see it, and not make any assumptions about you at all.”

“It’s a public museum, I can’t stop you from going.”

“Well, yes… I don’t know, it’s still your art, and I’m not just a member of the public, am I?”

Sungchan’s eyes held a softness as he looked at you across the table, and he shook his head. “No, you’re not just a member of the public to me.”

“And you’re not just some random artist to me,” you responded.

“I wouldn’t mind if you went, on one condition.”

“Mm?” You prompted, expecting it to be something along the lines of ‘don’t tell me what you think’ or ‘don’t ever mention it to me.’ Nothing at all in the realm of what he actually requested.

“I go with you.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, yeah, of course!”

“Then it’s a date.”

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy at him calling it a date, turning your eyes back down to your food. “Yeah, okay. A date.”

You ended up spending the whole day with Sungchan, just getting to know each other. And browsing online job listings for you—turns out he wasn’t kidding about that being Priority One.

He used revising your résumé as an opportunity to learn more about you. Education—Oh where did you go to school? What did you study? Which devolved into you two telling stories about classes you liked, professors and teachers you loved and hated, and old school friends. Work Experience—So what actually was your official title? What were your job responsibilities? Which led to you fondly reminiscing in your times at the office with Jaemin and Renjun, talking about your training to be a Systems Analytics Specialist, and his disbelief in how exactly you even did your job. It was when you got to the Skills portion that you balked a little bit. It felt like your only skills were specific to the Factory: reading the matches from the computer, inputting match reports, keeping Renjun from killing Jaemin over a box of cereal. Sungchan helped you get a bit creative with your technological experience, creative thinking, quick learning, and conflict resolution skills.

As he walked you back to your apartment after getting dinner together, you were still asking him your never-ending stream of questions. “So what were you supposed to be doing with your friends today?”

“I was collecting.” He craned his neck up, and you followed his line of vision to look up at the few specks of light in the sky that you could see against the brightness of the city. “Gathering materials for collages. Thrift stores are pretty good for old magazines, books, newspapers, photo albums, all kinds of stuff. The guys were tagging along, they wanted to get lunch and do some shopping too.”

“Oh. Sorry for taking you away from them.”

He gave you a funny look. “No.”

“What?”

“No, you’re not going to apologize for that.”

You blinked at him in confusion. “Uh… I think I already did?”

He stopped you two in the middle of the sidewalk, devoid of other pedestrians, holding your eye contact very seriously. “Thank you for finding me today.”

“Oh,” you chuckled nervously. “You’re welcome. Thank you for… everything else about today. The look on your face when I found you—I was sort of afraid that you were going to run this time.”

He laughed, continuing to walk again. “Did I really look like that?”

“Through the window, yeah. When I came in the shop, though, it was more like… you thought you were dreaming. Like you were going to pinch yourself at any moment, just in case. Or you thought I was pranking you.”

“Well, you’ll have to understand why I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high; all our previous meetings didn’t quite have fairytale endings.”

“No, they didn’t,” you agreed.

“But this time felt different. So I let myself be a little hopeful,” he admitted with a grin, nudging your arm with his. “And I was right.”

“How’d you figure that?”

“You didn’t act like finding me was a terrible inconvenience, first.”

You winced. “Mm-mhm.”

“And the smile on your face when you ran in and grabbed my hand.”

“What about it?”

“I’d never seen you smile before that.” He then added a teasing, “I didn’t know if you could.”

“Hey! I wasn’t that bad.”

He snickered, affectionately bumping his elbow against yours again. You rolled your eyes, smiling as you elbowed him back. You arrived at the main entry to your building soon, and you stopped there to say goodbye to Sungchan. He looked between the door that you were standing in front of, and the familiar bus stop just a few meters down the road, well within view.

“Oh wow, it must have really freaked you out when I jogged by your stop, huh?” He commented, scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah, you can imagine the ‘ready to fistfight the divine universe’ energy I had in my body at that point.”

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Pretty sure I witnessed some of it, too.”

You looked longingly at the bus stop, holding yourself, and sighed. “It’s going to be weird not getting up and going to work tomorrow.”

“So what are you going to do tomorrow? With no work?”

You passed a bubble side to side in your mouth as you thought, then shrugged. “Sleep in?”

“Great way to start the day.”

“And then… send my résumé to some of those places we found?”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Probably read outside somewhere if it’s a nice day?”

“Ooh, sounds nice.”

You dug your toe into the ground. “I don’t know, what are you doing?”

“Sleep in, and I promised Shotaro I’d help him with this thing, but then… if you don’t mind the company, I think reading outside sounds pretty lovely?”

“What are you helping Shotaro with?”

“Taking Instagram pictures.”

You let out a short round of giggles. “I’d like to spend time with you tomorrow too, Sungchan. Just let me know when you’re done helping Shotaro with that thing.”

“It’ll be the quickest photoshoot he’s ever done in his life.”

“No, still do it right!”

“It’ll be right, just quick.”

You shook your head disapprovingly, but the fond smile on your face very obviously negated that sentiment. “Goodnight, Sungchan.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

And with that, you unlocked your building door and gave him one last wave over your shoulder before closing and locking it back up behind you. Alone in the stairwell, you let out a sigh of contentment.

The next morning, you slept in on a Tuesday for the first time in a while and didn’t put on your red jumpsuit after getting out of bed. Instead, you shuffled out to your kitchen and made yourself breakfast, which you slowly enjoyed with a cup of tea. After taking your sweet time in a nice hot shower, you got into a t-shirt and pants, and sat on your couch to start sending in applications to new jobs. As you typed on your laptop, you’d catch the occasional flash of the red loop around your pinky finger, but instead of filling you with you dread or apprehension, it now made you smile a bit, and push on with your task, knowing you had someone right there in your corner just on the other end of that string. After a couple hours of filling out applications, searching through more prospective job listings, and finding a few new ones that had been posted since you and Sungchan looked yesterday, you deemed that to be plenty for your first morning of job hunting. It was nearly lunchtime, and you hadn’t left your apartment yet. Looking outside, you saw that it was sunny, with a few passing clouds creating occasional patches of shadow, and breezes gently rustled the leaves on the trees. A perfectly lovely day.

Gathering up a couple books, you packed a light going-out bag, then headed out. As you passed your bus stop, you thought of the regulars on your morning commute, and wondered if they noticed your disappearance this morning, and if they thought anything of it, like you thought of the primary school teacher sometimes. You hoped the sisters got to school okay, and that the elderly couple liked Sungchan’s exhibit, and even that the office workers who you had never spoken to had good days at work—not too terribly stressful. As you had just arrived at your destination and picked out the perfect spot to read, your phone buzzed with a text.

[sungchan: done! with a satisfied customer, might i add]

[you: oh good! i’m done with my applications for the morning too! out reading right now]

You sent your location, then took your book out as there was another buzz.

[sungchan: omw :) ]

You were so caught up in the chapter you were reading that you didn’t realize Sungchan had arrived until he set his bag down next to you. You jumped a little bit, closing the book on your thumb as you clutched your hand over your heart, which was now beating wildly out of rhythm.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to give you a scare.” Sungchan didn’t look that sorry, as he had a clearly amused smirk on his face as he looked down at you. “I did call your name.”

“It’s alright, sorry I didn’t hear you.” You waved off his apology, then nodded to the spot beside you for him to sit down. “Lovely day out, huh?”

“It is,” he agreed, stretching out his long legs as he settled in against the large tree trunk. He reached into his bag, and you looked with intrigue at what book he was going to read for today.

You perked up with interest as you recognized the cover immediately. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to read that book! I love that author. Just haven’t picked it up yet.”

“Yeah it uhm—” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “It was the book you were looking at when we met. The one you dropped.”

“You…”

“I didn’t know how long it was going to be until the next time I saw you, so I went back and bought it. You know, sort of hoping I could learn something about you in the meantime.”

“And in the meantime, I was scheming to undo our string…” You muttered, eyes falling to your lap.

“Which you, no offense, failed at,” he clicked his tongue and elbowed you teasingly. “I’ll speedread so you can borrow it after me, okay?”

“No, read it right! That author’s so good, you’ll miss stuff!”

“I’ll read it carefully! Just also super fast.”

“Those are literally antonyms when it comes to reading!” You insisted.

“You’ve never seen me speedread then.”

You smacked your open book over your face, despite knowing that he was joking. “Oh my god…”

Two weeks later, and you and Sungchan were going to The Soulmate Factory for your interviews. You were sort of surprised it had taken them this long to talk to you, but at the same time, that it was happening this quickly. It felt weird going to the Factory not in your jumpsuit, but you knew that would’ve been possibly the worst choice. So you instead put on something nice, presentable, but not overly formal. After all, it wasn’t your job interview again. Sungchan was wearing a button-up shirt, a stark contrast to the rather casual attire you’d always seen him in before. As the two of you entered the lobby of the Factory, you could see him looking around at everything with an air of suspicion.

You stopped at the front desk, giving the attendant a polite smile and starting to introduce yourself, despite having just been colleagues a few weeks ago, “Hi, uhm Y/L/N Y/N and Jung Sungchan, here for a 9:00 appointment with Ms. Kwon?”

“Of course,” she nodded, looking between you and Sungchan with a strained smile of her own. “You… two can have a seat. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Leading Sungchan over to sit on a settee nearby, you looked around, taking a few deep breaths as your knee bounced up and down nervously on its own. You had gotten the two of you here fifteen minutes early, so you already knew that you’d be waiting for some time.

“Why did she say it like that?” He hissed to you under his breath.

“Say what?” You whispered back, looking at her out of the corner of your eye to see if she was listening, but it looked like she was taking an incoming call.

“You two can have a seat.” He repeated snidely. “And the way she looked at us? Looked at you? Like we’re the weird ones for being soulmates?”

“I told you, Sungchan, there’s a reason Bureau employees don’t get soulmates. People will think I rigged it somehow. Even other employees.”

“You said it was impossible for you to have messed with it. Shouldn’t they of all people know that?”

“Well, with me being a matchmaker…” You tried to think of how to succinctly sum this up without telling Sungchan too much stuff that he wasn’t supposed to know right before his interview. “Even other Bureau employees don’t know what goes on in the matchmaking room. I’m sure there’s been rumors since I’ve left.”

“But you didn’t do anything. What’s the point of working here if you’re just as bad as the people who don’t?”

“They also probably think that when this gets out I’m going to give the Bureau and the employees here a bad rep, make the public distrust them for a while. Even the employees that don’t think I did anything will probably hate me at least a little for that.”

“Well I still don’t like it,” he huffed, resting an arm along the back of the furniture behind you.

“You’re allowed to not like it. I’m just saying there’s not much we can do about it.”

He proceeded to focus his hater energy on making comments about the décor being tacky, and you couldn’t help but giggle quietly and join in. You never really thought about it much before, but being called The Soulmate Factory and having a color palette of red, pink, and white was a bit much. You two also had a small game of how many “subtle” red lines you could find in the designs of decorative throw pillows, rugs, carpeting, and pieces of abstract art on the walls. Finally, you heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and looked up to see a somewhat familiar face. It wasn’t Ms. Kwon, as you had hoped for, but Lee Jeno, one of the executive assistants that you often saw when he was sent down from the ninth floor on important errands by his bosses.

“Jung Sungchan?” He called, looking directly at Sungchan.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He lifted his hand that had been resting on his leg between pointing out tacky décor. He ushered you up with him with the hand that was behind you on the couch. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Sorry, just Mr. Jung right now,” Jeno clarified with a slight wince.

Sungchan looked like he was about to argue, but you patted his arm reassuringly. “It’ll be fine, Sungchan. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

He sighed, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Alright, fine. I’ll be back soon.”

“Be good.”

“Always am.”

You watched him follow Jeno up the stairs, Sungchan casting you one last glance over his shoulder before the two of them fully disappeared from your view. It was then that you finally sat back down, and started chewing on your thumbnail.

Only fifteen minutes later Jeno came back down the stairs. Alone. “Y/N?” He addressed you more casually.

You stood up and didn’t hide the concern on your face as you looked around behind him. “Where’s Sungchan?”

“Mr. Jung has been moved to another waiting room. You’ll see him after your interview.”

Letting out a breath, you tried really hard not to shoot the messenger as you responded. “Fine. Lead the way, Jeno.”

The fact that you were going up the stairs and not to the elevator was interesting. You must not be going to his bosses’ floor, unless they wanted you to collapse on your way there.

“It’s good to see you again, by the way,” your former coworker said quietly. “I had to hand-deliver a memo to Ms. Kwon the other day and the matchmaking room was weirdly empty without you at your station.”

“Thanks.” A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “I wouldn’t have even noticed your presence if I was there but… it’s nice to know that someone noticed my absence.”

“Well, we did our intro training together. You don’t forget those people.”

“No, you don’t,” you agreed. “Us, Jaemin, Renjun, Donghyuck in Budgeting.”

“Is it nice? Your life now? Don’t tell me anything specific, I can’t know.”

You laughed. “I haven’t lived much of it, honestly. I’ve only been gone a few weeks.”

“That’s true. There’s just been so much that’s happened, it feels like a lifetime.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“But has it been good at least? Overall, you think?”

“Yeah, it’s good, Jeno. He’s good.”

“Of course he is. The computer never makes mistakes.” And with that, the two of you stopped in front of a conference room on the second floor. He nodded politely to you. “This is where I leave you. If I don’t see you again, I wish you the best, Y/N. With everything.”

“Thank you. Bye, Jeno.” You smiled at him, knocking on the door as he pivoted on his heel and walked down the hall.

“Come in.” Came a familiar voice from within. Opening the door, you saw two figures stand up from the small conference table. Ms. Kwon, and a man who wasn’t familiar to you at all.

“Y/N, hello,” Ms. Kwon nodded to you. She didn’t even let you open your mouth to greet her back, gesturing to the man with her. “I’m not sure if you ever had the pleasure to meet AD Yang of Risk Management while you were here.”

And in one curt sentence, she had told you everything you needed to know about the situation: This was the assistant director of the risk management department at the Bureau, aka the legal department, which meant that this was serious serious, this would not be some quick interview to check off boxes, and she had only been let in because of her job title and as a professional courtesy to her, she wouldn’t be in control of the processions. But most importantly—she was on your side, for whatever that was worth. And honestly, it was worth a lot to keeping your composure as you turned to face the man.

AD Yang was deceptively young, you wouldn’t have pinned him as being as high up in the Bureau as he was just by looking at him. He only looked to be maybe ten years older than you, not a touch of grey in his pristine black hair, and only a hint of the beginning of worry lines on his forehead. He wore a suit, as all Bureau Executives did—it was only the lower level workers like you who wore the red jumpsuits—though his looked just a little too big on him, and his red tie was a little loose and slightly crooked, as if he still hadn’t mastered tying it yet. Both these things only aided in making him look younger and inexperienced. But the air of caution Ms. Kwon had about the whole situation immediately let you know not to underestimate him. You were thinking maybe his dress choices were intentional, so people would do exactly that, let their guards down around him.

AD Yang offered you a practically boyish smile as he held out his hand across the table, which your former supervisor hadn’t even done. You gingerly shook it as he introduced himself. “Please, just Mr. Yang is fine. Ms. Kwon is always so formal, you know. And I’ll call you Ms. Y/L/N, so we’re all on the same level here.”

You nodded.

“I don’t think we ever did have the pleasure to meet, Ms. Y/L/N,” Mr. Yang kept talking, his tone conversational. He then said as if it were a joke, “People usually only see me when they’re in serious trouble, you know?” He laughed, the only one to, then reassured you, “That isn’t what’s happening here, don’t worry. We’re just going to ask you a few questions, then you and Mr. Jung can head on out and off to your new life together, okay?”

You nodded.

“So, why don’t we sit, hm?”

The three of you took your seats, the two of them on one side of the conference table, you on the other. Mr. Yang took a moment to shuffle his papers, then smacked his hand to his forehead as if he’d suddenly remembered something. “I’m sorry, would you like some water, Ms. Y/L/N?”

“No, thank you.”

“Alright, let’s get started then.” He reached for a small device in the middle of the table. “I’ll be needing to record this conversation. Is that alright, Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Sure, yeah.” Not like you could really say no.

“Great.” His boyish smile disappeared as soon as the recorder clicked on. He started by listing off the date and time, then addressed you. “This is AD Robert Yang, interviewing Ms. Y/L/N Y/N. Also present is Ms. Kwon Siyeon, Supervisor of Systems Analysis and Reporting. Ms. Y/L/N, you are aware that I’m recording this conversation, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“A few formalities before we begin: Since I have the recording going, I ask that you let me finish my question before you answer, even if you think you know what I’m going to ask. Cross-chatter is a bit difficult to parse out when you have to listen back to it.”

“Okay.”

“I also want you to answer everything aloud. No nodding or shaking your head, or ‘uh-huh’ or ‘nuh-unh.’” He showed the motions as he did them, and you could tell he had done this spiel many times before. “The non-verbal cues don’t translate great in an audio format.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, clicked his pen a couple of times, then looked up at you to begin with his first question. “Now, can you tell me how long you worked at The Bureau of Interpersonal Affairs prior to your resignation?”

“About five years.”

“Do you remember when your first day was?”

“Of training or on my own?”

“Training. After being hired.”

“Probably… spring five years ago. May, after I graduated.”

“Okay, good, good. And so you were hired, did your six months of standard training, right?”

“Right.”

“Then what happened?”

“I did more training to be a Systems Analytics Specialist.”

“How much?”

“Two and a half years.”

“So three years of training total, then you got to start on your own as a… Systems Analytics Specialist.”

“Yes.”

“I believe the other name for that position is matchmaker, correct?”

You bit down on your tongue to keep back an eyeroll. All of you in this room had to be aware that he was feigning ignorance right now. He might as well have asked if the Bureau was also sometimes called The Soulmate Factory. “Yes, we’re often called that as well.”

“More than Systems Analytics Specialist?”

“Yes.”

He jumped topics. “So why did you start working at the Bureau?”

“It sounded like a good place to work.”

“How so?”

“It seemed like the Bureau did good work. Helping people find their soulmates.”

“And you didn’t want to find yours?”

“I was willing to give that up for something bigger than me.”

“Did you join the Bureau with the intent of manipulating your soulmate match?”

“No.”

“Did you sign up to be a matchmaker with the intent of manipulating your soulmate match?”

“No. I didn’t sign up to be a matchmaker in the first place.”

“You didn’t?” He arched an eyebrow curiously.

“No.”

“How did you become a matchmaker?”

You glanced over at your former boss. “Ms. Kwon chose me at the end of my six months of basic training.”

“Why you?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“You agreed to two and a half more years of training for a specialized position that doesn’t even recruit one new person a year without being told why you were suited for that position?”

“Yes. I was young and it paid better. I didn’t need to know.”

“When you were working as a matchmaker, were you ever asked by friends or family to manipulate their matches in any way, shape, or form?” He switched topics again. You weren’t sure if he was trying to disorient you, or if he simply decided that he was done with that line of questioning and wanted to move on with the next one.

You opened your mouth to say ‘no,’ then suddenly thought of the sisters on your bus in the mornings, recalling a day when the younger one had been crying as you got on, and her sister stopped you specifically. Tilting your head, you replied, “I once pinky promised a little girl that I wouldn’t match her with this smelly boy in her class. Does that count?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

He made a show of scribbling something down on his notes, of which he had already filled up the first page of a large legal pad. AD Yang flipped to the next page as he announced, “I’m going to skip forward a little in time. When you found out you had the string, what did you do first?”

“Went home.”

“Went home?” He repeated.

“It showed up after work. So I went home.”

“Where were you?”

“The bus stop outside of the Bureau.”

“Around what time of day was this?”

“Between five and five-twenty.”

“That’s a pretty specific time frame. How do you know that?”

“It was after work ended but before my bus showed up.”

“So the Bureau was still open, then. There were still people inside that you could have reported this to, such as Ms. Kwon here?”

“I don’t know if there were people in the building, and certainly not if Ms. Kwon specifically was still in the building, since I was outside and could not see inside of the building,” you answered frankly.

“Right, of course.” He gave you a close-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Do people usually stay after five here, at the Bureau? To your knowledge?”

“Some people, sure, on some days.”

“So, it would have been a good guess, that there would’ve been somebody inside, when you realized that you had a string?”

“Possibly.”

“Then why didn’t you go back inside?”

“Honestly, I panicked,” you admitted, closing your eyes for a moment as you thought back to that night again. “I thought it was impossible for me to get one. I thought I might’ve been able to figure something out on my own.”

“Figure something out? Like what?”

You opened your eyes and gave a half-hearted ‘I-don’t-know’ gesture with your hands that had been resting on the tabletop, despite his prior instructions to keep non-verbal cues to a minimum. “Like what happened, what went wrong.”

“And did you?” He prompted.

“No. I didn’t.” Not even a little bit.

“And is that when you told Ms. Kwon? When you gave up?”

“No.” You told her when you decided you wanted to keep the string. Not because the dead-ends had frustrated you.

“Why did you tell her? Why not continue your renegade investigation?”

“You’re asking me why I followed proper protocol?”

“I’m trying to piece together what happened. All the events that happened, and exactly in what order. What happened that caused you to tell Ms. Kwon at the time that you did? Did you even tell her? Or was it found out? I’ve been assuming, I’m sorry.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, but consciously relaxed your face back into a pleasantly neutral expression. Ms. Kwon would have obviously had to do her own report including all of the details of your conversation with her. He should know all of those particulars. Was he trying to catch Ms. Kwon in a lie?

“Yes, I chose to report it. Because I had done some self-reflection. And I don’t think there’s anything further to be said that is of import for the Bureau to know.”

There was a moment of still air as he held eye contact with you. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw Ms. Kwon’s lips part, as if she were about to say something, then she closed her mouth again, waiting. Mr. Yang cleared his throat.

“Sorry to jump around like this, I’m sure it must be disorienting, but I’m going to go back in time now.” He was very clearly not sorry at all. “Did you know Jung Sungchan before this incident?”

“No.”

“Had you ever met, seen, or heard of him in passing?”

“Not to my recollection, no.” Sure, you could have walked by him on the street before, but you had no way to know that.

“It’s my understanding that he’s an artist, you may have seen some of his work? Heard of him that way?”

“No.”

“So there was no reason that you would have wanted to manipulate your match with him?”

“No.”

“How soon after getting your string did you meet Mr. Jung?”

Now you felt like he was messing with you. “You have that data.”

“I’m asking you.”

“The string appeared on Monday evening, we met that Saturday morning.”

“So, less than a week?”

“Yes.”

“Quick.”

“I suppose,” you replied noncommittally.

AD Yang hummed a single note in the back of his throat as he looked over one of his papers, then his sharp eyes were back on you. “How many times did you meet before reporting your string to Ms. Kwon?”

You had to take a moment to think before answering. “Four, including the first meeting.”

“I’d like to return to your job, for a moment. Now, I have Ms. Kwon here with me not only because she was your boss, but because I obviously have no clue what goes on in that room when you guys work with the computer. Really, from what I’ve heard, it’s some incredible stuff. So she’s kind of here to help me out in case I go way off the mark with what I’m asking you with some of this.” He let out an imitation of a nervous laugh, grabbing a piece of paper from his stack. He pushed it over to you, asking, “Now, can you take a look at this for me?”

It was a nearly blank piece of copy paper, except for one long string of characters printed across it.

jkD%NVSC3%JCacN%vWS5#k!Z4GqGW#ZfMyqGUfc@wQT5L5vK2uWU5N*5Lg&6

“What do you see here, Ms. Y/L/N?” Mr. Yang questioned.

You looked up from the paper, having to consciously choose not to slip back into reading it and instead focus on the conversation at hand. “It’s raw match data from the computer. This is one match.”

“Does it look familiar to you at all?”

“I mean, it looks like every other match I’ve ever read.”

“So you don’t remember reading this specific match at all?”

“No, I don’t remember reading this specific match.” You didn’t even need to look at it again. Of course you didn’t remember it, they were all just a bunch of stuff that you read practically in a trance, there was no way you’d be able to remember any of them.

He grabbed another paper from his folder to show to you, a clipping from a spreadsheet of some kind, several columns showing a date, time, and eight-digit code that was unfamiliar to you, except for the letters appended to the end of it—your initials.

“According to our audit logs, this match was read at, and the match report submitted from, your station in the matchmaking room.”

“Okay.”

“Is it safe to assume, therefore, that you submitted the match report?”

“Was it during business hours?”

“Yes.”

“Was I swiped in?”

“Yes.”

“Did Ms. Kwon see me at my station during that time?”

“Ms. Kwon?” Mr. Yang prompted her without breaking eye contact with you.

“I do not have specific recollection of this day, so I cannot say in the affirmative or the negative,” she spoke for the first time since you had entered, and you had to suppress your smile at her response.

The man lifted his arms up and then down in a sort of ‘oh well’ motion. “We don’t know.”

“The electronic data does make it seem likely that I read this match and submitted this match report,” you finally said.

“This is your match with Mr. Jung.”

You tried not to show your utter shock on your face—you knew he wanted to get some kind of reaction from you—but you couldn’t help the sudden jolt forward in your seat as you went to pull the piece of paper closer to you again, your eyes drinking in the characters once more.

jkD%NVSC3%JCacN%vWS5#k!Z4GqGW#ZfMyqGUfc@wQT5L5vK2uWU5N*5Lg&6

There was still no way for you to distinguish specifics, but just knowing that somewhere in this seemingly meaningless string of nonsense was you and Sungchan, you kept rereading it, desperately wishing for it to feel special now.

“And how do you read the matches? Walk me through the process.” AD Yang’s voice brought your focus back to the present.

You exchanged a knowing look with Ms. Kwon. “I really can’t…”

“Trade secrets?” He said humorously. “It’s alright, I work at the Bureau.”

“No, I mean, it’s impossible to describe. I can’t tell you what I’m reading or how I know. I just do.”

“Then how do you know it’s right?”

“Because it is.”

Ms. Kwon stepped in then, “Mr. Yang, I’m advising you that you are getting close to questioning the computer and the program itself, not Ms. Y/L/N.”

He held his hands up in a sort of surrender. “Well that is certainly what we are not here to do, hm? Let me just take a look at my notes, and make sure I’ve covered everything. Should only be a few more minutes of your time, Ms. Y/L/N.”

AD Yang kept you in there until you started watching the sun begin its journey downwards in the sky. At some point, you started going in circles, and you knew he was just trying to catch you in lies, or confuse you, or get you to admit more than you had before out of exhaustion, or in hopes that he’d let you out. But you gave no different answers, no contradictory or new information, and you knew he’d eventually let you out. After all, there was no proof anywhere that you had done anything wrong, because you hadn’t. The most they could really get on was not telling someone at the Bureau sooner when you’d gotten your string but what could they actually do? Fire you?

When Mr. Yang finally declared the interview over, and turned the recorder off, you had to keep in your groan of relief. Instead, you maintained your composure, standing up when they did in order to shake their hands.

“Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Y/L/N. I do apologize for taking so much of your day, that had not been my intention,” Mr. Yang once again laughed as he shook your hand. “But this was very helpful, and I promise, yours and Mr. Jung’s answers are going to help us here at Bureau improve the way we do things in the future.”

“Right. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Yang.” You nodded politely to him, then turned to your old boss, a genuine smile coming to your face. “It was good seeing you again, Ms. Kwon.”

“Jeno had something to do, so I’ll show you out, Y/N.” She informed you, gesturing to the door.

The two of you were quiet as you walked through the halls of the second floor, until you finally reached a small waiting area on the other end of the building, made up of only a few uncomfortable-looking armchairs. Sungchan was the only person there, slumped down in a chair and bouncing his leg as he cracked his knuckles. He looked up when he heard footsteps, jumping to his feet as soon as he saw you, and while you would’ve felt a little weird about running in an office, he clearly didn’t care, taking just a few long strides to reach you and wrap his arms around you.

“God, Y/N! There you are! What the hell? Why the fuck did they keep you so long? They wouldn’t tell me anything, just that you were still being interviewed and I could either leave or keep waiting. I wasn’t going to leave but—”

“I’m fine, Sungchan, I’m fine,” you reassured him, hugging him back despite the slight awkwardness you felt with Ms. Kwon still definitely being right there. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

He didn’t say anything else, just kept holding you as you turned around in his arms to address Ms. Kwon.

“Uhm, we’re good to leave, right? Do you need anything else from us?”

She was clearly fighting back a smile as she replied, “I ask that you wait just a little bit longer, okay?”

“Okay, sure,” you nodded. “What is it? Something for me to sign? An NDA or something?”

“Just a moment, okay?” And with that, she left.

“God, I fucking hate it here,” Sungchan grumbled into your shoulder. “Let’s just go, whatever NDA or whatever the hell they want you to sign is going to suck and be coercive as shit and not worth it. It probably won’t even be enforceable or whatever.”

“I can’t even tell how much of that is even good or bad legal advice. I think all of it was probably bad?”

“It’s definitely going to be written by that fucking skeeze who interviewed you for like seven hours straight, which means it’s going to be bad.”

“What if it’s stuff for my severance pay and benefits? Ms. Kwon also said she’d write me a letter of rec if the investigation went well—”

“Y/N!” “Y/N!” You were cut off by two familiar voices calling your name from down the hall, and whipped your head around to look, your jaw dropping in disbelief. Jaemin and Renjun were rushing towards you, waving all four of their arms wildly, as if you could miss them. You squealed, darting over to them and throwing your arms around their necks.

“Oh my god!” You laughed as they hugged you tightly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you guys today!”

“We were specifically not told when you were coming,” Renjun admitted. “I even got blocked out of the Executive calendars for the month.”

“Ms. Kwon just came and got us,” Jaemin said. “Though, word had already spread.”

“Are you sure you want to be seen with me?” You double-checked, looking around despite being in a rather empty corner of the building. “I don’t know what people have being saying, but based on the less-than-warm-welcome we got at reception, it doesn’t seem like it’s been good.”

“Do we want to be seen with our friend?” Renjun poked the right side of your head.

“Duh.” Jaemin poked the left side of your head.

“Yeah, I didn’t miss that.” You scowled at them.

“It’s so weird seeing you in normal clothes,” Jaemin commented, making you really look between their jumpsuits and your blouse and pants.

“It’s still a bit weird being in normal clothes,” you sighed.

“So… you going to introduce us?” Renjun nodded to where Sungchan was still standing awkwardly by himself in the waiting area.

“Yeah, come on!” You grabbed them by the arms to drag them over. Sungchan looked up from where he had been busying himself with a loose thread on his dress shirt, eyes landing expectantly on you. You let go of your friends to loop your arm with his. “Sungchan, this is Jaemin and Renjun, we used to work together. Jaemin’s desk was next to mine out in the bullpen, and Renjun was a few desks down from us. Guys, this is Jung Sungchan, my soulmate.”

You could hear your voice pitch up with giddiness as you introduced Sungchan in that way, and watched as his face relaxed into a smile as soon as you had called him your soulmate. He offered his free hand out to the other two.

“Nice to meet you guys,” he said sincerely. “I’ve heard good things from Y/N.”

“Then she must’ve been talking about a different Jaemin,” Renjun snorted.

“And a different Renjun,” Jaemin agreed.

“So, what are the wild theories about how I did it?” You asked. “Not the official one, I know you two don’t know that. But the breakroom gossip, the water cooler chat, the cereal death match chatter.”

“Rumor has it…” Jaemin lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially. “You were desperate to reunite with a long-lost childhood love and that’s why you applied to be a matchmaker.”

You snorted. “Cheesy.”

“I heard one about Ms. Kwon being in on it because you’re her secret daughter,” Renjun grinned.

“Ooh, that one’s good.”

“With someone with a string.”

You mock gasped. “Scandalous.”

Jaemin added, “I heard a version sort of like that, but you were Ms. Kwon and the Director’s secret daughter, which is obviously how you had enough pull to get it to happen.”

“Then how did I end up with my parents? Did they pay them off to adopt me?” You frowned, trying to figure out this bonkers drama plot of your fake life.

“Get this…” Jaemin paused for dramatic effect. “Your dad is the Director’s secret brother. So your parents are actually your aunt and your uncle.”

“I should’ve thought of that!” You shook your head, laughing.

“A lot of people don’t think you did anything, though,” Renjun assured you. “Seriously, most of the stuff I’m hearing is people being surprised that it hasn’t happened before.”

“That’s good to know.”

“PR is going to have a hell of a time,” Jaemin chuckled.

“Sucks to be Mark Lee right now, huh?” You grinned.

“Oh, I know that man has been sleeping under his desk for the past two weeks.”

You wrinkled your nose. “God, the seventh floor has got to be fucking rank by now. Please tell me Jeno and Donghyuck have at least been making him go home to shower.”

“Chenle did.” Your friends said in unison, making you burst into laughter at the mental image.

“God, I would’ve paid money to see that.” You chuckled. As much as you loved seeing your friends again, this wasn’t where you belonged anymore, and you had skipped lunch in that unnecessarily long interview. So with a sigh, you announced, “Anyway, it was so good to see you guys again, but we need to get going, and I’m sure you have work to finish up.”

“Unfortunately,” Renjun sighed.

“We’ll get drinks—dinner and drinks, the usual place—all four of us,” Jaemin declared as he went in to hug you goodbye. “Okay?”

“For sure,” you agreed with a grin. “You still need to give me my fucking book back, Na Jaemin.”

“He’s just a fucking thief!” Renjun complained as he went to hug you as well. “Bye, Y/N. See you again soon.”

The guys all exchanged a final wave and ‘nice to meet you,’ before your former coworkers headed back. You looked up at Sungchan, about to ask if he was ready to go, and saw him already gazing down at you thoughtfully.

“What?” You asked instead, furrowing your brow.

“Now I get how you could stand working here for five years.” He rubbed your back. “It wasn’t the Factory itself; it was the people you found here.”

“W-Well yeah. I liked my coworkers. But I also liked my job.”

“Yeah, but I like my job too, and I work alone at my studio. I like that. I prefer that. If I had to make small talk with a bunch of different people all day on top of doing my job, I think I’d start biting people,” he explained. “You didn’t just make small talk, you made friends.”

“I guess I’m a people person,” you shrugged, never really thinking about something that was so normal to you. “Is that weird?”

“No, it’s good. Just want to make sure you have people around that you like at your new job too.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. “Now come on, if your lunch in there was anything like mine out here, then it was approximately four saltine crackers and some water.”

“Where are we going to eat?” You asked as the two of you headed towards the stairs.

“I live nearby. I want to talk about whatever the fuck that skeeze did in there for seven hours.” His voice was tense again at the mention of the interview. After a beat, he tacked on almost nervously, “If that’s okay. We can go somewhere else if you want.”

You encircled an arm around his waist as the two of emerged into the empty courtyard. “Your place works for me. I agree, we shouldn’t talk about that out in the open.”

Despite Sungchan both picking you up and walking you home from seeing each other many times over the past couple weeks, you had yet to actually be in each other’s homes before. You hadn’t even seen the outside of his place. You knew the general area of where he lived, as he had mentioned it while giving context for some stories he’d told you. The two of you also hadn’t been this… touchy before. Whenever you saw him, it always felt sort of like you were hanging out with a friend, if you ignored the string. You didn’t hug hello or goodbye, didn’t hold hands, nothing other than the little teasing elbow digs. It never occurred to you to really bring it up to him before, that technically, according to Bureau statistics, you two were taking it slow, because that would be a fucking weird thing to say—and also, you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind doing this at whatever pace it happened at.

But now, all of this all at once, it was making you a bit dizzy. In a good way, if that was possible, but still off-kilter.

Sungchan stopped in front of the door to a townhouse in a long row of townhouses, each one with a different, colorfully painted door. His was pistachio green. When he finally opened it up and pulled you in by the hand, you immediately started looking around with eager eyes. He said he hated people looking at his art and making assumptions about him, but he said nothing about his home.

“Kitchen, living room, and laundry room are on the first floor, bedroom and bathroom are on the second,” he told you over his shoulder, taking you through a narrow entryway before emerging into the connected living room and kitchen area. You already knew his studio was at a different location from his home due to the sheer scale of the pieces he made.

His walls were all filled with art, but you immediately figured it wasn’t his. They were drawings, paintings, doodles on napkins, anything and everything. It looked like dozens, maybe even hundreds of different artists in all sorts of styles. Some professional, but most clearly not.

“Everyone who comes to my place has to pay,” he explained. “They owe me a piece of art.” Walking over to the very first wall that your eyes would see upon entering, he pointed to a piece of copy paper with random crayon scribbles on it that was displayed dead in the center. He grinned. “Not even babies are exempt. My nephew.”

“What happens when you fill up your walls?” You asked curiously, following him into the kitchen, which had even more art.

“Guess I’ll have to find a bigger place with bigger walls.” He seemed to be searching for a specific piece, then pointed to a small napkin drawing of seven cartoon heads grinning. “Sohee. Guy said he couldn’t draw then busted that out after some soju. With a pen! I know you haven’t met the other guys, but it looks just like us. Guess which one’s me.”

You hummed thoughtfully, then pointed to a face in the top left.

“Yep!” He beamed proudly, as if it had been his own drawing. He started naming all the other guys in the drawing. “Shotaro, Wonbin, Sohee, Seunghan, Anton, and Eunseok.” Then, he drew your attention to what looked like an invoice for air conditioning repair services, with a pencil sketch of an older woman in the corner of it. “A/C repair guy. Just pulled that out of nowhere. It’s his wife, they met when he went up to her in public saying she was so beautiful he had to draw her. That was before they had their strings. He said he just knew, would’ve known without the string anyway. His art didn’t take off, hence why he was my A/C repair guy.”

“So is it a piece of art every time a person comes over, or just one piece of art, and that’s the toll paid forever?”

“One piece of art per person, debt is cleared forever,” he clarified, opening his fridge to root around in it. “I’ve had some artist friends defer their pieces for future visits because they wanted to make a proper, good piece. You know, put real time into it.”

“It’s good, Sungchan,” you grinned, still looking around at more of the art on the walls. “I love it all.”

“I know, now I don’t have to worry about my furniture matching my décor.”

“Yeah, but it’s also…” You breathed in happily as you tried to figure out how to say it. “You called me a people person earlier. You are too, just in a different way.”

He looked around doubtfully. “You think so? I literally said I would bite people if I had to talk to them. I don’t know if my people skills are really up to par for being labelled a people person.”

“Your entire house is wallpapered in art from just ordinary people that you’ve met. Your friends and family, an A/C repair guy. Call me crazy, but I think you like people.”

“Huh. Never thought of it like that.” He grabbed a few more things from the fridge, then the pantry. “Anton just calls it a weird powerplay, and one time Eunseok said he thought I like ‘asserting my dominance.’”

You laughed, “Maybe you’ve just got weird friends if they think you asking them to make you art is you trying to dominate them.”

“Not going to argue with you there.”

“Can I defer my art to another visit?” You requested. “I mean… I’ll probably be over more than once, right?”

He smiled softly. “Probably. And sure, you can defer. But you’re not getting out of it just because you’re my soulmate. If anything, I think that means you definitely owe me something I can point to when people come over and say, ‘my soulmate made that one.’”

After getting a quick and simple lunch together, you and Sungchan took it to his living room to eat, as he didn’t have a dining table. You sat with your back against the arm of the couch, facing Sungchan as your legs were criss-crossed under you.

You started, “So, what did AD Yang—” “Who?”

“The guy who interviewed us? The man with Ms. Kwon?”

“Oh, the skeeze.”

“Yeah. So what did Mr. Yang—” “Who?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting to keep the amused smile off your lips. “So what did the skeeze ask you? I want to know that first, before we talk about mine. Because like, when I think about the amount of time it took Jeno to walk you up there, introductions, goodbyes, then for Jeno to take you to the waiting room, then come get me… I mean, that whole time was like fifteen minutes. So you probably only talked to them for a few minutes, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, it was just a bunch of stuff they probably already knew.” He shrugged. “When did I realize I had the string? When did you and I meet? Did I know that you worked at the Factory when we met? When did I learn that you worked at the Factory? Did I know you before the string? Did I know anybody else at the Factory who could have manipulated the match for me? Then… that was it.”

“Makes sense. You didn’t have any ties to the Factory other than me.”

“So what the fuck happened in there that the skeeze thought he needed to take seven fucking hours?”

“I don’t think it would have taken that long, except…” You scratched your head awkwardly. “I’m the one who read our match and submitted the match report.”

Sungchan’s eyes widened. “Wait, really? But how did you not— Don’t you look that stuff up?”

“Reading the matches, and looking up the profiles, it’s all anonymous. It’s not like I saw it and my brain read it as ‘Jung Sungchan and Y/L/N Y/N.’ It was just… sort of like, the impression of profile numbers, I guess? It was like any other match to me, there was nothing special about it to me.” You screwed your face up as you desperately tried to both explain the matchmaking process to someone who had never been near the process at all, and as you tried to recall anything about that specific match at all, which you of course couldn’t. “And the profile numbers when I looked them up, it didn’t show me names or pictures, or any sort of identifying data when I would do that. It’s all completely anonymous, for good reason.” When you opened your eyes again, Sungchan was still staring at you, and your stomach dropped as you realized what you had just said. “Sungchan, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not that you’re not special, of course you are, but when I would be matching, you’re sort of not yourself and—”

“Woah, woah, sorry, I didn’t mean to zone out and make you worry like that,” he apologized, setting his bowl aside and turning to fully face you. “I was just thinking… How many people get to say that their soulmate was the one who gave them their own red string? Like, that’s so cool.”

“Uh… nobody? We’re probably the only ones.”

“Exactly. It doesn’t matter if it felt special to you in that moment or not. Because it still was. I mean, did it feel special when you decided to stop and look at that book at the bookstore? In the split-second that you made the decision?”

You shook your head. “No, I just, wanted to look at the book.”

“And me running after the Frisbee when Anton missed for like the sixth time that morning didn’t feel special in that second. But both of those things were, because it took both of them happening at the same time for us to meet.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, looking down at your food, then up at Sungchan. Setting your bowl aside as well, you then asked, “Is that what a soulmate is, then?”

“What? A Frisbee nearly hitting you in the face?”

“No,” you chuckled. “I mean—Jaemin, Renjun, and I were talking one night, and we were debating about what a soulmate really was. I was in an existential spiral over our red string, they were having a fun little philosophical discussion. They didn’t know about the string yet. We couldn’t decide if a soulmate was just the best that you do, or somebody who would make you better, or infinite second chances.”

“So what do you think a soulmate is now?”

“Someone that makes all the nooks and crannies in your life special, even if they wouldn’t usually be. Just by being there.”

Sungchan absolutely beamed, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah. I… like that.”

“What do you think a soulmate is?”

“I’ve always figured every pair of soulmates needs something different from each other,” he replied. “And I think you figured out what we need from each other. To make all the nooks and crannies of our lives special just by being there.”

“Okay…” You agreed softly, a fond smile coming to your lips as he offered his hand out, palm out. You set your hand atop his, your chest squeezing your heart at the same time Sungchan squeezed your hand.

“Now… tell me everything that fucking skeeze said. Everything you can remember.”

“Oh my god, Sungchan.”

“You were in there for seven hours, Y/N!”

“He asked me the same one and a half hours of questions like five times. I was going to start biting people by hour three.”

[sungchan: omw :) ]

[you: okey!]

[sungchan: :( ]

[you: okey! :) ]

[sungchan: :) ]

Laughing to yourself at Sungchan’s attachment to emoticons in texts, you grabbed the last few things that you’d need for your date today. It was the last week that his exhibit was available at the museum, and between your hectic schedule of interviews, and phone interviews, and callback interviews for jobs, in addition to his own schedule, this was finally the day that you two had been able to arrange to go together. A few minutes later, your phone lit up again.

[sungchan: outside :) ]

[you: omw down <3 ]

You saw him start typing, but then he stopped, presumably figuring that he’d be able to tell you whatever it was to your face in thirty seconds. Rushing down, you threw open the front door already with a smile that only grew tenfold as you looked up at Sungchan.

“Hi!” You greeted him, locking up behind you before giving him a hug.

“Good morning.” He readjusted your jacket, pulling it more snugly around your collar for you. “You going to be warm enough in that?”

A cold snap had come through last night, dropping the temperature and forcing you to get your fall wardrobe out early. You raised an eyebrow, looping your arm with his to pull him over to the bus stop to wait. “The museum is heated inside, isn’t it?”

“Well yeah…”

“Then I think my biggest problem would be having to carry a heavy jacket around the museum the whole time.”

When the bus arrived, you were just a bit disoriented by there being completely different passengers—after all, it was a different time of day than your previous daily commute, and you and Sungchan went to sit in a different row. You took the window seat, always loving to watch the passing scenery, and to give Sungchan the extra leg room of the aisle. As the bus took off, you squinted, unable to see much through the fogged-up glass. Sungchan reached a hand past you, and you watched with interest as he drew a heart in the condensation on the window. You giggled and took your own pointer finger to the empty space in the heart, carefully tracing out JSC, then your initials, then a plus in the middle, feeling very much like a preteen doodling on your math homework.

When you looked back at him, you saw that his ears were pink, and you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or not, but he grabbed your right hand with his left, both of your index fingers still a bit chilly from drawing on the window. He rested your linked hands on your lap, and though you couldn’t quite see it from this angle, you knew that the string that connected your pinkies was complete. You leaned your head on his shoulder to look out the window, through the lines made with your little heart.

At the art museum, you excitedly stuck your visitor sticker to your shirt before pulling Sungchan in further by the hand. You looked up at the huge skylight in the main atrium, providing an abundance of natural light on a large abstract sculpture in a bold orange color. “It’s beautiful in here.”

“Have you ever been to this museum?” Sungchan asked curiously as you stopped to watch a cloud pass over the skylight.

“No, I haven’t,” you replied quietly, turning your gaze down to the sculpture in front of you. “I’ve lived here my whole life and it’s one of those places that I’ve always been meaning to go to but, I don’t know, I just haven’t yet.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some places like that,” he said in understanding. “Let’s make a list, both of us. And we’ll cross them off together.”

“Okay, yeah.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “Together.”

Sungchan’s exhibit was in the first gallery past the lobby atrium, and you two had gone at a pretty perfect time for it to be empty of everybody except the docents. You came to a stop as soon as you entered, unsure of where to put your eyes first. When you heard large-scale mixed media collages, you weren’t sure if you had really processed how large ‘large-scale’ was. The gallery was probably fifty meters across, the longest wall being taken up entirely by one single piece. There were only five pieces total in the gallery, one on each wall and one suspended in the middle of the room. You were sure that you could spend hours just looking at one of them.

You decided to start at the one closest to you, and work your way towards the back, where the entrance to the next gallery was. There was a plaque with information about the piece and the artist on it, which you entirely discarded. You commented on things you liked or found interesting as if you were just talking to yourself, not expecting Sungchan to respond at all. And truly, you were just talking to yourself, mostly gasping and muttering all of these things under your breath with delight—after all, you were in a museum, you had to use your inside voice. He’d sometimes chuckle or hum with interest, but that was the extent of him engaging with your commentary, just following you as you slowly trailed down the pieces, then sometimes jumped back to a place that you had already looked over as you made a connection, then went down again. Until you finally made it to the behemoth piece.

Despite being the largest, it had the most fine detail, the smallest individual parts making it up. And that almost felt intentional. Part of you wanted to ask Sungchan that, but you bit your tongue. Instead, you raked your eyes over every square centimeter, drinking in as much as you possibly could. The docent who was standing in the corner switched out while you were looking over that piece, and for a brief second, you wondered if any of the employees had recognized Sungchan. It had never occurred to you that random people on the street would, but in the art museum where he quite literally has an exhibit displaying his art, under his real name… If they did, nobody had made any indication as to such.

Then your attention was sucked back in by the collage in front of you. By the time you were finished, you weren’t sure how much time had passed, only that your feet hurt. You didn’t say anything to Sungchan, only gave his exhibit one more proud look before turning the corner into the next gallery. This one had a dark, heavy curtain dividing it from the rest of the museum, and you immediately knew why. There was a sign at the beginning, the letters lit up so you could read it: ‘The Beauty of Light’

The building’s main overhead lights were completely out, so that the only light provided was from a few along the floor so you could see your step, and the exhibit itself. There were mirrors, glass panes, and colorful lights set up all around the room, refracting all sorts of seemingly impossibly arrays of colors and designs along the surfaces.

“Woah…” You breathed out, reaching out to catch a rainbow on your palm, immediately laughing with wonder.

“It’s interactive,” Sungchan informed you, adjusting the equipment making the rainbow so that there was a whole starburst of rainbows all across you.

“Okay, that’s really fucking cool.” You could feel the huge grin on your face.

“I really didn’t want to see you reacting to my art, actually. I usually hate seeing people looking at my works.”

You looked up at him, confused. “Then why did you want to come with me?”

“I knew they had this exhibit here, and I knew I had to be there when you saw it.” He moved the glass just a bit more, and you weren’t sure where the rainbows had ended up now, but he seemed satisfied as a tender smile came to his lips. “Beautiful.”

“It’s incredible,” you gushed, looking around the room at more of the cool effects being done with lights, then back to Sungchan. You held your hand out towards him, and he walked out from behind the equipment, taking your hand again. Now that he was next to you, some of the rainbows were sticking to his skin and clothes, and you couldn’t help but smile as one caught on his nose.

“Thank you for bearing through the horror of seeing somebody see your art to experience this with me,” you half-teased, swinging your linked hands. Though your words were exaggerated, your sentiment was sincere.

“I said I usually hate seeing people look at my works, but I liked watching you in the exhibit. It didn’t feel like you were performing for me,” he said with a grin. “I could probably watch you watch paint dry.”

“You’re being hyperbolic,” you scoffed.

“I’ve got some paint at my place, want to find out?”

“As thrilling as that sounds, maybe later,” you snorted. “I’m not done with the beauty of light.”

“Hey, no complaints here.” Sungchan ran his thumb over your cheek, still looking down at you with an unbelievable tenderness in his gaze. “Hm…”

“What?” You whispered, your voices suddenly sounding too loud in the empty gallery. The docent had stepped out, and another hadn’t come back in. It was just you and Sungchan in this room.

“Tried to wipe the rainbow off your cheek…”

“Let me guess, didn’t work?”

“Well, it did, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Moved to your mouth.” He traced the bottom line of your bottom lip with the very tip of his thumb, and you felt like you weren’t breathing, waiting for him to do something, anything.

“Sounds like a problem.” You put your hand over his, pushing it to your face so he was cradling your cheek.

Sungchan was smiling as he kissed you, you could feel it in the sweet press of his lips to yours, the soft tilting of your chin up to meet his. You squeezed the hand down by your side even tighter. He broke the kiss as gently as he had started it, still smiling down at you. You suddenly shot up to your tiptoes and wrapped your hand around his neck to pull his head down so you could peck the bridge of his nose, giggling when you had released him and he stood back up with a confused but affectionate look on his face.

“And what was that for?” He asked with a chuckle.

“You had a rainbow on your nose.” You told him very seriously. “We’ve established that you have to kiss them off, obviously.”

“Well in that case—” He proceeded to kiss your forehead, cheek, hair, and mouth again in quick succession.

You were laughing, your entire body buzzing from head to toe as you leaned against him both in a bid just be closer, and also because you felt like your knees might just give out. When you heard footsteps enter the gallery again, you bit your lip to stop your giggles, and Sungchan left you with one more fleeting peck to your temple before standing up straight and bringing you over to the next area of the exhibit.

Groaning and sleepily rolling over onto your back, you were vaguely aware of the fact that you had rolled directly back into someone’s chest, and contentedly snuggled further into your position. An arm snaked around your waist, pulling your hips flush to theirs, and you smiled to yourself as you started drifting back off to sleep.

“Y/N?” Came a low rumble of your name from behind you.

You were nearly asleep again, and decided to just pretend you didn’t hear him.

“Baby?” He whispered, a little louder.

“Shh, Sungie,” you hummed. “Still sleeping.”

“Y/N…”

“Sungchan, my love, shut the fuck up and let me sleep.”

Deciding your discussion was finished, you rolled onto your front again and pushed your face into your pillow. He just followed you to that side of the bed, and you felt the pillow dip as he rested his head on it as well. Sungchan ran a hand up and down your spine, the covers dropping lower with his movements.

Realizing that he wasn’t going to be letting you sleep in today, you lifted your face out of your pillow and propped yourself up on your elbows to glare at him. “What is so important that I can’t sleep in on a Saturday when I don’t have to open?”

“You said you wanted to go to that breakfast place, and it closes in an hour,” he informed you quietly, face reminding you very much of a guilty puppy in that moment.

You looked at the time on his bedside clock, and flopped back down with a groan. “Well it’s too fucking late now. Next week.”

“Sorry, baby.” He squeezed your shoulder. “I would’ve woken you up sooner, but usually you’re the one who wakes me up for this kind of stuff. I just woke up a couple minutes ago.”

“Mm, it’s okay, Sungie,” you sighed and turned onto your back, offering him a sleepy smile to let him know that you weren’t mad at him at all. Now in a particularly lovely and warm patch of sunlight, you couldn’t imagine even getting up to go to the bathroom, much less a restaurant. “I think my sleep schedule from working at the Factory is finally gone. My body isn’t used to getting up for a nine to five anymore.”

“Oh, hold on.” He reached for his phone off the nightstand, and you immediately knew what was coming based on his change in demeanor. With a half-resigned, half-endeared sigh, you threw an arm over your face to hide it as he stood up to start taking pictures of you. He called for you with a slight whine in his voice, “Baby…”

“I have bedhead and morning breath, Sungie.”

“You can’t tell if you have morning breath in a picture.”

“And the bedhead?”

“So? Prettiest bedhead I’ve ever seen.”

“Subject gets to decide if you see her bedhead.”

He was quiet, but his pout was deafening as he continued taking pictures of you laying in the morning sunlight.

“Actually…” There was a curl of a smile in his tone as he plopped back down on the mattress. “I like it. Reminds me of those Baroque statues of Greek goddesses.”

You dropped your arm from your face and shuffled closer to be able to peer at his screen. The similarity of the pose was uncanny, but it also reminded you of something else.

“Or Ophelia…” You snorted.

“She doesn’t have an arm over her face.”

“Yeah but like, the general vibe, you know?”

He laughed, sinking into the pillows to make a few minor edits to the color toning. You settled your head on his chest to mindlessly watch him work, knowing that at least one of these photos would be printed out and added to the wall.

When you had admitted to him one night that you felt a lot of pressure over what piece of art to make him to put on his walls as part of his house rule, he suggested that the two of you make one together. So far all of his guests’ art had been relegated to the first floor, so the walls of his bedroom were entirely blank. Starting in the middle of the largest wall, above the long side of his bed, you two had begun a collage. Adding pictures that you two took of each other, pictures other people took of you two, pictures you took of places that you went on dates together, and any miscellaneous thing from your time that had acquired fond memories and Sungchan could figure out a way to stick to the wall. It had slowly started growing, and sometimes you liked to just lay in bed and look at it. One time you’d asked Sungchan what he was going to do when he moved out of this place, and he’d said cut out that section of wall and take it with him. At the time, you had laughed, but now you weren’t so sure it was a joke. Honestly, they could just put more wall in, right?

“There,” Sungchan murmured with finality, and you heard his portable photo film printer start whirring to life from his desk in the corner.

“Put it up later,” you requested, wrapping an arm around his middle and burying your face in his neck. “Don’t want you get up…”

“Fine by me.” He hugged you to him tightly, readjusting you so you were practically on top of him. “Are you on the afternoon shift or the closing shift?”

“Ahrin had her sister’s wedding today, so I’m doing afternoon and closing.”

“God, nobody else could take her shift?”

“I needed the money,” you shrugged. “Severance pay is gone and amazingly, part-time bookstore clerk doesn’t pay as well as full-time matchmaker at the Factory did.”

You’d been having a difficult time finding a job since quitting the Factory. Despite companies and organizations seemingly tripping over themselves to want to interview you, it was crickets when it came time to actually follow through after that. Even with your immaculate letter of recommendation from Ms. Kwon. At most of the interviews, you got the distinct impression that they just wanted a chance to meet the Factory employee who “rigged it,” and not actually interview you. After all, who would want such a dishonest and untrustworthy employee at their company. The only place that had offered you a job was your favorite bookstore by the park, which you were more than grateful for.

“I told you, you can live here,” Sungchan reminded you gently.

“I already practically do,” you retorted. “But I still have a lease on my place, and have to pay whether I’m here seven days a week or not.”

“Then why don’t you cut your lease? Isn’t there an early leave payment or something? That has to be cheaper than continuing to pay for the next however many months when you don’t even live there.”

“I—” You swallowed thickly, your voice getting smaller. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I mean that.”

“Me actually moving in?”

“Yes, you actually moving in.”

“Okay.” You beamed into his shirt. “I’ll look into the early leave payment.”

“Send your lease to Jihun to look over,” he suggested, referencing his sister’s husband.

“He’s not a lawyer.”

“No, but he’s got a couple. And he’s good with contracts and haggling. Bet he can get that fee payment cut in half.” You lifted your head, about to argue with asking for favors like that, when Sungchan cupped your jaw and tilted your chin so you were looking right at him. His red string hung in the air just in the corner of your eye. He held your gaze steadily. “It’s what family does, Y/N.”

“Okay,” you murmured, nodding against his hand. “Yeah, family.”

He pulled you forward and up to crash your lips together, his fingers tangling in your hair, and your hands flew to his chest to keep yourself upright. You felt your love for him filling every nook and cranny of your body, and you knew it was something special, because it was yours.

➥ masterlist

[canthandlethishit]

Batfam’s handwriting headcanons!!

Alfred (right handed): cursive, normally neat and kind of flowery calligraphic(?) (he usually write the gala, party invitations for worthy guests himself), his notes are written just as neat but the letters are more narrow and tilted to the right.

Brucie (left handed): writes in cursive, bubbly letters, flowery, extravagant with endless numbers of loops and stems, big flourishes (picture light yagami writing) watching him write is a performance itself (near impossible to read, looks like an art piece from afar)

Bruce (self-trained ambidextrous, favors his left though is equally efficient with both hands): rounded print (for notes in reports), and cursive (for personal writings), he’d had some influence from alfred so theres a little extra in his writing like an extra curve, stem (ie: his i’s & t’s got lil hooks, his v as a downward stem at the end), but its overall quite minimalistic and tidy, there’s sufficient force on the paper.

Batman: doesn’t write >:( computer <- duh (if he really has to like idk the riddler forces him to write sth he would in caps block letters very strong straight lines, almost like excessively forced and he also place his pinkie on the pen/pencil to further deter identification, he switches hands every time to keep people off-track)

Dick (trained ambidextrous, favors his right, naturally right-handed until robin): cursive quick and kind of messy but still eligible writing, he’s used to taking quick notes (cop job), his letters are jaded, pointed (ie: his b’s are written like music notes, not rounded). he uses average force when writing (dents the paper but not through multiple pages), his letters’ spacing are nonexistent they overlap a bit, his words narrowly apart.

Jason (circumstantial ambidextrous, favors his right, his left handwriting is still neat, not as pretty as his right’s): cursive, his handwriting experienced several metamorphosis, he was left handed by birth & mother’s teachings, then at school he was taught write right-handedly. His writing was somewhat neat minimally scratchy, letters joined with loops, generous spacing. during his time with bruce he copies writing styles from his favorite authors (look up Jane Austen), Alfred and ends up with a very distinct, tilted to the right, beautiful scripture, some loops (Mary Shelly), long y’s and consonants. Post-death, he still got a nice handwriting, just less of the pizazz, the flare of personality bleeding through ink, its more tamed, still slanted, he doesn’t take as much care to force distribution (calligraphic way) but it just became more subtle, not completely gone.

Cass (ambidextrous, writes left handed): print, when first asked which hand she’d like to learn to write with she chose left, she didn’t learn to write ambidextrously. clean yet a bit weirdly spaced, she dots her i’s and cross her t’s after whole sentences. She likes making capital first letters of her text flowery like brucie’s, its amusing how out of place it looks.

Tim (self-trained ambidextrous, born left handed, writes with both hands interchangeably): cursive, young tim researched on lots of encryption, alternative writing systems. he take notes in shorthand’s, his handwriting is fairly eligible but frequently misses letters from words (ie: handwriting -> hdwritig). his lines are slanted downwards, narrow spacing overall.

Steph (trained ambidextrous, writes right handed, batman’s ambidexterity training for her hadn’t reached handwritings): mixed, her handwriting alternates between really messy and scratchy and more eligible curvy with sharp ends to her words (when writing lift pen up fast, bigger hand movement, picture a tame and hinged light yagami). Her lines tilt upwards from left to right. her writing’s eligibility depends on her mood, what she is writing.

Duke (right handed, trained ambidexterity but opted out of handwriting training): mixed, his letters are rounded and evenly spaced, fairly neat but scrawls when he’s in a rush (makes more sharp loops, longer curls at the ends, more connected words). his letter have thin loops, sometimes subconsciously dots his i’s with crescents. his lines tilt upwards slightly in the middle (he prefer to keep his lines straight so he take notice and fixes them).

Damian (natural ambidextrous, favors his left for arabic and his right for english): cursive, strong neat strokes, clean writing, clear appropriate spacing. its almost a font, print-like from how consistently he writes. His signature on his arts is more rounded with a bit of lilts and curves (the end of his m curve like the symbol for scorpio zodiac sign). His personal diary/journal writing is softer, his paragraphs more densely packed, the first letter of each entry are more ornate than the rest (loops, curves, tiny doodles)

note: handwriting style main variety are these

these headcanons are based on handwritings of people in my life & myself :)! not based on graphology (during my search for specific adjectives and vocabularies i came across some graphology & writing analysis articles and found them to be kind of mean & biased, rude etc so just clarifying im basing these hcs on my friends and family’s)

[panda-writes-kpop]

the dreadful need in the devotee ~ lee gahyeon

a/n: sorry for all my international folks, I know I'm late (curse you comp sci homework for taking hours to complete) but happy Gahyeon day!! here's your daily dose of existensial dread and sadness in case you haven't felt that way recently :] (all jokes, but apparently I was in my feels when I wrote this)

tw: fluff to sadness, main character death, car accident, some religious elements, we almost got a happy ending folks

acknowledgements: inspired by hozier's talk and the pjo series on Disney plus!

word count: 2.8k

summary: a recollection of the five times you couldn't look at Gahyeon and the one time you did, but it's staged during a modern retelling of one of my favorite greek myths of all time (5+1 trope my beloved <3)

♡ Masterlist ♡

As the burning taste of alcohol travels down your throat, you think about why you’re here on a Wednesday night.

Here wasn’t home, the place you most often were found. Home was your paradise, your inspiration for your work - but you had been in a rut lately. Nothing seemed to spark your creativity, not even a hot drink and a warm bath would do.

So you wandered down the street, hoping to find something that would make you and your work feel alive again. Instead, the couples you passed on the street only chose to dig at a wound that you had covered with the patchwork of self-isolation.

Since tonight was an utter failure, much like most nights this month, you turned to the one thing that made everything a little better - booze. A drink sounded nice, especially as the last couple you passed discussed their wedding and future together.

You slid into the first bar that you found that was not too far from your apartment. Five blocks was a new record for you, considering that every store you needed was only two or three blocks from your apartment. Maybe you’d print out a certificate so you’d have some marker of success to hang on your wall.

World’s Most Introverted Person Travels Two Blocks Farther Than Usual!

You need another hobby besides drinking and bad jokes.

You’d turn to art, but blank pages and screens peek out at you from every corner of your apartment. That wasn’t an option, and you had already used all your daily wanderlust to find a bar, so drinking would have to do.

It wasn’t like the bar was busy or anything - weeknight traffic was slow, especially on Wednesday. You were sitting at the bar, making occasional idle chatter with the bartender and another patron who seemed to be in a worse state of despair than you.

You were fine in your bubble, and it wasn’t like anything would pop it any time soon-

Then you see her.

Your eyes landed on a group of girls sitting in a corner, but the girl that draws your attention is everything you had imagined and so much more. With bright pink hair, it was impossible to see anything but here.

She was a beautiful white lily among the tall grass, a sweet melody floated over syncopated beats. She was the sun, and you were a comet that was about to crash into her orbit. She was everything, and you were nothing.

…And she was looking right at you.

Fuuuuuck.

You immediately look away when she bounces up to you - she’s probably going to talk to that other person, right?

You couldn’t look her in the eyes, even when she, in all of her beautiful glory, was right in front of you. 

“Do you want to join us for drinks?” Her eyes are inviting as she holds her hand out to you.

You try to find a reason to say no, but she sparks something within you. Something warm and kind, buried under the safety blanket that you wrapped your heart in.

She wasn’t your inspiration, not yet, at least. A muse, perhaps?

Whatever divine intervention brought you together was well needed.

Even though you couldn’t look her in the eyes until you were both drunk enough to forget everything but each other.

~

Gahyeon, her name was. 

Even though the headache fucking sucked (but was so worth it, considering the extra phone number in your contacts), things started to look up for you. You could actually produce art, which meant that you could pay your landlord on time.

Your apartment was a mess while you were in a funk - a proper decluttering was in order. If you weren’t inspired to do art, you definitely weren’t inspired to do household chores. You shudder as your mother’s voice reprimands you about keeping your place tidy.

Perhaps sending proof of life would get her voice out of your head. Yet again, she’d probably call you and then want to visit, which would make things worse.

Suddenly, doing the dishes instead of mentally stalling doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

Tedious doesn’t begin to cover your feelings towards the stacks upon stacks on dishes, which hadn’t grown mold or attracted flies, thank god. You decide to set your phone aside (you’d checked it three times since you decided to do the dishes, maybe you need to get a safe to throw it into) before filling the sink with water.

As you add soap to the water, your phone chimes. You shut off the water, as flooding your apartment would be worse than cold water, you reason.

You were sober enough to put Gahyeon’s name in your phone, but your capitalization skills were a bit… questionable.

gAhyEOn: hey u up?

    some friends and I went drinking last night, and I need a pick-me-up.

    you wanna go for coffee?

Coffee? As in a coffee date? As in you’ll be face-to-face with Gahyeon alone, after you probably made a fool of yourself a few nights ago? 

Well, you don’t remember much about that night, do you?

God damn you, vodka, you taste good in too many mixed drinks.

You quickly respond with a ‘Sure! What time?’ after contemplating what to say for an uncomfortable amount of time.

gAhyEOn: Does thirty minutes work for you?

    I’ll send you the address, see if you can make it there in time.

Your phone buzzes, and afterwards, you plug the address into Google Maps - it’s only a block farther than the bar you met Gahyeon in. If you quickly scrubbed a few dishes and put proper clothes on (the Pokemon pajamas were cute but not ideal for a “first date”), you could make it there in thirty minutes if you run-walked.

You send her a confirmation text, telling her that the time and place will work. You manage to finish a quarter of the dishes (you’ll totally finish the rest of the dishes instead of continuing your latest masterpiece) before throwing on a comfortable outfit that’s perfect for a first date. You grab your wallet and phone before heading out of your apartment. 

The walk to the cafe takes a lot less time than you had considered, but that was probably because you were going through a hundred and one different ways that you could make a fool of yourself.

Although you nearly ran headfirst into a pole when you saw Gahyeon waving at you in the distance, you had made it to the café.

Even if you were a bit too embarrassed to look her in the eyes, a bit sweaty from run-walking here, especially after she told you off for being late.

“You’re five minutes late. I thought I told you thirty minutes, not thirty-five-”

“In my defense,” You raise your hands in the air, “I’m worse at directions when I’m sober.”

“If you buy me coffee, I may forgive you.”

“Let’s test that theory, huh?” You open the door for her as she gracefully smiles.

You let out a nervous sigh before closing the door behind you. You’ve got this, right?

Maybe the gods would push some luck in your favor.

~

Gahyeon didn’t think you were a total loser, so that was a plus.

She even agreed to a proper first date, and then a second, next a third, and you’d somehow convinced her to become your girlfriend… which meant that she would be moving in with you since you’d been dating for a year and a half.

Time flies.

“Can you help me with these boxes, babe?”

After shoving more of your supplies (holy fuck how much shit did you own) into a spare closet, you join Gahyeon at the door to receive the box that she had in her hands.

“I got it,” You say before immediately swearing after the box rests in your arms, “what did you put in here, a bowling ball?”

“Three, actually,” Gahyeon offers a sweet smile as you shake your head, “it’s just the first box of my clothes. You can set it in the bedroom, if you would.”

“The things I do for you.” You scoff before shifting the weight in the box (seriously, what was in here?).

You take a few steps forward as Gahyeon wanders around your apartment. She peeks into the room you just left before letting out a gasp.

“You didn’t move your work so I could have more space, did you?”

You pause, not turning to meet her eye, as she accusingly charges toward you.

“Yah, babe, I told you to leave that stuff there! You know how much I love seeing your work.”

You hightail it to the bedroom before she tackles you into a warm hug. You both dissolve into giggles, heavy boxes and caring anger set aside, as you enjoy her presence.

“I love you.” She whispers before kissing your lips.

You wonder what god of love was paid off in order to match you and Gahyeon, but you didn’t care. Everything worked, you two worked, and your work spoke for itself.

That’s all you ever needed.

~ 

A wedding ring was the other thing you needed.

You had fiddled with the ring for ages, wondering when would be the right time to propose. 

Gahyeon deserved the best, after all.

So you just asked her one day, when the moment was right.

And she said yes before bursting out into tears. You were quick to comfort her, of course, but you felt like you had ascended to another plane of reality.

Finally, everything made sense.

Your creative energy was at a high, so you were producing plenty of work. You were ahead on rent, enough so that you could save up for a house and a wedding, eventually.

Gahyeon stood in the kitchen, admiring the ring on her left hand, as you wrapped your arm around her waist.

“The ring’s pretty.” She says absentmindedly as you squeeze your arms, which makes her laugh. “What’s up?”

“I got bored. Something told me to go out here and check up on you.” You give a small shrug before kissing her cheek. “What are you up to?”

“I’m going to head to the store by my old place to pick up a few things. Do you want anything?”

For some reason, your stomach sinks. But why, you wonder? She made this trip often, what was so awful about it now?

“Are you sure you don’t want to go down the street, to the convenience store?” You try to convince her as she shakes her head and manages to escape your grasp.

“I’ll be fine, babe,” She turns to give you a quick kiss on the lips before grabbing the car keys on the table, “are you worried about me?”

“Maybe.” You give a noncommittal answer before checking the clock. “Be home for dinner!”

“I will, I promise.” She walks away and grabs the doorknob before turning back to you. “Hey!”

“Hey what?”

“I can’t wait to marry you.” Gahyeon winks at you as you look away in embarrassment. 

It’s crazy that she still has this effect on you, years later.

She laughs before shutting the door as you stare at the front door to your apartment like a lovesick golden retriever waiting for their human to return.

You couldn’t wait for her to return back into your arms, so you could make dinner and spend the rest of your night together.

~

Four hours.

It had been four hours since Gahyeon left.

Should you be worried?

She would’ve texted, called, told you if she would’ve been late. Gahyeon expected the same of you, even though you weren’t the most prompt person at times. 

You should stop pacing before you have to add carpet replacement to your laundry list of things to buy. The sun had gone down, but that meant that traffic must’ve been heavy, right?

You need to take a walk before you worry yourself into an early grave.

You grab a light jacket before exiting your apartment. Taking a walk around the block has always helped clear your mind, but your heart pangs with a new hurt as Gahyeon always liked to go on walks with you.

She was fine, she had to be fine.

You round the corner, only to want to immediately retreat back into your home.

A car accident.

The worst part?

Gahyeon’s car was among the wreckage.

Police officers pushed the surrounding crowd back, and you scream when you see an EMT pick a bloody ring out from among the wreckage.

Not just any ring.

Her ring.

You can’t look anymore.

~

You hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks.

You hadn’t created anything since the day she died.

Three weeks.

Twenty-one days.

Five-hundred and four hours.

Thirty-thousand, two-hundred forty minutes.

You can’t breathe, can’t think.

You need to open a window.

The light casts a gentle glow over your apartment.

It’s a wreck. You’re a wreck. 

How fitting.

Your phone rings. It’s probably your mother, asking why you didn’t come to Sunday dinner for the third time in a row.

You can’t tell her about Gahyeon, you could barely face her parents and tell them what happened. You were choked up then, and you hadn’t felt much better since.

Your heart had been ripped from your chest.

You pick up your phone anyway.

“Do you want to see her again?” A deep male voice echoes from your phone speaker as you sigh.

“You have the wrong number. Have a good day.” You say with no emotion as the voice quickly replies.

“It’s Gahyeon. I have Gahyeon.”

“Who are you? Where is she?”

“Go to the bar where you first met. I’ll meet you there and take you to her.” 

“Hold on, how do I know you’re not-”

You pause as you hear the other line beep repeatedly. 

He hung up on me. What a dick.

~

“What do you want?” You gruffly ask as you slide into a booth opposite a man dressed in an all-black suit.

He fixes his silver locks for a moment before looking you up and down.

“You want the girl back?”

“Gahyeon,” You correct, “and I want her here as much as her family does.”

“Would you do anything for her?”

“Yes.” You answer immediately as the man smiles.

“Good, good.” He snaps his fingers as the scenery around you changes. 

You’re forced on your feet as the booth disappears behind you.

“What the fuck-” You look at the walls, which expand in every direction and then disappear behind walls of fire and stone.

The man walks forward as a set of stairs appears before him.

“Who are you?” You ask as the ground underneath you begins to shift.

“Death, not the devil.” He answers after sitting down on a throne made of fire and magma. “I have a proposition for you, since your love for Gahyeon has moved my wife. I’m feeling rather…. generous, shall we say?”

“What’s the catch?”

“You have to take the long way out, with you leading and her behind. You can’t look back to see if she’s there, you have to trust yourself and trust her. Understood?”

“I-” You pause while weighing your options.

Could you lead her out of Hell? A dangerous adventure, sure, but it would be worth it to bring her home.

“I accept.”

Death snaps his finger before a door to your left appears.

“Walk through that door and begin your journey.” 

You place your hand on the door before looking back at him.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until you get to the other side.”

~

You didn’t expect walking through hell to be a cake walk, but you were absolutely exhausted. 

Who knows if death himself didn’t trick you in the first place? 

You couldn’t look to see if Gahyeon was behind you, and you couldn’t hear her speaking as well.

You just had to trust yourself and trust her.

You trusted Gahyeon, of course you did, but did you trust yourself enough that you wouldn’t have been fooled?

Everyone in hell is looking at you as you climb up towards the exit.

You can do this. You should do this.

Is she really behind me?

You should keep going. You have to keep going.

Your footsteps begin to slow as your breath becomes ragged. You were tired, but you were almost there.

You see the light, see everything that you would have again.

You reach out to embrace the light, you’re almost there.

Is she there?

Gahyeon gasps as your eyes connect with hers.

“You… were there.”

“I always was.” She softly answers before backing up towards the darkness.

“I made a mistake.” You try to reach out and grab her, but she’s fading away from you.

“I know.”

“I love you.” A tear falls from your eye as she disappears into nothingness.

“I know.”

Just like that, she was gone, and you were alone.

[tropes-and-tales]

Celeste

Day 12:  Stripping (Colonel Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  A minor mention of drug use; Smut-ish but nothing explicit; stripping; talk of a naked body; imagined sex; 18+ only to be safe.

Word Count:  1377

AN:  This was requested by the lovely @justreblogginfics

Colonel Carrillo sits deep in the shadows of the club, hidden away.  Most men cluster up close to the stage for the best view, but he doesn’t want to be noticed.  He’s tucked away out of sight, out of his usual uniform, blending in with the other men there to ogle beautiful women. 

The club is a frequent hangout for many of Escobar’s men, low-level narcos who nonetheless have important intel that they often blab to their dancer girlfriends.  Those dancer girlfriends then blab backstage, snicker and laugh as they touch up their hair and makeup, as they do bumps of coke to keep their energy up for a long night of dancing.

And you’re there too, a willing ear to listen for that intel that you pass onto your fellow agents.  You have arranged drops that Murphy picks up, and Carrillo combs through them carefully each time.  He waits until he’s alone in his office at night, and then he traces over your neat printing, the simple code that you and Javier devised before you went undercover. 

Carrillo pictures you in your UC apartment, shabby and small.  He pictures you bent over the slips of paper as you pick at a late dinner, pictures you rubbing the calf of one leg with your other foot, that absent-minded habit you have that he noticed immediately when you sat outside of his office.  He pictures you sighing, tired, missing home, missing even your DEA-issued apartment in the expat block of buildings.  He pictures you missing your real name, your real job.

Carrillo hasn’t laid eyes on you in months.  He can edge up to the truth but can’t quite admit it to himself, and you may miss your life, but he misses you. 

-----

Your UC work has layers.  You’re you, normally, but undercover, you’re Elena Aguilar, a Mexican-American ex-pat with shadowy provenance.  Your cover is that you possibly maybe probably had legal troubles in the States and fled to Medellin to avoid arrest.  It’s an easy way to explain away your American-born Spanish, and it gives you an extra layer of cover:  you don’t answer personal questions because Elena Aguilar is wanted by authorities in the States.

But Elena Aguilar becomes Celeste on the stage, and when Carrillo finally sees you again after so many months, he almost doesn’t recognize you.  Even clothed for a gentlemen’s club, you’re more exposed than he’s ever seen you before.  You’re in a short, pleated skirt that barely covers your ass, and it flounces as you take the stage, platform heels that add entire inches to your height.  You’re dressed up like a Catholic school girl—a tight, low-cut white blouse, a loosely-knotted tie, and a pair of loose braids—and Carrillo hates the hot beat of desire that pulses through him when he sees you.

The music is loud; Carrillo’s heartbeat seems to sync up to the bassline, and he catches himself holding his breath as he watches.  Dios, but why did he never consider how good of a dancer you are?  You had made a joke once to Murphy before you went UC, said something about all those ballet lessons in childhood finally paying off, but maybe there’s some truth to it. 

Watching you, there’s a sensuous, natural movement to your body that Carrillo never would have guessed at.  Some of the other dancers before you were blatant with their sexuality, sharp snaps of the hips, pushing their bared breasts into the faces of the patrons crowded against the stage, but you seduce the crowd, and by extension, you seduce him.

You work to the beat, but you don’t rush it.  You unbutton your tight blouse to reveal a flimsy see-through bra that pushes your breasts up.  You lean against the pole, slide down along it, arch your back like a cat, which makes your breasts push up even further.  You stand again, turn away, push the tiny skirt over your hips and ass.  When you bend over to push it down the rest of the way—you’re in a tiny thong—Carrillo inhales a harsh breath, and his throat feels too tight.

Maybe the song you dance to is long.  Maybe time slows down.  Carrillo knows you must be blinded by the colored lights dancing over you as you strip, and he knows he’s invisible in the shadows, but sometimes it feels like your eyes meet his.  Sometimes everyone else in the club—the hooting, leering men waving Colombian pesos and American dollars (he even swears he sees a Panamanian balboa at one point)—falls away, and it’s like you’re dancing just for him.

Carrillo went to Catholic school.  The man has few sexual predilections that veer into kink territory, but something about the Catholic school girl uniform makes him feel a certain way, reminds him of coming of age around other boys in slacks and button down shirts, around girls in knee socks and pleated skirts.  And you, as Elena Aguilar, as Celeste, has chosen his one, lone kink as your on-stage costume.

He only wanted to lay eyes on you, but here he is, reduced to a panting idiot, hard just from watching you, his erection straining until he shifts in his seat uncomfortably.  He’s a moment away from rushing the stage and wrapping his coat around you, carrying you home and fucking you senseless.  You, though:  not Celeste or Elena.

It doesn’t get easier for him as you finish your set.  You’re naturally athletic, graceful, and when you wrap around the pole, Carrillo can imagine it translating.  He can picture your legs wrapped around him.  He can picture your back arching underneath him, your arms above your head, your eyes heavy-lidded as he makes you come.  And when you shed your bra, Carrillo actually groans:  your breasts are perfect, your nipples pert and pebbled, and he can imagine putting his mouth on them, kissing you there, your hand against the back of head as he sucks against those perfect nipples, the sounds he could pull from you—

The songs ends.  It breaks the spell; the crowd claps and hollers, crude propositions in Spanish, a flurry of paper money that you bend down to gather up along with your clothing.  You do a cute little curtsy, flash the crowd a winning smile, and then you’re gone.

He wants to stay only long enough to calm.  He can’t careen out onto the streets of Medellin with an erection, so he sits in the shadows and watches the next dancer.  She doesn’t elicit the same response, thankfully—only you seem to have that power—so his blood cools by degrees and he deflates and his heartrate slows.

But when he starts to plan his exit, a waitress brings him a fresh drink.  He hadn’t ordered it, and when he tries to wave it away, she insists.

“On the house,” she says, and she sets down a clean cocktail napkin and sets the glass down on top of it.

His first thought is that he’s been made.  A narco in the club has recognized him and is sending him this drink.  As a message?  Poisoned, perhaps?  He runs his thumb over the rim of the glass and jostles it so the ice clinks.  He looks around but doesn’t see anyone obviously watching him.

Then he sees it:  slowly bleeding as the condensation of the glass wets the napkin, but he snatches the glass away before it becomes illegible.  A message on the cocktail napkin, and he recognizes the neat handwriting immediately.

You must have seen him come in.  Carrillo knows little about strip clubs, but it would make sense that there be cameras posted everywhere, and it would make sense that the dancers would watch them.  How else might they target the men who might give them the most money?  How else might they identify problem men?  Maybe you watched him enter the club, watched him be seated, and maybe those moments where he felt like he was locking eyes with you were real after all.

But the message, half-blurred by his drink.  Carrillo reads it on the sly, pretends to sip his drink and toy with the napkin like he’s bored. 

H - I want to come home.

[saltedsnailstudio]

how do you print your linocuts so beautifully on fabric?? every time i try it’s so salty and illegible! :0 is it the ink you use?? thanks!

Aw, thank you!

So, honestly, there’s a lot of different things that go into a successful fabric print. Experimentation pays off - try a bunch of different things and take note of what works! I’ll share a bit of what I’ve learned in my own trial and error:

Choosing the right fabric is absolutely CRUCIAL. You want something with a nice, tight weave and a relatively smooth surface. I’ve gotten to a point where I can usually tell by touch if a fabric is going to print well, but I still screw this up occasionally. I’d suggest snagging an old bedsheet from a thrift store and going to town testing different techniques with it. Seriously, old bedsheets tend to print beautifully, especially the cheap ones that are a blend of cotton & synthetic fibers.

You’ll have to ink your linoleum block slightly more for fabric prints than you would for working with papers. Laying down many thin layers of ink onto your block rather than one thick layer is the way to go. Build up the ink gradually. I then lay my blocks face down onto fabric to print, the opposite of how I print onto paper. With paper, the paper lays on top of the block. With fabric, the block lays on top of the fabric.

I use a woodzilla lever press to get an even distribution of pressure but I’ve seen folks achieve beautiful results just by pressing hard with their hands, barrens, or standing/stepping onto the block. In my experience, it’s very easy to accidentally shift the block when printing on fabric by hand so you want to be extra careful to press straight DOWN and not at any sort of angle that may smudge your print.

I know other printmakers who prefer to work with rubber (such as speedball’s speedy carve) when printing fabric rather than linoleum. I always prefer to work with battleship grey lino, but there are some benefits to working with rubber. Linoleum is slightly porous, meaning it will absorb some ink, where as the ink will just sit on top of a rubber surface. The slight squishiness of rubber tends to mean you need a bit less pressure to get a legible print which can be really useful when printing on fabric. I’m not a huge fan of the way rubber carves but if it doesn’t bother you, you might have better luck with that.

Finally, you mentioned ink. I use cranfield caligo safewash inks for all my prints, both paper and fabric. I absolutely love working with these inks. They’re oil based inks but they’re water soluble before they dry, so they’re a bit easier to clean up than traditional oil inks. (Please keep in mind you should never be washing oil ink down drains, though! It pollutes our water!! A tiny bit of vegetable oil and wet wipes/alcohol will do the trick when cleaning up.) once the print is dry, it’s no longer water soluble thus it’s safe to hand wash any of my fabric prints with cool water. I’ve messed around a bit with speed ball’s inks before and honestly…………………. I hate them. I know they’re super popular but I despise working with them. I greatly prefer the texture of the cranfield inks.

Sorry for chattering on and on, but there really is a lot of different variables when it comes to printing on fabric (and honestly I just love to talk shop). I hope something in this monologue is useful to you, anon!

[mariacallous]

I recently stumbled upon a Yemenite Jewish cookbook from the early ’60s called “Yemenite & Sabra Cookery” by Naomi and Shimon Tzabar. It’s the type of cookbook I especially love to discover; the kind that covers a rare topic and is unusually designed. This one has beautiful wood-block print images scattered throughout. The recipes are more like sketches of how to make something instead of being clear directives. On the first page of the book there’s a recipe for zhug (Yemenite hot sauce), and a few pages later there’s a recipe for a very simple white bean soup. I’ve been a longtime fan of topping white bean soup with homemade pesto or herb sauce. Creamy rich white beans are well complemented by fragrant earthy fresh herbs. As I skimmed through each page, these two recipes jumped out at me, calling to be combined.

Zhug (or skhug; pronounced s-kh-oo-g) is a classic Yemenite hot sauce. It is found throughout the Middle East, and was brought to and made popular in Israel by Yemenite Jews. It is used to add heat to many dishes, from falafel, to shwarma, to schnitzel, to sabich. There are countless recipes for zhug, but it is always made with a combination of hot green or red peppers and cilantro/coriander. Often, you’ll find it includes spices such as cardamom and caraway. Zhug is spicy, vibrant, and complexly flavored with the combination of these herbs and spices. It’s not your average hot sauce.

This white bean soup is simple at its core and made with leeks, carrots, celery and just a few other ingredients. You can use chicken broth or vegetable broth for the liquid — even water will work. If you have the time, or an Instant Pot (yes!), making the white beans from scratch will make the soup significantly better. For one, you can infuse the beans as they cook and soften with extra flavor from garlic and bay leaf. Then, the infused cooking liquid can also get added to the soup. You can cook the white beans and make the zhug several days in advance. Once everything comes together, and the soup gets served and topped with the herby zhug, it makes this dish that much more impressive. When I tried my first bite I was instantly warmer; the spice and heat from the zhug, and the comfort of the creamy white beans somehow elicit the feeling of heat from strong sunlight, somewhere very far away.

Note: Zhug will last up to two weeks in a well-sealed container, or it can be frozen for up to three months.

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 56: The Festival of Ice

MONDAY - WINTER 8 

“Have to say, I’m a little surprised to see you out and about.” 

Achilles bit back a frown and dusted his gloved hands after shooting Leah a small wince. “You were the one who texted me to come here to help, weren’t you?” 

“Yeah, true. Wasn’t sure if you’d come through, though.” 

“Right. I appreciate your faith…” Achilles rolled his eyes as he squatted to the ground. “Now come on. One, two, three…” 

With a grunt, Achilles and Leah lifted her ice sculpture onto a metal cart. It creaked under the weight, but held steady after a slight wobble or two.

“She’s beautiful,” he said with a nod at the figure looming above. The mermaid had been exquisitely carved in a nearly six foot tall block of ice, and no detail had been left unturned. Each individual scale had been etched with care, every flowing ringlet of hair, every crease in her smiling face. 

“So impermanent, though… especially today.” Leah swiped her finger along the already-glistening tail fin, scrutinizing the water droplets that came away with a furrowed brow and a long sigh. “But I guess that makes the art better in a way, don’t you think? More meaningful…” 

“Sure.” 

“So, are you gonna come to the festival or nah?” Leah leaned against the handrails of her cart. “You sort of look like you could use a nap, no offense.” 

“Thank you for that,” Achilles said drily, pinching his nose. Damn, did he really look that rough? He had blowdried his hair this morning and everything. “No, I’m going, at least for a little. I was going to return this to Elliott, I finished this morning.” He patted his messenger bag where Elliott’s novel was stored. 

“O ho!” With a clap of her mittened hands, Leah began to push the cart towards Pelican Town, Achilles by her side. “Finally. He’ll be excited—well, he’ll be excited to see you no matter what, he was getting worried—hey, what did you think? He won’t let me read it yet.” 

“It was good.” 

“Was it actually? I won’t snitch if you say it was terrible.” 

“No, it was good.” Achilles felt his wan smile strengthen as he repeated his response. 

“Hmm, he was thinking of doing a book reading this week. Nothing fancy, maybe in the saloon… He hasn’t gotten round to planning it, you know how he is. Takes him damn forever to do anything… ope!” 

The cart gave a small lurch as it rolled over a stray rock, but Achilles was quick to hold the mermaid steady.

“Thanks.” With a heave, Leah pushed the cart forward again through the inch of slush on the ground and they continued on their way through Cindersap. “Eh, can’t criticize him too much, though, or I’d be a real dirty hypocrite… wanted to tell you, took me forever, but I’ve finally gotten around to posting on those social media accounts or whatever they’re called that you set up for me way back when. The website, too.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. It’s been good. Really good, actually, I’ve even started making prints, too, as a bit of extra quick income… there’s a Mr. K in Zuzu who keeps buying my candles… I’m 98% sure it’s Kel, but hey, can’t complain, if he wants to keep giving me his money, I’m all for it… the power of the Internet. Who’d have thought.” Leah surprised him with a little pat on the shoulder. “Thanks, Achilles. I’m glad you persuaded this here old lady to do it…” 

*****

Elliott, as Leah predicted, was overjoyed to see Achilles, embracing him with his usual bone-splintering squeeze before receiving the now-marked up copy of his novel with both hands and a solemn bow. He had graciously waved aside Achilles’ apologies for the delay, but had been more than eager to accept his offer to organize his book reading as recompense, nodding earnestly, wide-eyed like a puppy, as Achilles shared his thoughts aloud. 

“—we can still have catering, but the museum’s going to be significantly more atmospheric a venue than the saloon, I’ll speak to Gunther—” 

Then something slammed into him from behind.

Achilles’ arms were suddenly pinned to his sides—breathless, he had been lifted straight off the ground. Alarm bells began to ring furiously in his head, his vision began to cloud, and Achilles found himself reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. But in looking down for a hilt, he saw instead a pair of hands squeezed tight around his chest.

What the—

A flurry of laughter—so close, why was it so close, get out of my mind—managed to break through the sharp ringing between his ears, and then a voice exclaimed, “I did it!” 

Nearly gasping for breath now, Achilles managed to twist himself around, only to see Alex beaming brightly, his face mere inches away. 

“Wh—What?”

“I did it!” 

“You did what—wait—” Desperate to quickly calm himself and refocus, Achilles shook his head to disperse the sirens currently ringing between his ears. “You—you got the job!?” 

“Oh! No, no I didn’t. Or at least, not yet.” Alex nose wrinkled for just a second as he glanced down at the ground in thought. But he was quick to return, bright-eyed, to his usual grinning self. “No, I just did my interview, just got back.” 

“Ahhh,” Achilles nodded as his heart beat continued to return to normal—or perhaps, just a bit faster than normal, for as his panic cleared, he was now dully aware of the arms still wrapped around his waist, even though his feet were now resting firmly on semi-solid slush. “Ho-how was it?” 

“Great! Or, at least, I think it was pretty good.”

“I’m sure it was.” Achilles attempted to take a small step back. He was too close, much too close. It was liking looking at the sun.   

Alex took the hint and, without missing a beat, relinquished his grip, taking an unconcerned step back of his own. Achilles already missed the warmth of his touch, but it lasted only for a second as Alex swung his arm around his shoulder and began to march him towards the drinks table where Elliott and Leah had both rather speedily and stealthily scampered to. 

“Yeah, they actually asked a lot of similar questions to what we prepped! Used a lot of the stuff we practiced. It was good. I felt good!” 

“Good.” Why was his voice coming out so high? What was he, 12? And Yoba, for goodness sake, was he capable of anything more than one word answers today? “Great! I’m… glad it was helpful. Fingers crossed, yeah? When do you find out? How do you feel now?” 

“They said it’d be real soon… but I figure, why stress about it, right? It’s outta my hands now.”Alex poured two glasses of sparkling cider, handing one to Achilles. “My first real job interview! Worth celebrating, you think?” 

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Yes, of course—” 

But Alex cut him off with a hearty, self-aware laugh, swinging his arm around Achilles’ shoulders again as they made their way through the small crowd to the sad field of snowmen. It had been a rather warm Festival of the Ice this year, even by Achilles’ east coast standards. The town had woken this morning to only a light inch or so of snow now that had since already begun to rapidly melt. The ice fishing competition, to the dismay of Willy, had had to be canceled. 

He glanced to his left and caught a glimpse of green eyes glimmering under the fierce Winter sun. The sight alone was enough to send his stomach swooping. 

God. He’d do it right now. He would tell Alex. He had to tell Alex. He’d decided it the night before—

What makes you happy, Achilles? What makes you feel better? What do you want?

What? Or who? 

Achilles stopped before a funky snowman with pinecone eyes. Took a deep breath and turned to Alex, who was now waving merrily to Penny two snowmen over. “Al, I was wondering—“

“Young man.” 

A soft crunch of well-trod snow followed the curt interruption. Achilles recovered somewhat smoothly from both his surprise and his irritation and turned to greet George. Had he been following them? Alex’s grandpa was alone as he wheeled closer to the pair. Evelyn was still over by the rather sad and drippy igloo that had been erected that morning, handing out little bags of cookies—it was strange; Achilles had rarely seen the two separated during festivals. 

“I’d like to talk to Achilles in private, please, Alexander.” George gave his grandson a sharp nod. Confusion crinkled his brow, but Alex had never been one to ask too many questions—something Achilles had been grateful for, at least until this moment—and with only a shrug, jogged towards where a few folks had gathered by the river. 

For a beat, the two watched as Alex tackled an unsuspecting Sam into a bush.

It was Achilles who finally broke the silence. “How can I help you, George?” 

George glanced around for folks nearby before wheeling closer. In a low tone, he said, “Yes, yes. We’ll just cut to it, shall we? I would like you to refrain from sharing your… unnatural habits with my grandson.” 

Achilles’ stomach began to churn. “Pardon?” 

“You’re a nice young man, Achilles. But I don’t want Alex to be taught against our values.”  

“Oh, I do apologize, I didn’t realize mock interviews were against your values, I’ll be sure to—” 

“Don’t play dumb with me, young man,” George snapped. But the old man seemed to regret his tone, and, after coughing lightly into his fist, reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small square he then offered to Achilles. “I found this on Alex’s dresser.” 

Nosy bastard… 

But Achilles played it cool, offering a quick glance at the photograph from Spirit’s Eve, his face impassive even as it warmed at the sight of Alex’s lips upon his cheek. “I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what your point is exactly, George.” 

“I understand this is who you are—and let me assure you, I have no problem with your choices, young man. But Alex is better than this, and I do not want him to be involved with that lifestyle—”

“It was Spirit’s Eve, George.” Allowing himself to look slightly exasperated now, Achilles handed the photograph back. “We were recreating something from the comic books.” 

George, however, continued to stare stonily, his thin lips pressed hard into a thinner line than usual. 

“Look, what is it specifically you want me to do? Stop talking to him? We’re friends, George.” 

“And I understand that. I simply ask that you keep your predilections and preferences to yourself. You shouldn’t be teaching Alex these behaviors—”

Teaching Alex behaviors? Fuck you, do you think I’m fucking blowing your grandson in my living room—

Achilles managed to restrain himself from delivering a retort as graphic as that, though he still managed to snark, “Noted. I see now—I apologize, I’ll be sure to put a stop to the ‘How to Be a Raging Homosexual’ powerpoint presentations—”

“This is not a joke, young man—”

Achilles flushed. He took a step back, digging his boots into the snow, and in a heightened voice, said, “Why are you coming to me? You don’t trust Alex to make his own decisions—”

“That boy has had a very difficult childhood, he doesn’t know what’s best for him, and he needs guidance in the right direction—”

Perhaps the Achilles of yesteryear would have fought back. Perhaps he should’ve fought back. But the Achilles of now recognized this was not a battle he would win today, and in a flat tone, he simply said, “This is an incredibly disrespectful conversation that I’m afraid I really don’t have the energy or patience to entertain any further. I’m going to leave now. Have a nice day, George.” 

*****

Fuck George. Fuck all of it. The fucking audacity of it all… 

Alex was a grown ass man, he could make his own fucking decisions. 

He stomped towards the river, the remaining chunks of snow crunching underfoot with each step. Alex was up ahead, his arms slung each around Sam and Sebastian as they all laughed at something Abigail was saying…

George couldn’t stop him. He’d ask for a private word, maybe pull Alex to the side—or maybe, he’d do it in plain view of George, make a point of it, that would really rile the bastard up… 

“Hey there!” Alex gave him a little wave and stepped to the side, making space for Achilles to join the circle next to him. “You okay?” 

“Fine. Just… tired.” 

“You look it,” Abigail sassed, blissfully ignoring both the withering, darkly-rimmed glare with which Achilles returned her guffaw and the exasperated, somewhat pleading look Alex shot her. 

“What’d my grandpa want to talk to you about?” 

“Oh, just…” Achilles glanced at the expectant faces around him. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to chew out Alex’s grandpa—although from what Alex had told him previously, Sebastian would be sure to empathize, having apparently been on the receiving end of one of these little chats himself… “He was just saying… well apparently, I’m a really thorough teacher. Who’d have thought? Someone tell the Zuzu school board, put in a good word.” He ignored Alex’s puzzled look to flash Penny a smile. 

Alex lowered his voice as the group resumed their previous conversation and tilted his head ever so slightly closer to Achilles’. “You sure everything’s okay? It sort of looked like you two were… arguing.” 

Why don’t you ask him about it, Alex? 

But that wouldn’t be fair, would it? 

Achilles began fiddling with the end of his scarf. “Yeah, no, he just wasn’t… particularly happy about what I’ve been… ‘teaching’ you.” Not a lie. Not technically. George’s own words. 

“Oh. Really?” Something small tugged at Alex’s lips. “He seemed pretty excited when I told him I thought the interview went well, though… I was hoping maybe they’d be excited for me, or… proud, maybe. Is he mad? I just… I just don’t want to upset them, you know? Or be a burden anymore…”

It was Alex’s little sigh that got him. The disappointment in his eyes, the small droop in his shoulders, the biting of the lip. In that moment, Achilles knew what he had to do.

“Nah, that’s not what George was talking about, man.” He gave Alex a swift pat on the back. “He’s really excited for you. No, he was talking about… something else, something stupid, it wasn’t important, don’t you worry about it…”  

*****

“Well! I do declare, I thought young Alexander looked quite happy today, if I may say so myself.” 

Achilles had joined Elliott and Leah after the Festival of Ice had (prematurely) ended in its damp, dripping glory. Rumor had it Lewis was on the warpath, cursing the skies, cursing the governor, cursing even Yoba for the day’s temperature, though it could be said the weather cared little to be called an “uncooperative member of the community.” 

They sat scattered among the limited seating in Elliott’s seaside cabin. In fact, Achilles had chosen a seat on the floor against the frame of the bed, while Leah lay supine above him atop the quilt.

“Eh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘young Alexander’ look unhappy.” Leah popped her gum as she took the mug of freshly brewed tea their host was offering to her. “Confused, maybe. But unhappy? Nah. Man’s got a resting happy face, like those funky marsupials. Quokkas?” 

“All the same, I found his enthusiasm much elevated upon his encounter with—”

“Weren’t you going to ask him out?” Leah swung her legs over the edge of the bed and abruptly squatted down next to Achilles who nearly choked on the lollipop he’d taken from Elliott’s leftover Spirit’s Eve stash. “I thought you said you were going to ask him out.” 

“I—I was.” Achilles grimaced as Leah’s sudden movement sent his own tea splashing onto his hand. “I was going to. I came very close, actually, but…” 

“But…” Elliott leaned down from the piano bench he had dragged over, one eyebrow cocked expectantly. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re afraid he’ll turn you down, you coward. After everything Elliott and I have witnessed—”

“No. No, that’s not it—” 

“Yoba, so what are you afraid of?” 

“Please, let the man speak, Leah!” Elliott cried, jumping from the bench to join them on the floor. 

“Yes, let the man speak, Leah. Sheesh.” Achilles set down his mug. His hands itched for a pen and paper to help organize his thoughts, but he had left his usual notebook at home, and so began to trace invisible lines along the hardwood with his finger instead. “Now, look I’m not afraid of anything—it’s just—okay, three scenarios: first, he’s straight. Not interested. That’s fine. Second, he’s not straight, but also not interested. Also fine—”

“Is it though?” Leah gave him an aggressive poke in the neck. 

Achilles scooted an inch to his right. 

“Third scenario. He’s not straight and he’s interested.” 

Leah clapped her hands. “Incredible. Amazing. Perfection. You ask him out, he says yes, boom, boom, done, happily ever after. You know, I’m actually ordained—” 

“No.” Achilles shot her an impatient glare  “Look, I’ve thought about it and… well, at the risk of sounding like a narcissist—”

“Buddy, we left that station long ago—”

“—I think he might… like me, too.” 

God, it felt so arrogant to say aloud. Not to mention embarrassing—in all likelihood, Achilles was simply projecting. Simply reading too much into each and every one of their interactions, his smiles, his touches, his care. Except—

“And I as well, my dear friend!”

There it was. Elliott’s validation. And Leah’s, too—surely it couldn’t all be in Achilles’ head if both of his friends had picked up on something as well, right? Or were they merely projecting alongside him? Wishful thinking… what were the chances?

And yet… George today. After Achilles had managed to calm himself down, their little snit of a conversation had got him thinking. Why had George accosted him? Was it purely due to the photo from Spirit’s Eve, or was there something more to it? Had Alex said something at home? Something indicating a… possible interest in Achilles? As much as he had hated the conversation, and as much as that conversation was fueling this difficult decision he had now made, he couldn't help but feel somewhat… hopeful. 

Too many possibilities. Too many questions and not enough answers, but Elliott could always be counted on more morale support. He took Achilles hand and continued to voice his thoughts.“Now, is that not what I’ve been saying these past few weeks? Young Alexander has surely been by shot by the arrows of Cu—” 

But it was Leah’s turn to shush. “There’s a big ‘ole ’but,’ here, Ell. Come on. Let’s hear it.”  

“Right. Well, I just… if that is the case, that he, you know, is interested, I just…” Achilles drew his knees close to his chest and traced the rim of his mug, searching for the right words. “Well, we all know Alex. He… he cares a lot, you know? 

“And I don’t him to feel… torn. Between me and George. You all know how George feels about… well, you’ve all heard him call me ‘unnatural,’ right? The old fuck…” He forced a dry laugh that neither Elliott nor Leah returned. “Alex cares so much about his grandparents and their approval… he just wants them to be happy, and it just… wouldn’t be fair to force him to choose. 

“Even if I tell him that it’s fine, that I understand, that we don’t have to do anything or be anything, that we can just stay friends, he’s going to feel… guilty. That he can’t give me what I want without also… I don’t know, disappointing George.” Pissing him off, more likely… 

Leah stirred. “I mean… but would George have to know? If you guys got together? I had plenty of secret girlfriends back in the day…” 

But Achilles shook his head, having already thought this through. “That’d be even worse. He tells them everything. It’d be wrong to expect him to keep something like this a secret, it’d drive him mad…

“So I’ve decided I’m going to… let him take the lead. If he feels… the same way about me as I feel about him… I want him to come out on his own terms. When he’s ready. I want to give him time, and let him decide on his own—without any unnecessary stress or any unnecessary guilt—what he wants, and if he thinks that it’s worth going after. 

“As I said, if he’s not interested, telling him how I feel would be fine. But if he is, I just feel like confessing would be… selfish. Like would I be doing it for me or would I be doing it for… us?” 

Elliott had been nodding somberly to his right as he spoke, and as he finished his words, now took his hand again, giving it a warm squeeze.

Leah, on the other hand, only popped her gum before saying, “So you’re going to wait?” 

“Yes.” 

“For how long?” 

“For forever.” Achilles laughed and blew a pretend smoke ring from his lollipop. “No, just until someone else comes along for me, I guess…” But words rang hollow in his heart. Could anyone else ever make him feel a fraction of the way Alex did? There you go, always thinking of yourself… “Or whenever he…  inevitably finds someone else.” He thought of Tanya. “I won’t sit around and pine.” 

“And if no one else ever comes along? For either of you? Worst case hopeless romantic scenario.” 

“I don’t know.” A sudden thought inspired a brief snort. “Then until George dies.” 

Elliott gasped, reaching to clutch invisible pearls. “Achilles!” 

“That’s the spirit, probably won’t even have to wait too long—” 

“Leah, please! My goodness, the both of you…”

They laughed at Elliott’s dismayed shake of his head, but amidst the minute of tension-breaking mirth and levity, Leah placed a callused hand to his knee. 

“And how do you feel about your plan? All this waiting around? I have to say, it’s not very you.” 

“I mean… it hurts. A lot.” Achilles shrugged and took a sip from his tea, rolling the lukewarm water around his mouth. “I’m in love with him. I really am, I think.” It didn’t feel strange to say it aloud, though this was the first time he had—he was neither ashamed nor embarrassed. And that’s how he knew what he said was true.

Leah smiled. Gave his knee an encouraging pat. 

“I’ve learned… so much from him this past year. Not that I’ve put much of it into practice,” Achilles laughed, “Hell, he probably doesn’t even know. But what he’s shown me, literally just by existing, it’s… changed how I think. How I see things. How I see myself. 

“He’s just got such a sense of life, you now? And he’s kind and caringand optimistic and genuine in a way that I will never be, but even so, I like the way he makes me feel about myself and he makes me… want to be better. He makes me feel like I can be better. And I know that even if I failed at everything, even if I was no one,he would still be happy to just… be there. With me. Not even as a partner, but just… as a friend.” 

Achilles chucked the stick of his lollipop into his now-empty mug and kicked his legs out in a V in front of him. 

“Also… I mean, let’s be real, come on guys—Leah, I know you disagree—but he’s really fucking hot.”

It wasn’t particularly funny, but the three of them erupted in shared, goodnatured laughter, and he found himself warmed with his appreciation for this duo of friends. Their own support and love for him. 

He concluded his laughter with a long sigh, swirling his lollipop stick as he stared at the ground. “But if nothing ends up happening, well… it’ll pass. It always does. I’ll learn to get over it in time.” 

You’ll be getting over it your whole life. 

The thought, for some strange reason, made him smile. Yes, perhaps he’d never get over it. But that’s just how it was sometimes. And he would be fine. 

“I would like to propose one modification to your noble plan, my dear friend. If you are willing to hear it.” Elliott’s voice was tentative. 

“Sure.” 

“Have you considered meeting him halfway? I do not propose a full confession, but perhaps… a lingering touch of the hand. A gaze held a beat too long. Oh! Perhaps you could invite him on a charming Winter walk, offer him your scarf —”

“Ho ho, sorry Ell, did you say you were a romance author?” 

“Do you disagree? I suggest this only because—”

“—You’re shit at flirting.” Leah accompanied her second interruption with a sudden, hearty slap of Achilles’ knee. “I’d have never known you were in love with him if you hadn’t told us.” 

“Woman, I can flirt when I want to, I have simply been actively choosing not to—”

Elliott sighed as the two bickered. He was generous enough to give them a minute or so, massaging his temples all the while before raising his mellow voice the barest degree. 

“Assuming young Alex does indeed share your feelings, then this is likely a new experience for him, Achilles. And as you’ve suggested, one fraught with a multitude of potential complications, trials, and tribulations. A most confusing medley, don’t you think? 

“Alex, as we know, is most generous with his amity, and seems to find much assurance in physical touch, even among his friends. I do not say that you are standoffish—the contrary, my dear friend—but I do not believe it would be detrimental to be more explicit with your affection—either as a potential partner or simply as a friend. But if he is indeed considering romance, I believe it could be beneficial to allow yourself this opportunity to better affirm his hopes, so that if he does so choose to make his move, he will know for sure that he will find love and support, if not from his grandfather, then in you.” 

[justabigoldnerd]

In order to avoid Apollo's Dodgeball of Prophecy, I'm not gonna make any wishes or hopes or resolutions.

Instead, I'm gonna invoke....Dionysus'.....champagne flute?......of gratefulness???

Lol in all seriousness though, I thought about writing a one shot or attempting a decent last minute fanart, but as I'm sitting here with my noise canceling headphones on to block out the sounds of illegal fireworks and gunshots, I'm just struck with how fucking thankful I am.

I'm thankful to have survived 2023. I'm thankful that I remembered A Single Scene from an obscure movie I watched with my dad almost ten years ago and hunted it down. Hell, I'm thankful that the writers/producers/director/WHOEVER didn't give Illya and Gaby an on-screen kiss, because that inspired me to start writing fanfiction for this fandom. I'm thankful as FUCK for this community, I've found such a loving little family amongst all of you and I couldn't have asked for a better group of readers, writers, and creators to call my fellow fans and mutuals. I am so incredibly thankful to everyone who has left such beautiful comments on my work, to those who leave extra kudos, for those who press the kudos button, who bookmark, who just read my works and enjoy them without interacting. Thank you, all of you. I will be printing out comments I have gotten and pasting them on my closet door, directly across from my bed, as a constant reminder that I am enough, and I am a decent fucking writer, and people enjoy my works. GET FUCKED, inner self-loathing critic!!!

In short, I am so thankful for what I've found in this little corner of the internet. I love you all so much, I love our sweet little domestic spies, and I hope you all have a wonderful, safe, and Happy New Years 💕

-Mawce

[dippedanddripped]

CLOT x THE NORTH FACE COLORED BY NATURE

CLOT is pleased to announce its first collaboration with the world-renowned outdoor sportswear expert The North Face. Seeing outdoor exploration as our dialogue with Mother Earth, the brands take us through the mountains and towards the misty peaks, introducing a collection that brings together elements of nature and stylistic aesthetics that aim to add colors to your journey.

“The core person that I am, it hasn't really changed over time, but my curiosities have, what gives me a successful feeling has. My mindset is actually exploration. Allowing yourself to see new things, allowing yourself to experience with clouds, sunset and sunrises, is a story that I've never told. I feel like The North Face was the perfect conduit for that story to be expressed,” shared Edison Chen, Founder and Creative Director of CLOT.

Reshaping outdoor wear with eminent style, the collaboration delivers a perfect combination of design and functionality. Nature-inspired elements encountered along the journey are translated through colors with hints of oriental charm, topped with technologically enhanced materials and creative layering ideas for maximized practicality. Edison Chen has also invited fashion designer Kazuki Kuraishi to participate in the project, integrating his unique fashion understanding into The North Face's outdoor pieces, creating more possibilities for outdoor wear.

“When I design, I normally think about the details first. I don't think too much about the concept, but Edison does. That's why we work together. I always think of good design as it is, but even beautiful design needs good function,” explained Kazuki Kuraishi, Fashion Designer.

EXPLORE THE COLORS OF NATURE,

FROM THE MOUNTAINS TO THE SEA AND THE CLOUDS

Taking in the beautiful colors of nature while trekking through the mountains, The North Face and CLOT have put together a collection featuring captivating landscapes and sensual gradients. This new collaboration features a breathtaking sea of clouds above mountaintops, along with natural shades of lunar slate to lupine, reef waters, and macchiato for a unique aesthetic.

Thanks to DRYVENT technology, the CLOT x The North Face Shell Jacket features an all-over cloud print, topped with color-blocking sleeves and side seams to create a stylish outdoor look. Meanwhile, the new waterproof Poncho can be adjusted with the hidden buttons on the hem, ensuring a perfect fit. In addition to outerwear, the extensive The CLOT x The North Face collection also includes Fleece Pullovers in different colorways, each with a detachable hood and Chinese button knots signature to CLOT. Wear it with the matching Fleece Pants for extra warmth and comfort. Crafted from translucent materials, the Shell Pullover comes with a detachable hood and diagonal placket, designed for laying over the Fleece Pullover. All jackets can be styled with translucent Shell Pants or Fleece Pants for a solid look.

PERFECT YOUR LOOK

WITH ACCESSORIES OF COLORS

Discover the hidden gems in the mountains and cherish every moment. CLOT and The North Face have expanded their creative offerings to a range of accessories and footwear, so you can coordinate your outfits from head to toe. With a mesmerizing sea of clouds print, the Camping Blanket is made of heat-retaining fabric to protect against sudden temperature changes. Thanks to The North Face’s patented VECTIV™ and FUTURELIGHT™ waterproof technology, along with the high-traction SurfaceCTRL™ outsole, the VECTIV™ TARAVAL hiking shoe can provide exceptional stability and drive on any terrain. The collection also includes the ThermoBall™ Traction Mules and other outdoor-dedicated footwear, creating more possibilities for all kinds of exploration.

SPICE UP FAMILY TRAVEL WITH

CHILDRENSWEAR COLORED BY NATURE

The CLOT x The North Face collection also debuts with childrenswear, offering more options to fashion and outdoor-loving families. From Shell Jackets to Fleece Pullovers and Fleece Pants, these children's dedicated creations present little explorers with a piece of the ingenious design and care of the collection.

The CLOT x The North Face collection is set to pre-release at select JUICE selling doors on February 23, 2023, opening a new chapter in the combination of artistic expression and outdoor functionality.

[ramblings-from-yours-truly]

Quick Guide to Decorative Rugs

If you are anticipating redecorating any room in your home you, most importantly, ought to consider how you will manage the floor. Many individuals are tearing click here out that old style one end to the other carpet for decorative rugs as a floor covering.

These lovely rugs add a hint of tastefulness to any room and are accessible in a large number of examples and color decisions. Regardless of their lofty styling, decorative rugs are extreme, long enduring, and can bear upping effectively to the requests of regular mileage. Hand tailored rugs of years prior required exceptional consideration, yet the rugs accessible now are machine made and substantially more tough and excusing.

Oriental examples stay the number one to the extent that styling and colors, yet decorative rugs can be bought for any private taste or inclination. Examples can go from present day, ultra bright colors with wild plans, (generally preferred by the more youthful set), animal prints, block designs, country plaids, and pretty much whatever else you can imagine.

If you have a plan as a main priority, odds are you can find decorative rugs in the examples you are searching for. Investigate online at a portion of the decisions presented by the different rug organizations and producers. You will be flabbergasted at what you find.

A long time back, each home had decorative rugs on the floor of every single room. Besides the fact that these rugs added warmth to the floor, however they likewise loaned a specific demeanor of style and character to the actual room. The rug integrated the room when joined with decorations and frill that were utilized to praise the stylistic layout. Tragically, the utilization of these rugs blurred over the long haul as one end to the other carpet turned out to be more popular, and many individuals exchanged. Lately, however, beautiful decorative rugs have started to get back in the saddle as an ever increasing number of individuals acknowledge exactly how a room can be upgraded with this one component.

There are a few decorative rugs that are so dazzling they can blow your mind, and a rug like this can really make the entire room. As a matter of fact, numerous inside decorators plan the room around the rug, picking wall paint from specific colors in the rug, and goods that will commend the example or plan of the floor covering.

A similar strategy applies to the window coverings and anything that extras are utilized to decorate the room. The entire idea of configuration beginning to end is drawn from the rug that will decorate the floor.

You might be redecorating a space for your child or teen, and there are many, numerous rug plans to look over in each color of the rainbow. More youthful individuals appear to cherish the bright, wild colors and plans, and a rug of their decision may not be what you have in that frame of mind, for the room of a youngster it fits very well in the plan of things.

[designdekko]

5 floral tricks for your home to make the monsoon blues disappear

Prints in fashion have a way of coming back but there is one form of accessorizing your home decor that will never lose its allure – the tried and tested floral designs. Floral prints and patterns with big, bright blooms are the easiest way to incorporate color, texture, and elegance into your room interiors. 

The trick to effortlessly blending these prints into spaces is to attain a balance between all elements of decor in a specific area. With monsoon greys and dullness, blooms and florals are an instant mood lifter that creates positive energy and aura around.  

The right balance between the floral combination can channel aesthetics as per your taste. Those who want to embrace this trend can surely be inspired by what we have to offer.

A Hallway Wrapped in Florals: 

Whether a huge bungalow or an apartment for two, wallpapers surely add character to any living space. While large prints like Blush the Great Indian Collage Wallpaper are sure to add extra oomph to your living space, small prints like the Beige Inflorescence Dreams Wallpapers add depth and drama to your rooms. Florals are not always fussy and by throwing in a few color-blocking furniture pieces, you can create magic for your spaces. 

Add your greens:

Adding green leaves, ferns, and weeds to the floral design is a great way to introduce a calm and serene environment Greenery through wall decors, dainty furniture, and planters with blooms will allow the design to breathe within the walls. The Feathered Garden Wood benches deck up your hallways and create an exemplary look wherever they are placed. 

The Bird Land Stools, portray a picturesque melange of birds, flowers, and butterflies wandering in nature, the floral prints along with the bird motifs on the bar stool’s upholstery from homegrown label India Circus blends in beautifully on your bar counter. A row of these stools will add a symmetrical touch to your decor. 

Just like bar stools, adding an extra serving table just beside your sofa is always an apt decision. The Warbled Verdure Tray Table comes with floral designs with a dark background and is a functional utility while entertaining guests. It serves as a cocktail table and the design is just suitable for those experimenting steadily with floral designs. 

The Flights of the Vivers Ottoman illustrate the exuberant floral and leafy green motifs These footstools are available in a variety of designs and compositions, our enviable wooden ottomans are filled with every style imaginable to complement your living space. Weighted light, this small ottoman can be moved from room to room to follow the party.

The Bedtime Beauty: 

Your bedroom is the last place you’ll find yourself at night and the first place you wake up in the morning, so creating satisfying surroundings is key for a good mood. Stay away from cluttering the space by overdoing it. Keep it simple with Perianth Drama Blended Cushion Covers that fit seamlessly not only in your bedrooms but also in your living room sofas.

Bed covers can also add to the decor element of your room. The bold floral prints add an artistic touch to your bedside. The Baroque Floral Quilted Rajai and the Parakeet Floral Single Bed Dohar are a few intricately designed bed covers suitable for the floral theme of your bedroom. 

 The Feathered Garden Style Table is another minute floral piece of furniture that fits perfectly beside your bed. The design showcases a harmony of peach, white, and fuchsia blossoms adorned with birds pecking nectar, witnessed by a peacock perched on a branch. They will brighten up the place in no time. The table can hold a water bottle and the Floral Kingdom Paradise Storage Box to keep safe your ornaments, spectacles, or whatever you desire. 

Now that you have an understanding of how to work with floral prints, go ahead and try redecorating your home. From doormats to furniture, floral designs can be adapted and seamlessly blended into any décor element. 

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[jainjari]

Guide To Understanding Chanderi Saree

Also known as woven air, Chanderi sarees are a favorite choice for the modern women of today. A beautiful historic town, called Chanderi, located in Madhya Pradesh, gave birth to Chanderi sarees in the heart of India. They are skillfully handwoven and are a primary source of income for the population of Chanderi town.

Housing over 6000 looms as of today, Chanderi sarees are machine-made in power looms. They are also handcrafted with Dabu, block prints, Bagh, Sanganeri Print, Bandhani, Ajrakh, and an infinite list. One of the recent varieties of Chanderi sarees is the hand-painted collection. The pastel-colored sarees are painted with delicate free strokes of paint. There are two varieties of authentic Chanderi sarees popularly known as Silk Cotton and Katan Silk. Let us find out the different kinds of Chanderi sarees.

Silk Cotton Chanderi: It is one of the most popular choices among women where the warp is mercerized cotton and the weft is silk. The Cotton blend of this Chanderi saree makes it pretty simple to drape and is ideally suitable for the summer season. It is one of those varieties that are widely available for block printing in machine-made fabrics. Here are the points that make silk cotton Chanderi stand out from the rest:

Versatile saree depending on the motif work. You can carry it for work purposes, occasions, or everyday wear.

Perfect choice for summers giving ultimate comfort.

It can be easily draped.

The price ranges from 2500 and more.

Comes in plain zari borders and is woven in various motifs from nature-inspired flora and fauna all over the body.

Katan Silk Chanderi: Katan Silk Chanderi is also known as woven air. It is because they are super light among all the weaves of India. This category of Chanderi has its weft in silk and warp in Resham along with Zari motifs and borders on the body utilizing the extra weft technique. As the saree is weightless, the degumming process does not take place here. Most Scindias and royal families choose these sarees. Here is what makes Katan Silk Chanderi stand out from the rest:

The price ranges from 5000 and more.

Best suited for weddings, festivals, and occasions.

They usually come in woven Nakshi, Banebaar, and Jacquard borders.

There are no thread motifs as they are always made with zari.

Tissue Chanderi: Tissue Chanderi can make you stand out in any gathering when you wear a beautiful saree. Most women fancy this fabric as they make a good drape with a lot of shine. Here are some of the key points that make it stand out from the rest:

The price range is from rupees 8000 and more.

It is one of the most royal-looking Chanderi sarees of all.

It gives a gorgeous drape in a little fluffy fashion.

Apart from these, there are Pattu Silk Chanderi, Chanderi Cotton, and some other varieties.

[stampwithtami]

July 2024 Paper Pumpkin Kit - Painted Petals

JULY 2024  PAPER PUMPKIN KIT Painted Petals KitSubscribe June11 – July 10 | June 2024 Paper Pumpkin Kit  Craft beautiful cards with unique watercolor designs and pretty layers!  - Makes 9 cards: 3 each of 3 designs - Project includes printed cards and coordinating envelopes - Precut paper pieces and embellishments - Coordinating colors: Calypso Coral, Gray Granite (Classic Stampin’ Spot), Melon Mambo, Mossy Meadow, Old Olive SUBSCRIBE LEARN MORE ABOUT PAPER PUMPKIN KITS Special Add On: 🎉 Exclusive Add-On Die: Don't miss the opportunity to enhance your crafting experience with a special add-on die that coordinates seamlessly with kits from July - September! SHOP ADD ONS WHAT ARE PAPER PUMPKIN KITS? Paper Pumpkin Subscription: Monthly Creative Surprises For those craving a regular injection of creative inspiration, the Paper Pumpkin Subscription is a monthly adventure that arrives at your doorstep. Key features include: SUBSCRIBE - Monthly Mail Delight: Subscribers receive a specially curated kit by mail every month. Each package includes designed projects, precut pieces, a stamp set, and ink. It’s like receiving a surprise creative adventure in your mailbox each month. - Exclusive Subscriber Benefits: Subscribers to Paper Pumpkin enjoy special perks, including access to exclusive products and offers. It’s a fantastic way to stay connected with the crafting community and unlock additional creative opportunities. - Endless Possibilities: Where will Paper Pumpkin take you this month? With a subscription, you’ll discover new techniques, themes, and crafting styles. It’s a journey of endless possibilities that keeps your creativity flowing. - Acrylic Block: Your first Paper Pumpkin kit will arrive with a reusable acrylic block for your stamps. - Refills: Depending on availability refills for each month’s kit are often available in my online store while they last. - Control: You have full control over your Paper Pumpkin subscriptions and can take a break / pause, cancel and rejoin at anytime. - Alternate Ideas: Go outside the box each month with me as I share alternate ideas for each Paper Pumpkin kit absolutely free on my blog. See my tutorial gallery here. - PPX Bonus Videos: When you subscribe to Paper Pumpkin kits through me, you’ll receive 6 additional videos for alternate projects to the kit. These PPX videos are exclusive and not available anywhere else. Paper Pumpkin kits have a deadline to subscribe each month by the 10th of the month in order to get that month’s kit. That month’s kit isn’t available after the deadline but depending on availability refills will be available in my online store.  PPX VIDEOS: YOUR EXCLUSIVE EXPERIENCE PPX: YOUR EXCLUSIVE PAPER PUMPKIN EXPERIENCE Are you new to paper-crafting, or maybe you’re a dedicated DIY enthusiast with a passion for crafting? If so, you’re in for a treat! Introducing PPX – an exclusive video tutorial program specially curated for our beloved Paper Pumpkin subscribers. For those unfamiliar, Paper Pumpkin is a crafting kit subscription service by Stampin’ Up, delivering a delightful box of creative goodies to your doorstep each month. Now, let’s dive into the exciting world of PPX and discover how it adds an extra layer of joy to your crafting experience. The Magic of Paper Pumpkin:Before we delve into the exclusive video tutorials, let’s take a moment to appreciate the magic of Paper Pumpkin craft kits. As a subscriber, each month brings a new and beautifully curated kit filled with all the materials you need for a creative project. From cards and scrapbooking to home décor and more, Paper Pumpkin provides endless crafting possibilities for both beginners and seasoned crafters. Your Personal Crafting Companion:For those who have fallen in love with the artistry of Paper Pumpkin, PPX is here to elevate your crafting adventure. As an active Paper Pumpkin subscriber, you gain access to six exclusive video tutorials every month, crafted with care and creativity by our team. These tutorials go beyond the instructions in the kit, offering alternate ideas to spark your imagination. Stretching Your Creativity:What sets PPX apart is its commitment to helping you stretch the value of your Paper Pumpkin kit. Each video tutorial takes you on a journey, exploring different ways to use the kit contents and create alternate projects. Whether you’re a beginner looking to expand your crafting skills or a seasoned pro seeking fresh inspiration, PPX is designed to cater to all levels of expertise. Exclusive Access for Subscribers:The exclusivity of PPX isn’t just limited to Paper Pumpkin subscribers; it extends to those who join through a Paper Pumpkin crew member and to my Stamp It Demonstrator Group. This means that when you become part of our crafting community, you’re not only getting the amazing Paper Pumpkin kits but also unlocking the door to a treasure trove of additional creative insights. A Glimpse Into My Crafty World:As a fervent Paper Pumpkin enthusiast, I’ve dedicated an entire gallery of videos to showcase the monthly kits. From unboxing the surprises to guiding you through the crafting process, my goal is to share the joy and excitement that comes with each Paper Pumpkin delivery. Join me on this crafting journey, and let’s explore the endless possibilities together. PPX is more than just a video tutorial program – it’s a community-driven initiative that celebrates the art of crafting. If you’re ready to take your Paper Pumpkin experience to new heights, become an active subscriber today and unlock the exclusive world of PPX. Let the crafting adventures begin! SUBSCRIBE SUBSCRIPTION VS PREPAID CODESWHICH SHOULD I CHOOSE? There are two ways to subscribe to Paper Pumpkin.1. First, we offer a monthly subscription where you pay as you go which is automatic each month. SUBSCRIBE TO PAPER PUMPKIN 2. Secondly, we offer prepaid subscriptions which allow you to pay ahead or give as a gift. Prepaids can be purchased in my online store. After you purchase a subscription, we’ll email you a prepaid code to redeem here at www.paperpumpkin.com to set up your subscription to start receiving your kits. UPCOMING KITS    Read the full article

[blockart65]

Embrace Tradition with Blockart's Ajrakh Print Sarees and Chanderi Salwar Suits

In the vibrant world of Indian textiles, few styles captivate the senses and convey tradition as compellingly as Ajrakh print sarees and Chanderi salwar suits. These timeless garments reflect the rich cultural heritage of India, offering a blend of history, craftsmanship, and elegance. Blockart, a brand synonymous with quality and authenticity, brings you an exquisite collection of Ajrakh print sarees and Chanderi salwar suits that celebrate these age-old techniques while appealing to modern sensibilities.

The Allure of Ajrakh Print Sarees

Ajrakh, a traditional block-printing technique, originates from the regions of Gujarat and Rajasthan. This art form is distinguished by its intricate patterns, predominantly featuring geometric and floral motifs, rendered in deep, natural dyes. The process of creating an Ajrakh print is labor-intensive and requires meticulous attention to detail, resulting in a fabric that is both visually striking and steeped in heritage.

Craftsmanship and Technique

The making of an Ajrakh print saree involves a series of complex steps, each contributing to the final masterpiece. The process begins with the preparation of the fabric, typically high-quality cotton or silk, which is washed and treated to ensure it is ready for dyeing. The fabric is then printed using hand-carved wooden blocks dipped in natural dyes derived from indigo, madder root, and other organic sources.

The multiple stages of dyeing and resist printing create layers of patterns and colors, giving Ajrakh its characteristic depth and vibrancy. This meticulous process can take several days or even weeks to complete, showcasing the dedication and skill of the artisans involved.

Styling and Versatility

Ajrakh print sarees from Blockart are a testament to timeless elegance and versatility. The rich, earthy tones and intricate designs make them suitable for a variety of occasions, from casual gatherings to formal events. Pair an Ajrakh saree with traditional jewelry for a classic look, or style it with contemporary accessories to create a fusion of old and new.

The Elegance of Chanderi Salwar Suits

Chanderi fabric, originating from the town of Chanderi in Madhya Pradesh, is renowned for its sheer texture, lightweight feel, and luxurious finish. This fabric has been a favorite among royalty and continues to be a symbol of grace and sophistication in modern fashion. Blockart’s collection of Chanderi salwar suits showcases the delicate beauty and enduring appeal of this exquisite fabric.

Rich Heritage and Weaving Technique

The weaving of Chanderi fabric is a tradition that dates back several centuries, blending influences from Persian, Mughal, and indigenous Indian artistry. The unique characteristics of Chanderi fabric come from the combination of silk and cotton yarns, resulting in a material that is both strong and delicate.

The intricate motifs woven into Chanderi fabric often include traditional designs such as peacocks, lotuses, and geometric patterns. These motifs are created using a technique known as "extra weft," where the patterns are woven directly into the fabric, giving it a distinctive, embossed appearance.

Styling and Versatility

Blockart’s Chanderi salwar suits are the epitome of elegance, suitable for a wide range of occasions. The lightweight and breathable nature of Chanderi makes it ideal for both daytime and evening wear, ensuring comfort without compromising on style. These suits can be paired with minimalistic jewelry for a graceful, understated look, or adorned with statement pieces for a more glamorous appeal.

Why Choose Blockart?

Blockart is committed to preserving and promoting traditional Indian textiles, offering garments that are not only beautiful but also ethically produced. By supporting local artisans and using sustainable practices, Blockart ensures that each piece in their collection is crafted with care and respect for both the art and the environment.

Quality and Authenticity

Blockart takes pride in delivering high-quality products that are true to their cultural roots. Each Ajrakh print saree and Chanderi salwar suit is meticulously crafted, ensuring that you receive a garment that is both authentic and durable. The use of natural dyes and handwoven fabrics further enhances the quality and appeal of these pieces.

Sustainable and Ethical Practices

In an age where fast fashion dominates, Blockart stands out by championing sustainable and ethical practices. By working directly with artisans and using eco-friendly materials, Blockart not only supports traditional crafts but also minimizes its environmental impact. When you choose Blockart, you are not just purchasing a beautiful garment; you are also contributing to a more sustainable and equitable fashion industry.

Embracing Tradition with Modern Flair

While Ajrakh print sarees and Chanderi salwar suits are steeped in tradition, they also offer endless possibilities for modern styling. Blockart’s collections are designed to be versatile, allowing you to experiment with different looks and accessories. Whether you prefer a classic, traditional style or a contemporary fusion, these garments can be adapted to suit your personal taste.

Tips for Styling Ajrakh Print Sarees

Traditional Elegance: Pair your Ajrakh saree with antique silver jewelry and a bindi for a timeless, traditional look.

Contemporary Chic: For a modern twist, accessorize with bold, geometric jewelry and a sleek hairstyle.

Casual Comfort: Wear your saree with minimalistic jewelry and comfortable footwear for a relaxed, everyday look.

Tips for Styling Chanderi Salwar Suits

Graceful and Elegant: Complete your Chanderi salwar suit with delicate gold jewelry and a classic updo for an elegant appearance.

Modern Fusion: Mix and match your Chanderi suit with contemporary accessories like statement earrings and a chic handbag.

Festive Flair: Add a touch of glamour with intricate jewelry and embellished footwear for festive occasions.

Conclusion

Blockart’s Ajrakh print sarees and Chanderi salwar suits offer a perfect blend of tradition and modernity, allowing you to embrace your cultural heritage while expressing your unique style. Each piece is a testament to the skill and dedication of the artisans, crafted with care and attention to detail. By choosing Blockart, you are not only enhancing your wardrobe with exquisite garments but also supporting sustainable and ethical fashion practices. Celebrate the timeless beauty of Indian textiles with Blockart and make a statement of elegance and sophistication.

[worldseoservicesvandana]

Journey from Udaipur to Sanghiji Temple, Sanganer with Shree Laxmi Taxi

Udaipur, famously known as the "City of Lakes," is a magnificent city located in the state of Rajasthan, India. Renowned for its rich cultural heritage, splendid palaces, and serene lakes, Udaipur is a major tourist attraction. However, beyond the city’s borders lies another gem, the Sanghiji Temple in Sanganer. This remarkable Jain temple, located near Jaipur, is a testament to intricate craftsmanship and spiritual significance. Traveling from Udaipur to Sanghiji Temple, Sanganer is an enriching experience, especially when you choose a reliable service like Shree Laxmi Taxi for your journey.

Exploring Udaipur: The Starting Point

Before embarking on the journey to Sanghiji Temple, it’s worth exploring some of Udaipur’s key attractions. The City Palace, a monumental complex that overlooks Lake Pichola, offers a glimpse into the royal history of Rajasthan. The intricate architecture, coupled with museums and galleries within the palace, provides a rich cultural experience.

The serene Lake Pichola, with its enchanting boat rides, offers stunning views of the surrounding palaces and ghats. The Jag Mandir and the Lake Palace situated on islands within the lake are prime examples of Udaipur's architectural splendor. Additionally, the Jagdish Temple, an ancient Hindu temple dedicated to Lord Vishnu, showcases intricate carvings and a rich spiritual atmosphere.

The Journey Begins: Udaipur to Sanganer

The journey from Udaipur to Sanghiji Temple, Sanganer spans approximately 430 kilometers and takes around 7-8 hours by road. Opting for Shree Laxmi Taxi ensures a comfortable and hassle-free travel experience. With professional drivers and well-maintained vehicles, Shree Laxmi Taxi is dedicated to making your journey pleasant and memorable.

The Route

The route primarily follows National Highway 48, a well-maintained highway connecting Udaipur and Jaipur. The drive is scenic, offering glimpses of Rajasthan’s diverse landscapes. From the arid deserts to the lush greenery along the Aravalli Range, the changing scenery keeps the journey interesting.

Comfort and Convenience with Shree Laxmi Taxi

Traveling long distances can be taxing, but Shree Laxmi Taxi’s commitment to comfort makes a significant difference. The fleet of vehicles is equipped with modern amenities, ensuring a smooth and comfortable ride. Air-conditioned cars, spacious seating, and clean interiors are some of the highlights that make the journey enjoyable.

The drivers at Shree Laxmi Taxi are not only experienced in navigating long routes but are also courteous and knowledgeable. They ensure a safe journey and are often willing to share interesting tidbits about the places you pass by, adding an extra layer of enrichment to your travel experience.

Sanganer: A Town of Rich Heritage

As you approach Sanganer, the town’s rich heritage becomes evident. Sanganer is renowned for its traditional crafts, especially hand-block printing on textiles and handmade paper. The vibrant markets are a treasure trove of beautifully crafted items that make for perfect souvenirs.

The Magnificent Sanghiji Temple

The Sanghiji Temple, also known as the Shri Digamber Jain Temple, is the highlight of Sanganer. This temple is an architectural marvel, renowned for its intricate carvings and serene ambiance. Built in the 10th century, the temple is dedicated to the seventh Tirthankara, Shri Rishabh Dev.

The temple’s architecture is a fine example of the ancient artistic heritage of Rajasthan. The detailed carvings on the pillars, ceilings, and walls are mesmerizing, showcasing stories from Jain scriptures and depictions of various deities. The temple complex is peaceful, offering a tranquil space for meditation and spiritual reflection.

The inner sanctum of the temple houses the main idol of Shri Rishabh Dev, a beautiful and finely carved figure that evokes a deep sense of reverence. The calm and serene environment within the temple complex allows visitors to immerse themselves in spiritual contemplation.

Spiritual Significance

For Jain devotees, Sanghiji Temple holds immense spiritual significance. It is a major pilgrimage site, attracting devotees from across the country. The temple is particularly known for its annual fairs and festivals, which are celebrated with great fervor and attract large gatherings of devotees and tourists alike.

Exploring Sanganer

After visiting the Sanghiji Temple, take some time to explore the town of Sanganer. The town’s markets offer a unique shopping experience with a range of traditional Rajasthani crafts. Hand-block printed textiles, with their intricate designs and vibrant colors, are a must-buy. Additionally, Sanganer’s handmade paper products, made using traditional methods, are popular for their quality and uniqueness.

Conclusion: A Journey to Remember

Traveling from Udaipur to Sanghiji Temple, Sanganer with Shree Laxmi Taxi is not just a journey between two places, but an exploration of Rajasthan’s rich cultural and spiritual heritage. The journey offers a blend of scenic beauty, comfort, and a deep dive into the architectural and spiritual splendors of Rajasthan.

Choosing Shree Laxmi Taxi for this journey ensures a comfortable and enriching travel experience. Their dedication to providing quality service, coupled with the scenic and spiritual richness of the route, makes this journey a memorable one. Whether you are a devout pilgrim or a curious traveler, the trip from Udaipur to Sanghiji Temple, Sanganer is bound to leave you with lasting memories and a deeper appreciation for Rajasthan’s cultural heritage.

[ratanjaipur1]

Shop Premium Jaipuri Cotton Quilts and Dohar for Summer Online

When it comes to ensuring a good night's sleep, the right bedding can make all the difference. Whether you're looking for warmth during cooler months or a light, airy cover for the summer, choosing the perfect quilt is essential. In this blog, we'll explore the charm of cotton quilts, the luxury of premium Jaipuri quilts available online, and the comfort of Dohar for summer.

Why Choose Cotton Quilts?

Cotton quilts are a timeless favorite for many reasons. They are soft, breathable, and perfect for year-round use. Cotton's natural fibers allow for excellent air circulation, keeping you cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Additionally, cotton quilts are hypoallergenic, making them a great choice for people with allergies or sensitive skin. Their durability ensures they can withstand regular use and washing, maintaining their quality over time.

Exploring Premium Jaipuri Quilts Online

If you're looking for a touch of elegance and tradition, premium Jaipuri quilts are the way to go. These quilts are handcrafted in Jaipur, India, known for its rich cultural heritage and intricate craftsmanship. Jaipuri quilts often feature beautiful block prints, vibrant colors, and unique designs that add a luxurious feel to any bedroom. Shopping for premium Jaipuri quilts online gives you access to a wide range of options, allowing you to find the perfect piece that matches your style and preferences. Plus, buying online is convenient, with detailed descriptions and customer reviews to help guide your purchase.

The Perfect Dohar for Summer

As the temperature rises, staying cool and comfortable at night becomes a priority. This is where a Dohar for summer comes in handy. Dohars are lightweight, making them ideal for warmer weather. They typically consist of three layers of soft cotton, providing just the right amount of coverage without causing overheating. Dohars are also versatile – they can be used as a throw on the couch, an extra layer on the bed, or even a picnic blanket. Their easy maintenance and quick drying time make them a practical choice for summer bedding.

Conclusion

Incorporating the right quilt into your bedding collection can enhance your sleeping experience significantly. Whether you prefer the versatility of cotton quilts, the elegance of premium Jaipuri quilts online, or the light comfort of a dohar for summer, there are plenty of options to suit your needs. Explore these bedding solutions and enjoy a comfortable and restful night's sleep all year round.