Chapter Text
San’s eyes rove over the crowd again, trying to see if he can find the other end, but as always, his string disappears somewhere, tangled with no other end in sight.
He massages his finger absently.
The end attached to his finger looks more and more frayed as days pass. Almost as if they’re about to let go, whoever they are.
He doesn’t want that. But he can’t do anything.
He wishes it were as easy as telling them it’s alright, it’ll be fine. But it’s not. And he can see the string turning dull, an old, rusted red.
It makes him sad.
He’s trying his hardest, but at the back of his mind, he’s always wondering if the other end is still the bright, vibrant red that he’s trying to project. If that’s already lost, then he doesn’t know what’ll work.
San doesn’t want to lose his soulmate without even meeting them.
He blinks, shaking his head imperceptibly to drive away the thought. It’s fine, it’s just another day when he gets through with his business in the world without his other half.
Somewhere, out there, they’re probably thinking of him too; he shouldn’t lose hope. After all, the fact that the string still exists implies that they care. And that’s all he needs.
Knowing they care.
He also needs them to know that he cares, possibly much more than he should. But the other end should give his soulmate the same message.
Sometimes, he wishes he was like his friend Hongjoong, with the ability to communicate with his soulmate, if even in the slightest. Or even
Jongho. Though that scares him; he’s not sure he’d be able to share such a bond with a person only to be ripped away from them in the blink of an eye (quite literally).
In one way or another, he feels like all his friends have it better than him. He shouldn’t think that, of course. They’re all varying levels of sensitive, it’s not fair for him to be resentful. Mingi’s soulmate doesn’t even seem to like him; San can’t imagine how the poor boy would feel if he ever met them.
He makes his way through the crowd, slipping into the building soon enough.
He just wants to meet his soulmate. He just wants to be with his soulmate.
And all he can do at present is hope that they don’t give up on him. The colour of the string scares him.
Stop, San. You’re not supposed to be thinking of this.
He forces himself to smile. Smiles are good, they’re positive.
At that moment, Wooyoung pokes his head out from under the counter, and San actually laughs. The other boy spits out a petal and glares at him. “Sure, let’s laugh at him because he inhales pollen all the time.”
San laughs harder, but it still sends a pang of something through him, seeing the daffodils. It happens only when Wooyoung and his soulmate feel the same emotion, and the flowers are a pretty good indication of their shared emotion.
Happiness.
Wooyoung’s ears are already red, San has eyes.
“Let’s laugh at him because he’s been looking for
the other end of his string but he can’t see that far.” He says in return, and predictably, Wooyoung lets out a shriek, dissolving into laughter.
As long as someone’s happy.
San spends the next few minutes organising the shelves, stroking petals lovingly as he arranges leaves, making sure they don’t get tangled up with each other.
He likes working here. Being a florist had been his dream since he was a child, despite him not owning the shop. Perhaps he could, one day in the future when he doesn’t have silly things to deal with, and has a nice, heavy wallet to back his whims up.
The door opens, and San allows Wooyoung to deal with the customer, choosing to give his full attention to flowers instead.
It’s only when he hears someone choking that he tears his attention away from his babies.
It’s ironic that Wooyoung isn’t the best receptor to pollen, when he literally grows flowers out of his skin.
Plastering on his best smile, San turns to address the customer, belatedly wondering why Wooyoung seems perfectly fine, but the words die down in his throat.
Standing next to the counter is you, and San can see the string on your little finger. It leads right back to his hand, hanging limp by his side.
No wonder Wooyoung wasn’t coughing. He doesn’t even know what’s just transpired, the string invisible to all but the ones who are tied by it.
San stares at you, and you stare back, neither able to utter a word. Your eyes flit down to his hand, and he shifts defensively as he curls his finger inward, trying to hide the string the best he can.
“Oh.” The word finally leaves your mouth, and San’s ears zone in on it, skin prickling.
“I was about to give up.”
The words wash over him like icy water, and it takes physical effort to not let his face contort with the pain his heart is currently feeling.
“I almost can’t believe I found you again.” You keep going, and the words reach San, but he can’t understand, he’s still stuck on I was about to give up.
You quieten down too, and that’s when his brain catches up. Or his mouth does, he can’t really tell. “What if you hadn’t?”
Out of the corner of his eyes, Wooyoung is shuffling away from the counter and going over to the storage room, and San appreciates him for that.
You give a weak smile, and San can’t look at you.
“Then I guess you’d have stayed with that ugly colour for longer.”
He looks down at his hand; sure enough, the string no longer looks worn out. It looks loving, as weird as that is, and it threatens to make emotion well up in him that he does not want to deal with. Not right now.
But his mind goes back to how it used to look, and all that he felt for it. “Don’t.” He says, swallowing around a lump in his throat, “Don’t call it ugly. It’s not, and it wasn’t. I liked it, however it was. Even if you were going to give up.”
The last sentence is cutting, and he wishes he could take it back but he can’t, and he supposes that’s fine, with the way you’ve hurt him. But it’s also not fine at all, the way his heart squeezes and hurts and makes it hard for him to breathe. He can’t forgive himself for saying something like that.
Instead, your smile brightens, and San’s hit by a wave of fondness, and he hates himself a bit for getting swayed so easily. Only when it comes to his soulmate.
“I’d give up only on finding you actively. I could try and love you from afar till we met again, instead of searching for you ever since I got a glimpse of you, weeks back. I must say it’s quite unfair, you walk way too fast.”
The ground seems to wobble under his feet, and San is dragged back to the day when he’d been out with Mingi, and he’d had enough of his friend’s yapping and walked away, even though his heart had felt so heavy, as if he were walking away from home. That was the last day the string had had the rich colour that’s slowly come back to it.
He meets your eyes again.
You still smile at him.
And San still loves you.
He cracks a smile back, before crossing the distance across the room.
He takes your hand in his, watching as your fingers intertwine with his, the string hilariously short now; one end tied around your finger, the other around his.
Then he’s pulling you to him, enveloping you in his arms and allowing himself to hold you for the first time.