Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

o

Shuaibo had lived his whole life without seeing the color gray. To him, the world was a kaleidoscope of bright and bold colors. He loved every shade of red, yellow, and green. However, the color gray was a mystery to him.

In a world where soulmates were not just a myth but a tangible reality, everyone saw the world in vibrant hues—except for one color that remained invisible to each person until they met their soulmate. This hidden color was unique to every individual, a secret shade locked away until the moment their destined other appeared.

Shuaibo dreamed of the day he would meet his soulmate. He dreamed of the day of meeting the person who would unlock gray for him.

Steven, however, had never seen the color blue. The sky and the ocean were colors he knew only by name, but never truly saw. And he didn’t care to find out. You see, Steven resented the idea of soulmates. Ever since his father walked out on their family when he met his own soulmate late in life. Watching his mother’s heartbreak, Steven grew bitter. His belief in soulmates crumbled. To him, the idea was a cruel joke—a promise of happiness that often ended in pain.

i

It was Shuaibo’s first day teaching at AHOF Academy. Shuaibo was excited to start a new stage in his life. Moving to a new city hadn’t been an easy choice, but he needed this. Today marked the beginning of a new chapter in his life.

Growing up, Shuaibo had never been particularly interested in history. In fact, most people were surprised when he chose to specialize in it during college. After all, everyone knew him as the theater kid. Theater had been his first love. But everything changed during one class production. The play was based on a true story from ancient times, and Shuaibo was instantly captivated by it. It was then that he realized how fascinating stories of the past could be. So, with the support of his parents, he made the bold decision to switch majors and pursue education with a focus on history.

After a quick introduction by the principal to the rest of the school’s faculty, he made his way to his first class of the day equipped with his teaching materials. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, and perhaps it was the nervousness that caused him to miss a step on the stairs and collide with the person in front of him.

His notes and books tumbled to the floor with a harsh clatter. Shuaibo cursed softly under his breath as he bent down to gather them. He looked up, ready to apologize, but the words caught in his throat when he met the sharp, narrowed eyes of the person he’d bumped into. The man’s face was set in a scowl.

“Watch where you’re going,” the person snapped, bending to pick up the scattered books.

“I’m so sorry,” Shuaibo stammered, kneeling to help. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

The stranger straightened, brushing off his hands. “You should be. This isn’t a playground.”

Shuaibo’s smile faltered but didn’t disappear. “I’m new here. Just trying to find my way.”

The hardness in the stranger’s gaze didn’t soften at all. “Well, try harder.”

As the stranger handed him his notes, their fingers brushed ever so slightly.

And that’s when it happened.

In a blink, Shuaibo’s surroundings shifted. The dull, familiar colors of the hallway deepened, and for the first time, the soft, elusive gray hues came into view.

For a second, neither of them spoke. 

Shuaibo blinked, trying to steady himself.

“I—Wha—” Shuaibo began, but before he could finish, the stranger turned sharply on his heel and strode away without a word.

Zhang Shuaibo just met his soulmate. And he was an asshole.

Steven Kim didn’t believe in soulmates. Or rather, he didn’t believe he would ever have one. Of course, he knew soulmates existed—the notion had been ingrained in his mind since he was a child. That was all people talked about. It was an understood part of life.

As a kid, he’d been drawn to the idea. The way adults spoke about soulmates—the person destined to complete you, to fill in the missing colors of your world—it sounded like something out of a fairy tale. A beautiful dream.

 But that’s the thing about dreams. They can easily turn into nightmares.

Steven’s nightmare began when he was 14. He had always known his parents weren’t soulmates—they never tried to hide it. In fact, they wore it like a badge of honor. They boasted about defying destiny. They were the masters of their own fate. Their love, they claimed, was stronger than any preconceived fate the universe could impose.

Until his father met that other woman, that unlocked the color orange for him. And suddenly, his father wouldn’t shut up about sunsets, fires, autumn leaves, and other random objects. At first, nothing happened. His father and the woman had begun talking, spending time together, but his father made it clear to the woman that he was married, that he had a family. Yet the pull was too strong to resist. Slowly, inevitably, he slipped away—abandoning his wife, abandoning Steven. And for what? In pursuit of a selfish desire?

To this day, Steven couldn’t fathom how someone could forsake everything for a stranger, how they could turn their back on the people who loved them most.

Soulmates, to Steven, were a cruel thing.

And Steven didn’t want a part in it. He couldn’t care less if he never found out what the sky and the sea truly looked like. After all, how could he long for something he hadn’t even seen yet?

So, that’s why his encounter with the stranger earlier left him unsettled. Now, Steven found himself drawn to the large windows lining the school hallway, his gaze fixed on the sky beyond.

No longer was the sky black and white. Instead, it was a brilliant canvas of blue so vivid it seemed almost unreal.

It was breathtaking.

Just like the stranger.

“Mister Kim, you are late again!”

Steven tore his eyes away from the window as the sharp voice of the school principal cut through the quiet. He watched as the principal strode toward him, her expression a mix of sternness and exasperation.

“My class doesn’t start until 7:30 AM,” Steven replied coolly, glancing at his watch. It was just past 7:15 AM.

“But you knew we had a staff meeting at 6:45 AM.” The principal pointed out, folding her arms. “You weren’t there to welcome our new history teacher.”

Ah. So, that was the identity of the stranger from earlier. His soulmate.

Steven’s lips curled into a dry smile. “I’ll be sure to bring him a welcome basket next time, then.”

The principal opened her mouth to retort, but Steven cut her off smoothly.

“Well, better get to the gym then. Wouldn’t want to be late for my first class, right? Gotta make sure our students are all fit and healthy!”

“Mr. Kim! I am not done talking to you!” the principal called after him, but Steven was already turning away, the echo of her voice fading as he headed toward the gym.

Throughout the week, Shuaibo had tried repeatedly to talk to Steven, but each time, Steven seemed to slip away just out of reach. Whether in the hallways, the cafeteria, or even passing by classrooms, Steven avoided eye contact and kept his distance. The more Shuaibo reached out, the more elusive Steven became. 

Doubt began to creep into Shuaibo’s mind. Was the idea of soulmates truly mutual? Could it be that Steven was his soulmate, but Shuaibo wasn’t Steven’s? Maybe Steven hadn’t felt anything change when their fingers brushed.

But if that were true, why was Steven so intent on avoiding him?

By Friday night, Shuaibo was just restless and confused. Even as he settled in front of his laptop for a video call with his best friends, uncertainty continued to gnaw at him.

As the familiar faces of Woongki and Chih En, who still lived in their hometown, appeared on his screen, Shuaibo felt a flicker of ache in his chest. Fridays had always been their night to go out after work, but since Shuaibo had moved to a new city, they had promised to keep their tradition alive through virtual hangouts.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed his friends until he saw their faces again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Woongki said in lieu of a greeting. Shuaibo would be offended, but even he had to admit he didn’t look his best. The stress of trying to talk to Steven was manifesting physically with deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his usually bright expression was dulled by exhaustion. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Ki.” Shuaibo muttered under his breath.

Chih En cleared his throat loudly. “I think what he means is, how are you?”

Shuaibo took a deep breath, his fingers curling around the cold bottle of beer sitting on the desk before him. He lifted it to his lips and took a long swig, the bitter liquid grounding him for a moment.

“I think I found my soulmate.” Shuaibo said quickly, afraid that if he didn’t say anything soon he would change his mind.

“You what?!” Woongki screeched, his voice rising in pitch and crackling through the laptop’s poor speakers. “Who is it? What’s his name? Is he another teacher? Are you two together now?”

Shuaibo was overwhelmed by the rapid-fire questions, his mind scrambling to keep up. He opened his mouth to answer, but Chih En’s voice beat him to it.

“What do you mean, ‘you think?’” Chih En asked with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not sure?”

 “No, I’m sure.” Shuaibo said firmly with a nod. “I can see gray now.” He said with a dreamy wonder in his voice. He could see the fondness on his friend’s faces as he did. 

“It really is,” Woongki agreed, leaning closer to the screen. “So, who is this person?”

“He’s another teacher at the academy, yes,” Shuaibo replied, the memory of their brief encounter still vivid.

“What is he like?” Chih En asked, “Are you two together now?”

“No.” He answered.

“No?” Woongki echoed, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Why not? When Jeongwoo and I first met, we couldn’t let each other out of our sights for weeks. It was borderline codependency.” 

“Oh, I remember,” Shuaibo said, recalling the countless times he’d walked in on Woongki and Jeongwoo making out in every corner of their shared apartment. At one point, Shuaibo had even had to have a serious talk with both of them about keeping some decorum in shared spaces.

“What happened, Zhangshu?” Chih En asked with a look of concern.

Shuaibo glanced at the images of his friends on screen before reaching for his beer and taking another swig.

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “I haven’t really spoken to him. I tried, but he keeps avoiding me.”

Woongki and Chih En exchanged looks, their expressions shifting to quiet concern. Neither said a word, as if unsure how to respond.

Shuaibo pressed on, his voice low. “His name is Steven. Steven Kim. He’s the gym teacher at the school.” He paused, swallowing hard. “We met on my first day. We collided on the staircase, and when he helped me pick up my things, our hands touched—and suddenly, I could see gray.”

He took another drink of his beer. It was nearly empty. Damn. He needed to pace himself.

“I wanted to talk to him then, but he acted so strange. He just walked away. And every time I try to approach him, he avoids me. If we see each other in the hallway, he walks the other way.”

Shuaibo refused to meet his friends’ eyes, afraid of the pity he might see reflected there. Instead, he stared down at his beer bottle.

“At first I thought maybe I was the only one, you know?” Shuaibo’s voice wavered slightly as he ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling just a little. “Maybe he’s my soulmate, but I’m not his? Has that ever happened? I don’t know.” He swallowed hard, the knot in his stomach tightening. “But… I know he felt something. He must have. Something must have changed for him that day. Else, why would he be avoiding me?”

His mind replayed the moments since that first touch—the way Steven’s eyes had darkened whenever they crossed paths, the coldness that had settled between. Shuaibo recalled their interactions when they were forced to be around each other. The sharp glares, the curt replies, the way he’d step aside as if Shuaibo was some kind of inconvenience—each action stung more than the last. 

He felt a pang of hurt and confusion. The thought that his soulmate might be rejecting him was almost unbearable.

Woongki and Chih En listened quietly, their faces serious, absorbing every word.

After a long pause, Chih En finally broke the silence, his voice low and serious. “There’s something seriously wrong with that guy.”

Before Shuaibo could respond, Woongki jumped in, his tone firm and reassuring. “If he really is your soulmate, the pull would be too hard to resist. You can’t fight it. He must feel something towards you. He must be drawn to you.”

Shuaibo looked up at the screen. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Woongki insisted. Shuaibo knew that if he could, Woongki would have been by his side, hugging him and squeezing his hand. “Meeting your soulmate isn’t just about seeing an extra color. It changes everything. You feel it deep in your body—a connection that goes far beyond attraction. It’s like you’re pulled so completely into the other person that it feels as if you’ve known them your whole life. Your soul just knows something has changed. You crave their presence constantly, and no matter how much time you spend together, it’s never enough. It’s as if your soul wants to absorb every part of them. It’s maddening, overwhelming, but somehow, it makes you feel whole.”

Shuaibo sat back, letting Woongki’s words wash over him.

“Wow,” Chih En finally said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile. “That really does sound like codependency.”

Woongki’s glare was unmistakable, even through the screen, his eyes narrowing in mock offense.

“Shut up!” Woongki shot back. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ll say I’m right when you find your soulmate.”

Chih En opened his mouth to retort, but Shuaibo cut in before he could. “So, what do I do?”

Woongki’s answer was blunt. “Honestly? Try harder.”

Shuaibo’s brow furrowed into a scowl. What did Woongki think he’d been doing all week? Reaching out, trying to talk, only to be met with cold shoulders and avoidance.

He was about to voice his frustration when Chih En gently interjected. “I think what Woongki is trying to say is, we can’t know for certain why this Steven person is acting this way. But if he really is your soulmate, the universe will find a way for you two to interact. Just give it some time.”

Time? Time was something he could give. Yes, he could wait. 

He would wait.

“I met my soulmate today,” Han announced, his voice louder than necessary in order to cut through the noise of the bar.

Steven raised an eyebrow, not looking up from his glass. “You don’t sound happy.”

Han sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s weird, right? I should be happy. He’s really cute and nice. His name is JL.”

Steven’s mind clicked into place. Han was a very open person. He often dubbed himself as a screaming bisexual. But everyone knew he leaned towards women.

The idea of him finding a soulmate wasn’t surprising, but the hesitation in his voice was.

“What color?” Steven decided to ask.

Han chuckled lightly, “Fucking pink.”

“You couldn’t see pink this entire time?”

“Shut up!” Han chastised and after a moment, he said quietly, “Maybe you’re right.”

Steven smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “I often am.”

“Fuck off,” Han shot back, but the edge was gone, replaced by a reluctant smile.

Steven laughed softly. “What am I right about?”

Han’s grin faded, replaced by a seriousness that made Steven’s chest tighten. “Maybe this soulmate thing really is a scam.”

A part of Steven wanted to share his own experience of meeting his soulmate with his friend, but decided against it. It wouldn’t be fair to unload his own mess right now. Han was already tangled up in his own complicated mess with his soulmate. So instead, Steven downed the entire glass of amber liquid in front of him in one swift gulp—-the burn of the whiskey down his throat was both pleasurable and painful. 

The week had been a bitch. Not because of the work, the students, or even the old principal. No, it was because Steven had spent every waking moment trying to avoid Zhang Shuaibo—his stupid, fucking soulmate. They worked in different departments; their paths should have barely crossed except during the occasional morning faculty huddle. But Shuaibo seemed determined to test Steven’s willpower. Ever since that first day, Steven had felt something deep inside him ache, a strange pull he couldn’t explain. It was as if some part of his soul was desperate to be near Shuaibo’s presence.

And on top of everything else, Steven couldn’t deny that Shuaibo was a good-looking man. Shuaibo was an extremely, painfully, good-looking man. While he had noticed how beautiful Shuaibo was the first time they’d crossed paths by the staircase, he hadn’t really registered Shuaibo’s appearance. His mind was too preoccupied with the realization that he could now see a completely new color. But as the days passed, Steven found himself stealing glances whenever he could, unable to ignore how devastatingly beautiful Shuaibo was. His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and intense dark eyes ignited a fire beneath Steven’s skin. He found himself fixating on the curve of Shuaibo’s neck, the strong line of his shoulders, and the subtle flex of muscles.

Truly, the pull was magnetic. Steven felt it in the quickening of his heartbeat just by seeing the other man. Everything about him was captivating. Even the smallest gestures—the way Shuaibo tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear or the way the corner of his lips curved up when he laughed with the other faculty—sent a jolt through Steven. It left him restless.

Shuaibo’s existence left him restless.

But he tried to fight it—tried to control it. He put as much space between them as he could, even going so far as to be almost downright mean to Shuaibo. Yet, there was only so much one could do to avoid a coworker. And against his better judgment, Steven felt his resolve crumble a little more with each passing day.

Shuaibo was his soulmate, and Steven fucking hated it.

“Fuck,” He cursed under his breath, catching Han’s attention.

“You all right there, bro?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He dismissed, suddenly realizing that he was allowing himself to get pulled in. “I need to go.”

Han’s brow furrowed deeper. “What? It’s only 9:00 PM.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll see you next time, yeah?” Steven said, pushing himself up from the barstool and moving toward the exit.

Outside, the cool night air hit him like a sharp slap. He fished his phone from his pocket, fingers trembling slightly as he dialed a familiar number. The phone rang a few times before a warm voice answered.

“Hello?”

The sound was enough to send a fresh ache through his chest, but he needed this. He needed a reminder of the real pain soulmates could cause.

“Hi, Mom.”

The conversation with his mother had been sobering. He told her everything. He told her about meeting his soulmate. The sound of his mother’s voice over the speaker was warm, steady, and comforting—it was everything he needed to hear at that moment.

“Not every man is like your father.”

She had said after he finished recounting his first meeting with Shuaibo.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making words difficult. “But what if he is? What if I am?”

“My darling son,” his mother’s voice was steady, a balm to his frayed nerves. “You are not defined by anyone but yourself. Your path is yours to choose, no matter what shadows the past casts. Love can be messy and painful, yes, but it can also be beautiful and healing.”

His voice trembled as he admitted, “It’s too much, Mom.”

“One step at a time, then,” she replied gently. “My pain is not yours. Your father’s decisions are not yours. You are your own person.”

He took a shaky breath, feeling the tight knot in his chest loosen just a little. “All right.”

He could hear the smile on his mother’s lips as she spoke, “At the very least, Steven, be polite. I didn’t raise you to be a rude man.”

Steven let out a laugh at her gentle scolding. “Yes, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

And so, Steven promised himself he would be polite to Shuaibo—polite but distant. He would keep his distance to prevent any more interactions that might unravel the fragile control he was struggling to maintain. No more confusion. Just professionalism.

At the start of the week, Steven arrived at the faculty just in time for the morning huddle. He slipped quietly to the very back of the room, hoping no one would notice him. From the corner of his eye, he caught the principal’s sharp glare cutting across the room, but he deliberately ignored it. It was too early in the day to care about her.

Across the room, his gaze landed on Shuaibo. Their eyes met, and Shuaibo’s face lit up with a bright, genuine smile. Steven fought hard against the instinct to smile back, his chest tightening as a familiar swarm of butterflies erupted in his stomach. How could a simple smile wield such power over him? Instead, he forced himself to give a short, curt nod, a small shield against the pull Shuaibo had on him.

“And before I forget,” the principal’s voice cut through the room, “we will be using the gymnasium in preparation for the upcoming welcoming festival for students and parents!”

Steven blinked, caught off guard. Wait, what?

“Shouldn’t that be in the auditorium?” he asked quickly, unable to hide the surprise—and frustration—in his voice.

The principal cleared her throat. “Typically, yes. However, due to delays in the renovation, we have no choice but to utilize the gymnasium.”

Steven’s jaw tightened. The gymnasium was far from ideal, and the thought of losing control of his gym didn’t sit well with him.

Before he could dwell on it further, Shuaibo raised his hand slightly, volunteering to help organize the event, especially with the decor. “I have a background in theater arts from college, so I think I can be useful,” he added casually, his voice calm but confident.

“That sounds wonderful, Mr. Zhang. I’m glad we have you on our staff,” the principal said warmly. “Mr. Kim, please assist Mr. Zhang with everything he needs, as he will be using your gymnasium.”

Well, damn. So much for keeping his distance.

Working alongside Shuaibo was torture for Steven. At first, it was painfully awkward—they barely spoke, exchanging only the bare minimum of words. Now forced to share spaces and responsibilities, the tension was almost tangible. But Steven had promised himself he would remain professional.

Slowly, they found a rhythm. After class, Shuaibo and the students who volunteered for extra credit gathered in the gym, setting up the stage and hanging decorations. Steven pitched in as much as he could, surprising himself with how well they worked together. They still kept their conversations to a minimum—just a few necessary exchanges here and there—but the quiet companionship was oddly comforting.

As the evening deepened and the last of the students filtered out, the gym grew quieter, shadows stretching across the floor.

“Hey, I ordered takeout,” Shuaibo said, approaching Steven just as the final students left. “It’s in your office if you want anything.”

Steven’s stomach twisted. One more thing he disliked about this whole ordeal was that his office in the gym had been repurposed to store valuable festival items. Now, Shuaibo had access to his personal space.

The refusal hovered on the tip of his tongue, but before he could speak, his stomach betrayed him with a loud, embarrassing grumble. Shuaibo laughed—a warm, genuine sound that caught Steven off guard. And, much to his surprise, Steven found himself liking the sound of Shuaibo’s laugh.

“Come, I ordered chicken and chili garlic noodles.” Shuaibo said with an easy smile, already walking towards Steven’s office.

This was a bad idea. Steven knew this was a bad idea. He was supposed to be keeping his distance. He shouldn’t be sharing meals with Shuaibo. But his stomach growled, reminding him he was hungry, and he did need to eat.

Yes.

He was in it for the food. He told himself. Nothing more.

Shuaibo settled onto the small sofa in front of the coffee table, carefully laying out the takeout containers. Steven took the chair opposite him, near his desk, positioning himself across from Shuaibo. He picked up a pair of chopsticks and began eating. The two ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds were the soft clatter of chopsticks and the occasional scrape of a container lid.

Then, Shuaibo’s phone buzzed, breaking the quiet. Steven watched as Shuaibo fished it from his pocket, a smile spreading across his face when he saw the caller ID.

“Hi!” Shuaibo answered brightly, then switched to rapid Chinese. Steven wasn’t fluent—he only knew a few basics like “hello” and “how are you,” and how to introduce himself. But the words Shuaibo spoke now were a blur, fast and animated. Steven studied his face, the way his eyes lit up, the subtle gestures of his hands as he spoke. After a few minutes, the conversation ended with a phrase Steven recognized: “...wǒ ài nǐ…”

That made Steven pause. Who was Shuaibo talking to that he could say, “I love you” so casually? Did he have a partner? Was he married? He didn’t have a ring on his finger. But he also knew other teachers who didn’t like wearing their wedding bands when working with children. Perhaps Shuaibo preferred to keep his personal life private. 

But they were soulmates…

Unless. He was just like his father.

Was that why he wanted to talk to Steven? Was it possible that Shuaibo already had a partner and just wanted to let Steven know? If that was the case, Steven really, truly, did need to keep his distance.

He would not be like his father. He was not a homewrecker. 

After Shuaibo said goodbye and put down his phone, he continued eating. Steven knew he should leave it alone. Steven knew it would only cause issues if he said anything. He should just shut up and enjoy his chili garlic noodles. But Steven Kim was never really one for self-control.

“Who was that?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Shuaibo froze mid-bite, the piece of chicken suspended in the air between his chopsticks. Surprise flickered across his face.

Steven cleared his throat, trying to sound casual, though his heart pounded in his chest. He shifted in his chair, running a hand through his hair nervously. “Who were you talking to?”

Shuaibo gave him a curious, almost amused look, tilting his head slightly. Steven suddenly felt exposed, as if he’d just revealed too much of himself. He swallowed hard, cheeks warming with embarrassment.

After a brief pause, Shuaibo answered softly, “My mother. She and my father still live in our hometown. They call me around this time to check on me.”

Steven nodded, trying to keep his tone light. “Moving cities must be rough.”

Shuaibo resumed eating, his chopsticks moving steadily as he spoke. “It is, but it’s life. You can’t move forward if you stay still.”

Steven considered that, then admitted, “I suppose you’re right.”

There was a pause, then Shuaibo’s eyes met his, calm and steady. “How about you?”

Steven’s defenses immediately went up. “What about me?”

“Are you from here? Do your parents live in the city too?”

Steven shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers tightening around his chopsticks. “I was born here, yeah. My mom still lives in the city.”

“What about your dad?”

The mention of his father made Steven’s jaw clench involuntarily. He looked away, focusing on the table as if it held the answers. “He’s… not around.”

“Not around?” Shuaibo echoed, his eyes widening with concern. “Did he… did he die?”

Steven’s throat tightened. He wished that were true. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh, avoiding 

Shuaibo’s gaze. “No. He’s alive. He just lives with his new wife and family.”

“Oh,” Shuaibo said softly, the single word carrying a weight of understanding.

Steven’s voice grew tight, the old pain surfacing despite himself. “Yeah, he left my mother and me when I was fourteen,” he admitted, eyes fixed on the floor. “When he met his soulmate.”

And just like that, with a single word, everything Steven and Shuaibo had been avoiding—the unspoken tension, the silent questions—came crashing into sharp clarity. Their eyes met, and they both knew. 

Shuaibo’s face was painted with concern and understanding. 

Steven felt an overwhelming pull, a desperate urge to close the distance between them. The fight to resist Shuaibo had drained him from the start—a constant, exhausting battle waging inside him since the first time he saw him. How tempting it was to reach out, to touch, to surrender to the feelings he’d been denying. How sweet it would be to finally let go.

But he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Suddenly, Shuaibo rose and stepped toward him, but Steven recoiled, moving quickly to his desk, putting as much space between them as he could.

“Steven—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, trying to sound fierce and in control. But the tremor that crept through his words betrayed him.

Shuaibo didn’t back down, though. He stepped closer, undeterred by Steven’s resistance. His hand reached out gently, resting on Steven’s shoulder, but Steven’s reaction was instinctive and fierce—he shook the hand off violently, as if Shuaibo’s touch burned him.

“It’s okay, Steven,” Shuaibo said softly, his voice steady and soothing. “It’s okay.”

At that moment, everything inside Steven unraveled. The tight control he’d clung to slipped away like sand through his fingers. His mind went blank, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions—fear, desire, confusion, and a desperate need for connection. He couldn’t explain what came over him, couldn’t stop the impulse that surged forward.

Before he even realized it, his lips were pressing against Shuaibo’s.

ii

Shuaibo froze, caught completely off guard. Shuaibo would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t picture what it would be like to kiss his soulmate. In his mind, their first kiss would always be something tender and tentative—soft touches that slowly deepened, a gentle exploration filled with patience and understanding. The world around them would fade.

There was no softness, no sweetness. Instead, it was fierce and raw—biting and bruising in its intensity. Steven’s lips pressed against his with a desperate urgency, as if trying to pour every ounce of pain, frustration, and longing he’d been holding inside into that single, explosive moment. It was a storm unleashed, wild and unrestrained, shaking Shuaibo to his core.

Shuaibo’s breath hitched, his body responding despite the shock. When Steven let out a low groan, something deep inside Shuaibo stirred, awakening a response he hadn’t expected. He leaned into the kiss, matching Steven’s intensity with a growing hunger of his own.

Shuaibo wasn’t inexperienced. He had fooled around back in college with guys who were all too willing to have a pretty thing like him in their beds. But there was something different about Steven, something that made his heart ache and his body yearn in a way no one else ever had.

A soft moan escaped Shuaibo’s lips, and seizing the moment, Steven pushed his tongue boldly into his mouth. The kiss deepened. Shuaibo’s hands instinctively found their way to Steven’s waist, pulling him closer, desperate to feel the heat of his body pressed against his own.

Steven’s voice broke through the haze—a low, almost primal growl. “Shuaibo.”

The sound of his name, breathed so intimately, sent a jolt straight through Shuaibo. His already half-erect cock twitched painfully against the fabric of his pants, a sharp reminder of the growing need between them. He shifted slightly, hoping for some relief, but the friction only intensified the ache. The hardness of Steven’s body pressed against him was both torment and temptation.

But Shuaibo wasn’t the only one caught up in the moment. In the next instant, Steven’s hands gripped his waist, pushing him back against the wall without ever breaking the kiss. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, lips and tongues moving hungrily as soft, desperate moans escaped them both. When the need for air became overwhelming, Shuaibo finally broke away, only to feel Steven’s mouth trail down to his neck. He was biting more than kissing. With every suck and nip, Shuaibo couldn’t help but moan, the sensation driving him closer to the edge. Unconsciously, his hips began to move, pressing and rocking against Steven’s, caught in a maddening rhythm neither of them could resist.

He could feel Steven’s smirk against his skin when he spoke, “You’re that desperate for it?”

“Steven, please…” Shuaibo’s voice cracked, almost a plea. Of what exactly, he wasn’t sure himself.

They pulled apart briefly, and when Shuaibo met Steven’s eyes and he could see the want, the need, the desperation that surely mirrored his own.

Without hesitation, they began stripping off their shirts, frantic and impatient. There was no slow build-up, no graceful dance—just clumsy, fumbling movements driven by urgency. All Shuaibo could focus on was the desperate need to touch Steven, to feel his skin beneath his fingertips, and the firm grip of those hard hands on his body.

Shuaibo was so tired of holding back. 

He reached out and curved his hand around Steven’s neck and kissed him again. Shuaibo bit Steven’s bottom lip and sucked his tongue, and Steven was all too eager to respond. Though Shuaibo led the kiss, Steven’s hands were far from idle. They roamed over Shuaibo’s body with hungry exploration—grabbing his ass through the fabric of his slacks, teasing his nipples, and tracing the contours of his sides. In a swift, practiced motion, Steven’s hands moved to Shuaibo’s belt, yanking it free with surprising speed before pushing down the zipper of his slacks. His warm hand found Shuaibo’s cock, and a low moan escaped Shuaibo at the contact.

“Steven, please, please…” Shuaibo’s voice trembled, raw and desperate. He wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore—he was begging. He needed more, craved more, as if every fiber of his being demanded it.

Steven’s breath was hot against Shuaibo’s skin, sending shivers down his spine as his hand continued its slow, tantalizing movements inside Shuaibo’s pants. Then, unexpectedly, Steven paused and whispered close to his ear, “What color?”

“Wha-?”

“Your color.” Steven clarified. He stopped the movement, and Shuaibo whined at the loss of sensation. “Tell me”

It took a moment for Shuaibo to gather his scattered thoughts, but finally he answered, voice barely above a whisper, “Gray. Yours?”

Steven nodded, a small, satisfied smile playing at his lips. “Blue.” Then, without missing a beat, he bit down on Shuaibo’s lips again, reclaiming the kiss with a fierce hunger.

It was too much.

The feel of Steven’s lips on him, Steven’s hand squeezing his ass, and his other hand on his cock. All of it left Shuaibo a groaning, whining, whimpering mess. 

Moments later, just when Shuaibo was near his climax, Steven pulled away. Shuaibo groaned at the loss, a protest hanging on his lips, but Steven silenced him by spinning him around to face the wall. Before Shuaibo could react, his pants and underwear were pushed down past his thighs, leaving him exposed and so painfully hard.

He could hear rustling behind him and, a second later, he could feel something hard and warm against his ass. Instinctively, Shuaibo braced himself against the wall in front of him as the head of Steven’s cock brushed teasingly against his skin. Unable to resist, he arched back into Steven’s body, a small, involuntary whimper escaping his lips.

Steven responded without hesitation, sliding two fingers into Shuaibo’s mouth. Shuaibo took them eagerly, licking and sucking the digits as Steven let out a frustrated groan.

Wet fingers probed delicately for a moment before slipping inside. Steven began to slowly thrust his fingers in and out, each movement sending a sharp mix of pain and pleasure coursing through Shuaibo’s body. He bit back a cry, struggling to balance the sensations. When Steven decided that Shuaibo was ready enough, he added in a third finger. Shuaibo hissed at the added burn.

“You like that?” Steven breathed in his ear.

“Steven... fuck,” Shuaibo panted, struggling to get the words out.

Steven nipped at Shuaibo’s ear before barking out, “I asked you a question.”

Shuaibo’s mind was a blur—coherent thoughts were impossible to grasp.

“Zhang Shuaibo,” Steven said, a warning in his voice. He then began to withdraw his fingers.

The sudden loss of sensation jolted Shuaibo, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. “Steven, please. Don’t fucking stop. Please, please.”

Steven continued moving his fingers in and out of Shuaibo for a few more minutes before pulling them free. Shuaibo let out a whine of protest, looking over his shoulder to see why Steven had stopped. What he saw had him nearly cumming. The image of Steven spitting into his palm and slicking up his cock would be forever engraved in his mind now.

Shuaibo spread his legs wider in eager anticipation. When Steven slid inside him, a deep, guttural groan escaped from Shuaibo’s chest, raw and involuntary. As Steven’s length settled fully within him, Shuaibo felt his legs begin to buckle. It was only the firm strength of Steven’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist that kept him upright.

Soon, Steven began to pull out, ever so slowly—driving Shuaibo even more insane. And when it was just the tip that remained, Steven pushed back in without preamble. After that, it’s a flurry of movement. Soon, Steven was pounding away at him, thrusting as hard as he could.

“So fucking hot,” Steven breathed into Shuaibo’s ear, one of his hands moving to grip at Shuaibo’s waist. “You have no idea how crazy you make me.”

“M-more, please.”

“I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

Shuaibo’s words failed him, all too consumed by pleasure. 

“Do you want me to make you come?”

“Y-yes! Yes, oh god, yes. Make me come.”

Steven’s thrusts began steady and deliberate, each movement setting a maddening rhythm that teased Shuaibo’s senses. But soon, the pace grew erratic—hurried and frenzied. Shuaibo rocked back with every desperate thrust, his moans echoing loudly in the quiet office.

Shuaibo was on the brink of sanity, the pleasure sharp and consuming, drowning out the ache in his body. And when the hand on his hip moved to his erection, Shuaibo saw stars. 

That was all it took. With a choked cry, Shuaibo came hard, his body convulsing as his cock pulsed in Steven’s grip, spilling hot and slick against the wall.

A rough curse and a hard thrust later, and it was Steven’s turn to come.

Shuaibo’s body sagged against the wall, and Steven leaned into his back, their breaths mingling in the quiet room as they both struggled to catch their breath. 

Shuaibo wanted to say something, but no words would come. His mind raced, but his voice remained stubbornly silent.

After a few more moments, Steven finally pulled away, his spent cock slipping free and leaving a warm trail of come down Shuaibo’s thighs. The sudden absence of Steven’s body heat made Shuaibo acutely aware of his near-nakedness, the sticky evidence of their encounter dripping down his legs in the middle of a school office. The reality crashed over him like a splash of cold water—he had just had sex with a man who was supposed to be his soulmate, yet barely spoke to him.

Feeling overwhelmed, Shuaibo slid down to the floor, his back resting against the wall as he tried to process what just happened.

He watched silently as Steven tidied himself—tucking his member back into his pants and picking up his shit from the ground. Steven moved to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pack of baby wipes. He returned to Shuaibo and handed the pack over wordlessly.

Shuaibo accepted the wipes, his fingers trembling slightly as he took them.

“I’m sorry,” Steven whispered, his voice low and heavy with regret. “This was a mistake.”

Before Shuaibo could reply, Steven was already walking out the door.

Chapter Text

iii

The sky wasn’t blue today.

Steven tilted his head back, eyes narrowing as he stared upward with a deep, frustrated frown. Ever since being able to see the color blue, he very much enjoyed looking up at the sky. Gazing at the serene blue had become a small ritual, allowing him a moment of peace amid the current mayhem of his life.

But this morning, the sky betrayed him. Instead of the now familiar, comforting blue, a heavy blanket of gray clouds smothered the horizon. The clouds were a type of gray that reminded him of quarry rocks. The clouds were a type of gray that signaled that a downpour of heavy rain was coming. Steven supposed it was a bitter irony. The sky above him looked as gloomy as he felt.

And looked.

Steven looked like absolute shit. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His usually neat hair was tousled and unkempt, strands sticking out in every direction. His clothes were a rumpled mess too, not having energy to iron them this morning. He felt like shit too. He was drained, distracted, and utterly unable to focus.

He could barely concentrate on work. Not in the mood to be a productive member of society or to deliver a coherent lesson on anthropometrics and motor skills as he had planned, he instead told his class to start with some warm-ups followed by running drills. Sleep had eluded him all night. He had tossed and turned in bed, restless and agitated, until finally giving up and pacing around his apartment, mentally screaming, “Why the fuck did I do that? That was the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done. Oh God, it was so hot. But a mistake. A stupid fucking mistake!”

He couldn’t even bring himself to enter his own office. He refused to walk past those doors and be reminded of the mistake he’d made the night before. He had to make a trip to the supply area just to get a new whistle and clipboard, since his usual ones were locked away in his office. Not that he was using them; his mind was still consumed by the events of last night.

He also skipped the morning faculty huddle, desperate to avoid any chance of running into Shuaibo. The thought of facing him filled Steven with a knot of anxiety. He was certain that Shuaibo probably hated him now. He couldn’t imagine any scenario where having sex with your supposed soulmate at your workplace, only to walk out immediately afterward without a word, wouldn’t leave a bitter taste and breed resentment.

But, in a twisted way, Steven convinced himself that it was for the best. Shuaibo hating him was for the best. Then they could finally put an end to this whole soulmate nonsense.

The day passed without Steven and Shuaibo crossing paths. Steven did his best to go through the motions of work and life, forcing himself to focus on lessons and routines, even though his mind kept drifting back to the night before. During this, he couldn’t help but look towards the windows, hoping that he could get a glimpse of the blue sky. But all day long, the sky stayed gray and heavy, covering everything like a thick blanket.

As the clock struck five, he thought he was in the clear. As he was preparing to head home, the principal and Shuaibo entered the gym, accompanied by a handful of students. Ah, right. Festival preparations.

“Mr. Kim!” the principal called out from across the gym. “We have a supply delivery. Would you be a dear and help Mr. Zhang bring them in?”

Before Steven could respond, the principal was already striding toward the exit, leaving the request hanging in the air. Shuaibo stood there for a moment, staring at Steven with an expression that was impossible to read—neutral, guarded, maybe even conflicted. Steven couldn’t explain it, but his feet began to move almost on their own, stepping forward as if drawn by some invisible force. Yet, just before he could reach Shuaibo, the other man suddenly turned and hurried toward the exit.

Steven took a deep breath to steady himself before following outside. He scanned the school parking lot, searching for the delivery the principal had mentioned. Instead, he found Shuaibo standing there, gazing up at the sky, which remained a heavy, dark gray.

Steven’s eyes lingered on Shuaibo. He couldn’t deny just how captivating he was. Even standing still and silent, Shuaibo looked breathtaking. Just looking at him from a distance made Steven’s chest tighten unexpectedly.

But the moment was broken as the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, splattering against the pavement with urgent taps. Steven’s gaze snapped upward, watching as the sky darkened further and the rain quickly turned from a light drizzle to a steady downpour.

“Shit,” Steven muttered, his body reacting instantly. He hurried toward the supplies stacked near the entrance, grabbing boxes and bags, his hands moving quickly despite the growing wetness soaking his sleeves.

“Come on, everyone! Inside, now!” Steven called out, his voice sharp as he turned to see Shuaibo and a handful of students caught in the rain, their faces surprised and scrambling for cover.

Once Shuaibo recovered from the shock, though, he moved quickly, gathering the students and guiding them toward the gym’s entrance. Steven met them halfway, helping carry the heavier boxes and ushering the group inside. Once everyone was inside, he closed the gym doors shut, cutting off the sound of the rain’s relentless drumming.

Steven set down the supplies, his heart still pounding from the sudden rush. His eyes looked for Shuaibo, who was with a few students. Instead of being annoyed at being caught in the rain like Steven, Shuaibo was smiling softly.

“Be careful not to get any of the decorations wet, please!” Shuaibo called out as the students scattered, doing their best to dry themselves.

The rain had forced everyone into a focus, and soon Shuaibo and Steven found themselves working side by side in silence. Around them, the students busied themselves setting up the stage, their chatter and footsteps filling the gym.

After about an hour, the rain finally stopped, and the principal decided it was time for everyone to go home. One by one, the students left, until only Steven and Shuaibo remained. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unresolved.

Steven wanted to say something. Anything. An apology. But the words felt stuck, tangled in his throat. Still, he knew he needed to talk to him. It was the least he could do. Just as Steven was gathering the courage to break it and apologize, Shuaibo’s phone buzzed sharply, cutting through the quiet.

Shuaibo glanced at the screen and answered quickly, his voice shifting into a lighter, more casual tone. “Hi! Is that today? Shit, I totally forgot. No, no. I’m so sorry. Work has just been so busy. Yes, yes. No! Don’t do that. I can still make it. Just give me an extra thirty minutes. Fantastic. Okay, bye! Love you.”

All throughout the conversation, Steven listened silently. The first thought that entered Steven’s mind was that Shuaibo was talking to his parents. After all, he had said they often called him around this time. However, Steve understood all of what Shuaibo said. He doubted Shuaibo talked to his parents in anything but Chinese. So, who was he talking to? And why was he able to say “love you” to them so casually? 

Steven’s chest tightened, a sudden, irrational jealousy flaring up inside him. The words “Love you” echoed in his mind, twisting painfully. Without thinking, he blurted out, “Do you use that phrase with everyone?”

The surprise in Shuaibo’s eyes was immediate. “What?” he asked, clearly caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Steven to speak, let alone challenge him.

A small voice inside Steven told him to stop, to walk away and let it go. But jealousy is never rational. It gnawed at him, sharp and relentless. “Do you say ‘I love you’ to every single person out there?” he pressed, his voice low but edged with hurt.

Shuaibo’s expression hardened. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, a clear barrier between them. “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he said coolly, his tone cold and distant.

“Not my business?” Steven echoed, bitterness creeping into his voice. “I suppose my soulmate’s love life isn’t any of my business.”

Shuaibo’s lips curled into a small, almost mocking smile. “Finally, you’ve said something right. I’m glad we’re finally on the same page.”

Steven opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, Shuaibo began violently gathering his belongings, his movements sharp and hurried. Without looking back, he stormed out of the gym, the door slamming behind him. Steven didn’t think twice in following him out.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Steven yelled, his voice laced with frustration.

Shuaibo stopped in front of his car before turning sharply to face Steven.

Shuaibo’s eyes flashed with anger, his voice biting and fierce. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” He wasn’t hurt. He was pissed. “That’s all you’re capable of doing! You’ve avoided me the moment you met me! Listen, I understand you went through something painful with your family, but I’m not going to be some emotional punching bag for you. If you don’t want a soulmate, if you don’t want me, then so be it. That’s fucking fine! But you don’t get to be horrible to me. You don’t get to fuck me and then discard me like I’m a piece of trash. Be a decent human being and just say it to my face. Grow the fuck up, Steven.”

Steven stood there, speechless, the weight of Shuaibo’s words pressing down on him. His mind raced, emotions swirling—anger, confusion, desire, and something deeper he couldn’t quite name. But Shuaibo wasn’t finished.

“And you know what’s the funniest part of all this?” Shuaibo asked, voice angry. “No matter how hard you try, you can’t erase the fact that you want me.”

Something inside Steven snapped.

Without thinking, Steven shoved Shuaibo hard against the cold metal of his car. The impact made Shuaibo exhale sharply, his body pressing back but not resisting. Steven closed the small distance between them, crowding Shuaibo’s space, his hips pressing firmly into the taller man’s. Neither of them was surprised when they both felt the undeniable hardness of the other’s arousal.

Steven’s hands shot up, threading fiercely through Shuaibo’s dark hair, gripping and pulling him closer. Shuaibo’s head tilted back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. Steven’s teeth scraped along Shuaibo’s jaw, a rough, possessive gesture before he bit down hard on the sensitive skin of his neck.

His lips continued their assault—sucking, kissing, sometimes biting—leaving a trail of fire across Shuaibo’s skin. Then, slowly, Steven’s mouth moved up to Shuaibo’s ear, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive flesh as he whispered, “I want you. I’m not denying that. But I need you to know that I fucking hate you.”

Shuaibo let out a soft moan as Steven’s tongue traced the delicate curve of his ear. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

“I fucking hate how you make me feel.” Steven murmured, his voice rough. He shifted his hips against Shuaibo’s, the friction drawing a desperate whimper from him. “You feel that? I want you so fucking bad, Shuaibo.”

Without hesitation, Steven gripped the back of Shuaibo’s neck and crushed their lips together in a violent kiss. Their teeth clashed and lips smacked against each other hurriedly, tongues struggling for dominance.

Shuaibo broke away from the kiss and latched onto Steven’s neck, determined to leave his own mark on him.

“Fuck, Steven.” Shuaibo said against his skin.

With shaky hands, Steven reached down to unbutton Shuaibo’s slacks. He pulled down his pants and underwear in one go, wrapping his hand around Shuaibo’s leaking cock.

“Working with you is fucking torture,” Steven confessed, his voice low as his hand began to move. “So close, yet I can’t touch. I hate it. I hate you.”

The look on Shuaibo’s face darkened with those words. His hands quickly moved to undo Steven’s zipper and pull out his slick and warm cock.

“And yet you’re so hard for me.” Shuaibo said, almost teasingly. “Look at you—hard and pulsing in my hand. You say you hate me, but your body clearly tells a different story.”

Steven’s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Shuaibo’s hand stroked him from base to tip. Each time Shuaibo’s thumb circled the sensitive head, Steven shivered, the sensation sending sparks through his body.

“Do you like it when I touch you, Steven?” Shuaibo whispered, his voice low and provocative, eyes locked onto Steven’s with a mixture of challenge and desire.

Steven’s own hold on Shuaibo’s erection loosened as he was too consumed by his own pleasure.

Sensing this, Shuaibo’s hand tightened around Steven’s length, the sudden pressure sharp enough to make Steven hiss in pain.

“Answer me!” Shuaibo demanded, his voice firm and insistent. “Do you like it when I touch your cock? Do you like the way I make you hard?”

Steven’s breath hitched as he struggled to find words, his voice trembling. “Y-yes. Oh, god. Yes.” He stammered, desperation creeping into his tone. “G-god, Shuaibo. Don’t fucking stop.”

A slow, teasing smile played on Shuaibo’s lips as he leaned in, his mouth trailing back to Steven’s neck, sucking gently. “Why? Are you gonna come?” he whispered. “Are you gonna come for me?”

“Y-yeah,” Steven gasped, a broken moan escaping him, mingled with a pained whimper. “I’m gonna… I’m so close, Shuai–”

“No!” Shuaibo interrupted sharply, his hand gripping the base of Steven’s arousal, halting his release with firm control. “You don’t get to come until I say you can.”

“What?” Steven breathed, his voice barely steady. He was no longer in control of the situation—if he ever had been. The truth was, he didn’t know, and at this moment, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to lose himself completely in the overwhelming pleasure Shuaibo was giving him.

With his hand still wrapped firmly around Steven’s cock, Shuaibo spun the shorter man around with a swift motion. He cursed softly at the loss of Steven’s hand on his own erection, but he had other plans. Without hesitation, Shuaibo pressed Steven’s front against the cold metal frame of his car. Steven’s body gave in, leaning helplessly against the cool surface as Shuaibo gripped his hips tightly.

Steven tried to lift himself up, to regain some control, but Shuaibo pushed his upper body down firmly against the car, pinning him in place. Then, Steven felt a weight against his thighs. The sound that escaped him when he realized what Shuaibo was doing was profane.

Shuaibo forced his arousal between Steven’s thighs and thrust forward, hitting the base of Steven’s still hard and leaking cock. Steven couldn’t help but cry out again, the sound only fueling Shuaibo’s determination. With his strong grip on Steven’s hips, Shuaibo pressed himself through the space between the other man’s thighs, his precum making the slide easy.

Steven could feel his own impending orgasm building rapidly. The combination of Shuaibo’s firm hand jerking him off while his cock slid relentlessly between Steven’s thighs was driving him to the edge of delirium.

“Shuaibo,” Steven choked out, his voice strained as his body convulsed uncontrollably. “Please, please, Shuaibo, I need to—” His words broke off as his head fell forward, his hips thrusting weakly and uselessly into Shuaibo’s steady hand.

“You need to what? Hmm?” Shuaibo asked in a teasing whisper against Steven’s ear. “Use your words.”

“Shuaibo, please,” Steven begged, desperation thick in his voice. But Shuaibo ignored the plea, as if Steven’s words were nothing more than background noise, and continued to fuck his thighs with relentless rhythm.

“Shuaibo, come on.” Steven pleaded again, his voice cracking. “Let me come.” 

Then, Steven clenched the muscles of his thighs tightly, squeezing down hard around Shuaibo’s cock. The sudden constriction caused Shuaibo’s movements to falter, his thrusts staggering.

“Steven—” He whined.

Without warning, Shuaibo collapsed onto Steven, his body pressing heavily against the smaller man, their breaths mingling as the tension between them reached a fever pitch.

It was mindless movement after that. Shuaibo’s hips continued to rock steadily against Steven, his cock sliding smoothly between Steven’s thighs. At the same time, his hand moved up and down Steven’s own cock with practiced ease, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through them both.

It wasn’t long before the orgasm suddenly came rolling over Steven, his back arching as he moaned loudly. His body twitched feebly, shivering uncontrollably as he thrust his hips weakly into Shuaibo’s hand. His eyes rolled back, lost in the overwhelming sensation, as his cock pulsed and spurted hot liquid onto the door of Shuaibo’s car and onto Shuaibo’s hand.

Shuaibo’s own release wasn’t far behind, the tension in his body snapping as he followed Steven over the edge.

The two men stood there in the empty parking lot, their heavy breaths mingling with the cool night air. The silence around them felt almost deafening. Suddenly, a wave of realization crashed over Steven, and panic surged through his body. Without thinking, he pushed Shuaibo off his back.

Shuaibo looked momentarily taken aback, his eyes searching Steven’s face for an explanation. But Steven was too preoccupied, fumbling to tuck his now-soft cock back into his pants, deliberately ignoring the sticky evidence of their shared release clinging to his skin and clothing.

“No,” Shuaibo said sharply, almost a hiss. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare fucking leave me, Steven. Not again.”

Steven met Shuaibo’s gaze. The pain and anger evident on the taller man’s face. Yet, every fiber of Steven’s being screamed at him to run—to escape the overwhelming intensity of it all. Except for his heart. His heart pounded fiercely, begging him to stay, to fight. But it was too much. Everything about Shuaibo was too much for Steven to handle.

So, he did what he always did best.

“I’m sorry.” He finally said. The words sounded hollow and empty. They were woefully inadequate to express how Steven felt. He couldn’t bear to look at Shuaibo anymore; the shame was too heavy, too suffocating. “I’m so sorry, Shuaibo. But I can’t. I just can’t.”

Shuaibo remained frozen against the car, his eyes dark and haunted, watching Steven’s retreating figure with a mixture of anger, hurt, and disbelief. Slowly, he forced himself to move, shaking off the paralysis that had gripped him. His hands trembled as he pulled up his underwear and slid his pants back on, fumbling to button his slacks with shaky fingers.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

He was so fucking stupid.

He should have known better by now. Even though they had only known each other for a few weeks, Shuaibo was painfully aware of the twisted, complicated feelings Steven harbored about soulmates. From the earliest days, when Steven had ignored him or kept his distance, Shuaibo sensed something was wrong—something deeper than mere hesitation.

And yesterday, when his worst suspicions were confirmed, he should have realized that their path wouldn’t be smooth sailing. But he was a fool. A fool who had deluded himself into believing that Steven opening up about his family was the first step toward accepting the idea of them—accepting him.

But the moment Steven stepped out the door of the office, Shuaibo realized just how much of an idiot he was when it came to Steven Kim.

Tonight, he realized that maybe Woongki was wrong. Maybe the pull between soulmates was something one could resist. After all, how could Steven just leave him like this? How could he use Shuaibo—fuck him—and then walk away as if it meant nothing?

A bitter laugh escaped him, hollow and raw. Was he really so much to bear? Was he the storm that scared Steven away every time?

He forced himself to gather his scattered belongings, which had been tossed onto the pavement the moment Steven kissed him. Unlocking his car door, he slid into the driver’s seat and closed his eyes tightly, desperately trying to hold back the sting of tears.

But it was a futile effort.

A sob broke free from deep within him, followed by hot tears streaming down his face.

The sudden ringing of his phone cut through Shuaibo’s sobs. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone, his eyes immediately locking onto Woongki’s name flashing on the screen. Fuck. He had completely forgotten about Woongki and Chih En.

“Yah! Zhang Shuaibo, where are you?” Came the sound of his best friend’s voice from the speaker. “You said thirty minutes. It’s been an hour now. Where are you? Chih En and I got tired of waiting, so we’re here in your apartment. Good thing Chih guessed your door’s passcode—your cat’s birthday isn’t exactly the safest option, you know. Also, we got hungry, so we ordered already. Where are your—”

Shuaibo couldn’t stop another sob escaping him amidst Woongki’s rapid-fire words. 

“—Shuaibo? Zhangshu, what’s wrong?” Woongki’s tone shifted instantly, softening with worry. “Are you crying?”

“I–I can’t do this anymore,” Shuaibo choked out, his voice trembling.

“Where are you?” Woongki’s voice was laced with concern and urgency.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but soon enough, both Woongki and Chih En were by his side. Neither of them asked questions. Without hesitation, they began taking care of him. Someone guided him from the passenger seat and helped him into the backseat. Throughout it all, Shuaibo’s tears flowed freely; he couldn’t catch his breath from the relentless crying.

Chih En took the wheel while Woongki sat beside him in the back, cradling Shuaibo’s head in his lap. Woongki’s hands gently stroked his hair as he whispered soothing words, trying to calm him down.

The next day, Shuaibo couldn’t get out of bed.

If there was one thing to know about Steven, it was that he was a mama’s boy through and through. From the earliest days of his childhood, he had shared a special bond with his mother. He looked up to her. She wasn’t just his mother; she was his guide, his protector, and the embodiment of everything he aspired to be.

She had raised him to be independent, strong, and kind—qualities she embodied herself. Her unwavering strength and gentle kindness shaped Steven into the man he was. She was the foundation of his world, a constant source of truth and certainty. She believed in him with a fierce confidence, always sure of the man he could become. Growing up, Steven carried the weight of that belief, wanting to live for something greater, for someone he could never afford to disappoint.

Even in her pain and embarrassment after his father left him, his mother remained graceful and kind. Steven watched her navigate each day with a brave facade, masking the heartbreak beneath. But in the stillness of the night, when the world was quiet, he would hear the muffled sobs escaping from her room—soft, broken sounds that tore at his heart.

Her pain ignited a fire of hatred and resentment within Steven. It fueled a fierce determination not to fall victim to the cruel fate of soulmates, which he saw as a trap. If he succumbed to it, he feared he would become like his father—absent, traitor, and ultimately a disappointment to the woman who had given him everything.

And then he met Shuaibo.

From the very first meeting, Steven knew he was fucked. The pull between them was undeniable, overwhelming. Shuaibo consumed his every waking thought. No matter how hard he tried, all Steven could think about was Shuaibo. And that terrified him.

So here he was, in the kitchen of his childhood home, as his mother moved with practice ease over the stove. She was making spicy noodles—Steven’s favorite dish growing up, the ultimate comfort food that had always soothed him in times of trouble. And he supposed it wasn’t a coincidence that was the dish his mother decided to make upon his visit.

After a few more minutes, she carefully set the steaming plate in front of him. The noodles looked as delicious as ever, but Steven found he wasn’t hungry.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock. Then, after a long pause, his mother reached across the table and gently took his hand in hers.

“Tell me,” His mother said softly, her eyes searching his.

Steven shook his head, voice trembling. “I can’t. I can’t give in to this feeling without feeling like him.”

“My darling boy.” She said, her hand tightening around his. “You aren’t your father.” 

He looked down, pain flickering in his eyes. “You were in so much pain, Mom.”

“And yet, I lived,” She replied gently. “How many times do I have to tell you? My pain is not yours. Your father’s choices are not yours.”

“But they are!” He argued, frustration and sorrow mingling in his voice. “I am both of you. I carry parts of you and him inside me. And I hate it. I hate knowing I’m here because of him.”

“My son—” she began, but he cut her off.

“Do you ever regret it?” Steven asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Regret what?” she answered, a faint smile touching her lips.

“Meeting him?” Steven often wondered this. He often asked himself if his mother had ever wished she could undo the past, erase the pain that had shaped their lives. “Marrying him, even though you knew you weren’t soulmates?”

Falling in love with someone who you knew wasn’t your soulmate was a gamble. You would never know if your partner’s destined half would ever cross paths with them. And Steven often asked himself how his mother could have chosen to be with someone, knowing that their love could easily break?

“No,” she said firmly. “Your father hurt me. He hurt this family. He hurt you. But I would never ask to change a thing, because he gave me you. You are my pride. My treasure.”

Steven stared down at their intertwined hands. Could he really be more than the sum of his parents’ mistakes? Was it possible to carry their pain without being consumed by it?

He wanted to believe her, but the fear lingered. What if he was destined to repeat the same patterns, to hurt those he loved the way his father had hurt them? He had spent so long building walls around his heart, convincing himself that staying safe meant never risking pain again. But now, those walls felt like a prison.

Steven’s voice cracked as he admitted, “I’m just so scared.”

She squeezed his hand gently. “The hardest things are the ones worth taking a chance on.”

Was it really that simple?

He swallowed hard, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on his chest. Yet, before he could spiral further, his mother’s voice broke through the silence.

“Introduce me to this man,” she said, the look in her eyes suddenly turning playful. “To your soulmate.”

Steven blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. He hesitated, “I don’t think he wants anything to do with me anymore.” The truth stung. How could Shuaibo want to after everything that had happened?

But his mother wasn’t deterred. Leaning forward, a sly smile tugging at her lips, she said, “Then you’ll just have to turn on the charm.”

Steven let out a breath, part exasperated, part amused. “Mom—”

She held up a finger, cutting him. “Soulmate or not,” Her eyes warm and unwavering, “No one can resist, my darling boy.”

iv

Shuaibo knew he should be getting out of bed. The alarm on his phone had been buzzing insistently for the past twenty minutes. He knew he had to go to work. He’d already missed two days, calling in with a vague excuse about a sudden sickness that no one had questioned. But he couldn’t miss another. After all, he was still very much new to the school.

Woongki and Chih En have gone home. The two were only supposed to spend a night over at his place before going back to their own lives. But they had stayed an extra day to make sure Shuaibo was okay. To make sure Shuaibo was alive. Their concern touched him greatly, but it had also exhausted him further. 

In the end, it was Shuaibo who had to beg them to leave, reassuring them that he was all right. 

It was a lie, of course. He could see the doubt on their faces, the way Woongki’s brow furrowed and Chih En lingered by the door, but they’d relented with reluctant hugs and promises to check in later.

Shuaibo should get out of bed. The thought looped in his mind like a mantra, battling the leaden pull of his exhaustion. But his body didn’t want to. It rebelled with every fiber, demanding more time to wallow in the grief. His eyes were still raw from the tears, his muscles sore from the tension of holding himself together. Shuaibo was done listening to what his body wanted, though. He couldn’t afford to drown in it anymore; the world outside wouldn’t wait, and neither could he if he wanted to salvage what was left of his life.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he hauled himself up and walked over to the bathroom. He moved methodically, going through each step one by one until he was done and ready to step outside of his apartment.

He walked to the school that day. It took longer by foot (nearly twice the time of his usual drive) but Shuaibo didn’t care. He didn’t want to see his car nor the campus parking lot.

Shuaibo missed home. His real home. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d moved to this new city precisely to escape the stagnation, to chase new experiences after a lifetime rooted in one place. He wanted some excitement in his life. And oh, he’d gotten it, including meeting his soulmate and being able to see the color gray. But now here he was drowning in those very firsts, the excitement soured into regret and heartache. All he wanted was to go home, to rewind to the days where love couldn’t hurt this deeply.

But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Running away would mean admitting defeat, letting the pain win, and Shuaibo had fought too hard to build this life to crumble now. He owed it to himself—to the version of him who’d packed up everything with wide-eyed hope—to keep going, one painful step at a time.

The school gates came into view sooner than he expected, pulling him from his reverie, and Shuaibo paused at the edge of the crowd. There were more people than usual. Clusters of students along with their parents spread out campus grounds. The realization hit him when he noticed the huge welcome banner over the main entrance. 

Stupid fucking festival.

The school principal’s voice pulled him from his own petulance. Shuaibo blinked, his gaze refocusing on the image of the principal walking towards him.

“Mr. Zhang!” She called with a smile. “Welcome back! I’m so glad you’re feeling better—just in time for the festival,” She said, her tone cheerful as she clapped her hands together lightly. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on all your hard work planning the events.”

Shuaibo forced a smile onto his face, the muscles in his cheeks protesting as if they’d forgotten how. He was sure it didn’t look right by the way the principal’s cheerful expression faltered for a split second, her brows knitting together in subtle worry as she studied him.

 “A-are you sure you’re all right?” The principal asked, her tone leaning towards concern.

Shuaibo straightened his posture, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Of course, Ma’am,” He replied, the words coming out smoother than he expected.

She didn’t look entirely convinced; her eyes lingered on him a moment longer, searching for cracks in his facade, but she nodded and let the subject drop with the grace of someone who’d seen her share of staff struggles. “Wonderful to hear,” she said, recovering her enthusiasm with a small pat on his shoulder. “Now, the ceremony will start soon—opening remarks at the main stage in about fifteen minutes. Don’t be late!”

“I’ll just head to the faculty room first,” Shuaibo answered, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “To drop off my things.”

The principal gave him an approving smile and turned back toward the crowd, calling out greetings to passing parents as she went. Shuaibo watched her go for a beat before heading off.

It was like a cruel sense of déjà vu when Shuaibo, lost in his thoughts, failed to notice the figure rounding the corner by the staircase. He collided with the person in front of him, and his belongings fell to the floor.

“Shit—sorry,” Shuaibo muttered instinctively as he dropped to a crouch, scrambling to gather his notebooks and pens.

He straightened slightly, glancing up to apologize properly, to come face to face with the last person he wanted to see.

Steven Kim.

The two men stared at each other, and Shuaibo was hit with a familiar wave of longing. Shuaibo’s gaze locked onto Steven’s face, drinking in every detail he’d tried so desperately to forget. From his hair and fox-like eyes to his sharp features and soft lips. It was all too much. Everything about the shorter man was drawing Shuaibo in already. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and pull Steven into his arms, and never let go. No matter how much space they’d forced between them, no matter how much time had passed in agonizing silence, no matter how angry and hurt Shuaibo still was, his soul wanted nothing more than Steven.

And in that moment, he knew Woongki was right.

This yearning. This pull. This bond.

All of it was maddening.

The realization brewed something hot and furious in his gut, twisting the longing into anger.

How dare his heart betray him like this? How dare Steven stand there, looking so achingly real? His jaw clenched, fists tightening around the scattered items in his hands, as the rage bubbled up, sharp and defensive. He wouldn’t let it win. Not again.

Shuaibo saw Steven open his mouth, the words forming on those infuriatingly familiar lips, and that was enough to make him move. He tried to walk past him, sidestepping with deliberate haste toward the staircase, but Steven’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around Shuaibo’s wrist.

The touch was electric, a jolt that raced up Shuaibo’s arm and ignited every nerve in his body. It was the same spark that he had felt the moment he saw gray. But electric shocks could be deadly. He yanked his arm back sharply.

“Please refrain from touching me without my consent, Mr. Kim,” Shuaibo said, his voice coming out stony and cold. He rubbed his wrist absently, as if to erase the lingering heat as his eyes narrowed.

Steven’s hand hovered in the air for a moment before saying, “I was hoping we could talk.”

“I don’t think that would be smart, Mr. Kim,” Shuaibo replied, keeping his tone clipped and professional. He took a step back, creating distance, though the hallway felt suffocatingly small.

“Shuaibo—” Steven started, leaning forward slightly.

“Kindly refer to me as Mr. Zhang to maintain propriety,” Shuaibo interrupted.

Steven tried again, undeterred. “Shuaibo—”

“Stop saying my name!” Shuaibo snapped. He was thankful that most of the staff and students were already gathered in the gymnasium. No witnesses to his unraveling, no one to see the way his hands trembled at his sides. “You have no right to call me that.”

Steven flinched but didn’t back down. “I just… Let me explain myself.”

Shuaibo’s anger flared hotter, a white-hot blaze that drowned out the longing, not wanting to hear Steven’s excuses, not when they’d circle back to the same painful truths. 

“And say what? What could you possibly say to justify your actions?” His voice rose, cracking with the weight of bottled-up frustration, the words tumbling out like venom he’d held too long. He stepped closer despite himself, his finger jabbing the air between them. “I’ve spent weeks catering to your mood swings, allowing you to control every aspect of this… whatever shit this is. You want to ignore me? Then we don’t talk. You want to get your dick wet? Then we’ll fuck. I’m so fucking exhausted, Steven. If you don’t want me as your soulmate, then that’s fine. If I had a choice in this—if I only had a choice—I wouldn’t want to be tied to you either.”

Shuaibo’s chest heaved, his vision blurring at the edges not from tears but from the sheer force of his outburst. Steven stood there, stunned, his face paling.

For a heartbeat, Shuaibo almost regretted it—something deep within his soul begging him to take the words back—but the anger held firm, an armor against the pull.

Without another word, Shuaibo turned on his heel and walked away from Steven. Each step felt like tearing free from chains, even as the ache in his soul screamed for him to stop, to turn back. But he didn’t. Not this time.