In a world where soulmates do exist, fate could either be a bliss, or straight hell.

The concept of soulmates was beautiful yet tragic.

Since birth, it was determined by the universe and the gods who was interlinked together.

However, soulmates felt each other’s physical pain, meaning, if one got cut, the other would instantly get cut and feel the same pain out of nowhere.

Another thing was the fact that if two soulmates weren’t in each other’s life before the age of 18, they would slowly both get weak and feel each other’s pain leading to a slow death.

And if two had met, and stayed close physically, they would not endure that.

But still, whenever hurt, they would still get hurt.

Soulmates don’t necessarily fall in love, they’re simply connected. if they do, they’re granted a long healthy and prosperous life.

And in your luck, your soulmate was Jeon Jungkook.

A cold, harsh, careless man.

But worse, an underground boxer, that got hurt, daily.

And every punch he got, every drop of blood he shed, you did too.

Jungkook did some other illegal things as well, that, got him into knife and gun fights too.

Jungkook and you met by the time when you were both 16, randomly, when he was buying a pack of cigarettes and you were behind him in the queue as you bought your pack of strawberry flavoured gum.

Soulmates recognise each other instantly, one look and you know.

And ever since then, jungkook and you had seen each other everyday, to avoid the fatal fate of soulmates who never were with each other.

You were now both 21, Jungkook was still doing his illegal activities while you were in university and working on the side.

You lived and slept together, because the closer soulmates were physically the better.

But you and Jungkook were never really romantic.

You cared for each other, but you acted like you despised each other.

Currently, it was 2am. Jungkook had come home 30 minutes ago, he endured a fight in some shady alley while he dealt some drugs but it was nothing new to him.

But he got stabbed in the lower abdomen, meaning you as well had gotten the wound.

Jungkook was now sat on a chair near the window of your bedroom, he was wrapping his abs in bandages. A cigarette was between his lips, the window was open and the curtains were flowing, the pale moonlight being the only source of light.

Meanwhile, you were on the bed against the headboard, your eyes glossy as you endured the pain of the wound on your stomach, the same place his wound was. you were so tired of being hurt all the time because of him.

He hears you hiss once he pressed on the wound to secure the bandaged, knowing you felt the pressure of his hand on your own abdomen. Damn this soulmate nonsense.

"Just go to sleep."

His low voice is rough due to the long day he had and the fact that he was on his 6th cigarette today. His tone is just as cold as the night breeze that slips inside your shitty apartment and his face as unreadable as a torn book.