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Moondae walks through the city, the rhythm of his footsteps steady against the pavement. The air is cool tonight, crisp with the scent of autumn, but he barely notices. His thoughts are elsewhere, fixed on something beyond the streets and the people brushing past him. He has waited for this night longer than he can count, and now, the familiar pull in his chest tells him it is time.
The café ahead is quiet, a soft glow spilling onto the sidewalk through the large windows. Inside, a handful of people linger over their drinks, wrapped in hushed conversations or the pages of their books. Moondae pauses just outside, his gaze settling on a boy sitting by the window. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead as he reads, eyes skimming the text with quiet focus. The sight stops Moondae in his tracks.
Taking a breath, Moondae pushes the door open, the chime above barely registering in his mind. He walks past the counter, weaving through the tables until he stops in front of the boy. For a moment, he simply stands there, watching the way his fingers tap absently against the table, his lips pressed together in thought. Moondae’s chest tightens, the weight of something old and familiar pressing against his ribs.
"Excuse me," he says softly, his voice steady despite the storm beneath his skin.
The boy looks up, his expression shifting from distraction to mild curiosity. His eyes meet Moondae’s, and there is a flicker of something. A strange sense of recognition flashes across his face, but it disappears just as quickly, replaced by polite confusion.
"Yes?"
Moondae smiles, slipping into the seat across from him without waiting for permission. "You seem really focused. What are you reading?" His tone is light, easy, the kind that invites conversation.
The boy hesitates for a second before glancing down at the book in his hands. "Just an old novel. Nothing special."
Moondae tilts his head slightly, studying him with quiet fascination. "I doubt that. You were completely lost in it."
A small, almost sheepish chuckle escapes him, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. Like this is just another chance encounter between two strangers, an innocent moment unfolding in the dim glow of the café. But Moondae knows better.
He always knows better.
"Do you believe in fate?" Moondae asks, watching the boy’s reaction closely.
There is a pause, brief but telling. He shifts in his seat as if the question unsettles him in a way he doesn’t quite understand. "I don’t know," he admits. "Maybe? It’s a nice thought, I guess."
Moondae hums in response, fingers brushing against the rim of the untouched coffee cup in front of him. "Some people say fate is just an illusion. That we make our own choices, but..." He trails off, his gaze lowering to the boy’s wrist, where a faint mark peeks from beneath the sleeve of his sweater. The sight sends a ripple of something dark and possessive through him, but he keeps his expression calm. "I think some things are meant to happen no matter what we do."
The boy frowns slightly, as if trying to place the strange familiarity of this conversation, but before he can respond, Moondae leans back with a quiet smile.
"It was nice talking to you," he says, standing slowly. "I hope I see you again."
Moondae leaves the café without looking back, but the image of the boy lingers in his mind long after the door swings shut behind him. The air outside feels heavier now, thick with the weight of something inevitable. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets, letting his steps guide him aimlessly through the streets, though he already knows where he will end up.
The bookstore down the block is one he has visited countless times before. He steps inside, inhaling the familiar scent of paper and dust as he moves toward the back, where the older collections are kept. He runs his fingers along the spines of worn books, tracing over embossed titles and faded lettering, until he finds the one he is looking for. The cover is battered from time, but the pages remain intact.
He flips it open, skimming through passages he has long since memorized.
"Some souls are bound together beyond the reach of time."
The words settle over him like a whisper from the past. He closes the book carefully, exhaling a slow breath before placing it back where it belongs.
Tomorrow, he will return to the café. Maybe he will strike up another conversation, something lighthearted and easy, just like before. He has learned not to rush these things.
Sejin sees him the next afternoon before he even steps inside. The glass window reflects the fading sunlight, but Moondae’s silhouette is clear as he approaches. Sejin doesn’t know why he notices, why his chest tightens slightly at the sight of a stranger he met just once. There is something unsettlingly familiar about him, something that tugs at the back of his mind like a song he has forgotten the lyrics to.
Moondae enters, scanning the café briefly before his eyes settle on Sejin with practiced ease. His lips curl into an almost knowing smile as he makes his way over.
"You’re here again," Moondae says, as if this is surprising.
"So are you," Sejin replies, closing his book but keeping a finger between the pages.
Moondae tilts his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Maybe this is fate."
Sejin lets out a small laugh, but there is something uncertain in the way he shifts in his seat. "You really like that idea, don’t you?"
Moondae slides into the chair across from him. "I do," he admits. "But I think you do too."
Sejin frowns, caught off guard by the certainty in his tone. He considers arguing, but before he can, Moondae gestures toward his book. "What were you reading today?"
Sejin glances down. "It’s about reincarnation. Kind of weird, actually." He flips the book around so Moondae can see the title. "I picked it up randomly, but it’s... familiar, somehow."
Moondae’s fingers tap idly against the table. "Maybe you’ve read it before."
"Maybe," Sejin says, though he doesn’t sound convinced.
After that, the conversation drifts into safer topics, but the strange feeling lingers. When Sejin leaves, he catches his reflection in the café window. He looks the same as always, but for some reason, a shiver runs down his spine.
That night, he dreams of a different city, a different time. His hands are clasped with someone else’s, and he hears laughter echoing in the distance. He can’t see the other person’s face, but the warmth of their touch feels achingly familiar. When he wakes up, the feeling doesn’t fade. It lingers, a quiet weight pressing against his chest, and he tries to shake it off, telling himself it’s nothing, but the unease follows him throughout the day. Moondae notices, always does.
“Something on your mind?” Moondae asks, setting down his coffee as they sit at their usual spot by the café window. The autumn breeze slips through the open door, rustling Sejin’s book.
Sejin exhales, staring into his cup as if searching for something within its depths. “I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling… off.”
Moondae tilts his head, watching him closely. “Off how?”
Sejin struggles to explain it, trying to put the sensation into words, but the feeling is elusive. “Like I’m forgetting something important, but I don’t know what it is.”
Moondae hums, stirring his drink slowly, his gaze never leaving Sejin. “Maybe you’re overthinking it.”
“Maybe,” Sejin mutters, shaking his head. “It’s stupid.”
Moondae’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Nothing about you is stupid.”
Sejin can’t help but look up then, really look at him. Moondae’s gaze is steady, patient, as though he already understands without needing to be told. It’s a quiet comfort, one that settles deeper than Sejin expects. Moondae’s voice is soft as he speaks again, the words slipping out before Sejin can stop them. “Do you want to go out with me?”
Moondae blinks, taken aback for just a moment, then a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Are you asking me on a date?”
Sejin hesitates but nods, his heart thudding louder than it should. “Yeah, I think I am.”
Moondae reaches across the table, brushing his fingers lightly against Sejin’s wrist, the cold touch sending a ripple of warmth through him. “I’d like that,” Moondae says, and Sejin can hear the sincerity in his voice, as if he’s been waiting for this moment all along.
The shift between them happens naturally. One moment, they’re simply existing side by side, and the next, everything is different.
Their first date is easy, just the two of them strolling along the river at dusk, the city lights flickering on the water, the quiet hum of the world moving around them. Sejin doesn’t feel nervous, not with Moondae beside him, their hands brushing with every step, the closeness almost comforting.
Their second date is dinner at Moondae’s apartment, the kitchen filled with the scents of food and laughter. The space feels small, cozy, and familiar, as if they’ve done this before, and when they finally sit down to eat, it’s comfortable, effortless.
The third date isn’t even a date at all—Sejin falls asleep next to Moondae on the couch, the sound of rain tapping against the windows. When he wakes, his head is resting against Moondae’s shoulder, and Moondae is already awake, watching him with an unreadable look.
“You’re staring,” Sejin murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
Moondae smiles, faint but genuine. “I know.”
Sejin doesn’t ask why; he simply lets it be, unsure of what to make of the sudden shift in the air between them.
Days slip into weeks, and before Sejin knows it, they’re a couple. They wake up in the same bed, share quiet mornings over coffee, and laugh over burnt toast. Moondae kisses him slow, deep, as if time has no hold on them.
Sejin turns 24 in the warmth of spring, with Moondae beside him. As they sit together, Sejin blows out the candles on his cake, and Moondae’s voice murmurs softly, “One more year.”
Sejin chuckles, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “Until what?”
Moondae’s fingers lace with his, his grip firm and steady. “Until another year with you.”
Time passes. Summer bleeds into autumn, the air crisp and fresh with the change in seasons. But something changes between them, subtly. Moondae’s touch lingers longer, his gaze holds a certain intensity, as if he’s memorizing Sejin down to the smallest detail. His attention grows sharper, more focused, as if something is coming.
Sejin starts to notice the small things: Moondae watching him a little too closely, the way he always seems to be there when Sejin wakes up or when he’s about to fall asleep. It’s comforting at first, but soon it feels like something is just out of reach, a tension in the air that Sejin can’t quite place.
By winter, Sejin is 24 and seven months. The days are colder, the nights longer, but the warmth between them still feels like the only thing that matters. Moondae is still as constant as he ever was, his presence never faltering. But Sejin wakes up at night, the feeling creeping back into his chest, more urgent now, and he can’t shake the growing sense that something is wrong.
As winter settles in, the days grow colder, and Sejin feels an unsettling sense of foreboding that he can’t shake. He doesn't bring it up to Moondae, wanting to savor the happiness they’ve built together, but the unease lingers, always in the background. It’s there when Moondae’s touch lingers just a second too long or when he looks at Sejin in a way that seems too intense. Every time they share a quiet moment, the warmth between them feels real, yet Sejin can’t ignore the small, strange disquiet building within him.
Still, he tries to push it down. Their relationship has blossomed in ways Sejin never expected. They’re growing closer with each passing day, their mornings spent wrapped in each other’s arms, their nights filled with laughter and conversation. The way Moondae listens, the way his touch feels like a promise, makes Sejin believe that, for once, something good is happening in his life.
But as the weeks pass, something has clearly changed. The quiet moments they used to share now carry a tension that Sejin can't ignore. It’s as if something is pressing on the air between them, making it heavier, colder. He tries to tell himself it's nothing, but deep down, a sense of dread lingers, thick and suffocating.
One evening, Moondae calls Sejin while he’s at home alone. His voice on the other end is calm, but there's an edge to it that makes Sejin’s heart skip.
“I need to see you,” Moondae says, his words deliberate.
Sejin feels a strange chill run down his spine, but he tries to keep his voice steady. “Of course. When will you be here?”
“Soon,” Moondae replies, a vague promise that only increases the knot in Sejin's stomach.
Moondae arrives a short while later, his presence filling the room in a way that feels both comforting and unsettling. He walks toward Sejin with the same quiet grace he always has, but this time, there’s a coldness in his eyes that Sejin hasn’t seen before. Moondae’s gaze seems sharper, like he's studying Sejin more closely than ever before.
They stand in the living room for a few moments, the silence stretching between them until it becomes almost unbearable. Moondae finally takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving Sejin’s.
Sejin can’t help but notice how Moondae’s proximity seems to fill the room with a strange tension, a weight that presses down on him. It’s not the same warmth that they’ve shared before. It feels... different. Sejin’s breath hitches as Moondae’s fingers brush against his skin, and for a moment, it’s like the world holds its breath, waiting.
Moondae smiles. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and it only makes Sejin feel more on edge. “We need to talk,” Moondae says, his voice soft but steady.
Sejin swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like he’s standing on the edge of something he doesn’t quite understand.
“About what?” Sejin asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
Moondae steps even closer, his eyes narrowing as if he's examining Sejin from the inside out. “About us. About what’s happening.” The words feel like they hang in the air, heavy and foreboding, and for the first time, Sejin is afraid of what might come next.
Sejin opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, Moondae places a hand on his cheek, his touch cold and steady. The strange sense of fear rises within Sejin, but he forces it down, telling himself it’s nothing. It’s just the stress, the uncertainty.
But Moondae doesn’t pull away. He leans in slowly, and Sejin feels his pulse quicken, unsure whether it’s from the intimacy or something darker. He knows Moondae better than anyone, yet right now, there’s a part of him he can’t read.
Moondae presses his lips to Sejin’s, gently at first, then with more insistence. There’s something in the way their kiss deepens that unsettles Sejin, something in the way Moondae’s hands tremble ever so slightly. It’s as if Moondae is trying to hold onto something, as if he’s afraid of losing it.
When Moondae pulls back, his gaze is intense. “I can’t lose you,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s speaking more to himself than to Sejin.
Sejin doesn’t know how to respond, his mind spinning with questions he can’t ask. He wants to say something, to ask why Moondae looks at him this way, but he can’t find the words.
Instead, he lets the silence stretch, each breath between them heavy with meaning. Time seems to slow, and in that moment, Sejin realizes just how little he knows about Moondae. How much he’s still in the dark. And somehow, that terrifies him more than anything else.
As the days pass, the weight of Moondae's words lingers in Sejin’s mind. There’s a deep unease in his chest that he can't quite shake. It’s not just the intensity of Moondae’s gaze or the strange sense of urgency in his voice; it’s the quiet changes in Moondae’s behavior. The way he clings to Sejin just a little too tightly, how his touch lingers longer than before, like he’s trying to make sure Sejin is real, that he’s still here. And Sejin... he can’t deny that he’s drawn to Moondae, that part of him wants to be close to him in the same way, but there’s something off about it all.
The tension grows between them like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating. They fall into a rhythm, but it’s not the same as it was before. It’s like a slow, creeping uncertainty is taking hold, and Sejin starts to question the ease of their relationship. He can’t help but wonder if Moondae’s intensity is a reflection of his own fear.
Then, one evening, when they’re curled up on the couch, Moondae says something that catches Sejin off guard.
"How do you feel about turning 25?" Moondae’s voice is soft, almost casual, but the question carries weight that Sejin doesn’t understand.
Sejin stares at him, the question surprising him more than he’d like to admit. He turns his head to meet Moondae’s gaze. "I’m not sure. It’s just another year, right?"
Moondae doesn’t respond immediately, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of Sejin’s shirt. “It’s a big year for you,” he says quietly. “For us.”
“What do you mean?”
Moondae’s eyes flicker briefly to Sejin’s neck, where the faint outline of his soulmate mark is still visible, a small, unspoken reminder of the bond they share. Sejin notices the look but doesn’t comment on it. He’s too distracted by the vague unease that Moondae’s words have left behind.
For the next few days, Sejin tries to ignore the gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach, but it only intensifies as the days draw closer to his birthday. There’s an undeniable sense of dread, a quiet tension that tightens around his chest. The world around him seems to slow, his heart heavy with an inexplicable weight. Every time Moondae smiles at him, every time their hands touch, Sejin can’t help but wonder: What is it that Moondae isn’t telling him?
And then, the night before his birthday came.
Moondae isn’t himself. His smile is too wide, his eyes too intense, and his touch too possessive. He doesn’t let go of Sejin all night, his presence overwhelming. Sejin feels smothered, caught in the web Moondae seems to be weaving around him, and yet he can’t bring himself to pull away. He knows something’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what. It’s as if Moondae’s touch is both comforting and suffocating, familiar and foreign at the same time.
They don’t talk much that night. There’s a sense of inevitability hanging over them, an unsaid understanding that something is about to change. Sejin wants to ask Moondae what’s going on, but every time he opens his mouth, the words die on his tongue. The silence between them feels too heavy to break, like the moment is fragile, suspended in time.
Finally, as the clock strikes midnight and the calendar marks Sejin’s birthday, Moondae leans down and presses his lips to Sejin’s forehead.
“Happy birthday, Sejin,” Moondae whispers, his breath warm against Sejin’s skin. But there’s something in his voice that sounds... distant. Cold, even.
Sejin closes his eyes, trying to ignore the growing panic rising in his chest. When he opens them again, he finds Moondae staring at him with an unreadable expression. There’s something in Moondae’s eyes—something that’s been there all along but only now feels like a cold, glaring truth.
Sejin doesn’t know how to respond. He wants to say something, to ask Moondae what’s going on, but the words die in his throat.
Moondae pulls away slowly, his hand lingering on Sejin’s shoulder for just a moment longer than necessary. “Get some rest,” he says softly, almost too softly, before turning and walking away.
Sejin watches him leave, the weight of Moondae’s words hanging in the air like a dark promise, and for the first time, he feels completely alone.
As Sejin falls into a restless sleep that night, his mind drifts through a haze of confusion and dread. He can feel Moondae’s presence even though he’s no longer in the room—his warmth, his touch, that undeniable pull that has always been there. But now, it feels like a weight, a shadow hanging over him.
When Sejin wakes, the first thing he notices is the silence. The house feels too still, too quiet. Moondae isn’t there, and the absence is immediate and overwhelming. Sejin gets out of bed, the cool air of the morning brushing against his skin, and steps into the living room, expecting to find Moondae at the kitchen table or on the couch, like usual.
Instead, there’s nothing.
It’s only when Sejin’s gaze lands on the hallway leading to their bedroom that he feels a tightness in his chest. Something feels wrong. He walks down the hall, his footsteps light, as if trying not to disturb the air itself. When he opens the door to their room, the sight that greets him sends a chill through his bones. Moondae is standing by the window, his back to Sejin, staring out into the early morning light with an expression Sejin has never seen before.
He’s like staring into an abyss only he can see.
“Moondae?” Sejin’s voice trembles, a soft whisper in the quiet.
Moondae doesn’t turn immediately. The seconds stretch on painfully before he faces Sejin. His eyes, once warm and full of affection, are now distant, unreadable.
“Sejin,” Moondae says, his voice smooth, almost too calm. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Sejin swallows, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest, the growing sense that he’s about to hear something he’s not ready for. “What is it?”
Moondae steps closer, his every movement slow and calculated. His hands are trembling, but Sejin doesn’t notice, too focused on the quiet menace in the air. When Moondae finally reaches him, he pauses just inches away, his gaze never leaving Sejin’s.
“I’ve loved you for so long, Sejin,” Moondae says, his voice low and filled with something Sejin can’t name. “I would do anything to keep you with me. I’ve done things you couldn’t even begin to imagine… and I’ll keep doing them. I can’t let go of you. I won’t.”
Sejin opens his mouth to speak, but the words fail him. His heart pounds in his chest, confusion and fear clawing at his insides. “Moondae… what are you talking about?”
Moondae’s lips curl into a twisted, sad smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I made a promise to you. A promise that we’d be together. But it’s not enough to love you, Sejin. I need you to be with me, forever. No matter the cost.”
The air in the room feels heavier now, suffocating. Sejin’s pulse races as his instincts scream at him to run, to get away, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Moondae.
“Sejin, did you know that if your soulmate dies on his 25th birthday, you get to live forever and keep your youthful look? Remember the book you've read? Yeah, I read it from there. I thought it was bullshit, but on your first life you died to an accident. And guess what? It turned out to be true. There is only one catch though, if your soulmate is reborn and you failed to kill him on his birthday, forget about living forever. So I did the unthinkable when I saw you again on your second life. And then the next.”
Sejin’s world tilts. His breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, everything goes still. He doesn’t understand, can’t understand. “What nonsense are you saying right now, Moondae?”
Moondae reaches for him, his hands grasping Sejin’s wrists with a force that surprises him. “I love you, Sejin. And I’ll keep you with me, no matter what it takes. I can’t die, not if it means losing you. I’m sorry. I just love you too much.”
Before Sejin can react, Moondae presses something cold against his chest. He looks down to find a knife, its blade glinting in the light.
“No… Moondae, stop! Please...” The pleading in Sejin’s voice is too late. The knife plunges deep, and Sejin’s words are cut off as the world goes dark around him. The pain is brief but sharp, a searing reminder that Moondae’s love is both his curse and his salvation.
As Sejin crumples to the floor, blood staining the carpet, Moondae watches him with empty eyes. His fingers, trembling with the weight of what he’s done, reach out to brush against Sejin’s skin one last time.
“I’m sorry, Sejin,” Moondae whispers, his voice broken but firm. “I’ll bring you back. I always do. Because we’re meant to be together. We have to be.”
And as Sejin’s body lies lifeless before him, Moondae doesn’t feel the guilt he should. No, all he feels is the gnawing need to keep living, to keep Sejin with him, no matter the cost. He won’t let go. Not this time. Not ever.
The room is deathly still, the air thick with the weight of what has just happened. Moondae kneels beside Sejin's body, blood pooling beneath him. His hands, still warm with the touch of life, tremble as he brushes his fingers along Sejin’s cold cheek. He’s done it again. But this time, it feels different. There's something gnawing at him, a fear he can’t quite shake.
“I’ll bring you back,” he whispers to Sejin, as if saying it enough will make it true.
The room doesn’t respond. The silence is suffocating, the only sound the erratic beating of Moondae's own heart. He stands, walking away from the body that he knows will soon be restored. He steps outside into the night, the cool air doing nothing to calm the fire burning inside him.
Time passes.
Sejin’s absence feels like a hollow echo, but Moondae has grown accustomed to it. Days, weeks, months slip by, and he waits, each day heavier than the last, for the inevitable return. He keeps himself hidden from the world, watching from the shadows, always waiting for the day Sejin’s name will come back to him, marking his skin once again.
Then one day, it happens. The unmistakable burn sears across his wrist as Sejin’s name reappears like it’s always been there. A sharp pain, fleeting as always, and yet Moondae feels it in his bones. It doesn’t just mark him; it reminds him.
He can feel Sejin before he even sees him. That strange magnetic pull is back, a gravitational force that’s always been there, but now it feels more like a warning, an omen.
Moondae tracks down this version of Sejin. New, reborn, unaware. The eyes are different, the smile unfamiliar, but the essence is unmistakable. He’s here again.
Sejin looks at him with a stare so warm he feels like he could melt. The moment their eyes meet, Moondae is struck as if all the years of waiting have finally culminated in this single, impossible moment.
Sejin then approached Moondae, “You look cute. Can I get your number?” He asked while rubbing the back of his nape, with a sheepish smile as he handed his phone to Moondae.
Of course doesn’t remember. He never does.
Moondae gave him his sweetest smile and typed his number.
I knew you would come back to me.
fin.