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Angel Eyes: Sugar and Spice

❀ Summary ❀ ─ You see matches made by fate, and you’ve never been wrong in all the years of your life. So really, when you’re asked to double check a reading, it feels like being asked to check if water is wet.

❀ Pairing(s) ❀ ─ Hoseok x reader

❀ Rating ❀ ─ T

❀ Genre(s) ❀ ─ Fluff, light angst, I high key think MC makes this fic a comedy, soulmate AU, strangers to lovers AU

❀ Disclaimers ❀ ─ Mentions of assault, pepper spray, swear words

❀ Word Count ❀ ─ 3.9k

❀ A/N ❀ ─ This fic has been in my drafts for months and if I make another edit I might cry. I am open to feedback (or offers to beta read)! Thank you 🌸

The man that sits in front of you moistens his lips again, looking like he might burst as he waits for your reading. You pay no mind to his fidgeting – it’s a common trait customers display in your line of work.

“Congratulations, sir,” you beam. “It’s a match.”

His eyes widen, before blinking repeatedly as if he can’t quite believe what you said. It’s kind of endearing, honestly, watching the man who must at least be in his forties stare at you like a schoolboy. 

“A-are you sure?” he stammers.

“Absolutely. Your soulmate looks exactly like the woman you showed me on your phone,” you assure. “You met her through work, but it looks like the two of you were at loggerheads in the beginning.”

“Why – yes-”

“And you got close when you drove her to pick up a boy, I’m guessing her son, up from school when he was sent home sick.”

“That’s true,” he says, and you see his eyes widen in a look you’ve seen countless times.

“I see flashes of a wedding somewhere with high ceilings, like a church. I see a house with 2 storeys and a huge green door. I see waffles for brunch at a small cafe. And I see you with her and that boy in all of them. Sir, it’s a match.”

“Oh,” he sniffles, and the tissue you offer is taken swiftly as he begins to sob. “Thank you, Miss. This is exactly what I hoped to hear.”

“It’s a pleasure,” you reply sweetly. “All in a day’s work of a matchmaker.”

Your eyes are aching again, a tell tale sign that you took on too much. But the comforting aroma of take-out wafts temptingly, and you feel yourself loosen as you walk through the door. “Yeseo, I’m home!” you sing.

Yeseo appears from her room, already in sweatpants and towel-wrapped hair. “Finally, I almost started the show without you. What took you so long?” 

If you didn’t know Yeseo so well, you would have thought she was angry. But you’ve realised Yeseo’s just a fluff ball with a no-nonsense exterior, and also the platonic love of your life.

“Yeseo!” you repeat joyously. “Sorry for being late. My last client made me retake the reading. I tried to tell her it wouldn’t change, but she insisted anyway.”

“Mm… and how many of these have you gotten this week?” Microwavable bowls are summoned to the table with a flick of her wrist, and she begins transferring the food whilst addressing you.

You sigh audibly. “Maybe five?”

You understand their disappointment and uncertainty when the results are not what they look for - you really do. It’s just hard when they refuse to accept your reading because really, you’re just the messenger. You see matches made by fate, and you’ve never been wrong in all the years of your life. So really, when you’re asked to double check a reading, it feels like being asked to check if water is wet.

Yeseo huffs, before squeezing your shoulders in the way she does to comfort you. “You know they’re idiots, right?”

“No they aren’t,” you protest. You move to open the microwave so that Yeseo can send your dinners flying into it. “It just feels bad when I can’t give them what they want, you know? Happy endings are why I do this in the first place.”

“Yes, and that’s why I’ll never want to know about my match,” Yeseo says. “Watch your head.” As the microwave begins to whir, she turns on the kettle with a flick of her finger. “Love is messy, no? Seems a lot better to let it run its course.”

“It is. But you know that’s why I try to help. Did you know? I had a man burst into tears after I confirmed his match today. His wife passed and he wanted assurance that it was okay to love her. And now they will have waffles for brunch and watch their son’s football practice, and they’ll go on walks in the park…”

“Okay, you’re making that face again,” Yeseo says, snapping you out of it. The warm memory of your visions has you smiling, a little more comforted. “Anyway, I stopped by the store to pick up some of that honey you ran out of.”

You squeal, putting your arms around her. “Oh, what would I do without you, you absolute treasure?”

“It’s just honey,” she scoffs, but her lips upturn anyway. “Get the food out of the microwave, I’ll turn on the TV.”

Some say you can fall in love at first sight, while others say it takes years for true love to be gained. 

You estimate that it takes three seconds for you to determine a person’s soulmate(s). It usually starts with the silhouette of a body, a glimpse of their face… as more eye contact is made, scenes of first meetings and happily-ever-afters begin to flicker through. While your powers are nowhere as revered as Yeseo’s telekinesis, it is well sought after and you’ve come to appreciate the joy it can bring. 

The familiar bell tinkles as you open the door to The Magic Shop – a cafe that sits in the middle of the bustling street. With wisterias that hang from the ceiling, and the fairy lights just close enough to touch, walking in feels like you’ve entered an enchanted forest. Vintage fairytale illustrations adorn the walls haphazardly, with fluorescent lights that shout, “Have your cake and eat it too!” 

What has given the cafe its name, however, is its owner’s almost magical pastries. Apart from their heavenly taste, Jin’s abilities allow him to evoke certain emotions for a period of time through food. (You are impartial to his Dearly Loved Strawberry Shortcake, which you can only describe as the feeling of being wrapped in a strawberry scented blanket and given forehead kisses). He takes the phrase ‘made with love’ to a whole new level, and you’ve witnessed more than a few customers step out with a dazed look in their eyes. 

“Good morning, Jin,” you sing, and he looks up. Clad in a ‘Don’t go baking my heart’ apron, he wipes down the counters while nodding at you.

“Good morning, Miss Matchmaker,” he greets pleasantly, “Glad to see you’re not late again.”

Hey! For all the good vibes he puts out on a daily basis, Jin sure can be petty. Your lower lip juts out in defence as you put down your bag. “That was two weeks ago, boss, and you know I had a good reason.” 

“I don’t think stopping to feed stray cats counts as a good reason,” your fellow employee Jungkook cuts in, broom in hand as he sweeps under the tables. 

“It followed me and was meowing so pitifully! Would you not have done the same?” You argue. You know that Jungkook has a soft heart, regardless of his jab. Many a time he has gifted Warm Hug Brownies or Pick Me Up Coffee Cakes to customers with downcast expressions.

The three of you settle into comfortable banter as you help to ready the shop, displaying pastries along the glass cabinets. When the front of the cafe is ready, you turn on the fairy lights lined across your matchmaking booth at the corner. You and Jin have established a comfortable collaboration where you provide matchmaking services when booked, but assist him in running the shop otherwise. It provides practice for when you (hopefully) set up an independent shop, and draws in customers to the cafe.

“Will it be a busy day for you?” Jungkook inquires, flipping the ‘Closed’ sign to display ‘Open’ instead. 

“Not many appointments booked today, but I have to help Jin with the tartlets anyway,” you reply, looking at the small crowd of people that have begun to amble the street. “Say, you won’t believe a match I made yesterday,” you say, eyes lighting up. Jungkook leans in, an avid listener to your never-ending romances. 

The day goes by smoothly, with you helping a very high-strung Jin who insists the tartlets need to look just so. (You offer him a Calming Earl Grey Chiffon more than once, much to his offence.) You’re in the midst of storing the tartlets in the fridge when the lanky man arrives, closing the door with a bang. “I’m looking for the matchmaker,” he demands.

“That would be me,” you smile, taking off your apron. You wave him over welcomingly, despite his steely expression. “Are you looking for a blind reading?” 

“I’m looking for my girlfriend. She ran out on me last week and I’ve yet to track down the bitch.” 

Your smile falls. You’ve met all sorts of people in this line, but these types - the ones who are vengeful, angry or bitter - rarely leave appeased.

“I have to let you know that I can’t control what I see, or predict when things will happen. I can only let you know who I see as your match, and possible events involving them.”

“What - and you’re charging this much?”

“I-I’m afraid so.”

He scoffs. “Well, you’ll see her so just tell me what you see.” 

Something in you already knows what is going to happen next, but like the pushover you are, you summon a feeble smile. “Let’s get started, then.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise sincerely, having to convey news which you know the man does not want to hear. “She’s not your match. I see another woman, one with dark hair. I could do a quick sketch if it’d be of any-”

‘Liar,” he interrupts, chest beginning to heave, ‘She is the love of my life. She is mine. And I hired a stupid matchmaker like you to help, not to tell me otherwise.’

‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I have to provide you with this news,’ you say, voice shaking just a little. ‘I don’t have control over what I see, and I’m sure that there must have been reasons that it didn’t work out.”

The man stands up abruptly, causing you to startle and move two steps back. “Lies! You’re nothing but a liar and a fraud!” he seethes. Both of his fists are clenched tightly as he moves towards you, and you look frantically towards the main counter for help.

“Who are you to say she is meant for another? Who are you to say we aren’t matched by the fates? You’re nothing but a fraud,” he hurls. And oh, it hurts. Because you’ve heard it over and over again, but it still feels like a knife in your chest every time your genuine attempts to help end in this manner.

How many broken hearts have you seen in your lifetime? How many loves have you seen end in disaster? You don’t want things to end up this way either.

You barely register the hands that grip you firmly, guiding you to stand behind them. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Our matchmaker gives only her honest readings, and it won’t change just because you threatened her. If you would please,” he gestures towards the door firmly, and despite his polite words his glare is anything but.

You look up from your tears to see the back of Jungkook’s pink apron, shielding you from the man. 

There is heavy breathing before the man speaks. “You’re going to regret this,” he hisses, and you feel the burn of his stare even from behind Jungkook. Your shoulder is shoved as he rushes past, the door swinging shut with a jingle that is all too juxtaposing. 

You dimly register the aftermath of the encounter - a terse silence and blurry faces staring from their cups of coffee.

Jin clears his throat. “Hello everyone, I’m so sorry for the disturbance caused! If anyone needs a bit of a soother, I can offer our Calming Earl Grey on the house. Of course, I’m sure my dashing good looks could also charm you out of your distress?” he says, raising his eyebrows exaggeratedly. The crowd chuckles good-naturedly, before slowly returning to their conversations.

Jin joins the both of you, with you still trembling like a leaf in the wake of it all. “Are you okay? Did he touch you?” he asks, looking over you in concern.

You blink away the tears in your eyes, rubbing at your cheeks furiously.

“I’m okay,” you mumble, forcing your lips into a smile. It’s your fault for causing this mess - crying like a baby will only make you more of a burden. 

“Hey, why don’t you take a break? You don’t have other appointments, and I can manage the store with Jungkook,” Jin offers. 

Your throat wells up with feelings that have no place to go. “No, no, I’m fine,” you insist, looking anywhere except their eyes. “I’ll go help out with the dishes, okay?”

It feels like a weight off your shoulders when you finally get off work. Jin and Jungkook had walked on eggshells around you after the incident, and you couldn’t do anything but smile to try and prevent their pitiful glances. 

This was all your fault. Why couldn’t you be of better help? Why did you have to be a burden?

No, you refuse to be a burden. Your thoughts shift to Yeseo, who has been rushing a deadline for her studies. She probably hasn’t eaten, has she? While you know nothing about engineering, you do know how to make a mean kimchi fried rice. 

You won’t be useless.

In your state of half-consciousness, you barely notice the people you pass, swerving past instinctively. It’s too bad that you don’t realise the familiar figure until it’s too late.

What happens next is a blur. You only remember the kick that sends your knees to the ground, and the sound of a spray can before your eyes begin to sting.

“Stupid bitch,” the voice barks, and there’s nothing you can do but cry out when you feel the next kick to your stomach. “With such a useless gift, you’re better off blind.”

Useless.

You don’t know how long you are there, rubbing at your burning eyelids before there is a tap at your shoulders. You flinch instinctively before the concern in his voice reaches your ears.

“Hey, hey – what happened?” 

You gasp, forcing the words out. “It hurts.”

“Where does it hurt?”

The kick felt like nothing compared to the state of your eyes. “Eyes – burn. Water.”

“Pepper spray? Hold on, I have water with me.” You hear fumbling as a zipper is opened, you hear the bottle opened hurriedly. “I’m going to lift you up,” he says, and you feel yourself being pulled to rest against something soft. “Look up for me, won’t you?” 

Firm fingers tilt your chin upwards, and you sigh in temporary relief when cool water dribbles down your face. Unfortunately, the water doesn’t do much else, and you rub at your eyes instinctively. “No, don’t rub,” the voice objects, and two hands pull your wrist downwards.

“It hurts!” you whine in protest, trying to push him away. But the person is obviously much stronger and holds both your hands with ease. You squeeze his hands tightly, unable to control yourself in your agony. 

“I know – hey, hey – I’ll pour some on my towel for you, just hold on,” he says. You hear more fumbling before a wet cloth is pressed against your eyelids, and your head is held up again as he attempts to wipe your eyes. It helps, but just barely.

“Better?” he asks, and you lift your shoulders frustratedly. 

“It hurts.” You repeat. The pain is all you can think about. 

“And your knees are scraped too,” the voice mutters, and there is a silence before he makes a decision. “There’s a convenience store not far from here. I’ll get more water for you.”

“No!” you cry, the panic evident in your voice. “I don’t know if he’s still there, I’m so sorry I just - ” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you,” the voice shushes, and he holds onto your hands ever more firmly. “But I’ll need you to walk with me if you can, so try your best to hold on, okay?”

That is how the kind stranger winds up leading you to the convenience store, flushing out your eyes by the pavement. By the time the bottle is empty, the pain seems to have subsided enough for you to hold a conversation. You let go of his hands, feeling conscious enough to be embarrassed.

“I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am,” you mumble, the towel he gave still pressed against your eyes. “I’m so sorry to have been a bother, you must have been on your way home.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Does it still hurt?”

“I’m much better now, thank you.”

“If it still hurts, we can get more water, you know. Or we could get soap to wash it out.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine.”

Was the attacker someone you knew?” 

You fiddle with the towel, wondering if you should lie. “Well...You could say that. He was a client.” You finally admit. 

“Do you want me to call the police? You should make a report.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Be-because he had a reason to.”

The stranger refutes, anger clear in his voice. “There is no reason that could possibly warrant assault.” And you don’t know how to answer that, so you lie through your teeth.

“I’ll get to it…just not right now. I can barely see, as it is.”

The silence he responds with makes you wonder if you didn’t do a good job.

“If I may, could I ask what was his reason?”

What can you say without sounding more stupid than you already look? I couldn’t find his soulmate. And I know it doesn’t make sense, but I think it’s my fault because I couldn’t do my job and make him happy. It’s such a stupid reason that you find yourself stalling.

“Maybe…I have X-ray vision.”

“That’s a lie,” he huffs - and you grin at his admission.

“Well…maybe I work in the mafia.” 

Hoseok raises his brow. “I highly doubt the mafia would hire someone with so many strawberries in their hair.”

“Why, because it’s cute?”

“No, because you’d be too conspicuous.”

You giggle despite the tears you wipe from your eyes. “Oh, you’re no fun. Why don’t you play along?”

The stranger scoffs, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. “You’ll have to forgive me for being dull.”

“Dull you may be, but you're a kind soul nonetheless,” you concede, expression lighter than before. “I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you. Maybe you can come to my place for dinner some time. Let me know what you’d like me to cook? Or I also know a place that sells great pastries, I’d be happy to treat you…Oh!” you gasp, groping blindly around you. 

“What? What is it?” he matches your frantic tone, before realising that you’re looking for your bag. You fumble for your lunchbox before presenting it to him proudly.  “These are tarts from the place I work, please have them!” 

“Oh,” the stranger answers, and he is clearly taken aback. 

“Really - my boss puts these positive feelings into them which can really perk you up for a bit. You won’t regret trying them, I swear.”

“Uh- thank you. But you don’t even know me, how am I going to return it to you -”

“I know you’re a kind soul. You can have the lunchbox!” you say, and shoot him the brightest smile you can muster in your pain.

“You should probably head home; thank you so much for your help!”

“I’m concerned about how you’re going to get home. You didn’t even let me flush out your wounds. Is there anyone that can help you home?”

Your expression falls at the thought of Yeseo, probably still busy with her deadline. “I’ll call my roommate, don’t worry!”

Under the bright lights, you can just about make out the silhouette of a grey jumper over a sleek figure and angular face. But his eyes look at you so intensely that you can feel you can see it even half-blind. 

“You don’t have to lie, you know. I’ll call you a cab or walk with you if it’s not far away.”

“Why would I? I’m much better now, really!”

“I’ve seen 4-year-olds lie better than you.”

“I- I’m not lying.”

The strangers sighs deeply. “Well then, how many fingers am I holding up?” He tests. “If you answer wrongly, I’m taking you home.”

Your bleary eyes attempt to open and make out his figure. You don’t realise that he didn’t even bother holding out his hand. “Um, two?”

“Cute.” he deadpans. “Now, where to?”

While your vision is still blurry, it doesn’t take sight to feel Yeseo’s panicked energy when she opens the door. “I called you a million times, what happened?” she bristles. It is then her voice changes, presumably as she registers the presence of another person. “Who are you?”

Your stranger answers stiffly. “My apologies for intruding. Your friend was pepper sprayed and scraped her knees. She still can’t see very well so I walked her home. I’ve given her water to flush her eyes, but it’d probably be good to continue until her vision returns. Soap would help too.”

The grip she has on your arm tightens. “Thank you for your help.” The rustle of a bag is heard (probably your bag which he insisted on helping you carry) and you muster up a grateful look in his direction. You don’t know what he looks like, but you’ve long regarded him as a friend already. “Thank you, I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you - maybe I could whip up some fried rice anyway -”

“You won’t be doing any cooking, not in this state,” Yeseo snaps, pulling your arm to lean against her. “Thank you again. Let me know if you ever need something,” she says, and you hear his acknowledgement before the door clicks. 

You cringe as she bellows your full name. “What happened?” she reprimands, and you cringe whilst she does nothing short of drag you to the kitchen sink.

“Water, please it actually still burns kinda bad,” you say. You hear water trickling as Yeseo adjusts the tap, and as your head is guided to rest under it you can hear her seething. It is when you can see clearly, and she has bandaged your knees that she begins.

“What. The fuck. Happened. And why didn’t you call me?”

You are a ball of sunshine (as always). “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry and I could barely see anything anyway. I couldn’t even see my phone!”

“And so you didn’t even think of asking your new friend to help call me?”

“I - you were rushing an assignment so I didn’t want to bother you. Did you submit it in time? I’m hope I’m not - ”

Water is flicked onto you abruptly, and you splutter. “If you’re telling me you felt sorry to bother me in a life threatening situation, I’m about to make you feel very sorry,” she glowers. “Tell me what happened, tell me,” she demands, before pulling you into a tight hug.

You try your best to keep up your smile - you really do. But you think about the fury in the man’s eyes as he called you useless, and the pitying look on Jin and Jungkook. You think about how you couldn’t cook for Yeseo like you promised, and even bothered that stranger to bring you home. 

How could you be so, so useless?

You suppose it confirms it when you burst into tears.