There was one thing, however, that he could never quite make a lyrical comeback to.
His soulmate.
His non-existent soulmate.
On his 20th birthday, he had been all smiles. Heart racing with anticipation, stomach fluttering with butterflies, feet pacing about the room. He had gone to bed at 5 AM and woken up at 7 AM, slamming a palm to his alarm clock as he searched.
He had woken up to nothing.
No soul bond. No name on his skin. No change in his environment. No loss in his ability to see colour. No string on his pinkie. No sudden outrageous hair colour. He'd gone down the list of soul bonds, crossing out everything.
He had absolutely nothing.
There was nothing wrong with getting no soul bond. Firstly, some of the rarer soul bonds were difficult to see. Secondly, not everyone got their soul bond on their 20th birthday. It might just mean that his soulmate was younger than him and their soul bond had something to do with her.
It was fine. He had time and Casper could wait.
Disappointment, however, clung to him like a cloud as the years passed and he grew older. He tried to reason to himself. He told himself that fame made it harder for a relationship to prosper. That he should be thankful for the time given to him to become a better person. Someone who would better cherish his soulmate.
As he aged, his relatives started whispering to one another. Casper lumped it to their jealousy for his success and fame. Their bitterness led to those envious jabs at his person.
They talked about how his failures in his career led to his lack of a soulmate. About how he sinned on stage with those perverted dances and songs. About how he was a playboy, a trickster who spun dreams to millions of women.
The harshest came from the cousins of his age who laughed at his makeup and the rings on his ears. They called him a weak sissy. A gay fucker with his pretty girly get-ups and use of beauty products.
He had nothing against homosexuals, seriously, he didn't mind if his soulmate were a guy, but the way they said it hurt. It was poison to his mind, toxic and hateful, and their words clung to him so tightly that he recoiled when their stylist would give him the option of more androgynous outfits.
It was the reason why Casper rarely wore earrings. He was not like Sieon or MinJae who docked themselves in pearled earrings and jewelled necklaces. Casper stuck to simple hoops and more manly jewellery when he had to.
He didn't know why he wore metal chained earrings today.
It was one day before their concert.
Nothing new. Another world tour for their fans. Fans that he appreciated very much. He was nothing without them after all, nothing but a man screaming words into the air. He owed them everything, and they made him the person he was today.
Casper was famous.
He was not a newbie to fame. He'd been balls deep in it since he was 18 years old and it had been five years of hiding from crowds and paparazzi. Five years of masks and glasses, bodyguards and security.
He was used to it and frankly speaking he found it strangely flattering to be so dearly loved by so many. Regardless, stress ate at him...at the thought of possible failure and disappointment.
The need to live up to the expectations of his fans was so strong that it burned in his chest and suffocated him, squeezing at his lungs. So after a morning of endless rehearsals, he had opted to head to an art museum for a breather.
It was how he de-stressed. While his members took naps and de-stressed in their own little ways, he got a small army of bodyguards to follow him to the local art museum.
He melted into the work with strips of plastic. It was his personal favourite. The work swallowed him whole and took him to his quiet, happy place. The place where he was free from his worries, free from hateful self-deprecating thoughts, free from the burdens of his life. He spent an hour in that work just stewing in his head, contemplating about life.
He was about to leave. It was another hour before they had to start rehearsals again and he didn't want to be late. He did not expect to meet her on his way out.
Casper was tall.
His legs were long and he attributed it to the reason why he was clumsier than most. It was easy to trip over her feet. It was even easier to catch her small frame and pull her into his embrace to break her fall.
Casper was not a virgin.
One night stands were things that came from curiosity and the lack of a soulmate. An angry night with too many glasses of alcohol had sent him into the embrace of other soulmate-less women. The pleasure had brought him to more hook-ups.
It was a thing he did with some of the members of IDOL. Some, because even though all of them did not have a soulmate or at least obvious signs of a soulmate. Two of the members remained firm in their promise to keep their virginity for their soulmate.
Now, with their rising popularity, it was much more difficult to find easy pleasure as they used to a few years back. If anything, the recent scandal where a prostitute had filmed a sleeping idol in bed confirmed their worries. There was no way they could have sex with outsiders without spilling the group's secret of their lack of soulmates.
One could say that the sexual frustration in the group was at an all-time high which would have been higher if not for the internet. Casper's computer in his studio had been attacked by thousands of viruses from all the porn he watched with them.
To be honest, Casper was thankful that the members did not have a soulmate. It was a bad thing to be thankful for but he believed that having a soulmate would drive a certain wedge between them.
They were brothers in everything but blood. Even so, jealousy was a strong feeling that could tear apart the closest of bonds and he didn't want to try it any time soon.
Anyway, the girl in his arms.
He hadn't even looked at her face. It was all just the soft warmth of a feminine body pressed tightly against his own. Her breasts were warm mounds that radiated so much heat he could feel it even through the many layers of cloth.
He should be fine with just hugging. He'd fucked a girl for heaven's sake. His tally was more than thirty and he was no blushing newbie to sex. He'd sunk his damn dick into pussy. Hugging should be nothing to him. Nothing.
Yet his body had clenched and shivered so violently with hot arousal. His blood had hummed with an awareness of her, his cock swelling with blood. He'd never been so worked up in his entire life. He was more aroused than a bumbling 18-year-old virgin who was about to have sex, more heated than the first time he had ever seen his first porn video.
She had smelled wonderful.
He could smell the slightly bittersweet tang of coffee on her breath and that was nothing new. But her body had emitted the most amazing natural scent. He felt woozy from just breathing it in, drunk on the scent.
It was a feminine sweetness that reminded him of apples with a musky undertone that was aromatic like crispy pie crust with little caramel chips. Truthfully, it smelled nothing like food but it was just the closest thing his mind could link to. Probably because his body was eager, too damn fucking eager, to eat her pussy out.
It did not help when she made those soft little moans. It was probably from the pain or the frustration of being stuck with him, but his mind immediately dived right into the gutter and refused to surface.
Her soft breath had tickled the nape of his neck and then she spoke. The sound just painted an even lovelier picture of the woman in his arms.
It was sweet and lower than most girls.