Hi, people! So, I came up with this idea while listening to Cold December Night, by Michael Buble, and I had to write it down. This is just a little one-shot that takes place in a world where soulmates are very important and a little bit magical, if you find them. That's all I'm gonna say about it, you gotta read to find out more! Hope you like it; if you do, please leave a review and let me know what your favorite part was! :)

PS. I own none of these characters.

PPS. As you will soon find out, I am hopelessly in love with Minho and Newt as a couple, and will write much more about them later. Just a little warning for you ;)

Cold December Night

Soulmate.

What a beautiful thought. What a wonderful idea.

What a complete freakin' waste of time.

In this world, there was only one soulmate for every person. You were born for that person, born for the single purpose of meeting them somehow, someday. The instant you did, you'd know. It was said that it was like seeing Heaven, seeing everything you ever could've needed in someone else's eyes. It was supposed to be incredible. Truly love at first sight.

Which meant that it kinda sucked if you never met that person. Ever. Not once. Never even glanced at them.

If you haven't noticed yet, Minho was a bit ticked when it came to thinking about soulmates.

Here he was, standing in the middle of the biggest damn snowstorm in the history of the world, on Christmas Eve, with ABSOLUTELY NO ONE. He was really considering stabbing the next couple he came across. How was it that everybody he knew had met their soulmate already? Thomas had stumbled onto a girl named Brenda two months ago and they were happily dating now. Alby came across a spunky girl called Harriet and yep, they were dating. Even freaking Chuck had ran into a little girl at school the other day and was absolutely smitten with her. And where did that leave Minho?

Alone. In the cold and the snow. At night. Picking up a Christmas present for himself because he didn't have a soulmate to get him one. Merry Christmas to me, he thought drily, zipping his leather jacket up and sticking the blue beanie Chuck had bought for him on his head. A piece of jagged, coal-black hair flipped out from under it. Still grumbling to himself, he kicked his door shut behind him and trudged out into the snow-filled air. The sidewalk was icy under his boots as he walked, but not icy enough to send him falling like a clumsy moron.

The streetlights spilled little pools of gold across his path as he walked toward the one store he ever went to. It was a quaint little shop called Holidaze, and its name suggested what it sold. It was a curious store that changed its appearance based on what holiday was coming up that month. If you walked in during February, the whole place would be decked out with pink cutout hearts and Cupids, selling sappy cards and stuffed animals, and chocolates on the shelves. It was cute really, but Minho would never admit to anyone that he liked that kind of crap. He sighed and, having reached the Christmas-light-covered window of the shop, went inside.

The inside of Holidaze was warm and cozy, and the walls were lined with soft golden lights. The dark wooden shelves were stacked with Christmas cards, and stuffed reindeer toys, wreaths and candles. Everything. A cute little Christmas tree glittered in the corner. It was the most adorable damn thing Minho had ever seen. Oh, if Thomas could see me now, he thought, huffing at himself. He'd laugh his ass off. Sinking into an even crappier mood, he weaved through the shelves and made a beeline for the chocolate bars on their rack. When his life sucked more than usual, chocolate was his drug of choice.

Dark chocolate, he thought approvingly, glancing down at the stacks of candy bars. That milk chocolate shit would not help me right now. He grabbed about four bars and walked up to the counter at the front of the store.

One of those fat, red Christmas candles was flickering on the counter, filling the air with the smell of cinnamon. Tiny lights twinkled along the edge of the counter and someone's book was lying on top. Minho tipped his head to read the title. The Fault in our Stars, by John Green. How lovely. More soulmate, romantic love crap.

"Oh, jeez, sorry," a voice suddenly said, as a guy emerged from a side door a few feet away. "I didn't know someone came in." He made his way over to stand behind the counter.

"Don't worry about it," Minho said absently. He hardly even glanced at the guy as he set the chocolate down and dug around in the back pocket of his jeans for his money.

The guy chuckled, a sound like silver Christmas bells. "You like chocolate?" he asked, and it wasn't until he was up close that Minho realized the guy had a delicious British accent.

"Uh, yeah, kind of." Minho cracked a half-smile and finally glanced up at the guy. Their eyes locked. And Minho felt as though the breath had been stolen from his lungs.

Blue eyes. Deep, dark blue eyes, so dark, they almost looked charcoal-gray.

And a silky shock of blonde hair fell down into those eyes.

All at once, Minho was hit with a barrage of sensations: the smell of honey, the addictive taste of peppermint on his tongue, fingers threading through his hair, a light, silvery laugh, a velvety voice whispering promises into his ear... He'd never experienced anything like it in his entire life. It was like a glimpse of the future, of something beautiful through golden doors. He was completely and utterly floored.

The guy in front of him had a strikingly attractive face, skin that was pale, but not too pale, the graceful curve of his neck disappearing underneath the collar of his navy shirt; the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and it was unbuttoned to reveal several inches of bare skin at his collarbone. He also had on skinny jeans, which were distractingly tight to Minho. Was this his...soulmate?

The shocked look on the guy's face concluded that he'd felt the same thing Minho had moments ago. "I... You... Did you feel that too?" he asked. His accent slipped off his tongue like silk and sent lovely shocks across Minho's skin.

"Uh-huh," Minho said stupidly, nodding. He bet he looked like an idiot already, gaping at this guy as though he was God himself. But he couldn't help it. This person, this gorgeous blonde angel, was his soulmate?

"Wow," the guy remarked with a nervous laugh. "I mean, no offense, but I always thought my soulmate would be a girl."

"Yeah," Minho replied, apparently only capable of one-word answers tonight. "Me too."

The guy smiled then, and daaaaaammmn was that smile the sexiest thing Minho had ever seen in his life. "Newt," he said, holding a hand out toward Minho.

Minho stared at his hand, then up at him. "What?"

"My name's Newt," the guy explained. "Well, technically, it's Isaac, but everyone calls me Newt."

Minho couldn't stop the silly grin that surfaced on his face. He shook Newt's hand and instantly never wanted to let go. "I'm Minho."

Newt cocked his head, studying Minho. "Minho," he echoed thoughtfully. Minho's name, spoken with that voice, was the single most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. "If we're soulmates, does that mean I'm allowed to say you're easily the hottest guy I've ever seen in here?"

Wow, he's turning me on. I had no idea I could be turned on. Minho's senses seemed to trickle back into him. He flashed the crooked smirk that had gotten him many wistful stares from girls in the past. "I'm pretty sure the whole point of having a soulmate is being able to say that to him," he replied lightly. "Also, yes. You're definitely allowed to say that to me."

This was going very well so far.

Newt

When they first began taking, Newt had taken Minho for the shy, doesn't-even-know-he's-cute type. He had seemed so stunned by the whole soulmate thing, and Newt guessed that that was part of the reason he'd been so quiet. But as soon as Minho grew comfortable and twisted his mouth in that smirk, it screamed just kidding! I'm actually the smooth, confident, deliciously-sexy type. And wow, Newt liked it. A lot.

He couldn't even describe the sensations he'd felt when they'd locked eyes earlier. The rich, dark smell of mocha, the sinful taste of dark chocolate, a low voice murmuring sweet nothings to him, the sound of laughter like rippling darkness itself, the feel of fingertips gliding across his skin. It was incredibly addictive, the experience of all those sensations at once. And since he'd gotten them from his soulmate, it meant that Minho could bring all of those sensations to him. It was hard for him to keep a straight face, just thinking about it.

"So, tell me," Minho began conversationally, falling back into what Newt guessed was his usual confidence. "Why're you stuck inside this store on Christmas Eve?"

"Work," Newt replied with a slight sigh. "I'm kinda forced to be here until nine."

"What a shame." Minho folded his arms and rested them on the counter, bringing himself closer to Newt. That playful smirk still curved his lips. A light dusting of snow flecked his broad shoulders and a carelessly spiked shock of black hair stuck out of his beanie. He was so hot and so adorable at the same time, and it took Newt's breath away. "I think I forgot to pay for those."

Minho's voice jerked Newt out of his thoughts. He blinked down at the dollar bills Minho was holding out to him between two fingers. "Oh, right," he said stupidly, taking the money and slipping it into the cash register. Then he raised one eyebrow at Minho. "Is there a reason you're buying four candy bars on Christmas Eve?"

"I have a dark chocolate addiction," Minho explained smoothly, gathering the chocolate bars in his hands and shoving them in his jacket pockets. "My friend, Thomas always tells me that anyway. I was going over there now, for a Christmas Eve thing we always do with our friends."

Oh. Minho was leaving. Newt gave him a smile, hoping his disappointment wouldn't show. "Have fun," he said warmly.

Minho's eyes locked on his again. "Come with me."

Newt's eyebrows flicked up in surprise. "What?"

"I said, come with me," Minho repeated. "It's eight o'clock already. Close up early, and come with me."

Newt wasn't sure how much trouble he'd be in for that, and he didn't think he'd like to risk it. But here was his soulmate, his devilishly handsome soulmate, asking him to come to a Christmas Eve party. How could he say no? "You do realize I could get in trouble for deciding to lock up early," he stated, stalling as he braced his hands against the counter, letting it support his weight and closing more distance between them.

"I did realize that, actually," Minho replied. He mirrored Newt's position. Their faces were mere inches apart now. "But I also realized that I don't care. And I don't think you do either."

"You don't even know me," Newt protested. He inhaled Minho's scent then, that smell of mocha, and dear God, was it incredible.

"I know that we're soulmates," Minho said, voice low, almost husky.

"But not much more than that," Newt pointed out. His voice sounded breathless, even to him.

"So?" Minho was so close now, their breaths mixing between them. "Let me take you with me, Newt," he murmured, leaning in until their cheeks brushed. They didn't kiss; they'd just met, after all, even if they were soulmates. But Minho was nuzzling Newt's ear and jaw, whispering to him, asking Newt to come with him. Newt heard the shaky gasp he let out. No one had ever affected him in this way. Minho ran his nose along Newt's jaw and tingles of pleasure shot through his body. Minho finally drew back, a smirk still on his face. "C'mon, Newt, please. Please, come with me."

Shit, Minho was begging him. Newt might've had a chance if he hadn't heard that low, beautiful voice begging him. He met Minho's gaze, knowing his eyes were half-lidded with desire, knowing he must look like he couldn't resist a thing the cocky Asian said, and he didn't care. "Fine," he said. "I'll come."

Minho smiled, and they walked out into the cold December night, side by side.