The day after the surströmmingsskiva, Draco woke early and could not settle. He Disillusioned himself and Apparated out of the city with his broomstick, hoping a long ride might clear his head. Undetected, he flew over the suburbs of Uppsala, the scattered trees and buildings below him zooming by. The early morning air was damp, so his skin quickly grew clammy as he went.

Hatred. That was definitely what he had felt. Hatred and disgust—it was only now it was too late that he realized what a fool he had been.

Blaise's words rang in his ears: You're an idiot, Malfoy.

And he was an idiot. He was well aware of that now.

While his soulmate was, perhaps, culinarily challenged, she had shown creativity with her responses... once she finally made them. That had been intriguing. Not to mention, he was pretty certain that at least one thing she had eaten had not actually been food. He remembered the way the little beads of whatever-it-was in the also-unknown lumpy paste flavor, had burst in the back of his throat, releasing the hot, chemical-tasting liquid. That had almost justified the surströmming. Almost. Except surely now she's furious. How will she retaliate?

But he still knew nothing about her. Not even enough to guess at this.

He had whizzed past the suburbs and into the outskirts by now. The long ridges of eskers wound through the earth below him. Because of their distance and uniformity, the stratified sand and gravel could have passed for railway embankments. Here he had space to go faster than he really should, all while pondering how stupid he had been. After a thorough round of silent self-flagellation, he finally looked down at his wristwatch and realized he had been out flying for several hours. His stomach rumbled at the realization that he had missed both breakfast and lunch; only then did it register how suspicious the silence of his Sense was.

Any hope that it was a fluke, was disappointed. He spent the rest of the day, as well as most of the next, in uncertain perturbation because there was still no response from his soulmate.

Blaise had gone out on his own the night before and returned after lunchtime the next day. By the time Draco wandered over to his friend's hotel room, he was spilling over with agitation. It took the other wizard less than five minutes to grow weary of it.

"Seriously? What is going on with you?" Blaise demanded, leaning back against the doorframe and folding his arms.

"I can't help it. I haven't gotten a single Sense since the surströmming—"

"Whose fault is that?"

"—and I thought the boring sameness of her daily routine was bad, but compared to all this bloody silence..." He did not need to finish the thought.

Considering him for a moment, Blaise finally suggested, "Let's get out of Sweden. Go somewhere else."

"What difference will it make?"

He shrugged. "If coming here was in poor taste, then it's time to move on. We can leave tonight."

"So soon?"

"Mate, you're about to vibrate right out of your skin." He paused, finally unfolding his arms. "Unless the whole about-to-explode mood you're projecting is a soulmate thing?"

Shaking his head, Draco paced for a moment, then agreed, "I'll go pack my things."

An hour later, they had checked out of their hotel and Apparated to the magical embassy in Stockholm. The place was busy with the bustle of travelers, its long-windowed walls bleeding early evening sunlight onto them all. They approached the Portkey Departures list, printed in large, block letters on a huge plaque along the opposite wall. Because of the evening sun, it was difficult to read. Blaise squinted at it. "Where do you want to go?"

Craning his neck to look, Draco read off, "In the next hour, they have Portkeys to Jacó… Doha… New York City… Seoul… Cusco—"

"Myszka has been asking for a visit," Blaise put in.

"Kept in touch with her, have you?" teased Draco.

"She's memorable." Blaise shrugged as if it meant nothing, but the smug look on his face gave him away.

Thinking for a minute about everything he had done the last time they had been to the city, Draco recalled it had been there that he had tried paragliding for the first time. It had been an amazing experience: essentially flying without broomsticks. Exhilarating, with an element of danger. "Alright. Seoul, then. The Portkey leaves in 32 minutes. Let's get our passes."

Though they left Sweden before suppertime, it was just before midnight when they arrived in South Korea. Given the hour, the wizards did their best to settle their living arrangements quickly and had soon secured lodgings in Blaise's third choice of hotel. He was a little sour that they had not been able to procure rooms in his first or second choice, but a big music festival was happening that weekend in the city, and had drawn quite the crowds in certain areas. Draco personally felt they had been lucky to get rooms this nice at all.

Blaise rapped on Draco's door shortly thereafter. "I'm going out."

He thought of going out to yet another bar and watching Blaise pick up women. There was always the chance that he, too, might find someone to make time with. But something about the concept turned his stomach in a new way he had not expected. He decided, "I'm staying in."

Nodding, Blaise remarked, "Thought you might. Try not to overthink."

Easier said than done.

Draco was hardly tired. Though Seoul was seven hours ahead of Uppsala, his internal time clock had not been at any sort of constant for years. Outside his window, the blinking neon lights tried to make him believe that the hour did not matter, that he could stay up forever if he wished. But the truth was, he was going mad over the lack of any response from his soulmate. He had still received nothing at all from her through their shared Sense.

The next time he looked at the clock, it was 1:03. Technically, his birthday.

A curl of curiosity wisped through him as he wondered if his parents would remember the date. His birthdays had always been a big deal when he was a child, and even into his teenage years. But like so many other things, Lucius's—and later, Draco's own—involvement with the Death Eaters had ruined it. These days he usually celebrated his own birthday by buying himself something extravagant with Malfoy gold to spite his father. His mother had stopped trying to contact him anymore; he moved around so much that he was often difficult to trace, which was how he preferred it.

He had nothing planned for himself today. In fact, it looked as if he was about to have another sleepless night ahead of him. The thought, I've ruined everything, pelted his brain. It was 2:37 in the morning the next time he checked the clock, and by then, he had trod a pattern into the hotel carpet.

But then, it happened: a Sense. Stopping in his tracks, he braced himself for an attack.

It never came.

Instead, he got a variety of flavors, some warm and rich, others filling and soft, and all very satisfying. There was something that tasted like a creamy egg omelette, the delicious flavors of spiced potatoes, ham, olives and cheese, something that tasted like mushrooms, and an excellent Spanish rice, possibly paella.

As the seconds passed and the taste intensified, he knew he was right. It was Spanish food, as good as any Draco had sampled in Spain when he had gone himself. Also coming across the still-incomplete connection to his soulmate, were emotions—for the first time not emotions of alarm or resignation. There were feelings of satisfaction, hints of personal regret, plus a very distinct sense of relief and companionship. Wherever she was, Draco's soulmate was enjoying an excellent meal with a friend, someone she trusted, and she was happy.

For the first time since his Fatemark had been itching, his soulmate was actually eating a good meal and sharing it, in her way, with him. The best part was, it felt intentional. An offer of truce, which taught him something else he could now count amongst the scant handful of things he knew about his soulmate: she was forgiving.

He smiled a little at the thought.

.

.

That very evening, many hours later, once he was sure his soulmate was awake for the morning in her part of the world, Draco did his best to deliberately send a reply. He and Blaise made their way down to a street food sector of town, lined with carts and people cooking.

"Myszka is meeting us," Blaise informed Draco. "She is bringing her sister and two of her friends."

That certainly did not bother Draco; he preferred to eat with locals whenever he could, as they knew where all the best food was, especially in settings like these. They met up with Blaise's friend—a tiny, fashionable chatterbox of a woman, Myszka—and her older sister, Nayeon. The two could not have been any more different, as Nayeon was several inches taller than her sister, plump, and did not say much. Nayeon's friends, Eunha and Dae, were apparently a couple. Everyone was very interested in getting some delicious street food.

Draco followed in earnest, listening to everything they said—with Blaise helpfully translating on occasion—and readily accepted Nayeon's suggestion to get bulgogi.

The food stall in the back looked nearly identical to many of the others, except the line for it was incredible. Lucius would have professed, Malfoys don't stand in queues. For this reason, Draco almost relished the waiting. In this instance, as he did so, he got to watch the chefs behind the stall make their dinner.

Facing the back counter of the stall was a gloved man who reached into an enormous dish full of thin beef strips, pressing a handful of it into a charred grilling basket. Draco watched the man add it to a veritable pile of equally-prepared grilling baskets, at which point the next person in the assembly line took over from there. The next line cook began to barbecue it over a briquette with an open flame. With a practiced movement, he moved the meat around within the grilling basket, flipping it over constantly and making sure to get even charring. Then, he inserted a plate right into the grilling basket, flipped it, and pulled the barbecued beef out already plated.

Bulgogi smelled divine. Draco couldn't wait to have some.

Once he was supplied with a plate, he used his chopsticks to pick up his first piece. The beef had been sliced so thin that it now resembled bacon, and had been put into a container for him with some sticky rice and kimchi. Rich and flavorful, the meat paired satisfyingly with the spicy, tangy kimchi. Amidst the bustle of Blaise having got caught up in a debate in Korean with Myszka and Dae, plus the city block with its crowds, Draco was quiet as he ate. He thought of his soulmate, hoping she was getting his reply that a truce would be agreeable to him as well.

After wandering about the street food area for a little while, it began to rain, so the six of them all headed back to Nayeon's flat for shelter. The group then learned from Blaise that it was Draco's birthday, and that had been good enough of a reason for Nayeon to promise she would get them all drunk. Considering there was quite a bit of memory missing from the last time he had been in Seoul, Draco believed her.

Nayeon's flat was mostly one long room with a kitchen off to one side, tall bookshelves along another wall, a third wall with a couple more doors that led elsewhere, plus a huge window that took up most of the fourth wall. Soon after arriving, a couple more people began to show up, until there were eleven people all crowded into the space. It was by now raining heavily outside, with precipitation beating against the glass and nearly covering up the music Eunha put on the radio.

Myszka was left to the task of supplying everyone with alcohol, while Nayeon pattered off to the kitchen area without explanation and began to assemble a collection of plates, pans, and ingredients.

By the time she was mixing batter in a bowl, Draco had to ask, "What is she making?"

"Nayeon always makes pajeon when it rains," Myszka replied.

"What is that?" Blaised asked.

She smiled. "You'll see."

Draco was intrigued by the idea of a food that was eaten when it was raining, and soon enough the smell of crisped onions began to tantalize him. As the others began to set up some kind of tabletop drinking game, he drifted toward the kitchen and propped himself against the wall to watch. "Can I help?"

Nayeon looked up from her work, flipping a vegetable pancake in a pan of heated oil. "What would you do?"

He shrugged. "Anything. I don't mind. But I don't want to be in the way either."

Looking at him quizzically, she declined to give him a task. Despite her standoffish nature, Draco enjoyed watching her cook. Eventually, Nayeon seemed to realize he was going to be there whether she liked it or not, so she instructed him to take a bottle of makgeolli out of the refrigerator.

"What does it look like?"

She indicated a slender, green bottle on the bottom shelf. Draco picked it up and examined it. The label was colorful and entirely in Korean, so he was no clearer on what it actually was. His hostess, who was now folding sliced carrots and scallions into a second batch of batter with her hands, explained, "Fermented rice liquor."

"Ah." He could not help getting a little closer to watch as she poured the beginnings of another pancake into the pan. The stack was getting tall now. A few moments later, Myszka came to pinch one off the top; Nayeon hit her with the wooden spoon to chase her away.

"It's our mother's recipe," Myszka explained between bites of stolen pajeon.

"It's probably the same as everyone else's mother's recipe, too," Nayeon cut in. "Everyone eats pajeon here, especially when it rains."

"What does the rain have to do with it?" Draco queried.

"The association is the sound of rain—at least for me," she answered. "If I can hear that it's raining, I just think it's missing the sound of butter crisping in oil. They just go together."

Draco had never heard anything like that from anyone before, so he interestedly probed a little bit at the statement. "Do you also like to eat them?"

"Oh." She paused, and both she and Myszka snickered; Draco got the distinct impression they were laughing at him. "Yes."

He smiled awkwardly at her, but could not think of anything else to say.

"These are ready," she said finally. She handed the pile of pajeon over to her sister, then said to Draco, "You can help by shaking that makgeolli. Make sure it's cloudy. Then you can pour it into the bowls you'll find in that cupboard over there."

Draco did as instructed, and soon enough, he, Blaise, Nayeon, Myszka, and several strangers were all crowded around the low table in the center of the long room. He watched to see what the others were doing so he could emulate them. The pajeon was crisp but fluffy, savory and tasted of scallions in the best way, with a sweet, garlicky soy sauce to go with it. Makgeolli, by contrast, was sweet, almost milky, only vaguely alcoholic. Draco felt like he could have drunk quite a bit of the stuff before he ever got tipsy off of it—very different, therefore, from the drink he was given later.

Not the worst way I've spent a birthday, he decided later. Then, to his soulmate, he asked, What do you think? Pretty good, huh?

.

.

"Well, well," Draco said aloud as he lay in bed late the next night, staring at the ceiling and tasting the inside of his mouth. "So you can learn new tricks."

Dinner had been an excellent selection of sautéed vegetables, beef, rice, and pickled radish rolled up into a sheet of gim, then sliced into bite-sized pieces, the end result of which had almost been too beautiful to eat. He had stayed up in his room to see what his soulmate would decide to have for dinner in response.

If he was not mistaken, he recognized the next meal he Sensed. The lamb had been well seasoned and the mashed potatoes tasted like they had garlic in them. But more than that, he felt satisfied in a way he could not explain. As if he had actually shared the meal with his soulmate, whoever she was—but of course, he really hadn't.

Shepherd's pie, nice. He scratched at his right shoulder blade, where the Fatemark had become itchy along with the Sense. It's a classic for a reason. With that thought, he could not help a small frown. Shepherd's pie was a classic English dish. Draco had not been back to England since he had finished his probation five years ago. The very thought of returning made his chest momentarily go cold.

It's eaten in other countries, too. Or maybe she travels, like me, he reasoned with himself. Somehow however, he did not think that was the case. Still, he decided he needed more information. One dish isn't a pattern.

He paused, mulling over a new plan he was formulating. His panic after the miscalculation with the surströmming attack had been acute, and he had run away afterward, just as Blaise had accused him of always doing. But then, she had answered, and it had been the kind of hello he had secretly hoped for all along—though perhaps a little later than expected. It'll be easier to make sure I don't miss any clues, if we can at least share a time zone.

Though she was still faceless and nameless, he said to her, "It's time to introduce you to another classic. Blaise's father left him a vineyard in Italy with a bungalow, and I've stayed a few times now. Nearby is a place that has the best ragù I've ever eaten."

They had only been in Seoul for two days, and he was already itching to move on. Luckily, he did not think it would be difficult to convince Blaise to leave for Italy. It never usually was.

Draco thought with anticipation of the many delicious things he could enjoy while there. He confidently promised his soulmate, "If you have any taste at all, you're really going to love this."

A/N: To sarenia, alpha extraordinaire, thank you for your help with this chapter. May all your sheep jump on trampolines.

Alas, dear readers, I need to engage in that venerable, most ancient practice of fanfiction writers—and apologize that this story took so long to update. I have a new job that involves a lot of staring at other people's writing for 8 hours a day, and sometimes I get home and the last thing I want to do is look at my own words. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite its tardiness! As always, reviews are cherished like popsicles on on a warm, summer's day.