Some people are born with tragedy on their skin. Deep rooted sorrow and pain crawling out of the darkest depths, transcending time and space like it was a joke, carving the new flesh with a fateful future. For Mingi, his smooth tanned skin was adorned with acne.
His mother caressed his cheek, wet with tears and shamefully blemished with pimples. Her touch was soft, trying to persuade his pain to go away.
Though inside his room, the mood was gloomy, outside he knew there were kids bathing under the spring's sun. Maybe hanging out or sprawled at the park with his friends. Yet, Mingi was using his blueish walls to hide, trying to find comfort on the bed sheets behind him. Bare feet against the cooling floor, his mother crouched on the ground in front of him.
The kids outside were mean, going after him because he's a monster. Because he has grown and now there's dots painting his cheeks, shoulders and back, popping out to the eyes and blatant to finger's touch.
He knew it would be bad, but not so bad . For that, Mingi learned to hate his acne for everything it meant.
"It's not your fault, it's not like you chose it." She says when Mingi held tighter on the fabric he was grasping, her smile got a bit of pain. "Curses are stingy grudges from old lives. It's not your fault, Mingi."
Since ancient ages, destiny was a powerful weapon for the universe, guiding their lives through hardship and low days– like puppets being pushed by strings. There's not a single soul who shouldn't be grateful for it, the universe was kind, graced them with success, health, wisdom and true love.
True, sincere love was what most wanted. Success could be achieved by hard work, just like health was a product of their effort to not get sick, and wisdom could be mastered by many, through books and living. But true love was difficult to have, and it's even harder to keep it, to notice it, to have it reciprocated. Imagine being not able to know when you're in love, and when it's reciprocated? People were happy the universe decided to help.
That was the beginning, where it all started. It's the solemn cause of nowadays dynamics, much to Mingi's misfortune.
It lifts a weight out of your shoulder when there's reassurement, an obvious display to answer any doubts, like a neon sign shining in the dark night. And that's exactly what the soulmates marks meant. You could understand the basis of feeling love, of what it meant, since it would only be certain when the universe's mark would appear on your skin. Crushs, interests, friendly feelings, attraction– none of that would do the job, only true, sincere love. Because of that, people can have their fun when they're young and horny, people can have close friends without worrying about mixed feelings, because of that people don't waste their time and only marry when the two of them share a mark.
Which brings us to the nowadays society, where people had a rooted obsession with the perfect skin. There were tales of people with blemished skin, cursed to never have a mark, because the universe would be too disgusted to carve their skin. Then it went from spoken mists to written books, where the villains and hatred characters would have pimples and scars all over their body. And it wasn't any better than the movies, where the worst thing that could ever happen to the characters wasn't death, but having a tattoo drawn on their skin, be it a curse or torture by the villain's hands.
The sting on his head, where his classmates had aimed a rock, made Mingi wince and sob even more. His chest constricting as he remembers the stinging words, trying to block them out as his mother is gently shushing the voices away.
He gasped for air, tears burning down his cheek. Mingi wonders what he did wrong.
People believed that the universe wouldn't touch blemished skin. Bad, villainous people, were the ones who had pimples and scars. And the worst scenario ever, was to betray fate and get a tattoo.
"Everything is gonna be okay, you're a strong boy, my angel." She reaches the ice pack left beside them, pressing where it hurts.
Feeling dizzy, Mingi clutched his shirt even more, his running nose made it hard to breathe. The sobbing didn't seem to stop. All he wanted was to make it stop.
His mother rested a hand on top of his knee, letting her fingers draw patterns on his cursed skin, expressing her comfort. "You just have to endure it until you're old enough to do the treatment, then everything will be fine."
Mingi can't remember being a bad person. He was a kind soul, with a comfy heart and gentle eyes. He always smiles at his bus driver, even when he doesn't smile back. Mingi hates cola and bitter coffee, but drinks it tastefully every time just because his friends enjoy it.
He closes his eyes when his mother gave him a kiss on the forehead, "I'm going to make some chicken soup and then we can eat it while we watch a movie, how does that sound?"
Nodding, Mingi lifted a hand to press the ice pack. The freezing sensation made the sting numb, he was feeling a little better. It was enough to ease his sobs until they were no more than quiet whimpers, watching as his mother walked out, "I'll be right back, okay, angel?"
Toes curled on the wooden floor, tense shoulders digging in the fluff sheets, Mingi breathed in and out without answering her. His mother let the door hang open, dim bedroom being left behind. The rays of orange and creamy yellow were blocked by his thick curtains, the room was cozy. Comfortable grey and blue, warm hues to his hurting soul.
He tried his best to respect people. Mingi wasn't a robber, a harasser, nor a killer.
But people would say he was scum if he didn't hide his acne. It was a fact Mingi had learned from experience, now he had to grow used to putting creams and makeup everyday without fail.
As bothersome as makeup was, Mingi should have listened to his mother because anything was way better than being targeted by his classmates. He didn't like to get hurt– like at all. Mingi crawled out of the ground, tears finally slowing down. He would wake up early to get his skin done, to avoid people hurting him.
Glancing at his desk, he felt his head throbbing at the sight. Lotions and creams were put aside so his computer and books could have more room, discarded in a wired basket at the corner. He thought it was useless.
Mingi was fast to learn how to hate his own skin, and he never regretted it so much.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
The universe seems to be flawless, wanting the best for every individual, making suitable rules to guide them through hardship. It takes love to have a mark, and in a relationship, it requires true love from both sides so they can be truly one. But as in the most bothersome rule the universe ever made– in Mingi's opinion– in your own life, to have a successful mark, it takes true self love.
Unlike everyone must think, the majority has its own mark, earned from true self love. Which is why Mingi doesn't believe such a thing as 'true love' exists. How can someone truly love themselves, when everyone has so many flaws? How can one be blinded to the point they don't see how horrid they are?
Perhaps Mingi is the only one to feel this way. Maybe he's the only one who doesn't understand how this works and hates how horrid he is. Most people did have a mark after all, an inked sign of their love.
Or maybe the universe never had such a rule and all they did was randomly choose the ones with marks. Maybe they played games to decide, and the unlucky unmarked would suffer the rest of his life.
Flawless and kind, they said. Mingi wasn't a believer for that matter, he couldn't understand true love.
The process was logical. After spending middle school getting hurt by others, being chased by his nature, even when he hid his skin, Mingi started the treatment in high school. Frequenting the hospital with his mother so much that all the nurses knew his name by heart. It took time and care, years worrying about it on a daily basis, until Mingi would get rid of his acne for good. Technically, he will have to use lotions for the rest of his life, but at least no more doctor's appointment.
During all that time, while Mingi was obligated to do the treatment, people were growing and living, fearless and unbothered. At the end of his school days, Mingi was the only unmarked. After growing to despise his skin, it's difficult to go back and love yourself, like half of his life never happened.
But Mingi was never a believer, so the idea of never having a mark, never having a soulmate or never finding someone to share love and become one– wasn't a big issue, he could live with that.
Sometimes it would nag him, especially when people would constantly question his love life, but not to the point he was worried about it.
In the dark room, with so little light he couldn't see a thing, Mingi was laying on his bed. Even when the room was pitch black, Mingi knew the sheets were cream this time, grey and blue left behind for the best. His dorm never had orange lights sneaking in, since the window faced more concrete walls, but Mingi enjoyed this darkness.
He was never a fan of sunlight and, being hidden in the shadows of a Friday night, limbs heavy and lazy against the soft mattress was much better. Especially when someone was there to make him company.
Senses highlighted and tuned solemnly on the person holding him, Mingi tried to not squirm as he kissed the way up his sternum, soft lips drawing over his chest. It reaches his collarbones, slowly, in a trustful gesture. Mingi feels dizzy, aware of the fingers holding his hips just a little harder, burning the raw skin it touched.
Mingi may never understand the meaning of true love, that same love that marked everyone's body. And for a long time, he never expected someone to fall in love with him.
That was until he met San. Until he realized he was in love.
With slow hands sliding over his body, San was above him, tanned skin warm against Mingi's touch. It was comfy, just like hot cozy tea during the fall, heating up his soul.
In his eyes, Mingi saw a steaming passion, his caresses showering him love like honey dripping pancakes.
San gives him feather-like kisses, humming in satisfaction right under his ear, giving open-mouthed kisses there. His voice was rough when he groaned against his skin, but the sound was smooth velvet in Mingi's ears from his sore throat. When he gets a moan in response, he repeats the action, mouthing the slope of his neck, the sharpness of his jaw, kissing all the way to the tip of his nose.
Normally, it would be too much. Too deep, too intense. Normally, Mingi would feel overwhelmed with this kind of attention as San is this kind of intense person.
The type that was friendly though his sharp face, even when his resting expression was scary, San was all bubbles and sweetness. Someone who makes him laugh his worries away with silly dances, making his sad days vanish with squealing giggles and warm hugs. San, who is earnest and caring, always making sure to let Mingi know that he loved him truly and fully.
Mingi fell in love with San; intense, honest, lovely and loud. Because of everything he is and does, because San believes the universe knows shit, and because he always tries his best, his flaws made him a better person.
"I love you, Mingi," he whispers his heart like the words would escape if he doesn't say it properly. San is not even an inch away, hands traveling up gingerly, "Love you so much."
San gazes at him as if he's the brightest star glowing in the sky, a thousand shooting stars flying around. He kisses like he needs it to breathe, the longing borderline desperate, but San did it so carefully. So gently, so certain it made Mingi's insides melt, knowing it was all for him.
He hums, dizziness failing his tongue, yet he can't help but giggle. "Love you too, Sani. Just stop being sappy, hmm?"
Mingi tangles his fingers on San's hair, loosely pulling on it. The action earns him a low moan, head tilting slightly to follow instructions. Just enough to bring him closer, just enough so they could kiss again.
It's been months since the day they were eating noodle soup and Mingi had said an awful pun, making San laugh so hard that soup came out of his nose. It was awful, he couldn't decide if he wanted to help or laugh at him, finding it disgustingly hilarious. But as odd as it could be, Mingi thought it was cute, adorable even.
At that moment, Mingi realized he was a goner. Fuck the universe and its true love, there was no way someone would find that scene cute if they weren't in love.
From that day on, his unmarked skin seemed to take more of his thoughts, making him worry about how they would never share a mark. Regardless of his efforts, Mingi would still be nobody's soulmate.
Breaking the kiss, San cages him with his arms, supporting himself on his elbows. He takes a moment to watch, to admire, letting eyes roam his features. San exhales unsteadily before diving the slightest, lips ghostly hovering his skin.
"Sappy?" San raises a brow, smirk playing on the tip of his lips, "It's my feelings, you doofus."
Mingi attempts to temper his chuckles at San rolling his eyes, nuzzling his cheek to hide it, chasing that bit of a smile his lover had. Which he successfully achieves, because Mingi does it earnestly and exaggeratedly, locking him in his arms to make sure he wouldn't escape. San can barely contain his giggles, scrunching his eyes in disbelief.
Yet, even when Mingi was a doofus, San would press his nose against the curve of jaw nonetheless, eyelashes tickling his skin.
And then he would blow whispers, loving words, sweet and familiar. San would tell him for the millionth time he loves Mingi, would share the stories behind his eyes and confide the secrets he found written in his soul. About how he never found a gentle heart as kind as Mingi's, about the way he melts when the corner of his eyes crinkles from laughing.
San was this type of intense person, confident in his sincere feelings. And every time, Mingi would smile his most sincere smile, holding him close to convey his meeting words.
Tangled limbs, warm chests, breathy voices, glistening skin. Mingi felt at home with San engulfed in his arms, disheveled hair prickling his face. He felt comfortable, accepted and surely loved.
Mingi hums a lullaby, beating heart slowing down to meet San's serene reverie, feeling his body getting heavier on his own. Concrete reassurement, body real– just like their love for each other. Mingi blinks languidly, thoughts going numb with San already sleeping soundly on top of him.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chest heavy and painful from running, Mingi's back is glued to the front door of his apartment, trying to keep his sobs quiet. He shouldn't have ran, he shouldn't have left the car midway home, when San stopped at a traffic light. But he did it, and now his lungs are burning because of the sudden marathon.
Looking forward, head resting in the wood behind him, Mingi tries to ease his breathing. With tears sliding down and sobs lowering, he decides to focus on what he can see.
Home for Mingi is where his shoes are sprawled around, a habit that usually gets on San's nerves. It's where the walls are hues of soft purple and the sofa occupies almost the whole living room, because San loves the color and Mingi can't think of a day without his naps. It's where he feels the safest, his own world in less than thirty meters.
He startles when there's a loud banging at the door, gasping even when there's barely air for him. San's shouts are breathy and too close to his ears, "Mingi? Mingi please, open up!"
Without answering, he closes his eyes. Though he knew San would come soon, since he was driving, Mingi thought he would have more time to gather courage.
"Min, can you please open the fucking door?" There's more insistent banging, but it comes to a stop. Mingi hears fumbling from the other side, San must be looking for the spare key. "Please, you know I just wanna help!"
Opening his eyes, Mingi feels more guilty by seeing the purple walls. He knows, he feels guilty, miserable for being incapable of doing what he wants, and that's not fair on San. So he turns the key in the lock, arms reaching without him getting up.
The door falls open, Mingi peaks over his shoulders to catch San indeed looking for the spare key, crouched beside a vase. His eyes are brimmed with tears, the tip of his nose red from the urge of crying. But no trace of wetness on his cheek.
San stays quiet, scared of pushing Mingi away. He swallows his anxiety, hands letting go of the plant.
"I, I'm–" Mingi can't form words, his mind blurred from low pressure and ragged breathing, he sniffs in search of air– "I'm so, so sorry."
With fast and short movements, San shakes his head. "It's okay, it's okay."
Mingi still doesn't understand true love, or how, after so many years, San is still by his side. The two of them chose to stay, deciding to keep on loving instead of giving up, even when everybody else said they wouldn't work, insisting that they can't have true love.
Mingi still doesn't understand what true love is and he is still unmarked, as he will always be.
He already accepted that, he wouldn't ever have a soulmate. But that wasn't fair to San, he deserved to live it all, to have anything the universe could offer. Including true love. He inhales deep, trying to ease his lungs again.
"I'm sorry, San, I'm–" Mingi falls into sobbing again, having San finally snap and move, crouching by his side instantly.
"Calm down and breathe, okay? I forgive you, Min," hands find the back of his neck, guiding him to stabilize his breathing. "I forgive you, no worries. Okay?"
Mingi's vision is blurred but he can see a faint smile on San's face, showing him comfort. A tiny sparkle in the dark. It takes a few minutes of breathing in and out, until he feels the burning on his chest lowering.
"Fuck." He whispers, resting his head on his hands.
"Yeah, fuck." San chuckles humorlessly, sitting back on the ground, "you need to exercise better if you want to run in the middle of the night like this."
The night was chilly and the wind wasn't gentle on their bodies, the open door was forgotten amid Mingi's hyperventilation. At least, their apartment complex wasn't big or that full, so there was no one passing by. Only them, with moonlight bathing the floor where they sit, trying to ignore the wind.
The palm of his hands are covering his eyes, but he knows San is quietly, obviously waiting for him. When Mingi peeks to look at him, careful eyes and furrowed brows, he can't help but wish that San was in love with someone else. So he could be happy and showered with love by a real soulmate, one that could share a mark with him.
He deserved that assurance, that safety. But Mingi was selfish, only because he didn't want to let San go.
"Babe, what are you talking about?" San gently covers his hands with his own, lowering them to his knees.
Mingi watches their hands, his hands are clamp, slightly trembling under San's much smaller one. Now that he was calm, his aching feet were way more noticeable, soles burning inside his shoes. Looking up to meet San's gaze, Mingi thinks about their time together.
"I tried. I tried to learn how to love myself, to see me in the same way you do, but it never worked!" Mingi shuddery exhales, fighting another wave of tears. He won't cry anymore.
"I know and you're a lot more gentle to yourself, way better than before–"
"Apparently not enough for the universe, not that deep." He cuts in, swallowing before going on. "It sucks. I feel like I love myself for most of the time and in a good measure, but my opinion doesn't matter. The universe said it's not enough and, and I can't do anything."
I can't do anything.
San seems to be taken aback, lashes fluttering a few times at Mingi. It makes him wonder what's happening inside his head, if he understands what he's trying to say. "You deserve a real soulmate, Sani."
Like a match falling on gasoline, his expression falls on the serious side, eyes roaming the darkness of their apartment while chewing on the inside of his cheek. This is the kind of expression that normally scared people, high cheekbones and sharp eyes accentuated by his intense nature.
Then, he's nodding. Hands and arms covering his own above his knees, he seems confident in himself.
"Ok, then tell me." San leans forward, those intense eyes finding his. "If you could have a mark, would you be ready to be my soulmate, Mingi?"
"Yes, absolutely." He doesn't need to think, he had no doubts.
The answer is so clear, voice so filled with certainty, it makes San chuckle. "I get you, I'm ready too. I don't want anyone else but you, Min."
He approaches, coming to Mingi's side, glueing their bodies to each other with a hug, as their promise settles down. Neither of them wants to let it go. Because falling in love was fast, they were enhanced by each other, by what they were and what they could be. History, interests, personality, all their little secrets that made them so captivating. It made everything natural; staying together, living together, growing together. Time only made it stronger.
It wasn't all roses and sunshine, because even flowers have thorns and sun rays could burn, but it was worth it and that was enough for them.
"C'mon, I have a plan," San kisses his temples, a cozy feeling bubbling up his chest. "But it involves a long car ride and if you jump out of the car ever again, I swear, I'll run over you."
Mingi drops his head in shame, chuckling nervously. "Yeah, never again."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
The air is chilly, only their heavy coats protecting them from the strong wind as they are heading to the car. San guides Mingi to the passenger seat, only disconnecting their linked arms so he could slide in, before jogging around the car. Mingi's nose is still tinted red as he feels a shiver running down his spine, gelid breeze sneaking in when San slips into the car as well. He watches as he slouches in the driver's seat, clasping his hands over the steering wheel.
"Are you okay?" San turns his way, "we don't need to do anything you're not comfortable with, you know?"
"It's fine, I wanna do it." He quietly says, emphasizing his words by lacing San's fingers with his own. Getting a sweet smile in response, one that adorns San's face even when he turns forward, starting the engines without letting go of his hand.
They drive for a couple of hours, navigating through empty streets and practically useless traffic lights, since it was already late and the city is a lot slower than an hour ago. The stressful daily life finding ease during the dark hours.
Occasionally, San would hum a song, head swinging to the rhythm, languidly and absentmindedly. And Mingi would squeeze his hand, letting his head fall in the cushioned seat, closing his eyes to hear San's voice. Sweet melody to his reverie.
But mostly, they would stay quiet. Unbothered by it, steamy anxiety bubbling low in their stomachs, noticeable, but not enough to speak it up.
Mingi's mind wanders back, thinking about how the night started, the beginning of his tears. Seonghwa had invited them to his place, claiming he wanted to celebrate and no one could skip it. Honestly, it wasn't hard to figure out what was happening. If their dumb smiles and adoring stares weren't enough, the matching tattoos on their biceps would do the job.
Wooyoung and Seonghwa were sharing a soulmate mark, they had finally come to reciprocate each other's feelings.
It was common for people to celebrate their mating, sometimes it could be as big as a wedding, with a full party and many people. But sometimes, it was just their loved ones, gathered together for food and music. For some people, only the company was enough.
Still, no one complained about Wooyoung's marvelous food, eating it with spoken stories. Tales about their routine, filling in the distance and time they were apart.
Between dinner and dancing to old songs in Seonghwa's living room– which would soon become Wooyoung's too— Mingi was feeling happy, proud of the new soulmates. The dancing was cringe, but the fun it held was undeniable.
Tonight, his friends were happy. Warmth painting fuzzy yellow on their souls, like the color of Seonghwa's couch. Their eyes held wrinkles from smiling and their mind was so light, they had stomped more than once on each other's feet.
Wooyoung was annoyingly clingy, but Seonghwa never complained like he usually did. They were louder, with more meaningful gazes and silent agreement. They were in sync now, completely there for each other.
After a few songs, Ming sat on the floor, looking up at his friends, watching their antics with a gentle gaze. San was swinging Seonghwa's arms, laughing at some silly thing Jongho must have said, before Wooyoung came to snatch his soulmate, claiming it was their song.
Surprisingly, San complied without a pout, only a proud grin carving his dimples. The coffee table was moved to the side, giving him space to make a beeline to the sofa beside Mingi. Who was sitting on the floor, palms placed behind him as support, when he felt a pang on his chest.
San's eyes were glistening at the sight, clearly mesmerized. Mingi always gets stunned by the dreams in his eyes, twinkling stars dancing in the orbs of his vision, San's excited grin hard to subdue.
Except that this dream, glowing in his eyes, Mingi knew he couldn't fulfill. There was nothing he could do.
"We're here." San snaps him out of the memory.
Only now he notices that the car has stopped, feeling San's hand on his thigh. They arrived at an unknown neighbourhood, one Mingi wasn't even aware of. The city isn't exactly small, miles and miles of suburbia and dinky civilization, but it wasn't well-known or massive. It's just a commuter town, with gaps and corners unnoticed by busy eyes.
The parking lot was large, made for the neighbourhood's baseball court, so that many people would come to watch from the grandstand. Yet, he doubted people did that from the precarious state of it. The streets around held neon signs and poorly lighted establishments, like sparkles left on a birthday cake; ashed, blown out and reminiscent in the dark.
Definitely not a first option to hangout– or the fifth, for that matter. But San seems to be oddly familiar with it, sighing a bit nostalgic when Mingi glances at him.
"I came here once with my parents, before I moved to grandpa's house." He tells as they cross the street.
Mingi nods in understanding, feeling way more nervous now that he could see the neon signs on the front window. Roses tangled with skulls in an old school style, shining lime with pink bubblegum, the tattoo parlor didn't have a name on display. He takes San's hand again, linking their arms to bring their bodies closer, in need to feel safe.
San pushes the door as if it was nothing. They wait under the blueish lights as if they're going to the dentist, as if it was mundane, uneventful. There's a dull sound coming from upstairs. It isn't much, just a bell ringing with a seat in the corner, small with several bombarding frames hanging everywhere.
They wait as if they aren't breaking the most feared rule of the universe, to lie on its face and get matching tattoos.
"This place hasn't changed, like, at all." San speaks again when Mingi's face scrunch, frowning in discomfort. "Even after so many years."
If the intention was to ease his mind, it works. His brows shoot up in interest. "Did your parents get a tattoo?"
"You would have met my mother if they did," San chuckles with a bitter taste, lips making a thin line. "They didn't, she didn't have the courage– but that's okay! She's fine the way she is."
His parents never shared a soulmate mark, they're together since a young age, way younger than him and Mingi. Because of that, people gave them time until they would mate. But pregnancy beat them on that, before marriage or mating.
And after San was born, it didn't take long for people to change. To treat his unmarked mother as if she's the filthiest thing in the world, putting shame on her nature. It didn't take long until she became reclusive, staying home all the time.
San has a clear memory of all the times his mother went out with him, because he can count them on the fingers of his hands.
Some people are born with tragedy on their skin, but San's mother was born with tragedy in her heart. Blind, clueless to how good she is. And just like Mingi, one's tragedy often leads to another, like a chain forged by fate. His father always said the world didn't deserve her, and that's why he let her spend San's whole life hidden in the safety of their home.
That's why San grew up to be a strong, potent mountain, to protect his people and be their homes. Reliable and safe, San always keeps his promises, and he promised he wouldn't let fate or prejudice ever interfere in his loved one's life.
Mingi bumps their shoulders, inhaling deep as he remembers that even if San never had a curse, it didn't mean the universe had been gentle to him.
A man comes down from the stairs, bald with a huge beard and a weird mustache. Rough face resembling a biker from the eighty's or some older, borderline scary haired type of man. But it's just his face, as he's wearing a bright blue and pink colored sweater. A shark dancing hula knitted on it.
Mingi slaps San's chest to make him suppress his laugh. He still thinks the man is scary, after all.
"Can I help you?" Shark Sweater asks, rubbing his hands on his pants. "If you guys are looking for a club, it's on the next block to the right."
They share a look, silently arguing to decide their next move. San is the one to speak out loud. "We came for tattoos."
It takes a beat, glances exchanged as if one of them would bolt away. The neon lights overflowing inside.
"Oh, come on in then!" The guy nods, gesturing for them to come upstairs.
Differently from Mingi, San did have a mark, flowers blooming on his ribs since his early thirteen. And that was an impressive mark. So when asked about their tattoo, they settle for tangled flowers on their ribs, matching on each side of their body.
To reproduce the same drawing, Sharky asks San to go first. The new information makes Mingi wonder if this bald tattoo artist had several sweaters with sharks, to match his name.
San lays down without his shirt, back hitting the black litter gently. The chilly weather was left behind by the heater, thankfully. With his right side up and arm lifted to give space, San takes Mingi's hand, "Ready?"
"Yeah, more than ever." Mingi kisses the knuckles of his hand, letting his forehead rest on it in reassurance. A small chuckle escaping his lips. "Are you?"
Instead of answering, San holds his laugh, silently preparing for the impact. The tattoo artist closes the gap between the needle and San's tanned skin. He shuts his eyes closed, fearing the incoming pain– but the reel vibrates against his ribs and the pain is little, so much, his tense shoulders go lax, almost disappointed with it. Sure, he felt the needle carving his skin, quite literally, but it was very much bearable.
They can't help but giggle at San's reaction. He makes a face when he concludes, "I'm okay?"
"People love to exaggerate." Sharky adjusts his position with a sneer, "Tattoos aren't that bad, neither that hurtful, you know?"
The room settles with the needle's buzzing filling it, Mingi feels like he's starting to like the place. Small, not too much. He doesn't know what exactly he's supposed to do, but it's so calm– nothing he thought it would be– that if it wasn't for San's occasional squeezing, Mingi would have fallen asleep.
Sharky talks absentmindedly for most of the time. Apparently he had so much to say, stories tingling on the tip of his tongue. Mingi discovers that there's more people than he expected who did the same, coming in the middle of the night to get ink on their skin.
Scared people, weird people, mad rebels and secret anarchists. Sharky has seen it all. The two of them were a fresh sight, it makes him hope for more normal clients like them.
At some point, Mingi is busy playing with San's fingernails, absentmindedly drawing the lines of his fingers until San jolts.
WIth a particular touch of the needle, he starts giggling, holding the urge to flinch away.
"The needle is tickling!" San claims as he peaks over the drawing.
"That's it." The old man snorts, leaning back on his chair to take a look at them both, shaking his head. "You two are also weird clients."
Mingi couldn't deny, the way San's mind works is sort of worrisome. But he feels relieved, at least tickling is better than watching the love of his life getting hurt.
It doesn't take long for San to be finished, he already had the most done by fate since years and years ago. The drawing was beautiful, flowers gracefully adorned with leaves and tiny constellations, leaving them both in awe. They were stunned by the bloody work, Sharky may not seem like it, but he is really talented.
Which meant it was Mingi's turn. When he first listened to San's plan– about going to the outskirts of their city to get inked soulmates marks– Mingi felt uneasiness oozing out of him. Overflowing his senses with nausea.
But the ride was peaceful, quiet and comfy. And seeing San being so relaxed to get his tattoo gives him courage, so Mingi lays down where San was before, only changing the side facing up.
For a moment, Mingi feels at ease with San's chin and arms resting on the litter in front of him, gazing at him with a thousand shooting stars flying around. In the next, there's sharp pain ripping over his body, the needle was barely on his skin but Mingi couldn't help but flinch and hiss in pain.
San snorts, shoulders rising as his head drops. Mingi rolls his eyes, indignation in his voice as he questions. "How could you fucking laugh from this?"
"You can still give up if you want–" San argues, still holding back giggles.
"I don't!" Mingi says bravely as he adjusts his body, stuffing his chest before fumbling with his discarded shirt. "But can you, please, hold my hand?"
The ink goes on, tingles burning his side. Mingi concentrates on easing the pain, squeezing San's hand to find comfort as he listens to his babbles. It was sweet of him to talk him out of the pain, but it was too uncomfortable. He couldn't really get whatever San was saying.
As the blessed man he is, Sharky notices, letting him take a break to breathe for a few minutes. There was still half way to go, the flowers were drawn, leaving only the stars and the shadowing to be done.
Mingi wanted to get over it once and for all, since he really didn't like being hurt.
He keeps his eyes shut, blocking the white lights and hopefully, the pain too. Mingi hears the smooth sound of San's voice, the constant buzzing of the needle, feeling his throat constrict and swallow. It's almost over, he can do this.
With a thin layer of plastic film and a dull pain on his side, Mingi exhales deeply when they get out of the tattoo parlor. The parking lot is still as empty as before, the only change is the few shops scattered around are now closed. His nostrils fill with gelid air, nose tip starting to freeze.
San is swinging their laced hands, a silly smile on his face. It makes a smile blossom on Mingi's own. "Are you that happy?"
"Of course! How couldn't I?" he spins and opens his arms, chest open and unstrained. "We're soulmates!"
The world is peaceful, the pockets of his coat warm from the tattoos's parlor heater. San stops, letting Mingi walk closer, bodies brushing like soft plumes. Light with the weight of their love, both in sync, balancing each other. They don't stop their path to the car.
"And you know what's the best part?" There's a little pep on his step, voice slightly higher than before. "We fooled the whole universe, they don't even know that."
Mingi giggles, bringing his soulmate closer with an arm around his neck, pressing his cheek to San's hair. "Yeah, we did."
It's funny, becoming an anarchist in the name of love, that is. This would be their shared secret, at least until society was ready to hear it.
While waiting for San to unlock the car's door, Mingi wonders out loud. "When will we announce our mark?"
San slips in the car, stretching his arm to unlock the opposite side. When Mingi settles down on his seat, San is looking eager, the tips of his lips turning up. "We can wait until Seonghwa and Wooyoung come back from their honeymoon."
Mingi nods, it's their friend's moment after all. And they had to wait until the tattoos heal, so no one would question. He's incapable of holding his laugh when San squeals, dimples digging deep as he repeatedly punches the steering wheel.
Giving one final punch, he turns forward to drive, "Fuck, I'm so excited!"
The sight is so wholesome, blooming petals covering them like a warm, soft blanket. Mingi laughs with his whole chest, letting the feeling fuel his body. It's amazing how easy his worries had vanished, San's plan was a genius one. Mingi feels proud to act on it.
Looking at the road, he figures it's probably past 3am by now. He can't see a thing, the world outside at its dangerous hour. Yet Mingi feels so safe, in such an ease.
San is by his side, he doesn't need to look to know he's there, tuned on Mingi and on their path.
"I love you, San."
"I love you too, Mingi," he can hear grinning in his voice.
Fuck the universe and its protocol, there was no way it was going to dictate their relationship. Their true love is enough, now Mingi knew it by heart.
They have each other, and that's all they need.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
I can't stop the harsh wind for us
But I promise you one thing
I'll hold you tight always
So you can feel my warmth
I'll show you the light over my shoulder
When the sun comes up
– ATEEZ, Promise.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
heyo, how you doin? :] thanks for reading it! i truly appreciate it <3
im sooooo happy cuz this is the first time i finished smth!!!!!
this story is inspired from me getting my first tattoo (a camomile in my ribs). while my friend was panicking and clutching my hand hard cuz they were feeling the pain, i was trying to hold my giggles cuz it was tickling lmaoo.
special thanks to the ppl who helped me get through this oneshot, im truly grateful!! <3
!!!!!!STREAM ATEEZ FIREWORKS!!!!!!