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Destiny behaved like a prank, or so Woojin thought sometimes. It wasn’t the idea of soulmates that bothered him, most people pretended not to care until it happened to them: tattoos that appeared without ink, marks that bloomed like bruises, phrases that wrote themselves on skin in handwriting that was unmistakably not your own; bonding signals or neural resonance or fate or whatever name you used depended on whether you were trying to sound romantic or convincing.
Woojin could have lived with any of it. What he couldn’t live with was the fact that his signal, his soulmate marker, had landed on the one part of their body designed to be a secret. A hip tattoo, not on the wrist, where people compared under sleeves in cafeterias, not on the collarbone, flashing when someone’s shirt fell off a shoulder; not even on the ankle, where socks tugged down in locker rooms. On the hip, where it waited under waistband and pride, where it could live its whole life as a private joke between Woojin and the universe.
Woojin had discovered it at fifteen in the worst possible way: in the bathroom mirror after a shower, towel slung low, steam blurring the edges of the world. A dark, clean-lined shape on the left hip, as it had always belonged there. A simple design, a few lines stylized enough that it could be a cybersygilistic tattoo if it weren’t for the faint humming sensation underneath when Woojin pressed his fingers to it.
At that time, his mother had knocked on the door, and Woojin had yanked the towel higher and said, too loudly, “I’m fine.” He had told no one, and he had become an expert at changing clothes with his back to the room, at sleeping in sweatpants even when the air conditioning died in August, at laughing off the suggestion of pool trips with excuses that landed with enough force to stop questions. It wasn’t shame, exactly; it was more like control. If Woojin didn’t show it, the world couldn’t use it. Because everyone knew what a hip mark meant: fate had a sense of humor, and it meant your soulmate might be a stranger you never saw naked in your whole life. It meant you could share a room for years, eat meals together, bleed together on practice desks, and never know the person destined for you was close enough to borrow your charger. Which was stupid, terrifying, and, apparently, Woojin’s life.
By the time the Hanjin Brion Winter Workshop rolled around, Woojin had gotten very good at not thinking about it. He was twenty-two and tired in the particular way that only professional players and trainees were tired: not the sleep-deprived, coffee-stained fatigue of desk jobs, but the bone-deep exhaustion of bodies pushed to the edge and minds that never got to turn off.
The workshop was supposed to be a break and a bootcamp in one: five days off in theory, packed with sponsor obligations and the kind of social bonding exercises that existed mainly so the staff could take photos of people smiling. Woojin had arrived at the rented condo with the rest of the team, been assigned dorm rooms, and discovered, because the universe loved timing, that he had been roomed with Seonghoon.
Seonghoon was the kind of person you couldn’t not know: short, composed, the sort of face that looked carved with careful intent. He moved as he belonged in slow motion, like the world paused out of respect. He was also, infuriatingly, polite.; they shook hands on the first day with a careful distance that said, We can do this professionally. Seonghoon’s grip was warm and firm, his eyes steady.
“Looks like we’re roommates,” Seonghoon said.
“Lucky you,” Woojin forced a grin.
“I’ll try to be bearable,” Seonghoon’s mouth twitched, almost-smiling.
Woojin had expected awkwardness or the heavy silence of two people from completely different positions sharing space. Instead, it was easy; Seonghoon didn’t talk too much, he wasn’t the kind of roommate who filled air with noise out of fear. He had routines like folding his clothes with precision or lining up toiletries with military order, but he didn’t impose them. When Woojin sprawled on the bed with a protein bar and crumbs everywhere, Seonghoon didn’t complain, just took the wrapper later and tossed it with an expression that suggested he had seen worse.
They fell into a rhythm so quickly that it felt like they had been practicing it. Which, Woojin told himself, was nothing. People adapted, they were social animals. It didn’t mean anything, and it definitely didn’t mean fate. If fate wanted to show Woojin their soulmate, it would have to work harder than this. It would have to, for example, force Woojin into a situation where his waistband slipped, which was absurd and Woojin didn’t do absurd. And then the schedule came out, and Jinseong, grinning like a menace, announced:
“Sauna and indoor pool day tomorrow! Two whole hours, no drills. Sponsor wants ‘candid relaxation shots.’”
Minseong whooped, and Minje made a face like the sun itself offended him. Seonghoon looked up from his phone, eyebrows raised, and said nothing. Woojin felt his stomach drop as if the floor had vanished.
“No,” Woojin said, reflexive.
Jinseong blinked.
“What do you mean, no? It’s on the schedule.”
“I mean,” Woojin said, scrambling for reason, “chlorine messes with my skin.”
Minseong snorted. “You mean you don’t wanna show off your terrible tan lines.”
Woojin’s ears heated.
“I don’t have…”
“Also,” Jinseong said, leaning in, voice gleefully conspiratorial, “there’s a rumor some people’s bond marks show in water, like, it glows. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if…”
Woojin cut him off with a glare sharp enough to slice. Jinseong held up his hands.
“Okay, okay. Relax, it’s just a pool.”
Woojin wanted to laugh at the idea that any pool was “just a pool.” He wanted to explain that two hours was long enough for someone to see a hip tattoo when you climbed a ladder, when you sat down and your shirt rode up, when you adjusted your swim trunks. He wanted to say, You don’t understand what it’s like to carry a secret on your skin. But Woojin didn’t say anything, he just swallowed and nodded like a normal person.
Seonghoon watched him for a second longer than necessary, eyes narrowing slightly, then looked away.
That night, in the dorm room, Woojin lay awake listening to Seonghoon’s breathing. The room was dark except for the dim light of the hallway leaking under the door. Seonghoon had fallen asleep quickly, an arm tossed over his forehead, the picture of someone who trusted sleep to come when summoned. Woojin didn’t trust anything.
His hand drifted to his left hip under the blanket, fingers hovering above the fabric of his sweatpants like they might burn. Tomorrow, Woojin thought. Tomorrow, just don’t get seen. It was a simple plan, and Woojin was good at plans. Plans were how you survived.
The pool area at the complex was bigger than Woojin expected, not an Olympic pool, but large enough for laps, with a separate shallow section and a ring of lounge chairs. Sponsor banners fluttered in the breeze like cheerful threats, and staff milled around with clipboards. There were cameras, because of course there were, perched like watchful birds. People had already started stripping off shirts, laughing, shoving each other into the water while Woojin hovered at the edge in his swim shirt, long-sleeved and high-necked, and a pair of board shorts that hit mid-thigh. Conservative enough to feel like armor.
“You look like you’re going surfing,” Minseong elbowed him.
“You look like you’re gonna get sunburned in five minutes,” Woojin forced a laugh.
Minseong waved him off and sprinted toward the water. Jinseong followed, yelling something about cannonballs, and Minje sat down in the shade and immediately put on sunglasses like he could opt out of the day by refusing to see it.
Seonghoon appeared beside Woojin, wearing black swim trunks and a white towel draped over one shoulder, no shirt. Woojin’s eyes flickered, traitorous, across smooth skin and lean muscle, then snapped away.
“You okay?” Seonghoon’s gaze was calm.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because,” Seonghoon said, tone mild, “you look like you’re about to fight the pool.”
Woojin huffed.
“Pools started it.”
“You don’t have to get in if you don’t want to.”
“It’s mandatory,” Woojin stared at him.
“Nothing’s mandatory if you’re stubborn enough.” Woojin almost smiled.
“So you’re saying I should be stubborn.”
“I’m saying,” Seonghoon said, eyes steady, “I’ve seen you be stubborn. You’re good at it.”
“WOOJIN! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!” Woojin flinched at Minseong’s scream.
“I’ll go in with you. If that helps,” Seonghoon sighed.
Woojin wanted to say no. Wanted to say, Please don’t be near me when my secret slips out. Wanted to say, Please don’t be the person destiny chose. Because that was the other part, the part Woojin refused to name: the fear wasn’t just being seen, it was being seen by the wrong person. By someone who would laugh, or pity, or worse, look at Woojin like a disappointment. Woojin didn’t know Seonghoon well enough to trust him with anything that fragile, but Seonghoon was already stepping toward the pool, looking back as if Woojin’s presence mattered, so he followed.
The water was cold when they slipped in, shock biting into skin. Woojin’s breath caught as he kept his shirt clinging close, arms crossed instinctively over his torso like that protected his hip. He stayed near the wall, laughed when someone splashed him and avoided climbing out. He even avoided bending, twisting, anything that might shift fabric.
For a while, it worked. Woojin could pretend he was just another person in the pool, just another body in water, nothing destined, nothing marked. Then Minseong grabbed a foam noodle and swung it like a sword at Jinseong, who ducked and retaliated with a splash so big it hit Woojin full in the face. Woojin sputtered, wiped water from their eyes, and heard Jinseong cackling.
“Sorry! Collateral!”
“You’re dead!” Woojin glared.
“Come get me!” Jinseong grinned, backed up.
Woojin launched forward without thinking, water churning as he chased. The pool’s shallow section was crowded; bodies bumped, laughter collided. Woojin reached for Jinseong’s shoulder and Jinseong twisted away, slipping, grabbing at Woojin’s arm in panic. The movement yanked Woojin off balance and his feet skidded on the pool floor. He went down with a splash, half-submerging, arms flailing.
For a second, his board shorts caught, fabric tugging. For a second, the waistband dipped and Woojin felt it like a cold hand on his skin: exposure. He scrambled upright, heart hammering, and clutched at their shorts, yanking them higher with a desperate motion, trying to laugh like it was nothing, but the air had changed. Woojin didn’t know how he knew, only that the world felt too quiet, like someone had turned down the volume on everything but his pulse.
He looked up to find that Seonghoon was at the edge of the shallow section, half in the water, half braced against the pool ledge. His expression had gone utterly still, and his eyes were locked on Woojin, not in a leering way, more like he had been struck. Woojin’s stomach dropped again, harder than before. No one else seemed to notice.
Jinseong was still laughing, oblivious, clinging to Minseong as they wrestled. The staff were focused on camera angles. Minje hadn’t moved from the shade. But Seonghoon saw and Woojin saw him seeing.Seonghoon’s gaze flickered, not to Woojin’s face, but, impossibly, to his own left hip, as if pulled by reflex. He went pale, the kind of pale that wasn’t about sun.
Woojin’s brain stuttered. No. No, no, no. It couldn’t be. Seonghoon’s lips parted slightly, like he might speak, but Woojin didn’t wait. He pushed through the water with sudden force, heading for the nearest ladder, desperate for distance. He climbed out too fast, water streaming off him, and grabbed his towel from the chair with shaking hands. Seonghoon followed a moment later, slower, eyes never leaving Woojin.
Woojin wrapped the towel tight around his waist like a shield. His skin felt too exposed even under fabric, like the tattoo itself was burning with awareness. Seonghoon stopped a few meters away. They stared at each other, two people suddenly trapped in a story neither of them had agreed to read.
“Don’t,” Woojin’s voice came out rough.
“Woojin…”
“Don’t,” Woojin repeated, sharper. “Whatever you think you saw. Don’t say it.”
Seonghoon’s brows drew together, confusion and something like hurt mixing.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to talk about it.”
Seonghoon’s gaze softened slightly. He nodded once, like he was making a decision.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t. I’m not going to force you.”
Woojin didn’t know what to do with that. He had expected questions, demands, maybe anger or relief, the kind people got when fate handed them something they had wanted. He hadn’t expected respect.
“Fine.”
“Are you cold? You’re shaking…” Seonghoon stepped closer, careful, like approaching a startled animal.
Woojin’s first instinct was to snap and say, mind your business, but Seonghoon’s tone wasn’t intrusive; it was concerned, simple, human. Woojin didn’t know how to accept concern without paying for it.
“I’m fine,” Woojin lied.
Seonghoon didn’t argue. He just draped his own towel, still dry, over Woojin’s shoulders, layering warmth on top of the first towel like a quiet insistence. Woojin froze as Seonghoon’s fingers brushed Woojin’s biceps for half a second as he adjusted the towel. It was barely contact, but Woojin felt it like a spark under skin. His tattoo pulsed once, a strange, muted throb. Woojin’s breath caught, and Seonghoon’s eyes flickered, noticing. His hand withdrew quickly, like he had touched something sacred.
“We should go,” Seonghoon said softly. “Back to the room. If you want.”
Woojin nodded, too stiff, and followed him away from the pool. They didn’t look back.
The walk to the rooms was too long and the sun felt too bright. Woojin kept his head down, towel clutched tight. Every step felt like it echoed: soulmate, soulmate, soulmate. Seonghoon walked beside him, matching pace without crowding. He didn’t speak and didn’t try to make it better with words. Woojin hated him a little for being so reasonable.
Woojin shut the door and leaned against it like it was the only thing keeping the world out. Seonghoon stood by his bed, hands at his sides. He looked unsettled, maybe not panicked, but like he had been rearranged internally and hadn’t found his new shape. Woojin forced their voice to stay steady.
“So…” Seonghoon’s eyes met theirs.
“So,” Woojin swallowed.
He could feel the tattoo on his hip even through the towel and wet clothes, like a heartbeat out of place.
“I have the same mark.”
Woojin flinched, like words had weight, and Seonghoon’s voice dropped, almost apologetic.
“I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
“What, you think I believe you stalked my hip?” Woojin laughed, brittle.
“No. I just…” He exhaled. “I’m trying to make sure you know I’m not… I’m not playing with you.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” Seonghoon’s brows pulled together.
“Why?” Woojin snapped his gaze back and let the question hung, raw.
Seonghoon hesitated.
“Because it’s… Because it’s you.”
Woojin’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t expected that, to be someone in this equation. He had expected to be an inconvenience, a problem to solve, a fate Seonghoon tolerated. Woojin forced his face into something hard.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Seonghoon blinked.
“Make it sound nice,” Woojin said, voice sharp. “This is not nice, nort romantic. This is…” Woojin gestured vaguely, frustrated. “It’s a mess.”
Seonghoon nodded slowly.
“Okay. It’s a mess.”
Woojin’s anger faltered. Seonghoon wasn’t arguing or trying to paint it pretty. Woojin ran a hand through wet hair, water dripping onto the floor.
“Look. We can’t…” Woojin stopped, because can’t what? Can’t date? Can’t pretend? Can’t ignore? Woojin didn’t know what they wanted, only what they feared. Seonghoon watched him with that steady attention that made Woojin feel seen in a way that wasn’t comfortable.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“You’re asking me?” Woojin’s laugh was hollow.
“Yes,” Seonghoon said simply. “You’re the one who ran.”
“I didn’t…” Woojin bristled.
Seonghoon held up a hand, not accusatory, just factual.
“You did, and it’s okay. I’m not angry, I just need to understand.”
Woojin’s throat tightened. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep words from spilling too fast.
“I don’t do destiny.”
“Okay,” Seonghoon’s expression softened.
“That’s it? No argument?” Woojin stared.
Seonghoon shook his head.
“It’s your life. Your body. Your mark too.”
Woojin swallowed hard. Something in him twisted painfully, like a muscle being stretched in a direction it hadn’t moved before. He had built his life on control, on deciding what he gave and when, on never letting anyone take something from him without permission. And now destiny had tried to take something anyway.
“I don’t want to be… obligated.”
“Then don’t be,” Seonghoon’s eyes held his.
“But people say…” Woojin’s hands curled into fists.
“I don’t care what people say,” Seonghoon interrupted, firmer than before. He seemed to realize the intensity of his tone and softened slightly. “I mean… I care about you. I don’t care about the rumor version of soulmates.”
Woojin stared at him. It would have been so easy if Seonghoon had been arrogant, if he had said, Of course fate chose me. Woojin could have hated him cleanly, but Seonghoon kept offering choices, like Woojin’s autonomy mattered more than destiny’s script. Woojin didn’t know how to fight that.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, towel slipping slightly. He yanked it back up, reflexive, and Seonghoon looked away immediately, respectful to the point of awkwardness. Woojin let out a shaky breath.
“We don’t have to… become something, you know,” Seonghoon’s voice was gentle. “We don’t have to do anything.”
Woojin’s eyes stung unexpectedly. He blinked hard, refusing the weakness.
“Good.”
Silence settled. Outside, muffled laughter drifted from the hallway, the others coming back from the pool, carefree and sun-warmed. Woojin felt like he was trapped behind glass, watching normal life happen in another room. Seonghoon spoke again, cautious.
“Can I ask you something?”
Woojin didn’t trust himself to speak, so henodded. Seonghoon’s gaze lowered, then lifted again, as if forcing himself to be brave.
“Are you disappointed?”
“What?” Woojin blinked, thrown.
“That it’s me.”
Woojin stared. So that was it, the fear Woojin had been trying not to name, mirrored back at him: the possibility that Seonghoon didn’t want this either. That he had wanted someone else, someone softer, someone easier.
Woojin’s chest tightened as he forced a laugh, meaner than he intended.
“You think I’m disappointed?”
“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” Seonghoon’s eyes didn’t flinch.
“I’m not disappointed,” he said, and the honesty in it startled him. “I’m… scared.”
Seonghoon exhaled, relief flickering across his face before he masked it.
“Okay.”
“Are you disappointed?” The question came out before Woojin could stop it.
Seonghoon went still. For a moment, he didn’t answer, and Woojin’s heart began to sink.
“I’m not disappointed that it’s you.” Woojin’s lungs loosened a fraction. Seonghoon continued, words slow, like he was picking them from a field of thorns. “I’m disappointed that it’s… complicated.”
“Welcome to my life,” Woojin laughed softly, bitter.
“Mine too,” Seonghoon’s mouth twitched, a faint smile.
“So what now?” Woojin looked up, meeting his eyes.
“We go to dinner and we pretend we’re fine. We don’t tell anyone unless you want to. We…” He swallowed. “We figure out what we want, instead of what the mark wants.”
Woojin’s tattoo throbbed once, as if offended by being ignored. Woojin grimaced.
“Sounds like fate won’t like that.”
“Let it be angry.”
Woojin stared, and something in him cracked open a little.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Seonghoon’s shoulders loosened, like he’d been holding tension in them for days.
Then, as if the universe refused to let them have peace, a sharp pain stabbed through Woojin’s left hip. Woojin gasped, jerking forward. Seonghoon went rigid, eyes widening.
“What…”
The pain wasn’t from skin. It was deeper, like a bruise blooming under bone, sudden and hot. Woojin grabbed the edge of the mattress, knuckles white. Seonghoon swore under his breath and pressed a hand to his own left hip, face twisting. Woojin froze. They stared at each other, realization slamming down like a door.
“Did you…” Woojin began, voice shaking.
Seonghoon’s breath came in sharp bursts.
“Yes.”
Another wave hit, and Woojin’s vision blurred for a second. It felt like someone had driven a fist into their side from the inside. Then, as suddenly as it came, it eased, leaving behind a dull ache. Woojin panted, hair sticking to his forehead. Seonghoon’s hand was still on his hip. His expression was pale and debastated in equal measure.
“Fate punishes us,” Woojin said, voice hoarse.
Seonghoon stared at the floor, jaw clenched.
“It punishes you.”
“You too.”
Seonghoon looked up, eyes burning.
“You didn’t ask for this.”
Neither did you, Woojin wanted to say. But Seonghoon looked like he needed to blame something, and Woojin understood that too well.
“Maybe it’s just… adjustment.”
Seonghoon’s laugh was humorless.
“That didn’t feel like adjustment.”
Woojin’s tattoo pulsed again, a warning or a reminder.
They sat in the silence of it, the truth settling: the bond wasn’t just a mark. It was a mechanism and a leash. Woojin’s voice went small, despite their best effort.
“If we ignore it… we feel each other.”
“If we ignore it, it hurts,” Seonghoon’s eyes met his.
“So we’re trapped.”
“No,” Seonghoon’s expression shifted, something determined setting into place.
“No?” Woojin blinked.
Seonghoon stood up, slow because of the lingering ache, and walked to Woojin’s bed. He stopped at a respectful distance, like he still didn’t want to crowd. His voice was steady.
“We’re not trapped. We’re just… linked.”
“That’s the same thing,” Woojin stared at him, suspicious of optimism.
“It’s not,” Seonghoon said. “A trap is something you can’t choose your way out of. A link is something you can decide how to handle.”
“And how do you suggest we handle fate deciding to cause us pain when we don’t perform romance on command?”
“We don’t have to perform romance.” Woojin’s breath caught. Seonghoon continued, careful. “But maybe we can stop treating each other like strangers.”
Woojin’s throat tightened.
“We aren’t strangers.”
Seonghoon’s eyes softened, but there was a sadness in it too.
“We were, in the way that mattered. You kept your mark hidden, I kept mine hidden. We were in the same room and didn’t know. Maybe fate is cruel, or maybe it’s just physics. Either way, it’s telling us something: we can’t pretend the bond doesn’t exist without consequences.”
Woojin looked down at his hands and hated that it made sense. He hated that Seonghoon sounded like someone who had already thought about this, who had already considered how to live with an unwanted destiny.
“So what? We date?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“Then what?” Woojin frowned.
Seonghoon hesitated.
“We start with honesty.”
“Honesty about what? About the fact that I’m terrified you’re going to regret this?” Woojin’s laugh was strained.
“I’m terrified you’re going to hate me,” Seonghoon’s eyes flashed. Woojin went still and Seonghoon exhaled, looking almost embarrassed at his own vulnerability. “You said you’re scared. I’m scared too. Not of the bond but of… failing it. Of failing you.”
Woojin stared at him, heart hammering. Seonghoon was so composed, so controlled, that this crack in his armor felt surreal.
“Why would you care?”
Seonghoon’s expression tightened, like the question hurt.
“Because I already like you.”
The words hit Woojin like the pool’s cold shock all over again. Woojin’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His brain scrambled, trying to find the trick, the hidden joke, but Seonghoon’s face was too honest for a prank. Woojin’s chest ached, not from the bond this time, but from something older: the fear of being wanted and the certainty that it would be taken away.
“Liking me is a bad idea.”
“Why?” Seonghoon’s mouth twitched, not amused.
“Because I’m not…” Woojin stopped. Not what? Not soft. Not easy. Not the kind of soulmate story people liked. Woojin swallowed. “Because relationships are… messy. People get hurt.”
Seonghoon’s gaze flicked to Woojin’s hip, then back to his face.
“We’re already getting hurt.” Seonghoon’s voice softened again. “Maybe we can choose how.”
“I don’t want a relationship,” Woojin said, harsh with self-defense. “Not right now and definitely not because of a mark.”
“Okay.”
“Stop agreeing with me like that.”
“Would you prefer I argue?” Seonghoon’s eyes flickered with something like amusement.
Woojin huffed, frustrated.
“No.”
“Then let me agree,” Seonghoon’s smile was faint, but it was there.
“But… we can’t ignore it either.”
“No. We can’t.”
“So what does honesty look like?”
Seonghoon thought for a moment.
“It looks like telling me what you need.”
“I need… control.”
“Okay. What does control mean for you?” Seonghoon nodded, like that was reasonable.
Woojin’s throat tightened.
“It means you don’t tell anyone. It means you don’t touch me without asking. It means you don’t act like this mark gives you… rights.”
“Agreed.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes,” Seonghoon’s eyes were steady.
Woojin’s chest tightened with something dangerously close to relief.
“And what I need… is to know you won’t shut me out completely. Not because I think I’m owed your feelings, but because if fate is going to make us share pain, I want us to share… other things too. Even if it’s just friendship.”
Woojin’s tattoo pulsed, almost approving.
“Friendship I can do.”
“Okay,” Seonghoon’s shoulders loosened.
“And…” The next words felt like stepping off a cliff. “And maybe… we can talk about it. Sometime when I’m not panicking.”
Seonghoon’s expression softened into something warm and careful.
“Whenever you want.”
Woojin nodded, throat too tight to say more. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and Woojin realized something unsettling: this was the first time in years the mark on his hip didn’t feel like a solitary burden. It felt shared, which was terrifying and was, somehow, less lonely.
Dinner that night was loud, chaotic, full of people recounting pool antics and joking about sunburns. Woojin sat between Jinseong and Minseong, forcing laughter at appropriate moments, pretending his world hadn’t tilted. Seonghoon sat across the table.
Their eyes met once, brief, and Seonghoon gave a small nod: I’m here. I’m not going to expose you. Woojin looked down at his food and breathed.
Halfway through dinner, Minseong slammed a hand on the table.
“Okay, we need to settle this. Who’s the most likely to have a soulmate mark in the stupidest place?”
Jinseong grinned.
“Woojin.”
Woojin choked on his water. Seonghoon’s gaze snapped up, sharp, and Woojin coughed, wiping at his mouth, trying to recover.
“Why me?”
“Because you have that vibe,” Minseong said, laughing.
“Like fate hates you personally.”
Woojin forced a grin.
“Thanks.”
“Come on, tell us. Do you have one?” Jinseong leaned in, eyes gleaming.
Woojin’s heart hammered
“Everyone has something, it’s not a big deal.”
“That’s not an answer!” Jinseong pouted.
Woojin smiled, sharper.
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Minseong laughed and moved on, already distracted by someone else’s story. The moment passed like a wave that didn’t quite break. Woojin exhaled slowly. Across the table, Seonghoon’s gaze softened. He looked down at his food again, as if giving Woojin privacy even in silence. Woojin’s chest ached, but in a way that felt almost safe.
Later that night, back in the dorm, Woojin showered quickly, locking the bathroom door even though it was just Seonghoon. Habit. Fear. Control. When he came out in sweatpants and a loose shirt, Seonghoon was sitting on his bed scrolling through his phone. He looked up. Woojin froze.
“What?”
Seonghoon’s expression was neutral.
“Nothing. Just… checking you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
Seonghoon nodded, then hesitated.
“Does your mark ever… do anything?”
Woojin stiffened.
“What do you mean?”
Seonghoon gestured vaguely toward his hip, uncomfortable.
“Mine hums sometimes. Like a… vibration. And now that we… Now that we know, it feels stronger.”
“Yeah... Mine too.”
“And the pain thing… has that happened before?”
“No,” Woojin shook his head slowly.
“So it started when we refused.”
“Seems like it.”
Seonghoon stared at the wall for a moment, thinking.
“Then maybe we need to figure out what it wants.”
“I’m not going to let fate dictate my life.”
“I’m not saying we obey,” Seonghoon said quickly. “I’m saying we understand the rules of the game so it can’t blindside us.”
Woojin stared. That was actually something Woojin could respect. Strategy. Analysis. Control through knowledge.
“Okay. How?” Woojin exhaled.
“Maybe… closeness reduces the backlash.”
“Closeness how?” Woojin’s chest tightened.
Seonghoon’s ears reddened faintly.
“I don’t know. Talking, touch. Sleeping near each other.” Woojin stared, heartbeat loud. Seonghoon added quickly, “Not sexual. Not if you don’t want. Just… proximity.”
Woojin’s mind raced. The idea of touching Seonghoon, of letting anyone touch them with the knowledge of what it meant, felt like stepping into fire, but the pain earlier had felt like punishment and Woojin was tired of being punished by invisible forces.
“Okay. We can try… talking.”
Seonghoon nodded, relieved.
“Okay.”
“And maybe… small touch. Like…” Woojin gestured awkwardly. “A hand on the shoulder. Nothing weird.”
Seonghoon’s eyes softened.
“Nothing weird.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Seonghoon blinked.
“Like you’re… happy.”
“I’m relieved.”
“Why?” Woojin’s chest tightened.
“Because I thought you would run again.”
Woojin stared, the truth of it landing heavy. Woojin looked away, jaw clenched.
“I might still.”
“Then I’ll let you and I’ll be here when you come back, if you want.”
Woojin’s throat tightened painfully. They sat in silence for a while, the room humming with things unsaid.
“Tell me what you thought when you saw it.”
“Your mark?” Seonghoon went still.
Woojin nodded, eyes fixed on his hands and Seonghoon hesitated.
“I thought… I was seeing things. Because I’ve been afraid for years that my soulmate would be someone who didn’t want me. Someone who would look at me and think ‘no.’” Woojin’s chest tightened. Seonghoon continued, voice low. “And then I saw it on you, and my first thought was… My first thought was relief. Because I already respected you because you’re strong and honest, even when you’re harsh.”
Woojin laughed quietly, bitter.
“Harsh.”
Seonghoon’s gaze met his.
“Yes. Harsh, but real.”
“And then?”
“Then I thought you would hate me for being happy.”
Woojin stared. The irony was brutal: Woojin had feared Seonghoon’s disappointment, and Seonghoon had feared Woojin’s rejection. Fate didn’t just link bodies, it linked insecurities like wires.
“I don’t hate you.”
Seonghoon’s breath hitched slightly, like he hadn’t expected that.
“I’m just… not good at this,” Woojin’s voice went quieter.
Seonghoon’s eyes softened.
“Neither am I.”
Woojin stared at him for a long moment, then, before he could overthink it, Woojin reached out and placed his hand lightly on Seonghoon’s shoulder. Seonghoon went still, like he was afraid to move and break the moment. Woojin’s fingers felt the heat of him through fabric; Seonghoon’s shoulder was solid, real. Woojin’s tattoo pulsed once, warm instead of painful.
“Did you feel that?”
Seonghoon’s eyes widened slightly. He nodded, voice barely audible.
“Yes.”
Woojin’s hand lingered, trembling. He didn’t pull away, and Seonghoon’s gaze held his, cautious.
“Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s… warm.”
Seonghoon exhaled, something like wonder flickering across his face.
“Maybe that’s it.”
“Maybe fate just wants us to stop being idiots.”
“Maybe.”
Woojin let out a shaky breath and withdrew his hand, heart hammering. He had touched and nothing had broke. No pain came, only warmth. Woojin stared at the space between them, suddenly aware of how thin the line was between fear and intimacy. He wanted to retreat, to build the wall back up, but another part of him, a small, stubborn, starved part of him wanted to step closer.
“This is going to ruin us,” Woojin whispered, almost to himself.
“Or it might save us,” Seonghoon’s voice was gentle.
Woojin laughed softly, disbelieving.
“You’re too hopeful.”
“I’m trying to be brave.”