Morning. The 967 bus is filled with the same people who take the 7:45 am route every week day. Chan can pick out a handful of people he knows through route memory. Up front, on the seats reserved for the elderly and disabled was a guy wearing black slacks and a dark worker’s shirt, looking down on his phone intently. It would be considered rude to sit on those seats but Chan knew he worked for the grocery store at the stop right after the next one coming up. He seemed like a dutiful guy, always on time wearing the proper attire for work, so it had stopped bothering Chan that he sat on those seats after a while.

     The business man that was always on his Bluetooth receiver, talking fast paced about a document or another, wasn’t lucky enough to grab a seat this morning, so he stands with the support of the low-hanging handle bars. The constant shaking of the bus worries down on his sleeve and it shows enough of his forearm that he sees a Mark there that never was. The business man wore a silver ring on his left ring finger, ever since Chan had started observing him. But this Mark, almost like an overgrown web of ivy vines, was new. He’s cheating on his wife. Chan ducks his head away, his stomach feeling heavier from the thought.

     He looks to a cluster of small, old ladies in the middle lane seats, close to both exits, just the way they liked. They’ve once corralled him into their conversation, as they recounted stories behind each of their Marks, the men who were good, the ones who really weren’t and the ones that they should have held onto. He left with a handful of candies and permanently mussed hair that day. Right now, they are sharing stories about their grandchildren. How delighted they were to hear of stories about their Marks, how their eyes sparkled at the thought of getting many of their own. Chan knows this same song and dance. He knows, because he’s had the same thoughts, the same childish eagerness and excitement over the idea of acquiring Marks for himself. He knows better than to hope he’ll have any right now, maybe after high school, but not right now.

     He looks to a couple walking in, a pair of students, he doesn’t recognize them so he tenses before relaxing once he realizes that their uniforms aren’t the same as his. They’re swinging their hands, fingers laced together, as they find empty seats. There are none, the girl gives a frustrated huff and Chan would have offered his seat up but her boyfriend kisses her hand in his and leads her towards the handle bars. Chan feels his cheeks warm while letting go of his grip on his bag. It’s obvious that they’re smitten and stuck in their own world. Even more obvious was their Marks, proudly shown by their rolled up sleeves, that were perfectly aligned on their wrists. A lot of people in his school gossip about how perfectly aligned marks meant that the couple was meant to be. Soulmates, they’d whisper, followed by fluttery giggles. 

     Such a thing couldn’t help identify soulmates, that wasn’t how the Marks worked, Chan wanted to say. But no one cared about his opinions; no one would even acknowledge his presence. He releases a relieved sigh when his stop arrives. 

------

     The greatest irony of Jisoo’s life must be that his Mark was a black cross. It was thin, the size of his pinky, located on the skin before his hair line met his ear’s outer shell. Its design is very minimal which helped since it made it easier to hide underneath the swathe of his hair. It actually suited Jisoo just fine, if not for the fact that he’s a Christian. It’s blasphemous to prance around wearing a cross but it’s not as if Jisoo could have really done anything about it. Even in his earliest memories, he could remember his mother repeatedly commanding him to hide his mark. It was blasphemous, she said. She would not tolerate such disrespect for God and his son, Jesus.

     It’s curious that Jesus’ own mark was a cross topped with a thorn crown. But Jisoo has never been taught to question anything, as a young child. He doesn’t plan on changing either.

     Change was scary. 

     Life is just easier, living quietly, in the backs of people’s consciousness, out of sight. He makes a mental note to buy some snacks to bring for the children at the hospital.

------

     “Hey, how’re you feeling?” 

     “Never better.”

     Soonyoung’s eye brows bunch together, “You don’t sound good, actually.”

     “Have you taken your meds yet?” He flits over to the cabinets and Seokmin’s eyes follow the curve of his neck, tracing it down to his broad, reliable shoulders. Soonyoung grabs one of the orange pill containers, rattles it in his hand, as he rummages through the kitchen. “You don’t mind if I just heat up the oolong tea in the fridge, right?” He calls out to Seokmin. 

Seokmin was too distracted by the breeze coming in through Soonyoung’s opened balcony to hear Soonyoung. The sheer curtains fluttering and dancing with the wind’s tune felt hypnotic to him, almost pulling him to them. 

     “Hey,” A hand grabs his arm, as he’s halfway there, “I’ve got the tea right here. Cold is fine, right?” Soonyoung’s wearing an odd smile and Seokmin just tilts his head to consider what it means as Soonyoung tugs him back towards the couch. 

     “You take two of these now and the small blue one two hours after, right?” Seokmin doesn’t recall and Soonyoung didn’t expect an answer. Soonyoung holds his hand, turning it palms up and places the two pills on Seokmin’s hand. He watches intently as Seokmin’s Adam's apple bob up and down, consuming the liquid and drugs. He promptly turns to close his balcony, the little rays of sunshine locked out, before proposing a movie day with a wide smile and cheery voice. 

     Seokmin feels cold in the dark but he tries his best to make the corners of his lips stretch into a mockery of a smile, as the drugs kick in, blurring the edges of his reality between flying out through the balcony and sitting in Soonyoung’s couch.

     Mingyu liked making out with Yeri, the little mewls she made as she pulls down on her linked arms around his neck made Mingyu feel good about himself. The constant beeping of his phone was quickly ruining the mood though, as Yeri kept pulling away to look towards his jacket pocket. She pulls away completely once it started blasting his ringtone. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. He throws her a small smile before turning away to check on who it was. Mingyu swears, if this was Hansol pestering him about skipping school to “smooch” with his girlfriend again-- he’d punch him the very next time he sees him. 

     But it wasn’t Hansol. He frowns, his forehead creasing with worry as he answers the call. “Jihoon-hyung? Whats wrong?” He clutches his phone close, as he waits with bated breath for a response. 

------

     “Seventeen’s second take will resume in thirty minutes!” They bow and make their thanks before heading towards their designated waiting area.

     Today’s been a long day and they weren’t even halfway through all of their scheduled appearances yet. Surprisingly, Seungcheol wasn’t getting worn down. His smile stayed the same from the moment he greeted Jeonghan in the morning till now. It was suspicious.

     “Hyung, can I have you pick this up for me while we’re doing the fanmeet later?” Seungcheol asks one of their managers, pointing towards something on his phone.

     “Aish, you did something to upset your girlfriend again?” The manager teases, “You should just ask to marry her already, since she’s put up with you this long.” He winks for added effect before agreeing to pick up whatever cheesy present Seungcheol bought.

     Jeonghan sidles up to the other after their manager has left and the waiting room was a little emptier, peeking at what it was. A cheesy monstrosity is what it was. A stuffed bear about five foot tall with a cute forlorn expression highlighted by a large cartoonish tear under its left button eye, holding a heart that held the words “Is it too late now to say sorry?”. Jeonghan rolls his eyes. 

     “Hyung’s right, whoever your girlfriend is; she deserves a ring and a canonization into sainthood for putting up with you for all these years.” 

     Seungcheol turns solemn, abruptly different from his mood earlier, “Yeah, Jihoon really does.” 

     Seungcheol had been very private about his relationship not really caring to share with others, especially once they debuted and Jeonghan was no exception. So it’s surprising that it slipped out now or maybe Seungcheol had finally decided that Jeonghan can be trusted? “Wow, have we finally reached a stage in our work relationship where I can finally know more about the lovely Jihoon-ssi?”

     Seungcheol acts surprised, like Jeonghan had snapped him out of a trance, before he chuckles and playfully punches Jeonghan’s shoulder, “Ahaha, don’t push your luck.”

     Seungcheol’s punch actually hurt and Jeonghan winces.

------

     Today had just turned out to be a very weird day. Boo Seungkwan, one of the most social kids in school, had gone to talk to him, the class outcast. Albeit in a very suspicious manner in that Chan was snagged into an abandoned classroom just as he was heading to the locker rooms for Physical Education. And with the weirdest question (?);

     “Take me to the Tattoo shop you work for– I’m willing to pay any amount of money!”