It took Jimin every ounce of control in his body to keep from rushing down the hall and slamming the door behind his back.  His stomach was in knots, and it seemed to have found it's way up his body into this throat, along with his thundering heart.   Once the door was shut, he pressed himself against it, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought to find his breath. The words had been spoken as clear as day, and yet he couldn't quite believe they had been more than a figment of his imagination.  They certainly seemed to be repeating the way dreams lingered in the mind, floating loftily in the spaces where he could not shut them out.  

“Without Passion, life ends.”

Heaving a sigh, Jimin shook his head and pushed himself off the wall, his left hand sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt to run over the first mark that had appeared six months earlier.  He made his way to the mirror on the far wall of the room, but it took several moments filled with heavy breathing for him to find the courage to push his shirt up over his head.

As always, Jimin didn't need to search for the mark on his skin.   He was nothing if not diligent to memorize each of them as they were mysteriously etched into his skin, revealing some new trait about the person who, supposedly, would be the second soulmate of his life.  The impossible individual that should not be able to exist, and yet, according to every sign, was out in the world waiting for him. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what the words said, and yet he let his eyes linger over each of them again, steadying his breath as read them once, twice, three times.  Without Passion, Life Ends.

There was no stopping the way his heart began to race again, pounding out a rapid rhythm as his frenzied eyes drank in the rest of the marks on his skin.  Strong.  Warm. Uncertain.  Adventurous.   Lost.  Relentless. His eyes raced over his torso, his mind surging as it struggled to keep up, until he let out a gasp and braced his hand against the wall, gulping air into his starved lungs.   His head spun a few moments longer, the words still lacing through his synapses in an effort to form an image – in an effort to reconcile it with the young man in the kitchen.

When at last he looked up, Jimin pushed his free hand back through his hair, staring into his own eyes to try and find an anchor in the storm.   H