Redwood City, despite being on the California coast, was nothing like La La Land. Minseok pressed his cheek against window of Yifan’s sedan, watching the beat-up buildings pass slowly by. At first, he’d been counting liquor stores, but decided to give up after they past the twelfth store in half as many miles. Minseok huffed. Yifan glanced over with a smile.

“Feeling a bit let down by the great state of California?”

Minseok frowned, his nose crinkling in disgust. “It’s kind of old looking. And run down. And is it always this cloudy?”

Yifan laughed, a full-bellied, open-mouthed laugh. “Yup. The clouds usually burn away by early afternoon and then it gets hot, but mornings are pretty much always like this. It’s part of living on the coast. As for everything else, I mean downtown is a bit nicer, but yeah. Everything is kind of run down.”

Minseok didn’t reply, too distracted by watching two homeless men fight in the parking lot of a closed-down Chinese buffet. Shortly after, he fell asleep, his check pushed up against the window of Yifan’s car, making him look even more like a steamed bun. Yifan didn’t wake him, instead content to sit in silence as he continued to wind his way through traffic. It was horrendous, even at 11 am, and they would likely still take at least half an hour before they made it to Yifan’s gallery.

It wasn’t until Yifan parked that Minseok jolted awake, scared by the sound of the car door slamming shut. Yifan opened the trunk to get out their suitcases. He grinned through the rear window at Minseok before walking around to open Minseok’s door.

“We’ve arrived your majesty.” He bowed, a -eating grin on his face when Minseok almost fell out of his seat.

“Your gallery?” Minseok righted himself, staring up at the building in front of him. The entire face was an abstract mural in near-neon colors, a lion roaring out trees and pinwheels that morphed into fairies where the edge of Yifan’s gallery met the next building over, a clothing store named Brick Monkey. Above the door a neon sign read “life is art” in fancy cursive letters. “Is that wat you named it?” Minseok asked, gesturing to the sign.

“Kind of?” Yifan shrugged. “It’s technically the Lia Gallery on paper, but obviously Lia is short for life is art. Besides, it’s well known enough that people know how to find it, and even if they don’t, it’s pretty obviously a gallery.” He unlocked the front door, the key making a satisfying click as it turned. “Welcome to mi casa.” He opened the door with a sweeping gesture, ushering Minseok into a wonderland of art.

Yifan’s gallery catered more toward paintings, mostly murals, reaching from the floors to the ceilings. Everything absolutely dripped with color. In the center of the front room a glass statue that looked like a peacock’s feather’s, minus the peacock’s body. It spanned at least eight feet wide and six feet high and cast blue green kaleidoscope shadows across the wooden floor.

“So,” Yifan grinned, slipping behind what looked like an information desk to put the key away in a drawer. “Do you like it?”

“It’s awesome Yifan.” Minseok stepped closer to the sculpture in the middle. The card at its base read Emperor. He stepped back and imagined the feathers adorning a king. “Is the rest of it like this?”

“No,” Yifan stepped out from behind the desk holding a different set of keys. “Just this room. All the other rooms are more stereotypical gallery rooms. There’s some photography to your left, and then over there,” he gestured towards another room to Minseok’s right, “there’s some more paintings. Anyway, I live upstairs. Follow me.”

He went through the door he’d just gestured to, winding around a few more sculptures and past the paintings he told Minseok were hung on the walls—a couple of which Minseok recognized as Yixing’s—before disappearing behind a wall. Minseok hurried after him, desperate not to be left behind. Yifan unlocked a door that had “EMPLOYEES ONLY” painted across it in red. They were in a hallway now, with what looked like a custodial closet on the left and a stairway directly in front of them. Yifan turned to look at Minseok.

“I live up there.” He nodded up the staircase. He handed Minseok his key ring. “The square gold key unlocks the door. I’ll grab our suitcases and then I’ll be up. Okay? Feel free to make yourself comfortable. The room second to the right is going to be yours.”

“Okay,” Minseok nodded. “See you in a bit. You don’t need any other keys?”

“Nah, everything is unlocked right now. I’ll grab the keys from you later to lock everything up.”

One week into living with Yifan, Minseok had perfectly acclimated himself to laying on the couch and watching disgusting amounts of The Great British Bake Off. Most mornings he and Yifan ate breakfast together, Yifan went down to man the gallery while Minseok cleaned up the dishes. For the rest of the day he either napped or watched TV, and at the end of the day he and Yifan ate dinner together, and after, they’d sit around and talk or watch an episode of Psych. Then Minseok went to bed, almost always before nine pm. At first, Minseok had tried to help out around the gallery, but it quickly became clear that while he wasn’t necessarily getting worse, he also definitely wasn’t getting better. Minseok’s meals had gotten progressively plainer, first crackers and broth, then tofu or mashed potatoes. Now, he just ate rice, and sometimes even that made him sick.

Today particularly, Minseok felt sicker than usual. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed in the morning, waking up only long enough to yell goodbye to Yifan before he fell asleep again. He’d finally gotten up around two in the afternoon, opted against breakfast, and gone straight to the couch. Now he sat, half asleep and half awake, absorbing the wild antics of Phineas and Ferb.

The annoying ringing was back again. It had gone away for a bit, just after Minseok moved, but only for a bit. Recently it had returned with a vengeance. It hurt to stand now, and Minseok could barely think the noise was so distracting. Part of it might be related to how much he wasn’t eating, and how little nutritional value could be found in it. But Minseok didn’t want to blame his diet. He’d much much rather blame ing Park Chanyeol.

It wasn’t like he was asking for a wedding when they met. Hell, he hadn’t even wanted to date the guy. Sure, he wouldn’t have said no if Chanyeol asked him out but really, all he wanted was a chance. Which Chanyeol sure as hell didn’t give him. I’m sorry Minseok. I don’t need a guy in a tie. Minseok scoffed. What bull. How could Chanyeol be sorry? He hadn’t even batted an eye when he’d rejected him. And now here Minseok laid, practically dying, and where was Chanyeol? Probably off doing his exciting, artsy thing, Minseok thought, without a single care in the world.

He swallowed. His throat felt scratchy and dry. Minseok reached behind him to grab his water, his hand flailing around a bit around the end table. He felt smooth glass against his fingertips and made and effort to grab it. One he got a firm grip he began to lift it up and over his head to his mouth but his grip gave. In a split second the cup fell, glass shattering on Yifan’s floor as shards skidded across the room.

“,” Minseok whispered. He rolled onto his side to assess the damage. Most of the glass stayed near where the cup had dropped, but Minseok could see a few shards almost on the complete other side of the room. The puddle of water however, was slowly soaking into Yifan’s wood floor. “Ugh,” Minseok stared at the puddle. “The floor will warp.”

He rolled off the couch. He managed to catch himself before he faceplanted, but his left palm pricked with pain. A shard. Minseok ignored it, instead pulling himself up to stagger towards the hall closet. Yifan kept a broom in there.

He paused halfway, frowning at the water on the floor. “I should probably wipe that up first,” he muttered, changing course for the kitchen instead. The walk took longer than he thought it would. By the time he made it to the kitchen cupboard he knew held the towels, Minseok was huffing. He plopped down on the floor, taking a moment to catch his breath before pulling out the towels he needed. “You can do this Minseok,” he closed his eyes, trying to convince himself to get up off the floor. “Come on.” He shoved himself up and the world swirled black. He grabbed at the counter, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. For a moment Minseok believed he’d pass out, but the feeling ended and Minseok staggered his way to the living room.

But perhaps he left the stability of the countertop too soon.

The room swam around him as he walked, everything a wavy mix of shape and structure like god had taken the blur tool and gotten rid of every solid line. Sharp pain lanced up his leg as he accidently stepped on a shard but Minseok barely noticed. He kept on for the puddle of water with laser focus, leaving a trail of red drops behind him. He banged into an end table and fell forward, crashing into the couch on his way down. Minseok keeled over in pain. His breath came in gasps, his stomach aching where he’d landed on the arm of the couch, the ringing in his head suddenly overwhelming as the urge to vomit overcame him. He held it for as long as he could—which wasn’t long—before he started heaving into the pile of towels he held. Briefly Minseok smiled.

At least he wasn’t making a further mess of Yifan’s floor.  

Slowly the world around him began to turn black. As Minseok lost consciousness, he thought he could hear his phone buzzing in his pocket. A text tone. Probably Jongdae or Yixing, maybe even Kyungsoo. Not Yifan. He was too busy with the gallery to text. He fumbled at his back pocket, barely managing to pull out his phone. To answer the text? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember why he pulled out his phone, and a few seconds later it didn’t matter—he passed out. The message he had meant to check stayed unopened on his lockscreen.

Roommate Dae (4:56 pm): How’s it going?

Four minutes later Yifan walked in the door to eerie silence. First, he saw the blood on the floor, then the glass. His unease grew as he entered the living room. Then he saw Minseok. He pulled out his phone. Dialed. Held it to his ear.

“911. What is your emergency?”

The glass of water on Chanyeol’s counter fell to the floor with a splintering crash, making the photographer jump in his seat. He turned to look at the mess. “,” he ran a hand through his hear, buzzing with energy. “I’ve gotta pick that up before Joon gets here.” He looked at the clock. 4:56 pm. He still had time. Junmyeon would be at his door in just a couple minutes. “How did that fall anyway?” He shrugged to himself, headed to his closet for a broom. “Whatever,” he muttered, digging around to find his dustpan. It was annoying, but not the end of the world. Maybe he accidently bumped the glass with his elbow? Or placed it too close to the edge? It’s not like cleaning up the spill would be that hard once he got rid of the broken glass.

Junmyeon arrived at five, perfectly on time as usual and dressed to the nines in a smart black suit and tie. His shirt was green. Chanyeol shook his head, swinging open his door to let Junmyeon in. He loved his friend but sometimes questioned his fashion sense. 

“What’s up Joon?”

Junmyeon arched an eyebrow. “You tell me. You look like you’re in a good mood.”

Chanyeol ducked his head, trying to hide his grin. “I am.”

“Mmhmm.” Junmyeon stared at Chanyeol, his expression flat. “About what? It’s not work, since I’m your manager and I would already know, so spill.”

“Well,” Chanyeol swung his arms behind him, clasping his hands behind his back. “I may have heard something from someone.”

“Oh wow you heard something. How novel,” Junmyeon deadpanned.

“Don’t be a smartass Junmyeon. I’m trying to be mysterious.”

“Then stop,” Junmyeon rolled his eyes. “I’m not exactly getting any younger.”

“Oh really?” Chanyeol leaned back on his heels with the distinct poise of a predator about to pounce. “Are you in a hurry?”

Junmyeon looked at Chanyeol, his expression unimpressed. “Not at all.”

His attitude made Chanyeol snort. “Come on Joon. I know you better than that.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “What’s with the suit?”

“No reason.”

“Right,” Chanyeol agreed. “Just like there’s no reason for you to make reservations for two at an Italian restaurant with specific instructions that the servers sing happy birthday to the lady.”

Junmyeon’s composure collapsed. It was fascinating, like watching a wall crumble down to reveal pure, unadulterated horror. “How do you know that?”

“You called me instead of the restaurant to set up your reservation. Fortunately for you, I’m a nice friend and I called the restaurant for you. I even made sure that they got your very special instructions. Your lady will be serenaded with a beautiful rendition of the birthday song. I think she’ll even get a free desert out of it too.”

Junmyeon made his way to Chanyeol’s couch, his feet dragging in defeat. He sat down pale-faced. “I hate you so much right now,” he whispered.

Chanyeol sat down in the chair across from him with a -eating grin. “I’d like to point out that you made friends with me first. So,” he leaned forward, “who’s the lucky lady. Did Bachelor Joon find love at last?”

His friend groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I hate you,” he muttered again. “You’re the worst.” Chanyeol didn’t speak. Instead he just continued to stare, his smile uncomfortable wide. After a while Junmyeon shuddered. “Soulmate,” he said.

“What?” Chanyeol frowned, suddenly feeling serious.

“I met my soulmate,” Junmyeon said, louder.

“Really? When did that happen?”

“Two days ago,” Junmyeon hissed, “and if you gave me a chance I would have told you about it, after tonight.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol rubbed the back of his neck, “Oops?” he gave an uneasy laugh.

Junmyeon stared at him, expression again very unimpressed. “You’re such an .”

“Hey!” Chanyeol yelped. “I apologized.”

“True,” Junmyeon nodded, standing up. “You did. I guess I can forgive you for your gross intrusion into my private life.” Chanyeol started to grin again. Junmyeon pointed a finger at him. “Only because you saved my reservation, you hear? Otherwise I’d be mad for at least three days.” Chanyeol grinned, ducking his head in an attempt to look properly cowed. Junmyeon wasn’t buying it. “I’m leaving now. I don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, no no no,” Chanyeol agreed. “We definitely don’t want you to be late.” He grabbed Junmyeon’s shoulder’s all but shoving him out the door. “You will tell me how it goes though, right?” Junmyeon turned around to disagree. Chanyeol didn’t give him the opportunity to talk. “Awesome. I can’t wait to hear all about it. Have a good night. Goodbye.” He shoved Junmyeon fully out his door and closed it shut behind him. The -eating grin on his face faded. His phone buzzed on his counter. Chanyeol walked over to check it, snorting at the message.

Joon (5:13 pm):

He picked up his phone, wandering into his living room to settle on his couch where Junmyeon had just been. He sank into the leather, taking a deep breath in, letting it out slowly and fully, trying to picture himself melting into the couch. “Soulmate,” he muttered rubbing absentmindedly at the leather bracelet on his wrist. For some reason, his chest ached slightly. “Good for him,” Chanyeol mused. “Good for him.”

Minseok woke up in a white room, groggy as hell and feeling like he’d just swallowed a bag of cotton balls. The persistent, annoying beep coming out of the machine next to him didn’t help his mood much either. Everything hurt, his ears were ringing, his throat felt like something sharp and point had been stuffed down it, and he could not for the life of him figure out where the hell he was. It was a rough way to wake up. A door opened and Minseok heard a rush of conversation, something about patients and hospital and—oh no. He had better not be in the hospital. He tried to sit up, but found himself frustratingly weak and instead ended up thrashing a bit in his bed. Suddenly, hands were on him.

“Whoa whoa whoa. Min calm down. You’re okay. You’re okay. Come on. It’s fine just stop moving. You’ll up your IV. Oh holy .” Yifan? Minseok stared up at the harried man above him. It was definitely Yifan, but not normal looking Yifan. No, this was the same Yifan that had existed a year before, when Yixing was being torn apart by his soulmate. Minseok stilled, staring up at his friend, eyes wide.

“Eefah?” he asked, trying to say Yifan but garbling around something—a tube, oh god why was that there—in his throat.

“Yeah Minseok, it’s me. Yifan. I’m here. Are you going to be still now?” he asked, his grip loosening, “because if you’re still I’ll take my hands off.” Minseok tried to nod, and Yifan must’ve gotten the intent, because he let go. “God damn,” he huffed, slumping into his chair, “you gave me a heart attack Minseok. I thought you were dead.”

Dead? Minseok stared at Yifan, finally noticing his haggard face, his greasy hair, his eye circles. How long had he been in the hospital? Had it been more than a day? Had Yifan gone home?

“Christ Min,” Yifan spoke, scooting his chair closer to hold Minseok’s hand, “Do you have any idea how absolutely terrifying that was? I’ve already done this once. I can’t do this again. I invited you to Redwood so that you could get better, not so that you could die on me.” He sniffed, pushing away the stray tear beginning to spill over. The door opened to let in a doctor and Yifan hastily backed away from Minseok, wiping furiously at his face. The doctor ignored him.

“It’s good to see you awake Mr. Kim. You gave your friend quite a scare. We ran a few tests while you were asleep,” the doctor paused, making sure to make direct eye contact with Minseok to drive his point home. “You are fine Mr. Kim. In fact, medically, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. However, I have been speaking to your previous doctor, a Mrs. Windes? She has mentioned a potential, rather serious concern.”

Minseok stared at the doctor with confusion. Yifan spoke for him. “What concern?”

“Soulmate rejection.” The words settled heavy in the room. It felt much more concrete now, with Minseok in a hospital bed.

“So you’re saying this is caused by his soulmate then? For sure? You’re positive?” The doctor nodded, remining expressionless. Yifan swore. Minseok fell asleep.

The next time Minseok woke it was without a tube in his throat. Small mercies. Yifan wasn’t in the room, though Minseok was pretty sure he could hear the quiet tone of his voice in the hallway. He shifted in his bed, feeling a little uncomfortable. His pillow had become flat and sweaty. Minseok flipped it over. He much preferred cool pictures. The movement must’ve alerted Yifan that he was awake and his friend burst into the room, still talking on his phone.

“One sec Tao—Minseok you’re awake—Tao I need to go. Bye.” Yifan hung up, shoving his phone in his pocket as he advanced on Minseok. “I’m so glad you’re awake! How are you feeling?”

“Um, actually,” Minseok tiled his head vaguely surprised at the state of his body. He couldn’t her the ringing anymore and his head didn’t hurt as bad. “I’m feeling better?”    

He watched as Yifan heaved a sigh of relief, pulling up a chair to sit down at Minseok’s bedside. He grabbed Minseok’s hand, resting his head against his has arms, his elbows supporting most of his weight. “Thank god, Min,” he breathed. He pressed his forehead against the back of Minseok’s hand. “The doctor gave you something—I don’t remember what—he said it would help with the pain. But it’s just a temporary fix. We have to find a way to fix this Min.”

“You mean aside from my soulmate deciding he doesn’t want to reject me anymore?” Minseok scoffed. Yifan let go of his hand and stood, suddenly looking nervous.

“Well you see Min, that’s just it.”

“Just what?”

“Uh,” Yifan hummed, scratching at the back of his neck, “So I’ve been talking to Tao a bit—remember him? Yixing’s friend? We met at Yixing’s senior exhibit?”

Minseok arched an eyebrow. “The skinny one with really bad eyebags?”

“Yeah!” Yifan grinned, snapping his fingers, “That one.”

“What about him?”

“Well we’ve been talking,” Yifan grimaced, “and don’t be mad Min—but I told him what was going on.”

“Why would I be mad?” Minseok couldn’t figure out what Yifan meant. Sure, he didn’t exactly like to broadcast that he’d been rejected by his soulmate, but it wasn’t exactly a great secret either. Yifan completely switched tracks.

“Do you know what the blackout movement is Minseok?”

“The blackout movement?” Minseok hoisted himself into a sitting position. “No. It sounds interesting though. What is it?”

“It’s a group of people who don’t like the soulmate system. Tao is part of it.” Yifan came a little closer, hovering close to Minseok his eyes trained on the tattoo on Minseok’s wrist. “He um, well, he and I were talking and he might have a solution.”

“A solution?” Minseok subconsciously drew his wrist closer to himself, uncomfortably under the weight of Yifan’s gaze. “What kind of solution?”

The room fell silent, save for the steady beeping of Minseok’s heartbeat on the monitor next to him. Orderlies and doctors chatted in the hall, a murmur of life thrumming through the building. Outside the window a bird chirped. Yifan finally spoke.

“I think you should get your tattoo out.”

The room turned icy. “You’re crazy.”

“Hear me out Minseok,” Yifan pleaded, moving forward to grasp his friend’s hand. Minseok flinched away and Yifan gave up, instead choosing to straighten out, his face settling into a look of determination as he stretched to his full height. “Listen Min, you’re sick. Really sick. You can’t keep living like this. And In case you didn’t know, you don’t have a job anymore.” Yifan paused at Minseok’s look of horror before continuing. “Yeah. They called you this morning. You were asleep so I picked up the phone, and basically if you won’t be well enough to work by Wednesday—which is tomorrow—then they can’t afford to keep you. You’ve already taken almost three weeks of sick leave, and you only get two in your contract. Not to mention, you’re not getting better. If anything, you’ve barely stabilized.”

Minseok interrupted, mind reeling. “You’re ing with me Yifan.”

“I’m not,” Yifan shook his head, still adamant. “You can’t keep going like this Min, which is why I think you should consider blacking out your tattoo. Look, it know it sounds crazy,” Yifan said, barely acknowledging Minseok’s expression of absolute disgust, “but here’s the theory. You were rejected by your soulmate. According to the doctors I’ve talked to, your soulmate is totally fine. Like, you’ve been almost dying and he’s barely nauseas at most. This is because he rejected you. So, in theory, if you reject him back, you’ll get better. That’s what blacking out your tattoo would do. It would reject him.”

“And would he feel like I feel now?” Minseok asked.

“Probably not,” Yifan replied. “You see, I was talking to Tao, and apparently some of the people within the movement have ended up meeting their soulmates post-blackout. They aren’t affected when their soulmates also get tattoos, probably because they’ve already rejected their soulmates. It should be the same for you. Plus, Tao knows for sure that it will help. He says he’s seen some people who have really suffered from soulmate rejection join the blackout movement and they’re all doing really well now. Some of them have even found partners.” Minseok stared at his friend, still unbelieving. Yifan grimaced. “Look Min, I know it sounds crazy and terrible, and yeah it’s a big decision, but let’s be real, your soulmate is a douchebag. You deserve so much better than being sick in a hospital bed because some won’t even give you a chance. Even if you hate it, can you at least think about it? Please?” Yifan stepped a little closer. “For me?”

Minseok stared at Yifan for a long time, the beeping of the machine constant in the background. Beep. Beep. Beep. Blink. Beep. Beep. Beep. Blink. Repeat. Tension flavored the air, broken only by a nurse bustling in with a tray of food.

“I have some soup here for Mr. Kim,” she chirped, adjusting Minseok’s bed so that he sat up and propping the tray above his lap. “It’s chicken noodle,” she sang, sweeping out of the room, “I hope you enjoy it!” Both men stared after her.

“She’s peppy,” Minseok noted.

Yifan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t change the subject Min. Will you at least think about it?”

Minseok huffed. “Yes Yifan,” he agreed. “I’ll think about it.”

Minseok caved. It took him a few days, but after enough time feeling like death in a hospital bed with the knowledge that somewhere out there Park Chanyeol was totally fine, Minseok agreed with Yifan.

They go to the tattoo parlor on Friday. It’s called Bulletproof Designs, owned by a baby-faced, tattoo-covered man named Jungkook and his surprisingly bare-skinned but heavily pierced partner Namjoon. Neither of them had their soulmate tattoos blocked out, each displaying the other’s name proudly on the columns of their neck. At first, it made Minseok nervous. But then he noticed the other employee, the one who did the piercings. He was a beautiful man, almost ethereal really. His name was Jin. But it wasn’t his face that drew Minseok’s attention, it was the thick bar of black running vertically down his forearm. What a relief. Minseok wasn’t alone.

“What can we do you for?” Namjoon asked, welcoming Minseok and Yifan in with a grand sweep of his arm. “We’ve got tattoos, piercings, cookies. Anything sound good?”

“Stop offering random people cookies Joon,” Jungkook scolded, coming up behind his partner. “They are delicious though. Chocolate chip today, made by our very own Jin.” He grinned at Yifan, reaching out his hand. “Hey man, what’s up? Is this the kid you told me about?”

Yifan nodded, nudging Minseok forward. He shook Jungkook’s hand. “Don’t call him kid though, Min is older than you.”

“Wait really?” Jungkook leaned back, staring at Minseok with wide eyes. “Damn, you look young. Like you’re barely twenty or something. Your skin is crazy good. What’s your secret?”

Minseok stared. “Uhm, water?” Yifan snorted quietly beside him, enjoying his discomfort far too much. Minseok elbowed him in the side, making Yifan grunt in pain.

Namjoon swept in. “All right,” he interrupted, sticking his hand In Minseok’s face. “You’re Minseok right? Hi,” he continued, not waiting for an answer. “I’m Namjoon. I’ll be working with you today. You just want to black something out, right?”

Minseok tried not to let the sudden subject change catch him off guard. “Um, uh, yeah. My soulmate tattoo.”

“Okay,” Namjoon nodded. “That’s pretty simple. Where’s your tattoo?”

“Uh, here.” Minseok showed Namjoon his wrist, pulling his sleeve back to show his tattoo.

Namjoon nodded, drawing Minseok’s wrist closer to him, investigating the tattoo more closely. “This might hurt,” he said, looking up at Minseok. “You do know that the wrist is a pretty sensitive area, right? Most tattoos there will hurt more. Are you okay with that?”

Minseok nodded once. He was aware. Yifan had told him on their way over to the tattoo parlor to expect some pain. Namjoon smiled.

“Good,” he said. “As long as you’re okay with it we can start. Want to take a seat in that chair?” He pointed to a leather chair on the left side of the room. “We’ll get you all covered up.”

Yifan gave an encouraging smile and Minseok sat. They stayed until Namjoon finished, Jungkook occasionally swinging by with more cookies or glasses of water that he’d offer to both Yifan and Minseok. Once Jin swept by, his face pinched and eyes obviously avoiding looking down at the tattoo Namjoon was covering. Minseok felt a stab of regret at that, but couldn’t bring himself to care enough to stop. The longer the tattooing process continued, the better Minseok felt.

The ringing had faded once Park was blocked out. The nausea settled with the first two letters of Chanyeol’s name. The headache dulled to a quiet throb when there was only the “eol” left to cover. The entire time Yifan watched carefully, holding tight to Minseok’s free hand, clenching in sympathy every time Minseok grimaced in pain. At least the deed was almost done.

It was three more cookies and another cup of water later that Namjoon finished, leaning away from Minseok’s arm to stretch his back. At was almost five o’clock. “What do you think?” he asked, reaching behind him to but the tattoo gun away. Minseok lifted his wrist to his face, studying the clean black box that covered his skin where Chanyeol’s name used to be.

“It’s, nice?”

“Really?” the voice washed over Minseok like cold water. He turned to face Jin, the man looking at him with a look of disbelief.

“Um, yes?” Minseok didn’t know how to respond.

Jin shook his head. “You feel like that now. But you’ll regret it.”

“Jin.” Namjoon cut in, his tone tight. “Stop.”

Jin scoffed. “Why? I kept my mouth shut while he was getting it done, didn’t I? Besides, he deserves to know.”

Minseok watched the two men stare at each other, the air between them so tense he felt something could snap. “What do I deserve to know?”

“Nothing,” Namjoon replied.

Jin laughed. “That’s bull and you know it Joon.” He turned to look at Minseok. “That tattoo,” he said, gesturing to Minseok’s wrist, “you’ll regret covering it up. Maybe not right now. But later. You’ll regret it. Trust me.” He sniffed, his eyes glistening and red. “You’ll regret it when your soulmate sees it.”

Chanyeol sighed, relaxing back into his couch. He’d done nothing all day except watch Criminal Minds, enjoying the rare break from work. True, it maybe wasn’t his most productive decision ever, but it was nice. Besides, it’s not like there was much he could work on. He’d given Junmyeon his completed portfolio a few weeks back so now he was waiting to hear back. Once a gallery had interest he’d have work again, working with them to put together an exhibit, but until then, he didn’t have much to do except photoshoots. Plus, there was something satisfying to watching actors on a screen solve terrible crimes. Even if it was fake, Chanyeol appreciated the way it restored order to the world.

He glanced at the clock. Nearly five o’clock. Almost dinnertime. He grabbed the remote, pausing his episode on a particularly awkward shot of Hotch’s face—his mouth half open and eyes just about closed. He’d been arguing with a policeman. It was his “I’m right and you’re wrong and let me do my job” face. Chanyeol snickered, pushing himself from the couch to wander into his kitchen. He dug through his fridge in a vague attempt to find something that sounded good. He hadn’t really been hungry all day, but he also hadn’t eaten yet. Food was important. Eventually he pulled out an old box of Kraft. It’d be horribly unhealthy. Chanyeol shrugged to himself—mac and cheese was good enough.

He pulled out a pot, filling it with water and putting it on the stove. He stuck the pasta next to the pot; he couldn’t put it in until the water boiled. It wasn’t until he’d begun to dig through his pile of dirty dishes in the sink for a strainer that he felt it. The first sting of pain. It tweaked from his wrist, lancing like fire up to his shoulder, there for a second and then gone leaving him gasping.

“What the ?” he whispered to himself, staring down incredulously at his arm. He stretched his wrist back and forth a bit, shaking the pain out. “All right,” he turned back to his sink to find the strainer, shaking his head. “That was odd.”

He moved a couple dishes to the other side of the sink, finally finding his strainer at the bottom of the pile. He stretched his hand down, reaching under a couple plates, a paring knife and some silverware, to grab it. It was then that the pain returned, having Chanyeol pull his arm back into him, cutting himself on the knife in his haste. He collapsed on the floor, this time the pain unending. He felt like his wrist was on fire, His entire body ached and his head throbbed. The room buzzed and spun.

He was crying.

He barely noticed it, if not for the sudden taste of salt on his lips. His water boiled on the stove. Chanyeol couldn’t understand what happened. He couldn’t understand the pain. He felt it go away, replaced only by a dull headache and flooding him with a hollowness. He couldn’t stop crying.

Instead he sat there, his pot still boiling even as he remained unmoving, tears flowing down his face. He couldn’t make them stop. But at the same time, he couldn’t imagine making them stop. It felt like he’d just lost something precious, something important that he didn’t know he could lose. His right wrist felt numb. Chanyeol reached down, sluggishly removing the leather bracelet that covered his tattoo. He rubbed his wrist, hoping to increase the blood flow—restore feeling. He paused after a minute, moving his thumb to trace the name.

Kim Minseok.

Chanyeol swallowed, his chest still hollow, eyes still wet. He could still picture the look of betrayal on his soulmate’s face when he’d rejected him. Chanyeol smiled wryly, thumb running almost absentmindedly along the M. How was Kim Minseok now? Had he moved on, Chanyeol wondered. Had he even cared? After all, Chanyeol had just been some dude he’d met for barely an hour. Why would a name on a wrist change that?

His phone dinged in the other room.

Joon (4:52 pm): hey Chan, I found a gallery. Text me back!

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eyyyyyy I've kinda sort of survived! uni is the worst :)

anyway, I'm sorry for any typos. Lemme know what you think! And have a great day

xoxo

Jay