#how is everything

A beautiful, golden mark around her waist that almost pulsated with life. It hadn't settled, which meant she hadn't met her soulmate yet. And Seokjin wasn't hers. He had jumped away quickly— afraid to touch it, to touch her—to touch something that wasn’t his. Which was why, that very week, Taehyung and Jimin dragged Seokjin to one of their rowdy college parties. "I'm too old for this," he'd say. "There'll be too many people." Sweaty bodies, drunken students, vomit puddles everywhere... it wasn't Seokjin's scene. He just wanted to hole up in his room with Jjanggu, fifty bags of junkfood, and anime reruns. The thought of anyone touching him in that environment made his chest hurt--from both anxiety and repulsion. He goes, nevertheless. Seokjin could never quite say no to Jimin and Taehyung. But as soon as he enters the house, he immediately climbs up to the rooftop of Hoseok's--whoever that dude was--house and sits on the edge of the balcony. His legs hang over the illuminated clear blue pool that he assumed would soon be filled with alcohol and vomit. "Careful," a voice says behind him. Seokjin doesn't bother to turn around. He doesn't have the energy. "You can't jump into the pool from here." Seokjin looks up. Squints to adjust his vision to the dark surrounding a well-built boy smiling down at him. He huffs and ignores the pang of his heart, scolding himself for thinking of her. For hoping that it was her. “Wasn’t planning to,” Seokjin sighs. He takes another sip of the icy beer he snagged from a random cooler before his climb up. “You look disappointed,” the boy says with feigned surprise. “Were you expecting someone else?” “N-no.” “Hyung, we’ve barely met but I can already see through your lie,” the boy says gruffly. With a huff, he sits next to Seokjin on the edge of the rooftop… close enough that Seokjin has to gently scoot away to keep his calm and comfort. “Hyung?” Seokjin says amusedly. “How did you know I was older than you?” “Oh, I don’t know,” the boy grins. “Maybe your stale beer gave you away.” “Beer is good!” “No. Beer doesn’t get people drunk quick enough,” the stranger chuckles and takes a sip form his red cup. Seokjin, in the dim light from the party below, finds that the boy has smile lines around his eyes. Small, little wrinkles that charmed him and made his chest ache just a little bit. “Also, you look like you’ve lived through years of a boring five to nine job. Who wears cardigans to house parties?” “Haha, very funny,” Seokjin grumbles. Despite himself, he huddles himself a little deeper into his bright blue cardigan. But there’s a question at the tip of his tongue, and he finds himself speaking before he can think it through. “And I’m a copywriter, thank you. But… I look old? Really? Like how old?” “Old enough.” “What can a cardigan and a beer do? Do I look thirty? Forty…?" With that, the boy laughs again. A tinkling, pealing laughter that shakes the red cup in his hand enough for Seokjin to worry that he was going to topple over from the rooftop. There’s a light in his eyes when he manages to wipe a tear away from his cheek. “Not that old, hyung,” the boy says reassuringly. “Just… older than me.” “But you look 15,” Seokjin banters. He couldn’t help the small curve of his lips—he hasn’t smiled in a while. “Are you saying I look 16? 18?” The boy’s cheeks suddenly blossom with a pink tinge, and his brows furrow in distress. “I’m 21. I’m a junior studying graphic design. This is a college house party—“ “I’m kidding,” Seokjin teases. He laughs then, a hearty, head-to-your-toes laugh that makes him worry that he’s going to fall of the roof. He turns to look at the boy and is pleased to find that he’s smiling despite himself. “Hi kidding,” the boy retorts, smile suddenly playful as he sips from his cup. “I’m Jeongguk.” Seokjin’s cheeks are warm. He doesn’t know if it’s from the beer, the laughter, or the plainness of a pleasant conversation that made him palpitate.  “Nice to meet you, Jeongguk. Call me Seokjin.” They both turn their heads to look over the rowdy party below. It hasn’t even been thirty minutes since he got to the rooftop, but there were already passed out college students on the lawn beside the pool. He takes a swig of his beer, slowly, as if finally knowing Jeongguk’s name thickened the tension between them. His peripheral allows him to peek at Jeongguk’s face to his left, and Seokjin finds his stomach nervously grumbling when he finds that Jeongguk is looking straight at him. The question—that usual question lingers in the air. Seokjin wonders why Jeongguk hasn’t asked him yet. “Where- where’s your tattoo?” There it is. The question of all questions. A question that comes out of not having a visible mark. Seokjin is calm. He exhales, unsure of whether or not he trusted this Jeongguk enough to give him his entire life story. He wonders if he could even include the part about the girl he thought he had fallen in love with. “I—“ Seokjin begins. But Jeongguk interrupts. “—I don’t have one, by the way.” “What?”  Is all Seokjin can say. He had known his case to be the rarest. One in a million, doctors say. Some even say there were just a handful in every country. “I don’t have a tattoo.” Jeongguk grumbles and drinks from his red cup. He tries not to look at Seokjin. “So don’t ask.” “I don’t have one either,” Seokjin whispers to his beer. And he finds, after a week, a little light at the end of the tunnel. A companion. Someone who understood him and everything he's worried about. “For real?” Jeongguk asks. He turns to look at Seokjin with wide eyes. “You don’t have a mark?” “Way to rub it in.” “No,” Jeongguk swallows. A sheen of sweat forms on his forehead, but Seokjin assumes that it’s because of the alcohol. “I just… with your face…” “Tragic not to have a soulmate with my handsome face, right?” Seokjin grins. Jeongguk blushes. “But we’re in this together.”