Silent Garden au refs ururuuththfhm summary under cut .kyah!
Dream and Corrupted
Star sanses
Mtt
Dance-Error-Fresh





#interview with the vampire#iwtv#the vampire armand#assad zaman
seen from United States
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seen from Maldives
seen from United States
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seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from Maldives
seen from Russia
seen from Chile
seen from United States
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Silent Garden au refs ururuuththfhm summary under cut .kyah!
Dream and Corrupted
Star sanses
Mtt
Dance-Error-Fresh
-Silent Garden is still in the works but it's kind of a retelling of Dreamtale. Originally started as a selfship au between Dream n Tripper but. I. Went too far euuhhmm its a fully branched out au now I guess. Yay!
-In sg the Apple twins managed to grow up into adulthood til the Apple incident
-after this section I pull shit out of my ass. As long as the tree lives, both the twins won't die. When their bodies dissapear they still wander around as spirits(starlights) that can repossess new vessels, so they can continue their tasks as guardians forever. The twin's bodies are hard to break since they're created to be able to handle huge amounts of power.
-Because of this the twins cannot just repossess random bodies since that'd be dangerous.
-For differation sake Corrupted is the reanimated dead body of Nightmare, while Nightmare is the actual guy. After Nightmare consumed the black apples the corruption took over his body, kicking Nightmare's consciousness out. So Nightmare is still around as a ghost.
-as starlights, they can travel between universes easier. However, they're powerless when they need to actually protect people, they don't rlly have the advantages they got from eating the apples when in ghost form.
- in present day of sg, Corrupted managed to defeat Dream, keeping his dead body hostage so he won't be able to reposess it. This causes massive imbalance since Corrupted are now able to radiate negative aura tenfolds.
The main goal is to find a way to retrieve dream's body back
K I dunno what to write here bye. Oh yea Corrupted can be killed if the tree is cut down but that'll kill dream too. Idk.

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Mikey Way 𩶠from my southern gothic au
Soulmate Garden Completed Chapters Master List
Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?
Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.
Current Total Word Count - 24,634
Soulmate Garden AU (Prologue) a2 d4 - 1,308 Words, Posted 9/02/24 Soulmate Garden AU Ch.1 (Dahlia) a2 d5 - 5,368 Words, Posted 9/02/24 Soulmate Garden AU Ch.2(Anemone)a3 d2 - 4,218 Words, Posted 9/21/24 Soulmate Garden AU Ch.3 (Daffodil)a2d2 - 3,060 Words, Posted 10/04/24 Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2 - 10,680 Words, Posted 1/25/25
Tag Garden: @brbwritingfanfic , @braveangel777 , @breathlessbookworm , @chancloud8 , @roseynoodles , @katsukis1wife , @alisonyus , @imnotsop , @pixie0627 , @velvetmoonlght , @upsidedownchaire , @unusuallyshy , @interstellar-equilibrium , @staytinyluv , @m00njinnie , @staaaa4 , @yourcrypticreaper , @beas-24 , @stars4jo , @scented-morker , @tirena1 , @min-doesnt-know , @glitterveins992 , @yumuramma , @shoganaiiii , @4ng3l-ch1ld , @linospetsitter
birthday gift for my wonderful boyfriend @joker-and-a-fool

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Do you enjoy watching your storms, Natalia?
"Of course I enjoy watching my hard work. But you fools never seem to appreciate my Hard work! Honestly, I even take mercy on humans who get caught in my storms from time to time"
"I certainly would like to get more recognition for my Kindness, I give so much in my storms so your feeble crops don't wither every brutal summer"
"Though I suppose I can understand being ill prepared for Winter makes my Storms unwelcome, However I'm not the god of Mercy, that doesn't exist."
ambassador of anemia đŠś
he needs to eat nails, pins and tacks to raise his hemoglobin
Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2
[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]
Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?
Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.
Word Count: 10,680
Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU
Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3
(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)
Dividers by @saradika
Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader
Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3
Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)
The next morning marks a return to routine.
You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isnât improved by the way youâd gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.
A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise youâre liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.
Alas, capitalism waits for no man.
You examine your reflection when youâve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadnât been as waterproof as advertised.
You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what youâd been crying over and the pit of fear and shame thatâs been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.
You donât even know why youâd cried. Donât feel like you deserved to cry. After all, itâs not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.
You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. Youâre not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems wonât make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.
You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. Thereâs a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.
Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. Heâd probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.
Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so itâs not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows youâre not feeling your best. The little note on top isnât new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and youâre always touched by his consideration.
Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.
âGive yourself a chance. Betâs still on <3â
The $20 youâd slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.
You very deliberately do NOT cry, though itâs a near thing. Youâd done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...
Thatâs for you to know, isnât it?
Itâs a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. Youâll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, youâre going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.
You canât help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual youâve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.
Itâs almost alarming to acknowledge that you havenât actually looked at your mark since youâd met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. Youâre a bit ashamed to admit that youâd been avoiding looking at it since youâd felt the first flowers bloom.
Itâs no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.
You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you canât skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.
You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You donât bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.
Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since theyâd appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.
Only time will tell if itâs the healing sort of hurt.
You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. âBellflowersâ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, âfor gratitude, affection, and enduranceâ. Your fingers dance a bit lower. âEdelweissâ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, âfor devotion, nobility, and courageâ.
The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadnât been wrong when sheâd said that asking a personâs favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.
The habit had started well before youâd gotten your mark. Before youâd even properly known what soulmates were, really.
It started with lazy summer days youâd been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.
Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born youâd spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.
After the advent of your favorite gremlin, youâd spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.
You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.
At some point the âfamily gardenâ had become more âyour gardenâ. Your mother wouldnât even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. Sheâd drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.
Youâd spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.
What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.
If you werenât in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.
You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.
It hadnât even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parentâs usual fights. It was heartbreakâdespairâ that had marked the day, instead of fear.
Youâd been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.
You donât remember what heâd said. Itâd been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your motherâs side because of your shared hobby, you think.
Never mind that the woman hadnât put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.
He hadnât let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldnât be trusted with the time.
It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.
Nonetheless, heâd yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadnât trampled on or broken anything. He hadnât even made sense.
And yet, when heâd finally left, everything was different.
The blooms youâd worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil youâd once called home no longer safe.
You hadnât tended another garden after that season. Youâd seen your plants to winter, and youâd let go. Youâd turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.
Youâre sure youâd left claw marks in the dirt.
Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.
The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if youâd never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all youâd ever done.
It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universeâs way of assuring you that youâre loved. Your soulmateâs way of assuring you that theyâre still there.
You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons youâve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.
You wonder if youâll leave claw marks in this garden too. If theyâll leave claw marks in you.
You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.
For some reason, you miss the pain.
You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.
There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that youâre going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.
Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasnât such a great idea. Itâd sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.
It had sort of worked, but now you hadnât even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.
You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasnât even your focus today.
The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and youâre greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. Itâs comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.
Thereâs someone already at the receptionistâs desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while youâd successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.
Alas, youâve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadnât done anything to earn.
Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the strangerâs voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, heâs also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.
His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.
Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.
Beautiful as it is, you canât help but think it doesnât look finished.
Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you donât want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.
You really canât help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that youâre no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. Youâre jealous, honestly.
Your eyes come to a rest on the strangerâs backside. Quite jealous, indeed.
You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that youâd always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadnât even been a hard ask, until now.
You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.
Youâd be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.
While you were.... distracted... the manâs conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, heâs looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they donât do that.
You know thatâs true, the receptionist isnât trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. Youâd specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadnât been able to stick it out for a month, you know youâd have never used the place enough to justify a membership.
You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why heâs stuck on this place.
Their back and forth goes a while longer, but itâs evident that the beautifully-built stranger canât really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier heâs working with, or because heâs run out of arguments, you canât be sure.
Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and youâre able to approach the counter.
The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The ownerâs nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.
He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driverâs license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.
Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.
It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because youâre still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.
You werenât close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance youâd never remember the name of if it werenât pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog heâs ever had.
It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.
âSo what was that all about?â You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.
âSome big-shot who needs a security detail,â He answers, unimpressed, âSays this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesnât need an entourage to go to.â
You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.
Situations like that werenât uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA werenât spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.
Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gymâs members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.
Non-members werenât allowed past reception at all.
It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.
At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.
âWhatâs the issue, then?â You question Jake, âDoesnât the owner make exceptions for celebrities?â You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldnât show up otherwise.
Jake just sighs like heâs had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.
âHe does, but heâs out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.â He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.
Another glance at the furrowed brows on the strangerâs masked face has pity welling up your throat.
You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.
âDo I still have that visitor pass?â You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.
âYup,â He confirms, âYouâve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?â
âCan he use it?â you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where youâre sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like heâs begging whoeverâs on the other line.
Your visitor pass wasnât all-access, of course. Itâd just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured itâd be better than nothing. It wasnât like Taylor would step foot in here after youâd run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.
Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. Itâs quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe itâs just you.
âYou realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitorâs character, right?â He reminds you, âIf he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- itâll be on your head.â
You just shrug. Itâs not like you couldnât find a new gym if you had to. Youâd miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didnât require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.
âIâve got a good feeling about it.â Is all you tell Jake. Itâs not even a lie.
The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so youâll take it.
âYou a fan of his or something?â Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. âThere are easier ways to bag a celebrity.â
âNope!â You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, âNo idea who he is.â
Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because âsome guyâ is not an option on your paperwork.
âI bet heâs a wrestler,â he finally says after a long moment, âOr a sportswear model.â
You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, âI refuse to participate in your speculation.â You admonish, ignoring his whining.
âIâll show you his picture when you leave,â He smirks back, âand whatever google says about him.â He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, âWhat? Itâs public information.â
âRespect your customerâs privacy, you weirdo.â You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the strangerâs signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.
Itâs not like heâll be fired for doing it, as long as you donât go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.
You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.
Hopefully heâd be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.
You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose youâll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.
You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize theyâre waiting for you to acknowledge them, itâs been just shy of too long.
You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.
âSorry, did you need me to move?â You question as you finally look up. Youâd had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.
So of course itâs with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings âI am my own worst enemyâ into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckinâ Changbin.
Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.
And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit heâs wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.
Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.
Youâre not sure what youâd done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but youâd appreciate it if sheâd just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.
Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.
âAh, no, I uh...â The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.
âI just wanted to say thank you.â He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. Itâs okay, you donât really have the Korean to describe how youâre feeling right now either.
Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, youâre sure, but itâs enough to make you second guess your every move.
âOh, uh, no problem.â You assure.
You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again youâre sure youâll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, youâll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.
But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.
You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasnât ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?
âAnything else I can do for ya?â you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. Youâve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.
Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if heâs shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what heâs freaking out about if he is.
âYou... Recognize me? Are you STAY?â He gestures a bit while he talks, like heâs trying to cast a spell on you to understand what heâs trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.
âAhh.. hah, uh,â You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, âMy roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,â And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you canât stop your thoughts from spiraling.
After all, he didnât have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, youâd seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. Youâd have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.
Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a âloud and proudâ kind of soulmate, if heâs showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.
Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.
âI didnât recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.â You canât help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.
Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!
Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbinâs eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.
âI can sign,â He suggests, âIt would make me feel...â He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, âLess bad?â He finishes like a question.
And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.
You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, âOh, you really donât have to,â You assure, âI was just joking.â
He shakes his head, âThink of it as.. trade.â He nods, satisfied with himself.
You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, âI really didnât want anything from you,â you insist, âI hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. Youâre doing me a favor using it, seriously.â
You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbinâs book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.
He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. Itâs kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. Itâs a little surreal to be on the other side of it.
Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little âah!â noise that you really shouldnât find as endearing as you do. Youâre in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.
âIf it is roommateâs pass, more reason to sign, yes?â He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.
âSure, big guy,â You sigh with defeat, though you canât seem to wipe the smile off your face, âSounds like a fair trade. Iâm sure heâll be thrilled.â
The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.
When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.
âI donât have a pen on me,â you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.
âOh,â He looks around as well, lost for a moment, âI can see if front desk has one?â he asks, like heâs looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.
âDo you have...â He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain youâre sure what heâs trying to ask.
âYeah, Iâm sure I can find something for you to sign,â You point in the direction of the locker room, âIâll probably have to look in my bag though.â You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.
âMeet back here in 5?â you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. âOh!â You stop him before he can fully turn around.
âAsk for a sharpie,â you instruct, âIâm not sure Iâll be able to find regular paper.â In fact, youâre pretty sure youâll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.
With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your fatherâs many âbusinessâ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.
Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!
You really couldnât help it though.
Even when heâd been no more than a stranger to you, you hadnât been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.
Youâd always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you donât even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if youâd passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.
It didnât help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and youâd barely known him for ten minutes!
You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didnât really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.
Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbinâs pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.
Surprisingly, thereâs no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but youâd just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.
Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You canât help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadnât left the weights area since heâd settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.
Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. Youâd experienced it twice now, and you couldnât help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldnât help you very much.
Even still, you canât stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.
Maybe thatâs why, after youâve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when youâre mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine youâre sure youâll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbinâs voice behind you.
Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gymâs hardwood floors about it.
Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.
The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbinâs knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.
The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you donât have a concussion. Youâll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.
Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadnât managed to touch. Youâre still safe.
As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. Itâs like every fiber of your being is focused on where heâs touching you, warm and weighty. Changbinâs head still buried in your abdomen doesnât help with the building fluster taking over your brain.
You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Knowâs Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.
You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.
Maybe you did have a concussion after all.
Itâs probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.
âOh my god, are you okay?â He asks, âIâm so sorry, I didnât mean to scare you, are you okay?â He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You donât think heâs realized heâs reverted to his native Korean in his panic.
âIâm alright, Iâm okay,â you assure him in the same language, âJust bruised a bit, Iâm fine.â
He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadnât hit your head at all. Itâs only after heâs helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.
âAre you sure you didnât hit your head?â He teases, âYou speak Korean all of the sudden.â
You canât help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. âIâve spoken Korean the whole time.â You inform him.
âAnd you didnât tell me? You just let me struggle?â The fondness in his smile assures you that heâs just joking, so you respond in kind.
âYou were just trying so hard...â You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, âWhat did you need, by the way? I didnât catch what you said before, well..â You gesture helplessly at the floor.
Itâs his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, âAh, that.â he shrugs, âI was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.â
The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.
You canât remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as youâd stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.
Youâre aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but thereâs no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.
Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.
âI just meant that itâs very colorful and vibrant,â He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, âWhoever your soulmate is, theyâre very lucky.â
âAh, I donât know them yet,â You counter. Itâs even the truth. You hadnât spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.
âOh, well, I stand by what I said.â He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, âWhoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.â
âI donât know about all that,â You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.
Maybe itâs a lingering guilt for how youâve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why youâve been acting this way, âI donât even know if I want to meet them, so Iâm not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.â
Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if youâve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.
âWhy not?â He asks, âDoesnât everyone want to meet their soulmate?â
You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, âI just... I havenât had great experiences with soulmates, is all.â You canât keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.
Itâs an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you canât imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesnât look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didnât need you.
A glance at Changbinâs utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.
âNot all soulmates get along, you know?â You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.
Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.
âI mean, sure.â He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. âEveryone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? Thatâs what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.â
You couldnât hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if youâd tried. âYeah, maybe.â
Youâd feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you canât find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one youâre willing to fight right now.
âI have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,â Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.
âWhen people stay together just because theyâre soulmates it only makes things worse.â you tell him, âNothing gets magically fixed just because youâre soulmates.â
Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, âWell, yeah, thatâs not the kind of sticking together Iâm talking about,â He explains, âI meant more, like,â He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.
You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. Youâre sure youâd be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasnât so deeply uncomfortable for you.
âOk, let me try an example,â He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. âIâm soulmates with the other members, right?â
He says it easily, casually, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.
You canât help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else mightâve heard Changbinâs brazen confession. Heâs already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.
âItâs not a big deal, donât worry about it. Itâs not like we try very hard to hide it.â He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, âBut yeah, weâre all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innieâs mark hadnât shown up yet.â
You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where heâs going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.
âWell, Jeonginâs our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, youâre not an adult in Korea until 19, so thereâs a lot we had to leave him out on.â He grimaces a little, âBeing an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasnât very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.â
He chuckles and gives a little shrug, âWe had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.â He admits sheepishly, âIt wasnât an easy time for us.â He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbinâs efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.
âBut we made it through,â He says softly, âWe took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.â
Changbin meets your eyes again, âThatâs what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.â
You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasnât your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course thatâs the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. Itâs discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.
For the first time, you wonder if youâd just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.
Youâd automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate youâd ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the storyâs over. Happily ever after.
Youâd always thought âever afterâ must be an awful short time.
âLove is choiceâ echoes through you like something divine.
You break Changbinâs gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. âI guess.â you concede, âMy soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still donât know if theyâd want me.â
âI think itâd be worth the work,â Changbin smiles gently at you, âTo be your soulmate, I mean.â
You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbinâs shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.
He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.
Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine youâd been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.
âDid you need a spotter?â He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you canât help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.
He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, youâre only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. Youâll consider it your revenge for now.
You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.
Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you donât share them anywhere.
You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.
And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what youâd already done today, and you experience hell on earth.
The thing is, heâs unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. Heâs right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.
And his hands are always right there. Heâs almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.
Youâll definitely need those videos later.
Itâs a relief when itâs over. Youâre sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which youâre very much not looking forward to.
Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.
âThanks for today,â you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, âI had a lot of fun. Youâve more than earned that guest pass.â you tease, smile wide and mischievous.
Heâs smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.
When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. Itâs not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you canât quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.
You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly werenât trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that youâd end up with another first contact.
At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.
âIt was really nice to meet you, Changbin.â You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.
âYou too, y/n.â He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what youâve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but itâs far too late.
Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly youâre settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.
You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like theyâd always been there.
Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.
Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.
And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but itâs all that it takes for you to break.
Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbinâs comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.
It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesnât know how to let go.
âY/n?â He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.
He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where heâd held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.
You canât focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.
âS- âorry, Iâm-â You hiccup, âIâm so- so sârry-â If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesnât show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.
âNothing to be sorry for, y/n,â he assures, âItâs alright, just breathe, ok?â
He offers you a hand and you canât help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadnât been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.
He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbinâs attention.
You need to tell him that youâd known since heâd first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you canât open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. Youâre sure heâll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all youâd told him about how you feel about soulmates.
Heâll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. Heâll leave you here, humiliated on the gymâs floor, and youâll deserve it because youâre a horrible person who wouldnât even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-
A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadnât even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until itâs gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.
Your fingers instinctively grasp whatâs suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.
You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldnât feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like itâs part of your own body.
Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldnât hope to pinpoint.
âY/n,â He calls softly, âY/n, do you mind if I touch you?â The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like heâs trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.
You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.
Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like itâd disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach heâd had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.
The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.
You know, in the back of your mind, that youâve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that youâve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.
You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and youâre sure youâre only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbinâs chest. The two of you are still gripping each otherâs marks.
You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how youâre feeling right now.
Your bond wasnât strong enough for that. You hadnât given it the chance to be.
The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.
Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. Youâd wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didnât still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.
He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.
âYou back with me, bubs?â He asks, smile light and tone even. Youâd think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.
Right. Eight soulmates. Heâs probably used to it.
Heâs also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.
âHey, no.â Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, âYouâve nothing to be sorry for, itâs okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?â
You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.
âI just- Itâs just that I-â You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, âI knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.â you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, âThatâs why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.â
You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.
âSoulmates terrify me,â you confess quietly, before he can ask, âYouâre so nice, but youâre so fucking scary to me, Iâm sorry.â
With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.
You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and youâre glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.
âI need- I- Iâve gotta- argh!â You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. âI need to go home.â Youâd like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.
Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.
Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.
Except for him.
âOf course, whatever you need,â He assures, âCan I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?â
You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when heâd just pivoted from the bombshell youâd dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.
âNo, I can- Iâve got- I want- shit.â The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbinâs concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.
âI need to move, Iâll walk.â Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.
Looking at your own condition, you canât blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, youâd never let yourself leave if youâd been in his place. You canât spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition youâd probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.
You donât handle stress well.
Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.
Youâre more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbinâs hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.
âIf you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.â He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.
Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.
âI think itâd be worth the work, to be your soulmateâ heâd said. You canât help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.
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