SSS 2014: For st_ashleigh
For: st_ashleigh
From: Your Secret Santa
Title: Zero
Pairing: Taemin/Key, side Onew/Minho
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Vague hints of attempted rape.
When every child turned fifteen they were given a gift, a band made of gold, with a small LCD screen. Numbers whirred down on it through the days, counting down the years, months, days, hours and seconds. Taemin had never really wanted one, he didn’t understand the point of them, though he knew what they were for. They were soulmate trackers, scientifically proven to 100% accuracy to find the exact point in time when you met your soulmate. They were based off of your body’s so called ‘pain link,’ a phenomena that they’d only recently discovered that was often met with harsh criticism, both from the public and scientific community. The idea was simple - whenever your soulmate was cut, or bruised, or got an illness or headache, or any form of pain, you felt it too, be it just a small flicker, possibly even unnoticeable to anything but the neurons in your brain. If your soulmate broke their leg yours might feel particularly achy for a while, if they had an allergic reaction you may find yourself having one too, if they had asthma you could feel yourself short of breath at the same time as them. All of these electrical impulses were fed into a huge computer system from the ages of zero to fifteen, during which time you were given a plastic band far less extravagant than the one you received at fifteen. The system matched people up in accordance to whose injury impulses matched - it was simple, it was scientific, and despite criticism it was 100% effective.
To Taemin this seemed cold and calculated, nothing like the breadths of love he’d read in books and in poetry from hundreds of years before - it was just deduced down to seconds and minutes, not feelings. So he hid his, underneath the strap of his fraying leather watch (his father had bought it for him and died before he could replace it), but sometimes he couldn’t help but look. Even though he didn’t necessarily agree with the concept there was at least some source of comfort in knowing he wouldn’t always be alone.
He met Jonghyun when he was eighteen, Jonghyun a few years older, on the walk from his dorms into university. Jonghyun was protesting, something that Taemin would soon learn he had a bit of a penchant for, and this time it was against the bands. That’s all they were known as ‘The Bands,’ and Jonghyun’s posters flashed gaudy letters spelling out ‘BAN THE BANDS’ in obnoxious neon orange and green. Taemin had faltered, somewhat interested, and Jonghyun had pulled him in, handing over leaflet after leaflet, spouting knowledge of academic studies into The Bands and their side effects, chatting inanely about how better his life was once he had had his removed. Taemin missed the whole of his lecture and ended up walking back to his dorm, Jonghyun’s words mulling over in his mind.
From then on he hid it more consistently, he bought sweatbands and bracelets, piling them up on his arm until they were a few inches high, but it still didn’t stop the urge to look. It was like an itch, undeniable in its temptation, and he’d always find himself glancing, often at night once he’d taken all of his bracelets off. Sometimes he would lay in bed, his eyes firmly on the digits as they counted down, and he’d fall asleep that way, the digits being the first thing he saw at night, and then the first thing he saw in the morning.
Soon he gave up in his attempts to hide it, the bracelets disappearing one by one. Jinki, a friend of his, called it a pacifier, and Taemin supposed he agreed, though Jinki wasn’t one to talk because he’d had his removed the moment he met Minho and theirs both hit zero at the same time. It was a comfort though, to know that something was coming, that he would have someone, and he liked that, the reassurance that the band gave him, even if it sometimes filled him with more anxiety than it should.
The day it ticked down to below one year, Taemin nearly had a panic attack. He was in his second year of university, still somewhat acne ridden, his hair too long to be any form of actual hairstyle, and his clothes looking like he’d pulled them out of a bin. It jolted him into action - he bought a gym membership, got a haircut, took acne reducing medication and washed possibly far too much considering the amount he suddenly spent on water bills. It helped though, improving himself, it helped to make himself feel prepared to meet someone he may potentially spend the rest of his life with. Jinki had called him an idiot as soon as he’d told him, but Jonghyun was more supportive, Minho not particularly hinting either way. To Jinki it seemed fake, like he was changing himself to suit someone that he had never even met, and to an extent he had to admit that was true, but it didn’t matter to him because it eased the incessant butterflies in his stomach every time he thought about them.
It ticked down to a month exactly a month before he was due back at university, and the nerves kicked back in instantly because it was so close, and he found himself wondering where they’d meet, how they’d meet, what they’d look like together, their fingers tangled together as they walked beneath the stars. At nights he’d stay up and daydream about dark hair, light hair, long legs, short legs, men and women, he couldn’t decide. He’d never known what his ‘ideal type’ was, which really made things difficult when trying to imagine what his soulmate would look like, especially considering he couldn’t even discern what their gender might be.
Moving back to university made the anxiety swell in his gut, and he’d pace in his room, eyes fervently on his band as he watched the seconds slip away to a week, four days, then two, and then finally zero.
Zero happened when he woke up on the first day of lessons, and he laid in bed for almost an hour, watching as the minutes slipped away and the time slipped from seven to six hours. It suddenly hit him that he was meeting them today, that they would be there, in front of him, as opposed to a figment of his imagination swimming in and out of his conscious. They were a human being with flesh and bone, and feelings and thoughts and he was simultaneously terrified and excited to find them out.
Jonghyun found him staring at his band come lunch time, a half eaten sandwich by his side as he watched the numbers tick down. The butterflies in Taemin’s stomach made it impossible for him to eat, and it was killing him that he could only sit and wait.
“How long?” Jonghyun asked, taking a seat opposite Taemin and snapping out of his reverie.
“Half an hour,” he whispered, his eyes still on his band.
“Hey, isn’t that when you have-”
“Yeah.”
“And? What you gunna do?” Jonghyun leant back, and Taemin caught sight of his bandless wrist.
“Go to lesson,” Taemin laughed and Jonghyun nodded, “there’s no point avoiding it, even if it scares me to death.”
“I’m sure he’ll be great,” Jonghyun commented, picking up Taemin’s forgotten sandwich and taking a big bite.
“What makes you think it’ll be a guy?” Taemin asked, suddenly defensive, but Jonghyun just rolled his eyes and left, taking Taemin’s sandwich with him.
Taemin got to his Buddhism lecture ten minutes early, and spent the following time panicking over how he looked. He slipped into the toilets a couple of times, first to check his hair and make sure he looked somewhat presentable, tucking his t-shirt shirt into his skinny jeans then pulling it out again, repeating the pattern until he gave up and just left it as it was, wandering back to the classroom before the sudden thought of ‘holy shit what if there’s sandwich in my teeth’ popped into his head and he had to go back again.
The lecturer turned up five minutes before class started, and was immediately shocked at Taemin’s presence.
“You okay?” he asked, and Taemin’s eyes just flicked down to his band, keeping silent until the lecturer let out a little “oh” in realisation. “Well you better sit at the back then,” he offered with a cheeky smile, opening the door and moving to set up at the front of the classroom. “Such an odd device,” he mumbled to himself as he wiped the whiteboard clean, and Taemin couldn’t help but agree as the time slipped to three minutes.
By the time it was down to one minute only a few of the class had actually turned up, and he found his eyes alternating between glancing at his band and at the door, fully aware that he probably looked like an idiot. A group of boys stumbled through the door laughing obnoxiously to each other, but they were too early (there was still twenty seconds left), not that Taemin minded because they all looked like jerks.
A few more slipped in as his band read ten seconds, and he could feel the lecturer waiting because it was clear that not everyone was here yet, not when Taemin’s eyes were darting around the room still.
At five seconds the door opened but no one stepped in for a few seconds, and Taemin could hear them chatting to someone outside before a boy stepped in and Taemin felt his band click open, and it fell from his wrist and clattered on the floor. The boy at the door noticed, and his eyes bugged open slightly before he composed himself and mostly ignored it as his eyes scanned the room and he found somewhere to sit, a couple of rows in front of Taemin, just in the perfect position for him to admire the slope of the boy’s nose, the pout of his lips and the softness of his hair. He was wearing a baggy jumper and it was bunched into his fists as he scribbled notes down furiously in sloping script, and the back of it swooped down on one of his shoulders.
He spent the vast majority of the lecture watching the boy and fiddling with his fallen band, the rest of his classmates equally as distracted. Seeing someone’s band fall off in public wasn’t commonplace, so they were noticeably excited about it, some of them catching his eye and throwing a thumbs up in his direction, the girl sitting next to him whispering comments into his ear.
“You lucked out,” was the first one ten minutes into the lecture, “he’s really hot,” and then a little later, “look at his nose he looks like a mouse,” and “no seriously look at him he’s a mouse.”
“I think he looks more like a cat,” Taemin finally replied almost five minutes after she spoke, and she just scoffed in reply.
The nerves set in again once the lecturer let them leave, and he packed his bag slowly as everyone got up to leave, most of them hurrying to try and give Taemin some time with the boy that was his soulmate.
“Hi,” he greeted, shifting his backpack onto his back as the boy looked up from packing his stationery into his bag.
“Hi,” was his only greeting before ducking his head again. Taemin bit his lip.
“I’m Taemin,” he offered, “I’m err … your soulmate … or whatever.”
The other boy froze and then rolled his eyes.
“That’s definitely the weirdest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he chuckled, “I’m Kibum though.” He pushed his jumper sleeves up and Taemin couldn’t see his band on either of them.
“Where’s your band?” he asked, brows knitting together.
“What band- oh,” Kibum answered fingers rubbing at his wrist absentmindedly, “I don’t have one. I - my parents don’t really believe in all of that soulmate stuff. They met naturally, so...”
“Oh,” Taemin felt a rock form in the bottom of his stomach. “Do you?”
“I … not really,” he smiled apologetically and Taemin felt his heart skip a beat, air rushing from his lungs, “it was nice to meet you though!” Taemin watched his back as he left the classroom and the next class filtered in, and the band in his hand felt like a dead weight.
“And he just left, like that?” Jinki asked a few hours later, a still-somewhat-shocked Taemin on his sofa wrapped in a blanket grasping a hot chocolate (it was Jinki’s firm opinion that hot chocolate could fix anything). Not that it was really helping when Jinki had Minho almost sprawled across his lap.
“Yeah,” Taemin mumbled, scooping up a dollop of whipped cream on his finger. “I don’t get it, why do I get paired off with some dude that doesn’t even believe in soulmates? What have I done to deserve that?”
“I don’t know,” Jinki sighed, and ran a hand through Minho’s hair. Minho rolled over, his reading forgotten as he directed his attention to Taemin’s dilemma.
“Maybe you just need to get to know him the proper way, you know, like in those books you like reading,” he offered, and there was silence for a few minutes. “Actually try as opposed to just expecting.”
“Yeah,” Taemin agreed, taking sip of his now cold hot chocolate, “yeah, that’s a good idea.”
According to Jonghyun, Kibum liked art, pretentious literature and a band called ‘The Smiths,’ though Jonghyun’s English pronunciation sucked balls so it could have been anything. Unfortunately that’s all he could provide since they spent 99% of their time together shouting abusive phrases about The Band. They weren’t necessarily friends but Jonghyun seemed to like Kibum and that was enough for Taemin. Jonghyun got his number for him, but it ended up just stewing in his phone whilst Taemin tried to gather up the courage to text it. He never did. They talked more in lessons though, even if Taemin was constantly distracted by Kibum’s hair or hands or eyes, and he found himself falling so far that he doubted he’d be able to come back.
They were eating lunch a couple of months later when Taemin broached the topic, the tips of his fingers rubbing against a fading bruise on Kibum’s arm. He had an identical one himself, not that Kibum would believe him. They’d briefly discussed the topic of soulmates before, and Taemin had confessed all of his beliefs - that there was one person designed for you to live your entire life with in bliss, that yours souls were linked, that the little bumps, bruises and scratches that came out of nowhere were actually where they had hurt themselves and your body was just responding, letting you know. It explained a lot of the bruises Taemin got - he was a dancer, but he rarely fell, so it baffled him how his arms and legs would end up bruised with little splotches of purple blue. Kibum did gymnastics and martial arts, the specific one he didn’t really know, he dabbled across them all to form this weird fusion of every martial art he’d ever had a lesson in. When Kibum had got his bruise from a swift leg blow to the arm, Taemin’s had blossomed too, not that Kibum knew (or cared).
“You know,” Taemin broached, his fingers stilling on Kibum’s arm. Kibum looked up, “I have a bruise exactly like this.” Kibum’s eyes rolled back into his head and Taemin sighed, letting go of Kibum’s wrist to lean back in his chair. “Why won’t you try it out? Do you not like me?”
Kibum scoffed.
“Don’t try and guilt trip me Taemin,” he mumbled around a mouth full of quinoa, “you know I like you.”
“So go on a date with me.”
“It’s not as easy as that, Tae.”
“Why? You’re just making it difficult again, I’m just asking you out,” he snapped, tone still somewhat steady as he tried not to lose it. “Don’t act as if I’m asking you a massive favour.”
“But you are. You’re expecting more out of it than could ever happen, you’re expecting a four bedroom terraced house with a puppy and a white picket fence and you know I think that’s bullshit-”
“Why are you being so difficult about this, I just want to take you out for dinner, or a movie, or-”
“Because I don’t want to Taemin, I don’t want to be forced into some dumb relationship just because some scientist designed a fucking bracelet that said I should. It’s bullshit, if I wanted to date you, I’d date you because I liked you not because you were trying to force the idea of eternal commitment and shared souls or whatever bullshit you guys come up with next.”
“But you don’t want to.”
“No.”
“Because you’re not attracted to me?”
“You’re too young for me, Taemin, you’re so fucking naïve, this whole soulmates thing -I just ...”
His eyes widened and he quietened as Taemin moved and it was silent for a few moments as Kibum watched Taemin pack his bag and stand up to leave.
“You know what,” Taemin sniffled, trying to hide his red eyes from Kibum, “I think you might be right. Soulmates can’t exist because you’re definitely not mine.”
He walked off with a clack of his heels and the sting he left behind hurt Kibum a lot more than he thought it would. He sighed before glancing down into his lunchbox, suddenly disinterested.
After that Taemin spent more time with Jonghyun, listening to his thoughts on soulmates and trying desperately to believe it even though he knew he didn’t. The Friday after, a bruise spread it’s way up Taemin’s thigh, up past his hip bone and to his waist. It was dark and purpling, but not particularly painful, though he was sure Kibum’s would be significantly more so.
Hours later little bruises blossomed on his hips, on his upper arms and on his neck, then around his wrists, pressed deep into the skin as if hands had been here - little rings like finger pads. Taemin stared at them for hours, the rings of purple around his wrists hanging like bracelets. It felt bizarre, to have such an extent of abuse mapped on his body but no stories to tell for it. He didn’t know what to do, his phone in his hand as he stared at himself as if he were a different person. He knew he needed to check if Kibum was alright, but there was still that stubbornness within him. There was still that want to never communicate with him ever again because Kibum clearly wanted nothing to do with him (at least not in the same was Taemin wanted with him) and it hurt too much to think about just staying friends.
“Phone him,” Jonghyun demanded after Taemin called him over, still stood staring at the flecked purple on his skin. It looked almost pretty, in little rings like bracelets, like a necklace and fireworks on his hip bones, but he knew it wasn’t and it sickened him that he’d even considered that. He took Taemin’s phone from his hand and rang it himself, the rings drawn out as Taemin stayed, staring at his reflection. He snapped out of it as it went through to voicemail and Jonghyun shook his head before dialling a second time, handing the phone over to Taemin as someone answered.
“What happened?” he demanded before they had a chance to speak, “what happened to you?”
“Hello?” came the unfamiliar voice and Taemin blinked.
“This is Kibum’s phone, right?”
“Yeah, yeah it is.”
“What happened to him? Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“I - … I’m Taemin.”
“Oh. The soulmate.”
“Yeah … if you believe that.”
“You don’t?”
“Well…”
“You have bruises, don’t you?” Woohyun asked, and Taemin could hear his steady breaths through the phone.
“Yeah, I … is he okay?”
“Not really,” came the matter-of-fact response. “Come see for yourself. He’s in hospital, room 306.”
Jonghyun didn’t get a word of explanation as Taemin pushed him out of the way, picking up a random jumper from somewhere draped over a chair, and slipping on shoes (without socks) and marching out of the house, his phone left on the bed.
“Where are we going?” Jonghyun asked as he fired up the engine, Taemin biting his fingers in the passenger seat.
“Hospital.”
Jonghyun didn’t say any more after that, but let them ride in silence, sometimes painfully so as the car stopped at a junction. Halfway there he turned the radio on, but it wasn’t that much of a distraction.
It took far too long to find the room, then to be allowed in, but within the next half an hour Taemin found himself in front of door number 306, his fist raised cautiously to knock as a knot formed deep in his gut. He knocked and it was silent for a few seconds, before the door swung open and a man with dark hair stood in front of him. He glanced at Taemin, giving him the once over.
“No flowers?” he asked, and Taemin shifted awkwardly, patting his pockets as if they would be of any help. The man rolled his eyes and pushed past, and the door would have slammed on Taemin’s face if he hadn’t caught it just in time.
Kibum was asleep when he entered, curled into himself underneath white sheets. He was wearing a hospital robe and Taemin could see his skin through the slit at the back. From the door the bruises weren’t visible, but the closer he got the more he found himself shaking in something he couldn’t really place - fear? Anger? He didn’t know but it swelled within him like a roaring storm. He held out a hand to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen across Kibum’s face, but he couldn’t, stopping himself because it felt like Kibum was more fragile now, that the slightest touch could smash him into smithereens. He let him hand lay on the bed instead, so that Kibum’s shallow breaths puffed out onto the pads of his fingers. He was there for at least an hour, watching as the bruises warped with every breath Kibum took. They stood out so much, against his milky skin and the white of the sheets.
The door swung open again and Woohyun stepped in, three Starbucks coffee cups in his hands. He set them down, ignoring Taemin for the most part as he tapped Kibum’s shoulder to wake him up. Kibum froze, but Woohyun spoke and he calmed immediately.
“Here,” he said, helping Kibum to sit up. Kibum looked at Taemin for a moment, then glanced away, seemingly embarrassed, and Taemin frowned, “I brought you coffee.”
Kibum took a sip as Woohyun handed Taemin another cup.
“I got you hot chocolate,” Woohyun added, “since you’re, like, pre-pubescent or something.” Taemin rolled his eyes but was ultimately glad for the lightness of mood, especially when Kibum smiled slightly into the rim of his coffee cup. Woohyun couldn’t stay for long, since he had class, but the time he was there was mostly spent in silence on Taemin’s part. He watched Kibum talk, somewhat shocked about how he seemed totally unaffected by what happened (not that Taemin knew the details). Occasionally Kibum would look over at him and their eyes would meet before Kibum’s would drop down to his lap and he’d fiddle with the duvet for a bit, or direct his attention even more towards Woohyun.
When Woohyun left, swiming his school satchel over his shoulder before promising he’d be back in a few hours, it went uncomfortably silent for a while.
“How did you know?” Kibum asked in a small voice, but Taemin was sure he knew the answer.
“Bruises,” Taemin shrugged, and Kibum sighed. “They fucking terrified me. What happened? Did they …”
“No!” Kibum exclaimed, eyes wide, and Taemin could see him shaking. He tugged one of Kibum’s hands away from where it was fraying the duvet, and held it between his own. “They just …”
“You must have been scared,” Taemin bit his lip and Kibum’s hand tangled itself in his. It was the first progress he’d had from Kibum but he couldn’t find it within himself to celebrate, not when Kibum was shaking, the memories of the night before racing through his head.
“Yeah,” Kibum mumbled and Taemin shifted, lifting himself from the chair and onto the bed, Kibum stilling as he did so.
“I, er…” Taemin started by means of explanation, twisting around to face Kibum, “I wanted to give you a hug but I didn’t really think it through. This probably isn’t the best position to try from.” Kibum laughed then, a loud obnoxious, bubbling laugh that had Taemin grinning back, until Kibum shifted under the duvet, freeing a space for him to wiggle down beside him, one arm loosely wound around his waist. “Tell me if it hurts,” he offered as Kibum shifted closer, his head tucked underneath Taemin’s chin.
A pair of warm lips were pressed to his neck, exactly along the line where the faint bruises were (though his were fading a lot faster than Kibum’s).
“Do they hurt?” Kibum asked, a finger racing along the rings on his bicep.
“No.”
“I’m sorry…”
“What for?”
“Not believing you,” Kibum sighed into his chest, and Taemin just stroked his fingers through the hair at the base of Kibum’s skill in response, “for calling you stupid, or naïve, or whatever.”
“It’s fine,” Taemin murmured, pushing kiss onto the top of Kibum’s head. “I guess that makes you the dumb one.”
Kibum snorted and Taemin could practically feel him rolling his eyes.
“You wish.” He shifted, pulling the duvet closer to himself and almost covering half of his face with it. Taemin laughed, pushing it down again. “Hey, I’m the ill one, I get to choose how high the duvet is.” Taemin rolled his eyes, but let Kibum pull it up again.
When Woohyun returned they were in the same position, Taemin’s face smooshed up against the top of Kibum’s head, the both of them curled around each other, skin free of any bruises that had once been there.
From: Your Secret Santa
Title: Zero
Pairing: Taemin/Key, side Onew/Minho
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Vague hints of attempted rape.
When every child turned fifteen they were given a gift, a band made of gold, with a small LCD screen. Numbers whirred down on it through the days, counting down the years, months, days, hours and seconds. Taemin had never really wanted one, he didn’t understand the point of them, though he knew what they were for. They were soulmate trackers, scientifically proven to 100% accuracy to find the exact point in time when you met your soulmate. They were based off of your body’s so called ‘pain link,’ a phenomena that they’d only recently discovered that was often met with harsh criticism, both from the public and scientific community. The idea was simple - whenever your soulmate was cut, or bruised, or got an illness or headache, or any form of pain, you felt it too, be it just a small flicker, possibly even unnoticeable to anything but the neurons in your brain. If your soulmate broke their leg yours might feel particularly achy for a while, if they had an allergic reaction you may find yourself having one too, if they had asthma you could feel yourself short of breath at the same time as them. All of these electrical impulses were fed into a huge computer system from the ages of zero to fifteen, during which time you were given a plastic band far less extravagant than the one you received at fifteen. The system matched people up in accordance to whose injury impulses matched - it was simple, it was scientific, and despite criticism it was 100% effective.
To Taemin this seemed cold and calculated, nothing like the breadths of love he’d read in books and in poetry from hundreds of years before - it was just deduced down to seconds and minutes, not feelings. So he hid his, underneath the strap of his fraying leather watch (his father had bought it for him and died before he could replace it), but sometimes he couldn’t help but look. Even though he didn’t necessarily agree with the concept there was at least some source of comfort in knowing he wouldn’t always be alone.
He met Jonghyun when he was eighteen, Jonghyun a few years older, on the walk from his dorms into university. Jonghyun was protesting, something that Taemin would soon learn he had a bit of a penchant for, and this time it was against the bands. That’s all they were known as ‘The Bands,’ and Jonghyun’s posters flashed gaudy letters spelling out ‘BAN THE BANDS’ in obnoxious neon orange and green. Taemin had faltered, somewhat interested, and Jonghyun had pulled him in, handing over leaflet after leaflet, spouting knowledge of academic studies into The Bands and their side effects, chatting inanely about how better his life was once he had had his removed. Taemin missed the whole of his lecture and ended up walking back to his dorm, Jonghyun’s words mulling over in his mind.
From then on he hid it more consistently, he bought sweatbands and bracelets, piling them up on his arm until they were a few inches high, but it still didn’t stop the urge to look. It was like an itch, undeniable in its temptation, and he’d always find himself glancing, often at night once he’d taken all of his bracelets off. Sometimes he would lay in bed, his eyes firmly on the digits as they counted down, and he’d fall asleep that way, the digits being the first thing he saw at night, and then the first thing he saw in the morning.
Soon he gave up in his attempts to hide it, the bracelets disappearing one by one. Jinki, a friend of his, called it a pacifier, and Taemin supposed he agreed, though Jinki wasn’t one to talk because he’d had his removed the moment he met Minho and theirs both hit zero at the same time. It was a comfort though, to know that something was coming, that he would have someone, and he liked that, the reassurance that the band gave him, even if it sometimes filled him with more anxiety than it should.
The day it ticked down to below one year, Taemin nearly had a panic attack. He was in his second year of university, still somewhat acne ridden, his hair too long to be any form of actual hairstyle, and his clothes looking like he’d pulled them out of a bin. It jolted him into action - he bought a gym membership, got a haircut, took acne reducing medication and washed possibly far too much considering the amount he suddenly spent on water bills. It helped though, improving himself, it helped to make himself feel prepared to meet someone he may potentially spend the rest of his life with. Jinki had called him an idiot as soon as he’d told him, but Jonghyun was more supportive, Minho not particularly hinting either way. To Jinki it seemed fake, like he was changing himself to suit someone that he had never even met, and to an extent he had to admit that was true, but it didn’t matter to him because it eased the incessant butterflies in his stomach every time he thought about them.
It ticked down to a month exactly a month before he was due back at university, and the nerves kicked back in instantly because it was so close, and he found himself wondering where they’d meet, how they’d meet, what they’d look like together, their fingers tangled together as they walked beneath the stars. At nights he’d stay up and daydream about dark hair, light hair, long legs, short legs, men and women, he couldn’t decide. He’d never known what his ‘ideal type’ was, which really made things difficult when trying to imagine what his soulmate would look like, especially considering he couldn’t even discern what their gender might be.
Moving back to university made the anxiety swell in his gut, and he’d pace in his room, eyes fervently on his band as he watched the seconds slip away to a week, four days, then two, and then finally zero.
Zero happened when he woke up on the first day of lessons, and he laid in bed for almost an hour, watching as the minutes slipped away and the time slipped from seven to six hours. It suddenly hit him that he was meeting them today, that they would be there, in front of him, as opposed to a figment of his imagination swimming in and out of his conscious. They were a human being with flesh and bone, and feelings and thoughts and he was simultaneously terrified and excited to find them out.
Jonghyun found him staring at his band come lunch time, a half eaten sandwich by his side as he watched the numbers tick down. The butterflies in Taemin’s stomach made it impossible for him to eat, and it was killing him that he could only sit and wait.
“How long?” Jonghyun asked, taking a seat opposite Taemin and snapping out of his reverie.
“Half an hour,” he whispered, his eyes still on his band.
“Hey, isn’t that when you have-”
“Yeah.”
“And? What you gunna do?” Jonghyun leant back, and Taemin caught sight of his bandless wrist.
“Go to lesson,” Taemin laughed and Jonghyun nodded, “there’s no point avoiding it, even if it scares me to death.”
“I’m sure he’ll be great,” Jonghyun commented, picking up Taemin’s forgotten sandwich and taking a big bite.
“What makes you think it’ll be a guy?” Taemin asked, suddenly defensive, but Jonghyun just rolled his eyes and left, taking Taemin’s sandwich with him.
Taemin got to his Buddhism lecture ten minutes early, and spent the following time panicking over how he looked. He slipped into the toilets a couple of times, first to check his hair and make sure he looked somewhat presentable, tucking his t-shirt shirt into his skinny jeans then pulling it out again, repeating the pattern until he gave up and just left it as it was, wandering back to the classroom before the sudden thought of ‘holy shit what if there’s sandwich in my teeth’ popped into his head and he had to go back again.
The lecturer turned up five minutes before class started, and was immediately shocked at Taemin’s presence.
“You okay?” he asked, and Taemin’s eyes just flicked down to his band, keeping silent until the lecturer let out a little “oh” in realisation. “Well you better sit at the back then,” he offered with a cheeky smile, opening the door and moving to set up at the front of the classroom. “Such an odd device,” he mumbled to himself as he wiped the whiteboard clean, and Taemin couldn’t help but agree as the time slipped to three minutes.
By the time it was down to one minute only a few of the class had actually turned up, and he found his eyes alternating between glancing at his band and at the door, fully aware that he probably looked like an idiot. A group of boys stumbled through the door laughing obnoxiously to each other, but they were too early (there was still twenty seconds left), not that Taemin minded because they all looked like jerks.
A few more slipped in as his band read ten seconds, and he could feel the lecturer waiting because it was clear that not everyone was here yet, not when Taemin’s eyes were darting around the room still.
At five seconds the door opened but no one stepped in for a few seconds, and Taemin could hear them chatting to someone outside before a boy stepped in and Taemin felt his band click open, and it fell from his wrist and clattered on the floor. The boy at the door noticed, and his eyes bugged open slightly before he composed himself and mostly ignored it as his eyes scanned the room and he found somewhere to sit, a couple of rows in front of Taemin, just in the perfect position for him to admire the slope of the boy’s nose, the pout of his lips and the softness of his hair. He was wearing a baggy jumper and it was bunched into his fists as he scribbled notes down furiously in sloping script, and the back of it swooped down on one of his shoulders.
He spent the vast majority of the lecture watching the boy and fiddling with his fallen band, the rest of his classmates equally as distracted. Seeing someone’s band fall off in public wasn’t commonplace, so they were noticeably excited about it, some of them catching his eye and throwing a thumbs up in his direction, the girl sitting next to him whispering comments into his ear.
“You lucked out,” was the first one ten minutes into the lecture, “he’s really hot,” and then a little later, “look at his nose he looks like a mouse,” and “no seriously look at him he’s a mouse.”
“I think he looks more like a cat,” Taemin finally replied almost five minutes after she spoke, and she just scoffed in reply.
The nerves set in again once the lecturer let them leave, and he packed his bag slowly as everyone got up to leave, most of them hurrying to try and give Taemin some time with the boy that was his soulmate.
“Hi,” he greeted, shifting his backpack onto his back as the boy looked up from packing his stationery into his bag.
“Hi,” was his only greeting before ducking his head again. Taemin bit his lip.
“I’m Taemin,” he offered, “I’m err … your soulmate … or whatever.”
The other boy froze and then rolled his eyes.
“That’s definitely the weirdest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he chuckled, “I’m Kibum though.” He pushed his jumper sleeves up and Taemin couldn’t see his band on either of them.
“Where’s your band?” he asked, brows knitting together.
“What band- oh,” Kibum answered fingers rubbing at his wrist absentmindedly, “I don’t have one. I - my parents don’t really believe in all of that soulmate stuff. They met naturally, so...”
“Oh,” Taemin felt a rock form in the bottom of his stomach. “Do you?”
“I … not really,” he smiled apologetically and Taemin felt his heart skip a beat, air rushing from his lungs, “it was nice to meet you though!” Taemin watched his back as he left the classroom and the next class filtered in, and the band in his hand felt like a dead weight.
“And he just left, like that?” Jinki asked a few hours later, a still-somewhat-shocked Taemin on his sofa wrapped in a blanket grasping a hot chocolate (it was Jinki’s firm opinion that hot chocolate could fix anything). Not that it was really helping when Jinki had Minho almost sprawled across his lap.
“Yeah,” Taemin mumbled, scooping up a dollop of whipped cream on his finger. “I don’t get it, why do I get paired off with some dude that doesn’t even believe in soulmates? What have I done to deserve that?”
“I don’t know,” Jinki sighed, and ran a hand through Minho’s hair. Minho rolled over, his reading forgotten as he directed his attention to Taemin’s dilemma.
“Maybe you just need to get to know him the proper way, you know, like in those books you like reading,” he offered, and there was silence for a few minutes. “Actually try as opposed to just expecting.”
“Yeah,” Taemin agreed, taking sip of his now cold hot chocolate, “yeah, that’s a good idea.”
According to Jonghyun, Kibum liked art, pretentious literature and a band called ‘The Smiths,’ though Jonghyun’s English pronunciation sucked balls so it could have been anything. Unfortunately that’s all he could provide since they spent 99% of their time together shouting abusive phrases about The Band. They weren’t necessarily friends but Jonghyun seemed to like Kibum and that was enough for Taemin. Jonghyun got his number for him, but it ended up just stewing in his phone whilst Taemin tried to gather up the courage to text it. He never did. They talked more in lessons though, even if Taemin was constantly distracted by Kibum’s hair or hands or eyes, and he found himself falling so far that he doubted he’d be able to come back.
They were eating lunch a couple of months later when Taemin broached the topic, the tips of his fingers rubbing against a fading bruise on Kibum’s arm. He had an identical one himself, not that Kibum would believe him. They’d briefly discussed the topic of soulmates before, and Taemin had confessed all of his beliefs - that there was one person designed for you to live your entire life with in bliss, that yours souls were linked, that the little bumps, bruises and scratches that came out of nowhere were actually where they had hurt themselves and your body was just responding, letting you know. It explained a lot of the bruises Taemin got - he was a dancer, but he rarely fell, so it baffled him how his arms and legs would end up bruised with little splotches of purple blue. Kibum did gymnastics and martial arts, the specific one he didn’t really know, he dabbled across them all to form this weird fusion of every martial art he’d ever had a lesson in. When Kibum had got his bruise from a swift leg blow to the arm, Taemin’s had blossomed too, not that Kibum knew (or cared).
“You know,” Taemin broached, his fingers stilling on Kibum’s arm. Kibum looked up, “I have a bruise exactly like this.” Kibum’s eyes rolled back into his head and Taemin sighed, letting go of Kibum’s wrist to lean back in his chair. “Why won’t you try it out? Do you not like me?”
Kibum scoffed.
“Don’t try and guilt trip me Taemin,” he mumbled around a mouth full of quinoa, “you know I like you.”
“So go on a date with me.”
“It’s not as easy as that, Tae.”
“Why? You’re just making it difficult again, I’m just asking you out,” he snapped, tone still somewhat steady as he tried not to lose it. “Don’t act as if I’m asking you a massive favour.”
“But you are. You’re expecting more out of it than could ever happen, you’re expecting a four bedroom terraced house with a puppy and a white picket fence and you know I think that’s bullshit-”
“Why are you being so difficult about this, I just want to take you out for dinner, or a movie, or-”
“Because I don’t want to Taemin, I don’t want to be forced into some dumb relationship just because some scientist designed a fucking bracelet that said I should. It’s bullshit, if I wanted to date you, I’d date you because I liked you not because you were trying to force the idea of eternal commitment and shared souls or whatever bullshit you guys come up with next.”
“But you don’t want to.”
“No.”
“Because you’re not attracted to me?”
“You’re too young for me, Taemin, you’re so fucking naïve, this whole soulmates thing -I just ...”
His eyes widened and he quietened as Taemin moved and it was silent for a few moments as Kibum watched Taemin pack his bag and stand up to leave.
“You know what,” Taemin sniffled, trying to hide his red eyes from Kibum, “I think you might be right. Soulmates can’t exist because you’re definitely not mine.”
He walked off with a clack of his heels and the sting he left behind hurt Kibum a lot more than he thought it would. He sighed before glancing down into his lunchbox, suddenly disinterested.
After that Taemin spent more time with Jonghyun, listening to his thoughts on soulmates and trying desperately to believe it even though he knew he didn’t. The Friday after, a bruise spread it’s way up Taemin’s thigh, up past his hip bone and to his waist. It was dark and purpling, but not particularly painful, though he was sure Kibum’s would be significantly more so.
Hours later little bruises blossomed on his hips, on his upper arms and on his neck, then around his wrists, pressed deep into the skin as if hands had been here - little rings like finger pads. Taemin stared at them for hours, the rings of purple around his wrists hanging like bracelets. It felt bizarre, to have such an extent of abuse mapped on his body but no stories to tell for it. He didn’t know what to do, his phone in his hand as he stared at himself as if he were a different person. He knew he needed to check if Kibum was alright, but there was still that stubbornness within him. There was still that want to never communicate with him ever again because Kibum clearly wanted nothing to do with him (at least not in the same was Taemin wanted with him) and it hurt too much to think about just staying friends.
“Phone him,” Jonghyun demanded after Taemin called him over, still stood staring at the flecked purple on his skin. It looked almost pretty, in little rings like bracelets, like a necklace and fireworks on his hip bones, but he knew it wasn’t and it sickened him that he’d even considered that. He took Taemin’s phone from his hand and rang it himself, the rings drawn out as Taemin stayed, staring at his reflection. He snapped out of it as it went through to voicemail and Jonghyun shook his head before dialling a second time, handing the phone over to Taemin as someone answered.
“What happened?” he demanded before they had a chance to speak, “what happened to you?”
“Hello?” came the unfamiliar voice and Taemin blinked.
“This is Kibum’s phone, right?”
“Yeah, yeah it is.”
“What happened to him? Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“I - … I’m Taemin.”
“Oh. The soulmate.”
“Yeah … if you believe that.”
“You don’t?”
“Well…”
“You have bruises, don’t you?” Woohyun asked, and Taemin could hear his steady breaths through the phone.
“Yeah, I … is he okay?”
“Not really,” came the matter-of-fact response. “Come see for yourself. He’s in hospital, room 306.”
Jonghyun didn’t get a word of explanation as Taemin pushed him out of the way, picking up a random jumper from somewhere draped over a chair, and slipping on shoes (without socks) and marching out of the house, his phone left on the bed.
“Where are we going?” Jonghyun asked as he fired up the engine, Taemin biting his fingers in the passenger seat.
“Hospital.”
Jonghyun didn’t say any more after that, but let them ride in silence, sometimes painfully so as the car stopped at a junction. Halfway there he turned the radio on, but it wasn’t that much of a distraction.
It took far too long to find the room, then to be allowed in, but within the next half an hour Taemin found himself in front of door number 306, his fist raised cautiously to knock as a knot formed deep in his gut. He knocked and it was silent for a few seconds, before the door swung open and a man with dark hair stood in front of him. He glanced at Taemin, giving him the once over.
“No flowers?” he asked, and Taemin shifted awkwardly, patting his pockets as if they would be of any help. The man rolled his eyes and pushed past, and the door would have slammed on Taemin’s face if he hadn’t caught it just in time.
Kibum was asleep when he entered, curled into himself underneath white sheets. He was wearing a hospital robe and Taemin could see his skin through the slit at the back. From the door the bruises weren’t visible, but the closer he got the more he found himself shaking in something he couldn’t really place - fear? Anger? He didn’t know but it swelled within him like a roaring storm. He held out a hand to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen across Kibum’s face, but he couldn’t, stopping himself because it felt like Kibum was more fragile now, that the slightest touch could smash him into smithereens. He let him hand lay on the bed instead, so that Kibum’s shallow breaths puffed out onto the pads of his fingers. He was there for at least an hour, watching as the bruises warped with every breath Kibum took. They stood out so much, against his milky skin and the white of the sheets.
The door swung open again and Woohyun stepped in, three Starbucks coffee cups in his hands. He set them down, ignoring Taemin for the most part as he tapped Kibum’s shoulder to wake him up. Kibum froze, but Woohyun spoke and he calmed immediately.
“Here,” he said, helping Kibum to sit up. Kibum looked at Taemin for a moment, then glanced away, seemingly embarrassed, and Taemin frowned, “I brought you coffee.”
Kibum took a sip as Woohyun handed Taemin another cup.
“I got you hot chocolate,” Woohyun added, “since you’re, like, pre-pubescent or something.” Taemin rolled his eyes but was ultimately glad for the lightness of mood, especially when Kibum smiled slightly into the rim of his coffee cup. Woohyun couldn’t stay for long, since he had class, but the time he was there was mostly spent in silence on Taemin’s part. He watched Kibum talk, somewhat shocked about how he seemed totally unaffected by what happened (not that Taemin knew the details). Occasionally Kibum would look over at him and their eyes would meet before Kibum’s would drop down to his lap and he’d fiddle with the duvet for a bit, or direct his attention even more towards Woohyun.
When Woohyun left, swiming his school satchel over his shoulder before promising he’d be back in a few hours, it went uncomfortably silent for a while.
“How did you know?” Kibum asked in a small voice, but Taemin was sure he knew the answer.
“Bruises,” Taemin shrugged, and Kibum sighed. “They fucking terrified me. What happened? Did they …”
“No!” Kibum exclaimed, eyes wide, and Taemin could see him shaking. He tugged one of Kibum’s hands away from where it was fraying the duvet, and held it between his own. “They just …”
“You must have been scared,” Taemin bit his lip and Kibum’s hand tangled itself in his. It was the first progress he’d had from Kibum but he couldn’t find it within himself to celebrate, not when Kibum was shaking, the memories of the night before racing through his head.
“Yeah,” Kibum mumbled and Taemin shifted, lifting himself from the chair and onto the bed, Kibum stilling as he did so.
“I, er…” Taemin started by means of explanation, twisting around to face Kibum, “I wanted to give you a hug but I didn’t really think it through. This probably isn’t the best position to try from.” Kibum laughed then, a loud obnoxious, bubbling laugh that had Taemin grinning back, until Kibum shifted under the duvet, freeing a space for him to wiggle down beside him, one arm loosely wound around his waist. “Tell me if it hurts,” he offered as Kibum shifted closer, his head tucked underneath Taemin’s chin.
A pair of warm lips were pressed to his neck, exactly along the line where the faint bruises were (though his were fading a lot faster than Kibum’s).
“Do they hurt?” Kibum asked, a finger racing along the rings on his bicep.
“No.”
“I’m sorry…”
“What for?”
“Not believing you,” Kibum sighed into his chest, and Taemin just stroked his fingers through the hair at the base of Kibum’s skill in response, “for calling you stupid, or naïve, or whatever.”
“It’s fine,” Taemin murmured, pushing kiss onto the top of Kibum’s head. “I guess that makes you the dumb one.”
Kibum snorted and Taemin could practically feel him rolling his eyes.
“You wish.” He shifted, pulling the duvet closer to himself and almost covering half of his face with it. Taemin laughed, pushing it down again. “Hey, I’m the ill one, I get to choose how high the duvet is.” Taemin rolled his eyes, but let Kibum pull it up again.
When Woohyun returned they were in the same position, Taemin’s face smooshed up against the top of Kibum’s head, the both of them curled around each other, skin free of any bruises that had once been there.