Mark Up My Soul 1/?
Title: Mark Up My Soul 1/?
Pairing: Yoongi/Jungkook (BTS)
Rating: Eventual NC17
Disclaimer: They are slowly taking over my soul to the point that I almost feel like I might be able to own them.
Summary: Jeon Jungkook’s soul mark is a music staff tattooed on his forearm. Every now and then a flare of pain will burn its way up his arm and another note is added. The strangest thing about the newest mark is that it isn’t a note and it isn’t black. It’s just a smudge. Of color. Mint green in the center, fading to deep blue around the edges.
Min Yoongi’s soul mark tattoo is a smudge of dark ink with faded thin lines of white scratched into it. If he squints, the scars sort of look like a music staff. When a new burst of pain manifests as a mint green music note in the darkest spot of black, Yoongi curses fate and his inability to stay away from all things cute. Because soul marks lie, and fate is a cruel bitch from hell.
A/N: I know I said I was writing DBSK fics now, and I promise that I am. I'm working on an angel!Jaejoong fic, and he's being more human than I was expecting which means it's really long, much longer than I wanted, but hey, that's what I do best. I haven't posted in about 3 weeks, and I've typed at least 30K words on 3 different fics in that time, but life is insane for me right now. I was having withdrawals, so I had to post this even though this fic isn't done.
Part 1:
Jungkook wakes up in a cold sweat with pain on his arm. The fleeting strands of his dreams dance around his head for a little while. His heavy breaths echo in his bedroom. What was that? In his dream? Swirls of mint green and blue float in his vision.
The pain throbs on his forearm, and he shuts his eyes tight, blindly reaching for the lamp on his side table. The light flares behind his eyelids and it takes a few moments to blink before he can look down at the inside of his forearm.
From his elbow to his wrist are five straight, black lines. For as long as he can remember, there has been a treble clef near the bend of his elbow. At moments in his life, other notes have appeared on the music staff as a burst of pain and then an ache that lasts all day. They signify important people in his life. The two most recent notes are his best friends, Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung. He had skipped a grade last year and the two notes appeared right next to each other at the same moment, the day before he sat down in the classroom, stuttering and trying to disappear a little bit. But Jimin and Taehyung almost attacked him during break and forced him out of his shell.
This last year of high school has been an experience, working with being more assertive and happy, with having friends, with learning dancing to go along with his singing. Park Jimin’s note on his soul mark is a high C, and Taehyung’s is a low D.
This is his sixth mark, and its sudden appearance is no different in terms of pain, but the image ... Jungkook stares at it, waiting for it to form completely and change into a music note. It doesn’t. The pain fades. The smudge of color stays.
Color. All of his music notes are black.
“Fuck,” Jungkook whispers. He brings his arm closer to his face to make sure. He runs a finger over it, hissing at the sharp pain. The color does not smear.
There is a mint green smudge on his music staff of black, covering the three lowest lines and dipping below the staff.
“What the fuck?” He rubs it again. The color changes a little, the mint color covering all but the edge near the bottom, just a bit of bright blue.
Who does this represent? How come it is so different than the other marks on my arm? When will I meet this person? Who could it possibly belong to?
The questions fall over themselves, and Jungkook tries to fall back to sleep. His alarm is blaring at five a.m. and he is still awake. Still so confused.
But school doesn’t stop for soul marks. Jungkook huffs and gets up to get ready for his day. At least he knows that the new color and new bit of his tattoo doesn’t reflect any of his schoolmates. Maybe there’s a new transfer student. Maybe. It’s too late in the year for that though. There are only two months of school left.
Jungkook is apprehensive about this new smudge that is like a blemish on the song of his soul mark tattoo. It’s so different. What does it mean?
Unsurprisingly, he is distracted all through class. He can’t answer the teacher’s questions. TaeTae-hyung and Jimin-hyung are worried, but they don’t press when Jungkook says he’s fine, that he didn’t sleep well, that he’s going to skip study sessions to go home for a rest. But he doesn’t go home as soon as he leaves his friends. He can’t. He’s too restless. He needs something else. He heads for ... nowhere really ... just walking, up and down streets, around corners, climbing stairs and over walkways, train tracks. Music twists through his headphones, the only companion he has surrounded by so many people.
It also keeps his mind focused on something other than the mint mark on his arm that still stings a bit when his school jacket rubs on it.
With a huff, Jungkook sits on a low concrete wall, feet tapping on the sidewalk in time to the beat in his head. While the music dances in his head, he watches people scurry to wherever they need to go. He’s restless and a little hungry. He did not eat much, stomach too fluttery, nerves too tingly.
He has no idea how long he sits on that wall and watches people when something catches his eyes.
A flash of color. A flash of mint green.
Sitting up with a start and a bit of a cry, he stares, mouth open.
The man isn’t moving, just down the sidewalk a-ways, one hand on his phone, the other hand bringing an iced coffee up to his lips. Slightly pink lips. Pale skin. He’s wearing black, head to toe, and really nice headphones. A black beanie hides most of his mint-green hair. Because of that and his slightly ratting looking clothes (holey jeans, bulky jumper), other pedestrians avoid him as much as they can, sending him scathing looks that the mint-green haired man doesn’t notice.
When he starts walking, away from Jungkook, away from his life, Jungkook jumps up and hurries after him.
The headphones are high-end, covering all of his ears, probably cancelling out all the sound around him, which means that Jungkook is going to have to actually touch him to get his attention. And to talk to him. Jungkook is going to have to talk to him.
Fuck. What if he isn’t who Jungkook is supposed to meet? What if he doesn’t signify the mint mark on his arm?
But Jungkook has learned that when it comes to soul marks, there aren’t really any coincidences. And this man’s mint green hair in a sea of black-haired Koreans is not a coincidence.
He draws close enough to touch and then he can’t, following as close as he can without the other noticing. His skin is so pale, the skin on the back of his neck looks so soft. He looks young, maybe a couple years older than Jungkook, but Jungkook has no idea. What if he doesn’t want anything to do with some seventeen-year-old high school kid?
Fuck.
Jungkook whines in the back of his throat, but he has to do this. He has to!
With a shaking hand, he reaches out. But before he makes contact, he pulls his hand back and stops walking, moving out of the way from the others. He can’t do it. He can’t. Maybe ... maybe next time. But what if there isn’t a next time, what if he never sees this man again and this is his only chance?
The man is almost too far away now. All he’ll have to do is turn a corner, and Jungkook will lose him.
Panicking, he pushes away from the wall and runs after him, this time not stopping himself from gripping the other’s shoulder, and the other man flings his arm up and pushes Jungkook’s arm away, whipping around to glare at him, and Jungkook’s throat goes dry.
“What the fuck?” he demands, voice soft. Deep. Menacing. It matches his punk clothes.
Jungkook scrambles for a reply, mouth gaping like a fish. The man’s eyes narrow.
The man pulls his headphones down. “Did you need something or are you only in the habit of pissing off random strangers?”
Jungkook swallows and stammers. “H-head .. headphones. Your ... head-d-ph-phones are ... c-cool.” He mentally groans at the lame excuse, but hurries on. “What ... b-brand are they?”
He looks at the sidewalk, expecting the man to leave. Other pedestrians weave around them.
“Bose. But it’s not like you can afford a pair.” He obviously looks at Jungkook’s school uniform.
Jungkook winces and nods. “Still cool though.”
The man’s face remains impassive, set in that blank glare, and Jungkook bites his lip. He doesn’t know what else to say until a steady beat of music registers. It’s coming from the man’s headphones. A nice beat, rap music.
“Good music, too,” Jungkook manages to say, almost a whisper, lost in the bustle of the crowd. “Who is it?”
The man looks at him for a moment longer and then says, “Underground guy. Nothing popular.”
“Doesn’t mean that it’s not good,” Jungkook says.
The man rolls his eyes. “His name is Suga. He has a soundcloud. Just search Suga and Daegu. It’ll pull up.”
Jungkook nods. But then he knows there’s nothing else to keep them together. He wants to show the man the mark on his arm, how it’s the exact color as his hair, but he can’t, he’s too frozen, too scared of rejection.
“Study hard, kid,” he says with a wink and then turns around. He puts his headphones back on and Jungkook stares at him until he’s gone, lost in the crowd, and he staggers to a nearby chair outside of a cafe and collapses in it, his heart breaking more than a little bit.
He was so certain that the man was who his mark signified, but the man should have felt the same way. The man should have something that represented Jungkook on his own tattoo. Maybe ... fuck. Jungkook rubs at his eyes and stands up, dragging his feet all the way home.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
The only person to ever talk to him outside of the studio and he asks about headphones and music. A high school brat. A kid.
Yoongi rubs at his arm, at the mint green music note that had broken through the black smudge on his forearm. Fuck.
Two days ago, a rare but familiar pain had throbbed through his forearm, through the smudge of black, and he’d cursed something awful when it woke him up. He did not sleep often and to have such a perfect moment of rest destroyed by a stark reminder that he is always going to be alone reinforced his anger at the world and society.
He managed to fall asleep again.
And woke up a few hours later with a burst of color in the dark smudge permanently engraved on his arm. The music note had been blue, the exact color of his hair. So he dyed his hair, and the pain flared again later that day and turned the music note mint green. A quarter note. A quick little noise.
Fuck the fates, he think again.
It can’t be random. Not with this ... the last time he felt the pain in his arm, he’d met Kim Namjoon. Shortly after, Jung Hoseok stumbled into their studio and both of their lives and the next day, he’d woken up with pain again. That had been almost four years ago.
His “soulmate” tattoo had been silent ever since.
Yoongi sits in the swivel chair in front of his computers and sound equipment. He stares at his arm for a moment and then pulls the sleeve of his hoody up. He wears long sleeves all the time, to keep from seeing the dark smudge of black that covers all of his forearm. He traces a finger around the jagged edge, bumping over the thin lines of scar tissue that cut over the dark in a lighter gray color. The mint green music note is about half way on his arm, barely below the thickest scar and right above the next one. Almost like a note on a music staff.
The kid obviously approached him for a reason. He hoped the beanie had hid his hair better. Or enough. The kid noticed though. His wide eyes and stuttering proved that.
Fuck.
Yoongi wonders how old the kid is. Still in his high school uniform, wide-eyed, soft skinned. Adorable. Bright eyes. Pretty lips.
Yoongi huffs and yanks the sleeve over his arm. Spinning around to his computer, he sucks down the last bit of his iced coffee and plops the ice-filled cup onto the floor. He plugs his headphones into his work station and gets lost in his work.
The dull ache in his arm is constant through the day. It’s a different ache than the sharp pain of a cut, the incessant burn of a lit cigarette, or the dull burst from peeling off a scab. And it doesn’t itch. But it’s present. Constant.
He barely acknowledges Namjoon when he comes into the studio, sitting at his own station and getting to work. Hoseok will stumble in about eight, after his dance practice.
Yoongi lets a beat play through his headphones and he starts to write lyrics. He hates himself a little more when he writes about how hope is for those who die and love is for those who dream. Soulmates are for the worthy and pain is for those who deserve it.
A sunray in the cloudy sky.
Laughter in a quiet bar.
Torment in a lonely heart.
He stops and stares at his notebook, his mind full of the anxious face of the boy.
If he is the person this music note signifies then ...
No, he can’t think that. He isn’t. Fate is playing a cruel joke on him. It’s his own mark, his own soul, because it changed when he dyed his hair. Maybe if he dyes his hair black, the note will become part of the black smudge again.
He gets lost in poetry, words and rhymes that he’ll delete as soon as they’re out of his system, just like everyone else has deleted him.
A hand grips his shoulder in a hello. He grunts in response and hears Hoseok’s laughter through his headphones.
Almost everyone.
He lets himself smile and writes.
Some days you just have to take that leap.
Some days you just have to make that change.
Some days you just have to fake that smile.
It’s close to ten when he notices he has a message on his phone. He swipes the screen. It’s a notification from soundcloud.
Swallowing roughly, he opens it.
bangtan:
Hi! Your music is amazing! Such great beats and tones. I like your voice a lot. Who is the first voice on that 3rd cypher track with you? It doesn’t say. He’s pretty good too. I hope you have a great day. Maybe soon we’ll meet again. Jeon Jungkook. There is a link to the kid’s soundcloud, because it couldn’t possibly be anyone but him.
Facing the inevitable, he goes to listen and is met with a shaky but pretty voice. The boy sure can sing, even without training. He has covers uploaded, but part of his bio says he tries to write his own music but isn’t really sure how yet. He wants to study it in college. There’s an instrumental track of him on a guitar and tinkering on a piano followed by laughter.
And there’s a selca.
He’s not wearing a school uniform, just an oversized black sweater. Fuck, he is so cute. His skin isn’t flawless, but it looks so soft, and his lips are bright red. He has his hand up in a V sign. Shit. He’s cute, and Yoongi hates that he’s so attracted to cute.
There’s a tap on his shoulder, and Yoongi takes off a headphone.
“Cute kid, who is that?” Hoseok asks.
Yoongi shakes his head. “Someone that left a comment on my soundcloud. He linked me to his. Sings some good covers.”
Hoseok leans down and mumbles the name and then leaves, and Yoongi replaces the headphones but turns down the volume. Hoseok is on his phone, probably searching for the kid too. He shows it to Namjoon.
Namjoon’s eyes go wide and he glances at Yoongi. “We need this kid,” he says. “We need him.”
Yoongi huffs and really really wishes that the soul mark wasn’t so fucknig accurate all the time. He and Namjoon not only have similar interests but they also mostly share a brain.
Because Namjoon is right. They’ve been looking for a singer.
Yoongi sighs and replies to Jungkook’s message.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
Jungkook really really wants to beg to meet Suga again. He can’t really believe that the mint-haired man on the street, the one with the soft skin and pastel hair, is this rough-voiced, aggressive, and angry rapper. Suga. His rapper name. He’s an amazing rapper, such great flow and diction, no mumbling at all. He’s fucking brilliant, and Jungkook wants to gush and gush all of this in his message.
But he refrains. He does not want to look like a greedy, immature fan.
Suga is obviously older than him. He doesn’t know how much older, but there’s no way that someone not at least 24 or 25 can have so much music and so much experience experimenting with sound.
Jungkook debates for a long time before linking his own soundcloud. He doesn’t really share it with a lot of people, but he also wants Suga to know that he loves music too. It might be the only thing that connects them. He says nothing about the soul mark. He knows that sometimes they show up on different days. So maybe Suga doesn’t have one yet. Maybe he won’t have one at all.
He sends the message before he can talk himself out of it and then attempts to get his homework done, his exercises completed, and his brain to shut the fuck up.
It’s up to Suga now. If Suga wants to contact him.
Jungkook hopes he does.
His dreams are full of mint green clouds. He wakes up better rested than the day before. The new mark on his arm has not hurt again, so he is pretty convinced that the new mark represents Suga.
The first thing he does is check to see if he has a reply from Suga’s soundcloud. Even before he gets out of bed for anything else.
With a yelp of joy, he fumbles the buttons on the screen, drops his phone, curses, and picks it up, fumbles again, and finally sets his phone on his bed. His hands are shaking when he opens the app to check the message.
Suga_Dboy:
Hey, kid. Thanks for the compliment. I’ve worked hard to be pretty decent. The other one is Rap Monster. He has his own soundcloud, and look up JHope, too. We share a studio. You’re a pretty good singer. Here’s my cell number. Text me and you can come check it out. Min Yoongi
Cell number. His fucking phone number?
Jungkook screams at his phone screen. Stops. And then screams again. And then pinches himself to wake himself up. And then smacks himself in the face. Just in case. It doesn’t wake him up. Not a dream.
So he doesn’t say something stupid, Jungkook waits until he’s on his way to school to text Suga, Min Yoongi. Fuck.
He makes sure to be super polite.
Min Yoongi-shi! Hi! This is Jeon Jungkook. I’d love to come to your studio. I’m on my way to school right now, but if it’s okay, I will text you when I am done for the day.
With too much energy rumbling through him, he runs the rest of the way to school.
Jimin and Taehyung are out in the courtyard. Taehyung, as always, is surrounded by hopeful girls that want to be his girlfriend, and Jimin is mostly laughing at him, but also dancing, garnering his own attention. They aren’t the real kingkas of the school (that’s Taeyong and Jaehyun who are really popular because they both play sports), but they’re the artsy ones. Jimin dances, Taehyung sketches, acts, sings, and plays the saxophone, and Jungkook has music. Girls love artsy guys, apparently.
“Dudes!” Jungkook shouts in English, and both of them immediately stop what they’re doing to pay attention to them. The girls frown and move a bit farther away as Taehyung shoos them off. Jungkook is still a bit wary of the girls, mostly. He has a few that like to talk to him and bring him presents, but he never really knows what to do with that.
And he never really knows what to do with the fact that he’d rather kiss Jimin or Taehyung.
“What’s going on?” Jimin asks as he plops down on the grass.
Taehyung follows suit, and Jungkook tries not to stare at his long lean body or the way his thighs press together because his legs are crossed. Taehyung is effortlessly attractive, tall and lithe with a face like a sculpture. His hair is as long as it’s allowed to be, falling over his forehead and into his eyes. It is also a light brown, not quite blond. Again, just dark enough to not get him into trouble with the dress code of the school. He’s tall with long arms and legs and delicate fingers that play music and make Jungkook think things he shouldn’t.
And Jimin is the physical opposite. Short, compact, muscley. Where Taehyung is stunningly handsome, Jimin is boyishly cute, quick to smile, quick to laugh, but also quick to anger and quick to protect. He does contemporary dance officially and hip-hop and popping in his free time. His hair is black and soft. He’s always running his hands through it, and just once, Jungkook wants to do that too, but there’s always another thought of being pressed against him that keeps him from doing it even in a friendly way.
Jungkook clears his throat and takes off his school jacket.
There are titters from the girls nearby and Jungkook fights back a blush. He knows that other people think he’s attractive, he has a hard time seeing it himself. He falls to his knees, wincing because there are sure to be grass stains on his khakis now, and flings his arm out to the other two.
Taehyung sees the mint green smudge first, sitting up and grabbing his arm. Jimin shouts out in surprise.
“What is ... wow, how come mine isn’t in color?” Taehyung says with a pout.
Jungkook smiles and then tries to pull his arm away as Taehyung and then Jimin swipe their fingers over his tattoo in a soft caress. Their touches brush against their own marks and his skin shivers in reaction to the connection. He wonders what Yoongi will think of his tattoo. He wonders what Yoongi’s soul mark looks like.
Taehyung’s soul mark is a smattering of flowers around his hip and waist and stomach. Jungkook’s flower is a rose with pink and white petals. Jimin’s flower is a sunflower. And Jimin’s soul mark is on his thigh, right above his knee. It’s footprints that curl up around the muscle, like dance steps, over the top of swirls of colors. His and Taehyung’s feet are a pair near the middle of it over a swirl of red fading to pink. Taehyung’s foot had been a lone step for a long time before last year when Jungkook was bumped up a grade and met his two best friends.
“Do you know who it represents?” Taehyung asks.
“I’m pretty sure it’s this guy.” Jungkook takes out his phone. He still hasn’t received a reply from Min Yoongi. He shows them Suga’s soundcloud first and then his text message.
“Wow,” Jimin says, bouncing his head to the beat of the song. “He’s really good.” He starts popping his arms and waving where he sits. There’s more titters from the girls nearby.
“He has hair the exact color of this smudge and he loves music and almost ... he’s just ... I don’t know. I hope it’s him.”
“So are you going to his studio today?” Taehyung asks.
Jungkook nods. “Definitely.”
“How old is he?”
Jungkook shrugs. “I haven’t asked. Maybe twenty-five. I don’t know.”
“That’s ... kind of old.”
“Yeah. I ... I hope he’s not that old. My parents will never let me hang out with him if he is.”
“He’s a rapper with mint-green hair; your parents are going to freak the fuck out anyway.”
Jungkook shows them Rap Monster and JHope’s soundclouds too.
“I think I know this guy,” Taehyung says and points to a picture of Rap Monster. “I’m sure I’ve seen him.”
“Maybe he’s friends with Seokjin-hyung,” Jimin offers.
Taehyung hums and pulls out his phone. “I’ll ask him.”
Jungkook hasn’t ever met Seokjin. He was a senior in this school when Taehyung and Jimin were freshmen. He isn’t ever sure how the senior befriended them, but his two friends always said that Seokjin protected those that had a hard time protecting themselves. Kinda like what Taehyung and Jimin did for Jungkook when he was put into their class last year.
“Ha, I knew it. Yeah, he knows him. His name is Namjoon. One of Seokjin’s best friends. I’m going to ask him about Min Yoongi-shi.”
Jungkook wants to stop him, but he knows that he can’t. When Taehyung gets an idea in his head, it’s his only focus until success or failure.
Taehyung suddenly laughs. “Listen to this. ‘Yoongi-yah is a pain my ass. He a cuddly, dark, depressed teddy bear full of hate and emotion’.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Jimin drawls.
“Yeah, but Seokjin-hyung added a whole bunch of hearts, so that means he’s mostly teasing.”
“This is really cool,” Jimin says. “They are all such great rappers. Are you going to tell Suga about your soul mark?”
Jungkook shrugs. “I don’t ... I don’t know. What if he didn’t get one?”
“That can happen sometimes,” Taehyung says. “But it’s so rare. He did reply to you, and give you his cell phone number. Why else would he do that? If there wasn’t some connection, he probably would have counted your message as one from just another fan.”
With a sigh, Jungkook lowers his head. “I know ... but ... I can’t ...” He bites his lip and wonders if he should say what he wants to confess to his two best friends. Just because the notes on his arm say who is important to him in his life doesn’t mean he is allowed to be gay, have a boyfriend, want to kiss his best friends. The marks signify influential people in his life, not necessarily lovers and life mates.
Will they judge him for this? Will they freak out? He doesn’t want to lose them, but he also doesn’t want to hide himself. Not from them.
Jungkook takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. “It’s more than that ... it’s just. He’s so handsome, hyungs. So ... so ... I mean, he’s ... attractive in person, I mean. He’s short, but his face is so soft, and I can’t stop thinking about his mouth, and his dark eyes are ... I can’t ... The way he looks just in jeans and a hoody. He intimidating, but he’s ... so cute, and I think ...” Jungkook blushes and looks away, trying to stop the way his chest tightens and the way he expects to be rejected. “I think he really might be ... important. His note is so different.”
He dares a glance up and see a mixture of shock and awe on Jimin’s face, but Taehyung only nods at him.
“That makes sense,” Taehyung says. “If he’s meant to be your lover, then you sure as hell better hope he isn’t twenty-five. The cops will get involved, not just your parents. Should I ask Seokjin how old he is?”
Jungkook swallows and nods.
“Are you gay?” Jimin whispers, even quieter.
Jungkook meets his eyes. He knows that his face is bright red. There are tears stinging his eyes.
“Aw, Jimin,” Taehyung says. “You’re going to make him cry. Don’t worry about it, Kookie. It’s fine. Jimin-ah isn’t going to hate you for this. More sex for us.” He winks at Jungkook.
Jungkook sort of smiles. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Taehyung asks.
Jungkook chews on his lower lip, eyes still on the ground. “For being ... different. I don’t ... I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“You aren’t. You’re our Golden Maknae. You’re good at everything.”
“Except girls,” Jimin says with a smile, “and now we know why. Honestly, dongsaeng, it’s fine. As long as you’re honest with yourself and with those closest to you. If this note represents Yoongi-shi, then make sure you’re honest with him too.”
“Seokjin-hyung says he’s twenty-two.” Taehyung winces. “That’s better than twenty-five, but the cops could still get involved.
Jungkook swallows roughly.
“We won’t tell anyone about you,” Taehyung says and slaps Jimin’s arm until the other agrees. “You can trust us, dongsaeng.”
“Th-thanks, h-hyungs.”
The bell rings for the start of class, and Jungkook stays on his knees for a moment to make sure his emotions are in control. Jimin helps him up with a firm grip on his hand and a steadying hand to his shoulder. Jungkook smiles at him in thanks, but for more than the help. Jimin is still willingly touching him, and Taehyung flings his arm around Jungkook’s shoulders to lead them into class like nothing is different. They aren’t disgusted by him. It’s a relief.
Now all he has to do is be patient about hearing from Yoongi-shi. And he needs to focus. He can’t afford to spend two days in a row spacing out during school. Not this close to exams.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
Part 2: Music and a Heart
.
Pairing: Yoongi/Jungkook (BTS)
Rating: Eventual NC17
Disclaimer: They are slowly taking over my soul to the point that I almost feel like I might be able to own them.
Summary: Jeon Jungkook’s soul mark is a music staff tattooed on his forearm. Every now and then a flare of pain will burn its way up his arm and another note is added. The strangest thing about the newest mark is that it isn’t a note and it isn’t black. It’s just a smudge. Of color. Mint green in the center, fading to deep blue around the edges.
Min Yoongi’s soul mark tattoo is a smudge of dark ink with faded thin lines of white scratched into it. If he squints, the scars sort of look like a music staff. When a new burst of pain manifests as a mint green music note in the darkest spot of black, Yoongi curses fate and his inability to stay away from all things cute. Because soul marks lie, and fate is a cruel bitch from hell.
A/N: I know I said I was writing DBSK fics now, and I promise that I am. I'm working on an angel!Jaejoong fic, and he's being more human than I was expecting which means it's really long, much longer than I wanted, but hey, that's what I do best. I haven't posted in about 3 weeks, and I've typed at least 30K words on 3 different fics in that time, but life is insane for me right now. I was having withdrawals, so I had to post this even though this fic isn't done.
Part 1:
Jungkook wakes up in a cold sweat with pain on his arm. The fleeting strands of his dreams dance around his head for a little while. His heavy breaths echo in his bedroom. What was that? In his dream? Swirls of mint green and blue float in his vision.
The pain throbs on his forearm, and he shuts his eyes tight, blindly reaching for the lamp on his side table. The light flares behind his eyelids and it takes a few moments to blink before he can look down at the inside of his forearm.
From his elbow to his wrist are five straight, black lines. For as long as he can remember, there has been a treble clef near the bend of his elbow. At moments in his life, other notes have appeared on the music staff as a burst of pain and then an ache that lasts all day. They signify important people in his life. The two most recent notes are his best friends, Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung. He had skipped a grade last year and the two notes appeared right next to each other at the same moment, the day before he sat down in the classroom, stuttering and trying to disappear a little bit. But Jimin and Taehyung almost attacked him during break and forced him out of his shell.
This last year of high school has been an experience, working with being more assertive and happy, with having friends, with learning dancing to go along with his singing. Park Jimin’s note on his soul mark is a high C, and Taehyung’s is a low D.
This is his sixth mark, and its sudden appearance is no different in terms of pain, but the image ... Jungkook stares at it, waiting for it to form completely and change into a music note. It doesn’t. The pain fades. The smudge of color stays.
Color. All of his music notes are black.
“Fuck,” Jungkook whispers. He brings his arm closer to his face to make sure. He runs a finger over it, hissing at the sharp pain. The color does not smear.
There is a mint green smudge on his music staff of black, covering the three lowest lines and dipping below the staff.
“What the fuck?” He rubs it again. The color changes a little, the mint color covering all but the edge near the bottom, just a bit of bright blue.
Who does this represent? How come it is so different than the other marks on my arm? When will I meet this person? Who could it possibly belong to?
The questions fall over themselves, and Jungkook tries to fall back to sleep. His alarm is blaring at five a.m. and he is still awake. Still so confused.
But school doesn’t stop for soul marks. Jungkook huffs and gets up to get ready for his day. At least he knows that the new color and new bit of his tattoo doesn’t reflect any of his schoolmates. Maybe there’s a new transfer student. Maybe. It’s too late in the year for that though. There are only two months of school left.
Jungkook is apprehensive about this new smudge that is like a blemish on the song of his soul mark tattoo. It’s so different. What does it mean?
Unsurprisingly, he is distracted all through class. He can’t answer the teacher’s questions. TaeTae-hyung and Jimin-hyung are worried, but they don’t press when Jungkook says he’s fine, that he didn’t sleep well, that he’s going to skip study sessions to go home for a rest. But he doesn’t go home as soon as he leaves his friends. He can’t. He’s too restless. He needs something else. He heads for ... nowhere really ... just walking, up and down streets, around corners, climbing stairs and over walkways, train tracks. Music twists through his headphones, the only companion he has surrounded by so many people.
It also keeps his mind focused on something other than the mint mark on his arm that still stings a bit when his school jacket rubs on it.
With a huff, Jungkook sits on a low concrete wall, feet tapping on the sidewalk in time to the beat in his head. While the music dances in his head, he watches people scurry to wherever they need to go. He’s restless and a little hungry. He did not eat much, stomach too fluttery, nerves too tingly.
He has no idea how long he sits on that wall and watches people when something catches his eyes.
A flash of color. A flash of mint green.
Sitting up with a start and a bit of a cry, he stares, mouth open.
The man isn’t moving, just down the sidewalk a-ways, one hand on his phone, the other hand bringing an iced coffee up to his lips. Slightly pink lips. Pale skin. He’s wearing black, head to toe, and really nice headphones. A black beanie hides most of his mint-green hair. Because of that and his slightly ratting looking clothes (holey jeans, bulky jumper), other pedestrians avoid him as much as they can, sending him scathing looks that the mint-green haired man doesn’t notice.
When he starts walking, away from Jungkook, away from his life, Jungkook jumps up and hurries after him.
The headphones are high-end, covering all of his ears, probably cancelling out all the sound around him, which means that Jungkook is going to have to actually touch him to get his attention. And to talk to him. Jungkook is going to have to talk to him.
Fuck. What if he isn’t who Jungkook is supposed to meet? What if he doesn’t signify the mint mark on his arm?
But Jungkook has learned that when it comes to soul marks, there aren’t really any coincidences. And this man’s mint green hair in a sea of black-haired Koreans is not a coincidence.
He draws close enough to touch and then he can’t, following as close as he can without the other noticing. His skin is so pale, the skin on the back of his neck looks so soft. He looks young, maybe a couple years older than Jungkook, but Jungkook has no idea. What if he doesn’t want anything to do with some seventeen-year-old high school kid?
Fuck.
Jungkook whines in the back of his throat, but he has to do this. He has to!
With a shaking hand, he reaches out. But before he makes contact, he pulls his hand back and stops walking, moving out of the way from the others. He can’t do it. He can’t. Maybe ... maybe next time. But what if there isn’t a next time, what if he never sees this man again and this is his only chance?
The man is almost too far away now. All he’ll have to do is turn a corner, and Jungkook will lose him.
Panicking, he pushes away from the wall and runs after him, this time not stopping himself from gripping the other’s shoulder, and the other man flings his arm up and pushes Jungkook’s arm away, whipping around to glare at him, and Jungkook’s throat goes dry.
“What the fuck?” he demands, voice soft. Deep. Menacing. It matches his punk clothes.
Jungkook scrambles for a reply, mouth gaping like a fish. The man’s eyes narrow.
The man pulls his headphones down. “Did you need something or are you only in the habit of pissing off random strangers?”
Jungkook swallows and stammers. “H-head .. headphones. Your ... head-d-ph-phones are ... c-cool.” He mentally groans at the lame excuse, but hurries on. “What ... b-brand are they?”
He looks at the sidewalk, expecting the man to leave. Other pedestrians weave around them.
“Bose. But it’s not like you can afford a pair.” He obviously looks at Jungkook’s school uniform.
Jungkook winces and nods. “Still cool though.”
The man’s face remains impassive, set in that blank glare, and Jungkook bites his lip. He doesn’t know what else to say until a steady beat of music registers. It’s coming from the man’s headphones. A nice beat, rap music.
“Good music, too,” Jungkook manages to say, almost a whisper, lost in the bustle of the crowd. “Who is it?”
The man looks at him for a moment longer and then says, “Underground guy. Nothing popular.”
“Doesn’t mean that it’s not good,” Jungkook says.
The man rolls his eyes. “His name is Suga. He has a soundcloud. Just search Suga and Daegu. It’ll pull up.”
Jungkook nods. But then he knows there’s nothing else to keep them together. He wants to show the man the mark on his arm, how it’s the exact color as his hair, but he can’t, he’s too frozen, too scared of rejection.
“Study hard, kid,” he says with a wink and then turns around. He puts his headphones back on and Jungkook stares at him until he’s gone, lost in the crowd, and he staggers to a nearby chair outside of a cafe and collapses in it, his heart breaking more than a little bit.
He was so certain that the man was who his mark signified, but the man should have felt the same way. The man should have something that represented Jungkook on his own tattoo. Maybe ... fuck. Jungkook rubs at his eyes and stands up, dragging his feet all the way home.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
The only person to ever talk to him outside of the studio and he asks about headphones and music. A high school brat. A kid.
Yoongi rubs at his arm, at the mint green music note that had broken through the black smudge on his forearm. Fuck.
Two days ago, a rare but familiar pain had throbbed through his forearm, through the smudge of black, and he’d cursed something awful when it woke him up. He did not sleep often and to have such a perfect moment of rest destroyed by a stark reminder that he is always going to be alone reinforced his anger at the world and society.
He managed to fall asleep again.
And woke up a few hours later with a burst of color in the dark smudge permanently engraved on his arm. The music note had been blue, the exact color of his hair. So he dyed his hair, and the pain flared again later that day and turned the music note mint green. A quarter note. A quick little noise.
Fuck the fates, he think again.
It can’t be random. Not with this ... the last time he felt the pain in his arm, he’d met Kim Namjoon. Shortly after, Jung Hoseok stumbled into their studio and both of their lives and the next day, he’d woken up with pain again. That had been almost four years ago.
His “soulmate” tattoo had been silent ever since.
Yoongi sits in the swivel chair in front of his computers and sound equipment. He stares at his arm for a moment and then pulls the sleeve of his hoody up. He wears long sleeves all the time, to keep from seeing the dark smudge of black that covers all of his forearm. He traces a finger around the jagged edge, bumping over the thin lines of scar tissue that cut over the dark in a lighter gray color. The mint green music note is about half way on his arm, barely below the thickest scar and right above the next one. Almost like a note on a music staff.
The kid obviously approached him for a reason. He hoped the beanie had hid his hair better. Or enough. The kid noticed though. His wide eyes and stuttering proved that.
Fuck.
Yoongi wonders how old the kid is. Still in his high school uniform, wide-eyed, soft skinned. Adorable. Bright eyes. Pretty lips.
Yoongi huffs and yanks the sleeve over his arm. Spinning around to his computer, he sucks down the last bit of his iced coffee and plops the ice-filled cup onto the floor. He plugs his headphones into his work station and gets lost in his work.
The dull ache in his arm is constant through the day. It’s a different ache than the sharp pain of a cut, the incessant burn of a lit cigarette, or the dull burst from peeling off a scab. And it doesn’t itch. But it’s present. Constant.
He barely acknowledges Namjoon when he comes into the studio, sitting at his own station and getting to work. Hoseok will stumble in about eight, after his dance practice.
Yoongi lets a beat play through his headphones and he starts to write lyrics. He hates himself a little more when he writes about how hope is for those who die and love is for those who dream. Soulmates are for the worthy and pain is for those who deserve it.
A sunray in the cloudy sky.
Laughter in a quiet bar.
Torment in a lonely heart.
He stops and stares at his notebook, his mind full of the anxious face of the boy.
If he is the person this music note signifies then ...
No, he can’t think that. He isn’t. Fate is playing a cruel joke on him. It’s his own mark, his own soul, because it changed when he dyed his hair. Maybe if he dyes his hair black, the note will become part of the black smudge again.
He gets lost in poetry, words and rhymes that he’ll delete as soon as they’re out of his system, just like everyone else has deleted him.
A hand grips his shoulder in a hello. He grunts in response and hears Hoseok’s laughter through his headphones.
Almost everyone.
He lets himself smile and writes.
Some days you just have to take that leap.
Some days you just have to make that change.
Some days you just have to fake that smile.
It’s close to ten when he notices he has a message on his phone. He swipes the screen. It’s a notification from soundcloud.
Swallowing roughly, he opens it.
bangtan:
Hi! Your music is amazing! Such great beats and tones. I like your voice a lot. Who is the first voice on that 3rd cypher track with you? It doesn’t say. He’s pretty good too. I hope you have a great day. Maybe soon we’ll meet again. Jeon Jungkook. There is a link to the kid’s soundcloud, because it couldn’t possibly be anyone but him.
Facing the inevitable, he goes to listen and is met with a shaky but pretty voice. The boy sure can sing, even without training. He has covers uploaded, but part of his bio says he tries to write his own music but isn’t really sure how yet. He wants to study it in college. There’s an instrumental track of him on a guitar and tinkering on a piano followed by laughter.
And there’s a selca.
He’s not wearing a school uniform, just an oversized black sweater. Fuck, he is so cute. His skin isn’t flawless, but it looks so soft, and his lips are bright red. He has his hand up in a V sign. Shit. He’s cute, and Yoongi hates that he’s so attracted to cute.
There’s a tap on his shoulder, and Yoongi takes off a headphone.
“Cute kid, who is that?” Hoseok asks.
Yoongi shakes his head. “Someone that left a comment on my soundcloud. He linked me to his. Sings some good covers.”
Hoseok leans down and mumbles the name and then leaves, and Yoongi replaces the headphones but turns down the volume. Hoseok is on his phone, probably searching for the kid too. He shows it to Namjoon.
Namjoon’s eyes go wide and he glances at Yoongi. “We need this kid,” he says. “We need him.”
Yoongi huffs and really really wishes that the soul mark wasn’t so fucknig accurate all the time. He and Namjoon not only have similar interests but they also mostly share a brain.
Because Namjoon is right. They’ve been looking for a singer.
Yoongi sighs and replies to Jungkook’s message.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
Jungkook really really wants to beg to meet Suga again. He can’t really believe that the mint-haired man on the street, the one with the soft skin and pastel hair, is this rough-voiced, aggressive, and angry rapper. Suga. His rapper name. He’s an amazing rapper, such great flow and diction, no mumbling at all. He’s fucking brilliant, and Jungkook wants to gush and gush all of this in his message.
But he refrains. He does not want to look like a greedy, immature fan.
Suga is obviously older than him. He doesn’t know how much older, but there’s no way that someone not at least 24 or 25 can have so much music and so much experience experimenting with sound.
Jungkook debates for a long time before linking his own soundcloud. He doesn’t really share it with a lot of people, but he also wants Suga to know that he loves music too. It might be the only thing that connects them. He says nothing about the soul mark. He knows that sometimes they show up on different days. So maybe Suga doesn’t have one yet. Maybe he won’t have one at all.
He sends the message before he can talk himself out of it and then attempts to get his homework done, his exercises completed, and his brain to shut the fuck up.
It’s up to Suga now. If Suga wants to contact him.
Jungkook hopes he does.
His dreams are full of mint green clouds. He wakes up better rested than the day before. The new mark on his arm has not hurt again, so he is pretty convinced that the new mark represents Suga.
The first thing he does is check to see if he has a reply from Suga’s soundcloud. Even before he gets out of bed for anything else.
With a yelp of joy, he fumbles the buttons on the screen, drops his phone, curses, and picks it up, fumbles again, and finally sets his phone on his bed. His hands are shaking when he opens the app to check the message.
Suga_Dboy:
Hey, kid. Thanks for the compliment. I’ve worked hard to be pretty decent. The other one is Rap Monster. He has his own soundcloud, and look up JHope, too. We share a studio. You’re a pretty good singer. Here’s my cell number. Text me and you can come check it out. Min Yoongi
Cell number. His fucking phone number?
Jungkook screams at his phone screen. Stops. And then screams again. And then pinches himself to wake himself up. And then smacks himself in the face. Just in case. It doesn’t wake him up. Not a dream.
So he doesn’t say something stupid, Jungkook waits until he’s on his way to school to text Suga, Min Yoongi. Fuck.
He makes sure to be super polite.
Min Yoongi-shi! Hi! This is Jeon Jungkook. I’d love to come to your studio. I’m on my way to school right now, but if it’s okay, I will text you when I am done for the day.
With too much energy rumbling through him, he runs the rest of the way to school.
Jimin and Taehyung are out in the courtyard. Taehyung, as always, is surrounded by hopeful girls that want to be his girlfriend, and Jimin is mostly laughing at him, but also dancing, garnering his own attention. They aren’t the real kingkas of the school (that’s Taeyong and Jaehyun who are really popular because they both play sports), but they’re the artsy ones. Jimin dances, Taehyung sketches, acts, sings, and plays the saxophone, and Jungkook has music. Girls love artsy guys, apparently.
“Dudes!” Jungkook shouts in English, and both of them immediately stop what they’re doing to pay attention to them. The girls frown and move a bit farther away as Taehyung shoos them off. Jungkook is still a bit wary of the girls, mostly. He has a few that like to talk to him and bring him presents, but he never really knows what to do with that.
And he never really knows what to do with the fact that he’d rather kiss Jimin or Taehyung.
“What’s going on?” Jimin asks as he plops down on the grass.
Taehyung follows suit, and Jungkook tries not to stare at his long lean body or the way his thighs press together because his legs are crossed. Taehyung is effortlessly attractive, tall and lithe with a face like a sculpture. His hair is as long as it’s allowed to be, falling over his forehead and into his eyes. It is also a light brown, not quite blond. Again, just dark enough to not get him into trouble with the dress code of the school. He’s tall with long arms and legs and delicate fingers that play music and make Jungkook think things he shouldn’t.
And Jimin is the physical opposite. Short, compact, muscley. Where Taehyung is stunningly handsome, Jimin is boyishly cute, quick to smile, quick to laugh, but also quick to anger and quick to protect. He does contemporary dance officially and hip-hop and popping in his free time. His hair is black and soft. He’s always running his hands through it, and just once, Jungkook wants to do that too, but there’s always another thought of being pressed against him that keeps him from doing it even in a friendly way.
Jungkook clears his throat and takes off his school jacket.
There are titters from the girls nearby and Jungkook fights back a blush. He knows that other people think he’s attractive, he has a hard time seeing it himself. He falls to his knees, wincing because there are sure to be grass stains on his khakis now, and flings his arm out to the other two.
Taehyung sees the mint green smudge first, sitting up and grabbing his arm. Jimin shouts out in surprise.
“What is ... wow, how come mine isn’t in color?” Taehyung says with a pout.
Jungkook smiles and then tries to pull his arm away as Taehyung and then Jimin swipe their fingers over his tattoo in a soft caress. Their touches brush against their own marks and his skin shivers in reaction to the connection. He wonders what Yoongi will think of his tattoo. He wonders what Yoongi’s soul mark looks like.
Taehyung’s soul mark is a smattering of flowers around his hip and waist and stomach. Jungkook’s flower is a rose with pink and white petals. Jimin’s flower is a sunflower. And Jimin’s soul mark is on his thigh, right above his knee. It’s footprints that curl up around the muscle, like dance steps, over the top of swirls of colors. His and Taehyung’s feet are a pair near the middle of it over a swirl of red fading to pink. Taehyung’s foot had been a lone step for a long time before last year when Jungkook was bumped up a grade and met his two best friends.
“Do you know who it represents?” Taehyung asks.
“I’m pretty sure it’s this guy.” Jungkook takes out his phone. He still hasn’t received a reply from Min Yoongi. He shows them Suga’s soundcloud first and then his text message.
“Wow,” Jimin says, bouncing his head to the beat of the song. “He’s really good.” He starts popping his arms and waving where he sits. There’s more titters from the girls nearby.
“He has hair the exact color of this smudge and he loves music and almost ... he’s just ... I don’t know. I hope it’s him.”
“So are you going to his studio today?” Taehyung asks.
Jungkook nods. “Definitely.”
“How old is he?”
Jungkook shrugs. “I haven’t asked. Maybe twenty-five. I don’t know.”
“That’s ... kind of old.”
“Yeah. I ... I hope he’s not that old. My parents will never let me hang out with him if he is.”
“He’s a rapper with mint-green hair; your parents are going to freak the fuck out anyway.”
Jungkook shows them Rap Monster and JHope’s soundclouds too.
“I think I know this guy,” Taehyung says and points to a picture of Rap Monster. “I’m sure I’ve seen him.”
“Maybe he’s friends with Seokjin-hyung,” Jimin offers.
Taehyung hums and pulls out his phone. “I’ll ask him.”
Jungkook hasn’t ever met Seokjin. He was a senior in this school when Taehyung and Jimin were freshmen. He isn’t ever sure how the senior befriended them, but his two friends always said that Seokjin protected those that had a hard time protecting themselves. Kinda like what Taehyung and Jimin did for Jungkook when he was put into their class last year.
“Ha, I knew it. Yeah, he knows him. His name is Namjoon. One of Seokjin’s best friends. I’m going to ask him about Min Yoongi-shi.”
Jungkook wants to stop him, but he knows that he can’t. When Taehyung gets an idea in his head, it’s his only focus until success or failure.
Taehyung suddenly laughs. “Listen to this. ‘Yoongi-yah is a pain my ass. He a cuddly, dark, depressed teddy bear full of hate and emotion’.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Jimin drawls.
“Yeah, but Seokjin-hyung added a whole bunch of hearts, so that means he’s mostly teasing.”
“This is really cool,” Jimin says. “They are all such great rappers. Are you going to tell Suga about your soul mark?”
Jungkook shrugs. “I don’t ... I don’t know. What if he didn’t get one?”
“That can happen sometimes,” Taehyung says. “But it’s so rare. He did reply to you, and give you his cell phone number. Why else would he do that? If there wasn’t some connection, he probably would have counted your message as one from just another fan.”
With a sigh, Jungkook lowers his head. “I know ... but ... I can’t ...” He bites his lip and wonders if he should say what he wants to confess to his two best friends. Just because the notes on his arm say who is important to him in his life doesn’t mean he is allowed to be gay, have a boyfriend, want to kiss his best friends. The marks signify influential people in his life, not necessarily lovers and life mates.
Will they judge him for this? Will they freak out? He doesn’t want to lose them, but he also doesn’t want to hide himself. Not from them.
Jungkook takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. “It’s more than that ... it’s just. He’s so handsome, hyungs. So ... so ... I mean, he’s ... attractive in person, I mean. He’s short, but his face is so soft, and I can’t stop thinking about his mouth, and his dark eyes are ... I can’t ... The way he looks just in jeans and a hoody. He intimidating, but he’s ... so cute, and I think ...” Jungkook blushes and looks away, trying to stop the way his chest tightens and the way he expects to be rejected. “I think he really might be ... important. His note is so different.”
He dares a glance up and see a mixture of shock and awe on Jimin’s face, but Taehyung only nods at him.
“That makes sense,” Taehyung says. “If he’s meant to be your lover, then you sure as hell better hope he isn’t twenty-five. The cops will get involved, not just your parents. Should I ask Seokjin how old he is?”
Jungkook swallows and nods.
“Are you gay?” Jimin whispers, even quieter.
Jungkook meets his eyes. He knows that his face is bright red. There are tears stinging his eyes.
“Aw, Jimin,” Taehyung says. “You’re going to make him cry. Don’t worry about it, Kookie. It’s fine. Jimin-ah isn’t going to hate you for this. More sex for us.” He winks at Jungkook.
Jungkook sort of smiles. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Taehyung asks.
Jungkook chews on his lower lip, eyes still on the ground. “For being ... different. I don’t ... I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“You aren’t. You’re our Golden Maknae. You’re good at everything.”
“Except girls,” Jimin says with a smile, “and now we know why. Honestly, dongsaeng, it’s fine. As long as you’re honest with yourself and with those closest to you. If this note represents Yoongi-shi, then make sure you’re honest with him too.”
“Seokjin-hyung says he’s twenty-two.” Taehyung winces. “That’s better than twenty-five, but the cops could still get involved.
Jungkook swallows roughly.
“We won’t tell anyone about you,” Taehyung says and slaps Jimin’s arm until the other agrees. “You can trust us, dongsaeng.”
“Th-thanks, h-hyungs.”
The bell rings for the start of class, and Jungkook stays on his knees for a moment to make sure his emotions are in control. Jimin helps him up with a firm grip on his hand and a steadying hand to his shoulder. Jungkook smiles at him in thanks, but for more than the help. Jimin is still willingly touching him, and Taehyung flings his arm around Jungkook’s shoulders to lead them into class like nothing is different. They aren’t disgusted by him. It’s a relief.
Now all he has to do is be patient about hearing from Yoongi-shi. And he needs to focus. He can’t afford to spend two days in a row spacing out during school. Not this close to exams.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
Part 2: Music and a Heart
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