Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a way, this was bound to happen.
The universe never seems to give Sieun a break—always tossing something new, something chaotic, into his already fucked-up routine. His new normal was school, cram school, being dragged around by the group of weirdos that decided they were his friends now, and visiting Suho in the hospital. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was stable. Cyclical. Familiar.
And on some days, there was an anomaly.
Keum Seongje.

He doesn’t know when it started—when his well-structured, quietly miserable routine got interrupted by him.
Keum Seongje was a menace. A walking glitch in his life. He showed up randomly and ruined perfectly average days. Found Sieun mid-fight, post-fight, pre-fight. Sometimes he was already there, watching like it was some kind of theatre performance.
And the worst part?
That bastard never stopped smirking. Never stopped laughing. Whether he was bleeding or making someone else bleed—he found it funny. Like the world was one big joke and he was the only one in on it.
Sieun hated it. Hated the way Seongje’s stupid deep chuckle crawled under his skin. Hated that it always echoed in his head, long after they’d gone their separate ways. God knows how many times he fantasized about smashing that smirk right off his smug face.

Which brings us to now.

A punch here, a punch there. An attempt at stabbing with a pen—Seongje catches it and throws it aside like it's nothing. Most of Sieun’s hits don’t land, but when they do?
Power. Satisfaction. Short-lived.
Seongje always hits back harder. Always with that damn smile.
Fuck him.

How did it even start?

It started with Juntae.
Of course it did.

Some assholes from Ganghak decided to use him as a punching bag. Left him in an alley, half-conscious, bruised to hell.
Sieun found him there. Alone. Bleeding. Shaking.
And yeah—he felt rage. Not panic. Not fear. Rage.
Juntae couldn’t remember who exactly did it. Just that they were from Ganghak. That was enough. That was all Sieun needed to hear.

He took Juntae home. Cleaned his wounds. Said nothing.
Didn’t need to.

Then he left, fists clenched. Heart racing. Eyes burning.

If Seongje didn’t do it himself, he knew who did.
And if Ganghak wanted to play dirty, then so could Eunjang.

Now? Sieun was making sure Seongje got the message.

——

“Tell me why you’re punching me again?”

Seongje’s voice is all amusement, laid out on the concrete with blood at the corner of his mouth. Laughing. Always fucking laughing.

Sieun doesn’t answer. Just lands another blow to his face.

It connects—but not for long.
A kick to the stomach sends Sieun flying back, knocking the air clean out of him.

“I know you love me and all,” Seongje drawls, brushing dust off his shirt like this is casual. “Can’t go too long without seeing me, huh? But coming to my school to stalk me? A little desperate, don’t you think?”

“Shut the fuck up before I dislocate that jaw for real,” Sieun spits, staggering to his feet.

And God, that only makes Seongje laugh harder. Like he’s delighted.
There’s something unhinged about it. Something sharp and smug and far too entertained.

To be fair, Seongje still doesn’t know why Sieun showed up to beat the shit out of him. But who cares? His life is boring. Repetitive. This? This is drama. And if drama shows up at his doorstep in the form of a pissed-off Eunjang weirdo, then sure. He’ll take it.

“So,” Seongje grins, dodging another swing. “Are you gonna actually tell me why you’re losing your mind over me, or do I get to keep guessing?”

“You don’t know?”
Sieun’s eyes narrow. His voice drops. Dangerous now.
“One of your people beat the shit out of Juntae.”

The smirk falters. Just a bit.
All of this—for that ugly little friend?

“See, I don’t think that’s a big enough reason to come all the way to Ganghak and—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Another punch. Seongje catches his wrist mid-swing.

"Hey, please don’t go for my face, it’s too beautiful."

Sieun hates this. Hates how fine Seongje can be with this situation, like it doesn’t affect him at all, like none of it’s serious. Like Sieun could beat him bloody and the bastard would still be smirking through the blood. And maybe, yeah, maybe he’s being dramatic, but Seongje being all smug about everything makes him want to hurl himself off a building. Why won’t this bastard’s expression budge? Why does nothing touch him? Sieun knows he’s not exactly the poster boy for emotional depth either, but he’s not obnoxious about it—he’s quiet, neutral, contained. Seongje? Seongje is all teeth and laughter and that godawful smirk, like the whole world is some comedy show only he gets the punchline to. Even in the middle of a beatdown, even when everything should be dead serious, he’s laughing like it’s funny, like Sieun’s anger is some kind of joke. And fuck, that just makes him so mad.

With his other free hand he swings another attempt at his face and this one gladly lands right where Sieun wants it too and god this gives him so much satisfaction. However that awful smirk never falls off the assholes face, and to a make matters worse Seongje smiles more, smiles wider, grins like he’s the devil and disguise as he swipes the blood off his lip, “hey you little bastard, I told you not to punch my face didn’t I?” 

Sieun smiles a bit before his expression soothes back to his usual stoicism, courtesy of making Seongje mad; he feels like he’s accomplished something, that seeing Seongje finally be riled up for their fight has lit a fire inside of him that was dimmed this whole time in their fight. It only made him want to punch Seongje more, use him as a punching bag for his pent up rage. 

“Oh? Is that a smile I see? Is punching me such an amusement for our Sieun now?”

“Shut up”

“I’m just saying, if receiving punches is all it takes for me to see your pretty smile then be my guest, punch me more” 

Has this guy actually gone mad? Did that punch affect his brain? Why the hell was he flirting with him in the middle of a fight. 

“Did your comatose boyfriend ever see that smile of yours?” 

…

The words hang there. Loud. Sharp. Cruel.

Everything stops.

Sieun doesn’t move for a second. Not even to breathe. It’s like something cracks in the air around them—thick, electric, choking.

“What did you just say?”

“Oh come on,” Seongje says, still grinning, but it’s tighter now. Eyes darker. “You think I haven’t noticed? All those hospital visits? All that energy for someone who’s not even conscious the whole time? Pretty loyal for a guy who doesn’t talk back.”

Sieun’s fist clenches so hard it’s shaking. His jaw locks. It’s not just rage now—it’s something else too. Hurt, betrayal, guilt. That bastard touched the one thing he wasn’t supposed to touch.

“Say that again,” Sieun breathes, stepping forward, deadly calm. “I dare you.”

Seongje doesn’t back down. He never backs down. If anything, he steps in too—close enough to feel the heat off Sieun’s skin, to see the fury burning in his eyes.

“You get that worked up over him,” Seongje says, voice low now, more serious. “And yet you come here. To me. Fists swinging. Heart racing. So tell me, Sieun—who’s really on your mind?”

That’s it.

Sieun swings. No hesitation. All of it—every ounce of rage, grief, confusion—poured into the hit.

It lands.

And in that exact moment, something burns.

White-hot. Right beneath the skin. On both of them.

Sieun stumbles back. Seongje clutches his shoulder. They both look down—and there it is.

The mark.

Glowing. Burning. Matching.

Fucking soulmarks.

Sieun feels like vomiting, he keeps rubbing the skin of his shoulder to make it disappear. What the fuck what the fuck what the actual fuck is happening?! 

“Punch me” Sieun says to Seongje. He hasn’t looked at Seongje ever since he felt the mark burn on his shoulders but the moment he lifts his head up he’s caught off guard. That smug smile that stays plastered on Seongje’s face is gone. And now all that remains is an unreadable expression that Sieun can't understand. Was this the thing that hit Seongje the most? More painful than a hit of a punch? Huh.

“What?” Seongje says as he comes out of his daze. 

“Punch me and wake me up from this nightmare” Sieun says as he clutches his shoulder hard, nails digging in where the mark lies. 

Seongje eyes that other boys mark carefully, it’s bleeding because Sieun keeps digging his nails into it, probably hoping to scratch it off, fuck him. He doesn’t want this either, he doesn’t give a fuck about soulmates and soul marks, never did and never would but what does make him mad is the fact that the universe always decides to fuck his life up for fun one more time. He doesn’t hate Sieun but this? Sieun as his soulmate? It’s horrifying, it makes him nauseous, he can’t smile anymore because finally the joke’s over, there’s no more punchline, no more amusing shit to make him laugh at, now it’s just hell. 

Seongje punches him.

Hard — right on the mouth.

But not hard enough to break his teeth.

Because even now, even in the middle of all this chaos, he knows his limits with Sieun. And maybe that limit’s been carved into him since the first day they met. Like the universe had been whispering it to him all along: this one.

This bastard you can’t hurt too much.

This bastard you can’t run from.

Because no matter how much you fight it, no matter how much blood spills between you—

He’s yours.

And that?

That makes Seongje want to scream.

Sieun lays there on the ground, one hand still clutching his burning soulmark and the other hand resting on his bleeding mouth. He looks at the blue sky, it’s such a nice and sunny day, a day where his friends would drag him to play basketball with. Where Juntae would bug him to study at the park, like being surrounded by sunshine would make calculus more tolerable. So what the hell was he doing here? He had no one to blame. Maybe if he hadn’t come here to beat Seongje up….maybe they would’ve never found each others soulmarks, maybe they would’ve stayed strangers in the matter of soulmates, fuck. Why did he have to do this to himself? Was this karma? Was this a way for the universe to tell him that he was wrong for fighting with Seongje even when he knew that Seongje didn’t do anything to hurt Juntae?

And under his fingers—there’s something else. Something more than the burn.
It’s like a pulse that’s not his own. A flicker of pain that doesn't belong to him. A distant echo of Seongje's knuckles throbbing.
Sieun flinches. It’s not just the mark that’s reacting. It’s him. Them. Both of them.
The soulmark isn’t just glowing—it’s connected.

No, he brought up Suho, he made this worse, they were going to stop fighting, he was going to stop punching and just admit that Seongje really didn’t have any part in ambushing Juntae but he just had to bring up old wounds. A wound that was still so fresh that something changed when he brought Suho up. 

Now that he’s still, heart slowing, chest burning—it hits him. That last punch he landed? It didn’t feel right. It felt like punching himself.

“I hate you,” Sieun mutters, dragging himself up from the pavement.

He looks around, only to realize—
Seongje is already gone.

Chapter Text

He left. He had to. Because no matter how hard headed and foul mouth he may be….he had nothing to say to Sieun at that moment, nor did he want to. Or maybe he just couldn’t because he didn’t have it in him to fight. He felt so utterly disgusting because he was vulnerable, and he hated showing his vulnerability to anybody, especially Sieun. 

Why couldn’t he just be free of everything? He wanted to be free of all the things he was tied to; his identity, his past, his present, the union and quite literally his fucked up life. And now that same fucked up life throws another restrain that’s going to hold him back and tie him to another whole person. That person being Sieun of all people, a pissy mouth, expressionless freak that had no business being his soulmate in the first place. Also he can’t even begin to think as to why his soulmate is a guy….he’s pretty sure he’s very straight. 

He’s just going let it go.

Seongje drags his hoodie tighter over his head as he walks, pushing past alleyways, trying to disappear. He was going to forget anything of any sort happened today because that’s what he was good at; acting like nothing was wrong, like nothing ever affected him. He was going to get back to laughing his way out of situations, especially this one. 

“Yo Seongje man, where the hell have you been?” A guy from the union calls out his name from an alley. 

He ignores the guy because right now he didn’t want to deal with anyone. 

He keeps walking away from the alley but the guy catches up beside him, “helloooo are you deaf or are you just being a dick now?” 

He ignores him once again. 

But this time it ticks something within the guy and he pushes Seongje back. What the fuck was this guy’s problem? 

“I’m talking to you, man. Don’t just walk off like some fake-ass leader.”

Well fuck. Today just wasn’t his day now was it? He grabs the arm that pushed him away and twists it until the guy can be heard yelling to let it go. Then right after letting it go he grabs the guy by the collar and slams him against the wall; blowing a punch to his stomach. The guys winded, there’s no doubt, and there’s no more reason to keep punching him but the rage from before hits him out of nowhere; a punch on his side, a punch of his mouth, a slamming of his body against the wall as soon as the guy tries reaching for him. He hates everything, hates everyone. He blanks out, and the next moment many arms are trying to drag his hand away from the guy's neck. Apparently his anger had resulted in him almost choking the guy to death, what am I doing?

A sudden throb pulses across his left shoulder, sharp and piercing like a nerve lit on fire. He flinches. No one touched him there. Not during the fight. But the pain is too real—too targeted to ignore.

His breath catches.

That’s where the mark is.

Their mark.

And if he felt that—

That means Sieun did too.

Every blow. Every strike. Every time Seongje threw his fists like they were the only thing keeping him upright—Sieun was there too. Feeling it. Silently.

It makes him sick.

His fists tremble. He stumbles back, chest heaving.

The crowd yells. Someone swears.

Seongje doesn’t hear any of it.

All he hears is the way his own heartbeat hammers in his skull—and somewhere buried under it, the echo of that one voice he’s trying like hell to forget—“I hate you.”

Good.

He hates him too.

——

He’s walking straight through busy streets filled with people laughing and going on and about with their life. He’s jealous of the people that live blissfully unaware off the fucked-up things that happen on a daily basis in his life. But, nonetheless, he has no one to blame but himself.  

Walking in auto mode, he ends up stopping right in front of a mini arcade—a bit dingy, a bit creepy, and it smells; smells like rust, teenage sweat, and fried food. Its neon sign flickers on and off, and he can see the games inside look like they haven’t had maintenance in a long time.

He spots the punching game.
Great.
He needed that—better than punching real people. Or maybe not. Maybe he just needed to know something.

He slams in one token and punches the bag. The hit’s strong—so strong he beats whatever weak score someone set before him. But it doesn’t feel like enough.

The first punch was sloppy. Not because he’s weak—because he’s furious. Because his shoulder still burns like it’s wired to someone else’s nerve endings.

The machine lights up. 728. Not enough.
He hits again. Harder.

803. Still not enough.

If he feels it, does Sieun feel it too? 

The machine jerks with every slam of his fist. The bag swings, squeaks, resets, and he goes again.
His shoulder screams. His brain screams louder.

Good. Let it hurt.
Let him feel it if he could. Let them both feel it.
Let that cold, unreadable freak know what it’s like to be tied to him.
To suffer for it.

His punches get more ragged. His stance more unsteady. He loses count of how many times he’s abused the machine. His knuckles sting. His breath is shallow.
His shoulder—
It's on fire.

He swears under his breath, forehead pressing to the arcade machine like he’s about to fall over.
He doesn’t even know if he has it in him to keep punching anymore. He’s almost out of tokens, and he sure as hell doesn’t feel like spending more money—so he calls it a day and heads to the grimy arcade bathroom before leaving.

The washroom is disgusting, but whatever. He makes do.

Just as he’s about to leave, he hears hushed voices—low, breathy. Yeah, they’re definitely making out. Great. Another highlight to add to his day.

“We can’t be doing this. I have a girlfriend—and you do too,” a guy says. The voice is coming from the closet near the washroom. Seriously? Out of everywhere, they chose here?”

“Who cares! You’re my soulmate so why would I be with her? And why would you be with her knowing I’m your soulmate and not her” 

The word soulmate makes Seongje halt in his track, great fuck, why did he even stop to hear this? 

“I can’t just break up with her, I love her….”

“You can’t love someone who’s not written for you in the books, you can’t go against the concepts of soulmates because one way or another that person will always come to be yours and you will come back to me.”

Seongje doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

The ache in his shoulder pulses again—sharp, nagging.
He rubs at it absently.
Sieun probably feels that too.
Shit.

He hadn’t thought about that before—not really.
Not until now, not until he hears strangers talk about soulmarks like they’re gravity—inescapable, suffocating.
One way or another that person will always come to be yours.

Is that what’s happening to him?
Is that why he punched the machine until his hands shook and the mark stung like it was screaming at him?
Was Sieun—
…Was he hurting right now too?

“Fuck off dude I don’t like you” 

“I’ll break up with my girlfriend, please”

“What has gotten into you? You were never that interested in me before, hell we weren’t even the best of friends but the moment you discover our matching marks somehow you’re more interested in me now?”

“I can’t help it! It’s just the nature of humans to be obsessed with the ideas of soulmarks and soulmates, I thought I was going to be with my girlfriend too, ignore the whole idea of soulmarks but when I saw yours matching mine something clicked in me ... .I can’t help it—I want you. I want you so much you can’t imagine.”

“Fuck dude…I…”

“You don’t have to break up with your girlfriend now, give it some time to think it through, I want you if you want me, I’ll always be waiting for you”

“Fine…I um will think about it, let’s just leave now”

Seongje leaves the hallway before they could catch him standing outside eavesdropping on their conversation. He knew he should’ve left before but the moment he heard them bring up soulmates he stopped, it’s like his body forced him to stay and listen to whatever they were about to say. He doesn’t know how to feel about it all. But weirdly—it helps. Knowing other people are also fighting the soulmark thing. Trying to claw their way through it, not let it control them.

Everyone’s got their demons. Maybe soulmarks just come with theirs built in.

He steps outside the arcade. The air smells like wet pavement and rotten food. He is about to shove his hands in his pocket and disappear somewhere, maybe keep walking until his feet bleed, maybe go somewhere no one would find him. He thinks about it, would anyone care if he were to disappear one day? Would anyone come looking for him? Would he care?

The name he doesn’t even want to say in his head. The name of the guy that made his day the worst it's been in years. 

Fuck you.

He hopes to never see him again—

“Sieun buy me this please” a voice says. 

What the fuck.

Seongje looks around for where that voice is coming from and he spots them. Spots him.

With a girl?

With a fucking girl wrapped around his arms? 

They’re across the street standing near a cosmetic shop, about to go in probably with the way that girl keeps dragging her locked in arm with Sieun. 

Who the hell is she?

He can’t seem to recognize her, never seen her before, but she’s definitely Sieun’s friend because he seems to be way too comfortable with the way she’s holding on to his arm and leaning against his body like she belongs there. Like the spot was made for her. 

She leans in against Sieun far too close for Seongje to remain calm and whispers something in his ear which makes the other ... .smile?

Sieun’s fucking smiling.

Seongje freezes. The arcade noise fades behind him. All he can hear is the hammering in his chest and the static rush in his ears.

He’s baffled, he can’t fathom how Sieun can act so normal with the things that have happened today, does it not bother him? Is Seongje weak for making such a big deal out of all of this when Sieun can just go and act like it’s a normal day for him and that he’s figured everything out already? Does it not bother him that he’s tied to someone he hates by a glowing fucking mark on his shoulder.

Seongje’s own shoulder sears. He hopes Sieun can also feel this burning pain. Hoping it would remind him that he can’t be an emotionless freak about this situation, that he has to face it too like Seongje is doing….

Without thinking, Seongje yanks his hood down over his face, low enough to cover most of it. His heart’s in his throat now, pounding too loud.

He tells himself he’s just going to walk away.
He should walk away.
But his feet betray him.

He crosses the street fast, just as the pair disappear inside the cosmetic shop. And then—because he’s weak, because he’s spiraling, because he has to know—he pushes open the door and walks in right after them.

The too-sweet smell hits him instantly. Artificial and cloying. It clings to his skin like regret.

He ducks his head low, sticks to the shelves. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Only that he's here. That his soulmark's burning.
And that he needs to see how far Sieun will go pretending none of this matters. Maybe he just wanted to see for himself. Maybe he thought if he saw it up close, it would feel less like a punch to the gut.

But then—

He sees them.
Sees him.
Sieun, standing too close to that girl, her hand still looped through his arm like it belongs there. Like it ever could.
And then—he laughs.
That soft, easy kind of laugh, the one that doesn’t belong to someone who’s been seared with the same burning mark on his shoulder.

Something snaps in Seongje.

The rush of noise fades. The ache in his shoulder dulls. And all that frantic buzzing in his head just… dies.

You’re laughing?

He stares at Sieun, blank now.
No anger. No ache. Just cold.
Like someone flipped a switch inside him.

Of course he’s laughing. Of course none of this touches him the way it touches Seongje.
Who gave you the right to look that happy? To walk around like this is nothing?

He scoffs under his breath, quiet and sharp. What was he even doing here? Following him like some obsessive idiot, hiding in corners like he doesn’t have better things to do. Like he gives a damn.

He adjusts his hood again, turns without a sound, and walks out.

No glance back.
No heat in his veins.
Just that smug detachment he wears like armor.

Screw this. He’s not worth the headache.

Chapter Text

He felt eyes on him the moment they stepped into the store.
He told himself he was just being paranoid—that it was nothing.
But then he saw someone who suspiciously looked like him.

Was it Seongje?
And if so, why was he here?

Sieun didn’t give it much thought because Yeongi kept trying to show him some cosmetic item he couldn’t care less about. She kept throwing stupid jokes here and there, and some of them made him laugh or smile—and doing that reminded him that maybe everything was going to be fine.

He had called Yeongi because she was the only person he could think of after finding out about the soulmark.
He knew she would listen. Knew she’d help him through whatever mess he was feeling.
They hadn’t met up much since he transferred to Eunjang, but despite that, she agreed to see him the moment he called. And that made him feel loved. Even if he’d never admit that to her.

When they met up, she started dragging him anywhere and everywhere—probably because she could tell he wasn’t ready to talk yet.
Maybe going to different places, different shops, would help distract him from whatever was weighing on him.
And to be honest—it was helping.
She kept bringing up old times, which made him feel nostalgic.

It was nice.
Talking about that short stretch of time when everything was fine. When everyone was fine.

Then he heard the chime of the door ring, and saw him leave.

So it was Seongje.
Was he following them?
Why the hell was he here? And right when he was finally starting to forget him.

“Sieun?”  Yeongi touched his arm gently, pulling him back into the moment.

“Oh. Hm?” He blinked at her.

“Are you okay? Do you know him?”

He hesitated. He thought about brushing it off. But if they were going to talk later anyway, what was the point in hiding it now?

“It’s him.”

“Him as in…”
Yeongi looked at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah.”
He nodded, exhaling.

“What was he doing here?”

“I really don’t know. But… let’s go.”

Yeongi got the hint—maybe now was the right time to unpack all of this.
She grabbed his arm again and dragged him out to a nearby park.

It was empty. Quiet. Dimly lit.
Perfect for talking about feelings.

She knew Sieun was emotionally constipated—so she was ready to wring all of his thoughts out before he shoved them aside to rot somewhere in the back of his mind.

——

The park was quiet. Empty. The kind of quiet that made your own thoughts sound louder.

Yeongi sat on the bench first, leaned back like she wasn’t freezing, like she wasn’t waiting for him to say something. She didn’t look at him, just stared at the sky like it had answers. Maybe she was giving him time.

Sieun stayed standing for a while, kicking at a patch of dead grass. His shoulder itched — burned, almost — and he pressed his hand over it through the sleeve.

Eventually, he sat down.

“…So,” she said, her voice soft. “You gonna say it out loud now or what?”

He stared ahead. The playground in the distance looked like it hadn’t been touched in weeks.

“I thought I already did.”

“You texted. That’s not the same.”

He didn’t answer. A breeze pushed through the trees, cold and biting. His fingers dug into his jacket pocket.

“I don’t know where to start,” he muttered.

“Then don’t. Just talk.”

“I found my soulmate and he’s the worst person ever” 

“How so?”

“He fights people for fun,” Sieun says, chuckling bitterly as he looks at the night sky. Fuck, this is so sick. This whole situation was sick. “He thinks everything and everyone is a fucking joke, he doesn’t care for anyone nor himself so I don’t even know how someone like him can even have a soulmate”

Yeongi stares at him, doesn’t say anything because she feels like there’s more coming, that maybe intruding in the conversation right now may just halt it from continuing further so she doesn’t say anything, just waits for him to say more. 

“He fights like there’s no tomorrow, he doesn’t care about what’s going to happen to him or anyone around him, he acts like he has nine lives or something and shit that pisses me off,” 

“Maybe he just needs someone to care about him?”

Yeongi has never met this guy, but from the way Sieun’s ranting, it sounds like he’s carrying a lot of repressed shit—someone who might just need a person in his life to care enough to pull him back onto the right path. And besides, Yeongi’s always believed that people can change, if they’re given the chance.

“So what, now it’s my problem? Like because he’s my soulmate that I need to care about him and bring him back on the right path?” Yeongi can see Sieun is getting frustrated but this was good, this was him showing emotions and talking and yelling it out and she wasn’t going to stop it. 

“No it’s not your responsibility but do you think that maybe now since he knows he’s found his soulmate, he’ll start caring about himself and maybe look after himself and you?”

“Ha?! It’s Seongje. Does he look like the type to care about anyone?” He’s selfish, he’s rude, he’s arrogant and he has a big ego. He punches like there won’t be any consequences, like nothing that comes after matters to him, he laughs in people’s face when he’s getting punched, he’ll laugh when he punches people? He never stops laughing, I don’t understand why he thinks everything’s funny, I’ve never seen him show any fucking emotions before yet you’re telling me he’ll start caring about his actions and possibly me?” 

“We need to give everyone a chance to change Sieun ... .also how did he react when he found out about the soulmark, did he laugh then too?”

Sieun went quiet, no, he didn’t laugh, which Sieun didn’t think much of that time but now that he’s revisiting his memory from then, it’s weird. 

“He didn’t laugh….he was quiet and before I could say anything he was gone.” 

“See? So he was processing that then too, he didn’t laugh then because he probably realized it wasn’t a joke.”

“But I don’t care…I just don’t want him to be soulmate” 

“Then you don’t need to care? I promise you no one is forcing you to be with him” Yeongi says as she rubs her hand on Sieun’s back, “you can be with me if you want” she then adds with a wink. 

Sieun sighs softly before giving her a small smile, talking to her really made him feel so much better.

“I know no one’s forcing me to be with him but isn’t the universe just kind of telling me that he’s my soulmate and that I will someday be with him?”

“Not necessarily. A lot of people go against the whole concept of soulmates, right? Like, we’ve all kind of realized you don’t have to be with your soulmate just because the universe says so. Sometimes, just knowing who your soulmate is—it’s just another thing you check off in life. Like, ‘Okay cool, I found them,’ and that’s it. You don’t have to act on it.

And sometimes, both people agree to not be anything. Sometimes one person gets hurt, yeah, but if someone doesn’t want to be with you, you can’t force it. That’s just how it is.

So… do you think you and Seongje would ever mutually agree to just… not being anything to each other?” Yeongi takes a shaky breath, she hadn’t realized how much she had said until she stopped, maybe deep down she loved the ideas of soulmates and loved analyzing this, always wondering who her soulmate would be and where they are right now. Would they want to be with her?

“He…doesn’t look like the type to agree with the whole soulmark soulmate shit”

“How about you?”

“I think I made it clear I don’t like him”

“Yeah but what about soulmates? You don’t like the concept of soulmates?”

Sieun goes silent. Did he ever want Suho to be his soulmate?

“I don’t know ... .I just know that I don’t think I could ever accept Seongje as my soulmate ever. 

“Okay that’s acceptable, but that means you guys need to talk it through, talk it out, tell him that this won’t mean anything to you, and if your guess is correct then it might not mean anything to him either”

Sieun dreaded even thinking about that conversation. “Hey Seongje, so... you know how we’re soulmates? Yeah, well—it doesn’t mean anything to me. Thanks.” 

Yeongi sighs as she notices Sieun going deep in thought about something, she has an inkling about what it could be; he was definitely going to avoid talking to Seongje. 

“Sieun, you have to talk about it to him okay? You can’t shut him off and keep this pushed aside because even though he may be a bad person, he has the right to know about what you think about this, okay?” 

“I will talk to him, just not now”

She pulls him into a side hug, rubbing his shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

Chapter Text

A week had gone by since everything had happened between him and Seongje. He’s wondering what he's been up to, all though he may have a guess with the way his soulmark keeps throbbing with pain like someone keeps punching him over and over again. 

This meant only one thing, Seongje was busy with his usual ordeals: getting into fights. 

Maybe Seongje didn’t know that he could feel his pain too, or maybe he was doing it on purpose—letting other people punch him on the spot where the mark lied again and again in a way to protest against the idea of them being soulmates. 

It wasn’t fair to both of them but at least he wasn’t the one acting like a baby and purposely hurting himself so the other could feel pain. He wasn’t that petty.

“Bro you’re actually so lucky you found your soulmate”

Sieun never cares for what his classmates are talking about around him but the word soulmate automatically grabs his attention. Pulls him away from his previous train of thought— which if being honest; his old train of thoughts and the new upcoming ones are basically about the same person. 

“Am I really tho?” The guy—Jiwon if Sieun remembers correctly -- says with a sigh. 

“Yes man, what the hell? Do you even know that the chances of finding your actual soulmate is very low?” His friend replies. 

“Yeah some people go crazy trying to find their soulmate because they’re too obsessed with the idea of it.” Another guy adds.

But he doesn’t think finding your soulmate is a lucky thing — more like the universe’s way of punishing him. Because out of all the low odds, he somehow found his soulmate… and it just had to be Seongje.

“Yo but listen, finding your soulmate just means I’m going to be tied to a person my entire life,” Jiwon says in a frustrated tone. 

“You don’t get it man”

“No I really do! I want to date whoever I want, I want to date many people but now that I know who my soulmate is, I feel too guilty to be doing that now!

“Maybe you’re going to change for the better then” his friend replies to him while the others fall into laughter around him, laughing like their friend’s misery was a joke. 

He agreed with Jiwon, he didn’t think he would ever be agreeing with one of his more notorious known classmates, but Jiwon had a fair point. He didn’t care for romance nor wanting a soulmate, but the idea of being tied to someone forever made him feel nauseous. 

“Settle down, class,” the teacher says as he enters the room. The classroom is loud and chaotic, with everyone anywhere but their own desks.

“So, as you guys may know, there’s a multi-school community service field trip coming up soon,” he adds in a tired tone. He clearly looks like he doesn’t want to be here.

“By soon , do you mean in four days?” a student calls from the back. “Also, what schools are coming?”

“Ahem—yes, well, it is in four days, correct. And... we don’t exactly know which school is coming until the day of.”

“Teach, why are you telling us so late?” another student asks with a grin. Everyone already knows the answer: the teacher forgot.

“Okay, okay, shut up now—do you want to go or not?”

The students boo. No one seems excited for a field trip that’s just an excuse for free labor.

“Fine then. You guys don’t care where we’re going, right? You’ll just have to find out when we get there.”

Silence. No one even bothers to argue. It’s that kind of day.

Juntae however did care so he raised his hand to get the teachers attention, “yes Juntae?”

Juntae raised his hand. “I may like to know where we’re going, sir. Also, maybe not telling us is like kidnapping us.”

Everyone went silent.

Now why would he say that, Sieun thought, side-eyeing Juntae. Seriously.

“I assure you I have no interest in kidnapping any of you,” the teacher said flatly. “But since you’re so eager to know, we’re going to a beach.”

The silence was heavier this time—then someone murmured the word beach , and like clockwork, the room exploded.

Screams of excitement echoed, desks shook from sudden movement, and even Baku slammed his hand on the desk with a grin. “A beach?! Finally, something decent from this school.”

Gotak leaned toward Sieun and said under his breath, “Bet the place is crawling with trash though.”

Sieun didn’t answer. He was still hung up on the word beach . Something about it—it felt too open, too vulnerable. Too exposed.

The teacher, as usual, looked like he was questioning every life decision that led him to this job. “Don’t forget,” he warned, “this is a community service field trip. That beach? It used to be a tourist hotspot until it got trashed and abandoned. So don’t think you’re going there to vacation.”

“So we’re just cleaning it up for free?” someone groaned.

“You’ll get volunteer hours,” the teacher offered, like it was gold.

More booing. No one cared. Except maybe Juntae, who still looked excited for some reason.

Sieun forced himself to stay indifferent, but his stomach tightened. A trip like this—out of the school, somewhere far—meant he might see Seongje again. The schools wouldn’t announce who was paired with who until they arrived. What if Seongje’s school was there the same day?

And what if he didn’t show?

He could already imagine it: the soulmark flaring with pain while he’s forced to pick up rotting seaweed and trash, all under the sun. Maybe Seongje would be there, maybe not. Knowing him, he’d probably show up just to be a menace—or worse, pretend Sieun doesn’t exist. Not that he cared. If Seongje wanted to pretend they weren’t soulmarked, that was fine by him. The less drama, the better. He wasn’t going to waste his time thinking about someone who made a joke out of everything, even fate.

“Can we swim in the water?” someone called out.

The teacher actually paused to consider this like it was a complex moral question. “Yeah. You can.”

The class cheered again.

Hotel. Free food. Swimming. Even Baku and Gotak were high-fiving each other across the aisle.

But Sieun just sat there, quiet.

Three days. Two nights. If he’s there… there’s no way we’ll avoid each other for that long. Not with this mark burning through my skin every time he breathes wrong. Not when I feel every bruise he takes like it’s my own.

He looked down at his desk, letting the noise fade into background static. Maybe he should be excited. Everyone else was. But all he could feel was that same dull throb crawling under his skin, like a warning.

——

Friday comes too fast.

Sieun hates that it does. Hates how sleep barely touched him, how he spent the whole night staring at the ceiling with that same tight knot lodged in his chest.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s scared.

Scared of what it’ll mean if the other school is Ganghak. Scared of what’ll happen if Seongje’s there.

Or worse—if he’s not. Wait no, why would it be worse?

How was he even supposed to avoid him if they were stuck breathing the same beach air for three days straight?

He slings his duffel over his shoulder and slams the front door harder than he means to.

The school parking lot is already chaos.

Juntae’s voice cuts through the morning like a siren: “Put your bags under the bus or I swear I’ll throw them into traffic!”

He’s not bluffing. He’s already kicking someone’s suitcase into the open undercarriage while yelling at Baku.

“Did you bring a whole mini fridge?”

“It’s just snacks. Chill,” Baku mutters, dragging a duffel that looks like it’s packed for exile.

Gotak’s half-asleep, hoodie up, earbuds in, sipping boxed coffee like he regrets every decision that led him here.

“Sieun,” Juntae yells when he spots him. “You’re late.”

“I’m early.”

“Late in spirit.”

Sieun rolls his eyes but tosses his bag into the pile.

The bus looms ahead, sunlight bouncing off its windows. He boards without waiting for the others. Heads halfway back and takes a window seat. Presses his forehead to the glass hoping to take a quick nap and just relax before whatever comes to happen later on. 

He had to be mentally ready for this. Couldn’t leave his guard down. 

“Pass the chips, I'm hungry!” Baku yells at the others passing chips to everyone.

“Wait your turn!”

“Give it here I’ll hand them out!” Baku says as he steals the chip bag from one of their classmates. 

“This is going to be one long ride,” Juntae says with a soft sigh as he sits down beside Sieun. 

“Mm” he says before trying to go back to sleep despite the anxiety trying to keep him awake. 

——

The bus ride is long. The hum of the road dulls the chaos around him. City turns to country, high-rises fading into low hills and stretches of green.

The noise in the bus doesn't die down — if anything, it grows louder. Someone blasts music from a phone speaker. Someone else is arguing about whether they packed enough sunscreen. None of it touches Sieun.

His eyes are shut, forehead still pressed to the window, but his thoughts are sharp.

Every time the bus hits a bump, his shoulder throbs — like a warning. Or a promise.

He keeps telling himself it’s the bag. The heat. Just nerves.

But the mark doesn’t care about excuses. It just burns.

“Dude, you okay?” Juntae says, nudging him slightly. “You’ve been stiff as a corpse since we got on.”

“Trying to sleep,” Sieun mutters without opening his eyes.

“Yeah, good luck with  that .” Juntae gestures toward the front where Baku is shouting for more chips and someone’s arguing about sharing the aux cord. “This is going to be a two-hour test of patience.”

Sieun lets out a sound that might be a laugh or might be a sigh. It’s hard to tell.

Juntae doesn’t press. He shifts in his seat and crams more snacks into his mouth.

The bus rolls on.

The bus finally slows, crunching over gravel and sand as they reach the beach lot. The students shuffle awake, stretch, complain. The teachers are already yelling instructions before the bus doors even open.

Sieun’s legs feel too heavy as he stands. His throat is dry.

They’re here.

He steps off the bus and gets hit with the sharp scent of saltwater and seaweed, a breeze that’s too cold for how warm the sun is. Sand stretches out toward the horizon, dotted with bags of trash, rusted bins, and empty tourist stalls from another era.

“Line up!” one of the teachers shouts. “We’ll be giving out instructions and room keys once the other school arrives”

Once.

Not if.

Sieun glances at the empty lot next to their bus. Nothing yet. His stomach knots tighter.

Baku throws an arm over his shoulders like this is summer camp. “Bet we finish faster than them at cleaning the beach. Wanna make it a competition?”

Sieun shrugs him off. “No.”

“Well someone’s in a good mood,” Baku mutters, but wanders off.

The wait drags. Minutes feel like hours. The air tastes like nerves.

Then—
Another bus turns down the road.

It kicks up dust as it pulls in, engine growling like a threat. Doors hiss open.

Sieun doesn't breathe.

One by one, the other students step out — different uniforms, different chatter, the same teenage noise. He tries not to scan the crowd too obviously.

But his shoulder flares.

And then, like clockwork, he sees him.

Seongje.

Same smirk, same messy hair, same effortless presence like he owns the air around him. He’s laughing at something one of his friends says, but his gaze drifts — lands on Sieun like a spark catching dry kindling.

He grins.

Not kind. Not soft.

Smug .

Sieun’s jaw tightens.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

Seongje doesn’t look surprised. He doesn’t look shocked, or confused, or even mildly inconvenienced.

He just looks amused.

Like the universe handed him a front-row ticket to a trainwreck, and he’s settling in with popcorn already.

He says something to the boy next to him — tall, sharp-faced, probably one of his close friends — and they both laugh like Sieun’s existence is some kind of private joke.

“Alright, everyone!” one of the teachers calls out, clipboard in hand. “Now that both schools are here, we’ll be handing out your room keys. Please choose your roommates wisely — there will be four of you per room.”

Groans ripple through the crowd.

While the teacher speaks, Sieun can feel Seongje still watching him.

Not looking anymore — watching.
Like this was a game he planned to win, and Sieun had just stepped onto the board.

He doesn’t need to glance over to know it. He can feel it — a silent pressure dragging heat up his neck and tightening across his shoulders, the way you feel a flame before it touches skin.

He dares a quick glance anyway.

Seongje hasn’t moved.
Still standing among his group like he owns the sand under his feet. Still grinning like Sieun’s discomfort is dessert.

Sieun’s jaw ticks. He looks away.

“Remember,” the teacher continues, “you must give me four names per room to receive your key. Don’t make me chase you down — you have to come to me. ”

Someone calls out, “Teacher, when can we swim?”

“Not anytime soon!” she fires back. “You’re here to clean first — not to have fun.”

Groans rise again. Somewhere behind him, someone mutters something about “slave labor.”

“You have one hour to find your roommates, get your key, freshen up, and meet back here by twelve sharp! Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the crowd grumbles.

The moment the teacher finishes, people scatter like dropped marbles.

Baku wastes no time. He throws an arm around Sieun’s shoulders and starts dragging him toward the front. “Come on, we’re locking it in. You, me, Gotak, and Juntae — dream team.”

Sieun lets himself be pulled along without a word, but his steps are heavier than they should be.
He doesn’t look back.

But he doesn’t have to.

He knows Seongje’s still watching.
And worse — enjoying it.

Chapter Text

The sun is higher now, casting long shadows across the sand, and Sieun can’t tell if it’s the heat or the nerves making his palms damp.

He stands with Juntae, Baku, and Gotak, their room keys shoved into pockets, bags dumped in the hotel room. Everyone’s been herded back to the main lot, where the teachers are yelling over each other, clipboard in hand.

“Alright, listen up! We’ve split you into clean-up groups. One from our school, one from theirs. Mixed on purpose, so don’t complain!”

Too late. The grumbling has already started.

Sieun stares down at the sand, at the ragged curve of his own shadow. He doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want to see which group Seongje’s been put in.

Please don’t say his name. Please not the same—

“Group C!” the teacher yells. “Sieun, Gotak, Minji, Daewon, Seongje, Minseok!”

Time skips a beat.

Sieun’s throat tightens.

He lifts his head just enough to look across the crowd.

And there he is.

Seongje steps forward like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. Like it’s part of some plan. He doesn’t even glance at the teacher. His gaze is already locked on Sieun — sharp, unreadable, that same amused curve to his lips.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just walks over, slow and confident, as if the sand parts just for him.

Sieun forces his legs to move. Meets the group by the rusted garbage bins stacked with old gloves and plastic bags. Gotak gives him a look — that half-suspicious, half-sleepy kind of look he always gives when something’s weird — but doesn’t say anything. Just goes to grab gloves with Minseok as they both go off leaving him alone with…..him. 

“Gloves on, bags out, let’s go,” the teacher barks before moving to the next group.

No one moves right away.

Then Seongje breaks the silence.

“Wow,” he says, voice light, almost impressed. “Of all the people in all the schools, I get you.”

Sieun doesn’t answer.

Minji and Daewon glance between them, clearly sensing something weird, but they don’t ask. They just start grabbing gloves.

Seongje steps closer. Not close enough to touch — just close enough to dig in under the skin.

“You look good, Sieun. Still brooding, I see.”

Sieun grips the edge of the bin a little too tight.

“Don’t talk to me.”

Seongje hums. “That’s gonna be hard, considering we’re in the same group.”

“You don’t have to make it worse.”

“I’m not making anything worse,” Seongje says with a tilted smile. “I’m just saying hi. You know, like normal people do when they see someone they haven’t talked to since—” He cuts himself off. Tilts his head. “Oh. Right.”

Sieun’s jaw clenches.

His shoulder burns like a live wire.

He yanks a pair of gloves on and grabs a trash bag, heading toward the dunes without another word.

Seongje watches him go, smirk still pinned in place.

Like he’s winning.

Like this is all just fun.

Like he doesn’t feel it too.

——

The plastic bag crinkles loudly in his hand as he trudges through the sand, eyes locked on every piece of trash like it personally wronged him. Bottle caps. Shattered flip-flops. A sun-bleached tourist pamphlet from five years ago. He yanks it all up like it might make this day end faster.

Behind him, footsteps crunch along the dunes.

“Careful,” Seongje says from way too close behind. “That bottle cap might fight back.”

Sieun doesn’t turn around. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

“Sure,” Seongje says easily. “But none of them look at me like they want to stab me with a soda can tab. It’s charming.”

Sieun throws the next handful of trash into his bag a little harder than necessary.

They’re supposed to split up — cover more ground. But Seongje stays close, never straying more than a few steps away. Not helping much either. Mostly tossing in the occasional wrapper with all the smug grace of someone who knows exactly how much they’re getting under your skin.

“Y’know,” Seongje says after a long silence, “I’m not running away from this like you are.”

Sieun stops in his tracks, turns to stare at him. How was he running away? Seongje was the one who disappeared that day. What else could they do but run?

“What do you want me to do?” Sieun’s voice is low, almost pleading, as if begging Seongje to just leave him alone.

Seongje smirks again. Damn him.

“I just want to see how far you can go with acting normal,” he says, shrugging while picking another wrapper from the sand.

“Don’t.”

Seongje tilts his head, smiling. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t mess with me. You know what I can do.”

“But will you?”

Silence stretches between them, the wind sweeping sand over their shoes.

Sieun looks away first, hating every second of this. It feels like a game—one he’s always losing and Seongje always wins.

“What are you so scared of?” Seongje breaks the silence again, unable to hold back.

“...You.”

Seongje stops. The space behind Sieun goes quiet.

Sieun glances back. No sign of Seongje.

He feels the weight of his words hit harder than he expected. Was he too harsh? Did he mean it? What was he thinking?

Seongje’s face is unreadable—but Sieun knows. That answer stings. No one should hear that from their soulmate. So why was he being so cruel?

Before Seongje’s mask starts slipping, he snaps back to the moment. He can’t let Sieun see any cracks.

He lets out a dark laugh — sharp, almost bitter.

“So, you’re scared of me,” he says, voice low and challenging. “That’s… cute.”

“Fuck you,” Sieun spits, looking away. Why did he even bother? A small comment like that probably didn’t faze Seongje at all. He was probably used to people being scared of him.

Seongje chuckles, the sound low and slightly amused. “Maybe sooner or later, you’ll want to be.”

“I’m leaving,” Sieun says, stepping away.

“Aw, are you mad, dear soulmate of mine?” Seongje’s voice drips with mock sweetness.

Sieun spun around, trash bag in hand. Without thinking, he slammed it against Seongje’s chest.

“Oof, aren’t you in a pissy mood today?” Seongje’s grin widened, amused by the attack.

“Shut the fuck up!” Sieun snapped, his pulse quickening. Why the hell did this guy get under his skin so badly? No — why did he let him?

Before Sieun could throw another jab, Seongje caught his wrist with a surprising strength, his grip firm but not cruel. He pulled Sieun closer, their faces inches apart.

“Careful now,” Seongje murmured, his breath warm against Sieun’s cheek. “I might start thinking you like me.”

Sieun’s heart hammered. He wanted to shove him away — and yet part of him froze, caught in the heat of that moment, the sharp tension coiling tighter between them.

He used his other free arm to punch him but Seongje caught his wrist mid-swing, his grip firm but not cruel. His grin stretched wider—half teasing, half something darker.

“Aw, you’re really this mad? I’m flattered,” he murmured, stepping in close enough that Sieun could see the way his eyes flickered with amusement.

Sieun jerked his arm, but Seongje’s hold didn’t loosen. Instead, he pulled Sieun slightly forward—close enough their breaths mingled.

“You know,” Seongje whispered, voice low and teasing, “it’s a shame you have to hide behind all that anger. You’re more interesting when you’re honest.”

Sieun swallowed, heart pounding, caught off guard by the moment.

Seongje’s fingers brushed a small piece of leaf from Sieun’s hair—a slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver down his spine.

What was happening to him?

The other hadn’t even done anything intense, yet his heart felt like it was trying to escape his chest. Was he going to die young from a heart attack?

“I… don’t care what you think of me,” Sieun muttered, jerking out of Seongje’s hold. He turned his face away, afraid of what might show if he didn’t.

He didn’t wait to hear a reply. Instead, he turned to pick up the trash he’d thrown—but a hand caught his arm before he could take a step.

He barely had time to react before his back hit a solid chest, and for a moment, he forgot it was Seongje.

Warm breath hit the shell of his ear, and his body went rigid.

“Believe it or not,” Seongje murmured, voice low and too close, “I’m going to make you care.”

And just like that, he pushed Sieun away with the same force he’d pulled him in—leaving him standing there, breath caught somewhere between fury and something dangerously close to desire.

And once again, before he could react in any other way, Seongje left. Once again. 

——

Night came fast. 

Everyone had done their fair share of cleaning and were all clearly exhausted yet happy to be done for the day because that meant free dinner and dunking in the water. 

The teachers were doing attendance for the day to make sure everyone had come back from their cleaning sites before they could allow them free time for the rest of the day. 

“Sieun” the teacher calls his name.

“Here” he whispers, tired and ready to go to bed—that is if Baku lets him.

“Someone seems tired” a voice says, a bit too close to his ear. He doesn’t even have to look to know who the voice belongs to, also nobody would dare come this close to him other than Seongje. 

He tries choosing the high road and just ignores the other.

“I can give you a back massage if you want, y’know, to ease your pain” Sieun is once again baffled at the things Seongje utters out that stupid mouth but chooses not to react. Also, he doesn’t have to look at Seongje to know that he might be grinning or probably winking at him. 

“Oh booo, it’s not nice ignoring your elders!”

Sieun knows Seongje’s hoping to get some or any reaction out of him but he stays silent. Also, who cared if Seongje was probably older than him. Not me, obviously.

“Is my dear soulmate angry at me? Is it because I didn’t hug you back at the beach properly?”

This was light work, this wasn’t affecting Sieun at all. Remember, all he had to do was ignore whatever bullshit Seongje spewed for a bit then he would retreat to his room for some much-needed sleep. 

“Oh, I get it now. You are mad because I left you turned on?”

Sieun walked away before the teacher could finish talking, nope, he was leaving this conversation right now.

“So that was it? Is my touch to you so precious that it left you wanting more? I mean I am attractive and all, but a simple touch did all that? Aren't you a bit desperate dear Sieun?”

Why wouldn’t he leave? What could he possibly do to shut him up and make him leave him alone?

No.

Was he crazy?

“You know what?” Halting his steps, he turns around to face the other. 

“Yes babe?” Seongje says with that nasty mouth of his, always fucking grinning too. But maybe he could wipe that grin off his face. 

Sieun didn’t feel like this was going to be the right course of action, but he was ready to do anything to make Seongje leave. 

But maybe he was simply crazy. 

No punch, no hit, no stabbing, 

“Fuck you” he says before he pulls Seongje by his collar as he tips toes to kiss him. This ought to shut him up. 

Just a kiss.

It was a small and quick smashing of lips, nothing big, nothing grand but God, the fire that ignited in him when it happened…yeah, he was going to push that deep down to the hives of his mind and forget. 

He pulled back and could not dare to look at Seongje. 

Fuck this was going to bite him back in his ass. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

Oh.

So maybe Seongje really just spoke out his ass and didn’t ever mean anything. 

“Why the hell would you kiss me?”

“To stop you from talking?”

Was that the right thing to say? Also leave. 

He was supposed to leave the moment he kissed Seongje, so why couldn’t he leave? Why wouldn’t his feet move him away?! 

“You’re fucking crazy” 

“Uh huh, and you’re such a sweet angel now, right?” Sieun was getting mad, why was Seongje acting like the world ended for him? Wasn’t he used to whoring away?

“Well did I ever physically harass you by kissing you?”

“No—“Sieun didn’t even know if he had anything to say, anything right at least, “but mentally you’re always harassing me, also why are you acting like this is such a big deal? Are you not used to…”

“What? What am I used to? Say it.”

“Never-mind” Sieun was better than that. He thinks. 

“No, now I want to hear it, say what you have to say”

“I have nothing to say to you anymore” 

“Yeah, but you can kiss me, right?”

“How- how does that even make sense?” Was Seongje losing it? 

“Fuck off” Seongje says as he pushes Sieun away to the side as he walks away.

Huh.

So that really worked. 

Chapter Text

Sieun didn’t move.

Not when the sound of Seongje’s footsteps faded into the wind.

Not when his phone was buzzing with texts from his friends trying to invite him for a swim.

Not even when the chill in the air made goosebumps crawl up his arms.

He just stood there.

It really shut him up. 

But it also made the other angry for some unknown reason. Sieun really didn’t think it was a big deal….right?

So why could he still hear the echo of “Fuck off” buzz in his ears.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to shut him up. It was supposed to end the conversation. It was supposed to be a stupid, impulsive, meaningless thing.
So why did it feel like he’d just set something on fire with no way to put it out?

His chest ached. Not like pain—just a heaviness, like something rotten sitting there, refusing to move.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve like that would undo it somehow.
God, what the hell did I just do?

No, he didn’t do anything wrong. Tell yourself that, yeah. No point in thinking about something that’s already done and can’t be undone. All he could do now was retreat to his hotel room for some much needed sleep. Food could wait, thoughts could wait. 

——

His room was empty once he had arrived.

Finally something nice. 

He was glad his friends were all out busy splashing and swimming in the beach—despite their attempts of trying to bring him too, he didn’t go because he was just too tired to swim. 

He found the bed he’d chosen for himself when they first came into the room. The bed was comfy, soft, and clean, and any normal tired person would’ve instantly fallen asleep but he wasn’t just tired; he was restless—mind racing with thoughts revolving around a certain someone he couldn’t get out of his head.

He puts his head down on the pillow. It’s soft, almost too soft. But sleep doesn’t come, no matter how tight he shuts his eyes. His brain won’t shut down. It’s swarming with thoughts about the previous event that he was responsible for. 

Maybe this was karma once again—no sleep for him, as a consequence of forcing a kiss on Seongje.

He still didn’t think he was in the wrong.

…

Well maybe he was a bit wrong but why was it even such a big deal to the other? That wasn’t even a full on kiss, just a quick smashing of lips together—not like they made out or something so why the hell was Seongje overreacting like it was his first kiss or something. Surely he’s kissed tons of girls before, no? 

And if so then he shouldn’t be the one mad, it was his first kiss not Seongje’s, he should be the one mad that he had to give it away to someone he didn’t even like as a friend. 

No, this didn’t count, this was a quick and simple peck—it would’ve been so much different if they had made out—

Abort.

Why did he put himself into these situations? Why the hell did he have to think about the kiss, now all he could think about is how the kiss could’ve gone differently. They could’ve made out and…

His skin prickled, like it knew what kind of thoughts were running through his head before he even admitted them.

Fuck. This was so bad. 

He did not need to be having these thoughts right now, and these pictures running through his head were just making his mood worse. 

And making his body hot.

…

But that was a normal reaction, after all he was still a teenager with high and crazy hormones. His thighs shifted restlessly under the blanket. Even the fabric felt too much against his skin.

Now and then he could become like this too.

But for who he was getting like this for was the real question and he already knew and hated this answer. 

This was so embarrassing. He’s supposed to hate Seongje—hate him because he always ruins things and now all he can think about is Seongje ruining him.

Okay—woah. His chest felt tight. This was getting out of control.

Tossing and turning around didn’t help, throwing away the blanket didn’t help, flipping the pillow didn’t help. Nothing helped.

And now to make matters worse his mark was throbbing again—almost like it was laughing at his misery right now. 

He flinched when he heard the knock. Shit. His heart was still racing, and now his face was probably red too.

“Knock knock” a voice spoke.

It was Gotak. In his wet shorts that were dripping with water and making the carpet wet. “

“Oh hi” he says looking away, he was sure his face was red right now. 

“Are you okay? You seem a bit out of it today” the other says to him and it’s a bit funny. 

“M’ fine, just tired and trying to sleep cause I couldn’t last night” His voice came out rough, like it had been dragged across gravel. He didn’t meet Gotak’s eyes.

GoTak looked at Sieun’s closed eyes, he felt something was definitely not okay with his friend. He didn’t want to push but he wanted to try atleast. And he might have been observing him a bit too much to have a guess of what could be wrong with him. 

“Why couldn’t you sleep last night?” He asked yet no reply came, he was going to try again, “is something on your mind, or someone?” He emphasized the last part to make sure Sieun would get the hint that maybe he knew, maybe. 

And that did do something because now Sieun had his eyes open and was staring at the ceiling while Gotak stood silently waiting for a reply. 

“I’m not thinking about anyone” he replies, vaguely.

“So it is someone”

“What? I just said it’s no one”

Gotak narrows his eyes, should he just straight out ask it? Fuck it he was going to.

“Are you thinking about Seongje?”

That caught him off guard, he got up this time. His pulse kicked up against his neck. His mouth felt dry.

“Why— why do you think I’m thinking about him?” He tried to remain calm.

“Because it looked like something was going on between you two at the beach back there—plus Baku also noticed it!

And you know if Baku notices something then there’s definitely something happening because that idiot remained ignorant to most things.”

Sieun didn’t know what to say, there was really nothing happening between them but he didn’t want to lie to his friends—

No, bad idea. 

“I promise there will never be anything between us”

“I didn’t ask if anything will happen, though,” Gotak said. “I asked if something is happening.
Which means... you’ve thought about something happening. No?”

“What….” What could he even say to that? Also when did Gotak become so observant?

“And you know—I won’t mind it, like yeah I hate that jerk and he’s the worst but don’t let my opinions about him change whatever you think about him, who knows, maybe he might be good to you.”

“No, this is stupid, I don’t need your blessing because there’s absolutely nothing happening” 

“Okay…” Sieun could see that his friend wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t care because that was the truth. “If you want to talk to anyone you could talk to me, or like even Juntae because you're probably closer to him than us”

Sieun gives him a small smile, “sure, thanks”

“Okay anywaysss, I was just here for some snacks, y’know swimming just makes you feel so hungry”

“Uh-huh, have fun”

And with that Gotak left; hands full of chips they’d sneaked for the trip.

He tried sleeping again. Failed again. His mood soured further, frustration bubbling under his skin after Gotak’s little intrusion.

It was obvious he wasn’t getting any sleep any time soon so he decided to just get up and do something else. Maybe he could go for a walk, but he didn’t know where. 

He shouldn’t go to the beach, no, that was a bad idea all around cause if his friends found him near the beach they would a hundred percent drag him in the water and he did not want that.

Where else could he go? 

Then it hit him, when exploring the hotel with his friends he saw an open door that led to the roof. Yes, the rooftop was exactly the type of place where he could rest his mind.

He got up from his bed and threw on a hoodie before exiting his room. It was good he remembered where exactly the rooftop door was because the hotel they were staying at was huge, pretty decent for a hotel that could barely stay in business without its tourists—he thought.

——

The rooftop was quiet in a way Sieun rarely found anywhere else.

Sunlight spilled gold across the concrete, the horizon melting into hues of orange and violet. The air held a warm breeze, brushing over his face as he sat on the ledge, his legs hanging over the edge. The city below moved like a dream, far away and muffled, a hum of existence he could ignore for once.

For once, he wasn't thinking about Seongje.

His shoulders had begun to relax. The tension in his spine, always curled tight since the soulmark appeared, had begun to unravel in the fading light.

Peace.

And then—

Bang.

The rooftop door slammed open.

The sound shattered everything.

Footsteps echoed, slow and familiar.

Sieun didn’t even look. He bit the inside of his cheek and exhaled through his nose. Whoever it was, they could mind their business. He wasn’t moving. Not tonight.

Then he caught it.
A smell—sharp, bitter. Cigarette smoke.

His gut twisted. He didn’t have to look. He already knew.

Still, something made him turn. Slowly.

And there he was.

Seongje.

Leaning against the wall, the cigarette hanging loose between his fingers, his gaze locked on Sieun like this was all some joke.

“What the hell,” Seongje muttered, squinting. “Why is it always you?”

Sieun turned back to the sunset with a sigh. “I was here first.”

“Okay. So you can leave first.”

Sieun didn’t move. “Why should I leave?”

“I want to smoke in peace.”

Sieun rolled his eyes. “You’re going to die faster if you keep that up.”

A low, dry chuckle came from behind him. When Sieun looked again, Seongje was staring straight at him. There was something behind the smirk—something twisted and a little broken.

“Well,” he said softly, “won’t you like that?”

Sieun’s throat tightened.

He blinked. “What?”

Seongje didn’t answer. He looked away, the cigarette now forgotten between his fingers. His shoulders had tensed ever so slightly.

Sieun stood up. He didn’t know why. He didn’t want to comfort him—he didn’t even like him. But the way he’d said it… it wasn’t sarcasm. It sounded like a quiet confession.

“I don’t…” Sieun started, words coming slower than usual. “Why would you even think that?”

No answer. Just smoke drifting into the wind.

“I don’t hate you that much,” Sieun added, softer now. “You might be a bastard but…” He trailed off. “You’re not nothing.”

Seongje turned his head just slightly. His jaw clenched.

“Well, you sure don’t make that obvious,” he said, voice flat.

Sieun frowned. “Why do you always have to fight?”

“Me?” Seongje’s eyes flashed now. “You were the one who came looking for a fight. That day. Acting like I laid hands on your stupid friend—when you knew I wasn’t even there.”

“Well sue me if history made you the obvious suspect.” Sieun shot back. “You have a record of beating up my friends.”

“And you have a record of running your mouth and jumping to conclusions!”

Their voices rose. They stepped closer.
Too close.

They didn’t even realize when they did.

Somehow, their words ran out at the exact same moment—
And the silence that followed was louder than any scream.

They were standing chest to chest.
So close Sieun could feel the heat from Seongje’s skin, smell the smoke tangled with shampoo, see the twitch in his jaw.

Their breath mingled.
Their soulmarks pulsed.

Neither moved.

Neither backed down.

Just… stared.

And then—softly, bitterly—Seongje whispered, “Why did you kiss me?”

Sieun’s pulse pounded in his ears. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing on his chest like gravity. 

“I told you. To shut you up.”

“You could’ve punched me,” Seongje said. “You’ve done it before.”
His voice dropped lower.
“You could’ve shoved me. Screamed. Done anything else.”

“But you kissed me.”

The wind swept between them, carrying the fading warmth of the sun.

“So tell me,” Seongje said, gaze fixed on him, like he was challenging him to lie again.
“Why did you kiss me?”

The air between them crackled.

Sieun didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.
Because he did know.
Because if he said it, it would become real.

But his silence spoke loud enough.

Seongje’s hand came up—hovering for a second—then curled in the front of Sieun’s. 

“You’re one hell of a weirdo, do you know that?”
He yanked him forward.
Their lips crashed together.

This kiss wasn’t soft.
It was fire—sharp teeth, too-fast breathing, weeks of tension erupting like it had been waiting for a spark. Hatred. Frustration. Confusion. Every repressed thing clawing its way to the surface in the worst and best possible way.

Seongje shoved him back until Sieun’s spine slammed into the rooftop ledge. The sound it made was small, but the jolt in Sieun’s breath wasn’t.
Seongje’s hands slid low, gripped tight at Sieun’s waist—and with a sudden lift, he pulled him up, sitting him on the narrow ledge like it was nothing.

So he could kiss him better.
So he could reach him without barriers.

Sieun’s legs instinctively tightened around his waist, an anchor in the chaos, but it didn’t slow anything down. Seongje kissed like he was trying to make Sieun forget how to breathe—like he didn’t know if this was a fight or a confession.

Their teeth clashed.
Sieun bit his lip too hard.
Seongje didn’t care.

He kissed like this was the only way he knew how to speak. His fingers tightened in the fabric of Sieun’s hoodie, like he was scared he’d disappear if he let go.

Sieun’s hands were in Seongje’s hair now, yanking at the strands like he wanted to pull him closer—or push him away and couldn’t decide.

They kissed like they wanted to win.

Like this was another fight.

Like they didn’t know how else to talk.

And when they finally broke apart—breathing hard, lips swollen, cheeks flushed—Sieun stared at him.

Chest rising.

Jaw tight.

Eyes unreadable.

Then, without a word, he got off the ledge.

Turned.

And walked away.

The rooftop door creaked open.

Slammed shut.

Leaving Seongje standing there, staring at the space where Sieun had been.

His heart thudded unevenly in his chest. He brought a hand up to his mouth and wiped it like he was trying to erase something—but it didn’t work.

The kiss clung to him.

Like salt on his tongue.

Like heat on his skin.

He’d kissed other people before. Hookups. Fleeting. Fun. Meaningless.

But this—this felt like a fucking hurricane.

He felt cracked open. And the worst part? He wanted more.

Hated that he wanted more.

Chapter Text

He runs away again. He had to.

His heart was beating so fast once again that it definitely felt like this time he was about to pass away. He could still feel the kiss lingering on his lips. No no no, this wasn’t supposed to happen. 

He wasn’t supposed to kiss him again, they weren’t supposed to do that, what was wrong with both of them? They’re supposed to hate each other—fight, punch, kick, do anything but kiss so why did they kiss? Why?!

He had to forget this. 

Sleeping would help. 

He walks back to his room—slowly, reluctantly—dreading the possibility that it won’t be empty. He pushes the door open.

Chaos.

Baku’s shirtless and dripping water everywhere. Gotak’s yelling about how someone stole his toothbrush. Juntae’s in the corner trying to untangle earphones that were clearly murdered in his bag.

Baku whistles when he sees him.

“Yo, what happened to you? Why do your lips look like that?”

“Like what?” Sieun deadpans.

“Puffy.” Baku smirks. “Like you were either making out or allergic to shellfish.”

Gotak slaps Baku’s arm so hard the guy almost falls off the bed.

“Shut up idiot” 

Sieun attempts to ignore them and goes to his bed. 

“What are you doing?” Juntae questions him. 

“What?” Sieun just stares. 

“We have to go down to the beach for dinner” Juntae reminds him and once again he couldn’t care less so he attempts to ignore his friend. “You’re coming,” Juntae says with a sigh.

Sieun mutters something about not being hungry. The truth is, he was—but he couldn’t bring himself to go, not when he knew Seongje would be there. He couldn’t stand being around the other any longer. 

Juntae just glares at him.

“You’re going,” he says. “No one starves themselves on my watch.”

Sieun wants to protest. He wants to curl up and pretend the day didn’t happen.
But in the end, he gets dragged out anyway.

——

The beach looks different at night. The crashing waves are quieter now, muffled by the hum of conversation and the distant strum of a guitar someone thought to bring. Lanterns hang from strings tied between crooked trees, casting soft, golden halos across the sand. Their light flickers against the dark water, against people’s faces—too bright, too warm. Smoke drifts lazily from a nearby grill, curling into the sky like it has nowhere to be. The air is thick with the sharp scent of grilled meat, sea salt, and the clatter of cutlery against plastic plates.

There’s laughter. Too much of it. Loud, careless, like no one here has anything worth staying quiet over.

Sieun walks in with his group, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders stiff, eyes low. The sand crunches under his shoes with every step, grounding him in a place he doesn’t want to be.

He scans the crowd—casually, at first. Then less so.

For him.

But he doesn’t see him.

Not in the groups crowding the grills, not by the fire pit, not on the edges where loners drift. He’s not here. And Sieun tells himself that’s a good thing.

Maybe Seongje went back already. Maybe he had enough decency—enough sense—to stay away. To leave Sieun alone.

Or maybe he didn’t come because he didn’t care. Maybe he’s off somewhere, laughing with someone else, forgetting everything.

Sieun looks away.

That’s better, he tells himself.

Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

They load up plates from the grill, walking around, half-lost in the crowd. Every picnic bench is full.

“Yo, Gotak!”

It’s Minji from the other school.
She’s waving them over to a table.

Sieun doesn't pay attention. He’s not in the mood for new people.

But then—

He spots him.

Great fuck.

He’s there. Sitting at the corner of the picnic bench. It doesn’t seem like he’s noticed him and his friends; zoning out and picking on his food as he stares at the table. 

Sieun doesn’t notice it at first but beside Seongje sits a girl. A girl who sits way too close for comfort. 

She’s sitting way too close. Her arm is wrapped around his—clinging like she's marking territory. Her head tilts as she says something in his ear, and she giggles.

The sight of this makes him feel nauseous. He doesn’t want to eat anymore. 

Juntae forces him to sit down before he starts retreating back to his room and Gotak keeps staring between him and Seongje like he’s been personally offended too. 

To make matters worse Sieun ends up sitting across Seongje—not directly infront of him but close enough to have him and that girl in his view. 

She has no concept of space. Every time she shifts, her shoulder brushes his. Her hand keeps finding excuses to land on his arm—like she’s laughing too hard, like she’s cold, like she needs to lean on him just to breathe properly.

And Seongje doesn’t move.
Doesn’t shrug her off.
Doesn’t even look uncomfortable.

Just sits there, head low, still picking at the same goddamn piece of meat like it personally wronged him.

Sieun stabs at his own plate. His food’s cold now, or maybe it’s just him. He’s aware of every movement across from him—her fake little laughs, the way she brushes her hair back like she thinks she’s in a drama, and the way Seongje lets her keep doing it.

It’s pathetic.
It’s embarrassing.

“Seongje-oppa, you’re not eating,” she says, her voice pitched so high it scrapes Sieun’s skull.
“Are you tired? Do you want me to feed you?”

She lifts her chopsticks toward his mouth like it’s a joke.
It has to be a joke.

Seongje barely reacts. He glances at her, expression unreadable, and then—just to make Sieun’s soul leave his body—he leans slightly toward her, just enough that she giggles again and shoves the bite in his mouth like she’s won something.

Sieun looks down.
Not at his food. At the bench. The wood grain. A stain by his knee. Anything but that.

Don’t care. Doesn’t matter. Not your problem.

Except his hand’s gone stiff around his chopsticks. And his jaw’s locked tight.
And when she laughs again, something in his stomach twists.

Across the table, Gotak shifts awkwardly. His knee bumps Sieun’s under the table and stays there—like a warning, or a check-in.
Sieun doesn’t look up.

But Seongje does.

Just for a second.
Eyes flicking toward him, unreadable as ever. Then away.

The girl notices.

“Oppa, who’re you looking at?” she sings, glancing over her shoulder like she’s expecting a fan club.

Sieun says nothing. He lifts his cup to his lips to hide his face.

You don’t get to look at me now. Not when you’ve got her latched to your side like some desperate sea slug.

And then—

She does something else.
Something worse.

She tugs on Seongje’s sleeve and whispers something in his ear, too low for anyone else to hear. But it makes Seongje’s mouth twitch—not a smile, not quite—but something.

She leans in closer. Her shoulder against his. Her head is practically on his neck now.

Sieun’s stomach churns.

What is she saying? What could she possibly say that’s making you let her sit on you like that?

He pushes his plate away.

“You okay?” Juntae asks, mid-bite.

“Yeah. Just full.”

Juntae looks skeptical but lets it go.

And then—because the universe is cruel—she speaks again.

“Oppa,” she purrs, dragging the word out, “you never told me your type~”

“Don’t have one,” Seongje says, flat.

“Liar,” she pouts, poking his cheek. “Everyone has a type.”

“Maybe I like people who mind their business.”

Sieun’s fork freezes mid-air.

Her laugh is high and a little awkward now.

“That’s so mean,” she says. “You’re mean tonight.”

“Guess I’m in a bad mood.”

He says it like he means something else. But doesn’t look at anyone.

Sieun’s not sure whether to feel smug or stupid.
He shifts in his seat, then finally speaks:

“Maybe you should go sleep it off.”

Everyone looks up.

Seongje blinks at him. The girl straightens slightly, like she didn’t expect Sieun to say anything at all.

“What?”

“If you’re in such a bad mood,” Sieun mutters, stabbing a dumpling, “you’re kind of killing the vibe.”

It’s petty. He knows it.
But the words fall out too fast to stop.

Seongje tilts his head.

“Didn’t know you cared so much about the vibe.”

Sieun doesn’t look up.

“I don’t.”
Lie.
“Just thought someone should say it.”

The girl awkwardly laughs again, trying to redirect.

“I think you’re fun, Seongje-oppa. Don’t listen to him~”

Seongje doesn’t reply.

And for a second, Sieun swears he feels eyes on him again—heavy, dragging, like a hand on the back of his neck. But when he looks up—

Seongje’s already looking away. 

The conversation moves on around him—jokes tossed back and forth, names he doesn’t bother learning, laughter that sounds like static in his ears.

Sieun keeps his head down, eyes on his plate, but he hasn’t taken a bite in minutes.

Across the table, the girl’s still glued to Seongje’s side. Her hand is now playing with the hem of his sleeve, fingers toying with the frayed threads like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You’re not even eating,” she says, voice syrupy. “Do you want me to get you something else? I can go ask the grill guy for—”

“I’m good,” Seongje says, curt.

But not enough to stop her.

She doesn’t take the hint. If anything, she doubles down—leans closer again, brushing imaginary sand off his shoulder, her nails grazing his collarbone. She says something else, low and laughing, and Sieun doesn’t hear it but it doesn’t matter.

He feels it.

Feels it like a hot knife under his ribs.

He’s gripping his cup so tight the plastic creaks.

Across from him, Seongje shifts slightly—like he’s uncomfortable, like maybe he finally has had enough of her—but then she pouts again, eyes wide and stupid, and says:

“Are you always this quiet? Or is it just around me?” The girl says with a sly smirk. 

Sieun doesn’t realize he’s scoffing until it’s already out of his mouth.

A low, bitter sound. Quick and sharp.

The girl turns toward him.

“What?” she says, blinking.

Sieun looks at her. Then at Seongje. Then away.

“Nothing.”

“You laughed.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.”

She’s still staring at him. Challenging. Like she wants to pick a fight.

Seongje finally speaks up.

“Ignore him.”

That hurts more than it should.

Sieun sets his cup down harder than necessary. It knocks against the table and wobbles slightly, water sloshing at the rim.

He’s not looking at Seongje anymore. Can’t.

Not when you’re letting her touch you like that. Not when you tell her to ignore me like I’m the problem. He was truly spiraling out of control. 

Gotak shoots him a look. Juntae’s stopped chewing.

No one says anything for a moment.

The girl just laughs again—nervous this time—and goes back to clinging. Like she’s won something.

“You guys are all so weird,” she mutters, and rests her cheek on Seongje’s shoulder.

That does it.

Sieun stands up.

No words, no excuses. Just the scrape of wood against sand and the sound of his plate hitting the table too fast.

“Where are you going?” Juntae asks.

“Bathroom,” Sieun mutters.

“Want me to come—?”

“I’m fine.”

He’s not fine.

He walks off without looking back.

The beach feels colder now. The lights blur at the edges of his vision and every laugh he hears behind him feels like it’s about him.

He heads toward the dark edge of the beach—where the lanterns don’t reach, where the waves sound louder, where the stupid hum in his chest can finally slow down.

Except it doesn’t.

Because—

“Sieun.”

Of course.

He turns. Slowly.

Seongje’s standing a few feet behind him, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

Sieun doesn’t say anything.

Seongje steps closer.

“You left your phone.”

Sieun blinks. Looks down. He did. It’s in Seongje’s hand now, held out like a peace offering.

Sieun takes it. Doesn’t thank him.

Silence stretches between them, heavy, hot, choking.

“She’s annoying,” Seongje says suddenly.

Sieun doesn’t reply.

“I wasn’t—letting her. She just…”
He exhales. “She wouldn’t stop.”

Sieun scoffs. “Sure looked like you didn’t mind.” 

“I did.” Seongje says as grounds his shoe in the sand, was he nervous?

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”

Seongje steps closer. Too close.

Sieun doesn’t move.

“Why do you care?” Seongje questions.

His voice is low. Almost tired. But there’s something else under it.

Something that sounds like he wants Sieun to answer.

Sieun’s heart is pounding. Not from the walk.

“I don’t.”

“Liar” Seongje says with a cruel smile.

That word again.

Liar.

Sieun’s jaw tightens.

He wants to turn, but his feet don’t move.

He should leave. Go back to the others. Pretend none of this ever happened. Pretend he didn’t feel anything when Seongje touched him. Pretend it doesn’t still feel like something’s caught in his throat—tight, burning.

But Seongje’s still there.

Still looking at him. Still pushing.

And that word rings in his ears like a pulled trigger.

“Say that again,” Sieun mutters.

“Say what?”

“That I care.”

Seongje doesn’t even blink.

“You do.”

Sieun exhales a short laugh through his nose. It’s ugly. Bitter. Not really a laugh at all.

“You’re really full of yourself.”

He doesn’t look at him.

Doesn’t want to see the expression on his face. That look like he’s already figured Sieun out. Like he’s already won.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that important.”

“Aren’t I?” Seongje says, tilting his head, voice light like it’s all a joke.

That gets to him.

Sieun’s fists clench in his pockets. His fingers twitch. He wants to hit something—him, preferably. Preferably that smug look. Preferably the part of him that keeps reading things Sieun never says out loud.

“You’re not.” Sieun says. 

“Then why does it bother you?”

“It doesn’t.” 

“Why’d you leave earlier?”

“I wanted to.” Sieun looks down at the sand, anywhere but meeting Seongje’s eyes. 

“Why’d you stop eating the second you saw her with me?”

Sieun’s throat tightens.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Then why are you still standing here, talking to me?”

That shuts him up.

Because he doesn’t have a good answer.

Because the only answer is one he doesn’t want to say. One that would make everything fall apart.

He scoffs. It’s a poor cover.

“You think I revolve around you. That every stupid thing I do is somehow about you. Newsflash: I’m not some pathetic idiot that needs you to—”

“You’re lying.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re lying,” Seongje says again. Quieter this time. Steady. Certain. Like he’s reading a page out of Sieun’s head.

Sieun grits his teeth.

The words won’t come.

Because he is lying.

And he hates it.

Hates how easily Seongje sees through him. Hates that it makes his chest feel too tight, like his ribs don’t fit right. Like something inside is breaking and growing at the same time.

But more than anything—

He hates that it’s true.

“You kissed me back like it was nothing back there,” Seongje says, voice lower now.

“That meant nothing,” Sieun says. Quiet. Almost careful.

Because it meant too much for him to admit it.

“You’re lying again.”

“I don’t care about you.”

Seongje lets out a soft, humorless breath. A sigh that sounds almost tired.

“I really don’t get you. How can you say things like that so easily when your eyes say something completely different?”

Silence.

The kind that makes your skin itch.

Then—

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?… I felt it back at the table too—your fucking eyes—you were glaring at us like it was eating you alive so tell me, what the fuck is up with you? Why the fuck are you acting like this when you were the one who left me after kissing me back” Seongje asks. His voice isn’t steady.

He’s vibrating now. Like something’s about to snap.

“Because I hate it,” he breathes. “I hate seeing you with other people. I hate the way you let her touch you. I hate the way you looked at her like she belonged there. I hate—”

He cuts himself off, jaw locking.

Seongje doesn’t speak.

Just watches him.

“I hate you,” Sieun spits. But it comes out too fast. Too shaky. Too honest.

It doesn’t sound like hate.

It sounds like desperation.

And Seongje hears it.

He takes one step forward.

“No, you don’t.”

“Shut up.”

“You don’t.”

“I do, you stupid—”

Seongje grabs his wrist.

“You don’t hate me.”

“Let go.”

“No.” Seongje says sternly. 

“I swear, I’ll—”

“You’re just scared,” Seongje says. Low. Calm. Certain.

That does it.

Sieun shoves him. Hard.

“Scared of what?”

“Of this.”

He reaches for him again, catching both of Sieun’s arms this time—holding him in place, keeping him there, keeping him close.

Too close.

The night is still moving outside. The beach alive with sound. But all Sieun can hear is this—his heartbeat, the breath in his throat, the way his whole body feels like it’s trying to scream without making a sound.

“You think I don’t notice you?” Seongje’s voice is soft. Dangerous. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

“Feel what?”

The jealousy he felt when he saw that girl with Sieun on the day they found out their marks. 

Seongje doesn’t say though, because that was another day’s problem to unpack so

Instead—

He pulls. Sieun stumbles.

And then they’re moving—fast, reckless, down the boardwalk, away from the lanterns and the benches and the smoke. Away from everyone.

“What the hell are you—”

“Shut up.” Seongje says as his hold becomes tighter. 

“I’m not going back to—”

“We’re not going back.”

They blow past the hotel entrance, but Seongje doesn’t go to the rooms. He keeps going. Further in. Down a quiet hallway.

Dark carpet. Dim lights. No one around. He stops at a set of double doors—tall, wooden, unmarked.

An event room.

Lights off. Doors unlocked.

He throws one open and yanks Sieun inside.

Sieun stumbles again, chest heaving, still trying to understand what the hell is happening.

“Are you insane? You can’t just—”

But Seongje follows. Slams the door. Locks it.

And suddenly the world is too quiet.

The only sound is their breathing. The faint hum of music bleeding in from the beach. The soft echo of movement across an empty floor.

Sieun’s heart is pounding.

Seongje steps forward.

Sieun steps back.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t come near me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust myself.”

They’re staring at each other now.  Breathing hard.

Too close. Too wound up.

The air between them crackles like static—like something about to snap.

Sieun’s chest heaves, knuckles white at his sides. Seongje’s jaw is set, eyes burning into him like he’s made of something he’s not supposed to want, but wants anyway.

And then—

“Good,” Seongje whispers.

And he grabs Sieun by the collar.

And kisses him.

But it’s not just a kiss.

It’s a collision.

Lips crashing. Teeth clashing. Fingers curling into fabric like they’re trying to rip it away. It’s raw. Breathless. Angry. It’s every denial they’ve bitten back exploding all at once.

Sieun gasps into it, fists twisted in Seongje’s hoodie like it’s the only thing holding him upright.

He hates this.
He loves this.
He wants more.
He wants to shove him away.

He wants everything Seongje is and everything he’s never said out loud.

His back hits the wall with a dull thud.

Seongje presses in, one hand beside his head, the other already sliding beneath his shirt—greedy, fast, like he’s memorizing every inch before this moment disappears.

“You’re crazy,” Sieun breathes between kisses.

“I know.”

“You’re so—fuck—”

“Shut up.”

And then Seongje does something stupid.

Something that tears Sieun straight back to earlier.

The rooftop.

Just hours ago.

When everything first snapped.

When Seongje had grabbed him by the waist like he weighed nothing. Had lifted him onto the ledge. Had kissed him like he knew Sieun would let him.

Sieun had pretended it didn’t affect him.

He lied.

Because he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Not the kiss. Not the heat.

Not the way Seongje manhandled him like it was nothing.

And maybe—maybe Seongje remembers that too.

Because now—

He grabs Sieun by the back of his thighs.

And lifts.

Just like the rooftop.

Sieun chokes on his breath as his back slams into the wall again.

“What the hell are you—”

But he doesn’t finish.

Because his legs are already wrapping around Seongje’s waist.

Because he lets it happen.

Because his fingers are already buried in Seongje’s hair, pulling, gripping, needing.

“Put me down,” he gasps.

“You want that?” Seongje growls, voice low and dangerous. “You want me to stop?”

He presses in, slow and brutal. Their noses brush. Lips hover, just out of reach.

Sieun doesn’t answer.

Because his body already is.

He’s shaking. Clutching Seongje like he’ll disappear. Like he wants to be wrecked. Ruined. Held up and taken apart.

“Good,” Seongje breathes.

And he kisses him—hard.

Their mouths crash like fists. Like war. Like neither of them wants to lose.

Sieun kisses back like he’s starving. Like he’s drowning and Seongje is the air. Like he wants to bite until something breaks.

His hips roll—just once.

Desperate. Instinctive. Shameless.

Seongje growls, deep and guttural, and grinds back with equal force.

Their teeth clash. Their nails dig in. It’s messy. Chaotic. Them.

“You think I forgot the rooftop?” Seongje breathes against his mouth. “The way you looked at me after?”

“Shut up,” Sieun pants. “Don’t talk.”

“You liked it.”

“You think I don’t want you to do it again?”

That stuns them both.

Sieun’s eyes go wide.

The words hang in the air—too honest. Too loud.

But it’s done.

And Seongje’s lips twitch.

Not a smile.

Something darker.

“Hold on,” he mutters.

And then he moves.

Still holding Sieun—like it’s nothing—he walks across the room and shoves him down onto the table.

Rough.

Like punishment.
Like permission.

Sieun gasps, hands flat behind him on the table, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

Seongje leans in.

Kisses him again—hot, demanding. Bites down along his throat. Breathes him in like he’s fire and oxygen all at once.

Sieun lets his head fall back. His thighs tighten around Seongje’s hips. He’s burning.

“You’re such a fucking problem,” he pants.

“Then fix me,” Seongje growls.

And they crash again.

No softness. No hesitation.

Just fire.

Just chaos.

Just them.

Because maybe they’ll never get to be gentle.

Maybe they’ll never say what they actually feel.

But this?

This is theirs.

Biting instead of apologizing. Kissing like it’s violence. Touching like it’s the only way they know how to speak.

And neither of them wants it to stop.

——

The trip ends.
The sunburn fades. The soulmark stops aching. The chaos quiets.

It’s been days. Almost a week since that night.

And yet—

The heat of it still lingers in Sieun’s chest like a secret he can’t shake.

——

Class is over.

Chairs scrape. Bags zip. The chatter dies down as students file out of the room, one by one. Some call his name, some linger by the door to ask if he’s coming. Baku throws him a look.

“You good?”

Sieun nods without looking up. “I have stuff to finish.”

A shrug. A wave. The door slides shut behind the last person.

Silence.

Finally.

Sieun exhales slowly, flips a page in his notebook. He’s not really reading. Not really writing either. Just sitting there—waiting.

He doesn’t know what for.
Or maybe he does.

Because a few minutes later—

SLAM.

The classroom door slides open hard and fast, loud enough to echo.

And in walks Seongje.

That same smug, unbothered smirk on his face. That same messy hair and leather jacket and stupid glint in his eyes like he owns the world and maybe he does, because Sieun’s heart stutters the second he sees him.

Seongje leans against the door frame like this is a movie.

Like he’s been cast as the bad idea Sieun still keeps choosing.

“How long are we going to hide for, princess?”

Sieun sighs. “Shut up.”

“As long as you kiss me to shut me up, I don’t mind.”

That gets him. A quiet snort escapes Sieun’s lips, and before he knows it—

He’s laughing.

A real laugh.

Not sharp. Not mocking. Just… genuine.

And Seongje—
Seongje freezes.

His smirk falters for a split second. Then softens.
That amused, cocky edge falls away and something else settles on his face.

Something almost tender.

He smiles.

Not the arrogant grin he wears like armor. Not the half-laugh when he’s teasing.

A real smile. Honest. Open.

Sieun sees it—and the laugh fades slowly from his lips, replaced by something quieter. He stares, stunned, like he’s never seen something like that before.

Because maybe he hasn’t.

“You should smile like that more,” Sieun says quietly, looking back down at his notebook.

Seongje tilts his head.

“Only for you, I will.”

He crosses the room. No hesitation. Fingers gentle as he tilts Sieun’s chin up.

Their eyes meet.

And Seongje leans in—

Soft this time.

No fight. No storm. No bruised lips or bitten tongues.

Just a kiss.

Careful. Deliberate. Real.

Sieun’s lashes flutter. His hand lifts slowly to grip Seongje’s shirt. Not to shove. Not to pull. Just to anchor.

To stay.

And when they part, their foreheads rest together, breath mingling, no words spoken.

Because this says enough.

Because this time—it’s not about proving anything. Not about power or winning.

Just wanting.

And maybe the universe has a habit of screwing Sieun over. Of throwing things at him he never asked for, never wanted.

Fights. Pressure. Soulmarks he never believed in.

But maybe—not this time.

Maybe this time, it gave him something else.

Something messy. Loud. Infuriating.

Something real.

Something like Seongje.

And maybe, just maybe—
this isn’t a fuckup after all.

Maybe this is the start.