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The euphoric roars of the audience always made Jeongguk’s skin prickle with adrenaline rain and fearful games. The def silence before the first appearance on stage, the blinding lights that transported eyes to the centre of New York, the mic attached to his ear that levitated in front of his nose, were still difficult to believe… All of these common tasks came with the job and were as tiring as the backstage fuss which made Jeongguk jog from one place to another in less than it took his manager to say “Go.”
But it all became worth it, precious, when Jeongguk had the chance to greet his audience with a low bow. All the frustration, the weight on his tense muscles, vanished in the air (like forgotten names) when he smiled proudly at the little army of loyal fans that followed his trail. They were his pride, at the end of the day. The people who aided him when it came to revealing his name.
Being a singer had never been an easy job. Less when you were one of the figures that led the domestic and international markets of music. With barely twenty-two years on the planet, Jeon Jeongguk was one of the most beloved pop figures in this dimension. With a wide smile, large eyes, balanced proportions and enchanting laugh, the task of ignoring the pop sensation presented itself to be difficult to achieve. All – from young to old, men to women – fell for the charms presented by the sparkling youthful character; who seemed too flawless, too inhumanly gifted, to truly belong to this planet…
The way in which the mass of bodies metamorphosed into a single voice – that held the selfless support of thousands in the arena – always moved the singer’s heart with the strength of a thousand horses. Jeongguk smiled proudly, at the end of one of his many presentations, before wishing goodnight to the faces that waved back at him with infinite love and determination.
“I love you!” he screamed into his microphone, twirling around like a happy kid in a park, “Good night, everybody. Thank you for coming.”
With one last boom of boundless shouts and exclamations, and the presence of a lowering platform, Jeongguk soon found himself facing the countless members of his production team. He received a few pats on the back, many congratulatory messages and also a water bottle from one of his stylists. He smiled at them too, never failing to forget his manners, and allowed his manager to escort him back to the car waiting for him at an exit.
Jeongguk liked to watch, on the way to his accommodation of the night, the way in which people emptied the venues where he presented his songs. It was interesting to observe the way in which the audience that had looked as tiny as ants magnified the moment they left the bubble where Jeongguk lived, where he felt alive. Looking at these people up close served as a reminder that his life wasn’t a mere dream. The sensation it brought made his stomach flip, his heart race and his eyes twinkle with tiny water drops.
Nevertheless, he always finished each performance completely worn out. The energy he burnt on stage while dancing, singing or simply playing with the audience was enough to light up a whole galaxy. And, despite being young, he still got quite tired. That could have been the reason why he always landed on a bed the moment he reached his room in a new grand hotel. His routine consisted of throwing his exhausted body on any surface he could find, lie completely still for a minute or two, crawl to the bathroom, wash up, eat and finally sleep. He usually drifted away the moment his fluffy hair made contact with the cotton pillow. This time, however, his plans had suffered a little modification...
After been given the key to his room, a plastic rectangle with nice lettering, Jeongguk hopped into a golden elevator and waited to be transported up. He took advantage of this silent and tranquil minute to carry out another habit of his, which he often did throughout his days. Rolling the grey sleeve of the hoodie he wore, the singer examined a tiny portion of the skin beneath the cloth. He ran a finger over the delicate strokes of ink that decorated the inner part of his left wrist. A white tattoo, an invisible name, that belonged to no one else than the other half of his solitary soul, stood there.
Jeongguk lived in a world in which people were destined to meet the one who would complete them. Jeongguk lived in a world where people met their forever companions at one point in their lives, as predetermined by the blue sky and shiny stars. Jeongguk lived in a world that believed in soulmates, and where one was born with the name of their partner engraved somewhere on their body. They were subtle, however, often written in translucent ink until a first contact was made between the souls. When the stellar partners crossed paths, the marks blossomed; adopted a new colour to resemble the very night that had brought them together.
Jeongguk had still not met his partner, explaining the lack of contrast between the name on his wrist and the tender skin surrounding it. In a way, it was helpful, as it prevented his fans from taking a close look at the name. Jeongguk often had to hide it, against his wishes but in favour of the decisions taken by his company. Arguing that it wouldn’t bring good publicity, as his admirers tended to be a bit over-protective, neither did his label nor Jeongguk aimed to bring the singer’s mysterious partner unwanted attention. As a result, both parties kept Jeongguk’s soulmate a secret. His fans were aware that this person existed, but no one knew what the name read.
Due to this, Jeongguk was constantly obliged to camouflage his white tattoo with substances or accessories. The name was small enough to be covered by a bracelet and could be barely seen from a close distance. But he still took precautions, always assuring to cover the valuable trace of his soulmate’s future touch. It was on this type of occasions, when he was alone and in between the limiting walls of an elevator (away from the security cameras), that Jeongguk checked on the mark. It was one of his anchors too. One of the things that reminded him he had someone, out there, waiting for him:
Min Yoongi
Jeongguk sighed softly as he traced the lines that formed this name, his heart fluttering like eager hummingbirds in late summer weather. It was a reaction he couldn’t control well. Simply thinking about his soulmate, the person walking around with his own name tattooed on their skin, made the drum that lived in Jeongguk’s chest miss a rapid beat.
He often wondered when he would meet the owner of such a name. He fantasised with their first encounter frequently, in between schedules, before falling asleep… His mind was always occupied with the billion of things he wanted to do next to this Min Yoongi, all the adventures he would have next to the person who belonged to him. The person Jeongguk, also, belonged to.
With a last glance at the white traces of calligraphy, Jeongguk allowed his sleeve to shelter his wrist once again. He stepped out of the elevator the moment the doors opened with a ding and made his way to the room that waited for him. His eyes were threatening to close by themselves at any second, and his limbs were about to collapse. Pushing the door open with a shoulder and leaving the plastic on a holder next to the door, the singer gravitated to the first bed (out of two) he encountered. With a groan, he rolled to a side, face still pressing on the mattress, and let the day’s fatigue take control of his mind; his senses fogging, numbing, as the rest of his thoughts shut down for a little while.
And, it could have been because of this same reason that Jeongguk, that night, failed to recognise the distinctive sounds of water hitting against the ceramic floor. The songs of an indoor rain produced by the head of a shower and another body underneath this storm filled the small room; the presence of another guest in this cosy hotel room…
By the time he recovered his sense, however, it had all been too late. The moment Jeongguk gave permission to his closed eyes to look at the world again, he found himself staring at the image of a man. Grey hair dripping wet, but face as youthful as an ageless painting, the man observed Jeongguk from a corner of the room. An empty expression sat on his face, whilst his arms folded in front of his chest. Jeongguk simply blinked at him, trying to decide whether he was hallucinating or imagining things.
“What are you doing in my room?” the man asked when he noticed the other’s conscious state. Jeongguk blinked again.
“Excuse me?” he asked, softly and idly, not completely understanding the situation in which he found himself. The only thing he knew was that a cute stranger, who had a nice, raspy voice, was talking to him at the moment.
“You. In my room. What are you doing here?”
The singer blinked, once, twice. A third time as well.
“Your room?” he asked, troubled, “Isn’t this Room 102E?”
“It is,” the other confirmed, raising an eyebrow in wonder.
“It is my room, then. Look, that’s my suitcase over there,” the singer pointed at a bag next to the window at the other end of the room. It was simple and black, common too, “Someone must have brought it here before I arrived.”
Jeongguk rubbed his eyes, hands curled into fists. The stranger watched him, still at a distance; as if he were scared of approaching the sleepy man that had apparated in the room. This had, indeed, not been how Yoongi had planned to start his vacations…
“May I see the key that they gave you at the reception?” the grey-haired asked, making Jeongguk nod and point at the door.
“It’s next to the light switch.”
The other one nodded, making his way to where the man on the bed had indicated. With wobbly legs, still asleep from being squished between two people in economy class during his flight, Yoongi made it to the switch. He took a hold of the card that had been left on the holder by the door's side; just to confirm it was identical to the one that could be found in the back pocket of his jeans. With a deep sigh, the grey-haired then returned to his original position. Here, he encountered the other man beginning to finally understand the gravity of the situation. He yawned and covered his mouth, an action which oddly made him appear like a tired puppy.
“Seems like they gave us the same hotel room by accident,” the man concluded when the initial shock of meeting this stranger subsided (just slightly).
“Oh,” Jeongguk said before a dense silence invaded the space between the two men.
Although awkward and daunting, more than the shiver he obtained every time he performed in front of millions, the singer gave himself permission to observe this man. Skin as fair as snow, features as sharp as cravings on wood, and voice as deep as the songs of a cello could all be found condensed in his average stature. His face remained neutral, never letting thoughts escape through the minimal pores on his nose. It was like looking at an inscrutable statue that, no matter how much one was to observe it, the messages that conveyed always got lost in translation; that was, between the realms of art and linguistics.
Jeongguk’s eye dodged the pair of smaller orbs that turned to him a second later, quickly running away from them. Scared, he suddenly felt. But, more than that, curious and thrilled too; as if something were floating in the air, like a boat rocking in waves.
“I can go to the lobby and try to sort this out,” the grey-haired offered, “You seem to be about to pass out.”
The singer offered a shy smile.
“That would be very nice from you.”
The other one nodded.
“No problem…” he trailed off, hesitating a second before beginning to move. Having a better look at the young man on the bed, the grey-haired realised that he looked oddly familiar. He couldn’t remember from where he had seen him, however.
“Is there something wrong?” Jeongguk asked at one point; when the eyes of the shorter man had started to bury holes into his face.
“Oh. Nothing. It’s just that… Have we met before? You look familiar.”
“Ah,” the singer’s skin dusted pink, as if sand had suddenly covered both of his cheeks. It was always like this, whenever someone recognised him in the streets or more bizarre places one could picture. The number of encounters with fans he had had while leaving airport restrooms still surprised him quite a lot, “Umm… You might have seen me around in advertisements or music shows. I’m a singer.”
“Idol?”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck as the tip of his ears turned red. The grey-haired thought it was an interesting reaction if he were to compare it to the ones he had observed in other people like him. Most transmitted pride in their voice when recognised. He, on the other hand, conveyed a timid air, like a rabbit that wishes to hide in its burrow and never see the light of day. Nevertheless, he ended up saying, “I’m Jeongguk, by the way. Jeon Jeongguk.”
This made the other man stutter with his muted speech, body making a pause at hearing the eerie whisper. A name he knew too well. His eyes went wild, his mouth dry, and his breath erratic for once. He wasn’t a person to often be surprised, not with this intensity, alas!
“Jeon Jeongguk?” he asked to be sure, not trusting his ears when it came to a subject such as this one. He did not wish to suddenly be let down by his own expectations and wrong assumptions.
“Yes.”
“Oh… I’ve seen you on the news. You’re quite the sensation nowadays,” he said, this part not being a complete lie, “I’ve also listened to some of your songs recently. You have a nice voice.”
The artist laughed, softly, thanking the grey-haired with a bow. His ears turned red again… The other man took a deep breath after this; concluding that this was the best chance to introduce a new inquiry.
“This may come as strange if I were to be wrong but, by any chance…” he made a pause, clearing the drought in his throat before continuing to speak. His heart moved fiercely in his chest, threatening to cut the strings that kept it attached to the rest of his body. His palms felt too warm. The anxiety that bubbled in his bloodstream almost made him stop. But his betraying tongue, stubborn and dense, did not consent to the wishes the brain proclaimed, “Do you recognise the name Min Yoongi?”
Silence, raw and heavy, consumed the space that separated the two men as if it were imitating the spread of a deadly illness. Jeongguk even flinched, ever so slightly, but the movement of his limbs was enough to give a clue to the other man; whose grey hair kept dripping and creating puddles around his navy blue shirt. The shorter one had been about to take back his question with the help of a dismissing hand, but he did not get the chance.
The young singer, eyes as large as a deer’s now, rolled up one of his sleeves – exposing clear skin – prior to asking the grey-haired to approach him. The other one agreed, being unable to hide the evident excitement on his eyes, as he was invited to look at the invisible trails of a name engraved on Jeon Jeongguk’s wrist.
“Do you think…” Jeongguk whispered in the still room, his voice on the verge to fade like a photograph with the passage of time and the presence of salt.
“Here,” the shorter one offered his arm too, right one, and showed a similar spot on his wrist. It was almost like a ghost’s footprint. Invisible, white, to the common eye but alive to the hunter with eagle sight. In fact, this area of skin did portray the singer’s name. Whether it was actually his could only be confirmed with a little tap…
“May… May I?” Jeongguk asked, eyes meeting the shorter’s with no more evident fear or disguised mistrust. He was, again, almost on a high; reaching Cloud 9, Nirvana. If he were to be right, if the pressure in his stomach meant something to the mind, then… then–
Jeongguk touched the other man’s skin without asking twice; once he had been given permission through a nervous nod. Immediately, he felt his whole body growing stiff as an electric current (almost enough to make his brain fail) passed down his spine. He felt as the air in his lungs rushed out of the tiny sacks guarding his heart while a pool made of heat and mild pain attacked his arm. The singer heard Yoongi hiss, noticing (with wide orbs) the way in which the white scribbles were replaced by a black and sleek design:
Jeon Jeongguk, this one read.
A quick glance to his own wrist and the singer could confirm the existence of his new tattoo as well. Black and still small, Yoongi’s name was at full display now. It made Jeongguk’s little heart flip and twirl, a wave of cosy heat (unlike the throbbing pain his skin had to live) engulfed him in a tender hug. He turned to the grey-haired, then; a smile on every corner of his illuminated face.
“It’s you,” he said in a breathy murmur, hands moving to grasp Yoongi’s face. Scared, now, of him disappearing and dispersing like a sweet dream, “It’s you. It’s you. It’s you… Hi.”
“Hey,” the elder said through a quiet laugh. He, then, removed from his face one of the hands that held it tightly just to be able to hold it, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my soulmate. Where have you been all of my life?”
“Probably holding concerts around town,” Jeongguk offered with twinkling stars in his pupils, Yoongi chuckled again.
The issue with the hotel room was left forgotten after that, as the men sat in front of each other and talked about every little detail of life. Fascinated and engrossed in the task, the two spoke until the first signs of dawn crept through the thin curtains of the room, which reminded the euphoric souls to rest for an hour or two. But, even under the covers of their corresponding beds, Jeongguk and Yoongi continued to converse; the space between their beds filled with the image of their intertwined hands. It was a common occurrence, to spend the first hours with your soulmate after the first encounter, in this manner. It wasn’t every day that one met their other half. And, when Jeongguk’s manager stepped into his room a few hours after sunrise with an apple on his hand, the idol had to explain the reason why there was another man in the room; why he was holding his hand and explain the dark patch of skin that had not been there the night before…