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Summary
"Mark? I don't know a Mark," Chenle says.
"Neither did I until, like, two hours ago."
"Right," Chenle says, the word drawn-out, judging. "Are you sure it's him?"
Renjun thinks back to when their hands touched, compares it to the mild irritation he felt when a random student knocked into him in the corridor, and groans when he realises there is no other explanation.
"Our hands touched when I took his pencil. I felt the spark."
"The spark?"
"Yes, the spark, Chenle. You know the one," Renjun says and sits up, back against the wall, fingers clasping the golden dust again. "And I liked talking to him. He was so nice."
Chenle stares, a long, steady gaze that doesn't waver, only judges, and Renjun sinks deeper into the mattress, wishing he could slide down the tiny gap between the bed and the wall and curl up and never face the world again.
"I'm so fucked."
𓆩♡𓆪
Renjun's soulmate dust starts to glow yellow after meeting Mark. But Mark's is still grey.