Work Text:
Jisung slams the door behind him with a thundering boom.
The bathroom walls must shake, and Jisung takes sick satisfaction in that fact. Let the whole building collapse around him! Whatever. Although, the hot tears streaming down his face dull any sense of pride he might’ve normally felt while storming around.
“Stupid, stupid,” Jisung bellows as he rushes into the nearest stall. “I hate him!”
Swiping at his eyes and cheeks, Jisung drops onto the toilet. Fully clothed and absolutely miserable. Angry at the world, at their instructors and at his peers, but mostly at Hwang Hyunjin.
Hyunjin. It’s a name that tastes sour on Jisung’s tongue, tastes like it smells—a cloying cloud of perfume, sweat and arrogance. Because Jisung knows it must be arrogance that motivates Hyunjin to strut around the JYP building as if he owns it.
As a trainee—a trainee, just like Jisung—and that takes nerve.
You don’t see Jisung parading around as if he’s better than everyone else. Hell no! Even if he is one of the most naturally gifted singers and rappers there.
Jisung is humble, okay? He’s not overconfident, and certainly not as pretentious as fucking Hyunjin.
As if.
Hyunjin is the root of Jisung’s problems, and that’s no exaggeration.
They were on friendly terms before Hyunjin had the nerve to comment on Jisung’s shoes, practically calling him a shitty dancer and commencing their feud. At one point, Jisung even spent the night at Changbin’s luxurious home in Seoul with both Changbin and Hyunjin—a group that’s downright laughable now that Hyunjin revealed his dick-ish nature.
Now Jisung only shares breathing space with Hyunjin when their training regimen (and Chan) demand it.
The potent lemon scent of cleaning products stings Jisung’s nose, and the toilet lid feels uncomfortable through his sweatpants. He buries his face in his hands and exhales, loud and dramatic. If Hyunjin weren’t waiting outside that bathroom door, in the practice room, Jisung would ditch this stinky, cold-ass stall.
But alas…
“How the hell am I supposed to keep dealing with this?” Jisung asks the empty room, his whiny voice echoing off the unforgiving metal walls. “If soulmates were real, mine would never pull this shit.”
Jisung has always considered soulmates a fantasy. He knows his parents are soulmates, as most people’s parents are. And he’s heard plenty of stories—real ones, not bound by the realm of fiction.
But the idea of someone with an identical birthmark beneath their shoulder blades, of someone who could read his mind after acknowledging their bond… Hell, the mere thought of mind or dream-melding, of bending the laws of physics—it’s all fictional, if you ask Jisung.
He’s no scientist, not even a skeptic, but romance is obviously overrated.
(Or maybe that’s the rage he’s pent up since elementary school rearing its ugly head.)
Overwhelmed, he closes his eyes. And the universe throws him a celestial ‘fuck you.’
“... Ji? Hannie?”
Through a drowsy mind fog, Jisung feels something shake his shoulder. Or someone with a familiar voice, a mature edge to it. He jerks to an upright position, a gust of air bursting from his lungs. “What the fuck!”
His surroundings gradually come into focus, starting with glossy tile floors. Jisung blinks, grappling with the change in scenery and jogging his memory. Where is he? And where was he before… Well, here?
“Oh thank god,” that same voice says, punctuating the thought with an audible sigh of relief. “I haven’t done anything like this before, so I was worried I, like, broke you or something.”
That voice. That fucking voice. Where has Jisung heard it? Or at least an approximation of it, younger and higher pitched.
“Dude,” Jisung huffs, “I don’t know who you are, but if you seriously thought you could—oh.”
Jisung freezes with wide eyes, taking in the kidnapper towering over him and his porcelain throne. A person with shoulder-length hair the same inky black as the night sky, the bridge of their nose ending in a perfect point and bracketed by softened eyes. They smile when their eyes meet, and holy shit, they’re the most beautiful human being Jisung has ever seen.
But, as soon as his brain processes how incredibly handsome this person is, it registers that this? This… man who kidnapped him?
It’s Hwang Hyunjin.
Jisung can’t help his jaw from dropping, and his eyes bug out of his skull.
He has the same eye color, the same basic facial structure and lanky build as Hyunjin, but overall, he’s the more mature version—an older version. Even his clothes appear more luxurious, from the designer brand name emblazoned on his chest to the real leather pants.
This can’t be the real Hyunjin, though. The skinny boy who treasures his book collection and always struck Jisung as nerdy. This is probably just an annoying nightmare that Jisung’s brain conjured up to torture him.
“Hyun…” Jisung wets his lips. “Jin?”
“He speaks!” Hyunjin throws up his hands, brimming with excitement, but clears his throat in the next breath. “Sorry, I just—I was serious when I said I didn’t know if this would work.”
“If what would work?”
“Oh. Well, uh…”
“Kidnapping me?”
Hyunjin’s cheeks flush (a not cute) pink. “No, that’s… I wouldn’t call it that.”
“What would you call it, then?” Jisung folds his right leg underneath him and narrows his eyes at this majestic giant masquerading as Hyunjin. “Are you some kind of alien? Or, like—Oh, fuck, is this a demon possession thing?”
Hyunjin scoffs as Jisung clambers to his feet, flattening himself against the stall wall.
“It is!” Jisung points an accusing finger at Hyunjin. “And you’re going to kill me!”
Rather than get angry—or scared because Jisung figured him out—Hyunjin chuckles and shakes his head. He gestures for Jisung to go ahead as he pushes open the door, saying nothing. The bathroom’s fluorescent lights don’t appear as bright or overbearing as usual. It’s as if the fog Jisung blinked out of his vision remains present, blanketing everything in his line of sight.
Hyunjin remains quiet for a second longer than Jisung likes. “Did you spray something in here?” He rounds on Hyunjin, squaring his shoulders and summoning his most intimidating stance. “It looks weird. Almost like smoke…”
“It’s—”
“Wait, smoke?” Jisung raises his voice. “Is there a fire? Holy shit, you really are gonna kill me!”
“You know,” Hyunjin says, propping a hand on his hip, “it’s amazing how you haven’t changed as much as I expected.”
As much as he… huh?
“Okay.” Hyunjin lets out a long sigh and leans against the counter. “I think I need to explain myself.”
“Yeah, that’s an understatement.”
A smile tugs at both corners of Hyunjin’s mouth, and butterflies beat their tiny wings inside Jisung’s belly. He crosses his arms over his chest, hoping to banish them to whatever awful hole they crawled out of.
“We’re fighting,” Hyunjin says. No, he doesn’t ask; he’s stating a fact. “The you of right now and the me of… back then.”
Back then. It doesn’t make an ounce of sense. This is some seriously messed up shit.
“It is. It is ‘some seriously messed up shit.’” Hyunjin laughs, and Jisung cringes from embarrassment. “But it’s for your own good.” He furrows his brow. “I think.”
“Wha—” Jisung curses the crack in his voice. “You think? Didn’t you just say the you of ‘back then?’ What does that even mean?”
“Have you heard of dream-melding?”
Jisung’s surprised his brain doesn’t shut down or implode inside his skull. Dream-melding: sharing a dream space with your soulmate after declaring your bond. A technique that doesn’t exist—a magical spell from Harry Potter or, better yet, a theory spread by internet trolls with overactive imaginations. But not a real thing that human beings experience.
That soulmate’s experience, Jisung’s subconscious helpfully provides, and oh.
Wait.
Wait a fucking second.
“Yeah,” Jisung croaks and chokes back what he really wants to say. ‘Dream-melding isn’t real.’ ‘You’re implying something bonkers insane right now.’
“Well…” Hyunjin scrubs the back of his neck, his gaze darting to the mirrors on the wall. “That’s what I’m doing. We’ve done this before, but I’ve never tried to reach back in time. People say it’s not risky, but I don’t know.” Hyunjin winces. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think it was completely necessary.”
There are so many things to unpack in Hyunjin’s explanation thus far.
This man is Hyunjin from the future.
Future Hyunjin is inside Jisung’s head.
He’s dream-melding with Hyunjin.
And last but certainly not least…
If they’re dream-melding, and Hyunjin claims they’ve done it before, that means—
Nope. Jisung isn’t letting himself go there.
“So,” he drawls, “you’re from the future. You came from the future to my dream to… what, exactly?”
Hyunjin’s lips twitch and then droop. A frown looks unsettling and wrong with his lovely features. “You don’t believe me.”
“I mean, it’s pretty unbelievable. You know that.”
“Yeah… You mentioned that you—that this you wouldn’t buy into my story. He said you were a huge cynic who thought soulmates were a ‘load of shit.’”
Fear trickles down Jisung’s spine.
“And I don’t know the best way to convince you I’m telling the truth, so…” Hyunjin shrugs. “All I can say is that he wanted to tell you… things get better.”
“Then why doesn’t he tell me that himself?”
Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “Obviously he can’t, silly. That’s why I’m here.” His voice drops to an awkward mumble. “I’m the only one who could come back and talk some sense into you.”
This is insane. Like, totally nuts. Even for Jisung, who likes to think of himself as creative, prone to daydreams since primary school. Fantasies borne from binging anime and Ghibli movies, crafted to fit his aspirations of becoming an idol.
“It's up to you whether you believe me. But—” Hyunjin steps into Jisung’s space, sending his heartbeat skyrocketing. “At least listen to what I have to say. That’s all I ask.”
Jisung’s words stick in his throat, plastered there with cement. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Hyunjin tilts his head, observing Jisung with an expression far too sympathetic to be aimed at him, and he nods.
“Okay, good.” Hyunjin touches the top of Jisung’s hand, and Jisung flinches. “Sorry, I thought this might help. Is it… okay?”
Somehow, Hyunjin wanting to hold his hand is both the weirdest and most normal thing that’s happened. Jisung can’t find it within himself to protest and, to be honest, Hyunjin’s warmth is enticing even from a distance.
He offers another small nod.
“Thank you,” Hyunjin murmurs. He guides Jisung’s hand to rest in his lap, brushing his thumb along the ridges of Jisung’s knuckles. The touch is featherlight, but makes it impossible to focus. “You always liked physical affection. Even now, when you would’ve rather died than ask me.”
A nervous chuckle slips from Jisung’s mouth at Hyunjin’s exasperated eye roll. That, coupled with Hyunjin’s soft touch, is enough to soothe Jisung—at least enough to make him listen.
“It might not seem like it now,” Hyunjin says, “but I don’t hate you. I never did.”
Jisung scrunches up his face. “You—Wait, you didn’t—You don’t?”
“Nope.”
“But…”
“I can’t give you the details, unfortunately.” Hyunjin grimaces. “I don’t want to mess up the timeline. Seungminnie says the important events will shake out the same way regardless, that the ‘billiard-ball model’ proves you can’t alter history, but—I’m not taking any chances.”
Other than Seungmin’s name, the rest of Hyunjin’s explanation flies right over Jisung’s head.
“But what I can tell you…” Hyunjin hesitates, squeezing Jisung’s smaller hands. “Is that you need to stick it out. Give him—give me a chance.”
He sounds like Channie-hyung, Jisung can’t help but think.
“Okay.” He averts his gaze to the scuffed soles of his practice shoes. It’s an inadequate response, but the best he can offer.
Although he’s infinitely more curious about something else.
One of Hyunjin’s long elegant fingers tips Jisung’s chin up, forcing him to make eye contact. “Trust me, this is weird for me, too. I haven’t seen this version of you in years.”
“How many?”
“Hm, six, I think.”
Six. Six fucking years. So, there’s a chance the group is still together, but it doesn’t answer the bigger question. The elephant squatted in the bathroom corner.
As his mouth opens, brows drawing together, Hyunjin’s expression matches his. He brushes his thumb across the tip of Jisung’s chin. Hyunjin and Jisung have always given each other a wide berth, so it’s hard to fathom this new, soothing sensation—the unfamiliar skinship.
“You want to ask.” Hyunjin chuckles good-naturedly. “You’re dying to ask, actually. I can tell.”
Should Jisung ask, though? Can he? Will the dream collapse if he does? Fuck, will it alter the timeline or whatever, like Jisung’s seen happen in English sci-fi movies? Seungmin told Hyunjin it isn’t possible to change history, especially in a dream environment. Still, Jisung will vibrate out of his skin if he doesn’t address it.
“You and I…” Jisung’s throat is dry. “The two of us, we’re…?”
Hyunjin arches an artfully plucked brow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’re?”
Jisung can’t bring himself to say the word. It’ll be true the moment he says it—no take-backs. And if it’s true, really and honestly true, outside of this peculiar dream, then Jisung has no fucking clue what he’ll do.
“Hey,” Hyunjin says, voice dripping with fondness, “it’s okay. You don’t have to say it. But… I’m sure you already know the answer.”
Wake up! Jisung sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, and it stings, but not enough to rouse him from his slumber.
Everything moves in slow motion as Hyunjin releases Jisung and steps out of his space. He turns around and, with little trouble, lifts the back of his shirt, revealing a flower-shaped mark between his shoulder-blades.
Jisung’s eyes widen.
The mark is a faded shade of lavender, same as Jisung’s. Same shape, same location. It’s a carbon copy of the soul mark Jisung has lived with since he was a fussy, crying baby. He remembers seeing it for the first time as a kid. He could hardly believe that his mom’s stories of soulmates were—or could be—real.
Then his teenage years wholly disenchanted him.
Garnering disgusted looks in the boys’ locker room, crude remarks and wet towels whipping his skin. And the unwanted attention he earned from creepy strangers was almost worse.
“Oh my god,” Jisung exhales, and it’s insufficient, barely expresses the emotions flooding Jisung’s body. But he can’t string together a coherent reply.
Hyunjin looks over his shoulder, cheeks flushed a (not) cute pink. His plump lips part, and in the next heartbeat, he disappears.
When Jisung comes to, it’s in a cramped bathroom stall.
“What the—” Jisung falls forward, smashing his face into the stall door.
Fuck.
Jisung can’t look Hyunjin in the eye the next day.
It’s understandable, of course. How could he? Because if he meets Hyunjin’s curious stare, then he’ll have to explain what happened the other day. That the hotter Future Hyunjin appeared in Jisung’s dream to deliver the most batshit insane news ever.
Luckily, Jisung caught a few hours of sleep last night. Enough to function as a human being without being tardy to practice. And before he fell asleep, he decided how he’ll handle things—that he’ll pretend nothing changed. Because contrary to what other trainees might believe, Jisung can act. He wears a mask often, his confident-and-totally-not-anxious-or-depressed facade. Adding another layer can’t be that big of a deal, right? Just another Hyunjin-and-I-are-not-fucking-soulmates layer.
Yeah. Easy enough.
Or it would be if he and Hyunjin didn’t spend every waking hour together.
Filming the survival show, practicing choreography, preparing for their debut. They’re both undergoing the same rigorous training regimen daily. Which makes pretending he doesn’t know what Hyunjin is—no, might be, because Jisung maintains that his imagination’s fooling him—a challenge.
“I guess it’s better than the two of you trying to rip each other’s throats out,” Changbin whispers to Jisung during a water break. “But I’m confused. I hadn’t heard that you two got into another big fight. Why are you avoiding Hyunjinnie now?”
“I mean, you just admitted it’s better this way…”
“Yeah, but suspicious as hell. You’re normally not this quiet around him, either.” Changbin cocks his head to the side. “Aren’t you going to bitch at him for, I don’t know, breathing? Existing? Something?”
Jisung shrugs, feigning indifference.
“Okay, yeah, I’m lost. No comments on his hair or outfit? His rapping?”
“Uh,” Jisung replies, and Changbin’s eyes glint dangerously.
“Please tell me you’ve seen the light.” Changbin slaps both hands on Jisung’s shoulders and shakes him. “I miss hanging out with you two! This whole ‘enemies’ bullshit is so dumb.”
“He’s still a dick,” Jisung protests, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. “Nothing has changed.”
And he’s right. Of course he is!
Until he’s not.
Jisung could eat a fucking horse.
It’s late, and the group has finished practice for the day. Jisung’s slim legs ache, and his brain does, too, after having to memorize lyrics. He just wants to return to the dorm, throw on his pajamas, and curl up in bed with his laptop and a hefty bowl of ramyun. Maybe he’ll even have time to rewatch ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’ before sleep slams into him like a semi-truck.
But he’s yanked backwards before he can reach the elevator.
“Hey, what—” The rest of Jisung’s words die in his throat.
Hyunjin.
He pulls Jisung along behind him, headed for one of the soundproof vocal rooms on this floor. Hyunjin moves with purpose and doesn’t spare Jisung a glance, as if he’s leading along a helpless puppy. They weave through the halls, dodging staff and loitering JYP idols in masks and hoodies.
“You—Where are we going?” Jisung raises his voice slightly, aware of their audience. “Hyunjin?”
Hyunjin quickens his pace. The dim lighting in the hall illuminates his short black hair and draws attention to the silver cross dangling from one of his ears. He doesn’t react to Jisung’s comment.
A familiar layout greets Jisung when Hyunjin pushes through the next door on their right. The keyboard along the far wall and microphone, a comfortable chair and stack of sheet music. He can’t focus on the setup, though, with Hyunjin’s flustered form filling every crevice and corner. When he’s rattled, he has that power and control over a space.
“Why—”
“We need to talk.”
Jisung takes an instinctive step back as Hyunjin closes in on him. Although he’s shorter than the Hyunjin in Jisung’s dream, he’s still tall—taller than Jisung. And an indeterminable emotion rolls off his body, enveloping Jisung.
“Woah, woah.” Jisung makes a placating gesture with his raised hands. “Slow down, buddy. You’re freaking me out.”
Hyunjin shakes his head and a rare spark of dread flashes in his eyes. “I’m the one freaking out.”
“Yeah, clearly.”
“This is serious, Jisung.”
Jisung. It’s rare that Hyunjin call Jisung by his name since the rift grew between them.
“Okay…” Jisung lowers his voice. “Well, I’m freaking out now, too. You kinda just dragged me into a soundproof room. Where you could—” He motions chopping off his head “—if you wanted.”
Hyunjin thins his lips. “I had an… extremely strange dream last night.”
Jisung stares blankly back at him. Then, the reality of what he’s saying dawns on Jisung.
Oh, hell no.
“And?”
“And you were in it.”
Yeah, this definitely isn’t good. He waggles his eyebrows. “Was I sexy? Was it a sexy dream?”
“An older version of you,” Hyunjin says, tone neutral, and it’s a testament to how frightened he is that he doesn’t snap at Jisung’s childish antics. “Six years older, actually.”
Jisung’s confidence wavers. “I don’t get why you’re so panicked about a dre—”
“You told me we were dream-melding.”
Jisung’s jaw snaps shut. Never in a million years did he expect his older counterpart to follow Hyunjin’s lead. This whole time, he figured he could survive debuting without confronting the reality of their… bond.
And it was much easier to ignore Dream Hyunjin without this evidence laid out before him.
“Dream-melding?” Jisung chuckles. “Come on, Hyunjin. You’ve been watching too many dramas lately. I don’t think that’s even possible.”
“That’s what I said. But future you was oddly convincing.”
Future you. Jisung needs to decide here and now: does he tell Hyunjin what happened?
On one hand, it’ll be easier to cover it up if he keeps it a secret. But on the other, it would be nice to have someone to confide in. Otherwise, he doesn’t know how long he can go on without spilling his guts to someone. And whoever that is, if not Hyunjin, will assume he’s lost his damn mind.
That thought leaves a rotten taste in Jisung’s mouth.
“You’re not fucking with me right now,” he says, “are you?”
“No. I swear.”
It might not seem like it now, but I don’t hate you. I never did. Dream Hyunjin’s voice echoes inside Jisung’s head, clear as day, as if he’s there with Jisung.
And not the dorky, gangly Hyunjin currently wringing his hands in front of him.
“Okay, well…” Jisung sucks in a breath and lets it out, the whistling sound causing Hyunjin to flinch. “I can believe that because… something similar happened to me the other day?”
As expected, Hyunjin gawks at him. “Wait—you—” He shakes his head. “As in, you dream-melded with me?”
Jisung worries at his bottom lip and nods.
“This is ridiculous,” Hyunjin cries, and, for once, Jisung agrees with him. “No way. No way!”
“You’re telling me, dude. Your buddy from the future visited me first.”
Hyunjin’s gaze sharpens, scanning Jisung’s face. “Did I tell you anything important?”
Jisung huffs. Stories of dream-melding are popular, especially because not every bonded pair has the ‘mental fortitude’ to do it. But Jisung has plenty of mental fortitude. He grasped the most important bits of Dream Hyunjin’s message without him spelling it out for him.
“Not really.” Jisung hesitates. “Other than the obvious.”
“Right. Right.”
“So—”
“This doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Hyunjin says. “It doesn’t. We can just—It’s best if we act like nothing happened.”
There’s desperation in Hyunjin’s voice, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as Jisung. If not more, honestly. Jisung recognizes someone attempting to trick themselves into believing something, and it’s not how he expected this conversation to go.
Future Hyunjin implied Jisung’s past self would accept the truth with open arms, but the reality doesn’t match. Hyunjin is acting frantic. Panicked. How Jisung secretly feels, so much so that Hyunjin’s words don’t immediately register.
“Oh,” Jisung murmurs, feeling awkward suddenly. “So, we’re going to pretend everything’s the same?”
“Yeah.” Hyunjin releases a strained laugh. “Yeah, obviously.”
Obviously. Is it obvious, though? Shouldn’t they try to understand this? And, as skeptical as Jisung’s been, the odds of Hyunjin lying about a similar dream-meld—it’s too crazy to be coincidental. Or, as much as it freaks him out, fake.
The consequences hit harder now that the dream-meld appears to have been real.
“It’ll be easy,” Hyunjin rants, “and no one else needs to know, either. We’ll continue avoiding each other and—and act the same way, and no one will suspect a thing.”
“I mean, yeah. I don’t see why that wouldn’t work.”
“Then, it’s settled.”
Jisung wishes Hyunjin would tell him what his future counterpart said. He gets the feeling it must’ve rattled Hyunjin for him to act… well, like he loathes the idea of them being bonded.
Of them maybe (probably) being soulmates.
“I’ll leave first.” Hyunjin evidently plans to leave with the same spontaneity with which he yanked Jisung inside. “Wait a couple of minutes before coming out behind me.”
Hyunjin mistakes Jisung angling his head as a nod and flees before he can get another word in edge-wise. The door falls shut behind Hyunjin with a very final slam, similar to the squeaky bathroom stall door.
Jisung gapes at the space Hyunjin once occupied, only seconds prior. Thankfully for Hyunjin, at least ten minutes pass before Jisung’s body allows him to move.
He’s fortunate enough to sneak back to his room uninterrupted.
But not fortunate enough to sleep restfully.
‘Acting normal’ is much more challenging than expected.
Well, that’s not completely true. Jisung knew from the moment Hyunjin left him in the vocal room.
Every time he watches Hyunjin practice from behind, he pictures the mark underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He’s behaved himself and avoided sneaking glances when they change, but that doesn’t mean his imagination can’t conjure up the image itself. A magnificent flower with blossoming petals, a design that made Jisung self-conscious for most of his childhood.
In one of his weaker moments, Jisung thinks of how elegant the mark must look against Hyunjin’s skin. How it fits his image and personality better than it ever fit Jisung.
Those… strange thoughts have Jisung tripping over his feet and messing up multiple moves in their choreography.
And he can’t seem to stop.
Not when Chan forces him to stay after practice or when Minho corners him during lunch. Not when Changbin finds him in the dorm and pries for information.
Jisung doesn’t want to dwell constantly on the whole Hyunjin thing. He’d much prefer being able to focus on his training, his practice—his lyrics. Miraculously, he makes it through the survival show in one piece. He debuts with the group and heaves a giant sigh of relief once everything’s done, regardless of the mountain of work waiting for him on the horizon. It’s a workload he’s understood since he became a trainee.
But the extra burden of his secret with Hyunjin, the extra burden of faking animosity—it’s crushing him.
Not enough to impact his performance, at least, but he’s on the brink of snapping.
Jisung shuffles into the dimly lit bathroom of their new dorm. Swiping his fingers through his hair, he trudges over to the sink and blinks through the drowsy film over his eyes. His body operates on autopilot in the morning, specifically before the clock strikes noon.
He’s so focused on brushing his teeth and washing his face that he doesn’t notice the second figure in the room.
“Oh.”
Jisung jumps and slaps his hands over his chest. “You scared—”
His throat grows tight.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was awake,” Hyunjin rambles. “I won’t be much longer.”
Jisung tries to pay attention; he really does. But he can’t focus past the expanse of milky skin glistening under the lights.
A flower, bold and charming and—a mark. The mark.
It’s well and truly the first time Jisung has seen it in person. For the past several months, he’s done an impressive job of avoiding a shirtless Hyunjin. Or at least kept his gaze averted.
Within the narrow walls of the dorm bathroom, though, there’s no avoiding it.
“You—” Jisung chokes on the word. “That’s—I didn’t—”
Hyunjin’s face turns scarlet, the color extending downwards, as well as up to the tips of his ears. “You haven’t noticed it?”
Jisung shakes his head.
“I find that hard to believe,” Hyunjin scoffs. “We change together all the time. This damned thing is hard to miss.”
This damned thing. Awareness returns to Jisung, brought on by a twinge of annoyance. “I have self-control, you know. But, what—You don’t like it?”
Hyunjin opens and closes his mouth. Knitting his brows, he turns away from Jisung and shrugs.
“It’s too much,” Hyunjin murmurs. “Don’t you think?”
“Too much.”
“Yeah, it would be prettier on a girl or, I mean, I’m sure it’s prettier on yo—” Hyunjin cuts himself off, his eyes going wide. “Prettier on someone who’s actually pretty.”
“Someone who’s actually…” Jisung can’t hide his frustration now. “You’re joking, right? It’s not a great joke if you are.”
“I’m not.”
“What, you don’t think you’re pretty enough for a flower mark?”
Hyunjin curls in on himself, and oh my god he means it.
“You’ve got it backwards. The flower isn’t pretty enough for you,” Jisung blurts.
Hey? Mouth? What the fuck are you doing? Heat engulfs Jisung, and he realizes he must be as red as Hyunjin now.
“Ha ha.” Hyunjin snorts. “And you say that my joke sucked.”
Complimenting Hyunjin under the guise of a joke would be easier. It wouldn’t be the first time Jisung has done it, especially since learning about the bond. But a bigger part of him hates to see Hyunjin crumple. To watch the person scouted for his fucking looks, the person Jisung initially pegged as insufferable, break under the weight of low self-esteem.
A weight all too familiar to Jisung.
“You have to know how good-looking you are,” Jisung says, his voice dipping to a lower register. “I mean, we’re—” he gestures between them— “but that doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes.”
“Jisung…”
The name strikes a chord, and Jisung’s mouth runs away from him once again.
“Well, fuck what anyone else thinks,” Jisung rushes to say. “I think you’re beautiful.”
Silence falls heavy between them, blanketing the bathroom and making Jisung shift on his feet. He’s far too scared to lock eyes with Hyunjin, but his speechlessness speaks volumes.
Take it back, take it back, take it back—
“You think I’m… beautiful?”
Jisung fists his hands in the hem of his oversized sleep shirt, the worn fabric soft in his grip. “It’s objectively true, you know.”
But Hyunjin doesn’t.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Hyunjin says, soft and uncertain. “Is it okay if I—never mind.”
Jisung lifts his head, curiosity getting the better of him. Hyunjin remains folded in on himself, but his expression has softened, the beginnings of a smile flirting with his lips. With the memory of Hyunjin’s mark fresh in his mind—and no barrier between Jisung’s gaze and Hyunjin’s bare torso—he’s struck by how handsome Hyunjin is.
He may lie about many things, but not this. Not anymore.
“Can you what?” Jisung asks.
“It’s dumb.”
“Probably not.”
“Okay, well, it’s weird, then.”
Jisung taps his chin. “Hm, not that either.”
Hyunjin rolls his eyes, but the permanent flush to his skin betrays him. “Fine, then don’t get mad when I do it.”
In a flash, Hyunjin is there in Jisung’s space. His long arms curl around Jisung’s middle and pull Jisung in against his warm, bare chest. With his nose pressed into Hyunjin’s skin, he’s shrouded in the sweet scent of Hyunjin’s lotion. His breath tickles Jisung’s scalp, and the smell of his mouthwash is calming—domestic in its simplicity.
“Uh…”
“Shut up,” Hyunjin grumbles, but there’s no actual heat behind it. No malice. “You’re the one who encouraged this.”
Jisung would protest, but right now, he can’t think much past ‘hot’ and ‘soft’ and ‘fan-fucking-tastic.’
That’s the only excuse for what he says next.
“Hyunjinnie, don’t you think we should stop pretending to be enemies?”
Hyunjin tenses, his grip on Jisung’s waist tightening. “What?”
“Come on,” Jisung whines, “it’s getting exhausting. Aren’t you tired? I mean, we don’t hate each other anymore.”
‘Anymore’ is a blatant lie—they never quite did—but Hyunjin doesn’t call him out on it.
“But… the bond—” Hyunjin pauses. “Won’t the other members think something’s up if we become best friends? Out of the blue?”
Jisung scoffs. “To be honest? Changbinnie-hyung told me ages ago that he didn’t think we’d fight for long. That he thought we were just doing it for the drama.”
“Oh.” Hyunjin’s little giggle makes Jisung’s skin tingle. “And the others…?”
“You’re overthinking it. It’s my job to be the overthinker. Well, me and Channie-hyung.”
“And you’re not mad at me anymore? About, you know.”
“The shoe thing?” Jisung hesitates, considering it. “Nah. That was, like. Ages ago.”
Hyunjin fingers smooth over Jisung’s spine through his shirt, and Jisung stifles a shudder. “You’ll miss fighting with me, though. Practice will be boring.”
“Nah, I could never. We could never.”
To Jisung’s disappointment, Hyunjin pulls away. Albeit reluctantly. He drops his gaze, smiling, and Jisung can’t remember when Hyunjin last looked at him like this—if he ever has. Pleasantly surprised. Exasperated, but fond.
“You’re handling this well,” Hyunjin says. “I’m impressed.”
“Which part?”
Hyunjin fixes him with an unamused look. “You know which part.”
To be honest, Jisung doesn’t know how he’s ‘handling’ everything so well. When he first crossed paths with the Hyunjin of the future, he panicked hardcore. Probably more than Hyunjin did with Future Jisung. But he can’t bring himself to freak out anymore—not to the same extent.
Maybe it’s because he hates seeing Hyunjin in pain. And, boy, if that isn’t earth-shattering.
“I don’t know.” A restless chuckle bubbles up over Jisung’s lips. “I guess I’ve had longer to process it than you have.”
“By, like, a couple days.”
“Still!”
Hyunjin sighs and bends back, his face towards the ceiling, and his eyes slip shut. But he doesn’t remove his hands from Jisung.
“Don’t get a big head about this,” Hyunjin says, smirking when he peers down his nose at Jisung. “Please.”
“Me?” Jisung gasps in mock offense. “Never!”
“I don’t think we should tell anyone, either. About the, uh…” Hyunjin circumvents the word, but Jisung catches the way his shoulders tense. “You know.”
Jisung answers honestly: “I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good.”
Hyunjin straightens up, then. Although there’s a noticeable height difference, Jisung feels especially small right now, with Hyunjin hovering over him. He’s standing much closer than Jisung realized, too, with his dark eyes and body heat, more of a comfort than a source of anxiety as he was earlier.
If anyone isn’t beautiful enough for this mark, Jisung nearly blurts, it’s me.
Before Jisung can incriminate himself, Hyunjin inches the slightest bit closer. Jisung stifles the urge to step back, letting Hyunjin’s arms go around his waist. It’s only when Hyunjin leans in that Jisung twitches.
Is he—he wouldn’t just—
Jisung’s thoughts tangle and circle each other as Hyunjin moves closer and closer and closer, his lips near enough that warm puffs of air tickle Jisung’s jaw. He inhales through his nose, sharp and expectant, bracing himself.
Hyunjin’s going to kiss Jisung. He can’t just—there’s no real reason for him to kiss Jisung, regardless of the matching marks. But what else could he be doing, bringing his face within centimeters of Jisung’s? Is this his way of sealing the deal?
Just when Jisung thinks he might burst into flames on the spot, Hyunjin changes course at the last second. Hyunjin’s mouth skirts past Jisung’s mouth and brushes the hinge of his jaw as he moves to his ear.
Oh.
My ear, Jisung thinks, and even the voice of his subconscious sounds shrill.
“In case you don’t know,” Hyunjin whispers, grazing Jisung’s ear lobe with each movement of his mouth, “I kinda think you’re beautiful, too.”
Jisung has a moment to process what Hyunjin said before he’s pulling away. Completely away, sliding toward the bathroom door. Glowing with pride and smug satisfaction.
And, as much as Jisung wants to complain, he can’t. Not when a shy smile pulls up the corners of Hyunjin’s lips and a delighted peal of laughter fills the air.
“That’s, you,” Jisung rambles, echoing the flustered voice inside his head, “I’m—No fair!”
“Says the guy who wasn’t even going to tell me he dream-melded with my future self.” Hyunjin’s hand settles on the doorknob. “The guy who wasn’t even going to tell me he found out we were soulmates after weeks of trying to destroy each other!”
Jisung audibly gasps without an ounce of fakeness or humor. Hyunjin broke their unspoken rule.
He said the word. The word that shall not be named—their Voldemort.
“You would’ve thought I was crazy!”
“Yeah, probably.”
Jisung grabs the nearest hand towel and lobs it at Hyunjin. He’s too late, though, and Hyunjin cackles as he slips out the door, crowing with delight as the towel hits the wall where he had been standing.
“Come back here!” Jisung scrambles after him, but can already hear Hyunjin’s retreating footsteps. “When I catch you, I swear…”
Throughout their entire conversation, Jisung forgot how early it was and doesn’t consider it now as he careens around the corner.
So, when he enters the living room, he encounters Chan and promptly face-plants.
(In the end, though, knowing what they are changes nothing.
They seldom discuss their matching marks. They do their best to hide them from the prying eyes of their group-mates. Neither of them mention it to their parents.
It isn’t until Stray Kids' four-year anniversary that things come to a head.
After Hyunjin’s hiatus, after a whirlwind year of performances and the plights of Kingdom, after struggling through the pandemic together—that’s when they take the leap together.
Jisung presses Hyunjin to the wall and kisses him until his lips go numb and Hyunjin’s legs give out.
And they fall in love naturally, with no pressure from the soul mark.)