Work Text:
(1)
“In this world, everyone was born with writing in the back of their hands. A sentence engraved since birth, one that was impossible to erase, signifying their ties to their soulmate.”
At least, that was what his elders used to say.
“Once one meets the other half of their soul, that writing–the words uttered by the soulmates– burns .
“It burns, and like a firework, it will disappear into nothingness.”
(2)
S.Coups remembered asking, “Doesn’t that feel like curse instead of blessing?”
His elders–he forgot who; it could be Grandma, it could be Grandpa; his memory was hazy–smiled. In their raspy voices, they said, “Meeting one’s soulmate, indeed, is a double-edged sword. You could be hurt; you could be safe. Everything is up to the whim of the World, My Little One.”
The ten years old S.Coups, back then named Choi Seungcheol, frowned so deep it could be mistaken as a cloth’s crease. He stared at the back of his palm, pouting. Whining, “If everyone has sentences in the back of their hand because they have their soulmates, then why are my hands empty?
“Does that mean I don’t have one?”
(3)
Years later, he dreamt of seeing someone standing under an apple tree.
That tree, confusingly, grew in a land that had nothing but sand. No vegetation, no wild plants; everywhere else was a barren land, with dusts blown by the passing wind.
S.Coups found himself walking to where that person was. However, no matter how long he walked, no matter how far he went, it felt like he could never reach that person.
The person who was waiting under a blossoming apple tree, back facing him, hands on their sides…
From a far away, S.Coups heard that person sang–beautifully, heart-wrenchingly–
“If you’re still alive, then respond to me…”
At that moment, a fire appeared on the back of his hand.
(4)
Everytime that person appeared in his dream, his hand felt like it got burnt. Everytime that flame was set ablaze, S.Coups was awoken with sweats leaving marks on his bedsheet. He could not breath–not with fear engulfing him, not with the scent of smoke invading his lungs.
Yet once he turned his palm, his left palm where that flame appeared out of nowhere, his eyes saw nothing.
Not a sentence, not even a burnt mark.
In his ears, however, that person’s mournful voice lingered–
“
If you’re still alive, then respond to me…
”