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The mark had burned itself onto Euijoo’s skin the night he turned seventeen. It was the unmistakable imprint of a hand, large and steady, pressed against his ribcage just over his heart. He hadn’t needed to wonder for long.
It was Fuma.
His guard, always a step behind him, always watchful, quiet, and infuriatingly stubborn. No one else was so careful with his life, or so unwilling to let him get close.
For years, Euijoo had waited for the moment their marks would meet, waiting to prove that fate was not so cruel as to tether him to anyone else. He waited for proof that he wasn’t alone in this world. And for years, Fuma had kept his gloves on, his distance sharp as a blade. Every one of Euijoo’s attempts to prove that they were soulmates was met with avoidance. It was the most frustrating thing Euijoo had ever experienced.
Every time Euijoo leaned too near, every time his fingers brushed too close to bare skin, Fuma would retreat. Not coldly. Never cruel. But firmly, with eyes shadowed by sorrow Euijoo couldn’t name. There was no progress and Euijoo couldn't figure out how to possibly break through Fuma’s mile-high defenses. He had walls around his heart that Euijoo couldn't break through.
Until the night of the spell.
It had been nothing more than an experiment. It was a vision-charm meant to reveal the origins of a text he’d found in the Grand Library. At least, it was supposed to be. Euijoo’s magic, though, was… very inconsistent. He’d expected perhaps a glimpse of the past scholar who had written it. What he got instead was the sound of a boy crying in a narrow cottage.
He was inside someone’s memories. Inside Fuma’s.
The boy, small, dark-haired, and bright-eyed in a way Fuma no longer was, flinched as a door slammed. A man’s hand, heavy and violent, struck down on a woman who bore striking resemblance to Fuma. She tried to protect her son, but the father’s voice was thunder, his touch cruel, a parody of what soulmates were meant to be. He was cruel in a way Euijoo had never experienced before. He could barely fathom that Fuma had experienced this.
Fuma, who had never once said a cruel word to anybody. Fuma, who would never dare raise a hand to someone, even his worst enemies. Fuma, who was as gentle as he was strong. That Fuma was nothing like the man that was supposedly his father.
His parents were soulmates. They were supposed to be perfect for each other. They were supposed to be in love in a way regular people weren't capable of. But this wasn't love.
Euijoo stumbled through scene after scene, through nights where the boy hid under the floorboards, hands clamped over his ears and through mornings where the woman whispered promises that love did not have to hurt, even when hers did. He stumbled through days where Fuma would stay outside until the sun was setting, just so he didn’t have to go home and see either of his parents. His mother tried her best to shield Fuma from the horrors, but nothing could hide the bruises and the way his mother wilted with each passing day. Fuma was a smart kid. He knew his father was cruel.
And Euijoo walked through a final moment, years later, when Fuma, grown and grim, swore to himself in the dark, “I will never touch them. Whoever they are. I will not let fate chain me to hurt them the way my father hurt her.”
The spell snapped, and Euijoo gasped back into the present, the library spinning around him. His hands shook, his chest ached, but more than anything, his heart burned with fury. Fury for the boy who had been forced to carry this fear alone. Fury for a world that would condemn a woman to be stuck with a man who hurt her. Fury for all the love Fuma deserved but never let himself have.
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t wait.
He found Fuma in the training yard, stripped to the waist, sword gleaming in the torchlight. The guard stiffened when he saw Euijoo storming toward him, eyes wide, already moving away. He knew that nothing good came about when Euijoo was determined like this.
Fuma tried to back away, but Euijoo reached first.
He grabbed Fuma’s arm and pressed the guard’s hand to his ribs, right where his soulmark was. Right where he'd been waiting to be touched for many years. Right over his heart. The very thing he’d been trying to give Fuma for years.
The world seemed to hold its breath. Then the mark flared a beautiful rainbow, cascading light spilling outward like a sunrise. Both of their marks burned the same brilliance, shining like a million little stars. It was beautiful, but Fuma couldn’t really appreciate the beauty of it.
Fuma froze. His eyes widened, horror and hope colliding in his expression. “Euijoo, what--”
“You would never hurt me.” Euijoo’s voice trembled, but the words rang true, ironclad. He pushed harder, palm against skin, forcing Fuma to feel the warmth that fate had promised. None of his words were a lie. “Do you hear me? You are not him. You never will be. You are everything he was not. You will not hurt me."
Something in Fuma shattered. A sound tore from his throat, half laugh, half sob, and for the first time in years, he let himself believe. His hand rose, hesitant, shaking, before settling gently over Euijoo’s ribs again, where the mark burned rainbow bright. He felt the beating of Euijoo’s heart, alive and beating only for Fuma. Tears spilled from his eyes, but they weren't sad or scared. They were relieved. For the first time in his life, he wasn't scared of what might happen.
And Euijoo, scholar though he was, needed no book to tell him the truth. Love was not destiny written in blood, but choice written in touch.
This love was theirs.