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Summary
wooyoung hates being told what to do, and thus he hates the concept of soulmates. like what sort of bullshit must it be, to dedicate your life finding someone that may not even be what you want? just because you have a soul mark doesn’t mean shit. you can get your own damn tattoos or whatever.
then one day, he sees a man crouching in the rain, huddled with a litter of kittens in a cardboard box. near the office of his modelling agency. same damn cuts and bruises on his hands. amicus ad aras at his knee, peeking from the rip in his jeans.
what the fuck?
(alternatively: pro-soulmate san convinces anti-soulmate wooyoung that fated mates exist; erodes all his hardened edges, and makes him into love.)