Note: I know this next part starts... like it does, but it's gonna be okay I promise
-

Chan is with Changbin when a tattoo draws itself on Changbin's collarbone.

It's a sunday morning, maybe around ten – and Chan knows because this is when Changbin comes to his apartment after a gym session. Changbin knows the code to Chan's apartment, and Chan is usually awake by this time, and then Chan cooks breakfast for two. Changbin sits and tells Chan about his week, the dogs he saw on his run, the high society gossip his mother tells him with the strict order to tell absolutely nobody.

Dark lines begin to form on Changbin's collarbone, and at first Chan dismisses it as a trick of the light, and then he dismisses it as a line of dirt, or dust, or a bruise. He doesn't focus on it, in fact he tries to not focus on the still sweaty skin of Changbin's chest. So he smiles at Changbin's cute recount of something his personal trainer said about triceps muscles and turns to the scrambled eggs, humming in agreement.

Then he turns around to deposit the finished eggs on Changbin's plate, and the eggs scatter around the plate and Chan nearly drops the pan. Because that's not just the light falling weirdly. It's colours painted on Changbin's collarbone in the shape of a flower.

"Hyung, are you okay? What –"

Chan can't, for the life of him, tell what kind of flower it is.

Changbin follows Chan's eyes, looks down at himself and freezes when he catches sight of his skin. The flower is – well, it's beautiful. Shades of pastel pink and pastel purple with spring green accents. Delicate in the curves of multiple small blossoms and soft in the way it curves around Changbin's collarbone. A work in progress still, but unmistakable.

Chan can't breathe.

"Oh," Changbin says, eloquently, but then his expression goes blank. "I..."

Belatedly, Chan realises his scrambled eggs are spread over the table and the kitchen floor. He goes to put the pan back on the stove, gathers paper towels and starts cleaning up the mess. He focuses on the squishy eggs and the hard table, on wiping away the grease stain the egg left on the wood, on relaxing his shoulders and at the same time trying to keep his hands from shaking.

"I'm not hungry anymore," Changbin murmurs. "Thank you for making me food whenever I come over."

It sounds like a goodbye.

"I... I'll text you," Changbin says, and leaves.

The door of Chan's apartment falls shut.

"Wait," Chan says to the empty space.

Soulmate tattoos don't make mistakes. One half of the soul gets a tattoo on their body, the other half of the soul watches it appear on their skin. None of the pain of a tattoo reaches the other half, even though it's real time, no matter the distance between them. Often, people don't even notice their soulmate is getting a tattoo, because they're asleep or wearing clothes that cover where the tattoo appears.

"Wait," Chan says again, quieter, almost a whisper. Chan always thought Changbin would be happy if he got a tattoo. Why did he think that?

Shouldn't this be a good thing? Changbin should be happy. Why isn't he?

Chan sits down heavily and leans against the cupboards. He notices a piece of fried egg from this angle that he missed picking up earlier.

No texts on his phone. Well, he can't expect Changbin to text a minute after he ran out of Chan's apartment.

He takes a deep breath. So Changbin has a soulmate, and that soulmate is not Chan. He can deal with that. He expected that. It'll be okay. He stands up, gets a washcloth, starts wiping down surfaces. He washes and puts away the used dishes. He breathes.

He goes to the studio.

The art studio. He can't be in the music studio without Changbin by his side right now, and it's been a while since he worked with colours. When he was a teenager he had a brief phase of illegal graffiti – luckily, he wasn't caught. But since he now had responsibilities and a duty to his family's company, he just rented a big, spacious, well ventilated studio, where he could throw paint at canvases and teach himself proper graffiti art with youtube videos.

Briefly he glances at the works in progress he plans on finishing sometime, but he knows this is not what he needs. He hasn't been here in weeks. Chan isn't completely ignorant, he knows he works too much most of the time, and when he doesn't work he's either hanging out with Changbin, working out with Changbin, in the music studio with Changbin, trying not to think of Hyunjin or... going to lunch and dinner with his coworkers. That last one might be called work, too.

He gets a blank canvas, thinks about painting a layer of acrylic paint as foundation over it but decides against it. It's just gonna take hours to dry, and he wants to work with spray paint.

Chan tries to draw a rose from memory, using some templates and reds and greens. It doesn't look much like a flower in the end, but it's not like Chan has experience with painting flowers.

He loses himself in the work. Sort of. His heart aches, and his perfectly clean clothes are getting ruined by the toxic paint, but he's wearing gloves and protective glasses and a mask over his nose and mouth. He's a responsible adult, thank you. He even opens the windows after a while.

The silence of the art studio and the background noise from the street outside are a welcome distraction. But when he steps back from the canvas, it's Changbin's face looking back at him.

Bigger than life, beautiful, wonderful Seo Changbin. Surrounded by the white and green asphodels Hyunjin had shown Chan in the flower shop, the only flower Chan trusts himself to remember without having to look up reference photos.

It's like a bucket of cold water is emptied over Chan's head.

What is he doing?

He checks his phone. No new messages.

He calls Changbin.

"Chan-hyung," Changbin answers after the second ring. He sounds – unbothered. "What's up?"

"Binnie," Chan says and winces as his voice breaks.

Silence answers him. Just his own breathing, the cars in the street, voices.

"You're my best friend. Please." He doesn't even know what he's asking for.

"Where are you," Changbin asks at last. "I don't want to be alone."

"At the studio, the art studio," Chan says. He looks his painted Changbin in the eyes. "But let's meet at the music studio, yeah? Let's write love songs, Bin-ah."

"... I'd like that."

Chan holds his breath, counts to ten. His thumb shakes as he holds it over the red hang up sign on his screen, but before he can press down, the call disconnects. Well. That's okay, too.

He dials a taxi, stutters his way through the call and the tension leaves him every time the caller on the other end waits patiently and repeats the address of the studio back at him, utterly calm and like they've done this a thousand times and stuttering, barely collected people calling for a taxi are the norm. Chan exhales when it's done and he's told the taxi will be there in ten minutes. He should, maybe possibly, get one of those taxi apps on his phone.

He picks up the empty cans of paint and deposits them by the door – he'll get around to properly recycling them another day. Cold water on his skin shakes him out of whatever numbness he's fallen into, and he scrubs his fingers until his skin hurts and the paint is gone. There's not much to be done about his clothes, and the clothes he keeps in the studio are all even more paint splattered than what he's wearing. Hopefully he won't leave colour on the seats of the taxi. At least his hair is paint free.

He doesn't allow himself to think on the way to the music studio.

Traffic is bad as usual, clouds have gathered in the sky, the cherry trees are in bloom. The taxi driver doesn't question the paint on him or his composure, so Chan tips him generously.

He arrives at the music studio they rent – rent, because neither of them would have the time to manage it's bills and finances if they owned it. This way, they can come whenever they want, and have enlightening conversations with random musicians at 3am on the toilets. They're mostly anonymous here, which is another reason why Chan likes it. The dust in the air smells like a second home.

Changbin is bowed over his laptop, a blank document pulled up, a pen and a blank sheet of paper next to him.

Chan doesn't flip the lights on.

"Hyung," Changbin turns and his face looks like he dug through the trash and found a distant memory of how a smile should look. "I'm sorry for how I ran out on you."

"I..." Chan stops. Well shit, he didn't think this far. "I'm realising I'm not actually good with words."

Changbin laughs. "Same. We literally write music?"

"We do," Chan nods.

"I suppose that's a different thing – writing to express yourself or tell a story is very different to interacting with people." Changbin says, turning to his open screen, still blank.

Chan sits next to him, wrapping his arms around him. He rests his head on Changbin's shoulder. It's possibly his favourite place to be in the entire world, right here. The music studio, Changbin's soft and strong and warm presence next to him, Chan closing his eyes to feel the rise and fall of Changbin's breaths.

"Hyung," Changbin says after a while. "I don't think the love songs are going to write themselves."

"Yes, well." Chan says, and stops. "I don't know where to begin, honestly."

Maybe lyrics? But fuck, Changbin would so easily read between the lines. Can Chan write a love song that's not about Changbin? Highly unlikely. A melody? That would be sad and depressing, and Changbin is smart, he'd feel the yearning and Chan likes to think he's playing the role of the single queer man with the one night stands well enough –

And it's true, too. Chan is a single queer man with one night stands but it's only because Chan needed a foolproof way to convince Changbin – convince himself – that he's not in love with his best friend. Now that he's here, in the studio, a laptop open in front of him, with a document titled 'Love Song ??' he doesn't know if that ever worked. Shit. Okay, from the beginning: a love song. Happy? Sad? About soulmates? ... not about soulmates?

"You're overthinking this, hyung," Changbin interrupts Chan's creative process of not knowing a fucking thing. "Let's talk this through, one thing at a time, yeah?"

"All right." Chan lets out the breath he was holding. He picks up the pen and tugs the sheet of paper towards him. The paper is soft to the touch, thick, slightly off-white, lined. One edge is ripped, like it was ripped out of a notebook. He takes the pen between his fingers and sets it down on top of the page, scrawling an unsteady date in the corner. The pen slips off the paper at the first stroke.

"Hyung?" Changbin's voice pierces through whatever is going on in Chan's head.

Chan curses. He feels fine, physically, and yet his hands tremble. He tries again, carefully pressing the tip of the pen to the paper – shakily, he writes the date, and the numbers look nothing like his usual handwriting. The pen slips out of his fingers and he turns his hands, tries making a fist – he can move his hands, but there's no strength in his movement. He swallows, suddenly very aware of his dry mouth and his breathing.

Changbin takes Chan's hands in his. "Stop. It's okay."

Chan chuckles. He blinks, and ugh, now he's thinking about blinking. "I don't know why my hands are shaking, Bin. I feel fine."

"You don't seem fine," Changbin disagrees. "I know I... My soulmate got a tattoo."

"They did," Chan confirms.

"And I'm currently on the run from my secretaries," Changbin adds, smiling slightly.

"Sounds dangerous," Chan smiles back. His breathing is steadier now.

"Look, maybe this was a terrible idea. My soulmate isn't... like, they didn't tattoo their name, you know?" He pulls his shirt from his neck, showing the finished, purple flower, and Chan can see that it's only a flower now. Multiple tiny blossoms and a hint of green, but mostly just shades of purple. The tattoo looks finished, with no words or symbols. It's just a flower. "So," Changbin continues, "it's not like I can do anything. I have no other tattoos anywhere, so unless they'll get another tattoo tomorrow with like, their number or something. Nothing's changed."

"I know," Chan looks up into Changbin's brown eyes. He wishes he could drown in them, but it's not for him to drown in Changbin's eyes. That's for the person whose tattoo is on Changbin's chest. Chan tries not to choke on his next words. "You've always wanted to meet your soulmate. Why don't you get a tattoo in response?"

Changbin's hands tighten around Chan's. "Well. I'll think about it tomorrow. Right now, I think I need to be alone with the feeling of utter failure. And a drink."

"Okay, then," Chan smiles. It's not an answer, not really. But it's also not an 'I'll get a tattoo tonight to tell them I want to see them.' And Chan hates how he breathes easier now that he knows he won't see Changbin's soulmate anytime soon – the tattoo doesn't change anything. It's just a flower. No name, no identifying symbols, just a flower. That's fine. "Will you be okay?"

"Of course, hyung. I'll call my driver here and think of a way to apologise to my secretaries." Changbin slowly lets go of Chan's hands.

Chan's palms feel cold all of a sudden. He attempts a lighthearted tone. "Any chance you can drop me off at mine?"

In the car, Changbin asks if Chan will show him what he's working on in the art studio. Chan, cringing at the thought of Changbin standing next to the mural of his face, laughs awkwardly and lies.

"I tried drawing a flower," he says because the best lies contain truth, and only when Changbin's hand comes to rest above his collarbone he realises that maybe I've been drawing you would have been the better half of the lie.

Just flowers. That's fine. That should be fine. It really really should be fine. Just flowers. Just fucking flowers. Leafy plants. Colourful leaves. Green stuff. Plants. It's fine.

So why can't he stop thinking about Hyunjin's love for flowers?

-

When his doorbell rings, Chan has been home for five minutes. It's already dark outside. His coffee machine has just finished a cup, and it's really only his habit to make coffee whenever he steps into his kitchen that stops him from opening a bottle of alcohol and joining Changbin in spirit. The ringing doorbell is unexpected. Maybe Changbin forgot something in the morning after abruptly leaving. He checks his phone. There's a message from his sister, but that can wait.

He opens the door, half expecting to see Changbin there with a tired smile and a shy request for company, as unlikely as that would be after Changbin's wish for solitude – but what he sees is a bouquet of flowers.

Fucking flowers.

"Uh?" Chan says.

The bouquet moves to the side and reveals Hyunjin, who blinks at him, confused. "Chan-hyung?"

"Hyunjin?" Chan rubs his eyes. "You're – here?"

"Oh, I –" Hyunjin averts his eyes and lifts the bouquet again, "this is a delivery for you. I didn't realise – I mean, I don't think we ever exchanged full names."

Chan breathes a sigh of relief and smiles. This is – good. Hyunjin is – yes. "Would you like to come inside? Or – do you have more deliveries tonight?"

"Er, this is the last," Hyunjin says.

"I'll go look for a vase. Are you hungry? I was just about to start cooking." Chan steps aside so Hyunjin can come in, mortified at the stuttering mess they both just became. Chan wasn't about to start cooking, but he's hungry. And if he can cook for Hyunjin? Yeah, he likes the thought of that. He shoves his confused Changbin feelings away, he can always overthink later.

Hyunjin follows Chan into the penthouse. It's not as luxurious as Changbin's penthouse, but Changbin also has three apartments in Seoul and one in Busan. Chan becomes distinctly aware that Hyunjin must now see him differently. He's not just the man with a tie as a choker and a waist chain from the club that Hyunjin took home and later saw at his work, he's now also a rich man with a penthouse and Hyunjin is the florist who's paid to bring him flowers.

"Do you know who sent the flowers?" Chan asks, finding a vase in the kitchen. It's on a cupboard high above his head. He can reach it though, if he just stands on his toes –

Hyunjin's hand brushes his as he reaches up and takes the vase off its shelf.

"Um. Thanks." Chan says. Back to stuttering mess mode, it seems. He picks the vase out of Hyunjin's hands and fills it with water.

"They're from Bang Jia-ssi," Hyunjin hands him the bouquet.

"My sister," Chan tells him. He smiles, the flowers are pretty, despite his reluctance to see them as such. He doesn't know what kind they are, obviously – but there's colours and greens and it's way too big and formal looking to be anything but an expensive, custom made apology. It's what Jia does when she apologises for not checking up on him.

"If you don't mind me asking," Hyunjin starts hesitantly, "what do you do? You told me you work for your family, but..." he waves his hand, indicating the penthouse.

Chan names the company – an entertainment company, "I'm just the art director, and I produce music with my best friend. Jia-noona is the CEO. Is ramen alright?"

"Of course, hyung."

That's all Chan needs to get started. He gathers up the necessary things and tries not to look at Hyunjin.

God, if his day hadn't been so miserable, Chan would be kissing him and dragging him to bed. But, well. His day has been so miserable. He can't ask about what the bouquet of flowers his sister got him means because that would mean admitting he doesn't know shit about flowers, and he doesn't know what else to talk about? The weather? It's so dark outside he doesn't see the sky, and he can't remember if the sun was even visible today. Should he ask about Hyunjin's day?

The water is boiling now, so Chan adds the ingredients and stirs.

"When you say you're the art director, does that mean you make art or does it mean you tell people what art to make?" Hyunjin asks, and Chan wants to thank him for breaking the awkward silence.

Chan launches into an explanation of his work, and when asked, he shows Hyunjin some of the results of the photoshoots from last week. Hyunjin compliments his cooking, and after some needling, accepts a cup of coffee despite the late hour.

Chan likes Hyunjin's smile. Hyunjin listens attentively and asks great questions. He clearly knows things about design and photography, but he's shy when Chan asks, so Chan doesn't pry. Hyunjin tells him more about his dog Kkami, and then Chan has Hyunjin on his sofa with the coffee and a bar of chocolate.

"Are you up for watching a movie?" Chan asks after a comfortable silence.

Hyunjin chokes on his coffee. "A movie, hyung? Really?"

"Well, I..." Chan feels his face heat up. To be perfectly honest, he just wants to – distract himself. Forget this chaotic and emotional day. And Hyunjin, beautiful, wonderful, very-good-in-bed Hyunjin, is right there. So what if the idea crossed his mind.

"Hyung," Hyunjin says, serious, sincere. "I would, but there's something else. I thought... well, hoped would be a better term. The thing is."

Chan waits. Hyunjin rests his hands in his lap, threads his fingers together, twists them. He relaxes his shoulders, and Chan notices that they have been tense.

"I have a tattoo," Hyunjin breathes.

Chan firmly shoves the ugly feeling overcoming him back to where it came from. "Oh."

"Do you have a tattoo?" Hyunjin asks, and now he's looking at Chan, and all Chan can do is look away.

"No," he tells him. No, but the man I'm in love with and who's my best friend does. No, but now you do, too. No, but I wish I did, and I never wanted to wish for a soulmate mark.

Hyunjin nods. "Come by the flower shop again, yeah? I wouldn't describe you as a one night stand anymore, after all. I do think of us as... friends. Yeah."

"Me too," Chan says. He thinks of the brightly lit flower shop. The heavy scents in the air. Hyunjin's hand, warm and heavy in his, rough skin and a bit of dirt under his nails. Hair bound back in a ponytail, a spark in Hyunjin's eyes, a smile on his lips as he talks about philosophies of flowers. Hades and Persephone, Chan remembers thinking. Now he knows it was always just a story. "I'll visit."

And Hyunjin leaves.

And it's kind of somber. Chan thinks Hyunjin feels just as miserable as Chan does as he walks out, his coffee unfinished, the bar of chocolate unopened.

The silence in the apartment after the door clicks shut is not making anything better.

Chan opens the chocolate bar, and as he shoves half of it into his mouth, his chest constricts and he gets overwhelmed by the urge to cry himself to sleep. Wow. He tries to backtrack from that feeling, take a step back, logically analyse everything that happened and rationalise it. He wants to put it all into separate boxes and not think about it again. Resolutely, he eats the rest of the chocolate and pours Hyunjin's unfinished coffee down the sink.

It's fine, he tells himself. So Changbin has a soulmate, so does Hyunjin – it happens all the time. People get tattoos.

Changbin is shaken up about it – Chan couldn't have predicted this reaction. He'd have thought Changbin to be happy, to smile at his tattoo with hope in his eyes. Chan would have thought Changbin's mark would tear him apart. But now, with Changbin withdrawing from him, Chan can't find it in him to feel anything except the gaping chasm of his own heart.

Hyunjin is clearly conflicted – well, Chan hasn't thought about Hyunjin's soulmate, obviously, and yet he finds himself surprised. Hyunjin had been so... confident, that night, the night Chan totally doesn't think about anymore, totally, not at all, and confident is probably the first word he'd use to describe Hyunjin. Confident, beautiful, adorable. But maybe Hyunjin just put on an act. Like Chan.

Chan doesn't go around telling his one night stands about being in love with his best friend who isn't his soulmate, so he can't assume that Hyunjin is completely honest with him, and Chan rubs his temples to get that thought out of his mind. If he starts in a circle of doubting himself and others, he'll solve no problems and the only thing he'll get is trust issues. Hyunjin admitted to thinking about soulmates more, and Chan doesn't know what brought that on – but Hyunjin wasn't thinking about soulmates when they slept together, which is all that really matters.

Or doesn't matter, because Hyunjin got a tattoo and the one night stand that was never really planned to become a two night stand now definitely won't become a two night stand.

Maybe Chan is just horny. Sad and lonely and horny and overflowing with unrequited feelings for Changbin, who evidently has other things to worry about now. Chan winces as he tries to picture Changbin's mother's face when she notices Changbin's soulmate mark. And still – Chan's heart clenches as a dark part of his mind supplies him with the fear of Changbin ignoring his soulmate tattoo and marrying the next person his mother introduces him to.

Yeah, no, this thought will solve no problems either.

He looks around the kitchen, the used dishes and dirty kitchen towels. It's a calming sight, a familiar environment. He takes a deep breath.

And exhales.

He'll clean up tomorrow. A shower and an elaborate skin care routine will hopefully make him feel better in his skin, and then he can go back to work. He's exhausted, but he knows no sleep will come.

Taking off his clothes and stepping into the hot shower spray feels like crawling into warm blankets. Like jumping into a cool pool in summer. Running into the waves on a hot day on an Australian beach. He closes his eyes, unwilling to see his own, unmarked skin. A rare burst of self hatred eats him up, but he dismisses the feeling.

He starts massaging shampoo into his hair, lightly scratching his own skull. It's fine. It's all going to be fine because Hyunjin is just a cute boy he slept with and Changbin is his best friend and no matter what life might throw at them, he'll keep Changbin. And that's all he ever needed, that's all he ever thought he needed.

So what if he feels like the ground disappeared beneath his feet. He's a polar bear and the ice is melting, he's a bird and the familiar lakes on his journey are polluted, he's a wolf and his forest is burning. Everything he thought about his feelings for Changbin has been an untruth.

Chan wants. His body aches for something he now knows he'll never have.

He opens his eyes, reaches for his shower gel in a desperate attempt to cling to habits of normalcy, slathers too much of it over his hands it drips to the floor. He spreads what doesn't fall over his chest and arms and stomach and shoulders and... he sits. Closes his eyes. Opens them again. Rubs the skin of his chest, blinks, checks if the lights are on, pinches himself to see if he's awake – rubs his eyes, cries a bit from the shower gel he spreads over his face, when his eyes clear he looks again and –

Like Hyunjin leaving, this moment feels like the opposite of an explosion. The world ending, not with a bang, but with a whimper, the quote from that poem he remembers faintly from high school.

Because of course. Of course, Chan would be the one who'd get a lovemark. Him, rejecting the idea of soulmates ever since he learned that there's more to life than fairy tales. Him, in his teenage rebellion, writing 'Love is Fake' over walls in graffiti. Him, belonging to that small community of people who didn't mind if they slept with someone who's not their 'One.'

Him, in love with his best friend who always wanted a soulmate mark.

The soulmate marks aren't perfect. How could they be, when there's so many people, so many fates, so many possibilites? The soulmarks are at home in the skin, able to connect strangers who don't even live on the same continent. But sometimes people die, sometimes soulmate bonds are broken, or break with old age like the rest of the human body.

And sometimes, after a soulmate bond breaks, the skin compensates. Like when you cut a branch from a plant and put it in water, it'll grow roots and become a whole plant on its own. Your skin latches onto the skin of someone you spend time with – a family member, a roommate, a coworker – but most commonly: the person you're in love with.

Lovemarks only go one way.

Changbin has a whole soulmate now – and Chan will forever bear both Changbin's and Changbin's soulmates' marks, because he's in love with Changbin and he doesn't have a soulmate.

Chan stays sitting in the shower until his legs fall asleep, and then he robotically washes the soap from his hair and from his skin. He wraps a towel around his hips and steps up to the fogged bathroom mirror. He wipes his hands over the glass and sees the tattoo on his collarbone in stark clarity.

It's now that acceptance settles over him. He's always loved Changbin, always knew that he'd never be able to love his soulmate if he met them. Now he knows he was right.

He brushes his teeth, dresses in comfortable sweats and a shirt with a narrow collar that completely covers the mark so he won't see it in the corner of his eyes. He makes coffee, gets his laptop, sits in his office, opens his emails. He gets to work.

Much later when the white of the screen gets too bright and the black writing blurs together, he pulls up google and reads up on lovemarks. There's cheery positivity articles about it, the kind that say 'it's perfectly okay to grieve the soulmate you never met' and who say 'platonic love is beautiful' and 'talk about your feelings with your friend/family member!!'

Chan, feeling significantly worse now, but also so exhausted he barely feels the need to throw up, orders makeup online to cover marks.