Chapter Text
In a way, this was bound to happen.
The universe never seems to give Sieun a break—always tossing something new, something chaotic, into his already fucked-up routine. His new normal was school, cram school, being dragged around by the group of weirdos that decided they were his friends now, and visiting Suho in the hospital. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was stable. Cyclical. Familiar.
And on some days, there was an anomaly.
Keum Seongje.
He doesn’t know when it started—when his well-structured, quietly miserable routine got interrupted by him.
Keum Seongje was a menace. A walking glitch in his life. He showed up randomly and ruined perfectly average days. Found Sieun mid-fight, post-fight, pre-fight. Sometimes he was already there, watching like it was some kind of theatre performance.
And the worst part?
That bastard never stopped smirking. Never stopped laughing. Whether he was bleeding or making someone else bleed—he found it funny. Like the world was one big joke and he was the only one in on it.
Sieun hated it. Hated the way Seongje’s stupid deep chuckle crawled under his skin. Hated that it always echoed in his head, long after they’d gone their separate ways. God knows how many times he fantasized about smashing that smirk right off his smug face.
Which brings us to now.
A punch here, a punch there. An attempt at stabbing with a pen—Seongje catches it and throws it aside like it's nothing. Most of Sieun’s hits don’t land, but when they do?
It feels powerful, he feels satisfied however that feeling is only short-lived because Seongje always hits back harder. Always with that damn smile.
Fuck him.
How did it even start?
It started with Juntae.
Of course it did.
Some assholes from Ganghak decided to use him as a punching bag. Left him in an alley, half-conscious, bruised to hell.
Sieun found him there. Alone. Bleeding. Shaking.
And yeah—he felt rage. Not panic. Not fear. Rage.
Juntae couldn’t remember who exactly did it. Just that they were from Ganghak. That was enough. That was all Sieun needed to hear.
He took Juntae home. Cleaned his wounds. Said nothing.
Didn’t need to.
Then he left, fists clenched. Heart racing. Eyes burning.
If Seongje didn’t do it himself, he knew who did.
And if Ganghak wanted to play dirty, then so could Eunjang.
Now? Sieun was making sure Seongje got the message.
——
“Tell me why you’re punching me again?”
Seongje’s voice is all amusement, laid out on the concrete with blood at the corner of his mouth. Laughing. Always fucking laughing.
Sieun doesn’t answer. Just lands another blow to his face.
It connects—but not for long.
A kick to the stomach sends Sieun flying back, knocking the air clean out of him.
“I know you love me and all,” Seongje drawls, brushing dust off his shirt like this is casual. “Can’t go too long without seeing me, huh? But coming to my school to stalk me? A little desperate, don’t you think?”
“Shut the fuck up before I dislocate that jaw for real,” Sieun spits, staggering to his feet.
And God, that only makes Seongje laugh harder. Like he’s delighted.
There’s something unhinged about it. Something sharp and smug and far too entertained.
To be fair, Seongje still doesn’t know why Sieun showed up to beat the shit out of him. But who cares? His life is boring. Repetitive. This? This is drama. And if drama shows up at his doorstep in the form of a pissed-off Eunjang weirdo, then sure. He’ll take it.
“So,” Seongje grins, dodging another swing. “Are you gonna actually tell me why you’re losing your mind over me, or do I get to keep guessing?”
“You don’t know?”
Sieun’s eyes narrow. His voice drops. Dangerous now.
“One of your people beat the shit out of Juntae.”
The smirk falters. Just a bit.
All of this—for that ugly little friend?
“See, I don’t think that’s a big enough reason to come all the way to Ganghak and—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Another punch. Seongje catches his wrist mid-swing.
"Hey, please don’t go for my face, it’s too beautiful."
Sieun hates this. Hates how fine Seongje can be with this situation, like it doesn’t affect him at all, like none of it’s serious. Like Sieun could beat him bloody and the bastard would still be smirking through the blood. And maybe, yeah, maybe he’s being dramatic, but Seongje being all smug about everything makes him want to hurl himself off a building. Why won’t this bastard’s expression budge? Why does nothing touch him? Sieun knows he’s not exactly the poster boy for emotional depth either, but he’s not obnoxious about it—he’s quiet, neutral, contained. Seongje? Seongje is all teeth and laughter and that godawful smirk, like the whole world is some comedy show only he gets the punchline to. Even in the middle of a beatdown, even when everything should be dead serious, he’s laughing like it’s funny, like Sieun’s anger is some kind of joke. And fuck, that just makes him so mad.
With his other free hand he swings another attempt at his face and this one gladly lands right where Sieun wants it too and god this gives him so much satisfaction. However that awful smirk never falls off the assholes face, and to make matters worse Seongje smiles more, smiles wider, grins like he’s the devil in disguise as he swipes the blood off his lip, “hey you little bastard, I told you not to punch my face didn’t I?”
Sieun smiles a bit before his expression soothes back to his usual stoicism, courtesy of making Seongje mad; he feels like he’s accomplished something, that seeing Seongje finally be riled up for their fight has lit a fire inside of him that was dimmed this whole time in their fight. It only made him want to punch Seongje more, use him as a punching bag for his pent up rage.
“Oh? Is that a smile I see? Is punching me such an amusement for our Sieun now?”
“Shut up”
“I’m just saying, if receiving punches is all it takes for me to see your pretty smile then be my guest, punch me more”
Has this guy actually gone mad? Did that punch affect his brain? Why the hell was he flirting with him in the middle of a fight.
“Did your comatose boyfriend ever see that smile of yours?”
…
The words hang there. Loud. Sharp. Cruel.
Everything stops.
Sieun doesn’t move for a second. Not even to breathe. It’s like something cracks in the air around them—thick, electric, choking.
“What did you just say?”
“Oh come on,” Seongje says, still grinning, but it’s tighter now. Eyes darker. “You think I haven’t noticed? All those hospital visits? All that energy for someone who’s not even conscious the whole time? Pretty loyal for a guy who doesn’t talk back.”
Sieun’s fist clenches so hard it’s shaking. His jaw locks. It’s not just rage now—it’s something else too. Hurt, betrayal, guilt. That bastard touched the one thing he wasn’t supposed to touch.
“Say that again,” Sieun breathes, stepping forward, deadly calm. “I dare you.”
Seongje doesn’t back down. He never backs down. If anything, he steps in too—close enough to feel the heat off Sieun’s skin, to see the fury burning in his eyes.
“You get that worked up over him,” Seongje says, voice low now, more serious. “And yet you come here. To me. Fists swinging. Heart racing. So tell me, Sieun—who’s really on your mind?”
That’s it.
Sieun swings. No hesitation. All of it—every ounce of rage, grief, confusion—poured into the hit.
It lands.
And in that exact moment, something burns.
White-hot. Right beneath the skin. On both of them.
Sieun stumbles back. Seongje clutches his shoulder. They both look down—and there it is.
The mark.
Glowing. Burning. Matching.
Fucking soulmarks.
Sieun feels like vomiting, he keeps rubbing the skin of his shoulder to make it disappear. What the fuck what the fuck what the actual fuck is happening?!
“Punch me” Sieun says to Seongje. He hasn’t looked at Seongje ever since he felt the mark burn on his shoulders but the moment he lifts his head up he’s caught off guard. That smug smile that stays plastered on Seongje’s face is gone. And now all that remains is an unreadable expression that Sieun can't understand. Was this the thing that hit Seongje the most? More painful than a hit of a punch? Huh.
“What?” Seongje says as he comes out of his daze.
“Punch me and wake me up from this nightmare” Sieun says as he clutches his shoulder hard, nails digging in where the mark lies.
Seongje eyes that other boys mark carefully, it’s bleeding because Sieun keeps digging his nails into it, probably hoping to scratch it off, fuck him. He doesn’t want this either, he doesn’t give a fuck about soulmates and soul marks, never did and never would but what does make him mad is the fact that the universe always decides to fuck his life up for fun one more time. He doesn’t hate Sieun but this? Sieun as his soulmate? It’s horrifying, it makes him nauseous, he can’t smile anymore because finally the joke’s over, there’s no more punchline, no more amusing shit to make him laugh at, now it’s just hell.
Seongje punches him.
Hard — right on the mouth.
But not hard enough to break his teeth.
Because even now, even in the middle of all this chaos, he knows his limits with Sieun. And maybe that limit’s been carved into him since the first day they met. Like the universe had been whispering it to him all along: this one.
This bastard you can’t hurt too much.
This bastard you can’t run from.
Because no matter how much you fight it, no matter how much blood spills between you—
He’s yours.
And that?
That makes Seongje want to scream.
Sieun lays there on the ground, one hand still clutching his burning soulmark and the other hand resting on his bleeding mouth. He looks at the blue sky, it’s such a nice and sunny day, a day where his friends would drag him to play basketball with. Where Juntae would bug him to study at the park, like being surrounded by sunshine would make calculus more tolerable. So what the hell was he doing here? He had no one to blame. Maybe if he hadn’t come here to beat Seongje up….maybe they would’ve never found each others soulmarks, maybe they would’ve stayed strangers in the matter of soulmates, fuck. Why did he have to do this to himself? Was this karma? Was this a way for the universe to tell him that he was wrong for fighting with Seongje even when he knew that Seongje didn’t do anything to hurt Juntae?
And under his fingers—there’s something else. Something more than the burn.
It’s like a pulse that’s not his own. A flicker of pain that doesn't belong to him. A distant echo of Seongje's knuckles throbbing.
Sieun flinches. It’s not just the mark that’s reacting. It’s him. Them. Both of them.
The soulmark isn’t just glowing—it’s connected.
No, he brought up Suho, he made this worse, they were going to stop fighting, he was going to stop punching and just admit that Seongje really didn’t have any part in ambushing Juntae but he just had to bring up old wounds. A wound that was still so fresh that something changed when he brought Suho up.
Now that he’s still, heart slowing, chest burning—it hits him. That last punch he landed? It didn’t feel right. It felt like punching himself.
“I hate you,” Sieun mutters, dragging himself up from the pavement.
He looks around, only to realize—
Seongje is already gone.