Chapter Text
January 29th.
The burning wasn’t bad enough to write home about. That was what Seungmin had been telling himself anyway.
The cafe was quiet. It always was. It was located in such an obscure location, in such a small town, that it never gained any real traction. The regulars came in at their usual times, got their usual orders, and that was it. Sometimes they stayed for a few minutes, others, like the mail carrier, were always in a rush. The pastries that Seungmin put his heart and soul into when he first started years ago looked sad today. Maybe it was the way he made them. Maybe it was the way he was in pain all morning and couldn’t lift his arm higher than his chest. Maybe it was just the fact that he didn’t care anymore.
Still, the dull, burning throb in his shoulder wasn’t anything to write home about.
The first time it happened, he was fifteen. He was excited . Everyone who had a soul mark knew that the burning meant your soulmate was nearby.
Seungmin is twenty-one now. He knows better than to get his hopes up.
His parents always found marks disgusting. Though, they were against anything deemed unnatural on your body. Soul marks, tattoos, piercings, hair dye, anything . If it wasn’t with you at birth, they rejected it. Seungmin never understood why.
His soul mark appeared when he was fourteen. On his shoulder. To his parents, it was a disgrace. One larger star with eight points, surrounded by eight smaller stars in a circle, each placed in between the points of the larger star. It was this symbol that led to him being kicked out at the age of sixteen.
He had gotten so excited when he was fifteen, feeling the slight burn. He ran up to his Mom, grinning ear to ear, telling her how he was going to meet his soulmate.
She didn’t even look at him as she told him how disgusting he was, how his kind, those with soulmates, weren’t normal. How it was unnatural. How disgraceful he was. She grounded him for the day. He wasn’t allowed out of his room, not even for meals.
He stopped getting his hopes up.
It wasn’t even as if every soulmate was designed to be intimate and romantic. More often than not, the relationships remained platonic. Most were close, but not in a “let’s get married,” way. It was more of a “we will always be connected” type of way. His parents found the marks, and him, disgusting anyways.
He winced as he wiped down the table.
If he was asked, he wouldn’t deny that it was probably a little worse than it had ever been during a flare-up before now, but he would rationalize why in the same breath. It was just the universe playing another joke on him. That was what his entire life was at this point. A joke.
But he cared too much about the cafe to do anything about it. He was their only barista. It worked, considering how little business they did. There had been another barista, Dotty, but she got laid-off a few months ago. Ever since then, it was Seungmin, six days a week, working shifts that left him feeling like a dead man every night. But it was fine. Rent had to be paid somehow, and it’s not like he had anything else going on in his life.
He had to stop wiping down a table, just for a moment, as the movement was making the pain in his shoulder worse. He allowed himself fifteen seconds. Just enough time to take three deep breaths, and then he kept at it.
It wasn’t bad enough for him to call out. If he called out, the cafe would have to close for the day, or worse, his boss would have to come in and cover for him.
Seungmin would rather come in while he was on his deathbed than have his boss cover for him. Seungmin once tried calling him about a broken faucet, and in response, he was screamed at, told to deal with it himself, told off for interrupting his very busy work schedule, and told that the fee for the plumber was coming out of his paycheck. That had been the last time Seungmin tried contacting him. And that was okay. Seungmin pretty much ran the place by himself anyways. He was the only worker, did the orders for the food trucks, cleaned the place every day, paid for each and every maintenance fix that he had to call outside help for, took care of things and tidied up the place when the health inspector came over, and managed the laughable schedule that only he was listed on.
It was fine. A week from today would mark his fourth year working here, and he didn’t see himself going anywhere anytime soon. Not to mention, the place would fall apart if he left.
It would be better if he wasn’t hunched over the table he’s trying to wipe down, hands holding the edges to keep himself from falling, gritting his teeth as his shoulder screamed.
‘It’s just a flare,’ he told himself. ‘It’ll go away soon. Tough it out.’
Maybe it was more than just a flare, but Seungmin wasn’t going to unpack that today. Maybe tomorrow, when he’d have the day off.
He could ignore it for one more day.
He allotted himself fifteen more seconds. One deep breath in, then out. Then another. Then another. He shook himself, then wiped down the table.
At some point, maybe things would turn around for him. Right now, he knew better than to get his hopes up. He barely graduated high school. After being top of the class through his freshman, sophomore, and junior years, his grades tanked during his senior year, after getting kicked out. By the time he graduated, he hadn’t even tried to apply to college. There was no way he could afford to go, even if he got grants and scholarships.
In another life, maybe he’d have reached med school by now. Maybe he would’ve graduated high school at the top of his class. Maybe his parents would’ve loved him regardless of if he had the damn mark or not.
Right now, though, Seungmin wasn’t focused on that. He was just trying to finish the night. The cafe closed in an hour, and no one came in this late. Nobody really came in after lunch hours. Usually, Seungmin cleaned until there was nothing left to clean, that way he could be out the door shortly after closing.
Walking back to his apartment at nine at night in the middle of winter was a death wish, but it was manageable as long as he layered his clothes properly. Usually, he’d take the bus, but they had already publicly announced they wouldn’t be running tonight. The roads were too icy. Winter in this area was always bad. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for people to get snowed into their homes. Everyone made sure to stock up on food. Everyone had a back-up generator. Everyone made sure to do their own little home remedies to make sure their water didn’t freeze overnight. And as always, everyone ran their heat as high as they could.
Seungmin wasn’t that lucky.
He started stacking chairs. It wasn’t premature– he knew no one else would come in at this point.
He was already going through a checklist for the next day. The first thing he had to do was talk to his landlord. His heater had been broken for almost a week, and his landlord kept giving him empty promises regarding getting it fixed. He got a book the other day, so he’d probably spend the majority of the day reading it. Or maybe not. He wasn’t able to afford books when he paid for groceries, bus services, rent, maintenance for the cafe, and he didn’t want to go through the book too quickly. He’d have to rationalize it like it was food. Maybe he’d go to the park; there should be enough snow to make something. Oh, and cleaning. He wanted to clean the floors in the apartment. Maybe organize a little. He’d do that second, after calling his landlord first thing in the morning. As for food, there was a little bit of left-over noodles he had for dinner yesterday. He could reheat some of that. Maybe half, and save the rest for tomorrow. He’d eat it for dinner. He didn’t mind skipping meals. It was winter. He had to space it out in case he couldn’t get to a grocery store. And he didn’t have the money to buy more groceries– rent was coming up.
If he was feeling ballsy, he could ask his boss for a raise.
…
He’d rather die.
Putting the rest of the chairs up and sweeping took longer than usual. Maybe it was because he had to keep stopping because of his shoulder. His fifteen second rule went out the window half an hour ago. The dishes were washed, everything was put away and restocked. The desserts had been wrapped.
All that was left was mopping the floor, which was Seungmin’s least favorite part of the night. He hated the smell of the floor cleaner. It was too strong, made his eyes water up, and he’s ruined more than a few shirts because of the stains. It reminded him of bleach.
The low beats of whatever Lofi mix he put on this morning were still playing out of the low-quality speaker that definitely needed to be fixed or replaced, not that Seungmin had the money to do either. And as he much preferred to play other music, Lofi was usually safe. Calming, soothing, easy to study for the students that occasionally came in because they knew this place was cheaper than most others. Not that students came in that often. The nearest high school had to have been at least half an hour away. And he wasn’t even sure where the closest college or university was.
He tries not to think about school much. It’s not like he’ll be able to go anytime soon.
Getting the cleaner off the shelf sent another jolt of pain down his shoulder, and his hands shook as he poured it into the map bucket. He probably poured too much in. The smell felt intoxicating, and not in the hear-me-out way like gasoline did. It smelled intoxicating in the way that it smelled like death and just the slightest touch of it would land him in an ER, forced to pay hospital bills he couldn’t afford. His eyes watered at how strong it was. Dragging the mop bucket from the back to the front hurt his back, and sometimes he forgot he was twenty-one, not fifty.
But he could give mopping this– it was mundane and repetitive. Back and forth, back and forth. No matter how much he hated the smell of it, it was what wrapped up the day into a package with a neat little bow, which is exactly how Seungmin liked it. Nothing that happened in the cafe followed him back to his apartment. The perfect job that got him paying his bills. That’s all he could ask for.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And again. And again. And again. Then he would drag the mop back to the bucket, dip it in the water, ring it out, and go back. Then he dragged it where he left off and kept going. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Then he brought it to the bucket, and he—
And he dropped the mop, barely missing the bucket, and he stared at it blankly as it hit the floor.
Everything went fuzzy.
…
For a second, every noise in the cafe went silent. The buzzing from the ice machine, the noise the mop was supposed to make when it made contact with the floor, the fans in the bathroom, all of it was muffled and quiet in Seungmin’s ears.
Then it came rushing back.
With a sharp cry, Seungmin fell to his knees, one hand holding his shoulder, the other barely keeping him from sprawling along the floor.
His shoulder was on fire– no. No- it wasn’t on fire even though it felt like it was ablaze. It was being torn off, it had to have been. Nothing else made sense. Something was ripping his arm apart and Seungmin screamed. His vision went white. His body hit the floor, his hand giving out from under him. He kicked, uselessly, at nothing but air. He couldn’t see— his eyes were squeezed shut, teeth clenched like it would keep him from crying. It wasn’t. His hand squeezed his shoulder so hard it should’ve hurt, he should’ve felt it. But he didn’t. His knuckles were white from how hard they were digging in, but he couldn’t feel that compared to everything else.
A sob clawed its way out of his throat, out of his mouth, and he hated the sound of it.
The noises were fading. That wasn’t good. He needed to call emergency services– he was pretty sure he was dying. His phone was on the counter at the other side of the cafe. He couldn’t call anyone.
He had to figure it out on his own.
But the only movement he was capable of were spasms.
He opened his eyes, but he couldn’t see. All his eyes saw was a murky, brown cloud that engulfed his vision.
Oh.
Oh.
He was going to pass out.
Seungmin could laugh. He wasn’t supposed to do that. If he did, he didn’t know if he was going to wake back up. The sounds that usually comforted him while he worked were gone. He couldn’t hear a thing.
But what he did hear—
Glass shattering.
Someone else, not his manager, not a customer, not even a robber, yelling. Screaming.
“Hyung!”
And then nothing.