#(I want to make so many shrugs tho idk what it is about weaving but that’s all I can think of)

[viciousewe]

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[ladybugsfanfics]

Seven Days [1/7]

→ Pairing: prince!Loki Odinson x pirate!reader 

(eventually prince!Loki x pirate!Steve Rogers x pirate!reader)

→ WC:  3.1k

→ Warnings: Smut, some blood gore, idk, awkwardness, nightmares, (countless) sexual innuendos

→ Summary: Prince Loki has run sick of not feeling welcome at the palace and asks to join you and your life forever. You give him seven days to try the new life, seven days to realize how much he loves you. And in those seven days, he learns to know you, and himself (and the first mate) a little better… In the end, he only has one question left to answer. Will he stay?

A/N: I’m so excited for this, and it’s finally here. This was originally a part of @nastybuckybarnes​ writing challenge but that ended in september so I think that ship’s sailed (still tagging you tho, i’m sorry). anyways, i hope you like it as much as i do ^_^

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

PROLOGUE

His cloak flutters as the wind brushes past him. It nips at his exposed skin and nearly drags off the hood covering his face. He wraps the cloak tighter around him, tells his rapidly beating heart he’s making the right decision. 

The night life of Asgard is full, he notes, as he walks into the market square. Most of the booths have closed shop for the evening, yet people walk in hushed whispers and loud yells across the cobblestones. Heels clank against the rough surface, his own along with everyone else’s. The air smells of booze and saltwater, of sweat and perfume. 

He walks past an open inn. Loud noises of music, games, and drinks clattering against each other in celebration fills the open streets. He rushes past, the inn being too close for someone not to recognize him. 

Moments later, the port welcomes him. The booths and a few inns exchanged with taverns and ships lining the docks. Seawater fills his nose as he grows closer. The sounds of earlier fades into the background to leave space for the louder noise of drunk sailors and maids having their fun. A smile tugs at his lips at the sound of the ocean splashing against the stones of the dock. 

A deep breath gives him the courage to walk past the numerous amounts of people around him. He avoids eye contact, keeping his head low as he weaves through the crowd. The wind tugs at his hood again. Trembling fingers pulls it back over his head. His heart beats faster, making its presence in his rib cage known. 

Finally, he sees it. 

In the dark of the night, the ebony wood that lines the ship mixes into the dark blue of the water. The masts rise into the air, sails wrapped around them waiting to be let loose and feel the wind push against them. His eyes scan the people, seeing a few walking the gangplank onto it. 

One person catches his eyes, standing at the helm. The shadow moves along the railing, looking out at the sea. Hair blows in the wind, creating the image of a captain ready to get back on the water. 

His breath hitches at the sight, and he moves his feet faster. Boots clank against the stones, a rhythm he doesn’t mean to make. He stops by the gangplank, waiting for the acceptance to be let on. 

You smile as you catch his eyes in the dark. Not the typical teasing smirk that usually spreads across your features when you meet. Not the happy one you sport when you tell him you love him. Not the sad one you have when you let him know it’s time to leave. 

No. 

This one is special. This smile lights up in your eyes, tells him to take those few steps aboard. Your smile is one he hasn’t seen before. It covers all your emotions. The happiness of him coming. The disappointment of him coming. The excitement for the coming seven days. 

He takes the last step onto the ship. His boot connects with the ships wood, making that one sound he has been dying to hear. Your hands are clasped behind your back. You stand straight and, despite the smile on your face, the authority reeks of you. 

He likes this new image he can see. 

He doesn’t regret it one bit that he asked the question. Seven days is what he has to prove that he can survive on a pirate ship. Seven days to prove that he does love you. Seven days to prove that, even if it’s hell on Earth, it’s hell on Earth with you and he wants to spend every moment in your presence. 

Seven days to prove himself worthy.  

 DAY ONE

Compared to what Loki is used to, everything about the little food he got tastes stale. He drowns the bread down with a glass of wine, and it still leaves his tongue dry and itchy. He’d gotten an old apple at the side, too. ( “A little something on me since it’s your first day,” was what the first mate had added when the man placed the apple next to him. He’d given him a tight, fake smile and patted his back a little hard.)

The apple tastes nothing like apples are supposed to. The usual juicy and sweet bite he expects is bitter, dry and soft. His first reaction would be to spit it out and demand another, but he can’t do that now. He swallows the bite, pinching his eyes shut at the sour taste, and takes a sip of wine to drown out what lingers on his tongue. 

And then he repeats the process until the whole apple, save the core, is gone. His shoulders slump and he takes the last of the wine in one big gulp, in a desperate attempt to completely rid of the dry aftertaste of the apple and the bread that remains in his mouth. 

“Easy there, bud,” says a voice behind him, “wouldn’t want you to down everything on the first day.” 

Loki turns his head. Behind him stands a male clad in a loose shirt and a pair of pants―no shoes. The man has unusually well-groomed, brown hair and a goatee. He smiles at Loki, a lopsided smile that doesn’t really tell Loki anything other than let him know this man might not be of that much importance. 

“I’m Tony,” he says, “most people ‘round here call me Stark.” 

“I’m Loki Odinson, the―” He cuts himself off before he says his title. Not only did he get on this ship to escape that life, it also holds no authority. Maybe he should have dropped the Odinson? It would be an easy connection. 

Tony nods. “I know, everyone knows. Welcome aboard Vicious Storm, prince. Don’t expect special treatment.” He smiles, or smirks? “Or, maybe you should?” 

“Stop bothering him, Stark.” Your voice drags Loki’s attention away from the man in front of him. You stop at Loki’s side, a small smile on your lips as you divert your gaze to Tony. The man does a salute, which has you roll your eyes. The smile stays, though. “Go do something useful.” 

“Will do,” replies Tony. He smirks as he walks down to the other end of the ship. 

Loki looks to you. “What’s in that direction?” 

You widen your eyes, as if you realised something. “Oh, you don’t know where things are yet.” You shake your head. “Down that end you find our surgeon, Dr. Strange. Would recommend saying hi to him every once in a while, though the man doesn’t talk too much with anyone but Stark.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know, he doesn’t really want to be here.” You shrug. “But, that’s not why I’m here now. You done eating?” 

Loki nods. 

“Good.” You nod. “Come with me. Gonna introduce you to some people, though I hear you’ve already met Rogers?”

Loki makes a grimace at the sound of the first mate’s name. “It is not something I would like to repeat.”

You chuckle. “I’m not even sorry when I say that that’s gonna be hard.” You take Loki’s hand in yours, dragging him up from where he sits and with you out into the sunshine that bathes the main deck. 

You walk over to the end (it’s the rear since it has the wheel, right?―Loki notes to learn more about what things are called). In a huddle stands five people, talking and laughing with each other. You cough to get their attention and they all stand up straight.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask, a frown coating your face as your gaze drags over the five people saluting you. 

The first mate relaxes, shooting you a smile (and winks at Loki). “You said to have manners. Ain’t this manners?” 

“This,” ―you gesture at the other four who all relax back into normal postures― “is not what I talked about.”

Rogers smiles. “Sorry, I tried my best.”

You roll your eyes, but an amused smile plays on your lips. Loki finds he rather likes the look in your eyes, only he wishes it wasn’t directed at the first mate―he tries to drown the sting in his heart at your playfulness with him, but he can’t deny the jealousy that comes with you being close to someone as good looking as Rogers. 

“Anyways,” says one of the other men, “why’d you ask us to meet you here?” The male is bald, with a dark complexion Loki hasn’t seen with many other’s of the crew. He noticed a few, but for the most part, there are crew with the same pale, white skin as he himself has.

“Yeah, I want to introduce you.” You nudge Loki a little closer to you and the group, hand still holding onto his. He’s grateful to rely on some of your strength. Being in a different environment than he’s used to makes for interesting jabs at his pride and confidence, jabs he hadn’t thought would come when he’d asked to join you. 

“Loki, this is Wilson. He’s our pilot.” Loki hides his surprise as the man holds out a hand for him to shake―the first one to do so in the little time he’d been aboard the ship. He takes the man’s hand, giving a curt nod to the smile the male sends him. “Bet you’ll get along, at least a little.”

The next person is a male with longer, brown hair that flows around his head and lands past his shoulders. Loki notes that one of his arms is metal, but he decides not to comment and makes a mental note to ask you later. “Barnes.” He doesn’t hold out his hand, but gives a nod which Loki returns. 

“Welcome aboard Vicious Storm, my prince.” The red-headed woman makes a mock-curtsy, looking up at him through her lashes with a bright smirk. The men around her snicker. Loki makes no reaction. 

You roll your eyes. “Mature, Nat, mature.” 

Nat stands up. She gives Loki a more genuine smile, which he returns with a tight-lipped one (that gives away his ‘poker’ face). “Call me anything but Romanoff and I’ll make sure you regret it.” 

Based on her tone, Loki believes her. “Noted.”

“Clint,” says the male next to Romanoff and holds out a hand for Loki to shake. The man, though with a slightly lighter brown shade, has the same styled hair as Tony. Clint also has a goatee, though less prominent. Loki takes the man’s hand and shakes it. He returns the grin Clint gives him, though a little hesitantly. “We’ll be best friends, promise.”

Loki glances at you, and you roll your eyes with a small smile. Of the four he’s been properly introduced to, he has to admit he likes Clint the best. 

And then he turns to the first mate, who eagerly holds out his hand for Loki to shake. “Steve Rogers,” he says, a wicked grin coating his (stupidly handsome) face―jawline covered with a full beard that suits him very well, and longer, blonde hair slicked back (he looks too well-groomed for a pirate). 

Loki, who was raised with manners, takes Rogers’s hand and shakes it. The pressure is slightly harder than Wilson’s and Clint’s, but surprisingly lighter than Loki expected. Rogers leans in, the wicked grin still on his lips. His breath is hot on Loki’s ear. “Please, call me Steve,” he whispers and pulls back. 

You and the four other people raise your brows at the first mate’s behaviour. Loki tries to steady his beating heart (to be honest, Steve gives him a ...weird and almost frightening vibe). 

“Okay,” you say, “that was… I don’t know what that was but I ain’t gon’ ask either an’ now we’re gon’ go before more happens.” You tug on Loki’s hand―the one that has been holding onto his this whole time it’s weird you haven’t pulled away by how clammy it has gotten―and Loki swallows the lump in his throat as he pulls his gaze away from Steve. 

As the two of you walk, Loki takes a glance back at the group. Steve looks after you and Loki, and the other four whisper with each other whilst looking at Steve―had that behaviour been that odd? Loki vows not to be alone with the first mate.

Ever. 

 ---

He’d noticed the smell when he’d first stepped on board the ship. The mixed stench of human sweat and rotting fish, an odor that gets a little better at the main deck where the breeze filled with the smell of sea can take away some of the vile one that hurts his nose. 

It’s first now, bored to death as he leans against the railing trying to tame his queasy stomach that he really notices it. Loki can’t say it helps very much to how he’s feeling. 

He swallows the little that makes its way up his throat, though quickly regrets it as it only heightens the feeling and he leans over to rid himself off it. His throat hurts as he uses his sleeve to wipe away the excess. 

“We’ve all been there, buddy.” Clint pats his back and nods. “Heck, most o’ us are still there. Does get a lil’ better, but everyone’s emptyin’ their guts every now and then.”

Loki swallows―something he quickly regrets―and rubs his temples. “I have to admit, when I asked I thought the worst part would be the blood and gore, not… sea sickness.”

Clint nods. “Trust me, thought so, too.” He gives Loki a tiny smile. “But instead o’ this, what’cha say to a round? Got some mates up there, bettin’ some good money. And I’ll give you somethin’ to wash that taste down with.”

“A round of what?” 

A mischievous glint lights up in Clint’s eyes. “A round o’ whatever.” He winks. “Won’t give up an opportunity to beat Rogers, now would you?”

Loki nods. “He’s playing?” 

Clint nods. 

“Well, lead the way.”

They make their way to the helm (Loki asked you what the back with the wheel is called, the answer; the helm). Where he got introduced to some of the crew earlier in the day, is now a group―bigger than the five he was introduced to―sitting in a ring. In the middle he sees a pair of dice. 

“Ey, look who decided to join.” The first mate smirks in Loki’s direction and makes room for him to sit down next to him. “Time to place our bets, gentlemen.” Steve winks at Loki and looks onto the crowd around him as Loki sits down in the space made for him.

Everyone holler out a number between five and nine. Loki keeps his mouth shut, not sure what they’re playing. Steve picks up the dice and rolls them, creating a total of seven. A few men groan and move out of the circle to stand and watch. 

The remaining men holler out another set of numbers. Steve rolls the dice again. Five. Two of the men move out of the circle. There are five men left, each holler out a number. Steve rolls; eight. Two men remain in the circle. They give each other a wicked grin, and yell out a new number. 

Steve rolls the dice. As they spin around on the deck, the silence is deafening. The wind brushes past Loki, nipping at his cheeks. It makes his hair flap around him, annoyingly slap his face. He tucks it away, eyes still glued to the dice that come still on the ebony wood of the deck. 

Nine.

Both men groan and glare at Steve, who shrugs with a smirk. “Hand it over, boys.” His voice is cocky, too arrogant for someone surrounded by a gang of annoyed pirates. But, Steve himself is a pirate. And the men pay up, putting down different sets of things in front of Steve. 

The first mate picks some of the things, putting them in his pockets and then pushes the rest of the heap into the center. “Play me for it?” 

Loki is well aware of the little glance the male gives his way, as if the question is directly meant for him. He nods as the men come back to form a new circle. Everyone hollers out a number. 

Steve rolls the dice. Eight. Loki keeps his place, though he suppresses the smirk he wants―so he doesn’t have that good a poker face, this is rather a game of luck. 

They holler out a new number. Steve rolls. The dice spins on the deck. Stop. Six. Loki can feel the tug of his lips as he lets his shoulders fall down. 

They six men seated in the circle holler out a new number. Steve throws the dice; eight. Loki can feel the glares stare daggers in his back; already heated by the scorching sun the glares only add to the feeling of finally being somewhere else. 

They’re three men left now. All three yell different numbers. Steve rolls the dice. One lands quickly at a four. The other spins, and spins, and spins. It loses momentum and Loki can see the number it’s going to land on; one. Subtly, he flicks his wrist, giving the little extra it needs to fall on the two he needs. 

All eyes land on him as he lets the smirk color his face. Steve shakes his head, though if Loki doesn’t see hallucinations he believes he saw the hint of an amused smile before the man went back to his rather teasing look. 

“Who won?” 

Loki perks up at the sound of your voice. 

“Your toy,” replies Steve, though nothing layers his voice as Loki would have thought. 

As he sorts through the pile of garbage they played about, Loki can feel you roll your eyes behind him. He smiles and, finding something of value, he leaves the heap and stands up. He turns to you raising a brow in his direction. 

“Having fun?” you ask.

Loki smiles. “I will be in a moment.” A little ‘ooooh’ goes through the crowd of men as he takes your hand and tugs you with him. Newfound energy can do a lot. 

Also, he would rather have you in his arms where he can trade the rotting stench he’d forgotten a little with your smell. He wishes to trade the sound of grown men groaning at losing a game designed for them to lose, to the sound of your voice hoarsely and breathlessly whispering his name. 

So far, he’d made the right decision. 

[seokmins-thighs]

[scenario] serendipity

Pairing: reader x S.Coups; a side roommate!seokmin x nct jaehyun, mingyu is here, too!

Genre: soulmate!au, slight!angst

Word Count: 3006w

Warning(s): implied (?) mentions of death; seungcheol is on crutches, mention of alcohol, and some implied nudity eheh nothing big tho

masterlist (but i really should update it) | writing page?

desc:  Soulmate!au in which people have two timers; one says when you will meet your soulmate, but you never find your second timer.

a/n: um idk i kept listening to enchanted by taylor swift while writing this lmao

----

Incessant taps of the pen against the kitchen table punctuates the kicks to its legs, jarring your line of notes into uncertain knowledge on the page. You pull your pen back, eyes flitting up to your roommate scowling at his notebook and textbook in front of him. You plant a palm on the table to stop the wood from shaking, from scratching the hardwood, and call out his name.

The first "Seokmin" melts right into the yellow lights.

The second "Seokmin" disappears somewhere in the textbook.

The last "Seokmin" is harsh out your throat, but it gets him looking up trepidation. "Let's walk outside."

Spring night heeds no warmth for the two of you, still leaving hints of winter breaths out your lips when you heave exhales after chasing him down the stairs and out to the walkways of the apartment complex. He tucks the hood of your sweatshirt up and behind your ears, mumbling about "keeping the cold away" as he tugs on the drawstrings.

You both head for the fountain, still sending cascades of water at this late hour. "What's on your mind?"

"Is it that obvious?" he sighs, runs a tired hand over his face. His entire smile wipes off with his palm and sears some slow, exhausted blinks behind. "Just school and work and I don't know, life." It hits you that the timer trailing down a vein on the back of his arm will reach down to zeroes soon, but you don't remember how long exactly. Perhaps he remembers; perhaps he forgot.

"Is it about your soulmate, too?" is quiet through bubbles of fountain water.

Seokmin sucks in a breath, grabs your arm, and tells you to stop. "I never thought of that." He loosens the grip on your arm to check, rolling his sleeve up and screeching. "I have four minutes, but there's no one here?"

"Let's just keep walking." And you allow Seokmin to lead the way, weaving closer to the sidewalk. You ask about his work, about the daycare across the university. "I bet the kids would be excited to meet your soulmate."

Seokmin shrugs and his broad shoulders sink heavy at his aching bones. "I don't think I'd be ready. I never have time fo-"

A groan shoots form beside you, followed by a thump, and Seokmin sits on the ground, scratching the heel of his palm. He winces after a drag of his finger over streaks of blood and you kneel down to examine is hand. He dusts stray pebbles off his skin, whispers a "Thank you" without glancing your way, and stands up. He offers back his unscathed hand to hoist you up.

"I am so sorry," you hear someone behind you, voice worn out and huffing. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"No, no, it's okay," escapes monotone out of Seokmin's mouth and it's nothing of the cheery voice he gives you in the day hours, far from comforting levels he soothes into night hours.

"I'll run to the store, give me five minutes." You look up to Seokmin poking at the back of his forearm, scratching and sending more dry scratches of his nails into his skin.

"Wait, no, come here." After making sure that the timer on Seokmin's arm slices down to zeroes and after the man blushes, confesses that his timer is on his hip, you trail behind Seokmin and the man to the convenience store to buy a first aid kit.

Seokmin settles on the sidewalk with the man, who introduced himself to you as Yoonoh once he sprays antiseptic all over Seokmin's palm. He explains that he jogs at nighttime because the air singes cool into his lungs, nothing warm like the afternoon or evening breezes. No one ever bothers to walk at nighttime and he's usually the only one outside in the neighborhood. He apologizes again for bumping into Seokmin, cheeks blushing under blinking fluorescence of the shop sign--from the slowdown of his jog, Seokmin himself, or the fact that Seokmin is blushing, too; you're not sure why.

The number of your friends without a soulmate starts to dwindle down the closer you get to graduation, and you're one of the few that remains with a ticking timer. Seokmin never minds walking into a dressing room with you or tripping up six flights of stairs to peek at the time on your shoulder blade in the comforts of your shared apartment. He assures you that wearing off some anxiety of waiting for zeroes is something that will never bother him.

"Besides, you do the same thing for me all the time," he always tells you, scratching the back of his head with a one-corner smile.

But what bothers him, that he mentioned to you only once, are the nights where you peel off every piece of clothing to find that second timer lost somewhere on your skin, under your flesh. You remember Seokmin's hesitant fingers trailing down centimeters of your skin to find it. You remember stumbling into a bed, tinges of alcohol infused into your system, with people you met just once. You remember asking them if they can trace time under their fingertips, but their hands are caught at your back and their lips are gone from your shoulder blade. One quick kiss to sleep and you find your bed empty the next morning.

You remember Seokmin's second timer just right. Millimeters away from the base of his hairline, curving some distance beside the shell of his ear. He asked you to read the time, but never tell him how long is left. He asked you to read the time, but pretend you never did. He asked you to read the time, but lie that there is still so much left.

You lose Seokmin and Yoonoh in their conversation. Three in the morning feels much closer to you than Seokmin has this entire night and even if your class starts early into the afternoon, you don't plan on walking around at this hour.

Relief washes down on you that Seokmin found his soulmate, that his months, years of anxiety reward him with this nice guy who jogs at nighttime, who apologizes even when Seokmin dismisses that he's "okay, it's just a scratch." But you know, just like all of your friends, that it means the apartment will be more empty with your presence than with yours and Seokmin. Your nights of studying will be stretched longer without a second person to worry about waking up in the morning. It means coming home to a lonesome front door because Seokmin is stepping into Yoonoh's instead.

----

Despite the distance of your friends with their soulmates and graduation in front of everyone, you hop into your car and you're pretty sure there aren't enough seats for everyone. Someone probably has to sit on another’s lap in the car ride to the mountains and at this point, no one cares who will sit on someone's legs.

You pull out baskets, folded blankets from your trunk as others find the perfect spot that opens up the stars to the city down below. You and Seokmin help spread the sheets over the grass, drop baskets at each corner to hold them down. You lie down next to Seokmin and you know at the other side, his thumb rubs the back of Yoonoh's hand.

You wonder if you will see each other in a month, a year, two years. With no exams or classes to study for anymore, one of your friends turn on the flashlight of their phone and asks to look for each other's timers. "Of course, those who still have their first timers going."

Everyone lifts their sleeves up or pokes a peek at their hips, rolls the sleeves of their sweatpants up to the knees or tugs the collars of their shirts down. You shy into the restroom because taking your shirt off to find it is not something you're entirely comfortable to do in front of so many eyes. You whisper to Seokmin to help you find it again and when you come back, your fingers dig into his sleeve and your toes jump at your steps.

Your friend sits with a planner on her lap and she flips through, jots down when the first timers will reach zeroes. "Y/n, when will your timer go off?"

"In two months," you whisper, and your heart thumps hard at the thought of meeting your soulmate, especially when more than half of your friends are sitting with theirs right now.

"What happened to you?" she asks another, lifting her hands to wipe your other friend's tears away.

It's not common to find a frozen timer. It's not common, either, to find one already set at zeroes before you realize it.

"Why before graduation? Why when our lives are just about to start?"

----

A couple of months after walking across the stage, you lie on the couch, one leg hanging off the edge of the cushion and the other toeing the lamp next to the armrest. Seokmin moved in with Yoonoh after graduation, just like you predicted, and they probably spend their nights walking around the city.

So you get up, promise yourself that you will walk around the neighborhood at this much safer hour. You slam down the idea in your brain that you want to absorb the neighborhood after you missed so much of it when burying your eyes in the books.

The flower shop suspends some potted plants outside, leaves only the name of the store on glass in view. The cafe tempts you with a second cup of the day, but you dodge it. The bookstore wafts in scents of yellowed pages, new prints, hard spines trying to keep up with polished paperbacks. Everything screams for a date and you want to run away.

Your eyes fixate on the old woman stacking coins at the register as you walk down, tear your view just before you would have tripped on someone. A shorter guy slings his arm around the taller, scowling at something below him.

"Sorry for blo-" the taller one starts, black hair matching the black marking up his ribs. Tan skin peeks out the low dip of his tank top and shines against spring sunlight.

"Mingyu, check my timer," the shorter one says, wincing when the one named Mingyu lifts his arm off his shoulder to tilt his neck back, to check something there. A pulse, maybe, but why would he do that when the short is still breathing?

"Seungcheol, it's at zero," Mingyu barely breathes.

"I can't believe I meet my soulmate like this," the one named Seungcheol groans and you can't help the laugh escaping your lips. You haven't checked the timer on your shoulder blade, not since Seokmin moved away, because trying to look at it would snap your neck. You think the guy is just messing with you, but you waive a chance.

"What's with the limping?" you ask, pointing at the bandaged heel.

"I will tell you later," he promises. He leans against the car at the curb as his taller friend runs back inside one of the stores and returns with a pair of crutches.

"Would you like to sit at the cafe?" Seungcheol nods for the next door after situating the crutches under his arm and bidding his friend goodbye and thanks.

You open the door for Seungcheol, bell ringing right above you. You pull the chair behind him, lift a hand to his shoulder as he eases into the seat. You head for the counter to order, returning to the table with hot mugs.

The second you sit down, he asks if he can see your timer. Heat rushes to your cheeks before telling him that you'd have to take your shirt off to show him. Heat bounces from your cheeks to his and even teases his ears. He grabs for the mug too quickly and he flinches, flails his hand to rub the cool air onto his skin.

He sighs, apologizes for asking, and props his elbow up on the table. He leans his cheek into his palm. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."

He says your name right after you, flat at his voice the first time. He repeats it, but higher, much softer, and tilting his head to the side. Curves of his lashes blink slow at you and a smirk teeters from his lips. Your eyes avoid his, resort to looking down at your lap. You want to hit him, slap his shoulder if you just reach across the table, to get him to stop looking at you, but he doesn't need a second injury.

You glance back up to pick up your mug, tread through the question of what happened to his foot and if he'll be okay.

"I’ll be fine," he assures you, swirling the spoon in his empty mug, "but I want to show you once it's healed."

You lift an arm over the table, pinky out. It pulls a gentle giggle right out of his lips. "This is serious," you affirm, and he drops his smile, loops your pinkies together, and lets your thumbs press together.

"Can we meet again like this?" he asks, low and disappointed that the cafe closes early today. "Can we go somewhere and just talk? Mostly because I can't walk at the moment."

You tell him you'd love to. He saves himself on your phone as a curt Seungcheol and once you save your number on his phone, he calls his friend to pick him up.

"Do you live with someone? Maybe they can help you."

"I live alone, but I'll survive."

"Seungcheol, what if you trip on something?" He chuckles, mumbles that he's grateful to have a soulmate who cares about him already. But you roll your eyes, offer to drop him home if he waits here. "I live nearby, so I can just walk home and drive back here."

Athletic trophies line up his apartment--from the metal baseball bat, basketball, to a black belt. A flimsy picture of a violin as tall as the boy holding it leans on the wall of the kitchen counter and Seungcheol explains that his mother wanted that picture of his violin recital somewhere in his apartment. He situates on a chair at the kitchen table, propping the crutches on the seat beside him.

As if knowing the question before you get the chance to ask, he says he's studying kinesiology and is currently an intern. "I know it doesn't look like it right now, but I want to be a physical therapist." He mentions that he will be graduating next year before turning the unspoken question back to you. When you tell him that you just graduated and are simply waiting for an interview at any of the four places you applied for, he assures you that you'll get into one for sure.

He shifts in his seat, not exactly finding the right place to stay still. "What's wrong?"

He opens his mouth to reply, but a bashful frown makes its way through instead. "I was-uh, planning on taking a shower, but I don't think I can with the bandage on my foot," he admits, pinks winding back to his ears.

Without thinking, you stand up and suggest on helping him into the shower and he blushes harder, more squirming into his seat than before, and mutters that it's okay. "I have to learn more about my soulmate, anyway, so I might as well," from you earns a scoff from him.

"We haven't even been on a proper date."

"It hasn't even been a day since I met you."

"But aren't you glad you did?" through fluttering eyelashes. You cross your arms, roll your eyes, and turn around to leave, but he calls out your name and submits to needing help. "While we're at it, can I see your timer?"

The soft fingertips at your shoulder blade wakes up goosebumps across your skin and you think twice to realize Seungcheol gasps at the zeroes down your skin.

Seungcheol leans back on the chair at the kitchen again as you dry his hair under a towel. His gray shirt clings onto the muscles on his back and you glance down at lean outlines carving through.

"What's wrong with your foot?"

"I got a tattoo before I met you."

"On your foot?"

"Yeah, I didn't think this tattoo through."

"Can I see it?"

"When I take the bandage off, I'll show you."

After drying his hair, Seungcheol hops on one foot to the kitchen, opening the fridge and looking through. He proffers to cook you dinner, but it's cut futile when your phone lights up on his counter and Seokmin's message asks if you met your soulmate today.

"Who's Seokmin?" Seungcheol pouts, shoving all of the ingredients back in the fridge.

"He was my roommate," your voice drowns in a longing of how the apartment used to be filled with laughter at mornings. "He lives with his soulmate now, so I guess it doesn't matter."

Seungcheol nods, finalizes that "you should probably get home, then." You bid him goodnight, but he apologizes for today, for the fact that he can't do much at the moment. He promises that when his tattoo heals, he'll carry you to the car and take you on so many dates. His head loses in his verbal cloud of thoughts of properly making you dinner and dropping you off home, instead of leaving you alone at the parking lot.

You shake your head at his fantasies, but you hope that he will try to bring those fantasies to life. "I'll come over again tomorrow to check up on you, okay?"

Worry kicks the smile off his face, to a slight frown at his lips. "Message me when you get home?"

You lean down, press a kiss to his temple, and swear that you will.

Y/n

I'm home

Seungcheol

Goodnight ❤️

----

a/n 2: i feel like i mostly spat this out but i have some soulmate!aus i really want to write, even if i think that my writing is going downhill. sdfkjsdlfkj maybe it’s just with scenarios idk. anyway, here’s baby seungcheol with a violin