the other cat looks at you, concerned. once you've composed yourself, and can understand them, they repeat their question; "are you okay?"
you answer back that yes, you are okay. they smile a little, glad to hear that you aren't hurt. they ask you something else, to which you can't quite place the answer.
you wrack your brain, trying to remember the information you need. you look next to you, into a puddle, trying to find something. your own face stares back at you as you try and recall:
[Still thinking about pronouns but she/her feels appropriate for now]
She definitely likes Cluedo. She plays it like I do: In addition to to marking down every card she sees, she keeps seperate columns for each of the other players in which to keep track of the cards they've shown her, the accusations they've made, and for which accusations they have shown evidence. Everyone else thinks this is excessive. She thinks she's a genius. And she gets to piece together sporadic bits of evidence to come to a logical conclusion, which, really, isn't that what Cluedo's all about? (I may be projecting. Aggressively.)
She either loathes Articulate or is insufferably smug about her prowess at it, on account of her knowledge of British culture and her Irish friends and family's relative obliviousness to it. Probably loathe, given the necessity of being able to rely on the baseline shared knowledge of one's team members.
Monopoly is, as always, a rage-inducer.
She once spent an entire summer making her own The Landlord's Game/Prosperity board because she couldn't find one on the market. This is her favourite game of all time because of the in-built option to change the rules from Monopoly to "Fuck Capitalism, We Help Each Other".
She has a love-hate relationship with Frustration. She has extremely fond and treasured memories of the three times she won during her childhood. She has played the game many, many more times than thrice.
She likes Scrabble, but gets frustrated with her perpetual losing streak. She refuses to acknowledge that her habit of "saving up" letters for when she can make specific words may have anything whatever to do with this. But they're beautiful! she cries, as this is explained to her for at least the eightieth time.
She loves chess, and gets trashed every time she plays against someone even mildly competent. She has immense admiration for anyone who successfully employs Actual Chess Strategy in their own favour.
She dislikes checkers because the pieces are too bland and similar. Her favoured chess set in each respective universe is the blandest chess set in existence.
Summary - A mysterious person who writes on your skin, an interesting co-worker who is making his way into your heart. A man whose past you need to know and a man who needs to understand your present. In a journey that takes you beyond the boundaries of time, sanity and love, you are left torn between choices to make and decisions to take.
And no. Not everything was about love. It was also about destiny.
[A/N] - This is my original work and has in no way has been plagerised. If you see a story similar to this that was posted by @bts-things-we-all-imagine please know that I am the owner of that blog and that I have abandoned it because of certain issues. I’m reposting my work on this, my new url and have edited it heavily (cause why not :), but it is all my words and my work only.
A black lane.....a small bridge......two swords......a ring spinning on the floor.......the painting of an unknown someone....the sound of a flute...a strange constriction cutting your breath....
and you begin to scream.
You feel your body arch against your bed and crash into in, forcing your eyes to fly open at the suddenness. Air. You need air. It’s as though someone wrapped a bag over your head, forced water to flood your lungs and placed a ten pound weight on your chest and all your intercoastal muscles can do nothing but strain against it. Every muscle in you has given up the fight to devour oxygen, letting the darkness which robs away the daylight, steal you sanity.
Kicking the sheets off your body you sit up scrambling frantically, bringing your knees to your chest and burying your face in them, your hands habitually covering your ears, desperate to run away from nothing and everything. The noises. They always take a while to calm down, slowly ebbing away, bringing back your breath and your ability to think again. Dragging your hands behind your head, smoothing your messed up bed hair, you feel the beads of sweat trailing down you neck as you gently massage it. Air is beginning to tickle in your lungs once more and you lift your head letting your vision adjust to the shadows.
It’s okay I’m home. I’m home. Everything is fine. You tell yourself. But you know it is a lie. Nothing about you is fine.
Flipping the switches of your bedside lamp to drive away the darkness, you swing your legs off the bed onto the cold tiled floor, not flinching even a bit at the sudden lack of warmth. When every inch of your body was shivering already, a minor change in temperature was hardly going to affect you. Pulling your slightly damp hair into a bun, you walk across your bedroom space into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water. The dishes you avoided doing last night are still in your sink staring at you disapprovingly making your insides curl in shame. You quickly gulp the liquid, letting it flow down your sandpaper throat, to avoid looking at it.
The soft beep of your alarm clock rings loudly in the silence of the night. You know by experience that it is 2. 2 in the morning and as usual you are devoid of sleep. It would be a while before it comes back to you. Even though it was the same dream running over and over again in your head, it still managed to leave you breathless and panting and sweating and knee deep in fear. It would take a while for your body to come back to normal.
Striding towards the bookshelf in the corner of your room you pull out a small notebook and a pen and sink into the couch next to it, skimming through the thin papers, eyes falling on your years of notes - small scribbles of blue and black here and there, huge paragraphs formed by illegible handwriting, rough sketches of places, people and things.
It’s your collection. A collection of all the things that haunt you every night. Things that you know are more than just random flashes of images in your mind. Things that mean something, something you have been trying to figure out for ages now, but in vain. You quickly scribble down tonight’s details before the faint memories of your dream fade away.
Biting you lip you read through your words again, cutting some of them and then writing again, making the scratch of the pen against the paper the only sound other than the train that passes by, causing your whole house to shake. You read through it again, once, twice, three times until you finally slam it shut annoyed, letting your eyes fall on the place you were really concentrating on. Your hands.
Why wasn’t he saying something tonight? You want to talk to him, tell him that you saw something new today - a ring. A golden engraved metal studded with a single red stone, spinning on the floor as though someone dropped it. You had never seen that before. Never once in the last 16 years did you remember seeing that. Yes your dreams did change everyday, but it was cyclic. The same images would flash again after a few days but never a new one. And you want to know what he thought about it. Now that you could see new things, what did it mean? But he wasn’t saying a word.
You get up sighing irritably and stuff the book back in its place, clutching the pen harder than you should in your disappointment. What was wrong with him today? Every night the moment you see a dream he writes to you to calm you down, then why not today? Why did he not-
And the familiar tingle runs across your hand, black curves, lines and crescents forming letters with seraphic expertise and confidence. Though they send a funny feeling under your skin, yet their presence calms you.
Did you not get dreams tonight?
You frown at that confused at the complete contrary response. You were expecting him to talk to you about that ring you saw but he was asking if.......
The words sink in your skin, new ones replacing them.
You aren’t asleep are you? You can’t be, I know you read what I said. But if you read it then….
You straighten, all your senses working far too sharply for someone in the dead of the night. Then what?
Then why can’t I read your thoughts?
You panic, feeling the breathlessness come to you again. The silence is suddenly deafening and everything around you is starting to spin and phosphenes are dancing before you even with your eyes wide open and nothing is making sense.
You are unable to fathom what he is saying. What did he mean he cannot read you?
I can’t feel what you are thinking, everything is so empty, it feels like you are not there. But I know you are and I know you are reading this then why can’t I feel you?
And all of last New years fireworks set off in your body. Every nerve of your being is screaming in fear. Fear that one feels when losing someone who is a constant support in your life. Someone who is an anchor in this mirage of a world. Someone who is anonymous yet familiar. A stranger yet more of a family than anyone.
Tears begin to prick your eyes, and your body is uncontrollably shaking and you want to say so many things yet nothing is able to leave your body but short, rapid breaths of air. Your mind is thinking. Thinking fast about what had changed and what went wrong and why the universe was against you tonight. You look around tensed, gulping the cold air as though the silence around you holds answers. But-
Stop.
And that one word is like a defibrillator for your racing heart. Stop what?
Are you holding a pen?
You look at your hand only just feeling the cool touch of the metal. You didn’t even realize you are holding on to the pen all this while even though you had gripped it tight enough to leave marks of blue ink on your palm.
Write something on your hand.
You stare at the message, rolling the device in your hand nervously, as you remember the last time you tried that. It was about 6-7 years ago maybe, when he first spoke to you.
It had been so many years since then and you still didn’t understand how he knew exactly what to say all the time, how he knew details of your dreams even you could hardly remember, how he understood every emotion of yours so clearly. And over time you learnt one thing - he couldn’t read your mind that was for sure because he was aware of a lot of things about you but not everything.
He never seemed to have knowledge of the things that you knew but didn’t pertain to you. Like your friends’ secrets or the gossip you shared with your colleagues or the useless stuff you read on the internet. He only seemed to know matters that were personal to you, closest to your heart.
So he never knew how curious you were about him. He never knew that you wanted to know why you shared such a connection with him and why it had to be you of all people and why he never talked about himself. But most importantly you wanted to know who. Who he was.
And obviously a very simple logic had struck in your teenage head. He speaks to you through words on your skin, so technically you should do be able to do the same. The day is still fresh in your mind when you were pacing around your classroom, thinking hard about how to phrase your words and how you finally sat down in a corner trying to mimic his beautiful handwriting on your hand. But nothing happened. The ink just stayed till it was washed away, never reaching him, never letting you to say the things you wanted him to hear or ask the questions you needed him to answer. And soon you grew to accept that it is a one way thing. Only he is allowed to speak to you.
But now he is asking you to try and you don’t hesitate to hold the pen and let it hover over your skin. You know there was no point, that it will fail. But right now you are desperate. Desperate to keep this unknown man from leaving your side. Desperation can make one do so many things. At thi moment you are ready to let vultures gnaw out your intestines if it means reestablishing your connection with him again, repeating a failed act is no big deal. There is no harm in trying again right?
And you bring the pen down to the back of your right hand and write what is bothering you the most.
So is this the end?
And you stare at your hand for too long that night, watching the words linger there like they always do. But then the universe really is playing with you and your breathing hitches again, eyes widening and a small gasp leaves your tired body. They sink.
The blue words sink right through your skin, every last trace of them disappearing like they were never there in the first place. Your hand is trembling, fingers shaking in a crazy motion and if it is the cold or excitement or fear, you cannot tell. You don’t even have the time to think about it and decide because within seconds the emptiness is replaced with his blank letters.
No. I think it is a new beginning and I think I know why.
A pause. He gives a maddening, long sick pause of a few seconds before -
Happy 24th birthday beautiful.
The words jolt you to reality as you rush across your living room towards your bedside, knocking a few things on the way, your hair leaving its knot and falling around your shoulders, your toe aching from banging against the edge of the dining table. Still out of breath you notice the time on your clock just crossed two and the date today was a familiar one and stare at it only just realizing what the universe you hate so much has been conspiring.
Summary - A mysterious person who writes on your skin, an interesting co-worker who is making his way into your heart. A man whose past you need to know and a man who needs to understand your present. In a journey that takes you beyond the boundaries of time, sanity and love, you are left torn between choices to make and decisions to take.
And no. Not everything was about love. It was also about destiny.
[A/N] - I fused the original chapters 1 and 2 in this and changed 2 not-so-important character as well ( I’m sorry!)
“Happy birthday Y/N!”
You turned to see your colleague throwing you a wide smile as he walked through the office doors, hands filled with files. The inner you rolled her eyes as you feigned a smile and nodded at him once. He frowned, not pleased at your reaction, expecting a thanks or atleast a smile that was genuine, but of course you weren’t genuine. You would’ve been if it was your birthday today.
Exactly a month had passed since your birthday, and not one person at your workplace seemed to know that. Honestly, it was because of that stupid staff board up on the wall by the entrance that you thought was a pretty interesting concept when you joined the company. Every employees name, their birthday, their zodiac sign, things they like and things they hate, were neatly written down on post it notes and displayed for everyone to see. It was a great way for everyone to know a bit about the each other before formally introducing themselves.
Or so you thought, until the board in charge messed up your birthday by somehow adding an additional month to it and now everyone in the office assumed the happy day was today. Since the morning, you had received countless wishes and a half a dozen questions about when you were throwing that party everyone was waiting for, but you simply laughed it away. You had no interest in treating such shallow people for anything.
The last one year you worked here, you had assumed that by going to all these parties, dinners, clubs, karaokes together, you had made an admirable set of friends. But only today did you realize how limited to social life those relationships were. The fact that something as simple as your birthday was not known by anyone made it clear that they had no interest in extending their relationship with you to your personal life, and so you had no interest in investing time or money in friendships that were pretenses. Life had given you enough experience, that you learnt to endure only human relationships that were genuine. Half friendships were not your cup of tea.
You flipped through the many files scattered on your table, immersed in the drawings and fabrics and notes, your reading glasses perched on your nose. You had so many assignments coming up, not to mention the contract you received a few days back from client who seemed to have at least 9 digits in his bank balance. After all, this person’s house was three stories big and he wanted every inch of the first two floors redecorated to suit a more vintage taste. Of course your boss knew vintage was your specialty, so he assigned this client to you and as much as you were grateful for it, it was strenuous. It needed lot of planning and coordination of colors, patterns and things of that sort. You still had a months time till you would start the project but you were worried, refining your ideas again and again trying to reach perfection.
“So, what is the best interior designer in the town up to today?”
Color rising up your cheeks, you turned around at the voice. Not very far behind you, leaning against the table was Jeon Jungkook, his hand casually drumming the edges, his smile at you, making your heart race. You felt a little stupid. Sure Jungkook was super good looking, extremely charming and incredibly sweet but that didn’t mean you had to behave like a hopeless drooling teenage girl looking at her crush, every time you saw him. You forced your eyes to not roam over his body which was clad in a blue jeans and a very see through white shirt today. He was standing against the light moreover which was easily outlining his chiseled body. Surely it was made of at least 6 packs of abs, if not more. He dyed his hair you noticed, to a shade much darker, matching the color of his brown eyes now. He was so good looking, it hurt.
It had been about a month since he joined the office. 29 days to be exact. You remembered it well because he had joined the day just after your birthday and you had secretly thanked the universe for such a wonderful visual treat as a late birthday present. Since then he was constantly taking you aback with the compliments he dropped from time to time and the way he smiled at you from his table across the room. He would often buy coffee for the staff when you guys stayed up late, his ideas and creativity was amazing, his dedication to his job was impressive. You were convinced that there was literally nothing that could exist on this planet more perfect than Jeon Jungkook. And this perfect man, you rarely had an exchange of pleasantries with till now, was calling you the best interior designer? Wow.
“Best interior designer? When did that happen?” you tried to cover your overly happy self with an amused look.
“A few minutes ago, when the boss assigned me as an assistant to you for that vintage clients project. I figured things would be easier for me if I earned some brownie points by buttering you a little.”
You laughed at that. Though yes, he was good looking, this was what you liked about him. Nothing he did was a pretense and if it was, he didn’t hide it. He wasn’t afraid about voicing his opinion, he was genuine with people, something you had been seeing less and less in the world as you grew. Maybe that was what made you feel so attracted to him.
You were about to reply to that with something smart when another somebody walked by loudly cutting the not so awkward silence between the two of you,
“Happy birthday Y/N!”
Annoyed, you gave a sigh and turned slowly with another plastered fake smile on your face, clearly explaining your thoughts about this whole wishing thing. Jungkook seemed to be the only one who got the sarcasm behind your smile.
“Frustrating isn’t it? When people give this air that they care a lot about you, when really they don’t actually give a damn?” He watched as the confused colleague disappear behind his table. You looked at him surprised.
“What do you mean?”
“That it’s not your birthday but everyone is wishing you so sincerely which means, no one really cares. I mean if they truly did, they would have known it’s not today right?”
“How do you know? That it’s not my birthday? I don’t think I’ve ever told you.” you narrowed your eyes at him curiously.
“Well” He propped himself up on the table, bearing the weight on his hands. “I figured that your birthday and your zodiac sign on the staff board don’t really match, so one of them was for sure wrong and didn’t know which one. Your expression just now, sort of confirmed it was the birthday that was wrong.” He shrugged in a matter of fact tone.
Whatever he said or he noticed wasn’t even a big deal, but it gave you jitters all over. Did the fact that he actually put together that your birthday and zodiac sign don’t match, mean that he thought about you? Why else could he possibly notice such a small detail? Jeon Jungkook was going to make you melt into a puddle one day with all the heat he caused inside you.
“Nice observation assistant. This definitely earns you some brownie points.” Your smile at him was growing wider at his beautiful laughter in response.
“When was it though?” Cocking his head he let the sunlight behind him hit your eye, blinding you a little.
“Exactly a month ago. Same date.”
“Ah. That would mean I missed it by a couple of days maybe? It’s been less than a month since I’ve been here.....”
You nodded, telling him he’s right when he straightened out, his eyes shining with a sort of excitement.
“Then we should do something about it. I’m probably the only one in the office who knows your birthday isn’t today right? and I missed the real occasion a month back? Plus, today we both found out we are going to be working on a project together. So as a combined celebration we,” he shifted a little uncertainly. “should go out for a coffee.”
You blinked a couple of times stupidly and not because of the sunlight forcing its way into your eyes anymore. Did Jeon Jungkook just ask you for a date? For a coffee? Sure he didn’t say it was a date but it was kind of the same thing right?
The only problem was that it was a coffee date and you hated coffee. As much as you wanted to spend time with him beyond the office boundaries, you really didn’t think you could sit and pretend to like and enjoy it. Especially when you knew that both of you hated pretenses. A crush on him couldn’t make you a hypocrite right?
“Honestly Jungkook I would love to but the thing is I don’t -”
“Like coffee?”
You raised an eyebrow in surprise and he pointed at the board.
“That is the only thing that tells me the little I know about you.”
Coffee, lack of punctuality and pretenses. Those were the three things you had listed as things you hate. All three of which you seemed to be getting today. But you mentally take note that Jungkook remembered this detail about you as well and continued,
“Ah yeah. I don’t really find what is so appealing about the bitterness.” you said shaking your head
“It’s bitter but still addicting. It’s the same idea behind alcohol I guess.” he shrugged. “Then how about chocolate? I know this new shop that opened downtown and I heard the hot chocolate there is killer.”
Suppressing a smile at his attempt to find alternatives you leaned back with the most casual expression on your face “Well luckily chocolate is something I love.”
“Cool! so shall we go after work then? I need to go out to collect some fabric samples from around there anyway and I should be done only by 6. Do you think you can reach around the same time?”
“yeah sure.” you mentally kicked the screaming inner you. “I shall see you there at 6.”
He smiled like he was more relaxed now. You didn’t notice till the stiffness left his body that he was actually quite nervous. Were you making Jeon Jungkook nervous? Was this even possible?
“I should give you the address. It’s a bit hard to find if you don’t know the exact location.” he fished a pen from his pocket looking at you for a paper, making you search for a spare sheet on your table in the sea of office related material. Giving up the useless quest you held out your hand pointing at your palm and he smiled taking it, scribbling a couple of words on it.
“Well I’ll try to be on time. Hopefully the dealer doesn’t delay me. I shall see you later alright?”
He slid off the table and turned to leave when you called out to him again looking up from the words on your palm. “Hey Jungkook, if you are doing this just for those brownie points sake then you really don’t have to you know.” The place he wrote seemed to be a bit of an expensive one. You could tell he was one of those who would absolutely insist to pay for you and you didn’t know if it was alright to let him do that when you barely knew each other.
“Who said it was just for that?” he winked, giving you a cheeky smile and walking away. You were shocked that you lip was bleeding yet with all the biting of it to suppress your excited smile. Oh god, this man was definitely going to be the end of you.
Looking left and right you tried to figure out where exactly this cafe was. You lost the address Jungkook gave but you kind of remembered the name of the street. It was almost 6 already and you hated being late. You tried asking some of the passerbys if they know the shop but no one really seemed to have the patience to answer you. Consequently, you were standing at the same spot the last 15 minutes, still trying to figure out what to do.
But you felt weird. There was this constant feeling that someone had their eyes on you the whole time, watching your every move. It was stupid of course. Everyone around you was hurrying back home looking forward to the long weekend ahead. No one even had time to stop and look at you, stalking you was out of question. But you couldn’t help get the feeling that there was someone who was definitely following you. But who?
Annoyed at the lack of conclusion you were getting about everything, you decided to walk ahead and see if you could find the cafe when someone gripped your wrist from behind, spinning you around to reveal his face.
“It’s this way Y/N. where are you going?”
You breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Jungkook. “Oh thank god you’re here. I was this close to going mad. I sort of lost the address you gave. I think it washed away when I cleaned my hands after lunch.” you looked down a little embarrassed at your carelessness. Jungkook wasn’t bothered and gave you his trademark sweet smile.
“That’s okay, Good thing I found you then? It’s this way. come on.”
He held you by the hand and walked down the street turning left and you noticed that he didn’t let you go till you reached the cafe which was a good whole 10 minutes later. Walking in, the two of you found a small comfortable corner, far from the busy streaming crowd by the window and took it immediately. It was a nice place. Warm, cozy, just right for a pleasant conversation. And since you were both interior designers the first thing you talked about of course was the ambience and the decor. He was an easy person to make a conversation with and It had been days since you had such a nice company.
“Can I take your order please?
The voice triggers your memory and you turned at the familiarness to see Jackson standing there in an apron with a small notebook.
“Y/N?” “Jackson?”
As the both of you stared pleasantly surprised at each other presence, you didn’t notice Jungkook’s eyes flicker between the two of you with not expression on his face.
“Hey babe, it’s been long isn’t it? Never thought I’d see you in my shop”
Slowly detaching Jackson from your view you shifted it on Jungkook who looked impassive and then back to the man standing next to you, a bit bothered that Jungkook had to hear Jackson call you babe, but you were more surprised that Jackson called this his shop.
“Wow Jackson, you own this place?”
“Yeah” He grinned feeling proud of himself. “Me and my girlfriend opened about 2 months back. Business has been great so far. You can see, the place is pretty packed.”
“Jackson that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you.” and you really were. Though Jackson and you weren’t quite close, you knew he was a really good person and he deserved the happiness he was getting.
“Thanks babe. Now, what can I get you two?”
Jungkook quickly sat up speaking this time. “A frappe mocha for me and a hot chocolate with whipped cream for the birthday girl.” he smirked at you making you glare at him not so threateningly.
“Oh really? Happy birthday Y/N!” Jackson shook your hand vigorously “My my, aren’t you at the right place today then? Your order is on the house tonight. Have fun guys!” And he hurried away not giving you a chance to protest.
“Really Jungkook?” you shot him an exasperated look.
“Looks like even you ex didn’t know it wasn’t your birthday today.” he leaned back shaking his head.
“My ex? What are you talking about. He’s not my ex.” you told him amused.
“Really?” he frowned confused. “But he was calling you babe and it seemed like…”
“Jackson calls everyone babe to be honest. Probably even calls his parents that. We just….know each other.”
You had met Jackson back in your college days at the club. He was a chilled guy, it was a crazy night and you both hit off in a way two needy young adults normally would. After that night you met up a couple of times and it was fine with you two because neither of you were looking for a relationship. Then apparently he met a girl he wanted to date and it wouldn’t have been right to keep seeing you, so you guys ended things amicably. Jungkook, didn’t need to know all these details. But he definitely seemed more relaxed now that you cleared this for him.
And he was right. The hot chocolate was good stuff. That and a funny conversation with Jungkook were really making this evening enjoyable until he was interrupted by a client’s call which he had to take. While he spoke immersed in his conversation, you casually looked outside the cafe, scanning the busy crowd walking by the window on the other side of the room.
And your eyes met his.
He was standing exactly in the center of the view, the crowd pouring in and around him while he was looking straight at you, his gaze not wavering, eyes not blinking. And the word beautiful seemed like an understatement when it came to him.
The young man wore a black turtle neck that was reaching his sharp jaw with his hands tucked in his black trousers. His brown hair was decorated with shades of green, the tousled griminess promising finesse. Strong arched brows, thick eyelashes distinct cheekbones - all made him look so devilishly handsome. And then his eyes - they were deep and catastrophic, a dark chocolate brown mimicking the drink in your hand, giving a gaze hot enough to make you feel a burn in your chest. Even from this far, you could see the flecks of golden in his eyes.
But there was something odd about him. He seemed angelic not just because his face seemed to mimic the heavens but because he looked so ageless and aged all at once. His pale flawless skin, his pink lips that enhanced his face, his hazel irises, all made you feel like you were looking at a timeless beauty. He was beyond beautiful.
But who was he and why was his sight so fixed on you? He couldn’t be….him?
You look involuntarily at your hands that were warm maybe because of the drink you were having. Was it him? The one who spoke to you on your skin?
You remembered that day, about 2 weeks after your birthday when you had finally got the courage to write him your questions. Who are you? What is your name? And it was on this very hand that he wrote the answer to that. He replied with a letter. A single letter.
V.
Was this him? The one who called himself V? Could this be the one who was a stranger yet not foreign to you?
You snapped out of your thoughts. You had to see him. You had to see him again but when raised your head and looked towards the window,
He was gone.
The sound of dripping water woke you in the middle of the night, your movements forming huge shadows on the walls of your house in the dim light of the candles. You rolled your shoulders that were stiff from lying over the dining table, slowly realizing that it was raining. Oh god. You got up swiftly and rushed to the bathroom to grab a bucket. If the rain got heavier, water would soon leak through that rotten crack in your roof and that, could potentially flood your house. You placed the red plastic pail under the crevice so it could collect the rain that had a countless number of times partially submerged your house with it’s cold waters. You mentally made up your mind the fourth time this week to give an earful to the owner for still not fixing the crack.
It was high time you moved to a new place. Just a year of living here and you were already sick of it. The freezing rainwater, the howling of the dogs at night, the noise of the train that passed by every half an hour - every sound would relentlessly bang against your eardrums, frustrating your every cell. But you couldn’t move from here. You didn’t earn much as an interior designer and you still had to pay off your college student loans. After setting aside the loan amount and the rent you paid for this place, you were left with hardly enough to cover your daily expenses. Since there were no resources to help you move to a more decent place, until you got a better job, this was where you had to survive.
Maybe after that big shots contract things could change. You looked at all the material spread out on your dining table, lit by candles in the sudden absence of electricity in your neighborhood. It was such a huge project, you even dedicated your weekends to it these days. Surely it would get you a bonus or maybe some extra commission after this was over. Maybe then you could at least get the crack fixed.
You were pretty excited about the project. Obviously because as an interior designer, a 3 story house would be one of your biggest challenges but also it enabled you to spend the entire of last week with Jungkook. You both were to come up with the ideas for redesigning the house and then create a presentation to show the client and get his approval. By now you had hardly finished designing the massive living room area. There was a long way to go with your new assistant on this project.
Jungkook was great to work with. He was imaginative and your tastes matched really well. Even if you disagreed about certain things you both would talk it out and resolve it calmly. Most of the time you spoke about work so you rarely got to talk about each other. It was only natural that you often found yourself looking forward to the moments when you ate lunch together or when he dropped you on his bike late at night, the two of you lost in your conversations. Jackson’s cafe had also somehow become your official hangout place.The two of you would land up there almost every evening for some or the other drinks and snacks. Jungkook and Jackson hit off pretty well. You also met Jackson’s girlfriend and you were starting to take a liking in her. While you really enjoyed the company of all three of them, that was not why you went to the cafe so often.
It was to see him again.
Ever since that evening in the cafe when you had seen that young man, you had been waiting to catch sight of him just once more. Your memory of him was starting to fade already. Now, a week later, you could remember only what he was wearing and barely seemed to recollect the soft details his face. You had to see him again before it was too late. Before you entirely forgot how he looked. You couldn’t help but wonder if that person was the same one who wrote on your skin.The person to who, from your 24th birthday, you could write back to. And after days of analyzing you thought finally figured out why you could speak to him, what had changed.
You had changed.
When you felt his presence for the first time, on your 8th birthday, one of the most significant days of your life, you had just lost your most significant battle. A drawing competition. Your position today as an interior designer of course stemmed from your passion for art as a child. Drawing contests and art exhibitions were an integral part of your childhood so losing that competition that day had disappointed you much more than you expected it to. The orphanage you grew up in never encouraged art much, so no one was bothered that you were wailing over a simple drawing contest.
But that day as you sat huddled on the bed crying, you saw art better than you had ever seen before. Flowers, designs, strokes of beautiful drawings began forming on your skin. And it was not just that night. Every night since then, some or the other strange pattern appeared on you and you stayed up all night under the faint light of your lamp, copying the intricate shapes in a book. There was a unique pattern to the work. The designs seemed absurd, random and archaic. But there was a beauty in them, a beauty you understood the more and more you looked at them. These designs in fact were the ones that got you your job today. Years ago the designs which gave you comfort for losing a small drawing contest, later became the reason for your first victory in the game of life.
When you were 16, they turned into words for the first time because of Mark. As great as it was being in a relationship with him, that much it hurt after you broke up. That day, Mark the asshole, became your first and last relationship. You were sitting under a tree silently cursing him between your tears, taking apart the birthday card he made for you, filled with messages that didn’t mean what they said, when you felt the tingle on your skin for the first time. And you saw the three words.
Are you okay?
While that should have scared you to death, it didn’t frighten you at all. Rather, even amidst your tears it made you smile. That day you realized, I love you were not the only three words that could make someone’s heart flutter. A simple question like this asked out of concern could warm someone on the inside too.
From then, the writings on your skin became your constant companion, understanding you in ways even you didn’t understand yourself. And Now on your 24th birthday you could write back to he who left these writings, something you could never do before. That meant there was something about the multiples of 8. Each time 8 years passed, something changed. You only wondered what would happen on your 32nd birthday.
You could ask him though. Now that you could talk to him, you could ask him, if he also saw the connection between your age and the link between you both. You could ask him hundreds and thousands of questions now. Questions you had about the world, about the relationship between you two, about him. You could also ask him if the boy outside the cafe really was him but you were scared. What if it was him? What would happen if you know how he looked now? It would mean he was no longer a stranger and something about that made you feel uneasy. The only reason you were able to share your most personal things with him was because he was unknown. Someone who you didn’t know. Someone who couldn’t judge you like the rest of the world. Someone who was there for you without needing you to be there for them.
Knowing who he was meant you were obliged to be concerned about him. It meant you had to be there for him too like he was there for you. It meant you would know more and more about him in the process, and as much as that excited you initially, it was starting to scare you now. What if he wasn’t who you wanted him to be? What if it was better if he was stranger? Rather than being disappointed, you’d rather not know him at all.
But you started to know who he was already and it all began the day you asked him that question…..
How was your day today?
Pretty good. I finally completed that preschool project today so I’m kind of ecstatic. How was yours?
Not very eventful. Nothing in my life is very eventful really.
What is his life? All these years you had only pondered and pondered pointlessly over this question. Even though now you spoke back to him, you somehow never had the chance to ask anything about him. Maybe it was because you were so immersed in just talking about your life all the time, that you never got to ask him about his. But you were determined to know today. Something. Anything about him. So you wrote again.
Listen.
Listening.
There’s something I want to ask you.
What?
Will you answer it though? Something tells me you won’t.
If I have an answer to it, I will.
You took a deep breath, the pen shaking in your hand. This was it. This was the first step you would take to know who this person was. And as much as you were waiting for this moment, you were suddenly afraid. Did you want to know though? How would this change things now? Would this even change things now?
What is your name?
My name?
I always hoped that there would be a day I’d know the name of the man with whom I shared my life all these years.
You assume too quickly sweetheart. I could be a woman for all you know.
You stared at the message too stunned to speak. Well of course, it didn’t have to be a man. Why did you always think it was a man writing to you? Maybe because of the way he portrayed himself? It was not too emotional, always to the point. He never gave too much advice, never seemed to have romantic ideals - whoever this person was definitely felt like a man.
I’m so sorry. Are you a woman then?
For some reason you could feel him laugh on the other side. Strange. You never felt that before.
No. I’m man, that I can tell you. But my name. That I cannot answer, for I don’t have one.
You don’t have a name?
A name is barely a transient word that others use to label you. For someone like me it has no meaning. It changes according to time, place and person.
So for someone like me, what would your name be?
There was a long gap. Your words sunk into your skin but his words didn’t appear. You put your pen aside thinking this was maybe a question you shouldn’t have asked. Maybe as anonymous you wished he would be, that anonymous he wished to stay. But then you felt the tingling sensation again.
V
You walked up to the window of your bedroom feeling the chilly night air on your skin, the droplets of rain running through your fingers. You felt goosebumps rise all over the exposed self that you were barely covering with your night clothes. The moonlight illuminated your pale skin making it look even more ghostly. The sun’s light never fell on you this way.
For the last 16 years, you only appeared in front of another person with every inch of your skin covered. It was crucial to do so, you had no choice. His messages had a mind of their own. They would appear anywhere and everywhere on you. Mostly it was on your hands or arms, but sometimes you woke up in the morning to find your whole body covered with black designs like you were some rebellious teenager gone emo overnight. Or sometimes it was just lines, scratch like marks, as though you were clawed by some strange wild animal. One day you even woke up to see poems, hundreds of poems, sad, romantic and painful inscribed all over you, but like always, as soon as you read them they sunk in and disappeared, leaving your skin like a fresh parchment waiting for it’s next message.
You had to be cautious all the time to ensure no one saw these words. You couldn’t let people know your secret. The only person who knew it, would never look you in eye since she found out. You were in grade 12 when you had shown your secret to the girl you thought was your best friend for 6 years and the fear she had in her eyes haunted you till today. Whatever was happening with you was not normal but you learnt to live with it and appreciate it. At least there was one person who didn’t fake their concern for you, and however inconvenient it was for you to dress fully covering yourself, a huge part of you was happy to do it.
But you still had some regrets. Not that you blamed him or something but this man V had absolutely ruined some aspects of your life. It was so hard to get clothes that fit in your budget, looked good and covered all of you simultaneously. It was harder to explain to all your tinder dates why even in the hottest of summers you showed up clad in such stuffy clothes, why a one night stand, was strictly at night and only in the dark, why you always left before the they woke up, leaving a simple note that it was an emergency. You had to make up answers for these questions all the time. So many lies that you wondered, if there would ever be a day when you could meet someone with whom you could truly be yourself - open, honest, with all your defenses down, not needing to be scared of anything.
There was only one man you could be yourself in front of. Not Jungkook, not Jackson, but the man who was your biggest secret himself. V. Maybe that’s why it was so important to you to see him. Even though it scared the hell out of you, you wanted to meet him, know him.
While walking back to the work waiting for you on the table, another crazy thought came into your head. You stared at the pen sitting on it for a minute before making up your mind and picking it up, letting your curiosity take over your fear.
Are you awake?
You write and watch as the words linger on your skin for what seems like eternity and then finally sink in replaced by his reply.
Yes, but what are you doing awake at this time?
Thinking.
About?
You.
What about me?
About who you are. Where you live? Who lives with you? If you are alone too like me? I was lucky enough to have someone like you to listen to me my whole life. Did you also have someone for you? There are so many questions I keep thinking.
You should really go to sleep now y/n. It’s getting late.
You should really answer my questions now V. It’s high time.
And what will you do knowing about me?
The same thing you did knowing about me.
I did nothing.
I will do the same then
The knowledge of who I am, is of no use to you.
Well was there any use to you knowing who I am?
God you are stubborn.
Can’t you see it? I think this is how it was decided to be. 16 years after I know you, I’m finally able to tell you whatever I want. I can ask you everything you’ve always left unanswered. I think fate arranged for this with a good intention.
Fate only arranges things for its own amusement. It plays horribly with the lives of people. Don’t fall victim to this. I don’t want you to regret this.
I won’t.
Do you really have to do this Y/N?
You could see his dislike for this conversation through his words. More like you could feel it. Some part of you somehow, somewhere clearly felt all the emotions running through him. He was feeling uncertain, vulnerable, scared. Scared like you felt at the thought of someone getting to know about your secret. He was scared of telling you about him. But now you were no longer scared to listen.
Yes I have to.
You were being brave with him today. Not allowing him to steer the conversation the way he wished, not making you the subject of the discussion. Maybe you were being too hopeful about this. Maybe he wouldn’t even reply-
What do you want to know?
You smiled, relaxing at his words. You could still feel him tensed, his nervous energy radiating off your skin, but you were not going to back off now. Not after coming so far.
Everything.
Everything?
Everything. Everything about you. Like you know about me. I want to know your story.
My story is not something I am proud of.
Why?
No one is proud of a story that begins with a curse.
