hello have we all considered any kind of phumpeem soulmates au
because, of course, i think the "once i become of age, everything i scribble on my skin appears on my soulmate's body as well" trope fits them so well.
just imagine:
they become of age the same year, but phum is first. and for those months that separates them, peem is helplessly hit with little messages that make him want to rip his hair out, blow after blow.
because the first time his soulmate writes to him, it's on his palm. letters small, unsure and so wobbly peem can barely make out the words. but he does. he does and he can't breathe for a few minutes after.
it reads "find me whenever you want, but please just like me. like me like me like me"
his soulmate doesn't write often. but when they do, it's not 'hello', it's not 'i guess you're still not of age yet because you're not responding', it's not 'what's your name' or 'tell me things about yourself'
it's just every heart-wrecking piece of vocabulary ever created.
it's 'it hurts. i hope i'm the only one hurting so often. please take care of yourself'
it's 'i hope someone told you you're loved today. you deserve it. you deserve it even when i feel like i don't. even if we share this same soul.'
it's 'i'm sorry for hurting you. i feel like i'm hurting you sometimes. i just want to talk to you but i don't know how.'
it's 'are you reading me? can you see me? sometimes i feel like not many people can see me on this earth.'
it's 'i hope you like hugs. i hope you'll hug me until i can't breathe. please. please.'
and mostly it's just 'please like me. please don't find me lacking. not you.'
his soulmate writes them at the darkest of hours, and they're always wobbly, always without steady contour. and peem has understood from the first ever message that the ache in his gut is not his. not really. it's his soulmate's. it's the half that seems to tremble every time they seeks peem so ruthlessly.
when he becomes of age. he doesn't know what to do. his soulmate hasn't said a thing in two weeks. no more shattering messages that are whispered on peem's skin like a plead. peem can't find words to answer to everything ever revealed to him. to a pain he can't understand but can feel.
so he draws. he only draws. the first ever doodle he paints on his skin is a chibi version of himself hugging a shaded figure tightly to his chest. right in the center of his palm, where his soulmate chose to begin everything.
hours later, when he looks down at his palm, he stars quivering from within. because the paint is smeared. but it's not because of sweat. it has droplets peppered all over, as if someone cried over it freely. not peem's tears.
right under it, the same wobbly writing appears 'you are so talented. I'm sorry for ruining it. please don't stop.'
peem's tears join right after. q finds him sobbing into his elbow in a corner of their art classroom.
he never stops. he never fucking stops. he draws everyday. every morning, even if he's late for his first year of university, he opens his paints and doodles the most trivial of things on his palm, always in the middle of his palm. he mostly doodles himself, because he wants his soulmate to know him more and more. he doodles himself drinking coffee, because he loves coffee. he draws himself painting. draws himself bickering with q's chibi version, the bubbly letters 'this is my annoying best friend, you'll like him. he's the most caring person I've ever met.' right above it. he doodles peem's friend's sleeping on top of each other on his bed, and writes 'i hope you'll join the pile one day.'
he doodles the cats he sees on the streets 'i like them. what animals do you like?' he doodles characters from his favorite shows and books and bands. his soulmate answers them all hesitantly, after hours. like he doesn't know if he should, if he can.
but he never stops saying 'pretty.', 'talented.' never stops scribbling little, trembling 'thank yous' around peem's drawings.
most of all, peem just draws himself hugging the vague figure of his soulmate. because he likes hugs, he adores hugs and he'll give his soulmate hugs in every shape and form.
then one day, peem draws an annoyed version of his chibi's face, along with the words 'i met the most annoying person today.'
he didn't think much of phum at first. phum is annoying and cocky and nothing like his soulmate's meek writing, the ache that follows it. he and his deal get on peem's nerves. but also he seems like he can't escape phum. he can't stop seeing layers and layers of the guy. can't stop his initial annoyance from dissolving, watering down.
one time, he scoffs, mostly as a joke, as a taunt. 'i bet your other half is as much a handful as you are.'
but phum didn't rise to the bait, like he always does. his whole face mellowed, instead, voice the shiest it's ever been as he curls his palm to his chest and whispers, 'my soulmate is the most gentle soul I've ever met, even if he's my half.'
and peem is. he's shattered. mouth dry and shocked and strangely shattered. because what do you mean even if he's my half, what do you mean phum's so besotted it drips off his face like liquid paint.
weeks pass, time goes by and peem finds himself hurting for more reasons than one. because he's starting to yearn differently than before. because he feels no longer halved, but pulled in three different directions. he still draws for his soulmate daily, still feels warmth right in the middle of his chest when he receives his soulmate's words, no long so full of desolation, but mostly reactions to peem's doodles.
but there's a heat that engulfs him whenever phum is around. consuming and maddening and most of all, confusing. peem should not feel like this for someone who doesn't have the right to leave ink on his skin. he shouldn't. he should stop his heart from beating so desperately. he shouldn't because the first words his soulmate ever said were 'please like me like me like me' and peem can't go and break that unspoken promise of liking his other half until they both fade away.
yet his feelings are growing and glaring, and he finds himself grasping at delusions that do him no good.
peem finds himself trying to sneak looks at phum's palms, just for a glance, for an ounce of hope that perhaps the yearning is not so unfounded. that phum's moments of undiluted softness, so unexpected but somewhat familiar, are a sign from fate for peem to look, search, discover.
it's ridiculously hard to look at this man's palms, and that shouldn't give him such expectations but it does. because phum wears oversized stuff like he has something to hide beneath his sleeves. he keeps his hands curled nearly all the time, like he's protecting something.
YEA WELL. I'm writing this one for ao3 so I'll stop here because it's already a very long post of me rambling. Many questions to be answered. Does Phum know before Peem does? For how long? How does Peem find out? Hmm.
stormborns
vaporwave
janainaart
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
