-Looking for Someone, But Finding You-
-Yay! Long one-shot! Really it isn't that long though haha. I apologize if the ending is rushed and not as well-written cuz when I got that far, I wanted to be done and work on Only 30 Shades of Gray. I can only handle so much Minewt at a time, people. Anyway, enjoy this little fic about soulmates and Minho and our little blonde cinnamon roll (you guys have made me fall in love with that nickname for Newt :3)-
You weren't born with your Mark. To be born with it would defeat the whole purpose of its secrecy, because your parents would see and even they weren't allowed to look at it. No, a child remained unmarked until they were eighteen years old. It happened on the exact moment of their eighteenth birthday, whether that was in the middle of the day or at nighttime. A name, clear as day and black as ink, would etch itself across the skin. It always came in the same place: close to or directly on one's hip, where it was easy to keep covered. Marks were never ever allowed to be shown to anyone, except for the person whose name they showed. To show it to anyone else was considered the greatest form of disrespect.
No one wanted to disrespect their soulmate, even if they had never met them before.
But even though the Marks were very private, they were also very popular. As soon as one turned eighteen, they called all of their friends, talking, gossiping, guessing who the person might be. This could be difficult, considering one wasn't technically allowed to even speak the name in their Mark. But young adults often get the point across through hints to their friends. Sometimes, the person already knew their soulmate and of course, that was who they called first. And so, would begin a very happy and complete life together.
Unfortunately, when Minho received his Mark, he had no idea who this person was.
Even before receiving the Mark, Minho knew he was going to be different. He didn't think of girls the same way his friends did. When Brenda, the most popular girl in school, walked down the hall in a miniskirt, all of his friends wolf-whistled and whispered suggestive things to each other. Minho didn't. He did, however, feel foolish butterflies when handsome Thomas Edison simply asked if he'd finished his English homework. And he couldn't say why he loved Calculus so much, but it had something to do with Jorge Black, the very attractive, twenty-something-year-old teacher.
So yes, Minho knew that because of this, he was going to have a Mark with a boy's name. It wasn't unheard of, just a little uncommon. Besides, it wasn't like he'd ever have to share it with anyone.
Oh, he couldn't wait to see that name.
Just to know that there was someone out there like him, created for him, who he would meet someday.
What a silly romantic he was.
-X-X-X-
At exactly eleven-thirty, at night, on June fourteenth, Minho almost fell off his chair from where he'd been texting Thomas at his desk. An awful burning sensation was igniting his left hip. "Ow! Dammit!" he swore as quietly as possible, as his parents were asleep down the hall. It felt like something was clawing at his skin with fiery talons, slowly and painfully. His hand flew to his hip, trying to stifle the pain somehow. But it didn't work; if anything it only seemed to get worse.
"Agh..." Pushing himself up to stand, he staggered across the room to his bed. He sat at the edge of it and winced as invisible flames crawled beneath his skin. "God." Holding his side, he lowered his head and tried to endure it. Of course, he'd realized what was happening. He'd never imagined it would feel like this. After an excruciating minute, the pain subsided to a dull ache, and then disappeared entirely. Sighing in relief, Minho stared at the place in shock, though it was covered by the gray fabric of his sweatpants. Just looking at it, knowing what was there, sent a wave of anxiety and excitement surging through him.
He had to know.
He bolted out of his room so fast, he nearly tripped in the hallway. Then he almost killed himself again, running down the stairs in the dark. From memory, he felt his way through the living room and down a short hall to the bathroom. Flicking the lights on, he bathed the white walls in bright light. He had to squint as he scrambled in front of the sink's mirror and tugged the waistband of his sweatpants down at one side. He stood up on tiptoe to try and read it, looking pretty comical with his raven hair wildly tousled and a crazy excitement in his eyes.
Right there, directly beneath his hipbone, was a name printed in blackest black. It wasn't cursive, but the handwriting flowed with smooth sweeps, like brushstrokes of paint. It was hard to read backwards in the mirror, but he managed. It read ISAAC NEWTON.
Isaac. Isaac Isaac Isaac...
I don't know any Isaac's, Minho thought, heart falling a bit. But it didn't matter.
He had his soulmate's name.
Now he just had to find him.
-X-X-X-
It happened one month later, though he didn't realize it at the time.
July was a very hot, happy month for the Park family. They were driving over to Minho's grandparents' house for a family-reunion-ish thing; just a cookout really, with some family friends invited too. Minho loved his grandparents' house. It was right on the edge of a sprawling, gray-blue lake in the forest. The trees were all maples and tall oaks and pines. They were simply beautiful in the fall, when they lit the forest to flame with color. The house itself was gorgeous, tall walls and wide porches of rich, red wood. It had large windows that Minho's mother adored and a great area for hunting, with Minho's father adored even more. Minho? Well, he just liked the place because it reminded him of childhood.
That year, the Parks' grandparents surprised the family with new friends they'd made recently: the Anderson's. They were very friendly people, at least Minho thought so when he saw them from across the yard. They were standing by one of the picnic tables, by Grandma Park (as she was affectionately called) and they had warm smiles and kind voices. There was just something strange about them.
The mother and father looked very different from their children. Mrs. Anderson had long, cascading bronze hair and hazel eyes. She was tanned from being outside a lot and tall for a woman. Her husband had dark, short hair and green eyes; he was most definitely a worker, considering his bulky figure, and damn, that mustache was impressive. But their children...well.
The daughter, who was very young, was black-haired and free-spirited. She pranced around in a white-and-pink dress, pine-green eyes dancing with happiness. She reminded Minho of a young doe, all graceful and carefree. And as for the son... Wow. Just, wow. Lanky, and blonde, and lovely.
Besides wondering why they looked so different (and swooning over that blonde's too-blue eyes), Minho thought they were a perfectly nice family.
He was going to make a point of talking to them.
More specifically, their son.
They conveniently ran into each other while Minho was wandering around the edge of the lake. He'd been watching little minnows dart about under the water, when he heard footsteps and glanced up. He was face-to-face with those striking blue eyes. His heartbeat stuttered, but he hid it behind a smile. "Hey. You're with the Anderson's, right?"
The boy looked at him and smiled back dazzlingly. Minho took one look at the boy's clothing and thanked God above for the invention of skinny jeans. "Yeah," the boy answered. Christ, he had an ACCENT; a silky, rich, British accent. "And you're with the Park's?"
"How'd you guess?" Minho asked jokingly; most of the Park's looked alike with their black hair and Asian features.
"Just a hunch," the boy replied with a shrug.
"You must be psychic."
"I've been told that before."
"What am I thinking right now?"
"You're thinking about my dad's obnoxious mustache."
Minho actually snorted. He liked this guy. Subconsciously, he rested a hand on his hip, as though to feel the Mark through the denim of his jeans. "What's your name?" he asked casually.
The boy's smile widened. "Newt."
Newt. What? Minho wanted to punch himself for being an idiot. Of course it couldn't be Newt; his last name was Anderson, not Newton. "Interesting name," he commented.
Newt cringed. "Yeah, my parents are interesting with name choices. My sister's name is Autumn."
"That's not as 'interesting' as Newt."
"Shut up." Blonde hair tugged by the wind, Newt looked flawless as he glanced at Minho from under his lashes. "What's your name?"
"Minho."
"Nice to meet you, Minho."
They shook hands. Minho ignored how wonderful Newt's skin felt on his own. They weren't soulmates, so there was no point in indulging any kind of fantasy with Newt, no matter how beautiful he was. Minho would just have to wait a little longer.
That didn't mean that their friendship didn't begin right there, because it did. They were quickly friends, from the very start.
Talking amiably about school and old friends, the two headed back toward the crowd of people. There were several picnic tables set out in the yard, all of them occupied by at least one family member or friend. Mrs. Park, Minho's mother, was in deep conversation with Mrs. Anderson at the moment. At another table, the two fathers were speaking as well, along with Minho's grandfather. A little way off, the younger kids sat at their own table, eating and sneaking longing looks at the cupcakes set aside for dessert. Minho didn't think it'd be a good idea to sit with them. In the end, he and Newt chose a table with Minho's cousin, Alex.
Alex, short-haired and smirking, was one of those rebellious cousins that every family had. He made trouble wherever he went and often broke the rules shamelessly. His parents were losing their minds over trying to control him. Now they just thanked God that he was eighteen now and was moving out to go to college soon.
As soon as Minho and Newt sat across from him, Alex broke into his broad, sinister grin. "Hey, Minho," he greeted, sparing only a glance at Newt. "Guess what?"
"What?" Minho asked, and Newt glanced back and forth between them curiously.
"I got my Mark." Alex's voice took on great pride, as though he'd done an excellent job in turning eighteen and getting a Mark on his own.
"I kinda knew you did," Minho replied flatly. "Everyone gets them when they're eighteen, Alex."
"Yeah, but still." Alex was unbothered by this fact. "You got one, right?"
Sensing Newt beside him, Minho shifted uncomfortably. Marks weren't supposed to be discussed so closely like this. "Yeah."
"What's it say?" Alex asked eagerly, leaning across the table with dark eyes glinting.
"You know I can't tell you!" Minho hissed back. Oh great, Alex was going to be his usual, annoying self today.
"Who cares? I'll tell you mine. You gotta let me know if you know her."
"You're not supposed to tell me anything about your Mark."
"I do what I want." Alex sniffed. Then he finally looked fully at Newt. "You get yours?"
Newt dropped his eyes in embarrassment, as though he'd done something wrong. "No," he admitted. "I don't turn eighteen until next month."
"Ha! Sucks to suck, then," Alex crowed.
Minho rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Al. It's not like he can MAKE his Mark come early."
"Whatever. I'm just glad I finally got mine. I've been sick of hearing your parents brag about how you got yours and how you're gonna get MARRIED soon, when you find your soulmate, FINALLY." Alex narrowed his eyes. "Did you even find her yet?"
Minho decided not to mention that his soulmate wasn't even a girl. "Not yet."
"That REALLY sucks then," Alex declared. Then, looking around cautiously, he bent across the table. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Mine says—"
"Alex!" Minho warned.
"—Maria Janson," Alex finished smugly. "Sound familiar to you?"
Minho wanted to punch the arrogance right off Alex's face. What was he thinking? Marks were never ever shared with another living soul, unless it was the soulmate. Alex just liked to show off his boldness in front of everyone, and right now, he was enjoying the uneasiness in Newt's expression. Minho was going to kill him. "My old Biology teacher's name was Janson," Minho replied.
Alex brightened. "Really? How old is she?"
"HE'S about thirty-five and lives alone with a bunch of cats!" Minho flashed back.
Newt snickered, hiding his mouth behind his hand. Alex's face dropped. "Oh. Damn."
"Moron. I don't know any Maria Janson's. But you're gonna get yourself in trouble for talking about your Mark."
"Hey, I just wanted to have a friendly conversation! You can tell me yours, if you want, and I'll look for her for you."
"I'm not telling anybody about mine."
"Wimp."
"Shut up."
"Awwww, poor Minho's defending his soulmate already," Alex cooed nastily.
"Stop talking about it like that," Minho snapped.
Alex barked a laugh. "You're in love with a bunch of writing! You don't even know what she looks like!"
Gritting his teeth, Minho would've punched him right then. But then someone touched his shoulder. Newt was standing up, with a disapproving glare directed at Alex, and his hand on Minho's shoulder. He met Minho's eyes when the other boy looked up at him questioningly. "Come on, Minho. He's not worth it. He's just being an idiot."
"Hey!" Alex protested. "I'm not a—"
"You coming or what?" Newt asked. He only looked at Minho.
Minho didn't know why he felt calmer just when Newt looked at him, or why he felt warm where Newt was touching him. All he knew was that he was very grateful to call this boy his friend. "Yeah, I'm coming," he replied, and stood up.
As they walked away, side by side, he discreetly flashed Alex the middle finger behind his back.
He smiled to himself when he heard Alex's loud, indignant squawk get cut off by his mother yelling, "ALEX! YOU STOP THAT SHOUTING AT ONCE AND HELP ME CARRY THIS CAKE!"
Oh, how nice life with the Park's could be.
-X-X-X-
They began to see each other or talk to each other nearly every day.
Minho was happy to find that his parents had made friends with Newt's parents. As a result, they got together often. There were barbecues, and campfires, and holiday outings spent together. The summer grew hot and long. The parents talked about how school was going for Autumn, and what colleges Minho and Newt were thinking of going to. Mrs. Park exclaimed many times over Newt's perfect grades and Mr. Anderson complimented on Minho's track records. Autumn spent much of her time with the Anderson's dog, Layla; she and that golden retriever were inseparable and she even brought it along to the Park's house to show them.
At every family function and gathering, Minho and Newt always snuck off alone. When they were at Newt's house, they found old skateboards in his garage and rode down the sidewalks, bothering the neighbors. When at Minho's house, more in the country, they'd find hidden paths in the woods and dare each other to climb high trees or explore dark caves. Childish things that Minho thought he'd left behind. Newt brought out a different side of him.
They went swimming in the pond by Minho's house, and laughed over card games (because Minho sucked at poker, while Newt was a pro), and bought new video games to try out. Their conversations, long or short, serious or lighthearted, were always special to Minho. He'd never had a friend like Newt. He'd never have another friend like Newt, he was sure.
He began to notice things: the way Newt chewed on his bottom lip when he was thinking or how he wore hoodies and sweatshirts that were adorably oversized on him. Newt's hair when it was messy or Newt's sleepy eyes when he was tired. Newt's bright laugh and Newt's musical accent. The way Newt would lean their shoulders together when he was having a good time or how he called Minho "Min." Everything about Newt was captivating. Minho realized that he rarely ever thought of his Mark anymore. He didn't think of it longingly when he was alone and the name had stopped giving him a sense of belonging or fondness. Now, he felt all of that when he thought of Newt.
And, slowly, steadily, Minho fell in love.
At first, it was wonderful. He acted silly and dreamy. When out with Newt, he'd risk casual compliments and blush when Newt said something nice about him in return. If they stayed up too late playing games and grew tired, Minho relished the chance to have Newt fall asleep with head on Minho's shoulder. Their feet touched under tables and Minho whispered inside jokes in Newt's ear. He even pretended to get a leaf out of Newt's hair, just so he could run his fingers through it once.
Then, the wonder faded and it was awful. Minho began to curse his Mark. He hated it. How could this Isaac be his soulmate when he had Newt? When they were so perfect together and Minho was so caught up in everything Newt did? Whoever this Isaac was, Minho began to loathe him. He imagined finding his soulmate and realizing that he was dull and horrible. He pictured Newt's shocked, heartbroken face when he saw that he wasn't Minho's soulmate. It was like a blade in his chest. Marks had never been wrong before. Why was his so disastrous, so cruel, as to condemn him to a life without Newt?
He wouldn't settle for that, he decided. He could choose to ignore his Mark. It had happened before, although it was deeply frowned upon by all. Families shunned their children for such things. There were even ghastly places in dark alleys, where one could pay to have their Mark removed. The process was agonizing, an oath torn brutally from skin. But Minho would do it, if Newt felt the same. He just needed Newt to turn eighteen, so that he could have that last confirmation that there was no mistake; and that Newt wasn't his.
But one, warm night in July, he decided he couldn't take the waiting anymore.
The two had stolen away from the main group that night, leaving the families to watch Autumn run around with sparklers. After changing into swim trunks, the two boys found their way down the familiar, moonlit paths of the woods. The trees whispered above them in a breeze and reached long limbs toward the swath of stars overhead. At the end of the path, the pond opened up before them, surrounded by its rocky shore and a ring of oaks. Joking and playful, Newt and Minho got into a mock-argument, which ended in Newt shoving his friend into the water.
They swam in the chilly water and got into loud splashing fights in the moonlight. Minho's hair was no longer perfect, but a damp, spiky mess. But he didn't care. He didn't care at all when Newt was with him, pushing him in the water with his silver laughter ringing like bells, and his bare skin gleaming beneath the moon. In those few moments, there had never been a creature more beautiful than Newt Anderson.
Drunk on laughter, the two eventually made their way from the water. With towels in hand, they climbed atop one of the larger rocks jutting out over the water. It was high enough to give a spectacular view of the pond, resembling a slice of blue-black sky below. Minho and Newt dangled them legs over the side and watched the fireflies wink on and off in the dark.
After a short while, Minho cleared his throat. "So, uh. When's your birthday again?"
Newt glanced sideways at him and then down at his bare feet. "In a week," he answered.
"You sound nervous." Minho bumped their shoulders together once.
"Weren't you nervous?" Newt asked.
Surprised, Minho thought back. "I dunno," he admitted. "I wasn't really thinking about it when it happened. It caught me off-guard."
Newt nodded. "Does it hurt, like they say it does?" There was an awfully innocent fear in his voice, like that of a child going to the doctor for a flu shot.
"Yeah, but it doesn't last long." Minho shrugged.
"Oh."
"You'll be fine." Resting a hand on Newt's shoulder, Minho tried for a reassuring tone. "And then you'll finally know the name of the lucky girl," he added jokingly, and perhaps with a hint of jealousy.
Newt wrinkled his nose. "To be honest," he began shyly, "I don't think my soulmate will be a girl."
"Really? You're...?"
"Yeah."
Minho felt his heart racing in his chest. Was it just a coincidence? But his Mark definitely wasn't Newt. "Mine's a boy too," he confessed.
The shining hope that lit in Newt's eyes was too much to bear. "I'm glad I'm not alone then," he said, ducking his head bashfully and looking away from Minho. It was like twisting the blade deeper into his heart.
He didn't think.
He just acted.
Without warning, Minho leaned over and touched his lips to Newt's.
A tiny gasp of surprise came from Newt and he instinctively jerked away after just a moment. But God, for that moment, with Newt's lips soft on his, Minho had been in Heaven. Newt stared at him, wide-eyed. "Minho..." Then he leaned closer again and there was that awful hope in his expression once more. "Does that mean...Am I your Mark?"
That nearly killed him. Sadly, Minho shook his head.
Shock washed over Newt's face. "W—what?" He touched his lips with tentative fingertips. "Then why did you...?"
"Because I don't care what my Mark says," Minho blurted out. Newt's eyes went wide and Minho went on hurriedly. "I've never met that person. I don't know anything about him, but I'm supposed to just—be his, just like that? I can't, Newt. Especially not after I met you." He took Newt's hand and was encouraged when Newt didn't pull away; he stroked his thumb across Newt's knuckles. "You're so...sweet, and smart, and gorgeous. You're wonderful."
When he glanced up, he was saddened to see Newt trembling. "Please stop," he pleaded, pain and longing all tangled in his voice. "I can't listen to this, Minho, not when I know you're ignoring your own Mark for me. It's wrong, it's so wrong."
"No, it's not," Minho argued desperately. "Feeling like this can't be wrong. Newt, I'm in love with y—"
"Don't," Newt begged. "Don't say that, please."
"Why not?"
"Because I won't be able to say no to you after hearing it."
They stared at each other. Minho's heart was breaking in two. How could everything go from being so amazing to so horrible in only a moment? Why did this happen to him? Swallowing his disappointment, he pulled his fingers away from Newt's. "I'm sorr—"
Newt grabbed the back of his neck and cut him off with a sudden, searing kiss. Fireworks lit up inside of Minho, making him feel warm all over, from head to toe. His thoughts blew away like scattered birds and his heartbeat jumped into overdrive. Newt was kissing him. Newt was kissing him, and his fingers were splayed on Minho's neck, and he tasted like cinnamon-and-sugar. Finding some sense again, Minho touched the small of Newt's back and kissed back. Their lips slotted together, breaths shared between them, and Minho made a little noise from his throat. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.
After what could've been hours, but was only seconds, Newt suddenly whimpered and tore himself away. "I can't," he gasped, bringing a hand to his mouth. His eyes were round and scared. "I'm sorry, Minho, but I can't."
Panic, terrible, icy panic, consumed Minho. "No, please," he tried, reaching for Newt again.
"St—stop," Newt stammered, and Minho froze with fingers grazing Newt's cheek. Newt was trembling again and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. His voice broke as he managed, "we can't do this. I can't do this."
"Newt..."
"I'm sorry," Newt repeated. Scrambling to his feet, he hurried away, wiping his face with his arm as he went. Something like a tiny sob escaped him, as he was swallowed by the shadows of the trees.
Minho sat alone after Newt left, with the memory of Newt's kiss on his lips and his voice ringing in his ears. Shutting his eyes, he bowed his head in sorrow. He'd never be able to let Newt go. No matter who his damn soulmate was.
Finally, he began to cry.
-X-X-X-
They didn't talk to each other, unless it was absolutely necessary.
Their parents were still friends, so they still had family gatherings. Minho and Newt had to go. But that didn't mean they had to be friends anymore. Newt avoided Minho as much as was possible at the family events. It felt like the blade in Minho's heart had turned to a shard of ice, and it was sinking deeper and deeper every day. His parents questioned him: why wasn't he with Newt? Were they getting along? Did something happen?
Minho answered the same way every time, dull and lifeless: no. No. No.
Newt's parents did the same thing to him, but he hid his sadness behind nervous anxiety for his upcoming birthday. In fact, his birthday came to be all he ever talked about. He joked with Autumn about when she'd meet the mysterious guy who was Newt's soulmate. His parents asked him if he had a guess at who it was and he would always say, absolutely not, not a clue, but he hoped it was someone better than anyone he'd met. (At the other end of the picnic table or yard, Minho would be biting back flaming jealousy)
They didn't speak unless they had to. Touching of any kind was out of the question, unless their fingers accidentally brushed when passing something to each other. Newt was a silent ghost, staying for a few moments and then disappearing to play with Autumn. Minho felt his Mark like a scar on his hip.
He didn't know if he'd ever get past this.
-X-X-X-
The pain woke him up.
Newt jerked out of dreams at about twelve-thirty, nighttime. His bedroom was smudged with black shadows and ivory moonlight. The pale blue walls that had once been familiar looked sinister in the dark. He could tell that no one else was awake in the house. He could also tell that his side was on fire.
"Ah—!" Twisting in bed, he clutched at his right hip, fingers clawing into his white tee. His breaths started to come harsh and short. He'd never been told it was quite like this. It felt like something was beneath his skin, slashing and biting to escape. Invisible talons carved letters into his skin. Curling into a ball, he drew his knees up and pressed his cheek into his pillow. His knuckle grazed the center of the pain and it doubled, scorching his flesh. He bit his lip, whined pitifully, alone.
He wished Minho was there.
Stop it! Stop thinking about him! You're getting your Mark! The thoughts attacked that part of his heart that ached for the stunning, raven-haired boy he'd met a month before. Young, innocent Newt had never experienced love. He'd fallen so very hard for Minho.
But it wasn't meant to be. It wasn't right.
Now that he was getting his Mark, he could finally move on for good.
As if on cue, the fierce burning began to ebb away into a dull throb. Breathing more evenly, Newt closed his eyes as he lay and waited. After a couple more moments, the last traces of pain faded. Still, he stayed in his curled position. His heart was beginning to pound in his chest. He had his Mark. He was going to know his soulmate's name. There was someone out there for him and now all he had to do was look. At last.
He climbed out of bed, bare feet sinking into the carpet. Rubbing the lingering sleep out of his eyes, he glanced up. Directly across from him was his dresser, with a built-in mirror. It showed his reflection: a fog of blonde and blue eyes in a shadowed room. The reflection stood up tentatively, looking small in a rumpled shirt and navy boxers. Newt always thought he looked too childlike for his age and now that he was officially eighteen, it only increased the effect. No one was going to believe that he had a soulmate now.
The boy in the glass fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt.
He toed the carpet anxiously.
He lifted up his shirt high enough to catch the black glimpse of lettering above his boxers' waistband. Newt only had to push the fabric down a tiny bit to see the rest of it. All of the breath flew from his lungs. Astonishment made his features pale. It wasn't possible...was it?
It was written beside his hip, diagonal from his navel, and at a place where it'd be half-covered by jeans. Beautiful, blocky script spelled out a name that made Newt's pulse stop: MINHO PARK.
Minho. Minho was his soulmate. The boy that he'd already fallen in love with was his. But if that was true, then why did Minho say that Newt wasn't...?
Newt's jaw dropped as the realization hit him. "Oh my God." Minho didn't think Newt was his soulmate because his Mark said—
Newt didn't waste any time. Without thinking, he started scrambling about his room, grabbing things he'd need. He threw on sweatpants and a thick, black jacket over his T-shirt. Socks and red Converse shoes were shoved on. Snatching up a pen and notebook, he a scribbled a quick note:
Mom & Dad,
My Mark is Minho. I had to go. I'll be at his house if you need me so please don't worry.
Love you,
Newt
Then he ran.
With his heart tattooed in ink on his skin, he ran. He didn't stop.
-X-X-X-
Minho was in no mood to be woken up by his mother that night. When he felt her shaking his shoulder, her voice muffled through the sludge of sleep, he grumbled and fought to shrink back into blissful numbness. He would rather be left alone, thank you very much. He was having a pleasant dream about cuddling with Newt by the lake and he didn't want it to end. But the blurry, dreamscape blonde in his arms disappeared when Mrs. Park leaned in particularly close.
"Minho? Min, sweetie? Wake up..."
Grunting in annoyance, Minho reluctantly cracked open his eyes. "MmmwhatisitMom?" he mumbled, half in sleep and mushing his face into the pillow.
"Honey, Newt's here," she told him seriously.
Minho's eyes shot open and he suddenly felt terrifyingly wide awake. Newt was here. Newt was here. He swallowed. "...what?"
"Something happened, but he won't talk to me," she went on. "He asked to see you."
"WHAT?" He was sitting up now, on his elbows. He was oblivious to being shirtless in bed, in his black-and-red pj bottoms and with mussed hair. Newt was HERE.
Mrs. Park's dark brown eyes were worried. "I think you need to go see him," she said gently. "He's in the living room. I'll stay up here to give you privacy; your father's still asleep." She patted his shoulder and left the room, nightgown whispering about her legs.
Minho stared after her in shock. His mind wasn't able to comprehend that this was actually happening, right now, in the middle of a breathless night. But he was able to shove the shock to the back of his mind long enough to jump out of bed. Finding a tank top on the back of his desk chair, he threw it on and hurried from the room. He wasn't sure what this meant. Maybe it wasn't good, but it couldn't be nearly as bad as the disastrous kiss by the pond. He hoped nothing bad had happened, not to his precious Newt.
The blonde was standing alone in the living room when Minho arrived, fingering a frame of Minho's yearbook picture on the mantel. He was messy-haired and his lean figure was swallowed by a warm jacket. At Minho's footsteps, he turned. His shoulders slumped. "Hi, Minho," he began hesitantly. A small, hopeful smile appeared.
Minho, despite his feelings for Newt, found that he felt cold. So Newt was going to pretend that the past week of avoiding Minho like he was the plague never happened. Minho didn't forget that easily. "Hi," he muttered.
A trace of hurt flickered across Newt's expression. "How're you doing?" he asked.
"Fine." Minho crossed his arms. "You?"
"...I'm okay." Tugging at his jacket strings, Newt moved his gaze over Minho and his fingers curled. "You look— Um. Well, I mean, I like your pj's."
Minho didn't respond to the compliment. "Thanks," he said coolly, frowning.
Newt flinched at the icy tone. His attempt at being kind or glossing over the past week disappeared. "I wanted...I needed to see you," he confessed.
Minho's heart jolted like a lightning bolt against his ribs. But he didn't want to show it, not when Newt had shunned him for the past seven days. "Why?" he asked, quieter.
Newt stared at him for a long minute. Then he took a few steps closer. He asked a question then, that no one should ever ever ask. "What does your Mark say?"
Minho couldn't help it. He let out a burst of dry laughter. "My Mark?" he repeated. "Why do you care?"
"I have to know," Newt insisted. "Minho, please."
"Why?"
"I just need to know, okay?"
"You already know it's not you." Minho's throat felt thick with cotton. "What's the point of still talking about it?"
"You don't understand," Newt replied pleadingly.
A flare of sudden anguish and despair surged through Minho then. Dammit, this HURT. It still hurt and Newt was making it worse. He sniffed as tears stung his eyes. "No, I do understand," he managed. "You got your Mark, didn't you?" When Newt shrank back, Minho went on chokingly, "so—so now you wanna tell me his name then, huh? Think that if you know mine it gives you some right to tell me yours? I don't wanna know yours."
He knew that he sounded like a blubbering toddler, but he couldn't stop, because God, this feeling, this shucking, suffocating feeling. "I don't wanna know the person who gets to have you," he whimpered, rubbing at his eyes with an arm. He was dreadfully ashamed. "I don't wanna know who—who gets to be with you every day, and hold you, and kiss you, and Goddammit, Newt..." He brought both hands to his face then, wiping at his eyes. How could he be reduced to this?
"Isaac Newton."
The universe froze. The world stopped turning. Minho's soul fell apart. He looked up, teary-eyed. "W—what?"
Newt was closer and he gazed into Minho's eyes like he was seeing his whole life there. "Newt Anderson isn't my real name," he explained.
"What do you mean?" Minho asked, all trembly-voiced. Newt was holding his hands now, cradling them like they were broken birds.
"My parents died when I was ten," Newt said. "Autumn and I were adopted. Our new parents changed our last name to Anderson and gave us a chance to have a new first name too. We said yes, because we were young. Autumn's real name is Isabella Newton. Mine is Isaac." A half-smile tilted up his lips. "Newton? Newt? It's why I picked it. It's why...your Mark doesn't say 'Newt Anderson.' It says 'Isaac Newton.' Doesn't it?" The last question was small and scared, as though Newt thought that maybe he was wrong altogether and it was a huge mistake.
Minho didn't say a word.
He knotted his fists in the front of Newt's jacket and dragged him into the deepest kiss he'd ever had. Newt's breathless whimper trapped itself against Minho's lips and Minho felt dizzy. Newt clutched at his shoulders, then the back of his neck, then twined his fingers in Minho's hair. Angling his head, he gasped into Minho's mouth as the kisses grew rougher and desperate. Minho wasn't sure what he was even doing anymore. He wrapped his arms around Newt's waist and their bodies melted into each other like puzzle pieces. The blonde rose on tiptoe as Minho hugged him against his chest.
They were electric, on fire, everything they were ever meant to be.
Soulmates.
The word echoed in Minho's mind until it sounded sweet as a prayer, sacred as a promise. Newt was his soulmate. There had never been any kind of mistake.
Newt sucked in a breath of air as Minho rained kisses down his jaw. Now that he had Newt, he couldn't get enough of his taste and his skin. Just everything."Min," Newt laughed shakily. "Your parents are right upstairs." Minho hummed uncaringly and kissed his way along Newt's neck. Newt shuddered. "C'mon, Minho. I don't wanna get in trouble." Growling, Minho nipped at Newt's skin. Delight coursed through him when Newt moaned softly. "Minho."
Only then did Minho allow Newt to push him back. He smiled and held Newt to him, feeling their body heat flooding together. He would never be without the blonde again, he'd make sure of that. Rubbing their noses together, he grinned wider. "You know, it would've made things a lot simpler if you'd told me you were adopted sooner," he pointed out teasingly.
"Shut up," Newt retorted. He laced his fingers behind Minho's neck. "I always assumed my soulmate's Mark would say 'Newt Anderson.' I never thought it'd have to be my original name."
"Whatever. I don't care." Minho pecked Newt's lips tenderly. "I have you now. And I'm not letting you go again."
Newt purred at the affection. "I'm sorry I ever left in the first place," he murmured.
Ducking, Minho briefly nuzzled Newt's neck. He rested his head there, in the crook of Newt's shoulder, content. Lazy fingers stroked his hair and his heart felt like it might burst from happiness. "So can I see it?" he asked.
"See what?"
"Your Mark."
"Why?" Newt touched his lips to Minho's ear. "You haven't shown me yours."
"I just wanna know for sure."
Newt smiled fondly, then caught his lower lip in his teeth. Marks were permitted to be shown to soulmates, of course. So he reached down and tugged up his shirt. Minho glanced down with heart racing. Then he sighed. Because his name HIS NAME was written beautifully across the skin peeking above Newt's waistband. Newt was his. And he was Newt's. Softly, he rested his hand on Newt's hip and stroked his thumb across the Mark's flawless letters. At the contact, Newt let out a tiny sound. "I'm yours," he murmured, leaning his forehead on Minho's. "I've always been yours."
"Isaac Newton," Minho whispered in reply, softer than a lullaby, "I love you."
Newt couldn't answer because Minho was kissing him again.