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Three years ago was when he first encountered it. Well, two years, three hundred and twenty six days, to be precise. He hadn't expected it, although, no one ever really does at first. Actually, 'expecting it' isn't the right phrase to use. After all, he knew hoped it would happen; it nearly always did - unless you happened to be one of the unlucky few who just didn't have a soulmate, but it still came as a surprise after fifteen years of absolutely nothing.
It being the day his soulmate replied.
He could vividly recall the day his mother sat him down and explained it all. He could see himself sat there, listening intensely as she spoke. She told him of his soulmate - his future soulmate - and how he would find them. And at first, Chanyeol was confused, really confused. He can remember his mother's voice, soft as she carried on. She smiled as she spoke of how most people have a soulmate in the world, and they find each other through their skin, how you would know your soulmate the moment you saw them. Chanyeol didn't understand quite yet, so he cocked his head and hummed quietly. His mother went on to elaborate; she said to him 'whoever your soulmate is, if you draw on your own skin, the markings will show on their skin, in the same place, too. The markings won't go until you wash them off but your soulmate can't get rid of them if you were the one to make them'
It took him a few moments to fully take it in, but when he did, Chanyeol was ecstatic to say the least. Curious and excited, he ran to his room and grabbed the nearest marker he could find. At aged eight, he sat on the edge of his bed, marker in hand, staring down at his forearm. He didn't know what to say. He could feel his eyebrows knitting together in thought and his forehead hurt as he wracked his brain for something to say. 'it doesn't have to be big, just say hi' his mother had spoken from the doorway of his room after following him upstairs.
'just say hi' he had repeated to himself after she left, no louder than a whisper. He brought the tip of the pen down onto his skin a moment later.
'hi! what is your name?'
He waited. He waited all evening, glancing down at his arm every second minute to see if his soulmate had replied. He waited all day the following day, glancing down at his arm every second hour to see if his soulmate had replied. He waited all week, glancing down at his arm every second day to see if his soulmate had replied. That week became two, then three, then a month and then later, a year. His soulmate never replied. Over that year, Chanyeol had tried again; he told them his name, his age, even where he went to school, but they still never replied. He considered asking about them, but decided if they didn't want to reply to him then what's the point? When he asked his mother about it, she told him that not everyone had a soulmate, some people were born without one, and some peoples' soulmates died, leaving them without one. Which made Chanyeol wince, he didn't like the idea of his soulmate dying. His mother tried to console him, but it hadn't worked. He ran off to his room, aged nine, crying because he didn't have a soulmate.
Over the next few years, Chanyeol began to let it go. Hope slowly rebuilt itself within him after his mother suggested that maybe his soulmate was just shy. He had nodded hopefully at that, but that young enthusiasm wasn't there anymore, at least it wasn't as strong. He was young, after all; he had his whole life ahead of him - as his father would preach nightly. He had everything ahead of him, soulmate or not he had it all at his fingertips; he could make it without someone. But that didn't stop the occasional scribble along his wrist, Chanyeol had let it go but he hadn't given up. Not completely. One night writing: 'do you remember me?', there was still no response but he didn't mind so much, going to bed with the writing still upon his wrist. He washed it off the next morning.
By the time Chanyeol started high school, he had grown taller, leaner - rather lanky if he was to be honest - he was already a full head taller than all of his friends. His mother had assured him that the girls would love him, embracing him in a too-tight hug as he made for the front door. His first day was boring, finding all of his classrooms, discovering his new classmates and starting his new subjects were all very boring to Chanyeol. So he doodled, unwilling to get in trouble for drawing all over his new textbooks, he absently doodled on his arm. By the end of the day intricate, blocky patterns spanned the length of his left forearm and he had completely forgotten that his soulmate - if they were even real - would have these patterns too. So he missed the student sat three rows behind him, watching curiously as lines appeared all over their arms, he missed the student with the marked arms that ran past him on their way out of the room as he stood out of his chair.
When his mother eyed up his arm as he walked through the front door was when he remembered, quickly running to the bathroom to wipe it all away, pushing away the sinking feeling in his chest when all the markings came clean off.
The next day was a Tuesday, meaning more school. Again, boring, Chanyeol was grateful when lunch came around, calling to his friends that he would catch up soon, that he just needed to run to the toilet. The block was relatively empty, maybe two others in with him, both leaving before he went to wash his hands. As he leaned down, sighing as the warm water started running over his fingers, he closed his eyes briefly. The room was quiet, a nice break from the overcrowded corridors, but he was almost entirely sure the noise he let out once he looked back down was loud enough to drown out the entire school's chatter. As the water drained down the sink, Chanyeol's skin began to change; spiraling lines appeared in front of his eyes.
Finally.
But after a moment or two of complete and utter shock, Chanyeol realised they weren't words his soulmate was creating, it was a picture, an intricate floral pattern slowly covering every inch of his wrist, travelling up his forearm all the way to his elbow and back down to his fingertips. He could only watch in awe as the pattern grew. He must have stood there for the entire lunch break, staring down at his arm. When he arrived home, he went straight to his room, smile bigger than ever. His soulmate was alive. He had a soulmate. When he came down for dinner, his mother had smiled too, 'they're beautiful' was all she had said as she stood to tidy up.
He hadn't noticed it until he returned to his room, shucking off his jeans in favour of a black pair of boxer briefs. The pattern was still growing yet, and Chanyeol watched as his upper right leg was slowly transformed into a work of art. He wondered how it had been possible, hiding all these years to finally show themselves like this. He let his mind wander as his eyes followed the lines on his skin, he wondered how they managed to draw so well, why his soulmate hadn't done anything sooner, and why now - why now of all times? He fell asleep watching the pattern grow. His mother was right, they were beautiful. They made him feel beautiful.
Those intricate and complexly wonderful patterns would occasionally appear from then on in completely random places; sometimes his stomach, sometimes his legs, once even on his neck. And Chanyeol would always respond with 'you make my skin beautiful'. And although he would never get a reply, never anything more than the drawings, he would always wait. The designs would always be floral, never anything boxy like his own work; he didn't quite have the finesse or the delicacy to create such stunning pieces as his soulmate, not to mention the lack of patience. Chanyeol, admittedly, was an extremely impatient person, quickly tiring of everything in a matter of minutes, tiring of everything except those patterns. He was patient for them, always patient. This back and forth of those floral decorations adorning his skin and Chanyeol always repeating the same line, went on for years. And he was fine with it. Even if it meant he never met his soulmate. Even if it meant all he ever got were those drawings. He was fine with it.
He really was, honestly. Until he saw him. He was fine with it, until he saw those exact patterns on someone else's skin. He was fine with never getting a response, he was fine with never knowing anything more than the fact that his soulmate could draw really, really well. He was fine with it. Until he saw him.
Chanyeol knew him, he had never spoken to him, but the boy had been in his math class since day one, always sitting three rows behind. Small, thin and dark, he was everything Chanyeol hadn't expected. Even from this angle, he could see the beauty in the boy's features, having never properly looked before, his lips heart shaped and full, his eyes impossibly round and deep chocolate. Chanyeol was fine, honestly.
He was fine with it all, he was fine with the lack of responses, he was fine with the loneliness and the nights he was left wondering. He really was fine with it all until he saw the boy sat alone in the cafeteria, drawing on his arm. Chanyeol looked down, they were there, beautiful flowers lighting up his arms, just as he had grown used to.
And suddenly, his chest felt tight, his head felt light and his breathing stopped. His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute, his mind was spinning; his soulmate was just across the room from him, he had been all this time. He stood up, pulling himself from his chair, ignoring his friends as they questioned where he was going. Chanyeol moved, brain not thinking, legs doing the work for him. He wasn't with it, his eyes trained on the small boy sat alone who didn't even look up when Chanyeol reached him, who didn't even notice the teenager gawking at him.
He watched quietly, glancing at his arm quickly just to be sure.
It was him.
This boy was Chanyeol's soulmate.
Chanyeol tapped his shoulder, thrusting a shaking arm out to the boy almost immediately. He looked up, pulling an earbud out and looking at Chanyeol's face. He was beautiful, just like his art, just like how it made Chanyeol feel. He was beautiful. Chanyeol couldn't think, his eyes blurring over, mind a mess and arm quivering in front of him. The boy looked down at it, a blank expression, then recognition, then a smile. When he looked back up, Chanyeol was sure he was going to faint. The boy stood too. Chanyeol noted, of all things, he was shorter than himself.
"You were wrong..." It was a whisper and Chanyeol's head cocked, wrong about what? The boy was still smiling. He didn't even know his name but he knew he was in far too deep already when the boy let out a laugh. Smaller hands reached out and ran a finger down the marks on his skin but Chanyeol couldn't take his eyes away from the boy's face. He was looking right back and it made the taller boy's heart turn inside out.
"They don't make your skin beautiful," If hearts could break, Chanyeol was sure his just had, into a thousand, million pieces - not to be dramatic or anything. But the boy's smile was still there, still stunning, still blinding, so Chanyeol waited.
"You're already beautiful."