Ink // Phan

One.

Since I was young, I've had drawings all over my right arm. The only problem, I don't draw the beautiful imagery. It just appears. Apparently, it's my soulmate drawing on themself. If that's true, all they're getting is notes all over their hand. I'm forever forgetting, so I have to make notes to remember. I mean, I'm not complaining, I love watching the little lines appear on my arm, it's so satisfying, but my soulmate (whoever they may be) will know my every destination. Right now, I've got the tube station of where I'm meeting my friend written on my hand. They could find me, do anything to me, but I have no choice but to make notes... I wouldn't have friends then, I'd be asking them where we're meeting every five minutes.

• Neutral POV•

Phil lay half asleep in his bed, watching each delicate line appear on his skin, one by one. It was calming, to say the least, it was how he'd spend each evening, watching as his mysterious counterpart would draw intricate flowers, or beautiful animals. It was so calming, in fact, Phil would fall asleep to it every night, to wake up and find that his long canvas of an arm was completely clean, ready for another day of drawings. As he once again fell asleep, the drawings on his arm were slowly fading, as they were being wiped away by the distant artist...

--

A/N
This fic is intended to have short chapters. They will probably begin to get longer as the book goes on.

—Tai