accipe me | Yumark

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"Thank you, Sir. That'll be three thousand won."

Yuta wasn't too sure why he had decided to visit a fortune teller that day. Actually, he wasn't sure on a lot of things, but this? Top tier trollop.

It might have been the pop-up ad on his laptop a week ago, now that he thought about it, with it's flashing emojis and pretty woman showing a little too much cleavage to be a professional.

Now, that wasn't who he was there to see that day, but it had definitely put the thought in his mind.

A kind looking woman behind the decorated counter smiled as the customer - reluctantly - handed over the money.

The Japanese man inwardly grumbled at the machine sucking away at the paper money. Eat up, bitch.

As soon as the money had been processed, the woman turned to her side, delicately picking up a long stick which smelled heavily of cinnamon. She carved the words, in progress, on a board behind her, painstakingly slowly.

Yuta could only grimace at the scrape of the chalk against the blackboard.

"He's ready to see you," a second woman announced, pushing her way through a beaded curtain to left of the customer, an action which nearly caused him to karate-chop her neck. Thankfully, he was a lot more laid back than his facial expressions let on.

"Okay, good," came his voice, hesitant at first but strong nonetheless. He followed the second petite woman through the curtain and into a room that smelt distinctly of vanilla and burnt incense.

Honestly, the second he saw the cherry-colour haired man sitting behind an ornamented table, he wanted to leave. The table had crystal balls of every possible size on various stands on either side, in a way caging him into his seat. On his fingers were chunky rings, and on his left arm was a long, black tattoo, stretching from his fingers up to his shoulder, where a long string of ivory beads hung on red string. He found himself staring at them around his neck before snapping. Hang on. Why was he even here again?

The man behind the desk suddenly opened his eyes. "Take a seat," he said calmly, smiling, and clearly taking a long look at Yuta.

Get your fortune and leave. Five minutes, tops.

"Name?"

"Nakamoto Yuta." His response was automatic. He was actually a little surprised at how immediately the words came.

"Japanese? Nice," the man said. When Yuta sat in front of him, hesistant to touch the feathers and marbles on every inch of the desk, he reached out and took his hands into his own. "I'm Canadian myself. Mark."

Yuta scoffed. His touch was cold. Uninviting. "Yeah, Mark isn't exactly the most Korean name I've ever heard."

Mark had ignored his sarcasm. His hands were twisted and turned every which way as the fortune teller scrutinised every wrinkle in his skin, and the Japanese strangely felt a little violated.

"You're lost."

A beat.

"I'm what?"

Mark looked up at him. His index finger traced along a line as he said, "That's why you're here, isn't it? Because you don't know what to do? Where to go? You need a little direction."

The fortune teller knew he was correct when the other quickly defended himself: "I'm here because I'm bored, actually." Yuta's claim fell to deaf ears.

Mark's eyes shone as he looked down at his hands. "So... you're telling me you didn't search for me in the yellow pages a couple of days ago? That's a lot of effort for somebody who's just 'bored'."

"How did you--"

"The page is sticking out of your pocket."

Yuta scoffed again. He was becoming impatient. Fuck off, Sherlock. "How long is this going to take?"

Mark didn't reply and instead just smiled down at the hands. "I'll read this one." His fingers loosened and released one of his hands. "Past, present, or future?"

"All." Yuta was desperate - although he'd never admit it - to find out what he was meant to do with his life. He had reached a point where nothing he did felt like an advancement in his life's achievements, let's say.

"All it is."

Mark cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and concentrated really hard. If Yuta hadn't just paid to have his future told, he'd have thought the other to be either listening for something, or just being very, very strange. Mark's head twitched. His brows knitted together.

"Let me tell you what I can see..."

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I can see that life has treated you well.  I can feel a lot of happiness... lots of love.

But what's this?

Mark dipped his head closer to Yuta's palm.

This line, here. It's cracked. A tear like this is usually caused by heartbreak. I'm guessing family... trauma.

"Move on."

Mark nodded. Sensitive topics must be respected.

The present... I was right.

Lost.

Fired, recently, I'm guessing. Unhappily. You caused a great disturbance.

And now...

Your future...

I see... porcelaine. Loss-- no, not loss. A parting. That's... not quite right either, but--

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Mark's eyes widened. "You--!" His chair screeched as he jumped to his feet, the bowls of crystals shaking, the floorboards groaning. "What is my number doing on your hand?!"

Yuta's heart raced at the explosion of words. The sudden change from total serenity into a harsh screech startling him. "Your what?"

"My phone number!" The fortune teller caught a hand over his chest. "Next to - to - It's right there!"

Yuta stared dumbly down at his palm. "Where am I meant to be looking? And how the fuck can a number be on my palm--?!"

"Who are you?" Mark demanded. His stance became straighter and he stared Yuta in the eyes. He looked strong, or tried to, at least, but god his head was racing. He had to steady his breathing in order not to show just how scared he was. Who was the Japanese man? What did he want?

"I don't know what you mean! Is this some kind of joke? Did someone put you up to this to freak me out?" He gasped. "It was that no-dicked boss of mine, wasn't it!"

Mark's eyes glossed, and Yuta's jaw dropped: "Shit. What the fuck does this mean?!"

"It means get out." The words were short whispers, but louder than sirens. He flinched when the Japanese reached out for him, and shouted, "You can have your money refunded, just go!"

The two women pushed through the curtain of beads when they heard Mark's strained voice, but when they saw the tears on his cheeks, their jaws locked. "Sir, you have to leave," they said simultaneously.

Yuta didn't have to be asked again. He didn't even want his palm read that bad, clearly. With the women's eyes on his neck, he left the room.

Mark collapsed into his chair when Yuta glanced at him one last time.

Not again.

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