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Hearth was never one to doodle. Hell, he spent two years living on the streets, he hadn’t seen a pen in that time, but the ink on his arms, bold and dark against porcelain skin, always seemed to appear.
He was never entirely sure why. He didn’t grow up in the most loving of households but he faintly remembers reading somewhere that these markings came from his soulmate. That and Blitz had teased him about it when he desperately tried to wash them off. He’d spent his youth in denial, convinced he was incapable of making anyone want to stay around him, but here, lacing his wrists and curling around his fingers, was the proof that there was someone destined to be with him. The thought made him sick but it was so goddamn hard to ignore. What if he met them one day, what if they hated him? Would they leave once they found out he was deaf, that he wasn’t like everyone else? He was plagued with constant worry despite what anyone said to reassure him.
She was artistic, that he could tell. He found it comforting to sit and watch the lines as they twisted and intersected around his forearms in the most delicate of fashions. Other than that, he had no idea. He’d only ever caught glimpses of her daily life from the scribbles on her palms: ‘english assignment.’ ‘shift at 3:30.’ ‘call dad.’ He had no clues as to who she was, where she was. Only tiny snippets of vague information and it was driving him insane.
You’d never begin to fathom his surprise, however, when he was walking home to the small apartment above Bitz’s store, sporting a beautifully shaded series of bones tracing his hand, and quite literally bumped into a small girl with bright eyes and a warm smile. She’d apologised profusely and helped him up again but not without noticing the biro ink on his arm that mirrored her own. He was confused by the look of absolute shock on her face, the way she’d jumped up slightly, making her hair bounce with the quick motion. He raised his hands to speak before remembering that she probably wouldn’t understand sign language and moved to put them back down again, but not before the girl in front of him began to roll down her sleeve to reveal the intricate array of scribbles on her skin.
He stood, frozen, heart racing. Now was the moment. Any minute now she was going to realise; any moment now she was going to leave. She smiled brightly, dimples wrinkling her cheeks as she slowly began to touch his palm with the tips of her fingers. She began to speak, and he read her lips. The girl he could only dream about was now stood before him. He stood, mouth still slightly agape, but he moved his hands to make the symbol for pen and paper. She understood and dug about in her bag, before producing a small purple biro that he had seen on his body so many times before today. His heart was beating faster and faster every second, adrenaline coursed through his veins and his hands were trembling but he managed to write a message on his hand, and subsequently on hers.
‘My name’s Hearth. I’m sorry, but I’m deaf. It’s nice to meet you.’
[y/n]’s face lit up with realisation and Hearth felt like he was about to cry. Any second now he’d blink and she’d be gone. But that wasn’t the case. She stayed and raised her hands to shakily try to sign something to him, something he had to try very hard to decipher thanks to her inexperienced hands, something to make him swiftly pull her into a welcomed embrace.
‘i've finally found you, soulmate.'