Chapter Text
Kurt feels the pang of hunger sharp in his empty belly. It has been days since he'd last eaten and he has no idea when he'll get to fill his stomach again. It's a pain that simply won't subside, at all hours of the day the only thing filling his mind is his need for something to eat as the hot sun burns his bare shoulders. In a country renowned for its riches and luxuries, Kurt is only met with its cruelty. His mother died when he was born and his father perished in the war many years ago, leaving Kurt orphaned at just 11 and left to fend for himself.
But fending for himself is not quite as simple as it sounds. When the punishment for stealing can often be as severe as a severed hand, Kurt finds himself on the brink of starvation almost constantly. The relief of a mouthful of bread can only last so long.
The smells surrounding the market torment him. The delicious charring of meat sends him insane even though Kurt can barely remember what it tastes like anymore. His mouth waters at the sight of cheese and milk and he wonders if he could get away with taking just a handful of nuts. But Kurt is no fool, even if he wasn't so weakened from unending hunger, Kurt is sure he wouldn't be able to outrun anyone. Instead he settles for begging, finding a spot just outside the market stalls and kneeling down. Although being constantly surrounded by food sends him insane, the market is largely populated and where he is most likely to find sympathy.
Kurt keeps his eyes focused on the ground, hands outstretched in the hopes that a coin or perhaps a handful of something edible may fall into them from a generous stranger. It happens only rarely but if Kurt doesn't try, then he'll starve. The dirt and sand on the ground dig into his shins and his knees but Kurt pays them no attention, his mind is entirely on his hunger as he prepares for another long day.
After what must have been an hour, judging by the moving shadows, Kurt hears the sound of sandals crunching on the ground and spots a pair of feet in the corner of his vision. When the man doesn't make any indication of moving, Kurt looks up and his heart skips a beat at the sight of the armoured man. The city is teeming with Legionary Soldiers since their return from battle a few days ago and few of them treat Kurt with much kindness.
He prepares himself to be moved, hoping that this one isn't as brutal as the last, the bruises on his arm are still painful from his last encounter with a soldier. This one however makes no indication of moving and Kurt is baffled, staring up at the man. His armour is clean and polished to perfection, his shield has many dents and scratches but is otherwise clean and his sandals are barely scuffed. He is evidently a man who takes pride in his uniform and his empire. Kurt would admire him, even trust him if it wasn't for the threatening looking pilum held tightly in his right hand. Kurt eyes the sharp head of the spear with unease, knowing this man could kill him in an instant and nobody would care.
With a sudden jerk, Kurt realises his hands are still outstretched and quickly lowers them along with his head.
"Are you lost?" The man says in a way that Kurt can only describe as concerned.
"No, Sir," Kurt replies, eyes fixed on the ground. "I am merely a beggar."
"Beggars are not allowed in the market." Kurt can feels his hands beginning to shake, with hunger or fear, he cannot tell.
"P-please forgive me for loitering. I'll be on my way," he says as he attempts to rise to his feet but after six days without food and the heat of the sun bearing down on him all day Kurt stumbles, spots clouding his vision as he falls forward. The solder catches him easily, his tanned arms firmly gripping him but not painfully so. Kurt pulls back as his head begins to clear, apologising profusely, blushing as his stomach gives another groaning demand for food.
The man swings his pack from over his shoulder, opening it with deft fingers and pulling out a fat piece of bread. Kurt's eyes widen, his mouth watering at the sight. The soldier pushes the bread into Kurt's shaky hands and he grips it tightly, wondering if it will all disappear if he blinks his eyes. The soldier's hands linger over Kurt's, before his fingers gently trace down to his wrists and over the dark lettering imprinted on his skin. Kurt's mark appeared when he was 17 but he's never been able to read it. He'd fantasized about whoever's name it might be countless times but, growing up, he's had far more pressing matters to deal with than finding his soulmate.
"Do you know what this reads?" The man asks, seemingly knowing what the answer will be. Kurt shakes his head shamefully. Reading isn't exactly a common skill but Kurt still feels inferior when faced with those who can decipher the words.
"Come with me," the soldier commands. Kurt's heart sinks, he had been hoping for just a warning and then he could be on his way but he has no choice but to follow, not daring to disobey orders from a soldier no least. He clutches the bread tightly in his fingers, desperate to rip a piece off and satisfy his aching stomach but he waits, hoping to get a safe distance away from the man soon enough. Kurt follows him out of the market, wondering if he just plans on escorting him out then letting him go but the soldier keeps walking until Kurt wonders if he's still aware that Kurt is following feebly behind. He's led well away from the market, through the city until they reach a particularly rich area that Kurt has never visited before.
Kurt stops outside the grand home that he is led to. It's far too luxurious to be owned by a mere soldier.
"It's my father's," The soldier explains. "Please, come inside with me?"
Kurt shakes his head for a multitude of reasons. He eyes his dirty feet and filthy rags he calls clothes, knowing it would be of the utmost disrespect to enter this house the way he is.
"I can't..." he murmurs with another shake of his head as he turns to hurry away.
"Kurt" the man says firmly, Kurt freezes. He hasn't heard that name uttered since the day his father left for war many years ago, he'd almost forgotten what it sounds like coming from the mouth of another. "You are Kurt, are you not? Please, I've been looking for you forever." Against every instinct inside his body telling him to leave, Kurt feels himself being pulled inside, almost as if by some unseen force.
They go to the kitchen. It looks well stocked and well used and Kurt wonders how many delicious meals were made in this place, tries to imagine what they smell like, what they taste like. Pots and pans of all shapes and sizes sit on shelves and hang from the walls and a huge clay oven sits in the corner, ready to cook up a meal unlike Kurt has ever known in his life. "Please, eat," the man says, nodding towards the bread still clutched in Kurt's hands. "I didn't give it to you to simply hold." Kurt relents, picking off a small piece of the crust, savouring the taste and the feeling of having something inside his empty stomach for the first time in days. It's glorious. Kurt stands awkwardly eating as the soldier deposits his spear against the wall and begins taking off his armour, placing it on the empty table. He's left in a simple tunic and looks half the size he did before. It puts Kurt at ease a little.
Before Kurt realises it, he's finished the bread and finds with a sinking heart that he's still hungry. Before he has time to dwell on where his next meal will be coming from however, the man takes Kurt's wrist once again in his hand. Wondering why the desire to pull away is suddenly absent, Kurt lets the man inspect his mark, and, all too suddenly the realisation hits him like a mace to the head. Kurt does pull his hand back this time, everything suddenly making sense. Why else would a stranger, a noble born, be so kind to him? Could it be possible that this man is his soulmate? If so, then all these riches and luxuries could be his, his days on the street would be over and he'd never need to know the agony of insatiable hunger ever again. All because of some lettering on his arm that he can't even read. But is that what he wants? Is this man what he wants?
Kurt has never understood the concept entirely. His mother wasn't alive to explain it to him and his father was usually busy, working day in day out until the war ended it all for him. All he knows is that supposedly you find your match and you must then spend your life with that person. No one had explained to him this undeniable urge to be as close as possible, the frightening feeling of utter dependency.
"It's you, isn't it," Kurt says. The man lifts his eyes from where'd he'd still been gazing at the mark before lowering them once again. He's smiling which Kurt finds bizarre, he'd have thought a man such as he would be devastated to discover that Kurt of all people was his soulmate. The soldier reveals his own mark, spelling what Kurt can only guess is his own name.
"Do you want to know what yours says?" The man asks, still smiling like he's just been handed the world. Kurt finds himself nodding before he can even think. If he's being honest, he's wanted to know what it says from the moment it first appeared, but the frustration of not knowing, the agony of knowing that he'll likely never find whoever’s name it was had forced him to push down any desire of finding out. If anything, not knowing what it read had made it easier to deal with the fact that he was destined not to find him - for Kurt had always somehow known it was a he.
The man takes a seat at the table, urging Kurt to join him before he starts to spell out the words on Kurt's wrist. Kurt listens in fascination as each symbol becomes a sound. He can almost see it, see how the markings can be translated and put together to form a word, a name. Not just any name, his soulmate's name.
"Blaine Anderson," he says, finally able to put a name to the face. Kurt tugs Blaine's wrist back to him so he can see his own name, only to find that their names share few symbols and that he can't decipher it. Of course he knows what it says but he can’t see it as he can see Blaine’s name. So, patiently, Blaine teaches him to read his own name as well. Unlike Kurt's wrist, there is only one name on Blaine's, as Kurt has no second or third name.
"Thank you," Kurt says, finding himself smiling for the first time in longer than he can remember. Kurt's hand is still clutched around Blaine's wrist. He moves his fingers slowly before he entangles them with Blaine's and suddenly words are no longer necessary. Kurt can see for himself that this man is his soulmate. He can tentatively read their respective names on each of their wrists, he can feel the pull in his chest, driving him inexplicably towards this man and telling him that no matter what, he must not leave his side.
The kitchen filled with goods is lost to him, the incredible house with enough linens and fabrics to last a lifetime seems obsolete. If Blaine were a beggar like himself he still couldn't be any less overjoyed than he is now. It's more than just words on a wrist, it's the feeling of completeness, of finding your other half and finally being whole. It's the same sensation of finally eating after days of starvation only multiplied by more than Kurt can count. The understanding may have dawned on Kurt slowly but the feeling of finding him by far beats the feeling of anything he's ever known.
Blaine leans forward slowly, lips pausing just a fraction before Kurt's, giving him time to pull away if he wishes. But Kurt remains still, allowing Blaine's lips to gently caress his own, sealing their fates together for the rest of this lifetime.