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The universe actually kinda really sucks at the whole soulmate thing. It’s not that soulmates don’t fit, quite the contrary. It links you up with absolutely perfect candidates, but there’s usually a whole list of them on your arm, and figuring out whether they’re platonic or romantic is a struggle in and of itself.
It doesn’t help in the slightest that most of the names are people who don’t exist, either anymore, or not yet. Which means the whole soulmate thing is more of a guideline than a strict rule, and physically meeting a name on your arm is more of an exception than the norm. (The Universe has some struggles with the concept of time, in that It doesn’t know what it is, nor what It’s supposed to do with it. Its only job is to find perfect matches, which It does splendidly, thank you very much, and it’s hardly Its fault when you’re better off with a sixteenth century merchant than a twenty-first century rocker. For the same reason It cannot be blamed for the whole dead-before-you’re-born-thing. The universe doesn’t do dying. It doesn’t understand it. The humans match, It matches them. They’re the ones being difficult with this whole limited time business.)
For this reason, Mark doesn’t even bat an eyelash at the list of six random names that appears on his arm on his eighteenth birthday, simply shrugs deeper into his covers and goes back to sleep. (He’s a little peeved to see Madam Curie and Bach on there, mostly because he already knows he would have loved to meet them, and now the universe is just rubbing it in.) (The Universe doesn’t do rubbing it in, It simply sits in infinite annoyance because none of Its ships are sailing! What even is up with humans.)
The other four names (Pjotr Lasvik, Marian van der Guiten, Jiaer Wang, and Tirian Titus Tillanius the Third) ring absolutely no bells, so he dismisses the matter altogether. (Though Mark would love to meet that last person, if only because their name is ridiculous compared to current standards.)
(The Universe sulks. It’s not ridiculous in 3075, okay, it’s the norm.)
By the time Mark is twenty, and one very proud year into his study, the names have become nothing but a slightly weird and often over-looked tattoo.
One fateful Wednesday, Mark’s nine-o’clock math lecture starts off without a hitch. The professor delves straight into the subject with a droning voice, which is precisely as Mark remembered him from his calculus course last year. However, fifteen minutes into the explanations, the door creaks open again, the students blinking out of their stupor, and a rush of whispers sweeps through the lecture hall. The professor blinks, obviously caught off guard, but picks up his pace when the tardy student quickly slips into an empty seat.
Next to Mark.
The whispers continue for a bit longer, then taper off. Mark can understand the intrigue. This guy is fit, definitely works out, and has a face Mark would happily approach at a bar or party. Mystery guy slaps a notebook and pencil case on his desk, eyes flying over the calculations on the professor’s powerpoint, clearly trying to figure out what he missed.
Without thinking, Mark pushes his notes closer to the other and murmurs. “You can look at mine, if you want.”
The guy blinks, surprised, almost like he forgot there’s someone next to him, then breaks out a smile. It looks golden and beautiful, and Mark goes a little weak in the knees when the guy whispers back, voice low and grateful.
“Thanks. I got lost trying to find this place and statistics really isn’t my strong suit.”
He quickly goes to work copying Mark’s notes, keeping half an eye on the lecture. For the remaining time, Mark finds himself staring at the boy next to him more than the powerpoint. His soulmates might be offline, but that doesn’t mean Mark has to stay alone.
After two hours of struggling not to fall asleep and taking semi-workable notes, the professor dismisses them with a ‘bugger off, I’m hungry’, which they all happily agree to. The hubbub of sixty odd students all standing up and beginning conversations becomes the background as mystery guy also packs up his things and Mark finds himself making his second out-of-character move. Something about this guy draws him in and makes him bolder than usual.
(The Universe crosses Its proverbial arms and taps Its proverbial foot, a look of petulant frustration on Its proverbial face.)
“I’m Mark,” he says, surprising even himself with an outstretched hand. The guy turns and looks surprised, then brings back his earlier smile and grabs Mark’s hand in a firm shake.
“Jackson. Nice to meet you.” He lets go and shoulders his bag, Mark also standing up after him.
“Thank you again for the notes,” Jackson continues. “I’m gonna need all the help I can get to pass this course.”
There’s a hint of an accent, making Mark think that Jackson, though his English is perfect, might not be from America.
“I could help,” he blurts out, then clears his throat, immediately embarrassed. “I mean, with the course. I could- if you want to. I don’t mind helping if you have any questions.”
Jackson looks even more surprised and then pleased, holding the door open as they make their way out of the lecture hall. “I might take you up on that,” he grins, “though I’ll warn you. I tend to have lots of questions.”
Mark returns the grin with much more ease than he usually would when talking with someone he barely met. “That’s okay. I’m pretty blunt, so I’ll just tell you when to shut up.”
Jackson laughs. It’s loud and higher than his voice would suggest, but Mark is already convinced he needs to hear it more often. The end of the hall is in sight, the somewhat gloomy morning visible through the windows, and Mark finds himself scrambling through his barely-used box of socially acceptable behavior to figure out how to make Jackson stay. Being around the other just feels nice.
(No shit, The Universe thinks haughtily, rolling Its non-existent eyes. It sighs, squints to see if someone’s looking, then casually plops a stray thought in an utterly random though very specific strand of existence.)
The proverbial lightbulb turns on in Mark’s brain and he turns curiously to Jackson. “Where are you from?”
Jackson looks guilty and caught, and Mark giggles.
“I mean, your English is perfect,” he says reassuringly. “But there’s something about it I feel like I should know, yet I can’t put my finger on it.” He licks his lips nervously. “If I’m being too curious, you can tell me.”
Not that Mark wants to stop being curious when it comes to Jackson, but there’s no need to scare the other off within hours of meeting him.
Jackson shakes his head with a warm smile. “It’s fine,” he promises. “I’m an exchange student, from Hong Kong.” At this, he puffs up a little in pride and Mark smiles happily. The older is amazed at the coincidence and bites his lip cheekily before saying his next line in perfect Mandarin. (The universe fumes. What coincidence!?)
“How long are you here for?”
Jackson’s mouth drops in surprise and Mark feels giddy for being the cause of the other’s wondrous expression. At this point they’ve stopped in the hallway, just a little next to the door, and the rush of students has passed. It’s just them in their own world.
“You speak Mandarin?” Jackson gapes, then rolls his eyes. “Of course, you do. You just did.”
Mark giggles again. There’s a small blush on Jackson’s cheeks which makes him look absolutely adorable in his grey sweater and jeans, auburn hair looking fluffy to the touch and Mark needs to restrain his curious hands.
“It’s the only other language I speak,” Mark shrugs one shoulder, “and I wouldn’t say I’m fluent, but yeah,” he grins again, “I speak Mandarin.”
Jackson looks amazed, then squints his eyes, a sudden frowny pout of his face.
(Mark coos on the inside. This guy is too cute.) (Of course he is, The Universe reflects gloomily; It’s good at soulmates. It kicks the stray thought into existence a second time and crosses Its proverbial fingers because humans are so slow.)
“Where are you from?” Jackson suddenly mutters.
Mark blatantly laughs at the comical distrust on Jackson’s face. It’s so obviously fake, and the other can only hold the expression for two more seconds before also dissolving into a fit of chuckles. “But seriously,” he nods at Mark after the laughter has lessened. “How do you know Mandarin if you grew up in America?”
“Who says I grew up in America?” Mark counters cheekily, causing Jackson to flush. The older sniggers and shakes his head.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he promises to Jackson’s relief. “My parents are from Taiwan, but I’ve lived in America all my life. Moved around some, but yeah.” He smiles again. It’s easy around Jackson.
(The Universe is this close to accidentally creating a very local earthquake simply to throw dumb and dumber into each other’s arms.)
Jackson bites his lip and eyes Mark, then grins bashfully. “In that case, can I take you up on that offer to help, right now?”
Mark is nodding before Jackson finishes. The other grins thankfully and fishes a folded piece of A4 paper from his backpocket.
“I’m supposed to go by student services today to fill out some paperwork so my study points will actually be transferred back to Hong Kong, but I’m honestly lost with all these buildings here.” He presents the paper, smiling sheepishly. “Think you can show me where I’m supposed to go?” He adds hopefully.
“Sure,” Mark promises. The paper states Jackson need to drop by the humanities building in his first week, which is no more than a five-minute walk from their current position. In the process of opening his mouth to tell the other this, Mark’s eye falls on the name at the top of the paper and something tickles his memory.
Jiaer Wang
(The Universe does the cosmic equivalent of leaning closer and staring expectantly. Almost there!)
Mark blinks, almost as if in a stupor. "This says Jiaer Wang?" It does something to him, saying it out loud, but so far it's only a tip-of-the-tongue feeling.
Jackson shrugs offhandedly, as if the name had completely slipped his mind. “That’s my Chine- I mean, given name.” Then he takes in Mark’s thoughtful expression and brings up an eyebrow. “Is it important?”
“I don’t know,” Mark mutters, “It sounds famili-” he gasps, eyes blowing wide and Jackson jumps in shock.
“What! What!” Jackson shouts, eyes shooting left and right, but Mark is already yanking his sleeve up to look at the names he’s ignored for two years.
(Finally! The Universe ties together another few souls while keeping track of the Markson. (The brilliant thing about not knowing time is that you’re never late. No matter when The Universe ties knots, It’s never ‘late’ for when people are born. Really, it’s the best. People should try it some time.) With a non-existent sigh, It sags in relief. It only took two cosmic interventions this time, which is almost a record, but It stands by Its observation. Humans are slow.)
Tracing the name on his arm, Mark looks up at Jackson in wonder. “You’re Jiaer Wang.”
Jackson looks shocked himself, then quickly shakes his head. “But I don’t have any ‘Mark’.” He taps his arm, regret on his face. “Maybe it’s someone else. Someone out of time.”
Which is a common way of saying someone long dead, or not yet alive. But Mark’s brain turns it over and he bites his lip, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he can actually get a soulmate. “How about ‘Yien’,” he wonders carefully. It’s his given name, just like Jackson’s is ‘Jiaer’, and maybe the universe is a little convoluted with soulmate names.
(Oh sure, blame the incorporeal existence of everything there ever was and ever will be. Because It is being the difficult one here.)
After a second silence, Jackson’s eyes grow twice their size and his hand shoots out, crumpling the paper in the process, to bunch up his sweater-sleeve. With a shocked expression he regards Mark. “You’re Yien Tuan?”
As he says it, both names shimmer into a soft green. The change burns, but not enough to hurt and Mark glances up with a wide smile as he takes in Jackson’s utterly disbelieving face. The other stares at both their soulmarks, eyes impossibly wide.
“Holy shit,” Jackson whispers.
Giddy isn’t close to how Mark feels, eyes bright and cataloguing Jackson. From his blinking eyes to the slightly opened mouth, and the way Jackson’s backpack is currently dangling in the crook of his arm. The other looks shocked and utterly gorgeous.
“We’re soulmates,” Mark grins.
Jackson stands dumfounded. “This shit only ever happens in movies. Like, no one ever finds their soulmate, well, not alive at least.” A smile begins to grow and he ends up beaming at Mark. “Holy shit, we’re soulmates.”
“I know!” Mark jumps in place. “I don’t even know what we’re supposed to do right now, but fuck it, I’m happy!”
Jackson throws his head back laughing, and yeah, Mark is weak for it already.
(The Universe doesn't do favorites, except that sometimes, It does.)