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He stares down at the tiny mark burning itself into his skin. There’s a slight sting to it, like he’s drawing a fine-point pen across the back of his hand, at the base of his thumb. A tiny, five-pointed star, a deep purple in color, sets emblazoned where moments before, there had been nothing. His breath catches in his throat.
Around eighty percent of the population have at least one soulmate. At the age of seven, those destined to find one would have a mark appear somewhere on their bodies - a mark completely unique to each set of soulmates, used to identify one another. It’s a phenomenon that, while universally accepted, is not entirely understood. There seems to be no definite differentiation between those who have soulmates and those without, or between those with one and those with multiple. Even something as simple as romantic compatibility is not inherent to the bond, as many soulmate pairings end up completely platonic. It’s a subject with no definitive answer, with seemingly no rhyme or reason to it, and Shiro has been fascinated with it since he was young.
Mostly, his fascination came from the fact that, upon turning seven, he himself did not develop a soulmate mark. His best friend, Matt Holt, however, did. A strange sort of sensation had coursed through him, then, as he watched the small mark appear on his friend’s hand. It was warm and cold all at once, like leaning away from the touch of a loved one. There was something deeper, too, tugging at his gut, pulling him toward his friend and causing Shiro to wrap him in as big a hug as his tiny seven-year-old arms could manage.
Shiro didn’t think too much about his feelings at the time, but as he grew older, he started to sort them out. Things involving Matt always seemed to sort themselves out eventually.
They were eighteen years old at the time, fresh out of high school, bound for one of the best astroaeronautics programs the country had to offer, and they felt like they were on top of the world. Matt had shouted as much from where he stood on the hood of Shiro’s truck. After graduation ceremonies and fanfare, the pair had taken off on their own to their favorite stargazing site, close enough to town that the drive was quick, but far enough away to not be bothered (or overheard, in Matt’s case). Shiro had been leaning against the side of the truck, arms crossed over his chest, offering a fond, crooked smile at his friend’s antics.
Then, Matt’s gaze had dropped from the horizon to fall squarely on him. “Isn’t this exciting, Shiro?” he asked, his voice breathless with wonder.
It was Matt’s incredible, boundless awe for the universe that had drawn Shiro in, strong as gravity, and kept them orbiting around one another. It was something the two of them shared. Matt was the only person who could keep up with Shiro’s drive and longing to explore the vast unknown, to make sense of the unsensible.
Sometimes, though he didn’t like to admit it, he wondered if Matt’s soulmate would be able to match speeds with him the way he could. (A tiny, selfish part of him hoped they wouldn’t.)
Shiro’s gaze met Matt’s, and a small huff of a laugh escaped. “I honestly don’t think it’s sunk in yet. Give me a little bit, then I can have a proper freak out with you.”
Matt gave a chuckle at that, sliding down until he was sitting on the truck’s hood rather than standing. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Shiro wasn’t sure if he’d been meant to hear it, or if Matt had said it more to himself, but he hummed in agreement. “Me neither.”
They remained there, side by side, basking in the moment. The sun had long since set, and their eyes were drawn up towards the sky. Familiar constellations gazed back at them, the dark, empty spaces between them like an uncharted sea, waiting until the two of them could sail away.
The companionable silence had only lasted a few moments when Matt sat up turned toward him, his place on the truck giving him a few extra inches of height over Shiro he doesn’t normally have. Their eyes meet again, though this time, Matt’s eyebrows are slightly pulled together, his eyes searching Shiro’s. It’s a look Shiro has seen plenty of times, though it’s usually directed out at the cosmos. He’s about to ask Matt what’s going on, when his friend takes the underside of his jaw in his hand, tender and careful, and pulls him closer until their lips meet.
Things were so much easier after that night.
Afterwards, words that had unknowingly been held back tumbled outward. Declarations and promises, not just of feelings for one another but of hopes for the future - their future - spilled over between kisses, whispered against each other's lips. It settled something warm in Shiro’s insides, like something he hadn't even realized was amiss had finally fallen into place. It occurred to him, then, that he must have been feeling this way for a long, long time - long enough that he'd grown accustomed to it.
However, like most things with Matt, it had sorted itself out eventually. There was no reason to dwell on the past when such a bright future lay before them.
They were laying on the hood of Shiro’s truck, backs against the windshield, their bodies aligned against each other from shoulder to toe. Their hands were linked between them, fingers fitting perfectly with one another’s, Shiro’s thumb gently rubbing circles over the back of Matt’s hand. His eyes drifted to the tiny purple star there, and something uneasy shifted in his gut.
He'd never been sure where Matt stood on the concept of soulmates. While Shiro had been so interested in the topic, Matt had always seemed to deflect conversation away from it, so Shiro dropped it. Whatever Matt's plans were for when he eventually met this person were his business alone, not Shiro’s. Many chose to stave off romantic relationships until their soulmate was found and the nature of that relationship determined. Matt, however, had very clearly made his intentions for their relationship known that night, if the still warm memory of his lips against Shiro’s skin were anything to go by.
The unease in his stomach dissipated, lending way to a spark of confidence and with it, contentment. While he knew Matt’s and his soulmate’s meeting would be inevitable, there was something… deeply alluring about the idea of Matt declaring that fate be damned, that he would be the one to decide, on his own, who he wanted a relationship with, and how. Shiro was proud to think that, even though Matt’s destined person was still out there, still full of potential, he had chosen him. He’d chosen him with certainty, and Shiro had chosen him right back.
Ten years have passed since then, and while Shiro and Matt have seen more of the galaxy than most people, Matt still has yet to find his soulmate. It doesn't bother him, he's mentioned to Shiro. When it happens, it will happen, and it doesn't matter how it goes or what they want, since he knows Shiro is who he likes best. He’ll pick Shiro over anyone else, in any universe, always.
Still, though, sometimes Shiro can't help but wonder.
Matt's hand is warm in his, that night. They’d spent the afternoon at an aeronautics museum Shiro gushed about often, and for dinner he'd been surprised with reservations at some high-end restaurant he'd expressed an interest in several times in the past few months. Not quite ready for the evening to end, rather than heading back to the parking lot, they’re meandering up the block, enjoying just being close to one another.
“Thank you, again, for the day out,” Shiro says. “It was nice. Probably the best birthday I've had in a long time.”
While the southwestern states could often be unbearably warm, even late in the day, the last dregs of winter keep them cool enough that he has an excuse to tug Matt closer to him, pressing their shoulders together and tapping his head softly against Matt’s.
Matt squeezes his hand. “You deserve it. It's been a… well, a busy few years. We deserved the time off.” His lips quirk into a grin. “And since you only get a full birthday every four years, we gotta make a big deal of it, y'know?”
Shiro gives a soft chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Sounds fair to me.”
Matt brings their joint hands up, placing a kiss along Shiro’s knuckles.
Eventually, the events of the day catch up to them and exhaustion begins to set in. They make their way back to the parking lot and onto the back of Shiro’s old motorcycle. Matt volunteers to drive, citing that Shiro, freshly seven whole years old, can't possibly get behind the wheel.
“Er, handlebar?” His face twists in confusion.
“There it is,” Shiro all but groans, though there's a fondness buried somewhere in that annoyance. “I was waiting for when you were gonna bust out the seven-year-old jokes.”
“I held off almost all day, but couldn't hold it back any longer. I think I deserve credit for my effort.” Matt secures his helmet as Shiro does the same.
“Almost only counts in horseshoes, Matthew.”
“Yeah, yeah. I guess you're right. You couldn't possibly be seven when you're breaking out the old man phrases like that.”
Shiro’s laugh is more of a snort than anything else. “Just shut up and drive already.”
Matt sticks his tongue out at him, but starts the bike anyway.
They've only just made it home, their coats and shoes removed but themselves only barely through the entranceway when Shiro suddenly cries out.
Matt is instantly hovering over him as he clutches his left hand with his right. Shiro sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth.
“Oh my god,” Matt starts, “are you okay? Did something bite you? Did you pinch your hand somehow?”
“I- I don't know,” Shiro replies. “Just out of nowhere, it felt like I'd been stung, or something.”
“If it was a bug, we might need to get you something. Here, let me take a look-” Matt cuts himself off. He peels Shiro’s right hand away, the metal cool against his skin, grounding him while all his thoughts disappear.
His silence prompts Shiro to look down as well. For a moment, neither of them speak. Neither of them move.
He stares down at the tiny mark burning itself into his skin. There’s a slight sting to it, like he’s drawing a fine-point pen across the back of his hand, at the base of his thumb. A tiny, five-pointed star, a deep purple in color, sets emblazoned where moments before, there had been nothing. His breath catches in his throat.
“Is… is that…”
Matt raises his right hand up, holding it side by side with Shiro’s. Two identical marks stare back at them, two binary stars falling into orbit.
“It's you,” Matt says, finally, a bit breathless. His eyes dart up, locking with Shiro’s. Tears threaten to spill over as his voice chokes up. “It's always been you, Takashi. All I ever wanted was you, for it to be you.”
The use of his first name ignites something warm in Shiro’s chest.The burning on his hand settles into something a bit softer, a bit more of a comfortable buzz. He can feel his own eyes watering too. He knows that if he tries to speak, to put any of what he’s feeling - shock, disbelief, a touch of relief, and an overwhelming wave of happiness - into words, they’ll never make it out, and be buried beneath his tears. So instead, he leans down, pressing a firm kiss to Matt’s lips.
Maybe it was some sort of leap day technicality, or Shiro was simply a late bloomer, but in that moment, he decided it didn't matter. What he chose to believe, what he would always know as the truth to him, was that, somehow, that gravitational pull between them, that fiery desire to be together regardless of what fate had planned, was enough. It was enough to move the very cosmos in their favor, to give them proof that their efforts and desires were acknowledged.
Maybe, just maybe, soulmates were something that could be made.