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You knew Kevin Moon’s name for a few reasons. For one, you’d heard his name muttered under your classmates’ breath at school more than a few times, but at first, you couldn’t truly tell what they were saying. Eventually, you asked the first friends you made after moving schools for your second year who Kevin Moon was. They answered with mouths slightly quirked in disgust, as if the name crossing their lips was bitter. Kevin Moon was the boy with no soulmate mark.
Apparently, he had hidden that particular fact about himself for his first semester there, wearing long sleeves or keeping his wrist covered with a watch. People there, especially the more popular crew that he used to hang around with, liked to show off their soulmate marks; names etched permanently into their skin in black or white. Those with black marks fantasized out loud about who their soulmate could be, a celebrity or a model or simply the love of their life. The ones with white marks, all shiny and pearlescent, bragged about the soulmate they’d already found and how much they loved or were in love with them—even if they weren’t. Loud personalities often came with loud opinions about soulmates. Kevin Moon was a loud personality, so much so that one day his so-called friends had forced off his watch and found his wrist to be clean. No mark. According to your friends, everyone thought he covered his mark with makeup until he was silently exiled from his group of friends.
Having no soulmate mark wasn’t an astounding anomaly, in your opinion. There had to be others like him, even if you'd never heard of such a thing. Sure, it was interesting, maybe, but you didn’t understand why Kevin Moon was almost consistently brought up in conversation. He wasn’t even in your class. Even teachers would occasionally pop his name when talking to you. They’d be praising you for your work on some project, one that you were particularly proud of, when all of a sudden they’d say his name with a sneer. Kevin Moon would never work this hard, all he cares about is art and music; that’s what they told you. Your new school was a bit more academic than the last, and yet there was a girl who loved painting and playing the violin that the teachers adored. She didn’t have that good of grades, in fact, you could argue that they were worse than Kevin Moon’s, but she had a soulmate mark, and that was all that mattered, wasn’t it? He was bullied by students and teachers alike, though not physically, (which one was worse, mentally or physically, you didn't know) for having no soulmate mark. Subconsciously, you knew it was because he had something they didn't. Freedom.
The idea of a soulmate was romantic to most, but there was always that inkling of doubt. Books would tell amazing stories about people who fell in love with someone other than their soulmate, and they made it sound fantastical. That was the second reason you knew Kevin Moon's name. Your friend joked about writing a book about him. Well, someone like him. She was quite jealous of his empty wrist, though she would never admit it. Her soulmate had a foreign name that she couldn't even read, so she feared they may never meet.
The third reason you knew his name: it had been written on your wrist since the day you were born.
Your mark had yet to turn white like some of your friends, who had already said their first word to their soulmate, and you’d chosen to cover it with your sleeves a while back. When you learned about Kevin Moon for the first time, you thanked your middle school self for being so shy about your mark in the first place. To have a soulmate without a mark? What a joke you'd become.
You decided to never talk to Kevin Moon. Deep down you hoped that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't your soulmate. That your other Kevin Moon was somewhere out there waiting for you. You hoped that if you spoke to the Kevin Moon at your school your mark would do nothing. It wouldn't turn white and shiny like a pearl, it would just stay black and matte like it always did. But, then again, you couldn't take that chance.
So you ignored him. You didn't join in on other people's gossip when he was involved, you didn't jeer at him in the halls like everyone else, and you didn't speak to him. Though, that last one was common among the other students. Kevin Moon was left alone. Maybe if he didn't have the same name as the one permanently scrawled on your wrist, maybe if you weren't such a spineless coward, you might have done something about it. But he did have the same name. And you were a coward. So Kevin Moon stayed alone.
It stayed that way until Christmas break of your last year in high school. You'd snagged yourself a job at a convenience store a few blocks down from your home in order to buy Christmas gifts for your family and friends. Already, you'd saved enough money for the gifts, so now you were only working there because the extra money felt good in your digital pockets. Plus, the snowfall outside made you thankful for the indoor heating. You didn't mind your job, the stocking of shelves twice a day and the mundane cashier position. It was peaceful.
For a long time, you'd worked to get over your soulmate. Or, for a better description, lack of soulmate. After a while, you settled on the comfortable idea that, thanks to Kevin Moon, you too had your freedom. You were no longer shackled to a soulmate you may not have even loved, like your parents. It only took some true thought to realize it could be a good thing. Of course, you were still remiss about losing any chance at romance, but there was so much else in the world to live for! Flowers, birds, playgrounds, painting, cute pens with little animal toppers. After you stopped worrying about soulmates — something you'd done since the age of five — you found beauty in so much more than you did before.
These days you covered your mark with a cheap bandage that you switched every morning, just to keep your mind off of his name. In fact, you almost forgot about Kevin Moon.
Until he walked into the convenience store.
At first, he only walked briskly past you at the register, heading straight for the coffee machines. At seven in the morning, you were a bit shocked that anyone walked in, much less the person you’d been avoiding for one and a half years. When he came up to the counter with a coffee and one of those cups of assorted candies, he didn’t look up until he asked for the total only to be answered with silence.
Recognition crossed his face for a moment, to which he lowered his head. To him, you were another nameless person from school who wouldn’t give him the time of day, not that he asked.
You didn’t dare say a word. While you had come to terms with having no soulmate, you still had no courage to test it now. You knew his total already by heart, but you rang it up on the register anyway and pointed to the small screen with a small smile. Hopefully he wouldn’t ask anything you couldn’t answer. He paid in cash and left.
As Kevin Moon walked out of the store, he wondered when it was last that someone had smiled to him.
You thought that was perhaps the universe's meek attempt at getting you together with Kevin Moon and decided to let it be. Odds were you would never have to deal with him ever again. Christmas break was half over, meaning you only had one more week in the store working mornings. Once school starts back up, you'll only have part-time shifts four times a week. You won't earn as much, but it will be enough.
The universe was a bit more persistent than you thought.
Kevin Moon returned to the convenience store only two days later because, unbeknownst to you, he wanted to see your smile again. Maybe it was a figment of his imagination. He wished it wasn't, but he had to be sure.
When he walked in you very nearly said "Welcome" as you did to every customer that wasn't Kevin Moon. You caught yourself, thank god, but you did smile and nod as he walked by so as not to look like as much of an asshole as you felt.
You had no idea that he, after seeing your small smile for the second time, considered you the nicest person he'd ever met. Strangers were kind, sure, but that was because they knew nothing of his soulmate mark. You, someone from his school, were sure to know about it. He made no effort to hide it anymore, everyone already knew anyway. It was a wonder you even looked in his direction, much less smiled. He thought it may be creepy if he just ran up to counter like he so wanted to, so he went to the coffee machine first. The coffee there tasted awful, as he learned the first time. It was cheap though, much better than buying a tiny, five-dollar plastic cup of stale gummies. Once he got his coffee, he went up to the counter.
"Just this, please."
You only smiled. There was nothing else you could do, not if you wanted to keep your carefully crafted inner peace. Ringing him up, you gestured to his total on the small screen and wondered why he was looking at you with stars in his eyes. Did he know something you didn't? Why was his smile so bright? You looked behind you to see if there was something, anything that could be making him so happy but found nothing. He paid in cash again, only this time he walked away to take a seat at one of the stools inside.
Dread dripped down your spine at the thought of having to keep completely silent for his entire stay. You were a quiet person in general, but if your boss came around with complaints that his cashier wouldn't speak to customers, you'd be in trouble. Kevin Moon kept popping his head up every now and then to look at you, and each time you smiled meekly in response. Under the counter, you scratched at the bandage covering your wrist. It held strong.
He came in the next day, and the day after that. Each time he got the same coffee and sat in the same seat. No one ever stayed in the store but him, you noticed. Each time he stole glances at you, just as you did him.
It was during those days you noticed how handsome he really was. God, if you were his soulmate just as much as he was yours, you just might have fallen head over heels.
His fifth time at your counter, you tapped his shoulder. He'd just bought himself another awful coffee. His eyebrows rose at your action, hopeful, almost. That was the first time you made any true acknowledgement of his existence. You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from speaking and raised a finger, asking him to wait. Grabbing the receipt from his paused hand and a pen from the counter, you scribbled something on the back. He craned his head but couldn't read it until you flipped it over and slid it towards him.
You know there's better coffee next door, right?
You were right, there was a relatively popular cafe just next door, an aesthetic little place just trendy enough to get off by people your age. Not one for coffee, you never bought anything there, so the only proof you had that their coffee was actually better was the fact that nothing could be worse than what you sold.
He laughed at your little note, not even questioning why you wouldn't speak because this was the first time anyone had talked — or whatever this was — to him in so long. Teachers gave him his quarterly reports through emails while everyone else got theirs in person.
Through his chuckles, he asked, "Is this your way of telling me to leave you alone?"
For a second, he regretted asking you that. If it was true and you agreed, then all this kindness would just have been a ruse, wouldn't it? His regret dissipated, though, when you adamantly shook your head side to side.
You grabbed the receipt back and wrote something else, which you held up for him to read.
It must taste bad. Why haven't you tried anything else?
He laughed again, taking that moment to take a sip of his sub-par coffee and wink at you. "It's growing on me."
Straight after that, he walked out briskly, so quickly that your blush only showed up after he was already gone. He didn't stay that day like the ones before. Though, you didn't know it was because he felt dreadfully embarrassed to have winked at you like that.
The next day, Kevin Moon came back with questions. He walked through the door with a cheeky look and went straight to the coffee maker, afterwards making a detour to the small stationery station in one of the aisles. He brought his coffee and a single set of sticky notes to you at the counter, and as soon as they were paid for, he tore open the packaging for the sticky notes. He pushed the paper towards you, leaned over the counter, grabbed one of your pens, and placed it neatly on top of the sticky notes.
"Why are you talking to me?”
It wasn’t the question he’d meant to use as his opener, but it came out anyway. His eyes gave him away, though, that bright hopefulness in them. It wouldn’t have mattered if he started with another question. He would have gotten to that soon enough.
You shrugged nonchalantly. After all, there really was nothing stopping you from talking to him. Bringing the pad of sticky notes towards you, you wrote three simple words.
Because I can
Once again, he laughed at your response. It was so simple, wasn’t it? Because you can. Was that all it took?
“Well then,” he continued, “why aren’t you talking to me?”
It took you a moment to understand what he meant. You added two more characters to your note.
Because I can’t
You motioned one hand up and down your throat, to which he only quirked an eyebrow.
Strep throat
“Ah, I see. This is good enough, though.”
Kevin Moon flashed his pearly whites, and you decided that you really liked his smile.
For the next few hours, he asked you simple questions; where you were from, what you liked to do. He learned the little things about you, like the fact that your favorite drink is a chai latte or that you enjoy taking walks so long as the weather is forgiving. You learned that writing constantly with a ten cent pen hurts your wrist like nothing else. It was nice, well, except for the wrist pain part.
You almost let yourself slip a few times, but with each close call you caught yourself just in time with a quick cough. You couldn't even imagine what disaster could come from that. You didn't want to imagine it.
Every once in a while, a real customer would come in, wander around, and eventually pay at the register. When that happened, Kevin Moon — his drink long finished — would just stand a bit to the side, not caring at all about the weird looks the customers would give both him and you. The looks scared you slightly, but the effect wore off after the first few times. People didn't care about you not speaking as much as you thought they might.
By the time it was truly dark—quite early during winter—you ran out of sticky notes. Each answer was stuffed carefully in his coat pockets. At one point you asked him why he was stowing them away, but he only shrugged and pocketed that very question before moving onto his next.
"Why do you cover your mark?"
He never thought he would ask about your soulmate mark. To him, it was such a taboo subject that he rarely ever brought it up, much less asked about someone else's. He didn't know exactly what compelled him to ask. Maybe it was that he'd caught a peek at the bandage covering the inside of your wrist, the edges just slightly rolled up, with lint and dust stuck to the exposed underside. Maybe it was because he wanted to know if you'd already found your soulmate. Did that matter to him? He thought at that moment that it did, though he couldn't say why.
You thought long and hard about what to tell him. During the whole conversation, you hadn't lied since you told him you had strep throat. But what could you say? You decided to tell him what you told everyone else.
Soulmates come with too many ifs
I like to think about other things
It was a short explanation. Perhaps he deserved more, but you were on your last note.
He didn't respond to your answer, and by the look on his face, you had no idea how he felt about it. Was he happy that you were somewhat like him? Was he upset that you had a mark and were consciously choosing not to cherish it? You didn't know.
He walked away from the counter towards another section of the store. You were about to follow him until someone walked through the front door, ringing the bells above the entrance. About to greet another customer, you paused when you realized it was your coworker. Your shift was over.
You took off your vest and packed up your things before walking up to Kevin Moon. He was back in the stationery section looking for more sticky notes, maybe a package with more pieces than the last. Tapping his shoulder, you drew his attention. He must have been surprised to see you anywhere but behind the counter if his wide eyes were any indication.
Without your notes, it was harder to tell him what you meant, but you tried your best to mouth the words and used your hands to help.
I'm going home.
Once you were sure your message was clear, you turned to leave.
"Wait!" he called, wrapping one hand around your arm, "Don't..."
You smiled your smile, your eyes filling with something he couldn't identify. Bringing your hand up to cover his, you gently pried him off of your arm—he didn't resist. The expression on your face made his heart jump up into his throat. You took his hand and faced it up, then took a pen out of your back pocket and started writing on his palm. It hurt a bit, being the cheap piece of plastic it was, but he didn't mind so much. He was too preoccupied staring at how your tongue stuck out just slightly from your mouth in concentration.
When you were done, you smiled one last time before making your timely exit. He looked down at his palm.
Goodnight, Kevin Moon ☽
God, how was he supposed to wash his hands now?
Saturdays were the busiest days of the week for you, as people never seemed to go off their natural calendar, even on holidays. Nevertheless, this Saturday felt like the busiest of all time, seeing as you were stuck between helping customers, Kevin Moon, and the endless thoughts ricocheting within your skull.
He'd come back with more sticky notes and his signature cup of coffee, and you showed up that day with your own pen from home, the one you always used. The first thing he asked was if your throat was alright, to which you just gave a grim shake of your head. You noticed that your little note was still on his palm, the blue ink light and faded from time and wear.
It was when he started talking on and on about music that your thoughts began to wander. Not that you didn't like music or what Kevin Moon had to say about it, you simply couldn't help yourself.
In two days school would start up again, and there was zero chance your little strep throat lie would get you anywhere within those walls. Besides, you couldn't feign strep throat forever. You were terrified that Kevin Moon might try to talk to you in front of your friends, whose hatred for him was so blatantly obvious. It felt awful thinking of him that way, like he was something you needed to get rid of. That was the last thing you wanted. If anything, you wished you could ditch your friends just for him but where would that get you? No where.
Halfway through your senior year, you had everything to lose. If you crumbled the carefully built up relationships you had with your teachers, your grades were sure to fall. Those friends you didn't necessarily love cared about you in ways so many didn't, and they protected you from acid words you heard spewed at other not-so-lucky outcasts. All you needed was to get out of there safely and find yourself a university willing enough to accept you. All the fake smiles and quick, awkward interactions would be worth it then.
What was it about Kevin Moon that made you want to throw that all away?
His pull was enticing, no matter how unintentional, and you found yourself drowning in self doubt. You couldn't just ignore him once school started up again, that would crush him. It would crush you.
"...but if I'd have to choose one, definitely Beyoncé. She's, like, everything I aspire to be and more."
Holding back a chuckle (because people with strep throat can't laugh, can they) you bit your lip. It was almost evening now, hours gone by with the simplest of conversation to spend the time.
I never pegged you as a Beyoncé kind of guy
"That's because you've only ever seen Depressed High School Kevin. Trust me, At Home Bopping to Beyoncé Kevin is a lot more fun to hang out with."
His eyes flickered for a second once he realized the small vulnerable spot he'd just opened to you. Hopefully you'd just brush it off as the regular stressed high school student deal rather than, well…
You knew high school was tough for him because of his soulmate mark, so you decided not to approach that subject. If he wanted to talk about it, he would.
Which Kevin am I with right now?
"Ah." He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling at his shoes. "I don't know, I haven't pulled out this Kevin in… a while."
I like this Kevin
He gawked at the note, so you wrote another.
I'll call him… Likes Bad Coffee Kevin
You expected him to laugh, so when he didn't, you stuck out your bottom lip in a pout. He stuffed that note in his jacket pocket just like he did with all the others, but held the one he was quite obviously ogling gingerly between his fingers.
"One second," he said before turning around. It looked like he was trying to be subtle, but you could clearly tell that he was putting that note in his wallet. You smiled. How cute.
The last time somebody said they liked any version of Kevin was so long ago, he could barely remember. He'd lived alone for such a long time, and even his high school friends before they found out about his mark never let him know. Teenage boys, it was a given with them, really.
The simple words made his heart do somersaults— no, Olympic gymnastics in his chest. He felt like he needed to jump in the snow piles outside just to calm down.
Turning back around, he struggled to meet your eyes. "School… school starts soon. After next week it'll be semester two. Are you ready to go back?"
Oh god, the subject you were dreading.
Is anyone?
"No, I doubt it. But I haven't asked anyone else."
You bit your lip. This was treading on dangerous territory. All you could do was change the subject and hope it sticks.
Can I ask you something?
He read the note, a smile spreading across his lips before he faced you with seriousness oozing from his eyes. "Anything."
With him looking so dead serious, you didn't want to ask just any old question. You did anyway.
Why do you keep drinking our coffee?
He didn't look disappointed at your query, which almost made you sigh in relief. Looking at the empty paper cup on the counter, he answered, "I don't know. I feel like I keep trying it just to see if it will get better, but it really doesn't."
Have you ever tried the coffee next door?
"No, but I'd be willing to if…" he mumbled, making you lean in because you couldn't hear the last half of his sentence. You quirked your eyebrow at him. He was staring at his shoes again, without the smile but just as shy. "If you went with me. Next Friday, when you're feeling better."
Everything crashed down around you. Your ears rang with a fury you'd never experienced before. Nothing could be heard. All you could see was Kevin Moon.
Kevin Moon alone in the halls after you'd abandoned him out of your own shame. Kevin Moon outside at lunch, eating his sandwich in solitude because you were too much of a coward to break away from the suffocating stigma. Kevin Moon sitting by himself at a small oak table in the cafe next door on Friday, waiting for you.
You who had abandoned him, who left him alone to rot. You who had lied to him all this time. You who had no right to make him happy after waiting this long.
The sting of tears at the back of your eyes thrust you back to reality. You choked, so close to saying something and just ending it all right there. But you couldn't. You wouldn't.
Sniffling, you made sure to hold back the tears just long enough. Scribbling at the fastest pace you had, you wrote messily on the paper you had left.
I can't.
He took a moment squinting at you're note, confused with your sudden change of mood and hoping something was wrong with his eyes. "That's… that's okay. I can do Saturday, or Sunday, any day really…"
He trailed off when he saw you shaking your head.
"Why… not?"
You picked up your pen again, bringing it to the paper to explain yourself. There was nothing you could say, was there? Defeated, you dropped the pen and flicked your head back, letting out the deepest heaviest sigh you ever had in your life. With that, you ripped off your vest and grabbed your coat, not even bothering to put it on before rushing outside.
The cold air bit at your skin, hungry in ways you would never understand. Your coworker passed you with a questioning look on their way inside but said nothing. Kevin Moon didn't follow.
Tears, hot and slow, fell from your eyes, contrasting harshly against the winter wind. But eventually, they too froze. Your walk home was silent, the quiet almost suffocating as you waded through it.
When your coworker walked in for their shift, they found a crying boy — or nearly crying, they couldn't tell — at the counter.
Sunday, the last day of holiday freedom before school was to come back and haunt you. Was it always this stifling?
No, you knew why you felt terrible. Why every second that passed by felt longer than the last. In that quaint little convenience store, where the coffee was bad and the candy was overpriced, you knew one thing for sure.
Kevin Moon was never coming back.
That was what you wanted, wasn't it? You spent over a year getting over Kevin Moon, over soulmates. You worked so, so hard. Tomorrow you'll go back to how it always was, with your friends giving him dirty looks as he walked by, with teachers using him as the constant bad example when he wasn't in the room. With him not sparing anyone a glance, including you. That was what you wanted.
So why did your heart ache? Why did it threaten to burst from your rib cage every time you looked at that stupid coffee machine, or at the small pad of sticky notes still sitting innocently by the cash register? Why did you cry yourself to sleep last night?
Kevin Moon. When did the name start bouncing around in your head the same way it did when you were six? It was just like when you were a kid, fantasizing about your mystical soulmate written in the stars, dreaming about them right in front of you.
Every time you looked at that stupid, damned coffee machine you saw him there, pouring himself that same awful cup of coffee.
So when he walked in and strode over there without a glance at you, you truly thought you imagined it.
Not until he was right in front of you, asking for his total—he knew it without needing to say anything at all—did you figure out he was truly there. In the flesh.
His eyes were red and puffy, just like yours when you looked in the mirror that morning. You stared at the details of his face as if he wasn't truly standing there, and you might never see him again. He dropped a couple coins on the counter and sipped his drink.
"You know, I'm actually kind of glad you can't talk right now. You can't interrupt me that way," he said, but you were still just staring, mouth slightly ajar. "I've got things to say, and this time you can't run away from me."
He grabbed the leftover sticky notes from the counter and put them in his pocket. "I've never had a soulmate. I don't know how. I don't know why. What I do know is that ever since I was a kid, people hated me for it. Children are unforgiving little bastards who don't understand what being different is, and adults are barely better. I've never moved schools because my parents thought it wasn't a problem. One day I wrote a fake name on my wrist in permanent marker, just because I wanted it all to stop. Obviously it didn't work. My parents weren't any help so I decided to move out during middle school. They readily gave up custody because they couldn't handle the ridicule from friends and family. Ever since then I've lived alone in a dingy apartment with no accommodations on the bad side of town. It sucked. When I got to high school, I worked so damn hard to keep my wrist hidden, but that fell through within a few months. Do you know how hard it is to go through high school alone? Not even the teachers care. It's awful. It really is." He ran his hand through his hair, taking another desperate gulp of his coffee.
You were about to start writing something on your hand. You didn't know what, but something. He ripped the pen from your grip.
"I'm not done." He took a deep breath. "This past week has been one of the best in my life. You were the first person to actually talk to me in god knows how long and I was happy. I really was. And it's sad because I ruined it all. I came here so damn ecstatic that you would even look in my direction and smile that beautiful smile that I lost myself. You cover your soulmate mark and for once I thought to myself that I could find someone — someone like you — and actually fall in love because god dammit that's all I've ever wanted. But that's not right. You cover your mark because soulmates come with too many ifs. That doesn't mean you've given up on your soulmate. That doesn't mean you'll ever look at me like you'll look at them. I scared you. I scared you and I'm so, so sorry. It's all my fault." He looked like he was about to cry. "Just, please, please, don't hate me for what I did. I don't know what I'll do if I can never talk to you again, if I can never see your smile again. God, I just don't want to lose you because—"
For once in your life, you thought: screw it.
"Kevin Moon!"
Your voice was clear, sharp, like lightning against dark, stormy clouds. It rang in his ears, the way you said his name, and for a moment he was frozen.
Hot, searing pain pierced his skin at the base of his wrist, making him drop his coffee in pure shock. He clutched his wrist and dropped to the floor, the pain screwing his eyes shut as he cried out.
You gasped, running around the counter to meet him crouched down. Tenderly grabbing his shoulders, you asked frantically what was wrong.
He didn't answer, only exhaled when suddenly the pain disappeared as fast as it came. Blinking, he looked up at your face, in your eyes where tears were beginning to form. Slowly, he let go of his wrist, his hand cramped from how hard he had gripped it.
Your name.
Beautiful cursive writing spelled out your name on his skin in white, pearlescent letters.
He gasped at the sight, having given up years ago on ever seeing anyone's name inked on his skin like everyone else he had ever met. The name glittered under the fluorescent lights.
He looked at you, the owner of the name. You weren't even looking at his wrist as much as he wished you would. You stared into his eyes, which only after meeting yours started to spill tears, hands on his cheeks.
"Are you okay?"
More panicked questions flowed from you like a waterfall, but Kevin paid no attention to that. His eyes were overflowing and he could feel his throat constricting. Just looking at you made him that way. His soulmate.
He said nothing, but raised his wrist in front of your face. Your eyes widened at the sight of your name and flicked manically between his soulmate mark and his own eyes, which were starting to clear of tears and fill up with starlight.
A shy smile appeared on your lips as you looked down. With a quiet, quick breath through your nose that was definitely a laugh, you moved up to face him again.
"Kevin Moon," you said, pulling off the band-aid on your wrist. The slight stinging from taking it off too quickly didn't bother you at all. You showed him your wrist, your soulmate mark, with his name that had turned white and pearlescent as soon as you spoke to him, still smiling. "I would love to go to that café with you."