Work Text:
“Well, it’s not like I have a soulmate anyways.”
Mike traces the doodles on his arm, spacing out. Norton doesn’t know what exactly compels him to ask; he shouldn’t pry, or dig a deeper hole than he already has. Still, the words spill out of his mouth before he has a chance to forget them.
“Then why do you still draw?” Mike glances at Norton with a faraway look in his eyes, humming quietly. It’s a terrible look, so unlike the hyper student Norton’s come to know. He wants to break that distance, has to stop himself from reaching across the café table. “On your arms, I mean.”
“It’s kind of a habit now. I guess there’s also something nice in believing there’s someone meant for you, out there.”
Norton's brows furrow. “But doesn’t that mean you don’t have a choice?”
“A choice?”
“Y’know, if you want to be with someone like that. What if you don’t want to?”
Mike smiles, shaking his head. “I used to question whether something was wrong with me, because I never got an answer back. No matter how much I tried-” Mike sighs. “But that’s not the point. Not everyone has a fairytale ending, so you shouldn’t feel obligated to force one if you don’t want it.”
“Right…” Norton fidgets with his coat sleeves, messes with the loose threads. The jacket was thrifted, a pastime he picked up in high school. Wrongly assuming that body concealer wouldn’t smudge had cost him a pretty expensive sweater, and in his desperation to cover-up he decided it was better to start wearing hand-me-downs. If he stained them frequently (and he did, until he got smarter with application) it wouldn’t matter because they were already torn up.
Unlike clothing, he prefers to buy all of his makeup products online. After years of experimenting, he knows his shades and which brands work for him the most, so it's rare that he makes a bad purchase. He used to shop in person, but retail workers always assumed that he was trying to get rid of his scar. They would give him looks of pity, as if selling concealers just became their biggest moral dilemma yet, and Norton hated it. He’s used to the staring, but he’ll draw the line at 30 minute consultations that should’ve been 3 minute recommendations, thank you very much. Norton already knows he isn’t a looker, but he has no interest in covering up his burns. The skin is too damaged in the first place, so any makeup would look too caked on. If he wants to strike it rich, he can’t be burdened by something so small.
He can’t be tied down by something stupid like fate, either. His soulmarkless skin is a symbol of that defiance. A symbol of pride.
“Sorry. I must be boring you with this talk.” Mike looks down into his drink.
Norton fixates on the blonde’s arms. If he didn’t know any better, Mike would look like some kind of art major. Drawings all over his skin, bright and unabashed- a symbol of persistence. Norton’s chest hurts suddenly, a sharp pain that causes him to gasp quietly. He closes his eyes, doesn’t need to see Mike to know what’s on his skin.
“Mike… I-”
“Really! I understand.” Mike scratches his neck. “I uh, think I have to go now anyways. I’ll make it up to you next time, alright?” He picks up his drink and exits in such a hurry that Norton barely gets in a see you later as Mike walks out the door.
There’s a moment of stillness before he deflates, covers his eyes with his hands and breathes in slowly. Get a grip Campbell, you can’t climb the ladder with a heart that sways easily! The ache dulls as he focuses on his breathing, and soon enough he's noticing the music playing from the wall speakers instead. He doesn’t recognize the song, but then again he doesn’t pay close attention to pop culture. Mike would probably know if he asked.
Ugh. Shooting up out of his seat, Norton throws his drink out and leaves the café. No more overthinking. Mike’s a romanticist, letting him know the truth without any intention to get along would hurt him… and uh, ruin Norton’s rep. That too.
He won’t find out. Norton won’t let it happen.
His boots thud loudly as he walks back to the dorms. At the first red streetlight, he takes out his phone and sends Mike a text asking about the song he heard. When the light turns green, he shoves his phone in his pocket, tells himself he was just curious. There’s no harm in asking, no harm in reaching out a little less than halfway.