Chapter Text
Okumura Eiji is in love with the concept of soulmates. How can't he be, when he's been surrounded with the idea for as long as he can remember? Films show the anxious excitement leading up to one's eighteenth birthday, books tell stories about the confusion of waking up in someone else's body, and songs fondly recall the first time looking in the mirror and feeling pure love as their eyes took in the face of their soulmate. It's something he's been looking forward to for - God, he doesn't even know. He remembers whispering hopes and wishes about their soulmates late into the night with Chouko, and the faraway look in his mother's eyes as she wistfully retold her swap with his father. One of his friends, a year older than him, had swapped when Eiji was seventeen. She was a sweet, shy girl, and always forgot Eiji's name. Only living half an hour away in the next city over made meeting quick and easy. As soon as they'd met up, the swaps stopped. His friend had smugly refused to tell him anything, despite the pleading.
Now he's older, he's less enthusiastic, snuffing that flame of desperate want into a quieter spark of anticipation. That doesn't stop the butterflies in his stomach the night before, though.
When Eiji celebrates his eighteenth birthday on the thirteenth of August, he’s surrounded by his family's smiling faces. They're almost as excited as he is - more so than usual. After all, there’s a chance he’s the younger soulmate, and will wake up tomorrow in a stranger’s body. All his gifts are soulmate-centred - a pen with ink that was safe for skin, and a notebook specifically for leaving messages as an alternative. Chouko, that little brat, gifts him a good luck charm for love, wiggling her eyebrows as he opens the gift. He thanks her with a side-eyed glare. Later, he shoves it into his desk drawer, hoping his soulmate doesn't get too curious. The postman arrives around midday, along with a handful of letters from extended family. Eiji tries to ignore the money in the card as he reads their messages, all mentioning his soulmate in some way or another.
Lying in bed that night, Eiji desperately tries not to think about his soulmate, so he can get some decent sleep. The alarm clock reads on in the morning. His mind's stuck on one train of thought, and in his exhausted state, he wonders if he even has a soulmate. Maybe they died a long time ago? Eiji slaps his palms over his eyes, pushing hard - they're not dead, if they were dead I would feel it. I would know. He silently berates himself for thinking such a thing. Curling in on himself, he takes slow, deep breaths, slowing down his heartbeat... finally drifting off.
He’s torn out of his sleep the next day when his excitement resurfaces, only to look in the mirror and see a familiar face reflecting his disappointment back at him.
Ash Lynx couldn't care less about soulmates. His father once told him - drunk and not in the mood to be a parent that day - he was unloveable, so that was that. Most of the time he doesn't think about them - he's too busy trying not to die, there isn't any time to entertain frivolous daydreams.
(There was a time when he could. When Griffin would sit Aslan on his lap and tell him stories about brave knights and rescued princesses, of soulmates and finding the one. He never asked why Griffin had never swapped. He's not sure he would've liked the answer.)
Every once in a while, in the quiet of restless nights, Ash allows himself to think about it. Just for a little while. He hopes for his soulmate's sake, that they're dead, but he knows it isn't true. Sometimes he feels guilty wishing death upon someone he's supposed to hold near and dear, but he'd rather kill them himself than have them live a day as Ash Lynx, who has countless targets carved onto his back.
As he approaches eighteen - a few days away now, with early August bringing in heatwaves - it becomes harder to ignore. Ash finds himself thinking about his soulmate more often than he likes to admit - and it's pissing him off. His soulmate clogs his brain and slows down his thought process - he needs his critical thinking to stay alive, goddamn. He can't let this go on or he'll end up dead in a ditch by the end of the week.
Dino’s insistence on his visits certainly don’t help. He shows up on some indiscriminate day of the month with as much attitude he can muster. Ash has never been explicitly told why he’s forced to attend stupid brunches and answer questions like it’s a watered-down interview, but he does have a solid guess. With his birthday being on the twelfth, and the meetings being held roughly twice a month, it’s obvious that he’s keeping an eye out for his soulmate, looking to snuff them out as soon as the inevitable happens. It terrifies Ash, but he has no idea what to do about it yet.
The questions Dino asks him he answers with ease - of course he does, how the hell could he forget? When he receives a kiss for his trouble - as if it’s some sick reward - Ash hopes the universe doesn’t play another cruel trick and give him one of those disgusting bastards as his soulmate. It’s unlikely, but in a moment of bitter cynicism, it’s all he can think of.
Out of options and hoping to find some way to console himself, Ash gives Shorter a time and place. Huddled over their drinks, he quietly proposes a plan. If Skip wakes him up one day and finds it isn't Ash that's in his body, he'll find Shorter as fast as possible and tell him he needs help with homework, or whatever. (Skip had protested this at first - why'd you have to make me sound like a baby?) Shorter must then keep his eye on his soulmate at all times, no matter what. He pauses before giving the last part - a childish part of Ash wants to meet his soulmate one day. Shaking his head, he dismisses those hopeful thoughts. This is his life, and he'll be stuck in this hell until the day he finally dies. Shorter can't, under any circumstances, disclose any information about Ash. Of course, he can't conceal the obvious - his face, where he lives - but if Shorter shelters them enough, his soulmate won't learn his name, his job, or the specifics of his location. Shorter asks what he gets out of it. You get the privilege of being my friend, Ash responds, and they laugh as if it's a lighthearted joke and not painfully true - as if a higher number of allies doesn’t mean an increased chance of survival.
Collapsing into bed, Ash half-heartedly kicks off one shoe before deciding it's not worth the effort. He throws a thin blanket over himself, ignoring the chill setting in his bones because the radiator never works in this cheap-ass apartment. He sends a quick text - well, as quick as he can be on a flip phone - to Shorter. Don't forget. Sighing, he rolls onto his back and tries to think of nothing as he falls into a restless sleep.