Chapter Text
Soulmates were deemed to be a necessity though, Zak hated the idea.
Why pin yourself to someone so easily, stick to them like glue without knowing a single fact about the breathing cell, not even the date they were born on, favourite colour, preferred season, nothing. Like, simple information that occurs from the small talk drafted from the wether.
It was a huge jump in a relationship, a ravine, as Zak would commonly refer to it as. It was as if they had signed an unbreakable agreement at birth, the little hands and smaller —not yet developed— brain incapable of making such large decisions but it would instantly be frowned upon by societies expectations if you hadn’t jumped into the arms of your planned out lover after meeting their gaze with yours.
Zak thought it was utterly crazy to do so, sometimes —talking out of his friends’ experiences— had the soulmates instantly jumped into each other’s arms and pressing their lips together without even exchanging the most basic information like names.
He was constantly accused of being envious of such lovers but it was so far front the truth. He found it revolting to hear that someone believed he wanted that for himself, it was in fact, incredibly unimaginable even if he stretched his mind out of the voids of his own comfort zone.
And so, with that, he found himself constantly hiding the truth of his possible lover, no, soulmate. Zak refused to call the person on the other side of wherever they were located a possible lover. Even the words felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch in his own brain, an uncomfortable nuisance.
The patch of skin hadn’t seen the sunlight in what could be measured in possible years. Caused by Zak’s underlying worrisome thoughts that he couldn’t quite reach, he never even wanted to attempt to reach them, far too comfortable in his current position to even consider changing his normal for some human that was matched perfectly with him, what whatever reason that always went unknown.
Friends and slightly know acquaintances —meaning Zak had encountered one, short conversation with the being— would often brag or show off their mate to the boy but he never found himself interested enough to know the others name. Walking away and pulling the fabric that covered the black stitching on his skin —matching his soulmates most recent thoughts— unknown and locked away, the way he preferred it.
Many found themselves asking him the personal question that stated of the few words ‘Why are you so afraid of them?’ and to that, Zak found it simple and easy to come up with a response, simply listing that he didn’t give a single shit in the world about some person who was meant for him, he needed himself, his own thoughts and a few friends, and that was the way it would stay, the way he liked it —the way it had been for years— and it would continue to stay that way. Well, until now.
“Zaaaaaak!” The call was simple, easily distinguished for Zak to figure out the simple riddle of why his name was being called from another’s lips. The name came out dragged, the a becoming more than just the simple letter ‘a’ which only led from one voice, his sister. Her tone was needy and in search of annoying him, for what reason he went still searching for yet, it was easy to assume that her intentions were just to be a bother.
Zak had been home for a slight period of time, finally released from the building that was so mocking, restraining and overall the opposite of enjoyable. Many would disagree, those commonly being the students whose hobbies were to collect friends from the crowded hallway like a criminal re-earning their trust on the law enforcement, commonly by participating in slightly useless community services that consisted of picking up the litter that lined the edges of the sidewalk.
It was stupidly obvious of what these popular students did this for, status. Their intentions build solely on the fact that bending down to attempt picking up the books that littered themselves on the ground —scattered in a result of a sad, unreasonably popular jock knocking them out if their hands— was something that was admired and praised profusely by other fellow students and the teachers who gained their titles of off a flimsy piece of paper.
A repetitive knocking at his door is what broke the endless stare that was directed at the crisp, white painted door. Taking him by a surprise that turned into more of a slight jump in his own skin.
“Yes?” Zak began, the speech becoming closely to pointless as his sister was already striding through the doorway leaving it a creep open in her path. A light at the end of the strangely warm house being present, a small flicker emitted from the weak yellow bulb which was gaining heat from its job being a constant, the light went soon un-noticed when it was covered by a towering height, his attention bringing back to the girl.
She tumbled over his body causing a slight grunt of not just surprise but in much need to express his discomfort of the sudden bodyweight, also making his breathing become ragged with lack of space. Her hands repeated a grabbing motion, tussling at the edged of his sleeve which covered the unknown. He resented against the pull despite it gaining strength the more he resisted.
“Give me your arm!” She said with a slight giggle lining the speech making it more of a silly remark more than a question, still continuing to pull at the baby blue sweater.
“No! Wait, what are you even doing?” His sister, still out of her mind giggling at nothing in particular, refused to give up, the light pull was now turning into more of a tug, pulling the fabric down just slightly to reveal the edge of black writing. Just from spotting the edge of a letter, Skeppy immediately brought his unoccupied arm up to pull down the fabric. On the other hand, the dark shade of writing only made Sam more eager to reveal more.
It was like a tug of war with the comforting fabric, cloth itching against his skin from the constant brush that soon turned from a pleasant fuzz to more like carpet burn.
“Sam stop!” He reminded, as if the constant restraints wasn’t enough of a hint that he was uncomfortable with the tugging.
“I’m not kidding!” Her eyes flickered to the mop that lied upon the boys head, eyes instantly widening in both sockets.
“NO! Don’t even think- OW OW OW STOP!” Even with the pain of the black locks dealing with the slight sensation of a tug, much like the familiar one on his arm that has suddenly stopped when Sam had found a new entertainment to aggravate her brother. Zak let out a relieved sigh from the reassurance that the hidden soulmate would stay locked up in the vault of his jacket but even that wasn’t long-lasting before he let out a shriek as her hands began to attack his neck making him erupt into a burst of giggles.
While he was distracted with the new issue of getting his sister to stop her antics, he removed his hand from the hoodie and brought them up to push her away, attempts a mess from his constant loop of giggles and shrieks.
A yank, short brush of fabric that could ruin everything he had ever built up to hide and it did.
It could have been seen as impossible to ignore the neat font that was printed like a tattoo on his skin, carefully printed in an impossibly but strangely easy to read handwriting, soft print, not familiar, not like any he’d ever seen before it was uncommon, rare and most importantly, pretty.
It was known that your soulmates handwriting would be printed as well as the recent thoughts. Though Zak had never thought about it, he never thought he would need to. The font was one you’d see as an old war letter, man sending love home back to his spouse, written in the deep depths of a bunker.
It was writing he had never encountered in real life before, it looked old...
It was the words printed on his skin that was most alarming though, handwriting disregarded after he had read the word ‘war’.
‘I’m scared about the war.’
War?
And there was the feeling of a magnet that had been described on a daily bases, the feeling many would describe when you read the first words of your soulmate on your arm. All Zak could explain it as, though, was the feeling of wanting to respond, like he needed to. Like he wanted a lover.
That feeling was new, but there’s always a first time for everything, right?