Work Text:
The mark on Haru’s left palm does not match that of her fiancé.
While he has a small, rounded birthmark nestled comfortably in the crook of his elbow, she has one that spans the entire length of her palm. It sinks into the lines of her palms like ink, fanning out toward every finger. One only has to shake her hand to know that she and Sugimura are… incompatible at best.
It’s not an uncommon occurrence in the business world, where love and marriage are synonymous with deals and transactions, but usually it’s not so obvious. Sometimes the women will get tattoos to better match their partner’s marks, or they’ll use concealer to hide their own. Unfortunately, neither are really an option for her, since Sugimura wouldn’t debase himself to get such an ugly tattoo, even on a harmless place like his shoulder or wrist, and Haru wouldn’t be able to shake any hands without smudging everyone she touches with concealer.
The date of their wedding looms closer, and each day threatens to swallow her whole. She’s been offered many solutions to hide her birthmark, each more unpleasant than the last.
For now, she keeps it wrapped in a bandage so no one can see. The excuse is always different. I hurt myself gardening. I cut my palm cooking. It got infected from last week. I sprained something.
No one really believes her—and they have no reason to. The only people that hide their marks like that are teenage girls ashamed of their soulmates and by proxy themselves. Girls like her only have a few years before they graduate to gloves, scarves, and face masks as a permanent staple of their wardrobe and, in more extreme cases, cosmetic surgery.
With how Haru’s future is looking, the latter might still be on the table.
At least she’s lucky in its placement. Some girls have their marks on their faces, others on their necks. Those are harder to get rid of permanently, but she’s seen it done.
More than anything, she feels sorry for whatever person has her matching birthmark. It must hurt to be left without a soulmate, to be stuck forever searching for someone who never had a chance to choose them.
The door to the roof swings open, and Haru pops to her feet on instinct. She knows how unlikely it is to be anyone but Akira and Mako-chan, but she’s never able to shake the mounting fear that one of these days, it’ll be Sugimura that bursts through that door.
“Hi, Akira.” She stands up a little straighter. “I’m sorry, but the carrots won’t be ready until Thursday.”
“I know.” He has a soda in each hand, one of which he offers to her. “The machine accidentally gave me two.”
“Oh, thank you!” Though that still doesn’t explain why he sought her out. Surely Ryuji would be a better choice, wouldn’t he? “Is there something I can help you with?”
When he’s this close, it’s almost as if fate is mocking her. She gets to see the birthmark on his cheek—the pattern identical to hers, though he’d never know it—on full display as she takes the bottle from his hand.
She remembers the buzz around school those first few weeks. He didn’t bother to hide his birthmark, so people saw it rather quickly. Girls with birthmarks on their hands were in a frenzy, asking whoever had the information about its placement, size, coloration—all until they could breathe a giant sigh of relief that his soulmate wasn’t them. After all, who would want a delinquent like him?
The answer is Haru. She knew she was a goner from the second she saw him—before she’d even known they had matching birthmarks. All it took was one look at his dark curls and long lashes for her to fall for him, and every new thing she learned only made her fall further. His coolness in the face of danger, his desire to help those in need, the fact that he did everything he could to bring Mona-chan home and save Haru from being married off.
“I wanted to check on you,” Akira says. He puts his bag on the nearest table, and that’s when she realizes Mona-chan is suspiciously absent from his bag. Is he out exploring? “You’ve been quiet in meetings lately.”
Quiet. Here she thought she’d been putting on a good enough mask, but it seems like it hadn’t been enough. The past few weeks have put everything so dangerously off-kilter, she no longer has any gauge for how well she’s performing socially.
Her father hasn’t been dead a month, she’s found herself a member of one of the most hated groups in Japan, and the threat of an arranged marriage still looms over her head.
But no, she has to look put together. The Phantom Thieves are her friends, and that means that more than ever, she doesn’t want to bother them with her problems. They have so much more on their plates than her increasingly desperate situation.
“Hey.” Two hands brace against her shoulders, and she blinks, suddenly aware that she and Akira are chest to chest. He leans in, voice rough with concern. “Can I hug you?”
She blinks, realizing too late that there are tears in her eyes. That’s been happening more than she cares to admit lately. She’ll just get lost in thought and the next thing she knows, she’s sobbing as images of her father’s death flash through her mind.
“I’m sorry for making you worry about me,” Haru answers, thumbing at the corners of her eyes.
“Don’t be.” Akira dares a glance at her bandaged hand. His hands linger on her shoulders. “Your cuts still haven’t healed?”
Haru blinks, trying to remember the excuse she used last. Had she lied and said it was infected yet? She wasn’t used to having so many people aware of her injuries yet, especially those who seemed so concerned with her wellbeing. “Uh, I guess not…” she answers lamely.
His eyes harden. She knows that look. Now that he’s zeroed in on a concrete way to help, there’s little she can do to stop him. “Let me help.”
“Oh! That’s not necessary, thank you.” None of the Phantom Thieves have seen her birthmark. They know it doesn’t match her fiancé’s, but anything more than that is a mystery to them.
“Really, it’s fine. I have extra bandages.” Akira is already back over at his bag, fishing out the aforementioned bandages.
While part of her wants to recoil and run, another equally loud part of her is overcome with an insatiable curiosity. If he were to see her birthmark, how would he react? Would it change everything? Or worse, would it change nothing at all?
“No, I mean—” Haru cuts herself off. “It’s not what you think—I mean…” How is she supposed to say this without saying this? “I’m not really injured. And I don’t think you’ll like what you see.”
Akira hesitates. She can see it flash in his eyes, the confusion, and for a second, it’s like he can see right through her.
“It can’t be that bad.” He carefully unwinds her bandages, stained with dirt and muck. Even if she doesn’t have any open cuts, it probably wouldn’t be good for her to be wearing dirty bandages.
She doesn’t have the courage to tell him, so she sits back, her face in an apologetic grimace as she waits for him to piece together the inevitable conclusion.
She can tell the exact moment Akira realizes her birthmark is identical to his. He slows to a halt, his hand still half-poised to pick up the bandages on the table.
Haru lets her fingers close into a loose fist, like if she hides her birthmark, they can just pretend he never saw it. “I’m sorry…” Why she’s apologizing, she isn’t sure, but it feels like something she should do.
How must it feel to be on the other side of this realization, to learn that your soulmate can never be yours? That the person that’s perfect for you knows she has to marry another man for the good of her company. Haru scans his face, looking for signs of disappointment, annoyance, resentment. Maybe he’ll just get up and leave. She’s seen business associates walk out for less.
“Well, this is embarrassing.” Akira peels open her fingers, rubbing his thumb over the pattern. “One of us is going to have to go home and change.”
She doesn’t know what comes over her, what prompts her to cup his cheek, but her palm slots so perfectly against the curve of his face, it feels like fate.
She’s always loved listening to the theories about soulmate birthmarks. Some say it’s where they touch you that makes you fall in love for the first time, or that it’s the part of you you’ll touch them with the most. Some say it’s the part of you that’s theirs.
Haru never believed them until now.
Akira turns into her touch, so that the pad of her thumb brushes over his upper lip. She can see slices of his birthmark through her fingers, and now that they’re not perfectly matched up, it somehow feels even better, like it’s okay that things aren’t perfectly in place. His face is warm in patches but cold in others, so she wonders if he’s eating right. Or maybe it’s just cold out. She’s never been bothered by the chilly winds that blow through the roof.
While she wants to pull away, apologize, give back his precious personal space, her body remains locked in place. The gap has been bridged, and now that she knows the creature comforts of his touch, she can’t force herself to part with it.
Akira moves slowly, testing unnavigated waters. She’s seen him like this before, when they’re scouting out new areas in a Palace or maneuvering around unsuspecting Shadows in Mementos. His eyes are alert, his body tense. While he doesn’t want to rush into danger, he doesn’t want to sit still either. So he acts.
He raises his left hand, carefully turning his palm up, and cups her cheek the same way she’s cupping his.
His fingers are cold, sending sparks and electricity and friction and heat throughout her face. It feels like something she shouldn’t want, and that’s why she leans into it. His thumb strokes over the top of her cheekbone.
It’s so easy to lean into his touch, to mimic the way he leaned into hers. She can’t remember the last time someone touched her so gently, but it’s probably been years.
She hadn’t realized how much she missed it.
“You knew.” It’s not a question.
The hand cupping her cheek only makes the heat in her face feel that much more intense. “I really am sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” On a whim, his free hand slips into place over hers, as if to hold her hand in place against his cheek.
Need surges in her. Suddenly touching his cheek just isn’t enough. She needs to know how it feels to be held, to feel his lips against her own. “Is it too forward to ask if I can kiss you?”
Akira grins, the muscles of his face twitching under her hand. “Dreams really do come true.”
What is that supposed to mean?
He leans down, and suddenly both her hands are cupping his face, sliding down to his neck, stroking his Adam’s apple. She wants to memorize the feel of his skin, to lock the memory up deep inside so she never has to go without knowing again.
The kiss ends, and Akira rests her forehead against hers, his hands still cupping her face. Haru lets her eyes slip shut in contentment. She could stay this way forever, and she might just if she had the chance. Did she really need her hands? What better purpose did they have other than holding Akira?
He pulls away, leaving an ache in her chest she can only compare to hunger.
“Sorry, it’s my back,” he explains, and only then does she realize it can’t be comfortable for him to have to crouch like that.
“It’s okay.” Before she can stop herself, she wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes, drinking in the sound of his heartbeat. His heart beats swift and strong, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think the leader of the Phantom Thieves might just be nervous. “Is this alright?”
Akira wraps his arms around her shoulders, and from the way he tilts his head, he might ignore the pain in his back to nuzzle the top of her head. But thankfully, he settles for running his fingers through her hair. The last thing she wants is him hurting himself on her account.
He doesn’t ask what she plans to do with Sugimura, knowing it isn’t as simple as saying no. She has her company, her employees, to think about, and even she doesn’t have a clear-cut answer.
It doesn’t matter. None of it does. They’re soulmates.
And as long as they have each other, they’ll find a way.