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It’s common knowledge that every person on the planet has to have a soulmate.
Keiji grew up with his mother reminding him every day that when he’d reach sixteen years of age, a small tattoo would appear on the inside of his left wrist with the first name of his soulmate, and when he’d finally meet the person, the tattoo would turn the color of their eyes.
It was the one thing he was never allowed not to believe in, the one thing that was forced into his brain so much he clung to it in his darkest moments.
Tetsurou grew up dreaming of the day he’d get his tattoo, hoping, knowing in his heart that it would immediately turn amber.
What he was most afraid of was never coming to love the person that he was destined to be with; he wanted to believe in the promise of soulmates, he wanted to believe his mother left because she had a soulmate out there that she needed to be with rather than his father, who wasn’t hers.
He needed to believe that she didn’t leave because of him.
Koutarou never doubted he would find the most amazing soulmate, a perfect fit for him, someone who could compliment his highest qualities and love his deepest flaws, someone who he could just be happy with.
The excitement of knowing someone like that existed in the world, waiting for him, made him always want to be the best version of himself, to be worthy of this faceless, nameless person.
Kenma never believed in the myth of soulmates; his parents were soulmates, married and had a child, but as long as he could remember, they were never in love.
He never abandoned this disbelief, even after he met Kuroo and the boy kept on insisting soulmates were real and they would both find one and be happy – Kenma’s heart clenched a bit every time his best friend said that.
Keiji has just gotten to high school when he sees Bokuto for the first time. He instinctively thinks he has just seen a star cross the midnight sky.
That night, he dreams there’s a closed eye on his wrist and when it opens, it’s gold and shiny, looking at him like a promise. He wakes up with a smile on his face and a new, heavy hope in his chest.
Tetsurou is a first year when he meets Bokuto for the first time, at training camp. It’s summer, the heavy warm air permeating the volleyball gym making them sweat buckets and fatigue faster.
They get along so well it feels like two puzzle pieces fitting together, with their shared inside jokes and deep midnight conversations about nothing and everything at once.
Koutarou comes to know Kuroo like the back of his hand, like two people who’ve known each other their whole life, just one summer.
He learns his fears, his dreams, his passions, the curve of his hands and the dimples on his back – he acts like he’s not ogling when Kuroo takes off his shirt in the locker rooms. It feels so weird and so right, Koutaro feels like maybe, maybe he has find that one person he was waiting for, the one.
Then Kuroo tells him about his childhood friend.
Kenma just wants to freeze time, to never reach sixteen years, to never have to witness the appearance of any tattoo on his skin.
He hates the idea of being bound to someone by an invisible force, something out of his control. He fears the prospect of having some stranger full of expectations show up one day and presume to become the most important thing in his life, to steal his time and want his efforts.
He just can’t accept that from anyone; not anyone, but maybe if it was him…
Keiji is waiting for the practice match to start when he notices that Bokuto is more distracted than usual, constantly glancing at the other side of the net, specifically at the tall captain with the bed hair and the smaller setter by his side. He looks contemplative, deep in his thoughts in a way he has rarely seen him.
When the match ends and they shake hands with the opponents, Keiji can’t help but be guarded with the middle blocker.
His hand fits in the other’s perfectly somehow; he shivers when Kuroo smirks at him and lets go after a long moment of just staring at each other through the net.
He immediately dubs him “pain-in-the-ass Kuroo-san”.
Tetsurou is almost sixteen when he finds himself praying harder than ever that the kanji on his wrist will be the same he pronounces every day when he calls for his best friend.
He doesn’t know what will be of him is it’s not him, if Kenma is not his soulmate – maybe though, even then, something would be missing (deep blue eyes, grey hair, broad shoulders, slender hands…). He doesn’t want to be like his mother.
When his birthday comes, his hopes shatter.
Koutarou is waiting the midnight of his birthday with his sisters when suddenly, a wave of nausea pervades him and he unconsciously gets the need to hear Akaashi’s voice, to ground him and reassure him in a way his sisters, just as boisterous as him, have never been able to do.
He reaches for the phone and almost, almost makes the call, when the clock strikes midnight and his eyes immediately rush to check his wrist.
His phone falls from his hands.
Kenma does not like Bokuto, for as much as Kuroo spouts compliments about him, he’s just too loud for him – he will never admit to the sudden warmth spreading through his veins every time Bokuto smiles with that candor of his.
In the locker rooms, though, when Bokuto turns, his face falls and Kenma notices him rubbing the bandages covering his wrist. He wonders which name is written on his skin, he wishes, perhaps irrationally, he could unveil that secret the ace seems to be keeping so dear.
Kenma also sees he’s not the only one with that desire, sees icy blue eyes carefully glancing at the same spot, something akin to brokenhearted acceptance in them.
Keiji knows he’s not Bokuto’s soulmate. If he was, he would have known by now, Bokuto would have told him, would have showed him.
He loves too much these days though, too much for his hopes to die, too much to be able to finally kill that childlike believe he’d always held on to. He still hopes maybe his soulmate will be Bokuto, even if Keiji’s not his; he still hopes he’ll see hazel on his skin, or cat-like gold.
Perhaps all three.
In a perfect world, all three would be there.
The world, though, is far from a perfect place; he learns that undoubtedly when the midnight comes. His mother has never looked more disappointed.
Tetsurou sees the way Akaashi and Kenma seem to connect, their silent conversations, the way their eyes follow each other on the court, a constant private competition between the two setters, the text messages that make Kenma’s eyes light up like few other things can.
Tetsurou also notices that Kenma allows Bokuto to touch him, sometimes even searching that contact himself, burrowing himself into Bokuto’s side in search of warmth, of comfort, of a simple hug – he knows Kou’s hugs are the best ones.
He’s not jealous in the least, he loves to see what have become the most important people in his life love each other just as much. He knows, though, he could never be included. And he’s made his peace with that; as long as they’re happy, he will be as well.
Koutarou, contrary to popular belief, can be observant when he puts his mind to it. He does not fail to notice the sidelong glances that Akaashi and Kuroo share, nor the lingering touches they leave on each other’s skin almost unconsciously, their lengthy conversations about famous books and manga they’ve read – he too knows some of them, but they always look so absorbed in each other in those moments, he almost never intervenes, electing to watch their enthusiasm from a comfortable spot next to Kenma while this one plays some videogame in silence.
He just hopes they’ll get to be together, Kenma too, together like he thinks they’re meant to be, like he wishes he was. He’s content with spending as much time with them like this as he can, as long as this dream lasts.
Kenma is sitting on the floor of his room in a heap of blankets when the clock signals he’s sixteen years old.
Kuroo is splayed on the bed behind him, his wrist covered by a large band-aid as usual; he has his eyes closed, as if he was asleep, but his breathing is irregular, his fingers twitching at his side. Kenma looks at Kuroo’s side profile instead of his wrist, he hears the ping of an incoming text message on his phone (no doubts Bokuto asking for news), he can feel the heaviness of the air surrounding them like lead on his skin.
Finally, Kuroo opens his eyes and turns his head towards him, meeting his own gaze, a silent request, a silent answer.
Kenma doesn’t feel different, but when he checks his wrist, everything changes.
The cold light of the stars shines through the window, a tear falls on bare skin.
The night breeze lightly caresses the branches of the tall trees all around them, singing through the leaves and reaching their secluded spot on the roof, bringing melodies of freedom to their ears.
The four of them lay together on smuggled blankets, hands close to each other and eyes on the starry, bright ceiling above them.
No one speaks, lest they break this precarious equilibrium they’ve created, lest they create a collision they can’t undo. It’s been going on for some time now, the silence. They’ve grown used to it, thrived in it.
Love is a fragile thing, a heart of glass, four of them, placed in a crystal case. Manage them carelessly, and they shatter irreparably.
Hope is even more so. And truth, truth is the most careless of creatures.
“Who are your soulmates then?”
Incredibly, it’s Kenma who speaks up first; he doesn’t turn his head towards the others, just keeps looking at the sky.
“What?” whispers Bokuto from beside him, staring at Kenma’s lips as if they were about to reveal the universe’s secrets.
Akaashi turns to lock eyes with Kuroo, something akin to fear in his eyes, buried deep in a sea of ice; Kuroo feels himself sinking under the waves, but he doesn’t look away.
Kenma sighs and gets in a seated position. He’s still looking above when he says, “I personally don’t care, but you three obviously do, so let’s just do this.”
Silence falls once again, only the sound of the cicadas filling the air.
Bokuto opens his mouth to answer, to finally come out and say it, the secret he’s been carrying for so long, to let out the weight in his chest and free his lungs. But something stops him, fear, perhaps. He’s not as brave as he thought.
A shadow rises beside him. Akaashi. He gets up, walks to the edge of the rooftop and holds on tight to the railing, until his knuckles visibly pale even in the darkness. Then his fingertips reach for the end of the bandages on his wrist and, without hesitation, slowly, he starts undoing them.
The gauzes fall to the ground. None of the other three boys can see what’s written on his skin – now they’re all seated, tense muscles and sharp eyes, hunched forwards.
Akaashi finally turns towards them, the stars reflecting in his eyes and lighting them up like fireworks, a single tear threatening to fall. It won’t fall, though, Akaashi won’t let it.
“I don’t have one,” he says, voice firm. “I don’t have a soulmate.”
His wrist now shows bare skin, not a single drop of ink on it, ethereal underneath the starlight.
Kenma sighs and then he starts laughing, a real laugh that cuts the tension and travels with the wind like music to their ears.
Soon, Bokuto starts laughing too, contagious as always; he falls back on the blankets, trying to calm himself.
Kuroo exchanges a glance with Akaashi and immediately, they start cackling too, Kuroo purposely falling on top of Bokuto, while Akaashi’s knees give out under him.
“I- I don’t have a soulmate either,” breathes out Kenma, once he has regained a semblance of composure.
He rips off the band-aid on his wrist, and Kuroo and Bokuto quickly do the same, exclaiming at the same time, “Me neither!”
Eventually, they find themselves all splayed out on the blankets once again, half on top of each other. Kuroo rests his head on Bokuto’s stomach while Akaashi snuggles between the two of them and Kenma drapes himself over Bokuto’s arm, lightly caressing Kuroo’s hair.
For once, the silence is all but oppressive, it smells like laughter, tears of joy, like stardust, like freedom.
“I think it’s destiny!” Bokuto blurts out at last, “That we’re all without a tattoo, I mean. I think this is the universe’s way of saying we’re meant to be together, all four of us.”
Akaashi chuckles softly in Kuroo’s arms, hugging Bokuto closer. “I don’t think it matters anymore. I didn’t need a soulmate after all, not if it wasn’t you guys.”
“But it does! It matters to me! I’ve waited all my life to meet my soulmates, and when I met you, I knew it was you, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be yours in return.”
“I waited for you too, and here you are, my lovers, the stars of my life,” chimes in Kuroo, half-serious, gaining a jab in the ribs from Akaashi.
Kenma, who’d stayed silent until now, admiring the pitch-black sky above them, studded with constellations, speaks softly, “I never once believed in soulmates, I still don’t, but I do believe in us.” His fingertips brush against Akaashi’s hand, Kuroo’s forehead, Bokuto’s cheek. He smiles, a devilish, angelic smile. “And you are the stars of my life.”
The rest of the night is spent sharing delicate, tentative kisses that fill their heart and mend their broken souls, trying to point out constellations and laughing like children.
They find themselves in each other’s arms, in the safety and excitement of what they know will be their first and last love.
In a universe where your soulmate is determined by the stars, they were born under a phantom constellation with bare skin on their wrists, in a galaxy where they got to choose each other.
"This is my first time doing this, please don't judge me.”
Kuroo once again retracts his arm from the needle, holding it close to his chest. “Why don’t you go first, Kenma?”
“Because I am not afraid, so maybe I’d like to wait for you to do it before we all do and you chicken out,” answers the boy sitting in the corner of the small couch by the window, playing on his phone.
Kuroo sighs loudly, freeing his forearm from his own iron hold and handing it again to the tattoo artist. “Fine, fine, just do it.”
“You can do it, babe, I believe in you!” encourages Bokuto from beside Kenma, excitement coursing through his veins. “And then it’s my turn!”
Akaashi just stands silently beside Kuroo, a soothing hand on his nape, caressing his hair and whispering supportive words in his ear.
The tattoo artist quickly finishes tattooing Kuroo’s wrist thanks to the others’ calming presence, and even he admits that the pain is not as bad as he feared – considering the size of the tattoo, he really should have known.
Each of them watches with bated breath the needle working on their skin, leaving behind the only tattoo that would ever be on their wrist. Shiny ink paints little tokens of their love.
When they get out of the shop, the sun shimmers on their left wrists.
On their formerly bare skin, three stars now glow, three stars of different colors, each with one of their lovers’ eye color. Together they form a constellation of blazing, euphoric lights that guide their paths towards each other like a red string of fireflies.
They travel that untouched road together, a path they made for themselves, in the middle of the night, like a lucid dream they never want to leave, a safe heaven they built on their own. And they know, despite the words of the universe, they are meant to be, for they had the courage to change the trajectory of the stars and capture them.