Work Text:
Your name is Kanaya Maryam and goddamn this traffic is taking forever. 8:40 am, fifteen minutes late.
You look down at your arm and scratch, you always look at it whenever you’re in your car. Black handwriting scribbled across your left forearm. It itches whenever you drive and it makes you nervous just thinking about it. Only eight words, the words of your soulmate, it is only eight words but the potential context of the sentence has scared you ever since the day it appeared on your arm when you were eight years old.
You remember the morning when you first saw the words on your left arm. You woke up to find black ink scrawled out in the handwriting of your future soulmate, messy and barely legible. Eight was a bit early to get your mark, typically most people got it at ten but there were early bloomers. At the moment you were too excited to actually read it and ran down to your mother to tell her the news proudly presenting your newly inked arm. Your mother being one of the rare cases of people without a soulmate was glad to see her daughter have something so many looked forward to, but when she turned to see it her face changed from happiness to motherly concern.
Your sister on the other hand laughed and said your soulmate must be a real charmer.
Your sister doesn’t believe in soulmates. She believes in making your own relationships for yourself not based on any predetermined sentence fate would see fit. But it’s romantic isn’t it? Having the person always meant to be there on your arm. There before you even knew them, your fated, your future beloved. At least that’s what you thought before seeing the rather rude words on your arm. You don’t know what you expected at eight years old, maybe a poem or some grand sonnet but not this.
You also remember several trips to the doctor thereafter and your outraged mother trying to get them to change the words through many unsuccessful attempts. It’s a proven fact though, you cannot change a soulmate. Throughout your teenage years you’d sit and stare, pondering the text in your idle moments entertaining every thought the words brought. What kind of person was your soulmate? They are your soulmate so they can’t be too terrible. Although you had heard stories of situations wherein it didn’t work out or the couple absolutely hated each other but you didn’t want to think about that.
When you read the words of your mark it reminded you of something akin to a hostage situation and you’d wondered if your soulmate was a criminal. It’s not unlikely but also not very probable. Your soulmate would probably just be a bit cranky the day you meet them considering the rudeness in the print. As silly as it may sound sometimes you’d wish for your soulmate to be your knight in shining armor to save you from whatever non-existent peril. Or maybe some dashing young rogue with the attitude of a roaring river coming in a wave of glory. These thoughts kept you up at night when you were a teen, they still do but not as frequently and certainly not as ridiculous.
On another note the traffic is terrible this morning. Maybe you should just get off at the next exit and take a different route..
Now that you look back on it the words aren’t really that bad. Probably not something an eight year old should have etched into their body and the words are definitely not the kindest nor the most comforting. Sometimes you wish you’d gotten something normal like
“Wow I like your skirt.”
Or “My name’s so-and-so, you?”
But you will admit that you’re glad you didn’t get something vague like Karkat’s “Can I get a quarter pounder with cheese and an apple juice?”
You’ll know exactly who is saying it when they do. Hopefully your soulmate isn’t as crass as their handwriting and words make them out to be.
The cars are letting up here and- oh good you’re almost out of gas, great. As if you weren’t any late already. There’s a Mobil up ahead a bit off road, maybe you can get some chips while you’re at it.The area is almost deserted, you pull up to the gas station and get out of your car. You feel the weirdest sensation in your chest and head when you do and dismiss it for lack of sleep.
There’s someone yelling in the distance muffled by the wailing of a siren. Sounds like an ambulance, or is it a police siren? A guy comes up to you and starts to pump your gas so you make for the small convenience store at the station. There’s sun chips, some generic store brand chips, a brand you’ve never heard of before. Beanitos? Looks gross. Eh you’ll just get the sun chips. Might as well get some coffee while you’re here hopefully it’s not too bad. You purchase the goods and step out.
The sirens are a bit louder now. You walk back to your car and take a sip of the coffee and oh god that was a mistake. You don’t know what you were expecting to be honest, this coffee is absolutely repulsive. It tastes like hot oil but you’re tired and it’s there so you continue to take small sips as you slip the guy your credit card and go back into your car. The feeling in your chest is spreading now, like it knows something you don’t. He gives you back the card and you watch him leave.
You’re about to pull out of the gas station when you hear someone collide with the back of your car. You turn around and there’s a woman running up to the side of your car. She yanks the door open and drops onto the passenger’s seat before slamming it shut and locking the door. Your heart stops for a moment before picking up like never before.
“What the heck do you think you’re doing?!”
“Shut the hell up and just fucking drive!”
She looks absolutely frantic, her hair is in disarray and she’s breathing heavily. She has an eye patch on her left yet it somehow fits and- oh my god it’s her.
The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You rapidly drive out of the gas station trying to keep your thoughts intact but you can’t because there’s a stranger in your car who most definitely is your soulmate (yes you’re quite certain of that if the banging of your heart and the words on your left arm weren’t clear enough) and may or may not be wearing an orange jumpsuit. When you stop at the nearest red light you look back down at your forearm. Shut the hell up and just fucking drive, is written just as it always has been in sloppy chicken scratch. Catching a glimpse at the girl beside you you can't help but think it fit. Your heart is beating a mile a minute.
Wide-eyed you look at the person sitting next to you then back to your arm then back to her. She’s anxiously tapping at the armrest and bouncing her leg up and down. Her eyes are harsh and she has a growing scowl on her face. She keeps fidgeting and looking out the window at every car that passes by. You mouth is agape and you’re looking for the right words to say. You can’t move at all. When you try to speak it comes out less like an actual coherent sentence and more like a dying squirrel.
Her eyes finally meet yours.
“What?”
You swallow the forming lump in your throat and try to mentally calm your nerves. You fail to do so.
“W-what does your mark say?”
She looks taken aback by your sudden inquiry, she was probably expecting a hysterical ‘Why are you in my car, who are you?!’ You can worry about that later.
“Huh? What kind of question is that?”
You quickly show her your left arm unable to hide your restlessness and she looks at you hesitantly as she leans forward squinting her eyes. She looks like she needs glasses (and a good hairbrush). Her face goes through suspicion, confusion, recognition, then the realization that she said these words no more than a minute ago. She looks up at you matching you’re awed expression and promptly does the same, rolling up her sleeve and showing you her right arm.
Neatly in script reads, What The Heck Do You Think You’re Doing.
She lets out a small 'holy shit' just under her breath and bores into your eyes.
You keep on staring at each other, the light long since turned green. Hours seem to pass in seconds. Her eyes are softer now, bright like she’s just met an old friend she hasn’t seen in years. It calms you and any fear you had previously suddenly disappears and is replaced by the feeling of overwhelming warmth. You each forget where you are.
“Vriska Serket.” She says with a lopsided smile extending her hand.
“Kanaya Maryam.” You reply matching it and shake her hand courtly. The contact sends shivers down both your spines.
There’s a police car speeding a few blocks down sirens blaring, jerking you away from each others trance.
“Soooooooo Kanaya,” She says with an unsure grin, “Have you ever driven 80 mph on a residential street before?”
The police car seems to be heading in your direction. Well, you weren’t wrong about the criminal part.