Work Text:
Second World: First touch.
It’s like a whisper, passing so quietly that if you aren’t paying attention you’ll miss it.
It’s like a breeze in a warm day, refreshing and unexpected.
It’s so sudden that it only happens once in a life-time.
It’s to meet a person that will complete you in a ways that you can’t imagine, it will not be perfect in means you expect but in those that you need.
It’s to have a soulmate.
.
Since you are young (oh, so painfully young), you learnt that sometimes having a soulmate didn’t mean happiness. You could see it in the pained smile on your mother’s face and the emptiness in her beautiful eyes (your eyes really, because if you inherited something from her it was her eyes). You also saw it in your father…in his broken dreams and endless promises, all those harsh words directed to you and your mother, on all the alcohol in the house (never home).
In Jarvis sympathetic embrace you found solace, the only place that your parents’ relationship didn’t tarnish yet. But he also showed you how lonely a life without your other one could be, Jarvis’ wife died so soon and left him too empty, you knew that somehow he occupied that hole with you (a defective result of a horrible bond)…but you were not enough just like what it happened with your parents (you were supposed to fix them), you felt sorry but Jarvis never had allowed you to apologize.
It was frightening to see how a failed connection could do, thus you chose to live without your other half.
Because life taught you that soulmate didn’t mean happiness as much as hardships.
.
You believe in a lot of things about yourself, the majority of them are bad.
.
You never imagine to meet them like this…in a charity ball of all of things, in one that you almost don’t come.
Pepper insists that you have to meet this artist, the author of that breathtaking paint of New York’s landscape (a metal jungle with tall skyscrapers and multiple lights), and your favorite piece in the all exhibition. You will be grateful to her, maybe not right away but soon.
The artist is shorter than you and skinny, he seems uncomfortable in that suit that looks several sizes bigger than his lean frame, but he has a beautiful smile and a gorgeous pair of baby blue eyes. You feel constricted, like there is no enough air, in all this time never a single person evoked what he does.
“Steve Rogers” he said extending his hand.
“You know who I am” you reply trying to sound confident (and failing miserable).
The moment you take his hand you feel it, what the books say and your mother told you. That tingle that roam in your arm and the warm in your chest, you look at his face and see the same wonder, you can see happiness and hope.
You want to take your hand and left, don’t turn around because you know that if you do you will succumb to the bond. Years ago you made a vow.
To life without soulmate, it doesn’t matter if it is lovely Steve Rogers.
.
You want to deny it, but you are a lot like your father.
.
.
.
In breaking promises that’s it, but this is the first time that that fact makes you happy.
You have a soulmate and finally you feel complete.