Chapter Text
"Alright!" The skeleton beams. "The ritual worked!"
You stare at him from the innocuous painted circle in what you presume to be his basement. Surrounding you are innumerable scented candles, creating an indescribable concoction that gives you a mild headache. Your new bones clatter a little at the chill that goes through you.
"It's nice to meet you, soulmate!"
The slightly dirty cultist who somehow summoned you into his basement introduces himself. "I'm Ink, your buddy for life!"
You blankly gaze at him as the shapes in his eye sockets swirl with glee and excitement, in bright tones of gold and amber. You try to respond with a noise that conveys your distinct confusion, but a video game beep interrupts you. You yelp in surprise, and another noise follows - in which you realize that your voice has been reduced to blips and chirps.
Delighted, Ink (your new buddy for life,) exclaims. "Wow, you talk in Ancient! Very cool." You continue your bewildered gaze, hoping to project your growing confusion onto him. Ink is oblivious to your feelings.
"I'm Inky415, your match on Solace!" He winks at you, gesturing at himself with a thumb. With a slightly higher note: "And you're my soulmate, weirdly enough!"
Your browbones rise in surprise.
Upon matching on Solace, you two had hit it off quite well and had kept in touch. Eventually you talked daily. He worked odd hours and got called in at random times, but that did little to deter him from barraging you with a stupid amount of questions about what 'your AU' was like. You indulged him with details of your daily life, thinking it was some funny LARP stuff or just flat out roleplay. Ink would trade you information about his character's universe… though, belatedly, you realize he must have been telling the truth the whole time.
You open your mouth, then close it with a light click. He shuffles outside of the summoning circle, his eager smile dimming a little at your silence. You see through his shuffling feet that he's nervous. There's a lapse of awkward silence between the two of you as he processes that you can't answer.
"Oh, right!" The slight tension disperses with his laughter. You battle your fear and your confused excitement at the familiar noise, which you recall from late night calls and sleepy rambles. He sheds his scarf (it's huge and pools on the floor a little) to toss over the candles haphazardly, along with a pen. You catch it, and wrap it around yourself like a shawl to hide your newborn-esque nudity, then inspect the fabric as you realize the tail end has neat, sloped handwriting on it. You cannot read a fucking word of it, because a strange force compels you not to. You sit on the floor to write on a flat surface, Ink following suit outside of the circle.
You don't know what to say.
<Is this a hostage situation, or am I free to go after you dress me up in a maid outfit?> You decide to write humorously.
Ink takes only a second to read what you've said before he begins laughing again. There's a strange pride that still kindles in your ch- ribcage. You brush a clumsy hand against the bones. Ink watches the motion. "Oh, it does kind of seem like that, huh? Sorry! I'm not holding you here, this is just all set up cuz you're from a world I can't just come to."
You lean back a little from where you're sitting, a pensive expression replacing your bemused look. Ink watches you with a quiet and soft fascination you have yet to process.
<Then…> You begin. You recall some of Ink’s late night ranting. <Another multiverse?> You try.
Ink thinks for a second. "Maybe," he says. He looks back at you from where he stared at the ceiling in thought. His eyes are green and orange now. "I don't know much about where you come from, except what you tell me."
You wait patiently for Ink to continue, knowing based on the inflection of his voice that he is already thinking about something. After a pause, he continues, and the color of his eyes shifts again to a deep purple and blue.
"I'm sorry I took you here without a lot of warning." Ink tells you, looking into your eyes. "I knew you didn't really get what I was saying because you're not familiar with it all. You wouldn't believe me either, considering… Well, it's not a very common thing to do. Get summoned into a new body into a whole other dimension."
You close your eyes. This was a lot to take in, and he was right. You didn't agree to come here.
<Is it possible to send me back at any time?>
Ink wilts a little, you see it in the way his shoulders dip, but he still recklessly smiles at you from across the painted line. "Yeah. If you want to go now, I can do that. No repercussions."
You peer at him for a second, taking in the way his fingers twitch toward a scarf that isn't there, before continuing to write.
<I'll stay for a little while. I'd like some clothes, though.>
While you were very surprised and a bit scared when you got here, everything has just sort of slotted into place once Ink explained that he was… who he was. Now, you're far calmer and even a little interested to see the numerous (not) OCs that Ink mentioned to you.
You are probably going to enjoy this.
"Clothes!" He yelps. "That's what I forgot to put on the body!"
You sigh fondly. Yeah, this is the Ink you know.
<You know, I actually like this body a bit more than my own.>
After walking out of the circle with Ink to leave his (frankly) ominous basement, you went upstairs to his inviting living room and stood like a mannequin while he painted (painted!) clothes onto you. It was a bit ticklish.
You asked for a simple white sweater and a pair of dark grey sweatpants that were stupidly baggy. You liked the noise that your feet made when walking on the floorboards, so you didn't ask for socks or sandals. The fabric of your new clothes felt good. Like the worn softness of your favorite hoodie back home.
Ink brushes off his hands, reading your new journal with a small smile. "Well, it was tailored to you!" He cheerfully replies. There's a dash of - god, is that rainbow? - color that swirls and jumps across his high cheeks before disappearing. You want to see it again. "I'm glad you like it. I was a little nervous you wouldn't." Ink confesses. You see his hands reach for the loop of his scarf again, only to grasp empty air.
You go to unwrap it from your neck, but he just shakes his head, and paints another one with that stupidly large brush. "You should see a mirror too, I think! I put a lot of thought into how your face looks."
You tell him that a mirror isn't really necessary. You know you like the way your body feels. He looks at you in a way that pries away your bones and bares your soul whole and vulnerable, before smiling wide and hugging you tight. He lifts you off the ground and spins. Your legs swing about in a ragdoll fashion, while he laughs raucously.
"I knew it!" He crows. "I knew it was good! I was just- just nervous! I've never felt nervous like that before! I'm so glad!" Ink beams at you, before you cough and gesture at your close proximity.
He places you down gently, hands on your shoulders. "I guess we really must be soulmates…" He muses. The earlier warmth that was inspired by his joyful laughter dims a bit, and you hesitate - then begin to write.
<Are soulmates a big thing here? Real?>
He nods. "Uh… I guess I skipped out on that explanation." He sheepishly smiles. You poke one of his dimples. His cheeks are freckled with color, like confetti. "Soulmates are bonds that have incredible uhh… chemistry. Or something? Fate? Destiny?" He waves a hand dismissively.
"I never really paid a lot of attention to that stuff." He shamelessly exclaims. "I didn't need to, considering my whole-" He gestures at himself. You nod, knowing from one late night that he told you he was soulless. You place a hand over his sternum in sympathy, and feel the way his breathing hitches.
His eyes flick towards your face with unerring, intense emotion that briefly warms you from head to toe before he looks away. "Um," he stutters. "Yeah. You know." He chuckles. You run your thumb over the outline of his ribs through the fabric of his top. Ink places a hand over yours, and you look back at him.
The pink light in his skull forms a silly little misshapen star before flickering away to something yellow. He swallows dry before speaking again. You wait patiently, curious. "Being soulmates and all… just means we can be anything we want with some weird cosmic pull. Or whatever." He says. His eyes flick away from you, then back, as if magnetized.
"I didn't think I was capable of having one." He admits. "I don't get how it works, but I've always heard you just 'know' and that's it." Ink makes eye contact with you, and his fingers curl around your hand slowly, as if afraid to restrain you, but equally afraid to let go.
"It wasn't like that with you, until it kind of just… happened. It had to take time." He tells you, a quirk to the corner of his mouth. "I was ignoring it a lot. I thought it was just kind of… y’know. False signs. But…" he stumbles over his words a bit, noticeably embarrassed by his lack of eloquence. You nod for him to continue.
"I don't…" He begins. He looks away from you, then back. "I can't." I can't love. Not like you do.
His eyes are to the ground. The hold on your hand squeezes, then lessens. You squeeze back, and intertwine your fingers, as his hand grows weak.
"I don't know how it works. It shouldn't. I'm pretty sure you need a soul to be a soulmate, but…" he gestures between you both and shakes your clasped hands. "We're here. And… I feel it."
He swallows again, before suddenly Ink lurches for a nearby trash can, filling it with ink. When he lurched, you jumped a bit, before the reaching began. You pat his back awkwardly, knowing in the back of your mind that this would happen but at the same time still being caught off guard.
He sheepishly looks at you from over one shoulder. "Well, that really ruined our moment." He pulls a napkin from his pocket to wipe his mouth and tosses it into the can.
"Point is," Ink straightens up. "We're miracles of nature, and I want to try everything with you."
You blink at him before he presses his mouth to yours.
The kiss is tentative but emotionally charged, in the paradoxical way that he seems so utterly stuck on, before Ink pulls away with a strange look. He seems almost drunk on his emotions, and you wonder if he might need the can again. His mouth had the fragrance of ink. It wasn't unpleasant, but you weren't used to it.
Also, he just. Retched. You belatedly feel disgusted.
"Huh," Ink chirps. Your faces are still close together. "That was a different experience, too."