Archive of Our Own

Goro’s known three things his entire life.

One, soulmates were important. They were your fated partner, your destined other half. To reject a mandate of the gods was simply unthinkable, a taboo of the highest order. After all, they were your preordained perfect match. To reject one’s soulmate was to reject the world as a whole.

Two, his mother’s soulmate was dead. A woman he never met and his mother only mentioned once, but who had died years before he was born. Those who lost their soulmates were simply expected to be widows and widowers for the remainder of their lives. Japan was still ‘traditional’ that way.

Three, he should have never been born. The very concept of his birth went in the face of everything soulmates represented—which was to say that nearly all children in the foster system or orphanages went in the face of the concept of soulmates. If he had a soulmate, then it would suggest something fated about his birth—whether it be that he was fated to be born despite his circumstances, or that there was no fate in any of this. Consequently, accepting people like him would mean accepting that the greater idea of soulmates was stupid. So, of course, people instead just buried their heads in the sand and pretended it wasn’t real; that tens of thousands of people weren’t born to non-soulmate parents each year.

All to say that the day he got his soulmark was a wretched day indeed.

“This is Akechi,” Isshiki introduced patiently, gesturing out from the young girl half-hidden behind her leg towards him, “he’s going to stay with us.”

Goro didn’t bother to smile, only bowed out of habit because that’s what people expected of a child like him. To live his entire life begging for scraps. as he bowed out of habit. It took a few moments for the girl to fully peek her head out from Wakaba’s side, staring at him with wide eyes the size of dinner plates. “Akechi, this is Futaba.”

“I-it’s nice to meet you,” Futaba stumbled over her words, torn in her rush to speak and terror at the idea of speaking at all.

“Likewise.”

The awkward silence that fell between them only lasted a beat before Ishhiki was talking again, the death grip on his wrist the only thing keeping him grounded in her whirlwind tour of the small apartment. His room—his own room with a door, not one he shared with Futaba or that was actually a spare attic she didn’t know what to do with, was plainly furnished with a sturdy western-style bed and desk.

“I left it empty for you to decorate as you please,” she commented offhandedly, as if he’d have anything to decorate it with. Perhaps though, given the fact that Futaba’s room was a cluttered mess, covered head to toe in posters and other memorabilia, that was less of an off-handed insult and more genuine ignorance.

Which was…odd to say the least. Nothing like what he was expecting, and he listened intently, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But...it didn’t. The only thing she mentioned was that she worked late so if he needed help at school he was better off calling her close friend who she was certain would pick up, if only on her behalf.

He didn’t know what to do with what she’d given him, he didn’t even know why she’d taken him in, after approaching him out of the blue and asking if he wanted to stay with her. A babysitter? A tax break? A pet??

Maybe he should’ve just shut his mouth and acted grateful, but he didn’t. He hated her for what she was doing, treating him with more compassion than he’d ever received in his life. Goro hated wondering when this supposed paradise would be ripped from under his feet, like everything he ever had inevitably was. Nothing good lasted long, and the longer he stayed with the Isshiki family the more he hated himself for thinking that way.

He should be grateful she took him in.

Once he stopped playing nice she’d return him.

He wanted his mom back.

She was a stranger, he shouldn’t care.

Ishhiki wasn’t home, which was starting to become a pattern. He didn’t know how to feel about that, about anything she’d done so far, really. The way she looked at him when he was spitting vile, rotten venom at every generosity she ever gave him and just nod thoughtfully.

“Regardless of your feelings towards me,” she’d said, after far too many seconds of silence, “you’ll have a home with us.”

It was strange, disconjoining. Like watching the same movie every day of your life only to one day find that someone changed the ending this one particular time. She treated his anger like she treated everything else—scientific, simple. Like she knew something he didn’t. Like his anger wasn’t completely inappropriate and his blame wasn’t targeting all the wrong people.

He didn’t know what to do with himself after that, so silence became his world. It was hard to stay upset with someone whose only condition was that he didn’t hurt Futaba.

(Even that was easier said than done, some days.)

“I’m home,” he said to no one, peeling off his shoes and padding through the entrance to the dark kitchen.

“Welcome back loser!” a voice, sudden and too close for comfort, called back, and it took everything he had not to jump.

“For fuck’s sake,” he swore under his breath, flicking on the light to illuminate the hunched figure of one Futaba-fucking-Isshiki, “why do you do that?”

“Cause you keep falling for it like an NPC.” She laughed, high and devilish like the imp she was.

NPC…NPC…NPC… “...right,” he said flatly, glancing at the clock to confirm that, yes, it was far too late at night to be dealing with this bullshit.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, before her frown morphed into a cackling grin, “oh my god, did you forget what NPC means already?”

“Of course not,” he muttered, moving to grab a packet of ramen from the box so he didn’t have to face her stupid face. “Your jokes are just terrible.”

“No, you’re just a grandpa.” She snorted.

“Rich coming from someone who hasn’t left the womb yet.”

When she stuck her tongue out at him, he felt himself relax, just a little bit. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t just a bit suspicious of how quickly their cautious, polite rapport had turned to regular taunts and teases—all because one day she burst into his room, pointing an accusatory finger and declaring that it was a crime that he hadn’t seen Phoenix Ranger Featherman X yet.

Though, perhaps ‘quick’ wasn’t the right word. It had already been a year since Ishhiki first welcomed him into their house.

It was...nice, in a way that kinda made him want to crawl away and hide under a train station. Surely this wasn’t going to last much longer, his mind kept telling him, and every day that passed just compounded that anxious voice in the back of his head that was awaiting the day the God who cursed him would damn him for his hubris and tear this away from him all over again.

Goro was so tired of losing things.

“Want something?” He asked as he took out the steaming bowl from the microwave.

“Nah,” Futaba’s response came quickly, if a bit quieter, which he shrugged off. If she was working on something on her laptop, then he was frankly lucky she decided to respond at all. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to overhear when she added, “I got groceries,” in a mumbled whisper.

He blinked, letting the words sink in for a moment before the realization hit. Right, that was on her Promise List this month.

The Promise Lists were Wakaba’s strange little tradition that she’d gotten him to start just a month after bringing him into the folds. The first number on his list burned through his mind.

Be proud of myself for my hard work.

When she originally suggested it, he’d asked, rather defensively, why she felt the need to put that on his list when he was already proud of himself.

When she answered, “then it’s a nice, easy promise to start off each month,” he was trapped into trying to fulfill a promise he didn’t believe in every month.

“Thanks.”

The silence between them was calm, pleasant, even, only broken by the quiet, furious clack of keys that meant Futaba was probably committing tax fraud or something. He had to give her credit, for as much as she had her moments, she never felt the need to talk just to talk, which was nice.

Goro only noticed that she’d stopped when she cleared her throat, tearing his gaze away from where he was seething at Shido’s latest victory and to her hunched form, eyes downcast and fingers tapping restlessly against the side of the laptop. “Um…” she started, only to trail off immediately afterwards, biting her thumb anxiously.

“What?” He asked with a sigh, barely suppressing an eye roll. That was one of the places they differed, strongly. He couldn’t get over how stupidly shy she was, if she wanted to say something she should just say it.

Which was apparently the exact wrong mindset to take because he could see the way she shrunk back at his tone. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again, giving her a slightly awkward smile and putting on his most sympathetic tone. “Is something wrong?”

“I...I was just wondering something…” she trailed off again, but he let her work through it herself this time, setting down his phone to give her his full attention. She never asked him anything and the fact that she was so reluctant to ask now made his curiosity itch furiously.

“What?”

“Do you have a soulmark?” She blurted out, quick and tense, with no little amount of regret crossing her expression in the brittle silence that lingered afterwards.

Goro didn’t think he’d ever regretted inviting a conversation so quickly, but the flare of pain in his back said otherwise.

His knee-jerk reaction to say ‘no’ and demand ‘why he’s being asked,’ would just be awful towards her. Futaba was also a child to parents who weren’t soulmates, so it wasn’t as if she was looking for high ground if he said no.

Why ask then? Genuine curiosity? The flickering anxiety in her expression said otherwise, like she was afraid to hear his answer.

Ah, so that was it. Ignorance.

“I-I’m sorry I asked you don’t need to—” she began to stammer, only for him to cut her off, voice clear and commanding in the empty air.

“Yes.”

Her head jerked up so quickly he was almost afraid she might snap her own neck, irises swallowed by the whites of her eyes as disbelief rattled her shaking voice. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he committed, feeling too small in his skin under the weight of her growing, borderline ecstatic wonder—a wonder all too similar to the wonder he had when he first realized that the needles in his spine weren’t a result of some ridiculously inconvenient scratch or illness.

That was, until he actually saw his mark.

“You’re not lying to me?” she asked, because she had to confirm and he hated how well he understood that need.

“I wouldn’t lie about this.”

The tension under her skin seemed to leave her all at once, and she lay limp against her chair for barely a second before newfound excitement reinvigorated her stance as she pushed her laptop to the side and crawled onto the couch opposite of the dining table to question him, arms hanging over the back to stare at him head-on.

“When?”

“When I was eight,” his tone revealed nothing, “why are you so curious?”

“Because it’s your soulmark!” she exclaimed, both annoyed and exasperated all at once, “why wouldn’t I be curious?” You’re a bastard like me, he read between the lines.

“There’s another reason though, isn’t there?” Goro pressed, because he couldn’t stand the way she was looking at him like he held the answer to life. Like he was everything she ever wanted to believe.

The way her expression shuttered, just moments later twisted a knife into his chest. “It’s...nothing.”

“No, it’s clearly not,” he demanded, letting years of frustration and anger crystallize in his chest, “are people talking about you?”

“What? No!” she added once she realized where he was going, shaking her head emphatically, “I mean, not as much, but it’s a lot better now than it was before.”

He poured every ounce of deadpan disbelief he could into his stare. “If you need assistance I’m not opposed to fighting children.”

A cackling laugh that shook her tiny frame wildly burst from her throat, splitting her face into a wide, wobbly smile that filled the room. “That was too perfect,—you actually looked serious—” she gasped between breaths, “—are you sure you’re not kinning Black Condor?”

“I’m not joking,” Goro insisted, despite his own slight smile.

Her own smile didn’t quite leave her face, even as her expression fell, shoulders sagging like they carried the weight of the world on her back. “Yeah...I know. I believe you.”

The moment passed, tangible as their pleasant moods died just as quickly as they’d been resuscitated. “If it’s not harassment, then...”

Futaba hesitated, long enough Goro wasn’t certain she would answer at all. Until, “I’ve told you about my friend Kana, right?” she didn’t wait for a response, “she got her soulmark today.”

“Has she…made comments about your lack of a soulmark?” he guessed.

Futaba had the gall to roll her eyes at that, “no, obviously not,” she scoffed. “It’s—it’s not her, it's me. I’m just...jealous I guess. She was really nice about it, tried to play it down and everything for me and I just feel horrible because it’s so important. She shouldn’t have to do this just because I might not have a soulmate.”

Well shit. Non-hostile interpersonal relationships were not Goro’s forte. Threaten her, probably wasn’t a socially appropriate answer, so he instead offered, “Perhaps she doesn’t care about soulmates much?”

“Yeah, no, there’s no way. I’ve heard too many of her midnight rants to believe that one. She definitely cares, she’s just putting it aside because she doesn’t want me to feel bad, and that just makes me feel worse,” she sighed, drawing shapes into the couch.

Though Goro wasn’t surprised to hear about said midnight rants, he still had to swallow back the need to ask what the hell she was doing, because he wasn’t her parent and he didn’t want to be the one to have to tell her that she was stupid for having such a reckless sleeping scheule. It’d be wildly hypocritical of him anyway. “Have you tried talking to her about it?” He asked, both sounding and feeling a lot like an awkward school therapist.

“No, of course not,” she gave him a dry look like he was supposed to have known that. “I’m such a bad friend.”

Goro audibly rolled his eyes at that. “No you aren’t.”

“I am.”

“No, you aren’t. Being jealous or upset doesn’t make you a bad person.” If that was the case he would’ve been a bad person from the day he was born.

“I should be happy for her,” Futaba mumbled into her knees, looking forlorn and exhausted.

“Forcing yourself to pretend solves nothing,” but it was obvious nothing along those lines would get through to her. There was no point to trying to talk to her at all if they were just going to go in circles. “Is there another reason you’re upset?” Goro tried.

She appeared to mumble something, but it was so low and quiet he wasn’t sure she had spoken at all.

“What?”

“...wanted…soulmate…”

“You’re mumbling, I can’t hear you.”

Futaba looked at him, eyes bagged and heavy as she spoke, voice still slightly muffled with how hard she pressed her cheek to her knees. “I said I wanted to be her soulmate.”

Oh. Oh. Goro’s mind blared sirens and warning alarms at the foreign territory ahead, but Futaba kept talking.

“I’ve wanted to for a long time. And now I know I’m not, and I should be happy for her but I’m not and I’m a terrible friend because of it. She’s one of the only people who ever accepted me and here I am being sad for myself because we’re not soulmates even though I probably don’t even have one.”

Goro didn’t know what to say, mind groping for anything in this strange and uncomfortable territory, far too deep in the unknown for his liking. He never had friends. Even now he didn’t, so he didn’t understand it. But the raw, visceral look in her eyes that spoke to years of wounds that never quite healed was an old companion he’d carried with him his entire life.

So, he said, “do you want to see my soulmark?”

She jolted, eyes widening for barely a second before nodding vigorously.

Goro moved mechanically, chest aching with apprehension as he sat down on the floor in front of her, back straight and muscles tensed as he took off his shirt. Futaba didn’t say anything but he knew the moment his mark was visible by the way her breath hitched.

It didn’t take an expert to realize Goro’s mark was...unusual. Hell you didn’t even need to be educated to realize that something about it was simply wrong. Wrong in the agonizing way it burned his body when it was engraved onto his skin and soul. Wrong in the way it looked, complex and disconcerting simultaneously. A large, thin halo that covered the entirety of his back, framed by a series of pitch black bats wings along it’s edge, rotating counterclockwise. In the middle, small and far removed from the rest of his mark, rested a similarly black heart, with a single, diagonal slash through its center.

It looked archaic, the kind of symbol you’d see and immediately assume belonged to a cult. It looked sick.

And it was his soulmark. A permanent reminder that he was bound to the same cruelty of fate as everyone else. His life had to be some grand, cosmic joke. Why else would he have received his mark the same day he found his mother’s body.

The featherlight brush of fingers against his upper back made him shiver, and they retreated just as quickly.

There was a long moment of silence before he realized she wasn’t going to say anything, and moved to grab his t-shirt to cover the wretched brand again when a clumsy, almost frantic voice stopped him. “W-wait! Just give me a sec.”

Goro froze, body tense and brittle. “Do you know what it means?” He asked after a painful, thundering heartbeat passed.

“It means that soulmates aren’t dictated by lineage,” she said, but he could hear the hope behind it. I could have one too.

Goro’s lips twisted into a grim frown. Of course that’s what she’d get from that. “It means that soulmates are overrated,” he corrected, “just think about it. If everyone in the world is meant to have a soulmate, then that must include murderers and thieves,” and Shido. “How are you supposed to trust anything about fate when these supposed marks could pair you with a serial killer.”

“There’s not even a full percent chance of that happening,” she frowned, “don’t tell me you’d rather not have one at all.”

“But you saw it,” he whispered, borderline hysterical as scratched at his skin like he might peel the mark away, “you saw it so you know what it looks like—good futures and happiness don’t start with a broken heart tattooed into your skin by some colossal dick of a deity.”

Futaba didn’t raise her voice, she shrunk back from him, the look in her eyes unchanged even if her posture changed to be more defensive than self-soothing. “So you’d rather be like me?” You’d rather be useless and broken?

And he felt himself deflate, sitting back against the couch at the opposite end so she didn’t have to move. “You’re not worthless for not having a soulmate.”

She didn’t have a response to that, her expression skeptical and wary all at once. “Are you really saying that you don’t like the idea of someone being fated to care about you?”

“I used to.”

She didn’t respond.

“It’s not just soulmates,” he confessed quietly into the air, like his lungs had shriveled and died, the words tearing from his chest and spilling onto the floor like the guts of a bisected corpse, “I hate the idea of fate. I want to have autonomy over my life, not be forced into something because fate decided I must be. I’d rather be dead, I—” he grasped at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger quickly and desperately, “—I feel like cattle, like this—with this. Like my body isn’t my own.”

The silence that followed his words was nearly as agonizing as the words themselves. He couldn’t live with or without seeing Futaba’s reaction, so, eventually, he turned his head, just enough to see that—no, she wasn’t looking at him like he was an idiot. If anything, she looked contemplative, tapping along the edge of the couch quietly.

“I guess it’s kinda like us then.”

Goro glanced at her, unsure of what she meant, only to be surprised to see that she was...smiling, of all things. After everything he said, even after he told her he despised soulmates. She was smiling. “Hm?”

“Since we probably weren’t fated to meet or anything like that, it’s proof that we don’t need fate to decide things like that for ourselves. Even if I don’t know why Mom decided to take you in, I’m glad she did, and not because fate told us to,” she said, face swelling with newfound courage as she continued, “even if we are both cursed, maybe it isn’t so bad if we can decide for ourselves.” Then, she added, “Fate can fuck off anyway it’s totally the biggest villain in time travel tropes.”

A startled chuckle escaped his chest at that, and he offered her a brittle smile. Hearing her take his side felt...good, good in the way he’d felt when his mother reassured him that soulmarks didn’t matter, that she loved him anyway, that life would get better. Even if neither of them believed it, it was nice. “There are a number of people who never even meet their soulmates.”

“Right, so, you might never even meet yours. Besides, even if you do, it’s your decision to stay with them or not. Even fate can’t stop you if you choose not to be with them.”

“And even if you don’t have a soulmate,” he nudged her gently, “that doesn’t mean you’re incapable of creating bonds.” Goro felt a little light-headed staring at the hope and determination that burned away the dejection in her tiny frame.

“I mean,” she shrunk back a little again, shame twisting her lips, “I still do want a soulmate, but I guess I like the idea of people choosing their bonds too. Blood is thicker than water and all that jazz.”

“I can’t fault you for that,” Goro answered instead of listing off the myriad of reasons to be paranoid of soulmates, because he understood what she was saying, where she was. He’d been there before and maybe a part of him still wishes he earnestly believed in soulmates the way she did, so he wouldn’t spoil it for her. Not now, anyway. Even if soulmarks were a lie, they were as kind as they were cruel, the same way lies that children were always wanted or that parents always loved each other were kind.

“Yeah but you’re totally judging me for it,” she scoffed teasingly.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, letting his own lips fall into a cruel smirk, “but you’re the one who just admitted that you’re glad to have met me.”

“Of course I am. You’re my stupidly overprotective brother character.”

For a moment nothing moved, and then he felt his smile grow softer, the words confusing and familiar all at once.

“I suppose we’re stuck together then.”

And, maybe, this could be okay—even if he didn’t entirely believe it would last, maybe this was a bond Goro could put faith in. One he forged by himself rather than fate.

Just maybe.