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The afternoon was warm, not enough to be uncomfortable but enough to feel it hanging in the air, even in the shade. Avdol watched the glittering sun creep over the horizon from the window of their hotel room. Down on street level the markets were thick with dust, but up high the air was fresh and clear and the city stretched for miles in all directions. The sunshine warmed his face and spilled across the pages of the book splayed open on his lap. It was pleasant, quiet, exactly the way he preferred.
Unfortunately the moment was interrupted when a shadow entered his vision, the tall man and even taller hair blocking his spot of sunlight.
“I heard from Joseph that you read hands as well as cards.”
“It’s called palmistry, and yes, I do.” Avdol replied with unending patience.
“Same thing. So how about it, could you read mine? I want to know if I’ll become rich and famous.”
The fortune teller hesitated, but he couldn’t refuse the man’s plea even if he wanted to. Polnareff’s face was lit up with an excitement that never failed to fluster Avdol’s typically calm composure. A subtle blush was spreading across his face as he patted the spot in front of him and Polnareff sat down cross legged, their knees pressed together.
“Let me see your dominant hand, since you want to know what your future’s going to be like.”
Polnareff obliged. His hands were surprisingly soft despite the callouses and faded criss-cross of scars from one too many fights. He had long and pale fingers with prominent knuckles, cool to the touch in contrast to the warmth of Avdol’s own. He ran his index finger over the top of Polnareff’s right palm, letting his hand become familiar with the grooves and notches that told the story of a person’s life in a way words couldn’t.
“This line here from your wrist to your middle finger is your wealth line, reflecting success and fortune.” The line was noticeably shaky and faint compared to the others. “It doesn’t look like you’re going to win the lottery anytime soon.”
“But… but then how am I going to build Polnareffland?” He looked crestfallen. The bright light in his eyes flickered and his shoulders seemed to sink with an invisible weight.
“On the bright side it appears you’re going to live a long life. Longer than average, in fact,” Avdol added with surprise. “Although the end, here,” he tapped the bottom of his palm where the line was broken in several parts, feathering off at the end like a frayed cord. “This part is fractured.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Hard to tell. It typically indicates a sudden change in lifestyle, but what that means is unclear.”
“So maybe Polnareffland is a possibility after all?” The light returned, in that foolish way that made Avdol smile privately.
He sighed and continued, pointing to a single jagged line that cut across the centre of his palm. “Your head line is rather short. See, it stops before your middle finger.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let’s just say intelligent pursuits aren’t your specialty.”
The insult seemed to go completely over Polnareff’s head as he nodded in apparent understanding. For what felt like the hundredth time that day Avdol sighed and cursed himself for falling in love with an idiot.
“What about that line there?” Polnareff pointed to the longest crease across the top of his palm, just below his fingers.
“This is your heart line. It represents the love you experience in your lifetime.”
That seemed to get Polnareff’s attention, judging from the way he leaned closer to get a better look.
The line was straight and unbroken, stretching across his whole palm from index finger to pinky without even so much as a deviation. It was the clearest heart line Avdol had seen out of all of the palms he’d read before.
“From the look of your heart line you’re going to fall in love with one person.” He traced the crease along Polnareff’s thumb with a feather-light touch, enjoying the reaction it caused in the other man. “Look here. The heart line follows the life line. That means you’re going to love this person unconditionally for as long as you live.”
“That sounds about right,” Polnareff grinned.
Avdol raised an eyebrow. “Why, do you have someone specific in mind?”
“Maybe. We got off to a pretty bad start, I actually hated them when we first met. They’re the total opposite of me: smart, mature, too serious for their own good. Sometimes I’m surprised they even put up with me, to be honest. I act like a fool and yet they still stay with me.”
He took hold of Avdol’s hand, sliding their fingers together until the lines of their palms joined up. Avdol’s traitorous heart started to race and his cheeks flushed with warmth. He hated how he could do that, fluster him with something as simple as holding hands. It was unfair.
“I want them to know how much they mean to me,” Polnareff whispered. “I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel so much longing. And if they felt the same, I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life with them.”
“That person must be lucky then.” Avdol tore his eyes away from their hands to find Polnareff watching him, the corners of his lips curled up into a sly smile. He was silent for a moment. “Was this just a ploy to get me to hold your hand?”
Polnareff raised their entwined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to his lover’s knuckles. “It worked, didn’t it?”