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The myth is used and reused. Books, tattoos, movies, comics, legends, bedside stories, it’s everywhere. Overused. And Katherine hated it. Hated the idea that the universe had someone there for her, that her little finger was attached to some idiotic red string that connected her to someone else in the world that was supposed to be her soulmate.
No, that’s bullshit. Fate is bullshit. There is no such thing as waiting for the universe to handle your life on a silver platter and you just get to eat it while hot. No. You have to make shit happen, you have to work for it.
Same goes for relationships “Soulmates”. Yeah, right. You can’t rely on the stupid idea that you and random n.2 were made to be and not actually put in an effort to make it work. Besides, it’s impossible that you will only be happy with that one person.
So when her friends started to talk about this, because Lena was so sure that she and her new boyfriend were meant to be, that she could swear she felt a pull on her little finger before he approached her on the train, Katherine just rolled her eyes and dozed off.
She trained her thoughts to her mental checklist of the things she still needed to pack for college. She leaves tomorrow, after all, and she’s moving across the country, she can’t afford to forget anything.
But fuck her, right? Because when tomorrow finally came and she boarded the plane, she realized she forgot her most precious asset on a trip. Her earphone.
“FUCK!” She cussed, too loud even in the chatter and movement of a soon-to-depart plane, uncaring as she fumbled into her backpack with the hope that she just hadn’t looked right and it was actually there. “Fucking hell, stupid, stupid!” She huffed, throwing her bag to the side and resting her head back on the seat. And that’s when she noticed.
A short girl, definitely Asian descendant, in jeans overall and green headphones resting around her neck,, with dark curly hair and freckles all over her cheeks and nose, and dark green eyes standing right next to her seat. “Can I fucking help you? Never heard someone curse before? Carry on, this is not a show!”
The girl’s features faltered a bit, but she held her stance. “Actually, that- hm…” She pointed to the seat next to Katherine that held the discarded backpack. “That’s my seat.”
Katherine stared at her for a little while before finally exhaling dramatically, “Well, be my fucking guest then!” She grabbed the backpack in an exaggerated motion to show how discontent she was (as if it wasn’t already obvious).
The girl pressed her lips on a thin line as she squeezed her way between Katherine’s legs and the front seat. “Sorry,” the girl said as her own backpack almost hit her face.
As soon as the girl adjusted herself on the seat, she looked to the side and said, “I’m Izumi, by the way.”
“And I didn’t ask.” Katherine kept her eyes on the back of the front seat.
“Wow. You’re always this friendly?”
“Yes.”
“I see. So, what happened? You looked like you forgot something.”
“Fuck, you’re always this nosy?” Katherine snapped her head to face the girl, who had the nerve to smile at her, unbothered by the question.
“Yes, actually.”
For whatever reason, that broke Katherine. Was it Izumi’s tone, or honesty, or the way her eyes glowed when she smiled, she wouldn’t know. But those two words took out a barked laugh from her, and with it, some of the tension away from her posture. Katherine shook her head, relaxing into her seat. “Forgot my earphones.”
“Oh, no! I understand your pain. My headphones stopped working mid-flight from Japan and I had to listen to the guy next to me snore for 7 hours. I have never seen a heavier sleeper in my life!”
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” Izumi giggled and fuck, was it cute. “It was hell. But I learned my lesson!” She said, reaching down to her backpack and opening the middle section. She searched for a bit between what Katherine could see: pens and sheets of paper. Then, she made a face of satisfaction and pulled out a green case. “Always have an extra.”
Katherine stared at the airpod case in her hand, blinking twice before raising her eyes to meet Izumi’s again. “You’re for real?”
Izumi smiled. “Yeah, go ahead!”
“But what about you? Isn’t your headphone broken?” Katherine signed with her head to the headphone on Izumi’s neck.
“Oh, no, it’s not this one. That happened a few weeks ago. I stood a few weeks here in San Diego with my father, so I had time to get a new one.”
“Well, in that case,” Katherine smiled, taking the green airpod case from her hands. “Thanks.” She connected them with her phone and put on her music.
Usually, listening to music would be enough for her. She would close her eyes and try to analyze the lines of every instrument, especially the drums, until she fell asleep. But 30 minutes in the air and she was still wide awake, even if it was almost 2 am. Katherine was restless for some reason, and to make things worse, her hand was hurting. Maybe she hurt her little finger while playing before she left and didn’t notice.
An hour into the flight and she completely gave up on sleeping. She opened her eyes and allowed herself to look at Izumi, to check if she was still awake or not. And to her surprise, she was.
Izumi had her headphones on, casually bopping her head to the music only she was hearing and doodling on a sketchbook. And that’s when Katherine noticed the pattern, because the cover of the sketchbook was green, the shirt under the overall, the airpods and the headphone, all green.
“Is green your favorite color?” Katherine whispered, careful not to break the silence of the plane.
Izumi noticed her immediately, putting her pencil down, straightening her back, and facing her. “Sorry, what?” She lowered the headphones.
“I asked if green is your favorite color,” Katherine repeated, not at all as annoyed as she usually would be by having to repeat herself.
Izumi smiled sheepishly, fidgeting with her little finger. “Actually no, it isn't. I like green stuff, but my favorite color is orange. What about you?”
Katherine had to try really hard to be able to speak next, repeating the mantra in her head that “fate is bullshit, there is no such thing”, because, “I’m… the opposite,” she cleared her throat. “I have a lot of orange things,” like her computer case, her notebook, the flower she kept at her window seal, her favorite dress, and her own AirPods, “but my favorite color is green.”
Izumi's eyes widened at that, as she kept fidgeting with her finger. “Really?”
“Yeah…” And then Katherine noticed. Izumi wasn’t fidgeting, she was massaging her little finger. “Everything okay there?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s fine.” Izumi looked down at her own hands. “My finger is just bothering me. I think it’s from drawing.”
“Hm.”
“Yours too? Or are you just mimicking me?” Izumi pointed to Katherine's hands.
“What?” She hadn’t even realized she was also massaging her own hand, from the outside of her wrist up to the point of her little finger. “Oh, yeah. It started a while ago but it keeps getting worse. I think I strained it while I was playing.”
“Oh! You play?” Izumi beamed.
“Yep. Cello, piano, guitar, bass, a bit of everything. But my favorite is the drums.”
"That 's so cool! I always wanted to play something, but I never actually got around to learning anything. I just stick with drawing,” Izumi then turned her sketchbook to Katherine.
“Just? That’s fucking amazing!” The drawing itself showed two men, one in a dark jumpsuit that looked like a violent bunny, and the other with black clothes and grenade gauntlets in his hands, both in fighting poses. “Is that from a comic or something?”
Izumi looked down, shy. “Thanks. And no, they’re my OCs.”
“Really? They feel familiar. Kinda nostalgic.” They were quiet for a second, both staring at the drawing. Katherine wanted to know more. “Can you tell me about them?”
Izumi beamed. “Of course!”
In the end, Katherine ended up shutting the music down and so did Izumi, none of them needing their earphones for the rest of the trip. They spent the whole flight talking about Dynamight and Deku, the superheroes Izumi created. Yet throughout the whole time, Katherine had a weird sense of deja vu. It was odd, it felt like everything Izumi told her, she already knew. Like someone was telling her a story of what she did when she was drunk.
She blamed that feeling on the lack of sleep.
Six and half hours later, Izumi and Katherine saw themselves waiting for a cab at JFK Airport in New York. Two yellow cars arrived at the same time, dropping by passengers and waiting for the next ones.
“So… I guess this is goodbye for now” Izumi turned to Katherine with a sad smile.
And Katherine was surprised that she too was feeling down about the farewell. “Yeah, I guess so. It was nice meeting you, Izumi.” She pressed her lips on a line, not really knowing what to do next.
“So, are you coming or what?” The first taxi driver, the one Izumi was taking, yelled as soon as he finished putting her luggage in the trunk.
“Yeah, I’m sorry!” Izumi jumped, running to the car and getting in. She quickly lowered her window and yelled as the taxi drove away. “I really like meeting you too, Kacchan!”
Katherine suddenly felt sick, like she had been punched in the stomach right after eating. “What… What did you call me?” She whispered to no one but herself.
“Hey, lady! Let 's go!” Her taxi now called. Katherine walked to it and got in, still a little lightheaded, her little finger hurting more and more as time progressed.
She needed a distraction, so she grabbed her phone in her pocket and her airpod, con- Wait. Fuck. The airpod. That wasn’t hers! She unlocked her phone, ready to send Izumi a message when she realized that she didn’t get Izumi’s number. Fuck! Idiot, idiot, IDIOT!
“Where to, miss?” The driver asked.
And little did Katherine know that at the same time, in the cab that left before hers, the driver had asked that question. And that in that cab, the girl she met on the plane by chance answered the same as her: “Rubin Hall, NYU. 35 with the 5th.”
On the car ride to the university dorm, she finally slept, and with it, images of a green-haired boy with blood on his face and kindness in his eyes.
“Izuku,” she said, with a voice that wasn’t really her own. It was masculine, rough, tired, and hurt. “Izuku,” she could see herself stretching her hand, trying to reach the bloodied boy.
"It's okay, Kacchan. It’s okay,” the boy reached back, swallowing his pain and trying to smile as best as he could.
“I’ll find you, okay? I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me back.” Their hands finally met, and they interlaced their little fingers, a sacred pinky promise.
“I will find you, Kacchan. No matter what.”
“We’ll find each other.”