Chapter Text
Lockwood was already having a really, really, really bad day when he met his soulmate. He hadn’t planned on meeting her yet, of course. No, the rant that had been on his back since he was a baby gave him just enough context to know that he should avoid cafes and dining establishments in general before he was ready to meet his soulmate.
Why? Because this was what was tattooed on his back:
You bloody prick! I just spent six quid on this damn latte and now I’m practically wearing it! Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth agape. Are you gonna buy me a new drink or not? Hello? Are you even listening to me? God, what a fucking awful day.
Lockwood’s parents hadn’t been sure what to make of his soulmate mark when he was first born. The words on their infant’s back were too small to read at first, and it wasn’t until Lockwood turned one year old that his parents had an idea of how their precious son would meet the love of his life. The fact that his soulmate would spend six quid on a latte reassured them that he wouldn’t meet his soulmate for a while at least, as long as inflation didn’t drive hot drink prices too high.
Lockwood was well aware of how this soulmate system worked; people were born with their soulmate’s first words tattooed somewhere on their skin, depending on how many words were said at first. Some soulmates had it easier than others. Lockwood’s dad, for example, had the words Celia Stroud, how do you do? across his chest, while his mum had Donald Lockwood, a pleasure to meet you on her forearm. Lockwood’s sister Jessica wasn’t lucky enough to have her soulmate’s name or any other identifying information on her skin, but she did have Excuse me, could you show me the way to King’s Cross? inked on her right calf and had just met her soulmate, Quill Kipps, a couple months ago after the confused man had stopped her on the streets of London to ask for directions. Celia and Donald Lockwood were delighted that their eldest child had finally found her soulmate, and now it seemed all of their attention was turned to their son, Anthony.
Anthony, Lockwood as he preferred to be called by anyone who wasn’t family, was now twenty-three years old, fresh out of uni, and hadn’t once stepped foot in a cafe once he saw the average price for a latte hit five quid. He didn’t want his first encounter with his soulmate to be a negative one, and while he knew it was more common than not for soulmates to get off on the wrong foot, he just didn’t want to have to deal with it yet. Plenty of people didn’t meet their soulmates until much later in life, right? So what was the point of actively seeking out someone who was determined to hate you from the beginning?
“The longer you push it off, love, the worse it’ll get,” his mum always reminded him. “It’s best to just get it over and done with. Besides, they’re your soulmate. They can’t hate you forever.”
Lockwood’s best (and only) friend George felt the same way. He was constantly trying to drag Lockwood to overpriced cafes and restaurants on the off chance that his perpetually single mate would bump into the man/woman/person of his dreams. The fates didn’t discriminate, after all. Lockwood was fairly certain, though, that his soulmate was a woman based on the vague recurring dreams he had had since he was a child. He always saw her from behind, with a blue jumper and reddish-brown hair that ended at her shoulders. Lockwood always woke up just as she was about to turn around. He was rather certain she was his soulmate, but he was determined to keep an open mind about the whole mess. Lockwood just wished he could get a short glimpse of her face, so he’d know exactly who to avoid if he ever had to enter a cafe.
Lockwood was currently waiting for George in one of the aforementioned overpriced cafes near King’s Cross Station and was standing awkwardly to the side as he waited on his Earl Grey, which he had ordered in a panic after realising he’d have to wait for George for a bit longer. Lockwood loved his mate, he really did, but George was perpetually late and Lockwood was mentally kicking himself for not arriving fifteen minutes later than they had agreed on. The bad weather outside certainly didn’t help his mood at all either; Lockwood’s umbrella had broken due to the strong winds and he had had to sprint the rest of the way to the Pret A Manger where George had wanted to meet up. His suit jacket was dripping wet and his tie a bit crooked, but he hoped he still looked somewhat presentable.
“Lockwood! There you are. Sorry I’m late!” Lockwood heard George’s voice and turned excitedly to greet his friend, when he bumped into someone who must have been right behind him. He heard a sloshing noise and hoped to God that nothing had spilled.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, as he had not been expecting someone to be standing that close to him. Was this the moment? He felt rather nervous.
The woman glared at him, and Lockwood realised that she looked similar to the woman in (of?) his dreams. She had the same reddish-brown hair cut at the same length, only now he could see that she had a fringe as well. It suited her, he thought to himself, as he took in the rest of her appearance. Yes, this must be her. She was wearing the same blue jumper as in his dreams, except the jumper was now covered in what appeared to be a hot drink. Shite. Lockwood braced himself for what he knew was about to come.
“You bloody prick!” Yep, it was her. “I just spent six quid on this damn latte and now I’m practically wearing it!” God, he knew he should’ve insisted on a different meeting place. “Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth agape. Are you gonna buy me a new drink or not?” He really fucking hated George. “Hello? Are you even listening to me? God, what a fucking awful day.” The woman continued to glare at him, waiting for him to respond.
“I am so sorry,” Lockwood said again, not sure what else he could say to this very angry yet very beautiful woman who was most definitely his soulmate and oh my God–
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t make up for the six quid I just wasted on this drink, arsehole,” the woman responded. Lockwood thought he should really get her name so he could stop referring to her as ‘the woman.’
“Yes, of course, sorry, of course I’ll pay for your drink,” Lockwood replied hurriedly, lest the woman decide to dump what little remained of her drink on him . “What’ll you have? I’m Lockwood, by the way. Anthony Lockwood. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Yeah, because I didn’t tell you it.” The woman sighed before continuing, “A chai latte to go, please. I was supposed to meet my friend Norrie here, but it doesn’t seem like she’s coming any time soon, what with the horrible weather and all.”
Lockwood nodded and got back in line to buy her a new drink. Luckily, the line was a lot shorter now and so he could move over to wait to pick up the overpriced latte. He waved George over, who had been watching the whole encounter with a grin. Prick . “I think that was her,” George said when he caught up to Lockwood, “based on what I could hear from the entryway. Did she tell you her name?”
“No,” Lockwood said dejectedly. “I also didn’t tell her that I think she’s my soulmate. How are you supposed to broach that conversation after you’ve just caused a woman to spill an overpriced latte on herself?”
“Easy,” George said, “because I think I know who she is. That’s one of Flo’s friends from uni, Lucy, I think her name is. Lucy!” He directed this last bit towards the woman, who was now sitting at a free table.
The woman’s – Lucy’s eyebrows furrowed before her eyes lit up in recognition. “George!” She said, standing up. “How nice to see you again! It’s been ages.” She didn’t move to hug him, which told Lockwood that she must know George rather well – the man hated physical contact. “Your posh mate here just caused me to spill my drink on myself,” Lucy continued, gesturing to her stained jumper. “At least he had the decency to buy me a new one.”
“Ah, yes, that’s Lockwood for you. A clumsy bloke, he is,” George replied. “Listen, Lucy, you don’t happen to remember what Lockwood here said to you after he bumped into you, do you?” Lockwood sighed, knowing where this was going. Leave it to George to take it upon himself to find Lockwood’s soulmate.
Lucy frowned a bit, but she rolled up the right sleeve of her jumper, where Lockwood could make out black ink on her forearm. Oh, I’m so sorry. This was it. Lucy must have come to the same conclusion as Lockwood, as she stared down at her arm like she was reading the text there for the first time. “Oh…” she said slowly, “oh, that makes sense.” Blushing, Lucy stuck out her hand for Lockwood to shake. “Lucy Carlyle,” she said, “thanks for buying me a new drink.” Lockwood couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t apologise for yelling at him when he had bumped into her, but he found it wasn’t that important after all. He reached for her hand and felt sparks when their fingertips touched. So this is what it was like to find your soulmate .
“See you two later, then” George said, noticing how Lockwood and Lucy were staring at each other. “Bye.” He made a hasty exit, not even bothering to order something from the cafe.
“Bye,” Lockwood and Lucy responded in unison, both looking at each other. The moment was over when Lucy’s replacement latte was announced, and she got up to go get it. “So,” Lucy started once she was seated again, “how much space did my rant take up on your body?” She said this with a smirk, but Lockwood could tell she was a bit self-conscious. Was she just as nervous as he was?
“Oh, the entirety of my back,” Lockwood said with a grin. She didn’t seem mad at him anymore, and he was mad at himself for not wanting to get the initial awkward encounter over with earlier. “My parents said the word ‘fucking’ didn’t fully come in until I was six months old, and they were only able to read the whole thing once I turned one.”
“Oh God,” Lucy said, burying her face in her hands. “Y’know, I never was really able to guess what my first words to my soulmate – or to you, I guess – would be, given that what you said to me was pretty basic conversation.” She gestured to her right forearm, and Lockwood swore that the text on her skin was in his own, neat handwriting. The rant on his back, on the other hand, was scrawled out messily, which was part of the reason why it took so long for his family to decipher what exactly was on his skin. He wasn’t sure if that was normal for soulmates. He’d have to ask his parents.
Lockwood opened his mouth to say something, but he heard the door chime behind him and Lucy sprang from her seat. “Norrie!” She called excitedly, “over here!” A slender redhead with a choppy fringe dropped off her sopping wet umbrella by the door and slid into the open seat with a grin. “I’ve been waiting for you for ages,” Lucy continued. “Where have you been?”
“Sorry, Luce,” Norrie said nonchalantly. “My train from Leeds was delayed and you know I barely get any mobile reception on the way to London. I’ve made it, though. Who’s this?”
“Anthony Lockwood, or Lockwood if you don’t mind,” Lockwood said. “I bumped into Lucy a little bit ago and had just bought her a new drink. You must be Norrie, then?”
Lucy answered for Norrie, seeing the other woman’s mind piece together the clues in front of her. While Lockwood certainly wasn’t about to strip in a Pret A Manger to prove to Lucy she was his soulmate, he had pulled out his phone to pull up the picture of his back George had taken one drunken night during freshers week just in case. Lucy’s right sleeve was still rolled up to her elbow, and anyone in the cafe could see Lockwood’s neat penmanship on her arm. “Lockwood’s my soulmate,” she said to Norrie in what must’ve been an uncharacteristically girly tone, because the other woman raised her eyebrow at this.
“And where’s the proof?” Norrie asked sceptically. “I can see she’s shown you her mark, but what about you, you posh muppet? Where’s your mark at?”
“You don’t have to show her,” Lucy interjected before turning to Norrie, “He said it’s on his back, and it’s rather embarrassing.”
“Well, go on, then,” Norrie said to Lockwood. She gave him a look he didn’t quite know how to interpret. “Show us.”
Lockwood looked at Lucy, unsure of what to do. “Well, I’m certainly not going to take my shirt off in public,” he said slowly, “but here, my friend George took a picture of it when we started uni. I already have the damn thing memorised.” He slid his phone over to the two women and cleared his throat. “Should I say it as you read along?”
Norrie nodded excitedly, while Lucy groaned. Lockwood took that as a yes and cleared his throat again before beginning. “You bloody prick! I just spent six quid on this damn latte and now I’m practically wearing it! Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth agape. Are you gonna buy me a new drink or not? Hello? Are you even listening to me? God, what a fucking awful day.” He tried to mimic Lucy’s Northern accent as best as he could.
Lucy frowned. “That’s not what I sounded like, you dolt.”
Norrie smirked. “Only one use of the word ‘fucking?’ You’ve gone soft, haven’t you, Luce?” She got up. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to it while I fetch myself a drink. I don’t fancy being the third wheel for however long it takes you two to exchange phone numbers. Best get on with it.” She walked over to the counter, and Lockwood and Lucy were left alone again.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Lucy said. “First George, and now Norrie; I'm afraid we must’ve started off on the wrong foot.” She fiddled with her coffee cup.
“Well, we can always start over,” Lockwood suggested. He held out his hand again. “I’m Anthony Lockwood, how do you do?”
“Lucy Carlyle,” Lucy smiled as she shook his hand for the second time. “A pleasure to meet you.”