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When Jesse was born, his parents weren’t exactly happy to see that, curling around their brand new baby boy’s wrist, there was already a soul mark. They usually didn’t appear until later in life, when one half of a pair had already reached emotional maturity, and a newborn having one wasn’t exactly a good sign for the age of their soulmate.
Jesse, on the other hand, doesn’t care. If anything, it only intrigues him more about who it could be. It does feel a little lame to admit, but finding out who his soulmate is has been something that has occupied a fair amount of space in his brain for a while. Sure, maybe it makes him a bit of a sucker, but everyone knows the stories. Everyone knows that nothing compares to the kind of connection you feel with your soulmate, that there’s no way to even describe it until it happens to you.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to know what that kind of love feels like.
He can’t imagine settling for less. Jesse has seen what it looks like. He knows that his parent's marks are mismatched, even though they never talk about it. It’s not like they hate each other, but there’s something off in their marriage that isn’t hard to pick up on, like a puzzle piece that’s been shoved into the wrong space. Sometimes, he wonders if it’s the reason he’s so fucked up, but then Jake wouldn’t be so perfect, would he? Jesse just hopes his footsteps aren’t enticing enough to change that.
Recently, he’s started to feel more and more of a longing for whoever is on the other side of this connection. He’s joked with his friends before about hoping it’s some hot blonde MILF that’ll wake him up to blowjobs and breakfast in bed, but that’s only because the truth is, like, a thousand times more embarrassing. He really wouldn’t mind being taken care of by someone, for once, especially if they happened to be older. The world just fucking sucks sometimes and it would be nice to have someone to hold the covers up for him and not expect a piece of ass in return for it. Especially now that Mr. White has somehow made a reappearance in his life.
It’s insane to think about. Jesse’s fucking old man high school chemistry teacher turned blackmailing meth cook that, for some reason, is determined to get help from him, and only him. No wonder he’s been craving some love; it’s only like one of the biggest reminders of what a failure he is has dropped itself right back into the center of his life. He doesn’t get what the hell Mr. White’s motivations for wanting to sell drugs could be here, but whatever. At least he’ll get some cold, hard cash out of it.
Jesse runs a finger along one of the spiny swirls imprinted into his wrist, the pattern memorized by now. It tingles under his light touch. He knows he probably should’ve left a while ago to pick up Mr. White, but shit, he doesn’t have an issue making the guy wait. It’s not like he can do anything about it, as much as he’d probably like to believe he could. He’s not in charge. They’re partners.
If he’s being completely honest, he’s nervous. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, as involuntary as his servitude is. He’s eager to prove that Mr. White is wrong to not “expect much”, that even if he’s a no-good junkie dealer who flunked chem, at least his product is something special. Determined, he bounces off his bed and grabs the keys to the RV, tacky souvenir charms jingling as he does. Jesse will fuckin’ show him.
Mr. White is waiting for him on the corner of a suburban street (that Jesse assumes is a few blocks down from his house) with a peeved expression on his face as he pushes open the RV door. Jesse gets an earful for being late, as expected, but he just rolls his eyes and follows the directions he gets fed, bringing them out into the desert. He’s never been this far out before, for fun or criminal activity, and the isolation of it is strange. Nothing and nobody but the two of them. The idea of it would scare him if the feeling of it wasn’t so strangely natural.
It doesn’t take them too long to check the area out and determine it’s perfect for a cook. As Jesse stumbles down the rocky hill and makes his way back over to the RV, he looks up to see… Mr. White getting naked? What the actual fuck? He can’t do much except stare as he shucks his pants off, revealing thick, hairy thighs and briefs fit for an embarrassing nightmare. Jesse is able to shake the shock off after not too long of a moment.
“Uhh, what are you doing?”
“These are my good clothes.” Mr. White continues stripping without a care in the world, his button-up slipping down broad shoulders. He’s more built than Jesse remembers. “You can’t go home smelling like a meth lab.”
“Yeah, you can. I do.” Jesse points in disbelief, eyes fixated on the sheer amount of skin being revealed to him. “Those… Wow. Those, uh, you’re keeping those on, right?”
Mr. White just sighs heavily and rolls his eyes, turning around to hang his clothes up on the sideview mirror. When he does, Jesse’s breath catches in his throat. His heart stops and his brain short-circuits and he’s pretty sure he needs a damn eye exam, too, because there’s no way in hell what he’s seeing is real.
There, crawling up the lightly freckled curve of Mr. White’s shoulder blade, is the very same mark Jesse has spent a good amount of his life staring at; enough time that the shape of it is practically burned into his retinas, always mocking him when he closes his eyes. There’s no mistaking it. There’s no lying to himself even if he tried. It’s Mr. fucking White. It always has been.
An instinctual, primal surge of elation and relief at the realization wars with surface-level disgust and confusion, a violent hurricane that tickles the inside of Jesse’s chest. How the fuck is it even possible? How did they manage to be in each other’s vicinity for so long, an entire school year before now, without figuring it out? It’s not like Jesse made a habit of flashing his mark around, the long sleeves of his hoodies draping over it for as far back as he can remember, and Mr. White certainly wasn’t going to be showing his off during school, but still. Meeting your soulmate is supposed to be an explosion of adoration and ecstasy, an immediate intimacy that threads two halves of a whole together and ties the knot tight. It’s supposed to be magical.
Jesse would have a few things to anyone who claimed magic was even possible with a stern, science-minded guy like Mr. White.
“Come on. Daylight’s burning.”
The older man’s words snap Jesse out of his trance. He tries not to let his eyes follow the pale swirls on Mr. White’s back, but he can’t help watching until they disappear into the RV. Although he hasn’t moved a muscle, Jesse feels winded, like he’s just been gut-punched. Fuck, he pretty much has. If you asked him who he thought his other half would end up being, Mr. White wouldn’t even be the last name he named because he wouldn’t be on the list at all.
For some reason, Jesse can’t bring himself to be that upset about it.
(Some reason, as if he doesn’t know exactly why the thought settles so comfortably into his bones. As if it isn’t built into his very DNA. As if the unit in biology about soulmates wasn’t the only one he paid any attention to at all.)
Dazed, he follows Mr. White into the RV who is already setting things up on the counter, facing away. Jesse’s eyes flit nervously between his bared back, sweat beading along the shiny mark and catching in the dips of his body, and the floor between his sneakers. He had been more confident before, knowing Mr. White is the one who’s out of sorts here, but the discovery has shaken him enough to keep him stuck in place.
“Will you get over here and help me?” Mr. White bites, not even bothering to look up from his array of glassware. “And close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”
Jesse’s jaw snaps shut. He shuffles over carefully like Mr. White is the spooked wild animal, not him, and his arm brushes against the older man’s bare one as he stands at his side. Even through the few layers of his clothes, the touch is electrifying, and he automatically flinches away from it. It’s probably more placebo than any actual bodily response, but when Mr. White gives him a curiously raised brow instead of a snappy comment, Jesse knows he’s not the only one to feel something different between them.
“Are you alright? You look flushed.”
Jesse swallows thickly. “Yeah, man, I’m fine. Let’s just start.”
Mr. White nods, reluctant acceptance in his eyes, and they get to work.
Jesse lays out the very basics of his formula when he’s asked to, which makes sense because he’s pretty sure there’s no university out there offering Drug Manufacturing 101 as a chemistry prerequisite, and somehow manages to focus through the entire explanation. Mr. White nods along, surprisingly non-judgemental in his notes, and only needs to hear things once before he’s dropping little pills of pseudo into a mortar and grinding them up. Jesse follows suit, and things are weirdly natural from that point forward.
They’ve never worked side by side like this, up close and personal. Mr. White had always made a point to keep his distance in school, and when he didn’t, it was because he was towering over a chastised teenage Jesse, substantial and severe, with disappointment in his eyes. Teacher and student, authority and delinquent, unequal. Until now.
It’s impossible to even take his eyes off the guy as they work. Right from the start, it’s as fluid as can be. Jesse never thought working with the biggest hard-on of the millennium would be so effortless, but it’s almost like they’re inside each other’s heads. Even when Jesse screws up here and there, beakers bubbling over or powders spilling, Mr. White is at his side to take care of it the split second it happens without a shred of attitude. He’s never really known the meaning of intuition beyond the definition until now.
It doesn’t help that Mr. White is naked the entire time. Like, okay, fine, he’s still got that ugly ass underwear on, but the heat radiating off of his skin is more suffocating than the sun’s rays themselves. Jesse feels like he’s cooking right alongside their product every single time they get close and his jacket, hoodie, and beanie all end up in a ball on the floor of the RV. He wipes the sweat from his brow, his wrist tingling as he does so, but it does little to make him feel any less hot and bothered.
It’s only instinct, he keeps telling himself. Instinct makes you feel crazy, fucked up things.
There’s not a lot that’s as fucked up as wishing you could get on your knees and lift up your old high school teacher’s meth cook apron so you could better suck him off, but it makes it easier when he can put the blame on his stupid body and stupider brain. Of all fucking people…
It, in a way, makes sense things happened like this. It’s not like they could’ve been together in any way, shape, or form when they first met, and that’s without even considering the legality of it. They butted heads hard enough to make the Earth quake, but when something this primal that even science can’t fully explain links you so inextricably with someone, you’re bound to fall back into each other’s lives eventually, right?
They’re finished before Jesse knows it. It’s the smoothest a cook of his has ever gone and the product speaks for itself, loud and fuckin’ clear. The tray holds a heavenly amount of long, fat crystals that look as though rainbows would shine out from them if you held one up to the light. Just looking at them makes Jesse’s mouth water and the back of his head buzz, aching for a hit. He can’t imagine how clean that first inhale would be. It’s pure art.
“Actually, it’s just basic chemistry, but thank you, Jesse. I’m glad it’s acceptable.”
That’s the understatement of the century. Seeing the result of their work together puts a new perspective on things. Jesse and Mr. White are opposites in almost every sense of the word, so far removed from each other’s worlds that they might as well be different species, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. Something about it works. Jesse has spent most of his life teeter-tottering on the edge just because he felt like it, but gaining some balance isn’t as scary as he thought it might be. If this is how their product comes out, Jesse can’t even imagine the other kinds of things they could do together.
Well, okay, maybe he can, but it’s still a little jarring to find himself not only turned on at the thought of getting his hands and mouth all over Mr. White’s body but to also be fine with that fact. That’s something they can deal with later. Hopefully. Jesus, Jesse is already picturing them together like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He gets what people mean now when they talk about the mark making you irrational. He’s unable to think of much he wouldn’t want to do with Mr. White, places he wouldn’t follow him.
Jesse has to say something.
“Why me?”
Mr. White raises his head from the palm of his hand, looking over in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, I know I was, like, convenient and stuff, but you could’ve gone to literally anyone else. You hated me in high school. So, why me?”
“Jesse, I never once hated you.”
Jesse narrows his eyes in suspicion. It’s not like he ever thought he was important enough for Mr. White to dedicate time and energy into truly hating him, but there’s a sincerity in his voice that says more than his words.
“Dude. You were a total asshole to me all the time.”
“Because I saw your potential!” Mr. White pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “It was hard to see you just… throw it all away.” He waves his hand in demonstration.
Jesse shrugs. “Yeah, well, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be around now to help you out, would I?”
He’s not bitter about it. Jesse knows the way his life has turned out is nobody’s fault but his own. He just wishes he knew somebody cared sooner. Then, maybe, he would’ve had a chance. They both go quiet for a moment and the only sound to be heard is a gentle breeze rolling through the open windows of their tin can of an RV.
“Does there even need to be a ‘why’?”
Jesse arches a brow. “Um, yeah?”
“I disagree. Because there isn’t one.” Mr. White stands, dabbing his forehead with a cloth. “Now, let’s pack up and go.”
“Wait, wait, wait, you can’t just-”
“Would you hand me that box over there?” Mr. White sticks an arm out right in front of Jesse’s face to point, effectively cutting him off.
“Mr. White!”
“What, Jesse? What is it?”
Jesse looks away meekly. He grabs at his wrist and rubs at where his skin is adorned with silvery curls beneath the long thermal sleeve. Every slight sensation of it sends shockwaves through his nervous system and he shivers when Mr. White steps closer to him, steely expression turned up to 100.
“I gotta, um… tell you something.” Jesse fingers the cuff of his sleeve, uncertain, before rolling it up his forearm and revealing his mark. It feels more vulnerable than stripping completely naked. It kinda is, in a way.
Mr. White’s mouth falls open and his eyes blow up twice their size. They’re green, Jesse notices. He’s never taken the time to look before now. He’s never had the chance.
“That’s my-“
“Yeah.”
“…You are my-?”
“Yeah.”
Mr. White collapses back into the folding chair, creaking under his weight. Jesse would be offended by the disbelief bordering on fear in his expression if he hadn’t felt exactly the same way. This changes everything for both of them.
“Jesus.” Mr White rubs a hand over his face, his glasses going askew when he does. Jesse wants to smack himself when the first thought that comes to mind is how endearing it is.
He probably shouldn’t, but Jesse’s feet move faster than his brain. He’s at Mr. White’s side in less than a moment and reaches out cautiously, adjusting the glasses back into their proper position. The simple action makes his face go hot and probably even redder than his shirt, and he looks away when Mr. White glances up at him through the lenses in wonder.
“It’s not, like, ideal, but,” Jesse shrugs, “I’m down to try and make it work.”
“My wife and my son… and I- I’m- Jesse, there’s just things that you don’t know.”
Jesse scoffs. “What else is new?”
They go quiet again. The wind rustles the curtains. Outside, somewhere, a crow caws.
“I never thought I’d find you.” Mr. White is so hushed that it’s barely a whisper, even further muffled by the astonished hand over his mouth. He reaches out and takes Jesse’s wrist in hand, examining the mark like the scientist he is. A calloused finger traces the circle in the very center of it and Jesse’s knees almost buckle with the intensity of such a small brush. “I gave up a long time ago. I’ve… given up on a lot.”
Jesse’s chest aches like there’s a decades-old pit in the center of it that goes a mile deep, filled with nothing but dead dreams and the flies that buzz around them. He instinctually knows that it’s coming from Mr. White, that he’s gone through life with this hollowness inside of him, and it feels as though it’s Jesse’s own. It makes him wonder what kind of signals he puts out that Mr. White is picking up on now. It’s terrifying to think that this man could know the depth of his insides so intimately.
Jesse shuffles even closer, their legs intertwining. He tries not to think about how bared Mr. White is under that stupid fucking apron. It shouldn’t be romantic, just being together in a shitty camper parked in the middle of nowhere with a pound of meth at their feet, but everything except his partner is only a static background.
Partner.
The word is much heavier now than when they had agreed upon it.
“You know,” Jesse starts, “it doesn’t have to be that way.”
Mr. White’s finger goes from following the lines of his mark all the way down the back of his hand before taking it in his own, lacing their fingers together. Their difference in size and age is stark when so closely compared like this, but it makes the butterflies in Jesse’s stomach flutter when he sees it.
“I suppose not,” Mr. White murmurs, keeping his eyes fixed on their interwoven hands, his grip as firmly locked as the roots of an old tree. “Everything is different now, anyway.”
Jesse isn’t really sure what that’s supposed to mean, but he’s given up trying to decipher most of Mr. White’s nonsensical half-answers. He tightens his grip just as hard as the older man’s in acknowledgment. They’re stuck together now, whether they like it or not, blackmail or not, and all they can do is try to make it work. He tugs their clasped hands up to his mouth and rubs his lips against the back of Mr. White’s broad hand in a caricature of a kiss.
“Yo, that’s life, Mr. White. You should know that by now.”
Mr. White chuckles and finally looks up at him. He’s smiling for the first time all day, though it’s faint and somewhat resigned. “You got me there. Change is inevitable. And I don’t have much choice in this one, do I?”
Jesse smiles back. “Nah. Not at all.”