Work Text:
Elder Cunningham brushes against him only about an hour after they have said goodbye to their parents at the airport; they’re sitting side by side on the plastic chairs at their gate, waiting to board the plane. To Kevin the touch feels invasive; he twitches away but it is already too late. Horrified, he watches the color spread, a small spot right by his elbow and he prays that it will remain discrete.
But Heavenly Father hasn’t been on Kevin’s side during these last few days. The spot may be small, but the color becomes as strong as the marks he has from his family and what’s worse is that it’s a vibrant orange.
Orange is a first for Kevin. He knows that color meanings are entirely personal, but his marks up until now have been exclusively in blue and green hues. Calm, proper colors that everyone have; even the bishops, even the president of the church, from what Kevin has seen on television. Maybe it makes sense that the person who will be his companion for two entire years will leave a strong mark, but orange? What does it mean?
Elder Cunningham looks a bit sheepish, smiling apologetically. He must have noticed that Kevin arms had been spotless. "Sorry about that." He scratches his head, and Kevin notices the matching bright orange that had spread on the back of Elder Cunningham's hand as well.
He presses his lips together for a short moment, waits for the sudden rise of frustration to abate. It had just been an accident, there is no need to be mean about it. "It's fine, Elder."
Elder Cunningham's embarrassment relaxes into a genuine smile. “At least now we can touch without worrying about it anymore, right?” He laughs at his own joke.
Kevin tries to smile back. “That’s right, buddy.”
His mission hasn’t even really started yet, and he already feels disappointment churning in his stomach.
One of Kevin’s earliest memories goes like this.
Pale winter sunshine through sheer curtains, and Kevin has been feeling strange lately. A feeling that isn’t good at all, but he doesn’t know the word for it yet. But at least his mother is here now; she’s been away lately and left Kevin with his father, who doesn’t know that Kevin wants his sandwiches without crust and gives him juice in the wrong glasses.
And honestly, Kevin doesn’t get what the deal with baby Jack is, anyway. He looks like, well, a puppy without fur, or perhaps a monkey, and Kevin has been told to stay away and especially, don’t touch.
So Kevin doesn’t get why his mother is guiding his hand today, a gentle but insistent grip on his wrist, and Kevin wants to pull away because he’s not allowed to be close to baby Jack like this.
Jack’s palm is almost impossibly soft. Kevin watches in fascination as dark green spreads in the little hand before he even notices the spot on his own finger. His mother smiles at him like he’s done something amazing, and Kevin relaxes, feels a little better despite the strangeness of it all.
Ten years later, Kevin is used to the routine whenever he gets a new little brother or sister. He has used a separate finger for each sibling; his tips form a satisfying array of blues and greens. He understands now that the ritual is to avoid accidents, the kind that he has seen on so many other people: vivid marks on their faces, or the shape of an entire palm around an arm.
He knows that nowadays, less people care about it, has seen teenagers draw shapes on each other’s arms just for the fun of it and to curiously study the hues and intensities afterward. There are “Color Your Soul” organizations that encourage pride and freedom of touch.
But Kevin, following their congregational values, is proud of his spotless arms. It earns him praise, and perhaps the occasional rude comment (“prude”), but Kevin has learned to be tolerant of haters and doesn’t think further about it.
Three months into their Ugandan mission and the locals still give him odd looks whenever he moves away from their gestures. But Kevin already wears the black mark from the general around his left wrist like a shameful bracelet and he’s not keen on adding more to that; this will be hard enough to explain to his parents once he gets back home. But at least the other Elders are tactful enough not to ask; meanings may be personal, but black is never connected to anything particularly good.
And Kevin can’t do much else than suck it up and move along with his life, such as it is. He’s freed from proselytizing duty for the time being, seeing as how someone needs to oversee the development of the Book of Arnold to keep their prophet from writing anything too crazy (though it appears to be a very fine line between inspiring and completely insane, Kevin privately thinks).
“I don’t really think that a hymn about Luthan and Beren is the way to go,” he tries, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s a particularly hot day and it’s impossible to stay inside, their mission center becomes little less than an oven in the middle of the day. Instead they’ve moved their brainstorming session outside to the shade of the trees a bit further away.
“Beren and Lúthien,” Arnold emphasizes. “And why not? It’s romantic.”
“It seems violent,” Kevin points out. “And does the Book of Arnold really need to preach about romance?”
Arnold seems to hesitate at his insistence, scratching at the vivid, dark red marks on both his palms that had appeared after he had baptized Nabulungi. “Well, the violence and the action just emphasizes the power of their love,” he says. “And why not? Love is the most important thing there is.” And just like that, the hesitation is blown away and he smiles, rather dopily.
Kevin refrains from making a face, then spots Elder McKinley walking towards them. He opens his mouth to get a sensible opinion from their district leader, but Arnold beats him to it.
“Elder McKinley!” he calls enthusiastically. “You agree that love is important to include in our preaching, right? I’m working on an adaptation of The Tale of Beren and Lúthien that would fit well with The Heroism of Samwise Gamgee.”
“I’m not familiar with the story,” Elder McKinley admits as he joins them in the shade. “But love is important to preach, whether it is love of our Heavenly Father, our neighbor or... romantic.” He seems to falter a bit at that, gives Kevin a quick glance that makes Kevin blink.
“Oh!” Arnold exclaims. “I’ll have to remember to add a chapter about the Bond Between Kirk and Spock, too.”
Elder McKinley looks a bit cheered at that, pats Arnold’s shoulder, skillfully avoiding skin-to-skin contact. “You do that.” He clears his throat, gestures to the mission center. “Anyway, I came to tell you that we have someone here that wants to speak with our prophet.”
Arnold perks up. “Great!” He thrusts his notebook to Kevin, who has to take it or see it drop to the ground. “Can you please spell check this for me, buddy?”
And then he’s gone, before Kevin has even had the time to reply. He looks down at the book in his hand, then up at Elder McKinley, who seems amused.
“Our prophet is quite energetic, isn’t he?” Elder McKinley leans down to brush away twigs before sitting down in the grass beside Kevin. “Of course, since it was Sister Hatimbi who was visiting, they might have agreed on it beforehand.”
Well, that explains it. Kevin shrugs, begins to use the notebook to fan his face. “Elder Cunningham is starting to have trouble focusing on his mission.”
“Aw, shush.” Elder McKinley waves his hand dismissively. “They’re in love. It’s sweet.” He traces the vibrant turquoise spot on his palm with one finger, seemingly unaware that he’s doing it. He had indirectly explained the color to Kevin on his very first night in Uganda, when he had talked about that boy named Steve Blade. Kevin ducks his head, feels his cheeks heat up at the thought.
Because Elder McKinley, for all his virtues and his responsibility, doesn’t seem to have kept up the same strict ‘no touching’ regimen that Kevin has followed his entire life. His arms and hands are streaked with pale colors the same way most people are nowadays, green and blue, gray and yellow, like he has been painted on with dilute water colors. And for the first time in his life, Kevin feels almost naked in comparison as he looks at his own clean arms. With more color, perhaps the black around his wrist wouldn’t be as prominent.
“Right,” he says when he realizes that Elder McKinley is watching him quietly, as if waiting for a response. “Sweet.”
In time, and mainly thanks to Arnold’s relaxed stance in all matters concerning their original faith, the Elders’ attention to rules begins to falter. It’s not unusual for Arnold to sneak off to spend a few hours with Nabulungi after their daily duties have been taken care of, and Kevin finds himself instead joined by Elder McKinley, who is the only other Elder who is not travelling around the nearby villages to find new converts, as most of his time is nowadays filled with paperwork. Their funds have to come from somewhere, Kevin realizes, and McKinley somehow manages to work magic with various fundraises and bursaries.
The afternoons tend to find them together by the kitchen table, or outside in the shade as they quietly focus on their work. And Kevin finds that once he has gotten used to the almost expectant way that Elder McKinley sometimes looks at him, he is beginning to genuinely like the district leader. He is a relaxing alternative to Arnold, for one thing, no matter how Kevin has come to admire and like his mission companion. And Elder McKinley has a considerably better grasp of the original Book of Mormon than Arnold has, and a more creative vein than Kevin, which makes him a good discussion partner when Kevin tries to edit Arnold’s jumbled manuscripts.
It’s also easier to see the humor in some of the more ridiculous parts when Kevin is reading them aloud to someone. He barely remembers the last time he had laughed until his stomach hurt.
“Oh my lord,” Elder McKinley wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes after Kevin had read the last of the Hymn of Grumpycat. It had been full of life positive messages and almost fable-like warnings. “This is an instant classic.”
“But can we really use this?” Kevin asks after a moment, when he can breathe normally again and his mental editing pen is starting to function.
“Of course we can, the children will love it.” Elder McKinley pokes his shoulder. He quite likes to touch, Kevin has come to realize, which might explain why he is marked the way he is despite the church stance on the matter. But at least he is always respectful enough to avoid skin contact, and Kevin finds it easier and easier to relax into the small touches, such as the pats on his backs and pokes of his foot. “Lighten up, Elder Price.”
He is smiling, teasing, looks younger now than he had when Kevin and Arnold had first arrived, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders during the past few months. And Kevin always feels strangely heartened by his presence, at least until he remembers the marks on Elder McKinley’s arms and recognizes the distance between them.
Kevin has never considered it before, what types of marks he would leave on another person. But once the thought has entered his mind, it stays with him.
“You white boys are so strange,” Nabulungi says, leaning her chin in her hand while she watches Elder Schrader struggle to hand Elder Thomas a hot saucepan with steamed vegetables without their fingers touching. And something in Kevin has changed lately, become more cynical perhaps, because he privately thinks that they do look pretty stupid.
Mondays had been a substitute family home evening for the Elders long before Kevin and Arnold had arrived. Now it’s been extended to include anyone from their little congregation that has the time and feels like joining, and the event has become so popular that they usually bring the tables outside and push them together to make one big table where everyone can eat together.
“I mean,” Nabulungi waves her hand, as if exasperated with their idiocy. “You’ve known each other for months. What’s wrong with a little color?”
She glances, perhaps a little pointedly at Kevin, who sits up straighter, a little offended. He’s worked hard at trying to keep himself spotless his entire life, after all, and it’s not like he has always enjoyed to stray away from touches. But then he notices Nabulungi’s eyes dart to his dark wrist; she bites her lip and looks like she wishes she hadn’t brought it up.
Kevin can’t help the glance he throws towards the General at that, who is thankfully sitting further away at the long table. But he’s apparently been listening in to the conversation because he smiles, a little sheepish and but perhaps a little pleased as well, giving Kevin a shrug. Kevin grinds his teeth together.
“Different cultures, sister,” Elder McKinley says diplomatically, as if to smooth things over. “And we all share the mark of the baptism, at least.”
Even Kevin does, of course, though the formal mark on his shoulder that the priest traditionally touches is usually covered by his garments and clothes. It’s a pale blue and had never been as intense as he would have liked. Nabulungi, who often bares her shoulders, shows off her marks with pride; they match Arnold’s intense red color, after all. And no one ever mentions to her that it is traditionally only supposed to be one mark on the right shoulder. Arnold had probably been overly enthusiastic, as usual, Kevin thinks.
Nabulungi perks up at the reminder and turns to look at Arnold, smiling. Her hand moves under the table, probably to take Arnold’s hand. Kevin begins to roll his eyes, then catches himself at the chastising look Elder McKinley gives him. He purses his lips in a way that feels semi-defensive.
This, in turn, makes Elder McKinley roll his eyes, which feels like a childish victory.
Then Kevin becomes aware of the strange looks that Arnold and Nabulungi are giving them. He ducks his head, a little embarrassed, and returns to his dinner.
“It bothers you, right?”
Kevin looks up from his book, a little startled at being caught outside his bedroom at this hour. “What, Elder Cunningham’s snoring? Definitely.”
Elder McKinley makes an amused sound and joins Kevin on the couch. “No, I mean.” He waves a hand over his own wrist, and Kevin frowns.
“That’s personal.”
“I’m sorry,” Elder McKinley says, leaning back on the couch. “I just…” he trails off, shakes his head. They sit in silence for a while. Kevin, unable to concentrate on his book any longer, closes it slowly.
“I don’t even know how I got most of these,” Elder McKinley says after a moment. “Just regular things I guess, brushing against people at the mall, playing with my friends when I was little, things like that. Then there’s this, of course.“ He blushes a little as he traces the bright mark on his palm with a finger. “You must have worked really hard to avoid all of that.”
Kevin shrugs, even as he feels something in his chest tighten like a knot. “It’s important in my family.”
Elder McKinley nods. “I understand. I was just thinking… maybe I could help you out a little?”
He feels his eyebrows rise. “How exactly?”
Elder McKinley’s blush is surprisingly endearing. “I know an entire mark can’t be erased or anything,” he says, speaking quickly. “But maybe it could look a little better at least?”
And Kevin feels his heart speed up, because he understands now what Elder McKinley is suggesting, and it’s such a strange idea because Kevin hasn’t quite allowed himself to fantasize about touching someone who isn’t family (or incidentally, Arnold) for years. But now he is thinking about it, and it’s sending a rush of excitement through his body in a way that is entirely unfamiliar but also pretty nice. It would be so nice to have someone here that he doesn’t have to keep up his guard around.
“Well okay,” he says and holds out his wrist. “I mean, we’ve known each other for quite a while now, right?”
“Right,” Elder McKinley agrees, and suddenly looks a little nervous even as he reaches out with a hand. Kevin opens his mouth, suddenly hit by the unpleasant thought of his mark on Elder McKinley being nothing but another speck of color in his fingertips, but it’s a little too late. Elder McKinley’s eyes turn a little mischievous, or perhaps just playful, because at the last minute he turns his hand and rubs his wrist against Kevin’s, effectively overwriting the top part of the black on Kevin’s wrist.
And that’s that, except not quite. Kevin watches the purple spread on his arm, but it just keeps growing more intense, until it overtakes the vividness of any other marks Kevin has, even the ones from his mom and dad in the middle of his palms. Its hue changes too, from deep purple in the center, turning warmer and warmer until the edges are a hot red.
“It’s… pretty,” he says to break the silence, even though he can’t quite bring himself to mention the elephant in the room; this mark is certainly more vivid than Elder McKinley’s mark from Steve Blade. As a matter of fact, it probably matches Arnold’s and Nabulungi’s quite well.
Kevin has never given much thought to how and when he’ll get his soulmate mark. He knows that his oldest sister reads plenty of romance novels on the subject, and there are countless of movies about it of course. Not all people get it, which is probably why it is so romanticized. But of all way he could possibly have gotten it, and from whom, Kevin certainly hadn’t expected it from his own district leader. He doesn’t even know what Elder McKinley’s first name is, and that’s actually entirely strange.
“I’m sorry,” Elder McKinley says, looking surprised, but there’s an undertone in his voice that is almost like panic. “I didn’t expect…”
“Me neither,” Kevin says, but feels oddly calm. He reaches out to take hold of Elder McKinley’s arm (because that’s a thing he can do now), studies the mark. They’re exactly the same. But, he thinks. He actually, genuinely likes Elder McKinley, and that’s something. “Nothing we can do about it, right?”
And Elder McKinley looks at him with wide eyes, spots of red still on his cheeks, then slowly relaxes into Kevin’s touch, tilting his head in agreement.
They won’t be able to hide their new marks from the other Elders tomorrow; people will probably raise their eyebrows at them because they pretty much match, but somehow, Kevin doesn’t care even about that. And in the future he’ll have to show this mark to his parents and they’ll understand what it means. He can’t even imagine how they’ll react (though he can sort of already hear his mother’s scandalized voice in his head “And on your mission, too”). And maybe Kevin has a future with this other Elder, and that’s a humbling thought.
Maybe Kevin will start to consider himself as something other than heterosexual. Maybe he won’t. Maybe his bond with Elder McKinley will grow beyond that. Maybe they will have the nastiest arguments known to man, and maybe they’ll move in together at some point. And maybe they’ll learn to kiss, sometime, in the future; Kevin doesn’t know.
For now, they’re simply getting to know each other, and that will have to be enough for a while.