Work Text:
Alfred had a soulmate mark on his wrist in the shape of a half moon– it probably wouldn’t have been his first choice if they were able to do that kind of thing, but as a teenager he’d considered adding stars and constellations, he did like space after all. He’d had a fascination with the concept for many years, more of a distraction from the fact that he would never get to see the universe up close and his attentions were better served there on earth, looking for someone who might never show up.
Well, he wasn’t actively looking. There were so many folks in the world, with so many different marks. So many different lives and people to love and learn about, though none of them had matched his mark, matched him in that right way that people wrote books and sang songs about, all that jazz. He’d loved those who had gone on to have fulfilling lives with their fated partners, and wondered if they’d ever thought of him long after he was gone.
It was fair if they hadn’t– Alfred wanted to think that whoever his moon was, as he called them in his head whenever he chanced a glance down at never fading black lines etched into his skin, if he met them he wouldn’t think of anyone else either. That was the whole point. But by his late 20s, with so many friends already settled down and Alfred only just starting to feel like more of an adult with any of shit together, he was rapidly finding himself alone in a sea of pairs, always the odd one out.
Probably a little over dramatic, he wasn’t even 30 yet, so he had time, after all. He just wasn’t very good with time, considering his penchant for lateness, even on the eve of a new job in the city, not so far from the old one, but with much better prospects. He had to take the train, something he'd done almost every day already, but of course on his first day he was late, and missed the one that would have gotten him downtown as early as he'd wanted. He ended up on his usual route, which meant he had a three block walk out of his way to look forward to once they arrived. It was kind of a bad look to have to text his supervisor on the first day that he’d already screwed up, but luckily, he was charming as fuck and he assured himself he could smooth it over once he made it there.
The next train arrived right on time, and as Alfred crossed the platform to shoulder his way onboard, his wrist began to itch. He could ignore it at first, more worried about trying to find a seat (of which there were none) before frantically grabbing hold of a bar up top before he toppled onto an old woman dozing beside the window he was crammed against. It was rush hour and he wasn’t thinking about much. It was just a perfectly, unremarkable day-- except for the whole being horribly late thing. All he could do was hope by the next stop the train car would empty out.
The itching got worse, and he had to switch hands holding one of the steady grips to scratch at it like he had countless times his entire life and never thought about, because no one really thought about their marks until they had to, during the moment of truth. He hardly even looked at his anymore, it was simple and he’d known and dated people with more interesting or outlandish ones.
Today it was bothering him, though. He glanced up at it through fogged glasses, wondering if he’d been bitten by a stray mosquito or a spider, but instead of little red bumps, his mark was aglow with a faint, pulsing red light. Alfred nearly swallowed his own tongue.
Of course he looked around, frantic, excited like he had been when he’d first learned that there was really one person out there in the world made just for him and he for them, a person to tell all his secrets to, someone he'd connect with more than anyone else no matter how different they might have been on the surface. But the novelty had worn off after puberty ran most people over like a truck and the magic was short lived, because there was no way to know or find the person, you just had to wait. Alfred sucked at waiting.
But now it came rushing back, the sensation of his skin prickling all over now, but despite the many faces, heads bobbing up and down rhythmically with the movement of the train as it sped along its path, no one was looking back at him. No one was shouting over the crowd of bodies looking for their match, the way Alfred should have done himself except his beating heart was trapped in his throat all of a sudden, making it difficult to do anything but stand there, stricken.
The train came to a stop, and people got off. Alfred hoped with less people, it’d be more obvious to see. As he watched a line of passengers exit onto the platform, one figure stopped short, very near to Alfred’s line of vision. A man with fair hair, in a suit like Alfred, holding fast to a briefcase and a folded sweater over one arm, and pausing as though he’d missed a step while walking on flat ground.
He lifted his opposite arm, and Alfred could see the glittering links of a slender silver watch chain wrapped around his wrist, all as if he were looking for the time. But he wasn’t. He turned rapidly, just in time for Alfred to see his rapidly paling face, but still splotched faintly with pink, freckled across a tiny nose, and green irises that twinkled like the stars Alfred used to draw near his mark with sharpie pens and ink.
Inexplicably, their eyes met, just like in all the movies and books, the songs he used to scoff at. Alfred’s wrist burned, like he had it pressed to the surface of a hot skillet.
And then, the train started moving, and Alfred let go of the handle he’d been clinging onto for dear life, smacking his forehead into the window right next to the little old lady, who he inadvertently awakened. She wasn’t happy about it.
Of course Alfred came back the next morning, at the very same time, boarded the very same train. He had ridden this very same route for the last 4 years, always got on and off at the same stop, but it seemed inexplicable to him that he’d never had his mark act up, never come across this person before. But, that was how chance worked, where all the right factors had lined up on just the right day, and of course he’d been dumb enough to just stand and stare at the person before riding away, feeling the burn on his wrist fade while his heart pounded for the rest of the day, and days after.
But he didn’t feel it again. One week went by, with no sign of the man. It didn’t seem right or possible that he’d really missed his soulmate like this, and so stupidly, but surely such things had happened before, right? Surely there had to be a way to find him again.
Finally, after Alfred spent a full weekend googling solutions and skimming ‘missed connections’ on forums, that Monday the minute he boarded the train, his wrist began to itch, ever so faintly, and he flipped around, eyes searching the car he was in and the outside platform with a desperation he’d never known before in his entire life.
Yet again no one was looking at him, not a single soul even glanced his way. So Alfred began to move from one end of the car to the other, wondering if he could see into the next. A Herculean effort, since no one wanted to move, and it wasn’t fun to jostle someone and end up elbowed in the face for his efforts, but Alfred would take a black eye if meant reaching the man he’d seen on the platform that day.
But as he reached the doors that led into the next section of the train, the only thing he saw staring back at him were other disgruntled morning commuters. Frustrated, he started to slump. The train began to slow as it pulled into the next station, and people began to exit. The car he had been staring into was emptying out.
He caught a glimpse of a slight blond, with the same briefcase and same sweater, being the last to flitter out the doors.
Alfred’s eyes went wide as once again his adrenaline kicked off, spurring him faster into action this time. The door to the next section was locked, so he couldn’t run after him, so he turned, only then noticing that the train car he was in was not nearly as empty as the other one was. With a flurry of ‘scuse me’s and ‘that’s my soulmate, I need to get off, that’s my soulmate!’ he was ultimately unable to make much progress towards the doors before they were closing, and Alfred was left banging on them like a lunatic as once again, the stranger, was stood on the platform, looking back at the train with a dawning look of horror.
He caught his eye again. He looked straight at him and Alfred’s chest felt heavy and light all at once. But the train was moving, and off they sped.
Alfred spent the next week perched right at the doors, so he could be prepared to exit. His mark didn’t react once.
So he spent the subsequent weekend formulating a plan. He knew now which stop it was the man had gotten off of. He knew as well that Mondays seemed to be the right day, the only day, and two times couldn’t just be a coincidence.
And so the next Monday, Alfred took the morning off. He took a much earlier train to the stop the stranger had exited at, two times, and waited. He dressed himself up real nice, put on his favorite cologne, made sure not a hair was out of place. Then he sat on a bench and bounced his knee, counted the minutes down to the hour, chatted to a stray pigeon that came close enough to peck near his shoes about how this had to work, it just had to.
The train pulled in. Scores of people began exiting, cutting off Alfred’s path towards the train, though he was more focused on who was leaving, who might have been coming out, but his mark remained dormant as he watched others heading for the stairs and out into the world. The doors of the train were closing, and miserably, Alfred wondered if he'd really lost his chance. Maybe third time wasn’t a charm after all.
Yet– something told him to look up. Something, like the little itch at the top of his wrist that began to grow worse as he found himself approaching the closed car. As the sound of the train beginning to move cut off most of the sound of chatter and movement around him, he saw from one of the windows that slowly began to pass him by, the face of his soulmate came quite suddenly into view. He was looking around, searchingly, still on the train because–
Because he was looking for Alfred. He had been waiting for Alfred.
Immediately Alfred threw himself at the window like an utter madman, startling both anyone outside who saw it and the poor person inside who was closest to where he’d smacked into fingerprinted glass. It had the desired effect though, he watched as his soulmate looked up immediately at the noise, their eyes locked, and he leapt from his seat.
“Hey!” Alfred shouted, half laughing as he was forced to move along with the train as it carried on forward, “Alfred! It’s Alfred!”
The man on the train said something to the person still next to the window, something very apologetic he would imagine, whatever it was it got them to move so that he could finally see him up close, make out more of the freckles across his upturned little nose and cupid’s bow of his lips parted as he tried to to listen though the muffled barrier.
He held up his wrist, pointing at it. Across his skin was etched the symbol of a sun, so stark he swore he could feel its rays pointed towards him, brushing him with warmth. A simple, perfect sun, to his simple, but perfect moon. And then, the man smiled.
/‘ Arthur ’/, he said, then /‘Tomorrow’/, mouthed both words as obviously as possible, and Alfred took several deep, shaky breaths because he had a name now.
He was so happy to have one more piece to the pretty puzzle that was rapidly being pulled from his sights, that he almost stumbled, about to eat concrete from how quickly he was running now, trying to keep up, until it was clear he was going to run out of platform. It was only after one last bittersweet smile from his soulmate as the train pulled away entirely, that Alfred finally stopped, heaving and panting and probably pitting out his brand new suit.
He laughed, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
“Arthur .”
He should have held up his phone. Something. Anything. But he had a name.
And they had tomorrow.