Chapter Text
Hal is about eight years old when he could finally read his soul mark.
Humans are born with a name on their left ring finger - the name of their only soulmate in the entire universe. This mark will direct them into finding that special person, for they both are branded with the same colour and script, as perfectly intertwined as their own souls. On average, children will be able to see the names of their special ones by the time they are four years old, at which their parents will gift them with silver rings to hide this biggest secret from prying eyes.
When they grow up, and having found each other, they will exchange the silver for gold, for an eternal pledge that will forever bind them together, never to part again.
Until he turns eight, the name on Hal’s finger has been blurry and unreadable, for it is abnormally long. The only thing he could make out is the colour - a series of beautiful golden-brown letters unlike any other. His mother once told him, it must be because his soulmate has a similarly beautiful soul for it to leave such a branding claim on Hal’s finger.
Bartholomew, Hal stares at the soul mark, making out each syllable with slight difficulty. Disappointment swamps him.
Who the hell is going to have such a strange name?
Amongst seven billion - or more optimistically - at least two billion people who use the Latin alphabet, a Bartholomew is as difficult to find as a needle in a haystack. Hal has serious doubts about who besides that stone statue of that Church saint would be called such an awkward name.
At fourteen, the first pair of soulmates appeared in Hal’s life. His two classmates, swept by the wistful glances of their peers, took off their silver rings together; they chattered about their future, two souls joining as one while everyone around them faded into the background, their happiness infecting all that were within vicinity. Hal watched with a twinge of jealousy, trying to imagine the kind of happiness reserved only for that perfect merge between two perfect souls.
He still hasn’t met a single Bartholomew; but he is determined to find them.
As a pilot he’s been to many places, from uninhabitable deserts to sleepless cities; he’s met many people, among them his best friend and one who makes his heart flutter. But not a single one is called Bartholomew, as if his soulmate were avoiding him on purpose.
He stares at the name on his finger, disillusionment mounting.
Joining the Justice League made things easier. There is their alien leader who has no soul mark of any sort, their Amazonian princess who has lost her soulmate a long time ago, her mark faded to an unreadable scar. There is also Cyborg, who lost his entire left arm along with his soul mark in that accident. Batman, of course, never engages in what he calls “frivolous” conversations, but rumour has it that his soul mark is a string of letters from a completely unknown language, so mysterious that even the world’s greatest detective is stumped.
This gives Hal some comfort, for at least he could still read his soulmate’s name; at least his soulmate is still alive; at least Earth is such a small place compared to the entire universe.
One day, he will find his Bartholomew.
He sees them kissing, the two co-leaders of Justice league. They engulf each other with their heat and need, and when they finally part due to lack of air, Batman crudely grabs Superman’s hair and yanks him down. “No mark, hm?” A low and dangerous growl.
“You didn’t tell me your real name either, so I guess we are even?” Superman presses batman’s gloved hand over his heart, where the name “Bruce” is carved onto his skin in a rigid and dark-blue script.
They press together once more.
Hal turns around, unable to suppress the pain that slivered his heart.
Those two are the world’s finest, in each they trusted the most - how could they possibly have anyone else’s name? How could they not be soulmates?
His Bartholomew is still nowhere to be found.
That night he drags the Flash to the bar under some pathetic pretence. He orders with the intention of drowning himself in liquor. Barry worriedly watches over him, putting a patient stop to his antics before he could poison himself.
“Bar, I am never going to find my soulmate,” he mumbles to his best friend.
Barry gives him a comforting pat, as if soothing some giant dog. “You will - after all, you are the greatest Green Lantern, right?” His blue eyes are sad, as if sympathizing with his pain.
Barry is such a good person, Hal thinks, mind still foggy. If only his name were Bartholomew.
If only he were my soulmate.
Few more years pass, and finally Hal decides to throw that soul mark crap behind him and drags to bed the colleague he has been in love with for many years. As he strips Barry down to nothing, he catches the familiar flash of colour on Barry’s finger.
It is an ordinary name, for an average person will probably meet dozens of “Harold”s during their lifetime.
But what made Hal’s heart leap is the colour - the golden-brown that reminds of autumn fields - the colour that is identical to the brand on his own body.
“Barry, what is your full name?” His voice shakes, fear and nervousness corroding his will.
“I thought you knew a long time ago….” Barry seems to read the message between Hal’s gritted teeth. “Bartholomew Henry Allen.”
“All these years and you never told me that “Barry” isn’t your full name?!” Hal grabs his silver ring and throws it across the room. It clatters to the floor with a silvery clink, forgotten.
Barry stares at his name on Hal’s finger, a mix of awe and surprise on his face.
Delight floods them both, and for a moment they forget where to even put their hands.
“Jesus Christ,” Barry reverently rubs his name, branded onto Hal's finger. “I didn’t even know….”
“Yeah, after all these years, I never even knew that… it really is you,” Hal whispers against Barry’s lips, dragging them both into the abyss of primal need.
They grip each other tight as they kiss, grinding naked bodies together in flares of passion. It has been too long for him to finally hold his soul mate, to feel the greatest happiness in life as both their bodies and souls merge at their synchronized release.
“After all these years, you never thought of asking me if I might be the one?” Barry asks, head on Hal’s shoulder.
Hal runs his fingers through Barry’s golden hair, his entire body emanating a sense of calm and satisfaction. “How am I supposed to know that someone would actually have such a weird name… ow! Why did you hit me?!”
“Shut up, genius.”