Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Oh sweetie, it's happened!" She says amusedly. "Don't be scared, nothing is wrong with you. Let's sit down and have a talk."

That's when she tells me about soulmates. According to her, when your soulmate has been 'picked', anything they write on their skin shows up on yours. She tells me the story of how she and Dad met after he flew all the way from Sydney, Australia to Macon, Georgia to finally meet her after years of communicating through only writing on their own arms.

"So you're saying... This is my soulmate? Writing on their own hand? And it just showed up on mine?" I ask slowly.

She nods happily. "Yep. And it looks like she 'hearts FC'"

I look back down at my hand; at the black scribble smack dab in the middle, right under my ring and middle knuckles, slightly slanted in positioning: CG ♥ FC

As the school year goes by, the drawings become more frequent and more detailed. From small notes and reminders and CG ♥ FC to intricate designs of flowers and animals. At first I just watch them form on my right arm, quickly figuring she was left handed. One day, in another boring class of World History as I watch a blue and orange lily slowly appear on my inner forearm, I finally decide to right back.

You're really good.

The drawing continues for a little longer until the person probably notices the new addition to their left arm. A few minutes have past when I get a reply written sloppily on my left arm as well, right beside my writing.

I finally get a response, do I?

I smile and write an answer back beside hers.

Sorry. Too distracted by your talent. How's FC doing? ;)

Haha very funny.

"Lexa, eyes up here please." Mr. Jaha says, taking my attention off of the conversation on my arm.

Time goes by and we start writing to each other a lot more. Clarke Griffin is her name, and she loves not paying attention in class. We would play hangman and dots and Pictionary and she would draw Mr. Jaha getting hit in the head with anything I requested whenever I complained about him to her. She was quickly becoming an absolutely amazing friend.

Music type, GO! She writes one day in the beginning of our sophomore year. I roll my eyes, knowing I should be paying attention to whatever is going on in British Lit, but who needs to know this shit anyway?

~Acoustic

~Rock

~Country

~Blues

Her neat hand writing forms on my right arm.

Ew, country? I'm sorry for your ears. She adds a doodle of someone vomiting because, why not? This was Clarke Griffin, I had quickly learned.

Don't knock it til you try it :)

Okay fine, give me a song and I'll listen to it right now.

I smile at my arm. No one looked at me weirdly anymore; by this time a few other people in class have started getting writings on their arms as well.

Girl Crush by Little Big Town

Oooo, fitting ;)

I can't help the blush on my face from being caught.

Minutes later, she writes again.

Okay, I don't hate that song. Kind of love it. But don't tell anyone that or I will draw a big dick on my face in permanent marker. And yes, I am willing to do it if it embarrasses you.

This goes on for the rest of my high school career. We learn a lot about each other without really learning much. I knew her favorite everything, from color to food to sleeping position; yet I didn't know where she lived or what school she went to. I didn't even know if she lived in the US.

But that was Clarke. She loved the mystery. She wouldn't let me tell her anything and she wouldn't let up with her information.

She knew me well too. She knew I drew on my arm when I was nervous for a test or that I'd stop responding to her when I was sad. When that happened, she would draw out a colorful design or picture to cheer me up and soon enough, I'd find myself spilling my guts to her in small and long patches all over my left arm, since she refused to exchange phone numbers with me for these occasions.

It's time for college and I move down to Athens with my best friend Anya for school. Clarke is there in her own way for my emotional move to the new city and away from my mother and draws a cute cartoon raccoon and lion snuggled together on my leg while Anya drives us to our new home.

The raccoon is you. I'm the lion. She writes on my other leg.

The fluttering in my stomach is undeniable.

Sap. I write back.

You love it :)

Sophomore year, I meet a girl. She's tall and beautiful, long brown hair falling down to her butt, chocolate brown eyes that dance just as lively as she does, full lips that are as welcoming as her family is. Her name is Costia. Costia DeLeon.

Anya thinks I'm stupid for falling in love with her.

"How are you going to fall for someone that you know you're not going to end up with in the end?"

"You never know that." I say back.

"Clarke is your soulmate, Lexa!" Anya says for the nth time. "Soul. Mate. Meaning she's who you belong with. Are you that thick?"

"I don't see you with your soulmate, An." I shoot back. "In fact, I see you with everyone but your soulmate."

"Echo and I have made it clear that we're free to sleep with whoever we want until she flies down here next year, thank you very much." Anya says matter-of-factly. "Have you and Clarke talked about anything like that yet?"

Anya knows the answer. Clarke and I have never had an actual serious conversation about the whole soulmates thing before. Unlike me, Clarke hadn't been with anyone after that Finn guy from freshman year, after we started talking. Well, except for that time in freshman year of college where she had a drunken one night stand with some girl called Nylah. I didn't write back to her for a few days after she told me about it.

"Clarke is fine with it." I say. It's true; Clarke had given me her blessing with Costia. She was happy for me and wished me luck with her.

Anya dramatically rolls her eyes. "Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that."

After two years of dating Costia, I find her in bed with another girl. She tells me it's the girl who has been writing on her skin since she was seventeen. She barely looks sorry about it.

I shut everything out. I'm so fucking numb and I drown myself in bottles of whiskey. Clarke wants to know what's going on, why I've stopped writing back to her. But I don't answer her and after two months, the writing ceases. Anya doesn't yell at me for it, though I can feel the disappointment radiating off of her whenever we're together.

Six months later, Clarke comes back. She doesn't ask me questions, she doesn't try talking to me. She just starts drawing again.

She draws almost every day. Such beautiful designs they are; sometimes they're bright and abstract and drawn in marker, other times they're cool and deep and painted onto my skin, showing her true talent. Her drawing style that day tells me what mood she's in: happy, sad, angry, anxious, even hungry (she starts doodling pizzas and chicken legs and other things when she's hungry). I love watching them create themselves like magic on my skin. I almost get one of her artworks tattooed, but I don't want to miss anything else she draws.

When she's missing me the most, she draws the raccoon and the lion.

It makes me miss her even more.

I graduate school and move in with Anya and Echo. Echo is the perfect person for Anya. They're the first time I witness the meeting of two soulmates and it breaks my heart almost. Anya is so much happier with her than without her and I think, maybe that could be me too?

But no. I can't let myself go down that road again. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe if I met Clarke, she'd think her soulmate sucked and she'd prefer to be alone for the rest of her life. Clarke is, after all, much more outgoing and friendly than I am. No one would want someone like me.

One night, I drink a little too much with some friends and write on my skin for the first time in almost a year.

Love is weakness.

Clarke barely lets up on her skin drawing. I can't tell if she does it for me or if she just does it because of the artist she is. Sometimes I swear it's for me; like when she draws the raccoon and lion, or when she draws something I love, like candles and the woods. Sometimes I think she absentmindedly thinks of me; like when she draws random designs that have my name hidden in them, or when she flat out turns it into my name (that's when they wash off almost immediately). There are times when she leaves little notes and messages for me too. They're in small places that I wouldn't normally notice, like the outside of my finger or on the underside of my foot. Sometimes she'll write country song lyrics that make me laugh because she never admitted that I got her into listening to it.

One message in particular, I found faded as though it had been written for a while already on my ankle:

Come back to me please...

"Lexa, stop doing this to yourself." Anya says during dinner one day. "You're hurting yourself and you're hurting Clarke."

"She's not going to find happiness with anyone but you, Lexa." Echo says. "She's never going to find someone to fill that hole in her chest and neither are you until you two are finally together. You're just delaying the inevitable."

"I know..." I say back. I've known this for a while now. "I just don't know how to do it..."

As though hearing my distress, Clarke starts to write down places: appointments and whatnots. I can't tell if it's her way of telling me where she is, or if she's just writing them as reminders, but it's my only way to find her.

After many attempts, she finally writes down a place that only has one location. It's in California and her appointment is the next day.

I book my flight for two hours from now.

California is way different from any place I've been before. I get a hotel and can barely sleep from how excited and nervous I am that I might possibly be seeing Clarke Griffin for the first time ever in just nine hours.

Almost nine years of writing on my own skin to this girl who is supposed to be my soulmate and I'll finally be seeing her. I'll finally be able to put a face to the hand drawings. Finally put a voice to the words I read to myself. Finally be able to feel those hands that have written on me actually on me.

Clarke is drawing on my arm again and I smile down at the small comic style raccoon and lion. The raccoon is sitting under a tree and the lion is lying on a branch right above it, looking down at the grey animal. The last thing drawn is a little pink heart floating right beside the lion's head.

It's time now. I jump into a taxi and he takes me to the building. I'm early. I walk in and sit anxiously in a seat against the wall, fidgeting and picking at my jeans.

A blonde girl walks in ten minutes later and sits against the opposite wall after seeing the lady at the front desk. Just by looking at her, I know she's the one. I'm immediately drawn to her and I want to get up and wrap my arms around her. She's fucking beautiful; the most beautiful person I've ever laid my eyes on. Her blonde hair flows in waves past her shoulders, her eyes that are skimming over the paper on the clipboard in front of her are as blue at the clear sky today, the dimple on her chin is just the cutest thing ever, and her lips are full and pulled into a pout as she fills out the paperwork.

I quietly ask the lady beside me if I can borrow her pen and she hands it to me. I press the blue ballpoint to my left wrist.

Love is not weakness.

I found you.

Almost immediately, Clarke notices the writing on her own wrist and looks at it intently. Her head shoots up to scan the room.

Her eyes lock onto mine that are looking right back at her.