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"Today is the first day of the rest of your life" was never more true for Leonard Snart than his first time in juvie. It was simultaneously one the best and worst days in his short, fourteen-year-old existence, because not only was it the day he almost met his maker, but it also was the day he met his soulmate. Leo never was one for doing things easy.
Most people had their soulmate's signature written somewhere on their body. It usually appeared once they entered puberty, and would fade like an old scar if their soulmate died. Leo's was under his right collarbone. He wasn't sure exactly what it said because, one: he'd only ever seen it reflected in a mirror, and two: his soulmate had terrible handwriting. Also, it had only appeared a few days ago, but he was pretty sure the last letter was a "y".
It was actually the shock of finally having his soulmate-mark spontaneously appear on his body that caused him to get caught. He'd allowed himself to get distracted on the job, and his dad sure as shit wasn't gonna wait around to bail him out. So now he was stuck waiting for his court date and hoping that Lisa would be alright.
Turns out, he should have been worried about himself.
Leo was scrawny for his age, and while his father had found that an asset on jobs, it only made him a target on the streets. Or in detention centers, as it were, and his smart mouth didn't help matters. He was the smallest one there, and it was just Leo's luck that he'd managed to mouth off to one of the wannabe-alphas.
He'd managed to fend off some of the worst blows, but there were six of them to one of him, and their leader had a shiv. Leo resigned himself to a painful, bloody end, and curled up into a ball. He hoped his dad wouldn't take his issues out on Lisa, but he didn't really believe that's how it would play out in reality. Maybe his family would be compensated for their loss.
But then, the beating stopped.
"Hey! Pick on someone your own size!"
Leo raised his head from the cradle of his arms to see a guy built like a brick shithouse storming towards them. With one punch, the guy knocked out the leader and took up a protective stance over him.
"Too scared to go after someone that stands a chance, huh? Pussies," he yelled as the rest of the gang turned tail and ran.
Maybe this was a hallucination caused by blood loss. He hadn't gotten away completely unscathed, and Leo couldn't imagine why a total stranger would defending him. It took him a few moments to realize that the guy was trying to get his attention. He offered a hand up, and Leo's entire world narrowed down to the writing on the inside of the guys wrist.
Leo was pretty sure the guy was saying something to him as he took the offered hand, but he wasn't paying attention to that. He didn't pay attention to the cursory checks the guy was doing to make sure he wasn't injured too badly, merely gripped the guy's wrist even tighter when he tried to pull away. "You," he whispered.
"Yeah, uhh... okay? You didn't hit your head, did you? Maybe you should see a doctor." Now the guy was surreptitiously trying to pull his hand out of Leo's grasp, and it was enough to shock him out of his stupor. He shook his head.
"No, I'm sorry, it's just—wait, what's your name? Please?"
Leo couldn't believe it. Finding your soulmate so soon after their signature appeared was incredibly rare, and it almost always happened when someone's mark appeared prepubescently. (Scientists theorized that might be one of the very few reasons why a mark might appear prepubescently.) But even if his soulmate was looking at him like he was crazy, Leo was not a preteen, and that was his signature on the guy's wrist.
"Mick Rory," the guy said slowly; "look, kid, are you sure you don't need to see someone, because..."
"Mick," Leo said reverently, rolling the name around in his mouth. He smiled and pulled down the collar of his shirt with his free hand, showing Mick his own mark. "Leonard Snart—Leo. Nice to finally meet you."
It was like the sun coming out after a rainstorm on Mick's face when he saw what was written on Leo's skin. He stopped trying to get away, and instead gently traced a calloused finger over the marks under Leo's collarbone. "Fancy meeting you here too," he rumbled, and Leo had never felt happier. Maybe juvie wouldn't suck so hard after all.
It was later on, the two of them weren't actually cuddling–that would just be asking for trouble in juvie–but they were seated side by side against a wall, their sides pressed up against the other's; Leo's head resting on Mick's shoulder. They'd been getting to know one another all day, and still neither of them tired of the other's company. It seemed like Mick's words or reputation carried weight in the Central City Juvenile Detention Center, because no one had bothered Leo since. Somehow, he'd managed to get ahold of cigarettes, and had lit one up as night fell.
"You know," Mick began, smoke curling up to the sky, "going by Leo makes you sound like a damn Ninja Turtle."
"You're one to talk, Mickey Mouse," Leo replied, poking Mick in the side (he'd discovered earlier that Mick was somewhat ticklish), "besides, no one chooses their own nickname. That's lame."
"Whatever kid, I'm not calling you that."
"You could call me 'boss'."
"In your dreams," Mick paused to think. "How about Lenny? Or Len; it makes you sound like a samurai."
Leo snorted, "I'm pretty friggin far from a samurai. I couldn't even defend myself against one lousy shiv."
"Hey, hey kid, no, don't think like that." Mick shifted and extinguished his cigarette on the ground so he could cup Leo's face with both hands; "there were six of them and only one of you, and at least five of them were twice your size. Besides, you'll never be alone again. You got me now."
"How sweet. Hold me, Mick, I think I'm gonna cry."
"Putz." Mick gently knocked their foreheads together before releasing Leo, repositioning himself so they were once again pressed together from shoulder to thigh. "What you have to do is figure out how to stack the odds in your favor, even if you're outnumbered like before. You've also gotta learn how to fight, but I can teach you that."
"Can I assume there'll be lots of hands-on instruction?" Leo asked with a smirk.
"Not if you're still going by Leo. And not while you're still jailbait, kid; I don't like it here that much. Present company excluded, of course."
"Of course." Leo reached over and began to trace nonsensical patterns on Mick's muscular thigh as he imagined himself straddling it sometime soon. "I hope you fight better than you write; your handwriting is terrible. Maybe you're really meant to be a doctor."
Mick gave Leo a light shove with his shoulder, before wrapping his arm around him. "You saw me fight. I think you know the answer to that."
"I did indeed. My big strong hero," Leo fluttered his eyelashes at Mick as he said it to make him laugh (it worked).
"That makes you the damsel in distress, then. Should your new nickname be Lea, instead?"
"I'll have you know, I'm very much a man—male," Leo retorted, changing his answer when he saw the look Mick gave him, "and I highly doubt you'd appreciate me swooning into your arms."
"If you were in my arms, kid, I'd be very appreciative; don't you worry."
"So I either change my nickname or learn to answer to 'kid', huh?"
"Yup."
Leo leaned into Mick's warmth as he considered it. There really wasn't much of a question anyways. Keep the name his asshole father referred to him by, or use the one his soulmate chose for him? No contest.
"Well, I guess you'll have to get me a gift for my re-christening, then," he said with a smile, making Mick hold him tighter.
"For you? I'd join the fire department, Lenny."
And in in that moment, knowing Mick was in juvie for starting fires, Len fell in love.