Chapter Text
"Soulmatism - a complete observation."
By Darlene M. Louis.
Dedicated to my dearest soul bond, may our handprints never fade from one another.
Property of West Valley High School. Students are NOT permitted to annotate this book. Any graffiti and/or inappropriate language written will be reported.
Chapter 1: introduction.
As a society, we managed to slowly evolve into a species that has been touched by a higher being than us. Whether it be a god or a deity of love is beyond my knowledge, but one thing I know is that it's true and ever-growing, becoming the new normal since the first case way back in 1804. Soulmatism (see pages 126-137) has simply taken the world over with a strong 44.15% of men and women over the age of 40 having found their soulmate and a staggering 98.73% of the world having been confirmed at birth (see pages 73-89 for medical analysis) to be a holder of such ability.
Although childish, there's simply no other way to describe it other than being Soulmates. From early experimentation and observations, doctors, scientists, the government and everything else in between and beyond came up with a consensus. In this world, there is somebody perfect for you, the other half of your split soul wandering this earth waiting for you. They complement your being while simultaneously slotting into your life seamlessly, and may it take weeks or months, years or decades, you will one day meet them. When you meet them, you will immediately feel a loose connection, the urge to pester them, a nagging feeling of familiarity, and one day, when you two either bump into each other for the first time or give up and fist fight outside the local diner, your handprints will stick to one another.
Simply said, you know you've met your soulmate because their handprints will warm you, leaving temporary thermal prints on your body until they naturally fade. Usually, they fully disappear within ten minutes or so; however, the 'stronger' or more 'perfect' the bond is, the longer it can take (see pages 15-20). [...]
[Black ink] Soulmatism is such a dumb word.
[Blue ink] Well aren't you a bundle of joy
[...] As previously stated, soulmate discoveries can be described as "unnerving" and "uncomfortable" with the public spectacle often occurring when such meetings first happen. The discomfort is inevitable as our species' way of sorting together souls is purely physical; there's simply no way of hiding the thermal print of the other half of your soul's handprint on your body. The heat will shock you at first, then stain your skin until it feels it's ready to go, [...]
[Red ink] Wow, this chick is saying a whole lot of nothing.
[Blue ink] Or you're just illiterate. Wild accusations, I know!
[...] I, as an adult and somebody who found their bond young, have had more than enough time to analyse the handprints spread along both me and my soulmate's body, [...]
[Black ink] What a weird way of saying you get off to marking your soulmate. Freak.
[Blue ink] pretty sure that's only you thinking that.
[...] The stronger the bond, the longer the prints last. Simple, right? My wife and I believed that for years, we took pride in the fact our bond was strong enough to allow a simple hand-holding to last for an hour until our mutual friend found his bond, [...]
[Red ink] Woah, this bitch is gay? Damn, don't think I can read on now.
[Pink ink] You'd think the concept of soulmates would make people like you stop being assholes
[Red ink] fuck off
[Blue ink] You borrowed the book again? Sounds like you're into it, bro.
[...] our friend's soul marks hardly need contact, their skin turning blotchy oranges and reds easily without having physical contact with the other. I conducted a minor experiment as I'm neither a scientist nor a great academic, merely an author. I came to the conclusion that with a bond so strong, a hand could hover over the other at a maximum of five centimetres before imprinting onto their bond's skin. A bond so strong is a delicacy and, therefore, should be monitored and protected more than the average. Additionally, moderate to extreme bonds can find themselves feeling each other's emotions in abstract ways like mere gut instincts or [...]
[Pink ink] Oh to have a soulmate
[Red ink] loser
[...] The impacts of a strained bond can negatively impact both people involved. Ignoring the bond and/or refusing to acknowledge the other person involved once discovering your connection can lead to a fraying link with physical damage. Ignoring it and refusing to touch the other can result in agony if you eventually come into contact. For example, if you ignore your bond for a month and then accidentally brush against their shoulder whilst in a busy hall, you'll both feel the average warmth amplified by at least 50% of the common sensation. It'll burn, stain into your skin and refuse to fade away no matter how long you wait. Additionally, extended periods of time with no contact have led to reports of memory loss, depression, anxiety, headaches and, in some extreme cases, illness. Subjects of such observations (most notably being J. William's 'fractured bonds' series of investigations) had often reported feeling hollow, directionless and paranoid as well as the rare mention of mania and psychosis. Controversial as it is, that is why many soulmates are attached at the hip no matter how much they dislike each other. It's out of fear, fear of the possible pain and [...]
"LaRusso," A voice calls, stern, tired, probably croaky from hours of yelling. "Office now, put the book down, we both know it's not helping you or the situation," he runs a hand down his face and opens the door behind him. "God knows, Johnny refused to even open it."
He looks up, swallowing hard as he pushes the book closed and onto the rickety side table. "Doubt he knows how to read, sir," he mumbles, getting to his feet and following him into the office.
Slumping onto the chair, he takes notice of Johnny's rigid figure beside him, hand clutched onto an ice pack against his bright orange jaw like he's holding back on lashing out at the entire room. There's a tense pull on his eyebrows, the telltale sign of a deep ache within his bones. Daniel hates to relate to the guy, but he understands, the sting of his bloodied knuckles raging against his nerves and his busted nose threatening to gush blood once again being more than enough to understand. He'd hate to ruin another chair; he had already destroyed enough in the nurse's office earlier from his gushing blood.
He can feel his mother's glare bore holes into the side of his skull, her legs crossed over each other neatly as her brow raises at him accusingly. She was mad, of course she was, she had been pulled out of work to deal with her son getting into a fistfight like a so-called 'street thug' within the first few months of moving states. If she wasn't mad, Daniel would be far more distressed. Either way, he clenches his jaw and stares ahead at the principal who has his head in his hands and a sigh on the tip of his tongue.
"Mr Lawrence, Mr LaRusso," he straightens up, attempting to make himself seem more put together. "I'm sure we are all fully aware why we are here, and I'm sure you are both extremely aware of the zero violence policy we have at West Valley High."
The words roll right over him, steamrolling his thoughts out into one thick, smooth plane of spilt regret. He keeps his eyes locked onto the desk, taking in the stale stench of coffee and leaking ink, the pain of his red and orange, yellow and green smattered flesh and the deep, spiralling feeling of Johnny's presence pressing into his core. He's taught, coiled up far too tightly in a bright fit of anxiety and undying rage. It rubs him the wrong way that he can feel his vague emotions, that the other can probably feel his as well. It's too raw to have to share with another, too abrupt, too vulnerable. He hates the thought of it, now he has to live with it.
The air between them, despite being able to feel how each other feels in a distant, cloudy sort of way, remains charged with a sick need to harm again. Whether it be from their fight or the fact that their skin remains marked with each other's touch despite not having been near each other in nearly an hour, is past Daniel's knowledge. Perhaps it's both, perhaps it's neither. Perhaps it's not even charged and he's overthinking it all. He doubts that last one, but still.
Johnny hasn't said a word yet, deciding it's better to brood by his mother's side than voice those pitiful thoughts in his dense skull.
The older man looks between them, eyes darting between each boy in a desperate attempt to get them to apologise, to redeem themselves, to at least nod or acknowledge him in any way. He finally lets a sigh out. "Okay then, would you boys like to explain to both your mothers and I what got you in such a mood that you both decided to, instead of going to class and ignoring each other like the bell told you to do, throw punches at each other like delinquents?"
Daniel can feel eyes dart to him momentarily, a sharp glare before he hears him speak. "He doesn't know when to shut up."
He scoffs, mouth twitching in pain as his split lip stretches at the gesture. "Oh, is that right?" He turns his head to finally face the other; his eyes meet with the twisted face of a spoilt boy with far too much ego and not enough respect. He meets the expression with his own scowl. "Maybe, I wouldn't have to open my mouth if you laid off my ass once in a while. I know it's a foreign concept to you, but not everybody adores having your groupies jump them every other period." It's a shitty response, dull and full of muted anger in the presence of his mother's blazing glare. He's a smart ass in the face of a fight, his Ma has always shook her head at him, mumbling about how his big mouth would get him in big trouble one day. Call it mother intuition or destiny.
Probably a bit of both seeing as how Johnny's handprints are still—
Nope.
Not addressing that yet, hopefully never.
"Daniel," his mother says, voice clipped like she was holding back a scream as she cuts off his growing tirade. "Dio, cosa hai fatto?" She looks pitifully at him, eyes softer as she takes in his heated cheeks and swollen nose, bloodied around the edges and poorly bandaged. "Huh?" She prompts, eyebrows raising as he bites his lip, refusing to answer.
She shakes her head. "This isn't what we moved here for. I thought it'd be a fresh start, a blank slate, not an... an opportunity for you to become some delinquent."
Daniel winces, letting his body falter into the chair. Here it comes.
His mother turns to the principal, gesturing sharply. "My boy isn't like this, never was and never will be. You expect me to sit here politely when I've been called out of work for this? A fight? An—" she waves a hand at Daniel, "attack if anything? Principal, with all due respect there is no chance you'll be punishing them equally, not after all that he has been through at the hands of—"
"Ma—"
"Non ora, Daniel!"
The principal tuts, waving his hands in front of him in a strange attempt at dissolving the growing tension. "Mrs LaRusso, as much as we're aware of the increasing... feud, Daniel was just as physical within the incident, letting him off the hook would be unfair—"
"Unfair?" She scoffs, a sharp exhale following as she rubs divots into her temples. There's a simmering rage there, her stiff posture giving it away if he hasn't already caught onto her hitched breaths. There's a filtered worry behind it all, a pleasant stream of hope that Daniel clutches onto even if he knows the reason behind it is one he'd rather ignore. She knows what the hues of a sunset imprinted along flesh means. So does he, so does Johnny, and so does his mother.
The room is more suffocating than it was before, the stifling stench of old wood making his skin prickle with goosebumps. Daniel can hear the wall clock ticking, the muffled voices of students passing outside, and the occasional slosh of Johnny's melted ice pack. His mother is still seething, his knuckles are still throbbing, their skin is still stained and Johnny is still burning against the edge of his senses like an ember that refuses to be stomped out.
He hates it. Hates that no matter how much distance is put between them, it will never make a difference. He could be halfway across the city, locked in a casket and buried six feet below ground, and he knows he’d still feel his curling wrath deep in his gut.
The principal clears his throat. "I understand tensions are high, Mrs. LaRusso. But the school has policies, important and beneficial policies that are there to ensure the safety of our students and—"
"Policies?" His mother scoffs. "Policies? Your policies didn’t do much when my son was getting cornered between classes, did they?"
Daniel shifts uncomfortably. "Ma," he tries again, quieter this time, less certain.
"No, I want to hear this." She folds her arms, turning back to the principal. "You tell me, Principal, where were your policies then?"
The principal exhales sharply, clearly exhausted. "Mrs. LaRusso—"
"As much as I understand your worry, Johnny hasn't laid a hand on your son until today, and besides, this isn't about policies or punishment for making each other bleed, it's about... the other issue." Johnny's mother cuts in.
Her voice is soft. Softer than expected, given the circumstances. It isn’t cutting or cold or dismissive. It’s careful, measured, almost like a sick sense of curiosity, like a schoolgirl aching for the next event in her friend's dramatic retelling of her day.
Daniel takes a look at her and immediately regrets it.
She’s watching him. Not like he’s a problem, not like she’s looking for someone to blame, but like she’s studying him. He tries to search for the disappointment, the disgust, but it's not there.
Just a probing stare like she’s trying to piece something together. A puzzle, a dissected frog, a fragmented story with one too many perspectives.
His stomach churns.
"Oh, please—"
"Daniel," his mother warns.
"That fight is exactly why we're here! Not the stupid prints on us," Daniel snaps, ignoring her. "If it were a simple brush of the shoulders that made us figure it out, we wouldn't be—"
The principal holds up a hand to stop him. "You may be right but—"
A prim huff stops him in his tracks as she turns her gaze toward her son. Nobody gets to finish their sentence within this office anymore apparently. "Right then, Johnny, be honest. Did you start this?" Her voice is sharper as if irritated by the lack of addressing the glaring elephant in the room.
Johnny's grip on the ice pack tightens. "Does it really matter?"
"Yes," she says simply.
Daniel watches the flicker of irritation cross Johnny’s face, but it’s gone too fast to settle. Johnny exhales harshly through his nose, eyes flicking to Daniel before he looks away again. "Like I said, he talks too much," he mutters.
"That's a load of shit!" He starts, getting a harsh reprimand from the principal for his 'foul language'. "Your son punched me first, right in the jaw," he gestures to his busted lip and brightly coloured cheek. "If we're playing the who started it game, he threw the first swing."
"And you didn't hesitate to chuck a sucker punch right back, huh, LaRusso?" Johnny fires back, jaw tightening.
"Sorry that I'm not the pushover you dreamt of me being."
"Oh as if I'd ever dream about your sorry ass—"
"Enough!" the principal finally exclaims, rubbing feverishly at his temples. "Enough. I don’t care who started it. We aren't here to rehash the argument, this isn’t up for debate."
He sighs, rifling through a few papers before continuing. "Mrs. Lawrence is right. Despite the fight being relevant and a large reason as to why we are all here, I believe there is a much more... pressing matter at hand." He glances around the room, clearly new to this uncomfortable topic. "Both of you are getting a week of detention, a simple hour after school every day starting from tomorrow and ending on Wednesday next week. And…" He hesitates, looking down at another document before looking back up at them with an obvious reluctance.
Johnny tenses beside him. Daniel j how he knows it without looking at him.
"You’ll both be required to attend so-called 'soulmate counselling' with Ms Wells during fifth period. Tuesdays and Fridays."
For a second, the words don’t register.
Then—
"What?" Daniel blurts out, less angry and more dumbfounded at the ludicrous idea.
Johnny straightens in his seat, his ice pack momentarily forgotten as his arm slumps to his side. "Nope."
"Oh, it’s not optional, far from it." The principal clasps his hands together on the desk, seemingly having regained his confidence as the one supposed to be in charge of the situation. "You’ll meet with the counsellor twice a week, starting tomorrow."
"That's insane, unnecessary," Johnny snaps. "Counseling? For what? We’re not—" He gestures vaguely at Daniel like the very idea is physically repulsive.
Daniel recoils, something ugly curling in his chest. "Oh believe me," he hisses, "I know."
The principal raises a hand. "Look. The school has procedures in place for cases like this."
"Cases?" Daniel echoes, incredulous. "Like this?"
"Daniel, you were reading the book the nurse gave you no more than ten minutes ago," the principal says dryly. "You know how this works."
Daniel's mouth snaps shut.
The room is dead silent.
His mother exhales softly beside him, a quiet, steadying breath.
Johnny's mother shifts in her seat. "So that's it, then? No suspension, no expulsion no—"
"That’s it." The principal nods. "We have policies, and in a situation such as this, we'd much rather ensure the safety of your children than punish them for their mistakes as of now." He briefly glances at his mother at the word 'policy'. She bristles under the slight dig at her previous outburst.
Daniel clenches his fists, knuckles turning white as his nails bite into the bruises already there. He has no faith in himself that he won't either end up landing himself in a second week's worth of detention or crying himself a river.
He can still feel Johnny's thinly reigned bitterness simmering beside him. It sticks to his skin like residue, like tar, like a mark that won’t fade no matter how hard he tries to scrub it off.
A week of detention.
Counselling.
With Johnny fucking Lawrence.
Perfect.
Johnny hasn’t said anything else, but Daniel can still feel the heat radiating off of him, threatening to warp and taint his skin. He doesn’t want to look at Johnny, not now, not later, not ever, and he certainly doesn’t want to play nice with him or acknowledge the fact that their skin is still branded with each other’s handprints.
He takes a steadying breath, flooding out his thoughts and replacing them with a thick sheet of emptiness and clarity.
His mother is silent too, yet her presence stays as weighty as it has been the entire meeting. She’s frustrated, evidently so, but there’s a layer of something squishier, something unspoken in the way her hand rests on his knee, a silent gesture of reassurance that doesn’t seem to match the situation.
"Is there anything else you’d like to add, Mrs. LaRusso?" the principal asks, looking at his mother with the slightest trace of exhaustion. Daniel can’t blame him—his mother can be a stubborn woman when it comes to her son's safety.
"No," she says with a sigh, still angry but now resigned. "No more of this. Best believe my son won't be getting into fights like this again; he's not a bad kid." She gestures vaguely at Johnny, her eyes narrowed, but there’s a softness in her voice that only Daniel catches. She’s not truly mad at Johnny or his mother, not entirely anyway. But she’s mad at what he represents—something about this state, this school, the way it’s all stacked against them.
The principal looks at Johnny’s mother next, who nods with an almost calculating expression.
Johnny stiffens slightly at the movement, but Daniel isn’t paying attention to him anymore. He can feel the weight of the entire room pressing in on him—the judgment, the uncertainty, the knowledge that in a day, he’s going to be sitting in some sterile, uncomfortable room with Johnny for a dumb game of pretend therapy, of all things. He doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or mortified by the thought.
"Alright then," the principal says, standing up as the tension finally begins to subside. "You both are dismissed for today. I’ll see you in detention tomorrow, and I expect full cooperation in your counselling sessions. There are no exceptions because best believe I'm getting it rescheduled if either of you misses a day. Understood?"
Daniel doesn’t respond at first. He’s not sure what to say. His mouth feels dry, and his fists ache with the urge to punch something. He’s never been the kind of guy to be violent, to punch a person or a wall, but this? There's something about Johny, something about him, that gets under his skin and makes him want to snap.
Finally, he mutters a small "Yeah, whatever" before getting to his feet and stomping through the office door and into the watchful crowd of students attempting to go home.
────────
Not a bone in his body anticipated anything less than a suffocating, silent drive home. He could tell from deep within the school building that the car would be a prison compared to the shackles of the office. At least in there, there was a way out. A door, an opened window, a cupboard to hide in or a stapler to impale everybody's eyes with if things got especially hard. Here? Here, he had a door that would make him skid along the roads if he were to use it and the tense line of his mother's shoulders looming beside him.
He wonders, fleetingly, if he should count his blessings. At least she isn’t yelling, shouting about how he's gone and ruined his supposed fresh start with a red face and furrowed brows. But somehow, the silence is worse. It stretches between them like barbed wire, full of unspoken reprimands and musings that only a damn deity could answer with truth. The world outside the windows keeps moving: trees and smiling couples, well-loved dogs on their afternoon walk and the bumpy streets speeding past, indifferent to the way his life has been derailed. He shifts in his seat, rolling his sore wrist, but there’s no getting comfortable in the battered, tainted form he's in now. He catches his mother's worried glance in the corner of his eye.
Small mercies.
It’s always like this. No matter how hard he fights, no matter how much he claws to keep control of his own goddamn life, something always shoves him back into place. The school, the teachers, even his own body—it’s all working against him. Whether it be moving states or finding his bond, the world doesn’t live to please him, and fate certainly has an obsession with loathing him.
Daniel slouches against the passenger door, arms crossed tightly over his chest, knee bouncing with a restless, jittery type of energy he aches to dissipate. His bruised knuckles throb and his lip hurts, his eyes are sure to turn purple and his skin is still coated in ugly memories of an ugly soul bond. The sun glares through the windshield, casting long, slanted shadows across the dashboard as the school slowly disappears behind them, shrinking in the rearview mirror like it hasn't just facilitated his misery.
Because that’s what this feels like. A miserable punishment. A damn sentence.
He steals a pointed glance at his mother as she takes a sharp corner, tousling him in his seat. She hasn’t said much since the eye-twitch-worthy conversation with the principal, but it's obvious how she's feeling. Her grip on the steering wheel is just a little too tight, and her jaw is just a little too stiff. The tinny radio pumping out croaky jingles about romance and flowers does little to ease the tension that sits thick between them.
He looks away, looks back, looks away, looks back. Repeat, sigh, repeat. He's fidgety, it's probably distracting her more than she'd like to admit, but he can't help it. He needs to get out of the car, take five laps and return to feel fine, to feel like his muscles aren't actively trying to spew out from his navel.
She finally gives in, grip loosening as they get to a red light. "Danny," she starts before exhaling sharply. “I hope you know how much trouble you’ve got yourself in.”
Daniel lets out a short, humourless laugh, turning back to the window. “Yeah. Believe me, I know.”
“You think I like getting called down to the principal’s office to hear that my son’s been fighting again?”
That makes something hot and defensive spike in his chest. He turns toward her, frowning. “Again? What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyebrows twist, mouth frowning hard enough to make it bloom with a bright sting.
She cuts him off with a sharp look. “Don’t start, Daniel.” The lights switch to a glaring green, and the car begins to move again, her eyes stiffly trained in front of her. "You've been coated in bruises and limping back home for the past month, and every time I ask, you brush it off and say you fell or got into an accident, but you never agree when I mention the possibility of a bully, of somebody specifically going for you. Never a target, never an attack." She takes a quick glance at his tense figure. "What a mother supposed to think when their child comes home bloody, huh?" Her voice turns softer. "So, you admit you were lying to me? That there was a bully, there was a fight?"
Daniel grates his teeth against one another. "You knew what was happening, said it in that office that I was some... some helpless boy getting pushed around."
She sighs, her grip loosening on the wheel. He hates this part—the strange transition between scolding and seething worry all while the disappointment still lingers. "You can't lie to save your skin, tesuro, I knew from the moment you walked in through that door with a fresh black eye that this place hasn't given you a warm welcome. I just wanted it to come from you, for you to trust me enough to tell the truth," she pauses for a moment, taking in whatever filtered air comes through the window as if contemplating whether her next words are suitable for the time or not. "I—" A beat passes. "I just don't understand what happened to my little boy. He used to come in and talk and talk about his day. About how Maria kissed Toby and how Toby got mad at you because you said to Maria that Toby actually liked Delilah and, god, I don't even remember the story, you were so young. I found it silly, though. You ended up with a red cheek, and Toby ended up sobbing because you yelled at him."
The car halts at another stop. Daniel pouts slightly, defiant to the nostalgic route his Ma was trying to take. "How do you even remember all that? I don't."
"Ah well, it was the first time I was called into school, and your teacher was berating you so harshly, telling a story that didn't seem right at all, and all I remember thinking is 'hm, but I know the right story because my Danny told me it all already. And he's too truthful for his own good'."
Daniel stays silent for a minute, listening to the angered honks of cars surrounding them. "I didn't lie to you, I just didn't need you getting all worried over me. It was never a big deal, today wouldn't have been a big deal too if it wasn't for... y'know," he lazily gestures to his splotchy face. "One or two punches and a slap on the wrist from a teacher, but no. Our bodies decided to fuck us over."
Her hands wring around the wheel, a soft, wistful smile on her face. "Danny, having a soulmate is a beautiful thing. Something that is not certain you'll find in your lifetime." Another honk and another yell from the car beside them and she sighs, slumping back into her seat and letting her arms fall by her sides. "And losing— losing a bond like that hurts."
Daniel stops his bitterness for a minute before sighing. He unhooks his seat belt to face her fully, knees up to his chest as he rests his back against the door. It feels too vulnerable, like she can see every emotion on his face. "Is this about dad?"
"Daniel, baby, this bond is so, so special," she turns to face him, a tense, saddened expression on her face. "Please don't waste it; nobody deserves to go through so much pain when their soulmate is still out there, alive and well. A person should only face such side effects when time reveals itself as not being on your side."
Daniel stiffens, hands wringing each other out of all their sweat in discomfort. His mother doesn’t say it, but he hears it anyway—You don’t know what you have.
His stomach knots. He shifts against the door, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves. “I didn’t ask for this,” he mutters, low, like saying it too loud would make the bond settle deeper into his skin, like it could solidify into something permanent just from acknowledging it. “I didn’t want this or him.”
His mother exhales sharply, fingers reaching up to clutch the wheel once again, just to calm down the thrumming annoyance within her. “Nobody asks for it, Danny.” Her voice is quieter now, but there’s a weight behind it, something old and worn, tired. “It just is. There's no reason as to why this happens or a method to choose who the universe thinks is best for you. It's fate, it's something higher than me or you or Johnny.”
He shakes his head, turning it to look out the windshield and the yelling crowd of congested cars. “It shouldn’t be. I don’t even like him. I hate him.” The word tastes sour in his mouth, too raw, too real after everything that’s happened today. "He's a cowardly, violent brat whose hardest challenge in life is probably—" he cuts himself off with a noisy huff. For some reason, his gut curls at the thought of continuing.
Her silence stretches for a beat too long. The song has changed, he realises, it being a louder, more chaotic tune that, paired with the sombre tone inside the car, fits more with the chaos outside. It's jarring.
“You don’t mean that.”
Daniel lets out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “Like hell I don’t, I'm not in the habit of liking people who beat me every other day.”
She doesn’t argue, doesn’t scold him. Instead, she just looks at him for a long, searching moment before turning her eyes back to the road. “You know,” she says, voice careful, like she’s choosing her words as she speaks, “for all the people who are able to find their bond but never manage to, for all the people who find their soulmate and never get the chance to know them… for all the people who lose them before they ever get the chance to hold on… you’d think you’d be a little less ungrateful for this.”
It hits him like a bitter, sharp slap. Like a bloodied nose, a split eyebrow.
He jerks toward her, face twisting. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t have to like it, Danny,” she says, gaze unwavering, calm in a way that only makes him feel more unsteady. “You don’t even have to like him. But pretending like this is some kind of punishment?” She shakes her head, something bitter curling at the edges of her voice. “That’s selfish.”
Daniel recoils. “Selfish?”
She doesn’t answer, just exhales slowly, fingers tapping against the wheel. “You can be confused, mad at the world for connecting you to somebody you don't like but—” she says, quieter this time. “But you shouldn’t wish it away, either.”
Daniel bites the inside of his cheek, hard enough to taste copper. He looks away, out the window and to the slowly moving traffic.
It isn’t selfish. It’s his life. His body, his choices.
"Just... the least you can do is try. Go to those stupid sessions and try, try. And if this boy wants nothing to do with you, then it's his loss. This beautiful thing is too wonderful to waste by holding onto grudges."
"Whatever," he mumbles, slouching back into his seat and glaring at the now-moving crowd of vehicles.
She sighs, sitting upright and focusing back on the drive home.
"Siediti dritto, tesoro"
He wants to argue, to shout and claw at his scalp and stained skin, but still, he swallows his tongue and doesn’t argue.
Not because he agrees.
But because he doesn’t know how to without proving her right.