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It was expensive to know who your soulmate was, and even then it was a tricky test. It wasn’t often that tallmen were able to pay before their thirtieth birthday, when they were financially stable and could make that decision confidently, but at that point many decided to let luck be. Soulmates were something for the long lived races to figure out. Kabru had never even considered paying the lofty price to see his own. He always figured soulmates were made, not given.
Luckily(?) for him, however, his adoptive mother was Milsiril, and she was very eager to know who her baby’s person was and had enough money to throw around until she found out who it was. Kabru was ten when Milsiril took him to his first soulmate scribe… and many more. She performed the most beautiful magic, lights fluttering about as she laid a hand to a parchment and began to dance across it with a quill. It was an awe to witness, a delight to talk with her before the ritual, but he found himself silent when his soulmate was handed to him. Even the sage looked grim.
He stared down at his own sheet with wide eyes that slowly welled with tears. His mother, who was looming over his shoulder, scowled outright and ripped the paper from his hands. She threw it at the woman, who winced as she picked it up from the ground, smoothing out the wrinkles. “A million for this? Give it back; I will take him to a sage who knows how to do their job.”
The psychic didn’t hesitate to offer up the money, apologizing profusely as Kabru was dragged out of the shop. He was pulled into Milsiril’s lap in the carriage, his head pet and kissed whilst she rambled a hundred and one different reassurances, but the image didn’t absolve from his mind. He felt like he was going to be sick. “Don’t you worry, Kabru. That was just a cruel, absurd joke. She must be prejudiced against tallmen. The nerve.”
However, when the next scribe picked up her quill and brought it to the paper, she faltered. She sat still, pondering for a moment as Kabru sniffled, his hands balled in the ends of his tunic. After a moment, she set down her quill and whispered in a quiet, pitiful voice, “Are you sure you want to see?”
His mother didn’t stick around long enough to hear the rest, simply hauling Kabru up and out of the shop. She was frantic as she searched for anyone to do a proper job. “It’s okay. We are okay. These past ones have been ridiculous. They don’t know what they are doing.”
Kabru looked out the window.
As his mother ordered the driver to find another scribe, he pulled out the crinkled drawing of his soulmate. It hardly looked like a person. No, it looked inhuman. It barely had the form of a human face, blurred out by the many, many lines that seemed to tear it apart at the seams through ink stroke alone. With black holes for eyes, one almost appearing like it was missing, and lines and what looked like blood– Kabru gasped, grabbing his chest as he curled in on himself. His breath came out in fast succession, each racking after the other until his head felt light and he was being tugged back into Milsiril’s arms.
“D-Did he-” Kabru choked, clawing at himself as the paper tumbled to the floor. “Did he die? In Utaya? Is he-”
“No,” Milsiril
When they finally got back home, it was near midnight. Kabru pushed open the door to the house, clasping loosely to five of the drawings he received with a numbness in his chest. His mothers eyes were red, and not from tiredness. He heard her sniffling on the whole drive home, occasionally offering him words of support, but otherwise it was deathly quiet after the third sage. After the first tears, Kabru wasn’t sure how to react. He felt like he should be crying. His soulmate was… well, drawn on the pages he held.
He locked his room door and tossed the pages onto his desk. He watched as they floated in the air, then skidded across his desktop before settling. All the different holes for eyes stared at him mockingly, daring him to believe he’d ever love it: The things depicted on the pages.
Four of them were the same with slightly different drawing styles, but one was absolutely ridiculous. It was the last psychic they went to, and even he seemed surprised after taking ten seconds to draw the worst love Kabru could picture.
It was what looked to be table scraps.
A carrot top, crumbles of bread…
Was he meant to love the broccoli he pushed around on his dinner plate?
The leftover chunks of fat he cut from his meat?
He laid down in his bed, resting an arm over his eyes. His chest ached, fingers felt numb, and there was a persisting dryness in the back of his throat.
Kabru closed his eyes tight. He didn’t want to try again. He didn’t want to end up with a drawing he knew wasn’t true. He didn’t want to fantasize about someone who wasn’t meant for him because this? It wasn’t his soulmate. It was a dead man, or something no one could want to be with, let alone see. It looked like a monster. He’d have to settle for being alone all his life. Great. Kabru threw his blanket over his head and curled into a ball, holding his pillow tight to his chest. Great. It’s all great.
By the time Kabru was twenty two… he honestly forgot all about the soulmate drawings. There was a time he drowned himself in the embraces of others, chased whirlwind romantic nights for a day or two before setting off with amicable goodbyes. He liked meeting people. He liked being liked. He liked not considering things like… having a soulmate, a person to cherish forever as his and his alone. The notion was ridiculous, and soulmates don't always work out. Besides, he had enough baggage and terrible habits: his soulmate would find him troublesome!
Imagine being Kabru’s soulmate: every day you worry as he stays out late, either in a dungeon, likely dead on the floor, or chatting up anyone and everyone at the local bars. Some days he comes home tipsy, but most nights he ends up drunk anyways off the stash he has in your– now shared– room in the cellar of a tavern. Even when he eventually passes out, he will still wake you with nightmares, clutching at himself and pushing you away because you should leave, you really should leave, it’s late, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you here, I’m fine, please go–
He’s messy– doesn’t clean– doesn’t eat much either: That money is better spent on expeditions. What he makes up in charisma and a clever tongue doesn’t compare to what he lacks in care—both for himself and for anything long-term beyond his goals. Kabru is the spark of a fire in the pan, a pretty flare from far away until you realize it’s burning everything to a crisp. He forgets birthdays. He forgets appointments. He forgets to feed himself, forgets to buy things to feed himself with. He sleeps with his boots on half the time. He’s kind when he’s sober and downright dismissive or avoidant when he’s cornered. He doesn’t like being touched casually unless he initiates or openly invites it, like a script everyone else should follow. Even so, he could sense most of it coming. If it was ever sudden, without warning, there were times he flinched.
Kabru also talks in circles. He laughs at things that aren’t funny just to avoid silence. He fills the space with stories and jokes and introductions to others just to keep you from looking too closely at the cracks and twitches within him: his brain never stops turning.
So, honestly, when considering it all… Kabru doesn’t think he deserves a soulmate. And he certainly doesn’t believe some psychic's scribbled portrait of a faceless, eldritch horror could ever love someone like him, even if they are from some place where all Kabru’s flaws are deemed admirable, attractive qualities.
So he lets the drawings he took to Melini with him rot in a drawer.
He lets the memory dull.
And it only strikes him again upon watching Mithrun wiping away his tears, smiling as he said, “Vegetable scraps.”
He said something else too. There were many more words, but Kabru’s mind screeched to a halt as he heard that phrase.
Vegetable scraps.
Scraps.
Kabru’s breath caught as he shuddered a step back, eyes wide as he took in… Mithrun. His now-missing eye that had been destroyed by Marcille’s magic, the scar lines littered over his body— his actual eye, once a dark pool now a glinting silver coin as a gruff laugh tumbled from his throat.
Kabru’s stomach turned. His hands trembled at his sides.
Scraps.
That’s what the psychic had drawn. What was left of something. Broken pieces. Bits no one wanted. Refuse. And now Mithrun, with his knowing smile and half-lidded gaze, was laughing about being just that— and being able to show such relief after so long of fighting and tearing himself apart.
Kabru’s knees nearly buckled. Kabru’s voice cracked. “... Scraps?”
Mithrun glanced up at him, dropping his hand to his side. He nodded. “Being without desires for so long… it was the only thing I could see myself as. It made sense.” Mithrun looked toward Senshi, still gathering the leftover vegetable parts to continue the feast preparation. Mithrun watched with a far off look in his eye as he shrugged. “I don’t mind that thought anymore.”
Kabru let out an airy laugh of disbelief, and when the elf turned to him questioningly, he shook his head in what he hoped was dismissal. “Sorry, your image of yourself just… I never saw you as anything like that at all.”
Mithrun seemed to consider that. “... What do you see me as?”
Terrifying, maybe, Kabru thought. Didn’t expect to meet my soulmate after spending a week in the dungeon with him, betraying him, and also him belonging to the elven race living in the north continent, a place I will never go back to. Kabru sighed through his nose. And yet, he was admittedly the first person Kabru had met in a long time who made him feel… safe?
Kabru gave up his charades not long into his journey with Mithrun: not because he couldn’t care what Mithrun thought of him, but because Mithrun didn’t care. Even with beginning to regain his desires, he didn’t bat an eye at Kabru’s shitty cooking, his blabbering talks when he wanted to fill the empty gaps in their adventure… Nor did he become uneasy when Kabru stopped talking and rested in the silence along with Mithrun. There were no expectations with him, and therefore there was nothing for Kabru to be but himself.
Well, Mithrun did have some demands. There were several times he’d call for them to rest, then cite once they departed again that it was because Kabru hadn’t slept enough (how he knew, Kabru didn’t know). Other times, he’d shove away the food Kabru was continuously handing him as he worked toward stripping meat off the bone. “I’m not eating anymore until you eat.”
Kabru hardly slept well these days. His dungeon times were rougher nights than most, but because he consistently failed to hit a deeper sleep, he typically avoided nightmares— Until the night Mithrun pulled him from an actual Nightmare attack, sat him up, and promptly shoved him into a hug. When Kabru was able to breathe right, he wasn’t sure if it was Mithrun who initiated the hug, or if he allowed it due to the iron-clad grip Kabru had on him, holding him close and not letting him go.
“I’m sorry,” Kabru whispered, throat too dry to present an explanation to what Mithrun must have seen as he fought away the monster. He didn’t have the energy to explain himself. He didn’t care to do so to Mithrun, and Mithrun didn't pry.
“We’ve all, whether directly or indirectly, have lost to the demon.” There wasn’t an ounce of pity in his tone, but it lacked cruelty as well. His hand stroked once, stiff and awkward, along Kabru’s back. Suddenly, it felt like Kabru could breathe evenly again. “That’s why I’m going to kill it; then, we may all receive closure.”
Mithrun let Kabru exist there in the aftermath of the dream, curled up and clutching his tunic, the warmth of the nightmare already bleeding out through his fingers. If he was someone else, maybe he’d hum a lullaby or try to comfort Kabru with more words. This was Mithrun though. His actions spoke for him, even if every word he said was the truth as he knew it anyway.
“How I see you,” Kabru repeated. “I don’t think I can explain it in words.”
Mithrun gave a small snort, and he moved as though to breeze past the question entirely, but Kabru’s hand shot up to stop him. “No, that’s not what I meant. I… I think you are great. Even… even before, when you thought all your desires were gone, you weren’t an automaton. You still chose to help, to protect, and to care for others. You didn’t fight to avenge yourself alone, you did it to bring about the end of all this, and have been trying for so long without stopping. I don’t think I’ve met someone like that before. I don’t think I will again.”
Mithrun raised an eyebrow, slowly. “Is that what you think? Truly?”
And Kabru’s lied to him before, so he takes no offense. Instead, he gave a sheepish smile that was more of a wince as he muttered, “You may disagree, but I think we can agree you’ve been wrong before, haven’t you, captain?”
Mithrun’s lips twitched into an amused smile. It was barely there, but Kabru still felt it like a pulse of mana to the heart. His cheeks warmed. “I apologize for my lack of grace, and I know things all happened so quickly, but I want to be honest and say– uhh,” Kabru said, voice wobbling like a compass needle struggling to point north. He ran a hand over the hairs on the back of his neck, pursing his lips as he suddenly found himself stumped. “There’s… Matters… There’s a series of matters to discuss, and I don’t wish to...”
A silence settled between them. It wasn’t one Kabru was eager to fill, and he knew Mithrun would only provide him patience in his thoughts. Kabru sighed, letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m not actually good at…” he mumbled. His hand waved ominously in the air to provide context to the nothing he gave. Mithrun’s barely there smile remained.
“I know,” Mithrun said, not unkindly. Kabru stared down into that silver eye. It gave him nothing. “You may say it.”
Kabru wanted to ask what he meant, but instead, he continued forth, “I’d like it if we could remain in contact. I’d hate to…” His throat was dry, but his eyes burned with a gentle sting as he whispered, “I’d hate to lose you as a friend.”
Mithrun’s expression froze for a moment, but then he nodded. “That took a lot for you, didn’t it?”
Kabru wheezed out a breath. “A little bit. It’s a day of bravery, isn’t it?”
Mithrun snorted in amusement, nodding along. “Alright. So long as everything is off your chest.”
Kabru paused.
It should have been a moment to breathe—he’d said his piece, Mithrun hadn’t laughed in his face or scorned him like Laios did (well, the Laios situation was very different, and they could leave it at that. But something in his chest twisted.
“No,” he said, too fast. “Not everything.”
Mithrun tilted his head slightly, watching him. Kabru scrubbed his hands down his face. “There’s… something else. Something that only came to light” –three minutes ago—”recently.” He swallowed. “I might be mistaken, and it’s all well and fair if I am. I don’t have any expectations or demands behind the matter, truly it can be cast aside if wished, but I’ve come to the conclusion that you are, potentially, probably, my soulmate.”
Mithrun blinked once, slowly. Then, without fanfare, he said, “Yes. I know.”
Kabru’s brain short-circuited. “Come again?”
“I knew,” Mithrun repeated. He gave Kabru the most blank stare he had yet seen from the man. “I’m from a wealthy, nosy family: I had my drawing done when I came of age. I recognized you the moment you busted into the meeting room with your squabbles about the dungeon.”
Well, that might explain how Kabru got as far as he did with convincing the Canary to not call for back up right away. Mithrun was providing him a little grace, even if he didn’t know him and only recognized him from— what? A drawing from over a hundred years ago? Kabru gawked. “You—why didn’t you say anything before?”
Mithrun gave a slow shrug. “I don’t have desires.”
“You do,” Kabru asserted, and suddenly a frown passed onto Mithrun’s lips as he turned away, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked over those preparing for the feast.
“Because at first, I hated it.” The words hit like a slap, but Mithrun’s tone wasn’t cruel. It was matter-of-fact, thoughtful. “I thought of it as a curse: A cruel deliverance from the world to damn me further. You… as you are, it would’ve been shameful for my family. I’ve been threatened to be disown over far less.”
Kabru’s heart thumped like a war drum in his ears.
“And then,” Mithrun continued, his tone shifting ever so slightly, “I met you.”
Kabru watched as Mithrun shot a look at him over his shoulder. It was open, blank as ever, but content in its own way. At peace.
“That’s all.”
That’s all, Kabru repeated internally, chuckling out loud at the absurdity of them. He came to stand beside Mithrun, turning his attention also to the remnants remaining. The world was saved. The demon had hung its head and ran. Everything kept moving, but different this time around. Mithrun bumped Kabru’s elbow all of a sudden with his own, but when Kabru looked down in surprise, the elf acted as though he hadn’t moved at all. Kabru took a step closer, the side of his boot brushing Mithrun’s.