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Manning the front of Scones & Spite Cafe is… not the worst job in the world.
The establishment is run by a wonderful person by the name of Cleo Heron, a zombie hybrid with a knack for taking in strays. She says they make the coffee better, anyway, and Nom is slightly inclined to believe her.
He's definitely something of a stray himself, having met no extra soulmates since his sister at her birth, and he hasn't referred to her as his soulmate in a while, not since she went with their mom in the divorce and then moved out and away when she was eighteen. She promised she'd come home to visit Nom for the holidays. She never did. He doesn't even have her new number.
So Nom does not have a soulmate, regardless of the red tulips curving over his heart and left shoulder and neck, several of them, in bunches like bouquets.
Nom got the job at the coffee shop to earn some spare money that he could use just for himself during his sophomore year of college studying criminal justice, and he's kept it into junior year.
The customers aren't great, barely scraping an 'average' amount of impolite coffee fiends, but the regulars are typically nice to him. There's one who seems to believe her sole purpose in life is to make Nom totally miserable, but the rest are tired college students who either say nothing at all to him or absently tell him all of the drama while he makes them their caffeinated monstrosity of choice.
Lizzie's boyfriend, Joel, is currently in a fearsome battle of wits with his sculpting professor, and Nom knows way too much about that man despite never having met him.
She's about halfway through narrating to him the email that Joel sent the professor when her coffee—iced mocha with strawberries at the bottom, cream and sugar because she likes it sweet—is ready, but Nom holds off on giving it to her because he wants to hear the end of it. When she finally finishes with the details, he hands her the cup and she happily sips at it, tipping him generously as always.
The next customer is not one Nom has seen before. He appears to be at least part elf, judging by the pointed ears, and has blond hair stopping at his shoulders in waves, accompanied by yellow-green eyes that remind Nom of peridot gems.
Something in his chest aches and pulls, and Nom promptly ignores it, instead pasting on his best customer service smile and and saying, "Hi! Welcome to Scones and Spite. What can I get for you today?"
The blond hums in some sort of affirmation, as if to confirm that he heard him, and scans the menu. Nom can feel his scaled, crimson red tail swaying behind him, and he can't for the life of him figure out why. This is just some random person who happened to wander into the cafe he works at. He's never been particularly shifty at his job before.
The newcomer has a light blue cardigan on, clearly crocheted. A front pocket lies on the upper left, right above where Nom imagines his heart must be, a lily of the valley patterned in with moss green and ivory yarn. The sleeves are rolled up, which means that the soft pink swirls of color on his right arm are within full view. A soulmark.
After a few seconds, he speaks and gives Nom his order. "Could I please have a latte with three pumps of lavender syrup? And a scone, dealer's choice on the flavor. " Somehow he's not surprised that he's asked for a lesser-ordered flavor, a floral one, at that. This guy seems to like flowers.
"A name for the order?" He requests. The stranger smiles, and even that is mind-meltingly gentle.
"Scott," He supplies.
'Scott' goes to wait at the counter. Nom sets about making his order, and allows the only other employee on staff, Bek, to handle the remainder of the small group of customers in the shop. They have a baker in the back, too, but Eloise never comes out to serve drinks unless they're totally swamped. She's busy enough with her cookies, cake pops, and scones.
The coffee is easy enough—Nom's had it before. He's tried just about every item on the menu. Cleo says that they can have two or three free drinks for themselves a day, and if they're fast, anything they grab off of the baking sheet before they hit the shelves is fair game so long as they limit themselves.
As such, he is very careful when he picks a scone for Scott. Knowing he likes lavender is a big help, because rosemary is a decent enough comparison, so he snags a vanilla-rosemary scone to accompany his drink, careful not to hit his horns on the way down.
He springs over to the counter and plops both items in front of Scott. As he places the food and drink down, a flash of color catches his eye—evidently, Scott's too. It's on his hand. Nom is suddenly worried that some of their jam got on his hand or something, but when he brings it up to check, it's no such thing.
Splattered across his fingertips is a cluster of blooms—lilies, maybe? He doesn't know flowers well enough to make a decent guess. Vines also creep along his knuckles, twisting and turning this way and that. It's his right hand.
Scott looks totally stunned, and before Nom can ask why, his question is answered for him. Scott brings up his own hand—his left, the mirror of Nom's right—and a flame design, crimson red and lacking the orange of a proper fire, takes up his fingers. It takes a second to register that Scott has a soulmark in a spot that mirrors his, seemingly appearing at the same exact time.
Nom's found a soulmate.
For a second, they just stare at each other, stunned. Then Nom darts over to Bek, pulls her in so her ear is next to his mouth, and whispers, "I need you to cover for me, I just met a soulmate and can't work with this on my mind. I'm taking my break early."
Bek's eyes go wide. Then, her expression shifts to determination, and she pokes her head in the back to tell Eloise the situation. A moment later, El is manning the counter with a stern nod and slight push to Nom. She takes the money from Scott and promptly shoos the two of them away from her post. He didn't even have time to take off his apron.
Having a soulmate is weird, but it's good. Being loved is weird, but it's good.
He and Scott get coffee weekly, and he learns more about the half-elf. He learns that Scott is an orphan pursuing a degree in horticulture and that he has a natural affinity for magic, but is not adept at controlling it quite yet and holds some resentment for it that he is trying to work through.
He learns that Scott does crochet and embroidery, and lets him practice on his old jackets. He starts wearing them again because he notices that Scott practically lights up whenever he sees someone actually wear his work.
He lets Scott ramble on and on about plants and actually learns a thing or two. The red tulips in their little ceramic pot on his porch are looking better than ever.
He's about three weeks into the whole having a soulmate thing when Scott decides that Nom should probably meet his roommate-slash-soulmate and takes him to his apartment for the first time. It's a small space, but clearly lived-in and cozy. None of the overhead lights are on—rather, a series of warm-colored lamps illuminate the space.
Scott's soulmate, the one marked by the pink swirls curling around his arm, is a woman called Graecie. She has chocolatey brown hair and wears lots of pink, and has a smile like the stars. She shows him the mark on their left that represents Scott—it's a swarm of butterflies that encompass most of her lower arm, swathed in greens, golds, and blues.
They become something of a trio. Graecie and Nom roll twenty-sided dice against each other every day just for fun. Nom teaches them how to cheat the arcade games when they go out. Scott humbles the both of them when they go bowling.
It takes an embarrassing amount of time for either him or Graecie to notice the mark.
One unsuspecting Tuesday, they're out on a shopping trip—Nom's pencils, notebooks, and other school supplies have finally given up. He's gnawing on a scone. This time, it's a chocolate variant, though Graecie is chewing on her own blueberry version and Scott has his usual vanilla-rosemary, which hasn't changed since Nom picked it out for him the first time.
Nom's entire hoodie is covered in Scott's embroidery, and newly, Graecie's. She is well-versed in embroidery and other such hobbies—felting, sewing, really anything with a needle, alongside her variously intricate other activities, like freaking archery, which is incredibly impressive to Nom, who would not know precision if it stabbed him through the throat—and immediately hopped into the trend Scott had started. The trend, that is, of turning Nom's hoodie into an anarchy.
Graecie has only recently begun taking classes for arts like these on the side, despite her expertise, and even more recent is her penchant for bringing Scott along, which obviously means that Nom is the test dummy for all of their embroidery needs.
His hoodie's entire right arm is filled with various designs by Scott, and the left holds threaded doodles by Graecie. A lot of it on the right is flowers, Scott's personal favorite thing to create, and it's a gamble on what he'll find if he traces his fingers along the designs on the left. Sometimes, it's fire, other times a delicate iris, and sometimes stars. They don't ask before they take the hoodie. They don't have to.
Graecie is wearing a crop top, one she definitely cut herself, but of course it still looks good. The point is not Graecie's incredible fashion. The point is that the shirt shows her right lower back, which is notably less blank than it might have been a month ago.
A pattern almost like scales lays there, crimson red and shimmering gold. It takes a second for Nom to recognize the shape, but when he sees the rest of it—the extra scales are black, and they surround the others—it's hard to ignore. It's a shield, the rimming an obsidian shade and the inside shifting between the hues of blood and trophies depending on the angle he looks at it from.
Those colors are eerily reminiscent of Nom's draconic features.
He stops dead. The other two realize he isn't with them nearly immediately, and they both jog back to meet him. Scott seems to notice his wide-eyed stare first, and he inquires, "Nom? What's wrong?"
"Look at Graecie's back," He pathetically squeaks in reply.
Scott's brow furrows, but he abides. Graecie attempts to turn around to catch a glance, but they can't seem to see since her head won't turn all the way. Finally, she gives up. "Can someone take a picture? Is it, like, a really bad rash? I haven't been itchy at all." They frown. Scott's eyes are blown wide, his hands up to cover his mouth. He looks nothing short of shocked.
"…No," He chokes, obliging her and snapping a photo of the mark on her back. When he sticks his phone out for them to see, Graecie damn near jumps out of her skin. Her eyes flick to Nom, shining, and then back to the mark.
The first one to break the new stunned silence, Graecie pipes, "How did we miss the fact that we're soulmates?"
"I don't really look at my back that often," Nom admits in response. "Would someone take a picture of mine? I'm curious."
"Sure, let's dip into an alleyway. Also, it's not just your back, you're not good at admitting that you're deserving of love. I think if it weren't for Scott, you'd have believed you were incapable of having soulmates who liked you, period."
"It is annoying how well you know me."
"Get perceived, idiot."
Ducking into the nearest alleyway, Nom pulls his shirt up a little bit so Graecie can take a picture of the mark that is presumably on the right of his lower back. A moment later, she hands him the phone—it's a dove, carrying what looks like an iris in its beak. Very fitting, for Graecie. It reminds him of the embroidered copy of the bloom on his left arm, and he absently runs fingers over the thread.
For a minute, they all just sit there, breathing in and out and keeping each other company, and then they get up and go shopping.
Gas stations are Nom's kind of place, as sad as it is to admit.
Particularly at four AM, when he doesn't have class tomorrow and can't get to sleep, and is craving some cheap, greasy food that you just can't get nearly as satisfactory anywhere else. Gas station food is top-notch. There's a cup with various toppings piled on top of whipped cream in his hand, but it's not for him.
There are two employees in the store, and he recognizes them—Pyro and Drift, an orc hybrid and a nymph hybrid respectively. They wave at him as he passes, making small talk while Drift seems to run over some of her notes. Pyro is occasionally shouting random questions at her. The little fairy dragon next to them—Fern, who the whipped cream is actually for—puffs a sleepy breath of smoke.
It makes Nom's instincts flare, but he tries his best to ignore it. Fern is very well taken care of. Speaking of—he quickly pads over to the register and, with a quick nod of approval from Drift, lets Fern go ham on the treat he brought.
Sharing a laugh with the cashiers, Nom walks away to go to the bathroom.
The door is unlocked, as he expected it might be, but the bathroom is not empty. There sits someone—a slime, he thinks, judging by the blue, glossy 'skin'—with their knees pulled up to their chest and their head buried in their hands. Their body was shaking with sobs.
Nom does not know how to confront this situation. He just knows he can't leave this person alone.
The two of them sit there for a while, keeping each other company. Nom doesn't ask. The stranger doesn't answer. It's a comfortable silence—slowly, the person's sobs subside, and they learn their head on his shoulder. He doesn't mind, even though he probably should have gone to the bathroom by now. Helping this person feels more important than that.
Once their breaths are steady, the person finally chokes out the first words Nom has heard from them so far. "…I'm so sorry," They say. They look up—being a slime means that Nom can't actually see any physical evidence that they've been crying, and maybe he wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't there. "I shouldn't be having a breakdown here."
"No problem, man," He attempts to soothe. He's not the best at feelings, or at comfort. He has no idea what he's meant to do or say to make them feel better, so he just sticks out his hand. "Nominal, but most call me Nom. He/Him."
The slime huffs a shaky laugh and shakes his hand. "4C. He/Him as well."
They stay there for what must be an hour. Nom purchases two bags of stupidly salty and cheap ramen and Drift and Pyro help him microwave it, because of course they do, they're practically saints. It feels practically criminal to microwave ramen instead of cooking it properly, but whatever will get 4C fed.
He also grabs two bottles of water, one for himself and one for 4C, but he ends up giving his to the slime anyway. He doesn't want him to get a headache. Slimes need to be hydrated, just like humans, maybe more so. Crying sucks if you don't drink water to get through it.
Nom thinks it's actually rather nice, kneeling there in the stupid gas station bathroom eating cheap ramen out of borrowed bowls and playing dice games and telling horrible jokes. He and 4C exchange numbers. They're halfway through a game of Farkle, something 4C introduced him to, when Nom notices the flash of color on his elbow.
He almost expects what he sees, but it's no less shocking. There, on the inside, is a dice. Only three sides are showing, but it is clear what the mark is meant to be, even more so who it must be for.
"Hey, soulmate," Nom laughs. He doesn't really know why, but it feels natural enough to make a joke of something so serious in 4C's company. 4C freezes, but when Nom shows him the mark and the slime finds a similar one—his is a dice as well, but the numbers are in red instead of blue, and the opaque coloring seems to be a cross-species constant—there's no denying it.
"Hey, soulmate." 4C grins back.
House parties are weird.
This one is not filled to max capacity, but the music is still too loud and it's a little bit too warm for comfort because of all the dancing people. Nom has been hanging out by the drinks and snacks all night, waiting for an excuse to leave without looking rude.
He's anxiously glancing around for an opening when a small girl with ringlets of fiery curls falling in a wave from a ponytail bounds into the room, clearly hopped up on energy one way or another. She is wearing a fishnet undershirt and a clearly DIY'ed army green t-shirt, as well as some banged up jeans that are muddy at the knees. The laces of her combat boots are totally covered in beads.
The girl bounds up to Nom, smiling brightly. "Hi!" She calls, even though they're quite close together, and Nom is immediately endeared. She seems fun, bouncy, almost.
"Hello," He laughs, feeling a smile worm its way onto his own face.
"I'm Mae, would you please dance with me? Nobody else wants to," A frown tugs at her lips, even though her eyes are shining hopefully, and Nom itches to make her smile again. She doesn't seem like the kind of person who deserves to be sad at all. So he nods, and tells her his name, and allows her to drag him to dancing.
She is much more graceful than he is or could ever be. He wouldn't be surprised if she were a ballerina or something of the like. Nom mostly just stands there and spins her, but occasionally she'll lead him through a clumsy waltz or just improvise something stupid with him. It's fun—Mae's a great dance partner.
They stop for snacks every now and again, and then they're right back to dancing. By the time Nom's legs are too jelly-like to function properly, it's nearly midnight. With a glass of water in hand—he's parched—he manages to drag Mae out onto the porch to rest properly before she can work herself into another dancing fit.
In the moonlight, her features are properly decipherable in a way they weren't under bright rainbow lights. She has tons of freckles and a mole next to her lip, and a softly angled nose that compliments her other features, including gentle but bright green eyes. She reminds him of another ginger girl, and he wants nothing more than to take care of her the way he tried to take care of his sister.
Mae turns to him, still grinning bright. "Sorry for dragging you to the dance floor like that," She giggles. It's not too sincere, but Nom can't be mad at it. "I just realized you were probably trying to avoid the party."
He shrugs in reply. "Meh. You made it fun. I was seconds away from breaking down and leaving, but I'm glad I stayed. You're good, and I really appreciate the effort in making me enjoy the party."
She beams like she's never been praised in her life, like she's never once heard 'I appreciate you' in all her time on earth, and the very thought makes Nom's heart hurt. The entire conversation and the events preceding it probably should have been his clue. Unfortunately, Nom's a little dumb—he doesn't get it until Mae gasps and says, "Oh my God, don't panic, but your face is looking different."
It's harder to see in the dark, but now that he's squinting, so does hers—there's some kind of pattern next to her left eye that wasn't there before. Without a proper light, he can just barely make out the shape: a flower. Maybe a flowering vine of some kind? It creeps up around the eye like makeup, maybe eyeliner.
"…Yours, too," He responds cautiously. "Like flowers."
"I think it's your right eye?" Mae muses. "It's like… a string of stars that kind of curves from the corner and goes up below your eyebrow."
It takes a minute for the words to click, and later, Nom will make a note that Mae had the least composed reaction of every soulmate he's found. She squeals and places both hands on top of his shoulders, shaking him intensely before finally throwing her arms around him and pulling him in for a tight hug.
Black-eyed susans, he notes. Golden yellow, like miniature sunflowers. They represent justice.
He'll try to embody them for Mae, who he thinks might have just become his honorary little sibling.
Meeting up with Katie is rattling him a whole bunch more than he thought it might.
He's pacing his apartment, which is fine, because he lives alone, when she rings the doorbell. It takes all of his effort not to turn around and leave through the window then and there.
He opens the door for her anyway; he can't turn away. Not now. Not anymore.
Katie looks grown—the first thing he notices is not the gladiolus crawling around her neck, a mark of their eternal connection, but the new mark on her hand, which is over her heart. A paw print. She'd found a soulmate, and Nom wasn't there.
He'd found four. And she wasn't there.
"Katie," He greets, awkward, and moves to let her in. She worries with the edge of her sweet mint blouse. He hasn't seen her in person in three years. It feels surreal, now.
"Tea?" He hates tea. He never makes it. Scott and Graecie both like it, and Mae has acquired the taste, but Nom and 4C will be coffee fiends 'til the day they die. Despite his loathing for warm leaf water, he does know how to make it, so he might as well do the thing polite hosts do and ask.
Even if his guest is his sister, and he should know what she likes, but he doesn't. Because she hasn't spoken to him in three years. Because they lost contact. Because Nom failed her.
"No, thank you," Katie replies, pulling out a chair and sitting down, tapping fingers against the wood in a rhythmic pattern. He has that habit, too. It only makes him feel a little bit sick, which is progress.
He pours them both water, which Katie sips at greedily. It draws his attention to her visible soulmark again. She's wearing long sleeves, what with her blouse, so it's difficult to tell if there are more underneath. Nom can't help reminiscing on his.
There's the dove on his back, beneath his plain black shirt. The dice on his elbow, definitely within full view. The lilies on his fingers, which Katie had seen when she sat down, and only barely hid her sharp breath. The stars on his eye, though perhaps that could be mistaken for a style choice.
And, of course, the tulips that strangle him on the daily.
It's Katie who breaks their fragile silence first. "…Three?" She asks, as quiet as a mouse. It reminds him of school nights and sleepovers and the days when their parents fought. He shakes his head and corrects her,
"Four. There's another one on my back."
She ducks her head, staring intently at the wood grain of his table. "I've got three so far."
Neither of them ask if they're counting each other. They know the answer.
Keeping up with the trend, it is Katie who once again initiates sporadic conversation. "I'm so sorry!" She blurts. "I shouldn't have lost contact with you. And I shouldn't have left you without an explanation, and I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you."
He can only sigh. "I… I don't know what to say to that. I'm sorry, too. I wasn't a great brother, and I didn't listen to you when you tried to explain your thoughts to me because it hurt too much to think about and I have a nasty habit of avoiding the difficult things."
She tucks a strand of auburn out of her face and purses her lips. "Mhm. Me too. But you were a great brother, and I didn't listen to you, either… " As if deep in thought, her hands still where they were once again tapping at the table. "I've missed you. I've missed you a lot, but I was angry, and sad, and scared. And I didn't want to admit that because I thought it made me weak, but I see now that that isn't true, and that I tore apart my most dear relationship for it." His sister takes a breath, like she's trying to steady herself.
"I would really like to have you in my life again. Are you willing to try that with me?"
That sentence should make him angry. Should make him want to yell at her, because for years, he has viewed her exit as an abandonment, as a betrayal. But now, all he wants is his little sister back, and she's too good for him, anyway. He wouldn't dare to deny her this.
"I… I think I would like that." The soft smile is foreign, for this setting, but welcome. "So, soulmates? How's that going?"
It feels like he's fifteen again. It feels like they're still inseparable. He hopes it can feel like that forever.