Chapter Text
"Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same."
- Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
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AFTER:
Soulmates are destined by the stars. They're each other's other halves, the part to make the whole, and Isagi has two. Somehow, neither of them have managed to tell Isagi that they love him yet, and it's deeply, deeply aggravating.
The first offender is Itoshi Rin, and Isagi would like to make a complaint to the official head of the Soulmate Bureau, because Rin and Kaiser don't believe in soulmates. Statistically, about eighty percent of soul-bonded people live and have had/are in a relationship with their soulmates, so Isagi should at least have one partner who believes in this theory, right?
Wrong. Oh so wrong, because the very first day that Isagi confronted Rin about their bond during the second selection, Rin had given him the glare usually only reserved for Shidou.
"I don't have a soulmate," Rin had hissed, and tried to walk away nonchalantly before giving up and breaking into a full-on sprint. Apparently, the very idea of having Isagi as his soulmate was enough to make Rin run. Rin, who had faced down Isagi only days before during the second selection and told Isagi that he "just wasn't good enough", was Isagi's soulmate. What a fucking joke.
Poor Rin, having a soulmate in the same facility as you, who also speaks the same language and has similar interests. There was less than a one in a million chance that this would happen, and Isagi had a sudden urge to shake Rin out of whatever haze had him scared shitless of Isagi. A small part of him was hurt, though. He wasn't a bad soulmate candidate. Rin's own brother, Sae, was bonded with Shidou Ryuusei of all people, much to Rin's chagrin.
"Looks like I know your brother much more...intimately than you do," Shidou had commented, and Rin gave him matching black eyes on either side of his face. Ego would've kicked him out, but Shidou had given Rin a tailbone fracture, and they were the top two in Blue Lock. Isagi, however, was close to the bottom, so as much as he wanted to kick Rin across the field like a ball, there was a very high chance of him being expelled from the program afterwards.
Isagi never broached the topic again with Rin. He just stewed in anger, letting it twist and morph into rage that he channeled into punishing direct shots that no one expected little Isagi Yoichi to hit.
Position. Aim. Strike.
Position. Aim. Strike.
Position. Aim, SHIT -
"Hiori, get out of the way!"
The ball skimmed Hiori's head and ricocheted off of the goalpost, sending it flying forward another ten feet or so and landing at his feet.
"Jesus, Isagi!"
Hiori rarely cursed, but being near-killed constituted an exception. Only Aryu and Tokimitsu had seen Isagi's confession to Rin (if you could call it that when the person being confessed to ran away), but there was so little romantic drama in Blue Lock that was spoken aloud that this was considered "hot gossip". Everyone knew within the week.
"Yer trying to take my head off or something?!"
"Sorry, Hiori," Isagi breathed, eyes a cold, crystal blue. "Do you think that'll impress Rin?"
Isagi was braindead. Everyone here was braindead, but Isagi was one of the only dumbasses who cared enough about soulmates to go after his.
Hiori did feel bad for Isagi, despite having almost died from his direct shot moments ago. The majority of the population wasn't soul-bonded, and people with soulmates could still have relationships with others instead of their soulmate, despite common superstitions that doing so would cause bad luck.
"Hey, Hiori?" Isagi had asked him, panting in the empty field. They were the only two out after hours.
"Do you - do you think that either of my soulmates will love me?"
Normally, Hiori would have said yes, yes, you're a prize among men etc and other words of empty comfort. But he had the feeling that this time, Isagi was taking the answer seriously.
"I don't know."
Hiori could see Isagi twitch in annoyance, looking at him and silently asking How is that helpful in any way? Hiori rushed to clarify.
"What I mean is that yer not a bad guy, but one of your soulmates is Rin."
Hiori gave Isagi a commiserating frown. Isagi would have been a good partner to anyone else, but as he had been told earlier by the teen himself, "one of my soulmates is an asshole and the other is German. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information?"
"Something I do know, though, is that you are the only people in Blue Lock who has any chance of taming Rin, but you could also have a fulfilling relationship with Bachira or literally anyone else."
"So, to rephrase it - "
"There's no guarantee that Rin is your one true love, and that being with him will be better than anyone else. The bond is just a prediction. Did you hear about that one incident with the European actress and her producer husband?"
Isagi had, in fact, read the article at the young age of fourteen, after despairing that he would be alone forever. The two had met on set and been married with a child, but the wife had left the producer for another man, leaving behind a five year old child named - Mihya? Miha?
In the sole photo of the family, the father had been grasping onto the actress's hand so tightly that his knuckles blanched, and the kid had looked up, eyes searching, eyes empty.
He'd remembered this article years later, the man and his child begging with their eyes for the woman to stay with them. when he was attempting to woo Rin through rom-com tropes. Yes, he knew it was pathetic, but Rin could have been the stereotypical male lead with a heart of gold, so.
Rin had simply looked up to him on the fourth try - Isagi had *accidentally* dropped his waterbottle in front of Rin, and expected him to pick it up.
"Why do you keep trying?"
Why did Isagi keep trying? It was a simple explanation. Although no one outside of his family knew, was a classic Disney Princess at heart. Call it optimism, or blame his parents for being too lovey-dovey around the house and having a perfect soul-bond approved relationship, but he believed in true, soulmate love that would sweep him off his feet one day when he least expected it.
He used to pen long, extravagantly worded letters to his soulmates in case he ever found them in real life, and for some reason, couldn't talk to them in person. There was a shoebox full of the best ones under his bed, and when Isagi's mom had found them, she had started to cry.
"My sweet Yocchan," she had said. "They don't deserve you."
And, okay, maybe they didn't deserve him, but he would keep searching the internet for anyone who matched the features in his visions - "pink hair brother" - "blond hair german" - "psychology textbook fanatics", and once, simply "criminal records germany".
Isagi had already ruled out the mysterious blond soulmate. He was desperate, yes, but not so much so that he would date a convicted criminal.
He'd only had visions four times in his life so far, but even that was rare. The visions only occurred during intense emotional breakdowns, and the blonde's memories still gave Isagi nightmares.
Isagi's parents thought he had been harming himself. They sat him down on the couch, mother and father on either side, and asked if he was causing the bruises and cuts that had started to show up on his body since the age of twelve, shaded alternately in blue and teal, and Isagi explained the misunderstanding, that there was a big man who was throwing the blonde one and the teal-haired one seemed to like fighting, and jumping off of structures. The marks had only started after the second vision, he had said, wincing from phantom aches. Once I had seen both of my soulmates.
Soulmates themselves were shown to have been steadily decreasing over time. Isagi was one of fifteen percent of the population with a soulmate, and one of 0.5% that had more than one.
His parents tried to break the bond, dragging little six-year old Isagi kicking and screaming into the hospital and to shamans, rubbed potions into his back and recited "healing words" while swinging charms over his head at night.
This'll all be over soon.
They gave up after two years, of which they never spoke of again.
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MEMORY 1, AGE 12:
"Dad, please, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to DAD - "
A crash that sounded like breaking glass, and then a middle-aged, paunchy man leering over him.
"You're a fucking waste of time and space."
The figure that was standing over him wasn't particularly strong, but his fury filled the room, filled his lungs and he can't think.
Leave me alone please please I'm sorry I'll steal better next time Dad
"Don't call me that." The man picked up the child (you, you are him, this is happening to you) by his throat, leaning down to breathe rancid breath that smelled of milk into his face.
"I can't digest if I don't have milk, and we would be able to buy it if you hadn't made your mother left."
I'm sorry it's all my fault
"Fuck we can do about it now. Leave."
Silence.
What are you waiting for? I told you to LEAVE MY HOUSE."
Running, running, under the ogre's arm and out the door, grabbing the soccer ball on the way out. He's jumping - no, he's flying into the empty air and screaming at himself, at the ball, at the world for leaving him alive without a purpose.
Kick the ball against the wall, over and over again, and he twirls, delirious with pain from the rebound, blood splattering in a messy circle around him.
The blue rose, perfect in its impossibility.
The blue rose is everything you are not, and this is why he hates you.
He wonders if his mother thinks he is beautiful enough to stay behind for, spinning and delirious in the light of the moon, crimson flecking the snow and his clothes too bare, too worn-down for the bitter cold. Her blonde hair that is his, dancing in the wind.
He knows, in his heart, that she didn't - doesn't, or else it wouldn't be him and the ogre in that house.
Alone.
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Isagi compiled each memory into a notebook, tracking the age he was and what had happened. It would've been convenient if Isagi could access the others' memories during this time, but he could only sense vague thoughts and emotions. This is one of the only reasons why he hasn't given up on Rin, and couldn't bring himself to throw out the pages on the child. He still thought of the blonde as a child, vulnerable, and he had tried, so many times to report the abuse.
Funny thing about calling it in to the police, though. They didn't care.
Especially since the victim was from another country.
"Aw, Isagi-kun, don't worry about it! Everyone fights with their parents sometimes."
No, he tried to explain, but it's not a fight; the boy was hurting and bleeding, he couldn't BREATHE.
"Well, I'm sure they'll make up soon," the police officer said. Later, the officer would go home to his wife and kids, and would tell them Isagi's story. They all laughed, shoveling food into their mouths, at the stories that children tell.
Isagi came back to the police station, or called them under a different voice each time. The same officer, the same fucking officer was the head of the department and dismissed Isagi's pleads every time. His parents tried to comfort their Yocchan when he woke up screaming at night over the next two years, cold sweat and a hoarse throat occurring more often than not during the winter months. He tried not to think about it, but after the dreams, he would think, I'm sorry I couldn't help you.
That was until the second vision.
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MEMORY 1, AGE 15:
A meeting with the head of-some department or other for dealing with tyrannical students. He doesn't know the specifics, but can put it together based on context.
"We kept you here because we believed that you could be something special. We took you out of that Youth Facility because you have talent that we can mine."
No response.
"So what do you have to say for yourself?"
Silence. Only faint breathing, in and out - weakened from weariness. He's tired, tired of everything and he wishes that they would send him back to his cell room.
"You upheaved a teammate's tray because he offered you lunch."
"It won't happen again."
"Go back to your room."
His room is bare of any personal touch, only a stack of psychology textbooks by the door and a single, glass-encased blue rose - free of any souvenirs or trinkets his teammates gave each other or received from their families to feel at home.
He looks at the rose briefly before spending the next six hours making notes on weaknesses in the human psyche and ways to make people trust him, to worship him.
I am a being made of malice.
If I cannot be loved, I would rather be feared.
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tell me if i should continue this or not :/
oh god this is mortifying but i included a sentence that makes zero sense in the context of this fic so i changed that