Chapter Text
Aang
Words appeared first on the inside of his wrist, on a Saturday morning while he was making a cup of tea.
"Coffee. Milk. Granola bars."
Aang blinks at the words as they scribble into existence in what looks like black permanent marker. A grocery list, apparently.
He can't help but huff, almost a little amused as he runs a finger over the words before turning back to the kettle humming on the counter. He lifts it off the base once it clicks off, and pours it into a mug with a waiting chamomile and lavender tea bag.
As he smushes the tea bag against the cup with a spoon as if to make it steep faster, because he's impatient, he realizes he hasn't written much at all to his soulmate. He's only ever written a few notes without thinking. Things like times, or sometimes dates, random things he needed to remember but didn't have paper or anything to write it down on at the time.
He doesn't really know why he hasn’t tried to write something to them. He thinks maybe it's the fear of unknown. Or not knowing what to say.
Or maybe it's the fact that his handwriting is horrible. And because his soulmate has some of the most stunning handwriting he's ever seen, and the thought of his soulmate walking around with his barely legible words makes his heart jump painfully and he almost knocks over the mug of now slightly bitter and over-steeped tea.
he drinks the bitter tea anyways.
It doesn't fix anything. The warmth settling somewhere between his ribcage, like heartburn that won't go away.
He spares another glance at his wrist where the apparent grocery list sits, the ink slightly smudged like his soulmate wrote it quickly and moved on before it finished drying.
Aang's eyes silently shift from just curious to almost fond as her rubs his thumb over the smudged words once more, as if he could clean it up himself.
"impatient." He mutters quietly to the words, as if they could actually respond. Which they don't, obviously.
The warmth from the tea has migrated to sit almost directly behind his ribs now. Not technically incomfortable, but not quite pleasant either. He watches the words, very not patiently waiting. As if he expects new writing to appear just by him using sheer willpower.
More words don't appear, of course.
He finishes his overly steeped tea and tells himself that he isn't going to keep checking for more. He has things to do after all, and more writing will appear at some point.
He checks again in ten minutes as he's brushing his teeth, and sighs to himself already prepared for the fact he will undoubtedly be checking constantly no matter what he tells himself.
About an hour passes, and thirteen more checks, and it happens again.
"Eat lunch."
He watches the words appear along his skin. His soulmates stunning handwriting, this time in purple ink, scrawling along his wrist like it had always belonged there.
Aang reads the words once.
Twice.
And suddenly it's been thirty minutes of him staring at two words on his wrist in pretty purple, like he's afraid they'll disappear if his even breathes the wrong way.
"Oh hell." He mutters, trying to ignore the way his heart flutters as he reads it just one more time.
Were they talking to him? Or was that a reminder for themselves?
It's not like they wrote "you should eat lunch."
It isn't like the writing is exactly personal. It could just have been a reminder to them to eat lunch. maybe they're busy and they're worried they might forget. yeah. that makes more sense. right?
But then again, an hour and ten minutes ago he was standing in his kitchen, making tea, and staring at a three line grocery list like it contained the key to the universe and everything around it. Okay, maybe he isn't the best at determining what's personal and what isn't after all.
The warmth from earlier returns, lodging itself directly behind its ribs as if to make a point.
His thumb once more traces along the ink along his wrist. "Eat lunch."
Two simple words.
Thirty-seven feelings fluttering through his chest, and none of them can be articulated corrrectly.
"…I already ate." He mutters quietly to the words on his arm, which isn't technically a lie. he had a piece of toast and a handful of chips.
But the moment the words leave his mouth, he groans and lets his head thunk against the wall behind him.
He's talking to his own arm. Specifically the words on his arm like they'll actually respond.
One interaction. it only took one interaction with his soulmate for him to actually lose whatever is left of his mind and start talking to inanimate words.
"Spirits, Aang. Get it together." He mutters to himself with a sigh.
Turning his head slightly from where it still rests against the wall, he sees a permanent marker on the coffee table from where he left it last night. And after a few moments, though it feels like three hours, he manages to gather the courage to reach out and grab it, uncapping it with one hand.
He holds the marker in his hand and then he just stops, staring at the words on his arm like they'll give him a clue.
What does he say?
"Hi" feels too informal
"Hello" is way too formal
And "your handwriting is unfairly gorgeous," sounds insane.
The market hovers slightly above his skin as his hand trembles just slightly, the sharp smell of the ink making his nose burn just a little.
After hesitating long enough to make him annoyed with himself, he finally presses the tip of the marker to his arm. Feeling the drag of the ink against his skin, as he oh so slowly writes.
He wants it to look pretty.
Or atleast not horribly atrocious.
Aang sits back after a moment and looks at the writing.
"You too." His hand writing stares back at him like a blinking red warning light.
Before he can overthink it, he adds a very small, very awkwardly drawn, heart right at the end of his words, and then immediately regrets it.
"Oh hell—too much. That was too much." He mutters, already trying to wipe the marker off but it's already dried.
Well, too late.
Shit.
He drops the marker onto the coffee table once more and groans. allowing his head to fall into his hands as he thinks of every possible way he could have just accidentally screwed up with his soulmate before he even meets them.
His first interaction with them and he decides to fully send it and draw a heart? The more he thinks about it, the more he feels sic to his stomach with anxiety.
That was too much.
You probably freaked them out.
Good job, Aang.
He stays like that for a few minutes, head buried in his hands as he tries to come to terms with the fact that his first time interacting with his soulmate , he decides it'd be smart to draw a little heart. Real smart.
He doesn't know how long it's been. Maybe fifteen minutes. Maybe it's been three hours. Time is nothing but a construct at the moment as he thinks of all the ways he messed up his chance with his cosmically destined soulmate who probably thinks he's weird.
Aang, brave as he is, finally spares another glance at his arm.
more pretty purple writing underneath his.
"Cute."
A small heart drawn right next to where his sits.
An almost buzzing sensation starts in his toes and travels all the way up his body, followed by an intense flushing as his entire being, soul and all, goes bright blushing red as he stares at his arm. Unblinking, mouth going slightly dry, and eyes opening so wide he's lucky they stay put in his head.
Aang's soulmate thinks he's cute.
He knows they don't know what he looks like. But they still said it. They think he's cute even if it's just cuteness by handwriting association.
He flops backwards onto the couch, holding his arm up so he can continue to look at it even as he lays there.
"Cute." He repeats softly.
Oh he's gone, and he knows it.
And he doesn't mind a single bit.