Chapter Text
Britney works in the business of selling romance. She lives off of it. Both from the joy of happy guests giving her hope for her and her future soulmate, and the fat check in the mail each month.
In the quaint Italian countryside painted by rolling hills and towering cypress trees, just far enough outside of Rome to be connected to the city but far enough where travelers can pretend they are much deeper in rural Italy than they actually are. The hotel, an old stone castle from times long past, offers the best of the Italian countryside. From perfect romantic excursions like couples' horseback riding and relaxing honeymoon trips, to their biggest draw, The Wedding.
The Wedding is what every soulmate couple dreams of. A day to pronounce your never-ending love to the cosmic hand-selected perfect person in your life. And, the day Britney gets her fat check.
Though the Wedding is one of the best days for soulmates, it's second only to the day soulmates lock eyes with each other and color fills their vision, solidifying the bond.
Britney dreams of the day the world blooms into color for the first time and meets the love of her life. As of right now, she is soulmate-less, trapped in the black-and-white vision until the day she and her love lock eyes for the first time. Stories from her friends and family fill her with hope for the future. Of soulmates glancing at each other in school and not being able to focus on class bc there's so much more to look at.
Or her favorite story, two strangers bumping into each other on the bus, locking eyes and for the rest of the bus ride watching landscapes roll by in vivid color–she'd kill to experience it for herself. Gut-sinking, skin-crawling desire for her missing half.
She is setting crystal glasses and the fanciest ceramic plates on plates on plates? And so many fucking forks? Why are there so many forks for a proper table setting? It's ridiculous, and don't get her started on the amount of spoons.
The plates and silverware are not the normal ones used at the hotel, meaning the soulmate couple brought these for today. There's like 200 plates. This couple has Money. A pleased grin stretches across her face.
The varying shades of grey flowers flowing out past the round table's centerpiece look dull, but to the groom and bride who picked them out, they are beautiful. Achingly colorful and blooming with life and themes of love and devotion. Straightening out branches and out-of-place leaves, she makes it perfect–god forbid anything is out of place and someone gets upset durring The Wedding. These are the largest centerpieces she's ever worked with, and they leave her itching to see them in color. One day…
Outside the occasional wedding, there are many benefits to working at this hotel; most of her coworkers are wonderful and great people, even Giuseppe, who is the most stereotypical Italian man she has ever met, so much so that he doesn't even seem real. Like an alien embodying human skin… then there's David.
David, who got this job from Giuseppe, and is probably the reason he is the way he is. He looks like a shaking wet dog, one bad cough away from keeling over, of which Britney hopes it happens to him. Preferably while she's watching him and holding her phone so she can record it and watch it back over and over again.
He has a deep, choppy tone to his hair and an annoying cadence to his voice that makes Britney want to sink her teeth into his throat and rip it out so she never has to hear him speak ever again. With blood spurting out of his jugular and dripping down her face. Beaming with pure happiness as he falls into a messy, bloody heap. For Giuseppe to clean up, of course. She's not stooping to David's level after killing him.
He also refuses to look at her for more than a fleeting millisecond, which is for the better. Britney wants him to be scared of her–murder is frowned upon, and she much prefers her job at the hotel over being in some damp prison.
Speaking of her job, he doesn't do much in the way of work, and what he does do is stress and piss off Britney. She tries her hardest to avoid him at all costs. Even walking in the halls, she'll pointedly look at her phone, ignoring him, maybe bumping shoulders to really get under his skin–no apologies. He only ever looks away. Scared probably.
Now, the most infuriating part of David is that he likes the same things as her. He likes the same music she likes–deep bass drums that you can feel in your bones. Her favorite band had a concert she spent her hard-earned euros on, only for that asshole to show up and ruin it with his off-key singing. He likes the same breed of dog that she likes (Aussie Shepherd!) She comes up with the same ideas that he does, which only makes her mad that he could possibly think of these things, only spewing them out faster than she has a chance to open her mouth. He's also American. The part of herself that she dislikes the most. Though he's the annoying kind of American. Loud, and doesn't know when to shut the fuck up, talks before he should, kind of American.
Oh! And he refuses to talk in Italian unless he's checking a guest in. It's annoying and also pathetic. He's been working at this hotel long enough to know more than what tourists come with, yet his vocab is comprised of: ‘caoi!’ ‘Il bagno è a destra,’ and ‘mi scusi.’
Worst of all, he finds all her favorite spots at the hotel and sits there with some dumb book. There's a small nook with a little lounge chair tucked in it on the first floor (the second floor, because Italians prefer the British floor system over the American one); it's cozy and nice. She even strung up some fairy lights, so it's a great place to take a break and read books. One day she walked up to it after her shift ended, and boom, there he was. Lounging as if his life depended on it. Fury filled her that day and has never been extinguished.
She'll find him at all the same stores she shops at. Eats the same meals. Works in the same place. Breathes the same air. It's too much of him for her to deal with.
Anyways, she's in the business of making people feel way more in love than they actually are on their second special day. And right now she's at The Wedding for the newly married couple. They've known each other for decades and have been planning the perfect wedding since they were in college. They have been saving, and they are willing to spend! Tonight, she's serving only the finest Italian wines and cuisine.
She's loading another tray of glasses full of the fancy wine in the staging area behind the kitchen, about to head out to the courtyard to serve them. To her, it's a murky ash color, but to the married couple, it is a sign that they are the perfect match for each other. One day, she'll see this color fully knowing someone loves her.
She sets the tray in her hand, and once it's balanced, she takes it out.
Then, in a flash, a black uniform crashes into her. Britney falls to the ground with glasses of wine shattering, spilling sticky wine all over her. Shards of glass cut into her hand, leaving deep slate-grey blood dripping from her hand.
This motherfucker.
She knows it's the hotel’s resident imbecile before she even looks up. She can tell from his floundering mumblings.
Britney looks up and locks eyes with her enemy. David.
Her blood runs cold, and her vision turns red. Burning rage fills her core.
Her fingertips tingle with the urge to punch that stupid, sad puppy dog look off his face. His watering brown eyes emphasizing his stupidity.
She watches David shrink into himself.
Pressure builds within her, and she can feel the steam coming out of her ears. “Are you fucking dumb!”
He flinches again. Like a dog being sprayed with a water bottle.
She needs not to hit him–that would ruin The Wedding–and her career. Britney takes in the mess covering her uniform.
She pauses.
Navy uniform. It wasn't this color before.
It wasn't a color before.
The courtyard tiles are red? Pink from being dulled by the sun for decades. The wine bleeding into the grout, a reddish-purple glistening on tiles from the sun's bright rays.
Fingers are blistering with a deep crimson color where the glass has cut into her. Her hands a soft pink color with dark blue painted nails. Oh no. Oh no.
There's a dark purple stain seeping into her pristine white apron against her dark navy blue uniform. Wine dripping onto her knees now scuffed and red from hitting the ground.
She scans the crowd forming around them, looking–no, praying for anyone else to be her soulmate. No one else looks shocked at the color filling her newfound vision.
She slowly, as if she has just woken from a peaceful slumber, looks towards David, who is staring at her with the horrors of the thousands of dead Romans that haunt this hotel. Like he's also seeing color for the first time.
No.
Nononnonoononononno.
Nono nononnono fuck no absolutely not. Nope!
It can't be.
It fucking can't be him!
Noooooooo!
Someone else has to be her soulmate and some other unlucky person has to be his.
They can't be soulmates!
The other hotel staff are surrounding them now, trying to help her up and clean out her cuts. But she can't stop staring at David and his stupid face. He's standing now, staring, pulled up by one of their coworkers.
Oh no..
Fuuckk.
Fuck this guy!
Of all fucking people!
The universe is playing a cruel, cruel joke on her.
She laughs.
One of those laughs you do when someone tells you a loved one died. Where you can't believe what is happening to you. Limbs light and weightless, she doubles over, clackling. She's gone insane. The hotel has made her crazy–she knew it would happen eventually. Fuck!
He's ruining her life.
David opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish.
Good. He's as lost for words as she is.
“God, no.” Britney could almost pretend she said that, but no, that was David speaking.
The bride rushes over and asks what happened. The poor girl, her best day has now been ruined. Well, that makes two of them.
“She's my soulmate," More horror and disgust pour out of his mouth. Britney grins wildly, laughing herself silly. Feet stomping like she had heard the greatest joke of her life. A fucking cosmic joke.
The bride looks surprised and excited about this news. “Oh, that's great!” She looks so happy. Britney wishes she could be happy about this.
She has a beautiful lilac dress complete with layers of violet tulle. It's gorgeous. A dress she could have worn to her own wedding.
Britney wanted to have what this bride has. A lovely husband (though she'd be cool with a wife) and a beautiful wedding where she would want to see how beautiful the flowers are. Now she's stuck with an idiot for a soulmate.
Her stomach pulls itself into garlic knots.
“Fuck him.” She takes one of the broken wine glasses and smashes it over his head. He doesn't react. His hair is brown, brown like dirt beneath the hotel. Red blooms from where she struck him. Dripping down, leaving crimson trails on his face, shirt, and apron. Good, he should be bleeding too.
The bride gasps, pulling away from the two of them, horrified by Britney's actions.
Fucking motherfucking David.
What a cruel universe. A cosmic middle finger to her, but not to David; he deserves this.
She's really soulmates with this fucking buffoon.
She's hysterical.
~¤¤¤¤¤~
On his first day on the job, Giuseppe sat him down and explained that he now owes his life to the hotel and must do whatever Giuseppe says. A failed trip to Italy where he lost all his money (and then some) landed him here at this ‘hotel’ where he is now imprisoned. David dreams of returning back to America, to his home, but right now Giuseppe owns him.
He's always hated the idea of soulmates, and his stomach turns at the thought. He's placing cutlery on the tables in the courtyard for the wedding that's soon to begin. The couple for this evening have known each other as soulmates since they met on their first day of elementary school. A terrifying thought. Being stuck with someone for the rest of your life because the universe said so.
His parents are soulmates, but they scoffed at others who made it their whole personality about being soulmates. And he shares the same sentiment. All this glitz and glam for one day just because you can now see color? A waste of money if you ask him.
They are prepping for a wedding to begin. He's on table setting duty–with Britney…his enemy.
He tries to avoid her at all costs, but for whatever reason, she makes it her main mission to make his life a living hell.
He has refused to do housekeeping work when she was working on it. She purposely leaves things on the floor to trip him, such as towels and soap smeared on the tile floors, so he slips and breaks his tailbone. He hears her laughing at him; he's no fool to her evil ways!
In retaliation–it's not like he has a job to lose–he will take her things.
So far, he has taken her purse–he did give it back and took a few euros–a bathroom fee, if you will; her hair clips; her keys once; and most importantly, hot Cheetos. Look, she's just as American as he is, no matter how much she denies it.
Oh, and not to mention, she was at a concert he went to and glared at him the whole time! He may not have looked in her direction, but he could feel her eyes boring holes into his skull as if she was trying to explode his head with only her thoughts. She needs to get a life outside of annoying him.
David has named a rock after her. He had the rock before he met Britney, but he did name it after her to annoy her. She doesn't need to know that, though. What she doesn't know won't hurt her.
She did find out about the rock and its name, unfortunately… She still doesn't know why it's named Britney. Small wins.
By the time he zones back into the world around him, the wedding guests are fluttering about and destroying the nice table settings that took him all morning to set up. Why do they put so much effort into it and make it so fancy, only for it to be destroyed by guests who do not properly respect their hard work?
“Ehi, David, puoi prendere i cicchetti?” His coworker (thankfully not Britney) says.
“Yeah, got it.” He darts back to one of the side rooms off the kitchen to gather the next tray of food. Little bites that the drunk guests will eat and leave crumbs for ants to devour. Maybe he should open a hotel for ants? How would they pay him? Would they like the accommodations he would offer?
He shakes himself out of the ant hotel. This hotel is making him crazier by the minute. He loads up the tray, rushing back to the courtyard before Giuseppe even notices he was thinking about starting a rival ant hotel business.
He meanders the courtyard, offering food and watching guests realize they are hungry and do want a little bite. Gently taking what he offers and returning a polite ‘grazie.’
Once his tray is empty, he rushes back to the side room. Before he can stop himself, he crashes into someone coming out of the staging area.
“Oof!”
He drops to the ground, his ass slamming into the tiles–shattering his tailbone once more in the process. His tray goes rolling back out to the courtyard like a cartoon wheel rolling away from the accident.
He blinks his eyes open. Britney, oh shit.
He stares at her like a deer in headlights.
She's red in the face. “Are you fucking dumb?”
He shrivels in on himself.
He pries his eyes open again, knowing Britney won't hit him.
He takes the mess all in. Purple wine stains Britney's uniform and reddish tiles of the courtyard.
Her navy uniform stands out sharply against the red and orange bricks.
Her hair is a dark blonde color. Not the light grey that it usually is.
Bright red streams down her hand and onto the tiles.
Wait.
nonnoooononooonnononooonoonooono
Nooooepoe nope nope it can't be–she can't be his–they can't be! Right? Nonoononnononono!
Shit! Fuck, god damn it. Mother trucker that hurts like a—
The wine has a color that's not a variable shade of grey. The world is not in the many shades of Grey that have comforted him for the past twenty-six years of his life.
Oh no.
The world has bloomed into a frenzy of sense-assaulting vivid color…. Britney is red. She's probably burst a blood vessel. He hopes to god she can't see color right now. Please, whatever cruel god is out there, please don't let them be soulmates!
God fuck it. His stomach rolls; he doesn't want a soulmate. Never has, and definitely not to Britney. He's happy the way he is now, and he doesn't need a ‘part’ of him ‘filled’ by anyone. Ok, maybe I do, but not in the soulmate way.
Why is he thinking this now? The literal worst person in all of Italy is his soulmate!
“Hahahaha!” Her laughter is sharp like the colorful world around them. Looks like Britney is not having it either.
He opens and closes his mouth. Trying and failing to get any word out.
Something slips out of his mouth without him willing it to. He hopes it's not the fact that he was thinking about getting laid two seconds ago. No one needs to know about that.
His coworkers are around them, trying to help clean them up. One gets him standing, but his eyes are glued to Britney's every expression. And right now she is hysterical.
This can't be happening!
The bride comes over. She's in a beautiful violet dress. Deep purple crystals dot the bodice and soft lilac tulle drapes across the tiles as she kneels and asks, “Are you both alright?”
David is still looking at Britney in fear. He's not alright and never will be. Not when Giuseppe owns him, and Britney is his soulmate. He raises his hand and points slightly at Britney, like she's a witch to be burned. “She's my soulmate.”
Saying the words makes it so much more real. He can't be soulmate with Britney. He was never supposed to have a soulmate.
The bride is giddy and excited about what he said. Like this is a happy moment for him. He's going to be sick.
He never wants to have what this bride has. He never wants to get married and definitely not to Britney. Maybe a live-in partner, but not the confession of never-ending love to your one true match. They don't exist, and he wasn't lucky enough to get one.
Britney continues to laugh at this, scaring the bride, who steps a little farther away from her.
He's really soulmates with this psychopath.
“Fuck him.” She picks up a broken glass and smashes it across his head.
Blood drips into his face, but he finds it hard to care.
He's already been fucked in the ass by the universe. He's alright with this.
~¤¤¤¤¤~
Translations:
‘caoi!’ - hello
‘Il bagno è a destra,’ - the bathroom is on the right
‘Mi scusi.’ - excuse me
“Ehi, David, puoi prendere i cicchetti?” - “Hey, David, can you grab the ciccheti?” *Italian form of tapas or small shared dishes.