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When Ilya Rozanov is born with the English word ‘asshole’ written across his left wrist, Irina wishes nothing had been there instead.
More than half the population is born with a line across their left wrist, a line that means they will never meet their soulmate.
It could have been that.
She would have been sad for him, sad like she is for herself, but she wouldn’t have this gnawing monster crawling in her chest, drawing her eyes again and again to the word her sleeping baby doesn’t understand. Her precious boy. Who does not see the smirk across his stupid father’s face, the smirk that looks almost proud.
Irina holds her baby close, muttering in his ear as he cries.
Asshole. Like a brand.
She can see a future, a future where this baby with his golden curls grows up to be like his father, where his partner’s favorite name for him is ‘asshole’ because it’s true.
He doesn’t want that for a soulmate her baby will meet.
She holds him tight and silently promises to thwart fate. To raise him so no soulmate will think he’s an asshole.
She can do this.
She’ll protect him, cover up the mark the way most people do so no one can pretend to be their soulmate.
She holds her boy close after he takes his first steps, promising she loves him and is so proud and will always be there for him.
After his bath, she rushes him away from Alexei, who definitely is old enough to read some English and recognize the word. She rushes Ilya away from the glint in his brother’s eye, a glint she doesn’t like.
“Mama,” her boy asks, showing her his bare wrist. “What is this?”
She turns to him and tries to smile as she explains soulmates (and that she’ll never meet hers, the girl who would match her in every way, goes untold), the perfect person for you out there in life. She tries so hard to smile.
(She hopes he’s still too young to see it’s fake)
Ilya squints down at his wrist. “So what does mine say?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she tells him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
(Because she doesn’t)
(Nope)
(It doesn’t keep her up at night)
(Not at all)
(It’s not Ilya’s fault; it’s never his fault) (It’s just her) (and her inability to let it go)
He doesn’t protest. He keeps asking about soulmates. Alexei scowls when he brings it up at the dinner table, his own wrist uncovered and the singular line made obvious.
Irina tries her best to answer.
She isn’t going to fail him (like she fails herself).
She’s going to be good (she’s not). She’s going to raise him right (when she can barely get out of bed).
She will not let him down.
(She does)
#
Ilya never shows anyone his soulmate mark. He keeps it wrapped firmly under a band made specifically for this. Many people do, even ones who have no mark. It’s just considered polite.
He even keeps it on while having sex.
He sees others have them on too.
He’s not weird.
He’s not.
That’s a lie.
Ilya knows he’s weird. But he’s not weird for covering up his soulmate mark.
(Shane Hollander covers his too) (Ilya saw that when they first met) (he doesn’t wonder what’s under that band) (not at all)
Asshole.
He’s tried not to be, but it made surviving so much easier. It fucking still makes surviving easier. In America. In the locker room.
With Shane Hollander.
Hollander, who he’s not supposed to have feelings for. The bravado and the flirting help. So do the jokes. (He can almost convince himself it’s actually casual)
And then, when Ilya puts on a performance, Hollander says “you’re such an asshole.”
Not asshole. Such an asshole.
Or fucking asshole.
Not a nickname.
A small part of Ilya’s heart sinks every time.
But when Hollander says it fondly, like he might be a little bit in love, Ilya can’t help but think, please. Please let it be you. It wouldn’t be such a bad mark if it was from you. I would not worry about being bad boyfriend, bad husband, if it was your word on my wrist. (If it was yours, maybe I wouldn’t worry about being like my father, maybe I could convince myself I’m more like mama)
But Hollander doesn’t say it.
Even as Ilya finds himself falling for this slow hockey player with a weak backhand and beautiful freckles. Even as he knows it’s a bad idea to come to the cottage. Even as he knows that if he has a soulmate that isn’t Shane Hollander, he doesn’t want them.
He wants this, being in the lake while Shane reads on the rock a few feet away, relaxed and happy because they love each other and they’re boyfriends (fucking finally) and Shane’s parents have met him and they approve.
Ilya stares at his boyfriend, nose deep in this book, and a grin spreads across his face. He splashes some water in Shane’s direction.
“The fuck, Ilya?” he exclaims, scrambling backwards, holding his book high to protect it. Ilya grins and Shane shakes his head. “Asshole.”
It sounds fond.
It sounds warm.
It sounds like ‘I love you.’
Ilya’s grin spreads wider (everything feels right and floaty and happy). He swims up and places his wet hands on Shane’s knees. “Gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”
#
“Gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”
Shane freezes when he should be leaning forward and he knows Ilya is confused and worried but fuck, how can he explain how that one word from Ilya’s lips makes him come more undone than he first name ever could?
Maybe he should back up.
Shane knew he would be okay in his love life from a young age.
With sweetheart written on his wrist, how could he not be?
And then Ilya Rozanov walked into his life, the absolute fucking asshole.
He marched into Shane’s life and had the gall to be sexy, funny, considerate, caring, and just so fucking perfect it was impossible not to fall for him.
He marched in and had the gall to make Shane think his actual soulmate could never compare. (Because there was the right girl out there for him somewhere) (There was)
Ilya Rozanov, man of the impossible. So Shane forgets about his soulmate, forgets there will be someone out there more perfect for him because he can’t imagine a life without Ilya Rozanov, his Ilya, in it.
He invites Ilya to his cottage. Ilya loves him and Shane loves him right back.
They make plans.
Shane’s parents approve, somehow, of his boyfriend.
And Shane hasn’t thought about soulmates in months, not since that disaster that was dating Rose, not until Ilya says, “Gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”
And Shane bluescreens.
Ilya’s never called him that before. It’s always embarrassing nicknames, like Mr. Real Estate. Always.
Ilya doesn’t say sweetheart. He’s not Ilya’s sweetheart.
“Shane?” Ilya asks, worried. “What is it?”
Shane shakes his head. “Just thinking.” He leans in and lets Ilya’s mouth quiet the tumbling thoughts.
Ilya pulls away too quickly for it to work.
“Hey, I was enjoying that, asshole,” Shane mutters.
Now the thoughts are back.
(Maybe Ilya couldn’t say it before) (They weren’t boyfriends before) (Maybe he’s wanted to say it) (Maybe now he feels like he can)
“What is it, Shane?” Ilya asks gently. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”
“That word,” Shane blurts out. “Sweetheart.”
“Do you not like?” Ilya asks. “I can stop.”
“No!” Shane interjects, rushing to get the right words out. “I love it. I just…” He shrugs. He’s not explaining this today. “I wasn’t expecting it.”
Ilya nods. “Ah. I understand. I will vet all nicknames first. We can have trial run, yes? You will make spreadsheet and track data.”
“What data?” Shane wonders.
“How much it makes your heart race,” Ilya says with a smirk. “We will get monitor and put in numbers together. Will be very sexy. Make you very hard.”
“Asshole,” Shane says on reflex, knowing he doesn’t mean a single word of it.
From how Ilya lights up, his boyfriends knows he doesn’t mean it either.
“Yes, sweetheart, but you like my asshole.”
Shane laughs against his will and when he leans forward to kiss Ilya again, his boyfriend doesn’t pull away.
#
Yuna watches Ilya tease Shane about how many burgers he’s making and smiles. Even after a full year knowing Shane and Ilya as a unit, they make her smile. Those are her boys, and they’re in love.
So in love, she has to grin.
“Sweetheart,” Ilya says, “remember, we do not need to halve this recipe. Do what you did that first night, yes?”
“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Shane shoots back.
“Never. You would miss it.”
“Debatable, asshole.”
“No, sweetheart, not in front of your parents.”
She glances at her husband, who is laughing along with her.
She saw ‘sweetheart’ on Shane’s wrist when he was a baby and she never really worried about his soulmate. It was a good nickname, a sweet one for her sweet, sweet baby boy.
It sounds good on the lips of Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov who she could have sworn had ‘asshole’ written on his wrist (he wiped away some sweat, the band moved) (she hadn’t been trying to snoop) (it just happened).
Yuna wonders what Ilya’s own mother had gone through, had worried with that nickname as a soulmark on her child.
She hopes Irina can hear her later that night when she opens her window and says to the sky, “I just want you to know. He’s okay. He’s more than okay. He’s in love and happy, actually. You did so well with him, he’s such a good young man. I hope you’re proud of him. Any mother should be.” She wipes away a tear. “You didn’t have to worry. You raised a good one. I’ll look after him. I promise.”
She hopes Irina hears and knows that ‘asshole’ isn’t damning, that Ilya’s soulmate says it with so much affection, it really should be ‘my love.’
She hopes Irina gets what she does and what she hopes the world will one day.
Because, at the end of the day, Ilya Rozanov is an asshole (but also a sweetheart) and Shane Hollander is a sweetheart (but also an asshole).
At the end of the day, the two of them are made for each other and wouldn't have it any other way.