Sideshow Freak

Ao3

Cross The Line: 19.9k words, 16 chapters

All I've Ever Known: 22.1k words, 11 chapters

Next to Normal: 13.6k words, 3 chapters

Various Oneshots: 19.5k words, 19 oneshots

Out of the Woods: 8.9k words, single chapter

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Multi-Chapter

Cross The Line - A Ballet Jordan Li AU inspired by @poppy-metal

All I've Ever Known - A Jordan Li x Luke's Little Sister AU

Next to Normal - A LiMoreau College Punk Band AU

One-Shots

it's a fluke of the system. that's the only logical explanation behind the big bold NOT IN SYSTEM on the Vought mandated paternity test. It had been a moment of stubbornness, an exercise of control that had you lying over and over again. I don't know who it was. I'm a college student, I mess around. It was the only thing you felt like you could actually choose in this whole mess.

Nothing about this had been a choice. Well -

The sex was your choice. And a good choice, all things considered. You and Jordan were never public. Never official. Couldn't be, not with the rankings and the rivalry and the bullshit. But it was real secrets that you whispered over warm bourbon in their dorm. Real sparks when you kissed. Real dreams murmured into pillows before sunrise.

And yet -

it all fell apart in an instant.

A moment of dizziness. A step slightly wrong and the training room spun on its head. Next thing you knew, you were sitting in the infirmary listening to your handler whisper urgently into his phone. You'd nearly taken the pill offered to you by the nurse without even asking until the words termination of pregnancy finally broke through the fog.

"I'm pregnant?" your voice was raw, almost out of place in the sterile room.

Another conversation flashes through your mind - a check-up at 14 ended with your doctor gently explaining to you that the likelihood of successful conception were low. So low that you practically qualified as infertile.

You should've just taken the pill. It would've been easier. You would've stuck to your assigned path in life, you'd have been safer. Richer. More successful. But this might be your only chance, and you couldn't have known what would happen next. All you knew was:

"I want them."

it was easy for Jordan to wrap up their devastation at your disappearance with everything else that changed after their first year at GodU. By the time they were appointed as Brink's gatekeeper, they had firmly forced all of your memories into a locked box. Only Cate would pick up on the slight tick in their jaw when you came up in conversation, and she never dared ask. Even in the fall, when Vought started soft-launching you as their newest hero (so that's where you went), they were able to play it cool. (Though Andre's constant ogling of your teeny super suit did result in a few broken pens).

But they didn't have time to ruminate on your sudden success as their world fell apart around them. Luke's death, Brink's betrayal and death, Cate's betrayal...

If it hadn't been for Andre and Emma's quick thinking (and Marie talking some sense into Cate) after Shetty's death, there might not have been a school for them to come back to. And still, coming back to Godolkin in the spring felt like walking into a battleground.

And that was before they saw you.

For the first time in two years, there you were. Not on a screen or printed on a glossy poster, but in the flesh. The same eyes that seems to see right through them, the same smile that had their heart doing backflips in their chest. And still, there was a distant air about you. Like they were still seeing you through glass.

"Isn't that the -" They bit their tongue to keep from snapping at Emma.

"She was a student for a year, so apparently they can still parade her about like a successful alum, even though she did all her coursework underground." they muttered bitterly.

The shorter blonde opened her mouth to pester them with more questions, but a warning look from Marie had Emma snapping her mouth shut once more. They looked away, pretending not to see the look of concern that passed between the three girls. Once Cate and Marie finally admitted their feelings for each other, the blonde telepath had gotten significantly nicer. Unfortunately for Jordan, who (though they never would've admitted it) kind of liked having someone to bitch with. And someone who would look the other way when they let themself be self-destructive. Now, instead of just Luke's judgmental glare, they get the Powerpuff girls smacking the coke from their hand or dragging them from their current groupie of the week.

They wanted to look away. They should look away. But they'd been starving for you for two years and you were finally here and yet still miles away and surrounded by security and handlers. Unreachable.

When your eyes finally met theirs, the chatter of the quad faded into an unintelligible buzz. It was almost painful, seeing the reality of you and not the heartless bitch they'd created in their heartbreak. They'd forgotten the delicate way you moved, the slight gap in your teeth, the way your smile went a little crooked.

The moment ended far too quickly - Sam came barrelling over, shoulder checking them with a grin and a story, and when Jordan looked up again?

You were gone.

You rarely let yourself think of Jordan. Of anything before. Not just because it hurt too much, but because it was a distraction. When you were pregnant, thinking of Jordan was all you could do. At the start, there was a part of you that was sure they'd somehow come for you. You'd just vanished without a word, surely they wouldn't believe you just... walked away.

By the time you gave birth - during what should've been your sophomore spring break - you'd given up hope. And there was a part of you that almost believed it was better this way. They were always the more driven one. Family is a distraction. They told you once, when you dared to show sympathy for their shitty parents.

You still named the girls after them - Lily and Jo. How could you not, with two pairs of Jordan's brown eyes staring up at you?

Years of coming to terms with the idea that I will most likely adopt, and my biological kids look like the spitting image of their other parent. Figures.

You were allotted 30 minutes of skin-to-skin with each girl before they were taken away for observation.

The ways they kept you away from your girls were inventive - you didn't even catch on at first.

They were premature. They need more time.

It's better if they stay with the nurses until you're feeling better.

Lily's blasts are getting out of hand, we need to keep them under closer observation.

You're too stressed to be around them.

They were coming down with something - maybe next week.

By the time you were being prepped for launch as Vought's newest hero, you were allowed weekly supervised visits, and even considering getting out was a pipe dream. By the time you were back on Godolkin campus, it had been two months of delays. Two months since you'd seen your baby girls. Two months of excuses and pushback and extra training and enduring anything if it meant that next week you could hold them for just a moment -

But the moment gets pushed back. Again and again. Leaving you feeling less like an overworked single mother and more like a distant aunt who kept missing important milestones. First steps, first laugh, first haircut, first words... attached as notes in reports from Vought officials. Each day that passed felt like a special kind of torture, something that should be illegal. Which is how you ended up here, behind the science building, pleading with your handler. Again.

"Will, please. It's been months, Nurse Abby said they've been asking for me -"

"You have a tight schedule here, and you know that. If everything goes well here, we'll consider next Saturday." Now that the girls were older - and you were more firmly under Vought's thumb - the excuses were flimsier than ever.

"But -" Before you could finish your thought, his palm collided with your cheek, the slap echoing in the alleyway. You snapped your mouth shut and just nodded.

It wasn't the first time he'd hit you, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But it was the first time that someone else saw.

It didn't take long for the story to make its way back to Cate - Maverick spotted the incident while chasing after Sloane and mentioned it to Emma. Marie caught Emma on her way to 'talk some sense into an abusive asshole' and was able to get her to go talk to Cate rather than GodU faculty. The small blonde launched into a righteously indignant tirade as soon as they were in Cate's dorm, hands gesturing wildly as she spoke.

"... I mean, I've seen Vought do fucked up shit, but I've never heard of a handler slapping their client in broad daylight. She's barely older than us, we should - "

"It would be our word against his, and we didn't even see anything. Maybe we can-" Marie, always forced to be the rational one, tried to keep Emma from getting them all into trouble again.

"Guys, we're supposed to be laying low this semester. We can't just start a revolution based on a rumor from Maverick of all people." Cate hesitated before continuing. "She was gone before my time, but Jordan's always been a bit... touchy whenever her name is brought up. Let's keep this between us. Just until we have more intel."

Emma's lips parted, clearly not willing to just ignore this. "That's all the more-" she started, but closed her mouth at a look from Marie. "I don't like this plan. And I don't like keeping things from Jordan." She grumbled, but she let it go, allowing the conversation to drift to coursework and television and student drama.

You didn't mean to wander so far, and you certainly hadn't intended to walk right to the hiding place you and Jordan went to during freshman year. But the plastic walls of the abandoned greenhouse felt strangely homey, and the smell of warm dirt and mildew brought back a thousand memories. You ran your fingers along the wooden bench, searching for the carving you'd made freshman year. A heart with a crude JL inside, alongside your own initials.

"I didn't think the ice queen got nostalgic." Jordan's voice broke the silence of the greenhouse and you stiffened, your back locking up at the familiar tenor of their voice. You forced yourself not to turn around, contemplating the wood grain as if it could give you the right answers.

Logically, you know they had no way of knowing why you vanished. You know that they had no reason to believe you were trapped, desperate, and entirely alone.

But that didn't erase the part of you that hated them for believing Vought's bullshit. For leaving you behind.

And none of that pain and none of that knowledge could make you forgot the reality of your situation. You could tell them nothing. Hint at nothing. Reveal nothing.

Vought had made it crystal clear that if the existence of your girls was leaked, you would never see them again. Your identity as their mother would disintegrate before they even knew you.

And before they even met Jordan. Before Jordan got to see the perfect beings you two made together.

So you clenched your fists tight enough to feel the sting of your nails in your palms and forced yourself to keep up the facade of aloof hero.

"Just seeing what else changed. Two years can make such a difference." The dismissive words fell like stones from your lips. You didn't mention the days you spent glued to the compound's television last spring after hearing about the attack at Godolkin - or the relief you felt when you saw them standing stiffly on the stage next to four other students you didn't recognize and Polarity, who was standing in for his late son, the only student casualty from the attack.

You saw the anger flash across their face, a sharp retort on the tip on their tongue, but you cut them off. "It's good to see you, Li. Take care." You said, unable to keep your tone as cold as you should've. But you left the greenhouse, not even letting yourself brush against them.

Because one touch might break you completely.

Jordan spent the next few days reliving that brief conversation, playing it back in their mind like it would hurt less if they could make sense of it. The way your fingers delicately ran along the same wood they'd memorized in the weeks after you left. How you could barely keep your voice in that cool, even tenor you'd adopted for television and paparazzi. The way you maneuvered around them like you couldn't bare to touch them.

How they still wished they'd kissed you. Pushed you up against the greenhouse wall like they'd done countless times before and revel in the rightness of having you in their arms again.

Instead, they'd let you walk away.

Again.

"Earth to Jordan!" A blur of snapping fingers brought them out of the other night and back to the present - a flimsy plastic folding table with blueprints strewn across it. It was Annie - of course it was. Working undercover for a rebellion group while finishing their degree was never in their five year plan, but after the attack and the subsequent cover-ups...

Nothing was going according to plan.

"Why are we raiding this compound again?" Sam asked, walking in late. As usual.

"Like I've been saying," Annie said, the frustration bleeding into her tone, "It's routinely getting baby food and formula shipped in. Whoever's being held there..."

A heavy silence settled over the whole team.

"You think..." Emma started hesitantly, serious worry clear in her face.

"Whatever it is, it's not a high end daycare." Hughie said darkly.

"So what's the plan?"

The dingy room came alive once more with discussions of logistics and doling out of weapons and armor. Jordan could almost forget about your conversation in the flurry of plans and preparations, in the banter and bustle of pre-mission chaos.

But staring down the brutalist monstrosity that they were raiding, they couldn't help but hope that that wasn't the last thing they said to you.

You thought the worst day of your life was the day you were forced to walk away from Godolkin. Or the days you were forced to stay away from your girls, wondering if they would forget you during the time you were gone.

That was until today.

It started with the shrill sound of your phone waking you before your alarm had a chance to go off.

"'ello?" You mumbled, barely awake. Yesterday's training had been brutal and you'd been looking forward to sleeping in.

"You stupid, stupid girl. Where are they?"

"Huh?"

"The babies? Where are they?! Who'd you send to take them? How'd you find them? Do you understand what you've done?"

His voice faded into white noise as the reality settled over you, and for a moment, you couldn't think about anything other than:

Who took my babies?

Each time you tried to draw in a full breath, it got stuck in your throat, your hands trembling wildly.

"What do you mean? They-they're not there? That's impossible, Will. You can't have lost my babies, it can't-"

"Don't play dumb, girl. We will find them. We will take them back. And you will never see them again." And before you had a chance to ask him to explain what exactly he meant, he hung up.

A raw, strangled cry tore its way out of your chest, sounding more alien than human.

You'd fought, bled, cried, and given everything you could to stay with your girls. You gave up your entire future for your babies and someone just -

Another shuddering sob wracked your frame. Were they scared? Hurt? Alone?

It felt impossible - not giving in to the agony. But the thought of Vought finding your girls before you did gave you enough drive to push yourself out of bed, shoving clothes on and hiding your bloodshot eyes behind massive sunglasses. And you did the only thing you could do - the only hail Mary you had.

At a party last fall, right around your launch as an official Vought hero, a nervous looking waiter slipped you a note, signed with nothing but a star.

text if you run into trouble. or if you want out.

555-555-7827

At the time, you'd kind of hated him for being so presumptuous. Like you could just walk away whenever the mood struck you. But at this point, it was all you had. You posted up at a back alley behind campus, pulling the cap tighter over your face as you texted the number with shaking fingers.

"You know, I didn't expect babysitting to be a part of starting a revolution." Emma remarked casually. "Not that I'm complaining, these little ladies are precious."

"Yeah, when they're not screaming or shitting." Butcher muttered, but it was clear that the little supes had won over the entire team during the twelve hours since the raid.

"I still can't find any record of their parents." Marie muttered, scanning the files they'd taken from the compound. "It looks like they were born there, but I don't see..." She shook her head, worrying her lip as she continued to read.

And Jordan? To everyone else in the room, they were being their usual prickly, broody self as they leaned against the back wall. But since the girls had woken up this morning, they hadn't been able to stop watching the little girls play.

It was like looking at a home video of themself.

But they didn't dare consider that possibility. Too many questions they didn't want to answer, too many answers they didn't want to face.

But the universe had other plans. The door to the little hideout swung open and Annie was ushering someone in.

"Now, don't get your hopes up, I don't know for sure-"

"Mama!" One of the girls piped up and their head whipped around to see -

You. Any trace of the Vought polish is long gone - your eyes are red, your hands are shaking, and your sweatpants are obviously on backward. They're frozen in place, watching in shock as your legs give out, your knees making a sickening cracking sound against the floor. The twin toddlers were making their way to you as fast as their little legs could carry them, and they could see the pure joy and relief all over your face as you swept the two babies into your embrace.

"Oh my god. You're ok, you're both ok. My babies, my girls," your words dissolved into comforting whispers and soft presses of your lips into the dark wisps of hair on top of each girl's head.

Jordan's world stopped.

The truth they'd been ignoring for hours was no longer a truth they could deny. They could feel their form flickering, like their mind couldn't decide which body could protect them better from this realization. They had a million questions and they couldn't make their mouth form the words. What are their names? Why didn't you tell me? Did you think I'd be a bad parent? How'd they get in that facility? Why didn't you tell me? How could you keep my children from me?

They didn't realize they'd asked the last question aloud until your head snapped up to meet their gaze.

"How could you keep my children from me?" Jordan's voice was raw, hoarser than you'd ever heard them, and your head snapped up instantly to meet their gaze.

Your mouth opens and closes without making a sound, the rush of emotions making it hard for you to find the words to explain.

"I didn't have a choice." You managed hoarsely.

"Right." They spat. "You had two years to figure something out and instead -"

"Jordan-" Cate tried to cut in gently, looking up from Marie's laptop in concern. But Jordan was too far gone, shaking their head and glaring down at you. Both toddlers were on edge at the rising tension in the room, their chubby fingers fisting in the fabric of your hoodie.

"No! Two years of radio silence and it's - you -" They sputtered, trying to find words. "How could you? You said you were infertile, you -"

"Jordan!" This time it was Marie who interrupted. "Why don't you let her actually respond instead of losing your shit?" Their jaw clicked impatiently but they actually listened, looking to you expectantly.

"I didn't like... take a test and then decide not to tell you." You said finally. "I passed out in class, and when I was in the infirmary..."

"They offered you a pill." Emma said quietly. All heads turned to look at the shorter blonde. "One of my friends worked in the infirmary. She said it was standard procedure for all pregnant students."

You swallowed hard, considering for the first time that they may have been others just like you.

"Yeah." you muttered. "But I said no, and they said I had to sign a bunch of stuff instead. I didn't really understand the details until I was already at the compound."

"Wait..." Jordan started, the fury on their face fading into concern and confusion. "The compound?"

You nodded. "From the day I found out until their first birthday, we were staying there. I didn't know where it was, and -" you shook your head. "Trust me. It's not like we were playing happy family in a cottage in the woods. It was better -"

"What was better? I thought you said you didn't have a choice."

"Um... you guys?" Marie interrupted again, her voice far more hesitant than it had been before. "Is there any reason why the girls paternity tests would've come back inconclusive?" You winced, watching betrayal and hurt flash across Jordan's face.

"You ordered paternity tests? After seeing them, you still -"

"No!" This time, it was you who interrupted Jordan. "I didn't order them. I just refused to tell them that I knew who the other parent was."

"Why? Did you really think I'd be that bad of a parent?" Their tone was harsh and sarcastic but you could hear the hurt in it nonetheless.

"That's not it at all. Haven't you been listening? By the time I actually processed that I was pregnant, I was on a compound in the middle of nowhere with no idea what they were planning. What would you have done?" You were breathing heavily, the emotions of the past two years spilling out in a desperate rush. "At first I was just buying time. Hoping that somehow, someone would realize I didn't leave intentionally and get me out. But nothing changed and they kept testing me and through some fluke of the system, your name never came up. And then Lily and Jo were born and I ... I ..."

"What did you name them?" They interrupted, something between fury and love in their eyes.

"Lily and Jo. I thought... I hoped -"

Then, before you could blink, they were kneeling on the floor next to you, pulling all three of you into their arms and blinking rapidly.

"Don't you dare leave me again." They whispered harshly, their hold on you almost too tight. Almost.

"I promise."

Neither of you were exactly practiced at being parents, and suddenly being on the run with twin one year olds was definitely an uphill battle. Jo is extremely protective of her sister, and was known to meltdown if she couldn't see Lily. Lily, on the other hand, was still getting the hang of energy blasts, and every so often a crash would echo through the cabin after a sneeze or tumble.

But having a built in village did make things a bit easier. Marie was the queen of fixing boo-boos, Emma and Sam would trade off telling detailed bedtime stories, and Cate always knew exactly what toy, cup, or bowl each girl wanted at any time.

Jordan was still not exactly sure what they wanted to be called - Mapa was a favorite of Emma's, Cate was partial to Renny, and Marie thought they should wait until the girls made something up. But labels didn't really matter when Lily curled up to sleep in their lap, or when Jo bounced over to show them her favorite doll for the fifth time.

That's not to say it was easy, going on a simple mission and coming back a parent. Bottles, snacks, diaper changes, tantrums... it was a world they were so sure they never wanted a part of. But now that it was here - now that they woke up each morning to the sound of coffee brewing and their daughters playing - how could they walk away?

One night, as the sun settled in for bed in the hills and the girls snores played through the monitor on the porch, you sat with Jordan on the swing.

"I wasn't sure we'd ever get this." You said softly, staring out at the woods in front of you.

"What, a cabin with dial-up internet and a VHS player?" They said lightly, smirking as they looked over to you.

"To actually raise them." You said softly. "The both of us." All those days you spent terrified of losing your girls, terrified of them growing up believing their parents didn't want them... you finally dared to look over at them. Their eyes shone with unshed tears and they blinked them away.

"I hated you for leaving me." They said softly. "I should've -" You rested your hand on theirs, stopping the thought before it started.

"None of that. Could've, should've, would've... none of that matters anymore. Because we made it."

And finally, for the first time in years, they pressed their lips to yours.

And it felt like coming home.

Marie thought she'd built up some kind of immunity to her roommate’s puppy dog eyes, but despite the totally-not-a-party at the Riordan’s townhouse two nights ago and the movie night last night, Emma had convinced her to come along to a real college party tonight. To be fair, she really didn’t have any homework to do, and it did sound fun. One of Emma’s dance friend’s sorority sisters is dating some upperclassman with an off campus house legendary for its parties. Simply referred to as The Cabin, it was (according to the rumors Emma heard) not actually a cabin, and had an excess of guest rooms. She did not want to think about what might be growing on those sheets.

The other important feature was the basement “dance floor” - a musty room adorned with neon lights, stolen road signs, and a linoleum floor that was more classroom than club but no one really cared. It was a party house, through and through.

And honestly, she mainly agreed to go out of pure relief that Emma didn’t seem interested in how her walk home with Jordan went. She’d regaled Marie with a tad too many details about the way Sam smelled in the morning or the way he totally gave her heart eyes when she told a good story. She was able to smile, ooh, and aah when appropriate, and keep her own rather confusing feelings to herself. Because she didn’t know how she felt about Jordan. They were arrogant to the point of cockiness, confusing as all get out, and seemed to have a tendency to argue about almost everything. And yet...

And yet... they made her think. They had a perspective that was all their own, and it made Marie want to dig in, pick them apart and learn each part of them. And they seemed to actually listen to her - if only to counter her arguments. And yeah - intimidatingly gorgeous in both forms. 

So while she might not know how she feels about them, maybe she was hoping they’d notice her as she jumped and shimmied into a tight skirt she’d never dared wear before, fumbling with the side zipper before slipping on a pair of heels. Looking down at herself, she couldn’t decide if she actually felt attractive, or if she felt like a kid playing dress up. Is it too much? But her roommate, who was probably allergic to anything understated, was oblivious to her insecurities.

“Please, please borrow my mermaid top. The sparkly silver one? It brings out your eyes.” Emma was currently perched on her tip-toes in her desk chair, looking a bit like an inquisitive bird, as she tried to apply her false lashes without dripping on her slinky party dress.

“Em, I don’t think it works like that.” She said carefully, still debating on removing the skirt entirely and pulling on jeans instead. Emma groaned in response.

“If you aren’t going to watch the color analysis tiktoks I send you, the least you can do is trust me. It’s science. Girls in STEM, right?” The last comment made Marie snort (she couldn’t help but think about all the deleted messages she has from clubs or organizations for girls in STEM - like she has that time). But she still pulls the silver top from the mass of clothes that Emma calls a closet and tries to untangle it from a bra that looked like it was even too small for Emma. And after some serious finagling, she has to admit - the silver works. Leaving her locs loose, she curled the ends before swiping her favorite gloss over her lips.

And after another fifteen minutes of Emma fussing over her own outfit and Marie’s, and five minutes of waiting, an Uber arrived outside with Sam inside. The two girls slid in beside him, Emma grinning happily as she squeezed into the middle seat, her thigh pressed against Sam’s. Marie sat nervously next to the small blonde, reloading Instagram just to have something to do. Not because she was checking for Jordan (even though she reloaded their story twice).

Once they arrived, it didn’t take long for her to lose Emma and Sam in the crowd, her roommate practically dragging the gangly freshman deeper into the house party. Typical. She rolled her shoulders back before making her way into the party.  I survived Red River. I can handle a house party. She reminded herself, taking a cup from the table before finding a mostly empty corner she could stand in for a moment.

Through the crowd of gyrating supes, she spotted the one person she’d never admit to looking for - Jordan. She sipped at her punch-like drink nervously, unable to deny the disappointment that settled in her gut when she saw the tiny redhead hanging off their arm - and the easy smirk on their lips as they flirted with her. So they can be charming. If they want to be. 

She couldn’t shake the strange heaviness that was sitting on her chest and she discarded her drink and went to dance. Or at least - she intended to dance. But even as her hips moved to the music and she tried to let go of whatever it was she was feeling (she couldn’t even call it jealousy in her head), it was like she could feel each pair of eyes burning on her skin, the sound of a hundred heartbeats crowding out her own thoughts. 

Marie couldn’t see Emma through the crowd of dancing college students, but the room had gotten too crowded, too hot, too much - she needed out. So she bobbed and weaved between the inebriated mass until - an opening. Darting behind an... involved couple, she broke free of the infamous dance floor and made her way up to the (mostly) deserted front deck, leaning against the banister and breathing in the fresh air desperately. 

“You’re lucky you made it out when you did. Dusty’s about to play Hot n Cold, so the Alpha Phi girls are going to make everyone do their dance.” The shadow that she’d assumed was a drunk stranger passed out on the bench sat up, revealing himself to be none other than Golden Boy himself. Marie giggled slightly, stepping a bit closer to the upperclassman as he did a goofy rendition of what she could only assume was the sorority girls’ dance number.

“I thought I’d be able to avoid the sorority shuffle at an off-campus party.” She said casually.

 “No one will come between sorority girls and 2010s pop music. Trust me.”

“Now that sounds like there’s a story attached to it.” 

Luke's eyes darted away uncomfortably for a moment before he smiled in a sheepish sort of way. “At one of my first parties here, a bunch of drunk girls cornered me and demanded I sing the Heroes Of Charity Place theme song. Three times.” Marie vaguely recalled Emma mentioning the teen sitcom Luke was in, but had forgotten just how cheesy it sounded aloud.

“In a row?” The blond man nodded seriously before smiling wryly.

“It basically made me immune to people trying to embarrass me with it.” An easy silence settled over the two of them as they stared out into the city streets. Something about Luke reminded her of Vicky - the easy kindness, the way they both look at her like they see a hero worth uplifting.

“How do you-” Her words got stuck on themselves as she tried to find a way to ask the questions she needed to ask without sounding pathetic. “I just mean... Everyone has an opinion. About... everything. How do you...”

“Know what I want?” She nodded wordlessly.

“I trust my gut, and I know who I trust with what. Like... Andre’s great for new business ideas or whether a drug is safe to try. But I wouldn’t necessarily ask him for advice on how to deal with overbearing parents. You know?”

“I guess that makes sense.” She contemplated his words, looking out at the suburban streets.

The door swung open, letting the blasting pop music and drunk laughter drift out into the quiet night. She turned to look up and saw the rest of Replaced @ 9 pour out of the screen door, greeting Luke happily. 

“You’ve had enough fresh air, c’mon, man-”

“Hey, babe. Andre’s got some-”

Cate and Andre’s voices overlap as they come out, followed closely by Jordan. They’d lost the girl who’d been draped on them earlier, and she could feel as their eyes found her and quirked an eyebrow wordlessly.

“I’m good, you know I had that chocolate an hour ago. I’m comin’ up.” Luke said warmly, wrapping his arm around Cate’s shoulders and pulling her into him. Andre was close behind her, holding a small bag in his fingertips.

“What about you, freshman? Want some?” Marie blinked in confusion and shock, looking at the small bag of white powder skeptically. Alcohol was one thing, but...

“Is that cocaine?” The words were clunky on her tongue, and she flushed slightly at the patronizing smile playing at Cate’s lips.

“We finished the coke. This is molly.” Of course it was Jordan who spoke up next, just in time to be condescending and hot. They’d shifted at some point, the blazer they were wearing revealing a delicious slice of cleavage that left her wanting, craving in a way that was entirely unbecoming. But that was probably just the alcohol talking.

The logical part of her brain reminded her that she had things to do tomorrow, and trying a new drug on a whim is stupid. Especially considering her antidepressants, which (as Vicky and Emma remind her constantly) can interact badly with drugs and alcohol.

But she’d already had a drink. And Jordan’s eyes were daring her, and she looked to Andre, who held the small baggie to her enticingly. 

“Just,” Jordan pointed their finger, sucked the tip in between their plush lips, and then dunked it into the powder. They held her gaze as they lifted their finger and for a moment, she thought they were going to have her take the drugs directly from their fingertip. But they sucked the tip back between their lips, smirking at her reaction.

Marie rolled her eyes, ignoring the way her heart stuttered in her chest, being the focus of their attention once more. She lifted her middle finger mockingly, staring directly at Jordan as she sucked the tip into her own mouth before dunking it into the bag and sucking the powder off - before immediately grimacing at the taste. All four of the upperclassmen burst into laughter at her facial expression, and Cate looped her arm through Marie’s easily.

“Let’s dance,” She said immediately, an easy smile pulling at her glossy lips as she led the younger girl back into the cabin and downstairs. The two men had almost instantly dissolved into eager conversation, with a click of a lighter from Jordan lighting up a cig.

It was surprisingly easy, getting lost in the music and the smoke and the drugs coursing through her veins. Cate was in tune with the beat of the music, and the pressure of a crowd of eyes seemed to melt away. Marie let her hips move, flowing with the music in that instinctual way that just feels good. She followed the blonde’s lead, the tips of her fingers brushing against the smooth leather of her gloves.

She’s not sure when she exactly started coming up, but everything just started to feel... good. A thrumming in her veins, a tingling dancing across her skin, and she didn’t think she ever wanted to stop dancing. The music seemed to flow through her, and the beat of a hundred hearts synced with hers and with the music coming through the speakers. She let her head fall back, the curled ends of her locs tickling the exposed small of her back as she moved.

And then CrazyInLove came on, and it was like she was back in her mom’s car, singing along with Annabeth and their cousin Rachel. She doesn’t realize that she’s singing aloud, or the single tear making its way down her face - it's just her, the music, and her memories. And when the final chords fade into the next number, she doesn’t feel weighed down by her grief. It just feels a bit more like love.

---

Jordan likes to party. It’s not that they’re undisciplined or reckless - but they like to have fun. And fun often means tight clothes, loud music, and good drugs. It wasn’t always like that for him - there was a lot they didn’t plan for when they made their five year plan at 18, their friends being the biggest surprise.

They never thought they were cool - they definitely weren’t cool in high school. But when you walk into a party beside Andre Anderson and Luke Riordan, you know you’re where it’s at. Andre’s dad was in some sitcom in the 90’s, and Luke was a child star, so certain things came to them easily - like finding and getting into parties. And Cate? Well, she may not come from fame or money but she exudes the kind of easy-going cool girl energy that he’d always wanted to project (They were never able to quite make it work - as hard as they tried, it was pretty obvious when they gave a fuck).

They stepped out of the second floor bathroom in the townhouse, his jeans hanging low on their hips. He shook the water from his short hair as he pulled his shirt back on, when Andre hollered down the hall.

“Party at the Cabin tonight. You in, Li?” 

“I got nothing better going on. You know who’s gonna be there?” They couldn’t help the question that fell from their lips, that small twinge of jealousy when they imagined Marie showing up on Andre’s arm. 

“It’s the cabin. Could be anyone. Why, you looking for someone in particular?” Jordan couldn’t help but roll their eyes (because they could see Andre’s stupid fucking expression in their mind). 

“Fuck off, man. I’ll be there.” They said dismissively, shrugging their favorite bomber jacket on before heading out to run errands for Brink. Delivering papers, picking up deliveries, cashing checks, mailing packages...  the professor definitely treated them like his P.A. as well as his T.A..But they didn’t really mind - especially during the day of a party. Anticipation of the night ahead thrummed in their veins all day, leaving them bouncing on their toes in every line. At least when they were working, they had things to do to pass the time. 

And of course, the coke doesn’t hurt. They refuse to do any illegal drugs while on the clock - even when they aren’t technically being paid - but it had been barely five minutes since they re-entered the townhouse, and Cate’s offering them a bump off her fist before ushering them into the recliner. The familiar buzz settled into their skin, flowing down their veins like liquid ice. Invincibility, in powder form. At least, it kind of felt that way. Like if they were high enough, the expectations of other people could bounce off of them the way bullets bounce off their chest in their male body. They knew it wasn’t real - they’ve seen enough coked-up idiots get ushered into ambulances - but the feeling was enough.

They can do their own hair - they aren’t incompetent - but Cate likes helping, and she’s good at it, holding each curl for precisely seven seconds before letting it fall. And she never complains about doing their hair twice. She doesn't ask stupid questions, just steps back and nods approvingly before waiting patiently for them to switch.

She became the unofficial stylist of Replaced @ 9 after Luke and Andre showed up to their first gig entirely missing the memo. Andre was wearing cargo shorts and a polo shirt, and Luke was wearing a blazer over a crisp blue button down and jeans that had never been worn before. When they were performing in an alleyway. Outside a basement bar that hadn’t been redecorated in decades.

But Cate grabbed a couple of over-sized tee-shirts from her bag, smudged some eyeliner under their eyes, and they all looked great - even if they were playing less-than-stellar covers all night long. From then on, the three other band members let her style and costume them to her heart's content.

Jordan had developed their own sense of style as he came out of his shell over the years. His current favorite outfit for parties - tight pants and a low cut blazer with nothing underneath - isn’t the kind of thing they would’ve been caught dead outside the house in just a couple years back. But it feels good to look good - and this looks great no matter which form they wanted to be in. Or, sometimes, needed to be in.

They could feel Cate’s eyes on them as they neared the door to the cabin and chose to ignore her obvious judgement when they shifted to their male form on their way up the stairs. She knew what they were doing - and how it would probably end. And so did they - they aren’t stupid. But sometimes, the discomfort is worth it. Some girls wear heels despite the pain - how is this any different?

Well, for one, the feeling of wrongness isn’t limited to their toes being crammed into a tiny toe-box. They don’t really feel like they’re there and yet they can feel every pound of their heart against their chest - which felt entirely too wide. Like they’re taking up too much space. Some people think that their form is just aesthetics - two different costumes for one person. They’ve never even tried to explain these feelings to someone else, not even Cate. Not since that night, a lifetime ago, leaning against Iris at summer camp. And they’re terrified to talk to other trans people - that tiny little voice in the back of their mind insisting that they don’t count because they’re bigender or because they don’t/can’t transition the way other trans people do. Part of them felt too queer to be “normal” (whatever that meant) and the other part felt not queer enough to belong to those spaces. Shrodinger’s gay.   

They watch themself flirt with Libby, the pretty little redhead that they’d been on and off with for a few months now, and they try to ignore how hollow it feels to play the same old games. Every touch calculated, every smirk perfectly timed. And they couldn’t help think of Opera (Marie, they reminded themself again, like they could ever forget her name), and they felt a little nauseous when they realized she’s probably just the same. She’s a powerhouse, intelligent, a 10 without trying, just sarcastic and argumentative enough to get their blood pumping. A girl like that wouldn’t want someone like her - obviously queer and rude, never able to fit into anyone’s boxes. 

They made a motion towards Cate, drawing a circle behind their back with crossed fingers. Their GMTFO signal. And within a minute, she was hurrying over with her best concerned-citizen face on.

“Jor, can you go check on Luke? He went into the bathroom twenty minutes ago, and I’m worried he might be sick.” She said sweetly, both her hands grasping their forearm and pulling them away. They offer an apologetic shrug and smirk to Libby, who seemed mollified enough before walking off to get another drink.

They let Cate lead them to the bathroom and shifted almost immediately, shrinking and letting out a shaky breath of relief once they were out of eyeshot of Libby. 

“Don’t even.” They said shortly, rolling their shoulders back in an attempt to shake the feeling off. “And thanks.” She still felt shaky - like her nerves had been worn clean through. Cate just nodded, leading them back onto the dance floor, towards Andre.

They’ve known what Libby was like since the beginning - but that doesn’t take away the sting when she obviously gives her a critical onceover and scoffs before turning away. She’d been down to try scissoring in the comfort of her own dorm room (with the lights off, of course, and absolutely no kissing) but never wanted to be seen in public with anything other than Mr.Jordan Li. Fucking straight girls. But before she could sink any deeper into self-pity, Cate was dragging her and Andre up the stairs and out to the deck.

“Let’s check on Luke,” She explained lightly, mostly for Andre’s benefit. He was a good friend but not the most observant. The drama of the past ten minutes had gone completely over his head, and (if she’s completely honest) she appreciates it. He’s comfortable with not understanding their experience, and does his best to be supportive.  

“You’ve had enough fresh air, c’mon, man-”

“Hey, babe. Andre’s got some-”

Cate and Andre’s voices overlapped as they both greeted the laidback blonde, who smiled warmly at his friends and girlfriend. He was standing next to none other than Marie, looking angelic in a tiny skirt and silver sparkles. It was like they could see stars in her big brown eyes, even though there weren’t nearly enough stars visible for that. They couldn’t seem to tear their eyes away - and they knew Cate saw. Fuck.

“I’m good, you know I had that chocolate an hour ago. I’m comin’ up.” Luke tended to shy away from some of the more intense drugs (family history of schizophrenia will do that to you) but he’s got a few great shrooms connections.

“What about you, freshman? Want some?” And they had to suppress a laugh as they watched her eyes dart between the baggie of powder and the upperclassmen surrounding her like a pack of wolves.

“Is that cocaine?” They couldn’t keep their face even this time, a smirk pulling at their lips in spite of themself. This girl. All moxie and mystery, all nerves and nerve, sparkling in the porch light like a god damned dream. 

“We finished the coke. This is molly.” They said easily, and they couldn’t deny the way her heart skipped as Marie’s eyes trailed down her chest slowly before she met their eyes again, a slight flush in her cheeks as it became clear that she couldn’t look away anymore than Jordan could.

“Just,” Jordan sucked the tip of her finger slightly more suggestively than was strictly necessary, holding Marie’s eyes like a challenge as she dipped it into the bag of molly. For a brief moment, she considered feeding it to the younger girl directly, a tension that hung in the air as they watched her cheeks flush and her eyes dart between their finger and their eyes. But the moment passed, and she took the hit herself. Maybe it was fear that stopped her - whether it was of rejection or of judgment, she wasn’t sure. She’d tell herself that they were just playing - just like the other night. They knew what they were doing. But even she didn’t believe that.

“Let’s dance,” Cate’s voice broke into their thought spiral as she pulled Opera back down to the dance floor. And they couldn’t bring themself to follow. Anything that happens on molly doesn’t count. She’d learned that the hard way, one too many times. And frankly, they didn’t feel up to being another experiment. Not when they still felt... raw. She lit a cigarette, watching the smoke dissipate into the night, and pretended to care about what Andre was saying. 

On nights like this, when no one seems to see them clearly, and they can’t see the stars, they find themself wishing they were simpler. Easier. If their powers were different, if they weren’t nonbinary, if they didn’t feel like they might implode if they couldn’t make music. And then they remember how they felt in that alleyway, playing the shittiest cover of Soul Doubt ever played, dollar store eyeliner dripping down their face. Random strangers, their parents, and pretty little redheads might not see them completely, but their friends do. And maybe that’s enough for now. 

But there’s still a part of them that craves more. Not just to be seen and accepted, but to be understood and loved. To have someone to come home to, someone who actually wanted all of them there.

When would it be their turn?

Walking home from Jordan’s place, angrily tugging the stiff leather of her coat around her shoulders, her mind is a whirlwind of fury and hurt. She wants to scream at them, to cry and rage and tear her own hair out and make them see what she was feeling. But Ella had been that girl before. Hunting down her mother, a precocious and furious 14 year old on a stranger’s porch. Screaming and sobbing at the woman who was supposed to love her completely and realizing that she didn’t care. All the pain in her little world met with pure apathy. She spent an hour crying on that porch after the door slammed shut in her face, and it felt like she could’ve cried for days and nothing would’ve changed.

That’s not revenge. That’s torture with no closure. No - revenge is blocking every random social media account her mom makes to reconnect now that she’s lonely. Revenge is celebrating her father on mother’s day and father’s day. 

So by the time she walked into rehearsal that afternoon, her mask was firmly back in place. Face neutral. Eyes precisely where they belong. Nothing happened. Nothing will happen. Doesn't matter that no one ever looked at her the way they do. Doesn't matter that they made her fucking shake and moan underneath them and then acted like they hadn't flipped her world upside down. God. Fuck Jordan Li. Every time she thinks she’s got her feelings under control, they have to go and do something else to send her world sideways. She should curse their name, she should go back to pretending they’re just another dancer. And yet...

And yet, watching them mark out the Death of Tybalt for the millionth time is just as captivating as it always is, and she just can’t keep her eyes from following their form across the linoleum. The focused furrow in their brow, the way their muscles tense right before they -

“Jackson.” 

Their cold tone brought her back to reality and she had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes. The fury Ella had been fighting to bury all morning bubbled under her skin as she saw the same blank look on their face from earlier. She could see her mother’s apathy in their eyes and for a brief moment, she was that righteously indignant teenager again. 

“Li.” Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t keep the venom from her tone. “I need to work on my soliloquy today. You’re free to observe.” She did her best to keep her voice clipped but calm, forcing her anger into a more manageable shape.

--

Free to observe? 

They almost wished she hadn’t shown up at all. It was easier to be pissed when she was just avoiding them. Even when she was sulking, dragging her feet through every critique they gave her, that they could compartmentalize. But this? This ice queen act, just hours after they had her moaning so sweetly in their bed?

They’d rather she’d yell. Or cry. Or run. This felt like getting into a standoff with their father, enduring his tapping fingers and clipped tone, ignoring the pleading looks from their mother and siblings, until finally giving in and forcing themself to shrink for his own benefit. 

Not here. Not for her.

“If you’re that pissed we fucked around, you can just go. Like I said, things happen. We’ve been dancing so closely, we were bound to mess around eventually. Just be glad we got it out of our system and move on. We have work to do.”

They watched as her face scrunched up with frustration and they had to fight to keep from smirking at how easy it was to break her mask. And then they remembered how small her voice got when they brushed her off and they had to look away. 

Which was how they missed Ella getting up from the studio floor and storming over to them, grabbing their chin and forcing their eyes back to her.

“You know what I think, Li? I think you’re so used to swallowing your pain to get what you want that you despise anyone who can’t do the same. And I think that you’re so consumed by your own pain that you can’t even look at the consequences of your own actions.” She shook her head, letting go of their face with a huff. They almost missed the brief contact. “I used to think you were just like the cruel ballerinas from high school, willing to screw over anyone to get the part. But you’re much worse. You let me think you actually gave a fuck.” She started to walk away.

They reached for her wrist on instinct, forcing her to stay. Spinning her back around to face them, they were struck suddenly by how beautiful she was. Face flushed with anger, eyes shining with tears she refused to let fall, her chest heaving as she tried and failed to stay in control, flyaways framing her face.

“I might be an asshole. I take too many drugs, I’m too angry, I push people away, I take this bullshit ballet program too seriously - yes. But don’t you dare think for a second that I don’t care about you.” They hissed, surprising even themself with the intensity of their words. 

“You tried to get me replaced as your dance partner.” She spat back.

“And you never even cared enough to ask why!”

“It seemed pretty obvious to me. You think I’m not good enough. I’m not stupid. But you also know I dance my ass off. So -” Before they could think better of it, before they could think of another stupidly cruel thing to say to keep Ella from seeing the truth -

They kissed her. Their free hand curled around the back of her neck, pulling her in and putting every ounce of need and frustration and fear into the kiss. For a moment, she was completely still, and they expected her to pull away, to shout and bolt away. But instead, her hands cupped their face, deepening the kiss. 

Too soon, she was pulling back for air, searching their face for answers.

“It’s never been about your dance abilities. I’ve known you were something special since I saw you dancing to Vivaldi. But how I feel for you terrifies me. I’ve never -”

And then she was kissing them and their mind went blank. If they’d had the control back in their bedroom, Ella certainly had control now. They hadn’t realized she’d been backing them up until the cold of the mirror hit their back. Their lips moved with hers as their hands explored her body, and they could taste her and they just couldn’t get enough. 

They’d get back to dancing later.

She knew she'd never stop loving them. But she was still convinced they only saw a monster standing in her place.

A useful monster, maybe. But still - a monster.

So if she was still slicing her skin open in the quiet moments of the night, what did it matter?

It's not like anyone would be seeing her naked.

She's still in control of it - even when it goes from once in awhile to nearly every night. She has to be.

She started keeping track - counting each of Jordan's nightmares which would wake her up, their heart like a drum line in her mind. Each comment any of her friends made about her mistakes.

It wasn't supposed to be about penance - and yet it always was. She never discussed her own nightmares, struggles, or pain. With anyone. Everything she felt was tucked away until it came out in red beads on her thighs.

She should heal herself - prevent scarring, avoid the possibility of being caught. But feeling the sting, the ache, the itch -

Isn't that what she deserved?

--

Despite having rehearsed what they were going to say to Marie for days (since they woke up alone, again, at Edgar's. How could she walk away again, how could she not see the way she broke them the first time she left?) they regretted the words as soon as they left their lips. But they kept talking -

Isn't this what they have to do?

This is the only way. The only way.

Friends. They can do friends, right?

It seemed like a switch had flipped for Marie. Like not touching them was easy for her.

Every move she made around them seemed calculated - performed for an audience of one.

It was driving them insane.

And they retaliated the only way they knew how.

Barbed comments, sarcasm, and a permanent scowl. Asides about trust, poking at her connection to Homelander or her immense power. Not taking her side in pointless arguments - even when they actually agreed with her. Anything to make her squirm - since the break up didn't seem to be bothering her.

It was a couple months into their time at the safe house, a couple months of this combative friendship fraying their nerves, when Cate came and knocked on their bedroom door.

"Hey, can I ..." If Marie was determined to pretend everything was normal, Cate was still walking on eggshells, still unsure if her place in the group was permanent.

"What is it?"

"Its about Marie." She said carefully, but still pushed her way into their room, closing the door behind her. They stiffened, fists clenched and back ramrod straight.

"What about her?" Each word was clipped and careful.

"Can you try to cool it on the you're an evil traitor undertones?"

"Tone policing? That's not very woke of you." They bit out. "I don't think I have any kind of tone-"

"Don't bullshit me, Jordan. Can't you see how hard she's trying to do exactly what you asked of her?"

"Doesn't seem like it was that hard."

"Then I don't think youve been looking hard enough." She let that statement hang in the air before turning to leave, before pausing at the door. "I don't want to watch her break." Cate murmured finally, and then left them to stew in what she'd said.

They started paying attention after that. And once they started, they couldn't stop.

They saw the way she tensed any time they entered a room - like she knew they were coming. They saw the pain in her eyes every time she stepped back from a hug or casual touch. The exhaustion in her eyes, like she hadn't slept in weeks, despite going to bed every night at nine, like clockwork. They saw the flash of pain and guilt on her face anytime someone brought up Elmira or Godolkin or her powers, the way she'd shut down with a smile so no one would worry -

When they thought about what she might be doing to herself, they nearly threw up. The realization that she might be cutting again had bile stinging the back of their throat, their fists clenched tight on the table.

They wanted to scream at her. Say that she wasn't allowed to be hurt, that it was her fault everything was broken, that she left them and tried to stop them from helping, that she was just like Cate and Godolkin and Homelander and -

Another memory, on those same steps, stops them again.

Didn't they do the same thing? That day, grabbing her in their male form, forcing her to stay even after they'd left her alone at that club, trying to force her to hear them -

It was different then. They were different then. Right?

They thought back to what Cate said. And for the first time, they wondered what Marie thought they thought of her.

They always assumed their feelings were obvious. The love they felt for her was so all consuming for them, how could she not know it? How could she not see it in every line on their face, how could she not feel it in every beat of their heart? Even before they said it, how could she not know that they love her, that they want her safe and happy and theirs?

They didn't realize what they were doing until they'd burst into Marie's room, hoping against hope that she was ok.

They'd seen Marie cut herself many times in battle, the fearless slashing of her palm a seemingly necessary evil. But watching her press the blade into a section of her thigh (blood already dripping down her leg) in the dark of her own room was an entirely other beast - and had them snatching the knife from her frozen hands before they could stop themself. They want to scream. They want to vomit. They want to cry. They want to beg her never to do it again. And all they can feel is this overwhelming, sickening sense of guilt. This is their fault.

"What the hell, Moreau?"

"I'm fine," she said dismissively, pressing a cloth into the wounds like she couldn't heal them easily. "Nothing you need to-"

"Does Emma know?" They cut her off, anger and worry churning in their gut. She gave them a look that said are you stupid?

"She'd freak out. And there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."

"You're bleeding, and you're not healing." Jordan retorted, which had Marie rolling her eyes, knitting the veins and skin back together with ease.

"There. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about." Her voice was dismissive, tired. Almost numb.

--

What Marie wanted to do was scream. Demand to know when they started caring about her again, make them admit they're scared of her, that they only see the monster in her eyes.

Do any of her wins matter when she causes such pain?

"Just - talk to me, Moreau!" Their voice was bordering on desperate at this point. "Why-"

"Pain releases endorphins, and it-"

"That's not what I fucking mean and you know it."

"God, can't you see how hard I'm trying to do as you asked? I can't -" she shook her head, trying to keep the desperate words from slipping out. "I have to make things right, I have to make sure I don't mess up again, I-i-" she bit her own tongue, like that could keep her from spilling her secrets to her ex partner while sitting in her ugliest underwear on a cot. "It helps. And I have it under control." She finished lamely, still hoping that if she said it enough times, Jordan might drop the whole thing and go back to being themself.

"Marie..." They said softly, and it wasn't lost on her that this was the first time they'd called her by her first name in weeks.

She almost expected them to stay. But they just shook their head, standing and leaving without another word.

But when she reached for her knife...

It was back in 1882 when scientists first recognized the soulmarks that every person seemed to be born with were tied to the fingerprint of their soulmate(s) - though the location of the mark on the body varied among individuals. Almost always the dominant index finger (though it has been recorded to be other fingers in rare circumstances, the marks fan out  depending on the number of soulmates. Researchers have never been able to fully document the physiological symptoms of seeing, meeting, and bonding with soulmates - not without a lack of trying. And now, with the rise of research and development of Soulmate Finding Databases and Applications, the answers humanity has been hunting for millennia may finally be revealed. Vought scientists spoke exclusively with The Sun this weekend, discussing the finer details of their newest research projects and applications. 

Hayley Miller: Hello, and thank you both for inviting me - and all of my audience - into your beautiful home. 

Ashley Barrett: Of course. It’s so much easier to talk business at home like this. 

Cameron Coleman: And our work is so close to home for so many - ourselves included. 

Miller: That’s true. There are those who wonder - do experiments or algorithms belong in such a ... delicate business as soulmates and love?

Coleman: We -

Barrett: It’s always on our minds, you know? We’ll never forget the miracle we experienced when our bond was formed. But we can’t help but think of those for whom fate wasn’t enough. If we could build something that helped just one soulmate find another? That would make it all worth it.

Miller: And this program is how you plan on doing that?

Coleman: Precisely. We have the technology to scan and process both soulmarks and fingerprints, so we figured - why not use that technology to connect soulmates directly?

Barrett: We've had great success so far, and with every new user added there's more opportunities for success and true love. Like we always say, 

Coleman and Barrett: More bonds means more love. 

Miller: And that's all the time we have for today! Tune in after these messages to hear about the upcoming reveal of the newest member of the Seven, and don't forget to sign up for More Love with your Vought+ account for a 15% discount!

You groaned, closing out of the thinly veiled ad your mom sent you and slid into the ancient theater seat.

When most people talk about meeting their soulmate for the first time, its a grandiose affair. Hearts race, eyes meet, and a bond settles into place before either party has a chance to give their name. You’d heard this story countless times - in shitty romance novels, in feel-good news stories that your mother used to send you - Ashley Barrett slop included.

But most people actually meet their soulmate. You were sitting in the back of an auditorium - definitely hidden in the shadows, and they were on stage, giving a seminar on hero ethics or some other bullshit that barely applied to you.

It was subtle enough you didn’t quite realize it at first. You’d gotten to the auditorium early - of course - and settled in at the far, far, far back. But still - you felt it. You felt them.

First - a prickle on the back of your neck. You’d put your hair up, thinking the summer heat was just setting off your nerves.

Then - a spike in your heart rate. A shiver down your spine. Anxiety acting up, maybe?

You were in denial - it’s easy to see looking back. But then you saw them and you couldn’t deny the burning in both your soulmarks. A prickling sensation morphed into a burning throb as you looked up at the stage and felt that undeniable pull. The tug from somewhere deep down that draws you to your soulmates. You can feel it in your chest - in the way your body contorts to lean towards the stage. Your subconscious was searching for a seat closer to the front before you realized what was happening.

There was no denying it any longer. Marie Moreau and Jordan Li were your soulmates.

You didn't need to wait for Brink to introduce them to know who they were. You were moving towards the exit before they even sat down. 

After Marie and Jordan saved some random girl at a club, they were celebrated by GodU and Vought. They shared rank 2. Somehow. (Well, not somehow. There are a lot of rumors about ultimatums and threats and benefactors and blackmail that everyone is all too willing to entertain). They were basically GodU royalty. Everyone knew who they were. True representatives of what it means to be a Godolkin-trained hero, if the press briefings are to be believed.

If that was true, you were everything but that. You were here on a technicality. Your independent study status meant you were barely in Crime Fighting, and Brink was constantly trying to make you anyone else’s problem. You spent most days holed up in the greenhouses, trying to coax rare saplings into thriving. The only reason you put up with this bullshit school, this bullshit company, was because you knew, deep down, that this was the only way your powers meant anything. You weren’t a healer or a fighter or even an entertainer. You are an academic, through and through. A scientist. And you might’ve dropped out in the first year if you hadn’t stumbled on a rare and delicate plant species that seemed to help supe-specific illnesses and the side effects of compound V. Maybe you couldn’t help people directly, but your research could. 

But none of that was ready yet. You weren’t ready yet. So you did the only thing that you could think of - you fled.

Ducking behind the sound gear, scurrying around the other lurkers in the shadowy back row of Godolkin’s main auditorium, you managed to make it out and in a side alley, leaning heavily on your knees. Trying to remember how to breathe.

When you learned who your soulmates were, you could feel the pull everyday, tugging you towards fate. But your fear was stronger - keeping you running. 

It was cowardly, you knew - hiding from your soulmates. But they already faced enough backlash as it is - sharing rank 2, being an interracial couple, Jordan’s gender identity, Marie’s history... you couldn’t ask them to come out again. Not for you. You were no one. Barely a supe. And they were actual heroes.

How could you get in the way of that?

So you avoided them constantly. Became almost an expert at it - learned their schedules, memorized their habits. If you'd been living on the outskirts of GodU social life prior to that fateful October morning, you were practically invisible now. And this time it wasn't because of the small minded nature of the students there, it was because of your own avoidance. Darting from room to room with your head down, the tug in your chest became a warning sign, and your feet would move before you could stop yourself. Bathroom stalls, abandoned classrooms, even supply closets were your refuge as you desperately tried to outrun fate, trying to force the world to follow your five year plan. Publish your research before graduation, complete clinical trials for the treatment within two years of graduation, and move to help produce the serum once it's approved for OTC sales. Then you can meet your soulmates. When your powers, your work, you actually meant something.

You dedicated as much time as you could to your research. Nurturing, cultivating, and processing each sample into a supplement that you fed to little super mice. Every seedling and every lab mouse contributed everything they had to proving this work was worth something. That you were worth something. You worked like it was the only way you’d be able to earn the love you were supposedly destined for.

That was how you met Emma. Head down, fingers six inches deep in soil, you heard a series of crashes that had you immediately alert. No one comes here - who the hell...

“Please be careful!” You called out warily, peeking around a large ficus and expecting to see a whole gaggle of students, or even some kind of pigeon who found himself on the wrong side of the plastic walls. Instead, a petite blonde was pushing herself up from the ground, unbothered by the dirt on her pants or the spectacle of her tumble. 

“I'm so sorry, I was just looking for a quiet space to smoke. I can go - there's a million -”

“Oh no, it's ok, as long as you don't catch my plants on fire.” 

“Cool. I should've known the plant girl would be chill about weed. Emma.” She stuck her hand out for you to shake, you gave your name, and that was that. She had this way of putting you instantly at ease, in a way no friend ever had before. Not that you'd had many friends - here or back home. But you could tell that Emma was a rare kind of friendly. The kind of girl who genuinely wants everyone to be having a good time at a party, and who won't hesitate to go out of her way to make a stranger's day. Emma would show up in the greenhouses when she felt like it, usually with a joint, and she'd stay as long as she wanted, chatting, smoking, chilling, or even napping. You even shared some of your own stash with her - this one custom strain you'd grown last summer had an unreal harvest, and it was nice to have a friend to share it with. She offered to pay you a couple times, but you never took it. Something about it felt weird - maybe you just wanted to feel less like a drug dealer, and more like a normal college student sharing with a friend.

Your first year at GodU was a caffeine-fueled slog, days filled with either grueling physical labor maintaining your botanical samples or the equally exhausting process of documenting the entire process and the results to ensure that your final paper is both clear and precise.  When you entered your second year, you were expecting more of the same. Instead, you're desperately trying to continue to barrel through life as everything shifts and changes around you. And you just kept running, kept pushing yourself forward like you could calculate your way to a happy ending.

You told yourself you’d talk to them in the new semester. You presented your research to Brink at the end of the fall semester, there was something there. Something real. Your hard work had demonstrated a marked decrease in blood pressure and hyperactivity in the “super mice” exposed to this plant - statistically significant enough to get you the funding for something. Maybe a clinical trial, if you’re lucky. At the very least, you might get a grant for more samples or a recommendation for publication in a small journal. You thought this was how you’d finally get recognition.

In some ways, you were right.

When Brink read your paper, he knew they were in trouble. This was a PR nightmare - and it would fall entirely on him if anything like this got out. Compound V causing heart problems? A medicine invented by an undergrad student doing more than anything Vought had attempted over the last decade?

Ashley was going to have his head. With the release of her and Coleman's app coming up, she wants all of Vought - the whole world, to be honest - watching her. This could distract the public, disrupt her launch - and therefore, his job.

So he did the only thing he could think of - he called Shetty. 

“We have a problem.”

“Ever the conversationalist, Brinkerhoff.” 

“Indira, the plant girl actually fucking found something.” She’s been an irritant since she first got to Godolkin (barely even a supe, if you ask him. Not that anyone did. They just decided he would be her faculty advisor and that was that. Never mind that she's the furthest from combat anyone could get). And now, at the end of her third semester, she comes up with what could very well be the next scientific breakthrough. 

“You - that’s impossible. We’ve been trying to solve this for years, we’ve lost countless subjects over this.” 

“You can read her findings if you want. But they’re clear. She found some fucking miracle plant.”

“This can’t get out.” The way that Compound V ripped through the human body was bound to have side effects - no one with a brain would believe that supes were free from side effects. But the story of invincible and powerful superheros is what makes Vought money, and the secret of chronic illnesses among supes is what gives Vought enough power over those supes to keep them in line. This research would not only expose their weaknesses, but provide them with a path to healing that doesn't include Vought or their subsidiaries. The attrition rates of supes would skyrocket, and Vought would lose millions. At least. 

“I know that Indira, but how do we -”

“We need to get her to drop out.” 

You were planning on seeking them out come January. You’d imagined it countless times, rehearsed what you’d say until your little sibling nearly broke the door down demanding you stop hogging the shower. You even got a hair cut - your mom’s friend was able to refresh your curls in the way you like, leaving you feeling something dangerously close to pretty.

But you still hadn’t heard from Brink approving your research. Instead, you’d been bombarded with new forms and approvals and grant applications that left you scrambling to meet each strange deadline, wondering where you stood. 

And once you got back - something had shifted. And not just because of the obstacles you were facing with your research.

You hadn’t been popular by any stretch before. You were relatively unknown, content to be with your plants and your studies. But when you came back in the spring, you could feel the scorn in the way people looked at you. 

You tried to tell yourself you were just sensitive. Paranoid. But the whispers only got louder. And the way the other supes were pushing you around in the hallways didn’t feel so accidental anymore.

The names didn’t start until the end of the first week. Trickling in through Instagram comments and Twitter DMs, by the next Wednesday the murmurs were following you in the halls.

Second-Rate Supe. Plant Freak. Useless. Waste of V.

She’s worse than a human - because she’s pretending like she’s one of us.

Is she even really a supe at all? Someone should check.

She doesn’t belong here.

You weren’t sure what changed. Maybe you did. 

But you didn’t go talk to Jordan or Marie that week.

Ever since a random October morning when Jordan and Marie had been doing another round of bullshit seminars, the two supes hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was different.

Marie thought their other soulmate must have been there.

Jordan thought someone was watching them. 

Or at least, that’s the line they stuck to, digging their heels in every time their girlfriend so much as mentioned the prospect that their third was here. Its as if everything in their system shut down at the prospect. Like the blast shields they’d seen on the dorm windows, each part of them stiffened and retracted into itself, and one thought plays on a loop in their mind. No. It can’t be. I’m not ready. The kind of thought that filled their chest with a painful mix of embarrassment and shame that makes them clam up and lash out. 

They’d always known they had two soulmates - the heart shaped mark on their thigh mocking them no matter which form they took. At first, it felt like just another sign from the universe that they were too much. Too much for their parents. Too much for one soulmate, for one body, for one world. After meeting Marie, after feeling the bond click into place, the warmth blooming out of their left soulmark, there was a brief moment where they thought the hard part was over. Marie accepted them, their friends accepted them, school was going ok. Maybe everything would work itself out.

But Vought’s demands were neverending, Brink worked them past exhaustion, and the world wasn’t nearly as ready for a couple as queer as theirs, whether they were soulmates or not. Their parents hated that those around them enabled their gender confusion and most days it felt like it was their strength alone that was keeping their friends alive and somewhat sane. They're tired. Tired of trying to be everything to everyone, tired of trying to act like they're untouchable. And if they were honest, truly honest, they were tired of coming out. And they weren’t exactly looking forward to doing it again.

I’m not ready.

It’s been three months and they haven’t been able to shake that thought. And being home for the holidays hadn’t helped things at all. They'd gotten good at ignoring their parents’ more obvious judgment, but the little comments had a way of worming under their skin and into their psyche. A constant little voice in the back of their mind wondering if they’re studying enough, exercising enough, training enough... wondering if they're Supe enough for this place.

“Earth to Jordan!” Andre’s voice cut into their thoughts. “Take this. It’s legit.” A blunt was placed in their fingers before they could say anything. They rolled their eyes, trying to mask the flurry of uncomfortable emotions roiling in their gut.

“We have the same dealers, Andre, don’t - “ “Ah, but this isn’t mine.” He said smugly, a proud little smile playing at his lips. “The Little Cricket has a super secret hookup with a custom strain. And I gotta say, I’m impressed.”

“Pink Crush, she calls it. And don’t say it like that, she’s not a hookup - she’s my friend.” Emma admonished. 

“If she’s your friend, why haven’t we met her?” 

“She’s shy.” 

“You’re talking about the plant freak, right? She’s not just shy, she’s a recluse. I can’t believe-” Emma had launched a pillow in Sam’s direction, glaring at him. 

“Don’t be mean, Sam. She’s my friend. And I like her.” 

“I’m just saying...”

The conversation topic changed quickly after that, but something about it stuck in their mind. 

Maybe it was just the weed, making them overthink things. But plant freak echoed in the back of their mind - why does that feel so wrong? 

It was getting to the point where you could feel them coming before you could even hear them. The tug in your chest was becoming nearly unignorable with each passing day. Twice now you’d left the greenhouses to clear your head and you ended up right outside the top ten dorms, like your feet carried you to your soulmates without your input. 

And tonight was no different. You’d intended to simply walk the perimeter of the campus, taking the long way home to avoid any other students. And there it was - the swooping sensation in your chest, the warmth on your hip - run. 

You hated yourself a little more each time you ran. The thudding of your sneakers on the pavement syncing up with the pounding of your heart and you can't fight the little hopeful voice in your mind. It's fate. They're your soulmates. Just turn around. It won't be perfect but it'll be yours. Just -

And then the moment passes, and you're out of breath in another alley. Alone. You try to pack your shame away, tuck it into the back of your mind and get back to work. But every time you run away, it feels like you're leaving a tiny piece of yourself in the dust behind you.

Marie was sure she'd felt her other soulmate, a warmth pressing into her wrist and a strong desire to take a new route to class. But it was fleeting - as soon as she caved to her instincts, the guiding force was gone. 

After the fourth big fight with Jordan about whether their third really was on campus or not, Marie stopped bringing it up. Even though she could feel them, in brief moments on her walk home or in the evenings that she has her tea on the townhouse porch... she was tired of fighting. 

It's not like she doesn't understand why Jordan's resistant. She just hates that they can't admit what's going on. They'll talk in circles about how she must be imagining things, teetering dangerously close to gaslighting her into dropping the issue. 

It isn't just in fights that Marie feels the absence of her other soulmate. There are these moments - quiet moments that are missing another voice. Another shadow. Another quiet breath in the early morning hours. Another soft embrace when the world feels too sharp.

But they passed as quickly as they were there. A ghost of what could be. Of what should be.

It's hard not to resent Jordan for their fear. She's left feeling more isolated each time she pretends like she doesn't desperately want to tear this school apart to find her other soulmate. Not because Jordan isn't enough, not because they're too much, but because she feels the loss of each day that they're incomplete. 

It sounds insane. It sounds like a lot of bullshit words that mean nothing. Jordan is the only one who could possibly, actually, understand. But they're not ready. It's clear in the way their heart races any time she's brought it up; in the way they clam up and shut down. 

How do you choose the soulmate you've never met over the one who you see everyday? You can't. So, despite the part of her that aches to chase that warm feeling until she finds her mystery soulmate and puts everything right again - 

She walks back to the main path and arrives at class ten minutes early. 

It wasn’t until mid-February that the other students started ambushing you in the greenhouses. Like harassing you in the halls and online wasn’t enough, they had to start visiting the one place you felt safe. Never going far enough to where you’d be able to report anything, just far enough to crack your defenses. Cutting just deep enough to leave you aching and shrinking in on yourself with each passing day. 

Worse than any one bully or insult was the way it shrank your world to the few scattered moments of peace. Leaving your dorm was stepping onto the battlefield. Even using your phone was a delicate dance - trying to swipe the notifications away before the insults have a change to stick. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say someone was trying to break you.

Maybe it was the universe, trying to force you to follow fate. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d break first or if the universe would.

You wanted to run, to flee like you had from Jordan and Marie . But there was a clause, buried in your student paperwork that kept you right where you were. You’d been pouring over the contracts from Brink and his team over winter break when you saw it - the line that made your heart stutter to a stop. 

Any Intellectual Property or other creative and scientific endeavors made at Godolkin University during a student's tenure remain the property of the university up and until the student obtains the relevant degree(s). 

A whole bunch of bullshit legalese to justify stealing the hard work of struggling students. And what choice did you have - if running away meant all your work was going to be filed away and forgotten? You did the only thing you could do - what you’d been doing all along. You put your head down and you survived. Like the force of your will could make the whole fucked up system bend to your need. 

You didn't have faith in much anymore - it felt like Godolkin and Vought had taken your spirit, your passion, and siphoned it off, leaving you drained and paranoid. Your research is all you have - the only product of nearly two years of hard work. And now, nearly three months into the semester, with continued radio silence from Brink, the path to success seems unpassable. You resend the same email every day with your paper attached, but by spring break you stopped hoping for a response.

One of the many inane office duties Jordan had to pick up when Brink took his extended spring break was managing the professor's email inbox. They didn't intend to spy - despite the countless nagging doubts they had about their mentor and his activities - but when they stumbled upon a recurring email from a student they'd never heard of before, they opened it on instinct. 

It was odd that there was a student of Brink's that Jordan wasn't familiar with. They know the names, powers, and general ranks of each crime fighting student currently enrolled at GodU - and this supe isn't one of them. Nonetheless, each day since the start of the semester, they'd sent an email with a significantly sized attachment.

Clicking into the file, they were instantly fascinated. They read the paper once, then again, and by the third read through, the magnitude of what they were reading seemed to settle. 

Compound V wasn't just a super serum. It had the capacity to take as much as it gave - but this supe, some random student at GodU, had found a way to ease that pain. Or so it seemed. They printed a couple of copies, unable to shake a strange feeling in their gut and a simple question: why was Brink ignoring something so significant? 

Marie was in the middle of her weekly study session with Emma when Jordan burst into the blonde's dorm room, thrusting one of the copies into their girlfriend’s hands. 

“Read this.” They said gruffly, practically tossing the other copy onto their desk before snatching the bong from Emma's grasp and taking a deep hit.

“Hi, Jordan. Our day's been good, how are you?” Emma said sarcastically - though the smile playing on her lips made it clear she wasn't actually pissed that Jordan crashed their study date - even if the blonde girl does refer to it as a ‘condition of their shared custody’ of Marie.

“Oh, just peachy. My boss and mentor seems to be actively hiding a whole ass fucking student from me, and -” They were preparing to launch into a full blown rant about trust and Brink when Emma interrupted them.

“Fucking finally! I told her, I told her I was going to tell you if she didn’t buck up and tell you herself, the way he's -”

Jordan finally regained control over their own mouth, which had spent the last few moments hanging open in complete and utter shock, and their brain finally caught up to what Emma was saying. 

“No, I found a strange folder on Brink's email and got nosy. What...” Their voice was oddly hoarse - it felt like something was unraveling in their hands, and they didn't exactly know how to even begin to untangle the mess. But Emma seemed unperturbed, carrying on as if this story was just casual gossip. As if Jordan wasn’t hanging off her every word.

“I should've guessed. She always clams up when I mention your name or anything. Says since she's not your student, she doesn't want to bother you or whatever. My friend from the greenhouses, the one who grew the good weed, she's been trying to get a response about her research for months.” she explained casually, shoving another handful of chips into her mouth before continuing. “I imagine that's what that is - the little super mice and the serum? The rest is a bit above my head but she gets real excited about it all. S'cute.” The blonde explained, flopping back on her bed when she finished. Jordan turned to their girlfriend, a complicated mess of emotions clear on their face, a million questions in their eyes. Am I crazy for thinking this matters? What do I do if it is?

“These findings are significant. You said she's been submitting this paper for awhile?” Meeting their anxious and terrified gaze with her warmth and understanding, she was their soft place to land. They took a deep breath, the pit in their stomach beginning to dissipate. I'm not alone. She'll have a plan.

“She submitted it at the end of last semester.” Emma paused, weighing something in her mind before she spoke. “I'm going to suggest something, and it's going to sound crazy - I mean, so much of what happens at this school is crazy but this feels like its kind of another kind of crazy but I don't trust coincidences and - “

“Spit it out, Cricket-.”

“Go for it, Em. We'll still hang out with you, even if it is crazy.”

“Speak for yourself, Mar.” They were hoping that they sounded playful and not genuinely pissed, but the joke fell flat. “Jordan.” 

“Alright, alright. Judgment free zone, or whatever.”

“Look. I'm no stranger to a hate campaign, ok? I know that it can happen overnight, no matter your following. But...” She paused, trying to find the right words. “Have you ever seen bot comments? Like on insta or tiktok or whatever?” The non sequitur was so Emma that it wouldn't usually bother Jordan, but they were so on edge they had to fight back the urge to shake the blonde until she spat out whatever theory she'd cooked up about her mystery science friend. 

They didn't understand why this mystery struck them so deeply - it wasn't just anger at Brink or curiosity as to the identity of the genius lurking in the background of Godolkin. There was something instinctual, something primal that they didn't have the time to investigate. Everything about this felt urgent and important, an unexplainable energy thrumming in their veins, leaving them bouncing on their toes as they tried to remain in control. “Get to the point, Em. Please.” They gritted out. 

“She submitted the paper at the end of last semester, and she went from being basically unknown by everyone to being harassed almost constantly. I feel insane suggesting it was started intentionally, but then I remember the whole shitshow with Tommy Chambers.”

“Who...” Marie started hesitantly.

“Isn't that the performing arts dropout from 09?” Jordan asked Emma, a furrow in their brow.

“Yeah. He found out the hard way that if you drop out, you don't have the rights to anything you do here.”

They knew that, everyone did now. Some of the more liberal professors had taken to reminding students of that fact in class. But it wasn't until Emma laid it out like that that it actually clicked in Jordan's mind. If Brink wanted her research buried, he couldn't just deny funding or cancel her program. If she graduated, she would just take her research elsewhere. And expulsion is a process that requires multiple code of conduct violations and multiple faculty members involved. 

But if she left of her own free will... her research would become Vought's. They could delay clinical trials indefinitely, impede production or distribution of the treatment...

“So you think Brink manufactured a hate campaign against an unknown nerd just to hide her research?” They sounded more skeptical than they were, the scheme making a sick amount of sense. 

“That's the thing. I can't tell how much is manufactured Vought bullshit and how much is normal asshole bullshit. The comments seem real enough to me. But the timing is sus as fuck.” She snatched the bong back from them, relighting the bowl deftly. 

“So. We've got a theory, and a paper, and another ten days before Brink is back on campus. What can we do?” As usual, Marie was there to bring them back to Earth before they thought themself into an anxiety attack. Or an assault charge.

“Well, I was going to go pick up some more weed and The Queen from her, you guys could come and meet her, at least?” The blonde bounced up again, knocking the half finished bag of chips and her textbook to the ground. 

“The Queen?” Jordan asked with a wry smile, but they were moving to follow the blonde without complaint. Just as urgently that they'd felt the need to dive headfirst into this mystery, they somehow knew they needed to meet this girl.

“My potted plant. She's helping her.”

And Marie was no different. She didn't dare to hope that this was the moment, but there was something familiar about this drive. It reminded her of the need she'd felt to attend GodU. The push to demand her rightful place in the Crime Fighting program. 

Was this another moment of fate leaning on the scales, pushing her and Jordan towards their final piece?

If you hadn't been planning on meeting Emma that afternoon, you might've ducked out of the greenhouse before this random group of sophomores came over to poke fun at you. But instead here you were, trying to document the growth progress of your seedlings to the cackling soundtrack of frat boys trying to get under your skin.

“Hey, plant freak! Whatcha workin’ on?”

“I think those are her friends. Plant girl, you makin’ friends over there?”

Nothing original or particularly cruel, just the buzzing drone of casual harassment that had become increasingly common for you. 

But if they hadn't been there, you would've felt the way your soulmark only burned hotter as you ignored the insults, and you would've run, just like you had way back in October, and in every chance since. 

You were too focused on ignoring the bullies, on getting this one seedling to behave when - 

A beefy hand snatched the seedling from your grasp, smirking cruelly at you before he crushed the delicate bluish-green plant in his fist. You reached for the now dead plant (the third one someone had killed), glaring up at the frat boy.

You didn’t notice that you'd gained a new audience.

“Oh, good, you finally learned to pick on something with the same brain power as yourself.” You spat, feeling a strange new sense of strength and indignation. 

“Aw, scared, plant freak?” Another guy butted in with a cruel glint in his eye, leaning against the back table. “You should be. You don't belong here.”

You were standing there, surrounded by too many assholes and feeling incredibly exposed. You know how to throw a punch, but that's about it, and you've never actually had to -

“What the fuck is your problem, Crawley?” The last voice you could have expected broke the tense silence in the greenhouse. 

Jordan Li.

“Back. Off.” 

Marie Moreau.

Your head snapped up, your body turning towards the two of them like a compass pointing north. And the moment you'd been running from for five months hit you like a speeding train.

Your eyes met theirs, time slowed to a crawl, and the bond clicked into place. All the breath left your lungs in a huff and you could only stare at the two of them, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, as the rest of the world faded away.

This? 

This is what you were so afraid of? 

This is what you'd been running from? 

You could feel them. Your heart shifted to beat in time with theirs, every breath flowing through all three of you like one singular system. And the warmth in your soulmark - it spread across your body, flowing through you to every vein and capillary and back to your heart. 

You didn't hear the frat boys shuffle away, the presence of three Guardians of Godolkin turning the tides against the crowd of beefy idiots. You didn't hear Emma shout obscenities at their retreating backs. You didn't hear anything other than your own heartbeat and the feeling of home that washed over you as you stood there, dumbfounded, your gaze never leaving Marie and Jordan. Your world had narrowed, your vision tunneled, and nothing else seemed to matter. Two pairs of brown eyes staring into your soul, three hearts becoming one.  

“Did you know?” Jordan's voice broke the silence, and for a moment, you were sure they were talking to you, until Emma piped up.

“Not that it was like this. You didn't tell me it had gotten that bad.” The blonde chastised you, and you blinked, forcing your eyes away from the duo and to your friend. 

“I, uh, it's not that bad.” You managed to stammer out stupidly, still feeling like you'd been knocked off your axis. “Though I wish Bradley would stop killing my samples. I'm a plant doctor, not a necromancer.” Your voice was a bit hoarse and everything sounded a little far away, the joke falling flat in the awkward silence of the greenhouse. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep your eyes from drifting back to your soulmates. 

“Did you know?” This time it was Marie who spoke, and your eyes snapped to hers immediately. You nodded before you could think better of it, her eyes demanding honesty. “October?” You nodded again. “Why...”

That shame that you'd been neatly filing away burst free in your gut and you had to look away. 

“I... didn't want you to meet this version of me.” You confessed quietly. “I was going to find you both in January but things got... complicated.”

“Can someone tell me what the fuck is happening right now?” Emma demanded, her eyes darting between the three of you. Marie flashed her wrist and you caught a flash of the sister mark to yours pressed into her skin like it belonged there. Like you belonged with her. Because you do.

“You're kidding.” A grin was slowly stretching across her face. “Jordan, you're stealing all my friends!” They coughed roughly, something dangerously close to a blush dusting their cheeks.

You leaned heavily against the table in front of you, relief and exhaustion making your legs feel shaky and unreliable. The bond was still thrumming in every vein, leaving you almost dizzy with it. It was almost as if your energy itself had morphed around both of theirs all at once. Even the way you breathed felt in sync. 

And you were beginning to feel their emotions, different tenors of energy flowing through you. A spiking worry, an anxious buzz, an undercurrent of tension, a steady strength humming beneath it all.

You understood now why it was so hard to study the bond itself - why all the scientists you'd read avoided speaking to the sensations and explanations of a bond. Article after article of ‘while we don't understand the mechanisms of soul bonds or soul marks, it is necessary to...’ It drove you crazy - if even other scientists don't understand what the hell is going on, how can you trust that it means what everyone says it does? But now... now you see. 

There was nothing scientific about this.

This connection felt like more than biology. More than the kind of urge that was brought about by baser needs, this went deeper. Deeper than the physical, even deeper than the emotional. Your father used to say that bonding with your mom felt like he’d stopped being held in place by gravity; instead, it was her existence that kept him tethered to the earth and he found himself stuck in her orbit.

You used to think he was being dramatic, overstating the connection to save your childlike sensibilities. Now you know that he was underselling it. 

Marie sent Emma back to her dorm with the plant and the weed, promising that she'd make up the study session in the next couple of days. The blonde left with a wink and a wave, a suggestive comment that you couldn’t catch.

You still felt shaky - like a raw nerve or a live wire, vulnerable. Even as the bond settled, there were still a million questions. A thousand what-ifs, countless worries... Finding your voice felt impossible. You tore your eyes from the table, looking up at Jordan and Marie, eyes swimming with the flood of new emotions. 

“Intense, huh?” Jordan’s voice broke the silence. You could only nod mutely, drawing a deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth.

“I... I’m sorry. For running.” You finally managed to get your mouth working again. “I thought I could out-plan fate but clearly...” you gestured to the chaos around you, the crushed seedling laying limply on the counter. 

You could still feel their hurt, but there was an understanding there as well that you wanted to fall into. Was this what being bonded was really like? Was this what you’d been running from? 

Marie and Jordan were having a whole conversation with just their eyes, and you didn’t even have a chance to decide how you felt about before they were starting off in the direction they came, Marie hooking her arm in yours as she went.

You’d spent months running and hiding, trying to make your life perfect. Trying to make your life worth them. Now, on the other side, none of that bullshit seemed to matter.

Because you were home.