Summary: If Emmaās not careful, she just might bump into her soulmate. Physically. And while she might like the idea of what comes with thatāan almost psychic connection whenever they make skin contactāsheād rather not deal with the awful withdrawal sickness that can come when they inevitably leave her; sheās got a son, so she doesnāt have time for that. So she keeps herself covered and thinks sheāll be okay. Until she meets Killian, who does the same thing. Will their barriers protect them, or just hurt them more?
CS Soulmates AU | Rated MĀ | 5.8k | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | AO3
A/N: This story was inspired by a tumblr post imagining a different kind of soulmate AU; I got inspired and ran with the idea. (original post can be found here.) Thank you to the organizers of @cssns for putting on this great event again!! Also to @sherlockianwhovian for making the INCREDIBLE art that goes with this! (and to @optomisticgirl for looking it over!)
The train slipped into the station, coming to an easy stop at the platform where Emma waited. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass window as the door opened in front of her, and adjusted her hair accordingly, making sure her long blonde tresses hung over her shoulders and framed her face just soābut not so much that she was completely covered; she wasnāt Cousin Itt.
People began to stream out of the car, moving on either side of where Emma stood, not unlike water flowing around a rock in a river. She held her breath in an attempt to make herself smaller, in hopes that would make it harder for anyone to bump into her. There was a slight jostle to her leather-covered elbow, but thankfully, that was all. Soon, the last tourist had left the car, on their way to whatever pretentious bar was in this particular Boston neighborhood; Emma didnāt know and didnāt care, and was headed the opposite directionāher suburban apartment after a long day of fruitless work.
Emma shuffled onto the train and slumped into a seat, pulling her jacket just a bit tighter around her as she tried her best to melt into the hard molded plastic. The more she could hide or shrink, the better; the train was always packed this time of day, making it all too easy to get bumped or shoved into the next person, so the fact that sheād gotten a seat was perfectāeven better, it was on the end, so there was only one seat next to her. Because if there was one thing Emma Swan hated, it was being touched.
Actually, that was a lieāshe had loved it, once upon a time. But God, sheād been so naive.
The train quickly filled up. Emma tensed when someone sat next to her, but the suited businessman seemed more interested in his phone, and just as keen not to touch her. Even in a society that placed a high value on physical contact, there were still those who shied away from it, at least with strangers. Emma, though, did her best to keep away from everyone.
If her phone had more than 10% battery, sheād have her nose buried in it like half the other people on the train. Like her neighbor apparently knew, that was also a good way to ward off any unwanted contact. But given itās mostly-dead status, and a desire to leave that little bit there in case Henry called, sheād have to content herself with people watching; hell, maybe sheād find the skip whoād gotten away from her earlier.
It was mostly people heading home from work, likely about to enjoy the balmy early summer evening on balconies or patios; if they threw a glance her way, theyād probably think the way she was dressed for late fall was insaneānot many people wore turtlenecked sweaters, jeans, and knee-high boots in July, even in Boston. Sheād gotten used to the self-imposed swelter by now, though.
But no one had eyes for her, thankfully, least of all the couple standing in front of her. They stood side by side, one hand each on the overhead rail and the other holding their partnerās. They had soft, happy grins on their faces and it almost looked as though they were having a conversation with just their eyesāand they most likely were. Because that was what happened when you found your soulmate.
She shivered involuntarily, despite the heat and her unseasonable dress. Gah, she hated that word: soulmate. Because, of course, the universe had picked that one perfect person for everyone. You didnāt have any choice in the matter; thatās just how it was. Great if you find them; sucks if you donātāand even worse if you lose them.
As a kid, it had been a pipe dream for a touch-starved orphan like Emma had been. Everyone grew up knowing the stories: that when you found your soulmate, physical touch created an almost psychic connection with them. Thoughts, feelings, even dreams could be shared through skin, and it only got more intense the longer the relationship lasted.
And she thought sheād had that, once. Now? Sheād sworn it off; there were more important things to worry about.
She blinked her eyes and looked away from the couple, lest she get too far down Memory Lane to turn back. She focused on the view of the city flying by outside the windows, the familiar landmarks telling her she was close to her stop. Each building was one tick in the countdown until she could get off and head home, where central AC, her son, and an ice cold beer were waiting.
Finally, the train slowed down and came to a creaking stop at her station. She waited a bit for more people to exit the car, including the annoyingly adorable couple (something she was all too familiar with in her own life), and headed back out into the temperate air.
And then she saw her skip, in the mass of people heading out of the station. Guess home would have to wait; good thing she saved her phone battery.
She took off at a sprint, waiting to shout the douchebagās name until he had no time to react before she was on top of him, bringing him to the ground and pinning him there without an ounce of skin contact. If this asshole was her soulmate, she didnāt want to know.
(Or to know if anyone was anymore.)
kianamaiart
gummygunk
areudirty
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
