This Is Not Good Writing Folks

Tanner’s 25th birthday had come and gone, and not one measly sign. No dreams, no marks, no sudden exploding color vision, no shared physical sensation, no clock, nothing. No soulmate connection.

He shouldn’t be so concerned. All it means is his soulmate is younger than him. Big whoop, one of them had to turn 25 first. But one month, then two, then before he knew it it seven months had passed by. Still. Shouldn’t worry him. Plenty of people wait years to have their first sign. His own parents were 3 years apart.

But it’s all he thinks about. Even now, 11 months later, in early November. As he’s getting dressed he’s trying to reassure himself that there is someone for him. That he’s not going to be part of the population that remains signless their whole lives.

There exist many theories on why some people remain signless, theories which currently fill his phone history, the most popular being that their soulmate had died before being old enough to form the connection.

Work is the same. Head in, fix whatever’s broken, head out. Plenty to do this time of year with everyone turning their heaters on. Something’s always broken. He likes it well enough at least. Always felt good to him to work with his hands. And it feels good to be fixing something.

The gym is mundane. The same podcast in his headphones, the same regulars he’s friendly with, the same routine.

Dinner is a little bit more exciting, takeout from the Italian place. Nothing to soothe his fears of dying alone like excessive amounts of pasta.

Edit: I also made a banner!

You’re wrapped up in a soft bathrobe, lounging on the big hotel couch. Your hair is damp from the shower and your skin is freshly moisturized. Feels good after the long day. Driving to the airport, flying, driving to the hotel. Granted, you didn’t drive (or fly) anything, but still. It takes it out of you. But it was admittedly worth it. Even if this is a work trip. Even if it is with him.

The view out of the window is breathtaking. An endless sprawling city of lights, like the heavens themselves had brought the stars down to the Earth for you.

You hear the click of the lock unlatching and don’t have to look to know who it is. There’s only one person it could be. Maxwell. Your colleague. Sent on the same work trip as you to pitch your companies services to some big business tycoon.

He pads across the carpeted fooor, and the smell of the takeout you’d ordered wafts in. “I thought you were ordering for two, not twelve.” He sounds amused, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s making that stupid face he always makes when he thinks you’ve made a mistake somehow.

You take the bag from him and start laying the spread out on the too-short coffee table. “I did order for two. Some of us want our meals to consist of more than a ground beef bowl with rice and bell peppers.”

“I eat more than that! You only see my meal prep for work, maybe I eat a three course meal for dinner every night.”

“Do you?”

“Not the point.” You roll your eyes and make a plate for of garlic noodles, vegetable stir fry, and a few dumplings.

He sits next to you, closer than he needs to. His knee brushes yours and you resist the urge to knock yours against his. “Y’know, maybe you’d be better at your job if you ate more than bubble. Your brain needs carbs to function.

He makes an offended face that you’re sure is disingenuous and places his hand over his heart. “I am perfectly good at my job. After all this time, how could you possibly imply otherwise Miss?”

“Someone perfectly good at their job wouldn’t’ve fucked up the hotel booking.” The booking was meant to be two rooms, one bed in each. Instead, he booked one room with two beds. This is usually the sort of thing you’d insist doing yourself but he’d managed to convince you to let him (he’d stolen the task from you like a child, doing it before you had the chance).

You bicker back and forth while you finish eating. He disappears into the bathroom to take a shower, and you take the chance to get ready for bed. You pull the curtains, change into pajamas, and crawl into your bed.

As soon as you’ve settled in and shut your eyes, you hear the bathroom door opening and the sound of him climbing into his bed.

I hear the click of the lock unlatching. I don’t have to look to know who it is. Maxwell pads across the carpeted floor, and the smell of the takeout I’d ordered for us wafts in. “I thought you were ordering for two, not twelve.” He sounds amused, and I can tell he’s making that stupid face he makes whenever he thinks I’ve screwed something up.

I take the bag from him and start laying everything out on the little coffee table. “I did order for two, it’s not my fault I like my food to consist of more than a ground beef bowl with rice and bell peppers.”

“I eat more than that! You only see my meal prep for work, maybe I eat a three course meal for dinner every night.”

“Do you?”

“Not the point.” I roll my eyes at that and make myself a little plate. Some garlic noodles, some stir fried vegetables, a few dumplings.

He sits down next to me, closer than he needs to. His knee brushes against mine and I resist the urge to deliberately bump them together. “Maybe you’d be better at your job if you ate more than kibble. Your brain needs carbs to function.”

He makes an offended face that I’m sure is disingenuous and place his hand over his heart. “I am perfectly good at my job. I don’t know how you could possibly imply otherwise Miss.”

“You wouldn’t have fucked up the hotel booking if you were so good.” He was supposed to book two rooms one bed each. Instead we got two beds, one room. Usually this would be the sort of thing I would insist on doing myself, but he had a way of convincing me to delegate (AKA him stealing tasks from me like a child).

We bicker back and forth while we finish eating. He disappears into the bathroom to take a shower, and I use the time to get ready for bed. I pull the curtains, change into pajamas, and crawl into my bed. The one closest to the window, and to the AC unit.

As soon as I’ve settled in with my eyes shut I hear the bathroom door opening and the sound of him climbing into his bed.

“I am now.” I adjust to lie comfortably in his hold. I hear him laugh softly and feel him press his face against the back of my neck. “I’m glad someone’s having fun.”

“‘M not laughing at you.”

“Then what are you laughing at?”

“…okay I’m laughing at you. But not like that! In an I love you even though you’re super grumpy and stuff way.” I would usually protest at being called grumpy, but I find it to be an accurate descriptor at the moment.

“Whatever the hell that means.” His hand slides up my shirt and splays out against my ribs, and I find myself relaxing. I’m worked up, but he’s always made it easy to relax.

“Means I love you.” He’s bigger than me. Stronger, faster. I could easily be at his mercy. But I’m not. He’s always been careful. Even when we do wrestle and play he’s gentle. Firm, strong. But gentle. Never using more force than it takes to hold me in place or pin me down.

He rubs a soothing pattern up and down my ribs. I relax into him, shutting my eyes and actually finding myself able to wind down. He presses kisses across the back of my shoulders, warming me inside out.