louisoccsum

Red and glowing, the spindles curl around limbs and tangle between bodies, snaking through the room and getting lost in silk and cotton. Some glow bright, pulsing like living creatures, while others flicker like a light about to snuff.

Zayn's own thread is linked tightly around his pointer finger, like most people's are, curling around his arm and coiling across the floor like a restless beast. His is strong, so red that it burns to stare at for too long. Louis knows that if he were to follow it, he'd find Zayn’s soulmate – probably having been roped into a conversation with Lady Estelle, a fate Louis just barely managed to escape. 

A slight tug at his own finger has him stilling, fingers curling into a fist nervously. He refrains from glancing down lest Zayn notices something is off. This is the third time it’s happened since he’s arrived at the ball. 

The first had taken him by surprise. He had been talking to his dear friend Opal, her red string dull and limp. He’s determined a while ago that her soulmate lives far away, but he knows that one day it will change. One day, he’ll see her vermillion thread spark and burn like all of them do eventually. Not that she’d ever get to see it herself. 

Seeing strings is a special talent, one Louis has possessed ever since he was young. It’s an ability he’s learned to keep close to his heart, having learned his lesson more than once that people will take advantage of his skill and of his kindness if given the chance. However, Louis has confided in a few people of his gift.

One of which is Zayn himself. “You’re not feeling too overwhelmed, are you?” he asks quietly.

In response, Louis shakes his head. He’s used to events of this size, having attended plenty of balls in the past few years. Today is the Winter Solstice, but it was also the birthday of Lady Estelle’s son, Maximus. Louis has been doing his best to avoid the man who has made his interest in Louis clear as well as his intentions — intentions that, of course, contradict Louis’ polite refusal to his first invitation for an outing. “It’s not too bad,” he says belatedly, searching the crowd again and trying to tame the blossoming eagerness in his chest.

Could it truly be? He can’t help but wonder. While his string had never been dull, it has never glowed either. In fact, it’s been frustratingly constant through all twenty-four years of his life. His soulmate, he’s determined, lives in or near London but has never crossed paths with him. They clearly don’t run in the same circles. And yet.

His string gives another tug and his heart stutters. And yet, there is a very real chance that his soulmate is here tonight.

“You okay?” Zayn asks after a moment, sending him a curious look.

“Yeah, sorry,” Louis says, shaking his head. He’s been too quiet — that or Zayn is able to see the nervous tremor in his fingertips, the anticipation and a hint of fear. Soulmate. “I just needed a break, but I feel better now. Let’s go find Matilda and her new beau.”

“Ah. The french one, right?” Zayn says as they step out onto the floor. The stained marble is littered with red threads, but Louis has learned to ignore them, stepping over the strings like they aren’t there. And really, they aren’t.

“Oui,” he says, flashing Zayn a smile. He opens his mouth to repeat what Matilda had told him about Pierre being a famous painter, but at that exact moment, he feels not a tug but a yank.

“Lou?” Zayn says when he stops abruptly.

All words die on Louis’ tongue, eyes dropping to his string as his throat goes dry. Heart thundering in his ears, he follows the looping thread as it curls around his arm and twists down to the floor, weaving through skirts and polished shoes. He loses it for a moment in the mass of dancers, but then as if the universe is watching out for him, the crowd parts and Louis traces the glowing red line right up to where it loops around a finger.

His soulmate is tall. His suit clings to his broad shoulders and long legs, hands adorned with rings that glint in the light. He’s turned away from Louis so all he can see of the mystery man is a head of short dark curls. However, Louis has no issue seeing the man standing next to him, head tipped back to expose the line of his throat. He’s petite and slim, soft blond hair sticking out from above a lace mask. Louis is rooted to the spot as his soulmate reaches out and grabs the other man’s hand, linking their fingers.

He doesn’t realize Zayn is speaking until he grips Louis’ shoulder urgently. “Lou?” he says, more worried than before. “You’re trembling.”