#soulm8

This is absurd. They all look the same.

Picking one up at random, he holds it by the corner of the screen and squints distrustingly at it.

“Ah, do you have any questions, sir?” Voice crackling, the little tech-guru who’s been following him for the past twenty minutes, eyes him; his hands half-poised as though ready to reach out and snatch the phone from his fingers.

“Yeah. Where’s the keyboard and why does it cost more than my rent?”

The kid’s jaw drops slightly and his hand comes up to nervously tug at tangled curls. After a moment spent opening and closing his mouth, lost for words, he seems to regain some form of confidence and laughs, “This is a joke, right?” 

It’s been a long time since Obi’s had to buy a new phone - but the last one had only cost him $50. After a few minutes of awkward silence and unbroken eye-contact, the squirt seems to realize that they’re legitimate questions and moves towards him to delicately extract the phone from between his fingers.

“You’re not... Okay. Uhm… Well, the keyboards are, ah, digital now?” Pressing near the bottom of the screen, the device comes to life. “See?”

Clicking his teeth together in frustration, Obi watches as the kid navigates to one of the icons and pulls up a text screen. Low and behold, the keyboard appears. “You can turn the phone, too, to make the buttons bigger. That’s how my dad texts.”

Jesus, how old does this kid think he is?

Snatching the phone back and turning the thing upright again, he starts crafting a nonsense message to try and get a feel for how texting Shirayuki might be. He’d been concerned that without an actual keyboard it would be difficult, but he has to admit that it’s actually kind of cool that it’s not there unless you need it. Plus, without clickable buttons, maybe his ‘f’ button won’t break. That would be nice.

“Keyboard’s cool.” the kid grins and his shoulders relax as a small breath of relief whispers between his teeth. The change in body language throws him off, but he can’t really say he’s surprised. It’s probable that most customers he deals with end up being self-entitled pricks; hell, once upon a time, he would have been one of those pricks.

Smirking slightly, Obi leans casually against the display case and turns the phone over to inspect the back, half expecting it to be made of solid gold, “So, what’s with the price?”

The grin is quickly replaced with an annoyed look, though he doesn’t get the vibe that it’s meant for him. “Phones are just expensive now, man. I mean, it’s totally worth it, especially if you get a decent plan - these are all smartphones, you ca-”

“Whoa, whoa… plan?” What the fuck is a smartphone and why does it need a plan? How had phones changed so drastically in such a short span of time? “Does that mean I can’t just buy those reload cards at the grocery store?”

“Hold up. Are you on pay-as-you go, still?” The kid’s jaw drops and he looks at him with a horrified look. Apparently this pay-as-you-go thing isn’t good anymore? He shrugs. “They still sell those cards? Holy crap, dude, no. Come here.”

The kid motions for him to put the phone back on the display and follow him. Fighting back a tired groan, he does as he’s told.

Not like he has much of a choice. He needs a new phone and he’s by no means an expert in this shit…

He needs all the help he can get.

“Hey, uhm, excuse me?” a soft, unfamiliar voice suddenly appears somewhere near his shoulder and a hand spreads carefully across his back; bristling and shrugging the hand away, he slowly raises his head off the bar and squints at the woman.

Red-rimmed, brown eyes study him curiously and her strawberry blonde hair is piled messily on top of her head. The blouse she’s wearing has more wrinkles in it than one of those scrunchy Chinese dogs and he’s pretty sure that the smell of booze wafting off of her is at least a day old. She’s a goddamn mess.

And oddly enough, he can’t find it in him to care; he’s got his own problems to deal with. “What do you want?”

“Can I?” Pointing to the vacant stool beside him, she doesn’t wait for his answer before pulling it out and settling in with a small sigh. Before he can object to her presence, she raises a hand to flag the bartender down, “Two more of whatever he’s drinking?”

Maybe she can stay. For now. But if she starts getting weird, he’s taking his drink and leaving. After the shit he’s been through with Torou, he doesn’t need another dose of crazy.

But, if a girl’s going to buy him a drink, he may as well try to appear friendly. Sighing and extending a hand, he forces a tired smile. “Obi.”

“Deadre.” Chewing at her lip, she sniffles and accepts his hand - her fingers are cold where they brush his skin.

Breaking apart as the bartender appears with two old fashions in hand, he nods slightly at her and raises his glass, “Thanks. It’s been a while since someone bought me a drink.”

Giving a short laugh, she nods, drops her gaze to the bar and wraps her hands around the glass, “You looked like you could use another and I don’t want to drink alone.”

Humming, he takes a sip. Not wanting to drink alone is understandable, but it doesn’t really explain why she’d choose to drink with a random dude at a bar instead of calling one of her friends. Surely she’s the type of girl that has friends? Probably has boatloads of them. Then again, she doesn’t exactly strike him as the kind of girl to be drinking at 3 o’clock on a Wednesday. But what does he know?

“Can I ask you something?” Sighing, she runs her thumb slowly around the rim of the glass and stares deeply into the liquid it holds. “Do you think we still get to choose?”

He’s starting to regret accepting this drink. The only reason he was at the bar in the first place was so he could avoid this kind of shit. All he wanted to do today was get day-drunk and try to forget about the way nothing seems to be going right, lately. And now he’s got this chick asking for life advice. Fuck him.

Groaning and rolling his head back, he grips the bar and grits his teeth. He doesn’t have much of a choice but to play along, which is somewhat ironic, given her question. “Choose what?”

She sniffles again, dropping her voice down to a whisper. “Who we love?”

Ah, fuck… he’s not ready to talk about this shit. Especially not with some stranger. Best keep it short. “No. I think that SoulM8 pretty much ruined that.”

“Yeah… That’s what he said, too...”  A laugh, edging on hysterical escapes her lips before she’s tipping her glass back and drinking greedily. When she finally comes up for air, her voice shakes. “It was his idea to get it done… I didn’t want to.”

“Let me guess. Now that you’re officially stuck with the dude, you’re wondering if the system is jacked up? If he really is the one?” Fuck, these SoulM8 people are annoying. Usually they’re just grateful to find their mate and move on with their lives, so what the fuck is she doing, drinking in a dump like this?

“No.” Rolling up her sleeve, she shows him the little gray 1042 flashing on her wrist. “It’s not him.”

Huh. Well, that would certainly explain the drinking and why she’s rockin yesterday’s clothes. “Shit, eh?”

“Yeah… shit.” Laughing sadly, she downs the rest of her drink and signals for another round.

Quickly finishing his own drink, he leans casually against the bar and runs his tongue over his teeth. It would be wise of him to stand up and get out of here. To leave this girl alone with the little number on her wrist and take time to figure out his own shit. She’s basically spoken for, anyways. That little thing on her wrist says so. Plus, she’s a total disaster. Not someone he should get involved with, and yet, something about her strikes a chord in him.

It’s not often he comes across someone that shares his dislike for this SoulM8 shit - and this is the first time he’s met someone who has the device, who is obviously against it.

Accepting the next round of drinks that appear before them, he beats back the voice screaming in his head to get up and leave. What’s the harm in staying to talk her off of this edge she’s managed to work herself on to? If he were in this position, he’d want someone to do him the same courtesy.

Taking a drink and allowing the alcohol to drown out his common sense, he sighs and places the glass on the counter, non too kindly. Deadre jumps in her seat and stares towards him, wide-eyed.

“Fuck it.” Shrugging, he smiles over at her when all she can muster is a confused stare. “You didn’t want that thing, right?”

“No.” Her lip trembles and her fingers grip the glass in front of her, “I was just happy to be with him. I didn’t think we needed a device to tell us we were in love…”

“Then fuck it. Who cares about that number.” Taking a deep breath and a long pull from his drink, he looks back down to see her eyes shining dangerously. Shit they’re going to need a lot more booze if she’s going to start crying on him. Softening his tone, he shrugs again. “Look… You didn’t want that thing in the first place, so why bother listening to it? Do what you feel is right and fuck the rest.”

“What I feel is right…” Inhaling shakily, she nods a few times and brings the glass up to her lips. “Okay.”

As she tilts her head back, letting the liquid slip past her lips, he almost feels like patting himself on the back. Turns out, being nice has its perks. It’d gotten him a couple free drinks at least. And while Deadre seemed slightly off her rocker, she wasn’t trying to cut his couch in half with a chainsaw, so that’s a big step-up from the last girl he’d spoken to this week.

Slamming the empty glass down on the counter, she whistles sharply and grimaces. “Right. Fuck it.”

Moving at a surprising speed, Deadre’s hands come up to frame his face and before he’s able to question it, her lips are crushed eagerly against his. Whisky stains her lips and makes his head swim.

Drowning in the kiss, the voice in the back of his mind attempts to remind him one last time what a horrible idea this could be… but he’d said it himself.

Sometimes, you just have to say fuck it.

Maybe this thing is faulty. If he has to go back to the store an-

“Hello?”

Holy shit, she actually answered. Pausing mid-stride, he struggles to form a coherent thought. “H-hey!”

“Oh, hey, Obi. Hang on, two seconds. I just gotta - oh crap, I gotta put you down for a sec-” There’s a loud clatter as her phone falls from her hand and he’s left listening to what he can only assume is a struggle of some kind. It’s a little concerning, actually.

Pacing the length of his living room, he can’t even enjoy the new-found freedom of being able to move around while making a phone call. He’s too worried about what the hell is happening on her end.

He’s just hopped up onto his couch, walking from cushion to cushion when a loud crash fills the phone line. Coming to a standstill, wide-eyed, his stomach sinks as a guy starts to hollar obscenities. It’s not until Shirayuki’s voice floats in, chastising in tone, that he relaxes; “Yuzuri’s going to be mad at you if you bleed on the carpet. Go into the washroom and I’ll be there in a second to patch you up. Go.”

“Fine, whatever.” the man’s voice, who he’s now guessing is Suzu, grows further away and soon there’s some static through the line as Shirayuki picks her phone back up.

“Hey, Obi. Sorry about that. I’m helping Yuzuri and Suzu move, but Yuzuri is out grabbing subs for lunch and Suzu is an idiot and…” her thought trails off, leaving the line quiet enough that he can hear Suzu calling for her from the background; she doesn’t pay him any attention though. When she starts to speak again, she’s cautiously optimistic, “Wait… you’re still... But your phone? Does that mean?”

“I finally got a new one?” Laughing, the nerves that had been building within him, quickly dissipate, and he settles gracefully onto the couch. “Yeah. Pretty fancy… I’m afraid to drop it.”

Shirayuki laughs, “I’m sure you’ll get over that fear in a few months. How do you like it?”

“Well, it’s hard to say. It’s going to take a lot of getting used to, but -” pulling the phone away from his ear, the screen comes to life and he eyes the battery percentage in the top corner “- I do enjoy being able to talk to you for more than a minute and still have 100% of my battery.”

“I have to admit, I like that, too.” Suzu shouts again, something about getting blood on the tile and Shirayuki groans. “Crap, I think I have to go. Can I text you? Suzu is… well he’s…”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Fiddling with the string on his sweater, he slides down the couch until his butt is on the floor and stares up at the ceiling. “Do you guys need any help?”

“Oh, uhm-” surprise colours her voice, while Suzu continues to shout in the background, “I think… Well, I think we’re almost done for the day, but that’s uhm, it’s really kind of you to offer, Obi.”

“Ah, it’s no prob-”

“Is that him!” a demanding, bubbly voice cuts him off and causes Shirayuki to squeak nervously; he can only assume this is the famed Yuzuri. “Lemme talk to him!”

“No!” static crackles loudly through the line, followed closely by giggles and shrieks. Yuzuri shouts something unintelligible, the words lost amidst the overwhelming sounds of distress and he digs his teeth into his tongue to keep from chuckling. To say this had been an interesting first call on his new phone, would be an understatement.

There’s another loud thump and a gasp before Shirayuki calls breathlessly through the phone, “Obi, I have to go!”, and the line disconnects.

Grinning and slowly dropping the phone from his ear until it rests carefully in his lap, his chest tightens pleasantly.

Maybe it’s best he didn’t get the chance to ask her. It’ll be better this way.

Shutting his eyes and letting his heart free, he sighs. Tonight, at the party, he’ll finally ask her out on a proper date.

How the fuck had this happened?

“Will you look at me?”

Avoiding her gaze and running a finger along her wrist, his heart clenches angrily when it comes across the ridge of her SoulM8, hiding beneath the material of her shirt. Just because it’s hidden today, doesn’t mean he doesn’t know the little number flashing on it. Time is running out.

“Please, Obi?”

Shaking his head, he continues to outline the little device embedded in her wrist. This fucking sucks. Why had he done this to himself? What made him ever believe that this could end any differently than the last ones? Everyone, particularly him, knows that a SoulM8 is the one thing that will guarantee the death of a relationship.

“Fine.” Her hand reaches out and gently rests on his cheek. “But for the record, I had been hoping to have your full attention when I told you that I... I don’t care.”

Brow furrowing, his finger stops its slow crawl across her wrist. “What?”

“I know why you’ve been an asshole lately, and I don’t care.” Giving a breathy laugh, she takes a step closer to him, letting her fingers wander into his hair. “It’s because of this stupid thing on my wrist… You’re not the only one who’s been watching this miserable thing count down. But you know what? Fuck it.”

Biting down on his tongue, he wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls away from her. Stealing a glance, he’s met with a shy smile and watery brown. Fuck, this sucks. “Deadre, look, you’ve got 28 days before this thing decides for you. Whether you’re ready or not. It’s been fun, but we both knew it wouldn’t la-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Sniffling, she takes a step forward, closing the distance he’d just put between them. “Why can’t you see that I don’t care, Obi... I just want to be with you. Fuck what this thing says, that’s what we’ve said since the beginning, right? I’ll schedule the removal and we can be done with this bullshit.”

Groaning and looking up at the ceiling, his shoulder starts to ache. Why is she making this difficult? Ending things with Torou had certainly been easier; it had never occurred to him that he might actually wish for someone to lose their shit on him and start chopping his couch in half. But that would definitely make this easier.

Hands fisting at his sides, he takes a deep breath and drops his gaze back to meet hers. He never meant to stay this long. Never thought he’d find himself coming back to her over and over again.

It had never occurred to him that he’d fall for her. That he’d fall in… no. He can’t think like that. This has to end, now. He’s already let it go on for far too long. Since the moment they met, she’s belonged to someone else.

“Don’t you understand? You were just some sorry girl in the bar.” Stomach rolling with distress, he practically spits out the rest of the sentence. “An easy lay.”

The words leave a sour taste in his mouth and a rott in his gut; Deadre pulls back slightly. Her fingers tremble where they land on his chest. “You don’t mean that.”

Speaking through clenched teeth, it hurts to swallow. “I do.”

Shaking her head, she grabs fistfuls of his shirt and leans in. Anger sparks in the depths of her eyes, “You’re a horrible liar.”

Pulling him down, she stands on her toes and presses her lips to his, easily silencing his retort and sending his heart into a frenzy.

When she finally breaks away, he doesn’t dare open his eyes for fear she’ll see just how broken he is. Sinking into his arms, resting her head against his chest, her voice is a harsh whisper, “Don’t lie to me, again.”

There is no response. All he can do is nod.

Why can’t she just destroy some of his shit, like his couch or his tv, instead of going straight for his heart?

House-warming parties had never been his thing. Everyone who shows up just walks around, commenting on things like window frames and floor-space, before asking what the price-tag was. And, usually, it just feels like everyone is trying too hard to be someone they’re not, all in the name of impressing their so-called friends.

But tonight was different. Tonight wasn’t some hoaxy ‘look-at-me’ gig, like he thought it might be. And although he may shoot himself in the foot later for thinking it, it’s actually been kinda nice.

Instead of a new leather couch sitting in the living room, there are poorly-labelled boxes in the corner piled halfway to the ceiling and a smattering of milk-crates for seating. In the kitchen where there should be a table with fresh fruit in the centre, there’s a keg and a makeshift table made of a traffic pylon and plywood, holding red-solo cups and a bag of ice. And the bathroom is empty, aside from a half-empty bottle of soap, a stack of paper towels and a couple loose rolls of toilet paper.

Granted, it is still crowded and people he doesn’t know have continuously approached him, excitedly pulling at his wrist and gushing about how they knew Shirayuki would find a Match eventually, but he thinks that the worst of it might be over. Which is an enormous relief, as he’s almost positive that since walking through the front door, he’s spoken to everyone at the party, except for the one person he does want to talk to…

It’s not hard to pick her out of the crowd.

She’s standing, across the room, laughing with Yuzuri about something that’s made her blush, and his heart skips a beat. They hadn’t been matched for very long - only a couple of weeks - and between work schedules and her constantly being pulled away by her friends to gush about the ‘good news’, they haven’t spent very much time together... but, even so, he can’t help but to find everything about her entirely enchanting. And, if he’s honest, somewhat terrifying.

Shit, when he'd gone to the clinic, defeated and just looking for some kind of definitive answer, he never thought... never truly considered the possibility that he'd find someone. At least, not that fast and not someone so entirely... perfect.

Raising her hand, mid-laugh, to tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear, the small gold bar on her wrist catches his attention and pulls his heart into his throat. And that, that little thing on her wrist, is certainly not something he’s sure he’ll ever get used to. It's wild to see the exact shade as the gold in his eyes permanently decorating her wrist like that.

Taking a deep breath and bringing his room temperature beer to his lips, he tries to be stealthy in the way he admires the summer green band on his wrist. It's astounding, the way the SoulM8 seems to be able to recreate the same flecks of gold and dark green that appear around her pupils – though, he'll be the first to say that looking at the small, flat device is nothing in comparison to the depths of her gaze.

The first time he'd seen those eyes, he'd totally botched the entire conversation, purely because he'd been too stupid and nervous to think of something decent to try and say to her, but the second time... man, the second time had set him free. It had been like taking a deep and fulfilling breath, after nearly drowning.

"Hey man, you having fun?" A hard clap on his shoulder sends him choking on the large swig of beer he's only just swallowed and the culprit quickly releases him, before starting to chuckle, "Ah, sorry 'bout that."

Turning slightly and still trying to clear his windpipe, he's about to rip the person a new one when he realizes it's just Suzu. Forcing a smile and reigning in the coughs, he can only manage an acknowledging nod.  

"I was a waiter through school, before I started TA-ing. I never really figured out how to not interrupt people when they're eating or drinking." Laughing again, Suzu holds up his hands apologetically; an empty bottle swinging precariously from between two drunk fingers. Though this is only the second time they’ve really interacted, he seems like an alright guy – not exactly the type of crowd he's used to, but that's decidedly a good thing. "Old habits die hard I guess."  

Clearing his throat and dropping his hand to try and hide the bar of light that had been holding him captive, he shrugs, "It's alright, man. No harm done. I’m okay."

The look that the other man gives him is the very definition of skeptical and soon a wiry arm has wrapped its way around his shoulder, slowly trying to lead him towards the kitchen. "Yeah… C'mon, lemme get you another beer."

Stealing one last glance towards where Shirayuki has her head tipped back slightly, her laughter ringing clear through the room, he chuckles under his breath and his SoulM8 burns curiously on his wrist.

"Sure, another beer won't hurt."  

The room’s grown dark. The street lights outside cast eerie shadows across the ceiling and according to the lady-bug alarm clock on the dresser, it’s definitely time for him to get out of here.

Quietly shifting, careful not to disturb the sleeping woman beside him, he sits and swings his legs from beneath the sheets. Now comes the hard part - finding his clothes. Taking a moment to rub his hand down his face, he breathes deep and rolls his shoulder. It’s been bugging him more and more lately, and he really should get it looked at, but it just hasn’t seemed important.

Squinting and looking over his shoulder, he ignores the sharp sting in his chest. Strawberry blonde hair spills across the sheets and her fingers twitch gently with dreams; everything he’s grown to know about her, is oddly beautiful. Even the slight snores filling the room are charming. But he knows that this is it. Despite their talk last week and the large red ‘X’ marked on Thursday, he can’t stay.

“Obi…” her hand stretches out sleepily, searching for him.   

Fuck, he needs to get out of here; if he doesn’t have to face her, he’d rather not.

Moving silently about the room, he collects his few belongings, throws his pants on and heads for the window; he’s halfway out onto the fire-escape when he takes one last look at where she’s started to curl in on herself, mumbling something from her dreams.

“It’s been fun, Deadre.” Maybe, one day, she’ll be able to forgive him for not saying a proper goodbye. “Take care of yourself.”

He can only hope she understands that it’s just easier this way.

“Not to sound like an asshole, but-” Breathing deep, he laughs and squints through the large glass door. From out here, the music is a dull thrum, occasionally broken up by a drunken hollar. “You’re shittin me, right?”

“Nope. You should have seen Kazaha’s face when she won. Honestly, cocky son of a bitch deserved to be knocked down a couple pegs, but I don’t think anyone really expected little Yuki to be the one to do it.” Suzu snorts and comes to a stand beside him. The deck creaks and he clinks their bottles together, before nodding towards where Shirayuki is in the process of pulling herself up on the counter - Yuzuri stands behind her, cheering. “She’s fuckin’ fearless, man.”

“No shit...” Taking a drink in an attempt to drown the butterflies starting to fill his stomach, his lips turn up in a smile as she turns around and grins down at Yuzuri before turning back to face the sea of people in front of her.

Fuck, she’s so… perfect.

And he’s… well, he’s not. His whole life, he’s been a fuck-up. School, friendships, relationships… you name it and chances are, he’s fucked it up at least once. But this - being with her - is the first time he might stand a chance. It’s the first time he doesn’t feel failure hanging over him like some dark cloud.

He’s nowhere near perfect, but he wants to be… for her.

Inside, Shirayuki stands on her toes and wobbles; and although Yuzuri is standing behind her, looking as though she’s ready to catch her friend if need be, his hand tightens around the neck of the bottle and his muscles jump unexpectedly. 

After a short moment, she seems to regain her balance. Laughing, Shirayuki waves her friend away and proceeds to stretch upwards, scanning the crowd; relaxing slightly, he attempts to cover his fleeting unease with a quick drink from his nearly empty bottle. Whoever, or whatever, she’s looking for, doesn’t seem to be easily found. He really should head inside and see if she needs help, but Suzu’s tales of Shirayuki’s university days and the shit she’s capable of, has him entirely enthralled.

Slowly pulling his gaze away from the brilliant light inside, he grins. “So, uh, what was this guy - Kazaha - trying to prove?”

“Well my man, sorry to say, I never got the full story. Yuki isn’t exactly the bragging type.” Stumbling, Suzu swings himself away from the house and over to where rickety steps lead to an empty yard. “But, from what Yuzuri told me, it was something to do with her SoulM8 and his need to show he was more superior or some shit.”

“Clearly, that backfired.” The butterflies swirling in his stomach, flutter their wings angrily. Of course it was because of her SoulM8… why wouldn’t it be? He’d made her wait for nearly a decade. It makes sense that-

“Fuckin’ right it did. Dude dropped the class after that.” Chuckling, Suzu goes to take another drink, but stops to shake his bottle. Frowning, he nods towards Obi’s hand. “I’m empty. You want another one?”

Glancing inside, he just manages to catch Shirayuki shake her head at Yuzuri, before hopping down off the counter to be absorbed into a group of people swaying to the music. Biting at the inside of his cheek and rocking up on his toes, he sighs in half-defeat. “Yeah man, one more won’t hurt.”