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Whenever soulmarks were the topic of conversation, Artemy was laughed at. He understood why – most people had something totally benign like how can I help you today or can you tell me how to get to the library, which were totally normal things to be the first thing you said to a stranger. It wasn’t even that unusual to see a string of nonsense words; Rubin had sideways tender blue egg scrawled across his ribcage, which he was unfairly proud of. It was a fairly typical tactic used by the aforementioned benign-mark holders to make sure they’d truly found their soulmate, so nonsense was, all considered, pretty normal.
The first words Artemy’s soulmate was destined to say to him, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired.
“Maybe they’re a serial killer?” Lara had suggested, thirteen and collecting enough kindling for the duration of their weekend camping trip in the Steppe.
“Or maybe we’re going to meet at a fancy dress party,” he shot back. Grief snorted from his place at the firepit. Artemy ignored him.
“That does make sense…” Rubin began and yes, he’d always known there was a reason that Stakh was his best friend. “But for that to work, you’d have to be invited to a party. I’m with Lara on this one.”
Artemy squawked, outraged, and his trio of friends-cum-traitors howled with laughter.
Later, once he’d actually been to a few parties thank you very much Rubin that his soulmate had not made an appearance at, he revised his guess. No, really, guys, it made sense – his father was sending him away to the capital to become a surgeon, right? Obviously, whoever his soulmate was would be in one of his classes and the words would make sense in context. This explanation always coincided with pronounced gesticulation, his excited hand movements a mirror for the relief he felt in connecting the dots.
It also coincided with raised eyebrows from whoever he was talking to. “Sure, Burakh,” Grief had cheerfully agreed. “Just don’t feed me to your serial killer when you bring them home, okay?” Artemy had dropped his head into his hands.
Although he’d kept his eyes and ears out during university, all through classes and practical rotations, his fated meeting never came. He started to feel discouraged – by his age, most people had met their soulmates, even the people with something heartbreakingly simple as hello. The uniqueness of his mark was meant to make this process easier, not tortuously long. By the time his father sent him a letter requesting him to come home, Artemy had begun to wonder if it was all just a big joke the universe was playing on him. But, desperate romantic at heart, he couldn’t help the spark of inspiration: he was training to be a menkhu, and the Burakhs were the most important menkhu family in the Steppe. Maybe he’d had it all wrong in the past and his reputation would precede his return. Maybe his soulmate was just a practical jokester! This letter was fate, bringing him home to be exactly where he needed to be!
And then, well. There was no time to be thinking about fanciful things like that.
Artemy is tired, hungry and hurting before he gets thrown in jail and his captors don’t seem like the type to offer mealtime. He cleverly deduces that things are going to get worse. His mind is racing, trying to solve the puzzle of his imminent survival, ruminating over all the tasks he’s failing to complete and the time he is wasting when the gunfire begins. Immediately alert, he is anxiously relieved when the bullets are not fired into his cell.
The assailant is instantly identifiable. Not because Artemy has met him before but simply because that snakeskin coat has been a talking point in the Town-on-Gorkhon. Now he can firmly say that he agrees with the townsfolk’s general opinion: it is awful. The man wearing it, who can only be Bachelor Daniil Dankovsky, is a much nicer sight, especially considering the fact that he is gunning down Artemy’s jailors. A few days ago he would have been repulsed at the senseless violence. Now he is simply glad.
When the last man falls, Dankovsky takes a moment to assess the carnage and reload. He huffs out a breath of air and brushes back a part of his fringe that had fallen into his eyes. Artemy watches him silently, noting that he can now also confirm the general opinion that the Bachelor is rather handsome. Two out of three assumptions about the man proven correct, Artemy glumly thinks it’s pretty likely that the Bachelor will be a bastard, too. He finds himself dreading whatever acerbic comment is about to come out of the man’s mouth.
Of course, on reflection, Artemy will realise he’d had no fucking idea how unprepared he was.
“This rescue isn’t free – I’m going to need some human organs as payment.” Dankovsky isn’t even looking at him. He’s crouched down to rifle through the pockets of the dead guards, and thus he doesn’t notice how Artemy’s mouth has fallen open in shock.
In all his years of having those words scrawled on his abdomen, after all the teasing he had endured, Artemy had not once entertained the thought that they would be said in sincerity. He is too shocked to speak. He’s pretty sure he can distantly hear the universe laughing at him. Oh, you didn’t think you’d meet him during university, did you? He thinks it might be sneering. Because, sure, Sand Plague, perfect environment for this type of thing.
Dankovsky has noticed his silence, a few heartbeats later than most polite people would, and lifts his head to stare at him questioningly. In his hands are the keys to Artemy’s cell, recently pilfered.
“I’ve spent years defending you to my friends, and it turns out they were right all along.” Artemy’s mind can’t help but circle to how much Grief is going to laugh at him. The Bachelor jolts as though he, too, has been shot. Thankfully for Artemy he doesn’t go down like the guards did.
“Excuse me?” The man responds, strangled.
“I mean, seriously, didn’t they teach you basic manners at the Capital? ‘Make sure the first thing you say to someone is nice because it just might end up being on their body forever’? I’ve had to go around with a request for organs my whole life!” Huh, okay, maybe Artemy had some pent up feelings about that one.
“This can’t be happening…” the Bachelor murmurs, finally rising to stagger over to the cell door. “I would like to point out that your words aren’t the height of politeness, either.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, wouldn’t want to be rude about being branded with ‘human organs as payment’.” Dankovsky is halfway through unlocking the cell when he pauses to fix Artemy with a considering stare.
“Yes, about those. I really do need them. This still isn’t free.” Three out of three assumptions, check and mate, Town-on-Gorkhon.
Artemy throws his hands up in exasperation. “Lara always said you’d be a serial killer. Fine, yes, you’ll have your organs as payment for my release, thank you dear soulmate.” Dankovsky has already turned the key by the time he finishes and noticeably inhales at Artemy’s address. He steps aside to allow Artemy to exit.
“Again, I’d like to point out that between the two of us, you have the reputation for serial killing. It seemed like a perfectly valid thing to open with; I have a lot of things to focus on, if you haven’t noticed.” There is a little smirk curling in the corner of Dankovsky’s lips and Artemy homes in on it. He really is a smug bastard, isn’t he?
The smirk only widens when the Bachelor notices where his attention is.
“A man, hmm? I have to say, a lot of things about my university days are starting to make sense.” The Bachelor is giving him an appraising look and oh, Artemy hadn’t even considered that. The idea that his soulmate was unfamiliar with his sexuality made him shuffle awkwardly. He ducks his head. It was rare, but some people did have platonic soulmates… maybe it really was all just one big cosmic joke. I know it’s a deadly plague, but here’s a beautiful man that’s yours and by the way you can’t touch him! Have fun, fucker!
The universe sounded a lot like Rubin now that he thought about it.
There is a gloved hand on his jaw, pushing it up. The Bachelor’s – no, Daniil’s – eyes are twinkling in mirth. The dark haired man takes one of his hands, brings it to his lips and kisses him gently on the wrist. Artemy’s pulse rabbits, heart settling and exploding in one simultaneous action. Daniil drops their hands but doesn’t let go. Instead he turns and starts to pull Artemy to the door.
“Come on, soulmate. We have a plague to beat.”