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Piers drags his feet as he walks slowly towards the kitchen grumpily staring at the time on his phone. 4 AM. Again. He sighs. Well, at least he’s not up too early. Marnie’s got something or another this morning.
The soft sound of paws makes him turn around to see the zigzagoon that had been sleeping at the foot of his bed has decided to join him. It stops at his feet and he reaches down to pick it up, rocking it ever so slightly against his hip. This little one’s always demanding attention.
He walks into the kitchen and goes about starting the coffee. He’s not going back to bed and now that this ziggy’s up, there’s at least someone else to share the too-early hours of the day with. He distracts it by wiggling his fingers just out of reach, pouring himself a mug of coffee as soon as it’s done before sitting at the table.
A cup becomes two and then three, and once he’s feeling more alert he pulls his phone out to mindlessly scroll through social media. The ziggy nuzzles at his arm when he gets distracted enough that he’s no longer running his fingers through its fur. He starts up again only to have it lightly knock its head into his arm.
“What’s gotten into you?” Piers asks, placing his phone down and giving it the attention it’s been asking for. The zigzagoon keeps staring at his left arm, so Piers looks down at it too.
Well, that hadn’t been there the night before.
‘It’s a maze,’ he thinks. He certainly didn’t draw it. Marnie’s got more artistic talent than this and has passed the age where she’d find drawing on her brother’s arm while he’s sleeping funny. But there it is. Stark black lines stand out on his pale skin, it looks like a hastily drawn maze that someone would give a kid and tell them to draw a line to the circle. The lines are slanted, the circle is close up to his wrist, and he stares at it totally lost on its meaning.
He’s heard the stories, of course, but he’s never taken them to heart. Soulmates or whatever. When one person marks their body with something that will become significant to their bond, it appears on the other’s skin. “It’s incredibly rare,” his mom had told him when he was younger. That was the only time he’d heard about it, his parents never had the marks.
Just awake enough to not consider the consequences, he grabs a red marker from the jar on the kitchen counter.
//Really?! Children’s mazes?!// he writes in the small bit of space on his arm that isn’t covered.
//Maps. I get lost a lot. Sorry.// the replying text appears as it’s being written out and Piers stares down at it, shocked.
Who gets lost enough that they need to draw a map on their arm? Isn’t this exactly what people use their phones for these days? There are a hundred other questions he has, but all of them seem rude and intrusive. Instead, he draws a tiny zigzagoon up by the circle that marks the end of the map. A friend to travel with. Slowly a smiley face joins it. Then nothing more.
The ink doesn’t get washed off until late in the day, it’s a good thing he likes wearing long sleeves.
It becomes a thing. Piers had assumed they were lying about the drawings being maps, but after a few of the same set of directions, he starts paying attention. They’d hadn’t asked him his name or offered their own and Piers is more than happy with that. Some days the maps are small and washed off quickly, other days they’re more complex and stay on his skin well into the night. Some maps appear once and others appear frequently and at predictable intervals.
He looks down at the map on his arm one early morning. It’s the same map that’s shown up the last four mornings. Piers looks over it while he sleepily pours coffee. There’s a line out of place, the whole route’s off by two blocks. Maybe it’s not the same place?
Biting his lip, he wonders if pointing out the mistake will be overstepping. Before he can talk himself out of it, he grabs the closest pen and writes.
//same place as the last few days?// he writes and waits.
//Yes.// the response starts immediately. They must have been looking at the map. //I’m lost. :( //
Piers sighs before crossing out the incorrect directions and replacing them with the right ones.
//try that// he writes before drawing his standard zigzagoon at the destination. He rolls down his sleeve and goes about finishing getting ready for his day.
Later before he heads out the door he sees their reply //thanks// with a small wooloo next to the zigzagoon. Maybe they weren’t so bad.
Piers gets used to it. Starting his day with a cup of coffee while double-checking the map that’s showed up on his arm, making changes if necessary before going about his day.
One morning he finds himself changing more than half of the map, briefly wondering how they got the directions so muddled when they’ve been going this exact route the last two weeks. He lets out a fond sigh before it hits him, they’ve somehow become part of his life, a part that he actively pays attention to, actively puts effort into. He cares for them.
He draws the zigzagoon with a wrapped candy in its mouth that day and later finds the returned drawing of the wooloo is holding a flower.
‘Cute,’ he thinks washing off the drawing of his zigzagoon before turning in for the night.
A few years and many maps later, Piers finds himself walking down the alleys of Wyndon too early in the morning, the same ziggy that first discovered his marks tucked in his arms. It refused to evolve, instead content to be carried around when Piers was willing. The cool early morning air hits his face and he pulls his scarf a little tighter around his neck while letting his feet lead them where they will.
It’s twenty minutes in before they see anyone else. They’re standing at the end of the alleyway, their purple hair getting blown in the wind as they stare at their arm.
“I could have sworn it was this way,” he hears them mumble, voice carried on the wind.
The zigzagoon in his arm jumps down and runs over to the stranger. “Ziggy wait. Don’t!” Piers shouts as he watches it run at them full speed. “I’m so sorry,” he tells them as he reaches a hand to help them up.
“No worries,” the stranger replies before taking the offered hand. They dust off their pants before looking up at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know the way to Rose Tower, would you?” They ask before pointing down at their arm. “I seem to have gotten turned around somehow and the person who usually helps me doesn’t appear to be up yet.”
“Wait a second,” Piers says before rolling up his sleeve and bringing their arms together. “It’s you!" He exclaims after noticing the maps in their arms match. "I’ve always got directions for you. Come on,” he says with a smile. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee on the way.”
“I’m Leon, by the way,” they tell say as they roll down their sleeve and offer him a bright smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” they say, their tone so sincere.
“Piers,” he replies. “Let’s go this way, I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.”
“You always do,” Leon replies with a fond smile holding out his hand. Piers interlocks their fingers before leading the way.
At least it’ll be interesting.