Work Text:
Rey’s little shop was filled with the soft, soothing sound of raindrops beating against the window panes. It was unseasonably cold, and likely to be a slow day, business-wise. The perfect day to lazily snuggle up with a hot cup of tea. She’d thrown on her favorite, over-large thrifted sweater this morning, for peak comfort. She had only just stepped away to heat up her kettle when she’d heard the door open, rattling the old bells above it.
A customer had entered.
Rey parted the beaded curtain separating her from the storefront and stepped out to greet them, expecting to see her typical demographic: a woman, who probably did yoga and enjoyed buying crystals and herbal teas. Perhaps, if Rey was lucky, she could convince them to buy some of her crystals and herbal teas.
But it wasn’t a woman.
It was a man.
Tall, and pale, and absolutely drenched. His dark hair was plastered across his face in wild disarray.
“Hang on,” Rey said, as she stepped back behind her curtain. The beads hadn’t finished clacking before she’d returned holding a small kitchen towel.
“Here,” she said, offering it to him, “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. And it’s clean.”
The man accepted the towel, but made no use of it. Instead he stood there, dumbstruck.
“Are you here for a reading?” Rey asked eventually, as her bewildered guest struggled to find his words. This happened sometimes–not often, but people with gifts could be drawn to one another, even if they didn’t understand how or why. Even if those people didn’t realize they had a gift. Rey had stumbled upon a few good friends that way, herself.
“A what?” he croaked back softly, remembering at last how to speak.
“A reading,” Rey repeated, as she gestured quickly to the various signs nearby.
‘ Psychic’ and ‘ Palmistry’ and ‘ $20’ were prominent phrases amongst all of them. It was almost impressive that he’d managed to enter without taking any notice of his surroundings at all . Maybe he was just seeking shelter from the rain?
“Oh,” he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a sopping wet bill.
“Well then, let’s see. Give me your hand.” She always started with the traditional stuff, before tapping into her gift.
He placed his hand over hers, and she turned it over for inspection. Warm, despite the dampness. Clean, no dirt under the nails–always something to be appreciated. And big. Lovely.
“Life Line,” she commented, tracing it out, “Very nice, nothing to be concerned about. You’re positively robust.” Not that anyone with eyes couldn’t see that. “Moving along, next is the Head Line. Average length, perfectly common. But do you see this curve here?”
He didn’t even pretend to look. But Rey continues regardless.
“Steep downwards. You’re creative. Painting, poetry, something like that. Am I right?”
“Something like that,” he nodded along without offering further elaboration.
“Heart Line,” she mapped out its origin, just below his pointer finger, “Some call it the Love Line. Hm…You’re romantic. Passionate. See this? Straight as an arrow– devoted. An understanding and gentle partner.”
“My hand told you that?”
“Yes,” she looked again, “And that you’re a great lover.”
The absolute meathooks he called hands implied he was more than likely packin’ some serious heat, Palmistry aside. Good for him.
He blushed.
Now was time for the real magic. Rey laid her hand over his and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and pinpointing her focus. When she opened her eyes, she was no longer seeing her surroundings in the shop, but a slideshow of this man's past. Brief flashes of memories, images, feelings.
Caring, but generally absent parents. Feelings of inadequacy. Misunderstandings. Fear–a lot of fear. Anger, too. He'd been bullied. A handful of bad decisions. A bad career choice that quickly evolved into a worse one. Regret, and, thankfully, growth. No noteworthy friendships. No noteworthy relationships. The overall impression to take away was…
“Loneliness,” she finally said, as the vision faded away and her gaze returned to the present.
The man let out an unsteady breath.
“You’re lonely,” she repeated. It was a feeling that evoked Rey’s deepest, most personal sympathy.
The desperate desire to be wanted. To be good enough. To be loved.
The aching agony of feeling unworthy, inadequate, unloved…it struck close to home.
They sat together in silence for a few moments, his hand still cradled between hers, before Rey was ready to proceed.
It wasn’t a certain thing–looking into the future. Paths could be changed. Rey closed her eyes once more and exhaled slowly. When she opened her eyes, she gasped.
She hadn’t expected to see herself.
Future-Rey, gently brushing the hair out of his eyes.
A shower of tender kisses.
Him meeting her friends.
Her meeting his family.
Silly, stupid fights over trivial things.
His head of dark hair, sandwiched between her thighs as she called out his name: Ben.
Rey had seen herself in other futures. She had even met a few potential partners before, all doomed to failure. What was the point in even trying, when she could see how it would end? No, it was easier to nip that pain in the bud and avoid treading on those paths at all.
But this time was…different. No, in Ben's future she couldn’t find that moment of inevitable abandonment. She had perhaps overstayed her welcome in pursuit of it.
Her moving into his apartment.
Later, house shopping together.
His first proposal, which she rejects.
The face of their firstborn child–a daughter. She looks so small in her father’s arms.
His third proposal, which she accepts.
“That’s got to be a bad sign,” he said, seemingly from a thousand miles away. The interruption was enough to pull her back to the present. When her gaze refocused, he was gesturing towards her face with his free hand.
“What?” She blinked, still reeling.
“You’re crying.”
“Oh,” she pulled her hands away to dab the pads of her fingers against her cheeks. Dampness. Tears. “I’m sorry. No–it’s good? It’s–” Rey faltered, struggling to find the words. How do you explain this to a stranger, without sounding fucking insane?
‘ Hi, it’s me, your future wife.’
‘I’ve seen your future, and good news! It’s me.’
‘Thanks for the $20, we’re going to have a baby together!’
She’d seen all the important bits, the highlights, but not the details. How did they meet? ( Right now, like this ).
How did this man transform from a stranger into someone she could love– would love? Did she love him already? How could she not, when she knew.
Rey searched his face, and she took note of what she saw there. Tenderness. Awe. A small, gentle smile. Softness. Hope. Nervousness. And love. Love, plain as day, and already there. Somehow, already there.
“You know?” she asked, but it was more of an accusation than a question.
“I–it’s going to sound crazy. Or maybe not, not to you,” he began fumblingly, “I can see the strings of fate, you know? The red strings.”
Ah. So he knew that he was hers.
He continued, “I was so turned around, it was all tangled up. Just a big, gnarly knot, as far back as I can remember. I couldn’t follow it–I tried. But today, for the first time, I could see where it led, and–”
It made sense now, why he’d taken off after it, caught unprepared in the rain. Why he’d stumbled into her shop, not knowing where he was.
Rey cupped his precious face in her hands, and for the first time of many, many times to come, she brushed the hair from his eyes.
And it was the simplest thing in the world, as she pulled him down and their lips met.