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Soulmates.
The word bubbles to the surface of your churning thoughts as you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror.
It had been a busy day. Leah had all but dragged you to the Stardrop Saloon, on a one-woman mission to meet everyone in town. You drank, you laughed, you shook so many hands you lost count. All of them had been delightful.
All of them were now suspects.
Because in this world, when you met your soulmate; in that first magic moment when skin touched skin, your soul mark would appear somewhere on your body. An image that best represented your other half.
You couldn’t fault yourself for not catching it sooner, the bright red pomegranates had appeared on your left shoulder blade some time during the night. Inconspicuously nestled under your sweater, just waiting to be found.
But stars, how you wished it would have appeared on your hand or your arm, banishing any lingering doubt about who you were meant to love.
It’s frustrating, because you don’t exactly know anyone well enough yet to rule them out. Instead, you have a myriad of possibilities laid out before you.
Maybe Alex liked pomegranates in a juice cleanse? Or Leah put the seeds on top of her salads? They were a healthy food. Perhaps Harvey would give a long-winded speech about their healing properties or antioxidants or something of the nature.
But what you were really avoiding was getting your hopes up. Because, you knew who you wanted it to be… even if the chances of that happening were not in your favour…
Elliott had been reflective. Soft. A friendly face at the bar that you had lucked into sitting next to. He had provided commentary on everyone in town to better acquaint you with your new neighbours.
You learned about Maru reading science books on her lunch break. How Willy sings sea shanties as he goes fishing each morning, and how Gus makes the best crab cakes every Wednesday. He had you smiling so wide your face hurts. Feeding you intel about each person, all while remaining perfectly respectful.
Leah taps out around ten o’clock. Citing the approaching storm as an excuse to go home early. She gives you a hug and Elliott an affectionate shove on his shoulder, pleased, you assume, to see you making new friends.
You, however, take longer to break away. Elliott keeps spinning new tales about local lore while you share a final drink together, reluctant to see the night end.
It’s no surprise that you get caught in the downpour half way home.
But that was thirty minutes ago. Thirty minutes, and one life-altering shower later, as you stare once again at the pomegranate adorning your skin. Going over all the hands you shook, all the backs you clasped, and all the hugs you gave, as you speculate (and wish) about who it might be.
You’re pacing the floor of your living room, still in your bathrobe so you can keep rolling it down to easily stare at your shoulder when there’s an urgent knock at your front door. It’s late. You should ignore it. Would have ignored it had this been the city. But you’re drawn to it like a compass seeking out true north.
Elliott is there, hair clinging to his face, completely drenched, with a wild look in his eyes.
“Please. I have to know. Is it you?”
The words come out in a rasp, almost pained in their desperation as you pull him in, not wanting him to freeze in the early spring downpour. Not wanting to get your hopes up, even as your heart starts beating so loud, you’re sure he can hear it in the quiet of your farmhouse.
“Is it… me?” you ask back.
Elliott scans your outfit, takes in the housecoat before shucking off his own jacket. It lands unceremoniously at his feet with a wet slap, a haphazard apology falling from his chattering teeth.
“Don’t worry about the jacket,” you say, noting the blue tint to his lips. “Elliott, you’re freezing!”
It’s shock, more than anything that has you grasping his hand, practically dragging the dazed man into the warmth of your living room to the fireplace.
You stoke the flames as he stands by your side, looking around your space with wide eyes. The soft crackle of wood and small pat pat pat of water dripping from his person onto the hardwood are the only sounds the room offers up, the fragility of the moment remaining suspended like a soap bubble, just waiting to pop.
He doesn’t say anything, only gently reaches for your wrist when you mention you’ll run to the kitchen to put on a kettle of tea.
“May I? I mean… I must. You need to see.” He murmurs, reaching for the buttons of his top with shaky fingers. Whether it’s from the cold or his nerves, you can’t tell.
All you know is that as he pulls back the linen, you see it, a perfectly ripe strawberry resting on his chest right over his heart.
“I think… well, I hope that this belongs to you,” he whispers, staring so intently into your eyes, you think in that moment that you want nothing more than to get lost in their turbulent, roiling greens.
Wordlessly, you turn, back facing him as you gather your hair to the side, letting the back of your robe fall past your shoulders to reveal your back to him.
“D-do you happen to love pomegranates, Elliott?”
It comes out hopeful, fragile. The words hanging in the air.
He doesn’t answer. Not at first. Instead, you hear the sharp intake of breath, followed by the cold, ghost of a touch as his hand reaches out and traces over the pomegranate along your skin.
It’s like he’s cast a spell over you, unable to speak, barely able to breathe as he whispers your name.
“I’m not usually so forward,” he begins. It’s shy, nervous in a way you find endearing. “But this is uncharted territory for me. I never thought I—” He trails off, as if afraid by putting it to words, the universe will suddenly try and snatch it back from him.
“I never thought I’d find my soulmate either, Elliott,” you murmur, letting out a surprised, but delighted sigh when you feel the press of his lips to your back.
“Oh… oh my,” he whispers. “I don’t know what compelled me to do that. I—”
But he doesn’t get to finish. Not when you’ve turned around and pulled him into your arms for an actual kiss. You don’t even register how cold he is against your skin as his arms snake around your back, fingers splayed low and wide. Nor the way your hand naturally rests against the strawberry over his rapidly beating heart.
You just know that this is the start of the rest of your lives.