Chapter Text

PROLOGUE:

A soulmate is defined as “a person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament” and has been widely considered a pipe dream best left to the poets, the dreamers, and the artists. However, in a time where people are born with tattoo-like brands, finding one’s soulmate is much more easily achieved. Though many could still live their whole lives without ever finding their mate, a minority are able to find their fated lovers.

Soulmate brands are visible from birth and will remain on the skin unless surgically removed. These tattoos, only half complete, will instantly complete themselves once one has exchanged words with their soul mate. There is no physical feeling to indicate that anything has changed, and the completion often goes unnoticed by both parties unless the brand is clearly visible on exposed flesh.

All brands are, in their own way, significant and meaningful. Once a couple realizes their predestined predicament, it’s customary to attempt to understand the meaning of their brands. A brand is a link to their past, holding meaning to the couple from a time long before them, with the potential to span as far as man himself. It’s said that if they can ascertain the significance of their marks that they gain their locked memories from their previous incarnation; only, however, the reincarnation from which their mark was significant. Not all people are born with a mark, which has led many to the conclusion that they have either never been reincarnated- and thus this is their first life -or their soul mate doesn’t yet exist. Though many will try to understand their markings, most will fail.

Since the sudden arrival of brands, life has taken an interesting turn. Though there may be thousands of partners looking for their pasts, we focus our attention on one. Amid this play put on by some heavy-handed cosmic machine, one unlikely pair are fumbling their way towards destiny.

This is their story.

“-but what if I never find them?”

“Eijun, you’re barely in your mid-twenties; you have plenty of time.”

“You and Furuya found each other years ago, you don't get to tell me that. How the hell does this thing work, anyway? Why don’t we pop out with brands and a guidebook? Just one little manual is all I’m asking for here.”

Eijun glanced sourly out the window to glare at the sky, his mood every bit as dark as it was. With a defeated sigh, his companion let the comforting hand fall from his back and reach for glass on the bar top to slam back his own liquor. They were getting nowhere fast.

“I don’t know what to tell you other than what I’ve told you for the last fifty times. We were lucky, that’s all.”

He took another shot of fireball whiskey, shivering as the burn tore both ways through his esophagus, and shot his friend the glare he’d just been aiming out the window. Sawamura Eijun was a brilliant man who had, up until the beginning of their conversation, been having an equally brilliant day. Sitting in a seedy bar in Shinjuku, the pair had initially gone out to celebrate Eijun’s acceptance into a paid internship with the Tokyo National Museum and had ended up, as they always did, deadlocked into a conversation about soulmates or, as it were, a lack thereof.

“Why are you so worried about it, anyway? You have so many more important things to worry about.”

“I just-” Eijun gestured choppily and then abruptly paused, shaking his head and pulling his hand back to rub it over his tired eyes, “Look, I’m tired of going it alone, you know? I also want to know who I was before. There’s a lot of stuff to unpack here and I feel like I’m never going to get past it.”

“Who cares who you were in a past life? It’s what you do with this one that matters.”

“Thank you for the therapy voice, really appreciate it, but you do realize that you’re talking to a historian, right? I have to be curious.”

As he spoke, his hand lifted involuntarily up to the left side of his chest where a muted koi was frozen in place beneath his clothing and above his heart. His fingers clenched against the fabric and he felt a strong urge for another drink.

“Let’s just focus on celebrating, okay? Have another shot!”

Eijun’s little chuckle was halfhearted and he knew that he had to be coming across as a miserable bastard if Mr. Responsible was pressing him to drink. He forced himself to paste on a smile.

“I’m good; sorry for whining Haru, I’m just back on my bullshit. I think it’s time to go home before I drown myself in whiskey; it sounds better and better with each shot.”

“It’s fine, Eijun, really- but are you sure? It’s only ten.”

It wasn’t fine. Replacing a congratulatory smile with a worried frown wasn’t high on his list of priorities and yet it felt like he managed to do that to Haruichi routinely. It wasn’t what he wanted and it sure as hell wasn’t something that he was keen to let continue.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I have a ton of work to do anyway. Will Furuya be picking the rest of his stuff up or do you want me to bring it over?”

“I was thinking we would get it this weekend if you didn’t mind.”

Eijun pictured his now too large, too empty, apartment and willed his wilting smile to stay put as he nodded with mock enthusiasm.

“Sounds good, we should go out to celebrate that day.”

Haruichi had been Eijun’s best friend for six years, an unlikely companion since his first day of college who’d never tired of his relentlessly energetic personality. Haru was engaged to Eijun’s roommate and friend, Furuya Satoru, and the two were finally moving in together after four and a half years. In truth, despite their constant bickering, Eijun was going to miss having him around. It had been so long since he’d lived alone that he wasn’t sure he remembered how to. Haruichi’s lip quirked up to the side like it always did when someone brought up Furuya and he nodded, one vibrant rose iris peeking out from beneath matching bangs as they moved with the motion.

“Definitely, but stop acting like you’re never going to see us again. We only live ten minutes away but you’re acting like we’re going off to war or something.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’ll be nice to be able to walk around the apartment naked without judgement,” he lied as he slid easily off his barstool, rolling his shoulders against the crushing tension he felt coiling there at the idea of returning home, “and now I can order my pizza with olives and not have to worry about him glaring at me.”

“I don’t know what he has against olives,” Haruichi mused after he paid their tab and followed, matching his slow stride.

“I’m a firm believer that love should be between one person who hates olives and another person who will eat those olives. Well anyway, thanks for the treat,” Eijun smacked the Haruichi enthusiastically on the back, desperate to cover the sudden biting sting of loneliness as he thought about going home, “and I’ll see you and Furuya later. G’night!”

He swallowed hard when Haruichi looked him over, lips pursed. Eijun didn’t want him to worry, but he’d been told routinely that his eyes said everything that his mouth didn’t. He could see that Haru wasn’t buying it, but he must not have wanted to stand on the sidewalk and debate him.

“Sure. Oh, and congratulations again, Eijun; I’m proud of you.”

As much as he wanted to enjoy those words, congratulations felt empty as he began the walk to the apartment, each step harder than the last. Had the streets always seemed so small and dank? Before long, he was sliding his key into the lock and letting himself into the dark apartment. He was met only by darkness and silence, alone with his weariness and exhaustion. He caught his reflection in the hallway mirror as he passed, groaning at how worn down he looked. His dark brown hair was shaggy and in dire need of a cut while his gilded irises were lackluster. His black suit was wrinkled, and his grey tie was hanging loosely from his throat, crooked and low. He let himself fall to the couch with a sigh. Closing his eyes as he tilted his head back, Eijun let a humorless chuckle bounce around the room.

“No place like home.”

Kuramochi Youichi leaned casually against the doorframe to his office, watching as his piercer shamelessly flirted with a young woman with a freshly pierced navel. With a coy smile, the thin wisp of a woman pressed some money into the Kazuya’s hand.

“He really is the worst.”

Kuramochi turned his attention to the right where friend and fellow tattoo artist Kominato Ryousuke sat on the large back lobby sectional, his chin braced on his forearms where they were crossed over the back of the couch.

“He’s basically just a pretty mascot at this point,” Kuramochi muttered dryly as the woman walked out, an extra swing in her step meant for her piercer.

“I heard that,” Kazuya beamed as he joined them, dropped his body onto the ottoman by Ryousuke’s feet.

“You’re pathetic,” Ryou remarked, his ever-present smirk quirking his lips as he resituated himself against the arm of the couch.

“Why, because people actually like me?”

“Nobody likes you, that’s a common misconception.”

Kazuya raised a hand to his chest dramatically, clutching at his sleeveless shirt, “boss, are you going to let him talk to me like that? You like me, don’t you?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake you’re a grown-ass man,” Youichi groaned good-naturedly, raising a brow, “and who could like you?”

Kazuya shook his head with a winding sigh, springs of dark hair pulling loose from where he kept it pulled up at the back of his head.

“I’m so hurt. I get no respect or love here.”

Miyuki Kazuya broke into a smile despite their teasing, light catching on the pair of thin black rings in his bottom lip. He looked like he’d gotten into an accident with a tackle box and it made him a perfect addition to staff. In addition to his lip piercings, his left eyebrow sported a silver bar and, like Youichi and Ryou, most of his arms and chest were covered in ink.

“You’re ridiculous,” Youichi grinned, his feigned annoyance falling to the wayside.

“I’m good at my job, thank you very much.”

“You’re good at flirting poor women out of their money,” Ryousuke yawned, crossing his arms over his chest, “I can’t decide if I like man-whore or gigolo better for your new name.”

“If making people happy is a crime, lock me up,” Kazuya shrugged, reaching up to undo the half-assed ponytail and run a hand through the unruly dark hair fell a few inches above his shoulders.

“See,” Kuramochi gestured toward him, nodding to Ryousuke who was looking on with little interest, “mascot.”

“Couldn’t we just get a dog instead? I’d take that kind of mangy mutt over this kind.”

“You could just carry around a spray bottle and a newspaper in case he misbehaves, Ryou. I give you express permission to beat him.”

The smirk on Ryousuke’s lips was nothing short of positively devious.

“Hey, hey,” Kazuya raised his hands, waving them in his defense, “avoid the face, I have a hot date tonight.”

Snorting to himself as he walked over to the front door to flip off the open sign, Kuramochi glanced back over his shoulder, “how does Chris feel about your shameless flirting?”

“Between us,” Miyuki dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning forward to place his forearms on his thighs whilst he looked from Ryou to Youichi and back again, “I like it when he’s jealous. He gets handsy.”

“Ugh, spare us the gruesome details; I want to keep my lunch down,” Ryousuke grimaced, “I can only handle so much.”

“You’re both just jealous. It’s okay though, I don’t blame you.”

“The idea of replacing him with a dog is slowly becoming more appealing, Ryou.”

“Say the word, Youichi, and I’ll take him out back and toss him in the dumpster.”

“As if you could reach the opening,” Miyuki rolled his dark brown eyes.

The smile Ryousuke flashed was more akin to a snarl. Youichi interrupted before either could speak.

“You two be civil. Now, go home. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Miyuki loitered as Kuramochi closed The Black Lotus down for the night, following behind him in a pensive silence until he finally stopped to face him, “was there something you needed, Miyuki?”

Miyuki shrugged, but Youichi could see the beginnings of a sheepish smile he knew well enough to make him uncomfortable, “I wanted to see if you were busy tomorrow night.”

“That depends on why you’re asking,” he muttered as he locked the back door, sliding another suspicious glance over his shoulder to note that Kazuya was bothered, his tapping fingers giving him away as they came down against the bicep of his crossed arm. 

“Well, I have a friend who-”

“No.”

Miyuki huffed, trailing behind him as he turned off all the lights except the one above the register, “oh, c’mon ‘Mochi! You’ll never find the one if you don’t take some risks and look. Besides, you need to get laid; you’ve been a cranky asshole lately.”

“Not interested. I’ve already told you a thousand times that I don't give a shit about that brand bullshit.”

“Then why haven’t you gotten your brand removed like you’ve been saying you’re going to?”

“Because it’s the namesake of my business and I appreciate good ink. If I’d been saddled with something stupid like a crescent moon, then I would have had it removed early on.”

Kazuya dropped his arms from his chest and glanced down at the moon branding the inside of his wrist, turning his arm sideways in the dim interior lighting as he smiled briefly down at it. When he looked back up to Youichi, the smile was still firmly in place.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Is that a trick question? Because no.”

“I think you’ve kept it because you’re holding out hope that you’ll find them.”

“Well,” Kuramochi drawled, holding the front door open for his best friend to slip through before locking it, “nobody ever said you were smart.”

The smile fell from Miyuki’s lips as they walked and Youichi could feel his eyes on him every so often. He didn’t want to talk about it again, least of all with him, but the tension was weighing against his exhaustion and he was just too tired. He let it linger for half a block before he finally blew a frazzled breath into the night and stopped walking, turning his attention to him.

“Christ, just say it already Kazuya.”

Kazuya’s lips were pursed and his arms crossed over his chest, his right hand tapping again his bicep as he thought over the words before speaking.

“Seriously, dude, why don’t you just go out with the guy? He’s got a good job, he’s good looking, he’s-”

“-probably not my type or into heavily tattooed men.”

“You’re just determined to be single, aren’t you?”

“I’m determined to live my life my way, so how about you let me?”

“I would if that’s what it was, but it isn’t. You’re so hung up on being anti-soulmate that you’ve just nixed the entire idea of romance. You really don’t see the problem with that?”

“I see a problem, but it’s a five-foot-ten jackass who thinks he’s a matchmaker.”

Kuramochi started walking again, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. Kazuya huffed from behind him but caught up, leveling him a glare. Several passersby gave them a wide berth as they passed, though both men were indifferent to their judgmental stares as they continued. Neither really blamed them for the looks they aimed them, not when they were both clad in black muscle shirts that bared their full tattoo sleeves. Kuramochi’s gelled faux-hawk combined with his trademark scowl made him look unapproachable at best and dangerous at worst. The intensity of his gaze tended to make them squirm.

“I don’t like that you’re always alone. Is it wrong for someone to want their best friend to be happy?”

“I don’t see you trying to set Ryousuke up with anyone,” Youichi observed as they rounded a corner to the side street that their apartments were on.

“Two things,” Kazuya held up two digits, “firstly, nobody on the planet Earth is compatible with Ryou. Secondly, he doesn’t have a brand.”

“You put too much stock in those brands. Also, you just told me that I need to get laid because I’m ‘cranky’ but he’s easily the crankiest human being alive.”

“Refer back to one and two.”

“The fact of the matter is that I like being alone Kazuya, so stop trying to set me up. I like my life the way it is.”

Kazuya sighed as they walked inside and made their way to the elevator, and Youichi pushed the button to their floor so hard that he almost jammed his finger. When would those conversations end? It felt like he’d been hashing out the same argument for years.

“Fine, fine, but what are you going to do with you find him?”

Youichi grinned, signature crooked smirk allowing the harsh overhead fluorescents to bounce off the white of his canine as the elevator stopped on his floor and he let himself out into the hallway. He raised a hand as he walked to his apartment, yelling back behind him just before the doors closed.

“I’d tell him not to let the door hit him on the ass on the way out. Later.”