Chapter Text
Chris Bean never wanted a soulmate, though he could appreciate the idea of them, conceptually. Someone the universe itself deemed to be so linked to your life’s narrative that it felt the need to alert you that something has changed forever when you touch them, it sounded like something out of a particularly flowery stage play. Of course, the reality of the situation was that a lot of people never formed any bonds important enough to warrant a soulmate, and often those who did found out right before being, say, stabbed to death. It was a terribly unreliable system, and not nearly as romantic as all the movies made it out to be. Chris’ parents weren’t soulmates, after all, and they had a perfectly cordial relationship. In fact, it was particularly uncommon for soulmates to have functioning romantic relationships, if they did end up getting together. Something about the pressure of the whole universe on your relationship was quite likely to put a strain on it.
All that to say, he usually reassured himself that even if he were to be one of the unlucky few chosen by the cosmos itself to have his life intertwined with someone else’s, it certainly wouldn’t be anything romantic. He wasn’t one for that sort of thing, usually.
That was, until he met Trevor Watson. Chris could confidently say that for about five months, he hated Trevor more than anyone else in his life. He was unreliable, loud, lazy, rude, generally unhelpful, and had terrible taste in music; if he had to hear Seven and the Ragged Tiger one more time, Chris was going to lose it. Then, five months later, Annie announced she was quitting stage managing to tread the boards and given that all the other techies had quit, the job fell onto Trevor’s shoulders. He was still just as loud and rude – and god, the music was driving Chris up the wall – but suddenly he started showing up on time, taking sporadic but thorough notes in his battered script, and spending hours backstage working on props and set design. Equally as suddenly, Chris found that he didn’t actually mind Trevor’s frankness quite so much and would even go out of his way to bring him coffee when he discussed staging ideas.
It wasn’t that Chris had never had an infatuation before, but he’d certainly never fallen quite so hard and so fast for someone. It was getting to be a problem; he was finding it hard to focus properly when Trevor was around, and he found that his thoughts drifted to the stage manager far too often for comfort. So, Chris did what he does best, when faced with a problem: he pushed as far down in his mind as he could and resolutely ignored it. This strategy had yet to fail him.
“Alright, that’s the end of act one,” he announced, clapping his hands. He wiped the sweat from his brow and caught sight of everyone immediately starting to fan themselves. “Why don’t we take a fifteen minute break? I think this show is coming along wonderfully.”
“It’ll be our biggest hit yet!” Max said, enthusiastic as ever.
“The bar isn’t very high,” Robert said.
As the actors filed out, off to the tiny break room that they’d deemed a sufficient green room for their purposes, Annie said, “I’m going to fill my pockets with ice cubes, this heat killing me.”
It was, indeed, quite hot. Cornley had been hit by a bit of a heat wave and it was making it hard to get much work done, but Chris found that they were still progressing nicely despite the sweat and exhaustion. He himself had dressed down to just a rather short-sleeved T-shirt, though he hadn’t gone as far as resorting to shorts. That was a step too far.
They were rehearsing a production of Six Characters in Search of an Author that Chris was actually feeling quite optimistic about. He was pleased with the casting, and given the nature of the piece it required very little set and props which meant they didn’t have to wait for those to really get into the feel of things. That was one of the things which he hated about having such a small tech department; none of their sets got completed until very late in the process. Of course, it was just whatever poor soul had been convinced it was worth the extra credit and, of course, the stage manager who Chris hadn’t seen since—
“Hey, Chris,” Trevor said, suddenly on stage beside him. The heatwave hadn’t really affected his look, since Chris had never once seen him with sleeves, but that didn’t stop him from noticing every aspect of his outfit. He was carrying a water bottle. Good, it was important to hydrate with this weather. “Mind if I take off early?”
“Of course, I’ll email you any notes,” Chris said. “You’ve been working very hard.”
“Thanks, mate.” Trevor smiled. Not that Chris was paying attention, really. “I'll just weld one thing for the mirror then I’ll head out, yeah?”
“Be careful with that. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you.” He was still haunted by the image of Trevor passed out under the platform as blood pooled around his head.
“Yeah. You too. Don’t want you getting heat stroke.” He held up his water bottle, then tapped it against Chris’ upper arm, uncharacteristically bare due to the unfortunate weather conditions. Chris was suddenly aware that it was the first time they’d properly touched. The back of Trevor’s hand was very casually pressed against his arm. It burned like fire. He put on his blandest smile and nodded.
“We’re breaking for water right now,” he said. Trevor had moved his hand away. He hardly even noticed.
“Alright,” Trevor said, turning away. “Cheers, mate.”
Chris then stood stock still on stage for what felt like impossibly long, staring fixedly at nothing.
They say that when you first make contact with your soulmate it’s all fireworks and doves and choruses singing because the universe slots into place all at once and you are suddenly aware of the vastness of the existence of a whole other human being, tethered to the twists and turns of the course of your life. Mainly what Chris felt was dread.
Looking down confirmed what he’d feared: a cherry red spot in the shape of the back of Trevor’s hand, right there on his left arm for all to see. Okay. He could deal with this. It was fixable. Soulmates don’t always go both ways, he just had to desperately hope Trevor wouldn’t get a matching mark and confront him about it. He certainly didn’t seem like the type of person to go for Chris’ tried and true repression method.
Trevor Watson was his soulmate.
This whole thing was ridiculous.
He hardly knew the man, he certainly wouldn’t say their life paths were inextricable one from the other!
This was fine.
Chris went to his chair and pulled on his cardigan, though he was sure he’d regret it instantly. It was worth it until he could find a way to deal with this new calamity.
He’d known a few people with soulmate marks. Usually they were on hands, casual little points of contact that become immortalised in red pigment for everyone to see. He’d met one rather unfortunate girl who had quite literally bumped into her soulmate on the street – she had the mark on her whole shoulder to show for it. People tended to be proud of them. Chris had never been able to understand that.
Now, already sweating buckets and dreading the remaining few hours of rehearsal, he felt nothing but rising panic. Any moment now, Trevor would notice and he’d come barging back in for answers.
Was this because of Chris’ ridiculous feelings? He’d tried so hard to get rid of those! That seemed unfair.
God, what would Trevor say? Chris couldn’t imagine he’d be pleased, he generally didn’t seem too keen on him. Knowing that their whole existences were tied together by a power science had yet to explain would probably not thrill him.
Of course, you were welcome to ignore your soulmate, if you happened to find them. It was just that, due to the nature of the connection, you wouldn’t be able to ignore them forever. Maybe you’d randomly run into them miles from where you first met; you couldn’t cheat fate.
Chris had heard countless stories of people being marked as soulmates because one was going to end up killing the other. It felt that was in all likelihood what would happen to him, when Trevor found out. His prospects looked rather grim.
Never once before had he been so thankful for the CPDS’ tendency to be as late as possible to any event ever, it was giving him time to collect himself before he had to continue rehearsing.
What could he do about this? Ultimately, nothing, but Chris’ specialty was in delaying the inevitable so much it never caught up to him until his no doubt untimely demise. There had to be a better solution than wearing a cardigan in sweltering hot weather. Longer sleeves, his brain supplied. That fixed the very immediate problem of overheating. It did not, however, do anything about the long-term issue of him having a bright red mark on his skin that was, in all likelihood, also on Trevor’s.
For now, Chris’ only solution appeared to be to ignore it and keep going. He’d survive a few hours wearing a cardigan. Hopefully Trevor would leave early without having noticed, and he could go home and have a nice, controlled freak out. Preferably lying on the cool floor in front of a fan.
This was a catastrophe.
“Chris! Chris!” Jonathan ran back onto stage, eyes wild and out breath. “Something’s happened to Trevor!" He knows— “He’s burnt himself welding, Annie says it’s serious. She’s taking him to A&E, it’s an emergency— why are you wearing a cardigan?”
“Trevor’s injured? What happened?”
“He burnt his hand. It looks really bad, if I’m honest.”
“Where is he?”
“He already left with Annie. Max went too. As moral support, I guess.”
“Right. Okay.” Chris took a deep breath. “I’m down two actors and a stage manager.” This might be his chance… “Why don’t you tell the others to just go home? We only had a few hours left and its not like we’re getting much done in this heat.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Be there on time tomorrow, though.”
“I’ll let them know.”
Jonathan exited at a much more reasonable pace, relieved of his duty as emergency messenger.
Chris pulled out phone and sent Annie a message asking for updates, then let his head fall into his hands. Of course Trevor being burned was a bad thing, the last thing he wanted was for his soulm— his stage manager to get hurt, but it did buy him some time to think. Annie wouldn’t get back to him for a while if he knew the A&E (which he did; the whole society knew it better than was warranted for a polytechnic drama society), and with the afternoon off he could have a particularly long and constructive panic.
Once home, Chris pulled off the cardigan and his shirt, staring at the red mark in the mirror. He methodically tried on every single shirt he owned and sorted them into piles of ones that covered it and ones that didn’t, which proved to be all his short-sleeved shirts. In this weather, he really couldn’t be rehearsing in long sleeves, so he needed to come up with something else. It was time for that freak out he’d pencilled in.
He pulled out a bottle of wine and sat down on his sofa. What he needed was a comprehensive list. He loved a list.
Facts: Chris had found his soulmate. His soulmate was Trevor. He, unfortunately, still harboured feelings for Trevor. This could not end well. He needed to make it go away for as long as possible.
Tasks: Convince Trevor to ignore the situation. Make the mark go away. Try not to get killed by an angry stage manager.
Hurdles: Destiny itself would not be ignored into non-existence. Nor would Trevor.
He opened the bottle and poured himself a glass. Just as he took his first sip, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
[Unknown]: its trevor
[Unknown]: hands ok
Trevor Watson: [sent image]
The image was of Trevor’s right hand, bandaged in white. That was the hand that—
Chris Bean: Did the doctors say what recovery would look like?
Trevor Watson: [sent voice message]
Chris tapped on the message, bringing the phone to his ear. “Sorry, hard to type. They said the back of my hand would probably scar but not too badly — should retain movement and shit. Could be worse. I’ll be back in tomorrow.”
Downing the glass of wine, Chris set his phone down out of reach. Right. Trevor hadn’t mentioned the soulmate mark, which should’ve been on the back of that hand — the very hand which had been burnt and was going to scar, apparently. A red mark on burned skin, surely Trevor wouldn’t notice that. He was sure if he’d already noticed he would’ve brought it up, he wasn’t the kind of man to shy away from a fight.
Chris had never accounted for a soulmate when planning his future. He’s always hoped very desperately that he wouldn’t have to. Soulmates, to Chris, were proof that one has absolutely no control over anything in life, and that he couldn’t accept. Sure, he wouldn’t actually mind being tied to Trevor for the foreseeable future: he was a decent fellow who, despite his outward nonchalance, really cared about the work he did, and Chris liked spending time with him. However, machinations greater than anything he could possibly conceive telling him his narrative was linked inextricably with Trevor’s was more cosmically terrifying than exciting.
He’d never once budgeted time to properly deal with any of the romantic feelings he’d developed for Trevor, which now felt like an oversight. Well, it would only get more complicated from then on. Best to just ignore it altogether.
The wine was starting to cloud his thoughts, making all his problems seem a little fuzzier. If Trevor thought the mark was just part of his burn was that sorted, so he just had the problem of the matching one on his own skin. How could one cover a mark on their skin?
A rather stupid thought occurred to him.
Ah. That might work.
This is a terrible idea, Chris told himself, getting his coat on. But it was a solution and frankly, he couldn't see any others. Wearing exclusively long sleeves would be impossible in the heatwave and even after that he couldn't fully shut down any play that would require him to wear short sleeves. Running on a few glasses of wine and a low level panic attack, Chris decided it was his best option.
“Chris, did you hurt yourself?” Max asked, catching sight of the fresh bandage on his arm the next day.
“No, no, I’m fine,” he replied, hoping to move the conversation along as swiftly as possible. He was already starting to regret the decision to cover up the mark with a tattoo. Sure, it worked to hide the red spot, but the tiger was no less eye-catching.
“You just wanted us to match, huh?" Trevor said, holding his bandaged hand up with a bit of a smile. Fuck’s sake.