I'm moving this out of HADS because I wrote a sequel that might turn into more ;)


Inspired by this post post/122354393196/you-know-that-soulmate-au-trope-where-the-first The idea is of a classic soulmate au where the first words your soulmate tells you are written on your wrist but where you do your best to have original first words so your soulmate finds you more easily. Modern au a bit cracky, nobody asked for it and I'm sorry.


Speed Soulmate Finding


Speed soulmate finding was tacky and a bit humiliating.

Effie was not sure at all why she had let her friend drag her to that bar in the first place. They lived in the twenty-first century, it was commonly agreed that soulmates weren't the do-all break-all they used to be and you could live perfectly happy with someone who wasn't in fact fated to be your lifelong companion.

As for the concept of speed soulmate finding in itself…

Effie pursed her lips as she surveyed the room they were in, unable to stop thinking the whole thing was preposterous and defied the whole purpose of fate. It was a relatively new fashion trend that catered to people with outrageous first words marked somewhere on their body, the kind of words nobody would utter on a chance meeting in the street, like 'Feed the fish", 'An old apple visits Japan in the winter' or 'Camouflage paint is omni-present, just like candy'. It had become a sort of trendy game to show up to those events with a nonsense generator app on your phone and to offer the most original first words you could in the off-chance that the person in front of you would have them tattooed somewhere. When you truly thought about it, it was the egg and the chicken question. Had the trend appeared because people had weird soulmate words or had weird soulmate words started to appear because of the trend?

The bar would have otherwise been nice enough, she supposed while taking a sip of her overpriced chardonnay, if the owners hadn't gone overboard to try and make it romantic on top of quaint. There was something like trying too hard and, clearly, nobody had told them that putting pink ribbons everywhere and dimming the lights so much you could barely see where you were walking wasn't the right way to achieve a mood conductive to romance.

"Tell me again…" she cringed around another fortifying sip of her wine. "Why are we here?"

Portia, her dark eyes twinkling with her customary spark of mischief, batted her fake eyelashes in the innocent but enticing way that usually earned her free drinks wherever they went. Effie might have been more amused if she wasn't facing the dreadful perspective of sitting on an uncomfortable chair for the next half-hour. There were at least fifty small tables spaced around the room, each had two chairs on opposite sides, a candle at the center, and, since it wasn't the first time Portia dragged her to that kind of things, she knew she would have to suffer through thirty minutes of first words that would aim to be unique and would end up being taxing very, very soon.

"Because…" Portia sighed, drawling the word out as if Effie was being particularly difficult – and perhaps she was but she had really wanted to catch that new rom-com at the theater before a night at the club, not waste her whole evening in one of those little bars that specialized in stealing an ungodly amount of money for the supposed chance of finding one's soulmate. "We will either find the love of our live or a hook-up for the night."

Effie pursed her lips tighter, taking another glance around the room, not seeing anyone she would actually want to hook up with even for a one-night-stand. "Your soulmate words are not outrageous. I do not understand why you always insist on coming to these events."

"Yours are." Portia pointed out.

"Mine are rude, that is what they are." she huffed. "And I have no interest in meeting a rude soulmate, thank you very much."

It wasn't that she was cynical. She was not. She believed in love. She loved the idea of love. She was famous in her circle of friends for falling in love easily and hard. She had had her share of love stories over the years, some had lasted months and others a handful of days but she had always been honest with her feelings.

Love didn't scare her.

A soulmate was something else.

A soulmate had a finality to it she wasn't sure she liked. To be destined to spend your life with someone… It was different.

Besides, the words that were stamped high on her inner thigh were not the most likely to change her mind. It was lucky they were in such an intimate place because she wasn't sure she would have borne well having to see them every day. That way, at least, she could pretend they did not exist.

"The blonde is cute." Portia pointed out, discreetly pointing at a busty woman on the other side of the room.

Effie entertained the thought of chatting her up for a second, if only to make time go faster, but ended up pouting. "She is not really my type. The man over there is not too bad, though."

The man was dressed like a classy rock star. He was wearing designer jeans artfully slashed on the thighs, a tight slightly see-through black shirt under a grey suit jacket, and the diamond earring on his left earlobe matched Portia's nose piercing. He also had gold eyeliner that seemed to glow on his dark skin. In other words, he was delicious.

"Dibs." Portia called quickly.

Effie rolled her eyes. "I saw him first." She was far too amused by the determined glint in Portia's gaze though, so she lifted her glass of chardonnay in a half toast. "You can have him but the next handsome man is mine."

Just as she finished that sentence, as if fate itself had heard her and provided with a dramatic entrance, the door to the bar opened, letting in a waft of freezing wind, and three men walked in. Well… To be more accurate, a tall laughing black man with a missing hand was dragging the one in the middle by the lapel of his coat and the third one was giving the middle one a firm push on the back.

The three of them were handsome enough although Effie quickly discarded the third one as being too young – and vaguely familiar for some reason – and the first one as being too… boorish. The one in the middle, the one who seemed so reluctant to be there and was clearly gritting his teeth, had some charm if one liked the rough country type.

His dirty blond hair was too long and tangled, his stubble was unkempt, his jeans weren't torn because a designer had willed it so, and he clearly had no fashion sense. He also had striking grey eyes that briefly met hers, because the first thing he did was look around the room to assert his surroundings, and she felt something clench in her stomach.

She decided it was the wine and turned toward the bar to inspect her reflection in the big polished mirror. She looked alright – perfect if she did say so herself but, then again, that was the huge plus of being a model and having a stylist for a best friend. Her red dress was tight and hugged her where it counted, the gold jewelry was discreet enough to complete her outfit, her make-up was still intact and she truly needed to send her thanks to the cosmetic company for sending her that free lipstick because there was no stain on the glass and she didn't need to apply a new layer… Her blond hair didn't please her but, then again, it never did and she self-consciously patted the curls that loosely fell around her face, privately lamenting the copper hues that showed when she tilted her head.

"You look gorgeous." Portia said soothingly. "What about me? What do you think?"

"You are always beautiful." Effie answered. "As you are well aware."

Her friend chuckled and tossed her midnight blue dyed hair over her shoulder. "I am."

The cringe-worthy screeching of a mic being turned on made everyone look at the small stage in the corner on which a man with a blinding turquoise tuxedo and an even more impressive quaff flashed them a white teeth smile. "Hello, everyone, I am Caesar Flickerman and I will be Cupid for you tonight!"

In the polite silence, someone let out a loud snort.

Effie wasn't surprised to see it was the unkempt man. She pursed her lips. As ridiculous as the event was, his behavior was rude and she abhorred rudeness.

The host didn't let that deter him though. "Please, proceed to the bar in an orderly fashion, you will find badges to write your name on. Then either take a seat or stand along the wall. Half of you will remain at their table and the other half will move clockwise around the room. In thirty minutes, we'll mix the groups."

Effie was familiar enough with the proceedings. She and Portia took their time gathering their coats and purses to avoid being crushed by the eager crowd massing around the bar. Truly, you would have thought they had never seen a rectangular piece of paper and a safety pin.

She wasn't looking forward to the safety pin. It might damage the dress.

"Excuse me? You're Effie Trinket, right?"

The vaguely familiar young man from earlier was standing right next to her and was flashing her a wolfish grin.

"You do know you are not supposed to talk to people until the speed soulmate finding actually starts, do you?" she retorted, her lips stretching into a grin of her own.

The young man laughed and outstretched a hand. "I'm Finnick. We worked together on a shoot, once?"

"Oh, Finnick Odair, of course!" she exclaimed, shaking his hand. She finally placed his face. He was the new rising star of the modeling agency. Not quite famous yet, not on the same scale she was, but he was getting there. Seneca always sang his praises.

Portia discreetly touched her shoulder and Effie introduced them but her friend quickly excused herself. "Keep chatting. I will get the badges."

"And another glass of wine, please." she requested, turning back to Finnick. "Well, I am sorry to say you are not my soulmate."

Finnick buried his hands in his pockets and shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "I've already found mine, actually. I'm just here for…"

He let his sentence trail off in an embarrassed silence and she decided to save him from awkwardness.

"A laugh?" she finished with a soft chuckle. "I can understand that. I have been dragged here against my will."

His face lightened up with amusement. "Really? That's funny. Chaff and I had the same idea…" He nodded to the table where his other two friends were sitting. The unkempt man was nursing a whiskey, his head propped on his hand, and the one with the missing hand was obviously making fun of him. "Haymitch isn't big on soulmates but we were tired of watching him mop around. We saw the sign outside and we thought… Who knows, right? Maybe it will be good for him to find someone. Soulmate or not."

Haymitch. What a peculiar name.

He must have felt her staring because his grey eyes darted up and straight into hers. He held her gaze for a couple of seconds and then slowly let it roam all over her body… He was so obviously – so openly – picturing her naked that she huffed at the lack of manners. She didn't object to his checking her out – she was attractive, it was a common reaction for men and women alike to imagine her naked – but she did object to the lack of discretion. Manners, as her mother would have said.

Again she felt that weird clenching sensation in her stomach. She deliberately tossed him an unimpressed look and turned aside so he wouldn't be in her line of sight anymore. Still, she felt his stare linger, particularly on her lower back.

The rudeness of some people, the rudeness!

She directed the conversation to safer waters than the strange company Finnick liked to keep. They politely chatted about the modeling agency they both belonged to, about the young man's upcoming photoshoots and any advice she could give him. She found herself actually liking him. He was polite, nice and attractive enough. It was a shame he was so young – she didn't mind a small age difference but she liked her men older, always had – and had apparently already found his soulmate – a marine biologist named Annie Cresta who, he informed her, he was determined to marry within the year.

"Alright!" Caesar cheerfully boomed in his mic. "Please, put your badge on and get ready."

Effie and Finnick said their goodbyes, she accepted the badge and the glass of wine Portia offered her and opted to move around the room rather than take a seat. Her figure looked best when she was walking and while she hadn't yet found anyone she would like to possibly sleep with, she liked to be prepared. Portia preferred to sit down – probably because the handsome man they had noticed before was in the standing group and thus she wouldn't have to wait another half hour to meet him; it was forcing fate but who was Effie to judge? She put her coat and purse aside so she wouldn't have to carry them but not far enough that she wouldn't be able to keep an eye on them. The last thing she needed was to get robbed.

She kept her phone and quickly downloaded one of the nonsense app while Caesar finished explaining the rules. They would have one minute at each table, they had to move clockwise around the room, if they found their soulmate they could simply exit the game, and after half an hour, once everyone had met everyone on the opposite group, they would switch things around so that people in their respective group could meet each other.

"May the odds be ever in your favor!" Caesar wished, clearly invested in his role as Cupid.

Effie took a seat at the closest table. The woman in front of her was twenty years older, had long washed-out blond-grey hair that was in a terrible need of a trim and she had milky grey eyes that immediately made her want to run in the other direction. Alma – as the badge pinned on her chest told her – remained silent so Effie tapped on the app and generated a random sentence.

"A setback of the heart is always a pleasure." she read and looked up, waiting but not really expecting anything. The woman was making a face and she couldn't blame her. "Yes, it does sound rather ridiculous, doesn't it? I take it those are not your words."

"No." the woman snapped.

The timer buzzed and Effie moved along, not sad to leave that one behind. The next one was a man who looked far too eager.

"Fashion gambles with lives, happiness, and even destiny itself!" he exclaimed before she was even properly seated. There was no phone on the table so she concluded he was one of those who liked to actually create those nonsensical sentences.

"So close." she lamented with a fake sigh.

"Really?" the man perked up.

The buzzer saved her from her own lie. The third one was Portia and Effie sighed for real. "I cannot bear thirty minutes of this."

"Make an effort, darling." Portia laughed. "Who knows… Maybe you will find them tonight."

She took a long sip of her wine and sighed again. "You are a terrible friend."

"You will thank me when you have your soulmate." Portia retorted. "Now, wish me luck. The hottie is three tables away."

The hottie's name, she had spied earlier on his badge, was Cinna.

She did wish her best friend luck before moving along. She kept an eye on Portia for the next three rounds and felt some sort of pang when she saw her brighten once the mysterious handsome rock-star look-alike sat down. He never stood up again when the timer buzzed. There were tears in Portia's eyes and they were clutching hands over the table. The way they were looking at each other, you would think the rest of the world had faded away.

Effie knew Portia had found her soulmate.

It was obvious.

A lot of people in the room were staring at them with envy written across their face.

She wanted to go to her friend, congratulate her and be introduced to the man who had been destined to such a fantastic person but she knew she would only have intruded on precious first moments and, besides, she couldn't leave her spot in the line without derailing the whole thing.

She lost count of the people she faced, her eyes still straying to Portia and the stranger from time to time, when she ended up sitting in front of Finnick.

"Two-finger John comes asking for bread." he told her very seriously.

"Love loves to love." she answered, reading whatever had appeared on her app.

"I dare you to say it three times and quicker." Finnick mocked. She rolled her eyes at him but couldn't stop her smile. The young man nodded at where Portia and the stranger were still holding hands. "Your friend found her match."

"It certainly looks like it." she hummed. That or it was love at first sight.

At the next table, she met Finnick's friend Chaff. The man looked at her up and down as she walked to his table, not even trying to hide his leering. "Love, I'm probably not your soulmate but I can show you a good time tonight…"

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. "Does that line ever work for you?"

He laughed good-naturally. He had a good laugh, she decided, too loud for her taste, almost like a dog's bark, but it was boisterous enough to make him likeable.

"More than you know." He smirked and his gaze darted to her next table, the one where the last man of their little trio was sitting facing a clearly annoyed red-haired woman. Not that Effie had been keeping track of him but he hadn't been paying attention to any of the people who had sat down in front of him. Chaff noticed her glancing and winced. "Don't mind Haymitch too much. He's having a rough patch."

The timer buzzed on that strange warning and she took her phone and her almost empty glass of chardonnay and crossed the small distance to the next table. She was irritated that the infamous Haymitch couldn't even be bothered to look up after having checked her out so thoroughly earlier. She did look at her best when she was walking, particularly when she put that little swing in her hips.

He didn't look up from his glass of whiskey when she sat down either, he didn't say anything at all, and she wondered if he had been doing that all night, letting people speak first and not even bothering to dismiss them when whatever they said didn't match his soulmate words. He was so unpleasant that she refused to play his game.

She cleared her throat.

It took him so long to drag his eyes up from his glass that she wondered just how drunk he was. Tipsy was a given. His gaze seemed to spark with interest but it might just have been a trick of the light, the candle between them did toss some strange shadows on the rough wood of the table.

They stared at each other for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than seconds.

Her stomach was doing that weird clenching thing again and she hoped she wasn't coming down with a bug or something equally unpleasant. It felt a little like trepidation but it was ridiculous because the chances that…

"Bozo the clown called…" he sneered and her heart started racing in her chest. "He wants his make-up back."

It wasn't something he had made up as a joke either. He clearly meant it. He clearly meant every rude word of it.

Twenty-five years.

She had had those words branded on her inner thigh for twenty-five years and she had always found them terribly rude and uncouth but had hoped, despite her best judgment, that someone would eventually utter them on a photoshoot when she was wearing a particularly outrageous make-up or that there would, at least, be a good explanation for someone to offer them as first words.

And yet there he was, easy as you pleased, simply being not only rude but mean.

And that man was her soulmate.

That man had sentenced her to have those ridiculous humiliating words branded on her body for eternity.

She decided there and then that she would go to the closest tattoo parlor first thing the next day and would do whatever was necessary to have those words covered. Obliterated. Who needed a soulmate anyway?

The timer buzzed but she didn't move, not even when the man who was supposed to take her place hovered uncertainly next to her chair, unwilling to ask her if she was going to move on because then that would have been the first words she or Haymitch would hear from him and…

Haymitch was still staring at her but he looked a little more alert now, a little less drunk.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, straightening up. "Cat got your tongue?"

It was uncertain, nervous…

She wondered if he had felt his stomach clench too when he had looked at her. How fitting that the warning that your soulmate was near felt like stomach cramps.

She realized she was clutching her phone so hard her fingers hurt and she slowly forced herself to relax, loosen the tension in her shoulders, jut her chin higher…

"Please, do not hold up the line!" Caesar demanded in his mic, with a touch of nervousness. She was probably derailing the whole carefully thought through speed soulmate finding process but she couldn't even care. Not about that and not about the attention they were gathering.

She thought about simply standing up and storming off, leaving him with the uncertainty for the rest of his life but, in the end, she thought it would be a far more appropriate punishment to let him know what he was missing. She was beautiful and he wasn't even in her league.

"I would not get too close to that candle…" she hissed when he leaned toward her a bit, clearly about to impart another of his thoughtful comments. "...you are so full of alcohol you might catch fire."

He violently recoiled but she didn't stay to see how he would react. She doubted he was in any state to stand anyway. Certainly not by himself.

She stormed where she had left her coat and her purse, batting her fake eyelashes to fight the ridiculous tears that burned her eyes. There was a big lump in her throat that she swallowed back as she pushed the door of the bar open. The air outside was freezing but it felt good on her flushed cheeks.

She rummaged in her purse for her keys, remembered only too late that they had taken Portia's car, and cursed. She unlocked her phone to order a ride but, just then, the door to the bar opened again and Haymitch staggered out, his coat still half on. He looked wildly around him and seemed to relax when he spotted her. He finished shouldering on his coat and she quickly decided she could just as well walk home.

She took off down the street, annoyed by the dress that kept inching up with every of her angry step and by the heels that hadn't been made for trekking all the way across town. Her feet would bleed by the time she reached her destination.

Of course, he was taller than she was – at least, he would have been taller if she hadn't been wearing heels – and he caught up with her in seconds.

"Effie."

Her name sounded rough and strange on his tongue.

"How do you know my name?" she snarled.

For a moment, she dared hope the whole thing was a setup. Portia knew her soulmate words so perhaps the whole thing was a joke, perhaps she had paid that man to… But his first words would still be the same and that might still mean… Besides, Portia would never. She had other friends whose friendship was cruel and filled with rivalry but not Portia.

"The… thingy." Haymitch said, sounding a tad sheepish, as he waved at a spot on his own shirt under his open coat. At his badge. His handwriting was atrocious. Why wasn't she surprised?

She glanced down at her own chest and almost tore the safety pin from her dress. She tossed the whole thing on the pavement. He looked like he wanted to make some comment about trash and where it belonged – in a bin and not on the pavement, she agreed but she was angry – but wisely refrained from saying anything about it.

"Look…" he tried. "I'm…"

"If you say you are sorry, I will slap you." she warned, quickening her strides.

He frowned, looking particularly suspicious."Okay? Works for me. I ain't really the sorry kind of guy anyway."

She would have crossed the street even though the sign was red for pedestrian if he hadn't stopped her by grabbing her arm. Good thing too because a car flew past just at that moment. She still shrugged his hand of and whirled around to face him, her features contorted with fury.

"Do not presume it is because I feel you do not owe me an apology." she snapped. "You do owe me an apology but I find I am not inclined to accept it regardless. Do you know how long I knew you would be a rude nasty person? I never wanted to meet you. Who wants a rude nasty soulmate? No one, that's who."

She turned around and stormed down the street again, leaving him to stand there or catch up.

He caught up.

"Hey!" he scowled. "What should I say, sweetheart? Your soulmate words told me I'd be a drunk before I was even old enough to have a drink."

She scoffed and aggressively fished around her purse until she found her cigarettes. She wedged one between her lips and looked for her lighter without finding it.

Oh, how she hated everything about that night… Even the way he was calling her sweetheart… Dismissive and condescending… It was just her luck to have a soulmate like that, just her luck.

"You smoke?" He made a face. "I hate the smell."

"Good thing there clearly has been a mistake and we are not going to pursue this soulmate thing, then, isn't it?" she muttered around the butt of her cigarette.

She ended up almost dropping her purse in her hopeless quest for her lighter and he sighed. He took something out of his pocket and, next thing she knew, there was a lit match next to her mouth, the flame flickering hard in time with their long strides.

"I'm gonna try not to breathe too hard on it." He snorted. "Wouldn't want to catch fire and everything."

She stopped her mad dash down the street and cupped her hands around the end of her cigarette to let him light it for her.

"If you do not smoke why do you keep matches in your pockets?" she challenged, blowing out some smoke.

He smirked at her and, without its mocking edge, it was actually… No… It was infuriating all the same.

"Cause it's a good way to pick up girls who do." he retorted. He tilted his head, his grey eyes twinkling with a teasing glint. "Or maybe I'd just felt my soulmate'd be a smoker."

"With first words like that, you could not have been looking for me." she argued with a huff. Everyone was careful with their words when they met someone else for the first time. You had to be when you knew those words would be written somewhere on someone's skin. She started walking again but not at such a brisk pace. "I highly doubt you keep matches in your pocket in the faint hope I would one day need them."

"Do you always talk like that?" he asked and he sounded far too amused.

"Do you mean properly?" she replied, chancing a glance at him. He was watching her but his face was blank. The only thing that gave away the fact that he found her funny – funny indeed, she wasn't trying to be funny, she was incensed – was the twinkle in his eyes. He did have startling grey eyes. And he also had nice hands. She had noticed when he had lit her cigarette. She did like nice strong hands. But she did not like him. Not at all. Perhaps he was handsome for his type but she could never accept rude. "I did notice you have a tendency to butcher grammar."

"I meant posh." he clarified, apparently not at all offended by her remarks about his grammar. "Like something crawled up your ass and died there."

She was so shocked she gaped at him. Her cigarette almost fell from her mouth and that wasn't at all the sexiest display.

"How… You… This…" she stuttered and then she tossed both hands in the air, purse and cigarette along with them, and quickened her pace. "Let's pretend we never met. A lot of people never meet their soulmate and live very happy lives. We will just have to be one of them."

He didn't try to catch up with her again.

She walked ahead for a few minutes, nervously smoking her cigarette, aware he was still following her because she could hear the echo of his footsteps. When her cigarette was finished and she had no choice but toss it on the pavement and pause to crush it under her heel, she finally looked back. He slowly bridged the distance that separated them.

"Did you hope to meet your soulmate?" she asked.

He lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. His hands were in his pockets and he had buttoned up his grey coat at some point . "Not really, no."

She tilted her head. "Then why are you still following me?"

He studied her for a second and then looked away at the shop window in front of which they had stopped. It was a bakery and there were darling mouth-watering cakes on display.

"Cause it ain't the nicest neighborhood and you're fucking hot." he muttered. "Ain't really safe for you to walk alone."

That was so not what she had been expecting him to answer that she almost gaped again. Almost. She wouldn't be caught dead impersonating a fish twice in the same night.

"That is surprisingly gentlemanly of you." she commented.

"I ain't a gentleman." he denied and then chuckled. "Hell, I'm probably the opposite of the kind of guys you usually date…"

She didn't bother refuting that because it was obvious, she simply lifted an eyebrow. "I do not only date men. How old-fashioned of you to assume! But, men or women, it is true you do not hold a candle to them."

He was speechless for a moment but it didn't last long. Next thing she knew he was licking his lips and sighing. "Look, I'm a bitter old drunk who's got too much trauma baggage… Ain't exactly the stuff of dream when soulmates are concerned…"

She pursed her lips and studied him. "You are not that old."

She chose to pass on the drunk part. She wasn't sure if it was an euphemism or an actual problem of his and she wasn't sure she wanted to tackle that on their first meeting.

"I'm thirty." he volunteered.

"That is not old at all." she countered. It used to feel like it was, once. Thirty had been a lifetime away to her eighteen year-old self. But then she had hit twenty-five and it hadn't seemed that old anymore.

"It's old for me." he dismissed, dragging his gaze away from the cakes on displays and back to her. "Point is… You're hot and you're feisty and if you were anyone else I'd be trying to get into your pants but I'm not looking for anything serious. Soulmate sounds serious."

There was this jolt every time their eyes met and she briefly wondered if he felt it too, if it was the soulmate bond or just plain old chemistry.

She thought of Portia with a pang of jealousy. It had seemed so easy for her… She had found her soulmate and it had all looked like rainbows and butterflies. He had probably already swept her up her feet by then. She had probably not even noticed the whole drama surrounding Effie and Haymitch.

Of course, her soulmate couldn't be easy. Of course.

At least he thought she was hot – despite the make-up he apparently wasn't a fan of. And feisty. Whatever that was supposed to mean. She chose to take it as a compliment.

"You do realize other men would be killing for the chance of being my soulmate, don't you?" she scorned. She didn't like getting the I don't want anything serious speech from her soulmate, she didn't like getting that speech at all. If anyone was to give that speech, it would be her and on her terms. "I am a model, a fairly famous one at that. Not only am I gorgeous, I am wealthy, smart enough and not quite as good at holding a grudge as I should be. I will take that apology now."

He stared at her, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, clearly taken aback. In the end, he let out a long mocking whistle. "You're the most arrogant girl I've ever met."

She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes at him and tilted her head, hands finding her hips. "That is not an apology."

"I ain't going to apologize." he scoffed.

"Then I will not let you buy me that drink." she retorted.

"What didn't you understand when I told you I didn't want anything serious?" he spat. "I ain't buying you a drink. I ain't interested in this soulmate thing. The fuck did I even do to end up with someone like you for a soulmate?"

He looked stricken by what had just come out of his mouth but she doubted it had to do with how upsetting it could have been for her to hear. There was guilt and regret and self-loathing battling all over his face. Whatever had happened to him, she instinctively knew it had been bad.

"Something very good I would say." She forced some cheer in her voice.

He sneered but it wasn't really directed at her. "If you knew half of it…"

"I feel generous tonight, you can tell me all about it." she granted. A shame the bakery was closed for the night, those cakes did look delicious.

"You're deluded." he accused.

"Manners." she chided, peering through the shop window. She might come back the next day. Although she ought to be careful with her diet but…

"Ten minutes ago you wanted nothing to do with me and now you're saying you wanna give this a shot?" he scowled.

"What can I say? Your charm won me over." she deadpanned, glancing up to note the name. Mellark's Bakery. She looked around for a street name or a familiar landmark and realized she had no clue at all where she was. All in all, it was probably a good thing Haymitch had followed her.

"You're crazy!" he spat again and then started laughing a bitter broken laugh. "That's my punishment, right? I get a crazy soulmate who wears a can of paint on her face!" He shook his head. "Screw fate. I ain't doing this. I ain't!"

He walked away.

She watched him leave, torn between the urge to run after him and the relief to be able to put that whole night behind her. Tomorrow would be a brand new day. She knew Finnick was friend with him and Seneca knew how to contact Finnick. If she wanted to find him again, the possibility would be there.

She was just about to turn away and leave the other way, wherever it might lead her, when he abruptly whirled around and came stalking back, murder in his strides.

"Why did you change your mind?" he barked.

"I told you." she hissed, irritated by his tone. "It must have been your charm."

He rolled his eyes but some of his annoyance seemed to melt. "Come one. Stop fucking with me."

"Language." She let out a long suffering sigh. "I assure you there will be no… fucking unless you learn to mind your language."

"Maybe I could teach you to color yours a bit, sweetheart…" he taunted. "Maybe I could even knock that pole off your ass."

"My name is Effie, not sweetheart." she snapped, refusing to take the bait. Let him assume she was a prude if that amused him. What did she care?

"What made you change your mind? Sweetheart." It was almost a snarl this time and he took a step closer, invading her space. She could feel his breath on her face and it didn't smell as pleasant as she would have liked her soulmate's breath to smell.

She snarled right back though, jutted her chin higher, refusing to be intimidated. "I do not like being told what to do. It is one thing for me to decide I do not like you and entirely another for you to reject me. I will not be rejected. I will decide if we act on the soulmate bond or not."

He scowled. "You're impossible."

"You are impossible." she retorted. "This is impossible."

"Glad we agree." he sneered.

Her eyes darted to his lips.

It was because of the sneer.

Just because of the sneer.

And she definitely did not thought they were close enough to kiss.

And she did not let herself entertain the idea.

Where had the desire come from? Her cheeks were burning, the staring was going on too long, the silence was stretching… He shifted, leaned in that little bit more… She slightly tilted her head in answer…

And then he started striding away again, leaving her standing there, flushed and aroused.

That was one insult too many.

"I did not want to pursue this anyway!" she called after him, her feelings hurt.

She did turn around and walk this time. And she did not look back. And if there were tears in her eyes, she batted them away.

The worst thing was…

She wasn't surprised when someone grabbed her arm and whirled her around.

A part of her had expected it.

A part of her also expected the kiss.

Another part of her knew he was half-waiting for her to slap him and send him packing, that he almost hoped she would because it would make it easier for him. She wasn't sure how she knew but she did.

The kiss was hard, challenging… His tongue forced its way in her mouth and he tasted like whiskey. She had never liked whiskey. She countered by sliding her fingers in his hair and tugging just enough that it would sting… He pushed her against the cold glass of the bakery's shop window. The kiss turned violent, dirty… His stubble rubbed hard against her chin, her jaw… She would have marks, she knew but she couldn't care… She couldn't care because his hands had found her waist and were trailing their way up… She accidentally scratched his neck with her nails and he grunted in her mouth, his hips jerking forward…

"You'd be better off without me." he warned against her lips.

She let out a rare but elegant snort. "You clearly would not be."

She expected another gibe but he drew his head back instead. Their entire bodies were still flushed tight together, so tight she could feel the beginning of his erection against her stomach, so tight they would probably get arrested for indecency if they didn't move soon… His breath played on her lips and she shivered.

"You're fucking perfect…" he told her. "If I was a better man, I'd do you a favor and walk away… But you're fucking perfect…"

She wasn't sure she could say the reverse was true because she wasn't sure he was perfect for her. But he needed her. He so obviously needed her…

"Can I see them?" she asked. "The soulmate words?"

He stepped back slowly, not quite enough not to still be in her space anymore, and unbuttoned his coat. Then he pulled his woolen sweater and his undershirt up with one hand and tugged his pants down as much as they would go with the belt still on. It was enough for her to guess at the hint of pale hair and the waistband of his underwear. It was also enough for to spot her words in her neat handwriting, hidden in the triangle under his hip bone.

Part of the word close was missing, as was candle and catch. A big swollen scar ran across her mark, slashing his entire side, so terrible and ugly looking that she instinctively knew the injury must have been life-threatening.

He could have died before she had even met him.

She reached out for her words, brushed her fingertips against them and then ended up retracing the impressive length of the scar.

He sucked in a breath. "You keep touching me like that, sweetheart, we're gonna have a problem."

She looked up at him, a smile playing on her lips. "Would that truly be a problem though?"

She almost told him again to forget the pet name but she didn't mind it that much this time. When he wasn't being a condescending jerk, it didn't sound that tacky.

"Depends if the owner frowns on people fucking in front of their bakery." he joked, nodding at the shop window.

She didn't bat an eyelash but her smile turned salacious. Her voice was a seductive purr. "I bet we could give them such a show they would not complain."

She decided she loved leaving him speechless.

He licked his lips and took another step back, tugging his shirt down. She dropped her hand but immediately regretted the loss of contact.

"Can I see yours?" he asked and when she frowned in question, he clarified. "The words."

"Oh…" She flashed him another grin. "Perhaps. Not in public though. Not if you do not wish to give the bakery's owners a show."

That caught his attention fast. "Where are they?"

"Walk me home if you wish to find out." she dared him.

She ducked past him and sauntered away, not even bothering to hide her smile when he quickly appeared at her side, matching his pace to hers.

"You know…" he drawled out. "Most people have their soulmate words on normal places like the wrist or something."

"I am not most people and from what I can see neither are you." she dismissed.

"Could be a serial killer for all you know." he insisted. "You're playing with fire asking strangers to walk you home when you're wearing that sort of dress…"

The comment about the dress pleased her but she bit back her smile. "You are not a stranger. You are my soulmate." Although she supposed even serial killers must have had soulmates. She glanced at him, calculating. "Are you a serial killer?"

She expected another joke, not his face closing off. "I've killed people, lots of people. Might as well put that out there now. Not for pleasure though." He paused for a second and then shrugged. "That's in the past. Better leave it there."

The confession threw her but she rolled with it. That was her gift. She would roll with anything, plant a smile on her smile, school her features and just… play the game.

"Were you a mob hitman?" she asked.

He snorted and shook his head. "Soldier."

Ah. That actually explained some of his behavior. And the scar.

She wrapped her arms around his and pretended she didn't notice his flinch. "If you were so opposed to the idea of meeting your soulmate, why did you come after me?"

She didn't ask what he had been doing there in the first place since Finnick had already told her that they had dragged him to the speed soulmate finding but he could have chosen to remain inside and let her vanish into the night.

"Maybe I didn't." he challenged. "You're so full of yourself… Maybe I was just gonna leave. Besides… You were the one standing there waiting for me."

"I was not waiting for you, I was about to call for a car." she refuted. "And I saw the look on your face when you spotted me. You were in a hurry too. You were coming after me, why can't you admit it?"

"Okay. Fine. Maybe I was." he grumbled. "What can I say? You're hot and I was an ass so…"

She grinned and pressed a little tighter against his side. "Apology accepted."

"Wasn't an apology." he argued.

"It was certainly a poorly worded apology but I will take it." she graciously acknowledged.

He opened his mouth and then closed it with a sigh. "You think most soulmates bicker like an old married couple within an hour of meeting each other or are we setting up a record, here?"

"Why, Haymitch…" She looked up at him, battling her eyelashes… It was the first time she used his name too and he startled a little but not in a bad way. "Is that a proposal?"

The look on his face… He looked so panicked that she burst out laughing. She didn't remember the last time she had laughed like that, without having to fake her amusement or restrain it into something seemly. She couldn't remember when she had last simply laughed without worrying about how it made her look or what people would think.

"You're mean." he sulked. "Figures, I've got a mean soulmate."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, tightening her hold on his arm because her heels were starting to hurt her feet and her balance wasn't optimal. "I will be very nice with you so you might forgive me, darling."

He seemed to like when she purred like that. She would have to remember to purr some more. Or, perhaps, to dare him to make her purr some more.

"Darling?" he grumbled. "I ain't some domesticated cat, sweetheart."

"Two can play at the pet names game, honey." she shot back.

"Fine. Princess." He scoffed.

She pouted and then sighed. "I do not dislike princess, actually. It is acceptable."

"You certainly talk like one." he mocked.

"Do not worry, I will teach you proper English in due time." she teased right back.

It was tentative but she felt his head slowly tilt to rest on top of hers. It wasn't the most comfortable position to walk in and she could tell he was a little ill-at-ease.

"I'm glad you're witty." he said, seemingly out of the blue. "I mean… You're fucking hot and that's… That's good. But…"

"Good." she cut him off, taking pain to hide her amusement and sound neutral.

"More than good." he amended, a little panicky.

She bit down on her bottom lip. "Just more than good?"

"Come on…" he scowled. "You know you look…" He stopped and took his head off the top of hers. "Are you making fun of me?"

She propped her chin on his shoulder to look up at him. "I thought you were glad I was witty?"

She yelped when she found herself pinned to a nearby lamppost, his mouth torturing hers again. That kiss was no less dirty than the previous one but it was a little less brutal. One of his hand found her butt and squeezed though.

"Ruffian." she accused. She almost laughed again. She felt drunk. She wondered if that was a normal side effect of finding one's soulmate or if it was all the whiskey Haymitch had drunk that was making her inebriated through the kissing.

He drew back to give her one long searching look and then he smirked that slow smirk that, she was quickly learning, made butterflies flutter in her stomach.

"And doesn't that float your boat…" he taunted. "Got a thing for the bad boy, princess?"

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the lapels of his coat but didn't tug him closer just yet. "What do you know… Perhaps we are made for each other after all…"

And, perhaps, she could make her peace with that.

Even if it sentenced her to have a clown's name branded on her inner thigh for all eternity.


I spent all day writing it yesterday so I hope you liked it! Let me know your thoughts!