If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know? Lovino isn't so sure when the guy at the end of his wait isn't exactly his idea of an ideal match. TiMER AU
The little clock in my wrist itches as I fidget, pushing around a noodle of crusty mac and cheese on my plate. I check my Timer; Four minutes Twenty seconds 'till I meet my soulmate. Bella reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze as I try to sort through the whirlwind of faces swarming the lunch room. It's no use. Everything's a blur of moving bodies and bubbling chatter. My other could be any one of them.
"I'm sure they'll be lovely," Bella says soothingly, smoothing a thumb over my knuckles.
"Sure," I agree, my voice hollow. I pull my hands away. They shake in my lap. I tap my foot, bite my lip. When did sitting still become so hard?
There's no reason to be nervous. I know what's going to happen when I zero out. I'm going to tell this supposed perfect match to hit the road. That's the plan. I don't need a rock like that weighing me down. Damn straight. Lovino is a strong independent man who don't need no soulmate. Yeah.
"I bet it'll be a reallllllly pretty girl." Feliciano joins in. I nod, trying to swallow the lump of absolute terror in my throat. Feliciano looks down at his wrist, at his own Timer, ticking away for only three more months.
The table falls into a heavy silence.
Nonno had yelled at me when I'd told him I wanted to stay home from school today. He told me that today was a good day, a day for excitement. I told him this was just another crapshoot money making scheme formulated by just another bullshit conformist society trying to convince us we're happy. He dragged me out the door by my collar.
I still haven't told anyone that I don't plan on starting a relationship with my match. They'd be ballistic. Feli would definitely cry.
I stand abruptly, spitting some nonsense about needing some air and my tablemates nod understandingly. Ever since me and Feliciano had our Timers installed it's been one long string of pitying encouragements. The countdowns had been ridiculously low for our ages, garnering the constant audience of our classmates. Everyone was curious; even the scumbags who hate my guts wanted to know what was the dealio. It was intrusive questions and curious looks galore. No one in school has a countdown like ours, not even close, certainly not down to the second. We'd checked. It was just as well. I'd probably have to kill myself if I knew I was on the same wavelength as one the idiots in this hell hole... Friends and family excluded, of course.
two minutes thirty seconds
When my countdown hit one week it was the end of all things. I'd tried to keep it hidden, wore long sleeved shirts and cardigans and jackets, but when confronted about it and asked very seriously by several concerned parties if I was harming myself I had to fess up.
No one could shut up about it for days. It was all they wanted to talk about. How my life was going to change forever, how there was no going back. This was the inciting incident for my entire existence, everyone had made that abundantly clear. Bull shit. I lived well enough before zeroing out and I'll live well enough after. There might not even be anyone in the end. I may not have a soulmate.
I didn't want this to begin with. I fought for years against it. But Feliciano, oh dear sweet Feliciano, just had to know. Fuck him. Fuck this. I don't need any of this. I don't need a fucking soul mate.
I break into a sprint, shoving congregating teens out of the way as I make for the cafeteria doors. They look at me curiously as I leave. All of them know. Everyone knows. This is all just some sick entertainment for these bastards. Well fuck them too.
My heart is pounding. I feel like I'm going to throw up. One minute left. Just one.
I can hear the numbers sinking down from sixty, echoing through my head like a phantom voice, joined by another telling me to just go back to the cafeteria, that it's not as absolutely, utterly terrifying as it seems. Go back.
I keep running. I never really was one for subordination.
The halls are absolutely barren and I wonder, through a haze of terror, if I really am meant to be alone forever.
thirty seconds
I can't hear anything over the frantic thump of my heart. Maybe I'll have a heart attack and die. Maybe it'll all end here.
twenty seconds
I'm not ready. I've never been less prepared for anything in my entire life. This trumps all those failed Trig tests by a million miles.
fifteen
I trip, probably over nothing, but I still end up on the floor. Just my luck.
ten
I give up. I come up to a hunched squat, like a gargoyle, but I can't get my legs to stand. The beeping of my timer telling me goddamn destiny is just a moment away.
nine
What a fitting way to meet.
eight
With me, a fucking mess on the floor.
seven
They'll probably be relieved that I'm letting them go.
I hope I get a concussion and die.
six
I hope they get a concussion and die.
five
Why am I such a clumsy little shit?
four
oh god no.
three
Is it possible for a heart to altogether stop?
two
what about the world
one
"Oh my god! A-are you okay?"
A sweaty hand (gross) wraps around mine and I'm limp as I let it pull me to my feet. It moves up to my bicep, helping me right myself, and I'm distantly grateful because at this moment everything seems to be spinning.
I nod numbly, trying to replace the scowl I'd lost but the tight, sharp ringing from my wrist alerting me that my soulmate has arrived knocks the wind out of me all over again. The same obnoxious noise spills from person standing before me.
The grip on my arm tightens, it's owner letting out an astonished, "...Oh,"
His green eyes bore into mine.
Well shit.
It's a guy.
~0000~
I sip my coffee, trying to focus my eyes on anything that isn't the 6 foot spaniard across the table from me. He's been smiling since the moment I'd managed to convince him that I was okay after that slip in the hallway. He looks almost relieved.
The coffee shop is quiet, a few people here and there, working or staring off into space. The hushed atmosphere only draws more attention to how viciously gaping the silence between us is. Normally I don't condone skipping school (usually just because I'm too chicken shit to sneak off campus alone, but whatever), but I think I can ease back on my rigorous and totally existent moral code for a meeting with my soulmate. An extremely awkward meeting. I don't really remember much about leaving the school, but I think he may have suggested we go get coffee and talk, and I may have muttered several expletives under my breath but agreed anyway.
"So... I guess we're soulmates," he says. He gives a breathless laugh, bending a stirring straw with twitching fingers.
I pick absently at the Timer in my wrist, frozen on an empty zero. It's weird, not having the constant countdown staring up at me. Both liberating and achingly empty. Yuck.
"Yeah," I agree, "Looks like it."
His smile widens into a grin and he laughs again, easing back in his chair.
"I have so much to..."
"What?" I ask. It doesn't come out as demanding as I'd like.
"I just have so much I want to ask you..."
He tells me his name is Antonio and that he just moved here from someplace far away and warm. I make a valid effort to not listen as I watch the whipped cream melt into the coffee in my cup. Antonio wants to know everything about me. Everything. Where I went to middle school, what my favorite color is, how I start my day. I answer his questions in as few words as possible and when he asks me what my middle name is I decide it's time to cut the crap. No use evading the inevitable.
"Look, Antonio," I say, mustering the last of my courage, "I'm not really... I don't want... I can't do the whole 'soulmates' thing, alright?"
His smile drops a little, "What do you mean?"
"It means I just fucking can't, okay?" I try to keep my voice steeled because I have to be sure about this. I am sure. Fucking right as rain.
He slumps forward a bit, staring down at his hardly touched cup, head cocked to the side in thought.
"I...I'm sorry if this ruins your life plan or whatever, but it's just not happening, not with me."
"...I see." Antonio runs his fingers over the marble top of the table, thinking for a few moments.
"Can I still talk to you?" he wonders quietly.
"What?"
"I mean," he says, a bit louder now, "I get that you don't want to deal with soulmate stuff, but I like you and I like talking to you and maybe someday you'll change your mind about us, and we're supposed to be a perfect match so we must be able to get along somewhat, so...can I?"
He looks at me, hurt and hopeful at the same time.
I look down at my wrist again. I'll have to get the dead Timer removed eventually. What a hassle. I should tell him no, that talking would definitely only make this harder for the both of us and that it'd be best to just go our separate ways. That's what I want. That's what I need.
"...Your funeral," I say softly. His face brightens instantly.
When did I become such a goddamn pushover? And when did talking to me become comparable with death?
AN: I love the movie TiMER. The concept is just so adorable and scary and perfect and I love Timer AUs and the world is a wonderful place. Thank you for reading! Reviews are love and extraordinarily appreciated!