so I read a piece for another fandom that was a soulmate AU, with the marks, of course. it was AMAZING. I was so inspired, I wrote a Quintis one. it's intended to be a one-shot and nothing more. hope you enjoy.
Happy was four when she first heard a rumor about soulmates. Some kids mentioned it around her in the orphanage. Not directly to her, obviously, because they never talked to her.
She didn't give the idea any attention. That was the age when kids fantasized and dreamt big. Meanwhile, Happy was grounded in reality. Always. She followed logic. She didn't follow make-believe.
An idea that every person had a "soulmate" with a mark matching identically to one they had? Stupidest thing she ever heard. And she heard a lot of stupid things at the orphanage.
She didn't even have any birthmarks or scars or any kind of unique marks on her body. She differed from expectations. Just another piece of evidence to debunk the theory.
She never thought about it again until she turned ten, all of six years later. A mark appeared on her wrist. Totally out of the blue. She woke up one day and it was there.
Happy thought it looked like a flame, small and already assimilated to part of her skin.
She tried washing it off, scrubbing vigorously at her wrist until it bled. At first, she considered the possibility that one or some of the girls in the orphanage were playing a lame prank on her. But none of them were smart enough to use a material that would stay as well as this did. They would have just grabbed a cheap marker and scribbled on her forehead while she was asleep. Still, she kept the idea in the back of her mind. It couldn't have been a bruise or a scar. It seemed like a birthmark, something imprinted on her skin like a tattoo. And she had no idea where it came from.
Fourteen years later, she'd gotten used to the thing. It hadn't taken her long to start ignoring the mark.
She'd heard more of the soulmate rumor as she grew older. She heard whispers of other marks in the corners of restaurants, back isles of grocery stores, and sometimes even across stalls in public bathrooms. Maybe she would've heard it more often if she actually interacted with the world like a normal.
Every time, she grew frustrated. How were people so unbelievably stupid? Anyone with common sense never would've even considered it. There was no such thing as magic or happy endings. So stupid.
But a few months after she'd started working for Walter O'Brien, the damn thing throbbed.
It'd been a week since Dr. Jackass Curtis took the fifth desk in their dingy garage. He liked nothing more than to annoy and psychoanalyze everyone, her in particular. She didn't know why. But she kept pressing Walter to fire him. He countered with an excuse as to why Toby was so valuable and told her he wouldn't let the shrink go. Something about compromising the company's efficiency. She hadn't really listened.
Toby had been pestering her all day, like usual. But so had Mark. In a different way, though. Usually she didn't notice behaviors, but she noticed the way he lingered after he made comments and didn't leave until he saw her irritated reaction. It was too obvious to miss. Toby had stood up for her and told Mark to buzz off. Mark actually listened.
Happy became annoyed that Toby thought she couldn't defend herself and stormed in the other direction. But when she took her first step, her wrist throbbed. She had to catch her breath. It pounded against her skin, like part of her pulse. She'd never experienced anything like it. The pain squeezed her chest, too. She gulped down and tried to swallow. It wouldn't go easy.
Within the next five minutes, she started to feel almost normal again. Almost.
Something lingered. It wasn't necessarily the same thing as before, more of a constant awareness of her mark being there. It was like consistently having an itch that couldn't be scratched away.
Happy wanted to rip the damn thing off her skin. But it wouldn't work without seriously injuring herself. And she wasn't about to do that.
So she tried her best to ignore it. She became more focused on her job, her projects, anything to distract her from whatever it was. She never mentioned it to anyone. They all would've said she was crazy. She felt like she was.
She blamed it on lack of sleep. That was the only logical solution.
But it continued for a month. She wasn't sure if she could keep blaming her irritability and curt behavior on fatigue, since she knew Walter would demand she get more rest and be upset when she didn't.
Luckily, but later realized to be unluckily, Happy's mark did a weird thing again. She'd grown somewhat accustomed to the strange feeling, though nowhere near fully, and didn't think about it as much anymore. But a part of her head was tethered to it.
Mark had been rude to Happy the whole month. They hated each other. But then he got especially nasty again. Toby stepped in before Happy could counter. That made her pissed. She screamed at Toby. He said he was just trying to help. When she replied she didn't need anyone's help, he grabbed her hand to get her to calm down and protested.
That's when her real hell started. That's when her mark burned. Burned. It seared into her skin like someone lit her wrist on fire. Her heart clenched, stifling the air headed for her chest. Everything in her vision spun. Her mark clawed at the inside of her jacket, in need of something to kill the sudden heat. It spread up her arm.
Happy gasped and reeled back. Toby frowned, asking if she was okay. She pulled away from him. He watched her turn into the other room while repeating his question. But she didn't answer.
Practically running to the bathroom, she slammed the door behind her. Nobody else commented, although Sly looked up.
Happy fell against the door. She gasped for air, but her mouth couldn't take any in. Her chest screamed. She thought she was going to suffocate.
The mark on her wrist throbbed again, setting her pulse on fire.
Toby knocked. Panting, she told him to scram. He waited a few seconds, then she heard his footsteps head the other way.
And that was the beginning of the physical pain. The emotional impact followed soon, though. She thought she was going to suffocate before, but she thought she was going to drown after. The days, the weeks, the months after that was surviving death.
Because she started silently cheering and cursing when he walked in a room. Every damn time. She had to stop herself from grinning. And her stomach exploded, like a fireworks show, from every one of his smiles. A loose flame always painfully sparked something inside when it wasn't a smile for her.
His presence alone brought out the stars in her dark sky, lighting her up in all the ways possible. He made her heart brighter.
And those chocolate brown eyes melted her. If he looked at her with this one expression, both lips stretched to his cheeks, brows raised and gaze settled on her, she had to leave the room.
It. Was. Awful.
She couldn't even think about him without getting anxious.
And all the while, the mark on her wrist forced her to acknowledge it. The burning, searing, throbbing, pulsing pain never stopped when he was around. When he wasn't, it didn't disappear. It only blended in with her heartbeat, still there.
Happy had always been more robotic than human, shutting herself off from the world to prevent feeling anything. But she didn't even recognize herself anymore. This person had romantic thoughts and dreams and constantly struggled to focus on the task at hand. She couldn't get him off her mind. She hated it. She despised it. She hated how human she became. From what? From a guy that enjoyed annoying the hell out of her? From a guy that clearly had no interest in her?
But she also loved how good it made her feel. She got warm. She got happier. In her entire life, she'd never felt happy. She didn't want it to stop. She was hooked.
A few months later, he hugged her. Walter had found a way to prevent the company from going under. They'd all gotten excited, and despite knowing about Happy's intense dislike for physical contact, Toby hugged her anyway.
It amplified.
The pain before was harmless compared to what came next.
That was too much physical touch. The moment his body pressed against hers, the moment she felt his arms wrapped around her, the moment his scruff brushed her cheek, the moment she could hear his breathing in her ear, the moment she smelled his shampoo up close, the moment his warmth became hers, was the moment her life got worse.
Nothing prepared Happy for the constant aching to touch him again. When she saw him, she couldn't get more than a sentence out before she choked on her own lust. If he touched her, even with the slightest brush or graze, lightning prickled every single one of her individual nerves. Her body electrified.
She'd never wanted anything more than to be near him again. She needed to. She had to feel like that again. She had to feel him again.
His warm eyes didn't only make her heart get warm, they made it explode. And every time she finally started mending the pieces, he'd blow them all to bits with a laugh or a terrible joke. She was scattered. Her top notch brain became disorganized and totally out of it.
And it just kept getting worse.
Sometimes her eyes fell to his lips, which was way too dangerous. Dangerous and risky. Because then she couldn't look away. She thought about how badly she wanted to kiss them, how she wanted to take his breath away and never give it back, how she wanted to melt into him like they were two tendrils of the same flame finding each other in the heat.
Dangerous.
Desperately, Happy thought about slamming him into a wall and kissing him senseless. The idea made her chest flutter and her head spin. And, of course, it made the mark on her wrist scream at her to have it happen.
But there were one hundred reasons why she couldn't. Firstly, she knew for a fact that he didn't feel the same about her. Secondly, it put their jobs at risk.
She'd considered leaving, forgetting Toby and trying to move past everything, but she decided on staying for Walter. And Sly.
And...Toby.
Toby made her feel awful and so good all at once. His lip bites and tight leather jacket and jokes and "good mornings" and "good nights" and all the things in between she just couldn't forget.
It was hell to be around him.
But when she went home at night, when she turned off the bedroom light and pulled up the blankets for warmth, she craved him.
It was hell to not be around him.
She couldn't get her head on right.
Her wrist whimpered and agonized. The pain hissed like a seething fire. It acted up when he was around. It distracted her when she desperately tried to focus on something other than Toby.
They started getting closer. She would find extra tasks to do around the garage at night so she didn't leave before him. He would hop on her desk to ask her random questions when they were supposed to be working. They learned each other's favorite drinks and picked them up before getting to the garage. They made rituals out of little things, deeming Wednesdays as movie night and alternating who brought the donuts every morning. He continued pestering her, but not nearly as much, since he didn't have to strive for her attention anymore.
Happy was simultaneously dying but feeling more alive than she'd ever felt. Every minute with him, she was painfully aware of her mark and her feelings, and his lack of them.
Yeah, hell was definitely a four letter word, but it was spelled T-o-b-y and tore her heart to shreds.
Happy was twenty five when she finally admitted she was in love. She was suffocating because she couldn't ever get enough air, and she was drowning because the whirlwind of intensity pulled her under without letting her come back up. It was months of never breathing.
She'd never known what love meant, but being around him taught her. She learned love was forgetting something in her car so she had to go past him at his desk and get it. Love was offering to pick up lunch just to finally get a minute to breath but then to see the smile on his face when she handed him a takeout box. Love was flicking a loose string off his shoulder and melting into putty because she was touching him so close to his face.
Their friendship became more. Almost every night, they did something together. They made jokes and pulled an occasional prank on Walter. They shared breakfast, walking into work side by side. Physical contact happened almost daily. It was terribly great and greatly terrible.
When he admitted she was his best friend, the force was earth shattering. Her wrist sobbed scorching tears. She tried to look grateful. But he was a damn genius doctor. He saw through. He worriedly ran his tongue across his lips and she almost jumped on him. Claiming she had to go, she made an excuse as to why. In a matter of seconds, she slipped on her coat and reached the door. He called after her, but she kept going, storming to the parking lot.
Happy couldn't see straight. She couldn't formulate any coherent thoughts.
Her wrist screamed. It screamed and screamed and screamed. She remembered the girl in the orphanage, the one with the braided pigtails who spent an hour scrubbing at the weird new mark on her wrist.
It screamed a little more, hissing like a fire after someone just added more wood. She tried to breathe. No success. Big surprise.
She rolled up her sleeve, intending to scratch the hell out of her wrist. But she didn't get that far.
Her mark was glowing. And not just reflecting off the moonlight or anything. It was glowing like a real fire. Red, yellow, orange, white, blue, and purple strands of color all shimmered up at her from the little flame shaped mark on her wrist. It was like staring into a rainbow flashlight.
She stepped back, nearly tripping and slamming into the harsh reality of the ground underneath her feet.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to blink. She must've been seeing things.
The garage door opened. She shot her head up. "Happy!"
He stopped in his tracks and stared. Thanks to a light attached to the wall not far above him, she could see his face, despite their distance in the dark. His mouth was parted and his eyes were wide. His gaze flickered between her wrist and her own line of sight.
Happy pulled at her jacket sleeve. She covered half of her mark when Toby yelled, "No, no, no! Wait!" He lifted up his arm and pushed up his sleeve.
He had a mark.
He had a mark that looked identical to hers, with the same colors glinting in the same spots in the same shape. She made hers visible again, peering down at it.
There was no denying that they were exactly the same.
The ground shook under her without moving at all, spinning her head all over the place. Her heart sped up in her chest. The pulse at the hum of her throat pounded against fresh breaths of air finally getting through.
"It's true," he whispered, his words like sweet honey to her hungry buzzing ears. He was walking to her. "You and me, Happy."
"What the hell is going on?" she mumbled, putting a hand to her head.
And he was already standing in front of her, closer than ever before. He leaned his head forward. Of course she looked down at his lips. She couldn't help it.
When he saw her eyes flicker to his mouth, he didn't hesitate. He shoved his lips against hers, hands fumbling around each other.
That was when her hell ended and their heaven began.