Author's Note: Oops, I've done it again—ANOTHER fic in the works? Somewhere along the works of More Important Things, I was itching for something a bit further from 'happily ever after.'
Silver Bindings
Prologue
Everyone is born with the name of their soul mate written on their hand.
For all the years of research put into deconstructing this phenomenon, nobody knows why or when this abnormality began to crop up. Mentions of it have been scattered in ancient texts, prompting many historians to wonder if it has existed for as long as humans have lived, or more importantly, have loved.
Scientists delve into the strings of DNA, trying to uncover the meaning hidden within the endless lists of numbers and letters.
But the work is to no avail.
The result is always the same: it simply exists.
Occasionally, the name is printed in a curled, flowing script, whereas other names are scrawled with a heavy hand. There's never a pattern, only that the person one has been matched up with inevitably possesses identical handwriting.
That name is scripted along the tender part of one's palm, just where the fine bones of the thumb flexes and shifts beneath skin, trailing down the line with palmists have nicknamed the life line, but truthfully, everybody knows it is the line that delineates the fragile lining of one's heart.
Intimacy of the highest order, a cosmic string of fate that let's one know.
Be it they hold hands or share a kiss, a sort of purity, a kind of magic in that one moment, where the names entwine together. It's that very moment in which a person will know, without a shadow of doubt, that their name is written on the other's palm, and vice versa.
A burst of fire, a spark that travels through their veins, hot and liquid, a flame that can only be described as love.
Countless individuals fall head-over-heels with the romanticism of this spiritual tie of fate. But of course, there are many who resent this—this fatality of life.
Just one name in the masses is Hiro Hamada.
-0-
He's four years old when he figures out the meaning behind the name tattooed on his palm.
His aunt soothes his inquiries by relaying the story of how his parents met, where Maemi Takachiho had been introduced to Cassandra Hamada during a college meet-and-greet, and had dared to hope that her new acquaintance was the connection to the name on her palm: Tomeo Hamada.
"A match made in heaven," Aunt Cass claims, eyes glazing over with a film of nostalgia.
Hiro sits on the opposite end of the couch, staring at his hand with unreadable eyes. It's a natural response in light of the revelation that a faceless stranger is the one made for them; two sides of the same coin, and so forth.
Tactful of his plight, Cass vacates the room after planting a kiss in his inky hair, then returns to deal with the lunch time rush whilst her youngest nephew absorbs the new information.
Unseen by misunderstanding eyes, Hiro's own cloud with resentment.
-0-
His palm itches.
It reminds Hiro of an incident a few months prior, when he'd stuck his hand in a nettle bush, mistaking it for the white dead-nettle kind. He'd scrambled back with a yelp as he clutched his stinging hand, but despite the pile of dock leaves Tadashi had rubbed against the lumpy skin, it had itched like crazy for days.
Marys Iosama
The words prickle relentlessly from the moment Hiro decides he hates them, no matter how hard he rubs his palm against his sleeve or how deeply he digs his stubby nails into the raw flesh. Irritation spikes through the mild pain, even when Hiro's skin cracks and bleeds through the sunshine-yellow words.
As Tadashi patches up the crescent grooves, he jokingly inquires if Hiro snaffled a pack of sherbet lemons from Mrs. Matsuda's purse again, and lightly pinches his little brother's taunt cheek.
But when Hiro turns his foul pout-and-glare combo at him, worry overwhelms the light-hearted humor on Tadashi's face.
"Is something bothering you, otōto?"
To put it mildly, yes. But the real question, in Hiro's opinion, is what offends him. The answer lies beneath the Band-Aid taped across his scratches.
Idly, Hiro picks at the irksome fabric, a motion that causes Tadashi's eyebrows to elevate.
"Oh."
Silence smothers the atmosphere for a solid minute, before Tadashi's breathy laugh banishes it. He sinks into his abandoned desk chair, tension slipping away from him.
"You figured it out, huh?" he says with a smile. "Weird, isn't it?"
Weird is so not the word on Hiro's mind.
Questions dance throughout his brain, a never-ending conga line of basic common sense. For instance, what if he doesn't like Marys Iosama or vice versa? Does she share common interests? What if Hiro doesn't ever want to get married?
For goodness sake, he's already voiced that notion to Aunt Cass, back when he'd shuddered with revulsion over newly-weds in the café who showered one another with icky kisses.
Ew.
His skin crawls just thinking of it.
Hiro looks up into almond-shaped eyes as a larger hand rests on his shoulder; compassion and reassurance swirl together in coffee-brown irises.
"But you're worried, aren't you?" Tadashi guesses, hitting the nail on the head. As always.
Hiro nods, rougher than necessary. But his frown wavers when Tadashi ruffles his hair.
"Hey," the older boy teases with a grin, "try worrying about me! I'm eleven, Hiro—I'm old. What if I find my soul mate tomorrow and she wants to get married next week? What if I don't find her and end up alone forever? My clock's ticking! Jeez, you don't need to worry about it for years."
"What if I find her—" He won't say her name. "—tomorrow, too?"
"You still don't need to worry. You can't get married for ages, Hiro. Besides," Tadashi adds with a serene smile, "I've heard soul mates have a way of finding their way back to each other."
Funny, how words intended one way come across as another. Reassurance evaporates like snowflakes on a summer's day, and Hiro feels unbreakable bars sprouting from the ground to cage him in like a crippled bunny.
He should be safe, in a way, locked up behind those bars. But instead, Hiro feels suffocated. He's trapped, unable to move as his unwanted soul mate creeps closer with each breath he takes.
There's no running. No escape.
It's written in the stars, not just his hand.
Meant to be.
A wave of vertigo melts Hiro's spine, sending him flopping forward into Tadashi's lap. Suddenly, he feels a lot like crying.
"Hey, hey. Hiro, look at me, buddy."
He tries to comply, but his limbs have been replaced with wet rope, and Hiro can do little more than whine against his brother's chest. The distressed call magnetizes Tadashi's hand through a wild tangle of black hair.
"Hiro," the older boy soothes, gently combing through fluffy locks, "I'm serious, here. I've heard it's always a perfect match. A guarantee to happiness."
It shouldn't be possible to feel this offended by biology. Happy? He's perfectly happy, thank you very much. He has his nerdy, but awesome big brother, the best aunt ever, and just like she doesn't need a strange man to make her smile, Hiro doesn't need an icky girl to laugh out loud.
Swiftly regaining control over his body, Hiro jolts upright to glare at his brother. "Aunt Cass doesn't know her soul mate," he snaps. "And she's happy."
"Well no, but—" Tadashi sighs heavily, then runs a hand through his short hair, uncaring as his cap plonks to the floor. "This is coming out wrong. I meant that you won't be unhappy with them, not that you'll be miserable unless you marry them."
His nose crinkles. "That's stupid."
Visibly out of loss of anything else to say, Tadashi chuckles. "Can't change the rules, buddy."
So wait, it's a rule now? Like the ones in kindergarten, where if somebody doesn't clean up their paint pallet, they have to sit in the corner?
Hiro stares at his palm, where a yellow 'a' peaks out from beneath the Band-Aid, and a fresh wave of fury hits him.
He will never, ever be okay with this.
-0-
Author's Note: So, yah. Bit of a side experiment I've been tempering with for the last few weeks. :P