Imagines with Niall Horan

91. Soulmates (AU)

A/N: Another soulmates chapter. I hope you like it. Warning - it's a bit lengthy.

Everyone is born with the name of their soul-mate upon their hands. No one knows exactly when this started to crop up, there have been mentions of it in ancient Roman texts, which makes historians wonder if it's been there for as long as humans have lived, and more importantly, have loved. Scientists ponder over the strings of DNA, trying to find out the meaning in the endless lists of numbers and letters, but to no avail, it's just there.

Sometimes it's written in curling, flowing script, other times etched with a heavy hand. There's no pattern, only that the person you're matched up with inevitably will have the same handwriting. It's scripted just on the tender part of your palm, where the fine bones of the thumb flexes and shifts under pink skin, down along the line which palmists have nicknamed the life line, but really, everyone knows it's the line that delineates the fragile lining of your heart.

No one can see the name written on your palm, not even your soul-mate, until...

When people fall in love, there's always that moment, that special moment which they'll remember forever. They hold their hands together, and there's a - sort of purity, sort of magic in that moment, where the names connect together - and in that moment, you'll know that their name is your name, and vice versa.

There's a moment of fire, a spark that travels through their veins, hot and liquid, a fire that can only be named as love.

When they part, there are two names there; you and your lover, you and your soul-mate, entwined, and impossibly beautiful, and there's that solid certainty that yes - this is who you're meant to be with.

The vein that leads from that vulnerable part of your palm, all the way up your arm, through the gentle nook of your elbow and across your chest, to pulse right into your heart is slightly darkened - not enough to be noticeable across a room, but just enough, just enough to know that - hey, this is someone who's loved, and loved in return.

---

Of course, there are those who resent this, this fatality of life.

You were one of them.

It's the autumn break, and the weather is frosting over at the edges, the leaves dropping off trees, landing softly onto the grass that's browning at the tips. It's very early in the morning, and you were helping your dad work on a particularly stubborn car that keeps leaking grease all over your hands.

There are those who are completely in love with the romanticism of this tie of fate.

Niall Horan is one of them.

It's the autumn break, and the skies are a clear blue, and the trees arch right up to the sky. The road stretches on, seemingly to forever, and Niall Horan is driving right out of town, seeking a new future if only for a few weeks, the melody of a song on his lips, the shimmer of freedom in his blue eyes.

Of course, his car breaks down.

What else would happen?

Of course, your dad's mechanic shop is the closest garage.

What did you expect?

---

You were surprised to hear the ringing of the phone echo through the workshop. You cross the floor, wiping your fingers off onto your pants, and pick up the phone with a few fingers, careful not to get it dirty.

"Hello?"

This is where the story starts. It would be a love story - but let's face it, it's not.