Take my heart

Chapter III

Green-haired, high-strung in caffeine Ash forgets about the painting they're supposed to finish as Connor and Caesar tell them about the incident they had earlier this week. While outraging for Adryan, and jarring for Darren, for them the twenty minutes of being yelled at by an angry boy their age is a fun anecdote. Yes, he did insult them, but they're much more used to that than the others. Some girls—and their friends and siblings—don't take well to being rejected, surprisingly.

Ash goes back to their painting after saying that the boy was right in each of his complaints. Caesar scoffs at his sibling, leans back on the couch and grabs his phone to entertain himself. They're at Connor's place once again, a late night of work for Ash and him. He has yet to finish a tea set he's been commissioned to make, and the deadline is creeping up on him.

It's kind of a tradition, at this point. Ash and Connor, being the plastic artists of the group, bonded over that since the beginning. Half of Ash's art supplies are at his house with how much time they spend there, working on their pieces. Caesar has nothing to do with the whole thing, but he stills shows up every time; if as Ash's or Connor's plus one, no one can say for sure.

Connor takes his work to the oven and utters a little prayer for them to not crack. He then makes his way to the couch, plopping down next to Caesar in a rehearsed manner. Without even looking, the boy shifts and moves to accommodate him, until they fit perfectly side by side, touching from shoulders to knees. Caesar tilts his phone so they can both look at the screen.

Something's out of place, he can tell, but it takes a full inspection to find out what. Has Caesar gotten taller? No, that's not it, their joints connect in the same places, and his spot remains carved into Caesar's side unchanged. New clothes? No, not even that; the shirt is one of his own, actually, and the pants with the green embroidering are a few weeks old. It's not a different perfume, either, he'd catch that from the moment Caesar set foot in his house. Then what...

Connor looks up and his hand moves without permission. His fingers graze the shorter ends of Caesar's hair, he must have gotten the haircut this morning, yesterday at most. Caesar blinks but lets him have his way, petting and exploring the hair until it's memorized once more. It doesn't look all that different, to be fair, it's just a trimming here and there, probably by the same hairdresser as always.

"It's nice," Connor mumbles, putting his hand down.

Caesar keeps scrolling through the phone with a smirk. It's not the first time they've had an exchange like this. With all the time they spend together, it's only natural, Connor muses, for every bit of Caesar's being to be ingrained in his own. It only takes a few seconds for the little changes to settle and for them to adjust.

Things were much weirder a few years ago. Being a few months older, Connor had a growth spurt first. One day everything was fine, and the next the world was too small, the hallways too narrow; his limbs stretched and his mind had yet to fill them, so it felt like the tips of his fingers were always out of his reach.

Getting used to that wasn't nearly as annoying as it was to work around Caesar's own growing. Suddenly, Caesar was half a head taller than him, his shoulders and his knees were somewhere different and he had to look up to meet his eyes. They kept bumping into each other the first weeks, because every room had gotten smaller, and Caesar took up much more space than what he should be allowed.

They did get used, though, eventually. Now the shape of Caesar's hands is engraved somewhere on Connor's skin, the weight of his gaze is familiar enough he could feel it without looking, and even the boy's injuries echo through his own muscles.

His eyes drift around the room and land on the scarf Ali brought a few days ago. He sighs, Caesar raises a questioning brow and Connor shakes his head to dismiss the matter. Part of him wants to burn the scarf, though he's fairly certain it's not his. Maybe he should stop borrowing so much clothing from Caesar, but that's besides the point.

On the fake date they had—which was Connor's mistake, probably, but he was just trying to be nice—and many times before that, Ali had gone on and on about this "soulmates" bullshit of hers. He'd been indifferent to it at first: it's exactly the kind of silly idea someone sweet and naive would have. But then she kept talking about it, about how there was someone meant for every person, someone destined to love her, someone destined to love him. A person they would click with instantly, and they would just know that was it.

There are many things wrong with that, he's sure, but he couldn't care less. Still, he's grown to despise the idea. Every time Ali mentions it, it makes his blood boil. It got to the point where he actually voiced his concern to her—why the hell do soulmates have to be romantic?

She didn't answer.

Because, the thing is. He already has Caesar, okay. The prospect of someone barging into his life, claiming all his attention and being perfect for him makes him want to throw up. Worse, someone coming into Caesar's life and him leaving Connor behind... the thought alone twists his stomach into knots.

'What's wrong?' Caesar bumps his hand and doesn't need to speak for the question to be understood.

He shakes his head again, a silent 'it's nothing.' When Caesar catches the lie, he shouldn't be surprised. Under his curious stare, Connor shrinks and feels his face grow warm. It occurs to him that telling Caesar he doesn't want him to find the love of his life is not the best course of action, so he doesn't. Instead, he burrows closer into the boy's side, hiding his face on his shoulder, the 'don't ever leave me' clear without him having to say a word.

"Never, you idiot," Caesar answer aloud, getting them a weird, exasperated look from Ash.

"What the fuck, guys."

Why do soulmates have to be romantic? They're just fine with each other.