Rebel Red Carnation {Kiribaku}

VIII

I drop the shirt and reach out, yanking his right hand in my direction and flipping it over to reveal his palm and... oh fuck, I might actually throw up. On the fleshy part of his palm is the thin line that's the very same as the one on mine, one of the scars I don't recall the origin of. I have so many little ones, though, that I figure not remembering where one or two came from is fucking normal.

But no. No, it came from him. I've never injured my hand—not in that spot, or in a way that would leave such a clean cut. I'm really about to lose my fucking cookies.

"I told you so," he says. Well, that's what should be the next fucking thing coming out of that stupid, pretty mouth of his, but no. Instead, he's tender. Fucking caring. "You should sit back down, dude," is what he really murmurs, his warm, clean fingers curling gently around my calloused, clammy ones.

I ignore that. Stare him down. "You knew, didn't you?" I whisper, unable to muster up anything more after the fucking day I'm having.

Eijirou gives but a slight shrug. "I was pretty sure as soon as I saw the scar on your eyelid that's the same as mine, but you were so against it being real that I... let myself get discouraged," he says, equally as quiet. "But then..." He lowers the shirt, lets it slide off of his arms before he turns around. I don't fucking want him to, but I can't stop him, and then I'm staring at his subtly muscular back. Across it are several long lashes, scarred into his skin forever. "Then they dragged you away and I didn't even have to overhear anything to know what they were gonna do to you because I felt every one of them." He pauses. "Every. Single. One." He turns back around, and it's probably been a solid minute before I've blinked. "It didn't hurt so much as it kinda stung. And that's how I knew."

I wait, speechless, for the explosion within me. For my stomach to hurl up everything I'd just eaten or my vision to go red with anger, but nothing happens. I'm just... blank. Frozen with disbelief, even though I should've known it. The damn eyelid scar was too coincidental. The shape. The size. The placement. And our relationship grew much quicker than a relationship I have with anyone else ever did. He grew on me much too quickly.

But... how the hell could the fucking prince be my soulmate?! Of all the people in the entire goddamn world, how the fuck is it him? We couldn't be more opposite, with his endless fucking beauty, fortune, and status while I'm fucking nothing! What kind of sick joke is the universe trying to play on me?

"It wasn't an accident," I mumble, feeling my knees giving out under my own weight—under the weight of this new, shitty, yet somehow miraculous reality.

"What do you mean?" he asks, sinking down with me once the shirt is over his head.

"Fucking everything," I breathe. "Me, being the one going to your shitty palace and getting caught by your shitrag of a head guard... and then you, vouching for me and convincing your damn parents to let you be the one to supervise me while I did all the shit as your slave." I rub at my forehead, unsure of what to make of all this.

It makes too much sense for me to be able to deny it any longer. My mother told me more times than I can even begin to count that soulmates are bound to find each other, no matter the distance or circumstance, that 'fate' or whatever draws them together. No, it wasn't an accident, and if I wasn't feeling so fucking drained from the pain and blood loss, I'd have more of a mind to feel played by the fucking universe itself.

"I guess you're right," he says, and he's smiling. Because of course he is. And anymore I can't find the slightest sliver of annoyance at that smile. "That's pretty crazy, huh?"

"More like fucking psych ward-level insane," I grumble.

"Can I... maybe ask you something, then?"

"What?"

"The scar... the one on your shoulder? Or, well, on our shoulder. That wasn't from me. I've never been injured there, let alone that seriously. I was kinda... hopin' you'd tell me where it came from." He shrugs, a bit sheepish. "But if you don't wanna tell me—"

"It doesn't matter," I mutter, casting my eyes away. "Lots of shit goes on down in the slums. Most of us have shitty scars from things that never healed properly, but we're lucky we healed at all."

Eijirou nods. "I understand," he murmurs. I can still see a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn't let it get the better of him.

So yeah, I'm confused and frustrated about this whole soulmate thing, how the hell the prince can be mine and how things managed to work out in such a crazy way for our paths to cross, and while I can't tell exactly how I feel about him, one thing that's for certain is that Prince Eijirou has earned my respect. He's trying; he snuck out, ignoring his family's punishment upon him, just to fucking find me and treat my wounds. He gave me food and a sweater. Says he wants to see my home—The Outskirts, the slums. Says he wants to help, and even risked shit back at the palace to do just that. Regardless of where our relationship ends up someday—just remembering in the back of my mind all the stories my mother has told me about soulmates she knew in the past, and knowing that for Eijirou and I to part ways permanently would be practically unheard of—I will always hold this respect for him.