Solangelo Oneshots and AU's

Flaws Upon Your Sleeve (Soulmate AU)

Will shamefully remembers that early winter morning as clear as day. The dull patter of rain against his window, the cool, biting air against his cheeks as he tugs his blankets higher. The sky grey and ignited with purple strikes of lightning; thunder roaring in his ears. The bright eyed, eight year old boy shivering in his bed — not just from the stark coldness.

He remembers slipping through the comforter; the sharp, crisp coolness of the floor against his bare feet, tiptoeing through the door into the dimly lit hallway. The way he rubbed his eyes to wipe away the dreariness, only to be met with a blunt sting.

Remembers the appalled look on his parents' faces as his slides into their room, a plush teddy bear hanging limply in his grip. How they both rushed out of bed, his father kneeling before him as his warm fingers brushed against his cheekbone, his mother looking down at him, pale and stricken.

"I'm scared," eight year old Will had announced, jumping at yet another clap of thunder.

"Oh, honey," Naomi breathed, "Who did this to you?"

Will was confused and frightened, unsure to why Apollo looked at him with concern so evident in his features, his smile lines crinkling into ones of worry.

"What's your order?" Apollo asked heatedly, "Hello? Excuse me?—"

"—What's your order?"

"Huh?" Will says intelligently, deliriously seized back into present day reality, blinking the memory out of his vision.

"Your order," emphasises the girl behind the cash register, gesturing lazily to the overhanging menu above her head, "Y'know how to order, right?"

A crack of lightning beyond the window of the tiny coffee shop steals the snarky remark off his lips. Will isn't in the mood to be sassed today, especially not by some rude cashier with blindingly bright pink hair who chews her gum too loudly. All he wants is an inexpensive cup of coffee to kill his time with, just wants this day to slide past smoothly but even during the most simplest of tasks it's already made impossible.

Will tries his hardest to keep his expression from being bitter as he makes his order, but he finds himself a little bit pissed at the way the girl rolls her eyes, indiscreetly muttering "finally" under her breath.

When he hands over a five dollar bill, the cashier returns the change with an expecting glint. Will just scoffs though, shoving the change into his wet jackets' pocket — as if he was going to tip her.

Once his drink is made, he takes it with a quick mumble of thanks and finds a seat at one of the empty, wooden tables. The weather outside must have brought everyone in, seeming as the small, single room is brimmed with with people with either wet hair or hoods and dreary faces to match the grey clouds. It's a doubtlessly depressing atmosphere, everything sluggish and slow and sloppy, and Will just sighs into his cup, reclining back in the creaky chair, hoping the storm will blow over soon.

Still, storms unnerve him. Each bolt of lightning charging a memory so vivid its as if it only just took place yesterday rather than many years ago. Even before the revelation, he'd always been scared of storms, always terrified by the torrential rain and the boom of thunder, only feeling safe in the presence of his parents. However, a different type of fear grasped him ever since his eighth birthday, shaken awake to a storm and dark blue blemishes pronounced against his cheek, rawly bloomed and bruised. He saw it first through his father's eyes, that were so filled with anguish and concern even after he realised that the bruise wasn't directly Will's, and rather his soulmate's instead.