Racetrack Higgins was 22 years old and he had no idea who his soulmate was.
It wasn't that he was desperate to find out. He wasn't anywhere near as obsessed as Romeo. That boy had been planning his first meeting with his soulmate since he learned about them.
But Race was curious about his unknown mate.
He knew they were younger than him, but he wasn't sure by how much. He'd been dreaming about brown eyes since his birthday, but that was really all he knew about his soulmate. He didn't even know if they were a girl or a boy.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, Race is bisexual. *Shoots fingerguns*
Little did this gambler know, he would find his mate sooner than he expected.
And boy, was he in for a surprise.
*Evil grins*
<^> <v> <^>
Spot Conlon didn't particularly care about soulmates. Or love. Or any of that mushy gushy stuff. Sure, he enjoyed the occasional hookup, but he didn't have time for a real relationship.
You see, Spot had an interesting childhood.
He was born in Brooklyn. In a not-so-nice, or safe, area of town.
At the time, the city had a couple of gangs. It wasn't terrible. They mostly stayed in one part of town so only the dirt-poor, powerless people really saw them.
And Spot was one of those people.
He watched when gang members broke down his neighbors' door and stole all of the inhabitants money, eventually shooting the whole family. He watched as all of his friends either ended up dead or in a gang. He watched out the window as his parents were gunned down in a drive-by shooting.
He watched as the 8 gangs shrunk down to 2.
He watched as they slowly took over the rest of Brooklyn.
He watched all these terrible things, and he wanted to stop it. So, he concocted a plan. He joined both gangs. He thought that would be hard, but no one noticed he was in both.
He quickly rose in the ranks until he was the third-in-command in one gang, and the second-in-command in the other. Then, the leaders of each gang 'inexplicably' dropped dead, making Spot the leader of one gang and the second-in-command of the other.
From there, all it took was a few anonymous, threatening words and the leader of the other gang was gone, leaving Spot as the leader of both gangs.
He controlled everything that happened in Brooklyn, and everyone knew it.
But what no one saw coming was Spot dismantling both gangs, from the inside out.
He had some members arrested, some sent to rehab, some were told to get out of Brooklyn and never come back, and a few, he took care of in a more permanent way.
It had taken him 7 years to carry out his plan, but by the time he was 21 years old, he had singlehandedly taken down the two most terrifying gangs Brooklyn had ever seen.
From then on, throughout the city, he was known as 'the King of Brooklyn'.
<^> <v> <^>
Spot woke up on his 22nd birthday still tired and wishing he could go back to sleep. He dragged himself up and pulled on his clothes, then started making himself breakfast.
He lived in a two-room apartment above a little studio, where he gave self-defense lessons to anyone who wanted to learn. It was his idea, after he terminated the gangs, to make sure people could defend themselves, and almost everyone in the city agreed. Soon, there were many other studios like his all over.
Once he'd finished getting ready, he walked downstairs to open up for the day.
As usual, he turned on all the lights first, then the open sign. As he did he glanced out the window across the street, where a little cafe sat. Oddly enough, it was closed.
'Weird.'
He stuck his head out the door and glanced up and down the street. No one was there.
'Okay, really weird.'
He was pulling his head back inside when the realization hit him. He quickly glanced over to the hook he put the spare key on to find it was empty. No key.
'They didn't.'
He groaned aloud and called out, "A'right I know you're here. Just come out already."
There was some whispering and then what seemed like everyone on the whole street popped out from their hiding spots, yelling, "Surprise!" and "Happy Birthday!"
Spot sighed. "Ok thanks. Now everybody out. I've got a class in 30 minutes and I need to set up."
"Oh no. You are not working on your birthday, Mr. President." Stated Spot's friend Ace.
"Yeah, I am." Spot retorted. "And don't call me that. 'King of Brooklyn' is bad enough."
"Spot. You're not working on your birthday." Mr. Walters, the cafe owner, cut in.
"Yup!" Piped up Piper, Mr. Walters 6 year old daughter. "We already told them not to come!" She grinned toothlessly.
Spot couldn't help but soften at that, until he realized what she'd said.
"Wait." He turned to face the others. "You told who not to come?"
Everyone looked around nervously, avoiding meeting his eyes. Well, everyone except Ace, that is.
"Your class of course. We just told them you were taking the day off because it's your birthday." He said with a shit-eating grin on his face. "That reminds me, they all say Happy Birthday."
"Ace if there wasn't a child present, I'd sock you in the gut."
"Love you too, Your Highness."
Spot rolled his eyes, but eventually agreed to take the day off.
"IF!" He yelled over the cheers. "And only if, you all get out and give me thirty minutes to myself."
"He means to work out." Ace called out.
Everyone laughed, then left Spot alone.
<^> <v> <^>
Despite his original protests, Spot ended up having a pretty good time. Until the conversation took the inevitable turn.
"Say Your Honor." Began Ace. "How old are you anyway? You might be getting your soulmate soon."
"Yeah, how old are you Spot?" Mr. Walters chimed in. "I don't think you've ever told any of us. I don't even know if you're actually allowed to have that." He gestured to the beer in Spot's hand.
Spot took a quick swig, then answered. "22. So yeah, I can have this."
"Oh shit, you really should be getting your soulmate soon."
Mr. Walters gave Ace a pointed look. "Watch your language around my daughter, Ace."
Ace was already diving for Spot. He grabbed his wrists and checked them for writing first, then his neck for a signature, then he rolled up the blond's sleeves and let out a small whoop.
"Wouldja look at that! His Majesty, the 'King of Brooklyn' has got himself a soulmate!"
"What?!" Chorused everyone in the room, including Spot.
Spot yanked his arm back to find words written in a messy scrawl.
'What did you do to your hands?'
He stared at the writing for a good thirty seconds and then Ace bellowed.
"SOMEBODY GIMME A MARKER."
<^> <v> <^>
Thirty minutes later Spot had managed to shake the crowd and was back in his apartment, accompanied by Ace, who was too stubborn to leave.
"You gotta write something back Spot!"
"If I don't write back, maybe he'll realize I don't want a soulmate."
Ace held the marker out to him.
"If you don't write something in the next thirty seconds, then I will."
Spot instantly grabbed the marker.
"OH NO. Not a chance in Hell that I let you write something. You'd probably write 'I've got genital herpes' or something."
Ace just laughed.
Spot thought for a moment before writing on his arm.
'Why do you care?'
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
"What?"
"You just- And he said- And then you- YOU IDIOT!" He took a deep breath. "Spot. Your soulmate saw you had bruised knuckles and expressed concern for you. You don't respond to that by ASKING HIM WHY HE CARES."
"Ace, can you just leave me alone for a bit?"
"Spot I didn't mean-"
"ACE." He interrupted. "OUT. NOW."
Ace left, looking slightly guilty and Spot turned his attention back to his arm, just in time to see the new writing.
<^> <v> <^>
A few miles away, Racetrack Higgins was getting annoyed.
After months of wondering when his soulmate would show up, his first sign was bruised knuckles. He was immediately worried about his soulmate, wondering if they'd gotten into a fight.
He grabbed a marker and quickly scribbled on his arm.
'What did you do to your hands?'
'Wow.' He thought. 'I really could've phrased that better.'
He waited several hours, stress cooking a bit and jumping when he felt anything touch his arm. Finally he felt something being written and he looked down excitedly.
'Why do you care?'
'...WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.'
He paused for a minute to collect himself, before replying.
Their conversation went something like this...
Race <^> <v> <^> Spot
What did you do to your hands?
Why do you care?
You're my soulmate. I think I'm allowed to care.
I don't care about you. Why should you care about me?
You don't mean that.
Oh believe me, I do.
Look, can I at least know your name.
No
Well, if you change your mind, I'm Racetrack Higgins. Everyone calls me Race.
That can't be your real name.
You're right. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
Hello?
Are you there?
Spot. Okay? They call me Spot.
Nice to meet you Spot. :) The name's Antonio.
Great. Now can we forget about each other and never speak again?
Nope! You're stuck with me.
So, is there a last name too?
Spot?
Spooooooot!
Spotty!
Spotted Panther!
Spotted Panther?
You're back!
I was never gone dumbass. I can't walk away from my own arm. Believe me, if I could, I would have by now.
Okay, you seem like you're in a bad mood, so I'm just going to leave you my number, so you can call me or text me or something.
(***) ***-****
I'm not going to.
Bye Spotty!!!!
<^> <v> <^>
Spot groaned, falling back onto his bed.
'I hate him.' He thought.
'No you don't.' Piped up a voice from the back of his mind.
'Great now I'm arguing with my brain. This day keeps getting better and better.'
<^> <v> <^>
'He hates me.' Thought Race.
'No he doesn't.' Assured a small voice, muffled by his insecurities.
'I don't know what I expected. No one would want me as a soulmate.'
'Yes they would!' Came the voice again, a little clearer now. It reminded him a lot of Crutchie for some reason. 'You're awesome Race! Tons of people would love to have you as a soulmate, just ask your friends!'
'Thanks, Mind Crutchie. I feel a little better.'
'Glad I could help! :)'
So, this is gonna have a part 2. Sorry. I don't plan these things, they just happen.
Also, what did you think about Spot's backstory?
I was originally going to make him a gang leader, but 1. I don't know what goes on in a gang so it would be really bad. 2. It didn't really fit my plan. And 3. Spot really isn't a bad guy, he's just tough and cynical.
Thanks again!