A/N
Part 1 of @Latte_Hottay 's birthday oneshots!!!
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From the moment his mark appeared, Paul was afraid, although that didn't mean much. Fear was his most constant emotion, drilling a splitting beat in his head that became as reliable as his heartbeat. But there was something about a small black handprint blazed in ebony contempt across his cheek that was most terrifying. The thought that his soulmate's first time touching him would be an open-palmed slap across the face brought with it a certain amount of anxiety that plagued him each year without a stinging cheek and answers.
Why would they slap him? What did he do to make them mad? Was he a bad person when he grew up? Was his soulmate a bad person? How could he end up with someone who hit first and thought second when he was such a careful, meticulous person? Who? What? When? Where? Why?
Over and over he asked question after question, for years, until it faded into the background and Paul learned to live with the horrible anticipation, if it could even be called that. It was more like dread, a terrible feeling pooling in his stomach, eating away, becoming more bearable though he still flinched when hands came near his face.
All through his years in school and the workplace, with his mark came the blank, open stares. The snickers. The whispers that he heard in his head, though he knew weren't there, just anxiety murmuring its own fears back at him in the dark of his bedroom. And so, to calm the voices a bit, the voices telling him that he was a freak that he was weird that his mark was ugly, he learned to use concealer to cover the mark. For a while, he just used the cream, but with tips from his friends, Charlotte and Melissa, he learned to use setting powder so it stayed covered and the voices calmed.
He settled into a boring life, surrounded by soulmates with happy, but mostly not so happy endings. Charlotte, who's soulmate and husband, Sam, who sexed up anything under thirty five with a vagina, and hit her whenever he was home and drunk enough to care, a rare combination but a deadly one all the same. Bill, who's soulmate divorced him and took their kid across the lake to Clivesdale where her new life and new husband were waiting. Ted, who as far as Paul could tell lived alone, his only comfort a bottle of whiskey, his soulmate either never found or tragically lost. Only Melissa, with her long term girlfriend, and Mr. Davidson, with his wife, had a semblance of happiness in their match.
Then again, many people had found love outside of soulmarks and fated love. His father had died when he was young, and his mother had found love in another man, the man who became Paul's dad, the man who did not share a destiny with the woman he chose.
Maybe not everything rode on his mark. Maybe he wouldn't end up sleeping next to a brash, aggressive person for the rest of his life, trapped in unhappiness through a connection decided by the universe.
Every day was the same, which came with a certain solace. Wake up, head to work, get coffee on his break, get off at five, go home, eat dinner, go to sleep, repeat. He almost forgot about the black handprint, except for when he covered it each morning and revealed it each night. Life was normal, life was steady, life was predictable, and he told himself that was how he liked it.
One Monday morning, Paul woke up late, his alarm having run out of batteries in the night. He shot up in bed, panic brewing in his veins. He readied himself hurriedly, not bothering to set the concealer or tie his tie before rushing out the door to face the day. He could already tell this wasn't going to be a good one. Anxiety already held him in its clutches.
And so, he assumed that the tingle in his fingers was nothing new, that the beating of his heart was exactly the same, that the warmth in his stomach and the restlessness in his soul were not knew developments, nor the hotness of his cheek, almost burning to the touch, anything out of the ordinary. He'd given up on soulmates a long time ago. There was seemingly nothing about that day which would be any different.
Oh, yes. Paul had long forgotten the telltale signs of the meeting day, the day when the first touch would occur. It hadn't seemed important for a while, and so it slipped into the crevases of his mind, never even a fleeting thought in years.
Work went steadily, but it seemed that Paul's heart would not rest, hopping and skipping to an incomplete waltz, longing for the its decided other half. Paul being Paul, he paid no mind, only mere annoyance.
When his coffee break came he headed down to the local coffee shop as he did every day, bypassing Starbucks in favor of a smaller joint. It was so totally not because of the short woman at the counter, curly chestnut hair pulled up in messy clips, deep brown eyes dancing with boredom and mischief, a smirk playing at her perfect lips. Not that Paul had much time or urge to study every inch of the barista's face, every dip and imperfection of her tanned skin, count every eyelash, every movement of her nimble fingers as she went about filling orders. It wasn't like her grateful smile at Paul's simple order and large tip made his soul feel complete, his body flooding with warmth. No, sir. No way.
When he stepped into the shop that day, his heart once more began to beat faster and faster, so hard that he was sure the whole town could hear it. Sweat beaded at his forehead, his stomach turning, but he pushed it down, stepping into the line. As he got closer and closer to the counter, the splitting ache in his head, his constant companion, grew more intense, and he began to think that maybe something really was wrong. That maybe this wasn't normal, everyday Paul stuff.
Finally, he was at the very front of the line, spots dancing in his vision as he stared down at a disheveled barista. She squinted up at him, a frown twisting on her lips, clutching her head with her left hand.
Maybe if it had been her right hand, Paul would have seen that the entirety of her palm on that hand looked like she'd stuck her hand in grease, black as the night.
"What can I get you, Sir?" she asked with a fake pep that seemed to cause her more pain. It seemed everyone had a headache that day.
"Black coffee, thanks."
She smiled at him and for a moment his head cleared. But then she turned to fill his order and the pain bore down on him even worse than before. He raised his hands to his face, clutching it, eyes squeezed closed.
And the next thing he knew he was lying on the cold hard tile, head spinning with pain, tears in his eyes.
"Out of my way, out of my way!"
The barista's face appeared in his vision, a concern mingled with the agony in her eyes.
"You okay, Dude? That was quite a spill."
Paul blinked slowly, vision still spinning, his cheek on fire. "I'm-I think I'm fine." He turned to look to his right, trying to place where he was, unable to rely on his wavering vision, but the barista's hand cupped his cheek, bringing his eyes back to hers.
His body felt rejuvenated, all pain leaving him without a second thought. The fire that blazed across his face cooled as their skin touched, hand to cheek, so comfortable and warm, a feeling like he had never felt before in his life. A feeling that caressed his body, flooding his mind in such utter peace. Like he was home.
Paul leaned into his soulmate's touch, clear blue eyes searching her dark, burning ones, flames meeting ice with a satisfying hiss. The woman's jaw dropped, face open with shock.
"It's...It's you," she gasped.
"I can't believe it's you." Paul felt a smile curving his lips upwards as he raised himself onto his elbows. After all those years of worry and self-doubt, all the sleepless nights and tears, the girl of his dreams was kneeling right in front of him, tears in her eyes. The universe had deemed him worthy of her after all.
She fell backwards on the tile, the shock on her face plain as day. She stared at him cautiously, breath fast and shallow. Paul's smile faltered a bit.
He sat up completely, finally noticing the circle of people around them. They stared down at the two as if they were a show to be watched. The barista, his soulmate, was glancing around nervously at the crowd. It hit him that she was uncomfortable. The way her eyes darted and hands fidgeted were nothing unfamiliar to the naturally nervous man. He had to get her out of there. Less than two minutes of conversation, less than two sentences, and he already felt so protective of her, thought she could probably give him a hell of a fight if she wanted to.
"Do you...want to go for a walk? The park down the street is really pretty right now."
She nodded gratefully, taking his huge soft hand in her comparably tiny, calloused one. They fit together like puzzle pieces.
"Nora, I'm taking my break!"
The outside air was cool on Paul's face as they walked side by side down the sidewalk, shoulders bumping slightly. It was silent in the space between them as each fought a battle in their head, hand holding the other's like it was what they were made for, their destiny since the start of the world.
The barista still looked like she was in shock, tears in her eyes, brow furrowed, mouth perpetually open in a wide "O". Paul couldn't help but study her as they approached the park, taking in the warmth of her skin on his, imagining spending his life with a girl he knew he could love forever.
"Here, this bench looks good," he said, moving towards it, pulling her along gently.
They sat, staring at their hands where they were still joined, waiting for the other to make the first move.
"I'm Emma Perkins," the barista said finally, unable to wait any longer. Her words were rushed, like she was afraid if she waited too long he'd fly away.
"Paul. Matthews. It's weird that I didn't know your name."
Emma sighed, finally looking him full in the face for the first time since they touched. "I know. It's weird that I didn't...I didn't know it was you. You come in there every day and I didn't know it was you. Were we supposed to know? How did we not touch before?"
Paul let out a large breath, the situation just starting to sink in. "I don't know either. I thought I'd never find you but you were there the whole time. It's crazy. I even...I admit I had-have a rather large crush on you. That's cliche, the customer crushing on the barista, right?"
Tears began to leak down Emma's face, and she nodded, taking a deep breath. "I thought I would be alone forever. That maybe I wasn't paired with anyone after all, or that we'd never meet, that you'd died...I thought...I looked for you forever, even in different countries, and I guess after a few years I just gave up. I didn't ever think that I would find you by moving back home."
Paul felt his eyes begin to sting with tears. "I've never left Hatchetfield for more than work trips. I actually-I was so ashamed of my mark. I was so afraid that my soulmate would slap me. I kept it covered for years."
The small woman let out a hearty laugh, relaxing a bit. "You thought I would hit you?" She paused for a moment, thinking. "Well, maybe. I'm not much of a planner. I just go with my emotions a lot. Plus, I've been known for a bar brawl or two in my day. I've been told I pack quite a punch."
"Well I'm the opposite. I do nothing but plan all the time." Paul looked over at her, watching her carefully.
"Maybe I could use a bit of structure." Emma laughed, thumb sliding over his skin in a soothing pattern.
"Maybe I could use a bit of sponteaity."
Emma's hand tightened around Paul's, and she scooted a bit closer to him, pressing her side to his.
"Are you free tomorrow?" she asked.
Paul nodded vigorously. "Very free. Nothing planned...except for maybe dinner with you."
"That was smooth, Matthews," Emma chuckled. "My shift ends at seven, so pick me up then?
"Yeah. Yeah, of course! Seven o'clock." He let out a nervous laugh, heart speeding up at the thought of going on a date with this gorgeous, feisty, destined by the universe to love such a boring ass man for the rest of her life woman.
Emma stared up at him thoughtfully. "You're a little awkward, Man. I like it. It's cute." Paul gazed down at her, speechless, which only made her smile grow bigger. "I think maybe the universe made a good match for once."
"Me too." Paul barely breathed as his eyes searched her's drinking in eyerything they could. A beep broke the silence, and he glanced down at his watch, "Oh shit! My break was over fifteen minutes ago!" he cried, standing up suddenly. "I really want to stay but-"
"I get it. My break is almost over too. See ya tomorrow?"
"Seven o'cock sharp." Paul grinned. He stared at her a bit, then took a deep breath. "Can I kiss you?"
Emma nodded, biting her lip. She stood, and he stepped forward, the distance between them closing inch by inch. Finally, there was no space left to stall, only the heavy breathing of anticipation as they stared into the other's eyes cautiously, neither one the first to want to be vulnerable. Emma's eyes fluttered closed and she lifted herself onto her tiptoes, reaching for him.
Their lips met in a slow kiss, sweet and innocent, a kiss that was a precursor for many to come. Paul's hands reached up to cup her face gently, her hands grabbing at his upper arms to pull him closer, stretching her neck to press against him harder. Her lips tasted of warm coffee, bittersweet in their softness, not wanting for more than a simple declaration of interest. And Paul was interested alright.
They broke apart, eyes still closed as they breathed in sync, breathless not from intensity, but the raw emotion transferred in their twenty second exchange.
"You've got to go," Emma whisipered, though her hands tightened around his wrists, forhead pressing against his. Paul nodded, scarecly able to get himself to step away.
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Emma breathed, corners of her mouth turned upward in a smirk that made Paul's heart do summersaults.
...
As Paul stepped back into the office, Ted came barreling towards him.
"Hey man, thanks for the-Hey!" he exclaimed when he spotted his begrudging friend's empty hands. "Where's my chai tea? Did you get any coffee?"
A ghost of a smile flitted over Paul's face, more genuine than one he had worn in a long time. "Nope. But, I got something much better."