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Tetsurou had never grown up to like the idea of soulmates. Sure he knew they were there, the evidence was everywhere. Everyone who had matching tattoos had paired souls, but his family was a broken one, with parents whose tattoos matched, and souls that belonged to someone else. So when, in the middle of a concert, his neck and shoulders started burning, he floundered. He hit the ground like a rock, his head bouncing off of the stage with a resounding thud that quieted the audience. His vision swam and came back into focus with a flash of blinding white. People shouted and feet pounded the floor as they ran to him. The first person he saw was his drummer and best friend, Bokuto, his shock of white hair unmistakeable. He attempted to focus on what was being said, tried to speak, but his tongue felt swollen and heavy, his ears rang like a bomb had gone off. And the last thing he remembered before his vision went completely black was the realization that someone had collapsed at the same time as him, too green eyes and soft looking black hair and scrubs and a soft smile. And they had reached for their stomach as they fell.
10 months later
Goosebumps rose along Tetsurou’s skin as the covers of his bed were pulled aside, the small frame of Kenma’s body fitting into his side. He nuzzled the bleached hair, murmured sleepy words, wrapped his arms around a thin torso. He didn’t want to think about the Forget-Me-Nots planted firmly across his throat and down his shoulders. He didn’t want to think about the blazing green eyes that begged for freedom. Neither him nor Akaashi had asked for this, neither of them had wanted to get wrapped up in Fate’s game. But Fate was never a joker, and she had deemed them perfect for each other. Except one was a traveling artist, and the other had firmly planted his roots and started a life. Sure, they had tried. For months, they had attempted to carry on a long distance relationship, Tetsurou flying down to visit during his tour, Akaashi flying up on his weekends off, attending the concerts of his once favorite band, and now supposed soulmate. But it hadn’t lasted for long, Tetsurou too wild, too full of wanderlust and adrenaline to be able to settle, Akaashi too grounded, too needed by his patients and his hospital to be able to join Tetsurou on his tours.
Weeks apart turned into months, and Tetsurou found himself scanning every crowd, meeting every eye, looking for a too green gaze and that bored smirk, and he knew he had to go back, to kiss those fingers, to trace the Forget-Me-Nots planted across scarred ribs and a rough stomach. He knew he had to bring a bouquet of Larkspur, and if he played his cards right, he might be forgiven for being away for so long. But when Tetsurou had shown up at Akaashi’s door, bouquet in hand, he had found that Akaashi had found another lover, someone at the hospital with chocolate brown eyes and pretty hair, and a single rose tattoo sitting on his forearm. Tetsurou hadn’t bothered to see if Akaashi had one that matched, he had fallen in love with the man Fate had paired him with, and he was like his mother, left behind while his father had been paired with yet another. He had come home to Kenma, crying, and the small man had simply opened his arms. Kenma knew the pain of rejection, had the barren tree spread across his back as proof. So he had opened his arms out of love and understanding, and Tetsurou had fallen into them without hesitation, his heart ripped apart. So here he is, his childhood friend running feather light fingertips across his throat, where petals have already started to wilt. And all he could do was try not to think of the man who held his heart on a string. They stayed like that for a long time, the sunlight weak as the burning mass set over the buildings of the city.
2 years later
Tetsurou is called on stage, and he runs up the steps with his shirt hanging open, flashing the newly budding Forget-Me-Nots. He takes the award, flashes a smile, thanks his fans, his band, and his friends and mother. He does not mention Akaashi, too afraid that outing his soulmate will make the surgeon back off, and his buds will fall off again. Bokuto bounces up to him, ruffles his hair as he steps off stage, claps him on the back, then bounds over to where a small man with vibrant orange and pink hair sits, grinning. The small man had joined their group when Bo had gotten too drunk after a show and decided the local 7/11 was his destination of choice. The small man, Hinata, had been working that night, and made Bo sit behind the counter until his shift was over, when he immediately brought him back to the band. Turned out that they were soulmates when, the next morning, Hinata showed up at their bus sporting wings that spanned his back and reached all the way to his fingertips. Now he works as the band outfitter, designing their outfits and preventing them- mostly Bokuto- from making fools of themselves. Tetsurou felt a pang of envy; Bokuto was allowed to have his soulmate with him, was able to make a bed with him, could kiss him every morning. But Tetsurou was barely able to see Akaashi, they could only meet every couple of weeks, and even then it was only for lunch, or maybe a coffee in the cafeteria of the hospital. His shoulders started to droop, the weight of distance between him and Akasshi settling into his bones. Sugawara noticed this, and hurried over to hug him, whispering that everything was okay, that Akaashi was watching, he knows you wanted to thank him too. They were in California though, and Akaashi was in Tokyo, and Tetsurou wanted nothing more than to take the next plane to Japan, to run into the hospital, to lift Akaashi in his arms and spin him and pepper little kisses over his face, because Akaashi was the one who helped him get here. Akaashi was his inspiration for his lyrics, and his band was as inspired by his story that they all wanted to go international like he did. But rather than board the next flight out of the country, he just turned to the nearest camera trained on his face, and signed I love you. If Akaashi was watching, he would know, would probably blush, would sign back, because only people who could read sign-language knew what they were saying, and it would help him keep his job.
Keiji watched the television closely, had his fingers crossed when the nominees for Best New International Artist were announced, dug his teeth into his bottom lip as they panned across the Sleepless Knights. He had been fond of the band throughout his internship at the hospital, and when he had finally gotten the money for the concert ticket, he had been so excited to go that he hadn’t even bothered to change out of his scrubs after his shift the night of the show. But that night had changed his life. Rather than witnessing his favourite band play his favourite song, he felt the burn of a tattoo being branded into his stomach and ribs, watched as the lead singer dropped his mic, reached for his throat. Their eyes met, and while Akaashi felt dread for the future, he recognized the look of fear in the other’s eyes. He hadn’t wanted this. Keiji had always wanted a soulmate, a person to come home to after late shifts in the ER, someone who would hold him until he could fall asleep, comfort him through his nightmares. He wanted someone to keep him warm at night. But Fate had paired him with an artist, someone who travels the world because he can, because he wanted to. Someone who would hardly be in Japan, much less at home, in his bed. This was even worse than being partnered with a soldier. At least they were home for more than a day at a time. But his soulmate was a singer, in a band, and he didn’t want a soulmate. Keiji could tell by the way he had clawed at his throat right before he collapsed, and Keiji wrapped his arms around his stomach, falling to his knees in agony. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to survive rejection. He had heard that true rejection would leave scars, like burns, and if the rejection was deep enough, true enough, it could kill both of them. But Keiji didn’t feel any signs of rejection, and when he ripped his shirt over his head and looked at his stomach, all he saw were Forget-Me-Nots rooted deeply into the skin, their petals reaching from hip to chest. None of them looked wilted, none of them looked like they were dying. Keiji breathed a sigh of relief before shoving his shirt into the waistband of his pants. He stood up to his full height and made his way through the throng of people between him and the stage. They parted easily, too worried about the fallen singer to bother with someone trying to walk by.
When he had clambered onto the stage, he was confronted by terrified gold eyes and a ferocious “get off the stage god dammit” before a small hand landed on the mans shoulder, quieting him. Feline eyes gave him a once over before settling onto his exposed stomach. The small man nodded and stepped aside, drawing the white haired man with him. Keiji approached the fallen singer, taking in the faded denim of his jeans, the loosely laced combat boots and the A-Line tank top. And there, right there, blooming across his throat and shoulders were Forget-Me-Nots, beautiful, vibrant, and perfectly healthy. They seemed to almost pulse with how happy Keiji was at the sight, and hope bloomed in his chest. Maybe some part of this man does want a soulmate? He reached out for the man, let his fingers slide over the calloused hands of someone who worked his way to the top. His fingers made their way up the unconscious mans arm, pausing for a moment on the Forget-Me-Not nestled in the crook of his shoulder, before settling on the side of his throat. One, two, three, fo- there, there’s his pulse. Keiji let out a sigh of relief. He stood up and turned, facing the rest of the band- not to mention the audience paying full attention to him- and waited for the questions. But there weren’t any. Instead, the white haired drummer just lifted the singer off of the floor, and walked back stage, while the rest of the band surrounded Keiji and followed the drummer, not allowing him to disappear back into the crowd. They had let him leave when they reached the hospital, and they didn’t see him until Kuroo had woken up. The rest of the story was pretty dismal, they had never gotten farther than little kisses and pining gazes through crowds and T.V. screens.
Now he was stuck in Japan, working as an emergency room surgeon, while the man he was slowly falling in love with toured the world, doing what he had always wanted. The first few months of their courting was tense but sweet, with cute and cliche dates, but that could only last for so long, because Kuroo was determined to go international, and being a physical entity that Keiji could hold at night wasn’t a part of that. He had factored Kuroo into his life, had planned his free time around Kuroo’s tours and ability to skype. But Kuroo had never factored a rooted man into his. So, when Sleepless Knights won the award for Best New International Artist, and Kuroo won Best International Singer Keiji smiled softly, clapped quietly, and wilted when Kuroo didn’t even hint at his soulmate in his acceptance speech. But then Kuroo was turning to the camera, was smiling that soft smile only those close to Kuroo ever get to witness, was lifting his hands. Keiji’s heart stuttered and his mind went blank as Kuroo signed three words, words neither of them had said, words both of them had been too afraid to speak for fear of the Fates deciding that all of this was a cruel game. Keiji signed back to the TV, whispering I love you at the same time. He knew they would never be perfect, but the Fates had paired them, so that had to mean something. And Keiji was okay with that.
5 years later.
Keiji was in the process of changing his scrubs- he had successfully completed an emergency open heart surgery- when a mass of black and pink clothing came barreling into the locker room. He didn’t have time to brace himself, barely had time to lift his arms, before Kuroo launched himself into his lover. They stumbled back, Kuroo tucking Keiji’s head into his shoulder, Keiji wrapping his arms around Kuroo’s too thin waist. Kuroo was sobbing, his fingers grasping, begging for purchase on something that would never leave. Kuroo was dying, his body attacking itself, and Keiji had to watch it happen. He was a doctor who couldn’t save the person he loved the most. They stood like that for seconds, minutes, hours, who knows how long, just taking in each others presence, praying that this would never end, that they wouldn’t be separated like this. Kuroo was the first to pull away, collapsing onto the bench so he could curl in on himself. Keiji finished changing, slipped on the worn leather jacket that smelled like Kuroo, and pulled the taller man to his feet. They walked out of the hospital hand in hand, two entities that were paired together, had survived separation, had to now survive impending doom. But tonight they couldn’t focus on the past, on Kuroo’s illness, and Keiji knew that. It was their anniversary, the day they had been paired seven years before, and Keiji had something planned for the former singer that would make them both happy. They got on Keiji’s bike, Kuroo on the back, his arms like corded rope, tight across Keiji’s stomach.
The drive to the concert venue where they met was long, three hours of silence, the hum of the engine filling the air. When they arrived, Keiji wrapped a blindfold around Kuroo’s eyes, led him into the building, nodded at the security guard that let them in. They made their way up the steps to the stage, where Keiji settled Kuroo onto a blanket on the floor. He took his time in taking off the blindfold, the trust between them heavier than the air. He kissed Kuroo’s eyelids, his nose, the corner of his mouth. Kuroo just sat there, relishing in this rare form of affection from his friend, his lover, his soulmate.
When he opened his eyes, Tetsurou was rewarded with the sight of his lover surrounded by candles and bouquets of Forget-Me-Nots, the blanket between them covered in pictures taken of them over the years. He felt tears well up in his eyes, fisted his bony hands on his even bonier knees. Akaashi just sat there, a look of absolute love written across his face. He drank in the sight of his soulmate wearing his old leather jacket, knew Akaashi would sometimes spray his cologne on it when he was out for more than a couple days. But know he was forced to stay at home or in the hospital, and that was just the saddest thing.
But tonight wasn’t going to be sad. Keiji was going to make sure of it.
“Tetsurou,” Keiji took a deep breath, grasped Kuroo’s cold hands in his own, “we’ve known each other for seven years, and yeah, they were hell for a long time, but look at us: we survived. And I want to keep surviving… no, scratch that, I want to live. I want to live, with you, until the end of our days. And I know that seems like a lot to ask, but it’s worth it. You’re worth it.” Keiji paused for a breath, and Kuroo spoke. “Keiji, I’m dying. I won’t be here when you grow old. I won’t see you when you reach sixty, when you get to sit back in retirement. Why would you want to live with me?” Kuroo let out a choked sob before continuing. “Keiji, I’m dying.”
Keiji crawled towards Kuroo, pushed at his shoulders until he was laying down. He straddled Kuroo’s hips, entwined one of his hands in Kuroo’s hair, allowed the other to find the pulse in his throat. “Tetsurou, do you know what I feel here?” Kuroo shook his head, tears landing in his forever messy hair.”I feel a pulse, a heartbeat. Proof that you are alive.” Kuroo whined at the back of his throat, reached up to cup Keiji’s cheek in his hand. “So why, if you are alive right now, would you deny yourself happiness?” Kuroo shake his head again, his bottom lip trembling.
Keiji leaned down, traced Kuroo’s lips with his own before settling them over his throat. He kissed the pulse at Kuroo’s throat, felt it jump beneath his lips, and let out a gentle sight. “Tetsurou, I love you. I’ve loved you since the day we met, when I saw that we shared the same flower blooming across our skin.” He pressed another kiss against his jaw. “And because I love you so much, I want you to marry me.” another kiss to his cheek. “Say yes.” temple. “Say yes.” eyelid. “Say yes.” nose. “Say yes.” just before Keiji was able to press another kiss into Kuroo’s skin, Kuroo sat up, cupping Keiji’s face in both hands.
“You’re sure you want to do this? Because these next few months will be harder than the last seven years.” Kuroo looked stony, tears rolling down flushed cheeks.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure. Marry me Tetsu, and those months will become years if I have any say.” Keiji carded his hands through thick messy hair, waiting for Kuroo to take the lead.
“Alright. I’ll marry you. But if you end up buying a pet rat, I will file for a divorce.”
Keiji threw his head back in laughter, his heart brimming with joy. Sure, the future would hold a lot of heartache and hardships, but the Fates had paired them because they were used to being alone, had survived on their own, and now they just wanted to survive together. So they would. They would take each day a step at a time, enjoy every moment they had, and add to the Forget-Me-Nots that had spread to cover their entire torsos and onto their hands. Because they were soulmates, and they were best at what they did, and that was survive to be happy.