Chapter Text
This bird brings me messages from you
I try to write back, my love,
but this bird takes flight
before I can put pen to paper to write
The old legend was that everyone was connected to someone else. Each of the two would play a different role in the relationship. When the first person would write on themselves the same writing would appear on the second person, but not vice versa. One would give and the other would receive.
Bellamy always thought that he would be the giver in the relationship because that was his nature. He took care of Octavia from the moment she was born. He would write myths on his skin with hopes that his soulmate would read them and enjoy them the same way he did. That all changed when he found a drawing on his skin that he definitely did not put there.
“Octavia, did you draw on me while I was sleeping?” he shouted.
“Whuh?” Octavia wiped the sleep from her eyes as she sat up. Bellamy showed her his forearm. “That wasn’t me… that means it was done by your soulmate!” Octavia had jumped out of bed and grabbed his arm, suddenly more awake than she was seconds ago. “I always thought that you were the giver with how much you wrote on yourself. How rude though making you wait nineteen years?”
It was almost as if his soulmate echoed Octavia’s sentiment and over the next three years he would wake up with a new drawing on his body somewhere. He always made sure take a picture because his soulmate was a truly amazing artist.
He was disappointed that he was no closer to finding his soulmate. The drawings always brought him joy, but he wanted her to write down her phone number so he could get in contact with her. His prayers were answered somewhat on a hot day in July. He had rented a boat for a day with Octavia, Miller, and Murphy.
“Bell, your soulmate wrote something on your hand,” Octavia pointed out as they were both treading water beside the boat. Bellamy held his hand in front of his face and could hardly believe his eyes. ‘This is your soulmate. My number is xxx-xxx-xxxx. Ball is in your court now.’
“It’s her number,” Bellamy shouted. He swam as quickly as he could and got back on the boat. “Where’s my phone?”
“You left it in the car. None of us have waterproof cases,” Miller reminded him.
“Calm down and just memorize it,” Murphy suggested.
“Okay Miller I need you to remember the first part. I’ll give Murphy the second part and Octavia the last. I’m going to try to memorize the whole thing but I might need your help.”
“Was it 843 or 348?” Bellamy asked Murphy. After five hours outside in the sun the words were gone and Bellamy’s brain was fried. The copious amounts of alcohol the group drank that day did nothing to help their memory.
“I think that was Miller’s part,” Murphy replied. “My part was 007.”
“That’s James Bond, stupid,” Octavia yelled as she smacked Murphy upside the head.
That was it. This was probably the only chance that his soulmate was going to give him and he messed it up by entrusting part of his fate to Murphy.
The drawings appeared less frequently after that. Maybe only once or twice a week. Until more words finally appeared.
‘739 Rose Ln’ Those words on his hand were followed by a very intricate rose bush on the back of his hand. He typed the address into google and found that there was an art show happening there tonight.
“Why are you looking at an art show?”
“Octavia, can you not read things over my shoulder? I’m going because my soulmate wrote the address on my hand.”
“Okay when do we leave?”
“We?”
He tried to argue that she shouldn’t come, but Octavia was Octavia so she ended up tagging along.
“What do you think she’ll look like? What do you think her name will be? I’m gonna guess something basic like Stacey or Brittany, but if she is an artist she probably has some weird pen name-“
“Octavia.” When she rambled on it just made Bellamy more nervous. He looked at the piece in front of him. He really didn’t understand modern art.
“Bell-“
“O, stop.”
“I think that might be your soulmate’s painting.” He followed her gaze to the other side of the gallery where he saw a painting that was the exact same as the bird he found on his thigh last week. He made himself walk calmly to the other side of the gallery where a short blonde stood near the paintings.
“Excuse me, do you know how I can get in contact with the artist of these paintings?” he asked.
“Griffin is not taking any new commissions and I have been authorized to sell any of these paintings if you want to purchase,” she droned as if she had told twenty people before him the exact same thing.
“I’m not looking to buy anything but I want to talk to the artist,” he told her. Okay so he may have raised his voice a little bit.
“Sir, I assure you that any business you have with the artist can be done through me,” the girl bristled.
“She’s his freaking soulmate,” Octavia shouted at the girl.
Of course that causes a large man to walk up to them and kindly insist that they leave. As a last ditch effort Bellamy take the pen out of his shirt pocket (he had been grading earlier and it’s a convenient place to store pens, sue him), took the girl’s forearm, and quickly scribbled down his number. “Make sure she gets that number,” Bellamy tells her before following Octavia outside.
Before they can get even a block down the road his phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. ‘Check your arm.’