Self-indulgent Soulmates AU

[igiko]

Most people in Auldrant don't feel the need to hide the words etched onto their wrists. In a world where the Score presides over their every day lives, what's a handful of words? It's nothing unusual. There's nothing to hide—and if there is, that's an individual's shame talking more than anything.

Asch covers his wrist, in part due to it just being the state of his dress and in another part due to a combination of reasons that all boil down to the fact that no point in time belongs to him anymore. In his early years, he didn't give the bizarre words on his wrist much thought: He had the kingdom to consider, and Natalia was there besides. Now with nothing to his name and everything to his replica, he's pushed the notion of soulmates out of his mind altogether.

All the way to his death, he doesn't hear the words that would taunt him when dressing down. As his breath fades and a tired smile tugs at his lips, he thinks wearily that, with the cluelessness behind those words, they were meant for the replica from the very beginning.

💌

"W-what's a god-general?"

It's really such a stupid question that he doesn't realize why they sound so familiar until much, much later. Over the years he's developed the habit of not looking at his wrist on most days. When he finally glances at them the day before his second death, he frowns . . . and says nothing.

There's no way. Besides, stupid though it is, it's a common question around these parts where the Oracle Knights aren't known. This isn't even Auldrant. The time for those words to be meant for him has long passed.

The rest of Zenitsu's words fall on deaf ears. Weeks later the coward tells him to live in spite of his blossoming bruises, and Asch flees in a huff.

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It turns out that the words shared by soulmates transcend the boundaries of the Score—all the way to other worlds.

When they're inexplicably infatuated, he lowers his guard. The t-shirt doesn't cover most of his arms, and he neglects to cover his wrists—because why would he? There's nothing to hide from the person he loves. In fact, he's not even thinking about soulmates when Zenitsu reaches for his hand and holds his wrist in a manner that can almost be called reverent.

"Ah," starts Zenitsu, "they're my words."

"What do you mean?" asks Asch.

"I said them to you when we talked for the first time."

The implication behind Zenitsu's answer doesn't scare him. He's long given up on meeting that person whose soul, supposedly, is a harmonic match to his own. Probably propaganda material to indoctrinate followers into the Score, he used to tell himself on some days. Zenitsu is just spouting nonsense, but because it's him Asch doesn't mind.

"I have a word, too," says Zenitsu.

Asch smiles as he decides to humor him. "Do you?"

The smile slips when Zenitsu sits up, pulls his own sleeves up, and rolls his arm to show off the inside of his wrist. Etched onto the fair surface is a single word: Tch.

That sounds like something he might've said.

Naturally, that means it doesn't make any sense.

"Where I'm from," Zenitsu continues, "the words on our wrists are supposed to be the first thing our special person says to us. Supposedly, that's the moment when two people's fates connect as one. It's considered bad luck to show them off, so we keep them under our clothes. Was it like that for you?"

It feels like he's left his body and unable to touch ground.

"Asch?"

He blinks, suddenly inhaling. His own voice sounds far away as he says, "They're called soulmates. That's what we call them in Auldrant."

Zenitsu makes an inquisitive sound as he leans in again, running the tips of his fingers across Asch's wrist. "Does this mean we're soulmates?"

It's a terrifying revelation, actually. Something about it strikes him as far too convenient, and therefore entirely implausible. None of the pieces feel as if they're slotting into place like they're supposed to be. This is awful. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Just like that, the terrible suspicion recedes in the same breath it came.

He should be happy. No, he is happy. The pieces don't feel right, because they've just been out of place for so long. Now that they're aligned the way they should be, he's finding himself unable to fathom how he's supposed to feel. That's normal. This is happiness.

In the end, the replica couldn't take this from him.

Smiling again, he reaches out to take Zenitsu's wrist in his hand. If only his first word had been kinder, he thinks wistfully.

Instead, he says with artificial love swelling in his heart, "I think so."