Unsoulmates, part three!
[Part One] [Part Two]
It becomes a tradition, after that. Morpheus and Hob will meet, at a cafe or a pub or completely by chance (their friend groups, it turns out, are bizarrely interconnected), and Morpheus will ask Hob if he's found his soulmate yet, and Hob will say no.
Their first few meetings, Hob makes a genuine effort to try and explain. To talk about the people he never would have met, the love he'd have missed out on, (the life he'd have missed out on), had he just sat around waiting for his soulmate to find him. About how freeing it is to get to know someone outside of those horrible soulmate-matching dates where you shake twenty people's hands in a row and move on when nothing happens.
Morpheus seems entirely baffled by it. Not just Hob's approach, but the rest, too, soulmate-matching organizations and the goddamn nightmare that is dating apps and that brief moment of panic when the other person tries to grab your arm on the first date. Hob is almost as curious about Morpheus' experience of soulmates as Morpheus is about his, but Morpheus shies away from even the blandest questions about his relationship status, so Hob is left to wonder- if Morpheus met his soulmate young, like Will did, so he's never lived with the pressure to find the One. If he believes that Destiny will bring his soulmate to him when it's time, and it's not his place to go looking. If he's cautious, gets to know a person on their own terms before touching them and finding out if they're a Match.
Hob would think that last one were the answer- Morpheus holds himself apart from other people, avoiding physical contact at all costs- were it not for the deliberate brush of Morpheus' fingers against his palm the night they'd met. At first he's terribly aware of where that mark would be, but it's easy enough to let the crush he'd been nursing fade to the background. Morpheus' interest in him is so clearly just academic curiosity, it'd be silly to dwell on it.
And even though the novelty of being listened to, if not fully understood, eventually wears off, Morpheus' curiosity is still heartwarming, and Hob, as a person, is not given to running out of things to talk about. And Morpheus proves shockingly eager to listen to him ramble about playing Hades and argue with him about what qualifies a good adaptation of a book.
It's nice. Settling. To be around him, in a way Hob doesn't know he's ever felt with anyone else.
Their fifth meeting, Hob spends the entire time gushing about Audrey, Audrey whose sister had introduced her to Hob because neither of them are terribly anxious to find their soulmate, Audrey who throws herself into helping Hob find the earbuds he lost at her house with the same fervor she applies to med school exams, Audrey whose laugh might be the most beautiful sound he's ever heard...
The look of- disgust? despair? anger? On Morpheus' face when Hob finishes that little tangent would almost be funny if it weren't so insulting.
Their meetings peter off after that. Not intentionally. But Hob will admit that his every waking thought becomes- slightly consumed, by Audrey, from the moment she looks at him sideways to make a terrible pun about roses. And even after Hob's found room in his head for other things, Morpheus is impossibly busy with some project he's working on with Will.
And suddenly it's been almost four months and they've barely spoken and Hob's rushing into a fancy bakery three minutes before they close, when he notices a familiar black coat at the back of the line. He takes a moment to straighten his jacket- this place is fancy fancy, polished in a way that makes him feel too poor to afford the oxygen inside the building- before he sneaks into line behind Morpheus.
Morpheus glances back at him and freezes, as though he'd planned to commit Bakery Robbery and Hob is now a witness.
"Hey," Hob says, grinning a bit too widely, in the vague hope that he can make them both forget the past months of awkwardness if he's just cheerful enough. "How's the playwriting going?"
Morpheus stares at him for a short eternity, then says, "Frustrating." It's the end of the sentence, but not the conversation. Hob knows he remembers that distinction.
He waits a moment, in case there's more that Morpheus wants to say. The line shuffles slowly forward- Hob really shouldn't have come here right after work, there are six people in line in front of Morpheus and only one incredibly stressed employee behind the counter.
"How is. Audrey?" Morpheus asks, uncertainly, just when Hob is beginning to think he should say something else.
Hob's fairly certain the smile on his face is answer enough to that question. "She's great. It's been. Great," he says, conscious of the fact that no matter how much he wants to wax poetic, Morpheus probably doesn't want to hear it. "She's actually- I'm going to meet her parents, this weekend," he adds, and once he's said the words aloud, it's hard not to bounce in place with sheer giddiness- he's going to meet her family! As her boyfriend! "That's why I'm here, actually. I wanted to bring something nice but the last time I tried to bake I set my kitchen on fire, so..." He shrugs, and nods at the counter.
"You really are in love with her," Morpheus says. That look is back on his face, that intense, almost visceral shade of pity. If anything it's stronger than the last time Hob saw it.
Hob, frankly, would prefer disgust. Or confusion, or scorn. I know what I'm getting myself into, he wants to say. I thought you understood that part, at least.
"Of course I am," he says instead, and the words only sound a little hollow. "Soulmates are stupid."
Another eternity passes. Morpheus makes a tiny move toward Hob, and for a brief, foolish moment Hob thinks he's going to kiss him on the forehead, as though he were a brother-in-arms dying on the battlefield.
"Then. Enjoy your dinner," Morpheus says, and turns back around.
And that's the end of the conversation.
The line keeps shuffling forward. Morpheus stares into the middle distance like a statue of some folkloric king. The woman in front of him shoots Hob several pointedly disgusted looks, and Hob- broods. Turns the question over and over again in his mind- Why is it so hard to understand that she doesn't need to be my soulmate? She's already perfect. I love her.
He doesn't ask. He doesn't get an answer.
And three weeks later, Audrey bumps into her soulmate at a concert, and he realizes she hadn't understood, either.
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“i can’t give you what you want me to give you,” sirius said, his words rolled around his cigarette. “it’s not… i don’t think i can. you deserve someone who can love you the way you want them to love you, and that’s not me.”
“but it’s you i want. i’ll take whatever you’ll give me,” remus whispered, his eyes not leaving sirius’ body. “please.”
sirius rolled to his side, his grey eyes blending into hazel. “it’s not that easy, remus,” he answered quietly, seeming to be afraid to ruin the sanctity of the moment.
“we can try,” remus suggested, hoping that he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt, hoping that this would not be the end of them. “whatever you want. we’ll take it slow. can’t you… can’t you just give us a chance?”
sirius cupped his chin and kissed him, teeth and tongue and lips and regret and something that tastes bitter on his tongue that he isn’t quite sure that is tobacco. his fingers carded through remus’ curls, then kissed his jaw, his neck, his collarbone.
“is this a yes?” remus asked, feeling his face heat up and the blush spread over his cheeks.
“it’s a maybe.” sirius smiled against his shoulder, and for remus, right then, that was more than enough.
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