You're My Only One [Oneshot]
Title: You´re My Only One
Fandom: Sexy Zone
Pairing: Fuma/Kento
Rating: PG-15
Wordcount: 5302
Warnings: Soulmate AU. This version has cigarettes and stuff that the AO3 version doesn't
Notes: Written for an exchange. I'd never tried soulmate AU before so I figured it was time, and honestly I kinda like it?
It's three minutes to midnight.
There's moonlight outside, a full moon, and it feels almost magical. Like the entire universe knows that something special is about to happen.
Kento wets his lips and keeps staring out through his bedroom window at the sky, trying not to look at the ticking clock, and he feels like time couldn't possibly go slower.
Three minutes to midnight. Three minutes until he turns 15 years old, and three minutes until his number will appear. He wishes he could say he wasn't anticipating it, that he hasn't been sleepless over it. But anyone who says they don't care is lying, he knows they are. The number is important. It dictates your future, whether you like it or not.
The number is the amount of people that match you. The number of individuals you will meet in your lifetime that can be your soulmate, the one you're meant to be with. You will know when you meet someone that they're a candidate, but you can never know if they're the one. Not until one of you die, and the other's number goes down to 0. Kento doesn't know how you're supposed to know that you even match, but everyone keeps telling him that he'll just know.
He feels childishly anxious about it, because maybe he won't know? Maybe he won't understand the signals?
Shige says he will. That he's already felt it, and he's only had his number for two years. Shige's is in the tens of thousands, but he says that's nice. That means he's got plenty of chances.
Kento's not sure if he wants a high or low number. A high number means you will easily find someone, but the risk is higher that they won't be the one. A lower number means you'll probably never find someone. But his parents are both really low numbers, his mother is 113 and his father is 567. They've been together for 21 years. Kento wonders if he'll be like them, if it's genetic. There's no research that says it is, but he has a feeling it is that way.
He looks at the clock again, subconsciously, before tearing his eyes away and fixing them on the moon, his heart fluttering uncomfortably in his chest. A minute and a half until midnight.
He draws a deep breath, trying to tell himself that really, the number is not the end of the world. Millions of people never find their soulmate and still live happy lives. Nobody really knows if they've found their soulmate, but there are people who are convinced that they have. Kento wonders if maybe there is a way of knowing after all, when there's the right one.
He hears the ticking of seconds so loudly it feels like the clock is inside his head, and his palms feel sweaty, so he wipes them on the covers and tries to breathe slowly.
Then he feels it, like someone poured warm water on his wrist, and he immediately squeezes his eyes shut as the feeling becomes a burn, like the water turned boiling. He hisses and instinctively wraps his other hand around his own wrist in a pathetic attempt to ease the burn, and just like that, it's gone. There's no pain anymore, but he feels a slight throbbing and heat in his skin, like a bad sunburn.
Slowly, he opens his eyes, watching his own hand covering his wrist, his skin lit up by moonlight and it makes him look paler than he is. He knows the number is there, knows he's going to have to look at it, but for as much as he's wanted it to show up, now he doesn't want to look.
What if it's a number in the millions.
He draws a deep breath, shaky, and he almost feels like crying despite being way too old to cry over something like this.
It's his own life no matter what number is imprinted in his skin.
He closes his eyes, breathes in and out, and then removes his hand. The air of his bedroom is cooling against his hot wrist, and the slight moisture left from his sweaty palm feels cold, making him shiver.
All he has to do is open his eyes, and he'll know.
It takes another couple seconds, but then he finally does it, eyes snapping open because he can't bear the suspense anymore.
He looks at his own arm and his insides seem to freeze, a wave of nausea rolling over him as he stares at the single digit tattooed in black just by his pulse point.
1.
------
Fuma breathes out smoke, clouding his perfect view of the night sky for a moment. There's a full moon and everything feels bright, like it's midday and not midnight. The stars shine like someone pierced a hole in the black blanket covering the world at night and letting whatever is beyond shine through. Wasn't there a religion that believed that's what stars were? Fuma doesn't remember. Not like it matters.
The metal railing he's leaning his head on isn't that comfortable, but it doesn't matter. It smells like high speed and burnt rock and it makes him feel alive.
There's a screech from behind him but it's followed by laughter and he doesn't care. He's tuned his friends out like he has for most of the night. He's tuned almost everything out besides the one thing he can't.
There's movement close to him and peripherally, he sees a pair of boots step onto the board closest to the one he's lying on. He can barely fit on it, the rocks in between digging into his ass, but it doesn't matter.
“Hey.” Juri says, crouching down so low his ripped jeans creak a little at the knees. His red hair is in his eyes as always and the moonlight makes it look hot pink.
“Hey.” Fuma replies, still not looking directly at him but he's so close he's still within vision.
Juri inhales a drag from his own cigarette, the ember lighting up his black eyes for a second before he lets his hand drop from his face.
“This is pretty dangerous.” Juri points out, and Fuma would shrug if his shoulders weren't propped up tight against the rail.
“I don't care.” Fuma replies.
“Well clearly.” Juri agrees, laughing as he ungracefully falls onto his butt on the board, crossing his legs. His worn Dr. Martens boots have a strip of red spray paint on them. “She's not the only one out there you know.”
“None of them ever is.” Fuma groans, raising his hand to glare at the number on his wrist, halfway covered in bracelets but he knows it by heart anyway. 2781.
When he first got it, he was excited. It was a low number, he'd been lucky. He was going to find that person out there for him. Now, almost ten years later, all he sees is 2780 failures.
“One of them is.” Juri shrugs. “Look, bro, I know it sucks that you two didn't work out, but lying across the train tracks considering getting run over is really low. Even for you.”
“What do you mean even for me?” Fuma asks, hackles rising as he turns to glare at Juri.
Juri shrugs with that know it all grin he has sometimes, and Fuma considers reaching out to hit him. “You sulk. A lot. What do you care about finding 'the only one' anyway, you could find like a thousand hot chicks to bang and be happy like the rest of us.”
He does some flaily movement with his hands when saying the only one, and Fuma's mouth pinches.
“You look stupid.” He says, because he's not having this conversation with Juri again. They just make fun of him.
Sometimes Fuma find his friends shallow. They only think about now, and he can't decide if he feels jealous or condescending about it. He loves living in the now with them, just living life and having fun without thinking about consequences. But at the same time, he wants to dream about the future, about what he could do and who he could be with. What his family would be like, what kind of house he wants.
It's hard to imagine he would be able to get a job good enough to ever own a house, considering he's still helping out in his dad's music shop and being nagged at to go to university despite not having the grades for it. That his life is completely stalling and he doesn't even know what it's waiting for. But that doesn't matter in his dreams.
“You look stupider.” Juri says, then giggles around his cigarette. “More stupid. Whatever.”
There's a loud noise behind Fuma's head that makes him jump, and he looks up to see Jesse staring down at him upside down where he leans over him. His messy hair hangs down on either side of his head and it makes him look like a hobbit.
“What?!” He growls, the surprise coming in out in the shape of anger.
“Let's go to a party!” Jesse urges, and Fuma sighs.
He doesn't want to go to a party.
“Come on!” Jesse goes on, hopping over the rail to shove at Fuma's chest with his boot, and Fuma reluctantly sits up, ruffling his hair reflexively.
“He livesss!” Hokuto calls, and Fuma turns to look at the rest of his friends, at how Hokuto grabs Taiga around the waist and hoists him up in a gesture of happiness, making him drop a half full beer can on the ground.
“Fuck! Let me go you big dick!” Taiga yells, waving his arms and the lit cigarette looks like a lost firefly.
“Yeah I've got a big dick alright, you want some of it?” Hokuto cackles but lets Taiga down, only to get smacked over the head while Shintarou laughs so hard he doubles over. He's so drunk already.
“Yeah Fuma, let's go. Maybe the only one is at the party.” Juri suggests, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and Fuma groans but let's himself be pulled up from the ground, his entire body feeling stiff.
Maybe they are. And if they're not, at least he can get drunk enough to forget they're supposed to exist.
------
“Thank you, please come back.” Kento smiles, and the girl smiles back. Her smile is pretty, and he figures her teeth must be fixed because nobody has that perfect teeth.
“I sure will.” She promises, cocking her head cutely as he accepts her take away mug, her curls bouncing a little.
She brushes his fingers as she accepts the mug, and Kento feels nothing.
She still eyes him for another long moment before turning to leave, her slightly too big heels clacking against the floor until the door closes behind her and leaves the café empty.
“She was pretty.” Sou says, leaning against the counter with both elbows as he looks after her through the shop windows.
“She was.” Kento agrees, sighing as he looks at the time. 8:40, and another 20 minutes until closing.
“But nothing for you, as usual.” Sou rolls his eyes, slowly straightening up from the counter he's not supposed to lean on anyway. “Don't you at least feel a little tingly when you see someone pretty?”
Kento shrugs awkwardly, feeling mostly embarrassed about his completely aromantic lifestyle.
“Not really.” He admits, because he doesn't. He can appreciate that someone's beautiful, but there's never anything more than that. He's touched so many people in his life so far, thousands since the day the number appeared on his arm, and there's always nothing.
“Kento, I'm getting sick of you holding yourself back from nice things.” Sou lectures him, again, walking past him to round the pastry counter to gather some cups left at a table in the small café.
“I know, you tell me at least twice a week.” Kento sighs, because Sou does. He knows he only means well, everyone giving him advice does. But none of them knows what it's like. It's like he's incapable of falling in love.
Sou's in love right now, he smiles and blushes at his phone all the time and he flings his apron off at 9 pm sharp to rush off to meet his boy. But Sou has a 3000 number and he's been in love plenty of times already. He's only 23 years old, and still he's been in love almost ten times. Kento's so jealous he feels sick, because he wants to know what it's like. But at the same time, he's so happy for those that get to feel so happy.
“Have you ever liked someone?” Sou asks, raising his eyebrows pointedly as he puts the cups on the marble counter and leans his hands against it from the customer side.
“... I was engaged in kindergarden?” Kento offers with a small smile, and Sou groans dramatically.
“No! Kindergarden doesn't count!” He complains, looking at Kento like he pities his stupidity.
“Honestly, I don't even know what it feels like.” Kento sighs, crossing his arms over his chest protectively. Everyone keeps talking about that tingle when you meet a match, but Kento's never met his. It's hard when there's only one out there among 7,5 billion or so.
“Right.” Sou sighs, and his voice is compassionate. “It's nice? Like a warmth that heats up your entire body, but not in an unpleasant way. It's like a slowburn orgasm but not as powerful, like, you just feel really good without being able to pinpoint exactly what feels good?”
Sou looks at him with a teasing smile, leaning closer across the counter and shifts his weight pointedly. “You know what that's like, right?”
Kento rolls his eyes and reaches out to slap the top of his head, but he can't completely hold in the laugh. “Stop that, you'll make your boyfriend jealous.”
“I can't help it, you're so cute and someone should love you.” Sou pouts, and it's only half a joke but Kento decides to laugh anyway.
“Don't worry about me.” Kento smiles reassuringly when Sou still looks a little sad after he's done laughing. “I don't miss something I don't know about, right?”
“If you say so babe.” Sou gives in, but the way he reaches over to squeeze Kento's arm says that he knows Kento's lying to him.
------
There's fairylights in the ceiling, and Fuma figures this is a girl's place. That's about all that witnesses about it though, the worn couches and half dead plants in the corners could be anyone's. It's crowded and smokey and the music keeps changing because people fight over the speakers, but he doesn't mind. He likes most kinds of music and he's not really listening anyway.
Shintarou's talking vividly about politics and conspirational theories he's learned on reddit, with two enchanted girls as his audience. Fuma's pretty sure they're enchanted by the way his arms look in that shirt and don't hear a word he's saying, but Shintaro doesn't have to know that. He's happier thinking they like his brain and not his insane body.
Taiga's halfway in his lap trying to get away from drunk Hokuto, but Fuma doesn't mind despite knowing perfectly well it's all an act. Taiga smells nice and if he's a bit bitchy normally, he's brutal when he's drunk and that's kinda fun.
Juri's somewhere in the kitchen doing drugs with some hot chicks, and as usual Fuma hopes he wakes up tomorrow. He'd be sad to lose Juri, they've been best friends for too long to find a new one. Friends are almost harder to find than crushes in this world.
“That's not true!” Taiga calls, gesturing so wildly that the vodka and who knows in his plastic cup sloshes over the edge and onto Fuma's jeans. “That is SO not true!”
“I was there, jeez, you can't claim it didn't happen!” Hokuto laughs, and that only makes Taiga angrier.
Fuma wraps an arm around his waist to calm him down, and it helps a little. At least he sits more still.
“I can't with you, Fuma, let's go dance.” Taiga says, slamming the cup down on the sticky coffee table littered with identical ones in various states of empty.
“Whatever.” Fuma agrees, following Taiga as he gets up because his ass was starting to feel numb anyway. That's what happens when you lie on the couch moping for four days straight after being dumped yet another time.
Fuma hits his knee on the coffee table and curses. No thinking about that now.
Taiga tugs him along into the middle of the room, coaxing him to dance to the american rap song currently playing, and the fact that Fuma understands most of the lyrics says how filthy it is. Taiga's a good dancer and he's got no shame, especially not when he knows Hokuto's eyes are on him the entire time.
“Why don't you just fuck?” Fuma asks when the song starts winding down and you can hear each other, and Taiga just shrugs.
“We will. Eventually.” He says pointedly, and Fuma rolls his eyes because he doesn't get it. They've been annoying for a good while and insufferable lately, being all touchy and teasing and screaming at each other. Like little kids really.
Fuma opens his mouth to reply something sharp about that, but there's a hand on his shoulder and he turns to find a girl watching him almost predatorily.
“Hey.” She says, and Fuma just raises his eyebrows. She's hot and all, with red lipstick and streaks of red in her hair, a crop top and tight pants, but he doesn't really like her expression. Too feral.
“Wanna dance with me?” She asks, a little hint of laughter in her tone as she asks the question that was already obvious unspoken.
Her fingers move a little on his shoulder, her pinky brushing the bare skin of his neck, and there's a fizzle of warmth blossoming on his skin.
They look at each other for a long second, a shared moment of curiousity, and Fuma glances back at Taiga only to find him gone.
“Sure.” He finally says, and the girl smiles.
-----
It's a quarter to midnight and Kento's breath makes a cloud in the cool night air as he steps outside. His bag is heavy with the books he didn't finish with, but that just feels good. He has a lot of studying left to do, and he knows he shouldn't work these extra shifts so close to an exam, but he can't say no. At least he managed almost 2,5 hours of studying tonight, so that's good.
He likes Saturday nights that way. There's nobody at campus at all, especially not in the library. He can study in peace and pretend he's Belle from Beauty and the Beast as he runs around between the shelves in the giant library.
He'll keep studying tomorrow afternoon after his morning shift, and hopefully feel better about the upcoming exam.
He starts walking, figuring the night air feels nice and he doesn't feel like cramming himself into a train with the drunks to get home. It's not too far to walk.
He rounds the corner of the library and sees the full moon glowing white in the sky, and he wets his lips. The full moon always reminds him of that night ten years ago when he sat watching the moon and waiting for his number. The full moon makes him feel like the lonliest person alive.
People were hysterical over his number when he first showed it to them. Nobody knew anyone with a number below a hundred, and this just couldn't be right, did he do something strange, did he hack the system somehow? Kento was devastated but tried no to show it, and started wearing bracelets and wristbands and extra long sleeves to hide it. He drew on more numbers for a while too, and most of his classmates went through high school with him not knowing the truth.
In the beginning, he was hopeful, he thought that he was unique and special and that he would definitely find the one. He imagined he felt what others described touching people that could match you, and he had a girlfriend for a couple months in late high school. He bettered on the extra numbers on his arm carefully then, until she saw them after a shower and figured it out. She was in tears when she realized his number was one, and that if he only had one and felt that way about her, they were meant to be together. So Kento had to break her heart and tell her he'd lied, and that's not something he ever wants to put anyone through again.
So he's stayed away from love in any form. His friends keep telling him it doesn't matter, there are lots of people out there who date without the intention of finding their soulmate, but Kento doesn't like that. He wants to find this one person, wants to feel what everyone keeps telling him about, wants to know that he's never felt it. His worst nightmare is that he's felt it but didn't recognize it. That he met the only person for him on this earth, and didn't know it.
Everyone keeps telling him that if he's uncertain, he didn't feel it. But he's still irrationally anxious.
Kento sighs and draws his scarf tighter, trying to think about his dog at home and that at least she loves him irregardless of his number.
-----
Fuma wakes up with a headache, and it takes him a couple long moments to realize where he is. The smell is unfamiliar, and as he blinks his eyes open, there's a woman sleeping next to him, a pale bare back with black and red hair cascading over it the first thing he sees.
He slowly sits up in bed and looks around for his stuff, finding his clothes in a pile on the floor and his cell phone sticking out of a pocket. He relaxes.
He feels sick, hungover in the worst kind of way and he wonders if he shouldn't sleep some more, do the decent thing and at least tell the girl goodbye before leaving.
They danced for a while, talked a little, had a few shots, then made out in the bathroom and she invited him home. He figured why not. There had been something between them after all.
But Fuma already knew she wasn't the one. She was pretty, but there was something off about her that he didn't like. An attitude of knowing how hot she was.
Fuma gets up and slowly, very slowly pulls his clothes on, having to sit down on the floor after his pants are on because he feels a little dizzy. He wonders if he's still drunk but he feels more hungover and tired.
He looks around the bedroom, at the massive make up mirror with tons of different eyeshadow palettes and dirty brushes, at the posters of famous actors half naked and the shiny red stilettos kicked off on the floor. This isn't the girl for him.
Finally, he gets up and manages to get to the bathroom without anything bad happening. He tries to fix his hair a little but it's dirty and looks the part, messy brown with a slightly greasy look, and his eyes are a little blood shot. At least all he has to do is get home and crash in his own bed.
He steals a water bottle from the fridge, downing all of it on his way down the stairs and figures he has to get coffee or he won't make it home.
He has no idea where he is, as he reaches the street he doesn't recognize his surroundings at all, so he opens his phone for some maps. Apparently there's a coffee shop just a block from where he is, so he decides to start with that and maybe ask for the way to the train station if his voice isn't too bad. He speaks a few sentences to himself just to test it out, but his voice is okay.
The coffee shop is in a corner, surrounded by what looks like a vegetable shop and a post office, and it's really cute, nothing like the massive starbucks close to Fuma's place.
There's a bell on the door when he enters, and it appears he's the only customer in the small space. It's cosy though, warm and welcoming, and as Fuma looks around, a boy shows up behind the counter.
“Welcome.” He says, and Fuma can't help it if he stares at him for a moment too long. He's too pretty for 9 am on a hungover Sunday morning, it's almost like he radiates and Fuma has to squint. His black hair is discreetly styled and his eyes are big, his smile soft and his apron tied at the waist shows off a nice figure.
“Good morning.” Fuma greets, and suddenly his voice is gravelly after all, and he carefully steps up to the counter. “Can I have a coffee?”
---
Kento hears the bell and quickly jumps off his chair, dropping the book in favour of hurrying out to the counter. He's not supposed to be reading right now, but Sunday mornings are usually so quiet he doesn't bother to be visible. They're not even two people working before ten because people so rarely come in before then.
“Welcome.” Kento says automatically as he notices a man standing just inside the door looking around, but then pauses as he takes him in.
He looks worn out, and he's definitely a lost man on his walk of shame, but he's really pretty. Not like the girl on the day before, objectively beautiful, but Kento really finds him attractive. He's got brown hair that looks like he just woke up, a fantastic bone structure and nice arms. He's wearing a black and green bomber jacket with baggy ripped jeans, and silver earrings are lined up in one ear.
“Good morning.” The man says, eyeing him closely as he walks up to the counter, and his voice is husky. “Can I have a coffee?”
“Absolutely.” Kento smiles, trying for his usual professional charm, but the way this man looks at him makes him feel a little embarrassed. “Coffee's what we do best. Any particular kind you want?”
“Just black. Please.” He says, and Kento senses the smell of leftover cologne and sweat, but it's not unpleasant. “To go, I guess.”
“Yes.” Kento confirms, and turns to reach for a mug, but he feels surprisingly reluctant to take his eyes off the man.
“Hey, do you know where I am?” The man asks then, and Kento looks over his shoulder at him after pressing the button on the coffee machine.
The sunlight highlights him from behind and his silver earrings catch the light and almost blinds him for a second.
“Mmhm.” Kento smiles. “Rough night?”
“You could say that.” The man sighs, but there's a small smile on his lips, and if Kento thought he was pretty before, he definitely thinks so now. “I should learn but I never do.”
“Not to get lost on Sunday mornings or...?” Kento teases, and the man breathes a laugh.
“Something like that.” He shrugs, and Kento watches him for a couple seconds before he hears the coffee machine finishing pouring and quickly turns back to it.
“The train station is three blocks down to the right.” Kento says as he reaches for a lid for the mug, and then turns around.
“Down there?” The man asks, gesturing towards the street, and Kento nods with a smile, noticing the man wears rings too.
“You can't miss it.” He says, and holds the coffee cup out. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” The man smiles, reaching out for the mug, and as a hundred times before, brushes Kento's fingers when he does.
And Kento feels like a jolt goes through him, knocking the breath out of him, spreading heat all over his body and it feels so good he almost moans.
----
Fuma reaches out for the coffee cup, he can already smell it and he's so ready to down it as soon as the temperature allows, to fill his body with some fake energy that will last until he gets home. Three blocks doesn't seem too far to walk.
The man has pretty hands, he notices as he watches him hold out the cup, and it might not be entirely accidental as he brushes his fingers when he accepts the coffee.
And then it happens.
Fuma feels like tiny fireworks goes off all over his skin, heat flooding his body from his fingers, no sign of his hungover as he feels light enough to run a marathon for a long delicious moment.
He stares at the man opposite him, seeing his wide eyes meet him and knows he felt it too.
They're both still holding onto the cup, frozen and staring at each other for another second, before the man lets go, pulling back to cover his mouth with his shaking hands and he's starting to look pale.
Fuma quickly puts the cup down on the counter because he's scared of dropping it, and eyes the man before him in amazement because it has never felt like that before in his life.
“Wow.” Fuma gets out, and the man finally lowers his hands, supporting himself on the pastry counter and Fuma's a little worried he's going to pass out. “That was... Are you okay?”
“Not really.” The man shakes his head with a nervous smile, but then he breathes a short laugh, and Fuma reflexively smiles back.
“... Will you be okay?” Fuma asks, but he notices a little colour starting to return to his cheeks.
“Yeah.” The man smiles. “I think so.”
Fuma watches him for a long moment, uncertain what to say, how to ask this beautiful man to maybe go out with him because that was intense, but he knows he looks like trash right now and the odds aren't in his favour.
“I'm Kikuchi Fuma.” He finally gets out, and the man smiles.
“Nakajima Kento.” He bows his head a little in what looks like a reflex, and Fuma repeats the name just to get a taste of it. Kento. That's nice.
“I...” Fuma starts, but he loses track of what he was saying as he watches Kento smiling and his eyes glisten a little, and realizes he's almost crying. “Are you... What's wrong?”
“Nothing. I just. I can't believe I found you.” Kento says, and his voice is so full of relief that Fuma wants to hug him, and he's never really been a hugger.
“Oh.” Fuma smiles, feeling nervous suddenly because he doesn't know what Kento means exactly. “What, uhm, what does that mean?”
“Oh.” Kento blinks, the start of a tear catching in his eyelashes as he seemingly can't stop smiling. “You don't- Wait. I... Here.”
He holds his left arm out and tugs down the band of the black wrist watch, and Fuma stares down at the number written, feeling like someone just punched him in right in the stomach because he can't believe it.
1.
~*~