Ashton Imagine: Soulmate AU
You’ve met before.
When the skies were grey and the clouds let their tears fall; when the wind trickled through the droplets that fell in pellets from the heavens, the rainwater washing the grounds clean once more; for a new beginning, for a new day.
You’ve met before – in fact, you’ve met for the first time multiple times before – but it was always in the rain.
A different name, a different place, a different time.
A different life.
But always in the rain.
He’d run into you and he’d stutter out an apology with a sheepish smile with the deep dimples in his cheeks – that never changed, they were with him for every life he’s lived and every life he’ll ever live – and you’d smile and tell him it was alright, enchanted by his hazel eyes every single time.
You’re not sure what it is – or why it is – that you keep on finding yourself drawn to this particular boy; why it feels like you’re remembering him more than you are getting to know him.
Why his touch feels familiar, like an old friend’s greeting. Why the memory of his smile is bright in your mind as if you’ve seen it a million times, even though you’ve just met.
Why it feels like you know this boy before he even tells you his name.
You call it a coincidence that this boy in the rain feels so familiar to you, but there’s an echo in the crevices of your bones that tells you it’s fate.
Perhaps you’re just meant to be.
You’re not sure how the universe works – how it criss-crosses from this dimension to the next, how it weaves one moment to the next, how it connects one reality to another.
Some say the answers are in the stars, but others say it’s in the light of your soulmate’s eyes.
You’re not sure if such a thing exists – it seems too fanciful, much too similar to wishy-washy daydreams when you’re feeling lonely on a Sunday morning – but there’s something in his hazel eyes that makes your heart wonder if those daydreams are a reality that you live in.
A reality that you’ve lived in time and time again.
Because there’s something about the way his body curves perfectly with yours like you were one instead of two, how his hands feel like they’ve been melded with yours when you were created.
There’s something about the way his touch makes you feel as though he’s lit a fire in the depths of your bones; something about the way his words echo in your mind far after they’ve left his lips.
It’s strange how well you know him – how it feels like you’ve never been strangers, how you’ve always been more than friends from the moment you met – and you don’t know why he fits into your life like a puzzle piece you didn’t know you were missing.
Some say the answer is in the stars; hidden within the cosmos and the constellations if you look close enough.
Well, you think you see galaxies deep within the glimmer in his eyes, and you’d spend this life – and the next, even though you don’t know it yet – finding the answer.
You’d always spend your life finding him again.
You don’t know it, but you’ve met before.
You’ve already lived hundreds of lives with him – hundreds of first meetings with his hazel eyes and curly hair and sheepish grin – and you’ll live hundreds more with him by your side.
It’s a little different every time – you have a different name and a different life and so does he, but your smile never changes and neither does his when you meet for the first time.
His curly hair is always damp from the rain and he’s always piercing you with those hazel eyes and he’ll give you a different greeting every time with another name that you’ll soon carry for the rest of your life, but the warm flickers that spread through your skin when his hand touches yours stays the same every time.
You see, you’ve loved him when he was a writer in a shabby house in the city who liked his coffee with two sugars and forgot to shave every morning; bustling on his typewriter, collars upturned and sleeves rolled up haphazardly. You’ve loved him when he owned a farm in some new colony and you’d spend your days tending to the animals while he worked on the crops, skin tanned from the sun and sweat dampening his clothes; trying to harvest enough for you and your family to trade for the supplies you’d need for the winter.
You’ve loved him when there were kings and queens and they were searching for dragons while you and him were making ends meet in some shabby village. You’ve loved him when there were wars between countries, between neighbours – you were there to kiss him goodbye when they sent him off to fight and you’d be waiting for him to come back every time.
And perhaps you’ve loved him way back before presidents and governments and monarchies and kings and queens; back to when there was nothing but you and him and the whole world, the whole universe splayed out for you.
Made for you. Like you were made for each other.
You’re meant to love him, you’re meant to find him – perhaps your soul is entwined with his, perhaps there are some threads of fate that connects the two of you – but no matter what it is, no matter what theory any philosopher or mathematician or astronomer can give, you’ll always find your way back to him.
You’re meant to be.
You’ve shared millions of kisses and billions of moments and even though you can’t remember them all, they’re buried deep within the universe, written in the stars that you look at every night.
And perhaps not every life was a happy ending – perhaps he didn’t come home after that war, perhaps one of you succumbed to a plague that spread, perhaps you were separated through some cruel hand of fate that tore you apart even though wanted to stay – but there was always that first meeting in the rain again.
There was always a sad goodbye –a goodbye on a hospital bed, a goodbye that was said too soon, too late, perhaps not at all – but there was always another hello.
Another life. Another chance encounter in the rain.
Another adventure with the boy that fate, that life would call your soulmate.
You’ve danced with him in balls; nothing but a veiled lady and a masked duke who danced the night away in some Renaissance ball; wide gowns and pressed ties sneaking away to the gardens.
You’ve sailed oceans with him; looking for a life anew somewhere at the end of the endless blue waves, his golden eyes and unruly curls steadying you through the stormy nights.
You’ve snuck out to meet in the dead of the night and you’ve sent calligraphy letters in ink to his home and you’ve rode carriages and trains and planes and automobiles and horses with hm.
You’ve lived through the timeline of the earth’s very existence with him.
Everything the earth has seen, you have as well – with him.
You don’t remember, but your eyes and his hazel ones have seen civilizations fall and kingdoms rise; cities and plagues spread and technology grow with knowledge.
You’ve seen people come and go but he always stays, he always comes back.
You always come back to each other.
And maybe some stories were a tragedy dotted with hardships while others were a fairytale that soared past your very eyes.
But there was no doubt that every story – every life – with him was one filled with love. Though fate brings you together, life throws its obstacles at you, but the two of you manage to get through every single one in every single life.
Your souls are entwined, and nothing – not life, not death, not fate, not luck – can stop the two of you from being together at the end of the night.
It was raining.
You were waiting at your bus stop, trying to keep your head down, wrapping yourself tighter with your jacket to stop the rain from seeping into your skin.
You glance up every few seconds, looking down the rain-sodden streets for your bus before peeking at your watch, tapping your soaked shoes onto the curb impatiently.
The bus was supposed to be here ten minutes ago, and you were drenched and irritated – at the bus for taking its sweet time and at yourself for forgetting to bring your umbrella.
You were wondering how much longer you had to be in the rain before catching pneumonia and dying before the week even ended when the rain suddenly stopped.
Well, it didn’t stop falling per se, it merely stopped falling on you, the absence of the pelting rain on your jacket a noticeable change, although t it continued to spatter onto the pavement road before you.
You look up and see the dark cover of an umbrella over your head, blocking you from the rain.
You turn to see a smiling boy standing next to you, his broad shoulders taking up most of the space under the umbrella, though you don’t mind the heat that radiates from his body that warms your shivering figure.
The moment your eyes meet his hazel ones, you feel a small shock run through your veins; unexpected and sudden, disappearing from your system as quickly as it came.
You would’ve thought you merely imagined it, if it weren’t for the curious look in this boy’s golden-flecked eyes that leaves you feeling confused and enthralled at the same time.
You’re not sure what it is about him – his long curly hair, the deep set of dimples on his cheeks, the soft fuzz underneath his chin – but you’re drawn to him.
It’s more than his broad shoulders and sparkling eyes – you take an appreciative glance of that, too – but there’s something about him – something you can’t put a finger on – that leaves you wondering more about this boy.
He’s staring at you the same way, eyes squinted slightly and head cocked to the side, lips pursed thoughtfully as he examines your face, trying to pinpoint what it is about this soaked, shivering girl in the rain that makes his veins flow with something electric.
He finally breaks the silence after a moment of silent staring, and even his voice feels so right, like the final touch to a masterpiece.
What’s a pretty girl like you doing in the rain?
You don’t know why his voice sounds so familiar in your ears – you know you would’ve remembered a boy like him with a voice like his – but you’re certain you’ve never met before, though a small whisper in the back of your head tries to tell you otherwise.
Waiting for a bus that should’ve been here ten minutes ago.
You manage a little half-smile, shrugging slightly, raindrops sliding down your face and dripping from your hair.
He thinks you’re beautiful, and he can’t stop staring at you, can’t figure out for his life why your bright eyes and upturned lips look so familiar; why your voice seems to unlock a puzzle piece he didn’t know existed.
Well, luckily enough, I happen to be waiting for a bus as well – and I happen to have a rather large umbrella I don’t mind sharing.
You beam up at him and he returns it with a dimpled grin, shifting a little closer to you to block out the raindrops that tried to reach you, the electricity in his veins buzzing faster when he nears you.
His presence feels familiar, and you can’t help but to feel oddly comfortable in this stranger’s company.
No – not a stranger – you’ve just met, but the familiarity that settles in your bones when you see this boy rules him out as a stranger despite the fact that you don’t have a name to match the face you feel like you knew so well.
I’m Ashton, by the way.
It’s like he can read your mind, and you try to hide your shock with a smile.
You give him your name and his beam widens, repeating your name after you say it; rolling it in his mouth and liking how your name tastes on his lips.
He’ll remember it, he knows.
Have we met before?
His question lingers in the rainy air, and it echoes in the space between you; the odd familiarity in the back of your heads that leaves the both of you curious and confused at the same time.
No, I don’t think so.
Oh, but if only you knew.
request gifs, tweets, & imagines here!